#unless he puts a fuzzy sock over it or something | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sometimesanalice · 2 months ago

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Oh you absolutely sent me into a full swoon and tizzy with this!! The sheer about of mutual pining nearly did me in!

There were so many lovely soft moments folded in this that made me all kinds of delicate!

I loved the banter and the way they were comfortable around each other! And that ending!! I was ALL CAPSED over it!

I adoreddddd this cozy fic!!

More for you!

The smile on his face grew as he took you in - sweatpants, a baggy sweatshirt dotted with flour, fuzzy socks, and not a stitch of makeup. The difference from your normally put-together appearance was stark. “Morning, Duch.”—- I love that he is clearly so charmed getting to see her in her most casual state of being. Those little domestic moments that most people don't get to experience with each other unless they're roommates or living together! it's probably the most undone he's ever seen her, and it's the best kind of new for them!

“I will throat punch you if you touch me with that.” -- the way I snorted, but also she's so real for this because those innards are foul (or fowl if we go the pun route, lol)

“You’re right. Bob probably has a pretty one.”//Bradley didn’t want to hear that you were thinking about Bob’s dick.-- HUFFY MAN IS MY FAVORITE KIND OF MAN

Bradley leaned against the counter beside you and sipped his coffee while glancing around the kitchen. Seeing him relaxing there, one leg crossed over the other and looking like he’d just rolled out of bed, made something flutter in your chest. — i loved how seamlessly they moved about in that domestic duet in the kitchen (minus a buttery hiccup with that injector) getting the turkey prepped! the way they were moving in sync with one another. I enjoyed that who sequence and how easy it is between them! a little glimpse into how it could be between them! but this bit here, them getting to have a moment of downtime together and the way the yearning comes rushing back in. the want!

“You know, you could have saved a lot of time if you’d just agreed to let Hangman fry the turkey.”//That made you snort. “I just finished my renovations - the last thing I want is for my house to burn down.” — Jake seresin in the kitchen is serving CHAOS. I just know he'd be a whole menace and a half if he was the one in charge of the turkey.

“It looks good, Duch,” he said softly, gaze holding yours for a long moment. You felt those inconvenient butterflies again and shoved them aside, dropping your eyes to the cutting board.— INCONVENIENT BUTTERFLIES!! He's so precious for this. I bet he was the ear who listened whenever she needed to complain or offload about the reno, so he knows all about the effort that went into her creating her space. also, if I had a bradley bradshaw gazing the way he's looking at her, i'd probably melt to the ground.

Bradley wasn’t for you.— ok but this line hurts so much 😭😭😭

You rolled your lips together to keep from smiling when he pulled his phone from his pocket and watched videos of turkey injections before declaring he would be in charge of it.— sweet boy!! he's like trying to win her over with his turkey skills now and it's cute to see. the if he wanted to, he would of it all

“I never got to do this before. My mom and I would always go to my cousin’s for Thanksgiving before she died, and it always seemed kinda fun.” //“Yeah?” he asked, excitement flashing in his eyes. — awh this is so sweet! he’s so precious here! Also my guilty pleasure is Bradley Bradshaw in the kitchen so this is everything to me. And I love that she’s the one who gets to guide him through his first Thanksgiving as a sous chef!

“Did you make these?” he asked, setting the containers beside you as you heated a skillet on the stove.//“I did - family tradition is grilled muffins on Thanksgiving morning. You okay with blueberry?” At his nod, you started slicing muffins in half. Rather than giving you space, Bradley stayed at your elbow.— oh I’m all soft over her sharing some of her family traditions with him!! I just know he was absolutely absorbing every moment of it, and getting to have these special little pieces of her that not everyone gets to have. Like the grilled muffins for breakfast on Thanksgiving!

He sprawled on one end of the couch, plate balanced on a thigh as he sipped his coffee. — what does a girl have to do to get this life

“Mine’s more of a ‘hopeless’ chest,’ though. I guess they finally gave up on me getting married because they gave it to me when they sold their house and moved closer to the grandkids. I figured I’d get it out and use it instead of having it sit in the cardboard boxes it’s been in for over two decades.”— I’m too delicate for this 😭😭 this is such a tender spot for her and I’m aching on her behalf!

He nodded even though he didn’t. Bradley never asked for the time off unless he was dating someone who insisted on it. With no family to visit, he was happy to volunteer when there was reduced manning and allow others to take leave.— catch me crying on the couch

“Turn around, Duch.” After a beat, you stepped back to allow him inside and did as he said.— 🫡🫡🫡🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

“You look fine, too,” he said softly. — oh I’m swooning though, THEIR MUTAL PINING IS GOING TO BE THE END FOR ME

“He’s been here all morning,” you blurted out, flushing when both sets of eyes landed on you. “He’s taking care of the turkey.” —plsss 😂😂😂 her just blurting that out is so amusing to me. also we all know another he could be taking care of if you’d let him 💁🏼‍♀️💁🏼‍♀️

“He’s being supervised,” you assured, glancing over your shoulder to see him rolling his eyes. — 🤭🤭

Digging through a drawer, you pulled out an apron and put it on, crossing the strings behind your back before tying them in a bow across your stomach. You thought you heard a murmured ‘Jesus Christ’ when you turned around to see him holding the pot holders. — that man is officially fighting for his lifeeeee lolololol

“Who would have thought the guy who made the barracks evacuate after he burned ramen would make a good turkey,” Nat smirked. Bradley flipped her off, unable to keep the proud grin off his face. — C A C K L I N G, but he had a lady to impress! He wasn’t going to fuck it up!

“You okay, honey?” //The term of endearment caught you off-guard and had clearly slipped out by the flush on Bradley’s cheeks. “Honey?” you echoed, quirking a brow.//“Duchess,” he corrected. — the way I SQUEALED

“Just waiting for something to interrupt.” At your questioning look, he chuckled. “Been trying to kiss you all day, and something always gets in the way.” — AND NOW I AM SCREAMINGGGGG ‼️‼️‼️

“Been thinkin’ about kissing you since that night at the Hard Deck, actually.” — AND HE HAS BEEN YEARNING AND PINING AND LONGING FOR MONTHS?!?!?! I am Certified Unwell™️ and losing my minddd

“When you told me you liked me.” Mortified, you felt a sudden flush of heat and tried to pull away, but he held firm. “But that you didn’t think I was a relationship guy.” — SEND HELP THIS IS AN SOS IM IN A TIZZY THIS IS TOO MUCH FOR ME

“Honey, I’m not interested in her. And she’s not… ask Nat. She’s been on my case about my” - he lifted a hand to make air quotes - “‘hoe phase’ since I got out here.” - L M A O

“As much as this is doin’ things for me,” he said softly, pulling at the apron strings tied at your stomach, “I think we’re done in the kitchen tonight.” — and she had the little apron on all night?!?! Move over Mr Darcy Hand Clench! Bradley Bradshaw undoing some apron strings has swooped in for the most swoon worthy moment of all time.

“Yeah,” you whispered, allowing yourself to reach out and run a hand through his curls. Bradley's eyes closed when you lightly scratched his scalp, and he swayed closer. — this would also be my first order of business 🫡 those curls are EVERYTHING. She’s got her priorities in order

Blushing, you wondered how it would feel on your inner thighs. He chuckled, kissing your cheek, “What’re you thinking that’s got you red?” — AHHHHHH

“Gonna take you on a couple of dates before we get to that.”/“No more ‘hoe phase.’” // “Maybe just one more night?” That made him laugh again as he shook his head.— an officer and a gentleman and a hoe! The holy trinity! I love her for being like “ok but hear me out…” lmao. I wouldn’t want to wait if I had a Bradley Bradshaw under me on the couch too 😂

Author's Note: Do I think that Bradley has a raging domesticity kink? Possibly. — 1000% a certifiable fact lololol

this was everything I needed and more!

Rooster wasn't for you. You were opposites in so many ways - he was an extrovert to your introvert. The center of attention to your wallflower. You weren't interested in a one night stand, and he couldn't offer more. So his volunteering to help with Friendsgiving was just a friendly gesture after you returned from a deployment...right?

Word count: 7.8K

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“Just a minute!” you called, swiping a strand of hair from your face. The knocking stopped, and you quickly washed the flour from your hands, drying them on the towel thrown over your shoulder while heading to the door.

And there, standing on your front step as the sun started to rise, was Bradley. His normally styled curls were sleep-mussed, his grey t-shirt clinging to his arms and untucked from his Navy PT sweatpants. The smile on his face grew as he took you in - sweatpants, a baggy sweatshirt dotted with flour, fuzzy socks, and not a stitch of makeup. The difference from your normally put-together appearance was stark. “Morning, Duch.”

“You’re late.” Laughing, he held up a bag of microwavable frozen corn.

“Had to turn around when I forgot my contribution.” Rolling your eyes, you stepped back to let him in, watching to ensure he removed his shoes before following you into the kitchen.

“The turkey’s already thawed and in the sink. I just need you to clean it out, and I can take it from there.” Bradley nodded, tossing you the corn before going to the kitchen. You put it in the freezer and walked to the downstairs bathroom to wash your hands before resuming your spot at the counter, picking up your bread lame and staring at the unbaked loaf. A part of you wanted to do a simple score, knowing that it would just be eaten, but the hostess in you demanded a more intricate design. The indecision tore at you. To buy time, you sprinkled the top with more rice flour.

“Can you get me the trashcan?” Bradley asked, and you nodded, quickly abandoning your project. After you set it beside him and pulled off the cover, he tossed the netting and plastic. You couldn’t help but notice his biceps flex as he shifted the turkey. But you shrunk back when he reached into the cavity and pulled out the giblets and gravy package, shaking your head at his raised eyebrow. He discarded them as you braced yourself, nose scrunching when he removed the neck. “You alright there, Duch?” he teased.

“Gross.”

“It’s just a turkey neck,” he said, holding it closer to you. You jumped back.

“I will throat punch you if you touch me with that.” He laughed, edging it closer, and you raised a fist. There was a reason a condition of you hosting everyone for Friendsgiving was someone else cleaning the turkey.

“Didn’t take you for being squeamish.”

“You would be, too, if your grandpa chased you around the house with it when you were a kid, and you had to lock yourself in a bathroom to escape.” At his barked laugh, you shook your head. “I told that to my ex, and he thought it was funny to put it in his zipper and chase me around the house with it. If floppy dick isn’t attractive, a turkey neck sure as shit isn’t.”

Bradley choked on a laugh. For as prim and proper as you were at times - hence the callsign Duchess - you sometimes reminded everyone that you also had a military sense of humor. “Maybe you just haven’t seen the right ‘floppy dick,’” he smirked, dropping the neck into the trash.

Shrugging, you glanced away from him when the oven beeped, alerting that it was preheated. “You’re right. Bob probably has a pretty one.” A rosy flush crept up his cheeks as he turned back to the turkey and forced a laugh. Bradley didn’t want to hear that you were thinking about Bob’s dick. “Put it in this afterward, and I’ll dry it.” After dropping the roasting pan beside him, you rewashed your hands.

Standing in front of your bread, you bit your lip to keep from giggling as you contemplated scoring a dick into the dough but decided to go with a traditional wheat stalk. To your surprise, he grabbed the roll of paper towels by the sink and patted the turkey dry, even the cavity. As you removed the Dutch oven from the preheated oven, he tied up the trash bag and took it out. After putting the bread into the oven, you set the timer and moved to the sink, glancing at Bradley when he came back in. Standing beside you, he reached for the soap and lowered the water temperature before scrubbing his hands. Removing the hand towel from your shoulder, you draped it over his after drying your hands. “Thanks,” he murmured.

“Thanks for taking care of the turkey.” Standing by the island, you crouched to retrieve a cutting board. The sound of other cabinets closing made you peek over the countertop to see him rooting through the overhead storage. “Are you looking for something?”

“Coffee mugs.” Biting back a retort about making himself comfortable, you pointed to the right of the stove. You bit your tongue when he grabbed two mugs - including your favorite - and went to the wet bar where the full pot was finished brewing. Placing the cutting board on the counter, you grabbed a knife from the block and were surprised to see a mug of coffee beside your workstation. Murmuring your thanks, you grabbed the creamer from the fridge along with packages of herbs and butter. “What are you making?” Bradley asked.

“A marinade since I didn’t brine the turkey.”

“You want a hand?”

“I’ve got it,” you said automatically. “I’ve got a schedule.” He didn’t need to know that you were already behind after falling asleep on the couch early last night and forgetting to set your alarm. And he definitely didn’t need to know that you’d only been awake for 20 minutes before he arrived. If you put your head down and focused, everything would still be ready to eat at the agreed-upon 3:00 PM. Some of your time to get yourself ready would just have to be sacrificed. For some reason, you’d insisted that everyone dress nicely for Friendsgiving. Wearing a uniform almost every day didn’t give you any opportunities to dress up, and sometimes it felt nice to wear something other than jeans and a t-shirt.

Setting your tablet up, you navigated through the bookmarked recipes and rinsed the herbs before pulling them from the stems. Bradley leaned against the counter beside you and sipped his coffee while glancing around the kitchen. Seeing him relaxing there, one leg crossed over the other and looking like he’d just rolled out of bed, made something flutter in your chest.

“You know, you could have saved a lot of time if you’d just agreed to let Hangman fry the turkey.”

That made you snort. “I just finished my renovations - the last thing I want is for my house to burn down.” It had taken months to get your home exactly how you wanted it. After twelve years in the Navy, you were ready to put down some roots, and buying a home had seemed like the smart thing to do. Living in a construction zone for the last year hadn’t been fun, but a well-timed deployment meant you weren’t there for the worst of it. The results were worth the pain, and you’d jumped at the chance to host when you got back and realized most of the squad had no plans for Thanksgiving. You couldn’t wait for them to see the changes in the Craftsman that had been a definite fixer-upper when you purchased it. The kitchen had been completely gutted and replaced with double ovens and quartz countertops, and the smaller kitchen island had been moved and changed to a wet bar with a wine fridge, replaced with an oversized one. The popcorn texture was scraped from the ceiling throughout the house, the floors redone, and the walls painted. The primary bath had been updated with a large soaker tub and walk-in shower, and you loved the giant closet. The guest bathrooms still needed work, as did the yard, but those were projects for later.

“It looks good, Duch,” he said softly, gaze holding yours for a long moment. You felt those inconvenient butterflies again and shoved them aside, dropping your eyes to the cutting board. Bradley wasn’t for you. You were too different - he enjoyed nights out at the bar, while you liked to spend time at home. He liked being the center of attention while you preferred to blend into the background. Besides, he didn’t seem much like a relationship guy, given the number of flings he had at the Hard Deck, while the idea of casual dating gave you hives. Pushing away from the counter, Bradley reached under the sink for a trashbag, putting it into the can before washing his hands. He moved closer, nose twitching slightly at the scent of rosemary, and braced his big hands on the countertop beside you. “Alright, what can I do?”

“You don’t - ”

“Lemme help.” His eyes met yours, smiling when you sighed.

“Fine. The meat injector is in here,” you said, bumping one of the drawer handles with your hip. “And I’ll need the chicken stock from the pantry.” Pouring the stock, herbs, and a couple of sticks of butter into a stockpan, you handed Bradley a silicone spatula and told him to stir. You rolled your lips together to keep from smiling when he pulled his phone from his pocket and watched videos of turkey injections before declaring he would be in charge of it. Reluctantly, you agreed. Once the marinade had cooled, the bird was given a second drying, you had finished the coffee, and Bradley had rewatched the video three times, it was time. He studied the turkey through narrowed eyes as you tried not to laugh. “You want to - ”

“Ah!”

“The breast and thighs - ”

“I’m doing it, Duch,” he cut you off.

“Well, remember that if it turns out dry.” The unimpressed look Bradley shot you made you grin as you put your chin in your hand and motioned for him to proceed. The tip of his tongue poked through his lips as he filled the injector and hovered the needle over the turkey. His eyes darted to you, and you raised an eyebrow. “You can tap out at any time, Rooster.” Instead of replying, he pierced the meat and pushed down on the plunger. You couldn’t help but laugh when he yelped, marinade spraying in his face after pushing too hard. But when he reached to wipe it away, you caught his hands. “Don’t put turkey germs all over your face,” you scoffed, towing him toward the sink. You held his chin while cleaning his face with wet paper towels.

“Now you’re just messing with me,” he chuckled when you scrubbed his mustache, but he didn’t pull away. His breath was hot on your hand, and his smile soft when you reached up to dab away a speck of garlic in his eyebrow. Balling up the paper towel, you shook your head.

“Wash your face with soap to make sure you don’t get salmonella. Cyclone’ll kill me if you’re out with food poisoning.” Turning on the water, you ensured it was warm before getting a clean washcloth. The oven timer beeped as you dug through the linen closet, and you hurried back into the kitchen, throwing the towel on the sink beside him and grabbing the pot holders to take out your bread. Once it was on the wire rack to cool, you moved to the turkey.

“What’re you doing?” Bradley demanded, turning while drying his face.

“Taking over.” You gasped when he closed the space between you in a few strides, wrapped his arm around your waist, and lifted you away from the counter. “Bradshaw! What the hell?”

“Told you I’m doing it,” he chuckled in your ear. Once back on your feet, you spun in his hold and stared at him. Butterflies erupted in your stomach at his cocky smirk.

“Fine, but if you waste more of my marinade, you’re out of my kitchen.”

“Deal.”

Thankfully, there were no further incidents, but you kept a close eye on him while slicing up a loaf of bread you’d baked two days before and let go stale for stuffing. After covering the roasting tray with tin foil, the bird went back into the fridge to rest for a few hours. “Thanks, Rooster. I guess I’ll see you later?”

“What else can I do?”

“You don’t - ”

“I want to help. I haven’t…” his eyes dropped to the floor as he shrugged. “I never got to do this before. My mom and I would always go to my cousin’s for Thanksgiving before she died, and it always seemed kinda fun.”

Everyone on the squad knew that Bradley’s parents had passed when he was young. He didn’t mention them often, but you noticed he’d get quiet sometimes when people talked about their families. So his volunteering the information felt important, and glancing at the clock showed that you were still behind schedule. “Fine.”

“Yeah?” he asked, excitement flashing in his eyes.

“Don’t look so happy - you’re doing prep work. You can peel potatoes, assemble the veggie tray, and roast the garlic. I need to work on sides and desserts.”

And he did. Bradley followed your instructions, grimacing while peeling potatoes over the trash can until you took out a plastic bag and put it in the sink for him to do it there. You kept an eye on him as he cut the spuds into uniform pieces after explaining that they wouldn’t cook evenly for the mashed potatoes, somewhat worried that he would cut himself. Rather than deal with the onions, you delegated the task and tried not to laugh at his near-constant sniffles and swipes at his watery eyes as you diced peppers. Once you dug out the hand-me-down crystal platters, he arranged the veggies you’d prepped the night before while making pies. Dips were mixed, and cans of olives and bottles of pickles were opened and drained before being plated.

Other than bumping into one another when going for the fridge at the same time, it wasn’t too bad sharing the kitchen. The coffee pot was quickly emptied, and Bradley brewed another between shredding blocks of cheese. You sang along with your playlists, his deep voice joining on a few songs while teasing you about others. When you sang about karma being a kink, he watched your hips sway at the sink, clenching his jaw when you sang a breathy ‘oh god.’

He slid the roasting tray into the oven when the turkey was rested and ready to cook. “Now what?” he asked, turning to look at you.

“Now we keep an eye on it for about four hours. Baste and re-inject it every hour or so,” you shrugged. A glance at his watch showed it would be almost 2:00 PM by the time it was ready. As though realizing it would still be hours before eating, his stomach grumbled its discontent. He blushed when you smirked. “I guess the least I can do is make my sous chef breakfast. Get the muffins and butter from the fridge for me.”

“Did you make these?” he asked, setting the containers beside you as you heated a skillet on the stove.

“I did - family tradition is grilled muffins on Thanksgiving morning. You okay with blueberry?” At his nod, you started slicing muffins in half. Rather than giving you space, Bradley stayed at your elbow. A comfortable silence fell, broken only by sizzling butter. His gaze met yours when you glanced up at him, and a smile tugged at his mouth.

An image of reaching up to bury your fingers in his messy curls and tugging his mouth down to meet yours flashed through your mind. Your fingers twitched with the urge to do it, eyes drifting to his mouth and lingering there for a moment too long. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and you forced yourself to look away, heat creeping into your face.

You nearly jumped out of your skin when he reached up to shift a strand of hair that had fallen from your messy bun. “I’m glad you're back, Duch,” he said, voice slightly raspy.

Forcing a laugh, you plated two muffins and handed them to him. “Everyone misses the mom friend of the group when she’s deployed.” Your eyes darted to his stomach when it growled again, just in time to see the front of his sweats twitch. Pretending you didn’t see it, you nodded to the living room. “The parade is recording if you want to watch it.”

Bradley opened his mouth as though he would say something before taking the apparent dismissal. Alone in the kitchen, you touched your cheek and felt warm skin. With a deep breath, you grilled yourself a muffin as the sound of the broadcasters came from the living room. After topping up your coffee, you joined him. He sprawled on one end of the couch, plate balanced on a thigh as he sipped his coffee. Sitting on the opposite side, you crossed your legs and let out a soft groan. Only a couple of hours standing in the kitchen and your back was already starting to protest. “What else do you have to do this morning?” he asked after a moment.

Mentally running through your list, you sighed. “I need to do some cleaning and get into the attic. I’ll start cooking a bit closer to noon, so things just have to be warmed up.”

“What do you need from the attic?”

“My nice china. My parents bought my sister and I sets for our hope chests when we were kids.”

“What’s a hope chest?”

“You know, stuff you’d need once you get married?” When his eyebrows shot up, you shrugged. “They weren’t really serious about it - it was more of a joke. But, every once in a while, they’d buy something for us and put it away for when we were older and say it was for our hope chest.” Taking a bite of muffin, you gave him a sad smile, “Mine’s more of a ‘hopeless’ chest,’ though. I guess they finally gave up on me getting married because they gave it to me when they sold their house and moved closer to the grandkids. I figured I’d get it out and use it instead of having it sit in the cardboard boxes it’s been in for over two decades.” Something passed over Bradley’s face but disappeared in an instant. Wanting to change the subject, you asked, “What do you usually do for Thanksgiving?”

“Nothing. It’s just another Thursday.” When you frowned, he lifted a shoulder. “A couple of times, I went to the Officer’s Club, or someone would invite me over. But most of the time, I just make myself a turkey sandwich and catch up on sleep. What about you?”

“If I’m not with my family, then this. When I first commissioned, I went to the O-Club with some friends but missed cooking and hanging out. And you know how hard it is to go home for the holidays.” He nodded even though he didn’t. Bradley never asked for the time off unless he was dating someone who insisted on it. With no family to visit, he was happy to volunteer when there was reduced manning and allow others to take leave. “So I invited a couple of people from my squad over, and that was that.”

“It’s a lot of work.”

“It is,” you agreed. “But it’s worth it.” Bradley’s fingers curled around his plate and in his sweatpants, his chest expanding as he took a deep breath. When he shifted forward, you quickly stood and reached out your hand for his empty plate. “Do you want another one?” Shaking his head, he stood and took your plate.

“Do you?” Swallowing hard, you shook your head and watched him walk back into the kitchen. Biting back a groan, you gave yourself a moment to collect yourself. Things had been…different… since you’d gotten home. And as much as you enjoyed these quiet moments alone with Bradley, it also stung. You’d thought the time away would help, but as soon as you were back, it was like no time had passed. He was still there, partnering for foosball in the Ready Room and coaxing you to go to the Hard Deck. Making sure that you sat next to him in briefings. Offering to look at your car when it made a noise.

Friends. That’s what friends do for each other. After all, he did the same for Nat.

Collecting the empty coffee mugs, you followed him to the kitchen and watched as Bradley cleaned up the mess and set it in the sink. “Don’t feel like you have to stick around, Rooster. I can handle getting everything ready.”

“I’m happy to help if you want me here. I’d just sit at my house watching TV and wait to come back if I went home.”

Chewing the inside of your lip, you bit back a wave of want. “Don’t think this gets you out of the dress code,” you replied, forcing your voice to be cool while allowing your eyes to run the length of him. “I’m serious - slacks and button-downs, not sweats.”

Laughing, he snapped a salute. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll make sure I run home and change to pass your inspection.”

The rest of the morning was a blur, punctuated by moments of stark clarity.

Bradley’s hands on your waist as you climbed down the attic stairs.

Biceps flexing as he carried your Christmas tree to a spare bedroom to set up tomorrow.

His elbow bumping yours as he dried the china and set it aside.

The look of concentration on his face when he basted and injected the turkey again.

His body passing close to yours as he emptied the dishwasher and you assembled dishes.

Just after noon, he went home to get ready while you showered. People were due to arrive around 1:30 PM, and you were back on schedule with your unexpected assistant.

Sooner than you expected, there was a knock at the door. Groaning, you capped your mascara, shimmied into your black sheath cocktail dress, and went to answer it. Bradley stood on the porch, having changed into a pair of slacks and one of his nicer Hawaiian shirts, hands in his pockets. Folded over his arm was a coat, and he grinned at you when he caught you looking at it. “Wasn’t sure if I would pass inspection without a sports coat,” he chuckled, allowing his gaze to rake over you. A flush rose on your cheeks as you reached behind yourself to pull up the dress zipper. It caught just above the top of your thong. “You look… you’re fine.” Chuckling, he shook his head.

“Turn around, Duch.” After a beat, you stepped back to allow him inside and did as he said.

“There’s a hook and eye at the top,” you said and inhaled sharply when you felt his fingers brush the back of your neck. The smell of his cologne enveloped you, and you bit back a moan when his hand moved to your lower back and tugged the zipper up. After a beat, you turned to face him and were surprised by how close he was. His mouth curved into a smile as he looked down at you, hand resting on your waist.

“You look fine, too,” he said softly. Your hands itched to move to his chest. Bradley’s eyes drifted to your lips, and your breath caught as his fingers flexed around you. If asked, you would have sworn you felt the lightest pressure pulling you closer - but then someone knocked on the door. Stepping out of his hold, you smoothed your hair down and ignored the brief moment his hands hung in suspension before being shoved back into his pockets.

“I came early to see if you needed a hand,” Phoenix said when you opened the door. In her hands was a tray, and she’d also chosen a cocktail dress for the occasion. Her normally tied-back hair was loose around her shoulders.

“Hey,” you smiled, hoping that you weren’t blushing. Nat’s eyes shifted over your shoulders and narrowed slightly.

“What are you doing here?”

“Same as you - seeing of Duch needed help.”

“He’s been here all morning,” you blurted out, flushing when both sets of eyes landed on you. “He’s taking care of the turkey.”

“The guy who hates cooking is in charge of the main dish?” Nat smirked. “Probably would have been better letting Hangman fry it.”

“He’s being supervised,” you assured, glancing over your shoulder to see him rolling his eyes. Stepping back to let Nat into the house, you accidentally bumped into Bradley, who held your hips to steady you. Quickly moving away from his touch, you took the tray from her and motioned for them to follow you into the kitchen. “I haven’t had a chance to put any drinks out, but there’s some coffee left and wine chilling. I still need to make the cocktails, but there’s also soda and flavored water.” The two followed you, exchanging a look that you missed.

As soon as he entered the kitchen, Bradley tossed his coat onto the wet bar and moved to the oven, flipping on the light to check the turkey before glancing at his watch. “I need to do the last basting, right?”

“It’s about that time,” you agreed, glancing at the clock. Digging through a drawer, you pulled out an apron and put it on, crossing the strings behind your back before tying them in a bow across your stomach. You thought you heard a murmured ‘Jesus Christ’ when you turned around to see him holding the pot holders.

You could feel Nat watching as you worked together to remove the turkey and then return it to the oven, popping olives into her mouth and smirking. “Looks like you guys have it down,” she said. “Don’t need my help at all.”

“Nope,” Bradley said, drowning out your, “You can feel free to relax.”

“Might as well do something since I’m here,” she shrugged, pushing off her elbows. “What can I do?”

And so, with a third set of hands, you set them to making large batches of seasonal cocktails while you cut the bread you’d made that morning, covering it with slices of brie and dried cranberries before drizzling it with honey. A quick scroll through your schedule gave you the times to start cooking, and you preheated the second oven.

The house slowly filled as more of the squad arrived. Countertops were quickly covered with their contributions - thankfully, more than beer and wine, and only a few sides repeated - and you mentally shifted your schedule to accommodate the additional dishes.

Mav, Penny, and Amelia were the last to arrive, with her new bartender, Georgia, in tow. Penny had asked you if she could invite her, given that the woman was new to the area and didn’t have anywhere else to spend the holiday. You’d replied with, “The more, the merrier,” just like you had for everyone else’s requests to bring a guest.

But you regretted that sentiment when you saw how she zeroed in on Bradley, staying close to him while you worked in the kitchen. The few times you broke away to mingle - showing off your renovated home, making sure that everyone’s glasses were topped off and that they didn’t need anything - you saw her hanging off his arm, giving him a simpering smile that set your teeth on edge. And, while she’d adhered to the dress code, you weren’t exactly thrilled to see that her breasts were nearly spilling out of her low-cut dress.

“You need anything, Duchess?” Payback asked, setting down the pitcher of spiced ginger pear and bourbon.

“I’m good,” you replied, wiping your hands on the dish rag thrown over your shoulder and blowing a loose strand of hair from your face. “Turkey should be done in a few minutes; once it rests, we can eat.”

“Thanks for doing this,” he said, glancing over at your full house. Aviators were sprawled across your living room and spilled out into the backyard. It was exactly what you’d hoped for when redesigning the house - plenty of space to comfortably entertain.

“I’m happy to, Payback,” you smiled, allowing him to pull you in for a hug. “Beats having a quiet house for the holidays.”

“Want me to get the turkey out for you?”

“I’ve got it covered,” a voice said behind you, and you couldn’t help but wonder about Bradley's slightly sharp tone as you pulled away from the hug.

“Got it,” Payback replied, raising an eyebrow and lifting his hands. “Let me know if you need anything, Duch.” Squaring your shoulders, you turned to face the man behind you and forced a smile.

“I’ll clear off a spot on the stove for you to put the pan, and then we’ll let it sit for half an hour.”

“Then it’ll be done?”

“Then you’ll have officially made your first turkey,” you nodded. When the timer went off, Bradley quickly pulled the bird from the oven and set it on the stove, closely inspecting his work.

“Does it look right?”

“Yes, relax.”

“Did you make it?” a smokey voice asked, and you felt your shoulders rise. Glancing at Georgia, you saw Bradley’s eyes dart between you.

“He did,” you answered, smiling at the woman.

“I just followed her directions,” he replied.

“It looks great!” Georgia giggled. Forcing a smile, you undid the apron strings and pulled it off before excusing yourself. You could feel eyes on you as you walked down the hallway to your bedroom and shut the door, retreating to your en suite.

After washing your hands for the millionth time, you quickly applied lotion while examining your appearance in the mirror. Compared to Georgia, you looked matronly with your hair pulled back and a higher neckline. Sure, your dress was classy - somewhat tight and falling just above your knees - but not attention-grabbing.

Not that you were trying to grab anyone’s attention.

A knock on your bedroom door startled you, and you peeked out to call, “Who is it?”

“Rooster.” Glancing back in the mirror, you saw your cheeks were slightly pink and scowled at your reflection.

“Get it together,” you hissed before turning off the light and going to open the door. And there he was, smiling down at you.

“Your phone was going off,” he said, holding up your cell. When your eyes flitted toward it, the device unlocked to show your family group chat was going off. Taking it from him, you swiped up to see videos and pictures. A smile crept onto your mouth as you clicked the first and heard your older sister’s voice.

“Guess what?” she said before tossing a card down and throwing her hands up. Cheers and laughs broke out, and you could hear your nephew complaining as your grandmother said, “Looks like Mom won!”

The camera panned to show your other nephew licking whipped cream off his pie, utterly unfazed by the family now pounding on the table in a drumroll. Catching Bradley’s interested expression, you moved so he could see the screen. Scrolling through the other videos, you watched your mom roll down a hill with the boys and your dad holding a glass of wine with your brother-in-law. The sight made your heart clench, and you sighed. Being away from family on the holidays was the worst. Thankfully, they all understood that your job didn’t always give you the flexibility to be with them.

“Looks like a fun group.”

“They are. I’m glad I get to spend Christmas with them.” He nodded, a flicker of sadness and something else in his eyes. “What are you doing for Christmas?”

“Mav’s already told me I’m spending it with him and Penny.”

“Sounds like fun.” You knew a complicated dynamic existed there but didn’t want to pry. His shoulder lifted, eyes drifting to your now dark phone. And that’s when you recognized the look on his face - longing. “Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” When he saw your unconvinced expression, he sighed. “Holidays kind of suck when you don’t have family.”

“I’m sorry, Bradley.” Something in his expression changed when you said his name and reached out to touch his arm. His eyes darted from your hand to your face, and you quickly pulled away. But he was faster, catching your fingers and holding tightly. Your breath caught with the intensity of his gaze, and he stepped into your room. His breath was warm on your face when you refused to retreat. Lifting your chin, you saw his throat bob when he swallowed.

“Hey, there’s a timer going off,” Bob called down the hall.

“Be right there,” you yelled back, pushing lightly against Bradley’s chest and forcing space between you. But when you tried to shake off his hand, he held fast. “I need to go, or something will burn,” you breathed. Reluctantly, he nodded and released you.

You’d already removed the green bean casserole and macaroni and cheese from the oven when Bradley reappeared. Unsurprisingly, Georgia glued herself to his side as he sipped his drink. Though you could feel him looking at you, you refused to meet his gaze.

When everything was ready, you looked over your kitchen and nodded approvingly. When the guys offered to carve the turkey, you turned them all down and delegated that task to Bradley. “He earned it,” you said, glancing at him before busying yourself with opening another bottle of wine. With Coyote and Fanboy at his elbows critiquing his cuts, you steered clear of that part of the kitchen and chatted with Penny while pulling out silverware.

Hangman refused to let you go around the room and tell people that food was ready, instead pulling out a chair and helping you stand on it before whistling loudly to get everyone’s attention. “Dinner’s served!” you said, placing a hand on his shoulder, his arm around your hips to keep you steady. “Thank you for bringing something, and please help yourself. Happy Thanksgiving, everyone - I’m glad I get to spend it with you.” Lifting your wine glass, you took a quick sip and laughed when Hangman lifted you off the chair to set you back on the floor.

Choosing to wait until your guests had a plate, you leaned against the wet bar and smiled tiredly, watching your hard work be devoured. There weren’t enough chairs for everyone at the table, so the group spread into the living room. You took a few pictures and sent them to your family.

Someone stepped in front of you, pulling your attention from your phone. “You’re not gonna eat?” Bradley asked.

“Just waiting for the line to clear,” you replied, forcing a nonchalant tone. The corner of his mouth twitched as he shook his head.

“Come on, Duch.” His fingers curled around yours, drawing you from the counter and into the line. Grabbing one of the smaller salad plates, you let him push you in front of him, taking small amounts of almost every dish while he served himself larger portions. After topping up your wine, you walked to the living room and felt him behind you, ignoring Georgia's attempt to get his attention. He motioned for you to take the last spot on the couch and sat on the floor. “Jesus,” he moaned after taking the first bite of turkey.

“Mmmm,” you agreed. “You did a good job.”

“Who would have thought the guy who made the barracks evacuate after he burned ramen would make a good turkey,” Nat smirked. Bradley flipped her off, unable to keep the proud grin off his face.

Dessert was eaten, and the last bottle of wine finished before 7:00 PM. The house felt quiet as it slowly emptied, and you hugged everyone goodbye. Already, tentative plans for a Christmas party formed even as you fought off a yawn. After assuring Penny that you were fine cleaning up, she left with Mav and Amelia in tow.

Which left only Bradley.

The sound of running water drew you back into the kitchen, and you paused in the doorway at the sight of him rinsing silverware and loading the dishwasher, a hand towel thrown over his shoulder. “I can take care of that,” you said quickly. Bradley glanced at you and shook his head.

“Relax, I’ve got it. Can the plates go in here, or do they need to be hand-washed?”

“They can go in there.” Ignoring the order, you walked around the house, picked up empty glasses and forgotten dishes, and set them by the sink. Donning your apron, you surveyed the leftovers, “Did you want any of this?”

“Yeah, I’ll take a plate.” Nodding, you started to put the food away. Thankfully, there wasn’t a lot left. Everyone had been happy to take leftovers, and you were glad you’d had the forethought to buy containers for them to keep.

The silence was comfortable, and you were stifling yawns with the back of your hand. Between the turkey, wine, and lack of sleep the night before, you were ready to change back into comfy clothes and pass out. Without prompting, Bradley started to cut up what was left of the turkey, placing some in the containers you’d portioned for him before putting the rest in the fridge. You started the dishwasher when it was full and wiped down counters. After tossing the rest of the turkey, he took the trash out.

When the door swung shut, you took the opportunity to stretch, moaning when your back popped before bending at the waist and letting your arms dangle. As much as you enjoyed hosting, your body took a beating, being on your feet all day. You would definitely need to invest in some mats to make the kitchen floor more comfortable before your next full day of cooking.

Even when the door opened, you felt too good stretching to stand up straight. You heard Bradley chuckle and then the sound of water running, followed by the snap of a trashbag being shaken out. Finally, you stood and threw out a hand to steady yourself when the world spun. Hands wrapped around your hips and drew you closer. “You okay, honey?”

The term of endearment caught you off-guard and had clearly slipped out by the flush on Bradley’s cheeks. “Honey?” you echoed, quirking a brow.

“Duchess,” he corrected.

“Rooster.” Your hands rested on his forearms, feeling the muscles flex as his fingers clenched around your hips. Taking a deep breath, you felt your chest brush his. His lips quirked into a wry smile. “What?”

“Just waiting for something to interrupt.” At your questioning look, he chuckled. “Been trying to kiss you all day, and something always gets in the way.”

“What?” you breathed, shock written across your face.

“Been thinkin’ about kissing you since that night at the Hard Deck, actually.”

“T-the Hard Deck?”

“Yup. Before you deployed.” Heat rushed to your face at the memory - or lack thereof - of your going away party. There had been one too many shots, and you had a vague recollection of Bradley driving the Bronco. Of him telling you not to throw up while he helped Nat into her apartment before taking you home. Half carrying you to bed and making sure you had water and medicine - warm hands on your face and a raspy laugh.

“When I was drunk?”

“When you told me you liked me.” Mortified, you felt a sudden flush of heat and tried to pull away, but he held firm. “But that you didn’t think I was a relationship guy.”

“Roo - ”

“I am. A relationship guy,” he clarified, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “For the right woman.” Your mouth was dry, unable to force out a single word. “I was gonna say something before you left, but you avoided me. And then you were gone for three months.”

“I… you messaged me.”

“Wasn’t exactly something I wanted to say over email,” Bradley chuckled. “I like you too.”

“What about Georgia?”

That drew him up short, and a confused look crossed his face. “The bartender?”

“Yeah. She… I mean, she’s clearly interested. And more your type.” Groaning, he leaned down to rest his forehead on yours.

“Honey, I’m not interested in her. And she’s not… ask Nat. She’s been on my case about my” - he lifted a hand to make air quotes - “‘hoe phase’ since I got out here.” That drew a snort from you, and Bradley pulled away to smile at you bashfully. “Gimme a chance, Duch.”

Hesitating a moment, you took another deep breath and gave the butterflies in your stomach free rein. Hands shaking, you wrapped your arms around his neck and nodded, unable to keep from matching his smile.

Moving slowly, as though afraid to spook you, Bradley leaned down and brushed his nose to yours. “As much as this is doin’ things for me,” he said softly, pulling at the apron strings tied at your stomach, “I think we’re done in the kitchen tonight.” Biting your lip, you could only nod, leaning away as he tugged it over your head, balled the apron up, and tossed it behind you. With his hands back on your hips, he walked you backward and lifted you onto the counter, stepping between your knees. “This alright?”

“Yeah,” you whispered, allowing yourself to reach out and run a hand through his curls. Bradley's eyes closed when you lightly scratched his scalp, and he swayed closer. His breath ghosted over your lips and -

“Fucking Christ,” he groaned when his phone started to buzz. You jumped, feeling the vibration against your shin, and laughed as he dropped his head into the crook of your neck. Your breath caught, feeling his lips on your throat. When he reached into his pocket and scowled down at the screen, you saw Nat’s name before he sent the call to voicemail.

Leaving the phone on the counter, he smirked and guided your legs around his waist as your arms went around his neck. His hands cupped your ass as he lifted you. In the doorway to the kitchen, he paused long enough for you to slap the walls until the lights turned off before walking toward the couch and lowering himself onto it. Your knees dug into the cushion on either side of him, forcing the hem of your dress higher.

From this angle, he had to look up at you. Hands migrated from your ass to thighs, callouses lightly scraping and fingertips darting under the fabric to trace shapes on your skin and drag the hem higher. Lightly, you ran your thumb along the scars on his chin before ghosting over the ones on his cheek that had always intrigued you. A moan rumbled from his throat as he followed your touch, mustache tickling the delicate skin of your wrist. Blushing, you wondered how it would feel on your inner thighs. He chuckled, kissing your cheek, “What’re you thinking that’s got you red?”

Rather than answer, you turned and kissed him - just a light brush of your lips against his that seemed to catch him off-guard. You stared at one another for a long moment until he guided you closer. His mustache prickled, not unpleasantly but different, when he kissed you again. It was sweet and unhurried, a direct contradiction to the hardness you felt straining against his zipper.

Pulling away, you smiled tentatively down at him, seeing the remnants of your lipstick on his mouth. The corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled, and you leaned forward to press your lips to them. “Hi,” you said softly.

“Hey.”

“You like me?”

“Yeah. You like me?”

Rather than reply, you captured his lips again. “Drunk words,” you said between kisses, “are sober thoughts.” He barked a laugh before tugging you closer and licking into your mouth.

“Shoulda said something earlier,” he chided, gripping your ass tightly. “Coulda been doing this for a long time.”

“Blame the tequila.” The word came out as a moan when he trailed kisses down your neck, and you felt him smile.

“Thank god for tequila,” he mumbled, nuzzling your breasts and making you grind down on him. Bradley caught your hands when your fingers trailed down his chest to tug at his shirt. “Nuh-uh, honey. Gonna take you on a couple of dates before we get to that.”

“What?”

“No more ‘hoe phase.’”

“Maybe just one more night?” That made him laugh again as he shook his head.

“No, Duch. Wanna do this right with you.”

“I’ve heard the stories. I know you would.” When you rocked against him, he pinned your hand at your lower back and stilled you with a hand on your hip. He growled your name and smirked when your thighs clenched.

“Liked that, huh?” he teased. “Ms. Prim and Proper Duchess likes to be bossed around?” Heat flooded your face, and he chuckled again. Without warning, he stood, and you squeaked, trying to keep from falling. But he held you steady and set you on your feet, towering over you. “Can I stay over?” You didn’t hesitate in nodding, and his kiss was rough before he pulled away and swatted your ass. “Go get ready for bed while I lock up.”

When you emerged from the bathroom, face cleaned and in your panties and a tank top, Bradley was lying in the middle of your bed in just his boxers. Groaning, he looked at you and shook his head. “Where are those sweats from this morning?”

“You want me to wear sweats to bed?” you asked, leaning against the doorframe and raising an eyebrow. His hand drifted down to his hard cock, squeezing lightly. “You’ve seen me in less at the beach.”

“Trying to do this right, honey.” Rolling your eyes, you walked to your dresser and pulled on sweatpants before digging out a pair of fuzzy socks. He laughed when you tossed them at his head, setting them aside as you circled the bed to lie beside him. Quickly, he pinned you beneath him, settling in the cradle of your thighs. As he licked into your mouth, you felt his hips rolling against yours. “Still too damn sexy,” he murmured against your lips.

“Housewife lingerie does it for you?” you teased, running your hands through his hair. Rather than answer, he looped an arm under your knee and drew it up, allowing you to feel him better. “Fuck.”

“Not tonight.”

And, unfortunately, he was true to his word. Anytime your hands strayed to his boxers, he pinned them over your head, seemingly content to tease and kiss all night.

Eventually, though, you could no longer keep from yawning. After setting his alarm - Bradley was on duty in the morning while you’d taken the day off - he tucked you against him, your back to his chest. His cock pressed against your ass as he kissed your shoulder, hand slipping under your shirt to brush the underside of your breast. Sighing, he murmered, “Best Thanksgiving I’ve had in a long time.”

You couldn’t help but agree.

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

Author's Note: Do I think that Bradley has a raging domesticity kink? Possibly.

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#this was everythinggggg #oh it was just what i needed and more!#tgm fic rec

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unknownjpegs · 9 months ago

Text

halloween

It’s near Halloween so he’s thinking about it. Hates that he’s thinking about it—and knows there will never be a single Halloween that he doesn’t think of it.

Just, this time it’s different. When the memory sneaks up on him in the middle of the night, when it’s lingering there in the morning, when it’s inside his head during his commute to class, when it’s still there picking up food before seeing Maran—he thinks about telling him.

He’s never done that before. Telling someone. There was no avoiding it when he was younger. People would just know. No matter what, people could look at him and sigh and go Oh, that’s Jon’s kid. Yeah. He’s up to no good; that’s why he gets hit. But when it stopped being obvious—because he moved from New York, because he stopped having black eyes, or a permanently blood crusted nose—he realized, no one would ever know. Unless he told them.

So he didn’t. So Ben just didn’t. Anyone. Ever.

He’s worrying a fingernail under his canine tooth when Maran’s body bumps into him. Ben has to blink a few times to remember where he is. On a couch, in Benji’s apartment—not his own, for once, but his place was closer to the University—underneath a blanket. Bowl of popcorn on his lap, arm slung around his boyfriend’s shoulders. He blinks again, feels oddly fuzzy.

“Oh—fuckin’—Don’t go in the basement,” Maran’s cringing, body tilted toward him. One of his legs is thrown over Benny’s lap. Both of his are hooked on the coffee table in front of the TV, a socked foot poking out from under the blanket. He doesn’t really remember settling it; must have run on a really decent fucking auto pilot.

Maybe it’s the guilt of that disassociation that makes Benny want to tell Maran. Because, he doesn’t like the idea of auto piloting around him. No matter how convincing he could be. Felt wrong—felt unnecessary too. Didn’t need to do that around Maran. There’d been plenty of times before when he’d navigated around something difficult without needing to go somewhere else. Christ, it made him a hypocrite too, didn’t it? Lecturing Maran on not repressing things.

He runs a hand over Maran’s short, buzzed hair and the younger man briefly glances up.

“Movie kinda sucks, Ben,” he says, a hand groping for some of the popcorn. Benny had thrown little chocolate candies in for Maran. Because he had a wicked sweet tooth and popcorn with M&M’s was a good combo. He watches Maran’s sneaky fingers digging for a chocolate. He thinks about telling him. Thinks about pausing the movie and putting the popcorn on the table and turning to Maran and holding his shoulders. Telling him. He feels a prickling sensation behind his eyes.

The door to the apartment opens and Benji spills in with Xavier, pumpkins under each arm.

“Oi, this was my night to have the flat to myself,” Maran complains, sinking petulantly into the couch with his face pressed into Benny’s side. Xavier raises a pale hand in greeting, big smiled plastered on his wind reddened face. Benji blows air from his mouth to move a black curl from his face—his hair has steadily grown longer and longer since the first time they’d met. Xavier seems to unconsciously brush his hand back over Benji’s hair.

“Mar, you see that new episode of—”

“Ah, no, don’ spoil it, Xavier!”

Ben’s eyes skate to the B rated horror movie they’d slapped on. His eyes lower to the snack bowl on his lap. It’d become disproportionately all popcorn, no M&M’s as Maran had snacked.

Another time.

—

“Th-This is just an American tradition,” Benny explains, standing outside the Spirit Halloween with a wide, sinister grin. “Legend says that—that a store closes and months later becomes a Sp-Spirit Halloween.”

“What the fuck is Spirit Halloween?” Maran laughs, a hand linking into Benny’s as he passes through the automatic doors. A large looming animatronic of a werewolf in tattered plaid greets them, long thin arms raised. “Ah,” Maran says, nodding. “Shit awful decorations store?” Benny bends and slaps the button on the ground, backing up around it and watching the poor mans American Werewolf in London jerk toward Maran.

He laughs anyway, face cracking open into his warm smile. He hops around the overpriced display. It makes Benny smile too, push his sunglasses up and into his hair to keep his blond strands tamed. He lets Maran choose where to go, a hand tangling back with his to tug him into directions. It’s warehouse sized and sprawling with comically bad Halloween decor.

For a while he can forget the memory. Or at the very least, he can push it somewhere else for the time being. Let it back in when he’s alone in his car, or when he’s staring at the carved pumpkins lining the street, or when Lark is on the phone arguing with a family member. For a while, as he watches Maran absolutely tear through a wall of costumes to find something funny, he can just stand there and enjoy Halloween.

Benny runs a hand over the plastic filled bags of costumes. He stands for a moment, looking at the WHITE TRASH DAD costume. Hilarious with it’s stained white tank top, make up to give yourself a missing tooth. Trucker hat. It came with it’s open empty beer can. Benny’s thumb lingers over the models face on the cardboard insert display. He presses the thumb harder until it indents. Beer bottle. His dad drank Rolling Rock. There’s a scar on the bottom of Benny’s left foot from stepping on a broken green shard before.

“Overpriced garbage,” Maran says, shaking his brain stem out the memory. His hand drops and he turns to face him as he holds up a hockey mask over his face. “Xavier’s probably got these, yeah? Could be Jason Vorhees.”

“Hot,” Benny replies, because he thinks he might only be able to manage one word. Maran drops the mask back into the value bin beside him and slides forward. His arms wrap firmly around Benny’s middle. He’s got exactly two inches of height on him because of his combat boots. Maran likes to sometimes exaggerate that slight height difference by spreading his feet and standing lower.

“Alright?” Maran asks, his head cocked a little, eyebrow raised.

Tell him, he thinks. Even in the middle of some shitty Halloween supply store. You can tell him. Get it over with. You’re going to be weird all fucking month. Just tell him. Say it. Say ‘my dad’ and finish it. Tell him.

No. Not in a fucking Spirit Halloween. Benny exhales and slides his sunglasses down and grins.

“We—We’re going to be late.”

—

Benny swings Lark up into his arms haphazardly, stumbling back and nearly colliding with Matilda. The runner clings around his neck, his leg almost bent at a severely wrong angle as he slowly makes his way out of the trunk of the mustang. When he lands and untangles, he puts hands to his knees and exhales slowly.

“That fucking sucked,” Lark says, glancing up at Benny.

“Your—Your idea.”

Maran pops his head from the car window, half dangling out of it. A blanket is sprawled over his shoulders and he’s grinning with all his pretty teeth.

“Saved us like twenty bucks,” Lark groans, straightening. As his midriff is revealed, Matilda’s hands sneak up under his shirt and over his sides, her own grin pouty and pretty. Lark leans back in her embrace, stretching his arms above his head and groaning even louder. Theatrical. “Maran didn’t get caught, either?”

“Stayed under the—the blanket like a good b-boy,” Benny teases. Maran gives him two thumbs up before springing back into the car. Xavier’s large, fucked up truck slowly maneuvers into the spot beside them. It’s bed points toward the giant projector, where intermission commercials play. A hot dog chases a mustard packet. FRESH HOT SNACKS AT THE CONCESSION STAND! Ben listens to the truck’s rumbling engine cut off and watches Xavier fall out the drivers side in his lithe, strange way.

“Lark hide in the trunk to save himself money?”

“Fuck you,” Lark shouts, walking hand in hand with Matilda to where she’d set up lawn chairs for them. There’s a few more for more of their friends who slowly exit cars to join. Benny looks away from the slow meandering crowd, his eyes on Xavier’s converses until they rise up. In the dark, Xavier practically glows, because he’s so pale. His red hair is disheveled, like hands had been running through it.

“You wanna lay in the bed with us?” Xavier throws a thumb over his shoulder. Benji stands in it, arranging blankets and pillows. He’s wearing one of Xavier’s hoodies. He raises a hand in moderate greeting.

“We’re going to—to sit in the car.”

When he joins Maran back inside the mustang, both seats are already jerked back as far as they can go. It makes him snort as he climbs back into the drivers side. He puts a hand under the steering wheel, presses a button and easily yanks it off. He tosses it into the back to join the snacks they’d brought. Maran leans in, almost immediately, a hand slipping behind Benny’s neck.

For a moment, they kiss, in the relative comfort and moderate privacy of the car. Their friends gathered out in lawn chairs in front of them, waiting for the terrible movie to begin. For a moment, he’s enjoying Halloween. His hand is soothing down Maran’s chest and then dipping under his shirt to feel his warm skin. Their lips part just barely and it makes Maran drive forward, chase with tongue like he always does. It makes Benny grin into the kiss. He flattens that hand up on Maran’s chest and slowly pushes him back into the seat.

“Going to m-miss the m-mo—movie, Maran.”

“Jokes, yeah?” Maran laughs, slumping back. One of his legs is propped up, bent so he can rest his chin on his knee. He’s smiling at Benny, one of his hands reaching to touch him again. “Not really interested in the movie.”

Again, he’s absolutely struck with the desire to fucking tell him. Now, of all times. When it would ruin everything. Ruin this moment.

The opening credits roll and darken everything. The cinematic lights flicker over Maran, making him look surreal. Beautiful. The radio in his car isn’t connected, so they can’t hear the movie—it’s just silence mingled with the sound of them breathing. Benny has to swallow and exhale to keep himself level headed, to keep his heart rate moderately normal. He watches the entire time Maran crawls over the center console. He wants to tell him why he hates Halloween. But, there’s never going to be a good time, because, he doesn’t really hate Halloween with Maran there.

It’s been fun. Nice. Normal. The way Halloweens are meant to be. Friends watching a drive in movie, shitty truck beside them shaking as Xavier laughs too loud, too obviously wrestling Benji around in the bed of it. Maran’s knees coming to rest on either side of his hips, his mouth finding him in the dark.

—

So there will never be a good time.

“Come outside with me,” Benny tells Maran, lips close to his ear, bent over at the waist while the other man sits. There’s newspaper spread out across the table, pumpkin guts turning it oily looking. Matilda and Mouse look up at him but then quickly continue with their own pumpkins, heads bent together to snicker about their designs. Maran taps the carving knife on his abomination a few times and then stands.

It’s getting chilly again, but it cools Benny’s burning face as he stands on the pleasant balcony. He yanks the inside curtains closed to give them privacy and leans against the railing that overlooks the little neighborhood across from Benji’s place. It’s a short walk to the University, a little farther to their favorite coffee shop. Down the road and to the left is a playground where Benny had snuck Maran to so they could make out inside one of the plastic tunnels. Play on the swings. Push Maran until he almost went fully around and they fell on the wood chips and laughed and wrestled and kissed.

He wants a cigarette, so his shaky hands find the pack in his back pocket. It’s crumpled, no doubt one of them snapped in half with the carelessness. Do you know how fucking expensive these are? His fathers voice is a bullet in his skull, bouncing off calcium. Stealin’ my fucking cigarettes like you pay rent? I oughta make you fuckin’ eat it.

Maran’s hand folds over his.

“Ben,” he says, brows pulled in. “You good?”

“No,” Benny answers truthfully. He sits down on the damp garden chair behind him, but Maran continues standing. Even though there is another chair, he doesn’t move toward it. He leans with his hip against the railing, on leg between Benny’s. He’s wearing shorts, even though it’s cold out; which almost makes Ben feel guilty. Like they should be back inside the warm apartment, cutting up pumpkins to look atrocious and bad. Benny slips his hand around the crux of Maran’s knee, his thumb brushing over all the little freckles he has there.

“I hate Halloween,” he says softly.

“Got the vibe,” Maran admits, smiling a little. He’s looking down at Ben, patiently, but he can see the worry needling behind those pretty brown eyes. Benny didn’t realize it would be this hard; he felt as thought it should be like ripping a bandaid off. You just say it and then it’s over. But it’s not.

“Really?” Ben laughs a little, pale eyes flickering over his boyfriend.

“Been actin’—bit off. Didn’t wanna,” Maran shrugs his shoulders. “Didn’t wanna press.”

“Fuck,” Benny rubs at his mouth a little. “Didn’t th—think I was being obvious.”

“You weren’t.” Maran presses a bit closer. There’s noise from inside the apartment. Matilda and Mouse laughing—Xavier’s loud voice joining them. His mouth goes dry at the idea of them coming out to the balcony. But there is never going to be a good fucking time. “Not to anyone else, don’t think. Just,” Maran’s hand sneaks forward and Ben’s around his knee lifts until their fingers start to lace together. “Well, I know you a bit, right?”

It makes Benny smile, browns upturned. He brings Maran’s hand toward him, rests his forehead against his knuckles. He feels close to throwing up, but starts anyway.

“I go-gotta tell you a story.”

“Alright, Ben.”

He tells it like that, forehead resting against Maran’s hand.

It starts with describing the cast on his arm. Those awful ones that keep the elbow bent, go up the bicep and down to the wrist. Luckily wasn’t his dominant arm. At eight years old, it had felt remarkably like being in prison. I liked baseball as a kid, he tells Maran. You can’t play one armed.

He walks it back then. Just a little, to why his arm was cast in the first place. Benny doesn’t make it graphic. He could, because he very much remembers the graphic details. The horrible snapping sound and the hour his father had waited to bring him to the hospital. Sorry, Jonny, I’m so fucking sorry. Daddy has to sober up first, okay, buddy? He leaves out quoting his father, because it’s not necessary to the story. It’s just that it lives inside his head sometimes, but it’s a ghost, an after image. Not as strong as it used to be.

So he skips talking about how bad it hurt or the fever from it, or the nurse who had tried so hard to get him to admit he hadn’t fallen off his bike. He gets into Halloween.

“My best friends mom,” Benny says, his words coming out wet. “She—She improvised a Hallo—Halloween costume for me. So—So the cast would blend in.” He looks up then, for the first time since he started talking. Maran moves immediately at that. He presses forward again, moves so he’s settling himself onto Ben’s thighs, an arm slung around his shoulder. “Was a mummy.” He feels Maran’s warm palm on his cheek, against the cold October night air. It reminds him that he needs to shave.

Benny chews at his lower lip, his eyes falling away from Maran’s.

“I wanted to be Spiderman,” he admits.

There’s a long stretch of silence then. Or, half silence. There’s the undercurrent of noise from the apartment. Music thrown on that is definitely from Xavier’s phone. Night time traffic across the street. A woman singing in an apartment a floor below, her windows thrown open. Maran’s breathing in his ear as he holds him.

Benny slides his hands up Maran’s back, curl into the fabric of his shirt. He hears that softly whispered I love you and leans his cheek against Maran’s on his shoulder. He says it back, a strong hitch in his chest almost making it impossible to get all the syllables to work together. Maran waits to hear every single one, with patience. Benny could kiss him for that. Kiss him over and over and over and over.

“I wanna do Halloween right,” he says quietly instead. His eyes wander up from Maran’s to take in the blanket of black night sky above them. They can’t see the stars from inner city like this. Just fat gray clouds that obscure the waning moon.

—

“Ow,” Benny complains.

“Oh, shut up,” Matilda mutters back, her fingers widening Benny’s eye. “Don’t blink so much.”

“D-Don’t poke me in—in the eye so much.”

“Learn how to put contacts in yourself.” When he opens his mouth to reply with something nasty and mean, she pushes the contact into his left eye. He jolts backward, blinking furiously and nearly rubbing at it immediately. Matilda catches his wrist to hold it.

“Ah, ah,” she chastises. “Don’t ruin my make up too.” Benny blinks away the furious spring of tears, cringing on the chair in the kitchen and shaking his head. When his eyes no longer feel cloudy, or sting with the foreign feeling of contacts, he glances up at her. “Are you sure you don’t want me to try and so some burns or something?” She crosses her arms over her chest, head tilted with a pout.

Benny stands from the chair, picking up the glove of fake plastic finger knives and shoving it on his hand. He reaches for the brown hat she had put on herself while getting his make up and contacts in for him and puts it on his own head. Makes her smile—that overwhelmingly pretty smile that he can’t blame Lark for falling in love with. She’d taken her time helping him instead of getting her own costume on—but the entire group would pause and wait for her.

“Wa-Wanted to be a sexy Freddy Krueger.” She adjusts his striped sweater for him and rolls her eyes.

“He was kind of hot even with the burns.” She pauses and tucks fingers to her mouth to try and stop herself from snorting with laughter. Her cheeks puff up a bit as she holds it in. “Get it? Hot.”

“Ha ha,” Benny says.

When Benji and Maran arrive, he has to actually leave the room for a minute. He stands in the kitchen again, staring at the chair only moments prior he’d just been sat in, Matilda smearing dark purple under his eyes to pronounce the black contacts that would make him look extra creepy. He feels Maran’s hand sliding over his lower back. When he tilts his chin over his shoulder, he groans loudly.

“That sh-should be illegal,” Benny comments.

“Crop tops?” Maran answers with his blindingly sweet smile. Ben turns fully then to appreciate the costume. Near exact replica of Johnny Depp’s iconic cropped sweatshirt look from before he was completely shredded and turned into gallons of blood. Maran even had slung bulky headphones around his neck to really complete the look. The light blue sweatpants sat low on his hips so Benny hiked them up a little. “Aw, Ben,” Maran laughs, bumping his body forward so they collide a bit.

“What? You—You’ll get cold.”

“Oh,” he says, nodding, pretending to accept the excuse for Benny’s possessive gesture. Maran’s arms wind up around his neck. “Hm,” he comments in a hum. “Kinda miss the blue.” Benny feels his cheeks get warm, his head turning to the side to look at the fridge and all the haphazard pictures hung up on it. Polaroids of Benji and Xavier next to a weeks old note from Lark about finals. A drawing Matilda did of a cartoon character on a stripper pole. There’s a newspaper clipping that features Ben and his lab partner in it, standing for an awkward picture.

Someone had gone and clipped out every JONATHAN in it before tacking it up.

“Happy Halloween,” Maran says softly. Benny turns back to look at him. He feels shivery. His hand cups Maran’s cheek. He wants to kiss him, but he also wants to say it back. Mean it.

“Ha—”

“Happy Halloween!” Xavier yells, bursting into the kitchen with his arms raised dramatically high. He’s clutching the ends of a cape to give himself a presence—wings, maybe. He’s smiling with all his teeth. Fake, pointed paper white fangs are stuck to his canines. Xavier blinks a few times and drops his arms.

“I’m Nosferatu.”

“He’s Dracula,” Benji corrects, coming in behind him and placing a six pack of beer on the kitchen table.

“I don’t fucking watch horror movies,” Xavier explains in an annoyed tone as Maran bursts into loud laughter. He’s leaning back with it, hands clutching Benny’s shoulders for stability as he laughs harder. Benji shoots him looks, tired, exasperated, eyes rolling up. Benny’s non-gloved hand sneaks toward the beer to unhook one from the plastic.

They end up drinking at the apartment and then going out. They form a large, roving crowd, bumping into other large moving crowds of university students enjoying the holiday. They crawl bars and bars and more bars (where Maran wins a costume content purely because the bartender can’t stop staring at him until Benny starts yanking on all the beer taps) before they end up at a food place, one in the morning. They get loud in the corner of the restaurant and leave a huge, pooled together tip.

Benny writes HAPPY HALLOWEEN on the receipt.

#writing #hj #college au #jlb #mgc #mgc x jlb

0 notes

faiwiezz · 2 years ago

Note

👑 - I’m very, very interested in ur answer. pls go offer some explanation:)

🌻 - my hair is long so lmk :)) (although I recently cut off more than a foot to donate)

🌈 - vv important. (don’t let this sway ur answer, but the way you call me ***** makes me 🫠)

🫐 - the way you have me on the polar extremes of what I want to do to you

🍭 - <3

🧃 - <33

🍯 -

🫖 -

🕯️- I know of half the answer, but the other half is vv important

🩹- .?

🧺 - !!

🧴- do go into detail. faewie thoughts <333

🧸 - .?

🎀 - <3

👑- hmmm this one is really hard, but it might be my size kink. idk if that really counts, but i’d rather salivate over a guy who’s so much bigger than me than anything else tbh. or is that technically a fetish? if not that, intox play probably. most of the times i’ve fucked i was either high or crossed

🌻- my head lost all its feeling tbh, so if i have tangles it’s not gonna hurt. the struggle of having long hair when you were little… i’m trying to grow it back out!! but i’d like to think i’m good at brushing hair, so i’d brush my partner’s hair :3 and braid it if they let me

🌈- this is really difficult tbh, bc i love all of them. i use them all interchangeably but it’s really between daddy or dada. daddy is easier to say, but dada feels weird to say for me for some reason. so probably daddy, but i’d use all of them :3

🫐- ohhhh this is so hard, but i’d rather be degraded super hard then pampered afterwards

🍭- hmmm probably big sweater. whether it’s an actual sweater, sweatshirt, or a hoodie. it’s basically a big wearable blanket if it’s big enough :3

🧃- definitely fuzzy socks, my feet get way too hot in any kind of slippers

🍯- another hard one, bc i honestly love drawing. but for coloring, i love me a huge box of crayons :3

🫖- i hate the heat so definitely fall/winter, unless it’s like to a water park or a pool or something, bc i love the water :3

🕯️- i do sleep with stuffed animals, and i used to sleep with a nightlight when i was little, but i need darkness nowadays. but if i was gifted a cute nightlight i’d probably use it

🩹- hard choice but probably getting my food cut up, i like my sandwiches cut into four triangles :3

🧺- definitely dumbification, i love being talked down to like the little kid i am, even tho i’m fairly smart lol

🧴- oh yes, definitely. i really like somno, i’m a heavy sleeper so i’d love to see how long it would take for me to wake up. or taking a walk through the woods late at night, knowing i’m being followed, and it’s just a matter of when he finds and catches me :3 or just relaxing at home and having an “intruder” sneak in and taking advantage of me :3

🧸- mainly just stuffed animals, but i’d love an adorable sippy cup :3

🎀- i’m in between tbh, but i’m more sexual than anything, i really need someone who can put me in little space so i can just be baby :3

JESUS CHRIST THAT WAS SO MANY, i’m impressed i finished it lol. also i’m giving you an emoji and you can’t complain abt what it is >:3

#asks #🌷 anon #🌷

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serpentthecrow · 2 years ago

Text

Killer Buns

Pairing:Kaz Brekker x crow!reader (gender neutral, no mentions of y/n, or pronouns in this one!)

Summary: washing the grease of Ketterdam off, Kaz and his partner share a cozy moment.🍂🧇☕🕯️

Warnings: none really, just pure tooth rotting fluff, not proofread, ooc Kaz

A/n :I am back! Exams have been kicking my ass lately. Finally wrote something for my love.Decided to try 1st person. Also, Kaz is more comfortable with the readers touch in this. (Image from Pinterest) ALSO; If you'd like to requests something, my requests are open, please read my pinned post before requesting, there you'll find rules but also the fandoms I write for ❤️❤️

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

His hair was still damp from the water he just washed his face with, gloves long forgotten on the basin. His attire consisted of a old black shirt and linen sleep pants, instead of his signature well tailored three-piece suit.

I sat in the big armchair in front of his new mahagony desk i bought him for his for his birthday from several heist pays.

Book in hand, while the warm scented candle threw its light glow at my face, I looked up at him and smiled knowingly, seeing the exhaustion in his eyes. "I still have a couple of documents to look over, but then I will go to bed" he said as if he read my mind. I agreed and returned to reading, cuddling deeper into the infinite count of blankets.

After a couple of minutes he looked up and softly chuckled."What is it?" I asked curiously, as he is not the man to laugh of the blue. "I just can't believe I am looking at the deadliest assassin in the whole of Kerch." He explained. "Well you better believe it Brekker, or perhaps you want a reminder?" I said, though it was not exactly a threat, since the teasing tone of my voice was dead obvious. "I would rather not, darling." He replied with mock fright.

After that, we sat in silence again. One thing -out of many- that I adored about him. We could sit quietly for hours, but the silence had yet to be uncomfortable. After another half an hour or so, Kaz got up and said "I hate to disturb you love, but it's nearly eleven bells. If we want to visit the market tomorrow, we should head to sleep, unless..." He trailed off.

"Not a chance Dirtyhands, Nina ran out of waffle ingredients, so they must be replaced as soon as possible, or we shall not survive!"Both of us let out a small laugh at the thought of the heartrender panicking over the dessert.

After blowing out the candles, we were headed to the other part of the attic, where the bedroom lays. There reside our two beds, that Kaz insisted on pushing closer and closer, until they subconsciously met halfway through the room.

As the last lamp was faded, Kaz whispered a light 'good night' to which I replied with the same words.

"WAIT" echoed loudly through the dark room. "What now Kaz?" I groaned, half asleep. "I forgot to put on my fuzzy socks"he said as I exploded in laughter.

"Kaz Brekker, Bastard of the Barrel, the nightmare of Ketterdams citizens" I exclaimed thought giggles. "Socks are important angel, a significant part of my bedtime routine!" He said, half serious. "Sure darling. Now,let's sleep before Zenik stops my heartbeat before breakfast even starts".

"Right, night love"

#kaz brekker #kaz brekker imagine #kaz brekker x reader #six of crows fanfic #six of crows x reader #grishaverse #grishaverse fanfic #grishaverse x reader

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frogtanii · 4 years ago

Text

a roar of competitive cheers burst from your hospital room, the boys all piled up on your bed playing in a smash tournament on bokuto’s switch. it was rather endearing to watch the good and grown men argue about which princess was a better competitor (rosalina, obviously, despite not being an actual princess) and, in sakusa’s case, pouting like a sore loser when his favorite — daisy — wasn’t even regarded as a real threat.

he absolutely dominated the next round in retaliation, to the group’s chagrin.

you eventually decided to take a break, the stuffiness and loudness of the room getting to you. the boys, while giving you a variety of concerned looks, respected your decision, leaving you to wander out of your space, clad in the semi revealing hospital gown and fuzzy yellow socks.

it was less than convenient to trudge around with your iv attached to your arm but you didn’t mind. the struggle kept your mind off of what you dubbed as The Incident™, weird as it sounded.

for some reason, the smallest things helped keep you occupied, thanks to your vigilance. your call with doctor yamada definitely helped, his sarcastic, biting nature criticizing some random kdrama had you cackling in your seat until your throat was (even more) sore.

at first, you felt a bit awkward calling him when you physically couldn’t speak but he took it in stride, filling up the silence with his commentary that was much, much appreciated.

actually, all the boys had been surprisingly good about your predicament. it took a moment for bokuto and suga to get used to your lack of responses but they eventually grew accustomed to it and even relished your minuscule reactions to one of their jokes or funny quips.

you were actually, finally, enjoying your time with your housemates and it felt good.

well, not all of your housemates. daichi was a given. you’d seen very little of him after the dinner, only laying eyes on him when he visited your hospital bed when he thought you were sleeping. the look of remorse and shame written all over his face was burned into your memory and you made a mental note to find a way to have a conversation with him in an attempt to clear the air.

while daichi’s situation at least made sense, kenma’s did not. you missed him deeply, and you had no idea what to do or say to fix what had been broken. apparently, both kuroo and sakusa had attempted to reach out, but they were quickly shut down. you could tell kuroo was more hurt than he let on, occasionally catching the tail-end of intense conversation between him and omi, but they were both quick to slap on a smile and change the subject as not to worry you when you made your presence known.

you appreciated their concern, you did, but kenma was your friend too and you desperately wanted to know what you could do to help.

a deep sigh left your lips, the action only causing a slight twinge in your throat as you meandered through the cold halls. your brain started to hurt as you thought more and more about it, stress climbing up your spine and burrowing at the base of your skull.

annoying, you thought, your eye twitching in irritation. headaches sucked mad ass and you were not looking forward to the hell of the one that was building up as you walked.

turning down another hallway, you abruptly stopped, your iv screeching to halt interrupting the hushed conversation that a certain someone was having at the far end of the corridor.

kenma!

kenma twisted towards you, his feline eyes widening in surprise as he whispered a hushed goodbye to whoever he was speaking to before shoving his phone into his pocket and staring at you in shock, pain, and most prominently,

guilt.

pure, unadulterated guilt permeated from all over him, the stench coming off of him in waves. you nearly flinched at the sight of him, the deep circles under his eyes practically broadcasting his struggle to the whole world.

your name dropped from his lips in a low whisper, his immediate reaction afterwards leading you to believe he hadn’t meant to say it aloud at all.

you chanced a step forward at his utterance, and then another and another until you were face to face with each other. you felt his eyes searching yours but you made sure to keep your face neutral if not for the blatant worry written all over it.

his plush bottom lip was pulled in between his teeth as his hands twitched by his sides as if he wasn’t exactly sure where to put them. you let out a soft breath at the sight, kind of hoping he would just give you a hug like it looked like he wanted to.

but, kenma held back, waiting for you to do something, to say something (not that you could) to absolve this horribly tense silence that the pair of you were now enshrouded in.

gently peeling your fingers from your iv stand, you lifted them to sign in the small space between your chests, in clear view of his observant gaze.

you recalled with fondness when a handful of the house members had decided to learn a bit of sign language, just in case someone was in a panic attack and became nonverbal. the impromptu learning session had been so much fun that the group had began regularly meeting to expand their sign language vocabulary and fluency until you all were at least semi fluent (in all the ways that mattered at least).

kenma was a member of that group and you’d throughly enjoyed his witty remarks throughout the lesson and his occasional cute little giggles that were liberally interspersed into conversation. that kenma was in such stark contrast to this kenma that it was almost jarring as he watched your hands with rapt attention, awaiting anything you had to say.

i missed you, you began slowly, not missing the way his eyes immediately became glassy and his hands tightened to fists by his sides.

“you shouldn’t,” he replied, his voice deep and gritty. “not after what i did.”

you cocked your head in confusion at his words. what he did? you had no idea what he was talking about but you were determined to get to the bottom of it if that was what was making him avoid you like this.

what did you do?

kenma’s jaw clenched, the guilt that had faded away for a moment, coming back full force. “i... i did this to you...” he motioned to the healing bruises on your neck and the iv stand still by your side.

now you were even more perplexed. he wasn’t the one who cornered you in the bathroom so what could he possibly be going on about? unprompted, your mind flashed back to that night, the moment where you were heading off to the bathroom, meeting kenma’s eyes for a second when you did.

oh.

was that what he was feeling so horribly about? that he saw you go into the bathroom? that was hardly news and nothing to be up in arms about unless he also saw meiko go in after you and...

double oh.

suddenly, all his behavior started making sense. kenma felt guilty because he believed he was somehow responsible for allowing this horrible thing to happen to you.

oh, honey, you signed quickly, driven to get your point across without him interrupting. you didn’t do this to me. meiko did.

kenma opened his mouth to protest but you didn’t let him, one of your hands coming up to cover his lips. he let out a muffled protest, his breath hot against your palm, eyes wide in bewilderment.

“listen to me kenma. you are not at fault here,” your voice screamed at you to stop speaking but not yet, not until you were done. “i know for a fact that if you knew what meiko was going to do, you wouldn’t have let me go.... you are good kenma, so good.”

his whole body shuddered at your words, all but collapsing into you, his arms wrapping around your waist and holding you tightly.

if you faintly felt the shoulder of your hospital getting damp, you didn’t say anything, content to let him hold onto you and cry it out.

after a minute or two, he sniffled and pulled away from you, his face red and puffy but content. “you shouldn’t have talked idiot,” kenma chided gently, a soft smile on his face.

you just gave him an apologetic shrug and a hastily signed “sorry” before waving him off to your hospital room, sending him a smile as he meandered off in that direction. you didn’t follow, figuring he and the boys needed some time alone to reconnect without your presence there.

taking a hold of your iv pole again, you continued on your way while staring out the window, watching the tiny birds fly by. unfortunately, your little birdwatching stint sent you careening into a hard body, your feet losing their grip on the slippery ground as you stumbled to the floor.

a quick glance up at the perpetrator had your apology dying in your throat. it was osamu, looking every bit as bewildered as you expected him to, a small jello cup in one hand and a spork in the other.

you couldn’t keep your scowl from off your face as you waved away his helpful arm, completely missing the flash of hurt that appeared across his smooth skin. “please, let me help ya,” he tried again, this time earning a physical slap on the arm, visibly recoiling at the contact.

“leave me the fuck alone osamu,” you growled before picking yourself back up and starting to stroll away but you quickly stopped in your tracks, turning your head to give him a menacing grin. “if you fuck with atsumu again, i swear on bokuto jr, i will castrate you and feed you your sorry, wrinkly ballsack on a silver platter.”

with that you were gone, head held high and a wide grin on your face as osamu watched, his heart flipping annoyingly in endearment. he breathed a deep sigh and slid to the floor of the hall before popping open his jello and taking a bite.

your reaction was well deserved but he couldn’t help praying and hoping that things would change between the two of you.

change for the better. change for good.

℗ poker face

change for the better

series masterlist

(●’◡’●)ﾉ

an - GOLLY GEE THIS WAS A LONG ONE BHT KENMA!!!!!! and samu >:( anYWAYS SLEEP IS CALLING MY NAME, LEMME KNOW WHAT U THINK <3333 don’t forget to feed me :3 also pls kenma’s secret not so secret praise thing :00

taglist - if your name is in bold, i cannot tag you

@boosyboo9206 • @geektastic84 • @elianetsantana • @trashy-simp • @infinitebells • @6mattsun9 • @suhkusa • @katsulovee • @kotarosbabygirl • @fucktheworlddude • @insomniacwreck • @calumsfringe • @saltylettuce • @chai-blu • @al3x1ss • @hawksyoongi • @jooleuuh • @loubells • @kissungjae • @liberhoe • @tetsurocore • @animeoverdosee • @duhsies • @saiKishaircLip • @afire24 • @premiyagi • @kit-kat428 • @doctorspencereid • @daphnxy • @kyomihann • @maer-333 • @sinoflust19 • @peteunderoos • @peachiikichu • @iidanotlida • @yongboxerrr • @kac-chowsballs • @tanakaslastbraincell • @memorableminds • @risjime • @starry-magicshop • @sugavwara • @smuttyanimeslut • @kiwibirbs-library • @haijkk • @airybnb • @crybabygumi • @iwaisa • @decaffinatedtealover • @notameera • @kawaii-angelanne • @rintarovibes • @urlocalsimp • @keiarma • @shrimpypenis

the rest of the tags will be in the replies!!

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meowzfordayz · 3 years ago

Text

tryin’ to put it into words

Author’s Note: my brain kept unraveling this one shot further and further… this is why we can’t have sleep nice things — we get carried away and then it’s 4am. 😂

tryin’ to put it into words

Rengoku Kyojuro x Reader

Word Count: ~2,000

CW: explicit language, mild sexual content

Song Inspo: You Are in Love by Taylor Swift

Request Fulfilled: Hey there! I'm gonna take the liberty to request something about Rengoku 🌝💖 a fem!reader asking Kyojuro to help her about "how to kiss" (but that's an excuse), since she have a crush on him (since like a lot of years) and she's afraid of his reaction of hearing her confession, so she pretend she doesn't know kiss correctly. I imagine this idea in a alternative universe

~faqs~

9:47PM [y/n]: ‼️ URGENT ‼️

9:47PM [y/n]: URGENT as in WHERE TF ARE YOOUUU?

9:49PM [y/n]: I stg did you forget you have read receipts on?

9:50PM [y/n]: Kyyyo… Ik you’re reading these

9:50PM [y/n]: oh ffs help me pls

9:50PM [y/n]: 😭

9:51PM Kyojuro: Hi [y/n]! 😁

9:51PM [y/n]: don’t give me that bs

9:53PM [y/n]: I have a proposition for you 😇

9:53PM Kyojuro: That emoji is typically not good news.

Kyojuro chuckles as his phone rings, leaning back in his swivel chair. Muted buttery light shines a halo onto his desk illuminating precise piles of neatly labeled folders, a shoddily crafted ceramic pencil holder, and his laptop with an open notebook beside it. Homework can wait.

“KYYYO,” his phone is already a safe distance from his ear — he knows how you get when he doesn’t pick up immediately. He does it on purpose

“Good evening [y/n]! How may I be of assistance?”

“Don’t greet me like a phone operator Kyo,” you huff.

“A phone operator wouldn’t know your name. Are you alright?”

He figures it pertains to homework, and braces himself to disappoint you. Since middle school, he’s finished assignments early so he can offer a helping hand when you inevitably call him freaking out the evening they’re due he slowly turned into a night owl for the same reason, but this specific assignment’s still troubling him. Also, the fact that he’s basically enabled your poor time management for years has NOT yet occurred to him. He’s an angel for goodness gracious.

“Yes!” you pause, “I mean- No! Well, like, yes. I’m fine. But no, I do need help.” Another pause. “Your, help.”

“Sadly, [y/n], I haven’t finished this week’s assignment,” he grimaces.

“Oh that’s okay I can totally help you with it! Actually though are you free tomorrow? I have some very interesting gossip regarding yours truly BUT I refuse to reveal anything unless you buy me bubble tea.”

He admires how freely you ramble talk. How you stumble and twirl around each word. Every inhale and exhale a choose-your-own-adventure with him simply along for the ride. You’re so lively and genuine! Even through the phone he can picture you pacing endearingly, wearing fuzzy socks and an old shirt of his, with at least two half full drinks forgotten on your bedside table.

“What shirt are you wearing tonight?”

“Okay ruuude Kyo. I asked my question before you. But whatever. I’m wearing that shirt you gave me back in the spring Kyojuro LOVES spring cleaning: out with the old, in with the new because it had that stain but it’s super cozy so I don’t know why you got so worked up over some soy sauce when it’s a very nice shirt otherwise.”

This is why you’re Kyojuro’s best friend. Nobody else could keep him on his toes in such an enjoyable, whirlwind manner.

“Do you wear it out in public?” “Uh,” you cluck your tongue in thought, “Nope.”

“Exactly! It is a very nice shirt otherwise, but I did not feel comfortable wearing it out in public, and now that it is in your possession, you also do not wear it out in public.”

“Are you implying a dare Kyo…”

“I am not!” he backtracks hurriedly, “I was only pointing out that while a stain may not retire a shirt completely, it was not unreasonable of me to give it up either!”

You snort, “Yeah, yeah. Now answer my question Mr. not-unreasonable-Rengoku-Kyojuro: are you free tomorrow?”

“What if I am free, but do not care for your gossip?”

“Ah but you care about me, and the gossip happens to be about me!” you quip.

Who is he kidding? Kyojuro is definitely free tomorrow. And, you’re right. He cares about you.

“Are we meeting there, here, or at yours?”

“Can I bring the bubble tea to yours?”

“[y/n], as politely as possible: do not mess up my order again.”

He adores you. Sincerely. But, he does not handle mistakes regarding his bubble tea order particularly well. And you have erred previously.

“Text me it. I promise I’ll show it to the barista.”

Kyojuro takes a moment to consider his roommate. Uzui Tengen: man of many women. Surprisingly tidy, and frequently not on the premise due to aforementioned many women. Uzui has no qualms with you — Kyojuro wouldn’t be roommates with anyone who did.

“If you do not mind me doing homework, then I am available at anytime!”

He knows you won’t show up until at least noon: you’re a sleepyhead.

“Yay! Sleep tight. Cya tomorrow.”

Kyojuro shrugs in amusement as your Caller ID icon vanishes. You never give him a chance to say, “Sweet dreams, [y/n]!” back.

···

1:07PM [y/n]: hey hey you you

1:07PM [y/n]: I’m outside

1:07PM [y/n]: with bubble tea

1:08PM [y/n]: let me iiin 🤬

You’re not a klutz. You swear. Which is why you do NOT drop the drink tray when you see Kyojuro but like, you very nearly did. You can tell he showered earlier: his hair’s especially fluffy in a freshly unkempt way, and the faint hint of sandalwood floating from his collarbones forces you to double check that you’re not melting into a gooey puddle.

“Why do you use essential oil?” you’d ask him in high school.

“Natural cosmetics feel better on my skin! And I imagine I am more pleasant to be around when I smell good!”

“What exactly am I smelling?”

“Sandalwood!” he’d held out his arm toward you.

You’d sniffed his wrist and blinked contentedly. And no, you had not bought a sandalwood candle shortly after. Self restraint who?

“I sent you a Venmo request,” you step into his apartment, kicking your shoes off.

“Paid! With an additional tip!”

He’s too kind. The amount he Venmos you, whether paying for his portion or both, could count as disposable income.

“Is Uzui home?” you peer around nonchalantly.

“He is with Makio! Or was it Suma? He may be with Hina, or was it-”

“So he isn’t home,” you poke Kyojuro fondly.

You head to his room, plop your bag onto his carpet, and put the drink tray on his desk.

“Can, we, uh… sit?”

That’s odd. You don’t normally pause between words — only sentences. Perhaps the gossip about you isn’t… good? He hates to think you’re here doing damage control. Worried now, he sits cross legged on his bed and motions for you to join him.

Ohmygosh.

You join him.

He has no idea you’re on the verge of bolting from his room. It’s not his fault! Not at all. It’s just. You’ve had this grand plan of a slow burn, romantic wooing for ages. In middle school, the concept of love was more so wow he’s cute! and I hope we’re partners for ballroom dancing; playing spin the bottle for feathery cheek kisses and nauseating butterflies. High school introduced when did he grow taller than me? and what if we don’t have any classes together and he forgets about me?; he didn’t forget about you though, and those butterflies persisted. College? Hah. College brought strangers’ mouths to yours: wet and enticing, but never his. Brought finally getting to wear his shirts (high school you was sooo excited), but only because he didn’t want them anymore (middle school you insisted it was better than nothing). Brought 3am conversations after too much homework and too much drinking. Cooking in his kitchen pretending to be lovers. Well. You indulged in pretend; you doubted he did. Stirred those butterflies into a naive, hopeful frenzy. And yet. You’d never consciously initiated your grand plan. Never snuck past that line of we’ve known each other too long and if he loved me, then he would’ve made it obvious… right?

“[y/n],” Kyojuro’s tone is soft. Overwhelmingly soft. “I trust you. You’re wonderful.”

W-what?

“Thanks buddy,” oof. How uncharming of you. Idiot. You look sharply down into your lap.

“Whatever I may hear, I will always ask for your side of the story.”

“Kyo?” you glance at him.

“[y/n],” his eyebrows scrunch, “What is your proposition?”

Gulp.

“So I know I probably seem forever-doomed-to-be-alone but I recently met this person and they’re very attractive like yeah their face and whatever but their personality too and I asked them out on a casual coffee date which was totally awesome of me, they said yes by the way, but now I’m scared that they’ll try to end the date with a kiss because I’m terrible kisser and what a horrible impression that would leave.”

How do they ramble talk so darn fast?! And when, why, how, what they’re going on a date?

Kyojuro maintains a careful gaze, consciously willing his hands to relax from their involuntary fists.

“I am confident you are an excellent kisser!”

You’re too nervous yourself to notice the lowness of his voice.

“Yeah but I well could you maybe wouldyouteachme Kyo?”

Even he couldn’t catch that.

“Could you repeat that [y/n]?”

“Wouldyouteachme?”

“Slower, [y/n].”

“Would. You. Teach. Me?”

Kyojuro chokes. Quietly. He hates denying you. It pains him when he can’t provide. When he can’t be, find, or create what you ask for. But this? This doesn’t pain him. Doesn’t feel challenging. Thrilling. Worth it. It just aches.

“Please don’t ask that of me.”

His whisper splinters you.

He never whispers.

And his rejection snaps you.

He hardly ever rejects you.

You stand abruptly. He doesn’t budge. Doesn’t acknowledge your movement. Well fuck me your eyes sting. Great job [y/n]! your eyes burn. What the hell did you do?

“That was inappropriate of me. Rengoku…”

His heart wobbles.

You never use Rengoku.

He’s Kyo.

Kyyyo.

He’s your Kyo.

“Why did you ask that of me?” his voice cracks.

“Rengoku. I’m so sorry. So, so, so sorry. We’re best friends. And best friends don’t. Don’t do that. Or ask that. Of each other. I’m sorry.”

“If best friends don’t, then why did you?”

He isn’t angry.

You know his angry voice. You know all of his voices.

Except this voice.

You know all of his expressions.

Except this expression.

Somewhere, somehow. He’s, faded. The crisp, enthralling flicker of his stare dimmed to a distracted, disheveled fog. And his hands. Usually so steady. So firm. So reliable. Twitching. His back haunches with unsettling tension. Broad frame shrunken. You’d never seen him miserable. He’s sing-in-the-shower exuberant. Dance-in-the-rain passionate. Fall-in-love-a-first-sight magnetic. And never-gonna-give-you-up, never-gonna-let-you-down honest.

Realization hits you square in the jaw.

“I love you Kyo.” The tenderness that ripples through his body shatters the thread of familiar between you.

His hands, steady, firm, reliable are on you in an instant touching touching touching. Soothing your trembling wrists, tugging you closer by your elbows, cupping your cheeks gently gently gently. As his beautiful, desperate, fragile breaths caress your forehead, both eyelids, the tip of your runny nose. Your toes wiggle against his, your fingers digging into his hips, guiding the warmth of his chest to your exhilarated heart.

“I love you [y/n]!”.

The loudness of his affection reverberates in his tiny room. Sinks itself patiently, safely into your contagious smile.

“Your smile is my most precious memory!”

“Kyo,” you murmur, “How many memories of my smile do you have?”

“All of them!” he declares.

You giggle.

“Kyo,” he pulls back slightly, hands traveling from your cheeks to your ears. “Would you like to get coffee with me?”

His cheerful laughter reassures you as he teasingly pinches your earlobe, “Do I get to kiss you at the beginning or end?”

“Can I be greedy?”

“I suppose.”

“How about both?”

“What a fantastic choice!” he grins, suddenly gripping your chin with tantalizing, delicate intent, “Kissing 101, lesson 1, are you ready?”

You squeak.

He tastes of lemongrass and sweetness, lips moist and plush. Of course, he isn’t overbearing. Listens to your sighs. Follows the tickle of your eyelashes. Makes sure to press deeply, heavily. And linger promisingly, lovingly. Even when your teeth accidentally clink. Even when your neck cramps. He’s perfect.

You are in love.

He is in love.

#kyojuro rengoku #rengoku kyojuro #kyojuro x reader #rengoku x reader #flame hashira #one shot #college au #kny #demon slayer

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jiamour · 3 years ago

Text

💿 now playing: pushin’ n pullin’

povs: 💗-yn, 🖤-js, 💛-rj, 💙-jn, 🧡-mk, 💜-dh, ❤️-jm, 💚-cl

track 18: :( (manipulatively)

guitarist!jisung x reader

a/n: i’ve risen from the dead and i’m trying something new so instead of the hearts to distinguish people their texts are different colours

album tracklist

written: 1.7k under cut

“you’re up early,” the electronic clock screen of the radio on your side table blinks 14:42.

“you’re in my house again,” you note in retaliation, shoveling a spoonful of mashed potatoes into your mouth as you turn to look at jisung. he’s standing in the entryway but as soon as you give him your attention he comes closer and pulls out a seat beside you at the kitchen table. he sits with his fuzzy socked feet resting on the seat, his knees pulled into his chest.

“renjun kicked me out of his room,” jisung pouts, resting his chin atop his knee, eyeing your bowl of potatoes, “said it would be unprofessional to have me sleeping in the background of his meeting.”

“poor you,” you hum mockingly and scroll through your tiktok fyp, your phone placed flat on the table beside you.

“what are you up to today?” his question takes you by suprise, though it probably shouldn’t. the number of civil conversations you’ve been having with him have been steadily increasing but it still took some - a lot of - getting used to.

~ impromptu text so tumblr isn’t annoying ~

you freeze, your spoon half way to your mouth, as you turn your head to him slowly, eyebrows furrowed, “why?”

“i’m trying to make conversation,” he chuckles softly, then yawns, stretching out one of his arms while the other covers his mouth, “is that allowed?”

“yeah…?” you’re still hesitant, “but why?”

“why not?” he pouts more dramatically than he had when he first sat down, “i can’t ask a friend about their day?”

‘friend’. now that was weird. were you friends? was this friendship? have you accidentally befriended your mortal enemy during one of your pokémon movie nights? those were probably your first mistake, you shouldn’t have let your guard down, crazy things happen when you do. crazy things like jisung calling you a friend.

he seems to notice your internal conflict, his puppy dog eyes turn on as he looks at you, “we are friends aren’t we?”

well now you look like an asshole if you say no. but you’ll be a liar if you said yes, or will you? you don’t know, this was all confusing. maybe you really are friends. if jisung considers you a friend then you’re probably friends? he seems like a tough cookie to crack. unless… he could be joking, what if you say yes and this was all just a silly goof, a gag, a hoax? will you take the risk? maybe. you can deal with the 3 seconds of humiliation. probably.

“i guess,” you let out, barely audible, refusing to make eye contact with him like this was the most embarrassing moment of your life, “i mean i’ve been learning that you’re not completely unlikeable.”

that made him laugh, he leans over in his chair just enough to bump his shoulder with yours in jest, “that must have been so hard for you.”

“it has been,” you agree with a breathy laugh, “i’m still going through the mental turmoil of the realization right now.”

jisung continues to laugh a little with you and then goes quiet. you weren’t sure if it was because he didn’t know how to respond or hold a conversation with you or if this was just comfortable. but you like jisung best when he doesn’t speak so you don’t have any complaints about the situation.

you like jisung second best when he’s like this too, speaking softly, not trying to put on an obnoxious front. you probably would have considered him a friend ages before this if he didn’t manage to ruin it with comments made specifically to annoy you.

though, to be fair, you weren’t exactly very welcoming to him either. maybe, just maybe, you could try to be nicer.. if he didn’t purposely grind your gears.. you didn’t plan on being the bigger person. especially not to a bratty asshole who throws a temper tantrum at any minor inconvenience. no. no. be nice. you have to be nice to him. he’s your ‘friend’. you’re ‘friends’ now.. apparently. god, donghyuck’s going to call you a traitor when he hears the news.

“can i have some?” jisung asks, breaking the silence and pointing a hoodie covered hand towards your bowl. you shift it away from him.

“if you get your own spoon,” now he was going too far. being friends was one thing, but sharing a spoon? no. that would break you. all that bacteria… you don’t know where his mouth has been but it couldn’t have been very good places.

jisung sighs, “‘m too tired,” he let his posture slump dramatically too prove his point.

“too bad for you then,” you bite back. refusing to look at the boy very clearly trying to put on a show for sympathy points so you’ll feed him, you continue to scroll through tiktok.

he exaggeratedly ‘HMPH’s and sighs waiting for just a sliver of attention. he gives up eventually, quickly realizing you weren’t going to crack, you’re trying just as hard to ignore him as he was to get your attention.

he lifts his head upright like it’s the heaviest thing in the world and plops it down on your shoulder so his scratchy white hair tickles your neck. you don’t make a move to shove him off right away like he expects so he makes himself more comfortable, watching the tiktoks on your phone now that he has a better view.

“may i?” he hums softly.

“may you what?” you ask, debating whether to shrug him off now or let him have his little moment.

“do this?” he answers, making sure to put extra pressure on your shoulder with his head for a second to ensure you know what he’s talking about.

you want to roll your eyes BUT you don’t. because you’re nice, spontaneously having started your good person arc five minutes ago, “you already are, aren’t you?”

“is that a yes?”

“it’s a do whatever you want,” you’re cool, you’re nonchalant. you’re 99% sure everything in life isn’t a competition but just incase it is you’re not about to show that you care and lose.

“hmm,” he lets himself relax and close his eyes, “you like me sooo much.”

“okay,” you shrug your shoulder up to knock him off, “get off.”

“nooo,” he retaliates and whines, holding his ground, “i was kidding, you’re comfortable, let me stay.”

“you get 5 minutes,” you relent, it was early in the morning (read: 3pm), you could give him a break it wasn’t like he was that uncomfortable, “because i’m feeling nice today.”

“mhmm,” he hums teasingly, like he doesn’t believe you. you did NOT like his tone. if jisung thought you enjoyed his company you’d lose your footing in this war that was totally mutual and not just in your head.

“you’re on thin ice buddy,” you glare off at your mashed potatoes even though he can’t see you.

jisung laughs softly, “you sound like mark.”

this is not what you thought you’d be doing today. this is not what you thought you’d be doing any day ever.

after a couple minutes of watching tiktoks, you weren’t really tracking the time, jisung sighs, then sighs again, and then a third time even louder.

“i’m making lunch,” he lifts his head off your shoulder, the combination of his hunger and the lack of attention he was getting winning out.

“don’t take from my shelf,” you call over your shoulder as he walks into the kitchen.

“which ones that?” he asks, looking back at you from where he was leaning in entryway to the kitchen.

“bottom shelf.”

“got it,” he pushes himself off the wall, hitting it lightly with the palm of his hand.

you finish up your bowl of potato’s and bring it to the kitchen to be washed. jisung’s squatting down to the bottom shelf with the fridge door open, his hand grabbing at an apple so you lightly hit the back of his head to get his attention.

“ouch,” he grumbles, standing up so he had higher ground, “how was i even supposed to steal from you all you have is an apple, this is-“

“and some eggs,” you correct, turning on the sink tap and holding your hand under it to check the temperature.

he shuts the fridge to rummage through your cupboards, he takes out a box of cereal and reaches his hand in, eating it dry.

“do you wanna go get groceries together?” he asks, his mouth still full, “i was planning to go later today anyways.”

if you weren’t focused on washing your bowl and spoon you would have looked at him like he was crazy.

“no, it’s fine,” you say, drying off the dishes with a towel.

“why?” he’s smiling at you, you can feel the evil energy from behind, “do you have plans today?”

you turn, looking back at him, and yep just as you suspected, he’s smiling, taunting you, “you didn’t answer me earlier.”

“i don’t have plans,” you reach past him to put your dish back in the cupboard. you pull out the drawer for utensils and in the process you drop your spoon. somehow you were gonna blame jisung for this mild inconvenience.

“then come with me,” he chuckes at the scowl on your face as you duck down to pick up the spoon. he holds his hand over the corner of the drawer to make sure you didn’t accidentally hit your head, “you’ll get some company and i can even help you carry your bags back on the bus, there’s no downsides.”

“you sure about that?” you mumble back as you begin to wash your spoon again, with extra effort this time, he takes it from your hands after you scrub it for the 7th time and runs it underwater, shaking it off before putting it into the drawer where it belongs. he closes the drawer and stands in front of it, so you can’t grab the spoon again.

“come on,” he pushes, giving you pretty wide eyes that he only pulled out when he was trying to be persuasive, “i’ll let you use my employees discount.”

“do you even get a discount?” you ask and jisung’s smile turns big and goofy.

“no,” he juts his head to the side, gesturing for you to follow him out of the kitchen, “but i didnt want you to know that, let’s go.”

“fine,” you give in, “i’ll go get my bag.”

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

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spenciegoob · 4 years ago

Text

A Short Film

A/N: hey hey hey... mid writing this I realized how much I jumped the gun and thought this was a good concept, but now that I’m thinking too hard about it, maybe it’s not. I also wrote too much of it to back down now, so hopefully someone out there enjoys this as much as I did in my head lol.

Summary: Spencer steps way out of his comfort zone to ask his film major girlfriend a question.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Category: Fluff

Content Warnings: nothing really... Spencer hardcore struggling with technology

Word Count: 3.5k

Masterlist

___

“Hey Garcia, do you think you could help with something?” Spencer asked, rubbing the back of his neck nervously and not looking up from the floor of her office.

“Of course, Boy Wonder? What can I do for you?” Garcia answered while excitedly turning her chair back to her wall of screens.

Spencer grabbed the extra chair in her office and mumbled, “Actually um,” causing Garcia to completely abandon her position and fully face the genius.

“Spencer, are you okay? Is something wrong?” Spencer couldn’t blame her for asking. He was sweating more than usual, his face was bright red and he hadn’t stop fiddling with his hands since he shut the door.

“Oh no, nothing’s wrong. I just, uh, I don’t really know how to ask this,” Spencer stumbled back. It was the truth after all. No life experience had prepared him for such a request, one that in the grand scheme of things was not a lot, but to Spencer.

To Spencer, it was everything.

“That’s okay. Take your time,” Penelope stated back, and coming from anyone else, Spencer would have believed it was sarcastic in nature. But he also knew that Penelope was one of the only people he could never find judgement or maliciousness from.

You were the other.

“So Y/N and I as you’re probably aware have been together for 2 years now, and you also know that she just got her degree in cinematography and design, which is really funny if you think about it because I know nothing about any of that, but she knows everything. You know, sometimes she’ll explain to me what she sees through her eyes and it’s nothing like what I’ve ever been able to. I’m rambling now but I want to do that,” Spencer spurted out, and once he was done, he took a breath so deep Penelope whole-heartedly believed if he spent one more second talking, he may pass out.

“Woah there, slow down. First of all, that’s adorable. I love Y/N so much. Second of all, how exactly am I supposed to help you see things that way? Shouldn’t she be more help?” Penelope questioned, now completely confused about Spencer’s intentions with this very early morning visit.

“She can’t exactly know. It’s kind of a surprise thing,” Spencer answered shyly. He hadn’t even gotten to the punchline and yet, he was contemplating every move.

Was this a good idea?

But when he saw the way Penelope lit up before she yelled, “Tell me everything, and spare no details. None!” He knew he would stop at nothing to make this perfect.

“So here’s what I was thinking.”

That was 1 year ago today, and since then, Spencer has tried to figure out what to say when he revealed his big project. He stood in front of the mirror every day for 365 days trying to find the perfect way to put it. Still when you sat on your shared couch gazing up at him in amusement, confusion and adoration all at once, his mouth was dry and his throat clamped up.

“Spence, you’re starting to scare me. Are you okay?” You asked, watching as your boyfriend stared at you like a deer caught in headlights with a laptop and assorted cords in his hands.

“Uh, yes! Yes I am okay. I just need to um, this needs to go. You know what? I wasn’t told how to do this part, can you help me?” Spencer paced back and forth between you and the TV four times while he was talking before he stopped defeated in front of you. He wouldn’t have asked for help unless he was certain Penelope was smart enough to insert a black screen in the beginning of what caused the laptop to burn a hole in his hand.

“Yes, of course,” you said, slightly chuckling at his confusion. Spencer Reid and technology, whilst tragic, was also very adorable. “What are you trying to do?”

“I need the video on the laptop to play on the TV,” he stated simply. At least he knew what he wanted. That was a new, first step in the right direction.

“Okay easy. Just hand me that cord, and,” you drew out the ‘and’ as you bent around the TV and plugged in the cord. “Perfect. Now just plug this end into the laptop and hit play.” You handed Spencer back his end of the cord, watching as he examined the object and the side of the computer to know where exactly to put it. It almost felt like watching a toddler try and find the rightly shaped hole for the triangle piece, and you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t endearing.

Before he could break anything, you stepped in. “I know you’d be able to figure it out, but it’s that one.”

“Thank you,” he mumbled back sheepishly.

“Okay so a little back story. A year ago today, I asked Penelope to teach me how to record videos on my new phone. Thank you for that by the way, the camera on it is really cool, and I’m not just saying that because it’s one of the only things I know how to work. Anyways, I started secretly recording videos of you, of us, anything that reminded me of you, and me talking about you. So I sent them over to Garcia and she pushed them all together, and I think what I’m trying to say is I made a short film? Home video? It doesn’t really matter, but I’m showing it to you now.” Spencer didn’t acknowledge the shocked look on your face as he settled next to you and put the laptop on the coffee table.

But as you watched him find the video and set up, your jaw stayed slack. Spencer Reid, the world’s biggest technophobe, figured out how to use an iPhone camera just for you. While to others it may not seem like a lot, to you.

To you, it was everything.

“Spence, I don’t even know what to say. This is the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me.” It didn’t feel like enough. The amount of awe, and love that filled your chest was so comforting, so warm.

It felt like home. It felt like Spencer.

“You don’t have to say anything, just watch,” he stated before hitting the spacebar, something he’s seen you do plenty of times.

The video started out with Spencer crouching down slightly to where the phone was set up against a bookcase in front of the couch.

“Is it recording?” He whispered, and when he realized it was, he took a step back and gave a thumbs up before rushing to sit on the couch. You couldn’t help but let a full smile stretch across your face, an involuntary act when it came to Spencer.

“Hey, love bug. It’s Spencer, but wait you knew that because you can see me.” There was a small pause as Spencer squinted to see if you could actually see him from his position on the couch. When he realized he was in frame, he continued. “This is totally weird that I’m technically talking to myself right now, but I hope future me gave you an explanation. I tried to wait for a good time to start recording this, and in the two weeks I’ve known how to work that thing,” Spencer said as he pointed to the camera. “We’ve been on a case. I came home tonight, and you’re sleeping right now, but if I stay quiet enough I can say what I need to.”

You looked over at Spencer as he was twiddling with his fingers. Something he only did when he was nervous. You reached over and grabbed one of his hands, giving it a reassuring squeeze, but when you tried to pull away so as to not truly disturb his fidgeting, he caught it. So, you intertwined your fingers together, and continued to watch past Spencer.

“I came home today, and all I wanted to do was hold you. Granted, that’s every day, but today was just, it was really hard. When I came home you were asleep on the couch. One time you told me you didn't like to sleep in our bed while I was away, something about it being too big. At first, I was mad because your poor back, but today I changed my mind because the amount of steps to get to you was much less.”

Spencer unlocked the door to the apartment, resting his head against the wood as he inserted the key into the lock. The most recent case had ended with the death of both the latest victim and the unsub, and he couldn’t bear another second of remembering the scene play out in front of him.

All he wanted to do was lay in her arms, but when he opened the door, the apartment was completely silent.

And then he saw a little fuzzy sock clad foot sticking out from underneath the huge, fluffy blanket on the couch. Slowly, he walked towards you, finding you fast asleep with a t-shirt of his tightly snuggled up to your neck and face.

Spencer got down on a knee in front of you, and brushed the hair that had fallen over your eyes. Slowly, they fluttered open at his feather touch, only to widen with realization.

“You’re home!” You squealed, throwing your hands around his neck. Immediately, he reciprocated the hug, tighter than usual. Spencer tucked his head into your neck and inhaled the scent of your shampoo, a grounding technique he would never tell you he developed. The hands he delicately placed at first across the expanse of your back grew heavier, drawing your body closer to his.

You pulled your head back, him following your movements, and stared deeply into his eyes for a second. The moment you two locked eyes, he knew the jig was up. Spencer knew you could see right through him, and he knew that even if you weren’t there to witness what he had, you saw it replaying over and over in his eyes.

“You must be tired, let’s get you to bed.” Your words shocked him at first. Usually, the people in his life would ask insistent questions on his mental well-being, and while they were greatly appreciated, Spencer was never one to open up when asked to.

You, however, didn’t meddle, you didn’t push. You simply gave him a place to feel safe as you two settled under the duvet together, never letting go of one another even for a second. You held the back of his head, slowly brushing your fingers through his curls as he laid against your chest. Your fingers were medicinal to him, softly taking away the pain and violence of the day, and replacing it with security, comfort, love.

“No one’s ever been that excited to see me before, let alone knew how to take care of me the way you did. I just,” Spencer trailed off and looked towards our bedroom, where you stirred in your sleep looking for him. “You’re about to wake up and wonder where I went. Now you know what I was doing in “the bathroom” for 30 minutes actually meant. Alright, see you next video, love bug.”

The screen cut to Spencer obviously holding the phone close to his chest, the only thing in frame the space where his shoulder and neck met. The soft chords of the start of Vienna by Billy Joel can be heard from outside the room he was in.

“Okay, I’m gonna have to sneak up on you. I’m sorry in advance.”

Spencer finally addressed the camera. As the Spencer on the TV quietly left his position in what you could only assume was your bedroom, you looked over at your very real Spencer softly smiling at the TV.

When he caught your stare, he said “Watch, this is my favorite part.” Turning back to the TV, you watched as Spencer carefully tiptoed to the living room, placing the camera to lean against the vase in the middle of the dinner table to face the kitchen.

In the kitchen, you watched yourself very poorly sing along with Billy Joel using a whisk that you just got done washing as a microphone. The blush that crept up your neck and to your cheeks with embarrassment still felt the same as it did that day.

You hadn’t heard Spencer sneak up on you, not until he was right behind you and let out a soft chuckle at a note you missed. Spencer had never seen someone jump out of their skin as much as you did when he made his presence known.

“Jesus Spencer, you scared me!” You yelled before a smile crept up your face. You couldn’t help it, even in the most embarrassing times, not when Spencer looked at you like that.

“Sorry, love bug. Although, I didn’t mean for you to stop the show.” At that you hit his chest with the whisk/microphone, both of you laughing fully now. “Come here.”

Spencer took your hand, pulling you softly to his chest where you laid your head to his heart. Wrapping his hand around your waist, the two of you started to slowly sway to the music. You both were incredibly offbeat to Vienna, but listening to Spencer’s heart, you realized that the tempo you were dancing at matched up. Unbeknownst to you, due to the adrenaline of being scared, Spencer could feel your heartbeat on his abdomen, and was swaying to that.

You didn’t know how long you stayed like that, dancing to the in sync beat of each other’s hearts.

The clip of you dancing however only lasted 10 more seconds as the next scene of Spencer bundled up for the fall played. You had met Spencer during the fall, and fell in love with the way the red, yellow and orange leaves contrasted against his honey eyes. This clip was no different.

“Hey, love bug. I’m on my way to deliver this coffee to you in between classes, but I had to stop so I can show you my new friends I’ve made along the way.”

The camera panned down to 4 little ducklings surrounding Spencer’s converse, most of them just waddling around, but one was insistently pecking at the rubber toe of his left shoe. Spencer pointed at the little deviant and said ‘that’s you’ before bringing the camera back up to his face.

“I may have made the mistake of feeding them the fruit I was bringing you, which reminds me I should probably go get you more. I don’t think you’ll be mad though. How could you? Look how cute they are! I kind of want to take them home, but I definitely know that’ll make you mad. Anyways, I just wanted to show off that you’re not always the animal person in this relationship. See you soon, love bug.”

“Oh my god, Spencer. That was the cutest thing I’ve ever seen, but to confirm your thoughts, yes, I would’ve been mad,” you stated, the giddy smile never leaving your face, and giggles spreading themselves through your words.

“I know, I know. They belong in the wild,” he said back, holding up his free hand in faux defeat.

A new scene presented itself to you, this one being Spencer setting up the camera on the bathroom sink while brushing his teeth. You knew you were approaching by the music slowly getting louder.

You entered you and Spencer’s shared bathroom, Don’t Go Breaking My Heart by Elton John playing out of your phone. He was brushing his teeth, and you followed suit, not stopping the small dancing as you did.

You looked at Spencer, and started moving side to side, your free hand grabbing the crook of his elbow to join you. Looking in the mirror expectedly, you watched Spencer look up at the ceiling before joining you, a smile on his face.

Slowly, the two of you fell into a rhythm to the beat of Elton John, making funny faces to each other in the mirror as you did so.

You reached out fully to lean your head on Spencer’s shoulder as you watched.

The scene on the TV shifted once again to show a very flustered you standing in front of the TV with Citizen Kane paused. Your hair was in a messy bun, and you were sporting one of Spencer’s old Caltech t-shirts, and fuzzy black pants with little pumpkins printed everywhere.

Spencer was also wearing the same fuzzy pants.

“Spence, I’m gonna sound crazy here,” you sprinting off the couch after pausing the film you were currently trying to study for your film analysis class.

“You’re not off to a great start here,” Spencer laughed out. Spencer once told you that no matter what he thought about a book or film, he wanted to listen to you ramble about it for hours. The first thing he fell in love with about you was the way you challenged his thinking, expanding his mind to the possibilities of learning about the difference between production design and cinematography. You taught him something that no class, book or person could ever.

Your mouth dropped open, an over exaggerated gasp leaving your lips, your hand meeting your chest softly.

“Meanie.” Spencer and you chuckled at the antics, and when the laughs died down, you continued. “Here me out, though.”

And from there, you went into a deep dive about the unreliable narrator, and how it affects camera placement in the scene you two just watched.

“Oh my god. I talk that fast?” You asked Spencer, who just let a breathy laugh out at your realization.

“Don’t worry, I think it’s adorable,” he whispered the last part, the smile on his face turning from one of hilarity to one full of love.

30 seconds into your rant, you realize the phone he was attempting to hide close to his lap. Your eyes flicked between the camera that was pointed at you, and Spencer, who’s face filled with confusion as to why you stopped talking.

“Are you recording me?” You asked, a smile never leaving your face. Oh no, he’d been caught. Spencer has to think of a believable excuse, and quick.

“Uh, yeah, sorry, I just uh... I figured instead of you trying to write it down later, you’d want all your notes now.” Perfect!

“Damn, that was good,” you said, nodding softly at his swiftness. You couldn’t be mad he lied, how could you when the truth was this beautiful?

“I know, right? I came up with it on the spot,” Spencer joked with you. As if TV Spencer knew he was interrupting a moment, a throat clearing came from the video. The Spencer you saw was from 3 days ago, and was sitting in his car in what looked to be the Quantico parking garage.

“Hi, love bug. I’m days away from showing you this, and I still don’t know what to say. I hope the me you’re with now has figured it out. So, uh, yeah. That’s it. Uh, take it away, future Spencer. Actually, you’d be present Spenc-” The video cut off, courtesy of Penelope Garcia.

“Y/N,” Spencer started, turning to face a very emotional you fully. “I still haven’t found the right words. None of them could express my love for you, and perfect doesn’t come close to describing you. I know you have a thing for supporting evidence, and I think I just provided a lot to prove that the best thing to ever happen in my life is you.” You let out a small giggle, the tears welling in your eyes breaking free. “Oh no, if you cry, then I’m going to.”

You let out a full laugh now as Spencer wiped the tears falling down your cheeks before continuing.

“Before you, I was reckless. I didn’t care what happened as long as I did something to help. Now, I have a reason to be careful, a reason to care. I can’t do that to you, and if I’m going to spend the rest of my life with you, I need to live.”

You inhaled softly as Spencer reached into the pocket of his pants, taking your hand in his.

“Which brings me to my question,” he said with a small smile and cocked his head. Slowly, he dropped down to one knee in front of you.

“Y/N Y/L/N, will you marry me?” Spencer opened the velvet box to reveal a simple silver band with a square cut diamond delicately placed on top.

“Spencer Reid, yes. I will marry you.”

With shaky fingers, he slid the ring on your fingers, the fit perfect. You couldn’t wait any longer, and grabbed his face in your hands to pull his lips to yours. Your lips molded together in perfect harmony, lulling you deeper into Spencer’s embrace.

“I love you,” you whispered against his lips.

“I love you, too,” Spencer answered, only pulling back far enough to mumble before kissing you again.

Note to self: thank Penelope Garcia.

____

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handsomelyhiddleston · 3 years ago

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The Cabin - Tom Hiddleston x Curvy Reader (Part 2/3)

Part 1

You woke up as the movie credits were scrolling. The kiddos were all still asleep strewn about the den. Looking at the clock, you realized it was about lunch time.

Walking into the kitchen, you saw Lisa sorting out the food that needed to go to the grill while one of Chris’ sisters was working on making some side dishes. “Anything I can help with?” You walked to the coffee maker to make a second cup of coffee.

“I think we’ve got everything sorted” Lisa answered. “Can you bring these out to the guys?” She was holding a large tin pan full of hot dogs, hamburgers, and veggie burgers.

“Of course.” You answered, holding your coffee in a way that let you grab the pan. “Do you mind opening the door?”

Chris’ sister hurried to the door, sliding it open.

“Thank you” you said, heading down the wooden deck to where the guys were sat by the grill.

“Look who’s awake” Chris teased, jogging to you to take the pan.

“I have to say, I needed that nap.” You laughed, following Chris to the grill.

“Are the kids still passed out?” Scott asked, watching you take a seat next to Tom. Chris started grilling the food.

“Yup” you answered. “I restarted the movie so they’d have the background noise.”

“Aren’t you cold?” Tom asked, seeing you were still in your fuzzy socks and sweater.

You shrugged, sipping your coffee. “I’m good for now. Anyone know what the plans are for the rest of the day?”

“Food. Probably hit the store in a bit. I think jetlag is gonna hit everyone harder than they think” Chris laughed.

“We should go get stuff for drinks after lunch” Scott suggested.

“I’m in. We should get a list from your mom of anything else she thinks we’ll need right away” you replied.

“Do you mind if I tag along?” Tom asked, looking between you and Scott.

“Of course, not” you answered, shivering a bit as the cold soaked through your sweater.

“Scott, can you go grab a pan for the cooked meat” Chris asked.

“Sure thing” Scott answered, getting up.

“Can you grab the blanket by the door?” you called out as he walked towards the cabin.

“God, do I have to do everything around here” Scott teased in a dramatic voice, making the rest of you laugh.

“Would you like my jacket?” Tom asked as you took another sip of your coffee.

You turned to look at him and shook your head no, a soft smile on your face.

When your gaze lingered a bit longer than one would call socially acceptable, Tom’s cheeks turned pink. “Do I have something on my face?”

You laughed. “No, you’re just…hear me out…like, if I were to write a perfect gentleman into whatever story I’m writing…I think that’s you…you check all of the boxes.”

Tom smiled and cleared his throat. “If I may ask, is that a compliment or are you trying to gently inform me that I’m incredibly boring.”

Chris let out a loud laugh, which prompted both of you to laugh. “I meant it as the highest compliment” you assured him.

“Well, in that case, I’m extremely flattered.” Tom replied, lifting his arm and prompting you to fill the small gap between the two of you. When you’d scooted against his side, he wrapped his arm around your shoulders.

When Scott returned, he tossed the blanket over both of your laps, going to stand by the grill with Chris. By the way they would take turns glancing back at you and Tom, you assumed they were talking about you.

“Chris mentioned that you do some sort of writing or consulting outside of your books.” Tom said, simply wanting to get to know you better.

You laughed, knowing that it drove Chris crazy not knowing what else you did for work. “Well, that’s accurate.”

“Is it safe to assume you won’t tell me what it is?” Tom smirked.

“I mean, never say never” you replied, looking up at Tom.

“Well, if I can’t know what else you do for work, what do you do for fun?” He continued, the two of you chatting until it was time to go inside to eat.

It felt good to have the cabin full of people. Chris’ family and a few of their family friends, including you and Tom, spent the next hour eating, laughing, and telling embarrassing stories about each other as you do when you’ve got the whole family together.

You were banished from the kitchen when you’d tried to help with the dishes. “You and the boys go do your shopping, we’ll clean up” Lisa said, handing you a short list and shooing you away.

“Now I know where Chris gets his stubbornness” you teased, hearing Lisa laugh as you left the kitchen.

You climbed the stairs, stopping at Chris and Tom’s rooms, both of them sitting in Chris’ room with Scott. “You guys ready to go?”

“Just waiting for you” Scott replied.

“Let me grab my jacket and my shoes and I’ll meet you guys’ downstairs.” When you made it outside, Chris already had your SUV started, letting the heating warm up.

“Mind if I drive?” he hollered out the window.

You shook your head no, walking around to the side of the truck and climbing into the back seat next to Tom. Scott was sat up front in the passenger seat. “I’ve got the list from your mom.”

“Then we are ready to rock n roll” Chris said, looking in the various mirrors to make sure it was safe to back-up.

Chris drove around the town for a while. He drove down a few scenic roads showing Tom the beautiful landmarks. When he saw a perfect, untouched patch of snow he insisted the four of you make snow angels. Of course, he made sure to get a picture of everyone laying in their angel.

Next stop was the liquor store. You pushed the cart around with Tom as Scott and Chris added various bottles and pre-made beverages to the cart.

“Y/n!” you heard Scott call from a few aisles over.

“Yes?” you laughed, looking to see if he was going to pop around the corner.

“Do you have a beer pong table?” It was Chris’ voice you heard this time.

You and Tom laughed at the brothers. “No” you answered.

“If I had to bet, I’d say that you’re about to be the proud owner of a brand-new beer pong table.” Tom laughed, walking with you towards the front of the store.

When you rounded the corner, you saw the brothers walking towards you. Scott had a fold-up beer pong table in his hands and Chris had two cases of White Claw and a bag of red solo cups in his.

“White Claw?” you laughed.

“Less calories than beer means that I have to spend less time at the gym while I’m here.” Chris replied, putting everything in the cart. “Speaking of, Tom do you want to work out with me in the mornings?”

“Absolutely” Tom replied. “I was a bit nervous to go running with all of the ice and snow.”

“I’d be more worried about the bears” you said, watching his eyes go wide.

“Now I’m extra glad that I didn’t try to run this morning” Tom said, following you as you pushed your cart to the front of store checkout. Chris pulled his card out before you could even offer to pay.

Next stop was the grocery store.

As Chris and Scott gathered the things on their mother’s shopping list, you took Tom to the baking aisle. “You mentioned that your family bakes when everyone gets together.”

“I did.” Tom smiled as he continued. “My mother and my sisters are usually baking some sort of sweet.”

“Well…” You gestured to the various options laid out in front of you. “What do you want to bake?”

“Really?” Tom asked, looking over at you.

“We can make pretty much anything” you answered. “I mean, unless you don’t want to.”

“No, no. I do.” Tom replied, swallowing back a bit of emotion. “I just…I know we really only just met so you have no way of knowing any of the craziness that has been going on in my life.”

You could sense a bit of hesitation in Tom so you reached out and grabbed one of his hands in yours.

Tom smiled, his eyes watering a touch. “And I’m not complaining, I promise you. I’m grateful that I’ve been afforded so many opportunities. I just…I only got to see my family for 4 days all last year. Home is the one place I feel like I can completely be myself and relax and…Well, when I found out I wasn’t going to see my family on the one break I have for the next three months, I didn’t expect…”

When he stopped talking, you slid your arms around his middle, pulling him into a hug.

“I apologize.” He said, wrapping his arms around you. “I’m sure a simple ‘thank you’ would have been a much more eloquent response.”

You could feel a light laugh rumble in his chest. “Don’t apologize.” You loosened your arms a bit to pull back from the hug.

Tom’s arms held you against himself for a moment before letting you go. “What is your favorite thing to bake?” he asked you.

You thought for a moment before answering. “Cookies.”

“Then I’d love to bake cookies with you” he replied, turning towards the various bags of chocolate chips.

“FYI” you said, grabbing a small bag of sugar and flour.

“Yes?” he put two different types of chocolate chips in the basket.

“I think anything you say in that accent sounds eloquent.” You pushed the cart further down the aisle to grab the oil. You could hear Tom laugh behind you.

“I’ll have to remember that.”

When the four of you got back to the car, Chris recommended picking up pizza for dinner since you guys had been gone a few hours.

“Just text your mom to make sure she isn’t already working on something.” You replied

When Chris got the green light on his pizza plans from Lisa, he placed the order over the phone and you guys picked it up on the way back to the cabin.

As everybody dug into the pizza, you took your baking supplies to the kitchen to tuck them away. You wanted to make sure that no one else used them before you could bake the cookies with Tom. Deciding to catch up on your work emails, you grabbed a slice of pizza and headed upstairs to your room. Sat at your desk with your headphones blasting your favorite music, you started replying to potential project proposals and questions your publishers had about your next works.

Because of your headphones, you didn’t hear Tom walk into your room about a half hour later. As he walked up to your desk, he was calling out your name not realizing you couldn’t hear him.

Standing behind your chair, he glanced at one of your computer screens, understanding what you’d been doing since you’d disappeared. What he didn’t expect, though, was what project you were currently emailing about.

See, most of the people that knew you as an author knew you wrote books in the same category as Hunger Games or Beautiful Creatures…Well, having the ability to hide completely behind an anonymous pen name let you venture into some projects that you deemed a bit more…fun? Maybe spicy is the right word.

Feeling bad for accidentally snooping, Tom put his hand on your shoulder to get your attention, scaring the absolute shit out of you. You threw your headphones off and turned in your chair, your heart going a million miles an hour.

Tom was stood there trying not to laugh. “I’m so sorry.”

“OH, dear god” you laughed, laying your hand over your heart and leaning back in your chair. “You about gave me a heart attack.”

“I was meant to come and tell you the brothers want to play beer pong, but I think they can wait a bit longer.” Tom said with a grin on his face.

You tilted your head to the side, confused as to what Tom meant. “That sounds both ominous and sexy” you laughed.

Tom chuckled and turned your chair back to face your computer. “Mind telling me what project you’ve got coming up?”

“Now it makes more sense” you continued laughing. On your screen was the proposed cover of your new book in an email you were replying to. You leaned your chair back so you were looking at Tom upside down. “You sure you can handle it?”

“I’m a bit offended that you think I can’t” Tom answered.

“You asked for it” you replied, standing up and walking over to your door. Sliding the lock in place, you walked to your closet, turning to Tom. “You coming?”

Tom opened his mouth to speak and paused, choosing to simply nod and follow.

Walking to the back of your closet, you pushed your clothes to the side and opened another door. This was your writing room. Specifically, for your ‘adult’ books.

You’d covered the walls in inspiration, essentially. In addition to your mainstream ‘young adult’ or ‘new adult’ novels, you wrote adult books…erotica…but your books were very inclusive. They featured various orientations, gendered pairings, gender identities, ethnicities, body shapes, body sizes, and various forms of being differently abled. Your walls were covered in artwork that featured real bodies in all of their various forms.

“So, this is your secret career?” Tom asked, looking at all of the various things hung on the walls.

“One of them” you answered, opening a cabinet full of dozens of books.

As Tom sorted through them, he understood your niche. “I think this is brilliant” he said, staring at you with an eye crinkling smile.

“Thanks” you replied, feeling your cheeks warm. “I don’t know how I thought you were going to react, but that definitely wasn’t it.”

“I mean it” he replied, continuing to look at the various books. “I love storytelling. Obviously, it’s a huge reason why I pursued acting. I love literature and music and many other various forms of art but acting has been my passion for so long. It’s only now that I’m realizing how narrow of a range that I’m personally capable of expressing.”

“Hey, that’s not true” you replied.

“That came out wrong” Tom turned to you. “What I meant to say was that as an actor I will never be able to personally tell many of these stories. Sex aside, obviously.” Tom lightly laughed.

“The only reason I was able to tell a lot of them was because I talked to and got to know people that had little to no representation IN these kinds of stories.” You pulled out a box of letters and printed emails. “When I started writing these books, I wrote for women that looked like me. Bigger women are rarely cast as the romantic lead, in literature or on screen. When we are, we have to go through some stupid ‘worthless to worthy’ journey where a ‘special kind of man’ swoops in to complete us and convince us we deserve love. We’re never just allowed to happily exist AND have a happy ever after.”

When you turned to look at Tom, he caught you off guard by roughly pressing his lips against yours as his hands held either side of your face. When he pulled back, his hands lingered a moment longer. “I do apologize. I couldn’t help myself.” He cleared his throat and turned back to the box you had pulled out. “Please, go on.”

You stared at him a moment longer, trying to gather your thoughts before turning back to the letters. “What I was saying before you so delightfully interrupted me…” You glanced at him, seeing him lick his bottom lip as he smiled. “Under my pen name, I run a page online. People send me their personal stories, fantasies, questions, worries…These people come in more than just various shapes and sizes. Some of them are in wheelchairs or are not as able bodied as you and me. I have a woman with Tourette’s who shares stories about her sex life and romantic life with her wife while living with her various tics. I just saw that someone started a new forum for people who have had mastectomies. When I go to write a story that represents something I can’t personally speak to, I talk to those that can. I get permission to even attempt to represent them. Sex is the easiest part of these to write. I feel responsible to do right by them and to translate the truth of their experience into a bit of romantic escapism. If they want to, everyone should be able to find characters they can relate to.”

“I think that what you’ve done is really, quite incredible.” Tom complimented you.

“Thank you” you replied, chuckling. “It’s weird getting compliments for essentially writing porn.”

Tom laughed, turning one of the books over in his hand. “Am I allowed to read any of them?”

“Go for it” you replied. “You just cannot tell Chris about any of this. At all. Pinky promise?” You extended your pinky towards Tom.

With a very serious face, Tom hooked his pinky in yours and answered. “I wouldn’t dare.”

“We should probably go downstairs. Chris and Scott are probably wondering why the hell we’re taking so long” you laughed, walking out of your writing room.

Tom turned to grab a book before following you out, closing the door on his way. “I’m going to tuck this in my bag in my room.”

“I’ll meet you down there.” When you got to the bottom of the stairs, you saw Scott and Chris practicing their aim with no beer in the cups. “Who against who?”

“Us against you two, obviously” Chris answered, Scott switching to stand on the same side of the table as Chris.

“Oh, it’s like that?” you laughed, opening two of the cans and filling your cups.

“You guys don’t stand a chance” Scott added. “Has Tom ever even played beer pong?”

“I have, actually” he answered, coming down the stairs.

“Then let’s see what you got!” Chris teased, acting like a total frat boy.

The four of you played quite a few rounds before your lack of sleep and buzz from the alcohol finally got the better of you.

“I’m calling it quits” you said, covering your mouth as you yawned.

“I should probably go to bed too since I’m setting an alarm for 6 am to go work out” Chris pouted, letting his head fall back.

“I’ll set mine as well” Tom added.

“You guys are so boring” Scott teased, starting to clean up the cups.

You grabbed the cups from yours and Tom’s side as well as all of the empty cans and started walking towards the kitchen to throw them away.

“I’ll grab those” Tom said, taking the cups from Scott and following you into the kitchen.

You dumped the cups and cans in the trash and turned to see Tom walking in with the rest of them. “Thanks.”

Tom dropped the cups into the trash and turned to you. “About earlier…”

“About that…” you smiled, half asleep and tipsy. You loosely wrapped your arms around Tom’s middle. “Want to explain yourself?”

Tom chuckled. “I think my actions were self-explanatory.” He placed one hand on your cheek, the other pushing your hair out of your face.

“I don’t know” you teased. “I think I need further explanation.”

“Explanation or demonstration?” Tom asked, his thumb brushing against your bottom lip.

You pretended to be considering the two options for only a few seconds before his lips were against yours again.

“Y/n!” Scott called. You could hear him and Chris talking just around the corner.

You felt like two teenagers being caught by parents. You and Tom broke apart, both scrambling to be pretending to do something else. He ended up pulling the trash bag out of the bin and tying it up even though it could clearly hold more trash and you ended up unloading the dishwasher.

“What happened to going to bed?” Chris asked, confused as to why you two were doing chores.

“I’m going” you replied. “I just didn’t want your mom to have to do this in the morning.”

“Well then you should have asked for help” Chris replied, helping you finish unloading the dishes. Scott started wiping down the counters and refilled the paper towels. Tom tried to hide the smirk on his face as he took the trash to the outside bin, but he wasn’t doing a very good job of it.

“Okay, that’s it. I’m going to bed for real this time” you said, putting the last glass away.

When you woke up the next morning you could hear someone in your shower. Part of you hoped that maybe Tom had come up to use yours since him and Chris would both want to shower after coming back from the gym.

“Good morning, sunshine.” Chris said, interrupting your short daydream about a very sweaty Tom walking into your room after working out.

“Oh, it’s just you” you teased him, turning over and snuggling back into your bed.

“Damn, someone woke up in a mood” Chris teased back, walking toward your bed with a towel wrapped around his bottom half. “You hoping it was someone else?”

“A girl can dream” you turned over to smirk at him.

“Are you two a thing?” He asked, dropping down to lay in your bed.

“I don’t know” you answered honestly.

“Do you like him?” Chris continued, laughing when you blushed.

“I mean, I haven’t exactly gotten to know everything about him, but I think he’s kind of great.” You replied.

“Well, for what it’s worth I approve” he said, rolling back out of your bed and heading downstairs to get dressed.

Part 3

#tom hiddleston #Tom Hiddleston x reader #Tom Hiddleston x curvy reader #Tom Hiddleston imagine #loki

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honorguk · 4 years ago

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dating ➔ lee felix

» navigation | REQUESTED

what it’s like to date felix from stray kids (based on my assumptions)

──────✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ──────

─ • OVERALL:

“honey! i made you cookies!” (this is expected obviously)

does a lot of grandiose yet still secret gestures, like order flowers to your door without telling you

cuddles !!! holy crap i can’t stress this enough !!!

your relationship is so affectionate and romantic - it’s actually a kdrama, with a tad more westernization

*you obsessing over his silky voice*

“y/n? are you listening?” “sorry, what? say it again, babe, i couldn’t quite hear..”

looooves stroking your hair and playing with it

he’ll even make you sit down on the floor as he’s above you on the couch and will braid or brush your hair as you guys watch a movie

and you’ll paint his nails and do face masks and all of that

you guys were best friends before being lovers, and that’s always been visible in your relationship

you’d be talking shit about the same people, too, and it would get soooo dramatic

“do you even know what she said to me today?” you’d say as you stood up from the couch and raised your arms

“what did she say?” felix sat at the edge of his seat with widened eyes as he awaited your response

can’t go to sleep unless you’re with him (which makes sleeping on tour incredibly hard)

helps you with your revision and homework if you’re in school, and helps you to sort emails and paperwork if you’re older than that

you’d come to his practices with bags of food for all the boys and they’d cheer

you’re the literal mom of the group

and you’re in the stray kids group chats too

honestly your relationship is so wholesome and sweet and gentle with just enough playfulness and passion that it’s such an ideal example for everyone else

─ • DATES YOU GO ON:

prefers the typical late night Netflix session since he barely has any time to lounge, and prefers to lounge with you

or you go out to get takeaway from a nearby kebab place or something, fully in your sweats and jumpers

rarely it’s a fancy outing, but when it happens, he wears a white dress shirt that you always end up in at the end of the night

but yeah, video game competitions, snacks, and fuzzy socks

bro like a grocery shopping trip is a date (he’ll make you ride the shopping cart and film you fall over and then ditch the isle in laughter)

(but he will come pick you up afterwards and pretend to fall to lessen the embarrassment)

(because he cares)

─ • PET NAMES:

“babyyy” “sweetieeee” a lot of those sweet little nicknames that really make your heart thump

also a lot of ‘love’ and ‘sweetheart’

i see you calling him ‘kitten’ often which he secretly adored but it makes him blush every time

he has you in his phone as ‘sweetheart <3’ which is just so gay and so cute

─ • WHILE ON TOUR:

honestly, the kid’s so focused on work he barely had time to pick up his phone :(

he tries his best to respond to everything, but he really, really can’t

yet, that means that when he comes back home from tour the time spent together will be so much more special (you two lowkey love missing each other)

he will buy so many little gifts and souvenirs and keep a few stray posters and merchandise pieces he found for when he greets you again

the company allowed him to talk to you on the V-Live app since that’s when you’d tune in for sure, and he would have full blown conversations with you just through chat (or try to)

that’s also when when people found out you two were a thing, and the internet went crazy, but that’s a different story

but yeah, tour felix is on constant ‘do not disturb’ mode, but i promise you that he misses you every passing second

─ • ARGUING/MAKING UP:

felix HATES to argue and so do you, especially since he has the tendency to make faces and roll his eyes a LOT

“felix, could you please stop being so childish?” “only if you do it first” - you see what i’m talking about?

he does try to be reasonable but often fails, so arguments could get out of hand

they don’t happen often but there are times where you find yourself being sassy and shady for a minute or so, then forget about it

very pouty and whiny if it’s not that serious, but that can easily turn to groans and exclamations if the boy gets riled up

can say things he doesn’t mean because he’s still learning how to balance and compromise and understand

but the way you’ll make up is usually by felix coming to you first

whether you’ve come to visit his practice room or you’re just chilling on the couch, felix will solemnly walk towards you and pressing his forehead against your shoulder, waiting for you to hug him

if you don’t, he knew he fucked up, but most times you do, and then you’ll talk it out

gosh he’s so scared to lose you please don’t leave ;(

─ • NSFW:

in my eyes, the boy’s a switch

could go from soft to hard, dom to sub, whines to growls at any time but mostly based on your commands and preferences for the night

once he’s done he’ll often collapse on you, out of breath, and you guys would just lie there for a bit, enjoying the weight and contact of your bodies in heat

he’s the type to take off and put on your clothes back on you, but very very gently

would also bring up water and a shirt of his as part of aftercare

also very down for experiments (daddy/mommy, pet play, bondage, blindfolds, ice cubes...you name it)

loves being a sub though (and will probably let you peg him let’s be honest here)

(and maid dresses)

(and cat ears and leashes and stockings and skirts)

would also hold your hand throughout

DEFINITELY has a sadistic side!! you’ve seen his smirks on stage? how feisty he is with the members??? it’s very deep down and he barely knows it's there himself but it is there

equally masochistic, his eyes are begging for you to slap him

if you’re asking for it, and have really gotten on his nerves that day, he’ll degrade you with “my dumb little pup” and “nothing but a cumslut” “all you are is a toy”

but of course, at the end he’ll say he didn’t mean it, even though you already know that

wouldn’t end the night without telling you how much he loves you while cradling you in his arms whilst falling asleep

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marauderundercover · 3 years ago

Text

Taking Chances Ch. 18: Girl’s Night (Heroes/Villains)

AO3

First

Teleporting back into her room in Gotham, Marinette flops onto her bed. Passing Kaalki sugar cubes and Tikki a cookie, she suppresses the urge to scream into her pillow. She was sick and tired of Hawkmoth. Sick and tired of being the one who has to fix everything. She just wanted one week with no Hawkmoth, no akuma attacks. But no. Of course not. Of course he just had to send out a stupid akuma every single day. Because why not. How’re people supposed to know he’s still being the main villain of Paris if he takes a freaking day off? Once she finds out who he is, she’s going to punch him in his stupid face. A knock on her door pulls her from her plotting ways to get back at Hawkmoth.

“Come in.” She sighs, sitting up and forcing a tired smile on her face.

“Marinette, your father wanted-” Selina starts, pausing as she looks her over. “Come on kitten, we’re having a girls day.” She says. Marinette raises an eyebrow. Sure she’d met Selina before, but they hadn’t really hung out yet.

“What?” She asks.

“You look exhausted and angry, sweetheart. Spending too much time with these boys isn’t going to help. So you’re gonna grab anything you need for an overnight trip and we’re going to go watch movies and eat junk food til we’re sick.” Selina instructs. Marinette grins, jumping up and shoving stuff into her backpack. She puts Kaalki’s glasses into her purse and lets her and Tikki fly in before she turns to Selina.

“Ready!” She says, practically bouncing up and down in excitement. It’d been ages since she’d had a girls day with anyone. She was so ready to just take a break and be silly.

“Well come on then. Harley and Ivy are going to adore you.” Selina says, slinging her arm around Marinette’s shoulders. Somehow, they manage to not see anyone on the way to Selina’s car. Which is weird, but it is a weekday so everyone probably had something to do besides sit around the manor. Pulling away from the manor, Selina flips on the radio, the new Jagged Stone song blasting full volume.

“Nice taste in music.” Marinette says with a wide grin. Selina smirks.

“I have to like the man at least a little, his designer is one of my kids after all.” She says. Marinette smiles, a warm feeling flooding through her. Selina didn’t have to accept her with open arms, she didn’t have to treat her like she was her own daughter. But she did, and Marinette was so thankful for that. Thankful that even so far away from her Maman, she still had a Mom there for her. The two nod along to the music, scream singing the chorus together as the car pulls to a stop in front of an apartment building. Marinette glances at the building, suddenly nervous. Would Harley and Ivy like her? Or would they just tolerate her for Selina.

“Don’t make yourself nervous, sweetheart. Harley and Ivy are two of the sweetest people I know. They’re gonna love you.” Selina says reassuringly, reaching over and squeezing Marinette’s shoulder. Marinette lets out a breath before nodding.

“Okay, let’s go.” She says, grabbing her bag and jumping out of the car. She follows closely behind Selina, not wanting to give anyone the chance to get between them. You could never be too careful in Gotham. They walk into the building and go straight into the elevator, Selina pushing the button and leaning up against the wall while they wait. Marinette bounces on the balls of her feet, excitement and nerves bundling together. The second the elevator stops, Marinette’s out, following Selina down the hall. She pulls out a key, winking at Marinette before turning and unlocking the door.

“Honey, I’m home!” She calls, and Marinette’s jaw drops. The apartment was quite literally covered in plants and vines. They were beautiful. She grins as one of the vines near her leans towards her, a small flower blooming at the end of it.

“And who did you bring with you?” A tall woman with red hair asks, walking into the room. The designer inside of Marinette instantly has a million questions about the woman’s outfit. It seemed to be made entirely of plants, but she could also tell that they were still alive. She had no idea how the woman had managed that, but she guessed that it was something that couldn’t be replicated for someone else.

“I’m Marinette. Nice to meet you!” She says with a wide smile. The woman, who Marinette assumes is Ivy, grins back.

“Nice to meet you, Flower. I see you’ve already made a friend.” She says, gesturing to the vine which was now wrapped around Marinette’s wrist. Marinette giggles.

“Well, I was hoping they liked me and that’s what this was. I have a garden back in Paris, and I’d hate to find out plants actually hate me.” She says. Ivy shakes her head.

“No worries there. They adore you, it’s a little odd if I’m honest.” Ivy says, dodging Selina who tries to flick her.

“Did I hear Selina?” Another voice asks, a short blonde woman walking into the room. Her hair was short and choppy, the small pigtails at the top of her head dyed pink. Marinette grinned at the woman’s outfit- a Gotham Amusement Pier t-shirt, Batman pajama pants, and hot pink fuzzy socks. She wondered if her dad knows that Harley Quinn has Batman pj pants….probably not.

“Yes, with a guest.” Selina says, plopping onto the couch and gesturing over to Marinette, who was still standing by her new vine friend.

“Hi! I’m Marinette, it’s nice to meet you.” She says, smiling and waving with her free hand. Ivy whispers something and the vine squeezes a bit before letting go, letting her move away from the door.

“Well aren’t ya just the cutest!” Harley squeals, running forward and giving her a big hug. “Didjya finally join your boytoy’s adopting habits?” Harley adds, still clutching onto Marinette. Selina snorts.

“No, he beat me to her. But she’s definitely mine, too.” She says, making Marinette’s face turn red. Harley coos at her, ruffling her hair before stepping back.

“So what brings ya here? Get annoyed with Bats already?” Harley asks. Marinette blinks in shock. Harley knows? She thinks about it for a minute, and realizes it just makes sense. They’d been fighting long enough and then he started his relationship with Selina, who was one of Harley’s best friends. It just made sense that Harley (who was extremely smart) would put two and two together.

“No, just thought that Mari could use a girl’s day. She’s been stuck with just the boys for over a week.” Selina explains. Harley gasps.

“The horror!” She says, making Marinette giggle. “Come on pumpkin, I’ve got the comfiest jammies ever. Oooo, and we can paint our nails! Ivy, find the movies, Selina, you’re on snacks. This is gonna be so much fun!” Harley orders, grabbing Marinette’s hand and tugging her along to one of the bedrooms, Selina’s laugh echoing throughout the apartment.

“I did bring pjs, ma’am.” Marinette says, once Harley stops tugging her and starts searching through a drawer.

“Bet that can’t be comfier than the ones I’ve got for ya! And call me Harley kiddo, or Auntie Harley if ya wanna.” She says, looking up from the drawer to smile widely. She looks back and cheers in victory, pulling out a pair of bright red pajama pants. Marinette snorts when she notices the logo all over the pants.

“Really?” She asks, giggling. Harley smirks.

“We’ll have to take a picture of us and send it to your old man. Really get ‘im riled up.” She says. Marinette nods excitedly, taking the Robin pants from Harley. This was gonna be awesome.

---

Bruce sighs, looking at the news report from Paris from earlier. The damned butterflies were hard to track. He was used to figuring out problems quickly, and this one was taking too long for comfort. It wouldn’t bother him as much if it was anywhere else, but it was directly impacting his daughter. She was being hurt daily, and she’d even died and now she was plagued with nightmares. All because of a man with some magic jewelry. God, he hated magic. A knock on the study door stirs him from his thoughts.

“Come in.” He says.

“Hey B, have you seen Mari? I was gonna ask her if she wanted to go get ice cream with me and Little D.” Dick asks, leaning against the door frame, Damian standing next to him with his arms crossed.

“Not since breakfast. There was another akuma attack earlier, but it wasn’t a bad one. She wasn’t injured.” He says, remembering the completely strange battle from earlier. It was some man with pigeons, and apparently this was the 34th time the man had been akumatized over pigeons.

“Did you not check her room after the battle?” Damian asks, eyebrow quirked. Bruce sighs.

“It was the pigeon one again. I assumed that she’d want to take a nap, if anything. She still hasn’t been sleeping well. Tim said she’s awake every morning when he comes up for coffee, whether it’s three or five, she’s up.” Bruce explains, frowning at the thought of his youngest daughter’s sleep habits. He certainly didn’t need another sleep deprived coffee addict like Tim. It wasn’t healthy.

“Well I already checked her room. She wasn’t there.” Dick says, and Bruce frowns, pulling out his phone to send a text to Tim and call Jason. One of them had to have seen her. She never left the house without telling one of the family, unless it was for a battle.

“What.” Jason says gruffly, Bruce is just grateful he answered. Up until a couple of months ago, Jason would have rather thrown his phone in the river than answer one of Bruce’s calls.

“Have you seen Marinette?” He asks, getting straight to the point.

“No? Why? What’s wrong?” Jason asks, and Bruce hears shuffling as Jason rushes around wherever it is he is.

“Nothing. I’ll call you back.” He says, hanging up. He glances down at his texts and notices Tim hasn’t seen her either. He frowns, but doesn’t panic yet. Pulling out his computer, he pulls up the tracker that was on each of his children’s phones. He scans the map, frowning when he sees that her phone is still in the manor. In her room. He stands and swiftly moves past his sons to get to his daughter’s room. He knocks, waiting for an answer. None.

“Marinette?” He calls, knocking again. “I’m opening the door.” He warns, pushing it open. He frowns at the empty room, nothing appearing out of place.

“Do you think she had to pop back to Paris for something?” Dick asks, coming up behind him. Bruce shakes his head.

“No, she would have told us. Suit up, she has to be somewhere in-” He stops as his phone chimes. He looks at it and feels all of the tension leave his shoulders.

Took our youngest daughter for a girl’s day, back tomorrow XO. Of course Selina had her.

“She’s with the Sirens. She’ll be back tomorrow.” Bruce says, suppressing a smile at the annoyed look on his youngest’s face. She was safe, and that’s what matters. Even if he was certain he’d have to listen to Damian complain for the entirety of patrol.

---

“Make all the boy moose go WAAAAAAAAA!” Harley says with the movie, laughing loudly. Marinette chuckles, passing Tikki a cookie in her purse before sticking another spoonful of ice cream in her mouth.

“I still like the first one more.” Selina says, taking a sip of her wine. Harley sticks her tongue out at her before turning her attention back to the movie.

“Do you think Mia is secretly a superhero?” Marinette asks, frowning in thought.

“What on earth are you talking about?” Ivy asks, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Even Harley pauses the movie to turn and stare at her.

“Stan Lee.” Marinette says with a shrug.

“Is that s’posed to mean something to me, kid? Cause I have no idea what the hell you’re talking about.” Harley says, obviously confused. Marinette huffs.

“Stan Lee makes a cameo in this movie. And Stan Lee is the creator of Marvel, right? He’s made a cameo in like, every single Marvel movie. So is Mia secretly a superhero? Is that why he’s in the movie?” Marinette rambles, almost flinging ice cream at Selina as she gestures crazily.

“Sweetie, how much sleep have you had in the past three days?” Selina asks after a few moments of silence.

“Not important. Is Amelia Mignonette Thermopolis Renaldi, Princess of Genovia, also a superhero? Does she secretly work for SHIELD? Or is she more like Iron Man, like a freelance superhero? Was she a hero in San Francisco too? Or did she take over a hero's mantle when she moved to Genovia? Cause she was really clumsy in the first movie and also super awkward, but now she’s less clumsy and she seems to be more put together, but are heroes really put together? I don’t think so. I think sometimes heroes pretend that they’re put together to make everyone else feel better when in all reality they’re seconds away from a breakdown themselves. Is Stan Lee coming to recruit her for SHIELD? Is that why he’s in Genovia? Does SHIELD have any jurisdiction there? Is there a Genovian branch of SHIELD?” Marinette rambles, suddenly stuck on the topic. Seriously, why is Stan Lee in Princess Diaries 2 if Mia isn’t a hero? Why would he-

“Kitten, take a breath.” Selina says, her hands on Marinette’s shoulders helping her to ground herself. Marinette takes in a deep breath, letting it out slowly. She blinks a few times, instantly feeling bad.

“I’m so sorry.” She says, frowning.

“What for?” Harley asks, looking confused.

“For ruining girl’s night.” She says quietly. Selina pulls her into a tight hug and Marinette sinks into it.

“Sweetheart, you didn’t ruin anything. I don’t know everything that’s going on. But what I do know, is that you rambling out a conspiracy theory about the movie we’re watching is not ruining girl’s night. Trust me. One time, we invited your brother Dick, and he ate all of the cookies by himself.” Selina says, Marinette snorts. Of course he did. “Now that’s a way to ruin girl’s night.” She adds, squeezing her once more before leaning back.

“Let's watch something that we can just get lost in and not have to think at all.” Ivy suggests, looking through the stack of dvd’s. Marinette glances over, eyes instantly catching one of her favorite movies.

“Legally Blonde?” She suggests, Harley squeals.

“That’s it, you’re officially ours. Brucie can fight me.” She says, putting in the dvd. Marinette laughs, laying her head on Selina’s shoulder, grabbing a handful of popcorn. She could get used to nights like these.

Next Chapter

Bonus chapter: Harley Vs Bruce

Drawing of Harley and Mari’s pajamas

Tag list: @maribat-bdbwm @vixen-uchiha @stainedglassm @liquid-luck-00 @jayjayspixiepop @jjmjjktth @mizzy-pop @trippingovermyfeet @queenz-z @thepaceperson @iloontjeboontje @waiting247 @laurcad123 @toodaloo-kangaroo @ritacrow-blog @deathssilentapproach-blog @kittenmywaythrulife @nerd-nowandforever @tazanna-blythe @jaybird-and-co @jumpingjoy82

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after-witch · 4 years ago

Text

(Horrorfest) Be Good to Him (The Boy Au!Shigaraki x Reader)

Title: Be Good to Him (The Boy AU!Shigaraki x Reader)

Synopsis: The Boy!AU. You’ve come to accept that the live-in ward you were hired to nanny is a doll--no, more than a doll: a ghost, the ghost of a poor boy who died in a tragic accident. But escalating possessive behavior from your spectral responsibility has you rethinking your plans to stay. And Tomura doesn’t seem to like that very much.

Inspired by a quote from The Boy (2016): “You wouldn't hurt me, would you Brahms?”

Word Count: 2796

notes: inherent yandere, creeper Shigaraki

The sound of slamming cupboards and pounding footsteps jerks you out of a grey, dim sleep. Your brain, still foggy and restless, takes a few moments to get adjusted to being thrust out of rest.

You've been losing so much sleep lately, trying to keep up the large house and take care of Tomura and follow the rules, all while dealing with a new, bizarre reality: ghosts are real, very real, and you've been assigned to care for one.

This sudden awakening is just one of many, lately. Tomura normally kept quiet at night, when you put him to bed just right, following the rules: pajamas, bedtime story, tuck-in, kiss goodnight.

If you missed a step, he got cranky, but could you blame him? The tormented ghost a little boy, forever doomed to wander the halls of his home, trapped in the body of a lifelike doll. It was your burden to bear, it seemed. But lately the burden has been taking a mental and physical toll, grinding you down, down, down to the bone.

It makes you think of your friend. The only one you have left, long-distance, since all your new local friends got tired of you refusing to go out with them months ago. You weren't supposed to leave, except for special errands, or else Tomura would feel neglected. You didn't want him to feel neglected. Texting, at least, didn't seem to bother him.

You reach for your phone, grasping blindly on the bedside table. It's not there. The table, where you always set it before you go to bed, is completely empty.

Fuck, you think. Was it Tomura? It wouldn't be the first of your things he's taken, sometimes as a game, sometimes to show you that he wasn't happy you were slacking off. Ghosts, you realize, can be very particular.

You toss your legs over the side of the bed, bringing you fully out of the hazy remnants of sleep and back to reality. You have to find your phone. The thought of being without it makes you feel helpless and even more alone. You grab your robe and pull it over your thin white night-gown, then slide your fuzzy slippers over your feet to keep them warm on the cold wood.

The house is dark, barely lit here and there by electric candles jutting out of the walls; they were probably replacements for real antique ones that were there when the house was first built, you once mused. They're fine enough to keep you from tripping in the hallway, but you'll never find your phone like this, in the near-dark. You decide to head to the kitchen and call your phone from the landline.

As you enter the kitchen, however, you spy something new sitting on the counter: a slip of paper. You approach the note with trepidation, a quiet anxiety which only increases when you see what's on the page. It's a printed list of the rules, the rules you were given when you first came here, the rules you now followed as closely as possible. On the bottom of the page, however, scrawled in ink: "No phone unless Tomura gives you permission."

The sight of the words, hastily written, makes your blood freeze. Tomura had never... that is, you had never seen him write anything. You had experienced unusual, then-unexplained occurrence. Your clothes went missing, only to reappear somewhere else. Gifts were sometimes left at your door. Tomura's clothes or shoes would appear on the end of his bed, as if he picked out his own outfit that day. And footsteps--you sometimes hear footsteps, unexplained until you'd realized the truth about Tomura and his spirit residing in the house, in the doll.

But this sudden development makes your stomach twist, and you feel the first prickings of tears in your eyes. It's getting to be... too much. Too much to handle. Taking away your phone? Wanting you to get permission? You sigh deeply, rubbing your eyes, and think on what to do. You can't call the police--they will think you're crazy. You don't know your friend's phone number without using your phone--a fact which inwardly makes you cringe as your mother's voice tut-tuts in your memory: "One day you'll lose your phone and you won't be able to call anyone!"

You don't know exactly what to do, but you do know one thing: you don't want to stay in this house without your phone all night. You feel more uneasy than you have in the months since you discovered the truth behind the doll. You weren't exactly scared of Tomura, most of the time. But the lack of sleep and the constant demands and eggshells you walk on to follow the rules--and now this, on top of it all--has you overwhelmed.

You'll go into town, you decide. Just for the night. You'll book a hotel, find somewhere with a computer in the morning, then message her on Facebook and... maybe. Maybe accept her offer. Or talk to her about it. Ask her advice.

For this, you'll need your purse. Your keys. Your regular shoes. You head back the way you came, ignoring the slight rattling of the photos hanging on the walls. Could be the wind--could be Tomura. Either way, you didn't want to deal with it tonight. You reach your room and flick on the light, squinting in slight pain as your eyes adjust. You grab your purse and stuff the keys on the desk inside them. You head to the dresser and start throwing out a few things, socks, underwear, that you'll need for a day (maybe two, you think, two nights sleep doesn't sound bad) away.

All the while, a nagging feeling of guilt begins to build up inside you. You were just going to leave Tomura, leave this poor ghost, all alone? Just because you're... what? Annoyed at not having your phone? No, you correct yourself. You're leaving because it's not acceptable for anyone--ghost or not--to deprive you of your phone, but you're too tired and stressed to have a serious conversation with Tomura right now. With a good night's sleep, you can come back (maybe) and deal with it then.

You're fishing around your closet when you hear it. Stomping feet. You glance up to see a framed photo of flowers on your wall rattling like crazy until it falls down, sharp glass crashing when it hits the floor. You jump and take a few steps back.

"T-Tomura! Stop it right now!" You say, clearing your throat to give it an inch of nanny-esqe authority.

But he doesn't stop. The noise doesn't stop. The rattling only gets worse, as anything pinned or hung on your walls begins to fall down, one after the other, as if Tomura is going around the room in a circle. There's a dreadful, loud, angry pounding on the walls that begins to mimic your growing heart-rate. He's never done anything like this before.

"Stop it!" you yell, practically shrieking. "I've followed the rules! I've followed all the rules! Just stop it!"

The sound of a voice cuts you to the core.

"I know. You've done so well. I like you more than the others."

It’s a childish voice, high-pitched and thin.

You drop the bag you're holding and feel your knees turn to jelly. You're not crazy. You're hearing a voice. This is not items missing or stolen phones or shadows out of the corner of your eye. This is a tangible voice, one you think you could record if your phone hadn't been taken.

You swallow, thick and bitter. "Who's there?"

The voice giggles. There's an unnatural raspiness to the sound that makes you shiver.

"Who do you think, silly (Y/N)?"

You know who it is. But you whisper, anyway: "Tomura?"

You hear footsteps. You hear footsteps coming from behind the walls. You follow the sound of them until they reach the large vent on the wall facing away from your bed. Your heart hammers in your chest as you hear rattling--hear the vent rattling--until the golden grate is suddenly pushed out of the space. The clattering sound as it hits the floor makes you want to jump, but instead you're frozen to the spot, unable to look away.

A hand reaches out from the darkness behind the vent, curling around the wall and giving leverage to the figure that emerges from the dark. You try to make a sound, try to scream, but only a faint breathy gasp escapes your lips.

You watch as the figure goes from crawling to standing. It's Tomura--but it's not Tomura. It's not the doll you've been carrying around, tucking in at night, a doll you've been kissing and reading stories to at bedtime. It's a fully grown man, who seems to tower above you even at a distance. There's a mask over his face, a simple doll's mask, which you think must have once been white but is now streaked with dirt. He simply stares at you through the mask, breathing heavily.

Your body moves backward involuntarily, wanting to get away from the icy terror in your skin, and you bump into the wall. You can feel the picture that fell down earlier at your ankles. A piece of glass from the shattered frame crunches under your slipper.

The movement catches his notice, and he stalks towards you until he's practically pressed up against you. You look up at him and try to think of something, anything to say, anything that might make sense of the bizarre, horrific situation you've found yourself in. You take in his face, or rather, the mask that fills most of it. Limp, dirty hair clings to the sides of his face, clings to the mask; there's a sheen of sweat and a stale smell that permeates the air. Old clothes, stale air, and a clear lack of proper bathing.

He leans in, and you can now make out his eyes, red and intense, behind the holes of the mask.

"You can't leave," he says. His voice is awkward and muffled by the mask. It lies somewhere in between the strange childish voice you'd heard earlier--you realize with a shudder that he'd been putting on the voice of the little boy you'd assumed him to be, sweet and cheeky--and the voice of the adult man standing before you. Raspy and clearly underused.

You realize he's waiting for an answer and take a few shuddering breaths, trying to ignore the stale air that you suck in with each breath. "I wasn't... I was just... I needed to go get--"

"Liar."

Your eyes are suddenly blinking away a bright light, and you see that he'd pulled a phone out--your phone. The screen is showing the last text message conversation with your friend, the offer you'd been mulling over since you received it the day before. They offered to pay for a plane ticket home, offered you a place to stay until you got back on your feet. "Maybe," you'd texted back. "Idk. This is all getting to be too much. I don't know if I can stay."

He tosses the phone on the floor. You consider reaching down to grab it, maybe you'll be fast enough--but his arm suddenly juts out, slamming against the wall next to you. You scream without thinking.

"Mine. You're mine," he rasps. "The letter says so."

You shake your head, aware that you're now crying. "I can’t--I can't stay here."

He presses a dirty finger to your lips, shushing you. You can taste grime and salt. You’re afraid to talk, lest he stick it inside.

"You don't get to leave. It's in the rules. It's in the rules." His voice has taken on a childish, whining tone again.

The situation leaves no room for argument as you realize, helplessly, how can you hope to argue with a man who’s currently got you trapped in a bedroom, in a big house, so far from town that you have to drive?

So you nod, slowly. If you can placate him long enough… you can grab your purse, or just the keys, even, and get the hell out of there.

He slowly removes his fingers, and your mind whirls as you think of a plan to distract him. “Tomura, it’s… it’s way too late, isn’t it?” You stare up at him, offering a shaky smile. “You need to get back to sleep, young man. It’s past your bedtime.”

He looks down at you. You can hear his breath hitch.

“Did you hear me?” you say, taking on a haughty tone you used to use playfully, back when you thought he was just a wayward, lost ghost--and not a fully grown man who clearly had been living in the walls. You push down the revulsion that comes with realizing that he’s been watching you all this time. “I’m in charge, and--”

His hand is on your cheek, suddenly, and you flinch before you can help yourself. He strokes your cheek, petting you like a precious thing.

“Can I tuck you into bed tonight, (Y/N?)” He’s back to using the childish tone, sweet and syrupy. You stare at him, stuttering out something before he continues. “Please? Then I’ll go back to bed. I promise.”

You swallow and take a deep, sighing breath. Then you nod, smiling and hoping it’s not too much like a grimace. “All--all right. Just this once, because it’s a special night, right? I got to see you for the first time.”

He nods quickly, an affected gesture of giddiness. He giggles.

You just have to get through this. Let him tuck you into bed. Then wait until he’s… retreated, grab your things, and tip-toe to the front door. It’s doable, you think. It has to be.

“Let me just put these on the desk,” you say, grabbing up your purse and clothes in a deliberately casual gesture, dumping them on the desk like you’re not giving them a second thought. He doesn’t seem to notice or care, which gives you some slight relief.

You keep your eyes on him and you sit back down on the bed and slowly pull your legs up, stretching them out and giving your best careless smile, considering the circumstances. “Well? Tuck me into bed, then it’s off to bed with you, okay?”

Tomura takes a few tentative steps forward. You almost jerk your legs away when he reaches for them, but the knowledge that you need to keep him placated until you can get out of here keeps your legs still. He gently lifts up one foot, almost studying it, before slowly pulling off the slipper.

“Mustn’t wear these to bed,” he says, trailing a dirty finger up your soft naked sole. You do flinch, then, letting out a shaky breath.

“Don’t,” you say, “I’m ticklish.”

He giggles. “I know.” But he takes off the other slipper without further fanfare, to your relief. Next, he lifts up the crumpled comforter, and you let your legs slide underneath as he pulls it up closer to your chest.

Your heart is hammering as he leans in close to you. The goodnight kiss. His closeness is unwelcome, not only for the fear but for the increased awareness of the stale, unpleasant smell; sweat and body and what is probably years of living in grime.

His fingers ghost against your thin satin nightgown, toying with the straps and gently tickling your shoulders.

His eyes are wide open as he leans closer. The mask presses against your lips and your fear reaches its peak in that moment. What if he doesn’t stop here?

But in the next moment, he’s back to standing. He softly tucks a piece of your hair behind your ear.

“Good night. Sleep tight.”

You smile primly. “Don’t let the bed bugs bite?” He nods and you shoo him away--playfully, you hope. “Okay, okay! Now off to bed! A… a growing boy like you needs his sleep.”

You turn slightly over on your side, as if preparing to fall asleep yourself, and close your eyes. You listen as his steps walk away from your bed, thinking wildly: please-let-this-work, please-let-this-work, it’s-working-it’s-working-it’s--

Your stomach drops when you hear him jangling the keys--your keys--in his hands.

“Good night, (Y/N). I’ll see you in the morning.”

The locks to your bedroom are as loud as the hammering of your heart.

#the boy #tomura shigaraki #horror writing #yandere shigaraki #yandere tomura shigaraki #afterwitch writes #horrofest

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