#shoe rack design ideas

[audentiaspacesworld]

Stylish and Functional Modern Shoe Rack Design for Homes in Hyderabad

Elevate your home’s organization with modern shoe rack designs that blend style and functionality. Whether you need a sleek wall-mounted unit or a spacious wooden cabinet, the right design enhances your space while keeping footwear neatly arranged. From compact entryway racks to luxurious custom-built solutions, find the perfect fit for your home. Upgrade your interiors with smart storage solutions that reflect modern aesthetics and practical living.

[simplysnipes]

My Ideal Running Shoe Set Up!!

[eluascinnamon]

Closet Raised-Panel Large elegant gender-neutral dressing room photo with raised-panel cabinets and brown cabinets

[tjaylea]

Philadelphia Raised-Panel Design ideas for a sizable, traditional walk-in closet with raised-panel cabinets and beige cabinets.

[rose24207]

Mafia lando smut where reader was mad at him from an argument the other day, so she spends heaps of money on his bank account. He doesn’t find out till the bank calls to make sure it wasn’t fraud. And he punishes her

Stress Shopping

Summary: After a heated argument, you storm off on a stress-shopping spree with Lando's card, prompting a call from his bank, but the fight ends in heartfelt apologies and a reminder of his love for you.

Genre: Mafia!Lando, angst, fluff

TW: arguing, spending way too much money

A/N: loved the idea but I changed it a little! Hope you don’t mind! English is not my first language. I hope you enjoy it though! Requests are open and welcome!

Masterlist

The sound of the door slamming reverberates through the mansion, shaking the antique fixtures on the walls. You stomp into the grand foyer, your heels clicking sharply against the marble floors, your anger palpable in the air. Lando's sharp voice follows you, his British accent more clipped than usual.

"Don't you dare walk away from me, love!" he barks, his footsteps quick behind yours.

You spin on your heel to face him, eyes blazing with fury. "What do you want me to do, Lando? Stand there and listen while you talk to me like I’m one of your employees? Like I’m beneath you?"

His jaw tightens, the muscles working as he clenches his teeth. He’s wearing that infuriatingly expensive suit you helped him pick out, and right now, you’d love nothing more than to rip it off him—not in the fun way. "I don’t treat you like my employees," he growls. "But I am in charge, and you seem to forget that sometimes."

You laugh bitterly, crossing your arms. "Oh, how could I forget? You love reminding me every chance you get."

Lando rakes a hand through his perfectly styled hair, messing it up slightly. Normally, the sight would make your heart soften, but right now, it only fuels your fire. "You’re being unreasonable," he snaps. "We had an agreement—"

"No, you had an agreement!" you interrupt, your voice rising. "I never agreed to this ridiculous, controlling nonsense, Lando."

His amber eyes flash dangerously. "Watch it," he warns, his voice low now, like a storm about to break. "You’re pushing me, and you know I don’t like being pushed."

But you’re too far gone to care. "And I don’t like being treated like some trophy wife who needs to follow orders. I’m done with this conversation."

Without waiting for his response, you grab your purse from the console table and march toward the front door. His voice chases after you. "Where are you going?"

"Out," you snap. "Don’t wait up."

Before he can stop you, you’re out the door, the evening air cool against your flushed skin.

The mall is your sanctuary. Under the glow of bright lights and the hum of happy chatter, you lose yourself in racks of designer clothing, rows of shoes, and glass cases of sparkling jewelry. Lando's black card burns a comforting weight in your purse, and tonight, you intend to make full use of it.

You start at Chanel, swiping the card for a pair of heels and a matching bag without so much as glancing at the price tag. Next is Cartier, where a sleek watch catches your eye. After that, you make your way to Dior, where a silk gown feels like the perfect antidote to your frustration.

Each purchase soothes the ache in your chest, replacing anger with satisfaction. By the time you leave the mall, your arms are laden with bags, and the backseat of your car is filled to the brim with boxes and tissue paper.

But your phone buzzes just as you’re pulling out of the parking lot. You glance at the screen and see Lando’s name flashing. You don’t answer.

Back at the mansion, Lando is pacing his study, his phone pressed to his ear. The man on the other end clears his throat nervously before speaking. "Mr. Norris, this is Daniel from Barclays. We’ve noticed some unusual activity on your account and wanted to confirm if your card has been compromised."

Lando pinches the bridge of his nose, exhaling sharply. "What kind of activity?" he asks, though he already knows the answer.

"A series of high-value transactions," Daniel replies. "Chanel, Cartier, Dior... altogether totaling a little over seventy thousand pounds. Should we freeze the card?"

Lando smirks despite himself, shaking his head. "No, Daniel," he says, his tone resigned. "It’s just my wife... throwing a tantrum."

There’s a brief silence on the other end. "Ah," Daniel says finally, clearly unsure how to respond. "Very well, sir. Shall we flag the transactions as authorized?"

"Yes," Lando says. "And don’t call again unless it’s life or death."

You return home hours later, your anger dulled by exhaustion and the satisfying sight of your new purchases. You push open the door to the mansion, your arms laden with bags, only to find Lando waiting for you in the foyer. He leans against the staircase, his arms crossed over his chest, his sharp features unreadable.

"Have fun?" he asks, his voice deceptively calm.

You ignore him, stepping past him with your head held high. But before you can make it far, he grabs your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. His grip is firm but not painful, his thumb brushing against your skin.

"Don’t ignore me," he says softly, dangerously.

You whirl around to face him, the fire in your eyes reigniting. "What do you want, Lando? To scold me for spending your money? Go ahead—I’m sure you’ve got plenty of lectures lined up."

He doesn’t rise to the bait, his gaze steady on yours. "It’s not about the money," he says. "You know that."

"Then what is it about?" you demand. "Because I’m tired of fighting with you over every little thing."

His jaw tightens, and for a moment, he says nothing. Then, finally, he speaks. "It’s about us," he says. "About you running off every time we argue instead of dealing with it. You think throwing my money around is going to make things better?"

"It made me feel better," you snap, yanking your wrist out of his grip.

"Fine," he says, his voice cold now. "If that’s what you want—things, clothes, jewelry—then take it all. But don’t pretend it’s going to fix what’s wrong between us."

His words hit harder than you’d like to admit. You stare at him, your chest heaving with the effort of holding back tears. "Maybe if you treated me like your wife instead of your possession, we wouldn’t have these problems," you say quietly.

Something flickers in his eyes—guilt, maybe. But he doesn’t respond, and you don’t wait for him to. You turn on your heel and head upstairs, leaving him standing alone in the foyer.

Hours later, you’re sitting in the walk-in closet, surrounded by your purchases. The excitement you felt earlier has faded, leaving behind a hollow ache. You sigh, running your fingers over the soft fabric of the Dior gown, wondering if you went too far.

A knock at the door startles you, and before you can respond, Lando steps inside. He looks tired, his tie loosened and his hair disheveled. In his hands, he’s holding a small box tied with a black ribbon.

"I brought you something," he says, his voice soft.

You raise an eyebrow. "More things? Haven’t I spent enough of your money today?"

He ignores your sarcasm, setting the box down on the bench beside you. "Open it," he says.

Curious despite yourself, you untie the ribbon and lift the lid. Inside is a delicate necklace, a simple gold chain with a tiny heart-shaped pendant. It’s nothing like the flashy pieces you bought earlier, but somehow, it feels more special.

"It’s not to bribe you," he says quickly, as if reading your mind. "I just... I wanted to remind you that I don’t care about the money or the fights. I care about you.“

You look up at him, your heart softening. "You have a funny way of showing it," you say, though your tone lacks its earlier bite.

He kneels in front of you, his hands resting on your knees. "I know," he admits. "I’m not perfect, and I don’t always know how to handle you when you’re upset. But I’m trying, love. I promise I’m trying."

For a long moment, you say nothing, letting his words sink in. Then, finally, you reach out and cup his cheek, your thumb brushing against his stubble. "I’m sorry too," you say. "I shouldn’t have stormed off like that. It wasn’t fair to either of us."

He leans into your touch, closing his eyes briefly. "So... we’re okay?" he asks, his voice tentative.

You smile softly. "We’re okay."

The next morning, you wake up to find Lando already dressed, his tie perfectly knotted and his usual confidence back in place. He leans over to kiss your forehead, his lips lingering against your skin.

"Breakfast is ready downstairs," he says. "And I told the bank not to call me again if you go on another shopping spree."

You laugh, pulling the covers over your head. "Good. Because I might need a few more things."

He chuckles, his hand brushing against your hair. "Just try not to spend the GDP of a small country next time, yeah?"

You peek out from under the covers, grinning. "No promises."

And for the first time in days, everything feels right again.

Thank you for reading!

[diceroll65]

I have an idea what if we got Billie x sensitive fem reader and like we accidentally broke a cup and Billie was near and she seen us have the biggest pout and teary eyes trying to clean up the glass and apologizing for braking the glass. just an idea maybe

shattered - b.e

gf!billie eilish x fem!reader

summary: after a tough week, billie invites you over for a night in. you attempt to get yourself some water, but drop the glass. billie notices how out of it you were, and comforts you.

warnings: fluff, glass breaking, comfort

it was early friday evening, and you had just gotten off the clock. you've been talking to billie about what's been going on at work throughout the week, and she tells you to come over after the last work day. you take out your key to her place, placing it in the lock and softly twisting. you push open the door as you kick off your shoes, placing them in their designated place on billie's shoe rack. billie comes to greet you with a kiss, while taking your bag off your shoulder and placing it on the counter. "hi, my love" she says, opening her arms. you instantly walk in between her arms, molding into her touch.

billie walks over to the island, now leaning over it while ordering in from the vegan restaurant down the street. you notice you haven't had any water yet that day, so you head to the cabinet to grab a glass. a cramp ensues in your hand and causes your grip to loosen from the glass, resulting in the glass tumbling out of your hand. as soon as it hits the floor, it splits and causes slivers of glass to disperse everywhere. “fuck” you whisper while grabbing a paper towel, getting down on your knees trying to pick up the blue shards. billie’s head whips around as she hears the crash, looking around the counter to see you hyperventilating hovering over the glass. “baby” she whispers, now kneeling right beside you. "i-i'm so sorry oh my god, i got a cramp. here, i'll buy you another one tomorro-" billie interrupts you by grabbing your shoulder. "y/n, slow down" she instructs, noticing your frantic state. "you don't owe me anything, it's okay. i have more, see?" she says, motioning up towards the glass cabinet. you look up, nodding softly, acknowledging the quantity of cups. "it's just one little cup, baby. are you hurt?" she questions, reaching for your arm and begins to scan it over. "i-i don't think so" you say, shaking your head. "here let's get up now, okay?" she says, now holding onto both your elbows, lifting you to your feet gently. with you both now on your feet, she begins to guide you to the couch.

you sit down with a stiff demeanor, crossing your arms over your chest. billie notices your body language, figuring you need a sense of release. "concentrate on my breathing" she places a hand on your back. you closely observe how her chest rises and falls, attempting to mirror. you sink into her touch as your head involuntarily falls onto her shoulder, looking up to her. "there we go, nice and easy" she says, rubbing your back as she sees you starting to relax. your eyes are now struggling to stay open, as her upper half is supporting your weight. the last sensation you feel before drifting off is her lifting up your shirt, feeling her warm fingertips dance along your bare back. as you regain consciousness, you see that you are both in the same position, with billie still rubbing your back. "oh shit" you say, as you shift slightly while lifting your head from her shoulder. "well hello there!" she says, kissing the tip of your nose softly. "i didn't mean to fall asleep" you say, disorientation in your tone. billie's eyes soften at the thought of you feeling guilty. "you needed it, baby. your mind has been working so hard" she reassures, placing her hand softly on your thigh. you instantly feel a warm sensation in your chest at the thought of how gentle she is with you.

your thoughts are then interrupted by the doorbell ringing, indicating your dinner had arrived. "just in time!" billie says, as she quickly shuffles to the door. you giggle at her excitement, and cozy into the couch with a soft smile drawn across your face. how lucky you were to be cared for like this.

@bitchybananaflower

to be added to taglist, comment ⭐︎

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

A Curse [Chapter 10: Pacific Palisades]

A/N: Only 2 chapters left 🪄

Series summary: You are an aspiring actress. Aegon is a washed-up and disenchanted agent…at least until he sees something special in you. But within paradisical seaside Los Angeles you find terrible dangers and temptations, secrets and lies. Maybe Aegon’s right; maybe the City of Angels really is a curse.

Chapter warnings: Language, mentions of sexual content (18+ readers only), age-gap situationship, illness/death, minor injury and blood, a wild Becca appears, a super relaxing beach day! 😍

Word count: 5.4k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Tagging: @lauraneedstochill @mrs-starkgaryen @chattylurker @neithriddle @ecstaticactus, more in comments! 🥰

🏝️ Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🏝️

“I’m so sorry,” you say as the green jasper buttons on the coat won’t quite close. “My agent keeps buying me Cherry Cokes and vanilla lattes.”

The costume designer, mid-forties with box-dye red hair, laughs. She ceases the tugging she’s been doing, ultimately in vain. “The wardrobe is supposed to fit you, sweetheart, not the other way around.” She sweeps the coat off your shoulders and hangs it back on the rack full of Gilded Age-style garments, some faux, some genuine. “We’ll take it in here and let it out there and get everything sorted out.”

“Thank you,” you tell her sheepishly.

“For what? It’s my job.” Then she gestures to the rack. “Which one was your favorite?”

You scan the assortment: chemises, corsets, hoopskirts, stockings, dresses, tea gowns, evening gowns, nightgowns, hats, gloves, fans, shoes, seemingly endless bejeweled ropes of necklaces and bracelets. “The yellow tea gown,” you say, beaming. “I love the ruffles and how flowy it is. And the buttons down the front.”

“Oh, it’s exceptional, isn’t it?” the costume designer agrees. “I found that at an estate sale a few years back, it had been squirreled away in a collector’s attic. It’s authentic, probably made in the 1890s.”

“You told me not to touch the buttons when you put it on. And you wore latex gloves.”

She nods. “They’re brass gilded with gold and mercury, which was common back then. People didn’t know better. But mercury can be absorbed through the skin. We can’t be careless and end up with heavy metal poisoning, now can we?” She grins at you. “But you don’t mind a little danger.”

“Everything worthwhile is a risk.”

“How long have you been in Los Angeles?”

You do some quick math in your head. “Almost six months.”

“Planning to stay long?”

“Forever, hopefully.”

The costume designer smiles warmly. “Good. We need more people like you here.” And as she pulls the rack of clothing out into the hallway on its four small wheels, the director strolls into the room. He is in his thirties, bald, black rectangular glasses, always wearing a suit jacket over a graphic tee. Today’s shirt features the Jurassic Park logo.

“Hey!” he says excitedly, clapping his hands together. “How’d it go?”

“Hi, Dusty!” His name is Dustin, but everyone calls him Dusty. “It was amazing. I love all the weird vintage clothes, they’re so modest but also very sensual, you know?”

“Yeah, it’s fascinating, I feel like with those restrictive modesty standards people really had to get creative to evoke ideas of playfulness, flirtatiousness, power, vulnerability, seduction...and of course, we’ll be experimenting with all of that in this film. You felt okay in everything?”

“Yeah!”

“Because...I mean...I know some of the chamises and nightgowns are a little sheer, but we’ll do a closed set on those days. I won’t even be there, Camille can handle it.” Camille is the assistant director, young and quiet but very sharp. “So it’ll just be her and the camera operator, also a woman. And if you want anyone else there to be your advocate, that’s open for discussion.”

“Can my agent be there?”

Dusty looks a little surprised. The grumpy middle-aged dude? his face says. “Aegon? Yeah, sure, he can be in the room. If you want that.”

“He’s gotten me out of some uncomfortable situations before, so I trust him.”

“Oh yeah, well in that case, I get it,” Dusty says. “Totally. And things with Santi have been fine?”

“Santi is wonderful. Always completely professional, but very inspiring to work with.”

“You guys have great chemistry. Platonically, I mean.”

You laugh. “I know what you meant.”

“And I’ll keep checking in with both of you, to make sure that’s going well and you’re happy and comfortable. I want you to start seeing a personal trainer, by the way. It’s not to lose weight or get toned or anything, it’s for injury prevention. He’ll help you get flexible and teach you tricks for how to move without hurting yourself when we do some of the more physically taxing stuff, like that scene where you and Santi are chasing each other all over the house and slamming into the walls and stuff.”

“That makes sense. Who’s the trainer?”

“His name is Roy, he’s in his sixties and a former Marine. I’ve worked with him before and he’s really chill, I’ve only ever heard good things. But if you end up not liking him, just let me know and I can find somebody else.”

“Dusty?” you say.

“Yes?”

“Thank you for caring about what I think.”

He chuckles uneasily, like he’s not sure if you’re serious. “You’re welcome...?”

Aegon walks in—hair gelled back, wrinkled black suit on—carrying two Starbucks beverages; he left fifteen minutes ago to fetch them. He keeps the Frappuccino topped with whipped cream and chocolate syrup for himself and hands you the iced latte. You take a sip and are startled. “Cinnamon Dolce?”

“Isn’t that what you like?” Aegon asks.

And before you let yourself think poisonous thoughts—he doesn’t care, he doesn’t remember—you consider a different explanation. He might be sick. He might be dying. You give him a radiant smile. “Absolutely. And it’s delicious.”

“She must think very highly of you,” Dusty tells Aegon. “She wants you there on the closed set days.”

Aegon raises his eyebrows at you. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you admit, a little shyly.

“I’ll send out the filming schedule as soon as we get it finalized,” Dusty says. “Like I said earlier, we’ll start sometime in mid-September. Some soundstage stuff here in L.A., some on-location work in Ontario—that’s where they did Crimson Peak, there’s fantastic Gilded Age architecture—and maybe a trip to London if we can scrape the budget together.”

“Huh,” Aegon mutters to himself, like he suspects Dusty will soon be receiving a sizeable and anonymous donation for the project. He pulls out his iPhone and texts someone.

Dusty shakes your hand. “Thanks for being here today and suffering through approximately one thousand costume changes. I really appreciate you being such a good sport about everything.”

“I told you she had the right temperament,” Aegon says.

“She does.” Dusty smiles at you. “She really does.”

You and Aegon leave Dusty’s suite, office space rented in Downtown, and take the elevator from the tenth floor to the ground level. It’s Wednesday, August 13th, and it’s almost a hundred degrees outside, the sunlight drenching you like a downpour. Fortunately, it’s a short walk to your Honda. Aegon was serious about not driving when you’re in the car anymore; you picked him up in Elysian Park before your appointment with the costume designer. Now you walk together across a pavilion and towards a concrete staircase that will lead you down to the street with the parking garage. You’re wearing a pink floral sundress, matching TOMS wedges, and a pinkish-gold sheen across your eyelids: Fathom by NARS, Phenomena by Natasha Denona. You slurp on your Cinnamon Dolce latte, sweet and warm and blameless like a treat you deserve.

“You know I won’t be there for filming,” Aegon says. “That’s going to be after my wedding. I’ll be long gone, I’ll be in Houston.”

“Maybe not.”

“Uh, I definitely will be.”

“Maybe you’ll fly back to be here for certain things because you know they’re important to me.”

Aegon stops and whirls to you, his voice low but cutting. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” you ask, bewildered.

“You know I wish I could be here. Don’t guilt me for something I’m already torn up about.”

“Nothing is stopping you from flying back to L.A. for a few days. Houston isn’t a prison, you can come and go as much as you want to.”

Now he’s somber, quiet, repentant. “I just can’t. I’m really sorry.”

“But who’s going to look out for me?” How could I even begin to forget you?

“I found you a new agent. Her name is Kristen, and she’s great.”

“I don’t want her,” you say immediately.

Aegon sighs. You begin to descend the staircase together. “Look, I know this isn’t easy for either of us, but I need you to—”

“Oh my God, it’s the girl from the Maroon 5 music video!” a young man shrieks, and then he sprints up the concrete steps. You smile when he shoves his phone in your face, recording for TikTok or Instagram or wherever he’s planning to post this...or maybe he’s even streaming live. “Hi!” he bellows at you as Aegon glares. “I love that video, you did an amazing job!”

“Thank you so much,” you say, and you mean it down to your bones. You’re beaming without reminding yourself to; you’re focused on him as you continue to descend the staircase. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Jonathan!”

Aegon snaps at him: “Back up.”

“Hi, Jonathan,” you say, wobbling on a step. “It’s so nice to meet you. Where are you from?”

“I’m from a town in Iowa that you definitely haven’t heard of.”

“That’s okay, I’m from a town in Minnesota that you definitely haven’t heard of.”

“Hey, back up,” Aegon says again.

Jonathan either doesn’t hear him or doesn’t listen. “What was it like working with Adam Levine? I’m kind of obsessed with him. He was my first crush.”

With those tattoos? you think but blessedly don’t say out loud. You have barely ever interacted with Adam Levine, and certainly not in a meaningful way. But of course you don’t say this either. Jonathan’s phone is only inches from your face; it’s practically all you can see. “Oh, it was an incredible experience. He’s so talented and kind—”

Your wedge slips off a step, and you go sprawling; one knee hits the concrete, is scraped raw, begins bleeding down your shin. Your latte flies out of your grasp and spills down the staircase. You clutch for the metal railing, find it, and haul yourself upright. And even through the searing pain you’re already laughing, embarrassed, relieved.

Jonathan is saying as he reaches for you, though he’s still filming with the phone in his other hand: “Oh no, are you okay?!”

“I’m fine, I’m totally fine—”

But Jonathan isn’t, because Aegon’s knuckles connect with his face, draw back, hit him again, and blood is gushing from Jonathan’s nostrils, and Aegon’s hand is stained red. “I told you to back the fuck up!” Aegon is roaring, and he goes to punch Jonathan again as he’s staggering down the steps, blood drops splattering to freckle the concrete.

“Aegon, don’t!” you scream, grabbing his arm. People on the sidewalk below are staring and pointing. “He didn’t do anything!”

“If you get hurt, you can’t act—”

“Aegon, I’m alright!”

And when Aegon turns to you, wayward flecks of blood on his cheeks and in his sand-colored hair, he’s not just furious but afraid: I couldn’t stop. You remember when he put a dent in the wall of the Beverly Hills mansion where Dan had planned to film you practically naked, and you wonder if that was a symptom, volatility, rage, a transient blindness to consequences. Is everything he does a symptom? Is what he’s done with you?

“Aegon...?” Jonathan says from several steps down the staircase. “Aegon Targaryen?!” He’s wiping the blood off his face with the back of one hand but still holding his phone with the other. Now he’s filming himself. “Holy shit, I just got punched by a Targaryen! This is going to go viral! I’m going to be rich!” He dashes off, still dripping blood.

Aegon looks at you, dazed. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

You’re trying to catch your breath; your knee burns. Pedestrians on the sidewalk are still gawking. “No, you shouldn’t have.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I don’t want to fuck up anything related to your career. I’ll fix this, I’ll get Aemond to make it go away.”

“I’m not mad, Aegon.” I’m worried about you. I’m scared for you.

“Are you okay?” He’s scrutinizing the thin tendrils of blood snaking down your leg, the crimson stains on your pink sundress.

“Yeah,” you say gamely.

“No you’re not.” Aegon takes your hand, leads you swiftly to the parking garage, doesn’t stop to talk to any of the people who are staring and pointing and taking out their phones to record him.

You drive your Honda back to Elysian Park—just a quick jaunt northeast on the 110—where Aegon scrubs his hands clean and then plays doctor with equipment supplied by the first aid kit in Brandon’s desk. On the scuffed wood floor of Aegon’s office—mint green walls, cluttered haphazard desk, photographs of him and Becca together sneering down at you—he disinfects the raw patch on your knee and gingerly wipes away flecks of dirt, then slathers it with gooey transluscent Neosporin, the kind that dulls pain. As he is trying to peel the backing off a large rectangular Band-Aid, his hands begin to shake.

“Aegon, here, let me help you—”

“I can do it,” he insists; and it takes him a while, but he does.

~~~~~~~~~~

Baela is back in Paris; Jace is eating a Chipotle burrito on the velvet orange couch and spilling leafy shreds of lettuce everywhere. You are arranging the dried sunflowers in a yellow vase you found at T.J. Maxx. You are careful not to dislodge any of the fragile preserved leaves, curled and brittle. When you are done, you position the vase on the kitchen counter near the refrigerator. The calendar there, affixed with pineapple-shaped magnets, is filled with red-ink appointments related to your indie film, the one you still sometimes can’t believe is real: workouts with your personal trainer, table reads, costume fittings, meetings with the dialect coach, lunches and drinks with your new coworker Chloe. She has third billing, and she’s from Maine, and she loves hiking and flannel and granola and the lobster rolls at Saltie Girl in West Hollywood. You teach her about makeup and dresses; Chloe teaches you about nature and hiking boots. You might even let her talk you into horseback riding lessons on the beach one day.

Jace asks from the couch as he scrolls through his phone with his non-burrito-occupied hand: “Hey, random question, but did your agent beat up a kid?”

You sigh deeply. “He wasn’t a kid. I don’t know why people keep saying that.”

“The TMZ article says he’s a teenager.”

“He’s nineteen years old. He’s legally an adult.”

“Oh.” Jace keeps reading. “But your agent did beat him up.”

“Aegon punched him twice, does that count as beating someone up?”

Jace looks up from his phone. “Yes. Yes it does.”

You sigh again.

“You’re lucky he’s not suing,” Jace says as he resumes reading the article. “Damn, he’s gotten 200,000 views on the video so far. He called it STORYTIME: Targaryen Terror!! I almost died!! The thumbnail is a close-up of his bloody nose. Let’s see what derangement we can find in the comments.” Then Jace recoils, squinting at the screen. “Whoa, the whole article just disappeared.”

Thanks Aemond, you think. “I’ll be back around dinnertime if you want to order Thai food and watch True Blood or something.”

“Cool,” Jace says, and chomps on his burrito. A glob of guacamole drops onto the couch.

In Elysian Park, you park on the curb and step out into sweltering mid-August humidity, the humming of air conditioning window units, ambient dog barks and car radios. You’re wearing flip-flops, a purple maxi skirt, and a black tank top; on your eyelids shimmers Natasha Denona’s silver-and-violet Bolt.

You can hear the shouting before you open the front door, heavy footsteps, chairs screeching as they are pushed out. You run inside to find Brandon standing beside his desk. He looks at you wide-eyed, as if he doesn’t know what to do. From within his office, Aegon is yelling something you don’t understand—“I don’t want it! No, get rid of it, get out of here!”—and then Becca appears through the doorway, backing away from him, fleeing from him, confused and heartbroken. She’s dressed like a bride, white lace and long beachy waves. She is crying and holding two sealed envelopes in her hands that gleam with rings.

“What’s going on?” you ask her.

Becca freezes when she sees you. She’s too stunned to be angry. “I don’t know, it was supposed to be a surprise, we were going to open them together and it would be fun, but now he’s...he’s...he’s freaking out, he’s completely lost his mind!”

You peek into Aegon’s office; his chair is knocked over, and there are papers and photographs and Honeycrisp apples on the floor. He’s slumped against the wall with his knees to his chest, gazing out at you with vast, glassy eyes, tears painting rivers down his flushed cheeks. “Open what?” you ask Becca. And then you read the artful black lettering on the envelopes: Legacea: Discover All the Wonders of Your Heritage!

“Becca,” you say softly. He’s been caught. He can’t hide it anymore. “Aegon’s dad died of Huntington’s disease.”

“Okay,” she replies, puzzled, not understanding.

“And it’s genetic, and he doesn’t want to know if he has the gene.”

She stares at him, thunderstruck. He hides his face in his hands. And you feel a compulsion—an instinct, a gravity, a predestination—to go to Aegon and hold him, comfort him as much as you can, ward off all the world’s curses here in this undistinguished alcove of Los Angeles where you first met him.

“Here,” Becca hisses, grabbing your hand and pressing one of the envelopes into it too quickly for you to resist. “You’re the person he always wants to talk to anyway.” Then she shoves you so hard your back hits the doorframe, storms across the lobby, slams the front door as she leaves.

“I’m sorry,” Aegon says hoarsely from the floor. “I’m sorry she did that, I...I...” And then he swallows with effort and shakes his head and covers his face again. In the lobby, Brandon sinks into the chair behind his desk and tries to disappear.

You step into Aegon’s office and close the door behind you. You cross the scuffed hardwood floor until you are right in front of him, and then you sit down amidst the bruised apples and splintered glass panes of photographs, close enough to reach out and take his hands if you tried. You look down at the sealed envelope and skim your thumbprint across the black ink. You don’t say anything. You wait for Aegon to realize the inevitable: If Becca paid for these tests, she can access the results anytime she wants to. He’s going to find out one way or the other. He can’t keep running. The answer is right here. Maybe it’s even good.

“You can open it,” Aegon says, barely a whisper.

“Are you sure?”

He nods and wipes his face with his sleeve, the same wrinkled tan sport coat jacket he was wearing for your very first appointment. Beneath that he wears a t-shirt the color of the ocean, a placid royal blue. Then he watches as you carefully rip open the envelope, unfold the stack of four papers, and scan the results. He tries to read the lines and color of your face; he waits for you to say something.

For a long still moment, you don’t say anything. And then at last you look up at him. “Your family can afford the best doctors, you’ll have access to the most advanced treatments—”

“No!” Aegon wails, a mourning, a surrender, and he collapses across the floor, and decades of fear and grief and fury come hemorrhaging out, and you expect that when you try to hold him he’ll push you away, but he doesn’t. He claws for you and his fingernails leave half-moon indentations in your skin, but you don’t mind because soon he’ll be gone: he’ll be flying to Turks and Caicos to marry Becca, he’ll be moving to Houston, Texas, he’ll be dying there of something horrible and painful and inglorious and unfair, he’ll be a secret and then a myth.

“I’m sorry,” you say over and over again, his head in your lap, your fingers in his hair, your voice fracturing and your throat burned to ashes. “I’m sorry. You don’t deserve this. I wish I could change it. I would do anything to change it.”

And after a while, Aegon goes quiet and pulls away, and he sits on the floor as he absorbs it, staring vacantly at the photographs and the apples and the walls, dragging his hands through his disheveled hair to slick it back again. Then he turns to you and asks: “Do you want to go to the beach?”

~~~~~~~~~~

You’ve already been to Venice, and Baela and Jace once took you along with them to Santa Monica to walk the pier at dusk; and so today Aegon tells you to follow the 110 south, the 10 west, and finally the 1 north—and if you stayed on it you’d eventually hit Malibu, Santa Barbara, San Francisco, Point Reyes, Eureka, the Oregon border—to Pacific Palisades, where the water is calm and endless and the beach quiet, a few families picnicking on loose golden sand, a few amateur surfers bobbing on docile waves. Gulls flap and caw in a cerulean sky. From a boombox drifts Under the Bridge.

“I always felt like I had it,” Aegon says. His skin glows with the sunscreen you insisted on buying from a surf shop on the way here, SPF 50, but there is nothing in the world that can stop the poison his cells are already making, copying the defective gene’s lethal instructions again and again and again. You look at the crinkles that spring out from the corners of his eyes, the lines around his mouth, and you can see that he is aging—lack of sleep, lack of care—and you have the instinct to pull him back from the ledge of mortality. But for all the wonders of humanity, pyramids and chapels, submarines and satellites, for some reason the most essential magic eludes you.

“But you hoped you didn’t.” You hold the Legacea papers, still creased from where they were folded into thirds inside the envelope, as you and Aegon sit together on the sand. You keep reading the results: cystic fibrosis—variant not detected, hereditary thrombophilia—variant not detected, Parkinson’s disease—variant not detected, he’d be perfect if it wasn’t for one tiny thing, and that seems so unfair.

“That’s why I never told people. That’s why even though I was pretty sure I’d never have kids, I didn’t do anything permanent. Never got a vasectomy, even though I should have. Never saw a specialist. Never joined any support groups. I always thought...you know, maybe. Maybe I was wrong, and I was fine. And I wanted to have that to fall back on, so whenever I started thinking about it and got freaked out, I could say: You don’t know for sure. You might not have it. Aemond got tested because he felt it was the responsible thing to do, and Helaena and Daeron followed his lead because they trust him. I was the only one who didn’t want to know. And I’m the only one who has it.” He shakes his head; his blonde hair blows in the wind. “They had to deal with what happened to my dad. I can’t put them through that again.”

You re-read the results, the only one that matters: Huntington’s disease—variant detected, mutation of the HTT gene. “You’re so young, Aegon. Aren’t you too young to have symptoms? When I was researching, it sounded like it usually starts around forty, and then people can live into their fifties or even their sixties.” That’s almost a normal lifespan! you have to stop yourself from blurting out. That’s thirty more years we could have together!

“A lot of the time, that’s how it goes,” he says. “But there’s this thing in genetics called anticipation.” And then you remember what you overheard Aemond saying when you found him in Aegon’s office a few days after the charity gala: Because you’re still pretty young, but with anticipation...

“Aegon, what’s anticipation?”

“It means that in each generation, the disease shows up earlier and gets more severe. In Huntington’s, that’s especially true when it’s inherited from the father. My dad had visible signs in his late-thirties, got diagnosed at forty-five, and died at fifty-five. I’ve had symptoms since my twenties.”

So how many years does he have left? you think with horror. Five? Ten? And most of them will be bad. “Is that why you left acting?”

Aegon nods, looking out over the waves. “Every time I forgot a line or tripped over a step or something, I’d think it was proof that I had the gene, and it would send me into a spiral. And then because I was so nervous...fuck it, because I was so scared...I would make more mistakes, and get more panicked, and I just couldn’t deal with the...the emotional rollercoaster, I guess. So I got an office in Elysian Park far away from my family and all their industry friends, and I found an assistant I liked, and I met Becca...and I got everything lined up so if...” He shakes his head. “So when the time came, I could slip away without any drama or unnecessary pain for my family.”

“But you’re still mostly okay. You don’t have to leave Los Angeles yet.” You don’t have to abandon me yet. “I can drive you places. I can remember things for you. I don’t mind.”

Aegon gives you a sad, patient smile. “By the time people with this disease get really bad, they stop being able to tell how far-gone they are. And they aren’t competent to make decisions, and they hurt the people who are trying to help them, and it’s not so easy to disappear anymore. I can’t wait around for my brain to get hollowed out enough that I have no good days left. I can’t wait around until you’re finally convinced it’s the right time. You’re always going to be looking for excuses to keep me here. You’ll always see glasses as half-full.”

You think of the countless YouTube videos you’ve watched of Huntington’s patients since that night in Silver Lake when you learned what killed Woody Guthrie—people struggling to walk, to speak, to swallow, to recognize their loved ones—and you break down in sobs, covering your face with your hands as tears flood down your cheeks, the rivulets turning cold as the ocean breeze skates over them. “I don’t want that to happen to you.”

“None of us get a choice, sunshine,” Aegon says gently, laying a palm on your shoulder.

“Am I a symptom?”

“What are you talking about?”

You take a tissue out of your purse and sniffle into it, too mortified to meet his eyes. “Impulsive decisions, poor judgment, erratic emotions. Those are all symptoms of Huntington’s. So is this thing between us...is what you have with me, is it just...just...?” Just your brain dying, just a mistake like punching a fan or wrecking a car or forgetting that I was born in the Year of the Dragon?

“No,” Aegon says. “No, this is real. And the way I feel about you isn’t how I feel about anybody else.”

“But all those other women—”

“I fucked around because life is short and I didn’t want to miss out on things. And I felt like...you know...there will be a day when I’m never going to be able to have sex again. Just like there will be a day when I can never drive again, or help a client get a job, or make it through a barbeque at my family’s beach house without acting insane, or collect stars in Super Mario 64. But you’re not some maladaptive coping mechanism. I don’t sleep with clients. I genuinely really, really like you, and you make me feel better about the world, and I want to be around you all the time. But I can’t do that without ruining your life, you know? So what the fuck am I supposed to do with everything I feel for you?”

His hand is still on your shoulder, warm and safe and steady, and his oceanic blue eyes are resigned. You’re too late to change his mind. You’ve been too late since he watched Viserys crawl towards the grave over the span of a decade. “I would take care of you,” you tell Aegon, something you’ve offered before, and you mean this no matter how irrational he believes it to be.

“You’ll be sad for a while,” he says. “But then you’ll get busy with more roles and the promo tour for your movie, and you’ll have a nice normal boyfriend—maybe that Jace guy—and you’ll forget about me. And you can be an actress and have healthy kids and stay here in Los Angeles forever. You’ll have everything you ever wanted.”

Not everything, you think. Not you. “Why did you invited me to your wedding? It’s actually a really messed up thing to do. I’m supposed to celebrate you marrying Becca? Toast champagne and dance on the beach and eat hors d’oeuvres and then fly back here like nothing’s wrong?”

Aegon sighs and lies flat on the sand, lets the hot midday sun beat down on him, takes his black aviator sunglasses out of his jeans pocket and slides them on. “I invited you because my wedding is supposed to be the happiest day of my life, and I want all my favorite people there. And you are definitely one of my favorite people.”

You frown at the wave crests, glittering with daylight. “I can’t go to Turks and Caicos.”

“Why not?”

“Because Becca threatened to break my leg.”

Aegon bursts out laughing. “She what?!”

“She said she would push me down the stairs so I’d break my leg and wouldn’t be able to do any acting for months until it healed.”

He’s cackling. Circumstances aside, it’s nice to see him smile again. “Ignore her. She’s not serious. She tells everyone that.”

“She threatens all your mistresses with bodily harm?”

Aegon shrugs. “Her playbook is limited.”

You debate whether to tell him something, then decide this isn’t the day for secrets. “She pushed me outside your office one time. I fell over. That’s how I sprained my ankle.”

“Fuck, really?” Aegon says, peering up at you from the sand. Deep troubled grooves appear in his forehead, glistening with Coppertone Sport. “I’m so sorry. That should never have happened. I’ll talk to her.”

“I’m sure that’ll go well.”

“She’ll listen to me,” Aegon insists. “She’ll cave. She always does.”

You look at him, accusing, certain. “You don’t love her.”

“I couldn’t marry her if I did,” he says casually. “But she chose this. She could call it off anytime she wanted, but she won’t. I’ll go home tonight and find out she’s bought twenty books on nursing from Amazon. And it’s not forever. I’m a curse, not a life sentence. My clock is ticking down a lot faster than everyone else’s.”

What if I want that time with you? you think helplessly. What if I love you?

Aegon pushes his sunglasses up into his hair so he can study you with no obstructions, so there’s nowhere to hide. “The wedding might be your last chance to see me, you know?”

“Right,” you say, listening to the shrieks of circling California gulls and the dull primordial rumble of the ocean, a beast that swallows sunlight, a titan with no lifespan.

As you take the 1 southeast back towards Downtown, Elysian Park, Harbor Gateway, Aegon tells you to stop at the Getty Villa Museum. You don’t argue; you don’t want to go home yet either. You don’t want to lose a second of the time you have left with him.

There is an extensive collection of ancient Greek and Roman art, gods, goddesses, heroes, monsters, coins, weapons, magic. Here is an altar carved with the myth of Adonis, here is a horse made of oxidized bronze, here is a Breccia marble fertility goddess whose name no one remembers, here is a bust of Caligula, the emperor who went mad. You pause to admire a statue of Medusa, snakes instead of hair and a face twisted with wrath.

“Don’t look, she’ll turn you to stone,” Aegon whispers as he covers your eyes with gentle, feather-light hands. “That’s the last thing you need. Another curse.”

[juustokaku]

Confidentiality - Chapter 1. - yandere!ATEEZ OT8 x f!reader

Introduction: Joining a peer support group for mentally ill was a good idea for the last two times you were there. Then it's only natural for the third time to go well too, right?

Pairings: yandere!Hongjoong x reader, yandere!Seonghwa x reader, yandere!Yunho x reader, yandere!Yeosang x reader, yandere!San x reader, yandere!Mingi x reader, yandere!Wooyoung x reader, yandere!Jongho x reader

A/N: This is my first fan fiction I have posted in years! I'm sorry that the beginning might bore you but I'm trying to make the next chapters more interesting. This was more of an introduction than the real story. Also, please, forgive me for my English. It's not exactly immaculate since it isn't my first language. Thank you to everyone who might stumble across this and read!

Word count: 3 207

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The first time you had been shaking in your boots. The next time you had been shaking as much. And now, hopefully for the last time, you were still shaking. 

“What are you doing here? This is private property,” a relatively old lady opened the door you were standing behind and furrowed her thin brows. 

It was winter, and you were cold already, but the chill that ran down your spine at the woman’s words made you almost visibly shudder. Did she not remember you? 

Your hands inside your mittens squeezed into fists. Anxious tears welled up in your eyes. As usual, you couldn’t handle people being angry or even stern at you. 

You would have probably run away in a couple seconds, but the woman smiled at you suddenly and pushed the door wide open. 

“I’m just joking, dear. I remember you.” 

She was supposed to be a mental health professional but still she dared to joke like that while aware of your struggles. You felt a bit irritated but didn’t dare to show it to her. She didn’t mean to scare you. 

As you stepped inside the house your anxiety levels settled down for a moment. You felt a little more comfortable despite the fusty smell. The room was designed to look inviting and homey probably to make the patients relax. It was kind of like visiting a grandma which made you feel nostalgic. 

“I’m glad you decided to join again,” the woman smiled sincerely as you took off your boots and set them neatly on the shoe rack. 

You nodded, “I’m a bit anxious but eager to receive some help again.” 

It was the third time you had joined a peer support group for people who were suffering from mental health problems. The same woman who was in front of you had held it every time. You thought she was some kind of therapist but weren’t sure anymore. It was always hard for you to remember the introductions, because your mind was an anxious mess when meeting new people. 

She led you to the familiar room where all the previous support groups had been held too. 

 10 armchairs were placed in a wide circle. Their colors were restrained and mild so that people who had sensory issues wouldn’t feel uncomfortable. Well, they would probably feel uncomfortable here anyways due to other reasons, but it wouldn’t feel as insufferable as it could if the chairs were all bright, neon version colors of rainbow. 

The lighting was comforting and warm, a stark contrast to the cold lights of a hospital. 

As you were taking in the feelings of the room, the woman started speaking. 

“Uh, I have to tell you something,” she started, sounding apologetic, “All the other group members are new. None of them have been here before.” 

“Oh. Are any of them aggressive?” you asked nervously. 

The information that you hadn’t met any of the other patients stressed you out. What if one of them was aggressive and attacked you? 

“You worry too much, Y/N. They’re as stable and gentle as little lambs.” 

“If they were stable, they wouldn’t be in this group.” 

The woman chuckled a bit, her dimples showing as the corners of her lips rose in amusement. 

“Trust me. Everyone is kind and calm,” the woman assured you. 

Suddenly a man barged in and declared, “I have arrived! Get ready for trouble!”  

Your heart almost stopped and a fight-or-flight response was close to being activated. But after the initial scare he gave you settled down, you stared at the man with surprise and nervousness. 

Despite his attention-demanding entrance, his looks were a little less extra. He was really handsome though. He had black hair and casual clothes but your attention was caught by his mischievous dark brown eyes and a little mole under his eye. 

“What’s your name?” the man noticed your staring and rushed to you before you could run away. 

You barely remembered your name when the man was suddenly in front of you, a bit too close to your liking. Somehow you managed to mutter out your name to him. 

“Ah, Y/N. I’m Wooyoung,” the man introduced himself, “You have beautiful eyes.” 

If you didn’t forget how to speak when Wooyoung asked your name, you definitely did now. How were you supposed to answer when a stranger complimented your eyes out of the blue? 

Wooyoung continued inspecting your face and expressions intently. 

“Thank you... You have very... interesting eyes as well,” you smiled sheepishly. 

“That sounds almost like an insult,” Wooyoung pouted, “Aren’t my eyes beautiful too?” 

Oh no. Did Wooyoung think you didn’t think of his eyes as beautiful? 

“No, no! I mean yes, your eyes are beautiful. I just didn’t want to sound like a creep by complimenting you too much.” 

Wooyoung grinned at you, “Don’t worry. I know what you meant.” 

What was wrong with everyone, joking around like that? You had your first mini heart attack earlier when you thought the woman didn’t recognize you and now Wooyoung made you think you insulted him gravely. 

You took a seat on one of the armchairs. Wooyoung sat down next to you, staying quiet but glancing at you sometimes. Pretty often, to be honest. All of the time, actually. 

The woman started talking with him but you couldn’t focus on listening to their conversation at all. Just fiddling with your fingers nervously as you imagined how the other patients would be like. 

One by one, all of the patients arrived. Two of them were late which irritated you. You just wanted to get this session over with already. 

You didn’t dare to look at anyone but you had noticed to your horror that all of the other patients were men. Maybe they would gang up on you after this session and beat you up. That’s what men did, right? You had read a lot about those kind of things on the internet. 

“Alright kiddos,” the woman started, “My name is Charlotte Abbot, and I welcome you to this peer support group.” 

None of you were “kiddos” anymore but young adults. Charlotte probably just felt a lot older with all those wrinkles on her face. 

She went on and on about how the group works and the importance of confidentiality. A few members of the group didn’t focus at all and were looking around curiously to see who were the people that had joined the group. 

“Who wants to introduce themselves first?” Charlotte asked. 

Wooyoung raised his hand and started talking before Charlotte could give him a permission, “My name is Jung Wooyoung. My favorite color is black. My favorite fruit is strawberry. I like dancing. I like taking photographs. I like cooking. I like-”  

Charlotte interrupted him, “Thank you, Wooyoung. Let’s give everyone a chance to introduce themselves briefly before revealing more.” 

An extraordinarily stylish man raised his hand before he started speaking. 

“I’m Kim Hongjoong. I’m the CEO of my own fashion brand.” 

You almost gasped out loud. No wonder he was so stylish. He looked cool both in appearance and attitude. The look on his face was so focused that you bet he was a hardworking man. 

“My name is Choi San. I am a personal trainer. Nice to meet you all,” a man sitting one seat away from you introduced himself politely. 

You could definitely see that he was a personal trainer. His looks probably distracted all his customers from working out to look at him. 

“Jeong Yunho,” a tall man next to you smiled kindly, “I’m a police officer but I do a lot of volunteering at animal shelters as well.” 

You almost let your heart melt at Yunho’s words but you reminded yourself that he could be lying to make himself look more trustworthy. He could actually be a mastermind criminal who’d lure you into his trap with his promises of playful puppies and cute kittens. 

“Choi Jongho,” another man simply said. 

Everyone waited for him to continue but he stayed silent. 

“That’s it?” Wooyoung asked. 

“Shush, Wooyoung. If Jongho doesn’t want to say anything more yet, he doesn’t have to,” Charlotte reminded gently. 

“Song Mingi. But you can call me Mingi. Or Mingus Dingus,” another tall man chuckled. 

“Mingus... Dingus?” Wooyoung repeated, holding back his laughter. A couple other men in the room snorted too. 

Mingi looked a little offended and explained, “It’s my stage name. I’m a rapper.” 

You wondered what was behind Mingi’s sunglasses. Why did he wear them inside in the first place? Was he trying to hide something else than just his eyes? 

It was clear that none of them were here to hurt you. But all of these new people were making you nervous. No matter how disrespectful of you was it to suspect everyone, you couldn’t help yourself. 

“My name is Park Seonghwa. I like Legos and Star Wars,” a strikingly handsome man smiled sheepishly. 

His interests surprised you with their innocence. One would expect that an adult man with those godly looks would be partying and sleeping with models instead of nerding away with Legos and Star Wars. It was adorable though and made you feel ever so slightly more at ease with him. 

Silence filled the room as everyone was waiting for the next person to introduce themselves. Only the ticking of the clock on the wall could be heard. The silence felt uncomfortably long and you started wondering why no-one spoke. 

“Could any of you two introduce yourself?” Charlotte’s voice caught your attention. 

You almost wanted to cry out of embarrassment as you realized you were one of the two who were left, and you had been just sitting there like a fool. It shouldn’t be such a big deal but your ears flushed red nonetheless. 

There was a man who hadn’t introduced himself yet either. His gaze was turned to the floor. As if that wasn’t enough of a sign to tell he was uncomfortable, his body was tense and hands wrapped in front of his stomach as if to protect himself. 

“I’m Y/N. I like...” you paused. Someone could be here to gather information about you or use your information against you in the future. You couldn’t tell them anything too personal. 

“I like dogs,” you finally said. Damn it, that was too personal! Now that psycho police officer could lure you into a dog shelter and torture puppies in front of you just to make you suffer. 

Speak of the devil, Yunho smiled at you, “I like dogs too.” 

You fought the urge to scream and run away. His smile was charming but that was expected from a psychopath. Those kinds of people were good at manipulating. You had read a lot of books about it in order to protect yourself better. 

Nonetheless, you still smiled back nervously. 

“What’s your last name?” San asked. 

To be truthful or not to be: that is the question. You had purposefully left that part out of your introduction because you didn’t want to tell them your last name. What would anyone even do with that information? 

“Brokelsony,” you answered. 

Wooyoung snorted, “That’s not a real name, doofus. You just made that up, didn’t you?” 

You got caught. Your days were numbered now. How could you ever come back after everyone knew you lied to them?  

The way your eyes widened and you clutched the arms of the chair confirmed everyone that you lied. Liar, liar, pants on fire. Except you wanted your whole body to burn, not just your pants. 

“Come on, what’s your real last name?” Mingi insisted. 

Wooyoung joined in with a louder voice, “Yeah, we told our last names too!” 

“What are you so afraid of?” 

You were stressing out, gasping for air and digging for some explanation for your lie but you couldn’t think. All the noise and pressure made you dizzy. 

Suddenly Jongho chimed in, “You two chose to tell your full names out of your own will. It’s not an obligation to reveal your last name, so leave her be.” 

Everyone was shocked more or less. Jongho, who had been so quiet otherwise, had spoken up and defended you. 

He could have been embarrassed or regretful to have all the attention directed to him now but there were no emotions on his face. Only unwavering tranquility was like painted on his whole body. 

You couldn’t have been any more grateful to Jongho for the shift of attention and for being the voice of reason. The least you could do was to send him an appreciative smile so you did that. 

He did not respond to the smile. 

You really hated this day. Being embarrassed wasn’t an unknown experience to you but this felt just straight up humiliating. 

“Well, we have our one last patient. Would you introduce yourself?” Charlotte asked gently. 

It was definitely not a nice feeling for him to be the last one and have all the attention on him, you thought as you looked at the last man left. 

After a few moments he raised his gaze from the floor... only to look at his hands. At least you could see his beautiful face and birth mark a bit better now. 

“Yeosang,” the man spoke. 

Yeosang sounded almost apologetic like he was sorry that he was supposedly wasting everyone’s time by telling his name. You really felt for him. 

“Look what you did, Y/N. He learned not to tell his last name either because of you,” Wooyoung chuckled and received a scolding look from Charlotte in response. 

Charlotte looked around the room, probably taking in everyone’s names, and nodded. 

“You all have different issues like all people do. Even though some of you may have similar experiences or diagnoses, don’t forget that you have your own story to share, no matter how insignificant it may seem.” 

A few people nodded, acknowledging her words. You did too although you did not agree with her statement. 

Your story wasn’t meant to be shared. There wasn’t even anything to share. That’s what you wanted to believe at least. That you were completely healthy and normal, and that nothing bad had ever happened to you. 

“During next week we’ll start opening up more but today it’s time for something more exciting...” Charlotte smiled mysteriously, “Get into groups of three.” 

What was this? A pre-school? You did not want to talk to anyone. This was supposed to be a form of therapy not a blind date! 

You felt your palms sweat in nervousness. Who would you want to be in a group with? Or a better question, who would want to be in a group with you?  

The stress of realizing that probably no-one would agree to be with you made your chest tighten up. You cursed Charlotte in your mind for causing this. 

Every second felt excruciatingly slow but fast at the same time as you saw Hongjoong and Seonghwa already forming a group. You would be the last one left. No-one would let you into their group willingly. 

“Do you want to be in my group?” someone behind you asked like an angel who descended from Heaven to save you from the fate of being left out. 

Once you turned around, you froze. It was the Devil instead. 

Yunho stood there, towering over you, with that smile on his handsome face again. It was suspicious how kind he was.  

“Sure,” you nodded despite your head screaming at you not to. Carefully inspecting his expressions and movements, you decided he would be trustworthy enough now that there were other people in the room with you.  

“Awesome! Let’s go find another groupmate,” Yunho gestured you to follow him. 

So, you did follow him as he walked towards Yeosang who was standing by the wall, looking clueless and lost. 

You felt grateful that Yunho had chosen Yeosang out of everyone left because he seemed like the least aggressive person there. His arms were muscular but you wanted to believe he wouldn’t use them for anything else than carrying heavy grocery bags for old ladies. 

“Yeosang, do you want to join-” Yunho started but got interrupted by Jongho who had appeared behind you two. 

“Y/N. Join my group.” 

It was enough of a shock already to have Yunho ask you to be in his group, but now that Jongho wanted you in his group as well, you felt lost. 

You probably looked stupid as you were glancing between Yunho and Jongho, trying to figure out the situation, lips slightly apart. 

“No can do, dude. She’s mine... my groupmate, I mean,” Yunho crossed his arms. 

Even Yeosang raised his head to look at the scene with you as Yunho and Jongho started disputing. 

“Although you like dogs, you don’t have to treat her as one,” the shorter man sneered, “You’re not her owner, cop.” 

Yunho furrowed his brows. You thought of him as scary even when he smiled, but now that you saw him getting irritated, you felt horrified. What if he had a gun with him? He was a police officer after all. 

“I didn’t mean it that way. I just want you to find your own groupmates instead of stealing mine.” 

“Why are you so keen on keeping her?” Jongho raised a brow. 

“Why are you so keen on stealing her away from me?”  

Yunho’s question was just the right one to make Jongho silent. 

A slightly irritated expression crossed Jongho’s face but he just shrugged and said, “Don’t ask me.” 

“Who else should I ask then?” Yunho asked, confusion mixed with annoyance in his voice, but he received no response as Jongho just walked away. 

You watched Yunho’s expression from the side while he was still distracted by his own thoughts and emotions. 

His lips were pressed together tightly and ears bright red. It was clear he tried to control himself and his reactions, but you weren’t convinced by his act at all. 

You got to see him properly only when he swiftly turned around to face you. He did not touch you, thank God, but you were still terrified when you saw the look in his brown eyes. The same, usual smile was on his lips as he looked down at you but it was still vastly different. His eyes weren’t warm. His eyes were burning hot, full of fierce fire he had been hiding under the facade of a kind police officer who loved helping animals, and who knows what other lies he had come up with. 

His body towered over yours as he looked at with those eyes that made you want to curl up into a small ball and defend yourself like a hedgehog. 

But you weren’t a hedgehog and you couldn’t push out spikes to protect yourself as Yunho leaned closer. 

“I’m glad you didn’t run off with Jongho,” he chuckled. 

In the blink of an eye his expression was back to that weirdly cheerful one, as if you had imagined everything. 

Everyone was horrible. You were scared and worried. But you should have expected something like this already, you thought to yourself. 

After all it was just like you told Charlotte: if they were stable, they wouldn’t be in this group. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 2. ->

Masterlist

[jirsungs]

NO IDEA | 11. lemme guess, fake boyfriend responsibilities?

word count: 2k words (soo... i might've gone over my planned number which was 1k...)

As soon as Donghyuck got the address of the man that shall not be named’s frat house, he jumped up from his bed. The sudden rustling noise of his panicking startles Renjun and Jaemin, who are scattered around his room. Renjun sat at Donghyuck’s PC desk and was originally trying to peacefully relax and build his Minecraft cottage house while Jaemin was busy munching on chips he stole from their snack stash and playing a game on his phone. 

“Jesus! Dude!”

Donghyuck ignores Renjun’s shriek, already rummaging through his closet (which was not the cleanest, but the messiest) for an acceptable “college frat party” outfit. 

“What’s up with him?” Jaemin mouths to the shorter male, which Renjun shrugs.

Both, now intrigued, remove their focus on their designated activities, and transfer it onto Donghyuck. “What’re you doing?” Renjun asks.

Donghyuck finally answers when he grabs out a gray hoodie, taking a quick whiff before putting it on. “Jeno texted about Hyunjin and Belle making out in a corner and—”

“Lemme guess, fake boyfriend responsibilities?” Renjun interrupts. 

To this, Donghyuck frowns, and Jaemin only snickers at the reaction. “Hyuck, we’re messing with you. Go get your girl, man.” 

The former smiles. “Thanks, guys. I’ll be back in a bit.” 

Donghyuck’s pacing down the hallway to the door when one of the guys yells out, “And uh, if she pukes in Dongsookie, you’re cleaning it up!”

“Jun, what did I say about naming my car?!”

"Busy, can’t hear you!”

Rolling his eyes at Renjun’s obvious lie which was followed by Jaemin’s cackle, Donghyuck stands in front of the shoe rack. He’s about to put his foot into his shoe but stills himself for a moment. 

Is this the right move? What if she doesn’t want me there?

Before he can dwell too much on overthinking, his ringtone's annoying sound makes him jump in his spot. Is it a coincidence that you just happened to call him at this exact moment of his overthinking? He’s not sure, but the thought of it spreads a small smile when he sees your contact pop up.

“Hello?” He covers up his rapid breathing as if he wasn’t rushing to the door a few minutes prior.

“Donghyuckkk…”

The bumping background noise of the party music and your slurring words is all he can hear in his ear when he answers the phone, and Donghyuck doesn’t notice himself fanboying over how cute you are. He’s about to reply when you continue.

“Can yoooou… Pick… me up?”

“Y/N, how much did you drink, exactly?” The smile he’s wearing screams boyish; his teeth sink into his bottom lip as he anticipates your next reply.

“Pleaase…” With his question going unanswered, he decides not to push it.

“Alright, alright, wait for me. I’m on my way. Stay with your friends until I'm there, okay?”

The last thing he hears before you hang up is your little “Mhmm” before he hurriedly puts his shoes on, grabs his car keys, and exits out the door. 

“Sheesh, she’s cute.” 

Donghyuck finds himself fortunate that no one hears him giggling down the apartment hallway.

When Donghyuck drives up to the frat house, he observes the sight with a scowl on his face. It's your typical college party.

How do people enjoy this? How does Jeno enjoy this? He thinks.

Little did anyone know, he sometimes thinks he could enjoy it. But a drunk Y/N walking around in the party seemed like a more important issue to think about at the moment.

After playing out the multiple possible scenarios of what could happen when he walks into the party, he gains the courage to turn off the ignition. He exhales a deep breath before finally exiting his car. 

As soon as he opens the door, he knows he doesn’t fit in. The blasting music makes him cover his ears, and the sweaty bodies pushing into him have him holding his breath. Most importantly, he doesn’t love how people can tell he isn���t familiar with this type of environment because some partygoers side-eye him as he walks past, and even people he recognizes from class whisper to their friends. 

Luckily, he’s welcomed by Jeno once he walks a few steps into the frat. 

“Aye, Hyuck! You’re here!” Jeno’s pat on the back somehow made him ease up a bit.

“Hey, Jeno. Where’s—”

Wasting no time, Jeno, who already knows the end of his friend’s question, nods over to the living room, where Donghyuck catches a glimpse of you drunkenly dancing between two guys. He hates that he can’t detect their faces or how one of the guys is slowly dancing a little bit too close to you or the small fume of jealousy building in his chest, but that’s not important.

Still oblivious to Donghyuck shooting laser beams into the guys’ heads for being so close to you, Jeno continues, “Dude, at least try to look like you fit in. You look awkward as fuck.”

But all Jeno gets is a hit to his side, and he winces. “Alright. That was deserved.”

Noticing that Donghyuck’s mind is distracted, Jeno acknowledges the bitterness and chuckles at his friend. So, saying no more, he nudges Donghyuck further into the crowd.

“Stop stalling and make a move!”

Donghyuck looks like a lost puppy as he politely passes through the crowd. Or at least he tried to; most people couldn’t hear him over the god-awful music that was playing. Seriously though, who’s on Aux? But he listened to Jeno’s advice and continued to push through, not because he wanted to—well, he kind of did—but because he knew Jeno wouldn’t let him leave the house without you in his arms. 

He regrets making him his wingman. He’s kidding. Sorta.

He makes his way into the living room when he finally sees you. He’s glad to see that one of the guys he saw earlier isn’t dancing near you anymore, but the one he noticed getting closer to you was still in his spot. It was obvious the guy was trying to have you grind on him or something. He was clearly failing.

He’s also glad that he’s unfamiliar with the guy because a real problem could’ve started. But then again, it wasn’t like he had the balls to start a fight over this anyway. Still, it tempted him.

Donghyuck walks over to you and wraps his hand around your wrist, and you finally take notice of him. “Baby, you’re heree…” 

His ears perk up at the nickname, and so does the unknown guy who Donghyuck watches scoot farther and farther away. He squints, wondering how someone could be so pathetic to be trying to get something with a drunk girl, but he’s thankful he isn’t an asshole who doesn’t care about her having a (fake) boyfriend.

You leaning on his chest takes him back to the current situation, and one of his hands somehow lands on your back while the other rests on the side of your waist. To anyone else, he would look so physically stiff being this touchy with you, but you? You were too drunk out of your mind to notice a single thing.

“Uh… Um. Y/N, we,” He awkwardly clears his throat before he leans down to reach your ear. “We should go, angel?” His head tilts confusingly at how foreign that pet name sounded on his tongue.

Shit. Why do I sound so unsure right now?

He immediately covers it up: “I mean, yes, angel. That's the right one. But uh, we need to go.” 

He’s about to walk you out of the crowd, but you pull him back in. “Nooo, dance with me?”

You give him the prettiest puppy eyes you can muster, and in that small moment, Donghyuck realizes that he's just a man. A stupid whipped man.

But no, you're drunk. He can't get weak in the knees now.

“Y/N, you're drunk. You're literally tipping over right now.” 

“Am not.” Geez, the pout on your face just makes him want to kiss—

“Y/N, there you are!”

The new voice makes Donghyuck jump, his hands resting on your back and waist falter slightly. He was ready to run if the culprit was revealed to be Hyunjin, but to his luck, it wasn't.

Instead, it was,

“Yo, Chenle, what the hell! You can't just leave that girl hanging—”

Mark and Chenle. Great. This wasn't the first impression I had in mind.

Both boys, confused as ever, glance between you and Donghyuck. Chenle takes account of the placement of your fake boyfriend's hands on your body and smirks. 

Mark, being the saint he is, breaks the ice first. “You're Donghyuck, I assume?”

The said guy is about to answer when he glimpses down at you, and that's when he finds you completely knocked out on his chest. 

When he does, he sends an apologetic look to both of them, “Yeah, that's me. But um, I don't wanna seem rude, I know this is our first time meeting, but can you—can you guys help me get her to my car? Jeno called me about earlier, saying I should drive her home.”

Mark and Chenle exchange a look, almost as if they were mentally saying “he's a good one” to one another. Seeing that he quickly got their yeses brought some type of happiness and relief to his chest. He couldn't pinpoint it.

“Yeah, we can help.”

The moment Donghyuck succeeded in getting you inside your apartment was like a sigh of relief. He thanks Seulgi for being such an angel and lending him her spare key because he was well aware Yuqi was not going to. 

Was it difficult walking you out of Hyunjin's party? Yes. But watching you cutely stumble around the elevator on the way up and mumble gibberish made it all worth it.

He slips Seulgi's spare key onto the key hanger, his eyes not leaving your body as you walk around the living room unsteady. He smiles to himself when he watches you plop on the couch.

He's convinced you were knocked out again because of the decrease in mumbly sentences. So he's taken aback when he walks over to the couch to double-check to meet you with your eyes closed, but you cling onto his arm before he can leave. 

“Mm… Don't leave yet... I wan’ you heree…” You whine.

“Y/N, you’re drunk. Come on, let's get you to bed.”

“Ooh, the bed? Are we hitting third base already?” You tease, your eyebrows wiggling.

Even intoxicated and half asleep, she's still the same. An adorable pain in the ass. 

“Quit it, Y/N.” Despite his unimpressed tone, Donghyuck's cheeks still turn pink at your unexpected words, but he maintains his composure because he knows it's the intoxication talking. 

When he reaches under you to bridal carry you, he ignores the whiny protests that leave your mouth and is successful in holding you to your bedroom. He mentally reminds himself to thank you later on for Facetiming him so much when you needed extra help on certain math problems or just simply to enjoy each other’s company. If it hadn't been for the multiple late-night calls, he wouldn't have been able to differentiate your room from Seulgi's and Yuqi's.

After settling you into bed, Donghyuck thought that was the end of it. But it turns out you had other plans because now your arms circle his neck, trapping him close to you. He has no time to react when your lips meet the side of his neck.

“Hey, what—what’re you doing?” His words stuttered and nervous. He swears he didn’t mean them to.

He can't tell if you're drunk anymore. He hopes you are.

You wait for him to pull away, and when he doesn't, you smile against his neck, leaving drunk, uncoordinated kisses on it. “Just thought… I could make you look prettier.

Did she just call me pretty? Wait—geez, fucking focus, Donghyuck. She's drunk for God's sake. I think… Still, no!

Even though this moment is something he's dreamt about ever since freshman year, this can't happen now. You're drunk and vulnerable, and he'd rather have you in a state where you're only thinking of him, not your lousy excuse of an ex-boyfriend and his new floozy. 

He finally backs away from you. “Y/N, you're not thinking straight, alright? I–I gotta go.”

He doesn’t even wait for your reaction, immediately bolting out of your bedroom. He wastes no time in hurrying out of your apartment and letting whatever interaction between you two stay there. Plus, you'll forget all about this in the morning. For you, this never happened.

But for Donghyuck? Well, let's just say he didn't have the most comfortable ride home.

previous ☆ masterlist ☆ next

note: FIRST WRITTEN CHAP FOR NO IDEAAA, EVERYBODY CHEER!!! 👏 to those who read drum me, stupid, you're probably used to my written chapters that are planned to be short but end up being long... that'll never change, i fear 😔☝️ anyway! writing this made me smile bc ynhyuck are cute and hyuck's just an awkward boy:((( but i must sleep. it is 1am. I HOPE THIS MADE YALL GIGGLE AS WELL !

🖇 (open!): @skeetyeetyote @junviadinho @n0hyuck @yewshi @marvelahsobx @hqech @sunflowerhae @loveholicness @sfswithfs @222brainrot @dudekiss3r @aek1ra @nosungluv @miyawwn @haechology @chenlesfavorite @alethea-moon @polarisjisung @lionzyon @mystverse @insaneanddrained @starfilledgaze @onlyhyunjin @swee7dream @haechsworld @markspossibilities @schatjze @minniesbae @multifandomania @neozon3nha @zzurao @hoshipills @nessaassen02 @lavender-roses-06 @ohwowzersthatscool @sunghoonsgfreal @ldh0000 @taeeflwrr @do-you-remember-summer-127 @hyuck-me @injunnie-lemon @txthyuck @jeongintwt @starwonb1n @413ktz @haechansbbg @galacticnct @keeryverse @kosmicbomb @thegracerammy

[simpsdept]

Mother Carmilla x gender neutral child reader

Words: 1.5k

“Let’s practice”

A/n: hii! Okay so I saw someone post that this would be a great image! So I decided to try it, (or course with permission)! So hope this is great!

(Idea from: lillonvia)

Info: Basically the reader is Carmillas youngest child, and is trying to learn how to use those shoes Carmilla has as weapons. Readers genderless so this is for everyone! Reader is between the age of 9-12

By the way I tried to make all the Spanish words masculine since it goes for all genders (usually)

Your mother, Carmilla Carmine, was an overlord dealer of the angelic weapons. Which also meant she was pretty much trained to use all the weapons she makes. Your older sisters, Clara and Odette, were also trained, not as much as your mother but still enough to defend themselves.

You ok the other hand, no. You being the youngest of the family made her more protective over you, even not letting you go to close to the weapons. It did make you feel left out.

Your sisters knew how to use the guns and some of the daggers, but those were never really your true interest, it was those ballet shoes your mother wore. Once your sisters told you what your mother did to that exorcist during extermination day with her shoes, you immediately thought it was cool.

You wanted shoes like that. Maybe some like your mother. Though you knew she’d never say yes, it was dangerous, or so you thought she’d say no.

Right now, you snuck into the room where she stored all the weapons. Cases of guns and daggers lined up neatly on the shelves, bullets on all the racks. You’ve never been in the room before, your mother never let you.

You started to look if there were any other shoes that your mother could have. You found some boots with them, they weren’t your size though, you were a kid and most of these clothes and weapons weren’t designed for children. You sigh as you keep looking.

Carmilla just so happened to be walking by to do a daily check on her progress, and you tensed and froze. I’m instinct, being the child you were, you hid. Hiding behind a large shelf that probably wasn’t a good idea to hide behind.

Carmilla walked in, her steps sharp and you could hear your mother’s steps. You hold your breath as she checked the room and weapons that were shipped in. You sighed in relief when she walked over to another area in the room, leaning over a little, but that made the shelf shake…and then it fell. You gasp and froze as the shelf crashed onto the ground.

Carmillas head snapped over to where the shelf fell and saw you. Her eyes narrowed as she walked over. “[Name]? What are you doing in here?” She asked in a stern voice, keeping herself from yelling or raising her voice at the fallen weapons and broken shelves.

“I-uh…” m, You struggled to speak. Carmilla stood up straight and crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes at you and waiting for you to speak up. You sigh and stand up, your head down. “I just wanted to…learn how to use angelic weapons too..like how you and my sisters do..” You say softly.

Carmillas expression softens as she looks down at you and sighed. “Mi amor, do you truly want to use these? They’re dangerous and I’d hate for you to get hurt.” Carmilla said stern but soft.

“Pleeeeeeaaaase!! mamá I really want to! I’ll do anything” You beg your mother and gave her some puppy dog eyes to add to it. Carmilla let out a soft smile and held a hand out.

“If that’s what you want mi corazón..” You smiled back and took her hand. “But, if you want to use the angelic weapons, clean this up. Now.” Carmilla said more stern, pointing to the fallen weapons and the broken shelves.

You chuckle nervously and nod. “Yes mamá” you say and picked up all the angelic weapons. While your mother stayed and watched. She began to ask you a questions.

“Corazón? Which weapon would you like to use?” She asked you gently.

“Hmm? Oh! Uh, I was wondering if I could be taught how to use…shoes like yours?” You rubbed your arm, slightly embarrassed to admit.

Carmilla smiled softly at the response. Clara and Odette never wanted to learn how to use their legs to fight, they preferred blades. Her heart warmed at the thought of her youngest child taking after her. “Of course Mi querido, though I may have to make some of your size. So training will not begin so soon.”

You mentally sigh at that, you wanted to train right away, but knew you’d have to wait. You nod and smiled sadly. “Okay mamá..I can wait.” You say. She came over and pushed up the shelf for you.

“Thank you mi amor” Carmilla said and ruffled your hair a gently with her large claws. You giggle softly and finish putting the weapons in their places.

It took about 6 days for the shoes to be made, mainly since Carmilla wanted them to be more durable for you. She came and got you from your room. “[Name]? I’ve got you a surprise” She smiled and sat on the bed next to you, smiling softly with a box in her hand.

You smile and sit up, sitting next to your mother as she handed you the box. You open it and gasp and smile when you saw the same styled ballet shoes inside. They were like your mothers but just a smaller size. “ay dios mío- thank you mamá!!” You hugged your mother by the side and she smiled back.

“Of course Mi amor..now why don’t we try these on? And we can start practicing if you’d like.” She offered with a smile. You practically bounce up and down as you nod excitedly.

“Yes! I’d love to!” You just to your feet with the box, pulling the angelic shoes out and tossing the body on the ground to clean up later. Carmillas heart warmed up from how excited you were to use and train in those shoes, taking after her rather than using the more dangerous weapons like guns.

You both walk down the stairs, in the middle of the purple room. You looked around and smiled. Carmilla smiled down at you. “Alright [name], let’s put those on and I’ll teach you some ways to use them. But you must listen alright?” She spoke stern but soft.

You not and smile, putting the ballet shoes on (with a little help from Carmilla since you were struggling with the ribbons), and they fit snug. “Okay! I’m ready to kick some a-“ you stop your words when you saw Carmilla glaring at you softly for you almost cussing. You nervously laugh and calmed down.

Carmilla walked over and started to speak. “First of all, let’s get you better adjusted to walking in them. Stand on your toes.” She commands you gently. You nod and attempt to stand on your toes, though you only lasted about 2 seconds. “Try again.” Your mother stood near you, more firm now”

“Dang it..” you grumble softly as you failed again. Repeatedly, you fail over and over again, your mother demanding you to keep trying and trying. “This is too hard..” you complain a little as you became more and more frustrated.

“Patience Mi amor..you’re doing well..just keep trying. It’s all about practice.” Carmilla encourages softly and sternly. You nod and take a deep breath, trying again.

After a while you were able to hold yourself up for about a minute straight, you smiled and looked at your mom. “Look! I’m doing it!” Carmilla smiled softly at you and walked over.

“See? I told you that if you practice you’d get better..now try walking to me while standing on your toes.” She encouraged. “Like this” she walked across the room with ease, she held her arms out. “Soon you’ll be able to walk normally in them. And when you master that, I will teach you how to fight with them.”

You nod and smile, trying to stay motivated. You started to walk to your mother. Though you failed a lot, standing on your toes were hard, walking across the room on them…oof..even harder. But you did have you mother to encourage you along the way. You kept trying and trying and eventually did it, and you celebrated a little.

“Good job [Name]. Now we will practice more and more everyday. Just be patient alright my dear?” Carmilla told you, giving you a smile of approval.

“Yes mamá, I understand.” You smiled back excitedly.

“Good..then i will expect you to be wearing those all the time around the house to practice.” She nods and ruffled your hair gently, walking away to do her duties.

You smiled and nodded at your mother. “You got it!”. You were excited to keep practicing, you were determined and motivated to train and impress your mother. You knew it would be long, but it would be worth it.

A/n: hi! Hope this was good! If I get comments for part 2 I could make it.

[audentiaspacesworld]

Stylish and Functional Wooden Shoe Rack Design for Your Home in Hyderabad

A well-crafted wooden shoe rack design not only keeps your footwear organized but also enhances the aesthetics of your home. Whether you need a sleek modern rack or a spacious traditional design, choosing the right shoe rack ensures durability and style. In Hyderabad, expert interior designers offer customized wooden shoe racks to match your space and decor, blending elegance with functionality.

[cherryblossompink303]

Patience S2:08:~The twins take the runway!~

➼ pairing: Kyoya Ootori x Reader ➼ summary: You are called upon to help the fate of the twins family's reputation ➼ what to expect: "that is nothing to do with your ego and everything to do with the fact that you look good in purple" ➼ warnings: none ➼S2:07 / S2:09

"What on earth?"

You had a plan set out for today, a vintage beach movie vibe host club that had been on the calendar for a few months now, so when you enter the host club for the morning expecting a simulated beach like Tamaki had said you were just shy of shocked to find nothing of the sort.

Instead, there were so man clothes racks that you can't see the back wall of the host club, and mannequins, so many mannequins it is starting to give you a slight uncanny valley effect.

"Y/n! Good! You're here, slight change of plans!" Tamaki jumps out from within the clothes "Clearly, why does the host club look like we're about to start our own design house?"

"Because we are y/n-chan!" Honey arises from a pile of fabric, your jaw drops "What?" Kyoya appears next to you, hand you a magazine, front headline stating that the future of the Hitachiin company is in jeopardy.

"Seriously you two? If you're gonna pull random pranks on people you know better than to do it somewhere that you aren't going to be photographed by the press" You turn to the twins, who look awfully blaze about it all.

"We've already gotten the lecture from our mother y/n, we don't need to hear it again" Hikaru sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"So why are we starting a design house in the host club?"

"The outside world thinks that Hiakru and Kaoru are unfit to take over the family business when it comes to it so, we are proving that they are capable by hosting a fashion show!" Tamaki exclaims, throwing around various garments.

"Right...that sounds....interesting....wait, why did you text me an sos then?"

"Well we need models for it, obviously, and we are kind of short of feminine members of the host club"

"Oh great" you sarcastically smile "why don't you get some of the guests to model, i'm sure they would jump at the opportunity"

"Oh we are aswell....but you know... the more the merrier "You squint at the three of them. They're up to something, you can tell, it's just a matter of what.

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The twins take the runway!

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Somehow this all quickly descends into you being stood on a pedestal in a corner of the host club, your fellow members surrounding you in a flurry of discussions about fabrics and designs, all somehow gaining pairs of glasses and measuring tapes as if to complete the 'tailor look'

"Hey Haruhi, doesn't Mei like fashion design? Maybe she would be interested in this"

"Oh yeah, she probably will, I keep waking up in the morning to the sound of her hemming her skirts, I'll call her"

"Takashi is that a 3 or an 8?" Honey squints at the tape measure, you shift slightly at the idea of looking at your sizes. "don't worry about that Honey I have her measurements" Kyoya mutters.

"Wait what?"

He raises an eyebrow "Have you never questioned why the holiday houses happen to have clothes and shoes in your size?"

"Of course i have...."

"What did you think was happening?"

"....clothes fairy" you mutter.

"You would look good in Blue y/n"

"You think?"

"Yeah you have a certain...alice in wonderland quality about you"

"Thanks...I think?" Once again you stand there question how on earth you have ended up in this situation, becoming a mannequin for the twins, a nightmare of yours and a dream of theirs.

"It's a compliment, don't worry, we'll make sure you look good, we're planning a statement piece for you, all the attention focuses on you"

You let out a nervous laugh "Haha-haha-greaaat"

The host club stares back at you with eyebrows raised as your reaction, "You good y/n"

"Great, why wouldn't I be, what girl wouldn't love to be stared at on a pedestal by a crowd of people in an industry that is overly critical on women's bodies...I'm just peachy"

"Oh that's right, y/n has stage fright... well that does put a spanner in the works" Tamaki pondered over it, scratching at his chin.

"Oh well there goes our finale" the twins pout in the corner, you know what they are trying to do, that being guilt tripping you into helping them. However while you can't easily be sued by guilt tripping, someone else in the host club can.

"It really is a tragedy, poor y/n who longs for the spotlight but can never step into it because of her fear, like a sad little caterpillar waiting to become a butterfly! Y/n this is the perfect opportunity for you to step out into the light and flourish! We will help you conquer your fear and save the twins business" Tamaki declares into the air.

"Please I am begging you not to"

"I know its scary for you y/n but you will be better for it and find your passion once again"

You sigh, turning to Haruhi "I'm not gonna get out of this am i?"

"Nope"

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"Now y/n" somehow despite your protest you now find yourself on a makeshift stage in the hostclub, an interrogatory spotlight shining on you. "There are a few ways we can try and cure your stage fright"

"Exposure therapy"

"Positive reinforcement"

"Imagining we're all naked" Kaoru suggests

"I'd rather not, the last thing i wanna think about is you lot naked" you grimace at the twins "You'd only get jealous you can't see the real thing anyway"

"Okay! No nudity! and no exposure therapy! Next idea"

"Maybe we should consider what triggers her stage fright, you weren't always like this were you y/n-senpai?" Honey shyly mumbles at your pushback.

"No...I...no I wasn't"

"Good idea Honey-Senpai! Here y/n" Tamaki pulls out one of the host clubs sofas out from behind the clothes racks, urging you to lie down on it, him and the twins sitting at an arms distance away, clipboards appearing out of nowhere as they cross their legs in unison. "Tell us where it all began"

"I feel like this crosses a few professional boundaries"

"It would if this was a professional host club, but its not"

You huff in frustration, head falling back against the arm of the sofa and staring up to the ceiling. "Fine, what do you all know?"

"Not much, just that your father said a few things to you after a performance and it led you to quit performing for good"

"Well that's basically it, have you ever seen the movie dead poets society?" you earn a few nods.

"It's a similar situation to that, my father believes that any time spent on creative pursuits was time wasted, one day he came to a production I was in...I didn't expect him to praise anything but afterwards he drilled in how I should feel ashamed of myself, that if I am neglecting my studies for such things I should at least have...talent"

"That's horrible"

"you're not even a bad performer, we saw you sing during the Lobelia performance"

"Well I don't know about that but I just...the words stick with me whenever I'm on stage, I'm just conscious of it, my fathers words don't usually hold much weight with me but something about that just..."

"Y/n you were young and he is your dad you don't have to justify it to us"

You roll your eyes "Still, I know it's silly"

"Perhaps a fashion show is exactly what you need y/n, I know you don't like the idea of exposure therapy but mixing that with positive reinforcement could be good for you"

"Thanks tamaki but I don't really need you complimenting me when I know its for the sake of helping my stage fright"

"It won't be us doing it though, we continue the plan as it was, you go out with the statement piece of the night, it will go well and there is any criticism of the night it will be on the twins designs not on you"

"that's quite optimistic Tamaki"

"And that is quite pesimistic, y/n"

"Come on, y/n" Hikaru places his hands on your shoulders, appearing behind you on the sofa "You are our friend we would never embarras you on purpose"

"You literally make a point of doing that on the daily"

"Okay, well, our reputation is also on the line this time"

You sigh, "fine, but this is the last time, if anything goes wrong y'all cannot ask me to go on stage again"

The host club lines up to salute you. "Yes ma'am!"

♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡

A week later you are pacing back and forth 'backstage' at the twins fashion show, while you've been getting random words of encouragement from various people across the week they didn't offer much comfort.

The dress was amazing, that you couldn't deny that the twins have certainly outdone themselves but still cycling through your mind were all the possible things that could go wrong, tripping over, a technical malfunction, or god forbid a wardrobe malfunction.

"Dear? Are you back here?" Kyoya pulls back the curtain that you have somewhat been hiding behind "Hi" You you shoot him a nervous smile.

"Oh my..."

"Don't, please, I've heard enough attempts to cure my ego this week" he raises an eyebrow, stepping fully into the small sectioned off area "Is that what you think I was going to do?

"Am I wrong?"

"I was going to say that you look amazing, but that is nothing to do with your ego and everything to do with the fact that you look good in purple"

"Wow two compliments in one sentence from Kyoya Ootori... you're overdoing it a little which is how I know this is at least a little bit about my self esteem but thank you anyway"

"You'll be fine just try to take things slowly" you nodded, closing your eyes as you breathe in and out deeply. "y/n" Kaoru pops his head through the curtain "You're on in a min"

Your eyes shoot open, like a deer caught in headlights as your eyes frantically dart between the two of them. "Right...right..." you follow Kaoru out.

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"The exhibition was not only innovative but inspired, a well balanced mix of reminiscing on the illustrious history of the Hitachiin family fashion dynasty and hinting to the future, snatching their spots as rightful heirs by force after recent questioning of their eligibility. Eyes glued to their final piece of the night pictured left modelled by y/n l/n."

"Yes Hikaru I get it you don't have to read out the article again" you pinch the bridge of your nose, developing a headache "just making a point"

"Hello?" A knock on the door captures tamaki's attention, an older woman stood within it "I am looking for y/n l/n?"

You raise an eyebrow, sitting up from where you were laid down on the sofa "Nana?"

Next time on patience....'Strike three for Tamaki and Kyoya!'

'Mommy and daddy of the host club have had it, meanwhile y/n is trying to piece back together a different family Can the cold kyoya and the overemotional Tamaki work things out? Find out next time on patience!

We'll see you then!'

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[mixolya]

ᓚᘏᗢ — golden hours, golden hearts : chapter 006 !

the city of paris was still draped in the soft veil of dawn as you pulled yourself out of bed, the faint light of the early morning spilling through your curtains. you glanced at the clock. 6 am. not the most forgiving hour, but you were used to it by now.

you moved through your routine with practice efficiency, taking a quick shower before settling in front of the mirror. your hair was cooperative for once, falling into place as you brushed it. a touch of makeup followed, subtle, just enough to emphasize your features since they will do your makeup anyway.

the soft light of dawn spilled through the large windows of your loft, casting a warm glow over the sleek, modern decor. with a quick glance around the space, you double-checked that you hadn't forgotten anything before heading out the door.

your outfit was casual yet chic, your bag packed with all the essentials. satisfied, you slipped in your shoes and headed out the door.

paris was alive as always, even at this early hour. the hum of morning activity filled the air: delivery trucks unloading, café owners setting up tables, and the occasional chatter of early risers. the streets were a blend of familiar sounds, grounding you as you stepped into the waiting cab.

sliding into the backseat, you crossed your legs and gave your driver the address of the calvin klein studio. you weren't nervous - this wasn't your first high-profile shoot, after all. but, calvin klein was the first brand you worked with, so it's a little special.

as the cab moved through the bustling streets, you gazed out the window, taking in the familiar beauty of paris. a small smile tugged at your lips as you thought about the day ahead.

the calvin klein studio was sleek and understated, its modern design evidence to the brand's timeless aesthetic. you stepped out of the cab, your heels clicking against the pavement as you adjusted your jacket and walked through the glass door.

"y/n! so good to see you again," the assistant, aurora, greeted you warmly as soon as you entered. she looked effortlessly polished, holding a clipboard and radiating the kind of energy that kept things running smoothly.

"good morning," you replied with a smile. "i'm looking forward to today."

the assistant gestured for you to follow, her heels tapping rhythmically against the polished floors.

"today's concept is simple but powerful. clean, intimate, and very calvin klein," she explained as you walked. "we've selected pieces that will highlight the essence of the brand while focusing on the chemistry between you and your partner."

you hummed in acknowledgment, confident and collected as she continued.

this wasn't your first duo shoot, and the idea of working with another model didn't faze you. you were curious, of course, about who it would be, but your years of experience had taught you how to adapt to any situation.

"y/n, you're going to love these pieces," one of them said, gesturing to the rack of clothing. "minimalist, sleek, and classic CK."

your fingers brushed over the fabrics as you examined the options. soft neutrals, bold blacks, crisp whites. every detail exuded luxury and sophistication.

"perfect," you said, meeting their expectant gazes. "let's see what works best."

the team buzzed around, discussing pairings and accessories as you watched them with a calm, practiced eye. they knew their craft, and you trusted them to make the right calls.

once everything was sorted, aurora led you down another hallway to a quiet waiting room. the space was comfortable, designed to put any model at ease. a plush sofa sat in the center, with a table offering refreshments and light snacks.

"you can relax here until your partner arrives," she said, gesturing to the space. "shouldn't be too long now."

"got it. thank you," you replied, flashing her a smile.

as the door clicked shut behind her, you settled onto the sofa, your posture relaxed but composed. you let your thoughts wander for a moment, wondering who your duo might be. would it be someone you'd worked before? it isn't hyoma, for sure. or maybe a fresh face with a reputation that preceded them?

chapter 005 > here > chapter 007

taglist is open ! <3

back to golden hours, golden hearts

a/n: im sure yk what comes next man this is so boring if uk what happens next BRJHEKFOJIKR

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© mixolya 2025. do not copy, remake or edit any of my works.

[fashionteahouse]

Baby, I have a slightly unusual idea.

How about writing a Paul x Reader where the reader recently moved to Forks and became really close friends with Emily? One day, she visits Emily’s house, and that’s when Paul imprints on her. But there’s a problem: the reader is still getting over a previous relationship that was very good and healthy but ended due to long distance.

For a long time, Paul and the reader’s relationship remains purely friendly. Paul develops romantic feelings for her, but she still has lingering feelings for her ex. Then, one day, they have a fight (you can decide the reason) and spend some time apart. Later, Paul sees the reader with her ex-boyfriend at the beach.

I’d love for it to be a long story with a romantic ending between Paul and the reader. I’ll leave it up to you how to resolve things with the ex to make way for Paul.

oh wowww my love 🩶 I would love to do this ! hope you enjoy :)

swept away - paul x reader

Arms were crossed as you turned side to side, waiting for the cars to stop at a light or even better, let you cross the street.

You huff with a slight impatient stamp of your feet. The feet that had on shoes that earned you a compliment from a stranger.

You turn your head at the dark haired woman, “Thanks.” you say with a polite smile.

The dark haired woman was already smiling, but it turned bigger before she pressed the walking button on the pole.

“They never let you go. It’s ridiculous.” she says with a soft shake of her head.

“I know right.” you say with a breathy chuckle as the light turn yellow.

You both finally walk across the street once the cars stop at the red light.

A store where you could shop for less, you needed essentials. She apparently needed something like that because you found yourself holding the door open for her.

“Thank you.” she beamed at you.

“No problem.” you smile back as you both enter the store and the store clerk welcomes you both in the store and tells them to let you know if you need help finding anything.

“I love this store. Have you been here before?” the woman asks you as she’s already inspecting the shining jewelry that was on display. A shopping basket was hung on her arm now.

Your eyes tried their best to take in all what the store has to offer.

“Never been. It’s my first time.”

“I can tell you’re not from here.” she says and you both are at the same rack of clothes, scooting a hanger to look at the shirts.

“Is it that obvious?”

“It’s just that everybody knows everybody and a fresh face sticks out like a sore thumb….What’s your name?”

“Y/N. Yours?”

“Emily..So, where do you stay?”

“Forks. What about you?”

“La Push.”

“Where’s that?” you say as you press a shirt against you.

“It’s about 20 minutes West.”

“Do you come out to Port Angeles a lot? I’m liking it so far.”

“From time to time. I like to spend money and I try to avoid it as much as I can.”

You smile as you had the same problem. You both walk, veering off from each other. You actually get what you need while also treating yourself.

You smile at the fact that you’re behind her when it’s time to check out. She turns a bit and she sees you stands behind her in line. You look what’s in her arms.

Two cookbooks. A picture for home decor and a set of curtains.

“You like cooking and designing?” you ask.

“Yeah..This one is for muffins and this one has just desserts. Figured I try something new,” she says as she gestures the two books in her arms, “I want to change up my living room. It’s a new season.”

“I might need to borrow your eye. My new place has nothing on the walls and all I have is plain blinds that were already there when I moved in, not curtains.” you chuckle.

She chuckled as well as she started walking towards the cashier who was expecting her. She put her items on the counter as you went to another cashier who was open.

Before the woman named Emily, left, she made sure to exchange numbers with you.

“I love you already. You gave me an excuse to come back here with you. We can get some things to hook your new place up.” she promised with a smile. You couldn’t help but smile back.

That’s exactly what you two did. A week went by of texting and soon, you two were walking side by side, pointing at the different things that had the potential to make your home seem promisingly more attractive.

“Is it just you or are you seeing someone?”

“Just me. I left my old beau behind.” you say.

“I’m shocked that you’re single.”

“Wow, I’ve never received that compliment before.” you say with a lighthearted laugh.

You both entered your home and went right to work. It was fun. You only put up curtains during the times your grandmother would want to spring clean.

You would look at it as a chore.

With Emily, it was fun. You both laughed and talked.

“Are you seeing someone?” you ask her. She was beautiful and so nice.

“Yes. His name is Sam. I would love for you to meet him sometime.”

“Oh, yeah. I have to see your new and improved living room anyway.” you grin as you stepped back admired the picture that hung over your couch.

“You’re absolutely right.” Emily says with two hands on her hips, proud of the work you two put in. The next thing you two did was eat.

As you stared at your ceiling, in the new comforter that covered your body, you blinked at the darkness.

You didn’t know why you picked Forks. It seemed perfect. It was away from Seattle. A place you always wanted to leave from. Unfortunately, it was away from him. You underestimated how small the town was. You were glad though. This meant that friends were to be quickly made. You were grateful for Emily.

That was the last thought you had before drifting off to sleep.

In the morning, you stared at your phone, not caring that your cereal was getting soggy.

Emily invited you over.

You were excited.

She hugged you once she opened the door to your knock.

“Come in, come in.” she encouraged and practically pulled you in the home. It had a distinctive smell. A smell of warmth.

A man in a plain shirt comes in and politely greeted himself.

This was Sam. He looked intimidating until he gave you a smile that made your shoulders fall with ease.

“She’s told me all about you.” he grinned.

“I’m touched.” you admit as you smiled at Emily.

“Come and see the living room.” Emily says and takes your hand.

“This is so amazing. You did all of this by yourself.” you say with an impressed nod of your head.

“With Sam’s help of course. I definitely couldn’t reach to put those up.” she points to the curtains.

“And mine.”

The voice was unfamiliar but bold. You turn and see the man in the doorway taking in the environment. You took him in and he seemed to take you in with his eyes. They were unforgettable. He looked like trouble, but you didn’t mind that.

The feeling was strange however, it felt like you and him were the only beings in the room. No, the only beings on Earth. It felt like chains or a bind had wrapped themselves so tight around your soul and intertwined it with this man that you have never met before until now. A satisfactory hum flowed through you.

You turn back around as he moved himself away from the doorway to enter more into the living room.

“Yes. I can’t forget that you helped me too, Paul. And I thank you.” Emily says.

Paul entered the room and sits in the recliner and Sam makes a distasteful gesture, “That’s my chair.”

“When did Emily grave your name on it?” the man named Paul says.

You didn’t mean to breathe out a small huff of a chuckle but he grinned a bit as he saw the reaction that came out of you.

Sam steps forward and Paul gets up with a carefree grin and tone, “Chill out.” he says to Sam who only seemed to be annoyed with him. He pats Sam’s shoulder once Sam sinks into his chair.

“Get out of here.” Sam grumbled as he swatted Paul’s hand away as Paul sniggered.

“Come on, Y/N. We can try one of these recipes out.” Emily says with a smile.

You nod with agreement and let her lead you into her cozy kitchen.

The cookbooks she had bought were already cracked open on the long wooden table.

The table that Paul has sat down in. You pick one up and flipped through, reading ingredients in your head and looked at the pictures.

“I know you’re not in here to help out.” Emily says.

“I will.” Paul replied.

“Please. You’re just here so you can get first dibs.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

You and Emily chuckled a bit.

“When did you move here?”

You look up from the book slowly. The man blinked at you as he was sat back in his chair. You look down.

“Um…Like a good two weeks ago.”

“From where?”

“Seattle.” You say as you look back up.

“She stays in Forks.” Emily says.

“You have family here or something?” he asked.

“Nope..Just came here on a whim.” you answered.

“You’re probably saying that and you’re on the run from the cops or some shit.”

“Paul.” Emily rolled her eyes.

You grin a bit.

“What? You left Seattle and came to Forks. That’s questionable.”

“I wanted to go to a small town. I was a bit tired of the fast city life. I grew up with it all my life.” you admit as you turn a page.

Emily grabs a bowl as Paul says, “Well, you definitely got what you were looking for.”

“Hopefully.” you say quietly.

Paul watched as the batter was being added in the bowl and offered to stir.

Emily put the books away as you shake your head at Paul about to stir wrong.

“Does it really matter?” he asked in slight frustration. The faster to get them in the oven, the faster he could eat them.

“Yes. You’re supposed to like fold it. Not stir it like pancakes.” you say and take over. He watched. He stood close that you felt his body heat. You cursed your nervousness as he looked over your shoulder.

The light of the oven shined on the growing muffins as Sam entered the kitchen.

You look down and pretended your phone case was the most interesting thing to look at as Sam smooched Emily’s face.

You remember the giggles that once graced your face. The ticklish feeling of featherlight kisses. You missed it.

“I think they’re done.” Paul announced and was already opening the oven. You stand up as you sniffed the aroma.

You gasp and clasp your hand on his arm. You retract it quickly once he looked down at your hand.

“Are you crazy? You’ll burn yourself. Use these.” you say and hold up oven mitts.

“Watch.” he says as he splayed his hands and took out the muffins as if they weren’t straight out of the scorching oven.

“You are crazy.” you say quietly in confirmation. This earns you chuckles.

You answer as you look out the window. The phone was pressed to your ear.

“Hey.”

“Hey. Everything good?”

“Yeah. Everything’s great.”

“How was your day?”

You smile a bit, “It was good,” you walk away from the window as you let your eyes wander about your decorative room, “I met some people who are actually pretty welcoming and nice.”

“Oh, wow. What all you guys do?”

“Bake. Have fun. What about you? Did things get boring now that I’m not there?”

The chuckle he produced over the grainy line still warmed you up, “Hell, yeah…How’s that place treating you?”

“Good. The people made me comfortable…Enough about me. What about you? Save the world yet?”

“Ha, ha. Almost. But, no seriously, I called to let you know, I got the job…With how things are looking, I might be getting that promotion soon. They’re liking what I’m putting to the table.”

You freeze as you try to make out words. It was the thing that kept him back. The thing that made you two have differences for the first time. You two just simply wanted different things.

He wanted to stay in the hometown. You wanted to leave.

“That’s amazing…Wow…Congratulations….I really wish I was there to congratulate you in person.”

“I know…” you hear the smile in his voice.

You almost hold your tongue, but you couldn’t hold it. It’s been too long.

“I miss you.”

It’s silent and you start to regret your words but you hear, “I miss you too.”

Your heart jumps with joy.

“You do?” you whisper.

“You know I do….You ever think that maybe you could just come ba-“ you hear talking in the background before he sighs.

“Im gonna kill them I swear…I promise I will call you soon, alright? I gotta go.”

You chuckle a bit, “No worries. Talk to you later.”

The crunch of your footsteps made noises as you took in the breeze. It was jacket weather but you were surprised to see a figure with no shirt.

The muscles in their arms and chest flexed as they bounced the basketball against the hard pavement of the basket court.

A swish was made before he turned around.

“It’s creepy to watch people like that.”

You grin as you walk around the gate and enter the court. You bump Paul a bit, “Shut up.” you mutter.

Retrieving the basketball, you bounce it. The ping bouncing around you two.

Paul stared a bit before he unexpectedly steal the ball which made you groan. He smiled at your efforts to get it back but you freeze at his successful half court shot.

“Whoa.” you say quietly.

It was clean.

He retrieved it and bounced the ball as he circled around you with a smirk.

You sober up from being impressed. You cross your arms as you look at him, “You just got lucky.”

“Uh huh….I bet I can do that everyday.”

“Everyday?”

“Yeah.”

“Then why aren’t you pro?” you tease. You were a bit shocked at the fallen expression that was subtle. He went back to being neutral.

“You try then.” he says and bounced the ball back to you.

You grin as you throw it with a dramatic heave. It was an air ball.

Paul cackled as you rolled your eyes.

“I’m leaving.” you announce and leave out the gate but he keeps the ball under his arm and follows you.

“When you introduced yourself, you should’ve told me you were such a sore loser.”

“Would you quit it?” you say and touch his sweaty arm.

“You touch me a lot.” he says.

“You pick with me a lot.”

“I bet you like touching me as much as I like picking with you.”

“You shouldn’t be so cocky.” you say as you chuckle a bit.

“See? You didn’t even deny it.”

You groan as it was his turn to chuckle.

He goes to throw an arm around your shoulders but you duck as he laughed.

“Man, I’ll see you later. You’re getting on my nerves.” you say with a playful shake of your head.

As you walked, he called out.

“You wanna see a magic trick?” he says and you stop but don’t turn around.

“Does it involve sweat?”

He softly breathed out a quick laugh, “Not at all. Just follow me.”

You follow him. You didn’t recognize the area but it was nice to take in with your eyes. You walked through trees, away from the park and you stood in open space.

The birds chirped softly as you cross your arms and watch him set the ball down on the ground. You keep your eyes to the ball with a soft smile, thinking he was going to do something to make the basketball disappear.

“Alright. You gotta turn around.”

You look back up.

“That’s the oldest trick in the book. I turn around and you’ll leave me here.” you say humorously but deep down, you didn’t want to be left alone.

“I’m not going to leave you. I promise….It’s a transformation….You don’t have to be scared.” he explains.

“Like a….” you furrow your eyebrows with a questionable look. You didn’t know what to think but he just asked once more for you to turn around and when you look back, don’t be afraid of what you see next.

“Are you going to kill me?”

“Worse. You’re going to want to kill me.” he says.

It was suspenseful. So you turn around and next thing you know, you hear panting at the sight of the trees swaying side by side like a slow dance.

A loud crackling noise, almost sounding like electricity, bounced as you next heard a big heavy heave.

You blink as you were afraid to turn around but you still have your shoulders squared. You then relax completely once you felt a nudge because you figured Paul was making noises to mess with you.

You were ready to tell him how corny it was.

Only for you to gasp in total disbelief.

A shimmery live wolf was panting before you as it kneeled down. The eyes were friendly but the animal was just huge.

“Who’s…..Pet?” you just threw out because you knew it was a wolf, but for it to be so well trained, it was creepy.

“Paul?” you call.

The wolf responded and you stumble back some a bit but you don’t fall.

“What? How did you do that?” you stutter out.

The animal gets up and you can see the fluid muscles work with the fur. It circled you as you thought that you were dreaming.

“You’re not going to eat?”

You blinked at the full plate.

“Im not really hungry.”

“Y/N, you’re allowed to get freaked out.”

You look up and look at Paul who was nonchalant about everything.

“Is it hard? Did you freak out when it happened for the very first time? Wait. Were you born like this?”

“Which one do you want me to answer?” he asked with a slight smirk.

“All of them.” you whisper as you lean in. He leans in a bit too.

“The first time is always the hardest. I freaked out but I was mainly pissed. I was born normal it’s just that my wolf gene from my ancestors, was triggered. Growing up, we’re told the stories but I mean me, I didn’t ever think it would really happen.”

“Hm.” you hum as you look at the other people in the booths in the restaurant.

“You’re not scared, are you?”

“No.” you answer.

“Good.”

“I’ll still be your friend if that’s what you’re worried about.” you say quietly to him. He has an amicable look.

You thought things would be awkward but, you found yourself hanging everyday with him. He wasn’t as annoying as you tell him, he was actually nice to be around when he wasn’t out protecting.

He told you he calls them patrol shifts. On his turn, he has to scope out the area. Making sure no cold ones, vampires as known, come close to the reservation.

Lounging on his bed, you both simply talked.

“I don’t think I had a real real girlfriend. I don’t think I’ve dated anyone past two months.”

“That doesn’t even make any sense.” you say. A blind person could see that Paul had a face that made you believe he was off of the market.

“I’m picky.”

“Doesn’t seem like it.” you tease, earlier, your jaw dropped at a detailed escapade.

“We all have wants. But, I haven’t been able to find my need.”

“…I hope you find it.” you say as you look at a piece of string on his comforter.

“I found it recently.”

At night, you worried about him. You check your phone and the time was ticking.

You sigh softly into the dark room as you wanted to sleep but your mind kept you awake. You just wanted your thoughts to be swept away. It didn’t matter that Paul could turn into an animal. In a way, you felt it in your heart to be there for him if needed.

“We still keep in contact.” you say as you try out his gaming system with him.

“What’s the point? He’s your ex.” Paul says. He was grumpy. Groaning under his breath as he pressed down on the controller.

“Yeah, but we’re still friends. It’s possible to be friends with exes.” you playfully roll your eyes.

“So, if we were dating and I were to be friends with an ex, you wouldn’t have a problem with it.”

“No, because you don’t have one in the first place.” you burst out laughing in his face. He threw the controller down. You laugh again.

“You’re mad that I won.” you point at him.

“Whatever. That guy is probably taking some girl to bed as we speak.”

You sober up your laugh, “He would never do that. I know him.”

“Yeah, not so funny anymore isn’t it?”

You scoot off of the couch and go to his kitchen to get water.

“Our relationship was healthy. We knew…Well, know each other for a long time. He’s too busy with his work. He has dreams…He’s so smart…..When we ended things, things were respectable.”

“Not respectable enough…”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Seems that no effort was put in to still be involved in each other’s futures.”

You blink at him.

You shake your head as you move out of the kitchen.

He sees you with a shoe in your hand and he points a bit at the shoe.

“Leaving?”

“Yeah. I’m putting in effort to do that.” He rolled his eyes in annoyance, “You're being dramatic.” “And you’re so fucking disrespectful.”

“And you don’t know what you want. You don’t know how to fully let go of something that’s supposed to be in the past?”

“How about I leave you in the past?” You grit to him.

You try your best to give him a powerful shove.

“Don’t push me. Keep your fucking hands to yourself.” He snapped.

“Don’t call me.”

“I won’t. Don’t ask me to come over.” he sneered.

“I won’t.” you hiss.

With that, the house that you were comfortable with being in, was out of your sight as you made your way back home.

Time was spent apart. There was an aching in your chest but you didn’t want to be ridiculous. You were sure that it was all in your head.

The only time it seemed to ease, was nights when you would want to sleep.

“I was thinking, since I don’t have work this weekend, we could talk all about it in person.” You gasp with happiness as you reply, “You would come here?”

“Yeah! I want to see how you’re all set up and everything.”

“Cool. I can even show you around.”

You hug him tightly after he made it in town. He entered your home and smiled.

“Really nice.”

“Really?”

He nods. His smile still made your stomach do backflips and he takes your hand.

“Come on, you said you’ll show me around.” He says.

Paul was tired of the annoying pain. Most of all, he would be lying if he said that his days weren’t starting to be lonely.

He slept under your window in his wolf form whenever he could.

He didn’t care to talk to anyone else. He didn’t want to talk to anyone else.

A sharp knock hit your door. He was going to apologize for the words being said.

A different scent intermixed with yours. His heart dropped because he knew it wasn’t a cold one. He was afraid that you met someone else.

The beach usually calmed him as his chest rose up and down. He was upset with himself at the fact that he let words that could’ve been avoided, be thrown out.

The smell of the sea and the sound of the waves went unnoticed by him because all he could smell was your scent. All he could hear was your laughter. All he could see was your body that was close to the guy you showed him.

Your ex.

He turned to walk away after studying the scene before him.

It was as if you two didn’t miss a beat. You two caught up on everything, he told you all about his job and how excited he was.

“I have to tell you something.” He says quietly and it made you pay close attention.

“What is it?”

“I miss you.” He says quietly.

You look down.

“Just come back home, Y/N. We could finally move in together just how we dreamed of. I finally make enough.”

You thought about it. When you come home, the face that you wanted to see whenever you come through the door, wasn’t his.

Paul’s face popped in mind. It startled you.

You lick your lips due to slight nervousness.

“I kind of don’t want to come back.” You whisper. You already were starting to love it here.

“I know.. You always wanted to see the world. We could travel in the summers.” He offered.

“I have to think about all of this to be honest.” You whisper.

“Of course..I’m not going to rush you.”

You hug him outside of your door as he has to leave.

“Can I call you when I make it back?”

“Of course. Drive safe. Please?”

He nods and he hesitates for a bit but he leans in and places a soft kiss on your cheek.

You watch as the car disappeared from your driveway.

Shaking their hands, they reminded you of brothers. You giggled as they were full of energy.

“You guys know Paul?” You ask as you munched on the new dessert you helped Emily make.

“Yeah.” The guy named Jared tells you.

“He um…He didn’t come over?” You ask.

“No. He’s at home.” A guy named Embry speaks out.

As they started falling into their own loud conversation, you packaged a treat.

“Hey, Em. I’ll be back.” You tell her quietly. She nods as she sits in Sam’s lap.

Slowly, you walked to his house. It felt like you were walking on clouds as you realize that you haven’t been on his street for a very long time.

He opened the door. A robe was around his body and was tied tight.

You two blinked at each other.

“Are you going to just stand there or come inside?” He asks in a soft but deep voice.

You slowly smiled.

“For me?”

You nod, “Yeah….It’s my peace offering. We both said mean things. I miss my friend. I miss you Paul.”

He took the container with a grin before he eyed you a bit.

“I came by your house a couple of weeks ago. To apologize…You weren’t there. So, I went to the beach and I saw you.”

“Really? How come you didn’t come to me? We could’ve hashed things then.”

“You were preoccupied with your ex.”

You look down and let out a soft breath.

“I wasn’t going to interrupt that.” He says.

“It’s okay. You weren’t interrupting anything.” You say as you sit down on his soft sofa.

He has a seat next to you.

“He came. Why? Are you two back together?”

“No….He wants me to come back home. He thinks we can work things out.”

Paul sits back in the couch and looks ahead. You look to the side at his exposed knee before swallowing.

“So, you’re leaving?”

You blink at the tears that didn’t fall down your face.

He looked at your face before letting out a tired sigh and rises up. You don’t know why you did it, but you clasp a hand on his wrist.

“Paul-“

“So that’s why you really came over. To tell me goodbye.” He says at you and slid his wrist out of your grasp.

“No. Let me explain-“

“Y/N, I’d much rather if you didn’t come-“

“I want to stay with you, Paul.” You blurt out.

He froze.

“I can’t leave. I don’t want to leave…I love it here…I’m glad that I met you.” You say as you look down.

“What do you mean you want to stay with me?” He whispered.

You couldn’t look him in the eye as you became incredibly shy.

“Y/N.” He called to you.

He takes your hand as he was back next to you.

“I think I like…You.”

“I like you too.” He chuckled but you take your hand out of his and rest your hand on your forehead.

“No, I mean like….” You sigh, “Never mind.”

“Go on, Y/N. It’s just me.” He encouraged.

His eyes were warm and friendly as you let your eyes swim in them.

“I didn’t want to work it out with him. I want what we had to be swept away. For good. I want to….I don’t want to be just your friend. I want us to…Try each other on.”

He doesn’t say anything and you immediately regret letting the words spill out.

“What would you do if I said I feel the same?”

You blink at him in disbelief.

“Would you like that?” He asks you.

A burst of butterflies formed in your stomach as you nodded slowly.

“You don’t care about the wolf thing?”

“No. Of course not…I accept you and all of you.”

He leans a bit and you stop breathing.

“I have to tell you something.”

You nod. A fear was developed. You braced yourself for him to tell you that he met someone. You would be happy for him, but you don’t know if you could handle it.

“Part of being able to shift into a wolf, we are given a gift. A gift of our other half. It’s called imprinting.”

You nod woodenly.

“I imprinted on you. You’re my other half.”

“Really?” You whisper. He nods.

“So…Does this mean I become a wolf…Too?”

He chuckled before shaking his head, “It just means that you will always be apart of my world. I can be your friend, protector, brother…Boyfriend..”

“Do you want…To?….Be my boyfriend?” You ask quietly.

“I do…”

You were breathless and even more so as you felt his soft lips grace yours. You kissed your ex but this made you feel like it was a joke.

A soft sound was made when you two separate. You bring your lips into your mouth to collect yourself.

“It’s about time…I felt this way about you for a long time.” He admitted quietly as he cradled the side of your face.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” You whisper.

“I thought you two getting back together was a possibility. That’s why I acted shitty when you told me you two were still friends.”

You roll your eyes, “Seriously? That stupid fight could’ve been prevented.”

“It could’ve…..But, it only brought you back to me.” He proclaimed and you laugh under your breath as he pulled you close enough for you to be squished against him.

[daisynik7]

cw: fluff, established relationship, suggestive at the end

Author’s Note: this drabble was inspired by my snookums @dprkento because we were talking about building forts together the other day and I thought how cute would it be if we did that for husband!Nanami?! anyways, ily, thank you for always making me feel so special and loved. Divider by @/cafekitsune.

It’s been a stressful week for both you and your husband, more so for Nanami though, who has worked overtime nearly every day since Monday. When Friday finally arrives, you come up with an idea to help the two of you unwind. It’s a bit unconventional, maybe even a little childish, but you have a good feeling that it’s just what he needs. 

Around seven in the evening, you hear the familiar jingle of keys from the other side of the front door. You crawl out from under your creation, chest thumping with excitement, unsure how he’ll react to all of this. Waiting by the entrance, the door swings open to reveal Nanami, eyes tired, shoulders hunched, the aura of an overworked man surrounding him. He shrugs his jacket off, hanging it on the coat rack while he removes his shoes. When he sees you, his expression brightens, a small smile forming on his lips, always happy to be home. You greet him with a warm embrace, wrapping your arms around his torso, squeezing him tight. He nuzzles his nose to the top of your head, inhaling your scent, exhaling a heavy sigh. “Hi.”

You giggle into his chest then peer up at him. “You sound exhausted.”

“I am exhausted,” he admits, bowing down to kiss you on the lips.

“Have I got the perfect surprise for you then,” you say, smirking. 

He stares at you with a brow raised, curious. “Oh no, what now?” You’ve got another trick up your sleeve, keeping him on his toes. And while he pretends to be hesitant at first, he always looks forward to whatever you have in store for him. 

Tugging on his hand, you lead him into the living room, where your masterpiece awaits. “Ta-da!” You hold your arms out, presenting the pillow fort you constructed for him. The base is made of the chairs you dragged all the way from the dining table, concealed by mismatched throw blankets laid out on top of each other to act as the roof. The interior is designed with every pillow you could find lying around the house atop the thickest comforter you have to provide enough cushioning. The finishing touch is your favorite stuffed animal sitting in the corner inviting you in, the same one that Nanami won for you years ago after spending far too much time and money on a crane machine to get it. 

His lips are parted in surprise, inspecting each inch of it carefully. When he doesn’t have any response, you nudge with your elbow. “Well, what do you think?”

He kneels down at the entrance, appreciating the interior, eyes wide with wonder. “You built this? For me?”

“For us,” you correct him, beaming. “I thought we could give up on being adults for a night and relive our childhood.”

He chuckles, crawling inside, his muscular body filling up nearly the entire space. “I never built a fort like this when I was kid. This is a first for me.” Loosening his tie, he rolls over on his back, leaning his head into the pillows, finally relaxed. He waves over to you, beckoning you to join him. 

“Hold on. Let me get the snacks.” You shuffle towards the kitchen counter, gathering all the treats you prepared for tonight: chips, candies, even a box of pizza from one of your go-to restaurants. You dump all the food near the entrance of the fort and shimmy beside your husband, laying the pizza flat on your laps. He presses a sweet kiss to your cheek before grabbing a slice to indulge on. 

When you finish dinner, you set up a laptop on a small standing tray near your feet, snuggling closer to Nanami, who has since removed his tie and unbuttoned his dress shirt. From your peripheral, you can tell he’s not paying attention to the movie. Instead, his focus is on you. 

Still facing the screen, you grin. “What?”

He hums, leaning in closer, his mouth hot on your skin, not answering. He places a delicate kiss on your neck, lingering as his hand slides across your thighs, slipping between your legs. “Kento,” you breathe out, turning towards him, capturing his lips with yours. 

“Thank you for this,” he whispers between kisses, sliding his other hand beneath your shirt and up your back, fingers at the clasp of your bra. “I love you.”

It doesn’t take long for the two of you to undress and christen the pillow fort properly. As Nanami cradles you in his arms, watching you sleep against his chest, he admires the fort one last time before slipping into a peaceful slumber with a smile on his face. 

[hurriane23456]

Borrowed Life

Mark lounged on the plush couch in his boss’s sprawling living room, the silence of the house pressing down on him. The job was simple: house-sit for Mr. Harrington while he was out of town, water the plants, feed the cat, and ensure nothing went amiss. But after two days of solitude, Mark was growing restless.

He wandered upstairs, his footsteps muffled by the thick carpet. The master bedroom was as pristine as the rest of the house, with sleek furniture and a bed so perfectly made it looked like it belonged in a magazine. But it was the open door to the walk-in closet that drew his attention.

Inside, the closet was a testament to Mr. Harrington’s meticulous nature. Clothes were arranged by type and color—casual sweaters, pressed shirts, and pants hung with military precision. Shoes lined the shelves below, polished and spotless. Mark scanned the racks, curiosity piqued. It wasn’t like he’d ever own clothes like this.

One section caught his eye: a pair of olive-green cargo pants hanging neatly beside a soft, heather-gray hoodie with a subtle logo of a microbrewery on the chest. They looked relaxed, practical, the kind of outfit someone might wear for a Saturday of errands or grilling in the backyard. It was so different from Mark’s usual jeans and hoodies, yet oddly enticing.

Before he could second-guess himself, he began undressing.

He started with the underwear. From a drawer, he pulled out a pair of dark navy boxer briefs, softer and more luxurious than anything he owned. As he slid them on, they fit snugly against his skin, smooth and cool. He smiled at the sensation—it was like wearing a second skin.

Next, he grabbed the cargo pants. The material was lightweight yet sturdy, with deep pockets that seemed designed to hold everything imaginable. He stepped into them and tugged them up, fastening the waistband with ease. The fit was looser than he was used to, but they were undeniably comfortable.

The hoodie came next. Pulling it over his head, he let the fabric settle around him. The fleece interior brushed against his arms, warm and inviting. The oversized fit draped over his frame, the sleeves slightly long, making him feel enveloped in a soft cocoon. He adjusted the hood, letting it hang behind him, and turned to the mirror.

It wasn’t enough.

He looked at the row of shoes and picked out a pair of slip-on sneakers with scuffed white canvas. They looked well-worn but cared for. As he slid his feet in, he immediately noticed they were just a touch too small. His toes pressed lightly against the ends, and the snug fit around his heels was noticeable. He wiggled his feet, trying to get comfortable.

“Close enough,” he muttered, taking a few steps.

The slightly tight shoes didn’t ruin the illusion—if anything, they made him feel more like he was stepping into someone else’s life.

Then he saw them: a small container of contact lenses sitting on the shelf near the shoes. Mark hesitated, his curiosity warring with his better judgment. He’d worn contacts before, but these weren’t his prescription. Still, the idea of fully transforming into his boss for just a moment was too tempting to resist.

Carefully, he opened the case and took out a lens. After washing his hands in the en-suite bathroom, he slipped it onto his eye. It took a moment to settle, but once it did, the world came into focus. He repeated the process with the second lens.

Looking in the mirror now, Mark barely recognized himself. Without his usual glasses, his face seemed sharper, more confident. The snug boxer briefs, relaxed cargo pants, slightly small sneakers, and cozy hoodie completed the transformation.

He struck a casual pose in front of the mirror, hands in the deep pockets of the cargo pants.

"Not bad," he murmured, smirking.

The snugness of the shoes made every step deliberate, the soft padding of the sneakers cushioning his movements while reminding him they weren’t quite his size. The contact lenses gave him a surreal sense of clarity, like seeing the world through someone else’s eyes.

For a moment, he allowed himself to imagine it: being Mr. Harrington, living in this enormous house, dressing like someone who had it all together.

The sound of a thud downstairs snapped him out of the fantasy. Mark’s heart leapt into his throat.

He bolted back to the closet, yanking off the hoodie and cargo pants. He slid out of the sneakers, wincing as his toes flexed gratefully, and carefully folded everything back into place. The boxer briefs came off last, swapped for his own worn pair. Finally, he removed the contact lenses, rinsing them meticulously before placing them back in their case.

Breathing heavily, Mark slipped back into his own clothes and rushed downstairs.

It was only the cat, batting at a fallen book. Mark let out a shaky laugh, his pulse still racing.

As he picked up the book, he glanced down at himself. His old jeans and T-shirt felt boring, even drab, after the luxurious outfit.

“Maybe I need to step up my wardrobe,” he muttered with a grin.

For now, though, he was content with the memory of being someone else, even if only for a fleeting moment.