#i was so tired yesterday and i was not allowed to nap bc my and my roomates room is like The room ppl hang out in | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pascalpanic · 3 years

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Burning The Midnight Oil (Javier Peña x gn!Reader)

Summary: Javier has been burning the candle at both ends. He just needs some rest. Luckily, you’ve got your husband covered.

W/C: 3.4K

Warnings: oh boy um. language, non sexual nudity, brief sexual jokes/innuendo, lots of talk of sleep deprivation bc that’s a plot point here, brief mentions of alcohol and guns (maybe once each), mostly talk of food/eating, eating meat/pork (Javier does, not reader) otherwise I’d say it’s fluffy for the most part

A/N: ☄️ anon, god bless your soul for this idea!! I really love it so I banged it out in one night and here we are!!

You haven’t seen your husband in days. You know he’s exhausted, only ever showing up at home when you’re off at work. It’s a terrible situation, the only contact you’ve had with him being at odd hours over the phone.

The DEA has been all hands on deck this week, requiring their men to be there at all times unless they’re at home and sleeping; even then, they only get about six hours off at a time, many of them too wired to sleep. Javier only gets to come home every other day, usually during the middle of the day. He’s been staying up for a dangerous amount of time, in your opinion, leaving you just about ready to find the heads of the cartel and beat their asses yourself.

During the work week, you can’t complain. You have no right to. You knew when you and Javier had eloped and married that the man’s job was a baggage you’d be forced to carry as a couple. You normally didn’t mind, but when it goes into the weekend, that’s when you get mad. Not just that you don’t get your husband at home with you, but that he doesn’t get to be home. He deserves it. Javier hardly relaxes during the weekends, and essentially does not relax on weeknights until he’s fallen asleep with his head on your chest.

Saturday found you running errands, expecting Javier home by midday at the very latest. Returning home with a pep in your step and finding no Javier there, your mood and smile fell instantly. It’s Saturday; your husband should be home. They should be letting them go home, you thought angrily as you took your anger out by chopping the vegetables to go into your dinner. Surely Javier will be home by dinnertime.

Nothing. 6 P.M., 7 P.M., no Javier, just a dinner growing cold and your heart sinking. You knew Javier had got his break yesterday, and had been in the apartment while you worked, but a slightly rumpled bed was the only evidence he was even there.

At 8, you walk to the phone and dial the DEA office, specifically Javier’s extension.

Your husband picks up and his voice wrecks your heart. “Peña,” he mumbles, his voice crackly. It sounds like his morning grumble after a long night of sleep next to you.

“Javi,” you coo, heart breaking. “Baby, when are you coming home?”

Javier perches on the edge of his desk, phone tucked between his cheek and shoulder. “Fuck, cariño, I don’t know,” he admits, rubbing his face. “I just woke up, I got an hour nap in the break room office. We have to keep going. We’re so close, I can tell.”

You understand his desperation, but you know exactly what he looks like now, a stubble growing thanks to his time away from home, his eyes bloodshot and drooping. His hair is probably messy and his shirt is probably all wrinkly; you’re absolutely certain he’s holding a mug of the sludgy black coffee the office brews. He’s most definitely the picture of exhaustion, and even though you can’t see him, you know your husband. He is a wreck. “I can let Saturday slide, but you’re coming home tomorrow, I don’t care how long. I need to see you and you need to be taken care of.” “I’m doing just fine,” Javier shakes his head and you can hear a flick of a lighter as he’s most likely lighting a cigarette.

“You’re not, and don’t try to pull that card with me. I know you. You’re a disaster; I can tell from your voice. You haven’t eaten and you haven’t slept and you can’t deny it. I want you home as soon as you can tomorrow, you got it? Don’t you even fucking dare try it, Javier Fernando Peña.”

The full name: ouch. He sighs and exhales the cigarette smoke, then takes a sip of his coffee before answering you. “God, I fucking love you,” he chuckles softly. “Okay.”

Another sign of Javier’s exhaustion: how easily he gives in. Javier is a stubborn man, but over your years together he’s learned that you’re just as hard to budge. When both of you are set, neither of you can be moved. Your sarcasm and wit and willpower was what drew him to you in the first place; Javier could never have a compliant, submitting partner. He’d be a mess. He needs you to ground him, he knew and still knows it. It’s why you’re married now.

“I love you too, handsome. Call me before you come home, okay baby? I want to be awake for you,” you say, a soft smile on your face. Your voice is much warmer, less jagged and rough.

It’s the way you always get Javi, the thing that makes him melt the most: when you’re snapping one second and gentle the next. God, he fucking loves you. You understand him, you don’t question him when he comes home and doesn’t speak. You read him and then you hold him, and all of his fears dissipate with his calming breath. “Okay. I love you,” he repeats again, more earnest and purposeful. He wants you to know it; he worries you haven’t felt it in the past week. It’s also another sign of his exhaustion.

“I love you too, Javi,” you remind him as you chuckle and stand. “Don’t fall asleep on the job. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Javier groans and cracks his neck after hanging up, sliding the typewriter back to the beginning. Just a little longer, he tells himself, then he gets to come home to you.

The phone rings around 5 in the morning, waking you from a restless slumber. The sun is just starting to rise, making the sky lighter and colorful from its previous midnight blue. Knowing Javier would be calling, it was impossible for you to sleep fully, leaving you in a dozing state more similar to a daydream than to any form of REM.

“Hello?” You answer with a groggy voice, hoping it’s Javier. Who else could it be, at this hour on a Sunday morning?

“Hey, dulzura,” Javier sighs into the phone. “I’m packing up my shit now. We didn’t get Escobar, but we got one of his big guys late last night. They’re bringing in some Search Bloc guys and giving us tomorrow off.”

You nearly cry in relief at his words, making a noise between a sigh and a squeal, heavy and happy. Javier laughs softly at your noise of relief, allowing himself to smile. His vision is hazy from the lack of sleep, but he’ll be cognizant enough after this last cup of coffee kicks in. “Get your ass home, Javi,” you tell him with a voice just as sleepy as his own. “You got an ETA for me?”

There’s a moment of silence as he looks at his watch. “5:45.”

Your eyes haven’t even opened yet, and you finally let them as you look at the clock. That’s soon, really soon, and it makes your heart speed up a little as your body forces you awake. “Great. I’ll see you then. Drive safe. If you’re too tired-”

“Steve will not be driving,” he cuts you off with a grumble. It makes you giggle a little, his adamance that Steve could never possibly do something better than him, more competently.

“Just reminding you. I’ll see you,” you tell him and hang up before he can make another sarcastic comment.

He’s glad you hang up so fast. He doesn’t have the brain power for a classic witty retort.

Javier goes to unlock the apartment door about half an hour later, but finds that his keys aren’t necessary: you’ve left the door unlocked for him.

He’d be ashamed to admit it to anyone but you, but it really does happen: Javier’s eyes water as he walks inside to the smell of cooking, the stream of soft light through the kitchen window, the sound of soft Sunday morning music drifting from the radio.

You’re at the oven, cooking, and turn when you hear a noise, grinning to see Javier. “Hey, handsome,” you squeal and rush over, wrapping your arms around him.

Javier buries his face in your hair, throwing his arms back around you. You smell fresh and clean, so soft in the fluffy robe he bought you for your birthday a few months ago now. You’re surprised to feel warm water drip from his eyes to your neck, and you pull away with a frown, cupping his face. “Are you okay, love?” You ask, wiping the tears from his eyes.

He nods. “So tired,” he admits and swallows hard. “So glad I’m home. So lucky I have you.”

You have a feeling he doesn’t have the energy to kiss you. Instead, you press your forehead to his and squeeze him tight in your arms. “Okay. I cooked breakfast. You need it. Why don’t you go take a shower?” You ask, breaking away and rubbing his arms.

He shakes his head. “My arms feel like lead. I don’t know if I can even wash my hair,” he admits, his voice a low rumble from his chest. “Just let me sleep, baby.”

“I’ll come with you, then,” you offer, already unbuttoning his shirt and working it off of him purely for comfort. You know your way around your husband’s body by now. You could unbutton his shirts blind; in fact, you have. “Come on, cariño,” you murmur and pull him along to the bathroom by the side of an unbuttoned shirt.

Once in the bathroom, Javier blinks and squints at the bright vanity lights, overwhelmed. You turn on the shower, the bathroom filling with warmth as the water heats and steam fills the air. Even in his tired state, Javier loves to undress you. He tugs the belt from your fuzzy robe, sliding it off your shoulders and tossing it on the counter. You then strip off your respective clothes, and you’re the first to step into the stream of the warm water.

Javi doesn’t have to say anything; you can tell his thoughts from your gaze. His eyes rake your body, taking in the sight of his most beloved person on the planet in all of your naked glory. He climbs in after you, and you grab a bar of soap and get to scrubbing, covering all of Javier’s body with the cucumber-scented suds. He leans his head back against the shower wall, loving your warm hands and the hot water. If he wasn’t standing, if his back wasn’t aching so hard, he’d fall asleep here and now. He’s never been more blissful.

You rinse his body then work his shampoo into his thick hair, your fingers scratching his scalp and massaging his head. “You’re the fucking best,” Javi mumbles sleepily. You just chuckle and work the soap into his hair, stripping it of the grime and cigarette smoke of the office, until he’s wiped clean, ready to start anew.

Later, you wash yourself and let Javier enjoy the hot stream of the water. He’s so zoned out you can’t even tell if he’s awake. You have to actually check. “Javi, baby?”

“Hm?” He mumbles

“Did you fall asleep on me?” You chuckle as you turn off the shower, which makes Javier frown at the loss of warmth.

“‘Course not,” he grumbles, taking the fluffy towel from you and wiping his face.

After the two of you have dressed in fresh clothes, you sit on the edge of your bed and wait for Javier to finish. He pulls a worn t-shirt over his head, then comes and sits next to you, kissing the side of your head. “You’re so good to me,” he mumbles into your temple.

He goes to flop back but you put an arm around him, catching him. “Excuse me, Agent. I made breakfast,” you chuckle and sneak a kiss from his lips, chuckling at the way his mustache is still a little damp. “When was the last time you ate?”

Javier stares off as he considers it. It takes a while for him to respond. You nod at that. “Exactly. Come on, I made breakfast just the way you like it.”

The food is still somewhat warm when you find your way to the kitchen. Javier loves the local cuisine, always has, but something about an American breakfast makes him weak at the knees. He sits at the kitchen counter and sighs as you hand him a plate of buttered toast. “There’s your appetizer,” you chuckle and head back to the stove. Half-cooked bacon, which you turned off when he came in, sits in a pan, and you turn it back on to finish. You crack a couple of eggs into another pan, making sure they sit just right so they’re the way Javi likes them: fried. You sprinkle them with salt and pepper, humming to the radio as you cook.

The sizzling bacon makes Javier’s stomach grumble. The toast isn’t even that warm anymore, but the carby goodness fills Javi’s mouth and suddenly he’s never felt so ravenous. The two pieces of buttered toast are devoured in a heartbeat.

Bringing him a mug, you pour some coffee and his favorite creamer in. “You’d better tip me later,” you tease him with a wink as you return to the stove, flipping the bacon and putting some onto a plate.

“I will tip you anything you want, I swear,” he murmurs before sipping at the ceramic mug, the warm coffee going down like it’s the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted, warming him from the inside out. The A/C blasts in the apartment, making his dripping hair feel even colder.

In yet another pan, you start pouring the premade pancake mix you’d prepared before he got home. “All of this and the sun is barely up,” He muses, wandering to the other side of the counter and stealing a strip of bacon.

“Quit,” you whine and smack his hand, making the bacon fall back onto the plate. “Your order isn’t ready yet, sir. Stop harassing the cook.” When his arms wrap around you, your defenses fall. “Go sit down,” you say weakly as he kisses your neck.

At least he obeys. Javier sits in his chair and watches you intently, downing his coffee in a short amount of time.

Finally, the feast all comes together, and you present it to Javier on a large plate: bacon, fried eggs, fruit (which you know he won’t eat, but it’s worth a shot), and heart-shaped pancakes. “I wanted to make a pistol, but I’m not super artistic,” you chuckle as you refer to the fluffy cakes on the plate.

Javier shakes his head but smiles. “Thank you, dulzura,” he manages out before he digs in, devouring the plate at a breakneck speed. You’re content to watch, standing across from him. You go to refill his coffee and come back to find the pancakes completely gone.

It doesn’t take much time at all before the plate is wiped clean, the entire thing in Javier’s stomach. Food has never been the biggest concern for him; he skips meals often for work, and you suspect he hasn’t done much more than snack here or there over the past week. His eyes droop even further now that he has a full stomach, and it warms your heart. You’ve got your husband cleaned and fed; now all you need is one last step before you have your beloved Javi back.

“Alright, handsome,” you smile as you drape your arms across his shoulders. “Nap time.”

He can’t deny that. He stands, letting your arms fall off his shoulders. He pulls you around to his front and wraps his arms around you; you know what comes next in this routine. Your feet slide on top of his and Javier walks the two of you to the bedroom, you backwards and being led by him. Javier is not an overly affectionate man: kisses and sex, primarily, hugs if one of you really needs it. This is his one little act he insists on, since you don’t let him carry you.

As you waddle along, you kiss along Javier’s jaw, giving him all of the affection he missed out on in the past week. When you finally enter your bedroom, you stop as you feel the backs of your calves against the bed. You know this routine all too well. It’s usually reserved for when Javier can’t get his hands off of you, when you desperately need him on top of you, surrounding you, kissing your neck. “Wait,” you murmur and step off of his feet, going to pull back the covers.

You return to the end of the bed, standing on top of his feet again. “There,” you say with a grin, and Javi has no choice but to grin back then kiss you. “Okay, continue.”

Then your routine resumes: you fall backwards onto the bed and Javier falls on top of you. You both grunt with the impact but you smile, wrapping one arm around Javi while the other grabs the sheets and blankets and pulls them over the both of you.

Javi’s cheek is nestled against your chest, listening to your heartbeat, his eyes already shut. “Real cute. Get off of me now,” you tease and nudge his side.

His body beneath yours is all he’s needed, all he’s dreamt about while half-consciously dreaming on the apartment couch. He can feel your chest rise and fall, his head going with it. “No,” he simply mutters, his face squished against the skin encasing your beating heart. “M’comftrble.”

You can’t deny him that, you chuckle, your hands reaching down to entangle your fingers in his dark brown hair, nearly black from the dampness it holds. “Fine,” you sigh, whispering the word to him. “I love you so much, Javi. Missed you. Missed my man.”

“Missed you too, dulzura,” Javi mumbles back, but it’s clear he’s almost already out.

“How long were you up, minus that nap, Javi?” You ask.

He thinks on it for a minute, and you think he might’ve fallen asleep until he responds. “36.”

“Hours?” you exclaim quietly, massaging his scalp. “Baby.”

“I know. Had’ta.”

“Well, you can sleep as long as you need to now, love,” you murmur and kiss his forehead. He makes a soft noise of disapproval. “Just a nap. Wake me in like an hour.”

“Okay,” you lie, knowing you’ll let him sleep as long as his body needs it. “Rest now, baby.”

Javier nods and you exhale deeply, holding his head to your chest. He’s back now, your husband, and you know he’s safe, know he’s healthy and well taken-care of: you did it yourself. His breathing slows. You can feel it against your chest, the way the steady rise and fall becomes slower and slower and you know you’ve won when you hear a soft snore, his parted lips smashed against your chest.

You stay like that for a while, Javier lying on top of you and resting. It’s a comfort to have him pressed against you, to feel your husband’s body and know that he’s here. It’s even better to know he’s resting well, deeply, from the way he slumbers against your body. You intermittently kiss his head, continuing to rub his head in hopes it’ll loosen the tension he’ll surely have when he wakes.

About an hour passes, and you find yourself drowsier and drowsier as the sun rises higher and higher in the sky. Scooting out from beneath Javier, you replace your chest with a pillow to support his face. Rolling him slightly to the side, you cuddle in behind him and spoon him, your arms around him.

The quiet Sunday morning is all too perfect. You drift off too, then wake up an hour or two later and proceed about your household chores. You burn some pretty candles, clean, listen to the radio.

Javier doesn’t wake until 10 P.M. that night, 15 hours after he fell asleep.

Some nap.

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luckyspike · 3 years

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I forgot to do an update about my COVID VACCINE but i did not die i just forgot bc i was really tired yesterday (yes, probs from the vaccine)

so yeah. I had the second Pfizer shot on Monday, 01/25, and although my arm was sore a few hours later and i had a mild headache, it was nothing some acetaminophen couldn’t take care of. I worked a full shift, went home, cooked dinner, and went to bed

I woke up around 5am the next day (01/26) with chills and body aches, although interestingly when i took my temperature it was a relatively normal 99F. still, i took another dose of acetaminophen and went back to bed

i was able to work the next day, but was extremely tired and had a sore arm. fortunately, i was scheduled to work remotely for the afternoon, so after i finished up at the office i went home and used my lunch break to take a nap, which allowed me to work the rest of the afternoon. as the evening went on, i started to feel more back to normal, and i went to bed at a normal time

this morning (01/27) i woke up feeling fine. my arm is still a little bit sore, but i have not felt like i needed to take anything else for pain/headache/fever, and i have not had a fever at any of the required temp checks i do at my job. so pretty much back to normal i think.

i have heard of some delayed reactions, so i might check back in, but assuming my post-vaccine course follows the usual trajectory, i think that should be about it, and i likely won’t write about it much more. i do want to say that aside from the physical effects, emotionally it was a very intense process for me. i do struggle with anxiety anyway, and through the process of getting the vaccines i experienced all kinds of anxiety, guilt, relief, amazement, etc. Right now i just feel intensely, intensely grateful to have been able to be apart of this process, and humbled by the amazing scientists who worked on this.

now everyone go out and do some shots (shots shots shots shots shots shots everybody)

#cw covid mention #covid vaccine #vaccine diary

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fubukimori · 6 years

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Lift-of-the-ground hug

Basicly it was going to be not longer than one page silly attempt at writing in English, but I’ve got carried away a bit ^^” This is dedicated to @crazy-bone-lady (Nevia belongs to her), bc she is a nice person dragged me into a bunch of cool people in my current fundom, where I was introduced to so many cool characters i would never know by myself. I really aprechciate this ^^ Since Nevia is my favorite one, I decided to write something she inqluded. I hope i didn’t mischaracter her ^^” (im also willing to write something like this with ataric but not really sure if i capable of that)

Also a reminder that I’m not an English-speaking person, so my apologies to you if you find this writing full of mistakes of different kinds (still need to figure out how to put direct speech into shape properly). I warned ya ;3

It was awfully early in the morning. Barely a few people were slumberly heading to their work places to get prepared for the daily Tower routine. Guardians are rarely wandering here that early, even commander Zavala wasn’t here yet. Nevertheless Fubuki was already on her feet, cheerful and vivacious after a good “two hours nap” which started yesterday noon and ended just an hour ago. Deserted Tower seemed so nice and unnatural so she was just strolling around, humming random melodies and enjoying the absence of croudy guardians while looking for the perfect place to sit and crochet the shawl she’d promised to Ikora.

Passing by the lord Shaxx’s survey point and obviously finding him here, already boisterous and loud, Fubuki noticed someone on the place commander Zavala usually stood. The Warlock’s poor eyesight didn’t allow her to recognize who was that person, so she called her Ghost out to help. “Ori, who is that over there?” she asked, pointlessly squinting at the stranger. Should’ve taken her glasses. “Oh, that is Nevia. That huntress from the Crucible”.

Usually lord Shaxx doesn’t match kinderguardians like Fubuki with fabled veterans of the Crucible, but some time ago he decided to give everyone a challenge, mixing up together guardians completely randomly. Most of the youngsters immediately started complaining about unfair difficulty since they were supposed to face and fight guardians way more skilled than themselves. Fubuki on a counterverse liked the idea of the challenge, but after some matches, where opponents were literally wiping floor with her, she almost gave up and decided to avoid the Crucible this week. “Just another one and I’m done with this humiliation” she thought, heading to the Nessus special fighting arena. This time was just like the others - she died and died and died… Almost crushed enough to explode and rage quit the match, Fubuki saw an opponent Titan, already speeded up enough to smash fragile warlock against the wall with their shield bash, but suddenly she felt a firm grab at her wrist and then was pulled behind the pillar next to her. Titan’s shield bash slammed loudly against the wall. Fubuki got panicked and threw her pulse grenadine towards the Titan’s direction. Confused Defender shrinked back, but wasn’t fast enough. In a split second Fubuki saw a cloak in front of her and then a flashy sword swing. The Titan clutched his chest plate with a shaky hand then dropped dead on the ground.

“Hey!” the cloak person turned back to an unusually speechless Warlock, brushing blood off their Quickfang. “Watch out where you are daydreaming, nerd!” Huntress barked and headed forward, searching for the other enemies. Fubuki followed her since she had always been told to stick with teammates in the Crucible, especially if they were actually capable of killing others.

Huntress seemed completely unbothered by a “never asked to be” companion, she was concentrated on winning this particular match. When she went through a giant stone arch in the middle of the arena, there was an unexpected foe. Another Hunter was hiding behind, squatting with Tractor cannon. Fubuki was shadowing her, so she met with this enemy Hunter face to face, while he was attempting to finish powerless opponent. Before he managed to shoot down Fubuki in a close range, she slapped him with an Arc charge, hurting him just enough to be finished with a single shoot in the head from the Huntress’ hand cannon. A perfect team work, yet absolutely spontaneous. Fubuki placed a healing rift, recovering the Huntress from that dirty trick. “Thanks” the only thing the Huntress said, reloading her magazine. Fubuki just nodded silently.

“I see you’ve got a little friend, Nevia, hahaha! Mind you, Fubuki, Nevia is a great warrior, but a terrible teacher!” lord Shaxx had been satisfied seeing twenty kills in a row by one of his favorite Crucible fighters and was praising their duo for the last five minutes. Nevia was doing most of the work, when Fubuki was putting all the effort to support her, providing healing, Arc souls and grenades, hitting the right spot barely half of all the times. When the match was over and everyone headed to collect rewards, Fubuki finally got a chance to have a good look at her savior. She was surprisingly very short woman, an Awoken just like Fubuki herself, with a severe gaze and short shaved head. “H-hey!” Fubuki exclaimed with her voice shaking of excitement, though the frown look she gained from the Huntress made her feel chill crawling on her back. Nevia looked up and down at the Warlock and then raised her brow. “Oh, it’s you”. The Huntress had probably recognized messy Crucible Warlock’s armor colored in Metroshift which Fubuki had been wearing during the match, her gaze softened a bit. It immediately brought a delighted expression back on the Warlock’s face. “Yes, it is me, your faithful support from the last match, hahaha!” she responded with a rather high-pitched voice. That’s what she does when she is excited or nervous. “I just hope I was not bothering you”

“Nah, you did fine”

“Hope so. By the way, your name is Nevia, right? I am Fubuki, it was a pleasure to fight alongside with such skilled guardian!”

“Hah, thanks”

Seeing the Huntress wasn’t really in the mood for a chatter, the Warlock got a move on with finishing this little pep talk. “Well, we are doubtedly matching in the next one, so, um… Good luck. May the Traveler's Light shine upon thee” she made a profound bow, spreading her hands in a proper Warlock’s sign of gratitude.

“The same goes for you” Nevia raised her hand, a shadow of a smile on her face. ”See you around”

From now on, Fubuki was meeting Nevia in the Tower sometimes. Every time the Awoken met each other, Fubuki waved her hand in a greeting, Nevia responded with a simple nod. Sometimes they shared a word or two. Amicable Warlock would love to make friends with this gloomy Huntress, but she seemed not really into making friends with anyone, so Fubuki was trying hard at least don’t be obtrusive. However, being in such a good mood, she decided to make a move. Fubuki jumped in the air and glided toward Nevia. Noiselessly landed behind the short Huntress, way taller Warlock grabbed her and then lifted of the ground in a snapshot. “Heya, Nevia!” she cheery exclaimed, holding tiny Huntress on her arms. “Glad to find you here tod…”

In the next few minutes Fubuki learned several lessons. First, never ever mess with Hunters before they are finished with their morning coffee. Second, if you’d spooked them or spilled their coffee, no matter how high you can jump or how many times you cried “I’m sorry!”, you’ll get stabbed. If you’d done both, it is for sure.

Fubuki was always the one learning in a hard way.

When Ori revived her, lord Shaxx, who had seen all the scene, was still laughing, definitely already bursting in tears, if only there was no helmet on his head. Nevia was already missing. “That...wasn’t such a good idea” Ori concluded. Fubuki didn’t say a word to him, only cursed to herself in several languages.

At the end of the day Fubuki was tired and really unhappy. She still felt guilty for the morning incident, and also very stupid. “You must always think first, you stupido. Now she is probably thinking I am mental or something” she rumbled to herself, heading to the vault. “Well, guess I deserved it anyway”

“Hey”

Fubuki didn’t hear someone approaching, so a sudden voice from behind made her flinch. It was Nevia staying behind with her her arms crossed on her chest. “Oh, em… Hi” Fubuki didn’t expect the Huntress to get close to her after she pissed her off. There was an awkward silence for a moment. “That… wasn’t very wise of you. You have to make sure this won’t happen again” she said, shifting from one feet to another. “I know, I am really sorry!” Fubuki exclaimed in response. “I… I just get really childish sometimes, I really do sorry for that”

“Yeah, and I could have played it cooler” Nevia said, lifting her gaze up to the Warlock. “Dammit, why are you such a pole?”

“I… I do not know. I was like this from, well, from the very beginning” the Warlock was a little frustrated, but it seemed the Huntress wasn’t pissed off anymore. And she kinda… made an apology too?

“So, no hard feelings, right?” Nevia asked, her face was less frown than usual. “Absolutely!” Fubuki responded with a wide smile on her face. The Huntress hold out her hand, the Warlock immediately shook it. “Glad we are cool now” she said, squeezing Huntress’ smaller palm. “If you ever need help with, well, some abstruse thing or maybe will need a medical advice, you can always call me for it”

“Sure, thanks. We should go outside the Walls someday” Nevia responded with a smug smirk. “Someone is gonna teach you not daydreaming right in the middle of the battlefield”. Fubuki laughed awkwardly. The Awoken took their leave of and both went where they were planning to. The weight of the guilt finally loosed from Fubuki’s shoulders. She hates being disturbing for anyone and the fact that Nevia had let the morning incident go made her finally feel good again.

“I hope you are not thinking you are already friends, right?” Ori hovered next to her, preaching as usual.

“We might become ones some day. She is actually nicer than she tries to look like”

“I doubt that”

“You doubt anything, little one”

#ugh i did it #*hides face*#destiny 2 #friend's oc #i feel awkward but also kinda proud of what i wrote #that was funny anyway #oc: fubuki

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trade-baby-blues · 6 years

Text

Push to Shove

Pairing: Leonard x Reader (loosley lol)

Word Count: 1649

Warnings: probably some swearing, some angst, poor lifestyle i guess

A/N: This was 100% self-indulgent sorry not sorry. I’ve been having a really rough time at work and none of my friends really understand that I can’t just quit my job bc. 1. I need money to pay bills and 2. I want to be able to use this place as a reference so I didn’t just waste the last four years of my life. So this fic is a Modern AU kind of thing that was really just here for me to vent. Not proofread so sorry if there are mistakes.

There are few sounds as grating as the scream of an alarm clock tearing you away from peaceful dreams. You glared daggers at it as if that would silence it and allow you to return to the warm arms wrapping tighter around your waist. You knew you couldn't. With a groan, you pushed yourself out of bed, out of the safety of Leonard’s arms, and prepped yourself for another day in the office.

It was routine now. Get up, get coffee. Spill it on your shirt and change clothes so frantically you forget about the coffee and end up having to buy a cup on your way to work anyway. Your boss chastised you for being late, and you promised it wouldn't happen again (though you both knew it was a lie). Then you’d get to work and start your tasks for the day, usually cleaning and filing, and, if you were lucky, you’d get a lunch break in four hours. Of course, you’d never been very lucky.

Your stomach growled as your shift turned into a double which turned into an all-nighter when your boss asked you to review some paperwork for him as he left for the day, promising you the day of tomorrow. The thought of a whole day spent in your bed was the only thing that kept you through the slog of papers on your desk but when the sun finally poked its head through your office window and your boss made his way in, he sighed and asked you to come to his office. You followed him in, wondering what about your performance he could have found flaw with, but then he poured you a cup of coffee and you braced yourself for what you knew was coming. Can you cover a shift today? Is there no one else? Well, yes but you're the best. We’ll give you a bonus on your next paycheck. Well, I guess one more shift couldn't hurt. I’ll still have the afternoon off. Great, thanks so much. This is why you're the best. You smiled weakly at your boss, wishing for a moment that the bags under your eyes were as designer as the one he carried with him to work. Maybe then you could sell them for enough to be able to quit this job.

The hours blended together until finally you finished your work (your colleagues work, you reminded yourself) and made it home. Leonard wasn't home, yet, but he’d left you a note and dinner in the fridge but you were too tired to enjoy either. You dropped your purse on the floor and flopped down onto the bed, the ache in your bones finally lessening as you sank into the mattress. Every nerve in your body fought you as you pleaded with your brain to make your arms move. You should take your shoes off. You should get undressed. It would only mean more work later if you didn't, but maybe a quick nap couldn't hurt….

A shrill buzzing jolted you awake. Digging the palms of your hands into your eyes, you tried to rub away the tiredness. It was a battle to open your eyelids again, and in the end you conceded, allowing yourself to fall back against the pillows as the alarm continued to screech on. You couldn't remember how you’d gotten under the covers let alone how or when you’d put on your pajamas. And when had that stain on the ceiling been fixed? You swore it was there yesterday, or maybe last week, last month, last year? Everything seemed to blend together in your life now and the edges of your vision blurred to as your eyes fell shut again, the screeching of the alarm clock no match for the weariness in your soul.

Leonard rolled over with an exasperated sigh and all but knocked the alarm clock off your night stand. He hovered over you and brushed a lock of hair from your cheek but still you did not move. Finally, he pressed a kiss to your forehead and bade you get up before leaving bed to make breakfast. When had he gotten home? It seemed like you couldn't remember anything anymore.

“Is everything okay,” Leonard asked, peeking out at you from the other side of the newspaper. You hummed in response, stirring your tea. “You've been stirring that tea for ten minutes. Not to mention you put Sriracha on your toast not jelly.”

“No I didn't,” you scoffed, lifting the bread to smell it. You grimaced. That was definitely not jelly. You scowled and dropped the toast back on your plate, too tired to even care. You took a sip of your tea but it was cold. “You love being right, don't you?”

Leonard knew not to take offense. You liked mornings about as much as a root canal. “I’m just worried about you, sugar. You’re working yourself too hard and what about art school? I thought you were looking to apply again.”

“No, I’m happy at work.”

“Then why are you hiding brochures in the nightstand?”

You snapped your head up, eyes wide like a deer trapped in headlights only this time the light at the end of the tunnel was Leonard and you couldn’t understand why you were so damn scared. Why did you even bother hiding them? As if the canvases and paint stains on practically every open surface of your apartment weren’t enough to clue anyone in. Maybe you didn’t want him to know because you knew Leonard would try to convince you to quit again.

You sighed, covering your face with your hands as if hiding from Leonard would help you hide from the truth in front of you. “They need me,” you whispered, though to Leonard or yourself? “I can’t just quit. They said they’d be lost without me. That I might even be up for a promotion.” You could tell by the silence that followed Leonard wasn’t convinced either.

He stood and kissed the top of your head nonetheless. “Of course they’d be lost without you. You’re the hardest worker they’ve got on staff, but even the hardest worker needs rest now and again.”

You spent the rest of the ride to work thinking about how much rest you really needed. Every cell in your body felt tired - that special kind of tired you feel from too many all-nighters. Like your life has become a stop motion film and you’re just waiting to get to that next pose, that next frame because then you’re one step closer to being done for the day. You were a puppet on a string pretending to be the puppeteer.

Work was louder than usual. The sound of keyboards clicking and computers humming drowned by laughter and commotion coming from the break room. Was it someone’s birthday already? As you entered the break room your eyes were drawn up to a banner stretched across the room like a white flag. Congratulations. So someone was getting married, you told yourself. Or pregnant. Hikaru and his husband had been trying to find a surrogate for months now. Or maybe it was a -

“Promotion,” Jim said. He’d spent enough time in desk beside across from yours to know when you were confused about something. “Turns out little Pavel over there has been busting ass while we weren’t looking, and the boss says he was the best choice when it came down to it.”

You stared at Pavel as people shook his hand and clapped him on the back. You wanted to be proud for him, but the words echoed in your mind finding the darkest corners and planting themselves there like weeds, growing over any bright thought before it even had a chance to bloom. He was the best choice. You could hear your boss saying it because he’d said the same about you not a week before. Every word was another twist of the knife and every “congratulations” made your heart feel heavier. It was a wonder it didn’t fall out of your chest and through the floor. How could they do this? Hadn’t you given enough?

Every sleepless night came rushing back to you. Every double shift you worked seemed to weigh on your joints and anchor your feet to the ground. There were so many things you could have done with your life. You could be in art school now. You could be giving lessons or painting full-time. You could be enjoying a career you love in a life you love shared with a man you love. Instead you were angry. Not just at work. At home. At Leonard. At the dog that barked outside your window at 2 a.m. At the neighbors who were moving in and hammering nails into the wall at 11 a.m. because didn’t the know you were trying to sleep? You’d always heard of looking at the past with rose-colored glasses, but your lenses seemed to be tinted red.

“Hey, you okay?” Jim nudged your arm with his to get your attention.

“I quit.”

“Tell me about it. Doesn’t matter how long we’ve been here. Pavel is young and brings ‘something new.’” Jim pulled a face hoping to draw some response from you but you said nothing. His smile faltered as you turned away from him and started towards the door. You dropped your nametag in the trash can on your way out and it was like someone had lifted a mountain off your shoulders. You didn’t even know you’d been drowning until you finally tasted air. You weren’t exactly sure what to do next. It was a big wide world out there full of opportunities for you, but, when push comes to shove, you knew Leonard would be there to support you and that alone made you feel brave enough to conquer anything that came your way.

Tags:

@daybreak96 @8bit-arc-reactor @jimtkirkisabitch @sjlovestory @kristaparadowski (sorry i totally never responded to your post but I added you to the tag list :]) @outside-the-government @martinawalker @thevalesofanduin @goingknowherewastaken @yourtropegirl @mysteriously-lost-forever @feelmyroarrrr @yukki-art @atari-writes @pabegay1 @bolontiku @brooke-taylor0323 @anotherotter

#star trek imagine #bones x reader #bones imagine #leonard mccoy x reader #leonard mccoy imagine #again very loosely lol #my fics

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eeveedel · 6 years

Note

Pfsss mpreg prompt. Literally anything to do with H being protective about L and his bump 😋

This is a very late and very fluffy response but God I’m weak for all of this so I hope you still enjoy. This is from the pray for some sweet simplicity verse and contains mpreg and typical abo dynamics but no sexual content. Just fluff. There is some minor sexual harassment but that’s about all. Unedited bc...this is a drabble and I’m trash. Hope you enjoy it!

Louis reached for Harry the moment he woke up.

He wasn’t awake, even, but he sure was conscious, and he was reaching for Harry, his fingers twitching until they found warm, firm skin. He also might have murmured out, “Harry,” with all the emphasis placed on the last half of his name, but he wouldn’t know.

He didn’t fully wake up until Harry’s hand engulfed his own, and his husband was bringing his hand up to his mouth, pressing a kiss to Louis’s knuckles. It made Louis’s eyes flutter open and he blinked up at the man next to him. Harry was sitting up, five different pillows behind him, scrolling through his tablet with his reading glasses on his nose. He smiled softly when Louis stirred again, and looked over at him fully. He dropped the hand he was holding and instead reached out and stroked the side of his temple.

“Good morning, pet,” he murmured softly.

“Good morning,” Louis mumbled back, settling his hand on Harry’s middle.

“There’s tea for you on the bedside table,” Harry said, “It’s in a thermos so it won’t get cold. But your favorite mug is next to it so you pour it out.”

“So sweet to me,” he smiled, then shifted his eyes, “What are you reading there?”

“Oh,” Harry said softly, “Nothing.”

But Louis reached out to take the tablet, making Harry lift it up, out of his reach.

“Harry, for the love of God,” Louis said, “We’re married, you have to do whatever I want, those are the rules.”

“I don’t remember agreeing to that,” Harry said mildly. Still, though, he drew the tablet back and handed it to Louis, “There you are.”

“Thank you, that’s all I wanted,” Louis huffed. He settled down, his head leaning against Harry’s side, as he lifted the tablet up, “Why are you looking at the Daily Mail? I thought you were a real journalist.”

He scrolled down, and his eyes hovered over the page for a few seconds, and then he looked back up at his husband.

“Harry, Jesus.”

“I can explain.”

“Why are you looking at paparazzi pictures of me on the fucking Daily Mail?”

“I’m sorry, okay,” Harry said, “You looked cute yesterday.”

“Thank you, but you, unlike most of the Mail’s readers, can see me on a daily basis.”

“I’m sorry.” Harry managed again.

“Oh, let me see, at least,” Louis rolled his eyes and went back to the tablet, just taking the time to look at the top pictures. They were just from yesterday, when he had gone to lunch with a couple other trainers. There had been a couple photographers in the parking lot, because they liked to hang out outside the track in hopes of catching one of the up and coming racers as they walked out. Usually there were enough currently relevant people coming in and out that Louis was able to slip by them without much trouble. Yelling at them also helped.

Of course he hadn’t thought through the fact that he was, unfortunately, still famous, and also eight months knocked up, and that was going to be an interesting photo shoot for anyone looking to make a few pounds.

He looked…okay, for sitting at the track all day. He had on a bright blue jumper that Harry always said he looked pretty in, and a pair of his old racing boots and one of his bigger jackets, which was still loose around his arms and shoulders and even his waist, as long as he kept it unzipped. His hair looked good. His face looked puffy and pink and he looked enormous but that was to be expected.

“Christ,” he said. He locked the tablet, making the screen go black, and handed it back to Harry as he rubbed his face, “That’s what you think is cute, huh.”

“Of course,” Harry said. He dropped a kiss to the top of Louis’s head, and then there was a distinct click as he unlocked his device again. Louis rolled his eyes and settled into Harry again, turning his body so he could look at the screen if he wanted to. He settled a hand on his belly, rubbing up and down, and kissed Harry’s bare shoulder.

“If you’re going to keep reading that trash, at least tell me what the best caption is,” Louis sighed.

“Let’s see. Personally I like ‘The retired athlete looked lovely stepping out, the ribbon on his jacket almost the same color as his lovely flushed cheeks.’”

“They used lovely twice there.”

“It’s the Mail,” Harry said, “They also got my name wrong in the article.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“They called me Henry.”

“Well, it’s hard being the non-famous one,” Louis said.

Harry snorted, and then finally locked the tablet once more and set it on his bedside table. He took off his reading glasses and folded them up, settling them on top of the tablet as well, and then turned back to Louis. He kissed him on the lips, then again on the cheek.

“Do you want breakfast?”

“Yes,” Louis hummed, closing his eyes, “Bring it to me here, in bed, so I don’t have to move.”

“I can’t tell if you’re taking the piss or not, but I’ll do it either way.”

“Yes, that’s why I said it,” Louis said. He flicked his gaze to Harry, who just stared at him in turn, and then Louis pointedly rubbed his belly and Harry sighed and pulled the comforter off his legs.

“My boys, so needy,” he shook his head as he climbed out of bed, “Give me a few minutes, okay? What do you want?”

“Anything. No. Oatmeal. Oatmeal with maple syrup and apples.”

“Got it,” Harry said, and then gave Louis another kiss on the top of his head before he left their room, not even bothering to get dressed.

Louis smiled and watched him go, then finally sat up enough that he could get to his thermos of tea and pour himself a cup. He picked up the remote on his bedside table so he could turn on their bedroom TV to one of the racing channels. There was a small race between Germany, Belgium, and Austria today. It would do.

He felt a nudge in his lower belly – not something drastically uncommon now -- and settled a hand where he had felt the movement as he sipped his tea.

“Good morning, Sterling,” he said, “Did my boy sleep well?”

There was another nudge next to his hand, and he smiled and lightly patted his belly as he drank more tea and tried to focus on the screen in front of him.

“Germany is doing well. Austria has some promising talent this year, but they’re individual break outs. The whole team is staying stagnant. They need to get rid of some of the old guard, or at least hold higher standards for their new recruits,” he narrated, “I won’t excuse you to the horrors of the Belgium team until you have the ability to see them for yourself.”

He felt squirming under his hand, but there weren’t any kicks or beating of hands under his skin. In the beginning, he had waited with held breath for every little movement. Now he was just glad to have a little break from the near-constant kicking.

Of course, whenever Harry came back he was sure to hand Louis’s breakfast to him and then settle himself in Louis’s lap and snuggle up to his bump until he felt something again. His boy would apparently never grow tired of it.

And honestly, when Harry came in and did just that about fifteen minutes later, effectively waking Sterling up and pulling Louis away from the German race, and he couldn’t find the energy to be mad.

“We’re going out,” Louis announced.

He was pulling on an old hoodie and had Harry’s car keys stuck between his teeth. Once the hoodie was on he took the keys out of his mouth, holding them in his hand as he went to the front door and shoved his feet into the nearest pair of trainers who could find. He didn’t feel like being recognized today. Maybe between the sunglasses and the lack of leather he could get away with it.

“We’re what?” Harry called back, and in a moment, he had emerged from the living room. He was sweaty, and just in his stupid work out shorts, and Louis rolled his eyes.

“Please change out of your yoga attire,” Louis said, “I just want to pop into the shops. I need some things. And I need you to drive me.”

“You know how to drive.”

“Two wheels is my limit. You know that,” Louis said, and lifted the keys out, shaking them in Harry’s direction, “And London traffic is stressful, I can’t afford that in my condition. Please, darling, help me out?”

Harry just stared at him, and then sighed and took the keys.

“Give me ten minutes,” Harry said, “You’re lucky you look very gorgeous today.”

He gave him a kiss on the forehead, and Louis watched him go with a smile.

They were both technically on paid leave starting in a week, but they’d made the decision to combine some of their extra vacation days into an extra week for themselves. Which was good, because it allowed Louis to visit the shops every other day for snacks, and take as many naps as he wanted, and Harry didn’t have to call him to check up and fuss on him, he could just go to the next room.

When they got to the nearest ASDA, it was pretty busy, since it was Sunday and Louis had kind of forgotten about that. But at the very least, they kind of got lost in the crowd. Louis spent far too much time in the snack aisle, just browsing all the different crisps and trying to balance as many as he could in his arms, when Harry prodded him in the side.

“We have a basket,” he said, lifting up the plastic thing in his hands. Louis spared him a glance, and then grabbed one more bag of hot-sauce infused crisps before unceremoniously dumping all the bags into the basket.

“Those things are going to give you heartburn, love,” Harry said.

“My life is one continuous state of heartburn, and it’s not my fault your son wants spicy things constantly,” Louis said, “Oh. Shit. I forgot I wanted mangoes.”

“Okay. Those are on the other side of the store.”

“And I want those pretzel buns you bought for me last week.”

“We can get those, too.”

“And guacamole?”

“Yes, darling,” Harry laughed. He reached out a hand, and Louis took it, and Harry pulled him gently out of the aisle, “We’re not going to get anything if you kept standing here.”

“I was taking my time, alright, leave me alone,” Louis scoffed, but still trailed after Harry.

They went to the produce stand, and Harry started to bag some mangoes while Louis picked up some bananas, and then went over to the oranges and the strawberries, all of it steadily being balanced in his arms. Smoothie sounded really good.

He went to put them all back in their basket, and was prepared to go look for more things when he felt Harry come up behind him and settle a hand on his belly.

“Hello,” he murmured. His voice had gone a bit thick, and Louis resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

Harry…wasn’t possessive now, exactly. He was just a bit clingy. And liked to know where Louis was. And maybe more than a few times had absentmindedly gnawed on the paling scar of Louis’s bond mark when a random alpha had looked their way for a bit too long.

There was probably some random shopper who had made the mistake of staring at Louis and his giant baby bump for more than two seconds, and now Harry was in one of his moods.

“Harry,” he sighed, “Relax.”

“Okay,” Harry said blandly, before kissing the back of his neck.

“Are you trying to intimidate someone?”

“No.”

“Then what’re you doing?”

“Well. You’re my husband. And that’s our child. And I wanted to say hello.”

“Yes, I know,” Louis said, “Go pick out some grapefruits, okay?”

Harry sighed, and then wandered over to the nearest fruit stand to get a bag. Louis shook his head as he picked up a carton of blueberries and looked at it.

It took just another moment for Harry to drop the grapefruits into their overflowing basket, and then he was squeezing Louis’s hip and kissing his shoulder.

“Harry, can you please tell me whom or what you are jealous of at the moment so I can be specific when I tell you it doesn’t matter?” Louis asked.

Harry groaned and just stayed close to him, not letting go of his hip.

“People are looking.”

“Yes, darling. I’m famous.”

“No, Lou, like – “

“Harry, I’m also, like, extremely pregnant. Sometimes I get looked at. It’s fine. You’re going to be fine.”

Harry groaned in frustration and prodded Louis’s side again.

“Look outside.”

So Louis lifted his head and glanced towards the sliding doors nearby, ready to look away quickly. But he kept his gaze on the doors.

“Ah, shit,” he mumbled.

There were fucking paps outside. For the record, that was probably partially his fault. What else did paparazzi have to do on a Sunday afternoon than follow around a retired athlete as he went grocery shopping? He should’ve done this on a Friday night at 2 in the morning.

“Well, guess we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

“So, in ten minutes, when we check out?”

“Excuse you, we don’t have nearly all the things I want. Go get another basket and stop worrying.”

Harry just looked at him, and then leaned forward and gave him a kiss on the forehead.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright.”

“It just – “ Harry licked his lips, “You remember the Mail pictures, righ?”

“Uh huh.”

“The paps that took them didn’t give you any trouble, did they?”

“No. Maybe shouted a little. Nothing too memorable,” Louis shrugged, “Look, if they give us trouble, we’ll just flip them off, and then they can’t put them print. And if we take long enough, maybe they’ll get bored and leave.”

That made Harry smile against Louis’s forehead, and then he pulled back and hefted their full basket off the floor.

“Alright, what else did you want?”

They finished in another half hour, because Louis kept remembering things he wanted, and everything just happened on the opposite side of the store from where they currently were. Harry looked exhausted from the whole ordeal, but he still kissed the back of Louis’s head as they carried their bags back towards the exit.

The paps were still there, because of course they were. Louis rolled his eyes and glanced at Harry quickly as they started outside. In a second, Harry hooked an arm around his shoulder, pressing his mouth to his neck, just below his ear. It only lasted for second, and then his mouth was away, but he still stayed close by as they went into the open lot.

Louis spared a quick glance to the men standing nearby, dressed in all black with red ribbons, when the first click of cameras went off. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Harry get out his eyes and unlock the car. This would be over soon enough.

“Hi, Racer Tomlinson, how are you today?” one of them called out.

“I’m fine, thanks,” Louis said, “Where are you lads from, then?”

“The Mail,” one offered.

“The Sun.”

“Whoever’ll pay the most for these pictures,” the last said, which made the others laugh weakly.

“Right, well, I’d hate to interfere with your job, go on,” Louis said drily. He felt a tap on his shoulder and turned to see Harry holding out a hand, and Louis handed him one of his bags.

“You brought your baby daddy with you, I see,” one of the paps said behind him. Louis was facing away from them so he didn’t exactly feel bad for rolling his eyes.

“My husband came with me, yes,” he said. He settled another bag into the boot, and then handed another one off to Harry, who gave him a soft smile in turn. Louis tried to speak to him with his eyes. We’ll be home soon.

“You’ve got a quiet alpha there,” a voice said behind him, and Jesus, what Louis would do for a quiet paparazzi.

“Doesn’t have to speak to you boys, does he,” Louis said. He settled the last bag into the boot and then let Harry close for him. He glanced over at his shoulder, to where the cameras were still raised behind him.

“You done now? We have places to be,” Louis said. He practically snapped it, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Oh, come on, love,” one of the paps sighed. Louis might have imagined it, but he thought he felt Harry bristle next to him at the man calling Louis love, “You have to give us something to work with here before you go.”

“I don’t have to do anything for you,” Louis snapped. He was really snapping now, and his voice was edging into the fake-alpha voice he used to use. Only now, it just made the fuckers behind him laugh.

“Oh, come on. Take off the jacket. Rub the belly a bit.”

“Louis,” Harry said softly, holding onto Louis’s bicep, “Let’s just go.”

“Yeah,” Louis sighed, “Let’s, Jesus, my feet hurt.”

He started to wander over the passenger seat, when of course, there was another voice behind. Louis vaguely recognized it as the one from the Sun.

“Or I can come over there, rub your belly for you, gorgeous,” he called, “Looks like your alpha can’t take care of a bitch like you.”

It happened quickly, but in a moment Harry’s arm was around Louis’s shoulders, and then another arm circling his middle, his hand spread over the very middle of Louis’s stomach. When Louis looked over, he saw that Harry’s teeth were flashing. And he was fucking growling, the sound coming from deep in his throat.

“You,” Harry gritted out, “Do not get to talk to my mate like that.”

Louis blinked, and didn’t even bother to look over at the paps. They’d gone quiet, even their cameras had stopped clicking for a moment. Of course it took another alpha for them to be quiet.

Harry kept an arm around Louis’ middle, but dropped one from his shoulders so he could open Louis’s door for him.

“Let’s go,” he said, his voice soft and nearly wavering again. Louis just nodded quickly and letting Harry keep hold of his hips as he got into the car.

In another moment, Harry was in the driver’s seat and was pulling a bit too quickly out of the parking lot.

They drove in silence for a while, and Louis just watched Harry, and how tightly he was gripping the wheel and how blown his eyes looked as he focused on the road. Louis couldn’t figure out if Harry was rattled at the situation or himself, and he also knew that he wasn’t going to be the one to break the silence.

So Louis flipped down his mirror and looked at himself, fussing with his fringe as he began to speak.

“You know, sometimes I miss pretending to be an alpha. I could certainly get through life with much less hassle.”

Harry sighed, his breath shaky, and Louis finally looked over at him again.

“Louis,” Harry murmured, “Louis, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine, love.”

“I shouldn’t have done that. That’s not an acceptable way to behave,” Harry reached his hand up and rubbed it over his face and then shook his head, “None of that concerned me, either. I should have just stayed quiet and let you handle it. Because you can handle it. You don’t need me to fucking growl at strangers for you, Jesus.”

“Harry,” Louis said firmly. He reached across the console and grabbed Harry’s hand, prying his stubborn fingers off the wheel so he could hold his hand. He squeezed carefully, and then rested his other hand on top of Harry’s own. They were at a red light, so Harry went ahead and looked over at Louis as he spoke.

“First of all, it did involve you, because that prick was insulting you, too. Second of all, just because I can handle things doesn’t mean I want to do it constantly.”

He lifted Harry’s hand and kissed his knuckles, which made Harry smile before he had to turn his head and focus on the road again.

“You’re a good alpha, darling. And if you want to protect me, I’m going to let you, because I know that’s what you want to do.”

Harry exhaled shakily, and pulled on their joined hands so he could kiss Louis’s knuckles, right above where his wedding ring would normally be if his fingers weren’t so swollen.

“I love you,” Harry said, “And I want to take care of you, and Sterling, when he comes, and I just – “

Harry exhaled shakily. They were nearing their street, and he unlocked his fingers from Louis’s grasp so he could put both hands on the steering wheel as he turned the corner.

“I want to make sure I’m not doing anything that would make you unhappy,” he said, “I can’t protect you from everything, and I know you don’t want me to, and – I just need you to tell me when you need me to step back.”

They were nearly to their house, and Louis just sat quietly as Harry finally pulled into their driveway. When he killed the engine, he looked to Louis with wide eyes, but before he could say anything else, Louis unbuckled his seat belt, surged forward and kissed him firmly on the lips.

“I love you,” he said when he pulled away, “And you did good today. Okay?”

“Okay,” Harry slowly said.

“And if there’s some stupid headline about us tomorrow morning, you are not going to read it. Okay?”

“I – “ Harry stuttered, but Louis gave him another firm look and he tilted his gaze down and sighed, “Yes.”

“Good,” Louis smiled and offered his lips for another kiss, which Harry took, pressing their mouths together until Louis had to put a hand on his husband’s chest to get him to stop.

“Now, though, I want lunch.”

“Oh, god,” Harry said, “It’s three in the afternoon, Louis, have you not had lunch? Shit, what do you want me to make? I’ll have it ready in ten minutes.”

“Harry, love,” Louis said, “I’m fine, I had a big breakfast. I’ll have a snack while you cook.”

“Okay. Okay, good,” Harry sighed, and Louis just shook his head and reached out again, pushing a rogue curl off of Harry’s temple.

“Good alpha,” he murmured softly, and Harry just blinked at him with wide, gentle eyes that made Louis’s mouth twitch up.

He had such a sweet boy. A sweet boy who was always going to do his best for Louis, for their family.

He kissed Harry’s nose quickly before he forced himself to reach behind him and unlock the car door.

“Come on,” he said, tucking a hand under his belly as he prepared to move, “Let’s go inside.”

#drabbles #pfsss verse #mpreg #larry fanfic #larry fanfiction.#Anonymous #ask

133 notes · View notes

mcwriting · 7 years

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A Day Without Coffee

Ayyyyyy guess who’s back again!! So I decided to wait on the pt 2 on A Flight to Remember and write the other story I mentioned in the a/n in AFTR. So, once again, Tom Holland x Reader bc I’m extra. Also this is literally the longest, most paragraph-y thing I’ve ever written soooo… Btw written in a sort of first person and slang text so if certain things don’t sound descriptive enough it’s because I’m trying to mimic regular-type speaking.

Fandom: (As always) Marvel bc Spider-man

Ship: Tom Holland (Sleepy!Tom) x Reader

Setting: Atlanta/An interview room

Word Count: 1,848 (wow that’s a lot my bad)

Warnings: Probably none other than one “cuss” word and Tom acting like an idiot lol; also this isn’t really a warning but it’s a little wordy (hopefully y'all are into that)

Rating: K+ (Maybe? I never know how to rate these lol. Rlly only bc I say the one word at the end)

Background: Reader was cast in the Spider-man Hoco sequel and recalls a story about when Tom made a fool of himself in front of you while in an interview. Reader began dating Tom at the end of shooting the movie.

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Aside from the blinding lights, fake enthusiasm, and repetitive questions, you quite liked the whole “interview process.” Since you were new to the Hollywood scene, no one really knew much about you, so fans and interviewers were continually learning new facts and interesting tidbits about you that most people didn’t know.

You were on your seemingly billionth interview for the upcoming Spider-man sequel you had surprisingly been cast in.

You had gone into the audition as a fan, thinking you were only there for the experience. You never knew that only a month later you’d be on set in Atlanta, Georgia, surrounded by well known celebrities (and all around hottie, Tom Holland) while living out your dream.

“So, y/n,” the interviewer’s words cut you back into reality.

“Do you have any crazy or funny stories from filming that you can share with us?”

You laughed and thought about the question for a moment.

“Are you asking about before or after Tom and I started dating, because that’s definitely a factor…”

You gave a fake chuckle and smile.

When you and Tom met, there was an instant friendship, along with the rest of the cast and crew. Though you had good off-screen chemistry with everyone on set, yours and Tom’s was different. Maybe it was the fact that you had walked in with the biggest crush on him, or just that fact that the two of you could play off each other and bounce off of one another’s jokes. Even Harrison joked occasionally about his jealousy towards your playful friendship.

It really was no surprise to anyone, aside from you, perhaps, that Tom asked you out during the last week of filming. In hindsight, you should’ve seen it coming, from his stolen glances during the three-and-something months of shooting to the way Harrison and Jacob (who both knew of Tom’s intentions prior to you being asked out) prodded at Tom in the week leading up to that special day.

“Well I feel like all we hear about anymore is the post-dating gossip. So how about something from before you two got together, huh?” the woman’s inquiry once again snapped you from your thoughts.

“Haha well there was this one time. We were about a month or so into shooting and, as some may already know, I carpooled with Tom and Harrison to work since I was staying so close to their rental house…”

Since the first week of filming, you had been driving from your place to theirs, where you ate breakfast with the two every morning at six-or earlier if one of you needed extra time in hair/makeup/wardrobe that day-before getting into the (incredibly nice) car Tom was leasing and making your way to the studio.

Tom didn’t quite trust you to drive.

“Y/n, I’m the older, and obviously more experienced, driver. It’s fine”

“Tom, you aren’t even from America. You literally drive on the wrong side of the road most of the time.”

“Well I’ve had to drive in this city every time I’ve been here. If I’m not more experienced in America, I’m at least more experienced in Atlanta.”

That’s where the argument had ended, because he did have a point.

Plus, his place was closer to the studio and big city traffic was never your favorite.

“… and one day I got a call from Tom at like, I don’t know, four thirty? And he goes ‘Oh my God, y/n, I’m so sorry but I completely forgot that I’m supposed to be in early today for a certain scene we’re doing today. I would’ve just gone alone and left Harrison to go with you but he’s still sick and the cold medicine you got him has left him with a bit of a hangover.’ So I get up and let him know I’m on my way, right?

“So it’s so early that I literally just forgo changing or anything like that because I’m in a rush and need to get to Tom’s place. I literally got in my car wearing this super old, way too big t-shirt and and then a pair of sweats I’d been sleeping in the past couple of days and just drove away. I totally forgot shoes and went in my socks.”

The interviewer interjects a “No way!” before you continue.

“I know right! So anyways, I rush over there, totally ignoring speed limit signs to get there, pull in the driveway, and just burst through the door from the garage into the house. Thankfully I had left a pair of slides at the house that I could just slip on before grabbing Tom. Harrison had come down with some flu or awful cold the day before and there was no way he could come with us, not that I’d let him of course. I mean, it was the works: he was coughing, could barely breathe, hardly able to function.

“Unfortunately that also meant that we didn’t have anyone to make breakfast, because I think anyone that follows Haz knows he’s a bit of a cook. Most days I’d come and he would have cooked bacon, gotten he and Tom eggs, and me a muffin, since that’s literally what I live on. While the two of them would sit down with a cup of coffee, I always drank a cup of, I know, I know, iced tea. I mean, to them it’s like, a cardinal sin, but I can’t get enough of the stuff.

“But anywho, I grab my shoes and toss Tom the keys while grabbing a couple of granola bars. Here’s where you see the mistake: Tom didn’t get to drink his coffee. Now, usually, this wouldn’t be a problem, I mean, there’s always coffee on set. Except for today.”

“Oh no!” the interviewer exclaims, trying to keep the story lively.

“We get to set and it turns out that the coffee maker, like, blew out or something and we were so close to being late that Tom was immediately sent to wardrobe and stuff, and of course the only way he can drink while he’s in the suit is by shoving a little tube in a hole they cut in the suit and letting him drink. Problem is, he can only have water since they don’t want him to mess up the suit.

“Fast forward to like, ten thirty that night. They never replaced the coffee maker and Tom was allowed to take off the mask once just to scarf down a quick lunch at midday. He was literally so exhausted and kept falling asleep everywhere. Thank God he wasn’t doing major stunts that day, because he probably would have hurt himself or worse.

“Anyways; ten thirty p.m. and they finally let Tom go, so he gets the suit peeled off of him and stumbles toward the bathroom in his robe, holding his clothes to change into. He was so tired that it took him almost ten minutes just to slip on his usual joggers and white t-shirt. I had to help him tie his tennis shoes! It was wild.

“I grabbed all of our stuff and Tom tried to reach for the keys and I was like ‘uh what are you doing?’ and he starts going on this whole ‘Well I’m not letting you drive my car’ thing. I mean, I had driven his car before. Of course, it was in a Walmart parking lot just to prove that I could drive it, but still. It counts. So I bring that up and assure him that, ‘yes, Tom, I know where I’m going and how to get there.’

“He finally stops fighting me and crawls into the passenger seat. I turn on the car and before we even left the parking lot he’s dead asleep. I hoped the fifteen minute drive would at least get him enough of a power nap to get himself in the house once we arrived, but I was so wrong. I had to make my way over to his door and basically drag him out of the seat and into the house. Thankfully Harrison was still awake, and visibly much better from that morning.

“Harrison asked me what was going on as he came up on the other side of Tom to get him to his room and I briefly explained the situation. We get Tom into his room and I pull his things from his pockets and plug in his phone while Harrison tugs off his tennis shoes. Harrison went into the hallway and left me with Tom, who was babbling like an idiot.

“He kept saying things like ‘Y/n, where are we?’ and ‘No I don’t need sleep’ and all, and so I just sort of awkwardly whispered ‘Tom, I think you should get some rest… I’ll see you in the morning… Uh.. Bye?’

“I started to walk away and he just grabs me out of no where and pulls me into a hug. It caught me off guard because he was laying down and I was standing, so I just sort of fell over him. He mumbled into my ear ‘Thank you so much, y/n’ and I quietly reply with a ‘Oh no problem. Happy to help’ type thing and he just keeps thanking me and suddenly he starts kissing my face. My cheeks, forehead. It was strange.

“I immediately stood up and quickly blurted out ‘UhgoodnightTomseeyoutomorrow’ and rushed out the door. Of course Harrison saw the whole thing and was laughing his butt off while I rushed out.”

The interviewer is laughing as well at this point and shaking her head.

“And the thing is, I come back the next morning, six o’clock as always, and Tom’s already on his third cup of coffee for the day. When I brought it up Harrison winked at me and Tom explains that ‘man I was just so tired yesterday I need it’ and then he goes ‘hey thanks for driving me last night, I don’t remember much of what happened after getting in the car. How did I even get to bed?’

“So I look up at Harrison and stumble through a shortened version of me driving his car home, without any problems you know, in the hopes that he’ll let me drive it more, and how Harrison and I carried him to bed. I totally omitted the parts after that and he never mentioned it again. Though he did let me drive the car a lot more after that…”

“Wait, he doesn’t even know about this?” the woman exclaims.

You shake your head with a grin.

“Nope. I guess I’ll have to send this interview to him when it releases! He’s gonna be so pissed. I can’t wait!”

You wave to the camera while chuckling.

“Love you, Tommy… Hope you still love me after this! You’re the best!”

“Well folks, it looks like we just got the inside scoop on y/n y/l/n and Tom Holland’s pre-dating relationship!” the interviewer began.

“And I’d say that if we learned anything today, it’s that Spider-man himself can’t live a day without coffee.”

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A/N: Well that was a trainwreck and way too long. I promise Pt. 2 of A Flight to Remember will be much better than this and will hopefully be out by tomorrow. Hope you like reading this as much as I enjoyed putting this together in my head 😂

#A Day Without Coffee #Marvel #spider man: homecoming #Spider-man #Tom Holland #Tom Holland x Reader #peter parker x reader #One-Shot #harrison osterfield

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gryffvndors · 7 years

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uncommon alliances: part two

summary: intimacy isn’t really draco’s strong spot, but that doesn’t stop him from trying. you decide you don’t want a pygmy puff anymore, so you go in search of a new owner for puff.

word count: ~3800

a/n: YALL I DID IT I GOT IT OUT OMG now to get out all the requests i have..... hmm........ we’ll work on it. please enjoy this i worked hard and i will work hard fulfilling you guys’ ideas! and i need to repost catch me if u can bc i deleted it oops anyway enjoy and wish me luck on these terrible cramps i have hoenestly (ha get it) i feel like dying bye

part zero part one

Puff, stationed on your shoulder, squeaks into your ear just as you feel yourself drifting off.

“Good fucking Merlin-!” You jump nearly a foot in the air, hand flying to your heart. You whip your head around to glare at the bright blue ball that’s currently digging its nails into your skin, its noises softer. You let your anger bubble in your stomach for a moment. After that moment is over, you take a couple breaths to calm yourself down, then reach over and wrap your fingers around the pygmy puff. You get off the sofa in the Gryffindor common room, the one you were trying to nap in, and, as you attempt to pry your shoulder free from the clutches of the small, round beast that’s trying to dig its way into your body, push the portrait open and step out onto the staircase.

Ginny mentioned earlier she’d be somewhere downstairs trying to “prepare for her O.W.L.s”. You roll your eyes as you descend the stairs - by “prepare for her O.W.L.s”, you know she meant she’s going to hide somewhere and snog Harry for a couple hours. You don’t mind that; Harry knows of the wrath he will face from not only you, but the entire Weasley family, if he breaks her heart. Including her, you think - Ginny isn’t going to let anybody hurt her without consequence. That’s why she’s your favorite sister.

While you don’t want to walk in on a sister/best friend snogging session, desperate times call for desperate measures. This creature won’t let go - you don’t want to spell it off, just in case it accidentally… dies, or something, and you’re, okay, a little scared to get bit. By a pygmy puff. Some Gryffindor you are.

You go in search of the usual snogging places all Hogwarts students know about - a few broom closets, a couple abandoned/deserted hallways, some dusty corners. While you manage to find one snogging couple, it isn’t Ginny and Harry. You retreat from the corner, cheeks burning, muttering apologies to Dean and Seamus.

Dean and Seamus. You didn’t see that coming.

Hermione, apparently, did; you bump into her at the end of the hall. She’s carrying a rather large load of books, and seems to be headed towards the library. You raise a hand in greeting, a smile spreading across your lips.

“Hermione!” You cheer, rushing forwards. Hermione turns and nods in your direction. “Did you know Dean and Seamus are a thing? I’m looking for Harry and Ginny and I caught them snogging in the Transfiguration Hallway Corner!”

Hermione snorts, continuing on her way. You jog to keep pace. She’s travelling awfully quickly, especially for somebody with so many heavy books. “Yes, I knew about that. Anybody with any sort of observational skills would know that.”

You shrug. “I didn’t.”

“I said somebody with observational skills. Why do you have your pygmy puff on your shoulder? Ron told me yesterday that you’re embarrassed to be seen with it.”

You nod quickly. “I am. That’s why I’m looking for Harry and Ginny - well, just Ginny, really, but I wager I’ll get the package deal. This thing won’t unlatch itself from my shoulder! I’m scared it’s going to bite me, ‘Mione,” you whine, grabbing her arm and pulling her to a stop. “Please help me. It woke me up from my nap.”

Hermione, rolling her eyes, shifts the pile of books to one arm. Using the other one, she fishes her wand out of her bag and wingardium leviosas the pile in the air. Once the books are floating, she uses the hand not controlling the magic to stroke the pygmy puff softly on its back. You exhale in relief as the claws extract, allowing you to pluck it off of your shoulder.

“Thank you, Hermione, I don’t know what I would do without you - well, I reckon I’d probably have a dead pygmy puff, so it’s rather good that I’ve come across you, isn’t it-”

“God!” Exclaims Hermione. “A dead pygmy puff? You would’ve killed him?”

“No! Well, not on purpose. I probably would’ve tried spelling him off. Ah, I’ll let you go, you seem in a rush. I have another nap to take - and a pygmy puff to sell,” you glare reproachfully at the squeaking thing in your hand. Hermione takes the pile from the air and returns her wand to her bag. She brushes away a stray curl from her forehead, smiling. It’s more of a tired smile than anything, though on Hermione, it isn’t a bad thing. It’s normal for her; she’s always tired.

“Do be careful…”

You wave her off. “I’m always careful, ‘Mione. Alright, goodbye-”

You spin on your heels, rushing off in the other direction. You feel her gaze trained on your back as you flee - she’s probably worrying about the state of the pygmy puff. Well, she doesn’t have to.

You turn the corner, heading back up to the common room. There’s a couple hours until dinner left, and it’s a Saturday - the rain outside closed up the Hogsmeade trip, and while you were a little disappointed, you were also relieved by the catch-up of sleep you could get.

As you’re about to round another corner, somebody else decides to turn just as you approach it. They’re going a bit faster than you - everyone is so urgent today, you think with a frown. What’s the rush? You rushed to get away from Hermione, but only because you wanted her to continue with her day. If you hadn’t’ve left, she would’ve worried over you and the pygmy puff and insisted on going up to the common room with you, or maybe help sell the oversized, squeaking, furry blueberry you’re clutching.

You glance up to see who you nearly ran into. At the sight of Draco Malfoy’s face, yours breaks into a grin. You force down the flippant feeling you get in your stomach. “Draco Malfoy! What a pleasant surprise!”

Draco eyes you. Or, really, he eyes your hand. You eye it, too. For a minute, the two of you just stand there, staring at Puff. When the awkwardness finally surrounds you, you say, “This is my pygmy puff.”

“Really? I thought it was an owl.”

“His name is Puff,” you ignore his biting sarcasm. “Would you like him?”

“What?” Draco scowls, crossing his arms. “No, I don’t want him. Why would anybody want that?”

Puff squeaks sadly. You think it’s sad, at least. You aren’t very intuitive when it comes to pygmy puffs. Still, you glare up at the Slytherin. “Look, you hurt his feelings. Apologize.”

“Weasley, you’re just as deranged as your entire family if you think I am going to apologize to a pygmy puff,” he pauses. “Did you say its name is… ‘Puff’?”

“Yes, Harry named him because Ginny wouldn’t let him name hers. It’s what friends do.” In a moment of haughty pettiness, you say, “Though, you wouldn’t know about what friends do, would you, Draco?”

Draco stares at you. You stare back. For a second, you think he’s going to pin you against the wall and snog (or maybe punch) you - it’s happened before; the two of you have snogged a few times (if every chance you get is a few) after the initial Hogsmeade kiss - but then he rolls his eyes and glances back at the pygmy puff.

“Of course Potter would name it something as stupid as ‘Puff’,” Draco spits. “And I do have friends. They happen to be your friends as well. I don’t think you realize exactly how aggravating that fact is.”

You smile innocently. “I’m so glad we have mutual friends, Draco. Now, are you going to take Puff, or am I going to have to go common room to common room and put on a big sales pitch?”

“Why are you selling it-”

“Him.”

“-anyway?” He shoots you something that resembles irritation and dismissal.

You shrug, “I don’t want him.” He waits for you to continue. You groan before adding, “Also, I’m scared he’s going to bite me.”

Draco lets out a snort. “You, the mighty Gryffindor, are scared of a pygmy puff? It’s blue. It resembles a blueberry, or a - a vibrant, miniature Quaffle.”

“That’s what I said when I first got it!” You perk up.

Draco doesn’t seem very pleased to hear that. He groans. “I do not know why I am doing this, but give me the bloody pygmy puff. I will give it to Blaise, or… something,” he sighs. As you pass him the critter, he grabs your wrist instead and pulls you closer, just close enough to bridge the gap between your bodies. It’s a short kiss, but it feels nice anyway. Your stomach does backflips at the contact. When it’s over, Draco, refusing to look at you again, snatches the animal and continues onward, looking quizzically at it as he walks. You watch him leave, a lazy, satisfied smile on your face. Just before he’s about to turn, you call, “Thank you, Draco! I appreciate it!”

Draco grunts, and then he’s gone.

Relieved and unburdened, you retreat back to the common room and settle back in on the sofa. Without the indignant sounds of the small, breathing Quaffle, accompanied by the familiar crackling of the fire in the fireplace and aroma of burning wood, you fall asleep easily.

You’re woken up by someone furiously shaking the sofa. Shrieking, you whip your wand out and point it to your right. You open your eyes and look in the direction it’s pointing. There isn’t anybody there. You glance in the opposite direction. Ginny and Ron stand behind the back of the sofa, brows raised. You aim your wand at them. “Back away slowly,” you instruct, “and no harm will come to you.”

Ginny plucks the wand from your fingers and tosses it across the room. You scowl and cross your arms.

“You’re no fun.”

“I’m plenty fun,” she dismisses you with a wave of her hand. “Anyway, come on - it’s dinner time. Hermione told us you’d be up here sleeping. She was right,” Ginny sends you a pointed look. You send one right back. “How do you sleep so much? You sleep more than Ron.” Your sister ignores your brother’s slightly insulted look and motions for you to get up.

You roll off the couch and pick up your wand before following them out of the common room. “I like sleeping the way Ron likes eating,” you explain. Ginny nods knowingly.

“We are Weasleys. When we like to do something, we do it in extreme.”

Ron mutters something under his breath, then throws his hands in the air. “Why am I always the one forced out of conversations? I want to be included!”

You consider it before saying, “Say something worthwhile.” You grin at Ginny as she sniggers into her hand. “I’m only joking, Ron. We’ll include you in our conversations if it really twists your knickers. Ginny and Ronald,” you flash him a smirk, “have you heard from Charlie that they’ve discovered a new species of dragon?”

Ron avoids your gaze and seems to find the ground interesting as you guys walk. Ginny exclaims, “Yeah! It’s in America, right? They haven’t named it yet, but it lives in the Appalachian Mountains. Ron, do you know anything about it?”

“I… haven’t been talking to Charlie lately,” he mumbles. “So no.”

“And that’s why you’re never in our conversations. Do your homework, Ron.” You enter the Great Hall, heading towards the Gryffindor table in large strides. Draco intercepts you at the last second. You notice a pout on his lips because, damn it, that’s where your eyes automatically go. It doesn’t look much different from his usual frown to most people, but you’re only a little embarrassed to admit you know his face well enough to be able to tell the difference. The pout is missing the jutting out of his jaw that his frown gets. His brow is creased a bit more, eyes full of indignance. You forget your current company and sigh, running a hand through your hair.

“And how may I be of assistance to you, Malfoy?” You inquire sarcastically.

Draco ignores your siblings who - in their right mind, of course, seeing as how you’re the one acting oddly in their eyes - send filthy looks his way. Ginny hisses in your ear, “Let’s go.” Ron only glares so hard, you think he might pop a vein or something.

“I need to talk to you. Away from your… companions.”

“Oh, bugger off, Malfoy,” Ron snaps. You note how his hands ball into a fist. Past Draco, you catch Hermione and Harry staring worriedly in your direction. With a slight shake of your head, Harry - who was getting ready to rise and come to your aid - relaxes ever so slightly. Ron continues with, “Whatever you need to say to her, you can say it in front of us. Her family.”

Ginny folds her arms across her chest and tilts her chin up. You glance between them, almost amused, before inclining your head in a nod.

“Thanks, guys, I appreciate your concern. Really, I do, but I need to speak with Malfoy alone. It’s for Alchemy.”

“Since when have you taken Alchemy? And since when have you been friends with Malfoy?!” Ron scoffs.

“Uh, I’ve taken Alchemy since the beginning of the year? Where have you been? And we’re not friends, we’re partnered for a big end of term project. I’ll be right back, Ronald, I’m not going to die.”

“It’s Malfoy, you don’t know that!”

“Weasel,” Malfoy deadpans, “I’ve no desire to murder your sister. To be frank with you, she isn’t worth the Azkaban time. Anyway, I’ve got more important things to do. Like discuss a very important project that is ninety percent of our grade, so if you will excuse me-” he grabs your wrist and pulls you along with him. You flash a thumbs-up to your gobsmacked siblings and stumble over your feet in his haste.

Once you’re a good deal away from the Great Hall and in one of those “snogging corners” as Ginny so eloquently calls them, he pushes you against the wall and uses the corner to its full potential. You let him, relieved. As you snog him, your mind drifts to the scene you’d walked in on earlier in a different “snogging corner”. You begin to snicker and push him away, covering your eyes with one hand and grabbing his own with your other. “Earlier, when I gave you Puff - where is he, anyway? Wait, don’t answer that quite yet, I want to tell you this first - earlier when we were talking, I don’t think I mentioned what I saw earlier. It’s so crazy, I honest to Merlin never thought I’d catch it happening. I mean, Ginny has made an offhand comment about it, but I always thought she was being a prat because Dean’s her ex. I never expected it to be real. Yeah, they’re best friends, but I always thought that was the extent of their relationship - did you? I mean, I’m well aware that you’re not a Gryffindor and therefore, you’re not friendly with them - I think you rather dislike them, actually - but still, you could not have seen this coming. Did you?”

Draco blinks at you oddly. “You stopped snogging me so you could ramble on about Ginny Weasley and Dean Thomas’ past relationship.”

“What? No.” It dawns on you that you probably didn’t actually get to the point, and that it - the point, that is - was lost in your babbling. “Oh, oh. Okay. No, I walked in on Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan snogging. Hermione said she knew they were a thing, but she’s a lot more observant than I am.” As an afterthought, you add, “I guess Ginny is, too.”

Draco snorts. “I think a troll is more observant than you.”

The sentence takes you back to first year. You scoff and mutter under your breath, “You’d be surprised…”

He ignores that and says, “You take after your brother in that. Yes, I noticed Thomas and Finnigan - not that I ever cared,” he sniffs. “Anyway, onto subjects that actually matter, I did not just pull you away from Potter and his minions-”

“Uh, you mean my friends? And family?”

“...Yes, them. However you label them. There is a reason for this other than snogging-”

“Are you sure? You seemed a bit excited,” you smirk, standing on your toes. “Are you harboring feelings for me, Draco? How sweet. You fancy a blood traitor like me.”

“I… okay, number one, stop interrupting me. I do not speak because I like hearing my own voice, I speak because I need to say something. Two, I am not… harboring feelings for you,” he shifts his weight, uneasy. It takes him a second before he continues with, “Three, even if I was, it wouldn’t matter because your friends despise me. I believe we have had this conversation before, actually - we are getting off track.”

“No, I like where this is going,” you beam. He wrenches his hand away from yours. “Aw, look, you’re getting all ‘I am a strong Slytherin with no feelings’ and withdrawing into your shell. How cute.”

“I’m not,” he mutters, scowling.

“Mmm. So what is the reason for pulling me away from Potter and his minions, Draco?”

“I…” Draco fishes something out of his pocket and thrusts it to you. “Here. This is for you.”

He looks away, flushing, as you reach out to unclench his fingers. Sitting in the palm of his hand is something silver. You pick it up and realize that it is a bracelet - a thin one, with little charms on it. There’s a bird; a lion; what looks to be a bat - the Quidditch kind, seeing as how you’re a Beater for Gryffindor; a star; and a heart.

You stare at it longer than you probably should without saying a word.

Draco peeks at you, then huffs. “Don’t just stare at it,” he says. “Say something.”

You look at him, grinning. “Are you insecure?”

“No!”

“You sound insecure,” you wrap your arms around him abruptly. His body tenses up before relaxing into the hug. “Thank you, Draco. It’s really pretty.”

“Mm. The lion is for Gryffindor, because you’re an irritating Gryffindor. The bat is because you’re a Beater. The bird is because, well… I like birds,” he glares at you when you chuckle. “I didn’t know what else to get, so I got a star. So, there. That’s, uh, payment. For the Puff thing. You said you wanted to sell it. Him,” he corrects himself.

You poke at the heart. “And what’s this for, Draaaaco?”

Draco flushes darker. “I… you’re not a moron like your brother,” he says crossly. “Stop playing dumb.”

“I just want to hear you say it!”

“Fine. Merlin, you’re obnoxious. I… suppose I fancy you. For lack of a better term. And person,” he licks his lips. “Because I’m only with you because there isn’t anybody else in this stupid school. Not because of who you are, or anything.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m perfect, and you know it,” you smirk and stand on your toes again. “You can stop guarding your feelings, Draco, I’m not going to hurt them. Thank you for the bracelet, though - it’s very pretty. Did you get it in Hogsmeade?”

He nods. “I ordered it a couple weeks ago. I was going to give it to you today, but-”

“The trip was cancelled,” you finish. “Right. Well, I suppose I fancy you, too.”

“I did not pull you away from your insufferable friends to talk about feelings-”

You hold your hands up in surrender. “I know, I know! I’m just saying! I really like you!” You hold out the bracelet. “Will you help me put this on before I return to my insufferable friends?”

He nods and unclasps it. As he wraps the silver chain around your wrist, you’re hit with a sudden wave of emotion. The position that you’re in feels strangely intimate. He peeks at your face and reads it like a book. “Merlin, are you going to cry?”

“I’m not going to cry,” you protest, but sniff. “I just think it’s so sweet that you bought me this bracelet, and that you have feelings for me, and that you customized these charms and it’s really intimate and caring and I wish that you weren’t such an asshole to my friends and family becausethey’llneverapproveofyou-”

He finishes putting the bracelet on you and frowns. “I’ll have these… feelings talks of yours if you want, but not here. I just wanted to give you the bracelet and snog you for a little bit. Can we postpone the conversation we’re about to get into?”

You laugh, nodding, and raise your wrist to admire the jewelry. “Yeah, yeah. Of course we can. Thank you again, Draco. I really like it.”

“Good. We should be getting back; I know you have that ruddy Weasley appetite that makes you eat a meal every two hours or so.”

You roll your eyes, but find that you can’t disagree. “Before we go back, can we snog some more?”

“Only if you walk in the Great Hall five minutes after I walk in-”

You cut him off by bringing his face down to meet yours. You don’t really care about staggered entrances.

A few days later, you find him in the library, a book on potions open and ignored. Draco is playing around with Puff - he’s stroking his fur, feeding him little bits of apple, and laughing. You watch the scene unfold for a good three minutes before marching over and planting your hands on your hips.

“I’ve caught you in the act, Draco.”

He jumps and hides the pygmy puff. When he sees that it’s just you, Draco snorts and brandishes him again. “I actually like him,” he admits.

“I thought you were going to give him to Blaise or something?”

“That was before I actually got to know him! I can’t give him away now, we’re friends.”

You roll your eyes, facepalming. “Merlin, you sound like my sister. Why do you like him, anyway? He’s small and loud and annoying-”

Draco stares at you for a second. When he realizes you’re not kidding, he thrusts his hand out, palm-up, with Puff balancing on top of it. “Because he’s soft,” he says like it’s obvious. “Have you never felt him before?”

“Trust me, I’ve felt him many times. He was actually attached to my body once.”

“...What?”

You sigh and sit down across from Draco. “Nevermind,” you breathe, and rest your head on your hands. You spend the rest of your free period watching Draco and Puff together, and playing with the little charms on your silver bracelet.

#draco malfoy #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy fanfic #draco malfoy one shot #harry potter fanfic #draco malfoy imagine #my writing #liquidmusing #writing #uncommon alliances #uncommon alliances: part two #yay!!!! i got it out #and i hope its okay #pls tell me its okay and not terribly out of character #......#im insecure #mine

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hufflepirate · 7 years

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I’ve had a kind of weird week, so I’ve been thinking a lot abt self-care? So, when I first started hearing about self-care as an idea I had a lot of misconceptions and didn’t really know how to apply it and sometimes made things worse trying to make myself better? So I’m gonna write out some of the things that work for me now when I’m doing self-care and taking self-care time for myself.

For me, self-care is more about respecting and listening to my body and instincts than it is specific actions. Like, initially I just saw lists of like ‘take a bubble bath!’ ‘read a book!’ ‘eat a good meal!’ and that’s all good and well, but just Doing Pleasant Things is no good when I do them desperately and for the wrong reasons.

Self-care, for me, means reminding myself that I’m a finite being who’s allowed to have limitations. It means that when my body says ‘I am too tired to keep doing this’ I say ‘ok ur too tired to keep doing that’ instead of saying, like ‘ok but also u pulled all-nighters all the time 5 years ago ur not that old yet wtf’ or ‘other ppl are still working probably what is wrong with u?’ or ‘too bad ur prob making that up and anyway we gotta do the thing’ or ‘tough noogies have some coffee idc that u have a stomachache it’s only for a little while longer u can puke when this is done.’ Self-care doesn’t always mean that I go get a full 8 hours of sleep, but it does mean that I take my body’s needs seriously. It means I get to put my needs at least on par with whatever it is I’m trying to get done, instead of below it. It means thinking holistically and remembering that whatever task I’m doing, I’m doing it as a specific, embodied human with specific talents, abilities, strengths, weaknesses, interests, and limits.

Self-care means staying in tune with the rhythms of my life. It means knowing how my own REM cycle works and taking it into account when I decide when to go to bed and get up and whether to nap and how long and all of that. It means remembering that my life is more than a specific day and I need to live like I also want to be healthy 3 days from now and that if I push myself too hard and then collapse on the next free day I have, I’ll never actually enjoy myself. It means backing down when I have a headache and figuring out if I’ve forgotten to drink my usual amount of water or if I’ve missed my usual morning caffeine or if I’ve not slept long enough or spent too much time in front of a screen or missed out on social time and over-stressed myself or whatever else.

Self-care also means living with Future Me in mind. Future Me needs me not to push myself to collapse rn. Future Me will benefit if I do the 12% of this task I’m probably up to, even if Future Me thought I was going to get 50% of it done today. Both Present Me and Future Me will benefit from eating some vegetables. Even if ‘eating some vegetables’ means a sandwich on the go with lots of lettuce bc I still haven’t been to the store, Future Me will still appreciate the veggies. Future Me will not appreciate the way she feels if I refuse to sleep and make myself do tasks poorly, painfully, and ineffectively and eat nothing but cookies instead of taking the time to find better food. Even if doing all the work I imagined I should would mean leaving no work for Future Me to do, not doing all the work I imagined I should will mean Future Me is strong enough to handle the work I leave for her, instead of collapsing into mush. Future Me pretty much always turns out to appreciate that.

Self-care also means giving Future Me some credit. She’s stronger than I think she is, so while I can and should help her by doing what I can now to take things off her plate, sometimes just helping Future Me be strong enough to cope is good enough. Often just helping Future Me be strong enough to cope is good enough.

Self-care, for me, also means always having a set of possible standards I’m ok with. I think a lot about that Ron Swanson thing ‘don’t half-ass two things, whole-ass one thing’ and I think generally it’s pretty good advice, but also, sometimes u have 2 things and u have to do them. Sometimes u have 5 things and u have to say this is the one I care about enough to whole-ass and then I’ll half-ass these 2 and quarter-ass this one and worry about the mess in the kitchen some other day also u can pay money for ppl to bring food to ur house. Self-care means reminding myself that I literally can’t do everything all the way all the time and letting myself make new plans that respect that. It also means letting myself over-achieve on those goals a little bit, as long as I’m focusing on the stuff I care about. Self-care means not letting myself feel like I’m just getting dragged around by the world instead of making my own choices. Obviously, I still feel dragged around sometimes, but deciding to do a little when I can and that different standards for different tasks at different times is ok helps a lot.

Idk, this is pretty vague and not nearly as specific as ‘I felt crappy yesterday so I did some yoga and took a shower and wore comfy jeggings and worked from home instead of leaving my apartment’ but I could have done all of those things and still come out of it feeling crappy.

It worked because taking the time to feel my body and breathe deeply and reconnect with my physical being helped me trust my own instincts/self-knowledge after an emotionally tumultuous and mood-swingy week. It worked because telling myself that I was allowed to take a shower purely because I wanted one and not because it was the time on my how-to-not-be-offensively-greasy-around-others schedule was telling myself that the feeling of wanting a shower was real in the moment even though I usually hate having to shower, and that I was allowed to want that and allowed to give myself that. It worked because jeggings and a bra under my t-shirt make me feel like I’m dressed and give me that Dressed And Out Of Bed confidence/competence boost, but are not much less comfy than pjs. It worked because I got some work done instead of none, and because it took the pressure off. It worked because I had reframed doing 25% of the work I’d wanted to for the day as doing 25% more than if I had stayed too anxious to start any of it and frittered the day away feeling bad about myself and waiting to Magically Start something I wasn’t up to in that state of mind anyway.

So that’s a lot of rambling but anyway there it is. I ordered a pizza box tonight because I should have gone to the store more than a week ago and still haven’t, and I’m gonna eat it for at least 1 more meal before I go to the store and maybe 4 meals, idk yet. I’m sore from yesterday’s incredibly basic yoga video bc I haven’t done any in months and don’t really work out beyond walking places when I can get away with not driving. I’m not exactly the poster child for yoga-and-vegetables holistic living. But, like, when doing those things is part of Treating My Lived Experience As Valid I can do them without feeling guilty for all the times I didn’t and I can respect myself for making other choices at other moments like taking a nap and ordering pizza, which I’m actually still feeling super duper good about. I did slightly more than the minimum amount I wanted to get done and ended up meeting my middle goal for work this evening, and I’m super excited about those cinnamon bread sticks I’m gonna eat for breakfast tomorrow.

#personal #why is it so long why am I so rambly #my tumblr's been doing stupid and weird things with readmores so not doing one sorry y'all #feel free to scroll on/ignore but like...#idk I've been wanting to write it so I did

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