#raincheck maybe | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

iiping · 1 year ago

Text

kaveh snapping at alhaitham for buying another ugly wood carving… except he forgot it was his birthday 👀

read my short fic on twitter here or see more below! 🫶

—

“This looks absolutely nothing like me!” Kaveh snaps at the rough-out Aranara carving that suddenly shows up one morning, looking so blonde and angry.

Alhaitham comes out of his room at this moment and walks over to their common shelf where the architect stands.

Kaveh has a meeting with a particularly frustrating client today and he’s feeling so anxious that he cannot help but snaps at Alhaitham too, “How many times do I have to tell you not to bring ugly wood carvings into our home!?”

Alhaitham looks at Kaveh, his lips tightens. Something unfathomable flashes across his eyes and disappears just as suddenly.

“Do whatever you want with it then,” Alhaitham says finally after an awkward silence. Then he grabs his key from the shelf and turns his back to walk towards the front door without saying another word.

Kaveh looks at him leaving the house in puzzlement. It is not a rare occasion to see the Scribe not bothering to argue with him but Alhaitham never walks away after saying only one sentence before. He looks as if he’s angry or even…pouting? Kaveh is not sure if that word can describe Alhaitham.

Maybe Kaveh did something wrong? He gasps at the thought.

Is it because the smell of the cream soup he made yesterday was too strong? Or maybe it was the fact that the house is now so messy because he’s in the middle of tidying up things? Or maybe he moved or touched some books he wasn’t supposed to?

Kaveh ends up thinking for the whole day. He even spaces out during the client’s meeting and almost drops the model when he tries to present his plan.

He thinks and thinks but nothing comes to his mind. They have been on unusually pretty good terms lately, so he cannot think of something recent that might have made Alhaitham upset.

Kaveh is so deep in thought he almost bumps into Collei on the way home.

“Ah! Sorry!” Kaveh exclaims then realizes who it is, “Collei! I didn’t know you were in town today!”

Somehow, the trainee Forest Ranger looks shocked to see him. She quickly picks up something that fell to the ground when they bumped into each other earlier. Kaveh catches a glimpse of a small green box with yellow ribbon before Collei swiftly hides it behind her back.

“It’s so good to see you! Wanna grab something to eat?” Kaveh asks, ignoring her suspicious behavior. He’s not ready to go home just yet, not when he still hasn’t figured out what he did wrong.

“Uh, sorry I have somewhere to be today,” Collei replies nervously, avoiding to meeting his eyes, “If you will excuse me, I really need to get going.”

Then she takes off before he can say another word.

Kaveh ruffles his hair in confusion. What is going on today?

After wandering around aimlessly for a while, he decides that he has no other place to go except the good old Lambad’s Tavern.

He sits down at a table and orders a drink even though it’s merely 5PM.

“Hey, Kaveh!” Lambad shouts his name from behind the counter, “That one’s on the house! Happy Birthday!”

Oh. Shit.

A realization strikes him like a bolt of lightning.

“How could I forget!” he cries, standing up abruptly, “It is my birthday!”

He tells Lambad that he’ll take a raincheck on that glass of wine before leaving the tavern. Kaveh rushes home as fast as he can and finds Alhaitham standing in front of the shelf with the Aranara carving on one hand and a bag on another.

Alhaitham raises his eyebrows when he sees Kaveh practically flying from the front door.

“No, wait—-“ Kaveh tries to catch his breath, “D-don’t throw that away!”

“Oh?” Alhaitham puts down the Aranara and turns to face the architect. “Seems like you finally remember something.”

“Sorry for what I said this morning,” Kaveh blurts out, “I know it sounds like an excuse but that client’s project kept me frustrated all night and I shouldn’t have taken it on you.”

Alhaitham looks at him silently.

“Alright, alright,” Kaveh puts two hands in the air, “I apologize for calling it ugly.”

The Scribe lets out a chuckle right this second. It is clear that he does not intend put up any fights with Kaveh on his birthday.

Alhaitham hands him the Aranara in question and asks, “Will you also stop calling my other wood carvings ugly?”

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far,” Kaveh replies with a beaming smile. His eyes light up as he takes the wooden figure in his hands.

Alhaitham gives him birthday presents every year but they are usually books or drafting tools. This is the first time Kaveh has received something custom-made. Well, from anyone, really.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into me this morning,” he mumbles, feeling the rough wood under his fingers. “Sure, it looks a bit cruder than that one in your bedroom which I kind of like, but the more you look at it, the mor—- Hey!”

“I changed my mind,” Alhaitham announces with a straight face, the Aranara is now back to his hand. “I’m taking it back.”

Kaveh blinks.

“What did you just say!?” he raises his voice.

“I don’t see any reasons why it should be in the possession of someone who doesn’t appreciate it,” he replies simply while putting the wooden figure in the bag, then starts to walk to the entrance hall.

“How do you know I don’t appreciate it!?” Kaveh follows him, trying so hard not to yell at his back, “This is ridiculous! You just gave it to me literally a second ago!”

That does not make Alhaitham slow down one bit. In the heat of the moment, Kaveh charges at him without thinking.

Next thing he knows, they are both on the floor with Alhaitham being beneath him. He quickly snatches the bag from the Scribe’s hand and sits up.

“Ha!” Kaveh exclaims, raising it in the air in victory. “You cannot walk away from me this time! Don’t you know that it’s rude to take back what you have given!?”

When there isn’t any response, Kaveh glances down, only to see that Alhaitham is covering his face laughing.

Kaveh looks at this scene in disbelief.

“Were you just teasing me!?” he asks with a high-pitched voice, “Oh my god, who are you? What have you done to my Alhaitham?”

“I couldn’t help,” he is still laughing, “You should’ve seen your face.”

It’s extremely rare for Kaveh to see a silly side of Alhaitham, let alone seeing him laughing like this. Kaveh stares dazedly at him, completely forgetting why he was mad in the first place.

“You can have the Aranara,” Alhaitham says with a smile, “Will you get off me now? Although I don’t really mind—-”

Kaveh interrupts this sentence with a cough, just realizing what a dangerous position they are in. He shifts to move out of the way, but at this moment, a small piece of paper falls of the bag and lands on Alhaitham’s chest.

The Scribe’s eyes widen as he moves to reach for it, but Kaveh is quicker.

Seeing what’s on there, he is speechless.

Alhaitham covers his face again, but his ears are turning visibly red. The worse thing is, Kaveh can also feel his face burning too.

“You carved this,” he asks softly, “for me?”

After a while, Alhaitham admits with a sigh, “Yes.”

Kaveh is dumbfounded. He assumed that it was merely a commission. Never has he ever thought Alhaitham would go that far to do something like this for him.

“That’s why you’ve been coming home late for the past week!” Kaveh just remembers how unusual it was when he said that he needed to work overtime.

“You knowing this wasn’t part of the plan, I was too careless.” he says flatly and decides to pull himself up, unintentionally getting closer to Kaveh. “Now it’s good time for you to forget you have seen that workshop receipt.”

“Nuh-uh,” Kaveh pokes his chest, “This Aranara is now worth a million mora to me.”

“You have just burdened yourself with a new enormous debt then” Alhaitham teases.

“Hey!”

“I think wood craving has grown on me.” Alhaitham smiles, “So I’m afraid you’ll have to put up with these ugly figurines for now.”

“Come on, they are not that ugly,” Kaveh chuckles, “But we do need to set up a proper corner for them so they don’t disrupt the current aesthetic.”

The Scribe can’t help but roll his eyes at this comment.

“Seriously though, thank you” Kaveh softly touches his shoulder and looks directly into his eyes, “It’s the first time someone did something so special for me. I will always treasure it.”

The Scribe stares back at him and without a warning, Alhaitham pulls him into his arms and whispers to his hair, “Happy Birthday, Kaveh.”

After that, Collei, along with Cyno and Tighnari, burst open their front door right when they are still hugging in the hallway. Kaveh’s face turns as red as a tomato as Alhaitham helps him up on his feet.

The night cannot be more perfect. The house is filled with the smell of good food, laughers and joy. His most favorite dishes are laid out on the table and the gifts are waiting for him to open. Wine never tastes better and even Cyno’s jokes are funnier than usual.

Kaveh watches as everyone starts to eat and cheerfully discuss about what games they are going to play tonight. His heart aches a bit thinking of how much he does not want to ever lose this; his friends, his happiness, his home.

And when his eyes accidentally meet with Alhaitham’s, he cannot help but wonder, would things turn out differently if he hadn’t met the Scribe at the tavern that night where he had taken Kaveh in?

He tries harder now to stay happy, to actually listen to some of Alhaitham’s advice, the sensible ones at least.

“Don’t burden yourself with something unnecessary from the past and from the future”, he would say.

So instead of dwelling on the past regrets and unknown future, Kaveh thinks he is ready now to find comfort in the present happiness.

(END)

#happy birthday kave uwuwuwuwuw #the love of my life #genshin impact #kaveh #myart #alhaitham #kavetham #haikaveh fic #kavetham fic #mywriting #haikaveh #haikavetham #just realized i spelled kaveh wrong in the first tag like wat

7K notes · View notes

ellecdc · 6 months ago

Note

MOTHERR

Happy Mother’s Day 💐🌷🤭

Anyways, the marauders brainrot continues….I know shocking 😮 , my obsession will never end at this point in time. Oh well, art is kicking my ass and I need something to bring back my spirt lol.

Sooo, could I perhaps, if possible, request a poly!wolfstar? In which;

There’s a party in the commons, after a quidditch match or sm (idk 😭?) and shy reader (preferably female) dresses in only Remus and Sirius’s clothes but somehow finds a way to make her own twist on it and she look beyond gorgeous, all decked out. She doesn’t tell Sirius or Remus and the two don’t realise how much of their clothes and ect. Untill the spot her at the party talking with the girls, and are both shunned because their shy girlfriend is all dressed up, showing skin, confident and all, and in their clothes only, not a single thing of hers.

-🍄

firstly, thank you so much for your mothers day wishes hahahaha I was spoiled for sure. secondly, thank you for your request!!

poly!wolfstar x shy!reader who surprises her boyfriends

CW: mention of drunk friends but no description of drinking?, sexual implications at the end but nothing described and SFW

Remus felt slightly guilty that he wasn’t downstairs to greet you when you arrived at the Gryffindor after party following their latest quidditch win.

The reason he wasn’t there wasn’t even a very good one; it was simply that Sirius always came back to the dorms to shower instead of showering in the team’s locker room and was always riled up (just the way he liked him).

In other words, it was selfish and self-serving.

Which was perhaps why he was currently rushing his boyfriend as he painstakingly styled his hair to look perfectly un-styled.

“Pads, you’ve flipped your hair seven times already, can we go?”

Sirius flipped his hair four more times as he let out a scoff. “Easy bubs; you know I like to be fashionably late.” He responded as he righted himself, shooting Remus a salacious wink in the reflection of the mirror on his dresser.

“We’re going to miss the party altogether at this rate.” Remus muttered petulantly.

Sirius let out a noncommittal hum as he pulled the collar of his buttoned-up shirt lower in order to show off the new love bite on his neck from Remus, and a few older ones on his chest that you had given him in hopes no one else would see them there.

How wrong you would be.

“I could think of other things we could do instead.” Sirius offered as he stalked towards the chair Remus was currently pouting in and straddled his lap.

“You were the one who wanted to attend the party.” Remus pressed as he allowed Sirius to press lingering kisses along his jawline. “Neither me or your girl were very keen.”

“I’m sure she’d be happy if we took a raincheck.” Sirius responded as he continued his assault down Remus’ neck.

“Perhaps if she wasn’t already downstairs.”

That seemed to snap Sirius out of his ministrations as he looked at Remus incredulously. “Then what in the buggering fuck are we doing up here? Merlin’s saggy balls, let’s go Moony.” He barked as he stood abruptly and yanked Remus’ arm, forcing him to follow.

Remus was only slightly embarrassed that he had to adjust his trousers as they exited the dorm room.

As Remus had predicted, the party was in full swing by the time they made it down to the common room.

Peter was maybe three sips of whatever was currently in his red solo cup away from spending the rest of the night hunched over the toilet bowl, James was already completely ignoring everyone else around him in favour of staring love-drunkenly at Lily as she spoke emphatically to Mary, Alice and Frank were snogging to near pornographic levels in the corner of the room, and Marlene was passed out in Dorcas’ lap as she conversed with…you.

Just when Remus was certain he couldn’t love you more, your sweet, timid, lovely self showed up to a Gryffindor party on behalf of your extroverted boyfriend after they took their sweet ass time to join you when both he and Remus knew quite well that there were probably several hundred other things you’d rather be doing

And not to mention when you show up looking like that.

“What is she wearing?” Sirius whispered on an exhale; his steps faltering as he took you in.

What were you wearing?

You looked to be wearing – “is that your button up shirt?” Sirius finished Remus’ thought.

And based on the fit and length, it appeared you were, in fact, wearing Remus’ dress shirt.

Though it was cinched at the waist by – “that’s your belt, Sirius.”

“That little minx is stealing our clothes, Moony.” Sirius laughed; equal parts exasperated and lovesick.

You chuckled at something Dorcas said before you turned your gaze to the rest of the party where you spotted your boyfriends.

“What are you wearing? Or should I ask who since you look like you ought to be on a red carpet or something?” Sirius asked in way of a greeting as he made for you, causing your shoulders to migrate upwards as you smiled timidly at them.

“Hi, dovey.” Remus greeted you as he pressed a kiss to your cheek and shot a wink at Dorcas who was already looking at the two of them knowingly.

“Your girl looks smashing tonight, boys.” She commented; taking a sip of her drink from one hand as she used the other to pet Marlene’s hair.

You, for your part, turned to Dorcas with a look of unadulterated betrayal.

“She looks smashing, always, Meadows; but I have to agree that I like this look, baby girl. Stand up! Give us a spin.” Sirius said as he pulled you up by your hands.

“Sirius…” You chided pleaded quietly as your eyes nervously darted to Remus as if screaming ‘help’.

“Humour me.” Sirius pushed; twirling his finger in a circle to reiterate his earlier demand.

You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms protectively around your middle but acquiesced to his wishes.

After a few wolf whistles and an actual round of applause from Sirius, and ooh’s and aah��s from Remus, you turned back towards them and Remus could almost feel the heat radiating off your face.

“You played a good game, Siri.” You commented instead of hello, or thank you, or sod off you wankers, which made Remus all the more smitten with you.

“That’s old news, gorgeous.” Sirius dismissed quickly, eyes still darting over your form as if committing this sight to memory. “I’d rather talk about you.”

“I’d rather not.” You argued quickly.

“Tie breaker votes talking about you, sweetheart; sorry.” Remus responded, not particularly sorry at all if it meant he got to keep looking at you.

You harrumphed quietly and looked down at your converse which seemed to be the only article of clothing you were wearing that belonged to you. “You guys are being mean.”

Both boys immediately started cooing and apologising profusely; Remus pulling you protectively into his side as they fussed over you.

“Can’t believe I was upstairs all this time staring at Sirius when I could’ve been down here looking at you.” Remus commented quietly into your hair, but from Sirius’ indignant squawk, he was clearly overheard.

Your responding smile was well worth it though.

“Are these my earrings?” Sirius asked then, pushing hair behind your ear to expose the dangly star and moon earrings that Sirius had bought back in fifth year when he and Remus first started dating.

“I thought it looked good with the ‘fit. I had a vision.” You admitted; tone still shy but words far braver than Remus thinks he’s heard from you with this many people around.

“And you were right.” Remus agreed readily.

“The vision was great babes; it’s like I picked it out myself.” Sirius said with a wink. “The only thing better would have been if you showed up in only your knickers.” He stated with finality; seemingly proud of his proclamation and of his girlfriend.

Remus was expecting you to flush horribly at that as your eyes darted nervously around you.

Except you didn’t.

Instead, a mischievous grin spread across your lips as you looked up at the boys in front of you.

“They didn’t go with the vision.”

Both boys stared at you with varying levels of bemusement as Dorcas let out a snort behind you.

“What didn’t go with the vision?” Sirius accused quickly.

“Knickers, you tosser.” Dorcas answered from behind you.

Remus felt a blush of his own take over his face as he realised you had been waiting down here for your boyfriends looking like that without anything underneath your ensemble.

“Are you serious?” Sirius asked stupidly.

“No, you’re Sirius.” You giggled as if you made a truly funny joke, cluing Remus into the fact that you had these boys exactly where you wanted them.

In the palm of your hand.

“Better make a move quick, Black.” Marlene slurred as she rose from the dead sleep and blinked at the boys owlishly - one eye beginning to open before the other had even shut. “Otherwise we w- we will.”

Remus barked a laugh as Dorcas lovingly rolled her eyes and tried to tame Marlene’s now unruly bedhead, but Sirius appeared to take the threat earnestly as he quickly picked you up and threw you over his shoulder, ignoring your surprised squeak and subsequent protests as he raced up the stairs to the boys’ dormitory.

“Quickly now, Moony.” Sirius called as he took care to cover your arse with one of his hands lest your ‘Remus’-shirt-turned-dress’ were to ride up. “Can’t believe I let you waste all that time getting ready when our beautiful, gorgeous, lovely girl was waiting for us.”

Remus rolled his eyes as he followed the sounds of Sirius’ faux chiding and your squealing laughter, wondering if Sirius’ diligent eleven flips of his hair was worth attending a party for four and a half minutes.

788 notes · View notes

bugboybuck · 2 months ago

Note

bucktommy prompt: late-night date

"We don't have to do this if you're too tired," Tommy says, for what feels like at least the thirtieth time. "I can take a raincheck without getting my feelings hurt, I promise."

"No! No, I want to," Evan insists. The insistence would maybe land a little harder - just a little - if his jaw didn't crack on a huge yawn at the tail end of his sentence. He's quick to stifle it into the back of one of his hands, but Tommy can see the rings of exhaustion on his face, the way his big blue puppydog eyes are drooping, and feels a wave of fondness for groggy, sleepy Evan still being just as stubborn. Around his yawn, Evan continues, "Do-oon't - don't take this a-ah-away from me."

The sky is dark outside, the blinking lights of the city cutting through the inky sky outside the expansive windows of Evan's loft. LA never really gets quiet, but Tommy still feels like they're in a hidden sort of moment here, world shut down around them; the sun is down, the neighbours are asleep, and Tommy knocked so quietly on Evan's door so he wouldn't disturb anyone when he came over. Evan's been up all night and Tommy has to leave in the morning, but for now, even just for a few hours, they have some time to snatch together, a small and desperate opportunity to collide. It's been too long of their shifts not lining up lately, and Tommy feels like he's been in Evan withdrawals - a lifetime being fine alone, and suddenly he's pining when he goes a week without seeing a man he's only known for two months. He's trying to put up a good front, but the truth is, Tommy's desperate for this date. He's up four hours early for his early-morning shift just for an opportunity to kiss Evan Buckley three or four times and then listen to his snores when he falls asleep. When did life get like this?

"I'm just saying, I don't feel like you're gonna make it through more than ten minutes of the movie," Tommy says, but he starts setting up Evan's TV anyway, loading into Netflix while Evan flops down on the couch behind him.

"That's not, like, unique to it being 2AM, to be fair," Evan says. He stretches out one of his long legs to kick the back of Tommy's knees. Tommy catches his broad foot in both his hands and then works his way up Evan's leg until he can tug Evan to the edge of the couch, and lean down to press Evan into a kiss. He kisses him once, twice, wet smacking kisses that Evan eagerly leans into. No matter how tired he is, there never seems to be a time Evan Buckley isn't enthusiastic about being kissed - his hot hands slide around Tommy's waist immediately, his teeth scraping at Tommy's mouth.

"Don't remind me that you're a horrible freak who doesn't like movies just when I'm starting to get fond of you," Tommy says, when they break apart. Evan rolls his eyes with great affect.

"Can't fool me, I know you're already obsessed with me," Evan says, grinning - god, his smile is so bright it nearly hurts to look at. Then he pauses, turns flirty; "I mean, we don't...have to watch a movie, necessarily, though."

One of his hands starts creeping from Tommy's waist down to his belt. Tommy narrows his eyes. "I'll be way more insulted if you fall asleep during sex than during The Notebook, Evan."

"Oh, fine," Evan says. He pulls Tommy down onto the couch. "At least let me use you as a pillow."

"Go for it. I've been told I'm an excellent pillow. Hotel quality," Tommy tells him.

He presses play on the remote and then wraps his arms around Evan, letting Evan curl up against his shoulder. Evan's so warm, always runs hot, Tommy's personal space heater - he smells like warm skin and citrus soap. Tommy wants to smell it forever.

Evan suddenly sounds huffy when he says, "Told by who? You better not be letting anyone else sleep on top of you."

Tommy laughs, and pulls him closer. The movie starts, and sure enough, within ten minutes, Evan is drooling on his shoulder, completely dead to the world. Tommy doesn't move him. He'd take a 2AM nap date with Evan's snores over a five-star restaurant with anyone else.

#this is maybe nothing but i wanted to write SOMEthing for this so #bucktommy #ficlet #asks #evan buckley #tommy kinard #mine #bucktommy fic

277 notes · View notes

lottins-only · 5 days ago

Text

CROSS THE LINE | Jude Bellingham

pairing: jude bellingham x fem!reader, unnamed fictional RM player x fem!reader

word count: 3.1k

summary: after a fallout with your boyfriend, you find solace in a spontaneous night at the movies, where you run into his golden boy teammate. one thing leads to another and you cross the line.

A/N: first judith fic!! this was really fun to write. (very loosely) based on guilty as sin by taylor swift. let me know what yall think <3

warnings: infidelity (i don't condone it yall its just fun to write morally gray characters 🫣)

someone once told you there’s no such thing as bad thoughts – that it’s your actions that truly define you.

you wonder what they’d say if they saw you now: sitting up in bed with your boyfriend sound asleep beside you, staring at your phone with a pounding heart, silently hoping, waiting, for a message from someone else.

you wait and wait, but there’s nothing. your home screen stays empty, mocking you. you glance at your boyfriend. his shallow breathing fills the quiet room, steady and oblivious.

he has no idea you came home at 3 a.m. wearing his teammate’s jacket.

you'd stuffed it in the back of your closet as soon as you got home, a relic of a night that shouldn’t have happened. you'd scrubbed yourself thoroughly in the shower, trying to wash away the smell of jude’s cologne that clung to your skin. but it’s still there. not on your skin anymore, but in your mind, stamped into your memory to stay forever.

the way the flickering lights from the movie theater screen cast shadows on his beautiful face, the fleeting feeling of his warm hands on yours as he handed you his jacket, the full body rumble of his laugh, the feel of his soft lips on yours.

you will never forget. how could you, when that was the first time in months you’d felt seen? desired. wanted. needed. it’s an intoxicating feeling, like stepping into the sunlight after living in the shadows for the longest time.

and now, staring at your phone, you feel it all over again. the pull. the wrongness of it all.

a buzz breaks the silence. your heart jumps into your throat as the screen lights up and a single message appears.

jude: you got home safe?

it’s innocent enough. simple. harmless.

you could ignore it. pretend you didn’t see it. block his number and put an end to whatever this is before it spirals into something else.

but instead, your fingers move on their own accord.

you: yeah. thanks for checking.

you press send before you can stop yourself. you lock your phone and put it on the bedside table before closing your eyes and willing yourself to go to sleep.

to your credit, none of this was planned. it all starts earlier that night. you and your boyfriend are supposed to have a date night, a rare opportunity to spend some alone time together. you pick out a dress he once says is his favorite and make a dinner reservation at his favorite spot.

but plans change quickly.

“babe, the guys just texted,” he says, barely looking up from his phone. “they’re hopping on fifa in a bit. you don’t mind if we raincheck, right?”

you stare at him dumbfounded as he flops down onto the couch.

“raincheck?” your voice trembles, the tears obvious, yet he doesn’t even glance at you.

“yeah. just tonight, we’ll do something soon,” he says dismissively.

it’s not the first time he’s blown you off, but tonight it stings a little more. maybe it’s the fact that he’s so indifferent to you and your feelings, he doesn’t even care to notice the relationship is teetering on the edge of a cliff. he doesn’t realize that you’re making an effort to save it while he’s unknowingly contributing to its unraveling.

you realized it too late, but you know now you’re not a partner to him, not really. you’re a glorified accessory, someone he can show off for external validation, a dependable constant in his life that’s only there to cheer him on and make him look good while he gives his attention and energy to the things he actually cares about: his friends, his family, and above all, his football.

it wasn’t like this in the beginning, but things changed quickly after he made the move to real madrid and became a bigger star. with every goal, every headline, and every paparazzi photo, you sank further into the background of his life.

you linger for a moment, waiting for him to change his mind, to look up and realize what he’s doing. but he doesn’t. so you grab your bag and leave without saying another word.

the cinema isn’t your first choice. you wander the streets for a while, debating whether to call a friend or just head home. but you need a distraction, something that can dispel all the thoughts running through your head. so before you know it, you’re buying a single ticket to whatever is playing next.

the theater is almost empty. it isn’t until you sit down and glance at your ticket that you realize you’re not seeing something new, but a re-release of a classic: Goodfellas.

halfway through the movie, you see a figure slip into a seat a few rows ahead of you. a few moments pass, and you feel a pair of eyes boring into the back of your head. it’s distracting, like an itch. you can't bear to ignore it any longer so you turn your head and look straight at the person. the figure quickly shifts his gaze, pretending to be engrossed in the screen. his features are hidden thanks to the hoodie he’s wearing, but his height and broad shoulders give him away as a man.

you hold your gaze for a second longer, just to make sure he gets the message, before turning back to the screen. but your focus is broken after that.

a few more moments pass and you notice the man stand and make his way out of his row. you let out a quiet breath of relief, assuming he’s leaving. but from the corner of your eye, you see the same figure moving toward your seat. your body stiffens immediately. why is he coming your way? maybe it was a bad idea to come to a nearly empty theater alone so late at night.

you watch as he stops in front of you and slightly crouches to not block the view of the screen.

“y/n?” he asks, voice low yet familiar.

“uh, yeah?” you respond warily.

“thought it was you.” he pulls back his hood, revealing the grinning face of jude bellingham.

a wave of embarrassment immediately washes over you. it’s bad enough that your boyfriend doesn’t love you and prefers to spend time playing video games with his friends, but now you have to run into his teammate of all people while you’re publicly wallowing in your misery—his kind, handsome teammate who always makes you flush whenever you cross paths.

this time is no different. your face grows warm as you stutter, “oh! h-hi, jude.”

you brace for the questions: why are you here alone? where’s your boyfriend? why do you have tear stains on your cheeks?

they don’t come though. instead, he gestures to the seat next to you. “mind if i join you? my seat over there was right under the AC; i was freezing.”

you nod. jude flashes you a smile as he takes a seat.

and then nothing. you watch the rest of the movie silently, the only interaction between you being an elbow nudge from him to offer his pack of candy.

he’s completely engrossed. he laughs silently at certain scenes, and in the more intense ones lets out small gasps. for someone else, it might’ve been annoying, but for you, who’s used to your boyfriend’s indifference to everything, you find his enthusiasm refreshing, maybe even a little endearing.

you spend the rest of the movie mentally going through the list of things you know about him : he's the same age as you (your boyfriend begrudgingly posted a birthday wish on his instagram story once), he can't drive (you see him being picked up by a driver whenever you visit valdebebas), he's genuinely nice (he always says hi when he sees you around, and he's politely held a door open for you once or twice), his spanish isn't the best (you once ran into him hopelessly trying to change his order at the canteen, sheepishly apologizing to the annoyed barista before you helped him out), and your boyfriend quietly holds a dislike for him because he's 'attention seeking' ( you secretly think its not his fault that he's charming and easygoing, that he has everyone he meets wrapped around his finger).

when the movie ends and the lights begin to brighten, he turns to you.

"do you wanna get ice cream?"

you hesitate for a moment.

"yeah. i’d love to," you say finally.

you exit the cinema, and when the fresh outdoor air hits you, you ask the question at the tip of your tongue.

"why and how are you here?"

"could ask the same for you," he grins.

"yeah, but—" you begin, but are immediately silenced by the sight in front of you. jude reaches into the pocket of the jacket he's layered over his hoodie and pulls out a dreadlocked toupee. with the straightest face, he carefully pulls down his hood, places the wig on his head, and adjusts it before pulling the hood back up.

you blink.

"you were saying?" the corners of his mouth twitch at your facial expression. without waiting for a reply, he starts walking, leading you away from the cinema.

you walk in tandem, still giving him a confused look. when you catch sight of his (fake) locs swinging along to the rhythm of his steps, you can’t help it; you burst out laughing.

“what’s so funny?” he turns to you, a mock hurt look on his face. “i’m part jamaican, you know.”

you pause your walking, doubling over and clutching your stomach as you laugh. he stands patiently, looking slightly amused.

after you catch your breath and fully recover, you continue walking.

“so that’s how you go places unnoticed?” you ask, still giggling.

“yup,” he says. “otherwise it’s a nightmare. need a bodyguard and stuff.”

you nod sympathetically as you stroll down the quiet street, the soft glow of streetlights casting long shadows on the concrete. jude walks with an easy confidence, his hands in his pockets while you glance over at him and his toupee every so often.

“so,” he says after a moment, glancing sideways at you, “what’s your excuse? why are you at a late night showing of Goodfellas all by yourself?”

your smile falters slightly. you look straight ahead, debating how much to share.

“just needed to get out of the house,” you say with a light tone.

jude doesn’t push, though the way he hums softly in response tells you he notices your answer is only a half-truth.

"what about you?" you ask.

"I like watching movies," he says simply.

when you give him a somewhat confused look, he pulls out his phone and opens the letterboxd app, showing you the extensive list of movies he's marked as watched. you skim through it and you’re surprised by the diversity. the list is seemingly filled with movies of all genres, from classic films to indie flicks. you didn’t expect this side of him, but somehow it makes sense.

as he enthusiastically explains the list, you can't help but feel endeared by the excited look on his face. you have the overwhelming urge to reach out and smooth over his furrowed brow with your finger. but for the first and only time that night, you don't act on that impulse.

you reach a small gelato stand located on a corner of the street, its neon sign glowing softly. jude steps forward and leans against the counter.

“pick whatever you want,” he says, winking as he passes you the menu.

“don’t mind if i do,” you say, raising an eyebrow. you ignore the way his words make you feel—warm and fluttery, like this is a first date between two single people.

after a moment of deliberation, you pick pistachio and hazelnut, watching as jude leans in to order the same for himself.

“you copying me?”

“nah,” he says with a smirk, passing your cone to you from the server. “just figured you have good taste.”

you wander away from the stand, both of you savoring your ice cream. for a while, you walk in comfortable silence. at one point, he removes the ridiculous wig from his head. it isn’t until you reach a park bench that jude breaks the silence.

"you know," he starts. "i haven’t seen you at a lot of games lately. everything good between you and your boyfriend?"

“‘your boyfriend?’” you tease. “why not call him by his name? you guys have beef or something?”

he stays silent.

you gasp half-jokingly. “oh my god! tell me everything, so i can sell the story to the tabloids.”

he lets out a laugh at that.

“you’re ridiculous,” he says, shaking his head, but there’s a glint of amusement in his eyes.

“c’mon, spill,” you tease, nudging his arm lightly. “is he, like, selfish? does he refuse to pass during games?”

jude chuckles, shaking his head again. “nah, nothing like that. he’s a good player. talented, hardworking… you just start noticing things when you’re around someone all the time, you know?”

he says it carefully, almost hesitantly. you tilt your head at him. “notice things like what?”

he shrugs, his gaze dropping to his melting cone. “like… maybe he doesn’t appreciate what he’s got.”

the words hang in the air between you. you don't know how to respond, so you just gaze down at your own ice cream.

"sorry," jude says quickly. "didn't mean to overstep. i just—forget it."

"no, it's fine," you say quietly. "you're not wrong."

you sit in silence for a few moments. you feel him lean back against the bench, and the next time he speaks, his tone is lighter.

"my dad's coming to visit tomorrow," he says casually, an excited undertone in his voice.

"yeah? that's nice. does he come often?"

"not as much as i'd like," jude admits. "he's got my little brother to worry about in sunderland."

you smile softly. “what do you guys usually do when he visits?”

"usually we grab some food..."

he speaks about his bond with his dad, and also his close relationship with both his brother and mother. soon the conversation moves to childhood memories; jude tells you stories about growing up in birmingham, the football academy there, how he met his best friends at school. in return, you share stories of your own childhood, each one met with genuine curiosity from jude. you laugh, the conversation feeling effortlessly easy and natural.

it isn’t until you pull out your phone and glance at the screen to check the time that reality crashes back in. you have a boyfriend waiting for you at home. a boyfriend who hasn’t called, hasn’t texted, hasn’t even noticed that you’ve walked out of his house.

you lick the last remnants of your ice cream and are just about to crunch into the cone when jude gestures toward your chin. “you’ve got a little…” he says, trailing off as he points.

“oh,” you mumble while jude scans your surroundings for a tissue. finding none, he leans in and gently swipes at the bit of ice cream with his thumb.

“got it,” he murmurs, his touch lingering just a second longer than required.

what happens next can only be described as a a lapse in thinking, or maybe something you've been holding back all night. before your brain can catch up with your actions, you grab his hand and bring his thumb to your lips. you lick the ice cream away, your eyes flicking up to meet his.

jude freezes, his breath catching, his deep brown eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your heart race.

"i—" you start, but whatever explanation you're about to give disappears when jude leans closer, his hand hovering near your face, as if waiting for your permission.

you don’t pull away. you don’t want to.

his lips brush against yours, hesitant at first, testing the waters. when you don’t push him away or move back, when, instead, you lean into him, his kiss deepens. it’s slow and deliberate, like he has all the time in the world to memorize every inch of you.

the ice cream cone in your hand is forgotten, melting onto the pavement as your fingers tangle into his hoodie, pulling him closer. the world fades, leaving just the two of you in your little bubble.

when you finally pull apart, your breaths mingle in the night air and jude’s forehead rests against yours.

“jude…” you whisper, but you don’t know how to finish the sentence.

he pulls back just enough to look at you, his expression serious. “tell me if I’ve crossed a line. i don’t want to make things harder for you.”

your heart flutters at the genuine care in his tone. you shake your head. “no, you didn’t.”

he doesn't keep his lips off you after that.

the next morning, you wake up feeling better than you have in months. there's a lightness in your chest, a warmth that’s been missing for what feels like forever.

you glance at your boyfriend, expecting to feel guilt or remorse. but there’s nothing. no pang of regret, no twist in your stomach. you feel... nothing at all.

you watch him roll out of bed and get ready for training. not a word passes between you as you sit down together in the kitchen to eat breakfast.

“so, what does your day look like today?” you try.

he doesn’t even look up, his attention entirely on his phone, scrolling with one hand while holding his fork with the other.

“i have a meeting at work that’s pretty—“ you start, but he cuts off.

“we’re doing penalty drills,” he mutters without looking up. “need to score more than bellingham so i can wipe that smug smile off his face. did you know he gets paid more than me?”

you just stare at him. you wonder what you even saw in him all those years ago. how had you overlooked the bitterness in his eyes, the envy? how had you missed it all along, his resentment towards anyone who seemed happier, luckier, more successful? his good looking face looks distorted to you now, forever changed to you to reflect the ugliness he holds inside. its as if you’re seeing him for who he really is for the very first time.

your phone buzzes on the table. without even checking, you know who it’s from.

jude: good morning :) sleep well?

you see it for what it is: an invitation to step into dangerous territory, to cross the line once more. a lifeline offering escape from the sinking ship that is your relationship.

you decide to take it.

you type a quick response and set the phone down. your boyfriend is grinning at an instagram reel now, completely absorbed.

you don’t speak to each other for the remainder of breakfast. this time it doesn't bother you at all.

#jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham x you #jude bellingham x y/n #jude bellingham fanfic #football fanfic #football imagine

185 notes · View notes

avatar-anna · 8 months ago

Text

Whipped

Hockey player! Harry x Figure skater! Y/n

there are references to a previous oneshot. read here for more context!

"You comin' out tonight, Captain?"

Harry shut his locker as he shrugged into his t-shirt, water droplets spraying as he shook out his freshly washed hair. Rubbing some of the stray droplets off his face, he said, "Not tonight, boys. It's date night."

His teammates groaned in protest, a regular occurrence when Harry declined to go out with them. He shook his head at their collective disappointment, amused because when he did go out they typically got too hammered or went off in search of someone to hook up with.

"You'll be fine without me, I promise," Harry assured as they walked out of the locker room together.

"It's the principle of the thing," one of his teammates, Matt, said. He was new to the team this year, a transfer from a different school. "You never come out with us."

"That's not true!"

It wasn't true, was it? Harry had opted out of the last couple parties, preferring to take his girlfriend on a date or have a night in with her. Y/n wasn't overly fond of parties, and rightfully so after what she'd experienced a couple years ago, but even then Harry had begun to prefer their quiet nights together over a rager on Greek Row.

"It is. You're always with your girlfriend," another teammate said, making it sound like an accusation.

"Watch it," Harry said, his voice clipped, not having much tolerance for anyone who spoke badly about Y/n.

"Speaking of," Niall said, nodding to where Y/n waited by her car, her head dipped as she typed something on her phone.

Harry's heart skipped a beat at the sight of her, a smile involuntarily finding its way onto his face. "So fucking whipped," Matt muttered as Harry walked over to Y/n, the rest agreeing, making their own jokes at their captain's expense. Harry merely flipped them off as he walked away from them, shaking as his head as he returned his focus back on his girl.

"What was that all about?" Y/n asked, looking over at Harry's teammates with a raised brow.

"Nothing, they're just giving me a hard time about not going out with them tonight," he explained, tossing his duffle bag in the back of Y/n's car.

"Oh," Y/n said. "Do you want to go out with them? We can take a raincheck for tonight."

That was what he loved about Y/n. What Harry's teammates didn't understand was that his girlfriend wasn't telling him not to go out. Y/n never got mad at him if he wanted to celebrate a win at a party , she knew his team was a close knit group. But Harry found himself preferring spending time with her than with the boys. Did that make him a shitty teammate? He didn't think so. Did it mean he was whipped? Maybe, but he didn't really see a problem with that. Not when being with Y/n made him so happy.

"Don't worry about them," Harry said, pulling Y/n as close as she could possibly get. "They're just jealous they don't get to spend the night with the hottest girl at our school."

Y/n started to laugh, but his mouth was already on hers, effectively ending the conversation.

*.*

Away games meant hours spent on a stuffy bus full of immature hockey players. When Harry was just a freshman, he was delegated to the back , forced to share seats with the other underclassmen while the juniors and seniors all stretched out across seats closer to the front of the bus, far, far away from the bathroom.

Now that Harry was both a senior and team captain, he got his pick of whatever row he wanted on the bus. He usually opted to sit up front, Zayn in the aisle across from him and Niall the one behind. In the hours leading up to arriving at their opponent's rink, Harry spent his time listening to music, getting himself in the zone to lead his team to victory. It was why he chose to sit in the first few rows of the bus closer to the coaches so he could focus.

Around hour two into their trip, Harry reached for the paper bag that had his lunch.

In the past, Harry went with a teammate or two to grab something to eat before getting on the bus, but after Harry had complained a couple times to Y/n that a burrito followed by an hours-long bus ride was a habitual mistake, she began to pack him a lunch. He didn't ask, and she never said anything about it. The first time he found a brown paper bag in their shared apartment, Y/n merely shrugged and said, "I already pack my own for competitions, it's no big deal."

"What'you got over there, Styles?"

But it was. It was her little ways of showing she cared. Harry learned early on in their relationship that Y/n had a hard time expressing herself with words, but she made up for it in gestures, like packing him an away game lunch and leaving little notes in them for him to find.

Harry perked up at the sound of his name to find one of his teammates standing in the aisle of the bus, eyes alight as he observed the brown paper bag in Harry's lap.

"What does it look like, Matt? It's a bag lunch," Zayn chimed in, having pulled one of his headphones off his ears.

"Please tell me Y/n isn't packing you lunch before games," Matt teased. "Is she your girlfriend or your mom?"

A few teammates who had been listening laughed and joined in on ribbing their captain, but Harry merely rolled his eyes. Matt had had a lot to say about his relationship recently. Nothing overly rude or offensive, but it was often enough that it was starting to become a "thing," and that Harry definitely didn't want.

"Y/n made you lunch? Can she make me one next time? What's in it?" Niall asked, who had previously been dozing against the window.

Ignoring Matt, Harry showed Niall the lunch Y/n made—a chicken wrap on a whole wheat tortilla, trail mix, a banana, hummus and pita bread, and a drink with electrolytes. The contents varied each time, but it was always healthy and filling, and Harry honestly felt better as he got off the bus than he used to.

"That a note?" Niall murmured so Matt wouldn't hear, having moved onto another topic toward the middle of the bus.

Harry reached for the folded piece of paper scattered among the food in his lap, trying to be discreet. "Good luck today, bub! xoxoxo" it read, and Harry quickly folded it back up and shoved it into his trouser pocket.

"How things have changed since you first met," Niall said with a chuckle, punching Harry's arm lightly.

"I'm not so sure. I think she likes to embarrass me more than anything else with this stuff. It's definitely working."

"Matt's an idiot, ignore him," Niall said, and Harry was inclined to agree. "You gonna eat that pita bread?"

Later that night, Harry trudged through the apartment, his duffle bag sliding off his arm in a heap by the front door. "Baby?" Harry called, noting the lights on in the apartment but no girlfriend. "You in the shower?"

Harry swatted his friend's hand away before he could snatch his lunch.

*.*

"Over here!" she said, her voice coming from their shared bedroom.

Harry loosened his tie as he walked down the hall toward his room, ready to be rid of his game-day clothes. He never understood why the team had to wear suits before and after games, especially after. The very last thing he wanted to do after playing a hockey game was wear a dress shirt and slacks.

Not paying attention, Harry began undressing, shedding his suit jacket first, carefully hanging it up the way he knew his girlfriend would appreciate. When he turned around, he finally noticed her.

"What's this?" he asked, eyes roaming Y/n's bare legs appreciatively. She laid on the bed in just his home jersey, the hem hiked up high enough that Harry could see a hint of lace from her underwear.

"Just a little something for your big win," Y/n said, a grin that said she could read every ounce of desire on his face.

She started to stand up on her knees, to go to him, Harry assumed, but he stopped her. "Wait. Stay right there."

He could feel Y/n's eye roll as Harry whipped his phone out of his back pocket, fumbling around until he had his camera pulled up. As he focused his phone on her, she didn't look amused, but there was a glint in her eye that told him she thought he was an idiot.

"You do this every time I surprise you in bed," she remarked, flipping Harry off when he started moving around for better angles

"Need a new screensaver," he said by way of explanation, doing just that before he set his phone down.

"Get over here before I decide to put pants on."

"Yes, ma'am," Harry said, quick to ditch his own trousers before joining his girlfriend on the bed.

*.*

A couple weeks later, Harry was finally at a party. His teammates were there, along with Y/n and a couple of her friends. Y/n, who still got tense at large house parties, stayed close to Harry's side the whole night, not eager to venture anywhere without him. He didn't mind, of course, in fact quite the opposite. As they sat around a bonfire in the house's backyard, Y/n sat on Harry's lap, his arms circled protectively around her waist. She had been perfectly fine with sitting beside him, but he'd pulled her onto his lap before she could.

"How are you always so warm?" he murmured, nuzzling his nose past her hair and against the skin of her neck. "Hm? You're like a little furnace."

"Stop that! Pay attention to the game," Y/n said, still leaning into his touch.

Her hands rested over his, warming his skin caused by the chilly autumn air. Harry was in a chunky cable knit sweater, but the cold still pierced his skin, making him squeeze his girlfriend tighter. That and the pleased giggle that came out of her mouth when he kissed the back of her neck.

"Hey, lovebirds! Feel like rejoining us anytime soon?"

Harry peeked out from behind Y/n, grinning cheekily at his friends, who were also sitting around the bonfire. Before he could say anything, Niall shouted from his seat over the music, "You guys are so in love it's gross."

The lighting outside was dim, the fire casting an orange glow over everything, but Harry could tell Y/n was blushing as the rest of their friends teased them playfully. It was no secret to Harry how his girlfriend felt, but she was more reserved than he was, and he knew it was a lot for everything to be out in the open, even so far down the line.

"He's fucking whipped, is what he is!"

Harry heard Matt's voice scattered throughout the others, and he could hear the slight edge to his tone. He wasn't quite sure what his teammate's problem was, or why he felt the need to comment on Harry's relationship all of a sudden, but it was starting to get on Harry's nerves.

Not having heard the bite that Harry did, his friends laughed. Y/n didn't, though, merely smiling at him as she squeezed his hand affectionately. "Don't let them get to you, bub," she murmured before standing up from his lap. He felt the loss of her warmth immediately, but didn't pull her back down to him. "I'm gonna head inside to go to the bathroom."

He didn't know if she actually had to, but Harry saw the offer to escape for what it was and took it. "I'll go with you," he said, standing up himself and taking her hand in his. They were almost to the sliding door that would lead them back to the house when Matt spoke, his voice rising above the rest and making them both stop.

"Seriously? You can't be alone for five minutes? For God's sake, let him off his leash, Y/n."

Anger coursed through Harry's veins immediately, but he did his best to push it aside to focus on his girlfriend, whose face was carefully blank.

"Sorry, what was that?" Y/n asked, slowly turning around to face him. Harry instantly read the look on her face. It was the same one she wore when he forgot to switch out his laundry or wash the dishes.

Matt stupidly doubled down instead of backing off. Niall and a couple of Harry's friends tried to stop him, understanding Y/n's anxiety about being left alone at parties, but he didn't listen.

"Never in a million years did I think our team captain would be so whipped for some—some—"

"Stop before you embarrass yourself," Y/n said, her voice not wavering once. "Maybe if your head wasn't so far up your own ass, you'd know I don't make Harry do anything, like you seem to believe. If he doesn't want to hang out with you, then that's his business, but honestly I don't blame him. You kind of suck."

Matt looked at Y/n in disbelief, mouth open but no words came out. Then he looked at Harry, as if his captain would offer some assistance, but Harry didn't do anything of the sort.

"Don't look at him, you're dealing with me now," Y/n said, stepping toward Matt. "And before you make some stupid fucking-ass comment about him being a bitch letting me fight his battles, save your breath. You started this, I'm ending it. Suck a dick and keep my name out of your mouth."

That's when Harry stepped in. He loved that Y/n was defending him on his behalf, but Matt was a good two heads taller than her, and his teammate had had a few. He didn't think Matt would get physical, but Harry was starting to realize Matt wasn't really a stand up guy.

Then, Matt muttered, "Fuck this," before storming back inside the house. The backyard was uncomfortably quiet for a moment, no one quite knowing what to say. That was until Niall said, "Well, that went about how I expected."

Harry let out a relieved chuckle, his free hand running through his hair. When everyone went back to their own conversations, he focused his attention back on his girlfriend, who hadn't said a word since Matt left.

He knew it took a lot for her to do that, that as confident as she was, Y/n still got anxious, especially in a setting like this. Squeezing her hand once, which had begun to tremble just slightly, Harry murmured quietly in her ear, "Let's go home, baby."

With a stiff nod, Y/n agreed, letting him lead her from the group and back into the house. When they were in the car, Y/n finally said, "Sorry if I made things uncomfortable. Matt's a dick but he's still your teammate."

"Don't apologize," Harry replied immediately. "He got what was coming to him."

They let the conversation end there, driving back to their apartment in silence, save the music playing through the car's speakers.

It wasn't until they were both in the comfort of their own bed that Y/n brought it up again. Nestling under the covers and into Harry's side, she said, "You're totally whipped, you know that, right?"

Harry sighed and kissed the top of her head. "I know."

#harry styles #hockey player!harry styles #hockeyrry #figure skater!reader #figure skater!yn #harry styles blurb #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #harry styles writing #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic

675 notes · View notes

rueclfer · 22 days ago

Text

acquainted with the drummer // sero hanta

a/n: writing this as im getting ready for a function rn and super indulgent but idgaf i think u guys needed this too!!! we all needed this!! sero nation hi ily!! also maybeeee wanna do more with this idea another day when i have time

the double tequila shot doesn't feel like a good idea anymore now that it's fighting its way back up your throat.

"chaser?" mina offers, holding out a clear glass with a sip's worth of soda sitting at the bottom of the cup. her eyebrows furrowed into a grimace as the alcohol settled in her own stomach.

you wave her off with a cough, bringing the back of your hand up to your mouth, as if that'll hold back your vomit.

it somehow does.

the burning sensation dissipates with a new feeling- euphoria.

it's a loud and rowdy bar, and you're not used to this scene like mina is, but it's a saturday night and she knew you had nothing more to do than waste the weekend away.

mina has her arm slung over you, essentially forcing your shoulders down to headbang in rhythm with her. you two are laughing at each other in a drunken haze- slightly off beat, hair thrown around and getting caught in the corners of your mouth, and your eye meeting the drummer's every now and then.

you don't formally meet him until you're pressed up against the grimy bathroom stall- the door is as cool on your back as he is hot on your front.

"hanta." he says in between whiskey coaxed kisses "sero hanta."

"hi." you mutter against his lips. "it's nice to meet you, hanta. you were incredible up there."

the light praise sends a chill up his spine. he pulls away for a moment, taking in the sight of your swollen kissed lips, tipsy lidded eyes, and knotted hair.

god, you're so pretty.

he's known about you for a while- mina's quiet roommate. he sees you in passing whenever the group goes over to your apartment for band practice or to just lounge around, but you'd always stay hidden in your room.

sero has a habit of wanting to meet and say hello to everyone. jirou says he's easy kidnap bait, but he thinks everyone's worth knowing.

he should actually be out there in the main bar watching the next band's set and hanging out with the rest of his friends who came out to see them perform, but here he was getting acquainted with you.

"it's nice to meet you." he chuckles, bringing his hand up from your waist to the nape of your neck, as he crashes his lips back into yours, simultaneously pulling you deeper into him as he presses you back against the door.

he wants to devour you at this moment. show you how a real drummer does it. not many get to experience it, but there's a secret plus to the endless stamina after all these years of practice and bar shows.

"ow, hanta." you pull your head forward away from his grasp.

"oh fuck." he brings his hands back to your shoulders, lighting rubbing his thumb over the bare skin in silent apology.

you look down and eye the spiked bands snapped onto each wrist before meeting his gaze again.

he awkwardly huffs out a laugh, connecting his forehead to yours.

"i'm so fucking dumb." he cringes at himself. "sorry."

you run your hand up his chest and to the side of his jaw, brushing your fingers against the slight stubble.

"we should get back to the others, anyways." your cheeks grow hot, suddenly aware of the situation you've gotten yourselves into.

"right." the corner of his lips quirk up, leaning into your touch.

sero suddenly grows nervous, his feet shifting under him.

"raincheck?" he eyes darted away from yours. "you know, maybe you can stop by for practice? or a private show?"

"minus the spikes?"

his eyes widened with a wicked grin.

he leans in and presses one last gentle kiss to your lips before reaching for the doorknob, letting yourselves out and reunited with your friends.

"no promises."

#so dumb so stupid #anyways yeah i think he'd be a drummer #also not proofread sry if any mistakes #mha #bnha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnha x reader #mha x reader #sero hanta #sero #sero hanta x reader #sero x reader #sero mha #sero hanta mha #hanta sero x reader #mha hanta sero #hanta x reader

226 notes · View notes

moonstruckme · 9 months ago

Note

hi mum can we get more dr rem PLEASE :3

Always pookie <3

cw: implicit nausea and vomit, no description

doctor!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 1.3k words

Remus picks up on the third ring. “Hello?”

The sound of his voice makes you smile even in your sorry state. “Hi, Remus.”

“Hi.” Something softens in his tone; you like to think he’s smiling too. “I’m not late to pick you up, am I? I’ve only just got home from work.”

“No, so did I.” You lean your forehead on the cool ceramic of your toilet tank, thanking your past self for having cleaned it just yesterday. “I actually…I’m sorry, I think I’m going to need a raincheck.”

A pause. “Oh.” You wince at the disappointment in his voice. “That’s too bad. Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, I think I’ve just caught a bug,” you say. “I’m afraid I wouldn’t be much fun.”

“You’re always fun,” Remus replies warmly, and you smile. “Are you not feeling well?”

“Not great,” you hedge. You’ve been dating Remus long enough to know how he worries, and you don’t want that. “I’ll live, though. Maybe we can meet later in the week?”

“Or,” he says, low and coaxing, “I could come over now and make you some soup.”

You almost sigh, it sounds so nice. What you wouldn’t give to have him rub your back, carry you to bed and press a kiss to your brow. But you’re a mess right now, and you’re trying to save him from it.

“I don’t think that’d be a good idea,” you say reluctantly. “Anyway, it’s not that kind of sick.”

“Tell me your symptoms.”

“Ew,” you laugh. “Take me to dinner first, Lupin.”

“Well, I did try,” he says, and you can almost hear his smile through the phone. It catches just as easily as it does in person. “Seriously, love, how do you feel? Do you know what it is?”

“Not necessarily, but it’s really not bad. I just don’t want to infect you.”

“I could probably help.”

“But when you got sick I’d feel awful,” you tell him sincerely. “Thank you, but really, don’t worry about it. I’ll give you a ring when I’m no longer a biohazard, okay?”

Remus harrumphs, but when he speaks his voice still crackles with fondness. “Alright.”

“Thanks. Bye.”

You hear him echo you as you lower the phone from your ear, setting it on the bathroom floor before following it down. You don’t feel secure enough in your stomach to leave the toilet just yet, so you curl up on the small mat by the shower and succumb to the exhaustion that’s been chasing you since lunchtime.

~~~

“Oh, sweetheart.”

You wake to a warm hand on your even warmer shoulder, startling a bit as you pull your face from the rug. Remus is looking down at you with an awful little crease between his brows.

“Remus?” you ask, just to be sure.

“Hi,” he says softly. “You didn’t sound this bad over the phone, you know. I’d have rushed if I knew you were about to take a nap on the floor.”

You blink, trying to clear the fog from your brain. “How’d you get in here?”

“You showed me the spare key when I took care of your plants, remember?” Remus looks a bit sorry, wedging a hand underneath your ribs to encourage you sitting up. “I did try to call, but I think you must have slept through it.”

“Oh,” you murmur, getting upright and crossing your legs underneath you awkwardly.

He smiles thinly and sets a hand to your forehead. The gesture feels oddly intimate. You’ve slept with this man, met his friends, shown him where you keep your spare key, and somehow this feels intimate.

Remus makes a terribly lovely cooing sound. You think you might just die right here.

“You’re burning,” he says worriedly. “How long have you been feeling like this?”

“Since about lunch,” you admit.

“Yeah?” He frowns, cupping your face in the basin of his palm. “How’d you fare at work?”

“I got sick in the bathroom, but then I just finished out the day.” Remus’ frown is starting to look mortifyingly near to a pout. “It wasn’t this bad then, I don’t think. It got worse once I was home.”

He hums. “Do you know how you caught it?”

You glance at the toilet, horrified at the sight of your unflushed sick inside. “Some of my coworkers went home sick, but…look, Remus, it was really nice of you to come, but you don’t have to be here.” You say this with your cheek tucked into his palm, soaking up the feeling of his touch. “It’s way too early for you to see me like this.”

“Oh?” One corner of his mouth twitches, but he keeps his expression curious. “Why’s that?”

“Because…because.” You try to imbue your tone with some sternness. “It’s the standard progression of things. Peeing together, saying I love you, then you see me when I’m sick.”

Remus nods, humming pensively. His thumb strokes at your cheek. “You want to pee together before saying I love you? That’s interesting.”

You feel your face heat, which you didn’t know was even possible at this point. You thought surely you’d maxed out. “I’m serious.”

“Alright,” he says. Soft, pacifying. “All that notwithstanding, I’m afraid I can’t leave you like this, lovely girl. I’ll avert my eyes if you want me to, but I’m really not too worried about seeing you any way you can be, so I think it might be easier on you if you didn’t worry about it either.”

You wither. “But I’m gross.”

He frowns. “You’re not. You’re just not feeling your best right now, and that’s fine. Let me take care of you.”

You look at him for a few moments, and Remus looks back. His amber stare is steady. Finally, you give in to your more pathetic urges and nod.

“Alright.” He gives your cheek another tender stroke. “Do you feel like you’re going to be sick again now?”

“No,” you say meekly. It feels weird to discuss these things with him, but Remus acts like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

“Perfect. Think you can make it to bed?”

You definitely can, but Remus still walks you the whole way, one arm around your waist and his attention cautiously on your feet should you stumble. He gets you situated under the covers, forbidding more than one blanket until your fever comes down, and goes back into the bathroom to get the supplies he’d brought with him.

You hear the toilet flush and cringe, but he comes back out like nothing happened.

“I wasn’t sure what to bring since you wouldn't tell me what you had on the phone,” there’s a bit of light admonishment to his tone as he sits on the edge of your mattress with a paper bag, “so I brought most of my medicine cabinet. Do you want some anti-nausea, or are you still alright for now?”

“Yes, please,” you say in a small voice. Remus passes you a cup of water before shaking a pill into his hand. He watches as you take it.

“You’re going to want to keep taking small sips of that,” he tells you. “It sounds like you’re right and it’s just a stomach bug, so we’ll probably keep you off solid foods for a little while. You just let me know when you’re feeling up to some crackers or something, okay?”

“Okay,” you echo him. Your heart suddenly feels as warm and tender as if your fever were affecting it, too. You’re enamored with the idea that you could go to sleep, right now, and Remus would still be here to take care of you when you wake up. He’d probably hold your hand if you asked, or read you something, or just sit with you if that was what you wanted. It makes you feel pathetically teary to think of being so cared for.

Something shifts in Remus’ expression. He looks at you more closely, pushing a piece of hair away from your face.

“Everything alright, sweetheart?” he asks.

“Yeah.” You swallow. “Just, thanks for coming.”

Remus smiles. “Changing our minds about the standard progression of things, are we?” But before you get a chance to hide under your covers and never come out, he leans forward, kissing your cheek. “Don’t mention it.”

725 notes · View notes

lemoncrushh · 2 months ago

Text

Show Me Your Texts, or It's Over

Summary: Harry finds out you've been in contact with your ex and gives you an ultimatum.

Warnings: angst, maybe a little gaslighting

Word Count: 1889

A/N: From my 2016 collection. This was based on a prompt selected by a reader. Very angsty. You won't like Harry in this, and maybe not y/n either. I almost didn't repost it, but please don't take it too seriously.

You hurried outside to your car, the summer heat threatening to burn you through your black shirt. You felt the vibration of your phone in your hand, alerting you of yet another text from Harry. He'd been texting you all morning and throughout your lunch break. It had started off as a harmless conversation of missing each other when he'd reminded you what time his flight arrived. You'd been apart for over a week, resolving to short late night phone chatter until one of you fell asleep, or the occasional text that left you cold and flat. Needless to say, you were dying to see him.

As the morning progressed, however, so did the texts. His flight was delayed due to weather. He wasn't sure if he'd make it in time to go home and change, so he'd asked to meet you at the dinner party. You argued back and forth, insisting that you were fine with being a bit late if it meant you could go together.

You knew without a doubt that this text that had just arrived was him telling you otherwise, but you were already running late and needed to get back to work. You'd been excited for and anticipating his return, but now you were just frustrated and perturbed.

Tossing your purse and your phone in the passenger seat, you drove back to work. It wasn't until you were settled back in your desk, running your hands through your hair with a sigh, that you decided to examine his newest text. You were surprised, however, when you noticed the name. It wasn't from Harry. It was from your ex-boyfriend, John.

Biting your lip, you swiped the screen to read the text.

Working hard, or hardly working?

You chuckled, texting him back quickly.

Neither. Just got back from lunch.

Damn, I was hoping to persuade you to meet me for a bite.

You grinned at your screen. John had texted you out of the blue two weeks ago. At first you were apprehensive about talking to him again. He'd been the one to break off the relationship, claiming he wasn't ready to commit. You'd taken that to mean he wanted to be free to screw around, so you'd given him the boot. Although you held your head up high, you'd been hurt, your self-esteem lacking. That is, until you'd met Harry. Harry had been the solace that you'd needed, lifting you up repeatedly by his words as well as his actions.

When John came clean with you in his texts, apologizing and admitting that you deserved much more than he had given, you'd decided to bury the hatchet. There was no point in being bitter about it, and you forgave him, not so much for his sake, but for yours.

One thing you hadn't done, though, was tell Harry about it. It wasn't really that you were trying to hide it from him, but you didn't want it to become a big deal. Harry knew how John had treated you. You'd told him repeatedly, and a couple of times had cried in his arms over it. So telling him this same ex that had made you cry was now texting you like an old friend...probably wouldn't be a good idea.

Sorry, you texted John back. Raincheck?

Better yet, how about you meet me for drinks later?

You gritted your teeth, not sure how to answer. Asking for a raincheck on lunch was one thing. Lunch you could do. Probably. But drinks after work? Besides, you needed to run straight home after work to get ready for this dinner party with Harry.

As though he knew you were thinking of him, Harry's name popped up with a new text.

Flight's been delayed longer. I should be home about 7.

Just as you were about to reply, another text alert from John popped up.

How does Margo's sound?

You swallowed hard, trying to decide who to answer first. Quickly, you typed out a message for John.

Sorry, I can't tonight. Harry's coming home.

As soon as you hit send, your eyes about popped out of your head. You'd sent it to the wrong person! Shit!

You saw the three little dots pop up, indicating Harry was typing.

What??

Calming yourself down, you decided to play it cool. It was an accident. He had no idea who the message was for.

Haha sorry baby. I was talking to a friend. Didn't mean to send that to you. I'll see you at 7.

Making sure you had John's text open then, you politely declined, sending him the text you'd originally intended to.

Oh ok then, John sent back. Maybe some other time. Have fun!

"[Y/N]!" you heard Harry call from the front of the house.

"You're home!" you squealed from the bedroom.

You'd hoped to meet him at the door, greeting him with lavish kisses, but right then you were in an awkward position on the bed, trying to buckle your high-heeled strappy sandal.

"Hi, beautiful," he said in a low tone.

You looked up to see him standing in the doorway. Temporarily dismissing your buckle, you stood to meet him halfway, wrapping your arms around him.

"Mmm, I've missed you," you murmured against his chest.

"I missed you, too," he echoed, "and you look gorgeous."

"What, this old thing?" you playfully scoffed, stepping back to allow him to view your ensemble completely.

A sexy grin spread across his face while he set his suitcase against the wall.

"I'll hurry and get ready. Wish I had time for a shower."

"Go ahead," you insisted. "I don't mind waiting."

"No, love, we're already late. I'll just change."

You sat back down on your bed, grabbing your phone while Harry undressed. You'd gotten a couple of texts from John earlier. When you'd told him you were getting ready for a dinner party, he'd asked you to send a picture. You thought it was a little odd at first, but so far he hadn't said anything that made you feel uneasy. You'd sort of slipped into this comfortable friend zone unexpectedly. So a few minutes before Harry had arrived, you'd sent John a selfie in your dress. He had yet to reply.

Tossing your phone on the bed, you stood and walked to the vanity to put your earrings on. As you were adjusting the second one, Harry passed by the bed.

"Who's John?" he inquired, shoving his arms into a clean shirt.

"What?" you turned to look at him. You noticed then he was inspecting your phone.

"You just got a text from a John," he added.

Oh no.

"'Wow, you look amazing!'" Harry quoted, reading the text that John had apparently sent. "'Sexy as hell!'"

Your entire body trembled as he lifted his head to glare at you.

"Who the fuck is John?" he repeated, his voice rising.

"Um..." you sucked in your lips, wringing your hands.

"Not your bloody ex boyfriend!" Harry nearly shouted, his eyes narrowed.

"Baby-" you started, but Harry interrupted you.

"You're talking to him again? After what he did to you?"

"Harry," you swallowed, stepping towards him. "Let me explain."

His face showed no sign of willingness to listen to any explanation though he remained rooted in his spot.

"He's been texting me a little," you admitted.

"A little?" Harry raised a brow. "For how long?"

"A couple weeks."

"A couple weeks?! Were you gonna tell me?"

You looked down at your hands, wishing you had something in them to hold.

"I thought you'd be mad," you said meekly.

"Well you were right about that!" Harry turned away from you, running a hand through his hair. "Fuck!"

"Harry, I'm sorry," you muttered sincerely. "But I swear, it's harmless."

He swung around, his eyes shooting daggers at you. "Harmless, huh?"

"Yes. He wanted to apologize for everything. I told him I appreciated and accepted his apology, and we just got to talking about what we've been up to, you know, like catching up. I told him about you and-"

"You've told him about me," Harry interrupted.

"Yes! He knows all about you. He knows you were coming home today and we were going to a party."

"Is that..." he paused, "is that who you were texting earlier today? When you sent me the wrong text?"

The look on his face told you he did not find it funny in the least, regardless of your trying to play it off like you had. You opened your mouth to retort, but decided it wasn't worth it.

"Yes," you sighed.

"Shit," Harry dropped his shoulders. He blinked slowly before reaching for your phone.

"Let me see the texts," he demanded.

"What?" you asked incredulously.

"The texts from him. Your conversations."

Anger building in your chest, you grabbed your phone out of his hand.

"No!" you glared at him. "That's ludicrous!"

"Why? Because you have something to hide?"

"No, I-"

"Then show them to me, [Y/N]."

You stood silent for a moment before shaking your head slowly.

"Show me your texts, or it's over," said Harry.

"You can't be serious," you contended, your voice just a whisper.

"Dead serious."

"You..." you began, but quickly surrendered, handing him the phone. "Fine."

You sunk down onto the bed while Harry scrolled through your text messages from John. You knew there was nothing wrong with them. It was the principal. Harry didn't trust you, and that angered and disappointed you.

You focused on Harry's belt buckle while he stood before you. You felt like a child. You didn't appreciate it. You loved Harry and you would never to anything to sabotage your relationship. A tear dropped in your lap, wetting your dress before you even realized you'd been crying. Sniffling, you stood up again to reach for a tissue on the vanity.

"[Y/N]," you finally heard Harry mutter. He cleared his throat. "Baby, I'm sorry."

You turned and looked at him, your eyebrows raised. He lowered the phone, dropping it on the bed. Then he stepped closer to you, reaching for your hands.

"I'm so sorry," he declared again. You noticed a glint of a tear in his right eye.

"I was telling the truth," you said.

"I know," Harry bit his lip, the side of his mouth turning up. "You mentioned me a lot."

"I did," you nodded.

"And you said you're madly in love with me."

"I did."

"And that you're happy. For the first time in your life."

You blinked. "Yes, I did."

"God," Harry ran a hand through his hair again. "I was a jealous prat."

You giggled softly before placing your hands on his chest. "What on earth do you have to be jealous about?"

Harry grinned. "I mean...I still kinda think he's trying something. But I like how you sidestep him every time."

"Because I don't want him, Harry," you conveyed. "I want you. Only you."

You gazed into his eyes until he slipped his hands under your ears and lowered his mouth to capture yours.

"I really missed you," he murmured. "Maybe too much. It's made me do something I never thought I'd do."

"I'm yours, baby," you promised. "You don't have to worry about a thing."

You slid your hands down his torso.

"Except maybe about being late for dinner."

MASTERLIST | KO-FI | FEEDBACK

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fic #harry styles one shot #harry styles blurb #harry styles x reader #harry styles angst #harry styles imagine #harry styles concept #harry styles writing #harry styles x yn #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #reader fic #reader insert

272 notes · View notes

sandsorghum · 2 months ago

Text

synopsis: Higuruma makes *you* breakfast in bed for the first time

wc: 1.7k tags: fluffy! (unlike his eggs) . established relationship. romance.

a/n: inspired by @breekento's absolutely lovely photoset. a lil idyll, a smidge of indulgence. i couldn't help myself when he's so boyfriend-shaped [to the best of his abilities because...it's higuruma after all]

You were both supposed to be paying off some fairly massive sleep debts;and you hadn't even been incurring them in the usual fun ways.

The tradeoff of being slumber deprived to be a little depraved - ok, maybe more than a little - was hardly a dilemma for you and Higuruma; something you had figured out together early on in your relationship. Just one more way the two of you complemented each other, a pair of stubborn night owls turned lovebirds.

But work has been brutal; you're up to your neck in revisions to proposals for the sustainability bureau, and Higuruma's latest case had him building his defense strategy from scratch twice over now.

You can't remember the last time you shared a dinner that wasn't microwaveable. And pretty soon even the heaps of instant ramen packets were replaced by looming piles of onigiri wrappers, threatening to spill out of the bins - because fiddling with tiny sachets of powdered soup and rinsing out pots became too much of a luxury. So it was lots of take out, and very little making out.

You came to cherish the front doorstep to your apartments, a sacred altar where your bodies crossed each other in the morning bustle, swift as pedestrians, surrendering to serendipity; yet Cupid's best efforts could only conspire to the briefest, briskest brushes of your mouths before you hurried off towards your hectic jobs.

Evenings fared little better. Slouching past where he'd be collapsed on the couch at 2am, you'd drop a peck on his forehead when you could, if you had the strength to peel back the post-its with comments on penal code sections and the stacks of annotated alibis, gentle in your excavation of the mountainous documents, even as you know there's never any erosion of Higuruma's workaholism.

So you got good at deciphering the same crabbed handwriting on the fridge's notepad, mostly apologies and promises, before they dwindled down to hasty scratches of frowny emojis, blotting out dates on the calendar. All of it sincere, and all of it thwarted.

Weeks grated by like that, with their numbing addendums of cancelled grocery lists and rainchecks, strings of his snarky texts and your grumpy selfies becoming the lifeline of your relationship.

A month or maybe two, passed and finally, finally the pitches were accepted, as were the plea deals. Surely things could go back to normal now?

So, when you rolled over this morning anticipating a long overdue snuggle against Higuruma's chest, to instead find only a cold spot on his side of bed, the chagrin prickles through you so sharply it pierces through the groggy fog of sleep you still very much need.

"Hiro..." The pillows, absent of even his scent have the further audacity to muffle your grumble. But then you feel a slightly self-conscious chuckle roll honeywarm over your spine, and the dip of the bed as it welcomes the return of a weight that never should have left it at this hour.

"Sorry darling, I got hungry. Figured you might be too."

Your head creaks to the side, a warm scent wafting through the final defenses of your pillow fort. It's one you haven't smelled in a very, very long time.

"Masako's?"

Higuruma chuckles at the disbelief in your voice, still slumber-hoarse.

"That's right, made the pilgrimage all the way to Yoyogi. Just for you."

You hear the scrape of a knife and a rich, buttery aroma mingles with the morning air. Then you hear Higuruma's voice, dredged in huskiness from his drowsiness, drawling close to your ear. "So, forgive me yet?"

Your huff is already half buried in the pillow as you turn away from him and Higuruma sighs, wishing you'd at least treat him to your scowl. But he'll play along, after all it's been a while since the both of you could squander a morning on feigned pettiness.

"It's cute when you pretend to hold out on me," he muses, teasing his fingers through your locks before a heated palm comes to cup your cheek. "But the bagels are getting cold."

You can't help leaning into Higuruma's touch, purely instinctive, a vine supine toward its sun. But still you manage to mutter, "W'er s'posed to cuddle this mrngh."

You feel the grin in his voice long before it sneaks up to the corner of your lips. "We'll have the whole day to cuddle..."

Higuruma's aquiline nose dips down your neck, stopping just short of the spot he knows elicits a hitch in your breath. "Or not cuddle."

Drat him, and those nimble fingertips, just starting to skim beneath the hem of your shirt, summoning butterflies so swiftly you're uncertain if the swoop in your belly is from their innocently tickling antennae, or his digits' dexterous pretense of roaming your skin idly.

"For now, I'd like you to acknowledge the attempt I'm calling an omelette."

Now that has your eyes snapping open and jolting upright, shuffling around to stare at your partner who, for all his towering intellect, has never been able to distinguish a whisk from a sieve.

"You cooked? I didn't hear anything. What happened, were the batteries dead in the smoke alarm?"

"I'll have you know I actually replaced them recently."

Your skepticism retreats as you register Higuruma's mildly wounded expression. He turns to the side table, retrieving a breakfast tray and setting it before you. True, the yellow oblong by the perfectly browned discs is a little squat and misshapen, but it's distinctly missing the burnt, greasy odour you've come to reflexively associate with even his best attempts.

But this morning, you aren't even seeing any flecks of black. In fact, you start to notice the specks of green.

"Scallions?"

You raise the dish, squinting at the garnish, before lowering it to stare at Higuruma.

"Who are you and what have you done with my lover?"

"I guess I'm just some other man who's fallen for the charms of your terribly exacting egg standards," he deadpans, ruffling your hair and pressing a fork into your hand. "Now dear, if you'd be so kind as to make your judgment."

You take a sip of tea, made exactly how you like it (black, half a teaspoon of sugar, sans milk or creamer - maybe this man seated across from you isn't an impostor after all) and once you've washed down your bewilderment, set to properly tackling breakfast.

You take a breath, and let your fork cleave through the omelette. It cuts through cleanly, and doesn't wobble once on its way to your mouth.

It's...edible, you decide. Serviceable even, provided you were getting served at a road side gas station. But then you remember who cooked it, which practically makes it a 3 Michelin Star meal.

"It's good. Properly seasoned and everything." You smile, taking another bite.

"So how many dozens of eggs did you go through before you achieved this masterpiece?"

Higuruma shakes his head and huffs, casting his eyes heavenward. "Oh ye of little faith."

"In my defense, this is a novelty, Hiro. You've never spoiled me this way before."

You chuckle, tweaking his cheek, and his put-upon morose expression falters, as affection glimmers in his eyes instead.

"Three-quarters are still intact," he informs you, watching you sip your tea.

"Three quarters of the carton?" Your lip curls knowingly around the edge of your mug, and something stirs within Higuruma.

"Of the tray," he confesses, pulling your hand into his, starting to rub soft circles against your wrist.

"Couldn't be too cautious, hm?"

"I had Wikihow's assistance. And it's not my first time cooking eggs, you know."

You chew on the bagel for a quiet, contemplative moment.

"But the first time serving them?"

Your partner shrugs, but the way he averts his gaze for a moment tells you what you need to know. You squeeze his hand, and he looks back up at you.

"Thanks, Hiro. For making the morning special." You brush your forehead against his, savouring his happy hum reverberating against your cheeks as you put the tray off to the side.

"With this display of confidence, maybe you could even try tamagoyaki some time."

"Well, now that seems a tad ambitious-" Higuruma begins to equivocate but you shut him up with a kiss, tossing off the quilts and clambering into his lap, your appetite truly having been awakened at last.

He lets your hunger rush over him, falling backwards as his tongue greedily clambers towards yours, feeling a burden lift as your weight presses him back into bed, as your hips settle into their slow, needy grind against his. He kisses you, drinks you in more deeply, tasting the tannins of the tea he'd over-brewed while fussing with that dang omelette, but mingling with your scent and sweetness, it's nothing short of the most potent ambrosia. Higuruma groans, he's been parched of your taste and starved of your touch for weeks and weeks and he wants - needs you to drain him of these reservoirs of ache and desperation that have been suffocating him for so long.

Delirium and his desire floods through you, Higuruma's hands skittering everywhere, almost antsy enough to shred the fabric off of you. Higuruma nips urgently at your lips and you let his tongue, his limbs, his scent coil around you, entwined in his essence and embrace. His name spills from you in shallow gasps, pleading for a minor reprieve from the pleasure, but he persists, busying himself at your nape, suckling eagerly, flint-edged nose and canines planting tender bruises. It's only when you flinch slightly from the overstimulation of his roving mouth that he relents, reluctantly, tipping your head back to assess his efforts.

He likes what he sees; Your skin glowing in roses, dewy with his sweat and spit. Your famished gaze, devouring him as he devours you

"Maybe you should spend more time in the kitchen after all," you giggle, running your hands through his scalp, and you feel that burst of familiar wet heat as Higuruma quivers underneath you, a sodden spot growing and twitching against your core.

He presses his lips to you once more, his smirk both scalding and saccharine as he murmurs, "Never mind my rudimentary culinary skills darling, I'm going to spoil you in all the ways you already know, and then some."

@houseofsolisoccasum

#sandsorghum #higuruma hiromi #higuruma hiromi x reader #higuruma x reader #hiromi x reader #hiromi x you #higuruma x you #i love him your honor #higuruma x gn reader #jujutsu kaisen

220 notes · View notes

munson-blurbs · 10 months ago

Note

Hey sweetheart! You take requests at the moment? I'm currently healing from surgery (ow) and I just want some fluffy Eddie fussing over me/reader

One fluffy blurb, coming right up! I hope you get well soon 🥰

Warnings: Reader is recovering from surgery, mention of prescribed medication, mention of spicy activities, Eddie is a big ol' mush of a boyfriend

WC: 750

The sound of a handbell clanging has Eddie up from the sofa in a heartbeat. He’s learned your communication system over the last few days: one ring means you want some company, two means you’re hungry or need to use the bathroom, and three indicates an emergency.

This was a three-ring.

“Sweetheart?” There’s no camouflaging the alarm in his voice as he pushes into the bedroom. He finds you propped up against the pillows, book in hand. “What’s the matter? Are you dizzy again?”

You shake your head. “Could you get me a snack?” The doctor advised against taking the pain medication on an empty stomach, and you had no intention of breaking that rule. “Maybe some pretzels? Or a slice of toast with jelly?”

Eddie’s shoulders sag with relief. “You rang the bell three times,” he explains, soft irritation clipping his words. “I thought something was wrong.”

Glancing at the bell tucked against your thigh, you frown. “No, I only rang it twice. Or, wait…shit, I did ring it three times.” You exhale, sliding your bookmark between the pages and offering an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“S’okay.” He plops down onto the bed, careful not to jostle your elevated leg. “Just…give me a sec to get my heartrate back down to normal.” Hand to his chest, he takes deep, exaggerated breaths that have you giggling.

“I mean, I could find something urgent,” you tease. “Maybe I’ll try walking without the crutches, or I can take out my stitches…”

Eddie’s nose wrinkles in a combination of disbelief and disgust. “Bullshit,” he counters.

“Bullshit?”

“Bull. Shit.” He grins, gently poking your bicep. “You got all queasy that time you had to pull out a splinter, and you expect me to believe you can remove your own stitches?”

You let out a defeated groan. “Ugh, fine.” He knows you too well, and you love him for it.

He gives you a triumphant kiss on the cheek and starts towards the kitchen. “Anything else the fair maiden needs while I’m up? More water? Ginger ale? Perhaps some champagne and caviar?” His eyes light up mischievously at the last suggestion.

“I’m not supposed to drink on these meds,” you quip, playing right into his charade.

“We’ll take a raincheck on the champagne, then.”

You shift back slightly, wincing as pain shoots through your leg. The surgery hurt more than the injury, and part of you wishes you had just muddled through and hobbled around instead of getting it fixed.

Eddie returns a few minutes later with toast that’s just the right shade of burnt and slathered in strawberry jelly. He has a glass of water in his other hand, though you hadn’t asked for any.

He places both on the snack table he’s set up next to the bed before reaching over and grabbing the bell. He rings it one time, loud and purposeful.

“Can I help you?”

Nodding, he sits down. “I’m bored and need someone to talk to.” He rests his head on his pillow and pouts. “Entertain me?”

“There’s not much going on here.” You shrug, scanning the room for a conversation topic. He’s been taking care of you nonstop, and surgery recovery doesn’t exactly make for riveting discussions. Your eyes land on a magazine. “I read some interesting articles in Cosmo, I guess.”

“Oh, yeah?” Eddie waggles his brows. “Anything spicy?”

You flip to an article that provides explicit details on giving the perfect blowjob and point to the page. “This one was pretty raunchy.”

He studies it just long enough to read the headline before tossing it aside. “You don’t need any help with that. Trust me.” He smirks knowingly. “You probably could’ve written that article yourself.”

“Good to know.” Exhaling, you look over at him. “You can go hang out with the guys if you want. Or they can come over here, as long as they’re not too loud.”

You expect him to jump at the offer; anything to cure his bout of boredom, but he declines. “Nah, I’m good right here.” He snatches up the magazine once more and thumbs through it. “Besides, I need to find out what color palette matches my skin tone.”

“Eddie—”

He cuts you off with his pointer finger. “Shhh. This is life-changing stuff, Sweetheart. I mean, what if I’m…an ‘autumn,’ but I’ve been wearing ‘winter’ this whole time?” His face contorts in mock horror. “Talk about tacky.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You love it.”

You absolutely do.

#eddie munson #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #stranger things #eddie stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x you #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson x y/n

554 notes · View notes

theemporium · 10 months ago

Note

i love how you write oscar so had to send an idea in! oscar blurb where they're all dressed up and he can't keep his hands off her even though he usually very reserved in regard to PDA, maybe they're at an awards ceremony or clubbing with other boys from the grid?

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

Lando had practically begged Oscar to join the rest of the grid to come out with them after the season ended.

He was a rookie. He just completed his first full year in Formula one. And, fuck, they did a pretty damn good job compared to where they started. They ended the season on a high. They deserved to go out and get shit-faced drunk now that there were no race weekends or dietary requirements holding them back.

It took a solid twenty minutes of pestering before Oscar eventually agreed. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to celebrate with Lando. It was just that clubbing was never really his scene. And truthfully, he was fucking exhausted and just wanted to pass out in his bed with no concerns to wake up unforgivably early in the morning.

But you had been right there with Lando, persuading him that it was the right way to sign off his rookie year in Formula One.

Except to everyone’s shock (maybe not as much yours), Oscar mixed with alcohol and exhaustion seemed to throw every aspect of personal space and PDA right out the window.

“Ease off, mate, she isn’t going anywhere!” Lando barked out in laughter as he watched Oscar reach out for you.

You had disappeared for a few seconds just to help Logan carry some drinks back to the table. You were barely at arm’s length from the booth before Oscar was reaching out, his arms hooking around your waist as he pulled you down onto his lap.

“Oscar, the drinks!” You laughed, but the boy didn’t care about the tequila splashing against his trousers and shoes. He just nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck as he muttered something about missing you under his breath.

“Fucking hell, he’s like—one of those grabby things!” Lando commented, snorting a little at the sight in front of him.

Logan blinked. “You mean a leech?”

Lando nodded furiously. “Yes, he’s one of those!”

“Just wanna hug my pretty girlfriend,” Oscar huffed, his hands splayed on your thighs where your dress had ridden up a little. “Shoot me.”

“I think you’re pretty too,” you whispered back to him, ignoring the exaggerated gag the other boys at the table let out as you turned your head to look at him.

Oscar lifted his head, a massive grin spread across his face and his cheeks flushed from the drinks he had. “Really? You think I’m pretty?”

“The prettiest,” you confirmed as you leaned down to peck his lips.

“Thank you, baby,” he hummed, clearly delighted with your words as his fingers continued to stroke up and down your thighs.

“Ugh, they are basically fucking!”

Oscar rolled his eyes at his teammate and huffed once again. “I’m allowed to fuck my pretty girlfriend!”

“Not in front of me, mate!”

“You wish you could see,” Oscar grumbled, arms tightening around your waist as he pressed his face against your shoulder. You could feel him yawning against your skin, his lips brushing over the straps of your dress despite his attempt to hide it.

“I think we can raincheck on that offer,” you snorted, watching as Lando dramatically shuddered in response. “I want one more dance with my pretty boy before we go, hm?”

Oscar looked up, blinking a few times before smiling. “One more dance.”

You left the booth, hand in hand with Oscar as you made your way to the dance floor with the boy pressed up behind you like he refused to keep any distance between you.

“If they shag in this club, I’ll never sleep peacefully again.”

“Might wanna look away then, dude.”

#oscar piastri #formula one #f1 #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri x y/n #oscar piastri fic #oscar piastri one shot #formula one x reader #formula one x you #formula one x y/n #formula one fic #formula one one shot #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #f1 fic #f1 one shot

894 notes · View notes