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lovetorn · 3 years

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dream’s birthday bash [roommate!dream au]

Roommate!Dream x Reader

summary: it’s dream’s birthdayyyy!!!

warnings: alcohol, swearing

w/c: 2.9k+

a/n: happy birthday dream!! i’m in love w this. i hope u are too. also, there is a few references to past roommate!dream blurbs & one-shots, so i recommend reading those before you start this one or you may be a little confused at some things the characters say. thanks!! <3

roommate!dream masterlist

—

Dream’s birthday is something you haven't experienced yet since you moved in together in September last year.

Dream had promised the football team that his birthday party was going to be the biggest of the year, so you, being the party planner, had vowed to make it the best because Dream can’t organise—he disagreed and said that he only made you the party planner because he knows you’re good at it?? You gave him a confused look; you’ve never planned a party before.

Anyway, the 12th was approaching quicker than you anticipated and the only things you’d organised so far is the alcohol (thanks to George) and decorations. You had little notes on your phone with multiple checklists and you had yet to tick every last box off.

Organising food was probably the hardest thing. You knew that there were going to be around 100+ people squeezing into your apartment, drinking, so food is essential. You asked Dream what types of food he wanted, his reply?

“Chicken wings, not spicy.”

You rolled your lips between your teeth and nodded. Great. “Anything else? There’s gonna be a lot of people, Dream.”

He brought his fingers to rest on his lips as he thought about it. You knew when he got an idea because then he clicked his fingers and pointed at you. “Sandwiches. You know, like the little ones?”

Squinting at him, you sighed. “You think that’s going to be enough for more than 100 people?”

Dream nods. “Easy.”

You shake your head in disbelief and add sandwiches, along with other finger foods, to the list. “Thanks.”

Next to organise was Dream’s present. You spent days racking your brain, trying to figure out what he would want, eventually coming up with nothing.

So, you asked Sapnap, who was no help. “Fuck if I know, the man buys anything he wants himself these days.”

You rolled your eyes and took a trip to Target. Whilst there, you decided on an excess of small gag gifts: a Ron Swanson dishwasher magnet (so you and Dream can stop arguing over who put dirty dishes in with the clean ones), an engraved bottle opener, a ‘do not disturb sign for his bedroom door (chosen based on one too many run-ins), a Minecraft ice cube tray, a toothbrush holder (so both of your toothbrushes stop touching in the cup), and a pack of Minecraft socks.

You put the small presents into a gift bag, covering them with tissue paper, and then put in the final piece that wasn’t a joke gift—a mixtape of your and Dream’s favourite songs for his car. You brushed your thumb over the plastic case and let out a breathy laugh at the photo on the front—a selfie of the two of you in Dream's car, energy drinks in your hands and toothy grins with the text, ‘Dream & Y/n’s Gr8est Hits’ written in bright pink marker. You're excited to give it to him, but you're nervous and embarrassed, too—is it lame?

You shook your head and placed the bag in your closet.

George delivered the alcohol earlier in the day: 18 cases of beer and the same in White Claw, and a few bottles of vodka and rum for the close friends. You couldn't thank him enough for helping you, even more so after he helped put the covered trays of food in the refrigerator from the delivery truck downstairs.

You had (reluctantly) asked Sapnap to organise music because you had no time in between making sure the food order was correct and getting yourself ready. He agreed immediately and waved off your hesitance and told you he'd make the best playlist to ever exist—you put too much trust in him.

Before the party, you and Dream had taken a few shots together, just to get you to stop stressing over the planning of the party and Dream to stop worrying for you.

"Ready?" Dream smirked, his shot glass hanging loosely from his fingers. You nodded and then, at the same time, tapped the glass on the counter before you threw the shot back. The acetone taste of the vodka slid down your throats and you made disgusted faces at each other before a knock at the door indicated that your first guests were here.

Now, the party is in full swing and it's safe to say, there is definitely enough food.

When you see Sapnap at the food table, aka the kitchen counter, he thanks you for ordering non-spicy wings. You shake your head, laugh, and hug him tightly. "I'm serious," He mumbles with chicken in his mouth. "These are so~ good!"

The living room is cramped, but nobody seems to be complaining. Almost everyone from the apartment block is in your flat right now, with a few from other complexes. You lost sight of Dream a few hours ago, choosing to stay with your own friends while he hangs with his as the two groups don't usually mingle together.

“Niki!” You laugh whilst the girl finishes her second shot and passes the bottle of rum back to you. Shaking your head, you bring the large bottle to your lips, already regretting mixing different alcohols. You’d already had a few White Claws, thanks to Sapnap who kept challenging you to shotguns at the start.

Karl comes up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist before he snatches the bottle out of your hand and takes a swig.

“Karl!” Now, all three of you are laughing together. He slides his hand off of your stomach and stands to his full height, putting his lips to the White Claw can he holds in his other hand. You warn him about mixing alcohol, but he waves you off and assures you that he's fine.

The three of you stand on the dance floor, grooving to the beat of 'Super Freak' by Rick James. You grab Karl's hand to spin him around and then do the same to Niki, laughter filling the small space you have created in the middle of the crowd. You wouldn't admit it to Sapnap, but his playlist is actually good.

"Mi Amor!" The sound of Quackity's voice pulls you from your little group with Niki and Karl and you smile when you see his wide grin as he pushes past a few football players.

"Q! When did you get here? I didn't see you come in," You engulf him in a hug and giggle when he laughs loudly.

"I came in through the window," You pull back slightly to give him an incredulous look and shake your head. God, you are tipsy. "Nahhh, I had an exam, so I just got here."

You nod and feel the rum going straight to your head. Quackity then notices Karl and Niki behind you and gives them hugs too. You watch as your friends greet each other and turn to look at the clock on the wall in the kitchen. 10:33 pm.

“Guys, it's time for cake!” You shout over the music to Niki, Quackity and Karl and they smile and nod, all three of you migrating to the fridge to collect Dream’s cake and get it ready.

You pull a 3 layered vanilla cake out of the refrigerator. It is slathered in white icing and has rainbow sprinkles on the top with the words, ‘happy birthday dream’, in piped icing. Karl's mouth waters at the sight of the dessert and when he goes to get a dollop of icing from the side, you don’t smack his hand away—you have a plan.

Other guests see you preparing the candles and lighting them and turn off the lights for you. You smile at the 21 lit candles and pick up the cake, being careful not to trip on anything.

The entire room starts singing the ‘Happy Birthday’ anthem, their phones out to film as you spot Dream’s messy blonde hair over the crowd. He scrunches his face up in embarrassment and switches his beer from his right hand to his left to give you a side hug and a peck on the cheek when you approach him. The room sings and all attention is on him, but Dream only has eyes for you as you inch the cake closer so he can blow out his candles.

After he does so, the room erupts into cheers and then you give Dream a mischievous grin. There’s a little fear in his eyes and you launch the cake towards his face. Everybody laughs and hollers when you pull the cake stand away from him to see his face covered in white icing and rainbow sprinkles. Dream stands frozen for a moment, wiping his eyes with his free hand, before he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you close to him, rubbing the icing in your hair and on your cheek.

“Dream!” You cackle, trying to push him off, but failing and eventually succumbing to his hold. The phone torches shine brightly at the two of you as people continue filming. His laughter is music to your ears.

Dream smiles down at you, eyes lazy and cheeks flushed. “Thank you,” He whispers. Your heart flutters in your chest and butterflies swarm your stomach as you nod. Everybody disperses and carries on with their previous antics, leaving you and Dream together.

“I got you a present, I’ll give it to you when everybody’s gone.”

The sentence makes the present seem more sensual than it actually is, and it makes Dream’s heart skip a beat—but he knows it’s not what he’s thinking. You pull away from Dream and wave back at him, knocking into a few people which elicits a laugh from him as he watches.

“Dude, you’re so fucked,” George says, smirking as he follows Dream’s gaze on you. Dream elbows George in the bicep.

“Fuck off.”

“Yeah bro, if you don’t make a move soon, someone else will,” Sapnap comments, coming up to stand on Dream’s other side. The urge to punch the both of them is strong, but instead, the blonde groans and skulls the rest of his beer as he loses sight of you in the crowd.

—

“Bye, guys! Thanks for coming!” Dream tries his best to look composed, but he’s so drunk. As soon as the door closes, he locks it and lets out a huge sigh. You come out of your room with the gift bag in your hands. Dream raises his eyebrows and attempts to give you a surprised look. “Wow, a present?”

You giggle and lead him to the couch. He flops down, throws his feet up and puts his hands behind his head. You sit next to him and shove the bag into his hands. “It’s not much, but you literally have everything already, so this is what I came up with.”

You hold your breath and you watch him pick through the bag. A smile breaks out on his face when he sees the CD. He flips it around to show you as if you haven’t seen it before and opens the case. “A mixtape? How romantic.”

The heat that rises to your cheeks is scolding and you stop yourself from choking. Dream, however, doesn’t look at you as he digs through and comments on every item. When he’s gone through every gift, he picks up the mixtape again and looks you dead in the eyes.

“This is the most thoughtful thing I’ve ever gotten for my birthday. Thank you, Y/n.”

You’re surprised. “The most thoughtful? It’s only a CD.”

Dream’s face contorts into one of confusion. “Only a CD? You made this for me with your own blood, sweat and tears.” You wouldn’t go that far.

“Oh, well, you’re welcome, I guess,” You laugh, reaching down to grasp his large hand. The action causes Dream to tilt his head and shift closer to you.

“Seriously, thank you. You mean so much to me,” He confesses, although you can barely hear it. You feel tears pricking your eyes as you watch him wipe his own. “Fuck, why am I getting emotional? It’s that fucking vodka, that’s why.”

“Don’t make up excuses, D,” You tease, squeezing his hand a few times. He wheezes lightly then sighs. His green eyes are so bright and there’s still a little smudge of icing on the side of his nose from the cake. You reach up and wipe it away, licking your thumb beforehand. Dream closes his eyes as you do so, biting his lip as you pull your hand away. 2:29 am.

“Okay, I think it’s time to get you to bed,” You mumble as you stand up, the moment broken. Dream nods, collecting his presents and chucking them all in the gift bag before he follows you to his room, a little disappointed.

Dream stands in the doorway and watches as you pull back his bed covers and turn on the lamp on his nightstand. “Okay, I’ll leave you to it. Goodnight,” You push past him before you turn. “I’ll have Gatorade and Advil ready for you in the morning, okay?”

Dream gives you a loving smile and nods, still holding the bag in front of him as he stands in the middle of his room. “Goodnight, Y/n, thanks for everything.”

You close the door behind you and when you get back to your room, you kick yourself for not making a move. You peel your clothes off of your body and throw them in the corner of the room, the space becoming too hot for your liking—maybe it's the alcohol, maybe it's the fact that it's summer, or maybe it's your utter embarrassment and regret; you don't bother to choose which one.

You flop down on your bed, half-naked, and stare at the ceiling. Why didn't you make a move? It was the perfect opportunity—

Your thoughts are forgotten when there's a soft knock on your bedroom door. You scramble to put some pyjamas on as you call, 'just a second!', and then you're swinging your door open.

Dream stands there in his sweatpants only. You resist the urge to rake your eyes down his torso.

"Can I sleep in your bed tonight?" The question surprises you—of fucking course it surprises you! The only reason he comes to your room at night is to vent; not like this.

"Uh, yeah," You reply, cracking the door open just a tad wider so he can slip through. Once he's inside, you sigh in confusion and close your door quietly. Dream is already sorting out the bed situation behind you, throwing your hundreds of throw pillows onto the floor and lifting up your duvet so he can slip under.

You tilt your head at him when he looks at you expectantly—you assume he's waiting for you to get in bed, which you do.

You rest your head on your pillow and turn your head to look at Dream, who is already staring at you. Your skin is hot and your heart is in your throat when you see how green his eyes are in the warm glow of your lamp.

"What's up?" You whisper although you didn't mean for it to come out so low. Dream's eyes trace your face; your eyes, eyebrows, nose, freckles, lips. "Dream?"

He's silent for a while and you guess it's because he's trying to figure out his drunken thoughts. "I just wanted to be with you, you know," He says, his voice breaking slightly. You suck in a breath, turning onto your side so you face him. "You planned my party all by yourself and I'm so happy you did."

You don't have the heart to tell him that George and Sapnap helped you, he looks so content. "I'm so glad, Dreamy," Your voice is velvety, and you can't help the warm feeling blooming in your chest. Dream's eyes travel from your own to your lips and stay there.

“C’mere," Dream mumbles. You barely nod before you lean closer to him.

You can tell Dream is figuring out what to do by the way his lips part and then close suddenly a few times, so, for the second time this week, you take things into your own hands.

You scoot closer to him, your breaths mixing in the small space between your lips and his nose bumping yours. You were so close. But not close enough.

"Dream, I'm gonna do something crazy, okay? Don't hate me," Here goes nothing.

"I could never hate you, baby," Dream murmurs, adjusting his head on his pillow. The pet name goes straight to your head and throwing out any and all rational thoughts, you lean in and place your lips softly on his.

It takes him a few seconds to react and in those moments, you fear you've made a huge mistake, but when his hands find your hips and pull you impossibly closer, you're glad you kissed him—are kissing him.

This is nothing like wine night a few weeks ago.

Your hands find the back of his head and tug on his hair lightly, earning a throaty groan. The sound makes you clench your fists and pull a little harder. You move your lips across his jaw and towards his ear. "Happy Birthday, birthday boy," You whisper.

Dream lets out a breathy laugh and hugs you closer. His face presses into your neck and you feel him leaving feather-light kisses on your skin. The feeling makes you giddy.

"I'm one lucky birthday boy, aren't I?" He mutters, pecking your neck firmer now. You giggle softly, running your fingers through the hair at the back of his neck.

"You bet your ass you are."

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chainofclovers · 3 years

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Ted Lasso 2x7 Thoughts

“Headspace” is a very apt name for this episode, in which we learned almost no new information about the characters in Ted Lasso but learned a great deal about the way many characters’ brains work.

Most of the episodes this season have been so full of new information (if you wanna know something about how my brain works, the critique that early s2 episodes lack conflict does not compute), so full of dramatic irony (Sam and Rebecca don’t realize they’re messaging each other on Bantr! Rebecca’s voicemail to Ted doesn’t actually indicate that she spent a significant portion of time panicking and looking for him!), and misunderstandings that it was really nice to spend a bit over thirty minutes on an episode with very easily mappable plotlines.

Ted and Sharon and Therapy

Ordinarily in my little recaps I talk about the characters as real people making their own decisions, because every character on this show feels very real. But I have to take a minute to just, like, celebrate the acting in these scenes. Sarah Niles and Jason Sudeikis brought the perfect energy to each of their three scenes in Dr. Sharon’s office.

The drinking bird toy! The way he switches from nodding along with it to shaking his head no while the bird continues to shake its head yes, just like Ted shook his head no while saying yes, they should hire a sports psychologist! The way he finally stills the bird in the final therapy scene in the episode...but performatively throws the tissue box.

(Someone is going to need those tissues, Ted. It might be you.)

I also LOVE that this is the first time we see Sharon in an extended scene that takes place in a session. We’ve seen her rapport with the players, we’ve seen the results, and we’ve seen the things she does to make someone feel comfortable at the start of a session, and that’s all the information WE need to know to feel confident in her excellence as a psychologist. But because Ted hasn’t been able to fully appreciate those things, it’s so fitting that his sessions are a time for us to learn more about Sharon’s approach along with him.

It’s just...such good acting. The way she tells him he doesn’t need to worry. The kind of charming (but not performatively charming, just...charming) smile on his face when he claims he knows he doesn’t need to worry. And the way his voice changes a little as the conversations progress—deeper, less controlled, with some very genuine Midwestern “ma’am”s.

Sam and Rebecca and Awkwardness

Sam and Rebecca were so awkward when talking to each other in the hallway! If I had been in that hallway I would have been physically unable to stop myself from doing something even more awkward and diverting to make it stop. (I say this as someone who is neither disgusted by or delighted by the direction of the Bantr storyline. This is a good story about two good people who are in very different places in their lives existing in both a manufactured connection and the real, and very different, connection they have when they aren’t glued to their phones. This story is supposed to be awkward and uncomfortable.)

I did like the parallels of their friends sort of urging them on/coaching them through the inherent panic of the three dots that appear and disappear—a source of panic whether you’re the one creating the dots on the other screen or watching them and feeling at their mercy.

I like that in this episode both Ted and Rebecca are loudly broadcasting “I AM NOT IN THE RIGHT HEADSPACE FOR A ROMANTIC RELATIONSHIP”—Ted with his rueful awareness that Michelle would be upset if she heard him still referring to her as his wife, Rebecca with her insistence that relationships are doomed and awful even though she’s talking to two people (Keeley and Higgins) in committed relationships.

Roy and Keeley and Space

This plot was a really wonderful...counterpoint? complement? to the places both Ted and Rebecca are in as Ted starts to come to terms with the fact that he’s going to have to deal with his past and the losses he’s suffered (including the loss of his marriage) and as Rebecca questions whether she’s really going to embark on the next phase of a relationship with someone whose identity she does not know.

Because Ted and Rebecca are stuck apart, it was great to see Keeley struggle with needing space from Roy without worrying for a second about whether or not this challenge was a threat to their relationship. (Keeley and Roy aren’t used to long haul relationships, so they both see it as a threat, but the audience doesn’t have to.)

There was so much going on in that boot room. I love the coexisting realities there—Rebecca and Keeley and Higgins treating the boot room as their personal room for secret smoking, but as the crowd grows all these other unspoken dynamics emerge (it’s been two days since the panic attack and this is the first time we see Ted and Rebecca in the same room and there’s no evidence that they’ve talked about what happened with the panic attack or Rebecca’s parents or any of the big stuff).

Everything about Keeley’s plotline this episode reminded me of how Ted and Keeley are so similar (and, to a lesser extent, Rebecca and Roy are so similar). Rebecca and Roy both tend to write things off (Rebecca is so certain any relationship she has will be doomed, but it’s just because of how hurt she already is; Roy wanted to convince himself he was happier as a pundit than as a coach, but it’s just because he was scared of how much he wanted to be back on on the pitch), only able to deal with things when a safe person like Ted or Keeley sort of startles growth out of them. (We talk a lot about how Rebecca should be in therapy, but Roy should too.) And Ted and Keeley! Everything’s great, everything’s sunny, but look at how Keeley stands on her couch and screams in sadness and anger when she blows up at Roy and he leaves.

This time, things work out between Roy and Keeley because he figures out what Keeley was trying to communicate and respects what she needs, but in the future she’s going to have to figure out how to articulate herself more clearly. (And so will Ted...not only in therapy with Sharon, but as everything with the other coaches and the team and Will and basically everyone in his life come to light.)

Nate and Beard and Twitter-Insecurity-Rage

Ahhhhhhhhh.

This plotline made me feel almost as nervous for Ted (the things he doesn’t know) and Beard (the things he knows) as it did for Nate and Colin and Will and everyone.

At first I was really bothered by the repetition of Nate checking Twitter. We know! He’s on Twitter a lot now that he’s semi-famous! He’s obsessed! But then it occurred to me that it’s extremely perfect that Nate checking Twitter becomes this silent refrain building him up or tearing him down based on the latest 280-character compliment or take-down. Because this is how the internet works! You get obsessed with something on it and then check it a million times per day until you feel sick. It could be a dating app, or a trending story, or almost anything. If you check it often enough, the internet won’t even have anything truly new for you...it just feels like it does. So the repetition of Nate scrolling Twitter wasn’t meant to deliver us new information, but rather to mimic the old information coming through again and again.

I feel so deeply for Nate, who’s brilliant about football but unfit to coach because the power dynamics of coaching are a totally foreign concept to someone like him, who relies entirely on external inputs to take his actions. Ted and Beard and Roy all go and learn things and bring them back to the pitch, but none of them have had the capacity to teach Nate how to do this. Even Nate’s private thoughts, which he wrote down during s1, only come to light when Ted prompts him. And when your external inputs are coming from social media and an unappreciative father and a hyper-awareness of insult after years spent on the receiving end of bullying...it’s very dangerous. Maybe even literally physically dangerous.

I also feel so deeply for everyone who interacts with Nate right now, particularly Will.

Some Bonus but Never Extraneous Trent Crimm

Trent in the pub made me NERVOUS. Seeing him in this new place where Ted goes to wind down, almost coaching Ted through lying to him about having had food poisoning?! When they both clearly know that isn’t what happened?!?

It felt very fitting that this uncomfortable yet kind-of-mercifully-executed lie takes place towards the end of an episode full of such positive and negative growth for the characters. Such movement. It felt all wrong (in a good way), like covering something new and smooth and precious with spackle because maybe you actually wanna paint something else after all even though it won’t serve you in the long run to do it. To paraphrase Dr. Sharon, the truth will set you free but first it will piss you off, and Ted’s conversation with Trent is a reminder of all the layers there are to cut through on the way to the truth.

If Apple TV could simply release 2x8 - 2x12 this week, I would bargain with something crazy and miserable like giving up caffeine until October 8, the air date for the season finale. I continue to love this season and to feel the serenity of watching excellent actors execute on excellent scripts...but we’re getting to the point where the momentum’s built up and is heading to ever-scarier places, and I neeeeeeeeeed to knoooooooow.

#ted lasso #ted lasso s2 spoilers #meta by me #ted lasso 2x7 #a lesbian watches ted lasso

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softomi · 4 years

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Catfish

prompt: mother says to be wary of people you meet on the internet, especially since you never know who’s on the other side of the screen.

pairing: atsumu x reader

the unpaid extras: osamu, suna

general taglist: @graykageyama

Osamu liked to mess with his brother and lately he’s been planning the largest prank. It originally wasn’t supposed become a huge thing, but then Suna just kept edging him on; adding more things one by one and it just spiraled. Osamu was catfishing Atsumu with your pictures.

Now, Osamu knows that it sounds bad but technically you were in on the prank. You had never met nor even knew Atsumu, heck, you didn’t even know who Osamu was. You had been part of the prank merely through text messages and the occasional meet up with Suna.

To put it simply, Suna met you through one of his teammates; coincidentally you ended up in one of his classes and the two of you built a tiny friendship. Which was why, when Suna was thinking of the perfect person to catfish Atsumu with; your face lit up in his head.

You were the perfect candidate, exactly Atsumu’s type literally to a tee. When Suna pulled up your contact, the first thing he did was offer to pay you. Every picture you sent used for the prank, he’ll send you cash through an app and as a broke college student who needed cash fast, you agreed as long as the photos weren’t used for anything weird or sexual. He made sure to send you proof of each photo in use.

This brings it all back to dear Osamu catfishing his brother. He had created an entirely new Instagram for you, complete using your name and a cute description that him and Suna had spent two hours thinking of. They decided to even spend a few days perfecting it, posting pictures a few days apart with captions, following random groups, liking posts, essentially creating a whole new personality using your photos. Osamu had even developed a fake occupation for you; a foodie blogger to which some posts were dedicated to food reviews for restaurants Osamu deemed worthy of a post.

And when Osamu says that the prank spiraled; it fucking spiraled. Originally it started with Suna and Osamu following the account, suddenly Suna’s teammates began following the account. Osamu made the mistake of tagging Onigirl Miya in one of your photos, ultimately adding a few random people to follow the account. Suddenly after two weeks of having the account, you gained over two thousand follows.

It was no worries though, because Osamu can quickly catfish Atsumu, take down the account, and call it all good.

Safe to say, Atsumu accepted the friend request rather quickly. Osamu and Suna snicker to themselves, it took Atsumu less than five minutes to accept and he was already liking all of your photos. Not even ten minutes pass and he’s sliding into the DM’s.

The two men looking at the phone and burst into laughter. They spend five minutes cackling at Atsumu’s random ‘hey’ message that followed with a smiling emoji.

Osamu was absolutely entertained, it was hilarious that his own brother had fallen for his catfish and honestly, Osamu was ready to give up the act after three days but then Atsumu said something that just really pissed him off. He doesn’t remember what it was, he just suddenly ended up two more weeks later still having the fake Instagram account and still having Atsumu believe that he was falling in love with some girl.

Somehow the account ended up with over five thousand followers, Atsumu messages the account religiously, and Osamu for some godly reason is still managing the account three months later. It’s spiraled.

“I have a girlfriend!” Atsumu doesn’t know why his friend and brother are laughing. He’s scrolling through your Instagram, the catfish Instagram.

Osamu almost chokes on his food, “So what, have you guys gone on a date? Have you even seen her in real life?” Suna snorts into his drink, he coughs when he accidentally inhales the water sharply.

Atsumu slumps in his seat, his voice small, “No, but we talk every day and she likes me!”

Suna is coughing even harder now, tears threatening to leave his eyes to the point that he excuses himself to the bathroom. Osamu has a shit eating grin on his face, “How do you know she’s actually not some old dude catfishing you?”

“She’s not!” Atsumu stutters, “She’s real!”

“Prove it.”

Osamu was about to learn a harsh lesson about the world; the world loves to bite you in the ass when you least expect it.

Atsumu leans forward, an eerie grin on his lips, “Happily.” Atsumu whips out his phone, quickly presses a number and holds the phone to his ear. He holds a finger up to his brother, even gesturing for the returning Suna to remain quiet. The phone picks up, “Hey babe, you wanna meet me here at Onigiri Miya?” Atsumu looks at the watch on his wrist, “Twenty minutes? Perfect.”

Osamu’s believing his brother is bluffing. There was no way in hell he’d be able to somehow magically bring the catfish to life, heck, Atsumu would be a god if suddenly he could. Thirty minutes pass, Osamu is exchanging looks with Suna. It’s absolutely silent between the three.

Osamu is suddenly feeling guilty, Suna is uncomfortable to the point that he’s even texting you to make sure you weren’t actually coming, and you confirmed with him that you weren’t.

“Should we tell him?” Osamu whispers when another five minutes pass.

Suna is deadpanned, “I don’t know, we’re kind of reaching a sad territory now. Let’s just break up with him and ghost him.”

Osamu groans, “But do we want to deal with a sad Atsumu, I’ll take getting my ass kicked over him crying in my apartment.”

The door chimes and their jaws smack the floor. You walked through the door, eyes roaming the place before landing on the three huddled into the corner. Is he a fucking god? Atsumu stands from his seat, he meets you halfway, pulling you into a heartfelt kiss that has you swooning.

The closer you approach with Atsumu’s arm around your shoulder, the more they truly begin to believe that Atsumu is a god.

“Guys, this is my girlfriend.” This time it’s Atsumu who has a shit-eating grin, “Ain’t she a beauty, the pictures don’t do her justice.”

It takes everything in Osamu to not scream, “But, you said you’d never even met her before.”

Atsumu gazes into your eyes, hearts practically floating above his head, “I mean I guess technically this is our first-time meeting, right?”

You nod, a puppy like expression on your face, “I’m sorry, I haven’t introduced myself yet. You must be Osamu.” You point to him then your fingers drag to the other male, “Suna.”

“Oh.” Suna sits straight up, “Oh!” He catches the glint in your eyes, the conniving little minx of a look. Suna was no longer calm, “We’ve been double crossed!”

There’s screaming, fingers are being pointed at each other, Atsumu is gripping Osamu by the neck of his shirt, Suna is literally calling your phone to make sure that it’s actually you, Osamu is pulling his brother’s hair. The customers of the restaurant stare with their jaws dropped at the scene.

Everyone is squished into Osamu’s small office. Suna is sitting on the desktop, Osamu in his chair, Atsumu in the spare seat, and you lean on the arm of Atsumu’s chair. His arm dangles around your waist, pulling you to lean on him with a cheery grin.

Atsumu leans forward, taking in the expressions of the two bewildered boys, “I guess let’s start at the beginning.”

While the story technically began three months ago with Suna asking for your cooperation, the story of you and Atsumu began two months ago.

The extra cash from all the pictures you sent Suna was giving you enough to be able to go out and live a little on the weekends. Originally the bar was dead, you and your friends were tucked into the corner in a booth when a rowdy bunch of men came in. Your friends gasped having recognize them as members of a sports team and with their excitement, they must have won a game.

It didn’t affect your group that much until it came to split ways; being in your last year of university, you excused yourself, insisting that you needed to go home to finish a project. As you stood at the register, card tapping against the counter, that was when he showed up.

At this point, Atsumu had spent the past hour believing the gods were on his side. He practically walked by your table ten times just to make sure the face matched the one in his instagram’s DM. After forty minutes of the constant back and forth, your quick gazes at him walking by the table seem to do nothing. Were you unable to recognize him?

He took his shot watching you stand alone at the counter. He finishes off his drink and smoothly strides to you.

“Hey!” Atsumu leans on the counter, flashing a smile despite alcohol dripping from the side of his mouth, “Wouldn’t you consider this fate?” He gestures between the both of you.

You’re confused, shooting him a puzzled gaze, “Sorry, you must have me mistaken for someone else.” You hand the card to the worker, anxiously eyeing the male who’s increasingly invading your space.

Atsumu places a hand on the small of your back, it was something Instagram you had mentioned you liked, instead it triggered a fight or flight. Your hand makes harsh contact with his cheek, he retracts his hand immediately.

“Don’t touch me!” You bark at him, “Perv.” You’re aggressively signing the receipt, storming out of the door while other men seem to ooh at Atsumu’s situation.

“Hey!” Atsumu catches your figure outside of the bar, you’re waving a hand to catch a cab, “I think we got off on the wrong foot there.”

You don’t give him a second glance, “Look, I don’t know who you think you are.”

“Atsumu.” He stands right in front of you, blocking your sights for a cab. He’s got the widest smile on his face as he holds out a hand, “Miya Atsumu. Volleyball player. Setter for the Black Jackals.”

“Okay.” You run a hand through your hair, oddly taking his hand into a shake while eyeing him, “Miya Atsumu, volleyball player, setter for the Black Jackals.”

You step to the side, arm out still trying to catch a taxi but he blocks your way once more and he looks at you with such wonder. His eyes practically having stars coming out and his smile warm and inviting. He was wondering if you were a twin, maybe he had actually gotten the wrong person.

“You are?”

The wind is causing your hair to blow in your face, he wants to so bad to brush the strands behind your ears but the way you gave him a slap earlier makes him think that’s a bad idea. Your fingers pull your hair back, “Y/n. I don’t have a fancy title like yours but, I guess I don’t know, senior to be graduating at the university.” You sidestep him once more, “I’m just trying to catch a cab home.”

Once more he blocks your way and you look at him with defeat. He was persistent. He laughs, “Sorry, last time, but do you not know me?”

You’re still as confused as ever, “Look if you’re going to pull some cheesy line about seeing me before, it’s not going to work.”

“Wait, just hold on a second.” Atsumu pulls out his phone, his fingers are shaking as he presses onto the app. He pulls up your profile, handing you his cell phone, “This is you isn’t it?!”

Your eyes scan the social media page, your mouth falling open, there’s a hidden laugh itching in your throat. These were all the picture you had taken for Suna and somehow, you’re being shown by a stranger your fake profile.

“We’ve been messaging for like a month, I can’t believe you don’t recognize me.”

I don’t recognize you because I’m not the one talking to you.

You’re perplexed, you weren’t sure what you were supposed to do, if you told him he’s being catfished you’d lose the flow of side cash you’ve developed but if you didn’t, isn’t that just wrong. And the more you look at him from under the stars, he’s rather cute; you suddenly feel bad for slapping his face earlier.

“Do you want to get some coffee?”

Your offer sends him over the moon, he’s walking alongside you to the nearest convenience; Atsumu is rather talkative, bringing up topics of everything and anything that comes to his mind. As the two of you look over drink options in the cooler, his hands pull two cans of black coffee.

“You’re favorite right?” He holds one out to you.

Your actively smiling, biting your lower lip and wondering if you needed to play along with the role but as he stares at you with such adoring eyes, it makes your heart skip a beat just taking in the fact that he would remember something trivial over text.

“Actually.” You place the drink back, opting for a sweeter caramel macchiato, “I would say that this is my favorite.”

Atsumu quirks a brow, “Are you saying you were lying to me?” He places a hand over his heart, “And here I thought we were soulmates.”

Your hand smacks against his arm, “Shut up.”

“So what are you studying for?” Atsumu sips his drink, the two of you leaning against the windows of the convenience store. There’s a slight sway in his body and you’ve unknowingly followed his movements.

“Literature. Once I graduate, an internship is probably where I’ll start but I’m hoping I can get hired into a publishing company.” He’s comfortable to be with and you aren’t sure if it’s because he thinks he knows you or because his presence is just like that; comfortable.

Atsumu finishes off his canned beverage, “And you do that, all on top of running a foodie Instagram.”

From what you gathered on a quick skim of the account; they have your occupation as a lower level food blog; it’s rather funny. You can only nod to him, “It’s just a side hobby really.”

“Well maybe I could join you on one of your little adventures.”

You try to suppress the immense grin that wants to grow on your lips, there’s an internal battle happening of whether you should tell him or not but once again, the way he looks at you, the cute doe eyed look; it puts butterflies in your stomach.

“How about tomorrow?” He lets out a small gasp, your hands pull out your cell phone and offer it to him, “Your number?”

“I’m free for lunch, just text me when and where.”

You press the number he’s inserted into his contact; in a second his cell rings and he’s showing off his screen, “Don’t message me on Instagram though, I’m detoxing from social media for a bit. Just, text my number.”

He walks you to the curb, helping you flag down a cab, and you give him one last gleeful glance before getting into the car. As you sit, you’re quick to dial Suna’s number. You know he’s probably sleeping but the light feeling in your heart overrides his sleep schedule.

“What?” He’s groaning.

“Suna listen to me carefully. The prank that you guys are doing.” You hear a small snore, “Suna!” He jolts awake and you groan, “You know what, go back to sleep.”

“Thanks.” He hangs up immediately.

Your phone dings, Atsumu’s name pops up. Can’t wait for our date. You bite on your thumb, a smile on you before you respond.

Although having just seen him forty minutes ago, you two text back and forth. First he wondered if you arrived home safe, next he sent pictures of himself insisting it’s for you to choose for his icon, then he proceeds to narrate his way home. You wonder if you’re responding like catfish you but the more he brings up random topics, the more you forget about that stupid prank.

Wait let me call you.

Your heart beats faster, your phone lighting up with his name. You press the answer button slowly, “Hello?” You giggle.

“You’re telling me that you like spikers more than setters.” His voice is nearly screaming and you lean back on your chair laughing into the phone.

The quick research you did on his team had you watching short videos, and while you had to admit it was amazing to watch, your eyes drifted more to one of his teammates than him, “What’s his name?” You lean to look at your computer screen, “Bokuto Koutarou?”

“No!” He’s whining out into the air, “If I had known you were a spiker girl I would have changed positions.”

Your eyes catch the time on your laptop, “Woah. It’s three in the morning.” That meant you had spent over four hours total texting him and now you were on the phone with him, “What are you doing awake?”

He blows out a breath of air, “I could ask you the same thing.”

“Well.” You draw out the word, dragging your self to your bed, “I’m going to go to sleep now.” There’s a pause on the line, “Atsumu?” He hums tiredly, “Good night.”

There’s a small snore from him before he shifts around, “Good night.”

The morning light urges you awake, for a second you peak at your phone’s time and it nears ten in the morning. You’re about to throw your phone back onto the bedside table until Atsumu’s name catches your eye. For having gone to bed at three a.m. he shot you a text at seven.

Morning beautiful.

It was sweet, simple, and it made you smile; giving you the extra push to get out of bed. You stalked your own catfish page, there hadn’t seemed to be any updates so there was still time. A quick search of the internet has you picking out a random restaurant nearby and you send off a text to Atsumu about a meeting time.

You were late, pushing through the doors of the restaurant, your eyes scan the place to see him raise a hand for you. He’s dashingly handsome despite being in casual wear, you wonder if he spent time like you did just trying to pick out an outfit or if he spent forever gelling his hair as long as you tried to get your strands into the perfect waves.

“Sorry, did you wait long?” You pull into the seat in front of him.

He’s smiling and you hope to god that when you break the news to him, he’ll still smile for you, “I just got here not too long ago too.” He looks over the menu quickly, “What do you think you’ll get?”

You inspect each dish, a light hum on you as you dance around the option, “The spaghetti sounds nice.”

Atsumu tilts his head, “It has red meat in it.” You stare blankly at him, “Aren’t you allergic to red meat?”

“Oh.” You set the menu down, “Actually.” He follows your actions, you’ve become nervous at what you’re suddenly about to do, “There’s something you should know.”

“Fuck this!” Atsumu throws the napkin on the table, you jump as he harshly stands, throwing the chair back.

“Atsumu.” You stand.

“No! Don’t. Were you just messing with me then? Did Osamu tell you I was going to be at the bar last night?” Atsumu’s fist ball, “You know what, whatever.”

“Wait.” You follow him behind, “Atsumu. I’m sorry.”

He harshly turns to you, god, even in sunlight you were beautiful to him. He wants to laugh, the month he spent talking to the fake you; yeah that was all bullshit to him but honestly when he saw you last night, when he spent over four hours actually talking to you; he actually felt that maybe this could be something deeper.

“I’m really sorry, I know I should have said something right away.” You have a soft pout on you and it makes him outwardly groan.

He runs a hand through his hair, “Okay, it’s fine. I probably deserved this prank too anyways; must have pissed him off somehow.” He waves a hand, “You can just go back to doing whatever.”

Your hand pulls on his wrist, “I owe you a meal.” You bat your eyes with a cheeky grin, “If you take pictures of me, we can send them to Suna and use the money for our food.”

“Oh.” He begins to smile, “I like that idea.”

Back into Osamu’s office, Atsumu has now pulled you onto his lap, your head resting on his shoulder with arms hanging around his shoulders. The two bachelors stare at the sickly loving sight.

A lightbulb goes off in Suna’s head, “Wait! My money!”

You snort a laugh into Atsumu’s shoulder, “Hey, I earned that fair and square. You paid for goods.”

Osamu is having a staring contest with his brother, “So you two have been actually dating for two months? Why would you still message the catfish account then, why not just kick my ass when you found out?”

Atsumu taps a finger on his chin, “Well, I was just originally going to ghost you guys but then babe here and I discovered that we could fund all of our dates with Suna’s money. We even started setting aside leftover cash from our dates to plan a trip.”

You giggle, “We’re going to Disney next weekend.”

“All the pictures.” Suna whispers.

There’s an amused hum in your throat, “Honestly I’m surprised you guys didn’t figure it out. We were dropping hints in the photos.”

Indeed, the two males looked at the pictures you sent them. If they backtracked to two months ago, there wouldn’t be any hints but the closer they get to the present; it was painfully obvious. They were just too caught up in their excitement to even notice. In one photo, part of Atsumu’s shoulder and hair was just barely in the picture; another had his reflection vividly displayed in the window of the restaurant, and somehow Osamu and Suna missed the obvious Black Jackals jacket sitting on the back of the chair next to you.

The two boys were having a mental breakdown.

You shifted on Atsumu’s lap, leaning forward to tap against the top of Osamu’s phone, “Now, if you’d please deactivate the account since this whole charade is over.”

Osamu ended up not deleting the account. He set the account to private because seeing how his brother was so deeply entranced by you, Osamu had a feeling this one was going to last and he was right; on Atsumu’s wedding day, his little best-man speech had him whipping out the catfish Instagram to display on the monitor for everyone to see.

#haikyuu #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu x reader #atsumu x reader #atsumu scenarios #osamu #suna #atsumu

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whorphydice · 3 years

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Bread When I’m Hungry

Happy Re-opening, Heres a new fic.

Bread When I’m Hungry

Those were words that, in the dead heat of summer, have Orpheus waking from a dead sleep. Somehow, despite the blazing temperatures, he wakes in a cold sweat. Fear likely responsible for the chill he felt in his heart at the memory. It was a nightmare, quite literally, that he would never recover from. Eurydice, clinging to his hand, begging him to just listen please, we need food. A nightmare, a memory, that every night now, he experienced again in his head. Eurydice, his wife, his love, starving in front of his eyes.

Even when he woke, breathing hard and heart trying to beat itself out of his chest, he cannot shake the feeling. He always looks to his right, where his wife is there in the flesh, alive. The gentle rise and fall of her shoulders with her breathing comforts him, bringing him out of his fear. Yes. She was alive, she was here, and she was safe.

And yet, despite the very physical evidence of her beside him that they were safe… it all ate at Orpheus. The memories, the nightmares. The look on her face when he had come for her, the hope in her eyes when she told him she needed so little-- bread, fire-- so long as they were together. He owed her- he owed her the most basic of comforts.

He had promised to see her needs, to meet them. He would be damned before he failed to provide for her again.

It is that next morning, right after the peak of summer, when he kisses his wife’s sleeping face, whispers a promise of “I’ll be back soon,” and slips out towards the door. The fact doesn’t escape him (he’s gotten better at remembering important things) that his wife had mentioned she was going to be helping Persephone and her mother with gardening all day and likely would not be home until that evening. Perfect.

He is the first person at the market that morning, with a cotton tote over his shoulder. He makes a beeline way directly to the corner stand that is filled with freshly baked goods, leavening agents, and a plethora of flour products. It’s earlier than he’d wake normally, but he can remember hearing about baking early in the day, and bakers waking before anyone else. Yes, this is what he had to do. What he wanted to do. He practically runs up to the stand, absolutely beaming at the town baker, despite the early hour.

“Good morning!” Orpheus greets, pulling a notebook from his pocket, as well as a pencil. “I have some questions for you.”

The baker, an older man, who had been baking in the town before Orpheus had even been born, looks up over his shelves of goods, a curious expression on his face. “Why, good morning Orpheus! What are you doing here so early, and where’s that girl of yours? Unlike you to be alone!”

A warm blush comes to Orpheus’ face, as he fiddles his pencil between his thumb and forefinger. “That’s actually what i’m here about. I want to learn to bake. Bread, actually. I promised her she’d have a home with warm bread. I need to make sure I keep that promise.” He gestures to the flours and sugars around him. “And, to be quite honest, I don’t even know how to start.”

The baker is a kind man, and he chuckles under his breath. It was just very..Orpheus..to take on a project and a promise with no idea of how to go about completing it. He wipes his hands on his apron and holds out both hands, gesturing for Orpheus to hand him the note pad and paper. “You’re the only man I know like you.” He remarks, scribbling down instructions on the notepad. “You’re going to start simple, alright? No starter, no add ins. Just a basic, white bread.”

Orpheus nods excitedly, clasping his hands infront of him. “Yes, yes, thank you! I appreciate it, and Eurydice will too.” It was fact, in the town. That Eurydice was nearly as beloved as Orpheus, maybe even more so, for the way she brought him the joy that she did. He is glancing around at the ingredients around him, trying not to show the level of overwhelmed he felt. “I can- what do I need to do that?”

“I’ll set you up right, don’t worry about it. And when you’re done here you’re gonna stop down there for your butter. It’ll be nice and fresh. Melts real well on the warm bread. And stop and grab some fresh eggs too. You can make a real nice toast for your girl in the mornin;.” The Man hands Orpheus the list back, and then begins to hand him the proper products he needs from the document. “If you really want to impress her, You make a few loaves, then it pushes you through the week. Shows forethought.”

Orpheus gives the man a genuine thanks and exchanges payment, before he carries on stopping at the rest of his target vendors. He grabs the additional ingredients, careful to follow the instructions exactly. He has to make sure Eurydice enjoys it, he has to make her see that he listened to her needs.

Orpheus enjoys the walk home, noting to himself how melodic the birds sound. He finds himself humming in response, a beautiful distraction to exactly how exhausted he is. The combination of the lack of sleep from the nightmares and the early start to the day are surely to catch up to him. But for now, in this moment, he is simply too excited to surprise his wife.

Orpheus arrives home, tossing his shoes to the side as he soon as he passes the threshold of their apartment. They’ve lived above the bar since their return, Orpheus himself having lived their longer. They’ve talked about looking for more of a home, with a yard for their own garden, space out of the town where they could be alone. There was no rush, though. They were together, they were each other’s home. The four walls around them wasn’t what mattered most, anymore.

Eurydice is gone, he can tell that much in their studio space. Besides the obvious of the lack of her physical presence, he notices the lack of her boots, the absence of her laugh, the missing smell of warm spices and earth. It used to be that her absence, even temporary, would set a panic in his chest. She’s gone, she’s never coming back. She left again. Doubt plays on repeat in his head, time and time again until he finally broke down to Eurydice one day. He verbalizes his fear, and doubts, and through more than a bit of tears from them both they made it through. He can rationalize now, that when she went out to work with Persephone, she’d return at the end of the night.

Now the pang he felt was just that he always did, when she was gone. Just a feeling of a man who loved his wife and missed her presence.

Orpheus sits his groceries in their kitchen, setting them out before him. He grabs his work apron, the only one he had, slipping It over his head and then tying it behind his back. He re-reads the instructions diligently (one, two, then three) times before he begins preparing his work station and beginning his first loaf.

Maybe it was the summer heat beaming down on her all day, or maybe it was the practically sun up to sundown shift she worked today, but Eurydice was exhausted. Not that she was ungrateful, no not that at all. She thanked Persephone, and often her mother, profusely for allowing her to come help work around the farm and assist the goddesses. Yes, Eurydice was exceptionally grateful for all the opportunities Persephone helped to provide her with.

Eurydice’s thankfulness did not negate that sometimes, at the end of a long day in the field, she was bone tired.

“Love.. I’m home..” She pushes the door open, and after settling her keys on the table right inside their door, she has no chance to drop her bag or shoes before she is met by her husband directly inside.

He stands there, directly on the other side of the door, a goofy, proud smile on his face. He is still wearing his work apron from earlier, though rather than the usual drink stains, he is covered in a light flour dusting. Most importantly, now, is that Orpheus holds his arms out fully extended to her, with a steaming golden loaf of bread in his hands. “Look! ‘Rydice I did it!’

Eurydice looks out in-front of her, eyes going incredibly wide when the situation processes through her head. Bread. That is fresh bread. That is fresh, steaming homemade bread. That is fresh, steaming homemade bread created by her husband. Orpheus made this for her. Her husband did this for her. “You.. did that? Orpheus?” She’s in disbelief as she drops her bag carelessly and reaches out her hands to wrap around his. Her dark eyes flicker between his hands and meeting his face. Once she truly realizes what’s happened, the brightest smile spreads from her mouth to her eyes, and a little laugh of disbelief coming out. “you made us this?”

He nods so quickly that his head barely can move, gently transferring the loaf to her hands. “I wanted you to know I remember. I remember the promises I made you. I promised you would always have bread when you are hungry- and I am going to keep my promises, this time.“ Orpheus leans in and wraps his now free (but still warm) hands around her cheeks, holding his entire world in them. “I will always make sure you have enough to eat, Eurydice. I promise.” He leans in, now, to give her a kiss on the center of her forehead. His lips linger for a few moments, before he pulls back. He rests his forehead on hers for a few minutes, hands still cupping her cheeks.

Orpheus is struck with recollection, then, as he pulls back from his wife. “oh! And follow me! I have some fresh butter for you. I have a few more loaves to finish, but you can eat that one while the others bake. They told me, at the market today, to make a couple so we can have them all week!” He gestures for her to follow him towards the kitchen area where, on their dining table, flour is spread out after a few smaller piles of raw dough.

He goes back to kneading, as Eurydice follows him into their home. If he notices her tears forming, he does not mention it. Eurydice breaths deeply as she stares at the loaf in her hands, thumbs brushing over the golden crust. It is heavy and warm, fresh but ready to be eaten, in the palms of her hands. She would love to blame the feeling in her chest as a mix of exhaustion and love but Eurydice knows that, really, it’s the feeling of love and adoration alone that Orpheus is so capable of making her feel. No, exhaustion is not why her heart felt so heavy now.

And here he was, providing for them. Not that she had doubted his dedication, no, and she wasn’t expecting him to support her entirely either. They were a team. They worked together to meet the needs of them both. Yet this loaf of bread in her hands made by the man kneading another small portion at the table, was a far cry from the boy who didn’t hear her pleas for food and firewood not that many seasons ago.

Eurydice wipes at her eyes with the back of her hand, directing her attention instead to her husband and his work.

She couldn’t help but stare at him, now. The way his hair had just a bit of sweat on the ends, a result of the hard work he had put into the heat of the kitchen all day. Then there was the way he bit his lip and furrowed his eyebrows in concentration. The way his arms from his shoulders, the muscles of his upper arm, to the tendons in his lower arms twisted and contorted with his effort into the dough. His stature now, also, was quite a development in comparison to the thin, frail boy who came to hell and back for her. She supposed a healthy harvest and work did wonders for the body. Most of all, she was not ignoring his skilled fingers folding and flexing in the bread dough, as he incorporated extra flour. Kneading, she realized, was just another thing to add to the list of the things Orpheus’s nimble fingers were so good for.

Eurydice snaps herself out of her reverie, breaking the bread in half with her hands. The crackling of the crust has him looking up at her, and he gives her one of the most brilliant grins she had ever seen. “Is it good?”

Without even tasting it, Eurydice just nods. “Wonderful.”

#yeah im still on this hellsite #still in hadestown #oh wel #happy reopening #Bread boy orpheus is a passion #hadestown #hadestown fic #hadestown fanfic #orpheus #eurydice #orpheus and eurydice #orphydice #orphydice fics #this is actually based on Anna Art #fun fact

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penguinkinggames · 3 years

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“Cerebos: The Crystal City” Actual Play Part I: Introductions

This is the first in a series of posts recounting a session of actual play from Cerebos: the Crystal City, currently crowdfunding on Kickstarter. If you’ve been wondering what on Earth players actually do in a game of Cerebos, read on!

This session was conducted on March 20th, 2021, with Matthew Dorbin as GM, and Amelia Gorman, Ashley Flanagan, Will Mendoza, and Kevin Snow playing. The events of play were recorded by Zach Welhouse.

Preamble

For this session of Cerebos, the GM volunteered to run a session with the Adventure! Conductor. The conductor’s Atlas Obscura power invites the players and GM to work collaboratively to create a Stops table unique to their journey. They exchanged a few ideas over e-mail, which the GM codified. He added this new Stops table, which was heavy on the hells, to five other Stop tables to create an Atlas. Then he selected six Event tables to create an Almanac.

Everybody met in Discord and talked about unrelated matters for a bit. Then it was time to introduce characters. Each character clings to three touchstones: objects that represented their past in the City by the Sea. Each touchstone has a single Trait.

Dramatis Personae

Tinderling. A woman who looks like a burnt match.

Iron rail spike (Odd Jobs)

A single match (Burns at Both Ends)

Bird bone sewing needle (Piercing Insight)

The Unqualified Robot. A mechanical figure with a light projection screen for a head. It indicates expression by placing a large slide with the image of an emotion on the screen.

Expression slides (Toxic Positivity)

Backpack of unsold gadgets (Abandoned Junk)

Flask of motor oil (Guzzlin’)

The Lady in Blue. A woman who is as regal as she is soot-stained: exceedingly.

Gun with a single bullet (Single-Minded)

Feathered hat (Life of Luxury)

Burned handbag (Lost Sister)

The Lonesome Seafarer. A sea captain far from shore.

Patchwork coat (Coat of Theseus) (“I like it because it’s vague and we’ll find out what it means during play.”)

Blue tricorner hat (Air of Authority)

Spyglass with broken lens (Grizzled Survivor)

Some players came to the table with their whole starting concept, while others were less certain about their starting Traits. Everyone helped brainstorm starting Traits for the players who were less certain. This early riffing was the first sign of the collaboration to come.

One player noticed they gravitated toward useless items or objects of purely sentimental value. The travelers themselves were quite worn, so we were already establishing a contemplative mood. These were travelers who had been beaten down by the world, but hadn’t given up yet. Their stories would be ones of struggle and inspirational determination or grim warnings about challenging forces larger than themselves.

Goals

Based on these introductions, each player determined why another traveler was headed to Cerebos. They shared the goals with the GM over DMs, so no one knew why their traveler was on the road. The truth revealed itself over time through flashbacks

Tinderling: Her newly unionized shop got shut down by union busters. She’s looking for a place with less draconian labor laws.

The Unqualified Robot: Cerebos is home to a famous scientist who specializes in reprogramming obsolete robots for new jobs.

The Lady in Blue: The Lady in Blue's sister, the Lady in Red is a criminal ringleader in Cerebos. The Lady in Blue aims to kill her and take over her crime empire.

The Lonesome Seafarer: The Lonesome Seafarer is looking for someone lost at sea, and old rival/loved one who was believed to have perished but was seen alive in the City by someone the Seafarer trusts. They have something they want to ask them.

Based on their answers to the GM’s initial questions, the players were interested in telling a story about labor, power, and human connections.

For example, the GM asked the players if they intended to pay for passage on the train. One player suggested they might have company scrip from Tinderling's employers. The GM asked if the company had a name, at which point Inferno Heavy Industries was born. It had just opened its newest station for business, to (according to the fresh posters) was "bringing luxury to a land with so little of value".

The Journey Begins

When the travelers arrive, workmen are still unloading plants and doing their best to landscape the surrounding wasteland. The local ecosystem will probably recover. Tinderling notices a panhandler passing among the large crowds, who she recognizes as a scab from the City by the Sea.

The train still has that new train smell. It has fancy cushions and a conductor who’s knowledgeable and friendly, but not pushy. Only the best for the engine’s maiden voyage!

The Lonesome Seafarer follows the automated snack cart from car to car, loading up on the bounty of the rails. The Unqualified Robot, never having been on a train before (presumably), keeps getting in the way until Tinderling recognizes a proletariat in need and guides it to a seat. The Unqualified Robot slides a winking face into its project slot, gladdened by the kindness.

The train sets off and the GM rolls for an Event in the Almanac. The train plows through the desert, passing through a region of low hills and hexagonal pits that seep gas into the air. Plague doctors patrol the perimeter, keeping pit owls from approaching the train.

This terrain is a Danger 3 Event. If the Danger level (that is, the total Danger of all active Events) is 4 or greater by the time the train reaches a Stop, the Stop will be especially dangerous. If the Event’s individual Danger is reduced to 0, one of the travelers will receive a keepsake of the encounter.

At this point, everybody takes an action with comments, suggestions, and general role-playing filling the space in between.

First Round of Train Actions

Tinderling is familiar with gas from mines and factories. It may be dangerous! She suggests people put on wet masks. She takes the Engage Event action and rolls a Success to lower the danger to 2. Several passengers see the wisdom of this advice and mask up.

The Lady in Blue shares a story with whoever’s sitting next to her (it doesn’t matter, really) about the importance of staying calm and composed during times of danger. Take it easy, eat a little food. It will all work out. She uses the conductor’s Easy Confidence Train Action to understand Tinderling. Just a little. She gains a bonus to the next time they work together.

The Lonesome Seafarer believes the unruly owls to be a problem. She shouts out the window and waves her hat at them: “Hey! Owls! Listen to those plague doctors! They have good medical advice!” Another Success. The Event’s danger lowers to 1.

The Unqualified Robot, shocked by all the action, takes the Lady in Blue’s advice. It tries creating a meal from the snack cart, mashing snacks against its face until it’s a custardy mess. The Lady in Blue offers a napkin and they talk through the comedy of manners. Next, the Robot tries its flask. Empty. The Lady in Blue suggests whiskey for the both of them. They both Share a Meal and earn a keepsake: a tasty beverage that provides a one-time reroll of a 1 or 2.

The first round of Train Actions has ended. The train speeds on into the evening. A few owls follow, hovering just out of reach.

Second Round of Train Actions

Tinderling asks the Lonesome Seafarer about her spyglass. The Seafarer has a flashback to a terrible sea battle against a kraken. She orders her crew to battle stations! Second mate Scurvy doubts her, shouting, “Are you mad, captain? We can’t fight this!” The captain disagrees, jumping into action and fighting back the kraken almost single-handedly, saving the topsman from a tentacle that may very well be an arm. After the battle, Scurvy is nowhere to be found. During this flashback, Tinderling set up most of the action, while the Lonesome Seafarer filled in with her actions. Everyone else offered suggestions, commentary, jokes, and bit parts like sailors screaming in terror. Everybody spitballs ideas about what this scene reveals about the Lonesome Seafarer and agrees: the spyglass gains two ranks of the Tunnel Vision trait.

The Unqualified Robot sees passengers all around it talking, and emulates them by asking the Lady in Blue a nice, innocent question about the gun she’s carrying. It seems like a safe conversation opener, but draws her into a flashback! The Lady in Blue is playing cards in a seedy tavern. One hand is on her gun, which she’s holding under the table and pointing at her opponent. It’s a game of chance, but the Lady in Blue is exuberantly talking about her masterful strategy. Her opponent throws his hands in the air in disgust, knocking over several drinks. He goes to pick his mug off the ground, narrowly missing as the Lady in Blue passes her gun off to an accomplice who walks past. Her name isn’t Margaret and the Lady in Blue’s name isn’t Angela, but that’s how they refer to one another. The Lady in Blue’s player had no idea how this game would turn out while it was happening. The accomplice was probably the lost sister alluded to in her Lost Sister trait, but only future flashbacks would tell. Everyone talks about what they learned about the Lady in Blue, and her gun gains two ranks of the Nick of Time trait.

At this point in the journey, two flashbacks have flashed back. The GM rolls on the Almanac for an Event, prompting an announcement from the conductor: “Hello passengers. It’s rare for a train to get lost, but we have.”

Inferno Heavy Industries hired several competing rail gangs for its line, leading to a labyrinthine snarl of tracks. Worse, the turbulence woke a swarm of chandler beetles that had been roosting in the overhead bins. Their waxy secretions have a way of ruining any train ride or picnic, most immediately threatening the Lady in Blue’s sippin’ whiskey. This is a Danger 3 event, which raises the Danger level on the train to 4.

The second round of train actions then continues:

The Lonesome Seafarer continues her conversation with Tinderling, ignoring the beetles for the time being, prompting a flashback. Encouraged by the Lonesome Seafarer’s tale of adversity, Tinderling recalls a time she had to stitch up a friend in the mines with her bird bone sewing needle. Inferno Heavy Industries at fault. That’s when she got the idea to blow up the mine and let those hateful ghouls know their workers had dignity. Everyone decides the bird bone sewing needle gains two ranks of A Rough Patch.

The Lady in Blue decides needs must. She sacrifices her hat to scoop up the chandler beetles that are threatening her drink. It’s a snap decision that she instantly regrets. That hat was a link to who she used to be, and possibly who she would like to continue being. It was an exclusive. A very nice hat. The Lady in Blue rolls an 8 on her roll to release a touchstone. It’s an Ugly Break, so one of her other touchstones gains one Momentum. Even though her luxurious hat has been tainted by insects, she still has her fancy bag. On the bright side, she gains one Contemplation for taking a step away from her all-controlling past. She doesn’t know much about who she is or who she wants to be, but her hat and the memories connected to it certainly aren’t going to hold her back.

The second round of train actions has now concluded! The Danger level is still 4.

Third Round of Train Actions

Tinderling finishes her conversation with the Lonesome Seafarer and looks across the car to the Unqualified Robot. It’s sipping whiskey from its refilled flask, watching the Lady in Blue go after the beetles with her hat. Tinderling notices the flask looks like an oil can. The Unqualified Robot notices it’s being watched and becomes self-conscious. It thinks back to when it liberated the oil can from an Inferno Heavy Industries factory. It was scrounging for oil, always finding just enough to keep it going. Even though the factory was out of commission, automated guards were still protecting its assets. The guards were large and dystopian, while the Unqualified Robot was small and scrappy. It scraped oil off the silent factory machinery with a tiny spoon. It listened to messages on the foreman’s answering machine. The electricity bill is due in three days. The Robot dutifully writes down the messages from the answering machine and takes a sip of oil. Everyone agrees the Unqualified Robot’s story is going to go some dark places. The oil can flask gains two ranks of Drowning Sorrows.

Two more flashbacks have occurred, so the GM rolls for another Event. The players recognize the Danger is adding up, but are cavalier about it. “How bad can it be?” That’s how they get ants. Ants that are crossing the tracks in a line that stretches to the horizon. They’re carrying the components to build a death ray. Components that look suspiciously similar to the inner workings of a robot. The Event’s Danger is 1; the train’s overall Danger is 5.

The third round of train actions continues:

The Unqualified Robot Engages the Event. The ants know Morse code, as does the Robot so communication is not a problem. Understanding is more difficult. The Robot slides a diplomatic slide onto its projector screen and solemnly taps out, “Please don’t build a death ray with the components of robots. They are living creatures, demanding of dignity.” It rolls a 1 and a 2. A Setback. The Robot takes a long pull from its whiskey, using the meal keepsake to reroll the 1. Its new results are a 2 and a 2, which is still a Setback. Worse, it’s rolled doubles. If the Robot chooses not to reroll at this point, it’ll gain a point of Momentum in addition to the penalty from the Setback. However, it still has several Traits it could use. The Unqualified Robot decides a Setback makes more sense. It receives one Damage and gains a point of Momentum to its face plates. Everyone shares a good-natured laugh at how unlucky the robot is and how it will receive a Bad End at this rate.

The Lady in Blue feels a looming sense of dread and takes a Stop the Train Action. The conductor cheerfully reminds everyone that due to paperwork they signed when purchasing their tickets, the train will be making a brief, unscheduled stop to investigate several findings of industrial importance. Naturally, the NDA also applies.

Ordinarily, after calling for a Stop, any travelers who have yet to take their train action for the round would receive the opportunity to do so before the train pulls into the station; however, in the group’s eagerness to get away from the assorted owls and insects, the Lonesome Seafarer’s turn was accidentally skipped!

The First Stop

Inferno Heavy Industries scientists unload delicate instruments and set up camp. This is a burial ground, but the skeletons interred in the sands have beards and wigs made of precious metals. If they could determine how to extract metal from living bone, profits would be sure to follow.

In normal circumstances, this wouldn’t be an especially dangerous Stop. However, the travelers let the Event Danger pile up. The last remaining owls have lost interest and the conductor deals with the chandler beetles, but bad karma and the ants remain -- and they’ve decided to complement their death ray with silver and gold, both fine conductors..

In fact, the silver and gold threads are so conducive that several of the skeletons spring to unlife, animated by the scientist’s tools. They give of sparks and judder through the sands, inconveniencing scientists, passengers, and ants alike. Passengers watch the train in shifts, keeping the electric dead at bay with long poles.

The Stop has Danger 5. Since it’s so high, the travelers are unable to rest and take in the sights. Moreover, they’ll need to be very lucky if they want to leave with a fond keepsake or without suffering Damage. The train will remain for one round of Stop Actions. Tune in next time to find out how the travelers fare!

#gaming #tabletop roleplaying #tabletop rpgs #cerebos #kickstarter #violence mention #death mention #food mention #alcohol mention

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kittehkwrites · 3 years

Text

Self-care day

Warnings: fluff

Having a selfcare day was a necessity

It was the time in which you took for yourself to destress. You were able to just laze around, mostly carrying out your washday routine, and then eat whatever whilst watching movies or listening music.

Just a day full of You.

A few days ago, however, your friend, Yahya, had messaged you to let you know he was going to be in town for the weekend and wanted to spend some time with you since you both were on busy schedules.

You had told him to come over and have a self care day and take some of the pressure off of himself to indulge in himself.

you told him to come over once you had finished your detangling (this would be after having washed, conditioned, and treating, your hair.)

When he arrived, you had just finished sectioning and plaiting your hair to keep it from knotting overnight and layed out the snacks in the living room.

You were getting ready to get the necessities for the face masks you wanted to review when you heard the knocking at your front door and then receiving a notification from Yahya that he was outside and needed to use the bathroom.

“Aye! I know you know its me!” He’d yell out through the barrier of the door and your house.

You’d quickly open the door, in hopes you’d reach in time so he wouldn’t pee on himself.

You’d fling open the door and before you can get out a hello, he'd be running in, shouting out ‘gotta go gotta go gotta go’ down the hallway leading to the guest room. You couldn't do much but laugh at the way he was acting.

You just closed the door, thankful your next door neighbours were out of town or else you'd be hearing a lot about your friends antics the following day.

Once he had finished in the bathroom (obviously making sure his hands were clean and he didn’t leave the seat up or forget to flush) he’d make his way back out to the front of the house and see you sat on the couch with a face mask on, eating a bowl of mixed berries and watching Futurama on your wide screen tv.

“Hello to you too sir” You’d say smartly, he would just turn and respond with a ‘Hi’ and say thanks for getting the door quick.

“No problem.”You would bite into a juicy strawberry and chew on it for a bit as you were so absorbed in the tv until he snapped his fingers in front of you to break you out of your trance. “We wouldn’t want you to walk around like that in these peoples neighbourhood” You ate another berry before placing the bowl down and asking if he wanted anything, pointing to the variety of junk and healthy food you had placed out on the coffee table centred in the living room.

He would take some of your berries, popping them into his mouth and laughing at the annoyed look you have at him refusing to use the extra bowl you had out incase he wanted some.

He knew it would annoy you and you knew he did it on purpose so you just shook your head and proceeded to pick up your bottle of water and drink some of its contents.

---

“So what’s on your face?” He’d motion to the mask you had painted on yourself.

“This, my barbaric friend, is a face mask.” You’d get up to stretch before picking up the diy mixture you wanted to try out and pushed it towards your friend who was no stranger and had gotten up to change into his extra shorts and old hoodie he left behind.

“I know you no-” you’d cut him off before he could finish asking the rhetorical “anyways this mask is supposed to help open your pores and detox your skin.” You’d continue to speak while reaching for the clean brush that you’d use as an applicator for your friends face.

He’d look down questionably at the mix before looking back up at you, who was now standing in front of him and smiling, waiting for him to give in so you could apply the mask to his face.

He’d sigh before handing over the product.

You’d do a little happy dance at the fact he didn’t put up much of fight, but you chalked it out to be due to the fact that it was a self care day and he wasn’t meant to be worried about anything other than taking care of himself.

He’d sit up straight and come closer to the edge of the couch to allow you to place the mask on his face and to be safe in case the mixture fell onto the couch before it reached his face. He noticed the towel you had placed over the space between the central carpet and the couch (even though there was a gap where you could see the floor under the massive rug, he knew you were just being extra cautious to reduce clean up)

As he sat and let you apply the mask, he did start to relax and not long after you were finished and he could lay back in the couch, finally being able to spread himself out again to get comfortable for the remainder of the day with his close friend.

The two of you sat and watched a few more episodes before going to wash off the face masks.

As you were patting off your face, you caught Yahya staring at himself in the bathroom mirror and couldn’t help but ask “what did you think?”

He looked at his skin a little more.

“Yay or nay, Yahya?” He still didn’t say a thing to you. “You actors and wanting to create suspense” you’d let out as you rolled your eyes at his dramatic pausing and serious face he had put on.

Once you had finished drying your face, you were met with your friends kind smile and a “I like it.”

You wanted to slap him for the theatrics.

Had you thinking he wasn’t feeling it.

“Well mr. Emmy-Award winner” you start off as you both made your way out of the bathroom, disposing of the face towels you had placed out for you both into the clothes basket, “glad you liked it. That means you can buy me some masks when you travel to places like South Korea or Singapore.”

Yahya would let out a little chuckle.

He knew there was something up with you wanting to share your skin care and he now got his answer.

“Oh! So that’s why you wanted me to come over? To try on some face mask so you could persuade me to buy more when I’m away to bring for your bougie behind?” You could hear the teasing in his tone but continued to play along.

“I mean...” you’d turn around and shrug your shoulders to the man walking behind you before you both got situated on the couch again.

He’d look over, amused at your behaviour before chuckling and nodding his head.

“But nah.” You’d let out after a brief stare off which was caused by your straight face to his accusations. “I genuinely wanted us to hang out” you’d say as you picked up a bag of dried mango.

“I mean how many times do we get to see eachother or happen to be in the same city at the same time for longer than 4 days?” You’d say as you opened up the pack, in which he helped himself to a good sized palm of its contents.

“You right”

“I know. Now stop eating my snacks when there’s enough for the both us”

You both would turn from watching the tv to talking about random topics or anything going on in your lives that the other missed and it felt like you guys hadn’t been separated for so long.

You guys shared some laughs, got up to make some food before going back to the couch to be lazy.

You’d turned off the animated shows and switched to playing music once you both cracked open a bottle of wine to compliment the food you'd made.

Both buzzed and full, you guys cleaned up any mess made and just let the calm energy in the room take over. You both caught the itis and didn’t try to fit it.

---

By time you had woken up, your head was on yahya’s shoulder and he was sitting comfortable with the tv on low and munching on some gummies.

He’d ask how you slept and you'd say great and he’d say the same before you guys continued watching whatever he had put on while you were still sleeping.

It wouldn’t be until the late hours of the night that he’d decide to head back to his hotel room.

You’d try to get him to spend the night but he said he wasn’t going to be able to leave if he didn’t leave now.

You stopped fighting him and walked him to the door, sending him off with a couple more of the candy packets amongst other junk food (which he technically stole but you weren’t about to start anything with this man when you were still feeling tired.)

As he got to the front door, youd both hug and you’d watch him get into his rental before closing and locking it. You'd clean everything up, packing away any unopened food items, folding any blankets, fixing the couch pillows etc. before heading up to your bedroom where you would get ready to get under your comforter for another deep sleep.

before you could sink into the dreamstate, you got a text notification (you normally had your phone on dnd once you got in bed but this time you forgot) and saw it was from no one but your friend Yahya

“We gotta do another one of these again girl. These chill days aren’t common anymore” You’d laugh at the message as you imagined him saying it in front of you and hearing it in his voice.

“I agree” You’d respond and he’d send you a couple memes to show his excitement at the future of this possibly becoming a ritual between you both whenever you saw each other.

“Goodnight Yahya.” You’d send after snickering at some of the images he sent you.

“Night beautiful.”

You’d feel the butterflies flutter and try to ignore the heat in your cheeks.

You may or may not have had crush on the man for God knows how long, but that was neither here nor there and you were gonna punch those thoughts and feelings to the back of your head because sleep was more important right now.

As you thought about other things, you hadn’t realised you fell asleep after blinking a couple of times.

It was lights out for you.

---

on the other side of town, yahya was waiting to get a response from you and after a good couple of minutes he figured you’d gone to sleep and decided to follow the lead as he thought about the day you both spent together.

One day, he’d think as he was getting comfortable in the bed before placing his phone on charge.

As he was about to fall asleep, his mind ran across the topic of discussion earlier and said to himself that since he was flying out of the country in a few days, he’d bring you back a couple of things for your future self care days.

He went to sleep with a smile on his face as he thought of the look of pure joy when given the products. Just thinking of your happiness brought him happiness and helped him fall into a deep sleep with thoughts of you running on his mind and the future of self care days between you two possibly being something he’d try to upkeep for as long as he could.

Hey loves!

Hope you guys liked this one.

Thanks to the anon who sent it in (sorry it took so long to get out of the drafts)

Hope you guys are taking time out for yourself and keeping safe.

Remember to like, comment and/or reblog and thanks for the continuous support.

I appreciate you guys so much.

Stay safe,

-K💜

#kittehkwrites #yahya abdul mateen ii #yahya abdul mateen ii fluff #imagine #black reader #black!reader #yahya abdul mateen ii x reader #self care day with yahya

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kumkaniudaku · 4 years

Text

Simple Syrup

You asked for Daveed smut and I tried to deliver. At least this one time. Enjoy!

Warning: Sexual Content. 18+.

Daveed Diggs x Black!OC (Olivia Jenkins)(Yes, the MC/ OC is black. Representation is important.)

"Yo, open up!" Heavy fists beat against the door of Olivia's downtown apartment, making her roll her eyes. "I know you can hear me, girl! It's your favorite pop-up roommate!"

"You've been evicted, Diggs!"

"I paid you rent, though!"

Turning the stove on low, Olivia shook her head as she wiped her hands on a dishtowel. Daveed always found a way to surprise her with his presence. He never texted before showing up at her door but frequently sported a backpack or suitcase full of clothes or Rafael for an extended stay. He and all his baggage were welcome anytime, with or without notice.

Stepping to the door, Olivia bit back a smile before responding. "I didn't receive any payments this month."

"I got it in my bag."

"Bag or bags?"

"Open the door to find out."

Daveed took a step back as the locks began to turn, waiting for Olivia's face to greet him with faux anger the way she did the last time he showed up out of nowhere and stayed for three weeks. Despite stopping by six months ago, it felt like a lifetime since he'd been in her company. Bi-weekly phone conversations weren't enough. He needed to be near Olivia while she watched whatever Housewives franchise had her attention for the month.

When the door opened to reveal the long hallway leading to her living area, Olivia stood with a hand on her hips and a grin on her face.

"Where is my money," she asked, shifting her weight from foot to foot. Just as she expected, he stood in the hallway with a suitcase that she knew cost a fortune to check at the airport and his worn Jansport full of junk and work.

Daveed laughed and bent to rifle through his backpack for a crumpled white envelope that he handed over with exaggerated purpose. "Here you go, Miss Jenkins. Sorry to be late on rent for, what, 8 months? I hope this is enough."

"Boy, you didn't really need to pay me. You're not on the lease."

"Good," he answered as he pretended to wipe sweat from his brow. "Because those are just Chick Fil A coupons."

Olivia stood with her mouth open as Daveed brushed her to roll his luggage to the first bedroom on the right.

He listened to her insult his "stupid face" and instruct him to hurry up while he scanned the room he had called home more times than he could count. All of Daveed's belongings were in the same place, with almost unnoticeable shifts to show that Olivia had cleaned once or twice. His favorite throw blanket was folded at the edge of the bed with his initials elegantly embroidered in the corner. The air smelled of the vanilla candle she kept on the nightstand next to a framed photo of the crew enjoying a roller coaster at Six Flags. His favorite trinket, Olivia's homecoming crown from undergrad, sat next to a single gold medal from Daveed's days competing in track and field. To him, it symbolized their bond from the beginning. To her, it was probably just a space to hide old items.

"Daveed, get in here! I need you to cut!"

All at once, Daveed's sense of self returned to center him in reality. He quickly kicked off his shoes once he remembered Olivia's rules and started off toward the kitchen to answer the call for his help.

Even with the windows open, he could smell savory and sweet aromas combining for a smell that reminded him of the holidays. However, the calendar placed them square in the middle of an excruciatingly hot summer. He could see the open bottle of BBQ sauce on the center island next to a mixing bowl full of things he couldn't recognize but knew they would taste great. Bushels of greens sat in a pot on the stove, boiling amid smoked meat and seasonings to complement the food cooking in the oven. Daveed felt excitement take hold of his face and forced the apples of his cheeks up toward his eyes. Olivia looked up from her task at the cutting board and smirked.

"I thought you were vegan now."

"My business is my business, Liv. We talked about this last week."

"We also talked about you heading directly to Toronto after your job in Atlanta and, yet, here you are." She studied Daveed's face for answers but found nothing but a growing smile. "Come over here and cut up these strawberries while I sauce the ribs."

Daveed followed directions without complaint, lazily strolling to the island and nudging Olivia away. He'd been her help in the kitchen before to open pesky jars or stir while she tended to the more time-intensive parts of the meal. On more than one occasion, he had fucked up, and each time she invited him back into her safe space with open arms.

"How's Rafa and the family," Olivia asked with her back turned while she bent to take a peek into the oven.

Daveed kept his eyes on her backside for a moment too long before answering. "Rafa's good. Amy sends her love and says that you are more than welcome for Friendsgiving this year. She volunteered you for pies."

"You volunteered me for pies, Daveed," Olivia corrected, knowing how much her friend loved her desserts. "What about my babies? Is Santiago the best big brother to Emelia?"

"He's...trying. But he did send a gift for the lady with the bald head. His words, not mine."

Olivia ran a hand across her tapered fade and chuckled. "I feel like he heard Rafael say that."

"No, Rafa calls you Thick Mr. Clean."

"Yeah, because that's what you said when you were drunk on New Years," Olivia accused as she gestured toward the cabinet housing her wine glasses. Daveed nodded before answering.

"I said it with love!"

"Mhmm, I'm sure."

Together they watched half a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc be transferred into the separate glasses, waiting for the moment they could take a sip. The last time they shared a drink, they ran through two 12- packs of beer with Rafael and ended up dancing with street performers in Times Square. She hadn't been able to stomach the smell of a Budweiser since then and fully transitioned to fruity notes and sparkling Rosé with Daveed occasionally coming along for the ride.

Taking another long sip from his glass, Daveed leaned against the island counter to watch Olivia stir a mixture for skillet cornbread.

"What's got you so stressed?"

Olivia shrugged but didn't look away from the bowl. "Nothing. I'm fine."

"The last time you cooked like this, you were writing your dissertation. And the time before that, it was your mom."

The room fell quiet outside of the spoon, ricocheting off the sides of the mixing bowl. After several seconds, Olivia took a deep breath and looked up at Daveed.

"Daddy's getting remarried. Omari and I are his best-kids," she laughed. "I'm not stressed. Just a bit...sad, I guess?"

Daveed understood the issue without needing more context. Five years ago, he was the one sitting beside Olivia on the floor of her brother's home office after the news came that their mother had in the hospital. He was there for the saddest funeral he'd ever experienced and the months of reconciliation that the family struggled through on the way to some sense of normalcy. The idea that her father had found love again was heartwarming, but Daveed knew the occasion was bringing up old feelings.

"Wanna talk about it?"

She shrugged again and moved the skillet to the oven. "There's nothing to talk about. I said I'm fine. I wish she was here, ya know, but I know she isn't upset. She always told us to move on once she's gone. She sure as hell would."

Daveed chuckled at the idea of Mrs. Jenkin's moving on in the afterlife. "She was funny like that. I remember when she met me for the first time and kept calling me Devante."

"Yes," Olvia exclaimed, a spark of joy returning to her eyes. "She'd call me and be like, that boy Devante is smart! Ask him if he can put me in a movie one day!"

Olivia's voice warped to imitate her mother as best as possible before she burst into laughter with Daveed.

"One of the last things she said to me was that I need to make sure you keep having fun. She didn't want you to stop enjoying life on account of her."

"Yeah…" Daveed watched Olivia down the wine in her glass with her eyes closed, waiting for her to continue her thought. "Well, you're doing a good job. We could work on your definition of fun, but solid effort so far."

"How can I do better? I'm open to criticism."

Daveed kept his eyes on Olivia while he reached across her body to grab the wine bottle for the final drink. Her breath hitched while alcohol buzzed through her system, creating the perfect storm for sudden arousal. She fought her thoughts by shaking her head to recover.

"You can start by grabbing those strawberries and bringing them over to the stove."

"Don't skip the question." Daveed's smirk as he followed her to the other side of the counter made Oliva hot with embarrassment, but she kept a calm exterior. "Are you still having fun with me?"

"I always have fun with you, D, you know that. Who else is gonna play Bop It with me at 2 AM on a Wednesday? The question is, are you still having fun with me, superstar?"

"Don't start that. I come and stay at your house because I miss you, not because I can't find somewhere else to sleep. You're my person."

"For now," Olivia added as a rebuttal, ignoring the way her stomach flipped at hearing the way Daveed felt. "What happens when you get married? You're gonna have to go be a family man like Rafa. Then we'll only see each other on Friendsgiving and Christmas."

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it."

"Hm." Olivia's short but skeptical laugh effectively ended the conversation. Still, Daveed had already made up his mind to return to the discussion later in the week. "So, how long are you here this time?"

Daveed used one of his large palms to push a few curls off his forehead in search of relief from the heat in the kitchen. "I was thinking a couple weeks. Three or four."

"That's longer than normal! I get to have my favorite guy here long enough to help me put wallpaper up in the guest bathroom?"

"Am I only muscle to you?"

"Of course, not," she answered with a sweet smile, making Daveed mirror her expression. "You're also a taste tester. Open up."

Before Daveed could object, Olivia swiped barbecue sauce across his bottom lip for his opinion. The tip of his tongue appeared to taste the tangy brown sauce, finding an explosion of flavor that reminded him how much he missed Olivia's cooking.

"What's the verdict," Olivia asked over her shoulder as she turned off the eye under her simple syrup mixture.

"Tangy and sweet. I'm not sure why you don't bottle this up for sale. My dad would love some."

"Meh, I like having it as a treat for the people I love. All my hobbies aren't for profit, my friend."

Daveed dramatically threw a hand across his chest and gasped. "Did Mean Ole Liv just imply that she loves me? I-I'm gobsmacked. Utterly shocked and eternally grateful."

"Diggs, you're pushing it," she laughed. "Come taste this syrup before I start on the lemonade."

From experience, Daveed knew what to expect. But he humored Olivia anyway if only to see pride light up her face when he told her how amazing the sweet mixture tasted. After washing his hands in the sink, he skimmed his middle and pointer fingers across the top of the syrup to pick up enough to coat his fingertips.

He eyed the liquid for a moment, watching it slowly trickle down the side of his long fingers while he thought of his next move. Olivia stood at the refrigerator with her back turned, humming a song from The Wiz. At the same time, she gathered ingredients for the beverage.

"Hey...hey, Liv." Daveed had already started to close the short gap between them and stood waiting for Olivia to respond to his call.

"Wha -" A sudden swipe of syrup across her bottom lip confused Olivia. "D, what is your problem?"

Stepping forward, Daveed took her chin in his to bring their lips inches apart. "Is it still cool if I taste?"

Olivia stared at Daveed without blinking, fighting her brain for a competent answer to his question. Instead, she nodded in a daze with her jaw slack. His fingers took gentle meandering paths across the peaks and valleys of her face before using his thumb to part her lips.

Daveed's first kiss was a tentative peck to test the waters. When he received no resistance, he pulled Olivia closer for full access to her mouth.

Neither of them expected to fall into the kiss so easily. Olivia didn't expect to melt into Daveed's body while he dictated the pace and intensity. Daveed didn't expect to feel an overwhelming desire to consume the one person that always felt so close but far away. He wanted to feel and taste every part of Olivia while he had the green light. She reveled in Daveed's attention, even if it was only for a moment.

Taking a step backward, Daveed used his knowledge of the kitchen to guide them back toward the stove. Their lips remained connected to taste the last bits of each other. Olivia was the first to break the lip lock and move her head upward, directing Daveed to choose a spot on her neck to explore.

The cold, sticky simple syrup came next, the thick glob landing on the center of her chest and sliding to her cleavage.

"I've thought about this a lot," Daveed spoke barely above a whisper as he used a finger to spread simple syrup across Olivia's chest. "Kinda wild to say, but I have."

"How long?"

"A year. Maybe two."

Olivia released a shaky gasp once Daveed's tongue began licking from the space between her breast to the base of her neck to catch the simple syrup. As quickly as it disappeared, he replaced the sugar mixture with another round at the juncture of her neck and shoulder. He groaned as the tart strawberry flavor mixed with the sweetness of the sugar and Olivia's skin. She grasped the back of his head for stability, allowing her eyes to flutter closed for a few seconds.

"How does it turn out? In your thoughts, I mean?"

Daveed paused to kiss Olivia's lips again and run his hands down her back. "Doesn't matter. We're here now, and I can't think of anything outside of how good you taste drenched in strawberry sauce."

"Simple syrup," Olivia answered, smiling as she sneakily dipped her finger into the pot behind Daveed. "It's simple syrup, and I haven't gotten a taste yet. Open your mouth."

They kept their eyes on each other while Daveed opened his mouth, waiting for whatever came next. Olivia took her time to coat his tongue in syrup, imagining how it would feel to experience the concoction from his mouth.

There started the mad scramble to get closer, taste more and touch longer. Separate but equal desires to completely consume the other person had the pair maneuvering around the kitchen. They remained attached at the lips until they reached the solid wood breakfast table near the large casement window. Daveed was the first to remove clothing, pulling his t-shirt over his head and tossing it somewhere behind him. A split-second decision had him rushing back to the stove to retrieve the syrup pot. He carefully placed it on the table while Olivia slid the straps of her summer dress down her arms to let the fabric pool at her waist. Daveed watched with a flirtatious smile, marveling at the expanse of her warm brown skin. Olivia returned the sentiment, letting her eyes rake over his broad chest and toned midsection.

One after the other, Daveed and Olivia added bits of syrup to different body parts to lick and suck the skin clean. A handful mistakenly dripped onto Olivia's thigh, and they watched the sticky liquid carry small chunks of strawberries to the inner portion of her leg.

Daveed regarded the sight with wonder before carefully dropping to one knee for a better look. He maintained eye contact with Olivia as he kissed his way to the sweetest spot, lingering in places that earned the most desirable response. The scratch of facial hair combined with his lips and tongue's soft, silkiness made Olivia keen for more. She could feel the blood rushing to pool at her inner thigh for a bruise that would leave evidence of a dream achieved. She smiled at the thought of seeing it when she was getting dressed and how her stomach might feel with butterflies from the memories.

Daveed mumbled praise after praise into the supple skin of Olivia's thigh before starting a journey back to her lips. When he returned, he slowly pushed the waistband of his sweats down his hips and legs.

"Oh," Olivia spoke, eyes wide while she fought the natural desire to let her gaze travel. "I...wow, okay. I feel like I'm violating you."

"I'm kind of asking you to," Daveed laughed as he stepped closer.

"This is so fucking weird. Are we really about to do this?"

"Only if you want. I mean, I want to, but we can stop whenever you say the word."

He was closer now, dropping kisses on her shoulders while he pressed their chests together to reduce the space between him.

Olivia's legs naturally hooked themselves around his waist at the same time that her arms circled his neck.

She leaned forward to speak against Daveed's lips with her eyes hooded in lust, "I want this."

Passion and the hint of strawberry coating their lips intensified the moment between Olivia and Daveed. He held her writhing hips steady while he stood on his toes to push forward. Simultaneous moans of pleasure rang out in the kitchen, surely gaining the attention of nearby neighbors.

Their hips bucked an even pace, repeatedly meeting to build tension in their bellies. Daveed felt the strain of each stroke in his thighs and calves but found the desire to fuck his friend on her kitchen table to override any other immediate discomfort.

"Are you a talker," Daveed asked randomly, making Olivia's eyes snap up from the action below her waist to focus her attention on him.

"What?"

"A talker. Do you like to talk during sex?" His question came between labored breaths and grunts holding a mixture of exertion and indescribable pleasure.

"Daveed, are you trying to have a conversation with me right now?"

"I mean, I like to - fuck - I...I like to talk sometimes. Is that cool?"

A high-pitched moan ripped through Olivia's throat before she could gather her senses to respond. "It's your c-call, Diggs. Just don't stop."

He followed directions without skipping a beat, digging into his strength to pick up speed when he sensed they could move to the next level. He peppered in filthy statements that stimulate Olivia's mind while driving into her with expert precision.

They held on to each other as they reached separate peaks with no regard for the climbing noise level.

"I wanna do this forever," Daveed whispered into Olivia's ear before nipping at the lobe.

"Not look into my eyes lovingly and write songs about me?"

Daveed chuckled and snapped his hips forward, earning a near-silent moan. "Can I use you calling me daddy on the hook?"

"You got a lot of work to do before that happens."

"I'll put in overtime."

Splaying his hand across Olivia's torso, Daveed pushed her to lay flat on the table before leaning to hover over her body. He used his waning energy to give her all the power in his hips, searching for a climax. When she thought she couldn't come anymore, Olivia felt her body jolt off the table once the pad of Daveed's thumb began rubbing tight circles on her clit. Daveed smiled at the reaction but felt it disappear as soon as his hips falter mid-stroke. He rushed to pull out of Olivia, fearing that if he stayed inside for a moment longer, he would expedite his journey to fatherhood.

Olivia helped his cause by curling her fingers around his length and joining his pumping effort while she propped her body up on her elbow. He came with a choppy moan and heavy breathing on her belly, his chest rising and falling rapidly in time with the stove's timer beeping for attention.

Both Olivia and Daveed dissolved into laughter.

"Please, don't let this dry on me. It's sexy now but a pain to get off later."

Daveed's laughter climbed to hysterics at Olivia's mention of the mess on her stomach before reaching across the table to grab napkins out of the centerpiece component.

"Sorry," he apologized sheepishly as he helped wipe her clean. "Condoms next time?"

"Or my mouth."

Daveed stood shocked for a split second while Olivia worked to readjust her clothing and hurry to the stove. He followed her lead and pulled up his sweats before clearing the syrup pot and grabbing wipes to disinfect the surface.

The room was silent while they arranged hot dishes on the counter and privately grappled with having sex for the first time. A sense of "now what" hung in the air, which made Daveed more and more uncomfortable.

After plates were fixed, they chose opposite ends of the table to enjoy the meal.

"You know," Olivia started, laughing as she swallowed the last piece of cornbread on her plate. "That simple syrup recipe is my mom's. This whole meal was her favorite thing to cook, and I made it because I was really fuckin' sad and needed her nearby. Then you showed up."

Daveed's eyes snapped up from his plate. He wasn't sure what to say and remained silent in hopes that Olivia would elaborate.

"A couple weeks before she died, she told me that she would still be directing my love life from Heaven. She grabbed my hand and said, 'Dammit, Bean, I'm gone get you a man even if I gotta do it during bingo with the good Lord.'"

"You think she's up there winning the grand prize?"

Olivia shook her head. "I think she forfeited it to send you to me."

Her answer made Daveed still to watch Olivia's eyes meet his set from across the table. She reached a hand across the table with her palms facing upward, beckoning Daveed to place his palm in the center of hers.

"We have three weeks to figure this shit out," Daveed said, smiling before bringing Olivia's palm to rest on his cheek.

She looked at him for a minute to take in the way his eyes reflected the sun before using her head to gesture toward the pot still resting on the counter.

"And all night to finish off mama's recipe."

#daveed diggs #daveed x reader #daveed diggs x reader

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koutarouthighs · 3 years

Text

『 strawberries & wicker baskets 』

S U M M A R Y ― sunny afternoons call for a basket filled to the brim with fruits and other treats, your lover across the blanket, sighing as they take in the sight of you with your skin glittering under the sun.

post type ➺ headcanons fandom ➺ haikyuu!! characters ➺ kuroo ⧾ akaashi ⧾ sugawara genre➺ fluff tags/warnings ➺ established relationship ; alcohol mention ; word count ➺ 1.9k+ request ➺ [YES/NO] ↳ request status: *.·:·.✧ O P E N ✧.·:·.*

⤭ kuroo enjoys getting outside now and again because his job can be very much a shut-in, indoor-only occupation. whether he’s going from arena to arena, or spending days behind a desk answering emails, he is stuck inside much more than he’s allowed outside. ⤭ he’ll set up the entire thing with no prompting. kuroo is a big dork, after all, and he loves to surprise you with some romantic gesture, such as an intricate picnic packed safely away in a large brown, woven basket, the neck of a bottle of wine peeking out. ⤭ depending on how stressed you both are, kuroo will sometimes have it be a surprise. he’ll call your boss, get you the afternoon or weekend off of work, and manage to corral you into heading to the park or the beach or the lake with him. ⤭ kuroo is so ecstatic to get you out on the green with him that he forgets napkins and you end up having to use the checkered blanket to wipe off your fingers after tetsurou has offered to suck the strawberry sugar off your digits. ⤭ the warmth cascading down from the rays of sunlight filtering through the trees is nothing in comparison to the absolute beaming light from kuroo’s smile as he looks down at you, where you lay on the blanket. there is not a moment where you are not completely, utterly loved in the presence of kuroo tetsurou.

more below the cut ↴

your pinkies are linked as you stroll through the sand, heels dug into the beach when you find your perfect spot. kuroo is yanked by your fingers circling his wrist, eyes widening a hair as he swivels to turn and look at you, “here? this is the spot?”

you don’t even have to nod, he already knows your answer. you wouldn’t have stopped him otherwise. so he works at getting the blanket laid out perfectly so there aren’t any annoying granules of sand getting in your food or underneath your clothes. he strategically lays out your shoes, one on each corner, so the blanket won’t go flying at the first signs of blustering winds.

the beach brings serenity and clarity, both of which you disturb with loud laughter and busied hands. your giggles are interrupted by wine-drunken kisses, warm and wet and reminding you much of the ocean. the spray from the waves salts your hair and your face, but you don’t mind. not when you get to spend these careless moments with your lover.

“i’ve missed you,” he sighs, framing your cheek with a large palm, encompassing your skin with a near unbearable heat. skin flushed, you lean into his touch, lashes fluttering against the tops of your cheeks as you hum, “i’ve missed you more.”

“there you go again,” he near growls, playfully smirking up at you as he rolls his hips to pin you down, knees on either side of your body so he can hover over you, blocking the sun like the clouds in the sky. “always have to one up me, baby, can’t you ever let me win?”

you reach up to squeeze his cheeks in your grip, playing with the looser skin near the center of his face, smushing his lips together playfully. you shake your head, rolling your eyes dramatically, “if i stop challenging you, you’ll get bored of me.”

his words are garbled thanks to your pressured palms, but he manages to husk out regardless: “i’d never get bored of you.”

⤭ you are the one to set up the picnic, knowing that akaashi will spend all day and all night working on his publishing duties. sometimes it is up to you to drag him out of the work-filled abyss that blackens his days and elongates his nights. ⤭ he has dark circles under his eyes and he’s always sleeping in on the weekends when he gets a chance, so you spend the time in the morning one saturday packaging up a wonderful feast. fruits, sandwiches, champagne, all tucked away into a sweet little basket that you can barely hold up on your own. ⤭ akaashi wakes up and you’ve already got his pot of coffee put together, but you hold his cup hostage when he reaches out for it. his brow wrinkles and his eyes narrow, but all you can do is chuckle when you tell him to get ready, that the two of you are going out. ⤭ once he’s had two cups of coffee and a shower, akaashi does not hesitate to stroll down the sidewalk with you, the basket in one hand and your palms linked in the other. he’s warm, inviting, and he’s always playing with the soft skin of your hand with his thumb, calloused pad drifting back and forth. ⤭ it’s nice for him to be able to take some time away from manuscripts and plotlines, to be able to enjoy the time alone with you. he’s a people watcher, and together you make up funny stories for all of the families and couples making their way through the park. after you’ve eaten, when you’re laying back and staring up at the clouds, he’ll tuck you under his arm and point out the shapes that remind him of anything significant.

﹢

“don’t you think that one looks like an owl,” he points to a cloud to the left, drifting through the air and dissipating more with each passing second. you laugh, pressing your cheek against his collarbone as your arm winds around his waist, “you think everything looks like an owl, kei. i think you miss bokuto.”

akaashi scoffs, resting his palm back against your shoulders to anchor you to him, “all of fukurodani remind me of owls, sweetheart, not just koutarou.”

“it’s the writer in you,” you murmur, tilting your head up to kiss his jaw nearest his ear, “always making an analogy out of something.”

he leans down, narrowing the space between your faces, and runs his nose against your cheek, “you have too much faith in me, darling.” you nip at the thin skin of his jaw, hitching your knee up slightly to rest on his thigh, the thick of it rippling at the sudden movement, “that would imply i believe without seeing, keiji. i’ve seen plenty of your talents.”

even though akaashi is not one for public displays of affection, he finds in this moment alone with you in the middle of a meadow, he is insatiable. his mouth finds yours and you taste of peaches and champagne, sweet but bitter, and he falls a little more in love with you then.

“i love you too,” you whisper, reading his mind and seeping into his bones with your burning touch, eyelids flittering, unwilling to open and break apart the serenity of your kiss.

the bow of your lips meet his and he swears your handprint is seared into his heart, strings tied tightly and begging for you to play him like a fiddle.

⤭ sugawara has picnics with his kindergarteners, he likes to take them outside for lunch at least once a month, if not more frequently. you’ve brought him his lunch to school at least once or twice and caught him mid teddy bear picnic, his bento box in your hand and a grin on your lips as he helps the youngest student tuck her napkin cloth into the front of her shirt. ⤭ it gives you the idea to create a picnic scenario of your own, only instead of on the playground underneath the shade tree, it is in the comfort of your own backyard as the sun goes down. ⤭ koushi is surprised to find you rushing in from the screen door that leads to the backyard when he comes home one evening, a late night after working on a new set of curriculum. he chuckles as he toes off his work shoes and finds the more comfortable house slippers to slide his feet into. ⤭ you grab him by the hand, eager to show him your masterpiece. he’s always been so kind and understanding, so easily excited by your innocence and wonder at the world. it reminds him of the wide eyes of his students, begging to soak in every word he speaks until they are gorging with information. ⤭ the way you bob on the balls of your feet makes him chuckle, his knuckles finding yours so he can slot your fingers together to the base. he squeezes before he turns his attention to the scene you’ve set before him.

﹢

“wow, love, this is-” his voice sticks in his throat, emotion overwhelming him after a long day at work, body begging to come home to you. you pull yourself closer to him, like a tether, a kite desperately trying to keep to it’s owner.

there is a spread near the firepit, a warm blanket laid flat with a plethora of food and drinks scattered across the entirety of it. he reaches around your shoulders to tug you into his chest, nose finding the crown of your head to bury his face into you, breathing in your familiarity. he realizes for what would feel like the infinite time that he is blessed with your saccharine presence, something he swears he’ll never take for granted.

“d-do you like it?”

your voice comes timid, bashful. sugawara is quick to admonish you for your insecurities, tilting your chin up with the gentle tug of his thumb and index finger, and capturing your wavering tongue with his soft mouth.

even when he peels away, you chase him, caring predator and cunning prey. your fingers wrap around the front of his shirt, begging him closer with a quiet touch. he smiles at your enthusiasm, relishing in the moment where you forget about everything else going on in the world but him.

sugawara places another kiss to your upper lip, gently guiding you to the blanket, “i love it, darling. of course i do. i’d love anything you do.”

you know he is not lying, not by the conviction in his tone and the searching in his touch. you lower yourselves to a crossed-leg position, close enough that your knees brush, and you begin to dig into every container set before you. even though you know what is splayed out, it is still a mystery as he unlocks the tops of the tupperware containers to display the treasures inside.

“i love you, kou,” you whisper after a glass too many of wine, but the words are honest all the same, regardless of the alcohol they’re tainted with. you grin lazily up at him, palm finding his pectoral as you seek his heat, “i hope you know how much i love you.”

sugawara brushes his fingers against your forehead, pushing away the hair that obscures your vision so he can see you in all of your glory, “only if you promise to know how much i love you.”

a giggle, like a champagne bubble rising to the surface only to pop when it gets too close to the sun, breaks the seam of your lips and you tuck your head underneath his chin to hide. sugawara draws you close, circling an arm around your waist until you are molded to his side, as if there were never even two people present at all. one soul inhabiting two bodies, stitched together by time and trials alike.

“i guess,” he murmurs against your temple, pressing a warm kiss there before turning his head to watch the sunset, “that just means we’ll have to spend the rest of our lives trying to prove it.”

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dirtyrottenraskel · 3 years

Text

my take on yueki's personalities

yue

notes / personality

cocky (but also like understated confidence - r e g a l af)

kind of a nerd

maybe a little entitled, and a little bratty and suki loves to indulge her or to rile her up depending on her mood

books

seems soft but made of steel

strong sense of duty

socially intelligent - can be manipulative and suki (the dork) thinks it is so hot

aloof queen bee typa beat

supportive, both in ur day to day and in going after your big moral life goals

deep water - steady and powerful, often underestimated

untold depths, private yet surprisingly nurturing - master of deflecting away from herself

political nerd - well read, and when she has someone she trusts not to take advantage of her, she goes OFF

distrusting of most people, has been used and ignored and underestimated her whole life

patient - homegirl knows how to play the long game

excellent at pai sho / chess

she and suki have epic battles of wits - dif types of strategy but both are really into it and get a little too competitive (multiple board games have had to be replaced over the years)

loves travel bc wasn’t allowed to much, esp when she was sick

was super repressed growing up - never let her be herself or really have any sort of independence

used to sneak out and wander around in rebellion and casually sabotage plans and decisions she didn’t agree with

introverted, many opinions but keeps them to herself, discreet but well spoken

weaponizes secrets and information - doesn’t often use it but...she could

definitlyyyyy worries and overthinks and re-evaluates - worries ab social politics a lot

obsessive about picking things - wants it to be perfect

shes growing into her confidence as a leader

prefers quite intimate places

incredibly romantic

classic lit

planner for the future - visionary

kind / sweet / gentle - yes, but that’s also her “front” to a degree (seriously, i feel like she gets painted as so sweet and submissive and one dimensional by the fandom a lot of times and it freakin kills me)

INFJ-T (The Advocate) ((yes this is from 16p which i know is not super accurate but u can still catch her overall vibes from it ya know)

Creative/insightful/principled/compassionate/altruistic

sensitive/reluctant to open up/perfectionist/prone to burnout/not a fan of the ordinary

friendships / relationships

(<> indicates that they’re one of her best friends)

sokka - puppy love crushes, laugh ab it now, get into deep late night talks about responsibilities and leading, water tribe culture, prank wars (no one believes sokka when he says yue is a mean prank master (expect suki comes to see it in action lol))

katara - <> badass women friendship, totally would go to matches and protests together, tough girl shit, waterbending practice/duels - start of cautious, but then get rough in a good way bc they trust each other, they do water tribe food adventures together

toph - indulges her chaos, bonding over stupid royal upbringings, odd yet weirdly endearing pair

zuko - both sort of standoffish gay royals, but once they come to see that they are friends - take up similar spaces though, so only hang out in a group or rarely by themselves, they do hang out at like political parties and stuff when they get more comfortable together

aang - <> he has an impressive world view, yue is super studied and well read, so she and aang nerd out over past cultures together, and also their peace keeping nature, they have tea together often - usually after she and katara wipe the floor w/ each other

clothing / aesthetic:

blues and pale colors

classy and understated wealth

like those cute feminine button down shirts

dresses

like cold weather classy

complicated braids

sort of soft girl aesthetic?

pleated skirts !!!

i feel like she would wear ethically sourced fur (i don’t wear fur but idk how to get it in an ethical way - maybe it’s just fake??)

knit sweaters and skinny jeans and heeled ankle boots

light academia !!!

hella funky earrings - to mark her native pride and also cuz gay

from my readings, tattoos have a lot of cultural significance for Inuit women, and so i feel like yue would totally have some (when she comes of age ofc)

suki

notes / personality

extroverted

also very strategic

more spontaneous tho - will totally calculate the odds in a spilt second in her head and then just go for it

like still a careful planner, but willing to say fuck it, yolo if it seems right

reflects on her mistakes, but more in like a healthy way - unless it was a leadership mistake, then it eats her up inside - worries more ab keeping her girls safe and making the right call

likes lively places

total bashful romantic

manages the present and the short term - realist

loves to do lists

a little punch happy - loves to make violent threats, but also does it out of excitement and she’s just a really physical person tbh

steady, can come off as stubborn and abrasive but she really just wants what’s best for everyone she loves

harsh on herself and worries about her girls a lot

always ends up in the oddest situations

totally would kick someone’s ass for being racist/sexist/homophobic/etc

dedicated to her training and her regime

not a great cook, but she can manage

would drink monsters

has a weird relationship with femininity - took her awhile to reconcile strength and toughness and being assertive and aggressive with also wanting to feel pretty and feminine and embracing being a girl and how those things can coincide and amplify each other

abandonment issues - parents absent/dead

was imprisoned - obvi she had several almost successful escape attempts, but she got really close to breaking

was incredibly independent really early, grew up really fast and tries to make up for that now by sometimes being reckless

tough/assertive/woman of action

dry sense of humor/sarcastic - not good at nickname/pun humor tho

practical/dedicated/strong-willed/direct/honest/reliable/loyal/patient

stubborn/judgmental/difficult to relax/difficulty expressing emotions/too selfless

friendships / relationships

(<> indicates that they’re one of her best friends)

sokka - <> man they’re like platonic soulmates - she beat him up, and now they spar all the time, totally funny and crack jokes all the time, go skating together, they do shitty art together, and then show their lovers after zuko and yue come back from their high society mixers, broke her out of prison, m/f friendship !!!

katara - also sparring buddies (suki will throw down at any literally moment (and tbh so will katara)), not close but will hang in a group - go to each other for advice

toph - <> listen these two wreak havoc together, they help each other out a lot, i feel like they’re shopping buddies (similar enough style to frequent the same shops) toph knows suki won’t judge her for wanting to feel pretty and suki knows toph will be honest, they are both blunt sarcastic assholes and get along like a house on fire

zuko - <> shows zuko how to like,,,enjoy things (and how to let go of some of that pressure to be always right and the adult and in charge bc they were raised with so much responsibility on their shoulders even tho they were just kids)? she is also super protective of him (once she trusts him), one of the only ppl who can match suki fully in hand to hand combat, both do the Disappointed Parent Look when the group falls into chaos, but by themselves, the two of them end up in hijinks

aang- suki enjoys his optimism and they’re just chill bros, they love exploring abandoned placed together

clothing / aesthetic

sporty and skater mixed

ripped jeans, crewnecks, vans

green and yellow and dark red

gym clothes/athleisure - lifting style gym clothes - cut off t-shirts and bike shorts

skirts too, likes to play into femininity

she’s a gold jewelry kinda girl - but stuff that won’t hinder her movements

necklaces that end in the hollow of her throat & occasionally rings

definitely cuffs all of her jeans (it’s just bisexual culture ya know)

so many crop tops - some came like that, some were more of a diy project

yueki’s relationship!!!

nerd/jock solidarity

feel the burden of responsibility and the weight on their shoulders

they create a safe space between them, full of trust and warmth and vulnerability

yue will read suki sappy passages from poetry books while suki polishes her fans

they slow dance in the kitchen a lot

they get good at ordering takeout - and they have some weird decision making process that only they understand - bc neither of them are great cooks

yue would feel jealous of suki and sokka, if it weren’t for how stupid in love sokka was with zuko and yue can see that suki really only has eyes for her

yue is taller than suki and it amuses her to no end to pick suki up and carry her away from a fight (we all know suki could get away if she wanted to, but when ur hot tall sexy gf throws u over her shoulder,,,,,,u don’t complain)

joke they’ve adopted kataang and zukka, bc they’re all dummies, but in reality every last one of them is stupid LMAO

they love to do each other’s hair and it’s like super intimate and really cute

sometimes it’s these epic elaborate hairstyles and then at other times, they try to see how many ponytails they can fit on suki’s head and how many little braid yue can do

they travel EVERYWHERE

since yue is royalty and suki is her body guard,,,, well i mean, they totally have to see these kingdoms they are doing trade deals with in person

it helps that they're friends with a lot of them

they stay over in everything from camping so they can stargaze to ritzy hotels with hot tubs in the bathroom

yue gives suki rocks she finds on all their travels and suki lines them up on their mantle around the pictures of them in increasingly weird locations

suki loves guarding yue’s meetings bc she gets to watch her absolutely rip a new one into misogynistic old men and it never fails to bring her joy

While yue doesn’t love getting attacked, the ruthless efficiency suki defends her with is like,,,,,stupid attractive

#wow this got long #this is a mix of modern au and canon verse headcanons #but yeah #let these girls have more dimension than just soft uwu gfs #esp yue #yueki #headcanon #atla #yue #suki #yue x suki #wlw #zukka #kataang #sapphic

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groovybaybee · 4 years

Text

In The Club - 1

cw: bit of smut, alcohol consumption, think that’s all, terrible writing but that’s a given

(8.8k i’m so sorry, the other chapters won’t be this long i promise)

masterlist

Fucking your friend is never as problem-free as you convince yourself it will be. Sure, it starts out simply enough; two horny people agreeing to a moment of need-driven desperation. If you are lucky, the sex is terrible and forms the basis of just another inside joke between you. However, if you are truly unfortunate, the sex is fantastic and addictive and so convenient that you convince yourself it is an ideal situation.

“Fuck me,” I groan blissfully as the cool night air smacks against my exposed flesh.

Despite still not falling into the habit, the smoking area of any club quickly becomes my sanctuary on any given night out. Something about the space feels sacred and sinful at once, a free zone of communal naughtiness.

Its more than that. The haze-filled space offers a welcome reprieve, whether that be from thumping beats, one drink too many, or lecherous advances. Standing outside in my sanctuary, breathing in a mixture of second-hand smoke and crisp, late August air; I feel at peace. My eyelids flutter closed and my head rolls back until my chin is parallel with the night sky.

Its cold. We knew it would be before we came out, the idea of a summer in London feeling like some sick joke as we rallied around each other to avoid bringing jackets to avoid wasting time in a queue for the cloakroom. The evening’s chill does not bother me, instead, I appreciate the way it sinks into my skin, chilling the heat being pumped through my veins. The beads of sweat in my hairline begin to dissipate as the soft breeze caresses every piece of bare skin.

“You alright there, babe?” I hear Harry ask, promptly reminding me that I am not alone despite being in my own little world.

A smile pulls across my face, but I take a second to breathe one final inhale of tranquillity before meeting his gaze. He is grinning at me, clearly finding amusement in my cooling down process. If his use of the name ‘babe’ had fallen on deaf ears, the toothy grin and glazed look in his eyes would quickly clear up any confusion as to his state of intoxication.

The sweet boy is pissed.

As he has every right to be. Tonight marks the first night in months he has accepted an invitation to come out. Do not get me wrong, Harry is an inspiration for his dedication to his work and it is obvious that creating music is his path in life, his primary passion, but man have I missed him. The past month has been the worst, almost every offer to spend time together being met with a consolatory ‘Have to work sorry :(‘ text message. Despite knowing that this was the truth, and would only last a little while longer until his newest album was fully wrapped, it still stung not being able to relax after a long week with a bottle of wine, some horrendous film, and one of my best friends. But the album is done, fully mastered and now just awaited final approval before being birthed to the world. Now, I have my boy back.

“I’m so happy you came,” I tell him, wrapping my arms clumsily around his neck.

I feel a breath of laughter against my hair as he pulls me into a tight hug. The two of us sway enthusiastically together, likely encouraged by a mixture of spirits but happy, nonetheless.

Pulling away from him I press a quick kiss to his lips, hands on his cheeks squeezing his face gleefully. This is not the first time I have kissed Harry during our two-year long friendship. The two of us even went through a brief period of kissing each other hello, up until just over a year ago. So, it is little shock to the rest of our friendship group when we share a few giggle-fuelled smooches.

“Get a room,” Deb laughs, stubbing out the butt of her cigarette with an amused eyeroll.

“Some people would pay good money to see this sweet action.” Harry teases, a hand gripping my hip and pulling my body flush against his to prove his point.

I would be lying to myself if I said his body did not feel good against mine, that his lips don’t spread warmth through my chest, but so does gin.

“Tanya’s having afters at her’s, anyone fancy it?” Bri asks, wobbling on weakened ankles as she walks over to us, arms wrapped tightly around her petite frame to fight the cold.

The question is indirectly aimed at Deb, something only Harry and I seem to notice, a smirk shared between the two of us at this realisation. It is the same pattern every time we go out and the night starts to draw to a close. The potential for an end to the evening is too much for them, not wanting to say goodbye to each other, but not having enough courage to specifically ask the other to spend time together. So, the roll of cupid falls on my shoulders once again.

The moment I hear Deb agree to go with Bri, I speak up, “No way am I staying up until five with you two chain-smokers. I’m going home.”

“So boring,” Bri teases, a grateful look in her eyes. I send her a quick wink when Deb is distracted, asking Harry if he will join.

“Nah, think I’ll skip it as well. Make sure this one gets home alright.” He responds, a gentle squeeze to the flesh of my hips.

“Sure,” Deb smirks before turning to Bri.

The two women look at each other for a moment, a soft haze of smoke and stifled attraction surrounding them.

“Have a good time,” I interrupt, snapping them out of their unintentional staring contest. Each gives me a hug, desperate to hide their pinkened cheeks from the other. “Be safe, I love you both.”

“You too!” Bri hollers as they begin to walk away.

“Use protection!” Deb shouts across the crowded area, eliciting embarrassed giggles from Harry and myself as we hide our faces in the other’s neck.

“You staying at mine tonight?” I query as I lift my head from the crook of his neck. “Missed having you round.”

“I’d love that,” Harry says, pressing a kiss to my forehead, “Want to go now?”

I nod and smile as he finishes the last of his drink in one gulp, Adam’s apple bobbing harshly. A large drop spills from the corner of his mouth and he clumsily wipes it away with the pad of his thumb. His hand slips into mine as we cut through the crowd in the same direction as Deb and Bri

A smirk graces my lips as I picture the pair sat in a car together, completely oblivious to their mutual attraction. Since the moment they were introduced at my birthday party a few years back, they have tiptoed around each other, both deeply infatuated but too scared to make the first move. Sometimes I worry that they are too similar for their own good, that they will dance around the subject forever.

“Who do you think will make the first move?” I ask Harry as we walk to find a nearby takeaway, my body on autopilot as Harry leads me through quiet London backstreets.

“Probably me.” Harry says absentmindedly, focussing the majority of his attention on checking the road is clear before we cross.

“Deb or Bri, idiot.” I chuckle, my legs working overtime as I try to keep instep with his long strides.

“Oh, Deb, guaranteed.” Harry posits, holding the door to the almost empty chip shop open for me to step inside.

“I’m not so sure,” I say as we join the queue, the group of girls in front of us swaying, most holding their high heels as they discuss condiments. “At uni, Deb was always too shy to go up to girls, so I had to do it for her, but Bri’s a model you know, confidence kind of comes with the territory.”

“Not necessarily. Bet you a tenner it’s Deb.” He smirks, hand already outstretched to shake mine.

“You’re on,” I shake his hand firmly, the mischievous twinkle in his eye charming me more than I would like to admit. “Want to split some chips?”

* * *

By the time we pile into my flat, the food is almost cold, the two of us quickly chowing down as we collapse on to the sofa. We work like a well-oiled machine, falling into our habits of pouring water, kicking our shoes off, and switching on some late-night television.

“I know I’ve said this a hundred times,” I start softly as my wild eyes attempt to focus on him under the dim light, “But it’s so good to see you. I’ve missed you, man.”

“C’mere,” Harry grins, pulling me into a tight squeeze before we settle side by side into the cushions. “Been meaning to tell you, you look great tonight.” Harry smiles cheekily.

“You going to try and snog me again?” I tease through a mouthful of chips.

“You do look irresistible right now.” Harry chimes, wiping a smudge of ketchup from the corner of my mouth before popping his finger in his mouth to clean it.

There is a brief pause, a second or so of silence before Harry speaks again, picking through the box of chips for the perfect one.

“I liked kissing you.”

“Do it again then.” I tease, wondering if he will take the bait or laugh it off.

Turning in his seat until he is facing me, a curious smirk plays at the corners of his mouth. For a second, his lips pucker in thought.

It is all I can do not to let out a little breath of laughter. The situation is bizarre, undoubtedly. Yet, there is a distinct sensation of calm filtering through my body, as though no matter the outcome, I would be satisfied.

“I shouldn’t… Haven’t had sex in months, scared it might stir up something in me.” With that, he turns his attention to the TV, slouching down into the sofa cushions.

“Harry,” I utter softly.

“Hmm?” he asks, my gaze fixed on his jaw as he clenches and releases it absentmindedly.

“Kiss me.”

Turning to face me yet again, this time with an incredibly serious look on his face, his eyes dark and stern. While he observes me, I take a sip of my water. His eyes follow me intensely, watching my lips part before lowering the glass and swallowing, his throat bobbing with mine.

“Are you sure?”

“Beyond sure.” I tell him with enough confidence for the both of us.

Our lips meet somewhere between us, lazily melting together as we sink into the sofa cushions. We move in a blur, arms around each other, hands caressing faces.

Our clothes tangle as we hastily undress ourselves, giggling as the garments collide on their way to the living room floor.

“This is stupid, isn’t it?” Harry grins before connecting our lips over and over.

“Completely.” I smirk between tequila-flavoured kisses.

“Condom?” he asks, voice slightly muffled by the flesh of my shoulder.

“Implant.” I tell him breathlessly, mentally reminding myself of my appointment to get it replaced next week.

Harry just nods into the crook of my neck, a hand reaching down to position himself. The giggles fade away as we become fully connected, slipping naturally into a symbiotic amalgamation of limbs and lips. It is hasty and sweaty, each of our movements oozing with lust. Our bodies work quickly with one another, only personal need driving us until we pull our clothes back on.

“Nice.” I tease, reaching my hand out for a high-five.

“Loser.” Harry laughs, pulling me into his side. A quick kiss is pressed to my temple and we turn back to the television as if nothing had happened.

* * *

The morning after, us having sex has already turned into a private joke. The two of us teasing one another relentlessly as we nurse our hangovers with a fry up.

“Never going to be able to look at you the same way, not after seeing your face when I made you—”

“Made me? I don’t think you could make me do anything.” I interrupt, bumping Harry’s hip with my own as I plate up our late breakfast.

“That so?” he replies, a smirk strongly evident in his voice.

I am about to reply when his hands slip around my waist from behind, gently raising until they cup the underneath of my breasts.

“Do you want to eat or not?” I laugh, motioning to the pan of eggs in one of my hands and the spatula in the other.

“Fine.” He grins, giving my boobs a quick, soft squeeze before moving away.

We sit down on the barstool by the island and I instantly dig in, desperate to eat away the throbbing in my head.

“Bri’s sad because she didn’t make a move on Deb.” Harry tells me as he types a response quickly on his phone.

“Telling her about last night to cheer her up?” I joke. Harry pauses, locking his phone and placing it down on the cool granite surface.

“God, can you imagine how much shit they’d give us if they found out?”

“I won’t tell if you don’t.” I offer a hand for him to shake.

“Deal.” He says quickly, stretching out his own hand to meet mine.

* * *

It isn’t until a few weeks later that I get to see Harry again. Work consumes us both as always. Harry finalises a promotion timeline for his new album while I travel across Sicily, working with temperamental models in the baking summer sun. I spend the first day back at home, lazing on the sofa and doing laundry. Almost immediately upon exiting the plane, I miss the heat. Late summer in London provides to be drizzle-filled and grey for the majority of the time. The only time sunshine rears its head is the day of Harry’s party. Typical, really. That man even has mother nature on his side.

After a sluggish and jetlagged day spent doing laundry and replying to emails, I drink as much caffeine as possible before heading over to Harry’s place. He had wanted tonight to be as intimate as possible. Only family, friends and a few members of the production team received the invitation to his house to hear his new album before the public get their hands on it. The select few of us, after checking our names with the security team at the gatehouse, make our way through the enclosed community, walking right in through his unlocked front door.

Once inside, I cannot help the smirk that tugs at my lips as I imagine Harry organising this party. The house is covered in pink and blue like a fancy gender reveal and all I can picture is a roll of tape between Harry’s teeth as he insisted on hanging streamers himself.

Quickly, I am distracted by the décor when a table filled with flutes of champagne catches my eye. With one in my hand, I turn a corner and see him immediately. He stands in the centre of the lounge while those around him sit dotted around the space, watching as he speaks animatedly. His hands move about wildly as he talks, eliciting laughter from the room as he continues to tell a story I already recognise. Just as he reaches the climax of the tale, his gaze floats towards me. Joy seems to settle around us as everyone cracks up at the punchline of the anecdote, the two of us simply sharing soft smiles by way of a greeting. I raise my glass slightly and he understands, continuing to entertain the room effortlessly as I join the masses, simply observing and enjoying him.

“Alright?” I hear a familiar voice utter groggily. I turn to see Bri clutching an espresso martini tightly, majority already drunk. “Knackered, mate.” She confirms as she presses herself against me in lieu of a hug.

“Know the feeling,” I sympathise, feeling the formidable aches of travelling.

Bri and I swap stories about where we have recently flown in from as we settle amongst the group, finding a small loveseat brought in to accommodate the increased number of occupants.

Collectively, the room falls silent. Harry, charmingly humble as always, utters a few words of thanks to us all for our support during the writing, recording, and production processes, before we relax into the evening as the first track begins to play. Thankfully, Harry has already witnessed my initial reactions to each and every song, including a few which did not make the cut, so I need not worry about emotional outbursts in front of some of his nearest and dearest. Each track reminds me of the nights he would sneak me demos or voice memos of certain lyrics and riffs he was particularly proud of at that moment. Hearing the album again now brings back a serious swell of pride that fills my heart right to its capacity, emotion beginning to fill my eyes as we listen to the stories of his heart. Each sorrowful ballad and upbeat tune breaks and reforms my heart repeatedly and I am once again, completely enamoured with him and his talent.

* * *

“My girl,” Harry calls out happily, slinging an arm around my shoulders. “What did you think of the album?”

“I’ve already heard it.” I laugh, absentmindedly leaning into his warmth, grateful for it in the slight chill of his back garden.

“You weren’t supposed to though.” He whispers, lowering his head as he colludes with me, “This was meant to be the first time anyone outside of production heard it so… shh.”

Impossible to hold back my grin at his ridiculously over the top nature, I just give him a toothy nod before placing my left index finger against my lips.

“I won’t tell if you don’t.” I say softly.

“Where have I heard that before?” he grins, tapping a finger against his chin as he pretends to search his memory. His gaze trickles over my body, eyebrows pulling together when he notices the giant purple bruise spread across my upper left arm. “How did you do that?”

Gently, he takes my arm in his hand, lifting it softly to take a better look at the yellowish edges.

“Was time to get my implant removed, back to condoms for a few weeks.” I tell him casually, not realising the suggestive nature of my words until he replies.

“Going to miss the way you feel for a few weeks then.” His tone is so casual that it stuns me for a moment, completely unable to think of a witty retort.

I had assumed that our drunken fling was just that. Never had the thought crossed my mind that he might want to do it again. Okay, that’s a lie. I have thought of little else at night than the thought of Harry on top of me again, his hand replacing my own as I bring myself to climax.

However, watching the way he observes my reaction sparks a disgusting greed within me.

“Hang out when everyone leaves?” he asks, seeing the fire behind my eyes and matching it with his own.

It is all I can do to nod and not pull him aside and let my body mould to his.

The evening passes quicker than I had expected, perhaps my slight exhaustion seems to warp my internal clock, making hours feel like minutes. Regardless, before I know it, Harry and I find ourselves on his bed, lips and limbs entangled.

“I’m really proud of you.” I manage to mumble against his lips in a brief interlude in which they are parted from my own.

“That means a lot.” Harry utters back, equally hindered by my lips against his. Neither of us mind though. If anything, these small and restrained interactions seem to encourage us, raising the heat in the room as hands grasp and grip the other. Our bodies flush together, desperately meeting in any way possible as if trying to verbalise what we do not dare talk about.

We move much slower than the last time, savouring each and every touch as we take turns removing the other’s clothes. Contrary from our previous experience, there is nothing greedy about our movements. Instead, a different type of need drives our bodies to intertwine.

I manage to pull myself away from him for long enough to mutter, “Condom?”

Harry stills above me, eyes averted as he thinks deeply before speaking, “Think there’s some in the bathroom, sorry, I’ll be right back.” With a swift kiss to my forehead, he dashes from the room into his en suite.

“Cute bum.” I call after him, enjoying the way his hips wiggle with his quick pace.

“Cheers!” he hollers back, shortly followed by the sound of skin on skin.

The idea of him slapping his own backside leaves a smile on my face which lasts until he returns with a single condom, declaring it to be the last one and making some teasing comment about how lucky I am. His words fall on deaf ears, however, as I feel the energy in the room shift. My eyes glue to his body as he sits beside me, taking both of my hands in his and pulling me to sit up straight. The muscles of his body grow taut under his skin as he moves me to sit between his open legs. My feet lock around his back, his hands mirroring the same position around my waist as our lips meet yet again.

Into each other we sink deeper, chest meeting chest, rising and falling together. A gentle hand lifts to tuck away a lock of my hair before settling against my cheek, softly grazing his fingertips across the tender flesh of my neck. His lips are like runny honey against my body as they trail across my jaw and trickle down the column of my throat, catching my breath between them. The tip of a thumb under my chin keeps my head high as his lips work lower and lower. My own lips are parted as I melt beneath him.

“Harry,” I gasp, unintentionally making him stop dead in his tracks. Panic instantly flooding through my veins, I cast my gaze downwards to check on him. He looks up at me with soft but needy eyes. “What is it?” I ask cautiously, my hand subconsciously clearing the rogue tendrils of hair away from his forehead.

“I like the way you say my name.” he utters lowly, so quiet it almost seems as though he is afraid of my reaction.

Unsure of what words could quell whatever doubts he is battling with; I replace them with a soft kiss to his lips. One side of his face cupped in my hand, I feel him lean into me, eyelids fluttering shut just long enough to savour the feeling but not so long as to make it obvious that it was his aim.

“Harry,” I whisper, just loud enough to catch his attention and bring his eyes back to mine, “I want you to…”

I falter, unsure of the right word to use here. None seem to fit just right, either feeling too blunt and devoid of emotion or too far the other way.

Regardless of semantics, Harry understands and slips his hips away slightly. I watch as his steady hands tear the wrapper open and roll the condom down his shaft. Without another moment’s hesitation, his hands are back on my body, grasping at the flesh at my sides as he pulls me into his lap. With every move he makes, his lips provide accompaniment. Kisses spread across my face and neck, down to my collarbone and breasts, celebrating each and every part they come into contact with.

Desperate to feel every part of him, I raise my hips. Upon realising my intentions, Harry meets my gaze, watching me with awe-filled eyes as I slip our bodies together. I feel him gasp against the bare skin of my chest. For a moment, our actions are slow, adjusting to the overwhelming feeling of one another. Our hips rock gently into each other, soft moans and sharp inhalations fill the otherwise quiet bedroom, bouncing off the walls I have begged him countless times to add more colour to. His hands grip the flesh of my hips, reaching down sporadically to grope at my cheeks. With each squeeze and scratch, I move faster against him, head thrown back in pleasure as we repeatedly hit every delicious spot.

His hands caress every part of me, truly making love to my body as heated gasps slip past my lips. Our bodies work as a chemical reaction of lust and care, eyes locked as we move quicker and more urgently. Everything we need to say we say with a kiss of the neck, a scratch of bare skin, and a bliss-filled moan.

Two hands slip behind me, swiftly but securely lowering me into the pillows of the bed before returning to my hips and waist. His hands grip me tighter as this new position allows him to sink deeper into me, his body slowing temporarily against mine to savour the feeling of being fully complete. His eyes never leave mine, pupils contracting and dilating, telling me everything I need to know.

My gaze flicks down to the point where our bodies meet, watching in lust-filled awe as we connect. I feel Harry do the same as his forehead rests against mine, hands slipping to grasp at my thighs, squeezing and moulding the flesh in his hands. A groan leaves my lips at the sensation of his adoration. At the sound, his hips snap harshly against my own, eliciting louder, wilder moans. Encouraged beyond belief, Harry chases my pleasure, speeding up the movement of his body against my own. His head drops down to my neck, suckling and licking at the skin growing tender under his control.

Lifting his upper body from mine, he pushes gently against one of my legs until it is perpendicular to my body. Instantly, I melt beneath him, this new angle driving me into a state of madness as he hits harder and deeper, watching with animalistic pride as I clutch around desperately for something to cling to. My fingertips tangle in the bedsheets, eager to anchor myself as a hand slips between my legs. His fingers spin soft circles, their contrast to the speed and force of his hips sending me over the edge, body shuddering violently as he eases me back down. Harry utters soft words, gentle coos that bring me back to him and allow my eyes to unscrunch themselves. When I see him, laying atop me, face just inches from mine, the fire is burning brighter than I have ever seen it, something about watching the pleasure he brings me arousing every sense.

“Fuck me,” I beg, my voice cracking from my raw throat but I don’t care. I need him.

He gives me everything in him, using my body to feel good, knowing as well as I do that nothing could compare to the two of us. Even when his face contorts, jaw slack and breathing halted, I feel the care he has for me. His fingertips caress the softness of my skin, gently roaming the expanse of my body as I tether him to the Earth. Collapsing into me, he buries himself in the crook of my neck. My hands come up to encircle him, grazing up and down his back soothingly as he catches his breath.

“You’re unreal.” Harry eventually mumbles against my skin, producing a breathy giggle from deep within my chest. He pulls away, rolling off me and quickly discarding the condom before laying beside me. Propping his head up with his hand, his body follows the contours of my side in order for us to constantly be touching. “I mean it.”

I turn to him, tucking one knee between his and trying not to groan at the ache in my body.

“I dig you too.” I say with a gentle, slightly exhausted smile.

“Never said that,” he teases, earning a half-hearted frown which just makes him grin even harder. Slowly, his face falls serious, his brows pulling together as he contemplates the thought swimming around in his mind.

“Tell me.” I whisper, a hand coming up to rest on the side of his face, thumb automatically caressing the stubble across his cheek.

“Sometimes I think we’ll end up together.” He tells me quietly. My actions still, eyes flitting to his eyes to search for the tell-tale sign that he is just being mischievous. But there is only a hint of worry in those bright eyes.

“Yeah?” I ask, quickly licking my lips to distract myself from the break in my voice, convincing myself that it is simply because my throat is still sore from moments ago.

“Yeah.”

We lay for a while like this, no words spoken, or action taken. I don’t think either of us would know what to do if we wanted to anyway. Instead we lay. His hand comes up to rest on top of mine, keeping me with him until the rise and fall of our chests sync and my eyelids grow heavy.

“Tired?”

“Little, still a bit jetlagged.” I mumble, already half-asleep despite my intentions to stay awake and look at him all night long.

“Go to sleep.” He says softly before pressing a tender kiss to my hand. His lips work as an immediate sleep aid, relaxing every aching muscle and eradicating every stressful thought.

* * *

Three weeks pass by quickly, work overwhelms me yet again and I spend my days and nights at shoots, silently praying that each director I work with will be less of a diva than the last. Unfortunately, my prayers go unanswered. The increased workload begins to drain every last drop of lifeforce from me. My limbs ache with exhaustion, stomach never fully settled due to lack of sufficient sustenance.

“I’m knackered, think I might be getting the flu.” I explain sleepily to Harry over FaceTime, my body slumping back into the heap of pillows in my unmade bed. His camera flips around from the beautifully clear blue sky above him to a concerned, slightly bearded Harry. “Have you shaved since you left?” I ask with a smirk.

“This is my LA stache.” He grins, smudging and finger and thumb across the width of the hair above his top lip.

“I miss you.” I whisper, not meaning the words to leave my subconscious.

“I miss you too,” Harry smiles, his eyes softening as an excited shade of light pink flushes his cheeks. “Hang out when I’m back?”

I nod and agree to dinner next week before yawning and saying goodbye. Wrapping myself up in the cold duvet, the thought of seeing Harry soon stops me from slipping into sleep. My mind relives our last night together, each kiss and caress playing like a film. We should have talked about it before he left but, as per usual, our work-lives consumed us. What would he say about that night? Did he feel the difference in the way we moved? Is he just as freaked out by it?

The next day, all doubts and fears are drained from my body, a care package waiting on my doorstep as I arrive home. Carrying the box inside, my eyes glance around the box in search of some sign to indicate the sender’s identity. I knew he had been the one responsible for it, but the contents just confirmed it. Tins of soup, orange juice, cold and flu medicine, a box of cherry bakewells (my absolute favourite comfort food), and an unbelievably soft pair of fluffy socks.

Snapping a quick picture of the assortment, I send it to Harry with a string of appreciative words, tearing up due to his sweetness and my sickness.

It does not matter what either of us thinks of feels about that night together, because at the end of the day, it is always going to be him and I, whatever form our relationship takes.

* * *

“You look like shit.” Deb greets as she presses a kiss to my cheek before allowing me to sit across from her and Bri. I fight the urge to roll my eyes and glance down at the menu laid across my plate. The majority of the options made my stomach churn, the thought of pushing eggs down my throat enough to make me gag.

“Can’t shake this bug.” I grumble, sipping at my water as our waitress arrives.

“Three mimosas please.” Bri smiles sweetly at her.

“Oh, no, just two.” I correct, starting to break into a slight sweat. The waitress nods and excuses herself to fetch the girls their drinks, leaving them both to look at me with wide eyes and mouths agape. “My stomach has been in bits for weeks, no way I’m drinking and making myself puke again.”

“Never thought this day would come... I mean its brunch, what else are we going to do?” Bri gasps in a dramatically solemn tone.

“Yeah, can’t remember the last time you didn’t drink with us.” Deb frowns, clearly slightly upset at losing one of her drinking buddies. “Except that one time at uni.”

A smirk ghosts over my lips at the memory. Deb and I, still in our first year, sat in the pub with two pints on the table, both untouched as we watched the pregnancy test stashed in my bag slowly reveal just one line.

Slowly, the smile begins to fall from my face, Deb mirroring me as the penny slowly drops for the both of us.

“When was the last time you got your period?” she asks quietly.

“What?” Bri asks in utter confusion, excluded from our moment of telepathy.

“I can’t remember,” I admit in a whisper.

“Jesus Christ.” Deb sighs, the colour draining from her face as her hand comes up to rub at her forehead nervously.

“I had my implant taken out, the doctor said my hormones would be unpredictable so I haven’t really thought about it.” I rush, desperately trying to defend myself for not noticing the absence.

“Oh,” Deb says, instantly perking back up as if nothing had even happened. “To be fair, when was the last time you had sex anyway?”

She speaks as if the question were simple a throwaway comment, a small joke to lighten the mood. Of course, she would think that, the last time I spoke to the girls about my sex life, it was to complain about its lack of existence. I haven’t quite found the right way to tell them that Harry and I are doing whatever it is we are doing.

“About a month ago.” I admit quietly, unlocking my phone to flick through my calendar, mainly to avoid the harsh gaze of two of my best friends.

“What? Who with?” Bri asks giddily, however her excitement is drastically overshadowed by Deb’s probing.

“You used protection though?”

“Of course we did, I’m not an idiot.” I say, feeling myself getting wound up as the blood seems to drain from my body.

There is no way I am. We were safe. There’s no way.

When I look up to meet their gaze, however, both girls look at me with such sympathetic gazes that it takes everything in me not to burst into tears.

“Want to get a test to be sure?” Bri asks gently, somehow instantly caught up and fully aware of the sheer internal panic I am feeling.

I nod and we immediately leave the table. Bri takes my hand and waits with me as Deb quickly pays for the drinks that did not even arrive.

“It’ll be okay,” Bri whispers to me, her thumb soft against the back of my hand.

“Yeah,” I nod, trying to shake of the severe sensation of dread smothering me. Swallowing hard, I manage to meet her eye. “Probably just a scare, right? We’ll laugh about it in an hour.”

She does not reply. No one speaks as we walk to the closest shop, thankfully Deb lives close by and is able to source a test and usher us home before I can overthink too much.

I won’t be. What are the odds? Condoms are 98% effective, I checked in the health aisle as Bri went to pay. 98% is far too high to be stressing out over a few potential symptoms.

The girls sit on the edge of Deb’s bathtub, watching me pee and trying to crack jokes to lighten the mood as I place the test on the side and wash my hands, looking anywhere but the stick.

“These situations make me so glad to be gay.” Deb utters to Bri with a ghost of a smirk.

“Totally.” Bri says with a small giggle.

“Not helping.” I groan, pacing back and forth in the small bathroom, my stomach squeezing tighter and tighter into a knot.

We sit in silence for the remaining few minutes. Until Bri finally breaks the tension in the room.

“Do you want one of us to look?”

“No.” I say quickly, undoubtedly wide-eyed.

With a long inhale and slow exhale, trying to draw out these last few seconds of naivety, I give a small nod before approaching the countertop.

Two lines.

“Maybe its faulty, do another one.” Deb reasons.

“You okay?” Bri asks me gently as our friend digs wildly through the box for the second test stick.

“It’s positive.” I whisper, eyes glazing over slightly as I stare down at the white plastic. “I’m pregnant.”

* * *

“Have you told the dad yet?” Deb asks, her voice crackling through the phoneline as I walk into the hospital’s multi-storey car park.

“No,” I sigh, ready to defend my decision to her for the fourth time since the three of us stood in her bathroom, two positive tests laying across the countertop. “I told you, I wanted to know my options before I tell him. Gather some research, you know?”

“How was it?” she asks as I unlock my car door and slump into the driver’s seat.

I give her a quick run through of my appointment, from taking yet another test, it coming back positive yet again, to discussing the three main paths from here. Abortion, adoption, or parenthood. Repeating all the information the doctor had given me makes me want to be sick, all of the statistics and medical jargon feeling foul in my mouth. This was not supposed to be my life. I was not meant to get knocked up by my friend who, oh yeah, just so happens to be internationally acclaimed musician Harry Styles. Blocking the image of telling him from my mind, I focus back in on Deb’s voice.

“You know I’ll be here through whatever you choose, don’t you? I know you’re scared, and I know this isn’t exactly ideal but you’ll make the right choice and me and Bri will do whatever you need. We’ll hold your hand if the dad won’t.” she tells me, unintentionally causing my eyes to fill with tears.

“Love you Deborah.” I mutter.

“Love you loser.” She grumbles back, eliciting a teary chuckle from my lips.

As the call ends, my head lolls back against the headrest, eyes closing momentarily as I allow myself a few seconds of calm to be grateful for my angelic friends. Both had offered to come with me today, or drive me at the very least, but I had insisted on doing this alone. I could not have dealt with any more eyes on me as I was told ways in which I could deal with my situation. An absentminded guilty hand stretches across my stomach at the thought of my ‘situation’.

Adoption just would not be an option. Unless I somehow managed to avoid Harry for nine months and give birth in secret. Even then I would probably just have to remove myself from his life forever, unable to take the pain of looking at his beautifully unaware face and being stricken with the loathing of giving up the only thing that would ever be just ours. No, that is not an option.

So, my choices become drastically limited. Both life-changing in their own ways. Automatically, my brain begins to form lists of pros and cons as I drive out of the city.

I do want children someday, and people always say that there is no perfect time.

No fucking kidding.

Things would be so much simpler if I was not pregnant. I could live my life and Harry could live his. Surely, he will not want the burden of a family at such a young age. I know all about his hopes and dreams. I know how much music means to him, how incredible he feels after each and every performance. How could I take that away from him?

The thought of not telling him circles around my mind as I sit in the familiar traffic of the route. I could make both of our lives so much simpler if I just made the decision for the both of us. But that is just it, I cannot take that from him. He has to know at the very least.

Anyway, who is to say that he will even want to be involved? Perhaps this has happened before. I have heard the stories of tour. What if he already has an illegitimate child out there and simply does not care? Maybe I have been something to pass the time and the reality of our situation will come crashing down around us and make him want nothing to do with me. Would I keep the baby then?

The possibility of Harry wanting nothing to do with his child leaves my mind almost as quickly as it enters it. This is Harry. He has wanted a family for as long as I have known him, he loves kids. Am I depriving him of a potential future with his partner and legitimate children? Would I be in the background of family photos, not even Harry’s ex, just some woman he got pregnant and has to watch him live happily for the sake of her child’s relationship with their father?

Anger bubbles up inside my ribcage as I pull into the garage attached to the house. With a frustrated sigh, I turn the engine off and step out of the car. How could I let myself be so stupid? No one in their right mind thinks that sleeping with their friend is going to be problem free. Clearly this is a sign, a punishment for being stupid enough to open myself up to the potential of a--

“HEY!” I hear him shout from his front door, quickly dashing out barefoot to come and greet me.

For a split-second when I look at him, I forget why I am here. When he wraps his arms around me and pulls me so tightly against him that I worry I might suffocate, all I feel is his warmth and excitement at seeing my best friend home at last. Until he lets me go, and my stomach sinks to my feet.

“Lets go inside.” My voice is hushed, barely above a whisper when he lets go of me. I pull a smile across my face until he nods and walks bouncily into the house, a half-step ahead of me.

“I’m glad you came over, I wanted to talk to you about something.” Harry says, failing terribly at hiding a grin as we move to his kitchen.

I sit myself on one of his bar stools, gesturing for him to put down the kettle in his hand and sit next to me.

“Me first.” I tell him, my face so solemn and opposite to his that were the circumstances different I may have found it comedic.

“It’s kind of a biggie though.” Harry’s smile is completely unaffected by my tone, so wrapped up in getting out what he wants to say that panic starts to bubble up into my throat at the thought of not being brave enough to just tell him what I need to. “You know that night before I left…”

He looks to me with the most hopeful and kind eyes, making me dig my fingernails into the palms of my hands as the realisation sets in that I am probably about to break his heart and have him hate me.

“I’m pregnant.” I force out, voice cracking halfway.

My heart does not thump in my chest like I had expected it to, nor does my stomach churn as I watch him try to process the weight of my words in the slightest. Inside, I feel a sick sense of calm, potentially relieved, potentially too numb to feel the world disintegrating around me.

“You’re… Sorry, say that again.” His eyes search mine desperately for some sign that this is just a cruel joke. Now the pain resurges, wrapping itself tightly around my lungs and squeezing hard.

“I’m pregnant,” I whisper guiltily.

I wait for Harry to speak again, but he doesn’t. He just stares into mid-air, chest heaving up and down as he attempts to make the slightest amount of sense out of this situation.

“About four weeks,” I explain softly, secretly trying to coax him back to me, selfishly desperate to see my friend’s kind eyes. “I saw a doctor today, talked about my options…whether to keep it.”

“Our options.” he whispers, I think mainly to himself before his eyes free themselves from their visual tether and meet my gaze. They are glassy and it takes all I have not to reach out and take his hand and promise him that it will all be okay, because I honestly do not know that it will and I can’t lie to him.

“Our options.” I repeat quietly, ignoring the slight leap of my heart at his sentiment and quickly reminding myself that he has not committed to anything. “I know it’s a lot to process, and you don’t have to say or do anything… but do you have any… strong preferences?”

“Yeah,” he says lowly, “but it’s your decision, isn’t it?”

My heart sinks and throat dries, all moisture heading towards my eyes. With a large, pained swallow, I sit up straight, avoiding his eye.

“Yeah, sorry, I just thought I should tell you.” My voice is quiet, afraid of its own weakness. I stand from the stool, running a hand through my hair out of nervousness.

“What are you doing?” Harry asks quickly, eyes panic-stricken as he stands up in front of me, catching one of my hands in his.

“Going, I didn’t mean to bother you.” I admit, trying my hardest but failing to hide my heart breaking.

“No, no you—I don’t want that.” He says, only now do I notice the texture in his voice, “We don’t leave each other.”

His eyes are every bit as tear-filled as my own, the sight enough to encourage the water in my eyes to slip gently down my face. Standing in Deb’s bathroom, she and Bri had wrapped me in a gentle hug as violent sobs wracked through my body. Now, however, as Harry and I pull each other into an embrace tight enough to keep up anchored to the world, we cry softly.

“We’ll figure it out.” He whispers, resting his chin on top of my head. “Promise.”

* * *

For hours Harry and I sit at his kitchen island, debating our next move. With frustrated sighs and tearful moments, conversation delves into the logistics of each and every possibility at our disposal.

As predicted, Harry is not keen on the prospect of adoption. The notion that his child might discover their father’s identity and potentially make it public, could destroy his image, his career, everything he has worked so hard for. I tell him I understand, that I had thought this would be his fear, and that our options were narrowed down to two.

There is quiet when the topic is first brought up, the eight-letter word stunning him silence.

“It’s your body.” He manages to whisper.

The groan that passes my lips is unavoidable, having heard those exact words from Deb, Bri, the doctor, and now Harry.

“I wish someone could just tell me the right thing to do.” I sigh, holding my head up on the counter, fingers pressing lightly into my eyes to try and relieve the stress headache that has been lingering for the past few days.

“I’m sorry.” Harry utters quietly beside me.

He sits with his hands in his lap, anxiously picking at his cuticles as he watches me with a frown.

“I didn’t mean for…” he doesn’t finish the sentiment, but I understand.

“Me neither,” I admit, softening my gaze and taking one of his hands in mine to stop him from ruining his nailbeds.

He gazes at my hand on his for a moment, afraid of moving and losing the contact. It twists into mine until our palms are touching, squeezing the width of all my fingers with one gentle contraction of his muscles.

Before I let myself get too caught up in the tender comfort of his skin against mine, I speak up, “Fuck it, pros and cons list.”

I stand up from the stool and find a notepad in one of his messier kitchen drawers.

“No judgment.” I tell him, handing him a pen before making a table with my own.

We pause for a moment, and I list something in the negative column.

Everything will change

Harry follows suit and leaves a few words beneath my handwriting.

IMPACT ON CAREERS?

I cannot help but nod my head before we continue to add to the paper, reasoning for and against our little situation.

The process takes longer than I had expected, Harry arguing with some of my cons and suggesting that they are easily fixable or are, in fact, pros.

“Okay, so cons,” I start once we both lay our pens down. “Everything will change, impact on careers, would we be good parents?, don’t want Y/N to have to deal with media, no privacy, custody, would have to co-parent, impact of pregnancy on day to day, this is all a bit mental.”

Harry nods, urging for me to continue to the counterarguments.

“Pros… We both want kids someday and a friendship relationship could create a good support system for the kid… Think the list is pretty clear then.” Looking at him, we both understand logically what we should do.

“Yeah.” Harry says quietly, eyes burrowing deeply into my own before picking up his pen one more time and adding into the left-hand column:

WE’D HAVE A BABY

His eyes seem to take forever to meet mine, flicking down to where my bottom lip is caught tightly between my teeth.

I pick up my own pen and leave my final note, sealing the decision for us.

Its our baby.

Silence fizzes around us, its intensity growing as our eyes meet and have a conversation that we cannot quite pass to our mouths. He looks to me nervously, chewing at his cheek, his eyes holding back the hope building inside him. I want to tell him that I am still scared, that everything about the future is so uncertain. I cannot do it. I cannot deprive him of the joy he is feeling, however shrouded in terror it is.

“So…” he eventually manages to push out, a slight smile creeping on to his lips.

My mouth mirrors him, the muscles in my cheeks aching slightly from the sensation after not being used for the past few days.

“Yeah.” I let out in a shaky breath, eyes watering yet again but this time I welcome it.

“Should we celebrate?” Harry asks quietly, his voice suddenly apprehensive.

“As long as it includes takeaway and a film.” I say, too exhausted to go anywhere or deal with the consequences that come along with being next to Harry in the outside world. Pushing the nagging dread at the thought of people finding out and commenting on us, I pull up Deliveroo on my phone and we settle on the sofa in his living room.

“What to Expect When You’re Expecting?” Harry teases as he flicks through Netflix.

“Too soon.” I reply, smirking down at my phone.

“Sorry,” he says, not at all sorry for getting a positive reaction from me as if our lives would just slip back to how they used to be.

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pagesoflauren · 4 years

Text

Henry Cavill Vampire Anthology: Memories Bring Back Memories...

darkish!vampire!Napoleon Solo x reader

Warnings: not-fully-fleshed-out vampire lore, vampire-typical violence, angst, pseudo-blackmailing, mentions of trauma/parental neglect

A/N: So, played around with an idea and based it on this creepypasta. I had also read a fic with this idea with Harry Styles, but I can’t find it anymore. I hope y’all enjoy this 🤞🏽

Your eyes sting when you first open them, the sight of the bright hospital lights making your pupils constrict painfully.

You’re connected to various machines through tubes attached to your arms. You can hear the steady rhythm on the heart rate monitor grow increasingly faster as you fail to get your bearings.

Somewhere in your subconscious you know you shouldn’t move so violently, but you do. Your arms thrash and tug at wires, causing the wheels on the machines to roll across the tile floor.

Cool hands press against your hot skin. Your muscles move to cringe away from the shock until you look into the face of the person.

It’s a man; a beautiful stranger with blue eyes and perfect features.

You must be dead.

“Relax, darling,” he soothes you, the prosody of his voice a little sing-songy compared to others you’ve spoken to. You don’t know anyone who speaks the way he does.

“Who are you?”

He looks so pained, his eyebrows coming together and moving upwards. His eyes drift down for a moment as he appears to collect his thoughts before meeting yours again. He runs his knuckles against your cheek. His touch is so unfamiliar that you lean away from it, though he acts as if he’s done this a million times before.

“You’ll remember soon.”

A lie, but you don’t need to know that.

“I’ll get the nurse.”

He reaches over to the space next to your head. The button clicks when he presses it and a white light above it turns on.

He takes in the wild look in your eyes as you take in your surroundings, looking at spots behind him before scanning the rest of the room. Your breathing slows, as shown by your chest slowing but also by the audible sound of your lungs shrinking as your ribs close around them.

He finds such beauty in the way your body moves in sync, how your heartbeat also loses speed. Your body temperature goes down, some of your warmth disappearing from him.

You’re quite perfect, aren’t you?

Though, he made you this way.

You foolishly let your guard down while walking home and unfortunately crossed paths with him on the verge of a literal mental breakdown.

Mortals use that term to describe when they’re under excessive amounts of stress and lose all sensibility.

His kind uses it when their minds follow their bodies: dead. When their brains lose their mental vigor, they turn to humans to fulfill their needs.

Most people don’t survive an attack from those like him. They are drained of their very essence. Everything that made them who they are, the experiences that shaped their beliefs, the emotions that arise when they navigate the world… is all stolen away in a few moments with a bite at the back of the neck.

Others, like you, come out in better shape. A little disoriented, more recent memories lost but still many intact ones. Enough to allow you to still function, only less effectively than before.

You were an easy target. Napoleon was ready to empty your little head and leave you a slump on the street. But your memories intrigued him.

Your mother. Your father. A second man he can assume is a step-father. An empty road at night illuminated by passing headlights. Dingy living in the city you’re currently in, riddled with rats and flies. Tables filled with food while your stomach grumbled, seedy customers that grabbed your retracting hands, shady characters you pass on the way back home from work.

Napoleon knows that life. On the run in strange cities, sneaking around, avoiding an entire task force created especially for him. He knows women. He’s certain he’s met every single type of them in the long time he’s been alive and has been around long enough to have met each type twice.

There’s one type of woman he actively tries to avoid, though. The type of woman that led to his heart shattered on the floor when it was still beating: the ones who need him; the helpless kind.

That’s exactly what you were. It was clear there were things you were ready to forget. You needed a clean slate. He could help you rebuild your mental health, give you beautiful memories to hold on to.

You needed him.

The nurses were saying you had a case of memory loss from when you fell and hit your head, but your boyfriend was there to take care of you. He had all the paperwork filled out because he was the one that took you to the hospital three days ago.

You were knocked out for three days.

It overwhelmed you, but they reassured you he was your emergency contact.

As such, after all the tests and brain scans, you were given into his care. His embrace felt foreign, but you didn’t protest when he insisted you take his hand as you walked to his car together.

You twiddled your thumbs as he drove through a city you swore you have never seen before. You have an overwhelming sense of deja vu, something that rings a faint bell when you see a certain street corner or the unlit neon sign of a restaurant. It sounds when you pass a dilapidated apartment building with chipping paint and a rusty fire escape. You can conjure an image of what a unit inside would look like, hear the creaks of the floor, or the failing stovetop as you try to boil water.

His house is out of the city, on a quiet street straight out of a magazine. The inside is neat and it almost puts you off. You don’t feel at home here.

“How are you feeling, darling? You need a rest?”

“I think so. I-I don’t remember anything, it’s a lot to be in here.”

A gentle hand lays on your shoulder, turning you to a corridor. “Last door on the right. I’ll make you some tea.”

Tea? Do you like tea? You can’t remember…

You’re startled by the light tap on your bottom that makes you stumble forward. When you look back at him, he’s heading towards the kitchen.

The bedroom is fairly simple, with blue checkered covers you could expect from a man your boyfriend’s age.

Taking a look around, you find your makeup on a vanity by the window. There are two sets of drawers and you assume the one next to the vanity is yours.

Sirens are going off in your head now. There are no bells of recollection.

You go into the bathroom, sliding the glass door of the shower cubicle open.

It was the nicest shower you had ever seen, with a dark blue backsplash and five different showerheads. On the floor, you find products that are far out of your budget. They were the luxury items you saw in the drugstore that you would only hope to afford one day.

You pick up the bottle of shampoo. It’s heavier than you expect, brand new.

“Darling?” his voice calls into the bedroom. You hear the teacup rattle on a saucer as his footsteps draw closer. “Ah, there you are.”

You put the bottle down and turn to face him. His large frame fills the doorframe as he leans against it, the cup and saucer looking so delicate in his large hand.

“Why can’t I remember anything?” It comes out as a whine, but you can’t hold in your frustration. Surely, you’d have some memory of this.

“You fell pretty hard, darling. I was very distressed,” he explains, placing your drink on the counter next to the sink.

“But I really don’t remember anything. This house, the bedroom, the shower...I don’t even remember you…or what I called you.”

“Napoleon,” he supplies. “You always called me by my first name.”

You didn’t know his name until now. All the other women he’s known called him by other names, aliases. His name is reserved for his mother.

And now you.

“It’s so much, Napoleon.” He sees panic return to your eyes. It’s the same look you had when he grabbed you on the street. You clutched at the arm that constricted around your neck, breathing weak utterances of “please” over and over again.

“Maybe...maybe I could go somewhere, just for a few days. And if I rest, just, outside of here, I’ll have a clear mind and can remember…”

He looks down and sighs. He pushes off the doorframe and takes short, careful steps toward you.

“Darling, I hate to tell you this,” he begins, tucking your hair behind your ears. His palms cradle your jaw, tilting your head back so you can look up at him. “But your memories won’t come back.”

You blink rapidly in disbelief, shaking your head as much as you can. “But...but the nurses said--”

“The nurses don’t know what they were talking about,” he says gently.

You say nothing, staring into his beautiful face, searching for answers.

“You won’t get your memories back because I have them.”

“What does that mean?”

“Does your neck hurt?”

Icy fingers touch the back of your neck, a jolt of pain shooting down your spine and your knees buckle. You clutch at his shirt to keep yourself standing.

“Ah, it does.” He smiles, prominent pointed teeth glinting in the bathroom light. “Because that’s where I bit you. And I have all your memories, darling. Apart from the few that are still bouncing around that pretty head of yours.”

You push him away as best you can, which isn’t very much, and back away. The glass door rattles as you come in contact with it, trying to create more space between your bodies.

“You...you can’t be--that can’t be true. That’s impossible.”

A bite on your neck? Something you’ll never get back?

Vampires feed on blood, not memories…

“You came to this city to escape your broken family. Your father abandoned you. Your step-father didn’t care for you. Your mother was so blinded by love to see how you were neglected.”

The bells again. Bells are better than sirens, but not this time.

“No.” You refuse to listen.

“I’m here to keep you safe. You need someone to keep you safe. And you need someone to rebuild that little memory of yours.”

The gears click in your head. You have happy memories of you and your mom. No man was there. He could be lying.

But how could you know with certainty?

“How do I know you’re telling me the truth?”

“I don’t know, darling,” he says, stepping towards you again. He leans down, pressing his nose to yours in an Eskimo kiss. “Guess you’ll just have to stick around and find out.”

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HCVA Tag: @october505

Peeps I hope are interested: @searchforanotherway @threeminutesoflife @sapphirescrolls

#henry cavill #henry cavill au #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x you #napoleon solo #napoleon solo x reader #napoleon solo x you #napoleon solo au #The Man from UNCLE AU #The Man from UNCLE fic #The Man from UNCLE #The Man from UNCLE (2015)#tmfu fic #tmfu fanfic #Henry Cavill Vampire Anthology #ficsofpagesoflauren

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backtothestart02 · 4 years

Text

Don’t Give Up On Me - 2/? | westallen fanfiction

A/N: Sooo...I’ve decided to make this fic a little longer than initially anticipated. Prob just 3 or 4 chaps instead of 2, but I just couldn’t bring myself to force an ending by the time I got to 2k in this one, so here you go. I hope you enjoy it. More angst with a glimmer of hope at the end.

...

Chapter 2 -

The next morning Iris woke up to the sun shining down upon her face. She moaned softly and stretched her arm across the bed, expecting to feel Barry’s warmth beside her. It was Sunday, after all. Neither of them had to go to work. They could just lie around and-

What, Iris?

Her eyes flickered open as the realization of where they were hit her once again – and the fact that there was no Barry in bed beside her. The warmth from his body was gone as well. Lukewarm sheets greeted her, telling her that he’d been gone for a while.

She frowned and sat up in bed, looking around the room.

“Barry?” she called out wonderingly, but there was no response.

She pulled the covers back and stared down at her legs, which were covered in pajama bottoms, same as the top half of her. Her brows furrowed in confusion. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d worn these pajamas. These were no-sex pajamas. These were ‘I’m dead to the world, let me sleep’ pajamas. These were when she was mad at Barry for trying to seduce her when she’d made it clear she didn’t want that pajamas. And her next dawning realization was that she hadn’t been the one to put them on.

Barry had.

That broke her heart.

The night flashed before her eyes with blinding certainty. She and Barry had spent the day mostly apart. Again. He’d gone on a late afternoon run in the rain. Which mystified her still. Then she’d ordered take-out for them when he went to take a shower, and… fallen asleep. She fell asleep!

What a terrible day. And poor Barry!

She wouldn’t blame him if he ate all the food himself!

But something in her gut told her he hadn’t eaten a thing. For the same reason he’d gone for a run in the rain, looked like a poor soaked, abandoned puppy when he returned, and hadn’t woken her when the food arrived.

They were growing apart, and he blamed himself.

Well, it is his faul-

She tried to be honest with herself. But she knew it wasn’t the truth. She was to blame too. She might be struggling to come to terms with what happened between her husband and her evil doppleganger, but refusing to talk about it directly with Barry was driving them apart. He was overcompensating for her silence by giving her space, by not trying to coerce kissing or sex out of her, by not complaining, but hell, he had to be torturing himself on the inside.

If she knew Barry, and she did, that was exactly what he was doing.

She hadn’t even been able to read his love letters he left her anymore – the only proof that he was still the old Barry she knew, and everything was right with them in some way. She tucked the new letters away in a drawer in her desk, telling her she’d read them when she was ready, when they were okay again. But there was no way he hadn’t caught on to her not mentioning them when she came home from work these past two weeks. Not when the week before them she’d been unable to stop gushing.

Damn, what had happened?

When did she go from not being able to be separate from him for more than a few minutes to needing a six feet separation at almost all times – and not for the reason the rest of the world was doing it?

She missed his presence now. Not just missed it but craved it.

She had to get past what happened with Mirror Iris, and she knew she wouldn’t until she’d had an honest discussion with Barry. She just didn’t want to have it.

God, she missed them so much she could hardly breathe.

She wanted desperately to go back to the time before the mirrorverse. To that first week after Crisis when they hadn’t been able to get enough of each other, because Barry was alive. She no longer had to worry about Nora growing up without father or herself being widowed at such a young age. They had their whole lives ahead of them now. Nothing could keep them apart.

Until it did.

Shivering somehow from her dark thoughts, she slipped into her fuzzy slippers and made her way down the stairs – after quick popping in the bathroom to see if Barry was there…nope. Maybe he was in the kitchen making breakfast? Not there either. She spotted breakfast though. Pancakes and sausage and bacon and eggs. And orange juice.

She bristled suddenly, wondering if he’d used the expensive juicer Mirror Iris had bought to make him that fancy breakfast that tasted better than hers ever would, and now if she did really try and make something good for him, it would remind him of her copy self. She couldn’t even win that way. She couldn’t win at all.

But Barry’s note next to the food made her eat, reminded her she was hungry, and that even if he wasn’t here, he could maybe see when he returned that she’d eaten his food, that she was grateful. Because she had a husband who cared. Who was trying desperately to make up for something that he had no control over and had been blind to.

But he shouldn’t have been.

She forced her fingers to relax on her fork and read the note again.

Good morning,

Sorry I wasn’t here when you got up. Went for a run.

Enjoy breakfast!

I love you.

Barry

Tears filled her eyes, a few trickling down her cheeks.

How in the world could she hate this man? How could anyone?

And she didn’t hate him, she realized, not for the first time. She convinced herself she did, and that’s why she was so afraid to be honest with him, really honest. She didn’t want to push him away. He was the love of her life. She needed him desperately, even if she hadn’t been acting like it the last couple weeks.

But if she didn’t hate him, then what was holding her back from putting the incident behind her? Was it Mirror Iris she hated? She could understand that. She couldn’t put all her hatred on someone that was quite literally a pile of glass now, so she put it on Barry who had been a willing participant, even though he hadn’t understood the situation for what it was. The true culprit here was Eva McCulloch. She’d started everything by pulling her into the Mirrorverse and creating her doppleganger at the same time. Eva was defeated now. Not dead but driven mad, a fate worse than death as far as Iris was concerned. So who was there left to hate?

Herself?

She swallowed.

She’d gone alone in the middle of the night to Eva McCulloch’s old office. She’d thought she’d find something vital and ended up being the damsel in distress she swore she wasn’t anymore. She’d gotten herself out eventually – and Kamilla and Singh with her, but… At what cost?

Did Barry see her evil doppleganger every time he looked at her?

She shook her head and put away her dishes and the remaining food. She didn’t know where Barry was, but she knew they needed to talk. She needed to be open and honest with him, really honest. She needed to tell him that she didn’t know where her emotions lie exactly but that she didn’t hate him. What she hated was the distance between them. She wasn’t blind to it. It was impossible to ignore.

She licked her lips and retrieved her phone to text him. He was probably still on his run, or maybe he’d gotten swept away with Flash business. Either way, she knew he’d come to her as soon as he could.

That was just the kind of husband he was – devoted, selfless, generous, unrelenting in his love for her.

But just as she was about to open her latest message from him to type a new one, a gust of wind blew around her followed by a brief flash of light. By the time everything settled, Barry was before her – a little out of breath, a little sweaty, but gorgeous and reassuring and safe for her.

Probably not expecting her to be so near when he came in the door, Barry stopped suddenly.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” she said timidly, swallowing again.

His brows furrowed instantly.

“Is everything all right?”

“Yeah,” she lied. “I mean, I was just about to text you…to see when you were coming back. I…missed you.”

A heavy weight seemed to have been lifted from his shoulders. She realized it had been a while since she’d said anything remotely close to that to him. She scolded herself inwardly.

“I didn’t want to wake you,” he said, his eyes shifting to the floor. “You were sleeping so peacefully.”

She heard the unspoken words behind the thoughtfulness. No nightmares, no tossing and turning, no crying out in her sleep. Her PTSD from the Mirrorverse came in many forms. Difficulty sleeping was the most common and most intense.

“Well, thanks for breakfast. It was delicious.” She took a step towards him and tried for flirtatious when she said, “The note was really sweet too.” Her eyes sparkled.

Barry didn’t quite know what to make of her behavior. A smile tugged at his lips, but he wasn’t sure whether to believe what was spilling out of her mouth or try to come up with an ulterior motive explaining it.

He went with option two.

“Iris…”

“Yeah?”

“What’s going on?”

Sometimes she really hated how he saw right through her. In an effort to dissuade him and approach the issue on her own terms, she lunged forward, clasped her hands around his face, and pulled him down to kiss him.

He reciprocated at first, drinking her in, starved for her it seemed like. She felt electricity spark up and down her spine and wondered if they’d gone into Flashtime, or if the speed force was getting just as excited as the two of them.

But then Barry pulled back, panting.

“What?” she asked, frowning. “What’s wrong? Don’t you want to kiss me?”

He leaned his forehead against hers and tried to regain his breath.

“Of course I want to kiss you. It’s been so long, since…” He glanced down at her attire and recalled that he’d been the one to put it there. “Nice pajamas.”

Her lips thinned. “You would know.”

He pulled back entirely but couldn’t make his hands leave hers. He needed to touch her. After so long they’d kissed. They’d held each other. They were so close to regaining ground. He couldn’t lose it completely now.

“Barry…”

He lifted his head to look into her eyes.

“Do you think I’m mad at you?”

He gulped.

“No…” She raised an eyebrow. “Yes…I don’t know.” He shook his head.

“Oh, baby.” She tugged him closer again and pressed their foreheads together once more. “I think we need to talk. Really talk.”

He groaned but not in displeasure.

“I would really love that.”

“Yeah?” she asked, no flirting this time, just sincerity.

He nodded. “I’ve been going out of my mind, Iris. Up all hours of the night, running all hours of the day. Blaming myself for anything that could make you sad or upset. If it’s right for me to do that, I need to know. If it’s not-”

“It’s not,” she said.

“No?”

She shook her head.

“But I’m still confused myself, so I think I better just…” She sighed. “…tell you how I feel.”

He pressed a kiss to the side of her face and intertwined their fingers, leading her to the nearest couch.

When they were both settled, Barry took a breath and prompted her.

“Okay. Tell me.”

...

*will be posted on AO3 and FFnet when beta’d.

#westallen #fanfiction #westallen fanfiction #backtothestart02 fanfiction #don't give up on me #chapter 2 #angst

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