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sneezefiction · 3 years

Text

answers

oikawa x reader

desc: oikawa changes some lyrics in taylor swift’s song “love story”

a/n: please keep in mind that most of this is just humorous & there’s no serious characterization in this particular story. i laughed a lot while writing it :,,) for @cutiekawa because you gave me the idea; thank you for that! and also for @seroto-rin because this is very similar to your husband’s lyric changing habits lol – i still laugh whenever i think about it <3 warnings: language, mentions drinking/being drunk

wc: 3k

— It’s 2 am when you hear Oikawa pattering down the hallway and past your room. From the gentle footsteps and the occasional whisper of “shit” when the floor creaks, it's obvious that he’s trying to stay quiet.

But his attempts are in vain because, one, you’re wide awake and, two, he’s just knocked over an empty beer can from earlier. It was probably the one he’d left on the hall table – you’d told him to throw it away but he’d refused saying that he’d “throw it away in the morning when his arms weren’t so tired.”

This is just karma.

The clatter of the aluminum on wooden floors echoes throughout the dorm. A much louder, especially frustrated, “fuck” follows right after it.

The word, though crass, sounds deceptively attractive on his tongue. But most things Oikawa-related just happen to be attractive.

You muffle your laughter with a blanket. He’s probably disoriented from the alcohol – it’s only been an hour and 5 drinks each since you both called it a night. You’d headed straight to bed but he’d fallen asleep on the couch where you left him, hair a-mess and lips parted.

But, for someone who used to stay out till daybreak on weekends, he’s spent most Fridays hanging out with you instead.

This weekend was no different.

Oikawa ordered Thai takeout, you found a mindless Netflix series to binge, both of you had a little too much to drink, laughter ensued, the doe-eyed boy found his head in your lap, and…

You pull a face – one that goes unseen because of the dark, but you make it anyway.

Okay, that last part was a little different.

He’d had his head in your lap.

His head… in your… lap.

And, if you’re not mistaken (or delirious), you’d had your hands in his hair, twirling strands and tracing circles at the base of his neck. A foggy image of him gazing up at you with softened eyes, deep chocolate in color, begins to solidify.

That lazy smile, a hand on your thigh, tresses tickling your skin...

You turn over in your bed, bunching up your sheets and holding them close to you like a shield of fabric — a flimsy, make-shift defense against tipsy mind-wandering. It isn’t very effective.

Your brain is not wandering but racing around this hand-in-hair realization.

Like an iron rod poking at hot embers, these prodding memories make your cheeks grow hotter by the millisecond. You bury your face in your pillow, embarrassment tight in your throat.

Somehow you’d forgotten that he’d practically climbed into your lap. You’re not in the clear quite yet, but your brain is functioning well enough that it wishes you’d had a little more to drink – just enough to forget about it entirely. You starfish out on your bed, arms and legs dramatically splayed across the mattress.

Do (hot, charming, charismatic, windswept) flatmates usually get this... cuddly? Is that normal?

Does Iwaizumi wrap his arms around his roomies after a long day and a few bottles? How about Mattsun? Makki…?

Okay, no, none of them really seem like the type to get up close and personal with their roommates without good reason. Well, maybe Makki, but he’d do it to be a pain in the ass – not to charm the living-hell out of someone.

You try to take in a deep breath and wrap your head around what this means for you… but end up inhaling a feather from your pillow instead. As you hack and cough, you try to smother the noise in more cloth material – you really didn’t need him coming into your room, much less leaning over your bed to check on you.

Oikawa is messing with your head.

If you knew any better, you’d have run away screaming the moment he’d asked you to room with him. No one that pretty and charismatic is good news. At least, not when it comes to shared housing.

But, here you are, writhing under the covers and hot like a fever all because he couldn’t keep to himself. Screw him and his charming smile for putting you in this position.

He either knows you’re crushing like he’s the last man on earth or he’s blissfully unaware and way too physically affectionate for his own good.

You don’t dare consider that he likes you back though. Only deer and Olympic athletes made leaps like that. Oikawa had too many admirers… an irritating amount.

The blankets scrunch even tighter between your fists, likely thanking their maker that they don’t have nerve endings.

Every fiber of your being is begging to know if these feelings are reciprocated. You’d hate to live out the rest of this semester knowing the boy down the hall may not like you back. Worse, that he finds out you think he’s hot shit and doesn’t like you back – that would be unrequited love at its finest.

But, with a degree and your mental health on the line, why should you care about such minor, itty bitty, pointless details.

This isn’t that big a deal.

And even if he did like you back? Well, Oikawa isn’t someone you can simply “pin down.” He comes with a distinctive, dramatic personality and a meddling side. Not to mention, he’s already the embodiment of chaos – he’s proven this to be true over the past 4 months he’s lived with you.

There’s a familiar squeak of the shower faucet handle and the hiss of hot water. You jump at the sound.

Maybe he’d forgotten, but your bedroom shares a very thin wall with the bathroom. Though you recall him saying he wanted to take a shower earlier, so you guess that he’s only just remembered.

You pick up your phone, blue light casting a less-than angelic glow on your sleepy face. You pray that TikTok will have some sort of life-changing “I’m in love with my hot, crazy flatmate” advice. Or that it will distract you from your inner turmoil. Either would be appreciated but the latter seems more likely.

Scrolling slowly, you get through about 3 videos before something else catches your attention.

There’s a deep reverberation buzzing through your wall. A gentle hum, much like a shower-concert lullaby.

But the noise is getting louder. And the humming? A lot more lyrical.

You shift into a sitting position, propping yourself up with your hands. With your side sunken into a pillow, you press your ear against the cool drywall. Your ears tune into the sound.

Oikawa, voice confident and free, is… singing.

“...But you were everything to me, I was begging you ‘please don’t go’…”

But he’s not just singing.

“And I said…”

He’s belting Taylor Swift with the enthusiasm of an 11-year-old Swiftie super-fan. Like the world would end if he didn’t put enough passion into this performance. Like the showerhead is his microphone and the surrounding tiles are his adoring audience.

“Romeo, take me somewhere we can be alone. I'll be waiting; all that's left to do is run...”

Most people would be pissed if their friend were singing in the shower at 2 am… but you can’t find it in yourself to be anything but enamored.

God, you hate him for doing this right now. Hate that he’s inadvertently endearing you to him. Hate that, no matter what you do, he’s somehow always there.

Pressed up against you on the couch, meeting you for dinner at his favorite restaurant, fussing at each other over a shitty cup of coffee in your even shittier kitchen, calling you when he needs somebody to keep him company at the library…

“You'll be the prince & I'll be the princess…”

And now he’s accidentally serenading you with Taylor’s “Fearless” album. In the shower.

You facepalm, sinking into your hands, exasperated and just so… done.

You sink back down into the bedsheets, wishing your earbuds were nearby to drown out the regrettably adorable performance.

“It's a love story y/n, just say ‘Yes.’”

And your heart drops, panic setting in like the touch down of a whirling tornado. A fire tornado. A fire tornado with frogs and lizards and sharp objects spinning around inside of it.

What… did he just say?

The lyrics… they were muffled. You definitely heard them incorrectly. You… you just need to get your ears checked. Yes, that’s it. That’s all there is to it. You’ll schedule an appointment first thing tomorrow morning.

Because who the fuck sings like that at 2 am in a shared dorm? And who the fuck puts someone else’s name into a song like that? No one? Yes, no one.

Especially not the Oikawa Tooru.

And especially not with your name.

Because that’s just... weird.

The grip on your phone is mighty – thank God for durable glass because any other material would’ve splintered or shattered in your hold.

But what the hell.

“Y/n, save me, I've been feeling so alone,” he sings as though he were Beyoncé’s son.

This time it’s clear as day. Oikawa is definitely still out of it and he’s undoubtedly singing your name.

No, no, no.

“I keep waiting for you but you never come…”

You bolt out of bed, feet hitting the floor at lightning-strike speed.

“Is this in my head? I don't know what to think,”

In one swift movement, you fling the bedroom door open and rush down the hall. You shouldn’t be listening to this.

“He knelt to the ground & pulled out a ring, and said...”

And before you can stop your hand, it’s knocking rapidly on the bathroom door.

There’s a gasp, what you assume to a bar of soap hitting the shower floor, and an abrupt silence that follows.

You’d only wanted to stop him from singing.

However, you hadn’t thought through what you were going to say to him about this whole... lyrical mess. Your face feels like the surface of the sun, burning and flaring and flushing. What are you supposed to do now?

Oikawa speaks up, voice quiet, “Hello?”

Shit.

Maybe if you’re careful you can get yourself out of this. Just act like you didn’t hear anything and bring it up tomorrow when you’re both thinking straight. A thorough and sober discussion would be needed.

You had questions. Questions that needed answers.

Why did he have his head in your lap? Had you said anything to him that you’d regret later? Does he like you? Where should you two place your boundaries if he doesn’t like you back? And why Taylor Swift?

“Y/n, is that you?” He asks, nonchalantly.

Who else would it be?

The handle squeaks and, with that, the water stops. Only the gentle swirl of the drain and the occasional drips and drops from the showerhead are audible.

It’s too late. You’re already there. You’ve knocked and, in doing so, you’ve sealed your fate.

“...Yes,” is your whisper of a reply.

“What’s up? Was I too loud for you?”

You’ve got the entire building on high-alert singing that loudly.

...is what you would say if you weren’t currently imploding. This is like nothing you’ve ever experienced before. And nothing you ever want to experience again.

“Um, yeah, sorry.” You look down at your shuffling feet.

The hallway is pitch black, hardly allowing for even a mere shadow. Rushing out of your room, you’d forgotten to turn on even a single light.

You hear him step onto the tile floor and the rustle of a tower from the bathroom closet.

“Wait, can we talk?” He asks as though it weren’t the question of the fucking year. “I mean, preferably after I get out of the bathroom.” There’s a lack of tact to his words.

This isn’t the charming Oikawa you’re used to. This is a blunt… confusingly straightforward Oikawa.

His tone wavers like maybe he’d had a little more to drink than you’d last remembered. Your memory was proving to be disappointingly unreliable tonight.

You swallow thickly, “Sure.”

Because what else can you say?

“Can I stop by your room in a minute?”

You take a deep breath, “Yeah.”

And you patter back to your no-longer very safe haven. Oikawa is about to infiltrate your space… with your permission. And the weapons he’ll bring will either harpoon you or leave you emotionally paralyzed – whether that emotional paralysis is a good or bad thing will be decided in the near future.

Your bed, though soft and blanket-covered, looks far less appealing now. It may as well be a bed of nails because you would rather hide beneath it than sit atop it.

But you sit anyway, letting the mattress dip and the springs twang.

The bathroom door cries as it opens, putting you on edge. Your heart is pounding like a drum at a summer festival – hotter and louder with every beat.

The trod of footsteps tells you he’s approaching and, sure enough, the open door reveals Oikawa.

With only a lamp to brighten the space, he’s more contoured than usual. His hair is wet and heavy against his head, taking on an even darker brown than before. You’ve seen him fresh out of the shower before, but this… is different. Oikawa’s shirt sticks to his chest slightly – he must’ve thrown it on without drying off fully to get to you faster.

He takes a few steps into your room, choosing to lean his back against a wall next to your work desk. Oikawa brings his hands behind his back, pressing his weight into them. Brown eyes flicker from you to the wall behind you and back again.

Naturally, tension lays thick as a fog in the air space.

“Hey, I’m…”

You cut him off, “You don’t have to say sorry! It’s… it’s okay.”

Oops, you’d said that a little too loud. Not that it mattered much after Oikawa’s passionate performance.

An eyebrow raises and confusion sparks across his face. Your body freezes.

He brings a hand behind his neck. “Oh, I was just gonna say that I’m still kinda drunk.”

You knew that much. Though you really thought he’d say something other than that. Preferably something about the, uh, devoted love-song?

Why is he acting so casual right now? Is this even Tooru? Had he read too many alien conspiracies and been abducted for learning too much about extraterrestrials?

Maybe he doesn’t realize you’d even heard him say your name in the shower.

“Oh... right.” You say slowly, lips staying parted at the end of your sentence.

“Which… probably isn’t good for either of us,” Different words drawl out and there’s a soft slur to some syllables, but at least he’s easy to understand, “me drinking too much, I mean.”

“Yeah,” you mutter.

“I think we should both just go to bed then.”

Your chest tightens. Of course, you want answers.

They’re likely embarrassing, face-reddening, Taylor Swift-centric answers. But you want them, nonetheless.

Although, it’s probably for the best that you don’t bring this up tonight. It was all probably a joke or a harmless accident – and, anyway, he admitted to being drunk.

“Right.”

“But I think you should know that I like you. A lot.”

“Yeah,” you respond again, automatically.

There’s another heavy silence. The pretty boy just stares at you, cherry colors tinting his cheeks but showing no expression of fear or embarrassment. You stare back, processing his words at turtle-like speeds.

The words tumble out, “Wait, say that again?” You double back, your own face reheating to its earlier temperature.

“I’m gonna be mad at myself in the morning if I don’t leave right now. And I really need to stop listening to that stupid song,” Oikawa says to himself.

“But I wanted to see how you would respond if I changed the lyrics,” the words are pointed back at you again.

He stands up, feet moving slowly toward the doorway. Did he just… completely ignore your question?

Your jaw drops, “Did…” you can hardly speak.

Clearing your throat, you try again, focusing intently on your words, “...did you mean for me to hear you?”

“...Maybe.” He draws out the “e,” looking back at you.

That’s it. He’s lost his fucking mind. You’re going to strangle him.

No TikTok advice could have prepared you for the monstrosity that is Oikawa Tooru. How Iwaizumi put up with that... that child for all these years, you have no idea.

You have to make a note of sending him a “get well” card, because nobody could be mentally okay after dealing with him for that long.

“B- but… why? What?” You stammer out, back stiff as a board.

“You like me don’t you?” He tilts his head, hair flopping cutely with it.

You gape like a fish, mouth opening and closing.

And it’s not that you don’t want to respond.

It’s that you can’t. You have no words. You vocal chords are on a panic-induced lockdown.

Because he knew.

He knew this entire time. Which you thought he might, but that doesn’t make the situation any less infuriating.

“And I like you back.”

You’re dumbfounded. You can’t think. This is ridiculous.

You open your mouth once more but he has no intention of continuing this conversation.

“Sleep well!” Without further comment, Oikawa flashes you a sleepy smile and begins scampering back to his room after having wreaked havoc on your poor heart.

Your voice comes back just in time for you to wake up the entire building once more,

“No, you get your ass back here and explain yourself!”

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #oikawa tooru #oikawa #oikawa x reader #oikawa scenarios #oikawa imagines #seijoh #what did i just write #this is gonna go under: 'things i gave up my sleep for'#ughsjdljlds'ldsdjd #also #i dont like the term crack fic anymore? so i think just calling it humorous is... a good way to go #goodnight yall #queued up!

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woeisme-iamwoe · 3 years

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an absolutely massive Haikyuu!! fic rec pt. 2

IwaOi this time around. My favorite ship. The world’s favorite ship...there’s so many

Undecipherable, by ioo (4k. G. canonverse)

I’m pretty sure the author meant ‘indecipherable’, nevertheless! I am appalled that this work doesnt have more hits. Y'all are sleeping on it and that's not okay.

The sound of the door slamming against the wall has Hajime startling back to the present. He looks at the source of the disturbance and finds himself face to face with Oikawa, red in the face with breathlessness and a leather-bound notebook tightly clutched in both of this hands. When he spots Hajime, he makes a beeline for the bench and slaps it down right next to him.

"Koi no yokan," he says. "The sense one can have upon first meeting a person that the two of you are going to fall in love."

primavera, by tothemoon (8k. T. canonverse)

All of tothemoon’s works read so beautifully

They say it takes twenty-six years, for certain breeds to fully bloom.

Learning to Walk (So That We Can Run), by ricekrispyjoints (27k. M. canon-divergence)

I've read this work so many times. Like, so many times and I’ve never tired from it. Gorgeous. The shift from friendship to romance felt so natural, love it.

"I'm not healing like I should be."

In his second year of university, physical therapy just isn't cutting it. Oikawa's knee is getting worse, and he can't hide it anymore.

Or: the light angst, project-your-own-life-experiences-on-Oikawa knee surgery fic you didn't know you wanted.

Priorities, by weirdmilk (2k. T. canonverse)

Kissy, kissy.

‘I just -’ Oikawa begins, ‘it might be difficult to get married, sometimes, I think.’ He chews on his lip.

Iwaizumi makes a questioning noise.

‘Ah,’ Oikawa says, and then, in a rush, ‘if I didn't want a wife at all - what then? If I said that to you. If I told you I can’t see it. Like - the wedding dress. The bride. I just can’t see it.’

Iwaizumi swallows again, his heart beating much faster than the conversation warrants. He wonders whether Oikawa can hear it. ‘You’re eighteen. You aren’t supposed to see it yet.’ He snorts. ‘I mean - if we’re sharing shit, I’ve never even kissed a girl.’ He doesn’t mind admitting it. It’s not something that bothers him - he’s never prioritised girls very highly, and despite Oikawa’s largely undeserved status as Miyagi’s most eligible teenage bachelor, he doesn’t think Oikawa has ever wanted a serious relationship with any of his fan club, either.

Oikawa and Iwaizumi can't sleep before their first practice match with Karasuno.

Before Midnight, by fathomfive (2k. G. canonverse)

Reads like a fairytale.

The sky turns, the seasons turn over, and Iwaizumi and Oikawa track the movements of the stars. Nothing is ever quite constant, but it's close enough.

The grass is stiff with frost. They walk in silence past the raked-over vegetable garden and up the back hill, footsteps crackling, and stand side-by-side at the top of an incline that used to seem much bigger. Iwaizumi glances over but Oikawa’s already gone, eyes searching the sky with no hint of hurry, just a kind of reverent patience.

make a bet, keep a promise, by raewrites (13k. M. canonverse)

Bet still on.

Sometimes, in still moments, Iwaizumi wonders why out of all the people on earth he ended up with Oikawa Tooru. Why it’s his face that lingers on his fading conscious in the last moments before he falls asleep, in the first blurry seconds upon waking up again. Why when he looks to his side, he expects Oikawa to be there in the same way he expects to see five fingers on both hands, a natural extension of himself, ever present.

Why he can’t imagine a future without Oikawa in it.

It begins with a bet made between the two boys in the mid-summer of their eighth year. It starts with volleyball, but like with most things involving Oikawa Tooru and Iwaizumi Hajime, things are never quite that simple.

our hearts still beat the same, by knightswatch

two birds, by thelittlebirdthattoldyou (5k. T. canonverse)

Of heartbreaking letters and paper crane wishes.

Five months into the term, two months after he’s stopped replying to Oikawa’s texts, the first package arrives. A small square box, wrapped in brown paper and tied with string, and Hajime almost trips over it on the way to his dorm.

There’s a letter attached.

Oikawa doesn’t know how many times he’ll have to put his feelings down on paper before Iwaizumi believes them.

Through My Eyes, by anchoringsouls (2k. G. canonverse)

Okay! Okay, we were doing great with the soft, happy love up until the last part! That's great, just great!

“I think if you ever saw yourself through my eyes, you would fall in love with yourself the same way the way I did with you.”

in time it could be ours, by deusreks (3k. T. canonverse)

Anyone wanna go back in time and make a time capsule with me only to dig it up years later and we’re actually in love?

Set post Seijou's match with Karasuno. There's a moderate amount of rolling in the dirt. No pajamas were hurt in the writing of this fic.

There, in their joint backyard, was Oikawa Tooru, clad in his silly luminescent space pajamas, digging a hole near a cherry tree.

“What the hell, Oikawa.”

Tooru stubbornly continued digging. He looked pitiful in that moment; everything that was grand about him in daylight was meaningless in the darkness. He was only a boy with a shovel whose broken heart mirrored Hajime’s own.

we can do better than that, by spaceburgers (16k. M. canonverse)

Of course, of course, the IwaOi road trip fic. AnD thErE wAs ONly OnE bED!

Oikawa and Iwaizumi go on a road trip during the summer after their high school graduation. It doesn't go as expected, but maybe that's not such a bad thing after all.

They Say it Rains Diamonds on Jupiter, by exsao (35k. T. canonverse)

I don't know, just gorgeous. Hajime’s so in love.

"You're in love with him."

Hajime considers denying it. He considers deliberately choking on his drink to express surprise, to create a distraction by spitting onto the man in front of him's pristine white shirt and causing a commotion. Instead, he swallows his mouthful of soda and heaves a small sigh once his mouth is free.

"Yeah," he says instead.

He's never been good at lying, anyway.

Midnight boys/sunset town, by carafin (10k words. T. Housemates AU):

The author says they played off of the fact that Oikawa oftentimes forgoes his sleep in order to work, and wrote it so that he doesn't sleep at all. This was so cute, kinda sad, mostly not. Love how Iwaizumi just goes along with whatever crazy stilch Oikawa is on.

In which Iwaizumi Hajime grows a few chili plants, participates in an eating contest, breaks into a park, and falls in love with a man who doesn't ever sleep - not exactly in that order.

5 Reasons Why Iwaizumi Hajime's Flatmate Is A Complete Weirdo (An Incomplete List)

1. He's obsessed with that stupid bucket list of his.

2. He's the proud owner of seven truly ugly, criminally hideous movie posters with aliens on them, which he insists on pasting all over the damn living room.

3. He's always stealing Hajime's sweatshirts.

4. Sometimes, he wakes Hajime up for breakfast. At 5AM. On Saturday mornings.

5. He literally never, ever sleeps.

The Best I Ever Had, by FindingSchmomo (62k words. T. Canon-divergent):

You’ve read it, your mum’s read it, your dog has probably read it (you really need to take facial recognition for him off your phone, he’s got some weird nighttime habits). So basically this fic caused me physical pain and then pumped me full of morphine and now I’m good! Beautiful read, hated Oikawa for a while, Iwaizumi is the only boy I would ever feel safe alone with.

A story of separation and time lost. Oikawa and Iwaizumi lose contact, and life goes on. Now, a decade later and back in Japan, Oikawa wonders if he can pick the pieces back together, despite knowing Iwaizumi has moved on. A story of their past, present and future, pieced together by shaky hands.

darlin', your head's not on right, by aruariandance (13k words. T. canonverse)

Again, I’m pretty sure anybody who's anybody has read this fic and for good reason! Super sweet realizing you're in love fic. Makes me reconsider wanting to get married.

'“Our wedding,” Oikawa says by way of explanation, tapping his finger against his magazine more emphatically. “What colors should we use? Color scheme is important, apparently.”

Iwaizumi feels his lifespan shortening.

“I was thinking our Aoba johsai colors to go for more, you know, softer tones? Besides, I’ve always looked great in that sea foam green color. Oh, and I guess you look decent in it, too.” He grins, saccharine sweet, and Iwaizumi has never been so tempted to knock one of his perfect pearly white teeth right out of his stupid mouth."

or,

Oikawa teases Iwaizumi about a childhood promise he made to marry him when they were older, except suddenly it's not really a joke at all.

the courtship ritual of the hercules beetle, by kittebasu (66k. T. canon divergent)

Is this one of the most famous Iwaoi fic? I don’t know. Looks like it, I know it's my personal favorite. Where Oikawa studies bugs for a living and can’t seem to come to terms with his feelings. Very angsty, love that in a fic.

Tooru is pretty sure he could manage the mating habits of a mosquito. It’s the mating habits of people he can’t seem to get right.

Terrarium, by sausaged (11k. T. Post-canon)

Honestly, I’m so surprised this fic doesnt have more hits! It’s so good! Made me ache! I love the memories and character growth shown through the growing of the terrarium, absolutely adore that kind of symbolism. So beautiful, give it some love because it's one of my absolute favorites.

He's practically a professional at being proactive (lies, lies, and lies when it comes to Iwaizumi).

At this point, is he really happy with just staying best friends forever? Will he be writing journals and collecting rocks forever (he will, he knows, but that is aside from the point)?

Can he really tag his Instagram photos with #YOLO if he doesn't actually put that phrase into practice?

A story about Oikawa Tooru, Iwaizumi Hajime, plants, and rocks.

Lips like sugar, by ohhotlamb (8k. T. canonverse)

Why did my childhood best friend never offer to help me practice kissing only for us to realize we were only interested in each other? I had a fake high school experience.

Hajime is offered to learn the art of kissing from a true professional, one Oikawa Tooru. It's not as bad as he thought it would be.

Falling Slowly, by bravely (commovente) (3k. T. canonverse)

So special, imagine loving one person, and one person only like this for the entirety of your life. This is getting too sappy, I want off of this ride.

over the years, some things change; but over the years, some things stay mostly the same.

(alternatively, mornings with oikawa and iwaizumi over the years).

No sleep in the city, by loveclouds (7k. T. canonverse)

Mass/volume = Iwaizumi, apparently. (Please. If anyone gets this absolutely horrific joke, lets elope).

Along their journey to find Tokyo's best ramen, Iwaizumi finds himself asked again and again why Oikawa is still single.

Time, by surveycorpsjean (5k. E. canonverse)

Growing older together.

When they're twenty-three, their story only begins.

Everything With You, by Ellessey (14k. E. canonverse)

Came damn near to crying, you can just feel Iwaizumi’s pain. Fight scene was probably the most emotion evoking one I’ve read in a long while.

‘Hajime still loves Oikawa, but he understands now. Oikawa can't look at him and see someone he could potentially date.

And that makes it easier to not focus on the little things that used to drive him crazy—Oikawa's long legs, the way he's always hanging off of Hajime, how his whole face changes when he gets ready for a jump serve, and he looks like he could take on the entire world and win.

This new arrangement though, this living together situation, is presenting a new set of variables that must be adjusted to, and the nakedness is one of them.’

For years, being Oikawa’s best friend has worked out fine. Hajime is hopelessly in love with him, but it’s enough. Then Oikawa—who, by all accounts, has never been anything but determinedly, assuredly straight—gets a boyfriend. Or a boy friend-with-benefits. Hajime doesn’t know, and he doesn’t give a shit about the definition.

What he knows is that remaining best friends is starting to seem a bit too painful (way too painful) to be considered a solid option.

The Best Best, by rikke (12k. T. canonverse/future fic)

Takeru is a whole mood. Don’t want kids, but I do want domesticity and this fic feeds me well.

“Congratulations, Iwa-chan! You’re a dad!” Iwaizumi hears as soon as the door opens. He’s dealt with Oikawa for all of his twenty-one years of age now, but this declaration is still sufficiently disturbing enough that he turns from his place on the couch and braces himself for whatever Oikawa has done this time.

Or the one where Iwaizumi and Oikawa babysit Takeru for a week.

cheek kisses, by ohhotlamb (G. 3k. Future fic)

Sooo cute!!

“Every time,” Hajime murmurs, “every time I see you again I remember how fuckin’ crazy I am about you.”

Routine, by snoqualmie (2k. T. canonverse)

Again, anyone wanna be my childhood best friend so we can put face masks on each other and fall in love? I died, truly.

Iwaizumi is fourteen years old, horny too often and angry all the time, and he’s just starting to notice that Tooru’s legs are really long, that his lips are kinda soft looking, and his fingers feel good pressed under his jaw.

Thirty Years and Change (the Games of the XXXIII Olympiad, by sunsmasher (19k. G. canon divergence)

Be wary, I would give this fic an upper rating to probably Teen and the follow-up fic is Explicit. But, Oikawa on the Japanese national team is just a dream as is, but add in a rekindling friendship and an angsty make out sesh? Mwah, delizioso.

It’s July 10th, 2024, and Oikawa Tooru is an Olympian. His smiling face airs on an NHK promo every 45 seconds. He’s captain of the national men’s volleyball team, reigning star of the professional leagues, and he hasn't spoken to Iwaizumi Hajime in two years.

He has, however, sent Iwaizumi tickets for the 2024 Los Angeles Summer Games.

“So go,” says Matsukawa's voice. “It’s only a few weeks. You’ve got a whole city to hide in if it gets awkward, and if it doesn’t get awkward, well…”

It’s like watching the future reconfigure, like being in high school again, watching team after team fall to Oikawa’s faultless planning and shameless charm.

“I’ll get to watch a whole lot of volleyball,” Hajime says, and resigns himself to fate and/or Oikawa Tooru.

“Hey, when you get there, can you bag a gymnast for me?” Hanamaki asks, and Matsukawa squawks.

Chasing Paper Suns, by carafin (10k. T. Future fic)

Again with the growing up and coming back together, this time with more angst than the last. Lovely, really lovely read.

Post-high school, Oikawa makes it to the national volleyball team but Iwaizumi doesn't. The next three years become an exercise in growing up without growing apart.

Some days Hajime likes to think of himself as Oikawa’s counterpart—the two of them blending into a single devastating unit, the invincible setter and his unyielding ace, the bond between them unbreakable and true. Other days he feels like he is chasing after a rising sun, always running and running with his eyes fixed on the distance, trying to cross a chasm that stretches on without end, caught in an endless and exhausting pursuit.

the yellow room, by ohhotlamb (14k. T. canonverse/future fic)

Makki and Mattsun see bullshit and call you out on your bullshit.

“I told you, we broke up like six months ago. We’re not dating anymore.”

Hanamaki eyes him suspiciously. “You live together.”

“Yeah, so?”

“There are pictures of you two kissing stuck to your refrigerator.”

Hajime shrugs. “That wasn’t my idea. Anyways, they’re good pictures. Good lighting.”

the river runs, by tothemoon (11k. T. post-breakup)

My heart ACHES. Happy ending, promise! Just read it.

One year since their breakup, Oikawa Tooru starts a list of daily reminders, tips, and tricks called HOW TO FORGET ABOUT IWAIZUMI HAJIME, and he’s determined to make it stick.

—

This is a firsthand account of how to deal (and rather spectacularly, at that).

I sure hope that guy gets fired, by Xov (29k. T. canonverse/time loop au)

The only thing better than one confession, is MULTIPLE confessions. Oikawa trusts Iwaizumi unshakably, and that's beautiful.

It was the fourth time experiencing the exact same day that Iwaizumi Hajime reluctantly admitted to himself that something was very wrong.

my only friend was the man in the moon (until i met you), by ohhotlamb (7k. T. canonverse)

Just so innocent and sweet. Oikawa said ‘effort’.

In which Oikawa has a life-altering revelation, and Hajime is starting to think it involves him.

Bet On It, by originalblue (13k. E. canonverse)

Tooru being nice for a week? That can only end one way… with a d*ck in Hajime’s mouth.

Hajime knows exactly how shitty Oikawa's personality is, and has no scruples whatsover about betting Oikawa six thousand yen that he can't be nice for an entire week.

especially for tender ones like us, by viverella (17k. T. canonverse/post break-up)

Gods! See? See what I mean? How could I forget about a work as heart wrenchingly beautiful as this? Give it some love, actually, all of the love.

The worst part of it all, Tooru thinks to himself sometimes, is that even as they fought and kicked and screamed and tore each other to shreds, it was never that Tooru stopped loving Iwaizumi any less. The worst part of it all, he thinks, is that loving Iwaizumi turned out to not be enough.

(OR: on finding the right person at the wrong time and learning how to pick up the pieces)

sunset town, by skiecas (33k. T. canon-divergent)

Another work that I just CANNOT understand why it doesn't have more hits. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful. I almost cried.

In the summer of 2020, Oikawa Tooru returns home from his first successful stint as captain of Japan’s national volleyball team. In one hand, he holds the undisputed weight of an Olympic medal, and in the other, his unresolved feelings for a childhood best friend.

Two years down the road, reconciling his lifelong dream with his lifelong love proves to be the greatest challenge.

of odd numbers and intimate regrets, by bravely (commovente) (5k. T. post-canon/one night stand au)

Basically, Tooru and Hajime sleep together after not speaking for seven years and of course there’s feelings and angst and a belated chance at happiness and a life together.

Tooru’s spent the last seven years of his life in a carefully constructed schedule that is, he realises now, as much a habit as it was a way to forget about the person in front of him.

[or, the one night stand AU between two people more than friends but not quite lovers, measuring the passage of time in distance and long-gone memories, the expansion and contraction of the spaces between their fingers each time.]

cross my heart, open wide, by acchikocchi (7k. T. canonverse)

Super cute, super short. Realizing you're on a date with the wrong person one-shot.

For a minute Hajime doesn't know what to say. Everything and nothing crowds his mind, leaving no room to think. That he's never tried this. That volleyball's over. That he's graduating in five months. That it would be really nice, at least once, to go on a date with a good-looking guy.

Hajime goes on a date. It's not with Oikawa.

Fernweh, by oikawashoyo (19k. G. canonverse/post time skip)

A mature(ish) Tooru?? I love works that show Tooru growing and living happily in Argentina and this one is just beautiful. (Plus! Plus, Skai did a piece on it as well and I love ALL their work so you can visualize everything). Love it.

Argentina is stretching out before him, an opportunity, a challenge. He is reminded of his losses, his insecurities, his disappointments; sees them form a tall, tall wall blocking his path to success. He takes a deep breath and knows he is going to shatter it.

In which Oikawa's whole life is spent longing for the horizon — in the form of a dream, a home, and a boy.

i breathe easily in your arms, by orphan_account (2k. M. canonverse)

Soft, soft sex

When, after completing their high school graduation ceremony and heading home to enjoy their freedom, Oikawa had pulled him into his room and pressed his lips hesitantly against Iwaizumi’s own, it seemed an inevitable development in the unfolding narrative of their shared existence.

Despite years of having a bed to himself, the sensation of another body taking up space in his sheets, curling against his chest, creating warmth, feels natural in much the same way.

old and new, by Mysecretfanmoments (5k. T. canon divergence)

Finally a fic where they don't freak out on confession and it's sweet.

“You seem—sad.” Was that the right word? Others sprang to mind: desperate, lonely, anxious.

Tooru looked away. “Are you going to make me say it?”

“Say what?”

Tooru folded his arms, sighed. “I missed you, of course.”

Hajime swallowed.

“No need to look that way. I told you, I’m not one of your macho man buddies. I’m allowed to say stuff like that without being embarrassed—”

“You’re being ridiculous,” Hajime complained. “No need to be so defensive. I’ve missed you too.”

“Oh?” Tooru seemed to get a little of his own back, leaning forward on his elbows. “What about me did you miss?”

((Going to separate universities, Hajime and Tooru learn the true meaning of "distance makes the heart grow fonder"))

all i wanted was you, by spaceburgers (6k. E. college/fwb au)

This was more emotional than I thought a 6k friends with benefits fic could be, okay? Okay.

Wherein Hajime and Tooru are fuck buddies, Hajime curses his treacherous heart, and Tooru is bad with feelings.

we shine like diamonds, by whitemiists (26k. T. canon divergence)

I couldn't not include this work. It deals with internalized homophobia so well and I really resonate with it.

In all seriousness, I’m very lucky to live in a country where my sexuality is widely accepted and my heart goes out the LGBTQIA+ peoples who are forced to hide themselves. You are loved and your sexuality and gender-identity are not wrong and never will be.

Oikawa is nine when he first hears the word. The boys on the playground whisper it like it's dirty, like the way they daringly mutter the word fuck and then look over their shoulders to check their parents hadn't heard.

"You know Abe-kun from class?" they snicker, hands cupped around their mouths like they're passing along a filthy secret. "I hear his older brother is... gay."

Look For Him, by Leryline (18k. E. canonverse)

A collection of kisses. I love Hajime’s grandmother.

She laughs gently. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so heartbroken before, Hajime.”

Iwaizumi sighs and prods at the mackerel with a chopstick. “Sorry. I can’t help it. It’s just different, you know? Like Oikawa pissed me off so much that now he’s not here I don’t know what to do with myself.”

“But you weren’t always annoyed with him, were you?” his grandmother smiles serenely and takes a sip of her tea. “My, my, Hajime, old women see everything. I saw you out there with my finches, when you were kissing Tooru’s nose. Your mother and father used to do the very same thing, you know, when they were younger. And look how long they’ve lasted. I hope you and Tooru last, Hajime. He’s very good for you.”

Oikawa has kissed Iwaizumi more times than either of them can count; it’s a constant thing, their lips never really leaving the other’s skin. There are, however, times when they’ve kissed that are burned into their memories. Eight of them, to be precise.

film reel life, arsenicjay (8k. T. canon divergence)

Such a unique and creative idea! Reading from the eyes of a camera, so beautiful!

The only person Iwaizumi is lying to is himself, when he insists: I am not in love with Oikawa Tooru.

how to let your planets align, by tether (tothemoon) (15k. T. end of the world au)

This is the only remotely non-happy ending fic I will be including on here, and it's purely because it's a gorgeous read. And yes, I ached. Your lips, my lips, apocalypse.

It is the last day on earth, December 2nd, 1985, when you realize you're in love with him.

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu fic #haikyuu fic rec #iwaoi #iwaizumi x oikawa #Iwaizumi Hajime #oikawa tooru

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rosy-cheekx · 3 years

Text

Hypothetically

@aspecarchivesweek Day One: Wish

I wish to make you happy.

Jonathan Sims/Georgie Barker

This was it. Jon fiddles with the pale green collar of his shirt; eyes focused resolutely on the version of himself in the mirror that hung on the wardrobe in his student flat. Tonight’s the night I’m going to ask Georgie to…

He shakes his head to himself, wincing at the end of that sentence. He knows what he’s going to do tonight, what he wants to do tonight, what difference does vocalizing it make, even if it’s just to himself?

Glancing down at his watch, Jon chews his lip. He was meeting Georgie at the bar in thirty minutes. The bar was ten minutes away…He should probably leave now, right? In case he needed to find them seats or use the loo or if the walk ended up taking longer than the dozens of times he’s been there before? He doesn’t want to be late, that would just make everything worse-

Huh. He’s pacing. Jon forces himself to stop and stands in the middle of his bedroom, wrapping his hands around his sides, thumbs digging into his back, feeling his diaphragm push his ribs out and in as he breathes, focusing on the solid movement of his body. Why am I so nervous? His therapist had talked to him, years back, about identifying sources of his anxiety. He hates that it works, hates that it means confronting his own brain and acknowledging his faults.

Is it the bar? No. This bar, The Addison, is one of the few pubs Jon actually enjoys. It’s always got a bit of a draft so even in the busiest nights it never feels like the heat of the room is inescapable. Jon’s not the biggest fan of beer, per se, but he can knock back a pint with the best of them, so long as he has something in his stomach first, and the pretzels and beer cheese The Addison makes are his favorite. The thought of them make his stomach growl.

Is it Georgie? No. He has a lot of strong feelings for Georgie, feels comfortable being himself around her. He drops his stuffy academic persona and can be his regular, less-stuffy-but-still-academic self, the one who speaks to her flatmate’s cat in a higher-pitched voice but still with proper Queen’s English, because “they deserve to be treated with respect, don’t you Madame?” She cares about him, too, he knows that, and he’s enjoyed their months as friends and the past few weeks they’ve been a couple.

As a couple…He feels a twinge of anxiety in his chest that makes him flap his hands instinctively, a quick stim to ward off the impending doom building in his belly. Ah. Found it. He and Georgie have only gone on a few dates: a coffeeshop on a Saturday morning, and a movie night in Georgie’s flat, an evening which had been planned to be a movie marathon of Georgie’s favorite bad horror movies, the B and C rated films that were truly just a vehicle for half-naked women sprinting down alleyways and gratuitous fake blood effects. Any excuse for them to laugh over popcorn and predict the plot points, except Jon had fallen asleep partway through the second movie and had woken up the next morning on Georgie’s couch, a worn fleece blanket over his slumped form. But this? This was a proper night-time date, involving alcohol and a walk home and, Jon was sure, a “mind if I come in?” and it would be different because it wasn’t a friend he was talking to, it was his girlfriend and there were expectations and he was a virgin and didn’t want to disappoint her because he knows Georgie is experienced and she deserves to have a good time and it’s his responsibility as a boyfriend to do that, even if he’s terrified because he hasn’t before—

Woah. Jon takes a deep breath. That was a lot. He did a full Sims, as Georgie would say, letting things snowball in his head until he explodes. He closes his eyes, wringing his hands again, just a gentle flutter at his sides. It’ll be fine. She’ll understand. She has up to now. Georgie has understood his weird studying habits, his deep aversion to spiders, his need to be early everywhere, his sudden shutdowns and stimming habits and how he loves to be held and touched. She can certainly handle him being a nervous virgin.

Jon slips a condom in his wallet and then, hesitating, tears off two more and throws them in. In case he messes up the first time. Checking his watch, he sees its quarter to eight. If he leaves now he’ll only be five minutes early. Perfect.

The Addison is a healthy dose of busy on a Thursday night in late autumn, the hum of conversation and music floating over Jon is just the right amount of chaos for him to reach equilibrium, feeling enthused by his nervous energy. He’s sitting at the bartop, spinning the cap to his beer bottle, watching it whirl, whirl, whirl, clattering on the stained wood and spinning all the while. It’s entrancing.

Georgie is speaking to him now. She smiles warmly at him and feels his stomach flip. God, she’s gorgeous when she smiles. Her hair’s in braids this month, pink and orange weaved tightly together, contrasting with the tight black turtleneck dress she wears. He catches himself staring at her profile, the planes of her face animated as she tells him a story about her professor and his alleged vow to fail her this semester. His face is warm. See, he soothes himself, you are attracted to her. You’re just nervous.

“Jon. Jon?” Georgie’s eyebrow is quirked up and she’s smirking at him, like she’s caught him in a lie. “Everything alright? You’re staring.” Jon feels another rush of blood to his cheeks, prickling at how exposed he feels to have been caught up in his thoughts about her.

“Oh-uh, yeah,” he nods, hesitating before reforming his own features into a smile. “I-I was just thinking. Well. How nice you look tonight.” Georgie isn’t immune to compliments, he knows this for certain, and its reaffirmed as she ducks her own head briefly, smile shifting from teasing to soft.

“O-Oh. Thank you, Jon.” She sips her drink, preferring something a little harder than Jon’s beer, usually a vodka cranberry she can nurse throughout a night or throw back when she needs a little something more in her bloodstream, fogging her mind. “You look really nice too, you know. Your green shirt is my favorite.” She gestures to the button up and he nods absently, glancing down at it. When he looks up, her face is close to his, hand weaving into the curls by his ear. He sighs and leans into the touch, feeling a shiver run through him when they kiss. He tastes the cranberry on her lips, vodka on her tongue, her liquid courage enthusing him as well as her (not that she needs any excuse to be bold, really), and makes a choice.

When they pull away for air, he grins wildly at her, the face he makes when he knows he’s about to a very Not-Sims thing. When the bartender makes his rounds again, a pale man in a black button-down, Jon orders his own ruby-red drink. Georgie’s eyebrows meet her hairline as he does so, folding her hands together. “Who are you and what have you done with Jonathan Sims?” The chuckle behind her voice balances the sternness of her words. He just grins at her and takes a sip of his newly-acquired vodka and cranberry juice, the dry flavors curling on his tongue and making his head feel light and warm after even half the glass.

Jon is drunk. It doesn’t take a genius to see that. He knows he’s a lightweight and even the divine soft pretzels he’s been munching on since his arrival can only handle so much. He’s finished his second hard drink on top of the beer and is feeling properly light and airy. Like a cake, he giggles to himself. He’s having fun, chatting with Georgie about life and cats and uni and their plans for the future. Jon’s entertaining a couple of options, a few research jobs in London, and Georgie is poking his side, making him laugh as she teases him about his studying skills being useful for something more than exams.

“At least I have studying skills!” He says, pushing her off his side, linking their fingers together to inhibit her from poking him again. “You can’t ride my coattails forever, you know.”

“I won’t have to! It came in today.”

“What did?” His thoughts are clouded, edges of anxiety smoothed over into something more ignorable.

“My microphone! So I can start my podcast about spooky shit, remember?” Georgie squeezes his hand and finishes her own drink, far along as Jon in liquid consumed but not nearly as affected as he is. “I’m going to uncover the world’s mysteries and teach my faithful audience about the supernatural. I’ve got the title nailed down, too.” With her free hand she paints a banner in the air. “What the Ghost. ‘Cause it’s like ‘what the fuck’ and I can talk about all sorts of weird shit.” Georgie swears a lot, and more when she’s tipsy.

“Can I see it?” The words are out of his mouth before he can think them through. “The-the microphone, can I see it?”

Her eyes widen and she nods, “Oh, yeah of course! I haven’t been able to test it out yet, so maybe you can help me.”

Jon insists on paying. So does Georgie. They resign to splitting it, each vowing to pay next time and knowing they will never outsmart each other.

Jon doesn’t realize how drunk he is until he’s walking the five minutes to Georgie’s flat. Tucked into her side, the air is cool around his face, the wind an icy hand cupping his cheek. Everything feels smeary, liquid, warm. Hands in the pocket of the peacoat he knows he bought for the aesthetic and not to keep him warm, he fingers his wallet, feels the circular outline inside, and feels…nothing. Good. He can do this.

He’s always loved Georgie’s flat. It is warm, all orange and yellow lamplight, houseplants, and a cosy cluttered look. Her roommate exists only in residuals, the sneakers she leaves by the door and the dishes she does at odd hours more proof she exists than anything like conversation. Jon respects that. Georgie’s room is a lot like the rest of the flat, which means it’s a lot like Georgie herself. Warm, dark, soft, and scattered, with hidden elements of cat hair no matter how many times she cleans. Jon throws his coat over his desk chair and collapses onto her bed, reveling in how her pillows feel under his back. He takes a moment to greet the weird smile-faced stain on her ceiling before sitting up, watching Georgie fold herself next to him and open a carboard box, taking out a chunky black microphone with a USB cable. She brandishes it like a sword, before angling it to her face.

“This is BBC 4 with breaking news,” she intones into the microphone, putting on a crisp RP accent and lowering her voice an octave. “Ghosts and ghouls have been discovered at King’s College, Oxford, residing as university professors. News anchor Jonathan Sims has the story. Sims?”

Jon presses back his giggles and leans into the character, accent already pretty close to the posh voice she puts on. “There’s been an error, actually. They’ve been the students all along. Journalism student Porgie Parker has been found out to have been a ghost. These discoveries were made after her boyfriend, English Literature student…Bonathan Bims, realized she had never picked up a textbook because she couldn’t! Her hands went right through them!” By the time he’s gotten to the word textbook, Georgie has pounced on him, microphone forgotten as she wrestles him to the bed, alternating between poking and tickling him until he lets the bit trail off, voice a mix of giggles and pleas for her to stop.

When she lets off, Jon abruptly realizes the intimacy of their position. She’s straddling him, her hands pinning his wrists to the plush pillow behind his head. They’re both breathing hard, cheeks flushed, and smiling.

Jon isn’t sure who started the kiss, but it doesn’t really matter. His arms are wrapped around Georgie’s neck and her hands are cupping his face, cool to the touch, nails lightly scratching his jawline. The bed is soft and Georgie is warm, pressing in from all sides, and it feels good. This he likes.

She kisses along his jawline and he feels heart rate pickup, flexing his hands (when did he curl them into fists?) as she presses against his neck. He wishes vaguely she’d put her hands back in his hair, he likes that soft feeling of pressure on his scalp. The smile on the ceiling is smirking at him now, the curve of the water stain looking more vicious than it had earlier.

Her hands are on his chest, she’s unbuttoning his shirt. Her hands feel too cold now, the shiver running through him one of anxiety, not desire, and Jon is sitting up before he knows what he’s doing. Fuck. Georgie, the saint, backs off him and kneels beside him on the bed. Jon’s hands flit to the undone buttons, fingertips circling them, suddenly unsure what to do.

“Are you okay, Jon?” Georgie’s voice is softer, eyes searching his face as she wedges her hands underneath her knees. He watches her wrists, the swing of her braids as she cocks her head, anything to avoid her eyes.

“I-” he gestures to her vaguely. “Y-You know I haven’t before, right?”

“Oh. Oh.” Georgie nods, understanding maybe a little better than he expected. “No offense, but I kinda figured, Jon. Not in a bad way!” She backpedals. “I just figured, you know, there’s no rush.”

“I mean, there’s a little of a rush,” he admonishes under his breath. At her hum of confusion: “You know, the whole-” he gestures again, as if he could pluck the word from the air. “-third date…thing.”

“Jon,” Georgie sighs his name, voice soft and so patient, a voice he doesn’t think he’s heard used anywhere else. “There’s no rule saying what we have to do when. Or how. Or ever, for that matter. It’s no one’s business what we do except ours.” She reaches out a hand, waiting for a slight nod, before taking his thin hands in her own. “Is that why you drank more than usual today?”

Jon nods, feeling a sag of relief spread throughout his body. “I just- I want to make you happy.”

“You do make me happy, you twit. That’s why we’re friends and it’s why I’m dating you.” She presses a kiss to his knuckles. “Contrary to popular belief, I don’t need sex to be happy. Is it fun? Yes. But not necessary.”

Jon frowns, chewing on his lip and eyeing the window of her bedroom, tracing the rectangle with his eyes over and over again. “I-hmm.” Georgie watches him search for words; she knows how he ticks well enough to know they’re coming if she waits. “What if, hypothetically, I never had sex with you? Ever.”

“Well,” she gave his hands a light squeeze. “Hypothetically, I’d be totally okay with it, though I’d ask if you were asexual and make sure we had appropriate boundaries.”

“Huh?” The word draws him back to her face, the deep brown eyes that search his own. “Asexual. Like, no sex?” She nods, again, ever-patient. “Huh. Asexual.” He drops the pretense. “Maybe.”

Asexual. The word felt good as he rolled it around in his mouth. He traced the letters with his fingertips in cursive against his thigh as Georgie let go of him, rolling off her bed to pull on sweatpants and a t shirt instead of the dress she was wearing

“Let’s look into it, if you want. Together.” Georgie grins at him now, rye and warm. “I will have to ask you if want hypothetical crisps, because I’m hypothetically fucking starving.”

#aspec archive week #jonathan sims #Georgie barker #cw alcohol #cw internalized acephobia #/confusion #just some good confusing feelings #based on my own experiences? said who?#also! important note: Jon's stims are reflective of my own habits #just sayin #asexuality #ace #ace flavor: who knows? not even Jon

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mymoonagedaydream · 4 years

Text

Witness Protection (Part 1)

Summary: You'd only been living in New York for a few weeks when Natasha introduced you to James Barnes, the man who’d change your life forever

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x y/n

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: Language

Author’s Note: Mamma mia, here we go again

---

You were finally out of the small town shadow.

It’d taken years, building up the courage to detach yourself from the countryside setting you'd known all your life, but now you were ready to dive into the city.

Your new flatmate Sharon had, thankfully, turned out to be lovely. After finding her spare room advertised online it took a good few days to convince your parents that not all 'internet strangers' wanted to steal your kidneys. Meeting her and settling into your new home just made you all the more desperate to build a proper, comfortable life for yourself here.

That's when you met Natasha Romanoff.

Once you’d gotten to know each other well enough, Sharon offered to take you along to her yoga class. You didn’t give it a second thought. However, much to your surprise, on arrival she immediately recognised an older lady there and pretty much left you to your own devices.

Nat took the spot next to you and the two of you got chatting. She was confident and bubbly, exactly the type of person you wanted to surround yourself with. After a couple more classes, meeting for coffee and then getting sloppy cocktail drunk a few times, you felt like Nat was already a close friend. Like you'd known her for years. So you decided to invite her over for drinks.

---

A couple of hours before she was due to arrive, you were frantically trying to get a red wine stain out of the couch, when she messaged you.

-Is it alright if I bring a few friends? They're dudes.

-Sure, the more the merrier.

-Oh also, your flatmate Sharon, the blonde- she's single right?

-Think so, why?

-Got someone I'm trying to get laid.

-Brilliant. You classy bitch.

-See you later.

You figured you should probably warn Sharon what she was in for... Then again, Nat’s in special ops. All the guys she knows should be hard-bodied stallions, right?

Yeah, she'll be fine.

When you opened the door you genuinely thought she'd brought two bodyguards with her. On her left was the predicted Action Man, with neatly coiffed hair and a thousand-dollar-smile. The other wasn't as traditionally good-looking, with longer dark hair and a slightly reluctant look on his face, but for some reason you found your eyes lingering on him a fraction longer.

With a bottle of wine in each hand, Nat gave you a tight hug. 'Good to see you! This is Steve and Bucky.'

You moved aside and waved them in, taking the wine off Nat as she passed you. She already smelled like liquor, but you guessed she'd probably just shared some Dutch courage with whichever of her backing dancers she was going to set on your flatmate. Hearing the commotion, Sharon came out of her room.

‘Oh hey, this is my flatmate, Sharon.’ You pointed towards her with an elbow whilst trying to uncork one of the bottles.

Nat raised her eyebrows towards her entourage, before realising she'd left an uncomfortably long silence. She swiftly launched into an attempt at unbiased introductions, but it became obvious within seconds that it was Action Man she was trying to get laid. Sharon seemed into it, at least.

You motioned them all towards the sofas, noticing Nat engineering their order so that Steve and Sharon ended up cosy on the two-seater. She took the seat closest to them on the big couch, prime wingman position. Bucky sequestered himself to the armchair on the other side of the room, seemingly uninvested in Nat’s mission, and in friendly conversation generally.

Oh lord, you were a sucker for the quiet broody ones.

‘Does everyone want wine? I have a load of beers too.’ You announced, taking everyone’s orders and then carrying the drinks over.

‘So, do you two work in specials ops too?’ Sharon tried to stoke conversation with your guests.

Steve nodded, but you noticed Bucky smirk and raise an eyebrow at Nat. She returned a wide-eyed glare and quickly changed the subject to how much Steve could bench-press. Clearly something was up, but after a few more drinks you didn’t really care.

The first couple hours went well, Steve and Sharon chatted while you and Nat got steadily more wine-drunk. Bucky piped up whenever he was spoken to, but otherwise he just brooded in the corner. The more wine you had, the more appealing this dark, handsome stranger was becoming to you. Maybe Nat was trying to get them both laid? Wishful thinking.

At some point, Nat decided to crank up the music and you commenced some impressively haphazard drunk dancing. You looked over to see Sharon grinning as Steve tried to waltz with her to Basshunter.

The next thing you knew, Nat was attempting to yank Bucky up by the arm. He must’ve had at least eight beers but he barely even looked tipsy. After a few seconds of aggressive persuasion he stood up, almost immediately going to lean against the closest wall.

‘You are no fun, Barnes.’ Nat pointed an accusatory finger. ‘When was the last time you let go and had a proper laugh?’

‘1944.’ Bucky replied, casually.

You laughed, quickly stopping when you noticed you were the only one doing so. Steve and Sharon were preoccupied with each other, but the other two seemed to catch themselves in their silence and force some laughter for your benefit.

Weird as hell, must be the booze.

Not long after, you found yourself wondering if maybe you’d be able to make broody dance. You eventually decided fuck it, worth a shot.

You sauntered over and reached out for one of his hands, only then realising that he’d been wearing one glove for the whole evening. A fashion statement? He really didn’t seem like the type. No matter, you went for the other hand anyway.

He moved away from the wall with surprisingly little resistance, dropping his beer bottle on one of the end tables. You smiled at him, probably looking like a sweaty maniac by this point, but he didn’t seem to mind. His arms snaked around your waist and after a few seconds his chest was the only thing stopping you from tumbling onto the floor. Soon enough, you and Bucky were swaying silently alongside Steve and Sharon.

Nat collapsed onto the sofa, proudly surveying her handiwork before dozing off.

---

You had no memories of what happened after that, but someone must’ve put you to bed cause you woke up fully clothed underneath your duvet. Not daring to sit up or move your head, you reached your arm out and fumbled for your phone on the bedside table. The light from the screen almost blinded you. You texted Nat.

-What happened last night? I don’t remember anything after dancing...

-You fell asleep on Bucky’s shoulder, he carried you to bed.

-Ah. Shit.

You threw your phone down and rubbed your eyes. You’d obviously made an absolute tit of yourself. On the plus side, needing to apologise profusely was a pretty good excuse to see him again.

---

Part Two

---

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broccoliboix5peepeeman · 3 years

Note

Can I request a platonic traffic light trio/Kiri🟥Kami⚡Deku🥦? Like,🥦is going out w/ friends.🟥⚡Simply wished🥦's hangout to go well & then off to do their own thing. But when🥦is back, he's in tears. Turns out,🥦's "friends" are still the same bullies they were back in🥦's school days. 🟥⚡Being the good, true friends & best bros they are, proceed to provide🥦w/ a very much needed comfort, reassurance & support. (For context, this is a Quirkless AU where 🟥⚡🥦are college roommates) TY ILYSM

Ohmigosh yesssss!! (sorry this took so long) _

'Hey, Mido-bro! Going somewhere fancy?' Eijirou paused his game of Mario kart to turn and look over at his flatmate.

'Yeah! I must say you're looking absolutely Gucci today, my good man.' Denki agreed, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. 'Ten out of ten would bang.'

'Kaminari-kun, stop!' Midoriya squeaked, hiding his blushing face in his arms. 'You don't mean that and anyway, It's not a big deal!'

Eijirou looked him up and down, before raising an eyebrow. Midoriya was wearing a green suit that matched his hair; the top buttons of his shirt were open - he had likely given up on trying to fix his tie and discarded it - showing enough of his chest to make a simple man like Eijirou swoon. Even the chunky red shoes were endearing…

In a certain light.

'Bro, you are looking manly as heck! What's the occasion?'

Midoriya slowly lowered his arms until they were in front of him. He tapped his fingertips together and looked away, almost embarrassed.

'A few friends from school are in town and they wanted to meet up at that fancy restaurant downtown.' He laughed nervously. 'I'm probably gonna just get garlic bread or something because it's super expensive, but yeah. I think it'll be fun.'

'That's great, man!' Denki flashed him a bright smile. 'I went there for a date once and let me tell you, the garlic bread?' He blew a chef's kiss. 'Très magnifique!'

'Yeah, but he can't just have garlic bread!' Eijirou looked at him, scandalised. 'Mido-bro is our resident beefy boy and needs more than bread to sustain him!'

'Kirishima-kun, it's okay-'

Eijirou dug his hand in his pocket and pulled out two 10,000¥ notes. Both Denki and Midoriya stared at him with wide eyes, but Eijirou just shrugged and held the money out to Midoriya.

'Treat yourself, dude!' He smiled, but his friend shook his head.

'No, no! I couldn't possibly!' He exclaimed, frantically waving his hands in front of him. 'That's way too much money!'

'It's fine, really.' When Midoriya remained apprehensive, Eijirou got up from the sofa and physically placed the notes into his friend's hand. 'Have fun, Midoriya.'

'I'll pay you back!'

'No, you won’t!' He sang. ‘It’s on me.’

'But-'

Before they could start bickering, the blaring sound of Mario Kart's Coconut Mall started blasting from the TV and Eijirou whipped around with a shocked cry.

'DENKIIIII!!!'

His friend turned to smirk at him, albeit his eyes flashed knowingly and in an instant, Eijirou realised the reason behind it. Anger and betrayal turned into awe.

Oh Denki, you beautiful specimen of manhood!

With a grin, he ran forward, leapt over the sofa and bounced onto a cushion, before picking up his controller and racing to catch up.

Several minutes passed before the door behind them shut quietly, signalling that Midoriya had left. The two of them then smiled knowingly and bumped shoulders.

'Yo, man! Can you lend me 20,000¥ too?'

'Sure, bro- Wait… What for?'

'I wanna get more Pokémon plushies.'

Oh…' He thought about it. 'Sure!'

🔴🟡🟢

Denki wasn't sure exactly when he fell asleep on Eijrou's shoulder, but he was definitely sure of how much it had hurt when the two of them woke with a start and bashed their heads together when the front door slammed shut.

He rubbed his forehead and groaned as they both turned around to find Midoriya in the doorway, illuminated only by the light of the glaring TV. His friend didn't seem to notice them though, too wrapped up in his own mind as he fell back against the wall and slid down onto the floor.

'Midoriya!' Both Denki and Eijirou exclaimed, rushing over as their friend bent his knees up to his chest and rested his head on them. When they reached his side, Denki heard soft sobs and noticed how Midoriya's shoulders shook with every breath.

He then noticed how his suit was stained and ripped in some areas. He shared a look with Eijirou, both concerned.

'Hey, Midoriya.' Eijirou reached out to touch him, but his friend flinched away. 'It's okay, it's just me and Denki. You're home now. Are you hurt?'

Denki bit his lip when Midoriya slowly lifted his head to look at the two of them.

'Kaminari-kun, Kirishima-kun?' He sniffled, before moving to wipe his red-rimmed eyes with his sleeve. 'I woke you up, didn't I? I'm sorry.'

'Don't apologise, dude!' Denki shook his head. 'Are you okay? What happened? Were you mugged?'

'No.' Midoriya's voice was hoarse and he stared straight ahead, eyes watery. 'Well, yes, but not by some strangers.'

Their friend swallowed heavily and sighed, lip quivering. 'I should've known better really. I thought they'd changed. I thought uni would've made them kinder, but I was wrong.'

'Wait, are you saying your friends from school did this?' Eijirou asked, eyebrows furrowed.

Midoriya bit his lip and nodded.

'When we were at the restaurant, they were fine. They were being nice and they asked about my degree and whether I was enjoying it, but as the night went on, they started making jibes until they were being straight up rude. I didn't want to cause a scene because we were in public, but when they started laughing about my mum, I paid my share and left, but they cornered me outside and… Well… seven on one was never going to be a fair fight anyway. Got a few good hits in though.'

Denki blinked dumbly as he processed what these so-called friends had done, while Eijirou frowned.

'I'm calling Todoroki, Uraraka and the rest of the crew.' The redhead made to stand. 'They're not getting away with this.'

'No! Kirishima-kun, wait!' Midoriya surged forwards and grabbed onto his arm. 'Don't, it's okay. I'm okay. Can we just… Forget about it, please. I don't want to give them any more reason to hate me.'

'Why do they even hate you in the first place?!' Denki found himself blurting out. When Eijirou shot him a look as if to say 'dude', he shrugged. 'What? It's a valid question! You two are the nicest guys I know.'

Eijirou muttered a quiet 'bro' but Midoriya just sniffled out a laugh and let go of his friend's sleeve to wipe away more tears.

'I've asked myself that for years, Kaminari-kun.' His laugh came out as a choked sob. 'I mean, I've always mumbled a lot and used to obsess over heroes and stuff, so that probably just… made it easier for them to pick on me, I guess?'

'Midoriya, no.' Eijirou crouched back down and clasped his friend's shoulder. He initially jolted at the contact, but slowly accepted that the touch was kind. 'There will never be a valid reason for what they did. You have to believe that.'

Denki watched as Midoriya stared at Eijirou for several moments before nodding stiffly. His friend then pressed the heel of his palms against his eyes and shrunk in on himself once more. Eijirou sighed at the action and looked at Denki, pleading for help.

Not wanting to disappoint his friends, he scratched the back of his head to rattle his brain for answers. He wasn't good at this, neither of them were. Usually, Midoriya was the one who inspired others and helped them talk about their feelings. It was unfair to now ask Midoriya to give himself his own pep talk!

'Why am I so stuuupid!' Denki moaned into his hands, his revision notes were a mess around him. 'The information's just not going in!'

'Don't say that, you're not stupid!' Midoriya smiled brightly at him. 'You just haven't found the right method yet.'

'What do you mean?'

'Well, you've been using mind maps for the past few weeks and you haven't been able to take any of this in, just like the flash cards last year.' Midoriya started to mumble and Denki tried his best to follow along. 'But when we did that activity with the plasticine a few months back, you got it practically straight away!'

His friend beamed at him in a way that made Denki instantly feel at ease. 'Play by your own strengths, Kaminari-kun, not what’s expected!'

He clicked his fingers and grinned at Eijirou before turning to look at Midoriya.

'Hey, dude.' He spoke gently, albeit with a hint of playfulness. 'Me and Eijirou were about to play some Dream Daddy and we need your expertise to woo our man.'

'Dream Daddy?' Midoriya raised an eyebrow and looked at him quizzically. His face was blotchy and dried tear tracks stained his cheeks, but Denki definitely preferred that to a still-sobbing Midoriya.

'It's a dating sim!' Eijirou barked out a laugh.

'A wh- what?!' He squeaked. 'N- Not happening!'

'Come on, Mido-bro!' Denki pouted with big eyes. 'Please? It's not the same without you! We need you and your big brain to reel in our perfect daddy!'

Eijirou nodded frantically and mimicked his expression. The two of them stared expectantly until their friend sighed, resigned to his fate. His frame relaxed slightly and a small smile made its way onto his face.

They missed that smile.

‘Okay, fine! Just... Stop saying daddy.’

‘No promises.‘ He winked, eliciting a snort from Eijirou.

However, before either of them could say anything else, Midoriya suddenly threw himself forwards and wrapped them both in a hug, knocking their heads together as laughter fell freely from his lips.

'Thanks, guys.'

#midoriya izuku #kirishima eijirou #kaminari denki #traffic light trio #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #lovely people #AgarJelly writes #hurt/comfort #angst #platonic dekukamikiri

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loyally-unfaithful · 4 years

Text

pairing: rengoku kyojuro x gn!reader

genre: fluff

a/n: henlo is me again, i’ve never owned cats and it shows i made this into headcanon format, but if you were looking for something feel free to resend a request c: alrighty hope you like it

edit: i know this is a super long time since this ask was actually sent to me?? and i honestly have no excuses to give. i’m really sorry to whoever sent the request: i was just procrastinating and then covid hit and my motivation plunged even lower. i know this is not much, and it’s probably ooc to all hell but i do hope you like it.

so ok, here’s the premise: you just moved out of your old residence, whether it was a flat or a house—you’re outta there! you is gone !

and ur friend or flatmate had a litter of cats and u just couldn't help urself but adopt one. they were just that cute.

so u did.

got that bad boi for free too, what a bargain!

and anyway u love that bastard with all ur heart.

it's just a bastard but she’s your bastard so it's all good.

very adorable dainty catto, and you took her to the vets to get her checked up, vaccinated, dewormed, and all that good stuff to make sure she will have a long and healthy lifespan.

u recall that u need to bring her in within 6 months to get her spayed so that there wouldn’t be an accidental litter. the operation is postponed since rn she’s too small, and ur like.

ok, i'll see u in 6 months.

that was 3 months ago.

now u moved out into a new apartment, with ur precious catto in tow.

after u finished bringing in all your boxes and furnitures and such, you thought to yourself, “hey, why not start this new chapter in life with a good start by acquainting myself with my neighbours”.

and that's exactly what u did: u gathered like, a packet of strawberries, and went over to the flat directly in front of urs while rehearsing what you will say in your head.

as you reached the other side and pressed the doorbell, you wondered who lived behind those doors…

first you’ll introduce yourself by name.

maybe it was a married couple? maybe even with a family?

and after that, you’ll tell them that you just recently moved in.

or perhaps it would be some elderly gentleman or lady?

and then, you will hand the gifts over and express that you hoped that the two of you will get along—something like that.

worst case scenario, the person is some weirdo… you hoped not…

the door finally opens with a click and you begin to recite what you had practiced:

« hey my name is... » your voice tapers off as you fully took in the person greeting you.

your voice disappears, meeting someone you absolutely did not expect. out of all the possibilities, you did not think for a moment that your neighbour would be the handsome young man with piercing golden eyes, lustrous locks of bright yellow hair, and an even brighter smile, standing before you.

were you staring? you were staring weren’t you? you realised in embarrassment that you were staring at the man, who was probably confused to all hell as to why you appeared on his front doors.

fighting your urge to combust and run away, you introduced yourself following the script you made up (though with more stutters than originally intended) and brusquely handed the berries over.

he happily takes your gift, repeating your name, assuring you that he was listening. it’s so stupid, but the way he says your name makes your stomach do flips. « well, welcome! he says enthusiastically. i’m rengoku kyojuro! i hope you enjoy it here! »

and that was that.

you mechanically went back to your flat, face burning and nervousness still clawing at you.

you’d say that you got adjusted to this new life pretty quickly. you seldom visited kyojuro as you were too embarrassed to pop by and chit-chat as often as you would’ve preferred to—dreading the thought of crossing him on your way to your own flat whenever you went home—but otherwise everything had been good.

alas, your cat was now 5 months old and oh boy.

something tells you your cat was entering its heat cycle or something—you were a first time cat-owner, but you had an inkling.

if your cat’s sudden affectionate, or over-affectionate, streak and unexpected attention seeking behaviour was anything to go by. she would roll on the floor, rub herself all over you and leave fluff all over your clothes, and yells.

she screm!

most stressful of all was how she absolutely wanted to escape to the outside, but you were not having it. you did not want kittens. one cat is enough thank you.

but nope, your wishes were in vain as one day, she just fucking disappeared—god knows where she is , she’s just somewhere.

understandably, you lost your shit and panicked because holy hell your cat escaped!!!

you went around to look for her, with no luck, and you were absolutely heartbroken.

that was until like??? 2 months later and you went to open a drawer to get some socks and lo and behold!

A CAT

and not just any cat! your cat! AND NOT JUST YOUR CAT! but also a bunch of other smaller cats, also known as kittens!

at this point, you weren’t even upset at the thought that you fucked up and ended up having kittens—you were just happy your cat is back and alive and well and back home. who knows how she entered back into the house.

who cares??

your cat is back!!

you’ll just have to spay her once she’s done nursing.

but as you watched over the litter, which looked like your cat but also another cat, you began to see a resemblance between their orange fur and caprisun, kyojuro’s ginger maine coon!!

and now everything makes sense…

body working on autopilot, both because of how tired you were after watching over the cats and also because you were still dissociating from the realisation, you stiffly made your way to your neighbour and ringed the doorbell… ignoring the fact that this was now 2 in the morning.

you had to tell him, or confirm or do something with this new knowledge. his sleep can wait.

surprisingly, he answered the door without you having to ring him a second time. unsurprisingly, he looked tired and was ???? at you summoning him at such an odd time in the evening.

« i know that we don’t really talk, you started. but i need to show you something: i think your cat might have gotten my cat pregnant?? »

that caught the blond’s attention enough to wash the grogginess away from his face, and he followed you back to your flat.

normally the idea that a stranger, a good looking stranger no less, was going into your flat would fluster you, but right now you were a man with a plan, you had something to do and that was to show kyojuro the litter of cats.

he was surprised when he saw them, but confirmed that you were probably right, and that his male cat had probably gotten to your cat during her disappearance.

at this point you were a little bit (a lot) overwhelmed by the responsibility that came along with being a parent (and a grandparent), so you were about to ask him to help you coparent for the little buggers.

but he suggested it before you had the chance to, taking initiative:

« then! he expressed emphatically. we must raise this little kitty family together! kyojuro declared. »

and thus began your misadventures together as cat parents.

even though you both had work and a multitude of other things to do during the day (kyojuro still has his own cat to take care of, for that matter), you made it work—perhaps through sheer stubbornness and desire to make things right.

if anything, this whole ordeal cemented the fact that you were officially put off from having real children: if taking care of kittens was this demanding, imagine a whole actual human baby.

no way, no thanks.

you’re good.

hard pass.

funnily enough, after taking turns to take care of the cats and after the shifts to watch over them, you two had become fast friends. despite your reluctance with meeting him again after your disastrous greeting, you found yourself being very comfortable being in his presence and getting used to having him over in your flat (for the cats, of course).

but you would be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy spending time with kyojuro, conversing with him and learning more about each other as you both opened up to one another.

it was when he beamed at a joke you made, wearing his signature exuberant smile and laughing a laugh that you found so adorable, that you realised that you were in too deep. that you were definitely catching feels.

sometimes, you wished that you two would’ve been more than just friends. you wince at the thought that the two of you drift apart after this whole mess was over. but you pushed that inevitability away from your mind.

for the most part, nothing noteworthy ever happened as you took care of the kittens as the two of you fell into a comfortable rhythm.

one day, while you were both taking care of the cats, his exhaustion got the best of him and kyojuro fell asleep. you found him dozing off on the couch when you walked in, and you had to stop for a moment and tiptoe in the piece because of how peaceful he looked as he was resting. it was incredible how impeccable he looked, awake or asleep.

secretly, you took a picture, capturing this moment forever. he looks adorable. you’ll probably show the image later and tell him that he can take it easy for a while seeing as he was worn out and that you just received a few days off.

speaking of sleeping on duty, you’ve caught yourself passing out once or twice (ok a few times, more than just once or twice), but the weirdest part of all was that you would always wake up on your bed instead of wherever you fell asleep.

butterflies would go feral in ur stomach at the implication that kyojuro had been carrying your sleeping form to your bedroom.

but that was what has been happening right?

you think that at some point, you had fallen asleep on kyojuro… but to save yourself from the embarrassment, you chalk that up to your imagination running wild or a dream.

a few months into this ordeal, he pulled you over to another room to talk privately to you (ignoring the fact that there wasn’t anyone else in your apartment except for the cats).

he seemed to carry himself with a hesitance or shyness that was never there, and you found yourself dreading what he was about to tell you. what kind of bomb was he about to drop on you?

before starting, he paused for a moment, resolute… or was that a look of determination in his eyes? you didn’t know what to expect and it made you worried.

« i have something i need to tell you, convey to you! he started, confidence not lost in his voice. there is a burning passion in my heart, and it was about time that i listened to it! i know we’ve only met just recently, but after our time together i realised that i have feelings for you! he uttered your name again, with such gentleness and softness that it made your heart tighten. i like you! »

« i like you too!! you responded quickly, too quickly. you winced at how loud you unintentionally were, but he didn't seem to pay attention. »

instead, a radiant smile graced his features as he realised that you shared the same sentiment. and the same smile spread on your face, happy that he returned your feelings.

slowly, he moved closer to you and like a magnet, you mirrored him.

perhaps a bit hesitant, you could feel the ghost of a kiss over your lips as he leaned towards you, inching ever closer to each other.

but as your lips were about to connect, you hear crying from the other room…

the cats!

you two jerked away from each other, alerted by the sound, before looking back at each other, dumbfounded.

after what felt like an eternity but also an instant, a chuckle escaped you as you began to laugh uncontrollably—overwhelmed by giddiness and the sheer absurdity of this entire situation—and the blond followed suit, laughing along with you.

as you calmed down, your eyes found each other and the two of you just smiled.

the both of you wore brilliant smiles, and you were floored by the tenderness he held for you.

you look like a mess.

and he looks like a mess.

and you're both tired beyond belief.

but you’re both really happy.

and really happy to have each other.

(and your cats of course).

you’ll have to thank your cat later for helping you meet this wonderful person.

LIKE MY WORK? CONSIDER BUYING ME A COFFEE // CHECKING OUT MY MASTERLIST | LINKS CAN BE FOUND ON MY DESC

#Kimetsu no Yaiba #demon slayer #rengoku kyoujurou #rengoku kyojuro x reader #kny rengoku #kyojurou x reader #kny kyojuro #falselywrites #fluff #headcanon #cats #domestic fluff

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lastbluetardis · 4 years

Text

Day by Day

Summary: “A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.” The Doctor and Rose take that first step together as they begin to clear the air and reconnect after being left alone in a parallel universe together.

Tentoo x Rose, ~6400 words, Mature

What is this? I wrote something that’s not an AU??? Indeed I did. I was inspired to write Tentoo/Rose after rewatching Journey’s End this weekend, and after finding half of this fic on my laptop’s hard drive. I wrote the first half of this sometime in 2015 and finally finished it this morning. Enjoy!

AO3

They’d been in Pete’s World for a grand total of six hours. Six frustrating, emotionally-draining, confusing hours. Using the newly-obsolete dimension jumpers and some jiggery-pokery of the Doctor’s sonic screwdriver—which had not been stolen, thank you very much—they’d managed to teleport themselves directly to the London-based Torchwood offices, where they were greeted enthusiastically by the Torchwood team. Congratulations, handshakes, and hugs were given plentifully and freely; even the Doctor was corralled into the merriment and celebration.

As soon as was polite, though, Rose had grabbed his hand before tugging him and her mother out of the building. Jackie departed their company straight away, not giving either the Doctor or Rose the option of staying with her and Pete. (Jackie knew her daughter would hide from the situation, and was doing her damnedest to make Rose talk to this new Doctor.) Though Jackie did tell Rose quite firmly that she was expected ‘round for dinner one night soon—her little brother would be overjoyed to see her again.

That was how Rose suddenly found herself with a new flatmate and a belly full of butterflies.

The taxi had pulled up to Rose’s home—a small cottage away from the bustle of London that she was renting—and she had guided the Doctor inside.

But rather than sit down and have a much-needed chat about everything that had gone on, they’d cleaned up a little and went straight to bed. In separate beds. In separate rooms.

Sleep didn’t come as easily as Rose would have wished. She should have been able to fall asleep immediately. She’d been awake for over twenty-four hours; she should have been sleeping like the dead. Instead, Rose found herself tossing and turning with nothing but her racing thoughts for company.

So much had happened. She had found the Doctor and lost him again all in the span of a few hours. Only, she hadn’t lost him. He was right down the hall, hopefully having more luck than she was with sleep.

The Doctor was in her flat. The Doctor—her best friend and lost love—was in her flat in the next room over. And here she was, cooped up alone.

Letting out a groan of frustration and exhaustion, Rose flopped onto her back. She dug the heels of her hands into her eyes and sighed.

When she’d undertaken the Dimension Cannon project, this was not how she had seen things turning out. At all. She had imagined a bit of everything. Her bleakest thoughts were that the Cannon would never work, and she was doomed to die in this universe as every single star eventually winked out. Then there were even bleaker thoughts that she would make it back to the Doctor, only to find he had regenerated into a new body, into a new person who didn’t want her anymore. But at least in that scenario, she imagined they’d saved the universe—the multiverse—and her family would be safe.

However, there were moments she had allowed herself to hope. She allowed herself to imagine that she found him exactly as she left him: tall, thin, tight suit, really great hair and all. She allowed herself to immerse herself in the burning desire and love that she knew would sear through her veins as soon as she’d lay eyes on him for the first time. She imagined being swept into a rib-crushing hug that turned into a heated, bruising snog that turned into some really fantastic sex…

But not in any of her imaginings did she predict this: two Doctors, one of the Doctors coming to live with her while the other left her behind, no TARDIS (yet), no (foreseeable) travelling. And she was still stuck in this godforsaken universe.

At least the company was better this time around, she mused as her thoughts began to turn to the man the next room over. The Doctor was just next door. A white wall still separated them, but between those walls were simple drywall, insulation, and air molecules; there was no impenetrable Void keeping them apart anymore. Just her own stubborn pigheadedness.

Rose’s chest tightened as she remembered the look in his eyes when she’d left him alone in her flat several hours earlier. After a short, cursory tour of his new living environment, she’d made a quick escape, claiming to need a shower and sleep. He’d looked so lost, hurt, and panicked at the thought of being on his own, yet he had forced a smile and agreed wholeheartedly with her. He hadn’t protested, hadn’t asked to stay with her. He’d given her space and time, and she had selfishly taken it.

But why? Why was she hiding from him? She had been looking for him for years, yet the first thing she did was run away.

Cursing softly, Rose flung off the blankets and stepped out of her bedroom into the hallway. The door to the guest room was wide open, and upon peeking in, she saw it was empty. The bed was neatly made up; he obviously hadn’t been in here yet.

Unease flitted through Rose. Surely he was exhausted as she was? He was human now, and would need more rest than he had before. They’d gone through quite a traumatic ordeal, after all. Him especially. He’d gone and split himself in two, for God’s sake. If it was anything like a regeneration, he surely needed to sleep off any lingering stress, lest he make himself ill. Her guts twisted at the thought of him slipping into a coma as he had done that Christmas day after he’d regenerated.

Rose moved down the hall and into the living room. Perhaps he was entertaining himself with the telly? Or the scant collection of books she’d acquired over the nearly four years of existing in this universe. After all, Dickens hadn’t died until 1873 in this world—rather than 1870—and had managed to coax out one last novel before passing. She’d tried reading it herself, but found the material a bit dry and language too foreign for her to thoroughly enjoy by herself.

Before, reading together in the library, snuggled against the Doctor with hot tea and nibbles, had been Rose’s favorite pastime on the TARDIS. He had thoroughly enjoyed narrating books to her, and she had likewise enjoyed listening to him. He’d brought the stories alive in ways she could never have imagined. Quite literally sometimes, seeing as he would often surprise her with trips to go and visit long-dead authors.

Since being trapped in Pete’s World, reading by herself had only left her feeling hollow and alone.

Anyway. Rose was sure the Doctor would have snatched that particular book right up. She was eager to visit a bookstore or library with him now; she was dying to know if any of their old favorite authors had produced anything new or different in this universe. Perhaps they could resume their habit of reading together every night before bed. She would like that very much, and hoped he would as well.

With every step down the hall, her excitement grew. A smile was already tugging up the corners of her mouth in preparation of seeing him, but it slipped when she found her living room as empty as the guest bedroom.

Where is he?

She noticed with some satisfaction that the unique-to-this-universe Dickens novel was resting on the coffee table, a bookmark tucked into the pages about a quarter of the way through. But the satisfaction disappeared, only to be replaced with dread.

Where was he? Surely he wouldn’t have left without telling her? A peek into the kitchen told her he wasn’t there either. Nor was he in the loo.

“Doctor?” she called out, her voice trembling.

No answer. But before she could work herself into a panic, she glimpsed his red Chucks strewn haphazardly by the front door. She breathed out a sigh of relief. He wouldn’t have gone anywhere without shoes.

She scrubbed her hands over her eyes, feeling utterly exhausted suddenly. She wondered if she should just go back to bed, but she quickly decided against it. They really, really ought to have a chat about their circumstances and expectations of each other. Yes, she wanted him here with her, but only if he wanted it too. Yes, she was happy to be with him again even though part of her heart was breaking at being abandoned by the other Doctor.

The middle of the night probably wasn’t ideal for that conversation, but at least it might help clear the air a bit. If they were both awake at this ungodly hour, there was no reason not to have this conversation. And at the very least, she really ought to apologize for running away from him like she’d done.

But a conversation required two people, and for all intents and purposes, her flat was empty. Where on Earth could the Doctor have gone?

He hadn’t been taken, had he? By some alien species that recognized him as alien? Was he even still alien? He said his body was human, but he still had a Time Lord’s consciousness. A Time Lord’s memories. Would that show up as alien?

Before she could call Torchwood to track him down, Rose noticed the door to her back garden was unlocked. She strode to the door and nudged aside the curtains. Bingo. A dark, familiar, lanky form was sprawled on one of her lounge chairs. He looked so small, sitting out there by himself underneath the stars he used to travel.

Her heart twinged. How hard must this be for him?

Sighing, Rose turned away from the door. As much as she ached to go and join him, she needed a minute. She needed to organize her thoughts and emotions, lest she simultaneously hug him and rage at him. No, she needed to get her anger and hurt in check first. There would be time to work through that later, but for now, she allowed herself to be filled up with the joy of being with the Doctor again.

To busy her hands, Rose filled the kettle and set about making tea. She pulled down two bags of chamomile tea and worked on making it to each of their likings. At least, she made it according to how he used to like his tea. She wasn’t sure if his tastes had changed, either from time or from becoming human.

With the tea finished, Rose rummaged around her bare cabinets for a box of her favorite biscuits. Tucking the box beneath her arm, she carefully picked up both mugs and headed outside. She struggled with the door for a few seconds until she was able to push down on the handle with her elbow.

The summer night was cool and there was a gentle breeze that nipped at her nose and cheeks. She wished she’d thought to put on a dressing gown; she was soon shivering in her pajama shorts and t-shirt. She wondered if the Doctor was cold. She didn’t know how long he’d been sitting out here, and he was dressed similarly to her: in boxer-briefs and a shirt. She winced when she realized it was the same shirt he’d been wearing beneath his suit. They really needed to get clothes for him.

She took a selfish minute to observe him, to drink in every inch of him before she approached. He must have heard her, because he turned his head. A small smile tugged up a corner of his mouth as she set the mugs and biscuits on the table beside him.

“Hello,” she said, her voice a little breathless.

“Hello.”

“I, er, made tea,” she said awkwardly, wringing her fingers in front of herself. “May I join you?”

“I would like that,” he said. He hovered his fingers over the two mugs and looked up at her questioningly. She pointed to his tea and watched as he took a long gulp, not seeming to care if the hot liquid scalded his throat. He smacked his lips appreciatively. “You remembered how I take it.”

She chewed on her bottom lip for a moment. “I was worried that you might not take it the same way.” She picked up her own mug and took a more cautious sip than he had. “But you’re still you, right?”

“Oh! Yes! Of course!” He cleared his throat, then lowered his voice to something a little more appropriate for the quiet night air. “I meant… it’s been a while, is all. Didn’t know if you’d remember something as silly as how I take my tea.”

“I remember everything about you,” Rose murmured, hiding behind a sip of tea.

His face softened.

They slipped into an awkward silence, with each of them nursing their own cups of tea. Rose was painfully aware that she was just standing there like a nutter.

“D’you…”

“Can I…”

They chuckled nervously, and Rose wanted to rip out her hair. Why was everything so stiff and awkward between them? Why did this feel like meeting up with her ex, rather than her lover whom she’d been parted from for four years?

“You first,” the Doctor prompted. He glanced sidelong at the box of biscuits.

Rose grabbed the box and opened it one-handed before nudging it towards him. He beamed at her and didn’t waste any time with grabbing a biscuit and stuffing it whole into his mouth. His cheeks puffed out comically.

Her heart squeezed with love for him, and tears inexplicably burned her eyes. Apart from the layer of tension between the two of them and their current location, it could have been any other night aboard the TARDIS with them sharing late night tea and biscuits before bed.

But there was a layer of tension between them. And they weren’t in the TARDIS.

“‘Oo were sch’aying?” he mumbled as he chewed his biscuit.

The confidence Rose had built up suddenly left her. “S’nothing. Wanted to know if you wanted company. But you looked deep in thought. Don’t want to interrupt. Just thought you might like some tea, though. It gets a bit cold out here.”

Rose realized she was rambling and scrambled to make an escape. “I’ll let you get back to… whatever it was you were doing.”

With her face burning from embarrassment and annoyance at her own cowardice, Rose was about to turn around when cold fingers wrapped around her forearm, halting her exit. She took a deep breath, willing her face to cool down, before turning towards him.

The Doctor was wearing a similar expression to the one he had when she left him alone in her flat earlier that evening. His eyebrows were knitted together, his mouth was drawn up tight into a thin, white line, and his eyes were so deep, so fathomless, and so sad it made her breath catch.

He opened his mouth to say something, and his Adam’s apple bobbed, but nothing came out. He exhaled in a rush, and tried again. Swallowing deeply, he averted his gaze from hers as he asked softly, “Stay? Please?”

He finally dropped his hand from her arm, moving it to cradle his mug of tea. He kept his eyes downcast, staring into the milky liquid, tracing the rim of the mug with his index finger.

The waver in his voice as well as the uncertainty shattered any resolve Rose had of fleeing back to her room. She placed her half-drunk mug of tea on the table and stepped up to him. She rested her hand on his shoulder, gave it a squeeze, then gave him a hug. Standing as she was, she towered over him for once. His shoulders were at her stomach, his head at her breasts. She tried not to think too much of that as she wrapped her arms around his neck and shoulders and held him. This was the first intimate touch between them since their kiss on the beach.

The Doctor clutched at her desperately, wrapping his arms tightly around her waist and burying his face between her breasts. She was suddenly extremely aware that she was not wearing a bra. A shiver that had nothing to do with the night air rippled through her.

She bent over him and pressed a kiss to his hair. It was just as soft as she remembered.

They stayed like that for an immeasurable moment, with her hunched over him and him stretched up towards her, holding each other as if their lives depended on it.

When Rose’s back began to protest, she stood, shivering as the cool night air replaced his warm, solid body.

“Will you stay?” he asked again.

Rose bit her lip. She really was quite cold, and judging from the goosebumps raising his arm hairs, he was too.

“I’ll be right back,” she said.

Before she could overthink it, she leaned down and pecked a kiss to the corner of his mouth, then skipped inside. She shivered when the warm air of her flat kissed her skin. She went to the couch and grabbed the fuzzy blanket balled up in one of the corners. She shook it out as she strode back to the Doctor.

He was sitting in the same position as when she’d left him. She held up the blanket for him to see.

“Budge up a bit,” she said, flapping her hand at him. He blinked, and she rolled her eyes. “Scoot up, and spread your legs. I’ll sit between them. That way we can both share the blanket. Unless…?”

Doubts crept into her mind. This would be a very intimate position for them to sit in. They’d engaged in much more intimate positions before, but that had been years ago.

The Doctor moved quickly, slinging his legs on either side of the lounge chair, leaving room for her between them.

“Good idea,” he said, patting the seat to encourage her to sit. “I didn’t realize how cold it was. This human body is quite rubbish with the cold.”

Rose carefully lowered herself to the chair, settling between his thighs before she threw the blanket across herself and draped it over his legs and feet. The Doctor wrapped his arms around her middle and tugged her closer until her entire back was flush with his front. A warm tingle bloomed in her stomach.

“That’s better,” the Doctor sighed, leaning back in his chair.

“Yeah. It’s nice.”

She pillowed her head against his collarbone and let out a deep breath to relax herself into his arms. His hands rested loosely against her lower abdomen, and before long, his fingers began tracing idle lines across the waistband of her shorts. His lips then pressed ever so softly against her temple before he nuzzled his cheek into the top of her hair.

Rose hadn’t felt this complete in years. Despite the maelstrom of thoughts and other emotions churning through her, the one dominating this moment was utter peace. She loved him so much, had missed him so much, and now she was back with him once more. They still needed to talk, to clear the air between them. She needed to wrap her head around her new reality, to give herself the proper time and space to grieve the loss of the other Doctor, but not right now. Not on such a beautiful, perfect night when she was in the arms of the man she loved.

“I missed you.”

He’d spoken so quietly that if she hadn’t felt the rumble of his chest, she wouldn’t have been sure if he’d spoken at all. She tilted her head up to look at him and saw the depth of his longing in his eyes.

She reached up and cupped his cheek, stroking it with her thumb. His eyes fluttered shut as he leaned into the touch.

“I missed you too, Doctor. So much.” She paused for a moment, then added, “I’m really glad you’re here.”

“Are you, though?”

Her heart squeezed. “Yes. I know I didn’t act like it earlier. And I’m sorry. I really am. But I am very glad you’re here. With me.”

He was silent for a few seconds, then he said, “This probably wasn’t what you were expecting, was it?”

“Not really,” she admitted. His entire body tensed behind hers, but she wouldn’t lie to him. “But I’ll get used to it.”

“Great,” he scoffed, and he slowly withdrew his hands from her hips.

“No,” she said. “I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just… I expected to be back on the TARDIS, with…”

“With him,” the Doctor bit out.

“You’re the same man,” she said. He hummed noncommittally. “Please, Doctor. Don’t do this. No, this isn’t what I expected, and yes, I’m angry and hurt and confused. But I’m also happy to be with you. I- I love you.”

He slumped back in his chair and ducked his chin to hide his face. For one horrible moment, she thought he was about to reject her, reject what she’d just said.

Instead, he said, “I’m sorry. I’m happy to be with you, too.”

Rose was said nothing for the span of several heartbeats, then she asked, “What happens now?”

The Doctor cocked his head to the side. “Well… we take it day by day, I guess.”

“Together?” Rose couldn’t help but ask.

A faint smile crossed the Doctor’s lips. “Together. Though, first thing’s first, you’re cold. Let’s go inside.”

Rose, who, despite the blanket, was close to shivering in the cold night air, nodded and stood up from the seat. She messily folded the blanket and began gathering up their mugs and the box of biscuits. The Doctor hurriedly jogged to the door and held it open for her. He followed her into the brightly-lit kitchen but stood there awkwardly while she dumped the dregs of their cold tea down the sink and put the biscuits away.

“This is a nice flat,” the Doctor said, glancing around. “You didn’t stay with Pete and Jackie?”

Rose shrugged. “I did for a while. Then needed my own space.” She held out her hand for him, glad when he threaded their fingers together. After the quiet intimacy they’d generated in the garden, she was loath to let any barriers come between them.

“I noticed the new Dickens book,” the Doctor said, pointing with their joined hands when they walked to the living room. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” she said. “Is it any good? I tried reading it but, well… The classics were never my favorite.”

“But you let me read them to you all the time,” the Doctor said, sounding a bit affronted. “Why didn’t you ever say anything.”

“I enjoyed listening to you read them to me,” Rose said, squeezing his fingers. “Maybe you could read that one to me? Like we used to?”

“I would like that,” he murmured. “Did you want to start it tonight…?”

“I’m a bit too knackered for that,” she admitted. “I’d probably fall asleep after the first page.”

Rose guided him down the hall and to the guest room. Rather than releasing his hand, she gripped it tighter.

“You could sleep in here, or you can join me in my room,” she said, her voice low. “Your choice.”

“Your room,” he said immediately, and Rose breathed a sigh of relief.

They untangled her sheets and crawled beneath them. Without speaking, they moved until they were spooned together with the Doctor curled around her as tightly as he could be. His front was flush with her back, his legs tangled in hers. He wrapped his arms around her chest and anchored her firmly to him.

Rose knew this position wouldn’t last the night; no matter how many times they’d fallen asleep tangled together, they always awoke separated the next morning. But for now, Rose relished the closeness, the movements of his chest as he breathed, the tickle of his breath in her ear.

“Goodnight,” he whispered, and the kiss he planted to the sensitive spot just below her ear sent goosebumps prickling through her.

“Night,” she managed, and before she could tell him she loved him, she was asleep.

oOoOo

When Rose next awoke, pale yellow sunlight was filtering through her window. Her head was fuzzy and her eyes gritty, and it took all of a second before the memories of yesterday rushed back to her. She glanced over her shoulder and saw the Doctor curled up behind her, wide awake and staring at her. He met her gaze and smiled.

All of a sudden, everything came over Rose at once. Tears burned behind her eyes, making her vision swim before she covered her face with her hands and began sobbing. Sobbing for everything she had lost and everything she had gained. For the years of exhaustion and hard work that led her back to the Doctor and led to the salvation of the universe. For the heartbreak and agony of the Doctor rejecting and abandoning her, and for the joy and love of the Doctor that was now crushing her into his arms.

She cried and cried until it felt like her entire body might break apart from the force of it. And through it all, the Doctor held her. His voice was low and soothing amidst her shuddering breaths, and though she couldn’t make out the words, she appreciated it nevertheless.

It took many long minutes before her tears stopped, and even longer before she felt like she could look at the Doctor. When she finally peeked up at him, he offered her a sweet smile and kissed her forehead gently.

“Feel better?” he asked, drying her cheeks with his thumbs.

“Not really,” she said thickly, her voice scratchy. Her head and body ached, and she felt like she could sleep for another couple of hours.

“I’m so sorry, Rose,” he said, kissing her forehead again.

“Please don’t think I’m unhappy with you. With being with you,” Rose said. “I’m happy you’re here. But I’m furious and heartbroken at him at the same time.”

“I know,” he murmured. He loosed a long exhale then admitted, “I never expected to be able to do this again. To wake up beside you. You were lost to me forever. But here you are.”

The wonder in his voice was almost enough to set her off crying again. She tucked her face closer into his chest until the urge went away.

“We can do this every day. If you want. Fall asleep together. Wake up together.” Her voice was muffled by his shirt, but she knew he’d heard her.

He shivered and his arms tightened around her. “I would like that very much.”

Rose pulled back just far enough to press a kiss to his Adam’s apple. The muscles of his throat bobbed beneath her lips as she trailed kiss after kiss to his neck. He hummed and sighed, the sounds making his throat vibrate deliciously against her lips.

“Rose,” he groaned.

He pushed at her, pushing her away, making her stop. Her heart dropped. But as soon as she took her face away from his neck, his lips descended on hers. Her surprised exclamation was muffled by his mouth as his lips devoured hers, searching and pushing and pulling in all the best ways.

A violent shudder rippled down her spine, blazing an inferno through her veins that screamed for more, more, more. She had missed this, missed him, missed sharing her body and soul with him as they made love. And she needed him right now.

Needing better leverage than what was being afforded, Rose wrapped her arms around his shoulder and one leg around his hips and pulled. Without breaking the kiss, Rose rolled onto her back, bringing the Doctor with her. He moaned as their bodies aligned perfectly. His hips were cradled in hers, and she felt the burgeoning evidence of what this kiss was doing to him growing against her.

“Rose,” he panted, wrenching his mouth away from hers. “Rose, wait. Is this… do you…?”

“I want this,” she said, cradling his lightly-stubbled cheek in her hands. Her thumbs brushed his kiss-swollen lips. “I want you.”

A helpless little noise escaped his throat before he ducked his head down to catch her lips in his once more. She buried her fingers in his hair, so soft and strong, to deepen the kiss. Her lips parted for him, and their tongues tentatively met in the middle, slipping and gliding against each other, relearning each other after all these years.

An aching heat throbbed between her legs and she shifted restlessly. Hooking her thighs around his hips, she brought him into tighter contact against her. His groan was lost amidst hers as he rubbed against her so deliciously.

“Rose,” he breathed, releasing her lips to trail frantic little kisses along the curve of her jaw. He scraped his teeth along the side of her neck, sending shivers of pleasure sparking across her skin. She tightened her hold of his hair, keeping him where he was and urging him to do it again. He obliged. “I missed you. I love you.”

It was the first time he’d said those words since the beach. She gasped out his name and arched further into him, needing to be closer, closer, closer.

“I love you,” he repeated, kissing and sucking at her neck until Rose was sure there would be a deep red stain across her skin.

The pressure in her gut coiled tighter and tighter the longer they moved together. Their hips arched and rubbed and squirmed, hurtling her closer and closer to the edge. Rose wasn’t sure how much longer she would last when the Doctor’s rhythm faltered and he bit the soft part where her neck met her shoulder.

“R-Rose,” he rasped. “I… sorry, but if we keep going, I’m going to… er, make a real mess of things.”

As much as she would love to continue as they were, she was desperate to feel more of him. They were still fully clothed, for heaven’s sake. Granted, they were each in shorts and a t-shirt, but still. They hadn’t removed anything, though the Doctor’s hands were doing a pretty good job of mapping out any bit of skin he could reach.

“Shift up a bit,” she ordered, lowering her legs from his hips.

“Right, yeah…”

He moved to clamber off of her, but she wrapped her legs around him once more.

“Don’t want to stop,” she said. “Just… freeing up the important bits.”

“Oh… ohhhh.” She had unceremoniously reached into his pants and wrapped her fingers around his hard, throbbing length. His hips stuttered into her touch, and she tried not to give him too much stimulation to send him over the edge. She made sure he didn’t get caught in the elastic of his waistband before she worked his pants halfway down his arse.

“Feels good,” he croaked, thrusting shallowly into her hand.

“It’ll feel better in a minute,” she said, wrenching her own sleep shorts down her legs.

After a whole lot of squirming, Rose managed to free one of her legs from the shorts, letting the fabric dangle at her other thigh. She made very quick work of lining him up and taking him into her.

“Oh… oh Rose,” he hissed, eyes and jaw clenched shut.

She was nearly beyond words at the friction, at the glide of him into her. Her hips undulated against his, working him deeper and deeper until he was seated as far as he could go. The Doctor trembled above her as he held himself still, letting her adjust.

After only a few seconds, Rose couldn’t bear the pressure anymore and she arched into him, wrapping her thighs around his lower back once more. She pressed her feet into his arse to spur him on, and he was all too willing.

It was over embarrassingly quickly, but it was so, so good. When his clever fingers drummed at the sensitive bundle of nerve just above where they were joined, the tightening coil deep in her belly burst outward, spiraling through her entire body from the crown of her head to the tips of her toes. She bowed off the bed, a garbled, wordless cry coming from her throat as she lost herself in her pleasure, in him.

He followed mere seconds later, his rhythm absolutely nonexistent as he worked for his release. It shattered through him in a rush of grunted curses and a sigh of her name as he pulsed and throbbed deep within her.

The world dissolved around her. There was nothing except for her and him, tangled together in the ultimate expression of love and unity. Rose trembled with aftershocks as her mind, for the first time in a long time, went utterly blank.

The Doctor breathed harshly at her breast, his forehead on her collarbone. His hair tickled her nose, and she brushed it away.

His arms trembled as he held himself above her, still seated inside of her. It was half a minute before he pressed a kiss to her chest and rolled onto his side, slipping out of her. She winced and grimaced, but followed him, tucking herself into his side. She threw a leg over one of his, careful not to accidentally knee him in a very sensitive area.

She was sure they looked slightly ridiculous. Her shorts were still dangling off of one of her legs and his boxers were barely tugged off his hips, and both their shirts were still on but twisted from their movements.

But Rose wouldn’t have had it any other way.

She leaned up and pressed a kiss to his jaw, then to the corner of his mouth. The Doctor hummed and turned his head to meet her kiss.

“That was really rather brilliant, wasn’t it?” A self-satisfied smile played across his lips.

“Yeah, it was,” she agreed, snuggling beside him.

“Er… rather messy, though,” he said, beginning to squirm.

Rose breathed out a laugh. Thank God. Their combined fluids were rapidly cooling between her legs and becoming rather… sticky.

“A little bit,” she answered. And though she really wasn’t in the mood for it, she knew she ought to clean up.

As though he read her mind, he said, “Do you want to… erm, take care of things? Well. I should as well. It’s a bit… damp. Anyway. Do you maybe want to… share? A shower? With me?”

Rose peered up at him; he was looking directly at the ceiling. She rolled her eyes. After what they’d just done together, he was worried she would reject the intimacy of a shower?

“That sounds brilliant,” she said, kissing his chest.

She wriggled off the bed, and let her shorts finally fall to the floor. The Doctor very gingerly worked his boxers down his legs.

“I’m gonna need clothes,” he said, looking down at his discarded pants. “I’ve got no clothes. Definitely gonna need clothes. And- and money, I s’pose, to buy clothes. Blimey. Money. I’ve got no money. Never needed it, but now I do. You’ve got bills, so now I do too. Money. I’m gonna need a job, and a name for identification, and papers, and…”

The Doctor’s eyes widened in his growing panic and his chest began rising and falling as his breathing went shallow and rapid. She stepped up to him and took his hands in hers, squeezing them once, before she dropped them to wrap her arms around his waist. He stood somewhat stiffly, but as Rose stroked his back gently, his muscles unlocked.

“We’ll take it day by day, yeah?” she said, echoing his words from the night before. “Day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute, if we need to. We’ll get everything sorted out. I’ll text Mum and ask her to bring a change of clothes for you, then we can think about going shopping. But for right now, you and I are gonna get a shower, then we’re gonna eat breakfast.”

“Most important meal of the day,” he quipped weakly. He hugged her tightly and tucked his face into the curtain of her hair. “Thanks. Sorry.”

“It’s okay, Doctor. D’you think I didn’t have the same freak out when I first got here?” she asked.

“I’m not freaking out,” he muttered petulantly.

She ignored him and continued. “We had to invent a whole new person for me. And raise Mum from the dead. We can do the same for you.” She paused and worried her bottom lip between her teeth. “It’s okay, y’know. To not be okay.”

The Doctor exhaled raggedly. “I know. But I don’t want you to feel like I regret being here. Because I don’t. Being with you again is… it’s the happiest I’ve ever been.”

She smiled into his neck. “Me too. But we’ve got a lot to adjust to.”

“Day by day,” he murmured.

“Together,” she added.

He finally pulled away from the embrace. His eyes hadn’t fully lost their panicked gleam, but it was definitely more muted. She understood all too well that anxiety.

Though their morning was utterly perfect and she was utterly content, Rose knew it wouldn’t last. It couldn’t last. Too much had happened and so much had changed. There were so many emotions and hurts to sort through, and she knew some days would be worse than others.

But she also knew some days would be better than others. Some days would be perfect. And that would make it all worth it. Those days would be the days she would be fighting for when the fragile peace between them eventually cracked. But she had faith in herself and faith in him that they could work together to mend any breaks and piece themselves back together again, stronger than they ever were before.

As if he could see exactly what she was thinking, he smiled at her. His smile was a paradoxical mixture of sorrow and longing and joy; she was relieved he was on the same page, that he didn’t expect everything from here on out to be sunshine and rainbows. It would take work, on both their parts.

The Doctor reached out to cradle her cheeks in his palms. She leaned into the touch. His thumbs stroked her lips, then her cheeks as he ducked his head down towards hers. He skated the tip of his nose along hers, and hovered with his lips barely a centimeter away from hers.

“Together,” he affirmed, before he pressed his lips to hers to seal the promise of their forever.

#ficandchips #doctorroseprompts #dwfic #doctor who #tentoo x rose #post-journey's end #my fic #day by day #romance #light angst #slight lemons #non-explicit lemons #i hope y'all enjoy this!

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pinkysfaultorbrainsfault · 4 years

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animaniacs - season 1 episode 38 - spellbound

episode summary: inexplicably stuck in camelot times, brain tries to get the ingredience for a magic spell that allows the caster to take over the world. this episode has no relation to the other camelot episode and i don't... know why.

the rundown: we begin our episode with the assertion that this is England in 1194. at this point in history, everyone from fire emblem 16 has grown up and is gay married, but we're not focusing on them right now. we're going to camelot and asking about their round table.

lol.

anyway after we see this creepy spider do whatever he's doing, we meet... merlin, i guess.

my dude??? he looks different. did you go on queer eye, merlin? whatever. he technically doesn't say he's merlin, so... maybe he's the other guy? the older guy? who's like merlin's dad?

this fucker. is he in the original king arthur? idk man i only watch cartoons. anyway he is casting a spell and it is very important. important enough to require components from yoko ono, apparently. like she hasn't suffered on this show enough.

but who do we have here?

"mouse" as my flatmate elegantly put it when he walked past the tv room to get a water. but even better than mouse??? mouse in SHORTS. MOUSE IN SHORTS MOUSE IN SHORTS??? MOUSE IN SHORTS. MOUSE IN SHORTS LOOK AT HIS LITTLE LEGYS MOUSE IN SHORTS MOUSE IN. SHORTS MOUSE IN SHORTS. MOUSE IN SHORTS.

YES.

pinky is not wearing shorts, which is incredibly disappointing. he's wearing some sort of sleeveless shirt dress tunic thing in an awful colour that someone like kanye west or justin bieber probably sells on their merch store for like a thousand dollars. he got the yeezy fit, damn. despite the designer status of his clothes, his bedroom eyes still do not convince me.

"i wish i was a windowsill so i could be--! ah. um."

"an imbecile?"

"ah! haha good rhyme, brain!" the bop of the century. kanye west sells the "windowsill" remix in vinyl on his online store for an additional fifty dollars.

after naming a few more celebrities ("I win, you win, edwin newman") the cauldron explodes in a puff of green smoke! and we get!

a pie. “lo!” he cries. “i’ve made a nice pie.”

hm. pinky is impressed. brain is uh. i think he mentally checked out? whatever he's doing i cannot stop fucking laughing at it. i actually had to put this post on pause for longer than anticipated because brain’s stupid face got to me. i’m so sorry. i started writing this at like 11pm gmt on the 11th and it just didn’t get to y’all in time because of brain’s stupid fucking face.

i’m sorry. brain is less impressed and declares it a “waste of magic”, and that he “would never squander such mystical powers over mere pastry.”

“poit. but what if you were eating dinner and you forgot dessert?”

“maybe then.”

but there is trouble afoot! Old Man Merlin has realised that king arthur will want some of his pie, and decides he’d better eat it in the dungeon so that doesn’t happen.

brain takes this opportunity to look through Old Man Merlin’s big book of spells. he “will use merlin’s magic to take control of the world” and then we get another nice closeup of his funny little face.

i don’t know why animaniacs was so keen on doing this? does it happen this much in the reboot? it feels like every episode we stare brain down to assert dominance.

“oh, no, no. where will you find a magic spell for that?”

“in the table of contents, pinky.”

“oh, well, very good.”

(the table of contents also contains a spell to “win at blackjack”, next to the taking over the world spell. brain considers this, for a moment, and then decides now is probably not the time.)

so good thing they have all the components for the magic spell, eh? including the Half Eaten Gingerbread Cookie That’s Been Left On The Counter All Night.

hmm.

oh, wait, no they don’t. turns out they’re fresh out of red dragon toenails, so brain’s solution to this problem is just to... go and get more, which is obviously a thing people do. they have to cross the enchanted forest to do that. it has witches and stuff. pinky rightfully points out that that is a lot of danger to overcome, and brain gets his stealing-the-minivan vibes back and nicks Old Man Merlin’s magic wand. he only knows one spell, but that won’t stop him.

the first obstacle they have to cross is the gingerbread house owned by... witch hazel from looney tunes. she’s a lot less annoying here than in bugs bunny lost in time, and informs brain that she is “waiting for pudgy german children.” instead of taking her suggestion to “get outta here”, brain magics her ass.

charlie sheen, ben vereen, shrink to the size of a lima bean.

they do get their ass handed to them by aforementioned pudgy german children, but then the german children decide that the mice have syphillis and yeet them in the general direction of slappy squirrel, who is here now.

she starts an argument with the goodfeathers, who are also here now, and brain takes it as their cue to leave.

but never mind all that! good thing there’s a handy bridge over this stream!

unfortunately, the bridge likes to spawn Giant Purple Hands That Kidnap Goats, so brain concludes they should cross said bridge using Stealth. unfortunately pinky drops the wand on the source of the Giant Purple Hands, and it is... relatively unhappy.

so brain pulls out the old “ charlie sheen, ben vereen, shrink to the size of a lima bean” again.

i did definitely think the troll was going to kick him in the crotch. i was very much sure of this, actually. instead it yeets him into rita and runt and fucks off.

“for goodness sake boxy” i hear you cry, “aren’t they at the dragon yet! this review has lasted a good twenty years of scrolling down my dashboard!” and i hear you, and you’re right, but the first thing you need to understand is; pinky has spent this whole episode singing. that little guitar he has? he has spent the whole episode replicating windowsill. “we’re in the woods so dark and stinky, to conquer the world, go brain and--” and then he forgets his name and brain has to remind him that it’s pinky. or remind him of his own name, or suggest like, steam to rhyme with stream. that is the running gag of this episode, and it is very important, at this stage, that you know that. pinky has not, as of yet, stopped singing and playing the lute.

so even though they make it to the dragon pretty mucn unscathed (aside from brain getting sat on by a giant, but i won’t go into that unless y’all specifically want details) pinky just has to have his little song in order to keep the dragon asleep.

and then brain yells at him for forgetting the word “sandman”, which breaks the toenail off completely,

and also wakes up the dragon, which can’t be good. it’s not happy! it was growing its’ nails out for paris fashion week.

brain tries his best to rectify this situation.

“charlie sheen, ben vereen--!”

charlie sheen and ben vereen are dead. i’m sorry to have to tell you. they shrunk down so much they got stuck in the quantum zone from antman and the wasp. someone should probably do something about that.

anyway the mice decide to hightail it back to Old Man Merlin’s.

conclusion:

spoilies: they do make it back in one piece. i won’t detail the whole chase scene because it’s just a bunch of running, because the post is long enough already, and also because tumblr has eaten it three fucking times and i could basically type all this in my sleep now. the things i do for y’all. donate to the wavemaiden.

so pinky shoves all the ingredients into the pot, while brain finds The Take Over The World Spell. the dragon is harassing them this whole time, which feels unfair.

“listen carefully, pinky. i need to recite this spell exactly, and once i start i cannot stop. so i need you to be extra quiet, okay?”

“sure thing, brain.”

this lasts for approximately five minutes.

“brain’s the boss! he’ll rule with ease!”

“mystical powers, your might unfurled, grant that i become--”

“he’s the one! the big, erm. banana?”

“cheese!” yells brain, who has given up entirely by this point. “it rhymes with ease! big! cheese!”

hm.

“are you alright, brain?”

“i feel. odd.”

this is an interesting development.

so brain is cheese now! cool. i guess they have to wait for merlin to get back from Pie Heaven and turn him back, somehow? with his spare wand or whatever. this is definitely pinky’s fault, because brain did ask him to stay quiet for a bit surprisingly nicely (in brain terms) and he... did not. and now brain is a cheese.

on the other hand, this would probably work again if they tried it again, once merlin goes back to pick up some more toenails.

brain: 2 pinky: 3 outside influence: 5

“can i get you anything, brain? some medicine? a cracker?”

“were i not a large cheese, i would make you pay for that remark.”

#patb #animaniacs #pinky and the brain #a!#tumblr has now eaten this four times.#this time i saved the html though.#anyway sorry this took so long the heatwave is making everyone tired xnx

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heyyyharry · 5 years

Text

Chapter 14: For Better Or Worse

(from the Flatmate Trilogy: Two Hearts, One Home)

…in which Harry and Niall have a guys night, Y/N starts showing, and Layla loves her wedding dress.

Word count: 4k

Chapter 13: Prenatal Visit - Y/N and Harry run into her ex at the doctor’s office.

Wattpad link

ANNOUNCEMENT: I have a college project coming up so I will not update next week. The next chapter (the Halloween special) will be posted on Tuesday, October 8. If nothing changes from now until the last chapter, there will be 17 chapters in total. for this last book. Now, enjoy this chapter and leave your comments! - Allie.

Harry hadn't been this excited since the night before his wedding. He was normally the type of person who would just go with the flow, but ever since his wife got pregnant, he had been counting each day and marking his calendar to keep track of her pregnancy. Today was the first day circled in red on the calendar, and the satisfaction of crossing it off first thing in the morning got him feeling elated.

Today, they would get to see their baby for the first time.

Y/N was already twelve weeks pregnant and started showing. Every night, he would rub her tummy and talk to it even after she had reminded him that their baby hadn't even got ears. He knew that. But the thought of Asteria or Jasper growing inside of her filled him with so much joy. He had to let his baby know how much he loved them.

It was the night before the first scan. While his wife was sleeping right next to him, he stayed up to watch ultrasound videos on YouTube. He didn't expect to get so emotional just from watching someone else's child moving for the first time. That was how he knew, when he finally got to see his own child, he surely wouldn't be able to hold back his tears.

Harry ended up falling asleep while watching those videos, and Y/N woke up to find him snoring softly with his phone on his face. She had to wake him up and drag him out of bed so they wouldn't be late for the scan appointment.

Thank God, it wasn't a busy day in the hospital. The atmosphere in the waiting room was different from the last time they'd been there for her pregnancy test. It was soothing, with perfumed scent air and unhurried nurses moving with a serene purposefulness from room to room. Nevertheless, Harry's mind was racing a mile a minute, and Y/N could feel it when he squeezed her hand.

"Relax, honey. I'm not giving birth right away," she joked, making him chuckle.

"I am relaxed though. What are you talking about?" he told her. But even himself was aware that 'relaxed' was an overstatement. Taking a seat by the examining table, he watched his wife lie down on her back and tilt her head to give him another smile. He gave her one in return to pretend that he was fine, but his knee was popping rapidly like he'd consumed a ton of caffeine before he got there.

The sonographer spread a gel over her tummy and then rolled a small scanning device around the area where the gel was. All three of them turned to the computer screen. As soon as the first images were shown, the shakiness in Harry's limbs immediately vanished. His entire body stiffened as he held his breath, peering at the screen. That was his baby. And they were moving. He had seen too many videos last night, so why was he still in shock?

"Although you won't be feeling your baby move just yet, they're dancing around inside you," said the sonographer.

Y/N had already teared up when she turned to Harry, wanting to see his reaction. But he was just sitting there with his mouth and eyes wide open. He couldn't even move a muscle let alone look away from the screen.

His emotions were like slow effects. It was only until they were sitting in the car in the hospital parking lot, and he was looking at the first photos of their baby, did he begin to cry. He turned to her, smiling tearfully and saying, "this is our baby, Y/N. This is Asteria or Jasper."

Even though Y/N's eyes were just beginning to dry, it didn't take more than a few seconds for her to tear up again. She leaned in, kissing him deeply and pulling away to rub his shoulder, eyes on the photos he was holding.

"Would you mind if I replace your photo in my wallet with this one?" He chuckled slightly and wiped the tears on his cheeks as Y/N tossed her head back and laughed.

"Of course not," she said, beaming. "I would do that, too."

"So...Is this Ria or Jas?" Niall questioned as he squinted his eyes at the ultrasound photo in his hand. Harry tried to focus on driving, still he kept glancing back and forth between the road and Niall, just to make sure Niall was being careful with the first photo of his baby.

"Are you stupid?" he said. "The baby hasn't got ears yet."

"Oh, right!" Niall snorted as he carefully put the photo back in his best friend's wallet. They were on their way to Niall's brother bachelor party. His brother's wedding and his were only six months apart.

The last time Harry had gone to a bachelor party had been by far the worst experience in his life, and he'd told himself that Niall's would be the last one he would attend in this lifetime. After that, he'd be retired from bachelor parties for good. But then, Niall had to drag Harry to his brother's bachelor party, saying Harry could use this as an example to throw one for him. Harry felt like it was his responsibility as the best man to make the groom happy, so here he was, driving Niall to the party and already wanting to turn his car around and go home.

"So when will you find out the baby's gender?" Niall asked to fill the silence.

"We'll get another ultrasound done between the eighteenth and twenty-second weeks."

"Are you nervous?"

"Yeah but...I'm happy either way."

"No, I mean...Are you nervous that you're going to be a dad? Because I'm already nervous that I might not be 'cool uncle Niall', you know?"

The way Niall blew out his cheeks and shook his head had Harry cackling. "Niall, you'll be a great uncle," he said. "Just...just don't coax my kid into weird stuff and you'll be fine."

"Hey, 99% of the trouble we got into was because of you!"

"Shit, you're right." Now it was Harry who blew out his cheeks in frustration. "But I'm going to be a good and responsible parent," he reassured himself, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. "I got this."

"Let's hope so," Niall said as he clasped his hands together. "Aaaaanyway, I think there are strippers there."

"What part of 'a good and responsible parent' didn't you understand?!" Harry exclaimed. "And Layla would kill you."

"I was just saying that—"

"Don't even say that!"

"Okay, okay! Gee!" Niall rubbed his forehead as Harry slowed down and pulled over in front of a club.

"Last chance to change your mind," Harry turned to him, arching an eyebrow and hoping that he'd say no.

It took Niall a few seconds to think before he unbuckled his seatbelt. To Harry's disappointment, he said, "let's do this!"

Meanwhile, Y/N and Layla were together in Layla's bedroom. The bride-to-be had just got her wedding dress earlier that day, and she'd been wearing it and swaying in front of the mirror for over forty minutes. Even though she had repeatedly said she wasn't nervous about her wedding because she was rich, Y/N knew Layla had never been more nervous about anything else in her life. She was probably as just agitated as Y/N and Harry in the waiting room yesterday.

Y/N had grown up with parents who loved each other. Layla, however, hadn't been so lucky. Those who didn't know her well would envy her because she was not only pretty, but also rich, and engaged to her best friend, who was also rich. Little did they knew, Layla had to struggle every day for validation. Her parents hated each other, and they didn't love her either, or so it seemed. When she told them about her engagement, neither of them had showed any interest, so she didn't even bother to send them the invitations.

Poor Layla had poured her heart and soul into planning such a big wedding with such little help, and she hadn't been fully happy for weeks. But today, after putting on her two-thousand-dollar wedding dress, she was on cloud nine. Y/N wished Layla would remain this happy until long after her wedding day.

"If you continue to dance like that, you'll get sweaty and ruin the dress."

The warning got Layla rooted to the spot, her eyes popped out. "Shit, you're right! I have to take it off! Help me!"

Giggling, Y/N rose from the bed to help her best friend unzip and step out of the dress. Layla had to remind Y/N every five seconds to be careful as they brought the dress to her wardrobe, and each time Y/N had to reassure her again that she knew how to handle a wedding dress because she'd been a bride before.

"Oh, really? Remember what happened to your wedding dress?"

"It wasn't even my fault," Y/N said as she flopped down on the bed, waiting for Layla to put her clothes back on.

Once Layla was done, she took a seat next to Y/N and repeated the obvious, "I just really love it."

"I know. You treat it like your own baby."

"Well, because it is my baby. The whole wedding venue could just burn and crash, but as long as I have that dress, everything is fine," Layla said with a straight face to prove that she was serious. Then, she changed the subject, "speaking of a baby, how's yours?"

Y/N brightened at once. "We got to see them for the first time yesterday!"

"Oh, shit, right!" Layla exclaimed as she held her head. "Fuck, you told me last week and I forgot! Do you have a photo?"

"Here." Y/N beamed and showed Layla the one she kept in her wallet.

"Oh my God, hi baby Ria or baby Jas. Whoever you end up being, aunt Layla will love you anyway," Layla said before glancing up to meet Y/N's eyes. "I've never talked to a womb before, how did I do?"

"You did great." Y/N giggled, giving her a thumb up.

Sighing in relief, Layla handed her back the photo so she could put it away. "So..." she trailed off. "You already got your dress right? When will I get to see it?"

"Um...I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know?"

"I just...I'll be six-month pregnant at the wedding, so it's a bit loose for me now. I'll show it to you when it's close to the wedding day."

Layla scoffed, shaking her head. "It doesn't matter, just let me see it!"

"No," Y/N said she rose from the bed, checking her watch. "I gotta go home to pick up Treasure now."

Layla grabbed her wrist in an instant. "No, bitch, you're showing me the dress!"

"No!"

"Why?!"

"Because—" Y/N exhaled sharply as she pulled her arm out of Layla's grip. "I don't know...I just...look weird in it."

"Bullshit."

"It's true! I'll probably look so funny standing next to your skinny bridesmaids."

"You're not even fat."

"I will be," she blurted, not knowing why she'd said that aloud.

Y/N would never talk about her weight, even at moments when she was the most insecure. She believed that people wouldn't notice her imperfections if she didn't point them out herself. But ever since she got pregnant, she had changed a lot, physically and mentally, and she was more conscious about how she looked than she had been before.

Her cheeks reddened when Layla chortled. "You're pregnant, Y/N. Of course you'll be gaining a bit of weight. Why's it such a big deal?"

"I just..." She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. "Never mind, it doesn't matter. I-I gotta go home and pick up Treasure."

"I'm coming with you!" Layla shouted and hurried after her to the door. "But...can we stop by the grocery store on the way?"

The music in the club was as loud as thunder and the laughter ringing in Harry's ears wouldn't seem to stop. He liked the song they were playing, but he hated everything else. The group of men in front of him was cheering and drooling over the two strippers dancing around Niall's brother, who was tied to a chair. Harry loved the man but how on earth could he look so happy? What would his future wife think if she saw this scene? Harry honestly couldn't relate. Shaking his head, he took a sip of the champagne in his glass and leaned back against the bar counter.

The funny thing about this whole experience was that it used to be normal to him. Partying used to be his way of escaping from stress and responsibilities and all that shit. He used to depend on parties like this, on touches of women he didn't know to feel fulfilled. Now here he was, judging these people and wishing he'd been home with his wife. He would rather spend the rest of tonight talking to her womb than checking his watch every two seconds.

As he finished the thought, he turned to his best friend, who had the same look of anxiety on his face. Niall turned to him, frowning as he said, "are you scared? Because I kind of am."

Harry chuckled at the comment. "I've been scared since we got in the car."

"I can't believe we used to enjoy this," Niall said, nodding his head toward his brother, who was literally grinding that stripper. "I think we're getting old."

"We are," Harry agreed, emptied his glass with one go, and slammed it down on the counter. "Niall, you can't have a bachelor party like this."

"I can't have a bachelor party like this," Niall repeated the same words, slowly shaking his head, still watching his brother with anxiety.

The horrified look on his face made Harry laugh. "Your wedding would become your funeral."

"That's not the thing though," Niall said as he turned back to Harry, his eyebrows knitted together. "I'm not afraid of Layla. I just don't want to hurt her and I don't want another woman to touch me."

"I can't relate to not being afraid of Layla but—" Harry paused, looking at the other men and sucking a breath. "You're absolutely right."

"Maybe we could...I don't know? Go shopping or something for the bachelor night?"

The suggestion left Harry poker-faced. "Not having strippers at the party does not equal not having a party at all, Niall."

"You don't get to judge me. We were at a spa on your bachelor night!"

"Fuck, you're right," said Harry with a monotone and an empty stare as he puckered up his lips. Niall was about to make a remark when one of the strippers approached them. At first, Harry thought she was just coming over to get some drinks from the bar, but she stopped right in front of him and leaned in so close that he nearly fell off his chair from leaning back, not wanting to touch her.

"Hey, pretty boys, you want a show?" The brunette had a thick German accent, and her voice was annoyingly piercing. Harry hated it. Still, he politely muttered, "no, thank you."

He didn't how to push her away without having to touch her or appearing as being rude. Fortunately, he didn't have to do anything. She pulled back on her own, setting her hands on her hips and raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, I get it," she said, pointing to each of them. "Are you two gay?"

"No, I'm a dad," Harry awkward replied, and he was so confused when a smirk appeared on her face.

"Oh, so you have a daddy kink, huh?"

"He does." Niall cracked up, and Harry smacked him on the arm.

"No, I'm an actual dad," he said, raising his hand and pointing to the ring. "I'm married. Sorry."

The woman burst out laughing as she immediately apologized for making him feel uncomfortable. But then she winked at him and said, "I'll be over there if you change your mind."

Harry and Niall both swallowed as they watched her walk away, swaying her broad hips seductively. Then, as if they could read each other's mind, they turned to each other and spoke at the same time, "let's get out of here."

Y/N was deeply concerned.

She'd had a bad feeling when Layla walked out of the grocery store holding two heavy bags of snacks which was more than the amount she'd eaten in twenty-five years of her life.

"Who are these for?" Y/N had asked.

And Layla had told her, "for me. I'm in a good mood."

Y/N didn't know what kind of 'good mood' her best friend was in, but now the girl was lying on the couch with Treasure on her lap, a bowl of popcorn on her right, a giant pack of gummy bears on her left, and her legs on the coffee table. She didn't look like Layla, she looked like Y/N's dad on lazy Sundays or football nights. That was how Y/N knew it was serious.

"I'm going to order a pizza. Want one?"

"Please don't. I'd throw up all over you," said Y/N as she marched toward the couch and took the bowl of gummy bears away from Layla. Layla attempted to reach for it, but Y/N smacked her hand away.

"Hey!"

"What is wrong with you?!" Y/N said. "First, you bought everything in the store that contained sugar and now you're eating pizza?!"

"I've eaten pizza plenty of times!" Layla gasped.

"That was before you turned thirteen!" Y/N cried out, but her best friend was just gawking at her like she was the one talking nonsense.

And then, it hit her.

Y/N sat speechless, her eyes bulging out as she finally realized what was happening here. "Oh no," she mumbled with a blank stare. "You're trying to gain weight with me, aren't you?!"

"No, I am not!"

"Yes, you are! You touch your hair a lot when you lie."

"Bullshit."

"There! You're doing it again!"

Layla suddenly withdrew her hands from her hair and shoved them into her armpits, her forehead puckered up and her voice was low. "So? What if I want to?"

"Then you won't fit the dress, Layla! Stop being crazy!"

"I can still get it altered," the girl argued, giving Y/N a slight shrug. "I want you to feel good about yourself, especially at my wedding."

"And you're doing that by gaining weight and ripping the dress that you love?"

"I love the dress," Layla breathed. "But...I love you more."

Though they'd been friends for that many years, Y/N could barely recalled the last time Layla had said those three words to her without making it sound like a joke. And now, it was definitely not a joke. Because the girl was blushing and nervously rubbing her palms together.

Y/N couldn't hold back a massive grin as she said, "I love you too." And then reached for Layla's hand. "But you don't have to worry about me. I'm just temporarily insecure about my body. I guess all women feel this way at least once during their pregnancy, but I'll get over it."

"What if you won't? I can't be happy at my wedding if you aren't." Layla huffed as she rolled her eyes upward. "And God, it's awful enough that you can't even attend my bachelorette party."

"Layla, we've talked about this. There'll be alcohol and...and a lot of activities that will be too much for me and my baby bump."

"I could just get rid of those."

"No, don't be stupid."

Those words slipped out before Y/N could stop herself. She had never called Layla stupid, not even as a joke. In fact, nobody had ever dared to call her stupid. Y/N expected her to get angry and say something mean, like she would have if it'd been Niall or Harry who'd said it by accident. But, no. She just snorted and playfully hit Y/N's cheek. "If I could only have one guest at my wedding, it'd be you. So...I won't have any fun unless you'll be there and have fun with me. We're in this together, remember? For better or worse."

Y/N couldn't come up with a response. In fact, she was too emotional to even make a sound. The way her chin quivered made Layla chuckle.

"Bitch, you'd better not cry because I'll—"

Without waiting for Layla to finish that sentence, Y/N wrapped both arms around her neck, hugging her so tightly. And Layla hugged her back right away as they both started laughing for no reason. Who knew how long they would've stayed like that if their men hadn't walked in?

"We're back!"

The girls both turned to the door, slightly confused.

"Oh, you're back early." Y/N raised an eyebrow as her husband approached and kissed her on the cheek. "How was the party?"

Exchanging looks, Harry and Niall said at the same time. "Terrifying." "There were strippers."

"Harry!" Niall shouted at his best friend, but it was already too late. Layla stood up so quickly that Harry reflexively took a step back.

"Strippers?" she exclaimed. "There were strippers?!"

"Yeah, but we didn't touch them—"

"I'm gonna kill Greg!" Layla clutched her fists and squinted her eyes. "I'm gonna kill your brother. I mean it this time."

Clearing his throat, Harry nudged Niall so he would say something before Layla stormed out with a murder weapon in her hand.

"Anyway," Niall began with a laugh. "Thanks to Greg, we just came up with a great idea for our bachelor party!"

"We don't care about your—"

"When I said 'our', I meant, 'yours and mine', baby."

Y/N seemed rather puzzled. "Wait, you want to do a double bachelor party?"

"Yup!" Harry said excitedly. "Fuck tradition. Let's do a treasure hunt."

Everyone turned to look at the white cat, who was glaring at Harry, not so happy about what he'd just suggested.

"No, not our Treasure." He rolled his eyes. "I mean the game we used to play on Halloween night each year back in college. You know, since Halloween is the day before your wedding."

"It is?!" Layla gasped.

"Yeah. You didn't know?" Harry chuckled and gave her a shrug. "I thought you picked the day on purpose."

"What was that supposed to mean, asshole?"

Ignoring those two, Niall spoke, "Y/N is pregnant so she doesn't have to play, but she can be the host."

"Nuh-uh." Layla shook her head, crossing her arms. "If she's the host then Harry will automatically win."

"Hey, I'm not a cheater!" Y/N said, and Layla motioned her to shut up.

"I don't believe you. This idiot is your big baby. You'd kill someone for him."

"Yay, I'm the big baby!"

"Shut up, Harry!"

"Guys! Focus!" Niall exhaled. "We'll ask someone else to be the host then. But does that mean you two are in?"

"I don't know...The first time I played, Harry and I fell through the floor and got trapped in the basement," Y/N said, but her husband stroked her hair and gave her a reassuring smile.

"We'll pick a safer location this year. Do you really think I'd put my babies in danger?"

"Okay, then we're in," Layla said before Y/N could even open her mouth, and the men high-fived each other like two little boys.

It was only when Y/N got up and picked up the bowl of gummy bears that Harry and Niall noticed all the snacks on the coffee table. They both pointed to them and said at the same time, "are those for us?"

"No, they're—"

"Yes, they're all for you!" Y/N happily shoved the bowl into Harry's hands so she could pull Layla up. "Come with me. I'll show you my dress."

"Yes! Finally!" Layla jumped right out of her seat.

"Hey, can we see?" Harry asked.

And both of the girls screamed at him, "NO!"

#flatmate!harry

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thearvariblues · 4 years

Text

The Bard and The Wolf - Chapter Four

(AKA Geraskier in the Metal Band AU you didn’t know you needed)

The fourth chapter, in which Jaskier deals with his terrible and well-deserved hangover, with a bit of help from someone he definitely didn’t expect.

You can also find the fic on AO3. :)

The masterpost for this fic can be found HERE.

4 – There’s a Monster In My Pants

Geralt must have hung down the phone before Jaskier finished throwing up, because when the poor hungover bard crawled back to the bedroom, Geralt wasn’t on the line anymore.

Jaskier knew he probably should call him back, but he was too exhausted to deal with whatever Geralt wanted to say to him now. Probably that he was out of the band, for good, with no chance of ever returning.

Jaskier took his phone with him, just in case, and very slowly made his way to the living room, where he stretched on the sofa and covered himself with a blanket. He refused to stay in bed, but he also refused to function.

He was feeling like hell. Partially it was the hangover. His stomach still felt queasy, his head was spinning and the dwarf in his skull abandoned his hammer and grabbed a power drill instead. It was a purgatory, and Jaskier was pretty sure he absolutely deserved it.

Oh, dear God. Trust him to blow his chance to have something good in his life. No, not good. Something great.

“Stupid, stupid Jaskier,” he muttered, closed his eyes firmly and decided to spend the day wallowing in self-pity.

He must have fallen asleep soon after making this decision, because all of a sudden, somebody was banging on his door, and quite loudly at that.

“Oh, fuck off,” he muttered and tried to hide under his blanket, but the horrible sound just wouldn’t stop. Jaskier struggled into a sitting position and groaned. “Who the fuck is that?!”

The banging stopped, but what came after was even more horrible.

“Who the fuck do you think, Jaskier?” said a deep, husky voice he recognized after the first syllable.

Jaskier swallowed.

“This is not Jaskier!” he called in a voice much higher than his own. “This is his flatmate… Alfred! Darling. Jaskier went to visit his poor sick grandmother who lives in Siberia!”

“Nice try,” Geralt chuckled. “But you’ve told me you lived alone. Open the fucking door, Jask.”

“No way,” Jaskier replied. “I’m too young and pretty to die!”

“I’m not here to kill you. But I will the next time I see you if you don’t open the door right fucking now.”

“Ugh, fine,” Jaskier groaned and stood up, very slowly and carefully, huddled in his blanket. He made his way to the door and opened it. The first thing he saw were two golden eyes and an amused smirk. “What?”

Geralt raised his right hand, which was holding two paper bags.

“Belgian fries, tartar sauce, chocolate cake,” he announced. “Also, there’s a Monster in my pants. And I mean the energy drink, not what you’re probably thinking right now. All tried and tested hangover remedies.”

“Jesus Christ, I love you,” Jaskier moaned and stepped away from the door.

It was entirely possible that Geralt was lying about not being here to kill him, but he brought fries, meaning he’s bought his way into the flat.

“Not Jesus Christ, last time I checked,” Geralt chuckled. “And your affection is way too easily won, Bard.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, I’m a whore. Please come in, excuse the mess, gimme the fries, the cake and the Monster from your pants.”

“We are still talking about the drink, right?” Geralt asked, shutting the door behind him.

Jaskier let his body fall onto the couch.

“My dearest wolf, I wouldn’t be able to get it up even if I wanted.”

Geralt smiled and handed him the bags and a can of energy drink he took out of his back pocket.

“Good. That’s what you deserve for being so damn stupid.”

“Yeah, I know. I definitely should have stopped drinking after the fucking video,” Jaskier muttered, digging in the bag that was a little bigger than the other. “But I felt like shit, and I wanted to forget, and… Oh, you mean I deserve it for the video. Right.”

Geralt sat down in an armchair and watched Jaskier hungrily stuff a few fries into his mouth.

“Don’t you?” he asked as Jaskier popped open the energy drink.

“Absolutely. Is that why you’re here, Geralt? To act as my voice of conscience? You could have saved yourself the trouble, my conscience’s been nagging at me ever since I woke up.”

“I came here to make sure you were okay, you moron,” Geralt grunted. “I would gladly let you die, but as Ciri pointed out, if you did, we would have to find a new singer, and I don’t think I’m ready for auditions.”

“Oh, how loved and appreciated I feel right now.”

“Hmm...”

Jaskier sighed and closed his eyes.

“Okay, okay,” he muttered. “Look, I’m sorry, okay. I’m sorry for the video, it was a stupid idea and Ciri definitely should have stopped me. And I’m sorry… I’m fucking sorry for outing you.”

“You didn’t know I wasn’t out.”

“Precisely. I didn’t know, I should have kept my big, stupid mouth shut. Fuck. I know how it feels, I’ve been outed by a friend before, and now I do it to somebody else?”

“Jaskier...”

“I mean, the friend outed me to my parents and he did it on purpose, but it doesn’t matter if it’s on purpose, does it?”

“Jaskier.”

“The result is the same, somebody who didn’t want to be out is out now, and they have to deal with the consequences–”

“Jask.”

Jaskier blinked.

“What?”

“It’s fine. As Renfri would gladly tell you, I’ve been talking about doing this for months, I just never gathered the courage to say Look, fans, I know you all think I am this big bad manly wolf, every woman’s wet dream, but I’m kind of also into guys, please don’t hate me. It’s almost a relief that someone did it for me.”

“You don’t have to do this,” Jaskier muttered.

“Do what?”

“Try to… convince me that my mistake was actually a good thing.” He took a sip from the drink. “How the hell did you even know the normal one was my favorite, and not one of those disgusting sugar-free fancy ones?”

“I didn’t,” Geralt shrugged. “I just took my favorite.”

“Oh. Thanks. I mean it. You’re a dear heart, Geralt.”

“I know.”

Jaskier uttered a tiny laugh.

“And so humble… What do your fans think about your bisexuality, by the way?”

“No idea. Haven’t checked the comments yet.”

“You haven’t?”

“Have you checked them yet? After all, you outed yourself, too.”

“Yes. As bisexual, but everyone already thought I was gay, so it’s no big deal.”

“Hmm...”

“Oh, stop it with the grunts. By the way, how was I supposed to check anything? I was barely conscious. Well, not even barely, most of the time. I’m only coming back to life thanks to this heavenly goodness you’ve brought me. Those fries were amazing. And now for the cake… Oh, dear lord, I’m starting to think I did die, and I ended up in heaven!”

“Well, it’s obvious you really feel better,” Geralt smirked.

“Physically, yes. Though it would help me tremendously if you checked the comments, so I can stop feeling like shit for… you know.”

“Why don’t you check them yourself?”

“Because, my dear Geralt… Oh, yes, this is fabulous,” he moaned as he put a plastic fork full of cake into his mouth. “My dear, dear wolf, I’d hate to have to throw up the feast you brought me.”

“Jask...”

“Please?”

“Ugh, fine,” Geralt muttered, taking his phone out of his pocket. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Someone’ mentioned it before. Several people. Many, many, many people.”

“I’m only doing this for you. Not because I want to know.”

“Of course.”

“I don’t.”

“Of course.”

“I really… Oh, fuck.”

“Good fuck or bad fuck?”

Geralt took a deep breath, scrolling through the comments on his phone’s screen.

“Well, the good news is, not so many people noticed the bit about my sexuality. Most of these comments are about you.”

“Fuck,” Jaskier sighed. “Okay. Gimme. I’m ready for them to tear me apart.”

“I saw that yesterday,” Geralt smirked. “As you wish. So… Oh, yes, that’s a good one. Oh, boy. This bard looks like a pure cinnamon roll, acts like a pure cinnamon roll, but in reality he’s just a feral bitch who’s out for blood. I mean, I’m not sure what it even means, but it sounds good, right?”

“It is good. Please, please, don’t let it be the only one.”

“Dear God, this guy’s chaotic energy is off the charts. I wasn’t sure about the whole thing, but I can’t help it, I love him already.”

“Oh, yes, baby, yes!” Jaskier groaned.

“I’m definitely getting old, I didn’t understand a word of it,” Geralt muttered. “Oh, this one I understand. Am I the only one who’s been humming Toss a Coin To Your Witcher for the past ten minutes? Well, since the comment has more than a hundred likes, he probably isn’t the only one.”

“It’s a catchy song,” Jaskier said.

“Yeah, though that bit about a humble bard definitely wasn’t inspired by you,” Geralt chuckled. “Oh, God… I am a heterosexual guy, but seeing those blue eyes, I understand why Geralt would let him suck his cock. And the reaction to that is… Man, I’m a lesbian, and I would gladly let him suck my cock. And then… Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Jaskier had closed his eyes, but now he opened them and focused on Geralt.

“What?”

“And Geralt’s not even heterosexual. He probably stood no chance.”

“And here we go,” Jaskier said and pushed the cake aside. “But this is good. It’s great, Geralt. they’re taking it as a fact, that’s the best–”

“Guys. Guys, are we really ignoring the fact this adorable bard said that Geralt, our mighty White Wolf, was bi? I mean, we knew it already… How the fuck did they know?!”

“Hate to break it to you, dear heart, but I knew it, too, even before Lambert told me,” Jaskier shrugged. “You just have this… bisexual energy.”

“Bisexual energy,” Geralt repeated.

“Kinda, yeah.”

“The important question – when he’s with a guy, is Geralt a top, or a bottom?”

“Oh, I know the answer to that, too!”

“I doubt that,” Geralt muttered. “Don’t know about Geralt, but this Jaskier guy is definitely a power bottom.”

“Wrong. Absolutely, completely wrong,” Jaskier commented.

Geralt shook his head.

“I can’t believe… Just yesterday, they were calling you a twink and a fairy and...”

“Cocksucker,” Jaskier prompted.

“And now they… speculate about my sexual preferences? And they believe you sucked my cock to get in the band?!”

“Oh, no, they don’t. Fret not, dear heart, they’re just… playing along. It’s a joke.”

“Am I the only one here who just loves how absolutely smitten this guy is with the rest of the band, Lambert included? So fucking adorable!”

“Oh, I’m gonna start blushing.”

“So, are we giving this puppy a chance? All those in favor, say Aye!”

“How many Ayes?” Jaskier asked, biting his lower lip.

“Way, way too many,” Geralt smiled. “It seems you got lucky, you feral bitch. Congrats. You’re a new fan favorite.”

“Oh, thank fuck,” Jaskier grinned. “I’m gonna make you famous yet, Witcher!”

“I doubt that. You haven’t made Dandelions famous, did you?”

“It’s hard to make a band famous when no matter what you suggest, they tell you Nah, Julian, that’s stupid, I’m not doing that.”

“Don’t worry. We’d never call you Julian, Jask.”

“Very reassuring,” Jaskier chuckled. “Why do you call me Jask, anyway?”

“Shorter than Jaskier. But if you want me to stop…”

“No, that’s not… I don’t mind. I like it. Just don’t call me Julian. I hate being called Julian. Only my parents call me Julian, and only when I do something they don’t approve of. Which is like… all the time. I haven’t seen them in years, but I’m sure that when I see them again, they’re gonna be like… Oh. Julian. You look… healthy. Which basically means I got fat, by the way.”

“Fat? Where?” Geralt blinked.

“Oh, darling. We’re talking about my mother, so… everywhere.”

“Bullshit,” Geralt grunted. “You’re not fat.”

“I do tend to get a little chubby if I let myself go too much.”

“Bullshit,” Geralt repeated.

Jaskier smiled and got back to his cake.

“I didn’t say I minded,” he said. “But thanks, anyway.”

“You’re… welcome?”

“Would you like a bite?” Jaskier asked. “I’m not giving you my plastic fork, but there’s a normal one in the kitchen. Maybe even a clean one, if you’re lucky.”

“Well, I’m not gonna say no,” Geralt laughed and got to his feet.

“And in the meantime, you could tell me what you think about Toss a Coin To Your Witcher.”

“Fuck,” Geralt muttered. “I knew this was coming…”

They were just in the middle of discussing their favorite metal bands (well, Geralt’s favorite, and Jaskier’s I really liked them ten years ago) when Geralt’s phone rang. He answered it with a little apologetic smile.

“Yes, what is it, Ciri? … No, I’m pretty sure I haven’t been gone for two hours already. … Right. I have. … No, I’m not trying to find a place to bury his body. … No, we’re not in a hospital. … No, Jaskier is fine, we’re just… talking. And I kind of lost track of the time. … Yes, I know I have a client in an hour. … Yes. … Yes, Ciri. … Yeah. See you at home. Love you too.”

He ended the call and sighed.

“Gotta go?” Jaskier asked. He was looking way better than he had upon Geralt’s arrival. His face wasn’t deathly pale, for a start, and his eyes were much brighter and clearer. He still looked tired, though.

“Yes. Because I’m an idiot who takes clients on Saturdays,” Geralt muttered and got to his feet. “Will you be all right here?”

“Absolutely, thanks to you,” Jaskier smiled. “You saved my life, Wolf.”

“You’re welcome, Bard,” Geralt nodded. “Will you make it to the rehearsal tonight, or should I call it off?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll be there.”

“Good. See you there, then. Take care, Jask.”

“See you, Geralt.”

Jaskier waited until he heard the door click behind Geralt before he let out a long, deep breath. He fought the wide smile that threatened to make its way on his face.

Fuck, he was enjoying Geralt’s company way too much. That wasn’t good. That wasn’t good at all...

Continue with Chapter Five

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geraskier fic #witcher fic #witcher fanfiction #the bard and the wolf #my fics

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msjr0119 · 4 years

Text

Belated WIP/Six sentence Sunday (it’s Sunday in the Uk 🇬🇧)

Thanks for the tag on Wednesday @loveellamae

I’ve been very quiet recently due to personal issues, but I’ve tried catching up with all my series, so are posting the bits that I’ve done below. Thank you to everyone who has asked how I’m doing - love you all 💕

Tags:

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*****

Cordonian Wags (can’t believe I haven’t posted since December 😱)

The Apples do not need anymore drama within the club- it looks as though Walker is arguing with his manager.

It’s such a shame that such a good match has come to this- I wonder what the argument is about? Walker has played well, but I’ve seen that he hasn’t been on the ball- get it?

Good pun- yes, even though he’s scored a hat trick his eyes have been scrutinising elsewhere around the stadium.

“Get back on the pitch, Walker!” Bertrand snapped towards Drake, he hated being stern towards him as he was his brother in law- but for some reason he was jeopardising the game.

“No!”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me Bertrand. Riley’s not well.... I saw her run off...she needs me.”

“She’s just been sick. This match is important... is she pregnant?”

“No! And Riley is more important to me than a stupid match....”

“Tell me what’s up with her, then we can determine what is more important!” She’s got cancer you fucking moron.

“Just take me off, I’ve done enough in this match....” Bertrand grabbed Drake by the collar- his grip was tight, not knowing what had got into him- he witnessed the team walk over attempting to calm the situation down.

“Get the fuck off of me Bertrand! I quit!”

******

One Temptation

Drake pressed the button in the elevator, taking him up to the highest floor. Walking towards the desk, the receptionist looked Drake up and down- wondering who he was and what his intentions were.

“I’m here to see Mr Rhys. Before you ask, no- I haven’t got an appointment.”

“Name?”

“Just tell him his worse nightmare is paying him a visit..” Panic was written across the woman’s face, leaning closer towards her desk- her hand hovered over the security button. “Just tell him, it’s Drake.”

Hello Mr Rhys, you have a visitor. His name is Drake.

Hanging up, she explained that Liam would be with them momentarily. Sitting down on the leather chair, Drake was unsure how Liam would react to seeing him- would he throw him out? Would he play mind games?

“Drake. It’s nice to see you.” Not. “Follow me into my office.” Drake followed his instructions, as the two men walked into the room. Liam poured them both a drink, however Drake politely rejected. Not knowing if Liam could have potentially added poison to it as revenge.

“What can I do for you? I never thought I’d see the day that you’d pay me a visit voluntarily.”

“Trust me, I don’t want to be here. I despise you. Have you seen or heard from Riley?”

“No. Why would I hear from her? She wanted to send me to prison for raping her.” Hearing that word, Drake grit his teeth- knowing that Liam was still in denial with his past actions.

“Well you did do that. Listen, you probably know her better than any of us. We need your help. She ran away, she left me in Texas.” Liam laughed in Drakes face, just picturing Riley riding off into the sunset wearing a cowboy hat.

“What did you do?” He asked Drake, assuming he was the reasoning behind her disappearance- from past experience he should know how her mind ticked. She did the same when he hurt her.

“I did nothing, my mom and aunt Leona spoke to her. Then she went cold towards me, and was gone. Do you know anywhere that she could have gone?” Liam now knew the reasoning behind her departure- he was the reason why. Instead of acting like a dick, he felt empathy towards everyone who was looking for her- guilt for his past actions.

“Bianca, this is Liam Rhys- a friend of Drakes.” Bianca recognised the name immediately- clearing her throat, she provided a fake posh accent.

“Hello, Sir. How may I help?”

“Has Drake arrived in Texas yet? His flatmate was just wondering but he’s broken his phone.”

“No, not yet. I assume he should be here shortly. I’ll get him to ring you once he arrives.”

“Okay, thank you Mrs Walker. I hope the prostitute he is in a relationship with doesn’t ruin your families reputation. Have a good day.”

******

Hold my girl

Freya stormed out of the ballroom, not knowing why. Both her and Drake had confessed their feelings towards each other in New York, they had both agreed to a long distance relationship. So, to see him so close to the mystery woman was like a stab to the heart.

What am I even doing here? She muttered to herself.

“Freya!” Ignoring him, she ran off to her room- not looking back as she wiped her tears. Liam has suggested going to speak to her instead along with Maxwell for moral support, whilst drake took the time to ‘chill out’ before he put his foot in his mouth again.

“Blossom?” Maxwell said softly, as the two men waited for her to answer the door. “Lady Freya, we just want to make sure that you are okay?”

Opening the door, the two of them had sorrow in their eyes- both pulling her towards them for a group hug.

“I’m sorry. Liam, stop calling me lady please. I’m not in your court anymore. I’m just an American nurse now. Not a suitor, or a Duchess, or a Cordonian.”

“Frey, you are a Cordonian even if not officially- you’re a Beaumont, always will be. That woman...”

“Don’t Max... I don’t want to hear it. I thought we had something good- was all the words he said to me a lie? Did he use me for sex? I don’t know what to think. It was Drake who suggested the long distance thing- insisting it would work because he loves me. Maybe he should have just stayed as a jerk!” The two men knew that Drake wouldn’t hurt her, Maxwell soon had a smile appear on his face- a mischievous look, that look made Liam’s mind work overtime, wondering what the lord was thinking.

“Freya, grab some things and meet me in my room. Slumber party time, Beaumont’s only- sorry, Liam. No invite for you.”

“I’m busy anyway, no need for an apology. Goodnight Freya, I’ll see you tomorrow.” Kissing her on the cheek, Maxwell mimicked the king’s actions before following him out of the room.

A couple of hours had passed, and there was no sign of Freya. Maxwell just assumed that she had fallen asleep- walking out of his room towards hers, he noticed her door was slightly ajar.

“Frey?” Scrutinising the room, his heart sunk as realisation hit him like a ton of bricks.

She’s gone.

*****

Return to New York

Liam shouted for the guard to allow his visitors into his study- turning to face them he was shocked as to why the familiar person was here, and not with Riley.

“Daniel. It’s nice to see you again.” Is he here visiting? Like on a vacation? These questions were soon knocked out of mind as he heard the tiny patter of footsteps enter the room. Libby? Lydia? Lily? Fuck what’s her name again? What’s she doing here?

“I wish I could say the same, your Majesty. I’m sorry to disturb you. Do you know where Riley is? I can’t seem to get in touch with her.”

“I’m not sure of her exact location, but I have an inkling of where that might be. I don’t mean to sound rude, but why is she here? Shouldn’t she be with her father?” Daniel sighed, not knowing how to explain the reason for the impromptu visit. Asking the guard to escort the young girl out- he didn’t want to upset her anymore than she was already.

“Lissy, she lost her father. When Riley ditched him at the wedding- he became drunk, he got into his car.... he had a crash, and didn’t survive. He was upset, humiliated that Riley couldn’t talk to him herself. Lissy has no one, she’s going to go into care if Riley....”

“If Riley what?” Liam interrupted, he had an inkling about what Daniel was going to say- but really hoped that he was incorrect.

*****

We Belong

My dearest Evie, I’m so sorry for all the pain I caused you. I always loved you, I was stupid to let a diamond like you go- all for the sake of nothing. I had hoped in time that you’d forgive me, I killed the man who tried to rape you- the man who you would cry in your sleep about. Stupidly I believed once you knew my true identity that we could get back together. I was part of a troupe, going against the crown- Bianca and Anton had reasons. I didn’t. I was just in it for the money- the money that I would have used to shower you with gifts, to pay for your dream wedding that we imagined. I didn’t mean to stab you, Bianca pushed you into me- id never hurt you again. I still don’t know if you survived or not, no one will inform me. I was an idiot. I can’t live without you knowing that it was always you- if you survived, I hope you find true happiness. Happiness that you deserve. Liam is in danger, Anton goes by a fake name known as Justin. He is Riley’s press secretary. I need you to tell someone, to protect my old friend and his family. I’m so sorry for everything I’ve done. But now I’ve told you this, I have no choice but to end my life. Toby xo

*****

The Greatest Show

“Ri?” Amber questioned, assuming she was hallucinating- seeing her friend stood in front of her. Liam held onto Riley’s waist, looking adorably towards her.

“Surprise!” Riley shouted enthusiastically, waving her hands in the air.

“I’m confused, what the hell are you doing here? Why are you so close together? Liam have you forgotten about Olivia?”

“I’ve no got amnesia, Amber. Olivia has been in a relationship with Leo, behind my back. I’m no angel, as I fell in love with Riley whilst I was supposed to be courting Liv.” Amber was trying to allow this information to sink in, trying to figure out what exactly was going to occur due to the burden being her friend.

“Well I’m happy to see you Ri, lets hope you don’t get stabbed...” Riley’s eyes widened, but Liam laughed knowing exactly what she was referring to- or who.

“I’ll see you both tomorrow? I’ve got one tall, dark, handsome commoner waiting for me...” Making her way out of the room, she quickly turned to the two of them. “Oh Ri, thanks for bringing Jackson- I’ve missed him so much, and he’s missed his Mom like you said on the note.” Before Riley could react, Amber had shot out of the door. But I didn’t bring Jackson.

Exiting the room, Amber couldn’t wait to get back to Drake- mainly to explain the new court gossip to him. Feeling arms go around her waist, she smiled- turning around, that smile soon disappeared in a flash.

“Thought you’d escape me, did you?

*****

Hold on (follow up)

“Brooks....” Feeling like this was a waste of time, Drake decided that the best option was to walk away, as she wasn’t responding. Jackson placed a hand onto his father’s shoulder, suggesting that Drake should leave. Listening to his son’s advise, he left in a swift motion- frustrated that he couldn’t persuade her to come out of her hovel and just talk.

“Aunt Ri?” Jackson said softly as he knocked on the door. Riley knew she was being stubborn whenever a visitor would knock on the door- but for some reason she could never ignore her children, or her friends children.

“Jackson.” Smiling at his auntie, he pulled her in for a hug. “What can I do for you?”

“Have a walk? Or just a little talk with me? We all miss you, and want to help you through it. Dad just wants to grieve with you. You could help each other?”

“You’re only twenty one Jackson, you should be out with your friends- enjoying life. Don’t take a minute for granted. Loving each day as if it’s your last.” Listening to her words, he knew what she was referring to. His heart sunk, the usual poised Queen stood in front of him absolutely broken. “I miss him so much Jackson, and I miss your mom too. Each day that goes by, doesn’t get any easier. I need to be strong for Ayah, Louis and Ellie but truth be told- they are so much stronger than I am.”

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mvnvgedmischief · 4 years

Text

two cups into my coffee break: part 2 of the coffeeshop au i started for @ireadthehpbooks

sirius black is an idiot. he’s convinced of it. because he’s already messed things up by being late to a date he planned, and this is only their third date. will he muck it up further, or will the cute barista be willing to give him a second chance at love over a latte?

2.1k words read part one here

fuck, fuck, FUCK. sirius is running towards the shoreditch grind, and it’s already 6:40. he’s pissed because he can’t believe that the mother little brat he was trying to teach to play a basic chord on the guitar for the third week in a row had the nerve to tell him it was his fault that her son wasn’t a guitar prodigy right now. she threatened to withhold payment for fuck’s sake. it couldn’t possibly be the fact that he hadn’t practiced once outside of his lessons, or that the kid so clearly wanted to play drums. but now he was fucking late and he hadn’t had the opportunity to let remus know until just a few seconds before he ran out the door. by the time he arrives at the coffee shop and book store, his hair is windblown and his face is red, and he’s done the twenty-five minute walk in ten minutes with a guitar strapped to his back. because he knows he probably looks idiotic and way too eager, he tries to take a moment to sort out his hair before walking in. when he does, he’s met with a sight he didn’t really want to see, but he knew he hadn’t done enough to avoid. there’s remus– the hottest fucking barista he’s probably ever seen – looking crestfallen while sweeping around some tables.

“i hope you don’t look that disappointed on my account.” he’s plastered a smile on his face, despite how absolutely stressed out he feels. he wants to come off as cool, casual, and unbothered, but the way his cheeks are flushed from running betrays him and he knows it.

“you came!” remus definitely didn’t mean to say that out loud, and he’s blushing all the way down his collar. sirius would definitely like to know how far that blush goes, but that’s definitely not something he wants to admit out loud. “sorry– i just thought you were looking for a way to get out of doing this.”

“and miss an opportunity to see you? do you think i have enough restraint to not see the cutest barista i’ve ever met?” “flattery will get you everywhere, sirius. but i doubt you needed me to tell you that, givne thee circumstances.” remus smiles, and sirius’s heart skips a beat. “you ready to go?”

“yeah, let me just put back this broom and grab my book.” remus disappears into the breakroom, where the shop owner, marlene, is waiting to take over. his heart is racing, and he feels like he might be flushed to the ears right now. his hands are shaking as he pulls off his apron, hanging it on a hook, and he can hear her making fun of him for the way he’s blushing.

“aw, moony! he’s cute then, yeah?” “so fucking cute, you have no idea.” the tiny blonde pokes her head out from the back room, giving sirius a once over and grinning. when she returns, remus is staring in the mirror, adjusting his tawny curls and the way his hat sits upon them. “moony, you didn’t tell me he looked like a model! now stop preening and get out there! i want details when you get home mister.” “fine mum.” he grumbles, but the grin on his face tells a different story. he walks out from behind the counter, and sirius immediately slots their fingers together.

god could he be any cuter with his stupid hat and his stupid baggy jeans, his beat up converse and his retro jumper? sirius thinks that boys like remus, hell remus himself will be the death of him, and they haven’t even left yet.

“so i’m kind of really bad at this whole thing–” “oh i couldn’t tell, sirius. the first two dates and the being an hour late thing didn’t tip me off.” “oi were you a prefect in secondary school or something?” “yes actually.” remus blushes again, and fuck he hates his pale skin in that moment. “anyways, as i was saying i don’t really know the best place to take someone on a date. i was hoping you might have some recommendations. or, if you’re like– my brand of idiot– we could get a takeaway and have an impromptu picnic. ‘s kinda nice out.” “there’s a cute place in covent garden that i like, if you’re up for the hike ??” “ oh really?? i live on the picadilly, so that’s actually really convenient for me.” “sounds like a plan then.” remus is grinning as they walk towards the tube station, and his grin only gets wider as sirius snakes an arm around the other man’s waist. he knows that he’s kind of touchy for a first date, but he feels like he needs it. like some kind of touch starved animal. maybe it was because he hadn’t been close to someone since before reg’s funeral. he hasn’t done anything really since before. which kind of frustrates him now, because fuck he feel like he’s lost his mojo. he feels like a bumbling, blushing idiot. the two of them make their way down to the tube station and step on to train. sirius stands, leaning against the side of the carriage smiling and joking with remus. he notices that the other man seems to sway on his feet, and his brows furrow with concern. he doesns’t feel like he should ask– like it was some kind of more personal question- so instead after the next stop, he gestures to two open seats to sit.

remus hates this. he hates that sometimes his heart just doesn’t function well enough for him to stand. he hates it even more when this man– this sweet, impossibly attractive man– notices that something is wrong. he can practically read it on sirius’s face, and remus just wishes hiss body would get it’s shit together for once, so he could have one normal night. that doesn’t stop him from being thankful when the two of them sit, fingers slotting together once more. it makes his heart ache in his chest, in the best way possible, and the two of them continue talking and laughing until they come to their stop.

remus guides sirius out of the tube station and to the tiny french cafe that he and lily usually frequent on payday. it’s small and adorable, in remus’s opinion, all warm-toned lights marble tables, and dark wood. the two get a table outside, and remus knows what he wants before he’s even really browsed the menu. his eyes are lit up as he talks to sirius about anything and everything, from what they did for a-levels to what they’re up to now, and he’s kind of enjoying hearing about the bratty child and his mother that had made sirius late in the first place.

“so you like kids?” “yeah! the little fuckers are adorable– an’ i remember learning to play guitar. i think i would have loved to have a fun teacher that i got along with... i think when i work with teens that’s the best because they uh– they have a lot of emotion tied up in music an’ i remember being like that.” “yeah i guess. i dunno, like, i didn’t like being a teenager.” “oh yeah, me either. uh– shit was dark. but i feel like it would have been nice to have someone in my life that i could talk to. not that i have this weird father figure relationship with the kids or anything life that or anything. just like an older brother figure? do what i–” he cuts himself off, trying to figure out a way to stop himself from talking in that moment. he doesn’t want to talk about it. not really. but at the same time, he’s definitely a let me warn you about all this shit beforehand so you don’t get involved in my mess type of guy. “ you okay?” “yeah, i’m okay, sorry.” “don’t worry about it, love. thoughts on champagne? to celebrate you coming out with me, despite how ridiculously late i was.” theen it’s remus’s turn to feel uncomfortable because he’s not getting paid until the end of the week and he doesn’t really have the disposable income to waste on a bottle of bubbly. “i just– not to sound like a poor coffee shop worker– but i work in a coffee shop and i’m kind of broke.” “don’t worry, love. i’ve got it. you can get our next date.” “oh, so there’s a next date?” “sure hope so. i hope i didn’t screw it up too much.” “i’d like that.” sirius orders their drinks, as well as food, and they continue to talk and laugh. this feels easy in a way being around his friends hasn’t been in months. maybe it’s because his friends new reg, and they knew that sirius had left him behind. maybe the guilt was still eating him alive, regardless, he’s thankful for this. when they finally finish their meal, sirius notices remus’s cheeks are tinted just a bit pink. when they leave, sirius can’t help his giggles, and he’s feeling fucking bold because he invites remuss to come back with him. they spend their night together, and sirius couldn’t be more excited. especially not when he wakes up the next morning to remus in his arms, and hickies across his collarbones. remus is still asleep, so sirius takes a moment to admire the sharp lines and soft curves of the other man’s body, the pads of his calloused fingers tracing down the scars on his lover’s back. remus slowly stirs at that, and sirius wonders if the look that crosses remus’s face is panic or fear, because the other man does not look thrilled.

“do you want to know where they came from or something?”

“if you want to tell me then yeah. if you don’t, that’s fine too.”

“‘s not a big deal. some guy broke into my parents’ house when i was a kid. fucked me up royally but i don’t remember it or anything.”

“i’m sorry love.” sirius whispers into the other man’s hair. “my baby brother died six months ago. that’s why i kind of clammed up last night.”

“you didn’t have to tell me— if you weren’t ready.”

“yeah, i did. mutually assured destruction. we’re big on that, in this flat.”

“huh, my flatmate lily has been saying that a lot recently. usually when we get stoned but she still has work to do.”

“yeah, ‘s a policy, my flatmate, James lives by.” as sirius is saying it, he hears the front door open. “speak of the devil, i swear.” he grins, and their ears are met with the call of james from the entryway. “sirius ! i brought my girlfriend and breakfast!” “are we at the meet the best mate point in the relationship, or should i get rid of them?” “oh there’s a relationship?” “kinda hoping so. otherwise it’d suck that i just told you i have a dead brother.” “then i guess we’re at the meet the best mate point in the relationship.” remus grins, pressing a light kiss to sirius’s cheek. fuck does it give him butterflies. and then they’re rolling out of bed, remus pulling on a jumper from the end of sirius’s bed, and his jeans. sirius also pulls on a jumper and some sweats. the two of them exit the room, and their met with the shocked expression of both lily and james. “remus when did you start sleeping with my best mate?” james asks, and sirius feels like he might be blushing all the way down to his collar. “james’s best mate is your cute coffee shop regular! you know we could have set this up for you guys so much sooner if you had told us.” “i’m sorry– you two know each other?” sirius feels very out of the loop in this moment. “remus is my best mate.” lily supplies, and honestly sirius is glad to be clued in. “guess i don’t have to bring breakfast home for you then.” “not really” remus beams “unless you want me to go, sirius.” but as soon as the words have been spoken, sirius is enthusiastically disagreeing. the four of them sit and talk over breakfast, remus’s fingers interlocked with sirius’s as they catch up with james and lily. it’s nice, having something like this again. and sirius wouldn’t trade it for the world. he likes the idea of a budding romance between himself and remus, and he thinks remus likes it as well. that’s why, when he walks remus out the door, and they share a sweet kiss, he doesn’t fear that it’s the last time he’ll watch remus walk out the door. instead, he already starts planning the next time remus walks in.

#wolfstar #sirius black #remus lupin #sirius x remus #modern au #harry potter #marauders drabble #sirius and remus #moony and padfoot

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inevitably-johnlocked · 5 years

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Do you know of any fics where John has body dysmorphia or an eating disorder? Also, I’ve read almost every fic in your lists... what is your recommendation for a punch in the gut pining fic from either side? Thank you ever so, lovely

Hi Nonny!

Ah, I actually don’t read eating disorder fics because for personal reasons, but I have done a list SIMILAR to John dysmorphia here before: Insecure / Awkward John or Sherlock (Jan 2019). Alexx has a John is Insecure list you can check out there.

For Pining, I have a RIDICULOUSLY HUGE Pining Sherlock [MOBILE FRIENDLY VERSION] list at that link there and a Mutual Pining list too. And Pining John… well, I’ve been putting together a list for years because someone asked me for it ages ago, LOL. Sorry it’s not super long like my others (most of them are in the Mutual pining list, LOL)! I suppose I can use this opportunity to post up what I have sorted so far, LOL

PINING JOHN