#fluffvember 2020
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Diamond's bringing the Kongar, taper boy fade rights
Diamond In The Sky - SFW Writer
What Makes You Love Superboy?
It's gonna be hard to describe it shortly, but ever since I watched Reign of the Supermen (Miss him so much) and read the original 90's Comic I fell in love with his cocky, rambunctious and flirty attitude - how unique he is from so many modern heroes, and how he is a boy of steel with a heart of gold. He just resonates with me
Fluffvember 2020 One Shot Excerpt
“Heh, okay, okay, I’ll keep the fade then” Gar patted him on the back to relieve his sudden worry. Though he obviously didn’t have that much concern over it, the half-kryptonian still gave Gar another hug anyway, exclaiming to the green skinned team leader happily:
“Knew you wouldn’t let me down, bro!”
“Heh, wouldn’t dream of it…bro.” Gar patted him on the back, though then Kon separated from the hug, he kept his hands on Gar’s shoulders for a brief extended period of time. Gar and Kon both descended into a period of silently gazing each other in the eyes, unsure of what the other was thinking, or what to do. Gar himself didn’t know whether to bring it up or not.
#Superboy Superzine#Kontributor Shoutouts#Conner Kent#Kon El#Superboy#Superman#Superfam#Young Justice#Young Just Us#DC Comics#Teen Titans#Titans#sfw contributors
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Expressing Feelings (Fluffvember)
TSsweets13
Summary:
Undertaker has fallen hard for his new apprentice, but what is he to do about it?
Notes:
This is based off of my own list of prompts for Fluffvember.
Day 3: Confession
Work Text:
“So many guests today.” Ere commented as she hurried about in the kitchen at the back of the Undertaker’s shop, where she lived and worked as his apprentice.
The Undertaker walked in and sighed nodding, “Yes, so many.” He commented, “You’re doing well in your training.”
She turned and smiled at him, “Thank you, sir.” She said, “It’s about tea time. Would you like anything in particular today?”
He chuckled and shook his head, “I trust in whatever you choose.” He said.
Ere giggled softly, a sound that went right through the grey haired man. Any laugh from her was pure perfection. He smiled as she buried herself with the tea time preparations. He didn’t mind doing this for himself, which he often told her, but she insisted. She took to taking care of things like this with as much gusto as she did in learning the trade. That was something admirable and wonderful about her. That was just one more thing he adored about her.
Oh yes, he adored her.
She was wonderful. Sweet. Smart. And caring. And not bad on the eyes. He was still a man after all.
She smiled as she brought the tray of tea and treats over to the small kitchen table where Undertaker sat. She set the tray down and sat across from him. She smiled sweetly at him. Oh how he loved when she smiled at him. It was different than the one she wore as she greeted the grieving public or worked with their guests. It was one for him and only him. And he treasured it.
He had been mulling over these feelings for months now. Afraid of pushing her out of his life with such amorous affections. But desire runs deep. And pining as he was, was not good for the heart.
He reached out and accepted the cup of tea offered to him. He smiled at her and thanked her kindly. She gave him that smile again and he was lost in her golden eyes. He could hardly drink his tea as they sat and chatted about nothing. Finally...after months of hiding he lost the battle with himself.
“Ere, my dear, may I be bold, and perhaps a touch crass with you?” He asked.
The young brunette was stunned at such an inquisition, but was also curious, she nodded.
“I desire you.” He said, “I fear I always have. And I am terrified it will drive you away to say such things, as you are so young and lovely and I am, well, the dark and mad, old undertaker. It is a queer notion for me to desire you, but even queerer were you to desire me. I don’t delude myself to think you would ever. But I had to tell you. Or it would drive me madder than I am already.”
Ere sat there dumbfounded. Had this man, this sweet and genuine man, truly just admitted his feelings for her? Did he truly want her like that? Like she had always wanted him.
She reached across the small table and grasped his hand, “Then let it just be queer in others eyes. I desire you as well.” She breathed.
And oh what feelings those words blossomed within his bosom. He stood and brought her with him. Pulling her into his arms for a strong, impassioned embrace. Sure the world may think it odd. But this was their business and nobody else’s.
Series this work belongs to:
← Previous Work Part 3 of Fluffvember 2020 Next Work →
Lifeline
cathouse_mary
Summary:
UPDATE 9/6: Again, I apologize for the length of time that ti's taken me to get this one ready. I've been working at my full time job, doing a lot of freelancing, and also started my own company. AUGH. In any case, here's the new bit. I will try my best to run the next chapter out by Thanksgiving here in the US. Thank you all for the comments and the kudos - I love them so and they really help me with the writing.
Alan Humphries is a man who has it all together - until a diagnosis of leukemia leaves him adrift, alone, and afraid.
Notes:
Inspired by this art - http://moisca.deviantart.com/art/Kuroshitsuji-AU-Alan-Humphries-Chemotherapy-380136554
Chapter 1
Chapter Text
It started with a nosebleed.
Alan had them even in childhood so when they began anew in his twenties, he thought very little about them. Indeed, Alan Humphries thought very little about anything but his work as a risk assessment analyst for Bridges Capital Management. He pulled insane working hours, and that night when his nose began to drip in the middle of a meeting with the senior analysts, he just pulled out his pocket square and kept going - but then it didn't stop, and to his horror and embarrassment, it turned into a positive gusher that nothing would alleviate.
Mr. Conti called his car, ushered Alan downstairs holding a wad of paper napkins under his nose and said to the driver, "Lenox Hill hospital emergency room. Floor it." He shut the door, thumped the hood and the driver took off, the 620 horsepower of the Mercedes sedan pushing Alan back into the seat as it raced uptown. A cold knot of dread settled in his stomach when the security guard took a look at Alan getting out of the car and brought a wheelchair to him.
The questions started even before he was properly on a gurney.
"Fill these out, please."
"Did you use cocaine or other inhalant drugs?"
Pulse, temperature, oxygenation.
Gloves. Splatter shields. Gowns. The bloody paper towels in a bag.
"Are you using an inhaler or a decongestant?"
"Please put this on, Mr. Humphries."
"Do you have nosebleeds often? When did they resume? How recently? How severe? Bleeding for more than five minutes?"
Cannula, fluids given, tubes of blood drawn.
And when Alan was alone, the curtains drawn around him for privacy, he lay there in silent shock, trying not to break down. A look at his watch confirmed it was almost midnight, but in Lewiston Idaho, Mom or Dad might still be awake - though his phone couldn't get a signal in here. He was scared. None of his bleeds had ever been that bad. Rolling up in the sheet and blanket, he fell into a thin and troubled sleep.
"Mr. Humphries? I'm Dr. Maples. Your admitting physician contacted me over your bloodwork." Dr. Maples spoke with a lovely Caribbean lilt to her voice, then came over and took a seat next to his gurney. "We would like to admit you tonight, just for some further tests."
Breathe, Alan. Breathe.
"What kinds of tests?" Because if a bloody nose was just a bloody nose, the admitting physician would not have needed to bring in an on-call specialist.
"Bone marrow. Spinal fluid." She gently squeezed his hand. "A high-def ultrasound, so we can look at your liver and spleen. Your admitting physician didn't find any enlargement upon a cursory palpation, but... Mr. Humphries? Is there someone I can call for you? Family? Someone to bring you some things from home?"
The items and circumstances remorselessly added themselves up on Alan's mental spreadsheet. Cancer. They were looking for some kind of cancer.
"No. No, there isn't. There's just me." His chest hurt, and his voice rasped. "Can I do this as an outpatient? I just want to go home."
"Mr. Humphries, I feel that would be against the soundest medical advice that I can give. Please, let us do the tests."
There was paperwork, of course, and at the end of it Alan was in a private room, a computerized IV stand slowly infusing platelets into his bloodstream.
It was one in the morning in Idaho.
He picked up the bedside telephone and dialed.
"Hi! You've reached the Humphries household. Ted, Jeanette, Teddy, Lori, and Deena can't come to the phone right now, but if you leave a message, we'll be sure to call you back. Wait for the beep!"
In the end, Alan couldn't make himself say anything, and he hung up quietly. You really couldn't go home again - even if it was the last place you ever should go.
~
"Good morning, Ronald." The hipster behind the counter at Pearl Street Kitchen was a bouncy kid with two-tone hair, an undercut, and a knit cap that never seemed to leave his head. "Cafe Americano and pain au chocolat, please."
"Missed you the last few days, Alan."
"Just a little under the weather." The pain au chocolate was still warm and steaming in the case, and dusted with a bit of cinnamon sugar this time. The soups were always fresh and flavorful, the sandwiches and pastas satisfying, but Alan would lie down and die for the patisserie. The smile faltered on his face at the thought, and could be very glad that Ronald is faced the other way as he made Alan's cafe Americano
"Yeah, that 'flu just hung on, didn't it? Next time you should get your shot." He turned and handed over the brew and bread, taking the money that Alan's set on the counter - tip included. "You have a good one, okay?"
"I will." Or as good as possible when you had to tell your boss that you have a diagnosis of acute lymphoblastic leukemia. Oh, and a 'portacath' implant for long-term chemotherapy. He felt the thing inside of him, poised to drip the medicines directly into his heart. It made Alan want to sit on the floor and have hysterics, but instead he turned away and heads for the door. "You, too."
"Alan?" It startled him, because Ronald the smartass suddenly sounded like a kid. "Are you sure you're okay?"
"Fine, Ronald. And tell your chef that that pain au chocolate smells like heaven."
From there he tooks the short walk to the BCM building, an almost obnoxiously modernized redo of an early Federal that Alan thought more suited to a Benetton store than a capital managment company. Over the past few days, he'd rehearsed this so many times in his head, but given the conversation he'd had earlier with his parents he wasn't so sure that this one was going to be predictable either.
"Is it AIDS? It's AIDS, isn't it?"
"No, Dad. It's called acute lymphoblastic leukemia and-"
"I told you! Your mother and I both did! The wages of sin are paid in DEATH-"
"You told me that I'd go to hell for being a faggot, but you forgot to tell me that I was at a higher statistical risk for cancer because we were were born and raised downwind of the goddamned motherfucking Hanford Nuclear Reservation!"
Boy, had that not gone well. Frost wrote that 'Home is the place that, when you have to go there, they have to take you in.' Frost, in the parlance of New York City, didn't know jack shit.
The pâtissier had really outdone himself - Alan's pain au chocolate was smeared with bitter orange marmalade in the bittersweet richness of the chocolate and buttery dough. Add to that it was a gorgeous April morning, warm and full of promise. It was almost surreal that in his briefcase was a stack of papers detailing a regime of treatment, the drugs, radiation, and other therapies that would - hopefully - send him into remission.
"Good morning, Mr. Humphries." Jack the doorman gave the revolving door a push to get it going. "Feeling better?"
"Yes, Jack. Thank you."
And that was about as pleasant and reassuring as the day ever got. His meeting with his superiors was oddly noncommittal, though they expressed concern. Mr. Conti kept the Chief Risk Officer and the Chief Analytics Officer after Alan had been dismissed, and somehow Alan had the feeling that he was being followed by his own personal cloud. It was easy, however, to put everything out of his head and immerse himself in work once in his office. For twenty-eight, he hadn't done too badly.
He had an office with a window, his undergraduate diploma and degrees lined up on the wall, a low six-figure salary, a high six-figure bonus, a fat bank account and a luxe condo in the Financial District to his name. Granted, he earned it by working murderous hours, but when you were the toughest analyst on the Street, you could afford some pretty sweet treats, too. Alan gave himself a Conde Nast life, with tailored Italian cut suits and fine watches, silk ties and fine leather shoes. He took vacations at five-star resorts and hotels, dined in fine restaurants despite a top-line kitchen at home that he barely used. And almost as if to really drive the point home, he owned a custom-made violin from one of the finest luthiers in the world. It rested next to his grandfather Yager's old pawn-shop fiddle, and he played one or the other every night. Even better, he relished his work - he loved his job. The flow of data, the dance of numbers and concepts, the layers of mystery inherent in higher finance and best of all - the hunt.
It was a good life. He didn't want to lose it.
He brought his monitors to life, opening the files and looking for the Black Swans. Alan Humphries could see disaster not in the stars, but in the minutiae of a corporation's books, and he was the best hunter in the business.
It was almost 9:00 at night when he left the office, the lights were still on in Mr. Conti's meeting room, but Alan didn't say good night. He was rather certain that he had not felt this tired or headachy before his diagnosis. The walk home was uneventful, and he found himself hoping he could keep it up once his induction treatment began. His Google searches gave him reason to worry - adults had a 50/50 chance as a group of a five-year survival. Though admittedly the data was for all adults 18 to 65, and not sorted by any other criteria-
He slowed, distracted from his thoughts. The lights were on at the Kitchen and Ronald was outside, lounging in the vestibule of the battered-looking three-story walk-up and smoking what looked to be an electronic cigarette. "Late night, Alan?"
"I had some catching up to do. Are you open so late?" He needed a good feed - his first chemotherapy session was Friday. "If you are, I'd take some stuff to go."
"For anyone else, we're not." Ronald grinned and stowed his cig. "For you, yes. My brother's in the kitchen, and he's a fucking ogre when he's in cooking mode, but I've got an Italian on ciabatta with pesto mayo, some of the roasted tomato and red pepper soup, and white bean salad."
"So he's the mystery chef. I've been coming in here for three years and never seen him." Alan had rather imagined a team of chefs in and out of the narrow brownstone.
"Yeah. He does most of the stuff at night. He runs around a lot during the day."
Whatever else Ronald had to say just sailed right past Alan's ears and into space, because Alan's eyes had hijacked his brain. A man came out of the kitchen dressed in cook's whites, opened up the jacket and rummaged a Manhattan Special out of the cooler. And for a town where you couldn't spit without hitting a good-looking guy, this one just rang every last one of Alan's bells - even bells he didn't know he had. One thing was sure, the guy was not Wall Street, what with sporting a fauxhawk, multipierced ears, and wire-framed glasses in purple titanium. What he was was tall, broad-shouldered, and Alan could have washed his boxers on those abs. His blond hair was unselfconciously dark at the roots, and he had the most amazing blue-green eyes.
"Uh-" Alan blinked and shook his head. "I'm sorry, Ronald. What did you say?"
Ronald was lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. "He's single. Really single. And he's gay. And he's my brother. I can introduce you."
Alan's mouth hung flapping for a moment before his Emergency Backpedal gear kicked in. "No. No! I just remembered that I forgot something at... at home! This morning. And. I need it for the office. Tomorrow. I."
The gear stripped itself as Ronald's brother took of the chef's jacket (revealing tatted upper arms and a tank top), then squatted to look into one of the pastry cases (there were no words sufficient to describe his butt). Alan broke a sweat like the proverbial sinner in church.
"Alan. You're shy?" Ronald's smile was huge. "Oh, God. Don't be! Eric's the biggest teddy-bear there is and I'd love to introduce him to a really decent guy-"
"Ah. The thing. I have to go get the thing and I'll see you in the morning and um-" Alan backed away, holding his briefcase in front of him like a shield. "Have a good night and and bye-bye!"
It was probably not the best idea, and the guy was probably everything Ronald claimed for him, but-
Any other time, Alan would have said yes.
He made it home, fleeing into his apartment as if into a sanctuary, and locked the door behind him.
Right now? Like this? No.
Chapter 2
Summary:
Alan Humphries is a man who has it all together - until a diagnosis of leukemia leaves him adrift, alone, and afraid.
This chapter: Alan finds out that sometimes everything changes all at once, and sometimes the only thing you have the power to do is watch. Ronnie has concerns. And Eric.
Ron watched the retreat with his jaw dropped. If anyone had told him that Alan, a sharply-dressed and confident guy, would suddenly become the awkward wallflower at the 8th grade dance...
"Wow, man." He turned and went busting back through the door. "Hey! You're so hot that you made guy literally flail!"
Eric rolled his eyes. "Gimme a fucking break, Ronnie. They're really going for the Fat Bastards, aren't they?"
The Fat Bastard to which Eric referred was two thick oatmeal chocolate-chunk cookies slapped around a vanilla butter-cream frosting center, dipped in dark chocolate, and then again in crushed, salted nuts. Everyone who ordered a Fat Bastard got a free glass of milk and immediately turned seven.
"Yeah. Guys in suits get that and take off like little Brooks Brothers rockets from the sugar high. Oh, you have two catering orders for mini-desserts trays for Friday, and there's requests for bouillabaisse on Monday again." Ron nudged his brother with his elbow. "He's nice. A good guy. Single. A Street guy, but not a BSD. A little younger than you are. Really shy."
"Sounds good. Date him yourself." Eric stood and put his jacket back on. "Did they say what they wanted on the trays or is it up to me?"
"Come on. It's time. Eric, just let someone in for fuck's sake."
Eric wrapped an arm around his head, giving him noogies and then a kiss. "Thanks for thinking of me, kiddo. Nobody needs the kind of baggage I'm carrying, okay?"
"I just want someone good in your life." Fucking big brothers. Ron punched his shoulder. "And you're not baggage. You're an amazing guy."
"You're going to be late for your date. Which one is it this time?"
"You're changing the subject and it's not a date, it's just Sally and I hanging out - she's the one who did your 'hawk?" Ron regrouped. "And Alan's really nice. Did I mention?"
"Ronnie, a Street kind of guy is never going to go for me, especially not a nice one." Gripping him by the shoulders, Eric marched him into the kitchen and up the back stairs up to their shared apartment. "Now for fuck's sake, put on something that doesn't look like you pulled it out of the dirty laundry and do something about that weedy crap on your face."
"But-"
"I'm fine."
"But-"
"I'm good. Go out with Sally, have a good time, and get your ass back here in time to open." Eric sent him down the hall with a slap on the butt. "And shave! Sally's too nice a girl for beard burn on her ladybits."
~
The Thursday morning meeting was unusual only in the amount of ground covered. Alan reported directly to the CEO, CRO, and CAO. Mr. Conti, Mr. Goldsmith, and Mr. Shore wanted more in-depth details on the newest risks. In the end, the breakfast meeting turned into a breakfast and lunch meeting. As Alan concluded his remarks and put away his tablet, the room was unusually quiet.
"Alan, you've been with us right out of school. There's not a better risk assessment man anywhere on the Street." Mr. Goldsmith spoke quietly. "Believe me, we're not dropping you like a hot rock now that you're sick."
Alan could only blink, mind perfectly blank. What the fuck?
"We're going to pay your salary up to 36 months and pay your bonuses at last year's level. We'll keep paying the premiums for your insurance for three years as well. We'll even keep up your membership at the gym. You have twenty weeks of intensive medical treatments, and when you're in remission we'll be glad to have you back-"
He had literally nothing to say, sitting down in his chair very slowly as his superiors spoke.
Better than doubles your severance package.
Initial here.
A valuable member of the team.
And here.
We'll keep your office open for you. It will be here when you come back. Sign here.
Take the best care of yourself. If you need anything, anything at all, be sure to call.
Alan walked out into a spring afternoon with his entire professional life in a box. Jack stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. "What happened, Mr. Humphries?"
"I'm... laid off." Alan blinked rapidly, pushing his glasses up and swallowing hard. "Until I'm well."
"You're sick, Mr. Humphries? I'm sorry. I didn't know."
The lump that seemed to fill his chest and throat made it hard to breathe or talk. "I have leukemia."
Jack whistled. "Son of a bitch. Where they hooking you up?"
"Sloan Kettering."
"Well, they'd know, wouldn't they? Let me get you a cab." Jack stepped up to the curb and raised a white gloved hand.
"Yeah. Thanks." Since he had to tote his whole professional life home in a file box, why not get a ride there?
A yellow cab came arrowing in on the spot. "Anything you want me to tell anyone, Mr. Humphries?"
For a moment, Alan didn't know what to say. "Would anyone ask?"
"Of course they will." Jake spoke as if to someone not in their right mind. "You're a good, decent man in a city without many of them. People like you."
His life was full of surprises. "I had no idea. Tell them... just tell them that I'll be back."
Jack opened the door for him and nodded, slipping a business card into the hand slot of the cardboard file box. "You keep in touch. I'll keep you in my prayers."
Alan nodded, took a deep breath. "Thanks, Jack. It means a lot more than I can tell you."
A very short time later he paid the fare, then tipped a fifty in cash from guilt at the five-block ride.
He picked up his laundry in the elevator foyer, went inside and set both laundry and file box on the couch.
And for the first time since he turned eighteen, Alan had nothing to do.
His cleaning service had been in. The dry-cleaning and laundry service left his clean items in the foyer and taken away his week's worth of wash. He didn't think it was a good idea to ride his Lynskey the day before starting treatment. Could he still play racquetball and swim when he was in treatment? Could he ski this winter? Would he want to? He brought the clean clothing into the bedroom.
"Maybe I'm not being very realistic." He murmured to himself, just to hear something. "It's chemotherapy. Twenty weeks."
His reflection in the mirror on his wardrobe didn't look sick. Alan was kind of slight - he preferred the term 'wiry' - and smaller than his siblings. And 5'9" was perfectly manly, thanks. He ran his fingers through his brown hair, mussing his usually immaculate side part. Would it fall out? When? How about his eyebrows?
Maybe he should get his things ready now. Doing things would make him feel better.
The pamphlets and brochures were on his dresser and he found the one with the smiling nurse and cancer patient. Eat a light meal and take scheduled medications. There was intake, blood test, then the chemotherapy itself will take about four hours, and then observation for an hour after that. Dress comfortably, bring something to read, some music to listen to, or a portable DVD player. Family members are welcome. Bring juices and snacks in case you get hungry.
Okay. Something to do!
He opened his laptop and started checking his files on the hard drive, perusing days of music, movies, and television shows. He loved Gordon Ramsay, a Black Swan hunter in the kitchen. There were so many things he'd wanted to read, so the Kindle ended up packed to full capacity.
Clothing. How should he dress? Casual Friday might be best. Chinos, a tweed houndstooth sport coat, chambray shirt. For a kid from Idaho, he'd picked up on the preppy code very quickly. Hell, he'd never been on a boat other than the ferry and he owned two pairs of deck shoes - one pair of which he'd wear tomorrow. Those were his lucky shoes - he'd bought them as a freshman at UMass. Belt, pocket square, socks. Tie? Yes. Undershirt?
The undershirt would cover the portacath. He could go without tomorrow. See how it went.
The snacks and juice...
The fridge held condiments, craft beers, a carton of milk, and a couple of bottles of emergency champagne. The cupboard had a bag of Wise potato chips, a box of Captain Crunch, and a can of Spaghetti-Os. Alan tended to eat out, get something to go, or order in. He had a flyer for Organic Direct - he could set himself up with that tonight.
And download some cookbooks. because he had no clue how to make an actual meal.
He'd make a plan. He needed a plan. He needed a plan because his mind was starting to run in circles and there were tears in his eyes and he needed to think instead of feel because inside he'd just started screaming again and he couldn't breathe because there was no air in here-
Throwing the bedroom window open Alan lunged halfway out onto the fire escape, gasping like a landed fish. Scared. So scared. He needed to do things and think so he wouldn't be scared. He needed to work, to immerse himself in something that required his focus and concentration.
"I just don't want to die." It sounded so pathetic that he made himself angry, but it was true.
And more than that, he didn't want to die alone. There was nobody in this with him, and that made it so much worse.
~
Sally dropped him off after a night of not actually seeing a complete movie on Netflix because of highly satisfactory friends-benefiting.
Ron opened at six on the dot, Monday through Friday. This morning Eric left a note that there were new top-your-own oatmeal packets up by the register and the 22-quart Nesco was full of steel-cut oatmeal with chia seeds. The mini-dessert trays were in the walk-in, and an order of seafood and shellfish was on the schedule for this afternoon - there was a check on the pinboard behind the coffee bean grinders. A look in back revealed Eric sleeping in one of the recliners tucked away in an alcove - placed there just for all-night culinary jam sessions.
Ass.
A badly burned ass. A wary ass. But he could be a really good ass for the right guy.
Not that he wanted to think about Eric being 'good ass' - he meant that in a completely different way.
Ron covered Eric with a blanket, slipped the glasses from his face, and then went out front to open up. Morning trade was brisk on Fridays. The people coming in at six looked for something to go - oatmeal and a topping bag, a fresh yogurt with fruit and granola, or an omelette-in-a-cup. Between seven and eight, everyone wanted to bring something into the office for their crew, or to impress someone at an early meeting. Alan was there at his usual time in his Casual Friday attire. He usually picked up a box of pastries in addition to his pain au chocolat, but this morning was different.
Pain au chocolat with Nutella today, and his usual Americano. However, he also picked up a boxed lunch with a bottle of Frootsy Tootsie's Mean Greens, a couple of Completely Nuts snack packs, and a bottle of Juicy Tidbits Apple and Cherry juice.
"No trays today, Alan?" Ron rang it up.
"I'm heading uptown, I have an all-day appointment on the upper east side." Alan paid with his debit card, then added a twenty-buck tip. He was a good guy.
"Hey, about last night. I'm sorry I made you uncomfortable." And Ron was sorry. Maybe Alan was in the closet. "I really didn't mean to be creepy."
For fuck's sake, Alan actually blushed. "Um. I'm not usually that socially inept."
"No, it's cool. I just love my brother." And he did. Eric, no matter what went down, made room for Ronnie. They were half-brothers, but there had never been any resentment on Eric's part - just big-brother-love.
"Then your brother's a very lucky guy." Alan smiled and even if Ron wasn't gay, that smile made his heart do a little flip. It was... sweet. Kind. The type of smile that was so open and genuine that it could leave you a little breathless. "You have no idea how much that can mean in bad times."
Oh, yes. He did. "Hey. Seriously, and you can tell me to fuck off if you want, but you're my favorite customer - are you okay? You gave me a scare a couple of days ago."
"Ronald. Really. Seriously. Do not fuck off." Alan reached over and ruffled Ron's hair. "I'm as fine as can be. I'll see you tomorrow."
That was a hedged sentence if Ronald ever heard one. "You take care out there in the wilds of uptown."
"Watch out for the bears." Alan quipped back.
"Bears don't bother me, but the bull in this place goes on forever." Ron laughed. "See you tomorrow."
A few minutes later, after Alan was out of sight down Pearl, he became of Eric standing in the short hallway between the kitchen and shop.
Ron studied his brother. Yeah, he was interested. He'd had a good look. "That's the guy. He's cute, too - isn't he?"
"You like him so much, you date him. I'm going to take a shower." Eric grumped and stomped off.
This could actually work.
Chapter 3
Summary:
Alan Humphries is a man who has it all together - until a diagnosis of leukemia leaves him adrift, alone, and afraid.
This chapter: Alan's first day of induction-phase chemotherapy.
Chapter Text
It was a case of hurry up and wait.
Alan was a prompt person, and scheduled himself an extra forty-five minutes to complete paperwork - because there was always paperwork. There was a meeting with his 'team' and a very rosy picture painted for him. For someone who spent his career and put himself through college and grad school looking for the devil in the details, it was actually very discomfiting. They were selling him happy pictures, but he had seen the other patients in the lobby.
Dr. Millard, a psychologist and neuropsychiatrist with double-barreled degrees from Columbia and Hopkins was quite effusively speaking on - for fuck's sake - opportunities. "Mr. Humphries, we have counselors who can work with you while you're in treatment. Very often, a serious illness can be the impetus for-" She stopped when Alan held up his hand.
"Dr. Millard, I know you're probably going to talk about reconciliation with family. When I told my father I had leukemia, he told me that the wages of sin - my being gay - were death."
All the faces around the table went professionally smooth in a snap. Very good. About time someone around here cashed a reality check.
"I have a BS in Mathematics and BS in Economics from the University of Massachusetts at Amherst, an MS in Finance from Massachusetts Institute of Technology, and my Ph.D. from Cornell in Operations Research and Information Engineering was conferred when I was twenty-four. I have been employed as an analyst at one of the toughest capital management and risk assessment houses in the Financial District, hired when the ink was still drying on my degree from MIT. I look at financial entities trying to sell themselves as sound investments and then cut into their data looking for the stinkers. Believe me, good doctors, I know when I am being jollied or pitched. Now that I've whipped out my curriculum vitae and we've all measured off, can we get down to the numbers here?"
The faces around the table hosted a range of expressions from sour to surprised, and his assigned hematologic oncologist, Dr. Sam Chowdree, simply smiled. "Apologies, Dr. Humphries. We find that what many patients seek is reassurance and support instead of hard numbers. The truth is that the numbers are hard to come by. There are many factors in a given patient that make it difficult to predict with any accuracy the outcome of treatment."
"Surely there's some kind of breakdown aside from that asinine 18-65 age grouping? There's little subgrouping for genomic factors, risk factors, state of health at diagnosis, just flat nothing." Alan threw up his hands. "The clinical data that I can find is a homogenized nightmare!"
"For privacy reasons the specifics of patient data are not available to laymen, only to researching fellows. I understand that a man of numbers and facts might find the lack of a quantitative data and analysis unsettling, even frightening." He spread his hands. "Medicine is as much an art as it is science, the rest is a crapshoot at best."
Alan thumped back in his chair. "Shit."
"I know it isn't very reassuring. And you have a very hard five months ahead of you, but based upon my own experiences I think a good outcome is likely."
"Define 'good.'" He tried to keep that neutral, but he could hear the sourness.
"Survivorship of at least five years after the successful completion of induction and maintenance therapies."
That was a gut-punch. Seven years would be a positive outcome. He'd be thirty-five before that could happen. "Successful completion."
"Yes. But is it possible that we can cross that bridge only if we come to it?" Dr. Chowdree held up his chart. "We have a dizzying array of combined treatment options before we come to that bridge, Alan. I will keep you very much involved in your therapy, knowing that it is vital for your peace of mind. Now, let's bring you to a room and begin."
The chemotherapy infusion suite was a small hospital-beige room containing a very odd-looking recliner, an IV stand out of a sci-fi set, a chair and coat rack, a chair, and a small flatscreen television.
"Please, make yourself comfortable. Your oncology nurse will be here in a few minutes to get you started." Dr. Chowdree put a hand on Alan's shoulder and Alan nearly jumped out of his skin. "And I am adding an order for Ativan - an antianxiety medication that will work with your antiemetic medication. In my best professional judgement, you understandably need it."
Alan only nodded, not too sure about his voice or if he'd make his excuses and burn rubber down the hospital beige hallway.
Dr. Chowdree left, and Alan pulled the curtain to. Shoes went under the chair, jacket on the back of the chair. Laptop, reader, pen and stenographer's pad on the swingarm table to one side of the recliner. He unbuttoned his shirt enough to clear the portacath.
God. He did not want to sit in that thing!
He did, however, did want to live. Amazing how that thought could override fear and move one's ass.
It was actually a very comfortable chair.
"Hi, Mr. Humphries." A New Jersey accent came from behind the curtain. "I'm Andrea Capello, and I'll be your chemotherapy infusion nurse - may I come in?"
"Yes, please?" He became aware that he had a death grip on the arms of the chair and made himself let go.
Nurse Capello resembled Snooki's older and un-spraytanned sister with her hair under a mob cap, and she came pushing a small cart of things that looked unpleasant.
"Dr. Chowdree told me that you really like to be informed, and I really like to talk, so hey! I'm an oncology-certified RN with a specialty in infusion therapy, and I'm going to be with you for most of your treatments. Now, are you going to be comfortable in that, or would you like to put on a chemotherapy shirt?" She held one up and unsnapped the shoulder. "Long or short sleeve, and we even have prints."
Despite himself, Alan felt his lips twitching in a smile. "I'll go with your best professional opinion."
"Yes. My opinion is yes. It's less hassle for both of us and lets me get better access to the port even if you're asleep." She handed him one of the shirts - long sleeve, blue, and no prints. "You can change in the bathroom."
Alan went into the bathroom and unbuttoned his shirt, slipping it off. It was freezing in here. "All right."
"It's your first day, so I'm going to walk you through everything. What's the note pad for?"
Alan came out and hung his Chambray shirt. "Well. For notes. I should take notes so that I'll remember everything I need to remember. I've read about 'chemo brain.'"
"You do know that you can bring a caregiver with you, right? Someone to help you?"
"I know. I'm... Well, I'm by myself." It came out awkwardly and it stung, but there it was. He settled himself into the recline and took up the steno pad. "That's just how it is."
"How are you getting home? I can have a special transportation service bring you home, provide a healthcare aide-"
Her concern and sympathy were surprising, but he hastened to reassure her.
"Let's see how it goes. Dr, Chowdree was on my case about not crossing bridges unless we come to them." Alan put on his 'I'm really NOT counting cards' face. "And you observe me for a while after, right?"
"Well-"
"And I can always take a cab."
"You'll let me call a special transport if you're feeling rough."
That did not seem to be a question, but an order. "Of course."
"Uh-huh. My husband says that, too." She wheeled over the little cart and took a seat to his left. "Now, I know they showed you how to clean and dress your port when you got it. I'm going to access it now for a blood draw. I am washed and gloved and now - masked." The nurse held up her hands in blue gloves. "And the first thing I do is to check the chest wall for any sign of swelling or discomfort. Have you had any shoulder or neck pain, tightness in the chest, or swelling in the left arm or fingers of your left hand?"
"No, I haven't." Alan replied with a shudder as she removed the dressing, brushed on alcohol, then applied betadine. "But I can feel the thing in me, and sometimes even think I can feel it in my vein."
"It's a very unsettling experience, I know." She began to palpate his chest, shoulder, and arm. "No pain or discomfort? Good. It's a little like having a new crown from a root canal - if you've had one. Lift your chin for me? Great!"
The gloves came off, and another pair went on. "So far so good?"
"So far so good. Now, I'm going to access the port, give it a flush and draw some blood." The foot of the recliner raised and head lowered; there were foot pedals in addition to hand controls. Made sense - that was a manufacturer really doing the right kind of thinking. "I want to put you flat for this. Just as a precaution."
"... is it going to hurt?" God. He was such a chickenshit.
"It may hurt a bit. I'll do my best to make it not hurt. Some people have phobic reactions. Some faint." Andrea showed him the tray, pointing out needles, aspiration syringe, tubing, saline, tape, and phlebotomy tubes. "You can't tell who's going to do what, so this is safer. Ready?"
"... no." When had he become so freaked out by needles?
"Okay. Want a walk-through?"
Alan nodded, Cessna-sized butterflies zooming around in his guts.
"We're doing this like a nursing school demo. First, I take the IP needle package, and I open it like this. It has to stay sterile! Then I-"
It was really fascinating to watch. When Nurse Capello was explaining and demonstrating, he could almost pretend that it was someone else. He was a tutorial.
Until she drew the blood.
"See? That's why I had you lie down."
"Uh-huh." Alan jammed his eyes closed and held on to the cushions again.
More unpleasant things done, and he kept his eyes closed.
"There. Your cath is flushed and you're doing fine - though you don't feel fine." She squeezed his right shoulder gently. What a kind voice she had. "Now I'm going to take these to the lab, and I don't want you to move for a bit."
"That's not going to be a problem." Even lying down his head spun.
"I'll be back in just a few. I'm putting the call button right on the pillow." Warm blankets settled over him and then the soft sound of her footsteps receded from the room.
No throwing up, Alan. No crying, either. Grow up, asshole
After a while, Alan opened his eyes and blew his nose.
Okay. Can handle it. First days are always rough.
He made some quick notes in his steno pad about the procedures - there would be tutorials online somewhere - then he powered his Kindle. Louis Bachelier's Theory of Speculation would take one's mind off anything short of hanging - and it did.
"Mr. Humphries?" Nurse Capello came in with a basket of little bags. "You're cleared for treatment. Before we set up, you might want to use the bathroom - the treatment's going to run about six hours because of all the medicines we have to give on the first day."
There were two bags of saline, and five little bags of other things.
"All that?" Alan protested. "I'll be hitting a restroom every block on the way home!"
"The drugs are infused at different rates. The Benadryl and Ativan go first - the Benadryl to buffer against an allergic reaction and the Ativan for your anxiety." She hung the bags and threaded the tubing into the pump. "It might knock you out, but I think your jitters are mostly from the Prednisone and that honking bucket of coffee you came in with. All right - ready?"
"Be right back." Some shaky breaths in the toilet with the door closed helped. So did offloading the processed coffee and splashing his face with cold water. He went back out. "All right. Ready."
Liar.
Nurse Capello accessed the portacath again. "This time I'm giving you a little lidocaine. I know that it hurt last time and you didn't say anything. No more macho from you, alright? I need to know when things hurt, or you feel sick, or anything else. It's important, really important to your treatment and your health."
"I'm not macho." The idea was silly. "And in any case, I'm gay."
"Still applies. Gay, straight, male, female, any of the above and other. Most people try to be tough, and end up being macho." She smiled. "See? Didn't feel a thing. Better?"
Wow. He didn't feel a thing. "Better."
"Benadryl first. You're going to feel dopey and might doze a bit. The Ativan's next, and since it's a tranquilizer, the combo of the two is going to put you in la-la land." She programmed the pump and then activated it. "I know you've been researching your treatment, so here's the order of dose: Cyclophosphamide, Daunorubicin, Vincristine. This is the only day this month that you're having Cyclophosphamide. You'll only have the Daunorubicin today, tomorrow and Sunday, and the Vincristine once a week for the four weeks of induction."
"I made a spreadsheet for the side effects." Alan admitted. "There were so many drugs-"
"Keep it up, Mr. Humphries, and I'll have you bucking for your RN."
"I-" There was a cool feeling in his chest followed by a sudden sleepiness. "Hm."
The head of the bed tilted up slightly and the blankets were arranged again. "There you go. I'm going to be checking in on you often, but if you really need me just ring."
"...'kay."
Chapter 4
Summary:
Alan Humphries is a man who has it all together - until a diagnosis of leukemia leaves him adrift, alone, and afraid.
This chapter: Alan's first day of treatment is something of a reality check. Eric has his own problems, and reminds Ronnie that the past always has bearing on the present.
Notes:
Feedback is precious - and my beta-readers deserve to be showered in rose petals strewn by scantily-clad dancing boys.
Chapter Text
When he awoke, Alan was confused. His glasses were on the swing arm table and he fumbled him onto his face. The room came back into focus and look at the IV stand showed that hours had passed - one bag of solution was empty and the other a little more than halfway down. Two things, however, stood out. The first was that his bladder was about to bust, and the second was that his stomach was cramping either from hunger or from nausea.
Someone had configured the recliner into a cradle that prevented him from rolling onto his left side in sleep, and trying to figure out the controls though the drug-haze summoned his nurse.
"Hello again. What are you trying to do?" Nurse Capello helped him to sit up and lower the footrest. "If you need, I can bring you a bedpan or urinal."
That cleared the brain fog quickly. "No, thank you. Um... can I wheel the stand over?"
"Yes, but I'm going to help you. Your balance might be off and you're a little impaired from the Ativan and Benadryl." Lowering the arm of the recliner, she supported Alan as he got to his feet. "How do you feel otherwise?"
"My stomach... I'm not sure if I'm hungry or nauseated." The IV stand rolled with them and he did need the help – he had jelly-legs. "I brought some juices and snacks."
"Did you have breakfast?"
"I had some pain au chocolate - a chocolate croissant."
"Tomorrow could you try something a little more substantial? Proteiny." She opened the door to the restroom. "Use the handrail, or sit if you feel wobbly. Tomorrow we'll need to start taking urine samples to see how your kidneys are handling the load."
The stand fit though the restroom door, and Alan was simply relieved that - nurse or not - she did not try to come in with him. He did use the handrail, because he did feel foggy and wobbly, but felt much better after he was done. When he came back out, he opened his briefcase and took out his cooler bag. Mean Greens juice and Completely Nuts Full Vermonty mix - maple-sugared walnuts, dried cranberries, freeze-dried apples, and mini cheddar biscuits.
The snack met with approval. "You should stock up. That way you have stuff on hand for when you need to eat but are too out of it to go anywhere. There are some meal services, too - and diet is going to be more important than ever."
"What made you want to be an oncology nurse?" Alan added, "If you don't mind me asking."
"Well, I remember how lonely and scary being sick or hurt can be, and how alone I felt. I want to help my patients feel less scared and less alone." And then she gave that blazing grin. "And I get to talk a lot! My husband says that's the main attraction. According to him, I talk in my sleep, too."
The food went down and stayed down for the time being, and Nurse Capello went in and out on her rounds. Feeling achy, Alan dozed until the pump began to beep, summoning his nurse and her little cart.
"How do you feel, Mr. Humphries?" She began to take down and disconnect the bags and tubing.
"Achy. Weird. Tired." Alan scrubbed at his face. "Sorry. I'm usually a lot more articulate."
"It's okay." She squeezed his arm. "Now I'll give you a small dose of heparin so that there won't be any clotting, and then I’ll flush the line. After an hour of observation, I'll remove the access, dress the port, and you’ll be formally discharged."
"You mentioned a better idea than a cab?" Somehow the idea of taking the subway or a cab downtown didn't sound as appealing as it did this morning.
"I'll call the transport service right away. Do you want to lie back down and cover up while I do this?"
He did, reminding himself to dress more warmly and comfortably for his visit tomorrow.
"Okay, here we go. I've also put together some stuff for you to take home.” She pulled a little bag from middle shelf. “I put some tutorials on a USB drive. There's a packet of information on side effects, with a chart on what you need to come to the urgent care for and what you need to go to the ER for. There's dressings, tape, gloves, swabs..."
"You didn't have to go to all that trouble." Alan protested, opening his eyes.
"Yes I did - because you don't have a caretaker and it's a lot to remember on your own." She put the bag in his hands. “You’re my patient.”
"Thank you." It was not often that he was touched or humbled, not in his profession, but he was now. "Thank you very much."
"And there's some business cards in there - the transport company, a few home health care aides I know and trust, and some good meal services." The way she looked at him Alan took to mean that there had better be calls made. "And by meal service, I mean sound nutritional science and good food, not a bunch of woo-woo."
"Yes, ma'am. No woo-woo." He could stock up at the The Pearl Street Kitchen, and there was a Whole Foods on Houston. He could stop there, too. And he should sign up with Organic Express. "I'll call on Monday, but I have things on hand until then."
He'd ordered a bunch of delivery food from Nish-Nush, The Dish, and Great Wall.
"Is it all Chinese food?"
"No. Of course not." Steak Oscar was not Chinese, nor was falafel.
"M-hm. How are you feeling now?" Nurse Capello spread the blankets over his lap again.
"Cold. Still weird. Tired and achy - like I'm about to come down with something. My mouth is really dry."
"Is there any nausea?"
"Now that you mention it... a little."
"I don't want to interfere or rag on you, but you really need a home health aide. Just get someone to sit with you tonight, okay?" She took his hand. "I'll call someone for you."
"No. It's fine. I promise I'll call someone if I need help. I will."
Nine hours later, he was on the toilet with the trash basket between his knees. Nurse Capello's notebook was open on the bathroom floor, and Alan had marked the pertinent information in yellow highlighter.
It was okay.
It was fine.
This was within allowable limits.
It was expected.
He was going to be okay.
That was okay within a given measure of okay that did not include dying in the bathroom and distressing his housekeeping service.
~
Monday, Ron waited most of the day for Alan to show and when he did at a little after two in the afternoon, it was a shock. Pale and moving slowly, Alan wore a pair of chinos and a knit pullover shirt instead of his suit and tie and carried a battered backpack instead of his briefcase.
"Sh. I'm fine, Ronald." Alan chided. “And you do not have a poker face by any measure.”
"Fine does not look the way you do right now." Ron brought him one of the bent-back chairs from a table. "You look about to fall over."
"It's a case of - as the docs say - 'gastrointestinal distress.'" Alan didn't quibble about the chair, but sat with a low sigh and adjusted his glasses. "If you could set me up with some easy, tasty eats my innards and I would be profoundly grateful."
"For how long? Are you seeing docs for this?" Juices - nothing too acid or overly sweet. Oatmeal cups with a bunch of topping bags. Some of the pudding and custard cups would be good. Instant omelettes - a scrambled egg disk with a little bag of fillings – would be small but filling.
"If you could fix me up so that I can pick up some more on Thursday? And yes, I am seeing a physician." Alan gave a longing look at the espresso machine. "I really want an Americano. I likely shouldn't have one, though."
"How about trying a cafe con leche in vanilla hemp milk? That's easier on your stomach than dairy. Some cinnamon in there?"
"Vanilla hemp milk. That sounds..."
"Like a hipster joke, I know. Just trust me on this." It was unnerving, because Alan looked really sick and exhausted with puffy dark circles under his eyes and faintly hollowed cheeks.
"Not too sweet. I know it sounds odd coming from a pain au chocolate addict, but since this started I can't do too much sweet."
There was something going on and Ron didn't want to pry, but it was and wasn't what Alan was letting on. "We have chocolate-covered crystallized ginger jellies. Those are good for nausea."
As Alan sipped his hemp as they figured out a load of meals, and then ate a massive bowl of Eric's Italian seasoned whipped red potatoes while he waited.
"Want some more of those?" Alan was scraping the bowl with the spoon when Ron came back from his gathering - an encouraging sign.
"Oh, yes. Please. They're delicious. I had no idea you did dinners." Alan looked much better, and a little sleepy.
"People pick stuff up between four and six. I'm putting in some of the meatballs and sauce." Ron started bagging and Alan packed his backpack. Breakfast, lunch, dinner, ten o'clock and four o'clock snack, plus two juices. "Steamed salmon and sauce, and chicken with gravy. Meatloaf – don’t make that face. Eric makes great meatloaf. Sole almandine. Some good soups and a chicken fricassee. You still need protein."
Alan signed the charge and hoisted his backpack into place. "Thank you, Ronald. Your help is appreciated."
With a fifty-dollar tip, no less.
It was long after closing that he laid back in one of the recliners with a sour cherry lambic, watching Eric cook and thinking. The difference between unwell and sick was that unwell went away, but sick tended to stay around. Alan was in bad shape, and somehow Ron did not think it was a just a tummy bug.
"Alan loved your potatoes today; he ate two bowls of them." He took a draw of the fruit beer and rolled it around in his mouth. Best yet. Sour, but not too puckery. Eric was the man who could cook, but Ron was a budding brew master. "Almost put him to sleep."
Eric fanned a sliced strawberry over a square of paleta tres leches. "Nice. You're getting very attached to him. Do we need to have the safer sex talk?"
"Eric. Come on.”
"Ronnie. No." Eric didn't even look up from his garnishing.
"Look. I haven't told him anything about you other than you're my brother, okay? He's one of the nicest... no, not nice... he's good. Really a good person." He unreclined and set the beer on the small table between the big La-Z-Boys. "But I'm worried about him. He came in today and he looked just awful. He said he's had a stomach bug."
Eric just looked at him. "Ron. Come on. Even if he were Mr. All That, I'm not anymore."
"Just-"
"Try. I know. 'Just try' is not that easy, not after the fucking over I took."
"I know." Ronnie couldn't imagine it - not that Eric talked about it much - but the aftermath made him handle his big brother very gently. PTSD could be ugly.
"And it's not just a fucking over, Ronnie. Gary Buckland fucked over my whole life, and everyone I could have sworn was a friend went along with him. I put everything I had on the line to go to San Francisco and open The Quarter." Strawberry after strawberry was sliced with painstaking patience and fanned over the frosting even as Eric's voice went raw with hurt. "And it cost me every dime, everything I thought I had and could rely on. I lost every lifeline I should have been able to count on to a massive, multiparty lie. I was left alone and dependent on him, and he lied to me and gaslighted me until the whole thing blew up in his face. You don't 'just try' after that, you can’t. I can't."
Ron sighed. "I just want good things for you. I want you to be happy. You deserve to come out the other side of this and be happy again."
"Happy doesn't come from other people, Ronnie. It comes from inside you." Eric said softly. "I'm a headcase. A fucked-up, screwed-over, miserable bastard - but I'm good with it."
"You're not any of those things. You're my big brother and the biggest teddy-bear I know." And he was - a 6'3" Beanie Baby.
Eric brandished his slicing knife with a scowl. "Keep it up, beer brat. I’ll go Hannibal Lecter on your hipster ass. Collops de Manhattan Bucketmouth."
"Yeah, yeah.” Ron waved it off. As if. “Still, you have to admit he's cute." Eric liked masculine and he knew Eric took a good look. "And you looked. Come on."
"And you know why I won't do anything about it." Eric dug in. "You know why. Why would I burden anyone with that? I come with a lot of baggage, Ronnie. That one in particular is one I can never lose." Eric's smile was bleak as he trashed his prep gloves and unbuttoned his chef's jacket. "It's with me until the day I die with love from Gary."
"You don't know that. You're not even at the threshold where they'll give you antiretrovirals." If that turd-fly were still alive... but he wasn't. "You don't even know if you'll develop symptoms."
Eric took a lambic and popped the top, slinging his jacket over the back of the second recliner. "Not the point, Ronnie."
"Someone who loved you wouldn't care." They'd be careful. They'd take it into account. They'd love his brother anyway.
"Ronnie, HIV doesn't go away. I'm a time bomb." Eric pulled his tank top aside to reveal a black biohazard symbol tattoo with a red plus symbol in the middle of it. "I'm a dead man. Gary murdered me. I just get to walk around for a little while longer."
Chapter 5
Summary:
Alan Humphries is a man who has it all together - until a diagnosis of leukemia leaves him adrift, alone, and afraid.
In this chapter, Alan's optimism and self-image take a hit while Eric gets cooking.
Notes:
Feedback and critique are awesome, and thanks to those who have given so generously. :)
0 notes
Text
10:20 pm || akaashi keiji
➵ you just want a cute polaroid of your boyfriend.
wc: 1211
warnings: gn!reader, time-skip occupation spoilers (?)
a/n: jem, dear, this one’s for you! if i remember correctly, i believe that today is your birthday. if that’s so, i hope you have a wonderful day (although, i hope that for every day, too). you’ve always been so kind to me, and the comments and tags you’ve left on my fics never fail to make me smile and make me feel like i’m actually Doing something here. i appreciate your support more than i can put into words, but i just want to say thank you! i miss seeing you on my dash, but i hope you’re doing well and that this fic brings you some comfort ♡
“Sit still.”
You grouch, the view finder of your polaroid camera held up to your eye.
A tiny image of Akaashi stares back at you, fist covering his mouth as he sat languidly on your bed under a garland of fairy lights. You’d wanted to put them up for the ‘ambiance’ – Akaashi had done most of the work, reaching the ceiling with ease. You’d played the role of ‘artistic director’ more so than handyman, but neither of you minded.
“I am,” Akaashi murmurs, raising his eyebrows ever so slightly.
You lower the camera, pouting at him. “You keep covering your face.”
“And?” Akaashi raises an eyebrow at you.
“Stop doing that.”
“It’s for the aesthetic.”
You narrow your eyes at him. Sure, a well-placed hand might enhance the look of a staged ‘candid’. But you don’t want that. You want a nice polaroid of your boyfriend, for safe keeping.
“Lies,” you mutter.
Akaashi chuckles, shaking his head. “You’ll be wasting one on me, dear.”
“They’re my polaroids,” you shoot back immediately, “I get to choose what to spend them on.”
His smile softens, gaze lingering on you for a moment. “Touché.”
You grin back, bringing the camera’s viewfinder up to your eye.
Flash.
“Sorry,” you giggle.
Akaashi blinks rapidly at the blinding light, reeling back ever so slightly. “I think I blinked.”
“It’ll be fine,” you hum. You wait expectantly for the camera to spit out the little slip of film, eager to see what subtle expression you’ve captured. You pinch the border of the polaroid between your fingers and place the film face down in your knee, almost unwilling to wait the minute or two it takes for the image to develop.
Akaashi sighs and adjusts himself to be a little closer to you, letting his head sink down onto your shoulder.
You tilt your head to the side and press a kiss to the soft hair on the top of his head. As always, he smells nice; something like a café, the faintest whiff of coffee and cream.
“Long week?” You ask.
“Mhm.”
“The shounen arcs all feeling the same again?”
Akaashi chuckles. “I’ll get in trouble if I say that.”
“Nobody’s going to hear you though,” you shrug, his head bobbing along with you.
“You never know.” He reaches for one of your hands and unpicks your fingers from the camera one by one. You concede, letting him draw your hand over to his lap. He fiddles with your fingers gently, and you’re not even sure if he’s aware of what he’s doing.
You smile, plopping the camera into your lap. “How’s your book going?”
“Slowly.”
“But progress is progress, right?” You offer. It seems like the sort of thing he might say to Bokuto, or perhaps to one of the mangakas he edits for.
Akaashi chuckles. “I suppose you’re right.”
“Can I read it yet?” There’s a touch of hope in your voice.
“Oh, no.” Akaashi sounds resolute.
“Keiji…” You whine, shaking your shoulder in protest.
“I need to make it more presentable first,” he chuckles.
“I’m sure it’s already great,” you mumble. “What’s that saying? ‘You’re your own harshest critic’?”
“Something like that.” You feel him smile, his cheek tensing against your shoulder.
“Do I need to call Bokuto?” You ask. “Get him to give you a pep talk?”
“I’ll be alright,” he says, sitting up straight again.
He stretches his arms over his head for a moment, loosening out the tension in his back. His arms fall back to his side as he sighs, the sound heavy with contentment.
You don’t feel bad about admiring the view.
“Is it done?” Akaashi asks, pointing to the polaroid.
“Ah,” you murmur, flipping it over.
A small pale Akaashi stares up at you from the little rectangle, blue eyes both soft and striking. His expression is so gentle, so fond. His lips curl up slightly at the corners, his freshly washed hair frames his forehead elegantly, his cheekbones softly rounded and his jaw sharp.
Sometimes he’s so beautiful it hurts.
“What do you think?” You ask, tilting it towards him.
He grimaces just a little, cocking his head to the side.
“What’s wrong with it?” You bite your lip.
“I look… weird,” he decides after a moment’s deliberation.
“You really are too hard on yourself,” you sigh, shaking your head.
“I’m so pale,” he frowns, peering closely at the polaroid.
“That’s just the flash,” you scoff, “I think you look cute.”
His face melts into a soft smile at those words. He looks up to you, blue eyes gleaming in the half-light.
He picks up the camera and turns it on you.
You cover your face instinctively, eyes covered with a swath of sweater.
“Ah, I see.” There’s an amused lilt to his voice – he sounds ready to tease.
You shake your head in response. “I look like a mess right now.”
“I think you look cute in my sweater.” He doesn’t hesitate.
You blush, peeking at him from over the top of your sweater paws.
You spy him smiling at you like that. Your blush deepens.
“Love,” he murmurs, reaching out and touching your hand gently.
You blink at him.
“Will you please let me have this?” He asks, voice soft and low. In the gentle half-light of your fairy lights, he looks more beautiful than ever.
“Okay,” you nod slowly, mostly on instinct. “Just… give me a sec.”
He complies, taking the moment to brush some hair out of your face. You swallow awkwardly, surprised at the little gesture. You shouldn’t be – Akaashi’s love has always been folded into the little moments, tucked away in the quiet.
“I love you,” he murmurs, bringing the viewfinder to his eye.
A smile blooms across your face instantaneously.
Click.
You’re not sure what you look like as the flash illuminates the room, but you just hope you don’t look too dopey. You’re looking at Akaashi, after all – and Bokuto had captured many a moment when you were admiring your boyfriend gormlessly.
Akaashi takes the currently blank polaroid and lays it face down on the bed next to him, turning to you with a smile. “Thank you, dear.”
You pout, crossing your arms over your chest like a petulant child. “What do you need it for, anyway?”
“What do you need a photo of me for, hm?” His voice is like liquid metal, smooth and luminous and beautiful.
“Well, I…” There’s no good reason. None at all. You just think he’s pretty. “I’m making a scrapbook.”
“Is that so?” Akaashi smiles. “First I’m hearing about it.”
“Because I haven’t started it yet,” you huff, picking at the hem of your sweater. “I need to get the materials together first. So, you know… that polaroid is a necessary addition.”
“If that’s the case, then the polaroid I just took is a necessary addition to my wallet,” he chuckles, raising an eyebrow at you.
Your cheeks are hotter than ever, but you have nothing to say in response. You won’t win this argument. Not if you didn’t want your heart to give out.
But you don’t mind losing the battle this time, in this quiet little comfort of fairy lights and warmth. Just this once, you’ll let him get away with it.
#akaashi x reader#akaashi keiji x reader#akaashi x you#akaashi keiji x you#haikyuu x reader#fluffvember 2020
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⤷ Day 6: Sero Hanta + sick days
Synopsis: in which your boyfriend does everything in his power to make sure you’re smiling when sick... even if that means he’d get sick as well
Word Count: 695
Pairing: Sero Hanta x fem!reader
Fluffvember Masterlist
a/n: hey everyone!! I was in a bit of a slump while writing this so forgive the subpar writing (especially compared to the other days) !! It’ll get better soon I promise
Sero clicked his tongue at your distraught state. “If you hadn’t overworked yourself during Aizawa’s lesson, you wouldn’t have gotten sick.”
You jut out your bottom lip and grumble incoherent words that Sero made out to be “Halloween” and “no party.”
He chuckled, moving a hand down to smooth out the knot in your hair from rolling around in your bed. He honestly thought you were the cutest when you were sick with your non stop grumbling and pouty face. Sero could never blame you though, knowing the two of you were the kinds of people who preferred being out and about.
The annual Halloween party for UA was starting in a few hours and the two of you had planned to go as Spider-Man and Mary Jane because of Sero’s tape quirk but obviously those plans were now down the drain.
Seeing your unusual frown, Sero concocted a plan to turn it upside down. He left the room only to return 30 minutes later in his full-on Spider-Man costume, a loaf of pumpkin bread from a local bakery, and so many puzzle games they could barely fit in his arms.
When he sees your smile light up the room, he’s ecstatic, pumping his fists into the air at this small victory. He’s creating a whole show with his tape, swinging around the corners of your room in an attempt to mimic Spider-Man and you clap along to your boyfriend’s silly antics.
He seats himself next to you on the bed with the dessert in hand, handing you a pre-cut slice.
“So, how about it my Mary Jane? Wanna eat something as sweet as you are?” He asks, winking at his lame joke.
You crinkle your nose, cringing at your Sero’s humour but you gladly munch on the pumpkin bread despite sugar being absolutely horrible for you when you’re sick. But Sero couldn’t help it; seeing you smile is a sweet addiction.
When you’ve gulfed down the remainder of the pumpkin bread, you see Sero’s earnest face with a bundle of puzzle pieces in his hands. “You’re my missing piece, baby,” he tries again.
You begin to smile when the sounds of UA’s fireworks blasted through the sky, signalling the start of the Halloween dance. Your boyfriend senses your saddened mood and pulls you up by the arms, propping you into a dancing position. Your bewildered face makes him giggle and he presses his nose against yours, whispering that you, too, can enjoy the dance despite being away.
Your steps are clumsy as you and Sero try to maintain a rhythm with no music. You guys were slowly getting the hang of it when Sero let out a huge sneeze. It stopped the two of you in your tracks and you could see Sero panting a bit as the lightheadedness began to get to him.
You’re throwing his arm over your shoulder as you guide him over to your bed. Snuggling up against one another is essential as your bodies were seeking warmth to combat the cold the both of you now have. With one arm draped over his chest and his own under your neck, you feel like a butterfly in a comfy cocoon.
“You’re an idiot, you know,” you murmur, digging your face into your boyfriend’s chest.
You feel his chest rumble from his soft laughs and you already know what he’s going to say.
“It’s worth it if it’s with you,” he responds, but this time, it wasn’t just a joke. His hold on you tightens as you feel his lips on the top of your head, “I would choose to be sick a million times over if it meant I could see you dance and smile again.”
The atmosphere is light and fluffy and you contemplate his words. It was true that you two had missed the infamous UA Halloween bash and it was true that you two had ended the night with the same damn illness, but you would not choose to be anywhere else.
Fluffvember Taglist: @kenmakodzu @millie-mint @mrs-kuroojinguji @m0omo0 @hajibee @todoroki-vivian @galaxyvixen-blog @haiikyuuns @woah-there-cowboy-or-cowgirl @stargirlara @sachirou-senpai @celamoon @macchiatoast @cowbeboppy @astrxrism @avis-writeshq @tsanimefic @katsushimaa @bbakougo @luvkeigo @e-wwis @fee-btheweeb @a-bakuhoe @patricia-ceballos @imnothere-butiam @emsvegetables @animatedarchives @cherrycolaxo @blushingbaka @churochuu @bulba-baby @abuliawrites @kacchansmc @yuueisteria @findityourselffsworld @shibayamasbae @tamaguchi @archivednikes @tpwkatsumu @zoamour @madskaay @thesecondapplepienation @doodleniella @xx-tiny-dinosaur-xx @deephasoceanmagic @tetsujime @trippiekay @waitforitillwritemywayout @kellesvt @blueberryong
#bnha sero#sero hanta fluff#sero hanta#sero x reader#bnha fluff#bnha fic#bnha#mha#my hero academia fics#my hero academia#sero fluff#sero x y/n#fluffvember 2020#fluffvember#sero x you#bnha x you#mha x reader#my hero academia x you#sero hanta x reader
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FLUFFVEMBER DAY 30: KENMA KOZUME
prompt: random questions at 1am (prompts are by @jojosmilktea)
word count: 1,414 words | themes: gen!reader. comfort fluff? domestic! pre-established relationship
tags: @kacchanori @chickynn @todominica @sparkleswritings @brinthie @patricia-ceballos @giyuus-wife @bitchtrynafck @astrxrism @animatedarchives @deephasoceanmagic @strawberrysalwa @kawaiinishii @moonlightaangel @mrs-kuroojinguji @meliorist-midoriya @pandabobachan
rv: entirely self-indulgent. this is my routine at nightㄟ(￣▽￣ㄟ) plus, i first wrote this at 1am hehehe. also, if you guys want a song inspo listen to dreamy night by lilypichu it fits this fic so well!! also, thank you so much for supporting me all throughout my fluffvember! aaa i’m never doing anything like this again but instead maybe an event that posts every atleast 2 days?? heheh. i may have grew exhausted at least more than once but this was fun! please do look forward to my future events~ i love you all~ although speaking of kenma i’ll have an smau for him comin up!
✒︎ unspoken rule
kenma was sleeping when he heard the muffled noises that eventually became the cause of his consciousness, pulling him into the wake world with his eyes landing on you, your phone held up to your face as the light from the gadget reflected on your irises; eyes wide open, indicating that you have been focusing on whatever you were doing on the screen.
obviously from the sounds though, kenma could rule out that you were playing your favorite game—mobile legends, probably. he wasn't much of a fan of that game since he knows and likes the others more, but since it was the only game you and him mutually could play, he frequently lets you indulge him to play with you. he also knows that the only reason you might be playing as of the moment is because you couldn't sleep, just like usual.
however, his eyes were already giving up and he let the sounds from your game lull him again to sleep, pulling him in the dream world where his unconsciousness settles him in and tucks him in a fantasy that he might not even remember the moment he opens his eyes.
it was 1AM when he was awoken again, which was unlikely of him since he usually wakes up an hour after, and he'll play games from then on. despite that, he forced himself to stay awake when he sees your form, this time in front of your laptop, clearly working on something—probably a schoolwork or a tumblr post you would schedule to be published by tomorrow evening.
he sits up from the bed and he immediately wanted to lay back down again, his body urging him to. still, he raises up a hand to rub on his eyes, hoping to scratch away the sleepiness in his system.
he was half-asleep when he pulls himself to stand and sit on the empty chair next to you—the one he usually occupies whenever he's gaming or doing his livestreams. your chair will only rarely be occupied by you since you do your work outside, where you set-up your laptop and things to do on fresh air, also as a way to not be interrupted by the sounds his switch or keyboard produces whenever he plays.
every night though, is a different story.
kenma knows you are not much of a procastinator and usually does your schoolworks or stuff to do as early as possible—and he actually admires you for that. for him, you were one of the most responsible person he has ever met. however, you have a tendency to pressure yourself to do things as fast as possible, and kenma is here to support you, even if he has to sacrifice one hour of his sleep just to accompany you in your work.
he didn't have to peak on your laptop screen and just pushed his chair next to you, presumably a natural move of his—which it is, anyway. he then raises both of your hand rests so that he can settle himself beside you and lean his head on your shoulder, letting his eyelids close as you merely continued typing away from your laptop.
this is not actually the first time you've attempted to stay up late while doing your schoolworks or other things that could only keep you busy. that's why this is also not the first time he has done this for you and these moments just comes by, as if it was part of your daily routine.
"what are you working on again?" came out kenma's voice, soft and slurred from the drowsiness, but still clear enough for you, who was only inches away from him. he feels you halt your movements, and probably looks at him sideways for a second before continues on with your work.
"i have this event that i'm working on. i was supposed to do this last week but i got piled up by my schoolworks. you should sleep on the bed, ken. aren't you uncomfortable in this position?"
"i'm not," he says almost instantly, situating his head further onto your shoulder. "are you?"
"no, it's fine." there was a pleasantry in your voice that even when his eyes were closed, he knew you were smiling. "this actually feels nice. thanks for accompanying me again."
kenma on the other hand, barely had energy left to form a reaction, but he was still able to speak and mutter out words, nonetheless.
"ask me questions, (y/n). i might fall asleep if you don't."
"hm? isn't it better if you sleep instead? it's alright, y’know. i know you're tired."
"i'm not,” his brows curl and furrow in the slightest, "-just keep me from falling asleep."
"okay, alright, alright." you chuckle lowly, your energy depleted all the same, but seemingly still in a fair mood. he notices you stop your typing and you were humming, as if thinking and pondering deeply.
"what's your moon sign?"
"what's that?" kenma's eyes flufter and he sees you typing away again.
"like-your sun sign in the zodiac is libra right? the moon sign is the sign that you truly are deep inside of you." you say, despite being preoccupied. you're good at multi-tasking like that.
"i don't know what you're talking about." his eyelids closes again as he says the word "next"
"okay, uh-if me and kuroo are drowning, who would you save?"
"you," he says, not even thinking about it. "kuroo knows how to swim and you don't. besides, i'm sure kuroo would be the one saving you before he could even drown."
you let out a chuckle, probably grinning wide despite the straight-up insult he just gave.
"yeah, i think so too. your lazy ass would be ordering kuroo to save me instead, that's what."
he removes himself from your shoulder and opens his eyes to weakly glare at you, a pout on his lips that you had to laugh when you glanced at him sideways.
“what? it’s true.” you giggled and he eventually makes his way back to your shoulder, his silky hair tickling the sides of your face.
"how long are you going to stay up anyway? i'd have to play a game in a few later." he mumbles under his breath, his eyelids probably sliding shut with its desire to sleep.
your typing stops and your head turns his way once again, a hand along its way to reach for his hand, squeezing it ever so gently, "i told you, you could take a nap now. i'd just wake you up later when it's 2 AM."
your reassurance seems to have proven its worth when he lets out a breath that resembles one of a scoff, snuggling a little more on your shoulder, making himself more comfortable.
"head on to the bed, ken. you'll have a stiff neck if you sleep like that."
"i won't."
"hm?" you resumed typing, your focus divided upon kenma and what you were doing previously. you're so used in multitasking, but since you were far more concerned with his well-being, your fingers couldn't even find a way to work out anything with how your mind seemingly can’t form the thoughts you wanted it to do so.
"i won't, i'll stay here. just wake me up on time." he mutters as he drifts off, his breathing stabilizes and his form going slump next to you.
without noticing yourself, a corner of your lip curling up as the words to your work began to come back on your mind, your fingers working its way to type on your computer. you found a little bit of comfort in defiance of the stiffness and exhaustion of your muscles, trying your best not wake the other.
with him there, it was enough. with him beside you, it’s more than just enough.
thus you continued to work, with thoughts of how you’d sleep on kenma’s lap while he’s gaming a little bit later the moment he wakes up. just like usual, even in the difference of your waking states, you two still kept each other company.
despite having no conversation or obligation to do so, it became like an unspoken rule to keep the other from feeling lonely. because even in the darkest of nights and the brightest of days, you're there for him, and he's there for you.
and that alone was enough to go through the day, even at 1AM, where everyone else was sound asleep. at least, you have kenma here, right beside you.
#kenma kozume#kenma x reader#kenma x you#haikyuu x reader#kenma oneshots#fluffvember 2020#fluffvember
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sugar, spice, and everything nice
streamer!kozume kenma x gn!reader
day 1: baking together
word count: 1k+
𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 - 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭; 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝟐
[a/n: alright here it is! Fluffvember day 1! I’m sorry this first one is a little short but I hope you all enjoy 💓 taglist is still open ! -yours truly, bunnyy ]
“Are you ready?” Kenma asks as the watcher count goes up.
Both you and Kenma were fairly popular streamers. His streams usually consisted of gaming and an abundance of memes while yours consisted of gaming, baking, and other things. On a joint game of among us with Kuroo, Shoyo, and other streamer friends of yours, it was revealed that you two were dating courtesy of none other than Kuroo Tetsurō. The chat was calling Kenma out for “simping over you” to which Kuroo replied “Yeah Kenma, you can’t just believe everything (y/n) says just cause you guys are dating.”
Even though you and Kenma had been in your own streaming rooms, you could feel the anger radiating from him as the deafening silence became much, much louder. The both of you had tried so hard to keep it a secret. Making sure that the cats were never on stream because having the same breed of cat is a believable coincidence but having a cat of the same breed with the same name is much harder to explain or being quiet while the other is streaming and send them a text to ask what take out they want instead of barging in and asking.
So now that the cat was out of the bag, everyone was basically demanding that you two stream together. Whether you were playing a game or baking, they didn’t care. They just wanted to see the interactions.
Now here you are, getting everything ready to bake an apple pie.
“Yup! I’m ready.” You smiled at Kenma. You knew he was a bit hesitant to be on stream with you what you didn’t know was that it was because he just knew that it would be IMPOSSIBLE to hide the way his eyes soften when he looks at you or the way that he’s just so soft for you in general.
So as Kenma removed the ‘waiting’ screen, you two began to do your usual introductions.
“So we’re just gonna kinda start to do this and we’ll just keep an eye on the uh the chat, so yeah.” It was a little awkward as you instructed Kenma to peel and slice the apples.
“We decided to make apple pie because Kozu loves apple pie, it’s his favorite thing that I make. Especially in the fall when we go pick fresh apples.”
The chat exploded with fans cooing over the fierce blush that made Kenma’s cheeks glow. Some donations had come in, the text to speech relaying the messages along with them.
So far, things had been going smoothly. Kenma cut the apples and you showed everyone how to make the cinnamon filling. You grabbed your spoon and dipped it into the filling and brought it up to your lips, a satisfied hum leaving you as the sticky sweet concoction coated your tongue.
“Is it good?” Kenma inquired as he tilted his head to the side, a mischievous glint in his eyes as you enthusiastically nodded. “Can I taste?” You nodded but before you could move to dip the spoon back into the bowl, he gently took your chin in between his fingers and brought your lips to his, tongue cheekily licking at your lips before pulling away. You can tell that he had forgotten what you two were currently doing since he hadn’t cringed back or started to blush.
“Mmm it is sweet, almost as sweet at you.” There was a beat of silence before the donation notification rang throughout the kitchen and the robotic reading of ‘wow what a simp’ followed not long after.
You watched as his eyes widened and he flushed red, hands coming up to cover his face. You snickered teasingly, a blush matching his own was coming up your neck. Another donation with the note ‘didn’t know that kodzuken could be so cheesy’ and made Kenma shrink down to the floor and hide from the camera.
After that, you continued to show how to make the pie. Flattening out the crust that you had made prior to the stream and laying it into the pie tin, mixing the filling with the cut up apples and pouring the mixture into the bottom crust before showing how to lay a lattice crust on top, coating the edges with an egg wash and using leftover dough to make decorative cat ears and whiskers on it before finally slipping it into the oven.
“So uh why don’t we answer questions while we wait.” You suggested, glancing at Kenma who was currently eating the leftover filling coated apples. He agreed, moving further into frame.
Questions ranged from what your favorite tiktoks were to how long the two of you were dating. At one point, Kenma had started to introduce your two cats to avoid answering a question.
It was adorable.
Apparently, Shoyo had been watching the stream and decided to video call the both of you. Kenma was visibly relieved once all the questions shifted to how you two had become friends with one of Japan’s top volleyball players.
The steam had ended with you announcing that another joint stream was coming soon, one that would involve Kenma teaching you how to play Valorant.
“That wasn’t too bad was it.” You asked as you hugged Kenma from behind, resting your forehead on his shoulder, pressing a few kisses against his neck.
“Yeah, it was okay.” His voice was a little muffled since he was munching on some of the fresh pie. A small moan left his throat. “God this pie is delicious.” He shoveled another fork full into his mouth. “I’m gonna get fat if you keep feeding me like this.” He joked.
You rubbed your hands over his tummy, “I wouldn’t mind that one bit, you’ll still be my pretty boy Kozu.” You didn’t have to look at his face to see the bashful expression on it.
“You know that I’ll love you no matter what Kenma.”
He turned in your arms and cupped your face in his hands. “I know, I’ll love you no matter what...well maybe not if you cheat on me.” He squished your cheeks so your lips puckered up like a fish. “You haven’t cheated on me, right?” The tone in his voice was purely playful.
“Well about that…” your words were garbled but still understandable since he rolled his eyes.
“I swear to god, if it was with Shoyo I will murder you. We agreed he was mine.”
“I mean I was gonna say Ku-” his little glare cut you off. “I mean what, who’s that?”
The both of you fell into a fit of giggles before he leaned in to give you a proper kiss.
𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩 (open): @soul-of-rwby
#kozume kenma x reader#kozume kenma x gn!reader#kenma x reader#kenma x gn!reader#haikyuu x reader#haikyuu x gn!reader#kozume kenma#haikyuu fluff#streamer!kozume kenma x reader#fluffvember 2020#fluffvember
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Pairing: Aizawa x Reader
Genre: Fluff
Word Count: 876
Synopsis: You love lazy mornings with your boyfriend, but what’s even better is nice relaxing bubble baths with just the two of you.
He always loved mornings like this with a stream of light flooding through the windows, your bodies pressed against one another perfectly like pieces of a puzzle. You were fast asleep and for the first time, Aizawa had woken up before you.
His rough, calloused fingers delicately brushed a strand of hair out of your face and tucked it behind your ear. He couldn’t help but admire how serine you looked deep in your slumber. He would give anything to stay in that moment and to just watch you as your chest heaved up and down with each breath you took.
But the both of you had to be at work and the moment would eventually have to end. Still, Aizawa was allowed to take the next few minutes and admire your beauty. He leaned back down against the bed and nuzzled his cheek against your bare shoulder blade.
His stubble tickled you awake and your eyes fluttered open. “Good morning, Shouta,” you said with a lazy and groggy tone of voice, but at the same time there was a tint of happiness in their, happy to see him.
“I’m sorry for waking you.” He began to trail kisses from your shoulder all the way down your arm.
“It’s okay.” You turned around to face him and nuzzle your head in his chest. “What time is it?”
He placed a firm hand on the back of your head and tangled it in your hair. “About six o’clock. We have a bit of time before work starts.”
You lifted your head up to look at him. “Do you know what I want?”
Aizawa leaned down to kiss the top of your head. “I do, and I think it will take a long time to get ready.”
Your eyes sparkled up at him. “Does that mean no?”
He brought his fingers up to your chin and caressed your bottom lip with his thumb. “Only if you don’t hurry up and prepare it.”
You smiled and got up, rolling over his body with a heave in order to get to the bathroom.
“You know you could have just gone around the bed.”
“Well what’s the fun in that?” You slipped on your robe and went to run the water. Your fingers tugged on the faucet of the tub and wiggled under the stream of water pouring out. You waited until it was the perfect temperature to plug the drain and let it fill up. If there was one thing you loved doing with your partner of five years it was taking nice, long baths together.
While the clawfoot tub was filling up, you grabbed the bottle of your favorite lavender scented bubbles. Sitting on the edge, you poured the bubbles into the water in a nice long stream and watched as they puffed up.
“Shouta,” you called, peaking your head out the door. “It’s almost ready.” You walked back over to the tub and turned off the faucet. When the water stopped running, you could hear the foaming of the bubbles settling in and moving against one another.
Aizawa stood up from the bed and walked over to you, taking your hand and squeezing it in his own. Before getting into the tub, he grabbed a hair tie from the bathroom counter and pulled some of his hair back, keeping it out of his face and out of the water.
He walked over to the tub and sat down within the porcelain walls. He let out a sigh as the warm water relaxed his muscles. He opened his eyes and narrowed them at you. “Well kitten, are you coming in?”
Even though the lower half of his body was covered by the bubbles, you could tell that he was patting a spot on his thigh just for you. You slid your robe off and let it fall on the floor. Stepping in, you reveled in the warmth of the water and allowed your clammy feet to wiggle around in it.
When you had sat down in Aizawa’s lap, he smoothed his hands over your shoulder blades and rubbed them down your arms. The heat radiating off his chest and the warmth of the bath made you stick to him easily, almost like magnets.
“This is nice,” you moaned, sinking your head into the crook of his neck.
He leaned over to kiss your neck. “Is the water warm enough, kitten?”
“It’s perfect.” You tangled your fingers in with his and let the warmth overcome you.
“Don’t fall asleep on me now,” Aizawa chuckled. “We have an army of teenagers to teach in an hour. ”
You let out a deep sigh. “Can’t we let Mic take them for the day?”
“We could.” He let go of your fingers to trail his thumbs along your back, massaging out a few knots. “But I don’t really feel like owing him a favor in the future.”
“That’s a fair point,” you said, adjusting so he could have easier access to your back. “But don’t you never want this to end?”
“No.” He dragged you so your back was flush against his chest once again. Scooping up a handful of bubbles, he plopped them on your head. “I never want these moments to end.”
#aizawa x reader#aizawa shouta#bnha aizawa#mha aizawa#Shouta Aizawa x reader#my hero academia#my hero academia x reader#fluffvember#fluffvember 2020#bnha fluffvember#bnhabadass does fluffvember
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Fluffvember Day 21
Prompt: Making up after a fight
BakugouxGN!Reader (Third year)
Contains: Fluff, Soft Bakugou, Swearing
Y/L/N= your last name
F/N= first name
Word Count: 900+
Ry: Ah, yaes, more soft Bakugou content. Here we go with Day 21!
Bakugou stomped into class wearing a pad stuck to his cheek and scowl on his face, stomping his feet heavily with each step to his desk without a word.
“Dude, was it an accident?” Kirishima asked.
“A man-made accident,” he growls out.
Kirishima and Kaminari look at each other, ‘Ah, Y/L/N...’ they both think together.
“What did you do?” Kirishima asks.
“Tch,” the blond responds with only a grumble and a kick to the chair in front of him as others begin to come in.
“Woah, what's with Bakugou?” Ochako asks, standing next to you as the both of you come in together.
“Who cares?” you reply coldly, going to your desk and getting ready for the day. Ochako sits beside you with a confused and concerned look on her face.
Truth was, you had slapped the shit out of him and scratched his face after he had said some stupid shit.
The rest of the day goes similarly, you avoid him at every single turn, and even going so far as to force poor Kaminari to be your partner in PE. After classes, you leave immediately and make a detour so he can’t follow you. You then hole yourself up in your room, and invite Ochako to come study so you have an excuse to ignore his texts.
“What is going on?” Ochako asks you.
“What do you mean?” you reply, scribbling in your notebook as you pretend you have no idea what the brown haired girl was talking about.
“Between you and Bakugou!” she insisted, frowning. “Normally you’re attached at the hip but you have been avoiding him since this morning!” she said, leaning back against your bed and sighing.
You close your notebook and sigh as well. “He’s so possessive. And angry. He saw me texting Midoriya and totally lost his mind! I can have friends, and when I told him he can’t control me or what I do, he snapped back saying he felt the same way, that I was getting in the way of his training and here we are,” you tell your friend, frowning at the memory.
You could understand some jealousy, but Bakugou took it to a different level when it came to you. If guys so much as looked at you for too long, more than a second, he would yell at them or try to fight them. It was honestly becoming exhausting at this point.
“Wow, that’s rough. I’m sorry he feels the need to do that… I wonder if he got cheated on before…?” she says, then shrugs. “Probably not though, anyone would be too terrified to cheat on him,” she added with a laugh.
You feel an odd pang in your chest, sighing again. “Who knows? Maybe I should apologize…” you mumble.
“Nah, Bakugou definitely needs to apologize!” Ochako says with a laugh before you two go back to studying when you notice the time.
Once Ochako had left around 9pm, you had opened your phone and clicked on the messages, going through them. You hadn’t checked your phone all day besides to ask Ochako to come over. So, you went through all the other ones first before clicking on Bakugou’s name. Slowly, you scrolled and read his texts to you. One for nearly every hour he had been able to text you.
‘Are you just going to ignore me all day?’ 10am
‘Come on. I hate this.’ 11am
‘Seriously? Kaminari?!’ 11:30am
‘I FUCKING HATE THIS. STOP IGNORING ME!’ 1:20pm
‘Fine then, be mad you brat!’ 2:15pm
‘ANSWER ME DAMMIT.’ 3:00pm
‘Why are you still ignoring me?’ 4:10pm
‘Come on!’ 6:30pm
‘Teddy bear, please…’ 8pm
Fidgeting with your phone for a moment, you decide to text him back, even if he isn’t likely awake right now.
‘I’m sorry for hitting you...’ you type out, chewing on your lip before hitting send.
Your phone lights up nearly right away with an incoming message.
‘Can I please see you?’
‘Yes,’ is your simple reply.
Not even a minute later, there's a soft knock at your door. You quickly open it, feeling arms wrapped carefully around you, holding you close. Bakugou gently pushes you out of the doorway and closes the door behind you. He says nothing as he leads you to your bed. Sitting down with, he pulls you into his lap, facing him, he proceeds to bury his face into the crook of your neck.
You feel his breath against your neck, his lips moving but no sound reaching your ears.
“Hm…?” you hum, making it clear you didn’t hear him. He would have to say his apologizes out loud this time.
Pulling his head back and looking into your eyes, he looks as if he’s been crying.
“I’m sorry for losing my temper… again… with you…” he started, letting out a deep shaky sigh. “I know you’re not cheating on me.. But… I can’t stand when you get so close to that damn Deku.. He’s the one person I’m… worried about losing to… I always say stupid shit I don’t mean when I’m angry... Forgive me, firecracker?” mumbling so you could barely hear him, but loud enough to satisfy you. He was so bad at expressing his feelings, but he was doing his very best. For you.
Gently, you placed a hand on his head, playing with his hair sweetly for a few moments. You wanted him to let his apology sink in, and remember this feeling. It was nice to watch the powerful Katsuki Bakugou squirm under you.
“Hmmm, I’ll forgive you… but let’s try not to do this again, okay? You’re not going to lose me. To Midoriya or anybody...” you tell him, looking back into his crimson eyes. “I love you, Katsuki Bakugou,” you murmur.
He looks a bit startled, looking at you with serious, but soft eyes.
“I love you too, F/N,” he says, holding you closer to him. “So much.” he whispered into your ear.
#bnha#mha#katsuki bakugou#bakugou katsuki#bakugou x reader#bakugou x y/n#bakugou x you#bakugou x self insert#gn reader#Fluffvember#fluffvember 2020#making up after a fight with bakugou#soft bakugou#applepiry#applepiry.content
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♡ f l u f f v e m b e r 2 0 2 0 ♡
♡ week one — kageyama tobio | long-distance relationship
♡ summary — getting into a relationship with kageyama was close to impossible, that you knew. nevertheless, that didn’t stop you from developing feelings for him and eventually becoming more than friends. he was constantly training and didn’t have a lot of time to spend by your side, but once kageyama found himself remembering your laugh on his way home, he decided to do whatever it took to make the relationship work.
♡ playlist
the moon song - beabadoobee & oscar lang
home - bruno major
blueberry eyes - max & suga
♡ masterlist ♡
Every morning, Kageyama wakes up at the same hour. He puts on his running shoes, grabs his phone, keys and earphones and hits the streets. It’s been his routine since he started playing volleyball. While he ran, Kageyama preferred to keep his mind focused in his steps, the weight he was putting on his heels and toes, his heart rhythm and his mind replaying the sets he had done the day before. He didn’t see running as something he did before he trained, but as part of the training itself. Kageyama was very adamant against listening to music or a podcast during his morning runs.
Everything changed after he met you.
Kageyama puts on his earphones and goes through his mail inbox. Like most days, he sees your name on his most recent unopened email. He downloads the audio attachment and presses play before shoving his phone back to his pocket.
“Good morning Tobio!”
His lip twitches upward.
“So, you must be sleeping right now. Which sucks! Because I just got home from work. Yes, I got safe, don’t worry. Mika and her boyfriend dropped me at my place right now. Remember Mika, my coworker? Yeah. Hey boyfriend always picks her up when we have shifts until one in the morning and they drive me home. I’m kind of tired right now.”
Kageyama hears a long yawn on your side, followed by a thud that he imagines it’s you laying on your bed.
“Let me put on some music,” you say, and a few seconds later he listens to a tune he thinks he’s heard before. “Today’s classes were just okay. I got a grade back but it wasn’t what I expected.”
“But, what can you do?” Kageyama mouths along with your voice.
“Work was also okay. Mika and I spent most of the night talking, she had had a small fight with her boyfriend and asked me for advice. It wasn’t really a big thing, you see…”
The next few minutes, Kageyama listens to you ramble about your friend and her boyfriend, but he has to admit he is paying more attention to your voice than what you were saying. He imagines himself watching you talk and the expressions he had seen you make the first time he had seen you. The tip of your tongue sticking out between your teeth after you laughed at something you shouldn’t have laughed about, the slight pout on your lips as you talked about something you didn’t like or the attentive way your eyes fixated on him while he talked about volleyball.
“Anyway, I know you don’t really care about this,” you say. “But it’s really nice to imagine you listening to me talk during your morning runs. Is it already cold there? I hope you put something on if it is. Not trying to tell you what to do. I know you, more than anyone, take your health very seriously, but I guess I can’t help but worry,” you chuckle. You stay quiet for a moment, and Kageyama basks in the comfort your silence provides.
His mind goes back to those Sunday nights when he’s watching past games on his laptop while he’s face timing with you. You are usually taking a cup of coffee, trying to forget you’ve only slept five hours after getting home from your shift at the bar. You know he has to get to bed in a couple of hours so he can get enough rest for this Monday practice, so you treasure those small moments when the time difference and both your busy schedules let you share a moment. Kageyama’s eyes are fixated on his laptop and you take the opportunity to revise some of your lessons, most of the time finding out there was a paper due next week you had forgotten about.
Every once in a while you take a look at your phone and see Kageyama’s dark eyes glued to his laptop. You bury your nose on the Schweiden Adlers hoodie he sent you last month and even if your boyfriend’s smell has almost completely worn off, you still find comfort in wearing his clothes.
When Kageyama comes back to his house to get ready for training, your voice is no longer in his ears. You always made sure not to surpass the usual time he spends running. He takes a look at the dual clock on his phone and realizes you must be still in class, so he refrains from sending a text and hops on the shower.
The fourteen hour difference between the both of you had seemed like a wall impossible to climb. Not only that but his intense training schedule plus your uni classes and your part time job also took most of your energy and it was a rare occurrence that you could sit in front of a computer at the same time.
But the connection was something he had never experienced before. He had been invited to a foreign university overseas for a tournament. The day before it started, the team had gone to the campus to get to know the facilities, and after they were done, Kageyama had left them to buy something to drink from a vending machine. Not being able to find any, he asked for directions and took the elevator to the cafeteria, not noticing someone carrying a couple of books under their arms standing next to him.
Now it seemed almost fate to remember how the elevator malfunctioned and he had to spend the next two hours with you. After pressing the Emergency button and being told it would be a while, you introduced yourself with a smile. He wasn’t really enthusiastic about getting to know each other but it all changed after he mentioned he was there because of a volleyball tournament. Kageyama can still remember your eyes widening and the questions that followed, all centered about his true passion. A few minutes later, you were sitting on the floor of the elevator, while he explained in broken English every position in volleyball and what they were supposed to do. Even though you hadn’t played any sports seriously outside of school, the fact this guy was talented enough to get invited overseas to play had spiked your attention, and you asked question after question so you could understand more about volleyball.
“So the setter is basically the key player, right?” you had asked, while he scribbled on the notebook you had lent him so he could explain.
Kageyama tried not to smile. He really did.
After you asked him about the tournament schedule and wrote down the name of his team, you promised you would do your best to make it to the game. Kageyama had never really cared about people coming to his games to watch but, once he had won the first game as was leaving the court, his eyes unexpectedly met yours and he saw you waving at him for the bleachers with a smile. He nodded at you and as he disappeared through the gym door he thought maybe someone going to see his games wasn’t so bad.
One week later, Kageyama’s team had won the tournament, and since you had asked for his number while waiting inside the elevator, you offered to buy him something from the cafeteria after the final match. This time, he took the time to listen to you ramble about your career, and how enthusiastic you were about it. He didn’t understand most of the things you talked about, most of your words sounding foreign and new to him. But the one detail he did recognize at first glance was the way your pupils dilated while you spoke. Your hands moved faster than usual as you tried to explain, and you even used the salt shaker on the table as a prop to help you out. The glimmer in your eyes was the same nature as the burn he used to feel in his chest whenever he talked about volleyball. You promised to stay in contact and gave him a small but tight hug when it was his time to leave. He hoped you didn’t notice the pink tint on his cheeks before you went away.
Your love confession came two months after he was back in Japan, followed by the longest and hardest conversation the two of you had ever had. He explained his strict training schedule and you talked about your university increasing the hardness of the classes you took and how little time you had left. A long silence filled the room, and you realized maybe you should have kept the confession to yourself. It was never going to work. There were too many impediments so maybe it would have been better to push down whatever you felt. In the end, you two weren’t supposed to meet and--
“I’d like to try it.”
You can still remember the blush on his cheeks and furrowed eyebrows after blurting out those words. You smiled brightly at him and nodded, enthusiastically.
“I’d like to try too.”
It had been one year and six months since then. To find someone who not only understood his crazy schedule but was passionate about their own work felt surreal to Kageyama. Your plan was to finish your career in your home country and then move to Japan. You had been auditing the Japanese classes at your uni and taking a part time job to be able to support yourself as you settled in a new country. All of those changes meant less time to be able to talk with Kageyama as much as you did before. He assured you he understood, even if he would never admit out loud he missed you as well.
The situation prompted you to find other ways to feel close to him, hence why Kageyama woke up almost every day with a new audio file from you. You went from talking about your day to making him listen to music and even took the chance to practice your japanese. His English listening skills had also gotten better in the past year, all thanks to talking with you and how you would slow down your pace and repeat yourself if he ever needed to. While you recorded your audios after work, he usually recorded his after practice while he walked home from practice. Even if he was always a little worried about the length, you always made sure to send him messages about how happy you were to hear his voice while you ate your lunch or walked to your job after your classes.
Kageyama finishes his shower and comes back to his room. He gets ready in less than ten minutes in silence, knowing he doesn’t have any time to spare if he wants to get to the practice in time. Winter break is a month away, and he wants to give his best before he’s forced to step away for a couple of weeks. He has never liked holidays stepping in his routine, but he knows there was nothing he could do but endure and wait for his training to resume.
Before he leaves, Kageyama checks his phone again and opens the newest email.
Congratulations! Your flight booking is confirmed.
Okay, maybe he is looking forward to winter break after all.
#kageyama x reader#haikyuu x reader#fluffvember#fluffvember 2020#kageyama tobio#kageyama tobio x reader#hq x reader#hq kageyama#kageyama#haikyuu!!#haikyuu#hq!!
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Bonfire
Fluffvember Day 30: Bonfire - Dabi (gender neutral reader)
Summary: The League has a bonfire night and Dabi just might confess
Tags: alcohol mention
Word Count: 514
masterlist
-----
The fire crackled and sparks danced around the clearing, waves of heat warming your skin. Tonight the League was taking a break to let loose, tomorrow the real business of war began. You’d been with the League for a while, doing mostly solo missions, but in recent weeks you’d been going on missions with Dabi and you’d like to think that you were getting closer. Everyone in the League largely kept to themselves, it was standard practice, but there was still some semblance of camaraderie there.
There were a few conversations going on, the majority of the League were standing or sitting around the fire but Dabi was off a ways, leaning on a tree acting like he was too good to join. You grabbed two beers from the cooler, and walked to his side, offering him one. He took it without a thank you, that wasn’t his style, but you didn’t mind. That’s just how he was, indifferent to the world, driven by motivations you couldn’t even begin to fathom. “Why are you all the way out here?” You asked, after a few minutes of silence. Dabi took a sip of his beer, “Because I hate all of you.” You snorted, sipping your own beer to wet your throat. “Right back at ya pretty boy.”
Your companion chuckled at your comment, he couldn’t pinpoint why, but after this, if you made it through this, he hoped you’d stick around. For all the grief he gave you, he didn’t really hate you, except on the nights when you were gone; then he hated you for leaving. He probably wouldn’t admit the depth of his feelings, but you’d grown on him in your various missions together. Sometimes he’d miss your scent after it faded, and he found himself missing your corny jokes.
Not that he would know, but you were feeling the same way. You knew that Dabi was a hardcore villain and had killed several people in his quest for whatever he was working towards, but something drew you to him. Maybe it was his eyes. You took a peek, then looked away before he could catch you staring.
“Hey kid.” He said, clearing his throat. You turned to look at him cautiously, “Yeah, what’s up?” He smiled softly, one you’d never seen before, and ran his fingers through his hair. “If we make it through this, do you think you’ll stay?” You blinked, that was certainly an unexpected question. “Stay? What do you mean?” He frowned and leaned his head back on the tree. “With me? Do you think you’ll stay with me?” You felt your heart speed up, was he really asking you this? Instead of giving him your true answer, you intertwined your hands and put them behind your back, stretching to feign nonchalance. “I dunno, can I give you my answer after we get through this?”
Dabi smiled, “So that’s a maybe?” You gave a slight nod, and Dabi extended his bottle to you. Clinking them together as a sort of promise, you returned to the group. Here’s to maybe.
#fluffvember 2020#dabi x reader#dabi fluff#gender neutral reader#alcohol mention#aurora borealis#planet fluffvember
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fluffvember 2020
˗ˏˋ event masterlistˎˊ˗
in an attempt to let out my overwhelming feelings, manage the great amount of time on my hands, and most importantly, challenge myself, i had impulsively decided to participate in fluffvember for mha and hq characters!
seeing as, this is a first for me, i don’t think my body could handle all thirty days. to compromise, i constructed 10 one shots (including, a bonus one for december 4) for this month!
➳ the theme for this event is ariana grande’s discography ! only cause i couldn’t stop listening to pov over and over again without feeling feelings which just spiraled into marking all of her other songs that make me feel some typa way
➳ schedule: dates are indicated beside the titles! no specific timezone to be followed !
what to expect:
01 “bring the bitter taste to a halt” | Nov 2
➳ inspo: sweetener with sugawara koushi
➳ synopsis: With the little to no experience you had in the kitchen, what could go wrong with your attempt to bake pastries for your lovely boyfriend, koushi?
02 “it feels so right” | Nov 6 > Nov 9
➳ inspo: right there with kirishima eijirou
➳ synopsis: first dates are always nerve-wracking, but having spent it with eijirou felt so right
03 “you got my heart, don’t know how you did it” | Nov 9
➳ inspo: the way with iwaizumi hajime
➳ synopsis: it’s in all of the ways that you love each other and unapologetically show it to the world.
04 “hurry up and come back” | Nov 13
➳ inspo: thinking bout you with takami keigo
➳ synopsis: one of the things you love about keigo was his dedication to his job, which is why it pains you to miss him on the days he’d been away for so long.
05 “sweet like candy” | Nov 16
➳ inspo: moonlight with akaashi keiji
➳ synopsis: you were convinced that keiji had some magic up his sleeve with the way he’d leave you breathless after every touch.
06 “go ahead and drive me insane” | Nov 20
➳ inspo: stuck with U with shinsou hitoshi
➳ synopsis: you had enough of your family’s prying mouths and nosy nature. In an attempt to evade the usual “do you have a boyfriend?” question, you ask hitoshi to be your fake boyfriend for a weekend.
07 “grab your lover’s hand” | Nov 23
➳ inspo: piano with miya atsumu
➳ synopsis: being in a relationship with atsumu makes you wanna dance like no one's watching, which you were, only to be joined by a wonderful surprise
08 “from your point of view” | Nov 27
➳ inspo: pov with bakugou katsuki
➳ synopsis: katsuki had always amazed people with his ambition and raw talent. you knew who he was as well, a hothead, can be a bit of a jerk (most of the time), but what was something only you could witness was his capablilty to love every bit of you.
09 “why'd you have to be so cute?” | Nov 30
➳ inspo: goodnight n go with kuroo tetsurou
➳ synopsis: you know this. you know his games, his charms, his playful flirting, but it seems impossible to ignore such persistence, especially when you had such a weakness for huge nerds like tetsurou.
10 “my baby’s in town” | Dec 4
➳ inspo: winter things with todoroki shouto
➳ synopsis: your first christmas with shouto didn’t go exactly as planned, but you get the most out of it knowing you were determined to do winter things with him.
ms ari has so many songs that i could’ve used, but i could only do so much...i hope i’ll be able to do this justice! im excited!
maybe if i do well enough, i could make an angst masterlist of her other songs cause better off, bad idea, nasa, one last time, just a little bit of your heart, and almost is never enough be staring at me like yes
#fluffvember#fluffvember 2020#haikyuu!!#my hero academia#boku no hero academia#haikyuu imagines#my hero academia imagines#haikyuu one shots#my hero academia one shots#sugawara koushi x reader#eijiro kirishima x reader#iwaizumi hajime x reader#takami keigo x reader#akaaski keiji x reader#shinsou hitoshi x reader#miya atsumu x reader#bakugou katsuki x reader#kuroo tetsurou x reader#todoroki shouto x reader#fluff#kuroosonetouch's fluffvember
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all you wanted was a banana cake but you also made a successful, albeit messy, red velvet someway.
fluffvember track 09: food fight
word count: 1575
warnings: mentions of fire & of burning a whole house that is all
notes: idek my exams are tomorrow but letssss gooooo
FLUFFVEMBER MASTERLIST
“Do banana cakes have frosting?” You ask Tendou as he stirs the batter of your banana cake, his apron matching the crimson shade of his head. You can’t help but admire him under the 8 AM sunlight filtered through your glass windows in your tiny apartment, his red hair and red apron standing out from the white background of your kitchen.
Tendou hums, looking up from the bowl to you. “Depends. Why?”
“Nothing,” you shrug, “all the banana cakes I’ve had when I was a kid were from this local cake shop and they’re all sliced. The carrot cake, too.”
“So you’ve never had a whole carrot cake with the frosting?”
“Nope,” you say, pouting and shaking your head side to side, smiling slightly to yourself as Satori pours the batter into two rectangular pans. For a chocolatier that only tried this recipe with you because you kept pestering him the moment you woke up, you think this experiment will end up good. You sure hope so or all your effort will go to waste.
Tendou taps the side of one of the pans and calls you over, tipping his head slightly at the side. “Do the honors of putting your precious banana cake in the oven.”
You originally wanted a carrot cake (one with frosting and like, a real cake) but it was so early you didn’t have enough energy for a quick early morning grocery run, so you ended up making a banana cake instead with what’s left of the banana sitting in your kitchen counter.
Picking up the pans, you crouch down in front of the oven and place them neatly inside, humming happily to yourself as you close it and click it on, satisfied at the sounds of the machine.
“There,” you stand back, rubbing your palms on your black apron, “we wait 30 minutes, right?” You ask Satori for confirmation because you really aren’t sure. You didn’t bother to read the recipe because Tendou was there to read it for you. All you did was mix whatever he told you to.
It’s not that you’re lazy. Not really. But the trauma of setting your kitchen on fire never quite left you. At eight, without any adult supervision, you almost set your whole kitchen (and house, probably, if your parents had not come home any sooner,) on fire. All you wanted was some omelet but somehow got distracted. You didn’t know the kitchen was on fire until you heard ceramics break. Walking back in the kitchen, you saw the ceiling and your cupboards (both the floating and the lower ones) on fire, the reason why the plates and glasses fell.
You’d never talk about how bad you got reprimanded for that.
Since then, you never cooked on your own, much less stay inside the kitchen, unless you have someone with you. It’ll take a lot of convincing for you to open the stove or light a candle inside your home.
“You could just make this on your own,” Tendou says, opening your fridge and taking out an orange juice box.
Scoffing, you get two clear glasses from your floating shelf. “As if. You’d never see me start a fire inside this home ever.”
“There aren’t any fires involved,” he says obviously, raising an eyebrow at the oven holding your banana cakes.
“No, thank you. What if I forget or whatever? What if it decides to, I don’t know, malfunction? I’d hate to set this whole apartment on fire, you know?”
Satori just chuckles at your little rant, pouring you both a half glass of orange juice. He’d once complained to you why you only have orange juice and not pineapple or cranberry or apple. Orange juice is the only juice you can stomach ever.
“If you had a longer attention span then you’d probably be a chef right now. An omelet at eight? Pretty impressive.”
You scowl at him. “Yeah, pretty impressive of me to almost turn our whole house to ashes. So talented of me!”
Tendou laughs, downing his juice and moving toward the sink. He starts piling the dirty plates and containers in the corner.
“You’re lucky you never got to－”
The banana sure will taste good if it ends up right because the batter is sweet on your lips, courtesy of Satori smearing it on you after dipping his fingers on the leftover batter on the bowl. Licking your lips to clean it off, you glare at him, eyeing the bowl that he put next to him.
“Tastes good?” He asks, holding back his laughter, scarlet eyes shining in mirth. You say nothing but you do quickly scour off some portion of the batter to your finger and wiping it on his cheek. You throw your head back at the light yellow color contrasting his pretty pale complexion.
“Tastes good?” You mimic, scooping some more and painting his chin and jaw with the sticky mixture. There’s a smirk playing at the ends of his lips and you should have seen it coming but the slimy feeling of the leftover eggs being thrown at your collarbone area is absolutely disgusting. A shiver whacks through your whole body as it trickles down the inside of your shirt and on your chest.
“Satori!” You complain, a scoff and a laugh merging into an absurd sound, laying a palm on your skin to somehow rid of the egg but you just shudder. “This is cheating!”
Tendou moves on the other side of the island, clutching a bowl of whatever leftover ingredients you had. “It’s not!” He giggles, clutching a handful of flour and flicking it on your face. A surprised gasp finds its way out of your lips, blinking repeatedly as you try to see through the power caught on your eyelashes.
A sudden idea for a payback lights up in your head as you whine. “Satori, I can’t see.”
“Oh, really?” He muses, clearly unconvinced. But you make an act of rubbing your closed eyelids and trying to blink your eyes open which you purposely don’t fully open, another whine of complaint coming from you.
This time, Satori relents. He puts down his bowl of flour on the marble top and makes his way over to you, a guilty expression on his face. He coos as he stands close, hands gentle as they hover over your face.
“Let me see,” he says and behind you, you grasp whatever it is you first touch, hoping it has something in it or else your act of revenge will fail. Gripping the container tight around your fist, you bring it forward and shove it on Tendou’s chest. He steps back, aghast, feeling his clothes soak in the water. You aren’t content though so you shove the rest of what’s left in the pitcher, this time on his face. His red eyes are wide in shock as he looks at you.
“Y/N,” he bemoans, a hand wiping the water off his pretty face, “this is cheating.”
“It’s nooooot,” you sing, shaking the pitcher on your hold tauntingly, moving away from him in case he tries to get you soaked too by hugging you. You place the pitcher on the island beside his bowl of flour, picking a handful and throwing the powder at him. A cackle slips past your throat at how he looks, cakes with flour that is sticking to his face because it was wet and the right side of his cheek and jaw a little uneven from the batter you smeared on it earlier. “You look really pretty, Tori,” you snicker.
“I bet,” he grins, winking at you and even holding up a peace sign in the air.
“We’re taking pictures after!” You announce, grabbing an egg and hurling it toward him, which he quickly dodges. The egg lands on the wall, slipping down the tiles in a yellowish goo. Damn him and his quick instincts. There’s a victorious, “hah!” from him, grabbing the banana peels on the counter and chucking it at you, hitting you square in the face.
“There you go,” he smiles, stealing the bowl of flour and grabbing a handful on his left hand, a handful of batter on his right. He molds the two to make it like a little snowball, the little ball barrelling in your direction. You barely step away from it, catching you by the neck. Your scream from the impact slowly bleeds out into loud peaks of laughter, head thrown back with a hand on the fridge door for support.
“Please, please no more,” you beg between giggles, eyeing Satori as he closes the distance between the two of you. His arms quickly make their way around your waist, his own laughter spilling past his lips.
He raises his eyebrows with a smile on his face, eyes shining. “You surrendered when I took most of the blows?”
You laugh harder, wiping his face clean with your palms. “You look like a badly made cake,” you wheeze.
“I’m your badly made cake,” he says, leaning his face closer to yours. With giggles still erupting from within you, you tip your head back away from his face.
“A red velvet one,” you grin, hands coming up at the back of his neck, playing with the red strands of his hair. Satori hums, pecking you once, twice, until you’re laughing again because he managed to smear what was on his face to yours.
this was late (and uh, a little all over the place) but whatever hahdiejdjd
#i am so behind smh#tendou satori#tendou satori x reader#tendou fluff#tendou angst#tendou headcanon#haikyuu#haikyuu fluff#haikyuu angst#haikyuu headcanons#fluffvember 2020
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09:03 am || iwaizumi hajime
➵ iwaizumi can’t find his favourite jumper.
wc: 831
warnings: implied f!reader? maybe? can be linked to tiny love if you so desire
a/n: yue my love, this one’s for you. i’m not sure if you’ll see this, but if you do, i hope you’ll enjoy (sorry it’s shorter hhh). i value and appreciate your honesty and how willing you are to discuss and stand up for your thoughts. believe it or not, but i’ve learnt a lot from you. and, most of all, thank you for not only sharing these things with me, but also for supporting me in turn. i adore you and your feral racoon energy dksjklfdj
Iwaizumi likes to think that he’s good with the cold. He rarely complains about it – he rarely complains about anything, actually – and he’s done plenty of morning runs to know what cold really feels like.
But even he’s susceptible to a chilly five degrees. And the one thought running through his head during his jog back from his morning classes is that he really, really should’ve brought a jumper.
His warmest jumper was a good six years old, bought absentmindedly at the beginning of a particularly cold winter. It’s only grey, and so well-worn that the inner lining was soft as that Godzilla plush he’d coveted when he was six (not that he let anyone know about that). Iwaizumi isn’t the type to get too attached to physical things, but there’s something about that jumper that rooted a deep attachment to it in his mind.
Maybe he felt it symbolised something. Maybe all the memories he’d had in it had weaved themselves amongst the cheap fabric. Wither way, there was something sentimental about it.
After all, it had persisted through half a decade, and proved itself worthy enough to fly across the Pacific Ocean with him.
Twice. He’s gone through the laundry twice. And not a peep of that beloved grey sweater.
He sighs, rising to full height. There’s no chance he left it at uni, is it? No, but he didn’t take it to this morning… And he’d seen it the other night. He knows he put it in the wash.
He grunts, stalking out the laundry with clenched fists. How hard was it to find one jumper? Sure, any other jumper would do, but now it was about the principle.
He frowns as he approaches your door, not quite sure what he’s planning to ask you. Maybe you’ll have a more observant eye than him, if possible.
He knocks on your door thrice, as he always does.
“Come in!” You call, your voice light and cheerful. He’s glad, at least, that you seem to be having a good day.
He opens your door with a sigh, stepping into your exceedingly warm room. Your little heater appears to be working overtime, planted next to your desk but somehow emanating throughout the entire room.
You swivel round on your chair, eyes round and curious as you look at him.
Iwaizumi’s breath catches in his throat.
You’re perched on your seat with your knees drawn up to your chest, tucked under… his jumper.
Oh fuck. Oh shit.
“Everything okay?” You ask, tilting your head at him.
That just made you cuter. Shit—
“Uh, nothing,” he shakes his head.
“You sure?” You blink at him, a little baffled.
He wants to curse himself out.
You shouldn’t be so cute, just sitting there. You’ve made no effort to look ‘nice’, with messy hair and bags under your eyes, but somehow that adds to your charm.
But you’re gazing at him so innocently, in his jumper, like there’s nothing strange about it. And perhaps it is, in your mind. But his heart is saying otherwise. You look like you belong in it; like this is something so natural, so expected that he shouldn’t even so weird about this.
“Yeah,” he says, suddenly remembering that you’d asked him a question. “Good luck with your work.”
“Thanks,” you smile.
His ribs feel like they’re about to crack.
He nods, turning around. You’re out of sight, but you’re certainly not out of mind. He can tell that image of you in his sweater, as innocuous as anything and certainly not as big a deal as his body is making it out to be, will plaster itself at the back of his mind for a long time to come.
An ill-advised thought zips through his mind as he leaves. He stops at the threshold of your room, his back still turned to you.
You frown a little. Is everything okay?
I’m a weak, weak man, he thinks to himself. The heat in your room is unbearable now, but his desire to say the next few words are even more so.
“Keep it,” he says, looking at you over his shoulder. “It looks good on you.”
The words would’ve been enough for you to combust on the spot.
But it’s the little smirk that really does it.
Has your room always felt this warm? Or is it finally time to turn your heater down? Because your face feels really, really hot. A ‘I need to dump my head into a bucket of ice’ kind of hot.
You hadn’t intended to steal his jumper. It was just the first thing you’d found in the laundry this morning that was clean and looked warm. You’d planned to put it back before he got back from university; you’d just lost track of time.
But it’s yours now, apparently; even though it smells so much like him. That was one of the reasons you’d absentmindedly picked it up.
Oh, shit.
You’ve got it bad.
#iwaizumi x reader#iwaizumi hajime x reader#iwaizumi x you#iwaizumi hajime x you#iwaizumi hajime#haikyuu x reader#tiny love#fluffvember 2020
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⤷ Day 4: Atsumu Miya + friends to lovers
Synopsis: you’re in love with your roommate and best friend, Atsumu Miya... and maybe he feels the same way too
Word Count: 839
Pairing: Atsumu Miya x fem!reader
Fluffvember Masterlist
When you decided to move in with the idiot Miya Twin, you knew your life would be full of messy nights and unintentional babysitting.
But you didn’t expect the nights where he would fall asleep next to you while watching a movie, his face the gentlest of expressions. You also didn’t expect the days where he would return home from practice only to have picked you up some mochi despite his exhaustion. Perhaps that is why you had fallen in love with the idiot Miya Twin, because he always was more than that.
So even as you were picking up his sweaty jersey off the living room floor of your shared apartment, you couldn’t help but grin at the surrealness of it all.
Your best friend was currently playing one of the biggest matches of the season and you had chosen not to go despite his desperate pleas because you had to study for a huge exam coming up.
You could envision your setter’s determined face as he set the ball to Hinata with perfect timing because of all the previous games you’ve been to in the past.
After cleaning up Atsumu’s mess and tidying up your own bedroom, you check your phone to see 7:00pm reflecting off the screen. Atsumu should’ve been done by now but knowing him, his team won and they were going out for drinks. You heaved a sigh and prepared yourself for drunk Atsumu, the worst of them all.
Another hour passed before the door creaked open and a sloppy looking Atsumu wobbled in only to meet your stern face with a cup of water in hand. His face lifted into a dopey smile and moved to embrace you before you placed a hand in front of his chest, halting him in an open-armed position.
“Water first,” you said, your voice demanding and full of control and he obliges, taking the cup of water from your hand and gulping it down with ease.
But this Atsumu wasn’t like the other wild and irresponsible drunk Atsumus you’ve faced. This one was gentler, calmer, and a bit subtler with his advances.
You snap out of your daze and make your way to the kitchen to make him a sandwich to soak up the alcohol. You’re rummaging through the fridge when you feel a familiar hand on your waist. You’re yelping as you turn around to face a strange looking Atsumu in front of you.
Atsumu pins his hands on either sides of your head, trapping you in your spot between him and the now closed fridge.
“Do you like me?” He asks, eyebrows furrowing and you almost think he’s being serious.
Instead, you’re lightly pushing against his chest and smiling nervously, “ok lover boy, you can kabedon me another time.”
But Atsumu stays firm, refusing to let you go until you’ve answered his question.
“I’m being serious—“
“You’re drunk…”
“But these feelings are real!” Atsumu blurts out.
You’re not sure what to say as you search his eyes for any sign of insincerity. When you can’t find a trace of it, you drop your hands and let him continue.
“Fuck all the hiding. You think I haven’t noticed all the times you’ve cleaned up my messes or made me dinner when I couldn’t even pick myself up from practice. Or even the times you cheered me on at matches regardless of how busy you were…” he trails on, “and it killed me that you didn’t come see me win today.”
You didn’t realize how hard it had become to breathe until he finished his rant. Atsumu has never been this transparent with you in his life. Sure, he’s told you things here and there, being his best friend and all, but this was something entirely different.
“And what if I said yes, I do like you?” You ask in barely a whisper.
“Then I’d never let you go,” he responds in the same volume and you know he’s about to pass out, which he does.
You lug his 6’2, 177lb body onto the nearby couch with whatever strength you could muster (and it took you awhile yes, but you got there) and laid a blanket over him.
He really does look so innocent and adorable when he’s asleep and you couldn’t help but think about his words tonight. You know this boy like the back of your hand and you know that the way he acted tonight was genuine.
You kneel down to level with him and plant a kiss on his forehead, “guess what tsumu? I do love you. Sweet dreams.”
BONUS: you awoke to a very cocky Atsumu boasting about how he remembered the whole thing and that it was all part of his meticulous plan to get you to confess… and it worked! You roll your eyes as he proceeds with a diabolical laugh and trudge out of bed to make breakfast. What you wouldn’t do to shut this boy up. Good thing you love him and yes, he loves you too.
Fluffvember Taglist: @kenmakodzu @millie-mint @mrs-kuroojinguji @m0omo0 @hajibee @todoroki-vivian @galaxyvixen-blog @haiikyuuns @woah-there-cowboy-or-cowgirl @stargirlara @sachirou-senpai @celamoon @macchiatoast @cowbeboppy @astrxrism @avis-writeshq @tsanimefic @katsushimaa @bbakougo @luvkeigo @e-wwis @fee-btheweeb @a-bakuhoe @patricia-ceballos @imnothere-butiam @emsvegetables @animatedarchives @cherrycolaxo @blushingbaka @churochuu @bulba-baby @abuliawrites @kacchansmc @yuueisteria @findityourselffsworld @shibayamasbae @tamaguchi @archivednikes @tpwkatsumu @haiikyuuns @zoamour @madskaay @thesecondapplepienation @doodleniella @xx-tiny-dinosaur-xx @deephasoceanmagic @tetsujime @trippiekay @waitforitillwritemywayout @kellesvt
#haikyuu!!#atsumu miya x reader#miya atsumu#atsumu miya#haikyuu x you#haikyuu x reader#hq atsumu#haikyuu atsumu#atsumu imagines#atsumu scenarios#haikyuu#atsumu x y/n#atsumu fluff#haikyuu imagine#fluffvember#fluffvember 2020
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FLUFFVEMBER DAY 29: KATSUKI BAKUGOU
prompt: sleep (prompts are by @jojosmilktea)
word count: 1,071 words | themes: fluff bruh dhdhhd
tags: @kacchanori @chickynn @todominica @sparkleswritings @brinthie @patricia-ceballos @giyuus-wife @bitchtrynafck @astrxrism @animatedarchives @deephasoceanmagic @strawberrysalwa @kawaiinishii @moonlightaangel @mrs-kuroojinguji @meliorist-midoriya @pandabobachan
rv: second to the last fluffvember!! this is an hour late but i’m also running out of time for my schoolworks !! thanks so much for the continual support for my fluffvember i hope you liked at least a few of them !!
✒︎ than the other nights
katsuki never sleeps late.
he is very disciplined and most people are quite surprised when they learn that katsuki's sleep cycle is the best that one could attain. one of those people is you. you—the insomniac one.
although you never told it to anyone, not that you needed to. it was an information that seemed to be not deemed vital for a person to know in your eyes—even your closest friends.
no matter how much the others kept seeing your state; the bags under your eyes, the slump on your back, the exhaustion on your face—they asked but they never verified any further. you’re glad they never did, actually. at least that way, it was not difficult for you to hide it.
"(y/n)-san have you been sleeping late?"
"yeah, is it that obvious, midoriya-san?"
"ah-no it's alright! do rest more next time, (y/n)-san!"
surely, it was never your intention to keep it a secret. it just so happens that you hate bothering people with the problems that are not their own. it's exactly the same with how you treat your other problems for it truly terrifies your heart to be a burden to other people—not that they blatantly say you do.
it was one cold night again. a lonely, sleepless night like any others before it. your eyes were wide awake, as if you weren't already that tired from doing so. thoughts swim all over your mind relentlessly, keeping you from shutting your brain out for you to properly have a sense of peace that you've been attaining for.
your inosmnia comes by every once in awhile. sometimes you get to sleep easily, but most of the time, you don't. barely could you remember the times that you could slip on your bed and instantly have a good night's sleep. it's that rare and ancient.
taking a deep breath, you glance at the clock by your bedside, seeing the all so-familiar numbers that you frequently see whenever you do end up glancing at the time. sometimes, you don't even bother doing so for it just frustrates you how much time you were wasting from doing nothing.
reaching for your gadget that laid just beside the clock on your bedside table, your eyes squint at the intense light the phone brought, opting you to lower the brightness in an instant.
as far as your mindless scrolling goes, interest doesn't seem to come by knocking on your mind's door at almost everything your eyes had scanned upon. this is never too unusual for you anymore. in the end, you'd just let go of your gadget and end up standing to grab a drink from the kitchen. by then, your light footsteps silently tap on the floor as you exit your bedroom quietly, heading towards the said destination without any hesitance.
one thing about having to have no sense of sleep for several nights is that the dark doesn't matter you anymore. you didn't mind having to wander alone even if you've heard countless of horror stories your whole life. it doesn't seem to faze you anymore, not now that you've done midnight walks all alone, for lots of times.
"the fuck are you doing here, dumbass?"
but that sure did made you jump from fear.
"b-bakugou?" you stuttered, turning to the man standing rather comfortably next to the fridge, the light from the appliance illuminating a few portions of his figure, making it slightly better to see in the dark.
he spoke no further as you went to his side to grab a bottle of milk that you discreetly hid behind the other contents of the fridge early on. as soon as the light from the fridge vanished, you placed yourself next to bakugou, who has now leaned himself to one of the kitchen counters, a glass of water on hand. it made you curious as to how you'd find someone at around 2:54 AM, more so when it is bakugou himself. he always prided in how he always slept early, you now wonder if it was unintentional of him to still be awake or not.
"what are you doing here, bakugou? i thought you sleep early." you tried to strike in a conversation, and for a second there you thought that he'll spit out an insult or a couple of harsh words but he didn't. however, he did not answer your inquiry either.
"so it's true then. you don't sleep at all, dumbass."
well, technically he did still call you like he usually would, but there was a certain softness in his voice that rarely have your or others have heard before. it did indeed surprise you, although your mind is too hazy with the lack of sleep and energy to do so that you doubted it was very much obvious in your facial expression.
another sigh escapes your lips before it touches the straw that was punctured to the milk carton, muttering afterwards with, "it's not that i don't want to. i just can't."
bakugou was silent once again, and in that silence, you found a peace that you didn't expect to find in him. it was calming, nonetheless—to have someone with you in the middle of the night. even without talking to each other, you felt much comfortable and less jittery than any other nights you spent alone.
"i'm heading up now, brat." bakugou removes himself from the counter after placing the empty cup, separating himself as he steps away from you and the kitchen.
you were about to tear your eyes away from him and relish upon the fact of being alone again when his voice invades your ears, still with the same vocabulary that only he understands, but they instill the same softness that you'd heard from him that night.
"what're you staring at, dumbass? come on, i'll bring you to your room before i change my mind."
a small smile curls ever so swiftly by your lips, a rush of temporary energy surging in your veins as you push yourself off of the counter and made your way next to him. even if you didn't have any sort of bond before, you were quite sure that it will sooner change, even as this night and moment goes or passes away.
and maybe tonight, you might have a peaceful sleep than the other nights.
there were no certainties, but there's nothing wrong with hoping that it would happen.
#katsuki bakugou#katsuki bakugō#bakugou x reader#bakugo x reader#bnha x reader#fluffvember 2020#fluffvember
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here's my official masterlist for fluffvember!! I'm very very excited, special thanks to @shinaus for helping me fill in some of those empty spaces
all fics will be gender neutral unless stated otherwise
✨taglist is open✨
Day 1: baking together - streamer!koiizume kenma
Day 2: petrichor - teacher!sugarawa koushi
Day 3: apple picking - kiyoko shimizu
Day 4: first date - mirio togota
Day 5: pumpkin patch - yukio okumura
Day 6: bonfire -todoroki shoto
Day 7: coffee shops - ushijima wakatoshi
Day 8: harvest festival - kyoka jiro
Day 9: bookstores - oikawa toru
Day 10: stolen hoodies - sokka
Day 11: afternoon naps - tendo satori
Day 12: movie night - rin okumura
Day 13: corn maze - denki kaminari
Day 14: childhood friends - edward elric
Day 15: study date - maka albarn
Day 16: 3am drives - soul “eater” evans
Day 17: banana pancakes - mezo shoji
Day 18: fireplace - aizawa shota
Day 19: moonlight - death the kid
Day 20: tea shop - zuko
Day 21: hot chocolate - asahi azumane
Day 22: first meet - aone takanubu
Day 23: all nighter - sero hanta
Day 24: pumpkin carving - kyoutani kentaro
Day 25: cuddling - shinso hitoshi
Day 26: family time - aizawa shota (platonic)
Day 27: cinnamon - tamaki amajiki
Day 28: roadtrip - tsukishima kei & yamaguchi tadashi
Day 29: foggy glasses - tenya iida
Day 30: honey - yachi hitoka
#bnha x reader#mha x reader#haikyuu x reader#blue excorsist x reader#fullmetal alchemist x reader#soul eater x reader#blue excorsist#fullmetal alchemist#soul eater#fluffvember#fluffvember 2020
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