#i'll keep this open for a week but probably will make a decision before then tbh !! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

futureman · 6 months

Text

waiting to spill

pairing: mike schmidt x f!reader

summary: mike never thought your week-long trip home would lead to the discovery of a costly new craving

warnings: 18+ MDNI, established relationship, breeding kink, smut, desperate!mike, unprotected piv, creampie, riding, fingering, blue balls, mentions of pregnancy, cum play

word count: 3.9k

(based on this request)

Mike's praying the call goes through this time because if it doesn't, he might just lose his mind. You were supposed to land 20 minutes ago, but it's already half past 4 and your phone's still off.

Will it show how many missed calls you have? God, he hopes not. He's been redialing for the better part of an hour, hoping you landed early, but luck clearly isn't on his side. Every time it goes to voicemail, your voice taunts him. Just another reminder that you're not here—unreachable and untouchable.

Shitty fucking airline. He knew you should've taken an earlier flight, but he didn't want to be that guy. The one who tells you what to do and when, and makes decisions for his own benefit. He's a better guy than that, a better boyfriend than that, it's just—fuck, what is taking so long?

One more time. He'll try you one more time, and if it doesn't connect, he'll go sit on the couch and distract himself until you call him. He's already waited this long. He can suck it up a little longer. Probably.

He hits redial for the umpteenth time, his forehead thunking against the wall next to the landline, and then something miraculous happens. It rings.

Once, twice, and then you pick up. He doesn't wait for you to answer. Any patience he had left flew out the window hours ago and he doesn't care if you know it.

"Babe?"

You laugh softly on the other end, and it tugs at his heart...and his dick. Seatbelts click open in the background, and sounds of movement and chatter filter through the speaker.

"Hey, you. I actually just landed. I'll call you back once I get through customs, okay?" you reply, bright as ever.

It sets him off worse than he expected. You're so much more potent in real-time than on voicemail, and it's fucking with his sense of urgency. He doesn't want to rush you, but he needs you. So badly.

"W-wait. Can you come over? After you're done with the airport stuff, I mean," he manages to get out, interjecting cautiously before you can hang up.

"I was gonna stop home to drop off my bags and take a quick shower, but I can come over after that," you reply distractedly, likely dealing with overhead bins and other passengers trying to deplane.

He shakes his head, gripping the phone a little too tightly as he bites back a frustrated whine. That'll take too long. The airport's about an hour's ride from your apartment, and by the time you're done showering—no. No, just come to him. It's a shorter ride to his house, anyway.

"Just—you can do all of that here. Stay over and I'll drive you back to your place in the morning. Please?" he asks, desperation beginning to bleed into his voice.

It pulls your attention back to him almost immediately, and he hates how good that feels.

"Is everything okay? Did something happen?" you counter, misreading his plea as an emergency.

Your phone keeps shifting like it's tucked against your shoulder, and now it sounds like you're moving faster, hurrying like he wants you to, but for the wrong reasons.

"Everything's fine, I just need to see you," he says, willing you to understand. "Babe, I really need to see you."

He's too ashamed to spell it out. What would he even say? If he doesn't cum inside you soon, he thinks he might die? He's horny, not pathetic.

"Mike, that doesn't sound fine...," you sigh on the other end, your quickening footsteps audible through the receiver.

"Please."

You pause for a second, and his heart leaps into his throat. Don't say no. Please, don't say no.

"Gimme an hour, okay? I'll catch a cab to your place as soon as I can," you finally agree.

He breathes out a heavy sigh of relief, but it's louder than he realizes and you clock it on the spot.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, all good. I'm just glad you're back. Feels like it's been forever," he mumbles, somehow sated and yet anticipating your arrival more than ever.

He shifts anxiously from one foot to the other, wincing at the unexpected friction against the growing problem between his legs. The atmosphere around you changes and your responding laugh blends into the bustle of casual conversations and overhead announcements in your terminal.

"Can't survive one week without me, huh? I guess I'm bringing you and Abby along next time I visit my parents," you joke, but it's getting harder to make out what you're saying. "Look, I'm almost at customs. I'll see you soon, I promise."

The call ends, and he's left with the loneliness of a dial tone and an empty house. He hangs up and plops down on the couch, clutching the TV remote like a lifeline while he desperately tries to ignore the painful tent in his boxers.

An hour. He can handle one more hour.

He can't handle one more hour. It's been 45 minutes and he feels like he's about to burst. The worst part? It's his own damn fault.

He's the asshole who made the conscious decision not to jerk off the entire time you were gone, but he can't bring himself to regret it. He had his reasons. In about 15 minutes, it'll all be worth it.

Maybe less.

There's a knock at the door, and he's up and off the couch so fast, he's surprised he doesn't have whiplash. He wrenches it open to find you on the other side, a little stunned by the abrupt greeting, but worth every second of blue balls he put himself through.

"Hey," he breathes out, winded by his mad dash and the relief of you finally being here.

"Hey, yourself," you smile wryly. Your eyes drop to where he's not even remotely trying to hide his raging boner. "Ah-ha, so that's—"

But that's all you manage to say before he drags you into the house and slams your back against the door, shutting out your luggage and the cab driver still idling in the driveway. His lips crash into yours and you taste so good, it's dizzying.

Remnants of Sprite and spearmint gum linger on your tongue as it meets his, and he groans, wondering how he went an entire week without this. All that time, deprived of your addictive touch and perfect tits while he tortured himself, waiting for you to come back to him.

He can't decide where to put his hands first, roaming and squeezing from your waist, up your shirt—which he's just realizing is his—to splay across your ribcage. Pressing you harder into the door, he separates from your lips to mouth at the underside of your jaw, mumbling his appreciation between each harsh bruise he sucks into your skin.

"Fuck, I missed you," he pants, shamelessly grinding into your hip for relief. He wants you to feel how hard you're making him, so you'll understand all those missed calls.

"Yeah? I can tell," you laugh breathily, running your hands up his chest, pushing his shirt up as you go.

Your thumbs brush against his bare skin, sending a heady jolt straight to his cock, and suddenly none of this is moving fast enough. His hands drop to your ass, roughly tugging your hips into his, and you gasp in unison at the friction. Together, you fall into a frantic rhythm, rutting into each other like a pair of horny teenagers.

"Shit, Mike...," you moan his name, and he feels like he's dreaming. He has to be because nothing else in his waking world has ever felt this good.

Contrary to the rest of his body, he kisses you again slowly, savoring every noise he's coaxing from you and devouring them like a man starved. Your fingers thread through his hair, pulling him closer, and he swears he's never letting you leave this house again.

If by some miracle he does, he's going to make sure you're pumped so full of him, you'll be leaking him the entire time you're gone, unable to think about anything else. And when you come back, he'll do it all over again.

Damnit, he needs you in his bed, now.

He backs away from the door with you still in his arms, leading you further into the house down a path you know by heart. Briefly, he separates from your lips to lift your shirt up and over your head, then discards his own before tugging down the cups of your bra to latch onto a nipple.

You hiss at the contact, trembling as he teases it with his teeth, and immediately reach behind you to unclasp the offending piece of fabric. It drops soundlessly to the floor along with your jeans, underwear, and finally his boxers. Nipping sharply at the sensitive skin one last time, he pulls away to admire you, trailing his fingers down your arms until your hands are in his.

You're fucking beautiful. Your lips are kiss-swollen and glossy, begging to be kissed again, and your thighs are...wet, fucking hell. Fuck, he missed you. His mouth starts to water at the thought of licking into you, fucking you with his tongue while your thighs quake on either side of his head, but the painful throbbing between his legs is starting to overwhelm him.

He's positive, now, that if he's not inside you soon, he'll actually die. He's not just horny, anymore. It's so far beyond that.

Four more agonizing steps backward and he's finally passing the threshold into his room, so close to being on his back with you bouncing on top of him—except he doesn't make it that far.

The door shuts behind you, and then you're on your knees, wrapping those perfect fingers around his dick and guiding him between your lips. He panics. There's no way he's going to last if you try to blow him right now.

Tenderly, you lick a stray bead of precum off the tip, and his balls immediately draw up so tight, he has to slide your hand down to the base and squeeze to keep from cumming on the spot. He shakes his head, his eyebrows furrowing as he inhales sharply through his nose.

"Babe, I can't...," he grits out, struggling to find the words to explain himself. "I'll cum too fast, you can't."

You grin, leaning forward to press your lips against his white-knuckled fist.

"That's sort of the whole point, isn't it?" you tease, trailing back to his cock, seconds away from giving him the most intense orgasm of his life.

"I need to fuck you," he blurts out. It's short and to the point, but there's no use in pretending he doesn't. At this point, he'll be lucky if he doesn't explode the second he's inside you. "I need to fuck you so bad right now, I feel like I'm going crazy."

You pause to look up at him, your eyes roving over his face, lingering on his angrily ticking jaw. You get it, now.

"Hey, it's okay—you're okay," you murmur, leaning forward to kiss away another drop of precum. He chokes back a groan and reflexively jerks away, and you take the hint to release your grip. "Okay, fuck me. Show me how much you missed me."

But you don't have any idea what you're asking for, do you? He missed you so much. There's so much catching up to do, and he has so little patience left.

He doesn't waste any more time. With every ounce of self-control he's got left, he drags you to your feet and towards the bed, trying his best not to manhandle you up the mattress and onto his lap. He fails epically. The second he's flat on his back with you grinding down on him, his patience becomes a thing of the past.

"You ready for me? Because I'm not gonna be able to stop, and I need you to feel good," he's starting to babble, but he has a feeling nothing he says from now on will make any sense, and he needs you to want it as much as he does.

His hands slide up your thighs to your waist, and when he tugs you closer to notch at your entrance, he can feel you clenching wetly around him.

"Shit—," he breathes out, his biceps tensing as he lifts you and lines himself up. He pushes in just enough for you to stretch around the tip, and you steady yourself on his chest, your palms searingly hot on his skin as you squeeze him a little harder.

"Let me make you feel good," he says again, even though you're already letting him, already yielding to his steady push and pull. Every inch he gives you feels like taking a shot of tequila, and it's making his head spin. If he could hear himself anymore, he'd realize he sounds wasted.

"Let me fill you up, please," he begs, rolling his hips up to lengthen his thrusts. They’re so much easier now that you’re dribbling down him—so much wetter—but you're so damn tight, he has to force himself to look away from where you're joined and gripping the hell out of him. "You know, I-I waited for you—waited to cum, I didn't cum at all."

"Mike...fuck. That's good. That's so good, baby," you tell him shakily. "Give it to me. Nice and deep, you deserve it."

He keens at the praise—he couldn't have stopped himself if he'd tried—and your nails bite into his skin in response, nose scrunching adorably as you gush around him. He knew you'd like that. He knew you'd want it.

Look at his girl, so pretty on top of him, just waiting for him to bust inside you. Fleetingly, he wonders if you're still on birth control. Possessively, he doesn't care. Rationally, he knows he can't afford to knock you up, but shit—right now, he really fucking wants to. He imagines you in the same position you're in, horny and round with his baby, and suddenly he's never wanted anything so badly in his life.

He doesn't stop to think about whether or not he should. He doesn't stop at all, just like he warned you, not even when he's buried to the hilt and you're both struggling to adjust.

He just buries himself in you again and again and again until the sound of your skin colliding with his becomes a wet thock-thock-thock that bounces off the walls of his bedroom. The springs beneath him squeak dangerously as he pushes his bedframe to its absolute limits, but he can’t hear any of that, either.

His senses are in overdrive, and all he can focus on is how you feel around him. And he’s not nearly as deep as he needs to be. Rougher than he means to, he grabs your ass with both hands and starts to force you up and down his cock, gripping hard enough to bruise. He’ll hate how much he likes the idea of that later.

"S-so fucking pretty...gonna make me cum so hard. So much. Need you to take all of it," he pants with the exertion of lifting and dropping your full weight onto himself.

He can feel himself slamming into your cervix and desperately tries to think about anything else but emptying right into it, but the sight of you taking him like you were made for it makes it ten times worse.

Just looking at you makes him want to cum—your tits bouncing as you ride him, your pussy creaming down his cock and balls, and seeping into his sheets. Those pouty lips of yours moaning around pleas of harder and right there and don't stop, I'm cumming.

"Baby...babe—," your shattered voice cuts through the fog, and then he feels it. "M'cumming. I'm...Mike, keep going there, there. Don't stop, please don't stop."

Fucking hell, you're really cumming. Tight and wet, and clamping down on him like a vice. Somehow, he always forgets it's like this with you. That you cum this hard for him, that he's able to make you cum this hard for him. For a second, he feels overwhelmingly grateful. Then, he's planting his feet on the bed and fucking you so hard, you stop moaning and start screaming.

It's there. It's right there, so close he can feel it building everywhere. Sweat trickles down his temples, matting his curls to his forehead, and you brush them away, one hand braced on the mattress next to his head and the other buried in his hair as you ride out your high.

His balls draw up so tight, it's painful, and he thinks he might start yelling too, but he's too focused on the chase. He's too busy watching, dumbfounded by the perfect body coming apart on top of him.

The girl he waited for.

He tries to tell you. He tries to open his mouth and tell you that you’re everything he thought he’d never have, and that he wants to keep you forever. That he wants to be part of you, that being inside you is one of the rare places he’s ever felt wanted. But that’s not what comes out.

He’s too far gone now, and all he can manage is an incomprehensible stream of moans and sighs as he forces you flush against his pelvis, grinding into you as deep as he can reach. His eyes struggle not to close, nearly crossing as that familiar heat permeates his limbs and pools at the base of his cock. But it’s so much more intense than he can ever remember it being.

He lifts his gaze to your lips to find them moving, repeatedly forming a single word he can barely make out. But by the time he figures it out, he’s already giving you what you asked for.

Please. You’re saying please. He repeats it back, begging you to take it, thanking you for letting him have this.

His orgasm rocks him. As it peaks, he feels numb like he’s suspended in time, and then it slams into him so hard, he folds in on himself. He buries his face in your tits, his breath hitching sharply in time with the visible throbbing of his cock, and he’s immediately flooded with relief. But it won’t fucking stop. It lasts so much longer than either of you expect it to, pulse after endless pulse, and he holds you in place through it all.

When it finally subsides and sensitivity sets in, your nails scratching lightly across his back are what bring him back to the present. He lifts his head from where it's still pillowed on your tits, and you lean down to kiss his forehead.

Maybe he’s imagining it, or maybe he’s just been dreaming this entire time, but he swears you’re glowing. The final rays of late summer sun illuminate your dewy skin and soft curves, and as you move lower to kiss his lips, he unconsciously rests a hand over your stomach. It feels right—but only briefly. His head starts to clear the longer he licks into your mouth, and when you part, reality finally hits.

"Shit, I think I just got you pregnant," he breathes out, sliding his hand off your stomach to your waist before collapsing onto the mattress. "Shit."

He looks up at you in concern, his mind racing a mile a minute. What did he just do? He can’t—you can't get pregnant. Not with Abby, and your jobs, and his shitty finances. It just isn't an option.

And yet you’re still perched on top of him, snug around his softening dick, and he can’t bring himself to pull out. You don’t even seem remotely worried.

You're actually smiling. No, you're laughing, and he's still panicking and confused as hell. It gets infinitely worse when you accidentally push him out and his gut reaction is to plug you back up with his fingers, keeping his release from leaking out. This is so fucked up. He’s so fucked up.

"I mean—were you trying to?" you ask, raising an eyebrow. "Kinda seems like it."

Your eyes drop between your legs to where his hand is cupping your heat, irrefutable proof that you’re not wrong. So, why doesn’t that bother you?

"Babe, breathe," you smile softly, brushing a few stray hairs from his face. "I'm like, 98.8 percent positive you can't knock me up. Give or take, but we can check the box if it'll make you feel better."

It actually might, but the last thing he's going to do is admit it. He can't believe he didn't double-check something like that—but then again, he feels like he's been in a fugue state for hours, if not the entire week you were gone.

"You're still on birth control?" he asks cautiously, almost afraid to get his hopes up. He takes a deep breath like you told him to and it helps ease some of his lingering panic. Not all of it, but at least he's starting to think rationally and not with his dick.

"Mike. There isn't a single condom in this entire house. Yes, I'm on birth control," you laugh again, and even just the sound of it is soothing. It helps, too.

"And it definitely works? Because that was...a lot," he mumbles. He already knows he sounds like a total idiot, but he has to be sure. There's still a week's worth of his release plugged up inside you, and as much as it turns him on, he needs to know if he has to run out to the pharmacy or if he's free to do it again. And again.

"Have you ever fucked me with a condom on?" you counter. He scoffs at the question, and you clench around his fingers in retaliation.

"Of course, I have. Maybe not in a while, but early on, for sure," he replies confidently, even though he's not confident in his answer at all. Sure, he can't give you a specific example, but that doesn't mean it never happened.

"You literally came inside me the day we met," you deadpan.

His cock stirs at the memory, hardening distractingly against your inner thigh. That, he definitely remembers. He's pretty sure that's the night he fell in love with you, but he's hard-pressed to admit that, either.

"There's no way."

"And every time since then," you continue, looking way too amused at his misfortune. Can't get anything past you, can he?

Okay, so maybe it wasn't just your trip that triggered what happened tonight. Maybe it's always been a thing. His thing. You just look so goddamn good—filled with it, covered in it. Shit, he really shouldn't be hard already.

"Babe, come on. I do...it other places, too,” he reasons, sliding his hand up to tweak a nipple. But it becomes a moot point the second your breath hitches. So much for rational thinking. “I just—"

"You just really like cumming inside me," you finish for him, taking his cock in your hand and stroking him until he's as desperate as he was earlier.

He pulls his fingers free from your pussy and tries not to lament the immediate rush of cum that leaks out. It's okay. He's got plenty more to give you.

"Yeah, I really do."

thanks for reading!

(and so much love to @joelsgreys, @tinycozycomfort & @psychedelic-ink for your help & support, and for listening to me go on and on about this man <3)

#mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt x you #mike schmidt imagine #mike schmidt smut #mike schmidt #fnaf imagine #fnaf smut #fnaf movie #fnaf #five nights at freddy's

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luvring · 4 months

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gn!reader | iwaizumi will do a lot of things if you ask, but he's always a little awkward and embarrassed about taking photos of himself. what angle does he use, why's the lighting so bad, this is his "no one will see me" t-shirt, does his smile look forced, etc, etc., which means you only ask every once and a while, mostly as a joke, and never mind when he brushes it off with a laugh.

so when you open your messages to see an unprompted selfie of him, blurry, sitting in dim light, cheeks flushed and biting his lip to stop a grin, shocked is one word you can use to describe yourself. apparently drunk hajime is different from sober hajime, and confident enough to send a second, third photo capturing his night out with his old teammates at karaoke.

and you're not sure if it was their idea or his, but you really can't bring yourself to complain when he accidentally sends a video instead of a photo that perfectly frames his slightly unbuttoned top, messy hair that he runs his fingers through (he's brought up needing a haircut every week for the past month, but keeps pushing off setting an appointment), and raspy laugh as he tells someone off screen to shut up and sing already before turning to you with a smile.

"oh, shit, it's a video."

"pft, are you really that drunk?"

"hiii," someone—you think tooru—singsongs your name.

another complains, his voice muffled by your boyfriend moving the camera, "ugh, can you move over?"

"hi babe." hajime's low, slurred voice brings your attention back to him. "i got 94 on m'last song, jus' so y'know.

"let it go! that was all luck—"

"shut up, it's not my fault y'got 67 and sound like a dying bird. ugh," he seems to lose his train of thought and sniffles. "uh...don't worry, issei's driving m'back. i'll tell you 'bout it when i get home. see you soon, alright? love you."

the video ends, cutting off the beginning of a voice crack and off-pitch note, and the responding cackle that momentarily fills the quiet of your living room.

it's not a hard decision to save everything he's sent to your phone. the real hard decision will be tomorrow, you think, when you have to decide between teasing him to death or helping with his hangover. but then you get another notification—another text from him that reads "Cany ou tell them i'm not gonna sing adell" and you smile.

you can probably do both.

(he does end up singing, but so does everyone else. the video you get is way too loud, and way too close to the microphone, and the phone falls to the floor at some point, but it's saved to your gallery anyway. he makes you promise not to play it the next morning because it's "so headache inducing he could explode.")

#luvring.txt #haikyuu x reader #iwaizumi x reader #draws hearts with a glittery pen around his name...Iwaizumi....#i keep trying to make rlly short drabbles but theyre always a little longer than intended....hrrrnnnnghh

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waddingham · 1 month

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oH Ted as the 'someone coming every week to cook and stock her fridge with meals'!! your brain does so much good work and I am so thankful we get to reap the benefits <33

yeah!!!!!! and i couldn't think straight until I got rid of it!!! here take this it's killing me!!

She begs Phillip to keep her on. She begs him, tries to double his fee even, to keep him from total retirement, but he's steadfast in his decision.

The thought of hunting down another chef is horrific. But he gives her no choice.

She blows through them like tissues for three months, suffering over-complicated meals, over-powering flavors, chefs clearly trying to impress as if she wants a Michelin star meal every night. She doesn't – if that was what she wanted she knows exactly where to get it.

When she's at home she just wants good food, that's easy to reheat and easy to eat. Which is how she ends up finally succumbing to Leslie's repeated insistence that she give his man a chance.

“He comes over once a month,” he tells her, more than once. “Puts together some things we can freeze and just pop in the oven. Simple enough for the boys to do it, so Julie and I can have at least a couple evenings where they can feed themselves.”

He brightens when she gives and asks for his info, and when she gives him a call, she's struck dumb hearing his American accent.

She's running out of options, so she takes a chance on him.

She taps her fingers on the counter, waiting for the doorbell, checking her watch when she finally hears it. He's perfectly on time, but she feels like she's already searching for a reason to be disappointed with him.

He has a pleasant smile for her, though, and a friendly demeanor and a firm handshake and a handsome face – none of which she can immediately find fault in as they introduce themselves.

“I'm sure you're busy,” he says as she leads him to the kitchen. “So I appreciate you taking the time to let me peek at the kitchen and ask you a couple questions.”

“Of course,” she says, used to the procedure by now. Most of them have some kind of sheet they have her fill out, usually via email, but she doesn't mind taking a moment to meet the person who's going to be cooking her food.

“Oh, this is nice,” he compliments, looking around the kitchen, as he sets down the backpack hooked on his shoulder.

“Thank you,” she says, gesturing for him to claim a stool. “Though you can probably infer from your presence that it gets little use.”

“That's okay, I'll go easy on it,” he chuckles, pulling a binder from his bag and opening it up on the counter. “First, though, I wanna make sure I know what I'm cooking.”

He doesn't have a questionnaire or the like, it seems. The lined paper in front of him is blank before he scrawls her name at the top.

“How many people am I cooking for, first of all?” he says without looking up.

She licks her lips, her gaze shifting.

“Just me.” She keeps her tone matter-of-fact. She hopes.

The way he glances up makes her doubt whether she managed it.

“Makin’ it easy on me already,” he says with a soft smile, adding a 1 to the corner of his sheet. “You have any allergies or dietary restrictions?”

“No,” she says, then adds, “Though, I do have the tendency to drop meat for a while every so often.”

“A part-time vegetarian?”

She cracks half a smile. “Sure.”

“Okay,” he chuckles. “What kinda meals are you after? Breakfast, lunch, dinner?”

“Dinner, mostly, though I won't say no to the occasional breakfast. Mostly out of curiosity.”

She doesn't think any of the chefs she's hired have offered to make breakfasts.

“I make a mean frittata,” he grins. “What do you like, then? What are some of your favorites, so I can get a feel for what you want?”

“When I eat at home, I want quick and easy,” she says. “The less steps for me, the better. I don't want extravagant, elaborate meals. Shepherd's pie, any kind of pasta, soups, salads. Fish, chicken, red meat on occasion, not every week preferably. Anything veg heavy will probably be a hit with me.”

He nods, taking rapid notes in what must be a very familiar format to him. He fires off a few more questions for her, elaborating a bit further on what she likes before switching gears.

“Anything you absolutely don't want?”

“Not especially,” she says. “I don't like to limit a new chef too soon. I'd rather you make me your best and I'll let you know.”

“Uh oh,” he smiles.

He does that a lot.

“Am I on trial?”

She opens her hands up, giving him a small smile and he chuckles.

“I've had six chefs in ten weeks,” she tells him. “So yes, maybe a little bit.”

“Why didn't they fit the bill?” he asks curiously. “So I can avoid a similar fate.”

“I don't think they quite believed me when I told them how simple I wanted things,” she says. “Too many sauces and sides and heat this up separately and put this on this. If I want a five course meal, I know where to get one. When I get home from work, I want to throw something in the oven or dump it on a plate and microwave it, not anything glamorous.”

He looks pleased to hear it – he seems to actually relax slightly, as if he'd been uncertain he could deliver on what she wanted.

“Well, I can guarantee you that going too fancy will not be a problem with me,” he says, writing a few more things down. “I'm used to basic.”

“Good.”

“I've got Tuesday afternoons free, if we're doing every week.”

She nods.

“Between noon and four, if that works for you.”

“I'll be at work, so you'll have free reign,” she says, opening a drawer on the island and pulling a house key from it. “Make yourself at home.”

“Alrighty,” he says, taking it from her. She watches him pull a roll of masking tape and a ring of maybe half a dozen keys from his bag. He rips off a piece of tape and labels it with an RW before adding it to the keyring.

“If you ever have any requests, that number you have is my cell. Shoot me a text before Tuesday if you want it that week, or you can leave me a note.”

“Okay.”

“And let me know if you think of anything else you want me to know,” he says, starting to pack everything away again. “If you hate olives or can't stand Bleu cheese.”

“I love olives,” she says emphatically. “And there's no kind of cheese I will refuse.”

“Cheese is the best, right?” he remarks. “They're all good. Yellow, white, hard, soft. Even stinky, moldy…still good.”

She snorts a bit, but fully agrees.

“I'm pretty much always stocked with fresh mozzarella to nibble on so feel free to help yourself.”

“Oh, don't tell me that,” he says, shaking his head. “I'll clean you out every week.”

She chuckles as he throws his backpack over his shoulder.

She sees him out, intrigued now to see what he cooks up for her.

When she gets home on Tuesday, there's a delicate cacophony of smells hanging in the air and she remembers for the first time today – after a long, trying weekend – that Ted was meant to come.

And apparently did.

The kitchen is spotless (thank God – chef number two had a tendency to slack on the cleaning up bit) and she eagerly makes her way to the fridge.

Each covered pan has a strip or two of tape on top – 35 minutes @ 175° the small square one requests. Thank God. One singular step.

If it tastes like shit, she's going to cry.

It reveals itself to be a lasagna and she flips the oven on, lets it get hot while she peeks at the rest of what he's made, then pops it in the oven while she goes upstairs and gets comfortable.

She notices the extra pan by the kettle when she comes back down, this one without a lid, left on a trivet.

Three neat rows of shortbread lie within it, a note flat on the counter in front of it.

A little extra treat – maybe a bribe so I don't end up being Disappointing Chef Number 7 – and a thanks for giving me a shot. I'm told these are a winner with a cup of tea.

He's signed it with a mustached smiley face that makes her chuckle.

They smell divine. She can't resist prying one up and taking a bite.

“Oh, fuck me,” she mutters to herself, looking at the biscuit with a bit of wonder as it melts on her tongue, perfectly sweet and salty.

Oh, wow. She glances at the oven, then the pan in front of her.

She might have struck gold.

Everything is delicious. He's clearly not a professional five star chef, but every bite has her in disbelief.

It's just so good. She was skeptical, but he even nails a shepherd's pie for her, dumping cheese on top without her even requesting it. Nothing is unpleasant or poorly made, nothing has her thinking to text him and tell him she didn't love it. His portions are more than enough for her and she frequently takes what's left to the office with her. She has never taken lunch with her to work. Ever.

His cooking tastes like dining at a friend's house, like family made it, like he loves cooking for people and puts it in every bite.

And the biscuits. She finished the pan before the week was even out, unable to help herself.

She's a little bit devastated when there are none on the following Tuesday.

She leaves a note the next time she expects him.

Any chance for biscuits again?

She's ecstatic to find a fresh pan when she gets home.

She's nursing her last three by the weekend, determined to make them last long enough to request more.

I hope no notes is a good thing?

She's been meaning to text him, tell him how pleased she is with everything he's made, but it continued to slip her mind.

How am I doing?

No notes is a very good thing, she sends back. Everything has been absolutely delicious.

Oh good :)

I love to hear it

The biscuits have become a problem though

No biscuits next week then?

God no

I'm hooked on them

Don't do that to me

You got it boss

She almost laughs at herself when she gets home.

She's turning down dinner dates and good-looking men in favor of a date with the container labeled prosciutto stuffed chicken breast in her fridge that she's been thinking about all day.

He'd probably get a kick out of the fact that his food is so good it's ruining her dating prospects, but that's most definitely not something she'll be telling him.

She gets herself a little bit of this week's salad while she waits on the oven – romaine with candied walnuts, dried cranberries, gorgonzola, sliced green apple with a deliciously sharp vinaigrette. She peruses the fridge in her typical Wednesday fashion – on Tuesday evenings she's made a habit of grabbing the first thing she sees and letting him surprise her – looking for the small container of sauce that the lid of the chicken makes mention of.

She chuckles when she sees it. Some of his notes on things have gotten more elaborate, sometimes teasing, sometimes with a wine pairing suggestion, sometimes just with a little smiley face. The lid for the sauce only says creamy pesto, but there's masking tape wrapped in a spiral over its sides, covered with writing.

I know, I'm gonna get in trouble for making a separate sauce for something but all you gotta do is dump it on when it's done! It's worth the extra step I promise!

She snickers around her salad, setting it on the counter.

It's well, well worth the extra step.

When she gets home on Tuesday, she's unexpectedly greeted by a strong, delicious smell and noise from the kitchen. She leaves her heels and her coat before turning into the kitchen.

Ted's at the stove, looking almost mortified as he immediately starts apologizing.

“I'm sorry, Rebecca, I'm so behind today, but this is my last one and then I'll clean up and get out of here–” he rambles, but she's taking him in more than listening. Namely, she's taking in his tired bloodshot eyes and his disheveled hair and the way his hands shake as he gestures to the mess of the kitchen.

“I'm sorry–”

“No, Ted, it's alright,” she insists. “It's not a problem.”

“I'm almost done.”

“Are you okay?” she asks gently.

“Yeah, yeah, I'm fine, I just need to finish this…”

She frowns and rounds the island, unconvinced and unsettled – he's almost frantic with energy.

“Come here.”

He frowns as she pulls him away from the stove.

“No, it'll burn–”

“In which case I'll survive with one less meal,” she says firmly, pushing him to the dining table. “Sit.”

He does – reluctantly – and she gets him a glass of water.

“Take a deep breath. Relax,” she insists before stepping to the stove. The pan there has a sauce in the making, a plate of meatballs next to it, as well as a pot of water getting hot.

“What needs done here?” she asks.

“I can–”

“Stop,” she commands, lifting a brow at him before he can rise. “Sit. Just tell me.”

“The, the cream needs to go in,” he says. “Give it a second, then the other two little bowls there, the Dijon and the Worcestershire and then the spices.”

“Okay,” she says, keeping her voice steady, hoping it'll relax him, show him she's far from upset that he's still here.

She follows his instructions, pouring the measuring cup of cream in and mixing it with the little whisk that's already there. She lets it get hot, then adds the rest, stirring it in.

“What am I making?” she asks with a small smile.

“Swedish meatballs,” he supplies, sounding distracted. “One of my favorites.”

“Swedish, hmm?”

“Well, I can't speak to them being authentic,” he says. “Recipe was my mom's. And she's definitely not Swedish.”

It smells delicious – whatever spices she just added were warm and aromatic and it makes her mouth water.

“What next?”

“Uh, turn the heat down and let it simmer,” he says. “Needs to thicken.”

She dutifully turns the stove down and then joins him, taking a seat next to him.

“What's wrong?”

“Nothing,” he deflects, “I'm fine. Just…didn't sleep so good and then this morning was…I'm fine.”

She doesn't push, seeing how much effort he's putting into forcing a smile and changes course.

“Do you have anywhere else to be today?” she asks.

“No, no, you're my last client on Tuesdays.”

“Then stay,” she insists, gesturing to the stove. “Looks like enough for two.”

“I shouldn't,” he tries, shaking his head. “I should get out of your hair.”

“You're not in my hair,” she asserts. “I would enjoy the company and I'm most certainly not complaining about getting a meal fresh off the stove.”

He looks her over for a moment, presumably looking for any hint of falsehood before he nods a bit haltingly.

She smiles.

“Should, uh, should put the meatballs back in to finish ‘em,” he murmurs. “And get the noodles on.”

“Yes, chef,” she says, giving him a wink when he finally smiles.

“I'll do it,” he says, and she lets him this time for how much calmer he seems. She occupies herself by offering him a drink and pouring herself a glass of wine. He accepts a couple fingers of a scotch he's apparently had his eye on for the last few weeks and she watches with interest as he takes a sip.

“Oh, that's nice,” he mutters.

“The only one I buy anymore.”

“You have excellent taste, I have to say,” he remarks. “Thank you.”

She helps him get the rest of the dinner together and is glad to see him relax more and more, until he's smiling easy as they both sit at the island with bowls of noodles and meatballs.

“Well, it smells fantastic,” she says, eagerly stabbing a forkful of noodles and half a meatball.

It's delicious. Creamy and warm and truly everything about it screams comfort food.

“Oh, Christ,” she mumbles around it.

“Yeah? That one a winner?”

She nods emphatically, eyeing him as she chews.

“Nothing you make is bad,” she mumbles, watching him take his own bite.

“That's ‘cause I only make what I know I can make good for you,” he chuckles.

“Why's that?” she asks. He can take a chance on her – he's built up plenty of faith in him already. One bad meal isn't going to have her canning him.

“Oh, to impress of course,” he says with a crooked smile that she returns.

“You've already done so,” she says. “I haven't had a single thing I didn't like.”

“I'm very happy to hear it,” he says, sounding very genuine about it.

They eat slowly because conversation comes very easily. Whether it's the drink or the distraction of her company, he's light-years away from the frazzled ball of anxiety she was met with.

“Safe to assume you don't enjoy cooking much, huh?” he asks her as they both scrape their bowls.

“I don't think I would mind it if I had ever learned,” she muses. “But I've had a cook for most of my life and learning how now just to feed myself seems more trouble than it's worth.”

“You've had a cook most of your life?”

“My parents kept one when I was a kid, and then when I was married, my ex-husband insisted on a cook,” she says, half rolling her eyes. “Thank you, by the way, for not inundating me with pork pies and sausage rolls and roasts and dousing everything in gravy.”

“I enjoy a good gravy, but, oof, that's heavy eatin’ right there.”

“Too heavy,” she agrees. “Though my tastes were rarely taken into account.”

He hums as he wipes his mouth and she finds understanding in his eyes.

“How long were you married?” he inquires.

“Twelve years,” she says slowly.

“That's a lot of gravy,” he says more seriously than the words might call for. She hears his meaning plain enough.

“Yes. It was.”

“Well,” his tone brightens a bit, “now you got me to make whatever you please.”

“Too right,” she chuckles, sipping her wine. “And it's always spectacular. I don't know how you do it, what you're lacing everything with…”

“Oh, I just make sure I put a little love in everything, that's all,” he grins.

She takes in the sight of him, smiling and content, his creased eyes warm, and she likes this. She's enjoying this. She likes him.

It's so hard to know though, even as his eyes move over her face, the quiet stretching long, if she likes him or if she's simply missed enjoying a comfortable meal at home without having to do it alone.

Her eyes drop, aware of how intensely she’s looking at him. She's not sure when it happened but they're both turned completely towards each other on their stools, leaning on the counter, and his fingertips are right there at the edge of hers – the mere straightening of her fingers would bring them into contact.

“I appreciate you letting me stay and have some of your dinner,” he says softly.

“You made it,” she offers with a grin.

“You paid for it,” he returns.

“It's not a problem at all,” she says, meaning it wholeheartedly. “It's nice to have some company.”

“I'm gonna be honest with you, Rebecca, you don't seem like a woman who would have any problem finding company.”

Her brows lift alongside the corners of her mouth, a little internally delighted by his boldness.

“I think I'll take that as a compliment,” she grins.

“As it was meant,” he assures.

“In which case…I'll amend to say it's nice to have such comfortable and easy company.”

His cheeks round, his gaze dropping in something akin to bashfulness and she thinks it really might just be him that's growing on her.

“I’m glad you stayed,” she says, her smile slanting crookedly. “Even if I pretty much made you.”

“I didn't wanna impose. You were very kind to give me a second to…calm down.”

She's not sure if it's embarrassment, exactly, or shame that has him toying with his glass instead of looking at her.

“Felt like I was trying to catch up to myself all day,” he admits.

“I know the feeling,” she sympathizes.

He's quiet for a moment before he responds.

“My ex-wife was supposed to come out with our son in the next couple weeks here, but she called and they pushed it back until the summer.”

His frown is back and his gaze is faraway, but she doesn't speak.

“Been here for almost a year now and they still seem to be getting on just fine without me.” He sounds like he wishes he could say it with detachment, but it comes out rather devastated.

“They're in the States?” she asks gently, pulling him back to here and now as he shakes himself a bit.

“Yes.”

“Why don't you go see them?” she tries, though she's very aware she's got the bare minimum of facts.

“‘Cause I'm still stinging from her snapping that she just needs some goddamn space,” he says, giving her a twisted, wry little grin.

She frowns but he shrugs, lifting his drink to his lips.

“S’pose it's about time to just get over it,” he mumbles.

“That's not easy to get over,” she says kindly. “Especially from someone you love.”

“No, it's not,” he agrees. “Ain't much love to lose these days, though. You're probably right, should just take matters into my own hands, hop over the pond.”

“Don't go too long,” she says, only half teasing. “I shouldn't be left to feed myself for a prolonged period of time.”

He smiles again and the sight has warm satisfaction melting in her.

“Oh, if I go anywhere I'll set you up, don't you worry,” he assures her.

“Thank goodness.”

It's odd how difficult she finds it when she rises and steps away. A part of her wants her to stay put, keep the space between them minimal, but she writes it off as a result of just how long it's been since she had sex.

“Now, I don't see any biscuits,” she says. “But I suppose I'll give you a pass this week.”

He rises with a soft chuckle, following her with his own dish to the sink.

“No, no, I'll do it,” he says as he starts to clean up from dinner. “Unless you need your kitchen back.”

She starts gathering dishes – he must clean as he goes, because it's not nearly the mess she'd imagine would come from cooking four whole dinners.

“Oh, for what? You think I have a chef on the side coming over tonight?”

He turns, expression scandalized, a hand landing on his chest as if he's been shot.

“Tell me you'd never.”

She chuckles, joining him at the sink, hands full.

They clean up together and then she pours them both another drink before she claims a stool, content to watch as he puts together a batch of biscuits. She watches him move comfortably around the kitchen, chatting easily with her, and it's making an impression, one she's blatantly ignoring.

She half expects him to try to leave her once they're in the oven and has her excuses for him to stay at the ready, but he sits again, waiting the half hour they need to bake at the island with her. He asks her about her job, how she came to own the club, and conversation wanders to and fro.

“I'm intrigued to see what you've cooked up for me this week, chef,” she remarks at one point.

“You know I ain't really a professional chef, right?” he chuckles. “I dropped out of culinary school actually.”

“Really? Why?”

He lifts a shoulder. “I wasn't having fun. I love cooking, I love making food and feeding people, but I didn't wanna do it the way they train you to, you know, cooking in a restaurant or joining the race to be the next big something. I like doing it this way. Getting to know people and cooking what they like. Feels like I'm paying the bills by cooking for friends and that's…” He clicks his tongue with a nod. “That's just perfect for me.”

“Well,” she says, smiling at how clearly he loves what he does. “You're still a chef. Definitely to me at least.”

He rises when the oven chimes, giving her a smile.

“That's enough for me.”

The biscuits have filled the kitchen with the warm scent of vanilla – the same scent that's usually still barely lingering when she gets home.

He stays long enough to let them cool slightly and cut them and she watches as he arranges them on the trivet by the kettle, just as he always does. He packs his things up then and she sees him out, exchanging smiles and goodbyes.

She's still smiling when she finally goes upstairs to change for the evening and it takes her a while to identify the feeling.

She feels like she just got home from a really, really good date.

It wasn't a date, so she doesn't know why she's disappointed when she doesn't hear from him again over the week. She doesn't contact him either, trying to recategorize the evening in her mind.

She's very pleasantly surprised, in that case, when she comes home the following Tuesday and he's still there. She knows by the smell of something sweet and nutty filling the air before she even gets to the kitchen.

It's spotless this time. He's not all anxious energy this time either – he smiles when she peeks in, looking rather uncertain about his welcome, but it still makes something deep in her chest ache.

It's rather nice. To come home to a smile from someone.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hello.” She lets her smile ease his uncertainty and her tone ask her questions for her.

“I, uh, wanted to say thank you,” he explains. “For last week, when I was…when I wasn't feeling so great, for being so kind, letting me hang out for a while.”

She starts to wave it off again, but he continues.

“I made a little something special for ya. Something I can't really leave for you to reheat later,” he says, gesturing to the ovens. “If you want a little snack?”

She nods eagerly, kicking her heels off toward the stairs before she joins him.

He pulls a dish from the oven and sets it on the counter. He fiddles with something there, but she doesn't see what until her turns, sliding a round plate to the center of the island between them.

Whatever it is is perfectly golden brown, looks delicious and smells heavenly.

“Honey baked brie,” he informs her. “With some walnuts and some fig jam, tiny bit of rosemary.”

“Oh my god,” she almost moans. “And it's what, wrapped in pastry?”

“Yes, ma'am,” he smiles. “Thought it might be something you like.”

“I can tell you already you're correct,” she says, rounding the island to find them some forks. “I can't wait to taste it.”

“Let me know how you like it.” She frowns, but he's got a small smile when she looks up. “I'll let you…”

“You think I'm going to eat that entire thing myself?” she asks, lifting her brows as she pulls two forks from the drawer.

“Well, I know how much you like cheese,” he chuckles.

“I'll share,” she says, handing him a fork. “With you.”

She doesn't even have the patience to sit down – she slices her fork through the pastry and creamy brie begins to ooze out. She scoops it up with some pastry, catching a nut and a bit of fig and shoves it in her mouth.

“Careful, it's hot–”

“Fuck me,” she mutters without thought.

It's delicious. Creamy and sweet and savory, the pastry flaky and buttery. It's rich and indulgent but not sickeningly so and she’s in love.

She's bringing another bite to her mouth when she realizes he's just smiling at her, pleased as punch.

“Please eat some,” she begs around her bite. “Because I can not eat all of this and I will if you leave me alone with it.”

“Alright, alright,” he chuckles, cutting off a bite for himself.

He hums, pleased with his handiwork. “Mm. Not to toot my own horn, but that's good.”

“Mm!” she hums, getting an idea. She steps away to the wine cooler, squatting down to look for one of her less frequent whites. She comes back with a pair of glasses and an off-dry Riesling.

“This was a bit too bright and citrus-y for me, but it might be gorgeous with this.”

“Okay. You’re the sommelier here, not me,” he says as she pours, then slides a glass to him.

“Oh, please, your pairings are always spot on.”

It does go nicely, complimenting every bite.

“God, this is lovely,” she tells him.

“I'm glad you like it,” he mumbles around his own bite.

“Did you make the pastry?”

He shakes his head. “No. Normally I would, but I didn't decide on this until I was shopping today and that takes some time.”

“How long did this take?”

She listens with interest as he explains how he made it, amazed at how straightforward it sounds.

“Christ, it sounds like I could make it.”

“Uh oh,” he says, eyes widening. “Am I talking myself out of a job?”

“Oh, hardly. Even if I figured out how to make everything you cook for me, I'd still keep you around,” she admits. “You’re good company.”

“Well, that's nice to know,” he smiles, eyes soft.

“Also, knowing how to definitely doesn't mean I actually have any desire to cook any of it myself,” she chuckles. “So you still have plenty of use.”

She winks with her teasing as his warm laugh has him tucking his chin, his crows feet deepening.

“I see how it is.”

She can't help but take him in, delighted by how carefree he is today. God help her, she really does like him – she wants to know him better. He's so genuine, so unselfish and generous, and she wants to keep him smiling.

“Thank you,” she says when she finally really can't eat any more, maybe a quarter of the round of brie left on the plate. “That was very kind of you.”

“No, thank you,” he echoes. “It was nice last week, to sit and eat with someone and I needed it.”

She nods get agreement, leaning her hip against the counter.

“I won't, uh, make a habit of just hanging out here, though,” he says, presumably to reassure her.

Her brows tip, eyes on his as she lets out a disappointed, “No?”

His lips part, but he doesn't manage to form a response. It hardly matters – they're communicating plenty in their gazes, trading glances at each other's lips. The moment stretches, and stretches, her breath changing to suit the surplus beats of her heart at the intensity in his warm eyes.

He leans closer, tipping his head, and something jolts through the center of her when he kisses her. She returns the gentle pressure, daring to part her lips to close them against his. Her fingers curl into her hand at her hip with restraint, fighting the urge to sink into his hair or pull him closer.

It's too delicate, this lovely feeling, and draws a tenderness up through her she hasn't been able to find for months.

He eases back slowly and she catches the breath he stole. Her eyes open, finding his still closed and she watches his parted lips begin to tighten as he fights a smile. The sight inspires one of her own, pulling at her cheeks as he opens his eyes, the smile winning and straightening his mustache out.

“I, um…”

She rolls her lips into her mouth, not even trying for words. She has none.

He can't find any either.

She drives forward again, prepared this time with a little extra breath in her lungs, a little more confidence. He kisses her back with a little more something too and she can't restrain her hands anymore from rising to hold his face. She tries to imbue the motion of her lips with plenty of invitation, but it's not until she pulls back and he follows, wavering toward her, that he steadies himself with a hand on her hip. Her attention goes straight to the heat of it through her dress as it slides to a more respectable height on her waist.

“You are very welcome to linger here as much as you like actually,” she exhales.

“Oh, I feel welcome,” he says, voice low.

She grins, pulling him in again. “Do you?”

“I sure do.”

He barely gets the words out before they're kissing again. She opens to him, tastes the brie and honey and the dry sweetness of the wine and finds it appropriate that he should be so indulgent. His hands finally make their way around her, narrowing the space between them even more. She's not sure when her arms found their way around his neck but they tighten there in response.

He doesn't let her go far when they part again, dropping a kiss on the corner of her mouth, her cheek. Her eyes close with the sensation, the scratch of his mustache and his warm lips.

“I really like cooking for you,” he murmurs.

The way he says it makes it sound like a deep confession and she feels silly for how fluttery it makes her to hear. She smiles against his lips and discovers this isn't new information to her. It's in every bite.

“I know you do,” she says low in his ear. “I can taste it.”

“Can you?” He sounds surprised and pleased.

“Yes.” She guides him back to her lips. “I can.”

#i don't know how you accidentally write five thousand words of fanfiction but it happened to me...#a gift for you anon. just cause 💌#also sorry the formatting sucks here but i don't feel like titling and tagging and summarizing and posting on ao3 rn #anon #tl drabbles

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forever1kay · 11 months

Text

WASH DAY !!

Summary: Miles hasn’t had time to care for himself lately, so you take the time to do that for him.

Pairing: Miles Morales x Fem!Black!Reader (Best Friends to lovers trope)

Notes: I did age up Miles slightly in this fic, he’s 17. Please be prepared for a lousy description of facial and hair care, I’m not a professional and I only know what works for me. ALSO, there’s a picture at the very end and it’s not a faceless pic bc I couldn’t find one😔

Warnings: Non-sexual nudity, breaking and entering, Miles was very crusty for a lot of this fic, slander of Jehovah’s Witnesses, profanity of course, clueless Miles, mentions of death, a few nsfw lines… let me know if I forgot anything

You had just finished detangling your hair and were three seconds away from stepping into the shower when you heard a knock at the front door. You debated answering but ultimately decided against it when you realized it was probably the Jehovah’s Witnesses for the third time today.

Stepping into the shower, you hear a thud against the floor in the other room and all you can do is pause and hope you'll be okay. A few seconds later, the bathroom door opened and all you could do was scream and grab the shower curtain for cover.

"Oh Lord!" You scream as your legs give out and force you to sit on the shower floor. "Lord, help me! I'm being attacked!”

“It's just me, Y/n/n!" Miles shouted while frantically waving his hands. “To think you’d recognize your best friend when you see him.”

You stop thrashing and peak your head out from behind the shower curtain, staring up at Miles. “Hi there!”

"Hey," He says, stooping to your level on the other side of the tub. “That was an interesting show you just put on.”

"I was going through something.” You replied, clearing your throat, “When exactly did you get back to this dimension? You smell like booty juice.”

Miles stands up and shyly scratches the back of his neck. "Yeah, about that," he starts. "I just got back and I haven't had time to shower or anything."

“Seriously? You left a week ago!" You cried out while standing up but keeping your body hidden behind the curtain. "Why didn't you go back home and take a shower?"

“Forgot my key at my friend Hobie's.”

“Of course.” Grabbing your shampoo, you sighed and started to shampoo your hair. “I’ll tell you what…”

Miles nods, waiting for you to continue.

"I'll wash your hair after I wash mine. That sound good?”

Miles hums in approval.

“Good! Go shower in my sister’s bathroom.”

"I can't just come in there with you?" He asks.

“Miles, be for real.”

"Okay, okay!" He chuckles and raises his arms in surrender. “Do I still have clothes here?"

“Of course! With how often you’re here, it’d be weird if you didn’t.”

Miles hums. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“I’ll leave your clothes outside of the door when I’m done. If you finish before me, just sit tight. It won’t kill you.”

He smiles and gives you a sincere thank you before leaving to take a shower of his own. You unexpectedly finished before him, so you made the decision to leave clean clothes outside the bathroom door for when he’s done.

You did your after-wash routine and wrapped your hair while you waited.

About 20 minutes later, he came back from the restroom wearing the clean clothes you had left for him and threw himself onto your bedroom floor.

“You ran all my momma hot water, Miles?” You asked him.

“Nah, I left some.”

You chuckled and got up, walking towards your room door. “Okay, come on.”

“Where are we going?” He asked, following closely behind you.

“To wash your hair.” You said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

He raised an eyebrow. "How does that make sense when I just got out of the shower?"

Rolling your eyes, you grab a seat from the kitchen table. "You know how to stick your head in the sink."

"My neck gets hurt that way." Miles pouts and takes the chair from you, setting it in front of the sink.

“Everyone has that problem.” You respond, gently pushing him into the chair as you experiment with the water temperature then rush to the bathroom to get the shampoo, conditioner, and treatment.

When you come back, Miles is staring blankly at you.

"Why are you staring at me like that?"

"I don't want my hair to be washed in the sink."

“It's either this or you wash your own hair.” You tell him. He shakes his head. “You sure? If you want your hair to be crusty, it’s up to you.”

Miles shakes his head again and takes his shirt off before leaning back in the seat and closing his eyes, wordlessly agreeing to get his hair washed in the sink.

“Alright!” You smile, starting to wash his hair.

Your arms eventually became worn out, and you briefly complained about it before choosing to sit on him.

He awkwardly cleared his throat. "What are you doing?"

"This lessens the stress on my arms."

“Oh.” He nods. "Yes, right. Okay, great. Cool.”

He suddenly started to draw shapes in your thighs with his eyes closed. You did your best to stay calm.

"How was your week?" He asked, his words starting to slur from fatigue.

“So good.”

“Yeah?” He challenged. "Tell me more about it."

Miles had stopped running his hands along your legs, but you were too busy telling him about your week-long college tour at UCF to notice.

You saw he had fallen asleep and was somewhat drooling when you reached up to rinse his hair. Before the moment was over, you immediately dried your hands and took a picture of him. After that, you washed his hair once more, rinsed it, and then used your preferred conditioner.

As soon as you were done, you cleaned your hands and tried to wake up Miles.

"Pssst,” You whispered, "I'm finished.”

"Five more minutes.” He said with his eyes still closed, gently pushing your face away.

“No, Miles.” You responded, "Come on.”

After hearing him snore in response, you reached for the sink faucet and extended it in his direction.

His eyes shot open before you could turn on the water, and he grabbed your wrist. “Alright! I’m up, I’m up.”

You pat his face and rise, placing the faucet in its proper place. “Good! Now stand up.”

“Where are we going?”

You place an oversized cotton towel on his head, grabbing his hand and pulling him behind you. “To the sofa so I can do your hair.”

“Do what to it exactly?” Miles asks, following behind you with your hand still in his.

You shrug as you sit on the sofa and set a pillow on the floor for Miles to sit on. “No idea. You have something in mind?”

Miles squishes into a comfy position between your legs. "Actually, yeah."

And after 45 minutes of Miles being tender-headed from his first set of braids, you finished.

"Calm down, you ass." You scolded. "We're finished. Go look at it.”

Miles went to look at his hair in the bathroom before excitedly running back to you and lifting you up.

"I love it!" He shouted, spinning y’all around. “How did you learn to braid like this? Thank you!”

When he became too dizzy and lost his balance, you squealed while wrapping your legs around his waist. Your back almost hit the floor, but Miles saved you by flipping over last minute.

"My bad…" He said apologetically.

After a few hours, your family came home and found you and miles sleeping on the couch. They asked you both to get up and move so that you wouldn't take up space.

You took this moment to your parents if he could stay the night and they pointed at the air mattress that you’d have to inflate for him.

About time the air mattress was inflated and the both of you laid down in your respective beds, neither of you were tired anymore.

“Miles.” You whispered.

“Y/n?” He replied.

"Wanna do a thing?” You asked, wiggling your eyebrows.

He sat up. “What thing?”

“Let me give you a facial.” You spoke, rolling over to face his bed.

Miles raised an eyebrow. "Doesn't the boy give the girl-"

You threw a pillow at him. "Nigga, not that kind of facial!"

He caught the pillow and threw it back, hitting your shiny ass forehead with it. “Then what are you talking about?”

You got up and walked toward him, reaching your hands out for his. “Cmonnnn, just trust me.”

Miles sighed and rolled his eyes, taking your hand. “Fine.”

He is then dragged into the bathroom where you force him to wash his face while you get all the supplies. Once he has finished cleaning his face, you lead him back into your room and give him a durag.

Miles sits on your bed, puts on the durag, and sends a worried glance your way.

“Don’t worry, I got this!” You reassure him, sensing his apprehension. “Now lay down.”

“Okay, okay.”

You straddle Miles when he lies down on your bed, pausing for a second before you do anything else.

“I would just like to let you know that i am not a professional and I have absolutely no clue what I’m doing.”

Miles smiles up at you. “It’s fine.”

You return his smile before picking up an under-eye mask for eye bags.

“What’s that?” He asks.

“An eye mask.” You reply.

“Where does it go?” He asks dumbly.

“Right under your eyes.” You chuckle. “Close them.”

As instructed, Miles closes his eyes. You place the eye mask under his eyes and then take the jade roller and massage the eye masks against his face.

After some time had passed, you threw the eye mask in the garbage next to your bed.

“Okay, you can open your eyes.”

Miles started to sit up. “We’re done? Already?”

“No, Miles.”

He laid back down.

“You can keep your eyes open for this one.” You told him, grabbing the lip scrub.

“What’s that one?”

“Lip scrub.” You tell him.

You take a scrub brush and generously cover it with lip scrub before placing it on Miles' lips and gently massaging it in. He stared up at the concentrated expression on your face.

About thirty seconds later, you went to get a damp towel to remove the lip scrub, but Miles beat you to it.

“This tastes good.”

“Miles no! Don’t eat it, the packaging says you could die!”

Miles gasps and shoots up, snatching the lip scrub container and knocking you to the floor in the process.

“Show me where it says that!”

“It doesn’t, I was just kidding.” You huff. “But now I should kill you myself for almost killing me.”

He shrugs. “It’s not my fault you told me I was going to have a premature teenage death.”

You roll your eyes and grab the warm rag, climbing back onto your bed. “Anyways, you can lay your head in my lap and I’ll finish this.”

Miles quickly lays down on your lap and looks up at you.

His lips are effectively damp after you wipe away the last of the lip scrub for you to be able to apply the desired lip serum. You apply a small amount, then rub it in. With a lovesick smile on his face, Miles looks up at you.

You raise an eyebrow.

“You’re so pretty.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“What?!” He counters. “I-I don’t know.”

You sigh and shake your head, applying a lip mask, then a jelly face mask, then facial serum, and lastly moisturizer on his skin.

By that point, Miles' eyes were closed, and you were unsure of whether he was asleep or not.

“Miles?” You speak softly.

“Yeah?”

“I’m all done, love.”

“Can we do another one?”

“No, sir. We cannot.”

“But I feel so relaxed.”

“We can go to sleep if you want?”

“No, let’s watch a movie.”

“Yes! I’ll go grab snacks.”

Ignoring the puzzled stares from your family, you run to the pantry to grab some snacks before returning to Miles, who had already decided on the movie.

“What did you pick?” You ask, setting the snacks down carefully onto the bed.

“Howl’s Moving Castle.” He replies, pulling out his phone and sitting at the foot of the bed. “Say cheese!”

While chuckling a little at Miles, you smile towards the camera while holding the straw's tip in your mouth.

“What are you laughing at, huh?”

“You’re adorable, Miles.”

“Thanks, I try.”

As the movie begins, you roll your eyes and set the drink down.

About halfway through the movie, Miles moves closer to you and lies in your lap, staring up at you.

You frown down at him. “You okay, Miles?”

“Yeah.” He replies, smiling a little before starting to watch the movie again.

About five minutes later, he breaks his silence by bringing up the facial you gave him earlier.

“You know, you should really try some of the lip scrub.”

“I will not eat the lip scrub that I paid money for.” You tell him, “So unless you have another way, then I won’t-“

Miles reaches out and pulls your face to his in the classic Spider-Man kiss, holding you there as long as you let him.

Six seconds later, you pull away from Miles and give him a confused look.

“I’m totally not complaining, but what was that for?”

Miles closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before looking back up at you. “I like you a lot, Y/n…”

“So your mom wasn’t trying to trick me?”

“SHE TOLD YOU I LIKE YOU?!”

“Yeah?”

“Ignore her from now on.”

“I did, that’s why we’re having this moment so late.”

“Does that mean you like me too?”

“Mhm.”

Miles smiles awkwardly. “Cool.”

You give him a pat on the cheek and resume watching the film.

He breaks the silence again a little while later.

“…That lip scrub tasted good, didn’t it?”

You giggle and peck his lips again. Before the movie was over, you both had fallen asleep.

BONUS:

The following morning when you woke up before Miles, you checked your Instagram and found a surprise waiting for you.

#lovekaia #kaiaxmarvel #mcu #marvel #miles morales #miles morales x reader #miles morales x black!reader #black coded reader #spiderman #spiderman into the spiderverse #itsv #spiderman across the spiderverse #atsv #smau #sony animation #prowler miles #atsv x reader

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 8 months

Text

Unexpected 45

Warnings: non/dubcon, pregnancy, pegging, Lloyd being the worst, post partum, csection, suicidial ideation, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

"How was it, dearie?" Dottie asks as you get in.

You keep your cool. Something about that house dampens your spirits. You look her in the eye grimly and shrug.

"Luna baby missed ya," she chimes, "first time away from ya and all."

"Oh?" You tweak a brow apathetically, "she hungry?"

She sighs, "you're her mama."

You narrow your eyes. She can probably read your thoughts across your face. Yeah, and what about her father?

"I pumped all that milk before I went. I can't feed her now, I had some mimosas," you turn your palms out, "you'll have to start the formula."

"Nothing wrong with that. I sent you out to have fun," she gives a clamped smile, "I got enough for the youngin. She's still nappin'."

"Great," you mutter, "I'm gonna lay down."

"I'll bring her up to ya before I tuck in," Dottie offers.

"Sure," you turn away and drag your feet to the stairs.

Your escape was all too brief. The afterglow fades quickly as you climb up to the second floor. The giddiness of making out with Andy in his backseat dissipates as you're drowned in the gloom of that house.

You go into the guestroom where you've made your nest and undress. You lay under the blankets, in silence, without a light. For once you just want to know where you stand with a man and with Andy it's clear. You both just need to forget about all the shit in your life.

Just two more weeks. You won't have your body back, you don't think you ever will, but you will be able to enjoy it. You didn't realise how much you'd miss intimacy until it wasn't there. Not him, never him, just the feeling of another person against you.

🍑

You sit on the bench and tie your sneaker. You don't feel great. Your hips hurt, your back hurts, and you're tired as hell. Still, you don't want to stay in that house.

You stand up and check the stroller again. The baby's secure and staring at nothing with her glassy eyes. You don't get it. She just lays there, then shrieks, then dribbles down milk and sleeps again.

"Oh, sweetie, you off somewhere?" Dottie comes out from the kitchen.

"Just a walk. Been long enough I can move a bit better," you say casually.

"And you're taking the sweet one with you?"

You hear the hopefulness in her voice. She wants you to love the baby. She wants to believe that child is the one redeeming quality she can claim for her son.

"Yeah, might as well," you say as you turn and grab the stroller, turning it to angle after you as you approach the door.

"You want me to come with y'all?" She asks.

You swallow. Don't show your hand.

"If you want," you say dully.

"Ah, don't let me get in your way," she thinks better of it. "I'll be here."

"Won't be long," you say as you get the door open and back out, carefully pulling out the stroller with you, keeping it even as you roll over the edge of each step.

"It's getting chilly out, you got enough blankets?" She calls after you.

"All good," you assure her.

She watches you go, waving from the porch as you twist the stroller around. You keep an even pace as you head through the gate. You don't want her to see your eagerness. You wait until you're beyond the property to pull out your phone. You rest it on the handle and read the last message from Andy. He's coming.

You don't go very fast. You still feel very much unready. You look down at the baby as she rests her fist against her cheek. Something about her nose reminds you of him...

You shake your head. Don't. You don't want to give him that power. He threw all that out when he disappeared.

As you get to the corner, Andy appears. He wears a dark blue hoodie over a grey tee. He approaches with a smile and peers inside the stroller brightly. He leans in to coo at the baby.

"She's getting big."

"I guess," you utter.

"We're Dot?" He looks down the sidewalk.

You frown. Shit. Did you misinterpret?

"I left her behind. Why--"

"Making sure," he winks and leans in to give you a kiss, surprising you. He hooks his arm around you, holding you to him as he deepens the gesture. You push on his chest until he finally relents.

"Andy," you gasp.

"What? I can't help myself. You look... good," he grins.

"Don't lie," you roll your eyes.

He chuckles, "something about your cynicism is really sexy."

"Okay, now you're being a jerk."

He tilts his head and turns to stand beside you. You fall back into step as you give a cautious glance up and down the street. Who would even care? Lloyd isn't around and even if he was, he didn't chat up the neighbourhood.

You head down towards the park. As you get to the bench, you grab Andy and sit at the outskirts of the grass. You brace your lower back and grunt as he holds onto the stroller and kicks down he brakes.

"You okay?"

"Bad back," you hiss as you lean against the metal backing, "been like this for years."

"Old football injury?" He kids.

"You're funny," you sniff.

"I try," he rolls the stroller back and forth, soothing the baby. "So..."

"So..." you look off towards the playground where parents watch their children scream and run around.

"When do you think you could... sneak out?" He asks, fingers tapping above his knee.

"Um," you can't help a smile, cheeks hot, "when do you--" you stop yourself, "you know I can't... do much for at least another week and a half," you keep your voice low.

"Of course, I wasn't-- I hope you don't think--"

"I know, Andy," you bite your lip and look away, "let's not complicate this. Because it's already fucked up so let's just enjoy it while we can."

He nods and lowers his lashes, "yeah, I can do that. How about... I give you a massage tonight? Promise not to get handsy. Purely practical. Get those muscles loosened up."

You scoff, "I might be able to figure something out."

"I could always come to you," he suggests, leaning in to push his shoulder into you.

"We'll see," you look at the baby. She's fast asleep. Yeah, this isn't going to be easy.

🍑

Andy says goodbye at the corner. You don't need Dottie catching on or making any suggestions. You know at heart where her loyalties lie.

You come up to the house and nearly trip on the wheels of the stroller. You recognise the car in the driveway. Right, good timing.

As you walk along the pavement, the front door opens and Suzanne appears with a glint in her eye, "there you are."

"Suzanne," you greet her breathless, "how are you–"

"So when was I going to find out the baby was here?"

"Um, I've been…tied up."

"Of course you have but Lloyd didn't even mention it," she beams over at the baby, "aw, thank god she doesn't take after him."

"Right, well, I guess he isn't much into sharing his private business–"

"A baby is kinda a big deal. I thought at least he'd take time off."

You stare at her. You try not to show your irritation, "well, you know, he's always been a workaholic."

"Not fucking really. He took one job and cut contact a week ago. It's why I'm here. Thought the fuckwit might be laying low."

"Nope, not here. Just us."

"And Mama Hansen. Yeah, I met her. Just as unbearable as her son," she tuts, "I'll make sure to send his ass home once I find him."

You nod. You don't know how to respond. You're not sure how to lie when your tongue won't work. She watches you and her forehead creases between her brows.

"Alright," she pokes her tongue into her lower lip and clicks, "when's the last time you saw him?"

You just look back at her blankly. Her eyes darken and she grits her teeth. She rests her hand on her hip, shifting her blouse to reveal the butt of a handgun.

"Oh, I've been waiting for this day," she smirks, "Lloyd Hansen, you're fucking dead."

She spins on her heel and storms towards her car. You push the stroller after her, "wait, Suz," you plead, "he's not worth it."

"Yeah," she opens the door, "but you are. You just take care of the pookie bear," she faces you again and makes a face at the stroller, "and I'll send his sorry ass home. Hopefully in one piece."

#unexpected #andy barber #andy barber x reader #lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #drabble #series #the gray man #defending jacob

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yesitsmewhataboutit · 4 months

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Bloodlust

Vampire!Shoto Todoroki x Reader

➤ You’re leaving for a week. You and Shoto come up with a plan on how he’ll survive while you’re gone, but things don’t always go as planned

»»——⍟——««A/n: ngl yall, this sat in my drafts finished for MONTHS 😭I apologize. But uhh…. This will prolly be my last vampire au writing😅

Warning⚠️: blood, needles, medical stuff (I’m aware I’m not a doctor idc if it’s inaccurate), cliffhanger ending depending on how well you know me

Masterlist

̶̶̶̶ ̶«̶ ̶̶̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶̶ ̶«̶Requests open　»̶ ̶̶̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶̶ ̶»̶ ̶̶̶ ̶ ̶

Clothes, toiletries, shoes, snacks, and your carry-on. Yup, you're all packed. Only one last thing to do before you left for your flight.

Today, you're leaving for a week long trip for your job. You're leaving, and Todoroki's staying. As much as he would love to come with you, he has things to care of while you're gone. You're all packed, ready to head out the door, except for the last -most important- thing you have to do before you leave.

You leave your bags at the front door, opting to search for the boy in question. You find him sitting at the edge of your bed, scrolling through his laptop. "Sho, I'm ready to go, wanna start?"

He looks up, smiling at you and setting his laptop to the side, meeting you at the bedroom door in a few quick strides. "Yeah," he leans down giving you a quick kiss on the lips, "go ahead to the living room, I'll get the supplies."

You follow his instructions, sitting down and making yourself comfortable as you wait for him to get the items needed to draw your blood. Usually, Shoto feeds from you, but since he can't go with you, plus you're going to be gone for a week, you made the decision on him drawing blood from you to keep him fed while you're gone.

He comes into the living room, sets everything down on the table, and turns to you. He offers you his hand, a sign to give him your arm. When you do, he pauses. "You should probably lie down." You do, keeping your arm outstretched to him and relaxing on the couch. "Let me know if it hurts too much."

He goes the full nine yards, wrapping a tie around your arm, rubbing his finger over the spot he picked to make sure the blood is pumping. He does it all. He gives you one last look, needle in hand, before sticking you with it, watching your blood filter from your body, into the bag next to you.

"You sure that'll be enough?" you ask, noticing he only has two blood bags.

"Yes, Love. I'll need to pace myself while your gone," he says gently, bringing his hand up to rest on your cheek.

You smile, turning your head a bit to look at him. "I wish you were coming."

"I wish I was coming too. but it's ok, you'll be back in no time," he laughs slightly, "and I'll again get to drink from the sweet source." He leans over, playfully nudging his nose again your cheek, making you squirm and laugh for a moment before lays his hand on your stomach. "Don't move too much."

His tone says he doesn't want to waste any blood that might drip, but his eyes say he just doesn't want to accidentally hurt you, needle being in your arm and all, so you settle smiling at him and waiting to be done.

"Ok, one more, almost done," he says, pressing his thumb to stop the flow, changing the bag and securing it before hooking up a new one and letting it start filling again. "You're doing so well. Thank you for this." Shoto settles his hand into yours, rubbing his thumb in circles on your skin.

"Of course, anything for you, Sho. Just don't get caught with blood bags in the fridge and medical supplies in the bathroom while I'm gone," you joke, earning and laugh from him.

About halfway through the second bag, Shoto notices your eyes starting to flutter shut. You're fighting unconsciousness. Shoto scoots closer, his hand instinctively going to your shoulder. "Y/n? Hey, Love, do you need me to stop?" He barely waits for an answer before his hands are creeping down to unhook everything.

"No, no, I'm ok," you sigh weakly, "want- want you to finish."

Todoorki bites his lips, looking down at the three-quarters-filled bag. 'Ok, ok. Almost done, almost done, baby," he says quickly.

The second the bag is filled he wastes no time unhooking the needles and stopping everything, checking over your whole body, listening to heart rate, and letting you lay on the couch as he cleans everything. This is the first time you had done this, and everyone reacts to getting blood drawn differently, so it's not even a thought as Shoto offers to instead drive you to the airport, wanting you to rest in the car ride, of course, giving you and a small bowl of cereal and juice to eat before heading on the road.

"Thanks again. You know it means a lot," he says, pulling up to the airport drop-off area. You'd slept the whole ride, getting enough strength to make it through security, to the gate, and on your plane, where you'll probably sleep the whole ride.

"Of course, Sho. No regrets," you smile. "Be safe while I'm gone."

He laughs and frowns. "That's my line."

You smile. “Yeah, guess it is.” You lean to him, giving him one last kiss goodbye. “Love you.”

“Love you, too”

Your trip went well, and you're happy to be coming back. You missed Todoroki and your home. The first two days, things seemed fine, he'd text you and call when possible, keeping you updated, after though, things got quieter until it was just plain silence.

You chose not to let yourself worry, burying yourself in the work you had to do while you were gone and not thinking about it, knowing he's fine, he's strong, and he'll be home when you get back. Judging by the text you got from him before you boarded the flight home, you knew the last few days must have only been paranoia and circumstances:

See you soon, Y/n.

You pull up to your home and get out, getting your bags and walking to the front door. There's something running through your veins. Partially excitement to see Shoto again, but also something else. Fear? Dread? You weren't sure, but whatever it is, it still pushes you on as you unlock the door and open it.

If it wasn’t fear that you felt before, you definitely felt it now. The house was dark, only light coming through the blinds lit it enough for you to see. And it’s cold, any colder you’d be able to see your own breath. Things are scattered everywhere, almost like someone went into a fit of anger and started throwing things.

You leave your bags on the floor, forgotten about as you step forward, Shoto’s name on the tip of your tongue, but dying in your mouth before the first syllable even comes out, a flash and small burst of cold air going past you, and then you feel arms circle you from the side, pulling you into a cold body.

Your breath is caught in your throat as you feel Shoto’s breath on your neck. You try to speak, try to move, but he’s strong, keeping you pinned against him, even at the weird angle.

His hand grasps your neck, tightening around it and keeping you still as he leans in. You feel panic start to rise in your bloodstream. What could’ve happened? He said you left enough blood, everything should have been fine. But you know this, you know the signs, you caught a quick enough glimpse of Shoto’s blown pupils. The way his usual eye colors are gone, you feel his tight grip in every move he makes. The look on his face tells it all.

This is Shoto’s bloodlust.

He’s only been in bloodlust twice before around you, but both of those times it wasn’t necessarily geared toward hunger, but now, you’re not sure what’ll happen. But you still hold on to the thought that Todoroki knows you, he loves you, and he isn't going to kill you. He’d rather go through all his life again and have to redo every moment again before he drained you of all the blood you need to live. You trust him.

Todoroki squeezed his hand around your neck, making your pulse jump once again as he drags you to his mouth, also leaning down all at the same time and opening his mouth.

There’s no second thought, no hesitation or regard, only the pain of the bite. The feeling of his fangs digging into your skin, eager and draining your blood. It’s fast, so fast you can almost feel the blood rushes out of you, a big change compared to how he usually does it, slow and steady, letting you savor the tranquil feeling like you usually do.

You can feel his arms wrapped firmly around your body, and for a second, he pulls away, but only so he can turn you, making your chest flush against his as he digs his fangs into your skin again.

This time, it only lasts about ten seconds before you feel your vision to go. Your body feeling heavy, and suddenly so much more tired than seconds ago. Your eyes flutter shut, and your legs go out, consciousness slipping from your grasp.

Todoroki feels your body going limp, and he secures his arm around you, keeping you against him as he continues to feed. He carries you to the bedroom, his mouth still attached, and he lays you on the bed, his body fully over yours as your blood begins seeping from his mouth, and he continues to feed.

Shoto loves you, he protects you, you trust him. Shoto would never kill you.

Masterlist

#shoto todoroki #todoroki shouto #todoroki x reader #shoto x reader #todoroki angst #vampire todoroki #vampire shoto #shoto angst #todoroki x y/n #todoroki shoto scenarios #bnha todoroki #todoroki shoto x reader

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elmhat · 2 months

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// dsmp rp

@sam-and-dream-week day 1 — "pandora"

“I was thinking Pandora's Vault,” said Sam, with no small amount of pride. “What do you think? Pretty neat, right?”

“Hm,” Dream hummed, noncommittal. He walked just a step behind Sam through the halls of his new prison, scanning for imperfections. So far, there were none. Sam was good at his job. “Sounds… important.”

“I know, right? I mean, y’know, it— it’s a pretty important place!” Sam held himself with a newfound confidence, Dream thought. It made him feel more confident in himself for this decision.

The prison was entering its final stages of construction; just the finishing touches to be added now. Dream couldn't get it over with fast enough. While they had admittedly worked quickly, the design had changed drastically since their initial blueprints, and he needed this place to be ready for action within the week.

Sam veered off to the side, into a room lined wall to wall with furnaces. “So this is the kitchen,” he said, pointing as he went. “It’s got all the important stuff. Uh, lots of meats, and all that. Things that can last for a while. No gapples, obviously, but— y’know, quite— quite a bit of variety.”

Dream hummed in acknowledgement, opening one of the chests. It was packed full of frozen steaks. Sam certainly did have a lot of food stored here—maybe even too much.

“And this is all for the prisoner?” Dream asked.

Sam nodded. “Well, I’d have some of it, but yeah.”

Slowly, Dream paced the floor, taking it all in. He needed to be as thorough with this room as he was with every other he had inspected so far. It had to be perfect. But Sam might be the only person who understood this as well as he did, even without understanding the prison’s purpose; in this, at least, they saw eye to eye.

The next chest he opened, Dream frowned. “These don't keep, though, do they? Potatoes?” He held up one of the offending objects in a netherite grip.

“Not exactly, yeah, but y’know, I— I have a farm in here. I thought it might be nice to have some fresh food sometimes.”

“That does seem nice.” Dream passed the potato between his hands, an unconscious habit. “What if we only used potatoes?”

Sam’s face was unreadable, but he paused for just a second too long. “You mean no other food?” he asked.

“Yeah,” said Dream. “I'm just thinking, y’know, you already have a farm for them. Why waste time on anything else, right?”

“Yeah, I— I guess that makes sense.” Sam rubbed at his neck, slouching slightly. “That’s not much of a diet, though.”

“Eh.” Dream shrugged. “I mean, anyone who’s in here, they probably won't be here for long.”

“Yeah. Yeah, that's true.” Sam looked—nervous. He looked really nervous, actually, like something was eating him up inside. Dream needed his warden to not be nervous.

“Is that okay?” Dream asked him.

Sam nodded. “Oh, yeah, that’s— that’s fine. I mean, it’s your prison, right?” He chuckled quietly, which sputtered out into something empty and dead. “Um. Just… You said the prisoner. Like, just one. Did you, uh, have someone in mind?”

Without really meaning to, Dream broke eye contact, that cold dread clawing its way back up before he swallowed it down again. “No one yet,” he said. As he breathed out, he crossed the distance between them, placing a hand on Sam’s plated shoulder. “But— this isn't my prison, Sam. It's ours. And I trust you to be a great warden.”

Sam smiled at him then, a real smile, and it was warmer than all the prison’s lava. “I'll do my best.”

[ part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 ]

#dreblr #c!dream #c!sam #drabbles #elm fics #my writing

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brf-rumortrackinganon · 8 months

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Is the divorce coming?

The Sussexes have reissued their demands to Charles. This time, through Roya Nikkah (scroll to the end for the link). Except...I don't think this is Meghan. I think this is Harry trying to negotiate the terms of returning to the UK after a Sussex divorce with ultimatums (e.g., "I'll come back like you want me to, Pa, but only if...").

Look at this quote that Roya attributes to an unnamed friend of Harry's: "Meghan seems to have decided that coming back more [to the UK] is not what she wants to do, but Harry would like to." This is probably the most obvious, if not outright, hint that Harry and Meghan are planning to separate soon, if they haven't already. Reading between the lines, Harry planning for his children to live in the US while he works as a full-time royal in the UK.

Anyway. Harry's demands.

"Diplomatic" status back via official Counsellor of State status: "[Charles's] decision to keep Harry as a counsellor of state...has created a dilemma. By law, counsellors of state are requried to have a UK domicile, but Harry has no home here...courtiers have discussed leasing a property on the royal estate"

A permanent residence in the UK: "There is work to be done here [in the UK] in terms of the charities, and there would be opportunities in the future where [Harry] will want to be here a bit more. If they could have kept Frogmore, they would have done - it was the perfect setup for them."

The return of Harry's full permanent security detail: "The prince has challenged the decision by the Home Office to remove his Metropolitan Police protection when he is in the UK, even though he has offered to pay for it himself. A legal representative for Harry has said he is 'unable to return to his home' with his family because it is too dangerous."

BRF to make amends first: "...if Charles offered the Sussexes a home on the royal estate, 'it would be an ever-so-slight softening of relations.'"

Also, Roya's article makes it pointedly clear that from the Harry's perspective, it's the courtiers and the Waleses who don't want them back despite Charles leaving the door open for them:

Throwing the courtiers under the bus: "last week, courtiers were keen to ensure that William returned to the UK from his solo trip to New York on Wednesday morning, before Charles and Camilla departed for their state visit to France on the same day."

Throwing the Waleses under the bus: "According to royal sources, courtiers have discussed leasing a property on the royal estate to Harry and Meghan to try to resolve the counsellor-of-state conundrum. One option understood to have been considered is accommodation at Kensington Palace, where the Prince and Princess of a home and their private office. They spend few nights there, having moved their family to Windsor."

Here's the archived link to Roya's article: https://archive.ph/Gr8pJ

(I'm having a lot of trouble getting this link to post. Let me know in the comments if it doesn't work for you.)

#divorce watch #rumors #sussexes #brf #waleses #cambridges

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col-islander43 · 11 months

Text

Haircut

Mat Barzal x reader

Warnings: none

Word count: {1,033}

"No, you're not." was your immediate response after Mat walked into your shared bedroom, claiming he was getting a haircut.

He stopped in his tracks, his brows drew together, and a pout formed on his lips as he stared at you in confusion. Trying to keep it together, you asked "What's wrong?"

Shaking his head, a sigh escaping his lips as he continued walking toward the bathroom "Nothing. My mom said the same thing when I told her I was getting my hair cut. It's just a bit creepy."

Joining him in the bathroom, you sat on the counter as he got out everything he needed to shave, he liked doing it the traditional way. There wasn't much to shave, just a bit of stubble, but he got used to having his face clean-shaven. So against your wishes, he was going to shave, you loved his facial hair and you were open about it.

"How about you sleep on it and make a decison tomorrow?" you bit your lip to suppress your smile when he gave you the same look from before as he applied shaving cream to his face.

"Babe, I already decided. I'm getting my hair cut on Friday I just have to make the appointment." Stepping in between your legs he handed you the razor, knowing you loved helping him shave even if you loved his facial hair more.

You had until Friday to convince him to not cut his hair since today was Tuesday "It's not fair, you know? You shave your beard, and you'll cut your hair which by the way didn't grow that much, what am I supposed to look forward too?" the teasing tone lacing your voice seemed to escape your boyfriend as he stared at you with his mouth wide open.

"You did not just say that!" his disbelieving tone and facial expression made laughter burst out of your mouth, hiding your face in his chest, careful to avoid the shaving cream.

You placed a couple of pecks on his exposed collarbone before looking up at him again "I'm kidding, love. I find it unfair because when I cut my hair you throw a fit for days."

"That's diff-" he cut off his sentence when you leveled him with a look that spoke for you. "Ok. I can't promise that my decison will change, but I'll sleep on it, only because you asked. Now give me a kiss, I'm getting touch starved."

You were about to protest, but before you could get the words out he had given you a peck on the lips which resulted in shaving cream covering small parts of your face.

---------

Laying on your side you watched the sun shining through the blinds, gently caressing Mat's face and highlighting all his features that you loved. Like every morning, you softly traced all his features with your thumb, the other hand raking through his hair, careful not to wake him up.

"I think you've memorized my whole face, you probably already had it memorized the first week you stayed over." His gruff morning voice startled you even if he was whispering.

"I'm sorry if I woke you." You slowly retracted your hands, placing them on his chest but Mat wasn't pleased with that decision. He pulled you closer, shaking his head as he placed your hands in their previous positions.

"You didn't wake me, but I'll get upset if you stop all the caressing. I'm feeling loved." The boyish grin that took over his face told you he was teasing you, but you continued your caressing because you liked doing it.

"You are loved. I love you. And I'll tell you every chance I get. Also, if you really want to get a haircut I'll suck it up and accept it, but your mom said she'll disown you." your voice was slightly above a whisper as he opened his eyes, confusion taking over his features.

"I love you too, but when did you talk to my mom?"

You chuckled when his lips formed into a pout, pecking his lips you caressed his brow "Yesterday. After you called her and went to the store to buy the cookies you claim are for me but eat your weight in. She sounded desperate and I can't blame her."

His jaw dropped as he softly pinched your waist "What's that supposed to mean?! Also they are good cookies."

You shrugged your shoulders trying to come up with a good answer "Baby, you're pretty, you're gorgeous, you're handsome just the way you are. You don't need a haircut."

He kissed your forehead as a way of thanking you before quickly pulling back "Hey! Don't avoid the question."

"I'm not avoiding the question." You definitely were "You don't need a haircut, it's a decent length." you gently pulled a couple of strands before pecking his lips "Especially after what happened last time." you murmured under your breath.

"What did you say? Speak up, sweetheart." He said the words in a low voice, the smirk on his face revealing he heard you loud and clear.

"Nothing." You looked down avoiding his gaze, but that didn't last long because he placed his finger under your chin lifting your gaze. He shook his head telling you he wasn't going to let this go.

"Speak up, baby."

His words made you squirm slightly, he knew exactly what he was doing "I said, especially after what happened last time. We're both a bit scared, babe. You said you were going to trim the ends and then you came back bald."

He burst out laughing, rolling onto his back and dragging you with him so you could lay on his chest "I wasn't bald."

You hid your face in the crook of his neck as your face slightly reddened "There's a difference between trimming the ends and getting a buzz cut. If you really want to get a hair cut I can trim your ends."

He pulled away slightly, his brows drawn together "You can do that? Why don't I know this?"

"I can trim ends I have done it before. And you never asked."

"We have been together for 2 years, how can I not know that?"

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

Hi, Hi. School finished a couple of weeks ago so I'll try and post more.

Feedback is appreciated, hope you guys enjoyed!

#mat barzal imagine #mat barzal x reader #new york islanders imagine #nhl imagine #hockey imagine #frankie writes...

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dabislittlemouse · 10 months

Note

Congratulations on the 2k love! 💙 If the ask box is still open, could I send in a request?

"I'll stay with you, just for a little while longer." - Dabi (canonically)

Unfortunately, him being who he is, won't stop in his mission to off Endeavor for anyone, not even if he had that someone special - but if he told us that he's stick around just a little bit more, for that person, well... I'd probably busrt into tears.

Thank you so much!! I hope you enjoy this🩵🩵

“𝐈’𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫”

2K FOLLOWERS EVENT

“But you don’t have to go this far!”

This was something Dabi heard pretty often from you, whenever you two were sitting together in silence, when nothing but each other’s breathing could be heard. He didn’t get bothered by your constant worry for him, instead it made his chest swell with warm emotions that somebody in fact worries and cares for him. And he knew that you supported him and you were always there through thick and thin. Though what you didn’t support was him risking his own life just to achieve his goals.

“I can’t achieve my goal if I don’t go on my full power doll, you know it” he whispered in your hair as he held you close, both laying down on his bed. “Can’t let the old man roam around freely and getting his bullshit of a redemption, acting like he can fix things. Not while I still breathe. Need to give it all in order to win, y’know?” . His eyes flared in rage while he talked about his dad, his words containing pure hatred.

“This isn’t a win if you die!” you pouted, tears already forming in your eyes. You knew how much his quirk harmed his body, to the point even doctor Ujiko wondered how he still stays alive in this condition. That doesn’t mean he will always have the chance to stay alive in the future if he keeps doing the same thing over and over. “I know how important this all is for you but.. you’re important too as well Dabi. Very important to the League, and important to me too. We can’t just.. let you go like this!”

The mission was about to happen in two weeks. And it felt like the days were going by like crazy, anxiety and fear was gnawing deep inside of you knowing that your most beloved person would probably not make it alive when this all ends. You knew how determined and stubborn Dabi was when it comes to his beliefs and goals, so this all made you feel hopeless.

You both sat in silence, only your muffed sniffing could be heard. As usual, you were crying silently on his chest. Dabi just stared at the ceiling, thinking, his chest feeling heavy and he swallowed hard.

A sigh left his mouth before he turned at you, grabbing your face with both hands.

“Fine, look at me” he said softly, as he stared in your glossy eyes, wiping the tears off you.

“I won’t leave you, alright? I’ll stay with you, just for a little while longer. For you”

Your eyes widened at his words, you knew what he meant by this. When you met Dabi, he was always eager to fulfill his goals to the point he didn’t care if he lived or died. He never saw the point in living to begin with. Revenge had blinded him.

But even the most stubborn man in this world was able to change his mind because of love. Because of you, he was willing to continue living for a bit longer that he had in fact planned to. He was willing to give life a second chance, because you made it worth living for him. Dabi wasn’t a man who constantly showered you with sweet words and said “I love you” all the time. But actions like this, his decision to continue living because of you, let you know that he indeed loved you deeply.

#2k milestone event #missrosegold #dabi #touya todoroki #mha dabi #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #dabi x reader #dabi x you #dabi x y/n #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha fluff #angst #dabi fluff #touya todoroki x reader

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lilacsareinbloomagain · 1 year

Text

The name that i possess ends with 'matic', and is it possible for you to write a scenario with the yandere linked universe?

It's nothing too extravagant, the reader simply comes back from an unknown location after sneaking out because the chain won't let them have their alone time and they're covered in a lot of scars, some are bigger than the rest and they try their best to hide those scars as to not make the chain worry.

But alas, one of the Links hug them a few hours later and a large scar opened up and the Link saw them wince in pain.

The others notice if not immediately.

Hopefully you're alright with this, and please do take your time.

..perhaps this is extravagant.

This is a great idea! Thank you for requesting person whom I definitely do not know :]

Notes: This took a while and I'm sorry but it's finally here. I hope you'll like it.

Also, finding sweet, genderless nicknames is a pain.

That is why I declare 'doll' Twilight's favorite nickname, idc your gender or appearance, he will use it with you and that's a hill I'll die on.

TWs: Yanderism, mentions of silent treatment, cuts, wounds and scars (non graphic).

The Chain x Reader

I know I almost died but like, it's really not that deep.

As usual, the guys weren't giving you any time for yourself.

Not gonna lie, you weren't expecting love to be so suffocating.

So you made the smartest decision. You ran.

It took a while to get to the perfect moment, the guys were more tired than usual walking until it was dark and fighting moblins before setting camp for the night. It was really hard to keep yourself awake, but still, you waited until it was Wind's turn to keep watch.

Wind keeping watch at night was always something you were against, minors, even more at Wind's age, should be able to have at the very least 8 hours of sleep, and as a self proclaimed older sibling you stand by that.

And technically, by doing what you were about to do, you were going to protest against it.

The boy was sitting on a rock, the tip of his sword was buried in the ground and he rested his arms on the handle, it didn't seem comfortable in any way but by the way his eyes were half lidded and his blinks seemed to last a bit too long you guessed it was comfortable enough for his sleep deprivation to do it's job.

You sat up in your bed roll and approached him, sitting by his side on the rock, almost falling off the edge.

Convincing him to let you take his place wasn't a hard task, you doubted he could even recognize who you were or his surroundings, the fact you tried your best to mimic a deeper voice must've also had something to do with it.

Wind immediately fell asleep when he laid down in his bed roll. You got up and immediately ran, your bag wasn't too big in favor of traveling easily so it wasn't hard to take it with you, not slowing you down in any way. Since you got in here, you also collected enough rupees to buy a small knife and still have money left. It was small enough to fit in your boot easily, so that the other's wouldn't know you had it.

Your heart almost dropped to your stomach one day when Wolfie came close to finding it by sniffing around.

You could only hope the Link's would be too occupied with trying to find you to be angry at Wind.

You didn't stop walking until it was almost dark again, you slowed down to walking a few times, but never completely stopped. Traveling everyday clearly has helped your stamina a lot since the last few months.

You stayed in the wilderness, staying in a village or town would be incredibly stupid, even if you hid the villagers there would tell them your location.

At most, you'd stay hidden a week, if you were being optimistic. The Chain wouldn't stop until they found you and they were… Well, themselves. That was more than enough to find you.

There was also Wolfie, he would probably be the first to find you and undoubtedly be worried for you, he'd end up alerting the boys of where you were.

However, despite your tries, there was something you weren't expecting.

A blood moon.

God must really hate you.

The woods you hid in were infested with monsters, even before the blood moon you had a few encounters with one or two of those disgraceful slimes called chuchus. Now, making your way back to the camp, your body was littered with wounds, some were already scarring while others were very much new, having just barely stopped bleeding.

Of course, you couldn't just let them see those scars, you didn't want them to go on a rampage again or worsen your protection more than they already would right after you got back, you also didn't want the silence treatment punishment thing they did, no thanks, you knew not interacting with anyone would annihilate your sanity and you would like to stay sane until it you were able to go back home.

Some scars were easier to hide than others, most could be hidden by your clothes, some you had to go to the closest village to quickly buy new articles of clothing, like long gloves. While you were there you made sure to also buy more gauze, the amount you had was used to cover your worst wounds. Turns out bokoblin's claws were sharp as shit.

Coming back you felt slightly pathetic for not being able to stay off their tracks for too long, but also very victorious for being able to stay off their tracks for that long. It was a victory, even if small.

The boys must've not expected you to come back because the camp was empty when you came back, even though all their things were still there.

You thought they wouldn't come back for the night when finally you heard lots of steps coming towards your direction in the distance, the moon was already high in the sky by now. Wolfie was the first you saw, while the others came from the direction of the village closest to the camp, Wolfie came from the woods.

Wolfie was static to see you, he tried to jump on you a lot of times, causing you pain, your pained expression made him slow down, choosing to cuddle close to you instead of jumping. He sniffed your forearm as you petted him, he tried to pry your gloves off with his teeth, you prevented that from happening by changing the place you were petting until he stopped, which he eventually did, deciding to lick your wounds through your gloves. Kinda gross but cute at the same time, thankfully, those scars were from the chuchus, so his licking sooted the burning. You wondered how wolves could just sniff wounds out.

The Chain found you just like that, cuddling with Wolfie as he licked your wrist.

They all flocked to where you were sitting, Hyrule hugged you from behind, standing on his knees. His arms around your neck, thankfully missing your wounds. Wolfie growled at Warriors as he pulled you to his lap, interrupting your's and Hyrule's hug and holding you close, also hugging your shoulders.

No words were exchanged during each hug, each of them closed their eyes tightly, you couldn't ever imagine how scared they were over your sudden disappearance, enough so that their first reaction was heartfelt hugging and feeling you close rather than scolding.

You were surprised at your luck, and scared for the moment someone would inevitably wrap their arms around your waist.

Seems like you are a very lucky person.

After being hugged by everyone, every single one of them missing your worst wounds and scars somehow, you received a well expected lecture from Time, Sky and Hyrule shaked their heads sternly when you looked at them for help, much as one would do in response to a child looking for a way out of the consequences for misbehaving. In fact, every single one of them were looking at you seriously for doing something like that. If Time wasn't repeating over and over again that what you did was dangerous and never supposed to happen again the lecture would've taken 5 minutes at maximum.

"You are lucky you're not hurt."

You huffed, as if you couldn't handle it, you're alive aren't you? Sure, extremely hurt, but alive either way.

Not like you could let them know you went through something actually dangerous more than once in those last 2 days.

As Time finally got tired of scolding you, everyone started preparing to sleep, you looked around, whenever Time lectured anyone Twilight would be there doing the same thing. This time, just the one he would be even more present, he is just missing? Where is he?

One or two hours had passed before the missing hero reappeared. By the time he was back, the night was slowly turning into day again, the black sky gaining a purple hue, hints of orange doting the horizon. The moon was almost gone.

In all truth, Twilight never left. Wolfie, who was cuddling right by your side the entire night, shifted into the familiar form of the man. Hands, which before were pawns wrapped around your waist gently, so as to not wake you up. The movement proved to be unsuccessful, as soon as his hands grazed your stomach your entire body jolted, your eyes opening as your tired mind was forced out of it's sleepy state by pain. The man behind you tensed up, sitting up and immediately checking you over with worried eyes. Wild, who had taken the dawn shift of watching over you and the others, had his mind alarmed, the topic of what breakfast would be changing to you, what was going on with you?

Time, who already found himself in a light state of sleep, not only because of the hour (waking up early became an habit since his duty first appeared) but also after your recent 'adventure', sat up in his bed roll, drowsily blinking away tiredness while trying to understand what was happening.

By now you had already woken up completely, trying and failing to assure the two frantic Twilight and Wild that you were fine, you only had a nightmare.

"What happened?" Time asked, approaching you three. His regular expression, the mix of stern, annoyed and tired, already on his face.

"Nothing happened, infact, I don't have a clue on why these guys are making such a big deal out of-"

"What. Happened." Time asked again, turning to Wild and Twilight this time as if to direct the question to them, all the while kneeling on your other side and checking you for injuries, ignoring the annoyed face you were making.

"Twilight touched their waist and they flinched."

"They didn't just flinch, it woke them up." Twilight added to Wild's response. "I was being gentle."

"This is unnecessary. You guys are overreacting."

"Don't even start," Time lifted his eyebrow, again throwing you that look he knew worked on everyone. Even you, much to your displeasure. "Just because you apologized and promised you wouldn't do it ever again doesn't make you gain any of my trust back. You're still on thin ice."

You rolled your eyes as soon as you thought he looked away.

"I saw that." He scolded, flicking your tight, making you hiss out of surprise and out of the thin pain that came with it. You also made sure your "ow" sounded as offended as possible.

How could he see that well? The old man didn't even have both of his eyes!

"Also, I don't think it was when I touched their waist, I think it was when I touched their stomach." Twilight pondered for a second.

Time returned his eye (the good one) to yours, gesturing to your stomach.

"Let me see."

"No."

"Not a question. Lift your shirt." He inhaled sharply as you obliged, chewing your cheek with an expression of guilt on your face. Time closed his eye tightly and furrowed his eyebrows, one of his hands went up to comb his hair back as his jaw tensed, clenching his teeth.

"Look, I couldn't have known a blood moon was coming and-" Twilight interrupted you and you tried to make a lame excuse.

"I knew it. Wild, wake Hyrule up." Wild, who seemed worried over you, didn't protest against Twilight's authoritarian tone, one who mirrored Time's almost perfectly.

"I knew I should have asked more-" Time pushed himself to get up, restlessly moving around, his other hand went up to his hair as well, pulling his scalp a little.

"Time-"

He sighed, his hands furiously rubbing his closed eyes.

"I'll be back before noon." He declared, making his way to his abandoned bed roll, hastily putting his boots before getting up again and scooping up his sword and shield, his hand once more pushing his hair off his face, he stopped before you and Twilight, pointing a finger towards you. "Don't you even think about leaving the camp." Was all he said before going in the direction of the woods you had told them yesterday you had hid in.

"He talks like I would be able to" You scoffed.

"You are in no place to complain, doll." Twilight took Time's place in scolding you, like he would have done last night if he wasn't missing.

You would have questioned him about it if Hyrule had not ran towards you out of nowhere.

"Why didn't you tell me? I thought you trusted me!" Hyrule's fingers trembled as he blinked away tears, guessing by his reaction, Wild must've awakened the poor man already scaring him by saying you were almost dying or something. Poor dude seemed to be on the verge of crying.

He reached out to you, his fingers starting to glow slightly as you exposed your scarred stomach again, feeling warmth and the strange feeling of skin and muscle coming back together, not only on your stomach but on most of your wounds, only missing small ones that had already healed somehow. You reached down to unwrap the red bandages, only partially surprised at your completely healed stomach, having already seen Hyrule do the same thing all the time on the guys around you.

"Just don't do this again okay? Please. I don't mind healing you, but you scared me too much." He smiled sadly at you, a hint of tiredness on his face. This made you feel even worse for him, he literally just woke up and already got half of his energy drained.

You shifted in place to hug him, in return he draped his arms around your newly healed waist, his face fell on the crook of your neck, his breaths coming out in relaxed puffs.

"I think he fell asleep." You whispered, looking over at Twilight who seemed to only barely keep his rage restrained, already moving to get up from where he was, at your side.

"The sun is not even visible yet, I can understand why." Wild strained his eyes to look at the dark horizon, the only hints of the time being the lack of moon, the small hues of orange and the early singing birds who had just woken up. You followed his eyes, blinking with force, recognizing your sleepiness returning as your pain had disappeared.

"There is still time for you to sleep more, if you want." Twilight appeared in your line of vision again, as geared up as Time was when he left just minutes ago. "I'm gonna catch up with the old man, I'm sure you know what to do Wild." The mentioned man nodded in response, both of them glancing at you for a moment before Twilight resumed his steps towards the woods. "Alright then, I'll be back before dusk."

You sighed, gently placing Hyrule at your side as you fell back onto your bed roll, feeling him place his arms around you again as you did, a smile on his face. You heard Wild murmur something along the lines of "lucky" before getting up and moving to wake up Legend, who had the next shift.

You fell back asleep, deciding to worry later about the reaction of the rest, because it certainly would happen as soon as they woke up.

Oh, and Time's and Twilight's reaction wasn't completely done, they just had 'business' to deal with first.

You could only hope the silence treatment wouldn't last longer than it did last time.

#yandere x reader #tw: yandere #yandere linked universe #link x reader #linked universe x reader #the legend of zelda #yandere link x reader #lu twilight #lu twilight x reader #lu time #lu time x reader #lu wild #lu wild x reader #lu hyrule x reader #lu hyrule

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vanwritesfan-fiction · 7 months

Text

Jack and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Week

Part Four

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Angst, Language

Jack blinked and another two weeks had passed. He felt like he was racing against the clock to try to get you back. The more time that passed, the more time you had to realize that maybe you didn't need him and everyone around him would have been right.

He tried calling and texting you multiple times to no response, and he felt like he was shouting out into the void. The voice in the back of his mind was still silent, no direction, no ridicule, and the silence was slowly killing him.

He had cut off all contact with pretty much everyone in his life except for Urban, and that was only to give him the okay on certain work decisions that he didn't want to have to deal with personally. His texts were short and to the point, so Urban had no idea what was going on in Jack's head, but he knew that something wasn't right. After a while, all contact stopped with Urban as well.

Jack could only dodge his calls and leave Urban's text messages unread for so long before he knew he had to go check on his best friend. None of his previous relationships had ever had this effect on him, and Urban was starting to think that maybe he was wrong to tell Jack that he should move on.

****

Urban stepped off of the elevator into Jack's penthouse apartment as the doors opened. The place was a mess; Jack had probably canceled his cleaning service over the last couple of weeks. It was dark and cold, all of the curtains drawn closed, the only light source coming from Jack's bedroom.

"Hey man-", Urban stopped in the doorway. Jack was sprawled across his bed, his curls in a mess as if they hadn't been brushed in days, his clothing dirty and disheveled. He could make out the bags under his eyes, a sign he hadn't been sleeping again, his face permanently stained with tear tracks.

"Jack, what's going on man?" He asked the question in vain, knowing the answer. Jack just grumbled as he turned his back to Urban.

"Nah, come on man. This isn't you." Urban crossed the room, opening the curtains, the bright sunlight blinding Jack. "You need to get back up and get back to your life. You can't keep living like this."

"I-I walked away from her twice. I lost her twice." Jack uttered out, closing his eyes.

"I know man, I know. I know she is one who's gonna hurt you for a while, and I'm sorry about that-" Urban halted his words as Jack's eyes shot open, a look of devastation plastered on his face.

"She wasn't one, she was the one. I need her back, man. I don't want to do this without her." Urban sat at the edge of the bed, flashbacks to seeing his friend in the hospital flooding his mind. He raked a hand through his blond locks, looking out the window. He knew he needed to choose his next words carefully, or it could send Jack spiraling again.

"What are you going to do, then, to get her back?" There was a small part of Urban that hoped Jack would come back to his senses and back down for once in his life, but he knew that wasn't who Jack was.

"I don't know. Anything, everything. I'll do whatever I have to do." Jack turned over onto his back, feeling the knot in his stomach tighten again, taking his breath away.

They both sat in silence for a couple of minutes, as a burning question bothered Urban. He didn't want to play Devil's Advocate, but he knew that Jack could get in his head, and contrive all of these plans all he wanted, but there was still a chance you were done for good, and being let down a third time might be more than Jack could take.

"And what if that's not what she wants?" Urban bit at his bottom lip, ready to take the blow from his question, knowing Jack wasn't going to like his counter. As if he timed it, Jack got up suddenly from the bed, his face beet red. He paced the room, his chest burning with anger.

"Fuck, man, why can't you ever be on my side?! It's like you don't want us to be together!" He was spitting the words at his friend, taking all of the anger he had built up out on someone else. He knew that Urban was right. There was a world he couldn't even bare to think about where he would never be with you again. Just the thought of it was excruciating.

Urban pushed himself up to his feet, meeting Jack chest to chest. "I am always on your side, Jack. I am always thinking about what's best for you, even when you aren't!" He punctuated his point with a stab in Jack's chest, making him back up. Urban rarely got angry, but for Jack to think he didn't care, or he didn't want to see his friend happy, cut deep.

For the first time since the breakup, Jack was coming face to face with someone who saw the situation for what it truly was, messy and complicated, with no clear resolution.

"I know, I know, I'm sorry." Jack let out a shaky breath, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "She asked me to fight for her, and I left, even though it was the last thing I wanted to do." He hung his head in his hands, tears starting to well in his eyes again.

"Truthfully, I don't know if she's going to want to ever see me again, but I have to try. I need her to see me fight for her till the very end." Jack admitted between sobs, pulling at the curls plastered to his forehead.

Urban sat back down next to Jack, clapping him on the back. "Ok, then do it. I'm in your corner. Whatever you need to do to get her back, I've got you."

****

You had barely left your room the last couple of days, retreating from the couch where you had slept the first couple of nights after you asked Jack to leave, the thought of laying on the bed where you two had shared such a private moment that night, making you ill.

You checked your phone for the fifth time in an hour as you laid on your bed in the dark. You read every one of Jack's texts and listened to every voicemail a hundred times over, even though you were too scared to respond or call him back. Him leaving again felt inevitable at this point, and you were terrified of reliving that pain a third time over.

You shut your eyes as you heard the door creak open, soft footsteps entering the room.

"Hon, I would really love for you to join me for dinner." You groaned, squinting your eyes to adjust to the light streaming into your bedroom from the hallway. You made out the figure of your mom standing in the door, a tray of food in her hands.

After her 30th ignored call, she showed up at your door, and had been staying with you for the last couple of days, taking care of some of the chores and responsibilities you didn't have the energy for. She heard your cries through the thin walls of your apartment every night, and her heart broke more and more each day you didn't get up.

"I'm not hungry." You cleared your throat, realizing that was the first time you'd spoken in over 24 hours. She knew it was a longshot that you'd leave your bed and actually eat at the table, so she decided to compromise, and bring the food to you. You mom quietly walked over to the side of your bed, placing the tray on the nightstand. You felt her weight dip into the mattress as she sat next to you.

"I was thinking that you could come back home for a little while. You know your dad and Nelly miss you." She pushed your hair out of your face, cupping your cheek. She was hoping that getting you out of town, and more importantly out of this apartment would do you some good.

You sat up, pushing yourself up against the headboard as you tucked your knees to your chest. The thought of leaving had never crossed your mind; this felt like the only place you could be. "I can't leave right now, mom." You shut your eyes tight as tears started to fall, resting your head against your knees.

"Baby, everything will still be here when you get back." She placed a sympathetic hand on your forearm.

"But he might not." You gritted out between your teeth, trying to hold back more tears but you just couldn't. "I need to be here in case he comes back." You leaned back against the wall, the crushing weight on your chest forcing all of the air out of your body. It was the first time you had admitted out loud, and to yourself, that you wanted Jack to come back. That you needed him to come back.

"Do you still love him?" Your mom's words startled you, even though they were barely above a whisper. The question was so simple, either you loved him or you didn't, and yet it was so difficult for you to answer.

"Its complicated." It was the answer you had given yourself over and over again as you tried to rationalize everything, but it didn't provide you with any comfort.

"That's not what I asked." She continued to press. "Do you still love him?"

"Of course", you admitted between sobs, "I will always love him, but that doesn't change what he did, that he left, gave up on our relationship. I don't know if I can ever forgive him for that." You wiped a stray tear from your face.

"Did I ever tell you about the first time that your father and I had broken up?" You shook your head, turning your attention to your mom.

"No, I had no idea." You parents always had the perfect marriage in your eyes, married for over 25 years, made for each other, soulmates even. You hoped to be half as happy as they were together, and at one point you were sure that you had finally found that in Jack. The thought that they had ever broken up had never even crossed your mind.

"We had just graduated from college, and for the longest time, all we talked about was moving back to our hometown and starting a family. Your dad was going to take a job at grandpa's business, and I was going to be a stay at home mom. It had been my dream for the longest time, to have my own little family." You saw her eyes glaze over with nostalgia as she thought back to that time, a small smile forming.

"The night of graduation, we were leaving a party, when your dad tells me that he got this job offer at a company he's always wanted to work for, and that its across the country, in California. Immediately I felt my world crashing down around me, because the fantasy that I had for myself and my little family was slipping away. He just couldn't understand why I was so upset. In his mind, he was giving us everything we could have ever wanted, and more. We fought in the parking lot of our dinky, little apartment complex, and we broke up. Didn't speak to each other for weeks." The smile slipped from her face. "I really thought my life was over, too. That I would never love anyone as much as I loved him."

You inched closer to her, grabbing her hand. "How did you fix it?"

She sighed, squeezing your fingers. "Well, after being stubborn with each other, we realized that we were so focused on protecting this idea of the lives we wanted, instead of protecting each other. I wanted my family, and your dad wanted to follow his dream career. It's the same with the two of you. You want to settle down with Jack, build a home and a family together, and he wants to see where is career goes with you by his side. But you can't have both, hon. You can't hold onto some ideal, and hold onto each other. You have to choose."

"What if he doesn't choose me?" You let out a shaky breath, the thought making your stomach turn. "What if I choose him, and he doesn't choose me?"

Your mom smiled, grabbing your other hand, pulling them into her lap. "All that you can do, is make the best decision you can out of love and hope he does the same thing. The rest will figure itself out."

****

That night, you got a final text from Jack.

I'm sorry. I love you more than you'll ever know.

Jack took a chance at shouting out into the void one more time, but this time, your received his message. You both were just hoping it wasn't too late.

****

You finally got out of bed the next morning, hopeful for the first time in weeks. You worked up the courage to call Jack, hoping that he'd still want to meet you. You found his contact information, your finger hovering over his name for a few minutes before you finally dialed him.

You held your breath as the phone rang, each ring agonizingly long.

"Urban Wyatt." Urban's voice surprised you.

"Uh, sorry Urban, I thought I called Jack." You tried to steady yourself, realizing your words came out shaky.

"No, you did. He tricked me into being his personal assistant. Has me answering all of his fuckin' calls and everything." He let out a low chuckle, the sound flooding you with warmth and comfort. You let out a laugh, the feeling odd and startling.

"Its good to hear your voice, kiddo."

"Yeah, you too, Urban." You paused, not sure what to say next. "I hope I didn't miss Jack."

"Actually, if I timed it right, we should be right on schedule." You heard a knock on your door.

"Damn, I'm good." Urban figuratively patted himself on the back as he hung up the phone.

You opened the door, your gaze trailing to the ground where a white box sat on your door mat, a red ribbon tied in a bow on the top. You picked up the box, closing the door and leaning against it as you examined the gift. A card poke out from the top. You plucked it from the ribbon, turning it over.

Jack had scribbled a note on the card, his handwriting messy but legible. You could barely read the words through the tears brimming in your lashes.

You were right. I was selfish, and a coward, and you have every right to never want to see me again. Just know, I'll never stop fighting for you, for us, and I will never stop loving you.

221 Westfield Lane

At the bottom was an address that you recognized immediately. You pulled the ribbon from the box, and opened the lid, haphazardly throwing the top to the side. You lifted a single key on a silver key ring, admiring it in the sunlight.

****

Jack stood in the living room of the empty home, nervously chewing on his fingernail. He checked his phone again; 5:02PM. He'd been here for about three hours, waiting on you to show up. He checked in with Urban, who reassured him that you would have received the gift hours ago, and the ball was in your court.

Another hour passed, and he hadn't moved.

You were going to show up.

You had to show up.

The sun was starting to set, a purple haze draping the room as Jack leaned against a wall, sinking to the ground. Any ounce of hope he had was slowly falling away, and reality started to sink in. You weren't coming, things weren't going to get better, and he'd have to learn how to live without you.

"Fuck!" He chucked the key that had been imprinted on his hand, he'd been squeezing it so hard in his palm. He rubbed his eyes, feeling his stomach sinking to his heels. This feeling was worse than he could have ever imagined, like a part of him had died here.

He took his time getting up, taking one final look at the house that he had bought for the two of you, one more time, as he shut off all of the lights.

His hand gripped the gold handle as he pulled the front door open.

There you stood on the front steps, holding the key in your hand, so close to sliding it in the lock and opening the door, but frozen in fear.

"I've been standing here for the last 30 minutes, trying to find the courage to open the door. I promise you, I have. I really want to come in, Jack. I really do." You let out a humorless laugh, refusing to make eye contact with him.

"Ok, take your time. I'm not going anywhere." His tone was even. He'd wait forever for you if he had to.

You took a deep breath before taking the first step into the entry way, pushing past Jack. He gently closed the door, watching you walk around the house.

"I didn't know you even knew about this place. We only talked about it once." You finally looked at him, and his face broke your heart. He looked tired, hanging on by a thread.

"You used to talk about this place all the time. I know how much you wanted us to look at it." Jack wrung his hands out, stepping closer to you. It felt like you were a million miles away, and he was desperate to close the distance. You smiled gently, stepping into the kitchen. Your steps against the hardwood floors echoed throughout the house.

"Jack, I-"

"Please, can I speak first?"

You nodded, allowing him to continue. He pressed his hands to his lips, closing his eyes.

"I miss you so much, baby, and I know I have no right to say that, but its true. I know how much I hurt you, and if I could take it back, I would. There is nothing in this world that means as much to me as you do, you are my whole world, and at some point I lost sight of that, and I fucked everything up. I am so, so sorry."

He paused, trying to read your face. For the first time since you got here, you were looking at him, truly looking at him, taking in every word he was saying.

"Jack, I know that you're sorry, baby. I want you to know that I get why you did it. You thought you were protecting me, doing the right thing by leaving." You took a deep breath, turning your cheek to him.

"I never wanted to hurt you." Jack took a step toward you, and you let him, hoping that he'd take another, but he stopped, hesitant.

"But you did, Jack. Good intentions or not, you did hurt me." His face dropped when he realized that he might not be getting through to you. "You can't protect me by leaving. When things get difficult, you hold onto each other, you don't run away."

"I know, I know", he repeated, grabbing your hand, "and if you let me, I'll never let you go again."

"I'm scared." You whispered, pulling away from him.

"I am too", he admitted, slipping his hands into his front pockets. "I am terrified of fucking things up again and losing you, but this, this house, this is me putting us first." You were quiet, and he was desperate to fill the silence.

He dropped a small, velvet box onto the counter.

"This is not at all how I wanted to do this, and if you don't want me to, I won't propose to you tonight, or ever, but I've been carrying this ring around for the past year, trying to find the right time. I know it didn't always feel like it, but I always loved you. You were the best part of me. No matter what happens between us, I will never stop loving you."

You felt weak in the knees as you looked at the box, before looking around the room. You expected to feel different standing in this house, like it would feel like home, a place where your life could finally start, but for some reason it didn't. It just felt like another place.

When you looked at Jack, he felt like home, like your safe place. Throughout all of the heartbreak and the pain, he was the only thing that made perfect sense. If you were holding onto him, you could let go of everything else.

"Propose to me." You spoke with a confidence you didn't think you had in you.

"What? I'm not trying to pressure you into-" Jack stumbled over his words.

"Propose to me." You picked up the ring box, placing it into his open hand. "Let's choose each other."

Jack slowly dropped to one knee, holding your hand in his. He took a breath before looking up at you, a smile forming on his face when he saw your smile.

"Y/N, I love you so much. I-"

"Yes. Yes to everything, whatever you were going to say. Of course I'll marry you." You giggled, tears beginning to stream down your face. You held out your left hand as Jack slid the beautiful diamond ring on your finger.

"Now kiss me." Jack jumped to his feet, cradling your face in his hands as he pulled you in for a kiss. He felt your tears against his cheeks as he deepened the kiss, grabbing onto your waist. His fingers dug into your sides as your arms snaked around his neck.

You only broke apart to replenish your air, Jack leaning his forehead against yours. You laid your hand on his chest, feeling his heart race as your chests heaved in unison. He placed his hand atop yours, grabbing it to press kisses against your knuckles. "I love you so much, baby."

"I love you, too. Let's get out of here." You looked up at him, running your finger against his jawline. You grabbed his hand, and left the house that you once thought was the key to a happy life. You had no idea where you were going to go next, or what was going to happen, and it really didn't matter.

You were no longer holding onto what you thought was going to bring you happiness. The only thing you needed was each other, and everything else would work itself out.

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