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“WHY BE FRIENDS IF WE CAN BE LOVERS?” — WRIOTHESLEY, NEUVILLETTE, ALHAITHAM, & KAMISATO AYATO
in which genshin men decide being friends is not enough. why be friends when you could clearly be so much better as lovers? part two of “we’re just friends, but…” (<- read part one for better understanding of each)
contains: female reader (use of miss, milady/my lady, lovely lady, and madame) ; fluff (slight hints of angst but all happy endings) ; confessions, friends to lovers, wriothesley: implied harassment of reader by an inmate, reader is a doctor at the fortress, angry and possessive wriothesley, jealousy ; neuvillette: reader works at the palais, melusine features, neuvillette is implied to be emotional and make it rain ; alhaitham: mentions of drinking alcohol (alhaitham), vulnerable alhaitham, reader can cook ; ayato: slightly insecure reader, mentions of reader being in a lower class than ayato
WRIOTHESLEY
wriothesley is not a possessive man, despite his feelings for you.
he’s long accepted that somewhere between frequent visits to you in the infirmary and occasional lunches together as fellow colleagues at the fortress, he’s fallen hopelessly hard for you. how could he not, when you’re so gentle-natured, smart, and unfairly pretty?
but still, wriothesley is not a possessive man. when men praise you to the archons and admire your unearthly beautiful smile, he is not possessive. when he grumpily watches your fingers brush against bare chests of the wounded after pankration matches, he is not possessive. when you shyly thank an inmate who rushes to hold a door open for you, he is not possessive.
but even wriothesley has his limits. and they happen to snap over the edge today—because now, as a man corners you against the wall, pestering you until distress is clear on your face, wriothesley feels possessive.
it’s a shameful feeling, but it’s one he can’t help. he’s tolerated many things, enough of them that make him wash down the bitter taste of jealousy with the most soothing tea he can find in his collection. but this? this is beyond the patience of even a kind warden such as himself.
you, whether you or anyone else in this fortress knows it, are his to protect.
so he walks up, fisting the inmate’s shirt and lifting him up to drag away from you, jaw tight and locked as he asks lowly, “is there a problem? if i didn’t know any better, i’d say you were giving this lovely lady here some trouble.”
“y-your grace,” the man, to his credit, has a good mind to look remorseful, eyeing you nervously for a moment before rapidly shaking his head. “n-no, i was just…i was just askin’ her if she’d like some help findin’ her way is all. you know the fortress can be confusin’ ’n such.”
the inmate trails off, nervously chuckling as he quivers in the warden’s unforgiving hold.
wriothesley glances at you, raising an unconvinced eyebrow as he asks, “and do you need any help finding your way, miss?”
“no,” you shake your head, voice a bare whisper.
his jaw tightens further, glancing back at the man before he snarls lowly, “then you leave her alone. don’t let me catch you bothering her again, understood?”
“y-yes, your grace!”
wriothesley releases the man’s shirt, crumpled from his iron grip as he stares, eyes narrowed—threatening, even, as he waits for the brave soul (for anyone who bothers you where he’s in charge is the bravest of all souls) to leave. not one moment is wasted before you watch the inmate scramble away, leaving you alone with a tense, disgruntled duke in your hands.
“thank you,” you whisper, “i’m not sure how much longer he’d have bothered me if you hadn’t shown up.”
“anyone else ever try that before?” he seethes. you’ve never seen him so angry before—something about it feels almost personal.
you shake your head, stepping away from the wall as you walk over to him. “no, wriothesley,” you murmur, “no one gives me a hard time. this was a first.”
“let me know if anyone bothers you,” he grunts, fist still clenched even with no shirt to hold like earlier. “i’ll take care of it.”
you eye the way it’s tightly curled, knuckles almost ghostly white from the pressure before you gently grab his hand, working his fingers loose from his tight grip and rubbing a soothing thumb over the crescent mark from his nails along his palm.
“of course,” you smile softly, “though, i’m sure word will spread quickly that the warden doesn’t appreciate his doctor being bothered by persistent men. i don’t think there will be any repeats of this incident.”
he should feel ashamed.
you think so highly of him—defaulting to believing he’d saved you because he was only worried for your wellbeing, and not because it burned him alive to see a man so close to you, a man who desired you just as much as he did and had stooped to such unchivalrous methods to have you.
faintly, he’s aware that your hand is still grasping his, still rubbing a thumb over the angry, red marks along his palm as you study him carefully. he’s sure there’s not much he hides in his expression—you must be reading him like an open book. he can’t bring himself to care, however, not when the sight of someone else pinning you to a wall and towering over you is still so fresh in his head.
“something on your mind, your grace?” you ask, leaning closer.
perhaps, if he was a stronger man, one with more firm principles, he’d know to pull away and give you your space. but you lean closer, and he’s weak to his own desires, so he takes it as an invitation to lean closer himself.
“yes,” he admits, “i…i’m afraid i had less than honorable intentions when stepping in.”
“oh?” you raise a brow, looking at him in fond amusement. maybe you already know, he thinks, if your lack of surprise tells him anything. “enlighten me, then. what were your intentions?”
“to make sure no man comes close to you,” he mumbles, leaning closer while you do the same, your noses just barely brushing as your breath all but mingles.
“why?” you ask. it almost sounds like a plead—like you’re waiting to hear something desperately.
“because it’s unbearable to see you with other men,” he says hoarsely. if you’re uncomfortable, you don’t show it. but he has reason to believe you’re quite the opposite, in fact, when your eyes seem to brighten.
“and if i were to say i appreciate your intentions?” you ask softly.
finally, his jaw loosens—instead, he replaces the clench with a loose, easy grin, one that allows him to chuckle lowly as he stares at you with a playful disbelief.
“that so?” he hums, “perhaps then you’d care to join me for dinner today, milady—i’ll have the finest meal the cafeteria has to offer waiting for you.”
“on a date?” you ask hopefully.
“on a date,” he confirms with a slight nod.
you kiss his cheek, making his breath catch in his throat as you step away and smile gleefully. “i’ll see you at dinner then, your grace.”
NEUVILLETTE
the first day you skip your newfound routine of tea and desserts with neuvillette and the many, many melusines that join, it rains. harshly so, in fact.
you walk up to the palais, soaked from the unexpected weather as you grin sheepishly at a concerned sedene.
“madame!” she gasps, “oh, you’ve been caught in the weather!”
“it’s alright, sedene,” you chuckle, “it’s nothing new in fontaine to have unexpected rain. i suppose i should’ve planned accordingly. is monsieur neuvillette in his office? i have papers for him,” you hold up a file.
sedene fidgets for a moment, hesitant as she says, “yes…he’s in his office but…well, i should warn you that he’s not in the best of moods.”
“oh dear,” you furrow your brows, “how unfortunate. i’ll make it quick. they’re quite urgent papers.”
she nods at your promise—and just before you can turn to leave, she stops you, seemingly debating before making a final comment.
“you didn’t join us today, madame,” she starts, “for tea today during the monsieur’s break.”
“oh,” you tilt your head in surprise for a moment, “you’re right, i didn’t. i apologize if you were waiting on me. i was caught up with much paperwork to finish before i came in.”
“i see. perhaps monsieur neuvillette will appreciate knowing that, then,” she smiles.
before you can ask, she skips away, finding a group of melusines in the corner. you watch as they whisper away behind their paws, blinking back your confusion before walking towards the door of neuvillette’s office, knocking gently.
“monsieur neuvillette? may i come in? i have some papers that must be delivered to you.”
there’s a shuffle from inside, a clearing of the iudex’s throat before a raspy, “yes, of course. come in.”
you enter, walking in slowly as you close the distance between the door and his desk, smiling as you set the file down in your hands. he looks rather…well, you’re not sure, exactly—perhaps the best word would be melancholy. suddenly, sedene’s words from earlier ring in your head, and you wonder if there’s any relation between your absence and his seemingly downcast mood.
so you give him an apologetic look as you speak. “i apologize if my absence was a surprise to you today. it seems i lost track of time with paperwork. i hope you enjoyed a peaceful break with the melusines,” you hum, “you certainly need a proper break with all the duties you take on.”
against your better judgement, you reach over, brushing a strand of misplaced hair from his forehead and tucking it back in place. rarely does the chief justice of fontaine ever look less than prim and proper, if ever at all—and the action causes you to pause just as much as it does him.
he breaks the silence first, and if he notices the slight flustered expression on your face, he doesn’t point it out as he says gently, “it’s quite alright. i’m sure you’re a busy individual.”
“i do quite enjoy my routine visit,” you say shyly, “it was a shame i couldn’t join today. but rest assured, i’ll be present tomorrow.”
“i’m glad to hear it,” he seems to brighten a bit, a gentle smile pulling at the corners of his lips as he admits in a quieter voice, “truthfully, i had assumed you didn’t want to join me—or excuse me, us,” he coughs, correcting himself at the end.
“oh dear,” you furrow your brows, crinkles forming in your forehead as you quickly shake your head, “of course i love joining you. today was a rare occasion, i’m afraid. i hope i didn’t upset you, monsieur.”
“no,” he shakes his head just as quickly. he coughs, clearing his throat as he adds, “it’s just that i…well, i have come to enjoy your company. a little more than i perhaps should.”
he doesn’t meet your gaze, cheeks flushed a gentle shade of pink as you take in his words. silently after a moment, with a bright grin on your face that spreads across your lips and finds itself in the deepest of crinkles in your eyes, you slowly reach over to cup his face.
neuvillette, no matter how trained in self control, cannot help but lean into your touch, staring at you with wide eyes as you rub a delicate circle into the swell of his cheek.
“i’ve come to enjoy your company as well, monsieur. perhaps…perhaps it would be nice to enjoy each other’s company outside of the palais as well,” you offer. and then, eyeing the small opening in the door, you add, “somewhere away from prying eyes.”
neuvillette watches as the door quickly shuts, the soft giggles of the melusines muffled behind the door as he chuckles in amusement. his hand cups the back of your own, cheek laying comfortably in your palm.
“yes,” he murmurs softly, “i think i would love that.”
ALHAITHAM
alhaitham is not drunk today.
you can tell when you open the door because he’s not swaying, or slurring his words, or staring at you with a hazy look. instead, he’s perfectly sober, perfectly rational, and perfectly collected alhaitham.
you look at him in surprise before smiling in greeting.
“you’re not drunk for once,” you murmur, “i don’t think i ever get a visit from you when you’re not drunk.”
the words make him wince a bit—he doesn’t like the implication of that. alhaitham enjoys your company when he’s not inebriated, especially when he’s not inebriated, in fact. mainly because he can actually recall things that way, like the way you laugh and the crinkle of your eyes. but somehow, being drunk has become a bit of a weekly routine for him at the tavern with his friends (which really, is just cyno and tighnari, and of course, kaveh—but kaveh can hardly be considered a friend these days).
coming to your doorstep every week when he’s drunk becomes a byproduct of his habits. he can’t control them, like an involuntary muscle that moves on its own accord without his permission. just like his heart beats and pumps blood, his feet carry him to find you.
it’s natural, autonomic.
“i didn’t want to drink tonight,” he explains, rubbing his neck awkwardly. alhaitham is blunt—speaking his mind is not a complicated task. he’s sure of his thoughts and opinions, and the response people give them is of little concern to him.
but his thoughts aren’t very coherent when they come to you. he’s not sure of even a single thing, in fact. sure, he knows he likes you—really, really likes you. but sometimes, he contemplates if he’s fallen in love with you. he can’t tell, if he’s being honest, because he’s never been in love before. it’s uncharted waters for even someone as knowledgeable as him.
and then there’s the more difficult part. he’s not sure if you feel the same, or if you’d respond positively to the idea of his developed feelings. logic tells him you’re kind, compassionate, deeply understanding. perhaps you’d let him down gently and still consider him a good friend if you don’t feel the same. but for some reason, there’s an illogical part of him. one he doesn’t recognize. one that tells him that you might walk away and never look twice in his direction again as soon as you realize the nature of his feelings.
logic doesn’t win in his mind for once. it hasn’t for a very long time. it’s why he doesn’t tell you for so long how he feels.but tonight he plans to change that.
regardless of your feelings, requited or unrequited, alhaitham will tell you how he feels. he owes you that much, for all the careful care and deduction you put into handling his drunk self. for all the meals you made and let him eat before letting him crash on your couch. for all the cups of coffee you made his hungover self as you carefully tiptoed around your own home so the noise wouldn’t disturb his pounding head.
he clears his throat, fiddling with his fingers as he stares at his feet.
“do you want to come in?” you offer.
he shakes his head. “i don’t think that’s a good idea. i came…i came to say something.”
“i see,” you nod, “then by all means, share what you have to say.”
it’s not so easy. not when he tries to plan the words in his head as he walks to your home, and not when he’s standing before you. alhaitham is a linguist. he speaks over twenty languages, some of which are known to be romantic by nature. he’s read the divinest of poems and decoded the most complicated of hieroglyphics. he, of all people, should excel in putting words together.
but his tongue feels like sandpaper in his mouth as he stares at you, though. distantly, he’s aware he must look stupid. standing here, silent and stiff as you stand by your door and wait for him to spit out what he has to say.
so he says the first thing he can think—and it makes his face burn as soon as he realizes what he says. “your sabz meat stew is my favorite.”
you grin, chuckling in amusement as you murmur, “oh my, i’m flattered. you came all this way to praise my cooking?”
“n-no,” he sighs in embarrassment, “that…that’s not what i meant.”
you hum, smiling at him softly as you patiently wait for him to speak again. a part of him feels like you’re aware of something, something that maybe even he’s not aware of himself. but he doesn’t want to dwell on that—perhaps your knowledge is a product of his drunken rambles, and he’s not sure he wants to even begin imagining what that might look like. what he doesn’t know can’t hurt him.
“well, if you must know,” you giggle, “i enjoy making your favorite for you.”
“i enjoy your stew,” he mumbles, concentrating for a moment before his face hardens with determination and he looks at you, “i enjoy waking up on your couch, and drinking your coffee, and the way you hum when you get ready for the day. it’s enjoyable because it’s you.”
you process his words for a moment before smile slowly, eyeing him with wonder as you break into a fit of giggles. he doesn’t have time to dwell on whether or not you’re laughing at him because there’s an arm looping around his bicep, pulling him in past your door and pressing him against it as soon as it’s shut.
you’re close—it’s the first thing he notices, chest brushed against his chest as you look up at him with a fond, affectionate expression.
“you’re a smart man, alhaitham,” you murmur, “i’m sure you can figure out why i make your favorite every time you come. and make your coffee just how you like. and let you sleep in on my couch when i could be spending my morning enjoying the sun.”
he wants to tell you that he doesn’t feel very smart when he’s around you. it’s like logic is a foreign concept as soon as your smile invades his line of sight. but words are difficult enough to produce when you’re so close, he doesn’t think he could tell you even if he tried.
instead, he asks, “because you’re kind?”
“not kind enough to do groceries for two every weekend,” you chuckle. “unless…”
“unless…?” he asks breathlessly.
“unless it’s you, silly,” you snort. “do fill in the lines, will you?”
he allows himself to hope. because it doesn’t take logic to let himself hope you feel the same way he does.
“if…” he takes a deep breath, taking a moment to contemplate before boldly settling his hands on your hips, “if i come here next week sober, would you still open the door for me?”
“of course,” you whisper.
“if i came whenever i wanted, would you still open the door for me?” he asks, eyes peering into yours desperately, begging you to tell him what he wants to hear.
you sigh, gently cupping his cheeks as he closes his eyes and shudders. “always,” you breathe, “will you come?”
“yes,” he nods. his shoulders slump—in relief and in pure bliss as he lets his head drop to the crook of your neck, pressing his nose into your warm skin as you cradle the back of his head. “because i enjoy coming home to you.”
“and i enjoy welcoming you home,” you murmur.
and it’s at the same time that you kiss the side of his head and he kisses the soft skin of your neck, a stumbling mess of limbs pressed against one another as you both find your way to collapse on your familiar couch.
KAMISATO AYATO
it’s midnight when there’s a knock on your door. it’s rushed, an incessant tapping against the surface that almost has you concerned, but the familiar face through the peephole eases your worries.
and then it hits you—ayato is here. beyond the question of how he has the time to visit you so unexpectedly, there’s the concern of what people might think if he’s seen here so late, standing outside your door.
“ayato? why are you here?” you look at him in confusion as you open the door, eyebrows furrowing as he smiles at you.
“well, hello. such an enthusiastic greeting you’ve afforded me,” he says playfully, making you roll your eyes. “won’t you even invite me in?”
“well, come on then,” you huff, “it’s always something or another with you.”
“whatever do you mean?” he gasps, a hand pressing to his chest in mock hurt, “i’ve simply come to have a heartfelt conversation.”
“at this hour?” you cross your arms, scoffing at his timing. still, you could never turn him away.
it’s not of any trouble to you—ayato knows it too. but there’s something oddly vulnerable about having him in your home, and unexpectedly at that. suddenly, everything feels out of place and untidy to you, a contrast to the large, sophisticated estate you’re sure he must be used to. you shift on your feet, feeling the scrutinizing gaze of someone as important as the yashiro commissioner, standing in your small home where you have nowhere to hide.
“ah,” he nods in amusement, “how impolite of me. shall i take my departure, then?”
“i could hardly turn the yashiro commissioner away without allowing him to speak,” you shake your head, fighting back a smile as he grins. “pray tell, what could have prompted such a spontaneous visit?”
“i’d like to ask for your hand,” he says bluntly.
you blink, gaping at him in disbelief. ayato has never been cruel—in fact, he’s always been much the opposite. especially to you. he’s become painfully important, a friendship you’ve never expected but cannot fathom existing without now that you have him.
but something about this feels cruel, like he’s aware of the deeper feelings you’ve accidentally let surface in the process, feelings you try to push back desperately. how could the yashiro commissioner be seen with someone so far from his realm? someone so disconnected from his world and status?
you furrow your brows, looking at him unimpressed as you murmur, “that’s hardly funny, ayato. be serious.”
“i am serious,” he tilts his head, “i, kamisato ayato, would like to ask for your hand, milady. if you would be so kind, that is.”
his hand is offered to you—and something in your aches to reach for it. to feel his fingers intertwined with yours, to feel the rough calluses of his hands from years of swordsmanship, to feel the gentle warmth of his palm pressed up against yours.
“i-in marriage?” you ask in utter confusion.
he chuckles, hand still outstretched as he raises an eyebrow. “well, i figured marriage would be a bit sudden, but far be it from me to deny such an enthusiastic idea.”
you’re not sure why (or maybe you are, and you simply hate to admit it), but there’s a burning sting in the back of your eyes. something bubbling between humiliation and hurt and flooding in the form of tears as you stare at him unsure if he’s lost his mind, or if he’s simply joking at your expense.
ayato has never made you feel like a victim of casual cruelty from his end, so a small part of you wonders if he’s truly serious. but the more logical part of you tells you that if not a mere attempt at playfulness, what else could this be?
“this isn’t funny,” you whisper, voice small. “i hardly find such pranks entertaining, ayato. i thought you to be better than that.”
it’s silent. deafeningly so, in fact.
his hand drops—slowly, hesitant as he eyes you in uncertainty. he takes a step towards you, closing the distance enough to notice every small detail of your face, but leaving enough of a gap so as not to overstep.
“i hardly find any entertainment in offering myself up, either,” he murmurs, “do reject me gently if you intend to. i’m afraid my age is catching up to me—i have a weak heart.”
“you’re hardly old,” you snort, watching him suppress a smile as he studies you. “you’re really being serious?”
“do you doubt me?”
“i suppose not,” you whisper. his hand extends to you again, something hopeful in his eyes, something almost desperate as he stares at you and waits for you to finally take it in your grasp.
your hand slowly finds his, fingertips grazing those calluses you’ve noticed for so long, rough and firm under the delicateness of your touch. finally, it hits you he came without gloves on, and you realize it must be for the chance of feeling your skin against his, bare touch with no fabric to separate either of you.
you feel him, taking in the years and years of training that show through such toughened skin, and he watches you carefully as you trace along his palm before flattening your own against him, slowly lacing your fingers together.
“i have found the man who attacked you,” he says quietly, “and i’m ashamed to admit the…unsavory methods i was prepared to take to punish his crimes.”
“i hope you wouldn’t stoop to such levels for me,” you say quietly.
“i fear there isn’t much i wouldn’t resort to for your safety,” he admits.
“i’m hardly worth such trouble,” you shake your head, smiling softly as you reach over and cup his cheek, thumb brushing gently against the mole you’ve always ached to feel. whether from the brush of your lips or from the graze of your thumb, you’ve always wondered how it’d feel. “there are much more worthy women to be the object of your affections, my lord.”
“ayato,” he corrects. it sounds like a plead, if you listen carefully. “and not to me,” he shakes his head. “it’s you i desire. i’m afraid i cannot concentrate on my duties until i have you. the nation shall befall a most unfortunate fate if i must suffer a single night more without having you.”
“i’m starting to think i am the only hope inazuma has left,” you roll your eyes, staring at him in wonder, “it seems it has fallen to me to ensure we have a functioning yashiro commissioner.”
“i do hope you’ll take such responsibilities seriously.” his hand lays over your own, keeping your touch in place as he leans his face into your palm further, closing his eyes and relishing in your touch.
“oh, ayato,” you chuckle breathlessly, eyes watery as you step closer, closing the gap until your chest presses against his. you wonder if he can hear the rapid thrumming of your heart, if he can feel it. “you’ll be the death of me.”
“i should hope not,” he chuckles, leaning closer and closer until his lips hover over yours, just a millimeter away from brushing against them, “i fear for my own sanity should such an ill fate come before you.”
“oh kiss me, you fool,” you scoff tiredly at his antics.
he doesn’t waste a moment, pressing his lips hungrily against yours, hands wandering to your waist and instantly pulling you closer, fitting his palm to cradle the small of your back. he chases your lips frantically when you pull away, a low grunt of disapproval rumbling from his chest before he plants his lips against yours once more. he kisses you like he’s crossed oceans upon oceans to find you, fixed on keeping you not more than a fingertips distance away at all times so that he’ll never lose you again.
and finally—finally, once he’s decided he’s sufficiently stolen the air from your lungs, he allows you to pull back and breathe.
“i’m afraid i can be a rather overbearing lover,” he murmurs against your lips, pecking them lightly. “you’ll hardly be free of me should i desire your company.”
you chuckle, leaning to kiss his mole softly, cradling his face. “i believe i’ll find a way to cope,” you grin.
ayato was fun to write last time, and he was just as fun to write this time and i am realizing i have some real hidden feelings for the man the more i write him. i really enjoy doing his dialogue, though i’m not sure if i do it justice. i sure hope i do 🥹
i loved this 💗💗
Bibliothèque
➭ “You are at the very top of your college cohort, an A grade student on the fast track to a life of success. You know the answers to everything, or at least you think you do. That is until you meet quirky genius Kim Taehyung.”
pairing: taehyung x reader
genre: smut, fluff, college au, college rivals au, librarian!tae
wordcount: 15k
❀ 3 / 8 of my oneshot requests ❀
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This is my favorite type of humor, and I really just can’t handle the cuteness…kthx. 🥺🥺
sweet on my lips
✗ requested by @momolovesfanfic for my 1.2k follower event, and based off prompt C10. → pairing: barista!jungkook x reader → genre: fluff → word count: 1.1k → warnings: none! → summary: your regular barista likes to torment you by calling you weird names.
“One caramel macchiato for Pepper?”
You roll your eyes down at your phone, pointedly ignoring the voice that’s calling out your order as you try to quell the irritation simmering beneath your skin. It’s not worth it, you remind yourself. He’s doing it on purpose. At first it seemed like an honest mistake when the doe eyed barista made a slight change to your name as he called it out. You supposed it was pretty common to mishear a name over the loud sounds of steaming milk and coffee, so you easily brushed it off the first time. And the second time. And the third time. But the more you came back, the more bizarre the alterations to your name became, and barely two weeks into your daily visits for coffee the barista had seemingly given up on it entirely. Normally this wouldn’t really be much of a problem – it’s not like he’s obligated to get your name right, and you figured it was just something he was doing for fun to pass the time.
So yes, normally you would’ve just brushed it off, but then the barista decided to make it his personal mission to embarrass you with the increasingly weirder names he came up with. You don’t think you’ll ever be able to forgive him for making a long line of customers believe that you willingly gave your name as ‘lord farquaad’ (sure, you had made the bad decision to cut blunt bangs when you were drunk and had accidentally made them way too short, but he didn’t have to add on to your trauma and be mean about it).
Keep reading
y'all highly recommend. such a cute lil story... it's crackhead energy and it was so entertaining OMFFF. so cute. i love.
bread cheeks → kth
✳ fic type: social media au
✳ pairing: taehyung x reader
✳ genre: enemies to lovers, college au, crack, fluff, humor, lighthearted (i prOMISE)
✳ warnings: explicit language
✳ status: ongoing
✳ updates: Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays at 10 PM KST/9AM ET
SYNOPSIS:
kim taehyung is so painfully cliché. popular, godly looks, a casanova reputation, and yet adored by everyone. everyone but you, of course. he knew your secret and it allowed him to constantly have his way with you. with your banter-laced exchanges, everyone knew you two did not get along. but what happens when you find out that this “bad boy” is secretly a cinnamon roll? even better, a bad boy who bakes them.
→ parts:
note: links may not be working on mobile so refer to the master list for upcoming/previous parts! ❤️
reader & friends’ profiles
taehyung & friends’ profiles
🍞 prologue
🍞 one | sweet of you
🍞 two | if you wanna be my lover
🍞 three | interesting
🍞 four | maid kink
🍞 five | vitamin d
🍞 six | oh how the turntables
🍞 seven | bread cheeks
🍞 eight | make a group chat
🍞 nine | car texts
🍞 ten | operation namjoon
🍞 eleven | he has a what??
🍞 twelve | i don’t need a man
🍞 thirteen | cinnamon rolls
🍞 fourteen | it’s not a date
🍞 fifteen | never gonna happen
🍞 sixteen | chaotic
🍞 seventeen | burnt cookies
🍞 eighteen | what is this feeling
🍞 nineteen | another set-up
🍞 twenty | just date already
🍞 twenty-one | jungkook holmes
🍞 twenty-two | beloved celine shirt
🍞 twenty-three | a big deal
🍞 twenty-four | crush behavior
🍞 twenty-five | because???
🍞 twenty-six | time to shine
🍞 twenty-seven | perfect (lab) partner
🍞 twenty-eight | flours for you
🍞 twenty-nine | just a pawn
🍞 thirty | tagging you
🍞 thirty-one | leave them alone
🍞 thirty-two | trapping you with me
🍞 thirty-three | secrets
🍞 thirty-four | nervous wreck
🍞 thirty-five | neither have confirmed
🍞 thirty-six | what happened in ninth grade
🍞 thirty-seven | baked you a cake
🍞 epilogue
a/n: hellOOO IT’S FINALLY HEREEE a taehyung sm au I’ve been working on!! i’m in love w taehyung’s bread cheeks and it inspired me to make this au. if you’ve read (or if you’re currently) reading fan identity, i promise this’ll be more lighthearted w much less drama (but the crackhead idiot characters remain) HAHA hope you enjoy!!
outnumbered | th
↳ pairing taehyung x you ↳ genre fluff, slice of life, domestic, husband-Taehyung amen ↳ words 6k ↳ summary raising five kids with a full-time job is a challenge. thankfully, Taehyung agreed to be a full-time house husband. but the matriarch family aren’t usually appreciated. Especially, when the women earns for the house. ↳ note Taehyung have 5 kids, they’re : Renee (7), Noah & Niel (5), Tati (3) and the youngest, Sam (3 months old) ↳ song lieuwe roonder ‘let me love you’
Taehyung begins his duties at 4am everyday. Around this hour, the youngest will be fed with her formula milk, freshly warmed and perfect for the morning. Taehyung’s large feet slip into mismatched indoor slippers, sitting at the side of the bed and he’d turn off the night lamp from his side. He routinely take your phone and plug it to the charger while you stay asleep.
For Taehyung, the day begins early. And he usually started with pouring the grinded coffee beans into the coffee machine, and lets them boil in time while he disappears to the laundry room with your blouse for ironing. He stifled a yawn, gliding the iron to smoothen creases on the semi-crumple light pink long sleeves. What is that colored blob? He leans in to see closer. But without his glasses, he wasn’t able to make sense of what it was, so he sniffed it.
Milk? Coffee? Milk coffee?
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outnumbered | th
↳ pairing taehyung x you ↳ genre fluff, slice of life, domestic, husband-Taehyung amen ↳ words 6k ↳ summary raising five kids with a full-time job is a challenge. thankfully, Taehyung agreed to be a full-time house husband. but the matriarch family aren’t usually appreciated. Especially, when the women earns for the house. ↳ note Taehyung have 5 kids, they’re : Renee (7), Noah & Niel (5), Tati (3) and the youngest, Sam (3 months old) ↳ song lieuwe roonder ‘let me love you’
Taehyung begins his duties at 4am everyday. Around this hour, the youngest will be fed with her formula milk, freshly warmed and perfect for the morning. Taehyung’s large feet slip into mismatched indoor slippers, sitting at the side of the bed and he’d turn off the night lamp from his side. He routinely take your phone and plug it to the charger while you stay asleep.
For Taehyung, the day begins early. And he usually started with pouring the grinded coffee beans into the coffee machine, and lets them boil in time while he disappears to the laundry room with your blouse for ironing. He stifled a yawn, gliding the iron to smoothen creases on the semi-crumple light pink long sleeves. What is that colored blob? He leans in to see closer. But without his glasses, he wasn’t able to make sense of what it was, so he sniffed it.
Milk? Coffee? Milk coffee?
Keep reading
So, today is my birthday and THE amazing @tokkias has written a fanfic based in my BlindLucyAU and I’m crying and I love them so much OKEY IM DONE
this is so soft
and the folklore album!! I love that you did that. I was just listening to it earlier too
i'll make you coffee
a/n: thank you all so much for 100 followers, i love you all so much. in celebration, here is some nat fluff <3
warnings: none
pairing: natasha romanoff x reader
summary: based off the song coffee by beabadoobee, nat and the reader show there love in the sweetest ways
translations: detka=baby
words: 868 | natasha x reader masterlist | navigation post
likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated and welcomed <3
For the past few nights, your girlfriend had been up until at least 5 am dealing with mission-related paperwork. By the time Natasha was in bed, you were up and leaving for work. She was absolutely exhausted and it broke your heart to see her so overworked.
It was already midnight and Natasha was still sitting at the kitchen table typing away on her laptop. You head on over to her and place a kiss into her hair as you rub circles on her back. “How's it coming?”
“Eh,” she shrugged, “there’s just so much paperwork, I don’t understand how I have this much.” You saw how tense the redhead was and went to rub her shoulders. She led into your touch and she let out a sigh. She missed you. It broke her heart not being able to fall asleep holding you in her arms. “I know this is important and you need to finish, but you are exhausted love, come on some to bed with me.” Natasha wanted more than anything to sink into your bed and fall asleep holding you close. She almost caved, but shook her head, “I want to, but I need to finish this paper first, it's the last one.”
“How long is this one paper going to take?” Natasha let out a sigh, “probably another 2 hours.”
“Well then I’m going to make you some coffee, you look like you’re about to pass out on your keyboard,” you let out a laugh as you walked over to your Keurig.
“No cream-” you cut your girlfriend off. “No cream, one sugar, dark roast, I know my love,” you two shared a laugh, “I always make it exactly how you like it,” you saw Nat blush as she thanked you. You finished Nat’s coffee and placed it next to her laptop. “I’ll be in bed by 2 am I swear,” Nat promised. “Love, I’m not going to bed until you do tonight. I’m going to sit right here and keep you company,” you said sitting in the chair directly next to Nat. “Detka you don't have to do that.”
“I know, but I want to,” you said as you rested your head on your girlfriend's shoulder. Natasha went to kiss the top of your head saying a muffled “I love you” into your hair. “So once you finally finish all this paper what do you want to do?”
“I want to sleep and just hold you detka,” you smiled, knowing she missed your touch just as much as you missed hers. “How about this weekend we take a trip to the beach? We can get fried dough and take a sunset walk on the beach?” Natasha’s eyes left her laptop and looked at you with so much love. She leaned in and pulled you into a soft kiss, “that sounds perfect,” she muttered against your lips. Natasha was so thankful for you, you were perfect in her eyes.
“Let’s play some music,” you stated and Nat nodded. You put on the Folklore album and as Natasha finished her paperwork you two were singing the music together. The further into the album you got the louder the both of your singing got. You even grabbed your whisk to use as a microphone. “God I love you Y/N,” Natasha's smile was the biggest you had seen in days.
When Nat finally finished her work she jumped up from her chair, “I FINISHED, I’M DONE!” She jumped up and down like a child at a candy store and pulled you into the tightest hug ever. “Okay, my love let’s get you into bed.”
You tossed the redhead one of your sweatshirts since you knew she preferred them over her own clothing and crawled into bed. Natasha practically jumped into your arms the second her body touched the mattress, snuggling as close to you as she possibly could. You held her close and ran your fingers through her hair. You softly hummed a lullaby your mom sang to you as a child as Natasha drifted off to sleep.
When your alarm went off at 5 am you noticed Natasha was no longer in bed with you, “Love?” you were met with no response. You got up and headed to the kitchen to see the redhead making coffee. “What are you doing silly,” you smiled and let out a laugh. “I made you coffee, just how you like it.”
“French Vanilla, two creams, two sugars,” you two said at the same time. You had the biggest smile on your face, she knew you like the back of her hand. “You didn’t have to wake up just for me,” you knew she hadn’t gotten much sleep lately and felt bad she got up just to make you coffee. “I know, but I wanted to. I love you so much detka, you are my world. I haven't gotten to spend much time with you the past few days, so I wanted to see you before you left for work.” Natasha handed you your coffee and you placed it on the table so you could pull her into a passionate kiss. “Thank you, my love, you mean everything to me.”
Jeff
Natasha Romanoff x Reader
Summary: The reader brings home a pet Natasha isn’t happy about.
Warnings: Does fluff count?
Word Count: 1417
Anon request: OOOH CAN I REQUEST READER TAKING HOME JEFF THE LAND SHARK AND NATASHA HAVING A HEART ATTACK???
AN: This is the cutest thing that has ever graced my inbox. Thank you for trusting me with this request. Enjoy. 🦈
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