#Moving In Together

[verfound]

FIC: "The Dorm" (MLB; Lukanette; LBSC Lukanette Month 2024)

@lovebugs-and-snakecharmers is doing a Lukanette Month for September 2024, and we all just kinda tossed some prompts in the disco to compile a list?  We ended up with 71 prompts, so I decided I’d roll some dice to pick a prompt, do a twenty minute (ish, bc we all know sometimes they run away from me) sprint, and try to get some short fics out this month?

Read on Ao3

Prompt 22: Dorm

Luka wasn’t sure who was banging on his door at…seven o’clock on a Sunday morning, but he had Words for whoever the hell it was.  Colorful words he had learned at entirely too young an age from the Captain that he probably shouldn’t use in polite company, but it was seven o-fucking-clock in the fucking morning on a fucking Sunday, and he wasn’t feeling very polite.

The banging continued, and Luka groaned as he scrubbed at his face.  He finally reached the door and yanked it open, ready to chew out whoever the hell was on the other side.

He swore to God, if it was Dingo…

Except it wasn’t.

It was Tom.

Still wearing a flour-dusted apron and looking…kind of desperate.

What the fuck…?

“Luka!” he cried, his smile as wide as ever but filled with too much nervous energy.  He looked like…well, Marinette stressing the night before a big project was due.  “So glad you’re up!  Can I come in?”

“…I was not up,” Luka said, numbly, as he blinked at the man.  “Just because I’m ‘up’ now doesn’t mean I was ‘up’ when you…Tom.  Tom.  Do you realize what time it is?”

“I would have come earlier, but Sabine seemed to think you’d still be asleep,” Tom said, and a strangled laugh was startled out of Luka.  And Tom HADN’T?  Hadn’t he known him long enough to know better?  On a SUNDAY?  “Please, son.  It’s important.  I have a huge favor to ask you.  It’s about Marinette.”

Luka was suddenly very ‘up’.

…awake!

Alert!

Not…God-fucking-dammit he needed some coffee…

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his brow furrowing.  “Is Marinette all right?”

“Luka.  Son,” Tom started, wringing his hands anxiously in front of him, “have you seen her dorm???”

– V –

The problem had started about a month ago, when Marinette was first looking into student housing.  Technically she lived close enough to ESMOD that she could commute from her home at the bakery, but it had been important to her to live away from home while she was studying.  After so many years fighting Hawkmoth, she had wanted that freedom.  That independence.

Luka could understand that.

Her mother could understand that.

Her father, on the other hand…Tom had always been protective of his little girl.  And that was fine, usually.  He just loved her fiercely and unapologetically.  It was one of the things Luka loved about him.

It was also one of the things Marinette was finding particularly…well.  Smothering.  At the moment.  And she desperately wanted the chance to live on her own.

Student housing was usually reserved for international students or special cases, so she had had to start looking for nearby flats to share with fellow students.  Juleka and Rose were moving in together and would have offered a spare room, but their own respective universities were far enough away that it made commuting just a bit trickier, and Marinette hadn’t been willing to risk exposing the Miracle Box using Kaalki for transport every day.

“You could portal your scooter,” Luka had suggested, shrugging, but she had just rolled her eyes and nudged his ribs with her elbow.

“Kaalki would throw a fit,” she insisted, “and it’s still too risky.  Yeah, Hawkmoth…Gabriel’s in prison now, but the city is still tense.  Gabriel had his Miraculous too long for Paris to not be.  Ladybug is still needed, at least for now, and I can’t just go tossing portals all over the place.  You know better, Luka.”

He did, and he usually respected and supported her decisions when it came to the Miracle Box  - she was the Guardian, after all – but he was still…concerned.  The places she had been looking at weren’t…well.  He would rather her risk a portal and live with his sister, where he knew she’d be safe, than stay at half the places she’d looked at.

He had never really thought Paris was so…dangerous.  Before.

She had eventually found a place, although it wasn’t…it didn’t…they all had concerns.  To put it nicely.

“…why don’cha have her move in with you?” Dingo had asked him when she had first brought them over.  Well.  She had invited him, but he had been with Dingo when he’d gotten her call, and Dingo had refused to buzz off.  Something about how he ‘hadn’t seen his baby girl in months, Lulu – stop hogging her!’  Or something.

“I can’t do that, Ding,” he had sighed.  “She’s not…we’re not…”

He wasn’t quite sure what they were anymore.  Less than what he wanted but more than what he’d ever hoped for.  Asking her to move in felt like it would tip that delicate balance, but he wasn’t sure in which direction.  He wasn’t sure he could live with it, if she said no.

“You barely live here,” Dingo had sniffed.  “She could keep your bed warm for you while you’re on the road.”

He had said it with an impressive waggle of his eyebrows.  It was almost a shame Luka had had to shove him into an alley (and a pile of overripe garbage bags tossed next to a dumpster) as they passed.

(He had resumed the argument the day before, when they’d helped Marinette move in, and had kept it up well into the night – which was part of why Luka was so cranky that Sunday morning.)

Still.  The place was…fine.  It was fine.  For a first flat.  A ‘dorm’.  Her roommates were…all right.  He was trusting her, and she had looked so happy as she’d showed off her room with the kinda-sorta-maybe broken window (it was just the lock, not the glass, and Luka wasn’t sure how he felt about that) that he couldn’t just…declare it a shithole and insist she find somewhere else.  Somewhere like his flat, with its locking windows and running water.

“It’s a work in progress,” she had conceded when she’d seen their expressions, “but it’s home!  I’ll make it work!”

Which is what led him to Sunday morning, barely awake after staying out with Dingo until entirely too late (early) Saturday Night and listening to Marinette’s father rant in his living room.

“Make it work?” Tom parroted, staring at Luka with wide eyes.  Apparently he had tried to surprise her with a ‘First Day Breakfast’ – but she had still been asleep, still wiped from the day before, and he had left her coffee soaking into the welcome mat when one of her neighbors had come out of his own door and asked if Tom was the new dealer.  “She’s going to make it work?!  Luka, you’ve seen the place – she’s going to get herself murdered!”

“She can handle herself,” Luka had offered, even though he very much had the same concerns.  Still.  It was Marinette’s choice, and he was trying to respect that.  “She’s going to pick up some pepper spray.  She knows how to hold her keys.”

“Oh, yes, because that will make it all right when some ruffian mugs her on her way home from the library!” Tom scoffed, still fuming.  He stalked over to the couch and sat down on the crates Luka used a coffee table directly across from Luka.  “Luka.  Son.  I need you to do something for me.  For Marinette.”

“Anything,” Luka said automatically, without hesitation, because of course he would.  If it was for Marinette.

“I need you to ask her to move in with you,” Tom said, and Luka froze.

Well.

He almost froze.

He was pretty sure his eyes bugged out and his mouth dropped open.  Then he froze.

“She will, Luka.  If you ask.  I’ve already tried to convince her – Dingo’s already tried,” Tom said, shaking his head.  And Luka was surprised by that, because Dingo hadn’t said anything and…he actually hadn’t realized Tom knew who Dingo was.  He hadn’t thought they’d met.  There must have been some kind of look on his face, because Tom rolled his eyes and smiled at him.  “It was adorable that he thought letting his hair down and removing the shades would fool us.  I give him points for trying, though.”

“…I don’t think I want to know,” Luka sighed, shaking his head.  “Look.  Tom.  I can’t –”

“You can, Luka,” Tom said, frowning.  “She’ll say yes.  If it’s you.  If you ask.  She won’t ask you herself – believe me, I’ve tried to convince her to – but if you ask her…”

“…you told her to ask me?” he asked, sitting up a bit straighter and blinking at him.  “You…you’d be ok with it?  Her living here?  Us living…together?”

“Luka,” Tom said, giving him a Look that Luka was ninety percent sure was supposed to mean something, but he was still a little too caught up on Tom’s fine with us living together to pick up on it.  “Son.  Please.”

He pushed something into Luka’s hand, and he looked down to see it was his phone.  He had forgotten he had left it on the coffee table the night…earlier that morning.  There were a few notifications on the screen – from Marinette, he saw, from the night before.  Quickly reading through them, he noted they all sounded too…falsely cheerful to be really convincing.

“She hasn’t even unpacked yet, Luka,” Tom said.  “We could have her settled in by this afternoon.  I’ll close the bakery, and we’ll use the van.”

…his building didn’t have rats.

It would be nice to spend more time with Sass again.

It would be really nice, having all that extra time with Marinette…

Juleka had never complained about having him as a bunkmate, either – well.  Nothing too serious, at least, and he didn’t loiter in the stairwell selling questionable substances.  Most of her complaints stemmed from being his sister.

“…go get the van,” he sighed, massaging his temples.  “I’ll call her.”

When he showed up at her door fifteen minutes later – without calling, because it had gone straight to voicemail (like his would have, if she had tried calling him at seven o’clock on a fucking Sunday morning) – she was already up.  He had an entire speech about how he had a spare room within a reasonable walking distance to her school and the bakery and how important things like dependable plumbing and pest control are and the dangers of questionable doo-wop groups prepared, but when she flung the door open and stood there, panting, with…a kitchen knife held in her hand like she was ready to attack someone?

What the shit?

But she stood there, knife in hand and a look of terrified panic on her face, and he’d barely gotten her name out – never mind his speech – before she threw the knife behind her and flung her arms around his neck, holding onto him tightly as she started sobbing.

“Please, Luka, I can’t stay here there are rats bigger than Sass please let me live with you,” she gasped in a rush.  Her ‘roommate’ – the stoner with the septum piercing that had called Marinette by a different name every time he’d been over – was sitting on the couch behind them, and she rolled her eyes before turning back to the television and muttering something that sounded suspiciously like ‘pussy’ in their direction.  “I swear the unit the landlord showed me wasn’t this bad, and it was so cheap, but I never thought…I didn’t want to overstep, but I hate this place, and I haven’t even been here a whole day but the shower was brown, Luka, and I didn’t sleep because of the screaming and the rat –”

“Hey, hey, it’s ok,” he said, rubbing her back.  “Mari.  It’s ok.  I wanted to ask, but you…it’s ok.  Tom’s getting the van.  We’ll have you out before noon.  It’s ok.”

She was still crying when she looked up at him, but there was a hesitant smile on her face that was enough to break his heart.  He brushed her bangs back and kissed her forehead, and when she sucked in a breath and her hand fisted in his shirt…it was a little too easy, when he started to pull away and saw how wide and blue her eyes were, staring up at him like that…her hand twisted in his shirt to pull him closer, and he wasn’t kissing her forehead that time.

“…come on,” he said, his voice soft and low when the finally separated.  He swallowed, his eyes flicking back down to her lips for a moment before returning to her eyes.  Her smile felt easier, and it was too easy to steal another quick kiss.  “Let’s get you home.”

[adnauseum11]

WILCO (John Price x Reader)

You have a rude awakening and John makes a suggestion.

900 words

CW: swearing

feedback welcome as always!

You wake to your cell phone’s ringtone, blaring from John’s bedside table. It startles you both awake, John jerking nearly upright beside you in bed. You groan and take the ringing phone from John’s hand, clearing your throat before you answer it. 

John wilts back into the mattress, dragging his palms over his face with a deep sigh. You pat his shoulder, sliding out of bed to take your call. You realize it’s work calling to see where you are midway down the hallway, your absence eventually noticed. You explain, through your sleep roughened voice, that your home had been broken into the previous night and you don’t think you will be making it in today.

There’s some back and forth about the level of professionalism expected, to simply not turn up considered unacceptable regardless of circumstances. They agree to not write you up due to the extenuating nature of your situation but advise that notice is required when missing a day of work. It rubs you the wrong way, being chastised like a teenager. By the time John joins you in the kitchen in his jeans and t-shirt, you’re already demoralized before the day has begun. 

“Who was that?” he wants to know, taking in the slope of your shoulders and the long stare you are giving your coffee mug.

“Work, and honestly, I think I’m going to quit.”

John blinks and checks his watch and raises a brow at you, pouring his own coffee.

“It’s not even 10 am.”

“So what?” 

“Awful early to be making rash life decisions, love.” He says archly, taking a sip of his steaming mug. 

“Well, no time like the present.” You grumble, gently patting his ribs to make him move when he stands blocking the pantry. 

He steps aside and watches you, scratching his whiskered cheek with an air of uncertainty that is unlike him. You rummage around in his pantry shelves, looking for bagels but finding whole grain bread instead. You shoot him a look when he’s still looking at you a few seconds later, waiting for your toast. 

“What? I’m serious, I think I’m going to quit. I don’t give a fuck about their bottom line when I’m…what? Temporarily homeless? Shit, I gotta send a copy of the police report to the landlord-”

You set your coffee down and turn to leave your position by the toaster but John catches you, a fond look on his face as he wraps his hand around your wrist.

“Hold on, love. One second. That can wait a few minutes. Eat your breakfast. There’s still raspberries in the fridge.”

“I know, I didn’t want to finish them all on you.”

“Darling they’re for you. Eat them.” John is amused, bringing your hand to his mouth to kiss your palm.

“Yeah?” You can’t keep the elation out of your voice. Your toast pops and you pull away, preoccupied with buttering the slices for a moment.

John retrieves the berries for you instead of answering, sitting beside you at the kitchen table as he slides them onto your plate. You immediately pop one into your mouth, making him smile softly. He fists his hand at his temple and leans on his elbow, watching you inhale berry after berry for a moment before broaching the topic that’s been circling in his brain since last night. 

“If you’re still in the mood for rash life decisions, I have another for you. I think you should break your lease and move in here. Live with me, love.”

You freeze with a berry half way to your mouth, eyes widening. You know he hates your apartment. You didn’t realize he was this serious about leaving it behind. 

“Really, John? You don’t think that’s moving kind of… fast?”

You can feel your heart thrumming in your chest, nervous suddenly. John purses his lips and shakes his head ‘no’, not taking his eyes off you. His sureness is steadying, zero hint of uncertainty in his eyes.

“Not really. Feels more like home when you’re here, love. Always has.”

John’s tone is soft, and you know him well enough to know he’s being sincere. The moment suddenly feels weighted, like whatever you decide will colour your relationship moving forward. You can’t tear your eyes away from his, the sharp blue of his gaze pinning you in place, demanding a decision in one direction or another. The blanket you gave him catches the corner of your eye, draped over the back of his couch, where it’s had pride of place since it came into his care. It calls up his words from last night, spoken in frustration.  

You bite your lip and nod slowly, focusing back on John’s handsome face.  “Alright, I… yeah. We can…I can break my lease.”

The slow smile that takes over John’s face, matches the one spreading across yours. 

“I’m going to be honest love, I thought it would take more convincing than this.” He says lowly, hooking his foot in the rung of your chair to drag you closer to his seat. You feed him the forgotten raspberry in your hand, his lips dragging over your fingertips making your stomach swoop. 

“I can be more difficult if you like.” You purr, biting your bottom lip and feeding him another berry. 

The look between you turns heated but before either of you can act on it, his cell rings, breaking the moment. He leans over and kisses you before getting up to take his call, his eyes lingering on you at the kitchen table.   

Next Chapter

Tag list:

@deadbranch @beebeechaos @cadotoast @syoddeye @writeforfandoms

[aziraphales-library]

I wish every fandom I’m in had something like this lol. Browsing your tags and recommendations is so much fun!

This might be a bit specific but I’m looking for the following: it’s between season 1 and 2, Crowley’s been kicked out of his flat by hell and living in his car; Aziraphale, somehow, finds out and makes him move into the bookshop.

Thanks so much for the help and all the great work you do, I hope you have a great day!

We have some fics along these line here. Now I have a few more where Aziraphale finds out Crowley is living in the bentley...

4 times Crowley lies about living in his car by dat_carovieh (G)

and one time he doesn't

And They Were Roommates (Don't Threaten Me With A Good Time) by WritingAspirations (M)

Aziraphale found out Crowley was living out of his car, and drags him to live with the angel at the bookshop. Revelations, apologies, and steps forward are made.

Home by RitzWrites (G)

There were very few things Crowley enjoyed about being a demon. The best one, in his opinion, was that he couldn’t get hungover. However, that didn’t stop him from getting drunk enough to black out. He was no stranger to getting blackout drunk, of course, but he was still shocked to wake up on a familiar couch instead of his Bently. or Aziraphale finds out Crowley has been living in his car and decides to do something about it.

let's sort the whole thing out by moonyinpisces (T)

“But you like sleeping,” Aziraphale replies, as if that means something. “All the more reason to move in with me. And I have–I have your favorite couch, for starters. And a bedroom, with a lovely, fluffy bed with only the thinnest layer of dust–” Crowley scoffs. “Yeah, angel. A bedroom, as in, singular. I told you, there's just not enough room–” “Precisely,” says Aziraphale, relieved to be understood. “Singular. It’s not as though we’ll be needing more than one.” … Pardon?

Pet Demon by McRibFarewellTour (NR)

Aziraphale finds out about Crowley's recent living arrangements and takes action, both in protection of Crowley and of their friendship. Unfortunately, Crowley's got a well of evidence that said friendship doesn't even really exist, so the task is harder than it seems.

nature is healing (or something like that, anyhow) by nightbloomingcereus (T)

Well. If Aziraphale could be stubborn, so could Crowley. He didn’t need Aziraphale, or his bookshop, dammit. He was going to take a nap, exactly like he’d said he would, and he wasn’t going to get up again until the world, and a certain frustrating angel, stopped being such a downer. It was the perfect plan. Or it would have been, had he still had his bloody bed in his bloody flat in bloody fucking Mayfair. Or, the one where Crowley takes his three-year-long pandemic nap in his plant-filled Bentley.

- Mod D

[hail-is-just-dippin-dots]

deadpool and wolverine are lesbians. to me

[drarrily-we-row-along]

May 1: Create

50 words written for the @drarrymicrofic prompt “create” for May 1.

Harry couldn’t have imagined this. Couldn’t have dreamt of what it would be like to build a life, to make a home. Together.

The counter was scratched, their furniture didn’t match, the upstairs neighbors stomped.

But he didn’t want more. Just this. The chance to create a home with Draco.

[wangxianficrecs]

jujube by colbygege

jujube

by colbygege

T, 4k, Wangxian

Summary: Wei Ying thinks back on the last month, collecting all the clues that, really, should have tipped him off far sooner than he allowed them to that he was married to Lan Zhan. He has no one to blame but himself, but also? Maybe he's not so mad. Kay's comments: Oblivious Wei Ying but in the cutest way possible and honestly, Lan Zhan was being a little sneaky in this one. When the two decide to move in together, they get married for a rent discount, only Wei Ying doesn't realize the roommate agreement Lan Zhan made him sign was actually a marriage certificate. Cue: him slowly connecting the dots. A very amusing story and a podfic is available as well. Excerpt: When Wei Ying thinks back on this moment, this is when he should have been paying attention and listening instead of being so immersed in his own thoughts. He only picks up pieces of what Lan Zhan is saying: “…Assume the financial responsibility … open a joint bank account … grow savings and portfolio…” Wei Ying tunes back in, stitching the words together with the image of Lan Zhan presenting a document to him. “Oh,” he says, grabbing the document. But his thoughts are still jumbled and his eyes aren’t focusing. “Like a roommate agreement.” “…Something of that nature, I suppose.” Lan Zhan says it almost like a joke. At least in the way that Lan Zhan tells jokes; the way that makes Wei Ying smile and laugh every time because fuck you, Jiang Cheng, Lan Zhan is hilarious. Lan Zhan continues, "If we provide proof, we receive a small discount on our rent." “Say less. Got a pen?”

pov wei wuxian, modern setting, modern no powers, accidental marriage, developing relationship, roommates, podfic available, fluff, silly, no angst, happy ending, friends to lovers, getting together, moving in together, miscommunication, oblivious wei wuxian

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

[topsyturvy-turtely]

turtely's OTP challenge

now on ao3!

read day 27 here (prompt: moving in together):

summary:

John meets Sherlock and somehow ends up looking for a flat with this strange (yet quite fascinating) man.

But why is everyone hinting at Sherlock being gay? Are these assumptions or is it the truth? And what if John wanted it to be true?

T, 2521 w, Developing Relationship. 221B Baker Street, Awkwardness, AU - Canon Divergence, (But only at the end... *smirks*), "A Study in Pink" but with all the homoerotic subtext worked out and some more added.

tags under the cut ✨

tag list! (tell me if you wanna be added or removed please 💚) @justanobsessedpan @helloliriels @catlock-holmes @fluffbyday-smutbynight @inevitably-johnlocked @hisfavouritejumper @rhasima @forfucksakejohn @ohlooktheresabee @turbulenttrouble @so-youre-unattached-like-me @totallysilvergirl @peanitbear @train-mossman @loki-lock @smulderscobie @timberva @grace-in-the-wilderness @chinike @jawnn-watson @whatnext2020 @escapingthereality @missdeliadili @kettykika78 @musingsofmyown @7-percent @speedymoviesbyscience @astudyin221b @francj15 @ladylindaaa @we-r-loonies @mxster-jocale @sherlockcorner @noahspector @our-stars-graveside @jobooksncoffee @baker-street-blog @macgyvershe @myladylyssa @battledress @a-victorian-girl @dreamerofthemeadow @oetkb12 @ohnoesnotagain @mutedsilence @jawnscoffee @raenchaosandcozyadashofmurder @lisbeth-kk @quickslvxrr @compact-and-beautiful @kabubsmagga @sunshineinyourmind

[bloody-bee-tea]

What feels right

This is over 6k of fluff, so you can also find it on AO3 here

Shota is exhausted. It’s been a long patrol and an even longer day before that and he’s just–exhausted. His head is pounding, his eyes are too dry from using his quirk relentlessly and to top it all off he’s damp from head to toe thanks to the downpour he was caught in half an hour ago.

Shota lets out a weary sigh as he stuffs his hands into his pockets, because if he can’t see his hands shaking then no one else can either and for all that his capture weapon usually provides some sort of comfort, right now he only feels weighed down by it.

His vision is tilting every now and then and Shota can no longer tell if it’s because he overused his quirk or because of his exhaustion and at this point it doesn’t really matter anymore.

He shuffles along the street, everything quiet and dark for now because it is still the middle of the night, and he doesn’t think too hard about where he’s going. He wants to be warm and comfortable and safe without having to look over his shoulder every other second and he trusts his feet to get him to where he needs to be. 

Shota is proven right when he ends up in front of a door–a very familiar door–and even though it’s most certainly not Shota’s own home he knows that this is exactly where he wants to be.

He suspects that the exhaustion finally wins out over him because he’s starting to lose a bit of time; between one blink and the next, he’s already inside with no memory of getting the door unlocked, his socked feet leaving faint prints on the ground and then with another blink he’s right in front of the couch.

Shota’s shoulders drop as he reaches up to take off his capture weapon and he doesn’t care to make sure it doesn’t get tangled, he simply drops it to the ground where it falls with a wet splash.

It’s almost enough to make Shota smile but he can’t quite muster the strength to do so. The couch is screaming at him to simply fall down and finally get the rest his body is craving, but before he can give in to that temptation Shota reaches out for the blanket folded at the end of the couch, throwing it over the cushions before he follows it.

He’s still more wet than dry at this point and his exhaustion is no reason to ruin a perfectly good couch.

Content with how attentive he managed to be, his eyes close and then that’s the last he knows for a while.

Shota wakes up to an incessant finger poking at his head.

“Mrhghl,” he manages to get out which prompts the owner of the finger to snort out a soft laugh.

“Are you in need of medical attention?” Hizashi asks him and Shota manages to reproduce the same sound. “Yeah, no, I’m going to need actual words for this, sorry, Shota. Are you in need of medical attention?”

Shota manages to crack an eye open and he’s really not surprised when he comes face to face with a worried looking Hizashi. 

“No,” he croaks out, his mind still pleasantly fuzzy from sleep and he’s unwilling to speak in longer sentences. Sleep is still so close and if he bothers with grammar and sentence structure it will surely abandon him.

“Are you hurt?” Hizashi asks next, that worried frown still on his face and Shota lets his eyes slip shut again.

“No.”

“Alright,” Hizashi breathes out and then something warm and heavy is being thrown over him. “Sleep some more then.”

By the time the sentence leaves Hizashi’s mouth Shota is already more asleep than awake but he still leans into the hand carding through his hair. 

It’s the last thing he feels before sleep claims him again.

The first thing Shota notices when he wakes up again is the smell of freshly brewed coffee. It’s enough to get him to open his eyes and his mouth curls into an amused smile when he spots the mug of coffee on the ground, right under his face. 

It’s a good way to wake him up, Shota has to admit that.

The next thing he notices is the soft humming coming from the kitchen, accompanied by the sizzling of something being cooked and by then all his senses are up and running. Shota does feel rested, surprisingly enough and the thought makes immediate worry spike through him.

“What time is it?” he calls out, scrambling to untangle himself from the blanket that somehow made it over him without disturbing the coffee still on the ground and yet he still stumbles when he stands up.

“Not too late for breakfast,” comes Hizashi’s answer from the kitchen, followed by a contemplating silence. “Why is there no word for a meal between lunch and dinner? Because that’s what it’s actually closer to.”

“Fuck, I had a meeting,” Shota grumbles under his breath, patting his pants to find his phone and coming up empty. It takes him a moment too long to understand that the phone on the table, plugged in and everything, is actually his. He worries for a split second when the implication that someone rummaged around in his pockets and he didn’t even wake up hits him but then again it’s Hizashi. He has known the guy for years at this point, so he really shouldn’t be surprised that even his subconsciousness deems him safe.

“I cancelled that for you,” Hizashi tells him as he steps around the corner. “Nezu was very understanding and told you to get some rest.”

“How did you–?”

“Unlock it? Shota, no offence, but your password is ‘cat’ and it has been since forever because you keep refusing to change it. It really wasn’t that hard. Now, lunch or dinner–linner? dunch?—will take a bit longer, so why don’t you hop under the shower? I got you some clothes, just leave yours outside, I’ll pop them in the dryer.”

It’s only now that Hizashi’s mentioned it that Shota realises how uncomfortably damp he still is even after sleeping most of the day away, which means he must have actually been soaked when he stepped into Hizashi’s apartment.

“Sorry,” he mutters, only now noticing that his capture weapon is missing.

“No worries,” Hizashi calls back, having long returned to his cooking. “Take a shower, and then come eat something.”

Shota’s mouth opens on its own accord but the protest dies on his tongue when Hizashi starts to softly sing again and instead of standing around like an absolute idiot, Shota gets going.

When he steps out from the bathroom his clothes are indeed in the dryer, just as promised and Hizashi is waiting for him at the table.

They don’t talk about why Shota is there; Hizashi doesn’t ask and Shota doesn’t offer since he isn’t even too sure himself. Their meal isn’t taken in silence, though, because this is still Hizashi who Shota is eating with but it’s still one of the most relaxing days Shota has had in a while.

~ * ~ * ~

Shota has to admit that going over to Hizashi’s apartment these days comes easier to him than going back to his own. He doesn’t go there every day, sometimes he doesn’t even make it back there for weeks on end, but whenever a patrol drags on for especially long or a day has just decided to kick Shota’s ass for absolute no reason, he finds himself in front of Hizashi’s door.

Sometimes he’s home and sometimes Shota has to pick the lock, but not once has Hizashi asked or sent him away.

Shota appreciates it, really.

Today wasn’t even a really bad day, it had just dragged on forever in Shota’s mind. There had been a small incident in his class that ended in an injury, which meant Shota had to call some parents. And then he had to expel one of his students which also led to more calls and to significantly more enraged parents. 

Shota doesn’t like talking to parents on a good day and especially not to parents who think their kid is the greatest just because there’s a cool quirk involved. So there had been yelling and accusations and Shota just took it like he always does, but then Nezu always wants to talk afterwards too to check in on him and so Shota had only left the school long after six.

His stomach is grumbling, his head is hurting and he just wants to curl up on a couch with maybe a cup of coffee in his hands.

Seeing as he doesn’t even have a couch at his own place, it only seems natural to make his way over to Hizashi’s apartment yet again.

Shota got pretty good at picking the lock there, so he’s in barely thirty seconds after he arrived and to his surprise he’s met with the TV running in the living-room.

Hizashi doesn’t call out to him, so he must have taken his hearing aids out already and Shota lets out a long breath. He doesn’t know if he could ever put it into words but while this apartment feels homely and safe, that effect only ever doubles when Hizashi is there as well.

Shota tries not to dwell on that thought for too long, instead bending down and taking off his shoes, before something on the wardrobe stand catches his eyes.

The first thing he sees is a paper with his name on it, and it’s only afterwards that he notices the key that’s weighing the paper down. A key that has a little metal cat charm attached to it.

The meaning of this is pretty obvious, all things considered, and yet Shota still hesitates for a second, his hand already stretched out but hovering unsurely in the air as if it could disappear the moment he makes contact with it.

It’s a completely irrational thought though so Shota does finally reach out and touches his fingertips to the cool metal. When the key doesn’t disappear he swipes it off the little stand and pockets it before he makes his way into the living room.

Hizashi looks over at him as soon as he steps into the room, clearly completely unsurprised to see him, and gives him a little wave before he points at his ears.

Just like Shota thought then, his hearing aids are already out.

Shota waves in return before he makes his way over to the couch, smiling slightly when Hizashi pats the space next to him and it’s only then that Shota notices the coffee waiting for him on the table.

Hizashi doesn’t even drink coffee and Shota lets out a fond sigh.

He pats Hizashi’s shoulder to get his attention back, swiftly moving his hands in a ‘thank you’ gesture that Hizashi waves off before he takes the mug and snuggles down on the couch.

He’ll really have to brush up on his JSL, Shota thinks as he takes a sip of the coffee, especially now that Hizashi has practically allowed him to come over whenever he wants.

Neither of them mention the key.

~ * ~ * ~

Shota stopped coming up with excuses as to why he’s always going to Hizashi’s apartment instead of his own and the key in his pocket tells him he doesn’t need to have an excuse anyway.

Hizashi gave him that key; he must want him to come over, it’s as simple as that.

So Shota doesn’t wait for bad days, or long days anymore; he just goes over whenever he feels like it and if he feels like it six days out of seven then that is neither here nor there.

It’s late in the evening already, Shota’s patrol has just ended, and while everything was quiet and uneventful he’s still ready to faceplant into the couch and get the sleep he deserves, so he can’t say he’s too happy to open the door and find Hizashi still awake.

Awake and with his hearing aids in.

This can only spell trouble, Shota thinks, even as he takes off his shoes, the key already safely pocketed in case Hizashi is going to demand it back.

Shota would give it back, if Hizashi really asks for it, but he’s not about to offer it up on his own. 

“This really has to stop,” Hizashi says as soon as Shota steps into the living-room and he’s positioned right in front of the couch, giving Shota no way to simply beeline for it and close his eyes.

“What has?” Shota asks, wearily eying the couch before he drags his eyes back to Hizashi.

“You sleeping on this couch. It has to stop. The couch is not made for that, you are not made for that and I have a perfectly big bed right over there.” He points towards his bedroom, his eyes narrowed at Shota.

Shota can’t deny the fact that all these nights on the couch have left him with a little bit of an ache, even though Hizashi’s couch is surprisingly comfortable, but he would have never brought this up. It’s his fault anyway; he could sleep at home and there’s really no reason for Hizashi to not throw him out should he complain about something that shouldn’t even be happening in the first place.

“So here’s what’s going to happen,” Hizashi goes on and Shota’s attention snaps back to him. “We’re going to have late dinner. Afterwards you’re going to join me on this couch for a cup of tea, finally putting it to the intended use before you get ready to sleep and then you’re going to join me, in bed, to get a good night’s sleep. Ya dig?”

His signature question is a little bit more aggressive than Shota is used to and he knows that he doesn’t really have a choice. Not that he’s particularly keen on arguing with Hizashi over this.

“I dig,” Shota simply gives back clearly shocking Hizashi going by the look on his face and then he marches off into the bedroom where a designated drawer of clothes is already waiting for him. Because Shota has clothes in Hizashi’s apartment. Clothes, a spare costume and capture weapon, and a toothbrush and he knows Hizashi even keeps jelly pouches stacked for him even though he sneers at Shota every time he takes one out. Hell, Shota has a key.

It really shouldn’t be that much of a surprise.

They don’t talk about it when Shota comes back out, they just go about their evening exactly like Hizashi has said and before Shota knows it, it’s time to sleep.

He instinctively tries to grab for the blanket on the couch before he notices Hizashi’s murderous glare and guiltily lets his hand fall back to his side before he shuffles off to the bedroom.

It’s clear which side he’s supposed to sleep on, because Hizashi has things on his bedside table while Shota’s is empty and so it’s a matter of seconds before both of them are settled.

Hizashi already has his hearing aids out when his hand hovers over the light switch and Shota frowns at him. 

What? he signs and is confused when Hizashi lets out an amused chuckle. 

Didn’t know you remembered any, he signs back, clearly referring to Shota’s use of JSL and Shota remembers that he didn’t yet tell Hizashi that he’s been brushing up on it.

Been practising. Only seems fair.

It earns him one of Hizashi’s smiles; not the Present Mic one that everyone gets but a more personal one, one that is softer than anything he shows to the public. The one Shota likes best.

Good night, is the only thing Hizashi signs back at him and Shota gets it so there’s really only one thing to do.

Good night.

They don’t talk about their new sleeping arrangements. Not even when they wake up with their legs tangled together.

~ * ~ * ~

Shota knows that Hizashi will be out a little while longer. He said as much—more accurately, he complained about it, loudly—in the teacher’s longue today during their break. Shota isn’t sure if Hizashi even knows he was awake for that entire rant about poor time management and how he can only split his day into that many hours anyway and Shota had wisely stayed silent on how it’s entirely Hizashi’s own fault.

That’s what he gets for working three jobs.

Shota thinks Hizashi wouldn’t have appreciated his input on that, though, so he had stayed curled up in his sleeping bag with his eyes firmly closed. His mind has been already made up at that point, though.

Clearly Hizashi won’t have time to cook for himself today, not with back to back meetings like that, so Shota took it upon himself.

He’s not good at cooking, not really, but he manages simple dishes without burning the kitchen down and Nemuri had told him once that he at least makes edible food. That has to count for something, right?

So here Shota is, in Hizashi’s kitchen, making the simplest dish he knows and he just hopes it doesn’t all go up in flames.

He checks the time again, cautious to let anything burn but he perks up when he hears the front door.

“Welcome back!” Shota calls out, his words being met with a softer “I’m home,” before everything goes silent again.

And that isn’t right so he moves everything off the stove for a moment before he sticks his head around the corner. He really doesn’t expect to see Hizashi completely frozen at the door, but that’s the sight he’s being met with.

“What?” he asks when it doesn’t seem as if Hizashi is going to move any time soon and that at least gets him to blink.

“It’s just—it’s nice having someone at home. Coming home to someone,” Hizashi finally whispers and now that gives Shota pause.

He has been over a whole lot lately, making good use of that key and the nice mattress Hizashi has, but he either always arrives after Hizashi or he’s asleep by the time Hizashi makes it back. This is the first time Shota has been there before Hizashi and both of them are awake, he realises.

“Of course it’s nice,” Shota replies, because he came to appreciate that more than anything.

Hizashi always greets him so warmly and it’s just one more thing Shota looks forward to whenever he comes over.

“How the hell would you know? A homely atmosphere is clearly not your priority, you have three things in your entire flat!"

“—three things in your entire flat,” Shota flatly says at the same time as Hizashi, his tone deliberately mocking and he bursts out laughing at the look of absolute outrage on Hizashi’s face.

“Who are you and what have you done with my Shota?” Hizashi finally manages to ask and Shota refuses to acknowledge the warmth spreading out in his chest.

“People change,” Shota says with a shrug, moving back into the kitchen and putting the pots and pans where they are supposed to be so dinner will be ready before Hizashi has to leave again.

“Not like that,” Hizashi argues as he comes into the kitchen as well, his eyes going wide when he sees what Shota is up to. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” Shota gives back as he sets the table. “And maybe—it’s just nice, having someone to come back to,” he admits, more quietly and Shota looks up at just the right time to see Hizashi’s face going soft.

“It really is,” Hizashi agrees. “Thank you for cooking.”

“Sit, you don’t have much time,” Shota tells him because it’s true and Hizashi does as he’s being told.

It’s also nice to share a meal with someone, Shota realises.

~ * ~ * ~

Shota knows that something is up the moment he steps into the apartment. Nothing is off in a way that sets him on edge, but there’s a little bit of nervous energy leaking out from somewhere and it only takes Shota a second to realise that it’s because Hizashi is humming under his breath. With his quirk activated.

He hasn’t done that in years—the last time was probably back in their school days—and immediately Shota narrows his eyes.

Either he’s extremely nervous or extremely excited and both moods don’t bode well for Shota.

“I’m back,” he cautiously calls out and is met with an enthusiastic “Welcome home!” from Hizashi, his voice reaching him mere seconds before the man in question does.

“You’re using your Quirk,” Shota tells him, his ears faintly ringing and guilt immediately washes over Hizashi’s face.

“Sorry, I didn’t even realise,” he sheepishly says, his voice now a normal voice and Shota waves him off.

“What’s going on?” he asks, because something clearly is and he knows he’s right when Hizashi gives him a blinding smile.

“I’ve been thinking,” he starts and Shota immediately groans.

“That’s never good,” he mutters, a small smile tugging on his lips at Hizashi’s outraged breath.

“I’ll have you know that I only have good ideas,” Hizashi huffs out, crossing his arms in front of his chest and Shota raises a judging eyebrow at him.

“May I remind you of that time you—”

“You may not!” Hizashi snaps, not even letting Shota finish and it makes him chuckle.

“You don’t even know what I wanted to say. It could have been perfectly innocent,” Shota tries but Hizashi only glares at him.

“Nothing you say is perfectly innocent,” he grumbles under his breath, turning around to march into the living-room.

Shota isn’t naïve enough to believe that this is over now, so he simply follows Hizashi. He clearly has something to say and it’s going to go over more smoothly if Shota just listens. For now.

“So what is it you wanted to talk about?” he asks as he sits down next to Hizashi on the couch.

“Your lease will be up at the end of the month,” Hizashi states and Shota raises his eyebrows.

“So?”

“You haven’t renewed it yet.”

Shota clicks his tongue, annoyed at being found out so easily, but he can’t deny what Hizashi said. He doesn’t even know why but he’s been hesitant to call up his landlord and talk about a renewal of the lease. Shota isn’t even entirely sure why.

“I haven’t,” he finally agrees and Hizashi nods.

“Don’t. I mean, it’s not logical, right? Your lease is up and you barely spend time there anyway. We can just add you to my lease and then you’ll be living here.”

Shota has a lot of things he wants to say to that but when he opens his mouth what comes is: “I have stuff there.”

“Oh, please,” Hizashi scoffs. “You have three things in your entire flat.”

“Three things I need,” Shota counters because he thinks it’s a little unwarranted how Hizashi keeps hitting that point.

“And you can need them here, too. Your charger, definitely, you always forget to plug in your phone anyway and then I have to do it for you. Your futon you can bring for any quests we might have over at some point, it’s always good to be prepared in case someone wants to sleep over.”

“The couch is perfectly fine for that,” Shota shoots back and almost withers under Hizashi’s scathing glare.

“Do not get me started on sleeping on the couch again,” he warns, and Shota obediently falls silent even though they never really had that discussion.

Hizashi has just decided one day that sleeping on it is no longer acceptable for Shota and that had been that.

“We don’t need my mini fridge,” Shota tries to argue next and he doesn’t even know why but Hizashi only rolls his eyes at him.

“I don’t, but you certainly do. Don’t think I don’t know you sneak out at night to get one of those disgusting jelly pouches. Put the fridge next to the bed so you don’t have to make such a ruckus every night.”

Shota wonders how Hizashi even knows about that; he always takes his hearing aids out at night and he’s not a light sleeper. And Shota makes sure to be quiet and to be quick.

“Are you allowing me to bring more jelly pouches back to the apartment?” Shota asks with a slowly growing grin and Hizashi groans.

“I’m asking you to bring your things home,” he says with emphasis and that, finally, shuts Shota up for good.

Home.

Hizashi is asking him to make this his home, too. He would no longer be a guest anymore—not that Hizashi has ever made him feel like one in the first place. He would no longer have to spend at least one day of the week at home to keep up pretences.

It would be his home, too.

It seems Shota is staying quiet a little bit too long because Hizashi starts to squirm on the couch.

“It’s just logical, you know. Why keep two apartments when you’re barely even in yours anyway? It just doesn’t make sense.”

“Okay,” Shota agrees softly.

“We’d both save rent like that and you know how the housing market is, you would be doing something good—”

“I said okay,” Shota interrupts him which finally manages to shut Hizashi up.

“Okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” Shota agrees again and he was not prepared for the blinding smile Hizashi throws his way.

“Perfect, I have the lease here, we can do it right now!”

Shota lets out a sigh, because of course Hizashi has everything prepared already. It should rankle to know that Hizashi was so confident he could get Shota to agree but in reality, it just makes Shota feel warm to know that Hizashi knows him so well and really does want this.

When Shota puts his name on the lease he expected Hizashi let out a loud victory yell. He did not expect him to turn soft eyes on him and say “Welcome home”.

It makes something in Shota’s throat close up but he still manages a quiet “I’m home” anyway.

It’s worth it, for the look on Hizashi’s face.

~ * ~ * ~

Shota can’t sleep. This is unusual enough to be worrying; yes, he’s always tired, but that’s just his general state of being, it’s not because he can’t sleep. He can sleep, wherever and whenever he wants.

So not to be able to sleep even though he’s in bed and tired is worrying.

He turns around again, his eyes finding his phone, which helpfully informs him that he’s been twisting and turning in bed for the better part of the night now and he still doesn’t know why he’s doing this in the first place.

There’s nothing going on; things at school have been fine. His patrols have been fine. There were no major attacks to the city. No injuries for his friends. Nothing is wrong and Shota should be able to sleep.

He’s not though.

He turns back around yet again and wonders how many more times he has to do this before it’s early enough that he can get up, when Hizashi suddenly moves next to him.

Shota freezes immediately because he does not want to wake Hizashi but when a hand lands on his arm he knows that it’s already too late.

“What’s wrong?” Hizashi asks, his voice quiet enough to be barely audible in the room and Shota helplessly shrugs.

That’s the thing, isn’t it? Nothing is wrong.

“Don’t know,” he admits before he curses himself because it’s not as if Hizashi can hear him like this. He’s not even turned towards him to let him read his lips and it only makes Shota more agitated.

Don’t know, he repeats, this time with his hands, but even that is almost futile because it’s so dark in the room that Hizashi will only barely be able to see it.

“’s okay, I have them in,” Hizashi tells him and now that just makes Shota feel worse because Hizashi hates wearing his hearing aids in bed. And he probably put them in because Shota is being annoying.

“Sorry,” he mutters and Hizashi swats at his arm.

“Don’t be. Tell me what’s going on. You’re not one to toss and turn and you’ve been doing it for a while,” he says, clearly aware of that and Shota wonders if maybe it wasn’t him who woke Hizashi up, but if he has trouble sleeping for some reason as well.

It’s almost nice, to think that he might not be alone in this.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” Shota almost hisses out, annoyed by the fact that he can’t sleep, that he can’t name what’s wrong and especially annoyed because now he made it Hizashi’s problem, too.

“Alright, let’s figure it out then,” Hizashi decides and tugs on Shota’s arm until he goes with the program and turns on his side so they are face to face.

It’s really dark in the room, but they are close enough that Shota can see the worried look on Hizashi’s face. He’s not annoyed, he’s just genuinely concerned and he’s beautiful with his hair undone and his eyes on Shota.

And suddenly that’s all Shota can see; it’s all Shota can feel and the emotion in his chest makes it hard to breathe for a moment.

Hizashi must notice because he laces their fingers together and gives his hand a reassuring squeeze.

“You’re good, just breathe through it,” he mutters and Shota does because what else is he supposed to do when Hizashi tells him something.

“’zashi, I—it’s just—” Shota tries to say something, anything, but he’s never been good with feelings and emotions and especially not with voicing his own.

He always relied way too much on Hizashi—and back in the day Oboro as well—to understand him anyway, without him having to say any actual words and so he simply doesn’t know how to say this now.

How to tell him that this is everything he ever wanted, slow mornings and hectic days and exhausted evenings, all shared with Hizashi. He doesn’t know how to tell him that Shota is his in a way he could never explain, how to tell him that their shared day off today meant the world to him.

How to tell him that he loves him like he never loved anyone before.

But it seems that maybe he doesn’t have to at all, because Hizashi simply pulls him close, tucks him right into his chest and presses his lips to Shota’s forehead.

“Yeah, I know,” he sighs out, his breath tickling Shota’s hair. “Me, too.”

And they really don’t have to say more than that.

~*~*~

Shota is not nervous, he’s not. He might just be—a little agitated. Restless. Right. That’s the only reason why he’s tapping his fingers against the table in a display of nervous energy.

But he’s not. Nervous, that is. He’s simply restless.

He can’t be nervous because the papers in front of him don’t have to mean anything, not if Hizashi doesn’t want them, too, and that’s really all there is to it, right?

If Hizashi doesn’t want them to mean anything then—Shota can’t even finish the thought without tapping his foot as well and he just wishes Hizashi would come home faster.

He should be here any minute now, but it still feels like forever until Shota hears the key in the door.

“Sho, you still up?” Hizashi cautiously calls out, keeping his voice just quiet enough that he wouldn’t wake Shota is he were asleep on the couch or something and instantly all the stress drains from Shota.

“Welcome home,” he calls out and that gets Hizashi going, because he pokes his head into the kitchen mere seconds later.

“I’m home,” he greets, his eyes narrowed at Shota before they quickly drop to the papers in front of him and he takes a step into the kitchen when Shota motions for him to do so.

“What’s going on?” Hizashi asks, coming over to sit in Shota’s lap instead of taking his own chair and Shota might be glad for it.

He did feel rather agitated and Hizashi’s weight helps.

“Hi,” Shota says instead of answering him and is rewarded with a lingering kiss to his brow.

“Hi,” Hizashi gives back, slinging an arm around his shoulders and scratching at his nape. “Why are you up?”

It’s definitely not nerves that’s swirling in Shota’s stomach at that, not at all.

“And why are you so nervous?” Hizashi then asks and Shota groans.

If Hizashi picked up on it, then Shota is definitely nervous, there is no way around that now, he simply has to admit it.

“You wanna take a shower first?” Shota asks, because Hizashi did just come from a patrol he covered for a friend and it’s almost four in the morning.

Maybe doing this now isn’t such a good idea, Shota thinks, as Hizashi frowns.

“If you think I can take a shower while I know you’re sitting out here, foregoing sleep, a ball of nervous energy, with mystery papers right in front of you, then you really don’t know me at all.”

“Yeah, thought so,” Shota sighs out and reaches out to flip the stack of papers on the table around.

It very obviously says ‘Marriage Registration Form’ bright and bold on top and Shota finds himself holding his breath.

“Oh, did you find them in my drawer?” Hizashi asks as he quickly flips through them to the last page where Shota already put his signature after filling out everything else.

“Huh?” he very eloquently asks and Hizashi’s eyes dart to him.

“These are not mine.”

“You have a set of these?” Shota asks and Hizashi shrugs, a light blush on his cheeks.

“Well, I do? I have them in my drawer. I signed them already, though, so these ones must be yours?”

“You signed them? Zashi, what? Since when?”

“Two days ago?” Hizashi gives back. “Is it Wednesday? I always get confused with night patrol.”

“It’s Wednesday,” Shota agrees and Hizashi nods.

“Two days, then. I brought them home on Monday.”

“And how long were you going to wait?” Shota accusingly asks and Hizashi snorts out a laugh.

“Excuse me for not wanting to spring this on you after one of your patrols,” he says, but Shota can tell he’s only teasing. “I wanted to bring it up tomorrow. We both have the evening off, after all.”

“You better not be lying,” Shota grumbles and Hizashi moves as if he wants to get up and Shota reflexively slings his arms around his middle, keeping him right where he is.

“I can go and get them, if you don’t believe me,” Hizashi offers, patting Shota’s shoulder.

“You—want to?” Shota asks instead of letting him up and Hizashi’s expression softens.

“Course I want to. Like I said, my set is already signed. Let me sign these, too. Where’s the pen?”

Shota points at it and before he knows what’s happening Hizashi has already put his signature on the documents, right there next to Shota’s.

“You do know that we’ll have to throw a real party, right? Nem is going to kill us if we don’t and Tensei is going to help her, you know he will.”

“I feared as much,” Shota sighs out and rests his head against Hizashi’s chest. “I wouldn’t want to make a widower out of my husband, though, so I guess we can throw one. A small one.”

“Aww, Sho, you do love me,” Hizashi croons out, bending over to press a kiss to Shota’s hair and they are not demonstrative like that, not vocal about this between them, but Shota thinks that just this once—

“I do. I do love you,” he agrees, not picking his head out of Hizashi’s chest but he can just imagine the look on his face, anyway.

“You’re such a softie,” Hizashi mutters after he smothered Shota in more kisses and now that finally has Shota glaring up at him again.

“I’m not,” he argues, but Hizashi only smiles at him.

“Yes, you are. For me and your kids. Don’t even deny that, I know you love your kids.”

Shota smirks at him as he knocks a knuckle on the freshly signed papers in front of them.

“Our kids, now.”

“Oh, hell no, I’m not adopting twenty kids with you, Sho,” Hizashi immediately laughs out and Shota grins.

“Three then,” he bargains. He didn’t even know he wanted kids before Hizashi, but three seems like a good number. “And a cat,” he belatedly adds, because that’s important, too.

“Two kids and two cats,” Hizashi shoots back, an amused smile still on his face and Shota frowns but before he can argue with Hizashi a hand covers his mouth.

“No, think about it, that's just perfect. If the kids get agitated we can just sit them down on the couch and plop a cat in their lap. Problem solved,” Hizashi explains and Shota licks Hizashi’s hand so he can get a word in as well.

“And what if I get agitated? What then?”

“Then I'll plop myself into your lap, just like I did today,” Hizashi easily says and Shota snorts. “It was effective, wasn’t it?”

“It was,” Shota has to admit because Hizashi had grounded him and he’s not above admitting that.

“Two kids and two cats, then,” Hizashi reiterates. “And me for you.”

“Or me for you,” Shota shoots back because between the two of them Hizashi is usually the one who gets anxious more easily.

“Deal,” Hizashi immediately agrees as if he just waited for that and before Shota can pout at him, Hizashi leans down and kisses his complaints right off his lips.

When they part Shota doesn’t even know what he was nervous about to begin with because he should have known that things would fall in place easily.

They always do with Hizashi.

[evankinardscoffee]

The day after Buck and Tommy moved in together, Buck got up early to prepare breakfast for 'their first morning of living together' and brought it to bed on a breakfast tray that said "Home Sweet Home"

[ladykissingfish]

*Deidara alone in his apartment, cooking himself dinner*

Deidara, to himself: Shit … how did I burn that so fast?! It was barely in the oven for thirty minutes, hm! *sighs* Looks like I’ll never learn how to cook …

*his doorbell rings and he goes to answer the door*

Deidara, surprised: S-Sasori??

Sasori: Mm, it’s me. May I come in?

*Deidara steps to the side and lets Sasori in*

Deidara: I … I didn’t expect you, hm. You said you were picking up extra hours at work so —

Sasori: I was going to, but then something else really important came up.

Deidara: What?

Sasori: *puts his arms around Deidara and pulls him into a hug* I realized that I missed you, baby. We’ve both been so busy, we’ve barely had time to see each other this week. I hope it’s okay I came without calling …

Deidara: *blushes in Sasori’s arms* Of course, Sasori! You came just in time, I made dinner! Well … I tried, anyway.

Sasori: *takes a look at the smoking mess on the counter and chuckles* How about I order us some takeout? What are you in the mood for? Greek? Chinese? Thai?

Deidara: Pizza? And wings? Please?

Sasori: *chuckles and kisses Deidara’s cheek* As you wish, love.

*after Sasori orders he joins Deidara on the couch, settling the blonde on his lap*

Sasori: You look so pretty today. *puts his nose to Deidara’s neck and sniffs* And you smell so good. I’m glad I came over.

Deidara: Me too. I miss you when I can’t see you during the week.

Sasori: I miss you as well. More than I thought possible. *starts playing with Deidara’s hair* I’ve been thinking about this lately, and I was wondering … well …

Deidara: Yes?

Sasori: I was wondering if, maybe, you’d be open to the idea of us moving in together?

Deidara, surprised: R-really?

Sasori: Yes. It’s as you said, during the week we’re both so busy we barely get a chance to see one another. But if we lived together, we could come home to each other every night. Eat with each other. Wake up next to each other. And —

Deidara: *interrupts him with a deep kiss* Mmmm; two years of dating, it’s about fucking time you asked me! *hugs him* But where would we live? Here, or your place?

Sasori: That’s a good question. This place is a closer commute for both of our jobs, school is only a ten minute drive for you, and the rent is slightly cheaper. Maybe this place is best?

Deidara: I can’t think of any drawbacks, so —

*loud knock on the door*

Hidan, in the hallway: Oi, blondie, open up! The old bastard kicked me out again and I need a place to crash! Need to borrow some pants, too — bitch wouldn’t let me grab my clothes and my asscheeks are chappin’ in the wind!

Sasori and Deidara:

Deidara: Your place sounds better, hm.

[adnauseum11]

Unexploded Ordinance (John Price x Reader)

You and John navigate the process of moving in together. John is pleased you are home.

1.4k words

CW: swearing, explicit sex MDNI

If the end of this chapter feels a bit abrupt it's because I split it in two to keep it from being a ridiculous length. You can expect the next chapter to pick up where this one left off.

Still not completely happy with this chapter but in the interest of not circling the drain forever and moving forward I'm posting anyways lol yolo

feedback welcome!

When John hasn’t returned from his call before you are done eating your breakfast - and polishing off the last of the raspberries - you take yourself to the bathroom to shower. He’s waiting for you in the living room when you finally emerge, feeling a bit more like yourself. He’s clearly lost in thought, your hand on his shoulder finally knocking him back to the present.

John is easy to talk into moving more things today, on your impromptu day off. When you arrive back at the apartment, he checks the door before he lets you enter, satisfied it’s been undisturbed. You immediately bicker with him about your furniture and what pieces will stay or go. You can tell he’s pleased when he wins the debate between the couches, you being partial to your vintage re-upholstered and wildly heavy chesterfield sofa. It’s too short for John to lay down on, forcing him to bend his knees and isn’t very comfortable, truth be told. It’s a gorgeous deep green velvet that draws the eye but otherwise isn’t overly practical. You pout about having to give it up until he gives over on your books entirely. He’s consistently bitched about moving your personal library, filled with heavy anthologies from your university days. They’ve been dragged from pillar to post over the years and you’ve refused every less than subtle suggestion to sell them. He doesn’t even try to make you choose which ones to keep, sighing deeply in resignation and asking how many boxes you think it will take to pack them all. This earns him the hardest hug you can muster and a rain of kisses he has to crouch for, chuckling lowly.

You make a trip back to his place with your clothing, the colourful array of fabrics making John’s limited selections seem all the starker by comparison. It brings you up short, seeing your things beside his in the wardrobe. You get caught up wondering what the hell you are doing, agreeing to this. You don’t get very far in your spiral before John finds you, kneeling surrounded by folded t-shirts. You’re jealous of his ability to seemingly pick a course of action and execute it without the self-doubt that swamps you occasionally. If you hadn’t known him as long as you have you would say it’s something he learned in the military, but you’re pretty sure that’s all John.

His presence steadies you again and you end up making another trip to collect your hairdryer and various other products needed to make yourself presentable for work tomorrow. Most of your everyday use items and valuables are safely rehoused in John’s flat by the time you are ready to throw the towel in for the day. You agree to go to the pub around the corner for dinner, neither of you feeling like cooking. On the walk down, John’s big hand stays on your lower back, keeping you close as you wander down the street together. It’s quiet at the pub, early in the week meaning the clientele are mostly regulars. You get your choice of seats and John steers you to a booth against the back wall, tugging you to sit on the same side as him.

He questions your half-baked plan to quit your job while distracting you from giving an answer, his hand creeping over your thigh and shoulders, bracketing you against him. You finally cross your legs, pinning his warm hand between your thighs so you can formulate a coherent response. He presses a smirk against your temple and listens as you complain of your treatment this morning, and then just in general. You've had a volatile few days and vent your spleen accordingly.

He removes his hands from your body when the food arrives, creating a tiny sliver of space between you on the bench seat. John hums sympathetically at your complaints but finally convinces you to get through the rest of the week before you submit anything in writing, pointing out you should probably update your resume first at minimum. You grumble but reluctantly agree, his even-keeled approach to the situation a better tactic than your instinct for dramatics.

John’s level head only seems to extend to your choices because by the time you’re out the door and on the way home he’s truly unable to keep his hands to himself. Twice on the short walk back he’s pressed you up against the wall of a nearby building, his hands cupping your face as his eager mouth finds yours. You make out like teenagers until you can feel the cold creeping into the tips of your ears, a gentle push against his chest enough to back him off temporarily. You’re getting better at reading John in this state, how his eyes glaze with want and his focus narrows. You finally resort to threading your fingers with his to keep his hand from constantly drifting over your ass, wrapping yourself around his arm to make him behave. 

You open the door using your key, John too preoccupied with working his hands under your jacket and shirt. His big body corrals you against him, kicking the door shut after wrestling you through it, almost not giving you time to get your key out of the lock.

“Fucking hell John.”

You breathe out as he spins you around, your arms going around his neck automatically. He kisses you hungrily, his palm cupping the back of your head. You feel the thump of the wall at your back, his hand leaving the back of your head to shove your coat off your shoulders. You wiggle out of it and push at the thick lambskin jacket he’s wearing, slipping your hands under it to grip his shoulders. He shrugs out of it, his lips finding yours again almost immediately. You can feel desire vibrating through his frame, his thigh working its way between yours. Before he can overwhelm you completely, you push back against his chest.

He's breathing hard, confusion mixing across his face as you flatten your palms against his chest and push, reversing your positions by backing him up against the opposite wall. You have to go up on your tip toes, gripping the back of his neck to tug him down to kiss you again. He’s got his hands full of your ass, too preoccupied to catch on to your intent until you're slipping out of his grasp, sliding to your knees in front of him. Your nimble fingers have his belt undone and his jeans open before he can process and stop you, hissing out your name as your fingers wrap around his twitching cock.

You smirk to yourself and wrench a deep groan from his chest as your lips close around the flushed head of his cock, your eyes locking on his face. His cheeks and throat are flushed with the same shade of red as his cock, his blue eyes now nearly black, his pupils dilated with desire. He looks so intense it sends a thrill through your belly that you’re capable of affecting him like this. You swirl your tongue over the head, tasting the salty pre-cum and slide your palm up the wiry hair of his firm abdomen, pushing his shirt up.

John growls lowly, his fingers burying into your hair, gripping close to the roots. He doesn’t try to direct your movements, content to let you work him over however you see fit but the gentle pull on your hair sends flashes of sensation down your spine. The muscles of his stomach jump at the drag of your fingers on his cock as you squeeze the base, sucking on the tip deeply, making John’s fingers clench in your hair. You lift off him and press his erection against his belly, running the flat of your tongue over the underside before teasing his balls with the tip of your tongue.

That has John rocking up onto his toes, hissing your name again followed by a curse. You can’t stop the pleased smirk that slides across your face and wrap your lips around the tip again, focusing your tongue on the sensitive spot on the underside. You can feel his cock twitching, the tension in his body ratcheting tighter with a moan. You let his shirt drop and cup his balls, lapping at the tip intently.

That seems to finally push John beyond his limit and he firmly tugs your hair to pull you off him. Your scalp tingles and you hum in disappointment but John’s already got a hold of your arm, lifting you to your feet again.

“C'mere love, I want to be inside you when I cum.”  

He growls lowly, making you shiver, backing you down the hallway to the bedroom with predatory intent. The look on his face makes your stomach quiver in anticipation, your insides going molten.

Next Chapter

Tag list:

@deadbranch @cadotoast @beebeechaos @syoddeye @writeforfandoms @itr-00

[aziraphales-library]

hey, I love what you guys are doing here! true community work <3

I was wondering if you could recommend something that takes place during/after the pandemic and is about the miscommunication in regards to Crowley's living situation. Like, Crowley dropped hints that he would want to move into the bookshop, Azi freaked out but then started dropping hints himself but Crowley didn't get him. Basically, both of them wanting to live together but sucking at communication.

Hello! I can't find fics exactly like what you've described, but here are some fics regarding (mis)communication about Crowley's living situation...

I'm Asking You To Stay by losttosleep (G)

It was only right Crowley brought his plants, but that did not explain why they stayed inside the Bentley. Aziraphale could see them now through the windows of Crowley’s beloved car, and it puzzled him to no end. Or Aziraphale finds out Crowley is living in the Bentley and invites him to move in.

Living Together by luciferfemme (G)

Crowley wants to tell Aziraphale he's been kicked out of his flat, he really does… only the idea of it is rather embarrassing, what's a demon to do after all?

Would That I by sobertodeathh (G)

"With the roar of the fire, my heart rose to its feet, like the ashes of ash I saw rise in the heat settle soft and as pure as snow, I fell in love with the fire long ago." Crowley disliked living in the Bentley nearly as much as it did.

Moving In(to Your Heart) by Bazzpop (T)

Crowley made a series of half choked noises, suddenly feeling much soberer than he had been moments ago. “Ngk— ‘s not that far— um, it’s just down the road, actually. A really nice place, very spacious.” He grinned nervously, tugging at his silver necktie. He’d never been good at lying to Aziraphale. “Might just stay there for a while, I think, ‘cus I like it so much.” The Bentley, his intermediate ‘place’, wasn’t any of those things. Well, he did like it, that much was true, but it wasn’t a very nice place to live— cramped and crowded as it was with all his plants taking up the backseat— but it was good enough for now. — Crowley loses his flat, after having a minor tiff about his current living situation, Aziraphale invites him in

why are you living in your car by ghostybreads (G)

“Wait, Shax? Why on Earth would she have your plants?” Aziraphale asked, confused as to how she got brought up at all. Crowley paused. Visibly. He had the look of a man (not literally, but so to speak) who accidentally let something slip. “Nhh. You know.” “Crowley.”

Sin Pays But Botany Doesn’t by Anonymous (G)

After averting the apocalypse, Crowley is living in his car with a lot of free time on his hands. He posts a YouTube video talking about plants as a joke but finds internet famedom where a punchline should be. Being a YouTube botanist agrees with him, though. He likes talking about plants, and he usually doesn’t find many opportunities to do that outside of YouTube. So, Crowley adopts traveling the world in search of plants to film as a new hobby. Kept in the dark about this new hobby, Aziraphale, who is used to being Crowley’s sole object of attention and is unused to having to compete with anything for Crowley’s time, is curious about where Crowley goes when he’s not in London.

- Mod D

[bitchesgetriches]

Ask the Bitches: Do I Have a Right To Know the Private Details of My Partner’s Finances?

When we started Bitches Get Riches, we thought we’d be writing mostly about paying off student loans and building credit scores. And to be fair, we’ve done a lot of that! But more and more we find ourselves coming for Dear Prudence’s job. Because it turns out handling finances within a romantic relationship is hella complicated! And sometimes we get a question about financial transparency among…

[lite-aid]

if my body wont shield you i'll build you a home, i'll sleep in your bed and call it my own

[drarrily-we-row-along]

October 1: "I've Got You"

Draco Malfoy had had more than his fair share of humiliating moments. There seemed to be no shortage of things in his memory that made him simply want to crawl out of his skin with embarrassment, but this had to be one of the most horrifically mortifying things to ever happen to him.

His bank card was being declined at the check out. Face and neck heating horribly, he looked at the items he had to try to decide what to put back; a loaf of bread, sliced cheese, a jar of apple sauce, a jar of peanut butter, a dozen eggs, and a container of yogurt. "Oh," he said, heart racing as he tried to get past his anxiety to make a decision.

"Here," the man in line behind him said, "I've got you."

He turned, ready to decline his help, but those words fell away in favor of a spluttered, "Potter?"

"Hey, Malfoy," the other man said, nudging him out of the way with his elbow to insert his own card into the machine.

"No-" he started, too late.

Potter looked over at him, then back at his card, "I've got it," he said softly. And somehow there was compassion and understanding in his voice without any pity.

"I-" he tried again, looking at the fresh fruits and vegetables, the rice and potatoes, meats, and other delicious foods that Potter had piled on the belt behind him.

"Don't worry about it," he said before Draco could get any other words out. "Seriously," he added, looking at Draco from under his fringe, looking like he was the one feeling embarrassed as he pulled his card out of the machine and a receipt was printed.

Draco took his bag from the cashier and all but fled the store.

He wasn't too far, though, when he heard a set of footsteps jogging to catch up with him. "Hey-"

"Thank you," he said politely, "I-"

"No," Potter said, shaking his head. "Don't thank me. I just-" he broke off and Draco stared, waiting for him to continue.

When no other words were forth coming, he said, "If you were wanting to make fun of me-"

"No," Potter said, shaking his head vigorously. "No. Shit," he ran his hand through his hair. "Look, come to my house for dinner."

He blinked, "Excuse me?"

"I'm just making up a stir fry," he rambled on, "Nothing fancy just some rice, peppers, snap peas, onions, broccoli, steak, and some teriyaki sauce-"

"I'm fine," Draco said, even as his stomach growled at the thought of eating some actual fresh vegetables.

"Please," Potter said, grabbing his wrist to prevent Draco from turning away.

"Why?" he asked and he wondered if Potter could hear all of the questions in his head why would you help me? What's in it for you? Why aren't you mocking me? Do you just want to mock me in your home? What will this cost me?

Potter swallowed and looked down at his feet, "I know what it's like to not have enough," he said softly. "I wouldn't wish it on anyone. Just," he huffed, "Come on. Let me feed you dinner. Please."

"You have an insufferable martyr complex." he snapped but before he could go anywhere, Potter spoke up again.

"My aunt and uncle," he said, "they didn't feed me enough. I fucking hate peanut butter sandwiches. No one should eat them day in and out. Just," he shook his head, "let me make you some dinner. You don't have to stay to eat it, you don't have to talk to me, you don't have to do anything you don't want to."

"And that's it? You just want me to come to your house and eat your food?"

"That's the gist of it, yeah," Potter said, scrubbing a hand over the back of his neck. "I'm not going to drag you to my house or anything because that would be creepy," he said when Draco didn't reply, still weighing his options, "but I'd really like to do this for you."

"Alright," he whispered, still feeling embarrassed and overwhelmed but also a deep longing for vegetables.

Potter grinned at him, bright and charming, like it was the easiest thing in the world. "Brilliant. Come on then."

And that was the first time that Draco found himself having dinner with Harry Potter, but it certainly wasn't the last.

By the time he left that evening, with a full belly and a container of leftovers, he'd let himself be convinced to come back the following week. A weekly dinner on Wednesday became a Wednesday dinner and a Saturday dinner, which became dinner every other night. And then before he quite knew how it had happened, he was at his house every night for dinner, staying later and later like he never wanted to leave.

Because the truth was that he didn't want to leave. Harry listened to him talk about his dreams, about how hard he was working in the muggle nursing program he was enrolled in, about his shitty job that didn't pay enough. He loved Harry's cat, Milo. He loved looking at Harry's art and listening to him talk about the creative process of making it. He loved hearing about Harry's childhood and getting to talk about his own. He loved having someone to do the mundane things in life with like cooking, chatting, watching telly, even just having someone to sit on the other end of the couch while he studied.

Still it took him by surprise one evening when they were making waffles and bacon for dinner, Harry was at the stove and Draco was cutting up strawberries, when the other man said, "Hey, Draco?"

"Mmhmm?" he hummed around the strawberry that he'd popped in his mouth.

"You know how your job is shit?"

He laughed, "I do. Thanks for reminding me."

"Right," he said, glancing over his shoulder at him, "But what if you didn't have to pay rent, would that make things easier?"

"It would," he said slowly, not allowing his heart to rise, not allowing himself to hope.

Harry nodded, "Do you think you might ever consider moving in with me?" he asked. "No pressure or anything, but I have an extra room," he continued, "well, five, actually. And Sirius gave me the house, so I own it, and-"

"Harry," he said softly, fingers lighting on the other man's bicep to get him to slow down. "I would love to, but I can't take advantage of your generosity."

"You wouldn't have to," he said earnestly. "If you're not paying for rent, you could maybe help with the cost of groceries, if you feel like you need to. But I don't have a ton of expenses, and I have a stupid amount of money, and a ridiculously large house for one person," he babbled. "And I just really like you," he blurted before slapping a hand over his mouth.

Draco blinked at him, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, "You like me?"

Harry nodded, hand still firmly in place over his mouth.

"I like you too," he said softly. "But I don't want you to feel like I only like you because of what you can give me."

He dropped his hand, a tiny smile blossoming on his face, "I hoped you might." Harry reached over and took Draco's hand, "I don't think that you only like me for what I can give you. You see me and hear my words, you know me. I'd really like it if you stayed."

And really, who was Draco to deny Harry Potter anything that he wanted? So he stayed.

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

[wangxianficrecs]

💙 Contingency Plan by krispy_kream

💙 Contingency Plan

by krispy_kream

M, 8k | 1,5h, Wangxian

Summary: “You’ll still love me when we’re old and ugly, right?” Wei Wuxian asks. “We’ll have each other while everyone else is busy with their kids and their dogs and annoying in-laws.” And Lan Wangji asks, "Why Wait?" Kay's comments: I don't have words, this story was just so incredibly funny and cute and it made me shriek in delight every other line. The absolute peak of idiots-to-lovers, never have I seen the trope written so well! Wangxian truly deserve each other! The way they get married for tax reasons and housing benefits and both just go: but we do this as friends obviously and my feelings will never be returned but that's fine because we're friends :) Just. Perfectionn. Also, the line in the excerpt about living with Wei Ying being like living with a pet is the best line ever period. Also, this story is also available as a podfic!! Excerpt: Living with Wei Ying is a lot like owning a pet. Not that Lan Wangji thinks of him as such, that would be inappropriate, but he demands attention in a similar fashion and Lan Wangji often finds him eating things he shouldn’t, so there are similarities. “I will cook,” Lan Wangji insists when he catches Wei Ying dipping doritos in cup noodles. “What, for both of us? You don’t have to do that—” Wei Ying tries, but Lan Wangji is already ripping open the fridge to keep himself from ripping the cup noodle from Wei Ying’s hand. “I seem to recall a contingency plan that involved me as acting housewife,” Lan Wangji says. “That wasn’t—!” Wei Ying splutters. “I didn’t say housewife.” “Mn,” Lan Wangji agrees with a small twist of amusement. “You used far more words.”

podfic available, podfic length: 1-1.5 hours, pov lan wangji, modern setting, modern no powers, idiots in love, getting together, marriage of convenience, friends to lovers, moving in together, marriage proposal, mutual pining, humor, fluff and humor

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)