#she needs a cup of tea and a warm blanket and some affirming words

[theemmtropy]

Crying over how Shadowheart ASKS you (with her tadpole ofc) to share her memory being uncovered by Aylin??? Like she WANTS you with her for this momentous reveal bc you're the only leadership figure who has treated her with basic decency in years 😭😭😭

[koffeesfancy]

How Mikayla reacts to your time of the month

A/N: I was dismayed at the lack of Koffee content on here and decided to do something about it. Feedback appreciated.

You spent the night a few weeks ago and never left. What initially felt like a sleepover, became a beautiful routine of domesticity.

You awoke next to each other with smiles and light wrestling. You'd catch each other's gazes in the mirror while brushing your teeth and laugh. She'd stare as you attempted to style your hair before asking to try and having fun brushing it in different directions.

You'd make her your momma's pancake recipe and she'd put on a kettle for tea. Your legs would be glued to each other's under the table while you ate. You'd wash dishes together, giggling at the silly remixes of songs you'd freestyle.

You'd hug very tightly at the door, making sure Mikayla didn't leave anything behind. You'd sit on the couch, looking out at the hilly view of Kingston before pulling out your laptop for school work.

Normally, you'd be watching Netflix or in the kitchen starting dinner when Mikayla would make it home in the evening, yet today you were nowhere to be found.

"Mama," she called out, depositing her shoes on the rack and keys at the counter. "Gyal, yuh a leave me?" She shuffled around the apartment, opening doors, heartbeat rising thinking you'd left without a word. Almost accepting the sinking feeling of being jilted, she reached for her phone to call you before hearing a noise from the bedroom.

Mikayla opened the closet door to find you in a fortress of pillows and blankets watching a Netflix show on your tablet with headphones. Your eyes squinted and your neck craned up at the bright intrusion of the door being opened.

"Uh-uh Mama, what yuh fi do in here?" she exasperated, climbing into the mess of pillows. A look of relief and amusement enveloped her face.

"Hi, sorry, I didn't hear you come in," you groaned, worming your way deeper into the corner. Mikayla reached over with a frown, checking your forehead with her hand.

"Oh Mama, you're hotting up, we need fi give yuh some medicine," she arose, "and yuh haffi catch yuh bed and sleep," You groaned at that.

"I'm fine, I get like this every month," you say, rolling over onto your side. You heard Mikayla sigh. "Why yuh nuh tell me nuttin, gyal?" she whispered, hands finding your back to give a few rubs.

At your behest, she pulled you free of the blankets and assisted you onto the bed. She left you in the room with a forehead kiss and after a few minutes of clanging cabinets and beeping appliances, returned with an armful of things.

She set them on the nightstand and lifted the bottom of your shirt with a comforting smile. She grabbed a warm towel from the stash and lay it snug over your abdomen.

"Better now?" she asked, a look of endearment reaching her eyes. You blinked and shook your head in affirmation, enjoying the comfort spreading through your aches.

Next, she handed you a steaming cup of tea and rubbed your messy hair as you drank. You sighed in content, earning a laugh from Mikayla. She presented you with the remote and a few snacks before returning to the closet to collect the remnants of your nest.

She returned and stood on the bed, reaching over you to stretch a blanket across the back of the headboard. You looked up with wide eyes to admire the cozy fortress. She chuckled at your amazement and slid next to you to enjoy whatever show you put on the TV. You naturally fell into her side, head resting on her shoulder. Your hands found each others' and locked. This became your favorite time of the month.

[ptergwen]

ahhhh if you're still writing for the sleepover 🥺🥺 how bout peter coming down with the cold and being whiney and adorable and super cuddly, like he would whine every time you took your hand away from his hair 👉👈

a/n: thisssss this this :,( i loved writing it thank u for sending <3

-

a frown curls either side of your lips as you ring out a cool washcloth for peter. you make your way out of his bathroom with it in hand, heading back to the bedroom.

he’s trapped under an obscene amount of blankets that aunt may swaddled him in earlier. she had a shift at the shelter, so it’s your turn to look after peter now.

it’s honestly nice to have the roles reversed. peter takes care of everyone else, but it’s him who’s being taken care of for a change. he’s not stubborn about it, like you’d expect. he’s finally letting you help instead of being too proud to accept it.

that’s how you know he’s really not feeling right.

“what did we learn, bug boy?” you prompt peter, pressing the cloth to his forehead.

his eyes gaze innocently into yours, although he’s anything but.

“my spider immunities can only do so much. ‘m still part human,” he mumbles back. you gesture for him to go on. “meaning?”

peter breathes a huff through his clogged nose.

“i should’ve worn a jacket… when you said.”

you brush some curls that are damp from sweat off peter’s forehead, seating yourself at the edge of his bed. peter grabs the washcloth from you so both your hands are free to toy with his locks.

“are you mad at me?” peter questions as you smooth your fingers up to his scalp. they run through his hair at the roots, his eyes fluttering closed. “little bit,” you teasingly affirm.

peter turns onto his side, only his face peeking out of the blankets with his cheek now smushed against the pillows.

“hmph… don’t be.”

his words come out jumbled as he relaxes into the pillow and into your touch.

“if only it were that easy,” you laugh quietly.

you scratch your nails against peter’s scalp the way he loves, a soft smile overtaking his features. he glances up at you through half-lidded eyes.

“you’re not actually mad at me, are you?” peter checks. “‘cuz you can’t be. not when i’m…” he pauses to sniffle. “…sick.”

“no, pete. i’m not,” you sigh and cup one of his cheeks. “i just wish you’d take better care of yourself.”

your thumb strokes peter’s warm skin, his hand that isn’t clutching the washcloth settling atop yours. he waits for you to continue and listens intently because he can tell you’re not finished.

“i obviously don’t mind doing it for you, but i won’t always be able to,” you remind him. there’s a beat. “all i’m trying to say is, i wanna know you’re okay without me… i want you to be okay.”

“i am, baby. i’m fine,” peter assures you, threading his fingers firmly through yours. “‘s only a cold, right? it’ll pass soon.”

he places a light kiss on your palm, and you grin despite airing your worries about his well-being mere moments ago.

“that’s one thing your spider immunities are good for,” you agree, peter chuckling in response.

forgetting how dry his throat is, the short spout of laughter turns to coughing. you stand from the bed with a click of your tongue.

“here, here. sit up,” you coo.

before easing peter out of his current position, you remove the washcloth from his forehead and prop his pillows against the wall. peter leans back against them and groans. the mountain of blankets is still engulfing him, a pout stretched across his lips.

“sorry,” he rasps, cheeks tinted pink. you card your fingers into his mop of curls once again. “you don’t have to apologize, peter. it’s what i’m here for.”

peter nods after a moment. he attempts to clear his throat, though it’s too scratchy to make much of a difference.

“i’m gonna go get you some water. tea, too,” you decide, gently pecking peter’s forehead.

he gasps when your hands leave his hair.

“no, stay with me. want you to hold me… please,” he requests. “you really need the tea,” you counter.

peter shakes his head back and forth, reaching out for you.

“i only need you.”

it’s impossible not to give in to that.

“is there even room with your mountain of blankets?” you joke and walk to the other side of peter’s bed.

eagerly, he begins to wiggle himself loose enough to make space so you can get under. he beams once he’s done, stretching open the many layers to welcome you.

“there’s always room for you, y/n.”

you giggle at peter’s antics and slip into the spot next to him. he’s quick to wrap his limbs around you, clinging to your body like a koala. your hands weave back into his hair. letting out a breath of relief, peter relishes in the feeling.

“maybe the cold isn’t too bad after all,” he hums, squishing his face into your chest. you yank at his curls playfully.

“what was that, parker?”

[the-insomniac-emporium]

RE8 Ladies + Love Languages

While this isn't terribly long per character, I am putting it under a read-more for the combined length. Some characters have more details than others, partially due to how much I've written for them (and therefore had time to think about how they show their affections). For once the contents are not in alphabetical order. Crazy, right? PS there's a very, very brief implication of NSFW in Daniela's section.

Features the entire Dimitrescu family, Mother Miranda, Donna Beneviento, and as a lil bonus Ava.

Cassandra Dimitrescu:

Primary Love Language: Physical touch

Secondary Love Language: Acts of Service

Examples: Constantly wants to be touching some part of her lover, even if she sometimes pretends otherwise, from hand holding to making them sit in her lap. So goddamn touch starved. Preferably sleeps with her lover sprawled out on top of her, weighing her down, soothed by the constant pressure. Seriously, this woman needs someone to hold her as close as possible, running their fingers through her hair, pressing soft little kisses along her neck + shoulder. And then repeat. Every single day. For life.

Treating her lover’s wounds, or bringing them tea to soothe their nightmares, or monitoring their health when they're sick (see: Bound Blood + We Don’t Talk About That). Cassandra hates feeling like she owes someone, and isn’t fond of others owing her (because when they pay her back, she might end up owing them “the difference”). When it comes to love, however, all debts feel paid as soon as they are incurred. She does things for her beloved because she cares for them, expecting nothing in return. Sure, she’ll complain about the effort, but it doesn’t really bother her, and she truly hopes her lover knows that.

Mother Miranda:

Primary Love Language: Acts of Service

Secondary Love Language: Gift Giving

Examples: Despite the decades she has spent as a Goddess, commanding the willing masses, Miranda doesn’t put much emphasis on words. Instead, she values actions above all else. She doesn't care if someone says that they are devoted to her, she wants to see the effects of that devotion. In turn, she much prefers to show her affection rather than voice it, even if it leaves her lover less sure of her feelings. One must keep in mind that she is the leader of an entire region, and the fact that she chooses to personally take care of something for you means a hell of a lot. Even if it’s just making you a cup of tea whenever she brews some for herself, or something as big as setting up a studio for you and your personal projects, or simply ensuring that your favorite meals are added to the rotation.

Similar, in some aspects, to her preference to showcase her love rather than announce it, Miranda takes pride in her ability to select gifts. She remembers just about everything you ever tell her, easily memorizing things you express interest in. Though she won’t make a big deal out of it, you’ll often find little gifts from her lying around, casual reminders of how much of her attention is devoted to you.

Daniela Dimitrescu:

Primary Love Language: Words of Affirmation

Secondary Love Language: Physical Touch

Examples: What can she say, she loves to be worshipped. Having someone look at her with eyes full of adoration, one hand cupping her cheek, as they list a thousand reasons why they love her? That’s all she wants. Or sitting with her lover’s head in her lap, listening to them recite poetry that reminds them of her, while she runs her fingers through their hair. Ooh, or hearing them cry out her name like something holy as she all but buries her head between their legs. But don’t worry, she’s just as eager to return the favor, singing soft praises dedicated to her beloved. Admittedly, her compliments are sometimes a tad roundabout (so to speak).

“Mmm,” she’ll hum, “I’m the luckiest woman in the world. Living in a castle, my every need catered to, endless life, and, of course, the most darling little pet I could ever ask for. What more could I want?” Then she’ll pull her lover close, a kiss against their pulse point to claim them as her own. It’s impossible for her to determine her favorite place to touch her lover. There are little spots that elicit sweet sounds from them, then there are places where their warmth is a tad fiercer than normal, pure bliss against her own freezing skin. Wherever she touches them, it’s a silent declaration of her love.

Bela Dimitrescu:

Primary Love Language: Quality Time

Secondary Love Language: Words of Affirmation

Examples: It doesn’t matter what she does with her lover, as long as they are together, in the same room if not actively pressed against each other. Any hobby of theirs is one that she’ll instantly take interest in. An academic at heart, she loves to learn, regardless of the subject, and takes endless delight in learning from those close to her. There’s something incredible about the feeling she gets when she gets a chance to show her lover how much she remembers, and she sees that spark of joy in their eyes.

Considering her fondness for classical literature, it’s no surprise that she adores using language to convey the depths of her affection. Whether she’s quoting Sappho or Shakespeare, she often relies on dead poets to express herself. In turn, she cannot even begin to describe the feeling she gets when her lover returns the gesture, especially if they go so far as to write something original for her. More than once she’s tried to craft her own poetry, but has found herself lacking (at least to her own standards). One thing she enjoys is memorizing poetry written by someone from her lover’s home country, assuming that they’re not from Romania.

Alcina Dimitrescu:

Primary Love Language: Gift Giving/Physical Touch

Secondary Love Language: Quality Time

Examples: Considering the era in which she was born, it’s not terribly surprising that Alcina’s affection often manifests in less obvious ways. A hand on her lover’s back, guiding them along, or letting her knee touch theirs when they sit next to each other, or gently reaching out to give one of their hands a soft pat during quiet conversations. On top of that, she gives out gifts almost constantly. Oh, her lover very briefly mentioned enjoying a local artist? Well, Alcina will be certain to purchase several (or most) of their recent work. Did her beloved muse out loud about not having much jewelry? That won’t do! She’ll get them a large assortment, including plenty that bear the crest of House Dimitrescu. Everyone will know who her lover is, if only for the way that they are adorned with her loveliest finery.

Much like her eldest daughter (who likely takes after her mother), Alcina also enjoys the barest of interactions with her darling. With the endless stretch that is her potential lifespan, she knows that she has all the time in the world to learn new skills, or experience all that the village has to offer. Nothing warms her heart quite like the idea of getting to enjoy those things with the people that matter most to her- namely her partner and her children.

Donna Beneviento:

Primary Love Language: Quality Time

Secondary Love Language: Gift Giving

Examples: An odd mix of shy and calculating, Donna Beneviento is not one to rely on words, nor does she often take grand actions where others may observe. Instead, she works (and weaves) within the shadows. When it comes to love, she prefers to let her priorities reveal her feelings. Day after day, she chooses to spend time with her partner, regardless of the activity. If they ask for her company, she gives it without hesitation. She invites them to join her in the garden, or give input on her latest creations, and ensures that they are readily involved in just about every aspect of her life.

Being as talented as she is with crafting (both the overall art of doll-making and the somewhat related ability to sew all sorts of clothing), ‘tis not surprising that she also turns to gifts to express herself. From knitting hats in winter to soft blankets when her partner is sick, she provides for them in the easiest way she knows how.

Avaskian Caldwell:

Primary Love Language: Physical Touch/Words of Affirmation

Secondary Love Language: Quality Time

Examples: Arguably the most touch-starved person ever to exist, xer only possible rival being Cassandra. Struggles to strike a balance between hating being touched unexpectedly and wanting constant physical attention. Will give affectionate shoulder/back pats, loves forehead kisses/bumps, literally cannot sleep without cuddling someone/something (such as a stuffed animal). At the same time, a lifetime of severe anxiety has made it so that xe often relies on verbal encouragement from others to feel good/motivate xerself. Xe craves compliments, and defaults to poetry as a way of expressing love for others. One might think that being selectively mute might put a damper on this. However, if anything, it just furthers the value of xer speech. You know that xe cares about you if xe not only writes you poetry, but reads it aloud for you.

In true introvert/anxiety-riddled-bean fashion, Ava is also more than content to just chill with loved ones. Xe grew up in an admittedly fucked up family, but some of xer happiest childhood memories are of xerself sitting with xer brother, watching while he played through videogame after videogame, or sitting together on the big couch and reading. Years later, xe has a strong instinct to want to recreate those moments with xer new (slightly less fucked up) family.

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Do you have any fic recs of Sherlock being soft for John and John only.

Hey Nonny! 

Ahhhhhhhh your request had me thinking that yes I do, and I did tag a few fics with “soft Sherlock”, but I’ve never started a list, so here ya go!

SOFT SHERLOCK

See also: Sherlock Soft With Children

Soft. Happy. Content. by inevitably_johnlocked (G, 223 w., 1 Ch. || Sleepy Cuddles, Bed Sharing, Slice of Life, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Spooning, Morning After, Sherlock POV) – Sherlock reflects on his state of mind. Part 6 of I-J's Tumblr Ficlet Collection

A Perfect Figure by ecb327 (K, 622 w., 1 Ch. || Romance, First Person POV Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Introspection, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Light Angst) – Sherlock build a spot in his mind palace for John.

I Knew You Loved Me by inevitably_johnlocked (T, 743 w., 1 Ch. || Morning Cuddles, Fluff, Clingy Sherlock, Idiots in Love, Slice of Life, Morning After, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Declarations of Love, Pet Name, Bed Sharing, Snuggles) – John and Sherlock share a lie-in the morning after their first time. So fluffy and gross your teeth will fall out. Part 4 of I-J's Tumblr Ficlet Collection

Peacock by ClassyGirlsWearPearls (T, 1,189 w., 1 Ch. || Romance, Cranky Sherlock, Soft John, Hand Holding, Soft Sherlock) – A study in Sherlock and John.

Mizzle by MrsNoggin (K, 1,233 w., 1 Ch || Friendship, Fluff, Platonic Johnlock, Humour, Slice of Life) – John can't decide if it's raining or not. Sherlock doesn't understand.

And, Usually, He's the One Who GIVES Me a Headache by Cumberbatch Critter (T, 1,315 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, POV John, Cranky John, Headaches, Head Massage) – A migraine is never fun.

Together is What we Have, Together Protects Us by Phantom of the Black Pearl (K+, 1,566 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TRF, Friendship / Platonic or Slash, Hurt/Comfort, Insecure Sherlock, Worried Sherlock, Slice of Life) – After a case one evening in the flat Sherlock voices a concern that causes the pair to consider why they've chosen to stick together after all that's happened

Here to Stay by MockJayPhoenix12 (K, 1,574 w., 1 Ch. || Post Reunion, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Headache, Bed Sharing, Care Taker Sherlock, Hand Holding, Fluff) – On Sherlock's first day home, John wakes with a migraine.

Evermore by SosoHolmesWatson (G, 2,068 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S4,  5-Year-Old Rosie, Love Confessions, Song Fic, Parentlock, Oblivious John, Pining Sherlock, First Kiss, Love Confessions, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Disney Songs, Beauty and the Beast) – For the past years, John and Sherlock have lived at Baker Street again, raising Rosie together--as friends and nothing more. Ever since the little girl has watched her first Disney movie, she is obsessed with princesses. When John comes home one day, he finds his friend and his daughter in the middle of a reenactment of her current favourite. Part 1 of Made of Music

Let the Sun Fade Out by nothingislittle (E, 2,711 w., 1 Ch. || Fluff & Smut, Praise Kink, PWP, Obsessed Sherlock, Bottomlock, Heart-Tearing Love) – "He could warm the sun itself, Sherlock thinks, could heat their flat with just his presence, could brighten the room with one dazzling smile or just the sparkling in his eyes. John is everything, he’s beautiful and he shines, he’s everything."

Unquantifiable by 221b_hound (M, 2,799 w. 1 Ch. || Est. Rel., Sherlock/Sally Friendship, Grumpy John, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Pet Names, Texting, Sweet Sherlock, Princess Bride References) – John remains a terrible and foul-tempered patient, but he does try to make up for it with pet names and text message silliness. In the meantime, Sally Donovan visits Baker Street for a hint about the Milverton case, and has to deal with a Sherlock Holmes who can't find words big enough to thank her for saving John's life at the warehouse. For afters, there's a viewing of The Princess Bride. Part 33 of the Unkissed series

Pillow Talk by 221b_hound (E, 2,925 w., 1 Ch. || Post-HLV, Est. Rel., Preening Sherlock, Limpet Sherlock, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Sex on Furniture, Scent Kink, Masturbation, Fluff, Soft Sherlock,  Sherlock’s Bum) – John gets home late from work and Sherlock is nowhere to be seen. John walks through the flat, distracted by memories of all the excellent sex they've been having, and finally finds Sherlock asleep in the upstairs room - apparently having fallen asleep mid-wank while inhaling the scent of John's pillow. Well, you should always finish what you start, John thinks... Part 3 of Lock and Key

The General Idea by agirlsname (T, 3,022 w., 1 Ch. || Retirement, Promise of Forever / Proposal, POV John, First Kiss, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Soft Sherlock, Idiots in Love, Crying / Emotional Sherlock, Love Confessions) – After twenty years of friendship, John is used to Sherlock acting weirdly. But the news Sherlock finally brings himself to deliver change the carefully built dynamics between them, and John realises it's time to act.

Affirmation by jamlockk (E, 3,096 w., 1 Ch. || First Time, Dev. Rel., PWP, Love Declarations, Emotional/Overwhelmed Sherlock, Comforting/Caring John, Gross Fluff) – "Sunlight dappled John's skin, casting a glow across his spreadeagled form as he dozed among the rumpled sheets. Sherlock knew the expression on his face was hopelessly soft but for once did not care about showing his true feelings so openly. He simply stood there, in the doorway, gazing at the impossibly beautiful man currently snuffling softly in his slumber." Part 8 of All the ways we love

Untouched by KittieHill (E, 3,239 w., 1 Ch. || Kissing, Frottage, Virgin Sherlock, Body Worship, Sherlock’s Scars Mentioned, Masturbation, PWP, Rimming, Multiple Orgasms) – Sherlock leaked a lot. John had never needed lubricant. John loved watching it, had once spent an entire afternoon edging Sherlock so he could watch as the thick precome drip, drip, dripped onto Sherlock's belly.

Morning Sunlight by slashscribe (E, 3,565 w., 1 Ch. || PWP, Morning Sex, Fluff, PWP, Established Rel., Soft Idiots) – A thin band of soft morning light peeks between the curtains and stretches across John’s torso, laying dormant across his forearm, dipping into the space between his arm and his chest, illuminating his right nipple but just brushing the edge of his left, disappearing into his armpit, and reappearing again right over Sherlock’s eyes where his head rests, nestled against John’s shoulder. Sherlock is not annoyed by the light’s intrusion on his sleep, not when it rests so soft and tantalizing on John’s skin, a work of unintentionally erotic art. A PWP with so much emotion.

Living Musical by VeeTheRee (G, 4,149 w. 1 Ch. || Est. Rel., Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Hobbies, Summer, Song Fic, POV Sherlock, Painting, Play Fighting, Soft Sherlock, Dancing, Love Declarations, Hair Petting, Promise of Forever) – A one-shot of John and Sherlock being domestic during summer. There is paint, fluff, and music from Imagine Dragons, namely from the album 'Speak To Me', specific song in this one-shot is 'Living Musical'. Part 1 of the Happy Fluffy Johnlock Time series

Date Night by inevitably_johnlocked (G, 4,451 w., 1 Ch. || Anxious / Worried Sherlock, Caring John, Schmoopy Fluff, Fidget Cube, Baking / Cooking, Date Night, Established Relationship, POV Sherlock Holmes, Understanding John, Grumpy Sherlock, John’s Bum, Kisses, Hugs, Domestic Fluff, Touching, Hair Petting, Light Humour) – It's John and Sherlock's first Date Night as an official couple and Sherlock needs it to be PERFECT. Mrs Hudson helps. Part 7 of I-J's Tumblr Ficlet Collection

If He Knows by shamelessmash (M, 4,513 w., 1 Ch. || TSo3 Fic, Pining Sherlock, Bed Sharing, Angst, First Person Sherlock POV, Texting, Internal Monologue, Blanket Forts) – I imagine mornings: John handing me a cup of tea, hair sticking out at odd angles. How he would bend down to kiss me, smiling fondly as he pulls away. The way his skin crinkles at the corner of his eyes, the way his skin looks in the morning light. The soft sigh as he sits in his chair with the morning paper, the way his toes curl in the carpet, the way he rolls his shoulders before sinking deeper into his seat. I watch him, how he is when he is content, as it should be. As he deserves. Happy. With me.

all things warm and tender by darcylindbergh (E, 5,177 w., 1 Ch. || PWP, Romantic Fluff, Rimming/Anal/BJ’s, Body Worship) – Grinning and giggling, John slides back down under the sheet and pulls it over his head. He finds Sherlock waiting for him, eyes bright and hair wild, the firelight bleeding through the thin fabric, colouring everything in soft peach and topaz, and in that moment he is so suddenly, unexpectedly, ethereally beautiful that John forgets how to breathe.

Pillow Talk by scullyseviltwin (M, 5,183 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S3, Angsty Fluff, Pillow Talk, Bed Sharing, Worried John, First Time Morning After, Soft Sherlock, Sexuality Discussion, Love Confessions, Kisses and Cuddles) – John has been looking at Sherlock for ages, it feels like.

a very soft epilogue (my love) by darcylindbergh (E, 5,395 w., 3 Ch. || Retirement, Domestic Fluff, Dancing, Dogs, Grumpy Old Men) – Across the pillows, Sherlock shifts and hums, the creases of his face deepening and then smoothing before settling. John watches him wake up, his chest swelling with affection and fondness, and thinks he’ll never get tired of Sherlock in the mornings, sleepy and soft. It’s been some forty-odd years, and John hasn’t gotten tired of it yet. Part 5 of things fairy tales are made of

Naked by sussexbound (E, 6,166 w., 1 Ch. || Frottage, Fluff, Intimacy, First Time, Love Declarations, Trust) – John takes a deep breath, and then lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Sherlock, how would you feel if you were sitting out here doing one of your bloody experiments, and I just waltzed out of the loo and started fixing myself breakfast completely starkers? Hmm…? ”Sherlock’s lips inch up at the corners into a pleased hint of a smile he can’t seem to suppress. Part 2 of Intimacy

Christmas by WhimsicalEthnographies (E, 7,673 w., 1 Ch. || Worried Sherlock, PWP, Drunkeness, Christmas, Est. Relationship, Idiots So In Love) – John feels a lump rise in his throat, and it hits him, again, that this beautiful, infuriating creature is his. Completely, one-hundred percent his.

How To Give Your Boyfriend Who Doesn't Know He's Your Boyfriend the Best Valentine's Day Ever by unicornpoe (T, 9,832 w., 1 Ch. || Valentine’s Day, Fluff and Crack, Soft Sherlock, POV Sherlock) – Sherlock is pretty sure that John Watson is his boyfriend. He's also pretty sure that John doesn't know it. But with a little help from a magazine, some friends, three crepes, five dates, one awesome CD, and a stalker van, John is bound to realize just in time for Valentine's Day.

Someone I Love by hudders-and-hiddles (M, 10,002 w., 2 Ch. || Canon Compliant, HLV-Filler Fic, Pre-Slash, Jealous John, PIning Sherlock, Angst & Fluff, UST/URT, Dog Tags) – John gets married and Sherlock finds comfort in wearing John's identity tags around his wrist.

To be loved by Strange_johnlock (E, 12,436 w., 8 Ch. || Post S3, Established Relationship, First Person POV Sherlock, Pet Names, Soft Sherlock, Mild ADHD, Protective John, Captain Watson, Body Appreciation, Bottomlock, Rough Sex, Travelling for Holidays, Introspection, Sherlock Loves John So Much It Hurts) – John is so deeply integrated into the work, both as my conductor of light, and as a great shot with a vicious right hook who tackles men -and women- no matter their size all in my defense. He protects me with all he can without question, and this loyalty is surely more than I deserve. Or: Sherlock is counting his blessings.

holding steady by darcylindbergh (E, 12,724 w., 4 Ch. || Post S4, Love Confessions, First Kiss, Growing Old, Gone Fishing, Mood without Plot, Soft Sherlock, Caring Sherlock, POV John Third Person, Anxious Sherlock, First Kiss / Time, Touching, Feeling Old, Sherlock Worship, Crying Sherlock, Cuddles, Comforting, Introspection, Retirement, Hand Holding, Forehead Kisses, Caring John, Bed Sharing, Emotional Love Making) – Sitting on a thick wool blanket at the end of a rickety dock side-by-side, legs dangling over the edge, a styrofoam container of wet, dark dirt between them, they’re fishing. John knows what this is about. This is about finally figuring it out.

On The Fence by BeautifulFiction (T, 13,770 w., 1 Ch. || Fencing, Case Fic, First Kiss, Insecure John, Pining John, Hug, Greg Finds Out) – The murder of the King's College fencing champion leads to revelations about Sherlock's past. Will it be the point that tips them from friends to lovers, or will they remain on the fence?

The Invocation of Saint Margaret by Ewebie (E, 15,831 w., 1 Ch. || POV John,  Crossing Timelines, Light Angst, Fluff, Series 3 John / Series 1 Sherlock, The Matchbox, Mushy Romance, First Time, Bisexual John, Pining John, Bottomlock, Love Confessions, Sensuality, Emotional Love Making, Snippets of Time) – When Sherlock Holmes opens the matchbox from The Sign of Three and John finds himself years in the past, back to that first dinner at Angelo's with a much younger Sherlock Holmes. Is he dreaming?

Division by MrsNoggin (E, 19,542 w., 11 Ch. || Coffee Shop AU || First Kiss/Time, Fluff, Barista Sherlock, Clingy Sherlock, POV John, John’s Limp, Bed Sharing, Fluff, Sleepy Cuddles, Sensuality, Touching, Virgin Sherlock, Insecure John) – John likes mysteries. And every morning he dips into the local independent coffee bar with his newspaper and ponders another... one Sherlock Holmes.

Out of the Woods by SilentAuror (E, 20,471 w., 1 Ch. || Post S4, Romance, Slow Burn, Flirting, Drunk Sex, Practical Jokes, POV Sherlock, Bottomlock, Possessive John, Pining Sherlock, Frustrated Wanking, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, First Kiss/Time, Virgin Sherlock, Love Confessions, Soft Sherlock, Dancing, Bum Appreciation, Hanging out with the Yard) – Sherlock is fairly certain that John has taken to flirting with him of late, but can't be entirely certain of it. At least, not until a case takes them into a forest, along with Lestrade's team and something happens that will change everything about their lives...

How To Unfold a Heart by elwinglyre (E, 25,477 w., 7 Ch. || Post S4 Fix It, BAMF John, Mentioned Eurus, POV First Person Sherlock, Case Fic, Fluff, Slow Burn, Topping from the Bottom, 3 Yr Old Rosie, Introspection, Sexual Fantasies, John Worship, Ogling, Hand Holding, Kidnapping, Domesticity, Sherlock Whump, First Kiss/Time, Doctor John, Caring John, Soft Sherlock, Sensuality, Touching, Crying, Love Confessions, Anxious Sherlock, Rimming, Toplock, Fingering, Bossy Bottom John) – To Sherlock’s dismay, John’s return to Baker Street with Rosie is only temporary. Sherlock’s daily visits to Regent Park with John and Rosie illuminate his lost childhood memories and missed opportunities. But with each trip to the park, Sherlock also feels a growing sense of hope. That is until the past horrors return unexpectedly in a cryptic note folded in the shape of a heart. To decipher the message, Sherlock must uncover the nature of the hearts around him, including his own.

A Quiet Life by DiscordantWords (M, 25,176 w., 6 Ch. || Post S4, Retirement, POV Sherlock, Awkwardness, Established Relationship, Family Dynamics, Minor Character Death, Questionable Parenting Choices, Non-Linear Narrative, 20 Year Old Rosie, Meddling Mycroft, Pining Sherlock, First Kiss, Love Confessions, Angst, Sherlock Whump) – There had been three days of silence and a funeral. Sherlock had the terrible feeling that whatever happened next would depend, entirely, on him.

How To Unfold a Heart by elwinglyre (E, 25,477 w., 7 Ch. || Post S4 Fix It, BAMF John, Mentioned Eurus, POV First Person Sherlock, Case Fic, Fluff, Slow Burn, Topping from the Bottom, 3 Yr Old Rosie, Introspection, Sexual Fantasies, John Worship, Ogling, Hand Holding, Kidnapping, Domesticity, Sherlock Whump, First Kiss/Time, Doctor John, Caring John, Soft Sherlock, Sensuality, Touching, Crying, Love Confessions, Anxious Sherlock, Rimming, Toplock, Fingering, Bossy Bottom John) – To Sherlock’s dismay, John’s return to Baker Street with Rosie is only temporary. Sherlock’s daily visits to Regent Park with John and Rosie illuminate his lost childhood memories and missed opportunities. But with each trip to the park, Sherlock also feels a growing sense of hope. That is until the past horrors return unexpectedly in a cryptic note folded in the shape of a heart. To decipher the message, Sherlock must uncover the nature of the hearts around him, including his own.

Deck the Halls by itsalwaysyou_jw (T, 31,018 w., 24 Ch. || Advent Fic / Multiple One-Shots, Assorted Tags) – One Johnlock ficlet for every day leading up to Christmas. Who is ready for pining, first kisses, established Johnlock, and everything in between? This collection of stand-alone ficlets will have it all.

Gold Rush by ShirleyCarlton (E, 71,783 w., 17 Ch. || Post S3 / No Mary, Friends to Lovers, Mentions of Past Sexual Abuse, First Kiss, Case Fic, Slow Burn, Alternating POV, Switchlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Marriage Proposal, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Abduction, Anxious/Insecure Sherlock, Miscommunication, Emotional Lovemaking) – John has divorced Mary and pops round to 221B one evening to find Sherlock in the middle of a case. As Sherlock tries to find the identity of a young woman’s stalker, John realises he can no longer deny his feelings for Sherlock – which then, to their befuddlement, turn out to be mutual. Shy kisses and tentative embraces ensue. But will Sherlock be able to cast off a shadow from his past that he thinks might prevent John from wanting to stay?

Definitions by siennna (T, 101,528 w., 12 of ? Ch. || Dev. Rel., Pining, Fluff and Romance, First Kiss, Love Confessions, Fluff, Cuddles, Girl’s Night, Texting, Virgin Sherlock, Drunk Sherlock, Background Mollstrade, Hair Petting, Laying on Lap) – Sherlock’s journey in defining his flat mate and stumbling through the muddled world of emotion. {{This feels complete; the chapter count is listed as ? but I feel like it is done}}

Against the Rest of the World by SilentAuror (E, 151,714 w., 20 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-TRF, Hiatus Fic, POV First Person Sherlock, Present Tense, First Kiss/Time, Big Brother Mycroft, Escaping from Capture, Soft Sherlock, Toplock, Insecurity, Infidelity, Travelling, Introspection, Pining Sherlock, Depression, Fantasies, Yearning for the Past, PTSD Sherlock, Suicidal Ideation) – Sherlock has been away from London for nine hundred and twelve days and counting, and has no idea what sort of reception to expect when he finally returns.

[junicai]

shivers.

| order no. | 2/21

| summary | Aria suffers the consequences of her own actions when she takes it upon herself to continue filming when sick.

| word count | 1.4k

| warnings | none

| era | circa. February 2020

Music videos are an extension of the song they portray. They are designed to emphasize and carry out any underlying messages that the songwriters have embedded in the lyrics - to give them more meaning, and to make them easier to spot and understand.

Rain rooms were a common enough feature in shooting a music video; especially with the rising popularity of heartbroken ballads in the western media. These songs were typically sung by crooning women, clad scantily in sheer white fabric that clung to their figures wetly, drenched by the water that rained from the ceiling above.

Aria was no such exception.

The thin, flimsy material of the cotton dress she’d been given to wear for this shot was going to provide her little to no barrier against the frigid water that was going to be pouring down her back in a little over three minutes.

With a final pat of a large blush brush dusting over the apples of her cheeks, she was set free from the make-up chair and ushered towards the set. A singular table was set against a grey backdrop, the ceiling dry for the time being.

With her hair roots suitably shook up for volume by a stylist's nimble fingers, Aria made her way to sprawl herself as daintily as she could over the fake wood while still trying to retain a modicum of her own decency.

With her head flung back, and her eyes closed, a shutter sounded, and the skies opened.

In reality, it couldn't have been more than a couple of seconds, nothing more than to just get her used to the feeling, but Aria resurfaced gasping, sitting back up with eyes squinted closed as she had to refrain herself from wiping the water away - less she rub the mascara into her skin.

"God that felt like I was being waterboarded."

Her comment sent a wave of laughter around the room, giggles coming from the corner where the cameras were set up.

A small tremor ran down her spine, but Aria hid it quickly with a cough and a shift in her sitting position. Her now wet dress stuck uncomfortably to her legs, and she grimaced at the cool feel on her skin.

"Ok! Let's run it again." The director's call came from the opposite side of the room, where she was stood behind a monitor, watching carefully.

Aria nodded dutifully, and moved back to her sprawled position again; this time taking more care to not lie in such a way that left her face overly exposed to the downpour.

They took the clip, six, maybe seven times.

The first few were stopped midway due to positioning changes, and the next one because she coughed lightly after choking on the water when it ran into her mouth by accident.

By the time filming came to a close, Aria was cold, and wet, and miserable. She had started shaking profusely the second she'd slid herself off the table, bare feet meeting the tiled flooring and toes curling at the biting feeling.

Her lips had taken on a blue tinge beneath the red rouge that had rubbed off over the duration of the last hour, and her fingertips mirrored that colour as they moved frantically up and down her biceps to try and put some heat back into her frigid skin.

Aria was still quivering lightly in the oversized jacket when she stepped out of the van and back into the dorms, toeing off her shoes at the entrance before immediately making her way into the kitchen.

A warm cup of tea to cradle between her icy fingertips sounded perfect, exactly what she needed. But unfortunately, her plans were thwarted by a rather tall man leaning against the counter top.

Johnny took one look at Aria's now almost purple lips, and raised an eyebrow.

"So do we need to go find someone who's been wearing blue lipstick? Or is that just the latest trend that I've missed?" He teased, pushing himself to wrap Aria in a hug.

She sank willingly into his embrace, curling up against his chest in an attempt to chase the warmth that he offered. "N-no, I'm just. C-cold. That's all."

Johnny tilted his head down to look at Aria without pushing her away. "You feel like a little icicle."

"M'cold." She whined, increasing in pitch when Johnny stepped away from her. "No! Come b-back you're warm."

He chuckled at her when she pulled the collar of her jacket up to her nose to retain the whisper of body heat that he'd given her. "Two seconds, Ari. I'm just going to get Tae."

Aria's head snapped up. "Why?"

"Because we've had conversations about not speaking up when you're uncomfortable during filming before, but apparently we're going to need to have another one. And, he can make better tea than I can."

Aria winced. "C-can it not, not wait? Til, t-tomorrow maybe?"

Johnny's eyes softened when he looked at her small form. She'd pulled the hood over her ears to hide her still damp hair prior to entering the dorm, but the small beads of moisture on her forehead were telling of a growing fever that came inevitably from being doused in freezing water for an hour.

"I'll see what I can do, kiddo. No promises though."

With that, he disappeared into the hallway, and Aria wandered her way into the living room where she plopped herself onto the couch and tugged a cushion into her lap to cuddle.

Stupid body getting cold and getting her in trouble. Stupid. Should have just warmed her up again. Stupid homoeostasis, or whatever it was. It was stupid.

A hand landed on her shoulder, stroking softly. "Hey, ice baby."

Aria tilted her head back towards Yuta's gently smiling face. "M'cold." She repeated, scooching over on the couch to make room for the man to sit down.

Yuta opened his arms in invitation, and Aria went willingly, burrowing herself in his chest. She sighed lightly at the warm comfort that his hoodie material offered, and pressed her cheek against his arm.

A clink of a mug alerted to Aria that there was someone - no, two people - in the kitchen, and soon after, Taeyong emerged with a steaming mug of tea in his hands with Jaehyun trailing after him, arms laden with blankets.

"T-thank y-you," Aria's teeth were chattering at this point, and Taeyong looked on in worry. A back of a hand was placed to her forehead, and he winced.

"Hyuck, would you mind grabbing the red pill bottle from the cabinet under the sink? The one that's full, Doyoung restocked it a couple days ago."

Donghyuck moved back into the hallway with an affirmative, and Aria looked up to Taeyong. "I don't, m'not sick. Just c-cold. I'll be f-fine."

Mark slid into the open space on the other side of Aria, placing a hand on her leg. "Love you, and everything. But shut up."

He received a thin glare from Yuta for his words. "She's sick, don't be rude."

"I said I loved her!"

"And then you told her to shut up!"

"M'not sick."

Taeil emerged from the doorway waving his hands with Donghyuck following quickly behind him. "I have medication for the invalid?"

"M'not sick!"

Yuta hushed her, tucking her head back into his chest. "We know, baby. You're not sick. But you're going to drink your tea and take a fever reducer and then go to bed okay?"

"But-"

"You can sleep in my room!" Jungwoo chirped up from the oppisite couch. Honestly, Aria didn't know when he had arrived, didn't know when half of the people in the room had arrived, but all of a sudden, she was surrounded by all the members of 127.

Aria shrunk back slightly with all of their eyes on her.

"M'not sick." Her voice was weak; a final hurrah.

"Here." Doyoung handed her the mug of tea that had cooled slightly. "Drink your tea."

[loupettes]

I needed a little break from writing doomsday, and this came out today instead. I hope you enjoy some Nine/Rose fluff!

H I R A E T H

SUMMARY: Nine/Rose. After leaving the Doctor alone in his grief, Rose is still upset over what happened that day he left her and Mickey on that spaceship for Reinette. She goes to find him and confront him and her feelings, but runs into somebody she could never have imagined to instead.

TAGS: fluff, hurt//comfort, romance, missing scene

Read on AO3: hiraeth

***

They sat, Rose and Mickey, at the table in the kitchen, both sipping their tea now in silence. The tour of the TARDIS had been short to say the least, mostly because she couldn’t really focus on much else other than the love of her life having fallen in love with somebody else within the space of half a day, maximum.

She shuddered, and scrunched her nose to finish the last of her tea. Well, not the last; she still had a fair bit left, but it had gone cold and just tasted a bit like sewage water at that point, so she didn’t particularly see the appeal in spending any longer pretending it was still a decent cup of tea.

Funny, she thought. My life now resembles a cup of tea.

***

They sat, Rose and Mickey, at the table in the kitchen, both sipping their tea now in silence. The tour of the TARDIS had been short to say the least, mostly because she couldn’t really focus on much else other than the love of her life having fallen in love with somebody else within the space of half a day, maximum.

She shuddered, and scrunched her nose to finish the last of her tea. Well, not the last; she still had a fair bit left, but it had gone cold and just tasted a bit like sewage water at that point, so she didn’t particularly see the appeal in spending any longer pretending it was still a decent cup of tea.

Funny, she thought. My life now resembles a cup of tea.

She managed to not raise suspicion from the man opposite her when she sighed, but when her cup hit the table a little more forcibly than she had intended, Mickey raised his eyebrow.

“Take it it’s still not a good time to ask?”

Rose threw him a glare; she was still quite irritated by his smug-but-trying-to-hide-it expression. “No, it isn’t.”

His brow pinched, and for a moment he looked sorry for her. Not in a pitiful way, but in a... sorry kind of way — except, he wasn’t the one who should be sorry. He opened his mouth to say something, then decided against it.

“M’ gonna go for a walk,” she mumbled, the chair grazing loudly across the floor as she forced herself to her feet.

Mickey again looked as though he might say something, but again, thought better of it. But Rose was just irritated enough to ask,

“What?”

“Just… don’t go looking for him, okay?” he tried. “Give the man some space.”

Rose grunted. “He can have all the bloody space he wants.”

And with that, she left the kitchen. She was exhausted to recognise her feet were, unsurprisingly, steering her towards the control room, and she could feel with every step how regretful she was about to be if she reached that room. So she pulled every last piece of willpower she had left to stop in her tracks and think.

Should she go and talk to him? She folded her arms and chewed the inside of her cheek in deliberation. She was torn, because she wanted so desperately to talk to him — her friend above all else after all — but he had so horribly hurt her today that she was in half a mind to storm out of this TARDIS for good. She tried, she really did, to feel for him, and she took a step out of her own mind for just one moment to consider he had just lost somebody close to him. Even if her heart was breaking, it was at that thought that they shattered completely.

This was ridiculous, she thought, as her feet once more began to take her to the control room. He quite clearly wanted space, and Mickey only confirmed so much with his Manly Suspicions — seeing you right now isn’t going to make him feel any better.

She grunted, and her steps had a little more purpose to them now. Because it was so horrible to be the last person he wanted to see. He had never, not in their entire time together, been one to regret her presence, to make her feel like she was unwanted even just in a moment of grief.

Calm down, she thought, as she knew she was nearing the control room. The only thing that would make this a thousand times worse is if you burst into the control room in righteous rage.

So, she deliberately slowed down her pace as she wondered just exactly which approach she was going to take. But she found that, the closer she got to the control room, the less control she had over her intentions. So her footing sped up once more, and her heart pounded in her chest as she reached the control room.

She was more than disorientated, then, when the last person she expected to see was now standing in the exact same place as he was when she left him.

“Wha—”

He looked up at her with a frown, a frown she hadn’t seen in oh so many months, and she felt her heart sink to see that daft old, gorgeous, face. For a moment, she forgot that this was completely impossible, being so used to it these days after all, and her breath caught in her throat to see that terribly dusty old leather jacket, those baggy black scruffy trousers that seemed far too big for him and those eyes, good god those eyes were so bloody beautiful that she almost cried there and then to see them once more.

Those eyes that were currently looking back at her in utter bewilderment.

She shook her head and herself back to her senses. The Doctor quickly looked at the door at the end of the ramp and distractedly pointed to it, looking back at her once more in disarray. “What you doin’ there?”

His familiar yet somehow unexpected Northern accent seemed most alerting to her, and sparked the return of her own puzzlement.

“What are you doin’ there?”

“I just— you were— you said—” he stuttered, looking back and forth between her and the door. He seemed to only look to her for an explanation, which baffled her, because she was hoping he would explain. The two stared at each other in complete perplexity for a minute at least, before Rose was first to break the silence.

“This a trick?”

He blinked. “What?”

“This. You, here. The TARDIS trickin’ me or somethin’?”

“Why on Earth would the TARDIS be tricking you?”

“I dunno,” she shrugged, folding her arms and resting her weight on one leg. “‘Cos you were a right knob today and maybe she thought I wouldn’t strangle you if you looked like that.”

He was surely stupefied by the force of her words. “Bloody hell, I saved your life today and that’s how you thank me?”

Her mouth hung agape at that, and she quickly scanned her memories today and confirmed, very quickly, that he had in fact not saved her life at any point today. Not even when he stumbled into her’s and Mickey’s capture, drunk, and toyed with the droids for a bit while they held a rather sharp blade to her throat before pouring whatever was left of his wine onto their heads; she was still too furious to consider that ‘saving her life’.

“Oh, please,” she scoffed incredulously, “Do tell me at what point today you so valiantly came to my aid.”

He echoed her scoff. “I said thank you—”

“You did not you little liar!”

“Bloody hell, you’re a lot snappier than you were five minutes ago!”

She shook her head. “I wasn’t even here five minutes ago—”

“Which reminds me, what are you doing here?”

Her eyes narrowed at him; quite clearly, they were going to go round in circles asking questions unless one of them tried to at least figure it out. She took a deep breath, and spoke aloud her thought process. “Right. So, obviously we’re not talking about the same thing, unless you experienced today completely differently to me — which actually might explain your behaviour—” she stopped when she felt her spine pricking with heat, and shook her head “— never mind. And unless the TARDIS is playing tricks on me, and you’re still, well, you, then we’re not — this isn’t—”

She sighed in frustration, still trying to understand the concept of time being relative — whatever that means. The Doctor seemed only to understand her, and he nodded slowly.

“I’m going to go out on a limb here and say I didn’t just offer you to come with me, did I?”

Her heart sank; of all the emotions she was feeling, of all the frustration at being in a situation unknown, of having her first reaction to a man she missed with everything she had being bewilderment over the absolute love she normally had to see his face, her only response was to breathe a very unsteady and deeply sorrowful,

“No.”

He nodded, again slowly. “But— and I’m losing my other leg to this one now— I’m assuming you, at one point, in fact, do end up coming with me?"

Her lips pulled tight as she fought back against saying or indicating anything that might trigger some sort of paradox at having run into a previous him and altering their future, and she sort of expected she might spontaneously vanish at any moment. Her lack of response must have affirmed his question, and his eyes grew wide.

“Crikey. Right then.”

“I should—“ she started, pointing behind her to the door but not really able to move there just yet “— I should probably, erm…”

He looked back at her for a moment, his brow still drawn in concern, before he gave her the smallest, yet still most warm smile that simply melted her.

“I won’t tell if you won’t,” he whispered.

The relief she felt swept over her in a blanket so comforting that her feet all too easily took her to him, and she blurted, “You have no idea how much I needed to hear you say that.”

He grinned the most terribly beautiful toofy grin, but she didn't process in enough time — or care too much to do anything about — the look of slight panic when she practically tumbled into his arms, into a hold so comforting that she let out a small sob. She felt the relief, her whole body lightening and untightening to feel him, less skinny and tall and against the ever so soft fabric of a jumper rather than an oxford. She wished she could have seemed a little less desperate as she clung to him while he awkwardly — but sincerely — held her in return, but just having him there, against everything she understood to be possible, was the only thing she could possibly need right now and she felt alleviated.

“I’m probably breaking about eight hundred laws here but I literally don’t care anymore,” she mumbled, only half-jokingly, into his jumper, “You left me on a spaceship three thousand years into the future so you can fix it.”

“Oi!” he snapped, and she was relieved to hear he wasn’t actually annoyed. “I haven’t done anythin’, remember?”

She nodded. “You’re right, he can fix it.”

The Doctor had always known how to read her, even if she sometimes thought he didn’t. Even after little more than a day of having known her, to this him here now, he recognised her belligerence and only seemed to find it bemusing.

“You’ve got a lot of faith in him then, if you can think he can fix anything.”

She sighed deeply into his jumper, against the sounds of his steady hearts beneath her ear that sounded different somehow, like they weren’t quite hers yet even if they were beating for her now.

“I really miss you.”

The truth in her voice sounded, even to her, so very pained. She wondered what he must be thinking, why this woman whom had only just turned him down now clung to him in the most ridiculous of ways, close to tears as she told him she missed him. But he didn’t ask questions, instead he only felt it, straight away, by the way his arms ever so slightly tightened around her to more resemble a hug she knew was only hers, and one only he could give her. But she could feel him awkward beneath her nonetheless, and ever so regretfully she pulled away, but not quite able to stop herself from reaching her palm to touch the side of his face as she took him in. All those hardened edges, that stubble and those lips and slightly wonky nose.

“Oh, we’re— okay, so there’s an awful lot of touching between us in the future,” he remarked.

She giggled, and drew her palm away to sit on the jumpseat, patting the spot next to her. “Well, yes, I think we can say that—” she frowned, and stopped herself “—wait, can I say that?”

She looked to him for confirmation, and he shrugged. “Tell you what, if you start to fade out of existence, I’ll let you know, as long as you do the same for me. Deal?”

She chuckled, and shook the hand he had held out to her. “Deal.”

He sat down next to her, pinching his trousers and shuffling about to settle in a little more comfortably. She was relieved to know she hadn’t forgotten a single thing about him, which meant that she knew he was feeling most blindsided by her spontaneous and unprecedented visit, displaying a lot more familiarity with him than he, at that moment, had with her. For whatever reason, and she thinks she knows what, he was, for the time being at least, comfortable with putting aside his own reservations about the implications this might have on time and space if it meant that she could find comfort herself.

She gave him a shy grin. “So I turned you down then, hmm?”

“Great,” he tutted. “Nice to know it was me you said no to, and not the flying-through-space bit.”

She nudged herself to the side to bump his shoulder and chuckled. “Well, I’m here now, so you must have done something right.”

“Oh, I don’t know. From the sounds of it, I haven’t done anything right today.”

It was a suggestion, an invitation to continue, if she wanted to.

The sinking of her heart at the reminder of her today was terrible. So terrible, in fact, that she couldn’t find her words, and only shook her head sadly in response. The soft sound of his leather jacket as his chest rose and fell to his sigh somehow made it all that much harder. When he started to awkwardly pick at the stray cotton string poking out at the knee of his trousers, she managed to find her smile.

“Mention the time bit,” she whispered, turning to look at him, and he looked back at her with his eyebrow ever so slightly raised. “That’s what does it for me, in the end.”

He chastised himself, “I didn’t— I didn’t mention the bloody time bit— well, no wonder you said no.”

“You completely messed up with that one,” she chuckled, closing her eyes to the deep and flat way he said ‘wonder’, and continued, “Actually, know what else you messed up with?”

“Wish I hadn’t bloody offered to stay and listen, now—”

“The regeneration thing,” she scoffed. “Didn’t want to mention that that happens at any point, no?”

“Regenerat— bloody hell, I’m being confronted by a lot of my future in one sitting.”

Her eyes widened at that, perhaps having gone too far, but he grinned.

“Na, it’s alright," he assured her in response. "Promise. I’m not so unused to running into myself in the future, I know how this works, don’t worry.”

Her lips curled into a bashful smile, knowing full well he almost certainly knew the consequences of learning of one’s own future and that, in next to no circumstances, was it a good thing. Still, he had this thing about him, this assurance that he would, somehow, make it okay, and she couldn’t deny his invitation.

“You— I mean— well,” she flustered, realising this was much more difficult that she would have thought. “He... yeah, no, you—”

“Say ‘he’,” he encouraged. “It’ll make it easier, promise.”

Again, with that word, with the softness in which he delivered it, she felt this unravelling as her shoulders loosened where she could just be her. She didn’t have to worry about sounding all clever, like she knew what she was talking about, and now she didn’t even need to worry about the implications of something she’s been told can never ever happen, because he was with her. She could barely keep herself together with it all, with how much she just missed him and wanted him back.

“It’s been a bit… it’s been quite hard. Between us, recently,” she admitted unevenly, but once she felt the relief that came with uncorking the ridiculously tight pressure throughout her whole body, she was powerless to stop herself from blurting out the rest. “You regenerated not too long ago and sometimes I think you’re still the same, and sometimes you— he —” she adjusted, it somehow feeling better to say ‘he’, now “— does things that are so… not you.”

There was a silence in the control room, besides the familiar hum which had of course not altered even within this nonsensical situation. It kept her quite steady, actually.

“He sounds a bit like a prat.”

“You’re not wrong, there.”

“Tell you what,” he began, squaring his shoulders. “Since I’m him and he’s me, why don’t you tell me what he did. I’ll see what I can help you with.”

She snorted. “Told me I was gonna — and I quote — ‘wither and die’, left me stranded on a spaceship three thousand years into the future, fell in love with some posh French woman and picked her over all of time and space, to name just the ones over the last twenty-four hours.”

The Doctor was quiet, and she just had to glance at his expression at that. He did indeed look overwhelmed, as she thought he might.

“That definitely doesn’t sound like me — you sure you weren't just fooled into thinking he was?”

She snickered, although he wasn’t too far off her true musings at this point. “I think when you invited Mickey along, I should have clocked on.”

He really did jolt back in shock, then. “Rickey? As in that sad old sap out there, Rickey?”

“Mmm.”

“The one shaking like a bloody leaf and clinging onto your leg like a wuss?”

“That’s the one.”

He shuddered, and it only made her giggle more. “My god, what do I become?”

“Now you see my problem.”

“Alright, well, I can’t excuse the wither and die bit—” he paused, thinking “— nor the spaceship bit, I suppose. Or even the falling in love bit—”

“Fat lot of good, you are, then.”

“Oi! —” he poked her ribs “— You’re a lot less polite than I remember you being.”

Her smile was so wide that it ached; being here with him and laughing like before, before all the regenerations and the Sarah-Janes and the aristocratic French mistresses was a blissful healing of a wound she had long since thought had sealed up.

“I’m going to need some context over the wither and die bit,” he spoke quietly, a little jest still to his voice.

She frowned, honestly quite against the idea of reliving that conversation last night, and especially not when it was one with another, less recognisable, face than with the one next to her. “I dunno. I guess… I know what you—”

“He.”

She giggled, relieved, and he nudged her knee with his. “I know what he was trying to say, that his lifespan is a heck of a lot longer than mine, and it’s not as if it’s fun to watch us ‘wither and die’, as he so eloquently put it, but it still hurt. Almost like—” she scrunched her nose, thinking of what it was she wanted to say before she heard his calm and patient breathing, his breath and remembered who she was talking to “—like it’s so distasteful for him, that we grow old and all mangly and he just has to sit there and watch it and hope it gets over and done with quickly so he can move on.”

The Doctor was still beside her, his arms folded and leant back while she spoke. He seemed to be mulling something over, and when she looked up at him and saw his profile, his terribly large nose and sharp jaw, she all but melted into his side, tugging on his arm so that she could lean against him.

“He made me feel so bad for being human, and it’s the first time I’ve ever felt like that.”

He was trying to keep himself still beside her, and she knew he most probably felt a little uncomfortable at their proximity, but the fact that he was keeping so still for her reminded her just how much he cared for her in the first place — right from day one.

“Christ, give him a slap for me when you see him again will you?”

“It would be my pleasure.”

She thought about the two of them, if they could meet tonight, and only loved the idea of this him squaring up on the new one for daring to hurt a woman he had known less than forty-eight hours. And she grinned to know that he would, as well, because she knew just how important she had been to him right from the start. He didn’t need to say it, and she felt it even now with a new face, that she was still the most important person to him.

Well, up until today, she had.

“Alright, so you say the spaceship thing—“

“Yep,” she affirmed, punctuating the ‘p’ with an indignant pop. “Rode on a horse through a time window, severed all links with the ship and the future.”

“And you say Rickey was with you?”

“Yeah! Left us both behind.”

He thought for a moment. “How’d you know he didn’t think you were on the back of the horse and he was only trying to leave Rickey behind” — she couldn’t help but laugh at his old dry humour that he carried off so effortlessly, something else she only now realised she missed —“cos I can tell you that seems the only reasonable explanation to that one.”

“God will you stop,” she insisted through her giggles, “Rick—Mickey is not that bad!”

“And on that,” he continued, seemingly unwilling to stop despite her persistent chuckles, “I really cannot explain his decisions behind asking Mickey to join us, you’ll have to ask him yourself, sorry.”

He had such a wonderfully deadpan humour, this one, and for a bloke that wasn’t actually from the North, he certainly could have fooled her. To some, he came off as cold and unaffectionate, but to her, he was hers; she knew his humour so well and had grown so fond of him and the ways in which he made her laugh, knowing that he was doing it deliberately as often as he could only to make her giggle more.

“Alright, and what was that last one?” he asked after a moment. “Something about some French woman?”

Ah, yes. That.

Perhaps he knew exactly what by the way she flinched at his words, because he didn’t follow it up with anything at first. He chose his words well, it would seem, when he prompted,

“Something absurd about choosing her over all of time and space, if I remember you right.”

She fiddled with cuticles around her nails, only realising now how hard it was to talk about — or even think about.

“Something like that.”

And with her sigh, she released her hold on him, withdrawing back into herself at the way everything about her seemed to clench in pain. He wasn’t too unused to it all, then, when she felt his hand on her shoulder and gave it a squeeze. She smiled softly at the gesture that did indeed loosen her a little, but he seemed to notice that it hadn’t entirely when he tapped her shoulder to bring her to lean back against him.

“Well, I will admit this new bloke seems like an absolute git, but I know I can speak for him when I say he doesn’t fall in love very easily at all.”

She swallowed, her throat so painfully tight. “Yeah, m’ starting to think the same.”

He was quiet, and she was really fighting against herself to not fall completely back in love with a man she knew was gone forever. She did love him though, this him, and she missed him so much that the pressure inside her only seemed to worsen until, finally, he spoke quietly,

“Who was she, did you say?”

She didn’t want to respond immediately, though the name rested just at the tip of her tongue, echoing around her mind as it had been all day. So she took a moment's pause before she replied, “Someone called Madame de Pompadour?”

“Ah, yes,” he recalled. “Eighteenth century? Uncrowned queen of France?”

Rose sighed heavily, before nodding her head.

“Sounds average,” he dismissed. “Meet one of them every day, I do. Don’t think it’s quite like either of us to fall in love with somebody so ordinary.”

She had to remind herself, as she had done so many times over the last twenty-four hours, that she was indeed only that: ordinary. Nobody different, nothing that made her stand out from the likes of Sarah Jane or bloody uncrowned queens of France and certainly not one the Doctor, the last remaining lord of time, would so easily fall in love with.

“Anyway,” he cleared his throat, a welcome disruption to her morose thoughts. “I should probably, er, go and find, well, you— time, was it, you said? That’s what’ll do the trick?”

She sniffed, reluctant to let him go, but she did loosen her hold to allow him free. “Time,” she affirmed.

As he stood, and she too, it all felt far too formulaic for them, even if he had only just met her very recently. She couldn’t bear to let him go like this, to remember this meeting so sad, so she looked at him sheepishly with her arms hesitantly outstretched and said,

“Can I?”

He seemed to know exactly what she was asking when he pulled her in for a hug. It took them a moment of adjustment to settle; she being so used to his new more slender form, and he not being used to her at all. But when they did, when everything finally slotted into place and they were them once more, she exhaled and felt all that pain and anguish just… release. He didn’t take it from her, and she didn’t know where it went, but being here in his arms when she had thought she never could have been again felt like the most blissful recompense following such wretched and unjust anguish.

“I miss you,” she whimpered, holding on to him tighter.

“Rose?”

The sound of her name on his lips was a comfort in itself. “Mmm?”

“Can I tell you a secret?”

“Yeah?”

“That bloke of yours,” he paused, and she realised it was for dramatic effect when he whispered, “he’s actually me.”

She giggled despite herself. “After everything I’ve told you about him, you still want to assign your name to him?”

“He does sound a bit like a prat, I’ll admit, but he must have done some good things, too, surely?” She shook her head begrudgingly into his chest. “You wouldn’t still be here if he hadn’t.”

She smiled sadly, and reasoned, “I suppose he did regenerate for me.”

“Blimey,” he flustered, genuinely quite surprised by the sounds of it. “I’ve regenerated many times before, and for many different reasons, but I can tell you never for somebody else.”

She smiled; although she had never really known exactly what happened on satellite 5, she had only managed to learn from him that it was to save her life. He didn’t particularly like to talk about it, she gathered, not because he regretted doing so, but in a way she couldn’t quite decipher. Like he was afraid, almost — although of what, she wasn’t sure.

“You, Rose Tyler, must be quite extraordinary indeed.”

She held on to him only tighter as she felt his words find their home deep within her heart, in a way she knew they would never be able to be coaxed out of again by not even herself. And she knew the man she thought she was going to see tonight felt the same, really, if she was honest with herself. She realised, then, that she wouldn’t have been able to hear if he had said it in that estuary accent; it was specifically him saying it in this northern accent tonight that rang deep and true for both men.

And with that, she felt the imminent dread of knowing she needed to leave.

“I probably need to go tell him I’ve made some paradox, then,” she sighed jokingly, although a part of her wished she wasn’t. If she could only have this, this sweet memory of the two of them at a time where she needed to be reminded that it would always be just the two of them, then pulling away from him now might be less tortuous.

“No need,” he said, and then he tilted his head and whispered, “Looks like he’s already fixed it for you.”

She frowned, but even as she tried to process how he — the other him — could have possibly already done anything to fix this, her mistake, her desperate need to see her old friend and deepest love of her life just one last time in a time of such heartbreak, her heart swelled to know that of course he had.

“No paradox?” she whispered back, afraid anybody other than him might hear her.

He nodded, and she felt him kiss her hair. “No paradox, if he’s done it right. Now go, quick, before we find out if he hasn’t.”

[katsukari]

Its me again 🥰 Going through a stressful time rn and was wondering what Bakugou, Todoroki and Shinso would do to help their s/o?? Perhaps she's receiving a lot of bad news lately and breaks down in tears??? Thank u sm darling!!! 💞 rest well!

Alright, third time getting to this ask is the charm! I am so sorry its taken me this long, and I am so sorry that you’ve been going through a stressful time lately. I hope this is close to what you had in mind, and if its not please let me know and I’ll try again! With that being said, let’s go!

Todoroki Shouto

I think he’d be the one who understands why you breakdown the most. He understands emotions more than I think people give him credit for, and to him, it makes sense that when things get to be too much you would cry.

Like when he told Izuku he thought heroes cried too, and offered him half of his soba.

Though, in your case, you might get soba, but it’s more likely that you’ll get offered a warm embrace and a loving partner who is ready to listen and let you cry it out on his shoulder.

He’ll rub up and down your spine and run his fingers through your hair as he gently reminds you that everything will be okay.

Who am I kidding, if when you’re done you feel up to it, you’ll probably get soba. Or some type of food. I think he definitely understands the comfort that food can give, so he’ll make sure you get something to eat.

If you aren’t up to eating or after you do, he’ll run you a bath or leave you to shower to relax. Give you some space, or, since you’re adults he may join you if you want him to. If he joins you, he’ll probably wash your hair for you, gently massaging your scalp. Like I’ve said before, he’s all about those tender touches. (I think physical touch is probably his love language, tbh, words of affirmation is a close second)

When that’s done, he’ll snuggle with you on the couch or in bed, wrapping his arms around you. If you want to talk more he’s all ears, if you just want to sit and try to sleep, that’s fine too.

If you can’t sleep he’ll make you a cup of tea and put on one of your favorite movies or some soft music to help you relax.

The next day, if there is anything he can do to help you in regards to whats stressing you, you can bet he’ll be right there ready to take on the world.

If there’s not much he can do, he’ll still be right beside you, listening  and supporting you through whatever news may come. 

Bakugou Katsuki

I think he might panic when you start crying, and he might not know what to do right off the bat. I think vulnerability is a difficult thing for him to deal with, both in showing it and it being shown to him. If that makes sense?

So it’s not that he doesn’t understand why you start to cry when wave after wave of bad news hits, it just that he’s probably going to be a little stiff when he first reaches out to you, just because he’s a little uncertain.

Rest assured, he will reach out to you, he cares about you too much not to. He wants to make sure you know he’s there for you. 

He’ll slide an arm around your shoulder or waist and just sit with you wherever you are, even if it’s in the middle of the kitchen floor, and he’ll just pull you close.

He probably won’t say all too much, in this instance he’s probably nervous to say the wrong thing, and that he’ll just make it worse. So he just sits with you until you’re ready to talk, or if when you can finally relax you’re too tired to talk, or you just don’t want to, he won’t pressure you.

He’ll ask you what you want or need, the likelihood of him just suggesting something right off the bat is slim. He wants to do what’s best for you, and the best way for that to happen is for you to decide what happens next. 

Be it staying in and relaxing, watching a movie, cooking or ordering in, or working out to relieve some tension he’ll be down for whatever it is you need.

Over the next few days expect some special small gestures from him to brighten your days.

Be it cooking your favorite dinner, or bringing your favorite snacks home after work, extra cuddles or kisses, or he may even offer to rub your shoulders for you. 

He won’t admit that its for any particular reason and he probably would bristle if you said anything about it, but he just wants you to know he cares about you and that he knows that you’re going through a lot, but he’s still there for you. 

Shinsou Hitoshi

He gets why you finally breakdown. Life had been throwing its punches hard at you lately and he’s had his fair share of unfair blows from the world. So he could kind of tell it was coming.

So in a way I would say he would be the most prepared, or the one who anticipated it the most. 

With that being said, I think he probably would have thought ahead and would have grabbed some of your favorite things on his way home from work. Some candy, maybe a new book or movie you had wanted, and your favorite dinner.

That all could wait until you felt better though. 

Bringing you close he would let you cry and talk it out until your heart didn’t feel quite so heavy. When you were finished he would ask if you just wanted him to listen, or if you wanted his advice, and depending on your answer the conversation would continue.

He would try his best to comfort you and cheer you up afterwards, bringing out what he brought home from work. He would sit and eat with you and talk about all the good parts of your days and stories that you may not have had the chance to share yet.

He’ll get you all set up on the couch with all the pillows and blankets you want and set up the movie or pull out the new book he got you and bring you the candy he grabbed. 

If it’s a movie, he’ll cuddle with you and lazily run his hands over your arms to try and help you relax. If its a book, and its not in the middle of a series he hasn’t read, he’ll cuddle with you still and read it to you until you’re both too tired to pay attention anymore.

He’ll do better to check in with you more often afterwards, to make sure you aren’t getting overwhelmed, and to offer a listening ear so things don’t get so bad for you again.

Just wants to make things easier for you, and wants you to feel loved, so he’ll continue to read to you, or watch your favorite things with you and bring you sweets. After all, as as the saying goes, its the small things in life.

[jihyuncompass]

Hello! Can we have RFA+V react to an MC who really wants to cuddle them and reassure them? Thank you!

Hello! I hope you like these! I really liked this. 

Zen

This man is the KING of physical affection.

Nothing, literally nothing makes him happier than when he’s touching you or you’re touching him. 

So when things aren’t going so well for him and when he’s feeling overwhelmed just having you nearby helps him feel better. 

But you want to do more to help him. 

Zen was preparing for this big role, it was one of his biggest to date and he was so anxious about getting it right. He was rehearsing nonstop, pacing around your apartment whispering lines to himself, or singing bars of musical numbers. 

Every little mistake would make him so frustrated he’d want to throw his script against the wall. This role was massively important so WHY couldn’t he do this right?

Watching him you could feel the tension just radiating off of him. You knew how much this role meant to him, after all, you were the one who set him up with it. 

But seeing him agonize like this was torture. 

At a point, you walked up to him and took the script from his hands and leading him to the couch. 

Both sitting down you untied his long hair and ran your hands through the long strands. 

“I just can’t get it,” Zen said. 

“Hyun.” You whispered, “You’ll get it, I know you will.” You lightly scratched at his scalp, feeling the tension shed from his shoulders. 

Sitting close you held onto each other, while you reassured him until you could make him smile. Asking if there was anything you could do to help. 

Yoosung

Every part of being in a relationship is new to Yoosung. So even things like the smallest bits of affection can get him super excited. 

The feeling of just having someone you love embrace you and hold you is just so nice! 

Yoosung had just failed another exam. Now, this was something he had grown very accustomed to but this time he had actually studied really hard and did the very best he could. 

And he still failed. At this point, he wasn’t sure what was wrong with him that even when he tried he still couldn’t do it. He used to be such a great student and now he just felt like a giant failure. 

And even after trying not even LOLOL seemed to be cheering him up. So he just decided to give up and try and nap instead. 

When you came home and saw how distraught he looked you immediately lied behind him and held his back against your front. 

At first he didn’t want to tell you, he was afraid you’d be ashamed of him. But hearing you comfort him, encourage him. It made him feel a little better. 

After he told you about his exam you just held him tighter. 

“It’s just an exam, you’ll just try again on the next one. If you want I’ll help you study!” 

You assured him that you weren’t disappointed in him, that you still loved him just as much, and maybe even admitted to some of your own exam failures. 

While he doesn’t feel better right away, having you next to him made him feel a little better. At least he had you in his life. 

Jaehee

Jaehee is usually very formal. She’s not someone who often asks for physical affection. 

She does like physical affection though, she’s just not good at asking for it. 

Physical comfort isn’t something Jaehee is familiar with, her family wasn’t physically affectionate. Even when her mother was alive. 

Jaehee over time had learned how to manage her own fears and anxiety but she still struggled. Sometimes her anxiety would get so high that she would feel like she was going to completely shut down. 

These moments used to happen a lot more when she worked at C&R. Evenings where she had piles of work to do and it felt impossible to tackle. 

This was long after she had left C&R and opened the cafe. She truly loved being able to actually pursue something she was so passionate in but that didn’t stop stress from piling on. 

 And sometimes the stress of running the cafe would start to get to her. Leaving her overwhelmed. 

One evening she was pouring over documents, new recopies, order forms, work applications, all spread out over the table. Organized in a method that made you stressed too. 

You convinced her to take a break, handing her a cup of tea when she collapsed onto your living room couch. 

Sitting there you put an arm around her shoulder. Her head resting in the crook of your neck. You traced circles on her shoulder. 

“You should rest Jaehee, you worked all day at the cafe and now you should get some rest.” 

“There’s still so much work to do MC”

“Then let me help you, I’m your partner. That’s what I’m here to do.”

Jumin

Jumin Han doesn’t get overwhelmed. Jumin Han is a self-assured man. He doesn’t need someone to reassure him. 

That’s what he used to think. And then he met you and realized that sometimes he needs a little reassurance.  

One thing Jumin never tried to do was let the gossip sites and the reporters get to him. It was so easy to let them take whatever story they want and run with it. So he knew he had to keep his head on straight. 

But sometimes that was difficult, sometimes the gossip would hit close to home and he felt like he couldn’t ignore it. 

You were the only person he felt comfortable breaking down in front of. It didn’t happen often but when it did it was like a volcano. 

His father had just gone through another very public relationship and breakup. While it wasn’t unusual for him this time the reporters took to trying to involve Jumin, asking for a statement and his feelings. 

Even after giving his statement, it felt like they weren’t going to leave him alone. 

He had come home from work his shoulders tense and a headache blooming in the back of his head. The second he came in the door he started searching for you. 

You had been sitting on the couch with Elizabeth the 3rd when you noticed him. 

Just by looking at him, you could see how exhausted he looked. You opened your arms and welcomed him towards you. 

You undid his tie and unbuttoned the first few buttons on his dress shirt then pulled him into an embrace. There you quietly comforted him whispering gentle words to him. 

He stayed there in your embrace for a while, your scent, and the feeling of your embrace grounding him. A soft and gentle reminder that you’re his safe place. 

Seven/Saeyoung 

While he tried not to let it get to him, sometimes memories of his past would get to him. 

He used to try and suppress the bad memories but sometimes they felt relentless and overwhelming.

In the course of your relationship, you learned to tell when Saeyoung was having a rough time so you could try and comfort him. 

You had to be careful though, sometimes when these things happened he would just fully shut down to the point where you couldn’t really help him. 

It was a careful balance with him. 

One day you could sense his anxiety, it was radiating off of him. He sat hunched over his computer screen trying to get work done, but you could see the bags under his eyes, and the way his breath kept hitching in his throat. 

You waited until some of his work was finished and then slowly approached him. He heard you approaching but stayed focused on his computer screen. 

Gently you pulled back his computer chair, he looked up at you. Completely frozen when you climbed to sit in his lap, your arms around his neck. tracing small circles onto his shoulder blades. 

With a sigh, Saeyoung rested his arms around your hips, his forehead on your shoulder. 

He didn’t say much but he listened to you as you reassured him, gently comforting him. With every word, he seemed to settle a bit more. 

Even when he calmed down he kept you on his lap while he worked. Your weight soothing him like a warm weighted blanket. 

V/Jihyun

Please comfort this man

Please reassure him when he’s struggling. It’s what he needs and deserves. 

Jihyun was always an expert when it came to comfort you. However, he had a difficult time letting himself be comforted and cared for.  He didn’t want to feel like a burden on you. 

He would do everything he could to hide his anxiety from you, he didn’t want to ever worry you again. 

You're better than that though, you can feel when he’s struggling like a 6th sense. He has all these little tells that give it away. 

One evening you decided to ask him if he’s okay while you’re getting ready for bed. He’d been acting odd all day but you hadn’t built up the courage to ask him until now. 

When you asked him he brushed it off saying he was fine. But that didn’t satisfy you. 

You asked him again, this time, less like a question. 

His face fell, the worry lines on his forehead returning and his eyes downcast. Sitting in bed you put your arms around the chest to hold him. 

Your fingers carded through his hair, pushing it out of his face. You planted small kisses on his temple and cheekbone, whispering affirmations. 

You said many of the affirmations that he had told you when you were upset. The things that always made you feel better during the worst days. 

With time he started to talk a little about what was bothering him. All while you held him tight, making sure he knew you were there for him. 

[firewoodfigs]

Hey Friend, I know I'm a bit late with this but how about - "an answer to the prompt ‘fevered forehead kisses’" Thanks. :)

here you go, friend!! this one’s for you and @brucestephenbucky, who both requested an answer to the prompt ‘fevered forehead kisses’ :) 

[also, this turned out to be longer than expected (~3k words), so it’s on ao3 as well! for easier reading, all that stuff xD]

Summary: In which Riza is down with a cold, and Roy is both anxious and painfully oblivious. Also, Roy has to conquer his greatest nemesis yet: carrots. (young Royai) 

~x~

Riza Hawkeye always woke up by sunrise. This was an immutable fact of life; as unchanging as the fact that the sun would rise every morning from the east. Not once had Roy seen her sleep in — not even on the weekends.

But today was different.

The sun had already risen long ago, and the roosters were back with their awful crowing. And even the morning dew that embraced the paltry patches of yellowing grass outside with timeless regularity was starting to evaporate by now.

Still, Riza was nowhere to be found.

Roy’s first thought was that she’d gone on one of her routine grocery trips. But Riza Hawkeye was the human incarnation of efficiency, if nothing else. Unlike his sisters, who had an uncanny tendency to get distracted by other things along the way (because apparently every girl loved shopping on a biological level, or so they claimed), grocery shopping was something she could easily complete in about a half an hour or less.

And it had been nearly two hours since he’d waited idly by the fireplace for Riza to come in through the front porch with that shy, contented smile that she always wore in the morning.

Believing that this might’ve been a rare, life-changing occasion where Riza wanted to experience the wonders of sleeping in, Roy therefore took it upon himself to prepare breakfast for the both of them. Typically, this wasn’t preferable, as he was only capable of making two things that were remotely edible: toasts, and eggs. (Not even fried eggs. Boiled eggs, because those were impossible to screw up.) To make up for the slightly burnt toast, Roy brewed a sweet, soothing mixture of chamomile tea with cinnamon.

Then he laid everything out on the dining table and hoped for the best.

Fifteen minutes passed. Breakfast was beginning to cool down. The mugs were no longer steaming; in them only a lukewarm stillness that reflected his lonely, worried expression.  

Roy bit into the burnt edge of a piece of toast, consulting the grandfather clock down by the inordinately large hallway.

The empty hallway.

Ten-hundred hours.

Roy sighed into his tea. Ten more minutes, he decided. Ten more minutes. If Riza wasn’t down by then, he’d go upstairs and check on her instead.

In the end, Roy found himself dragging his feet up the old, creaky stairs. He balanced the tray delicately on one hand, and knocked at her door gently with the other.

“Miss Riza?” Roy called softly, deciding against dropping the honorific. (Riza might’ve given him permission to call her by her first name, but she still was not taking the liberty of addressing him as such.)

Silence.

Roy knocked again.

The tray wobbled precariously.

“Miss Riza?”

A groan resounded from the other end, before he heard footsteps padding softly towards him. Then the door opened to reveal Riza in all her pale, half-awake glory.

To say that she was a mess was a bit of an understatement. Her hair was uncombed and completely disheveled (very much unlike her usual self); cheeks flushed a deep scarlet — a stark contrast against the sickly pallor of her countenance.

“Mister Mustang,” Riza rasped weakly. But her demeanour was quick to shift once she caught sight of the tray in his hands. Instantly she straightened like a soldier standing at attention, back straight and shoulders tense. “I’m so sorry — what time is it?”

“You have nothing to apologise for,” Roy reassured hastily. “It’s about ten —“ Riza’s eyes widened, and her mouth opened like she was about to admonish herself for not getting started on her endless list of chores earlier, “— but don’t worry about it. Are you sick?”

A shiver wracked through her petite frame, one that she tried miserably to conceal by wrapping her thin arms around herself. “I’m not,” Riza lied unconvincingly. “I —“

“Have a lot to do, I know,” Roy interjected, biting back a sigh at her stubbornness. God, the girl really needed to get her priorities straight. “But you’re obviously unwell. And besides, I already made you breakfast. I didn’t do such a bad job, see? I even managed to make you your tea just the way you like it...”

“I — thank you,” she muttered, turning away to sneeze daintily into the crook of her elbow. “But really, it’s just a minor cold. You didn’t have to...” Riza trailed off as another shudder assaulted her.

Roy pursed his lips, somewhat bemused by her insistence (and poor attempts at deceit). He cleared his throat and straightened, imitating the tone that his indomitable sisters used whenever he was trying to wriggle his way out of drinking some weird, medicinal concoction. “It clearly doesn’t sound like a minor cold. You should rest before it gets worse.”

“But...”

“No buts, Miss Riza.”

Roy set the tray down on her bedside table, then strode back to where she was. Gingerly, Roy put a hand on her shoulder. When she didn’t flinch from the contact, he gently guided her back towards her bed. Riza didn’t protest. Instead, she was quick to settle back down, clutching onto her blankets for dear life — as if the short walk to her door had sapped her of all her energy.

“Just rest, okay? I’ll take care of everything else.”

Evidently too weak to argue further, Riza nodded and coughed into a fist. “I’m really sorry for the trouble —“

“You have nothing to apologise for,” he nearly exclaimed, a little frustrated by her self-deprecating logic. In what universe was it someone’s fault for falling sick — something that was not even within one’s realm of control? “Just let me know if you need anything, okay? A doctor, medicine, whatever. It’s what friends do for each other.”

“Friends...” she mumbled, eyes averted — in embarrassment? He couldn’t tell. Despite the remarkable progression in their relationship, Riza Hawkeye was still very much an enigma.

“Friends,” Roy affirmed, fluffing the coverlet a little before leaving hastily, his own heart pounding in his throat.

~x~

Roy spent the rest of the day dusting the window panes, sweeping the carpeted floors and drying the laundry in between studying for his upcoming test. More than once he’d spotted Riza coming down the stairs, meandering around the hallways aimlessly like she was inspecting for non-existent dust under the guise that she was just about to pour herself another glass of water.

Roy was quick to see through her excuses, however, and had ushered her back into her room with a full jug of water instead. Every hour or so, he’d go up to check on Riza, a warm cup of freshly-made ginger tea in his hands (a remedy that his aunt swore by, despite its repulsive taste) and constant reassurances that he was doing just fine with the chores.

When evening-time came around, Riza appeared in the kitchen, eyes bleary and nose pink. Roy withheld the urge to roll his eyes.

How stubborn could one person get? And was there — no, would there ever be a point where she’d come to spare a thought for herself? To put herself ahead of others?

Probably not, he thought wryly.

“I’m a lot better, really,” she sniffed, huddling an old, tattered shawl around her for warmth. (Roy made a mental note to get a new cardigan for her — one that was thicker; more suited for unfortunate days like these. Maybe a pink, fluffy one that matched her secret femininity.) “I should start making dinner.”

Right. He’d completely forgotten about that.

“I can take care of that,” he said. Riza quirked a brow at him, unconvinced. Roy shoved his wounded ego back down his throat and tried again. “Really. I’ll just make up a simple stew for us.”

What could possibly be so hard about throwing a few ingredients into boiling water, right? He’d just have to wait for the ingredients to work their magic. And if they didn’t, then he’d have to trust in the mythical powers of sesame oil and salt to save the day. Or so he’d gleaned from his sisters’ numerous mishaps in the kitchen and Riza’s incredible cooking.

“... Please don’t trouble yourself, Mister Mustang.”

“Nonsense. You’re always troubling yourself for my — for our sakes,” he insisted, guiding her towards the living room. Riza opened her mouth like she was about to protest. And Roy scrambled for a better argument. Something that might work on her desire to avoid causing trouble to others at all costs, perhaps? “Think of it this way. You’ll be - um, it’ll be worse if you pass out in the middle of the kitchen while cooking.”  

After a long, contemplative moment, Riza relented and stepped back hesitantly. “Try not to burn anything down.”

This was a remarkable challenge, but Roy Mustang was not one to back down from challenges. Instead he nodded, solemn. “I won’t.”

Riza nodded, settling herself on the old rocking chair by the fireplace for warmth. The evening was remarkably chilly tonight, however, and so Roy tucked his coat securely around her, ever thankful that his reclusive hermit of a teacher did not choose to grace them with his presence at that moment.

Then he scurried back into the kitchen like a mouse and began rifling through the lower compartments of the fridge.

To his dismay, Roy found the following items: corn, cabbage, and carrots. Naturally he despised them all, since they belonged to that vile, disgusting category of food known as vegetables.  

But carrots. God, carrots were the worst of them all. Those malicious sticks of bright orange clearly hated him with a deep-seeded passion, and so did he. Things never turned out well whenever he was forced to work with them in the kitchen.

Unless one considered multiple cuts and band-aids ‘well’.

Still, he was determined to make Riza a decent, hearty meal tonight. (Or maybe not ‘hearty’ -- that implied that he was a good cook, which was a little ambitious. More like edible, perhaps.)

Inhaling deeply, Roy rolled up his sleeves and set about to work once he found Riza’s little recipe book. But determination soon melted into frustration after he’d chopped up cobs of corn and sliced potatoes and had to face his greatest adversary in the world: carrots.

And after a lot of groaning and grunting and wheezing, Roy somehow ended up peeling more of his own skin than the carrot’s; a feat he hadn’t even thought possible until now.

… Like he said, they really hated him.

“Damn it,” Roy cursed softly under his breath, not wanting to wake the sleeping blonde. He quickly rinsed them under running water, then rummaged through the cabinets for a box of band-aids.

Torn between mild amusement and self-pity, Roy stuck them over the numerous cuts decorating his poor fingers and sighed.

Well.

Nothing like a few lacerations to prove his gallantry, right?

Still, Riza’s fitful, shuddering frame was all the motivation he needed to conquer the menacing abomination. At least most of them were chopped up by now, even if they looked nothing like the neat wedges that Riza usually managed to cut them into.

But it was all the same in one’s stomach, he reasoned.

Mindful to not set the kitchen ablaze, Roy got back to work and began dumping everything into the pot.

~x~

By some miraculous stroke of luck, the kitchen was still intact about an hour later. Roy popped back into the living room with a wooden tray holding two bowls of vegetable soup, billowing clouds of steam curling around his face.

“Hey,” he called gently. Riza cracked an eyelid open, still semi-conscious. “I made us some soup for dinner. Think you can get up for some?”

“I - oh,” Riza mumbled. Her face fell slightly as she adjusted herself on the seat.

Roy got the nagging feeling that she was about to apologise once more for not helping.

“I mean, it’s not the best, but it tasted… edible,” he cajoled. Barely edible, actually. It’d tasted bland, sort of watery; but Roy had been too afraid to add in more salt or seasoning for fear of screwing the whole thing up entirely.

One could only hope that the cold had muffled her taste buds.

“Thank you,” she said softly. They ate together in companionable silence; metal clinking gently against ceramic as the fire crackled.

Roy resisted the urge to scrunch his face up at the blandness of it all.

Riza, on the other hand, did not appear to have any qualms about the simple fare; she made no comment on his ostensible lack of talent in the kitchen. Instead she flashed him a small, grateful smile that warmed his heart immensely.

“How are you feeling?”

“A little better, I think.” Almost inaudibly, Riza added, “Thank you. For all of this, I mean. I really appreciate it.”

Roy beamed. “It’s no problem. Like I said, you’re always doing so much for our benefit. It’s the least I can do.”

Roy got up to clear the dishes before she could, once they were done with dinner. By this point, however, Riza was clearly too tired to argue. She waited by the fireplace as he rinsed the bowls; a shivering cocoon of blankets and soft sneezes.

And like a panicked mother hen, Roy started fussing. Without warning he helped Riza up, bringing her close so that she could lean on him for support. She was dangerously warm to the touch, he realised. It seemed her fever hadn’t broken yet, and he could feel the goosebumps trailing up her skin as they walked.

“Mister Mustang,” she called feebly, flushing scarlet.

“Hm?” he asked, oblivious to the heat crawling up his own neck.

Gently, he led Riza up the stairs and guided Riza back into her room.

“Are you sure you’re alright? I can go get a doctor or something, if you need…”

It’d be hard to get one at this hour, especially out in the isolated countryside, but the boy was willing to do anything to help his friend feel better.

“N-no. I’ll be better once I get some rest, really,” she said, almost pleadingly as she nestled underneath the inviting coverlets.

Catching sight of her wide and frightened eyes, Roy instantly swallowed his earlier words. “A-alright,” he said worriedly, caught in a bit of a dilemma himself. “I’ll stay with you, then. Just rest, okay?”

Feverish and utterly enervated, Riza offered him a tiny, hesitant nod and drifted back to sleep.

~x~

For the rest of the night, Roy stayed by Riza’s side like he was holding some sort of sad, long vigil, changing the damp towel on her forehead every hour or so. But her fever did not subside. If anything, it only got worse. Delirium was starting to kick in. At some point she’d started muttering imploringly for her — mother?

Roy’s heart shattered.

How many ill, lonely nights had she endured aloneafter her mother’s passing, all because she wanted to avoid inconveniencing her negligent father? Riza was strong, yes, maybe even almost to the point of being invincible. But she was still very much a child. She was only thirteen, for heavens’ sake! Yet the girl always carried herself with an independence and maturity that far exceeded their peers’ — the sort that could only have been derived from hardship and misfortune. And Roy found himself feeling something akin to guilt and sympathy and admiration, for a girl who’d been forced to grow up far too soon because of her predicament.

Overcome by some profound, unknown emotion, Roy leaned forward and brushed her damp, matted fringe aside to press a chaste kiss on her forehead.

“Get well soon,” he murmured.

Riza fidgeted slightly. For a moment, Roy thought she was about to regain consciousness. And all of a sudden he became acutely aware of what he had done: he’d trespassed some unspoken boundary and kissedher.

Roy recoiled sharply like he’d been struck. He leaned back into his seat, running a hand over his scruffy hair and crossed his arms decisively over his chest; an exercise of self-restraint. What was he doing, anyway? Taking advantage of his friend in her sleep? 

God forbid he do so! Roy had grown up learning that women were to be treated with utmost respect. The importance of chivalry had been indoctrinated in him from the time he’d learnt how to walk, and he was not about to engage in any sort of funny business. Nope. Definitely not.

(He would be lying, however, if he said Riza wasn’t adorable while she was asleep like that.)

Fortunately for him, Riza was sound asleep. She was still shivering, though, so Roy drew the blankets up and readjusted the towel on her forehead. A soft sigh escaped her lips as she rolled over on her side.

Content that he was able to bring his friend some comfort, Roy lolled back into the seat to take a short nap, not seeming to mind in the least the inevitable stiff neck that awaited him.

Beside him, Riza let out a small smile as she tugged his coat closer around herself.

[theonetheycallhannah]

The Treatment of Captain Syverson-Chapter 10: Myofascial Release

Characters: Captain Syverson x OFC (Shane Benton)

Summary: Shane and Sy decompress after an emotional evening, Shane finds it difficult to get out of her own head and live in the moment, but Sy knows exactly how to help her, and not to be a complete hoe and spoil things, but…things get steamier than ever between our favorite therapist and patient duo.

Oh snap! You’re behind! Get on track here!

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings:  Language, mature themes, alcohol consumption, the smut you’ve all been waiting for so patiently! (I hope it lives up to your undoubtedly high expectations!)

Author’s Note: Oh gosh, y’all, I am so nervous to post this. Somehow it doesn’t feel like my smuttiest smut. And like, all previous chapters have been kind of leading up to this moment. The good news is, I’ve decided to continue writing this story after the sex. I’ve got some ideas about where to go from here, and I want to keep it going. Plus, it feels wrong to write all of this and then just drop them without a big picture resolution. They’re gonna go through some shit, though. You have been warned.

Disclaimer: Unfortunately for me, Henry is not mine, le sigh, and all mention of him, his characters, any characters from his films, or his precious doggy, Kal, are strictly for transformative and recreational use. I neither ask for, nor accept payment for the work I post on Tumblr or AO3. Unbeta’d because this is for fun and escapism.

Tags: 

@onlyhenrys

@cavillryarchive

@summersong69

@titty-teetee

@bloodyinspiredfuck

@agniavateira

@oddsnendsfanfics

@omgkatinka

@thisismysecretthirstblog

@misslaland

@speakerforthedead0

@tumblnewby

@suavechops

@radkesgirl83

Hope I’m not forgetting anyone! If you want to be notified when I post a new chapter or work, I’ll be happy to add you to my tag list! Stricken blogs are getting personal messages from me when a new chapter is uploaded because Tumblr’s faulty tagging system will not stand in the way of me delivering what the people want!(?) lol! (Although…their lackadaisical notification system might…sorry for that. I have no control. lol!)

X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@

Her living room was cast in the low light of the floor lamp she had left on. Intending to come home after dark. Alone. She hated walking into a dark house by herself.

Well, tonight, she wasn’t alone. And although Sy had been to her house before, this was different. They were officially a couple, and they were no longer waiting to express, to the fullest extent, their true affection for one another.

Ever the hostess, despite her nervous tension, Shane asked Sy if he wanted anything to drink, rambling off several options somewhat awkwardly.

“I’m fine, darlin.’” He assured her, stopping her at some point in the rant, before she was completely done. “Do you need something?”

“Umm, I think I should have a glass of wine.” Her eyes darted to the kitchen across her serve-through counter space and landed on her fridge. “I’m…I’m really nervous.”

"Why don't we watch a little TV for a while? You get you some wine, and I'll put somethin' on. What are we watchin', sunshine?"

"Ummmm, something light? Funny? Something I've seen." She wouldn't be able to process anything new or heavy right now.

"I'm on it." he kissed the top of her head and left her side for the sofa, where he plopped himself down like a comfy hound dog, and picked up the remote to her Smart TV.

She smiled as she busied herself in the kitchen. She decided she wanted a snack with her wine. She got a plate of cheese and crackers together first. Then she remembered she had some venison sausage one of her coworkers had brought in, and put that on the plate, too. She got out a chilled bottle of her favorite, cheap moscato and a stemless glass. She couldn't go in there without something for Sy, so she also got a glass of ice water ready for him. She put the whole spread on her big serving tray and took it to the living room.

Sy was already halfway through the first episode of Parks and Recreation.

"I saw this in your 'Watch it again' group, and thought maybe you'd like to re-watch it. I've heard you talk about it a lot, and I've never seen it." He didn't complain at her for taking forever. He just lit up when he saw her. Like it was the first time. And not the hundredth.

"That's perfect, babe. I brought some snacks out, too. Some cheese and crackers, and this really good sausage one of my coworkers brought me. You like deer?" she asked.

"One of my favorite pet names." he teased. "I do, though, yes."

They ate, and laughed, and watched about four or five episodes, it was hard to keep track. But after approximately half the bottle, Shane had summoned some courage. She started playing at the texture of Sy's jeans, running a fingernail across the coarse fabric.

"Hang on, love bug. I want to know somethin.'" she looked up at him, mildly confused. "I'm trying to think of a reason you need to get tipsy to sleep with me that I shouldn't take personally." he rubbed her upper arm, comforting her as no one had done since she was a small child. At least not that she could remember.

"No, Sy. It's not like that. You aren't the problem at all!" she paused. He let her gather her thoughts. She appreciated that he knew she intended to continue and that he didn't rush her to do it. He was patient. And kind. And all of that should have made this whole night easier. But somehow it didn’t.

“I’m the problem." She confessed after a long pause and a deep sigh. "I mean, I’m in my head about it all, I know. But it’s been…almost six years since I’ve slept with anyone, five and a half, at least, and I can’t seem to wrap my head around it now that I know it’s going to happen again.”

He pulled her body into his, squeezing her tightly for one of his soul cleansing hugs.

“Sunshine. Everything will come back to ya. We’ll just go as slow as ya want. I got all night.”

“Okay. Well, I guess, since I’m a bit sleepy from the wine, we should head to bed.”

Sy affirmed the idea, and made to help her put their snacks away in the kitchen.

She got out containers for their leftover food while Sy stoppered the wine, put it in the fridge, and washed their glasses.

She felt his warmth before she felt his touch. He stood behind her, radiating his particular brand of heat for a moment, and taking in the scent of her hair near her right ear. She heard a low rumble from someplace deep in him which slowed her efforts at the counter. His hands were light but very much present on her hips. A whisper against the fabric of the casual but feminine floral dress she’d chosen for the night. But she felt it like the weight of her favorite old blanket, heavy with years and warm comfort.

He kissed her temple, chaste and unassuming. But still full of desperation. She could tell that he was ready. Even without the alignment of their bodies completely giving him away.

“Don’tcha think this stuff can wait a couple hours, darlin'?"

His baritone, breathless in her ear, was soothing her back into the mindset of being with him. His feather touch still lingering at her hips and waist. She thought back to those seminars she'd gone to on manual therapy where the speaker talked in depth about the fascial tissues running all across the various muscles in the human body and how trauma to one part could cause tension in another like a snag in a sweater and how he taught the participants techniques to undo that trauma through myofascial release. Sy was slowly managing to unwind and unbind the taut fibers of her heart and relieve that pain that Elliott, in particular had set into place so firmly when he'd hurt her. Lied to her. Cheated on her. Gaslit her. Made her feel like she'd never be loved if she left him. Made her question the very idea of what love meant. Because if what they'd had was truly love, she didn't want it. Wanted no part of the games or the abuse or the manipulation.

Without fully realizing it, during this time of reflection and healing, Shane had given up the task at her hands and turned to Sy, open to his treatment, as he'd always been so open to hers…or mostly. And she let him kiss her, reciprocating. And hold her, returning his enveloping embrace. She even let him pick her up, wrapping her legs around his waist, resting them on his…all too well-defined bilateral gluteus maximus that she'd had to pretend to ignore for weeks. In the therapist side of her brain, alarm bells were going off. "His knee isn't fully healed! You're gonna undo all of the work you've both done so far! He's gonna hurt himself carrying you around!" but she ignored them and trusted him as he walked to her room.

Shane wanted to say that her bedroom was one of splendor. Immaculately made bed, and overall, the picture of tidiness. The reality was much, MUCH different. Glasses half full of water were everywhere (she may be forgetful, but at least she was optimistic), at least one coffee mug sat on the nightstand from the previous weekend when she took a morning cup of tea in bed with her George Harrison biography. Laundry overflowed from a sorting hamper in the corner, and her bed sat, unmade, littered with crumpled pillows, sheets, blankets, and the pajamas she'd slept in last night. She wasn't the kind of person to make her bed for reasons other than having company over, like the fancy company you had to give a tour of your whole house. She'd tried to be that person numerous times, but it never seemed to stick.

Tonight, though, the guilt that came with sub-par housekeeping skills wasn't plaguing her. Right now, all she felt was the weightlessness of being with Sy, wrapped in him, kissing him, and fully ready for what was about to happen between them, as he fell with her onto her bed. Their heads clunked together awkwardly, invoking a mutual wince, followed by bouts of laughter and playful kisses.

He hovered over her a moment, just taking her in. His fingers ghosting her forehead and cheeks to clear it of the whisps of hair obscuring her face. He seemed to examine her in methodical quadrants. Learning the curves and colors and every wrinkle, freckle, and pore. She was still fully clothed, but she'd never felt so bare and vulnerable.

He left her eyes for last. His gaze drowning her delightfully. Random song lyrics came to mind, "the serenity of a clear blue mountain lake" and she thought yes. That is the precise aesthetic of this man's stare. His expression was inscrutable. She wanted to say he looked happy and content, but she didn't want to presume.

He began tracing the floral pattern on her dress with his fingers, and said, "I really like this dress on you."

She laughed, "Oh, that's the beginning of the oldest line in the book. You know you've already got me in bed, right?"

"No, I…" he chuckled, embarrased. "I mean it sincerely. Seeing you in flowers like this…makes me think they bloom right from ya."

She propped herself up on her elbows, dumbstruck by this uncharacteristically poetic side of him she'd just been shown. She stroked the side of his face.

"The man who came up with the original pickup line is rolling over in his grave attempting to kick himself for not thinking of something so beautiful."

"Yeah?"

"HELL yeah. He would have gotten WAY more lucky with a statement like that."

"You're probably right." he said, pulling her up to hold her in his arms.

"If for no other reason that it would have landed him a higher caliber woman than the floozies that he probably got."

He moaned his ascent against her neck, and continued, "Which would have meant a lot more getting lucky down the road, right?"

"Traditionally speaking, I'd say yes." she laughed, her fingers in his hair, which was barely long enough for the action.

"Okay, I know I said I liked the dress, but…" he tugged at the hemline tucked just under her hips and pulled it off her willing body.

"About time, cowboy!" she smiled, breathless.

He continued kissing her as he unhooked her strapless bra and tossed it aside, into the abyss, where the dress had gone. She was so dizzy from him that she barely noticed he was laying her down until her warm back hit cool sheets. She could feel his touch everywhere at once, despite the fact that he was really only making two or three points of contact.

Shane trembled as Sy peppered her soft body with kisses. She couldn't recall shivering like this before, especially when there was nothing but warmth, even heat, around her. His beard grazing her hips and thighs was sending tremors through her unlike anything she'd ever felt. She was a goner, and he hadn't even truly begun.

His breath against her skin was like lightning in the clouds. A storm began forming within, and all around them from his work on her…and eventually in her. He took the time to remove both of the shirts he was wearing--plaid cotton blend and thick white jersey. She reached out to run her fingertips over his chest, covered in a manly stand of thick, dark hair. It ran over his pecs and down his abdomen…farther, she knew, than was exposed right now.

She wanted to touch him. To return the favor. To stir in him the same tempest he'd stirred in her. She unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans. She was a little surprised he wasn't resisting her, but pleased, all the same. She took the heavy weight of him out in some shock…she'd caught outlines and silhouettes often since they'd been together, but he hadn't let her go this far yet. It had made her feel a little slutty at the time, but now, she understood. He was…protecting her, in a way. She handled him curiously, gently, as he'd been with her. Her apprehension, however, grew with him.

"Sy, you're…I…" she wasn't sure what to say. But she had concerns about being rent in two by him.

"I think I remember tellin' ya you wouldn't be laughin,' sunshine." he grinned at her, breathless as she stroked him.

"You were right. But don't get too used to me saying so." she smirked back at him.

He pulled away from her, reluctantly, but eager to get back to tasting her.

She couldn't comprehend what he was doing. But it felt incredible. No one she'd ever been with had made her feel like this. Like her blood was effervescent and her body was aglow like embers. His reaction to her was as much a part of the pleasure as his ministrations themselves. She could tell he was enjoying himself which fed her desire.

She felt a tension coiling inside her, something similar to climaxes past but she could tell, much more intense. What was different? Other than Sy, she didn't know. But it was working. She moaned and writhed into him.

"Yeah, sugar. Let that out. I wanna hear it." he quickened, driving her mad and sending her spinning into her bliss, incomprehensible words and sounds escaping her, growls of satisfaction escaping him, but he didn't stop.

She felt his fingers working inside her to pull another climax from deep within her. This was new for her, as well. Not only was he putting her first, but he was making her a priority in double measure before taking anything for himself. As that pressure built in her again, she felt his gaze on her, hungry and adoring, and she heard his grunts of exertion and she thought, lust. She wasn't sure how many of his digits he'd managed to slide into her, but it felt splendid, and she wanted more. She gripped his arms to convey this desire, words caught in her throat. He dove headlong back down to her, adding his mouth to the onslaught of his hand, and before she could get out more than a "Fuuuu" she was falling apart again, her body spasming and writhing beneath his utter oral perfection. Eventually, she finished the word when she ran out of air and had to take in a large gasp on the "uck."

She watched him kiss around her thighs and hips, in awe of him in his entirety.

Breathless, she asked, "Why are you so good to me, Sy?"

"Well, a wise woman once told me, 'good go to heaven.'" he looked coyly up at her. "I think I'm there, sunshine."

"Ya know, you're the best patient I've ever had." she smiled.

"Well, I should hope so." he boasted as he kissed at her breasts, nipping at the taut, dark bud in the center. She gasped. He let go and continued his ascent.

He had a point. Who could have qualified as a "better" patient than him when he'd given her so much? Even more than what they were doing tonight. His kindness. The love he had always shown her, even when she wasn't ready to see it. His strength, but also his vulnerability that she seemed to be the only one ever to see. Combine that with the fact that his mind was basically a steel trap for her every word and it would have made him more than perfect enough for her.

But as he broke away from her kiss to take off his jeans, she marveled at the shape and size of his whole body. Those thick, strong arms, the broad, defined torso, the massive, powerful legs of an avid runner, and a face that God Himself would probably be jealous of, if He was capable of the feeling. This gorgeous exterior that Michelangelo would have killed to sculpt, combined with all of his other amazing qualities, and he was almost too perfect.

He cuddled up next to her, reached up, and caressed her face, still flush with pleasure.

"I could look at this face, and nothin' else for…damn… hours. Maybe days."

She blushed and cast her eyes down, and half whispered, "The feeling is mutual."

"Then why're you lookin' away, darlin'?" he tilted her chin up. "That shy business is cute and all, but you don't have to hide from me, sweetheart."

"Again, it's not you, it's me." she chuckled, nervously.

"You wanna call it a night, for now?" he asked without a hint of disappointment in his voice.

"You're kidding, right?" she raised her eyebrows. "You did all that work getting me ready for you, and I won't let that be a wasted effort." she pulled him to her and into a deep kiss, rolling onto her back and bringing him with her.

"Oh, sugar, that wasn't no wasted effort. That was time well spent. No matter what." he said in short bursts when he could pull away from her lips.

He lifted himself up and over her, kneeling between her legs, already open for him. She thought he should know how ready she was. Thought it should be painfully obvious. But he asked anyway.

"You ready, sunshine?" he asked, as he opened the condom and rolled it on…damn he was slick! She hadn't even noticed him get it from wherever he'd had it. She presumed his jeans pocket, which would explain much. She had been very distracted by his naked perfection.

"Yes. Please." she had been struck with an urgency as they stood here on the verge of everything.

He sunk slowly into her, the contentment of coming home spread over his face, the bliss of being whole spreading over hers. No, she thought. She was more than whole. She'd always felt mostly whole during sex. Sy made her feel as though she was overflowing with herself. And not just because she was overflowing with him. The way he moved in her, over her, with her, it was like he was afraid she'd turn to vapor around him before he could finish. Like she was nothing more substantial than a bubble full of smoke, and he thought she may burst and disappear. Although, you couldn't tell from the tight grip he kept on her. A bruising grip that she thought might have had a chance of popping a football. She didn't care. She wanted him to touch and hold her like this until they had no more to give each other.

As they built toward their mutual undoing, the world and everything in it faded away. There was no personal drama or injury. Nothing but the euphoria of this newfound oneness. The caresses and thrusts and groans of pleasure were the only things that mattered. Each other, and what they found therein.

“Shane.” He whispered to her, his pinnacle nigh.

“Sy!” She whimpered, that familiar tension approaching its apex.

He kissed her, as if he meant to permanently emboss her onto the bedding and onto his lips. She reeled as she came undone, little sparks of light obscuring her vision for a fraction of a second. He followed her closely, breathless and spent.

He laid down beside her, as close to her as possible, and began drawing mindless circular patterns on her stomach and around her breasts.

“Wow.” She said, almost under her breath.

“How ya feelin,’ sunshine?”

“Mmm, boneless. Dazed. Half wishing we’d done that weeks ago. I didn’t have a clue what I was missing.”

“Oh, I think you had an idea.” He said as he neatly doffed and disposed of the prophylactic in the waste can by her bed.

“Okay, a bit.” She chuckled. “It’s not like you can hide that…thing.”

“And I don’t try to, darlin’!” He kissed her forehead “Well, I don’t hide it just anywhere, put it that way.” He smirked at his dirty joke and she swatted him for it.

“You’re bad!”

“And you love it.”

She couldn’t argue. She loved his badness and his goodness and everything in between.

Up Next: Chapter Eleven- Discharge Plan 

[sashabarkov]

for the prompts: xuanli, 42 (matching clothes)

Modern AU. Jin Zixuan is a trans woman in this because I said so; it’s my turn to trans some genders.

When Jiang Yanli gets back from her errands, Jin Zixuan is settled on the couch by the door with her feet tucked up under her, scrolling through something on her tablet. She scrambles up when Jiang Yanli walks in, rushing over to help her out of the three scarves and two jackets that Jiang Yanli needs to survive winters here, and despite the way she can barely feel her face, she can’t help but lean up and kiss her wife as soon as the scarves are out of the way.

It’s only their third winter in Toronto, and she still isn’t used to the biting cold and just how much snow the wind can tuck into the folds of her jacket. Her childhood in Xiaogan had rarely featured snow, and while her wife’s had seen it slightly more frequently, it’s nothing compared to the ice and slush that coat the streets and sidewalks here—or more rarely, when the winds change, the lake effect snow that can plunge the entire city into a whiteout. The move was necessary, to get them out of the long reach of Jin Zixuan’s father, but during these long winter months, she can’t deny that she misses the easier winters almost as much as she misses her brothers.

Jin Zixuan slips into the kitchen while Jiang Yanli is coaxing her boots off, and returns with hand sanitizer and a freshly brewed cup of tea just as the boots finally acquiesce. She accepts gratefully, letting the warmth seep into her stiff fingers as her wife hangs up her second coat and tugs her over to the couch, settling them together and wrapping a blanket around them before picking up the tablet again. The cold doesn’t hit Jin Zixuan anywhere near as hard, but she loves to use it as an excuse to cuddle, and Jiang Yanli definitely doesn’t mind.

In no time at all, her hands are warm again, and she sets the empty cup aside and reaches for her wife’s hair, smiling as Jin Zixuan scoots around to face away from her and give her greater access. It’s a nightly tradition for them, an expression of love and closeness and affirmation all in one. Sometimes, on the nights when she needs a distraction, the hairstyles are intricate, but tonight she keeps it simple, plaiting a single thick braid running down her wife’s back.

Jin Zixuan hums contentedly, reaching behind her to squeeze Jiang Yanli’s hand lovingly, before turning back to the tablet.

“What are you looking at?” Jiang Yanli asks as she nears the end of the braid.

Jin Zixuan blushes, the bashful, endearing one that she gets when she wants something but doesn’t know how to ask for it. “I’m—eh, it’s just silly, really, but. I, um...

She holds up the tablet, and Jiang Yanli rises up on her knees to get a better look at the screen. It shows a pair of t-shirts, heather gray, with pastel rainbow lettering on the front that says “I’M HERS”, and arrows below the words pointing towards each other.

A burst of affection swells up within Jiang Yanli’s chest. She knows her wife loves her—Jin Zixuan has gotten so much more open about showing it, now that she’s more comfortable with herself—but every such moment still feels precious. Besides, this isn’t just a tender exchange between the two of them; this is, no matter how silly, a larger proclamation.

She smiles, tying off the end of the braid with a well-worn ribbon. “I like it.”

Jin Zixuan ducks her head. “It’s dumb,” she mumbles. “Tacky.”

“It makes you happy.” Jiang Yanli leans forward and settles herself against her wife’s back, sweeping Jin Zixuan’s fresh braid aside and pressing a kiss on the side of her neck. “And when you’re happy, that makes me happy too.”

“There’s better things to spend our money on,” Jin Zixuan objects half-heartedly. She’s not the best with money, still struggling to beat the habits she was raised with, but getting cut out of the Jin family fortune has left its mark.

Jiang Yanli hums and reaches over her wife’s shoulder to hit the ‘Add to Cart’ button. “It’s two shirts, we can afford it. If it makes you happy, then it’s worth it.” She tugs on Jin Zixuan’s arm until her wife twists around to look at her. “And if you kiss me, I’ll let you in on a secret.”

Jin Zixuan sighs, gently exasperated. “I’d do that anyway, A-Li,” she says, and sets the tablet aside to lean in properly. It’s a good kiss, warm and slow and tender, and when they finish she doesn’t pull away, just resettles them so that Jiang Yanli is tucked against her chest, ear pressed to her collarbone, listening to her heartbeat echo steadily underneath.

“So? What’s the secret?”

Jiang Yanli smiles into her wife’s shirt. “It would make me happy too.”

[sirrwritesalots]

Resurrection ~ Sherlock Holmes (angsty)

Pairing: (BBC) Sherlock x Y/N Warnings: Some cursing, angsty, anger Word Count: 2074 Summary: You have known Sherlock and John for years, but when he comes back from the dead, will you accept him so easily? A/N: This is out of my element, I usually write romance and stuff, but I’m trying out the depressing/Sherlock type of mystery and crime out a bit, though there isn’t much of that crime stuff happening lol hope you enjoy!

The reconnection between John and Sherlock was eventful, to say the least, but in comparison to the reunion between Sherlock and Y/N still did not go as he had originally planned or hoped for.

In the years he had been away - or as everyone thought: supposedly ‘dead’ - you had taken up residence at a cottage in Dorset your family had owned for a long time. You took the death of your close friend, and someone whom you loved very dearly, in the romantic sense as well as the platonic sense, rather difficult, so as a means of coping you spent some time away for yourself from the busy capital of the UK. You needed to reconnect with yourself and handle your grief, come to terms with what had happened in order to move on, and in doing so you found the lowland hills of South Wessex comforting and appealing as you creating your new life there. You’d become accustomed to your routine, to the - what some would call - mundaneness of it all, though your blood seemed to itch for some action every now and again, which you appeased by composing or writing, possibly taking up a new hobby, anything of the sort. 

So one day when there was a knock on your door, you simply expected it to be your neighbor down the road asking to borrow a cup of sugar or asking for a small favor. It came as somewhat of a surprise when you opened the front door and came face-to-face with none other than your old friend John Watson and his girlfriend Mary, who you met only a handful of times but really liked. She was good for him, you thought, after everything he had been though.

You welcomed them with a smile, “John! I didn’t know you were coming around! Mary, it’s lovely to see you again!” You were about to kiss both of her cheeks after letting the two inside when a third person appeared where they were standing a second ago.

“I didn’t know your family owned a cottage outside of London,” said the familiar deep baratome voice.

You could have sworn your heart stopped in that moment. Body completely froze with a hand closed around the door handle like a vice, a white-knuckle grip so tight the edges of the lock were almost piercing your skin. Although you always hoped you would be wrong in the back of your mind, you thought you’d never see him again. A wave of emotions crashed over you in a matter of seconds: shock, relief, joy. But the last of them all, white hot rage, washed through you like it never had before. Without saying a single word, you slammed the door in his face and turned to make your way into the kitchen.

You vaguely heard John and Mary’s mumbled comments. “Well, it could have been worse,” you imagined John shrugging to his girlfriend as he weighed some of the possible outcomes in his head. “She could have punched him in the face like I did.”

“John,” Mary said wearily, “Y/n’s not happy, and I wouldn’t expect her to be. What, with us just showing up out of the blue with him.”

“Give her some time... she’ll come around,” John attempted to give you the benefit of the doubt.

In the kitchen, your hands were splayed across the countertop to steady yourself as you felt like you were quite literally spinning from the thoughts running around in your head and your eyes slid out of focus. How was this even possible? Did John know this whole time? No, he couldn’t have. He was genuinely grief stricken, just like you had been. Mycroft must have known, that cheeky bastard knew practically everything. Why couldn’t he tell you, though? Of all people, why didn’t he let you and John in on his not-so-little secret for all these years? Your mind was running a thousand miles a minute attempting to answer all these rising questions on your own, wondering how you could have missed this simple fact: Sherlock was not dead.

After no reaction or response for me for a long time - you were unaware of how much time had passed - John entered the kitchen, calling your name. “How long have you known?” was the only thing you said, eyes now fixated on one particular spot on the counter so as to control your emotions in the moment.

“Only a few days. He wanted to tell you in person, not over the phone.”

You scoffed, shaking your head and relaxing your tense muscles for the first time since you slammed the front door shut. “That’s a shock.” Usually Sherlock preferred technological means of communication to human interaction, typically choosing to send a quick text over speaking on the phone or bothering to get off his ass and into a cab.

“Nothing about this is normal,” stated John. He was right; it wasn’t an everyday occurrence that a friend comes back to life, or rather fakes his own death. John tried to reason with you, “If you could just hear him out.”

“Is that what you did? Immediately wait and listen to what he had to say.”

“Well, um, no. It took a bit. I may have hit him once or twice. We relocated a few times.” You gave John a look that screamed the words ‘exactly’ without having to vocalize your point. “What I was trying to say is, that its Sherlock, Y/N. And we’ve been a mess since he left, no matter what we’ve done to be happy in that time.” Your mind immediately went to Mary and the cottage you were standing in; yours and John’s means of coping. 

“Yeah, John, that’s my point; he left! Without a word. He went along with Moriarty and let us go on believing he offed himself. How can you forgive him so easily?” Your blood was beginning to boil again.

“So, what are you planning on doing? Leave him outside in the rain until he learns his lesson?”

You crossed your arms in front of your chest, your chin lifting a fraction in affirmation. “Yes.” At the very least, you believed Sherlock deserved that, after all he put the two of your through, to sit soggy and cold for the next hour.

John relented and dropped his arms at his sides, realizing it was useless to argue with you as your stubbornness had clearly not disappeared in your time apart, and made his way back to Mary in the sitting room. You made the three of you some cups of tea, bringing the tray with you and setting it onto the table. Noticing the fire was lit, which must have been Mary’s doing while you were having your little tiff with John in the kitchen earlier, you smiled softly at her. She and John took residence on the couch while you sat in the chair closest to the fire, leaving a single chair adjacent to you unoccupied as the room warmed up.

You could hear Sherlock’s shoes tapping the porch as he paced back and forth in a meek effort to stay warm in the rain. A part of you - the one that reached out to Sherlock, that was glad to have him back despite everything - wanted to let him in, hand him a cup of tea, wrap a blanket around his shoulders, and talk as though no time had passed. But the other part that inhabited a majority of your consciousness was annoyed at his patience. He wasn’t complaining about the weather or temperature on the other side of the door. In fact, he was more quiet than you remember him ever being, aside from then he was sleeping or preoccupied in his Mind Palace. After his eventful encounter with John, he must have come to the understanding that he wouldn’t be welcomed with open arms and it would take a bit of an adjustment for everybody to acclimate him into their lives again.

After sitting in silence for thirty or so minutes, John abruptly stood to his feet, causing Mary to quickly look at him on alert. Luckily her cup was empty, or else he would be responsible for the stain on your rug. “For Christ’s sake! This is enough, Y/N! You’re acting like a damn child,” John said as he walked to the front door. “I’ve let you have your moment, now I am going to let Sherlock in and you are going to have it out. Right here, right now. Not later when its dark and he’s caught hypothermia.”

Against your protests, John opened the door and nodded at his friend to come inside your home. Sherlock stepped through the threshold after shaking his hair outside, lifting his head to meet my gaze as John locked the door behind him.

It felt like a hole had been rammed through your chest again, the power of it almost knocking you back into the chair you were seated in. You took a deep, unsteady breath and clenched your fists to hide your shaking hands. Part of it was anger, but most of it was fear, anxiety. You tried to control your breathing, deep inhale followed by a deep exhale, like you had practiced when you began having panic attacks after his death.

“Please, let me explain,” Sherlock pleaded with a soft look in his eyes you’d never seen before as he gingerly took a step forward.

“I don’t want to hear from you. I don’t want to see you. I don’t even want to speak to you.” It took everything in you not to burst into tears, out of anger or frustration or sadness you didn’t know which, as you took a step back to maintain the distance between the two of you.

“Y/n, l-”

“No! Fuck! You were gone. You were dead, Sherlock! And you didn’t so much as tell me or John!” Your voice began to crack as it raised in volume. “Dead! Do you even understand that? We grieved your loss. We have borne that pain for two years now, and you think that I’m suddenly going to forgive that and let you back into my life just because you’re standing here in front of me now? That’s extremely arrogant and selfish, even for you.”

Sherlock chose his words wisely as he spoke, “Yes, I do understand.”

“No, see, I don’t think you do. Because you are incapable of feeling human emotions; you’ve said so yourself, right? They are pesky little beggars that get in the way of more important things in life, yeah?” You raised your eyebrows in expectation, waiting for him to confirm your statement to be true, since he had expressed his distaste for allowing emotions to rule him and his life many times before, and yet he remained silent. “You couldn’t possibly understand, because you thrive on suspense and mystery. On having the upper hand of knowing what others don’t, having the power to withhold information and telling others what you want them to know and when you want them to know it. You like being the know-it-all genius. What would you be without it?”

The question was rhetorical, but he answered nonetheless, “Nothing.” Your eyes widened at his response, shaken by his omission. “You’re right, I’d be nothing without my knowledge. I’m not Sherlock Holmes without my deductive skills, if I couldn’t easily figure out what others cannot. But I’m also not me without John Watson. Without you.”

His vulnerability disarmed you, and your shoulders sagged a fraction as your demeanor began to involuntarily soften up to him despite your set mind. You were taken aback by his calm and collected expression, as if admitting what he has was somewhat of a regular occupancy for him. It wasn’t, though, and you knew that it took a lot of effort for him to speak that truth aloud. You were torn between the anger of what he had done and missing him after all this time. Your heart yearned for him, and now he was standing before you - flesh and blood, alive - begging in his own reserved way for you to take him back. You knew you couldn’t forgive him on the spot, not yet anyway. But you did know that, despite all the pain he had caused you in his absence, you could accept him into your life once again.

[sweetchup]

Hi!! If your ask box is open, could I get a fluffy kurapika x reader? Just something very gentle and soft and maybe some cuddles bc kurapika deserves lots of loving!! Thank you so much!!

Wild Berry Pie

Type: Kurapika x Reader

Au?: None

Word Count: 2,300+

Warnings: None

“Hold on what?!?” You shout; surprise. Hold up, Why should you be surprised? This was Kurapika you were talking about. But seriously? You were going to scold your boyfriend so hard for only sleeping a total of 15 hours this whole week, getting himself injured (thankfully he could heal himself but still), working himself to death and, on top of that, this was all after recovering from a really bad sickness.

Melody hushes you as the other patrons of the cafe turn and glare at you. You let out a small squeak of an apology at them before returning to sipping on your drink, all the while mumbling, “Kurapika… what the heck were you thinking...”

“I’m sorry (y/n)-Chan. I didn’t mean to get you worked up, I just wanted to let you know.”

You look at Melody in front of you, the woman was looking down at her drink in shame. She knew it wasn’t her fault that Kurapika wasn’t taking care of himself but she felt bad for not telling one of her closest friends and Kurapika’s girlfriend, (y/n), sooner. You shake your head, giving a small smile. “Please It’s not your fault he’s acting this way. I’ve been gone for a while and I shouldn’t have left in the first place, I mean I kind of expected this. He’s practically been out of it since York New. Plus, on top of that, he has the amount of stress Nostrade is putting on him due to Neon losing her Nen.”

Melody gives a smile at the girl in front of her. No wonder Kurapika was in love with her. (Y/n) was not only pretty on the outside but also on the inside. Her voice was so soft and heartwarming, it could calm the harshest of storms and also act like a nice warm campfire on a cold bitter night. The smile (y/n) produced, even the smallest of ones, was practically contagious and definitely lit up a room. And her heart, oh her heart, produced such a loving melody. It sung with all her compassion for her comrades, friends and even the well-being of some strangers.

She practically was the light of hope in Kurapika’s life. The small thing that he knew could give him some purpose after all his revenge plans were done. Sure, it would be hard for him, very hard in fact, to figure something out when everything’s all done. But he knew that (y/n) would be there right next to him, never ever thinking of leaving him behind.

“Oh, (y/n)-Chan are you okay?” Melody says concerned as you suddenly stand up. You look at the women in the eyes, yours gleaming with determination.

“I know exactly what to do! Kurapika has an early shift tonight and a late one tomorrow so I’ll make him something special tonight. To get him to relax.”

Melody giggles. Oh how kind you were. “That would be perfect (y/n)-Chan.”

Ecstatic, (y/n) pays for their drinks, giving melody a small ‘thank you' and waves as she rushes out the door. Melody waves back before returning to her drink. Looking at the tea cup, she starts thinking back, back to York New, back to the Nostrade Mansion, Back to the hunter exam, back to that one tragic night and finally thinking of now, on how thankful she was of (y/n) and —

Melody is suddenly startled out of her thoughts as (y/n) slides to the table, almost slipping past her. The girl is clearly tired since she is sweaty and out of breath. Melody blinks a couple of times, unsure of what happened to (y/n).

“M-melody? Do you happen—happen to have the keys to the dorms-s”

Melody blinks some more before breaking out in laughter. Oh how silly (y/n) could be.

—————————

“And…. Done!”

You let out a sigh and stretch your back. It was hard work getting all this done but it was definitely worth it. Putting your hand on your hips you take in the living room in front of you. The Tv was on with a classic comedy movie, ready to be started. Part of the floor and coach was covered head to toe in different blankets, stuffed animals and pillows to lounge on. Then there was the coffee table, which held many sweets, snacks and drinks and finally the main course of it all….

“(Y-y/n)?” A voice says behind you. Spinning around you see Kurapika taking his shoes off with his bag dropped on the floor. He looked amazed as he looked at the set up in front of him.

“Surprise!” You shout, running up to your boyfriend and giving him a hug. Pulling away you boop his nose, “I thought you needed it especially after I heard you weren’t taking care of yourself. Hmph! How many times do I have to tell you to get a good amount of sleep?!”

Kurapika lets out a small smile at you. “Sorry I’ve been very bus—“

“No buts Mister kurapika” you say, poking his chest. “You're so stubborn sometimes. That’s why I have to come and make you chillax~.”

He lets out a small chuckle as you pull him towards the pile of pillows. Though he soon takes your hand off his arm before you can make him sit. “I’m sorry you had to go through so much trouble but I actually have to get some work done.”

“W-What? Did you not hear what I just said?!” You say. Kurapika looks away from you. This idiot. You bring your hands up to his face, forcing him to look at you. “Kurapika you need to rest. You—“

“(Y/n) I’m sorry I need to get this done.” He says in a firm voice, pulling your hands off his face as he walks away. He was longer playing around and you knew if you continued you could anger him. Clenching your teeth you raised your voice a little bit.

“Kurapika if this is about the spiders it can wait!”

He snaps his head around.

“Excuse me?” He says with a dangerous low voice.

“I said if this is about the spiders it can w—“

“What do you know? Huh?!” Kurapika says furious. He stalks towards you and backs you up against the wall. You choke up as you lock eyes with his scarlet ones, “You still have everything! Your family! Your childhood! Your best friend! I got mine all taken away. What do—“

“I DON’T!” You shout. Stopping him dead in his tracks as he sees a tear go down your face. He was so exhausted and out of it that he had taken his anger out on you. This wasn’t right and he knew he needed to calm down. Wiping the tears off your face you continue, “I don’t understand. I don’t think I ever will but I don’t want you to end up destroying yourself!”

“That’s not your job (y/n). It’s non—“

“It is because I love you. It’s my job as your girlfriend, your lover, to look after your well being Kurapika! I would be a horrible one if I didn’t ever try.”

Both of you are silent for a second after your final outburst. A thick awkward silence. You and Kurapika like to deal with your problems through discussions so this was quite rare for you two to have an argument. Even if this one was small, you didn’t know how to react or feel. When you gulped or took a breath too long you felt like you were adding to the tension by making too much noise. You go to apologize but Kurapika cuts you off by giving you a small kiss on the forehead. “I know you do. I just... you know it’s my goal to avenge them, you know?”

Wrapping his arms around you, Kurapika pulls you into a hug. The soft scent of cologne on him fills your senses, making you relax.

After a couple of minutes you two pull away and both give each other a small smile.

“We both lost our cool huh?” Kurapika says, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Yeah.” You say quietly, “Can you take a small break though? Just for tonight? I’m just concerned you’ll get hurt or sick again.”

Kurapika sighs and thinks for a second. He decides it was ok to take a break for just one night, he nods his head in affirmation. Smiling, you mischievously tackle him onto the coach. Kurapika groans as you land and peck his cheek.

“Ugh you are heavy. Get off” He says; jokingly.

Your mouth falls open in surprise. “Excuse me?!”

Determined to get back at him for the insult you cuddle him closer and attack his face with kisses. Kurapika, his face bright red, tries to move away from your barrage of affection. You let out a giggle as you pull away, you had completely forgotten you had put on a little lipstick so he had many stained kiss marks all over him. Even one smudge on the corner of his lips.

He raises an eyebrow as you use a phone and take a picture of him. Laughing you turn it around, showing him. Letting out a groan he covers his face, embarrassed.

“(Y/n)!” Kurapika whines, “Delete that!”

“No~~” You whine back, leaning yourself onto his chest.

For the next hour, you two enjoyed each other's presence. Laughing with mouths full of popcorn at the cheeky comedy. Creating small talk, well attempting, while chewing on some toffee. Sharing sweet small kisses and loving stares in between the movie scenes. It was a wonderful and perfect night.

Lightly, you groom your fingers through Kurapika’s soft golden locks as he lays asleep on your stomach. You felt relieved that the Kurta male is sleeping and will hopefully no longer be exhausted when he wakes up. Speaking of Kurta, you look at the covered dish in the center of the table. You didn’t reveal the main course of tonight to him. You sigh. Oh well, you can’t do much about it now.

“What’s wrong, habib albi?” Kurapika mumbles into your shirt.

“O-oh I thought you were asleep.” You say, blushing. You were a sucker for Kurapika talking in his native tongue, even though you only understood some of the simple things. It especially made you melt when it came to him calling you pet names or giving you small compliments. He once told you your pet name ‘habib albi’ roughly translated to ‘love of my heart’.

He hums and sits up. “Don’t change the subject.”

You sigh, standing up. Walking over to the coffee table. “Ok but don’t freak out, ok?”

Grabbing a hold of the cover, you lift it up. Revealing a pie underneath.

“(Y-y/n) is that-t?”

“I know you don’t like me looking through your stuff from your village but I remember you mentioning that your mother used to make you your favorite Wild Berry Pie whenever you were stressed. So I thought It counted as an exception.”

You suddenly feel Kurapika pull you into his lap. Looking up you see Kurapika with a small smile along with a couple of stray tears rolling down his face.

“K-kurapika I’m sorry! I didn’t mean for you to be upset.” You reach up and carefully wipe the tears off his face. He soon stops you.

“I’m not. Don’t worry habib albi, I’m not.” He squeezes you closer to him, “I’m actually happy. How did you do it though?”

“Oh! Umm I took one of the old dictionaries you had and looked through the Kurta recipe books until I found the Wild Berry Pie. It’s not exact since we don’t have the same ingredients as the Lukso Province but I got it as close as I could.”

“Ah I see. That sounds very hard to do.” Kurapika says chuckling.

“Yeah it was” You say, leaning over and sighing as you remember the grueling three hours it took to figure out and make. You suddenly sit up, “A-ah do you want me to grab you a slice?”

Kurapika nods his head and you excitedly get up and cut a slice. You had taken so much time in it you wanted it to be perfect. As you lifted it and put it on a plate you sighed, relieved. It had come out perfect. Due to the cover, the pie was still warm and fresh, the right time to eat it at. The crust was a perfect golden color and thankfully not soggy. The wild assortment of berries you added had started to ooze out onto the plate, leaving a nice purple-reddish trail and a pleasant aroma.

You felt proud of your accomplishment and sat back in kurapika’s lap. Now was the ultimate test. Handing him a fork, you watch in grueling anticipation as he takes a bite. Blankly he slowly chews and swallows, causing you to gulp. You messed it up didn’t you? He finally turns and looks at you. Finally, he gives you a wide smile, the first big smile in a while.

“My 'um would be proud.”

You let out a loud ‘yay’ in happiness and kurapika holds you close. You were beyond the moon in happiness that he had said his mom would be proud of your pie. Your pie!

“(Y/n)” You look towards Kurapika’s call to see a fork in front of your face, holding a piece of the pie, “Say ahh~”

You open your mouth and he feeds you the piece. Chewing, you moan at the taste. It was absolutely delicious. Each berry was exploding with a unique flavor. Which ends up creating a sweet blend with the right bit of tartness.

Looking up at Kurapika, you watch as he takes another bite. All the while still smiling. Tonight and every other date were amazing but nothing and you mean nothing was as perfect as seeing this. Kurapika with a wide smile on his face.

You would definitely have to make this pie again.

[mlweeklyprompts]

In the Rain

When Marinette wakes up Saturday morning, she’s barely gotten out her first yawn before she falls into a fit of sneezes.  Tikki is at her side in an instant, nuzzling into her neck, and cooing with concern, “Are you okay, Marinette?” 

“I’m fine, Tikki,” she sniffles, pulling the comforter tighter around her in an effort to subdue the shivers threatening to wrack through her. A replay of the previous night floods her thoughts. 

Luka tucks her hair behind her hair.  She’s thankful for the last moment decision to pull her signature pigtails out before walking out the door for her date.  The way Luka’s fingers brush against her skin affirm that she’d made the right decision.  She loves that feeling. “May I?” he practically whispers, his lips hovering just above her own. Marinette can’t find her voice to from a ‘yes’.   Instead, she goes up on the top of her toes to close the distance between them, melting into the kiss. She bites her lip to contain her smile when she pulls away.  Luka leans down to capture her lips again when they feel the first of the rain drops land on their cheeks. 

“We should probably get you home,” Luka sighs, already looking around for a taxi.  Marinette thinks she hears a slight flair of disappointment in his tone. She can’t deny that she feels the same. Which is probably what prompts her next words. 

“It’s not that cold, and I actually really like the rain.  Will you walk with me?” 

Luka grins down at her.  “Of course.  I’ll walk you home.” 

Their walk back to the Dupain-Chengs last longer than usual, with plenty of pauses for kisses and complete stops for Marinette to jump in a few puddles.  She tells him that it’s one of her favorite little guilty pleasures because it reminds her of being little. He lets out a deep chuckle, but not one of malice.  He’s truly just taking in her joy and joins her.  The two are soaked to the bone by the time they make it back to the bakery, just as the thunder and lightening starts. Sabine is in the bakery when they get there, ushering them in quickly. “Oh, thank goodness you’re here.  I just got off the phone with your mother Luka, to see if you two were waiting out the rain there.  We both think it would be best if you stayed here for the night.  It’s a mess out there.” She’s handing them both towels, but Marinette is frozen in place by her mother’s words.  Luka…staying at her house…overnight.  Luka notices her hesitation, and places a light hand on her shoulder, bringing her back to the present.  He ducks down so he can whisper just to her. “I’ll be fine getting home if you’re not comfortable with me staying here, love.  I don’t want to push you.” She shakes her head rapidly, grabbing his arm.  “No! Stay.”

Sabine chuckles and motions for them to head upstair to the living area. “Luka, why don’t you call your mother and let her know you two made it here.  I’ll get you a change of clothes, they’ll be a little big, but it should work.  I’ll make you up a bed on the couch.  Marinette, why don’t you go take a warm shower?  Just save some hot water for Luka.  We don’t need either of you catching cold.” She delivers it all in her typical motherly fashion, leaving no room for debate. 

“Yes, ma’am,” they nod simultaneously.  They share a little smile before following Sabine’s orders. 

‘Oh my god, Tikki!” she squeals, bolting up a little too quickly and giving herself a head rush.  She pulls the covers up to her face.  “Luka is downstairs! Oh no, do you think he’s sick too?” The commotion sends her into a little coughing fit, which only makes her even more concerned for his boyfriend downstairs. 

“Marinette,” her mother calls, knocking on the hatch door.  She waits for Marinette to grumble out an acknowledgement before entering, a cup of hot tea and honey in hand.  “Oh, sweetie.  I thought you might want this.  Luka’s been up for the last hour in a similar condition.” 

Marinette fills with dread, and lets out a deep groan as she makes her way down from the loft, thick comforter still wrapped around her.  “Oh, Maman.  It’s my fault.  Luka wanted to get a taxi back as soon as it started raining, but I asked him to walk. I’m a terrible girlfriend.”  She falls into her mothers arms in defeat.

Sabine chuckles sympathetically and brushes her fingers through her daughter’s loose hair.  “You’re not a terrible girlfriend, sweetie.  You’re young, and spontaneous, and I love you for it.”  She lifts the girl’s chin up to look her in the eye.  “Luka loves you for it, too.  Why don’t you go down with him.  No sense in you two keeping distance if you’re both sick.  He can spend the day here. Just take it easy.” Sabine bops her daughter on the nose with a motherly chuckle before leaving to get back to the bakery. 

Marinette grins and wiggles a little under her blankets before gathering them up and making her way downstairs to a day full of cuddles, Netflix, and tea.

[cynicalrainbows]

Inner Voice Chapter 7

Fluffy fluffy ending after all the trauma.

The conversation drifts away, as Anna’s phone buzzes with a text and Anne starts teasing her when she won’t tell them who it’s from. After a moment, Jane unpeels herself from the group and stands up, has an urgent whispered conversation with the director and comes back.

‘You’re having the rest of the day off, alright love?’

‘What?’ She wonders for a moment if she’s being sent home in disgrace- but Jane doesn’t look annoyed.

‘So you can rest- I checked and Grace is happy to go on as you for the night so it won’t put anyone out.’

‘It’s fine-’ She brushes at her sore, swollen eyes, hoping they go back to normal before the first show.

‘Really Kitty-’ Catalina gently touches her arm. ‘You need to take care of yourself. After all of that….you need some downtime, I think.’ 

She can feel herself blushing at the reference to her….. She isn’t even sure what to call it. She’d know the words if she was back at Court: a disgrace, an embarrassment, a shameful display, but she doesn’t feel like the others would quite agree with her somehow.

‘I could still go on-’

‘Of course you could’ Anne stops trying to snatch Anna’s phone and bobs up at her elbow. ‘We Howard girls are tough. Obviously. But you don’t need to. You’re allowed to take a day off.’

Perhaps it’s hearing Anna’s words repeated, perhaps it’s the little silly glow she gets at Anne's affirmation of their connection….but she finds herself nodding acquiesce. 

‘Alright…’

When she moves to gather her stuff and starts digging through her purse for bus fare, she’s surprised that the others follow her to the door.

‘Don’t you need to-?’

‘Oh we’ll come back, finish rehearsal of course.’ Catalina waves a hand dismissively. ‘We cleared it with Suzanne- we’ll be back within the hour.’

‘But why?’

‘We wanted to see you safely home first, love.’

‘All of you?’

Anna steps up behind Jane and nods. ‘All of us.’

*

‘It’s my turn to sit in the front-’

‘Well it’s my turn to drive and I refuse to drive with you in the front seat.’

‘Then let someone else drive, and we’ll get Kitty home before midnight-’

Catalina aims a playful swat at Anne’s arm, laughing, and Anne sticks out her tongue like a child. Usually the easy dynamic that seemed to spring up out of nowhere between the two makes Kitty feel wrongfooted, like she's intruding, like she's an imposter being the one related to Anne, when the others know her better...but then Catalina wraps an arm around her shoulders.

‘Kitty can sit in front. You don’t mind, right?’ She asks, quickly. ‘Only you’re the only one I trust not to make me listen to something awful.’

‘Fat chance.’ Anne shakes her head. ‘Kitty is a loyal cousin who would never take my rightful place, right?’

‘Kitty is a kind girl who won't leave me to be subjected to your dreadful taste in screechy, screamy music-’

They're both looking at her and it feels funny, to have them both vying for her favour like this, even if it is a joke, a game. Still it's one she included in- and it makes her feel brave enough to actually be part of it, over the impulse that makes her want to shrink away.

‘I’d… like to sit up front. Please.’ 

‘Yes! Good music for all!’

Catalina squeezes her gleefully and for a moment she’s afraid of Anne being upset with her- is she an idiot for siding against her own cousin?

‘Curse you, Kitty.’

But Anne’s beaming as she says it.

**

She’s buckling her seatbelt and Catalina is fussing with adjusting her seat and complaining that Jane always puts it too far forward, while Anne complains loudly from the back every time it rams into her knees and Jane argues that it’s hardly her fault if Catalina has Amazon-long legs now.

In the midst of it, Cathy leans forward and pokes her head between the two seats.

‘Kitty?’

‘Mmm?’

‘I just wanted to say….It does get easier you know- not believing him.’

‘Does it? Does it really?’ It's her secret fear, that it’ll never go away entirely, that she’ll be hearing his voice forever, but Cathy nods decisively.

‘Really it does. You’ll see.’

Cathy smiles at her warmly before she sinks back into her place and Kitty smiles back. It doesn't feel like they need to say anything else and it’s nice, it’s a good feeling.

She trusts her.

**

The car is quiet and the warm air blowing at her from the vents, the gentle movement, the chance to sit and not talk, means she's almost asleep by the time they pull up to the house.

When they get in, Anna guides her to the shower to stop her from walking into walls. Everything feels a bit fuzzy now, like her body is letting itself sink into her exhaustion.

‘Do you want pajamas or normal clothes?’

She hesitates- and Anna laughs. (She is the only person from the old life who never seemed to be annoyed by her indecision, and she will follow Anna to the ends of the earth in gratitude for it.)

‘I’ll surprise you.’

It's a relief, once the cold sweat of rehearsal has been washed away and she’s warmed up a bit. The clothes outside the bathroom door aren’t hers- she doesn’t recognise the material at first. When she unfolds them, she sees they’re Anna’s own old sweat pants and a faded tshirt.

The writing on the front reads Bitch Goddess. She buries her face for a moment in the worn-soft material before putting it on.

The others are in her room when she gets there. Cathy is putting a cup of tea down on her bedside table; Jane puts a hot water bottle on the bedspread.

‘You looked cold in the car.’

It feels odd, the attention all centered around her, but nice too. 

She's surrounded, shielded, protected.

‘Thanks’

‘No problem, Kitty-Kat.’

‘Will you be ok, Kitty?’ Anna is still eyeing her as if she might break down all over again and she shakes her head firmly.

‘I’ll be fine. Really.’

As much as she had been prepared to push on through rehearsals and performance, the hot shower and the warmth- of the hot water bottle, of Cathy and Anne perched on the bed either side of her- is making her as if she could sleep for a year, even though it’s only mid afternoon. 

The thought of being on her own doesn’t even feel as lonely as it might have done this morning- she can read a bit, she thinks, maybe try the Netflix series Anne keeps recommending. 

‘Don’t do any chores or anything that’s like work, ok?’

‘I won’t, I promise.’

 She has to swallow a yawn half way through her reply.

‘Get some rest, ok?’

She nods; Jane fusses with her pillows. 

It’s like being ill, it’s like being an invalid- but it’s also just nice, to feel so very cocooned in care. It soothes away the stress of the day, the anxiety and fear and the other emotions that have been unexpectedly unearthed: it helps push away the scared shakiness that's still threatening around the edges. 

Catalina tucks a blanket over her; it would make her feel like a child, except for the fact that it’s not something she can ever remember anyone doing for her, ever.

‘We’ll text before we go on.’

‘Ok.’

‘Thanks for….being so honest with us today Kitty-’ Cathy adds. ‘It was really brave.’ 

There are murmurs of agreement.

‘Thank you-’ She feels her face heating up as she says it. ‘Thank you for….listening. And for….everything.’

‘Thank you for letting us help.’

‘Remember, we’re all here if you need a reminder. If you need us to help drown him out a bit.’

‘Or just for anything-’ Jane adds quickly ‘Anything at all, sweetheart.’

‘Promise you’ll let us help you?’ Anne actually looks anxious as she says it, her hands clasped in front of her. ‘Promise you’ll keep on being open with us?’

‘I promise-’ she starts and then starts again. ‘I promise- as long as you promise the same?’ it sounds stupid as she says it and she half wants to take it back but it’s hard to do so gracefully when there are five people hanging on your every word. ‘Promise you’ll all...let me help you too?’

Theres a moment and she cringes- what a stupid stupid thing to say, as if she could help them. Then Catalina sighs.

‘God the fact that that bastard made you doubt for even a moment that you’re a good person makes me want to scream.’

‘What Catalina means is- yes.’ Cathy interpets.

‘We’ll all help each other. We’re a family- right?’

The other queens exchange anxious hopeful glances, and for the first time, the bonds that she’s imagined between the other queens as being strong and impenetrable and utterly beyond anything she could hope to attain seem...fragile. Newly forged, just as her own are. But so full of hope. so very full of hope.

‘Yes’

‘That's right’

She feels the tiniest glow that this is something she’s made happen- this moment, she can sense, is a shifting of states of being, a growing closeness. It's a change that happened because of her, and it’s this- even more so than the way she feels oddly lighter now, even more so that the feeling that she's shed something heavy and dragging that she’d been carrying around- it’s this that she’s grateful for.

They’re not a family, not yet- but they could be.

One day.