#Kit Currie | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

urdreamydoodles · 2 months ago

Text

DC Comics Characters x Fem!OC

You hurt yourself doing home renovations

Characters: Bruce Wayne, Kal-El (Clark Kent), Barry Allen, Diana of Themyscira, Arthur Curry, Hal Jordan, Oliver Queen, John Constantine, Roy Harper, Koriand'r (Starfire), Kara Zor-El (Supergirl), Slade Wilson, Kent Nelson (Dr. Fate), Rachel Roth, Zatanna Zatara & Wally West

Bruce Wayne aka. Batman

- Bruce notices the injury immediately; his sharp, calculating eyes miss nothing. “You’re hurt,” he says, his tone low but with an edge of worry that only someone close to him might detect. He takes your hand gently but firmly, examining the bandage with the practiced ease of someone who’s patched himself up countless times. “What happened?” he asks, his voice even, though his jaw tightens. You explain it was a minor accident during your renovation project, but he doesn’t look convinced.

- Without a word, Bruce retrieves a medical kit and kneels in front of you. His movements are efficient, his touch steady but surprisingly gentle. “This could’ve been worse,” he says as he rewraps the bandage, his voice tinged with a seriousness that makes your heart ache. “You need to be more careful.” It’s not just a suggestion—it’s a command born of a deep fear he rarely voices.

- “I’m helping you finish this,” he declares, standing and rolling up his sleeves. His presence is commanding, as always, and there’s no room for argument. Watching Bruce work is like watching a master strategist; every movement is calculated, every decision deliberate. Despite his seriousness, he pauses occasionally to ask if you’re okay, his concern manifesting in small but meaningful ways.

- As you work together, Bruce’s reserved demeanor softens slightly. He shares stories from his own mishaps at Wayne Manor, a rare glimpse into the man behind the mask. “Alfred still teases me about the time I tried to fix a chandelier,” he says, a faint smile tugging at his lips. It’s in these moments that you see the man behind the Bat—the man who loves you fiercely, even if he struggles to show it.

- That evening, as you sit in the newly completed space, Bruce wraps an arm around your shoulders. “You mean everything to me,” he says quietly, his voice filled with a rare vulnerability. “I can’t lose you.” He presses a kiss to your forehead, his lips warm and firm against your skin. Bruce’s love is steadfast, protective, and unyielding—a shield against the darkness that surrounds him.

Kal-El (Clark Kent) aka. Superman

- Clark’s face falls the moment he notices your injury. “What happened?” he asks, his voice filled with concern. His large, gentle hands take yours, his thumb brushing softly against the bandage. When you explain it was just a small accident during your renovation, his brow furrows in worry. “You should’ve called me,” he says, his voice warm but firm. “I would’ve been here in seconds.”

- He insists on checking your hand, his touch impossibly gentle. “I know it’s not serious, but even small injuries can hurt,” he says, his blue eyes meeting yours with a tenderness that makes your heart swell. As he examines the wound, his movements are deliberate, careful—a reflection of the restraint he always practices to keep his immense strength in check.

- “I’m not letting you finish this alone,” Clark declares, his easy smile returning. Watching him work is a sight to behold—his strength and speed make quick work of the tasks, but he’s careful to include you in the process. “You know, you’re pretty amazing for taking this on yourself,” he says, his admiration clear. “But maybe next time, let me do the heavy lifting.”

- Clark fills the room with his presence, his laughter ringing out as he shares stories of his childhood on the farm. “Pa used to say I could fix anything, but I don’t think he meant it literally,” he jokes, his grin infectious. His positivity is contagious, turning the task into a joyful experience rather than a chore.

- As the day winds down, Clark pulls you into his arms, holding you close as if you’re the most precious thing in the world. “You scared me today,” he admits, his voice soft. “You’re my world, and I can’t stand the thought of you getting hurt.” His love is vast and unwavering, a force of nature as steady and comforting as the sun.

Barry Allen aka. Flash

- Barry is at your side before you even realize he’s noticed your injury. “Hey, what’s this?” he asks, his voice tinged with concern as he gently lifts your hand. His blue eyes dart to the bandage, then back to your face. “You’ve been holding out on me, haven’t you?” he teases, but his worry is evident. “How’d this happen?”

- In a blur, he’s retrieved the first aid kit, his hands moving at super-speed to clean and rewrap your wound. “Don’t worry, you’re in good hands,” he says with a wink, though his focus is absolute. Barry’s always been quick—literally and emotionally—but when it comes to you, he takes his time, ensuring every detail is perfect. “You’ve got to let me know when you need help,” he says, his tone soft but sincere.

- “Alright, you’re officially benched,” Barry announces with a grin. “I’m finishing this for you.” He’s a whirlwind of energy as he tackles the project, moving so fast that you can barely keep track. But he makes sure to slow down just enough to include you, cracking jokes and asking your opinion at every step.

- Barry’s lighthearted nature turns the renovation into a fun adventure. “You know, if this whole superhero thing doesn’t work out, I might have a future in carpentry,” he says, laughing as he perfectly aligns a frame in a fraction of a second. His joy is infectious, and you find yourself smiling despite the day’s earlier chaos.

- At the end of the day, Barry pulls you into his arms, his touch warm and reassuring. “You’re my lightning rod,” he says softly, his words carrying the weight of his feelings. “I need you safe, always.” His love is fast and electrifying, but it’s also deeply grounding—a steady current that ties him to you, no matter how quickly the world moves around him.

Diana of Themyscira aka. Wonder Woman

- Diana’s gaze sharpens the moment she sees your bandaged hand. “What happened?” she asks, her voice steady but filled with concern. She moves closer, taking your hand in hers with a warrior’s precision and a lover’s tenderness. When you explain the accident, she frowns, her lips pressing into a determined line. “You should have called for me,” she says, her voice soft but firm.

- She kneels before you, her hands strong yet gentle as she examines your injury. “Even the smallest wounds must be treated with care,” she says, her tone carrying the wisdom of centuries. As she cleans and rewraps the bandage, her movements are deliberate, each one filled with a quiet reverence for your well-being. “Your safety matters to me,” she adds, her eyes meeting yours with unwavering sincerity.

- “Come,” Diana says, rising gracefully to her feet. “We will finish this together.” She takes the lead with effortless strength and grace, her presence commanding yet reassuring. Watching her work is mesmerizing; every movement is precise, every decision thoughtful. “This is good work you’ve started,” she says, her voice warm with pride. “But let me ease your burden.”

- Diana shares stories of Themyscira as you work, her voice rich with history and passion. “On my island, we build with our hands and our hearts,” she says, her smile radiant. “Each task is an opportunity to honor the strength within us.” Her words inspire you, her belief in your capabilities unwavering.

- That evening, Diana draws you into a gentle embrace, her arms strong and protective. “You are precious to me,” she says, her voice a soft melody. “I cannot bear the thought of you in pain.” She presses a kiss to your forehead, her lips lingering as if to seal her vow. Diana’s love is fierce and enduring, a flame that burns brightly and warmly, illuminating every corner of your heart.

Arthur Curry aka. Aquaman

- Arthur notices the bandage on your hand the moment he walks through the door, his sharp, sea-green eyes narrowing in concern. “What happened, love?” he asks, his deep voice steady but tinged with worry. When you explain the accident, he shakes his head with a low chuckle. “You’re as stubborn as the tides, you know that?” he says, though his expression softens as he takes your hand in his rough but gentle grip.

- “Let me see,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. He inspects your injury carefully, his calloused fingers brushing against your skin. “It’s not bad, but you’ve got to be more careful,” he mutters, his voice filled with a protective edge. Arthur’s care is practical, but there’s an underlying tenderness that speaks volumes about how deeply he feels for you.

- “Alright, you’re done for the day,” he declares, folding his arms across his broad chest. “I’ll handle the rest.” Despite your protests, Arthur’s determination is unyielding. Watching him work is a marvel; his strength makes heavy tasks look effortless, but he’s surprisingly meticulous, his movements precise and deliberate. “This is easy compared to wrangling sea monsters,” he teases, flashing you a grin.

- As he works, Arthur regales you with tales of Atlantis, his deep voice resonating like the waves. “Did I ever tell you about the time Mera and I rebuilt the coral spires after a storm?” he asks, his laughter rumbling like distant thunder. His stories are vivid and captivating, his love for his home—and for you—evident in every word.

- That evening, Arthur pulls you into his arms, his embrace as warm and encompassing as the ocean itself. “You scared me,” he admits, his voice low and serious. “You’re my anchor, and I can’t bear to see you hurt.” He presses a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering as if to soothe away all your worries. Arthur’s love is as vast and enduring as the sea, a force of nature that surrounds and protects you.

Hal Jordan aka. Green Lantern

- Hal’s easygoing demeanor shifts the moment he notices the bandage on your hand. “What’s this?” he asks, his voice filled with concern as he takes your hand gently. His green eyes scan the wound, his expression a mix of worry and amusement. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to play with sharp objects?” he teases, though his grip tightens protectively.

- “Alright, let me play doctor,” he says with a wink, summoning a glowing green construct of a first aid kit. Hal’s touch is careful as he rewraps your bandage, his usual bravado giving way to surprising precision. “You’ve got to be more careful,” he says softly, his tone carrying a weight that shows how much he cares.

- “Looks like I’m your personal handyman today,” Hal declares, conjuring a glowing hammer with a flourish. He tackles the project with his trademark confidence, his constructs turning the mundane task into something almost magical. “See? Easy,” he says, flashing you a cocky grin. “You’ve got the best in the business on your side.”

- As he works, Hal keeps you entertained with his endless banter and larger-than-life stories. “There was this one time on Oa…” he begins, spinning a tale that’s equal parts unbelievable and hilarious. His humor lightens the atmosphere, and his laughter is infectious, making even the simplest moments feel special.

- Later, as you sit together under the soft glow of his ring, Hal wraps an arm around you, pulling you close. “You know, you’re my reason to keep coming back to Earth,” he says, his voice uncharacteristically serious. “I don’t want anything happening to you.” His love is like his willpower—unshakable, glowing brightly and guiding you through even the darkest times.

Oliver Queen aka. Green Arrow

- “Whoa, hold up—what happened to your hand?” Oliver asks, his sharp gaze landing on your bandaged injury. Before you can brush it off, he’s already by your side, gently taking your hand in his. “You didn’t think to call me?” he teases, though his voice carries a hint of genuine worry. “I could’ve handled this in no time.”

- He grabs the first aid kit, his hands surprisingly deft as he unwraps and rebandages your wound. “You’ve got to be more careful, beautiful,” he says, his voice soft but firm. “I can’t have you sidelined—you’re my best partner, after all.” His touch is light, but the protective edge in his tone makes it clear how much he cares.

- “Alright, step aside. The Green Arrow is on the job,” Oliver says, flashing you a trademark smirk. Watching him work is an experience in itself—he’s efficient and surprisingly skilled, despite his playful demeanor. “Bet you didn’t know I was handy with a hammer, huh?” he jokes, his grin lighting up the room.

- Oliver keeps the mood light with his constant humor and quick wit. “You know, I once tried to fix a broken bowstring and ended up snapping three more,” he says, laughing at the memory. His charm is irresistible, and he has a way of making even the most tedious tasks feel fun and exciting.

- As the evening winds down, Oliver pulls you into his lap, wrapping his arms around you. “You scared me today,” he admits, his voice low and serious. “I’ve lost enough people in my life—I’m not losing you too.” He kisses your forehead, his lips warm and lingering. Oliver’s love is bold, passionate, and unwavering, a constant in your life that leaves you feeling cherished and protected.

John Constantine aka. Hellblazer

- John notices the injury immediately, his sharp eyes narrowing as he takes a long drag from his cigarette. “What’s this, then?” he asks, his voice a mix of concern and irritation. He steps closer, taking your hand in his surprisingly gentle grip. “Bloody hell, love, you’ve got to take better care of yourself,” he mutters, his usual sarcasm tempered by genuine worry.

- He doesn’t bother with a first aid kit—instead, he mutters a few words in Latin, and a faint glow surrounds your hand. “There, good as new,” he says with a smirk, though his eyes linger on you with a rare softness. “Don’t make me have to fix you up like this again, yeah?” he adds, his tone light but edged with seriousness.

- “Right, let’s see what mess you’ve gotten yourself into,” John says, surveying the unfinished renovation. He rolls up his sleeves and gets to work, grumbling under his breath but surprisingly competent. “Don’t look so shocked—I’m full of surprises,” he says with a wink.

- As he works, John keeps up a steady stream of sardonic commentary and darkly humorous anecdotes. “This reminds me of the time I tried to patch up a hole in my flat’s wall. Ended up summoning a demon instead,” he quips, his dry humor making you laugh despite yourself. His presence, though chaotic, is oddly reassuring.

- Later, as you both sit in the dim light, John lights another cigarette, his gaze softening as he looks at you. “You’ve got to be more careful, love,” he says quietly. “I’ve got enough demons to fight—I don’t need to be worrying about losing you too.” His love is raw, messy, and laced with his own brand of charm, but it’s as real and unshakable as the man himself.

Roy Harper aka. Arsenal

- Roy notices your bandaged hand the moment he steps in. “What the hell happened?” he asks, his voice laced with concern, though his trademark smirk softens the words. He takes your hand gently, his calloused fingers brushing against yours. “You didn’t think to call me? I’m literally a pro at making bad decisions—and patching them up after.”

- “Alright, sit tight,” he says, pulling out a first aid kit with a flourish. His movements are surprisingly precise, honed from years of taking care of himself and others. “This isn’t bad, but next time, maybe call me before you go all DIY warrior,” he jokes, though the worry in his eyes betrays his casual tone.

- Roy insists on helping you finish the project, despite your protests. “What kind of boyfriend would I be if I let you do this alone?” he says, grabbing a hammer with an exaggerated show of confidence. His work is a mix of skill and chaos—he’s good at what he does, but his playful energy keeps things unpredictable.

- As you work together, Roy’s humor keeps you laughing. “You know, I once tried to fix a broken bow. Ended up breaking three more,” he says, grinning at the memory. He’s full of stories, each one more absurd than the last, but they’re all delivered with a charm that makes you forget about the mess around you.

- Later, as you both sit back to admire the (somewhat chaotic) results, Roy pulls you close, his arm slung around your shoulders. “You mean the world to me, you know that?” he says, his voice softer than usual. “Don’t scare me like that again, alright?” His love is messy but wholehearted, a constant reminder that you’re his anchor in a turbulent world.

Koriand’r aka. Starfire

- Kori’s luminous green eyes widen in concern when she sees your bandaged hand. “Oh no, my love, what has happened?” she asks, taking your hand delicately in hers. Her warmth radiates through her touch as she examines the wound. “Does it pain you? Please, tell me how I can help.”

- She gently kisses your hand, her lips soft and glowing faintly. “On Tamaran, we believe healing begins with love,” she says, her voice filled with sincerity. She insists on tending to the injury herself, her movements careful and deliberate. Her concern is almost palpable, her love for you evident in every action.

- Kori is eager to assist with your project, her strength and enthusiasm turning what could have been a chore into an exciting adventure. “Let us work together,” she says, her smile bright enough to light up the room. Watching her lift heavy beams effortlessly and handle tools with childlike curiosity is both impressive and endearing.

- As you work side by side, Kori shares stories of her home planet. “On Tamaran, we build homes with our families, singing songs of unity and joy,” she says, her voice rich with nostalgia. Her passion for her culture and her desire to share it with you make the task feel meaningful and connected.

- At the end of the day, Kori pulls you into her embrace, her warmth enveloping you like sunlight. “You are my heart,” she says softly, her glowing eyes meeting yours. “I cannot bear the thought of you in pain.” She kisses your forehead tenderly, her love as radiant and boundless as the stars she comes from.

Kara Zor-El aka. Supergirl

- Kara’s superhuman senses catch your injury before you even try to hide it. “Wait—what happened to your hand?” she asks, her tone a mix of concern and mild panic. She’s by your side in an instant, her blue eyes scanning your bandage with laser-like focus. “You didn’t think to call me? I could’ve been here in a second!”

- She insists on checking your injury, her touch gentle despite her immense strength. “It’s not too bad, but I’m still worried,” she admits, biting her lip as she adjusts the bandage. “Next time, promise me you’ll let me help, okay?” Her voice is firm but filled with a tenderness that makes your heart melt.

- Kara takes over the renovation project with her usual enthusiasm, zipping around at super-speed to get things done. “This is so much easier than stopping meteors,” she jokes, flashing you a bright smile. Despite her incredible abilities, she makes sure to include you, asking for your input and slowing down to let you participate.

- As you work, Kara shares stories of Krypton, her voice filled with a mixture of sadness and pride. “Back home, we had machines to do most of this,” she says, a wistful smile crossing her face. “But I think there’s something special about doing it with your own hands—especially when it’s for someone you love.”

- Later, Kara wraps you in a warm hug, her strength carefully restrained but her affection boundless. “You’re my connection to this world,” she says softly, resting her forehead against yours. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.” Her love is like sunlight—pure, strong, and life-giving, a constant source of warmth and light in your life.

Slade Wilson aka. Deathstroke

- Slade notices your injury immediately, his single eye narrowing as he steps closer. “What happened?” he asks, his voice low and commanding. He takes your hand in his gloved one, his touch surprisingly gentle as he examines the bandage. “You’ve been careless,” he says, though his tone carries more concern than reprimand.

- Without a word, Slade pulls out a compact medical kit, his movements precise and efficient. “You should have called me,” he mutters, his focus entirely on your wound. “I don’t like seeing you hurt.” His care is methodical, almost clinical, but the way his fingers linger just slightly on your skin betrays his deeper feelings.

- Slade insists on taking over the renovation, his natural leadership coming through as he assesses the task. “Stand back,” he says, rolling up his sleeves. Watching him work is like watching a soldier in action—every movement calculated, every decision deliberate. “This isn’t my first time fixing something broken,” he quips, his dry humor catching you off guard.

- As he works, Slade shares fragments of his past, his gravelly voice tinged with a rare vulnerability. “This reminds me of when I used to build things with my son,” he says, his expression briefly softening. The glimpses of his humanity remind you of the man beneath the hardened exterior, the man who loves you in his own quiet, fierce way.

- Later, Slade pulls you close, his arm heavy and protective around your shoulders. “You’ve got to be more careful,” he says, his voice a low growl. “I’ve lost too much already—I’m not losing you.” He kisses your forehead briefly but firmly, his love intense and unyielding, like the man himself—a force that shields you from the world’s dangers, even as he battles his own demons.

Kent Nelson aka. Doctor Fate

- Kent’s piercing eyes behind the shimmering Helmet of Fate immediately fixate on your injured hand. “What have you done, my love?” he asks, his voice a blend of the mystical and the concerned. Without hesitation, he removes the helmet, his human side taking precedence. His hands, warm and steady, gently cradle yours as he inspects the wound.

- “This is a simple injury,” he murmurs, his voice calm but resolute. “But even the smallest wounds can lead to chaos if left untended.” A golden light surrounds his hand as he softly incants an ancient spell. The pain fades, replaced by a soothing warmth, though Kent remains watchful. “You must remember, you are precious to me beyond measure.”

- When he sees the half-finished renovation, Kent sighs softly. “It seems I have another task to tend to,” he says with a faint smile. With a wave of his hand, the room begins to shift and transform, guided by his mystical prowess. “Though I prefer to use magic sparingly, I believe this situation calls for a touch of Fate,” he teases lightly.

- As the room repairs itself under his guidance, Kent tells you stories of the endless mystic realms he has traversed. “In the realm of Amathur, they build their homes from living crystal, attuned to their souls,” he says, his voice carrying the weight of eons. His stories are mesmerizing, painting a picture of a universe far beyond your imagination.

- That evening, as the golden glow of his magic fades, Kent pulls you close, his mortal and immortal selves blending seamlessly in his affection for you. “You ground me, even amidst the chaos of the cosmos,” he whispers. “Do not let harm come to you, for you are my anchor to this world.” His love is profound and eternal, like the ancient forces he commands.

Rachel Roth aka. Raven

- Rachel notices the bandage immediately, her dark, violet eyes narrowing. “What happened?” she asks, her voice calm but laced with quiet concern. She steps closer, her fingers brushing against yours lightly. “You didn’t think to tell me?” she adds, her tone carrying just a hint of exasperation masked by worry.

- A soft, dark aura emanates from her hands as she murmurs a healing spell. “Let me take away the pain,” she says softly, her magic soothing the injury. “But next time, be more careful.” Her words are firm, but the tenderness in her actions speaks volumes about her love for you.

- Rachel insists on helping with the renovation, though her approach is unconventional. Using her magic, she levitates tools and materials, fixing everything with an eerie precision. “Why struggle when there’s an easier way?” she quips, a rare hint of humor gracing her usually serious demeanor.

- As she works, Rachel shares pieces of her past, her voice quiet but steady. “I used to dream of having a home like this—something stable, something real,” she admits. Her vulnerability in those moments is a reminder of the strength it takes for her to let you in, to allow herself to love and be loved.

- Later, as the room takes on a serene, almost otherworldly perfection, Rachel sits with you in the quiet. “I’m not used to caring this much,” she confesses, her voice barely above a whisper. “But you… you’ve shown me that it’s okay to let someone in.” Her love is deep and shadowed, like the magic she wields—powerful, transformative, and utterly consuming.

Zatanna Zatara aka. Zatanna

- “What’s this?” Zatanna asks, her sharp blue eyes immediately noticing your bandaged hand. She sets down her wand and takes your hand in hers, her touch warm and gentle. “You’ve been playing with tools without supervision, haven’t you?” she teases, though her concern is clear.

- “Let me fix this,” she says with a wink. She waves her hand, her words spoken backward as a soft, golden light surrounds your injury. “Esael ruoy niaP,” she says, and the pain dissipates. “Much better,” she adds with a playful smile. “But seriously, call me next time.”

- Zatanna insists on finishing the renovation with you, though her methods are far from ordinary. “Why use a hammer when you have magic?” she says, summoning tools and materials with a flick of her wrist. The room transforms under her guidance, every detail touched with a bit of theatrical flair.

- As she works, Zatanna keeps you entertained with stories of her performances and her magical adventures. “There was this one time in Paris where my spell accidentally turned an entire café into a circus,” she says, laughing. Her humor and charisma make even the mundane feel magical, her presence a constant source of joy.

- That night, as the newly restored room glows with a faint magical shimmer, Zatanna pulls you into her arms. “You’re my favorite audience,” she says softly, her voice filled with affection. “Don’t ever scare me like that again, okay?” Her love is vibrant and enchanting, a spell that binds you to her in the most wonderful way.

Wally West aka. Flash

- Wally zips into the room and immediately notices your hand. “Whoa, whoa, whoa—what happened here?” he asks, his words coming almost as fast as he moves. He’s by your side in an instant, gently taking your injured hand in his. “Why didn’t you call me? I could’ve been here in seconds!”

- He rushes to grab a first aid kit, moving so quickly you barely see him leave. “You’ve got to be more careful,” he says as he carefully rewraps your bandage. Despite his speed, his touch is gentle, his eyes full of concern. “Promise me you’ll let me help next time, okay?”

- Wally insists on finishing the renovation, his super-speed turning the task into a blur of activity. “This is easy,” he says with a grin, fixing things faster than you can even follow. “But hey, don’t blink—you might miss my best work!” His enthusiasm is infectious, making the entire process feel like a game.

- As he works, Wally keeps you laughing with his endless jokes and stories. “Did I ever tell you about the time I outran a black hole?” he says, his grin widening. His energy is boundless, his humor a constant source of lightness and joy in your life.

- Later, as the room stands perfectly completed, Wally pulls you close, his usual hyperactivity giving way to a rare moment of stillness. “You’re my world,” he says softly, his voice steady and sincere. “I can’t imagine life without you.” His love is like his speed—unstoppable, all-encompassing, and always rushing to your side.

358 notes · View notes

ferritins · 18 days ago

Text

SHOW ME (LITTLE BIT OF SPINE) | J. TODD

SUMMARY: You keep putting your back to Jason. He keeps wondering why. Eventually, things boil over.

NOTES: if you’re looking back at my ghost fic, reading this, and going “…hm. Marley I am putting some things together about you” no you are not! [lying]

title from Fall Out Boy’s Dance Dance because I am a cringe elder GenZ and former scene kid 🙂‍↕️🤘🏽

WARNINGS: canon-typical violence, resolved romantic tension, UST.

Despite the hissing, seething rage sitting green and molten under Jason’s skin, you are completely unafraid of him.

It’s not that awareness of his capacity for violence escapes you, exactly; rather, it is the fact he reins it in so tightly and meters it out so meticulously that sets you at ease.

The Jason who rends flesh from bone and tears viscerae from by bodies with nothing but a K-Bar and the impetus to obliterate is the one who haunts the abuser, the exploiter, the predator.

The Jason who haunts your kitchen is the same boy you grew up with, who is in turn both stroppy and sensitive, cuts your expensive sharp cheddar at stupid angles and takes a spoon of jam in his black tea.

He has only ever been physical in protection of you, and never, ever to you.

You have been scared for him, but never of him; put simply, Jason is the safest pair of hands you know, the keenest pair of eyes to have watching your back.

Which is why you’re completely bemuses by Jason being so entirely thrown by your willingness to put your back to him, to make yourself vulnerable.

It first comes up one evening in late January, when you’re making saag paneer to chase off the creeping chill; Jason is at your side (back-seat cooking, as is his habit).

After five minutes of his nitpicking, you roll your eyes, holding a sauce-coated spoon out.

“Less bitching, more taste-testing.” You sing-song, tone deliberately cloying.

Jason scowls, but takes the spoon.

“Definitely more cumin, maybe a little more garam masala and like… half a tablespoon more tomato purée.” He says a moment later, around his mouthful of sauce.

“Ooh, precision! Steady on, Marco Pierre-White.” You tease, turning to your spice rack.

When you turn back, there’s a look of poleaxed disbelief on Jason’s face.

You raise an eyebrow, questioning; Jason mutters something under his breath, shakes his head.

The oddity of the moment is quite forgotten five minutes later, when Jason starts being unbearable about the way you’re stirring the curry.

And then, it keeps happening.

You notice it a month later in the supermarket, when you spin on your heel mid-conversation to take advantage of the half-price Guylian chocolates; again, when you sprint to the kitchen as Jason, ah, redecorates your living room carpet whilst you hunt through your cupboard for your first aid kit.

Once you start noticing it, you can’t stop noticing it. Jason, hyper-observant as he is, picks up on your observations, though he can’t seem to place what exactly it is you’re observing.

A strange sort of tension starts to brew between the two of you.

The simmer starts slow, only really beginning to bubble in the subtext of your relationship as winter slips into spring.

By the time spring slips into summer, every interaction is underwritten with it; you feel like you’re sat atop a powder keg, waiting for it to blow.

The inevitable argument comes on a sweltering July evening.

You’re working late, the window to your tenth floor apartment open to try and combat the humidity rising from tarmac streets and concrete high-rises as you peck disinterestedly at your laptop’s keyboard.

You don’t even notice Jason until you catch a glint of red chrome in your laptop screen.

Your heart leaps into your throat for a moment; your momentary fear allayed when you turn your chair just enough to see Jason stood behind you, hair mussed from his helmet.

“Hi, Jay!” You chirp. “Pozole is still on the stove, if you’re hungry. Help yourself.”

With that, you spin your chair back around and return to the task at hand, trying to get your quarterly report finished.

Jason remains standing at your shoulder. You can the space between your shoulders itch under his stare. After ten minutes, the trapped-rabbit feeling of being watched gets too distracting.

You spin your office chair around to face Jason fully.

“Is…something wrong?” You venture.

“You’re not scared of me.” Jason states, voice low and intent.

“…I’m scared that you might be dripping hepatitis onto my carpet, because this sounds a lot like the kind of thing you say when you’re busy losing the better part of your circulating blood volume.” You squint. “Do I need to get the first aid kit?”

“No.” Jason says.

“Okay…”

Your wheedling tone earns you nothing. Slowly, you spin your seat back to face your computer.

From behind you, Japan makes a frustrated noise. Rolling your eyes, you shoot him a look over your shoulder.

“Not a mind reader, Jay.”

“You keep putting your back to me.” Jason snaps. “You shouldn’t. It’s stupid.”

You turn your seat again, regarding him with a look of pure disbelief.

“You’re an adult man with access to all my streaming subscriptions. You can find entertainment—“

“It’s like you don’t have any survival skills whatsoever!” Jason snaps. “I’ve literally killed people!”

Thoroughly confused and very much fed up with Jason’s irascible distemper, you huff.

“Yes, Jason, you’re very scary.” You say with a patient tone that tips right into condescension, spinning back round to your computer. “I have a quarterly report due on Tuesday, so if we could hold off on the homicidal affirmations for a bit, that would be great.”

Your seat whirls with enough velocity that you feel a touch dizzy; Jason is stood close enough to you that your knees brush, the unexpected proximity making you start backward momentarily and bang your rolling chair back into your desk.

“Why aren’t you afraid? Why are you so insistent on trusting me when you know what I’m capable of?”

“Because you’re not dangerous to me, moron!” You shout. “Because we grew up together! Because I’ve seen you cry, and made you laugh! Because we fight about how you cut my stupid cheese! Because I love you, damn it!”

The words seem to ricochet around your living room, bouncing off walls and amplifying in gravity.

Jason looks punched out, caught somewhere between agony and euphoria.

“What?” His voice is a whisper, a low, desperate thing.

The wounded devotion in his eyes is too much to take; you bury your face in your hands, the repetition of “I love you.” half lost in your palms.

Large, warm hands wrap around your wrists, pull your hands away from your face with a gentleness like you’re made of fine bone china.

You catch a brief glimpse of Jason’s eyes, the faintest rim of seafoam iris around the black saucer of pupil, and then he’s kissing you.

The press of his lips against yours is an epiphany; the revelation of something divine.

“Love you.” You sigh in the space between close-lipped kisses.

The repetition of your confession flicks a switch in Jason; he half-snarls, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your head, keeping you pressed against his lips.

The next kiss trips out of sweetness and directly into hunger; Jason licks at the seam of your mouth until your lips open on a gasp. The kiss deepens; your senses are overwhelmed by the press of his tongue velvet-hot against yours, the way he catches your bottom lip between his incisors.

His free hand skates up your shirt, smoothing over your ribcage; his fingers dimple the soft give of your side over your fifth rib, skirting the edge of impropriety.

You but collapse against him in response, fingers curling creases into his shirt.

Time passes like treacle through a sieve; by the time that you and Jason part, your lips are spit-slick and bruised puffy, and your computer screen has long since powered off.

“Be mine.” He pants against your neck. “I can’t do casual, not with you. Honey, I need you to say you’ll be mine.”

“I’ve been yours for years, Jay.” You reply, shuddering at the press of his lips to the thin skin over your carotid. “I’ve always been yours.”

“Gonna ruin you for anyone else, sweetheart.” He vows into your skin. “No getting rid of me now.”

#marley.txt #jason todd #jason todd x you #jason todd x reader #jason todd x gn!reader #red hood x you #red hood x reader #this is so revealing of my psyche. cringing.#I am so fucking rusty lads this is straight dookie writing. be kind abeg 😭🙏🏽

114 notes · View notes

totallybakedcake · 7 months ago

Text

Sweet cakes

Narumi Headcanons

Gen is a jack of all traits. When you first met him, it was as if the only thing he knew was Kaiju killing, but when you got to know him, he was darn smart. He is one fun and goofy teacher who really makes you understand. If you want help in training, he has specially made ways to train you so that you can learn while still not being overworked. Want things to do when bored? He can do any activity if you request it.

A total softie on the inside, even if he sees you struggle the third time opening a bottle, he is there. He sees you getting annoyed; he is already leaving a game and by your side to help; you get even a little scratch; he is already getting a first aid kit.

You had lost some faith when you saw him asking Kikoru for money, but after dating him, it is well and true that division captains get paid a ton, especially the strongest ones. Did he start earning more because how could he buy the same amount of items he used to buy and still have so much savings and more to shop for if needed?

His love language is tough to decide because he can say certain things at certain times. Sometimes he had random gifts you wanted but didn't even mention them to him while laying around the house. If you want to be close to him, he will give you such good cuddles and physical touches that will make butterflies flood your stomach. How can he be so loving?

Of course, he obviously has these game flukes where you can find him so early in bed or just sleepless or almost sleepless nights.

He can be so stubborn. If he doesn't get his favorite curry, which you make, he will not eat it all night.

Is a tight hugger. "Naru, you are hugging me too tight; it makes me feel so hot and irritating.

The next day, a new AC and many brands of creams are ready for you, showing that he will never stop giving you such suffocating hugs.

How would you live without your stupid best boyfriend

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

Is it just me, but I hate fics where Narumi is a loser, a brat, or has not enough money, so he needs to save. There are way too many fics where Narumi is always a side interest and is never given the main treatment. I am giving no hate to the writers; they are fun fics to read, and I have read every fanfiction under the Gen Narumi x reader and Narumi gen x reader tags. It just makes my heart sink to see my boy like that, so I am making my version of Gen. Narumi, who is not a sore loser.

This is a one-shot for my just whatever series, so it is not re-edited that much, just something fun for me to enjoy writing.

Have a good day!

#kaiju no 8 #kaiju no 8 x reader #kaiju no. 8 #kaijuu 8 gou #kaiju number 8 #narumi gen #gen narumi x reader #narumi gen x reader #gen narumi #narumi x reader #gen x reader #kaiju n8 #kn8 #just whatever #totallybakedcake

230 notes · View notes

heckblade · 1 month ago

Text

haven't done one of these in a minute and i was tagged by two of my dear mutuals, @professorfcknmoriarty and @queerdeans <3

Last song: ankles by lucy dacus!! been wanting to do a cover of it (which i just posted) and i mostly learn tunes by ear these days so i've scrubbed through it a bunch today lol

Last book: currently reading Babel by R.F. Kuang, last book i actually finished was probably Amoralman by Derek DelGaudio

Last movie: watched Conclave recently after it was recommended to me by both my mother AND tumblr at large, which intrigued me bc there does not tend to be a ton of overlap between those two factions. anyway that movie fucks so hard

Last TV show: just caught up with the most recent ep of Severance! also started Silo s2 this week

Last thing I googled: the scared hamster meme

Favourite colour: green :) depending on the day and context it shifts between phthalo green/sage green/olive green/dark teal

Sweet/savoury/spicy: yes??? to all three???? ESPECIALLY together in the same dish (thai green curry noodles w/ pineapple my beloved)

Relationship status: common law married to my partner of almost 8 years! we recently took the dive into ethical non-monogamy, and while I don’t currently have any other partners, it's very fucking cool to be in a primary partnership where we both feel comfortable and secure enough to explore other connections!

Looking forward to: warmer weather and the next intrepid heroes season of dimension 20

Current obsession: learning how to make chainmail 👀 got my new kit last night and already finished one project, but I have so many ideas of designs I want to make that I don't even know where to start

tagging @heyitsphoenixx @knotboy-dean @ohheyitsjustbear @youarealwaysontime @brennansdice @the-wizard-stabby @angel-fruitcake and frankly i'd love to get to know any mutuals of mine so even if i forgot to tag you, consider yourself tagged <3

#tag games #cass rambles

74 notes · View notes

b1xi · 3 months ago

Text

───𝘊𝘜𝘗𝘐𝘋───ハイキュー!!

Haikyuu(ハイキュー!!)x fem!reader

Word count: 4919

𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

Hinata’s eyes sparkled as he looked around the residence where the team would be staying before the match. “Oh, is this where we’ll be staying?” he asked, his voice brimming with excitement as he inspected every corner of the place. “It’s my first training camp! This is going to be so much fun.”

Off to the side, Tsukishima crossed his arms and sighed, looking at Hinata with a mix of exasperation and disdain. “Oh, great. A whole day surrounded by this bunch of airheads… what’s so fun about that?” You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at his usual sarcastic attitude.

“Tsukishima, you idiot!” Tanaka exclaimed, stepping forward.

Nishinoya backed him up with equal energy. “Kiyoko’s less than 500 meters away! How can you be so insensitive?” His expression was pure drama, as if the distance from Kiyoko physically pained him.

You shook your head with a smile, already used to the boys’ antics. Without wasting any more time, you headed to the room assigned to you. Sliding the door open, you were surprised by the spacious interior; it seemed ready to accommodate several people. While you would have enjoyed sharing it with someone like Kiyoko, you knew the young manager would head home since she lived nearby.

With a sigh of relief, you dropped your bag on the floor and started checking if you had everything you needed for the night. Pajamas? Check. Toothbrush and personal care kit? Check. Clean clothes and skincare products? Check. Satisfied that you had packed all the essentials for a peaceful night, you prepared for what would be a solo sleepover.

You got up, ready for dinner. Spotting Hinata and Kageyama sitting together, you decided to join them, though you quickly realized it wasn’t the best choice: both were devouring their food as if it were their first and last meal. Between smiles and incredulous glances, you carefully guarded your plate, mindful of your teammates' voracious appetites.

Even though you had been in Japan for years, you were still selective about some local dishes. Still, you ventured to take a generous spoonful of curry, offering a polite “Itadakimasu” before starting.

It wasn’t long before Hinata, with a hopeful look, pointed at the pieces of kakuni on your plate. “Y/N, are you going to eat that?” he asked, his eyes shining with a mix of enthusiasm and longing.

Smiling, you slid your plate toward him. “No, Shoyo-kun, go ahead.”

“Thanks, Y/N! You’re the best,” he said enthusiastically, savoring the kakuni you had shared.

Midway through the meal, Nishinoya leaned closer to both of you, a spark of curiosity in his eyes. “Hey, I’ve always wondered something, and if I don’t ask now, I think I’ll lose my mind.” He paused dramatically, capturing everyone’s attention. “Are you two dating or something? I mean, you’re always together... like, all the time.”

Both you and Hinata froze for a moment, exchanging a surprised glance before responding in unison: “Not at all!”

Shoyo laughed, throwing an arm around your shoulders playfully. “We’re best friends,” he explained with a carefree grin. “To me, Y/N is like a sister.”

“And to me, Shoyo is like a little brother,” you added, returning his smile. The familiarity and camaraderie in your words made the boys around you laugh, settling the matter.

“Little brother? Why little? We’re the same age!” Hinata protested, frowning comically while the others struggled to hide their smiles.

“Because I’m taller than you, obviously,” you replied with a triumphant grin, crossing your arms to emphasize your point.

Hinata looked at you with a defiant expression, stretching as much as he could in his seat. "Only by a couple of centimeters," he muttered, though his voice betrayed a hint of frustration, which made the boys laugh even harder.

"A couple? I’d say it’s more than that," you replied with an amused smile, raising your hand to emphasize the difference. "Come on, why don’t you try saying ‘big sister’?”

“I’m not saying that,” Hinata protested, frowning and looking away, crossing his arms in a show of stubbornness.

After dinner and a refreshing shower, you slipped into your comfy green Pochacco pajamas and started your nightly skincare routine, following the tips your mom had given you. Sitting on the floor, you opened one of the face masks you had brought, opting for the strawberry one this time. Taking out the small spatula that came with the package, you began carefully applying it to your face.

You hadn’t gotten far when the door burst open. “Excuse me!” Hinata exclaimed as he walked in like it was his own room, closely followed by Nishinoya. Without a second thought, they settled down next to you.

“What are you doing?” Hinata asked, his curiosity evident.

“Just relaxing a bit,” you replied, holding a small mirror as you applied the mask to your face. Then, with an amused smile, you offered, “Want to try?”

“Why not?” the redhead agreed, amused, as he pushed his messy bangs back with a couple of hair clips.

“I want to try too!” Nishinoya chimed in enthusiastically. Before you knew it, what had started as a solo routine turned into an impromptu group spa session. Tanaka and Asahi joined in on the fun, intrigued by the idea of trying the masks. Now, holding the lemon mask in your hand, you were carefully applying it to Asahi’s face as he shared, with a touch of guilt, how he had accidentally scared a first-year student earlier that day and how bad he felt about it.

Meanwhile, Hinata, Tanaka, and Nishinoya had moved to the other side of the room, apparently focused on your PSP, trying to beat the level you had left unfinished. You could hear their murmurs and exclamations every time one of them made a mistake in the game.

Tsukishima and Yamaguchi were walking down the hall after their showers. Tsukishima, with his usual air of indifference, wiped the steam off his glasses, adjusting them slightly in an attempt to restore a clear view. When they passed by your room and saw the door slightly ajar, with murmurs and laughter spilling into the hallway, both stopped, intrigued.

“What the hell…?” Tsukishima whispered, glancing inside with a mix of surprise and exasperation at the scene unfolding. From the doorway, they could see Hinata, Tanaka, and Nishinoya engrossed in your PSP in one corner, while you sat on the floor, carefully applying a lemon mask to Asahi’s face, who looked more relaxed than either of them had ever seen him.

Noticing their presence, you gestured for them to come in. “Tsukishima, Yamaguchi! Want to try?” you asked with an amused smile as you finished applying the mask on Asahi.

Before Tsukishima could respond with his usual sarcasm, Yamaguchi had already stepped forward. “Sure,” he replied enthusiastically, moving to where you were. With complete confidence, he settled on the floor and rested his head on your lap, relaxed and ready to be pampered. He chose the strawberry mask, and you began applying it to his face with gentle movements, enjoying the calm of the moment.

Tsukishima let out a barely audible murmur. “Traitor…” he said under his breath, though his words lacked their usual bite. Without much else, he moved closer and sat beside you, crossing his arms and giving you a look of patient resignation, as if waiting for you to finish.

“This is so relaxing,” Yamaguchi commented, enjoying the soft strawberry scent of the mask on his face. When you finished, he sat up and joined the others, who were still struggling to beat the video game level, fully immersed in the challenge.

With an amused smile, you turned to Tsukishima, showing him the remaining mask options. “Alright, which one do you want?” you asked, holding up the two for him to see.

He simply shrugged. Without much hesitation, you picked the lemon one. “Then it’ll be this one,” you said decisively, opening the container.

Without a word, Tsukishima shifted slightly and rested his head on your lap. “Make it quick. This is ridiculous,” he muttered with his typical indifference. But deep down, you knew that if he were really uncomfortable, he wouldn’t have agreed so easily. As you began applying the mask, you felt his hair, still damp from the shower, slightly soaking your clothes.

When your hands brushed his face to remove his glasses, Tsukishima tensed for just a moment—almost imperceptibly. To anyone else, his posture would still seem indifferent, but in that moment, he was grappling with thoughts he would never allow to surface. Ever since the day he met you, something about you had unsettled him in a way he couldn’t quite decipher. He remembered that second encounter—when you accidentally hit him in the face with a ball—and how it made him see you differently. And when you approached to check if he was okay, cheeks flushed and voice filled with apologies, he had been intrigued. He couldn’t explain what caught his attention; maybe it was your unusual accent when you spoke Japanese or the spontaneous expressions in your native language that you let slip into conversations. There was something genuine and refreshing about it.

But perhaps what surprised him most was how wholeheartedly you threw yourself into supporting them. Despite their chaotic practices, mistakes, and failures, there you were, cheering them on with fervor. Shouting words of encouragement that sometimes seemed almost ridiculous but somehow managed to energize and uplift them. And, though he’d never admit it out loud, there was something charming about your jokes—those corny ones you told when you sat next to him, not caring if they weren’t funny, simply enjoying the moment.

There was also the way your intelligence caught him off guard, like when you helped Hinata with his homework during breaks. He couldn’t deny that he saw you differently, in a way that clashed with his usual attitude.

It was the little things, the unconscious details that made you stand out. The way you furrowed your brow when something didn’t sit right with you or when you didn’t understand something—a look that became even more evident when you reviewed sheet music in the gym during breaks. Often, he watched you from afar, observing in silence. Your presence seemed to have its own rhythm; you always smelled nice, dressed gracefully, and to him, you looked more than good. However, whenever he started thinking about all of this, his mind would quickly rein itself in, reminding him that he shouldn’t think of you that way—especially in a moment like this.

Suddenly, the snap of fingers in front of his face pulled him out of his trance. “Earth to Tsukki,” he heard your voice, clear and amused. He opened his eyes and saw you raising an eyebrow, his glasses perched on your face, making you look funny. His gaze met yours, and for a brief instant, he couldn’t help but smile—if only on the inside.

"Man, you’re really blind," you said playfully, noticing how strong the lenses were.

Tsukishima looked at you with a mix of frustration and resignation, quickly extending his hand to try to grab his glasses back. "Give me that," he said seriously, but you, quick as ever, moved away before he could reach them. He was lucky the mask covered the slight blush on his cheeks, which didn’t escape your notice.

"'Give me that,'" you mimicked, copying his tone and posture, which only made him huff in annoyance.

"I don’t sound like that," he complained, still trying to retrieve his glasses, but you moved deftly to keep them out of his reach, enjoying the slight discomfort you seemed to cause him. Tsukishima’s nearsightedness didn’t help him much in this situation, and when he tried to distract you by smearing a bit of the mask onto the bridge of your nose, you paused to clean it off. He took advantage of the moment, grabbing his glasses back with a small victorious smirk.

"How annoying," you muttered, rubbing your nose to remove the excess cream, only to hear a triumphant cheer from the other side of the room.

"We did it!" Hinata and Yamaguchi shouted in unison, celebrating as they finally cleared the level you’d been stuck on. Their excitement filled the room, and Tsukishima, clearly irritated by the noise, let out an exasperated sigh.

"So loud," he commented, his tone as sharp as always.

Suddenly, the door burst open, and Daichi appeared, looking surprised and slightly annoyed. "Hey, it’s late! What are you all still doing up?" he said firmly. Taking in the scene before him, he frowned in disbelief. "What… what is this? Go wash that stuff off your faces and get to bed. Now."

With a collective sigh, everyone began getting up and reluctantly leaving the room, some grumbling about the captain’s order while others simply muttered their goodnights, resigned to Daichi’s reprimand.

You grumbled softly under your breath as you walked at a slow pace, trailing far behind the group of boys. "Damn… This is what I get for showing up early," you muttered, casting a frustrated glance at the figures running ahead. Ukai’s training sessions were notorious for being grueling, but you’d never thought you’d find yourself caught up in one.

"Come with us, you never exercise, not even in PE," the redhead had said with that boundless energy of his that sometimes got on your nerves. Stupid carrot head, you thought with a mix of irritation and resignation.

Unlike the rest, who were already running at a steady pace, you chose not to rush. Instead of trying to keep up, you preferred to stroll leisurely, enjoying the cool morning air and the quiet streets stretching out before you.

"Hinata, don’t yell for no reason; you’re just going to tire yourself out faster," Daichi warned, his tone firm but patient. Hinata, however, ignored the advice, picking up his pace to try and overtake Kageyama.

"Hey, where are you going?" Daichi exclaimed again as the redhead suddenly veered off course with all his impulsiveness.

You sighed at the commotion, finally catching up to the group, who had stopped by the side of the road for a break. Despite the curious glances sent your way, you didn’t stop. You simply kept walking with the same calm as before, unwavering in your stride.

"Wait, where are you going now?" Daichi asked, raising an eyebrow at your indifference to the team’s pause.

"To find him," you replied without slowing down, adjusting your high ponytail and brushing away the strands of hair that had begun sticking to the back of your neck from the heat. "Let’s just get this over with. It’s too hot to drag this out any longer."

You continued walking, your pace steady and determined. As you turned a corner, your gaze landed on Shoyo, who seemed engrossed in an animated conversation with another boy.

"Shoyo!" you called firmly as you approached. He quickly turned at the sound of your voice, an innocent smile lighting up his face. However, your attention soon shifted to the young man standing beside him.

He was dressed in a red tracksuit, probably his school uniform, and though his posture was relaxed, there was something in his gaze that unsettled you. His sharp, feline eyes rested on you for a moment, calmly analyzing before returning to the phone in his hands. He was reserved, that much was clear, but there was something intriguing about his demeanor. For a moment, he reminded you of Nayuta, though with a more masculine version of her serene expression—except for the blonde hair that set him apart.

"Oh, there you are!" Shoyo exclaimed, interrupting your thoughts with his usual energy, bouncing toward you like he was celebrating a victory. "This is Kozume Kenma; he’s a second-year in high school and, well… he’s lost," he explained, casually pointing at the blonde boy.

"I-I’m Y/N Y/LN," you introduced yourself, bowing slightly with more nervousness than you would’ve liked to show. Why are you stuttering? For god’s sake, he’s just a cute guy, you scolded yourself internally, feeling a slight warmth on your cheeks.

Kenma barely nodded in response, murmuring something that sounded vaguely like "nice to meet you" without looking up from his phone. His lack of interaction didn’t bother you; instead, it piqued your curiosity about his quiet and reserved personality.

"Did you know Kenma plays volleyball too?" Hinata chimed in enthusiastically. Hearing that, your eyes drifted to the athletic shoes poking out of the bag next to the blonde boy. They were of good quality, evidently worn but well cared for.

"He’s a setter, but not like ours," Shoyo continued, referring to Kageyama.

"Thank God," you muttered under your breath, just loud enough to pass as a casual remark. The thought of dealing with another Kageyama sounded exhausting.

Kenma glanced up for just a second. "What about you? What position do you play?" he asked, raising his voice just enough for you to hear him clearly.

"She’s our coach’s assistant," Hinata answered before you could even open your mouth. You shot him a sidelong glance, mildly annoyed, but decided not to correct him.

While Hinata continued chatting with Kenma, you stayed silent, merely observing. You noted how effortlessly Shoyo filled any empty space with his contagious energy. Before the redhead could ask the boy about his school, a deep voice rang out from down the street, cutting through the moment.

"Kenma!" called a tall guy with black hair styled in an unusually striking way. His presence dominated the space, his tone a blend of authority and familiarity.

"Kuro," Kenma responded with his characteristic calm. Without hurry, he stood and walked toward his companion.

"Bye," Kenma murmured as he left. You felt a pang of disappointment watching him go so quickly. "See you, Shoyo, Y/N," he added, his tone slightly warmer.

Your eyes met his in that final moment. And just when you thought there wouldn’t be any further interaction, Kenma did something unexpected: he threw you a quick wink, so subtle you might have missed it if you hadn’t kept eye contact. A sudden warmth rose to your cheeks, and before you could process it, he was already walking away with Kuro, as if nothing had happened.

The air, which had felt cool and relaxing earlier, now seemed uncomfortably warm. “Someone hold me…” you muttered under your breath, stunned by what had just occurred. The sense of discomfort and confusion was almost tangible.

“Y/N, are you okay?” Hinata asked, noticing your bewildered state. His eyes sparkled with concern as he observed you curiously. “You’re red. It’s because of the sun, isn’t it?”

Hinata, in his typical fashion, placed a hand on your forehead to shield you from the direct sunlight, trying to protect you with his innocent gesture. However, something in his expression shifted when his gaze followed the direction Kenma and Kuro had taken. His eyes widened in surprise, and for a moment, it seemed like something had just “clicked” in his mind.

“No… no, no, no way…” he mumbled to himself, as if trying to process an impossible thought. Then, he looked at you, bewildered, noticing you were still silent and your face was still flushed.

“No… it can’t be!” Hinata repeated, his face a mix of confusion and barely hidden curiosity. “Come on, you just met him, and you already… you?” he tried to continue, but you cut him off, placing a hand over his mouth to silence him before he could say more.

“Stop talking,” you said firmly, trying to regain your composure. Straightening up, you stared at Hinata. “Not a word about this, okay?” The seriousness in your tone made it clear this wasn’t the time for jokes.

Hinata looked at you with an amused expression, and you knew you couldn’t trust him to keep this secret. His face was far too mischievous, as if the whole thing was just a game to him.

“Understood?” you insisted, pressing your hand more firmly against his face, hoping he’d finally get the message.

Instead of answering directly, Hinata did something completely unexpected—he licked your palm, as if he couldn’t care less about what you were asking. The gesture left you utterly stunned and, if you were honest, a little grossed out.

“Ugh, that’s disgusting!” you scolded, pulling your hand away quickly and shaking it with a look of disdain.

The familiar voice of Sugawara interrupted you both at that moment. “Hey, guys!” he called out, making you and Hinata turn toward him. “We’ve been looking for you.”

“Sorry,” Hinata apologized with a sheepish smile, not seeming too bothered. “I ran off and got lost.”

“It’s fine,” Sugawara replied, brushing off the incident. “Come on, we need to head back.” With that, the group began walking back to the gym, their conversation resuming its usual flow.

It wasn’t long before Hinata sidled up to you, murmuring a question. “Are you going to tell me what that was about?” But before you could respond, he darted away when he caught the murderous glare you shot at him—a clear warning that you didn’t want to talk about it.

“Girls are so weird,” Hinata muttered under his breath, seemingly to himself, glancing at you with a mix of curiosity and mild fear.

Finally, the long-awaited day of the match against Nekoma had arrived. Both teams were lined up in front of the entrance to the gym, ready to enter the venue where the match would take place. The rows were neat, with Karasuno players on one side and Nekoma players on the other.

Your gaze swept across the opposing lineup, and that’s when you saw him: Kenma, the reserved guy you had met not long ago, now dressed in the red and black uniform of Nekoma. To your surprise, he was playing as the setter for the opposing team. Wow, so he's their setter. Cool, I’ll get to see him play, you thought, feeling an odd excitement at the prospect of watching him in action.

"Kenma!" Hinata called before he could enter the gym, excitement clear in his voice. "You're on Nekoma?" he asked, not bothering to hide his surprise.

"Ah, yeah," Kenma replied with his usual calm.

"Why didn’t you tell me?" Hinata puffed his cheeks, clearly annoyed that he hadn’t known this detail earlier.

"Because you didn’t ask..." Kenma looked away, his answer as simple as ever, though no less effective.

Hinata furrowed his brows, as if trying to process his teammate's logic. "But you said we’d see each other! How could you not tell me something like that?" he insisted, still confused.

Kenma glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, a slight glint of amusement in his gaze. "Your shirt said 'Karasuno High.' It was pretty obvious," he concluded indifferently, leaving Hinata without a comeback.

Before the conversation could continue, a tall and intimidating-looking guy appeared behind Kenma, drawing the attention of both you and Hinata. His expression was serious, and his posture radiated a kind of passive threat.

"Hey," he said in a deep voice, addressing you and Hinata directly. "What do you want with our setter?" His tone aimed to be intimidating, but to you, it was nothing more than a half-hearted attempt.

Hinata, almost instinctively, took a step back and hid behind you, leaving you to handle the situation.

"It’s none of your business," you replied calmly, crossing your arms while maintaining eye contact with the guy. Your voice, though relaxed, carried an edge of challenge. "And who are you?" you added, raising an eyebrow, making it clear that his attitude didn’t impress you.

Before the other guy could respond, Tanaka's voice rang out behind you, full of energy and attitude. "And what do you want from our first-years?" he spat, stepping forward to position himself in front of you with a challenging stance. You glanced at him, feeling a twinge of exasperation. This is ridiculous, you thought, crossing your arms while trying to maintain composure.

As Tanaka and the tall guy began an exchange of words that seemed to escalate quickly, something else caught your attention. A soft "hello" was heard next to you, immediately capturing your interest. When you turned, you found Kenma, who was staring with unusual concentration at the screen of your PSP. On the device, the startup menu of God of War: Ghost of Sparta glowed with its characteristic dark and rustic tones.

Kenma kept his gaze fixed on the screen as you held the console in your hands, his interest clear despite his serene expression. "Do you like it?" he asked in his calm tone, which somehow made your heart beat a little faster.

"Yeah, although... I’m still on level 5," you confessed, lowering your voice slightly as if admitting it were some kind of weakness. "It’s harder than I expected."

Kenma nodded, moving a little closer to get a better look at the screen, his golden eyes analyzing every detail. "Yeah, God of War can be tough if you’re not used to the combos. This one, in particular, has some interesting mechanics, but also a couple of frustrating enemies. Have you faced the Giant Scorpion yet?"

Your face lit up with a mix of excitement and nervousness. "No! I haven’t gotten that far yet, but I’ve heard it’s pretty tough. I’m trying to improve my combos... but I always end up pressing buttons randomly when I get nervous," you admitted, letting out a small nervous laugh as you brushed a lock of hair from your face.

Kenma made a small gesture that seemed like an attempt at a smile. "That happens at first. But if you focus on blocking and dodging at the right moment, the fights get easier. Have you tried using the Spartan Rage? It’s good for clearing out hordes."

You shook your head, embarrassed. "No... I think I forgot how to activate it. The tutorial went too fast, and I didn’t want to go back and check."

Kenma looked at you, surprisingly patient. "It’s L1 and R1 at the same time. Try it next time you’re surrounded by enemies." Then, his eyes returned to the screen, but his closeness made you increasingly aware of every little movement.

"Ah... thanks," you managed to say, feeling ridiculously nervous by his attention. It’s just a guy, calm down, you repeated to yourself, even though your hands started to sweat slightly as you held the console.

"If you want, I can help you with that level," Kenma offered, completely casually, as if it were no big deal. But for you, that simple suggestion made your mind go blank for a moment. Help you? Play together?

"R-really?" you stammered, heat rising to your cheeks. "I mean... if it’s not a bother."

Both of you were so absorbed in your conversation that you didn’t notice the four Karasuno guys watching from a few steps behind. Kageyama had approached Hinata, who seemed to be following the interaction with a mix of surprise and amusement.

"What’s going on?" asked the black-haired boy, frowning.

Hinata, with his usual enthusiasm, leaned toward him and whispered something in his ear. Kageyama furrowed his brow even more, confused. "What about her?" he asked aloud, causing the other two—Yamaguchi and Tsukishima—to step closer.

"Shh, lower your voice," Hinata insisted, whispering. "Look!"

Following his indication, Kageyama turned his gaze toward you and Kenma, who were still absorbed in your conversation. He seemed to understand what Hinata was implying, although his reaction was more of a shrug.

The scene didn’t go unnoticed by Yamaguchi and Tsukishima, who had also approached out of curiosity. Hinata, always the first to spread rumors, whispered the same thing to both of them. Yamaguchi covered his mouth to hold back a nervous laugh, but Tsukishima didn’t react immediately. His gaze darkened as he watched the interaction between you and Kenma, the slight flush on your face, and the calm with which the Nekoma blond stayed by your side.

"Ridiculous," Tsukishima muttered, adjusting his glasses with a sharp motion before stepping forward toward you.

"Hey, Y/N," he said, his voice laced with false calm, "I think Coach Ukai is looking for you." He placed a hand on your shoulder, guiding you forward while looking at you with an almost challenging intensity. "He might need your help."

You couldn’t help but let a hint of doubt show in your eyes. It didn’t sound convincing, but still, the pressure of his hand on your shoulder pushed you to take a few steps forward. "Really?" you asked, your tone revealing more skepticism than certainty.

Tsukishima, however, didn’t seem to be shaken. "Yeah," he responded with a calculated softness, though his expression wasn’t entirely honest. "You know how he is. Better go before he gets in a bad mood."

With a resigned sigh, you finally decided to follow him, stealing one last glance at Kenma before he walked away without saying a word.

100 notes · View notes

penny-anna · 6 months ago

Text

Curry time...

The magic of Cookery!!!

Simply Cook lentil curry. I used sweet potato instead of squash bcos I hate peeling squash. Had cucumber leftover from a different simply Cook kit so put some in yoghurt. Garlic naan :)

#food cw

77 notes · View notes

sillygoose067 · 1 month ago

Text

A Masked Promise

Ch.29

Dick Grayson(Nightwing) x Reader

You found yourself caught in the everyday cadence of the tower, surrounded by the quiet hum of the team's routines. Mornings started early, the kitchen bathed in soft light as you prepared breakfast for the team—pancakes one day, omelets the next. They were always starving when they returned from missions, and you made it your mission to ensure they had warm food to come home to. The act of cooking, the smell of fresh ingredients, the simple satisfaction of feeding them, became your way of contributing, of feeling like you had a place here.

It wasn’t just the meals, though. Over time, you started to pick up on little things. The med kit didn’t seem so daunting anymore. You learned how to clean cuts and suture wounds under Kory’s watchful gaze, her gentle encouragement easing your nerves as you stitched up Gar’s arm after a particularly rough mission. “You’ve got a steady hand,” she’d said with a smile, and for the first time in a while, you’d felt a flicker of pride in yourself.

When you weren’t patching someone up or trying to perfect Rachel’s favorite curry recipe, you started spending more time in the operations room. It was overwhelming at first—the monitors glowing with live feeds, the comms buzzing with static, the maps marked with cryptic coordinates. Dick had shown you the basics one afternoon, his hand guiding yours over the controls as he explained the system. You weren’t a tech wizard by any means, but you picked up enough to feel useful. Being able to monitor the team while they were in the field gave you a sense of purpose, and when they came back—battered but alive—you felt like you’d contributed, even in a small way.

It wasn’t all smooth, of course. The team’s tension over Slade hung like a storm cloud over the tower. Missions were relentless, each one more dangerous than the last. The weight of it showed in the lines of Dick’s face, in the way his shoulders carried a stiffness that never fully went away. You’d catch him staring at the monitors late at night, his jaw tight, his fingers curled into fists at his sides. You didn’t always know what to say, but you tried to help in the ways you could—leaving a mug of tea by his side, nudging him to take a break, even if it was just for a few minutes.

...

Then came the email you’d been waiting for. The interview you’d gone for on the day of the explosion—the one you’d almost forgotten in the chaos—had led to a callback. The coordinator wanted to meet with you again to discuss the position. The prospect of normalcy, of having a career again, sent a flicker of excitement through you. But when you told Dick about it, his reaction wasn’t what you’d expected.

“You shouldn’t go,” he said, his voice quiet but firm.

You frowned, the weight of his words sinking in before you could even ask why. “What do you mean, I shouldn’t go? This is a big deal for me, Dick.”

He ran a hand through his hair, his jaw tightening as he leaned against the kitchen counter. “Something about it feels off. I can’t explain it, but with everything going on—with Slade—it’s not safe.”

You stared at him, disbelief and frustration bubbling up in your chest. “So, what? I just let this opportunity slip away because you have a feeling? Do you know how hard I’ve worked for this?”

His eyes softened, but his tone didn’t waver. “I’m not saying it to hurt you. I just—look, I know what it’s like out there right now. It’s dangerous, and I can’t shake the feeling that this isn’t just about a job. What if it’s a trap?”

“A trap?” you repeated, your voice rising. “Do you hear yourself? Not everything is connected to Slade or whatever villain you’re dealing with. This is my life, Gray.”

His silence only stoked the fire of your frustration. “I can’t just stop living because you’re scared something might happen. That’s not fair.”

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m not trying to control you. I just want you to be safe.”

“Safe,” you echoed bitterly. “Right. Because staying cooped up in this tower is so safe.”

You didn’t wait for his response. The tension was too much, the air between you thick with unspoken words and conflicting emotions. Without another word, you grabbed a blanket from the hall closet and headed for the sofa in the common area.

The cushions were firm, and the blanket wasn’t warm enough, but you were too stubborn to care. You needed space to cool off, to let the anger simmer into something more manageable. The quiet of the tower felt different now—less comforting, more oppressive.

You lay there, staring at the ceiling, replaying the conversation in your mind. He didn’t understand what this job meant to you, how much you needed it—not just for the paycheck, but for the sense of normalcy it could bring. You knew he cared, but his overprotectiveness felt suffocating in moments like this.

Sometime in the middle of the night, the sound of soft footsteps pulled you from the haze of half-sleep. You opened your eyes to find Dick standing over you, his expression unreadable in the dim light.

“Gray, what—” you began, but he didn’t let you finish. Gently, but with an authority that left no room for argument, he slipped his arms under you and lifted you off the sofa.

“Hey!” you protested, squirming slightly, but he held firm, his grip steady as he carried you toward his room.

“You’re not sleeping out here,” he said simply, his voice low and calm.

You didn’t fight him. Maybe it was exhaustion, or maybe it was the way his chest felt solid and steady against you, but you let him carry you without another word. When he set you down on the bed, his movements were careful, as though he feared breaking you.

“Stay here,” he murmured, pulling the blanket up to your shoulders. His hand lingered for a moment, brushing against your arm, before he turned to leave.

“Gray,” you called softly, stopping him in his tracks. He turned back, his eyes meeting yours.

“I’m still mad at you,” you said, your voice quiet but firm.

A small smile tugged at his lips, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I know.”

———————————————————————————-

TAGLIST:

@mybones537 @thereeallink @ziziriaa-blog

39 notes · View notes

mongoosingisme · 29 days ago

Text

Title: Operation: Doctor Support

Series: Sticking the Landing (see fic Masterlist for additional parts)

Rating: Explicit (MDNI)

Relationship: Harvey/fem!Reader

Summary: The doctor spent all his time looking after other people. It was about time someone did something for him.

Read on AO3

Read below

Harvey looked tired.

You noticed it at the saloon as you were finishing a beer. It’d been a long day. Long week. Long month? It was all blurring together. Hauling pumpkins, seeing to the cows, chopping wood because winter was just around the corner. You earned your beer, is the thing.

Harvey looked like he’d earned a dozen.

He was the closest thing you had to a friend here in Stardew Valley. You’d bonded over being from elsewhere, over loving good coffee, over shared tastes in movies (Jackie Chan, of all things). Mostly it was just nice to know that when you got a little over-enthusiastic with the scythe you could trust the person who was patching you up. Dependable Harvey, always there to lend a hand.

You were glad you didn’t need any help that night, though, watching him in his booth. He was leaning over a bowl of pumpkin soup, head in a hand, eyes shadowed. His hair was messier than usual, tie crooked.

“How’s it going?” you said by way of greeting as you slid in across from him.

“Oh, hello there.” He seemed to brighten a bit upon seeing you, which sparked a bit of warmth in his stomach. “Just trying to get a meal in before I get back at it.”

“Back at what? It’s 7pm.”

“Audit.” He grimaced.

“Audit? Doctors get audited?”

“Doctors get audited. Gotta make sure all the billing codes are…” he waved a hand, trying to find the word.

“Up to code?”

He smiled. Score one for your bad jokes. “Exactly. I have to get reports together for tomorrow afternoon, but I had some last minute appointments come up for tomorrow morning, and Maru’s been out for a few days, and then there’s cold and flu season starting to ramp up, so…” he waved his hand again.

“Busy Harvey?”

“Busy Harvey.” He let a long breath. “But, needs must and all. So I better get back to it.” He started to get up.

“Aren’t you going to finish your soup?”

He shrugged. “Not that hungry. Enjoy your evening.” You watched him get up and leave. Or at least try to. Marnie stopped him halfway to the door, waved him over, showed him something on her arm. Was she… was she asking him to look at a mole?

As much as you admired his willingness to stop and chat, you couldn’t shake a flash of annoyance. The doctor spent all his time looking after other people. It was about time someone did something for him.

—————

Operation: Doctor Support launched a few days later. It was late Saturday afternoon. You’d finished your scheduled chores (and a dozen more besides), taken a shower, dressed comfortably, and assembled your toolkit.

One jar of pickles.

One container of homemade curry chicken soup (your specialty).

One loaf of sourdough bread.

One bottle of blueberry wine.

One DVD (Drunken Master, obviously).

One knit hat. You hand knit it. It looked… hand knit. But you’d tried, dammit.

You pulled your kit together in a bag and headed towards town.

Twenty minutes later you were gazing up at Harvey’s apartment. The door to the clinic was locked, and you didn’t see him in the saloon or Pierre’s. You were contemplating picking up a pebble to throw at his window when you heard a familiar voice.

“Good afternoon!” It was Harvey, coming back from a walk if his reddened cheeks were any indication (it was a cold day, even for November).

“Just the man I’m looking for. Voila!” You brandished the bag.

“Fernald’s Country Store,” he said slowly, reading the words on the outside of the tote.

“No, no, it’s inside the bag. Let me up, I’ll show you.”

“Fair enough.”

The walk seemed to have done Harvey good. His eyes seemed a little brighter than when you last saw him, at least. He unlocked the clinic and you led the way to his apartment.

It was a space you were comfortable with, having been there several times in the past to watch movies and drink coffee. With the late afternoon darkening it was hard to see, but you knew where to feel for the light switch.

Moving past the bookshelves and a line of model planes, you made for the kitchen. Harvey followed, a slightly amused look on his face.

“You’re a lady on a mission.”

“I am! Announcing Operation: Doctor Support!”

“Operation… what?”

But you were too busy unpacking, showcasing each item as you pulled it out of the bag, doing your best gameshow announcer voice. “We have…. A bottle of wine! A jar of pickles! A loaf of bread! A container of soup! A DVD! And a hat.” You dropped the affect for the last one. The hat looked particularly mediocre in the fluorescent kitchen light. You looked up at him. “I made you a hat.”

Harvey looked back at you, lips slightly parted. “You made me… a hat?”

“Um, yes.”

“And you brought me dinner?”

“And a movie,” you added helpfully. You couldn’t quite read his tone.

“And a movie,” he repeated, stepping closer to the items you had fanned out on the counter. He reached for the hat first. Rubbed the wool between his fingers. Picked it up and settled it on his head. It didn’t look so bad, with his brown waves springing out from beneath it. “No one’s ever made me a hat before.”

“I’m glad I got to be your first.” You noticed the slightest tinge of a blush on his cheeks, though that may have been left over from his walk.

“Thank you.” He said. “Really. Thank you. What brought all this on?”

You shrug. “You seemed like you could use a little taking care of.”

And before you could register the movement, Harvey’s arms were around you, wrapping you in a hug. You did what you could to hug him back, but with the way he was trapping your arms by your side the best you could do was pat the curve of his back. “Thank you,” he said again, voice the slightest bit tight. You could feel his breath soft on the side of your face.

You didn’t move, just stayed there, enjoying the feeling of his arms around you, the faint scent of something clean and woodsy coming from his sweater. He was warm, solid, and you couldn’t help but nuzzle your nose into the side of his neck. Just a little.

“You’re welcome, Harvey. You deserve it.”

He took in a deep, slightly shaky breath, then let you go. For a second you wished he didn’t, but then shook yourself. Clapped your hands. “Right. Dinner. You go sit down and relax while I get this heated up!”

“Aye aye, captain,” he responded with a mock salute. He was still wearing the hat as he settled in on the couch.

Dinner was easy to heat up, and you were pleased with how the soup came out. You started the movie while you ate, turning down the lights, sharing bits of trivia as Jackie Chan stumbled around his enemies. It was so comfortable, then, to lean against him on the couch in the semi-darkness, both of you holding a glass of wine. He put his arm on the back of the couch as you leaned against his chest.

You could feel his heart beating, faster than you would think it would.

And it made you wonder about phase two of Operation: Doctor Support.

Phase two was optional, only if it seemed right. It might change things a little, you knew. It was a little risky, but some things were worth the risk.

Some things like the doctor next to you, whose nose was very subtly, very gently rubbing against your hair.

Okay. That’s going to count as a green light. Let’s do this.

You placed your wine glass on the side table. Took Harvey’s and set it down too. He looked at you a little startled at your unexpected movement, but oh boy, you were just getting started. You rolled up onto your knees, swung a leg over his, and settled, facing him, into his lap.

His hands came up automatically to hold your hips, then just as quickly left them. “I… what?”

“Commence phase two,” you said, and pressed a kiss to his lips.

At first he didn’t move, just made a slightly choked sound and your stomach sank. Shit. Should have just stuck with the hat. But then his hand was on the side of your face and he was kissing you back. Soft, gentle presses of his lips against yours. His thumb traced along your cheekbone as you pressed your mouth into his, humming contentedly.

“Are you… are… really?” he breathed as you broke the kiss.

“Yes, if you don’t mind.”

“If I… hah,” he laughed softly, leaning his head back against the couch. You took the opportunity to press a kiss to the pulse point you could see thrumming on the side of his neck. He gasped, hips bucking up against yours just a little, hand moving back into your hair. “I… I certainly wouldn’t say I minded.”

“Good, now let me take care of you.”

There was no mistaking the low groan he made at that, or the way his lap was shifting under you. You set in properly this time, rising up on your knees to reach his mouth again. This time you parted your lips, felt yourself clenching slightly at the way he opened for you easily, moaning softly as you slicked into his mouth. His mustache tickled at your nose as you kissed him, and his hands had found their way back to your hips. They rested there loosely, not pushing, just holding as you delved deeper into him.

He tasted like blueberry wine.

You broke the kiss with a soft nip to his lower lip. “How are you feeling?”

“A little stunned, but good, good, definitely very good,” and now his hand was in your hair, pulling you back to him, and that was absolutely the kind of response you were looking for. You hummed into the kiss, trying to fight your pleased smile as he licked into you. You wiggled in his lap and enjoyed the way he hissed through his nose.

The bulge you could feel under your thighs didn’t hurt either.

“Good is good,” you gasp, breaking away again, “but we’re going for excellent. Here.” You removed his hand from your hair, dragged it down to your breast.

“That…” he gasped. “That certainly elevates things.” And before you could respond, before you could realize, really, what was going on, you were on your back and Harvey, dear, sweet, gentle, reliable Doctor Harvey was raised up over you, propped up on one elbow, one leg tucked between your thighs.

“Oh,” was all you could think to say.

Harvey didn’t say anything. He was too busy laving your neck with his tongue, leaving soft, gentle bites while his fingers worked over your breast, gently teasing your rapidly hardening nipple.

Well that… that’s not how the operation was supposed to go. But Yoba, it felt good, his body heavy over you, his teeth and tongue scraping over your neck, the soft sounds he made as he worked. You pulled the hat off his head, ran your fingers through his hair, held him there.

In your mind he had stayed put, letting you slowly work down his body before finishing with the best damn blow job he’d ever been given. But now the opposite was happening, he was kissing down onto your chest now and fuck, if this wasn’t so, so much better. You couldn’t help but cry out as he mouthed at your nipple through your shirt. He looked up quickly at the sound. Even in the dim light of the TV, even through his glasses you could see that his eyes were blown dark.

“Is it… is that okay? Is this alright?”

“Harvey, it’s fucking perfect,” you say. He grinned, shockingly boyish, and why had you never done this before? You pulled off his glasses, set them back in the side table behind you, and guided his mouth back down. He went eagerly, fingers now working up beneath your shirt, mouth now over your other breast, mouthing and teasing. You felt it in your core, the way his fingers traced over your stomach, the sounds he made as he nuzzled you, and why is this stupid shirt on anyway?

You did your best to wiggle it up over your torso, bralette too, Harvey helping as soon as he realized what you were doing. After he tossed the clothing aside he paused for a second, looking down at you.

“You’re… Yoba.” He let out a shaky laugh. “This is not how I expected my evening to go”

“Me either.”

He drew back slightly. “What do you mean?”

You wound your arm up around his shoulder, pulled him back down onto you. His lips brushed the side of your neck. “You were supposed to sit still and let me do all this for you.”

“What,” he asked, hand now cupping your breast, “makes you think that this isn’t for me?”

You didn’t have a good answer for that. Didn’t have a good answer for anything, really, because his hand was wandering lower and all rational thought had left your brain.

Was he… fuck, yes he was. He stopped at the waistband of your leggings, traced a finger along the edge. You felt him swallow against your neck. “Can… can I?”

“Yes, yup, absolutely, one hundred percent,” you respond, fighting the urge to grab his hand and guide it down for him. “Just, wait, here.” You grabbed at the sweater he was wearing instead, tried to get it up over his head. He maneuvered, helping to take it off the rest of the way (so helpful, that Harvey), then settled back down on top of you.

You couldn’t help but sigh, wiggle your hips as his warm chest nestled back against yours. His chest was broad, arms just a little thicker than what you could see under his usual suit jacket. Curly hair dusted down over his softly rounded stomach, down to where his belt cut across his hips.

“You feel nice,” you said.

“So do you.” He hummed into your neck.

The couch wasn’t particularly wide, but you were making it work, nestled between the doctor and the cushions. His hand was back on your stomach, drifting lower as you ran your fingers over his shoulders and dropped kisses on the top of his head. His fingers traced the top of your leggings - again - the light touch making your lower stomach clench. You realized you were growing wet, could feel it as you shifted your hips back and forth, and okay, this was supposed to be your show, right? Let’s get it on the road.

You placed your hand over Harvey’s, guided it down under your leggings and underwear, pressed down on his middle finger to run it through your folds.

“Fuck,” he gasped. You could feel his hips thrust, that hard bulge against your legs, once, twice. “Fuck, you’re… fuck.” And he didn’t need any more guidance, seemed perfectly happy to be running the pad of his fingers up and down your sex. The lack of resistance, the way his fingers slipped - shit, okay, clearly phase two absolutely needed this step, what were you thinking, because he was shuddering just a bit as he pressed his face into your neck. And the way his breaths were coming, slightly choked?

Yoba.

“I want to make you come.” He said it so softly, mustache tickling the side of your neck. “Can I make you come?”

What a ridiculously sweet thing to ask as his fingers were already stroking over your folds. “I don’t think there’s much question about it at this point,” you said. “Don’t stop.”

He huffed into your neck, somewhere between a laugh and a groan, and his fingers were focusing more on your clit, tiny circles but it wasn’t quite right. He couldn’t get the right angle with your leggings trapping his hand. “Let me just-“ you start, but he was right there with you, helping you pull them down and off. From there it was easy to throw a leg up over his hip as he curled back around you.

His fingers were back, then, back and moving, sending coils of tension up through your core. He set about his work with purpose, as it seemed he set about most things. Tracing his fingers up and down the side of your clit, stopping when he hit a point that made your hips buck up.

“Right there, he whispered, “that’s it, right there.” And holy shit, how could you respond to that when he’d discovered a direct line from your clit through your core to the rest of your body? Those tiny circles again, the lightest pressure, the curls of pleasure spreading through your thighs, your stomach, your shoulders. You could feel your self getting wetter now, slipperier as his fingers worked against you.

And from there it wasn’t long before you were rising, hips straining, mouth open in a wordless cry as his fingers, his hand, his breath against your neck was too much. You stayed tensed there, muscles straining, orgasm rocketing through you as those fingers kept rubbing, kept circling, kept drawing you up and up and up, tense and sweet and endless, Yoba, it was endless, that tension, until finally it broke, letting you down, warm and soft and deep through your belly and you were through, hips relaxing, shoulders boneless as you melted back into the couch.

Holy shit.

Harvey’s fingers had slowed, stopped. His hand cupped your sex. “Alright?”

You covered your face with a hand. Laughed. “Alright? Are you joking? I am so much better than alright!” He laughed into your neck. You swat him gently on the shoulder. “That was supposed to be for you!”

“Again,” he said. “What makes you think this wasn’t for me?”

Yoba, this man.

But no. You were a lady on a mission, and if you were the type to take half-measures you’d still be sitting in a cubicle. “Okay,” you said. “Move.”

“Move?” You were shaking off the post-orgasm slack, wiggling out from under him, helping him haul his body up to sitting, sliding down to the floor, enjoying the sound he made as you ghosted your hand over the bulge near his crotch. You could see it there, outlined against his jeans, and fuck if the sight didn’t make you more determined than ever. You knelt there for a moment, palm pressed against that bulge, rubbing softly through the denim.

You could see his belly rising, even as you focused on his crotch. Could hear him taking in breaths, choking slightly on the exhale. Could feel his hand rest gently on the side of your neck, lift back up, settle back in again.

“You don’t… you don’t have to…”

“Harvey,” you said, looking up at him. His head was leaning back on the couch, but there was no question he was watching you. Lips parted, chest rising. “Let me look after you. Just for a bit. Please.”

He closed his lips. Nodded. Stroked his thumb down your cheek. “Thank you.”

You smiled up at him, resting your hand on his belt buckle. “What makes you think this isn’t for me?”

He huffed again, that sound of his, that laugh and groan, and lifted his hips as you unbuckled, unzipped, guided his pants and boxers down around his feet, leaving his cock to spring free.

If you’d been in a more coherent frame of mind you would have reflected on the sight, the incongruity of seeing the doctor, always so polished, shirts ironed and tie done up tight, splayed out for you like that. Cock pulsing, wet around the tip, thick and long and utterly perfect. The way his head was leaning back again on the sofa, huffing breaths between pursed lips, looking tense and needy and exactly the opposite of the brisk and efficient man you knew.

But you weren’t in a coherent state of mind, so the only thing you thought was “yum.”

You watched a small pearl of precum leak from the head of his cock.

You licked it away. Salty and hot.

Harvey hissed.

You licked again, running your tongue around his head, closed your lips around the tip, circling. You could feel his hand touch your hair as you did it, touch and let go. You grabbed at it, anchored it down onto your head. Grinned to yourself as he choked out another moan, hips bucking up an inch and then grounding back down.

Show time.

You’d be lying if you said that you were the most seasoned giver of head, but based on Harvey’s reactions you doubted that was much of an issue. You grasped the base of his cock, squeezed gently, then with a little more pressure as he moaned. Loosening your jaw as best as you could (he wasn’t a small man, that doctor, and his cock was certainly proportional), you slid your lips down, hollowing your cheeks, meeting the top off your fist.

Harvey’s fingers were in your hair properly now, carding through the strands, not pushing you down but holding you there, holding on as you drew your mouth up and down his cock. You could feel the strain in his hips, tiny little jerks upwards, tensing as he held himself back. You wanted to tell him to go for it, to buck and move however he wanted, but his cock was so good, so heavy and hot and delicious in your mouth that you couldn’t bring yourself to let him go.

So you did what you could to work him deeper. Sucking him in further, grasping with your thumb and two fingers now, relishing the hitch in his hips, the way his fingers tightened, the sounds he was making low in his throat. The tiny thrusts growing less measured, most staccato, off kilter and speeding up. He was tasting saltier as you tried to work him farther back into your mouth, suddenly desperate to know what he’d feel like hitting the back of your throat. You relaxed as much as you could, let yourself fall down into him, gusting through your nose as you welcomed him back, back, further, deeper -

And all of his sudden his hands were clenching into your hair, pulling you up a your mouth flooded with warm, thick, salty release. You’d fully intended to swallow what he gave you, but he was pulling you off of him as he came, hand joining your fingers on his cock, pumping once, twice as he came onto your chin and open mouth.

The sound he made was exactly what you’d been hoping for. Low, wrecked. His fingers working through your hair as you felt him loosen, melt back into the couch.

You looked him in the eye. Ran a finger up your chin to collect the thick spend dripping there. Pushed it in your mouth and swallowed.

“Yoba,” he rasped, “Yoba, you’re… fuck, you’re incredible. Fuck.” And it was easy, then, to follow the press of his hands, now under your arms, pulling you up to him. Straddle his legs again, feeling his cock, still hot and wet and heavy, under your thighs. Let him wrap his arms around you, kiss you deeply, tasting himself on you.

“How are you feeling now?” You asked as you broke this kiss.

“Indescribable,” was his breathless response.

And as you relaxed into his arms you decided that your mission was very much a success.

#sdv fanfic #stardew harvey #stardew valley #stardew valley fanfic #sdv #harvey sdv #stardew valley harvey #stardew fanfic #harvey x reader #Please bear with me as I remember how to do this

41 notes · View notes