Description: Reader sucks at getting sleep, but her boyfriend’s shirt keeps her warm n cozy (”is that my shirt?” prompt, requested). Basically fluff with little to o plot, its literally less than 500 words bc I couldn’t think of a creative or original plot so enjoy my sucky writing! hope you like it @ anon!!!
Warnings: none, unless swearing counts
An irritating buzzing sound was the first thing I heard when I woke up Friday morning. I groaned in protest at my alarm clock, blindly reaching for my phone and checking the time.6:15 Great, I had literally only gotten two hours’ worth of sleep. Today was going to suck ass. I sat up in my bed, yawning, and staring at the wall across my room for a solid minute before getting up and grabbing some clothes from my closet, throwing little to no effort in what I wore. Today’s pick was a pair of ripped black skinny jeans and a navy-blue sweater. Not far from what I usually wore, except a little more boyish and the sweater was huge on me. I tiredly made my way to my bathroom, brushing my teeth and putting my hair up, and doing a very minimal amount of makeup, just some mascara and concealer, really. I had stayed up all night, but that was my business, and I didn’t need people poking and prodding and asking questions. There was a knock at my door before my boyfriend, Jughead Jones, stuck his head in. “Hey, I’m a bit early today, but I have some news about Jas- Is that my shirt?” I raised my eyebrow and looked back down at the sweater, realization hitting me. “Huh, guess it is.” I shrugged my shoulders, too tired to be embarrassed.” I can change if you w-“ “No! No, no, it’s okay, really.” Jughead smiled, his cheeks turning a light shade of pink.” I mean, you should wear it, it looks nice, really brings out your eyes…..” Jughead trailed off, scratching the back of his neck. “Is the Jughead Jones suggesting that his girlfriend play the disgustingly cheesy wear-your-boyfriend’s-clothes card?” I taunted, stepping closer to my boyfriend. Jughead scoffed unconvincingly, sputtering. “Please? Me? You’re crazy.” Jughead crossed his arms. “Oh, Juggie.” I sighed happily, uncrossing his arms and intertwining his fingers with mine.” Underneath that cold, hard, edgy exterior you cover yourself in, there’s a sappy, mushy romantic, begging to break out.” I teased my boyfriend, standing on the tips of my toes and pressing my lips lightly to the bottom of his jaw, the only place I could reach. “We should get going, I wanna go to Pop’s and get breakfast.” Jughead tilted his head down to look at me, a slight smile playing on the ends of his lips. I leaned against his chest, puckering mine slightly. Jughead rolled his eyes, the smile becoming bigger, and leaned down to give me a quick kiss. I grabbed my backpack from my bed and followed my boyfriend down the stairs and out my front door, walking hand in hand to our favorite diner.
Summary:You’re head over heels for you’re best friend Bucky and hate the nickname he gave you as it doesn’t exactly scream romance.
Word count: 1871
Warnings:Cursing, low-self esteem, chubby!reader x bucky, idk….
A/N: So this is what I work on when I get blocked writing Nobody. It’s supposed to be angsty and funny and fluffy (maybe a tad naughty at some point idk). I hope you enjoy the first part!
sunshine,” Tony greeted you as you slogged into the kitchen with a scowl. Your (Y/H/C) was sticking up in random,
knotted directions from tossing and turning all night, and dark bags hung under
your puffy (Y/E/C) eyes.
you groaned as you poured yourself a sizeable cup of coffee. Tony was one of those ‘happy morning
people’. You hated him. And his stupid face. But his coffee was good so you let him live.
“Yeah,” Erica says with exaggerated slowness, “I did like Kira, and now I like Boyd. I’m bi.”
“Bisexual?” Erica prompts. “As in, not gay or straight?”
Stiles is pretty sure his entire mind explodes. “You can like guys and girls? That’s a thing?”
Erica looks at him like, What planet are you from? “Uh, yeah. As long as they’re hot, I don’t care what gender they are.” She pokes him in the side, and he jumps. He’s always been ticklish, and unfortunately Erica knows it. “What about you? You ever like guys, Stilinski?”
* In which Stiles and Derek ride the bus to school together, and there are bisexual awakenings.
The first time Derek sees the words, he’s had a really shitty day. Laura was on his case again, all in the name of sisterly love, of course, and Cora was wielding her usual acerbic wit like a rapier. He’d gotten to the scene of a shooting too late and the victim had died before Derek could call for an ambulance. His Camaro had gotten a flat and while he was attempting to change the tire on the side of the road, someone drove by and sent a wave of muddy water arcing, drenching him, and he was cold, muddy, and miserable.
Then, as he was sliding into the front seat after toweling off as best as he could, he felt something prickling on his arm and glanced down. Shaky, thin lines began appearing, little by little, and he could do no more than stare as the infamous phrase formed on his arm.
“If you don’t change it successfully, you’ll be doomed to repeat it,” Deaton says, his face impassive despite the seriousness of his words.
“Repeat the day?” Stiles parrots, trying to wrap his head around what they’re attempting to do, the ridiculousness of his life and how it now involves time travel.
in which things in Beacon Hills are so bad that Deaton sends Stiles back in time to stop Kate from manipulating Derek and causing the death of the Hale family. The catch: Stiles only has 24 hours to change the course of the future, or he’ll be stuck repeating that same day until he gets it right. What will be enough to keep Derek away from Kate?
When the name Grzegorz tattoos itself across Derek’s wrist in neat, thin strokes, his mother pats him on the head in sympathy and Laura laughs so hard she has to go to her room, the sound echoing down the hall as she goes. When it stays there for six years and no such Grzegorz appears, Derek seriously considers moving to Poland.
Meanwhile, on Stiles’ eighteenth birthday when Derek crawls onto his skin, untidy and volatile, Lydia shrieks in sudden realization, and Jackson looks so entirely offended that even Danny can’t kiss him back to normal.
Things – as things often do in Stiles’ life – get a little crazy (a lot crazy) when, a couple of weeks before his seventeenth birthday, he wakes up to – not a wolf, but an amount of naked flesh, cuddled up to him where Dude fell asleep the night before. Stiles screams, a bit, flopping around and falling out of his bed, getting to his knees to see a naked – Derek Hale, sitting up on his bed, eyes wide. He seems to realize something a second later, because he glances down at himself and squeaks, pulling sheets up around him just as Stiles’ dad opens the door.
“So I’m doing my senior psych thesis on friendships,” Erica says, not-so-accidentally elbowing Derek in the ribs as she turns to face Stiles. “How they develop, how intimacy is fostered, stuff like that.”
Stiles’ love life was practically non-existing, always had been. He was always terrible at picking up clues when people hit on him (it had happened, Erica had been witness to it and had been the one to let him know it was happening in the first place) because he never expected anyone to do so.
He wasn’t the most desirable guy around, he knew that. He was loud, extremely nerdy, never knew when to stop talking, not exactly much of a looker if you asked him, the list was endless.
Point was, he never did know when someone was flirting with him. Which was probably how he ended up in the fight that would change his life for the better.
Derek loves his job at the coffee shop, especially because Stiles comes in for coffee before early Saturday morning lacrosse practices. The problem is that Derek is too shy to do anything about his crush, and the situation is not helped by the rivalry between the basketball and lacrosse teams.
Derek - who lives in New York with his older sister, Laura - is back in Beacon Hills, visiting his parents and younger sister for Christmas, when everything changes. Cora invites friends over while their parents are visiting other family, Derek drinks something he didn’t know he shouldn’t have, and things get a little out of control.
Misunderstandings abound, secrets are spilled, and in the end all it takes to find happiness is being brave enough to reach out with both hands and never let go.
It begins like this – Stiles is hopelessly lost in the Beacon Hills Library, which has definitely undergone renovations in the last two years, and he’s wandering around trying his best to look like a helpless puppy or something and sure enough, a librarian in a navy blue cashmere sweater and thick-rimmed black glasses shows up, and that librarian happens to be Derek Hale. Stiles’ heart skips a beat and he suddenly feels like he’s drowning in something unfamiliar, an ache beginning to build in his chest. . The pack drifts back together, and Derek in sweaters kind of breaks Stiles a little. In a good way.
“It’s been five months,” Derek says darkly. “Why am I still getting these proposals? You know these are probably all fake marks.”
Five months since the paparazzi had snapped that photo of him with the overzealous fan tugging at his shirt, five months since millions of people on the Internet realized that the birthmark revealed was in fact, the mark, five months Derek was inundated by claims from people who desperately wanted him to believe that they were his soul-mate.
Candlelight flickered across the table, the dim light casting dark shadows across Vegeta’s sharp features. His dark brows were pulled together, fingers drumming restlessly on the wooden dinner table. The waiter had long since kept his distance, especially after he’d asked Vegeta if he was ready to order for the fourth time. If looks could burn holes the waiter would probably be nothing more than a pile of ash. He was waiting for his business associate. She was late. As always. Of course.
Punctuality was not Bulma Briefs strong suit. She was the most gorgeous thing on two legs (and he’d be damned if he EVER admitted that out loud) but hell did he hate how she always kept him waiting. They had an important business dealing to discuss and already forty minutes had been wasted. Growling, he pulled out his smart phone to see if she’d returned his last text. She hadn’t.
“Woman, I swear on everything in me I will go to your house and drag you out screaming and naked.”
He’d thought it at least made his point. Surprisingly, as he was watching the screen the response icon appeared, the tiny bubbles of her incoming text taunting him. The phone pinged with its arrival, and her answer made him roll his eyes:
“Is that a promise hot stuff? ;)”
Vegeta groaned. He HATED when she did that. He furiously text back, “Damnit Briefs you’re almost an hour late. I’ve got shit to do tonight.”
“Oh really, like what?”
His fingers stilled over the screen. She had him there. He lived alone and truth be told he would probably just watch tv and head to bed after jacking off. Bulma didn’t need to know that though. “Since when is my personal life any of your business? Just get your late ass here already. I’m fucking starving.”
“Rude. I’m speak-texting from my cars bluetooth. I’m parking right now. Order me a drink okay?”
“Gin and tonic, extra lemon.”
“You know me so well ;)”
Vegeta was slightly unnerved that he knew her favorite drink by heart. He told himself it was because that’s all she ever ordered; but that was far from the truth. Over the past year that they’d worked together, he found himself paying far much attention to her. More than he had any woman. He’d been hired as Capsule Corps private lawyer, and over the past year had worked pretty much solely with Dr. Briefs and his pesky daughter. Dr. Briefs was planning on retiring within the coming year and wanted to make sure that all of the I’s were dotted and T’s were crossed. Bulma was to be his successor and she’d be a damn good one in Vegeta’s opinion.
That is if she could be on time for once in her life.
He waved the waiter back over, the young man turning a shade of green at finally being addressed by the dark haired stranger at the corner table.
“Gin and tonic, extra lemon,” Vegeta muttered, “and make sure it’s here within the next three minutes.”
“I-I’ll see what I can do-”
A twenty dollar bill was shoved into the waiters sweaty hand, “Three. Minutes.” Vegeta punctuated, “Times ticking.”
The poor server was practically trembling, “A-anything else for you sir?”
Vegeta pondered a moment, “Whiskey, on the rocks. There’ll be another twenty if you can get those here in the two minutes and thirty-four seconds you have left.”
Quicker than Vegeta had seen anyone move, the young man dashed towards the bar, nearly running into the blue haired woman who had just walked in the door.
He would tell himself it was because he stood up to quick that his heart skipped a beat. It wasn’t the tight fitting, knee length red dress she was wearing. It also wasn’t the black shawl with fur lined hood framing her face. It wasn’t the way she was shaking off her wet umbrella. And it CERTAINLY wasn’t the way she looked around the restaurant, finally catching his eyes and grinning at him.
Nope. Not those things at all.
He put on his best scowl as she approached him, the gawking stares of other men in the restaurant unabashedly watching her rear end sway with every step she took in her black heels. To his secret, guilty pleasure however she paid them no mind. She was walking towards him alone. Her sky blue eyes locked on his black, full lips still smiling just for him-
“Bout fucking time.” He snapped.
And the spell was broken.
Bulma’s face fell, that tiny line he adored appearing between her eyebrows, “Well hello to you too, grouchy.”
Inwardly he cursed himself. Having no filter was often more a curse than it was a blessing. Even though she was still frowning at him he edged around her to pull out her chair, “Was there traffic?” He asked gruffly.
“Some,” she said, removing her shawl. Vegeta took it from her and laid it on top of his coat, “I got caught up in the lab earlier. And then I wanted to make sure I looked nice for our date.”
Vegeta froze, mouth slacking. Bulma however was far more interested in the drink being placed in front of her, “Thank you!” She smiled at the server.
The whiskey was slid over to Vegeta, the waiter looking like he’d just run a marathon, “Sorry it’s a minute late sir-”
Suddenly, Vegeta could hear again. He blinked, mumbled a few choice words and handed the man another twenty dollar bill.
Bulma sucked on the lemon wedge garnishing her glass, watching the exchange with great interest. After their server was gone, she raised a brow and asked “What was that about?”
“Just making sure we got the drinks quickly.” Vegeta could feel his cheeks flushing, “Look, I’m sorry but did you call our business meeting a date?”
“Mmmhmmm,” she mumbled around the lemon wedge she was still sucking on.
Suddenly Vegeta’s neck felt hot, “Look Briefs, I don’t known how you’ve deluded yourself into thinking this was anything but a meeting between two coworkers, but this is so not a date.”
He was never quite sure how she did it, but Bulma always had this way of looking right through him. Being a good lawyer meant having a good poker face, and Vegeta always had believed his was the best in the business. It’s how he acquired his own law firm at 25 and had been successful ever since. But this infuriating woman could see through him as easy as a pane on glass.
She removed the lemon wedge from her lips, smirk causing the corner of her mouth to turn up, “Really?”
“Yes woman,” Vegeta hissed, “not every single man in the world has to fall at your feet. Your imagination is almost as big as your ego.”
Frowning, Bulma dropped the drained lemon wedge on her napkin, “Hey no need to get nasty. Usually when you call me to a business meeting it’s at the lab. Not some swanky restaurant. Forgive me for assuming this was supposed to be something else.” She dropped her eyes back to the table, grabbing a complimentary piece of bread from the basket.
Vegeta exhaled through his nose. He and his big mouth. She had him there. When he needed to talk to her about something he would usually catch her in the lab. He wasn’t lying when he said he had business things to discuss, but well…
He sighed, then reached out and grabbed the back support of her dinner chair, dragging the whole piece of furniture and Bulma closer to him. It made an obnoxious scraping noise, but he really didn’t care. When she was within whispering range, he leaned over and muttered, “Sorry.”
Her eyelashes were so long he realized as they blinked at him, the crinkles beside her eyes betraying her smile, “It’s alright tough guy.”
Vegeta allowed himself a small lip twitch. That is until a shaky voice on the other side of the table asked, “Are you ready to order-”
It was Bulma who spoke when she realized Vegeta’s jaw muscle had tensed, “Just get us whatever the specials are tonight; he will have a beef item, rare and I’ll have chicken if it’s available.”
The waiter, as if sensing his impending doom slowly backed away, not fully turning until he’d reached the kitchen.
Bulma pinched Vegeta’s cheek, “Could you please try and not eat the wait staff? Poor guy looks like he’s about to pee his pants.”
Vegeta pulled his face away from her fingers, “it would serve that obnoxious little shit right. He’s worse than a flea.”
“Vegeta,” she warned, “please be nice. For once?”
“Tch.” He scowled and pulled out his phone, pulling up the business documents he needed to go over with her, “Whatever.”
Bulma sighed, and then took a sip of her gin and tonic, “In any case, you look nice. I like you in navy. I’ve never seen that sweater before; is it new? Sure this isn’t a date?”
Vegeta felt his blood pressure rising, the sweater was in fact new, “Woman please…”
“Just saying, you invite me to dinner which you’ve never done before…”
“Briefs I swear-”
“And you’re dressed like a GQ model with that tight navy sweater and black pants…”
“Please stop talking now-”
“And you took my shawl for me…”
“I am never being nice to you again.”
“You even know my favorite drink,”
“It’s all you ever have when you drink alcohol.”
“Pretty good memory if you ask me.”
Vegeta scowled, cheeks burning bright red, “Anyways, here are the documents your father wanted you to look over.” He slid his phone to her, “when you stop talking maybe we can actually get some work done.”
Bulma sighed, then picked up the phone, “Fine, fine. Maybe you should start drinking. You’d be more fun then.”
Eyes narrowed, Vegeta picked up his highball and took a sip. Bulma’s gaze danced across the screen of his phone, finger brushing up so she could read the rest of the document. They were both silent for several minutes when he saw Bulma’s eyes widen.
“What?” He asked.
She flipped the phone around, and Vegeta was horrified to see she was in his pictures folder. The image now on the screen was her, bent over in the lab studying a blueprint. Her long blue hair piled on top of her head and held in place with a pen, face concentrated on whatever she was looking at.
Vegeta paled. He’d taken that the other day and obviously without her consent. She’d called him to say she’d bought him a sandwich and invited him down to eat. Vegeta never turned down food, or a chance to be with her whenever possible. She’d soon forgotten her own sandwich, getting wrapped up in her own brilliant mind and began redesigning a space pod. He watched her in content silence and thought she’d never looked more beautiful. So he secretly took a picture, obviously never imagining she would see it.
And now Bulma was staring at him with a confused expression and he guilty snatched the phone from her hand, shoving it in his pocket and looking away, “We’re done here.”
He made a movement to get up, but stilled momentarily when he felt her grab his hand, “Vegeta, stop it.” She insisted, “Can you quit trying to run away and talk to me?” The fingers on his hand tightened, and he slowly felt his resolve waning. What was he supposed to say? What did she want him to say? That she was right? Because she was, partly. He’d wanted to impress her, not necessarily on purpose but he figured having her alone for once might help. However, he was just a lawyer and former street kid. He’d brought himself up from nothing; had survived by the skin of his teeth doing less than legal things and the only thing that spurred him on was his pride.
She was the complete opposite. Bulma’s family was wealthy and she was used to the best things in life. She could have anyone she wanted. What chance did he have with her? Why was he even trying? Eyes closed tightly, he made the hardest decision of his life and snatched his hand away and stormed out the door as Bulma looked on, hurt; the food just being brought out and laid onto the table.
The channels on the television flipped robotically, Vegeta not really watching anything. It had been a bad night. Already stripped out of that new sweater, he sat on the couch shirtless and in sweat pants. How could he face her in the morning? He’d already drafted a resignation letter, more than prepared to walk in and slam it down on her desk right when he walked through Capsule Corps door.
Temper flaring, he pitched the remote into the wall. The flimsy plastic broke apart, batteries flying across the room. He was such an idiot. He’d just ruined the best thing in his life in less than an hour. Vegeta supposed he could easily open his firms doors again and pray his reputation wouldn’t be too soiled, but the promise of a paycheck was the furthest thing from his mind. All he really wanted was her, pressed up against his side as the two of them watched television together. His damn pride was his biggest asset and hinderance sometimes.
A light knock came on his front door.
His head turned slightly, brows furrowing. Who the hell would be knocking on his door at ten o clock at night? Beside him, his phone buzzed, the preview of a text flashing across he lock screen:
“Hey, open the door.”
It was Bulma’s name. His jaw tightened, hand twitching as he fought the urge to reply.
Bzz: “VEGETA, come on. Please?”
He exhaled through his nose and stormed to the door, throwing it open. There she was. Still in her red dress and shawl, a takeout bag in hand and his coat draped over her arm. She blinked, eyes roaming over his heavily muscled bare chest, “Oh, uh, hi.”
Forearm pressed against the doorframe, he sighed, “What is it Briefs?”
Bulma cleared her throat, trying in vain to take her eyes off his muscles, “Uh, you forgot your jacket. And I got the food to go. Maybe we can eat it here and talk?”
Scowling, Bulma pushed past him and into the living room, “Please, can we not play this game anymore? It’s getting old.”
Vegeta rolled his eyes, but followed her to the couch where she had already started laying out the food on his coffee table, “Woman, this really isn’t neces-”
“I didn’t know you did jujitsu!” She interrupted, skittering off to look at a picture on his wall, “Wow! That explains the muscles. It looks like your standing with a big trophy! But who’s that spikey haired guy with the bigger trophy -”
“Bulma,” Vegeta hissed, “what the fuck are you doing here? It’s late. I’m tired. And we have work in the morning.”
She turned, hands on her hips, “You should have thought about that before you ran away from our date!”
“For the love of…Bulma it wasn’t a date.”
“Who do you think you’re fooling?” Within a few steps she was in front of him, blue eyes burning into him, “Why would you invite me out to dinner? Why would you buy a new sweater? It still had the price tag on the back collar, so don’t even pretend like you’ve had it forever. And why was there a picture of me in your phone?”
“Why the fuck were you going through my pictures anyway?” He growled, “You’re looking far into it Briefs.”
Bulma’s sighed, “You’re hopeless. You know that right?”
“It’s for the best.” He said coldly, “I have nothing to offer you anyway.”
Small tears were beginning to brim in Bulma’s eyes, “There’s you. You’re smart, and cunning and even funny in you’re own weird way. I see when we’re in public places and you look only at me. And when we’re in crowds you put your hand on the small of my back because you know I’ll get lost.”
Vegeta swallowed, suddenly feeling a stirring within himself. An uncomfortable, ripped open sensation.
Bulma continued, reaching out and touching Vegeta’s sharp cheekbone, “I know how much work you have, but still you come visit me in the lab. You let me drunk text you and you always answer, even at three in the morning. Even if it’s snarky I don’t care, because it’s you. I wish you could see what I see when you look at me. Because it’s wonderful; you’re wonderful.”
Vegeta stood frozen, mind playing catch up with what she was saying, “So, you…think I’m tolerable?”
Choking out a laugh, Bulma nodded, “More often than not. But even when your an asshole I like you.”
“You, like me?”
Vegeta blinked, “So…”
Bulma rolled her eyes, “Geeze Vegeta, do I have to spell it out for you?”
Bulma wrapped both arms arms around his neck, and dragged his face down to meet hers.
“Hello?” You answered; trying to sound casual and like you didn’t just have an emotional and sexual roller coaster.
“Hey! I sent you like a thousand gazillion messages.” Taehyung says over the phone cheerfully. “Are you ready? We’re like 5 minutes away.” It never failed to amaze you how quickly Taehyung could recover from an awkward situation, like when you rejected his hug or flat out denied his requests or jokes.
“Oh, uh, shit.” You say. You should really learn how to keep your thoughts to yourself. Jimin gets up from the couch and strolls casually to the kitchen, buttoning his jeans as he does.
“Isn’t she ready?” You hear a softer voice ask and peg it as Jungkook’s.
“So you’re not ready?” Taehyung asks you.
“Not- not exactly?” You say nervously.
“Tell her we’re not in a rush, we can wait.” Jungkook says. Is he always this sweet?
“Ok, that’s fine. We don’t mind waiting.” Taehyung repeats to you. “We’re like a block away, though. Can you open for us?”
“Oh, about that. I’m not home.” You start nibbling at your nails, feeling sorry even though you didn’t want to go to this party in the first place.
“Where is she?” Jungkook sounds curious but not at all annoyed.
“Where are you?” Taehyung, the middleman and the one who is clearly not driving, asks.
“At Jimin’s.” You knew you didn’t need to give directions. Taehyung knows the way.
“Jim- never mind. Just try be ready.” He says briskly and hangs up. What’s up with this guy?
- comes from old money (that’s an understatement lmao) and lives in a mansion - but only bc that allows him to adopt a humble total of two dogs, three tabby cats and an actual literal fox - alina laughs when he first tells her about the fox but then realization dawns on her and she knows he’s not joking - names the fox sobachka bc he’s extra like that (also don’t worry all his pets get along!!) - has his own boating business - probably hires david to work for him bc if these two combined their brilliant minds together?? REVOLUTIONARY STUFF - has a very expensive but refined taste and you’ll NEVER see or hear him boast about his finances but you can tell he has $$ in the way he carries himself - LOVES EVERYTHING AND ANYTHING WITH PIRATES IN IT - black sails is probably his favourite tv show ever and no one can convince me otherwise - carries the goddamn lantsov emerald everywhere with him JUST IN CASE alina has an epiphany and says yes lmao - which she never does bc she’s not the marrying type but they remain really good friends (after they date for awhile bc let’s be real that’s bound to happen) - starts a lot of food discourses - *calls alina at 3am* ‘would you rather eat a plate of herring or drink an entire bottle of kvas on an empty stomach?? also what do you think about the pineapple on pizza discourse’ - has a custom ringtone for all his friends - has a lot of acquaintances but prefers to spend his birthdays with his closest friends a.k.a the grisha squad - once, genya gave him a simple navy blue sweater with a hand-stitched crown embroidery on the front and it’s one of his most treasured clothing items ever - probably spends a LOT of time on twitter/tumblr - MEME KING - develops a strong distaste for birthday cake but doesn’t mind regular sweets although he prefers salty snacks - BUSINESS PARTNERS WITH INEJ ANYONE????? AND kaz bc let’s be real kaz couldn’t possibly turn a blind eye to a good bargainTM (or a company transaction) and they’re all up in each other’s business - sobachka sleeps next to him like a plush toy while the dogs guard his door - GREAT with animals in general - claims he’s too busy for relationships and prefers casual hookups but one time he meets this handsome soft boy at a bar and alina literally starts crying when he tells her bc she’s so happy he’s finally found someone - gives (a lot of) money to charity - supports social clubs if they stand for something he believes in (so like feminist clubs/groups, anything that stands for class and gender equality) - subscribed to ever gossip site out there bc a) D R A M A but also bc he likes to be informed - king of throwing shade at people (esp if they’re ignorant and/or close-minded) - probably invented call out culture - slowly starts referring to kaz as ‘his son’ - sometimes, when he’s alone in his big ass mansion and no one’s watching, he puts on his old crown and takes out his dad’s old king cloak and dances in his underwear to ‘the show must go on’
Could you possible do Spacedogs please :) "Can I borrow your sweater. It smells like you."
Definitely <3 Sorry to make you wait! Here it is.
Adam lay in bed, sheets pooled around
his hips while Nigel searched the floor for yesterday’s clothes.
They’d taken them off in such haste
that the room looked like it had been looted. A sock hung from the closet door
knob. Adam tried to remember how it got there, but all he could recall was
Nigel’s mouth on every inch of his skin.
“How long will you be gone?”
Nigel buttoned his jeans and then
patted the back pocket, checking that his cigarettes were still there.
“Shouldn’t be more than a couple hours, darling. If you go back to sleep
I’ll be back before you get up.”
As Nigel bent to retrieve a shirt
from the floor, Adam caught him by his necklace. With a little tug to the chain
he pulled him in for a proper kiss.
Nigel grinned. “Trying to lure
me back into bed, gorgeous?”
“It is working?”
“All too well. Care if I borrow
In Nigel’s hand was the old navy
sweater Adam had been wearing the night before. Adam had worn and washed it so
many times it had begun to go misshapen; waist too loose and arms uneven. Adam
“You can, but I don’t know why
you would. I’m not sure it would fit you,” Adam said, “If you really
want a clean shirt I have much nicer sweaters in my closet.”
“But those nice clean ones don’t
smell like you. And this one does.”
He watched as Nigel pulled the
sweater on. It fit just right around the middle, but the sleeves left several
inches of bare wrist. Nigel pushed them up to his elbows.
“Alright. I’m gonna go take care
of business, and grab a bag of clothes from my place and I’ll be back,”
Nigel said as he pulled out a cigarette and tucked it between his lips.
“And then I’ll stay the whole weekend if that’s what you want,
“I’d like that very much, Nigel.
With a wink and a wave, Nigel was
Adam curled up, Nigel’s still warm
pillow in his arms. He thought about Nigel moving through the city, wrapped in
his clothes. Wrapped in his scent. Adam smiled, pressed his face into Nigel’s
pillow, and inhaled deeply; the smell of Nigel causing his heart to flutter.
Aaaaand that’s all folks! Thanks for all the amazing prompts, and I’ll catch y’all in march.