#might end up making another set while i have all the frames on my laptop but it might end up reusing some of these same shots | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

little-diable · 11 months

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Our secret - Carlisle Cullen (smut)

This is very unhinged, but what did we expect, it's me writing this after all. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: When Carlisle comes home after a long shift at the hospital, he's desperate for some kind of relief. Who would have thought that he'd stumble upon a streaming website, watching the stream of a very familiar face, (y/n) – Jasper's girlfriend.

Warnings: 18+, smut, masturbation (f&m), oral (f), piv, cheating, power play, choking, spanking, degrading, dom!Carlisle

Pairing: Carlisle Cullen x fem!reader, brief Jasper Hale x fem!reader (2.2 k words)

A heavy sigh left Carlisle as he found his way to his office, thankful for the darkness that lingered in the mansion, allowing himself to finally relax. While the others were out hunting, he had been working another late shift at the hospital, making it home by 3 am. Those were the nights where he longed for his human past, wanting to feel the wave of tiredness he had once known all too well, centuries ago that had faded like the seasons passing by.

He opened his laptop, eyes flickering to the dark forest, wondering how much longer he’d get to cherish the quietness of their home. Quick typing brought him to the website he was looking for, leaning back in his chair with a small grin tugging on his lips.

For the past weeks he had visited a streaming website he had found one night, desperate for the kind of relief not even blood could give him, needing to give into his most primitive urges. He felt his cock harden in his trousers, barely anticipating the videos he’d get to watch, the moans he’d get to listen to. Fuck, this was one of those few moments where he actually felt human again, feeling like a young boy without any experience, driven by his needs.

It took him a few moments to find a stream to settle on, animated by the dark room, the fairy lights hung in the back, and the soft music echoing through the woman’s room. So far he couldn’t make out her body, wondering what she was doing out of the frame, if she was waiting for more people to join. His hand freed his cock, slowly pumping to adjust to the sensation, excited to see a new face today.

Movement could be heard on her end of the stream, and without another warning a female frame entered the screen, sitting down on her bed, right in front of the camera. A heavy gasp left Carlisle as his eyes took in the all too familiar features. His hand had stopped moving, unable to keep on going as he studied the girl he had crossed paths with numerous times before, (y/n) – Jasper’s girlfriend.

Fuck, he should close the website, should forget that he had ever seen her with barely any clothes on – and yet he didn’t dare move. Carlisle had always found himself drawn to her, wanting to keep her to himself, wondering why she had ended up with Jasper after all, but he’d never dare to interfere, not set on destroying Jasper’s relationship.

“I missed you all!” Her soft voice coaxed a groan out of Carlisle, and all he could do was watch how she slowly undressed, speaking to the people commenting on her videos and leaving tips. His hand had started moving after a few moments, getting over the first initial shock with a smirk widening on his lips.

And as (y/n)’s moans guided him towards the edge, making Carlisle think of her, she was located on the other side of Forks, trembling for the people watching her stream, with her mind set on a certain blonde doctor, rather than her boyfriend.

……

Ever since Carlisle had stumbled upon (y/n)’s stream, he had found himself returning to her website at any given chance, hidden from curious eyes and ears, very well knowing that he was walking a thin line. He had grown bolder over time, no longer hiding amongst those that simply watched but didn’t interact, but leaving comments here and there, changing his username to something she might recognise, if she paid enough attention.

He didn’t know what it was, and yet Carlisle didn’t want to break from the spell she had cast upon him. By now he knew every inch of her naked body, longing to touch the soft skin, praying to the God he had once loved that she wouldn’t ever return to his home, unsure how he’d react to seeing her again, with Jasper around.

Carlisle knew that he had to be careful, well aware of Edward’s powers, able to read his every thought. And yet Carlisle had mastered building up a mental stone wall over the past centuries, able to hide his every need from those that looked up to him, clinging to the father figure that had a pure heart and soul, at least that’s what he forced them to believe.

"Carlisle?" Jasper’s voice ripped him out of his thoughts, eyes flickering up from his book to meet the golden eyes of Jasper. With a smile tugging on his lips, Carlisle closed his book, freezing as another frame appeared next to Jasper. (Y/n) had her lips pulled into a wide smile, eyes meeting Carlisle’s. Jasper didn’t seem to notice the way Carlisle’s demeanor had changed, ushering (y/n) into the office. “(Y/n) burned herself this morning, and it won’t stop hurting. Would you mind looking at it while we go out to hunt?”

“No, of course not. She’s in good hands, don’t worry.” Carlisle averted his gaze as Jasper turned towards (y/n) with a smile, kissing his girlfriend goodbye. The doctor reached for his bag, pulling out a few things he’d need to take care of her wound. A thick silence hung in the air, so thick one could wrap it around their body in the cold winter morning, protected from the icy wind.

“Come, take a seat.” Carefully he guided her closer, waiting for her to settle on the chair. The blonde haired doctor towered over her, touching her arm to take in the wound. Neither of them dared to speak up, but while Carlisle tried to focus on her wound, (y/n) couldn’t help but admire the doctor, tongue darting out to wet her lips.

“You know,” she whispered the words, watching the man halt in his movements. “It took me a while to pick up on it. At first I didn’t think it was you, but then.” The rest of the sentence was left unsaid, stuck in her throat as his eyes met hers, forcing all air from her lungs. Carlisle leaned back, finding rest with his hips leaned against his table, studying the woman for a few moments. Shallow breaths left her, teeth leaving nervous bite marks on her lower lip, unable to see through the man’s almost emotionless facade.

“Did you tell him?” She quickly shook her head, hand darting out to reach for Carlisle’s hand, making them both freeze. The cold he emitted clashed against the heat pumping through her body. For the past weeks (y/n) had wondered how to address the topic, unable to bite down the need she felt to be touched by the man, wanting to feel his body pressed against hers.

“If I’m being honest, every time I’ve been streaming I thought of you, and I know it’s wrong, but I can’t stop myself.” With her breath hitched in her chest she watched Carlisle break out in a deep, raspy laugh, hand finding her cheek, cupping her warm skin. Her body followed his every command, pulled to her feet, into his chest. For a few seconds they froze, listening to the alarm going off inside their heads, reminding them how wrong this was – whatever they were about to do. But their bodies forced them to continue, lips meeting in a rough kiss.

Jasper had never kissed her like this, had always tried to be careful with her, hoping that his alter ego wouldn’t take over his system, scared of leaving marks that wouldn’t fade. It seemed as if Carlisle wasn’t held back by any fear, any daunting thoughts, allowing himself to claim an already claimed woman.

“I need to taste you, need to hear those pretty moans you always make.” What sounded like a confession turned into a command, switching them around to force (y/n) down on his table. Her moan seemed to give him the green light he had been waiting for, jeans pulled down her legs with her damp panties following. Carlisle didn’t waste any time, pushing his tongue through her slit, tasting her arousal for the first time.

(Y/n)’s moans echoed through the room, hand tugging on his roots in a desperate need to ground herself. Her heart was racing, urged on by the fear of being interrupted, of being caught in an act so wrong that felt all too right. Her body had always called out to Carlisle, and yet something had held her back, doubting that the doctor would ever be interested in her.

“Oh god, Carlisle, you’re so-” she was interrupted by a heavy moan, he had pushed two fingers into her cunt, expectedly curling them against her sweet spot. She was trembling on the table, legs quivering already, within only a few moments of being touched. While her body struggled to hold back, her mind couldn’t help but wonder what being fucked by him must feel like, hoping that he’d soon give in.

“What is it? Talk to me, sweetheart.” A teasing smile was shot her way, mouth finding its way to her pulsing bundle of nerves, very well knowing what she wanted from him.

“Please.” Her whimpers were met by a throaty chuckle, he had his eyebrows raised, wordlessly commanding her to speak her thoughts. “I need you inside of me, fuck me, please Carlisle.”

“See, that wasn’t hard, was it?” He let go of her, only to pull her to her feet, front pushed down on the table with one quick move. Before she could even take a new deep breath, his hand came down on her behind, spanking the moaning woman. She was a goner, already floating in another dimension, and he hadn’t even fucked her yet. “Are you ready for me?”

His hand met her skin again, and again, till (y/n) finally managed to press out a soft “Yes, please”. She heard him spit onto his palm, pumping his cock a few times before he pushed into her from behind. Her air was knocked from her lungs, eyes squeezed shut to try and adjust to his size. Carlisle was ruthless, urged on by all those times he had been watching her on his screen, spreading her thighs for men just as desperate as he was.

“You’re already whimpering, and I’ve only just started fucking you. Does your boyfriend not satisfy you? You’re dripping for my cock like a slut begged to be manhandled.” His words had a sharp undertone to them, forcing a deep moan from her parted lips. Carlisle fucked her rough, hips meeting her aching behind with every thrust, pushing (y/n) further into the dark abyss she had been lured into. She was seeing stars, stars so daunting, (y/n) could feel her end coming upon her.

With one hand finding her throat, Carlisle pulled her up against his chest, pace not faltering once. Her walls fluttered around his cock, senses heightened by the possessive grasp he had on her throat, not cutting off her airstream, but making her blood sing in her ears. She was trembling, had a hard time focusing on anything but his touch, the way he fucked her, pushing her closer to the edge.

“Such a tight cunt, so perfect for me.” Carlisle’s words coaxed a whimper from her lips, gone the moment his cold fingers found her clit. He tightened his grasp on her throat, forcing her eyes open to focus on the dark forest surrounding the mansion, wondering who or what was lurking outside there. Would their secret be spilled? Would they be able to hide it from the others nearby?

“Need to cum, I’m so close.” Her voice trembled, nothing more than a whisper he clearly picked up on. Carlisle’s raspy chuckles left her shuddering, mind torn between the sensation of the way he fucked her from behind and the way he expertly rubbed her clit. A rough “Cum” left the doctor, hand leaving her throat to tightly grab her waist, fearing that she may lose her balance.

Her orgasm clashed through her, leaving her moaning and whimpering, not hearing the sound of slow steps carrying somebody closer. She didn’t notice the smirk tugging on Carlisle’s lips, didn’t notice how he turned his head, eyes meeting another pair of dark ones. He pulled out of her to release himself on her behind, letting go of (y/n) to give her a moment to calm down.

“Fuck, I’m exhausted.” Her soft chuckles were interrupted by a deep laugh, head snapping towards the door, catching Jasper leaning against the doorframe. The vampire was smirking at his wide eyed girlfriend, stepping into the office with his arms crossed in front of his chest.

“Oh, darlin’, this was only just the beginning.”

#Carlisle Cullen smut #Carlisle Cullen imagine #twilight

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willandmichael · 2 years

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A couple of days ago someone asked me how I make my gifs so here I am making a full tutorial! It will be a bit detailed so if you know very little or nothing about photoshop you can still follow along. Hopefully this can help you start giffing or help you out in some way or another 💗

I'm going to try my best to give clear and simple instructions, if anything gets confusing just let me know or send me an ask and I'll try to explain it a different way!

📌 DISCLAIMER: I am working with Windows, I don’t know if it’s the same on a Mac.

WHAT YOU NEED

✔ adobe photoshop + a few basic tutorials if you don’t even know where to start: x / x / x (also google is your best friend) ✔ potplayer to extract your frames ✔ full hd videos (I t*rrent mine from here. The videos HAVE to be at least 1080p or the gifs won’t be as good)

Once you’ve got everything downloaded and installed, open PotPlayer and load the video to what you want to gif

To extract your frames press CTRL + G and this window should pop up (mine is in Portuguese, but everything should be in the same place so don’t worry)

You’re going to create a new folder where your frames are going to be saved, put it in a place you have easy access to. You can do that by clicking on the three dots here to select a directory. You need to create a new folder for every separate gif, or else all the frames are gonna end up together.

Once you created and selected your folder, make sure your settings look like this. It HAS to be Every 1 ms because you need to capture every single frame, or your gif is going to end up choppy.

Press START

Now you’re supposed to press PLAY on the video up until you have all the frames you want saved, HOWEVER, on my laptop it always ends up laggy so I came up with an alternative. After you press START go back to the video and long press F until you have all of your frames (this will capture frame by frame and will NOT lag - at least I never experienced it). When you’re finished, press CTRL + G again to bring up the window then click STOP/LEAVE.

If you go to the folder you creater earlier you’re going to see all the extracted frames! We’re done with PotPlayer, now we move on to photoshop.

Open photoshop, go to File > Scripts > Load Files Into Stack and this window is going to pop up. Click on Browse go to your folder with the extracted frames, select all files (or only the ones you want). Make sure those little text boxes are unchecked.

After you’ve selected them click OK, the frames are gonna load (and it might take a while if you got a lot of frames or if your computer is slower like mine). It should look like this by the end (if you don’t have the Timeline, don’t worry).

Now it gets a little tricky because you have to do a lot. Get it converted to a timeline, into a smart object, reverse frames, set time frame, etc but luckily for you I already have an action that does all of it very quickly!!! What is an action? It’s like a preset, and just like the name says: you record a set of actions in photoshop and then you can save it and use in other files.

download the action here

To load it go to Window > Actions and something like this will pop up.

Click on the three lines then on Load Actions and select the one you downloaded. The new little folder is named “gif”, click on convert frames and then on the little play button, it will run the action and do everything for you automatically.

Now let’s crop! Press C on your keyboard or click the little crop button on the toolbar.

Choose how you want it cropped, when you’re finished click Enter

Go to your actions again (it’s that little triangle that looks like a play button on the right toolbar, or just go to Window > Actions / F9 ).

Now you can choose the 540px gif size or 268px, press play and it will convert it to you automatically (if you want another size go to Image > Image Size). There’s also two options to sharpen your gifs, you can choose either one and they’ll look fine it’s just a matter of taste. After you’re done, your file should look like this:

Now it’s time to do your coloring and bring it to life ✨

You’re free to edit/color your gif however you want. On the Layers section click on this little button

And you’ll get a lot of options. You can see on the image which ones I’ve used. Now this is purely a matter of your tastes + the scene you’re giffing. Each scene will have different colors, lighting, etc. I’m not going to go too much into it, you can play with it and see what each option does, it’s fun to explore.

After you’ve done your coloring, it’s time to save your gif.

Go to File > Export > Save For Web (Legacy) (if you have an older version of photoshop I think you just go File > Save for Web).

You’ll get this window (it might take a while to load, be patient 😢)

These are my settings. Sometimes I change from Selective Noise to Adaptive Noise or Selective Diffusion or Adaptive Diffusion it really depends on the gif and what looks good. But I find that most of the time Selective Noise works the best.

Also, super important, make sure your gif is less than 10MB or you won’t be able to upload it to tumblr, you can always check the size on the left corner here.

The final product:

IMPORTANT: If you’re doing a gifset make sure all your gifs are the same size by width and height or your gifset will be blurry. It can’t be one 540 x 400px and another 540 x 405px

Remember to be patient with yourself, I’ve been working with photoshop and making gifs for 10+ years now and there’s still a lot I don’t know and a lot to improve. Everything I learned was from googling way too much, tumblr tutorials and just clicking on stuff to see what it does. My gifs still don’t look perfect, and it definitely didn’t look good at all when I first started out. Keep practicing and searching, you can do anything 🌹

As always, a reblog is always welcome!

#gif tutorial #photoshop tutorial #gif making #stranger things #completeresources #byler #< i'm guessing the anon is on the tag! thanks again for asking and for the compliments <3 #mine: tutorial

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kendrixtermina · 2 years

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Bringing the Passions into Consciousness

Now it is often said about the passions that the terms for them are not meant in the modern english sense, and often unconscious enough to seem counterintuitive to the uninitiated. I’ve been into this topic for years & looking to catch corresponding patterns in myself, but though I understood it abstractly & intellectually of course, I feel like it was only this december that I really „spotted“ it.

Perhaps the process can be hastened for others if ppl of different types relate their experience with this.

Though mostly I’ve seen some very concrete ‚its that specific feeling or sensation‘ type descriptions for some & not for others and I want to complete the set in my understanding.

I’ll go first aboard the humiliation train because it is only fair. I want your answers pretty bad.

It was really 2 separate events that led me to put together, with the first sort of cracking my illusions and the other shattering them.

Event 1:

I had hooked up with this dude. It was fun. I listened to his life story, gave some advice, (effectively diagnosing him with Nine), told him some funfacts about the nerve endings of the nether regions and then making a demonstration, it was all rather fun.

Eventually that was done & we sat there together.

He suggested we might go again. But idk how long it was gonna take till that was possible. I perceived that he probably wanted to talk with me some more, or that’s how it seemed. But I didn’t want to commit at this point to spending the whole evening with him.

So I steered the conversation towards a conclusion, thanked him for the experience and politely excused myself, saying that I’d prefer to go back to the bar for now.

So then I was sitting there, on my own, having walked back to the bar, sipping my drink.

And I think to myself:

„Ah, I feel so relaxed right now. Delighted, even. It had been a while since I’d gotten such thorough release.“

I remembered & pondered upon something from a book I’d been reading earlier about the role of sex in physiological self-regulation.

I thought that I’m really glad that this thing happened today.

„Why didn’t I stay longer, anyway?“ I wondeed. „It might have been nice. „

Perhaps the fact that I was thinking all this after leaving might be accounted as an example of a delayed reaction.

And that’s when it occurred to me to ask myself why the hell I was in such a hurry to leave then.

Like – why? Why had I done that? I didn’t come here so I could sit on my own, but rather precisely because I’d felt like doing something else for once. Why didn’t I talk to him more? There was no clear reason not to. He wasn’t pushy; It wasn’t late yet. I got the sense that he liked me, so, why?

Why did I put my clothes on right away? I’d just… reacted, I suppose, to a perceived request.

Event 2:

I was visiting my relatives over the winter break.

I’d set up my laptop in what was normally my mom’s study to have somewhere to dissapear to if needed. So that one evening, I was typing away at something or another, some fanfiction or some internet discussion, and once in a while I’d come out to go to the bathroom, get snacks, drink some water, stretch my legs a bit etc.

It just so happened that the youngest of my sisters (one more victim of the very strong night owl genes in our family) happened to be chilling in the living room. She was presumably a bit bored, so, when she spotted me, she’d come and talk to me, and invariably, my reply would be something like this:

„That’s really great, but now I’d like to get my water.“

„Eh, maybe not now, I’m thinking.“

„This sounds interesting but maybe we could do this some other time?“

I realized that I was just, immediately resisting being talked to, or trying at once to limit the time frame like „ok ill ask one more follow up question to show interest but then i go back“...why?

I could sit at my laptop at home to my heart’s content, after all. I had sat through an annoying, uncomfortable 6 hour train ride across the republic explicitly to spend time with my family – particularly the youngest sister whom I didn’t get that much time with since I moved out when she was pretty young. I had come here explicitly to spend time with her, so why wasn’t I doing it?

It’d be one thing if I’s been super busy or really tired, but I wasn’t doing anything that important and generally feeling alright. There was just no real reason why I couldn’t spare the 20 minutes that it would have taken to sit down and have a proper chat with her.

This event, I think, proved crucial because it was so obvious, so ridiculous – there was no rationalizing it away. There was no logical justification, no reason at all other than – well.

There it was. That ‚eugh, go away!‘ kind of feeling. That kneejerk urge to say no or do some bare minimum and then shut down the situation.

The Avarice(TM).

It must have been there all along of course. I can’t expect that no one ever noticed just cause I lowkey like to pretend I’m not actually in the room.

I recalled this anecdote where this guy on youtube related how his type 5 father would just conort his face like he’s being tortured if the grandkids overstayed his patience.

No wonder my ex reported feeling „unwelcome“ when he came to talk to me at my desk.

At least he didn’t know how often I was tempted to yell into a pillow when he phoned unexpectedly.

And then I’d put that away into a box, opened up another one, and picked up like „Hi babe!~ Nice to hear from you <3“

Neither Cordon nor Palmer were exaggerating that much with these descriptions contrary to what I’d first thought.

"God, that’s so fucked up!" I thought. "I’m terrible! I’m revolting." What a sad, absurd, hapless creature*.*

That’s so terrible I can almost only laugh about it. Who wants a shitty selfish sister who never plays with you? Who wants some creepy girlfriend who is always at her laptop and seems to resent your very presence? I’m all talk. I have no capacity to lift a finger for anyone. I should just do everybody a favor and crawl away into some cave and never come back out...

That’s when the voice of reason kicked in: ‚oh look, an association spiral. How very w4. Is that helpful right now? Save it for the poems.‘

I’ve never believed in sins, deadly or otherwise. It’s pointless to assign overmuch meaning, value judgement or secret intent to an automatic kneejerk reaction.

What I have to do is be mindful of going on autopilot. Make a habit of checking if I really want to say no – same way some 9 would have to ask themselves ‚do I really want to say yes?‘

Maybe I do want to talk to that person. Maybe I do want to stay a while.

Pushing past resistance to do tasks is much harder, there’s no guarantee that I can really do it.

I’ve tried to sense it, locate it, physically, like they say in the books – that took several months more.

There’s a tense feeling in my stomach. A flinch of apprehension or resistance, when I want to start on a task – that’s the hardest to push against, where it starts concerning sp stuff. I know very much that for all that I may be overestimating them, my limits are not wholly imaginary.

I actually am sensitive, though I may be reflexively overcompensating for it.

I have at times backed half a step away if suddenly spoken to in the street.

Even when I’m writing some posts on here & thinking ‚Hm, is that still relevant to the topic? Does that not expose me to reactions‘ - „the words catch in the wiremesh of my heart“ (which is perhaps a more natural way for me to express/ say it than anything physical based.)

Well. I must not let it stop me or overmaster me.

(though, lest you worry, I did end up having some quality conversations with my sister eventually during that winter break & she really liked my gift, so there sort of was a happy ending.)

#enneagram #typology #enneagram 5 #5w4

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xodiumdotnet · 10 months

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Those $20 Onn TV boxes

I've been slowly working on building out a workspace/chill space in the garage, after finally reclaiming a lot of the space out there over the last few months by getting rid of a bunch of projects and retro stuff I was honestly never getting around to.

One of the things I ended up wanting in there was a TV, because while I was working on some projects, I had SGDQ 2023 up on my laptop and trying to keep track on such a small screen kinda far away was not the business. Thankfully due to being in a community with people who are just itching to give stuff to a good home rather than sending it to ewaste, I had a TV (a 47" Vizio from 2011 running some esoteric early smart TV platform made by Yahoo) thrown at me. Got it mounted up, and realized that because the garage is the way it is, controlling my laptop to get content up on the screen wasn't going to be the most intuitive.

I could have done the sane thing and bought another Logitech K400+ for like, $25, but then I was reminded of the existence of these cool little onn boxes that go for just a hair cheaper. Figuring it should be just fine even if it can't handle 4K all that well (TV it was going on is only 1080p), I took the plunge.

One quick curbside pickup later (like hell am I going into a Walmart these days) I had the thing unboxed and installing updates.

This brings me to the first thing I like about it: It sips power. The power adapter that comes with it is rated for 5v 1A, so most USB ports can drive this thing, and likely the ones on your TV can too (if it's modern enough to have them). I tried to connect it to one of the three USB ports on the Vizio (seriously, three? That's a LOT for a TV) and it was happy as a clam.

By comparison, my Chromecast Ultra would whine if you tried to do this. And that poor thing seems to struggle with pushing 4K video, anyway. It's just hard to keep in mind this is from a $20 box.

On the flip, there's a bad side here: the power is delivered via micro USB. The sooner that port dies off, the better. But I suppose I can't complain for all of twenty dollars. It does reportedly support USB OTG if you want to expand the lackluster storage, but that kinda gets outside the scope of this device for me. (And you'll need a Y-cable. Because micro USB. Yay.)

While we're on ports: there is no ethernet port. Wireless is your lot. For me that works well enough, also because I don't yet have hardwired ethernet to the garage. Didn't notice any stuttering or buffering. The onn box tops out at Wi-Fi 5, but again: $20.

Setup was typical of a Google TV device. You're likely going to be making a trip to settings to uninstall a load of apps if you're like me and only using this for a few services (for me, that's YouTube, Twitch, Plex, and maybe something else). You also get dumped onto the ad-filled home screen, which...some might be okay with it, and in the context of this device? I'm certainly okay with it: Again: twenty. dollars.

Where I absolutely, vehemently abhorred this was on significantly more pricey devices like my old Shield TV Pro. I paid out the arse for that thing, keep your damn ads out of my face. For $20 though? Sure, I'll stomach it. I'm sure I can swap the launcher but that's whatever for me at the moment.

Once I ran through and deleted everything I had zero intent on using and installed the apps I did plan on using (YouTube/Twitch/Plex), I was left with about 5.1GB of onboard storage to play with. For the light use this box is going to see that's good enough, but if you plan on really getting your money's worth from it, you may want to expand that. (Or get something a bit more fit for purpose.)

Updates run, apps deleted, the last thing to do was to give it a benchmark to see how well it performs, and I usually do that by way of tossing this gorgeous video of Costa Rica at it. It's very easy to spot any frame drops or stutters.

Pleased to report the onn box didn't drop a single frame or buffer at all. It played straight through, smooth as butter. Even my 4K Roku TV's inbuilt hardware struggles hard with this video, so seeing this little box of wonder absolutely spank it is awesome (and has me considering grabbing one to replace my power-hungry HTPC...)

Performance-wise, the only iffy thing I noticed is bouncing around the home screen can be a bit stuttery. Once I'm in an app though, this thing performs VERY well for what it is. No video issues as far as I can see. Twitch streams play perfectly, no buffering there either.

I suppose that would bring me to the conclusion: Do I recommend this thing? If you just need a basic, no frills streaming box that does that task VERY well? Yes. Absolutely yes.

The only way I'd not recommend this is if you want to do things that kinda start to go outside the scope of what the onn box is meant to do. Want to run, say, emulators for retro games? Or other things that are going to require more storage? Sure, you can slap a Y-cable and get USB OTG with the onn box, but past a certain point you have to wonder if you're spending so much that you might as well get the Chromecast w/ Google TV (since it has a USB-C port and is arguably more friendly to external devices because of it).

There's also the case to be made for the Shield TV Pro if you can find one used for a good price, but on the flip, that hardware isn't getting any younger and far as I know, Nvidia's got no plans to introduce a new one.

But if all you plan to do is consume video content? This box is great. $20 well spent.

#onn #4k streaming #tv #set top box #review

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chiwhorei · 3 years

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𝐂𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 (𝐑𝐞𝐝 𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝)

𝐚𝐤𝐚: 𝐌𝐲 𝐏𝐑𝐎 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐎 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐞 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐬 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐬!!

pairing: t. amajiki x fem!reader

genre: smut, 18+ mdni

word count: ~1.3k

tags: pervy!tamaki, mean!tamaki, dubcon, degradation, voyeurism, masturbation, tentacles in all of readers holes, dacryphilia, choking

a/n: this is my very late contribution to the whorehouse porn compilation, the rest of this questionable browser history can be found here! strap in because this might be the grossest shit i’ve written so far. no plot, porn is the point here friends.

(cross posted to Ao3!)

hymn: gooey by the glass animals

The first time was an accident, genuinely.

He meant to text you he would be home early, ever the courteous roommate, but it truly just slipped his mind. Surprise would be an understatement when he swings the front door open to the high pitched whines coming from your bedroom.

Curiosity piquing, Tamaki lines his shoes up by the door and follows the noise. He can see the outline of light seeping through your open door and hears another round of cries.

“Hey, are you ok--” His words flop lifelessly on the floor in front of him. Oh.

Oh.

His eyes trail up from the end of your bed. The open laptop propped in between your legs, the bottle of lube sitting next to your knee, your bare thighs and--

“Do you like what you see, Suneater?”

Tamaki flushes, heat starting at the bridge of his nose and spreading across every inch of skin. He should really say something, or better yet, close your fucking door and do the rest of his processing on the other side.

He can’t seem to do anything but stand and stare at the dripping wet toy still being pumping in and out of your cunt. It seems to have completely hypnotized him, watching the way the silicone disappears in between your slick folds, he swears he can see the quiver.

“What do you think about my toy?” Purple and oblong, you pull it all the way out. Tamaki’s stare burns right into the suction cup ridges and slim, curved tip. You drag it in a wet line up your skin, meeting your lips with a pout.

“I picked this one out with you in mind.”

* * *

First time, shame on you.

That’s what they say, but Tamaki finds himself pressing against your doorframe and peering into your room for the 3rd time this week. His feet pull him here like a nasty habit, the crack in your door is far too welcoming.

You left it open just for him.

Tamaki’s ears twitch, forehead tacky with sweat as he presses against the frame. Every time he finds himself in this very same position, shame trickles down his spine like poison.

Every inch of your skin is exposed to his stare. Looking upon you is invasive and slimy and wrong but fuck, with every movement of your toy, pumping in tandem with the hand around his painfully hard cock, the more each stolen glance feels intravenous. Tamaki is addicted.

All he wants to do is touch you. Wrap you in his hold and explore every inch. He wants to know what your skin feels like.

What does your hair smell like up close? He’s only ever been privy to the occasional carryover of strawberry as you walk by him in the kitchen. How do your moans feel vibrating just above his mouth? Would you cry out for him to stop or to keep going?

He’s never stepped closer than the line between carpet and hardwood, but that's really only a technicality.

You feel it, foreign but unmistakable. The touch of something crawling up your leg, soft and sticky. It wraps around your leg, crawling upwards in salacious vines. Your voice rings in Tamaki’s ears. He repeats every syllable like prayer, his invitation.

“I picked this one out with you in mind.”

There’s no movement to stop him, you don’t scream or tell him to fuck off. Your body seems to welcome him, back arching as five quirked fingers wrap around your arms and hips. The popping of suction cups trail from your belly button, dragging against your breasts before you feel pressure at your neck. Your skin will be covered in round bruises in the morning. The kindling in Tamaki’s stomach feels more like a wildfire, shy demeanor melting away. The man in front of you isn’t going to waste any more time hesitating.

“You’re such a little tease. You like fucking with me don’t you, princess?” Tamaki’s question is sneering, his tone cold and unfamiliar.

The tentacle wrapping around your neck squeezes tight enough to make you gasp, he doesn’t waste the opportunity.

He doesn’t really want you to answer him.

As soon as your lips part, your mouth is invaded. The tendril reaches all the way to the back of your throat before it lets up, your jaw already hurting at the stretch. Your vision blurs, the taste of briny-sweet flesh mixes with the salty tears running down your face.

You’re given only a moment to sputter, catching your breath before it’s taken away again, the squeals and cries bubbling in your throat are wasted energy.

“Always leaving your door open, teasing me. I’m not playing your games anymore.” Tamaki’s voice is unwavering, he’s serious.

You wail around the rubbery texture as another tentacle wraps around your breasts, suctioning on the sensitive peaks of your nipples. Tamaki moves closer with each sound he can pull from you, finally breaching the last shreds of privacy and shuffling across the carpet. All five fingers on his right hand are busy probing parts of your pliant body and restraining others. Through the haze you can’t deny how dexterous he is while making a mess of you.

It would be impressive if you could think straight.

Each arm and leg is caught in the reddish-purple web, writhing against his hold only makes Tamaki’s grip tighter.

“I could do anything to this sweet little body, what could you do to stop me?” His words should scare you, but only one thing runs through your foggy head.

“Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”

If you could, the scream pressed against your makeshift gag would definitely alert your neighbors to the depravity just a wall away. You feel attention turning to the toy still plugging your weeping hole, a tentacle wrapping around the base and pulling it free with a squelch. From the corner of your eye, you catch the shiny plastic as it’s thrown to the other side of the room, hitting your wall with a hollow thud.

The tip of one tentacle prods at your clit for good measure before poking inside. Fear runs through your blood, cooling when mixed with overwhelming pleasure. Tamaki can reach places you’ve never felt before.

“So tight, so fucking warm.” Tamaki can feel you with each clench of your pussy, sliding in until he can feel tight band of your cervix. He could ruin you if he wanted, he ventures to guess you would let him.

You’re crying in long, fat streaks around the apples of your cheeks. With the help of another set of weaponized fingers, your legs are spread further and pushed to your chest. Tamaki’s cock aches, now ignored in favor of manipulating your body into a new angle so your ass is propped up. Muscles tense as he swipes the tip of his tentacle to trace around your rigid ring of muscle.

“I’ll take every one of these slutty little holes. You’ll feel me on your skin for days.” He promises you, pushing past your resistant muscles, they’re no match.

Your head is swimming now, logic is replaced with the feeling of being so full.

Stimulation assaults your senses from every direction, Tamaki fucking into your body with fatal rhythm. Going farther, deeper, harder. All you’re left with is shaking limbs and muted whines.

It hurts, it feels so good. It’s so disgusting but so hot. You’re meek, bushy roommate has made you little more than a fucktoy with what seems like minimal effort. You’re hurdled to a sloppy wet orgasm faster than ever before.

Tamaki can tell that you’re close, studying the way your eyes screw up and brows furrow before falling over the edge for weeks from the comfort of your door jam. The consuming bliss overtakes your body, every muscle tensing, shaking from exhaustion as the cord pulls tight and snaps with fury. If you could, you would scream out the name of your captor, all you can manage a garbled sound from deep in your chest.

The next few moments find you in pieces. The feeling of emptiness knocks at your hypersensitive body as you’re flipped to balance weakly on your hands in knees. You’re not left alone for long, Tamaki’s just getting started.

He’s never been one to play with his food, but you’re just too tasty.

all writing is dymphnasprose’s original content, please do not repost or modify. do no read my content as asmr.©️

#tamaki smut #tamaki x reader #tamaki amajiki smut #bnha smut #bnha x reader #tw: dubcon #tw: voyeurism #tw: tentacles #sin.dubcon #sin.voyeurism #sin.tentacles

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bloodcoveredwithwalls · 3 years

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Content

Tags: Soft, soft, fluff, INSIDE era, gender neutral (any can read)!

Word Count: 2.7k

You walk out of the kitchen with a glass of coffee. A spoon of sugar and enough milk. Just the way Bo likes it. Today though, he wanted it made for the evening, instead of his usual morning routine.

“Bo! Your coffee’s ready!” You scream up through the stairway.

“Coming!”

Running down the stairs was Bo, with a stack of clothes, some his, some yours. You recognize one of your favorite clothing on the pile in his hands.

“Excuse you, is that my flannel?” You ask, tugging on the cloth.

“Excuse me, and yes. Yes it is, honey.” He answers with his eyebrows raised and an awkward smile.

“Aaand, what is it for?”

“That, I may not be able to tell you now. But, come with me to the guesthouse today, will you? I’ll give you a sneak peak.” He says, placing a soft kiss on your forehead. No struggle of course, he was way taller than you.

You nodded, “Okie. Very exciting.” noticing your wool beanie in between the stack.

Bo’s been working on a new project. For at least a year now, he’s been planning on everything. The songs that’ll be in it, how it’ll be played out. Your living room, bedroom and even the kitchen has Bo’s notes and his notebooks scattered around. You’ve promised him long ago that you wouldn’t open or look into any of them. Of course, you didn’t, respecting and giving him his privacy.

He stays in the guesthouse for hours a day. From morning to night, some days he would even sleep in the guesthouse. You’ve never been in there since he first went in to start his project. Never stepped close at all. Sometimes though, whenever you lay in bed at night, you swore you could hear him slamming the keys of his keyboard from afar, or maybe even him yelling at things.

You know he struggles with his own content. You’ve been through this quite often. He would sometimes come back to the house frustrated, unable to create something that he would like. Some days, he would come back crying, walking straight into your open arms and sobbing into your shoulder. And although you’ve offered to help, he shrugged it off and reassured you that he wants to try his best and work on it alone.

“You need anything else?” You asked as you follow behind him.

“At the moment, no. Oh, wait actually yes. You know my favorite pair of socks?”

“The one with the yellow bit at the end?”

“That’s the one. Thank you Y/N, honey.”

You place the coffee mug on the kitchen table and walked to your front door, where right next to it, is a little cabinet. You pull the top drawer open and looked for the socks, pulling pair after pair, until you found them.

“Found them!” You happily beamed. But as you look back to where Bo was last, he wasn’t there. You saw the sliding door leading to the backyard open , the gentle breeze greeting the kitchen and living room.

You closed the drawer and briskly walked to the kitchen to grab Bo’s coffee mug before stepping out through the door. You tiptoe through the cold grass, quickly making your way to the guesthouse.

Just as you were about to step into the room, Bo came out, quickly closing the door and stopping you in your tracks. He spread his arms out to cover the door. You looked at him with raised eyebrows.

“Okay. Just a fair warning before you go in. There’s a lot of random shit scattered around literally everywhere. So, don’t be too surprised. Or worried.” He smiles.

“Got it. Oh, and here are the socks. And coffee.” You throw back a smile at him. Managing a thumbs up with the pair of socks in your grip.

“Perfect. Thank you so much.”

He turns around and slowly pushing the door handle down his his left elbow, turning his head slightly to you with a shy smile on his face as you both enter into the guesthouse.

The lights were off, the room only illuminated by the sun peaking through the blinds. As you look around, you realize he wasn’t kidding at all. The floor was covered in different wires coming out from different directions. A camera on a tripod was set in the middle of the room, facing towards where you first entered. One of his keyboards was placed on its stand near the camera to a certain angle, while the other that Bo owns was on the floor, awkwardly propped up against the wall.

The desk and cabinet had different books and pieces of paper scattered on top, camera

“Alright, if you don’t mind, the sofa we have is where you can sit on for now. I know the room’s an absolute mess right now.”

He puts his hand out for you, and you grab onto him, slowly making your way to the sofa in the corner of the room with your eyes to the floor, making sure you aren’t stepping on any of the cables.

Bo sat down on the sofa, and pats on the empty space next to him, signaling you to sit. As you did so, you couldn’t leave your eyes off every corner of the room.

“So, this is it so far.” He sighed.

“I don’t even know what most of all the stuff on the floor is for.” You said, waving your hands from the left to the right, framing what you’re seeing.

“Here, let me show you.” He stands up, walking towards on of the devices on the floor. As he stepped on one of the buttons on it, a bright purple light projected from a panel near you and onto the right side of the wall.

He stepped on a different button, and this time the light projected to another direction from a different panel.

“Woah…” You muttered.

“Pretty cool right?”

“Very cool…” You said with your lips parted in awe.

He takes a sip of the warm coffee. “And, tonight, I want you to be here as I record my very first step to my project.”

God, his smile could sweep you off your feet every, single, time. You were so proud of him, so happy to see him step out of his nest and finally work on something once again.

You frantically nodded, not able to contain your excitement.

He took a sip of his coffee, “But. We might have to wait a bit, because I’ve gotta record this first bit in complete darkness.”

“You sure you want me to stay? I mean, I can wait back in the house.”

He placed his mug on the desk beside him and walked towards you. He reached his hand out and you placed yours in his.

“I haven’t been at home much for some time now. I only ever come back to sleep or to have dinner with you. And you’ve been the only person there for me throughout my process of making this.”

His blue eyes stay on yours. His voice is soft, very gentle, making sure you’re getting what he’s trying to say.

“And Y/N, it’s only fair that you get to be a part of it.”

Once again that smile of his is back. You can’t help but to jump up from your seat and hug him, landing your head on his chest. He froze for a second, hands spread apart with you in between. But in a second, he enveloped you in his warm embrace.

“I am so, so, so proud of you.” You said to him in a muffled voice, “I really am.”

He slowly releases you, and holds you by your shoulders. You notice he was a little teary eyed, his face softening from usual. You place a hand on his cheek and he rests on your hand, soon his left hand follows and holds your hand against his cheek.

“Let’s get ready shall we? I’ll help out with anything you need.” You said to him.

For the next two hours, you helped Bo get ready to record. He vaguely tells you what goes where, and you follow as instructed, moving his cameras around, testing it to see if it’s the way he wants it. Lights were moved around to different areas of the room, testing the way it shines onto him from different angles. You listened and watched as he tests his mic, adjusting how loud the audio output was gonna be, making different tracks to separate the instrumental track from his vocals. This was all a fascinating process for you.

Occasionally, you would have to leave the guesthouse to wait outside as Bo tests something out. He’d told you prior to getting ready that he wanted a few things to be a surprise to you when he starts recording. You were a sucker for his surprises. Anything that Bo’s ever made is a masterpiece to you, so, you’d be happy to wait outside to see what he’s done eventually.

It wasn’t long that you had to wait outside until finally, he opens the door to the guesthouse and tells you to come in. Even then, he covers your eyes to avoid you from looking around too much and spoiling the fun. He guides you back to the sofa, and after you’ve settled on your seat, he tells you to close your eyes.

“Keep them closed! No peeking!”

You hear his voice moving further away from you as he said so. Your curiosity grew, wanting to know where he’s going and what he was up to now.

“Okay, okay! Promise they’re closed!”

You covered your eyes with both hands, unable to hide your smile. You’ve never felt this excited for anything ever since the pandemic started.

“Okay, once I tell you to have them opened, I’ll have started recording by then. So, try your best to be as silent as possible.”

“Got it.” You manage a thumbs up with one hand, while the other now covers both your eyes.

You hear him shuffle around the room, a little “ow” coming out from him as he slaps something on. You didn’t recognize what it was. Then, you heard what you thought was the light switch being flicked. After hearing him shuffle around a for a bit more, he finally tells you to open your eyes from a distance.

“Okay, you can open them now, honey.”

You put your hands down and slowly opened your eyes, blinking a couple of times to adjust to the suddenly dark room. Bo was sat on the chair you both set up, with the light shining to his right side. You guessed what he slapped on was the headlamp stretched around his head. You had a million ideas of what it might be for, but knowing Bo, it’s probably an idea you wouldn’t have thought of.

You pressed your bottom and top lip together and did a zipping motion from the left to the right. He smiled, holding his laugh in as to not mess up the shot. You shoot him a thumbs up and he returned it by blowing you kiss.

And he started. He pressed a few buttons on the keyboard of his laptop then sat back against his chair, relaxed and a little slouched. A catchy beat came from the speaker you helped him set up. Soon after, a few synths came in, making a tune. You sat, frozen to the sofa, only able to take in what's happening in front of you.

Bo was looking away from the camera before he slowly starts lifting the mic closer to his mouth, before starting to sing on cue.

“If you’d have told me, a year ago that I’d be locked inside of my home.” In between, a pre recorded audio of him singing came up before he continued singing live again.

“I would’ve told you, a year ago, “Interesting, now leave me alone.””

You were in awe. You love his deep voice. Finally hearing him sing to these new lyrics that he’d wrote over the past year felt so surreal. You smiled seeing how Bo bounces his leg to the beat of the song.

“Robert’s been a little depressed. No~”

You felt your heart sank at the line, but you kept your cool, not wanting to distract him. Although you were quickly able to calm down a little after hearing the bridge of the song come up. You couldn’t lie, it’s a catchy song.

Once you heard the build up to the chorus, you saw Bo reach his hand up to press a button on his headlamp.

“I’m sorry I was gone, but look I made you some content.”

Bo looked up and so did you, and your jaw dropped as the disco ball hung on the ceiling appeared to be spinning around, reflecting the light shining from his headlamp. The disco ball projected all the lights against the walls of the room, making it look so bright and interactive. You looked around the walls, seeing the lights dance on every single item in the room. You couldn’t hide the smile growing on your face, forgetting if Bo might get distracted by you.

“Daddy made you your favorite, open wide.”

You snap your gaze back at Bo after hearing that, loving how he added in that line to the song. He was concentrated as ever, maintaining a leveled eye contact to one point as not to move the light shining on the disco ball. He continues on, and you stare at him, smiling as you enjoyed the catchy tune.

“It’s a beautiful day to stay inside.”

He lowers the mic with the last line, and looks down into the camera, shining it with the headlamp. You squint your eyes, to try and look at him. The room went dark as he turns his headlamp off, leaving the room pitch black. He walked over to the light switch and flicked it on.

He catches your eyes, smiling wide at you.

You stand from the sofa, making happy little hops towards him.

“How did I not see the disco ball?” You ask in complete awe.

“That’s a bit of Bo’s magic.” He jokes, grinning at you as he takes of his headlamp, throwing it to the chair.

You hug him again, tight and proud. Happy that you were able to linger in the guesthouse and watch him take his first step into the project.

“So. What do you think?” He said, throwing a glance around the room then to you.

You cling on to him, a hand around his waist while you lean on his side.

“Absolutely incredible. Loved the song, loved the lighting, and definitely loved seeing you sing.”

“I need you to know this song’s for you. You’re the reason I’m able to start making content again. So, thank you so much.”

You place other hand on his chest, still leaning onto him.

“Thank you for starting again.”

He reached around for your hand, holding both of them in his before leaning down to kiss you. So gentle, so loving. He places his hand on your cheek, letting his fingers fall to your jaw and neck, the perfect fit. He pulls away, giving you one last quick peck on the lips.

You sigh happily.

“Well, we can leave everything here for now. Give me a sec, I’ll just quickly turn everything off.”

You watch as he leaps to his laptop, then to his speaker, making sure everything’s been saved and turned off properly.

“Alright. All good.”

“Pasta for dinner?” You ask him, intertwining your hands with his.

“Anything you make, really.” Nodding in approval.

You both step out of the guesthouse, knowing that for a few months or maybe more, you won’t be able to see him in there anymore. Before he closes the door, you take a last look at the slowly spinning disco ball. You were left to imagine what’s Bo going to create next. Only surprises.

You walked back to the house hand in hand, watching Bruce wait in front of the sliding door.

“Anyways, Daddy huh?” You teased him.

“Oh hush, I know you love it.” He laughed, patting the top of your head.

Boy, was this fun to write. Thank you so much to @pharlapcartoonist for the request and idea behind this, I hope you liked it! I’m open to more requests! Hope everyone has a great day! Please stay happy and stay safe. <3

#bo burhnam #bo burnam inside #bo burnham fanfic #bo burnham fluff #bo burnham x reader #bo burnham x y/n

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illyaana · 3 years

Text

credits to the artists who made the fanarts I used!

Dorm Life - Shoto Todoroki

Thanks to @missuga for this collab! Sorry I gave to you late TwT Do check out their collab over here!

Tags: Shoto Todoroki x Reader, Binaural, Fluff, Cursing, Minor Angst, Kissing (escandalo)

Synopsis: A compilation of drabbles of your life during the pandemic, quarantined in the UA dorms.

Word Count: 2734

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Like my writing? Do you want a drabble specifically made for you about your love life with a character of your choosing? Check out my 50 followers event over here!

CLASSES

The Sun let its light brush against your skin, giving you a warm hug in the morning. You awoke to the pale blue skies that were painted so elegantly it made you stare. The cumulus clouds softly danced on its stage, etching a smile on your face. You looked around the room, checking for the clock to see what time it was currently.

10:00 a.m. - You were supposed to wake up at 8:00.

Worry rushed through you. The fear of you being late for class thrummed as you tried to get out of your bed.

Hint: tried.

You turned to your side and looked at the male beside you. His hands had found their way around your waist, pulling you in. His head was pressed against your shoulder. His twin-colored hair was disheveled thanks to him turning himself all through the night, His long eyelashes framed his closed lids, his lips slightly parted. Small snores came out in intervals as he snuggled into you, his vice grip around your body tightening even more.

You could help but trace his lips with your finger - it was so soft, you had to.

You pressed a kiss to his forehead, then laid your forehead against his.

“Get up, Sho - class starts in 10 minutes,” you said, rubbing his shoulder.

“I don’t want to, this is too comfortable,” he mumbled, rubbing his head on your shoulder.

“What are you, a cat?” You joked, placing your hands on his cheek, “Let me at least get my laptop on - I can tell Aizawa we’re sharing my laptop and we can just join the class here.”

“Getting the laptop means that you move - and you are not moving,” he said, tightening his grip on you.

“You know we’re going to be in trouble if we don’t join the class, right? Oh yeah, it starts in 5 minutes,” you said, slightly annoyed at him.

Shoto sighs in defeat, “Fine - but, hurry up,”

You pry his arms off of you and rush to your table to get the laptop on. Thankfully, you managed to join the class 3 minutes before it began.

“Aren’t you coming back in here?” Todoroki whined, patting the space beside him.

“Are you finally awake?” You question him.

“Kind of?”

“ ‘Kind of?’ “

“Yes, I am awake - I no longer need to sleep,” he groans.

You take your laptop and place it in the space between the two of you as you sit back on the bed. You pressed another kiss on his forehead, making him smile.

“Good morning, snowflake,” he says as he returns your kiss with one on your forehead.

“Good morning, Sho.”

“Now that you both have shown a great deal of affection, Y/N and Shoto,” Eraserhead says from your Zoom call, “Can my class finally begin?”

⁜

LUNCH BREAK

“I got the money from Aizawa for our meals! Can you all go through the menu and tell me what you want on the class group chat?” Momo shouted from the living room.

“Imagine eating great food for free?” Uraraka smiled, enjoying how our meals were paid for by the school itself, “The pandemic is amazing yet so annoying at the same time.”

You chuckle at the brown-haired girl, seeing her awe-filled expression.

“What are you getting?” You ask her.

“Hmm… maybe Udon? It’s been a long time since I ate it, and since it’s not coming from my pocket…” she eyed the menu, “I’m getting the most expensive one.”

“You know he gave a set amount for the whole class right?” You look at her mischievous expression.

“I’m pretty sure we can stay within the budget. Our class generally doesn’t spend much money on food, right?”

You looked across the room to see Kaminari and Kirishima going through the menu.

“You think those two will be reasonable with their spending? Knowing them, they’re most probably buying the whole menu plus snacks,” you say, looking at their joy-filled grins.

You saw Shoto walk beside Iida, heading towards the two males. Intrigued, you and Uraraka walked towards the group of four.

“Hey,” you say as you hug Shoto from the back, “Everything okay?”

“These two,” Iida said, anger laced in his words, “Ordered everything on the menu.”

You held back your laughter, unlike Uraraka.

“Your skills in predicting the future astound me, Y/N L/N,” she says, covering her mouth.

“Hush,” you say, smiling.

“The two of you…” Iida began, looking at the two wrongdoers, “I don’t know how your closer friends handle you two.”

You look at the scene unfolding in front of you, smiling.

Iida was full-on lecturing the two males, his hands moving in all ten directions. Kaminari and Kirishima just stood there, dumbfounded. You could see the two of them slowly spacing out from the ‘conversation’, but Iida kept going on.

“Hey,” Shoto whispered, “Wanna have a mini-date tonight? I’ll order a few things and get them sent here, and we can watch a movie together?”

“Don’t use the money Aizawa gave though - we don’t need a third victim of Iida’s lectures,” you whisper, earning a smile from the stoic male.

⁜

MINI-DATES

You opened the door to Shoto’s room, comfortably dressed in your Axolotl onesie. In your hands, you brought a hard drive filled with movies that you felt that you both would enjoy. Seeing that Shoto wasn’t in the room, you laid on his bed, waiting for the arrival of the owner of the room. Your eyes went straight to his mirror. He had slid multiple polaroid pictures of you and your friends in the corners of the mirror. Each one of the photos had a small remark, reminding you of all the memories you’ve made throughout your years in UA.

Your hands grazed on the photo he kept on the bedside table.

It was a picture of him and his mother smiling.

Your chest panged when you saw it. He had told you the story behind his scar and his life within the Todoroki household. His hatred for his father grew every day, yet he could never hate his mother - the very person who gave him the scar on his face.

“I love that picture, but not as much as I love this one,” Shoto said, pointing at a photo in the top-left corner of his mirror.

It was a picture of both of you visiting his mother with Fuyumi and Natsuo.

“I’ll admit Natsuo was not the most welcoming to the idea of me dating you, but he slowly loved you as a sibling. I did talk about you to Fuyumi a bunch of times, but she had her suspicions - that all changed when she met you, though. Mom…”

He hesitated, “...she didn’t like the idea of me dating anyone. Yet, you managed to make her like you so much, now she only asks about you whenever I call her,” he chuckled.

“My family loves you - except Endeavor, of course,” he groaned.

“He’ll come around, eventually. You, however,” you walk up to him and cup his face, “Need to talk to him properly - no filter, just say everything.”

You lie back down on the bed, patting the space beside you, “Hurry up - the snacks you bought are calling me.”

After multiple small banters, you both finally decided on Shrek and began to watch the movie.

After a while, you found yourself lying on Shoto’s chest, playing with his fingers as you focused on the movie. Shoto, however, stared at your cute expressions, taking mental notes of all the small things you did when a scene disgusted you, made you laugh or made you feel sad.

“Y/N,” he whispered in your ear once the movie ended, “Thanks for loving me.”

You turned to face the fire user, cupping his face in your hands. His fingers found their way in your hair, enjoying the feeling of your soft locks against his calloused skin. Your thumb began to move in circular motions, eager to feel his soft skin against yours. You stared into his dual-coloured eyes, enjoying the brown and icy blue flecks within each eye. He relaxed against your touch, warmth radiating from him to you.

“I love you so much, Sho - and I will no matter what happens later on.”

You shared a kiss under the glow of the pale moonlight, but all you cared about was how perfect the man you were kissing was.

⁜

TRAINING

“Hey Sho,” you say, nudging the male beside you, “You wanna train after this?”

“I can’t,” he said, looking down, “I asked Midoriya to help me with some things. The only time he’s free is after this, so…”

“Don’t worry, I’ll ask Uraraka!” you say, kissing him on the cheek, “Good luck with whatever you’re doing with Mido.”

Soon, both you and Uraraka headed to Ground Beta to train your hand-to-hand combat.

“Luckily all of us are vaccinated, or the training grounds wouldn’t be open,” you say, thinking.

“Okay, okay - you wanted to work on hand-to-hand combat, right?” You nodded.

Both you and Uraraka got into your positions, mentally preparing yourselves. You were ready to move towards her until you heard sounds coming from the entrance.

“Well, well, well - isn’t that two students from Class 3-A?” Monoma snickered.

You groaned before turning to face him.

“Hello, Monoma? Where’s Kendo?” you ask, hoping that the ginger would come and stop him.

“Kendo’s eating right now - don’t want to disturb her. I don’t mind messing with the two of you, though.”

“What’s the difference, Monoma?” Uraraka added, “We usually keep quiet, but Y/N and I would like to train, so it would be greatly appreciated if you either kept quiet or left.”

“Why would you want to train with them, though?” He said, looking at Uraraka, “They’re the weakest bitch in your whole class, aren’t they?”

“The fuck, Monoma?!” you shouted, “That’s going a bit too far, don’t you think?”

“What? I’m just stating facts; you entered the class later than everyone else, you’re quirkless since you depend on your weapons, you need to train with others so that you can win 10% of the time - don’t the facts say it all?”

“Monoma, you might want to - ”

“Stop? Why should I?” he laughed, “It’s about time someone told you the truth; you’re useless, unneeded, a waste of space, and never going to be a hero - not even a sidekick.”

“So, the student who single-handedly served you your own ass in a fight doesn’t deserve to stay, but your weak fucking self can stay?” Shoto chuckled darkly, his hand slowly freezing Monoma’s shoulder, “That’s a lot of self-confidence for someone who hasn’t fought well for 3 years straight.”

“Next time you talk shit about Y/N, don’t expect to leave without losing any limbs,” he shouted, scaring Monoma.

“Shoto,” you begin, “Let me fight my own battles.”

He stares at you and sighs. His vice grip on Monoma loosens as you walk towards him.

You run your sword against his hands, small cuts forming.

“Talk shit about me again and you won’t be standing. Get the fuck out, dumbass.”

Monoma runs out of Ground Beta, making you chuckle.

“Damn, Y/N,” Uraraka says from afar.

“That’s my lover,” Shoto says, smiling.

⁜

NIGHTMARES

You woke up to the sounds of Shoto whimpering in his sleep.

His clothes were soaked by his sweat, trails of tears strung down his face.

He was shaking - shivering.

Small screams of Natsuo, Fuyumi and Rei’s names escaped his lips along with soft sobs.

“Shoto!” You shouted, shaking him, “Wake up, it’s only a dream - they’re okay, they’re alive.”

You heard your name.

You heard his voice become louder, screaming your name in pain.

“I’m here, I’m fine,” you whisper in his ear.

“I’m right here, Shoto - I haven’t left you. I am here, hugging you. Wake up, okay?’

You heard his whimpers stop as he wrapped his arms around you. He nuzzled his face into your chest as you patted his head.

“Y/N…” you heard him mumble, “Y/N… you’re fine, right?”

“I’m fine, Sho. I’m here hugging you, aren’t I?”

He nodded, pressing his head against your chest.

“You want to talk about it?”

“No…” he trailed off.

“Okay, don’t worry,” you say, kissing him on his head.

“You want me to get you something? Milk, water…?” you ask him, slowly prying yourself off of him.

“Don’t go anywhere.”

“Ok then, koala - I’m not going anywhere,” you say, chuckling.

You hummed a song as you rubbed Shoto’s back, giving him warmth. You wiped the trail of tears and pressed kisses on his cheek.

If he needs you to be his haven, you’ll be an oasis from all the bad.

⁜

CLASS FUN

“Ok, so - everyone is here, right?” Mina said as she stood in the middle of the living room.

You looked at everyone in the living room. Everyone was excited - after all, it’s been a long time since you all did something together as a class.

“I think everyone’s here, Mina,” Shouji said, passing you your drink.

Shoto placed his head on your shoulder, groaning.

“What’s wrong with you?” you ask, worried.

“I wanted to just sleep in today…” he said, sulking.

“Come on, it’s been a long time since we did something as a class - who knows? This might be our last little thing as a class,” you retort.

He hummed in agreement, “Fine.”

“Great! Let’s bring back an old classic, shall we? The game that made all the couples in this classroom, the game that made the impossible possible,” she looked at Bakugou and Izuku, “Spin the Bottle Truth or Dare!”

“This fucking game?” Bakugo cussed.

“Relax, Kacchan~,” Kaminari said, teasing the other blonde.

“Shut up, dunce face,” Bakugo said with anger.

“Keep quiet, you two. Mina’s getting angry,” Kirishima said, eyeing the pink-haired female.

“So what if-”

“Kacchan, shush,” Izuku said, glaring at his partner.

“Thank you, my green-haired savior,” Mina said, smiling at Izuku.

“Let me re-explain how the game works; Person A will spin the bottle in the middle of the circle until it stops on Person B. Person A will play truth or dare with Person B. Clear?” Mina said, smiling.

The game soon spiraled out of control, just like everyone expected.

Kaminari danced in a maid dress, Shinsou was forced to call Aizawa and Present Mic ‘dads’ in a call on speaker, Kirishima was forced to scream “I’m hard!” out loud, and Mina sang Baby Shark to her lover - something we never thought Kirishima would enjoy.

In the last round, the bottle landed on Shoto.

The person who spun the bottle was Sero.

You knew he had something planned - you could see it in his eyes.

“Shoto Todoroki, truth or dare?” He said, smirking.

You looked at him, begging him to not choose dare.

“Truth, I guess?” he said, looking at you.

Phew.

“What do you and Y/N do when you’re alone?”

Shit.

“Take dare, take the dare, take the dare…” you mumbled under your breath, hoping he’d listen.

“Can I take the dare?” Shoto said, questioning your actions.

Phew.

“Make out with Y/N right here.”

Shit.

“Give them some privacy, Sero!” Uraraka shouted on your behalf.

“He already evaded the truth question, I’m not modifying the dare,” Sero said, huffing.

“Y/N,” Shoto said, looking at you, “Is it okay?”

You sigh in frustration, “I put us in this situation, Sho. Let’s just get it over with.”

Shoto smiled, looking at your pissed expression.

“Look at me,” he whispered in your ear, raising small goosebumps on your skin.

His hands slowly went to your cheeks, eyeing the flecks in your eyes - how they sparkled just for him and him alone. His thumb reached your lips and parted it - enjoying how you were putty in his hands. His hand slowly went from your cheek to your chin, raising it to make your forehead meet his.

“Geez, Y/N,” he said, lust filling his eyes, “You’re so perfect.”

He softly pressed his lips against yours. He sucked on your lips, enjoying the strawberry lip balm you put just before you entered the living room. Your hands gripped on his dual-colored hair, fingers entangled.

The soft kiss soon turned desperate, needy.

In, out, in, out - the synchronization of your lips.

The need for breath soon came and your lips parted from his.

“Well, that was something,” you said, laughing.

⁜

208 notes · View notes

fukurodaze · 4 years

Text

october

pairing: third year!tsukishima kei x third year!fem!reader genre: fluff, suggestive word count: 2.7k warnings: cursing, mentions of hickeys, makeout session hehe synopsis: “tsukishima” and “high school sweetheart” are a unique combination of words

LISTEN TO: lowkey - niki; used to you - mxmtoon

lowercase intended!

nobody knows about this.

nobody knows about his offhand banter and longing gazes. if you and kei go back exactly five months from today, you’d be asking him a question about the research assignment as you were about to leave the library and he surprisingly follows his answer up with “i’m going home too. come with?”

nobody knows him on facetime, staying late until his eyes can barely open after a blink. you’re used to his texts, somehow so much funnier and warmer than everyone seems to know him. and maybe one day he’d kissed you; on the right temple, as you fell asleep on your bed; on the back of your shoulder, when he did it subconsciously during a movie. and maybe you kissed him too; a short peck on the lips when he went home through your front door; another on his calloused and bandaged hands after a block had left it bruised.

nobody knows that now, you’re straddling the boy you’ve known for a while as you suck his tongue until he gets breathless. his hands roam up and down your body, finding themselves under your shirt and holding onto the bare skin of your waist like he can never let go. when he tugs on the hem of your shirt, bunching it up your torso, you let him take it off, the moment away from his lips making you realise his lips are swollen and his glasses have been thrown somewhere on your bed. you freeze for a bit when he spends a little too long staring at your body, and you freeze even more when you realise you’re not wearing the bra you would’ve liked for this occasion, but you’re cut off when he starts nipping on your neck, leaving open-mouthed kisses as he mumbles, “you don’t have to suck in your stomach.”

you relax a little, small whimpers coming out of your mouth as he continues to work on your neck, the little shocks of pleasure filling your senses as hands on bare skin start to feel more familiar than foreign. you could get used to this.

“wait, don’t leave any, uh, marks or hickeys or whatever,” you breathe, “people might see.”

he hums, and yet his grip on you tightens as you think he’s coming back to your lips, but he doesn’t. he just stops there, face inches away as his lips barely ghost yours. he purses his lips for a second, like he’s thinking of something to say, but the microwave makes its strange appearance when it beeps loud enough to make you jump a little in his lap. he still holds you close.

so, so close. and nobody else knows.

“i’ll get the popcorn.” right, because tonight you had planned to watch a movie with him. like the usual - talk, cuddle, whatever.

come to think of it, your relationship with kei sounds weird; feelings so well understood without ever being spoken. you liked it at first, when he told you he liked you on a saturday morning, your reciprocated feelings tasting of warm rice and milky eggs and an unspoken convention that this stayed between you two and you two only. but as the days passed, and the thrill of a secret relationship wore off, you’ve started to wonder how it would feel like to be able to show people that, yes, tsukishima kei is your boyfriend, and yes, you like him very much.

when you take your shirt, he says, “wear my hoodie. it’s cold.”

you grin when you hear that, opting to simply wear his hoodie without a shirt underneath. it’s the same black hoodie he wears literally all the time and probably doesn’t wash regularly (which is gross) but if there’s one thing you learned about these feelings is that you couldn’t care less.

when you pick up the popcorn, kei only lays against the headboard of your bed, feeling slightly empty at the words he’d heard from you. serves him right, he thinks as he picks his glasses back up; this relationship, or whatever it is, isn’t something both of you wanted everyone to know. he’d get sick of all the attention, and there was probably no need for the two of you to share everything. it’s high school anyways, who knows how long it’s going to last.

yet, when you come back into his room, lips soft and hair tousled, holding a bowl of fragrant popcorn, kei finds himself letting go of those thoughts.

you take a seat on the floor against your bed frame, already having set up the laptop in the middle of the floor. you motion to the boy on the bed to come down, and he brings your entire duvet with him.

as he settles next to you, your shoulder touching his upper arm, you set the popcorn in the space where your knee meets his thigh, over the blanket. the movie you two had decided on earlier tonight starts playing, and you feel your head slide into the crook of kei’s neck, like it always does.

the night starts off slow; just the two of you making remarks at the movie, laughing at plot holes and cliches. then, by halfway, the bowl of popcorn is empty; as the protagonist kisses their love interest, you feel a flush up your cheeks; and as the movie ends, kei’s arm is around your waist, pulling you into his side. it’s a pretty shitty movie.

“well, that was a shitty movie.”

“agreed,” you grunt as you stand up to place the bowl of popcorn on your desk, to be taken out at a later time. you fold your laptop onto your desk as well, and kei gets the cue to sprawl your duvet back onto your bed. it’s only nine pm. you climb back in your bed, motioning for him to come with you, too.

slowly, his tall figure holds yours in an embrace filled with something you could only identify as care and affection. and here, especially with his glasses off, sight blurry and only really being able to see you in full focus, it makes you grin at how strikingly different he can be in your room and at school. not that you had ever seen him at school very often, as most of your relationship was crafted of video calls and secret little dates in the night.

you wonder if he’ll grow out of this.

“oh my god, something kind of funny happened today after the english exam,” you chuckle, your head resting comfortably on kei’s chest. he lets out a questioning hum.

“the girls in my class thought i was seeing osawa,” you stifle a laugh, “at me they were like, you’re definitely dating a guy from the basketball club.”

“wait, how’d they know you were dating someone?”

“word got out. they asked for details, and i told them he was in a sports club.”

“they didn’t think about the volleyball club?”

you shake your head, “they did, but they literally went - ‘we know it can’t be kageyama or tsukishima, so, yamaguchi?’” kei snickers at those words, remembering that even the boys in the volleyball club don’t know about you.

“i love how they just glossed over the chances of you with either me or kageyama,” kei tsks, “and who’s osawa?”

you roll your eyes, hearing his voice tinted with a bit of jealousy when he hears other people think you’d go better with this random guy at school. “he’s a guy i partnered up with for biology. why?”

“nothing. just good to know.”

“alright, whatever.” you flip over, your chin now pressing on the backs of your hands on his chest. your grin is wide.

“your hoodie smells like sweat,” kei says, trying to divert the topic away from your eventual accusations of jealousy.

“it’s your hoodie, asshole!” you jokingly exclaim, and he pulls the hood up to your head. you look cute, he thinks, even with his over-worn hoodie and messy hair. it’s in moments like these, when the both of you let go of the fronts you put up at school, and just live like nobody else exists. of course, it will all be over in a few hours, but that’s not to say he doesn’t secretly text you under the desk during class or that you don’t have the liberty of an extra pack of chips in your locker from the early mornings kei has practice.

“okay, but, hoodie aside, you could’ve just said i was your boyfriend.”

you like the sound of it; something so distant yet so close. so you make him repeat it again, “wait, what did you say?”

kei exhales through his mouth, “you could’ve just said i was your boyfriend.”

“would you like a boyfriend badge with that?” you tease.

“shut up. at least it sounds better than you and osawa,” he mumbles, sitting up, leaning on his arms. “not that anyone would ever know about us.”

your arms wrap around your boyfriend’s neck. his eyes stare straight into yours, and though he still feels uneasy at first, he likes the feeling of you so near him, so warm and fluttery in his stomach. it makes you hope, at least, in the way he’s looking at you, that he might want to show you off more than he lets on.

“you know, kei, it wouldn’t hurt for some people to know about us,” you mutter, almost a whisper, and he catches your words perfectly.

“but i hate how everyone shits on couples all the time.”

“no, you just shit on couples all the time.”

he sighs defeatedly, “okay, but everyone’s just gonna be annoying when they know. like they’re shoving their noses into our business.”

“yeah, but-”

“on top of that, my mom would constantly nag me about the details of our relationship. i don’t need everyone knowing so much about us.”

you fall silent, running out of things to say. admittedly, the way he’s so quick to shut down all your reasons is getting to you.

“see? there’s no point in other people knowing.” kei’s hands run under your hoodie to caress your bare skin. he likes the way you shiver slightly from the sudden coolness of his fingers, but it does give you an idea.

“i’ll let you leave marks under my school blouse.”

“as hot as that is, no.”

you groan, slouching against his larger frame. you shift your weight onto him, making him fall back on the bed, and you settle with lying beside him. kei, like the reluctant cuddle bug you’ve found him out to be, immediately wraps an arm around your torso, like every second spent at your house that doesn’t involve his limbs intertwined with yours is a second wasted.

you exhale through your mouth, “kei, i just wanted to be proud.”

his grip tightens.

“like, we don’t have to tell everyone what happens between us every single day, but, god damn, i don’t want to keep sneaking you in like this, or having to send you off at like, four in the morning so nobody knows you were here.”

“do you care more about what other people think than how i feel?” now you’re letting it out. you realise you’re frustrated - so fucking frustrated - that you barely even get to see him every week because of school and clubs, and that you don’t even get to save his contact on your phone under his own name in fear that people might find out. all because nobody knows.

“no, i care about-”

“i want to hold your hand in public, kei. is that too much to ask?”

you take a deep breath, sitting up against the headboard, “my friends think i bail on them all the time. i want to tell them it’s because i’m going to see my boyfriend instead of some lame excuse, kei. and i want to cheer you on at the spring high nationals in january, because you talk to me about volleyball so much and i want to see my boyfriend do what he’s been working so hard for.”

there’s a hanging silence in the air, coupled with the whirring of your heater. you can’t make eye contact with him - what if he gets mad? your fingers fiddle with the string of his hoodie, knotting it and untying the knot. and it’s only then that he sees you, gaze unsure and lips pursed, that he knows what to do.

it’s not so bad, kei thinks. he wouldn’t have to save your number under a name that’s not exactly yours, and he wouldn’t have to always rush to leave because he has “something coming up”. he can walk you to class in the mornings when you arrive after his morning practices, and it’s like he can imagine the way he’ll hold your hand and make sure everyone knows you’re with him. his train of thought might have gone a bit too far, but he can’t deny the thought of wanting to show you off as his. hell, he’s had a crush on you since your second year (though he’ll never tell you or anyone), and now that he’s got the girl, he might as well be proud of it, too.

so he comes up and kisses you. chastely. “okay.”

you give him a flick to his shoulder, earning an ‘ow’ from him. “that’s it? okay?”

“you said i could leave marks as long as it’s gonna be covered by your blouse, right?”

another finger flick, to his forehead this time, “you asshole.” but you smile. you know him.

when you pull his lips to yours, this time, he makes sure to keep you busy with his hands around your body and your hands in his hair, shirts and hoodies being pulled up to eventually be taken off. suddenly, he stops, and it’s only then that you hear something that you’ve only barely heard once before, on a warm saturday morning when it was summer, months away from today’s october.

“i really, really like you, y/n. and i’m not afraid of that.”

as he cradles you in his touch, kisses trailing down your jaw and beginning at your collarbone, you make sure to ask if he’s okay with reusing the same uniform he wore today for tomorrow. his answer slips out easily; yes.

“is it always this cold in the mornings when you practice?” you tighten the scarf around your neck, shoving your hands into your coat. kei hums in response as you two near the gym.

“to be fair, you could’ve worn tights. doesn’t help when you’re basically half naked in the winter.”

“wearing a skirt does not mean i’m half-naked, kei.” you scoff, but you do take a mental note to start dressing warmer for the coming seasons.

“i’m just saying, the wind can just go up your skirt-”

his sentence is cut short when a louder, higher-pitched voice runs through.

“woah! tsukishima’s with a girl?” you recognise it as one of the kids in class 3-2, hinata shoyo. his orange hair isn’t exactly easy to miss. behind him is the boy you recognise as kageyama tobio, remembering the way kei would sometimes slip in a snarky mention of his name on the nights he’d call you from his training camp in tokyo. you introduce yourself to the two boys.

“why is that such a surprise to you?” kei points out sharply. a number of second and first years pass by the three of you, and they exchange casual good mornings.

“i think i’ve seen you around. are you friends with kana-san?” hinata names one of the girls in your class, and you nod, telling him you’re pretty close to her.

"are you going to be watching us practice?” hinata asks, and as you look frantically between kei and hinata, you tell him, “yeah, is that okay for you guys?” kageyama and hinata nod.

you don’t miss it when kei takes your hand and intertwines your fingers with his. it makes you feel a little warmer in chilly weather. it makes you smile.

“go ask team captain over there,” kei shrugs, cocking his head at yamaguchi, who currently has a content smile on his face.

“so this is your girlfriend!”

you immediately snap your head at kei, as if silently telling him no fair, how come yamaguchi knew all along?! kei shrugs, “he saw me going to your locker one day.”

you roll your eyes before introducing yourself the same way you did to hinata and kageyama, and you hear kageyama huff out, “she looks too nice for you.”

kei scoffs, “well, that’s rich coming from you. maybe you’re forgetting how-”

“alright, tsukki, let’s just go up to the clubroom first.” yamaguchi thankfully cuts in, letting hinata and kageyama go to the gym first.

“oh, y/n-san, you can go to the gym first, too, since we’re going to be changing in the clubroom. we don’t want you to wait outside, after all.” yamaguchi adds, and as you let go of kei’s hand with a reassuring smile, hinata takes it upon himself to make even more conversation with you on the way to the gym. you find his and kageyama’s company entertaining.

“if he’s you’re boyfriend, does he, like, insult you all the time?” kageyama blurts out, his words making you break into smiles.

you giggle, swatting your hands, saying no, no. it makes you realise how different he really is when he isn’t with you.

your hand wanders to the uniform bow around your collar, and you play with the ends of it, the area of your body reminding you of the hickeys you saw littered around your chest and collarbone this morning. when you told kei about it, he only shrugged with the most smug face you’ve ever seen. thank god for collared uniforms.

“so, y/n-san, how’s tsukishima as a boyfriend?” hinata chimes in.

you catch your lip in between your teeth, sucking in a soft inhale. you wonder if you could tell them that he’s the guy that buys you your favourite snacks on the way back from volleyball practice, or that he puts all your favourite songs into his daily playlist so that he can sing along with you when he comes over. still, even after the news about your relationship, you think there’s no harm in keeping some things private. so you exhale.

“he’s an asshole,” you laugh, gleeful, “such an asshole.”

1K notes · View notes

kassandras-one-braincell · 3 years

Text

Kassandra x Fem!Reader - The Most Peculiar Wingman

Can be found on AO3 here.

Summary: You recently moved into a new flat and you’re hearing some rather unusual sounds from your next-door neighbour’s abode. You’re worried the mysterious woman next door is involved in something dangerous. Kassandra is worried that you’re the landlord about to bust her for her lease violation.

(Sorry if you don’t like coffee and/or you speak fluent Greek.)

Word count: 2568

Damn, you’ve lucked out with your new flat. The area is pleasant, the décor is tasteful – the windowsills could use a bit more greenery, but you’ll get to that – and the letting agent wasn’t a dick. Zero hassle with bills, minimal scuffs on the walls…it’s bizarre how simple your moving process has been.

But nothing can be perfect, can it?

Over the few days you’ve lived in your new home, you noticed some rather disconcerting sounds coming from the apartment next door. Nothing that disrupts your sleep, thankfully, although your post-unpacking nap was interrupted by a very loud thud against the thin wall connecting the two flats. Thumps, crashes and very disgruntled cursing in a language you can’t quite place tend to crop up in quick succession once or twice a day. Today, though, the odd sounds seem to be omnipresent.

The strange symphony is starting to get alarming; you’re beginning to ponder if the seemingly perpetually angry woman next door is involved in violence…or, forbid, organised crime? That would certainly explain the forceful thuds and grumbling. God, what if she manages to rope you into her shenanigans? What if she is armed?

After a loud bang and an exasperated “oh, fuck you” reverberates into your apartment, you decide to investigate.

Anxiously, you pop on some slippers and step into the hall, locking the door behind you (‘I’m not about to get robbed less than a week after moving,’ you think to yourself, ‘Oh, shit, I need to get insurance…’). Stomach churning with speculation, you make the arduous four-metre trek to your neighbour’s door. Biting your lip, you rap your knuckles against the wood.

A chorus of panicked shuffling echoes through the door, causing your throat to tighten. Footsteps sprint from one side of the room to the other, the sound of shattering ceramic shrill against the heavy thudding. “Shit, shit, shit, shit,” the woman hisses, muffled by the walls, followed by some shushing and the rattling of something metal. Who is this woman, what the fuck is she hiding, why am I doing this—

Suddenly, the door swings open, revealing…oh, wow.

Your neighbour is an amazon.

Flawless bronze skin, chocolate hair strewn into an unruly braid, tall and shredded with lean muscle. Her eyes are a gorgeous tawny brown, the split second of alarm disappearing from her gaze, replaced by a sparkle that makes your heart hammer against your chest. Very kissable lips upturn into a charming smile, bringing your attention to a small scar above her upper lip quirking adorably. A deeper scar sits on her nose, and the pang of anxiety returns, but your eyes need only flicker back to hers and it melts away.

“You’re not the landlord,” she says with a rich accent and curious lilt. Your cheeks feel warm.

“Uhm, hi.” You fiddle with your thumbs, mouth suddenly dry. “Sorry, I moved in a few days ago next door. I just heard some loud noises and was wondering if everything was alright?”

Lips curving furthermore, she braces her arms on the doorframe above and, fuck, are they nice arms. Sun-kissed, bulging against her white t-shirt, three gnarly rings cutting into her right bicep that just scream to be touched. Is this her distraction tactic?

“Oh, sorry about that. I hope I wasn’t too much of a disturbance?”

When you finally pry your eyes from her arms, a tiny smirk registers on her handsome face. Bashful, you stammer, “No, it’s fine. But, uh, what caused it, if I may ask?”

The woman cranes her neck to scan the hall. “Can you keep a secret?”

Mob boss? Arms dealer? Axe murderer?

Clearly, your nervous speculations are apparent, because her eyes widen slightly. “Don’t worry, lovely, it’s nothing dangerous. I just have a pet bird.”

Breathing a shaky sigh of relief, you run a hand through your hair. Just a bird. Just a bird. Her face relaxes back into a casual smile. A fresh wave of warmth caresses your cheeks at the name she gave you.

Chuckling, you joke, “Must be one big bird.”

“He’s…an eagle.”

You blink back your shock. “How on earth did you manage to get a pet eagle?”

She laughs, the melody warm and addictive. “Poor fucker followed me all the way from Kefalonia. I didn’t have it in me to say goodbye, even if it violates the lease.” Her tone is affectionate, despite her less-than-endearing name for the bird. Pushing back from the door frame – hands flexing wonderfully while she does so – she gestures for you to step in. “Come and meet him, if you’d like.”

Everything about this woman is so inviting, you can’t help but gravitate into her apartment.

“I don’t think I caught your name?” you ask shyly.

“Kassandra,” she replies, flipping the ‘r’ in her buttery accent. “And what can I call you?”

Anything you fucking want. “(Y/N) is fine,” you manage, debating whether her flat is hot or your face is akin to a beetroot.

“That’s a lovely name. Suits you perfectly,” she winks. She saunters over to a shelf with a blanket hastily thrown over it. You can’t help but observe her firm-looking behind through her jeans. Kassandra tugs away the blanket, revealing a large eagle sitting grumpily in a cage. It remains put when she unlocks the cage, standing almost defiantly.

“Don’t be like that, Ikaros,” she chastises. The eagle – Ikaros – begrudgingly flies out of his confines, perching atop the sofa in the middle of the open-plan room. “He’s gentle, I promise.” You’re doubtful, but he isn’t making any sudden moves.

“He just likes winding you up?”

“Loves it,” she grins. “He’s a little bitter I put him on a diet since he was getting a bit fat. That’s why he’s been throwing some tantrums lately.”

You smile as she scratches the top of his head before heading to the kitchen. “Can I get you anything to drink?” Kassandra asks, giving you another heart-melting beam. “I have coffee, orange juice, I might have some tea somewhere—”

“Coffee would be nice, thank you.” She asks your preference and you state it, taking in the layout of her apartment. The place gave off a very homely, Mediterranean vibe, with warm colours and white furnishings. A few hand-painted ceramic vases were dotted about – maybe she did pottery – alongside some family photographs. Atop the dining table was a woven basket brimming with ripe fruits, as well as a laptop with a pile of messy papers next to it.

“Have a seat, get comfy,” she calls over the whirring of an expensive looking coffee machine. Shyly you take the chair by the unoccupied end of the dining table. Feeling nosy, you scan the documents by her laptop, but the handwriting was all in Greek.

A minute later, Kassandra joins you with a steaming mug in her hand. “Your coffee, madame,” she announces with a pantomimic bow, evoking a laugh.

“Merci,” you thank her. “How would I say that in Greek?”

“Efharistó,” she replies. You test the word hesitantly, wincing on the second syllable, making her laugh. “Not bad,” she chuckles.

“I butchered it.”

“Try it a little softer,” she smiles, lowering her voice, giving it a sensual cadence that made your head spin. Oh, she knows she’s attractive.

“Efharistó,” you border on whisper, gay little brain surging with the overwhelming instinct to do whatever she tells you.

“There we go!” The proud quirk of her lips is all you need to see.

Feeling your cheeks flush, you bring the coffee mug to your lips, hoping the steam from the beverage will help mask your fluster. You blow on the liquid and take a sip, immediately regretting the decision as you scorch your tastebuds, repressing the urge to hiss in favour of looking cool for the hot Grecian.

“Do you, um,” you start, ignoring the numbness of your tongue, “work from home?” You wave your hand at the paperwork by her seat.

“As often as my job lets me.”

“What do you do?”

“I’m a museum curator,” Kassandra beams, evidently proud of her job. “A glorified history nerd who couldn’t be fucked with the extra academia, basically.” You snort against the mug, nearly spluttering coffee over her. Smooth.

“What time in history?” Her eyes sparkle at the question, passion shining through her irises.

“Mostly the classics, ancient Greece and Rome and all that. But I did my thesis on the evolution of weaponry.” You prop your chin up on your hand as she talks, eyes lazily focused on her lips. If not for the conviction in her tone, you would have zoned out and chased some daydream about kissing those lips. Kassandra reclines back in her chair. “Enough about me, though. Tell me about yourself.”

“You sounded really passionate, though. I don’t mind if you keep talking about your job.” God, you sound like a dizzy schoolgirl who’s hot for teacher. You scald yourself with another sip of coffee in reprimanding.

Kassandra’s eyes twinkle. “I don’t usually invite beautiful women into my home to ramble about cool swords.” You blush and set down your coffee.

The two of you talk for quite some time, getting to know each other, peppering in the occasional flirtatious remark. In her company, you somehow simultaneously feel comfortable and skittish. She’s so relaxed and easy-going, but her physique and seductive demeanour fills your stomach with butterflies.

An irritated squawk cut your conversation short.

Kassandra shoots Ikaros a look before turning back to you. “Sorry about him.”

You shake your head. “It’s fine, really. Damn… What was I saying again?” you ask sheepishly.

Squawk.

“Nevermind, I was probably babbling anyway,” you dismiss, sipping on your now cold beverage.

Kassandra chuckles softly. “Don’t be silly, you have the voice of an angel. You could read me the dictionary and I’d still be interested.” She probably said this to every woman she took a liking to, but you can’t bring yourself to care, far too flustered and feeling, for once, special.

Squawk.

Her eye practically twitches in anger as Ikaros flies over to the windowsill, makes unwavering eye-contact with his owner, and shits on the wood.

Kassandra looks like she wants to be euthanised.

“My god,” she mutters as you burst out laughing. She awkwardly rubs the back of her neck and grimaces, mouth parted as if trying to form some kind of apology for her eagle’s behaviour.

“I’m guessing you’re used to being the only one doing the flustering?” you tease, trying to lighten the mood.

Her disgraced expression shifted back to a playful one. “If I say yes, do I sound like a whore?”

Grinning, you shake your head. “A little cocky, perhaps.”

“I’ll take cocky.” She winks and gets up. “Your coffee is probably cold, can I get you a fresh one?”

“Oh, no, thank you. I’m fine.”

“The finest,” she smirks.

“Real smooth,” you roll your eyes, smiling regardless.

Ikaros caws from the windowsill, as if mocking Kassandra’s advances. Once again, her effortless charm dissolves into a look of frustration. She grabs kitchen towels and a bottle of disinfectant from by the sink and walks over to the window, nudging the eagle so he’d move out of the way. “Maláka,” she groans, cleaning up the mess from the surface. “Μη μου το χαλάς αυτό,” she mutters to Ikaros, earning a confused look. Kassandra sighs. “Usually I wait until after the first date before introducing a beautiful lady to this little shit. That way people don’t immediately think I’m just a weird bird lesbian.”

Testing the waters, you remark, “I happen to quite fancy women with an affinity for animals.” You bite your lip and add, “And, well, you’re…very attractive.”

Smugly, Kassandra finishes disinfecting the windowsill and walks to the kitchen with a little more vigour, your compliment proving to be an ego boost.

Once again deprived of attention, Ikaros decides to flap over and join you at the table. Instinctively, you flinch as the large bird flies in your direction, but all he does is stare at you, trying to analyse the stranger in his home.

“Does – does he bite?” you ask, hesitantly standing up.

Kassandra discards the kitchen towel in the bin, washing her hands. “No, he’s very kind to everyone who isn’t me.” She flashes you a wicked grin. “I only bite when asked.”

Stammering, you choke on air, struggling to find a response. Ikaros gives her a disappointed look.

“Shit, too forward?”

You shake your head. “Not at all,” you blush. “I’ve just…never met anyone quite like you before.” Ikaros seemingly gives you a judgemental leer, and you swiftly find yourself adding, “I-in a good way, that is!”

“Oh?” Her brow is upturned, her interest piqued.

“It’s…exciting.” The eagle shuffles towards you and nuzzles your hand, apparently deciding you’re worthy of his affections. The dark feathers atop his head are surprisingly soft to touch. Smiling, you give his head a few pats, inhibitions to the wind when cute little coos vibrate from his throat. “I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

“I think it’s adorable,” Kassandra says softly.

You look up. “Really?”

“Really.” She joins the two of you and plucks a damson from the fruit bowl, feeding it to Ikaros while you pet him. “You’re the loveliest person to have ever set foot in this building, that’s for sure.”

Ikaros cocks his head in agreement. His beady eyes meet yours, damson juice dribbling from his beak. Do it, he’s silently telling you.

Screw it, let’s shoot our shot.

You clear your throat, mustering up some courage. “Are you free next weekend?”

Kassandra beams amorously. “I was about to ask you the same thing,” she grins. “How does dinner sound?”

Fuck yes. “Really good,” you blurt out excitedly.

“There’s this great Persian restaurant a couple streets over. I’ll book us a table?”

You gasp, having seen the building on the drive when you were moving in. “The place with the garden and the pretty lights, right?”

“That’s the one.”

“Sounds amazing.” Red in the face and heart pounding, your eyes dart about the apartment, fearing that you’ll combust if you look at Kassandra any longer. They settle on Ikaros, who gently butts his head against your hand, almost like a fist-bump. “Well, uh, I have a home insurance company to ring up, so I should probably get going,” you stutter.

“I won’t keep you, then,” Kassandra says, a tinge of disappointment in her tone. Ikaros squawks sadly.

“Thank you for the coffee.”

“It was my pleasure. Thank you for staying,” she winks. The eagle coos in agreement. You give him one last pat before walking to the front door.

“Oh, before you leave, there is something you should know…” Kassandra calls, moving over to you. She delicately takes your hand, frying your brain, and leans down to your ear. You feel faint. Lowly, she whispers, “…Our Hermes guy likes to drop-kick our parcels.”

Snorting, you look up at her in disbelief. I mean, what was I expecting? A kiss? Get a grip, woman. Kassandra laughs at your expression. “Use the amazon locker down the road instead.”

“You’re amazing,” you murmur, grinning. “I’ll probably see you before next weekend, but bye, I guess?”

“Chaire,” she bids softly, opening the door for you.

When the door closes behind you, you let out a ragged breath, excitement coursing through your veins.

You are so glad you moved here.

( The Greek clause is meant to say "Don't blow this for me" but I used 5 different translators and all 5 came back with slightly different things and I sort of ip-dip-doo'd it and chose one at random...sorry. )

#kassandra of sparta #kassandra x reader #sapphic september #assassin's creed odyssey #modern au

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watchmegetobsessed · 3 years

Text

Eunoia - Harry Styles

a/n: i’ve been meaning to write a piece filled with just fluffy, domestic moments through a relationship, and that’s when i created Flora in my mind. wrote it with an OC bc i had very specific traits and stuff in my mind about her and it didn’t feel right to write it with y/n but feel free to read however you’d like it! but i think Flora is a delightful girl, she is a teacher and a free spirit, i think you’ll like her!

pairing: Harry x OC (Floortje ‘Flora’ Hoven)

word count: 9.5k

masterlist

Eunoia (n.) Beautiful thinking: a well mind.

Harry is always looking forward to times when his days aren’t filled from morning to midnight, traveling all around the world, meeting dozens of new people at various new meetings. Don’t get him wrong, he loves the buzz his life comes with, but one can drive this lifestyle only for a while before getting tired. He now appreciates his calm periods, when he is not living out of his suitcase, he has the time to drop by a café and enjoy his morning coffee sitting down instead of grabbing it in a go-to cup and chugging it down in his car. When he can just take a walk when the weather is nice enough and his favorite is when he has the time to just look at things without a rush and appreciate them.

He has built up a habit of going to the same coffee place since he got off tour and jumped right into his well-deserved months off filled with meditation, resting and focusing on himself after giving so much for the world. It’s just two corners down his place, falling perfectly into his way to the gym and now he even has a favorite table in the corner, because it gives him a great view of the place but the vines hanging from the ceiling masks his presence enough that people don’t often notice him there, providing some privacy for his morning coffee.

It was his third day here when he first noticed her. She was sitting at the table by the window, near the door, deep in a book, another pile waiting for her on the free seat next to her as she intensely made notes of her reading. She had her wild, curly hair in a puffy bun on the top of her head, clearly just thrown into it haphazardly when she started working. Her ivory frame glasses kept sliding down the bridge of her nose and thy seemed a bit too big for her face, but they overall fit perfectly with her knitted sweater and dungarees. And Harry couldn’t look over the fact that she had little sunflowers painted on her nails. That instantly made him smile as he adorned her from afar.

As the days passed and Harry spent almost all his morning at the same spot, he started seeing or more like noticing her more often. She always sat at the same table and Harry figured it was because of the natural lighting coming through the windows that came in handy, because she was always either reading and making notes, or doing something crafty, mostly origami, he noticed. She often had her laptop open with tutorials on different origami works that she was trying to make herself, not always succeeding, but she got it right most of the time, a triumphant smile plastering across her face every time she finished a piece, her dimples digging deep into her round cheeks. Harry couldn’t stop herself from smiling whenever she held up the finished work and adorned what she just created. He often wondered what happened to the little creations afterwards, but she just usually shoved them into her backpack before leaving.

By the fifth or sixth time he has seen her, he already knew her order. Vanilla latte with a sprinkle of cinnamon on top. Large sized, of course, so she has something to sip on while she typed away on her laptop or finished reading another book.

Harry caught himself looking for her on mornings when he didn’t see her, which were usually Mondays, Wednesdays and Thursdays, but one Wednesday, when he had an early meeting for a change with his team, he arrived before 8 am into the place and for his biggest surprise, there she was, sitting at her usual table, drinking the same drink as always. Later, Harry found himself coming earlier on those days just to find her there yet again and he figured her work schedule must start earlier on those days.

As the days went by Harry started to play with the thought of walking up to her. He wondered if she has noticed him as well, but it seemed like even if she did, his presence didn’t impress or bother her at all which just irked his curiosity about her even more. But every time he thought about finally talking to her, he decided against it, feeling like he would just be an intruder in her morning sessions. Until one day, the chance was handed to him on a silver plate.

She is doing origami once again on this particular day, making little cranes, one after the other, using different colored papers to make them form out a mess rainbow on her table. It’s a quiet morning, only a few more people sitting around at place. It’s been quite windy the past couple of days and today seems to be the worst, the trees are being tossed around by the howling winds outside, but it just makes it even cozier to sit inside in the warmth, enjoying a nice hot drink.

Harry finds himself watching her intently as her delicate fingers work on the paper, one crane following the other, she is starting to have a whole army of them.

An older man walks into the café and as he opens the door wide, the wind is quick to run into the place, knocking over everything that’s not heavy enough to stay still and the paper cranes are the first ones to start flying off the table.

“No! Darn it!” she gasps, her hands grabbing after them, saving just a few, but most end up on the floor, somersaulting away from her table. Harry is quick to jump to his feet and come to her rescue, lending her a pair of helping hands as she gathers her creations. “Oh, thank you!” she breathes out softly, her eyes meeting his and for his biggest surprise… she doesn’t seem to be stunned or even surprised by him, as if she doesn’t know who he is.

Maybe she doesn’t, it’s a possibility, he tells himself, smiling at her as he collects the cranes from the floor.

“Guess they wanted to be free,” he jokes, setting them on the table with the rest.

“It wasn’t my brightest idea to do it on such a windy day near the door,” she chuckles, looking over the bunch she’s been working on for the past thirty minutes.

“May I ask why you need so many paper cranes?” Harry inquires, leaving out the part that he’s been watching her do her origami for weeks now.

“Oh, I want to make decorations out of them, hang them up in my classroom. I’m a teacher,” she adds smiling.

That’s the most fitting job he could ever imagine for her, she is definitely the cool and adored teacher every kid is obsessed with.

“Wow, and how many do you need?” he asks, the stack of paper at the edge of the table looks quite a lot and he wonders if she wants to use them all for the cranes.

“Well, as many as I can make before my fingers fall off,” she jokes. Harry notices her freckles from up close that have been hidden behind her glasses until now. Her hair is in two space buns today and she is wearing a striped shirt with light-washed jeans and colorful sneakers. The sunflowers are gone from her nails, replaced by tiny daisies, but Harry likes them just as much as the previous flowers. They fit her well.

“Do you… I would love to help, if you want,” he finds himself offering, not even thinking about the question before it slips his mouth.

“You sure?” she asks, seemingly surprised but she definitely doesn’t find it weird that he just offered to help her.

“Yeah. Looks really calming and I haven’t made one in so long. Want to see if I still remember the steps,” he smiles.

“Take a seat then,” she nods, returning his smile. Harry goes back to his table to grab his stuff and join her.

“I’m Harry, by the way,” he introduces himself as he takes the empty chair at her table, holding out his hand for her that she gladly takes.

“Floortje, but everyone just calls me Flora,” she smiles.

“Never heard that name, what’s the origin of it?”

“It’s Dutch. My dad is Dutch, he came up with the name as well and my mother liked it. It means little flower, nothing grandiose,” she chuckles, reaching for another paper to start her next crane.

“Do you have a Dutch last name as well?” he asks, but then realizes she might not feel comfortable sharing her full name just yet. “You don’t have to tell me your last name though, if you don’t want to.”

“It’s alright,” she chuckles. “It’s Hoven, which is Dutch, but you pronounce it pretty much the same as you’d if it was a simple English word, just with a softer V in the middle,” she explains, her fingers working easily and fast on the thin paper, the crane is already starting to form. Harry reaches for a paper himself and tries to recollect his memory of the steps.

“Were you born in the Netherlands too?”

“Yes, I was born in Eindhoven, but we moved here when I was five. But my Dutch is still just fine, luckily. My dad refused to talk to me in English when we moved, he said he won’t have his daughter forget her mother tongue just because he is getting paid more here,” she explains with a soft chuckle as she finishes up the crane, putting it to the pile.

“I always envied bilingual people. Must be great to speak two languages that easily,” Harry wonders, eyes fixed on the paper as he is trying his best with the crane. It’s slowly coming together, though it’s not as pretty as Flora’s.

“It’s not that fun when I suddenly forget a word in one of the languages and then spend twenty minutes trying to remember when I know for a fact I know the words, it’s just stuck on my tongue.”

Harry laughs, finishing up his creation, holding it up and Flora looks at it as well. It’s a little crooked and one of its wings is longer than the other, but overall, it’s a decent first one.

“You don’t have to use it if you don’t want to,” he chuckles, putting it to the others.

“What are you talking about? It looks great!” she smiles, taking it into her hand, looking at it from all angles, smiling widely as she places it back to its peers. “It’s a nice one, and after all, it’s not your job to make cranes, so you’re fine,” she jokes.

Harry reaches for another paper as he thinks about if she knows him. Does she know what his job really is? Not that he expects everyone to know him, but she seems his age and it’s been quite impossible for him to meet someone close in age to him and not know a thing about him.

“Yeah, origami is definitely not my job,” he hums and then adds: “You… know what my job is?”

Flora glances up at him, a small smile tugging on her lips.

“Is this your way of trying to find out if I know you or not?” she smirks, tilting her head to the side, and it’s already a giveaway that she is very much aware of who she is sitting at a table with.

“I know, it was lame,” he huffs awkwardly.

“No, it was alright. And to answer your question, I do know what your job is, Harry Styles,” she replies.

“Sorry for asking around about it, you just seemed so casual and unbothered when you saw me, I thought you have no idea who I am.”

“I’m a teacher, my job is to treat everyone the same, I take equality very seriously. I don’t want my kids to think I put any of them above the rest, but I do the same outside of school too. Or do you want me to gasp and stutter now that you are sitting here?” she teases him making him laugh.

“That’s not needed at all.”

They work on their cranes in a comfortable silence and just as Harry thought, it’s quite relaxing, his thoughts slowly clear out, only focusing on the little birds he is creating. Then he glances up at Flora and suddenly his thoughts are filled with her once again. Now is his chance with her, he doesn’t want to leave this café without at least asking for her number even when he knows that he will surely see her around, just like always.

“Can I ask you something?” he speaks up as they both keep folding the colorful papers.

“Of course.”

“I hope I won’t sound creepy or something, but I’ve seen you around a lot and noticed how much you read. Is that just your hobby or…?”

“First of all it’s not creepy that you have noticed me, it’s flattering, because I have noticed you as well,” she smiles, paying him a quick glance.

“Really? I had a feeling you haven’t even seen me.”

“I did, but I thought you come here for the same reason as I do; to have some peace for yourself.”

“Ah, I see,” Harry nods.

“But to answer your question, I’m working on my second degree.”

“Oh, what’s that about?”

“Special education, speech therapy to be exact,” she tells him and Harry is even more stunned by her. Education is already a field not many can handle and then there is Flora, who didn’t just take up on it, she jumped right into it, pursuing a second degree in special education, a hard and challenging part of this job.

“Any particular reason why you chose it?”

“I have a younger brother, he is ten years younger than me, so he was already born here, but he was taught Dutch too. However, it wasn’t as easy for him as it was for me to speak two languages at the same time and he has developed some speech errors. Nothing major, but it was enough for him to be bullied in school. I saw his face every day when he came home and lied to our parents that everything is fine but then he cried to me in my room when they weren’t around. I don’t want any other kids to go through that, I’d love to be the one to not just help them come over their speech errors but also make sure they are treated the same way as everyone else.”

Harry hasn’t even noticed that he stopped working on his crane, he is now staring at her in awe, completely stunned by her. The more he learns about her the more he thinks she is a literal angel sent from above and that he can’t let her slip from his hands.

Flora looks up at him and finds him staring, a blush appearing on her full cheeks.

“Sorry for staring, but I just… this is so beautiful. Your passion about education is just one of a kind, truly. And the way how you made it your whole career and everything, I’m just… blown away,” he admits.

“Well, you made a career out of your passion too, didn’t you?” she chuckles softly.

“I did, but your story is just a little more touching,” he smirks. “Flora, I’m gonna be honest with you. I’ve been meaning to come up to you for a while and now that we officially met, I just—I would love to take you out on a date and get to know you better.”

She blushes again and Harry notes how well the pinky shade fits her even if she probably wishes she could control it more.

“That would be lovely,” she smiles shyly and grabbing a crane from her pile she grabs a pen from her bag and writes her number to the wing of it before handing it over to Harry.

He loves that she could have easily just typed it into his phone, yet she chose to do it this way. He smiles down at the crane and puts it into his bag, securing it as if it was his biggest treasure.

When Flora opens her door for Harry she is still wearing her apron that’s filled with tulips, a pair of simple jeans underneath it with a bright yellow shirt. Harry smiles as he leans down and greets her with a soft kiss. Ever since their first kiss he has been obsessed with stealing one whenever he has the chance. Their first one was nothing grandiose, such a simple and mundane moment but for him, it was perfect. They were visiting a gallery, he chose the exhibition hoping she’ll be a fan of it since the theme was botany, all paintings connected to flowers, gardens and plants and he was right. Flora was stunned, fascinated by each painting as they stopped at one after the other, taking their time to adore the works. They were looking at a painted garden filled with colorful wildflowers around a small cottage in the distance. Flora’s eyes wandered over all the tiny details as Harry stood close to her. She then leaned closer to point out her favorite flower and once they realized just how close their faces were, he just easily closed the gap and kissed her softly, surrounded with art, but he was convinced she was his favorite masterpiece he has ever seen.

“Hi, sorry, I’m a little late, dinner is not ready yet,” she huffs letting him inside. “Had to stay at the school a little longer than expected.”

“Don’t worry. Can I help with anything?” he asks following her into the kitchen, putting the bottle of wine he brought into the fridge to keep it cool until dinner.

“No, it’s fine. I just need about fifteen minutes to finish up the veggies,” she smiles at him and tiptoeing she steals a quick kiss. Harry hasn’t been the only one obsessed with kisses. “Make yourself home.”

Harry leaves to use the bathroom quickly and on his way back he finds himself wandering into her bedroom. He has been in her home just a few times before, only spending short minutes here when he was picking her up but now he has time to actually look around, hoping she won’t mind him snooping around.

Her whole place is just as colorful as she is always, each piece of furniture a different style and color, yet fitting so well when you see it as a whole. The quilted patchwork blanket over her bed is definitely homemade, each patch has a different flower on it while the left lower corner has Floortje embroidered into it. Harry wonders if it was made by a friend or family member, either way, it’s surely a special piece.

Her dresser is cluttered with rings, perfumes and endless amount of hair ties. She has complained before that her hair stretches her elastics out so fast, she keeps buying new ones every month. The little armchair in the corner is covered with a few of her used clothes, ones she’ll wear once more before putting them into the laundry basket.

As he walks over to her nightstand that’s filled with books, at least seven piled on each other, his eyes stop over something that makes his heart flutter.

A crooked little paper crane is sitting on the edge of the nightstand, the one he made the first time they talked, to be exact. Harry takes the bird and looks at it in awe, surprised that she kept it to herself. However he doesn’t find it odd, not even a little bit, since he has also kept the one she wrote her phone number onto, it’s sitting on his desk in his study.

“Found something interesting?” Flora walks in and Harry’s head whips towards her, feeling like he was just caught. But the warm smile on her lips is a telltale sign that she doesn’t mind him looking around.

“You kept it,” he states matter-of-factly, holding up the paper bird.

“Of course I did,” she nods, walking closer. “It’s a special one.”

“Thought you treat everyone and everything the same,” he teases smiling as he puts the crane back, his hands finding her waist.

“I guess there are a few exceptions,” she smirks slyly, her hands running up on his arms until they reach the base of his neck.

“Am I an exception?” The corners of his mouth curl up as he places the bird back on her nightstand and circle his arms around her waist.

“Did I say that?” she teases him. “I think I called your work a special one.”

Harry narrows his eyes at her, pretending to be hurt at her words, but he can’t push the growing smile back from his lips. They’ve been seeing each other for only over a month, but it was enough time to make him completely hooked on her. He is amazed by her in every possible way, feeling like he could never get enough of the ray of sunshine that Flora is. His favorite thing is that she makes him feel so normal, just an average guy dating a girl he met at a café. Not once did she treat him any different because of what he is and it’s just the feeling Harry has been looking for for such a long time.

“Come on, dinner is ready,” she smiles, pecking his lips before peeling his arms off of her frame, taking his hand as she pulls him out of the bedroom, however they surely end up in there again sometime after dinner, but with way less clothes on.

Harry watches as Flora plays with the bubbles in front of her, picking some foam up into her hair, watching it move around on her wet palm before blowing on it gently, her delicate fingers poking at the small bubbles that escaped from it. His hands are caressing her sides under the warm water that was once hot when they first got into it about an hour ago.

It’s been a lazy Sunday, Flora arrived early in the morning and went plant shopping. Her home has always been filled with plants and Harry has grown a liking to all the greenery, wanted some more in his house as well and Flora was more than happy to help him pick out the ones that are the easiest to take care of. Then they cooked lunch together, watched a movie and cleaned up the mess they made in the kitchen before running the bath. Harry has been loving these domestic days, lounging around his or her home, wearing comfy clothes and not caring about much of the outside words, just enjoying each other’s company.

“Remind me to buy peanut butter the next time I’m going grocery shopping,” she speaks up, leaning further back against his chest while Harry rests his chin on her shoulder, his arms tightening around her waist under the layer of bubbles.

“What do you need it for?” he hums, nudging her hair with his nose, her curls ticking his face, but he doesn’t mint it.

“I want to make cupcakes for the kids next week.”

“What for? Is there gonna be a special occasion?”

“No, they’ve just been super nice lately, we set up some new rules in the classroom and they’ve been really good following them.” Harry hums, loving how she is so eager to treat her students, he is convinced she is easily the best teacher he has ever came across.

“So peanut butter, huh? I think I need some too. Been dying to eat a good burger with some peanut butter.”

“I cannot believe you put peanut butter into your burgers,” she chuckles, peeking at him over her shoulder.

“Don’t bash it when you haven’t even tried!” he defends himself, kissing her cheek softly.

“The Aztecs would be so disappointed,” she sighs turning back forward, so she doesn’t see the puzzled look on Harry’s face.

“The Aztecs?”

“Yeah, they technically invented peanut butter,” she nods, as if it was common knowledge.

“Do I want to know why you know this about the history of peanut butter?” he chuckles softly.

“Well I had this kid last year who was obsessed with it and I started looking up fun facts for him for mornings when he looked a little moody. Then the others started enjoying it too so it became our morning thing that I told them a fun fact about anything.”

“Oh really? Tell me one then!” he asks smirking, pressing a kiss to her shoulder.

“Okay, um…” she thinks to herself. “Do you know what the Olympic rings stand for?”

“I do not,” he shakes his head.

“The five rings stand for the five inhabited continents of the world, united by Olympism.”

“Sounds logical,” Harry nods. “Tell me another one,” he asks.

“Are you going to make me tell you all my fun facts?” she chuckles, turning a little so she can look into his beautiful green eyes.

“Maybe. I like it when you talk like this,” he smirks playfully.

“Like what?”

“Like… smart. I love how you know all these little things about the world and teach it to not just the kids but to me as well.”

“You don’t think I’m a smartass?”

“Why would I?” he questions, eyebrows furrowed.

“I used to be picked on in middle school because I liked to learn, more than what was required.”

“That doesn’t make you a smartass, baby. You don’t go around, correcting every tiny mistake around you. You use your knowledge to educate, like you should.”

Flora smiles softly at him, his words bringing the sense of reassurance she’s been seeking for so long. She pecks his lips shortly before turning back forward.

“Do you know how many days a billion seconds make up?” she asks, smiling to herself.

“I don’t.”

“11 574 days. That’s a little over 31 years.”

“So I haven’t lived a billion seconds in my life just yet,” Harry states, doing the quick math.

“No, you haven’t,” she smiles, mostly at the fact that he didn’t just listen to her little fun fact, but also thought about it a bit deeper.

They stay in the bath until the water gets cold and Harry keeps asking for fun facts and Flora gladly tells him whatever comes to her mind.

Harry finishes up the fresh salad, filled with Flora’s favorites: cherry tomatoes, feta cheese and corn with some kale, baby spinach and garlic dressing. He even sprinkled some sesame seeds on top, now he is pretty proud of his work, it looks like something influencers would snap in an aesthetic photo to their Instagram feed.

His bare feet tap against the hardwood floor as he makes his way to Flora’s bedroom where she is still curled up on her chair in front of her computer, her hair in a mess on top of her head, glasses perched up on the bridge of her nose. She hasn’t moved much from the spot in hours, intensely working on her thesis that should be finalized within the next two weeks. She has been gradually working on it over the last few months, in no mean she is behind, but she’s been extra nervous about making it as good as she wanted it when she started and Harry has been nothing but supporting about it, knowing how much it means to her. So he’s been her moral support, making sure she eats, gets some rest and doesn’t get herself too worked up about her research. She appreciates his efforts and though she often feels bad for neglecting him lately, he made sure to assure her, he’ll be right here when she is finally done with it.

Harry walks around the mountain of books on the floor she has piled up from the library these past two weeks as he walks up behind her while her fingers type away on her computer so fast he can barely believe she even understands what she’s typing.

“Hey,” he softly calls out, leaning down he kisses her cheek, holding the bowl of salad in front of her, drabbing her attention, making her gaze move from the screen to the food in front of her.

“Oh, hey! Is this for me?” she asks with a soft smile, lifting her head so she can look at him. Even with the circles under her eyes, the messy hair and worn out t-shirt that she’s wearing, he thinks she is the most wonderful creature he has ever seen.

“Yeah. Come take a break, yea?”

She doesn’t protest, just saves the file before moving away from the desk to the bed along with Harry. She props herself up against the headboard, a tired moan escaping her lips as her spine rests against the pillows under her back. Harry hands her the salad and she digs right into it, only just now realizing that she’s been feeling hungry for the past two hours, but ignored it entirely.

“How much do you have left?” Harry asks nodding towards the computer.

“I’m finishing up the last part, then I just have to write the abstract and then…” she explains, popping a tomato in her mouth. “It’s just gonna be the formatting. I think I’ll be done by Wednesday.”

“That’s great,” he smiles proudly. He has always admired how hardworking she’s been when it came to school and her profession. He could never imagine himself do the same, especially because he didn’t even finish high school. He used to feel a little self-conscious about it when they first started dating, afraid that she might think less of him because he didn’t finish his education properly, even though it was never something that bothered him. But Flora assured him that it makes absolutely no difference in her opinion about him.

“It’s not about the papers or how many schools you’ve finished. It’s about how you see the world and if you are willing to learn when it changes around you. And I think you are perfect in that department, your curiosity and openness makes you an excellent learner,” she told him without even thinking about it.

Harry lies on his side next to her, one hand propping his head up while the other one wanders to her thigh, massaging it gently. She hums to herself, enjoying the food he made and he can’t help the smile that creeps on his face. He loves taking care of her, especially because most of the times it’s her that takes care of him. Cooking for him after a long day at the studio, putting his laundry away while he is in an online meeting or writing him a list for when he goes grocery shopping, Flora has been watching out for him through these little things, but now it’s finally his turn to give it all back.

He’s been thinking about asking her to move in with him for a few weeks now, he just hasn’t been brave enough to bring it up, thinking that she might find it too early for such a big step, seeing that the two of them have been dating for a little over nine months. He’s been playing with the thought of coming home to her every single day, waking up next to her in the mornings, watch her form his home more to her liking, creating a space for the both of them, making it a home not just for him but her as well.

As she finishes up her salad, completely oblivious to what Harry is thinking about, he decides to bring it up once she is done with her thesis, not wanting to bother her in any possible way until she is finished.

“Mm, this was lifesaving, thank you,” she sighs, leaning over she kisses him softly as her appreciation for the sweet gesture. “I’ll finish up this one paragraph I’m in the middle of and then we could watch a movie. But strictly without subs, because I’m done with words for today,” she jokes, making him laugh as he takes the empty bowl from her hands.

“Sounds good,” he nods. “I’ll clean up in the kitchen and find something to watch while you finish.”

“Thank you.” As they both get up from the bed, she pulls him down for another kiss, Harry’s free hand finding the small of her back right away. “I love you,” she whispers against his lips, his heart fluttering in his chest at the words he has heard before, but it never fails to stun him.

“I love you too. Now go, finish it so we can cuddle,” he smiles, smacking her bum gently before they let go of each other.

“Ja, pappa. Dat klinkt fantastisch. Ik zal het hem vragen. Ja.” Yes, dad. That sounds fantastic. I’ll ask him. Yes.

Harry listens to Flora talk to her father on the phone as she applies her lip balm, the one she uses every night before going to bed. He loves it when she talks in Dutch, many tend to criticize the language, but not Harry. Or maybe it’s just because he only hears Flora talk it and he loves everything she does.

“Ja, dat is goed. Dank je. Tot ziens, pappa, ik hou van je!” Yes, that’s great. Thank you. See you soon, dad, love you!

She ends the call and switches the light off in the bathroom that’s been not just Harry’s but hers since she officially moved in with him just last week. Harry finally built up the courage to ask her opinion about the possibility of living together in the near future once she was free from the worries of her research and thesis. For his biggest surprise, she was on the exact same page as him, definitely a fan of the idea. So three weeks later they started slowly moving all her stuff over to his until her apartment completely emptied out. Now all her belongings are splattered across Harry’s home, they haven’t found the perfect place for everything just yet, but it’s slowly starting to feel like home for the both of them.

“Dad called, asked if we would go over for dinner this weekend,” she tells him, moving around the bedroom as she takes her little hoop earrings off, placing them in the shell she uses as a jewelry holder on top of the dresser. She is wearing a pair of yellow sweatpants with one of Harry’s shirts, nothing underneath them, just how Harry loves it.

“It’s cute how you always tell me it was your dad, but he is the only one you speak Dutch with,” he chuckles lowly as she climbs to bed, pulling the covers over the both of them.

“It comes so naturally, I don’t even realize I’m switching languages,” she admits smiling.

“Dinner sounds lovely,” he nods, getting back to what she was talking about before.

“Arnold is bringing his girlfriend too,” she smirks, her eyes sparkling from excitement.

“Your brother has a girlfriend now?” he hums, eyebrows rising at the new information.

“It’s the girl I saw him with at his basketball game last month. They made it official like two weeks ago.”

“And he is already bringing her home? He is not beating around the bush,” he chuckles. “Is it going to be the first time the girl meets your parents?”

“Yeah, so it’s gonna be exciting,” she nods, cuddling to his side.

Flora is playing with the little cross pendant on Harry’s chest and he is watching her delicate fingers flipping it over, her fingertips tickling his chest a little in the process.

“When we have kids, will you also teach them Dutch?” he suddenly questions, the words just blurting out of his mouth. Flora lifts her head, resting her chin on his chest as she looks into his curious eyes. She stays silent, but a small smile is tugging on her lips for sure.

“What?” he asks, feeling a little nervous. It’s the first time he is bringing having kids up, but he definitely has been thinking about it, especially since she has moved in. They haven’t been dating for that long, but Harry is one hundred percent sure he is in the long run with her.

“I just… love how you said when and not if.”

“Well, it’s a question of when for me. What about you?”

“Same goes for me,” she smiles warmly. “And yes, I do want my children to speak Dutch. It’s important to my family and me as well. How does that sit with you?”

“Totally fine. In fact, I always envied kids growing up who were taught another language so early in their childhood. Would love that for my kids as well.”

“Dan is het geregeld,” she smiles widely at him.

“What’s that mean?” He furrows his eyebrows.

“I said that, then it’s settled. We’ll have some cute, bilingual babies,” she chuckles, half jokingly, half seriously.

Today has just been one of those days that were doomed from the moment Harry opened his eyes. He has been overwhelmed with stress lately, working on new music, but his studio sessions haven’t been as successful as he wanted them. He is also flying out to LA for two weeks in just a couple of days and he has to miss Flora’s mom’s birthday this weekend, which has been torturing him with guilt ever since he found out he can’t push his trip back.

This morning it felt like the universe just plotted against him. He slipped in the shower, broke a glass in the kitchen and successfully ripped one of his favorite jeans when he was getting dressed. He had a one way ticket cranky city, turning Harry into a moody little child. It didn’t take him long until he started a fight with Flora over the smallest, most ridiculous thing. It started with how Flora misplaced a bowl in the cabinet and took him two moments longer to find it than usual, then they ended up disputing about every little thing about each other they’ve been finding annoying, but neither of them voiced their feelings about them.

Flora, on the other hand, was not in the mood to argue with Harry so early on a Tuesday morning and she chose to just walk away and let him stew in his own anger. Harry knew the moment he heard the front door shut that she was mad at him: she didn’t kiss him goodbye like she does every day before she leaves.

He took a cold shower to cool him down and clear his head, get his thoughts straight so he can apologize like she deserves. Getting into his car he drives to the florist he usually goes to when he needs flowers for whatever occasions. The old lady greets him with a warm smile and upon describing what he envisioned, she immediately knows what to create for him this time. The result is a giant, colorful bouquet that reminds him of Flora in every possible means.

Driving down to her school he is met with an extreme amount of nostalgia even though it’s not even the school he went to as a kid, but it still brings back some memories.

The security guard immediately stops him when he walks into the building, but once he has explained him the situation, the old guy gladly tells him which classroom is hers so he can go and surprise her. His footsteps echo in the empty hallways as it is the middle of the second period, all students are locked up in their classrooms, lucky for Harry, because he surely can’t deal with teenage girls recognizing him right now. Holding the flowers in one hand he stops when he finds room 414 and he can hear Flora’s voice coming from inside, enthusiastically explaining something about penguins and it makes Harry smile.

Even with such a horrible morning behind her, she is still giving one hundred for her students. He brings up his hand and softly knocks on the door, interrupting her speech.

“Come in!” she calls out and Harry opens the door, popping his head inside first, then holding up the bouquet of flowers, making the kids start chattering in excitement at his arrival while Flora is staring at him shocked.

“Miss Hoven, do you have a moment for me, please?” he asks with a shy but charming smile. She quickly gains back control over her features before turning to her class.

“Please start working on task two and five, I’ll be right back,” she orders, but the chatter doesn’t die down so she raises her voice at them. “This is not how we act when we have guests, guys!”

The kids are quick to quiet themselves, eyes curiously switching between their teacher and the intruder at the door.

“Miss Hoven, is this your husband?” one of the kids, a little blond boy asks.

“No, Michael, he is not. Harry is my boyfriend,” she answers calmly, heading towards the door.

“Wait, I know him!” a girl exclaims gasping. “He sings the watermelon song!”

“Lilian, no discussion now. Do the tasks!” Flora tells her before walking out, but keeping the door open so she can hear what’s happening inside. Her cheeks are flushed and eyes wide when she finally looks at Harry again. “What’s—What’s this?”

“These are for you,” he clears his throat, handing her the bouquet. “And I came here to apologize for being such an arsehole this morning. It wasn’t your fault, I’ve just been crankier lately and I took it all out on you. I’m very sorry.”

Flora’s eyes soften on him as she takes one of his hands with her free one, giving it a squeeze.

“I said some nasty stuff too, so I guess I’m sorry too,” she sighs, her anger and frustration from earlier now long gone.

“I brought that out of you, so I’ll take the blame,” Harry chuckles softly. “But the point is that I’m sorry.”

“Well, you are forgiven. You were even before you came here,” she assures him smiling warmly. “Why don’t we order something tonight and just get lazy on the couch?”

“You said you have some tests to go through.”

“That can wait. You’re leaving in two days so I want to spend time with you.”

“So we won’t get our tests back tomorrow?” they both hear a muffled voice coming from inside and Flora chuckles shaking her head as she opens the door wider and steps inside. A small group of kids run back to their seats, but not fast enough to not get caught.

“Lilian, would you mind telling me why you left your seat without permission?” Flora questions the girl who just rolls her lips into her mouth, pretending like she hasn’t even moved all along. Flora sighs stepping outside once again. “I gotta go now, but thank you for this. They look beautiful,” she tells Harry.

“I love you,” he murmurs and leaning down he kisses her quickly, feeling like he is breaking rules even though he is not a student or a teacher here.

“I love you too,” she smiles back before walking back inside and shutting the door. Harry stays for a minute, just out of curiosity to hear if the kids ask her some more questions about him.

“Miss Hoven?” a girl calls out and Harry bets it’s the same nosy girl who recognized him.

“Yes, Lilian?”

“You have a nice boyfriend,” she exclaims, earning a soft chuckle from Flora.

“Well thank you, Lilian, but let’s get back to our new unit. Let’s see the tasks you had to solve!”

The splashing sound of vomit arriving to the toilet hits Harry’s ears once again as he is rushing up the stairs with a glass of water and the Emetrol his hands that he dug the kitchen cabinets through for. Arriving to the master bathroom he finds Flora just where he left a few minutes ago, kneeling in front of the toilet, arms on the rim as she is taking a deep breath, hoping to calm her stomach and stop throwing up finally.

“Oh baby, here. Found you some Emetrol, this should help,” he coos gently, sitting down to the marble floor next to her he places the water beside him as he pours some of the liquid medicine into the cap for her. She lifts her head, skin pale as the wall, the dark circles under her eyes make his stomach churn, he hates to see her in this condition and wishes he could just help her.

“Thank you,” she mumbles, her shaking hand takes the cup and she downs the medicine before taking a few sips from the water. “Harry, I’m so sorry for ruining our date,” she sighs in defeat.

“Oh shush. Don’t you dare apologize for being sick,” he shakes his head, putting the Emetrol aside before he towers above her to redo her hair so it doesn’t fall to her face. Today marks their one year anniversary and though they only planned to go out for a nice dinner, nothing extra, Flora still feels bad they had to cancel on their reservation when she started throwing up this afternoon. She’s been feeling nauseous ever since she ate that leftover casserole for lunch. She had a feeling she should have just gotten rid of it, but she hated wasting food so ate it. Big mistake.

Harry’s fingers delicately work on her curls, piling them on the top of her heat before he secures the bun with professional movements using the elastic he tends to wear on his wrists, just because Flora always loses hers. He likes to keep one on him as well. His long haired days trained him well, her hair is neatly kept out of her face as she frowns, feeling her stomach churning again.

“Can I do anything else for you, baby?” he gently asks, pressing the back of his hand to her forehead to make sure she doesn’t have a fever, but she feels alright. She probably just has to get rid of the bad food.

“Can you please get me a wet washcloth?” she asks faintly. Sitting to her butt she leans against the wall beside her with her eyes closed.

Harry nods and he is on his feet in a blink of an eye, grabbing a washcloth from the cabinet and wetting it in some cool water. He kneels in front of her and starts gently tapping it against her cheeks, forehead and neck, wiping off the thin layer of sweat.

“This is not how I planned to spend our anniversary,” she groans with a frown, making him chuckle.

“We agreed, the anniversary is postponed. Don’t even think about it.”

“But I wanted to look nice for you, even bought a new dress.” She pouts her lips at him, eyes opening narrowly, glistening from the tears that watered them while she was throwing up.

“You always look nice, baby,” he softly tells her, letting her take the washcloth before she places it over her forehead.

“Even now? After you saw me throw up four times? We have very different versions for the word nice, H,” she jokes with a soft chuckle and Harry is thankful to see her smile, even if it’s still very faint and tired.

“Even now, baby,” he nods smirking and he is not lying. Though the situation is saddening, Harry still enjoys taking care of her, being the one she can rely on even on her worst days.

They sit on the bathroom floor as the medicine slowly works and she finally gets rid of the urge to throw up. Then Harry scoops her up and undressing the both of them, he helps her take a nice shower before dressing her in clean clothes, tossing their dirty ones into the laundry basket, noting to do them sometime in the morning.

When Flora is settled under the cover, head comfortably sinking into the pillow, she immediately feels her eyes closing, the strenuous afternoon has successfully sucked all her energy right out of her body. Harry brings her another big glass of water for the night and just to be sure, puts a trashcan next to her side, if things go south again. When he gets under the covers she is already half asleep, but she hums when his fingertips dance down the side of her face.

He allows himself to shamelessly admire her as she finally falls completely asleep, her lips parted as she slightly snores, but she looks so peaceful, the painful frown he saw on her face all afternoon is now gone from her beautiful face. He hasn’t fully wrapped his mind around how an entire year has passed with such a wonderful creature by his side. As their anniversary was coming up, he caught himself thinking about what the future is holding for them more often. There were so many things they needed to experience together, so much to see and do as partners and Harry couldn’t wait for it all to come.

As he lies in the bed next to her, a smile tugs on his pink lips at the thought of the possibility of spending the rest of his life with Flora. His future has never seemed brighter than in that moment.

“This is harder than I thought,” Flora admits, focusing on the instrument on her lap, trying to figure out if she is holding down the accords the right way, but a moment later Harry’s hand covers hers on the neck of the guitar and he fixes her fingers on the strings until they are in the right position.

“Like this. Try it now,” he murmurs, his chin resting on her shoulders as she is standing between his legs, back leant against his chest. Flora has been begging him to teach him a few accords on the guitar and today finally brought the moment Harry would turn into her master.

The two of them are sitting on the bed, Harry only in his underwear while Flora is in one of his hoodies with only her panties covering the lower parts of her body. Harry came back from a week-long trip to New York and they haven’t left the bed too much since he set his feet inside the house, only emerging from the bedroom to fulfill their other physical needs.

Flora’s fingers strum against the strings and the instrument comes to life, giving her a clear accord finally, bringing a triumphant smile to her lips.

“You are a natural talent, baby,” he smirks, giving her hips a gentle squeeze before kissing into her neck.

“Don’t tease me, I’m trying!” she warns her playfully, playing the chord again, loving how she can create such a beautiful sound with the instrument.

“Mm, you’re coming for my career?”

“Oh, surely. I think I would make an excellent rockstar,” she nods confidently, making him laugh.

“You are so not the rockstar type. More like the chill indie singer who dances barefoot on stage.”

“Yeah, but I could spice it up a little and make it rockstar-y,” she explains and glances back at him over her shoulder. “Don’t you think I would look hot in one of your stage costumes? Sparkly suit and all?”

“Oh I know you’d look amazing,” he nods eagerly. He has spent quite some time imagining her girl in one of his suits and he quite liked the thought. Flora chuckles as he puts the guitar aside before she turns around and straddles him, her knees on each of his sides.

“Yeah? I would need a better name, mine is not too fitting for a star,” she explains. “Easy for you, your name is basically the most perfect name for a rockstar.”

“You think so?” he cocks an eyebrow at her, his palms coming to cup her bum as he tilts his head backwards since this position makes her the taller one for a change.

“Harry Styles? Oh please, it’s like Anne knew she would give birth to a legend,” she scoffs making him laugh.

“I’ve been told it’s a nice one,” he shrugs smugly. “I think it’s the surname.”

“It’s pretty cool, yeah.”

“What if you had the same? Flora Styles? Sounds pretty badass,” he suggests and at first, she doesn’t even realize the hidden meaning behind his words, tasting the name so obliviously.

“Flora Styles? You might be right, the surname sounds very cool,” she agrees and it amazes him how easily it went over her head.

“You like it?”

“Mhm,” she nods, her hand reaching for the guitar once again, but Harry stops her, taking it between his as he blindly finds her ring finger that is now ringless.

“Do you like it enough to actually take it?” he questions, hoping she would get the hint now where this is heading. She blinks at him a little puzzled but it’s until she realizes that his fingers are fidgeting with her ring finger, more specifically where a ring would sit on it, his fingertips gently caressing the skin around it.

“Harry?” she gasps with wide eyes as she just watches his grin grow wider. “This is not… Are you--?”

“What?” he chuckles, feeling entertained how she lost all her smug confidence all of a sudden. “What’s it that you’re trying to say?”

“No, what is it that you are trying to say?!” she snaps back, still in shock about what he just implied. “Was this your sneaky way of… proposing?” she asks, whispering the last word as if it was a curse word.

“Why do you act like we have a forbidden love and marriage cannot be even mentioned?” he chuckles at her.

“Because I was shocked! Not that bad now though, you haven’t pulled out a ring so I guess it was just a cruel joke.” She narrows her eyes at him, kissing his smug grin shortly, but Harry is definitely not done with her just yet.

“I wouldn’t be that sure about it, baby,” he warns her before gently pushing her off her lap to get off the bed. Flora’s eyes widen as she follows him walk to his suitcase that’s still lying on the floor next to his dresser, waiting to be unpacked. He digs under his clothes before pulling out a small velvety box, making her gasp immediately. Harry gets back on bed as he holds out the box in front of her on his palm, not opening it just yet.

“Did you buy that in New York just this week?” she asks with her mouth hung open.

“I didn’t. I’ve had it for about a month, I just took it with myself because I was afraid you’d find it,” he chuckles as he plays around with it between his fingers. “Have been planning on it for a while, but I couldn’t come up with anything so then I just decided to wait for the right moment and go with the flow,” he explains.

“And this is the right moment?” she questions, her heart beating in her throat as her gaze is switching between Harry’s green eyes and the box in his hand.

“Felt like it, yeah,” he nods, the corners of his mouth curling up.

Silence settles between them as they both just wrap their heads around the weight of the moment. Harry’s heart flutters in his chest, a little afraid it’s too early. They’ve been dating a little over two years now, marriages have been tied way earlier in a relationship before, but Harry feared Flora would feel it too rushed just yet, however the question is out there now. Or is it?

“Well, are you gonna ask it?” she questions and as Harry’s eyes flicker up to meet her gaze, he is met with that playful challenge in them that he adores so much.

“I just asked,” he mutters.

“No, you asked if I would take your name. That’s not a proposal,” she reminds him and he realizes she is right. He never actually asked the big question.

So he finally pops the lid open revealing the vintage diamond ring he bought a month ago when he was just out and about. The moment his eyes laid on the jewelry, he knew it’s the one he’d like to see on your finger and bought it right away.

“Floortje Hoven, will you marry me?” he simply asks, his dimples digging deep into his cheeks as he smiles widely at his lover.

“I will,” she nods, her heart hammering in her chest as she watches him take the ring out of the box and carefully put it on her once empty ring finger. Still holding her hand, he brings it up to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to the ring before leaning in he connects his lips with hers.

Thank you for reading! Please like and/or reblog if you enjoyed!

#harry #styles #harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles fluff #harry styles au #harry styles x oc #harry styles x you #harry styles oneshot #harry styles one shot

501 notes · View notes

imjusttpeachy · 4 years

Text

bumpy roads & broken promises. (c.h.)

EDIT: Lmaoooo I did not expect this to actually get notes, thanks guys! I already made it onto someone’s fic recs-- I feel special. Actually might end up writing more if this gets more attention. :^)

I wrote this as a vent/comfort fic for myself but figured others might like it. Corpse has been my new safety youtuber ever since the old nosleep reader--deep voice/no face gamer went to shit so... yeah.

Heavily inspired by @mmonamona ‘s fic “Petty Fights and Lonely Nights” just more angst.

playlist

feng suave - sink into the floor

current joys - a different age

feng suave - venus flytrap

rei ami - do it right

summary: Corpse gets frustrated with work and snaps at the reader when she tries to ask what’s wrong, triggering a bad memory from a past relationship.

word count: 2, 932

WARNINGS: she/her pronouns used, coarse language, shouting, panic attacks, reference to past relationship trauma (no retelling, nothing detailed)

(angst, hurt/comfort, crying! lots of it)

>>>

“God would you just fuck off already?!”

Frozen. Your body tensed up as the deep growl echoed through the cramped dark room.

You had been staying at your boyfriend’s apartment for about a week while you were on break from college. Flying out from the UK to California so you could spend as much time as you could with him before ultimately having to return to 5am facetimes while drowning in papers and essays.

Even before you’d booked the tickets, Corpse was already apologizing for everything under the sun. The size of his apartment and its cleanliness, the fact that he couldn’t do much more than order take out for you, his irregular sleeping patterns.. the list could go on and on. And while you assured him every time that you didn’t care, that you were coming to see him— not his apartment, not home cooked meals, and definitely not to scrutinize him for things he couldn’t control due to his mental health. But he wouldn’t buy it.

Not one bit.

He’d offer you a weary half-smile, pulling you into his chest or ruffling your hair before placing a soft kiss on your temple and changing the subject. You didn’t press any further knowing how often he was at war with his own mind and couldn’t help but think the worse of every situation.

As the days carried on, you’d spent most of your time tangled up in each other. Whether it be a movie, or playing some co-op games, or even just laying in his bed with him, you could barely stand to spend any time apart. But, of course, you were adults with responsibilities that would tear you from one another eventually. While you did miss his presence every second he wasn’t around, you couldn’t help but try to make his life even better for when he got back and for when you’d eventually have to leave him once again. Now, a week into your stay, his apartment was a good amount tidier than how it’d been when you arrived. The cupboards and fridge were stocked with groceries that would hopefully last for some time after you left, on top of the home made meals you’d make together or for him everyday. New picture frames were hung up on the wall of the two of you that you’d gifted to him when you arrived; it actually started to feel like home. Well, as much as it could without those familiar strong arms wrapped around you every second of the day.

Unfortunately, this evening was one of those times. Corpse had already been locked up in his office for a few hours now, the sounds of button mashing and frustrated exclamations making its way through the thin walls every so often bringing an amused smile to your face. He’d woken up a bit anxious already knowing he’d have to both leave you alone and put up a brave front for the stream that was planned that evening. You didn’t push him or try to talk about it, knowing that it would just make it worse; so you two had spent the day as it normally would (though he always looked and felt on edge) until he was forced to retreat back into that dreaded workspace.

You occupied yourself on your phone and laptop for a while, checking up on friends, reviewing anything you’d need for the upcoming semester, just scrolling through your socials— y’know, the works. But by the time you’d gotten bored with your scrolling, you’d notice it was a perfect time to start dinner that you’d hopefully be able to eat together with Corpse. You’d gotten to work right away, doing your best to be as quiet as you could to not disturb his work as the different aromas began to spread through the small kitchen in his apartment. Finishing up the dishes after the meal was all cooked, you dished up two servings and set them on the coffee table in front of the couch before you went to retrieve your other half.

Turning the knob of his office door slowly, you peered into the dark room; only the silhouette of the floppy mop of hair you adored so much was able to be seen in the dim light of his computer monitors. Taking a hard look at his right-most monitor you notice an editing software pulled up instead of the usual live chat he had on while streaming, so without any worry of interrupting you opened the door and stepped into the room. It was a cozy room for sure, and it always seemed to smell just like him— which of course is a given but with how much time he spent in this room, it was even more so present. Walking up slowly to his right side so you wouldn’t startle him with just your voice you watched his gaze flick to your form before steadying itself back in the monitor. Furrowing your brows at his strange behaviour but not letting it get to you, you opened your mouth to speak.

“I made dinner!” You smiled down at him, taking a few steps back toward the door so he would be able to get out of his gaming chair without you in his space. However, the hunched form of your focused boyfriend didn’t move an inch. Your heart sunk a little at his attitude but decided to just try again.

“Corpse, baby, dinners ready.”

“I’m not hungry.” The short statement left his mouth in a low grumble, if you hadn’t spent all this time with him studying his voice and begging him to speak more to you, you probably wouldn’t have been able make it out at all. You huffed out a sigh, this was new for him, you really hadn’t seen him as anything other than the cuddly baby you’d grown to know and love. But, you thought to yourself, love would come with days like this and it was bound to happen eventually. Trying your best to not get frustrated or angry with his snappy attitude, you kept your voice light and cheery as you tried again to coax him out to eat.

“Corpse you’ve barely eaten today I-“

“I said I’m not hungry.” Startling at the angry tone you’d never heard from him before, you could feel yourself start to get choked up. Pulling your hands up to hug your arms, trying to sooth yourself, you could feel yourself starting to slowly freeze up. Goosebumps ran over your skin, a chill snaking it’s way up your spine as you gulped, trying your best to muster up the bravery to speak again. You didn’t know what had gotten into him, he knew how the tone affected you— he was usually even the one to comfort you after an episode triggering something like this. As your mouth began to run dry, you took a deep breath deciding that he would definitely come to his senses in the next moments, you opened your mouth to speak again.

“Is everything alri-“

“I’m FINE! I’m not a FUCKING CHILD I don’t need you constantly checking up on me! God would you just fuck off already!”

You didn’t even notice the tears dripping off your cheeks until they splashed against the bare skin of your hand. Slipping into the defense mode you knew so well, your body switched onto autopilot as you began to backpedal out of the room, almost tripping a few times as you sputtered out a choked “okay, I’m sorry,” before closing his door once again and stumbling messily down the hallway to his room. Your mind was moving a thousand miles a minute yet was completely blank at the same time, and before you knew it you were tucked away inside the dark closet in his room.

This was the routine, this is where you’d be safe.

Trying to slow your erratic breathing you hugged your knees even closer to your chest, praying that in some way it would ease your shaking body. But inevitably, you felt the sobs that you’d kept trapped in your throat since you’d left break through. Your chest heaved with the breaths you took to keep your sobs as silent as possible. You thought you had trained yourself well enough for this, you’d done this a million times before— but in the back of your mind you knew that this time it was different. Shrinking into the corner of the closet, the only thing on your mind was all the broken promises he’d sworn to keep.

>>>

Corpse sighed, his body weighing him down in his chair heavily, head aching with all the work he’d been doing that evening. Pulling his attention back, he stretched his arms as his sore eyes glanced over at the clock in the corner of his screen. 11:34pm. Fuck. That much time had passed already? Raking a hand through his hair he yawned sleepily, he knew he should probably spend more time working before calling it a night but all he wanted to do was curl up in bed with you-

Shit.

Finally snapping out of the heavy trance he’d set himself in every time he sat down to edit, he thought back to the last time he had seen you— calling him for dinner where he snapped at you to leave him alone… almost 3 hours ago. The memories of the past moment flooded into his head and seconds later he was scrambling out of his chair and out into the hallway. It was dead silent, Corpse felt like his heart was practically breaking his ribs with how hard it was pounding in his chest. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Gripping at the right side of his shirt he rushed into the living room, rubbing frantically at his eyes as they darted around the room quickly looking for any sign of you.

“(Y/N), baby?” He rasped out, voice caught in his throat, walking through the living room and spotting the now cold meals she’d prepared waiting uneaten on the coffee table. His heart sunk as he hurried to the kitchen only to see the rest of the meal out on the counter, not doing anything to ease his mind. He called your name again and again; rushing back into the living room his eyes darted to the front door, a tiny bit of relief pricking his system as he saw the door was still locked and latched, as well as seeing your shoes and jacket by the door. Rushing back into the hallway he peeked into the bathroom, flicking on the light switch and with no sign of you, continued down the hallway to his room.

“(Y/N), please baby.” Flicking on the light his eyes scanned the room not catching a single sight of you-- when he heard it. Slowing his breathing down as much as he could in his panicked state he focused in his hearing on the small heaves of air coming from the closet. Stomach dropping, Corpse collapsed onto his knees, legs giving way from underneath him when he realized where you were and what was happening. Crawling his way toward the closet door he stopped right outside of it, he heard your breath hitch and knew you were holding it out of practiced instinct which made him want to vomit. But it wasn’t about him right now, so with a deep breath he finally managed to whisper out.

>>>

“Princess, I’m gonna open the door okay?”

Finally releasing the breath you had been holding, your lungs heaved for air as light flooded into the dark closet. Peeking an eye out from where it was buried in your knees, you blearily made out your boyfriend’s blurry figure kneeling outside the closet. With your body feeling like it was completely out of your control, sobs once again began to rack your huddled form as you shrunk away from him as far as you could into the corner of the closet.

“I’m gonna come in and sit with you okay, I won’t touch you unless you say I can alright?” You could hear some shuffling before hearing the door creak shut again engulfing the both of you in almost complete darkness, save for the few streams of yellow light coming from the cracks of the door. Corpse stared forward in complete silence, long legs bent uncomfortably and body hunched over in the cramped space of the closet trying to give you as much space as possible but knowing that the first step was sitting with you. The man beside you sighed softly, feeling his heart splinter with every heaving sob that raked over you; he could feel his own tears prick at his eyes and a sob starting to well up in his throat but he held them back. Mustering up the courage and will he finally opened his mouth to speak.

“(Y/N) I am so, so fucking sorry,” his voice pitched just above a whisper because he knew if his voice got any deeper that it would startle you and scare you even more than how you were already feeling right now. ‘I don’t know what I was thinking. It never should’ve hap-“

“Y- You br- broke your promise.” Your reply came in watery, stuttered breaths; the knot in Corpse’s throat came right back up, tears filling his waterline as much as he tried to keep his composure for your sake.

“I know. I know I did.” The man beside you managed to choke out thinking back to the day where he first lost his temper around you. You’d told him everything about your experience with your past relationships and how you were treated, what you used to cope and what he could do to avoid that in any way possible. He promised that day that he would never again raise his voice, or move too fast even when he was angry or frustrated, and made sure to note down anything that would possibly trigger you to completely avoid altogether. And he kept those promises… until today. Tilting his head to glance over at you, his eyes adjusting to the darkness of the closet to see you staring straight ahead, tears pouring endlessly down your damp face as your body still shook with soft cries.

“I can’t lose you (Y/N)” Corpse’s voice shook as he tried to figure out the right things to say that would keep you from walking right out that door.

“I’ll do anything. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, I don’t know what I’d do without you. I’ll be better, I swear on my life I’ll be better. Anything you need— it’s yours. I just.. I can’t lose you. Not like this.” He hated how much he sounded like he was pleading when he’s the one who fucked up. The last thing he wanted to do was manipulate you into staying with him which was exactly what your ex did when they made the same mistake time and time again; something he swore he’d never even think of doing. But here he was, and here you were glancing up at him with bloodshot eyes, hair sticking to your tear slicked face and body shaking so much you’d think it was below freezing in there.

Tearing your gaze away from his, you heaved a watery, shaky sigh trying your best to get your thoughts in order. While you had your issues, you knew he had his as well; and with as much patience and understanding he gives you with your snappy, frustrated, sad days, you needed to give back that same patience and understanding with his own. You needed to be brave here.

“Baby-“

“C-Can you just hold me? Please?” You sputtered out just above a whisper, and before you could even unwrap your arms from around yourself Corpse was pulling you into his lap; strong arms encasing you as he pushed his face into your hair. That’s when you found out he was shaking just as much as you were, chest rising and falling erratically with contained sobs as he tried to keep his brave demeanour up for you. Tucking your head under his chin he leaned back against the wall as he crushed you to his chest, the droplets hitting the top of your head giving way to the fact that he was crying too. Pulling your arms up from your side, you slowly wrapped them around his shoulder as he pushed his face against the crook of your neck, sobs finally giving way as he cried helplessly into your shoulder; further dampening the already tear-soaked cloth of the hoodie you were wearing.

“I’m sorry,” Corpse sputtered, hooking his chin over your shoulder so he could keep up with the heaving of his chest, pulling an arm up from around your waist to rest on the back of your head. As much as he wanted to run his hands all over your body and bury his fingers in your hair to feel and memorize every inch of you, he kept them still not wanting to overwhelm you more than this kind of touch already did.

“I love you, I love you so much, I love you..“ he whispered over and over into the darkness of the closet as you both began to breath slower as one. Shushing him softly, you repeated the soft words back to him before wrapping your arms tighter around his shoulders, ensuring him that you were going to be alright.

There would be bumps in the road but Corpse was worth it.

__________________________________

#corpse husband #corpse husband x reader #corpse x reader #corpse imagine

904 notes · View notes

bibliocratic · 3 years

Text

muddle along or: the Pokemon / TMA crossover I’ve been promising @speakerunfolding for AGES jonmartin early S4

Jon considers the knapsack left for him.

Exhaustion is already feasting on any clarity he might have obtained in the near quiet. His body stiff, unused to the casual labour of his bones. The storage room, its shelves overburdened, the air vents popping like cracked knuckles, has gained nothing in his absence except a resurgence of dust and, in a dismal corner, a pile of boxes and a suitcase. A pathetic truncated shrine to his thirty odd years of living.

They moved his possessions here, when his rent went unpaid, when his water bills and council tax and internet payment reminders piled up like demanding snowdrift on his mucky welcome mat. Mutely, he glances over the hastily sellotaped boxes that now form his packaged-up life with all the distance that six months of bad dreams have afforded him.

He wonders who packed up his kitchenware, despairing at the mismatched cutlery harvested from student halls and charity-shop finds; clucked their teeth at the bread freckling mouldy in the barren landscape of his fridge; folded his clothes neatly into the suitcase he always kept stuffed under his unmade bed, even pairing up his socks; who took the books off his shelves in the belief he might thumb through them again one day.

He wonders if it was Martin.

Basira gave him the knapsack some hours ago. When he’d found some semblance of normalcy in the dull weight of a sandwich coating his stomach, dressed in clothes that now hang like rags off a coat hanger, sat at the table in the otherwise empty staff room with the heat of a cup of tea cactus-prickling his palms.

“He asked if you’d look after them,” she’d said. The strap of the bag held securely in the jaw of her Absol. “While he’s – well, you know…” She waves an exasperated done-with-it hand that manages to express a multitude of emotions that refract and merge like the morphing shades of a bruise. “Doing whatever the hell it is he’s doing. Or he thinks he’s doing.”

Jon wishes he knew.

He sits cross-legged in front of the storage room door, a sharp-boned barricade, thrumming like a struck tuning fork with the thought that even here, he will not be safe.

Gardevoir is a heavy weight against his shoulder. She’s quieter than he remembers, solemn and sombre in her new form. She used to demand being lifted up when she was Ralts, her flat red horns digging into his chest and leaving impressions, scrabbling down to shelter half-behind his legs when strangers approached. He left for the Unknowing and she’d been Kirlia, her face set and her cries insistent and infuriated, trying to push her Pokeball into his hand to make him bring her with them. Tim hadn’t asked where she was, when they all piled into the rental car, Houndoom taking up one of the seats in the back but snarling when Basira suggested putting her in her ball.

Jon doesn’t know when she evolved. It pains him, a dull-knife strike of thought, another wave against his tide-bashed flood barriers, to have slept through such a moment in her life when every other milestone they shared together.

“Now is a good a time as any, I suppose?” he asks her. His voice traces above a whisper. His Abra has calmed now, drained down from a difficult and teary reunion, and is now breathing deep and slow, curled into the port of his crossed legs. His three-fingered hands are still clenching the fabric of Jon’s shirt.

Gardevoir nods. Then gives him a nudge and a look when it seems as though he’s stalling, when he must be bleeding out apprehension like watercolours seeping through paper.

“Can’t get anything past you now, huh,” he says. She smiles, fond and he manages a short smile back, and it is almost, almost like it was before.

The bag is old, its original function probably for a laptop of some kind. The plasticky outer skin of it has rubbed away, flaking to mesh at the edges, the piping worn down to wires. Jon folds back the front of the bag, and inside there are four Pokeballs, the basic and cheapest red-and-white models. Jon had worked a thankless summer job at a beach-side amusement arcade to save up the money to get Ralts a customised ball, and had done similar when Abra came along a few years later.

To the side of the Pokeballs, ziplocked and labelled, there is a small forest of freezer bags bulging with berries and treats and care equipment. In a plastic pocket, there are precisely written instructions pertaining to each Pokemon and their requirements, and Jon’s throat tightens unexpectedly to see Martin’s looping joined-up handwriting, to see words that seem penned by someone who doesn’t expect to be coming back.

Gardevoir makes a low noise next to him. Her arm alighting on his, a solid weight, grounding. Jon clears his throat and takes out the Pokeball nearest the top, pushing the button on the front so the size balloons to fill his palm.

Most people have one Pokemon, maybe two, unless they’re involved in competitive breeding and training. When Abra came along, he remembers his gran remarking on the upkeep, how it would be his responsibility to feed and care for and train them, and it hadn’t been the cheapest venture but Jon had born the expense gladly. It doesn’t surprise him that Martin has amassed so many in comparison to the norm.

At lunch one day years ago, the weather nipping frost-touched, they’d sat outside a cramped cafe because there’d been no seats indoors, and Martin had confessed that he was always taking them in. Thinking back, Jon knows that Martin was attempting to keep the conversation buoyant, coaxing him away from deeper, darker waters. Jon remembers being irritated, sore-eyed with sleeplessness, his spine strung with paranoia.

“My lost causes, Mum called them,” Martin had said, and his voice had tried for a levity that landed without cushioning. He’d torn off a bit from the end of his panini to feed a hopeful-looking Pidove pecking expectantly around their feet. The cause of the conversational turn, Martin’s newest acquisition, had sat grumpily mewling on the other man’s knee, wriggling and sniping as he tried to feed them some medication he’d got from the vet. Despite himself, Jon had been distracted from miring thoughts of Gertrude by watching Martin’s charade unfold, the man making a show of giving up with a theatrical sigh to scratch the Nidoran behind the ears in a show of defeat, being careful of their spikes. The Nidoran had headbutted his hand whenever his motions slowed to stopping, and Martin had used the distraction to fold a chorizo slice he’d pulled from his panini around the pill, which the Nidoran had happily snaffled from his fingers, gulping it down before returning to demand affection.

“They’ll be all healed up within the week,” Martin had continued, plastering over the continued lull with his chattering. “I’ve taken in a few Nidorans before, they tend to be pretty hardy.” He had scratched under the Nidoran’s chin as his words ebbed with the nudging of an undemanding tide.

Jon had picked at his sandwich as Martin had fold him about hiding Pidgeys and Swablus in an old shoebox under his bed, lined with the nesting material of some of his t-shirts donated to the cause. A chipped-edge bowl borrowed from the kitchen brimming with water and his own early team of Pokemon keeping them company while their wings healed in their splints before they were strong enough to leave again.

These four Pokeballs in the knapsack aren’t just random strays. They’re Martin’s Pokemon. The ones that never left him, the ones that he’s raised and doted upon and taken worriedly to the Pokecentre over every cough and sniffle and fever.

And for the meantime, they’re Jon’s.

Jon presses the release button on the first ball.

There is a chittering surprised coo as an Oddish materialises in a buzz of light and reforming matter. They reform to stand a little higher than Jon’s ankle, only to fold their leaves half over their eyes at the unkindness of the halogen strip light. They totter when they take a step, tumbling to sitting with an affronted noise before, with a determined heft, they rock themselves up to standing again. Jon’s seen Martin’s Oddish before, approaching every walk around the assistant’s office space like a tightrope. Tim had bought them a little plant pot as a novelty Christmas gift once, and they’d unironically loved it, hopping into it cosily and getting specks of soil all over Martin’s desk.

Their leaves are poked through with ragged little holes, like they’ve been nibbled away, the green tinged in places to a sickly yellow. In the bag there is a vial of luminous blue medicine, complete with dropper and application instructions. It’s a stress thing, he dimly remembers Martin had once explained to him. It’s like an eczema, of a sort, that afflicts Grass-types, but it affects Oddish’s balance when it flares up.

The Oddish looks at Jon. They don’t have a neck as such, so they lean their whole bulb-like body backwards on their stumpy legs to study Gardevoir, who gives a reassuring blink. They glance around the storage room and its uninspired treasures of boxes and the unpromisingly weak-seeming metal frame of the cot, with a fretful shake of their leaves. They’re expecting to see someone else.

“Hello,” Jon says. He clears his throat, attempting to present a friendly face, to avoid the grimace he senses forming at his discomfort, his presentation to a critical audience that is already finding him wanting. “I’m… well, I’m Jon. You’ve probably seen me before, I’m um… I’m a f-friend of Martin’s. He’s, well, he’s not here at the moment. But he asked me to look after you. While he’s – he’s away.”

Oddish blinks their beady round red eyes. Their leaves wave uncertainly with the lazy swish of palm fronds. They coo again, a longer sound, plaintive and stretched out in melancholy. They take the opportunity to look around again, a full-body swivel that has them unbalanced, but Gardevoir leans down with a careful hand to steady them upright.

Jon watches them amble off to study their surroundings. Every so often crying out in a searching noise. Gardevoir keeps an eye on them as they rootle around in one of the boxes they can reach.

The next few releases are equally unsuccessful. Skitty reforms only to barrel under the cot as a pink-and-white blur, slinking further back with his tail swishing furiously whenever Jon addresses him. One undamaged ear twitches anxiously. The next Pokemon fails to materialise at all, refusing to leave their ball.

This was a mistake. Martin should have known better, known him enough to see that he would be no good at this, his skills in offering comfort atrophied. He can barely take care of himself, these days. Never mind additional charges who are scared, who need reassurance that is rendered rusty in his throat.

He reaches out to cradle the last ball in his cupped palms. He knows who is inside. The youngest of Martin’s acquisitions, and as far as Jon was aware, full-on adverse to getting inside a Pokeball. Their favoured mode of travel was Martin, using him as a climbing frame while he attempted to work, kicking their little feet against his forehead, clinging giggly to his mop of hair to get a better view, squealing shrill and disruptive and delighted when Martin would playfully shake his head to rock them. He thinks with the uncertainty that memory offers him, that Sasha had loved them, lifted them and pretending to throw them while they chattered and babbled, snuck them berries when Martin wasn’t looking. Jon has paid ear to more than one lecture from Martin on nutrition and proper feeding times and sugar levels. They might have played with Sasha’s own Pokemon, like they had tottered after Houndour’s short and wagging tail when she was out of her ball, like they had ran after Skitty to join in games, but that memory has been scratched from recollection like initials scored out of tree bark.

They were by nature vocal, rambunctious, unthinking and unheedful of danger, a child really, and Martin had been forever apologising when Jon would find them where they weren’t meant to be, carrying them back cautiously and carefully to Martin’s fretful hands. He thinks Martin had thought that they had irritated him. It hadn’t been that. They had been so small, smaller than they should have been for their species, the runt of some litter abandoned or lost by their parent or cracked and emerging blinking from their egg over-early. They had been so curious, and the world of the archives had grown increasingly unsafe around them. Jon had worried, in his own poorly expressed way.

He presses the button, and aims at the ground. Martin’s Togepi manifests in a fizz of red light and sound crackling like champagne.

They turn around with a confused noise.

Jon gets the chance to voice an awkward, low-pitched ‘hello’ before they take one look at him and their face clenches upset, breath starting to bubble with sobs.

“Oh, oh, nonono, hey,” Jon says, scooping them up into his hands. Abra is dislodged, wakes up startled and teleports a few feet away with a ‘pop’ of displaced air. “It’s… nonono, shush, it’s alright.”

Big messy tears fall out of screwed up eyes. Hitching sobs lengthen into wails. Jon looks frantically at Gardevoir as he rocks and shushes the bawling Pokemon against his chest in a way Martin was so much better at.

Martin would know what to do, what to say. How all this could work out for the best. But Martin isn’t here.

Jon’s own eyes dampen.

“Shshshsh,” he croaks thickly. “It’s – it’s going to be alright. I’ve got you.”

He uses the sleeve of his shirt to wipe away the worst of the tears. He strokes the top of Togepi’s head.

“It’s going to be alright,” Jon repeats.

Many hours later, Jon wakes up, cotton-mouthed and his back vengeful for the position he’s slept in. His legs, still crossed, have degraded to numbness that he’ll pay for as soon as he wants to stand. In his lap, he sees the matryoshka doll set up that’s occurred, Togepi exhaling with little whistling breaths into Abra’s chest, Abra’s face planted against Jon’s shirt. Skitty has emerged from his defensive fort under the cot to coil into a ball of heat, curled up in the crook of Abra’s overhanging tail. Gardevoir is half-awake in that dozing but alert way she has, and she must have turned off the light in the room because it’s dark except for the emergency glow from the fire-exit sign that casts the walls and floor in an unsettling green. Jon sees the husk of an opened Pokeball, the shadow of something small and yellow crouched on Gardevoir’s shoulder, and something inside him eases, just a little bit.

Oddish is looking up at him from the floor. Jon moves the only hand he has that’s not squashed under Abra, and when he sets it down they alight with an unsteady gait and he transfers them to the higher terrain of his knee. He rubs a careful finger along their leaves until they sit, their head nodding as they struggle to stave off sleep, although they still glance around with uncertain eyes.

The room has dropped colder. Oddish shivers along with Jon.

“I know,” Jon says. “I miss him too.”

#tma #the magnus archives #fic #jonmartin #pokemon #pokemon/tma crossover #no spoilers #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #things I have been unable to stop thinking about #jon and his ralts #martin and togepi and his expanding collection of wayward charges

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hoodharlow · 3 years

Text

Rain or Shine

AN: Literally a month from today is EL Novio’s first birthady. So while we wait for EL Novio Week. Here’s some workout!Cal :) Also my bby @calumscalm is back and I missed her so much. ilysm Nadya

Requested? Yes by my bby @2fangirl4u [Oh I would love to see what kind of masterpiece you come up with cal and 28 🤤😊 ( “You’re going to get us arrested.” “Oh, I’ve always liked the idea of you in handcuffs.” )]

Warnings: smut and soft Cal talking about love languages towards the end

Word Count: 3.0k words

Claudia was annoyed. She was supposed to meet her group for a presentation but after making her wait over an hour, they all messaged her half-assed excuses on why they couldn’t make it. To add to her annoyance, it was raining and she spent three hours straightening her hair. She should have listened to Calum and stayed in bed with him. She would have gotten at least two orgasms out of that.

While she waited for Calum to pick her up, she graded some media reflections from the introduction to sociology class she was teaching. She reached for a lilac felt pen to make grammatical annotations to a paper. Once she finished, she grabbed a post-it note and wrote a quick summary of what was good about the paper and how the student could improve.

She did the same for two more papers when her phone buzzed. She fished it out of her laptop case. It was a message from Calum, letting her know he’s outside in the parking lot. She quickly responded and began packing her things. She grabbed an empty folder and slipped inthei graded papers. She finished up and made her way to the exit.

Claudia spotted the black G-Wagon and trotted down the steps. She hugged her laptop case, cursing that she’s in only a thin white long sleeve, sans bra. She slipped inside the car and kissed Calum’s cheek.

“Hi.” She said, pulling away before pecking his lips. “Thank you for picking me up.”

A loud honk was heard behind them. Calum mumbled and started the car. His hand instinctively landed on her thigh as he drove out of campus.

“Do you want lunch?” He asked her.

“Sure, but can we take it home? I’m kinda cold.”

Calum glanced over her noticing her nipples poking through her shirt. He bit back a snarky remark so she doesn’t make him turn back and they eat leftovers.

They arrived at Mikko's and Calum parked under a huge tree. Claudia turned to the back seat and grabbed one of Calum’s hoodies that he kept when he stayed late in the studio.

“I told you I left them in here!” Claudia exclaimed, pulling out a black floral bodysuit. She sat back in her seat and chucked it at him. “And you said it was in Ashton’s house.”

“No, I said the red La Perla one was.” He said placing her bodysuit in his gym bag. “Let’s go inside before there’s a line.”

Hand in hand they went inside the restaurant. Claudia sat in a chair and waited for Calum to order. Her eyebrows furrowed as the hostess giggled at something he said. Though she relaxed when she saw him take a step back as the hostess tried to touch his arm. He paid and sat next to Claudia, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. Their food was ready half an hour later.

Calum led them out of the restaurant. He set their food in the back and reached to Claudia’s door to open it. He heard her groan in frustration. He looked over his shoulder and saw her leaning against a cement bollard with her shoe off.

“Did you step in a puddle, again?” He asked, knowing well that she did.

He wasn’t sure how, but she always managed to step in a deep puddle when it rained. No matter where they went, if it rained, her shoes got wet.

“Yeah,” she mumbled. She slipped on her shoe and made grabby hands at him. “Can you carry me, please?”

“Of course.”

He hiked her over his shoulder and set her down on the car. They stared into each other's eyes, their breath suddenly getting heavy and breathy. Without skipping a beat, Claudia pulled him to her lips. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders as Calum’s hands rested on her ass. They slowly devoured each other, bodies melting into each other. Calum wedged one of his legs in between hers and let her slowly rub herself against his dark jeans.

He pulled away. “We should get home before I take you against the car. With how loud you get, you’re going to get us arrested.”

“Oh, I’ve always liked the idea of you in handcuffs.”

***

“We got an audience.” Calum’s trainer said, making him look back go see Claudia leaning against the door frame.

Calum smiled and waved at her, stopping to realize he forgot to pick her up from school. After lunch, Claudia's professor called her in for a last minute meeting about the class she was TAing. Since she hated driving in the rain, Calum offered to drive her to campus once again. He was going to pick her up, but his trainer managed to squeeze him in. A simple leg session turned into a full body workout.

"Oh don't mind me. I'm just admiring your work." Claudia told Jesse, gesturing to a sweaty Calum.

She bid them goodbye and slipped back in the kitchen. Calum had his gaze trained on her that he didn't notice his trainer signaling him. Until he snapped a band into Calum's arm.

He rubbed his arm and looked over to Jesse.

"Pay attention." He simply said.

Another half hour passed and Calum was exhausted. He regretted calling his trainer. He walked him out, agreeing to meet him in two days for leg day.

He closed the door and threw himself into his couch. Duke wandered in with his toy duck in mouth. He placed it on Calum's shoulder so he could throw it. Calum grumbled and gave his back to Duke. The old puppy yipped and got on his hind legs to push him. Calum responded with a few colorful words, resulting in Duke going into full barks.

"What's wrong baby?" Claudia asked walking into the living room.

Calum turned around. "Jesse worked—"

"I wasn't asking you. Not everything is about you, Cal." Claudia said. She scooped Duke into her arms and kissed his head. "Was your papi being mean?"

Duke yipped in response.

Claudia gasped. "No, that butthead." She shook her head in disappointment at Calum. "C'mon let's have a cookie in the kitchen."

"What about me?" Calum whined.

"What about you?"

"I want a cookie."

"Good for you." She looked at him confused then walked out of the living room with Duke.

Calum groaned and pulled off his wet clothes. He stayed in his boxers and went to the laundry room to wash his wet clothes. He ran upstairs and took a quick shower. When he came out of the shower, cinnamon and sugar filled the house. He excitedly slipped on his grey sweatpants because Claudia made snickerdoodles.

Duke and Claudia were dancing in the kitchen when he walked in. Calum was quick to notice that she changed out of her jeans and was only in his hoodie. He caught a peek of r light blue panties under his hoodie.

"Ew, now you're all sweaty Cal." Claudia giggled as Calum shook off his wet hair.

"Excuse you, I just took a shower." He argued.

"Aver?" She asked. She turned around and nuzzled her face into his neck. "Is that my body wash?"

"Yeah, I was in the mood to smell like lemon custard." he said referring to her body wash's scent.

"I'm not complaining." Claudia mumbled into his neck.

She pushed herself up on the counter to have better access to Calum. She pulled him with her legs and wrapped them around his waist. She softly ran her hands over his arms, gently squeezing his biceps.

"You might wanna put on a shirt," she commented. She slid her hands down his chest, tweaking his nipples. "You seem a little cold."

"Well it is raining outside."

"That's true."

Calum shook his head, trying his best to not laugh. He leaned down and gave her a quick peck on her lips. Noticing that he had her caged in his arms, pressed his hips into hers. Claudia let out a soft gasp of pleasure. He pulled away and thrusted into her once again, earning louder sounds from her.

"Need you." Claudia murmured into Calum's lips before kissing him.

The kiss deepened. Clothes were shed, leaving them both naked. Claudia shivered in anticipation as Calum tossed her panties onto the small pile of clothes.

"You might wanna put on a shirt," Calum commented. He slid his hands from her thighs to her chest, running his thumbs over her nipples. "You seem a little cold."

"That's probably because my boyfriend left me waiting out in the rain."

"I said I was sorry."

"Actually you didn't. I can't believe you let me potentially get ammonia."

"It's pneumonia, Claudia."

"Well that," She looked up at him and smiled innocently. "But you could, like make it up to me."

"I figured that's what I was doing since we're both naked."

"I mean since we're both naked might as well."

Calum snorted and pulled her close to him. He stroked his length a few times then coated himself with Claudia's arousal. He placed one of her legs over his shoulder and slid into her.

Claudia nails dig into Calum's biceps as he pounded into her. He took her rough and passionately. It was one of those times that they just wanted to get off. No time to enjoy each other with love and devotion. Just with lust. He snapped his hips burying himself deep into her with every thrust.

"Duke?" Calum mumbled, stopping mid thrust.

"Cal, I know you didn't just say Duke in the middle of us fucking." Claudia snapped at him.

"It's just that he's out rolling in the mud and I barely bathed him yesterday." He pulled out of her and pulled up his sweatpants. "I know, I know. I'll be quick."

She was left speechless as he ran out barefoot and shirtless. She hopped off the counter and quickly got dressed, pulling on her rain boots and raincoat to help him get Duke inside. Unfortunately for them, Duke thought it was a game. He sprinted past Calum’s legs and excitedly yipped as his pops slipped and fell.

“No la chingues Duke. Orale metese.” She said sternly. Duke immediately stopped wagging his tail and whined. Claudia crossed her arms. “I don’t wanna hear it. Inside, now.”

Duke scoffed and went inside as if he didn’t do anything. He laid on the floor and waited for them to rub his belly.

Claudia bent down and scooped him up in her arms. She turned to Calum. “Go take a shower and I'll dry him off.”

“I just took one.” He responded with a huff.

“And? You ran out barefoot and shirtless out to the rain. Do you wanna get ammonia?”

“It’s pneumonia.”

“Next time, you're not gonna be here to correct me. Go take a shower. I’ll be there in a bit.”

Calum looked like he was going to say something else but closed his mouth. He knew better than to start something over nothing. He retreated upstairs. Shrugging off his sweats in the middle of the room, he turned on the shower.

The warm water hit his back, helping his muscles relax. He leaned against the shower wall and his mind wandered off. He slowly stroked himself imagining Claudia on the counter. Her muffled moans filled his ears. The way she dug her nails into his biceps as he took her.

He groaned as his hand sped up. He placed his other hand on the wall in front of him to help him stay up. He squeezed himself, as if it was Claudia clenching him when she was close to cumming.

"Ni te esperas." Claudia said loudly, startling him.

"I was fucking close." He grumbled, sliding the shower door open.

"Now you know how it feels." She shrugged, getting under the shower head.

They both faced each other trying to share the shower head. Surprisingly they didn't try to do any sort of teasing. Ever since he dropped her at Michael's wedding, shower sex was on the no list.

Calum went to get Claudia some clothes for her to change in while she dried her hair with her diffuser. She usually dries her hair without any heat, but it was cold. She knew that when it was time for them to go to bed, her hair would still be wet. She had her mom's lecture of never sleeping with wet hair, and all the bad things that can happen if she did, engraved in her head.

She set the hairdryer on the counter and slipped on Calum's shirt and her panties. After she finished her after shower routine, she crawled into bed with Calum. His hands drummed on her ass while she scrolled through the DVR to pick something for them to watch. Deciding on ‘Good Girls’, Claudia laid on her stomach facing his TV. By the first commercial break Claudia on edge.

She looked over her shoulder at Calum. He was on his phone while his fingers mindlessly rubbed her thigh. She rolled her eyes and went back to watching the show. Every so often she’d feel his fingers close to her core, but he’d pull away. Annoyed with his obliviousness, she decided to take matters into her own hands. She lifted her hips, pushing her ass into Calum’s thigh in hopes of getting his attention.

“You know if you wanna have sex all you have to do is ask, pretty girl.” Calum said without looking away from his phone.

For the last half hour he’d been playing Bubble Pop with his mom. He began to tease Claudia after he noticed that she was watching the Rio guy—her current character crush—. He knew that she’d be ready for him if he intentionally pretended to not rub her through her panties.

“Can we have sex?” She sweetly asked him.

“Of course.”

With that Claudia stood on her knees and pulled down her panties. She laid on her stomach with her ass in the air.

“Guess me asking you to ride me is off the table.” He chuckled.

His boxers were gone. He took his time stroking himself as he lined up with Claudia’s entrance. With one hand on her hip, he used the other to guide his cock. He rubbed his length up and down her slit. Claudia knew this is him getting back at her as he continued to run his tip up and down her folds.

She looked over her shoulder to him and pouted as he continued to tease her. “Cal.” she whined.

“I need to get hard.”

“Please you’ve been hard since I hopped in the shower.” She sassed him. Before she could make another remark, he roughly pushed himself inside her. “Shit!”

“That’s what I thought pretty girl.”

Calum used both hands to grip her hips. He leaned down, pulling Claudia’s back to his chest as he kissed her shoulder. He slowly started thrusting his hips, letting her get used to him. She kept her eyes close shut as he fucked her.

All day they’ve been trying to find a way to get off, but something always stopped them. Now they weren’t going to let anything get in the way.

“Fuck.” Calum moaned out.

His lips kissed all over her neck as he continued to fuck Claudia. She rocked back against him meeting his thrusts.

“Fucking missed you, Claudia.” He whispered in her ear. Calum shifted his hips as he thrusted into her. The new angle hitting her in that spot that made her a moaning mess.

“Please, fuck—.” Claudia moaned out, not being able to finish what she was saying.

She pushed back rougher to meet his thrusts. He gripped her hips with one hand while the other went down to her clit. Calum worked his fingers roughly as he pushed his hips into Claudia.

He buried his face in her neck, kissing her sweet spot. Her quiet praises filled the room, egging him on. She quietly whimpered his name, lazily meeting his thrusts before her orgasm took over. Calum’s followed soon after. With three shallow thrusts, he pushed himself deep inside Claudia, spilling every last drop in her.

Wordlessly they helped each other clean up their mess. Claudia laid on her back as Calum plopped on top of her. She pushed back his messy curls to see his face. She’s not a big fan of the length since it covered half of his face, but occasionally the long curls served their purpose. Usually when she needed something to hold onto when he ate her out.

“Did you mean when you said you missed me?” Claudia softly asked him.

“You heard that,” he mumbled, burying his face into her chest.

“I mean you were hitting it from behind, how could I not hear you.” She teased.

Calum pushed himself off her and laid next to her, pulling her to his chest. Their go-to position when they have deep thoughts about everything and anything. He rubbed her back, wording in head what he was going to tell her.

“I did mean it,” he began. “I don’t know. I feel like we haven’t spent as much time as we could if that makes sense. I’m partly to blame since the guys and I changed labels and managers. On top of that I leave every other week to the studio with them. Then you’re busy with school, not that it’s a bad thing. I know school’s your first priority. I don’t want you to think that it’s getting in the way of us because it’s not.

I just missed you. I try to spend as much time with you even if it’s driving you twenty minutes to school or watching you bake when I answer a few emails. I used to be grateful that you kept the fridge and pantry fully stocked because I hate going to the grocery store and Target. Until now. I missed us reading all the unpronounceable ingredients of snacks we don’t eat. I miss us reading synopsis of all the erotica books with straight faces before we start laughing because an elderly lady is listening to us and actually considering buying a book… I didn’t realize that I missed doing all of that with you until we stopped.”

“I missed you too. I just didn’t say anything because I didn’t wanna sound clingy.” Claudia said, wiping a few tears.

She sat up on her knees and hugged him. Calum tightly hugged her back. They stayed quiet in each other's arms.

“You know what’s tomorrow?” She asked him. He shook his head. “Costco day.”

“Did I ever tell you how much I miss going to Costco with you when you wear leggings?”

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#calum hood smut #calum hood imagine #calum hood fluff #calum hood one shot #calum hood fanfic #calum hood imagines #calum hood fanfiction #calum hood fan fiction #calum hood fan fic #El Novio series

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qitwrites · 3 years

Text

traditions

Fandom: Jujutsu Kaisen

Pairing: Itadori Yuuji/Fushiguro Megumi

A/N: I caught up with the manga, and shit’s pretty fucked, so I decided to amend that with fluff.

[AO3 Link]

Fushiguro - according to Kugisaki - is the textbook definition of a homosexual disaster.

No see, here’s the thing- everything was going fine. Great. No problems at all. Fushiguro respects his seniors, tolerates Gojo, and has the biggest soft spot for Inumaki, but he’s never been attracted to any one in his usual circle. So, school and sorcery and life in general was simple. No distractions, no crushes as such, no complications. All good.

And then Itadori Yuuji barges into his life and upends the fuck out of it by eating a special grade cursed object to save him. Then he joins Jujutsu Tech, and now they work and train and study and live alongside one another.

The thing is, Itadori is cute as fuck. 10/10 would tap that, any day of any week.

It’s not that Fushiguro has a type or anything, but Itadori just ticks all his boxes. When Todo had bullheadedly asked him what kind of person he likes, he’d said anyone with a strong moral compass that doesn’t waver in their resolve.

That’s Itadori in a nutshell.

Also, doesn’t hurt that he’s like, stupidly hot either. His raw physical prowess is reflected on his body in the form of shapely muscles, hard abs, and wide forearms that look like they could pick Fushiguro up and just throw him like a javelin. They actually can- Itadori had to do it for a mission this one time. Fushiguro enjoyed it immensely, and he will take this information with him to his grave.

So, not only is Itadori attractive and strong and of good character, but he’s also hella friendly. Fushiguro knows he’s not the easiest person to befriend- it takes a while for him to warm up to people, to share things about himself, to talk about the shitshow that is his family, but Itadori does not seem to give a single, flying fuck. He walks into Fushiguro’s life with the strength and ease of someone that just believes they belong. And Fushiguro lets him, because he is, as Kugisaki very accurately put it, a complete and utter homosexual disaster.

But it’s fine. Crushes happen all the time, and Fushiguro knows it’s hopeless and that’s ok. He knows Itadori likes him and cherishes their friendship, and that is enough. It will be. He’ll move on, and they’ll laugh about it in a few years (if they survive) and it’ll be great. In the meantime, he’s going to hole up in his room and read non-fiction books and stay away from pink hair and large toothy smiles.

Of course, the first person to fuck up his plans is Itadori.

It’s Saturday night, and dinner had been a simple meal of rice, miso soup and some sides made by Itadori. He’s a really good cook, and the home food is such a welcome change from the bento boxes Fushiguro normally picks up from the convenience store. Sometimes, Itadori will drag Fushiguro into the kitchen to teach him a thing or two, and Fushiguro learns, and pines, and smacks Itadori when he says something especially idiotic. It’s routine. It’s nice.

Dinner was an hour ago, and now he’s just curled up in bed with his book. It’s shaping up to be a typical weekend, which is nice considering the number of missions they picked up last week. His bones are aching a little, his feet are slightly sore, and he knows he’s going to sleep like the dead tonight.

He hears the knock even though it’s a bit soft. Fushiguro sits up and cocks his head. Was he imagining it?

And then there’s another knock, more confident. Thud thud thud.

Fushiguro climbs out of bed, setting his book aside carefully. He stretches his hands over his head and walks over to the door. ‘Coming.’

He swings it open, and he sees pink hair and his heart just sort of beats out of his chest.

‘Hiya.’ Itadori’s smile is wide, trusting, and full of gusto. He holds a packet of chips in one hand and a laptop in the other.

‘What’s up?’

‘Are you busy?’

He should say he is. If he says he’s busy, then he doesn’t have to let Itadori in and he can continue with Operation: get over Itadori Yuuji. It’s the most logical move.

‘No, why do you ask?’ Well, apparently his brain has detached from his mouth.

‘Well, I overheard you telling Kugisaki that you’ve never seen the Saw movies and I realized something. Something terrible.’

Fushiguro tenses. ‘And what’s that?’

‘I can’t be best friends with someone that’s never seen Saw.’ Itadori pouts cutely, and Fushiguro is this close to just walking off the face of the Earth. He leans into the door frame, needing the additional support.

‘And I don’t want anyone else to be my best friend. So, the only solution is to make you watch Saw! With me! Like, right now.’

Fushiguro feels so much all at once- he wants to pull Itadori into a hug, he wants to jump off his balcony, he wants to slam the door shut and just cry, and he wants to watch stupid movies with this stupid man.

‘If you get crumbs on my bed, I’m going to kick you in the stomach.’

Itadori beams, and Fushiguro is a lost cause.

There’s a bit of adjusting (Fushiguro, your pillows are too hard, let me go grab mine) and a bit of remodelling (What do you mean we can’t make a blanket fort, that’s literally half the movie experience) and after relenting to a weird half-assed tent structure, the two of them huddle on the bed, backs against the wall, laptop placed on a chair by their feet with a bag of chips between them.

Saw is a terrible movie.

There’s gore and screaming and a creepy dude running around and it’s honestly just horrendous. The main character calls himself Jigsaw, and Fushiguro is tempted to flip the laptop after the hundredth blood spill. He looks over at Itadori who’s completely engrossed, eyes reflecting the colours and flashes of light on the screen. It’s cute, the concentration he’s pouring into it. His hand is stuck in the bag of chips and Fushiguro smacks it away to grab a few of his own.

Fushiguro does his best to watch and gets into it at least a little. It’s bad, but it’s not the worst way to spend a weekend night. He admits that a huge reason why the experience is kinda fun is that he’s doing something with Itadori that isn't life-threatening, which is a refreshing change.

The end credits start rolling and Itadori stretches his arms, fingers pushing through the droopy tent roof.

‘What did you think?’

‘I’ve seen worse.’

Itadori laughs. ‘I know what you mean. It grows on you though.’

‘There’s more?’

Itadori looks at him, blinks, cocks his head. ‘You didn’t know?’

Fushiguro shrugs. ‘I’ve never been a movie buff, so I have no information on this.’

‘Fushiguro.’

‘What?’

‘There’s 9 movies.’

Fushiguro’s mouth drops. ‘What?’

‘Yup, there’s nine in total, and the tenth one is in the making.’

‘Holy shit, that’s a lot of movies in one franchise.’

‘Yup. And we’re watching all of them.’

Fushiguro’s eyes widen. ‘What? No way. Nope. Not a chance. I can’t handle more of this, it was barely tolerable.’

‘It doesn’t matter! It’s the principle of the thing- you’ve started the series so you might as well see it through.’

‘9 movies? How can they possibly have enough content for that?’

‘It’s what they do. I promise it gets better and worse.’

Fushiguro sighs. ‘I’m not getting out of this, am I?’

Itadori pushes into his shoulder playfully. ‘Nope. I’m getting more snacks next time, let’s do two movies.’

Fushiguro sighs and runs a hand through his hair.

He’s really struggling to pretend like he’s upset with this development. He’s not upset. He’s honestly anything but.

---

Itadori comes back next Saturday with some blankets and a pillow tucked under one arm and a laptop in the other. He has a grocery bag with chips and sour patch kids hanging between his teeth and he still manages to smile. Fushiguro is so done.

‘Are you a dog?’ he grumbles, plucking the bag out of his face and setting it by the bed. Itadori gets to work immediately, setting up the pillows and his sad excuse for a blanket fort while Fushiguro brings a bowl for the chips and candy. Once they’ve settled in, Itadori starts the second movie and Fushiguro resigns himself to his fate.

It’s really not that bad.

The movie is whatever, Fushiguro tunes in and out, alternating between watching the screen and sneaking looks at Itadori. He’s as engrossed as ever, and the tip of his tongue is sticking out in concentration and it’s so cute it makes Fushiguro want to curl up in his lap and squish him.

He’s crushing hard. Like, really hard. It’s about the gayest thing he’s ever experienced.

The movie pushes on, and they start to get more comfortable. Itadori isn’t a talker, which is surprising and nice, but when the movie lulls, he does make a joke or two. They sink lower into the bed, and by the end of the movie, they’re firmly pressed into each other from shoulder to thigh, with the bowl of chips on Fushiguro’s lap and the candy in Itadori’s.

Itadori is really warm. Could be his natural body heat, could be the king of curses residing within him, could be Fushiguro’s imagination- who’s to say at this point?

When the credits roll, Itadori stretches again like a cat in the sun, groaning his satisfaction. Fushiguro rubs his temples and wills away his blush.

‘What did you think?’

‘Not terrible, but honestly, what the fuck?’

‘That pretty much sums up the franchise.’

Itadori loads up the next movie while Fushiguro stays in position, comfortable. When he’s done, he leans back and makes himself comfortable against Fushiguro’s side, head leaning against his shoulder, his cheek pressed against bone. He looks smooshed, and it’s ridiculous.

If he gave a single shit about the movie, he’d ask him to move because he’s so far gone now there’s no way he’d pay attention at all.

Fushiguro doesn’t say a word, just sends up a silent prayer that Itadori remains there, pushed into him and all up in his space, for the rest of the evening.

That’s exactly what he does.

---

Fushiguro’s feet are burning.

The soles are achy all over, tender and jolty. Any time he walks, he suppresses a hiss of pain. When he’d taken a look, the entire sole was an angry red, and he’s just so annoyed.

The week had been tough- tons of running around and multiple search and rescue missions and this one tenacious curse that he and Itadori had to chase for several miles before finally exorcising it. By the end of it all, his feet were burning like a low fire in the pits of hell.

Itadori is fine, as always. It’s probably an incredible combination of his own inherent athleticism and lord dipshit within him, but Itadori heals at an accelerated pace, and like, he came back from the dead. Sore feet would be nothing to this guy.

When Itadori knocks on the door as always, an hour after Saturday night dinner, Fushiguro just calls out, ‘Come in.’ He really doesn’t want to walk to the door, so he’d left it open intentionally.

Itadori struggles to open the door on his own, arms filled with so much stuff it’s overflowing everywhere, and that horribly lovely smile is still stretched across his face and Fushiguro is just so smitten it’s ridiculous.

Itadori throws a few pillows in his direction, places a frankly ridiculous amount of snacks at the foot of the bed, and starts building his fort. Fushiguro is yet to help him with this, to actually put in any effort and make it with him rather than just watch him with a bemused smirk, but part of him knows that if he joins in, he’s admitting to something. He’s admitting that he’s invested. That he likes this as much as Itadori, probably so much more. That he likes Itadori so much, it’s all-consuming.

Itadori gives him the laptop while he makes some finishing touches on the fort, and he’s gotten better over the last few weeks. The tent is less saggy, with more room to move around and its range is expanding. It no longer covers just the bed, it extends to his desk and is inching towards his closet. Itadori is taking over his room, his heart, his brain, his life. He keeps taking and taking and taking, and Fushiguro just gives him more, happily, heartbreakingly, with all the love and nonchalance and patience he can muster.

He’s so whipped he’s giving Kugisaki a headache. She’s told him as much, repeatedly.

He’s got the final Saw movie prepped and ready to go, positioning the laptop on the chair as usual. Itadori grabs the bowls and decants their snacks before sitting next to Fushiguro, his head automatically resting on the man’s shoulders. Fushiguro rests his head on Itadori’s soft pink hair, breathing in the scent of the shampoo Itadori always steals from Kugisaki, and muffles a laugh. It’s so silly.

They’re about mid-way through the movie (by movie 9 there’s no milking the plot, it’s them just beating a dead horse ruthlessly) when Fushiguro shifts his legs and his feet bump into the chair, and he bites out a yelp of pain. Itadori sits up immediately, eyebrows furrowed in concern.

‘You ok?’

Fushiguro waves him down, wincing. ‘Yes, yes, I’m fine, don’t worry about it.’

‘Did you stub your toe? That’s one of the worst feelings ever. And I’ve had my heart ripped out of my chest. And lost an arm. And I’ve been stabbed repeatedly. Amongst other things.’

‘I didn’t stub my toe. And also, what the fuck, are you ok?’

‘I’m fine,’ Itadori laughs easily. ‘Seriously, what’s wrong?’

‘My feet hurt,’ Fushiguro admits with a defeated sigh. ‘We’ve been moving about a lot, and after that pineapple fucker two days ago, my feet have just gotten really sore. I soaked them in hot water a few hours ago, I think I should be fine by Monday.’

Itadori eyes him suspiciously.

‘I’m not lying dumbass. I’ll be fine, don’t worry about it. Let’s just get this horrible movie over with.’

Itadori hums, turning back to the screen. A minute later, he looks over at Fushiguro.

‘Well, I’m going to apologize for this in advance.’

‘Apologize for wh- HEY!’

Itadori, with his stupidly inhumane strength, yanks Fushiguro’s legs off the edge of the bed and right into his lap. Fushiguro is now laying down with his head resting against the headboard, and he’s about to kick out when Itadori just digs his thumbs into the arch of his feet and Fushiguro narrowly stops himself from moaning obscenely.

He has died and ascended. His soul is no longer in this realm of existence. It has found peace. The meaning of life. Attained nirvana. He can see the light at the end of the tunnel.

It’s seriously that good.

Because Itadori is strong. He’s really strong, so his movements are sure and deep. His thumbs are pushing against the arch, into the heel of his foot, pushing into that junction where his toes meld into the sole, and it’s so damn good. Fushiguro squirms.

‘How are you- ah shit, right there -how are you so good at this?’

Itadori throws him an easy smile. ‘Used to massage grandpa’s feet all the time. Became an expert over time, especially because I had a lot of his nurses guiding me as well. Is it ok?’

Fushiguro tries to throw him a deadpan look but then Itadori’s thumbs just push into a particularly sore spot and Fushiguro’s eyes roll back into his skull. When he’s able to pull himself together, he looks at the pink-haired man, feeling breathless.

‘It feels great. If you tell a single soul, I will drop kick you.’

Itadori’s laugh is loud and boisterous, and it fills the room completely, saturates it with this feeling of ease and honesty.

‘This stays here, no worries. Like a Las Vegas thing.’

Fushiguro smiles at the stupid reference.

After a few minutes pass by, Fushiguro reluctantly starts pulling his feet away. ‘You’ve done more than enough,’ he starts to say. Itadori wraps his fingers around his ankles, holding him in place.

‘I can honestly do this for hours, it’s fine. You can see the screen, right?’ Fushiguro nods immediately. ‘So, let’s just keep watching. I’ll stop if I’m tired, ok?’

Fushiguro relents without a fight because it’s the most relief he’d gotten in ages, and Itadori is touching him and he’s weak in every possible way and he lets himself be. Just this once.

They finish the movie (thank goodness it’s over) and Itadori continues to massage his feet as they discuss what the 10th movie could possibly be like. They discuss theories and plot holes, and Itadori doesn’t let go, his hands inching up and massaging his calves as well, and fuck if Fushiguro’s going to stop him because it feels good. He’s gay and Itadori is hot and his fingers are actual magic- like, they put sorcery to shame.

When it’s well past midnight and Itadori yawns a few times, Fushiguro finally sits up, pulling his feet out of Itadori’s grasp. The pink-haired man lets his hands linger for as long as possible, and Fushiguro decides he’s just imagining it. Surely.

‘I kinda, I mean, I want to repay you for that. You massaged me for hours, you know.’

Itadori pretends to think for a second before breaking into a bright, 100-megawatt smile.

‘Well then, let’s watch more movies! Let’s just make this movie night! We can watch stuff you look up as well, we can watch anything.’

Fushiguro stares at him, stunned. He hadn’t been expecting that and truth be told, he was really sad the Saw franchise was over because he assumed that would be the end of this, and he was too shy to ask what Itadori was so easily asking him. To see Itadori so excited at the prospect of an actual movie night, with no end in sight, made his heart leap and throb and squeeze. It was incredible.

‘Deal.’ He keeps his voice level and his face neutral, but he can’t hide his eyes and Itadori reads him in a second and his smile softens. He knows him so well now, like the back of his hand.

Itadori bids him a soft goodnight, collecting his stuff and shuffling back to his room slowly. Fushiguro falls asleep quickly, and it's deep and dreamless.

He wakes up to painless feet. It’s a miracle in every single way.

---

When Itadori gently pulls his feet into his lap the next weekend, Fushiguro doesn’t bother protesting it. He just gives him a slightly exasperated sigh, a soft smile and hits play.

They’ve decided to pick up the How to train your dragon franchise this time, as a welcome change of pace.

‘What’s it about?’

‘Well, it’s honestly all in the title. It’s about dragons and Vikings and it’s funny and it has great music!’ Itadori lights up while talking about it, and his energy is so damn contagious. Fushiguro feels himself getting hyped. ‘I think you’ll like it. Especially since you have those cool Shikigamis, you might relate to this more!’

Fushiguro hums, and they watch. Fushiguro routinely pushes pieces of chips and sour candy into Itadori’s mouth, and Itadori’s fingers become well-acquainted with the planes and bumps and grooves of his feet, and the shape of his calves.

Fushiguro gets really into the movie.

Not only is the animation top-notch, but the voice actors are great, the storyline is gripping, and Toothless is so childish and sweet and endearing, his heart aches with love. He barely pays attention to Itadori this time. He seems just as invested, even if it’s the hundredth time he’s rewatching it.

To Fushiguro’s surprise, he chokes up at the end, after the big battle. The whole scene feels strangely familiar in some ways, and he tries desperately to hide his growing discomfort. He peaks over at Itadori and his eyes widen.

Itadori is swallowing hard, his eyes shining and glistening with unshed tears. His grip on Fushiguro is tight as hell, but not painful. He’s barely holding on, it seems.

So Fushiguro looks away, and lets himself feel. He doesn’t cry, but it’s damn near the same feeling.

Itadori’s knowing smirk is as annoying as it is stupidly kissable.

‘You seemed to enjoy that!’

‘It was decent. Much better than all the Saw movies combined.’

Itadori barks out a laugh. ‘Decent, he says. I saw you nearly crying through my own tears. And you were glued to the screen. Such a liar.’

Fushiguro relents. ‘Fine, it was really good. I’m hooked, and I cant wait to see the other 2 movies.’

‘You know I’ll be here.’

Fushiguro is helpless against his blush. He barely hides it in the crook of his elbow. Itadori’s fingers are still pressing into his feet and it’s all so much but not enough. His heart still aches.

‘And the next two movies are visual masterpieces. Can’t wait to get into it all!’

Fushiguro nods, and with the promise of next week, he sleeps just a little easier.

---

When Itadori pulls his feet into his lap three weeks in a row, Fushiguro decides it’s time he does more to repay the pink-haired man. It’s definitely not enough to just grace Itadori with his presence and with a weekly movie night.

So, when they come together to watch the third and final How to train your dragon movie, Fushiguro stands in his room, chewing his lower lip anxiously. He feels like he may have gone overboard, and he’s more scared of being found out by Itadori, about his feelings and his hopelessly ginormous crush and just how big of a complete and utter disaster he is than anything else.

Before he can take it down though, Itadori walks in after a quick knock and a shout of Pardon the intrusion but not reaaallllyyyy.

He walks in, snack bag in his mouth, arms holding way too much stuff, and gives Fushiguro a grin before turning to the bed to start his usual set-up routine. That’s when he stops dead on his feet, and Fushiguro at least enjoys the look of complete and utter shock on his face. The snack bag drops to the ground before Fushiguro can catch it with a loud thunk.

So, here’s a fun fact about Fushiguro- he can build insane blanket forts. No, really, you don’t understand, he could be mistaken for an architect because that’s how good he is. And the reason is a bit long and a bit complicated, but it mostly has to do with his sister. When they were left all alone in the world, sharing a small space just between the two of them, they would build blanket forts with all the stuff lying around the house, and within those sheets, they were shielded from the world and all its horrors. They did it for a long time, and it was their tradition. They got better at it over the years, learning what sheets worked best, what make-shift supports held things up at the right height, where to place the pillows.

The minute Fushiguro started to put the fort together, his muscle memory kicked in and took it from there. It brought forth some memories that made him choke up, but he focused on Itadori, and it helped. He adjusted the height to accommodate two growing boys instead of two tiny humans, and before he knew it, the fort had sprawled to encompass his entire room. He borrowed pillows from Inumaki and Panda, who were willing albeit slightly perplexed, and he grabbed Kugisaki’s fairy lights to really spruce things up. The weather had gotten colder, so he had also laid out his thick duvet for them to slip under, and the icing on the cake was the pizza he had ordered. Itadori always bought the snacks, so he wanted to pull his own weight. Also, they were active jujutsu sorcerers- they may have eaten dinner an hour ago, but they were always hungry. It was endless.

Itadori remains rooted in place, and Fushiguro starts to get nervous. A bit anxious. A bit scared. What if it is too much? Had he overstepped in some way? Or what if Itadori looked forward to building the fort and Fushiguro had taken that away from him?

Itadori slowly looks at him, eyes piercing and unreadable and bright.

And then he smiles. The world rights itself a little.

And he smiles big, huge, all-encompassing. Its lips stretched over white teeth and his eyes are crinkling in that really lovely way and the dimples are dotting his cheeks and its utter magic.

‘Fushi,’ Itadori gushes, almost breathless. ‘This is insane. How the hell did you do this?’

Fushiguro bites his lip. ‘You like it?’

‘Like? Fushi, dude, my man, my guy, like doesn’t begin to cover it! I don’t have better words cause I’m kind of an idiot, but it’s. Like. A+. 11/10. I’m so impressed right now.’

And now Fushiguro is smiling with him, stomach flopping around endlessly, and he’s young and in love and he doesn’t want to be anywhere else.

‘I also got pizza,’ Fushiguro gestures to the table behind him, picking the snack bag off the floor and placing it by the bed. ‘I wasn’t sure what you liked so I just got the same thing you ordered when I was sick.’

Itadori happily bounds over to the box and leans in for a sniff.

‘I love this stuff, it’s yum. And it’s still steaming, all fresh and hot.’ Itadori gives him a big thumbs-up. ‘This is so bomb Fushi, thank you so much!’

Fushiguro almost says No thank you, you’ve been doing so much for our movie nights and I wanted to show you how grateful I am for you and for all of this and I love you so please take my heart and just keep it, I really don’t need it, you know?

What he says instead is, ‘Not a problem. Shall we set up?’

And so, 10 minutes later finds them curled up in their usual spots, except this time they’re under the covers. Fushiguro places all the food between them, and Itadori alternates between massaging his feet (which he cleans meticulously before their movie nights because he doesn’t want Itadori to eat with dirty feet hands) and taking bites of pizza and smiling and laughing and choking up at the movie.

The trilogy ends and Fushiguro can honestly see why Itadori has watched this countless times. It’s just that good.

If Itadori hears him sniffle, he doesn’t say a word. Just squeezes his calf and runs his fingers from his knees to his ankles and Fushiguro realizes, in that moment, that a part of him will always belong to this man.

---

They don’t miss a single movie night for months. They’ve now finished the Saw franchise, the HTTYD trilogy, the Batman trilogy, and the entire Annabelle series. If Fushiguro didn’t hate dolls before, well, now the thought of them sends shivers up his spine. And he fights curses. For a living.

Life is weird.

They don’t miss a single movie night for months. Sometimes it’s Sunday night instead, or Friday. Sometimes it’s earlier in the day, in the afternoon maybe. Sometimes, it’s really late at night, so late that by the time they’re done, it’s already 3am and the world is silent. The world doesn’t exist beyond the walls of Fushiguro’s room, and he’s ok with that.

On those nights, Itadori stays over.

They curl up on his bed together, not quite touching but not quite not touching. It’s a single bed and they’re not small by any means. The touching is inevitable. Fushiguro wonders if any part of it is voluntary.

He learns that Itadori’s toes are always warm, unlike Fushiguro’s. He’s a surprisingly calm sleeper. His sleep-heavy voice is deep, and his sleep-heavy smile is soft.

They fall asleep facing away from one another, they wake up spooning or being spooned. They don’t say a word. And they don’t stop.

The night that they finish the latest Annabelle movie, Itadori looks insanely freaked out and Fushiguro doesn’t blame him. That shit’s creepy as hell.

The problem is that it’s only 00:14. Too early for them to call for a sleepover unprompted.

Itadori’s got Fushiguro’s legs in his lap, and he’s pursing his lips as if deep in thought. Fushiguro thinks fuck it.

‘Do you want to stay over?’

The relief flows off Itadori in waves. ‘You’re an actual lifesaver, you know that right?’

Fushiguro smirks, and they throw snarky comments back and forth between them as they get ready for bed. Itadori brings his toothbrush and they clean up side by side, fighting for the mirror. They take the fort down methodically, like a well-oiled machine, and they curl up under the duvet, touching but not quite touching, facing away from one another.

15 minutes later, Fushiguro feels Itadori curled around him, legs tangled and arm carefully slipped over his middle. He feels him shake, and he can taste the hesitation and he knows Itadori will move away soon because they both know they’re both awake.

He moves his hand lower and places it over Itadori’s. He squeezes it once, and moves it away, and evens out his breathing. He feels himself drifting off, and the last thing he feels is Itadori’s arm curling around him just a little tighter, holding him just a little closer. The air tastes less hesitant, more hopeful.

It’s wonderfully frightening.

---

They don’t miss a single movie night for months. Until one day, they do.

The thing about Sukuna is that he’s the King of Curses, Lord Asshat extraordinaire, and an overall terrible being. Not only does he reside in Itadori rent-free, he also chooses when to heal him and when to watch from the sidelines as blood gushes out of wounds that are near-fatal. Itadori’s pain tolerance is impossibly high, but that doesn’t mean he can’t feel pain.

Itadori feels everything. He feels so much, so willingly, so wholeheartedly. He’s a feeler.

And so, when one of their missions go haywire (as always), Itadori risks his life for his classmates (as always), and is left on the verge of death (as always). The only difference being he doesn’t improve. At least not at that inhumane pace that he always does.

He’s not dead, but he’s not in the world of the living either. He’s drifting somewhere in between, and Fushiguro feels like he’s drowning. He can’t get enough air; he can’t see beyond the murky waters that are darker than ink.

Fushiguro is in the in-house hospital on campus and he rarely, if ever, leaves Itadori’s side. The incident took place on a Tuesday and it is now Saturday. Itadori’s vitals are stable, his heart is in his chest, beating, and his blood is circulating and oxygenating him.

He does not wake up, he does not speak, and he does not smile.

Something in Fushiguro’s chest cracks.

People come by to visit all the time. Nobara brings snacks and chats with Itadori like he’s ok, like he’ll respond. Only Fushiguro hears the tremor in her voice. Maki holds back from smacking someone in a coma, vowing to get him good when he’s awake for doing something so monumentally dumb. Gojo flits in and out as often as he can, and he always squeezes Fushiguro’s shoulder with a tightness that eases his chest just a little before leaving again.

After dinner on Saturday, Fushiguro decides to do something.

He lets himself into Itadori’s room- messy but not sloppy, and simple. He finds his laptop on his desk and charges it for a bit before taking it back with him. He doesn’t set up a blanket fort, simple loads up a Christopher Nolan movie that they’d decided on last week and lets it play.

He holds Itadori’s hand the entire time. It doesn’t squeeze back.

The crack in his chest widens.

---

He’s not there when Itadori wakes up.

Gojo had pushed him out of the room to go take a shower and grab a proper meal and maybe even take a nap, and Fushiguro had relented to two of the three- showering and eating. With a belly full of terrible convenience store food that could never hope to hold a candle to Itadori’s meals, Fushiguro slowly makes his way back to the infirmary when he hears voices. One voice, in particular, stops him in his tracks.

‘How are you feeling?’

‘My mouth tastes like ass.’

It’s one of the first things Itadori has said in a week and a half, and something between a laugh and a sob gets stuck in Fushiguro’s chest. He moves to yank the door open and throw himself at Itadori when he hears-

‘Where’s Fushi?’

‘Oh, he went to take a shower, clean up a little, all that.’

‘Ah. I see.’

Fuck, he sounds disappointed.

‘Don’t look so upset.’ Gojo teases. ‘He hasn’t left your side since you got hurt, you know?’

‘Really?’

Gojo hums. ‘He’s here all day. He tried working for a day or two, but his head wasn’t in it, so we forced him to sit out for a bit. He’s just been keeping you company here, reading, fretting, pining.’

Fushiguro wants to punch Gojo.

Itadori barks out a laugh. It sounds loud and forced and not very happy.

‘Don’t tease me about that sensei. That’s cruel, even for you.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘You know what I’m talking about.’

‘I want to be sure. I’m not a mind-reader you know. So tell me,’ Gojo urges, ‘what are you talking about?’

Itadori sighs. It sounds exhausted more than pained. ‘I’ve liked him since the day we fought the curse and saved my senpais. It’s cruel for you to tease me about a one-sided crush.’

Fushiguro is suddenly numb, hot and cold everywhere, and his head is spinning, an echo of ‘I’ve liked him I’ve liked him’ just bouncing around his brain endlessly. He has to force himself to concentrate or risk missing out more of the conversation.

‘I mean, why do you think it’s one-sided?’

‘Are you kidding me? He’s so out of my league, I can’t even think about it. He’s so. Just. Everything good in this world. And he likes dogs sensei, what more could I want in a person?’

Fushiguro’s vision is just swimming and he wants to smother Itadori in a hug and protect him forever. His feet are taking longer to respond to his brain though.

‘I don’t think that’s true,’ Gojo sings, laughing. ‘My advice would be to not give up. You’d be good for each other, you know? Also, he’s really not all that perfect. Trust me, I’ve known him since he was a child. This one time, during the spring festival, he-‘

‘Itadori, you’re awake?’

Evidently, his self-preservation instincts had bypassed his brain and forced his legs to move at near inhumane speed. God bless instincts.

Itadori is sitting up, and he looks a bit frail but the color in his cheeks is steadily returning. His eyes widen in surprise before his mouth twists up in a grin so wide Fushiguro is worried he’ll break his face. His eyes are molten, watery, and brighter than the sun.

‘Hi Fushi.’

For once, Fushiguro doesn’t give a two shit flying fuck that Gojo is in the room and will hence tease him for the rest of his life, he just walks over to the bed and gathers Itadori into a hug and holds him there, pressing his warmth into Itadori. There’s the beating of his heart, the rise and fall of his chest, and the smile on his lips pressed into Fushiguro’s shoulder.

The world rights itself on its axis, just a little more.

‘Idiot.’

Itadori’s muffled laugh makes him grin, and he pulls away. He rearranges his face in a scowl.

‘I told you before if you die on me-‘

‘-you’ll kill me yourself. I know, I know. I’m here Fushi, you don’t have to become a murderer. It’s a good day.’

Fushiguro lets his face morph back into a grin before looking over at Gojo. His teacher’s smirk tells him everything- how he knew where Fushiguro was, how he’s seen right through Fushiguro, how he’s going to tease him till the day either of them die. And Fushiguro wants to be annoyed and pissed off but he can’t bring himself to care, not right now.

Itadori’s heart is beating in his chest, and he smiles at Fushiguro, and his cheeks are tinting pink.

Fushiguro’s heart is full.

---

‘Sorry I missed movie night.’

Itadori’s apology is so stupid Fushiguro nearly gwaffs, but that’s undignified as fuck so he settles for a cough and a withering stare.

‘I mean, it’s not like you were in a coma or anything.’

‘You know what I mean! But anyway, I’m here now, so let’s pick up where we left off.’

‘No, we’ll have to move on to the next movie. We watched that one last week.’

‘Huh?’

Fushiguro looks at him, prays he isn’t seven shades of red. ‘Well, I thought maybe if we had a movie night at the infirmary, you’d feel better. Where you were. Especially if you were dealing with lord fuckwad. You know?’

Itadori stares at him in awe and chuckles softly. ‘You’re something else, you know? Just when I think I’ve got you all figured out.’

Gojo’s word reverberate around his skull and Fushiguro just clears his throat. ‘Yeah, well, I’m all about surprising people. Woohoo.’

Itadori bursts out laughing, and they go back to setting up the fort, the pizza, the snacks, the lights, the laptop. It’s easy and familiar and nice. They settle into the mattress, but Fushiguro doesn’t let Itadori take his feet this time, opting to press into his side instead. Itadori barely puts up a fight.

They’re roughly 8 minutes into Interstellar when Itadori asks, ‘How did you set up the movie in the infirmary?’

Fushiguro hums, ‘I grabbed your laptop and put it on a chair to your left. I sat on the right. I sat by your bed and I…’

‘And you?’

Fushiguro should be nervous but he’s not. He’s surprised by how not nervous he is.

‘And I did this.’ He laces their hands together, eyes trained on Itadori's.

It’s like looking at a bowl of liquid amber. His eyes are light brown, bordering on gold, and they’re mesmerizing when you’re this close. He doesn’t look away from Fushiguro, his breath doesn’t stutter, he doesn’t jerk away. He squeezes Fushiguro’s hand with his right one and slowly brings up the left. He rests it on Fushiguro’s jaw, soft skin meeting calloused fingers and there’s a heat building under Fushiguro’s skin that makes him feel that same hot and cold sensation everywhere.

‘I’m going to kiss you.’

Itadori’s voice is deeper than Fushiguro’s ever heard it, low and spicy and sure. His hands are gentle and confident.

Fushiguro doesn’t nod or say Yes or blush.

He just brings his right arm up, wraps it around Itadori’s left wrist and leans in, bringing them together in what is possibly the softest touch of lips ever, in the history of the universe.

It’s not hesitant, it’s just new. And all-encompassing. And maddeningly good. And soft.

Itadori’s breath hitches and he leans his head, slotting their lips together better and Fushiguro is humming because fucking hell is this good. There’s no tongue, just pressure and nips and small licks and bites. By the end of it, Fushiguro is smiling into Itadori’s smile, and he’s kissing it and nuzzling it and he’s drowning in the best way possible.

Itadori finally pulls away, after several small kisses, and does that beaming smile that makes Fushiguro’s stomach do really terrible things.

‘I can’t believe all this happened because of Saw.’

Fushiguro’s smile shrivels away in a heartbeat and Itadori is laughing and snorting, the bastard.

‘Itadori Yuji.’

More laughter.

‘I swear on all that is good and pure, if you tell people we got together because of Saw, I will dump your ass so hard you won't be able to sit down for weeks.’

Itadori laughs some more and presses his giggles against Fushiguro’s lips and dammit he’s so weak and gay.

Itadori’s hand slips down his jaw and cups the back of his neck and he pulls him close, pressing their foreheads together.

‘We both know that’s not true.’

Damn it. He really does know Fushiguro like the back of his hand.

And so he does the only thing he can think of- he kisses him again. And again. And then some more, just because he can.

The movie remains forgotten, and frankly, they couldn’t care less.

#jujutsu kaisen #itadori yuuji #fushiguro megumi #itafushi #itadori x fushiguro #jjk fic #fluff #so much fluff #and movie nights #pining #this is just fushiguro pining #itadori is a good friend #the goodest #jjk #hi hello i hope you all like this #and i hope everyone's doing ok and staying safe!!#much love to you all

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mymegumi · 3 years

Text

aere perrenius

pairing: akaashi keiji x gn!reader

genre: fluff, strangers to lovers, writer!akaashi and librarian!reader

word count: 2.7k words

warnings: disgusting amounts of fluff

summary: more lasting than bronze. a once in a lifetime opportunity turns into a twice in a lifetime chance, and before you realize it, it just turns into a potential lifetime

dedicated: to miss issy ( @cafemiya ) kind beyond words, incredible beyond compare

You’d once thought that life was cruel to you, a single librarian that ended up helping children find picture books and nasty teenagers that had to pay their overdue library fees. You often just moved through the movements, walking to the library every single day, picking up coffees for everyone that worked with you that day, and nothing ever really changed.

Until today.

Today, when you walked into the coffee shop that was only a block away from the library—a small little out of the way place that served the best croissants with chocolate butter you’d ever had before—you were shocked to note that there was another singular figure in the shop with you.

Typically when you went in, it was early enough in the morning that you beat out the high schoolers and people who went to their 9-5 jobs, yet you always managed to miss the people who worked night shifts, so the barista often told you.

Today, however, there was a singular figure sitting at a table, laptop on the table with a small white mug of coffee in his hands, glasses perched precariously on the bridge of his nose as he seemed intent to read whatever it is was on his screen.

His hair was curling over thin golden frames, flowing over his forehead and spilling against his ears as he pressed his lips to the coffee mug, blue eyes focused on the words before him. The morning light had not yet seemed to crest the mountains of skyscrapers that littered the Japanese skyline, so the warm lights of the cafe seemed to soften the edges around him, making him angelic as he just relaxed there.

Perhaps it was the pure shock of seeing him, or even just the lack of sleep you always seemed to suffer from in the mornings following a weekend, but something led to your mistake of forgetting to conceal your admiration of him.

In your trance of adoration, you simply forget the cafe has a bell over the door.

He glances his up when he finishes taking a sip from his drink, offering a smile your way in the way that two people up way too early would share a smile with each other—as if only the two of you knew the secrets that the sunrise would whisper if only you would wake early enough to listen.

“Your usual?”

The barista, a sweet girl named Akira who seemed to be pumped full of espresso for she was way too peppy for this time of the hour, draws your attention away from the man sitting by himself at the window table.

“To go, right?” When you shake your head, she laughs slightly, inputting your usual order into the computer just for her to end up making it only a few seconds later, “What’s with the change today, you always take it straight to the library.”

When she sees you steal a glance at the mysterious stranger, she leans in with a hand cupped around her mouth, devastatingly wicked glint in her eyes as she whispers to you, “He came in a couple of minutes of go, saying he’s new in town. A writer, if you could believe it. Maybe you could warm him up to the area?”

“I have to go to work soon,” you hiss back softly, feeling the warmth take over your cheeks as you resolutely refuse to look back at him in case he heard her gossiping.

“Yet, you’re taking your coffee here?”

She, unfortunately, raises her eyebrows suggestively at you as she slides your drink to you in a small white mug resting on a dish, steaming and hot with a less heated croissant on a separate dish. You make a noise of disbelief as you carefully adjust your bag on your shoulder, taking your breakfast with you to a seat, not too close to the writer and yet not too far away that you are unable to admire him.

Pulling out a book from your bag, you are content to just read and settle in for a few minutes that you would normally spend in the library doing random work until the doors unlocked. It’s a newer novel you’d just picked up from a bookstore, and it was only because the author would be visiting the library soon, so you wanted to get a feel for the writing style, in case there were any questions that the people had for the staff.

“A good read, is it?”

You don’t really register that anyone is talking to you, at first, instead intent on just reading In Regards to Aces before it clicks in your mind two facts; one, that you are indeed holding a book and reading, and two, that you are only one of three people in the establishment, not to mention one of the three was just a barista making herself a coffee.

When it hits you that the stupidly attractive man at the window is indeed talking to you, you shove a bookmark in the spot you were reading as you turn to him, “Ah, yeah, it is, though I don’t have much to say on it considering I just started reading it.”

“Initial thoughts, then?” His smile soothes you a bit, making you relax from the initial tension you’d felt, “I’ve found the author tends to use verbiage that rambles on, but that’s my own opinion on it.”

“Well, from what I have read so far,” you set the book on the table, star embellished cover twinkling in the lights of the cafe, “I like the way that the author describes the character’s feelings—it felt really authentic, and added to the atmosphere for the story.”

“Well, just wait until you read the ending,” he raises an eyebrow at you and a playful look comes across his face for a second before disappearing, “it’s a real gutwrencher, honestly, I’m surprised the author had decided to take it in that direction.”

“Well, hopefully I’ll be able to read a good part of it before the end of the day,” you muse, hand running idly along the edges of the pages, “I’m hoping to be able to talk to the author during the meet and greet later today at the library.”

He makes a thoughtful noise, a small content smile on his face as he sets his mug down on the saucer. There’s a look in his eyes, something that says that he knows something that you don’t, and yet when you go to ask about it, he says instead, “Tell me what you think of it when you finish it, I’d love to hear your thoughts on it.”

You watch as he begins to pack up his things, tucking the laptop away into a sleek black backpack, all while sipping gingerly on your drink, “Of course, perhaps I’ll see you again, I’m usually here before work.”

“I look forward to it.”

He shoots you a smile over his shoulder as he leaves the cafe, throwing away his things and setting aside his dishes before he exits. Watching him walk down the street, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“Gosh,” Akira’s voice makes you jump in your seat slightly, “he was really pretty; you think he was a model?”

“I don’t know, but he could be if he wanted to be,” you smile to yourself as you check your phone, swearing as you realize you might be a few minutes late, “I gotta get to work, I’ll see you tomorrow morning!”

Chugging the rest of your drink, of which has cooled significantly, you end up rushing out of the door of the coffee shop, leaving a good tip for Akira before you go.

A meet-cute. Is that what that would’ve been considered?

Walking into the library, you have a dopey smile on your lips, and the meeting from the morning lets you float your way through work as if your feet haven’t touched the ground.

The writer meet and greet wasn’t for another few hours so when you were putting books back on the shelves, and when the flow of people tended to slow down, your nose was tucked gently into the pages of the book you’d picked up.

It was wonderfully written, with words that seemed to suck you in and captivate you, unable to truly pay attention to what you needed to be doing. You were so ecstatic to be meeting the author, to be able to see what sort of person they’d turned out to be.

They had been pretty secretive, declining interviews left and right and no one has been able to figure out who they were. No one really knew if Akaashi Keiji was their real name, or just a pen name either, a ghost writer who wanted to leave their mark on the world without claiming any credit for the impression they’d leave behind.

Truth be told, it was something you admired in them.

There was something special about someone wanting to create something, and yet walking about their daily life knowing that not a single person would recognize them for it. They weren’t doing it for fame, or for money, but because they truly enjoyed writing and creating books for people to enjoy.

“If you keep yourself in that book, you’ll never get these shelves done,” shit, you’d thought you tucked yourself far enough into the autobiography section that your coworker, Kaori, wouldn’t be able to find you, “what book is it this time?”

“In Regards to Aces…”

She raises an eyebrow at you, glancing at the big poster of the book’s cover displayed only a few feet away from the pair of you, “Uh-huh, gonna suck up to the writer? Get you a rich, anonymous sugar daddy?”

“Pft,” you smile at her with a crooked grin, “let’s be inclusive here, we don’t know if they identify as a guy, Kaori.”

She shrugs a shoulder at you as you begin to push the cart filled with returned books into the aisle, making your way to the front of the library, “Actually, Akaashi and I went to high school together. When he got famous, everyone at our school, like, made a silent pact to respect his privacy.”

“You know the Akaashi Keiji?” You give her an incredulous look, feet planting firmly in front of the help desk of the library, “As in, coming to our library, has won multiple National Book Awards in a row for their novels Akaashi Keiji?”

“Yeah,” she picks something off of her shirt with a sour look on her face, “I’m pretty sure Bokuto threatened a guy that said he’d leak Akaashi’s school name, but it might’ve been the whole group of them, honestly.”

“Bokuto…” you look at her with a bewildered look in your eyes, “Bokuto Koutarou, MSBY wing spiker, Bokuto?”

“Yeah,” she smiles brightly at you, which you quickly erase with a hand smacking her firmly in the arm, “Oh my god, what was that for?!”

“For not telling me you were surrounded by future celebrities in high school?!”

“Oh, as if there isn’t one person from your school that got famous,” Kaori levels a glare at you as she rubs her arm.

The pair of you are sitting at the reception area now at the front of the library, watching people flow into the seating area set up for the meet and greet. A copy of the book’s cover is set up next to the author’s seat, which is on a small raised platform behind a small red barrier.

“I’m pretty sure a kid in the grade above me moved to Argentina?” She laughs at your answer, a hand over her mouth as someone steps up to the desk, taking both of your attention away from the conversation, “Hey, how can we help yo— oh! Hi, again, how are you?”

Standing before you, straps of his backpack slipping off of his shoulders and glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose. There’s a little bit of a smile on his lips as he sighs, “Oh. Hello, I’m good. I rushed here because I was worried about being late—Kaori?”

“Akaashi,” she smiles at him, hand reaching out to shake his hand easily as you stare at the both of them flabbergasted, “Didn’t you get my text earlier about you coming to the library?”

“No, I was busy with the moving vans,” he turns his gaze on you and you swear your mouth dries up a little bit, “After I got a cup of coffee, I was arguing with the movers about a van of stuff that got lost. Turns out they were on the wrong side of town.”

“You mean to tell me,” you interrupt, hand coming up to stop Kaori from speaking, eyes trained on the wavy-haired man in front of you, “that you asked for my opinion on your book? Your own book?”

He gives a cheeky grin, teeth showing as he raises an eyebrow, “It’s easier to hear honest opinions if people don’t know I’m the author.”

You roll your eyes at him before he turns back to Kaori for a quick second, “Kaori, would you mind getting me some water, oh and maybe even a snack?”

She nods easily, hair swishing lightly as she pats you on the back and leaves, “‘Course, meet you up on the stage, bigshot.”

When she leaves, there’s a bit of an awkward silence, something like you don’t know what to say, and yet you know if you were to say anything, something might change. It’s only a feeling, but you suddenly want to spend as much time with this man as possible.

Now in the late afternoon light, you study him in a way you didn’t get to before. The warm sunlight that filters in through the windows makes his hair seem a bit light, but still just as unruly as it was this morning. His eyes are inquisitive, sharp in a way that observes and analyzes all within a moment’s notice.

There are patches of red and blue light dancing along his shoulders, refractions from the sun through the stained glass windows. His shirt is a little wrinkled but otherwise neat, one of the sides untucked as his loose tie hangs from around his neck.

He’s even prettier in the daylight, you decide.

“I’m sorry lied to you this morning,” his voice drops a little bit, inflection careful as he looks at you, “I promise I won’t lie to you anymore, if that means anything.”

“Well, if I catch wind of you lying,” you start, sidestepping the swinging door of the counter to start walking towards the stage area, “I’ll make your life a living nightmare, I know where you get your coffee, sir.”

“Oh, not the coffee,” He holds his hands up in surrender, “I loved their dark roast, where else in the town am I supposed to get it?”

“That, mister, sounds like a you problem,” you want to see him smile more, is the first thing you think when he laughs, “but only if you get on my bad side.”

“Do you think going out for dinner sometime might put me on your good side?”

There are moments in life that can shatter and alter the way that you think and perceive things for the future. For instance, that one time a teacher had given you a recommendation on a book had jumpstarted your love of reading which had turned into a job with lovely friends. If not for that one teacher, who knew where you would be now, because life is funny and doesn’t work out the way you think it will when things aren’t set exactly in motion.

This is one of those moments, and you know it is, because as he asks you out on, assumably, on a date, you envision a life for yourself.

A life filled with moments and snapshots with Akaashi Keiji at your side. He kisses your cheek one morning as you both make coffee for each other, his hand is warm on the small of your back as he leads you through the grocery store, and his voice is loving as he whispers to you at night before you fall asleep.

Now, you’ve always been somewhat a romantic, but you think this is the first time you’ve ever envisioned a life like this upon a second meeting. As Akaashi waits for your response, face neutral but content, you smile to yourself.

“Yeah,” you respond, leaning close to bump your shoulder against his gently, “I think getting dinner might boost your standings with me.”

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