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aquilathefighter · 1 year

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Fluffbruary 24: Needle

Find all my @fluffbruary ficlets on AO3 here!

Fandom: The Sandman (2022)

Relationship: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling

To put it simply, getting used to mortal clothes was a pain for Dream. For all his life, his clothes were dreamstuff, as much a part of him as any other part of his manifestation. There was no difference between the fabric of his jacket and his skin. All one unified being.

Since his retirement, he no longer has the power to summon clothes with a thought. When he first moved in with Hob, he dragged him to department store after department store, trying on itchy denim and polyester that brought him to tears in the changing room.

At first Hob didn’t understand. Why was he so upset at clothes? Hob never had any problems; anything was better than the rough materials he wore once upon a time.

When they finally arrived home, Dream explained how painful all the different fabrics and textures were to his newly human skin.

“For so long, my clothing was part of me. I find most textures… unappealing to my skin. It brings me close to…” Dream trailed off, searching his memory for the appropriate word. “Close to a meltdown, I believe.”

“Ah, I understand now. It’s a sensory issue. Come to think of it, I’ve got a colleague who’s mentioned the same type of thing. Let me shoot her a text and see if she’s got any ideas, alright?”

Dream nodded his head minutely, then buried himself in the soft blanket on their bed. Underneath, he’s cloaked in Hob’s clothes, soft and worn from years of use. The t-shirt he’s borrowed is a gaudy yellow, the smiley face screen-print virtually gone. He tore the tag out after Hob told him it was his now. It’s too big for his frame, the sleeves hitting his elbows and the hem covering most of his thighs. He prefers not to wear trousers when he can. The material irritates the sensitive skin of his legs, and they feel too restrictive on his body. It would be nice to have his own clothes, though.

Hob came back into the room, holding two cups of tea. Dream poked an arm out of the blanket, grateful to accept the beverage. Hob sat on the edge of the bed next to him.

“Okay, she messaged me back a list of fabrics that are generally approved for folks with your same issues. I see two options: one, we go back to the shops and look at every single tag until we find the right material, or two, we head to the fabric store, and you pick out what you like. I’ll make you some clothes. I do know how to sew, did a stint as a tailor once.”

Dream stared at Hob, deciding. The store-bought clothing would perhaps mean less labor, but more time spent out in public with loud strangers, bad music over tinny speakers, and the relentless buzz of fluorescent lighting. On the other hand, he’d have more control over the homemade clothes, no itchy tags and clothing perfectly fit to his specifications. But he doesn’t like making Hob do so much work, the man is busy enough as it is.

“I should prefer the clothing you would make me, beloved. If it is not too much.”

Hob wrapped an arm around him, squeezing Dream to his shoulder. Dream dropped his head to rest against Hob’s comforting warmth.

“Of course it’s not too much, Dream. I wouldn’t have offered it if I didn’t want to do it.” He pressed a kiss to Dream’s hair. “I want to do these things for you because I love you. I want you to have clothes that don’t make you want to put your head through a wall. And you don’t owe me anything in return, remember that.”

Dream nodded, trying to make himself believe it as hard as it is.

☆ ☆ ☆

They returned from the fabric store with several bags’ worth of fabric. All of it black, per Dream’s preference. They spread the cuts on the floor, sorting jersey from fleece, bamboo from linen. Piled alongside the material are skeins of yarn, lovely thin-weighted cashmere that Hob will knit into comfortable cardigans and seamless socks.

Dream has chosen several patterns that were to his preferences. Looser fits and elastic waists so he didn’t need to deal with the discomfort of buttons and zippers pressing against bare skin.

“It is a comfort that I will have much control over the fit of these garments,” Dream said when they were done organizing their haul.

“Glad to hear it, dove. I’ll have you try stuff on a bunch before it’s done. Hope that isn’t too annoying,” Hob chuckled, used to the complaints of clients.

“How could I find such a labor of love an annoyance?”

Hob blushed. “Dream, you can’t just say stuff like that. How-how am I supposed to work in these conditions,” he laughed.

“I will assure you that I will provide many breaks,” Dream said as he scooted closer to Hob on the couch. Hob relented to his advances, planting a kiss on his lips.

“Insatiable creature. I do want to get started on this tonight, so back off, foul tempter!” He nudged Dream as he hopped off the couch. “Hmm, shall we begin with this pattern?” he asked, holding up the package for a simple v neck shirt. Dream hummed in approval.

“Hop up, I gotta measure you. And be good, mister.”

Dream stood, staying still and patient as Hob manipulated the measuring tape about his body. Hob scribbled it all down in a fresh notebook that was to live next to the sewing table, which Hob had eagerly set up earlier in the day.

“All done! Why don’t you order us some take away while I get started cutting out the pattern?”

☆ ☆ ☆

While Dream headed down to meet the delivery driver outside, Hob began to set up the sewing machine. A fresh needle, new black thread loaded in the bobbin, the room awash in bright light so he could see in front of him. Hob had missed sewing with the machine. He would sew by hand on occasion, mending tears and quickly patching tears in his jeans, but the purr of the sewing machine was a different animal entirely. He been so excited when the first machines came out, you could make a new garment exponentially faster than ever before! People took it for granted these days. Hob preferred a simpler machine with just a few stitch settings, but still had an electric motor. He’s a man of modernity, after all.

Dream returned with the bag of food, tantalizing smells wafting through the door. Hob lifted up the presser foot and pulled the garment away from the machine, snipping the tails of thread with his tiny scissors. He held it up for Dream’s inspection.

“What do you think so far? I’ve only done one side and I’ve done the seam allowance as tiny as I can go.”

“Your skillset holds no bounds, Hob.” He gave a tiny smile, the kind that’s only for Hob’s eyes.

“High praise,” Hob grinned. “Now, what’d you get me?” He wiggles his fingers as he moves toward the table.

☆ ☆ ☆

Dream has become used to the rattling of the needle, up and down and up and down, interspersed by Hob humming or scolding the garment for not behaving or yelping when his thumb catches the end of a pin. The background noise is soothing as he goes about his day, reading or preparing a snack for Hob or working on his own projects. He’d expected it to be grating, like most machinery. But the sewing machine is not a screeching brake or rumbling jackhammer. It is a friend, a kindred spirit, another family member in the little home he and Hob have built for themselves. He is not jealous when it takes Hob’s attention, because Hob loves him. He is certain of this. And as his wardrobe has grown, he has felt the love in every stitch, every dart in his jackets, the neatly trimmed seams that don’t irritate his skin. Hob enjoyed creating these for him with nothing expected in return. Hob was pleased when he stopped insisting on doing something for him after every finished garment was handed over. He believed relationships were always an exchange until Hob. Until his labors of love and the friendly hum of a Singer.

#fluffbruary #dreamling #hob x dream #dream x hob #aquila writes #autistic!dream of the endless

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kittttycakes · 1 year

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you know what, anon? I didn’t love my original fill for this, and it sparked something in me, so have some smut under the cut

10. Breathe again.

Contents: Hob Gadling x OC (Grace), referenced Morpheus x OC (Grace) x Hob Gadling. Corsetry, specifically tight-lacing, used for kink purposes. 0.9k

“Breathe again,” Hob said, and Grace tried, managing more of a gasp than a true inhale as Hob pulled steadily at the lacing, drawing the corset more tightly around her. She could feel the press of the boning, firm against her even though the fine linen of her shift beneath, and she shuddered when she felt Hob press a kiss to her shoulder, his fingers deftly tying off the laces and tucking them away.

“Perfect,” he said against her skin, his hands coming to rest on her waist. Hob had always run warm, the heat of him a steady presence against her back, and she leaned into him, looking up. This had been a bit of her own idea and a bit of his (and, admittedly, a bit of Morpheus’s as well, to do so in the Dreaming, where no harm could come to her—and, she suspected, where he could feel it, too. She could tell, now, when something was made of dreamstuff, and the silk brocade beneath Hob’s fingers undoubtedly was.), to put her in something Hob had rather fond memories of, and that she had always been curious about, although this was rather more extreme than anyone might have done for everyday wear.

Grace tried to take a full breath, and found herself unable to, the rise of her chest impeded by a wall of beautiful spring green silk and cream coutil. She knew, intellectually, that had she been used to it and had she not been quite so tightly laced, she would have been able to breathe with ease. That wasn’t entirely the point.

The point became incredibly clear when, thighs bracketing Hob’s waist, shift bunched around her hips, hands braced on his shoulders, she was unable to catch her breath with the rise and fall of her hips. Held perfectly between breathlessness without becoming dizzy, every sensation approached near overwhelming intensity: the grip of Hob’s hands on her hips, helping her move on him; the press of his body against hers, the warmth radiating off of him in waves; the press of his cock inside her, positioned in such a way to make her nearly see stars each time she sank down on him.

She closed her eyes, attempting to hold on, her nails digging into his shoulders, but this only served to make her more aware of his voice, the steady stream of words that had not let up since they had fallen into the bed together.

“You’re so wet, love, you’re practically dripping. Can feel it, feel you, all the way down your thighs. Do you think you could come like this? Just this, with you bouncing on my cock and not a hand on you?”

“Please—”

“Please what? Please touch you? Please let you come?”

“Hob,” she managed, voice caught in her throat in half a sob.

“Am I being cruel to you, my darling girl? Come however and whenever you like, love. I’m not stopping you.”

She was so close, nearly there, but something was missing. Grace pulled one of his hands from her waist, guiding it between her legs instead, and the moment his thumb pressed against her, she came, nearly crying, his name the only word she could remember. She couldn’t catch her breath. Every point at which they were touching became electric, and he was still touching her, thumb moving in tight circles, and she sobbed, tears gathering at her lashes but refusing to fall, as she clenched around him, coming for a second time.

She reached for his wrist with clumsy fingers, thighs shaking, still managing an unsteady roll of her hips. He laughed, staying exactly as he was.

“Oh, love, you didn’t think we were done, did you? I told you I wasn’t stopping you,” he said, the maddening press of his thumb unrelenting. “I never said anything about me.”

If she wanted him to stop, really stop, she knew exactly what to say. She thought she might truly cry if he did. Despite having come twice already, in short succession, she wanted, aching with it.

“I want,” she began, gasping, unable to find the words or the breath to continue, and that was enough, wasn’t it? Didn’t that tell him everything he needed to know?

“Tell me, and I’ll give it to you. Anything you want, you just say the words and it’s yours.”

Grace’s nails dug into Hob’s shoulders, hard enough to leave a mark, had they been in the waking world. She rocked against him, uncertain whether she was trying to take more from him or push him away. Perhaps it was both. Everything was just so much.

“More,” she managed, at the exact moment Hob’s hand shifted and he pinched, not hard, but enough to feel. Her entire body was one nerve, she thought, raw and pulsing and oversensitive, as she cried out, tears at last spilling, and came so hard she swore she saw stars.

When she came back to herself, slowly realizing that, yes, Hob was still gently moving her in his lap, both hands now on her hips and bouncing her as easily as if she were weightless, Grace realized they were not stars at all, but Morpheus’s eyes. He stood beside the bed, one hand possessive and cool on the back of her neck, watching both of them, and she let out a soft, wanting noise, hands already reaching for him.

More, she had said, and she meant it, the word on her lips even as Morpheus bent to kiss her. She had never understood the meaning of moderation anyway.

#oc: grace talbot #ot3: the dream team #hob gadling x oc #morpheus x oc x hob gadling #kittycakes writes #this is just unedited smut #but did I have a good time? oh yes

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drarrily-we-row-along · 3 years

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Day 111: Smile

"Auror Potter! Auror Potter!" the wizarding press started shouting the instant the doors to the Wizengamot opened following the trial, and Draco watched as Harry's shoulders stiffened. "Smile for the cameras!" one witch shouted.

"Tell us about the case, Auror Potter!"

"How did you catch Hollister?"

"What's the status on your relationship with Ginny Weasley?"

"Smile!"

He watched as Harry carefully put on a mask of indifference, making his face pleasant and amiable in the way that only someone who has spent years in the public eye is able to do.

Harry held up a hand, "Thank you for your interest in this case. We're asking that you respect the Griffiths Family's privacy as they go through the aftermath of this harrowing ordeal. Alden Hollister has been brought to justice; I will leave it to the court reporter to give you more of the details."

The reporters started in shouting at him once more, asking all sorts of questions both professional and personal.

"Sorry," he said, "If you'll excuse us please. Auror Malfoy and I have had a very difficult few days and we're long overdue for some rest," he added, chuckling amiably at them. "Thank you," he nodded. "Good night."

Without waiting for anything else, Draco reached out and grasped Harry's elbow and apparated them out of there and back to the apparition point just outside the Ministry. They had to apparate home separately, Merlin knew the press would have a field day if they knew the full truth about the nature of their relationship.

(Read more below the cut)

Members of the press were waiting by that apparation point as well, Draco watched a tremor of unease sluice up Harry's back. He was sure that he wouldn't have suspected a thing if not for how long he had been watching Harry Potter. Sometimes he wondered if he knew Harry better than Harry knew himself.

Harry held up a hand but Draco beat him to the punch this time. "Move," he snapped, pushing his way through the press but keeping Harry half a step ahead of him so they couldn't suck him in. "Auror Potter's already given an interview to your insipid colleagues. The DMLE and the Wizengamot will be issuing official statements within the hour, I suggest you wait for them."

They were followed into the lobby but fortunately the reporters couldn't come any further and within a few moments they were ensconced in the relative safety of the elevator.

Once they got inside, Harry leaned back against the back wall and let his head fall foward while Draco hit the button to their floor before joining him.

"Thanks," Harry murmured.

"Don't mention it," Draco replied, reaching across the gap between them and hooking their pinkies together.

He released his finger the floor before theirs and stepped away, "What do you still have to do?" he asked.

"You're submitting the report, right?"

Draco nodded, "It's just about done. I'll need a few minutes to finish."

"I just have to straighten up my desk, then. I'll head home first."

The elevator dinged and the door opened onto their floor, Draco gave Harry a little nod and they stepped out.

Harry was done straightening his desk and putting things away in ten minutes and he stood and stretched before patting Draco congenially on the shoulder. "Nice work, Malfoy," he said. "I'll see you in two days. Enjoy your couple of days of recovery," he added.

"Thanks, Potter," he replied. "You, too."

He didn't let himself watch Harry leave, didn't let himself look at his retreating form to analyze what he was feeling and thinking. No, he went back to finishing his report and after another fifteen minutes he was done as well. He dropped the report in Robbard's mailbox and headed for the apparition point, knowing that Harry would have used the floo network to avoid as many reporters as possible.

Fortunately, the reporters left him alone for the most part and he reached the apparation point without incident. A heartbeat later he was standing in their entry way, breathing in the comforting scent of home, the warmth seeping into his bones and washing away all of the tension and stress.

He kicked off his shoes, tucked his bag into the closet, and hung up his cloak before turning and heading into the kitchen. Harry was standing over the hob, cooking chicken tikka masala by the smell of it, and that told Draco everything his needed to know about how draining this case had been on Harry.

Harry only cooked after a case when he was especially frustrated, when he was desperate to care for someone, to fix the hurts he was able to, to heal. He ached with how much he loved the other man.

"Hey," he murmured as he wrapped his arms around Harry's waist and hooked his chin over his shoulder. "Smells good."

Harry leaned into him, "Good," he replied, setting the wooden spoon down and turning his head to press a quick kiss to Draco's lips. "How are you?" he asked softly.

"Tired," Draco replied honestly.

Harry hummed and turned back to his rice, pulling down the jar of jasmine and adding some. "Me too."

"I'm going to open a bottle of wine," he said, pressing a kiss to Harry's shoulder. "White okay?"

"Sure," the other man replied, giving him a worn, weary smile.

Draco opened the wine and set the table, getting everything ready while Harry finished preparing the food.

"Dinner's ready," Harry said, bringing over the rice and chicken tikka masala, and a batch of naan that he'd had under stasis for a moment like this.

"Thanks," Draco replied and the first part of dinner was quiet, companionable, like it always was.

Then, once Harry was almost done with his first helping he started to talk. "Godric, I hate those vultures," he grumbled before taking a sip of his wine. "Can you imagine how heartless you have to be to stand outside of a court to ambush someone after the kind of case we just finished?"

"They're awful," Draco agreed.

"I always wish I could tell them to fuck off," he added, shaking his head.

"What a sight that would be," he said with a laugh. "I'd give my entire vault at Gringotts to see it. Can you imagine their faces?"

Harry laughed too, "It sure would be something." But then after a moment he said, "What's happened to me?"

"What?" Draco asked, panic spearing through his chest. "What's wrong?"

He shook his head, "No, nothing like that," he said, soothingly. "Sorry. It's just," he paused as though he was trying to put his thoughts in order. "When I was seventeen I would have told them to piss off in an instant. I would have told them that they were heartless, soulless leeches without hesitation."

"You've just learned to be more diplomatic," Draco replied, tearing off another piece of naan to soak up more of the tikka masala.

"But why?" Harry asked. "I'm sick of it. It's exhausting."

Draco nodded, "I don't doubt it. But I'm sure even you would get in trouble for telling off the press like that. You are the Ministry's Golden Boy, after all. You've got quite an image to uphold."

"Why do we do this job, Draco?" he asked suddenly.

Draco blinked, their conversations after a case usually centered around the case itself and Harry's guilt for not being fast enough, clever enough, etc. "Well, when we started, you wanted to catch bad guys, save people, the works. And I wanted to redeem myself, do some good for once, and piss off my father."

Harry swallowed down the remainder of his glass of wine, "I hate it."

"What?"

"Being an Auror," he said. "The only time I'm ever happy is when I'm with you, the only time I feel like I'm actually me is when I'm with you." He shook his head, "I don't know how I became this person. How I became someone who could put on a fake smile and be polite to people who are such arse holes."

"What are you saying?"

He blew out a breath, "I want to stop." Running his fingers through his hair he said, "I don't want to do this anymore."

"Alright," Draco said, covering Harry's hand with his own. "We'll quit tomorrow."

"We?" he asked.

He nodded, "Ninety percent of the reason that I am still an auror is to keep an eye on you."

Harry leaned in to kiss him, both of them smiling so widely that it made kissing rather difficult. "What'll we do?" Harry asked.

Draco shrugged, "Let's not rush into anything."

"Alright," Harry agreed, bringing Draco's hand to his lips and pressing a kiss to his wrist. "I'm sure whatever we decide on will be good, as long as we're together."

"I love you," Draco murmured.

Harry smiled and squeezed his hand, "I love you, too."

And even though he didn't quite know what tomorrow would bring, he knew that everything would be okay.

---------

Day 110: Rough | Day 112: Intimacy

#100 Drarry Drabbles in 100 Days #established relationship #auror partners #love #drarry #drarry ficlet #drarry drabbles #fluff #my writing #secret relationship

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amjustagirl · 3 years

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CHAPTER 1 - TAKING FLIGHT

Fic Summary:

The sky Oikawa Tooru’s heart seeks is a world away from the earth yours is buried in. You are a fool to trust him with your heart anyway.

Where Oikawa Tooru does not make it to Argentina straightaway.

Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 // Chapter 3

Icarus, Icarus, I must be blind not to see you long to touch the sun.

Updates every Monday

Pairing: Oikawa Tooru x you, Oikawa Tooru x fem! reader

Genre / Wordcount : Angst (5.6k words)

Warnings: One non-explicit bedroom scene

Masterlist link here!

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“Home sweet home ”, Tooru declares grandly, throwing his hands out with the air of a conqueror bursting with pride at the sight of his domain.

Never mind the fact that the apartment looks like it’s been hit by a tsunami of cardboard boxes and scattered bits of furniture. Or the fact that you’re covered in sweat and grime from lifting boxes and shifting furniture and you’d very much like to lie down and not get up for the next week or two, but you can’t because of the never ending list of things to be done - unpacking your belongings, filling in your enrolment paperwork, attending medical school orientation to attend.

But his words wash away the tide of anxiety lapping at the edges of your mind.

Tooru wept and gnashed his teeth when his parents refused to let him chase his dreams to Argentina, and not a single professional team in Japan even looked his way. Don’t be ridiculous, his parents told him with wagging fingers, especially when Chuo University sent a full scholarship his way.

“It is the top school for volleyball” you pointed out, as he spent yet another hour lying flat on his back, eyes swollen from spent tears. “You could go there and grab everyone’s attention by being their starting setter for the next four years.”

He does not respond. You wonder if he’s waiting for the paint on the ceiling to crack.

“Plus” you add slyly. “I’ll be at Chuo with you.”

This catches his attention. “What d’you mean”, he mumbles, throat still sandy with salt.

“I got into medical school there”, you tell him , the smile on your face growing when he finally hurls himself bodily at you, both of you toppling off the bed and onto the floor.

“You’ll be there with me?” he whispers in disbelief.

You laugh wetly into the crook of his neck. “Every step of the way”, you declare, slipping your hand into his.

You’ve both transplanted yourselves from your childhood home in Sendai to a tiny apartment in Tokyo, a veritable hole in paper thin walls. Your hearth is a pair of rusty iron hobs, and your bed is a cheap mattress on the floor, but sunshine spills in from the windows like liquid gold and Oikawa Tooru’s hand is warm in yours.

You wonder what you’ve done in your past life for the gods to smile down on you, to bless you with a boy you love in a place you can both call home .

You’re not usually this sentimental, but just this once, you tug him down towards you, stealing a kiss from him. “I like the sound of that”, you murmur against his lips. “Our home, Tooru”.

He chuckles, wrapping his arms around you. “Do you love me?” he asks, with a smile that cages your beating heart in his calloused hands.

You are young. You are eighteen. You know nothing of the world. You know nothing of life.

So you reply - “More than life itself”.

He kisses you with languid ease, stealing the very breath from your chest. You tell yourself you have four years to work up the courage to ask if he loves you as much in return.

“Medical supplies are expensive, so stop coming here to ask for cold presses that you don’t need”, you tell Oikawa Tooru, Captain of the Volleyball Club and currently a veritable pain in your ass for constantly hounding you during your shifts at the school’s sickbay.

You resist the urge to sigh when he throws himself onto the cot, groaning dramatically - “How mean! You and Iwa-chan are the same - brutes, all of you! What’s a guy gotta do to get some tender love and care, especially when he’s injured?”

You cast a doubtful eye at the bandage over his right knee. “Iwaizumi said you recovered, but I guess if you’re really still injured…”

Oikawa grins, sensing victory in sight. “So you’ll give me a cold press and let me rest here during class?”

You drop said cold press onto his knee none too gently. “Sure - though..” your voice trails off, you tap your chin thoughtfully. “That would mean you’re not cleared for practice. I’ll send a note to your coach.”

Gotcha.

It’s your turn to grin when alarm dawns on Oikawa’s face, his eyebrows pinching together as he waves his hands at you, pleading you not to mention a word to his coach - pretty please with a cherry on top, he forgot to do his homework cos he was staying up late to watch volleyball videos last night and needs a place to hide, and you’re the kindest, bestest, person on earth if you let it slide this time, his knee is fine, just fine -

You glare at him, unimpressed.

He pouts, with the largest puppy dog eyes he can muster. Even you are not immune to his charms.

“Fine”, you say flatly. “Just once.”

He thanks you, promising never to darken the doors of the sickbay again without cause.

Of course, he breaks his promise the very next day when he sidles in just before practice, dropping a milk carton and a bun on your table.

“An offering to the maiden of this shrine” he answers teasingly in response to the question in your furrowed brow, trying his best to exude arrogance and saunter off, though his efforts are defeated by the pink tint to the apples of his cheek.

Oikawa Tooru, huh. You wonder.

You and Tooru are drawn into the ebb and flow of university life. You wake up with him by your side each morning, kiss him on the cheek before you both head your separate ways. In a fit of fancy, you imagine that your front door is the portal to different worlds - a little like the enchanted door in Howl’s Moving Castle, a movie Tooru used to make you watch with him on repeat. When you step through it, you find yourself in the humdrum world of medical school - anatomy classes, stuffy professors, scalpels and knives. Whereas when Tooru steps through it - like the titular wizard, he bursts like a fiery comet into a wholly separate, magical world of whistles and drills and volleyball practices.

Your worlds never collide in the day, even though from time to time, you sneak into the gym to watch him practice, unbeknownst to him. Typically, you only see him at night. Dinners are prepared together, shoulders jostling over the kitchen counter to cook rice and produce sourced from the supermarket’s discount bin, before you both huddle over homework. More often than not though, Tooru prefers to spend all his time crouched over his laptop, earbuds on, watching endless streams of volleyball matches.

“Aren’t you ever tired of volleyball?” you ask when you see him analyse yet another video - Argentina versus Japan this time.

You already know the answer before your question leaves your tongue but you ask it anyway, amused when he squawks in indignation and knocks over your cup of tea in his hurry to exclaim - Sick of volleyball? Him, Oikawa Tooru? Never!

Of course, you knew that. Chuo University is the top collegiate team for volleyball, so the coaches demand nothing but the best from their players. You watch by the sidelines as Tooru grinds his body into dust at volleyball practice, coming home every night with sore tendons and aching bones. Balancing a full business course load on top of that would stretch anyone to their breaking point.

Anyone normal that is, because Tooru revels in his hectic schedule.

You attend his first match and you’re blown away by how much he’s grown from being transplanted from barren soil into rich earth. The unerring confidence he’s already shown in his high school days blossoms into an elegant ease. His athleticism grows by leaps and bounds, his game sense sharpens, his sets learn true grace.

He claws his way to a starting position with bloodied fingernails, in blatant disregard of anything that might stand in his way. He builds his own wings, starts to take flight, the light in his eyes shining brighter and brighter the closer he flies towards the sun.

He is no longer the simple school boy you fell in love with from Sendai.

“Will you go out with me if I win our next match?” he asks suddenly, lifting his gaze from the video he’s watching from his usual corner in the sickbay.

“Do I look like a prize for some school boy’s grudge match?” You snipe back, head bent over your homework.

“It was worth a try”, he hrumphs.

You hide a smile.

“I would go out with you even if you lose”, you tell him, though you do not lift your eyes from paper and pen.

A laugh bubbles from his chest - surprised, delighted, triumphant.

“I better make sure I win then. So you don’t change your mind.”

He did not win that game, losing spectacularly in the finals in his second year against his fated rival - Ushijima from Shiratorizawa, a specter that still looms unti over every match he plays in up to today.

True to your word, you sat on his doorstep, waiting for him to return home red eyed, throat raw. You let him drop his aching head into your lap, and like a maiden comforting a weary warrior, you pressed a kiss to his forehead as a balm to his wounds. Then you dragged him by the hand to your favourite ramen stall, ordering two bowls of tonkatsu ramen, with char siu, bamboo shoots, spring onions and gyoza on the side. An inauspicious first date, but you consider yourself lucky nonetheless for having him beside you.

Things are different now. You are blind not to see him long to touch the sun.

No one is surprised when Chuo University wins nationals. The only surprise to the media (but certainly not to you or anyone from Miyagi for that matter), is that Chuo University brings home the trophy with Oikawa Tooru as it’s starting setter.

The boy king finally reaches the national stage.

Even then, he is always, always grasping for more .

“You were amazing!” you gush, as he finally breaks through the triumphant huddle of his teammates to swing you into his arms and greet you with his customary kiss. “I’m so proud of you!”

His eyes glitter as he laughs, giddy with delight, face flushed with pride. “It’s just college, princess. Wait til I go pro”.

Like Ushijima, you think, though that name remains unsaid.

Wax feathers had already started to sprout from the knobs of his spine back in high school, budding beneath your fingertips like a cancerous tumour. Back then it was easy to be wilfully blind to them, but now it's become too obvious to be ignored. Oikawa Tooru’s ambition lies spread eagled, naked beneath the blinding lights of the sports hall. He has only just tasted his first real victory, crossed the first hurdle separating him from his dreams of greatness.

“I’m waiting for that day then”, you respond teasingly.

You only realise later that you lied. He's left the confines of your arms in his quest for the skies.

You laughed when Tooru first broached the idea of sneaking out at night to gaze at stars in the sky. ‘What nonsense’, you’d said. What are the chances of seeing stars amidst the light pollution from a city, even a relatively minor one like Sendai?

“You’re being a meanie, just like Iwa-chan”, he pouted. He kept whining until you gave in.

Tooru picks you up from your home past midnight, chuckling when you label his rusty bicycle ‘a contraption from hell’ and ask him archly whether he truly expects you to entrust your wellbeing to the tiny rack meant to function as the pillion’s seat.

“Stop being a princess, it isn’t as if I can magick a seatbelt from thin air” he teases.

“Howl could”, you point out.

“Well, I could strap you on with my bicycle chain if you prefer”, he answers blithely. “Get on, stop complaining”.

He pedals all the way uphill to the deserted park near school, whining all the way about the strain the extra weight (you) puts on his knees (lies, all of them). You’re torn between pointing out that he chose to drag you out in the middle of the night and kicking him off the bike and commandeering yourself home instead. You choose instead to slap the back of his head.

“Ow!” he squeals. “Brute!”

“Hmph”. You fold your arms in satisfaction.

When he finally finds a spot perfect enough to commence his stargazing adventure, he stops the back, spreads a picnic mat and hands you a flask of hot tea.

“I don’t see any stars”, you say, after fifteen minutes of sitting, stiff and cold in the dark.

“Don’t be impatient! The clouds will clear up soon”, he says, squinting hopefully.

The sky remains overcast.

You sigh, the breath expelled from your nose forming your own personal cloud. You are accustomed to Tooru’s quirks, his all consuming passion for volleyball, his love for all things outer space. You decide to indulge him a little, just once.

“Why don’t you pretend we can see the stars and tell me your favourite thing about each one?”

He brightens up visibly.

“You won’t be bored if I did that?”

You prod his nose, but your eyes are fond. “Have you ever bored me?”

His chest swells. “I suppose not”, he crows, and proceeds to trace the constellations with elegant fingers, spinning stories and conjuring random facts about celestial beings you cannot see. You find yourself enthralled, not by his words, but by the lilt in his voice and depth in his eyes.

“Why d’you love the stars so much?” you ask.

“Did you not just hear anything I’ve just said?” his voice teeters dangerously close to a whine.

You click your tongue against your teeth. “I mean – trivia and myths aside. Why are you so fascinated by what are essentially flaming balls of gas and light.”

“The shallow answer is cos they’re pretty.” He says, laughing airily, before turning his gaze to you, the stark intensity in his eyes causing goosebumps to prickle the back of your neck. “But if my lady here is searching for a deeper answer, well. Aren’t stars the ultimate embodiment of the dreams of all humankind? Even as we strive and fail towards our petty goals, the stars are always there to remind us to look up and reach for the sky”

You flick his forehead. “Pretty words, for a pretty boy”.

“Hey!” He scowls indignantly before he perks up. “Wait - did you see that? There’s a star!”

The sky clears just enough for a pale light to peer through a gauzy cloud. You do see it, and it is indeed beautiful, but your attention has already been captured by the boy beside you. And Tooru being Tooru, naturally notices.

“Why’re you staring at me instead of the sky?”

Perhaps you’re drunk on the magic of midnight skies, perhaps you want to uncover the mystery of his smile yourself. Perhaps that explains why your eyes soften and why your words fall short of a whisper.

“Because you are my sun, my moon and all my stars”, you say. “I like you better than anything in the sky.”

His mouth slackens and for a moment, his eyes are tender before his laugh breaks your flight of whimsy, and you bury your face in your hands, hot with embarrassment.

“Forget I ever said that”, you plead.

“Never!” he cries. “I’m going to remind you how cheesy you can be for the rest of your life!”

You end up having to kiss him to shut him up.

In his second year, Sakusa Kiyoomi joins his team. Tooru finally meets someone who meets his impossibly high standards to fill Iwaizumi’s place as his ace.

He’s literally bouncing on balls of his feet when he comes home after the first practice.

“He’s so prickly and unfriendly but his receiving his top notch, and his game sense is fantastic, and best of all the spin he gives to each spike makes me drool - especially when I see the look on the other side’s faces when they try receiving his ball for the first time - ha ha! ”, he talks at you at breakneck speed as you both prepare dinner, side by side at the cramped kitchen counter.

“Mmhm”, you reply, head thinking of the multiple lectures you attended today, the homework and readings you must do tonight to stay abreast.

“-it’s his wrists, they’re so flexible it nearly made me puke when I first saw him stretch them”, he continues for the rest of the night, heedless of your wavering attention.

You meet Sakusa at one of the few team parties you actually attend. You nearly stumble over him when you try to hide in your usual corner with a plate of food in your hand, watching as Tooru flutters around like the social butterfly he is. His nose and mouth are hidden behind a face mask, but even you can tell he’s uncomfortable to be around so many people, so you tug at his jacket sleeve gently to lead him away from the crowd to a seat at the top of the stairs.

You don’t expect him to speak much to you, if at all, but to your surprise, he initiates the conversation.

“He doesn’t take good care of himself”, Sakusa mutters. You nearly miss his words over the pulsing beat of the music.

“Who doesn’t?” you ask - though you already know who he’s referring to.

“It’s unhealthy, the way you push yourself”, you tell Tooru, hands on hips, standing at the door to Aoba Johsai’s sports hall. You hardly intrude here onto Tooru’s sacred space, choosing instead to stay in the library to study until he’s done with practice and you can both walk home together. But practice has long ended, and your patience has run short - not to mention Iwaizumi popped his head into the library to shoot you a worried expression, dark eyebrows pinched into a pained frown.

You are aware of Tooru’s predilection for working himself to the bone. Or to the shredded remnants of the tendon of his knee, to be more accurate. So you tap your feet, looking pointedly at said injury.

“I’m fine”, he tries to dismiss you without even looking your way.

You refuse to let him.

“You’re not fine”, you tell him coolly, taking another step towards the inner sanctum, the volleyball courts. White lines, painted into brown wood. A single ball, six per side, each jostling for their pride and god.

“Tooru -”

“I need to practice so I can win”, he snarls, handsome face mangled by an angry scowl. “Don’t be like one of those whiny girlfriends, you know I can’t stand that.”

You are not so easily hurt by the barbs in his words. “You can’t win if you’re injured”, you attempt to appeal to his reason. “You know and I know and your coach knows that that knee of yours is going to cause you problems if you don’t rest it properly. So you better listen to me, because so help me - I can tell you that you’re not going to be able to come for practice if you keep pushing yourself tonight”.

His anger simmers into a sulk. “You’re not a doctor”, he replies, a petulant whine at the tail end of his words.

“Not yet”, you respond, and at that, he laughs, surprised that your arrogance matches his own.

Your attention snaps back to the present when Sakusa calls your name. “Sorry”, you breathe. “Couldn’t quite hear you - who were you referring to again?”

“Oikawa”, Sakusa says, confirming your suspicions. “Practises even though I know his knee hurts sometimes”.

You thank him for telling you before carefully diverting the conversation to something a little more innocuous, buying yourself time to turn this new information over in your mind.

You hear him hiss as you open the front door- “Iwa-chan, don’t be stupid, I can’t tell her yet!”

It’s not an uncommon sight to come home at night to find Tooru cradling his phone to his ear whilst juggling a book in his other hand. It is the only time slot that he and Iwaizumi have to catch up.

Still, it is uncommon for him to bolt into the toilet the minute he catches sight of you.

“Is everything alright?” you ask him over dinner.

“Peachy”, he replies between spoonfuls of rice. “Never been better”.

He promptly changes the topic after that.

“Not staying home for dinner?” you ask, arms wrapped around yourself as he lets the chilly air into your apartment, sitting by the open door lacing his training shoes up.

“Wanna work in some more practice tonight”, he murmurs, gaze still locked on his shoes. “Serves and all that. Don’t wait for me, yeah?”

“Right. Just...promise me you’ll take care of yourself, Tooru”, you answer, unable to keep the disappointment from leaking into your voice.

He stands up, turns to face you with a cheery smile. “Of course I will. Anyway, don’t pout, princess”, he sing songs gaily. “We’ll spend some time together after the season is over, I promise.”

“Alright”, you say, unconvinced, reluctantly tipping your chin up to let him kiss your cheek goodbye.

“Tooru?”

You feel the mattress dip. “Go back to sleep, princess”, he whispers, pulling the sheets back up to your chin.

“Where are you going?” You mumble, squinting your eyes at the clock by the side of the bed. “It’s four in the morning. The earliest you wake up for practice is five.”

“I just wanted to practice my serves a little more.” You hear him rustle in the bathroom. Sakusa’s words echo in your ears, and you sit up, bleary eyed.

“Tooru?”

“Mm?”

“Are you taking care of your knee? And getting enough sleep?”

He stiffens. “Of course”, he replies with the tight, plastic smile he only ever gives you when he’s trying to lie. “Why’re you asking me this? Who put ideas in your pretty little head?”

For the first time in your relationship with Tooru, you take care not to accidentally tread on the faultlines of his heart.

“I worry about you”, you say, gripping your sheets as he frowns. “I don’t think you’re sleeping enough - judging from the bags under your eyes, and you shouldn’t be over practising because your knee could very act up - “

“Look - I don’t have time to deal with this” he interjects with a snap. “Just leave me alone and go back to sleep.”

“I’m only saying this because I love you, Tooru.” You automatically tack on - “More than life itself.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, breathing out a sigh. “I love you too ok? Stop worrying your pretty head about my health and my knee - we agreed you only get to nag me when you’re a full fledged doctor, remember?”, he adds, with a cheeky smile that does not reach his hooded eyes.

You let him walk out of the house without another word, cotton sheets crumpling in your clenched fists.

You don’t get to talk about it that night because he chatters at you about Sakusa’s tantrum during practice because someone hid his towel, and you can barely get a word in before he slips off to shower and sleep.

He starts to disappear for days at a time, even after the season ends with him not only taking home his second trophy at Nationals, but crowned the best setter in the collegiate volleyball league.

He tells you that there are overnight practice matches and camps. That he’s staying over at his teammates’ flats. You believe him at first. There is, after all, no reason for him to lie.

Still, it is a little funny he refuses to allow you to do his laundry from those trips. You brush away your friends’ concerns that he’s cheating on you - Tooru wouldn’t do that, you assure them with a wide smile that hurts your cheeks.

Tooru would never lie to you.

Then you bump into Sakusa Kiyoomi on campus when Tooru is away again.

It’s night time. Shadows bleed into concrete roads. You’re on your way back home from hiding up in the library all day, reluctant to return to a home without Tooru when you bump into the reticent spiker.

“Aren’t you supposed to be away at practice camp?” you ask innocently, worried that an injury might keep him from playing, though from a quick scan he seems to be fine.

“Practice camp?” He echoes blankly, his face an open book of confusion.

“Tooru mentioned that he’d be away from some practice camp for a few days...”

Your words trail off. Your heart flutters, refuses to accept the truth staring you in the face.

Sakusa frowns. His answer is brutal, direct. “There’s no training camp - hasn’t been in a while”.

“Oh”, you murmur.

Realization needles its way into the space beside your beating heart, drills its way into the marrows of your bones.

“Are you ok?” You faintly hear Sakusa say. It’s your turn to lie.

Tooru comes home the next day, a quarter past two. You’re sitting on the threadbare couch cross legged, a textbook balanced on your lap.

“Where have you been?”

“Practice camp. Didn’t I tell you that?”

You scoff. The page held between your fingers starts to crumple. Your composure frays.

“Really?” Your voice starts to veer into hysterics, straight across the highway into your emotional stratosphere. “Sakusa Kiyoomi told me that there’s no such practice camp, Oikawa. How about you try again with the truth this time.”

He reels back. You can see him trying to formulate yet another lie.

“Princess”, he begins pleadingly, but your temper runs hot and you short circuit at the sound of your nickname from his lips.

You stalk towards him, grabbing the bag in his hand. Like a woman possessed, you wrench the zip open, holding the bag open above your head, emptying its contents out. Dirty clothes, a deflated volleyball, toiletries spill onto the floor. You comb through each and every item in search of a telltale sign - a lipstick mark, a woman’s floral scent, something, anything for you to confirm his infidelity.

What you find, however, is not what you expect.

A red jersey, lying limp in your hands. A contrast to the university’s colours of navy and white.

You flip it around.

The words EJP Raijin are emblazoned across the jersey in stark white.

You look up at him. He stares back.

“Why didn’t you tell me?’

He has the decency to look away.

“Tooru”, you repeat, voice trembling. “Why didn’t you tell me?!”

“I was afraid of what it meant. For us”, he answers, dropping to his knees in front of you. “You know I’ve always wanted to go pro - and when the Div 1 teams started holding try-outs, I had to go. I tried out for them all except the Adlers, and EJP decided to give me a shot, which was like a dream come true… But I didn’t know if you would be happy if I did take it up.”

“Take what up?” you echo. Your mind is not keeping up with this turn of events.

“Move to Hiroshima to join the team.” He answers warily, ready to flee at the first sign of danger. “You know I’d have to, right?”

You look at him with fresh eyes, this boy you profess to love more than life itself. Wings spread from his shoulder blades, moulded by madness and greed from fire and wax. The reflection of the sun gleams in his eyes. He has left you permanently for the skies.

“What about me?” Your breath stuck in your throat even as you refuse to relinquish the last hold you have on him.

“If you love me”, he begins, reaching out to cup your cheeks and it’s your turn to reel back because you know he’s about to throw back your own words in your face.

If you love me more than life itself - won’t you do this for me?

But you are no longer eighteen. You are twenty one, on the cusp of adulthood. You know a little more about life than you did at eighteen.

You know that your life is here - in Tokyo, among dusty books and lectures and tutorials on anatomy and diseases and germs, and you cannot upend your life and uproot yourself to Hiroshima just to follow someone else’s dreams. You love Tooru, but you do not share his dreams of glory and gold medals, of fleeting victory, of Olympian greatness.

“I can’t”, you say, with a firmness that surprises even yourself.

Again, he does not meet your eyes.

“Then what shall we do?” He asks, lips pressed into a straight line.

For a brief and terrible moment, you are tempted to throw your dignity to the wind, to fall on your knees and ask him to stay in Tokyo with you. But you can no longer turn a blind eye to what’s been staring you in the face for the entire length of your relationship, so you bite the insides of your cheek and grit your teeth.

“We will do what we must”, you tell him, your head held high.

You do not know what hurts more. The lack of pause in his acceptance to your suggestion that you break up, or the painfully obvious relief in his eyes.

He goes to sleep in your shared bed, oblivious to your pain. You do not join him, choosing instead to spend hours seeking privacy in your toilet, knees aching from the cold floor.

You are clinical, even in your anguish.

Wring the liquid grief from your lungs, lay it on the floor to dry. Filter the water from your windpipe, the salt from your eyes. Your organs are scattered on the floor, battered, broken, torn. Save for your heart - you will need to retrieve it, whatever’s left of it at least. You last recall seeing it beneath Tooru’s feet, dashed to pieces as he spreads his wings and takes flight.

You will put yourself back together with steady hands tomorrow, fill the cavity in your chest with the remnants of your organs, secure them in place with stitches and staples. Given time, you think your prognosis is good.

You are young. You will heal.

But now, you are allowed an hour or two to grieve at the very least. To mourn the loss of a relationship you still hold dear, a relationship that you only realise has an expiry date in the short span of a night.

You are a fool for not realising it sooner.

Perhaps he cares for you, but you must now confront the fact that you’ve been wilfully blind to. He could never give you his heart when he’s already given his heart up to someone else - to volleyball, a far more demanding mistress.

You cannot compete with her. You should not have tried.

Tooru files the paperwork to drop out of university. You find another flat, this time for one.

In the weeks before he leaves, you watch him flit about the flat, buzzing with excitement like an overgrown child. His wings nearly suffocate you with its ever increasing breadth and length, but you do not begrudge his happiness. You still love him desperately. You still want what’s best for him.

You write him meal plans, scribble reminders on the proper care for his knee. You help him label his boxes, arrange for them to be sent to Hiroshima via post. You do not tell him how tempted you are to slip yourself whole into one of them. But you start to build a cage for the remnants of your heart, turning a deaf ear even as it pounds against the bars of your ribs.

The time finally comes for him to get on a train bound for Hiroshima. The time finally comes for you to leave the flat.

“Princess”, he says softly, catching your elbow as you stand on the threshold, pulling you flush against his broad chest. You do not trust yourself to speak as he gently tilts your face up to his.

“Thank you”, he breathes against your lips. There is a lingering taste of regret in his kiss.

“For what?” you manage to ask.

His eyes pool with affection, swirl with sadness.

“For everything.” He takes your hands in his, presses a final kiss to your forehead. Your traitorous heart screeches at you to beg him to say. You smother it beneath reinforced walls of steel and bone.

Icarus, Icarus. This is goodbye.

You make him leave before you, watching as he turns his back on you. Then you steal a minute to potter through each room in the little flat that was your home. The bedroom, barely large enough for two. The bathroom, with a propensity for leaking, the shower where Tooru insists on serenading the neighbours, much to their discontent. The kitchen, full of memories of shared dinners, and quiet conversations.

You bid farewell to two full years of happiness, press your forehead against the front door to whisper goodbye to your home.

The lock clicks. You close the door.

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wizkiddx · 3 years

Text

your song blurb

hello!! sorry ive been so inactive and I have got a number of req that I am trying to work through - I am sorry, please be as patient as you can with me. general life shit and all hasn't been ideal. I am aware I reaaallly need to update my master list and will get round to it when I can I promise ;)

also have lots of asks abt the t + z situation but all I have to say is im so very happy for them and hope people respect their privacy ;)

harryhollandxreader // friends --> lovers blurb

summary: harry never sings in front of you, until you need it

//////////////////////////

There were some things that Harry, even after being friends for years, kept close to his chest. The one that you always tried to catch him out on was his singing. For some unknown reason, he was super self conscious of it. Every time he was nonchalantly humming along to himself, all it took was for you to make a single sound, and he’d immediately lock his mouth shut. From those fleeting moments, you had thought he didn’t even sound half bad, hence where your frustrations drew.

Because whilst you, who sounded like a cat being tortured, would scream your lungs out - Harry, who wasn’t even that bad, refused to make a fool out of himself.

It was exactly what had happened this evening when you had let yourself into Tom’s house otherwise unannounced. It’d been years since you’d been given a spare key by Harry - when they were both away, you often ‘house-sat’ for Tom; plus, you spent most evenings there too because that was where your best mate was.

Tom had messaged on the group chat to say he would be out for the evening, and Haz was around his girlfriends tonight, meaning on arrival, you’d known it’d just be you and Harry. So once you heard the quiet tune of a song, that you couldn’t quite place yet, safe to say you were on stealth mode. Sliding your shoes off and wincing as the floorboards creaked a little, you slowly crept through the house to find your frizzy-haired friend.

Sure enough, as you made your way through the kitchen, you found him stood over the hob, stirring round a wooden spoon of a saucepan - presumably filled with pasta he’d promised to have ready for you. Pouting as you leaned on the doorframe and crossed your arms, marvelling at him. He was dressed just in grey joggers and his favourite pink hoodie, arms rolled up to his elbow as the poor boy slaved away at the stove.

You stayed silent, to what you now recognised as billy joel, only unable to stifle a giggle when he reached a particularly high note. Like a rabbit caught in headlights, he jumped around and yelled, eyes fiery and pointed at you.

“OH fuck off Y/n!!”

“Billy Joel, an old school choice.” You smirked, now walking into the room to greet him properly.

“How long have you been stalking on me?”

“It’s not stalking if the stalkee gave me the key.”

“I don’t think that’s admissible in court.” He deadpanned back, pouting for a couple more seconds before finally shooting you a wide grin. The boy held his arms out, welcoming you into a proper greeting hug. Happily reciprocating, you inhaled deeply with your face pressed into the crook of his shoulder.

“How was work?” He murmured, already guessing the answer correctly.

“Shit. Exhausting. Hell, you want any more adjectives?” Harry just snorted back as you leaned away from his warmth.

“Nah rule of three is quite enough. Did you never pay attention in GCSE english?”

“Fuck off you can’t even spell GCSE.”

That was always how your friendship had been; it had always been a piss-taking battle. You simply were one of the boys - or at least that’s what you thought. Said boys though (meaning Sam, Tom, Harrison, Tuwaine and even Paddy) disagreed. You didn’t know, or didn’t believe, that Harry did NOT treat you like one of the boys. He cared about you differently, too. Tom thought it didn’t stop there, that Harry did in fact love you.

And yes, you might’ve admitted to Harrison on one very, very drunken night that you had occasionally thought of Harry as something more than your sarky friend. He had been since sworn to silence, though Haz had in fact, told Tom - who only replied with an ‘i told you so’.

Even though everyone else saw your relationship as complicated, to you and Harry it was just simple. You were just the best of friends.

And that’s how the evening went. The two of you were just messing around as usual; after eating the tomatoey pasta creation Harry had tried, you both made a right mess of the washing up - water ending up coating the floor and maybe one of the walls too (Tom would never know). And just like usual, it ended with you sprawled out on one sofa, Harry mirroring you on the adjacent one.

It was love island season, which meant every night at 9 pm there was only one place on earth either of you would be. On your respective sofas, watching the most trashy tv in the world.

Tonight though, no matter how excited you were for the next instalment of who-likes-who, your day of work caught up with you. Not that you noticed, but you’d pretty much passed out as soon as the opening scenes started. There were only two minutes of silence before Harry registered something was up - typically, he was trying to make you shut up so he could actually hear the TV. To investigate, he jumped off the sofa and leaned over the couch, the sight making him pout.

He knew work had been super stressful recently; and he also knew that your insomnia had been coming back with a vengeance. So instead of treating you like ‘one of the boys’ and throwing things until you woke up - Harry used a different approach. He draped the blanket that hung off the side of the sofa over you, biting back a slight smile as you huffed in appreciation for the soft quilt. Then Harry left you alone, knowing you could do with every little bit of rest you could get.

That was all good until it reached the third set of adverts when Harry heard you huff and move about on the sofa. And then again and again. Then again with what sounded like a bit of whimper too.

Brows furrowed, he paused the TV and slowly got up, rounding the sofa to see you somewhat matching his expression. Your face was contorted in one of distress, and you kept thrashing your head from side to side of the pillow. It didn’t take a genius to work out; this was your nightmares rearing their ugly heads.

Harry just wanted to stop this for you. Although the two of you were never particularly ‘mushy’ or vulnerable with each other - he knew just how much you were suffering recently. So without much thought into it, Harry knelt down to sit on the floor, side leaning up against the sofa as he looked towards you. Trying to hush you, he ran his hand over your forehead and over the top of your hair, though it seemed to take little effect. And then, again entirely without hesitation, Harry started to softly sing.

It’s a little bit funny

This feeling inside

I’m not one of those who can easily hide

Why Elton John was the first that came to mind was a mystery to Harry - except maybe that the lyrics ran true a little.

And you can tell everybody

This is your song

It may be quite simple, but now that it’s done

I hope you don’t mind

That I put down in the words

How wonderful life is while you’re in the world

You’d always loved old 70s music, you were the one that had properly got you into all that stuff - the beatles, billy joel, elton, even a bit of springsteen. He owed half his music taste to your Spotify playlists, even if he’d never admit it to your face.

So excuse me forgetting

But these things I do

You see I’ve forgotten, if they’re green or they’re blue

Anyway the thing is, what I really mean

Yours are the sweetest eyes I’ve ever seen

With a final huff, you finally settled down, Harry swore he could see all the discomfort literally melting away from your face. It took a minute but your breath evened out, mumbling something incomprehensible as you curled up toward him on the edge of the sofa.

This wasn't the first time he’d sang to you in your sleep - and he sort of hoped it wouldn't be the last either.

feedback is really appreciated <3

harry taglist : @euphorichxlland @lovehollandy12 @pandaxnienke @msmimimerton @crossyourpeter @hallecarey1

#harry holland #harry holland x reader #harry holland imagine #harry holland fluff #tom holland #harrison osterfield

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rivers-rambles21 · 3 years

Text

The one with the marathon

Part 7 of The one where Bucky has a cute neigbour series!

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X Reader (f)

Summary | Reader and Bucky become friends after he saves her from a creep in their apartment building. Each chapter explores a different point in their friendship - very slow burn!

Warnings | 18+ only, Smut in later chapters (this is a slow burn), swearing, unprotected sex, oral sex, (later chapters)

Mentions of PMS in this chapter! I’ve also given Y/N a couple of interests to add a bit more to the story to help it progress

Will include elements of TFATWS in later chapters

You’d been doing your best to dodge Bucky as soon as you felt your body's usual symptoms start to develop. It started as it always did with feeling bloated before the short temperedness set in. Bucky was sweet and kind and he didn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of your temper so you opted out of your usual Friday night pizza with him, giving the excuse of being called into work which he accepted with disappointment.

Saturday morning came and as usual, painkillers did nothing to soothe the ache in your lower gut. Traipsing into your kitchen, you filled the kettle up with water before putting it on the hob and started to root around for your hot water bottle whilst you waited for the water to boil.

A knock on your door interrupted your hunt and rather reluctantly, you made your way over to the door, unbothered by your sleepwear attire.

Swinging the door open, you instantly regretted not ignoring it.

“Hey doll”

It was upsetting seeing Bucky look so good on a morning when you felt so rotten. Even worse, you were fully aware of how you currently looked - unbrushed hair, no make up and Bucky’s t-shirt which only just covered the tops of your thighs. Self consciously, you eased the door closed a little bit and shielded your body from view.

“Hi Bucky, what’s up?” You asked, trying to sound as casual as possible.

“Can I come in?” He asked, tilting his head to the side as he tried to catch more of a glimpse of you.

“Now’s not a great time…” You grumbled, feeling guilty as you saw the smile drop from his face.

“Are you avoiding me?” The words rushed out of his mouth before he had time to stop them.

Taken aback by his forwardness, you paused for a moment, your jaw opening and closing as you didn’t quite know how to respond. “I’m sorry, you don’t owe me an explanation. It’s just I heard you in your apartment last night crying but you said you were at work and I was worried-”

He started to ramble as he panicked he’d overstepped the mark so you swiftly cut him off. “Don’t be, you’re right, I have been avoiding you.”

“....oh” Bucky's eyes shot down to the floor as he nodded his head. Your admission cut deep and every insecurity Bucky felt rushed to the surface as he processed your words. “I thought-” he started but not quite knowing how to finish his sentence.

You cursed your inability to think before speaking as you reached out towards him, no longer caring about your appearance as you took his metal hand in yours. “It’s nothing you did, I’m just not myself at the moment, I’m not exactly great to be around when it's my time” You emphasised the last bit, hoping he’d get the hint without having to spell it out.

You were wrong.

Bucky lifted his head and looked back at you, confusion etched across his handsome features. “You’ve lost me”

“Remember how you got that scar on the back of your head?”

“Yeah my sister threw a book at me”

“Uhuh, and do you remember why she did that?”

“I ate the biscuits she saved for when she- oh!” It suddenly hit Bucky as to what you’d been hinting at and suddenly he felt like the world’s biggest idiot.

“Safe to say me and your sister have the monthly mood swings in common” You joked, trying to lighten the mood.

“Well...um… if you need me, you know where I am”

“Thanks Buck” You smiled up at him and tried not to swoon on the spot as he leant towards you, his lips pressing against your forehead, gently kissing you as he cradled the back of your head with his hand.

His thumb stroked the back of your neck as his lips left your skin, sending shivers down your spine.

“I’m sorry for avoiding you, I thought I was saving you”

“Trust me, I’ve survived worse” He joked, tucking one of your many stray hairs behind your ear. It suddenly dawned on you what your current state of attire was and you hastily tried to flatten your hair and pull the t-shirt down to cover more of your bare legs.

Bucky tried his best to avert his eyes from your state of undress, not having taking note of how you donned his t-shirt beforehand, too focused on your wellbeing but he found himself failing miserably. You were too cute with your bed head hair sticking up in random places and slightly dark eyes where you’d not completely removed yesterday's mascara. And then there was his t-shirt. Fuck - he’d nearly lost it when you’d warn it the night you’d gotten locked out of your apartment but thankfully your legs were covered. But now? It was driving him mad seeing inch upon inch of bare skin, his t-shirt barely covering your underwear. He wanted nothing more than to shove you against the wall and run his hands over your impossibly soft skin.

The sound of your kettle boiling over snapped him out of it and he watched as you darted over to the kitchen, leaving him standing in the doorway, facing away from you as he was positive he’d be able to see your ass as you walked.

“I’ll come back doll”

Before you had a chance to respond, he’d already closed your door behind him.

Hastily, you made up your hot water bottle and quickly jumped into the shower, unsure as to when he would return.

Half an hour later, Bucky was back at your door, grocery bag in hand. “I’ve brought you a few things for... y’know.”

Opening your door wide for him, you chuckled at his awkwardness and gestured for him to come in. “You really didn’t need to-are those Peanut Buttercups?!” Rushing towards him you grabbed the bag out of his hands and began rummaging through his purchases.

Laughing at your response he left you to it as he hung up his jacket next to yours as he usually did and took up his spot on your couch.

“I remember what Rebecca was like and figured you might appreciate a bit of sugar.”

You could only moan in response as you devoured your chocolate treat. Grabbing your hot water bottle from the side table, you made your way over to the couch and sank into the seat next to Bucky, resting your head against his shoulder.

“Any plans for today?” You asked, holding up the last bite of your candy bar.

“Nope” Leaning forward, he took the chocolate from you using his teeth as he finished it off.

“Then you’re in for a treat” You sunk deeper into the sofa as he lifted his arm up, resting it along the top of the couch cushion, letting you lean further into him. Bucky also took the opportunity to pull the blanket from the couch down onto you, tucking you into his side.

To say Bucky was excited when you told him there were sequels to The Hobbit would be an understatement. For him to then find out they were turned into movies was almost too much.

He was in heaven. He was watching Middle Earth come to life, just how he imagined it would be whilst cuddled up against his favourite girl.

He wished it could be like this all the time, when he was with you the memories of who he was before subsided, along with all the guilt and shame. Even when he was in Wakanda, he hadn’t dared to dream of having any sort of normal life, he’d accepted it just wasn’t on the cards for him. That he’d always be alone.

When Steve left, that only solidified his belief that he was destined to be alone. Part of him was okay with that, this way he wouldn’t hurt anyone ever again. But the other part of him, the part that even Hydra couldn’t wipe out, longed for a companion, whether it be platonic or romantic.

Finding you was a miracle. You were so carefree, so honest, open and kind. You put up with his old fashioned ways, you didn’t make fun of his odd quirks or question why sometimes he needed to just be on his own. You both also had a lot in common, you both enjoyed modern technology and sciences and often found yourselves watching documentaries and educational pieces on TV together. Bucky was also delighted to learn you were obsessed with motorcycles and was planning a road trip for you both for when you next had some time off work - a surprise he was having a hard time hiding from you.

Half way through the first film he felt you nodding off, having come down from the sudden sugar intake. Pulling you tighter against him, he kissed your head and lowered the volume on the TV, not wanting to wake you.

As the second film started, you stirred awake, the cramps returning with a vengeance. As you opened your eyes you realised you’d snuggled into Bucky, nuzzling into his chest, leaving a small amount of drool on his black t-shirt. Jolting backwards, you hastily wiped your mouth and tore yourself from his arms in embarrassment.

Bucky’s eyes hadn’t strayed from the TV as he remained completely emerged in Middle Earth.

“Sorry I didn’t realise-”

He quickly shushed you as he continued watching the film. However he did miss your warmth and spread his arms wide, inviting you back into your previous position. “C’mere”

Trying not to read too much into it, you smiled and sank back into his arms, sighing as they wrapped around you, his right hand resting over your stomach, soothing your cramps.

It was well into the night when you finished your movie marathon, both of you enjoying every minute. You knew friends didn’t cuddle - not like this. They didn’t make your heart race like Bucky did. They didn’t make butterflies erupt in your stomach every time they so much as looked at you.

You were in trouble.

#bucky #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #romance #fluff #slow burn #bucky x female reader #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #tfaws spoilers #tfawts #tfatws

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mandoalorian · 3 years

Note

Being sick with nurse Maxwell lord pls that man can't ever cook a decent soup but who cares he's adorable

Made With Love [Maxwell Lord x Reader]

Summary: Maxwell Lord takes care of his sick girlfriend and makes her 'soup'.

Rating: PG

Warnings: food mention, brief mention of blood/injury, mention of throwing up, illness and death

Word count: 2.3k

Authors note: Thank you for the request! I must admit this was quite the challenge as I don’t usually write about food in my fics but the concept of Maxwell taking care of a sick reader by cooking her soup was just too adorable.

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gif by @santigarcia

Maxwell didn't have many regrets. If he regretted his life decisions (even the questionable ones), he wouldn't be as successful as he was today. He always told himself to embrace his choices. But…. he did have one regret. One teeny tiny miniscule regret. And that was promising you he'd cook you some soup. Maxwell Lord, the cover boy of Forbes magazine. The man who founded Black Gold Cooperative. The same man who spoke in the White House and was on the television every night, was standing in his kitchen, before an abundance of vegetables, herbs and spices.

"I hate this." you whined, dramatically stuffing a pillow into your face as you tossed and turned in your big bed. Maxwell shuffled closer to you. He hated seeing you in pain. His heart ached. If he had one wish, it would be to swap positions with you. He'd rather deal with the flu than have you suffer before his eyes.

"I know sweetheart," he sighs, taking a wet washcloth and gently placing it on your forehead. "You have a temperature, but this might cool you down." He hadn't rinsed the flannel properly so little beads of water dripped down your face but you didn't say anything because you knew he was trying his best. If there was one thing you admired about Maxwell, it was that he always tried his hardest in everything he did.

"I already feel cold though." you shivered, pulling the thick quilted blankets further up your body. He handed you a glass of water.

"Darling, you're burning up," he shook his head sadly and you let out another whine. "Drink this slowly. It's important to stay hydrated."

"It's so unfair," you groaned before taking a sip of water. He was right, the cool liquid oozed down your throat and you felt grateful for his suggestion. "How come you never get sick?" You prodded your finger into his tummy and he chuckled lightly. "It's not funny Max."

"You're so cute," he sighs longingly, his lips curving into a smile. "I love you, you know." he boops your nose with his finger.

"Stop!" you playfully slapped his hand away from your nose but instead he cupped his palm around your cheek and nursed the side of your face, his thumb brushing across the plumpness of your lower lip.

He leaned in, the curve of his nose dragging across your skin and pressed his lips softly against yours. He didn't move, it was gentle and tender. Normally when Maxwell kissed you, it was hurried and passionate as he tried to throw your clothes to one side and pin you against a wall but this— this was like a whole new side to him. He rubbed his nose against yours and pulled away after only a few seconds.

"Your breath…." he scrunched up your nose and you gasped, feeling your cheeks heat up in embarassment. "Baby, did you throw up?" you nodded sadly and his heart fell in his chest. "Oh no baby." he soothed, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear and rubbing your tummy.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you, now you probably have all my sick germs." you sighed. You couldn't believe how foolish you had been not to tell your boyfriend.

"No sweetheart, don't worry. The kiss was worth it," he admitted sheepishly and you smiled. "I love you." he repeated.

"Maxie, you're being so soft with me. It's not like you at all." you hummed in contentment as he peppered more kisses from your cheek, to your jaw, down your neck, and on your collarbone.

"You know, when my mother got sick," Maxwell cleared his throat. "You know, when her illness got bad. Our house chef taught me how to cook her soup. I spent three or four days practicing but… I never actually got round to giving her it. Because, you know, she passed away."

You frowned, reaching out and lacing your fingers in his hair. "Oh Max, I'm sorry." you whispered sadly, finding your hand in his and squeezing it tight.

"No, I just mean," Maxwell straightened his posture and looked you in the eye. "I hear soup heals the sick."

"I wouldn't go as far to say heals." you stifled a small laugh and he smiled at you. He loved to see you laugh and he felt even better knowing it was because of him. "Wait," you paused, looking up at your boyfriend with an excited doe-eyed expression. "Are you offering to cook me soup?"

"Wh- no," Maxwell laughed awkwardly. "Me? Cook? I don't cook. You know I don't cook. I can get Lucia to come over and make you something or, we can order some soup from the Chinese place you like-"

You shook your head. "No." you said simply, but Maxwell recognised the gleam in your eyes which showed you were thinking of something. "I want you to make me soup."

"Baby," he sighed. "I can do a lot of things. But I can't make soup. Last time I tried, I was sixteen. Was like- twenty five years ago. I don't remember."

"I'm sure if you tried…. if you got all the veggies out, the herbs and spices…. I'm sure it would come back to you." you beamed. He knew exactly where this was going and he didn't like it one bit. "I know Lucia went to the farmers market yesterday and brought in some fresh veg. I was going to cook us a romantic dinner with it but since I'm bed bound… it won't get used. Unless you make me soup."

Maxwell said your name, stern but fair. Like the way he'd talk to his colleugues or business associates. You loved it when he put on that voice with you. It made you laugh.

"Yes Mr Lord?" you teased and he tsked, booping your nose again.

"You know I can't say no to you." he sighed, standing up and brushing his tailored suit down. "It's my biggest flaw."

You were beaming, a grin covering your face. You stretched your body out and folded your arms across your chest. "Life is good… but it can be better," you did your best impression of one of your boyfriend's infomercials. His head snapped in your direction and he looked just as annoyed as he always did when you impersonated him. "...if you made me some soup." you finished and he rolled his eyes.

"Finish your water." he ordered before padding out of the bedroom and heading into the kitchen.

You smiled. You loved your boyfriend so much. He had his ways. A lot of people were frightened of him but he was different with you. The feared Maxwell Lord was your cuddly teddy bear.

And that's how Maxwell ended up in the kitchen amongst a selection of vegetables. He placed a big pot on the hob and began to heat some water. He stared into the bubbling pool of water, wondering where in your conversation about soup, he had gone wrong. Wondering why he could just never deny your wishes. The water began to spill over the pot and he quickly turned the heat down, grabbing a towel and wiping up the mess.

Okay, now he had to cut the vegetables. He took some celery and carrots and began to chop them up. It was a messy job, and he had cut up way too much. Chunks of veg in all different sizes. He sliced his finger and practically wailed in pain as he bolted to the kitchen sink and rinsed the blood away with cold water. The things he'd do for you. He was just about to find a bandaid when he caught the pot of water bubbling over again. He cursed and wrapped a paper towel around his finger— a temporary fix— before turning the flame on the hob down even more.

With his good hand (the hand that he hadn't injured), he grabbed the selection of veg and tossed it into the pan. He was so rough when he done so, the boiling hot water splashed out the pot and dampened his shirt, stinging his uncovered skin. This is why I need a house chef; he thought.

The celery began to soften in the pan, and he was unsure how long to let them cook for. How soft did they have to be? He sighed, turning back to the messy kitchen counter and taking some vegetable stock to give the soup some flavour. He figured it was easy enough to make the stock. Just add water to the powder. He doesn't know how he went wrong… he must've added too much water. And the powder was all lumpy and crumbly. He emptied the jug of veggie stock into the pan, in hope the hot water would melt the powder down— or something like that.

But it didn't. He prodded the veg around with a wooden spoon, checking to see if the celery was soft enough. He still didn't know. He thought back to the house chef from his youth who taught him how to cook soup. Maybe he could find her number and give her a call. He shrugged off the idea. She'd probably be about ninety years old now, and Maxwell was determined. He wanted to do this himself.

Whilst the celery had formed a thick green mush, the carrots hadn't softened one bit. In fact, they remained just as hard as when he cut them up, despite them sterling in the pan for at least fifteen minutes. He was baffled, to say the least. Maxwell Lord wasn't a scientist but he was sure that there was something mysterious going on. This couldn't be right.

And the vegetable stock… it was brown, watery and clumpy and stuck to the green mush. As he mixed it all together, he decided it didn't look that bad. Maxwell sighed, resting the wooden spoon to the side of the pan. He could lie to the world, but he couldn't lie to himself. It looked disgusting.

Nevertheless, he had tried. He had spent time on it. He blamed you. If you didn't like it then that was on you. You should never have believed that he could successfully make soup. He did warn you. He grabbed a ceramic bowl and began to pour the inconspicuous gloop in. He popped a bit of parsley on top and slid one of the solid gold spoons into the bowl.

He padded upstairs, carefully holding the bowl of soup, and entered your bedroom where you were sat, propped up with an abundance of pillows, awaiting your meal. You held your arms out with desire as he handed you the bowl.

"Thank you sir," you said graciously, a teasing sarcasm dripping from your tongue. You looked down at the contents of what was in the bowl and the smile practically fell from your face. "Max… what is this?" you asked, furrowing your eyebrows together.

He smirked. "Soup."

You pushed it around in the bowl, eying up the rock hard pieces of carrot and grainy bits of veggie stock. "No it's not." you said cautiously, raising an eyebrow.

He knew it was disgusting. He knew you wouldn't want to eat it— but this was your game and Maxwell, as always wanted to play. "Eat it." he urged and you looked at him like he was crazy.

"Maxie…" you whined. He bit his lip, watching you shuffle around in your bed. You stuck the spoon in and filled it up with the thick green pulp. "I'll have some if you have some too."

He wasn't expecting that. "No." he grimaced, shaking his head.

"Yessss," you sounded so congested, but nevertheless you made your best attempt at a flirtation, fluttering your eyelashes, leaning into him. He felt so bad for you. Once again, he couldn't say no. He just couldn't. You licked your lips. "Open wide Maxie." you smiled, flying the spoon into his mouth. He sucked the 'soup' from the spoon and his face soured, although he done the best to hide it.

It smelt, so bad. "Delicious." he gritted out and offered you one of his charming television grins. "Your turn babydoll." he cooed, taking the spoon from your hand and digging it into the bowl.

He didn't hate you, he loved you very much, and he was already feeling bad for you. He placed the tiniest amount of the green mush on the spoon, with just one piece of hard carrot, and pushed it in between your lips. You took it like a pro, tears pricking your eyes as you swallowed it up.

"Good girl," he praised and you nudged his arm playfully. "Proud of you."

You shook your head, and stuck your tongue out jokingly. Maxwell gasped, stumbling backwards and slapping his hands over his mouth in shock.

"What!" you cried nervously. "What is it? What's wrong?!"

"Your tongue!" he yelled, dramatically pointing his finger. "It's green! It's turned green!"

"Its-" panic coursed through your veins. "It's what?!?!" you screamed and Maxwell burst into a fit of laughter.

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding!" he laughed.

"Maxwell Lord!" you shrieked, throwing a pillow at him. "Don't tease! You know I'm not well!"

Maxwell's lips curved into a smile. "I don't know what I'd do without you." he admitted, clambering back onto the king sized bed and crawling over you. "I love you so much."

You chuckled, shaking your head in disbelief as he pressed some more kisses into your jaw and your neck. "You're insufferable Maxwell Lord," you said. "But… I love you too." you smiled, wrapping your arms around his waist and pulling him on top of you.

Permanent: @supernaturalgirl @phoenixhalliwell @ah-callie @luvzoria @stardust-galaxies @wickedfrsgrl @goth-topic @nerdypinupcrystal @wonderfulfluffer (let me know if you want to be added to the taglist! if your name is crossed it out its because i cant tag you).

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #maxwell lord #max lord #maxwell lord x reader

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youwerenevermeanttofeelalone · 4 years

Text

Red² | Jason Todd

✦ pairing — Jason Todd x Plus Size Reader

✦ word count — 1.2k

✦ request — can I request something with jason×reader where she has powers similar to (mcu) scarlet witch but she never brought it up and then maybe he finds out about it one day

✦ warnings — mentions of violence, mentions of food, Jason has a sweet tooth, fluff

❖︎・・・・・❖︎・・・・・❖︎・・・・・❖︎

You made him stand behind you, blocking his way into the farthest room in the warehouse. Jason puffed out air, eager to get it over with. Tilting your head, you lifted your hand at an angle.

Red strands erupted from the tips of your fingers, glowing beneath Jason’s eyes.

“They’re not here.” Jason heard your voice in his head. Frowning, he opened his mouth but you pressed, “Find a way to tell the others to get to The Narrows. And get ready to fight.”

That wasn’t the last time he saw the glowing matter. It, whatever that was, came quite handy in combat. You moved quicker, with a confidence he had never seen on you.

Your powers saved you both from dying that night and your allies from falling into a trap.

That should have been enough, yet you could almost hear Jason’s mind reeling with questions.

He stood beside you this time, arms tightly crossed against the grey t-shirt he wore as a pajama. “Are you going to explain what was that?”

You stayed silent, drying your hair after having taken a long shower. Sure he would ask, you had taken your sweet time under the water, trying to find excuses.

He wasn’t meant to find out like that, you had used your powers without thinking. They were a reflex, part of your muscle memory, an astonishing progress after years of self-hatred and insecurities.

Jason and you were never paired up for anything, he usually kept close to his brothers or his friends and you were always part of Donna’s team. If big things happened, everyone fought together. You had been careful around him and his family, but the last time you had fought together had been months ago and you were getting more comfortable with your powers and the things you could accomplish thanks to them.

You should’ve known better, both in terms of telling him the truth and in terms of controlling your impulses. Useful impulses to take advantage of your powers, but impulses nonetheless.

“You can read minds and you never told me!”

“I have never read yours if that’s what worries you.”

Jason scoffed. He hadn’t considered that you could have done it to him. That was how shocked he was. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Shrugging, you walked past him to get yourself a cup of tea.

He followed you toward the kitchen, bare feet paddling against the floor as he stomped.

The night was too hot for drinking tea, yet there you were, boiling water instead of confronting your boyfriend.

Tension filled the small apartment. You could feel his heavy stare on the back of your head as you went through the drawer to find the perfect herb.

“I don’t like talking about it,” you explained. He had never pushed you to do things you didn’t feel comfortable with, there was no way this could be different.

“I don’t need a rundown. I just want to know why.”

“Because I don’t like talking about it, Jason.”

Harsh enunciations of his name hadn’t bothered him in years. The worst thing was the explanation, if he could call it that. Trust and openness were the backbones of your relationship, and he would be lying if he said he didn’t feel betrayed.

He wanted to know more. If the powers hurt, if you had been born with them, how long had it taken you to master them... Jason didn’t like secrets, he kept a lot already.

“Were you born with them?”

You opened the cupboard, clenching your jaw. His intentions might have been good, but you had thought you made yourself clear. “They just appeared,” you rasped, “one day I woke up and I had them. No one knows exactly what triggered them.”

“Do the red things hurt you?”

You shook your head, reaching for your favorite mug. “The blasts usually only bring pain to others,” you sighed out, ashamed.

“What do you mean?”

Turning the hob off, realizing now you really would need that tea, you picked the kettle and poured hot water into the mug. You had never explained the nature of your powers to anyone, and the people who knew the pain they could cause weren’t here to talk. How does one explain that to their partner?

“I’ve lost control before.” The mumble was barely audible. You lifted the mug, taking a gulp of the scorching hot tea. A question crossed Jason’s eyes — God, you loved knowing him so well. “Just ask. I’m already talking, aren’t I?”

“Do they hurt you when you lose control?”

You hummed in thought. It was more complicated than that, you didn’t understand it fully yet. “Not physically.”

Jason didn’t say anything else for a while. You didn’t want him to either, you weren’t in the search for pity nor coddling. He wouldn’t judge you, that was a given, but his silence was preferred in a moment you hadn’t planned to be part of.

“They’re cool...” he trailed off, unsure. “But you should’ve told me.”

There were things you could’ve done less clumsily, telling him about your powers was one of them. People feared them, your parents hadn’t taken the news well. You didn’t want him to leave too. You feared what your powers did, to people you hated, to people you loved — to you.

Jason closed the space between you, crushing you against the finger as he picked your mug. After taking a sip of tea, he made a face. “That needs sugar.”

Rolling your eyes, you wrapped your arms around his waist. “Are you mad?”

“No.” Clearing his throat, hoping the bitter taste of the tea would quit burning, Jason continued speaking, “I assumed you didn’t trust me and I want you to do it like I trust you.”

“Babe,” you sighed, “you are not the problem.”

Nodding, he placed a hand on your neck, brushing your cheek with his thumb. “And you’re not a problem, don’t say it like that.”

Such a nice thing to hear from the person you love. If you were in a self-deprecating mood you would say you didn’t deserve it, but you weren’t. Hiding things from Jason was hard and draining. Turns out everything would have been fine if you had told him from the beginning.

Jason wrapped his other arm around you while his hand withdrew from your face. You felt him open one of the cupboards behind you. Grunting, he battled with a box for a few seconds before finally being able to take a few cookies out.

He offered you a cookie. You shook your head. He insisted. “Please?”

“I’m not hungry. You eat them.”

“Half a cookie at least?”

Kinking an eyebrow, you asked, “What for?”

“I want to kiss you but I have to taste that disgusting tea again, I will punch a wall.”

“You are such a baby,” you playfully teased him, moving the cookie he was offering closer to your mouth with your mind.

His eyebrows shot upward. Yup, your powers were the coolest thing ever. Jason smiled when you bit into the snack, opening his mouth when you tried to give him the now bitten cookie back.

You slowly feed him the cookie, this time taking it in your hand, hoping you wouldn’t laugh and choke. His teeth grazed your finger teasingly, eyes daring you to do anything.

He munched the cookie quickly, swallowing twice to make sure. Putting the other two cookies on the clean counter behind you, he shook the crumbs off his fingers as he leaned forward.

And so you kissed him before he could continue teasing you, smiling against his lips when he whined.

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x plus size reader #plus size reader #plus size fanfiction #redhood x reader #redhood x plus size reader #jason todd #redhood #dc x reader #dc x plus size reader #batfam x reader #batfam x plus size reader

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dreamescapeswriting · 4 years

Text

BTS Reaction || First I Love You

Seokjin:

You’d gotten a call from Namjoon at around 3 am one night telling you that Jin had gotten sick, really sick and the first thing that came to your head was rushing over there to look after him but you knew Taxi drivers were going to be busy all night so you packed an overnight bag full of everything you were going to need and headed to catch the bus over to the dorms, telling Namjoon you would use your spare key to get in and for him to go and get some rest.

Jin woke up at 5 am to you placing a wet cloth on his head, putting a glass of water on the bedside table and a bucket next to the bed for him, you hadn’t noticed he’d woken up because you were cleaning up the room in silence, trying not to wake him up. He watched you half asleep as you folded his clothes and left them on his desk, then turning around and checking on him.

“You’re supposed to be resting.” You warned, coming over and feeling the side of his neck, he was sweating which wasn’t good.

“I’ll get you a sheet instead of the quilt.” You whispered, going over to the airing cupboard and pulling out a sheet for him to use instead of the entire quilt, you came back and he was asleep again, so you changed the covers over and went to wash the ones you removed from him.

It was a few days later until he was finally feeling back to his normal self, and you’d been staying over every night on the sofa, keeping the dorms clean, feeding the rest of the boys and making sure Jin was okay, you told Namjoon you wouldn’t leave until he was okay again and he was fine with that. The meals you were cooking were just as good as Jin’s, if not better, but they wouldn’t tell him that.

“You’re still here?” Jin asked coming into the kitchen, you’d just finished cleaning up the breakfast dishes and turned to face him, nodding and coming over to feel his forehead.

“You’re feeling better?” You questioned, looking into your boyfriends’ eyes and smiling, glad he was feeling better.

“Thanks to you.” He whispered, bending down and laying a kiss on your lips, you smiled against his and pulled away, going to the fridge and getting some ingredients to make him some pancakes.

“Pancakes on me, the boys had some this morning so it’s only fair.” You added, turning on the hob and if you turned around you would see him staring at you in awe, amazed that you’d done everything for the boys and him.

“I love you.” The words slipped from his mouth before he even registered them in his mind, of course, he had been thinking it for the last four days of you being there for him but he hadn’t said them, neither of you had said it to each other yet, you slowly turned around on your heel and stared at him.

“I love you too.” He smiled in relief and you walked over to him, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him deeply, his arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

Yoongi:

Yoongi had been working late again and you were worried, of course, you knew his work meant everything to him but you were worried about him eating and drinking properly. He’d leave early in the morning and not get back until late at night, you understood and supported him 100% but just wished you could do something to make sure he was getting the right kind of care he needed. It was another day of no texts and you knew he was probably going to skip lunch because he wouldn’t leave his studio so you took it into your own hands and made him some lunch. Making the main meal and a small dessert as a treat for him to have, packing it up into a container and heading to the studio in your car.

“Hobi, can you give this to Yoongi, I don’t want to bother him.” You said entering Hoseok’s studio, he was sitting on his sofa eating his own lunch and nodded at you, you wrote down a quick note and stuck it to the top of the container and left it on the coffee table in front of Hoseok who was greeting you in a tight hug.

“Thanks, Hobi you’re the best.” You said before leaving the studios and heading back home to have a quiet day in.

Yoongi looked up from his computer to see Hoseok coming into his studio after hitting the pin he’d given him for emergencies only, Hoseok said nothing only placing the tub down in front of him and leaving. Yoongi was annoyed but as soon as he saw your handwriting on the small pink post-it note he smiled that gummy bear smile you loved so much.

Didn’t want to interrupt you at work, don’t forget to eat and stay hydrated, see you later! Fighting! xx

He chuckled to himself, opening the drawer on his desk and adding the post-it note to a stack of others he had from you, all with different notes on, some about working late, how much you loved the last song he showed you and how proud you were, he couldn’t believe how lucky he’d gotten. You understood that his work meant a lot to him and didn’t want to ruin that but at the same time, you knew how to take care of him and make sure he was getting the care he needed without annoying him and giving him the space he needed.

You woke up to the front door of your apartment opening, you frowned not expecting Yoongi to come round at 2 pm, he was normally in the studio all day.

“Yoongi?” You questioned but he said nothing, only came towards you, pulling you into his arms and pressing his lips against yours, his hands a little shaky and sweaty but you ignored it, kissing him back and wrapping your arms around his neck.

“I-” You looked at him, you knew he wasn’t the greatest at sharing how he felt but he was determined to say it.

“I love you.” Your eyes were filled with tears as soon as he said it and you kissed him again, pulling away for a second.

“I love you too Yoongi."

Hoseok:

The moment you began dating he told you it was going to be hard, spending time together would be hard because he would be on tour, or in the studio or home with family but you told him you didn’t care, even five minutes with him would make you happy. You could call or text each other, you’d like each other for a while and if spending little time together was the only downside to being together you would work around it. You’d been dating for a few months now and you met his family, you got along amazingly with his sister, she was like a best friend to you and you would always hang around whenever you got the chance and that’s what made Hoseok realise he was starting to fall head over heels in love with you. It took him by surprise at first, you’d just posted a photo of you and his sister together, you’d gone out for a shopping spree and a coffee date and you posted some selfies together, he found himself smiling at his phone when he was supposed to be practising with the boys. The fans knew you and Hoseok were dating, it was harder to hide than you first thought but they weren’t rude or nasty about it, there were a few at first but it was calmer than anticipated, they could tell how much Hobi liked you, loved you, even though he hadn’t seen it yet and they supported the relationship because the little ball of sunshine needed his own sunshine to brighten up his day.

"Hobi?” You spoke into the phone, stepping away from the cafe table and going outside to answer your phone, standing in front of the cafe near a wall and waiting for him to answer,

“You okay? You’re at practice, has something happened?” You questioned, you knew he never called you from work unless it was an emergency, that last time he did it was to tell you Namjoon had cut his hand after breaking a mirror in the dance studio and he was going to the hospital with him.

“Hobi?” You asked again since he was silent on his end, maybe he’d dialled you accidentally but he spoke before you could hang up on him.

“I just wanted to tell you something.” You stayed quiet letting him speak, he began to take some deep breaths and you frowned, letting out a nervous laugh.

“I love you Y/N…I don’t know if it’s too soon or too late to be telling you but I love you…Seeing you spend time with my family…it just…You’re perfect.” You began blushing in front of the store and hid your cheeks in your sleeves even though he couldn’t see you.

“I love you too Hobi…it’s not too earlier or too late.” You reassured him, biting down on your lip as you heard him laughing from the other end of the line.

“Okay good…I’m going back to practise…call you later?” You hummed in response to him and he chuckled.

“Bye…Oh…I love you.” He said with another laugh, you giggled at him.

“Goodbye Hobi, I love you too.” You whispered, hanging up the phone and going back into the cafe.

Namjoon:

Namjoon was having a hard time writing lyrics at the moment, he was blocked and he knew it. So he’d come round to spend the night at your apartment together, you wanted to help him with his writer’s block so you planned a night of relaxation for him. You’d planned on keeping phones away, and just spending time together but as soon as he was with you, he was suddenly getting inspiration to write again, so he was currently sat on your living room floor writing in a note pad on the coffee table while you made a cup of tea for you both to drink, you stayed out of his way knowing he needed his space to work in and slowly and quietly made your way in with his drink, going to sit on the opposite sofa and read while he did his own thing.

It had been a few hours since then and it was starting to get dark outside, you looked up from your book and went to make some dinner for you both, Namjoon had only moved from his spot a couple of times, he was now sitting on the sofa with his airpods in, trying to write some more lyrics. You made his favourite food and then went to get him when it was ready.

“You have to eat.” You said taking the notepad away and laying it on the coffee table, he whined at you but you pulled him into the kitchen, making him sit down and eat with you, he was still trying to come up with lyrics in his head and making little to no conversation with you, so when he finished you washed up the plates and went to have a bath. Coming back out two hours later to find him on the floor in front of the coffee table yet again.

“Joonie.” You whined going behind him and hugging his back, placing your chin on his shoulder and trying to get him to pay you attention.

“Let’s go to bed, it’s 10 pm.” You sighed kissing the back of his neck and then looking at the lyrics but he moved the notebook away and kept scribbling.

“I’m going to stay up and finish these.” You got up and went back to your spot on the sofa, taking out your book and looking at it, you had about twenty chapters left.

“Fine, if you’re not going to bed…neither am I.” You said, this grabbed his attention, he looked up and saw you curling into a ball on the sofa with a blanket and book, he took your appearance in for the first time and saw you were in one of his hoodies.

“No, you have to go to bed.” He said to you, you just shook your head and continued to read.

An hour later he looked up from his notebook to see you asleep, curled up in his hoodie and the blanket, the book open on your chest, he sighed getting up and walking over to your sleeping figure, he found it sweet that you’d tried to stay up with him, bending down he picked you up slowly, going to the stairs to take you to bed.

“Don’t leave me.” You murmured in your sleep as he put you on the mattress, your hand grasping his wrist, he was about to go downstairs back to his writing but seeing you pouting half-asleep made his heartache.

“Love you Joonie.” You mumbled again, half-asleep, he was shocked at first but laid down next to you, spooning you in his arms.

“Love you too Y/N.” He whispered, leaving a gentle kiss against your cheek, you hummed snuggling against him and relaxing instantly.

Jimin:

“JIN!” You screamed as he came into the kitchen ordering you around on how to cook yet again, you smacked his hand away as he went to take the spoon away from your hand. You’d come over to surprise your boyfriend Jimin, you hadn’t seen one another in around a month since you were both bus and you were trying to make his favourite meal for him on your own but Jin was having a hard time leaving you in the kitchen, scared you were going to blow it up or ruin the meal but you reassured him time and time again that you had practised this meal many times before.

“I know what I’m doing, just keep an eye out for him.” You pleaded, pushing him out of the kitchen, he’d taken the day off work telling the boys he was sick but it was a ploy to get home and let you into the dorms, so you could get everything ready. Jin was like one of your best friends in the group, you got along with all of them but Jin the most, it was like having an older brother you actually got along with and didn’t want to kill on a daily basis.

“He’s coming!” He yelled at you as you put the finishing touches on the kitchen table, you’d laid out a nice table cloth, some candles, and a rose in a glass, you just wanted to do something special for the night, you rushed off to the bathroom changing into a dress you’d brought with you and then coming back out, Jin had been distracting him in the living room for you, the others all going to their own rooms knowing you were waiting to surprise him.

“Go into the kitchen for me Jimin, I left something for you,” Jin said before rushing off to his own room and leaving Jimin to go into the kitchen, you sat on the chair furthest away from the kitchen door, as soon as he came through he almost jumped out of his skin not expecting anyone to be sitting in the kitchen.

“Y/N?” He questioned as if not believing what was right in front of him, you began giggling and went to go and hug him but he picked you up spinning you around in the air and chuckling.

“Do they guys know?” You nodded kissing his lips and smiling at him,

“Jin took the day off to watch over me while I cooked all your favourites.” You said pointing at the table which he now noticed was packed full of everything he loved.

“Everything I love in one room.” He whispered wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you back into his chest, leaning down and kissing your lips.

“I love you.” He whispered as you pulled apart, you giggled kissing the tip of his nose.

“Love you too, dummy, now eat before it goes cold or Jin comes to steal more.”

Taehyung:

You knew the boys were in Amsterdam, you’d been planning your trip to visit them in secret with Jimin, he’d convinced you it would be an amazing surprise for Taehyung’s birthday and you agreed. You went online, getting your plane tickets and hotel room, before finding a museum you knew he would love to visit so you bought tickets.

“Jimin my plane just landed, I’m going to the hotel and then I’ll head to the museum, are you sure you can get him there without him noticing where it is?” You were starting to doubt the plan you had set, you were going to meet him at the museum but Jimin was going to have to find a way to get him there without him seeing all of the signposts, you’d gotten tickets months ago for you both to go around the Van Gogh Museum together.

“I have a plan, trust me and go get ready.” You rolled your eyes although he couldn’t see you and got into a cab, giving him the address.

“Fine, I trust you.”

You were standing outside of the museum, dressed in some blue jeans, a faded band shirt and had a TaTa bag with you so Jimin would spot you easily enough, the museum was pretty dead and not many people were around, your relationship was out in the open and fans knew about you, you just wanted to be alone with Tae for a while, you saw a black SUV pull up and you knew it was them so you stayed by the entrance.

“What are we doing?” Taehyung asked you turned around to see him, Jimin covering his eyes with his hands and you giggled at the sight, Taehyung’s hands sprung into action ripping Jimin’s away and looking around for you, as soon as he spotted you he ran into your arms, you wrapped your arms around him.

“Hi baby.” You greeted with a giant smile on your lips, he looked into your eyes before kissing you passionately,

“We have a tour to get to.” You giggled pushing him away and taking hold of his hand, taking the tickets from your handbag and showing them to him.

“You’re the best.” He spoke looking behind him, Jimin getting back into the black SUV and leaving you both alone on your date, you giggled pulling him inside and going to explore.

You’d been around the museum three times now, holding hands and being the happy couple you were, you were reading a plaque when Taehyung came out with the words,

“I love you so much.” You stood up, turning away from the painting and back at him, a blush on his cheeks as he realised he’d said what he was thinking out loud for you to hear.

“I love you too Tae.” You whispered, coming closer to him and kissing him on the cheek, before pulling him away to another painting.

Jungkook:

You’d been dating Jungkook on the secret side since you were Namjoon’s little sister and it took Namjoon a while to come to terms with you being friends with Jungkook never mind dating him. You’d been going out secretly for four months now and you were starting to fall head over heels for him and he was falling for you too. You knew you were going to have to come clean to your brother soon because whenever you were around them together you turned into a mess, you were never great at lying.

“Kookie, I don’t feel comfortable hiding it anymore.” You whispered against his bare chest one night, you’d snuck from the spare bedroom at the dorms to come and cuddle him once Namjoon was asleep, something you always did whenever you’d spend the night at the dorms.

“I value my life still.” Jungkook joked, playing with your hair as you closed your eyes, listening to his heartbeat as you laid in silence together, falling asleep embracing each other like you normally would.

“What the fuck?!” You jumped up from the bed looking around the room, you were still in Jungkook’s room, the door open and an angry-looking Namjoon standing there.

“Joonie.” You breathed looking at Jungkook who’d just sat up, half-asleep still until he saw your brother red in the face, you’d never seen the boy move so fast in his life.

“Joonie no!” You yelled as he lunged for his band member, you stepped off the bed and stood in front of him, stopping him grabbing Jungkook.

“Give me one reason I shouldn’t beat him for touching you!” You pushed him back a little and frowned.

“Maybe because I love him Joonie.” You begged, both of them staring at you, neither of you had said it to one another. Namjoon walked out of the room and you followed him into his own dorm room, pushing the door but not letting it shut fully, Jungkook followed, stopping outside the door as he listened to you.

“I know you warned me about dating your friends Joonie but I love him, he never leaves my mind, he’s always there mentally if not physically. I love him so much…This feeling stretches throughout my entire body and it’s overwhelming, but he makes me feel complete Joon.” He stared back at you, his anger melted away as you spoke to him.

“That’s the reason you can’t beat him…because it’ll break my heart.” Namjoon scoffed shaking his head and pulling you into a tight hug.

“You break his heart and I’ll break your face…as for you.” He said pulling open the door to reveal a blushing Jungkook.

“Break her and you’re dead.” Jungkook nodded and took your hand in his.

“I love her too Joonie…I wouldn’t dream of hurting her.”

588 notes · View notes

uncomfortable-writers · 4 years

Text

-𝐰𝐡𝐲 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞?- (𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫) 𝟐

(Gif credit to owner)

Fandom: Supernatural

Character: Dean Winchester

Persona: Female

Warning: Swearing

Word Count: 1,424

A/N - Thank you all for your lovely responses <3

Read Part 1 Here!

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A particularly loud snore caught in the back of Dean’s throat while he lay face down spread eagle across his bed still wearing the clothes he’d stormed out in last night. He jolted awake trying to force his green eyes to focus. Letting out a groan which was muffled slightly by his pillow he touched his forehead gently, careful not to agitate his headache more.

How did he even get home last night? Dean tentatively sat up swinging his legs over the side of the bed he rested his head in his hands to try and remember the shenanigans of the evening.

A few doors down you also began to rouse from your dreamless sleep. The thought of being back, combined with having to see and at some point interact with the older Winchester filled you with enough anxiety that rest didn’t come easy that night. Rising from the bed the room became filled with the noise of your back cracking, soon to be replaced by your stomach growling angrily. “Shit”, you mumbled to the air. You flopped down on the bed to think about your options, you could either; venture out to the kitchen to grab a snack but that came with the risk of bumping into you know who or you could just wait it out. As much as the hunger gnawed at your stomach, the fear was too much so you once again opened up your laptop to try and distract yourself. There was a soft tap on your door, followed by Sam gently calling your name, “Hey (Y/N), I made some breakfast if you want any”, almost like he could sense your dilemma. You smiled, practically bouncing over to the door you opened it, “That would be great Sam”. “I can bring--”, Sam started but stopped once you began to step outside of your room, “Let’s go eat”.

Fate was cruel that much Dean couldn’t deny, it always had a nasty way of coming back around to bite him in the ass in someway or another. The smell of pancakes and bacon drifted under the door into Dean’s nose. A disgustingly greasy breakfast was just what he needed. Reluctantly he rose from his bed certain that somewhere Chuck was mocking him. He resented everything about his current situation and resented you even more. Not only did he have to worry about Micheal now but you as well. Dean stumbled over his own feet as he made his way to the kitchen.

“I forgot how good you are at making these”, you garbled through a mouthful of pancake, “But Dean’s were always better”, you were unable to stop the sentence from spilling out from your mouth, Sam didn’t miss the way your face fell. “Yeah well he still won’t share his secret recipe with me...How have you been anyway?”. You were grateful for the swift topic change, it was almost like nothing had changed between the two of you. Dean was so caught up in his own thoughts that he almost didn’t hear the sound of Sam talking to you. He froze up, his blood turning to ice in his veins. He lent against the wall, only a few metres kept him from you. Your voice was still the same but as he listened he noticed you sounded tired in a way that he couldn’t place even though it sounded familiar. The more he listened to your soft spoken words to Sam, the more it provoked feelings of nostalgia as his mind fleeted away to a better moment in time:

“Good morning sleepyhead”, you cooed to Dean who walked into the kitchen wearing nothing more than his bathrobe, you were stationed over the hob watching the bacon and eggs cook. Dean placed his head onto your shoulder, engulfing your waist with his big arms he asked, “What’s cookin’ good lookin’?”. You giggled, “Your favourite”. Dean tightened the grip momentarily with a hum of approval, then he pulled on your hips to make you face him, “You’re too good to me princess”, his accent heavy with sleep. He pressed his lips to yours as you let your arms wrap around his neck. “Gross you guys, I’m trying to eat”, Sam piped up from the table, a look of mocking disgust across his face. You pulled away from Dean with a smile.

Dean couldn’t believe how lucky he’d gotten by scoring you: his perfect dream girl. He let you turn back around, “Way to ruin the moment Sammy”, he took a seat across from his brother who laughed at his quip. He watched as you hummed to yourself flipping the eggs, taking a swig from his coffee he was content with the picturesque scene before him.

‘Yeah’, Dean thought, ‘I could get used to this’.

“--and that’s how I took out a whole nest of vamps”, you grinned proudly, watching the visible surprise grow on Sam’s face, “No way, not even me or Dean could’ve done that!”. Upon hearing his name, Dean was thrust back into the real world. He snorted out a puff of air in irritation, breakfast would have to wait. Spinning on his heel he made no effort to conceal the sound of his movement, pissed off that he couldn’t even go anywhere in his own house, couldn’t eat and that he felt like he’d been ran over by a truck.

The noise caught both yours and Sam’s attention. It felt like you’d been punched in your gut, like there was no air getting to your lungs. You waited for what felt like an eternity for Dean to walk into the room but he never appeared. “So where were we anyway?”, Sam questioned, drawing your attention back to him.

“Like I was saying--”.

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Sam later found his brother in the library, glued to his laptop screen with a sour look twisting his features into a permanent scowl. His hand was gripping a beer bottle, (like usual), while the other hand scrolled endlessly through useless articles.

Sam cleared his throat, “Any luck?”. Without looking away Dean answered dully, “I thought I told you to tell her to go”. Sam pursed his lips. When a reply never came Dean glanced up at his brother, raising a brow in an almost antagonising manner. Sam shifted his weight knowing that anything he said wouldn’t sate his brother, “We need her Dean”. His older brother shut his laptop lid with more force than he meant, he stood up, “How is (Y/N) gonna help huh? What’s she going to do that we can’t? Does she know something we don’t?”, Dean paused to let Sam interject but the look on the younger man’s face said it all, “That’s what I thought. We don’t need her, I mean just look at all the other hunters we got runnin’ around here, we don’t need another taking up space”.

Sam softly said, “Dean (Y/N) can help you just need to give her time--”.

“Time!?!”, Dean scoffed in disbelief, “We don’t have time! She either helps now or I’ll pack her bags myself”. He snatched his beer from the table to storm off to his room. As he booked it around the corner he almost bumped into you, you didn’t need to have heard the conversation he’d just had with Sam, (even though you just did), to tell from his body language that he was livid. Dean’s green eyes widened in shock for a split second before the mix of previous feelings misted over his eyes; hurt, anger and confusion. He quickly pushed past you, your shoulders bumping as he hurried back to his room, “Watch where you’re going”, his voice low like a growl. As quickly as he had appeared, he was gone just as fast, low key wishing he’d lingered for just a few moments longer to take in your relatively unchanged appearance.

Watching his shadow disappear around the corner, you couldn’t stop the tears that began to well in the back of your eyes. Timidly shuffling into the library you found it to be occupied by only Sam. Dean’s words stung as you repeated the sentences in your head. Sam looked up and met your eyes, his demeanour swiftly eased into a much more inviting one, his arms almost twitch up to offer you a hug.

Even though your voice was low as you spoke there was clear determination laced in your tone, “I’ll show him Sam”. With a plan already beginning to formulate, you planned on how to soothe your wounded pride.

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Tag List: @annestine

85 notes · View notes

2manyfandoms2count · 4 years

Text

Friends who cook together...

I saw today's prompt for @auyeahaugust (College AU) and thought it would be the perfect opportunity to share the beginning of this fic I've been working on!

It's actually based on @e-milieeee's post, I couldn't resist the cooking trope 😬

Hope you enjoy!

Read on AO3 (gasp)

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Lesson 1: Ratatouille

Adrien Agreste was the perfect man. Good-looking, hard-working, charming, he was the prime example of the son-in-law every parent wanted, and the people his age who didn't want to be him wanted to date him.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng wouldn't deny she might be classified in the latter category, although less so than when she was younger. She was good friends with the model now. Voluntarily so. You didn’t fight and defeat Paris’ number one villains for years, growing from a teenager into a young adult together, without getting close. Their respective crushes on each other had faded over time, but it didn’t mean they would’ve said no if all the circumstances aligned, although they wouldn’t have admitted it out loud.

The one thing Adrien Agreste wasn’t, though, was a good cook. Not that he didn’t have everything he could possibly need in his kitchen. The apartment he now lived in, although a huge step down from the Mansion that had once been his home (but what wouldn’t be), was still a lot bigger, and a lot more comfortable than what a normal student should have been able to afford.

It was a lot better equipped, too.

Marinette had told him the contractors were abusing his trust by installing things that were way more expensive than they ought to be, knowing he wouldn’t double check, but he’d waved her concerns away. With his father’s demise, he’d just wanted to move out as quickly as possible to avoid the crowds of paparazzi, and if signing a very large cheque could provide him with the knowledge the workers wouldn’t blab, then so be it. He couldn’t bring himself to sell the Mansion despite the knowledge it had been Hawkmoth’s lair the whole time -there were too many memories associated with his mother there- but he’d had some offers to rent it out for movie settings which would definitely cover the costs of keeping it, as well as his rent. He’d looked into his finances and put all the money he’d earned as a model in a bank account, and donated the rest to a fund to help Akuma victims. There was no way he was keeping his father’s dirty money when so many people had suffered at his hands.

Since then, Adrien had fallen into a nice little routine as he moved from Lycée to University. He made the most of his freedom by exploring every nook and cranny of Paris without anyone being able to say anything about it. No curfews, no limitations, but for his own tiredness and others’ private property, of course.

It left little time for him to learn basic cooking skills. He was often too tired to make anything when he came back from his nocturnal meanderings, so he went for the easy solution: food delivery. There were so many restaurants nearby he could’ve eaten something different every night for a month and still not have gone through all of the options. It was more diverse than anything he’d ever eaten, and it suited him just fine.

Little did he know that this habit would be disrupted by his best friend moving in next door.

Marinette had been looking for a new flat. Not that she didn’t enjoy living with her parents, but she found herself wanting a little more privacy now that she was at University. The reveal that she was Ladybug had brought a lot of attention to the Tom and Sabine bakery, which was good, but a lot of it was journalists prowling around in the hopes of getting an exclusive interview with her. She was tired of being pretty much mauled anytime she left the house, and although she could easily leave via the rooftops as Ladybug, she refused to let them dictate how and when she could get in and out. Which is why, when she’d seen the words “à louer” on a window of Adrien’s building as she visited him for their weekly game night, she didn’t think twice about calling the number. Adrien had been a step ahead of her, so the owners were expecting her call. A week later, she had officially moved into the flat across from his.

She hadn’t paid much attention to his habits at first. She was too busy settling in, and with all the planned evenings with Nino and Alya, plus the ones with the Miracuclass students who remained in Paris, she didn’t see how late he came back at night, and ordering in didn’t seem out of place. What better than a pizza for poker night? Or sushi for movie night? It was easy .

As winter settled in, though, and nights out dwindled to once every fortnight, she noticed the ballet of scooters and bikes that came almost at a fixed time every night. Generally when she was about to fall asleep, doing a grand job at waking her up. Groggily stalking up to the window one evening, she’d noticed Adrien meet the delivery person as he came back from wherever he’d been, paying his due and coming up. She’d dismissed it due to midterm season approaching, but exams had come and gone and things hadn’t changed. She kept an eye out, and after two additional weeks of seeing Adrien collect a brown paper bag, knowing fully well that he ate a sandwich every midday thanks to her father’s well-meaning gossip, she’d decided to take action. She couldn’t let her partner have such a questionable diet.

“What's it going to be tonight?” She asked, leaning arms crossed against her door frame one night as he appeared on the landing.

Adrien froze at the top of the stairs and looked at her like a deer caught in headlights.

“Er…“ He raked his mind for something, anything that would sound even remotely healthy, but nothing came. He sighed defeatedly. “None pizza with left beef.” He mumbled, his head lowered guiltily. He’d seen the meme the night before, and had wanted to try it out.

“What?”

He repeated a little louder.

“Okay that’s it, you’re coming over to my place for dinner.”

He knew from her tone of voice there’d be no arguing with her, so he sheepishly followed her inside her flat, still clutching his pizza box. He wasn’t too unhappy about the outcome, if he was honest. Marinette was a good cook. He’d have a nice meal tonight.

“What about the pizza?” He asked weakly.

“We can use it as… bread, or something.” The girl suggested, crinkling her nose at the thought. For someone who came from a long line of bakers and was part Italian, calling the contents of the box pizza or even bread seemed inherently wrong.

Adrien trailed a little behind her as she walked towards her kitchen, marveling at what she’d done with the place.

Marinette’s apartment mirrored his in terms of structure, but whereas his decoration was very minimalistic, hers was a lot more eclectic, without looking cluttered. Her furniture wasn’t a set, yet fit together very well and gave the space a cozy feel. The painted walls, as well as the coloured posters, curtains, rugs and cushions made it feel very homey. He wanted nothing more than sit on her sofa and snuggle under the knitted blanket with her to watch a movie.

Platonically, of course.

Adrien walked into the kitchen and was greeted by the pastel yellow of the walls and warm lighting. Her utensils provided nice splashes of colour that brightened up the room. He particularly appreciated the Ladybug-themed colander that was drying next to the sink.

“If you look in that bottom draw,” she indicated with her foot before reaching for a jar of dried rice in a cupboard, “you should find some saucepans, if you could take two out please, Chaton.”

He obliged, resisting the temptation to lift her up to help her. He knew she wouldn't appreciate it.

“Can I put you in charge of cooking the rice?” She asked, handing him the packet. Adrien accepted it but looked at her quizzically.

“Sure!” He replied excitedly. “Do you have the instructions anywhere?”

Marinette stopped in the middle of washing vegetables she’d taken out of the fridge and squinted her eyes as she gauged whether or not he was joking. He seemed genuinely at loss for what to do.

“Have you never prepared rice before?”

“No?”

“It’s like pasta.” His clueless face made her sigh defeatedly. “You’ve never made pasta either, haven’t you.”

“Does instant ramen count? Or pasta boxes?” He flinched slightly.

“How you’re still alive and actually fit is beyond me.” She rolled her eyes. “Right, I guess we really are starting with the basics then. Consider this lesson number one: pour some water in that saucepan.”

She moved away from the sink to allow him to access it, but stayed close enough to be able to turn the tap off for him. He clearly had no idea of how much water was needed.

“Right, now put the saucepan on the hob, and turn it on.” She saw a smirk spread on his face. “And don’t even think about making a joke, I know what it sounded like!”

“You’re no fun, Buguinette.” He pouted, pressing the button she indicated.

“Add a little salt, and then we’ll just let it come to a boil.”

Next, she handed him a chopping board and tomatoes. She hesitated before giving him a knife. “Can I trust you not to cut yourself?”

“Har har.” He grabbed the knife. “Joke’s on you, because salad is actually the only thing I know how to make. How do you want these?”

She resisted making a comment on how knowing how to make salad wasn't something he really could brag about. “Sliced. We’re making ratatouille.”

“Ooh, nice!”

He listened as she talked him through the recipe, impressed by the fact she didn’t need a cookbook to remember how to prepare it. She taught him how to prepare an aubergine, which he could recognise thanks to the emoji, but could not imagine how to bring to an edible form.

“We just want to sear them in some oil with the courgettes, then we’ll let them cook gently with the rest of the vegetables and the herbs.”

He’d been quite dainty on the amount of herbes de Provence he’d added, which had prompted her taking his hand and shaking the spice pot to cover the tomatoes with it.

He looked at her concentrated expression as she stirred the pan and couldn’t help but smile, his hand still hovering above the hob.

Marinette looked at him inquisitively. “What?”

“Nothing.” She raised her eyebrows. “I just forgot how cute you are when you’re bossy.”

Marinette stammered in response, her cheeks pinking. It didn't matter how at ease she felt with Adrien now, she still couldn't take a compliment from him. He grinned and took advantage of her distraction to steal the wooden spoon from her and taste the dish.

“Authorisation to add a little salt?” He asked, refilling the spoon with ratatouille for her.

She took it, trying not to focus on the fact his lips had been just where hers were. She let the flavours flood her palet thoughtfully.

"Authorisation granted."

She smiled fondly as Adrien excitedly added missing spices to the mix.

"See? I am a competent cook!" He added with a satisfied smile.

"Please, you're barely a sous-chef." Marinette snorted. She backtracked her slightly harsh words seeing her partner's pout. "Don't worry though, you'll get the hang of it! It's just a question of practising." She rubbed his back encouragingly. "Would making the plates pretty make you feel better?"

"I think so." He mock sniffled.

Marinette made a point of taking out her Chat Noir plates, which she'd been planning on keeping for special occasions. The way Adrien's face lit up upon seeing them made the fact they were her only dishes that couldn't be dishwashed seem irrelevant. Adrien made a mental note to try and find matching Ladybug ones, although he wasn't sure if he would be gifting them to her or keeping them for himself.

Marinette busied herself with tidying up the kitchen and laying the cutlery as he worked on the presentation. Had her phone been nearby, she would've taken a picture of him as he blepped in concentration.

"Does this look good enough for Madame la Chef ?" He asked as he presented the plates to her. He'd positioned the vegetables around the rice so as to make it look like a flower.

"It's perfect, Chaton." She kissed the top of his head as she passed behind him with a packet of smoked ham. She rolled the slices into little roses and planted them in the rice.

"A table?" She asked as she finally sat down opposite him.

Adrien dug in before she could say bon appétit .

---

When Adrien came home from his morning run a couple of days later, a fresh croissant in hand, he found a conscientiously wrapped package on his doormat. The black polka dots on the field of red were a dead giveaway as to who it was from. He grinned as he picked it up and opened the door.

Breakfast and washed hands later, he sat on his couch, facing the present. He was torn between tearing the wrapping, or being civilised about it. Before he could choose, Plagg flew nearby and obeyed his cat instincts, swiftly disappearing back into his Camembert cabinet with a grin to avoid his holder's reprimands.

"Je sais cuisiner." He read the title and laughed, holding the book in front of him. It was an old edition, a yellow hardback with a picture of the author on the cover.

A post-it note stuck out from the top of the book. He opened it to get to the bookmarked recipe.

For Adrien - saw this and thought of you! Since you're so keen on instructions, this might do the trick! Feel free to use it often ;-)

Love, Marinette

P.S.: I suggest we try this recipe next!

Adrien read through the page, and felt his stomach grumble. He was very pleased at the thought that something had reminded her of him and that she'd bought it for him. The "love" and the fact she was obviously looking forward to repeating their cooking experience were added bonuses.

He himself could hardly wait.

#auyeah2020 #mlauyeahaugust #college au #miraculous ladybug #the miraculous tales of ladybug and cat noir #mlb #adrienette #cooking trope #neighbours au #miraculous fanfic #miraculous fanfiction #elle writes

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jaskiersbeloved · 4 years

Text

Move a little closer to me

Before I start, I’d like to thank so much to @hanukkahmagnus for helping me with the Jewish part. ❤️

By the time they finally got home it was already dawn. Both Nico and Levi were immensely exhausted from the events from the day, so when they locked the door, neither of them had any energy left to even get to the living room. They slid down the door and sat side by side and simply breathed.

“That was one hell of a date” Nico chuckled, with closed eyes. Levi just sighed and leaned his head on his boyfriend’s shoulder.

“Yeah, definitely didn’t think I’d be keeping Taryn from dying tonight” he scoffed, but immediately regretted it.

He could still feel how the cold hands of fear wrapped deep inside his stomach, when he was pressing on his… His friend’s wound, trying to keep her alive. The sheer memory of it made him tense up and it seemed like Nico felt that as well, because he sneaked an arm around his shoulder, pulling him in.

“She’s gonna be all right” he whispered.

“I know” Levi sighed, burrowing himself more in his boyfriend’s neck. After a moment of silence he said in a hushed tone, “I’m just glad that you’re okay. You scared me there for a second.”

And that was true as well. When the car ran into the window apparently Nico’s first thought was to protect Levi, so he jumped in front of him, shielding him from some of the shards that came into their way. When Levi managed to peek his head from under Nico’s shoulder, it seemed like some of the shards got to them despite their distance from the window. His heart had dropped when he saw one of it stuck into Nico’s shoulder. But, of course, his boyfriend brushed it off as nothing, and later, when the car was finally safely removed it has been confirmed that this has been just a mere scratch. Nevertheless, it really caused Levi to worry.

“I know, and I’m sorry. I just couldn’t live with myself if anything happened to you,” answered Nico, kissing him lightly on the forehead. Levi actually smiled at that and raised his head to look at his man, amused.

“That might be actually the cheesiest thing you have ever told me.”

Nico simply laughed. They sat there, on the floor, in a comfortable silence, still reflecting on the events from the day.

Levi thought of Taryn, now probably in the ER, Casey, who also hardly made it out and… And that stupid Blake guy. Suddenly the exhaustion merged to pure exasperation. Nico seemed to notice his change of mood because he reached for his hand squeezed.

“What is it, Levi?” he asked, gently nosing his temple. The latter just rolled his eyes.

“Just people being ignorant again.” He felt Nico frown, so he heavily sighed. “It’s nothing, really.”

“If it’s bothering you, then it is something” came the answer and Levi felt two fingers under his chin, gently urging him to raise his head. He was met with Nico’s trademarked puppy eyes. “Tell me? Please?”

“Fine” he grumbled, rolling his eyes. He took a moment to collect himself, sighed and then asked: “Remember that Blake guy?”

“The one who got himself under the piece of the wall?”

“Yeah, that one” he could not help to briefly smirk, but it quickly faded away. “He said something in the morning that was really…” He groaned, running his hand on his face. “That really didn’t make any sense, and was stupid, ignorant and…” He threw his hands in a silent exasperation, but eased up a bit when he felt Nico’s hand give him a reassuring squeeze. He took a deep breath and said, “He basically alleged that what I did to Grey was something a Nazi would do.”

“He fucking what now?!”

At the tone of Nico’s voice, Levi jumped. He looked up at his face, to find it twisted in a pure disbelief mixed with rage. He rolled his eyes, though he could feel something tug at his heartstrings, seeing Nico be so protective of him.

“Yeah, guess he’s more insensitive and stupid than I thought”

“I’ll kill him” Nico muttered, clenching the hand that wasn’t around Levi’s arms, while the other significantly tightened around him. It was now Levi’s turn to give him a calming squeeze on the arm.

“No need” he said, forcing a smile, but he could tell Nico didn’t buy it. He sighed then tiredly, hiding his face again in Nico’s neck, but then gently smiled when he felt Nico’s fingers run through his hair. “I’m just… Tired of this shit, I guess. Like literally, he knew I am Jewish, so to take this low of a blow…” he shook his head.

“He deserved more than this wall crushing him” muttered Nico in an angry huff. Levi didn’t have anything in him to not agree so he just shrugged.

“I mean it doesn’t hurt me as much as it did when I was young” he confessed and waved off Nico’s worried look. “Sometimes people are insensitive. Though, to be honest, this comparison was really a stretch. I know I was just doing my job, and honestly all of them would have done the same, they just don’t want to admit it. I guess he just wanted to get a rise out of me.” Suddenly his face fell. Again he ducked his head down.

“Then what is it?” Nico murmured, kissing his temple lightly.

“Neither Casey or Taryn reacted” he said, surprised at how sad his voice sounded. “Honestly, I know they are mad at me but…”

“That’s no excuse.” Nico interrupted, shaking his head. “If they are your friends they should have said something” he continued with such a confidence that Levi almost believed him. Yet he just shook his head.

“Yeah, I guess. But also maybe I shouldn’t hold it against them, I mean they are in the ER now, so…”

“Doesn’t matter. Levi…” For a second time Nico urged Levi to raise his chin. When he finally met his gaze, Nico cupped his face and looked at him deep in the eyes. “… You can’t just forgive them because they are hurt. Sure, maybe now they’ll start to realise how awful they were, but that doesn’t mean you have to forgive them just like that. Make them earn your forgiveness, by showing that THEY care about YOU. Allright?”

“I…” Levi’s voice trailed off. He shut his eyes for a second as if trying to shield himself from Nico’s reassuring words, but deep down he knew that the Nico was right. Levi’s way past desperately fighting for keeping his friends close to him. If Taryn and Casey want to be friends with him they have to make an effort to fix the damage they made themselves. Hurt or not.

So he opened his eyes and slowly nodded. He was rewarded by Nico’s soft smile and a kiss on the cheek.

“I’m proud of you” he whispered like it was some kind of a secret, which made Levi blush. To hide his reaction he burrowed his head in Nico’s chest. He let out a long sigh.

They sat in silence for a bit more until Nico’s stomach started to grumble. They both giggled.

“I guess I promised you a dessert?” Nico asked, raising his brow. Despite his exhaustion Levi perked up and let Nico help him to get up and lead him to the kitchen. He sat on one of the bar stools near the table and watched with increasing curiosity as Nico reached to the fridge and took out…

“You didn’t!” he said excited. Nico just smiled fondly, sliding him a plate full of rugelach. He chuckled as Levi’s eyes went to him then back to the plate then back to him.

“I honestly don’t know if I want to eat first and then kiss you or kiss you and then eat” Levi blurted, smiling like an idiot. To his suprise Nico kind of sheepishly rubbed the back of his nevk and ducked his head.

“Eat first. I wanna know if I made it any good.”

To say that Levi was stunned, was like to say nothing. For a second he had simply gaped at his boyfriend, before finally he broke from the stupor and asked:

“Wait, you baked them?! When?”

Nico really tried to avert his gaze.

“Well, you were feeling down for a week now, and I remembered you saying that these would make you feel better when you were a child so I thought…”

Levi could honestly cry now. Something warm bloomed in his chest at the thought that Nico would actually spend his time to do something like that for him. He knew that Nico loved him, but he never thought he would go out of his way to make him feel better. Plus the fact that he actually made an effort, baked him something of his cuisine and that he actually listened to him, remembered it, made him kind of fuzzy inside, especially with Blake’s words still faintly in the back of his mind.

At a loss of words he run to his boyfriend and grabbed him by the back of his neck to bring him down for a long, but sweet, kiss.

“I am sure they’ll be great” he whispered against his lips. Then he smiled mischievously and quickly took the plate, leaving a very surprised Nico in the kitchen.

He went to the living room, threw himself on a couch, mindful of the plate in his hand. He eyed Nico who was still standing in the kitchen and decided to take pity of him and patted the space beside him. Nico took the hint and sat down. Levi smiled. Before he took the first bite he cupped Nico’s face and looked him deeply in the eyes. Smiling, he affectionately said,

“ikh hob dikh lib”

For a second Nico looked confused, but it quickly passed as he smiled, completely smitten. He leaned down to kiss him softly and whispered,

“Saranghae.”

#schmico #schmico fic #levi schmitt #nico kim #grey's anatomy #greys anatomy #sonia tries to write #i am honestly so stressed about this #you have o idea #but i love CONSTRUCTIVE criticism soooooo

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littlebitoffanfic · 5 years

Text

Silent Confessions part 2

Fandom: Texas Chainsaw Massacre Characters: Bubba, Drayton Relationship: Bubba/reader Request: Would you write a part two for the silent confession where the reader gets found by drayton AN: http://littlebitoffanfic.tumblr.com/post/175620949144/silent-confession You woke with a loud clatter as a voice screamed in anger only a few feet in front of you. “Hes kept un! God-damn it, I’ll kill ‘im.” You sat bolt up right in your bed, your eyes immediately finding the source of the noise and your blood ran cold. Drayton. He was pacing the floor in front of you, his hands on his hips as he almost let off steam from his anger. You had seen him briefly through some holes in the walls when he had come into the basement to speak to Bubba so you knew what he looked like. When he saw you sit up, he froze. “God-damn it.” He cursed again. You had been caught. Nearly a year you had stayed hidden down here, but he had finally caught Bubba and you. But Bubba wasn’t here right now. He and Chop Top had had stuff to do, so he had left first thing. You had been tired so stayed in your bed until you were rudely awakened. “and he didn’t even tie her down!” he snarled as he saw your free wrists and ankles. “He doesn’t have to. I wont run.” You said in a soft voice, taking Dayton by surprise. He twisted to look at you. You knew you had to be incredibly carful right now. If you were able to say the right things and do the right things, you might be able to keep yourself alive as well as save Bubba from punishment. “Oh yeah? You wont run?” Drayton scolded at you, mimicking your voice a little. “No, I don’t want to.” You keep yourself calm, knowing that any hint of weakness might be a loophole for Drayton to exploited. “eh?” He stopped pacing to look back at you. “Ive been here for a while. If I wanted to run, I would have. But I don’t.” You explain a little more. “How did yah get here, then?” He was carful and kept a little distance between the two of you. You knew he didn’t do any of the killing, so probably wouldn’t do anything to you until the twins got back. So you had a little time to persuade him. you told him of how you had been kidnapped and held hostage. About how you didn’t have a family so the ransom they asked for was never paid. About how they beat you and then brought you out here to be killed. But Bubba had saved you. You were very carful to say that Bubba had been carful at first and had kept you in ropes, but you never ran so they became forgotten. During your tale, Drayton retreated away from your bed to sit on the chair in the corner, watching you carefully for any signs of deception. “So how long have you been down here?” He finally asks when he sensed your story was coming to a close. “About a year.” You knew it was dangerous and leaving it to chance about how he would react, but you couldn’t lie. “Are you insane or something?” Drayton shoots at you, but you could only laugh. “Maybe.” You shrug, a soft giggle falling from your lips. “You got any idea what we-“ he started to ask but you knew where he was going with the question. “That you kill people? Yeah, I know. Ive helped.” You smile proudly, catching Drayton off guard as he frowns and asks how. “Bubba showed me. Ive been skinning some of the people when they come down here.” “you… I wondered why it was lookin’ a lot cleaner.” Drayton sat back in his chair, his eyes trained on you. “Why’d yah stay?” “Because…” you trail off, dropping your eyes a little, asking yourself that question. But the answer was so obvious to you. “Because I wanted to.” there was a pause between you two as Drayton thought through everything he had just heard. “Well, Bubba wont be back for another hour. You best come up with me. Help with some stuff.” He stood up, his sudden offer making you smile and bounce out of your bed. You moved quickly to his side before following him up the stairs. He kept a very close eyes on you as he told you to start by cleaning up the blood left over from the night before. You got right to it, scrubbing at the blood on the main dinning table. You were able to lift it rather easily because it hadn’t completely dried into the woodwork. Next, he took you into the kitchen. “Are you going to make chilli?” You asked, right by his side. You knew the close proximity had him on edge but you needed him to trust you and maybe you could force that trust a little. Plus, it was nice being able to speak to someone and get a verbal response. You were glad it was Drayton who found you first, because it meant you had a good shot at getting on his good side, whereas Chop top and nubbins were completely crazy. “yeah, making a new batch.” He nods. “you sell it, don’t you?” You ask, excited that you might learn the receipt. Drayton nods as he turns on the hob and grabs a pan from the side. “You should enter those competitions, you know. The ones where you get judged. I saw a guy go on there once and his profit went through the roof when he won.” You told Drayton. for the next hour, you helped the eldest brother with the cooking. He was carful to keep knifes away from you but did tell you to do some peeling. “Do you mind if I make myself a cup of tea?” You ask, looking at the kettle. Drayton glances at you. He was about to nod when he realised that giving you boiling water might not be such a good idea, so he tells you to sit at the table and he’d make it. You were surprised by how well Drayton seemed to be taking this all. Maybe he was just hiding it but at least you might get to stay. Once he had made you a cup, he made himself one. Drayton sat at the opposite end of the table from you as you drank. He had left the chilli to stew for a while so you were sitting at the main dining room table. He asked you a few questions about your previous life and if there was anyone who might come looking for you, to which you laughed but answer no, nonetheless. Bubbas the first to return. You knew from the heavy footsteps when you recognised as his own. Sitting up straight in your chair, you looked at the door excitingly. you hadn’t seen him all day because he had had to leave before you were up properly. “Bubba!” Drayton called his name, making Bubbas footsteps stop. You thought you might be able to place them as heading for the basement first, to where he thought you were. But he then followed his brother voice. Drayton stood up and walked over to the stew, stirring it. When he entered the room, his eyes found you and he froze. You swear you could see fear in his eyes as he quickly made his way towards you. Bubba seemed not to have noticed that Drayton was in the room as he grabbed your hand, trying to drag you back to the basement. But you dug your heels into the ground and grabbed onto the table, stopping him to leading you anywhere. He gave a disgruntled growl as he tried again. “Aint no point in doing that, I already met the girl.” Drayton called over his shoulder before turning to look at his younger brother. Bubba had froze the second he had heard his brother speak. You looked over at Drayton who started to walk towards you both. Bubba hauled you from your chair and basically threw you behind him as he turned to Drayton, as if Drayton might forget you if he couldn’t see you. You couldn’t help but smile a little at this, but only for a moment. You leaned against his back, desperate for the contact you had lacked all day and also wanting to help his worry. “Damn it, I aint gonna do anything with her! Yer just lucky Ive been needing someone to help me.” Drayton chastised Bubba, batting the air in front of him before turning back to the chili which was bubbling a little. “But shes your responsibility. If she runs or trys to cause trouble, I aint-“ Drayton couldn’t finish his statement as Bubba frantically shook his head, silently promising Drayton that you wouldn’t run or cause trouble. “right then.” Drayton nods more to himself than you both. You stepped out from behind Bubba, running your hand up and down his arm to sooth him a little more as he kept a tight hold of your wrist. “Take her downstairs before the others get back. I’ll deal with them for now.” Bubba wasted no time in dragging you out of the kitchen and towards the basement. You couldn’t help but giggle a little until you realised he was genuinely scared he might lose you. Once in the safety of the basement, he turned to you, letting go of your wrist. You wasted no time in throwing your arms around him and pressing a kiss to his lips through his mask. his arms locked around you tightly and he held you against his chest. You could hear how his heart hammered in his chest. You felt slightly guilty for making him worry so, but it couldn’t be helped. Pulling back from the kiss, you decided to explain everything. “Im sorry. He came down here earlier and found me.” You told him, nodding to the area that lead to your bed. Bubba grunted, partly out of annoyance. He wanted to keep you safe and all to himself. Now he would have to share you with his brothers. He loved them and they were family, but he couldn’t help but feel a hint of fear. They weren’t the most careful people and always broke things. Even when he was little, they would break his toys or mess up his things. Bubba didn’t want that to happen to you. He just wanted to keep you down here and safe. you could see he was deep in thought as he gazed down at you. You reached up and slowly undid his mask, pulling it away from his face while he was thinking. “Bubba?” You called his name softly, drawing him out of his thoughts. His eyes focused on your own and softened. “At least there’s no more hiding or being scared about them finding out.” This was true, and even Bubba was relieved. He always had a heart attack when his brothers went into the basement. Only the day before, you had been straddling him in a hot and heavy make out session when Chop Top came bounding down the stairs, calling out for Bubba. He hated having to leave you after getting each other riled up. You heard the front door open and Chop Top and Nubbins came stumbling in, screaming at each other. Drayton’s heavy footsteps came running as he ordered them both into the kitchen. You knew what he would be talking about. Or who. Bubba had tensed up at the noises, listening closely even though it was impossible to hear what was being said. You took him by the hand and lead him into the back towards your little bedroom. He followed you in a dreamlike state. When inside, you pull him down to sit on your bed with you. his arms wrapped around you and he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. You looked up before retrieving a kiss from his lips. As normal, he sighed and let out a soft groan at the feeling before you moved to straddle his hips. You couldn’t stop whatever Drayton was saying to the others, but you could distract each other, if only for a little while.

#Texas Chainsaw Massacre #bubba sawyer #bubba sawyer x reader #leatherface #leatherface x reader

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deathbyvalentine · 5 years

Text

Assorted Prompts

Loveletter

There are always secret places in schools. They’re unseen to adult eyes. Hollows of trees, particular broken drawers in classrooms, unused desks. They could become post offices, central hubs for things to come and go. Lip glosses, lists, small talismans for luck and witchcraft. Some were private, known only to best friends, not realising they were carrying on a grand tradition practised by hundreds of schoolgirls before them.

Chrissie and Angelique were two such girls. They had the type of friendship only fourteen year old girls could have. They were joined at the hip, endlessly fascinated and infuriated with each other. The came apart and came together in a cycle as predictable as the tides.

They went to the woods on the outskirts of the grounds, pricked their fingertips with needles and pressed the bloody prints to each other’s lips, swearing an oath to be each other’s forever. They walked to class with linked arms, heads leaning together, weaving whispers between them. They invented their own language, as much about twitches of the hand and eyebrow as the nonsense words they said. They passed notes, never caught. They lay together on Chrissie’s bed, legs tangled together, pressing hands to each other. Sometimes they didn’t even need to speak. They just gazed at each other, memorising the other’s body until it may as well have been their own.

Years later, when they had graduated and were girls no longer, a new pupil plunged their hand into a birdbox and found a faded piece of paper, blue ink bleeding a little from years of damp. It said;

Chrissie, Tomorrow we will wake up and we will be friends still. How can life get better than this? Your Angel

High Flyer

She had red hair. That was what I remembered best about her. When she took her helmet off it shone like fire in the evening sunlight. She was like a poster come to life, her lipsticked smile perfect, her leather jacket fitting like a dream. She was the perfect pilot, everyone’s idea of one. At least, she was certainly my idea of one. I loved her best in the morning, before she left, before she had to put the world before me. Even in her sleep she was a fighter, never still for too long, always stirring. I knew that she would never go out quietly, that however she went, it would be with an explosion. It turned out I was right, her plane tumbling down into the English channel like Icarus, her hubris being the assumption she could out fly death. She’s buried there somewhere, out with the salt and the seaweed, conquering the waves as she conquered the sky. I don’t miss her. In life she was never around enough to form a life around and now without her, her absence feels as a natural as the wind. I still love her, and I love the spaces where she once was.

Blue

Constance woke up, as she so often did, in the early hours of the morning. For once, the school was peaceful, the entire place breathing slowly. Everything was bathed in pale blue light, the colour of a summer just before dawn. The place was as lonely as she felt, corridors and teaching rooms abandoned. Well. Abandoned if you didn’t know the right way to look.

She realised what had woken her on this occasion. Not nightmares, not rain pattering against the window, not hearing giggling in the next room. Distantly, echoing down the corridor, was a soft wailing. She tilted her head, wondering why the nurse hadn’t taken care of it. Then, after a moment, she realised exactly why. She slipped out of bed, bare feet hitting the cold polished wood, pulling open her bedroom door. She peeped out, listening before distinguishing where it was coming from.

She followed it down the corridor, a small shiver travelling down her spine from cold or fear. Her fingers brushed the banister as she tip toed down the stairs, slipping past the teacher’s quarters like a forgotten shadow. It was deep within the kitchen where she finally found what she was looking for, rubbing her eyes to free them from the clinging fingers of sleep.

The figure was small, as she expected it to be, sitting on the edge of the wooden table and howling fit to burst. Constance forced herself to keep a neutral face, to not recoil or flinch when the figure looked up to reveal a face with deep claw marks across it. She hadn’t met this one before, but then ghosts appeared whenever they liked. Sometimes it could be centuries before they manifested. Yet another part of her power she didn’t quite understand. Timidly she stood, squirming as she worked up the courage to ask if it was alright.

The answer would be no of course. She had yet to meet a happy ghost. But sometimes someone seeing them, talking to them, acknowledging them would ease their soul enough that they would let her sleep. It didn’t always work. Hence why Constance had quite the reputation for falling asleep at her desk. She took a step closer, fingers brushing the shoulder of the incorporeal form. With a shock like electricity, she felt the claws rip into her flesh, the teeth and terror. She blinked, and her body was her own again, vital, living. The ghost had not yet stopped crying, only for a moment to be surprised that Constance could see him before continuing, undeterred.

With a sigh, she moved over to fill a heavy iron kettle and place it on the hob. She needed tea. It was going to be a long night.

____________________________________________-

Calpurnia and Matthias’ first meeting

He stood behind his mothers and fathers, attempting valiantly to look disinterested. But he had never met a Urizeni before and his curiosity betrayed him. He peeked around his father’s shoulder to inspect her. He noted her stance, straight backed and rigid, the expression giving nothing away as to what she thought of his land, his family, his lodgings. His instinct was to assume arrogance, but he had been told about the Urizeni occupation with poise. She could just be controlling herself, a concept fairly foreign to the young changeling.

He also noted the soft feathers sprouting along her brow. If it wasn’t clear from her confidence, the feathers made her lineage intently clear. He himself had no chance of hiding his own - swirls painted his face, the beginnings of antlers protruding through the mess of curls, his eyes a sparkling blue. In hindsight, he probably should have spent less time examining every inch of her and more time listening to exactly what his family was saying.

“- Matthias will show you - “ “- What?” He blinked, rapidly being jolted back down to earth. “You know the way. Calpurnia here needs to be shown and we’re too busy with the clients we currently have. It’ll get you out from under our feet for a few days.” Their tone was traditionally blunt and invited no argument. Matthias frowned and looked over at the other teenager that had caused him to be jolted from his days of relaxation and socialising.

She smiled. What a dick.

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That Bloody Alleyway

The alley provided a much needed moment of respite. They stood for a moment, backs pressed to the brick walls, their chests heaving. Their assilants sprinted past, not a single one of them glancing into the gap. Even if they had, they might not have seen anything. They were bathed in shadow, the light of the street not quite touching them.

They could hear nothing but faded footsteps and the sound of their own breath catching in their throats. Alyssa tilted her head, double-checking. Then grinned. She wrapped her hand in Taylor’s t-shirt, closing the gap between them and kissing her, hard. Taylor returned the love, moving up the hand that wasn’t holding a bag of stolen jewellery to Alyssa’s hair, tangling her fingers within it.

It took them both a moment to notice the body. It was only when they had broken apart and glanced either way to begin to plan their exit when they saw it. Alyssa clapped a hand over her mouth to prevent a scream, but Taylor did nothing more than inhale sharply. They stood as still as statues, making certain that his chest was not rising and falling, that it wasn’t just some drunk sleeping off his evening. Taylor stepped closer, using her phone to cast a little more light on the situation.

A dark pool surrounded his head like a twisted version of a halo. One pale hand lay flat against the concrete, the other tucked inside his jacket pocket. He was smartly dressed, looking for all the world like he had just stepped out of an office. But that seemed unlikely in this part of town. Legitimate people didn’t work around here. This was a place for getting by and getting into trouble.

Hence the dilemma that now faced the partners. Did they call someone, anonymously and risk sticking their noses somewhere they did not belong? Or did they do the right thing? It was Taylor who stirred first, grabbing Alyssa’s hand and tugging her out of the alleyway and into the street. Not their problem. Not their business.

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“Any two etc. au bandfic.”

Amy stormed into the green room, tossing her bass onto the couch without caring if it landed on the cushions. She stood in the middle of the room, motionless, her hands clenched into fists, cheeks flushed pink. After a moment she broke the pose, moving over to carefully adjust her bass, murmuring an apology under her breath as she did so. She ran her fingers down it’s neck.

It was a thing of beauty, the only constant in her life since she was thirteen. Parents left, friends, boys, girls but her green bass stayed, as much a part of her as her hands. She stays in the silence, listening only to her breath. I am close to crying I think. I’m not sure. It’s been so long that I’m not sure all the pipes are connected right. She hated how she looked when she cried. Red puffy eyes, blotchy cheeks. She was not a girl who suffered prettily and she hated that she was even conscious of that fact. She wondered if boys watched themselves through another’s eyes, even at their worst.

She wasn’t sure if James worried about anything, let alone if his sadness was beautiful enough. But then, she also wasn’t sure if sadness was an emotion he felt. Anger, yes, frequently. Bitterness, of course. Sadness? She couldn’t see it on him. Which was probably the problem.

Amy was sad a lot. It was her default state. That and anxious. She frequently found her moments of happiness only came on stage, the music surrounding her, watching James sing her words, the words she had written. Out of his mouth, her words weren’t teenage and embarrassing. They weren’t personal. A crowd sang them back and they became poetry. They became something profound, universal. It felt like releasing them into the world, the weight from her chest finally easing, just a little.

She thought she had found another place. In James’s arms, in his bed. It had started almost as an ego boost. James was stunning, with those big brown eyes and thick eyelashes, strong arms and perfect smile. The fact that he wanted her, with all her flaws was enough to give her head rush. Then it had became more. It was him, just him that made her mood jump, her heart race. Stupid of her really. Falling in love in general was idiocy. Falling in love with a lead singer was lunacy. She didn’t know how to tell him to be careful. Not with her, she was already broken, but with her words. Her music. Her band. That was all that mattered really, when you cut down to the bone of it.

But James was not a careful man. He didn’t know how to be. He knew only how to be reckless and brave and maddening. It’s what made him so electric to watch and so dangerous to know. Amy only knew how to be careful. She lived in a fragile world. Everything was made of glass, everything could come crashing down, leaving cuts.

She wasn’t surprised that she had seen him kissing somebody else. It was in his nature. The old story of the scorpion and the frog, played out a hundred times over and over. She was however, surprised it hurt.

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“Any character: sex work AU”

It had taken a while to get used to. Her civvie clothes were flowing layers, in deep yellows and oranges, a way of carrying summer with her all year long. Her work clothes were not just tight - they may as well have been painted on. They clung to every dip and curve, highlighting the imagination rather than leaving something to it. What wasn’t covered by latex or leather was not covered at all, the black of the material and the tan of her skin working together to create a symphony of seduction.

Amberly liked it now. The feeling of it, especially when it warmed, becoming like a second skin. She ran her hands over her hips, feeling the slopes of her own body. She was not often aware she had a body. She generally considered it irrelevant. Simply a vessel for actioning her thoughts. A machine, just one made of flesh and blood.

Here it was different. Here it became a way for her to present her personality, to cause and stir excitement in others. It could be desired and admired. She became fascinated with herself, the swing in her hips, the noise her skin made against sheets, the way her hair streaked down her back. She memorised her freckles and scars, inspecting herself in her mirror with nothing but kindness. She knew logically she was supposed to find fault. Prod at her thighs, despair over a spot, circle what she would change. But none of that entered her mind. She loved herself, her body. And this job gave others the opportunity to do the same.

Experimentally, she smacked the crop against her palm, smiling at the noise that echoed through the room.

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Petitioner Change

Canyon sat on top of the decaying rock, feet just resting in the water. Dark shapes moved below, but she wasn’t afraid. Shadows were as much a part of this world as the sea itself. The sea spray and the mist left tiny droplets on her skin, shimmering like crystals. Sometimes they fizzled where they hit her skin, the infernal burning inside her not abated. She was a creature of fire surrounded by water. Not that she minded. Not anymore.

It wasn’t just the landscape that was changing. She had known from the moment it had happened that Abyss had gone, shifting into something of his essence but definitely not the same. Your shaper was a part of you. When they changed, the world changed, and as a part of the world surrounding you, so did you.

Her rage hadn’t subsided. Her passion. Her adoration and hate. That was still there, fuelling the fire of her soul. But something else was there too. A deep, dark shadow behind the fire. One whispering about acceptance, peace, about the refuge that came with accepting shadow as the natural counterpart of fire. One that saw no experience as valuable as experience. One that thought one sounded like a dreadfully lonely number.

She leaned down, trailing her fingers in the sea, watching some shadows dart up and nip at her fingers. Part of her wanted to slip into the water and let them consume her, a thousand pieces of her in a thousand others. She wasn’t scared. She was happy.

#prose #prompts #larp #short stories

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