#Like genuinely my body has overheated to such a state and I’m just sitting here

[rooolt]

I already know this episode is gonna be divisive. I’ve already seen people on both ends saying it was the best episode and others saying it was the worst. Cannot wait for teen talk to see how the cast feels about it

[harveywritings92]

BNHA vampire soulmate scenario: you see them again/ they introduce themselves.

 They find you and don't leave you alone.

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Dabi: It had been almost a month since the 7/11 incident, Dabi kept his distance watching and protecting you from the shadows, That all change today, he was watching your house from the old abandoned grocery store-across the road from your bar (your house is on top of the bar). He noticed you haven't step outside for almost two days, Dabi frowned as he step out of his hideout and as soon as he got close enough to your home his nose scrunched up as he was hit by a fowl stench: he made a disgusted noise... it was like mix of rotten milk and cantaloupe...

You were sick! but that wouldn't explain your lack of activity...unless- Dabi felt his stomach drop into his feet he checked the gargoyle you keep by the door for your spare key, he unlocked the door and walked inside your house and found you passed out on the floor at the bottom of your stairs! he rush over crouched down to check on you... he put his hand on your neck, Fuck your skin was like a furnace. "What the fuck do I do?" he hissed picking you up of the floor and putting you on the couch in your living room.

You wheezed in protest feeling your body being lifted away from the nice cold floor, your eyes opened straining to see who had moved you? but all you could see was a black and purple blob looking down at you; before moving away from sight as your overheated mind tried to comprehend what was happening, Who was that? How did they get in... but soon you drifted back into unconsciousness, and felt something cold on the back of your head...

You woke up disoriented and very confuse you looked around and you were still in your Livingroom... with half melted bag of frozen carrots resting behind your neck and another bag of frozen corn shoved down your shirt, which bewildered you the last thing you remembered was trying to crawl upstairs and go to your room, than nothing. You heard someone clear their throat and looked next to you to find a man who looked like a ragdoll was sitting in your recliner watching you...

"Who the fuc-" you croaked only for the guy to thrust a yellow pill and a glass of water towards you. "Take this first.." he muttered as you eyed the pill suspiciously "patchy" rolled his eyes at your wariness. "It's just Tylenol." he put the glass on the coffee table and showed you the box, "If I wanted to hurt you, wouldn't I have done it already?" he stated as you hesitantly took the pill and the water from him and swallowed it trying not to gag as it went down your throat. "Who are you?" you hissed voice still hoarse trying not to show fear, which was in vain as Patchy's cerulean eyes lit up in amusement seeing through your bluff. "I have several names, but these days I go by Dabi." he said waiting for your reaction but, to his utter astonishment you clearly had no idea who he was... "ok..."Dabi" How did you get into my house?" you huffed as Dabi gave you this unimpressed look. 

"Y'know the whole reason for hiding a key, is to not make it obvious."

"What are you talking about? What key?"

"Yeah, good one...the key under the gargoyle."

"...I don't keep a key under my gargoyle."

You say watching Dabi's expression shift to confusion as the scarred man pulled the the duplicate key from his pocket, he showed it to you and your stomach felt like it was full of rocks... that was definitely your house key!... But, it looked newer, shinier then the one in your purse. "You don't recognize this?" Dabi asked feeling your fear which caused his instincts go haywire wanting to remove whatever caused the distress, as you shook your head insisting you've never owned a spare key!

Dabi took a sharp breath through his nose, taking it in all the scents around the house before picking up faint traces of a another male... Dabi let out a low inhuman growl as he relaxed against into the recliner. "Good news doll, you gotta a new roommate." Your mouth opened to protest, but something in the deep crevices of your soul was telling you to trust the scarred man as he played around with the duplicate key. with a feral glint in his eye. "Bad news is... It's gonna suck for whoever the hell pissed me off." his purred flashing his fangs at you.  

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Hawks: You were at work it had been to weeks since Hawks showed up on your doorstep, let's just it didn't go so well... It was like in the movies you opened the door saw the blond vampire standing there, you gasped, screamed and fainted scaring the crap out of the poor guy! At the moment he was currently loitering outside the gym you were teaching at, he could hear some of your students parents talking about you.

"It's waste I tell you, someone with her Quirk should've gone pro!" A woman said in a snarky tone the man next to her nodded. " I agree. if I had a Quirk like L/n-san I would be saving lives and kicking ass, instead of teaching kids how to dog paddle!" Keigo growled looking up from his phone and spoke up. 

"Yeah...She could've gone pro, but instead she's here teaching your kids not to drown..." 

Both adults froze and saw the number 2 hero glowering at them his wings slightly puffed and raised making him look bigger, They sheepishly apologized and scurried off, Just as you walked out, with an unreadable expression it was obvious you had heard everything just now, but were relucted to say anything as the two of you started the routine of walking home together, you were still on the ropes about Hawks. 

When he first showed up (after you woke up) you freaked out thinking he was there to to silence you and keep his secret, however after calming you down, he started going on about soulmates, blood-bonds and you being his other half, you were very reluctant to believe him after all... the first time you saw him, he was covered in blood feeding off a woman who looked half dead! Hawks seemed genuinely remorseful about you seeing that, it wasn't his intention to scare you, he explained how the woman was fine. 

She wasn't dead like Y/n had thought! he just used his venom to put her into a state of ecstasy... she likely has no idea the winged blond had been drinking her blood, She was at home most likely believing she had a wild night with the number 2 hero. He even showed you the girl's social media account to prove it; There she was doing a bathroom selfie bragging about the wicked "hickey" Hawks had given her...

Now here you are a month later and the vampire hasn't left your side since! Well... Except for when he has to go on patrol, then he has one of his feathers following you, and you have this sinking suspicion that Hawks has been sleeping on your roof at night...though you're never sure, you could hear something rolling around up there but whatever it is, is usually gone by the time you go check it out, later that night Hawks texted you inviting you to dinner, you read the restaurant's name... Dang that's pretty swanky place, you didn't even know if you had a dress or whatever to wear! luckily in the far reaches of your closet you found an old black dress that seemed suitable enough for the job... and sighed. " I only wore this once, to a funeral..." you muttered before getting ready.

You wished you had taken a shot of whiskey before you left the house, you were a ball of shaking anxiety as you entered the restaurant, the hostess eyed you with a unpleasant sneer. "Can I help you?" she said in fake sweet tone. "Y-Y/n L/n, I-I'm here to meet a Mr. T.K.?" you stammered the hostess scrunched her nose as she gave you a once over snorted. 

"I don't know how you found out about his reservation... but I can assure you the number 2 hero doesn't associate with your type." she with sneer your face would would've been flushed with anger if you weren't holding back every fiber in your body to slap that smug smile off that bitch's face. "Well can you go check?" you snapped standing up to your full height which threw the hostess off, she curt nod and walked off into the back...

(Hawks knew you were here he could smell you the second you walked in, his eyes briefly skimmed over the menu as he herd hostess approach, without you... "Sorry about that Hawks." the redhead cooed as the blonde looked at her bemused she snorted. "Some fake (h/c) slut tried to say you were waiting on her-" she continued talking as Keigo talked over her. " I am waiting for Y/n." he stated firmly as the hostess finished what she was saying. "Just let me ask my boss to let me off and we ca..." she trailed off and blinked not believing what she just heard.

"w-What?" she chortled thinking this was a joke as Hawks deadpanned repeating what he said. "I am waiting for Y/n, go get her." it wasn't request the hostess looked like a fish as she stared at the No. 2 slack-jawed. "Bu...You.. I- what about me?!" she sputtered lip quivering like a child who'd been denied candy, the winged man just eyed her incredulously making it clear he doesn't know her. "What are you talking about?" Hostess didn't answer she just stomped away to go get you.)    

A few minutes later she came back all red in the face. "Please follow me ma'am." she huffed now it was your turn to be smug. "Oh?... But I thought the No. 2 hero didn’t associate with my type?" you hissed as she snapped her head up to look at you eyes her brown eyes filled with jealous rage and you realized....It was her. The girl from the park. "My apologies ma'am." she said with a forced cheery tone as she led you to a private booth where Hawks was waiting his wings stood up at full attention as you sat down.

"Hey did you have any trouble?" he asked nodded towards the front desk where the hostess was giving both of of you the stink-eye. "You don't recognize her?" you whispered as Keigo's brow furrowed as he tried to piece it together.... had.. they slept together?...Hmm no, signed her tits? that was a possibility, He hummed scratching his beard You could tell he was drawing blanks. "She's the woman from the night...when we met?" His gold eyes widened.

 "Oh... the blood that tasted like charcoal and moldy bread." he grimaced in disgusted as he finally pieced it together you tilted your head as him bemused. "That’s what smoker's blood taste like...to me anyways, other Vamps have told me it varies." he stated you hummed nodding your head both intrigue and worried that you were getting use to this odd situation.

While you two were going over the menu, Keigo couldn't help but notice how off you were acting, you were fidgeting and looking around almost like you were...scared. why would you scared? all the other girls he'd brough.... Then it hit Keigo like ton of bricks. 

He was treating you like one of his fans! and not his...hopefully soon to be lover, Dammit! He didn't even think about your comfort zones or asked if you wanted to go out and where did you want to go, he just assumed you would jump at the chance, because what girl doesn't want to go on a date with the number two hero?

After a few moments Keigo put the menu down. "Hey...wanna get out of here?" You were about to protest but the blond put his hand up. "Let me rephrase that; Do you want go somewhere else?" you shyly nodded Keigo called the waiter paid for the drink he had earlier and the two of you went on a very simple and impromptu park date involving pizza and an outdoor movie theater that Keigo had no idea existed; all in all he actually had fun! 

And so did you given the joy and admiration he was sensing coming off you in waves. as opposed the fear and defensiveness you usually gave off around him, which made Hawks hopeful for the future... but for now he'll just settle on being friends, He smiled staring at the spare key you gave him, the blond let out a tiny churr feeling giddy as he fell asleep on your couch, as you caught him outside earlier.  

…..Yes, he was totally sleeping on your roof.

[burnedbyshoto]

strawberry milk & watermelon seeds

How to get through the worst summer heat: have a sweet drink, eat a sweet fruit, and have someone with the sweetest kiss around.

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pairing: todoroki shouto x reader

warning: fluff, cursing, one year later rewrite

word count: 2,855

a/n: so today is my one year anniversary of this blog. it’s been a rather weird and unknowing journey that I still cannot comprehend or put into words as to how this has changed me. one year later and I still love todoroki shouto the most, one year later and im still as invested into bnha as the day I first watched it. wild. anyways, thank you for watching my growth as a writer, and thank you for 14k followers in this single year. anyways, if you want to read the original to compare, here it is.

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“This day can not be any worse.”

With your sweating forearm thrown over your face, and the heat emitting from your face scorching your skin, your clammy skin provided small comfort from the overwhelming heat. Today, according to every news outlet in Japan, it was the hottest day recorded ever. At first, you didn’t believe it; your condo had cooled to near completion with your AC unit running happily in the background. You had spent your day free from work, merrily doing house chores while watching your old classmates text message thread blowing up with complaints about how torturous it was to be outside in this heat. (Even Bakugou who enjoyed hot weather because it benefitted his quirk was ready to go home and get into an ice bath.) That is, you were merry until your power went out.

“I thought you would be happy that you aren’t working right now?”

Ignoring the sweat the slowly pooled down your neck, you turned your head to look at your phone that stood against a stack of books. On the bright screen was Todoroki Shouto, who was wearing a shirt and a jacket despite the heat of the weather. Curse his fucking quirk. 

“It was a happy day until the power blew, and I was told that the power wouldn’t be back on until night!” you whined, fingers pressing to your forehead to wipe the annoying sweat on your face. “Now I’m miserable at home, it’s hotter than balls, I have no snacks, and I am not going outside like this!”

You lifted your legs off the couch, shuddering at your sweating thighs sticking to the material. This was the worst.

“I can come over in a bit; it’ll take me about twenty minutes.” Shouto hummed, his left wrist rising as he looked at his watch. His face had a small smile painted on; it was a new look he was trying as he had stated earlier. As part of being a hero that reassured everyone he rescued, he was working on his smile.

While you would never complain about seeing a kind smile on Shouto’s face, it didn’t help your hammering heart when he looked at you with it.

“What?!” you exclaimed a bit frantically, your hand snatching your phone on the table while sitting up on the couch. Your flustered face a bit too close to the camera while you watched Shouto stand up from his seat and gather his things without minding your attempts to have him not come over.

The thought of being horrendously sweaty around your crush was not something you wanted to do.

“Do you like strawberry milk?” Shouto asked you, his head tilting to the side. At the same time, he picked up his phone, leveling the camera, so it angled below his chin (and you immediately noticed that even with the awkward angle, he was still unfairly hot). “There’s a store on the way to your place that I like.”

A strange noise that crossed between a whine and a sigh emitted past your lips when his eyes locked on yours in question. It seemed that you didn’t have much of a choice.

“I love strawberry milk,” you begrudgingly admitted, watching with heating cheeks as Shouto’s face spread into a bigger, more full, and genuine smile. 

“Okay, I’ll see you in a bit then. Bye.”

You couldn’t say goodbye back, your finger immediately hanging up on him and your body shaking in your nerves. For right now, you couldn’t tell why you felt overheated: the record temperature or the smile that made your heart stop.

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If your mother could see how you cleaned your home in the twenty minutes it took Shouto to get to your place, she would cry in joy. In fifteen minutes, you had swept, mopped, and cleared the countertops of the slight messes they had been and quickly bolted upstairs to change into something less sweaty while reapplying perfume and deodorant because you would not make a fool of yourself.

“You look like a mess,” Shouto called out immediately as he stood at your front door. Despite his introduction, his hands lifted in front of him, and he showcased the bag of snacks and tea he brought. 

Despite the initial feeling of wonder at opening the door to see him standing there in all his glory, his words' sudden bluntness immediately made your eyes narrow. 

“I don’t come to your house uninvited and roast your appearance,” you scoff, turning on your heel and letting him in. 

“Oh, was I not invited? I assumed I was allowed to come over, sorry,” Shouto’s voice followed after you, but it did nothing to keep him from staying. The two of you had grown incredibly close as friends. It was without question that he was allowed over whenever he wished, a detail that had taken quite a while for Shouto to accept. 

“I wouldn’t’ve opened the door if you weren’t,” you sigh, your hands fanning the back of your neck as Shouto placed his guest slippers on and walked over. He put the bag onto the kitchen counter before walking over to you, taking your hands and pressing his right hand to the nape of your neck.

“Just making sure,” he said softly, his eyes meeting yours in a careful gaze before his hand dropped in temperature. For the first time since your AC broke down, a shiver went through your spine. 

You had no idea whether it was from the sudden loss of heat from your body or his gentle yet strangely warm touch. But with the loss of being overheated and reaching a better point of homeostasis, you realized that you had been wordlessly staring into his eyes. Falling deep into the blue and grey, drowning in the way they bore into you gently, intently. 

“So, uh, what else did you bring me besides your stupidly advantageous quirk?” you asked, your mouth feeling unbelievably parched. At the same time, Shouto’s fingers slowly pulled away from your skin, leaving behind nothing but an exploding heart and raised skin.  

To that comment, Shouto’s eyebrow lifted, and his lip quirked a bit too, a teasing look on his face while the two of you began to walk to the bag he had brought. He grabbed the bag before you, bringing it close to his chest as if to keep it from you.

“Sounds like you’re using me for my quirk, y/l/n. That wouldn’t be very heroic of you.”

“I’m off duty, I can be an asshole,” was your quick response, your heart beating faster at the chuckle that rumbled deep in his chest as he untied the bag. His eyes rose to yours, inquisitive and teasing, and an eyebrow raised.

Shouto seemed to debate whether he should say something or not, your locked stares never wavering. But before you could question what was running through his head, he pulled out the items from the bag. Your jaw dropped in your sheer love for what he brought you: two sealed cups of strawberry milk, half of a watermelon with two scoops, and an arrangement of other snacks you loved. There was nothing he could do to stop you from scooping up your nacks in your arms, tears misting your eyes because, at this moment, your lousy day had become good again. 

“I hope you still like all these snacks, you always used to talk about them,” Shouto rubs the back of his neck, his gaze falling onto the sweet pink drinks before him. He grabbed the straws and punctured the drinks for both of you, and you looked at him with a smile of pure joy and disbelief. 

“This is perfect, Todoroki, really! I love this so much!”

Maybe if you had been looking at Shouto and not at the bags of snacks he had bought for you, you would have seen the flush color climbing the back of his neck.

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It had taken Shouto precisely two seconds to bring your condo back to a habitable environment, a feat that had you quite literally jumping into his arms in your excitement. But in your sudden burst of emotional energy, Shouto had been taken back so abruptly by your arms thrown around him that he had iced over your entire living room. Both of you had stared at the iced room with shocked gazes, and while he looked on in horror, your face split into a shit-eating grin.

So despite his initial decision to defrost the entire room, you said it was fine. Grabbing the frozen watermelon (you had to tear the melon and the two scoops off the counter as it had also been frozen, not to mention you almost ate shit if not for Shouto easily catching you) the two of you retreated to your shaded patio, sitting on the brick and tasting the sweet melon while idly chatting between the both of you.

“You got the watermelon with the seeds!” you laughed loudly, letting the small black seed fall from your bottom lip and onto your await palm. “We have transgressed the need for watermelon with seeds! Have you never gotten seedless watermelon?!”

Shouto shoved you with his shoulder, his face grimacing a bit when a rather sharp crunch came from his mouth. Your laughter growing louder when a fractured watermelon seed fell from his tongue. 

“The sign said it was seedless, besides it takes two seconds to get the seeds out, stop complaining.” Shouto groaned, placing the seed onto the pile the two of you had created. You had been taking a drink of the sweet milk as he said this, and his smile grew into a crooked grin at the sight of your eyes widening with the need to speak. 

Tearing the cup from your mouth, you swallowed the liquid quickly before jabbing a finger into his shoulder, “Tell that to my face after I accidentally swallow a seed and a watermelon grows in my stomach!”

“The day that happens, I will personally let you dress me up in Endeavor merch.” Shouto wagers, his eyes watching as you scooped out a bit of the watermelon and shoving it into your mouth. You contemplated his words, thinking about the horrendous merch his father had and the humiliation he would have if he had to wear it.

Your teeth bit onto a black seed, and instead of politely removing it from your mouth as you had been doing, you turned your head toward the fence and spat out the watermelon seed. 

“Oh, that’s tempting!” you sing out, your fingertips dancing against each other, a very comically villainous sight. 

Shouto scoffed, his head shaking as he chewed his own watermelon before spitting out his own seed. You watched it soar through the air before falling somewhere near where your seed landed. Ever the competitor, your head tilted, trying not to take it personally as Shouto finally spoke.

“Is it? Well, we both know it’s impossible.”

You shake your head at his true remark, your mouth once again full of watermelon, and you concentrated on the two black dots on the grass. Rolling your shoulders, you spit the seed sitting on your tongue, and you refrained from sounding too victorious when your seed was now the furthest one out. So with the calmness of a child who had done something terrible and was attempting to not be caught, you turned to Shouto with a wink. 

“Nothing is impossible!”

Shrugging, Shouto took another mouthful of the watermelon before sending a seed flying, landing what seemed like a centimeter further than yours. Your eyes narrowed at the taunting victory.

“Oh, but some things are,” it felt like he whispered that in your ear, and you turned onto him. Your fiery glare matching his while he took yet another bite of the watermelon. He did it without breaking his gaze with you, and an astounding grin spread on your face at the pure childishness of this all.

“...are you… are you challenging me?!” you accused, your eyebrows shooting to your hairline and your finger connecting with his nose.

Shouto smirked, his face turning back to the grass, and he spat out the seed, sending it much further than it had gone before.

“No. Not at all,” he said smoothly, his sight coming back to you, and as if to rub in the salt, he added, “We both know who’ll win.”

So, under the blazing hot sun, both you and Shouto sat with sticky sweet watermelon juice dribbling down your chin and black seeds soaring as far as they could go to only pathetically landing on laps. Slandering words were thrown about, but the echoing laughter told anyone who tried to overhear just how unserious this entire predicament was. 

Your fingers wiped at the bottom of your chin again while tears streamed down your face from the laughter. Shouto was in a similar position, his head leaning against yours as three black seeds failed to leave his mouth and chose to stick onto his chin. 

“Imma - holy shit STOP - Imma fucking pee my pants!” you wheezed, trying to focus on anything that wasn’t Shouto right now. “You look so dumb right now!”

“Your insults mean nothing to me because you’re jealous I’m winning,” Shouto forced out, his voice wavering with his own laughter and fleeing concentration.

“Only because YOU CHEATED!” you exclaimed, your fists weakly pounding onto his arm. “Who the hell burns a watermelon seed flying in the air if not to keep me from winning?!”

“Because you took five steps closer! That’s cheating!” Shouto pointed out, the back of his hand, wiping the sheen of watermelon juice and seeds from his chin.

“Whatever, I’ll end this all right now!” you rolled your eyes, and the both of you directed your attention to the nearly empty watermelon. Almost empty, save for one part that would be enough for one last scoop.

“That’s the last of the watermelon…” Shouto spoke softly, his hand grabbing his spoon the same time you did.

“Yeah, and?” you pressed, your gaze narrowing as he lifted his spoon, moving it to push against yours.

“You were the last one to spit,” he said, trying to box you out of the melon.

Your jaw dropped, and you pressed against his again, trying to keep him from doing as he pleased. “I called it first!”

“You can’t go twice!” he pointed out, his hand wrapping around your free wrist to keep you from potentially hitting him with that arm.

“You went twice earlier!” you countered, pushing forward, leaning on with all your weight in hopes he would back off. You had to win.

“I’m the guest at your house, be better accommodating!”

Push.

“Oh yeah?! Well, ladies, first!”

Shove.

“Clearly, I am acting more ladylike right now, so it’s not you!”

But in an unequal push, you sent Shouto and you tumbling off the patio and onto the floor with a thud. Your eyes were squeezed tight as the earthy ground made contact with your back, and you sighed, knowing you hadn’t been hurt. You saw the watermelon on the floor, the last scoop of the sweet fruit ruined with dirt and grass, but you froze when you became aware of the way Shouto had landed.

His forearms were planted onto the ground by your head, his eyes wide and his mouth parted slightly. His warm and minty scent easily carried into your nose like this, and the smell of the strawberry milk still clung to his lips. Immediately your face exploded in heat, and your sight went dizzy in the situation you were in.

“...the watermelon… um, you dropped the watermelon, Todoroki,” you painfully whispered, unsure if speaking would send him away from you, acting like this didn’t just happen. 

Your beating heart was loud in your ears, almost washing out the summer day's sounds as Shouto studied you carefully before turning his head to look at the indeed ruined watermelon. Still, he made no attempt to move off from on top of you.

“We can go buy some more in a bit.” 

“I… but Todoroki--” you almost shuddered, unsure as to why that simple sentence ignited something profound from within you.

“Don’t-” Shouto interrupted, his brow furrowed, and his eyes dark while he looked down. Shaking his head, your breathing stopped when his eyes met yours. There was no hesitation, no doubt, and something you never knew you would see in his eyes: adoration. “Shouto. Call me, Shouto.”

“Shouto…” you breathed out, the sound of his name on your tongue foreign yet otherworldly pleasant.

And his eyes warmed at the sound of his name, and you could do nothing when his sugary sweet lips connected with yours, pressing thoroughly and gently against yours. Today had been a mix of goods and bads. Still, the moment his lips claimed yours, everything in the world quickly faded away. There was nothing to focus on except Todoroki Shouto and the way that you would forever crave the way his tongue and kisses tasted like strawberry milk and watermelon seeds.

[talesmaniac89]

A Day Off

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: Your stubborn boyfriend never takes a day off, even when he’s feeling under the weather. Luckily Dean Winchester has you around to make sure he takes care of himself.

Triggers: Sick Dean, just a cold. Other than that it’s just fluff

Y/N = Your name 

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“Hey… (Y/N),” Dean’s voice was weaker than normal as it shook you out of the especially confusing paragraph about sirens you’d been reading on the couch. The slight shake in his voice alone was enough to make you drop the book like it’d burned you and turn fully in your seat to let worried eyes find your boyfriend entering the bunker library.

Well… Entered would be a bit of an exaggeration. It was more like he fell through the door and collapsed in a heap. The dramatic entrance easily sending you hurdling out of your seat in your rush to get to his side. Every nerve and muscle in your body on fire with protective concern as you ran across the bunker over to where he was lying, unmoving.

Nearly sliding over the floor in your panicked rush, you dropped to your floor next to your pale faced boyfriend just as his eyes fluttered back open, revealing watery green eyes. He looked so weak. Nothing like your normally strong hunter. 

Worry rested as a heavy stone in your stomach as your hands hovered over his body, trying to find whatever injury or whatever else was hurting him. As if you’d somehow gained the powers to brush off his pain with just a touch of your fingers.

Every worst-case scenario and pained past moment of hurt rushed through your mind as you reached out to him just as he tried to push himself back up. Leaning in carefully you let your fingertips brush over his forehead, pushing damp strands of sandy blonde hair out of the way.

He was scorching hot.

“Dean… Shit. You’re as white as a sheet,” You said, hating the shake in your voice. If there was something seriously wrong then he needed you to be strong. You could get through anything together. But you needed to get a grip. He needed you to be his strong little soldier. To deal with whatever curse or injury or…

“I’m alright, it’s just cold in here…” Dean’s voice was weak and strained as he spoke up over your panicked thoughts. His unfocused eyes squinting as he tried to sharpen what was most likely a blurred version of you to the clearly weak and hurting hunter.

“Dean! You just collapsed!” You could hear the fear in your own voice. The nearly frantic high pitch breaking over the words and unintentionally increasing in volume with every syllable. Yet, you couldn’t control it. Not when you could feel the blistering heat that was rolling off him in waves as your arms wrapped around the back of the hunter that was trying to get back on his feet next to you. Something was really wrong. 

Tightening your arms around him, you refused to give him the space he needed to get back up. Fearing a repeat of the earlier collapse against the bunker’s hard concrete floor. Instead you kept him seated, letting him lean against you as he didn’t even have enough energy to keep himself sitting upright.

“Don’t worry about me… I’m fine, it’s just a cold,” Dean tried to sound gruff, but in his current state the words came out as more of a weakened whimper instead. Letting the words sink in together with the unnatural amounts of heat that rolled off him, your fear was quickly replaced with angry worry.

Dean Winchester was the strongest man you knew. But sometimes that strength could translate into pure idiotic stubbornness.

He’d always work until he collapsed. Never letting it show that he was feeling under the weather. To Dean, any sign of weakness could be lethal. 

That’s how he’d survived as a hunter for all these years, by building walls made up of steely determination and an unflinching outer strength. Even though he’d let you scale those walls and invited you into his heart, sometimes he seemed to forget he could just be himself with you. Not Dean Winchester; hunter of all things bad. Just Dean… Your loving boyfriend. 

Forgetting that he could be weak or sick and let you take care of him. Though he’d still be the first to make a fuss about even a sniffle from you. And so, it was up to you to keep his stupidly stubborn ass on the straight and narrow.

Including getting him to rest when he was sick.

“I’ve faced ghosts with more colour in their face than you right now. If you’re sick you’re not going anywhere but straight back to bed,” You said with an annoyed huff. Strict words that were softened by your hand gently stroking back his hair so you could put your forehead against his in a weak attempt to measure his temperature. 

“You’re burning up Dean,”

“I’ve taken on apocalypses with broken bones and bullet wounds,” Dean’s attempt at laughter came out as nothing more than a breathless groan as you struggled to pull the big man back up on his feet. Damn it, he could barely stand. This wasn’t just a bit of a cold, he was sick. 

“This is nothing. I’ve just been run off my feet lately with all the cases is all,”

The words he’d probably meant to calm your angry worry did the exact opposite when paired with how the hunter was swaying in place, his cheeks flushed in feverish heat and green eyes watering and distant. 

No, Dean wasn’t waging any war today. Even if you had to call each and every one of your countless enemies and reschedule whatever mayhem they’d been planning to throw your way to someday next week. You’d get him in bed and keep him there. Even if you had to handcuff him to it.  

Of course, you bit your tongue before the threats could leave you. Knowing your stubborn hunter would just make an innuendo or a joke out of them. Hiding his weakness behind his humour like he always did. And you didn’t have the time or strength to roll your eyes. You needed to somehow lug the exhausted hunter through the bunker and back into your shared bedroom before he collapsed again.

“I don’t care what you’ve done before Winchester. You’re not doing anything with a fever as high as yours. Not on my watch,” You sighed instead, reaching out to steady him and place his arm around your shoulders so you could begin the long trip back to his room.

“But…”

“No buts! It hurts me to see you in pain, and I’m not having it. Not when I know you’ll get better with some rest,” You shot down whatever excuse the weakened hunter was trying to give you before the raspy words could even leave your him. Sure, you knew your own straight forward admission was a bit of a cheap shot. But it genuinely did hurt you, and all you wanted was to get him back to bed so you could take care of him.

“Alright… But just for a little while,” Dean’s mumbled whisper didn’t sound even the slightest bit convincing when paired with the sheen of sweat on his forehead or the tremble of a fever induced shiver in his voice. Yet, you let the issue lie. Focusing instead on getting your stumbling and unsteady boyfriend to his bed and under the covers.

“I’ll take care of you. Let's just get you to bed,” You kept one arm secure around his waist as you took careful, slow steps out into the chilly hallway. Though you yourself were overheating from the sheer amount of heat generated by the sick hunter next to you. Hell, his fever was probably hot enough to be used as a central heating system for the whole goddamn bunker.

How he could have let himself get this bad was beyond you. Or… Not really. No matter the situation, Dean never let himself rest. He never took a damned day off, no matter how big the circles under his eyes got, or how dark his eyes grew from the pain inflicted by the countless bastards you wanted to backhand for taking advantage of the man’s larger than life heart.

“Couch’s fine…” Dean slurred. His fevered mind not even fully registering that you were slowly but surely moving him down the hallway.

“No, you need a bed. Trust me, I might not be a doctor, but I’ve played one on TV. Or at least in Gabriel’s screwed up TV reality,” You shot back, teasing a weak smile out of your tired and sick boyfriend. Followed by a raspy chuckle that quickly morphed into a coughing fit.

---

“Dean… Baby,” You sighed, pulling at the blanket that was locked in place by his body weight on top of it.

As soon as you’d managed to get him down the hallway and through his door, the oh so stubborn love of your life had insisted he could walk himself. Only to fall face first onto the bed and decide that was close enough to what you wanted. Now he refused to move. Even as he was shivering above the warm duvet, still fully dressed.

“I’m fine,” The muffled reply teased a soft smile out of you that stayed hidden from the big baby stubbornly remaining collapsed where he was instead of getting comfortable under the blanket.

“No, you’re not. Sit up, come on,” You sighed, gently turning him around before grabbing his blisteringly hot hands to pull him into a seated position. First, you needed to get him changed. Flannel didn’t breathe well enough and he was sweating. A lot. A dry t-shirt, and some sweatpants would do. Though you knew it would be a battle as soon as the thought hit you.

Grabbing the change of clothes from his closet you hurried back to where he was swaying dangerously at the edge of the bed. His head lolling as he tried to find the strength to keep it up.

“I don’t have time for this (Y/N)… Research,” You only caught fragments of the words Dean was mumbling to himself, but as you returned with the clothes you shot them all down with a strict look and a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“No babe, you’re not doing anything today. Nothing except focusing on getting better,” You followed your words with soft fingers gently peeling off his flannel shirt as Dean sat still. His eyes closed and a furrow in his brow betraying how lightheaded and exhausted he was. Having to spend all his energy to even understand your words. 

“Lift your arms,”

“…’m fine,” The weak hunter mumbled, though he complied with your order as arms rose slowly from their sides. Though you had to help him lift them fully to get his t-shirt off, and a new one back on him.

Sinking to your knees, you removed his shoes, and, eyeing his jeans, you sighed. There was no way you could get him out of those jeans and into sweatpants without him cooperating. And he could barely keep his body upright. Forgoing the sweatpants, you chose to instead just remove his belt. 

That was as good as it’d get. Now you just had to get him under the blanket.

However, before you could tell him to lie down, or even push him gently down onto the mattress, Dean’s brow furrowed again. His arms shaking as he tried to push them against the mattress and jaw clenching in obvious strain.

“What is it? Are you in pain?” You hurried to stand back up, ready to call for backup, have Castiel heal him, get pain killers or… But before you could even fully move. Your stubborn hunter pushed himself back off the bed.

Or at least he attempted to push himself off it. Barely getting up before he flopped right back down. His breath strained and ragged from the obvious amount of effort that went into the small movement.

“… Up… Demons,” You couldn’t catch every word as the hunter slurred them through his fever haze. His head lolling from side to side as Dean kept his eyes down and shaky fingers curled into the blanket under him.

“No Dean Winchester. In this house we do NOT get out of bed when we’re sick, and we definitely don’t go demon hunting,” Your lecturing words were soft around the edges from obvious worry as you gently pushed your stubborn boyfriend down until he was stretched out on the bed. Quickly covering him in the blanket and tucking it in around him for good measure. He was shivering through his fever and you needed to keep him warm.

“It’s fine… I can work… Through it,”

“Y’know Dean… Normal people actually listen when people tell them to rest,” You sighed. Taking a careful seat at the edge of the bed, you let your fingers brush against his forehead and temples.

“Mmmh… Nice,” Dean’s mumbled, a small weak smile on his lips as the furrow in his brow finally disappeared, replaced with a much more relaxed expression. His cheek pushing weakly against your palm as if to make sure you didn’t remove it. 

“… ‘s nice ‘n cold,” He hummed as you smiled down at your exhausted hunter.

“Let me take care of you Dean… You just rest,” Leaning down, you let your lips ghost over his damp forehead as your stubborn hunter gave up on the battle and relaxed into the mattress. His breathing quickly softening into a steady rhythm and hinting at a painless sleep.

---

“Are you ok?” You asked as soon as his eyes opened, looking up from where you’d been trying to quietly put down your carefully balanced tray. Packed with medicine, water, tea, grilled cheese sandwiches and soup. Ok, so maybe you’d been a bit frantic in the kitchen. Unsure what Dean would want when he woke back up. But at least you’d made sure to cover all the basics.

“Yeah…” Dean groaned, the lack of focus in green eyes and the way his voice cracked over the single word doing little to convince you. So instead you let your hand go to his cheek again as soon as you put down the tray. Watching as his eyes fluttered shut with a contented smile. 

“Actually, no,” He hummed against your cool palm.

“You don’t need to be tough around me Dean, you know that right?” You let your fingers comb through his hair as you watched your soldier finally put down his weapons for a little while. Looking smaller and younger all curled up in the blankets with half-lidded green eyes trying to focus on you.

“I know… I can be m’self around you,” Your hunter mumbled through the mess of blankets, his eyes still closed as he nearly purred against your soft hand in his hair. The weak shaky smile was adorable and warm as Dean allowed himself some time to relax and heal.  

“Are you hungry? I brought a little of everything… Drinks and food,” You said with a nod towards the tray after a minute of comfortable silence. Your hand stilling where it was playing with his matted sand blonde hair as Dean’s eyes stayed shut. Only opening a little with an annoyed grumble once you removed your fingers from his hair.

Yet, as his fevered mind finally caught your words his eyes widened in what nearly looked like surprise. Following your line of sight over to the tray full of drinks, soup, comfort food and medicine.  

“Grilled cheese… Please,” Dean sounded hesitant, younger and nearly sad once he found his voice again. His eyes stayed on the tray of food as you helped him sit up and put a pillow behind his back.

“Don’t… Tell me this isn’t the first time someone’s made you food and taken care of you when you’re sick..?” You asked carefully. Worried your words might be tearing at hastily sutured wounds in the hunter’s heart. 

The Winchester brothers hadn’t had what you’d call a normal childhood after all. And as you’d learned since joining up with them; part of the family business creed, scrawled on the back of a truck stop receipt, was to bury the hurt. Six feet under.

“Not since… Not since I was a kid,” Dean’s voice was barely a whisper as he kept his eyes on the food. The furrow in his brow back along with painfully happy memories of a lost childhood. Leaning in, you fluffed up his pillow as you softly let your lips linger on his forehead, erasing the pain that was etched there.

“Well, you have me now, and I’ll always take care of you,” You smiled, handing him the plate of grilled cheese sandwiches, as if the plate of food alone was enough proof to solidify your silent addition of forever.

---

“It’s tasty, but I have no appetite…” Dean only managed a few bites before he put the plate back down with a frown. Looking at the sandwich as if it’d betrayed him. The hunter was used to being a glutton for his comfort foods, so you knew the thought of not being able to finish one of his favourites was a big dampener on his mood.

“It’s fine Dean, as long as you’ve got some food in you then you can take your medicine,” You took the plate from him before the hunter put his stubbornness to the test once more and tried to force himself to finish the sandwich. Hell, once he felt better you’d make him all the comfort foods he wanted. For now, however, he’d have to make do with a glass of water and some antipyretic tablets to break him of that fever.

“Do you need anything else?” You added as you rubbed his arm, watching him grimace at the tablets, but decide to tough it out as his eyes met your worried ones. Careful to put the glass of water within his reach as you placed it back on his bedside table.

“Could you… Come in here? I think I’d feel better if I can hold you,” Dean’s big green eyes looked at you pleadingly as he lifted the blanket with a shaky, weak hand. Your normally tough as nails hunter as soft and sweet as cotton candy now that he’d finally allowed himself to drop his walls and his armour and be spoiled by you for a bit.

“Of course, Dean,” You smiled, carefully climbing fully onto the bed and into the arms of your boyfriend. The heat radiating off him easily melted away what little worry you’d held onto as you wrapped your arms around him and let him hold you as close as fever weakened arms could.

“I’ll always be here with you, so you just rest. I got this,” You murmured into his chest. Feeling lips that were busy placing gentle grateful kisses in your hair give a small smile as he squeezed you even closer.

Dean Winchester was the strongest, most stubborn man you knew. But he was also incredibly sweet.

Though that was only for you, and the four walls of your bedroom, to know.

---

Tags:

Dean Winchester Stories: @ria132love​ @woodworthti666​ @defenderrosetyler​  @akshi8278​

All Stories: @deanwanddamons​ @winchest09​ @hobby27​  @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce​​ 

[staylovehearts]

The Other

Han Jisung x Reader

Word Count ~3.3 k

Summary: “I mean I guess it was kinda flattering at first and I was really proud to be with you when all of them keep saying how pretty you are, but it's starting to become a little irritating now."

Tags: fluff, light angst, discussion of feelings and insecurities, they are an idol group in this, established relationship, jisung is a jealous baby

Booming loud music is coming from the training room even though they are technically supposed to be soundproof. But standing in that almost weirdly clean hallway with the bright lights right in front of the door the music is clearly audible. And so are the other sounds coming from the inside. The synchronized stomping, jumping and squeaking of many different feet upon linoleum flooring. You've never actually been inside one of these practice rooms but you have seen them in videos countless times. But just the idea of actually setting foot inside feels wrong.

You feel awfully out of place here, like you are somehow invading a space that's not meant for you. Sure you have that little visitor badge hanging around your neck and you showed off your permit when you were asked for one at the reception. But you could kind of sense people staring at you as you made your way through the hallways, carefully observing every sign to not make a wrong turn somewhere and maybe accidentally end up in someone's dressing room. There are two crowds mingling in these hallways. On the one side, there's the staff, managers, coaches and all kinds of different people involved in producing and designing an album. Most of them dressed in business casual, they are always hurrying, their steps as quickly as they can without having to run. Faces glued to a cellphone, pager or clipboard they are holding. And then there are the idols and trainees. Gorgeous, all of them. Mostly dressed in sportswear as they make their way to and from training rooms, sweaty hair pushed back or put up in ponytails, hints of make-up that hasn't been sweat away yet and funky hair colours that are in various states of growing out or fading into pastel versions of what they used to be. You fit in with neither of them. And you are sure that the other people here notice that as well.

You've tried to keep your head down for the most part. To keep walking without standing around or looking at anyone or anything for too long. You don't want to be loitering here where you feel so much like you don't belong. And now you've finally made it here. The little plastic sign next to the door has the exact same number as the one you wrote down in your notes app. You've compared them at least ten times now. And yet you're hesitant to just step in. Unsure of whether to knock – would they even hear that over the music? – or to just hurry inside and be back out within a moment. Are you even allowed to go in just like that? Wouldn't you be disrupting them? What if they're filming something? You'd ruin the material.

Suddenly, the music stops. You can hear the faint sound of someone clapping and then a mixture of voices. But you can't make out any words. Yet, this is probably the best opportunity you will get. Better to make it quick than keep standing around in front of their training room like some weirdo. You knock on the door softly and when there is no clear response you take a deep breath and just push it open.

All eyes are on you once you've stepped inside. The air is heavy, almost humid, the mirror fogged up. There is a distinct smell of sweat and excessive amounts of body spray you can just barely fight back the urge to cover your mouth and nose. The boys are sitting or lying on the floor all across the room, either talking among themselves or gulping down an entire bottle of water. But as soon as they have all noticed you all conversation dies down.

"Uh, hi, I just wanted to drop something off, uhm, I'm-"

"Babe, what are you doing here?", a cheerful voice interrupts your mumbled explanation when one particular boy jumps up from the floor to hurry towards you. Jisung has a surprised smile on his face. As if he is both confused by you thrilling here and also excited to see you here. He has those excited puppy eyes that make him so adorable. But his cheerful greeting has also attracted attention from the others in the room. While at first their gazes towards you were only mildly surprised or confused they are now full of curiosity.

"You left this at my place last time, and I figured you might need it so I went to bring it over. Oh and I also got you some snacks, make sure to share." As you speak you almost shove the little plastic bag you have been carrying into Jisung's hand. He takes it with a soft smile.

"I should forget stuff at your place more often if that means that you'll come over to bring me snacks when I'm training", he says. Someone whistles and Jisung's head whips around to find the offender.

"Yo, Jisung, is that the one you won't shut up about?", one of the other guys – Changbin – asks almost provocatively.

"Yeah, you never told us you were dating such a beauty", Minho adds.

"Ugh, shut up", Jisung comments, but you can see a small blush creeping up onto his cheeks. Then again, it might just be that he is still overheated from dance practice. "Let's go outside for a moment, we're taking a short break either way", he mumbles at you. Even more whistles.

"Remember, no making out in company-owned buildings", Chan warns just before Jisung can push you out of the room and close the door behind you.

"I'm sorry, they don't know how to behave around someone so pretty", he says once you two are standing out in the hallway. You giggle at the compliment.

"They seem nice."

Jisung rolls his eyes at your comment but then he breaks out into a wide grin again. "Look at you having all these guys swooning over you. I should consider myself lucky that I get to be with you. After all, they're right about one thing, you're damn beautiful."

                                                               ~

"Ugh", Jisung groans he puts down his bag on the empty chair next to the one he just sat down on. The light inside the small soba noodle shop is dimmed down, it's almost completely empty. Which is reasonable considering it's basically the middle of the night. There are only a few other customers, most of them sitting alone, always making sure to leave a few empty tables between them and the other people. And you have made sure to pick the table in the most deserted corner of the entire establishment.

"Sorry for making you wait, practice ran a little longer than I thought it would", Jisung mumbles. He has a black bucket hat hiding his bleached hair and hanging down far enough to almost cover his eyes. A mask is covering most of his face, making his voice sound a little muffled. He glances around himself almost nervously before he pulls it down to free his mouth and give you a sheepish smile.

"It's fine, I also only really just got here a few minutes ago." That's a blatant lie. You've actually been waiting here for around half an hour now. The waiting staff must be pretty upset with you at this point, the same young waitress has come over to your table to ask for an order three times now. And you had to ask for a little more time every time. And every time her smile seemed a little more forced. At least you've ordered a drink the second time she came by and have been taking very slow sips of it ever since to stall for time. But you know that it can't be helped. It's not like Jisung made you wait on purpose. It's out of his control. And you knew what you signed up for when you agreed to date him.

"I still feel really bad for asking you to meet me here in the middle of the night. I wish I could take you on normal dates. You know, go out without having to do all this undercover bullshit and only meeting past midnight in some noodle place."

You can't deny that you would want that as well. And you also can't pretend that it bothers you sometimes. To be with someone who only rarely manages to make time for you and when he does you can never really go anywhere too public. You can't just call or text him whenever you feel lonely. Well, you could, but he'd probably take hours to get back to you. And then he'd feel bad about it. You know that Jisung genuinely feels bad that he can't be with you more. And that is the main reason why you won't allow yourself to be too upset about it. He's pouting. You counter with a smile.

"I already told you that it's fine, stop moping around. I'm thankful that you managed to make time for me at all, I know that your schedule is super tight right now. Let's rather enjoy the time we have than complain about the time together we don't get."

Jisung seems to cheer up at that.

"You're right! It seems like I haven't seen you in forever. When even was the last time we met up?"

"Not even that long ago. I came by to drop some of your stuff of while you guys were training just last week, remember? Then again, I guess that doesn't really count as meeting up..."

"Ugh, don't remind me, the guys won't stop teasing me about it", Jisung complains. He's once again sticking out his bottom lip in a small pout that looks a little childish but also adorable. Not that the two are mutually exclusive either way. "They also won't shut up about how they can't believe I'm with someone as gorgeous as you. I mean I guess it was kinda flattering at first and I was really proud to be with you when all of them keep saying how pretty you are, but it's starting to become a little irritating now."

"Oh come on, I bet they're just doing it to tease you, they'll get bored of it."

"Probably, but it's so annoying, I don't like when other guys talk about you like that. I mean, I'm not going to argue with them, you are drop-dead gorgeous, even a blind person would be able to tell. But it kind of irks me to hear other dudes say that about you. I don't like them looking at you like that. Like you're some pretty thing they could just take away from me."

"You do know that you don't owe me either, right?", you comment. While Jisung's jealousy is somewhat cute and you don't mind him becoming a little bit possessive you want to make it clear that you are still your own person.

"Of course, that's not what I meant, it's just that... Ugh, I don't even know, probably I'm just being stupid."

You reach out a hand to gently poke his cheek until he's looking at you so you can smile at him from across the table.

"Forget about that for now. You should better be thinking about what you want to eat, I feel like the staff are going to kick us out if we don't order something soon."

                                                              ~

hey we all have some free time, most of the other guys are visiting their families but my parents are busy so I'll be almost alone at the dorm this weekend, wanna come over?

Jisung sent you this a few days ago. The message came as a bit of a surprise. Not just because you know how rare free time his in his business but also because it's the first time he's ever actually invited you to the dorm. You asked about visiting there once when you had just started dating and he gave you this whole rant about how it's probably not good because the risk of someone seeing you go in is just too high and all of that. A lot of beating around the bush until he finally admitted that mostly he just didn't want to take you there because the dorm tends to be kind of messy with so many mostly unsupervised young boys living there together. And you never really brought it up again after that. But now here you are, with an official invitation.

Even though Jisung has given you clear instructions on how to get inside and what the number code for the big front door is you still feel awkward stepping into the building where the dorm is. Is it even legal for him to give out that code? Of course, you don't intend on doing anything with it, but still, it seems like something that should not just be given out to random visitors.

To your surprise, the one opening the door to the actual dorm is Felix. He seems to be just as surprised to see you here but that surprise quickly turns into a grin.

"So I guess you're here to meet up with Jisung, lucky him. Come on in", he gestures for you to follow him inside and you do so a little hesitantly. The place really does look a little messy but from what Jisung described you had prepared for worse. Sure, there are some discarded clothes on the floor and several opened snack packages all over the place, but nothing that a little tidying up couldn't fix.

"Are you the only other one still here? Jisung told me that you're all visiting family and stuff like that." Felix responds to your awkward attempt at small talk with another smile.

"Ah, you see Chan and I can't really go back to our family if it's just for a weekend or so. But we wanted to do a little trip on our own, we're almost finished packing up, so we'll be out of your hair soon", he laughs. You can feel your face turning slightly red. Of course, you should have figured that they probably can't be making oversea trips to their family all that easily. You can't even imagine how hard it must be to not be able to just go back home for so long.

"Oh no, I'm so sorry, I totally didn't want to get rid of you", you apologise quickly. Felix just laughs a little more.

"I know, I know, it's all good. You should probably not keep your boyfriend waiting though."

As if Jisung had only been waiting for his cue he bursts out of one of the many doors and stumbles into the big room that is half kitchen half living space. He sees you and Felix stand together and quickly looks back and forth between the two of you before approaching.

"I thought you'd text me when you get here?", he says, pouting.

"I texted you five minutes ago saying I'd be here soon." You go over to greet Jisung with a hug but he doesn't squeeze you back as tightly as he usually does. When you separate from him again you see him kind of looking to the side. Usually, he'd be smiling at you. Felix is still awkwardly standing in the room, looking at you two.

"Well, I better go check if Chan is done packing. Was nice talking to you", he mumbles. You just barely manage to get out a "Yeah, same", before he disappears into one of the rooms.

"You look upset", you notice as soon as Jisung has shut the door to his room. Aside from having barely greeted you properly he also hasn't really said anything to you after that. He pretty much just gestured for you to follow him without even really looking at you. He seems agitated. Completely on edge, pacing up and down the room while you can only stand there not sure of what to do. Jisung is running his fingers through his hair before he turns to give you an almost pleading look. Sad, desperate, exhausted.

"It's just... I don't even know how to say it, but it's getting to me. It's so annoying how they talk about you. It drives me crazy."

"Why are you even so jealous? Who cares what they say?" Okay, maybe that last sentence came out a little too forceful. You can see Jisung recoiling. Now he just looks defeated. He sits down on his bunk bed with a heavy sigh.

"You're so amazing. Of course, other guys notice that as well. But hearing all of them say it over and over again kind of makes me insecure. Like, why would you want to be with me when all these other amazing guys want you as well? I'm just... jealous I guess. Of their talent and how amazing they are. And hearing them say how amazing you are is frightening. Because there are so many guys better than me. Guys that would make time to see you and sweep you off your feet. What if one of the more amazing guys comes along and just takes you away from me?"

"Oh Jisung...", you sit down next to him, gently wrap and arm around him and place your head on his shoulder. "You're such a big idiot."

"I'm sorry", he whispers into your hair. You can hear him sniffle a little but you pretend to have overheard it. He'd probably be even more upset if you were to see him cry right now.

"I know that this probably won't do much to change your mind right away, but I swear that I only have eyes for you. I don't care about any other guys. When they call me pretty it's annoying. I only want to hear it from you. I wanted to be with you, even though I knew you would not have a lot of time for dates and that things would be hard on both of us. But I-", you stop for a moment. You haven't really said this before. Neither of you has. But maybe now is just the right moment. "I love you, Jisung."

You can feel how his body goes stiff beside you for a moment. His breathing comes to a staggering halt. Then he relaxes again, wraps an arm around you as well to pull you close.

"I love you too. And I'm sorry for being dumb. I guess I just need some time to get used to this whole relationship thing. It's not like I doubt you, I just doubt myself sometimes."

"I get that. But you know, if anything I should be the insecure one."

"Huh? Why? You're amazing."

"But so are you. And you have all these fans screaming your name and almost fainting when they see you. And you also have all these other pretty and successful people around you all the time. And then there's me. But you picked me regardless. And I'm so happy that I get to be with you. Why would I ever want anyone else?"

Maybe Jisung needs a moment to think about that, at least he doesn't respond right away. But then that moment continues and when the silence is finally starting to make you nervous you raise your head a little to look at his face. You've never seen him smile like this before. So soft and full of adoration. You lean in almost on instinct. Jisung gently cups your face with his hands and when your lips meet for a soft touch you can feel how his smile moulds your lips into the crescent same shape.

[blitzturtles]

Title: Heatwave

Rating: Teen and Up

Fandom: JoJo's Bizarre Adventure: Vento Aureo

Pairing(s): MeloGhia / GhiaMelo

Summary: To say that Ghiaccio hates the heat would be something of an understatement. He can’t stand it. Can’t exist in it.

Notes: I read that Ghiaccio having problems with/hating the heat is a bit of a fan favorite in terms of headcanons, and, since I am heat intolerant, I thought I'd inflict something called dysautonomia on him.

Dysautonomia basically means the autonomic nervous system (heartbeat, breathing, etc...) doesn't functioning correctly. And one type of dysautonomia is POTS, or Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome. This can cause an increase in heart rate, lowered blood pressure, orthostatic intolerance (difficulty with standing, which is usually caused by an abrupt drop of blood pressure and a significantly elevated heart rate), heat intolerance, etc...

-

To say that Ghiaccio hates the heat would be something of an understatement. He can’t stand it. Can’t exist in it. Because the heat hates him just as much. It builds under his skin, while his blood collects in all the wrong places, apparently he’s too weak against gravity for his body to continue to circulate properly.

Every attempt at moving brings about a response wherein his heart pounds away painfully in his chest. It’s an attempt, on its part, to try to correct the problem, but it’s really only making it worse. The inner chambers of his heart squeeze too hard, and the bounding of his pulse can be felt through his clothes-- not that he’s wearing much more than a tank top and a pair of boxers at this point.

He’s tried to use White Album to keep the worst of it at bay, but he’s running out of energy. Partly because this particular wave of too-hot days has stretched on for nearly a week, and partly because his body is exhausting itself in its effort to recapture homeostasis.

Nausea bubbles up on his guts for the umpteenth time; a sure sign that all the blood in his body is being shunted away from anything deemed non-vital. He hasn’t eaten much of anything in days simply to avoid the repercussions of an underactive digestive system, and that certainly isn’t helping.

He knows he isn’t drinking enough water, either. Knows that it’s vital for someone like him, but he can’t bring himself to care when he’s splayed out on the cold floor of his bedroom with limbs spread in every direction. Every time the floor warms, he simply scoots to a new spot or rolls himself over until it becomes necessary to repeat the process all over again.

Being on the floor has the added bonus of reducing the amount of energy that goes into his body fighting gravity. If he were to try to stand right now, the dizziness would hit him so severely that he might not be able to catch himself before blacking out. All of his blood would rush down into his legs, and his brain would momentarily blip out on him. The last thing he needs is a concussion.

He’s too caught in his own thoughts to notice someone popping the door open (it should be locked anyways, but when has that ever stopped anyone in this godforsaken house?)

“Ah,” Melone says when he looks into the room and sets his eyes on Ghiaccio. He makes his way over to the sprawled man and peers down at him through a curtain of lavender hair, “Body being a bitch today?”

“You’re being a bitch today,” Ghiaccio snaps back, but there’s no heat to it.

“Aw,” Melone juts out his lower lip, “Now is that any way to talk to the one that brought you presents?”

“I don’t give a fuck, Mel, go away,” the nickname is the only thing that betrays his attempt at sound pissed. He isn’t really. Not at Melone, but he’s miserable and sick to his stomach and overheated and kind of over the whole living thing.

Melone pretends to consider the request-- it’s not one-- before grinning, “No. Don’t think so. Up with you! Wait, no. Don’t move.” He disappears out the door, though only just outside of it. He comes back a few seconds later with a massive duffel bag that only makes Ghiaccio groan. He has no idea what Melone is up to, but he can tell when Melone’s scheming, and that doesn’t always bode well for Ghiaccio.

Without asking, Melone settles down next to Ghiaccio on the floor, right in his next cold spot, and that gets Melone a glare that he, of course, ignores. “Relax, the internet said this’ll help.”

“The internet says all kinds of bullshit,” Ghiaccio mumbles with a roll of his eyes, but there’s no stopping Melone now.

At least not until he pulls a needle, and Ghiaccio suddenly finds the energy (adrenaline) to quickly sit up in an attempt to escape. His vision rapidly fades out, and it’s only Melone’s hands that stop him from hitting the ground.

“Have a little faith, Ghia!” Melone whines, but he’s still grinning.

Bastard.

“Whatever,” now Ghiaccio is losing patience with the man.

“The science is sound! You’re low on blood volume, and I’ve got a pretty easy fix for that. Plus some ice packs,” Melone resumes digging into the bag and pulls out several, soft freezer packs. Ghiaccio takes them with a little more eagerness than he means to let on, but Melone only smiles in response. A softer, more genuine thing that makes Ghiaccio’s heart flutter for an entirely different reason.

“How are you going to ‘fix’ my blood volume?”

“You’ll see,” Melone answers, earning himself a roll of the eyes from Ghiaccio.

It takes Melone awhile to set up whatever he’s doing, and Ghiaccio gives up figuring it out only a few minutes in. He’s gathered that it has to do with some sort of injection. Possibly more than one, given the tourniquet, but he doesn’t know enough about medical supplies to put any of the other pieces together. Instead, he closes his eyes and tries to focus on the feeling of the freezing sensation against his skin from where he’s stuck the packs against his stomach and legs. It’s both a relief and a comfort. Cold is an old, reliable friend and his only solace in times like these.

Eventually, Melone breaks him out of his daze to ask, “Ready?”

Melone wraps the tourniquet around Ghiaccio’s upper arm as he speaks, and Ghiaccio simply shrugs with his other shoulder. He doesn’t think he actually has much say in this. When Melone sets his mind to something, he’s going to follow it through, and that goes double for medical experiments. It’s not the first time Ghiaccio is on the receiving end, and he has to admit that it hasn’t ever gone too horribly for him in the past.

“Okay,” Melone grabs the needle again. He pops the cap off and holds it up to his good eye for a moment before he lowers it toward Ghiaccio’s elbow. “On three. One, two-”

“OW! Fuck you!”

“Three,” Melone smiles at him with a feigned sweetness, like he doesn’t know why Ghiaccio might want to pull the needle right back out of his arm and stick it between Melone’s eyes.

Melone doesn’t pay him the slightest bit of attention as he slides the needle out and leaves behind a small catheter. He screws something into the end of it and slaps tape over it. It’s then that Ghiaccio notices the bag of fluids already hung up on the nearest surface, which just happens to be his dresser.

“There,” Melone says when he finishes setting up everything to his liking, “That should do it.” He taps the bag with his pointer finger, “Saline. An easy and safe way to up your volume.”

Ghiaccio doesn’t particularly like the implication that there’s an unsafe way.

“Well, mostly. Technically this isn’t the most sterile environment, so you could get an infection, but I’ve done worse on the kitchen table on Pesci’s day to do dishes, sooo.” And there it is.

“Please stop talking,” Ghiaccio says with a groan and tries to push away the anxiety that’s building at the mere thought of sepsis.

“Aww, have a little faith. You’ll be fine, and this should make you feel a lot better. For at least a day or two, and maybe the heatwave will finally go away,” Melone beams at him before he starts to clean up his mess. He gathers it all up in a trash bag he must have brought with him, though that doesn’t exactly answer why the duffel bag is so large.

“What else do you have in there?” Ghiaccio asks against his better judgement. He still isn’t so sure about this saline thing, but his curiosity has always been a bit of a problem.

“Oh, more fluids, in case you need them, and some uh- well, let’s just say a snack for our resident pseudo-vampire. It has to stay cold until it’s… used, so I’ve got it in a cooler.”

Ghiaccio hums and as he processes the words. Seems he isn’t the only one suffering through the heat, though he has a feeling Risotto’s situation is more of a repercussion from his most recent hit. Then again, maybe the heat is getting to the man. It’s not often that Risotto’s left in a bad enough state where he needs Melone’s help. He usually has Prosciutto for that.

“I’m going to go take care of that, actually. You should be fine here for a bit. That bag will finish in about forty-five minutes, so just stay put,” Melone says like Ghiaccio has any intention of going anywhere, regardless of the ice and saline. He stands with the bag slung over his shoulder and glances between the door and Ghiaccio, obviously not wanting to leave, but knowing that he’s needed elsewhere.

“Go take care of Ris,” Ghiaccio mumbles in lieu of a thanks. He’ll repay Melone for his efforts later. When he’s feeling more human.

“Yes, sir!”

Ghiaccio groans and rolls his eyes, “Get the fuck out.”

Melone laughs and dashes for the door before Ghiaccio can hurtle a pointed chunk of ice directly at his head.

It’s barely twenty minutes-- and only half a bag later-- when Ghiaccio finds himself able to sit up without the world spinning.

“Huh,” is all he can say into the empty room. Leave it to Melone.

[queenborhapreaderships]

That’s That

Fandom: Doctor Who

Ship: Eleven/Reader

Word Count: 1.3k

AO3 link

Description: “The Tardis takes a bit of a tumble and you bang your head up pretty bad. Cue a very worried Doctor. He takes care of you which causes certain... things to come to light.”

***

“What?” The Doctor roared, “This doesn’t happen, this can’t happen” he continued to run around the Tardis console like a madman.

“Doctor, tell me what’s happening! Tell me what you need from me!” you shout in an attempt to make yourself useful and potentially help calm The Doctor down a little from the ragged state he’s in.

“No no no, there’s nothing you can do, (y/n), unless you’ve learned how to repair the external shields on a Tardis overnight. Have you, by any chance?” he glances over to you and then when the Tardis makes an angry beeping sound, he sprints over to the opposite side and attempts to pull down a lever. It won’t budge.

“Come on!” he screams, yanking to no avail. “The shields shouldn’t break down, that’s the entire reason they exist in the first place! Nothing should be able to hurt her! With the exception of the Titanic”, he mutters under his breath.

“The what?” you look up and stare at him.

Before he has the time to answer, you’re both thrown flying in different directions. Now, with a life in the Tardis, you’re definitely used to rough landings, but this was different. It’s like the area dealing with the field of gravity switched off for a second, just enough time to really throw you around the room.

You weren’t sure if you were on the ceiling, the walls, or the floor until The Doctor began grabbing at your arm. He was scrambling across the floor in an attempt to get you up and safe. Another bump throws you down the stairs, but at least this time you’ve got something to hold on to, even if it’s someone else getting thrown around too.

When the Tardis finally stops shaking the two of you about, you land side by side. You both sit up wearily, The Doctor rubbing at the back of his head with pain lighting up all of his features.

“Well that wasn’t very fun, now was it?” he turns to look at you and you grunt in agreement. Talking doesn’t sound like much fun either, you’ve finally found the time to acknowledge the splitting headache tearing at your skull. You groan and lie back down because that seems to be the position with the least amount of throbbing.

The Doctor glances from you with your hands rubbing circles around your aching temples back to the Tardis, he leans down and kisses your forehead.

“I’ll be right back” he mutters as he bounds up to the flashing console and fiddles around for a minute or two. Once The Doctor finally seems to get her back in order he rushes back down to you. “I’m sorry, I’m right here. I had to make sure we weren’t going to get taken on any more joyrides. We’re safe now, I’ve got you. Can you sit up? Is it just your head?”

He’s hovering. He always hovers when he’s concerned. It’s really not that bad, it would just be better if everything above your chest didn’t exist.

“Yeah, my head and my neck, but I’ll be okay. You don’t have to worry,” you say, rolling over in an attempt to make yourself comfortable on the floor, the cold actually doesn’t feel terrible on your overheated body.

“Oh, (y/n), you know I’ll worry no matter what,” he says, a soft grin growing across his face. “Now let’s get you up, can you walk?”

“I’m sure I could, but why would I want to? I’m perfectly comfortable down here,” you grumble and curl up into a ball, attempting to get away from the offending bright lights. The Tardis dims them instantly and gives a hum, whether that be an apology or an attempt to motivate you to get up, you’re not quite sure. Frankly, you don’t have the energy to contemplate the matter.

Right before you allow yourself to doze off, you feel what must be The Doctor scooping you up into his arms. Your suspicions are confirmed when you feel the warmth radiating off of him. You can’t help but rest your head in the crevice of his neck. The last thing you feel is a kiss being placed on the top of your head before you drift away.

~~~~~

You wake up to the sound of a door opening. When you crack your eyelids, you smile at the image of The Doctor trying his best to sneak in the room without disturbing you. It’s adorable, really. It’s not his fault you’re a light sleeper. He looks over to you and you see his eyes widen.

“Oh. Oops…”

“Shh, it’s okay. I should be getting up anyway. How long have I been out?” you ask, hoping to squash the guilt you know is bubbling up in The Doctor.

“Only an hour or so, lie back down, you need rest,” he says, taking a seat next to your bed.

“I’m really okay, Doctor. I promise.”

“I know you will be, but you took a nasty spill. I don’t want to risk anything when it comes to you, ever,” he says, reaching over to run his fingers through your hair. All of a sudden you can’t make eye contact anymore, you avert your eyes and feel the dam breaking. The feelings you’ve been trying to suffocate for months have come flooding back with a vengeance.

The Doctor notices a shift in the atmosphere and is instantly concerned. If you were able to look at him, you’d notice the worry light up across his face but you still can’t get yourself to meet his eyes.

“(y/n)? What’s wrong? Are you in pain? How can I help?” the concern laced in his voice causes your heart to practically skip a beat. Why does he have to be so goddamn genuine? You don’t want to roll over and ignore him, that would be too childish, but you don’t know what to do. So you don’t do anything, you just. Freeze.

“(y/n)? Okay, you’re starting to frighten me now…” you want to say something but you’re just so overwhelmed. You finally garner the courage to look over and his heart breaks the second he sees your red-rimmed eyes. You weren’t crying, but damn, were you close. The Doctor finally began to sense that this wasn’t a physical ailment plaguing you.

“You know you can tell me anything, right? I’ll always be here. Are you homesick? I can take you back if you want to be with your family” he offers, doing everything he can to prevent the hint of sadness from leaking through in his voice. You can tell he’s started to ramble again, overthinking everything there is to be thought.

“It’s not that. It’s…” you croak out. “I just…”

“Yeah?”

“I’m worried if I tell you, you’ll send me home. Or it’ll be weird and I don’t want it to be weird,” you say, the shame rising up throughout you.

“What? A time-traveling alien with a blue box that’s bigger on the inside isn’t already weird?” he asks, smiling slightly to himself. “There’s nothing you could say that would make me stop loving you.” Your stomach drops and you’re instantly frozen again. This time, nothing stops you from staring at him dead on. Did he just? But did he mean it like… that? He couldn’t have, right?

“Shh, stop thinking so loudly, it’s really rather annoying” he chuckles. “I love you and that’s that,” he says pointedly. Before you’re able to process what you’re doing, you’ve lunged into his open arms. He’s got one hand tangled in your hair and the other holding the small of your back firmly. You bury your head into his shoulder, trying not to cry and get his jacket wet.

“I love you too.” you barely whisper.

The rest of the night was kind of a blur, but what you do remember is an overwhelming sense of home. Wherever the Tardis is, is home. Wherever The Doctor is? That’s home too.

***

My inbox is open for requests for any fandom I’m in! Let me know if you liked this, it’s a little old but I thought I’d share it anyway. 

[etherealwaifgoddess]

What He Wants (Pt. 14)

Main Characters: Bucky Barnes x Enhanced Reader

Summary:  On going series of Bucky getting his shit together and falling in love with you.

Warnings/ Content: none, just domestic fluff

Word Count: 1831

Author’s Note: Hello lovelies! We are firmly into fluff territory now. Like serious, tooth rotting fluff. Ya’ll might want to see a dentist after this ;) 

If you missed the first few parts, you can read them here: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13

XOXO -Ash

What He Wants, Pt. 14

In the early morning light you wake to a heavy, hot weight over your waist. You’re overheated but extremely comfortable and it takes you a moment to realize the tickling on the back of your neck is from Bucky’s breath against your hair. At some point during the night you had both shifted to the center of the bed and became entwined. He has his right arm thrown around your waist and he’s lying partly on his stomach and partly around you. His head is pressed against your neck in your hair and you can’t understand how he doesn’t mind laying like that. You had your arms wrapped around his when you woke, and you are reluctant to let him go. You’re afraid to wake him and lose this perfect, warm moment but you know it’s inevitable and he will likely not be thrilled to wake up like this. You shift to roll away but his arm tightens his grasp on you. “Where ya goin’, mouse?” He asks, his Brooklyn accent thick in his semi-conscious state. 

You freeze, he is awake and not pulling away. “I have to pee.” You say honestly and pull yourself out from under him.

Your voice and movements wake him up fully and he jolts back. “I’m sorry, God, mouse, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

You shake your head, “It’s okay. Apparently we’re both cuddlers. Who knew?”

Bucky’s eyes widen at your flippant comment and you hurry to the bathroom before you die of embarrassment. You scrub at your face with a cold wash cloth, staring at your reflection for a moment. You had lost your mind, clearly. You pile your hair on top of your head in your standard messy bun and steel your nerves to go back out and face the man in your bed. 

Bucky had already gotten up and dressed. When you enter the bedroom he takes off towards the bathroom without a word. He can’t be around you for the time being, you are too soft and too beautiful in the morning light. He had been having the most wonderful dream of dancing with you in a ballroom, both hands wrapped around your waist leading your movements to a slow song. You had worn a red carnation in your hair and smiled at him like he was your whole world. When he had started waking he thought it was part of the dream. He curses himself for his foolishness. He needs to get himself together before he does something stupid and scares you off. The memory of last night and the way you had touched him has him gripping the side of the sink trying to catch his bearings. 

It’s been almost 80 years since he wanted a woman the way he wants you. After HYDRA had gotten their claws in him he’d had the singular focus of the Winter Soldier, or was on ice. There was no time for attraction or desire for sex during that time, it was just rage and fear. After Steve had helped him get out, well, he wasn’t exactly boyfriend material anymore. If his scars didn’t scare people off the permanent scowl he wore surely would. He had become a pro at keeping people at a distance and it was a hard habit to break. Bucky thinks about your words in the hospital, what did he want the rest of his life to look like? He has to admit, until he saw Steve come back aged he wasn’t sure they were capable of growing old because of the serum. The damn serum that was forever mixed with his DNA, ruining his insides the same way the HYDRA surgeons had ruined his outside. Risking a glance in the mirror he shakes his head at his reflection. He will just need to keep himself in check better, just like he does with the winter bastard rolling around in his subconscious. 

Bucky’s resolve lasts all the way to the kitchen where he finds you dancing around to some upbeat song, still wearing your night shirt which rides up your thighs a little higher every time you shimmy. He leans back against the door jam and coughs lightly so as not to startle you. You are completely unphased by his presence and send him a wide smile across the little pink and white kitchen. 

“I’m making French Toast. Your favorite, right?” You ask as you continue your movements, swaying as you coat a piece of bread with the egg mixture. You plop the soaked piece of bread in a sizzling pan and Bucky forgets every harsh reminder he had given himself only minutes before in the bathroom. 

“Yeah, mouse, that’s my favorite.” He says roughly, trying to reign himself in. “You didn’t have to-“

You cut him off before he makes excuses you don’t need, “I like it too, so it works out. Can you grab the syrup from that cupboard?” You point to the one and Bucky is quick to respond.

“Yeah, what else can I get for you?” He asks shuffling around the small kitchen the best he can with his crutch. 

“Plates are in there” you point, “And silverware is in that drawer” you point again.

“Yes, ma’am.” Bucky replies with no trace of sarcasm. 

Bucky has the table set by the time you place the first piece of toast on a platter by the stove. He looks around, wanting to stay busy while you work. “Can I get a pot of coffee started?” He offers. 

“Sure, grounds and filters are in there.”

“Thanks. Where’s the salt?”

“The salt?” You look at him incredulously.

“Yeah, to throw in with the grounds.” 

“Um, Bucky, don’t take this wrong but salt doesn’t go in coffee grounds.”

“Just you wait and see. My ma taught me this trick. It does somethin’ with the grounds, makes ‘em taste better. Less bitter. Just trust me, okay, mouse?”

You shake your head and wave your hand at him, letting him have his way. You can just make a new batch if it tastes weird. Bucky gets the coffee machine going and hops up on your kitchen countertop, sitting happily next to your work area. You’re surprised it holds the super soldier, but it seems stable. He swings his legs a little, happily watching you work. His cheerfulness is unnerving and you feel the creeping of a blush starting in your chest and working its way up your cheeks. You wish Bucky could be like this all the time, but you know he can’t ignore his issues forever and you need to make the most of these carefree moments when they happen. 

Having him so close while you cook is comforting and you place a hand on his thigh before you realize what you’re doing. Bucky’s eyes widen and his lips part in surprise. You pull your hand away as if you had placed it on the stove instead of him, wrapping your arms around yourself. “I-I-I’m so sorry.” You stutter, wishing the floor would open up into a void that you could fling yourself into. 

Bucky ambles down from the countertop to go check on the coffee which is doing just fine on its own. He also needs to readjust things. Bucky feels like a teenager again, unable to control his body’s responses to a pretty girl. It’s difficult for him to hide his reaction behind his fitted black jeans but he does his best to think of every disgusting thing he can to wipe any remaining lust from his system. 

You almost burn the next piece of toast, turning it just in time before it goes from just really dark to charred. You can’t shake the feel of Bucky’s thigh beneath your hand from your mind. It was so wide, thickly muscled, and powerful. You force your wayward mind to stop conjuring up imaginings of those thighs against other parts of your body, trying to get a grip on yourself. You cool off while making the last few pieces and then join Bucky at the table with the giant pile of French Toast. He’s sipping his coffee with a satisfied smile, clearly ready to gloat. 

“Just like my ma used to make it.” He says with a flourish as he hands you the cup. 

You roll your eyes but accept the offered cup, taking a sip of the salted coffee. To your surprise there isn’t even a hint of salt in the brew. It’s strong and rich, definitely better than when you normally make it, and you want to smack the smug look off Bucky’s face. “Damnit.” You grumble as you take another long sip.

Bucky laughs and it’s a harsh, almost dorky sound, seeming to have burst out before he could control it. You try not to snort your coffee through your nose and hold back the laughter bubbling up in your throat. Bucky’s cheeks tinged red, embarrassed at his outburst. 

“Thank you, Bucky.” You concede, raising your cup to him.

“You’re very welcome, mouse. Thanks for cooking again.” He takes four pieces of toast and starts dousing them with syrup. You try not to make a face, still unable to believe the way he eats. You pick two pieces off the plate for yourself, giving them a slight drizzle of syrup and then dig in. The coffee is good enough to go back for seconds and you catch Bucky’s pleased grin out of the corner of your eye. He polishes off eight pieces before pushing himself back from the table with a sigh. “A man can get used to this.” He teases. 

“Oh really? Well, as soon as man is feeling better he can get used to doing dishes too.” You sass back.

“Oh come on, mouse. You know I’m gonna help you once I’m back on both feet. I’m gonna cook for you, I’ll do the dishes, take care of the laundry, whatever you need. Just gimme another day to rest up.” 

“I know you’re good for it, no worries.” You get up to take care of the dishes, trying to keep your mind busy before it goes to all the other places you would like Bucky’s help. 

Bucky places his hand over your wrist, stilling your movement, “Seriously, mouse. I can’t repay you for taking me in like this. I know I’m a pain in the ass, and I’m gonna triple your grocery bill, but I really appreciate it.” The genuine gratefulness in his eyes stops you in your tracks even more than the contact of his hand on your wrist. Your brain struggles to come up with an appropriate response but all you come up with is “Any time.” It’s trite and you hate the sound of your voice. You force yourself to break the contact before you do something stupid like pull him against your chest and kiss him senseless. It’s barely 9am and you already know it’s going to be a long day. 

Tag List Lovelies: @my-current-fandom-is @blacklightguidesnic @amazonianbeauty @ladyemofhousestark @abswritesfandoms

[sol-korolevas]

our empirical love ballad;

(a/n: this is the unfinished and unedited rough draft of the gods!au. hopefully i can find time and motivation to finish it in the future?)

you are the moon and he, the sun – the propagator of life. when you were just the singular he was everything. he reigned the night and the mornings, and everything in-between. but as the moon itself, you were quite content to watch during the select hours. you have no worshippers or people who speak in hushed adoring whispers about you. only the stars are your handmaidens and it is they who aid you in your guidance to the travelers at night.

happy as you are, you couldn’t shed the sickliness your weaker self withholds. as your bodily form is tucked within a place no humans nor beasts could reach, your soul is whisked to that of your brother’s realm during his reign. while you made earth your second home, he made home here, within a place he knows best.

“my sister, you are unwell,” nines spoke too soon, as you stumble to him, half-disoriented and half-nervous. a better part of you wants to douse yourself in the rich mineral water that flows through this realm, and be done with it so you can rest amongst your garden.

however, nines has other plans. he acts faster than you, pulling you underneath a heavily shaded area just as you feel your body quake in immeasurable tremors. nines’ hands feel too hot for your flesh, worn down from this incurable sickness.

“it’s not right for a goddess to be sick, especially one as important as you,” nines’ said, softly. he plants you against his chest, and all of a sudden you are reminded of the human mothers with their tiny little children. even in the half-conscious state, you feel embarrassment rising hot within your cheeks. “i am going to give you my heart, stay still.”

“de-dear brother...i’m not that important,” you breathed out, hands weakly waving at air. what you want to summon versus what your heart want to was lost in the confusion of an overheated mind. a tiny sliver of chilly wind appears for a fraction of a second, only to disappear amongst the heat of the realm.

he clutches you tighter, hands pinning your wrists to the side in the gentle way he always does with you. then, he shushes you, again reminding you of the way human mothers would quiet their children. your brows furrow, before the onset of weakness relaxes them. you could barely keep your eyes open but you could see nines’ holding a swirling blue orb in his hand. it moves with a hazy light that reminds you of the numerous magics that he hides.

nines moves the same hand to you, just as a surge of warmth emits from within your chest. it floods every bone and every vein, igniting a strength and consciousness that you could never imagine. all of a sudden, the half-blurry world becomes crisp and clear. the radiance of the flowers and the stream that separates the realm into two fills your eyes. you could even see the outlines of two mountains far away, their peaks surrounded by shreds of gray clouds.

noting you are currently seated on his lap with your leg stretched out, you immediately lift yourself and turn towards him. nines’ expression was always stone-faced and cold, a far cry from the warmth that his powers would provide. but yet, in your presence, he wears a softness that is genuine and starkly soft.

tentatively, you cup your hands to his cheeks and lean your forehead to his. “you just don’t listen,” you whispered, closing your eyes as nines’ large hands settles themselves on your cheeks. you are not, however, upset with him; from his actions kindled a new reason to love him more and more. nines is your inspiration and your companion; above all, he is your brother and you love him more than you love the stars that is a part of you.

you want to carve yourself into his existence, imprint it onto his every skin. it is a horrific and monstrous thought, to be so deeply in love, but when is love ever reasonable? “(name), oh my (name),” nines muttered, as he trails his lips over yours.

the touch is burning, fire sparking with every little movement. you want to smother it by fully encasing it with your own.

and you do, you press your lips against nines, his thin lips so warm and soft, inviting you to think of sinful acts. in this realm there are only the two of you. nothing is forbidden and everything is allowed; it is a freedom even earth cannot grant.

----

only in your dreams can you see nines. if he allows himself to show you his flesh and blood body, then you could be well on your way to destruction. such is the life of a moon goddess, that whenever you travel the earth you are lonely. and it’s not always you can allow yourself the blessing of dreams.

after all, you have your duties to tend to. the garden of your small realm is tethered to the moon itself. a flourishing scape of white lunar flowers that stands in eternal silence, with elixirs of the most precious kind running down their petals.

you let the rabbits tend to them, their paws far more skilled and adept to care for such delicate flowers. as for yourself, you often wander to the mortal realms. when it’s under nines’ reign everything burns with life. however, you notice things that are new, too.

such as the addition of eight more suns.

nines’ magic is far beyond those any gods can achieve. he could destroy life itself by just a blink of his eyes. for what reason does he need to erect so many suns?

“the mortals need to be taught a lesson, sister.”

you feel his heart hum out the answer from within your chest. as you stand on the edge of a running stream, you can almost feel the burning rays of sunlight seep into your skin. once there were creatures here, and sometimes human children playing in the waters. now, there is only you, your long silken dress flowing down your body as you walk through the stream.

“it’s awfully lonely here, i want to see some life,” you said. there is silence from nines, who you think must have chosen to ignore you. a sigh escapes your lips as you continue downstream.

the waters are warm and inhospitable to drink. maybe when night comes, you could cool the stream down. the stars should be especially bright tonight, and a moon that is round and close to land.

“you love them too much,” came nines’ sudden response. a touch of bitterness lingers in his voice, a hint that doesn’t pass you by. he is jealous, that much you could know. his hatred towards the humans are unquestionable, but also unfair.

“i’m only making sure life continues to thrive,” you said. still, you’re optimistic to hope nines can change his opinion about mankind. after all, gods and humans are alike in countless ways beyond mortality and magics. surely nines can see something in humans that resembles both you and him?

before you could properly explain your reasoning, you notice a figure not too far off on the edge of land, watching you. he wears tattered clothing of green and gray, with a thin scarf wrapped around his neck. in his hand is a bow and arrow, aiming right at you.

“you are not a human,” came his words, directed at you. his jaws are clenched tight and eyes brimming with fury. he has the essence of a hunter, a natural-born killer. yet, there is a boyishness to his face and it in itself sows seeds of doubt in your heart.

he’s not going to kill you, even if he needs to.

you place your hands against your back, lips curling into a smile. he’s young and still growing, but his mind is clouded by judgment. so you step towards him, the fabric of your dress shimmering with each movement.

“stay back!” he said, raising his bow. with each step forward, he takes one step back. you sense fright and shock, but you also sense confusion. he is half-torn between wanting to kill, and not wanting to kill.

“i’m not a creature of darkness, boy,” you said, stretching out your hand. closing your eyes, you let the bow move towards you. it effortlessly slides into your waiting palm, and you find yourself staring at its design. “besides, this is just a regular arrow. you cannot kill a god with this.”

while something in your mind tells you to destroy his arrow, you neglect its demand to give him the arrow back.

“...thank you.”

with shaking hands, the boy curls his fingers around the arrow. his face is pallid, and you think that maybe it was always like this. not even the brightness of the suns can color his cheeks. for a moment, he reminds you of yourself, pale and delicate.

humans and gods aren’t that different.

“you look exhausted, are you alright?” you notice it before he does. the sweat dripping down his face, the faint hint of redness dusting his cheeks. he is breathing harder, and his lips, chapped and dry. you understand weakness, you wore it once within you.

and this boy is weak, not from a sickness but from an outside source. so when he tumble, you catch him, guiding his body as you slowly sit down upon the earth. with his form cradled on your lap, you look at him, studying his face. a fluttering sensation, soft and warm, envelopes your heart. it is the same feeling that nourishes your love for nines, the same feeling you want to give to the humans.

except, you also notice something astonishing. the way his face looks remind you of your brother. perhaps, in some twisted way, he was born to look like the sun god.

“leave him, sister. he is a weak human.”

nines’ voice feels like nails digging into the shell of your heart. a terrible flood of sympathy pushes you to ignore your brother’s words. you shouldn’t have done that but you are still your own person.

in a flash of bright light, you transport both you and the boy to the lunar gardens. here, the suns cannot touch the land, and the moon shines gentle and kindly upon everything. furry bodies scurry through the glowing white flowers, before they perk up and greet you in their native speech.

the stars hover closer, entranced by the human in your arms. you wave them away as you settle onto a bare patch of grass.

“this child needs to be healed,” you tell them, both the stars above to the rabbits in front of you. “please, give him some water.” you brush his hair away from his forehead, and slowly wipe your palm across his cheeks. his eyelids flutter as he regains consciousness.

“what is this place?” he asked. he is still too weak to sit up, but his eyebrows furrow and his mouth pulls into a frown. “why am i on your lap?” he continued, seemingly unending in his questions.

“hush, you are here because i need you to get well. you cannot die because of my brother’s jealousy.”

a rabbit delivers you a stalk of lunar flower. just as you reach for the stem, you hesitate, knowing all too well of the elixir that runs in its center.

“not now, he’s yet to earn it,” you told the rabbit. “just fetch me some water, regular water.”

suddenly, your heart seizes, almost forcing you to double over. there in your veins you feel him, seething with rage and uncontained spite. how a calm man, wise and caring, could turn into such a hurricane of dark thoughts shocks you. but, you’ve never brought another mortal into your realm before, nor have you considered giving any an elixir of immortality.

[panda-noosh]

just want to let you know that your writing breathes life into my day~ also! how about a headcanon of the paladins' reactions where they have to share a bed with their future s/o for some inexplicable reason? idk maybe heating is down, they got stranded and there's (in)conveniently one sleeping bag, etc. i die for this trope

haha, i’m glad you enjoy my writing, thank you! here you go. x

Shiro:

He would try, with everything in his power, to get out ofthis situation as soon as humanly possible.

He will offer to sleep in the gutters outside if that’s whatit takes.

But, despite all of his arguing and his bickering back andforth, he’s actually lowkey kind of relieved whenever his plans fall throughand his only choice is to cuddle up next to you to sleep.

Okay, cuddling?? Maybe not.

He sleeps as far away from you as possible, mainly to hidehis own rising blush and his own mild embarrassment.

Shiro isn’t the best sleeper at the best of times, so thisjust shatters any hope of him actually getting a good nights sleep for once.

OR SO HE THINKS.

He is shocked to wake up the next morning feeling genuinelyrefreshed, and he’s even more shocked to find that you’ve curled into his back,knees pressed into the small of his spine, head tilted and resting between hisshoulder blades.

He doesn’t want to move.

Keith:

The heating broke, and you’re cold, and Keith cannot behaving that.

At first, he planned to just give you a hot water bottle orsomething. Never once, in his wildest imagination, did he think that you wouldask him to sleep next to you.

“We’ve gotta get heat somehow.”

This comment alone has Keith’s entire body overheating, sohe’s all good.

But he agrees anyway, because when is he ever going to getanother chance like this one?

He lays down beside you and falls asleep in record time.Neither of you are touching whenever he drifts off to sleep – you’re kind ofjust basking in the others body heat for a little while.

But Keith wakes up, and he expects it because he knows fullwell he’s a sleep hugger.

And he is – because whenever he wakes up, you two arecocooned in each others arms, you still sleeping soundly with a grin placed onyour face.

Lance:

There is only one sleeping bag, and Lance sees his chance.

He’s quick to offer to bunk up, staring straight at you.

Everybody else knows what he’s up to, but you don’t. Youawkwardly tell everyone that you’ll gladly sleep on the floor if there thatshort of supplies, and everybody starts making a fuss like, “Oh, Y/N, no wecouldn’t ask you to do that!”

And then Lance swoops in for the kill.

“There’s plenty of room in the sleeping bag if you wannasleep beside me?”

Everybody just internally groans because of course. But it seems like the bestcourse of action so nobody says anything whenever you shyly make your way overto him and slide into the bag beside him.

The bag actually isn’t even that big, and your legs aretangled around one another and his chest is pressed into your back and it’s allquite uncomfortable but neither of you are willing to move.

It gets to the point where it’s, like, 3am and you both knowfull well that neither of you are asleep and this isn’t working out in the wayyou want it to.

So you end up groaning, grabbing his arms and wrapping themaround yourself before snuggling down in the new-found space that his arms oncetook up.

Lance is flustered as hell, but he goes with it, and you twoget a great nights sleep.

Hunk:

Okay but imaginethis.

Sleepwalking.

You’re a sleepwalker, and the entire ship knows it.

Everyone except Hunk.

Imagine this poor boys shock whenever he’s sitting up inbed, late at night, and suddenly his bedroom door is opening and you’re walkingin with your eyes closed.

“Uh, Y/N?”

You don’t reply. Of course you don’t. You’re unconscious.

Hunk starts to panic a little bit at the realisation thatyou are, in fact, sleepwalking. He’s wise enough to know that it’s not safe towake you up when you’re in this state, so he just lets you walk forward.

But then you’re climbing into the bed beside him??? And you’regetting under the covers??? And suddenly you’re hugging his middle and goingback to proper sleep on his chest??

He doesn’t know what to do, but he likes it, and he feels badbecause you’re not even awake and you’re going to be mortified in the morning.

But he doesn’t move. He lets you sleep.

To his greatest surprise and relief, you’re still there inthe morning.

Pidge:

Don’t make her do this please, god damn it.

She tried so hard for monthsto hide her feelings from you, okay? She has tried so hard to be subtlefrom the moment she met you.

Putting you in her bed is going to make that task extremelydifficult to continue. A person has limits.

She agrees anyway, because she knows full well that gettingworked up and flustered about it will say a thousand different things about herfeelings.

So she sets up the space on her bed and gets everything setup. Her extra ass probably sets pillows up down the middle just so you’ll feelmore comfortable.

You, obviously, end up knocking those down as soon as youget in bed, rolling your eyes at Pidge.

The two of you genuinely just lay in silence until you’refalling asleep. There’s no talking, no conversation, and Pidge is most gratefulfor this fact-

Until you start murmuringthings in your sleep.

Her head snaps over to you just as you start whimpering inyour unconscious state, and then your arms are thrashing around and your voiceis rising and you’re very clearly having a nightmare.

Pidge panics before waking you up. You sit bolt upright,grab her and hold her close to you, trembling.

And Pidge suddenly forgets about subtlety as she holds youback, letting you sob into her shoulder.

[bubble-tea-bunny]

princess

[arthur x reader]

author’s note: i didn’t struggle writing this one as much as i struggled to write my last couple of fics. i think the key is not to try so hard lol. and this isn’t proofread so i apologize for typos 

word count: 2,738

He’d called you princess from day one.

The first time you interact is at the tavern. You’re the only one at the counter that evening, which isn’t a problem considering the place is usually quiet. The louder taverns are on the other side of town. Those who simply want to enjoy a drink in peace come here, so manning it on your own is fine. Usually.

It’s not the case that night. Ramsay’s sat at the corner stool, as he normally is, alone and staring blankly at his mug. He’s a regular here, pays his tabs and doesn’t cause a ruckus. This time around he’s drinking more than usual, and he is far from a quiet drunk. Everyone does their best to ignore him, but the more alcohol he consumes, the worse he gets.

He calls you over from where you’re at the opposite end, wiping down the countertop, holding up his mug as a signal for another drink. You sigh as you walk over to him and purse your lips. “I think you’ve had enough tonight, Ramsay.” Your voice is quiet so the other occupants don’t overhear, and you smile sympathetically.

Ramsay’s eyes are bloodshot and hard to miss at this distance. He slams his mug down suddenly and you jump. The noise grabs the attention of the others as well. “Listen here, you bitch.” His voice is venom and you swallow nervously, taking a cautious step or two back in the case he lunges across the counter to grab at you.

“I pay you good and well,” he slurs loudly. “So if I want another drink, you get me another fucking drink—“

“Hey.”

You look to the man who’d come to intervene. His stride is confident, boots thudding along the wood floors. It sounds like thunder in the tavern which has gone silent. Ramsay turns to him, but you’re not entirely sure his eyes are actually focusing on him because let’s face it, he’s basically drunk out of his mind at this point. Your uneasy gaze shifts from him back to the newcomer.

“You heard the lady.” His voice is iron and unwavering. “Best to put down the alcohol for the night.” His shoulders are squared, feet planted firmly, hands at his sides and fingers outstretched as though in preparation for a potential brawl, if it comes to that (which you hope it doesn’t).

Ramsay seems to still be alert enough to know when a battle wasn’t worth fighting. He slides the empty mug across the counter toward you, fingers shaky as he does, and stands. The blonde man stays as he is, eyes glued to Ramsay as he makes his way out of the tavern. He wobbles slightly, and uses the doorframe to catch himself, but then he’s turned the corner and he’s disappeared into the nighttime streets of Londinium. You can’t help releasing another quiet sigh, frowning a little.

The atmosphere returns to normal quickly, and you turn your attention to your savior. He smiles softly and takes a seat at a stool.

“Thank you,” you tell him with a smile as you pick up Ramsay’s mug to clean it.

The man shrugs. “No need to thank me. It was the right thing to do.”

“It’s a shame, really. Ramsay’s in here all the time. Mikkel makes it a rule not to delve into anyone’s personal lives, so I can’t ask him what brings him here so often. I wonder what happened tonight that caused… well, that.” You shake your head as you grab a clean mug from the shelf behind you.

The man nods his head, assumes Mikkel to be your boss. He smiles as he looks at you, your back still turned to him. “That’s nice of you to be concerned.”

“Wouldn’t you feel the same?”

“Some drunks are dicks just for the sake of being dicks. Can’t feel bad for that sort of lot.”

“No, I suppose you can’t…” You turn back around, sliding a newly filled mug toward the man. “Here. It’s on me.”

His smile widens and he picks it up by its handle, holding it up slightly and nodding in thanks. He takes a big swig before he speaks up again. “I’m Arthur.”

“[Name].” You smile amiably.

He doesn’t stick around much longer, just finishes off the drink before bidding you goodbye.  “I’ll see you around, princess,” he says, and you don’t notice the smile still on your face long after he’s left. You take his emptied mug and proceed to clean it, taking in the remaining tavern occupants who spin tales in hushed voices. The image of soft blue eyes is at the forefront of your mind even when you lay down to sleep hours later.

———

You think you hear Arthur call you that nickname more often than you hear him call you by your actual name. At the beginning stages of your friendship, you’d teased him about forgetting your name.

He laughs when you say that. “Of course I haven’t forgotten it, [Name]. Don’t be silly.”

“You had me a little worried, okay?” You laugh as well. “Don’t blame me.”

“Would you rather I not use a nickname?” The question is genuine.

“I never said I didn’t like it. But I mean, ‘princess’…” You test the nickname, considering it for a moment. “That’s an awfully fancy nickname.”

“Rolls off the tongue well.” Arthur shrugs. “Elegant nickname for an elegant girl.”

“A barmaid?” You raise a brow.

“Doesn’t make a lick of difference to me, princess.” He doesn’t even notice he’s used the nickname. It’s so second nature to him. You purse your lips to prevent from smiling too wide because he’s probably the sweetest man you’ve ever met and you feel lucky that he’d been in the tavern that night, that’d you found a friend in him.

———

You know he stays at the brothel, had grown up there, and protects the women from violent customers. He keeps you away from that place though, not wanting you to see what goes on. And so you listen to him because you understand where he’s coming from. He doesn’t lose brawls, given his size and strength, but he’s not totally exempt from emerging from them without injuries.

Today he comes to you with bloody knuckles and a right eye that is quickly swelling and bruising.

He knocks at your door at a late hour but doesn’t have to wait long before you’ve opened it—there’s never anyone else it could be but him. When you take in the state of him, illuminated as it is by the torch in the sconce nearby, your eyes widen. “Oh my god.” You widen the door and usher him in and he enters wordlessly, practically falling onto the nearest chair from exhaustion. You disappear for a moment to gather the supplies you need to clean him up and kneel next to him.

“This one put up a real fight this time?” you inquire quietly, gently wiping at the cut on his brow with a wet rag.

Arthur chuckles but it’s raspy. “You should see him.”

He’s still able to elicit a smile from you despite your worry. Your chuckle is a little shaky, but you can’t help it. Whenever he happens to get hurt you worry for him, even though you know he’s more than capable of handling his own. You think that if you look him in the eye you might start crying, so you focus intently on cleaning the cut, on cleaning the blood from his hands. Arthur can tell you're avoiding his gaze.

“Hey, look at me,” he tells you softly, and slowly you do. “I’m okay, princess.”

You bite your lip to stop it from quivering and you nod once. “I-I know.” You sigh, trying to hold back tears.

Arthur smiles and sets his clean hand on your cheek, thumb stroking the soft skin comfortingly.

He sleeps in the spare bedroom of your house for the night, so you can further assess his injuries come morning. When you do, he pipes up: “I think I might as well call you “nurse” at this point.”

You laugh. “I’d rather you not. Sounds too strange for my liking.”

Arthur stares at the far wall and thinks about it for a moment, then nods in agreement. “You’re right. It’s strange for me too.”

———

He’s at your door again at an ungodly hour but he’s not injured. This isn’t unusual though. Sometimes he’ll come to talk and you’ll always make time for him. What is unusual, what’s new, is that the night doesn’t remain this way. He ends up in bed—your bed.

Your eyes slide shut when his lips attach to the column of your neck, trailing open-mouthed kisses down to the notch at the base. Your fingers slide into his blonde locks, curling and tugging. He groans, his breath fanning across your skin. His hands are everywhere, undressing you and exploring the newly exposed skin which is every bit as soft as he imagined it to be.

When you lay bare before him you can’t help but feel so vulnerable, so… well, exposed, for he sits back up on his knees to simply take in the sight of you. His eyes rove over you, studying every inch, memorizing it. Your chest rises and falls with every breath and his gaze eventually slides back up to meet your [eye color] eyes which had stayed trained on his face. He crawls back over you again to catch your lips in another searing kiss, and you feel the breath knocked right out from you.

“You’re beautiful, princess,” he whispers.

You stare at one another for a moment, your eyes tender and smile genuine. “And you’re a little overdressed,” you tease, in the same hushed tone.

He smiles and shakes his head at your antics but is quick to ameliorate the issue. His clothes join yours on the floor and your teasing smile is quickly replaced with a quiet moan as he slides a finger along your pussy, feeling the wetness there. He circles your clit with a light pressure and you squirm, wanting more. He doesn’t prolong the teasing, because he’s getting impatient too.

He slides into you easily and you release another moan as he does. And then he’s moving, thrusts steady and powerful and his face is buried in the crook of your neck. Your body is overheating but you welcome the sensation all the same. A thin layer of sweat forms on your forehead and you whimper with each thrust, nails digging into the skin of Arthur’s back. The harsh bite of your nails elicits a grunt from him and he fucks you harder, the bed frame knocking against the wall.

“Arthur,” you manage to gasp. Said man lifts his head from your neck and rests his forehead against your own. “I-I’m—“ Your sentence is cut off with another moan and you whimper, close as you are to climax. You don’t get the chance to finish telling him you’re about to come before you actually do, crying out and back arching and eyes clenching shut. Arthur’s thrusts are getting sloppy and he comes not long after you. You’re panting but so is he as he settles down next to you. He can’t help but smile when you curl into him and it feels so natural to wrap an arm around you. The world feels right.

———

Londinium is thrown into chaos and all Arthur can think of is finding you.

The group’s already been split up, finding different routes out of the city. Arthur tries to find his escape on the side of town you’d be at during this time, and he hopes with all his being that he’ll find you.

He hears your voice, hears you yelling at others to—

“Come on, go, get out of here!”

Arthur turns the corner to see you ushering away a mother and her children, into a building and out of the way of the mayhem in the streets. He opens his mouth to call for you, and your eyes find him quickly. You run towards him, but suddenly there’s a whistle and time seems to move in slow motion as the arrow soars through the air, missing Arthur and instead finding itself embedded in your stomach. Your scream is the most painful thing he’s ever heard and he rushes toward you.

“No, no, no,” he repeats, panicked. It had been part of the plan to try and find you, but they hadn’t accounted for this. You’re cradling the area around the arrow which is quickly darkening from blood. Arthur looks around, trying to find the source of the arrow, and sees a soldier on the roof. Said soldier is quickly dispatched with an arrow, and Arthur turns to find Bill nearby, already grabbing another arrow.

“Come on, Arthur!” he urges.

Arthur forces himself to start moving. He picks you up, one arm around your back and the other in the bend of your knees. You cry out at the sudden shift and he apologizes in a choked voice. Bill provides cover as they set off for their escape route, and Arthur pushes himself harder than he thinks he’s ever had because you need to get to safety.

At one point he notices your eyes sliding shut. “Hey! Stay with me, princess!” he yells so you can hear him over the ruckus. “Don’t close your eyes okay? Stay with me!”

They treat you as best they can in the wilderness between Londinium and the hideout. It’s rudimentary, and Arthur’s heart beats hard in his chest, the adrenaline is still pumping. He can’t help his flinch when the arrow is pulled out and you scream from the immense pain. He runs a hand through your hair comfortingly as the mage takes a look at the wound, and he shushes you gently, though it’s shaky.

“You’re gonna be okay,” he whispers. He’s concentrated on your face, on the sweat on your forehead to which strands of your hair sticks, on your half-lidded, unfocused eyes, on your pale skin. The mage is gentle when she treats you, but even if something hurt, you were much too tired now to make anymore noises.

———

When Vortigern lay defeated, it’s as though dawn has broken after the longest night. And Arthur realizes this is it: he’s no longer just Arthur. He’s a king. Once upon a time he’d been completely skeptical of the idea that the likes of him should ascend to the throne in Camelot. But now as it falls upon him, as it becomes reality, he finds he is ready.

The crown in his hands is smaller than what sits atop his head. He turns it over, runs his fingers over the little jewels, more out of nervousness than anything. When the door creaks open and you peak your head in, he smiles.

“Don’t be shy,” he tells you, and you laugh as you walk the rest of the way in. The people in this room are close friends, so there’s no reason to be nervous, but given the situation, you can’t help it. You keep your eyes trained on Arthur as you stop before him, trying to ease your nerves by pretending the others aren’t behind him.

It’s an informal coronation, but it’s the only one that’s needed. He sets the crown on your head and his smile widens because it’s a perfect fit. “How does it feel?” he asks.

You adjust the crown slightly. “Odd, but… I’m sure I’ll settle into it.”

“You will.” He brings a hand up and cradles your jaw gently, bending down to give you a kiss. You can’t help feeling sheepish because you’re not alone. You set a hand on his chest and he chuckles, standing back up straight, but his hand stays right where it is. “I know you will, my queen.”

It’s hard to pinpoint the moment he realized he loved you. It could’ve been after he’d almost lost you. It could’ve been after the first time you’d been intimate. Maybe it was the first night he’d come to you with injuries from a brawl and you’d helped him without hesitation. But as he thinks more about it now, he determines it had been the first time he’d ever laid eyes on you, when you were just a barmaid behind the counter of a quiet tavern.

[bitsyparker]

Here is the first chapter of my Trans Peter fic, If this is something people might want to read. I will be posting the rest on AO3 :)

The Feeling of Being Trapped

Chapter 1

These roof’s are all the same when you are laying on one.

Peter sticks to the concrete floor like glue, his body nailed to the ground with fingertips tracing the place he lays.

He’s tripping over overheated thoughts and the way the stars are looking down at him with pity in their glow. It’s the same pity he’s been getting from everyone at school lately, the one filled with what went wrong? and who hurt you? And none of it comes with any answers. This isn’t something that Peter should have to explain, and yet.

Peter’s thoughts are cut off by the slamming sound of a door being opened quickly.

“Peter you haven’t been answering my calls, I had to track you down and sneak into this random hotel and I thought you were dead and wh-“ Ned stops his rapid fire pursuit of scolding when he sees Peter alive and laying on the ground looking like he is in pain, that maybe isn’t physical.

Peter doesn’t really acknowledge him other than his eyes looking at Ned.

“Pete are you hurt?”

“No.”

“Okay are you sure becau-“

Then just like that, the wall holding Peter back cracks and breaks into a hundred pieces.

Peter starts laughing abruptly cutting Ned off.

“Did you hear what Flash called me today?” Peter asks laughing brokenly with no humor behind his words.

Peter just continues to lie there staring at the stars.

“Penis Parker, isn’t that hilarious Ned, Penis Parker!” Peter is moving his hands over his eyes and then he is sobbing.

Ned quickly moves down to the ground to be near Peter.

The two sit there in a state of pain, the pain coming from the fact that the world is too cruel

Peter sits up and looks heartbroken.

“Can I hug you Pete?”

Without warning Ned is holding an armful of his best friend Peter Parker.

“Why can’t he just leave me alone?” Peter says into Ned’s now tear soaked Star Wars shirt.

Ned just hugs Peter more fiercely, wanting to protect him the way Peter protects New York.

Peter then pulls away and looks back up at the stars.

“I’m okay now.” Peter says shakily.

After a while of quietness,

“I know you’re not okay, Peter,” Ned breaks the silence.

Peter breaths out heavily.

“I feel trapped,” Peter says. It’s not much, he thinks, but it’s all he’s got right now.

“I thought that feeling wasn’t as bad anymore, or like I mean I thought it wasn't happening as much.”

“I just-,” Peter starts, “- whenever Flash calls me Penis Parker it’s like someone punched me in the stomach, Ned. I hate it . And when these muggers or someone makes fun of my voice sounding like a girls, I want to punch them so hard damage control has to peel them off the walls of New York.” And if Ned laughs to ease the tension or because he genuinely finds it funny, Peter will never know, but it helps.

“Transphobes are shit.”

“Yeah they are.”

.

Ned was actually the first person that Peter told.

“I don’t think I’m a girl,” Peter mumbled over a glass of milkshakes at age ten.

“That’s chill, thats completely fine, do you want another name?” Ned asks casually.

“Peter”

“I like that, Peter sounds wicked!” Ned exclaimed.

Peter laughs and feels lighter.

.

Aunt May and Uncle Ben are the second.

“I think that I’m a boy.” Peter had told his aunt and uncle at age twelve.

“Okay sweetheart. What… what does that mean for you? Aunt May had asked gently.

“Uhh, it means, well. It means that I was born in a girl’s body, but, I’m a boy. I am, I’m Peter, is that okay?” he explained slightly frightened, becoming really quiet towards the end of the sentence.

May and Ben got up without question and hugged Peter tight and kissed his head while Ben said,”Of course it’s okay my sweet boy, we love you Peter, and we always will.”

.

Uncle Ben died and it seemed like life just got harder.

.

Tony Stark however made life feel less claustrophobic.

“You still doing okay with the shots?” Tony asks one night as the two are working on Peter’s suit.

“Yeah I mean other than the headaches I feel really good.”

“That is great, you know I am really glad we got you all set, With me when I started taking T my doctors had a nightmare of a time because I kept getting  those flu-like symptoms. I mean it’s common but those doctors went to the worst case scenario and thought that they were killing me, and when you think you are killing Iron Man people get a little panicked.”

Peter giggled, “Wow I guess you would be a little panicky, your doctor now though is awesome, she is always checking up on me and making sure that if I am feeling sick that it isn’t anything worrying, you know some kind of spider DNA related problem.”

“Oh yeah she is the best, I’m glad we got you set up with Karen when we got back from Germany.”

If there is a correlation with the AI in Peter’s suit being named Karen and his favorite doctor being named Karen, well nobody really needs to know that.

.

Tony found out about Peter in Germany when he was doing some kind of vitals check on Peter and his anatomy showed up along with the vitals, Tony then got a little confused and Peter hurriedly explained when he realized.

“Hey so funny story you see um, your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man is trans and I’m sorry if you are mad or disappointed, I can leave or not figh-”

“Peter hey stop talking kid, you are getting worked up, Peter let me let you in on a little secret, I call my self Iron Man for a reason.” Tony said emphasizing the Man in his name.

Peter just stared for a second and then realization flooded him.

“Oh…oh man…oh okay I… okay so you get it..psh of course you get it okay um yeah.”

Tony smiled gently at Peter and said,”When we get back from Germany you and me are going to talk about this some more and maybe even talk to the person who has been helping me transition….that is if you want to of course.”

Peter’s smiled brightly, “Mr, Stark oh my gosh that would be amazing, I mean I hate to ask that of you though.”

“Nope don’t think about it, I want to do it, does May know about you being trans?”

“Yeah I told her a long time ago and she has been really supportive but with insurance and hefty payments and stuff she hasn't been able to afford anything other than blockers.”

“Okay that's good, I’m glad she has been supportive.”

Silence

“Mr.Stark thank you, really.”

“Nope don’t thank me but if you really want to thank me just wait until I get you a pride flag for you to hang in your bedroom. Then you can thank me for that.”

“Okay sounds good Mr.Stark.” Peter laughed.

Peter felt the trapped feeling reside just that much more that day.