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kirby-the-gorb · 2 months

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reply roundup!

I've done basically nothing but lay down and be exhausted since kirb2k over 2 months ago, but I did at least get the kirbox orders fulfilled. I have an immunology appointment in another 2 1/2 months and maybe they might do something to help me feel better. (it's a bad time. I know it seems to be most of what I talk about, but it is kind of all-consuming. even this roundup wore me out.)

also there are sometimes comments that make me smile but I don't have anything to add to them so I just read them and smile and don't put them in the roundups, but I promise I do see them all, like the many yeehaws (and yes haws and heehaws) for [cowboy kirb] <3

on [the last roundup] @hive-heart said: Hope things get better, kirby guy 💕 thanks for the reply :) also yeah! Sitting by the window during a storm is quite nice

they haven't lol, but thank you!

on [kirb2k] @ceylonsilvergirl said: HAPPY Y2K EVERYBODY!! I am joke, but it did give me serious “turn of the century’’ vibes. oof… that sentence hit me like I drank out of the wrong grail

that was intentional, that's also why we started with the macarena in the 1990s :>

on [errands] @crypptiid said: ME! MY ROLLATOR IS BLUE AND EVERUTHING @sunflowerinthemidst said: oh look it's me only my walker is hot pink 1😅😂

nice! I should really repaint mine if I'm ever feeling well enough lol

on [the last roundup] @gudetamalover said: :O!!! I’ve been noticed! My surgery went very well btw, thank you! [details removed for privacy.] I love your art so much btw, it brings me and my mom so much joy! I love this little pink dude, he’s got a permanent place in my heart ❤️

man that sounds rough, good thing it got ironed out quickly! and I'm glad it brings you both joy <3

on [errands] @pilcherthegreat said: oooo might add this one to my Kirby brigade tattoo 👀

oh hell yeah that sounds so cool! (for anyone else wondering, tattoos on your own body count as personal use and are totally fine by me!)

on [screaming] @persimmonlions said: i always forget how much i do not like the chaotic cacophony of a crowd until i am in a mall, like ‘oh yeah i DO get overstimulated no wonder i constantly skipped classes when i was 10’. anyway i got back home at 3 and proceeded to sleep for 6 hours

ugh omg yeah especially when you actually reblogged this 2 months ago and there were still holiday crowds and all the extra decor and stuff, the mall can be So Much.

on [macarena] @unconventionalvoidaxolotls said: holy heck, go kirby go! oh yeah this is a great first post. beautiful

ehehehe it's an honor :3

on [plushies] @the-void-is-a-disappointment said: finally getting around to reblogging this but thank you bunches for the commission!he looks so comfy and cozy i love it, he deserves this

he does! he does deserve to be so cozy and cute! (and thank you again for the support!)

on [bloodstream] @lord-chiopet said: Kirby in my blood could fix me

well he certainly wouldn't make me worse lol (fun fact: you kind of already have a bunch of kirb-likes in your blood! macrophages are a type of white blood cell that engulf and isolate or destroy foreign matter like splinters, viruses, and even tattoo ink! they're basically eating anything that tries to get into your blood that's not supposed to be there -u- )

on [fire] @jupiterlandings said: kirby I am hurrying to you with blankets and a tent and a warm meal, we may be in the wilderness kirby but we can still look at the stars even when the night is cold. and even if we can’t see them they’re still there and they’ll send the sun to look after us tomorrow. it’ll be ok kirby we’ll be ok

waah this is just such a sweet thought ;n; thank you for sharing it.

on [frown] @shapeshifterwithafez said: get well soon OP :c <3 this kirby nevertheless brings joy to my dashboard thank you!

I will not but thank you! I'm glad he brings joy regardless :)

on [worm] @thecosmickitty said: Hey fam just wanna say i love your art. Thank you for sharing (:

aww thanks!

on [mcas] @untoldsoup said: Im sorry about the health issues 😞 hope you get the treatment your looking for

I appreciate it <3 it's still gonna take a while one way or the other, but hopefully eventually someone will do something.

on [float (up)] @ceylonsilvergirl [added] a ufo to abduct him, then on [rainbow] they [added] an alien kirb to greet him, and on [freckles] they [added] the view out the ufo window :) this little saga was very cute and did cheer me up a bit, thank you <3

on [float (down)] @angst-and-fajitas said: Ah he's floatin away

the kirb's not made for helium balloons! (a reference to [this vine], and good news this upload is actually from the person that made it!)

on [sacrifice] @joekingv1 said: *sits next to baby and waits to see what happens*

I really wanna draw a short comic for this but it seems like I'm not gonna feel up to it anytime soon -n-

on [stars] @gidkog said: *GASP* at world’s ass…

oh no you're right :x that was not on purpose lol

on [earring] @roboticutie said: yay!!!! he's here again today :D thank you!!!

your enthusiasm is sweet! he will be here every day! :)

on [sora] @ducksandlemonsandbigoldfish said: Kiev Kernel Kirby I hate autocorrect

this made me laugh lol

on [sora] @canvascoloredin said: congratulations! I've played all the kingdom hearts games (except Melody of Memories, Sorry Kairi), and started when I was around six but haven't had the time to buy a console I can play 3 on. Have fun for me!

I haven't played melody of memories yet either, the rhythm for all the rhythm minigames was always so janky that I'm kind of worried about how it might play tbh. but I am having lots of fun, I'm sure it's enough for both of us!

on [tattoos] @theraphos said: high five kirby i just recently resolved to finally get myself a tattoo this year also

nice! I hope it goes well :)

@turpial-thoughts asked: hi

hello!

on [worry] @graycoin said: I hope the wait is worth it.

yeah me too :s (thanks. and for all your other sympathetic comments whenever I complain about it as well <3 )

on [float (side)] @joekingv1 said: *asks baby what they think about when they go floating*

probably very little I imagine. even less than usual lol

on [bread] @joekingv1 said: *asks baby what they got while secretly hiding some extra treats for baby, Bear and Cake*

this one is just very cute, I had to read it aloud to my partner when I saw it.

on [sea] @graycoin said: This gets across the vibe very well. I get why you'd feel that way, I think. It's understandable. I'm glad people are trying. You deserve it.

thanks. I've always had a hard time conveying like, internal stuff for some reason, so it's nice when it seems to make sense to someone else.

on [sea] @ceylonsilvergirl said: Kirbo is in the storm, tossed by the waves, threatened by lightning at any moment in the dark. not even the stars to shine through the clouds. but he’s still floating, and that has to count for something

surely it must count for something TnT <3

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sta7z · 2 years

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“Meanie!” Nancy x Little!Reader (featuring the fruity four)

Warnings ig?: Y/N being a menace to society. Nancy being strict. Fruity four 🤩🤩 mentions of time out and spankings. Uhhh homosexuals.

🦋:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ Butterfly :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ🦋

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧ ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧ .・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．｡･ﾟﾟ･　　･ﾟﾟ･｡. Meanie >:[.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．｡･ﾟﾟ･

It was just You, Robin, and Eddie. The three of you were watching the Care Bears, Eddie fell asleep and Robin was halfway passed out. You decided to grab the remote and change the channel. Killer Klowns From Outer Space was on! Yes! Nancy and Steve both agreed on no horror movies when you’re little, but you had seen this one before. You knew it was nothing but animatronics and special effects.

You continued watching the movie, in absolute awe and terror. You watched as one of the clowns put on a puppet show, and then… ZAP! You squealed as the man was wrapped in a cocoon of cotton candy. Eddie and Robin stayed fast asleep on the couch. You decided you wanted to make a drawing, you grabbed your crayons and started rummaging around for paper. Until the idea struck you! There was this boring wall in the corner, in your least favorite color, a nice drawing would look great there!

The movie continued on as you scribbled away on your newly found canvas. You heard keys jingling in the door, you hurried up and put your stuffed animals, that were once sprawled along the floor, lined up the against the wall. Nancy walked in along with Steve. “Hey baby!! Can you come help us put up the-“ The high pitched laughter of the Killer Klowns was really really loud. You rushed to change the channel but by then Nancy was behind you. Crossing her arms and tapping her foot. “What is this?” Nancy asked, her tone stern. “I- I um. It’s just… Eddie an Robin said I could wach its!” You whined pointing at the two who were somehow still asleep.

Nancy shook her head. “Butterfly, just tell the truth and you’ll be in a lot less trouble.” You looked down at your feet and shrugged. Steve came into the room and huffed, “Thanks soooo much for the help with the groceries guys, so much teamwork!” He sat down next to Eddie and gave him a gentle kiss on the head. He tilted his head at my anxious expression “what’s the matter little bear?” Nancy turned to him and said “Someone here is watching a horror movie, which is against the rules, and is trying to blame the sleeping beauties.” Steve took a deep breath and ran his hand through his hair, “Teddy Bear, tell the truth. I doubt either of us wants to deal with Nancy’s fussing all day long.”

You opened your mouth to explain until Nancy turned her head to the pile of stuffed animals in front of the wall. And your crayons stuffed into the box sitting on the floor beside them. “W-wait d-don’t wook! Mama don’t wook!” You tugged on her sleeve. Nancy sighed and moved the stuffed animals out of the way, she saw your drawing and took a deep breath. “Y/N,” god. Your name. Shivers went down your spine. “You’re going to clean all of this up do you understand me? And if it doesn’t scrub out you’re repainting the entire wall” Tears started welling up in your eyes “Nuh,uh I don’t want any of that, you know not to draw on the walls. Me and Steve just got you new coloring books and sketchbooks. We told you we would before we went to the store!” Nancy scolded. You looked down at the ground and mumbled a “Yes mama”.

Nancy went upstairs, as Steve scolded Eddie and Robin for falling asleep while watching you and filled them in on what happened. “Jeez, she really wouldn’t make them paint the whole wall… right?” Robin murmured. “With how upset she is, probably.” Eddie interjected. “Shouldn’t we go help? I feel kinda bad… we were supposed to be watching her.” Robin said getting up, Steve pushed her back down and said “I want too aswell but you know how serious Nancy is about punishments-“ The three shuddered, “yeah-“

You finished wiping away the rest of the crayon marks off the wall “M-mommy I done.” Steve came over the inspect the wall. “Good job teddy bear! I’ll go get mama okay?” You hesitated for a moment then nodded. Nancy walked over to you and gave you a big hug, “you know I love you right?” You nodded. “I still need to punish you, you know that Butterfly.” “B-but I cweened up!” Nancy gave you a loving look “I know but not only did you watch a big girl movie without permission you also lied about it. Twice.”

“You’re lucky you were able to get your drawing off the wall, if not you’d be over my lap right now.” Robin chuckled from the side of the room, earning a ‘You’re next’ look from Nancy. “Now as for your punishment, you’re going to write ‘I will follow the rules’ and ‘I will not lie’ on a peice of paper 20 times each.” You stomped your foot and whined “No mama! Not lines! I learned my wesson, I be good!” Nancy tilted her head and cupped your cheeks. “I know butterfly, but I, well, Steve has been letting you off the hook a lot lately. So you do your lines and no more TV for a week.” You pouted and mumbled “you’re mean…” under your breath. “Do you want a time out too?” Shocked that Nancy heard you, you uttered an apology and grabbed your pencil and paper to start writing.

A/N WHY WAS THIS SO LONG???? I wrote this while procrastinating on homework so there are probs so many Grammatical errors-

#nancy wheeler #nancy x little reader #fruity four #mom steve #isaiah’s idiocy #fruity 4 #nancy x reader #stranger things x reader #Age re

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mrs-han · 3 years

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“Wife.”

You peeped your head out of the bathroom and grinned impishly. “Husband?”

A cranky expression on his face, Jumin approached you and flashed his fingers towards you. “You painted my nails.”

You covered your mouth. “Why do you assume it was me? Could have been anybody!”

Jumin scowled. “Nobody else has access to our penthouse.”

“… Elizabeth does.”

“You’re joking. Look.” Jumin brought his other hand to face you, the black nail polish glistening under the bathroom lights. “Look at this.”

“It’s beautiful!” You giggled, hugging his waist. “It’ll match your suits!”

“Wife, honestly.” Jumin shook his head and let out a pouty huff.

“You don’t like it?” You chirped, rubbing circles into his chest.

“Truth?”

“Always.”

“No.”

“Fine, fine. I’ll remove it -”

“Look at it, wife. You got the polish on the sides of my fingers. It’s smudged, and there is no clear coat to finish it off.”

Your eyes widened. “Oh…?”

“It must be removed so you can do it properly.”

Your eyes nearly popped out of your face. “Oh?!”

“Mm. I’ve never painted nails before, so I can’t do it myself.”

“Wait, you…! You want me to repaint your nails?!”

“Yes,” Jumin answered matter-of-factly. “Did I not make myself clear?”

“You’re a business man!!”

“And?”

“You…! You’re going to waltz into a meeting room and brandish black nails?!”

“Yes.”

“I was trying to play a prank on you!”

“Your prank cannot defeat me.” Jumin smirked devilishly, yanking you closer to him. “Grab the nail polish. You’re redoing it.”

“Ouu, ouu! In that case!” You jumped eagerly. “Can I paint your toenails too?”

Jumin chuckled. “Of course. A manicure and pedicure deluxe package done by my own wife… how exciting. Except, it’s a pity nobody will see my toes.”

You bit your lip. “I will!”

Jumin pressed his forehead to yours and pinched your cheek. “Don’t you dare think about showing anyone in the RFA.”

“Why not!” You laughed, swatting at his hand.

“Because I want to do it. So make sure it looks perfect.”

You puffed your cheeks and saluted gaily. “Yes, sir! Also, to be fair, you were sleeping while I painted your nails. That’s why they look so sloppy, you moved around.”

“Excuses,” Jumin murmured.

“It’s not an excuse! It’s the truth!”

“Excuses,” Jumin shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest and further smudging the nail polish against his white shirt. “… Oops.”

#mystic messenger #jumin han #mein schatz #jumin x mc #jumin x reader #I really want a manicure OwO #I just gotta wait for my fat index finger to heal up and I’ll be able to!!#How exciting!!#Spotify #EDIT: EYES NEARLY POPPED OUT OF YOUR CHEST???#HAHAHAHAHAHA #OKAY ME

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rivendellsstuff · 3 years

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𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ━━━ 𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐈 𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐍

𝐀𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐘𝐨𝐮 | ❝In despair, he condemns his desires. Regretted, he know the consequences would be eternal and all he wanted was you. Your fiery personality, bright lips and soft skin.❞

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2310;

Genre: friends to lovers;

𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫: Mentions of canon-typical violence. The first chapter is set before the events of the first season. Friends with benefits — so, it'll be eventual smut (like, a lot!)

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: English isn't my natives language, so if you spot a misspelled word or anything else, feel free to let me know.

━━━━ 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑

Some men's whish the glory, others crawl like snakes by power and there is those who live like rats in the system. However, there is a exception — and his names is Levi Ackerman. Emerged from the underground, by dust and blood, forged as a weapon at an early age and steeped in pride, he raised as humanity's strongest soldier. He carries a doctrine, imbedded in his bones: he serves to humanity, the balance and the freedom of mankind. If there is a threat, he is the man who can fight against it, ranging from cruel people to evil titans.

He was born in cruel times and did his best to survive in the Underground. He found a glory he wasn't looking for. Something many wish to through their lives, but which, for him, was irrelevant. They all bleed, they all are stuck on the Walls and share the same ended chapter: the death. The final outcome is not defined by possessions, achievements or privileges in life. The only difference was that could get death any easier and painless. Levi was not a hypocrite: he would rather a peaceful death, lying on his bed, instead of being eaten by a titan.

He rather — and is all what it is. It wasn't like if he had any choice. The Ackerman's family were designed to protect the people and to fight. They were cursed with a power. Some people could say it is a miracle in dark times. Others would argue that mans were corrupted, cruel and too ambitious to deal with that awakened power. Well, Levi knows, that no everyone were worthy to possess such ability — Kenny, that asshole, was one of them.

However, there was kind strange situation. An only exception, an affliction that hung over through the heart and maddened his mind: you.

Desire wasn't a word enough to define how he feels close to you, a fearless female warrior, who destroy each barrier he has built over the years, causing delirium with the thought of you hurt. Levi knew he would have taken a checkmate just by desiring you.

But when it all starts? He couldn't say with sure. Maybe, when he, Farlan and Isabel were recruited by the Survey Corps, and you were the only one who spoke to them without undriveable mock and trial. You, besides Erwin, didn't seem to care where they came from. As deeply loyal as you were to your comrades, you didn't depend on your interactions with them for take a direction — you were content to follow your own passions and desires without input from anyone else.

Maybe it started when he saw you in battle or an a argue with a member of Military Police Regiment. Fear is not in yours's vocabulary when you are on the battlefield or when you are speaking her mind to others.

As their partnership grew, he'd find some similarities between you, but also many differences.

You, just like him, has little patience for any form of prose or riddles when you are communicating with others. You speak bluntly and without pretense, and expects others to do the same, prefers to get to the point and doesn’t seek to romanticize your expectations or intentions. You also are focused on the present issues and what role you can play in protecting the people that you love, what can prevent you from seeing the future results of your present actions and, unlike him, does result in some impulsive and risky — yet brave— actions.

All these little things over the years, made him fall in love with you, and Levi had ways to say it without saying "I love you".

Like that night.

He wasn't hiding his disgust face when handed you a cup full of that steaming, black liquid; the simply smelling coffee could make your stomach turn, but still, he prepares a cup for you every night.

As the second in the command, you have spent several evenings together conducting the next advances of the squadron. So, there you are, sitting next to him, eyes focused on the paper, turning the pen between your fingers and... biting your lower lip.

Occasionally, almost instinctively Levi raises his eyes to you. Being so close of you was it's a unique feeling. The smell of your perfume as stunning, and his throat closes around the words he would like to say. The tension that has been brought in was too dangerous for someone like him.

Fucking woman, fucking lips. Fuck you!

''Is there a problem?'', you inquired making eye contact for the first time that night. He couldn't say if there was perversion when you wet your own lips, but Levi felt his muscles become tense and contracted when you made it.

Levi responded with a faint whimper before observed: ''You shouldn't be drinking so much coffee at this time. You look like shit when don't get sleep''.

Lie. Fucking hell, you're always beautiful, but no way he'd say what he thought.

You rolled your eyes. ''It's you who did'', you put forth.

''I wasn't in the mood to put up with a brat attitude from you.''

''Brat? You know that we have about the same age, don't you?'', your gaze traveled from the figure sat in front of you to the window, confused as to why you would be embarrassed about his presence. You took in a breath before adding: ''Anyway, don't want sleep.''

There was a pause for a few seconds. You and he eyed each other.

''Why?'', he asks, authoritative one.

You shrugged and shook your head firmly. ''It doesn't matter.''

''If it doesn't matter, why would I have asked that?''

"Cause you're snooper”, you smirked.

''I'm not a snooper, brat."

He felt his heart begin to quicken when you carried the pen to your lips and start biting.

"Yes, you are a horrible snooper old man, bossy and with an astonishing mania for cleanliness."

"Old? You know we have about the same age”; he repeats. His eyes drifted back to your face, noticing your gaze had shifted again to the woods beyond the window. "And you're avoiding the question", he softly says (at least as softy as he could be), interrupting your rampant thoughts. "Are you alright?"

Levi watches in silence as you'd shoulders slump.

"I can't sleep. My mind has the scary capability of being evil, although I always thought that one day it'd get better", you're voice was low and flat, quiet and a little sad as you spoke to Levi, who seemed to know what are you exactly referred to and only nodded at your words. "I feel guilty. All the time."

Even in the darkness the room held, your eyes find his greys one like the starlight's.

''Are you afraid of your dreams, too?'', you asked, never expecting the humanity strongest soldier to have any fears.

'Yes'', he said quietly.

You nodded with hesitation, his words repainting in your head as you struggled to forma a sentence to answered.

Levi was used to such sadness, he had month's — no, years — to griever over the deaths of his mother and friends. Death was not uncommon thing in his life. His childhood who should be carefree, playing in the sun, was like a living nightmare, learning to fight in the darkness of Underground. Later, when he left the place to join the Survey Corps, he accepted to live in that never ending tragedy that people had sadly grown used to. Death was more common in that job than anything else, and he knows how badly it fuck with his mind.

“I’m beginning to think we’re a lot alike… you and me. We’re both strange cast, who’ve learned to fight when we’re backed into a corner'', you began weakly.

''Well, we’re backed into a corner now. Two fucking insomniacs”, he shook his head, thinking about your words. He didn't seem to like the way your voice sounded sadder. You raised your eyes to him again as he slowly spoke: ''You're not alone''

You answered a tiny smile onto your lips. Levi felt his cheeks burn and opposite glanced to your empty coffee cup, thinking that he'll able to always tolerate your strange addiction.

A few second later you both went back to work, and Levi was left with words stuck, temptation planted in the mind and a sure thing for him: the insomniac nights would become better by you.

【 ━━ 】

Inside Wall Sheena, guests were arriving, among them five members of the Scout Regiment - consisting mostly of commanders - walked through the gates, exuding self-confidence, bitter to participate in that boring and stupid meeting.

Little lies, little social sacrifices to feed what kept the Scout Regiment going: funding.

It was not necessary to be an expert in politics to see beyond the traditional veil of those events, to perceive the intentions of certain parliamentarians, very sadistic. Knowing it was part of your job to relate to these kinds of people annoyed you.

For one minute, you saw out of the corner of your eyes, the first on your command. The man of grey eyes used a black suit that fits perfectly. Be present in an event with so many politics didn't seem to his liking. Was kind of hard for all of you play nice one with all this tension in the air.

You've never felt the feeling of fear and tension like that inside the Walls before.

''Stop frowning before you break your face''

'It would be so sad, and you would cry for being depriving of that beautiful face''

''Oh, fuck yourself'', he says, angrily.

''If you watch''

You smirched at his expression as he looks up to you, after seeing your face, he turns away.

''Watch your words, brat''

''Or what, old man? What will you do to me?''

He looks back up at you.

''I could break you habit of drinking coffee, put you to clean all the HQ or even to help Hange with the experiments. The three together seems good, by the way''

You roll your eyes.

''You're mean''

'You're annoying'', he replied. ''And you know, if you keep rolling your eyes one day their going to get stuck like that''

''Are you trying to be funny?''

His little grin showed up making you roll eyes into a smile. He was terribly bossy and annoying, but you like that about him.

You took the glass of wine to your lips and raised your eyes to hit his. Levi hovered over you, making you felt that flame into your heart once more. Your eyes tailed down to Levi's lips then back to his eyes. You could feel your heart beating recklessly.

Fucking grey eyes, fucking black suit. Fuck you!

You felt a thumb on your cheeks, making them burn.

''You look...'', he started whispered and slightly caress your cheeks. Your body started to get hot under his soft touch. ''... beautiful. You look beautiful''

You were speechless.

You liked the sudden ardor, of the dangerous attraction, of folly and frivolous with provocative sins. Liked and thought how the taste of his lips would be: the indomitable, the irresistible, the powerful and sin.

He slowly dragged his hand down to my thorax wrapping his hands around it. A soft gasp escaped of your lips.

''You know... If you want dance, it'll not rude to ask'', you try to say. ''The song is awful, but I'm not a demanding partner''

''Only if you don’t step on my foot''

His prepotency make you smile.

''Don’t be a bad partner and there will be no mistakes'', you retorted, making him raised one of the eyebrows. ''That's how a men should behave next to a woman''

He took you in his arms, abruptly, making the bodies collide with intensity. You gasped, very close to Levi's ears, who felt the hairs stand on the back of his neck. Leading you through music, in no second was the look averted, in a battle for unknown control.

You and Levi explored a unique experience.

He stares burned deep into your body. His touch on your skin made your body tingle.

Fuck, control yourself. Don't get turned on by him!

He didn't say anything, just left you hold into him. You could feel your body burning around him. What was he doing to you? It felt like a spell. The effect of sin, of desire. You should get rid of that, all you needed least were distractions in the workplace and ruin the friendship, trust and partnership that you two took so long to build.

However, both keep looking to each other longer than friends should. Longer than friends should...

He could saw you lost inside your mind. Slowly, he pulled down his fingers, lazily touching the skin of your exposed back by the dress. Levi's vision was blinded by the desire his image represented. The surroundings smelled wine and fruits, intoxicating his sense. The ears, doomed to hear the political bullshit. His tact could burn by touching you. His taste? It was dangerous, because wanted to discover the taste of your lips and body.

But not now, not here.

You are his friend — the only who was left. In despair, he condemns his desires. Regretted, he knew the consequences would be eternal and all he wanted was you. Your fiery personality, bright lips and soft skin.

To hell all of that. When you both got back, he'll fucked you, every way that he can thinking off. He wants to pound into you, slammed into you and give the best night that you ever have. He wants to kiss every inch of your skin.

''Good girl'', he whispers next to your ears. ''But I'll show you how true men should behave next to a woman when we get back''

#aot x reader #attack on titan imagine #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman imagine #levi x you #levi smut #levi ackerman series #attack on titan fanfiction

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onthesandsofdreams · 2 years

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In Dreams [1/?]

Pairing: Sansa x Sandor Rating: T Summary: When Sansa buys a beautiful home just outside King's Landing, she cannot believe her luck. But, she finds soon enough that this house has a secret Words: 1105 Notes: Do I know where I’m going with this? No. But here we go.

Read @ AO3

Sansa closes the door with a foot.

The house is silent. Lady is around exploring the place and she sets the box in her arms on the floor. She allows herself to smile. She owns a house!

The house is a handsome one. Large and for being over two hundred years old, it is well maintained. She begins to look around, this might not be the first time she’s come, but this is her officially moving in.

The living room is large, and her pink sofa draws the eye. She will have to repaint the walls, she does not like the dark gray in the walls. She wants something brighter, happier. The large window lets lots of light in and she wants to make the room look larger.

She already has prepared several pinterest boards with cottage and vintage inspired decor for the rooms. Walking into the kitchen, she allows herself the feeling of pride. It was the room she fixed first as soon as she closed in on the house. The walls are a soft blue and, besides the chrome kitchen appliances, everything is white. It gives the feeling of cozy and vintage without being in your face about it.

Lady is lying near the door that leads to the backyard, and raises her face and wags her tail at her. She takes one of the treats that she has already placed on the kitchen island, and tosses it at Lady. Lady catches it in the air and goes back to lying.

Leaving the kitchen, she makes the way to what will be her office. It had been one of the things that attracted her from the house, the fact that the largest wall had floor-to-ceiling bookcases. The other wall will be painted, or maybe she will be bold and get some floral wallpaper.

She walks out and heads towards the second floor, the house has five bedrooms, all with ensuite, and that was yet another reason she did not hesitate to make an offer on the house.

The master bedroom was the first one to be painted, she had opted for a blush pink that was so feminine and lovely. She had gotten a new bed too, a four poster with dark wood that she had fallen in love with. Robb, Jon and Theon had been kind enough by helping her fix her bedroom first, so that way she would sleep well and would not have boxes in there laying everywhere. She sighed, she would have to bake them something in thanks.

She could still not believe that a house such as this had been so cheap!

She kept expecting one thing to be wrong, but the rooms were clean, the electric wiring was up to code, there was no trouble with the water pipes and drainage. And she still could not explain how and why the house had been such a steal.

The house was just outside of King’s Landing, it had a large yard and came with some acreage. Gods, it even had a carriage house! The worst she could say was that it needed a deep cleaning and some new paint or wallpapers in the walls and the house would truly be a stunning place to live.

She went back downstairs, intent on ordering some food and having an early dinner and tucking herself in. While her brothers and Theon had helped with her room, she had hired a moving company for everything else, and today she had spent all day directing people as to where to place her boxes and the few pieces of furniture that she had. The rest of the day, she had spent it dusting and cleaning as much as she could.

By the time seven came around, she was physically exhausted and starving. So, she took her phone and ordered herself a triple cheese pizza. She knew that she had a nice bottle of Dornish red to go with it.

As she waited, her phone vibrated. Robb. ‘Everything fine?’ Read the text.

Smiling, she quickly replied, ‘Yes, thank you.’

‘Good, let me know if you need anything. Also, don’t forget to call the alarm company.’

Blessed be Robb, no matter how old she was, he still thought of all of them as his little siblings that he needed to protect and make sure that they were safe. ‘I called them last week, they will come Thursday.’

‘Good. Call if you need something.’

‘I will. Love you.’

‘Love you too.’ She would always love her big brother, for being such a protective brother. Not that she didn’t love her other siblings, but Robb was her big brother.

Her pizza arrived surprisingly quick, she ate in her bed while watching a movie. Lady kept making whining sounds in the hopes of getting some of her food. And while normally she would not indulge Lady, she was in such a good mood that she gave Lady the pizza crusts with some pepperoni.

She still felt too awake to sleep, so she grabbed a book and began to read. She might take a bath later on if she still could not sleep. It was such a funny thing, but while her body was tired, her mind was fully awake. She supposed that it was the whole thing about moving in that was mentally exciting.

It was past midnight when she gave up, prepared herself a bath and added lavender and chamomile oils to the water. She soaked in the hot water and enjoyed the aromas coming from the water. It was exactly what she needed to sleep, and when she felt herself dozing, she stood and got out.

She dried herself and changed into a silk sleeping gown and went back to bed.

Some odd instinct made her look at her phone, it was a few minutes before one in the morning. She sighed, she was lucky she was between jobs and had no responsibilities to attend in the morning.

She laid in bed, covered herself and closed her eyes.

As she was falling asleep, she suddenly heard footsteps in the hallway. They came really close to her closed door and they stopped. A beat of silence, and then the footsteps retreated quietly. For a moment, she panics. But Lady is resting at her feet and is not bothered at all. And when it comes to protection, Lady was just as fierce as her littermates. So, that soothes her a bit, and blinks, her eyes feel heavy and she closes them as she promises to check the whole house in the morning.

It was then that she fell asleep.

#sansan #sansa x sandor #sansa stark #sandor clegane #lady the direwolf #asoiaf fic #asoiaf #multipart: in dreams

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captain-apostrophe · 3 years

Note

Uhhhh is this where you ask for 650 words prompts? I'm sorrg I don't have tumblr I'm trying to figure it out. If this is wrong pls ignore me. As for the prompt jc/nhs or nmj/cj or nmj/lxc cottagecore setting (or similar) would be really jnteresting if they're soulmates but one of them is a ghost (who is maybe haunting somewhere bc secretly they're really romantic andupset over seemingly not having a soulmate) I know this is maybe abit of a crazy idea but it sounded nice in my head 😅

I don't know if I got this exactly as you might have intended, but I hope that you like it anyway, anon! And for the record yes, this is exactly where you ask for the 650-word prompts. Thanks for reading, anon! <3

(also on ao3, if you prefer to read there)

[Gen; NieLan; Cottagecore; Ghosts; Soulmates]

- Liebing -

The man who moved into Liebing's house was... unexpected. He was big - tall and broad, almost too big for the cottage - and scowling, with a neat mustache and his head partially shaved in some curious modern style. Liebing watched him duck through the kitchen doorway to deliver a box that was, helpfully, marked 'KITCHEN' on the side. The man's sleeves were pushed up and his arms were impressively muscled. Liebing watched shamelessly. It had been a long time since he'd had somebody so pretty to look at.

When he had company, the man was gruff. There was a brother who called the man dage, who met the man's grumpiness with teasing and laughter. Another, who also called the man dage but didn't look like a relative, who smiled enigmatically when the man frowned at him. Strangers called him sir and ran when he glared.

On his own, though, the man was sweet. He hummed tunelessly as he worked. Liebing watched from his shelf as the man learned to make bread (it took a few attempts but he seemed to enjoy kneading the dough, so it was never a total loss), as he seasoned a cast iron pan, as he set up a homemade spice rack and added to it each grocery run. Liebing watched his cooking experiments and delighted in seeing the expressions on the man's face when he tasted each meal.

And through the kitchen window Liebing could see the yard: he could see the man weeding the overgrown garden, fixing and repainting the rickety fence, chopping and stacking firewood. He watched the man offer scraps to a huge feral cat that more often than not clawed him for his trouble... but it came back more and more, scratched him less and less.

One day the man convinced the cat to let him shut it in a towel-lined box and take it away in his car. When they came back it had a collar and sometimes after that it came into the house. Liebing worried that it would jump up on his shelf, knock him down and break him, but the cat quickly became a spoiled, lazy thing. It liked to sprawl across the table and sleep there, no matter how many times the man chased it away.

The man sometimes came to look at the things on Liebing's shelf, the old things that belonged not to the owner but to the house, but it wasn't until he'd lived there for a year (Liebing watched the seasons change, through the window) that he actually touched any of it to do anything other than dust.

If Liebing had been capable of breath he would have held it, when the man picked him up from the shelf. Most people wouldn't go further than that, than turning him over curiously a few times before placing him back. But maybe, maybe...

The man hesitated, then laughed at himself, then placed Liebing against his lips and blew. The note that sounded was clear and beautiful and perfect. The unravelling of the spell felt like surfacing from deep underwater, rushing upwards toward light and warmth and air, and before the note ended he was free.

Xichen, no longer Liebing, returned to his body with the man's hands on his cheeks and the man's lips pressed against his lips. Magic tingled between them, making them both gasp, pulling them momentarily closer together - and then the man stumbled back and stared at him.

"Thank you," Xichen said, "and I'm sorry - I didn't mean to steal that kiss."

The man's eyes rolled back and he dropped in a quite dramatic faint.

Xichen sighed, and stepped around the man to offer his hand to the cat to sniff.

"I hope he won't hold that against me," he said.

The cat purred loudly in response; at least he would have company while he waited for his soulmate to wake up.

(and yes, the cat's name is of course Baxia)

#prompt fill #fic-iversary prompts #the untamed #fanfic #nielan #cottagecore #ghosts #soulmates #cap' writes

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iovnyu · 3 years

Text

not prepared.

SUMMARY. you heard stories of past queens who had to deal with the suffering and pain through trials. now, you are doubting your skills and strengths after being put under tests to determine who can be queen. these trials do not guarantee that you will come out alive, but with the help of kings from other kingdoms – you might have a chance.

genre. prince! au, strangers to friends to lovers! au, angst, maybe fluff

pairing. [??] x female reader

word count. 1.7k

warnings. aggressive language? others tba

disclaimer. please know that the way the story perceives the members does not mean it is how they act like in real life. if you find any mistakes or points in the story that is not clear, please let me know and i will fix it right away.

Royals don’t have it easy, Y/N learned that the hard way growing up. It took her awhile for her to fully grasp the situation that was being handed to her. She didn’t get why she had to compete with other girls for the crown. Granted, her father is a king of one of the biggest kingdoms but Y/N would rather worry about what she was going to eat tomorrow than fight more capable girls her age for some title.

Her father, on the other hand, thought differently. This whole competition for the crown was the sole reason he wanted his wife to have a girl. Having a son would be great but if he had a daughter, it would fall in his favor. He wanted his daughter to become the next queen so he can have a bigger advantage over the other kingdoms. When he heard that his wife gave birth to a girl, he had never thought of anything else. To Y/N, he only cared about the title and the worth of others. Their personality? Completely useless to him, it was at the bottom of the list.

It shocked Y/N at how calm he was when her mother died. To be fair, he did cry for a day and then shook it off the next day -- immediately arranging plans to get Y/N ready to become queen. It’s been two years since she has left and as every day passes, Y/N feels as though her father never really loved her mother. It was something she didn’t question about -- love isn’t real, simple as that.

Although, she did fantasize about her future with a dashing prince. They would get a nice castle somewhere on the outskirts of the kingdom, have a lovely British Shorthair cat, and live happily ever after with him. This was quite impossible as her dad banned her from meeting other people outside of the castle. She is strictly ordered to do tasks around the palace and to never talk to anyone that she doesn’t know.

Y/N only talked to the maids and chefs that she occasionally saw walking the halls though, she never had a proper conversation with them since they had more important things to do. The one time she did hold a conversation was with one of the guards that stood outside guarding the castle. You can even say Y/N’s life is miserable and she would agree.

If you are wondering how Y/N was schooled if she has never talked to anyone else, she was homeschooled. Her mother had taught her everything she needs to know. After she had died, Y/N had to ask the maids behind her father’s back to get ahold of school books. She quickly found out that her mother had taught her different lessons compared to those in books. Her mother taught more useful and reasonable things in life and the books were little to no purpose for daily life.

“Princess Y/N, do you happen to be awake?” A deep voice said from outside of Y/N’s door. Whirling around in her undergarments, she walked to her dull-looking door. Opening a tiny crack, she peaked her head out, looking at who this voice belonged to as she knew it wasn’t her father. She was met with a young-looking face who showed no expression. “Who are you?” She asked, closing the door a little more in case she was revealing herself too much for this stranger.

“Lee Heeseung. Prince Heeseung, miss.” He said with a shy but firm voice. His voice sounded like how he looked -- attractive. Y/N didn’t notice how long she was staring at him in silence until he cleared his throat waiting for a response. “Oh, I am almost ready. Please wait in the dining area, I will meet you there when I am done, Prince.” She responded, gesturing over to where the hallway leads into the dining room.

Prince Heeseung bowed to her and made his way down the hallway. It was already confusing trying to find Princess Y/N’s room as the castle had many corridors, some of them even being dead ends. He admired the designs that were painted on the wall, it had looked like the castle never had a speck of dirt on them.

He had to pass by many rooms to get to the dining room -- or one that looked like a place where people eat. This room though, had looked dull, like no one bothered to repaint the chipping walls or refurbish the worn-out table that had tiny drawings on them. Heeseung tried his best not to let his curiosity get to him and sat down on a chair that was placed at one of the ends of the table.

Y/N on the other hand was embarrassed as to why she thought it was a good idea to open her door in no clothes. She has never done that before so why, out of all days, it had to be today that she opened her door with her undergarments?

She tried her best not to think about it as she got dressed in the lovely dress that was ready for her on her dresser. It wasn’t one of her long dresses but rather more of a short and comfortable one that she can breathe in. She lightly patted her hair down and walked out of her room and into the hallway where the guards stood, waiting for her. Y/N smiled at them, she suspected that her dad wanted them to watch over what she and Heeseung will talk about and to make sure Heeseung doesn’t try anything.

“Good Morning, Princess Y/N. How did you sleep?” One of the guards asked her. It was a shame Y/N wasn’t allowed to know the guards’ names at all so, she assigned them random names. The guards that were walking with her are Guard Eagle and Guard Carrot -- Eagle was because he always watched Y/N’s moves everywhere she went and Carrot is because he would always eat her vegetables when she was little. It was really bad names, but they have grown accustomed to Y/N calling them random things.

“I slept well, I could have slept better though,” Y/N said, looking at Guard Eagle. “How was your sleep?” She asked both guards who shrugged and continued to navigate their way through the hallways behind Y/N. They made it to the dining area where Heeseung sat awkwardly in one of the chairs, waiting for Y/N.

“Sorry, I was not able to introduce myself properly,” Y/N said, smiling softly at the Prince in front of her. “Princess Y/N, as you already know.” She bowed.

Heeseung was in awe with her beauty, her smile was one of the most angelic thing he has ever seen. He didn’t notice how long he was staring until one of the guards that stood behind Y/N coughed. “Oh! Right, Uhm.” He got up from the chair and walked to Y/N. “Prince Heeseung of Minbury Kingdom -- it’s a pleasure to meet you.” Heeseung grabbed her hand and gently laid a kiss on the back of her hand. He turned to the guards and bowed to them too, in return they gave him a smug look.

“My father had told me you are just meeting me today, is that correct?” Y/N asked, examining him. Now that he was standing in front of her, she was able to see him more clearly -- noting that he was an attractive gentleman and had a very fancy attire considering that he was just here to meet you. Heeseung nodded, “Yes. I am just here to say a brief hello and I will be on my way.”

Y/N nodded back, giving him a small smile and pointing to one of the chairs. “Please, sit.” She pulled a chair back, waiting for him to take a seat. “Did you need any water? Or some food?” She asked, looking for the maids that were usually somewhere in the room -- in which they were nowhere to be found.

“Oh, no thank yo-,” Before Heeseung could answer, Y/N made her way to the kitchen, still no sign of the maids. She frowned and started looking around. She had found soup in a pot that had looked like it was just freshly made and some bread that was laying out next to the pot. Y/N prepared two bowls of soup and a plate of bread loaves along with two glasses of water. Juggling the tray that held the food and drinks, she wondered how the maids would always do this for every meal.

“Sorry, it looks unprepared. I couldn’t find any maids to help me.” Y/N frowned, setting the table with the utensils before placing a bowl in front of Heeseung -- who gladly accepted. “It is okay. It is the thought that counts.” He said, smiling at her. If Y/N had a counter to record how many times her heart has fluttered, it would have been in the twenties right now.

She placed a bowl in her usual seat and sat down, handing Heeseung a piece of bread. “That is a unique saying, I have never heard of that before,” Y/N said as she ripped off the end of the bread and eating the soft parts of it. It was a habit she has always done since she was little, no matter how many times her father has scolded her for doing so, she did it all the time. Her father would tell her it wasn’t lady-like to pick at her food and that no prince would want a princess who eats like an ogre.

"My mother says that every time I would draw on the walls.” Heeseung laughed, recalling how his mother would try her best not to scream at him because he was just a young child who just wanted to have a bigger canvas to draw on.

The whole encounter with Heeseung felt like a blur to Y/N as they made conversation over random things, forgetting that they were just supposed to meet. Although it was only her first time meeting him, Y/N felt happy to have Heeseung’s company. She got to finally talk to someone else that wasn’t the maids or the guards, and she liked that. All she can do now is to hope her other trainers are the same.

next -> coming soon.

previous -> the prologue.

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zmediaoutlet · 3 years

Text

fic: the apprentice year

Here’s something I wrote for a zine, a while back. Maybe someone’s in the mood for quiet s8 angst.

(read on AO3)

It's raining when Sam crashes the car. Middle of the night, Texas somewhere. Not enough sleep, not that sleep could possibly help, and bad visibility, and this numbness that started in his gut but has taken over every part of him. Not the best conditions. Narrow two-lane highway, headlights blurring through the dark wet, and then there's a flash—white-and-brown and small, a dog?—and he swerves hard, and then it's—squeal of brakes, the tires sliding, a smash.

He breathes slow, both hands curled around the steering wheel. Car's still on, rumbling idle. His head hurts. Hard to see through the rain but it looks like he killed a sapling. He unclenches one hand from the wheel and touches his forehead—wet—and the windshield's cracked again, and he turns around in the seat to see the dog bolting off down the road. He opens the door and steps out into the mud and, yes. A broken tree, and a mile marker crumpled, and the paint all scraped up, and the windshield. He wipes his forehead again and his fingers are smeared red. He puts that hand on the car and then has to—his legs crumple—he crouches, letting the car take his weight, feeling the engine in his bones. He can't think, with the rain this loud. His head hurts. He says, out loud, "I don't think I can do it," but it's hard to hear over the downpour, and anyway, no one's there to hear. No one's there.

There's a mechanic down the street from a motel. The windshield will be three hundred and that feels like too much but then, who would Sam ask, who'd be honest. He asks them to repaint, too, so he doesn't have to see the gouges of his fuckup. The mechanic looks at his forehead instead of at his eyes. "You get that looked at, sir?" he says.

Sam walks through the damp morning to the motel. The clerk frowns at him but Sam puts a hundred in cash on the counter and then there's the room, dim with the curtains drawn. Two beds—why? Habit. He's been sleeping in the car so that people won't ask the question. Trying to sleep. He takes off his wet muddy clothes and runs a shower, hot, and there's mud on his hands and blood too and the cut on his head bleeds pink against the white tub, and he's so tired he wants to just sit down, right there in the bathtub and let the water pound against his face and make it so he can't think about anything else, so he can't, so he won't have to—but he can't. He has to pick up the car at some point. He turns off the shower and dries off and walks naked through the dim room to the bed closer to the door and he crawls under the blanket and puts his face into the pillow and thinks that he won't sleep, because how can he sleep in a queen bed in a motel room in a town he doesn't know without his brother. He can't possibly. He can't, but he has to, because his brother is dead.

It took a while to come to that conclusion. Dick was gone. The air, throbbing thick and strange. The room empty. Sam stood alone in that awful building with distant alarms wailing and his head and heart entirely still, because there had been a place where his brother was, and now he wasn't there anymore.

He did research. He asked questions. He prayed, and when there were no answers to his praying he burned acacia and camphor and blood-red petals of anemone and demanded a demon, but none came. He knelt on the road at midnight with dirt caked under his broken nails and was prepared to offer—what little it was worth, that he could offer—but no one arrived to take a deal. It was like the world he'd always known was there, that darker mystery that swirled under the daytime normalcy everyone else knew, had just vanished. Gone. He was finally free to live a life that was average, and safe, and boring, but what did it matter—how could it matter, without Dean.

There was booze but then there wasn't. There was a brief, considering moment when a dealer in Kansas City saw Sam's expression and offered relief, but it would've failed the same way the booze had. There was staying up until he had no choice but to pass out in the backseat and forgetting to eat and driving, nowhere, with no destination in mind, because what was there? A job, a ghost, a brutal and pointless putting of one foot in front of the other, when the only thing that had ever mattered, the only thing that had made the life he'd chosen worth choosing, was—

He drove until he nearly hit a dog, and hit a tree instead. He stopped not because he wanted to but because there didn't seem to be any point in driving more. He got a motel. He slept, because that was all there was left to do.

When he wakes up the room is dim with afternoon. The sun on the other side of the building. A reflection, from the vacancy sign outside, that throws up a white square on the wall. He watches it for a while, tracking how it moves slow over the wallpaper, thinning out as the sun falls. A slow eclipse, until it disappears.

What the hell, he hears.

He sits up, ignores the head-throb from moving. There, boots on the carpet, standing in the way of the bathroom, looking around like the motel's a surprise—six feet (forget the lie about the extra inch) and strong and beautiful as he ever, ever was—Sam swallows, drags in air that feels like it can't fit in his chest with everything that's roaring up in it—Dean frowns, and looks at him, and says, in a voice that sounds distant, Sammy, what the fuck.

Sam stands up and staggers. His head, god. He tries to step forward and it's Dean who comes to him, looking around, saying what's going on, where is this—are you— and Sam braces on the bedside table and reaches out but then Dean flickers, somehow, like a broadcast jolted with static, and Sam's hand curls in the air between them, his body flinching even if his mind doesn't quite get it yet.

Dean stops in his tracks and looks down. Spreads his hands, looking at the scarred knuckles and the more-scarred palms. Sam manages to get himself under control and stands up straight, and takes the step that means he's inches away, but no longer dazed from waking he can see: Dean's not here. Dean's not quite here. There's an almost-shimmery distance to him. A projection, on an inadequate screen. Sam looks at his face and just faintly the outlines of the room present are present, showing through him. A bitter taste in the back of his throat and he swallows, again, but manages to say, out loud, "Are you real?"

Dean looks up at him, brow furrowed. Could ask you the same thing, sport. Sam laughs, sort of, caught in his throat, and Dean's face changes. Jesus, you look like shit.

"Thanks," Sam says. Dean flickers again and it's nauseating to see the blank space where he was, even if he half-solidifies a second later. "God. I—can't believe this is happening."

Okay, but what is happening, Dean says, and looks around again. This isn't… He shakes his head and even half-there Sam can see the confusion, the annoyance at the confusion. His brother. His chest aches. I wasn't here. Where's here?

"Texas," Sam says. He still hasn't caught the name of the town. He reaches out because he can't not and his fingers brush—what? Nothing. The air's insubstantial because it's air. Dean looks down at his chest where Sam's not touching him and he says, very quiet, shit , and then he looks up and says shit, Sam , more loudly, and he reaches up and doesn't touch Sam's face because of course he can't, and it's only then that Sam realizes he's crying.

Hey , Dean says, and Sam shakes his head. "It's fine," he says, although of course it's not fine. Dean's eyes, concerned, and his nose with the bump Sam's so often traced with one finger, and his mouth, full and worried. He passes his thumb over where he ought to be able to touch Dean's bottom lip and Dean's eyelids flicker, his mouth parting. Sam shakes his head again, dizzy. Dean. He didn't think he'd see him again, outside of an afterlife he hadn't yet decided to try for.

Texas, huh? Dean says, after a few seconds. He smiles, fake devil-may-care, the expression that Sam's always loved and kind of wanted to smack him for, in equal measure. He looks Sam up and down, and raises his eyebrows, and says, guess it's true they make things bigger here, and it's only then that Sam remembers that he's naked, and even like this, a ghost or a hallucination or a fever-dream, Dean can make him roll his eyes. Dean's grin widens and he passes a never-there touch over Sam's bare chest. Hey, slugger, can't blame me for—

He disappears.

Sam stands there, alone, for a few seconds. He breathes deep, in and out. He passes his hand through the space where Dean wasn't and of course there's nothing there, and then he sits back down, on the bed, braced on his knees, looking at the faded plaid of the wallpaper and the day through the flimsy curtain. His face is still wet and so he knows—he hasn't cried, since that day, so he knows that something happened today that was different from all the ones that came before it. Dean's dead, gone, and yet he isn't. Sam licks his lips. That means there's—something to do.

He eats. He sleeps. He goes and picks up the car, and the mechanic looks less concerned when Sam takes the keys. He goes back to the room and reads a book, for a few hours, and doesn't remember a thing when he lifts his eyes from the page. He showers, again, before bed, and when he comes out the room is hot, and he taps the air conditioner and realizes, shit. Busted.

The clerk in the office is unhelpful. "I can move your room," he says, reluctant to do even that, but Sam's not leaving the room where he saw Dean. "Maintenance guy quit, so we're gonna have to call someone, might be a day or two."

Sam looks at him and chews the inside of his cheek. "You have the last guy's tools?"

He's never fixed an air conditioner but he knows how to use the internet. It turns out it's a little harder than the diagrams make it look. While he's got sweat between his shoulderblades and he's considering percussive maintenance that there's a huff of a laugh, behind him, and Dean says dude, you look like you're gonna have a stroke .

Behind him, raised eyebrows and amusement. A cut on his cheek—new? From what? "Sue me," Sam says, irritated. "I didn't go to HVAC school." Dean's grinning and the irritation washes away like it was never there. Sam steps forward and Dean's face changes, too, looking all over him. "Dean," Sam says, and feels— "Where are you? What's going on?"

Dean shakes his head. You know as much as I do, man. He hesitates. It's like—I've been asleep and I just woke up, but I can't remember what I was dreaming about.

Are you dead. The sentence forms under Sam's tongue and he swallows it. If Dean doesn't know then asking won't help, and if he is then Sam's sunk the same way he's been for the last month. Are you real is the next question, but then if he's not real then that means Sam's crazy, and Sam knows from crazy and, really, if he is, this is the best crazy he could hope for.

Dean's looking at him, not smiling at all, now. I miss you , Dean says, unexpectedly. He flickers—like he did before, a projection cutting out—but he's shaking his head hard when he resolidifies. Shit. I don't—I don't know what that is. I don't get it. You're right here and I'm missing you. How does that work?

"I don't know," Sam says, "but I know exactly what you mean."

The corner of Dean's mouth turns up, but it's not glad. Sam breathes out slowly, the hard knot of grief in his chest barely allayed.

It feels impossible. Maybe it is. He doesn't try to reach out again and neither does Dean. Dean's eyes flick up to the A/C unit and he jerks his chin. You need to take out the compressor , he says. Check the fuse box. I can walk you through it.

Sam's eyes are hot. "I know how to check a fuse," he says, and Dean raises his eyebrows at him. "Not completely useless."

Prove it , Dean says. Bitch .

Sam rolls his eyes and turns away so Dean won't see that they're wet, and does.

Dean comes and goes according to some clock Sam doesn't get to see. Most days, Sam doesn't do much. He eats, showers, shits, sleeps. He watches bad daytime TV and not-much-better nighttime TV. He reads. He takes the car out on drives through the country. Flat around here, and what little green there is browning in the heat of summer. The office manager says he can stay at the motel for free if he keeps fixing things and so he does, and sometimes he's got his head under a kitchenette sink trying to figure out how not to dump backed-up foulness onto his face when there's a presence, all of a sudden, and his brother's voice saying why the hell are you using that wrench?

Sam's alone except when he's with Dean. The days smooth out into a routine. He wakes up sometimes and Dean's sitting there, on the edge of the bed somehow even though he can't really touch anything, and Dean'll say took you long enough, sleeping beauty , and Sam will roll his eyes and say, "Look who's talking, didn't you sleep through an actual earthquake once?" and Dean will grin and Sam will stretch out on his back and they'll bicker about the time in Portland, Maine, when Dad tanned both their hides for not being ready for the werewolf hunt at midnight, and they both insisted it was the other's job to set the alarm. I told you , Dean'll say, eyes crinkled like he's trying not to laugh, and Sam'll launch into his theory about how Dean's memory is shot from too much booze, and they'll waste the time, that way, ragging on each other. Other times Dean will be quiet, and so Sam will too, and they'll look at each other with their hands an inch apart on the blanket, and Dean will say, after a while, you remember? and Sam won't know what he's referring to, exactly, but he'll swallow and he'll say that, yeah, yeah. He remembers.

Moonlight makes Dean's face a strange, alien blue. In the day he's golden, gorgeous, cracks jokes and makes fun of the way Sam holds a screwdriver. Sometimes he has bruises; sometimes there's blood dried on the angles of his eyesocket. Once he shows up holding his ribs like something got him, wherever he is, and he just sits with his back to the kitchen cabinets while Sam fixes a garbage disposal and rambles about some time in Tulane when he dropped a ghoul and then banged a supermodel, that same night. "Oh, really," Sam says, pulling open the gears while he tries not to think about splintered bones, about the fragility of lungs, about the soft vulnerable edge of Dean's beating heart. "Tyra Banks or Kate Moss?"

Okay, Dean says, and does it sound thin? Hurt? So maybe not a 'super' model. But she was hot. He rolls his head to look at Sam and winks. Not as hot as some people, though. Don't worry .

"I was in a panic," Sam says, dry, and Dean chuffs laughing and then coughs, pained, and says, nodding at Sam's job, you're gonna want a 5/8ths for that , and in the next second he's gone. Sam braces his hands on the counter and breathes deep for a solid minute, bleeding inside his chest, before he goes into the toolbox, and gets the 5/8ths wrench.

The first time they were young, even if at the time Sam would've said otherwise. Their dad was gone and they were alone, really alone, for the first time in their lives—only, they weren't. They'd never been. An argument and a bad night and going out and finding Dean sitting on the hood of some wreck in Bobby's junkyard, and they'd said—he can't remember. Not everything. He does remember very precisely the moment when he gripped Dean's wrist and Dean looked up at him like he was surprised and Sam had said, you know, Dean, you know what I— and Dean had covered Sam's mouth with three fingers like it wouldn't be true, if he didn't say it. But then he tugged his hand away and he leaned up and kissed Sam, anyway, so it didn't matter so much, if Sam said it or didn't. That was the first time.

Over the years they fell closer together and farther apart. They hurt each other, sometimes so badly Sam thought it'd be forever broken and he'd just have to live that way, with his ribs split apart, bleeding where anyone could see. When they came back together it felt like nothing could ever split them up again. Not demons, or angels, or death.

The last time, they were in a cabin in Montana, and they were going to do something nuts in the morning. What else was new. It was quick, and then it was slow, and afterward Dean lay half-sprawled over Sam's chest, the two of them sticking together with sweat and worse, and Dean tipped his forehead against Sam's collarbone and sighed. This is such a dumb plan , he said, and Sam drew two fingers up from between his shoulderblades to the little soft hollow at the top of his spine, where his hair was shorn to velvet, and where Sam tended to bury his nose, when they slept in the same bed. When they let themselves do that. Yeah, Sam said, after too long, but when has that ever stopped us? Dean snorted, and rolled away, and Sam curled behind him that night in the too-small bed, and in the morning, for once, Dean woke up first, and he smacked Sam's shin and said come on, sleeping beauty, time to ride , and Sam groaned and got up and didn't think about it, much, and then that night Dean was dead. Gone, or dead.

He thinks about it, now. What he would've done, if he knew that was the last time he'd be allowed to touch his brother. What he might've said, if they'd had the chance. Before hell—before hell for both of them—they'd known what was coming down the pipe, and they'd been scared, and they hadn't screwed either time, or slept together, even. They sat, shoulder-to-shoulder, staying awake past midnight and through to dawn, and when it was time—they'd gotten in a goodbye, each of them, and Sam had ached to know how little that was. How it wasn't enough. This time—he didn't get a goodbye. He gets to look, but not touch. He gets to smile at him nearly every day and he gets Dean's jokes and his ridiculous stories and his safe, sure guidance, his eyes on Sam's speaking the promise they always gave each other—and it isn't, it isn't nearly, it isn't close, to enough.

Summer passes into fall, and fall into winter. Sam doesn't reach for the wrong wrench as often. He takes a drive through a cool twilight and when he opens the motel room door with a six-pack in hand, Dean appears one second later, looking out at the car through the window, and he says hey, how's the carb treating you?

He sits at the table in the room, taking the carburetor apart piece by careful piece. Dean looks over his shoulder, leaning on the table (somehow), pointing out where Sam's screwing it up (constantly). "Maybe if you weren't breathing down my neck," Sam says, and Dean snorts and says wouldn't have to if you'd ever paid attention to anything that wasn't Eskimo poetry , and then Sam tells Dean that Eskimo isn't an appropriate word to use, and Dean tells Sam that he need to clear the sand out of his vagina, and—it's not enough, but god if Sam isn't happier than he's been in—how long? Since the last time Dean was sitting right there, with his arms folded over the back of a chair, grinning at Sam and getting under his skin and just being—everything. Everything that mattered.

It starts to rain, before Sam's done. He leaves all the parts spread out and clean to dry on the table and sinks onto the couch with his beer, and Dean looking at him still from his backwards perch on the chair, and his grin softened down to something else. "What," Sam says, tipping his head against the wall. He's feeling mellow. In pain, maybe crazy. Content. Desperate. The usual. He's gotten used to it. Thinking maybe it'll be this way, ever after. Thinking he can handle it, if that's so. Dean's here even if he's not here, and that means that Sam doesn't want to be anywhere else.

Dean's got a bruise on his cheekbone, again. A cut on his lower lip. He looks tired. He flickers, precursor maybe to disappearing, but he stays. In the dim light he looks almost real. Almost present, like Sam could reach out and get his hand around his jaw and tell him everything he's ever thought, everything he ever wished for the two of them. How he meant it, when he told Dean there was nothing he wouldn't do. Even live, if that's what it came down to, just for the hope to see Dean's face, one more time.

The rain's loud, on the eaves of the motel. Dean hasn't said anything. Still just watching, his eyes steady. His mouth that soft curve. "What?" Sam says, again.

Oh, Dean says, quiet. You know.

Sam does.

#wincest #my writing #the formatting on this keeps feeling fucked but i'm just going with it #if i can't write right now #i can at least post stuff i wrote like six months ago

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withoneheadlight · 3 years

Note

i saw your additions on the tswift post abt billy being a dolly fan which is so accurate and true. i always hc that billy’s mom was actually born in the south and moved to cali to be an actress or singer or something but then met neil and well you know. but billy grew up listening to dolly bc that would have been the time she was getting popular. i also agree that billy would definitely be inspired by her aesthetic and just her general messaging to be yourself and fuck everyone else 😄

Heyyy! 💖💖💖💖💖

Ohhhhh, yes!!! That’s such an amazing headcanon! And it’s so easy to imagine Billy’s mom singing Dolly’s songs to him when he was little. Softly at night, while caressing his hair in bed, soothing him into sleep. Dancing together in the kitchen, his mom taking him by the hands and spinning him around. The casserole slowly cooking on the stove and they both red-faced and giggling on those easy days when work kept Neil away from home so there was still some space left they could fill in with happiness.

And, I imagine his mother wouldn’t dress like Dolly but maybe she would kind of— wish, she could? Tease her hair a little bigger, wear her heels a little higher. Raise the hem of her skirt an inch (or two). Red lips and a fake beauty mark up the side of her lips but. She didn’t dare. Not anymore. Only twenty-five and staring at Dolly on the TV screen with her eyes full of ‘might have been’s saying ‘See that, baby? That’s what mom wanted to be’ and.

That’s how Billy imagines her, now. Shredding a tiny part of her old skin every day since she left and becoming the kind of star you can’t stop looking at ‘till has blinded you and he kind of— he doesn’t even realize, at first, what he’s doing. But he starts to style his curls a little tighter and left the buttons of his shirts unmade. Where her mother couldn’t, he starts to repaint himself into the image of a rebellion. Everything so he wouldn’t be reflected on his father's. Dangling earrings, miles of leather, cheeky jeans, bad intentions and— He doesn’t like girls, not really, but he likes looking at them and knowing, how much effort it took them too, to look that cheap. Likes to look at them knowing, that it’s not just him, that they all are diamonds on a rhinestone world. That they cut like nothing else, with the beauty of their sharp edges.

And that’s basically the reason why he paints his lips in the shape of his own heart and kisses it into Steve Harrington’s lips hard enough to stain them.

The last of Tina’s parties. Graduates saying their last goodbyes while ‘If you ain’t got love’ was playing. Steve gave him a once-over and a smirk and called him ‘Doll’. Put two fingers on his chest and said it “Just one closed button left, doll. Feels tempting” so Billy dragged him to the darkness of the backyard and left his lips so thoroughly kissed they looked lipstick-red when they parted for breath, Steve’s fingers still tangled on his hairspray-curls and saying “I knew that’s how you’d kiss me” looking at Billy with that something in his eyes, like Billy had just sliced his chest open. Like he really, really liked what he was seeing and,

He did. Steve. Really liked him. Fell in love with the flashy and trashy the too much and the too little and with everything, everything Billy had been hiding underneath. Made Billy feel at peace with the things about himself (about her) Neil never allowed. Made him shred a lifetime of war.

Let Billy be himself on purpose and then, loved him like that.

Ok I got CARRIED AWAY but I’ve been dying to talk about this since s3 aired and saw. This:

Look at those crunchy curls and those filled-in brows and c’mon he’s so wearing copper eyeshadow akdhauhduahduad. He’s so flayed and frayed but, with style. And he does have that southern vibe and looks like, so country and so, carefully put together while TRASHY AF, and I just love how cheap he is and I’m so sure that when Dolly talked about “‘This woman that used to walk the streets had all this makeup and hair, high heel shoes. I thought she was so beautiful. And everybody used to say, ‘Oh, she ain’t nothin’ but trash.’ And I used to say, ‘Well that’s what I’m gonna be when I grow up—trash!’ And that’s kinda how I look. But I like to think I’m a little more than that’” Billy was somewhere nodding and also, that Steve was nodding too, to that last part.

Thank you so much for asking me this 💞💞💞💞💞😘😘😘😘😘 and yay! I'm so happy somebody else sees it 💎💎💎

#Yup!#also! same as i pictured 80s billy being a dolly fan i picture modern billy as the wildest kesha fan xD.#coveing his chest with glitter at every party and kissing steve until they're both sparkling #and i always keep that in mind while i write him #💗💗💗💗#thank you again #harringrove #xaskfic #xfluffy

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talesmaniac89 · 4 years

Text

Morning Person

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: You try your hardest to get the sleepy hunter out of bed at a reasonable time as he tries just as hard to keep you there, snuggled up to him.

Triggers: None, just sleepy/spoiled Dean fluff

Y/N = Your Name | Y/E/C = Your Eye Colour

---

Dean Winchester wasn’t a morning person.

You’d learned that early enough in your relationship with the hunter. As he fought you, every step of the way, whenever you tried to get him out of bed at your early riser schedule. Sure, the morning squabbles were much less tooth and nail and more lazy kisses and arms wrapped tightly around you as he tried to keep you in bed. But they were still a constant battle. And that morning was no different.

As you stretched lazily, letting the last hazy tendrils of sleep slip off your body next to your hunter, you were met with a discontented groan. Which only increased in volume once your legs untangled from his and you gently pulled out of the bear hug he’d held you in throughout the night. The protective warmth of his toned arms was tempting you to return as he stretched out for you. His eyes still closed, only the half-displeased crease in his brow hinting at the fact that the hunter was, in fact, awake. But you knew you’d quickly go stir crazy if you spent the whole morning in bed, like those greedy arms seemed to be aiming at.

“Mornin’ Dean. Rise and shine,” You sing-songed sweetly as you escaped the warmth of the blanket and the arms reaching out to have you snuggled up against him again. A small spoiled pout effectively ruining the hunter’s normally hard as nails image as he squinted up at you through half lidded eyes.

“(Y/N), come back to bed. It’s too early, and too cold,” The big man whined as you crossed your arms from where you were standing, just out of his reach. Well, out of his reach unless he deemed it a reasonable time to actually wake up that was.

“It’s not too cold you big baby. Come on, time to get up. We have plans today,” You said with a teasing tug on a corner of the blanket that made it slip slightly off his body. Showing off his sculpted abdomen and muscular arms for no more than a split second before he pulled it back up with a grumbled protest. The split-second tease nearly enough to tempt the dirty little devil on your shoulder into crawling back under the covers with your hunter to run your hands over taut muscles and smooth skin. Luckily, or unluckily depending on how you saw it, the angel on your other shoulder had a viper hold on your common sense. You had to get up.

“Cold,” The hunter’s grumbled pout made you roll your eyes as you battled the small smile that threatened to oust your annoyance for the farce it really was.

You loved your sleepy hunter.

This Dean was only yours. A sweet secret shared only between the two of you and the four walls of your bedroom. The normally hardened soldier would slip away and leave behind just the man, just Dean, whenever the two of you were alone. Including the spoiled rotten version of him that was currently tugging at your heart strings and making it really hard to not give into the big green puppy dog eyes that begged you to come back to bed.

“Yeah, yeah… Sorry baby,” You said with a sigh and soft laugh as your boyfriend wrapped the blanket further around himself until only tired emerald green eyes and messy sand blonde hair stared back at you from the pile of blankets and pillows.

“I’ll forgive you if you kiss me,” Dean’s tired grumble was muffled by the blanket. Yet, the pout that followed them was clearly audible, though you couldn’t see those soft lips that held your salvation and his forgiveness. The hunter’s cute behaviour teasing a soft smile out of you as you leaned back over the bed, one knee on the mattress, and lightly tugged at the blanket to reveal the pout you knew was hidden there.

“How gracious of you, sleeping beauty,” You teased as you gave your boyfriend a peck that lingered for a few heartbeats longer than planned as the hunter easily deepened the lazy kiss. Replacing the innocent peck you’d planned with something deeper, more sensual. His strong forearms braving the cool air to wrap around your waist and pull you fully back into bed and under the blanket again. The same arms snaking back around your waist without breaking the kiss or giving you the chance to protest.

“Hey Dean…” You sighed as soon as his lips left yours. But the hunter was clearly unwilling to listen. His grip on you tightened as he buried his face in your neck to hide from your admonishment and words about adult responsibilities that couldn’t be completed under the warm blanket.

“No,” Was all Dean Winchester was willing to say about the subject as he tangled his long legs with yours again. His arms pulling at your waist to make sure as much of you as physically possible was flush against him. The hunter’s warm breath tickling your neck as he nuzzled his face against it. Like a naughty boy who knew he was misbehaving and thought he could hide from you in your own arms.

“You said you’d forgive me with a kiss,” You tried sweetly, a hand going up to comb through his bed head and try to calm the wild nest on your hunter’s head. Finding a steady rhythm as you played with his hair; combing it through your fingers before patting it down again.

“You need to warm me up again too,” Dean mumbled against your neck. Clearly not ready to come out of hiding as he peppered small, lazy kisses against your collarbone and neck. The normally strong and independent soldier looking to be spoiled with a lazy morning in your arms and not taking no for an answer.

As the hunter snuggled further into your neck, you let out a breathy laugh from how his short stubble tickled against your sensitive skin. His tight hug not giving you room to squirm away from him. As his fingers found and followed the rhythm you’d set with your fingers in his hair, he painted lazy circles on your t-shirt clad back. Before easily sliding under the offending piece of cloth to repaint the same circles directly on your skin.

“Alright, sleepy head, you can sleep in,” You said with a sigh of surrender, mentally waving the white flag in this latest battle of getting Dean out of bed at a somewhat reasonable time. You could feel the lazy smile against your neck as the hunter squeezed you tighter in a tired victory hug.

“But... I’m getting up. I have to get ready,” You added, the terms of your surrender steadfast.

“Nooo,” The hunter’s groaned protest rumbled against your throat as he held you even tighter and scooted down until his head could rest against your chest. Easily nudging you over on your back before placing his head over your heart. The action kicking up the blanket a bit and covering his head. The grown man acted like a child in a pillow fort as he stayed hidden from your eyes through the protective force field created by the blanket.

“Yes, Dean,” You sighed, trying to pull the blanket down before giving up and putting your own head under it, to finally look into Dean’s eyes where he listened to your heartbeat through your t-shirt. His eyes closed and a lazy, happy smile on his lips. Clearly set on not letting you go anywhere.

“One day in bed won’t kill you… Stay with me. Like this…” Dean’s murmured words were smooth like honey and dipped in sugar as he let one arm drop to knead at your hips. Massaging away the tension from too many days of hunting without rest that he knew was still lingering there. His tight hold on you loosening into a more languid, warm embrace now that his legs were fully tangled with yours and his head was on your chest. Effectively pinning you to the mattress. “Let’s be lazy together (Y/N),” He added with a sleepy smile, glancing up at you through a curtain of full lashes and lifting his head for just a fraction of a second to let a sweet kiss ghost over your lips.

The tempting devil clearly unwilling to give up the warm bed, blankets or you. Fully believing he could have his cake and eat it too. Though, as you kept having to remind yourself to not give into the sweet temptation, you had plans later. And you’d rather not show up dishevelled and tired from oversleeping.

Giving up on sweetness, you switched tactics. If temptation was his weapon of choice, then it would be yours too. Since you, tangled in the sheets and a certain Dean Winchester, wouldn’t be able to get out of bed without getting him to move too.

“We can be lazy together on the couch instead? I’ll make you scrambled eggs and bacon,” You coaxed, adding a silent ‘for a little while’ to your words in your head. Your hand, which had momentarily stopped combing through his hair, returned to trace the shape of his jawline. Marvelling at how much you loved the man who was currently hiding from the real world in your arms. Even his lazy streak was endearing to you as you watched him weigh the pros and cons with far away eyes as he snuggled against you.

“There’ll be coffee too…” You promised, gently using soft fingers to smooth out the crease in his brow that hinted at deep thought as he considered your offer. Yet, as his legs tangled further with yours and his head lifted to pepper your jaw with tiny kisses, you knew the negotiations had failed.

“Those things can wait, right now I just want this… Us,” He murmured as his head went back to your chest. Listening to the beat of your heart. The sweet words easily made it beat a little faster as your arms circled the man resting against your chest and squeezed him tight. Though you knew it was only 99% sweetness in those words. The other 1 percent was a calculated move to get you to stay in bed.

“I love you Dean, but I do have to get up,” You said, kissing the top of his head, as it was the only part of him easily within reach once he buried his head in your chest with a moan of protest. “I could bring you breakfast in bed?”

Your final peace offering was met with nothing more than a small head shake as the man refused to lift his head from your chest. His arms once more tightening around you at the prospect of you leaving the bed and him for the real world. Well... For the bunker kitchen, and a cup of coffee.

“Dean Winchester,” You said, your voice taking on a false strict tone as hands nudged at the spoiled rotten hunter hiding in your heartbeat. But you were only met with more spoiled stubbornness as the hunter decided to ignore your warning and cuddle up closer. Sighing contentedly as he stayed in your arms.

Hell, if it was any other day, you’d probably let him win this one. It was comfortable and warm in his arms. The way he held you close enough for your heart beats to sync into some intimate love song always made you feel safe, protected and comforted. But… It wasn’t any other day, and you had places to be. So, you endured the sweet temptation even though you wanted to wave your white flag and snuggle with him under the blanket.

“Dean… We have plans,” You reminded him, though you knew it was no use. The hunter was unwilling to listen to anything less than a complete surrender on your part. You were left with one battle tactic. The dirty little ace up your sleeve might not be the most straightforward strategy. But… If nothing else worked, then you had to be sneaky.

“Alright, just a little while longer,” You said with an exasperated sigh. Your body relaxing temporarily to lull him into a false sense of security. The little trick easily fooling the still tired hunter as he looked up at you with bright green puppy eyes and a soft smile of victory.

His grip loosened a little as he shifted to lie on his side and pulled you against him. Making you the small spoon to his big spoon. Though the hunter was soon about to lose one part of the cutlery set, as his now much softer arms gently circled your waist. Both of you still hidden from the world by the impromptu blanket fort.

You loved the way you felt in his arms as he held you close. Your back fit perfectly against his chest, as if you were made to fill the space there and protect the hunter’s tired heart while he slept. For a minute, you just let yourself enjoy it, his arms around you and his lips in your hair peppering it with soft lazy kisses and murmured promises of lazy mornings and eternal love.

Yet, you had to be strong. To resist temptation. And so, you put your sneaky plan into action. With one last longing feel of his arms around you and the feel of his heartbeat through your back.

Squirming in his arms, you pretended to simply be making yourself more comfortable. Until you could find just enough leeway to swiftly roll out of bed. Your little ninja move easily raised a chorus of groans and moans from under the blanket, as your hunter peeked out looking offended at your sneaky escape.

“You promised,” The betrayed hunter said from the bed. His head fully peeking out as he watched you step away from the bed to root through your side of the closet. Sleepy green eyes following you back and forth across the room was the only hint of movement from the stubborn hunter as he chose to stay in bed.

“And I stayed for a little while longer, just as promised,” You countered, throwing a cheeky grin back at your hunter where he’d once more cocooned himself in the blanket. A quiet protest against early mornings and getting out of bed. “Are you sure you’re not getting up?” You tried one last time. Though the childish pout, and the way he’d wrapped himself up like a burrito clearly hinted at a certain Dean Winchester having no plans of getting up anytime soon.

“No, and neither should you,” He grumbled, lifting a hand up and out of the warmth of the blanket in a lazy attempt to tempt you back to the bed and him.

Ignoring the final part of his statement you shrugged as you put a towel on top the clothes in your arms with a theatrical sigh. Your eyes quickly glanced over to the bathroom door before you looked back at him.

“Alright, fine. You win. Stay in bed. I’m gonna jump in the shower,” You said as your eyes met his again. Your own (Y/E/C) eyes grew slightly heated as you watched the damned sinfully sexy man, even when he was acting like a cute spoiled puppy. Biting your lower lip, you left just enough of a pause for the heat in your eyes to fully sink into the hunter’s tired mind before you spoke up again with a shrug.

“I was going to ask you to join me, but I guess…” You sighed. Turning to walk towards the bathroom door to hide your little victorious grin as you heard Dean fight against the sheets in an effort to follow you. The small thud of bare feet hitting the floor signalling that you’d won the war, though you lost most of the morning’s battles. Dean’s voice, now sounding wide awake, reaching you just as you opened the bathroom door.

“I’m up! I’m up and I’m in!”

---

Dean Winchester Tags: @ria132love

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nat-roman0ff · 4 years

Text

the dog house

chris evans x female reader word count: 3,036 warnings: unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, and all that), splinters, & power tools. - summary: it’s sunday, and chris tries to build a dog house. a/n: i’m really bad at summaries and this is my first time writing for chris!

You’re awoken to the sound of a very loud buzzing.

“What the fuck?” You whisper to yourself, the Sunday morning sun burning your sensitive, tired eyes.

You hear it again, and it’s less of a buzzing and more of a sawing?

You look over and notice the empty spot in bed beside you. Weird, Chris usually woke you up in the mornings (either by knocking something over, tripping over the dog, or by poking your side until you finally opened your lids).

Dodger was gone too, and you sit up, rubbing your sleepy eyes and check the time; 7:38 AM.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you whine to yourself.

Not like you had anywhere to be or anything to do. It’s Sunday - a day you and Chris constituted as a “do nothing together” day. But still...sleeping until at least 8 would have been nice.

You slip on a pair of slippers and pull on Chris’ hoodie over your sleep shirt. The sawing sound happens again, and you can hear it grinding through something. As you explore the house you realize it’s coming from the garage, and your heart sinks to your ass when you open the door from the kitchen to the garage and find Chris shirtless, in a pair of sweatpants and safety goggles cutting wood with a reciprocating saw.

He notices you and smiles, pushing the goggles up his face, “oh, hi babe!”, he says, brushing the saw dust from his chest and pants.

You look at him sideways, “what in God’s name are you doing?”

He shrugs, “couldn’t sleep in, took Dodger for a walk and someone was giving away free wood! So I picked it up and I’m making him a dog house!” Chris exclaims with childish glee.

Your palm immediately meets your face, “do you know what you’re doing? I didn’t even know you owned power tools.”

He shrugs again, “I looked it up on YouTube.”

You roll your eyes and chuckle at your ridiculous boyfriend, “care for a cup of coffee before you lose a limb?”

Chris pulls the goggles back over his eyes and you can’t help but laugh again at how utterly stupid yet incredibly sexy he looks, “already have a pot made for ya,” he winks before getting back to work.

Dodger follows you inside and sits at your feet, whining for his breakfast. You oblige (because who can resist that little face?) and even give him a little extra of his special wet food.

Spring is just around the corner, the buds in the front yard are starting to bloom, and they carry the scent of fresh flowers throughout the house through the open windows. You let out a breathy laugh every time you hear the saw start up again.

Chris was a busy body almost to a fault. It made him a workaholic, and more work meant more time away from you. It had been nice having him home for more than a few weeks at a time. But when he was home, the man could never stay still. As evident by the various home projects the two of you had completed over the last year or so. The two of you had repainted the living room three times (Chris argued the first color was too light, you argued the second was too dark), rearranged the master bedroom, installed a hot tub in the backyard, and then there was the incident with the ceiling fan (Chris doesn’t like to bring that one up).

Dodger gobbles up his food quickly and joins you on the couch for belly rubs. If there was anything Chris loved more than you, it was Dodger. It had been something you almost resented at the start of your relationship, but you’d grown to love the pup just as much as Chris did.

“Fuck!” You hear from the garage, followed by the banging sound of something heavy falling to the ground.

You put down your cup of coffee and rush to find Chris clutching his hand, nearly tripping as you scramble over to him.

“What happened?” You ask, uncovering his hand.

Chris pouts those lips you love, “splinter.”

You roll your eyes and push on his chest, “you scared the shit out of me! I thought you cut a finger off or something!”

Chris laughs and kisses the tip of your nose, “no, I’d be screaming much louder than that,” he says peppering your cheek with feathery kisses, “but thanks for checking up on me.”

“I know a way I could make you scream louder,” you say, cringing at your own words.

Chris snorts, “oh, that was bad,” he groans, “like a two out of ten. You feeling a way this morning, darling?” He asks, his voice dropping at darling, and a sneaky hand sliding up the back of one thigh.

You shrug, “honestly, no. But watching you try to halfass a YouTube tutorial with power tools kinda has me a little randy.”

“Should I build things more often?” He asks.

You shake your head, “no, Captain Build-A-Bear, absolutely not. I need all your limbs. Every Last Finger,” you poke the center of his chest, “but we do need to get that splinter out.”

Chris starts to follow you but you turn quickly on your heel and shake a finger at him, “uh-uh, you are not bringing all that saw dust into the house. I just finished cleaning yesterday. Pants off.”

That cocky, shit eating grin creeps across his face as he very quickly rids himself of his grey sweatpants and follows you like a puppy into the bathroom, nipping and touching you every chance he gets.

You sit him on the edge of the clawfoot tub in your master bedroom and his bright blue eyes look up at you behind long lashes and you swear you could turn into a puddle right then and there, but instead, it’s starting to pool between your legs with every lingering touch Chris leaves on you.

“Hi,” he grins at you as you pull a pair of tweezers from the vanity drawer, “whatcha about to do to me?”

You roll your eyes, “Jesus Christ, and I’m bad? One and a half out of ten, loser. I’m about to pull a sliver of wood from your skin. Sound sexy enough for you?”

Chris very loudly fake moans, echoing through the bathroom, “the sexiest thing you’ve ever done for me.”

You shake your head, “you’re insane. Give me your hand.”

Chris opens his palm, you can see the red spot and tiny sliver of wood that’s poking out from beneath his skin. You play with it for a second, trying to figure out the best angle to tug it out, and watch Chris’ face scrunch in pain. Once he catches you watching he relaxes and you let out a breathy laugh to yourself, “not so tough now, huh?”

His eyes narrow, “I’ve had splinters before.”

“Sure,” you tut, “ready? On three. One - two -”

You pull before you reach three and Chris shrieks, “you said three!”

“It’s better to do it when you’re not expecting it!” You defend.

“And who told you that?”

“I don’t know...my mom?” You laugh.

Before you know it you’re hunched over laughing at your serious faced boyfriend clutching his hand to his bare chest. Your bearded, beefcake, Captain-Fucking-America boyfriend hurt over a damn splinter. The whole thing was so ridiculous you did what you did best when your brain didn’t know how to handle something: laugh.

“Oh you think this is funny?” He asks, his voice stern.

You can barely breathe out a yes in your fit.

“Yeah?” His voice is softer now, “I’ll show you something funny!”

Your laughter ceases when Chris scoops you up, throwing you in one swift move over his shoulder and brings you to the next room. He drops you on the bed with a bounce and crawls over you, locking his body over yours.

“You’re right, this is funny,” you say, tracing the side of his face with the back of your finger, you can’t wait to feel that beard between your legs soon, “you thinking you’re the one in control.”

It takes all your might, but you manage to flip the two of you over so you’re straddling his waist, his half hard cock pushing up against your ass. You lick your lips at the thought.

“Honestly?” Chris starts, “I’m not even mad. Do your worst, darling,” he finishes, folding his fingers behind his head.

You get to work quickly, pulling off the hoodie of his you’d put on earlier along with your thin sleep shirt. Your nails get to work scratching up and down his chest, feeling his strong muscle constrict under your touch. It’s killing him not to touch you right now, and you wonder how long he’ll last this way. He loves watching you ride him; fast, slow, he loves watching the way you take him all the way in, and the way your face contorts when he hits that spot.

Chris chews his bottom lip, hard, and you can feel him swelling beneath you, “you are so fucking perfect,” he says, licking his lips and releasing one of his hands to slide up your bare upper half, “and all fucking mine.”

You rut your hips slowly, grinding delicate lace to cotton, two thin pieces of fabric separating you from him. Chris lets out a low groan and squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, “fuck, babe are you already wet? I can feel you.”

“Want to find out?” You ask slyly.

His eyes widen, “uh yeah, I think that’s pretty fucking obvious,” he laughs.

You snort and quickly wriggle out of your panties, Chris laughing as you almost fall from the bed. You love the ability to go between funny and sexy with Chris. It’s so fluid and it just works. The two of you together, intimately, could never be one thing at a time. It was always a beautiful mixture of love, lust, laughter and pure bliss.

You settle your bare core against his boxer strained erection, your slick leaving an evident wet spot on the fabric. Your body jumps a little at the contact, your bud sensitive and ready. Both of Chris’ hands are on your hips now, thumbs gliding against the soft flesh at your hips.

“I want to watch you cum first,” he says as the rough pad of his thumb meets your clit, “use me, do whatever you need to.”

Without hesitation you start to move your hips against his rock hard cock, still covered with his boxers. It won’t take long, you think, not with the way his thumb is working against you. This man knew everything that made you tick, he knew exactly how fast or slow to move his fingertips to make you succumb to his touch, each thing that got you off.

Your breath catches in your throat as the first tiny shockwave hits you, your body jolting. Chris smirks, “keep going babygirl,” he encourages.

You rut harder, faster, he adds another finger against your swelling bud and that familiar warmth starts building low in your belly.

“Chris - I’m gonna fucking -” You pant, your eyes wrenched shut as the feeling overcomes you.

Chris continues rubbing you through your orgasm, your body collapsing onto him, shaking with each aftershock he rubs into you. He eventually slows down, and brings his fingers to his lips to lick one by one.

Filthy motherfucker.

You rise back up slowly, perching yourself on top of him once again, “I think it’s time for these to go,” you say, pointing at his soaked boxers.

The fabric is discarded in an instant, and you wrap your fingers gently around his throbbing cock. There’s a look of almost relief on Chris’ face when you touch him, his strong chest heaving up and down in a steady rhythm as you stroke him. It doesn’t take much to get him to where he needs to be, his cock pink and thick, ready for you.

Chris takes your hips between his hands again, this time tighter, his fingertips leaving red marks where he’s touched. You align yourself with him, and both let out a feral moan as you drop down. It always takes a few seconds of delicious burning to adjust to his size, eyes squeezed shut and a steady stream of air whistling between your lips.

“Take all the time you need,” he says just above a whisper, and just like that he’s tender again.

“I’m ready,” you announce, eyes opening up to his, leaning forward to rest your palms on his chest and dipping down for a chaste kiss before arching your back.

Your hips move methodically; not slow, but not fast either, leaning forward at an angle just enough for Chris to watch the curve of your ass bounce as you move up and down his cock. If this isn’t heaven, he thinks, this is as close to it a man like him will ever get.

One hand reaches around to squeeze your ass, his long fingers leaving prints behind, “fucking mine,” he growls, “think you can go faster?” He asks.

You grin, “I’ll do you one better.”

Chris raises an eyebrow and you cease movement. You lift your body, silently screaming at the loss of fullness when you completely lift off of him. Before he can ask what you’re doing, you turn around to face the end of the bed. Chris smirks as you lower back onto his cock, this time with his favorite view.

“I would love to personally thank whoever invented reverse cowgirl,” he gloats, “I owe them my life.”

You laugh, leaning forward to rest your palms on his legs, looking back at your boyfriend, “you’re absolutely ridiculous.”

Chris gives you a stinging spank, “get to it then.”

Without a moment wasted you lift your hips and get to work, moving at a quickening pace. The sound of skin slapping echoes around the master bedroom, mixing with your dueling pants and moans. You swirl your hips as you bounce and when you land at a particular angle you hit the spot. It comes as a surprise to you both; he feels your walls clench around him, while the breath is sucked from your lungs.

Chris hits it a few more times before your body stabilizes again. Your pace only quickens, desperate for your release as the coil deep in your belly begins to twist again. You feel hot all over, from your toes, to every strand of hair on your head. The skin between the two of you begins growing slick with sweat, thighs sliding against each other. It feels like the temperature in the room has increased twenty degrees in just a few minutes, and you push back a clump of hair that’s begun to stick to your sweaty forehead.

As the heat grows, there’s a pain in your thighs that you can’t ignore, and you remind yourself why leg day is so important, “can you take over?” You ask Chris just before your legs give out.

He slows your hips gently, and you suck in air between your teeth as his cock slides out of you, leaving your core throbbing for the ending you were so close to getting.

Chris gently cradles you for a moment before sliding between your legs, putting one over his shoulder, “this okay?” He asks, and you nod, the stretch feeling relieving.

He gives himself a few quick pumps before gliding back into you, licking his lips as he watches your cunt devour him.

“Always take me so fucking good,” he revels, “this pussy was made for me.”

The new angle completely overtakes you, your back arching up off the mattress, nipples just barely grazing the hair on Chris’ chest. Even the smallest touch sending a new surge of shockwaves through your body. The sound of thrusting, the filthy wet sounds of your slick cunt taking him over and over again fills the room and the heat starts rising again.

Chris is moving faster than ever, damp skin slapping against damp skin, his forehead scrunched in concentration. He loves watching you take him in time and time again, all of him, bottoming out with nearly every thrust into you, desperate to watch you hit your high. It’s like a drug to him, watching you cum.

“I’m c-close -” you stutter out through pants.

Chris reaches a hand between you to rub your clit. The feeling is almost too much. With each thrust he hits your most sensitive spot, while he etches delicious figure eights into your bud. He’s getting close too, you can tell by the increasing sloppiness of his thrusts and the shaking in his thighs. Chris always wants you to come first though, it’s what got him off more than anything; watching stars light up behind your eyes, and the flush rise from your chest up to your cheeks in the most beautiful shade of pink he’s ever seen. The way your back arches and chest rises to meet his and he can feel your pert nipples brush against his skin. It’s exactly what it takes to spill him over the edge.

Your end comes abruptly, tearing through your body with everything it’s got, orgasm completely rocking your body, eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“FUCK - Chris,” you moan as he continues to pound into you through your high, sending your body through aftershock after aftershock. It’s when your fingernails scrape down his shoulders that his orgasm comes, and he fills you, body collapsing on top of yours, nestled between your legs.

The two of you stay like this for a moment, coming down from your highs, sticky skin pressed into sticky skin. He feathers kisses across your collarbone and neck, eventually pulling himself from you long enough for you to cuddle back into him, resting your face in the crook of his neck, taking in the scent of him and sex.

“That was nice,” you murmur.

Chris sighs, “yeah. I just have one concern though.”

You furrow your brows, “what’s that?”

“What are we going to do with all that fucking wood?”

#AHHH THIS IS TERRIFYING #hi this is my first chris piece #of course it's smut lmao #chris evans #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans smut #chris evans fic

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mmvalentine · 3 years

Text

Circus of Dreams, pt 6 | Feysand

Night Circus AU. Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 7

Rhys was certainly going to miss having Feyre in his bed, but he was still able to feel happy for her, that she was getting her own space back. He knew how uncomfortable the idea of sharing with him had been for her, and was glad the caravan had been fixed so quickly.

Mor, of course, was ecstatic. He didn't envy her- it couldn't have been easy bunking with Amren, even for a few short days. He heard she snored something fierce.

Rhys got dressed while Feyre and Mor set up their refurbished caravan, and was on his way to the magic tent, when something caught his eye.

A new tent.

There hadn't been a new tent in the last five years. Rhys stepped closer. The fabric was black, with a fine silver lace laid over it. From inside, he could hear faint music, as well as a mechanical whirring. There was no label or signpost on the outside, the way some of the tents had. So he stepped through the flaps.

Inside, he saw Amren, and Feyre. And small, slowly rotating carousel with three white horses, and one brass one. He turned, questioning.

"What do you think?" Amren asked him. "I... I didn't know we still had it." He should have, Amren was ever the hoarder.

The carousel had been his mother's of course. Years ago.

"She made it for you," Amren said. We were going through some of the old equipment, and when I told her it was your mother's, she wanted to repair it."

Rhys looked from the carousel, to Feyre, and back to the carousel again. Feyre blushed deeply.

"I didn't make it, I fixed the spinning mechanism and repainted the horses. One was too far gone to be repaired, but then I remembered you mentioned there was a clockwork pony somewhere..."

Rhys stared. "Feyre, it's beautiful." She beamed. "Thank you." "When did you even get time to do all this?" A wicked gleam came into her eye. "What do you think I do all day while you lot are working?"

Feyre stepped up onto the base of the carousel, grabbing onto one of the poles to steady herself as the whole thing continued to rotate lazily.

"Watch this," she said.

Feyre made her way to the clockwork horse, and sat down side-saddle. She reached forward and pressed something in it's neck, and the horse began to move it's legs on the spot like it was galloping.

"It winds itself up since the base turns," she explained, turning her head as the carousel took her away from them. "All you have to do is release the switch and it'll gallop away. Once it's run down, the switch falls back into place, and it gets wound up again."

Feyre hopped off, taking a few quick steps to regain her balance as the carousel spun on.

"Do you like it?" she asked Rhys. "It's my thank you gift, for looking after me this past week." "I love it," Rhys said. "Where did you learn to do this?" Feyre shrugged. "I sat on the floor of my father's workshop for years. And then when he stopped working, I took over and I've had ten years of trial and error to work on the craft."

Rhys just looked at her, stunned.

"You clever, beautiful thing."

Feyre went red, and Amren had had enough. She clapped her hands.

"Alright children, back out. It's time to get to work. Feyre, good job."

And then they were herded out.

That night, alone in his bed, Rhys stared at the ceiling and watched the ghosts of four horses spin around his head. He'd wanted to tell Feyre how much it meant to him, but hadn't been able to find the words.

He rolled over onto his side, and found the smell of Feyre's hair on his pillow.

At that moment, so faint that he wasn't sure he had really heard it, there was a knock at his caravan door.

Rhys didn't move for a second, wondering if he had conjured the sound it in his head. Then it came again.

Rolling smoothly out of bed, there was only one step to the door. He opened it, and there stood Feyre. He blinked at her, hair sticking up in what must be every direction, and quite without a shirt.

"Hello, Rhys," she breathed. Rhys' mouth quirked up. "Hello Feyre darling. Everything okay?"

Feyre looked away, and sort of shuffled from foot to foot.

"I... I couldn't sleep," she said. Rhys didn't respond immediately, wanting to be sure about what he was reading before he offered anything. Then she met his eyes. He stepped back, and held the door open.

Relief spread over Feyre's delicate features, and she stepped up into the room with him. Rhys slid back into bed, and made room for Feyre. They both lay on their sides, facing each other.

"Sorry," she said. Rhys shook his head. "Don't be." "I'm taking up your space," she said. "I want you to be here." Feyre went quiet at that.

Rhys watched her face, watched her bottom lip as she sucked it under her top teeth slightly. When he looked back up to her eyes, he was startled to find that she was staring at his chest.

"Did... they hurt?" she asked him. For a moment, he wasn't sure what she meant. He looked down at himself, and realised of course she was referring to his tattoos. Done so long ago he didn't think about them anymore.

"Yes," he admitted. She frowned slightly, then her brow smoothed again as she followed the trail of them with her eyes. She surprised Rhys again by asking, "Can I touch them?"

"Yes," he said, dazedly. He had been so careful this past week, let Feyre dictate the level of contact they shared. She seemed to feel less anxious when he held her, but this made sense to Rhys. They had done similar things for the horses, put heavy blankets on them to calm them down. Pressure and containment. He had tried not to make a big deal of it, tried especially not to touch her bare skin. But of course, of course he had wanted to. And now here she was, asking to touch him.

Rhys rolled onto his back and sat up a little, so that Feyre could see the pattern better. The tattoos had taken hours, the sound of the tapping hammer increasingly grating as the pain escalated. It was a tradition from his father's side, and although he had been reluctant at the time, he now quite liked them.

The first touch of Feyre's fingers made him start. Feyre snatched her hand back, but he smiled at her.

"Cold hands," he said. "Sorry," she whispered. "It's okay," he replied.

He nodded to her, and Feyre reached out shyly again. This time, Rhys held perfectly still while she traveled the curling lines across his chest. His eyes slid closed, and he might have hummed low under his breath as her hands moved over him.

"They feel... the same," she said. "I can't feel them at all." Rhys chuckled. "The ink sits under the skin," he said. "The surface is all the same." "Oh," was all Feyre said. She lay back down, and Rhys rolled to face her again. "Do you... do you want me to hold you?" "If it's not too much to ask." Rhys smiled gently at her. "I'll get a shirt." "It's okay, we can sleep like this."

Rhys paused for a moment. Then he opened his arms to her, and she slid forward into his chest. He could feel her breathing on his bare skin, and it thrilled him to his bones.

"I'll sleep in my own caravan tomorrow," Feyre promised. "Don't," Rhys said. "I like it better when you're here." A smile ghosted over Feyre's lips. "Okay," she murmured, and then she closed her eyes.

****

Okay I know this is not the most popular one, I have another one on the go but will I confuse the fook out of you all if I post that one at the same time? There are 2 more parts to this one, bear with me!

TAGLIST: @ghostlyrose2 @highladysith @stardelia @feysand-babies @tillyrubes10 @ratabrasileira @maybekindasortaace

#feysand #feysand fic #acotar #acomaf #acosf #night circus AU #rhysand #mine

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pennylanefics · 4 years

Text

The Baker - Prince!Finn Cole AU

a/n: it’s been a hot minute since i posted something :) this didn’t turn out as much as i expected, but it ends really sweetly ;) enjoy!

•••

When the news that the royal family would be coming to your village, everyone panicked. People were cleaning the streets every day, they were repainting shutters, gathering all stray animals and making sure everything was presentable. This also went for you.

You owned the bakery in your village. It was your family’s for the longest time, run by your parents and sister. But when you were of age, old enough to run a business on your own, they left the village. They wanted a better life and that apparently didn’t include you. Your sister stayed, though, but she didn’t really like helping with the bakery, since she’s done it for so long.

After the news broke, you spent days dusting shelves, cleaning dishes, sweeping the store every hour, and making sure you had enough ingredients for the big day. You made sure to make enough bread for them, as well as give them many different desserts and pastries.

You were extremely tired after all the baking and decorating, but you had to make yourself look at least a little more presentable. So you quickly ran upstairs and changed into your favorite outfit, ridding the flour and dough from your body, forgetting that some of it was still in your hair.

Finally, the time came. The entire town was standing on their door steps and porches, watching as the carriage drove in and stopped in the square. They were introduced by their squire, and you and your sister are in awe.

They begin making stops around the different stands and shops in the square, and yours is the last they get to.

“(Y/S/N), fix that basket of french bread!” You yell to your sister, watching as the king, queen, and prince walk into your shop.

“Hello! It’s such a pleasure to meet you King and Queen,” you greet them with a big smile. But the prince is the one to catch your eye.

His bright blue eyes stare at you in adoration as you talk with his parents, explaining your story and how you came to own the bakery and how much you make and sell a day. You offer them small samples of each kind, giving them the box of free desserts you made specifically for them.

“Oh how rude of us! This is our son and future king, Finn,” the queen introduces you. He steps forward and reaches for your hand over the counter, keeping his eyes on you as he presses a light kiss to your hand. Heat rises to your cheeks and you grin a little at him.

“It’s lovely to meet you, beautiful,” he whispers against your hand with a wink. You halt for a second, really taken aback by his gesture, but you snap back to reality and smile sweetly at the king and queen.

They chat with you for a few more minutes, and the entire time, Finn is staring at you with a small grin on his lips, enjoying one of the pastries you made for him.

“This is really good,” he interrupts the conversation, making his parents laugh. You giggle as well, handing him a handkerchief to him. A blush covers his cheeks when he realizes that he has jelly on the corner of his lip.

“Well, it was very nice meeting you and we hope to send our squire here every weekend to pick up bread and desserts. Finn seems to like it, so I’m sure he’ll request a lot of those jelly pastries.”

“I’ll have everything fresh and ready for him when he does! It’s been a pleasure talking with you.” You curtsey to them, as your sister said you should do when greeting and saying goodbye to the royal family.

Once more, Finn reaches for your hand, upon disapproval from his parents and bids you a goodbye himself. And then he was gone.

“He is so cute,” you mumble to yourself, but your sister, standing behind you, hears you clear as day.

“You like the prince?” She wonders.

“I mean, he seems sweet and he is very handsome, but who knows? He’s probably just like his parents, power hungry and not really caring of the people they rule.”

You go on with your day, selling your bread to all of your regulars and chatting with people every now and then. It was a pretty long day, but once you got into bed, your mind was solely focused on Finn. What he’s really like, if he’s truly different than his parents or if he wanted his own life.

Days go by and you go back to regular life, your sister going back to being no help now that the royal family isn't here anymore. Well, two members of the royal family.

On one rainy weekend afternoon, you were preparing some dough to make pastries for tomorrow, since the dough had to sit for at least twelve hours. You were working on making some pain au chocolat dough when the bell to your bakery door rang. Wiping your hands on a towel nearby, you run out to the front.

“I’m sorry, the bakery’s closed for the rest of the day,” you sigh out, not looking up just yet.

“Actually, I wasn’t planning on buying anything,” a familiar voice rings out in the small shop. Your heart starts to race and you finally gaze up at the man. He removes his soaked hood and runs a hand through his hair.

Finn.

“Oh, um, hello. Are you, are you here for um,” you couldn’t get a sentence out properly. He chuckles and steps closer to you.

“Are you alright? I didn’t mean to startle you, darling. I just really wanted to come see you,” he says with the sweetest tone in the world.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Ever since we first met, I haven’t stopped thinking about you.” Heat rises to your cheeks and you avert your eyes to the ground.

“Honestly, I haven’t either,” you shyly admit. He keeps stepping closer to you until he’s directly in front of the counter, where you’re standing behind.

“So, do you have time to take a walk?” You smile at him and look back to the kitchen area.

“I have to finish some things up, and it’s also raining. Shouldn’t you know that? I mean, you did ride here, right?” He shakes his head in embarrassment and glances out the window at his horse, shielded from the rain under the awning.

“You would think I know that…” he trails off, rubbing his neck. “But once I saw you, everything on my mind disappeared.”

“Oh, so you’re cheeky, eh?” You say in a teasing voice. Finn laughs and keeps his eyes down.

“If you’d like to come back and wait until I get done with my work, we can talk for a while,” you offer. “There’s stables at the end of the road so your horse isn’t stuck sitting under the awning.”

“Right. I’ll be back, love.” Another blush covers your cheeks as he leaves the shop, guiding his horse out of sight. You go back to the kitchen and continue kneading the dough that was abandoned. Soon after, Finn returns and finds his way to the kitchen, watching you from the doorway.

“How long have you been doing this?” He asks, moving to stand next to you.

“If you had been listening to when I was talking with your parents, you would know,” you joke.

“I couldn’t help but be so enamoured by your beauty, I was barely listening,” he murmurs.

“I’m no princess, Prince Finn. There’s no need to flirt.”

“I think you’re very beautiful.” You stop your actions and turn to him. You want to say something, but realizing that you’re close to being done with the dough, you finish up first before talking with him.

He stays put, watching you clean the table up and pack everything away before washing up and motioning for him to follow you upstairs.

“You’ve been shivering for the past ten minutes,” you say, throwing him a cover to warm up with. “I can get a fire going and make you some tea.”

You are quick to start a fire, giving him a blanket to wrap himself in it.

“Here you are,” you quietly say, handing him a steaming cup of tea. You lower yourself to the floor next to him and sit in silence for a little.

“So, why did you come here?” You ask.

“I told you, I wanted to talk to you more. Get to know you better.”

“But why? I’m just a commoner. Aren’t you supposed to be promised to a beautiful princess of a neighboring kingdom to better the ties your family has?”

“Technically yes, but they have yet to find a princess that fits their standards. So I’m taking matters into my own hands.” A giggle escapes your lips and you set your tea cup down on the brick next to the fire. You go to grab a blanket for yourself but Finn offers his to yours.

“I’m warm now, I don’t mind.” You take it and thank him, another silence falling over you.

“I really don’t like the royalty life anyways,” Finn whispers, eyes cast down in his lap.

“It seems like a great time. I mean, you don’t have to worry about if you are going to have breakfast, lunch, or dinner, you have a roof over your head with a warm place to sleep, and you do not have to worry about making a living to stay alive.” Finn hadn’t realized that’s what you struggle with as a bakery owner.

“You...are amazing. You go through so much and still are so positive. I don’t think I would be able to survive on my own, which I hate. I want nothing more than to be able to fend for myself, but there’s no way out of my family.”

“Tell them. Tell them you’re not fit to be king or don’t want to be. It can’t be that hard.”

“Oh it is,” he sighs. “But I’ve always dreamed of the day I stand up to them and go to live in a cottage, no worries about running a country or anything of that matter. I’d give anything for that life.”

“It’s not as glorious as you think. I’ve had days where I just cry and cry because it’s so much stress to run this bakery by myself. I sometimes think of running away, just like my parents did to me.” This was something you didn’t mention when you met them. You told them your family used to run the bakery but you took over, you didn’t say why you had to take over.

“What?”

“My parents left my sister and I with no warning when I turned eighteen. I was old enough to run the bakery and live on my own, so they left.”

“But doesn’t your sister help out? She was helping the other day?” You scoff in humor and shake your head, taking a small sip of your tea.

“No. She was there because she had to be. She’s always exploring the forest and out of the house every single day. She always stays with her lover that she met. I prefer the place alone anyways, it’s much more relaxing. She doesn’t like being here and she’s always so pissed off and annoying.” Finn laughs and moves a bit closer to you.

“I don’t have any siblings. So it’s odd to hear that you like being away from your sister. For me, I’ve always wanted a sibling.”

“We can trade?” You both laugh together and you can’t help but rest a hand on his leg, which he takes into his hand in seconds.

“Life is hard sometimes but we have to push through the bad days to get to the better ones,” he says.

“I like that saying,” you smile softly, your tone matching his. His thumb rubs against the back of your hand, comforting you a little.

“My butler told it to me one day when I was young, and it’s stuck with me since then.”

“Wow, so weird to know you have a butler.”

“It’s awful, honestly. They come into my room when all I want is to be left alone. I’ve lashed out on so many since I was young, we’ve had different ones every other year because they all get mad that I talk back.”

“Doesn’t sound like you. You’re so sweet and kind, I couldn’t imagine you yelling at someone.”

“It happens quite a lot,” he laughs. “Another reason why I don’t believe I’m cut out for this life.”

“We could always switch lives, like switching siblings,” you offer as a joke.

“I wouldn’t mind a life like yours,” he takes your joke seriously.

“What?”

“Being a baker in a small village, living above where I work, getting to know people on a personal level. I think that would be nice.”

Weeks and months pass, and you and Finn continue seeing each other every once in a while. You were in love with each other at this point, but Finn came to you with news one day.

It was another late night for you, you were up making dough for bread the following day. The only light was a few candles illuminating your kitchen. Finn’s footsteps creak the floorboards, catching your attention. You smile and go to greet him with a kiss, but the look on his face says everything.

“What’s wrong?” You wonder, wiping your hands on your apron.

“My parents found me a princess to marry me off to,” he whispers. He doesn’t dare make eye contact with you, scared to see your reaction, if you would be angry, sad, or disappointed.

“Oh,” you mumble, beginning to pick at your fingernails. “T-that’s great. I’m happy-”

“No you’re not,” he interrupts, looking up at you. “You’re not happy for me so don’t say it. I love you and you love me, there is no way either one of us is happy about this.”

“But, you have to. You’re the prince after all.”

“That’s what I came to talk to you about. Can we go upstairs? I had a long ride and need to lay down.”

“Uh, yeah. Just let me finish up this last batch of dough. You can go up and help yourself to some tea.” He nods and walks off, leaving you alone to tear up at the idea of your ‘relationship’ ending tonight or sometime soon.

Once you finish, you take a few minutes to collect yourself before walking upstairs. Finn was sitting on the floor in front of the fire, warming his hands with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders.

“I made you some tea,” he murmurs. You clean yourself off a bit more before sitting next to him, making sure to keep some space between you, and begin drinking your tea.

“I’m not going through with it,” he sternly says. “I’m not going to be married off to some girl I do not know just because it will help my family gain more power and notoriety.”

“But you-”

“No! There’s no way I’m going through with it! I fucking love you and I want to be with you!” He yells. You stare deep into his eyes, which were lit up from the fire.

“Finn, I love you too. But we come from two different sides of life. You can’t just leave all that you’ve known to be with me.”

“Yes I can. I can live here with you and help you with the bakery so you’re not overwhelmed with everything. I may not know how to bake, or handle money, or do anything really, but I’m willing to try.” There’s a slight hint of teasing in his voice, but you could tell from the look in his eyes that he was dead serious.

“Do your parents know about me? About us?”

“They know I’ve been sneaking away every once in a while, but no, they don’t know the reason.”

“How can you be sure they are going to be okay with you leaving for good?” He shrugs and wraps an arm around your shoulders, pressing kisses to your forehead.

“They're going to have to deal with it because I want to be with you more than anything,” he whispers. You sit in silence, eyes closed in content, basking in the feel of his arms.

“So are you really going to help me with baking?” You ask. Finn chuckles and pulls you onto his lap, his hand caressing your cheek afterwards.

“I’m going to try if it means I can be with you.”

Sure enough, Finn broke the news to his parents that he was not going to be marrying the princess, and that he would be leaving them to be with you, the baker of the village. They weren’t happy, of course, but Finn didn’t care.

The sun was shining through the window above the table you were working on, a small smile on your face as Finn’s voice rang out as he talked with customers at the front of the bakery. A second bell dings, signaling that the customer left, when Finn comes up behind you, his arms circling your waist.

“That was Mrs. Kalding. She picked up her order. She said she’s excited for the baby,” he says into your neck. His hands rub your slightly swollen stomach, his lips attaching to your skin.

“She’ll be the first one knitting booties and hats for them,” you giggle, turning around in his arms and looping your own arms around his neck.

“I’m so happy here. I never thought this would be possible,” he grins, kissing you deeply on the lips.

“It’s crazy what can happen in a year, right?” You respond, playing with the curls at the back of his hair.

“And I’d never change a thing.”

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