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struggling-to-find-home · 7 days

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Warning: very dramatic lamenting of a toxic lesbian situationship

It takes a good few minutes, but we finally catch our groupmate standing still and all run up to him like a chaotic pack of dogs, erupting in "Happy birthdays!" And shoving the present we prepared into his arms.

A hoodie - my idea, inspired by his attempt to steal one of mine during year two - with one piece - an idea of my groupmate's who was aware of that particular passion. His face is red when he looks at it, and he's smiling and stammering, proving that we did something right.

Year one sucked. Year two sucked. Now, year three also sucks, but it also... Doesn't.

The group is much more efficient now, for one. We have a new group rep, who actually does her job efficiently; I pick up the slack when I can, sending links and reminders so noone forgets to do what we need to. I used to do it before, too - text the previous group rep, my closest friend at the time, so she wouldn't forget to actually do her job - but now what I do is actually seen by the others, and it's... Nice.

How funny. If anything, she took advantage of me - of my naivety and of the innocence that was still there by that point. It had been one year since I lost my memory when I entered med school. At that point, I still haven't discovered what it even meant to dislike someone who wasn't your active abuser yet.

It's funny. During, I always thought that the relationship was pretty healthy, even with the push-and-pull form it took pretty often. But now, looking back, I see it for what it is - a codependent, toxic asshole who was always trying to put you as her persecutor so she could play the victim, and me, who tried to keep a distance but couldn't pull away until I did some serious work on myself.

And it annoyed her, too - that I never wanted to indulge in her pointless grudges, that it was hard for her to make me dislike someone with her. That it was hard to keep me from other people. (Because if I talked to someone else, it would mean someone could talk to me about her.) I was too good for her, especially at first, and she took it out on me.

And, as time went on, she tried to pull, to take, more and more and more and more, until so many people got caught up in the collateral damage that it was her own undoing.

I always lost to her academically - trying to undo years of trauma by yourself while balancing school work would do that to you - but it didn't matter, because while she came to class bitter after spending ten hours to read three textbooks, I was running around the city, busied myself with hobbies, came was generally high on life. Of course someone that critically miserable didn't like that. So you bet your ass she tried to rub every supposed "victory" in my face, only to get even more annoyed when that didn't work, because I didn't yet understand that I was supposed to be upset.

Now she's gone. Moved to a different group, because our university decided that saying "Hey, you need to kick out roughly three people from your group. Choose however you want to, but if you refuse, we'll do it for you" is very normal. And so we voted, and it was the fairest vote I've ever been a part of. It's kind of why it all imploded, but not really.

In reality, everything about it imploded... Because of my love life. Because I got stuck in the shittiest love triangle ever, in which both options wanted me as their codependent enabler and chronic fixer. Someone to come in and solve everything about them for them. Someone who's happiness they can leech off of, because if your life is so good compared to ours, surely you are a bad person for not sharing it, not letting us in? Yes, one of those was the group rep. The second one was even worse.

They both were in love with me. I knew that. I also knew that something about that love was wrong - it was unhealthy, and possessive, and kinda felt like one of them wanted to crawl into my body and become me, and the other wanted to just own me, period, in that horrible way shitty straight guys want you to become their property.

And, when after months of toeing the line and struggling against my psyche, because surely, surely if I tell them off I'll be as bad as my abusers, it finally hit me - that something was wrong, wrong, wrong - and, one mental breakdown later, I decided I had to do something. Well, honestly, less decided, more lashed out like a cornered animal, but you get the idea.

So, what do you do when you need to get someone away from you? Pit their attention against someone else. And the perfect guy - the one both of them hated, and hated the group rep in return, and who was also kind of obnoxious and kind of an asshole - just ended up sitting with me in one of our classes.

And I gotta love that for him - he took the newfound friendship and used it to antagonize them immediately. Dude saw an opportunity to prove himself better than them both because I liked him more now and did,,,, so much with it. I didn't even have to do anything else, because just like that, they were so busy infighting I faded into the backround.

And what happens when you get so consumed by your hate for someone (him, me) that you get blinded by rage? Well, you start ignoring your duties and being so unbearably rude to your groupmates you don't survive a fair vote.

And when the results were set, the - now former - group rep just kept slipping and falling and she got... Vicious, and so incredibly mean, and it was all focused on me, because she seemed to believe that her intentionally self destructing despite my attempts to help her (I still remember her screaming "YOU DON'T GET WHAT IT'S LIKE TO SUFFER BECAUSE YOU HAVE EVERYTHING YOU WANT". Ha. It was also during the time I was back with my family. But I guess it just shows you the signs were there all along, huh?)

It bothered me. A lot. Especially considering that from the point of view of that - not as innocent, but still naive - version of me, it came out of nowhere.

But now both of them are gone, and it finally doesn't feel suffocating to walk into the classroom.

My friend - the one who helped get out of that mess with his pettiness, who has now gotten kinder and softer with his biggest nemesis gone

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severingt · 11 days

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It's amazing what you find in a filing cabinet - i forgot i wrote this

‘Sometimes I just wanna drift away’, he confided to himself. ‘I used to sometimes too’, he continued, with a wry grin. ‘Bury my head in the sand and it would go away’. But things have a habit of catching up with you, as his mother once told him – but, as Lou says, ‘you can’t always trust your mother’.

The grin had disappeared, only to be replaced by whitening lips, as his teeth clenched as the stress of that memory replayed itself through his head to the extent, at one point, that he was reliving it. Then, as it always does, came the shudder and a blink back to reality followed by the tingle up his spine and exiting through his fingertips, like electricity finding an earth.

He hated that memory, feared it really, which is why it kept recurring. Every rerun brought more loathing which brought more frequent reruns. It started years ago, not long after the revelation, as he called it.

At first, it was glimpses in night dreams, but now, he could barely escape drifting into daydreams which were turning ever more detailed and vivid. So much so that reality was playing an ever lesser role in his life. ‘One day, I won’t come out of it and then what will become of me? Will I implode? Will I be forced to relive that part of my life as if it were some kind of cosmic time loop or my own personal groundhog day, forever? Will I die, or just rewind?’ Isn’t that how madness first grips us? Who amongst us could answer these questions? No sane man living could possibly know. But logic never stopped anything.

He led a lonely life since his divorce. Because of his background and documented mental health problems, the judge thought it best to exclude him from being part of his daughter’s life. Of course, she wasn’t his flesh and blood daughter; he claimed that he did have a real daughter by a previous liaison but doctors failed to prove his involvement. He would never do what they were afraid he was capable of doing to this adopted daughter, but, when they were alone, he did make her cry.

You see, he needed her; he needed her more than his wife. He had pleaded with his wife as he did during their marriage and manage to get her to relent and allow minimal access. His wife is another story.

They married long ago when drinking was more of an everyday activity than the treat it is now. As his personality dictates, he got involved too deep. A stay at a detox unit relieved him of his dependence but also lost him some of his soul. The required psychiatric sessions revealed the core problem to be his mother, no surprises there really, doesn’t everyone have problems with their mother? He had tried to make his wife into his mother, making her do all but the most basic things for him. She was so besotted and willing to help, that she took on the role almost unknowingly.

It was at this point the relationship deteriorated as they stopped living as husband and wife and started living as mother and son. He felt safe, she felt less and less. As loneliness breeds depression, so his position was declining. Work attendance was sporadic as were excursions into personal hygiene. He had a brief affair with a woman whom he met at a local singles bar but she fled in the early hours one Saturday morning, barely delaying her exit to get dressed and gather her few possessions.

Alone again, he drifted away more often and frequently encouraged it and was less glad to return from his excursions. He briefly tried to rekindle his relationship with his ex-wife, but that proved fruitless and all he got was a caution for making nuisance phone calls.

He always hated his father and held a thriving contempt for every fibre of his being; especially since the revelation, especially since then. To be fair, the old man hated his son too; hated all he stood for. But most of all hated the memories that looking at his son brought back. Of course, he was too proud to admit it but, the memory of the ridicule he had to suffer at the hands of his lesser and the papers – oh god, those headlines, and it was all the fault of his son. Even that word stuck in his throat, ‘son’. An unholy demon from hell sent to put a blight on a proud family’s name, more like.

His mother was always quiet; well, for as long as he could remember anyway. He wished she had been a dumb mute. At least then she would not have been able to blurt out her revelation that Easter Monday. He had been slipping her an infrequent glass of old British Sherry, to the point where she was recounting stories of their previous life on the island. As alcohol takes its course, the imbiber is on a slippery slope to depression.

So it was with his mother, as the evening wore on, the stories got progressively less amusing. Then they turned into thinly veiled attacks on her husband, who, at first, calmly took it; but, later, became more and more concerned; until, at last, the inevitable arguing ensued; which lead to the revelation, which begat total stunned silence, then violence, shouting, blaming, crying – lots of crying; not only his mother but his father too.

He couldn’t believe what he had heard or seen. He did know he felt quite sick and the thought of what he had just been told quickly made this feeling a reality. That was the first sign of his haunting. That is what led him to where he is now; a man on the edge praying for a release as he liked to see himself without thought for cliché.

However, release does not always come in an expected form, so it was with him. ‘I can handle them not being married’, he thought; after all it happens all the time nowadays, little Cindy was his own evidence of that, even though he had never seen her, he knew she was his and that they would be together some day. ‘It’s the other stuff that makes me quake’. ‘I wonder does she have her own nightmares, please don’t let her have mine.’ He didn’t know, but he would. Melodramatic thoughts of how they may be together permeated his psyche for some time and his body showed the physical excitement of such thoughts.

His adopted daughter, Leiha, held secrets of his actions and, since the last time, had struggled to gain restful sleep. Piece of mind came with the separation and divorce and the memories were fading that perhaps they were dreams all along, she really wasn’t sure anymore. But she knew she didn’t want to stay overnight with daddy when he asked her to. Sure, he’d spoil her, as daddy’s do, but she was afraid of the night in that house, afraid of her dreams. He couldn’t, or wouldn’t, understand this and was convinced that his wife was turning Leiha against him.

Nothing was further from the truth in reality, as Jean suspected nothing and in fact tried to persuade Leiha to go. Okay, perhaps not for the same reasons, but she resented his accusations none-the-less. After all, Jean wanted to get on with her own life now that she had finally summoned up the courage to leave him. She did not ever resent having Leiha with her and always thought of her as her own; but the responsibility of a young child did hamper her socialising and meeting men.

Since the divorce, she had encouraged male company and, being physically attractive herself, had achieved a degree of success. Although none were the marrying kind, this suited her as neither was she now. She relished physical closeness; wallowed in it some might say, like her friend Suzanne.

Suzanne was her very, very best friend from school. It was Suzanne that was there to take her home after her getting too drunk on cider at the church discos in their teens. It was Suzanne who showed her what to do each month when she became a woman and of course it was Suzanne that she confided in about losing her virginity and everything else since.

Jean imagined that her need for physicality to be due to the coldness she had felt at her husband’s hands, for so many years. She wouldn’t feel bitter as that would mean she still had feelings for him and she knew that wasn’t so.

So, Leiha being out of the way with her father for most of the weekend, leaving Jean a free agent, was well worth siding with him for. But she had relented when she saw the fear in her daughter’s eyes and, just for a moment, the thought entered her head and, before she could unscramble it, was gone again. But the shiver in her spine was enough. She snapped back to reality and, upon realising she had been daydreaming, thought ‘I’ll be as crazy as him if I don’t watch it’. ‘Another weekend with a DVD, a bottle of vodka and a friend beckons, still that’s all part of being a parent’, she thought. ‘If I were as footloose and fancy free as him, I wouldn’t be sitting around in doors feeling sorry for myself. Life is to experience, but let’s not get maudlin’, she thought with a resigned sigh. ‘If I can’t go out with a man, I’ll stay in with Suzanne’, she thought as she picked up the phone handset to call her.

The call was brief; she would come over about 7.30 with little Jools and they would stay the night. The two kids would sleep together as would Jean and Suzanne. They had done this too many times to remember since the separation. Suzanne was Jeans only friend from school, everyone else had gone off and had lives elsewhere that didn’t include Jean. She suspected this was due to her looney tunes anti-social husband, but didn’t know for sure but it was another stick to beat him with.

Jean had never seen Suzanne with a man, and therefore was more than a little surprised when Suzanne came back from that year in a kibbutz heavily pregnant with little Jools. She had never offered an explanation and Jean hadn’t asked. ‘I’ll try to remember to ask about him tonight before the vodka pickles my brain’. It seemed strange that the father had never come up in conversation because Jean used to use these nights in as a sort of confessional. The more she thought about it, the greater the realisation that Suzanne had never confided any male related incidents. ‘Well, she will tonight’, was Jeans resolve.

7.30 came and so did Jools and Suzanne. The little girls went off to bed within the hour and the big girls cracked open the vodka and inserted the silver disc into the player. Suzanne had picked the film and, unusually, it was an action film. ‘You normally choose romance, Suze’ said Jean, ‘yeah, I feel different tonight, I don’t know why’. Jean poured two more shots of vodka and topped the glasses up with orange juice from the carton, spilling some onto the coffee table and then the floor. ‘god damn these cartons!’, she exclaimed, ‘I’d like to get my hands on whoever invented cartons the arsehole’. Suzanne went into the kitchen for some paper towels to soak up the juice.

Jean hoped that Suzanne’s mood would allow her to be more lucid and, as the night wore on; Jean would get her wish, and wish she hadn’t.

He knew it would be soon, it always ends about the same time. Occasionally, tantalising him with a few extra minutes but this time he couldn’t wait for it to end. The strange thing was that when it did end, and reality returned, he was always surprised. The end was coming as the shouting had started then threats and blame.

Suddenly, in the darkness behind his mother, he saw something he hadn’t noticed before. Just a glimpse, a vague outline of a large form in the shadows; it wasn’t an aura as such but it wasn’t a human form either. Or was it a trick of the light? Yea, of course it was a trick of the light. The situation being so highly charged with emotion, is it any wonder that imagination should play tricks and, after all, it is only a dream and you can do anything and everything is possible in a dream, isn’t it?

His father’s first physical attack on his mother always shocked him; as it did his father – he could see that by the expression on his father’s face. A clenched fist hitting always makes a different sound to a slap. This one drew blood too from the side of his mother’s mouth and a rivulet made its way to her chin where she used her middle finger of her right hand to scrape it up to her lip where she sucked it from her finger. She was hurt, angry and very excited as her gaze went from her husband to her son. ‘Do you want to know the whole story, son?’ she drawled, ‘well, do you? Are you tough enough?’

He always woke at this point rather than make the decision. But this time, he heard himself say ‘yes mum, tell me everything’. He felt his body temperature drop and his stomach start twisting up, as it does when you know you’ve done something wrong and are awaiting the consequences. He heard his father protest and start towards his mother but something stopped him and flung him against the wall where the big photo that pretended to be a painting of them all playing happy families hung. Hitting the wall with such force knocked his father for six and he slumped to the floor.

Now, his mother was strong as most women are, but he knew she hadn’t laid a finger on her husband. Could it have been the form he half saw in the shadows and dismissed as a trick of the light earlier? Her voice was definitely lower in tone when she said, ‘sit down, son, if you don’t need to now, you soon will’. He sat on the sofa with his back straight, his hands clamped tightly to his knees, listening intently.

‘Do you want some more vodka, Suze?’ Jean asked, whilst filling her own glass. ‘Okay, but it’ll be my last, I’m feeling a little ikkie’ replied Suzanne. The credits were rolling at the end of the film now and Jean said, ‘well, what on earth was all that about?’, ‘search me’, said Suzanne ‘it looked good from reading the box in the rental place’. ‘Yeah, right’, Jean replied, cynically, ‘I’ll choose next time’, she continued, ‘let’s talk about men, Leiha won’t go and stay overnight with him, you know. She seems scared to and although it would be nice to have some time to myself, I’m not going to force her’.

Suzanne agreed and Jean continued, ‘it really feels like ancient history now. In fact, I feel like a totally different person and I’ve had a few since him, I’ve got to say. Best thing I ever did physically; know what I mean, Suze?’ ‘Oh, for sure, you deserve it Jean, after being a surrogate mother to that useless article for so many years’, said Suzanne. Jean responded ‘you know, I didn’t know it could be so good; certainly with him it was over almost before it started. It certainly wasn’t quality over quantity either – no quality and no quantity – but I have made up for lost time since.’ ‘You old slut!’ joked Suzanne. ‘Well, let’s hear from you, Suze, I can’t remember you ever telling me any of your secrets. When was the last time you got laid?’

Suzanne leaned forward to reach her glass on the coffee table, sat back and took a long drink. Jean noted the change in her friend’s mood and thought she saw some moisture round Suzanne’s eyes. She stared blankly into the vodka glass which she was holding between both hands between both legs. She took a deep, deep breath and started to relate her story.

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davidcampiti · 1 year

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POSTER CHILD

True story: A publisher made a deal to produce comics and posters featuring a popular YouTube celebrity. Glass House Graphics created 10 painted covers for the project. Because the celeb agreed to attend Comic-Con and spend the whole time signing at the booth, the publisher decided to release all the images as retail posters.

"We'll make a million dollars at the Con!" the publisher told me during an in-person meeting.

I couldn't find words at that moment. Seeing the look of confusion on my face, he explained further. "I'll print them in China, air freight them in directly to the Con. I'll even create a massive new booth with the celeb's face gigantic on it. Ten posters, we'll print 10,000 of each."

"Jesus, that's a lot of expense," I said, running likely numbers in my head. "A new booth, airfreight shipping, the event's Union costs to set it up, the drayage charges to store and forklift out that many posters...."

The publisher wasn't hearing me. He was on a roll. "It'll be $20 for one signed poster, a sliding scale, if they buy all 10 it'll be $10 each, $100 for the set. We'll move 100,000 posters at the show and make at least a million bucks."

I shook my head in disbelief. "Nope. I'd suggest printing 500 of each, maybe you'll sell 5,000 total if you're lucky," I told him. "If he has time to sign any leftovers, you can sell them online later. Your math doesn't match reality."

"You're an idiot," he argued. "Of course it does."

"The arithmetic...doesn't...work," I said, with deliberate emphasis. "The Convention is 10 hours a day, maybe four hours on Preview night. That's 44 hours MAX. You're expecting a lot for a celeb to be there every minute. Even if he intends to, he'll have to break for lunch, to stretch his legs, bathroom breaks, probably have a meeting or two, some buddy will come by who he'll need to chat with. It will all take away from his signing time."

"I'm allowing for that. We'll have hired staff to corral people through the line fast."

"All right," I said. "So someone goes through the line, selects a poster or two, pays for them, talks to the celeb, maybe hands him a gift, they chat for a few seconds, he makes a joke, they take a picture together, shake hands, then on to the next person. Their special moment, that's maybe one minute." I pulled out my phone and ran the calculator. "Sixty people an hour. In an ideal world, 44 hours x 60 people an hour is 2,650 people. If each buys a poster or two, you'll MAYBE sell 5,000 posters at the outside."

"You're wrong," he told me. "We'll sell multiples."

Of course, the publisher proceeded to do as he pleased: Pricey new booth, 100,000 posters air-freighted in at considerable expense, con staff expenses, celebrity costs, all of it.

After Comic-Con was over, I heard that roughly 4,800 posters got sold. While some of the 95,000+ leftover posters shipped to a warehouse, many were left on the convention floor to be trashed. The company imploded shortly thereafter.

And as you might suspect, the artists who painted those posters never received their comp copies OR a dime of their contracted royalties for the ones that did sell.

#truestory #comic con

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juicegremlin · 2 years

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Hugs (5+1)

~5~

TW: Depression, dissociation, implied/referenced nightmares, mention of scars, vague references to Andrew’s past.

Andrew starts the day with his lungs in a box. Every breath threatens to breach the walls, send his ribs into a complete and total implode.

He stays in bed for a handful of moments. The window behind him is cracked, allowing the sounds of bustling students to filter into the dimly lit room. A glance at the clock tells him he’s missed his morning class; Neil and Kevin won’t be back for another two hours.

The night was not a good one. Andrew spent it with vague shapes in his peripherals; phantom, skittering touches along his hips and arms. He woke at least three times in varying degrees of pain.

In light of that, the morning seems almost… too quiet. Too still.

Andrew needs to move.

Like a thousand tons of bricks, he drags himself out of bed. His feet hit the floor and he grips the ladder, keeps himself steady. He runs a hand through his hair, throws on a pair of sweats, and that’s good enough.

It’s snowing outside. Andrew barely notices. He walks to class in a haze, makes it eighteen minutes late. His professor shoots him a dirty look but doesn’t otherwise comment.

Andrew picks a spot on the desk and stares at it. Bits and pieces of the lecture try to wriggle their way in through the fog, but Andrew’s thoughts are slippery at best—salmon on an upstream journey.

He isn’t even sure what triggered it—if there was a trigger. Yesterday had been the most normal day in the world: class, gym, lunch, practice. Neil bought them pizza, afterwards, and they spent the rest of the evening watching bad reality TV and trading lazy kisses on the couch.

But that’s the thing about days like this, isn’t it? Sometimes, they just happen.

Andrew still should have seen it coming. Things have been too good for too long. That never happens, not unless the universe is plotting a truly unwitting and detrimental come-down.

This could be that come-down. It could be a precursor to something worse—a “something wicked this way comes”. Either way, Andrew is tired—so, so tired—and he wants it over with.

By the time class ends, he’s absorbed all of three words. He uselessly files them away and follows his classmates out the door.

It isn’t his last class of the day, but it will be. Andrew heads straight for Fox Tower; why be brainless in class when he can be brainless at home?

He makes the walk back with snow in his eyelashes and lead in his shoes. The stairs are steeper, the front door heavier than it’s ever been. He pushes in and lets it click shut behind him.

Neil is on his way out of the bedroom. He’s towel-drying his hair from the shower, surprised to see Andrew when he’s still supposed to be out.

“Hey,” Neil says, and doesn’t ask.

Andrew dips his head a bit, tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. He slugs his way into the kitchen and pours himself a glass of water.

Neil hasn’t moved from his spot. He watches Andrew sip at his glass, eyebrows drawing together slowly. He hasn’t missed a thing, but he won’t make a move unless Andrew makes one first.

Sometimes, Andrew hates how perceptive he is.

He sets the glass down with a thud, half-finished. Neil sits on the edge of the sofa and drapes the towel over his thighs.

“Kevin’s in the bedroom,” he says. “Doing homework.”

It’s a courtesy; Kevin has a tendency to rub Andrew’s nerves the wrong way when Andrew is already on edge. Neil knows that. Andrew never even had to tell him.

Andrew takes a few slow strides across the room. He situates himself in Neil’s orbit, and it settles his mind, some. He’s able to focus on all the various textures of Neil’s skin, this close; the brilliant mess of colors he represents. Andrew wants to paint himself with the feeling of being close to him.

Then, perhaps, he wouldn’t feel so faded all the time.

Andrew takes a risk and touches the back of Neil’s hand. No shivers, no sparks—it’s fine. Warm, even; Andrew hadn’t even realized he’d been cold.

“Yeah?” Neil breathes, cheeks flushing a raucous pink.

Andrew nods.

Neil tangles their fingers together. Andrew lets the feeling of their palms pressed close tether him to this plane, to his body. His thumb swipes over all the dips and swells of Neil’s knuckles, working gently over the scars there. A contented breath parts Neil’s lips.

“What do you need?” He asks.

Andrew does his best not to hate the question—it isn’t as hard as it sometimes is—and shrugs his shoulders a bit. He genuinely has no clue.

Neil considers for a moment. A droplet of water falls from one of the frontmost pieces of his hair and lands on the tip of his nose. Andrew reaches up with a free hand to wipe it off.

“Can I hug you?” Neil asks.

Andrew’s shoulders go tense, and Neil’s gentle expression takes an apprehensive turn. He doesn’t rip his hand out from under Andrew’s, but Andrew can tell he thinks about it.

“Sorry,” Neil says quickly, angles his body away as if to say I can go. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”

“Idiot,” Andrew hisses, and it’s the first time he’s spoken all day. “I didn’t say no. Give me a fucking second.”

Andrew tightens his grip on Neil’s hand as he considers. Neil stays right where he is.

Days like this are usually a blanket “no”. No touching, no kissing—preferably a foot of space between him and anyone else at any given time.

Today might be different. Today, Andrew might need something to staple his soul to his bones.

He imagines Neil touching him, right now—imagines him wrapping him up and pulling him close.

It does not make Andrew want to vomit.

“It’s a yes,” he says finally, tentatively. Relaxes his muscles. “But slow. Shoulders only.”

Neil’s face brightens like he’s been handed the fucking sun. He squeezes Andrew’s hand once, a thank you, and checks Andrew’s face to be sure. Only afterwards does he move in, at a practically glacial speed.

The weight of Neil’s touch is neither unfamiliar nor sudden, yet it still manages to break dawn to Andrew’s nervous system. Andrew bleeds into the touch, and that’s a surprise, too—how it manages to invigorate and tranquilize at the same time. All the right pieces in all the right places.

Andrew can feel Neil’s heartbeat against his collarbone. Neil’s mouth is next to his ear, and his steady breathing helps to bring Andrew’s up to speed.

“I’m going to touch your hair,” Neil tells him. “Is that okay?”

Andrew says “yes” and the word doesn’t have to tear its way out. Neil’s fingers travel up the nape of his neck and curl against his scalp—gentle, gentle, gentle. A ragged breath breaks the seal of Andrew’s lips without his say-so.

Neil says, “Tell me when you want this to stop.”

Andrew’s arms move to lock around Neil’s waist. One of them is shaking. Andrew doesn’t have the heart to admit that it might be him.

He does not tell Neil to stop. Not for a dozen seconds, thirty. Not for two whole minutes.

Neil doesn’t let up. His grip is light and loose but just tight enough to remind Andrew that he exists, and that he is not alone—that he might have been, once, but that he never will be again.

The day is still not a good one. Andrew still feels distant and robotic and small.

But Neil is there. Neil is there, and he’s holding Andrew, and things do not get any worse because of it.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | +1

Only one more to go, folks. What the fuck am I going to do after this??

#aftg #aftg fic #aftg fanfic #aftg fanfiction #all for the game #all for the game fanfic #andreil #andrew minyard x neil josten #andrew minyard #neil josten #the foxhole court #tfc #tfc fic #aftg hc #aftg headcanon #JuiceGremlin

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narutogwriting · 3 years

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hii, could you do a naruto x reader fic the day/evening before naruto becomes hokage n he and the reader are discussing their future , if they want kids, if they will get married and reminiscing about the past ( maybe about how they met or significant moments ) and he confides in her that maybe he’s a lil nervous n it’s just cavity inducing fluff ,,, sorry if that was a little long but thank you! <3

Hey did you take this prompt straight out of my heart?<3 This may need a part 2...

Long Live

Pairing: Naruto Uzumaki x Reader

CW: fluff

Length: 2.9k+

Inspired by “Long Live” by Taylor Swift because that song always makes me think of Naruto 🥺

Why is he so pretty

His whole life had led up to this. He’d spent years alone and isolated and hurting. Years being left in the background, unseen, forgotten. All Naruto had ever wanted in life was to gain the acknowledgment of his village.

And now he had it.

In just a few hours, by this time tomorrow, Naruto would officially become Hokage. Everything he’d ever worked for was finally coming to fruition.

Naruto was sitting on the Hokage heads, the same stones that he’d spent years vandalizing as a child, just wanting someone to notice him. Specifically, he was sitting on the formation of his father’s head, a small smile on his face. He’d always said that he was going to become better than the fourth hokage… He wasn’t sure if he could ever surpass his dad. But at the very least, he would do his best to make him proud.

The Sun was beginning to set over the leaf village, casting a brilliant orange glow over the town he loved so much. It was a powerful, flawed village that had done a fantastic amount of good and created imaginable pain. It’d taken Naruto years to understand it, that nothing was black and white, that things can be good and bad, and that you can love something, but still want to change and improve it.

The Leaf Village had simultaneously been a place that had broken him and the place where he had become healed. Now that Naruto was a little older, a little wiser, he understood that things had to change, and that’s what Naruto would do.

He would become the change, lead the village into a new era. One of healing and restoration. Not only would Konoha change its way, Naruto was going to do his damndest to right all of its wrongs.

Finally, just before dark, Naruto got up and decided to head back home. He couldn’t imagine that he would be getting much sleep tonight; he was too excited, too nervous. Of course he’d always believed that he would become Hokage, but now that it was happening… It was almost too much for him to handle.

He expected you to maybe already be in bed by the time he got home. It wasn’t super late, but you were just getting back from a mission that day, so he was sure you’d be exhausted.

He opened the front door slowly, quietly, not wanting to wake you.

He was surprised to find you not only awake, but waiting for him with a big smile. You looked so beautiful, he thought, in the tight red dress you were wearing. The lights were dim, the living room and kitchen only lit by candle light.

Blinking in confusion, Naruto looked at you as you came to give him a big hug. “Hi, I missed you…” Naruto said, wrapping his strong arms around you, pulling you into him. He placed a kiss on your head, getting a whiff of his favorite perfume that you had.

Just over your head, he could see the table set with a pretty red table cloth, flowers, romantic candles, and the unmistakable aroma of your homemade ramen.

“I missed you so much,” You told him, pulling away just enough to press up on your tiptoes and give him a kiss. “I’ve been waiting for you. Were you at Hokage Rock?” You questioned. You knew him way too well.

He gave you a sheepish grin. “I was,” He told you. “Just taking it all in, ya know? Before…” He trailed off. He couldn’t even speak the words; it would make it all too real and then he was sure he’d implode.

Instead, he nodded to the set up in the kitchen before pulling away from the hug. He took your hand, pulling back so he could check you out properly, giving you a little twirl as you giggled. “What’s the occasion?” He asked you, causing you to stare up at him with a dumbfounded expression.

“What do you think, dummy!?” You asked him, playfully smacking his arm and making him laugh.

“I thought we were gonna celebrate tomorrow night?”

You shook your head, exasperated. “Yes, but that’s with our friends, Naruto. “Tonight, I wanted to celebrate, just you and me.” You explained to him, smiling up at him fondly. You reached up to touch his cheek gently. “I’m just so proud of you, you know? I wanted to do something special. I always knew you could do it.”

Naruto eyes began to tear up instantly as he grinned happily. He ran the back of his hand across his eyes. “Geez, you really know how to make a guy all choked up…”

You giggled. You were well accustomed to Naruto’s happy tears by this point. It never failed to make your heart well up, knowing that you could fill Naruto with such joy that he would cry tears of happiness.

His hands cupped your cheeks, pulling you to him as he pressed his lips against yours softly. “I love you so much, you know? Believe it!”

“I do believe it,” You teased, kissing him one more time before taking his hand. “Cmon, before your food gets cold.” You told him, pulling him to the kitchen. “I made your favorite.”

The two of you made small talk while you ate your food. He asked about your mission, and you gave him the exciting details. He slurpped down the ramen hungrily; somehow you made it just as good as Ichiraku ramen, maybe even better. It was just one of the many things he loved about you.

When the two of you finished eating, you cleared the table, leaving the dishes in the sink.

“Cmon,” you said, leading Naruto to the living room.

You had more candles set up on the side tables, and in the middle of the floor, a blanket with lots of pillows for the two of you to lounge on, chocolate covered strawberries, two glasses of wine, and a present just for Naruto.

“How did I get so lucky?” Naruto asked quietly, staring down at you with love filled eyes. He wrapped his arms around you from behind, dipping his head down to place light, open mouth kisses against your neck. You tilted your head slightly, placing your hands over his arms.

“Sweet, thoughtful, a good cook.. Not to mention so gorgeous.” His hands began to trail over your body, starting at your waist and slipping slowly down your hips and thighs before moving back up.

You felt your stomach clenching in desire, always so responsive to his touch.

“Naruto,” you moaned softly. It took all of your willpower to pull away from him. “I have a nice night planned; stop trying to seduce me!” You scolded.

Naruto just gave you a cheeky smile. “I can’t help myself. Look at you…” He muttered.

You bit your lip, blushing as he followed you to sit down on the blanket. Naruto pulled you between his legs to rest your back against his chest as he peppered your cheeks with kisses, making you giggle and squirm in his arms.

Picking up a chocolate strawberry, you placed it in front of his lips. He took the fruit in his mouth, the juices spilling over his lips before you pulled you in for another sweet kiss.

It would have been easy to let that become the rest of your night with Naruto, getting lost in his arms, letting his lips trace over every part of your body, spending the night in ecstacy. And you wanted that. You really wanted that.

But tomorrow was going to be the best day of Naruto’s life. Honestly, it was probably going to be the best day of yours, too. You were giddy with pride and adoration; you could only imagine the way you would feel tomorrow, watching Naruto stand in front of the whole village, all eyes on him as that hokage cloak was finally, finally*, placed over his shoulders. The way the people were going to scream his name, look at him with reverence and admiration. It made you start to tear up just thinking about it. Naruto was going to be hokage. His life long dream would be his reality. You always knew it would be. You couldn’t think of anyone more deserving to become the leader of the village.

“I got you something,” you told him, your head a little dizzy with the champagne you two had been drinking in between your kisses and giggles. You were so in love with this man.

“I thought I was going to unwrap you,” Naruto flirted, but you batted his hands away, pushing to your feet. You grabbed the present bag, specially chosen for the little foxes that littered the wrapping.

Walking back over, you sat cross legged in front of him, holding the bag in your lap.

“Naruto,” you said, giving him a silly smile. “Ever since the day I first met you, I’ve been in awe of you.” You told him. It was hard not to blush at the way that Naruto was gazing at you, those beautiful blue eyes glistening and intense. “From the way you carried yourself, to how hard you worked, to the way you changed people. Your heart is bigger than anyone I know. I wish so much that I would have met you sooner, so I could have been there for you, so you never would have had to be alone…”

You wiped at your eyes. The more you spoke, the wetter they became. “Whenever you tell me about the things you experienced when you were little, the way you grew up… It breaks my heart. I never want for you to feel sad or alone or abandoned like that… Never.” Scooting closer to him, you took his hands.

“I wish I would have known the little boy you were before you became the ninja I love. I wish I could hug him and tell him it’s all going to be okay… Could you imagine if he could see you now?” You’re smiling and crying and Naruto is smiling and crying and you’re both such an emotional mess. Everything he’d gone through, all the pain he experienced, he’d do it all again if it meant he could be here.

Naruto kissed your knuckles as you worked to compose yourself. You never knew it was possible to feel so deeply before Naruto. He’d taught you to love the way he did, and you couldn’t thank him enough for that.

“It’s been the best thing of my life, watching you take on the world.” You told Naruto in earnest. “The greatest honor. I just… I love you so much, and I want you to know how proud I am of you… And I never want you to forget how far you’ve come so… here.”

You passed him the present, and he took it with shaking hands. How? How was this his life? How had he gone from being four years old, wandering the streets of Konoha without a friend in the world to becoming the leader of the village, with the most beautiful, caring, magnificent woman he could have imagined by his side?

He opened the gift slowly, so contrary to the way he may normally rip into a present with excitement and vigor. This, right now, this entire night, this moment. He wanted to savor it, remember it forever. He wished it never had to end.

Eventually, he pulled the gift from the bag slowly, he’s mouth dropping in awe at what it was.

It was his goggles, the one he used to wear on his forehead to pretend he was a ninja before he got his headband, framed.

In your pretty little script, you’d written:

Long live the mountains you moved,

I’ve had the time of my life fighting dragons with you.

Long live the look on your face,

And bring on all the pretenders.

One day, you will be remembered.

xoxo

Naruto was speechless; the gesture was so thoughtful it blew his mind. You believed in him. You really did. He thought about what you said, wished he could go back in time and tell himself that is was all going to be worth it. That one day, he’d never be alone, never feel that pain again. He would be happy beyond his wildest dreams. “This is… This is…” He looked up at you through blurry eyes. “I don’t know what to say… I thought I lost these.” He told you.

“I found them when we moved,” you explained to Naruto. “You hadn’t mentioned them, so I decided to save them to frame. For this moment.”

Naruto stared down at the goggles in his hands. “This is the best gift ever… Really. You don’t know how much this means to me. I’m going to put it in my office, look at it everyday…” His gaze trailed up to meet yours. “Until we have our first kid. Then I’m gonna give it to them.”

Your heart began to flutter, your lips trembling. “O-our first kid?” Naruto nodded, grinning at you.

“I think it’ll be a boy. And he can wear them just like I did, until he graduates the academy. He’ll make it the first time, unlike me. And even if he doesn’t, it’ll be okay. I’ll practice with him until he’s confident and strong enough to pass.”

Placing the frame aside, he pulled you to him, lifting you so you were straddling his lap. His arms wrapped around your waist as he rested his face in the crook of your neck, breathing you in as he quivered just barely.

“What about after that?” You asked Naruto, wrapping your arms around his neck and threading your fingers through his hair. “I want three boys, all mini yous. The older two will be crazy like you, loud and hyper and determined…”

“And the third will be like you,” Naruto finished. “He’ll be kind, gentle but fierce. And a kick ass ninja. And they’ll all get the goggles, so we have to space them out just enough. It’ll be a tradition!” You could see by the excitement in his eyes that he meant it. The two of you had talked about a future together before, of course. But not like this. This felt different. It was there now, just ahead of the two of you.

“We could start now…” Naruto teased, his hands once again trailing over your body as he grinded himself against you.

Feigning shocked, you gasped. “And have a child out of wedlock? How scandalous, Hokage-sama…” You joked, as if you could care less about doing things “traditionally.” You didn’t need traditional. It was you and Naruto forever; there was no doubt in your mind about it.

“Of course! Our first little guy is gonna be our ring bearer.” Naruto told you as if it was obvious. “Maybe even help me when I finally put the ring on your finger…” Naruto took your hand, lacing your fingers together as he examined the ring finger. “Gonna get you the biggest rock in the village. You’re gonna need sunglasses when you look at it, it’ll be so bright.”

He was ridiculous, this man you loved so much. “You know I don’t need that. Only you.”

Naruto smiled. “I know.”

You loved this, talking about your future. It was unfolding before you so vividly. “Tell me more,” you insisted, still playing with his hair. “How are you going to propose?”

Naruto laughed, shaking his head. “Nice try,” He teased. “That’s a surprise. But if you really want, I’ll tell you about our wedding…”

You, of course, nodded in earnest. “Tell me,” You practically begged, making him laugh and kiss you.

“It’s gonna be the biggest party of the year. Everyone’s gonna be there. We’ll pull out all the stops… Kakashi can officiate. Our little guy will carry the rings down the aisle… I’m gonna say vows that will make you cry…” You laughed, shaking your head.

“MY vows will make YOU cry,” you countered, and he just shushed you because he knew you were right.

“Anyways,” he laughed. “After the ceremony, we’ll have a huge reception. Music, food, dancing, games. Ninja games, and I’m gonna win them all, obviously, because I’m the hokage…” He grinned at you. “Everyone’s gonna be having the best time… But, when it’s in the full swing of things, everyone’s drunk and distracted, I’m gonna pull you away…”

To emphasize his point, he pulled you closer into him. A hand gripped in your hair as he pulled you into a deep kiss. “Cause I’m so in love. And somehow, that night, I’m gonna find even more* love for you, even though I can’t imagine my heart being able to handle all that…” He murmured against your lips.

“I’m gonna pull you away to have you all to myself. To admire you. To kiss you. To make love to you. It’s gonna be official. You’ll be all mine forever…”

And honestly? When Naruto said forever, it didn’t sound too bad. It sounded like an adventure, a never ending story. It would be a wild ride you never wanted to get off of.

Tomorrow, Naruto would become Hokage. He would achieve his dreams, and you would be right there by his side for it all.

But right now, there was just the two of you. Together, in love. Supporting each other through it all.

That much would never change.

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falling-pages · 3 years

Note

Okay how about first cuddles with Bakugou? Like he is almost feral about being held and having reader snuggle into them. And then....then he realizes the powers of a good cuddle. His body relaxes and accepts the cuddles. You know, just Bakugou leaning how to be a soft boy. 🥰🥰🥰 Hope this helps!! Happy Writing!!

This T_T my heart absolutely melted. This was absolutely self-indulgent on my end and I’m so happy you requested it!!!!

I decided to make it a part 2 of this one shot since so many people asked for a part 2 🥰🥰🥰 Lol also it’s long so I’m sorry

Friday Night pt. 2:

Third-Year Bakugou Katsuki x Third-Year gender-neutral Reader

Genre: Fluff, pining, cuddles, first kiss, just Bakugou going feral when he finally gets cuddles

Bakugou didn’t sleep like you thought he would.

Even with the fever ripping through his body, he laid there so peacefully. On his back, eyes scrunched shut, mouth in a thin line, the first time you had ever seen him not scowling, actually. It was like sneaking back into school after hours and watching the teachers work silently, in their natural habitats.

You didn’t know what you were expecting him to look like unconscious. Snarling snores, maybe. Resting on his stomach, gripping the sheets in his fists hard enough to rip. Probably thrashing, screaming and cursing at his dreams. Imploding smokey holes into the mattress.

But not...this. Not so peaceful, not the way he turned and slightly smiled at whatever his brain came up with. Not the way he would gently breathe in and out of his nose. Not the way his right hand sat limply at his side, his left crossed protectively over his worst wound near his stomach. Not the way his hair stuck out on the pillow gently cushioning his bruised face.

Neither Bakugou nor Aizawa would tell you how he got hurt, raising your suspicions. With graduation looming and the hero license exam nearing, you had figured your teacher had taken some of the top third-year students out for extra training. Bakugou had garnered more control over his quirk, granted, but he still needed the extra training. He liked to push himself too hard, take too many missions. Your outburst earlier in the evening sunk that into his thick skull.

Some part of watching him felt wrong, knowing he would blast you into outer space if he caught you looking. But this was your job tonight, to sit by his side and watch over him as he healed.

He suddenly gasped in his sleep, eyebrows furrowing as he clutched his deepest wound. The air rushed out of his now-open mouth, accompanying the slightest whimper. You lurched forward and activated your quirk, falling to your knees to look within him.

It staked your heart to see him in so much pain, but nothing was wrong, just some blood rushing to his wound. Not too heavy to come through the bandage, though, so you blinked and let it be.

And then you took a calculated risk. Maybe it was foolish, maybe it was wrong, maybe you thought “to hell with it” about his malicious tendencies. You knew it wouldn’t cure him, and you knew he would probably disintegrate you into a pile of ash and smoke, but you wanted to try. That tugging feeling in your stomach wouldn’t leave you alone, so...

You kissed him.

Well, his forehead. It was hot and dripping with sweat, and you knew it was dangerous, you knew his power was stored in his sweat, but you did it anyway. You had to. You had to try something to ease his pain.

He shifted beneath your touch, and you dove back into your chair and tried to act nonchalant.

Like that would work. Nothing escaped Bakugou, even when he slept.

His eyes peeled open, eyebrows quirked as he took in his surroundings. A brief whiff of smoke aired from his palms until he realized where he was. In “some extra’s dorm.”

“Hey--” his voice crackled like his bombs as his eyes fully adjusted to the dim lamplight. His peaceful facade remained.

“Hey,” you whispered back. Even injured and half-asleep, he still intimidated you.

“What happened?”

You breathed, relief flooding your core. He hadn’t noticed. “The pain woke you up. But you’re alright. Go back to sleep.”

His eyes trailed lazily across the room, until they met yours. Those crimson red irises could strike fear into the hearts of friend and foe, but when they looked at you, they were soft, confused, trusting. Sleepy.

“That’s not all.”

You settled back in your chair, fiddling with the wicker arms. “That’s what happened.”

“You kissed me.”

You suddenly prayed to every god that you would die. Shiiiiiiiiit, he felt that?

Panic covered your hands, making you lose feeling in your fingers. A buzzer sounded in your head, like an evacuation alarm. You cleared your throat. You wracked your brain for an excuse, but came up empty. Lying to him was a surefire way of getting blasted through the nearest wall. And, if the way he looked at you was any indication, you’d better tell the truth. “Only on the forehead.”

Bakugou studied you. Now his eyes were calculating, cunning. Now you couldn’t tell if he were looking at you as friend or foe. “You know my sweat could blast your face off.”

It would be a mercy compared to what you were about to go through. “You...just looked like you were in pain. I wanted to help.”

He stared at you for a few more painful seconds. His gaze pierced your sternum like a knife. Then, as if Heaven itself opened, he smiled.

He smiled.

“I wouldn’t mind another,” he murmured, turning his head back to the ceiling. Try as he might, you saw that grin, joining the blush running across his cheeks. As much as your crush feelings were hyped, you couldn’t help but feel more relieved at the fact that you were still in one piece.

You crept forward, hesitant to do as he suggested. He was a bucking horse, a wildfire that changed direction with the wind. It was all you could do to avoid getting burned.

As you leaned over him again, your size dwarfed by him, that calculating sheen stayed put. Was he going to burn you as you were defenseless? Was he going to blast you? He wouldn’t. He had better instincts than to hurt the very person taking care of his injuries as he laid helpless in bed.

But if he was being vulnerable with you, then maybe you should be vulnerable with him.

When you were just a few inches away, Bakugou’s eyes still open, he suddenly reached up and yanked your head down, interlocking his lips with yours. You sputtered, jerking to pull off, but his hand kept you there, eyes fluttering shut as soon as you made contact. After a moment, when you felt your soul reenter your body, you shifted to support yourself better, kneeling half-way on the bed, crossing your chest just above his.

He was warm. You could feel his warmth even while you sat feet away. Unlike Deku, whose skin was always cool and clammy, he was warm. Either by his quirk or fever or just himself, he was burning up, fiery to touch, like a cast iron brand digging into your side. That’s how he made his way in this world, torching the earth and salting the fields if he didn’t get what he wanted, setting off explosions to mold and shift reality into what he desired. He was molten lava, desperate, eager, wanting, burning and terrifying to touch, a spark set ablaze to decimate anything in its path.

Pulsating, and beating, and alive.

But when you lowered your fingertips to his shoulder, and you flinched--breaking the kiss to softly gasp--he frowned, focusing on your face, the way your eyes looked at your hand and how your sensitive fingers rubbed together.

“You okay?” he whispered, gravel voice hushed in honor of the moment.

You heard the pain laced beneath his voice and turned to look at him. Your hand fell on the mattress beside his chest. As his eyes bore into your head, you watched him, the way his muscles rippled, the way his very soul seemed enchanted by your kiss. If you activated your quirk, you were sure you could see the way his blood danced beneath his skin, the rush of chemicals to his brain, the excitement flaring in his nostrils.

He was an inferno incarnate, breathing and wild and alive, letting you touch him with all the slow calmness of an ocean breeze.

You slowly blinked, losing yourself in the imprint of his lips on yours. You unconsciously reached up to your mouth, tracing the outline of it with your fingertips.

As you make a sound of satisfaction, he smirked, trailing a hand up your calf to rest placidly on your thigh. “I said, extra, you okay?”

“Umm. Yeah.” Your eyes follow his hand, expecting it to burst like his grenades. “You’re just really hot.”

He scoffed, smacking your thigh--but gently, just feeling your skin. “Damn right I am.”

“No, not like that.” You rolled your eyes. “I mean, you are hot--attractive, I mean--but your skin...ummm, it burned me.”

“Oh,” he grunted. His eyebrows furrowed, losing that playful edge. He took away his hand, bunching around the sheets instead.

You massaged your sore fingers as he contemplated. You nearly missed his hissed out, “Sorry.”

So it was a night of firsts--the first time he heard you curse, the first time you heard him apologize, your first kiss and his, too, as far as you knew.

“It’s okay.”

Bakugou moved, waving your helping hand away in case he burned you again. Once he sat up, he leveled his eyes to yours and very lightly, gingerly, took your hand and raised it to his pouty lips. You waited for the sting, but as he kissed your fingertips, all you felt was warmth, like molten chocolate, like a woolen scarf, like the sleepy feeling of an open oven door.

He finished by rotating your hand in all angles and degrees, making sure to cover every inch of your palm, knuckles, and wrist in his love. The residual buzz traveled from your hand into your heart.

“It’s my emotions,” he murmured against your skin. “My quirk acts up when I’m emotional.”

He kept his eyes nearly shut, only focusing on pressing more adoring kisses to your skin. When you returned your other hand to his chest, he shuddered, staring back at you with wide eyes. You saw what he was about to say--“Don’t touch me, I don’t want to hurt you”--and folded your finger against his lips.

“You won’t hurt me,” you whisper. “You’re powerful, but I’m not afraid of you.”

You moved your hand down and leaned forward, returning his kiss. The hand he once possessed smoothed under his jaw, outlining it with a finger to pull him close. You tasted the hesitancy in his lips, no longer masked under the bravado of his previous kiss, and smiled. You searched for his hand and found it, bringing it to your waist, giving permission to the boy who rarely waited for others’ approval. But he waited for you. He respected you.

I know you won’t hurt me.

And that single move was when he realized he was so, so feral for your touch.

His long, powerful arms wrapped around your middle, hauling you completely onto the bed and scooting you into his lap, hugging you as close as he possibly could. There was no soft bone in his body--he devoured you, desperate for your love, your lips, you, you, you. A boy who had been scared to touch all of his life--knowing what it did to people, what he could do if he tried, the damage he even did on accident--was now clutching someone who wasn’t scared, someone who cared, whose hands knotted in his hair revealed just how desperately you needed him, as well.

You filled him with your love, and he you, and you felt a tear escape, the kind that you cry when watching a sunset, or eating ice cream, or listening to your favorite song, when you’re so happy that smiling just isn’t enough.

Bakugou felt the wetness on your cheek and paused, cradling and dipping the back of your head so he could kiss it away. “What’s wrong, Firework?”

You veins ran hot at the pet name so naturally falling from his lips. “Nothing.” You smile, biting your lip. “I’m just happy.”

He nuzzled your forehead. “Good. Now, let’s lay down. You need to sleep.”

You smoothed the bottom of your pajama shirt as he stretched to turn off the lamp. As you began to wriggle out of his grasp, he suddenly grabbed you tighter and held you as he shifted, lifting the blanket and dragging you both below. You began to protest on account of his injuries, but he squeezed you tighter against his chest.

“I’m not letting you out of my arms again,” he whispered, with a kiss to the head.

Once you both were situated in the dark, you rested your head on his shoulder as he scratched your back. The long, slow strokes nearly lulled you into sleep, but one question filled your mind.

“Baku--”

“Katsuki.”

You couldn’t see him, but he moved his face nearer yours, catching your hand planted on his chest. “Call me Katsuki.”

“Okay.” The draw of his informal name sent a chill down your spine that you’re sure he felt. “Katsuki, why call me Firework?”

He smiled into your hair, shifting your weight onto him. Drowsiness choked his voice. “Because fireworks are beautiful, brilliant, and I like to look at them.” His knuckles found your cheek, and he brushed them against it. “And you are beautiful, brilliant, and I like to look at you.”

Satisfied, you closed your eyes, drinking in the feeling of his warm skin and arms cradling you, desperate, never willing to let you go, and you never wanting him to.

#katsuki bakugou #bakugou x reader #bakugo katuski #katsuki bakugou x reader #boku no academia #my hero academia #bakugou fanfiction #bakugou #bakugou katsuki #mha #bnha #mha bakugou #mha bakugo #bnha bakugo #bnha bakugou

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lovecinnatwist · 3 years

Note

How would you go about writing omega Jason with Alpha Dick?

Man oh man- Omega!Jason with Alpha!Dick is always such a bop.

It depends really! I see so many fics with insecure Jason thinking Dick is too good for him which is nice and definitely in character- but sometimes it makes me crave the other end of the spectrum?

Like a confident, sexy Jason who teases Dick with his scent and body until the alpha wants to implode? I also like the idea of Jason being raised by an Omeganist!Alfred and Omega!Talia to be badass, sassy and sensual. Bras? Suppressants? Painful heats?

Not for Jason Todd!

He embraces his Omega-ninity and it wreaks havoc on Dick's hormones. Dick being a more conservative alpha would definitely find himself overwhelmed but enamored!

Here's something playful with a clumsy Alpha!Dick and confident pack Omega!Jason!

Tiddies Out - JayDick

Tags: Omegaverse, AlphaDick, OmegaJason, Pining, Crack treated Seriously, Lactating, Heat Cycles, Omega Tim, Alpha Bruce, Pup Damian- Just Dick being an obvious pining idiot and Jason enjoying his reactions-

Jason doesn’t mind being an omega. How could he when it’s one of the superior options? While Alpha’s often lost themselves to aggression during rutting season and beta’s scrambled to placate them- Omega’s got to sit back and watch the show.

Being the object of an alpha’s fascination has many perks. First off? The gifts. Lavish offerings make their way to him with little to no effort. Weaponry from Talia, Expensive silks and poisons from Ras, The latest tech from Tim and Bruce. It's an endless parade really. One of the few things that make this more bearable to put up with.

He’s a heavy milker. Always has been.

Maybe it’s from growing up in an abusive household. Perhaps it's in response to being closer to the pack’s pups or hell, maybe his body is just gearing up for the imaginary children it wants to have. Regardless of the reason Jason’s tits are aching.

They seem extra tender tonight. The cold dingy air does little to ease the tension under his armor. He shifts and the way his pads squish under bullet proof chest plates is a pain. He curses and tries to ignore it. Something that’s getting harder as the cotton under his clothing reaches its limit. Tsk- 4 hours his ass. It’s barely been 2 and he’s about to make a mess of his gear.

As annoying as it is. He reluctantly reaches into his kit to get two fresh napkins to change. Other omega’s might be shy to do this in public but Jason has always been more practical about it. Breasts are breasts, no reason to get all crazy about it.

Though it probably didn’t hurt that Jason himself had a nice rack. He knows what the other heroes say about him behind his back. His figure has never been more appreciated than now in his prime. The dip in the pit did wonders at helping him bulk up. Thighs thick, emphasising his trim waist. In the throws of season his ample chest gives him an illusion of an hourglass figure. While some people would say omega’s should be small and dainty, he has yet to meet an alpha or beta who can resist him.

Not to be vain but he is nothing else if not attractive.

He’s got his top half way off when the sound of a near violent thud echoes out in the darkness. The hiss of pain gives away the alpha before his scent can. Jason doesn’t even turn in his direction. Instead he keeps his attention on the sopping pads under the compression shirt. He hisses as the gentle adhesive pulls from his throbbing mamories.

“ You alright over there goldie? “

He gets a groan for an answer. A nicer person would have maybe let the other man know about his current state of undress. Too bad that Jason isn’t exactly known for being ‘nice’. He carefully wraps up one cotton cloth. Once he’s clean and dry, he applies another. It’s quick and easy work. The slight chill does wonders against his flush skin.

The worn form of Nightwing crawls from the side of the building. There’s a pretty good bruise on his cheek Jason is 90% sure that the acrobat had a less than graceful landing. He’s always been weird about nudity. Even back when they mostly had the same parts. He rolls his eyes as the man pointedly tries not to look at him. He can’t help scoffing at the false modesty.

“ Hood. You shouldn’t do this out in the open like this. Anyone could see you. “

Everyone knows Jason is an omega, by extension that means Red Hood. It’s one of the reasons why his territory is so well protected. No one wants to cross an omega. While the fangs in their mouths were now more for scruffing kits, no one had forgotten the days when they were for hunting prey and tearing out throats.

He would flash his at Dick but he’s wearing his helmet and would probably just looks stupid. He manages to get the other pad off. It’s absolutely drenched. His left teet is definitely working harder than the right. The sheer weight of the cotton makes a loud squelch as it hits the little plastic bag at his feet.

He snorts. “ And you know what they’d say N? Best tits in Gotham. “

The alpha’s face is anything but amused. The furrow of his brow and spike in his scent is territorial and aggressive. It’s laughable really considering the fact that between the two of them, Jason is actually the one in charge of protecting the pack. It’s all a part of being the lead omega.

Whether Bruce or Dick want to accept it or not.

“ Stop objectifying yourself like that. “

Jason enjoys the feeling of being clean and dry as he gets the other cotton adhesive on. It’s a welcome sensation. Especially when he straightens his armor and it’s a little less chafing and tight.

“ It’s only objectication if I say I’m only a nice pair of tits Wing. Luckily I’ve got a nice set of thighs too.“

He pays Dick no mind as he stands and packs away his used pads to be thrown away later. He might have to call it an early night at the rate. With the way fall is quickly approaching his heat is just dying to make an appearance. Perhaps he could get away with offering himself to the foster system. With the amount of milk he’s making now it would be better for the pups who need it to benefit instead of it all going to the trash.

“ Hood! “ The sound is a scandalized growl. It’s funny enough that Jason throws his head back and laughs free and clear. With the voice modulator it’s mean and menacing. Amusement bubbles in his chest. He can’t help taking off his helmet so that Dick can take in just how wide his smile is.

“ Sorry Wing. I’m a pretty girl. What can I say? “

Talia is nothing but progressive. While many omega’s in the west suffer from low self esteem. Jason learned his worth quickly. Confidence is beauty. The more one loves themselves, adores them selves and takes time to know themselves the more they blossom. It’s a deep healing that not everyone gets to understand. A privilege for a few chosen omegas. He cocks his head and smiles and see’s the exact moment Dick starts losing his footing in the conversation.

The alpha is tongue tied.

“ That’s not what I mean and you know it Hood. “

Jason shrugs. Once he’s got his stuff away he’s ready to run roofs and actually get some work done.

“ Sorry Goldie. It’s 2021 and haven’t you heard? Red Hood says free the tiddies. “

He doesn’t wait for a response as he makes a running start towards the edge of the building. It’s always such a thrill. He tucks a bit to clear the gap. The moment his legs touch the concrete the sound is silent despite the bulk of his frame. Dick calls after him but he loses the words in the wind. Laughter bubbles up in his throat. He wouldn’t be a prude just because his family wanted to be sexually repressed more than they wanted to be happy.

Dick doesn’t try to catch up with him and Jason finishes the night patrolling with Tim and Stephanie.

He manages to get an entire three hours out of the next set of pads. Instead of changing out in the open he accepts Alfred’s invitation back at the manor for a warm bath and cookies. Tim stares at his chest while Jason gets himself decent.

Tim is a gorgeous omega, with a slender petite frame and porcelain doll-like features. He always seems to get shy in the presence of Jason’s more unconventional curves.

Jason knows what low self esteem looks like. The younger omega wears it no matter how much bravo he tries to exude. Jason brushes against him briefly and lightly. His usual fragrance is marshmellowy from the sweetness of milk that clings to it.

There’s an immediate blush as Tim ducks away. Clearly he’s embarrassed from being caught. Though in reality where is the shame in a little boob appreciation amongst omegas?

“ You know Timmy, you gotta stop wearing bras. Maybe if you show a glimpse of those pretty pink nips Kon would take the hint. “

Tim goes red from his ears to his chest. Jason can practically see the steam coming from his ears. He slaps his hands over his petite breast quick enough to hurt. Jason wants to let him scamper off but instead he presses into his space even more. Long gone is the perfume of pup, now that Tim has come fully into his omega hood. Every day his scent leans more and more towards caramel and sugar.

“ Uhg you’re such a jerk. “

Tim tries to dodge out of his hold but Jason gets him anyway. The omega yelps and Jason ducks him right between each swollen peck. They are red and tender from patrol. He hasn’t put on new pads yet so some milk beads at his nipples. The little shriek Tim lets out is hilarious.

“ You’re going to get milk in my hair! Jason stop- God you suck- “

The omega fights and Jason lets him go before the two actually get into it. It’s light and playful. Well for the most part. Tim gets some milk on his face and the teen honest to God looks terrified. He curses all the way to the shower stall to take another quick bath all while Jason cackles at his misfortune.

“ I swear to God, when I start milking I'm going to get you back Ten fold! “

Jason rolls his eyes. As if.The last thing Jason’s afraid of is milk. It’s a natural thing. God everyone in this pack is repressed.

“ We’ll see about that Timberella! “

The omega hisses and Jason has to hold back a laugh as he leaves the shower. He’s so light and high from the interaction that he completely for gos a shirt. Not that he really wants to wear one. Not with how milk heavy and tender his chest is. Alfred’s always been pretty cool about it too. Being from the 60’s and all that jazz.

Jason maybe gets half way through the cave before the sound of metal crashing draws his attention. Dick walks cleanly into one of the metal tables in the middle of the lab space, knocking over tools and gadgets.

Bruce is thoroughly unimpressed from where he’s helping Damian stretch before bed. He’s in half of his costume, suppressors and scent blockers gone. The sheer disappointment in Damian’s gaze is astonishing.

“ Richard, please control yourself. “

The alpha looks like a deer caught in headlights, his mortification absolutely palpable in the air.

Jason does catch his eyes on his chest though. He smirks and sees the moment horror grows in those bright blue eyes. Instead of heading towards the stairs he decides to circle back towards the group.

Bruce chuffs from his position on the floor. He doesn’t stop what he’s doing but does tilt towards him in reverence. It’s been the biggest change in their dynamic. Bruce finally learning to respect Jason as not only a pack mate, but the pack omega. He greets him with a scenting.

Unlike Dick the alpha seems to pay little attention to his milking.

Damian’s puppy nose twitches as he leans towards him. It makes his heart flutter really. While Damian would never ask, Jason has thought of offering his breast many times. While Technically too old for it, they’ve all done their fair share of growing up too quickly. Something that Jason Laments as well as appreciates.

He scents Damian more thoroughly than Bruce, making him bristle. The boy tries to move out of his hold, hands swatting him away.

“ Todd cease your pestering immediately! If I smell of milk my peers will assume I still breastfeed. “

Jason snorts and pulls back from the prickly pup. Bruce gets a stupid fond look on his face and for a brief moment he feels it echoing on his lips.

“ And what’s wrong with that? If your pack omega is milking of course as a pup you’re welcome to it. “

Damian’s green eyes widen a fraction. His mouth opens in disbelief. Clearly, Damian in fact did not know that. Bruce stares as well, his scent turning into a sweet blend of ‘love-admiration-awe’. It draws a shiver up Jason’s spine. The tender mix of affection from his pack blankets over him like a net of spun sugar.

Jason doesn’t know why he feels drawn to look at Dick. The alpha hasn’t said anything in the past minute. He cuts his gaze to the stone still alpha and his heart flutters in excitement. The looks of jealousy and want is so strong that his intentions sparkle clear like aquamarine in shallow ocean waters.

The alpha is so much more honest when he thinks Jason isn’t looking.

He grins at Dick.

The alpha immediately shrinks in shame and embarrassment.

“ And of course any alpha spending my heat with me. “

#cinnatalks #Alpha!Dick #Omega!Jason #Omegaverse #Answer #Ficlets #Tiddies out #jaydick

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sparring-hyena · 3 years

Note

Ok i got a request . Remember how Chris Kait and James got those special 1 chapter episodes where they go on special dates. It would be cool to see Beccas. So its set after Book 3. Instead of going to the festival with the gang Mc decides to visit Becca first at her lakehouse and then they go to the festival just her and Becca. They ll share lots of sweet moments at the pool more fun at the concert and later on at home things can get a bit heated.

Becca reaches for her phone with the intent to scroll through her social feeds. really, she does. opening her messaging app is a reflex. opening the short text thread she has with Alex is just an accident. and typing out a hey, what’re you up to? is… a mistake? some kind of predetermined notion written into the fabric of reality?

whatever. it doesn’t matter what it is. no, what matters is that she does, send a text to Alex that is, and that she tosses her phone to the other side of couch as soon as she hits send, almost like it burns her hands.

she stares at her phone, waits for it to react to what she just did—maybe it’ll implode. she’s almost surprised when her phone buzzes a few minutes later. and she’ll never admit to just how fast she jumps forward to snatch it up.

it’s Alex. Alex responded. okay. cool cool cool.

my friends and i are on a road trip. we’ve just passed into California. you?

the you? twists itself into Becca’s mind. slips into every nook and cranny until it’s she can think and feel, and her heart is going ba-dum ba-dum and she definitely can’t just say oh, not much. just by myself at my dad’s lake house because he’s trying to buy my love now that my parents are getting divorced. except she does say that. word for word. it tumbles from her mind onto her phone and then she hits send and holds her breath in her throat as she waits for Alex’s response.

want some company then?

and what really surprised Becca is that she answers with yes.

in the days leading up to Alex’s arrival she cleans. not that there’s much to clean—the house is big, and she’s kept to one small part of it. she also rifles through her closet and decides, an hour before Alex is due to arrive, that she doesn’t have anything to wear. the clothes laying forgotten on her bed disagree, but she ignores that and feels the anxiety twist itself around her.

and then her phone buzzes and there’s a knock at the door. Alex is here. Alex is early.

shit.

she tosses on the first thing she can grab and runs her hands through her hair before darting down to the front door.

when Becca opens the door, Alex greets her with a warm smile that simultaneously calms and frightens. frightens, because how does her smile have such an effect on me. they stand awkwardly in the doorway until Alex clears her throat and asks, “did you wanna invite me in?”

“right.” Becca steps aside and motions Alex in.

Alex whistles as she looks around, still holding her bag in front of her. “nice place.”

Becca shrugs, because it is nice, stunning really, but the house doesn’t feel quite right—it never really has. it’s big and empty and somehow always manages to be cold even during summer.

“come on, i’ll show you around.”

it’s as they walk through the house that Becca realises she’s not quite sure what they are. they aren’t enemies, and now she wonders if they ever actually were. and they definitely aren’t dating. dating implies some level of commitment that Becca doubts she could ever really give. and then there would be intimacy and comfort and little inside jokes that they’d share quiet smiles over.

but that doesn’t matter anyway because she would never want to date Alex—never ever. dating Alex would be complicated and messy and she has a reputation and expectations that Alex doesn’t fit and—

“you doin’ alright there?”

“huh?” Becca shakes the thoughts away.

Alex tilts her head to the side and offers a small curious smile that manages to worm its way into Becca’s heart and find a place for itself amidst all the dark twisty tendrils that have been growing with each passing day.

“why are you looking at me like that?” Becca asks, her tone both defensive and amused.

“like what?”

“like you’re trying to read my mind.”

“i’m not, i just—” Alex sighs and Becca suddenly wonders what she’d been about to say. “you mentioned swimming?”

“swimming, right.” Becca knows a digression when she hears one, but she points to a room Alex can get changed in and says she’ll meet her downstairs.

Becca doesn’t actually swim. she sits on the edge of the dock beneath the dying afternoon sun and traces the water with her toes. Alex swims though, splashes around for a short while and tries to gently prod Becca in too. but Becca holds firm and insists that she’s more than happy on the dock.

Alex climbs out later, dripping water onto the dock and creating a small puddle that manages to spread and reach Becca’s leg. she pretends Alex dripping water on her irritates her and pretends to hate it when she flicks water at her.

Alex sits down beside her, and Becca thinks she’s waiting for her to break the silence that’s comfortably settled between them.

“do you wanna talk about it?” Alex finally asks.

Becca wonders which it they’re talking about—her parents’ divorce or the fact that some fundamental piece of their relationship or friendship or whatever they are, is changing. maybe it’s both. maybe it’s neither.

“thank you for visiting me,” she says instead. “i’m sure it pales in comparison to a road trip with your friends.”

“hardly.” Alex smiles and nudges Becca’s shoulder with her own. “we were all cramped in a van that doesn’t have working a/c. besides, i like hanging out with you, it’s…”

Becca raises her eyebrows, curious and nudging Alex on.

“easy.”

Becca laughs, like, full body laughs. never in her life has she been described as easy to be around.

“what’s so funny?”

“nothing, nothing.” Becca tries to suppress her laughter, but it doesn’t work.

“i was trying to be nice.” Alex makes a show of being hurt, even makes to leave, but the smile on her face tells a very different story.

“no, sorry.” Becca places her hand gently on Alex’s arm; wants her to believe the sincerity behind her words. “it was nice and i didn’t mean to laugh. i’ve just never been described as easy before, and with everything going on, i guess it’s been a while since something’s made me laugh.”

“oh.” Alex settles on the dock again and Becca’s hand remains on her arm. “are you talking with your parents much?”

Becca shrugs. “mom’s trying. i think we’re both just having a hard time adjusting to speaking to each other. it’s been good but strange.”

“and your dad?”

Becca barks out a laugh. “i think he’s just as clueless. only difference is he’s not making much of an effort. my sister and i were supposed to spend some time with him here over the summer. look how that turned out.”

“i’m sorry.”

“i don’t need pity—”

“i wasn’t pitying you.”

“i know, but it’s just…”

“just…?”

and Alex’s arm is suddenly very warm beneath Becca’s hand. warm and solid and grounding and— they’ve done this before. played this game where they share their insecurities and offer something dangerously close to companionship.

it won’t end well, she thinks, but her heart thumps along and tells her to indulge just this once. what’s one more time anyway?

“we shouldn’t,” Becca breathes, because one of them needs to say it.

“probably,” Alex agrees, but neither of them move to put some space between them.

“but we could.”

“definitely.”

“it would be” —amazing is the word she thinks— “fun,” is the word she says with a playful lilt to her voice that she hopes distracts from the longing want she can feel in her bones.

they’re closer now, faces no more than a couple inches apart, and the air around them feels stiff somehow, like the world around them took one massive breath and is now waiting for them to do something about the balloon of tension that’s been slowly inflating for months.

and then the balloon bursts, and there’s kissing and moaning and wandering hands and— oh god, Becca suddenly remembers why she wanted to do this again. it feels like electricity zapping up and down her body. it hurts and it heals, and she wonders if they’ll ever do this again—silently hopes that they will.

she pulls Alex closer, decides that it’s still not enough—some tiny part of her heart hums and says that it never will be—and moves to straddle her lap and thread her fingers through her hair.

“here?” Alex asks between frantic and hurried kisses.

Becca hums and urges Alex’s hands further down her body.

it happens quickly after that. the coil inside Becca tightens each time Alex moves her fingers and moans her name and nips at her neck and— it snaps. the coil snaps and its wonderful and horrible and Becca is suddenly acutely aware of the place Alex holds in her heart.

and that— it terrifies her, because for the first time in her life she has no idea how it will go.

they head back up to the house not long later, stumbling through the first floor and upstairs as they share laughs and kisses. and when they reach the foot of the bed, Becca pushes Alex back and is quick to return the favour.

Becca wakes early in the morning on her side and facing Alex who’s fast asleep and completely dead to the world. she takes this moment, this brief interlude, to consider her next move.

the last time they did this, she left as soon as she woke up. though leaving isn’t exactly an option right now, and Becca finds that even if it were, leaving is the last thing she wants to do.

she brings her hand to Alex’s face and brushes a loose piece of hair behind her ear. the gesture, though small, is enough to cause Alex to stir.

“hi,” Alex says, her voice heavy with sleep and eyes barely open.

“hi.”

“you were right,” she says, sporting a tired grin, “it was fun.”

Becca hums and shifts closer to Alex, tracing lazy patterns on her shoulder. “how long can you stay?”

“how long do you want me to stay?”

“i asked you first.”

“so?”

“humour me.”

their back-and-forth is light, airy. it’s how they usually talk. but there’s insecurity that hides beneath it all. insecurity that itches to be breathed into the world and soothed away.

“well, my friends and i were going to the aurora music festival tomorrow.”

“oh.”

“but maybe, if you wanted to, you could come with?”

“are you asking me to go with you?”

“i asked you first.”

Becca smacks Alex’s shoulder but can’t stop the smile on her face. “yes, i want to go.”

“good” —Alex leans in then, stops only when their lips are just about to touch— “because i really want you to come with me.”

“is that so?”

Alex hums and brings their lips together in a slow and easy kiss that Becca’s all too happy to get lost in.

“wait, hang on.” Alex pulls away, a suddenly serious expression on her face. “you didn’t tell me how long you wanted me to stay.”

forever is the word she thinks, but she just smiles and brings their lips together again, and she thinks that Alex might just understand.

#my writing #request #anon #becca davenport #becca x mc #the freshman #the sophomore #the junior #the senior #playchoices

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jetaime-jespere · 3 years

Text

Under The Weather

Some pointless fluff that's been floating around my head for a few days. Also on ao3 🙂

It’s not the usual alarm clock that wakes her this time - the tauntingly peaceful melody that she now associates with being ousted from a dream every morning.

In fact, Emily is hardly awake. Her eyes are still sealed shut, she’s still nestled under the covers because the thought of moving is almost unbearable. Even in her sleep induced haze, the only thing she’s fully aware of is just how shitty she feels, like every part of her body has somehow teamed up against her in unison. What started last night as a subtle headache is now accompanied by a persistent rawness in the back of her throat. The same pain has crept in to settle behind her eyes, and now radiates around her head, like a pair of gnarled hands wrapped and clenched around her brain. But that isn’t the only thing - everything just hurts. Her limbs feel like lead, her throat is now on fire, lips cracked and chapped from the winter air. Her mouth is dry as dust as she grapples for the glass of water Aaron had left on her nightstand hours ago - something he’s done since they moved in together.

Cracking one eye open takes monumentally more effort than it should. The wind rattles against the windows, whistling through the bitterly cold February morning and Emily groans at the prospect of even moving from the safety of their warm bed. A glance at the clock tells her it’s 5:40. Aaron’s side is empty, the sheets cooled, but she can hear the steady pulse of the shower, see the steam curling out from under the door. The cloying pull of sleep is too consuming, the glass of water all but forgotten as Emily groans. The notion of having to get up in less than a half an hour is making her stomach roil in protest.

Instead, she burrows herself deeper into the blankets, wishing somehow this day would somehow restart itself. Her eyelids are too heavy to stay open, even though the looming reality of her alarm hovers over her, along with the daunting challenge of making it through the day. Emily remembers the stack of unfinished case reports left on her desk from yesterday, abandoned in the wake of remembering Ava’s ballet class just a few minutes too late to be early for once. That’s about the time the headache started, subtle enough to temporarily ignore as their daughter happily chattered away in the backseat, little legs kicking against the leather upholstered seat - a story about unicorns and fairies, one Emily could probably retell herself she’s heard it so many times. If only she knew then.

The next thing she’s aware of is Aaron bending down to kiss her awake, fresh from the shower and half dressed in an undershirt, his skin still damp as he murmurs good morning . The whiff of eucalyptus soap and his mouthwash only makes her dizzy as she all but pushes her husband away from her with an ill attempted protest against his affection. “Five more minutes,” she croaks. “S’tired.”

“Sweetheart?” Aaron questions even though he doesn’t have to. He’s no stranger to her indifference to early mornings, the way her arms wind around his neck to pull him close most days when he wakes her with the same kisses, the same sweet nothings in her ear. On the rare occasion when they have more time, he ends up back in bed with her, making the most of a few precious moments. Those mornings are his favorites - the ones where he gets to press her into the mattress, get her leg over his shoulder, seal his mouth against hers to muffle the moans he hasn’t grown tired of hearing even years after he first heard them. But this is different. He figures it out immediately, knuckles brushing against her flaming cheek, skin clammy under his touch.

“Hmmph?” Emily shrugs out from under his touch, the cool hand on her burning forehead a reminder of just how awful she feels. “Five more minutes and I’ll get up.”

Aaron laughs softly, already reaching for his phone on the dresser. “Not a chance.”

“I’ll be fine in a half hour.” It’s a futile attempt; Aaron knows her better than she knows herself by now. Emily doesn’t get sick often, maybe once every few years. But when she does, it hits hard and fast, rendering her inherently useless for a day or two, and they’re all a little thrown off kilter without her. Even though her eyes are closed she can practically see him making arrangements - school dropoff and pickup, soccer practice for Jack, ice skating lessons for Ava. It’s also a Wednesday, the one day a week he spends mostly in meetings as unit chief. It’s the day she picks up more slack around the house, handles the after school activities in addition to her own professional responsibilities. It’s a routine they’ve perfected through trial and error over time.

“You weren’t yourself last night,” he sinks down beside her, his weight dipping the mattress down as he pushes some hair from her face. “You barely touched your dinner. You fell asleep with the light on,” he adds pointedly, pressing his lips to his wife’s forehead for confirmation. “And you definitely have a fever.”

“Do not,” she argues. It’s becoming harder and harder to challenge him, a battle she knows she’ll ultimately lose. There’s no way he’ll let her out the door let alone into the BAU at this point. Despite the sweat that trickles down her back, her teeth chatter together.

Aaron wraps her into his arms, aware of how she melds against his chest as she seeks the warm comfort of his body. “Do too.” His tone is light, which only manages to frustrate her more. “And you’re staying home today. Don’t even try to argue with me.”

Emily attempts to pull away from his embrace. “I have a meeting too, you know. Jack has practice and Ava -”

“Has ice skating. I know, Sweetheart.” Aaron gently pushes her back down, tucking the blankets around her. “I know their schedule. And yours. We’ll manage.” But he’s already reaching for his phone, dialing a number he knows by heart.

“Who are you calling?” She asks weakly, succumbing to his insistence. The sky has lightened to a shade of dark blue instead of inky black, the first traces of the winter morning starting to peek through the curtains.

“I’m texting Garcia. If she can take Ava this afternoon, I can get Jack to soccer after my last meeting.”

Emily grumbles while he taps out a message as she runs through her day ahead. There are her own meetings, of course, a slew of chores around the house waiting when she gets home, all the little things that accumulate during the week without fail, over and over. Aaron can almost read her mind as he gets dressed, disappearing into the depths of their closet to pluck a suit from the rack on his side. “Things won’t implode without you, Em. We can survive one day.”

From her place in bed, Emily watches him dress, securing the sleeves of his dress shirt, the jacket stretching across his broad shoulders over the crisp fabric of his shirt. Some days, she can’t believe they’ve come this far. Seven years of marriage has brought its fair share of ups and downs, most recently an ill-timed miscarriage in the days before Christmas. She hadn’t been too far along - ten weeks - but December 23rd was spent at her doctor, Aaron’s hand wrapped around hers as the news was broken, their eyes glued to the ultrasound screen. They hadn’t been trying at all. It was a surprise neither of them expected, which only seemed to worsen the blow when it abruptly ended. Emily had been the picture of composed, smiling through her grief on Christmas Eve, distracted by Ava and Jack’s excitement, the endless mountain of gifts to smuggle from their closet under the tree, only to spend the early hours of Christmas morning crying in his arms until he rocked her to sleep. She closes her eyes, wills herself not to think of it. It’s still a little too soon.

When he’s fully dressed, traces of cologne lingering in the air, Aaron gathers a box of tissues and fills a glass of water, setting both down next to Emily. “I’ll bring you some toast before I leave. You need to eat something.”

“You need to wake -”

“I’m already -”

“Mommy?” The voice outside the door tells them at least one more Hotchner is already awake. Aaron drops a quick kiss on Emily’s head, frowning when he notes how warm she is. He makes a mental note to bring some ibuprofen with the toast and opens the door just a crack to find their daughter on the other side, fully dressed, not a hair out of place.

“Where’s Mommy?” He’s met with the round, concerned eyes that belong to Ava. Even at six, she could be Emily’s clone, with sleek dark locks and the same pale skin. Ava is precocious, sharp as a tack yet sensitive, hesitant to trust but loyal to a fault. Her arrival in the world had been dramatic, at one point downright terrifying for a few minutes, shoulder dystocia to blame. Aaron had turned ghostly pale as the doctors rattled off medical jargon he’d only ever seen dramatized on primetime television. Yet it was that same efficiency and urgency that ultimately brought their daughter safely into the world a short time later. The moment she was placed in his hands, Aaron was completely smitten, his world forever changed.

“Mommy isn’t feeling well, Ava.” Aaron explains with an abundance of patience, his tone soft and reassuring. In the days after Christmas, following the miscarriage, Ava had been confused when Aaron took Emily’s usual place at the new, massive dollhouse from Santa, doing his best to display the same enthusiasm his wife so effortlessly showed. He’d uttered the same words - Mommy isn't feeling well - when she protested, complaining about his doll handling skills and seeming inability to make their hair look half as good as Emily did. Even though his placations held an entirely different meaning then, Ava questioned him relentlessly. Telling a version of the truth had been harder than he anticipated, for more reasons that one.

“Is Mommy okay?” Ava asks, persistent as ever.

“She’s fine, honey. Just the flu. Remember when you had it in Kindergarten? You got to stay home while Jack went to school. Mommy and I took turns staying home with you? You got to eat popsicles in bed and watch TV during the day?”

Ava nods, not fully convinced as she tries to poke her head further into their bedroom. “I guess.”

“That’s what Mommy has, honey. Grown-ups get sick too. So Daddy is going to drive you to school. Aunt Penelope is going to take you to ice skating lessons this afternoon.”

Ava squeals with delight at the mention of Garcia, clapping her tiny hands together, only to have the expression melt off her face seconds later. Then she frowns. “But Daddy,” she whispers slowly, her resemblance to Emily and similar mannerisms uncanny, as if profiling him even at the tender age of six. “You don’t know the Good Morning song.”

Aaron checks his watch and pinches the bridge of his nose as he peers into the hallway. Jack’s bedroom door is still firmly closed, indicating his son is most likely still sound asleep. Waking him is the next battle, one of his least favorite tasks as of late. “What song, Ava?” He sighs, not missing the fleeting touch of amusement that crosses Emily’s face from across the room, the softest of laughs. Even in her current state, pale and tired, clearly more than under the weather, Aaron thinks she’s stunning.

“Mommy and I always sing the Good Morning song on the way to school.” Ava folds her arms across her chest, tapping her foot against the floor. “If you don’t know the words -” Her dark eyes double in size, widening impossibly as she stubs her toe with disappointment. “How can you drive me to school?”

“Honey -”

“Mommy knows all the words.”

“Ava - “

“Daddy.” She challenges, sticking her lower lip out in a whiny pout. Aaron knows what’s ahead. Even though Ava has him completely wrapped around her tiny finger, their daughter absolutely adores her mother, never missing an opportunity to steal a few quiet moments together. He often finds Ava curled in Emily’s lap, listening to a story, or playing dress up with some of Emily’s old clothes. Aaron has caught a few misplaced tubes of lipstick hidden in her dress-up box, ones Emily thought she lost long ago. He’s seen the pictures she draws, the way Ava always draws Emily next to her in each one. It tugs on every single one of his heartstrings, every single time.

“Mommy will teach me,” he assures her, crouching down to her level, bringing her to lean on his knee. “Daddy will do his best to know all the words before I take you to school.” He ruffles Ava’s hair as she beams, seemingly appeased by his effort. “Can you be my special helper this morning and wake Jack for me?”

Her face brightens instantly, a mischievous grin spreading across her face at the thought of what she’s being asked to do - something that, most of the time, she’s actively told not to do. “Okay!”

Aaron grimaces slightly as Ava skips off down the hall. There’s a finite window of time until he’s left to deal with Jack’s morning moodiness, exacerbated by his sister’s surprise wakeup call. But it’s worth the few extra minutes he’ll get to spend with his wife. Emily is now fully awake, looking even more miserable than she had moments before.

“You’re on your own for the good morning song,” she rasps sarcastically. Her voice is hoarse, even as she tries to smile. “Couldn’t sing it for you if I tried.”

“I think I’m going to take her for donuts. Those strawberry frosted ones she loves?” He slips back in bed beside Emily, pulling her into his arms once again. “Distraction at its finest.”

“The ones I love,” Emily reminds him, swiping her thumb across his cheek. “Good luck.”

“Right. Hopefully she’ll forget all about it.” Then he remembers just who he’s talking about - a miniature version of the woman he somehow got lucky enough to call his wife, instantly realizing how wrong he is. He’s a goner; he won’t hear the end of this for days.

“I doubt it. But you can give it a try.” Emily snuggles into his chest, savoring their final few minutes of peace.

…

Winter sun streams through the windows, casting the bedroom in a mix of shadows and blinding light.

She isn’t sure how much time has passed - an hour could easily be three, maybe five. Sleep has consumed her, on and off all morning. Yet she’s uncomfortable, alternating between throwing the covers off and disappearing into them, unable to seek enough warmth as she reaches for one more blanket. Everything still hurts, and topped off by a congestion that settles deep in her lungs, rattles her chest with every cough. She almost feels worse now than she did earlier, if that’s even possible.

The house is quiet, so she hears the subtle rumbling of the garage opening, the soft creak of the door leading into the house. Emily smiles to herself - she’d recognize his footsteps anywhere as he makes his way through the living room. He’s undoubtedly picking up wayward shoes and toys along the way, most likely grumbling about the clutter. He’d never admit it (even if she knows it to be true) but it’s one of his favorite tasks. The mess is a reminder of what they’ve built over time, that sometimes things work out just as they were meant to. Even if it means their house will never be spotless.

She pries one eye open as he shoulders through the bedroom door, slipping his suit jacket off to drape over a chair. “You could have stayed at work.” Emily isn’t surprised at all. She knows him sell enough by now.

“I know.” And while Aaron is fully aware of that, there was never a chance he wasn’t going to come home to tend to her. He stayed at the BAU long enough to get things squared away, arranging plans for the kids, and delegating tasks as needed before making a hasty exit. And now, only a few hours later, he’s back. He checks her forehead, refreshes the glass of water on the nightstand and tosses some tissues into the trash. “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit.” Emily shifts to make room beside her. “Worse than before, if that’s possible.” She sighs a little when he wraps her into his embrace. Her head falls against his chest on its own accord. “Ava and Jack?”

“Garcia is taking Ava to ice skating. She’s taking her out for ice cream afterward.” He gets a hand in her hair, rocks her back and forth a little bit until she relaxes fully against him. Almost.

“What about dinner?” Emily mumbles, stifling a cough into her fist. It rattles within her chest, reverberating through her ribs. “She needs real dinner, Aaron.”

“I think she’ll live without vegetables for one night, Emily.”

She’s too tired to argue. “Jack?”

“Dave offered to take him to soccer,” Aaron says, patting her back through the last of the coughing fit and grappling for the water glass on the table. “It’s all taken care of.” His hands are soothing, gentle and strong against the sore, stiff muscles. “You sound terrible.”

Emily pointedly ignores him. “What about you?”

“I cleared my schedule for the rest of the day. Tomorrow too,” he adds with a wink, taking her hands in his own when she starts to object. “I’m making it my mission to get you better.” He shows her the package of popsicles he’d stopped for on the way home, tosses the bag away to the floor. “And I got some of these. Just for you.”

The soft laughter that comes from her is accompanied by yet another hacking cough. It’s the little things he does that are the most thoughtful - a pit stop to the grocery store in the middle of a work day is just one example. “Sounds like you have quite the job ahead of you.” But she’s eyeing the popsicles - it’s the first thing that’s sounded appealing all morning.

“You’re not an easy patient,” Aaron chides as he hands her a cherry flavored one, taking a lemon flavored for himself. “One of the worst I’ve ever dealt with, actually.” He flicks her nose lovingly.

“Is that so?” The cool chill of the frozen ice against her lips and throat is a temporary relief, a moment of reprieve. She doesn’t even notice when a little piece of it breaks off to leave a tiny red stain on the sheets. “You’re no picnic yourself, you know.”

It’s his turn to laugh, because she’s right. He’s just as stubborn, the art of rest and healing lost on them both. “I feel called out.”

“It’s because I’m right,” she quips. And she is.

Emily sleeps fitfully in his arms, only waking up once as the sun sets over the trees in the distance. When her eyes drift open, he has the television remote in one hand, the other anchoring her across his chest. “What time is it?” She mumbles, blinking furiously as her eyes adjust to the dim light.

“Close to five.” He kisses her, rocks her a little to wake her up. “You’ve been sleeping for hours.” Aaron sounds almost pleased that she finally got some solid rest. “I’m going to make you some soup. And don’t tell me I don’t have to.” He untangles himself from her, somehow without disturbing her comfort within their bed. “I’ll be up in a few minutes.”

His fingers brush across her cheek; she’s not as hot to the touch this time. Emily leans into his hand, curling her fingers around his wrist.

“Thank you for coming home.” She hardly sounds any better, certainly doesn’t feel it either. But having him there somehow makes it slightly more bearable, an unexpected silver lining to all of this. And the reverence in his eyes, the same one she sees every time he looks at her, confirms the fact that he’d do it without question. Another example of the unconditional love he’d promised years before when they exchanged vows in Dave’s backyard.

“There’s nowhere else I should be, Sweetheart.”

Four days later, Aaron wakes up with the same aching muscles and raw throat, barely able to keep his eyes open as a new week awaits them. Emily is only more than happy to return his favor.

#hotchniss #hotchniss fanfiction #hotchniss fic #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #hotch x prentiss #domestic hotchniss #happy hotchners #pointless plotless fluff

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my-writings-and-musings · 4 years

Text

I got another request for the hostage prompt! The previous posts will be linked below, but here's the newest of the lineup!

Part One: Here!

Part Two: Here!

Part Three: You're Here!

Perceptor

·You knew better than most how to keep a lid on impulsive actions, a trait that has both served you well and made your relationship with the stoic microscope develop quite quickly. However, like your partner, you absolutely have limits. As you enter what feels like the millionth hour of your captivity, you can feel yourself reaching them. There's plenty of stressors to account for the growing rage in your body, but you know the biggest is the bot keeping you prisoner as a part of their foolish scheme to get quick cash for the Lost Light's "beloved mascot". Particularly, their endless taunting of your partner is proving too much to endure, and you can feel your boiling point coming in fast. One final quip about Perceptor's "useless" alt mode proves to be your ignition point.

·Though you're hardly an intimidating figure dangling from your chains, your voice erupts with enough fury to draw your captor's attention without hesitation, and you use that undivided attention to let them know exactly how you feel. Firstly on your list of grievances is their juvenile and ear grating attempts to be clever while insulting your beloved scientist. "Do you know anything about warping reality? Time traveling? Rearranging molecules?! No?! Then what makes you think you're fit to look down on someone who can?!" There's no reply beyond shocked gaping, giving you the freedom to continue and let out everything you've been building up for the past few hours, particularly in regards to comments made on your own relationship. "Let's not forget; mocking him for dating a human? Big talk coming from some isolated loser in a cave!"

·You're not at all intimidated when the bad bot abandons their communication console to try threatening you into silence, even as they raise their hand with the supposed intent to strike. You only laugh at the exhausting absurdity of it all. Will they really risk losing their one shield against the entire Lost Light? Newsflash; you're the only thing standing between them and some of the toughest (and thanks to them; angriest) bots in the galaxy! Oh, and the one leading that charge, your paramour and soon to be rescuer? If bending physics to his will isn't sufficient, he can always go for the next best option, sniping. "Did you know he's the best sniper the Autobots have ever seen? He can probably hit the tiny, almost nonexistent processor of yours that came up with this plan! He works miracles with that gun!"

·Unable to silence you, the bad bot is looking torn between fear and anger at your defiant but very true words. Finding shouting to be a breath of fresh air, you decide to keep going, having more fun than you've had in ages talking up your beloved and underappreciated partner. "Heck, Percy doesn't even need to stage a rescue! He's stabilized and destabilized entire timelines, maybe he's rewriting history as we speak! Maybe he'll make it so you prevent your own forging; I can't wait to find out!" At the somewhat exaggerated but not at all impossible threat, your captor makes some excuse and starts up their security measures, looking beyond paranoid at the prospect of being erased. You go off on another tangent, this time regarding Perceptor's precision in finding "other" important targets in less innocent ways, but are stopped by an unexpected power outage plunging everything into darkness.

·There's a great deal of noise immediately following, but what stands out is a series of powerful gunshots, all of which ring out just before security turrets burst into pieces in the darkened cave. Amidst the chaos you hear your captor cry out and fall, but when the lights flicker on a moment later you see they've been immobilized but left otherwise unharmed by a perfectly placed shot. Crewmembers swarm the area in seconds, and before you can blink in the awe inspiring calculation of the plan that's just unfolded before you, there's a beautiful blue visor at your eye level. Perceptor is actually smiling, albeit softly, as he holsters his rifle and cuts you free. Plopping into his cupped hands, you swear the stoic scientist looks happier than you've ever seen him the entire walk back to the ship, his smile never leaving his face in the hours that come after your rescue.

·Percy is, by his standards, effusive in his love and affection going forward. There's no way to predict when he'll lift you for a loving nuzzle or a gentle kiss, so you grow to expect them always, as it's hardly a burden to be so loved. In a rare moment of isolation afterwards, a bot quietly informs you of something that happened while you were held hostage. Perceptor had actually shed tears when he heard you speak, albeit only a few, but his raw emotion at your defense has been obvious to everyone. No one had ever done such a thing for him, and it seemed the reality of your affection had overwhelmed him. Clearly he's still not used to being loved. Touched by the thought, you make an effort to be equally loving in the future, and he absolutely deserves it. You love this bot, alt mode and all. It's hard not to dare anyone to try and deny your obvious love for a bot so deserving of it.

Rung

·Like your quiet partner, you're a very even tempered individual, and thus yelling tends to be an absolute last resort. Some find it almost impossible to get a rise out of you. But today? Chained up against your will and listening to some bully taunt your friends and partner for hours on end? No one could blame you for lashing out after enduring a few minutes, let alone hours. Yet, for the sake of keeping the situation under control, you'd actually managed to keep a lid on your rage and frustration for some time. It wasn't until your captor had begun reverting to taunting Rung by purposefully getting his name wrong that you'd snapped, red filling your vision as the bully gleefully mocked your partner with what agonized him the most. All bets were now officially off.

·Had you been able to free yourself, you'd have probably attempted to turn your chains on your captor, but as it was you released your fury purely by shouting. First, you called them out for being such a juvenile and pathetic individual they'd felt the need to gloat despite having secured you already. Clearly they've got some serious self confidence issues if they need to hide behind a hostage to boast! Barely pausing for breath, you glare right into their shocked expression as you lay into them for mocking your partner, spelling and enunciating his name since they seem to be having so much trouble with a four letter word. The bad bot is still so surprised they haven't quite gathered themself from the initial shock until they're across the cave and in your face.

·When they refer to Rung as a "weakling" however, they unleash a fresh wave of rage. Do they actually know who they're talking about?! Rung?! The bot who walks away from crashes with only cuts and bruises? Not to mention; he's quite capable with a spear, does this bot even know what he's in for?! "I understand pronouncing his name right may be a bit beyond you, but did you even bother to look into him at all? He's been analyzing bots longer than you've been alive! He knows your next move before you do! He's saved our entire reality by talking!!" Admittedly the passion for your partner provides ample fuel for you to keep talking, as the poor bot is dealt bad hands far too often to have to put up with jerks like this.

·At threats to be silent you're only emboldened, as it's clear you're making quite a dent in your captor's confidence. Knowing they can't risk hurting you, and being too fed up to care if they try, you continue on your valiant crusade. "Rung has been a therapist for the toughest bots in the galaxy during their biggest emotional crises! Forget letting fear stop him, you could be ten times the villain you are and he wouldn't flinch!" Though your partner may not be one to inspire fear, particularly as his best traits are his endless ability to forgive and boundless compassion, you go off on those features regardless. There's nothing you don't want to go on about to flaunt what an incredible bot you're dating. On a roll, you start to get into what unexpected prowess he has in "late night sessions" when the door built into the cave suddenly implodes just as your captor is attempting to flee.

·In the rush of bots that destroy the security systems and pounce on the captor to get a punch in for making fun of their friend, you're suddenly lifted by tender and loving hands to look into a brilliant pair of bespectacled optics, and you realize that Rung has never before looked so wonderfully happy. There's a depth of emotion new to him as he uses a laser scalpel to carefully cut you free, and you're compelled to hug him tightly as he holds you close, his spark almost singing into your ear as you cuddle him. Gentle reasurances that you're fine now, that he loves you, and that you don't need to worry about being taken ever again are whispered the entire walk back to the ship. You'd swear he has a tone that borders on reverence. Frankly you're just happy to be free and back with him, though you're amused by how boundless his love for you is in the following days. Rung barely lets you walk anywhere and showers you with kisses every chance he gets.

·In a rare moment of solitude, a bot takes advantage of the opportunity to let you know something very important, saying that you deserve to hear what happened while you were kidnapped. Though he remained as in control as ever, it had been obvious to the entire ship he'd been wracked with guilt and worry from the start, and that hearing your captor taunt him had only made the torment worse. Your outburst had actually driven him to jump up and put his glasses back on, his stoic exterior shattering as his jaw dropped in shock and awe. He's so accustomed to being forgotten, that to be defended so aggressively doesn't initially compute. Witnesses swear he lit up in a blush that rivaled the Matrix at full power. He'd worried immensely for you of course, but hearing the intensity of your love for him... Some would swear afterwards he'd shed tears.

Skids

·Your partner does not take anything lying down, but unfortunately enough for you, you're dangling from chains and in a rather precarious situation to boot. Though you'd like to lay into the bot keeping you prisoner, logic is winning for now. It doesn't take a genius to know you're in no place to get mouthy. Not that said strategy is at all easy; your captor is a gigantic jerk! They've been bragging to your poor friends for hours, with a special taunting emphasis on Skids and his "inability" to protect his small human significant other. Rage begins to boil just below the surface before long, yet a commitment to keeping a lid on the feeling works surprisingly well for a while. However, you blow your top the second your captor makes a jab about Skids having to resort to human companionship in the wake of his "amnesia leaving him no friends to speak of".

·Having spent plenty of time getting tipsy with your lover, you've picked up his brilliant talent for cursing and allow it to run free. The wave of profanity alone is enough to make your captor freeze, to say nothing of your incredible volume and the unyielding rage in your voice. "Are you KIDDING me you cheap knock off of a forgetable movie villain?! You're picking on his amnesia?! Skids doesn't need many memories to know how to kick your scrawny aft!" There's so much anger you're actually surprised by the depths of your own rage, but letting it out just feels too good for you to care, so you let the love for your partner fuel the tirade on his behalf.

·Far too angry to even register fear, you don't tone it down in the slightest when commanded to shut up. If anything, it only incenses you further. What, can they not handle a target capable of talking back? Did their brilliant plan not account for people not falling for their tough guy act? Because if so, they're really screwed once Skids gets here. He knows how to move covertly on their own ship, what makes this jerk think they'll see him coming? And these useless defense systems won't save them, your partner has torn through way more and come out intact! "He's squared up against whole squadrons and not flinched, what makes you think you stand a chance?! He knows I can handle myself long enough to take care of you!"

·Wishing you had a drink to help the words flow a little smoother, you nevertheless find great satisfaction in the pause you're giving your captor. Clearly they hadn't looked into Skids deeply enough before kidnapping his beloved little partner. Still, you're far from done with getting even. This loser insulted the greatest and most confounding mystery of the bot you love, and you have no intention of letting that go. As they go off to recalibrate their insufficient security systems, you start to go on about how Skids acts on instinct in combat, to the point he's like nothing most bots have ever seen. You're so fired up you almost start to gush over his natural prowess and instinctive drive in the bedroom when a most peculiar sound silences you along with everything else.

·From a climate control vent carved straight into the rock overhead, there's a loud rumble before the cover simply falls off, crashing to the ground before a blue blur tumbles out to start swinging a sword. You'd swear that a single blink is all it takes before Lost Light crewmembers start pouring in as backup. There's just enough time for you to see your captor captured in a most indignifying way before a thick accent is laughing with delight upon seeing you. The flash of a blade follows and you're caught in cupped servos that bring you in for a powerful hug, leaving you laughing helplessly in turn as your beloved begins gushing over you in the accent you so adore. Skids is positively beaming the entire trip back to the ship, his smile absolutely radiant as he goes back and forth between declaring his love and praising everything about you.

·While he's always been affectionate, the lovable bot amps it up to new levels over the course of the next few days. Cuddles happen almost every minute he's with you, and frequent trips to Swerve's see him treating you with every drink you want and becoming a flustered mess that stares at you in lovestruck awe. When he goes to fetch another round one night, a happy bystander let's you know he was shattered by your kidnapping, only to turn around at your show of utter bravery and devotion. Anger had turned to awe at how his tiny partner had stood up for him, bringing a kind of peace to him that went beyond reasurance you were okay. Having heard you defend him, despite him being a bot with no past, had made him truly see that he could indeed be worth something just for being what he was. Someone as wonderful as you wouldn't want him otherwise.

#my writing #my asks #requests #transformers #maccadam #mtmte #more than meets the eye #lost light imagine #lostlight #lost light #ll #idw #tf #perceptor x reader #rung x reader #skids x reader #human reader #self insert #transformers imagine

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wolfstar-supremacy-innit · 3 years

Text

"Tell who?"- Part 1

Remus smiled into his pillow. Why’s he so cute? He felt something rustle under his stomach. Reaching under himself, he pulled out a wrinkled piece of parchment. His resolutions list. Remus flipped onto his back and squinted at the letters. Warmth was pooling in his chest. Something is missing here. He patted the bed in search for his quill and ink, then wrote:

5. Fuck this I wanna tell him I love him

The paper slipped to the floor as Remus’ arms gave out and he drifted into an instantaneous, profound sleep.

Alternatively:

The Marauders are in their 6th year at Hogwarts, it's New Year's Eve and Remus writes a New Year's resolutions list. Sirius finds it the next day. The story is written from Remus' point of view. It's wolfstar and lighthearted. Kinda inspired by this fanfic.

This is part 1 of the story. I will be posting the other parts separately here and also the full fic on ao3 (I will link everything when it's done, check this post for that in some time). Warnings: underage drinking and smoking, mentions of anxiety disorder.

Enjoy! :)

Part 2 Part 3

Remus sat on the windowsill in the 6th year boys’ dormitory rolling a cigarette with magic. Well, trying to. He carefully placed the tobacco and filter on the small paper and tapped it with his wand, but half of the contents plopped out. The spell needed perfecting, obviously. Remus had picked up the habit of smoking socializing with some muggle kids back home during that summer. He knew it was stupid, but he had thought it looked cool. Later, he also found out he quite liked the lightheadedness that followed smoking a cigarette quickly. And some more time after that, there was a boy at school to try to impress, but that's a little embarrassing to admit. A nicotine addiction was surely well on its way to becoming a reality, but Remus didn't like to think about that. And anyway, with the war looming over everyone's head, who cares if a 16-year-old werewolf is addicted to nicotine? The problem was that cigarettes were expensive and Remus didn't have a lot of money to spare, so he resigned to rolling as it was cheaper and lasted longer. With some practice, he'll be able to assemble them with magic effortlessly anyway.

"Hiya, Moony," James said, walking into the room, "you're not getting ready?"

"Yes, I am." Remus pointed at his cigarette rolling arrangement, although James was probably referring to the fact that he wasn't dressed for a party.

It was the 31st of December. The four of them were staying at Hogwarts for the entirety of the holidays, given that the full moon had been on the 26th. Well, that was the excuse they gave their parents. The real reason why they hadn’t gone to the Potters after the 26th, where they usually spent the Christmas holidays, was that Sirius had stumbled upon a flyer for a gig and party occurring in Hogsmeade that Friday. James and Sirius were ecstatic, but Remus was pretty apathetic towards the idea of going. With his crush on his best friend and all. In fact, he had been trying to steer clear of settings in which he was sure Sirius would look particularly, well, hot. However, there was a flaw in his thinking, he had realised. Day by day, Sirius was beginning to look extraordinarily hot to Remus in every setting, and there was nothing he could do about it.

When Sirius had arrived at their train compartment at the beginning of that school year, Remus was very, very confused. Sirius had run away from home and spent the majority of the summer at the Potters, but in the two months, he had changed profoundly. Although they had been exchanging letters the whole summer, nothing could've prepared Remus for the feeling of panic bubbling up in him when Sirius had stepped through the sliding doors. After finally being released from his family's clutches, the freedom and eagerness to express himself had been immediately evident. Sirius had let his hair grow out longer than usual, past his shoulders, messier and curlier, but all the better looking (if that was even possible). He'd gotten taller and his shoulders broader, his muggle clothes sitting flawlessly on his lean figure. He’d looked cool, to say the least- chunky black lace-up boots, black trousers, a small silver loop earring in one ear and, of course, a black leather jacket. Remus had been perplexed and silent the whole train ride. What is wrong with me, he had thought. It wasn't envy or disapproval. It was excitement for his best friend's joy after years of trauma, of course, it was. But what the hell was that lump in his throat and the inability to look Sirius in the eye? Later that week, as Sirius had stepped out of the bathroom with his shirt hanging loosely around his neck exposing his prominent collarbones, Remus had realised with a sinking feeling that it all impossibly resembled a crush. A crush on Sirius?? I am so fucked, he had thought as he swallowed a lump.

In the following months, Remus had been desperately attempting to push his feelings into the deep dark depths of his mind and just forget about it. Still, as it turned out, Sirius' natural charm and charisma were impossible to look past. He would casually sling his arm over Remus' shoulders on their way to class or wink at him when James said a sentence without picking up on the innuendo of it. And it made Remus' heart jump out of his chest. On top of all that, Sirius was, in all likelihood, the most handsome bloke in the whole of Britain. So much so that talking to him made Remus' stomach twist with nervous energy most of the time. Anxious talking to my best friend of five years... He felt completely off his rocker.

In the present time, Sirius threw the dorm door open, stepping inside with Peter following and Remus jumped a little. "Lads," he said rubbing his palms together, "tonight's the night. We're getting plastered!"

"No," Remus said, still struggling with the cigarettes, now resolving to roll them manually. He wasn't very keen on his big mouth outrunning his drunk brain as it so usually happened after a few drinks. And now he had a dangerous secret to keep...

"Oh come on, Moony! This is our night off the chain!" There wasn't much Remus could say no to with those big grey eyes looking into his. Before he could say anything, Sirius asked: "Mate, could you roll me a few?" He had picked smoking up from Remus, of course. Sirius had said it looked "wicked" and “punk rock”. Remus was more proud of that than he was willing to admit.

"Sure," Remus replied.

"Cheers." Sirius winked at Remus and his stomach flipped. "Right. I'm going to get ready. We gotta clear off when I get out," Sirius said disappearing into the bathroom.

Remus successfully rolled up enough cigarettes for him and Sirius and placed them into his case. Oblivious to James' and Peter's conversation, Remus contemplated how he would survive the night. He'll have his cigs and the music, he concluded. He'll be fine.

He changed into his teal sweater and dark jeans and plopped onto his bed, gazing into the wooden board above him for a while. He sighed. In a few hours, 1976 would die and the illusion of a new slate in the form of a new year will be born. Remus was aware it was silly, but he liked creating little lists of goals for himself for the following year. They were never anything revolutionary, just a couple of small and realistic things he would like to accomplish. He thought about it for a few moments, then reached into the drawer of his bedside table and pulled out some parchment, ink and a quill. He wrote:

1977 New Years resolutions:

1. Get mum that record she's been talking about for months now

2. Master the cig rolling spell

3. Improve on non-verbal magic

4. Complete that muggle reading challenge Lilly and I compiled

Sirius then came out of the bathroom dolled up and with very discreet lines of black eyeshadow around his eyes. The parchment and quill slipped from Remus’ fingers. The deep grey now stood out even further than usual. "Should we get a move on, then?" Remus rolled on his bed, pressed his face into the pillow and groaned softly, pretending it was because of his reluctance to go. He didn't know how many more of Sirius' little surprises he could take before his head imploded. This was clearly one of those times Sirius would look just exceptionally fucking fit.

"You're wearing that, Moony?" Remus picked his head up to look at Sirius, not being able to suppress the disappointment that was creeping up.

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Well, you wear sweaters every day, don’t you? This is a party we’re going to!” Remus sat up and peered at him silently, allowing himself to take a better look at the eyeshadow that suited him wonderfully.

“Where did you get that?” James piped in, finally noticing Sirius’ make up.

“Borrowed it from Marls. Now, Moony, let’s see...” He started rummaging through his wardrobe and emerged with a dark grey shirt with a band logo on it. “Here you go, mate.” Sirius held it up for him to look at, then tossed it on the werewolf’s bed. Remus loved that shirt, especially because it was one of Sirius’ favourites.

“It’s December,” Remus said, but excitement was swirling in his stomach at the thought of wearing Sirius’ clothes. “Well, wear your coat.” He flashed Remus a smile. As the other boys started pilling their belongings into their pockets and putting on jackets, Remus reflected on changing into the shirt. Then he did it, quickly. Heat rose swiftly up his neck and cheeks at the realisation it smelled like Sirius. It felt like he would melt into the carpet any second now. Maybe he could allow himself to simmer in his infatuation just for tonight.

“Looking good.” Sirius smiled at him in the mirror as Remus checked himself out. The blush intensified.

The four boys crept down hallways using the Marauder’s Map to avoid Filch and the teachers and made it safely to the One-Eyed Witch Statue on the third floor. Sirius and James were practically skipping down the secret passage leading to Honeydukes. Even Remus felt a little giddy, but that may or may not have been because of the shirt. They arrived at the pub without hindrances and made their way inside. The place was loud and crowded as they pushed their way to a round wooden bar table. There were decorative lights of different shapes and sizes everywhere as well as tiny glass lanterns with magical flames flickering inside. The atmosphere was bewitching.

“Right,” Sirius clapped his hands, “what’re we drinking?”

Remus wanted a Butterbeer, but it was decided on his behalf that he would be having Firewhiskey. After all, Sirius was now of age and this was his first opportunity to take advantage of it. And so, Remus was coerced into his first glass of alcohol. He downed it quickly when the first girl approached Sirius. This was nothing new, of course. He was showered in attention from girls at school all the time. What was different now was that it gravely bothered Remus. However, Sirius paid no attention to the lady and instead turned to Remus to ask for a cigarette. Sirius smoking was a work of art; Remus could testify to that.

After the first drink, it was no trouble following up with more and the boys wanted to try weird sounding beverages from the menu. Thick, white smoke covered their table when James brought over the Simison Steaming Stout. Later, Remus had a shot (or three) of something called Checker’s Quick Everclear which made him inexplicably snap his fingers a few times after swallowing it. It was incredibly amusing and enough to get him rather half cut. After that, things became somewhat fuzzy. The band was fine, so they danced and drank and Remus felt just swell. It could’ve had something to do with Sirius ignoring the girls or plainly the amount of alcohol in his blood. By the time people began counting down from ten, Remus had half lost his ability to comprehend what was going on. He caught sight of James hugging Sirius when the clock hit midnight as the two of them shouted: “Happy New Year!” A couple seconds later Remus felt hands around himself and realised James hugged him next, yelling the same words, frankly a bit too close to his ear. It seemed that James was either holding his drinks well or just hadn’t drank that much. Sirius’ eyes, however, were half-closed, Remus noticed, as he moved to embrace him. It was just a smidge underwhelming. Remus was numb all over and barely felt the touch of Sirius’s arms over the colossal spike of adrenaline that flashed in his insides. He likely held him tighter than necessary and reluctantly pulled away when Sirius did too. Their cheeks brushed briefly in the process. When Remus looked at him, Sirius was smiling. His hair was messy, lips full and smooth. The eyeshadow hadn’t moved. Remus almost leaned in, but chose to just smile back instead. I have a secret to keep. Big secret. Scary secret. He slyly avoided hugging Peter (who was really sweaty) as his stupid, drunk brain kept repeating: Big. Scary. Secret. Secret. But he had already forgotten what was so confidential. He was really fuckin’ pissed, wasn’t he? Remus sniggered to himself.

Sirius and James wanted to go to the dancefloor and Peter followed them. Remus, however, wasn’t quite sure he could stand very well without having a table to hold on to once in a while. So he stayed put, fetched a cigarette from his case, lit it with his wand and leaned on his forearms on the table. Reveling in the fact that that he was allowing himself to feel all his forbidden feelings tonight, Remus observed Sirius in a manner he hoped was subtle. Sirius was dancing with his eyes closed, smooth, controlled movements, face tilted upwards. Christ, Remus banged his forehead on the table, why does he have to look like that?! It felt strangely pleasant, so he stayed in that position for some time. His head was swaying lightly and he got an inexplicable urge to laugh.

“Alright, Moony,” a voice brought him back to reality. Remus forced his head up.

“Splendid,” he said. Sirius smiled at him.

“We got any more fags?”

“Yup.” He pulled out the case out of his back pocket and handed it to Sirius, just as he asked: “Having fun, Moony?” Remus’ mouth stretched into a stupid, crooked smile.

“Oh, I’m having a brilliant time.”

“Good.” Sirius struggled pulling his wand out of the pocket of his tight-fitting (Sigh...) jeans. Remus brought his own wand to the cigarette hanging from the other boy’s lips and produced miniature blue flames. Sirius sucked in the smoke, held it briefly, then exhaled. “Cheers.”

Remus downed whatever it was leftover in James’ glass. Then his mind blacked out. The next thing he was aware of was being dragged up the stairs by James to their dormitory. “You’re a miracle,” he mumbled, thinking how James could have possibly snuck him through the castle in this state without getting caught. James laughed softly.

“Okay, Moony.”

Remus plopped on his bed face first and let out a long, loud half-sigh, half-groan. He heard Sirius laugh from his own bed. “Nooo, we’re not getting plastered tonight! No waaay,” he said in a teasing voice. Remus smiled into his pillow. Why’s he so cute? He felt something rustle under his stomach. Reaching under himself, he pulled out a wrinkled piece of parchment. His resolutions list. Remus flipped onto his back and squinted at the letters. Warmth was pooling in his chest. Something is missing here. He patted the bed in search for his quill and ink, then wrote:

5. Fuck this I wanna tell him I love him

The paper slipped to the floor as Remus’ arms gave out and he drifted into an instantaneous, profound sleep.

Part 2 Part 3

#wolfstar #harry potter #hp #fanfic #marauders #remus x sirius #remus lupin #sirius black #mine #pining #friends to lovers #fluff #marauders era fic #marauders era #james potter #peter pettigrew #lily evans #jilly #wolfstar fic

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hiccanna-tidbits · 3 years

Note

*kicking at your door, smashing it* DING DONG

Hello! 🥰🌸

from "Questions You Should Be Able To Answer For Any OTP" 1,3,4,5,9 and 10 for moanida!😅💜 But you can answer all of them or only few of them is it's too much ahaha

Ily, take care!!

YEAH BOIIII

Coffee shop AU: Who is the barista, and who frequents the coffee shop?

I'm just imagining Moana being a barista at some hole-in-the-wall authentic Polynesian coffee place by the beach, and of course Merida because she damn well needs her caffeine in the morning or she'll pass out, and Rapunzel insists on starting these fucking Squad Beach Days early. Merida was honestly willing to take the first cup of coffee she could get when the gang first went into town, but uhhhhhh oh GOD that girl behind the counter is cute!!! Merida starts "ending up" in there quite a lot, although initially she can barely string a coherent sentence together in front of that cute barista and can't make eye contact for more than half a second. Extroverted as she can be, Merida dissolves into an absolute mess as soon as a pretty girl is involved XD

Merida also pretends to only like black coffee to make herself seem tough, but in reality she kind of hates it and prefers sugar-laden lattes and sweet teas. After a while, when she and Mo have established kind of a friendship, and Merida can have an conversation with Mo without imploding and making an idiot of herself, Mo notices Mer making a face every time she sips her Plain Black Coffee and kinda smirks and is like “You know, there’s no shame in adding sweeteners. I mean, for god’s sake, my favorite drink here is the blonde vanilla coconut latte, and I’m still pretty tough.” Merida is just like “OH THANK GOD” and finally admits that she’d much rather be ordering an Irish crème, toffee, buttered rum, cinnamon, or caramel latte. If the seasonal flavor selection offers any apple-accented or apple pie-esque lattes, Merida’s all about that shit, too! Probably the most “intense” drink Merida actually enjoys is a pretty spicy cinnamon latte. She ends up ordering this pretty frequently to impress Moana with her spice tolerance, even though she really doesn’t need to.

Also, in case there’s any question about it--yes, Moana absolutely memorizes Merida’s orders! Moana also memorizes what flavor syrups Merida seems to like best (i.e. spicy cinnamon, apple pie, caramel, toffee, butterscotch) and gives them extra shots of them in her drinks. When the manager complains about all of Merida’s favorite flavor syrups running out frequently, Moana is like “Oh nooooo, I have no idea why THAT could be! That’s terrible!”

Rivals to lovers AU: Who takes their rivalry seriously, and who is half in it just to push the other’s buttons?

I love the idea of them having a super-petty sports rivalry in a modern AU! Merida strikes me as being competitive as hell, so I’m betting anything she’d be the one to take it way too seriously and get increasingly annoyed with Moana outdoing her, while Mo kind of gives in and indulges Mer but is also secretly amused and kind of flattered that Mer is like...that into their rivalry. Moana’s just like *Regina George voice* “Why are you so OBSESSED with me???”

Like maybe in a modern-day college AU, Merida has been the star of her college’s archery team basically since freshman year. She wins the championships!!! She gets the trophies!!! She’s very well-known within the tiny niche community that is college archery!!! Then, come junior year, this girl in Merida’s year who Merida’s never even SEEN before shows up out of nowhere and makes the cut for the team. She’s honestly way better than she has any right to be (like judging by how she is with that harpoon gun, Moana’s aim is pretty damn good) and is constantly stealing the spotlight, and Merida is a very angry lass. Like it seems like no matter what she does, Moana can always one-up her, and Merida wants to tear her hair out in frustration. Doesn’t help that every time Moana does ridiculously good on a drill and gets 7 bullseyes in a row or some shit, she’s insufferably smug and cocky about it. Merida very-nearly throws a fit every time Mo outdoes her, and Moana honestly finds the whole thing pretty amusing. She’s sort of flattered that apparently only she can get such dramatic reactions out of Mer, and that just tempts her to push Mer’s buttons all the more.

Then, come the annual Big Archery Tournament Finals! As usual, Merida’s college’s team wins--although this time, it’s through a combination of Merida’s and Moana’s skills rather than just Merida kicking archery ass for like 2 hours straight. On the individual evaluations, Moana scores higher than Merida, but only by a little bit. Merida is, of course, extremely salty, but she’s also grudgingly grateful that Moana being there was able to give their team a definitive edge in the competition.

Afterwards, the team goes out for celebratory drinks. After probably 3 drinks too many, Moana finally works up the courage to try and actually like...have a straight conversation with Merida for once, instead of just communicating with passive-aggressive show-offery. She wanders over, sits next to Mer at the bar, and half-slurredly asks if she can declare a truce just for one night, in honor of their kind-of-teamwork winning the tournament. Merida is also a few drinks in, so she’s just like “sure, fuck it, maybe yer not so bad after all. Now prove to me you’re not a pain in the arse!”

They chat for a while, and it turns out Moana is actually pretty easygoing and fun to talk to when she’s not mega-flexing with her archery skills. After a few more drinks, Moana is like “...can I tell you something?” and Merida’s like “why not?”

And then Moana just goes bright red and looks away and admits that the whole reason she got into archery and boosted up her skills enough to join the team in the first place was because she saw Merida making like 50 bullseyes at the previous year’s tournament, and developed a huge crush on her--to the point where she did all this extra-ass shit just so she could join the archery team and get to know Merida better. Also, every instance of Moana acting smug and cocky after acing a drill or perfectly hitting a target? It was honestly because she was trying to impress and show off to Merida, and also because she’s awkward as hell and has no idea how to actually flirt without being joke-mean and joke-cocky. Merida, a much more emotional drunk than she will ever admit, starts crying and gets super apologetic, because oh god, she was being so mean and rude to this girl who only ever thought she was cool and wanted to impress her from the jump??? How COULD she??? Moana lowkey loses her shit laughing because how mad Merida got at being upstaged was honestly kind of hilarious, and she was actually really flattered that Merida was, again, that obsessed with their rivalry. It made Moana feel weirdly special that only she could get to Merida that much, and she honestly liked the attention, even if it...wasn’t the most positive XD And Merida starts laughing, too, because she’ll admit that in hindsight, this whole thing feels a little ridiculous, and extracurricular college archery really isn’t that big of a deal.

Finally, Merida just rolls her eyes and says “C’mere, yeh bloody show-off yeh” and grabs Moana by the front of her archery uniform and smooches her!!! The entire archery team hoots and hollers because OH SHIT, DAT GAY!!! Merida holds out her other hand and flips the entire team off, which honestly just makes them cheer more.

Enemies to lovers AU: Which one switches sides?

Depends a lot on the conflict, I think! Maybe a war breaks out in an AU where someone other than Moana is chosen to return the Heart of Te Fiti--I’m gonna say Tui, for irony’s sake! Moana and Sina take over as co-chiefs while he’s gone, but he takes significantly longer than Moana did in the quest, so Moana’s tribe is eventually forced to flee Motunui to find new fishing grounds before their island is overtaken by darkness. The people of Motunui sail across the world, trying to find a new place to call home. Unfortunately, every time they find a habitable place, it’s already occupied, and the people who live there are uninterested in sharing their already-scarce food.

Eventually they stumble upon Dunbroch, far enough away from Motunui that the seas aren’t affected by the spreading darkness, and fish are plentiful. Naturally, Moana’s tribe sets up a camp on the shores and starts catching as many fish as they can, hoping they’ve finally found a place where they can have enough to eat again. Unfortunately Fergus and Elinor aren’t too crazy about this, and are like “yo, these oceans and these fish and other game belong to the people of Dunbroch and you gotta leave” and Sina and Moana are like “Pls we don’t have any place to go and we’ve been barely eating for a long-ass time, can’t you spare some food?” and Fergus and Elinor are like “sorry bro, it’s almost winter and we have our own entire kingdom to look after, we don’t need more mouths to feed. You gotta be on your way or shit’s gonna get real.”

So Moana thinks this sounds sketch as fuck because like...there’s an entire forest full of deer, rabbits, and other game, and they have NO food they can spare??? That night, Sina sends Moana to spy on the kingdom, since she can be pretty sneaky when she wants. Moana manages to climb the castle battlements and watch through a window, and she sees a bunch of people enjoying a massive feast in a huge dining hall. Her eyes are particularly drawn to a girl about her age with a head full of bright, fiery curls, wearing a nice dark green dress and gorging herself on pastries adorned with white icing and raspberries.

Moana heads back and tells Sina “actually it looks like these assholes have PLENTY of food to spare, and they just want to keep it all for themselves” and Sina is like “well shit...why don’t we raid their food store, then??? They’ve gotta have one somewhere!” And so the Motunui village storms Castle Dunbroch at dawn, catching them almost completely by surprise.

The first thing Moana does is seek out the redheaded pastry girl, whom she’s developed a particular disdain for. When she rushes her, she’s surprised that the ginger girl whips around and immediately sends an arrow sailing into her shoulder. When Moana gets close, the redheaded girl pulls out a sword. Moana takes out a long, sharpened wooden spear made from a particularly tough oar.

She turns out to be much more competent than Moana expected, especially for someone who was shamelessly shoving sweets into her mouth not 7 hours earlier.

They go toe to toe Raya-and-Namaari style, and the redheaded girl admittedly gives Moana a run for her money. The longer the battle goes on, the more Moana’s rage grows. She taunts the redheaded girl the entire time, calling her a spoiled, selfish brat who’d rather gorge herself with all the sugar in the world than share even one grain of it. Merida, who hasn’t exactly heard good things about these people from her parents, is just like “well, you’re no better, showing up and thinking you can just steal what belongs to Dunbroch and we won’t put up a fight!”

And thus the war begins. Motunui is never quite strong enough to get through the guards and raid the food stores, and Dunbroch is never quite strong enough to fully drive Motunui out of the kingdom. Fergus and Moana are both far too stubborn to surrender (despite the fact that Sina is kind of ready to), and so the battles continue. Casualties start to pile up. Dunbroch seeks help from the other clans, but they refuse--they did not take their leaders’ sons being scorned by the Dunbroch princess lightly.

Over and over, Moana can’t help but be drawn to the redheaded girl. She realizes after a few battles that this girl isn’t just anymore, but the Dunbroch princess--her resemblance to the king and his protectiveness over her can’t be a coincidence. It only makes Moana hate her more--but time and time again, she isn’t able to get the better of the princess. Moana can fight hard, and she can be vicious--but so, she’s discovering, can the Dunbroch girl. The princess is clever and cunning, and underestimating her has almost gotten Moana a blade in the throat one too many times.

Merida would be the one to change sides eventually, I think (wooo! Finally got to the actual question!). Once she finds out her parents didn’t tell her the whole truth about their first meeting with the Motunui village and sorta fudged what happened, Merida is livid that they turned away people who needed help. She said if she had known there were people who were tired and hungry and just needed a place to rest, she would have gladly given up some of her own meals for them! To prove this, she gathers up her dinner--plus some apples and some pastries she was going to have for dessert--and puts it in a basket, taking it to the Motunui camp as a peace offering. Moana ambushes her and very nearly slices the basket in half, if only because Moana was convinced it was filled with venemous snakes. After some bickering, Moana finally snatches the food away and, after testing it to make sure it wasn’t poisoned, brings it to Sina.

Unfortunately, one basket of food isn’t enough to feed the village, and the fighting continues. Merida tries to convince her parents to share their food stores with Motunui, but they still refuse, saying they need those stores for their own people and the Motunui people killed any chance of goodwill they might get when they attacked. Determined not to see people starve, Merida starts stealing from the reserve herself and sneaking the food out to the Motunui camp. Moana is feeling a lot more kindly towards Merida at this point, and feels a little bad about being so quick to judge her initially.

Eventually, Fergus and Elinor notice the food in the stores going missing, and figure some of the Motunui villagers must be running stealth operations to sneak in and get it. Dunbroch launches a full-scale attack on Montunui--while Merida is at their camp sneaking them food, in fact. Fergus makes a beeline for Moana. Word has gotten out by now of the times she managed to spy on the castle, so her sneakiness is well-known--and Fergus is all but certain she’s the thief. He charges at her with his sword, aimed to kill, when his own daughter steps in the way.

He barely manages to stop himself, but he does just in time. Merida admits she was stealing the food the whole time, and she can’t let Fergus hurt Moana. Fergus demands to know why, and Merida tearfully admits “Because I love her!”

Fergus, in a rage, takes out his sword again and charges Merida. Swords clash between father and daughter, and Merida looks like she’s just about to be overpowered. Moana can see the fear and betrayal in her eyes, appalled that her father would actually contemplate hurting her.

Not wanting to see whether he actually would, Moana steps in and helps Merida to fend Fergus off. “Enough!” she screams. “How can you live with yourself? My father risked his life to try to save his daughter and his people--and you’re willing to fight yours because she doesn’t agree with all this senseless violence?! You make me sick! I’m standing with Merida, because...because I love her too. I’ll leave if you want, but I want this to end.”

This finally snaps Fergus out of it, and he and Elinor decide that maybe the fighting has gone on long enough--and maybe it’s not worth it anymore, if it’s pitting them against their own daughter now. They end up trying to work out something with Motunui. Establishing a peace treaty and figuring out how to proceed forward is a long and messy process, but everyone is willing to put in the work--for the sake of Merida and Moana, if for nothing else.

Soulmate AU: Who is eager to meet their soulmate? Who absolutely does not want to meet their soulmate?

Neither of them want to meet their soulmate XD Merida has just been repulsed by the idea of marriage and commitment since she was young, mainly because she can’t not see it as just a means of taking her freedom away and making her be subservient to someone. Besides, given the, um...heteronormative culture of Dunbroch and all, she assumes she’ll get not just stuck with, but cosmically bound to a man and that idea just...doesn’t do anything but fill her with unadulterated disgust XD Like please no, she’s perfectly happy to go where she pleases when she pleases with no one but Angus for company. The last thing she needs is some stuck-up, snot-nosed boy telling her what she can and can’t do.

Moana has similar concerns, although maybe a bit less extreme. She’s mainly worried that when she meets her soulmate and, as per expectation, marries them, she’ll be expected to “mature” into a full adult and fully embrace her responsibilities as chief, leaving behind her childhood dreams of exploring the ocean. Same as Merida, she’s worried the person she’s destined for will tie her down and prevent her from exploring and going on the adventures she craves so badly. She’s also, like Merida, worried she’ll get stuck with some lame, boring dude who she’ll be destined for because...he loves her!!! And will be really nice to her!!! But will not stimulate or interest her in any way whatsoever!!! And Moana is pretty uninterested in romance and dating regardless, so the idea of any kind of romantic partner who she’d hypothetically have to run crazy ideas by before just doing them doesn’t sound too appealing to her. Like, she’s happy where she is and having her friends and family for company, what does she need an SO for??? It just feels like the whole “soulmate” business is just the universe attempting to give her a babysitter, and Moana ain’t about that. She can do things on her own, dammit!!! And what makes the great elder love gods think she wants another person to keep track of on her escapades, anyways?!? It’s enough effort keeping herself safe without worrying about someone else!

Imagine their shocked delight when each finds out their soulmate is a) a girl and b) a girl arguably just as chaotic, adventurous, and rebellious as they are!!! They meet and they’re like “huh...maybe the universe wasn’t being some big dumb fucking idiot binding us together after all. I can work with this!!!”

Pirate AU: Who is the pirate? Who is the member of the royal family who did not sign up for this?

Merida is the pirate! Or at least...the one who becomes a pirate first! XD Maybe to escape her betrothal she steals a ship and flees Dunbroch, and BOOM trouble on the High Seas time!!! Eventually she sails to the south Pacific on her naval escapades, and stumbles on Motunui. When she finds out Moana is a chief’s daughter, she naturally kidnaps her and holds her for ransom--because screw it, she hasn’t successfully pillaged any merchant ships recently and she needs some cash. But instead of being like “Noooo take me home!” Moana is like “Actually this fucks, I’ve always wanted to sail the ocean anyways and my dad wouldn’t let me before, so you’ve accidentally given me an avenue to achieve my dreams!!! Thank you!!!” And Merida realizes that a first mate would actually be a lot more useful in the long run than a handful of hostage money, so she just kind of shrugs like “aight, yer on the crew.”

Merida is a bit salty because Moana takes to the pirate lifestyle excellently--so much so that before long, she’s arguably a better pirate than Merida XD While Merida is a bit cranky about being outdone in the art of piracy, she also can’t help but admire Moana’s natural aptitude for sailing and propensity for mischief on the High Seas!!!

Their ship is called “The Arrow,” and Merida definitely uses her bow during pirate-to-pirate combat! She teaches Moana how to shoot a bow, but discovers Mo is pretty nifty with a harpoon gun as well!

Childhood best friends AU: Which one was super obviously in love with the other the whole time? Who was oblivious until they were older?

Oooooh, this is a fun one!!! Admittedly I don’t usually think about these girls in a Childhood Friends to Lovers AU (very possibly due to...geographical constraints lol) so this’ll be a cool thought experiment!

SO in order to fix my unfortunate geographical constraints, I’m gonna say that this is an AU where the people of Motunui were wayfinders from the jump, and while voyaging (admittedly a LONG way), they stumbled upon Dunbroch. Moana’s parents and Merida’s parents immediately hit it off, and established a political alliance of sorts.

Moana, meanwhile, pulled the classic “little girl on vacation/at an event immediately seeks out other little girl and becomes best friends with her.” Moana and Merida naturally also hit it off immediately, and are both pretty bummed out when Tui and Sina want to leave and continue voyaging and such. However, they make plans to visit as frequently as they can and Merida and Moana are super hyped about this! They both always get extremely excited for said visits, and Little Moana nearly falls off the front of her family’s boat several times because she’s leaning over so far and squinting so hard to try and see Dunbroch.

I love the idea that Moana was the one who was totally smitten from the jump, to the point where it took her years to realize she was aspec because she was like “Of course I can fall in love!!! I’m in love with Merida!!!” She just didn’t realize most people have romantic inclinations toward more than one person over the course of their lives XD

It absolutely does not help that Merida is extremely romance-repulsed when they’re kids--mainly because she associates romance in general with being docile and acting stupid to impress some annoying macho guy, and that thought kinda makes her want to puke. That, and given how, er...heteronormative things are in Dunbroch, it doesn’t reall occur to her that romancing girls is like...an option. So poor Moana has always kind of resigned herself to thinking she has no chance with Merida, and keeps her feelings under pretty tight lock since she doesn’t want to ruin their close friendship and all and she doubts Merida even swings that way.

THEN when they’re in their early teens, Merida is like “hmmm...I wonder what it would be like to kiss Moana?” but then IMMEDIATELY feels weird for thinking that and tells absolutely no one. She’s definitely starting to feel something a little different than just platonic friendship though, and of course she’s also convinced Moana only sees her as a friend and probably doesn’t like girls.

Then one day they’re wrestling around out in the woods, like they have since they were little, and at one point Merida leans down and just impulsively kisses Moana. She’s super flustered and apologetic afterwards, but Moana just stares in shock before being like “holy shit, I never thought you’d actually want me too. Holy shit!!!!” After that, they start secret-dating and everyone around just thinks they’re still “very good friends” XD

When Merida turns 16 and gets the news of her betrothal, she’s devastated. It takes her several days to process her emotions, and several times she tries to protest to her mother, but Elinor steamrolls her and talks over her at every turn. Finally, when Merida can get a word in edgewise, she tearfully bursts out that she can’t go through with this because she loves Moana. Elinor, traditionally-minded woman that she is, is horrified by this.

When Fergus finds out, he GOES OFF at Elinor and sticks up for Merida. He basically says that she’s their daughter and they should want her to be happy, and they should be happy for her that she did find someone she loves, even if it’s a bit...unconventional.

Later, at the betrothal ceremony, Merida picks an archery contest for the suitors with the hopes of cheating the system and winning her own hand. Imagine her surprise when Moana rushes in late with a makeshift bow on her hip, shouting “I am Moana of Motunui, and I’ll be shooting for the princess’s hand as well!”

Luckily, due to Moana’s years and years of informal archery training from Merida herself, the other suitors really don’t stand a chance.

It turns out that Elinor and Fergus set this whole thing up, deciding in the end that their daughter should at least be able to marry who she loves if she had to get looped into a political marriage. And honestly, they weren’t going to say no to a stronger alliance with Motunui at the end of the day. Merida is so pleasantly shocked by the whole thing that she forgets to be mad about the fact that she’s still being pressured into a marriage pretty young XD Luckily, Moana has no intention of trying to hold Merida back or take her freedom away! Their relationship really barely changes after they officially become wives, and they’re still just as in love as they’ve basically always been.

As for the issue of heirs, Elinor and Fergus just make Merida’s brothers the heirs of Dunbroch, and Tui and Sina are fine with Moana and Merida choosing an heir for Motunui who isn’t necessarily their biological child. Neither Moana nor Merida are crazy about the “leaders have to be from the chief/monarch’s bloodline” rule anyways, so they’re more than fine with this!

This is in reference to this post! Still answering these questions for Moanida and Hiccanna, if I haven’t done so already!

@takaraphoenix come get your daily dose of Moanida!

#moanida #moana x merida #merida x moana #disney femslash #otp questions #merida #moana #moanaxmerida #meridaxmoana #moarida #merana #meridana #moana waialiki #merida dunbroch #rotbtd #brave #crossover

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illogicalpunkwrites · 4 years

Text

Drive Me Crazy

Hi everyone! So this is a part 2 to The Cave (click the link to read!) that someone asked about (for some reason it won’t let me tag you but I’ll message you!). Thank you so much for reading!

Pairings: Leonard McCoy X Kirk!Reader

Rating: T

Words: 2.1K

Warnings: Angst, injury, comfort, confessions, cursing

Tagss; @theweepingvulcan91 @bloodangelballerina

You could tell that Len was tense as you and Jim sat on biobeds. You clutched at your side that was still bleeding, spreading pain throughout your entire body. You’d gotten hit by a rival tribe arrow trying to take over a peaceful settlement between the main tribe on the planet and Starfleet studying the flora for medicinal properties. Jim suffered from a sprained ankle that got twisted in a trap set, something he know you’d never let him live down.

It all happened so fast and you didn’t have any time to think, just act. Even with an arrow impaled in you, you had to grab the explosive they made so it wouldn’t kill anymore of the villagers or other Starfleet members. You grabbed the device and threw it just in time so it hit the enemy. It made them retreat and it also made you pass out.

You hissed and Len pressed down on your wound before he quickly hit you with a hypospray, the whispering sound being one that you had been used to for quite some time. He quickly got to work as Christine ran vitals on Jim.

“Bones, what’s wrong?’ Jim asked and you thought Len’s forehead was going to pop out of his head. It reminded you of when the two of you refused to get along.

“Nothing.” He got to work suturing you up, making you lay down. It had barely pierced your large intestine but your blood rushing with the adrenaline made you bleed out faster back on the planet.

“Len, I’m fine.”

“The hell you are.”

Christine and Jim looked at each other as she put away her tricorder and turned off the machine behind him.

“Just rest for a few days, Captain. Keep your ankle elevated and you’ll be fine.” She replied and he nodded.

“Bones, we had everything under-”

“Don’t you are say you had everything under control, Jim! She could’ve died! She went after a live explosive!” Leonard snapped.

“I knew what I was-”

“She did what she had to do to protect the village! I was out for the count and she stepped up!” Jim replied.

“She should’ve-”

“Hey! I’m right here so talk to me!” You snapped. “I did what I had to do, McCoy! If I hadn’t then the entire team would be dead! I did what I was supposed to do, I did my goddamn job. Now it’s yours to patch me up.” That reminded him of an argument you two had not too long ago. With a grumble under his breath he quickly finished you up.

“You’ll be fine soon. Take it easy if that’s somewhere in your job description.” He walked out of the room to care for other patients on the other side and you and Jim looked at each other.

“Alright, we’ve been in scraps like this before but he’s never acted like this.”

“I know. I think it’s been a stressful day for everybody.” Christine sighed and went ahead trying to sterilize some equipment.

“That’s for sure. Good work down there but next time we need to be more careful.” You laughed but winced and grabbed at your side.

“Sure, we’ve been saying that since we were kids. Go get some rest.” He walked out of medbay as you put your regulation uniform back on to get back to your room.

“He was upset, y’know.” Christine said, making you spin around. “You scared him when they told him you were unresponsive. He thought you had died, Commander. After he found out what you did and that you had a pulse, that’s when he got angry.”

“He’s always angry.”

“Not with you anymore. I know he enjoys the time you spend together after the cave incident.” You looked down at your boots pensively. Your job was dangerous, what you did was dangerous, but it ultimately ended the fight and saved everyone that you were trying to protect. But maybe you had been too harsh on Leonard. However, it wasn’t helping that he was talking to Jim about you rather than talking to you directly. It made you feel like a child again, like Jim was supposed to be your keeper. “Just take some time to heal. Maybe while you’re doing that you can talk to Dr. McCoy.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

XXXXXX

You sighed down at your PADD as you wrote the report for the previous day. After being stitched up, you pretty much all but passed out on your bunk. When you came back to reality, you knew that talking to Leonard had to be on your agenda but You couldn’t bring yourself to him. It was weird though. You usually talked every day but it had been over 24 hours at this point.

Taking one last sip of your liquor, you put on some flats and slipped out of your room. His room wasn’t too far away, but you also knew that he stayed in his office when he was stressed so he might not be there. You gave a soft knock on the door and you had wished you put on some pants instead of shorts with your baggy academy crewneck.

He opened the door but he didn’t look excited to see you like every other time you would visit.

“Hey, can I come in?” He moved out of the way for you and closed the door. “Can we talk?”

“Are you going to apologize?” You sighed and he took a sip of his bourbon. “Then there’s nothing to talk about.”

“Leonard, what do you want me to do?” You sat down in one of his chairs as he walked to the opposite side of the room.

“I just told you.”

“If I hadn’t done what I did then everyone would be hurt or dead! I’m sorry that I snapped at you. I shouldn’t have done that. But I’m not going to apologize for doing what I was trained to do.”

“To kill yourself? That’s what they trained you to do?” You felt your blood boiling over and you wish he would just understand.

“To maximize the probability of my team living is what I was trained to do, Len!” You flinched when his glass harshly hit his desk as he spun to face you.

“Do you have any regard for yourself whatsoever? Do you ever think about your own well-being? I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, you get injured more than anyone on this damn ship! Do you even care about what happens to you?”

“Of course I do but one life is not as important as twenty others!” His brows furrowed at you.

“What?”

“My life isn’t as important as-”

“WELL IT’S IMPORTANT TO ME!” He yelled and your eyes widened. He breathed out slowly and sat down at the foot of his bed. “It’s important to me. When they told me you were unresponsive, bleeding out...I didn’t know what to do with myself. I kept thinking about all the things that we hadn’t done yet, all the things I hadn’t told you, never gotten the chance to tell you. All the things you would have never known.” You were quiet, sheepish even. You searched around for the right words to say but you thought they might never come. He had his face buried in his hands, no doubt embarrassed by his outburst.

“My job is dangerous, Len. It’s hard knowing every time that I leave this ship it could by my last time seeing everybody. But I do it because I want to keep everyone else safe.”

“That doesn’t always have to come at the cost of you.” He replied and you nodded.

“It often does. It kills me every time someone on my team gets hurt or dies. I always think about what I could’ve done or...” You shook your head and sat down next to him. “The worst times are when I’m away from the ship and...something happens when I’m not here but you are.” He lifted his head from his hands to look at you but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. “If something were to happen to you and I wasn’t there I don’t know what I would do. It fucking kills me thinking about that. I know that I need to be more careful and I’m sorry for scaring you. I’m just tired of being scared, of feeling guilt. But now I know I’m just making everyone else feel scared.”

“I forget how many people you’ve lost on this mission.”

“And I forget how often you have too.” You were both silent but the room didn’t have the same energy. Tense? Yes. Anger? Not anymore.

“I just...I can’t imagine not seeing you every day. You’re always on my mind and you drive me crazy. You’ve driven me crazy since the day you stepped aboard with your stubbornness and quick one liners.”

“Pot calling kettle black.” You sniffed and he chuffed.

“But you’re courageous, funny, thoughtful. I’ve never met a person as caring as you. Even though that often comes out as suicide missions. I...darlin’ I can’t let anything happen to you.” He cupped your cheek and forced you to look at him. “You mean...you are...I’m not good at this shit. I haven’t done it in a while.” You smiled softly and leaned into his hand.

“I promise I’ll be more careful.”

“That’s all I’m asking.” He replied.

“You’re not too bad yourself, y’know? Yeah you’re stubborn and sarcastic but you care. You’re an amazing doctor, strong-willed, funny, have excellent taste in liquor. I know it’s pathetic but I hated that we didn’t talk at all yesterday. I missed seeing your handsome face.” He laughed and got a smug grin.

“Handsome, huh?” You rolled your eyes. “Lemme try this again and I hope this is what you’re trying to say too. I like you, a lot. Honestly I liked you even when I hated you. I want to be with you so you can drive me crazy all the time.”

You swore your breathing stopped but your heart kept beating rapidly. You felt like you might implode or pop your sutures. You couldn’t respond with words, so you did the next best thing.

You threw yourself at him, sutures be damned. You arms wrapped around his neck as you pressed your lips against his, His lips were a little chapped and still had the taste of the bourbon he was drinking but he was soon kissing you back with the same intensity. His fingers threaded through your hair as his other hand went to your lower back, sliding a little underneath you crewneck to caress the skin there. Even though you initiated it, you were tense but you soon melted against him.

“Len...”

“I shoulda said it sooner, before I thought you were dead.” You rested against him, your head against his chest to feel his heartbeat.

“I...Len I’m so sorry. I just want to do my best.”

“And as long as you do your best to stay alive, that’s all I need.” He replied, his fingers digging into the small of your back. You couldn’t fight back the tears in your eyes anymore and a few dripped down.

“I love you, Leonard McCoy.”

Now it was his turn for his breathing to stop. His grip tightened on you and his eyes closed. He’d been wanting to hear that for so long.

“I feel like I have for a long time, even when I was supposed to hate you. I mean, you’re Jim’s best friend.” He chuckled against you.

“A forbidden fruit?” Somewhere he thought that Christine’s head was probably exploding.

“In a sense.” You smiled. “But I can’t...I can’t do this anymore. I can’t pretend that I don’t feel this way. When I woke up today in medbay all I could think about was you, our nights together, the cave. I promise I’ll be better, I’ll do better to take care of myself. Even if you can’t say it back, I’ll do better because I know what I’ve caused you to feel. What I’ve caused others to feel.”

“I love you too, darlin’. Have for a while.” You smiled and looked up at him, making him lean down and give you another kiss. He wiped away the tears silently rolling down your cheeks. “I’ll always be there to patch you up, to do my job. But just make it less of a habit.” You nodded and rested your forehead against his.

“Is it alright if I stay the night?”

“Your sutures-”

“Leonard McCoy! I’m a lady! I simply want to spend time with you and fall asleep in your incredibly comfortable bed.” You gasped mockingly, making him chuckle. “I just need to be with you right now.” He maneuvered you both so you were comfortably on the bed and under the covers, Your head was still on his warm chest and you looked out at the small window he had at the stars. You remembered how in the cave you told him you didn’t see yourself settling down. Well perhaps it was written in the stars that it would actually happen with the man you once detested.

“So, when are we going to tell Jim?”

“Um...”

(Part 3 of Jim finding out and the ensuing chaos?)

#Leonard McCoy #leonard mccoy x reader #star trek #star trek TOS #star trek aos #Star Trek Fanfiction

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a3hihi · 3 years

Text

acts of service

one shot

omi fushimi/reader

word count: 1559

reposted on AO3!

Summary: Omi has this whole dinner planned: he’s got the food, the DVD, the timing. Then he starts feeling too warm.Omi gets a fever and you attempt to take care of him!

As you open your door, Omi looks like he’s about to fall over. He wears a simple jacket and pants, arms full of ingredients and legs swaying a bit. He’s a tad paler than usual, but you can’t tell for sure. Just after he knocked on your door, you had finished cramming a week’s worth of projects, quickly shuffling papers away and keeping your pencils before meeting him. You assume he’d been practicing for his play as well, all the while juggling work and school. “Hey.” He gives you a weak smile. “Hi. You okay?” you ask, wrapping your arms around him. Given the circumstances, that was more to stop him from wobbling than to hug him. “I’m fine.” He kisses the top of your head. That leads you to squawk in surprise, to his amusement. Still hugging, the both of you continue a weird waddle into your dorm. He’s cold, fresh from walking through the grocery store. “I got the eggs.” He moves an arm to brightly present an egg carton. “Give me a few minutes and we’ll have an omelette ready.”

You nod, but you see his arm waver from carrying a simple carton. “Ah, I can carry it.” You reach up and take it to the kitchen, Omi following behind you. “Are you sure? I don’t want you to have a hard time. Besides, I’m the cook tonight.” Ever since Omi started coming over, the kitchen’s been stocked with ingredients for him. You were used to instant noodles and takeout, but after a long conversation, you agreed to let him teach you how to cook more decent meals.

Omi walks over to the hooks on your wall, grabbing an apron with his name on it. He chuckles as you tie it behind his back. You’d have to ask him how to sew patches into it sometime. He quickly approaches your counter, takes a bowl, and cracks the egg yolks into it. You wait for him to continue, but he seems to be standing motionless. You peer up at him and you see his eyes flutter. “Is something wrong?”

Omi blinks back into reality. “Sorry. I just need to focus more.” He grabs a fork, but you catch his wrist before he starts whisking, earning you an “ah” from him. “Wait a second, please,” brushing the back of your hand on his forehead. “Your forehead’s hot.” “That it is,” he says, not moving from his spot in the kitchen. “So,” you continue, gently placing the fork down, “you should rest.” “I could whip this up real quick. I don’t want to waste any food, you know?” “Omi, I’m very sure you have a fever right now. Please stop?” You see him loosen up as he nods. There’s a weird feeling of guilt on him while he takes the apron off. “I hope this doesn't get me in the hospital,” he mumbles, scratching the back of his head. “Too expensive.” “Hey now, no one said anything about the hospital.” You touch his arm. Knowing him, he’d only want to see a doctor if it was absolutely necessary. Had you gotten at least a scrape, though, he’d rush you to the clinic right away. That was one of the things you’d learned early about Omi, and you were willing to go through that as much as possible. You cup his cheek. “And even if you needed to go, I’d come with you.” He sighs, finally resigning from the food. “If you say so.”

After you lead him to your bed, which wasn’t too far away given the size of your dorm, you rush to the bathroom for a towel. Wringing a wet towel between your hands, you run back to find Omi sitting at your bed’s corner, tapping his leg on the floor. You take a seat to him. “Um. Scooch over, will you?” “Oh, of course.” He moves closer to the edge of the bed, patting the middle so you could reach the pillows. You pat the middle as well, but he doesn’t budge aside from laying his legs on the mattress, sitting up straight like a Lego. “Omi, you’re supposed to be the one resting today.” He grimaces at that. “No, no, I’m fine just staying here.” He picks at his nails. “I should at least make you a snack,” he says, getting up before you lightly push him back down.

Had you known Omi for a short time, you wouldn’t expect him to pout, especially when you consider his first impression for most people. But his expression at the moment was unbelievably close to sulking. “Please, you’ve been waiting for so long.” He takes your hand. “How was your day?" “Well, my thesis-- Hey, don’t try and change the topic! You need to stay here and relax!” “I didn’t mean to change the topic.” He frowns. You sigh. “You’re sick, Omi.” You get up and head to the kitchen. “I’m going to make tea and you can’t stop me,” you call out. “Stay put for me?” You take his silence as permission and get to work.

"Also, can we deliver something for dinner?" You hear a long sigh before him saying "Yep!"

You fish out the calming tea-- chamomile, you remember him mentioning-- and briskly mix it in a mug he’d bought for you. Man, you really should practice this when he’s not around. It’d be embarrassing to screw this up while he’s sick. You walk back to your room and hand him the tea. It’s warm in his hands, and you see his cheeks flush as he takes a sip.

His eyes widen and you panic. “Did I screw it up--” “You didn’t make tea for yourself?” You must look pretty frazzled with the way he’s holding your arm, like he’s trying to calm you down. That wasn’t the goal right now, and it was shaking you up further. "I just really wanted to help you, I guess. I’m sorry.”

He laughs quietly. “You don’t have to apologize.” He holds your wrist softly, and you wonder what happened to his attitude a moment ago. “We can share it.” He shows you the cup, half full, before saying “No, nevermind, it’s probably not a good idea.” You both sit in silence before you snort and take the cup, setting it on the desk by your bed. You take a blanket and pat it onto his lap.

“How’d you even get sick in the first place?” you say, trying not to sound nagging. You doubt that he’d think that, though. Omi adjusts the blanket on him. “Erm,” he says wisely, “I haven’t been getting the most sleep lately.” “And how much is that?”

Omi pretends to look around the room. He purses his lips. “Mmmmmm four a night.” “Hours?” you ask. He gives you a wry smile. “Omi??”

He raises his arms like he’s under arrest. “Does it help if I was awake for school?” “No?” “Also, I was meal prepping for the theater?” “No!” He shrugs in defeat. “I promise I won’t be sick for long. I can cook dinner in a while like always, no sweat.” “It’s not about the cooking,” you grumble. “You’ll get worse for wear at a pace like this. You need to take better care of yourself, Omi.” You make a point by poking his chest. He plays along and plops his back down on the mattress.

“Why do you keep me around?” He chuckles, rolling his eyes. You frown and lightly punch his arm. “Please don’t make jokes like that.” He snickers. “Alright, alright.” There’s a hint of gratitude to his words. Omi closes his eyes and finally lays his head down on the pillows. It’s relieving, seeing him this relaxed for once. You try storing this image in your head (for safekeeping) as you dab a fresh towel on his forehead.

“Thank you,” he breathes. Your cheeks warm. “You take care of everyone around here. It’s the least I can do.” As Omi opens his eyes to look at you, he smiles fully, and it scrunches up his cheeks. He takes your hand. “It means a lot.” While you don’t think he intends this, you now want to implode.

Omi gives your hand a gentle tug. “C’mere.” Welp, it was a good thing you both finished your assignments.

You move to the side and try to wriggle your way up to Omi’s eye level. You two joked about his height before, but you didn’t expect to take so long in moving up the mattress to meet him. It’s soft. Laying there, he smiles again, and his eyes resemble honey in the light. You’re starting to feel a bit woozy. It’s warm under the covers, especially with his fever, but not too stuffy. He wraps an arm around your waist to pull you closer. "This okay?” “Of course it’s okay, it’s you,” you murmur, letting your foreheads meet. Omi chuckles weakly, like it’s too good to be true, and you move his head to lay on your chest.

The blanket’s light and thin as you pull it over you both. “I’m not going anywhere,” you whisper. “I know.” “I’m staying.” You play with his hair, and it’s soft. You’re about to drift to sleep, and he’s on the same page. Here, nursing an awful headache, Omi feels safe. “I’m happy.”

#a3! fanfic #omi fushimi x reader #omi fushimi #fushimi omi #a3! omi #hihiwrites #MADE MY OWN OMI FOOD LETS GO #quiche is ready

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