#day i was just sitting there hunched over in a corner forehead against the counter it was diree guys. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

daddys-silly-little-gem · 5 months

Text

Sweet Little Wife

Husband! Kento Nanami x Wife! Reader

Rated : M

You were in the kitchen. The oven was on and the pots were boiling and the rice cooker was steaming. On the table you had the plates set out along with the utensils. You were humming a cute little tune as you rocked your hips from side to side as you mixed the cake mix in the big blue bowl that was tucked under your arm.

Chocolate cake was a delicacy that Nanami enjoyed. He was stressed lately from work and you figured that it was time for some chocolate cake. You looked over to the clock seeing that Nanami would be home soon. You sighed happily as you placed the bowl down on the counter. You walked over to the rice cooker and just as you placed your hand on it it beeped signalling that it was done.

You pressed the off button and you nodded happily as you checked on the boiling food. As you did, the sound of keys jingling in the front door lock sounded out and you smiled happily to yourself. The door opened and Nanami came in with a tired sigh as he closed the door. "I'm home, dear." He called out. You walked over to him, a happy bounce in your steps.

"Welcome home, honey." You responded as you walked up to him. He stared down at you with tired yet gentle eyes as he shrugged off his dress coat. You placed your hands on his chest and you stepped on your tiptoes. Your lips met his in a gentle greeting. "How was your day at work?" You asked him as you undid his tie. He gave a sigh at the thought of work and you have him a sympathetic smile. "Gojo?" You question as you folded up his tie.

With an annoyed grunt, he hung his coat on the coat rack. "Gojo." He confirmed. You chuckled gently as you bent down to pick up his briefcase. He placed his hand on your back, as he gently gripped your shoulder making you stand back up. You gave him a questioning stare. "Ken-ken?" You called his name in question. He gently held your shoulders as he trailed his hands down your arms too he reached your hands. He held them gently as he lifted them up.

"You're so sweet to me, but I can handle this, you should finish up dinner, love." He said as he placed a sweet kiss on the back of one of your hands. Your cheeks warmed at his actions as you smiled up at him. "Are you sure? I don't mind putting your briefcase away, it's just a short journey." You said in a reassuring voice. He smiled at you sweetly with an exhausted stare. "I'm sure, love. I have paperwork to finish anyways." He said.

You stared at him a little longer before you nodded your head. "Okay, Ken-ken. I'll finish up dinner, but let me know if you need anything okay?" You said as you gave him a pointed stare. He nodded his head. "Of course, dear. I promise." He said. You nodded, happy with his answer before you turned away and you went back into the kitchen. "Dinner should be ready in 10 minutes okay?" You said. He nodded in understanding and you vanished into the kitchen. He watched you round the corner before his gentle stare harden as he sighed tiredly.

10 minutes later

You sighed in slight exhaustion as you placed your hands on your hips. "Ugh... Dinner is finally done." You said, proud of yourself. You picked up the main course pot and you brought it to the dining table. Sitting at the table was Nanami. He was hunched over, his sleeves rolled up past his elbows, his left hand was pressed against his forehead while holding a pencil while his other rested on the table. His leg bounced in frustration as he glared down at the paperwork.

You gave him a sympathetic stare as you walked over with the pot. "Ken-ken. Dinner is ready." You gently said as you lay the pot in the center of the table. He sat back in his seat, his arms resting on the armrests. He sighed as he looked up at you. "Excellent, I'm starving." He said as he placed his pencil on top of his paperwork. You smiled, it always made you happy to know that he still loved your cooking even after all these years later.

He picked up his papers and he stacked them up together neatly before he shuffled them into his briefcase. You continued to bring the pots to the table. There were three in total. One with the main course and two with side dishes. You picked up the rice bowls and you went into the kitchen to fill them with rice. Nanami's had more than yours did. You took the bowls back to the table where he was patiently airing for you to return. He seemed to be deep I thought and you silently sighed. You wished you could help, you didn't know how to help though. His field of work was something you didn't know how to even began to approach.

He looked over at you, and his stress lines eased as he smiled at you. You smiled back at him. You sat the bowls down on the table and he quietly thanked you. You stared at him as he made himself a plate of food, your happy smile slowly falling as you looked down at your own empty plate. Your mind racing with ideas on how to help him.

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

You were currently vacuuming the floor, your face was blank but the slight stress lines indicated your mind was clouded. It's been a week since that dinner, and you've tried to think of a million different ways to help him relax but nothing good ever came to mind. Nanami was a man who took his job very seriously, so a sudden day off or a random vacation wouldn't do. It'd have to be something that he could do while he was home. Then, a great idea came to mind, and you smiled to yourself in triumph as you continued to vacuum the floor.

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

When Nanami came home that evening, the house was unusually quiet and dark. You were usually in the kitchen, cooking dinner, the table set. You'd come out, a happy smile on your face as you'd take off his tie and offer to take his things to the room. But today, the house was dark, quiet, and still. It felt foreign at this point in his life. He felt around the house as his eyes scanned his surroundings. 'Well, there is no curse energy nearby, and there isn't the stench of blood in the air. So she should be safe.' He thought as he relaxed his racing mind and his worrying heart.

The sound of a door opening upstairs caught his attention and he looked up. A light was shining from the now-opened door. 'That's the bathroom light.' He thought as he stared at the light. 'Perhaps she needed a break and she wanted to pamper herself.' He thought as he walked up the stairs. He could see your shadow and he smiled. 'Even just seeing her shadow can make my day so much better.' He brought as he ascended the stairs. Once at the top, he saw that the bedroom door was cracked, a dim warm light could be seen coming from the room.

'Candlelight?' He thought as he stopped in front of the bathroom. He looked inside and he saw that everything was in pretty good order. The only thing out of place was the toilet plunger. He stared at it in question. "Was she unclogging the toilet?" He thought as he walked into the bathroom, he slid the plunger back into its rightful place with his shoe, and he suddenly froze when a bump came from your shared bedroom. He looked over towards where the nose came from and he walked over. 'She's fine... She's not in danger... It's just her being clumsy.' He thought as he kept a level mind, but his hand twitched as he wanted to reach for his weapon.

He pushed the door open and he looked around. Everything was fine as he looked around the room. His eyes landed on the bed and his thought stopped. On the bed you laid on your side, your head resting on your palm, your other arm on your hip as you stared at him with an alluring gaze. "Welcome home, Kento." You said in a lustful voice. His eyes trailed your body, the lingerie hugging your curves. The see-through fabric is thin and dainty. The cute little lacy cuffs around your wrists and ankles matched the collar around your neck.

Nanami swallowed thickly as he placed his briefcase down on the floor. "How long have you been dressed like this?" He asked as he walked towards the bed. His hands lazily in loosening the tie around his neck as he walked towards the bed. "Mmm, not long." You answered as you traced your fingers along a small patch on the mattress in front of you. You looked up at him through your lashes as he pulled his tie off, dropping it into the floor at his feet.

"Good, I'd hate to make my sweet little wife wait for too long." He said as he slipped off his shoes while he unbuckled his belt. You smiled at his words, as you sat up on the bed. You moved towards the edge where he stood and you looked up at him as you gently placed your hands on top of his. "I wanna do it." You said cutely as you batted your eyes at him. He gave a deep hum at your words as he moved his hands allowing you to unfasten his belt.

He stared down at you as he gently ran his hand over your head. "You're such a sweet girl. Always so eager to help me and take care of me." He said as he ran his fingers gently over your scalp. You practically purred at his words as you unbuttoned his pants and you unzipped them. He sighed as some of the pressure was removed from his aching cock. His bulge protrudes out and you gently yet firmly caressed it. He grunted at your touch, you gave a proud smile as you felt him twitch under your fingers. "You've been so stressed lately. I wanna help you relax, dear." You said as you pulled his pants and boxer down together down his hips.

He looked down at you, his fingers drawing patterns in your hair as he thought over your words. 'Of course, she'd notice. She always does.' He thought. He hissed out in pleasure when you gripped his in a tight grip, your little tongue darted out and you flattened your tongue out as you licked over his head. "Mmmmm, you always taste so good, Ken-ken." You moaned out as you sucked on his head gently. He released a shaky breath at your actions, his eyes closed as he enjoyed the sensation. "I'm going to help you unwind and relax." You said as you licked the underside of his cock, the thick vein throbbed under your touch.

You ran your tongue over his head once more before you pushed him into your mouth. His hips bucked forward at the feeling as his hand in your hair slightly tightened. "Yes... Help your stressed husband relax, like a good little wife." He said in a husky voice as you slowly pushed him deeper into your hot mouth. His cock twitched once more and his hand tightened in your hair. You hollowed out your cheeks as you sucked him. He groaned out loud as his hips shuddered before he pushed forward. You gagged as he pushed his cock down your throat before he pulled back and he pushed back in. "Yes!! Yes!! Just like that. You're such a good little wife. Helping your dear husband get off his stress." He said as he fucked your face.

His hand in your hair tightens painfully and you groaned in protest but you craved the pain. Your hands rested lightly on his thighs as you let him face fuck you. Your eyes gathered up tears as your throat was fucked raw. "Ah, I love that face. I crave that face. Only my eyes can see it." He said as he ran his thumb under your eye as he caught a stray tear. His eyes locked onto your face, your tears gathering into your eyes, your messy hair, the spaghetti straps on your shoulders fall off. His cock twitched and his pace quicked. "I love seeing you like this. A pure fucking mess from my cock." He said as he pushed his cock deep down your throat and he kept it there.

Your throat constricted around him as your body tried to breathe through the blocked pathway, your nostrils flaring as you kept your air flowing through them. You swallowed around him and he twitched, your tongue flexed and he pulled out. Your saliva left small strings connected to your lips from his cock as you coughed and gasped for proper air. He stared down at you with a lustful stare, his handcuffed under your chin and he lifted your head up to look at him. Your chin was glistening from your saliva and from his precum. "Kento." You moaned out his name. Your throat sounds raw.

He laid you on your back, your legs naturally spreading to accommodate him. His hands moved down your body slowly as he admired your outfit up close. "I love this little fit. I'm happy to see you wearing it." He said as he gently caresses your breasts. You moan pitifully as your back arches. The thin fabric allowed your nipples to be shown and he trailed over them with his thumbs. "Always so ready to serve me." He said as he moved his hands down your stomach and over your hips. He moved down to his knees.

His hands gripped your thoughts, the skin pushing up around his fingers as he did. "So soft." He said as he lifted up one of your thighs and he gave it a sweet kiss before he placed it on his shoulder, your other thigh naturally follows the other as you placed it on his other shoulder. He looked down at your cunt. The lingerie is made to have your pussy uncovered for easy access. The diamond-snapped hole fits perfectly around your wet cunt. He moved his thumb over your cunt as he smeared your juices over your lips. You moaned at the action as your hips lightly rocked. "You're already a mess and I haven't even done anything. All I did was choke you with my cock and you're already a mess." He said.

You whined at his words and your back arched when he plunged in two fingers. "Your pussy is such a good girl, she's sucking me in." He said as he pulled his fingers out before he thrust them back in. Your breathing picked up as you moved your head to the side. His eyes trained on your sobbing cunt, as he watched his fingers go in and out, your clit Spassmed lightly and his eyes gleamed dangerously. "My cute little wife is a cock whore isn't she?" He said as he pressed his thumb over your clit. You loudly moaned at the feeling as your cunt tightened around his fingers.

He curled his fingers upwards and your back arched. He watched you move around, his thumbs moving in time with his fingers as he fucked you with his hand. The heels of your feet dug into his shoulder blades as your hips thrust on his fingers. Your pussy tightened and your moans grew louder. "Ken- I'm gonna." You warned as your cunt fluttered around his fingers. He kisses your thigh. "Go ahead love, cum." He said as he watched your cunt with an unwavering stare. Your back arched and your cunt tightened painfully around his fingers. He watched your lips pulse around his fingers as he continued to aid you through your release.

His cock twitched and he groaned. The moment your climax ended he stood up, his hand with your juices stroking his cock, his eyes gleaming like a beast as he stared down at you. You huffed for air, as you lay in a daze from your climax. Your hazy brain bearly registered him leaning over you as he pushed the head of his cock into your aching cunt. You moaned weakly at the intrusion as he pushed in slowly. His head stretched you out pleasantly, and your eyes fluttered as you gave a hushed moan. His hand rested on your hip while the other rested on the bed next to your head. Your foreheads pressed together as he sheathed himself into you.

He bottomed out and you both sighed. He rested there for a moment, enjoying the feeling of your cunt lightly fluttering around him. He kissed you gently before he smiled. "My sweet little wife. Always so ready to help me." He spoke fondly. He loved you dearly and you loved him. You wrapped your arms around his neck, and your legs came up to wrap around his waist. Your moments made him groan as he moved in deeper. His gentle stare turned hungry before he move his hips back and thrust in. Your breath hitched and you moaned cutely. His thrusts started off slow before they picked up speed.

Your body rocked from his thrusts as your head laid back on the mattress. "Nnnnnu, ha, ha. Kento." You moaned as the slapping of skin sounded out through the room. His balls slapping your ass as he thrusting became stronger and deeper. He buried his face into the crook of your neck and you ran your fingers through his hair. His arms wrapped around you tightly and you hugged him back. "Uunnn, fuck." He lightly groaned as his cock twitched inside of you. "I love you. I love you." He said. "You're mine, my little wife. Forever and always." He said.

#jjk #jjk kento nanami #jjk nanami #jjk kento #jjk x y/n #jjk x reader #nanami kento #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x y/n #kento x reader #kento x y/n #nanami x reader #nanmi x y/n #kento #nanami

172 notes · View notes

victoria-daydreams · 1 year

Text

The Hare and The Tower

Chapter Eight: Wifely Duties

AN: Y'all I went on vacation and I'm not going to lie, this story was the last thing on my mind, but I'm back and on winter break so maybe I'll be able to squeeze out another chapter soon! Again, thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone who support this fic.

Trigger Warning: age gap, vomiting

Word Count: 2.4k

Taglist: @dogmatic255 @amethystwonders11 @sidechrisporn @helloimlateforeverything @ladysindar @sweetwanderlust05 @newandykes @loveofvernonslife @stitchattacks @dariequeen @kishie8 @girlonfireice @snowymarvel1205

If you want to be added to the taglist just leave a comment.

Summary: A strange illness has stricken Jesmyn with no end in sight, until a visit by the maester changes everything.

Chapter Nine: Most Wondrous News

116 AC, Westeros

The first time it happened, she was peacefully asleep in her shared chambers. There was a chill in the morning air when she awoke from her deep slumber feeling sick. Jesmyn had felt strange since the week had began anew, but this particular day she just felt plainly sick. Groaning softly, she rolled over intending to nestle further into Otto, who she quipped as being her personal hearth. However, those plans changed the moment she shifted in bed, her stomach violently churning in protest to the sudden movement. Jesmyn scrambled out of bed and bolted for the chamber pot. She got up so fast, she accidentally struck her husband with the heel of her foot.

"Jesmyn?"

She fell to her knees, barely making it to the pot when she emptied the contents of her stomach, awkwardly crouched on all fours. She hunched forward, retching a mouthful of bitter, yellow bile. Suddenly, she felt her hair being pulled back and a strong hand rubbing her back. Jesmyn looked up momentarily, her vision was blurred from the water in her eyes, but she recognized Otto’s figure before returning to her puking. He whispered comforting words into her ear, attempting to soothe her as she continued to dry heave long after she stopped vomiting.

When finished, Jesmyn was left leaning over the bowl, gasping for breath. Her hands shook. Her whole body trembling as she took deep, slow breaths through her nose.

"Easy,"

A few minutes passed before she was able to sit up. Using the the corner of her sleeve to wipe her mouth, Jesmyn leaned against her husband who wrapped his arm around her and she looked up at him. A concerned expression dotting his features.

"What’s wrong, my love?" Otto asked, moving his hand to her forehead. “Have you a sickness?” he questioned, pressing his fingers against her skin.

“No, I'm fine Otto. Dinner just didn’t agree with me it seems," she replied hoarsely, swallowing a few times.

With her arms still shaking slightly, Jesmyn pushed herself to her feet, using a nearby counter to steady herself. Briefly, her limbs gave out on her, but Otto instantly caught and steadied her, his arm still around her waist.

"Let’s get you back in bed, and I'll stay—”

"No!” Jesmyn said firmly. “You’re The King’s Hand,” she reminded. “You have duties which you mustn’t abandon because I am unwell,” she stated, shaking her head.

"I woke up to the sounds of my wife retching into a chamber pot. That isn’t something I can ignore,” he insisted, his blue eyes pleading with her to let him help.

Jesmyn, however wasn't going to give in so easily.

“King Viserys needs your guidance, Husband. I'm fine, I told you its something from last nights supper," she reassured, despite the thought a having a day with Otto completely to herself sounded absolutely heavenly.

"Nothing that transpires in the realm is more important to me than your well being," Otto said gently, moving one of his hands to cup her cheek.

The tenderness and concern in his gaze was almost enough to shatter her resolve. Almost.

"There's no reason for you to stay and tend to me, Otto," Jesmyn said, desperately trying to convince him she was well. “I’m alright, truly," she added, taking his hand in hers. "How about this?” she proposed. “If I can hold down breakfast then you tend to your duties as Lord Hand. If I can't, then I promise I shall go back to bed," she promised, searching her husband's eyes as he contemplated the option.

"Fine, I agree, but you must promise me to take care," he stressed, staring reluctantly down at her.

"I promise," she smiled standing on her toes to kiss his cheek.

~~~x~~~

It went on like that for nearly a month and a half, almost every morning she'd feel ill just after waking. Certain smells and tastes made her stomach churn. She would be fine one minute, then the next, she would run straight for the chamber pot. Gods, what the hells was wrong with her? Things that had never sickened her suddenly made her want to hurl. With every occurrence of her temporarily falling ill, she would dismiss it knowing it would soon pass, despite Otto's worried stare.

A new day had dawned in Westeros and the morning sun was high in the sky, bathing the solar of the Tower of the Hand in light. The only sound in the airy space came from silverware dragging against plates and the smooth flow of conversation between Otto and Jesmyn. They were both underdressed, Jesmyn in only a golden night dress and jade green robe which clasped together in the middle. Her hair, loose and tousled from sleep, had been tied in a plait. While Otto, was clothed in a white nightshirt also wearing a green robe.

"Alicent would like your company today," Otto informed, spreading some jam on his toast.

"Does she?" Jesmyn asked, before sipping orange juice from a polished chalice.

"She wishes to make up the time you two lost during your little quarrel,"

"I would hardly call our quarrel 'little'," she said, chuckling slightly.

The juice had barely slid down her throat when Jesmyn began to feel a familiar sensation which had been plaguing her of late. It was starting again. She inhaled deeply, attempting to ignore the sickness in her stomach. Placing her chalice down, she closed her eyes taking a few deep breaths. It wasn't working though, her stomach was pitching and roiling worse than the waves of the sea. Discreetly, she rested a hand on her stomach.

"Jesmyn?" Otto called, his voice snapping from her thoughts. "Are you well?" he asked, sounded concerned.

"Yes…" she answered slowly, her stomach clenching.

Fighting the constant ever present nausea which lurked in her belly since she'd started getting sick, was a slow, uncomfortable ordeal which she wholeheartedly could live without. The back of her throat burned as bile began to well up.

Otto frowned, "You don't appear to be," he countered, placing his utensils down. "Dear," he called, his voice strained. "I can see you're not feeling well. Please let me help you,"

Jesmyn opened her mouth to respond, but the queasy sensation became suddenly too much. Abruptly, she rose out of her chair, the legs harshly scraping against the floor. Feeling the hot bile rush up the back of her throat, she reached the pot just in time to purge her stomach.

"Jesmyn?" Otto called, his footsteps following his alarmed voice.

She felt his hand on her back, while his other, which was well practiced by this point, quickly grabbed her hair and held it away from her face.

He shook his head, "It's no longer up for discussion, you're going to see the maester today," Otto stated firmly, leaving little room to argue.

Which led to Jesmyn’s current predicament. Standing in front of the maester, she patiently waited for him to finish his examination.

“Do you feel any tenderness here my child?" he questioned, lifting her breast.

Jesmyn frowned slightly, feeling confused and uncomfortable as to why a breast examination is needed for a stomach illness. Although, now that she thought about it, her breast have been more tender than usual.

"I do Maester," she answered.

"And sickness, have you had any?"

“Constantly,”

"Any problems with food?"

"Aye, some of it makes me want to empty my stomach,"

The maester nodded along and she shivered as his hands felt her stomach and pelvis, before he told her she could get dressed.

She looked up as he approached her.

"Maester?"

"When was the last time you bled, Lady Hightower?"

"Pardon?" Jesmyn asked, her brows high

Momentarily, she was stunned by the question, but mentally shook free of her stupor. Confidently, Jesmyn was about to answer the week before, but stopped herself when she realized that couldn't be right. Her mind went over the dates and realized it was far longer. She couldn't recall. The last month was a blur. The maester smiled, as if expecting Jesmyn’s silence.

"Well, Lady Hightower, this should be a happy day for you and your husband,” he stated. "Congratulations my lady, you are with child," the maester informed, dipping his head.

"Child?" Jesmyn echoed, the word coming out as soft as a prayer. "Are…are you certain Maester?" she asked, her eyes beginning to water.

"Aye I am, I would say you’re some weeks in, at most. Maybe two months,” he said, packing his things. “Good day, Lady Hightower,” he wished.

~~~x~~~

“How are you feeling, Jesmyn?” Alicent offered her a cup of tea. “Father told me you took ill again this morning and he summoned the maester,” she said.

Sunlight poured through the window of Alicent’s personal chambers. The rays striking Jesmyn on the side of the face as she sat at table for tea. Due to her sickness, Alicent opted for the two of them stay indoors.

“I am fine,” she nodded, smiling weakly and accepting the cup.

“Are you? You don’t look it,” Alicent stated, blowing on her tea. “What was the maester’s diagnosis?” she questioned curiously.

Jesmyn could feel the back of her neck heat up. She was apprehensive about telling her friend she was carrying her father’s child. Alicent already semi knew too much about Jesmyn’s and Otto’s sex life as it was. She didn't know how Alicent would handle the news of becoming a step-sister. Jesmyn began to wonder if she should wait and tell Otto.

“Well?” Alicent said, her looking at her expectantly.

"I…I am with child,” Jesmyn informed, swallowing nervously.

Alicent froze mid sip, her body stiffening like a statue as she blankly stared at her. The only signs of life being her blinking eyes.

“What?”

"I'm pregnant." Jesmyn repeated, her nervousness compounded by Alicent’s reaction.

Alicent placed her porcelain cup down and stood quickly from her chair. Jesmyn’s heart sunk, she figured the news would be too much for her, they had only just rekindled their friendship. She raised from her chair as well, biting the inside of her lip in disappointment. The young Queen’s eyes bore into hers.

“Alicent?” Jesmyn uttered timidly.

In a few, short strides Alicent wrapped her arms around Jesmyn and hugged her tightly, causing her eyes to widen in surprise.

“This is wonderful news Jesmyn!” she said happily. “I know you and Father have been for trying for so long!” she added excitedly.

“You're not angry?" Jesmyn asked hopefully.

Alicent pulled back from their embrace, her eyebrow raised.

“Angry? Why in heavens names would I be angry?" she asked in disbelief. “You’re going to be a mother, and I a step-sister!” Alicent said, a jovial laugh bursting from her. “Don’t you see, our bond will only grow stronger now!” she said, sliding her hands down Jesmyn’s arms and grabbing her hands.

“That is a relief,” Jesmyn said, exhaling deeply with a smile.

“How far along are you?” Alicent questioned, placing her palm against Jesmyn’s flat abdomen.

“The maester said two months at least,” she answered.

“Have you told Father?” Alicent asked, lifting her gaze from her stomach.

“No,” Jesmyn said, shaking her head. “He’s in a council meeting, Alicent. It would be foolish to disturb—”

Alicent gasped loudly, “Nonsense!” she exclaimed, shaking her head. “This is momentous, Jesmyn! I cannot believe you’re telling me first,” she said, chuckling with disbelief.

“I plan to tell him over supper,” Jesmyn informed. “I want to make it special and memorable, but I’m not sure how,”

Alicent took her hand in her own again, “Oh please, you must let me be of service,” she begged, a beaming smile on her face. “I want to feel useful outside of being a caretaker and mother,” she added.

“And useful, you shall be,”

~~~x~~~

"Dear me," Jesmyn began, setting her tablecloth down. "I might need to have stitches loosened in my gown, this meal has left me quite full," she joked.

It was later that evening, once again her and Otto sat across from each other in their private dining chambers. Candles were lit, servants were coming and going, carrying wine and food until she dismissed them for the night. Jesmyn took another sip of her wine and then refilled her glass. She held the wine carafe up to Otto and raised her eyebrows, and he lifted his glass.

"I’m amazed your stomach has been agreeable for supper," he said, as Jesmyn got up from her chair. "Did the maester give you something to calm it?" he asked curiously, his eyes following her.

"He did," Jesmyn answered, filling her husband’s glass.

"And?"

"Fortunately, this illness is temporary," she informed, drawing the pitcher back and setting it down.

"Keep it simple," Alicent's voice echoed in her head.

"Good, good," he replied, covering her hand with his. "What remedy did he give you?" Otto asked, stroking his thumb across her knuckles.

"Tis excellent news, Husband,” Jesmyn answered, smiling at him. She took his hand and pressed it against her belly, spreading his fingers out. “I am with child,” she announced, laughing lightly.

He stared at her, shocked for a moment before his face spread into a large smile. His happiness shining in his eyes making Jesmyn’s heart soar with delight.

"You're pregnant?" Otto echoed, a broad grin covering his face.

"I am," Jesmyn confirmed, mirroring his expression.

Otto hopped up from his seat and within a blink of the eye, Jesmyn felt herself being lifted up into the air and spun around in a circle. Warm laughter filled the air and when he put her down again, Otto cupped her face and descended his lips on hers for a kiss. His arm rested on the mid of her back as he pulled her closer to him. A soft moan came from Jesmyn as their lips moved in perfect sync.

Otto withdrew from her lips after a few moments had passed, peppering with kisses all over face. Glancing up to meet his stare, Jesmyn’s cheeks flushed at the intensity of his gaze.

"I’d suspected," he began, his lips against hers as he brought his forehead down on hers. "I recognized the symptoms, but I didn’t dare hope," he continued, his voice shaking with excitement "We're going to have a baby," Otto finished, kissing her happily.

"I will bear you a son who is the spitting image of his father," Jesmyn promised, and her husband’s hands found themselves on her stomach once more.

"There is no need for such promises," Otto said, gently rubbing her abdomen. "For I will love the child if it is either a son or daughter," he whispered softly.

Chapter Ten: Leave it to The Gods

#house of the dragon x reader #game of thrones x reader #otto hightower x reader #black!reader #black!oc #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones oc #house of the dragon oc #game of thrones fanfiction #house of the dragon fanfiction #otto hightower x oc #got x reader #hotd x reader

173 notes · View notes

whumpdom · 8 months

Text

Big Brother Insticts

Sicktember day 1: Hopelessly Bad At Self-Care

Description: Aiden neglects himself trying to finish a novel and ends up sick. James is a kind albeit exasperated caretaker. Pre-Cody, Aiden is 23 James is 25.

It’s not unusual for Aiden to get caught up in his own little world when writing; in fact, it’s part of what makes him so good. However, he has a tendency to get lost to the point of neglecting himself. On more than one occasion, he has locked himself in the upstairs study for days on end, barely eating or drinking, and only coming down to take care of Otis and Kipper.

James and Trent have learned to just leave Aiden alone for the most part and let him do his thing. Generally after two or three days Aiden emerges and sleeps for twelve straight hours then returns to normal. His friends know better than to disturb him but on day 5 of radio silence on Aiden’s end. James is officially worried. His big-brother senses are tingling and despite both Trent and Daisy insisting that he’s fine, James finds himself at 6pm standing outside Aiden’s building with a bag of food from the corner deli; fully prepared to force-feed Aiden and drag him to bed if necessary.

James calls Aiden twice and after receiving no answer, uses his emergency key to let himself in. Otis is draped over the back of the couch in the sunroom when James opens the front door and Kipper is curled up on his dog bed by the window chewing on a bone. The dachshund immediately jumps down to greet James with his tail wagging. James sets the bag of food down and bends over to pet Kipper. He surveys the house and frowns. Aiden should have heard him come in. “Hey Aiden, buddy. I brought food.”, James calls out as he walks into the kitchen. There’s no response and James tries again.

“It’s your favorite. I know you forget to eat when you get like this but you can’t survive on air and caffeine.”

James is met with silence but before he can say anything else he hears coughing coming from upstairs and the unmistakable sound of Aiden wheezing softly between coughs. Shit James thinks before setting the food on the counter and quickly walking upstairs.

The door to Aiden’s study has a big KEEP OUT! sign on it which James chooses to ignore. He pushes the door open and is met with the sight of Aiden hunched over his desk, papers strewn everywhere, attempting to cough and type at the same time. There’s a small mound of tissues and crumbled paper in the wastebasket by his desk and a half-drunk mug of tea next to his laptop. The air smells stuffy and judging by the state of Aiden’s clothes, he hasn’t showered or changed shirts in days. It’s not unusual but it’s definitely not good either.

“Aiden, buddy you ok?” James calls out as he slowly approaches his friend.

“Mm fine, g’way.”

James rolls his eyes and walks up next to Aiden. The young writer is even more pale than usual and his cheeks are flushed bright red. His blonde hair is matted down with sweat and he keeps squinting in pain at the bright screen of his laptop. “You’re sick,” James states, point blank. Aiden shakes his head and blinks when the action makes him slightly dizzy. He opens his mouth to speak but is instead caught in a horrible coughing fit. Aiden doubles over struggling to get a full breath in between coughs. Each one tears his already sore throat and causes his chest to burn. James kneels down and wraps a strong arm around Aiden, rubbing his back soothingly,

“Easy there, try to breathe. I’ve gotcha.” James soothes. He can feel the heat radiating off of Aiden. One of the coughs morphs into a gag and James quickly grabs the small trash can, pushing it under Aiden’s mouth in time to catch a small stream of puke. Aiden whimpers and sucks in a small, raspy breath before sitting up. James places one of his hands against Aiden's forehead and brushes back his hair. “You’re burning up kid.”, James sighs. Aiden straightens up and tries to turn back towards his laptop but wavers slightly, even while sitting. He shivers and tries to blink away the fogginess. A large warm hand, James, comes to rest on his shoulder and Aiden tries to shrug it off.

“M’ok, I need to finish this.” Aiden mumbles stubbornly. He lifts a shaking hand up to the keyboard as another shiver runs through him. James stands up and scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “What you need is to take better care of yourself. Starting with dinner, shower, and bed.”, James replies. His brows creased with concern when he noticed how shaky Aiden was. Then, suddenly a sob bubbles up from Aiden's throat and tears spring to his blue eyes.

“I-I-I’m s-ssorry.”, Aiden chokes out between sobs, his slender shoulders shaking with the force. It wasn’t uncommon for him to get emotional when he was sick, particularly if he had a fever. Now that James has broken his focus, Aiden is acutely aware of just how terrible he feels. His head is pounding in time with his heartbeat, he is cold and aching all over. His chest and throat burn with congestion and his belly feels distinctly unsettled. There was no denying he was sick. Aiden had a notoriously weak immune system, which combined with his recent lack of self care had led to him catching a rather nasty bout of flu. Tears continued to track down his red, blotchy cheeks.

James quickly knelt down again, pulling the smaller man into a warm hug and rubbing his back. “Shshshsh, it’s ok. I’ve got you”, James coos softly.

The role of caretaker came naturally to James and he found himself on more often than not being the voice of reason with Aiden and Trent. He had lost track of how many times he’d helped the two of them through various illnesses and rough patches. James didn't mind either, it was second nature to help others and it gave him purpose. James carefully rubs circles on Aiden's trembling back for a few minutes, whispering reassurances, until Aiden’s sobs slow down. “I-I don’t feel so good,” Aiden whispers after a pause, his voice sounding far younger. He wraps his arms around himself and whimpers.

“What are your symptoms? Does your belly hurt? Head?” James questions gently, hoping to figure out how he could help his friend. Aiden nods softly in response and leans into James’s embrace. “What else buddy?” James asks, looking Aiden over worriedly. Aiden shrugs in reply, unsure of how to put into words just how miserable he feels. “Are you still feeling sick?” James asks, nodding towards the trash bin. Aiden shakes his head, his stomach hurts but he doesn’t feel queasy at the moment. James thinks it over for a minute, trying to come up with a plan.

“Alright, let’s get you cleaned up and into bed, Hmm?”

James scoops Aiden up gently and carries him out of the study towards the stairs. Aiden fits easily against James’s broad chest and he hardly weighs anything in comparison. Aiden presses his overly warm cheeks against the soft material of his friend's shirt and tries not to think about the way his tummy is sloshing and churning. Even though he doesn’t feel like he’s about to puke again, his belly is upset and the movement of being carried isn’t helping. The young writer wraps an arm around himself, resting a hand on his tummy and rubbing gently. He can feel it gurgling and bubbling beneath his fingertips.

James carries Aiden into the bathroom and sets him down on the closed lid of the toilet. He grabs the thermometer from the medicine cabinet and crouches down next to Aiden. “Open up.” James prompts as he places the device in Aiden's mouth. Aiden obeys and slumps against James as he waits for the beep. While they wait, James checks Aiden's pulse, purely out of habit, and listens to his breathing briefly. Finally, the thermometer beeps, and James forms at the reading, not at all surprised. “102.6°F, no wonder you feel like shit,” James says as he sets the device aside. “Can you manage a shower by yourself?” He asks Aiden, recalling the time his friend had passed out in the shower from dehydration.

“I can manage.” Is Aiden's tired response as he stands and slips his shirt off. James turns to leave, glancing back one last time. “I’m gonna grab you some clean clothes and heat up the soup I got you. Yell if you need anything.” He says before exiting the bathroom.

Aiden turns the water on and strips out of his clothes. He is immensely thankful for his fancy, high-end bathroom. The shower has a built-in bench and Aiden sits down letting the water wash over him. The heat eases some of the aching in his back and neck. He weakly grabs a washcloth and begins washing away the sweat and smell of sickness. The steam loosens some of the congestion in his chest and Aiden feels like he can breathe fully.

While Aiden showers, James grabs some clean pajamas and a soft, oversized hoodie for him. He sets the clothing on the bathroom counter and then goes to the kitchen. Otis is sitting by his food dish, staring at James expectantly and Kipper glances up hopefully. James fills both of their bowls and then opens up the bag from the deli. He places the sandwich in the fridge, unsure if Aiden’s stomach can handle anything that heavy, and heats up part of the matzo ball soup in a smaller bowl. He also grabs a bottle of water, a glass of apple juice from the fridge, and some crackers. In the background, he can hear the shower turn off and he carries the food and drink on a tray to the den. James sets the food on the coffee table and grabs one of the throw blankets from the closet. When Aiden walks into the den, James frowns; Aiden looks so small and vulnerable, not to mention pale and sick. It makes James’s protective big-brother instincts kick in. Aiden is clutching his beloved stuffed bear in his arms and he’s shivering despite the hot shower and warm hoodie. He sinks into the couch and James wraps a soft blanket around his shoulders and tucks another one over his lap.

“Now I know you probably aren’t hungry but you really need to get something in your system,” James says firmly, motioning towards the food. Aiden shakes his head and sinks further into the plush couch. “My belly feels gross, I-I don't think I can,” Aiden responds quietly. His tummy hurts, although that could just as easily be from lack of food; Aiden doesn’t want to risk it. James frowns and rubs his hand over Aiden’s arm. “I know you don’t feel good, but I promise this will help.” James reasons. Aiden glances up at his friend and pauses for a moment before relenting, “Can we watch Dr.Who though?” Aiden asks as he grabs the tray of food. James smiles and ruffles Aiden’s slightly damp hair before queuing up the requested show.

Aiden manages to eat most of the soup, allowing himself to get distracted by his favorite show. He even drinks a decent amount of the juice and after one and a half episodes he slumps back into the couch and pushes the food away tiredly. James stands up and clears away the dishes before returning to the couch. Aiden shifts on the couch and tries to get comfortable. His tummy feels bloated even after such a small meal. Aiden groans and wraps the blankets tighter around himself. James settles next to his friend on the cough and instinctively pulls Aiden against him so that the smaller man is practically on his lap. Aiden relaxes into the comforting embrace as James rubs his back. Kipper trots into the den and jumps up on the couch next to James, curling into a ball and Otis follows behind settling on a chair nearby.

After 3 episodes, Aiden is finally asleep and James turns the TV off, smiling at his friend. He picks Aiden up carefully and carries him into his bedroom tucking him under the blankets. He places a bin on the floor next to the bed and makes sure Aiden’s inhaler is within reach on the nightstand before turning off the light. James does a quick tidy-up and checks all the doors and windows are locked before climbing into bed with Aiden and promptly falling asleep himself.

They manage to sleep for several hours before the peaceful slumber is disturbed. James jolts awake to the sounds of coughing coming from next to him. He sits up and flicks on the lamp turning to Aiden. The smaller blonde is hunched over coughing harshly and clutching his mid-section. Upon seeing his friend's distress, James wakes up fully and reaches across the bed to grab the bin off the floor. He sets the bin on top of the blankets and starts rubbing Aiden’s back softly in an attempt to calm him down. Aiden whimpers as the coughs jostle his belly and tear his throat.

“Easy Aiden, you gotta try to breathe.” James soothes as he wraps one arm around Aiden's back and uses the other to brace his forehead. “I-I mngh..” Aiden tries to formulate a response but the words get caught in his throat as his belly churns and gurgles sickly. All the coughing is tugging at his gag reflex and Aiden leans over the bin with a dry retch. He burps, wet and hollow over the bin and swallows against the rising vomit. Aiden stubbornly swallows again, determined not to vomit. It’s a losing battle though and the next cough brings up a mouthful of partially digested soup that splashes in the bin. James doesn’t even flinch, after everything he’s seen and dealt with this is nothing. He rubs Aiden’s back as his friend coughs up more vomit. When the heaving finally stops Aiden slumps back against the headboard, panting and exhausted. It feels like his stomach has been wrung out like a wet rag. Aiden glances between James and the trash bin, “H-how did you know?”, Aiden asks. One minute he was fast asleep and the next he was puking it, he couldn’t quite fathom how James could react in time.

“Big-brother instincts my friend.” James replies with a smile.

James helps Aiden rinse his mouth out and get settled back in the bed, tucking the blankets around him and making sure his friend is propped up. Then he cleans out the bin and brings it back to the bedroom, before climbing back into bed. In his sleep, Aiden drifts closer to James, unconsciously seeking comfort. James smiles and ruffles Aiden’s hair once more before falling back to sleep.

#sickfic #emeto #illness #fluff #platonic fluff #Aiden Becker #James Andersen #sicktember 2023 #submission

22 notes · View notes

vannahfanfics · 1 year

Text

Brotherhood

Word Count: 1320

Fluff, Character Study

Summary: Taiga and Tatsuya are brothers... for better or worse.

Just a little piece I wrote for the Kuroko no Basket holiday exchange and finally get around to posting over here :p

“You’re not gonna get me this ti—oh, God damn it, Tatsuya!”

Tatsuya couldn’t help but smirk as he rushed past Taiga, who had just fallen for yet another one of his signature fakes. The redhead could only watch in irritation as Tatsuya dribbled up to the basket and dumped the ball into the net with a beautiful corner shot. Before the ball even hit the ground, Tatsuya’s phone—which was sitting on the nearby bench—began to vibrate violently against the metal and trill an alarm tone.

“Annnnnd, I do believe that’s time,” Tatsuya purred in satisfaction. He turned to grin smugly at Taiga, pushing his sweaty bangs off his forehead while his other hand perched on his hip. “Final score is 86 to 85, which means I win. Time to cough up some dough and buy me some hamburgers, Taiga.”

“Tch. Stop sounding so high and mighty,” Taiga huffed while dipping down to grab the basketball, which had rolled up to his feet. He straightened up, then gave the ball a spin on his finger. “You act as if I didn’t whoop your ass last week.”

“And you act as if I didn’t whoop yours the week before,” Tatsuya countered with a wicked grin. That made Taiga bristle, and Tatsuya added with a shrug, “If you don’t wanna get beat, don’t invite me to come play with you on the weekend. I’m sure you’ve got guys lining up to beg you to play streetball, Mr. Star of Seirin.”

“I would, only you’d call me cryin’ in three days whinin’ about how lonely you are without me,” Taiga smirked as he walked up and playfully shoved Tatsuya in the side of the head. Tatsuya laughed, then countered by lightly elbowing Taiga in the belly—not enough to hurt, of course, because this was all in good fun. As Taiga doubled over on reflex, Tatsuya hooked his arm around his neck and tugged his head close to aggressively tousle his hair.

“Oi! Knock it off! I agreed to buy ya a hamburger, not let you manhandle me like some schoolyard bully!” Taiga whined, wiggling around until he slithered out of Tatsuya’s grip. He rubbed at his head with a petulant pout and gave Tatsuya a stink-eye. “Jeez! You take after Coach a little too much sometimes.”

“Yeah, but Coach wouldn’t have let you go, now would she?” Tatsuya chuckled. “I took it easy on you.” He didn’t blame Taiga for shuddering; he’d been on the receiving end of his fair share of affectionate noogies from the woman—if you could call nearly ripping out all the hairs on someone’s head affection.

“Bah!” Taiga just scoffed and tossed his head. “Wow, my big brother’s soooooo generous. He didn’t bully me as much as he could have.”

“Why, thank you for the compliment!” Tatsuya responded with a laugh. His phone was still going off, so he walked over to the bench and swiped his finger across the screen to deactivate the alarm. He stowed it in his pocket, and when he turned around, he crossed an arm and cocked a brow at him. “I can give you another one, if you enjoyed it that much.”

Taiga responded by tucking the basketball under his arm so he could flip Tatsuya off with both hands.

“Let Coach see you doing that, and she’ll cut them off,” Tatsuya warned, raising his eyebrow further.

“‘M not afraid of her.”

“Really? She’s right over there,” Tatsuya shrugged and pointed at the fence behind Taiga.

With an alarmed squawk, Taiga whirled around, hiding his hands behind his back. Of course, Alexandra wasn’t there; she normally would attend the boys’ streetball matches to offer pointers, but today she was out shopping. Tatsuya cracked up at how easily Taiga fell for the feint; when he realized he’d been had, the redhead hunched his shoulders and shot Tatsuya a surly glare.

“Man! You’re so gullible, you fall for my fakes on and off the court.”

“That’s it. I’m not giving you the pickles off my hamburgers,” Taiga snorted and began walking toward the exit of the public basketball court, repeatedly tossing the ball up and catching it as he went. Still laughing, Tatsuya trotted after him.

“Noooooo, don’t do that! I was just joking!” His apologies rang pretty hollow since they were spoken around giggles, apparently, because his best friend refused to acknowledge him. “Taigaaaaaaaaa~” he insisted, scampering around him to stand in front of him.

He expected Taiga to be wearing a scowl; instead, he found him smiling.

“What’s that look for?” Tatsuya blinked, a bit taken aback by how happy Taiga seemed by all the teasing. Normally, it would get him all worked up.

“Nothing, I just—” A faint haze of pink rose to Taiga’s cheeks, and he looked away, embarrassed. He fumbled with his words for a moment, awkwardly pawing at the back of his neck as he did so. His gaze wandered, looking everywhere except Tatsuya. When Taiga finally did speak, he was looking at his sneakers. “I just… Missed this. More than I realized.” He gestured vaguely around the court, but Tatsuya knew what he meant.

“I missed it, too,” Tatsuya said, a soft smile forming on his own face. “You’re my brother, after all. Life’s not the same without whooping your ass on the court.”

“You know, it was gonna be a nice moment, and you ruined it,” Taiga growled, planting a large hand in Tatsuya’s face and using it to push him out of the way. Tatsuya laughed against his palm and peeked around his pinky finger so he could grab onto Taiga’s jersey before he could walk away.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I couldn’t help it! You looked so serious!”

“Because I was serious!” Taiga whined, tossing a reproachful glare over his shoulder as he pushed on Tatsuya’s face again.

“Me too!” Tatsuya insisted while grabbing Kagami’s hand and throwing it off his face. “Really, I was. I’m really glad we can play basketball like we used to,” he said earnestly.

“Pff,” Taiga breathed out his nose, searching Tatsuya’s face. Tatsuya was being honest, even if he was being a little shit about it. And Taiga knew that, despite all the grandstanding. Which is why he smiled and pushed the basketball into Tatsuya’s chest. “You’re insufferable.”

“You put up with me,” Tatsuya smiled wider, grabbing the basketball. “Come on, you know you don’t know what you’d do without me.”

“True. I wouldn’t have anyone to eat the pickles off my hamburgers,” Taiga shrugged and whirled on his heel to resume walking.

“I suppose I deserve that, though it hurts to be valued only for eating pickles,” Tatsuya sighed in faux dejection as he followed after him.

“What? Am I supposed to value you for being a crappy big brother instead?” Taiga smirked and elbowed him lightly in the ribs.

Tatsuya cringed away from the ticklish sensation with a snicker. He fell back in step with Taiga, and for about a minute, they just strolled down the sidewalk in contented silence. Then, Tatsuya looked down at the basketball and murmured with a smile, “I really am glad, though. I didn’t think you’d forgive me.”

“What kind of guy do you think I am?” Taiga grunted in response, and Tatsuya peeked over to see him just staring straight ahead, face blank. “Stupid. Brothers forgive each other.”

“Hah, I suppose they do,” Tatsuya nodded. After several more seconds, he nudged Taiga and asked hopefully, “Does that mean you’ll give me your pickles?”

“Yes, Tatsuya,” Taiga sighed, pretending to be irritated. But the smile tugging at his lips told Tatsuya how he really felt.

I really don’t know what I would do without you.

And Tatsuya felt the exact same way. Of course he did. Taiga was his brother, after all—his irreplaceable friend. Despite all the teasing, of course. That's just what big brothers were supposed to do!

#kuroko no basket #kuroko no basuke #kuroko's basketball #kagami taiga #taiga kagami #himuro tatsuya #tatsuya himuro

4 notes · View notes

fakepriest · 2 years

Text

Anonymous asked:

"Madre Maria, aiuta le mie ossa." Paper-white fists, closed, rest against her already brittle back. Her posture was slightly hunched with choppy chalk-white hair falling forward. Rising up from the bedroom without assistance from the bedpost was growing difficult with the passing months. However, when her amber eyes glanced at the poignantly marked calendar hanging over the desk, action had to be taken. For today, Sunday, it was a remarkably absent day with no mark-ups or reminders there.

Throwing on her lilac sweater and borrowing a pair of far-too-large black slippers, the Mediterranean woman begins her sneaky walkthrough of the home. Her hands remain against the wall, using it as support while her entire body was disproportionately teetering around. Blame the bloatedness!

At each corner, she peers down. With each walk-in closet and storage wardrobe, she swings wide open. Every large hiding spot she can find, she sweeps through them all. In God's good graces, she can at least confirm that she was alone at the house - - and there wasn't any mischief going about where she'd need to brace herself (or accidentally hit someone again, which was like hitting the equivalent of a brick wall--!).

Once in the kitchen, a common destination for domestic warfare, the Italian woman abruptly sits down and pats her stomach. "You're giving me back muscles I never thought I would have," she laughs to herself, humming. But, it was back to her feet as she encroaches on the refrigerator.

Opening it, there is an ocean of tall and conveniently wide ingredients and leftovers from days ago. With some thorough movement and an occasional glance over her shoulder, she finally pulled it out: a bowl of dough!

It was time to get busy!

Upon his return home, Kirei Kotomine would his wife away from the bedroom and her usual spots. All the closets and wardrobes were wide open, and even the shower curtain is drawn back.

That was until he went to the kitchen.

The kitchen was manageable, but there were still uncleaned bowls and rolling pins in the sink. Even a large wooden spoon. And was that flour over the counter?

But, there she was. Claudia O.rtensia, her restful form, sleeping on top of the dining room table. Her bandaged arms folded on his table, her cheek resting against her forearm. The breaths she takes are soft and low, adrift in pleasant dreams.

On the table, there was a round cake about the size of his palms. In her best attempt at icing with her aches worse today than before, there is cursive pink icing writing "Happy Father's Day," for the to-be father of a wonderful daughter.

Coming home to a silent house is somewhat out of the ordinary, when it is still so early in the evening, even more so when the lights are still on; he briefly wonders what the normal reaction of a normal husband would be--worry, apprehension, perhaps? Could something have happened? But soon, the answer is in front of his dark, dull eyes in the shape of a chaotic kitchen and a sleeping albino woman.

Approaching silently, a hand comes to rest on her forehead, to check for that often-present fever; she seems to be fine (a pity. no, no, that is a good thing, a wonderful thing).

Had she expended all her energies this afternoon, for this gesture? What even is the point, when most of the cake she has so lovingly prepared will end up discarded? Incomprehensible. But perhaps Kirei would understand, were he not the way he is. He places it in the fridge, ignoring the pangs of utter and complete dread that such a serene scene has just brought him. He cannot imagine celebrating father’s day in the future, and cannot connect the words nor their meaning to himself. A frustrated sigh escapes his lips.

Then, with a practiced (mechanical, something whispers) care seldom seen in one who so often cuts down others on behalf of a God that certainly detests him, the man gathers her sleeping form in his arms, feeling no particular emotion nor warmth while doing it; her loving gesture has not managed to move him in the way he keeps hoping, and the only sensation in his chest is revulsion towards himself, along with a misplaced annoyance towards the lengths she goes to for him and this family.

This lie.

Suddenly, his eyes close as he shakes his head in (futile) denial.

No.

He must not abandon hope, nor give in to the treacherous, callous voice in his mind. And yet there are images that remain engraved in his memory--those of the suffering she has been enduring during the pregnancy.

He helps her anytime the woman needs it, of course; how could anyone do otherwise? When she struggles more than usual to get up, when during the first few months, nausea would overwhelm her. Anyone else would be saddened to see such a pathetic spectacle, but Kirei briefly thinks those are some of the most interesting moments.

The life that is so slowly growing inside her is his own flesh and blood, and yet--

When their daughter is born, everything will certainly be alright. He will finally understand, then, what is it that he is missing. There will be happiness, he thinks, as she is carefully laid in their bed once more.

Ah, but she will probably be in much worse conditions next year. Or perhaps even dead.

Before covering her sleeping form, Kirei places a hand on her stomach, and something moves.

He feels numb.

#ARE YOU HAPPY NOW #ARE YOU ENTERTAINED #answers from the confessional.

3 notes · View notes

i-need-entertainment · 3 years

Text

Haikyuu!! Boys getting accidentally hit ‘where it hurts’ by their kids

Characters: Akaashi, Washio, Konoha, Kita, Suna, Ushijima, Yahaba, Iwaizumi, Futakuchi, Daishou, Numai and Iizuna

Happy Easter if you celebrate it!! I thought a fluffy little hc’s of the Haikyuu!! Boys with their babies would be cute for today so here we are~

Warnings: Uh- just our favorite boys getting hit in the balls, I’m seeking more therapy I laughed way too hard while writing this uHm, mentions of grabbing the crotch cause what else you gonna do??, I do reference the Bad-dad moments and being flashed posts.

**POST TIMESKIP CAUSE CHILDREN!! YOU AND THE HAIKYUU!! BOYS ARE MARRIED~ ALSO THE NUMBER OF KIDS THEY HAVE CAME FROM THE BAD-DAD MOMENTS!!**

@foodacoochie I thought you might want to see this~

Akaashi Keiji:

Today was Akaashi’s day off, so naturally he wanted to spend it with his family!

You were all situated in the living room, your youngest who was a little over 1 sitting on your lap, and your oldest, who was about 3 was sitting across from Akaashi.

Akaashi was on his knees, throwing a tennis ball like thing back and forth with your 3 year old son, who was standing.

Everything was going great, just some wholesome family fun.

Until Akaashi said ‘give it all you got!’ his child smiled, wound up, and-

‘OOF-’ you watched as your husband immediately hunched over, falling to his side as his hands flew to his crotch.

Your eyes widened as you tried not to laugh, your son however started giggling when his father groaned, your baby following suit.

“K-keiji? *snicker* are- *ahem* are you okay?” You barely got through the sentence before you started laughing, Akaashi just slowly nodded, eventually returning to his knees.

He was much, much more conscious of his lower region from that point on.

Washio Tatsuki:

It was Halloween time, and you and Washio had taken your 3 kids to a pumpkin patch!

You guys have 3 kids, the oldest two are 5 (fraternal twins, 1 boy 1 girl), and the youngest is 2.

The farm had made several ‘haunted houses’, one for little kids and one for teens+

Your twins had decided they wanted to go in the haunted house!

Well, your son did. Your daughter was not thrilled.

But! When her daddy offered to hold her hand the whole time, she decided she could brave it out, after all it is Washio we’re talking about.

You stayed by the entrance with your 2 year old, while Washio took the twins inside.

Everything was fine for awhile, your son was very excited, giggling at the jump scares and all in all having a good old time.

Your daughter...not so much. Poor thing was just about shaking, but she wanted to do this!!

They were about 2 scares away from the exit when someone dressed as a werewolf came from no where, your daughter screaming and turning into her father, her elbow at the perfect height to connect with his groin.

Sucking in a quick breath he ever so slightly tightened his hold on his children's hands, walking them through the last few jump scares and out to you.

You immediately grew concerned as the first thing your husband did was take a knee when he got outside, hands coming to grip at his face as he just slowly let out a breath, nodding when you asked if he was okay.

But even after getting elbowed in the balls, he never let go of his daughters hand😤

Konoha Akinori:

You had just finished drying your son off from his bath when you heard giggling coming from the living room.

You sighed as you saw your husband, relentlessly tickling his oldest daughter, right after you had gotten her all settled down for bed.

Despite the irritation you felt knowing it would take at least 2 more stories for her to be sleepy again, you couldn’t help but smile knowing how much he loved being a dad.

“D-daddy *giggle* st-stop it!! It-it tickles!!!” Your husband smiled, continuing to gently tickle your daughter as she continued to laugh.

“No-can-do missy! Your laugh is just too cute!”

Your daughter, despite her laughing, started to squirm, small arms pressing down on her fathers forearms, and little legs and feet pressing on his shins and thighs.

Until one particularly ticklish brush of his fingers caused her foot to slip, ending with her heel hitting him right in his crotch.

He shrieked as he let go of his daughter, hands flying down to his groin as he fell on his side, all the while his little girl laughed as she crawled up towards you, who was hunched over ugly laughing/crying as your husband continued to whine.

Kita Shinsuke:

Today was the first day of your spring cleaning, and your 4 year old daughter insisted on being a big help!

You were working in the living room while Kita and your daughter worked in the kitchen.

Kita was teaching his daughter how to use everything, and helping her when she needed it, she was of course a wonderful listener and was having the time of her life.

They had just finished dusting, and now it was time to do the floors.

You guys had linoleum in the kitchen, so all they had to do was sweep and mop.

Kita got the broom from the storage closet and came back to the kitchen.

He sighed when he realized he had forgotten the mop, setting the broom up against the kitchen counter and telling your daughter he’d be right back.

Now, she may more responsible than most kids her age, but she was still 4. And very curious.

Picking up the broom, she started to play with it, completely oblivious to her father rounding the corner.

Before he could so much as blink his daughter turned, the top of the broom catching him right in the balls as he very narrowly avoided cussing, choosing to grip the counter instead.

Gasping your little girl ran to you, on the verge of tears as she grabbed your hand and started pulling you towards the kitchen.

“Mommy help! I think I killed daddy!”

When you got to the kitchen, you saw Kita, head down on the counter as his hands wrapped around his head, small groans coming from him.

He made sure to be out of his daughter reach when teaching her to sweep.

Suna Rintaro:

Suna was in the living room, your 2 oldest in there with him as he was ‘rough housing’ and doing stuff dads do with their kids.

You were in the youngest 2′s room, putting them down for a nap.

Suna gently held his daughters legs as she planted her palms on the floor, him lifting her up when she was ready.

That’s right, Suna was teaching them to do handstands.

Giving her a high five he turned to his son, telling him what he needed to do, completely oblivious to his daughters concentrated look.

Keep in mind, Suna was standing, with his knees slightly bent and his hands on his knees.

Your daughter gave herself a firm nod, putting her hands above her head as she dipped down.

You had just finished putting the littlest ones down for their nap when you walked into the living room, watching almost in slow motion as your daughter leaned her upper half down, and watching her her leg came flying straight up.

Straight up in between her father’s legs.

You watched as his eyes widened, the air being knocked right out of him as he practically folded in half, forehead resting on the carpet as your son just looked at him and your daughters hands came up to her mouth.

You were of course dying in the doorway, him shooting you a glare as you gave your poor daughter a hug, her giving her daddy one as soon as he unfurled from the fetal position.

Ushijima Wakatoshi:

Ushijima had taken his 3 oldest sons to the Schweiden gym.

He was putting in a little extra practice time, but wasn’t going to give up time with his children!

So, he figured it would be good to take them with him, they always loved going with him anyhow.

Right now, he was with your oldest son, Ren.

Your second born was whisked away by Romero and his son to play, and your youngest was whisked away by Hoshiumi and Sokolov.

Ushijima had been teaching his son to spike.

Nothing crazy, the kid is only 5, so they were spiking from the ground.

But there’s still a lot of power that goes into those spikes!!

Ushijima had taken his eyes off of his son for not even a minute, distracted by the giggles he heard from his youngest as he sat on Hoshiumi’s shoulders.

He really should have been paying attention, because right in front of him his son was winding up for a spike.

He didn’t notice until the *SMACK* on the gym floor echoed, the volleyball being shot right into his groin.

He cursed under his breath as he dropped to his knees, hands holding his crotch as Sokolov and Romero cringed, Hoshiumi and Ren laughing at his misfortune.

Yahaba Shigeru:

Yahaba had taken his 2 sons outside to play with a model airplane they had just finished putting together!

It was one of those thick-foam nice ones, so it was going to fly nicely.

He stood a good 15 feet away from his oldest, his youngest about 15 feet away from him so they formed a triangle, You watching with your phone ready for memories!!

Your oldest, Hayato, waited for the wind to come before thrusting the plane up and into the air, it glided for a good few seconds before doing a loop and coming back to the ground at a sharp angle.

For a foam plane, it moved quite efficiently, and at this speed it was moving quite quickly.

Before anyone could react, the plane had nose dived right into your husband, his face blanching as his hands shot downwards.

You laughed, your sons cringed, and Yahaba just about cried.

“At least the plane’s okay! It would have actually been bad if it broke” Your youngest walked away after picking up the plane, Yahaba looking at him in disbelief.

“Yeah, well don’t go asking me and your mom for anymore siblings, *cringe* I don’t think that’ll be happening.”

He cringed even more when you revealed you had gotten everything on video~

Iwaizumi Hajime:

With it being the off-season for volleyball, Iwaizumi was spending more time at home with his family!

But, keeping in good shape was also important, so one of the things he would do is while he worked out in the home gym, your 3 sons would be in there with him.

You guys had a pretty good set up, one of the newer additions being a punching bag and gloves. (any other boxers out there?)

Iwaizumi was working with weights, currently doing bicep curls while his sons wreaked, albeit controlled, havoc.

His oldest had found the gloves, slipping on on his hand as the middlest took the other, the youngest slipping on a mit instead.

Poor man was so focused in his workout, he didn’t even notice his middlest son come waking towards him.

When he did notice, he was too late, his son had already wound up and launched his gloved hand into Iwaizumi’s crotch.

Iwaizumi grunted as he just about dropped the weights, falling onto his hands and knees as he tried to steady his breathing.

All 3 of your children bolted out of the room, the little brats laughing before they ran into you.

You walked in to see Iwaizumi, who was now on one knee, eyes still closed as he seemed to be meditating.

For those who are wondering, “padded boxing gloves” do n o t h i n g to subside the pain of being punched😢

Futakuchi Kenji:

Futakuchi’s parents had been over for dinner one night, his younger sister and her fiancé were there too!

You guys had just had a nice dinner and were now sitting in the living room, bringing up old memories and laughing about things that have happened.

Your oh so loving husband had decided to bring up how you had “flashed” him in high school, you rolling your eyes as you hit his arm with a pillow you threw, him being on the couch and you cuddling with your youngest on the floor.

Now, you guys have 3 little girls.

Your oldest is 6, middlest 4 and your youngest is about 3.

Your youngest was very much a mommy’s girl, and would actually glare at Futakuchi for no given reason, then turn around and giggle and smile at you. (lol my little sister went through a phase like this when she was, like, 2)

She had been sitting on your lap, so when she saw you ‘in danger’ and it was from ‘the enemy’ aka dad, she stood, chubby little cheeks forming a pout as she marched towards her dad.

With the whole family watching, she pulled her fist back and swung, catching him right in his balls as she scurried off and back into your arms, you not knowing how to respond to the situation and your husband doubled over in pain.

Daishou Suguru:

You and Daishou had 2 kids, 1 girl (oldest) and 1 boy.

Daishou was a good dad!

He cared for his children, gave them endless amounts of love and affection, and was never late to any event big or small.

But he was still a dad, and dads all have those things that they do.

For him, it was popping out of random places and (lightly) scaring his daughter.

Currently, he was hiding behind the wall right at the top of the stairs, smirking as he knew his daughter was on her way up them.

He got his hands ready, feet in a good position to jump out as he watched her little shadow grow closer and closer to the top.

As soon as she hit the floor of the 2nd level he jumped out.

“BOO!” Screaming she kicked, landing a strong kick right in between Daishou’s legs, causing him to yelp as his hands gripped his crotch, sinking to his knees as his daughter gasped.

She felt bad for a whole of (2) seconds before sighing, hands coming up on her hips as she pouted, “Daddy, that’s what you get for scaring me!!”

Numai Kazuma:

You guys had 3 sons and 1 girl, your baby girl being the youngest of the 4.

Right now, you guys were in your backyard, having an outdoor day and playing a variety of sports and games.

The game they were currently playing was baseball.

You sat in the shade with your youngest son and baby girl as they played in the sandbox, your oldest two with their dad as he set up the little stand and put the ball on it.

He had put on the catcher’s mit and stood a good 10 feet away from the batting station, his oldest son ready to hit, and his youngest son a safe distance away.

“Alright, come on buddy, you got this!”

Steadying his stance, your son swung with all of his might, the ball going fast and low to the ground, and right towards Numai-

“uGh-” Your hand came up to your mouth when your husband dropped to his knee, hand coming up to wave off his son, forcing out an “I’m okAy-” as he struggled to regain his composure.

For the remainder of the time they played baseball, he kept the mit a little lower than he originally planned.

Iizuna Tsukasa:

Iizuna had been away for a game for the past 2 weeks, and your 3 year old daughter was very excited to see him again.

His arrival time was in the afternoon, so you were able to bring your daughter with you! Which Iizuna was thrilled about.

Your little girl was practically bouncing with excitement, little pigtails jumping as she looked up to you with a toothy grin.

You gently ran your fingers through her hair, as she clutched onto your leg, both of your eyes searching the gate for your husband.

As soon as you saw him, you crouched down to her ear, “There he is! There’s daddy!” Squealing she ran, and I mean she ran full force towards her father.

Iizuna, seeing his incoming 3 year old barreling towards him, dropping his bag, kneeling down so he could catch her.

Which he did, but he didn’t account for just how much force she had carried, so he didn’t expect the little foot that kicked him right where it hurts.

Careful not to impulsively squeeze the life out of his toddler, he shakily sighed as he gave her a kiss to her head, her nuzzling into his arms.

He may have been in an extreme amount of pain, but nothing was going to stop him from hugging his little girl.

859 notes · View notes

lightsinthedistancee · 3 years

Note

Congrats!!! Angst 11 with Frankie? I can totally picture one of the boys asking him that and calling him out when he’s in denial of his feelings for f!reader

Thanks! Hope you enjoy!

“Is she really just a friend?” - Francisco ‘Catfish’ Morales x Reader

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

Secrecy

Words: 1.6k

Excerpt: “You’re the one who always knows how to keep him up when he begins to spiral, begins to drink a little too much, begins to think of certain substances he’d once abused in order to forget.

“You’re the one who always knows what to say when he feels his exterior cracking, feels events of the past begin to seep through in anger, grief, or pure instability.

“In uncomplicated terms, perhaps you’re simply the only one who always seems to know him.”

Warnings: Very Mild Smut, Language

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.

Present

You’re simply staring.

Out the window of the living room, into unremarkable space. Onto the street where car after car passes by, each one seemingly blending into the last. Upon overcast skies that drain the colors outside of their saturation.

“You gonna say something or not?” says Frankie, breaking the silence. An air of hostility lies between the two of you. He sits on the couch, back hunched, forehead propped against his fist.

The main event of the past few hours lays heavy in the background, fogging both your minds—storm clouds that threaten to bring carnage upon everything.

It’d been a statement by Frankie in the company of the guys—just the mere beginnings of one, one with enough information behind it for you to intervene, to cut him off and shut it down before anything was heard.

The statement…it was one that would’ve told a lot. One that would’ve told of the many times Frankie’s hands had woven into your hair before his lips found yours, one that would’ve revealed numerous long nights together.

Not officially a secret, but never a relationship mentioned nor told.

“Why don’t you want to tell them? Why don’t you want to tell anyone?” His voice is profound in the quiet, loaded with hurt and confusion and a desperate need to know. “What’s the harm in it?”

And still without a single word, without a single glance towards him, you walk from the room.

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

Past

“F-Frankie….”

His name is a stutter from your lips as you bury your face in the crook of his neck, practically panting into his skin as his hips work against yours.

The wall you’re pressed up against painfully digs into your spine, yet the ache is an afterthought, buried in the shadow of the pure pleasure coursing through your veins.

The sounds of the guys in the kitchen below faintly travels through the floor. It makes a thrill as well as a menacing nervousness spike hot in your mind.

It was a simple weekend get-together among friends that had brought you here, you and Frankie being sent up the stairs of the house to get something, somehow ending up in this situation.

You groan at a particular movement, knotting your hands tighter into his locks, pulling hard enough to make him groan. He’s muttering filth in your ear, your legs gripping his waist tighter and tighter.

“Did you find it?” Benny’s voice echoes up the stairs all of a sudden, piercing the haze you and Frankie had been lost in together. Your mind is in an incoherent state, entirely forgetting what you’d been sent up here to find. “What’s taking so long?”

You stare at Frankie, whose eyes are wide open now, his movements frozen. The corners of your lips beg to turn upwards, and you nearly giggle at the absurdity of it all, and you slowly raise your index finger to your lips, signaling for him to stay quiet.

“Still looking!” you call out. “Should find it soon.”

An affirmative response sounds back, and despite everything going on, Frankie feels all his emotions diminishing to one thing, one sensation that sets every inch of him alight.

The feeling of you clenching around him, your index finger to your lips, a hint of a smirk on those beautiful lips of yours—the secrecy of it all…it’s exciting.

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

Present

“Sweetheart….” His voice is a whisper as he approaches you from behind.

You’re in the kitchen now, hands shaking as you pour yourself a glass of water. Exhaustion is seemingly the main product of the tension that had hung between the two of you.

His hand rests gently on the side of your waist, the rest of his body refraining from even grazing yours. An acute worry runs through his head in circles. “I know you’re not leading me on with whatever this whole thing between us is—“

“I’m not,” you whisper, saying your first words in a while.

“—so talk to me. Why don’t you want to tell?”

The ever-pervasive question. Again.

You sigh, turning around to face him. Your hips gently settle on the edge of the counter, your eyes tiredly shutting. “I…I just…I really like you, Frankie.”

He raises an eyebrow, the confusion written across his face nearly comical. “I-I should hope so? I mean, you’re not really explaining anything, cariño.”

You laugh weakly, the sound pathetically dying out near the end, lacking the conviction to even resolutely finish. “What I mean is….” You draw in a deep breath, your eyes finally flicking to his. “…I don’t want what I have with you to fail, and I’m terrified of that happening, and…isn’t that only possible when something is officially real?”

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

Past

“C’mon, ‘Fish. Is she really just a friend?”

Frankie laughs, shaking his head in a perfect lie of denial. “You’re an idiot. Of course she’s just a friend.”

The small bar the four of them are in—him, Santi, Will, and Benny—possesses a unique calmness and comfort to it, a place they’d been going to for ages.

“Friends who fuck, then?” Santi continues his barrage of questions, the beginnings of an infuriating smirk on his face.

Friends who fuck really fucking well. “No,” Frankie insists, even as the other clumsily-formed thought sounds in his mind.

The other three guys practically shake their heads, returning to their previous conversation. The questioning is nearly a ritual at this point, said repeatedly, as if they’re determined to wrench what they want to be said out of him.

Frankie can vividly recall the things all of them had been saying over and over for months, in one way or another.

She knows you entirely too well.

What is it with the two of you?

You cannot possibly fucking tell me there is nothing going on.

And perhaps they’re right.

Frankie had risked his life with these guys, almost died with them, made last confessions and regrets in the near certain face of death. He’s inexorably bound to them till the day he dies. But despite that, when it comes to Frankie, even in competition with his closest friends, you always seem to be just one step ahead when it comes to knowing him.

You’re the one who always brings up the subject of leaving when places grow too crowded for his liking, striking a subtle discomfort across his face that no one else notices.

You’re the one who always knows how to keep him up when he begins to spiral, begins to drink a little too much, begins to think of certain substances he’d once abused in order to forget.

You’re the one who always knows what to say when he feels his exterior cracking, feels events of the past begin to seep through in anger, grief, or pure instability.

In uncomplicated terms, perhaps you’re simply the only one who always seems to know him.

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

Present

Your words shock him.

Isn’t that only possible when something is officially real?

He doesn’t know what you’ve been through to develop this level of paranoia, this level of reservation, but god, does he want to know. He wants you to let him in all the way, wants to be able to kiss you whenever he likes, wants to say three words that’ll officially cement things as serious.

But, even then…looming over all of that is a more menacing question that demands to be answered, one that makes him want to shrink into nothing.

“You don’t think this is real?” he whispers, his voice cracking at the implication—that what the two of you feel even in secrecy is not enough to make it so.

“What?” Your eyes snap up to his with the urgency of distress. “No, of course I think it’s real.” The statement is a near desperate exclamation as you watch him, looking for any sign that he believes you, that you haven’t destroyed even more of this with a single sentence.

His features relax, back to a quiet concern.

A long, drawn-out stretch of silence passes, filled with relief and more questions to be asked.

“Then why does telling make it more real?” he finally asks.

You falter, searching for an explanation beyond a simple feeling of fear. “I…I don’t know,” you admit. “Maybe it’s just conceptual, maybe something I’ve just made up in my head and refused to go back on, but…but it just scares me, the thought of this being real and then failing. I know it doesn’t make any sense, but—“

“—I think it makes sense,” he interjects. More tentatively this time, he leans into you, wrapping his arms around your waist, rubbing soothing circles over the small of your back. “And why are you terrified this’ll fail? Do you think it will?”

“I…I don’t know,” you respond softly, brow crunched in apprehension. “Things just happen…I suppose.”

He hums in contemplation, fingers pulling your chin up to look at him. “Well, that’s not a very good reason,” he muses, a signature humor to him that you’re all too familiar with. When you laugh quietly, it’s a real laugh, one that delights his ears. “Things just don’t happen, too, y’know.”

You press your face into his shoulder, the slightest act of affection, an unsaid agreement. It feels different now that he’s in it with you, now that he knows and can challenge every absurd thought you’ve entertained.

“We can start just by telling the guys,” he proposes quietly. “If you want to…. It’s just them.”

His hand squeezes yours assuredly, a promise that everything is going to be fine. Your response is soft, a little hesitant-sounding at first, but ultimately decided. “Alright.”

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

A/N: I’ll admit I’m not super sure about this one since this is a little different from what I usually write but it was so much fun to write and such a fun challenge to create. And @hnt-escape, so I…umm….obviously changed the “Frankie in denial of feelings” part of the ask, so I hope you didn’t mind that?

Taglist: @dark-academics-and-florals @theultimateslashgirl @princessxkenobi @djjarins @jitterbugs927 @whovianayesha

If you’d like to be added to my taglist, let me know or do the form on my masterlist. If you’d like to be removed, don’t be afraid to ask!

100 Follower Celebration Masterlist

Thanks for reading!

#frankie morales x reader #francisco 'catfish' morales #frankie morales #francisco ‘catfish’ morales x reader #triple frontier fanfiction #triple frontier #ugh i really hope this was good #lightsinthedistancee’s 100 follow celebration

74 notes · View notes

honeytae · 3 years

Text

God, I love you, but what are you doing to my towels?

hi bubs! honestly i don’t really know what this is..i literally just got into my softest joonie feels for this one (i am in pain). i hope you all enjoy this fluffy little lovefest between joon and the reader :( tags: @ahgasearmyfan, @hoseokayy genre: fluff word count: 2.0k

You did not want to get up.

The comforting rise and fall of the chest pressing against your back made it impossible to, your boyfriend’s arms securing you in a spooning position as you lay wide awake in the sleeping man’s grip.

Namjoon had gotten home from work nearly an hour ago now, sleepily crawling into bed where you’d been occupied reading a book while waiting for his arrival. Mumbling a question about the plot as he lightly kissed your shoulder, he had laid down behind you, seemingly to get a look at the words written on the pages.

In the middle of your answer, you’d been interrupted with the sound of his adorable snores, stopping yourself with a smirk as you craned your neck to look back at him without moving your body to avoid startling him in his sleep.

You had let him hold you for a while, but your mind was now reeling with things you needed to be doing, chores that you wouldn’t have time for tomorrow or the next day.

As much as you adored spending time in your own personal human heater’s arms, you really had to get up and get things done.

Placing your hand over his to gently intertwine your fingers, you slowly guided his hand away from its resting place on your stomach, lifting his arm just slightly into the air to scoot out of his trap.

Hearing a muffled noise come from the man’s lips, you paused your actions, eyes scanning his face for signs of him stirring before continuing when you concluded he was very much still in his own little dreamland, mouth gaped open slightly as he rested his cheek on his open palm.

Silently tip-toeing out of the room, you set out for the kitchen, tucking your fingers underneath the hair tie wrapped around your wrist to gather your loose strands back and out of the way.

Deciding to get to work on the dirty plates stacked in the sink, you rolled the sleeves of your sweatshirt up your arms, grabbing one of the bowls from breakfast to properly rinse it under the hot water from the faucet.

Setting the bowl down in the sink once it was thoroughly cleaned out, you breathed out a deep sigh, appreciative of the silence in your building that made naps a guarantee at any time of the day. After pulling another all-nighter in the studio, Namjoon desperately needed one.

It was on the third dish that the silence was interrupted; but not by neighbors.

“Babe?”

You looked up from the porcelain at the sound of Namjoon’s voice calling for you, lowering the water pressure of the tap so you could properly respond to him.

“Kitchen!” You answered his unasked question, chuckling when you heard his footsteps immediately close in on the kitchen in response.

Approaching you from behind, he wrapped a limb around your torso, setting his chin on your shoulder as you turned your neck to smile at him.

“Hey, cutie.” He grinned, locking both arms around your waist to hug you tight to his chest, picking his head up to pucker his lips against the side of your head, making you giggle at his exaggerated “muah” punctuating the action.

“Hi, Joonie.” You greeted, turning your head to the side to press your lips to his.

“Why are you out of bed?” You asked, raising your eyebrows at the man as your hands blindly placed the dish you’d been rinsing back down in the basin in front of you.

He smiled in response as he leaned his forehead onto yours, his dark eyes shining back at you as he lightly swayed the two of you back and forth.

“Missed you.” Namjoon replied, puffy eyes blinking at you as he watched you turn your focus back to the plate in your hand, a small smile playing on your lips at his excuse.

“Sorry, baby. Just wanted to get these done, you know how I am.” You shrugged, Namjoon’s chuckle against your ear vibrating the cartilage with his proximity.

You smiled at the feeling, the familiarity of your boyfriend always being extra clingy whenever he was sleepy. You loved it.

“I do. It’s okay, though, I should be up helping anyway.” He said, to which you immediately shook your head to negate his statement.

“You should be sleeping, Joonie.” You lightly scolded him for being up, the man sighing at your stubbornness before pressing his lips to the back of your head, unwrapping his arms from you and stepping away from your body.

Thinking that he was headed back to bed with the sudden withdrawal, you slid the rinsed plate into the designated pile for ones that needed to go into the dishwashing machine below the counter, readily going back to work.

Feeling Namjoon’s presence next to you, you turned to look over at him, spotting the mini towel in his hand as he reached over to grab a plate from the drying rack of the dishwasher.

“Hey, hey, hey. No.” You grabbed the dishtowel from his hands, the man shooting you a confused look as you threw the towel over your shoulder.

“I just want you to go lay down, okay? I got this, baby.” You insisted, the man opening his mouth to protest before you cut him off again.

“You can’t tell me you’re not tired, Joon. You were in the studio all night.” You looked at his dark eye bags with concern, the man brushing your words off with a soft smile.

“I’m a little tired. But-”

He laughed when you cut him off with a scoff, hands settling on his shoulders to turn his body out of the kitchen.

“Fine, fine. I’ll take a nap. But not because you told me to.” He pointed at you, you waving him off with a smile as you turned back to your dishes.

The fact that your boyfriend was finally complying to sleep made you speed up your chores, putting the dishes away and loading up the second group of dishes in record time to rejoin the man in your bed.

After filling a glass of water for your snoozing boyfriend, you made your way back to your bedroom in hopes to finally cuddle in peace now that you’d done something productive, excitement filling your body at the thought of his warm body heat, incomparable to the blankets you were forced to use when he was gone.

The bedroom was dark, shades drawn, so you slowly stalked into the room to make no noise. Walking in a bit farther though, you noticed that your bed had no body-sized lump in it like you were expecting.

Running your hand over the empty sheets to confirm your suspicion, you exhaled a groan, setting the glass of water down on the night-side table and turning to search for the stubborn man with a mumbled profanity.

“Hey Joon?” You called out into the hallway, huffing when you got no response.

Pushing the creaky bathroom door open with your palm, you discovered no sign of his presence, frowning as you turned to march down the hall to the living room.

Entering the room, your eyes quickly fell to the man sitting on the floor, a basket full of clothes placed next to him on the ground as he squinted in concentration, fully focused on folding the washcloths into perfect squares.

The vision would’ve been laughable if you weren’t so annoyed, utterly frustrated at the man’s stubborn attitude but endeared at his good-natured heart.

“What are you doing?”

Namjoon’s guilty wide-eyed expression nearly made you lose composure as his head snapped up at the sound of your voice, a small smile threatening to make an appearance on his lips as you crossed your arms over your chest sternly.

“Laundry?” He answered in a question, resuming his folding as he laid a towel out between the spread V of his legs.

You stifled another laugh at the picture in front of you, Namjoon hunched over the towel as he folded it into thirds. His long legs stretched out in front of him for what seemed like miles, arms outstretched to hold up the material he’d been folding corner to corner.

Eyes meeting yours once again, he raised his eyebrows innocently, a smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth as you walked into the room and sat beside him.

“You’re such a pain in the ass.” You sighed, grabbing one of his t-shirts to fold before placing it on his growing pile on the ground.

“I love you.” He leaned over to press a kiss to your cheek, you rolling your eyes at him as you reached for the towel in his hands.

“Yeah, yeah.” You replied, looking around the floor in search of a pile for the towels Namjoon had apparently been occupied folding.

Your jaw nearly dropped at the way they were stacked atop each other, each one atrociously rolled in a way that had your type A skin crawling immediately. He had to be fucking kidding.

“Did you do that to mess with me?” You looked up at him, the man’s eyes widening in confusion as you gestured to the towels.

“What do you mean?” He asked, looking back at you from the pile with an adorable puzzled look on his face.

You really couldn’t stop the smile from forming on your own, sitting up on your knees to shuffle over to the pile to tidy it to your liking.

“This, Joonie. This is what I mean.” You tucked your finger into the towel at the bottom of the stack to tug the pile closer to you, the man watching as you picked up the top one, now wrinkled from Namjoon’s initial folding of it.

“God, I love you, but what are you doing to my towels?” You half whined, Namjoon chuckling as he watched you smooth the fabric out onto your thighs and refold it, placing it onto the ground beside you before grabbing the next one.

You peeked at Namjoon out of the corner of your eye as he moved his body closer to yours, his arms draping around your waist distracting you only slightly as you concentrated on finishing up your re-folding.

Leaning his face into the side of your head, Namjoon began pressing gentle pecks to your hair, slowly bringing his lips forward to sprinkle kisses on your cheek.

Turning your face to push your lips to his, Namjoon hummed into your mouth at the unexpected action, parting his lips when your tongue made contact with his bottom lip.

You leaned farther into him as he placed his hand on your cheek so that your jaw was supported by his palm, welcoming you to straddle his lap with an encouraging grip on the back of your thigh, gently guiding you onto him.

“I’m sorry I messed up your towels.” He mumbled, you humming in response before kissing him again.

“You know what will make you forgiven?” You asked, putting on a sultry tone as you fluttered your lashes at him.

“What?” He smirked, hands gripping your hips a little tighter at your seductive tone.

“Go get some damn sleep.” You replied dryly, Namjoon’s jaw dropping as you rolled off his lap, coming to a stand and walking out of the room, causing him to scramble up off the ground to go after you.

You giggled as you ran to the bedroom, hearing Namjoon’s footsteps thumping on the hardwood floor behind you as you ran away from him.

Throwing yourself on the mattress, you intercepted the man as he crawled atop your body, smiling down at you as your chuckles faded, eyes crinkling even more as you brushed his hair back from his forehead with a gentle swipe of your palm.

“You’re teasing me.” He murmured, soft tired eyes tracing your features in the dimmed room as you smirked up at him.

“Hm. But I got you into bed, didn’t I?” You arched a brow at him, butterflies erupting in your stomach when you felt his palm slide up your shirt, fingers tracing over the hem of your bra.

“Hm. You did.” He agreed, leaning down to catch his lips with yours again as you melted under his touch, sinking into the mattress more and more as he continued soothing your lips with his pillowy soft pair.

293 notes · View notes

ushidoux · 3 years

Text

Be My Last - Iwaizumi x Reader (Pt. 4)

Summary: You have trouble getting over a past relationship and it’s preventing you from moving forward. (~1.7 words)

Warnings: questionable fidelity, angst, but otherwise tame

A/N: There isn’t a lot of action in this chapter but a whole lot of feelings.

Part 1|| Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5

You awoke to the sound of Iwaizumi’s careful shuffles around your bedroom as he got dressed for the day. Rising slowly to a sitting position with a stretch and a yawn, you noticed he was a little more dressed up than usual, his usual polo shirt and khakis replaced with a pair of sharp trousers, a nicely pressed shirt and a tie.

“Good morning, baby,” you murmured, voice still heavy with slumber.

Iwaizumi’s eyes shifted from their focus adjusting the sleeves of his shirt and smiled as he watched you rub the sleep out of your eyes, walking around to your side of the bed to kiss you on the forehead - a soft brush of the lips.

“Good morning, love. Did you sleep well?”

The smell of a gentle cologne drove you forward, intending to lean your face against his chest, but he was already back to his side of the bed to gather his things before setting out for the morning.

“I did… I can make breakfast if you’re not in a hurry!” You offered, eyes following the young man as he quickly exited the room.

“I’m alright!” He called, voice distant now. You could tell he was already rummaging around in the kitchen, and the smell of freshly brewed coffee wafted in your nostrils in sharp contrast to the toothpaste you were using to rid yourself of morning breath once you trailed behind him.

You glanced at the time on the wall clock, leaning against a wall opposite the inlet to the kitchen. He wasn’t exactly late for work, but he was rushing out faster than usual.

“Is everything okay?” Your voice was muffled between spittle and mild concern.

He glanced at you, hesitating for a split second before smiling.

“I’ll see you tonight,” he replied without answering your question, and then the door closed behind him.

There was a subtle sense of your blood cooling very slightly, a tinge of worry settling in your chest. Venturing back into the bathroom, you finished brushing your teeth, paying exquisite attention to your tired eyes in the mirror as though your reflection was the issue.

Maybe you were overreacting. Things had been a little tense since your argument, but it was nothing that couldn’t be smoothed over.

It was only after you’d settled back onto your side of the bed with your open laptop and your screen flickered on to display your ex’s Instagram page that your heart started to race.

You closed it shut again, wincing.

He didn’t see it. He couldn’t have. He would have said something. The argument would have started right up again. It wouldn’t have ended until one of you was sleeping on the couch or you were sleeping in each other’s arms.

You let out a deep breath, taking a few moments to let your self-defensive thoughts sink into your skin. It was nothing serious after all.

Overreaction after overreaction. The only thing that mattered right now was that you opened your laptop and spent your Friday off of work on getting ahead.

---

As luck would have it, Iwaizumi was stuck in traffic. Perhaps it was a blessing in disguise that he’d wanted to escape your apartment as soon as possible and make it out early. He’d actually intended to leave before you woke up.

As much as he didn’t want to admit it, he was still angry.

Not at you. Never at you. At himself.

He remembered the words he had said to you at the start of your relationship, what felt both like just yesterday and ages ago.

Use me if you need to.

He gripped the steering wheel and grit his teeth, trying to maintain composure despite the fact that he’d been in the same spot on the road for the past ten minutes and people were laying into their horns around him.

What kind of stupid shit was that?

It had sounded good to say it at the time, like most things a guy says to woo a pretty girl. Use him. You’d fall in love with him later, in due time. He believed it was true then.

He hated that he was starting to lose faith in that now.

He hated the idea that someone else, who really wasn’t doing anything but simply existing in proximity to you was doing such a number on him. He couldn’t fault him either. Ushijima had loved you first.

Did it matter if Iwa loved you more?

---

You’d given yourself that you weren’t allowed to leave your apartment until you got your work done, lest you come up with another excuse not to finish, which meant by the time the clock neared six p.m., you had laid sprawled in nearly every corner of your apartment typing and by now were cross-legged on the kitchen counter, your laptop balanced on your knees.

But you were finally done.

You sighed with excitement. Now to put that behind you.

Saving your work, you slipped off of the countertop and back into your pair of slippers, moving back to your bedroom to change into a just as comfortable but more presentable pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt.

You were running out of snacks, as evidenced by the frequent trips to the kitchen over the past eight hours. What better way to treat yourself for a job well done but with a walk down to the convenience store to stock up?

Maybe you’d grab Iwa a bag of his favorite chips as a peace offering on the way too.

---

“We’re already out, young lady!” the cashier teased the moment you crossed the store entrance, setting off the bell.

You pout but still glance over to the row of baked goods, where your precious melon bread is normally stacked neatly in clear packaging, waiting for you. It’s a little bit embarrassing that he knew you would never pass up on it, but you’d lived here long enough that it wasn’t inconceivable that it’d become your defining trait.

“I’m absolutely devastated, sir!” You called back dramatically, making your way to the back for ice cream instead. They had what your favorite in stock, plus a limited edition flavor so you had more than enough consolation.

Satisfied, you closed the freezer door after picking your selection only to meet eyes with Ushijima, whose hand closed tightly around the handle of a fridge door. He stood a good distance away, but his eyes had been on you and remained so; the very slight part of his lips betrayed the fact that he had been trying to come up with something to say for the past couple of minutes.

He did say your name, something like a greeting, out loud, and you reflexively looked away, heart pounding. Granted you didn’t own this corner of town, but what were the chances he’d only chosen to go here?

Quickly realizing you still weren’t interested in talking, Ushijima pulled out a large bottle of water and closed the fridge, deciding not to bother you further.

It was suddenly a good thing that a text message to you on his phone was in drafts only, him not having the heart to send it. It wasn’t for a lack of courage… it was more so due to shame. Even if he felt like he had to apologize, there wasn’t much he felt he could say that would make it better, not worse.

His shame and your discomfort only intensified as he ended up queueing up behind you. Timing was never on his or your side it seemed.

Ushijima watched you tense up ever so slightly, your shoulders hunched as your arms overflowed with snacks, including the freezing tub of ice cream. Normally he’d offer to help with your load, given that he wasn’t carrying much more than the water but again, boundaries.

He’d set that distance himself.

In reality, he probably should have chosen another running path to discharge energy after practice had ended early today. However, it had been long enough that alternative courses didn’t come immediately to memory and he’d been willing to take that chance.

And here you both were.

He hated this, the obvious residual feelings bubbling to the surface after having been repressed for so long, the fact that he couldn’t justify any of his actions, the fact that he hated older him.

The fact that you won’t even look at him.

Just say something. Anything.

Is closure every really needed, or is it just an excuse to refuse to move on?

He opened his mouth to speak, yet again, but you beat him to it.

You turned towards him, smiling, albeit a weak imitation of what you’d always offered him, back when you loved him recklessly, with your whole heart.

“I… um, don’t want it to be awkward,” you said in a small voice. The sound of your voice, directed finally to him, unprompted made his own beat speed up.

Was this an olive branch you were extending that he didn’t deserve? He pondered this, steeling himself for the worst.

You kept your friendly expression as steady as possible. You weren’t sure what you were trying to prove, to yourself and to Iwa.

You didn’t love him. And for that reason, you had no right to be bitter or cold. Right?

“It doesn’t have to be awkward,” you continued.

Ushijima was at a loss for words now, watching you carefully with his normally sharp, hawk-like eyes but now more like the hawk’s prey, assessing the threat before it. Could he get his hopes up? “We can be friends,” you decided.

It’ll only hurt for a short bit of time, you told yourself. And soon things will be back to normal. As they should be.

A part of Ushijima wanted to reply, I don’t want to be friends. He’d finally realized this, no matter how selfish of a thought it was. However, he was content to nod only and swallow that thought.

“I’d appreciate it.”

He watched you pay for your items and leave, unsure of what friendship would entail.

---

As you dug into your tub of ice cream a couple hours later, you realized you weren’t so sure what that entailed either.

If only to make it worse, then came the buzz of your phone with a single message, I miss you.

#iwaizumi x reader #iwa x reader #iwaizumi hajime x reader #ushijima x reader #ushijima wakatoshi x reader #haikyuu x reader #not sfw #mae.writing #series: be my last #tw angst

115 notes · View notes

hxwks-gf · 4 years

Text

*✧･ﾟ:* two little lines

bakugo x fem!reader

summary: surprise! you’re pregnant. wait, that’s not the only surprise...

warnings: pregnancy, descriptions of throwing up, swearing, mentions of alcohol

w/c: 2k

request: I just read your Bakugou gets turned into a kid fic and it was so adorable, especially since he done well knew what he was doing( the brat lol) Anyhow I wanted to request either Bakugou( pro hero of course) reacting to the news that he and his female S/O are having either twins or triplets.

a/n: THANK U FOR SENDING THIS REQUEST IN, ANON!! i loved writing it so much, and soft bakugo is my fav bakugo. enjoy my loves!

“Katsuki, I really don’t feel well,” you said as you came out of the bathroom, wiping the sweat off of your forehead.

Your husband looked up from the piece of his gear he was tinkering with. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve felt really sick to my stomach for a day or two now,” you explained, sitting at the edge of the bed and closing your eyes. You could feel another wave of nausea coming over you at full speed. “Oh, God--” You clapped a hand over your mouth and ran straight to the toilet again, making it just in time before you violently puked the last remains of your breakfast into the porcelain.

“Y/N?” he called from the bedroom. A few seconds later and you heard his bare footsteps on the tile floor. His warm hand placed itself on your forehead and pushed back your sweaty hair. “Hey, let’s get you to the doctor, alright?”

“No,” you moaned into the bowl, “I don’t want to go to the doctor yet, it’s just the stomach flu or something. I just need to rest.”

“Don’t be stubborn,” Bakugo growled, squatting beside you. He wrinkled his nose at the contents of the toilet. “Let’s go.”

“I’ll make an appointment tomorrow,” you said, cracking open your teary eyes at him. He had that hard-set look on his face, the don’t-even-try-to-argue-with-me one. You had seen it enough over the last few years of your marriage. “Can you just take me to the store so I can get some medicine?”

“Tch,” he grunted, rolling his eyes. “You’re crazy if you think I’m letting you out of this apartment in this state.”

“Katsuki.”

He tipped his head back and let loose an exasperated sigh. “Jesus, you’re going to be the death of me, woman.”

You held out a hand and he helped you to your feet. He muttered incoherently while you got dressed, something along the lines of “--doesn’t know how to rest--” and “--never listens to me--”. After you were dressed, he at least made you drink some water before driving you to the nearby corner store.

The fluorescent lights were harsh on your eyes as you perused the aisles with a basket in hand, mindlessly putting cans of soup, stomach medicine, and orange juice into it. Bakugo grumbled to himself a few feet behind you, hands shoved deep in his pockets.

“I’ll be right back,” he grunted, and disappeared down the snack aisle, leaving you by yourself near the pharmacy.

As you wandered down the rows and rows of medicine, looking for anything else you might need for the stomach flu, you saw something on display near the counter that made you stop and stare.

“There’s no way,” you murmured, walking up to them and picking one up. You flipped the thin box in your hand and scanned the back for more information. When was the last time you had your period? On a hunch, you dropped the box into your basket and hurried towards the check-out before Bakugo caught up with you again.

The cashier rang you up and bagged your items, and you felt another wave of nausea starting to build in the pit of your stomach. Thankfully, Bakugo rounded the corner empty-handed, and headed straight for you.

“Got everything you need?” he said, guiding you out of the store.

“Mhmm,” you absentmindedly hummed, trying not to think about the little box at the bottom of your bag.

The drive back to the apartment was silent, as was the walk up. Bakugo offered to take your bags but you vehemently denied his help, giving him a string of excuses and making a beeline for the bathroom again.

You locked the door and leaned back against the wall, sliding down until you were in a seated position with your knees brought up to your chest. You were scared. The plastic bag was staring at you on the floor, just waiting to be opened. With a trembling sigh, you pulled out the little thin box and opened the pregnancy test.

Two lines. That meant pregnant, right?

You couldn’t tell how long you spent staring at the little stick in your hands, or how many times you had read and re-read the little instruction booklet.

Two lines.

Pregnant.

You licked your lips in anticipation and unlocked the bathroom door. You could hear Bakugo tinkering with his hero gear in the bedroom again.

“You were in there for a while, are you okay--” His sentence was cut short when he looked up at you standing in the doorway, holding the stick in your hands. “What’s wrong?”

“Katsuki, I’m pregnant.”

The screwdriver he held in his hands fell out of his grasp and clattered to the floor. Within seconds he was getting up from the bed and gathering you in his arms, his chin tucking itself in the crook of your neck.

“K-Katsuki?” you said, utterly surprised.

“Are you being serious?” he said, voice muffled in your shoulder.

“Of course I’m being serious.” You gently pulled out of his embrace, but he still kept you close. “Look. Two lines.”

He looked down at the test in your hand. His own fingers reached up and wrapped themselves around it, his brows coming together in the center of his forehead. He stared at it so intensely without saying a word, you were concerned he had lost some screws.

“Katsuki?” you said again, gently. “What...what are you feeling?”

“I know I've never been good with talking about my emotions,” he said, his voice breaking with emotion. “But this--this makes me feel like the happiest fucker in the entire world.”

With those words, the gate that held your own emotions in check completely shattered and you fell into a mess of happy sobs, excited laughs, and exhilarated kisses. You’re not sure when it happened, but the two of you ended up kneeling together on the floor, still holding onto the test like your lives depended on it, crying and laughing and kissing. The only other time you had ever seen Bakugo cry was the first time he saw you walk down the aisle at your wedding.

“I can’t believe it,” he said, pressing his forehead against yours. “I really can’t.”

“Pregnant,” you breathed, still in awe. “We’re going to have a baby.”

“Listen to me.” Bakugo let go of your hands and cradled your cheeks, looking directly into your eyes. “I love you. You are not going to lift a finger for the next nine months, do you understand me, woman?”

Fresh tears welled up in your eyes as you nodded. “I would expect nothing less from you.”

“Doctor’s office. Tomorrow morning.”

“Well, it sounds like you’re about six weeks along,” the obstetrician explained, pulling on a pair of clean gloves. “Let’s get the ultrasound going so you guys can hear the heartbeat.”

You squeezed Bakugo’s hand excitedly. He sat beside you, watching the doctor’s every single movement like a hawk. She had you lean back and lift up your shirt to expose the little baby bump that was already starting to show.

“Alright,” she said, pushing the scanner over your lubricated belly and watching the fuzzy screen intently. You had no idea what she was looking at, it just looked like big blotches of black and white moving around. “Oh--there we are!”

This time, it was Bakugo that squeezed your hand with excitement. You looked over at him, seeing how focused he was on the little screen.

“Oh, what have we here?”

You whipped your head back to the doctor. “What is it? Is something wrong?”

“Looks like you’ve got two buns in your oven,” the obstetrician said, pointing to the screen. “See that? Two heartbeats.”

“T-twins?” you gasped, feeling Bakugo’s hand go limp in your grasp. “We’re having twins?”

“Congrats, Mom and Dad,” she said with a grin, clicking off the scanner and cleaning the jelly off of your stomach. “Twins are much more common than you think.” She stood up and stripped off her gloves. “I’ll be right back with some paperwork for the pharmacy and give you two a moment in private.”

As the door closed behind her, you looked at Bakugo. He was still staring at the little ultrasound still visible on the screen, his mouth slack and his eyes wide.

“Honey?” you said, tilting your head. “Did you hear what she said?”

“Twins,” he whispered in awe.

Your face broke into a smile and you pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “Twins.”

“So, what’s the special occasion?” Kirishima asked, kicking his feet up on the coffee table.

“Get your feet off of there,” Bakugo snapped, swatting his friend’s feet. “Christ.”

You chuckled, handing Kaminari and Sero each a beer. “It’s something we’ve been waiting to share with you guys for a couple weeks now.”

“Are you not going to have a drink with us, Y/N?” Mina asked from the couch, holding up her glass of wine.

Bakugo moved to stand beside you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders. It was rare for him to be this affectionate in front of the rest of the group, but you knew he was too excited. They all looked at the two of you with confused and concerned expressions on their faces, waiting for whatever piece of news you had to share.

Mina was quick. “Holy shit, you’re joking!” she squealed before you could say anything, kicking her feet excitedly.

“What are you talking about?” Kirishima said, looking at her with his eyebrows furrowed. “Joking about what--” You could literally see the lightbulb turn on above his head. “Oh, oh! Oh my God, guys! Are you serious?”

“Yep,” you laughed, patting your belly. Bakugo pressed a kiss against the shell of your ear.

“Wait, wait,” Kaminari said, holding up his hands. “I’m lost. What’s going on?”

“C’mon, dude,” Bakugo growled.

Sero’s eyes looked like they were about to pop right out of his skull. “Congratulations, you two! I was wondering when it was going to happen. I almost had a bet going for it.”

“A bet for what?” Kaminari whined.

“Denki,” you said, giving your stomach another exaggerated pat.

“Stomach?”

“Yes,” you encouraged, nodding your head slowly. “And…?

“And...oh, holy shit!”

“There he goes,” Kirishima laughed, patting his friend on the back. He looked back to you and Bakugo with a grin on his face. “That’s amazing. How far along are you? Do you know the gender yet?”

“Well,” you started, smiling at Bakugo over your shoulder. “That’s not all of it, exactly.”

Now they were back in the dark again, Mina included. You took a deep breath and felt Bakugo’s arms tighten around you. “We’re having twins.”

“Twins!” Mina screeched, jumping up out of her seat and clobbering you in an excited hug.

“Hey, hey, easy,” Bakugo warned, hostility lacing his words. “Be careful with the mother of my children, alright?”

A surge of warmth spread through you, all the way from the top of your head down to the tips of your toes. Mother of his children. It had a very nice ring to it, and hearing it from his lips only made it that much sweeter. You reached around and tenderly kissed his cheek.

“Whatever you guys need, please let us know,” Kirishima said as he stood up and clapped a hand on Bakugo’s shoulder. “I mean it. Whatever you need. We’re all here for you.”

“Thank you, guys,” you said, unable to hide the crack in your voice as a lump formed in your throat. Tears came not a second later. “I’m sorry, everything makes me cry nowadays.”

“I don’t envy you there, Bakugo,” Kaminari said with a grin. “But I second what Kirishima said.”

The rest of the evening was spent talking about possible baby names, planning the eventual baby shower, and anything else under the sun that had to do with babies. As you sat on the couch, nestled into Bakugo’s side and casually running a hand over your growing belly, surrounded by friends and loved ones, you knew that no matter what happened, you and Bakugo would be alright.

You had to admite, the idea of having two little miniature Katsukis running around delighted you in a way that would most definitely frighten anyone else.

#AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAFHJKDHFKSDHFKS #MY HEARTTTTT #bakugou katsuki #bakugo x reader #bakugo x you #bakugo x y/n #bakugo imagine #bakugo fanfic #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #bakugo fluff

671 notes · View notes

dearlydecayed · 3 years

Text

Soup for Shigaraki

Mmm yes first fic. No idea how this works, so just do whatever Tumblr users do if ya like it ig Summary: You're a member of the league when Shigaraki falls ill, and of course doesn't take care of himself. Being the good villain Samaritan you are, you do it for him.

Pre-relationship (?)

Word Count + Warnings: 1,665 - Sfw, Shiggy swears at you and is a bastard in general, and descriptions of sickness. Not beta read.

-----

It's been three whole days since you'd seen him- since anyone else had seen him for that matter.

The entire league was off doing busy work to kill time; little side-missions and personal vendettas to fulfill while they waited. While you waited. While the world waited.

Shigaraki couldn't exactly lead a revolution while bedridden.

Dabi and Toga had left the base a few minutes ago, Dabi huffing in general annoyance while the latter trailed behind cheerily. She had invited you along, but you declined. You had someone to check on.

Pushing yourself off the counter you had been leaning against, you turned to the broad and decrepit expanse of cabinets that made up the bar. The top rows were filled with glasses, cups, and bottles, so you worked off a foggy memory as you scrounged the lower levels. Sure enough, your hands made contact with a singular dusty can. Aha. Pulling it out, you grimaced at the expiration date but nonetheless cranked the lid open with the pocket knife you carried. Red liquid sloshed in the tin, and you gave it a cursory sniff. At least it still smelled like tomato soup.

Rummaging through another drawer, you found a clean-ish spoon and rinsed it off in the sink. Unable to find a pot, you made your way over to the small stove-top in the corner.

The scent of gas filled the air as the ancient device clicked to life, and you were reminded of why no one used it when Dabi was around. Placing the can directly on the burner, you couldn't help but hum to drown out the sound of metal scrapping metal as you stirred the broth; steam wafting through the air as it began to boil.

The best you could manage for a hot pad was a tattered rag as you took the tin off the stove; and let the scent of tomato soup soothe your concerns of expiration. Dipping a finger into the cooling liquid, you confirmed that it tasted about right too.

Now for the tricky part...

Same as when you'd checked it earlier, his door was locked. The hallway was as silent as it had been for days, and worry crept into your periphery as you again pulled out your pocket knife. Picking the lock was an easy feat, and you soon stepped into your leader's dark room, tin can in hand. You'd only observed the space in passing prior to this, and you took a moment to take it all in.

It was a lot more cluttered than you had anticipated, his walls lined with shelves of fandom paraphernalia and books. Dark clothes littered the floor and haphazardly hung off a hamper in the corner- interlocked with junk food wrappers and boxes.

You would've lingered longer at the sight if a pathetic sniffle hadn't caught your attention; your gaze drawn to a slumped pile on his bed.

There, your noble leader lay snot-faced and unconscious as his throat rasped with every breath. His face lacked its usual paleness, instead graced with a red flush, and you knew his temperature would be scorching by the sweat on his brow. Regardless, you set the can down on his desk, and sat yourself on edge of his bed.

Before moving further, you closed your hands on both of his wrists. Instantly, his arms relaxed, rendering his hands immobile for the near future. Benefits of a paralysis quirk included immobilizing your delirious boss, apparently.

You then confirmed your prior hunch as you placed a palm against his forehead, clammy skin shuddering at your touch. A gurgled groan escaped as he squirmed under your hand, his brow furrowing as some form of consciousness returned to him.

His eyes still closed, a croaky "Kurogiri..?" was offered as you propped him up against some pillows.

"Mm. Afraid not, boss"

In the moments it took him to process your words, you moved the soup can to in between your thighs, bringing a spoonful of liquid into the air in front of him. His bleary eyes opened a few times, clearly straining to gain some awareness and failing miserably as they fell shut again.

You shushed him, and readjusted. "Shh shh, 's just me, boss. I've got some nice, warm soup for ya." To illustrate your point, you teased the spoon to lightly rest against his chapped lips, desperately hoping he remained passive instead of really waking up and throwing a fit.

Blessedly, he did no such thing.

Rather, his lips finally parted and you were able to ease the spoon in, letting the liquid fall into his mouth. He swallowed, made a noise, and you took it as a sign to get another spoonful.

Time became irrelevant as you spoon fed him, his tense shoulders falling and his face relaxing as soup levels fell. The only sounds in the whole base were his raspy breaths and the spoon scraping against the can.

When the can was about half-way empty though, he became fussy and pursed his lips again, refusing the spoon. You also noted that his fingers were beginning to twitch, and you took it as a definite sign to bolt.

However, you didn't leave until he was laid back down and tucked in.

A cup of water left on his bedside table, you locked the door on your way out.

-----

"What the fuck are you doing."

Rather than a writhing mass on his bed, you were greeted the next day with a much more conscious Shigaraki.

Reheated soup in hand, you stood dumbly as the door clicked shut behind you.

The next few moments were tense as he stared you down, before being interrupted by a painful cough racking through him. As he tore open a lung, you let your gaze drift to his bed side table where an empty glass stood.

"Oh good, you drank some water."

His scarlet glare was again directed at you after briefly glancing at the table himself, and he sneered. "The fuck do you want."

You blinked at him, and raised the can up a bit. "Y' want more soup?"

This seemed to catch him off guard, and his bleary eyes met with the soup can for the first time since you entered. He sniffled, and moved to sit up. "Give it to me then get the fuck out." You raised your hands in surrender and stepped forward to pass the can to him. Sure enough, he snatched it like a feral animal and almost went to chug it before he noted the ragged edges were you had sawed it open, and instead went for the spoon with a petulant grumble. "D' ya need anything else or-"

"Fuck off."

"Mk."

Toga had asked later why you were buying chicken noodle soup, and you told her it was for emergencies. -----

He was sitting up and playing on a handheld device when you entered the next day.

Though sweat still clung his brow, his face had regained its normal paleness and his eyes were noticeably sharper when they snapped to you.

His gaze rather quickly re-centered on the new can of soup and glass of water your were holding however, and you stepped forward with a chuckle to set both on his side table.

Game forgotten, it was tossed down to the foot of his bed as he downed the glass you had given him. Before leaving, you glanced to the screen and recognition sparked in your gaze. "Oh, is that the newest installment?"

Now sipping at the remaining liquid, he eyed you over the rim and grunted in hesitant confirmation.

"Do you have the gold or platinum edition? I can't tell by the level you're on."

"S' gold," he croaked.

You hummed in acknowledgment, and left his room yet again.

-----

The next day, you walked right into his chest rather than his room.

"Ah," you offered after stepping back. "I guess you don't need anymore soup then?"

He stepped out into the hallway too, looming over you as you stepped back further into the wall. Red eyes clear as the night you had met him, he stared down at you while reaching for the can.

Four fingers brushed against yours as he took the soup from your hand, and he turned silently to walk down the hallway into the main gathering area.

Kurogiri took that moment to warp in, startling then quickly fussing over Shigaraki as he nonchalantly spooned the soup into his mouth.

-----

Life of course resumed after his recovery, and you quickly forgot about the night spent nursing your boss back to health as business continued as normal.

It wasn't until many nights later that you had any time to yourself, let alone him after days of making up work.

You had been sitting on a tattered couch well into the night, scrolling aimlessly on your phone when a plastic bag was thrust unceremoniously into your lap. Not looking up, you scrambled to unbag it when you saw liquid begin to cling to the plastic.

Pulling the warm container out and holding it upright, your brow furrowed at the sight. Sure enough, a styrofoam container of soup was sitting in your hands.

It was then that you looked up, and were unsurprised to see Shigaraki looming awkwardly near you. His hands were stuffed into his jacket pockets, and his eyes seemed determined to rest anywhere but you.

Not wanting to be rude to the man who disintegrates people on a whim, you offer an "Uh, thanks?"

He tches at you, and turns to leave. "I fuckin' hate soup," Is all he offers before he disappears around the corner, and his door slams shut.

You shrug, and pop the lid off to check the damage. It had spilled a bit in the bag, but was still a hearty portion. A plastic spoon was even attached at the side, and you plucked it off as you snuggled in to the couch.

You couldn't place the flavor, but enjoyed it nonetheless.

#shigaraki tomura #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x you #shigaraki x reader fic #mha #bnha #sic fic

34 notes · View notes

detectivereyes · 3 years

Text

And You’ll Still Be By My Side

Summary: Carlos just wanted to fix his Camaro... fate has other plans. And TK also has a front row seat.

dedicated to the person who is constantly on the same wavelength as me and leaves me questioning if we’re actually the same person, @marjansmarwani. jillian - happy birthday love!! i adore you so much and i don’t know what i would do without talking to you everyday about everything from fic ideas to clown theories to our own personal lives. i am so grateful for our friendship and i wish you all the best on your special day 💗

read on ao3

“If you’re going to insist on being out here with me, you could at least try to help,” Carlos says, leaning up from where he was hunched over the popped hood of his Camaro. He wipes a bead a sweat off his forehead and drapes the damp rag over his shoulder.

TK can’t help but drink in the sight of the other man. With his white tight-fitted t-shirt that has various oil stains, and smudges of grease painting under his chin and cheeks where his hands have rubbed, TK never thought seeing Carlos playing mechanic could be so hot.

“I think I’m okay over here,” he says with a smirk.

Carlos shakes his head and returns to his hunched over position in the car hood, working on whatever needed fixing in his precious Camaro. TK doesn’t know much about cars, but all he gathered from Carlos was that whatever it was, it was something he could fix on his own. And maybe something about not trusting an actual mechanic with his baby.

Which is how he found himself sitting on the workbench in Carlos’ garage, with his legs dangling off the edge, trying to follow what Carlos was doing. The other man would occasionally look up and explain his actions, but TK had given up trying to follow along, instead opting to take in his boyfriend’s look.

He watches as Carlos' face scrunches in confusion before softening into a smile as he continues working. TK may not know what exactly is going on, but he damn sure loves watching Carlos work.

“I think you should dress like this more often,” he notes, catching Carlos attention the next time he looks up.

“You mean sweaty and in a tee that I should have thrown out years ago?”

“Yeah,” TK says, biting his lips with a smirk. “It looks good on you.”

Carlos lightly chuckles. “You are a menace, TK Strand. Now, stop distracting me.”

TK mirrors his laugh as the other man leans back into the hood. “You love having me out here.”

“Do I?” Carlos asks, muffled by the sound of him not bothering to lift his head up.

TK rolls his eyes in lieu of an answer and pulls out his phone. “Hey what do you want for dinner? I was thinking we could just order something. Maybe from that new Thai place we’ve been wanting to try?”

“Well, I was just going to cook,” he says from within the car hood. “I think we already have all the ingredients to make chile relleno.”

“You’ve been working hard all afternoon, I don’t want to make you cook.”

“Really, I don’t mind,” Carlos says, leaning up and wiping off his brow before resting his hand on the rim of the hood. “Whatever you want though. Just have to make sure we have everything we need.”

TK shrugs, pulling up the recipe on his phone to run through the list of ingredients. He’s halfway through the article when a pained whimper catches his attention. He looks up to find Carlos wide eyed, staring off into the distance and the hood of the car swinging back up. It doesn’t take more than a few seconds for TK to put the pieces together for what had just happened.

“Are you okay, babe?” he asks, carefully.

Carlos takes a few measured breaths before shaking his head. He quickly darts past TK, pulling his hand up close to his chest and entering their home, TK wasting no time hopping off the workbench and treads on the heels of Carlos.

He follows the other man into the kitchen, watching as he opens the freezer and digs around until he pulls out a pack of frozen peas. Carlos sighs a breath of relief as he clutches the bag against his hand, holding both close to his chest.

“Hey, let me take a look,” TK says cautiously approaches his boyfriend, unable to not let his paramedic side show.

Carlos hesitantly pulls his hand away, letting TK gently cradle his hand as he examines it. The area on the back of his palm is already beginning to swell and the skin around where the hood made contact is broken and bleeding. Carlos sucks in a sharp breath as TK runs his fingers around the bruised area.

“This doesn’t look good,” he notes. “We should probably go to the emergency room.”

“You think it’s broken?”

“Probably,” TK gives him a sympathetic smile. “Sorry babe. Just keep icing it and I’ll go get the car started.”

Carlos grimaces and before TK can ask if he’s hurt more he opens his mouth. “That’s going to be a problem, considering I wasn’t exactly finished working on it yet.”

“Oh,” TK says, pausing for a second to consider their options. “Do you want to give your dad or my dad a call then?”

“Or we could just Uber and spare the embarrassment and hovering.”

“Hate to break it to you, but I think you’ll be dealing with that anyway. But I guess we can hold off on it and call an Uber now,” TK says with a sympathetic smile.

“You’re not doing it right,” Carlos says, the exasperation in his voice clearly filtering through as much as he tries to hide it.

TK stops what he’s doing prepping the peppers to lean on the counter and look at Carlos. He looks just as miserable as he did a few hours ago while they were waiting for his x-ray results in the emergency room, complaining of smelling like oil and unable to even move his hand. Now with his right hand in a cast extending down his wrist, he’s trying and failing to hide his annoyance at the situation.

During their Uber ride back home, he was quick to suggest they go with TK’s original suggestion of ordering out but TK waved him off. After the afternoon they had, TK was determined to not let anything stop them from eating chile relleno like they had originally planned.

Which is what led to Carlos attempting to walk TK through the steps of recipe. Though he had watched Carlos make the dish before, he’s finding it much harder to be doing it himself. But he continues to try his best.

“What do you mean? I’m cleaning the peppers out, just like you said.”

“No, you’re missing seeds and veins. If you don’t get them all out, it’s going to be way too spicy and I know you hate spicy food,” Carlos explains, trying to keep his cool. “Let me try,” he says, already reaching across the counter for the cutting board.

“No, I got it,” TK quickly replies, shifting the peppers out his reach. He gives him a sweet smile, and returns his attention back to cleaning out the vegetables. He can see Carlos still shaking his head out of the corner of his eye. “You know I am capable of handling myself in the kitchen, right?”

Carlos playfully rolls his eyes before launching into the next steps of walking TK through how to roast the peppers.

TK continues to try and following each step of making the stuffing for it, though it feels like with each step Carlos has something to point out. Whether it’s not making the cuts in the peppers right, or whisking the batter to quickly. By the time he jumps up to turn the simmer down to avoid burning the sauce, Carlos is already pulling out his phone.

“What are you doing?”

“Ordering from that Thai place,” he answers calmly, placing his phone down on the table before scrolling through the delivery app with his left hand.

TK twists his face, trying to formulate an argument before giving up with a sigh. “I’m sorry, babe. I know this isn’t what you wanted.”

Carlos glances up at him with a soft smile. “No, but I know you tried your best and I did enjoy watching you give it a shot.”

“Oh,” TK bites back a laugh and moves around the counter to place a soft kiss on Carlos cheek. ”I’m sure it was very entertaining.”

#911 lone star #911 lone star fic #my fic #userjillian #usermaximus #userbones #userjilly #userkimmy #tuserpaige #moviegeek03

65 notes · View notes

plush-rabbit · 3 years

Text

A Shared Umbrella

Word Count: 3.4K

A/N: I hope you like it!! I had a huge Fatgum phase like a week ago and ahh! He’s just so cute and soft and I wanna be held༼ಢ_ಢ༽

Night creeps in, the sky turning from a soft orange mixed with pinks and reds and yellows, slowly turning into a dark blue, the sky darkening as little stars shine in the sky, past the light pollution, and beaming with glints of white. Your hands and legs are sore, sweat collecting on your brow and as you grip the broom in a tight clutch, sweeping at the floor, the music that plays from your phone nothing more than a distant sound, a simple background noise that isn't registered as your mind has come to a still, simply focused on getting the floors cleaned so you can lock up for the night.

The bell jingles, a soft chime that rings and catches your attention, breaking you out of the monotonous task. You look up, clutching the broom tighter in your hand, pulling it close to your chest, mouth pulled into an uneasy line until red gloves come into view, grabbing the side of the door and a round head pops through the gap, large smile already decorated on the soft features.

You gasp, perking yourself on your tips and take a small step towards the door. “Fatgum!” A hand lets go from the broom and raises flat against the air in a soft greeting. “I was beginning to worry you weren’t going to show up.”

He walks through the door, bending down and squeezing himself through. He chuckles and softly closes the door behind him. “I told you,” he chastises lightly, “you can call me Taishiro or anything else.” His steps towards you are quick, his shadow engulfing you, even as he stands a bit far from you, his neck craned down while your’s strains to meet his eyes. “There’s no need for formalities between us.”

You roll your eyes, turning your back to him as you walk to the counter, pressing pause on your phone. “I know, I know- force of habit is all.” You turn to face him and hold the broom tighter in your hands.

“Your own habit,” he adds, giving you a lopsided smile. “Sorry for coming late and all, I got held up with work.” His hand comes to rub at his belly, curving and giving himself a soft pat. “You know how it is.”

Your eyes run up and down his body, worry lines creasing your face when you realize that he isn’t as okay as you thought he was. You hadn’t bothered to worry about him too much, thinking that as long as he had no broken bones or bandages wrapped around him, that he was all right but now you see the bruise that forms and peeks under the yellow jacket, bits of it ripped and dirited with grime and something that has a dark color to it and sticks near his tummy. He blinks at you owlishly, eyes wide and tilting his head and giving out a soft hum.

“Are,” it comes off in a low whisper, clearing your throat, “are you okay?” You gesture to him, letting the broom rest against the counter and your hands feel sore, wrapped around something firm and leaving red prints against your palm that lighten as pressure is released.

His laugh is infectious, your lips pulling into a smile even as worry gnaws at your mind. His smile is bright as ever, stretching wide across his face and showing off his teeth. He gives you a small wave, turning around and walking towards a table, pulling the wooden seat, lifting it so it doesn't scratch at the floor. “You don’t have to worry about me, sweetheart,” he comments, sighing as he sits down, hands coming to rest on his knees. Your heart skips at the pet name, a light squeak sounding in the back of your throat. “Just a little tussle is all that happened-” he waves his hand as if to shoo the worries away- “I’m fine- still got all fat,” He gestures to himself and now you tilt your head, confusion written over your face as he gasps and clicks his tongue. “Ah, that’s right, you don’t know about my quirk.”

“I thought your quirk was fat absorption?” Your eyes glance down to where he holds his knees, palms rested and pressed against the kneepads that bulge under him. You swallow nervously, while outside, clouds start to loom over, converging together to darken the sky. “Do you have another one?”

He shakes his head, spreading his legs in front of him, hissing at the movement and your hands come in front of you, curling and shaky as his head dips, a tuft of blonde hair falls past the hood, curling on his forehead. “It’s a lot more of that,” he comments. “Uh, not to divert the conversation, but it is getting late. Are you ready to head home?”

Your eyes dart out past the window, the sidewalk dark and a low rumble sounds far away, making you raise your head to the ceiling, eyes squinting and lips coming to a pout. You lower your head and find his honey colored eyes staring into yours. Not wanting the conversation to end, you pull a smile onto your face, crooked as you scoff. “Keeping secrets already, Taishiro?” You turn and grab the broom, walking around the counter. “And here I thought we were friends,” you lamnet, dramatically sighing as you disappear through the kitchen door.

“What? Hey!” His voice is muffled and you can hear the playfulness that lingers on his words. “Oh come on, you know I can’t follow you through the door!”

You stand by the door, holding the broom close to your in loose hands, head resting against the wall as you listen to him. You peek your head out the door, hair falling to the side as a hand clasps around the doorframe. “That sounds a bit like a you-” an index finger is pointed at him- “problem.” You stick your tongue out at him, the pink muscle wetting at your dry lips. You lean away from the door, chuckling as you see his furrowed brow, lips that pull into a thin line, wavering as the corners tilt upward.

The broom rests against the cabinets, inching down with the threat of falling and clanging against the floor. Your eyes sweep across the kitchen, landing on a white paper bag with your logo stamped in front of it, the top of it curled up into a roll. You walk further into the kitchen, hand reaching out, a stutter in your movements as your hand forms into a fist, nails pinching your skin and then your name is called- muffled and clear. And you release. You grab at the paper bag filled with sweets, crinkling it under your hand and you swiftly walk to the back door, turning the handle to make sure that it is indeed locked.

You’re alone in the kitchen under bright fluorescent lights that cast shadows and you walk out quickly, scurrying out the door, your free hand clicking the light switches, turning your head to catch a glimpse of the darkness that fills the empty kitchen in a flash. You turn and find the off-the-clock hero resting an elbow on the table, face in his large palm with closed eyes, brows furrowed and mouth slightly parted at the awkward position. You frown, holding the bag tighter, placing it on the counter, next to your bag and keys to the bakery. Your steps are quiet as you walk towards him and outside, lightning flashes, illuminating the street for a quick second in white light, the rain clear and hitting the pavement with a pitter patter. It rains and you live in your own world, debating on giving the hero his nightly treats. Your hand shakes as it rises, hovering over his arm where a dark patch stands out against the sunny yellow jacket.

“It’s rude to stare, ya know?” He says with closed eyes, a lay smile tugging on his lips. You yelp, taking a step away from him, hands in front of you. He perks up immediately, rising to a stand, where you look up at him in all his eight-foot tall height. “Woah, woah,” he says in a calming voice, hunching over, gloved hands holding onto your bare ones, “I didn’t mean to startle ya, I just,” his accent leaks past his words, teeth bared as he looks at you in worry, “rested for a bit and-”

You laugh nervously, hands curling around his large ones, the thick material of the glove making you unable to feel his warmth. “I should be the one apologizing, Fat- Taishiro,” you correct yourself, “I didn’t know I had taken so long.”

“No, no,” he smiles and stands to his full height, your neck craning up and arms slightly lifted as his arms pull up, “I just needed to rest for a bit. You didn’t take long at all.” Honey eyes look down and follow your arm where it links with his, and slowly, his hands unfurl out of yours, resting against his side and your left holding your hands up.

“It’s raining,” you say lamely, pointing out to the sky.

“Hm?” He turns his head, blinking as the sounds finally register to his ears. “That it is,” he nods, pursing his lips. “I- Do you have an umbrella?”

“Just one,” you mumble, walking away from him, and behind the counter, where a bucket rests, a lone, black umbrella resting dry and unused. “I- We can share- obviously- but I’m not sure how it would work and- oh! Your snacks!” You grab the umbrella, hand holding onto the hook and turn around, walking away from the counter and grabbing the your bag, situating it onto your body and pulling the keys into your hand a soft jangle sounding the room as you hold the keys in one hand, the ridges of the keys pressing into your skin as you finally grab the paper bag, watching deep line crease the logo. “I uh- tried something new with them so I- it’s not a new recipe if that’s what you’re wondering but it is a new design and-” you stop, pausing your words as you look up at him, a smile curling on his lips, eyes squinting as lines appear on the corner of his eyes. “What is it?”

“You don’t have to keep giving me free snacks, you know?” Despite his words, he holds the bag and unfurls it with thick, careful fingers. “Now, that’s not to say that I don’t like them- trust me, I really do- but you won’t have a sound business if you keep giving me things for free.”

“I don’t give you things for free,” you defend yourself.

“Not during the day maybe- oh wow!” he turns to you, a donut in his hand. “Is this supposed to be me?” You face flushes, warming in temperature and you give a strained nod. “It’s so cute!” The donut in question is decorated in all yellow, the letters “F” and “G” curved on the lower portion of the donut, an orange rim on the outside with a black mask-like shape on the upper portion, circular white shapes dotted with a warmer yellow and thin curve acting as a smile are all scrunched on the donut. “Did you do this?”

You hold the front of your stomach and nod. “I-uh, it was a bit rushed so it’s not as good as I would have liked but yeah.” You bounce on your heels and avoid eye contact with him. “There’s more. It’s either you on them or your jacket design.” Your hand gestures to his tummy, your bottom lip between your teeth. “Do-”

“I love them!” You turn and he gives you a wide grin. “Geez, sweetheart, if I had known you were going to give me something as cute as this, I would have brought you something.” Gingerly, he places the treat back into the bag, rolling it back to a close.

“No, I just wanted to show my appreciation to you. I know you get off of work tired and yet you still walk me home and I- you won’t take the free sweets that I offer so I- if I gave you something like this, I-”

“Sweetheart.” Your mouth closes and you look up at him, the flush on your face darkening at the nickname he had assigned to you. “I-” He’s cut off by thunder and you two look out the window. “How about we talk about this on the way home, hm?” You nod and walk towards him. “Look, since it’s raining, I can carry you if ya want. You hop in my arms and hold the umbrella and I’ll take you home. How does that sound?”

A breathless grin takes over, and you eagerly nod your head, grabbing him by the hand, your palm fitting snugly into his. “You should exit first, so I can close the door behind you.”

His hand leaves yours and rests above your head in a gentle pat, the entirety of his palm curving around your skull, fingers that curl at the base and ruffle the hair that rests at the nape of your neck. “Of course,” the pressure on your head fades as he walks out the door. “Don’t be too long, okay?”

The door closes shut behind him, the soft jingle is drowned out by the steady rain. The bakery is left pristine, a chair skewed and scratches against the floor as you push it back to its original spot. You grab the handle, pulling the door open, hearing the chime for the final time as you exit the bakery, lights flickering off with a flick of your hand.

Outside, the rain hits at pavement while you both stand under the canopy, drops bouncing off and wetting at your shoes. You turn to him, your gaze focused on his belly where a dark stain sullies his hero outfit. It’s quiet between the two of you, the crinkle of the paper bag breaking the silence and you both start to talk at the same time, laughing in surprise and he allows you to go first.

“Are you sure you’re okay with carrying me? You aren’t too sore? I don’t want to add any extra weight to your joints, Taishiro.” You hand rests against his forearm. He’s both firm and soft under you, your fingers pressing into the doughy arm that resides under the blemished jacket.

He sighs audibly, and with a swoop, he picks you up, curling your body into bridal style as your hand rests against his chest, legs twisting into each other as your hand clutches at his chest, pulling on the stretchy fabric. The zipper knocks against your hand and you turn our head to bury where his collarbone would be. The umbrella rests on you in an awkward angle, poking through his fat, disappearing a few inches.

“I was the one who offered,” he grunts, a single arm cradling your body as he drops his sweet bag on the dip of your stomach, turning around to give an experimental turn on the door, satisfied as it doesn’t bulge. “You just sit there and hold the umbrella and I’ll get you home- safe and sound.”

“That’s a promise?” You ask, pulling the umbrella out of him and extending it outwards, raindrops catching and dripping past as it extends open. The umbrella angles as he steps out, coming to a quick arch and the water splashes and slides down the arch.

“Of course it is.” His steps splash the rain on the ground. “I’ll always keep you safe.”

You hum in appreciation, the hand that clutched his jacket rubs over the spot where the umbrella dug in, smoothing the fabric over and trying to feel the dip only to find smoothness. Your hand lingers on him, curving over him and coming back to rest on the bag of baked goods, pressing it close to his chest.

You turn to bury your head in him, eyes fluttering close as you listen to the quiet sounds of the city. The height of the man is not lost on you- it could never be unless you were to stand on a chair to match his height. You fit in his arm, cradled softly, the palm of his hand on the curve of your thigh, protective and firm, gripping you tightly to avoid any slips. He holds you close and you want to bury yourself in him, to feel how arm and soft he truly is. His chest cushioned with fat that rolls on him, pillowy and welcoming where as the toll of the day starts to take over, your eyes coming to a close and breath steady against him. Your body starts to rest, mind dozing and the umbrella slips in your grip, rainfall catching on his shoulder and splashing you awake.

“Woah there! You okay?” He stops in his stride and peers down where you shake the drops off your face. “You sleeping on me, now?” You start to sputter an apology, holding the umbrella tighter. “It was a long day, today?” He doesn’t wait for you to answer and goes to grab the umbrella out of your hands. “Tell me about it.”

Your hand lingers in the air, slowly falling to your lap. “Nothing special, just the usual-” a yawn breaks your words, tears pricking in the corner of your eyes- “orders and bread and you didn’t visit today.”

“I am sorry about that,” he comments, squeezing your thigh. “Work came up- I got these work study students and-” he blows out a puff of air and rolls his eyes- “just a long day.”

You frown, your sleepy state ridding any word barriers and impulse control that you have left. “I’m sorry that you have to carry me.” He starts to oppose, word cut off by your continuous talk. “You’re tired and here I am sleeping on you and-” you close your eyes and hold the bag tighter in your hands- “you’re so nice and pretty-”

“You think I’m pretty?”

“And I just wanted to make you something but they came out rushed and a bit sloppy-”

“I think they came out pretty.”

“And you’re carrying me and you’re probably sore and you’re hurt and I’m tired.”

“I think you’re pretty too,” he comments. You stay silent, words slowly processing in your mind. He calls your name, giving you a quick glance to find you with narrowed eyes staring at his chest. “I do this because I want to. Trust me when I say that i wanted to come visit but work came up. I like to take you home because we live close and I want to make sure you get home safe. I want to take care of you,” he tells you, curving his hand slightly, pushing you closer to his chest.

“You think they came out pretty?” You ask, voice distant.

“Yes,” he nods, a chuckle slipping past his lips. “Did you hear the other part?”

“You think I’m pretty?” You ask, tilting your head, face starting to burn. “Like pretty, pretty?”

He barks out a laugh and holds you tighter. “Yes, pretty, pretty,” he repeats. “If we’re confessing things then I have to admit that I also have a crush on you. One of the reasons that I visit so often- other than your sweet snacks but it’s mainly for you.” His fingers tap against you in a soft rhythm, coming to a slow stop. “If you don’t like me like that-”

“I do,” you interject, finding it easier to close your eyes and confess. “Like you like that, I mean. You’re cute and nice to me and-” your jaw stretches open, eyes closing as a large yawn stops your words.

“Okay, okay, sweetheart,” his voice is tender, a shaky breath fanning past his lips, “how about we talk about this tomorrow? I promise you my feelings won’t change overnight- right now I can hardly think with how wild my heart is beating. So just, get some rest, okay? Lay down and sleep on my chest and I’ll visit you tomorrow.”

“Promise?” You ask in a tired voice, a quiet whisper as your eyelids drag down and sleep blurs your vision.

“I promise.” The rain patters against the umbrella, your legs slightly swinging with every careful step that he takes. His voice is soft, a gentle whisper that brushes against you, His arm holds you steady, keeping you close to his chest where his warmth is shared with you, lulling you into sleep. “Just get rest and I’ll wake you when we get close.”

#toyomitsu taishiro x reader #toyomitsu taishiro imagine #taishiro toyomitsu x reader #fatgum imagine #fatgum x reader #taishiro toyomitsu imagine #bnha fatgum x reader #bnha imagines #i hope you like it!!

196 notes · View notes

hongism · 3 years

Text

the little things - k. hongjoong

↣ pairing: hongjoong x reader; ft. seonghwa, san, mentioned poly ot8 x reader ↣ genre: sfw, fluff, slight angst, fantasy au, witch ateez au ↣ wc: 3.8k ↣ summary: a job doesn’t go as planned for hongjoong, and you’re left to pick up the pieces ↣ warnings: mentioned illness and death

Hongjoong arguably has the hardest job out of anyone in the coven. You are well aware of that, and the pressure he feels from being the leader of the coven doesn’t help one bit, especially since the majority of the public eye’s judgment falls on his shoulders. He would never admit it out loud, but that pains him quite a bit, even if he is willing to take the judgment of others so his coven doesn’t have to. Seonghwa helps in those moments of weakness, lulling Hongjoong to sleep with a quick spell or trying a myriad of other things to calm the man, but it must be worse than usual for Seonghwa to call on you to help with the issue.

Hongjoong’s magic is draining mostly due to the fact that he is eclectic and likes to dabble in everything. Some spells take more out of him than others, some take no effort, and others require days if not weeks of recovery time. Now, however, there seems to be a different issue.

“A job went south.” That’s the only explanation you got from Seonghwa, but the small shake of his head told you all you needed to know. Because jobs don’t just go south for Hongjoong.

That is what lands you here — steps outside Hongjoong’s room with hand raised and ready to rap roughly against the wood several times. You aren’t sure what awaits you inside, but considering the very late hour, you are hoping to find Hongjoong asleep. The faint yellow candlelight filtering under the door tells you otherwise though, and that’s why you opt to knock rather than barging in unannounced.

“Come in.” Hongjoong sounds tired even in the two small words, but it isn’t the typical kind of tired you’re used to hearing from people. You are used to the exhaustion of the body, people coming to your door for sleep remedies, and nightmare potions meant to dispel the bad dreams that keep them up at night. The exhaustion in Hongjoong’s voice is one that resides deep in the body, one that eats away at the bones and muscles, breaks you down until you can hardly keep your head up. It’s nothing you can’t fix with a simple herbal concoction, but Seonghwa didn’t ask you to bring anything. He didn’t expect you to use your alchemy to fix Hongjoong, thus you’re going to have to rely on words and comfort instead.

You twist the handle as quietly as you can so that you don’t disturb the other sleeping men in the house. Sneaking in was hard enough, especially since Jongho was sprawled out on the couch with Yeosang’s lithe cat form curled up directly on his stomach, but you managed to get past the two of them with little to no disturbances. (And you delivered a few head scratches to Yeosang but that’s beside the point).

“Are you here to heat the tea again? I forgot all about it — oh.” Hongjoong’s thought falls short when he turns to face you, no doubt assuming that it was Seonghwa knocking for the umpteenth time tonight, but instead, he finds you with your hands tucked behind your back and lips stretched into a small smile. “What are you doing here? Did something happen back at the cottage? Did you come alone? Please tell me that you at least carried a ward or charm with you. That walk isn’t safe alone at this hour and I—”

“Hongjoong, darling, please.” Your smile stretches bit by bit as you move towards where Hongjoong is seated at his desk. Back hunched almost painfully, the man seems to be slaving over some old tomes, several books cracked open and laid bare before him, and your heart squeezes tight in your chest from the sight. There’s a barely touched mug of tea alongside the books, no doubt cold at this point, and the small lamp sitting on the corner of the desk illuminates the space.

The tension in Hongjoong’s shoulders remains even as you get within touching distance of him, and you dart a hand out to brush a few loose strands of hair off his forehead. The dark locks cave under your fingers, letting you tuck them back with little resistance. Hongjoong sighs from the gentle touches.

“Long day?” you murmur, despite already knowing the answer.

“Fucked up an important job,” Hongjoong sighs in response. He drops his head and faces forward again, staring down at the book before him. You take the opportunity to look in the same direction but you regret doing so a moment later because of what you see on the page.

Curing terminal illness with magic.

You tug at the back of Hongjoong’s chair, pulling him away from his desk with as much strength you can muster, but eventually he caves and assists you in pushing the chair back. You leave just enough room for you to slip between him and the desk before dropping your hands to his shoulders. No words come from your lips for quite some time; the two of you just remain in that position until tension begins to ebb away from Hongjoong’s shoulders. And the moment that begins to happen, you take advantage of it, dropping atop his lap with little effort and slipping your legs about his waist. Hongjoong’s hands secure at your hips.

Even the slight touch fills your body with energy — it’s weak and fragile, evidence of how much magic Hongjoong used today and how much he’s struggling to even stay awake right now — and you push yourself closer to him in attempts to offer at least some warmth and comfort.

Seonghwa would be better suited for this as a witch, or even San since the man is Hongjoong’s familiar, and yet you were called upon to help Hongjoong. You, the herbalist and alchemist with no magical ability in your bones. It’s a daunting task being asked to help Hongjoong without knowing what to do or having the skills that the others have. Still, you refuse to let that lack of confidence shine through in the slightest, bringing your hands up to cup Hongjoong’s sharp jawline and lift his head. He blinks back at you with wide eyes, dark orbs swirling with a mix of emotions that leaves a deep-seated pain in your heart.

“My love, what happened?”

Hongjoong blinks away from you. Before either of you know it, tears are springing to his eyes, welling them up with crystalline drops that glisten under the yellow lamplight. Not a single one falls quite yet; they still hold onto his eyelashes and waterline for the time being, but the moment he starts speaking, you know they’ll begin to fall. You wait as long as he needs you to, patient as ever as he collects himself and takes several deep breaths to calm down a bit before talking again.

“I promised his father that I would be able to heal him and fix him,” Hongjoong exhales against the exposed part of your neck. “I – h-he trusted me, and I… he died.”

Your arms tighten a bit around Hongjoong out of sheer instinct, and Hongjoong’s breaths tremble before he’s able to get his next words out. You don’t force him to continue the thought; you’ve heard enough to know how badly the job went and why Seonghwa was so concerned when he talked to you earlier. Your fingers brush over the base of Hongjoong’s neck, combing gently through the locks of hair the reside there in a desperate attempt to offer him some comfort.

You don’t need to ask what he’s talking about to understand. There can only be one patient he’s referring to – the young boy of about nine who suffered from a tragic terminal illness, one that left him bed-ridden for years before Hongjoong came along. It only took Hongjoong two weeks to get the boy out of his bed, and another three for the boy to walk around normally. Within two months, he could run and play outside once more, and in the third, the boy and his father were going on weekly fishing trips that always resulted in Seonghwa getting vast deliveries of black bass and rainbow trout. The young boy’s case has always been Hongjoong’s pride — the one job he never tires of, the one he would always return to, the most important one he’s ever had. There were no signs of things going south again.

“I-I wanted his father to be mad at me. Scold me and harass me and berate me. Call me a failure because that’s – that’s what I am, but h-he just… smiled. Told me not to take it too harshly. I was a last-ditch effort as it was. He didn’t expect anything to work and y-yet I was able to at least prolong his son’s death for a few precious months. He was grateful — grateful. Even though his son d-died. Even though I couldn’t save him.”

You pull back to look Hongjoong in the eye now. Dark eyes search yours, still glistening with tears that fall freely now, and they seek answers that you don’t have. All you can do is hold his face with the gentlest touch manageable and bring your forehead down to rest against his.

“Death… death is fickle, mio caro. She takes as much as life gives and is as elusive as a cloud on a clear day. We can’t control her no matter how much we try. While you have the ability to prolong her cold touch, no one can keep her away forever. You gave this boy months of life – a life he was able to cherish and use to the fullest. That was enough. You did enough.” You drag the pads of your thumbs over Hongjoong’s cheeks collecting the tears and brushing them away with ease. He leans into your touch, eyes fluttering shut as you trace faint patterns across his skin.

“I just keep thinking about the ‘what if’s. What if I had noticed the changes sooner? What if I had been quicker to help him? To find a solution or a spell or just… something – anything. Could I have given him more time? His father seemed ready b-but the pain in his eyes when I delivered the news is not something I could readily forget.”

“You don’t have to forget that pain, Hongjoong. No one is asking you to. But put aside the possibilities, and look at reality.”

“The reality is that he died.”

“But not because of you,” you counter with haste, gaze sharpening on Hongjoong a bit as he opens his mouth to protest. “Were you the cause of his illness?”

“…No.”

“Did you do everything in your power to help him?”

“Yes, but there is alwa—”

“Shush, darling.” You drop a hand to where one of Hongjoong’s rests against your hip, taking it in yours and lifting it to your chest. You place his hand directly over your heart and fall completely silent so that he can feel the steady thrum of your heartbeat. “Do you feel that?” You inquire once a few seconds have passed.

“Yes.”

“That’s life, Joong.” A soft smile overtakes your lips. “Where there is death, there is also life. And we cannot focus on the life before us if we are too consumed by the cold touch of death. As much as you want to hear that you’ve failed or made a mistake or deserve to be hated, it is not what you deserve because none of those things are true. You gave that man and his son the most precious gift of all for those months: time. Time they spent together whereas before they could not.”

“Notre petite étoile is right.”

You don’t need to turn to see who’s just stepping into the room; the little nickname is enough to tell you who it is since there’s only one man in the house who speaks French and calls you by that name. Hongjoong looks up though, arms squeezing around your waist as he looks to where Seonghwa stands at the edge of the room.

“Are you two ganging up on me?” Hongjoong grumbles. You and Seonghwa merely laugh in response, the latter man coming closer to the desk. He pauses at the edge to glance down at Hongjoong’s mug of tea and wordlessly traces small patterns against the side of the mug. Before you know it, small wisps of steam curl into the air above the liquid, and Seonghwa has once again heated the tea. The smile he wears signals that it’s something he’s done time and time again tonight, but he doesn’t make it seem like a chore or a burden at all, hand reaching out to comb through Hongjoong’s dark hair. Hongjoong sighs into the touch. There’s a gentle silence that drapes over the room next – one that Hongjoong relaxes under with your scent and Seonghwa’s intermingling under his nose.

Seonghwa doesn’t stop his rhythmic motions until Hongjoong’s shoulders have dropped all the tension stored in them, then he moves around the back of his chair and leans over it. You aren’t quite sure what he’s up to until two fingers curl under your chin and lift your head to greet his.

“My little star,” he murmurs before dipping closer to press a soft kiss against your lips. “One for you, and—” Seonghwa pulls back to glance down at Hongjoong, finding expectant and wide eyes blinking back up at him, then he parts Hongjoong’s bangs and places a second kiss to the exposed skin of his forehead “—one for you, my sweet starlight. The sun will rise soon, along with our darling sunrise to do the yard work. You two ought to get some rest before the chaos begins.”

“I should get home so I can prep the shop for morning opening,” you whisper, beginning to pull away from Hongjoong inch by inch. You half-expect Seonghwa to be the one to urge you to stay with pleading eyes and lingering touches that most definitely hold a bit of magic to them, but this time, he doesn’t say a word. Rather, it’s Hongjoong who tightens his hold on you and clings to you as though he might lose you if he dares to let go. You don’t realize it right away – perhaps you’re too distracted by the haziness of the late hour or by Seonghwa’s presence in the room – but when Hongjoong’s hands move up to brush over your shoulder blades, there is a sudden sense of desperation in his touch. Seonghwa smiles from off to the side.

“I’ll tell the younger ones not to bother you too much. Sleep as much as you need to. Yeosang and I will take care of the shop, étoile.” Seonghwa turns on his heel and walks towards the door again, leaving you and Hongjoong to watch his retreating form in silence. Just before he disappears completely, however, he shifts to look at the two of you once more. “I could get used to such a vision in our home.”

“Hm?” You echo, confusion evident on both your features and in your tone.

“You being here often, Hongjoong distracted from work long enough to focus on something else, San sneaking up the stairs behind me and hiding outside the door while we talk.” Seonghwa cracks a smile and pushes the door wide open. A startled San pops out from behind the wood, broad shoulders curling inwards in his momentary shame, but Seonghwa doesn’t let that last long and brings a warm hand to the younger man’s waist. He doesn’t say anything else, slipping out of the room behind San’s form and leaving the familiar in his place.

“Come, come, darling.” Hongjoong motions for San to come further into the room as he nudges you up, and you quickly slip off the man’s lap to stand on your own feet again. The breath leaves your lungs in a huff as a pair of arms suddenly wraps around your body, squeezing you in a tight embrace. The lines of sinew and muscle could only belong to San though you never saw him move in the slightest. Still, his hold is warm and inviting, enough to easily pull you towards Hongjoong’s bed, one that’s large enough to accommodate more than simply two bodies.

“Missed you,” San mumbles into the crook of your neck. His cool breath tickles the hairs on your skin, sending rows of goosebumps over you, and San kisses them away as best he can. “Been too long since you stayed the night.”

“Hm, Hongjoong needed me tonight,” you sigh, watching said man adjust the books and papers on his desk. He leaves the lamp lit for the time being, but it’s evident that he’s preparing to join you and San in bed, and that’s enough of a welcome sight to cause some of your worry to melt away. San sits up all of a sudden, tossing the sheets back to slip under them, although you don’t join him in doing so quite yet.

“His emotions have been volatile all day,” San says under his breath. The hush over the room is not nearly enough to conceal his tone though. Hongjoong most definitely can hear his words, but he neglects to mention it for the time being. “Couldn’t do anything to fix or help.”

San and Hongjoong share in a special type of relationship, one that is more interwoven and connected than most simply because of San’s identity as a familiar. Not just any familiar but Hongjoong’s familiar, just as Yeosang is Seonghwa’s familiar. It allowed the pair to share a deeper connection, sharing of emotional states – when one feels pain, the other does as well, just as with every emotion from happiness to rage. Hongjoong, however, prides himself on being able to cut off his emotions and keep them from affecting San too badly; so if San could sense the distress today, Hongjoong must be suffering a lot more than he’s letting on. Thus, it’s no surprise that San showed up when he did or that he’s here to stay the night with the two of you. The bond they share provides more than just physical comfort; the bond of a familiar and his master is one that bears great emotional weight and connection as well. It’s something you’ve been a bit insecure about when it comes to both men, along with Seonghwa and Yeosang, but they never let those doubts linger for long.

You’re halfway through taking off your second shoe when Hongjoong finally approaches the bed. He pauses before you, setting the chamberstick on the bedside table alight with a small flame, then he slips down to his knees. Deft fingers work the knots of your laces apart and push the shoe away from your foot. His touch is too warm to be normal, and you only realize what he’s up to when a sudden wave of drowsiness overwhelms you. Hongjoong’s soft touch is the only thing that keeps you awake as he works his way up, pressing a trail of ghosting kisses up the inside of your calf and stopping at your knee. You can hardly keep your eyes parted but manage to see – or at least feel – Hongjoong crawl over you to get onto the bed and slip between your body and San’s.

“No fair,” you murmur, words slurring together a bit. Hongjoong huffs out a laugh before leaning over you to puff the candle out. Small billows of smoke fill the air around your heads, along with a pleasant scent of lavender.

“Forgive me for wanting my star to get some rest,” he chuckles as he settles back against the mattress.

“That’s Seonghwa’s line.”

“Yes, well, Seonghwa isn’t here to say it, is he?”

“I’m telling.” Hongjoong rolls his eyes – a gesture you can barely make out through the darkness – then he leans forward to peck the tip of your nose.

“Childish.”

“Seonghwa doesn’t like it when people steal his nicknames.”

“Oh hush, you little brat. You’re worse than Wooyoung.”

“That’s more like it. Our dearest affectionate Joongie,” San laughs from behind Hongjoong, chin coming to rest on the length of the other man’s shoulder. His lips stretch into a grin, dimples flashing through the darkness, and you smile back at him softly. A hand touches your waist, and you almost think it’s Hongjoong but San grumbles something about you being too far away to cuddle properly and you know it’s him instead. You hum at the touch and settle into the warmth it provides. You nearly fall asleep right then and there, but you force your body to stay awake just a little while longer so you can press one last kiss to Hongjoong’s lips, then another to San’s.

“Okay, goodnight, my loves. I can’t keep my eyes open any longer thanks to Hongjoong.” You press closer to both men, wrapping yourself in the combined warmth of your lovers’ arms and the sheets, and Hongjoong tucks your head against his chest. His chin comes to rest on the top of your head. You’re already drifting off when you hear San’s next whispered words, ones meant only for Hongjoong’s ears but ones you hear nonetheless.

“I have a surprise for you tomorrow.”

“Hm? Is that your way of telling me to clear my schedule?” Hongjoong murmurs. The words send soft vibrations across your hair, and you instinctively tuck yourself further into his chest.

“Well, your schedule should be empty at night unless one of the others would be having you… preoccupied at that time.”

“As if you don’t intend to have me in that way yourself.”

“Only after the surprise,” San whispers, tone slightly offended, but you can also hear the affection in his tone.

“Then I’m all yours tomorrow evening.”

“Perfect.”

Those are the last words you hear out of either man; both fall silent after that and leave you with the soft heavings of their breaths above you, warm arms clinging to you as you drift off into a pleasant and peaceful rest. And as much as you protest the idea of intruding and living here with them, you have to admit that these moments make it worth it in the long run. The little things – the kisses and hugs, the sudden intrusions from your other lovers, the piling warmth, lingering gazes, soft smiles, quiet shared whispers. Perhaps you could get used to nights like these.

...

a/n: just another lil addition to the witchteez universe, i plan of having a drabble for each member then doing drabble requests after? i think? let me know if that’s something you want to see or if you have any ideas for the other members’ drabbles! i haven’t come up with anything yet so im quite open to suggestions!

214 notes · View notes

hale-13 · 3 years

Text

Conditioned

By Hale13

For the Summer of Whump Day 16 - Touch Starved

“Can I take a shower?” Peter blurted out, shifting uncomfortably. He felt gross from the dried sweat and the bloody residue that was left on his scalp and around his hair line felt the intense need to get cleaned - broken arm be damned.

Words: 2084, Chapters: 1/1 (Complete), Language: English

Fandoms: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)

Rating: Gen

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Helen Cho

TW: Literally None - Just Fluff

Read on AO3 or below the line break.

“Well Peter, I see no reason why you should have to stay here any longer as long as you promise to actually rest and allow yourself to heal,” Helen said firmly but with a smile toward him and Peter nearly sagged with obvious relief.

“Oh thank god,” he said he’d, already struggling in his attempts to climb out of the MedBay bed he had been sentenced to since the day before with some help from Tony. He flinched a little as he tweaked his sore arms, moving the wrong way, but trying to keep his muscles as relaxed as possible to prevent any further damage. His recovery is going to be annoying enough as it is without making it worse.

In his most recent fight against the Shocker the night before, he had caught a direct hit on his right arm which had successfully and cleaning broken his radius and ulna in two. In his haste to get away and then catch himself on a poorly shot strand of webbing he had dislocated his left shoulder. The pain had been so stunning he had barely been able to finish webbing up Shocker and get away before the police showed up.

It probably didn’t do much to help the injuries when he had swung back to the Tower but he had been numb and delirious by that point so he probably wasn’t really thinking straight. He does remember Tony not being super impressed with him when he nearly passed out as soon as he landed.

“I’m serious about resting,” Dr. Cho warned him as she helped him settle his, still sore and recently reduced, arm into a sling. “You need to take it easy for at least another few days or you’ll risk re-injury and possibly surgery.”

“Oh that shouldn’t be a problem,” Tony said breezily. “I have no problem cuffing him to a bed if I have to.”

“Mr. Stark,” Peter whined, trying to stand and balance without using either of his arms – it was much harder than he thought it would be – and already trying to edge toward the door. Tony just quirked up an eyebrow at him.

“Your aunt, definitely against her better judgement and with an amazing amount of misplaced trust, is letting you stay here with me so you don’t get into any more trouble during your convalescence so if you could just work with me for a couple of days here that would be much appreciated,” he told Peter very pointedly with a final wave at Helen as he herded Peter toward the elevator at the end of the hall.

Peter just rolled his eyes at his mentors dramatics but allowed himself to be directed – to tell the absolute truth, his arms still hurt pretty badly and he wasn’t really looking forward to his oral painkillers (that made him sleepy and emotional) and his anti-inflammatories (that made him into a right bastard if he was being honest) and trying to convince Tony that he didn’t need either. He wasn’t super confident about his success rate with that. “Can I take a shower?” He blurted out, shifting uncomfortably. He felt gross from the dried sweat and the bloody residue that was left on his scalp and around his hair line.

“You know that you can’t get your cast wet,” Tony reminded him holding up a hand when Peter opened his mouth to interrupt. “I mean, I suppose I can wrap it in a bag or something if you really want to shower that bad.”

“Yes please,” Peter eagerly agreed. Ever since the Bite all of his senses had been more sensitive but none more so than his sense of smell and he wasn’t a particularly big fan of the fact that he could currently smell himself. It made his skin crawl and was completely disgusting.

“Alright then,” Tony nodded. “Shower first and then a movie marathon slash prescribed nap directly after. Do we have a deal then Mr. Parker?”

“Only if we can get pizza for dinner later,” Peter bartered as the elevator opened up on Tony’s floor of the compound. “With pineapple this time,” he continued with a wrinkled nose, “the olives you got last time were disgusting!”

“You have astonishingly terrible taste but yes fine. Pizza later.” Tony nodded, herding both of them into the kitchen with a single-minded determination. The Wal-Mart and cling wrap cast protection apparatus Mr. Stark rigged together left a fair amount to be desired in the looks department but was completely functional when it came to water-proofing which was good enough for Peter.

It took some skill to slip away from his mentor but Peter was soon slipping into his room, struggling to get out of the sling on his own and finally succeeding. It made him wince from the extra pain it caused but it didn’t overshadow the relief of doing it on his own. He knew his limits from previous dislocations and knew that it was crucial to not overdue it while the joint was healing or he risked the chance of re-injury and, as Dr. Cho had reminded him earlier, surgery.

With a grimace, Peter rested that arm across his stomach and used his bagged up right arm to pull his shirt over his head. He was barely able to manage it when it pulled at his sore muscles and broken bones. Maybe he should use a button down or zippered hoodie instead.

Thanks to FRIDAY (bless her seriously), the water of his shower was already running and warmed up to his preferred setting of skin melting and he was quick to turn his back into the spray and luxuriate under it for an extended time. The high pressured water felt amazing on his back and shoulders, loosening up the knots and clenched muscles and providing relief.

“You doing okay in there kid? You drown yet?” Tony asked, knocking on the door and indiscernible amount of time later and knocking Peter out of his stupor.

“I’m good!” Peter called back, hurriedly reaching out for his body wash and cloth painfully and cleaning himself up to the best of his – limited – ability. By the time he was ready to wash his hair and hairline he felt exhausted and achy despite the excellent water pressure and all the good work it and the heat had done to relieve the pain in his shoulder and back. “Fuck,” he cursed, trying to lift his arm above chest level and spectacularly failing, finding himself unable to without making his muscles seize.

Peter was pretty bendy due to his powers so he attempted a couple different contortions to reach his head before just flat out giving up, turning off the water and taking his towel off the heated towel rack installed in the bathroom (rich people – seriously). It took longer than Peter cared to admit, but he was able to dry and dress himself in sweats and a zippered hoodie. He was even able to shuck the bag off his cast with little struggle so he was feeling pretty decent when he ventured into the living room with his hair sopping wet and dripping onto his shoulders since he wasn’t able to adequately dry it. Whatever. It would dry on its own eventually.

“And what’s all this supposed to be?” Tony asked, glancing up from his phone and wrinkling his nose but not moving from where he was leaned against the counter in the kitchen. “Why are you dripping all over my floor?”

Peter fought off a blush and tried to hunch his shoulders, stopping when it hurt. “I couldn’t reach up to get my hair,” he grumbled, failing to completely push down his blush.

“I guess that explains all the blood still caked in there,” Tony hummed, leaning over to move the dampened curls around to look at the blood still matting some of his hair together and crusting up around his scalp. “Well that’s pretty easily remedied. Welcome to the salon Underoos,” Tony said, pulling over one of the barstools and setting it in front of the kitchen sink, gesturing for Peter to sit.

“Uh… what?” Peter questioned, brows furrowing in confusion.

“I’ll wash your hair for you,” Tony clarified, looking pointedly between Peter and the stool again. “Just sit down while I go and grab some things!” And, with that, he took off in the direction of the bedrooms and associated en suites.

Peter, still pretty confused but (mostly) trusting his mentor, sat down unsteadily on the stool just as Tony came back around the corner with an armful of towels, shampoo and conditioner bottles along with a wide-toothed comb and an expensive looking hair dryer. He triumphantly arranged everything on the counter next to the deep sink and wrapped one of the towels around Peter’s neck. “Lean back buddy,” Tony said, using a finger to push on the center of Peter’s forehead until he gave in and let himself be pushed back to lean back with his head in the sink.

Doing his best to ignore the weirdness of it all (weirdness was pretty common around Tony Stark after all), Peter closed his eyes and crossed his arms across his stomach as the water turned on. He tensed up a little when he felt fingers start dragging through his hair but was quick to relax and release the tension in his body under the careful massage of his mentor’s hands through his hair and the warm water cascading across his scalp. He let out a little hum of contentment.

Tony let out a soft chuckle, squirting a healthy dollop of the shampoo into his hands and lathering it up before applying it to Peter’s hair, working through the snarls and tangles with care and scrubbing the leftover blood out of the curls. Peter went nearly boneless under his ministrations and Tony would definitely be lying if he said he didn’t milk the washing and conditioning portion at least a little bit. He knew that Peter had to be feeling pretty miserable and it settled something buried deep inside him to provide just a little extra comfort.

All too soon, though, he had rinsed out the last of the conditioner leaving Peter’s hair clean and dripping as he turned off the water. Peter made no move to get up or to open his eyes, breathing deeply and seemingly on the very verge of sleep, so Tony grabbed one of the towels and started to wring the extra water out of the kid’s hair, running the towel through it cautiously. “Just need you to sit up for a second here kiddo okay? Then you can nap, scout’s honor.”

Peter grunted and grumbled but did slit his eyes open and let Tony help him sit up, swaying back and forth and little on the stool and Tony ran the towel through his hair a couple more times to really get rid of the water as much as possible. He dropped the towel on the counter in exchange for the comb and the hair dryer. He ran the comb through the mess a few times before starting the hair dryer up. Peter practically melted as the warmed air fluffed up his curls. It didn’t take long to dry at all and, by the time he was done, Peter was listing forward nearly into Tony’s chest.

“Couch or bed buddy?” Tony asked with a fond smile, running his hands through Peter’s warmed and clean hair.

“Couch,” Peter muttered, leaning into his petting and making Tony’s chest warm up. This kid… god. He ended up supporting most of Peter’s weight but was able to quickly get him lying face down on the supple cushions with his head pillowed on one of the throw pillows resting on Tony’s lap, the ratty fleece blanket Tony kept draped over they back of the couch draped over him and a heating pad resting across his healing shoulder.

“Let’s start a Star Wars marathon FRI. Volume at thirty percent,” FRIDAY was quiet as she dimmed the lights and started the movie, the familiar logo and music making Peter relax even further into the couch, completely gone. As the opening theme ended and the camera panned to the shots of Leia’s ship, he felt Mr. Stark’s hand rest on his back, digging into the knotted muscles of his back.

It maybe wasn’t ideal to mess up his arms so much but, Peter thought, he couldn’t think of a better way to spend his recovery.

#summerofwhump #summerofwhump16 #Prompt: Touch Starved #irondad #spider man #Summer of Whump 2021

31 notes · View notes