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mcwriting · 3 years

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Just Friends

sooooo... I know I've said I don't write smut, but I will write *barely* sfw stuff if I'm in the mood :)

College AU because that's my current aesthetic lol. Not explicit but defo spicier than what I normally write

Ship: Tom Holland x Reader

Word Count: 2078

Warnings: light language, alcohol consumption, implied (consensual) sex

✧

The music was loud with a deep bass, reverberating through your spine as you carried a half-drank solo cup of indiscriminate alcohol and red fruit punch.

"Tom. I'm not feeling it tonight," you basically yelled to your best friend, a proud member of the fraternity whose basement you were in. "This just doesn't hit like it used to."

You were both going into your senior year of college, having been friends ever since your freshman dorm rooms ended up right next to each others.

Now that you and your friends were all legal, going to the frathouse instead of a bar just seemed unnecessary. The only reason you were really there was because Tom and his best friend Harrison were officers and had to live in-house.

Tom had only had a couple beers within the past hour, trying to stay steady with you, though you weren't even experiencing a light buzz.

He wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you close to lean down to your ear.

"Whadd'ya want to do then?" he asked.

"Can we just go back to my place? We've got some alcohol in the apartment," you answered. He nodded. "Let's go find Emily first, make sure she doesn't want a ride, too."

You both made your way around, finally seeing your roommate and Harrison making out in one corner of the room, one hand holding a red solo cup and the other cupping his face.

You rolled your eyes and grabbed her shoulder, pulling them apart.

"Heeeeyyy. What are you two up to?" she asked, turning around and pressing her back up against the blonde who then wrapped both arms around her stomach, resting a chin on her shoulder.

"We're gonna go drink at the apartment, " you called, trying to get her to hear over the music. "Do you want to go in the uber with us?"

She shook her head.

"Nah, I think I'll stay here if Haz is cool with it."

"You know I'm always cool with you staying over," he added, spinning her around.

"Okay, well then you two know the drill," you started, "if you even think about taking advantage of her I'll-"

"You'll cut my dick off," he finished, "yeah, yeah, I know. I would never, I swear."

Harrison put a hand over his heart for good measure.

Your stern look turned to a grin.

"Alright you two, stay safe and all that jazz. See you tomorrow."

You were waving bye when Emily called out behind you,

"Don't forget to use condoms!"

You blushed like mad, and Tom did, too.

You were just friends, after all. Only friends.

Both of you went through the rest of the house in silence, going outside to wait for your driver. You crossed your arms in frustration over your chest.

"I can't believe Emily would try to embarrass us like that! She knows we're just friends! Now that whole party thinks we left to hook up."

"Come on, y/n. The music was too loud. If anyone heard it was like two other people and they're freshman. Who cares what they think?"

You laughed at his response as he squeezed your side again, trying to get you to loosen up and smile again. You couldn't help but comply as the driver pulled up.

✧

Tom was hunched over looking through your fridge when you exited your bedroom, having already removed any makeup and changed into sweats.

He stood up when he heard you.

"What all do you want to- is that my shirt?"

You looked down, then shrugged.

"Huh. Guess so. You can have it back if you want it," you said, starting to pull up up over your sports bra when he stopped you.

"No, no. It's fine. Looks better on you anyways," he quipped, shutting the fridge door. You couldn't help but smile at that last comment as you pulled it back down. "Speaking of clothes of mine, do you still have my grey sweats?"

It wasn't long before he had changed as well, wearing the pants he'd left from the last time and one of your XL sweatshirts.

"Are you sure this sweatshirt isn't mine, too?" he asked, tugging on it.

"Since when do you wear oversized sweatshirts, Tom?"

He paused and looked up.

"Oh, right. Never. Thanks for washing these pants for me."

It wasn't a strange occurrence for Tom to spend the night at your apartment, usually to get out of the frat house every so often. He typically took the couch or your air mattress and kept some clothes in your closet.

He hit his hands together, then rubbed them.

"Now that we've got that out of the way. What shall we drink?"

You were originally just going to finish a bottle of wine as you watched "The Wedding Planner" together on the couch, but then Tom discovered the bottles of tequila and vodka in the freezer during the scene where Mary gets drunk.

"Come on, babe. We've gotta do at least one shot. It would be way more entertaining."

"I can't imagine that either of us needs to be drunk to find JLo and Matthew McConaughey entertaining, but fine," you replied, getting up to pull out the shot glasses from the cabinet.

"I shouldn't have told you to look for the ice cream," you lamented, causing him to laugh.

About 20 minutes after a shot each, you were both curled up on the couch together, the alcohol hitting as the story was beginning to wrap up.

You felt a little awkward watching the characters confess their love for each other as you were leaning on Tom's side, his arms caressing you.

But you were just friends, right?

Yeah, but your drunk brain couldn't ignore the flashing sign inside that seemed to scream "but you're also kinda into him!"

And it was right.

You'd had subtle feelings for him since probably sophomore year, after having playfully hated each other throughout freshman year.

You liked to blame that sentiment on the fact that your beds had been against the same wall and you could often hear each other doing just about everything.

"I just don't get how people weren't more mad at her going after an engaged man!" Tom said, snapping you from your thoughts.

"Huh? Oh, yeah. But I mean she did try to avoid him for a while, I guess," you replied, not quite slurring but your words coming out just a little but slow.

Tom switched on a random TV channel after credits started rolling and shifted a bit, still holding you tight.

"You doing okay?" he asked. You nodded.

"Yeah, I think I'm already coming down. You were kind of right, though. Drunk watching gave me a whole new perspective."

"Oh yeah? and what's that?"

You could feel the vibrations in his chest as he spoke, making you close your eyes sleepily.

"Hmm. I'm not actually sure."

He laughed at your response and then you both fell into a comfortable silence, both of you relishing in each other's warmth.

After a little bit, you sat up, rubbing your eyes and stretching.

"You good?" he asked again.

"Yep, just gonna run to the bathroom real quick."

You stood up, taking slow steps. Your thoughts were no longer clouded but your coordination wasn't quite there yet.

By the time you returned, Tom had gotten you some water glasses and returned to the couch. This time, you laid down so you could rest your head in his lap and look at your phone as he stroked your hair.

After a while of scrolling through social media and showing Tom the occasional picture, you closed the phone and set it on your chest.

You looked up and Tom and wondered aloud,

"What do you think Em and Haz are up to now?"

"Is that really a question? Smashing."

You snorted.

"Gosh those two don't know how to keep their hands off of each other. I can't believe it took them so long to figure out they were into each other. 'Just friends' my ass."

Tom gave an awkward chuckle of his own.

"Hey, that's our line."

You could feel the tension in that response, not sure how to respond as you continued to study Tom's face.

"We should probably start getting ready for bed," he suggested. "I can start blowing up the air mattress if you wanna go brush your teeth and stuff."

You had sat up but stopped him.

"Wait... will you... do you want to just sleep in my bed tonight?"

"What? Then where will you sleep? On the couch?"

You were a little stunned at his oblivious answer.

"I- what? No. I meant... do you want to share the bed with me? It's plenty big for two people."

He eyes widened.

"Oh... oh! Okay I get it now. Uh, sure. As long as you're sure. I don't want to make you uncomfortable or anything."

"Tom, I mean it. I want you to," you plead.

You were eventually getting ready to crawl into bed when you faced Tom, sitting back against the mattress.

"Are you sure you want this?" he asked once again, making you grin. You reached up and pulled him into a hug.

"I promise, Tom. I really do."

You both pulled away just enough for your faces to be in front of each other, not even an inch apart. Your heart was racing, tension higher than ever between you.

It felt like forever staring at each other. You weren't really sure who moved first but suddenly your lips were crashing into each other's with a fiery passion, hands roaming each other's bodies for the first time like you were starved for touch.

Somehow you had flipped and made it onto the bed, you on top of Tom as you rode his leg.

It wasn't long before shirts were removed, too, and bare skin was against bare skin.

"Mmm... Where... um... condom?" Tom asked between kisses, both of you breathing heavily.

You paused and sat up, straddled over his hips, thinking. It had been a while since you'd needed one of those.

You slid off of him and went to the bathroom, reaching deep into the back of the sink cabinet, thankful to find that the box wasn't expired. When you stood up, you almost laughed at the way your face was flushed and hair unruly.

When you returned, Tom was sitting up looking at you, brows raised.

"So we really doing this?" he asked. You couldn't help but smile, thankful for his respectful nature.

"I am if you are."

It didn't take long to fall back onto the bed again, eventually tiring yourselves out and falling asleep pressed against one another.

✧

You walked out of your bedroom, hair still wet from a shower, looking to make some coffee.

As the first mug brewed, Emily came through the door.

"Oh, hey!" she looked around. "Did Tom head back already? I must've missed him. I guess he slept on the couch since I don't see the air mattress anywhere."

You were unsure of how to answer, pausing as you leaned back against the counter.

Once you finally figured out something to say, you were interrupted by Tom opening the bedroom door. His own hair was also still wet, and he held your bedsheets in a clump in his arms.

"Hey y/n do you want me to stick these in with any clothes or- oh hey Emily," he said, not registering the situation as he passed by her to put the bundle in the washing machine.

Emily, on the other hand, was standing frozen in shock. She looked at you, pointing towards Tom, then back at you, a hand then reaching up to cover her mouth.

"Oh my... I- did you two..?" her fingers wiggled back and forth between you two. You couldn't help but blush. "Holy shit, you did!"

Tom turned and walked to you with a maniacal grin, standing in front you as he reached past your body to grab the filled coffee cup.

"It's definitely possible," he answered her, leaning down to press a kiss on top of one of the hickeys he'd left on your neck.

"Finally! 'Just friends' my ass," she said, unknowingly paralleling your own comment about her. She was about to open her mouth again when you cut her off this time.

"Yes, Em. We used condoms. Now tell me if I've got any dicks to cut off."

✧

A/N: byeeee I don't know how to feel about this. On the one hand I'm pretty proud of it but also this is nothing like how I am as a person or how I usually write so I'm definitely out of my comfort zone here haha

Hope you all enjoyed though! If you did please leave a like or reply or something! I have more one shots similar to this in mind if anyone wants more like it!

Thanks for reading!

Send a message or ask if you’d like to be added to my permanent or series taglists so I can verify you’ve been added!

@jackiehollanderr, @one-big-fangirl, @agentnataliahofferson, @spider-babe, @justafangirlduh

#just friends #tom holland #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland au #tom holland one shot #tom holland x you #tom holland x reader #tom holland fic

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bibliocratic · 4 years

Text

drunken nights

jonmartin, scottish safehouse, drinking wine and card games

fluff. just fluff.

His lips and teeth stained purplish, Jon finishes his drink with an extravagant flourish and beckons impatiently for the corkscrew.

Martin's put it down somewhere, so by the time he's uncovered it from down the side of the sofa, Jon's sourced a new bottle, digging into the soft flesh of the cork with the metal implement Martin's passed over.

Their second evening in the safe house has wound down grim and blustery, the creak of the cottage like a laden floorboard, and Martin is discovering Jon drinks exactly like a uni student.

“We should play a game,” Jon proposes grandly and decisively, holding up a finger like he wants to illustrate a particularly salient point in a lecture.

“Like what?” Martin says, content to let the words form and fall out of his mouth lazily, half-moulded like a cushion against the back of the sofa. Like some indolent Caesar, he holds his mug out, shaking it at Jon until he gets the message. Jon gives himself a triumphant and satisfied nod when he manages to top up both of their mugs – there was no glasses in the cupboards that they've yet found, and Jon seems content to fill the mismatched mugs up like he's pouring tea – without spillage.

“Let's do questions,” Jon says, passing back Martin's topped-up drink. He's gone blotchy around his throat, but he fixes on Martin with wine-bright eyes, bearing one of those smiles on his face that Martin never knew could come so easily.

“Don't you have.... y-your omniscient mind powers f'that?” Martin says, squinting as Jon, who had just sat down and sunk against him, in a resolute gear-change becomes a spiky thing with a mission, all elbows as he pushes himself back up to a wavering stand before lurching in the direction of the kitchen cabinets.

“I'm serious!” Jon replies, making a god-awful clattering racket as he pushes aside cutlery and tin opener and spatulas from their home in the top drawer that apparently holds everything, either kitchen-related or not.

Finally, with a little 'ah!', he brandishes like a dog-eared grail a grimy looking box of playing cards. “Daisy left these.”

“Makes a nice change from gaffer tape an' weirdly stained rope,” Martin burbles back, using the divinely-granted opportunity he's been bestowed to give Jon a shameless and fondly admiring once-over before Jon swivels around on the balls of his feet and Martin schools his expression mild and dopey. “Anyway, you want t' do questions, why don't we jus' play Never Have I Ever or summin'?”

Jon makes a face that is either currently remembering some beer-soaked student days or trying very hard to forget.

“My game's better,” he says, bee-lining back to his position squashed against Martin's stomach. He throws himself down heavily, and Martin gives a grunting, over-dramatic ooof as his favourite hedgehog-human elbows him while he reconfigures his seating. “'s fun.”

“You know the meaning of the word then?”

Jon sticks out his tongue. Martin tries to poke it with his finger, and Jon reels back with another one of those wine-laden expressions, earnest and open as a window.

“I want to know everything about you,” he says, struggling with finding the opening at the top of the pack, before he pauses, dutifully following up with a no-less sincere and concessionary: “But not if you don't want to.”

Martin takes the cards off him, not wanting to watch Jon martyr himself for hours trying to open something for the second time in as many days. (The raspberry jam was still unopened and apparently fused shut for later civilisations to one day come across. Martin had caught Jon trying to pop the seal with a knife and there had been words).

Jon sways and folds his limbs cross legged, body leaning towards Martin as he unpacks the cards into his palm.

“What questions then?”

Jon huffs.

“I'm not going to tell you, that's not the game.”

“What if you cheat though?”

“I won't!”

“'s what a cheater would say.”

“Martin...!”

“Tell y' what,” Martin grins, “Rules! You like those. Right – er – kay, if you use your ominous eye powers – ”

“I'm not going t – ”

“If. Then, then there's a penalty. 's fair, right?”

Jon grumbles another petulant 'not gonna' into his wine mug, the protestation echoing.

“I think...” Martin says slowly, blinking heavily, taking a big swig and sloshing it around his mouth. “...you should hafta take a drink.”

“I'm drinking anyway,” Jon replies impishly, with one of his own-brand smug expressions, and Martin shushes him with a shoulder-shove and a grinning 'another drink then!'

Jon takes the cards out of Martin's hands, almost folds the lines in his forehead in concentration as he tries to shuffle them, and then promptly fans them all over the sofa.

“A-and!” Martin says with a pleased smirk. “A-and I get another question!”

Jon makes the kind of sigh that implies he is possessed of saintly, near beatific patience for agreeing to such unreasonableness.

Martin leans forward and sloppily kisses Jon's hairline, and this seems to appease him. He tries to sit straighter up, fails and gives up up as a bad idea anyway.

The game is decided. It's simple and easy for their lubricated minds to parse – if a black card is turned over, Jon asks Martin a question. If a red, Martin asks Jon. Number cards are easier, more playful questions. Higher number cards and picture cards are more serious or personal questions. Any card can be refused at any time. Jon repeats this with an anxious frown until Martin nudges him with an elbow, sensing a spiral starting if he doesn't intervene, and demands the game be begun.

The rules go out of the window just as simply. Often they'll get tangled in the bramble-patch of some question, mouth full of reminiscences, clarifying or expanding questions batted back and forth like a casual and amenable round of some racquet sport. But, equally likely, debate will spring up over the numerical value of the question and that will cheerfully eat up the time as they spiritedly disagree on what sorts of information is worth what number.

“That's an eight at least, y' - you can't ask that until you've got at least an eight.”

“But I've not got an eight, I’ve a six.”

“Then tough, you better wait.”

“But you could tell me nooooww.”

Jon draws a nine of spades, and spends an over-long amount of time pondering the question.

“C'mon, hurry up.” Martin nudges him with a socked toe, and takes another gulp of his rapidly depleting wine.

“I'm thinking,” Jon pouts.

Martin stretches out, yawning, and then awkwardly manoeuvres himself so he's on his back, half lying on Jon's crossed legs, the rest of him stuck out over the arm of the sofa to dangle.

“You look silly upside down,” he says, following the line of Jon's jaw, his vision getting a little less concrete now but perfectly happy to float in his tipsy haze for a while.

Jon trails a hand through Martin's hair rhythmically while he ponders.

“I've got – yeh, yeh, I've got one,” he says finally. “Ok, here you go, right – when was your last relationship?”

“I had a three-week fling about five years ago with a guy called Manoj,” Martin replies, loose-lipped, riding the easy slide of the words slicking out of his mouth. “He's some high-flying investment banker now. Not good boyfriend material, you know, but we kept in touch, text sometimes if we wanted to hook up.”

The static in Martin's head fades enough for him to frown and shake himself free of the urge that just swept him along.

“Shit,” Jon swear. Martin doesn't like the blank expression of horror that's begun to creep like ivy rash, pushing aside his reddening inebriation. “Shit – Martin – I...”

“You're a cheat!” Martin declares quickly, efficiently sweeping all concerns about Jon's mild lapse from his mind in favour of smugly finger-pointing. “Cheat! That's – More wine! That's t'rules.”

“I – er.”

Martin's stumbling fingers reach down to the side of the sofa, and he sits up enough to fill Jon's mug again. It overflows a bit and drips on Jon's jeans and neither of them notice.

“You promised no mind powers,” he sing-songs, pushing the mug back at Jon.

Jon's expression seeps from heightened and horrified to a cautious mild embarrassment, and Martin feels a warm wash of a job accomplished.

“'was an accident,” he says as he sinks his face into the mug.

“Penalties are penalties.” Martin grins.

“You really have hook-ups with an investment banker?”

“Had. Past tense. Don't judge me.”

“I'm not – you can do what you like with your own body. Jus' they tend to be a bit...” Jon makes a most definitely judgy face.

“Stuck up?”

“I was going to try arrogant.”

“Maybe that's my type,” Martin says with a goofy wink, and Jon rolls his eyes. “And that was a sip, Jonathan, that's not a penalty.”

Jon drinks a little more. Martin bestows a graceless kiss against his cheek as a reward for his pains.

“And now my question,” Martin says.

Jon has the habit of drawing his eyebrows intensely together as he waits for each question, as though readying to give the enquiry the entirety of his attention.

“Alright. Go on.”

“Which one of my poems is your favourite?”

“I'm not answering that.”

“Why not?”

“Martin...”

“Fine. Another one. Non-morose answers only.” Martin bops Jon's nose. He's struggled through the reticence of his unruly limbs to sit up properly, and enjoys the fruits of his labours in that he can now more easily look at Jon while he's talking. “What do you wish you were better at?”

“Well, under such strict and unnecessary restrictions,” Jon says, who has taken advantage of Martin's more upright position to lean against him like a capsizing boat, his mug hugged against his breastbone. “Dunno. I've always quite liked the idea of – of getting into astronomy. There's all of the visually observable stuff, and it's fascinating, like it's – 't's really cool, the sorts of things you can see, even with reasonably cheap equipment, but then – then they've got this – this thing called radio astronomy, an' it's where you detect things like pulsars and stuff using radio waves, and it's really amazing, you know and – why're you smiling at me like that?”

“I'm dating such a nerd,” Martin laughs and fails to disguise how charmed he is, how wide his wine-stained lips are pulled. “That's adorable.”

“What about you then?” Jon says. He's going for affronted, but his hair is sprouting up fly-away, there's a strip of darkening skin over his nose and cheeks, and he has honest-to-god dimples that even his scruffy patch of beard doesn't mask when he smiles with his whole mouth. His happiness is a thoughtless, reckless thing and Martin thinks it's stunning. If he can figure out how to word it, he's definitely going to tell Jon, just blurt it out because Jon deserves to know, should be told how much his happiness means to Martin.

Jon swivels his body to drape his legs over Martin's knees, fidgets like a cat before he finally stills.

“Maybe baking?” Martin muses. He strokes the knobbly bone on the side of Jon's ankle, the skin fading smooth from the dark hair down his legs, and Jon twitches like he's ticklish. “I've never really...”

“Martin!” Jon says suddenly. Sitting up so fast in fact that he sloshes a blood-coloured stain onto his shirt.

“What?” Martin says, a buzz of threatened sobriety at whatever has broken their languid, lazy peace. Jon's putting his mug down and leaning forward.

“Martin,” he stresses again, and his face has filled up with a torch-bright light, dimples deepening. “There's flour in the kitchen. Martin, th-there's – I think there's... Eggs! We've eggs, 'n you got milk – let's make – let's make a cake!”

Martin blinks.

“What now?”

“Yeah, sure, now.”

Martin snorts.

“That oven's seen the Blitz, Jon! We'll need tetanus shots before we go near the thing.”

“N', n' it'll be fine, Daisy used it to make bread to disguise the smell of bleach.”

“God, that's not the ringing endorsement you think it is.”

“Hush, c'mon, let's go look,” Jon tries to stumble up and nearly drop-kicks his innocently placed mug. Martin breaks into a tipsy peal of laughter, squawks when Jon nearly collapses back onto him, almost headbutting him before he squashes his face with a petulant, slightly-off-the-mark kiss.

“Fine,” Martin half-slurs as Jon squirms, trying to separate them and drag Martin up from where he was entirety committed to being dug in for the evening. “F'ne, we'll look, kay, you pr'lly can't get rabies anyway with your mind powers.”

Jon staggers and nearly slips. Martin, feeling that it'll be better for all concerned if Jon is not allowed to do much walking for the moment, instead feels that now is a perfect moment to demonstrate every expression of chivalry he's always rather sappily wanted to shower a loved one with.

This firmly in mind, the idea growing better by the moment, Martin valiantly attempts to lift Jon in a wonky bridal carry.

Jon near shrieks with something that is both primal and delighted, but also rationally terrified: “Martin, your back!” Your back!”

“'s fine,” Martin grunts.

“You're going to do your back in!”

“If you keep squirming around, lemme get a good grip.”

“You're g-g-goin' to drop me, M-Martin!”

Tears are rolling down Jon's cheeks, his chest heaving in short-breathed gasping laughter that makes their small cramped living room seem bigger than it is. Martin does nearly drop him, but the sofa is still there for Martin to plant the hiccuping, giggling object of his devotions down upon safely. It takes a few minutes, but he convinces the leggy, laugh-shook drunkard he calls his own to clamber onto his back like a leggy koala, and this is more successful as Martin swayingly carries him into the kitchen.

(Their cakes are flat, lacking in sugar and near carbonated by the time they remember to take them out of the oven. Martin wakes up with Jon's hair in his mouth and a thundering pity-party of a headache made worse by Jon's snoring and he cannot for the life of him stop smiling).

#tma #the magnus archives #fic #jonmartin #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #fluff #i absolutely love that headcanon that jon and martin just spent one night at the safehouse just getting slaughtered and having fun #give them something happy #cw alcohol

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onyxiana-is-obsessed · 4 years

Text

Wings of Warmth! | Keigo Takami (Hawks) x Reader

AN: Ok, this was actually an idea that @lelawrites had in a discord server we’re in and she let me write it out! I can’t really get Hawks’ character down, but I tried my best! Pronouns used: She/her Length: 1.4k words

Summary: Hawks has gotten so used to using his wings to keep himself warm, that he no longer needs blankets, so he gets rid of all of them. Problem is, you’re spending the night and he has no blankets to give you to keep you warm at night.

Your Name: (y/f/n) Quirk: (y/q) Age: 22

Being the number 2 hero really kept Hawks busy. He rarely had a chance to sleep in his own bed, under his warm, comforting sheets. He was used to sleeping on uncomfortable beds with extremely thin and useless sheets, such as now.

A shiver racked Keigo’s body which made him huff and sit up on the extremely thin mattress. His hands clenched the sheets while his golden eyes glared down at it as if it were a person who’d said something disrespectful to him. With a sigh, he tossed the sheets off the bed and ran his hand through his messy hair. Another shiver went through him, making him shut his eyes as his large and powerful wings enclosed around him. A few moments later, he felt the heat build-up, making his eyes widen a bit. His dumbass was today years old when he realized his wings could keep him warm! 23 whole ass years before he realized this. He grumbled before laying back down, his wings laying against him, keeping him warmer than any blanket he had.

** Keigo had gotten so used to using his wings for warmth that blankets just no longer did it for him. Not only were they not warm enough, but they were so bothersome! He couldn’t freely turn without his wings picking them up, allowing a cold draft to infiltrate his barrier of warmth. He never used blankets any other time, so why would he use them in his own bed? At least the mattress was more comfortable. Deciding he’d had enough, Keigo stopped using blankets. He preferred to sleep with himself snuggly wrapped under his wings. After making a habit of that, Keigo realized his blankets were just gathering dust in his house, taking up unnecessary space that he may need later for some reason or other. So, he threw them out. Every single blanket. Even months after he’d gotten rid of them, he didn’t regret his decision… until now.

He’d met a wonderful, beautiful, loving, caring woman named (f/n). At first, she seemed like a rather innocent and simple person, but he was so wrong. She was neither innocent nor simple! She’d managed to wiggle her way into his life and his heart so quickly, it threw him into a panic. He’d met her one day and a few weeks later he was contemplating whether he was in love or not. He forced himself to wait a painful six months before he finally asked her out and much to his surprise, she accepted.

They were a happy couple, even though he was extremely busy. If he ever had time, he’d always visit her, even if it was an hour or less. (f/n) cherished every moment she could spend with him. He would often find himself at her house at night, where he’d talk to her until she fell asleep. This time around, however, he had invited her over to his place. Boy, was he nervous.

Although, after about twenty minutes of her being there, he felt all of his anxiety and worries melt away, making him return to his cocky and carefree self. (f/n) had spent about two hours with him before the two decided to prepare dinner together. The entire process was filled with laughter and joy, with Keigo smearing or throwing ingredients on her. Of course, she returned the favor. Right, right, they had an extremely great at-home date. Now, Keigo was in a bit of trouble. Without really thinking about it, Keigo asked (f/n) to spend the night at his place, mostly because he didn’t want her to leave. She was a bit shocked, but accepted the proposal with a bright and cheerful smile that made his insides melt.

Keigo had lent her some of his clothing so she could get out of her uncomfortable outfit. As she got changed into his shirt and shorts, she realized her bed didn’t have any blankets on them. Thinking he’d probably had them washed or something, she went out to his bedroom, which was right down the hall.

She knocked on his bedroom door, making him look at her with a smile. He totally- without being the least bit discrete- checked her out. She looked good in his clothing.

“Sorry to bother-”

“You’re never a bother, dove.” He winked, making her playfully roll her eyes.

“Do you have a spare blanket?” She asked, making his eyes shoot up to her face with confusing swirling in them, almost as if he’d never even heard the term blanket.

“What?” He asked as he tilted his head.

“A spare blanket,” She said, pointing to his bed. “I’m gonna get cold without one.” Cue the inner panic. He’d completely forgotten that normal people use blankets! He just asked her to stay the night and had NOTHING to keep her warm.

“Oh, right. Be right back.” He said as he gestured for her to sit on his bed while he went downstairs. He frantically looked through every cabinet and closet he had hoping a blanket would just magically appear. Not one! He really couldn’t even keep one blanket?!

Then again… he didn’t invite people to his house and definitely didn’t expect to be in a relationship where the person would sleep in his home. His quest to find a blanket failed rather miserably, however, he found a large and rather fluffy towel! Would that work? Shrugging, he returned to (f/n), who patiently sat on his bed scrolling through his phone.

With a bright smile, Keigo offered the blanket to her. (f/n) slowly put her phone down, her other hand grabbing the towel before an awkward laugh escaped her lips.

“This… is a joke right?”

“What do you mean?”

“Kei, this a towel.” She said. “It’s not even big enough for me.” He only frowned and looked away, his cheeks flushing red with embarrassment. (f/n) sighed and put the blanket beside her and took his hand. “Are they dirty? I don’t mind waiting till they’re washed. We can-”

“I don’t use blankets.” He interrupted, making her pause. “What?”

“I don’t use blankets. They’re annoying and they get caught on my wings. So I ended up getting rid of mine.”

“You got rid of all of them? Why didn’t you keep a couple?”

“I didn’t think I’d ever need them. Sorry.” He said, sitting next to her. She nodded, understandingly, before an impish smile made its way into her face. “Well, in that case, I guess you’ll have to keep me warm.” He blushed but smiled, feeling the embarrassment melt away.

“Oh, I can definitely keep you warm, dove.” His smirk made her scoff as she smacked his arm.

“Not like that!”

“Like what? I didn’t specify. You should get your mind out of the gutter.” He teased as he stood up and turned off the lights and shut the door. He then moved to the middle of the bed with (f/n) following his lead. He flattened one of his wings as he gestured for her to lay on it.

“Won’t that hurt?” She asked, making him chuckle.

“Do they look fragile? Because they’re pretty strong, dove.” With uncertainty in her eyes, (f/n) moved closer to him and laid on the large feathery wing. She felt the feathers move under her which made her gasp and move to sit up. Keigo chuckled and grabbed her shoulders and gently pushed her back down. “Relax, that didn’t hurt. I’m just readjusting.” His arms wrapped around her, pulling her closer towards his body as his other large wing gently covered them both. She half expected them to smell weird, like a bird’s wings, but they didn’t. They actually smelled the same as he did, which was a faint scent of lavender. (f/n) closed her eyes, burying her face into his chest as the warmth from his wings spread to the both of them. She let out a content sigh as his lips pressed against her forehead.

“This is really nice…” She mumbled. “Do you use your wings to keep yourself warm?”

“I do. That’s why I don’t use blankets anymore.” He admitted.

“I can see why. I like this better.” He smiled as his arms tightened around her smaller frame.

“It’s better with you here.” He answered. “Guess you can’t leave now, dove.” “Is that an offer? Because I accept.” She giggled, kissing his cheek. He felt on top of the world with her here in his arms. No matter what the world threw at him, he’d cherish (y/f/n) until the end of his days. No one would ever hurt his dove or take her away from him.

#mha #my hero academia #bnha #boku no hero x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader #bnha hawks #keigo takami x reader #mha keigo takami #bnha hawks x reader #my hero academia hawks

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worddevdealswithml · 4 years

Text

Failed Step 1 (And 2 (And 3))

Chapter 39:

Kagami was leaned up against the wall when Chloe looked back.

“So,” she said, “what now?”

Chloe paused, and, after a second, shrugged.

“How should I know? I was expecting you to go home when we were done?”

“It’s your house,” countered Kagami, “I wasn’t expecting to be here any more than you were.”

Chloe put up a hand loosely in front of her as if to say ‘Well?’

There was silence.

“A shower and a change of clothes?”

Chloe paused, and nodded, slowly. “I can make that work.” She made for the bathroom, gesturing for Kagami to follow her.

Kagami did so, following her into…

“This seems unnecessary.”

“High class,” Chloe corrected, not looking back. “The showerheads are each controlled by the handle underneath them. The left knob controls force, and the right one handles temperature. Don’t use the…” she pulled the curtain aside, for an instant. “green bottle. I don’t know what it would do to your hair. Also, the hair remover you sent me is in there.”

“Chloe, you do realize that even though it looks like a shampoo bottle-

“I know!” said Chloe, a bit defensively as she turned back, “but…” she grimaced. “Look. Back when I hated you, it was a whole thing that I couldn’t just throw it away, so I had to keep it somewhere, and I thought it would be really insulting to keep it right next to me but never use it.”

“I see.”

“Now,” said Chloe, looking her up and down, “are those clothes dry-clean, machine wash, or hand wash?”

Kagami blinked.

Chloe gestured. “If you’re going to be stuck here, I’d rather not have your clothes piling up in the middle of nowhere, and I don’t want them to end up with mine.”

Kagami tilted her head.

“You wouldn’t get them back for, like, a week.”

“Mm,” said Kagami. “I actually don’t know. Adrien got them for me.”

Chloe nodded, pulled out her phone, and…

She turned red.

“I don’t suppose you could ask Adrien about it, could you?”

Kagami, mentally, retraced the path that Chloe must have taken, and… Oh.

She looked at the shower, and then…

She pulled out her phone, unlocked it, and maneuvered to her most recent conversation with Adrien.

“Don’t say anything that doesn’t sound like me, and it shouldn’t be an issue.”

She placed the phone on the sink, and, as an afterthought, checked her pockets, but they were empty otherwise.

Chloe turned away from the shower, and stepped past Kagami going the other way. She picked up the phone.

‘Adrien, are the…

She paused, deleted it.

‘Are the…

‘The pants that you sent me…

She didn’t actually know how Kagami texted.

She looked over, mouth opening to speak, and-

Looked instantly back down, away from Kagami, carefully hanging her shirt from the knob of one of the drawers.

Okay.

No, this was fine. She’d just… she’d just get a sample of how she texted.

She scanned up the messages above

‘I believe in you! You’re going to do great!’

Adrien had sent it about 3 hours ago…

Normally, the words ‘invasion of privacy’ wouldn’t even have appeared in Chloe’s head but…

Maybe she should just-

Kagami had taken off her undershirt as well, and was hanging it on the next knob over.

Chloe resolutely vowed not to look over again until she was already in the shower.

She opened her mouth to ask but…

Images of Kagami pausing what she was doing and coming over to answer in her underwear pinged on Chloe’s mind like incoming enemies on a radar.

She looked a bit higher on the conversation, reading backwards through it.

‘lol’

‘I don’t think I want to learn.’

‘Wow, that’s actually worse, somehow.’

‘T e C h N I Q u E.’

‘You know what, I’m actually not going to apologize.’

‘The I autocapitalized, sorry.’

‘T e c h n I q u e .’

Chloe rubbed at her eyes, wondering if this conversation was going to make more sense by the beginning.

She scrolled up, and blinked, at… Adrien had sent a selfie.

He was posed for the camera. The lighting, even though he obviously didn’t have a set of dedicated lights, was immaculate, and his expression managed a combination of dashing and endearing that Chloe was absolutely certain would set the average girl’s heart alight.

Ah. ‘Technique.’

‘What do you mean by technique?’

‘But also, I’ve got to try teaching you selfie technique’

‘You look great!’

Adrien had sent a thumbs-up.

And then…

There was an image of Kagami, perfectly upright, with the camera in front of her face. She was wearing the formalwear.

There was the sound of a shower curtain pulling, and internally, Chloe breathed a sigh of relief.

She paused, waited a second for the matching sound of the curtain closing, and looked back up at the mirror.

So…

‘How do I clean the clothes you sent me?’

She’d probably been overthinking this.

Adrien would get back to her in a minute, no doubt, and she’d be on her way, and really, why would he think it was anyone but Kagami asking?

Now.

She looked over at the carefully hung formalwear, and…

There were the pants, of course, and the overshirt, the undershirt, but that was it.

Silently she made her way over to the cabinet they were hung from, and, frowning, squatted down to pull them loose.

“Chloe?” came Kagami’s voice.

“Yes?” said Chloe, looking up.

“Why is there a pedestal in the middle of this shower?”

“Uh- It’s for you to sit on,” she said, still distracted.

“I see…” said Kagami, and Chloe could just barely make out the sound of her sitting down. She sighed, gently, probably relieved to be off her feet, and…

“Are you ready?”

Chloe froze, mentally running straight into a brick wall.

Ready for…?

Was she missing something here?

She ran through all the options she could come up with for something that wasn’t absolutely terrifying.

“Yes?” she said, never feeling less ready for anything.

“Good,” said Kagami, and in Chloe’s peripheral vision, she saw…

For a second, she couldn’t parse what she was seeing coming over the shower curtain, and then, her hand grabbed out, finding something cloth, and-

The second object landed directly on her face, and Chloe fell back, landing with a thump on the bathroom floor.

“Chloe!?” said Kagami, a bit more urgently.

“I’m fine!” she called, realizing what Kagami had meant as she pulled the bra from her face. “I’m… Fine.”

The shower curtain pulled back, and Chloe managed to focus on Kagami’s head poking around the edge.

There was a moment of silence, as Kagami took in the scene.

“I guess I should have figured that was what you meant,” she said.

And then, Kagami laughed, almost abashed, and as the curtain pulled closed again, Chloe breathed a sigh of relief and… There was probably a word for what the sound of Kagami laughing made her feel, but it wasn’t coming to mind right now.

“I suppose I should have just… Left them on the counter.”

“Maybe,” said Chloe, pulling herself back into a sitting position, consolidating the clothing into a single pile in her arms.

“I just assumed it would be indecent to remove them while I was still outside the shower, and…”

Kagami laughed again, from the other side of the curtain. “If I’ve actually gotten you concussed this time…”

Chloe blushed remembering what that had entailed last time, and comparing it with Kagami’s current state.

“…then I’ll stay put of my own volition,” she finished.

There was the sound of the first showerhead starting up as she hurriedly stood up. No point in sticking around long enough that she made an even bigger fool of herself.

She pulled her head back as she finagled the door open, the clothes pressing a little too close for comfort, and…

There was a tag. On the inside of the collar of the shirt, there was a tag, and-

Chloe managed to get a hand free, and holding the bundle of slightly damp clothes, flipped the tag up.

She ran quickly through the other garments, and checked their tags as well.

“Kagami!?” she called over her shoulder.

“Yes?”

“They’re machine washable!”

Tagged for: @obliviousasheck

#Miraculous Ladybug.#ML #Miraculous Fanfic #Failed Step 1 #Chlogami #Chloegami

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mrswhozeewhatsis · 5 years

Text

A Woman of Letters (Getting a Feel for Sam Winchester) - Chapter 18

Summary: You’ve just opened an occult bookstore in Lebanon, Kansas, when you fall for a tall, handsome customer…literally. You soon find out that there’s more to the world than you ever suspected, including you. Discovering your heritage puts you directly in a witch’s crosshairs, though, so the Winchesters offer to take you in and teach you how to protect yourself. As you discover your own family history with the supernatural and your own hidden talents, you can’t help but wish a certain brother was as excited about your interest as you are.

Total length: 43 chapters, 70,247 words - Read on AO3 - Series masterlist

Chapter word count: 1947 words

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Warnings: Canon-level angst and violence

You

The next few days continued as that one had. You got up in the morning, had breakfast with Dean, did target practice in the mornings, self-defense in the afternoons, dinner with the brothers and sometimes Cas, and then evenings either in the library reading old files with Sam or watching movies with Dean. You appreciated the movies Dean liked, though you didn’t get quite as excited about them as he did. Dean seemed to like getting you caught up on his favorites. Apparently, Uncle Lloyd had shaped your movie experiences, too, having kept you from going out much with your friends to see what was popular. Dean took it upon himself to make sure you were completely caught up with Star Wars, all the Die Hard movies, and even Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit movies, though they seemed to make him more emotional than the others. When you actually saw tears running down his face during one of them, you snuggled close to him on the couch and rubbed circles into his arm. He finally paused the movie and told you about Charlie. By the time he was done, you had wrapped your arms around him and he was curled into you, silent tears soaking into your shirt. The force of the grief you felt coming from him was so great that you also had tears running down your face. When he turned the movie back on, the two of you stayed close together, you tucked under his arm. After that, it wasn’t uncommon for you to snuggle against him while you watched whatever movie he had decided you needed to see. Sometimes Sam and Cas would join you, but you always found yourself next to Dean.

The hours you spent in the library with Sam were precious to you, though. When he was poring over old books and barely knew you were there, you would sit close to him and just enjoy the lack of static while you pretended to read. Even though you and Dean had gotten close, he felt more like a big brother to you. His job, and he said this to you often and loudly, was to protect you and make sure you knew how to protect yourself. Oh, and teach you everything he thought you should know about pop culture and classic rock. He also took you under his wing in the kitchen, expanding your skill set to baked goods, especially pie. You still couldn’t whip something up out of nothing, but now you had more experience with different kinds of recipes. The best part of your time in the kitchen was when Dean would talk. He would finally open up about his life with his Sammy, from the fire that took their mother, to the demon taking their dad, to his time spent in Heaven, Hell, and Purgatory. When you were with Sam, though, he’d occasionally give you an actual smile with that warmth behind it, and you’d almost swoon. It took you hours longer than it should have to go through the records you were studying because you kept getting lost in thoughts about Sam. There were so many questions running through your mind about him, and you could never get up the nerve to just interrupt his work to ask him.

The worst was when Sam started showing up in your dreams. You had dreams before this that could possibly be Sam, but this was definitely Sam. The day after the first dream, and it was a very good dream, with his warm hands and long fingers all over your body, you couldn’t even look at Sam. It was a rare day when he’d slept in instead of going for an early run, and he had breakfast with you and Dean in his pajama pants and a tight t-shirt. His hair was still messy from sleep, the shirt showed off his arms and shoulders, and the pants were just barely hanging onto his hips. When he reached up into the cabinet for his cereal, he showed off just a strip of skin for half a second, and it took you a moment to catch your breath. Scenes from your dream flashed through your mind…Sam kissing you in the library, Sam’s hand touching you innocently in any number of places, Sam’s shoulders under your hands as his lips found your neck…and you felt your face flush. Cas had showed you the trick he’d taught Sam to contain his feelings, and you spent a moment studying your eggs and bacon while you carefully put your lust-filled thoughts in with the rose quartz crystals in the bookstore in your mind.

A few days after Sam had started translating the journals, he was done. He spent another day waiting on Cas to review his work before he would show you the finished product. During that day, you found your grandmother’s file in the Men of Letters records. When you saw her name, and tracked down the file on her, you whooped so loudly Dean came running from his bedroom, gun drawn. When he saw you were triumphantly holding a file in your hand, he relaxed, and let out a sigh.

“Son of a bitch, Y/N! I thought Rowena had found a way in here through a vent or something!” You laughed at Dean’s exasperated face, and just grinned.

“After five solid days of sneezing through dusty files, I found my grandmother’s file! Sam was right!” You held it up in triumph, looking toward Sam to see if he was as excited as you were. He was smiling, but all you felt from him was static. “I’m sorry for doubting you, Sam.” Sam nodded, but said nothing. Dean set his gun down on the table and walked over to you to look over the file with you. You both sat down, and started reading together, Dean’s arm around the back of your chair. By the time you were done, you were in awe.

“So? What does it say?” Sam was smiling smugly, and you had a feeling he would already know the answer.

“My grandmother was listed under psychics, and her file says she was an empath, a lie detector, and what they called a persuasive. Apparently my uncle was right. She could nudge people into doing and thinking what she wanted. There are a bunch of experiments they did on her in here, and it looks like it was my grandfather who supervised most of them. I guess that’s how they met.” While Dean started reviewing the file in detail, you looked at Sam. “But you knew that already, didn’t you?” You gave Sam a grin that you hoped would get him to let his walls down for a second. Sam smiled, but behind it was still static.

“Your grandmother talked to your uncle about it before she died. Assured him that your father didn’t have the gift, but suspected you did. At least, that’s my translation. I want Cas to make sure I got everything right before I give everything over to you.” Sam looked down at the papers for a moment, and you felt the static lift for a just a second, giving you a short burst of warmth before it returned. “There’s a lot of really personal stuff in here, and I don’t want there to be any misunderstandings.” The smile Sam gave to you was warm and almost shy, and it would have completely melted your heart if it weren’t for the static behind it. Instead, you thought you felt your heart crack.

In a moment, a wave of different emotions rushed through you, and you knew they were all yours, faced with the static from Sam. Why couldn’t he let his guard down just a little? Because he thought he was making it easier for you. Why did it bother you so much that you couldn’t feel him? Why did it make you happy that he cared enough to keep himself from hurting you? Why didn’t you have the courage to tell him that it was unnecessary? Dean interrupted your thoughts as he flipped through the file.

“I bet we could do some of these experiments here. You know, see if you have all of your grandmother’s abilities or not. I think we’d need to find someone you don’t know, though. What do you think, Sam?”

“That might not be a bad idea. Any tools Y/N has to help defend herself are tools she should learn how to use. I bet if we called Hank, told him he could make it up to her for freaking her out that first day, he’d come around and help.” Dean nodded at Sam.

“Looking at this, though, he’d have to be almost as clueless about her as she would be about him. Otherwise, the experiment would be tainted.” Dean pushed the folder over to Sam, and they spent the next few minutes discussing experiment parameters and such. You considered your new-found talent as a “persuasive” while the brothers chatted. Had you ever used your gift without knowing it? Obviously not with Uncle Lloyd, or at least not successfully, but maybe with teachers or friends? Suddenly, a wash of different memories of times when you had debated issues and won hit you. Had you been using an unfair advantage? As you reviewed each instance in your head, one in particular stood out.

You had convinced Crowley to save the Winchesters. Without knowing what you were doing, or remembering that you were mimicking your grandmother at the time, you had persuaded Crowley to bring the brothers back to you. Hand on arm, eyes locked, and a desperate plea, and the King of Hell had done your bidding. You felt your face pale and your eyes widen.

Sam covered one of your hands with one of his and asked, “Are you okay, Y/N?” You looked up at him with your mind still blown.

“I persuaded the King of Hell to bring you back to the bar parking lot when you were fighting Rowena.” Your voice was soft and strained with the shock of what you had done. Both of their jaws went slack.

“Y/N? Do you mean you used your gift and persuaded Crowley to do something?” Dean’s voice was incredulous. You nodded silently.

“Tell us exactly what happened,” Sam said. You told them about Crowley’s original plan to use you as a hostage if they failed to kill Rowena at that moment, and that he hadn’t planned on pulling them out of the apartment. However, after you asked him nicely, he had immediately rescued them. Not only that, he’d done it with a smile.

The brothers looked at you and then each other with wide eyes, then started talking more about how they could test you and wondering how far you could really make someone go against their own desires. While they chatted, you pulled out your phone and texted Cas.

YOU: Are you nearby?

CAS: Yes. Sam called me earlier and asked me to come and review his work, so I’m on my way. I’ll be there in less than an hour. Are you okay?

YOU: I’m fine. We’ve got news about my abilities that I wanted to share with you. And I want to practice with you some more, if that’s all right?

CAS: It would be my pleasure. See you soon.

What followed was a string of emoticons your phone couldn’t read, and a few that showed up but still made no sense to you. You chuckled, and Dean looked at you with a smile. You held up your phone with a grin.

“Emoticons.” Dean laughed.

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ladyvegeets · 6 years

Text

Edible 4

-For all those asking for more Edible. Inspired by @okebtrash’s adorable picture of Bulla patching up her papa with bandages.-

Read Edible on AO3 or FFnet.

~xox~

Vegeta stared down at the beautiful woman he — by some stroke of luck — called his wife. Bulma lay sprawled beneath him. The soft glow of morning highlighted the rise and fall of her chest, flushed cheeks, and matted hair. ‘Thoroughly fucked’ was one of his favorite looks on her.

The column of her throat beckoned. He leaned in to kiss it while contemplating an encore.

“Mmm,” she sighed sleepily.

Ah, he knew that tone. She was exhausted, even now her breathing was evening out. What time had she come to bed? He couldn’t recall, having fallen asleep waiting up for her.

Damn. Perhaps waking her up so early for this wasn’t the best of ideas.

He gently pushed off. She made a half-hearted sound of protest as he wiped her clean, but was half-way asleep by the time he tucked her in under the blankets. With a final kiss to her brow, Vegeta pried himself away, ignoring the instinct to stay and watch over his mate.

He headed for the spare bathroom by the kids’ rooms so as not to disturb Bulma’s sleep while he cleaned up. Along the way, hushed voices caught his attention. He slowed to a halt.

Trunks and Bra were coming down the opposite end of the corridor, the older boy bent to whisper in his little sister’s ear. “—just remember, don’t tell Dad or—”

“Don’t tell me what?”

Trunks froze, the color draining from his face.

“Papa!” His daughter’s face lit up and she came dashing towards him. “I’m BLEEDING!”

What?! For a sickening moment, Vegeta couldn’t breathe.

“Bra, you snitch.” Trunks slapped a hand over his face with a groan.

Bra came to a halt by his boots and raised her skirt to show off her bleeding knee. A tiny wound. But the impression it left was huge. Vegeta scooped her up before laying murderous eyes on his son, the same glare he had leveled enemies with. “Boy, you have five seconds to explain yourself before I send you to the afterlife.”

“Dad, c’mon. We were playing outside and she tripped. No big deal, I swear.”

“Tunks says I might get a scar like you, Papa!” Bra announced excitedly.

“Bra!” Trunks hissed with desperation, begging her to stop making the situation worse.

Vegeta tightened his fingers over his daughter. “Oh, he better hope you don’t. Trunks, go make breakfast. Your mother worked late last night, so you’d best be quiet. I’ll deal with your lack of common sense regarding the care of your sister later.”

Trunks made a sour face but dragged himself off to the kitchen without further protest. Vegeta shifted Bra’s weight in his arms, brushing back her fly-away hair. “Let’s get you fixed up.”

“Okay.”

He carried her to the bathroom and set her on the sink. “Is this the only place you’re hurt?” he asked, looking at the graze on her knee. It was already scabbing over. Thank you Saiyan genes.

“Uh-huh.”

Such a wound for a Saiyan was inconsequential, but he wasn’t about to take any chances with his little girl. He cleaned the wound and dug around in the cabinet, pulling out a box of all-purpose band-aids.

“Nuh-uh, not dose ones. I wannit the ones with the staw-bees!”

Vegeta sighed and kept searching.

“Papa?”

“Hn?”

“You have lotsa scars.”

Glancing down, he saw Bra scrutinizing his torso. It was the same look Bulma gave when puzzling out a malfunctioning invention.

“Did you fall down too?” his daughter inquired.

If anyone else accused him of tripping over, Vegeta would have ended them. Permanently. But Bra’s world-view was small and innocent. She meant no insult, and she certainly couldn’t comprehend the suffering or horror that he had endured and inflicted to earn his scars. Like hell he was going to ruin that innocence just yet.

“…Something like that.”

“Oh… You’re really clumsy, Papa.”

His cheek twitched. Thankfully Bulma wasn’t around to hear that one; he never would have lived it down.

“So it would seem. But what’s important is that I picked myself up again. Every time.”

Her little brow furrowed with contemplation. “You didn’t cry?”

A few unpleasant memories resurfaced. “…Only when it really mattered.”

She fell silent, and he resumed his search for the bandaids.

Ah. Finally. A box of bandaids with cartoon strawberries smiling obscenely at him was tucked away in the far back corner. Someone really needed to organize this cabinet better. Vegeta dug it out and peeled open a plaster, smoothing it over his daughter’s knee.

“How’s that?”

Bra lifted her leg to examine his handiwork. “It’s crooked.”

“Then fall more symmetrically next time.”

She laughed, her whole face lighting up. At least someone got his sense of humor. The sound was infectious, wriggling under his skin and easing the tension in his body he wasn’t aware he carried.

Despite himself, he smiled back. “Alright, Princess. Let’s go check on your brother.”

“Okay.” She made grabby hands, and Vegeta picked her up. As they walked towards the kitchen, her chubby fingers traced a scar on his shoulder.

“Papa, did your Papa help fixit your hurts too?”

His mouth thinned. His father? Now that was an old wound. Time had mostly healed it over but it still stung when dug at. “No, he didn’t.”

Couldn’t.

Or wouldn’t.

A side-glance found Bra watching him with big blue eyes. He stopped his thoughts before they ruined the morning.

“What do you think Mommy would like for breakfast?”

Bra gasped and bounced in his arms, excited to know the answer. “Staw-bee pancakes!”

Vegeta smiled and carried her off to the kitchen as she chanted the words over and over.

~xox~

Bra wasn’t watching where she put her spoon. It missed her mouth, smearing mashed sweet potato over her cheek. She rubbed the mess away with the back of her hand, eyes fixed on her parents.

Papa sat on a kitchen stool, his face as grumpy as the troll in her Saturday morning cartoons, only the troll didn’t usually bleed bright red from a cut on his brow. Mommy was sewing up Papa’s hurt. he didn’t look happy about it, but still he allowed her to fix him. After all, Mommy was very good at fixing broken things; she had fixed her toys more than once.

“Can’t you and Son ever go easy on each other?” Bulma asked.

“Tch. That is not how true warriors train. Besides, I gave Kakarot as good as I got, and more.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Bra adjusted her spoon and this time found her mouth. Blergh. Her nose scrunched at the taste of cold vegetables. With a careful glance to make sure her parents weren’t watching, she spat the food back on her plate.

“This is entirely unnecessary,” Vegeta grumbled. “You know it will heal on its own.”

“Not before bleeding all over the damn place. Besides, it’s deep enough that it might scar, and I think you have enough of those.” Bulma finished her stitches and put a bandage over the wound. With a warm smile she leaned in, nudging her nose to Vegeta’s. “There. As rugged as that might look, I’ve grown fond of your face the way it is.”

He huffed, his large hands grabbing Bulma’s hips and pulling her closer. “Why do I tolerate you?”

Bulma nuzzled his cheek. “Let’s go to bed and I’ll remind you.”

He started to smile, but then his eyes slid to the side where Bra was still pretending to eat. “Echalotte.” She snapped upright at his sharp tone. “Did you finish your dinner?”

Her plate was mostly untouched. “Uh… not yet, Papa.”

“Stop dawdling.”

Her head lowered at his reprimand. Papa rarely told her off; she didn’t much care for the experience. Sullenly, Bra pushed her vegetables about on her plate, kicking her feet into the kitchen counter below.

“I’m going to wash off,” Vegeta said, and left Bulma to pack up the first aid kid.

Still sulking, Bra smooshed her peas into her plate. “Mommy?”

“Yes honey?”

“Why do you helpit Papa? I don’t think he likes getting fixed.”

Bulma laughed. “Ah, your father just thinks he’s too tough for help. But truth is, he’s not used to getting any and doesn’t know how to ask for it.”

“He doesn’t know how?” Bra asked, amazed there was something Papa couldn’t do.

“Nope. So I just help him.”

Bra reflected on that as she swirled her food into paste. Papa was always helping her and Tunks and Mommy and even the whooooole universe from evil bad guys. It didn’t seem fair that he couldn’t ask for help in return.

“Mommy?”

“Yes?”

“Thanks for helping Papa.”

Bulma smiled and came to sit by her. “Of course.” She brushed Bra’s bangs out of her face. “That’s what families do: help each other. Because we love each other, right?”

Bra beamed. “Right!”

“Now finish your dinner.”

“Ugh,” Bra whined, dropping her head forward in defeat.

~xox~

Blood splattered the ground where Vegeta walked. His wife would be pissed. Bulma hated when he made a mess but in a roundabout way, this was her fault. Sure, he might have asked Bulma to increase the intensity of the training bots but she was the one who exceeded his expectations. If he didn’t know any better, he would think his wife was trying to kill him.

Goddamn she was amazing.

Still, he had underestimated her upgrades and now suffered the consequences. With some luck, he hoped to make it to the bathroom before anyone noticed.

He limped passed the living room where Bulma’s mother was keeping an eye on Bra.

“Oh my!” Panchy exclaimed. “Vegeta sweety, don’t you look a fright.”

So much for not getting noticed.

At Panchy’s announcement, Bra’s head jerked up from her coloring book, her eyes going wide seeing the state of her father. “Papa! You’re hurt again?”

He paused. “It’s nothing. Keep drawing.”

Bra ignored him, hurrying over and grabbing his hand. It made his heart tighten to see how tiny her fingers were compared to his. Bra examined his wounds, her brow furrowing mightily. What had got her so worked up? She had seen him injured before. But before he could ask, Bra sprang off down the hall. “Wait, Papa. I’ll helpit!”

Ah, goddamn it. Off to fetch her mother, no doubt. With a heavy sigh, Vegeta followed. May as well get this over with.

But he didn’t get far. The patter of little feet heralded Bra’s return, a box of bandaids held in her chubby hands. She looked at him with the same determination he had seen countless times on her mother’s face.

“Okay, Papa. Let Bra take good care of you!”

Well fuck. How could he say no to that?

With a sigh, he sunk into a sitting position before her, and allowed his daughter to play nurse.

Just like her mother.

“You have so many hurts,” Bra tutted as she stuck plaster after plaster on him. At least it wasn’t the goddamn strawberry ones. “Don’t worry, Papa. Families helpit each other.”

He peeled open an eye to look at his daughter’s earnest face. Family… Did he ever imagine he could have such a precious family after everything that had happened to him?

Bra was opening another plaster when he scooped her up into his arms and hugged her tight.

“Aren ilgnen kalor, Echalotte,” he whispered fiercely in her ear.

“Papa!” she squealed, and soon her laughter filled the corridor as he tickled her sides and nommed her tiny neck.

~xoXox~

#edible #vegebul #echalotte #ladyvegeets #okebtrash #fanfic #edible au #bra #bulla #bra briefs #vegeta #trunks #bulma #papa getes #staw-bee #briefs family

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stripestheboar · 7 years

Text

Stagnant Decay Chapter 6

<<- First

<- Previous

Next ->

This is a bit shorter than usual, I suppose.

Summary: Dust grows more comfortable in the household, especially Papyrus, offering to assist him in an attempt to bond.

“Perhaps you require some rest!” Papyrus suggested, pulling away from shuddering Dust. “And you’re shivering worse than before! Was the water too cold?”

“No,” was his reply, presumably to both questions. “I’m fine… you don’t have to worry about me anymore. I promise.” Though Papyrus was confused by what that meant, he didn’t protest. With Sans, he usually fought and pushed and pried until the smaller skeleton gave in and let him help, but for now, he was backing off. “If you say so,” he sighed. “But on the bright side, you look much better! Your clothes are still being washed, so you’ll have to get used to these ones for now, if that’s fine with you.” Dust looked down at the old hoodie he wore, seemingly fond of it; Papyrus could faintly remember giving the article to Sans for Christmas. The not-Sans slowly put the hood over his skull, taking a moment to rub the article against his clean bones, seeming as though he was mild bliss. He didn’t blame him. The fabric was soft compared to the stiff and now uncomfortable feel of his usual jacket, tattered and more confining with app that gray powder. He didn’t just look clean, but also seemed more alive. While he still had those heave sockets and sagging movements, the bath had definitely done a few wonders. “I feel better,” he replied softly. “Thank you.”

“Oh it’s no problem at all! After all, Papyrus is the greatest host!” The taller skeleton came to a full stand and gestured downstairs. “You at least need to sit down. You’re shaking like a wobbly leaf! Here, we can watch a movie together. Maybe that will help you get some sleep.” Dust didn’t say anything in return, but nodded slowly, walking downstairs with him with his hands stuffed into his pockets.

By the time he got to the bottom of the stairs, Papyrus was already on the couch, his legs crossed and picking up the remote. He trudged over to the other side of the couch, sitting down and curling up slightly in silence. “It’s a movie I’ve been waiting to watch for a while,” Papyrus hummed happily, searching through the channels. “It just came out on TV and I recorded it as fast as I could! Apparently it’s called ‘Ruff Ruff Precious Puppy’.” The TV showed the cover of the movie on full display. Dust wasted no time in replying.

“It’s not good,” he said. Papyrus blinked in surprise, looking over at him with a furrowed brow bone. “Hmm? What do you mean? You’ve already seen it?” he asked, but Dust just shrugged. “You could say that. It’s just not good. You won’t like it.” The taller skeleton stayed silent for a moment, before laying back against the cushion. “Well I certainly don’t want to see a movie I won’t enjoy.” He looked over at the other skeleton. “Does this call for a ‘thank you’ on my part? I suppose it does. Thank you for warning me against the treachery of what would have been a bad movie. I should ask Alphys about it when she gets around to watching it.” He stopped to think for a moment. “Well, now that the movie’s over quicker than I expected, I should make us some lunch. How does spaghetti sound?”

“Spaghetti sounds great, Paps,” Dust mumbled with a contented sigh. “Then spaghetti I shall make!” Papyrus cheered, coming to a quick stand and hurrying off. The smaller monster watched silently, lost in his own thoughts, before getting up and following.

Once he was through the door, he was met with the scene of Papyrus turning he heat of the stove way past maximum and smashing a few tomatoes with all his might. It was what Undyne had taught him during his training sessions with him, and in order to achieve her recipe, he needed to be as aggressive with the tomatoes as possible, showing them no mercy when it came to putting them in their place and making them into a thick paste. He was stopped, however, when someone grabbed his arm.

“Let’s turn this down a bit,” Dust murmured, using his unoccupied arm to turn down the hight of the flames. “Here, let me help you.” He let go of his arms and went into the pantry to grab the stool. He did find it, of course, but Papyrus had never told him about it in the first place. Perhaps he just happened to see it earlier on.

Dust placed the stool next to the taller skeleton and stepped onto it, now around the height of his companion’s ribcage. He had also grabbed a bottle of olive oil along the way. He poured a bit of the slick liquid into a pan. “If you want it to taste better,” he explained slowly, “then you should try to sauté a few of your vegetables.” Papyrus looked confused, but nodded and leaned in to watch. “So no smashing?” he asked, admittedly eager to learn. “No, you can smash the tomatoes,” Dust replied, “just take it easy. No need to liquify them, okay? We need a lot of it and scraping it off the wall isn’t as appetizing as Undyne’ll have you believe.” He leaned over to the cabinet and grabbed a few, never-before-used spices. “You’ll also want a bit of this. It makes your food taste better.”

“Are you saying my food is bad?” Papyrus to quick to ask, but Dust kept his cool. “‘Course not, Paps. Your food tastes great, but this makes it taste better, okay?” He grabbed a garlic clove. “You’ll want to sauté this, first, and not too much, okay? Maybe two cloves of the head.”

Papyrus couldn’t seem to respond. He watched, taken aback by his words. He wasn’t offended or mad by any means, he was just surprised. Sans had never offered to teach him how to cook.

“How about onions?” he asked, handing a bulb over. “What do you do with these?”

“Peel them and dice a bit of it up,” the other explained. “Then you sauté them and any other vegetables you want to add. The only vegetables that need mashing are tomatoes. Just chop up whatever you want and add it in, alright? You can do that, I know you can.”

Papyrus seemed almost lost for a moment, pausing to process the words of encouragement, and wasted no time in preparing the vegetables. This would be the first time he ever used a knife in cooking. Undyne had always said they were unnecessary. For him, of course. He quickly brought over the diced up vegetables, the questions he’d long had about cooking spewing out as he sought to learn more. Dust was slow in his movements and responses as usual, but never seemed to be bothered by all the questions. He actually seemed rather cheerful about it.

“How long do you cook the noodles?”

“Depends. These kind? I’d say eight minutes.”

“What do you do with the tomatoes?”

“You cook them with the sautéd vegetables. You don’t just scrape them off and put them on the noodles all cold n’ stuff.”

“How hot do you make the stove?”

“For the sauce? Simmer. The water? Boil it, but don’t overdo it. They’re supposed to be cooked slowly.”

These question persisted all throughout the cooking session. Papyrus found himself more than eager to learn, while Dust seemed happy to tell him every small detail, teaching him how to stir the noodles so the water didn’t go flying, or cooking the sauce slowly to draw out the flavor.

“Alright, I think it’s ready,” Dust said under his breath, though just loud enough for Papyrus to hear. He took a spoon, dipped it into the sauce, and had a taste of their creation. “It’s great,” he grinned, dipping it in once again and handing the spoon over to Papyrus. The trainee was reluctant at first, and who could blame him? The skeleton didn’t even eat his own food. Still, with the intention of being polite, he took a small taste anyways. He was pleasantly surprised.

“This is… this is really good!” he exclaimed, watching Dust make a small plate for himself. “But who could ever doubt it with the combined skills of the Great Papyrus and his new cooking friend?”

“Yeah, who could ever doubt you-“

“Honey, I’m home,” someone called from the living room, causing the two to turn their attention to that room. Sans soon stepped in, his typical lazy grin spread across his face as he entered the room. “Sup, Papyrus?” he chuckled. “What smells good?”

“Well, you see, I was cooking wi-“ Papyrus stopped in his tracks. Dust was no longer there. He had disappeared into thin air. “I was… just cooking.”

“With who?” Sans asked, noticing the stool. “Did Frisk come over? Try to teach you a few things?”

“No,” Papyrus replied, perhaps a bit more curtly than he had meant to. “Really? You become best friends with a cook book?” his brother asked. There was a slight pang that the younger skeleton hadn’t felt in quite a while. “Why?” was all he asked. “Well, seeing as you like to read and cook, a cookbook would be your best friend,” Sans shrugged, leaning against a chair of the table. “Besides, it’s not tall enough to reach the counter, so it would probably need a stool.”

“Would you like some?” Papyrus was quick to ask, but he got a shaken of the skull as a reply. “Sorry, bro,” he replied. “I’m sure it’s great like always. All your cooking’s great, but I already ate at Grillby’s for breakfast, so I’m kinda full. Need a bit of a nap after all that eating.”

“Oh that’s just like you,” he sighed, a bit less enthusiasm present than usual. He lifted his voice a little, making his tone sound more jovial. “You’re such a lazybones! Too lazy to even eat more!” He began to pile food onto a plate for himself, which was quite an oddity.

“Yup. That’s me,” Sans replied slower than usual, watching Papyrus for a moment. There was silence for a moment, before he decided to speak again. “How about that movie you wanted to watch? What was it? Pretty Puppy or something? I can watch it with you, if you want. I know you wanted it pretty badly, y’know,” he offered. “Though, I might fall asleep to it.” He added a small chuckle at the end for good measure. “No thank you,” his brother replied, causing Sans to stop as he headed for the living room. “No?”

“Mmhmm. I hear it’s not that good, anyways,” he explained. Sans furrowed his brow, walking back over to him. “Who told you that?” he asked, a sudden purpose coming to his voice. “Someone spoil the movie for you? You didn’t hear it from Mettaton, did you? I wouldn’t trust the guy. I can tell when I guy’s bad at watching movies. I know; I’ve Mettaton of them.” Papyrus groaned at that as usual, though it wasn’t as dramatic as it usually was. “That was awful, Sans, but no. I just… heard about it on the internet,” he made up.

Sans watched him for a few seconds, his expression not changing. With a shrug, he gave a nod, said his goodbyes, and headed upstairs. Papyrus just sighed and took a bite of his spaghetti. He had to admit, it was really good. He took another bite, savoring the taste as he headed towards the living room.

Dust was sitting on the couch when he got there, his own plate of spaghetti sitting on the coffee table untouched. Even though he had Sans’ expression, his looks, and even his voice and way of concealing emotions, he looked absolutely seething right now. Papyrus said nothing and sat beside him. “You two should meet,” he said softly, grabbing the remote. “You would like each other.”

“No. We wouldn’t,” Dust whispered, his shaking only intensifying as he hid his sockets under his hood. “Trust me. I know.”

#Sans #Papyrus #dt!sans #Dusttale Sans #Undertale #Stagnant Decay #fanfiction #Coonfics

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dragonbagel · 7 years

Text

Bonded - Part 18

we’re nearing the end! read it on ao3 here.

“Fuck!” Jack shouted as the phone call disconnected.

That little shit had hung up on him, and had even had the audacity to freaking apologize to him as if that would soften the blow. The blow, by the way, was the fact that his boyfriend was in lockdown and he had no way of checking on him. Or taking care of him. Or doing anything other than twiddling his fucking thumbs like an incapable loser.

He couldn’t even take his all-consuming anger out on that piece of shit Robert since it would likely hurt Rhys again; that, and the fact that Tim had locked the alpha up at his own place so that Jack “couldn’t do anything stupid.” The precaution was completely unnecessary, in Jack’s opinion, although what he wouldn’t give to have his hands wrapped around that douchebag’s throat again…

Okay, maybe it wasn’t totally unreasonable. That didn’t mean he had to be happy about it, though. He felt restless as he paced through his penthouse, electing to blame his twitchiness on his frustration rather his guilt, lest he add any more shame to the heaviness in his chest. How was he supposed to know that he was hurting Rhys? It wasn’t like there was some guide book for all of this shit. He was just trying to protect his boyfriend.

If you thought about anyone other than yourself you’d know that.

He couldn’t stop himself from shuddering as Vaughn’s words replayed in his head. No, he chided himself. This isn’t my fault.

But when he thought about the way Rhys had looked at him back in that nightmarish hotel room, the pained, terrified glint in his eyes, he began to think that maybe that tiny voice was wrong.

Jack didn’t hear from Vaughn for another three days. He didn’t know why he expected to, considering the less-than-pleasant terms they’d last spoken on; maybe it was the anxiety clawing through his chest and threatening to chew through him from the inside out.

The text from Vaughn only consisted of four words, yet still managed to send a jolt of hope through the constant, inescapable fog that had been surrounding Jack everywhere he went for the past week.

Heat’s over. He’s fine.

The alpha responded with thanks just moments after, a gesture which, while a bit undermining to his whole “total badass” image, didn’t even faze him in his newfound happiness. He even decided not to shoot the dumbass researcher who showed up in his office moments later with overdue paperwork (a sad attempt to make up for the insane amount of air-lockings that had taken place while Jack had been stuck worrying about Rhys).

He’d tried to convince Tim to go to work in his place multiple times (wasn’t that the entire point of having a body double?) but had been shot down. He was pretty sure Tim was plotting with Vaughn behind his back, considering both of them seemed to hate him at this point. But you know what? Screw them. Rhys was back to himself now, so Vaughn had no reason to play babysitter/bodyguard anymore.

Smirking, he pulled up Rhys’ contact on his phone and hit call. He listened to the phone connection ring for a few moments before Rhys picked up.

“Hello?”

Rhys sounded exhausted, but at least he was talking. At least he’d answered him.

“Rhysie!” Jack said, grinning.

The alpha wished that he could see Rhys’ face, but the video feature of the call was disabled. Jack wasn’t about to push it, though. “How’re ya feelin, cupcake?”

“Like shit,” Rhys replied, coughing.

Jack frowned in concern. “I tried to come see you earlier.”

“Yeah, Vaughn mentioned that.”

“I’m sorry, pumpkin, but muscles wouldn’t let me in and--”

“It’s okay,” Rhys interrupted. “It was probably… better that way.”

The omega seemed to sense Jack’s hurt, because he quickly elaborated. “I could barely think when it was bad. I wouldn’t- well, I don’t know if I would've recognized you, and that could have been, uh, not good.”

Jack nodded, although he couldn’t prevent more guilt from washing over him. “Listen, babe, I’m not exactly great at this shit, but I’m-- I’m sorry, cupcake.”

Rhys was quiet for a moment. “It’s not your fault.”

“Your friend seems to think it is,” Jack said dryly.

“Yeah, well, you know; it’s Vaughn.” Rhys chuckled, but it sounded too hollow for Jack’s comfort.

“Still don’t know how you manage to live with him,” Jack joked, trying to lighten the mood.

“He’s my bro,” Rhys said, and Jack could hear the rustle of fabric as the omega shrugged. “Listen, I’ve gotta go.”

“Already?” Jack asked, realizing how much that made him sound like a desperate teenager.

“I’m tired, Jack,” Rhys said simply.

“Yeah, yeah,” the alpha replied, waving him off in a last-ditch effort to actually act like an adult. “Get some sleep, kiddo.”

Rhys yawned. “Talk to you later, Jack.”

Jack continued to stare at the phone long after the call ended.

Apparently the “later” part of Rhys’ statement had no expiration date, because he hadn’t responded to any of Jack’s calls for three days now. He would’ve been worried that Rhys had somehow airlocked himself had it not been for the constant influx of weapon prototypes gracing Jack’s desk with the omega’s signature on them.

“Is he ignoring me? Is that what’s going on?”

“Jack, I’m not a therapist,” Tim replied, rolling his eyes. “Is this seriously what you called me into your office for?”

“So what if it is?” Jack snapped, his patience all but gone.

“I have work too, in case you didn’t notice,” Tim said dismissively.

“Did you forget who your boss is, cupcake?” Jack asked, eyes narrowed.

“Nope,” Tim said, popping the ‘p’. “But we have a new sniper rifle shipment going out in a few days I need to oversee, and I don’t think I’m being paid to offer relationship advice.”

“Fine, whatever,” Jack said with a scowl. “Just get out of here.”

Tim frowned, feeling a bit guilty for blowing Jack up over something he was clearly stressed out about. “Listen, just give Rhys some space. It’s gonna take him a while to get over what, erm… what happened.”

Jack knew that Tim was right, but those words were the very opposite of what the alpha wanted to hear. He waved Tim out without another glance, returning to his new favorite hobby of glaring at his phone and waiting for Rhys’ name to pop up on the screen.

But the call never came.

Jack didn’t know what he expected to see when he opened the door to his apartment at nearly one in the morning, but it certainly wasn’t this.

Rhys, whom he’d barely spoken to in weeks, was standing before him with a practically maniacal grin on his face. Jack took a startled step back as he realized Rhys’ features were speckled with blood, and his grey suit had sizeable stains of scarlet on it as well.

“Well? Are you gonna let me in, or are you just gonna stand there and stare at me?”

“I, uh, sure,” Jack said, his eyes never leaving Rhys as he moved aside.

“Thanks, handsome,” Rhys said with a wink, pausing to appreciatively smack Jack’s ass before striding into the kitchen.

“Um, Rhysie?” Jack asked tentatively. “What the hell are you doing?”

The omega was looking through Jack’s obscenely large liquor cabinet, his eyes lighting up as he pulled out a bottle of “above-your-pay-grade” champagne and two thin glasses.

“I,” he said, setting the glasses down and popping the cork off the bottle, “am making a toast.”

Some bubbles and froth trailed from the bottle onto the tiled floor, but Rhys ignored them, continuing to look smug as hell as he filled each glass to the brim.

“You know that stuff’s expensive, kitten.”

“Yup,” Rhys said, licking a bit of spilled champagne off of his finger. The movement was mesmerizing, and Jack definitely would’ve been popping a massive boner if he wasn’t so concerned about Rhys’ strange demeanour.

“This one’s for you, handsome,” Rhys said as he handed Jack one of the glasses, which the alpha cautiously took.

“You sure you’re okay, cupcake?” Jack asked, a bit of his overfilled drink sloshing over the side.

“I’m better than okay,” Rhys replied, his smile huge.

Jack was about to question the omega’s sobriety when Rhys raised his glass in order to make his toast. “To me,” he said, his expression smug. “And to Robert, the stupid motherfucker, may he rest in pieces.”

“Christ, Rhysie, what’d you do?”

Rhys didn’t respond, instead clinking his glass against Jack’s before downing his drink in one go. Jack remained frozen in place, his eyes never leaving Rhys’. Only once the omega was finished swallowing did he answer Jack’s question.

“I stabbed him again,” Rhys said, grinning as Jack’s mouth fell open. “But this time, I did it right.”

#rhack #rhack tftbl #rhack fic #Rhys the Company man #Handsome Jack #omegaverse #bonded #trash writing

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systemfailuresunshine · 7 years

Text

A Little Bit of Fun - Elsa Chapter 21

Author: @systemfailuresunshine

A/N: Chapter 24 is coming, I am currently on jet lag time but I have maybe a third done and a lot of ideas. Hopefully, it’ll be up by the end of the week. I live in hope! Thank you for the continuing support x

Word Count: 2255

Warning(s): Fluff, as usual

Summary: A shopping trip results in an interesting afternoon...

“So you’re being very quiet today,” Bucky mused as you sat in the main area watching TV. “What have you got planned?”

“Who says I have anything planned?” you replied, trying and failing to hide the smirk on your face.

“That,” he poked the side of your mouth with his finger. “That little smirk says you have something planned.” He paused. “And you came home with shopping bags this morning, and you never get up early unless you have to.”

You pouted and then laughed. “Fine! But it’s a good idea!”

“I think I’ll be the judge of that,” he smiled.

You both turned their attention back to the TV and watched as more news broke until something dawned on you.

“How are your ribs?” you asked.

“My…” he stopped. “I guess they’ve healed.” He lifted his shirt slightly. “They don’t hurt anymore. Then again, they haven’t hurt for a while now but I’ve been too distracted,” he looked pointedly at you. “To say anything”.

“Does that mean that we can carry out my plan now?” you grinned.

He pulled you closer to his side and kissed the top of your head.

“Told you there was something planned.” He stood up and held his hand out to you.

“What does this plan involve?”

You took Bucky’s hand and stood up, intertwining your fingers as you led him back to your room. He sat on the bed as you crouched down to rummage in the bags you’d brought home that morning. Placing anything unnecessary for the plan behind you, Bucky chuckled as he watched you fill the space in front of him with sweets, balloons and paper chains.

“This plan isn’t for a party, is it?” he asked.

“No, that’s just some stuff for Steve,” you said, head still in a bag.

Bucky’s eyes widened as he realised that there was only a week until Steve’s birthday.

“I’m a terrible person,” he said.

You, still crouched, turned around, confused.

“No, you’re not.”

“I forgot it was Steve’s birthday next week! How could I do that?” his voice was pained.

You stood up and moved to sit next to him on the bed. He scooted down to give you room. Sitting down, you took his hand in both of yours.

“There’s still a week to go – we have tons of time!”

He hung his head slightly and you used one of your hands to prop his chin up so that he was looking at you.

“I have a plan, don’t worry. It’s gonna be fine,” you smiled and brushed some hair behind his ear, bringing your hand back down to cup his cheek.

He leaned forward and pressed his lips against yours. Glancing down at the mess around them on the floor, he squeezed your hand before putting some of the party equipment in a spare bag. You looked at him bemused.

“In case he walks in,” he explained. “You know what he’s like.”

You grinned at him before beginning to pull more things out of the bags. A few moments later, you had a row of boxes lined up. Bucky eyed them suspiciously before moving his gaze back to you.

“I hope this is for Steve’s birthday,” he said wryly.

Your eyes lit up as you grabbed the boxes and took off out of the room. He shook his head at the empty space where you had been only seconds ago before following you.

Bucky found you in the kitchen talking to Clint.

“So bathroom in ten minutes?”

Clint winked at Bucky as he left.

“I assume you’re in on this too? There’s no way she’d just test it on one of us!”

Bucky looked puzzled.

“You have no idea what you’ve let yourself in for, do you?” Clint said.

Bucky chuckled uneasily.

“Not so much.”

“Well, I’ve been tasked with collecting towels so I guess I’ll see you there,” Clint laughed as he walked off.

Bucky turned to you, as you were collecting snacks from the kitchen cupboards.

“You know,” he said, coming up behind you and wrapping an arm around your waist. “You still haven’t told me what we’re doing.”

You turned round, smiling at him.

“How do you feel about dyeing your hair?”

“Any particular reason?”

“No, I just want to see what you’d look like with blue hair,” you said. “Plus Clint wants a streak of purple so I thought I’d see who else wanted in and go from there.”

“The worst thing I’ve done to my hair is grow it so I wouldn’t know what to do.”

“It’s a good thing I’ll be there to help then.”

He slung an arm around your shoulders and led you out of the kitchen.

“Yes, it is.”

“Are we going to be listening to music?” Bucky asked as you sat in the bathroom, his hair draping over the side of the bath in preparation.

“Of course!” you were enthusiastic. “Otherwise it’s just no fun.”

“I’m suggesting hip hop,” Clint piped up.

“Are you sure you wanna go there, Clint?” you asked. “I could easily take you down in one of the Cabinet Battles.”

“I’m sure,” he said sarcastically. “But you’ve been off your game lately, (Y/N). Too much hanging out with the ice princess.”

Bucky held his arm up to interrupt.

“I’m right here.”

Clint ignored him.

“I’m just saying. More dates mean less time to practice.”

You pulled a strand of Clint’s hair to tie it back with a hair tie and he yelped. You smirked at him.

“That’s for insulting my rapping skills.”

“What’s this all for then?” Bucky asked as you walked over to him and turned on the shower. “Group bonding? An excuse to take your frustration at us out on our hair?”

“It’s temporary dye! I’m not an idiot,” you smiled, taking the shower head off the wall and kneeling down beside him. “Plus, who knows what permanent dye would have done to the prized Stark bathroom?”

You heard a loud gasp from outside as Tony stalked into the room.

“Alright,” he started, staring at everyone individually. “If you’re planning on ruining my bathroom, temporarily or otherwise, I want in.”

“Good thing for you,” you said, letting the shower head rest in the bath and shaking one of the full boxes of hair dye. “I have an extra box! What do you think of red?”

A shock of blond hair appeared at the door, as Tony dragged Steve into the bathroom, their fingers intertwined.

“I guess if Tony’s taking part, I have to be here to supervise.”

Tony pouted, which made Steve laugh. He bent his head to kiss Tony’s pout.

“Don’t you trust me, Rogers?” you raised an eyebrow.

“You,” Steve considered, settling into his new position on the bathroom floor. “Mostly. The others, not so much!”

“Right, electronics on the side. I don’t want anyone to die while we’re doing this,” you instructed.

The others nodded begrudgingly and pulled their phones out of their pockets. Tony also took off a smart watch. You rolled your eyes, which were bright with mischief. You began running your fingers through Bucky’s hair as you moved the shower head around making sure every strand was wet. Clint sat reading a magazine he’d found in one of the bathroom cupboards, whispering along to the music, while Tony read the back of one of the boxes of dye.

“You know, I’m still not entirely convinced you’re not gonna ruin my bathroom,” Tony said, looking up at you.

You turned back to him as you picked up the bottle of pre-mixed blue dye. You faced Bucky again.

“I guess we’ll just have to wait and see,” you said, pouring the dye over his hair before putting the bottle down and massaging it in so that every inch was covered.

Bucky closed his eyes, his lips parting as he felt your fingers on his scalp. Tony glanced at the two of you and made a gagging sound.

“The fact that I can’t see your face is not helping with my concern,” Tony piped up. "I also can't see what you're doing to Barnes but by the sound of his breathing, I don't think I want to know!"

"Tony, what the hell?" you asked.

He chuckled but not before saying "There are a lot of rooms in this Tower. Maybe you should take one of them."

You smirked as you sat back with your head against the bath.

“Just gotta let that sit for 20 minutes and then we can wash it out.”

“20 minutes?” Bucky groaned.

“It means you get to see Tony look ridiculous while you wait?”

Both Bucky and Steve laughed while Tony scowled.

“I’m glad you both think this is so funny. Now scoot along, Barnes. The sooner my hair gets done, the sooner I can stop looking ridiculous and continue looking awesome.”

Steve shook his head and sighed, the corners of his mouth quirking upwards as he surveyed his best friend and his boyfriend: one with dripping newly-dyed blue hair, the other getting his hair done.

“I was thinking red streaks,” Tony mused, looking up at the ceiling as he sat on the floor with his head tipped back.

Clint had joined Tony and Bucky at the side of the bath. Steve had grabbed a stool from the kitchen to get the best possible view of the madness.

“Aren’t you a little old for red streaks?” Steve teased.

“Yeah,” Bucky chimed in. “Won’t they stand out amongst the grey?”

He winked at you as you rolled your eyes but you were unable to hide the smile that crept onto your face. Tony moved his head so that he could try to see what was going on, but you stopped him before he could drip red over the floor.

“I’m presuming you don’t want your bathroom to look like a crime scene?” you asked.

Tony let out a strangled cry before answering.

“No, thank you.”

“Then stay still.”

You turned to Steve.

“Don’t tease him, it’s not fair in his position.”

Steve glanced at Tony and his face softened. He looked back at you.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Right!” you said suddenly. “I think it’s time to wash these dyes out.”

“Finally,” Bucky breathed. “My neck is killing me!”

Ten minutes and lots of blow-drying later and Tony, Bucky and Clint were pushing each other out of the way to see their new colours. Clint’s single purple stripe stood out proudly against his dirty blond hair. Tony’s red streaks would take a little bit of getting used to but they would go well with his suit. Bucky was the most shocking of all. His once-brown locks were now a brilliant blue, which took on a different dimension every time he stood under a light source. He kept tucking it behind his ears and then releasing it almost as if making sure it was real. Tony and Clint made their way into the kitchen to show the others with Steve, reluctantly, in tow. Bucky and you could hear the commotion, mostly from Nat and Sam laughing. Even Rhodey had made an appearance and was shaking with amusement in the corner. Just as you were about to follow the others, Bucky pulled you back by the hand. You reached out tentatively to run your fingers through his blue fringe.

“It suits you. In a strange sort of way.”

“Thank you,” he said, quietly. “It was an,” he paused, trying to think of the right word. “Interesting experience.”

“If you don’t like it, you can say,” you smiled. “I won’t be offended.”

“No, I do,” he said, hastily. “It’s just... I’ve gotten used to seeing myself one way and now it’s almost a re-evaluation. Like every time I look in a mirror, I have to remind myself that it is actually me.”

“Is it sort of like,” you started.

“Yeah, I guess it is,” he finished, guessing your question.

“Well then, let’s discover the new you together,” you said, taking his hand and moving towards the kitchen.

You looked back suddenly.

“If you want to, that is.”

He squeezed your hand.

“I think a fresh start has been long overdue.”

You rounded the corner to the kitchen as Tony made his way back into the bathroom to collect his phone.

“(Y/N), where did you…” there was a long pause and then “(Y/N)! My bathroom!”

“Oops!” you cringed.

Bucky gripped your hand tighter and grinned.

“Run!”

A/N: I have returned from holiday so hopefully it is business as usual from now until probably September. If anyone wants to draw Bucky, Clint or Tony with their new hair, I would be honoured! Nearly 7 months into Elsa and I am still blown away by your support so thank you.

Thank you all, as always. Please like, reblog, share, etc if you liked and have a good week everyone x

Taglist: @buckyywiththegoodhair, @buckys-shield, @justkeeplaughing-nevergiveup, @itscooltobehappy, @the-renaissance

If anyone else wants to be added (or removed), just message me on here (@systemfailuresunshine ) or on @story-prompt-lyrics!

#bucky #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #avengers #avengers imagine #my writing #elsa

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lurkch · 7 years

Text

Look The Other Way

Pairing: Leonard McCoy x Reader

Beta: None. You have been warned. :P

Warnings: None that I’m aware of.

Word count: 1978

A/N: This is for @outside-the-government‘s Winter Blues Challenge (Rules Here | Challenge Masterlist Here). My prompt is in bold.

"Explain to me why you skipped coming to see me about this and went straight to this alternative horseshit?" Dr. Leonard McCoy asked you, pulling the curtain back from around the bio bed, the rings scraping against the bar as he flung it closed behind him.

"Don't yell at me," you said between clenched teeth from where you were sitting on the bio bed. Seriously, the day was bad enough. Yelling at this point was just unnecessary cruelty.

"I yell because I care, dammit," he said, quieter than before but certainly nowhere near a regular speaking voice as he approached the bio bed.

"Well, care a little more quietly. I've gone blind, not deaf."

You could hear the whirring of the tricorder and the movement of air around your face as he waved the device around, assessing your vision. What you couldn't do was see, not that it was remotely necessary in order to imagine the look on his face.

"What the Hell were you thinking?" He growled at you. There was a pause while he presumably assessed the tricorders readings. "Goddamn snake oil energy booster horseshit."

"I was thinking I'd avoid a lecture by the pissiest doctor in the 'Fleet." You crossed your arms over your chest in an effort to look angry, rather than scared shitless because halfway through your shift your vision had started to blur, and since then it had deteriorated further so that all you saw was a dull smear of shadows and light. Now even that was fading.

"Yeah? How's that workin' out for ya?" His voice came from a different point from when he'd last spoken. Somewhere around the meds cabinet. You turned your head to where you thought he was before answering.

"Not well, thanks for asking." You flinched as there was an unannounced sting against your neck as he suddenly reappeared and injected a hypospray. You winced and narrowed your eyes at where you thought he was. He was most definitely pissed if he didn't even warn you given that he knew damn well you had a dislike for medical treatment.

"Going to tell me what that was? It's not like it's my body or anything."

"Oh, now you care what's in your body? Pity you didn't think about that earlier when you were making yourself blind."

"But it's so hard to do something stupid if you take the time to stop and think about it."

"What're you laughing at," McCoy said, his voice directed away from you. There was muffled laughter, probably from the nurses station, that stopped abruptly. "If I figure out who's snickerin' behind my back I'll put them on biohazard detail for the rest of the mission so I suggest y'all shush. Now."

There were a few more snickers followed by the swish of a pneumatic door. Probably decided on an impromptu coffee break until the coast was clear. You wished fervently that you could go with them.

"Lay down," he commanded. Usually that was the kind of order that made you wet and was followed by a whole lot of hands on doctoring in his quarters. Today was not usual. The bio bed shook as he punched at the controls furiously.

"I think we caught it in time. At least you had the good goddamn sense to say something right away."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Is it what the Hell I see in you? 'Cause I'm beginning to wonder myself."

"Jesus, Leonard. I know losing my eyesight is hard for you but can you trying being a little less of an asshole until I can see well enough to walk away? Your bedside manner is really starting to piss me off."

There was a long silence and then he sighed deeply. "I'll have Chapel check on you every once in a while. Let her know if you need anything."

The swish of the bio bed curtain followed, leaving you to listen to the assorted beeps of the Medbay, awash in the scent of antiseptic and the feel of the coarse bio bed sheet, and try your very best not to feel abandoned.

You tried to quell that little seed of terror that was always planted when you were at the mercy of medical personnel, but in spite of yourself it took root in the pit of your stomach, inexorably making its way towards your throat. You clenched your hands on the sheet and tried to force the terror back through sheer force of will but the effort made your eyes tear. When you opened them to try to blink back the tears you realized that your vision had gone completely black and the best you could manage was to cry quietly and hope no one could hear you.

The sound of someone pulling back the curtain around your bed startled you. You must have drifted off because your face felt tight from your dried tears.

"I brought you a warming blanket." It was a woman's voice, probably Christine Chapel. At least Leonard hadn't come back to keep yell at you. "It gets cold when you're not moving around in here."

You felt a warmth envelop you as she spread the blanket over you, putting the control in your hand and showing you how to adjust it.

"Can I get you anything?"

You shook your head no, fresh tears welling up behind your eyelids. Your efforts to keep them from spilling over where in vain and you could feel them running down your face.

"Are you okay? Does it hurt?" Christine's gentle questions were enough to push you over the edge, and you started sobbing in spite of yourself, feeling like an absolute idiot for not being able to hold it together, which only made you feel worse and sob harder.

"I can't see," you said when you could manage to speak again. Taking the tissue Christine placed in your hand and wiping your face. Your eyes were starting to throb.

"I know it's hard," she said, taking the tissue from you and giving you another one as fresh tears welled in your eyes.

"Is it supposed to be getting worse though? I can't see at all anymore." You heard a hitch in Christine's breathing, and then her hand on your face steadying your head.

"Let me take a look," she said. You opened your eyes and waited as she examined your eyes, following the directions to look straight ahead, up and down, left and right. After a moment, she took her hand away, handing you yet another tissue. "I'll be right back."

You shivered under the warming blanket, trying not to panic as you heard Christine go into Leonard's office, the door swishing shut after her and blocking out any of their conversation.

Shit. You'd really fucked up this time. Leonard was right, you were a complete and utter idiot for not just telling him you had too much work and instead trying to stay awake longer to squeeze in studying, working, and training using that energy booster crap one of the engineers swore was harmless. You knew better and you did it anyway.

The swish of the curtain and Leonard's hand on your arm startled you out of the pit of despair your mind had been digging. He went through the same exam that Christine had just done. You could hear the sound of his voice and hers but even though they were right next too you, you just couldn't process the sounds to get meaning from them as you focused on just trying to breathe as panic threatened to asphyxiate you.

There was a pinch on your arm and gradually the panic melted away and you could focus on the world around you again, the low level anxiety churning your stomach made you feel ill but otherwise kept to itself.

"How'r ya doin'," Leonard asked, his hand finding yours under the blanket and squeezing gently.

"M'okay." You felt like you were floating and detached from your body. Your mouth wasn't working right either. "Drugged me, you bastard."

"Yeah, had to. The anxiety was raising your blood pressure and making things worse. I need to put some drops in your eyes. Think I can do that without them getting washed out?"

"Mmm. 'Sss." Your eyelids drifted shut. So tired. "Hole," you finally said, remembering to finish your word. You heard Leonard asking Christine how much she had given you. He sounded amused and you just wanted to smack him but your arms felt like lead so you just glared at him until you remember it wasn't very effective with your eyes closed so why bother. — The next time you woke, Medbay sounded crowded, lots of conversations and movement. No one was yelling or screaming though. Shift change, you decided, rather than emergency. Great. Did anyone even remember you were here?

"Welcome back, sleepyhead," Leonard said from right beside you. The rhythm of the bio bed increased as you remembered why you were here and tried to open your eyes. You felt his hand on your arm and one on your jaw line, brushing away fresh tears that had sprung up.

"You're fine, I promise," he whispered in your ear. He tucked a tissue in your hand and you felt a weight being lifted off your eyes—an eye mask. "Open your eyes."

You opened your eyes but everything was a dull grey smear. A lighter spot moved across your vision and then disappeared. Leonard replaced the face mask.

"It might take a day or two, but your vision will come back," Leonard said, settling in again beside you from the distance of his voice and the creak of the chair. "How do you feel about getting out of here?"

"How'm I supposed to do that? Can't see for shit, remember," you mumbled.

"Well, the only reason to keep you here is to keep your anxiety down and make sure you can take care of yourself. I'm willing to bet you'd have less anxiety in either your quarters or mine as long as someone's there."

You felt Leonard move closer, his breath tickling your ear. "You know, when you lose one sense, you become more aware of the others. Like touch. I can promise you one Hell of an apology if you'll let me, Darlin'."

Well, shit. There it was. That tone that made you want to spread your legs and take him in, no matter how fucking pissed off you were with him five seconds earlier. You had a love/hate relationship with that voice and he knew it.

"I sorry I vented my anger at you. And I'm sorry I didn't take your white-coat anxiety into account." He massaged the tense muscles at the crook of your neck and waited for your verdict. "It makes me anxious when you get hurt, you know."

"It better be a good apology," you muttered, pushing yourself up and letting him push the blanket aside and help you sit up on the bio bed.

He helped you down, briefly holding you against him when you stood up so that he could whisper in your ear but no one else could hear. "I'll spend all night apologizin' if necessary."

"Oh, it's going to be necessary," you said, swaying a bit as he let go. Staying upright without eyesight was not as easy as you thought.

He pressed his lips to yours briefly, but you kept your mouth closed when he tried to deepen the kiss. "You're really gonna make me work for this aren't ya," he said against your lips.

"Absolutely."

"It's a good thing I find you sexy when you're angry."

"That's going to cost you."

"I'm always willin' to pay, Darlin'." He pulled back the curtain around the bio bed and guided you out. "I have the feelin' tonight's going to be expensive."

#write away the winter blues #leonard mccoy x reader #star trek aos #star trek fanfiction #mccoy x reader #leonard horatio mccoy #leonard h mccoy #doctor leonard mccoy #leonard mccoy #bones mccoy #leonard bones mccoy #fan fiction #fanfic #fic

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