Request: “Hey, can you do and imagine for nr.1 with reader x Newt, please.” “Make me.”
Warning: Very slight smut | TMR | Word Count: 1,859 (Hope you like this, this was a pretty quick but fun write so I really hope you enjoy it too!)
The Glade felt like it was on fire. You shifted uncomfortably in your tank top, fanning yourself every few minutes in between your work. The sun was glaring angrily down today, bringing the Gladers into a slow, lazy lull by noon.
“Y/N!” You heard a hoarse voice call you from a distance. You already knew it was Newt, your closest and oldest friend in the Glade, so you didn’t bother to turn around. You were feeling much too tired.
“Y/N!” He called again, this time with a twinge of annoyance at your lack of response. You sighed heavily before turning and squinting unresponsively in his direction. He rolled his eyes, walking towards you steadily, before stopping right in front of you. “Y/N, what are you doing? It’s past noon, Fry needs the meat to start cooking. You’ve been workin’ on that shuckin’ animal for hours now.” He furrowed his brows in seriousness, though his ruffled sandy blond hair and soft brown eyes made it hard to take him seriously.
You sighed and looked at him carefully. “I’m on it, I’m on it… It’s just so shucking hot, Newt. I can barely focus.”
Newt eyed the sweat beading on the side of your face and the hair clinging to your forehead stubbornly. “Alright, love, finish what you’re working on and then go take a shower. That ought to cool you down.”
You huffed and began slicing up the last bits of meat, hurrying to get them to Frypan.
As soon as you stepped into the cold shower, you shuddered with relief, half shaking from the freezing sensation, and half relieved to finally feel clean again. You didn’t worry about being the only girl in the Glade, because you had, more than once, proved yourself capable of taking care of anyone who dared try anything with you. Sure it had landed you in the Slammer once or twice, but that was a small price to pay for being able to take a shower in peace. No one had ever bothered you when you were in there except…
“Y/N,” that same voice called out. You groaned. You had never been so annoyed to hear Newt in your entire time in the Glade.
“What now?” You yell angrily over your shower. “Can’t I just have one moment of peace today, Newt, at least in the shower?”
Newt paused to stand in front of the showers on the other side of the barrier, not facing your direction. “Fry said he asked you to slaughter two animals, but he’s short on meat for the bonfire tonight. Any idea why?”
You grumbled and turned off the shower, accepting you weren’t going to ever be able to properly finish it anytime soon. You grabbed the towel to your side and wrapped it around you before padding your way out to face Newt, glaring angrily. Newt awkwardly looked in your direction, trying not to glance below at your body, even though you two were usually comfortable with each other, being best friends.
“No, Newt, I have no idea why –” You stopped short as it hit you. You remembered that in your anticipation to take a shower you had forgotten the second chicken… “Shuck.” You muttered only, biting your lip.
Newt raised an eyebrow. “Something the matter, Y/N?”
You roughly pushed past him, colliding shoulders with his. “Nothing’s the matter, Newt,” you snapped. “Go away.”
“Y/N,” Newt warned slowly, lowering his voice slightly, though it became raspier than ever because he was so parched. The heat was clearly getting to him, too. “Y/N, come back here.”
You continued walking.
“Y/N, don’t you dare walk away from me!” Newt shouted at you, though you were already halfway to the Homesteads now.
You shrugged simply and waved sassily back. “Watch me, Newt!” You called back out to him.
As quick as a whip, Newt ran up to you, grabbing your arm and swinging you around to face him. “Y/N, I am your second in command, you will do as I say,” he ordered you roughly.
You made a face and pulled yourself out of his grasp. “Make me,” you challenged, sticking your tongue out at him, and before Newt could even react, you turned and started running in the opposite direction. You clung to your towel desperately, regretting not putting on clothes immediately. You swore to yourself, but refused to look back to see if Newt was gaining ground on you; he undoubtedly was: even with his limp, you were encumbered by the towel, forced to run slower. As his unmistakable footsteps began grow louder behind you, you flung yourself into your hut and shut the door, though you knew that couldn’t keep him out for long.
Newt pounded on the door in a split second. “Y/N! Don’t make me barge in there. I will drag you out of there myself if that’s what it takes to get you to finish your work.”
You smiled to yourself, suddenly overcome with a desire to embarrass Newt. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” you called out warningly in a sing-song voice. “My towel fell off, and I’m trying to get dressed…”
Newt immediately withdrew from the door, but was resilient. “I’m not falling for that, Y/N! I’m coming in there in one minute, and you better be dressed.”
You pouted, creeping closer to the door to taunt Newt. “But that’s not nearly enough time, Newt,” you whined. “But you already know that, don’t you?” You smiled wickedly.
Though you couldn’t see Newt flush, you could hear him falter. “Y/N, d-don’t be ridiculous - I know what you’re trying to do. I don’t care. If you’re not dressed, it’s your own shuckin’ fault.”
You shrugged, slipping out of the towel and leisurely started putting on your clothes. “Alright, but don’t be surprised if you see me n –”
The door to the hut burst open, but you were wearing only your underwear and a large t-shirt, that was barely reaching a couple inches into your thighs. You smiled victoriously, pleased to see Newt’s red face, clearly more embarrassed now than in the showers. It didn’t help Newt and you had always felt attracted to each other, even started falling for each other as you grew closer in friendship, but neither of you acted upon it because Alby forbid it. Now, seeing Newt’s eyes reluctantly trailing over your half-exposed body, it made you want to forget there were any rules in place.
Newt clenched his jaw and crossed his arms. “Go ahead,” he said in a hardened tone, trying to mask his obvious reaction at seeing you half-naked. “Get dressed.”
You raised an eyebrow incredulously. “Seriously?”
Newt gazed at you stonily, and only gestured for you to proceed getting dressed. You scoffed. You threw your jeans at him and flopped down onto your bed, sticking your tongue out again at him. You had pushed your luck too far. Newt closed the distance between the two of you in a flash, and climbed over you on your bed, pinning you down against the sheets. He glared at you with darkened eyes. “Do you think that I’m joking, Y/N?”
You panted slightly underneath him, unable to help but think this was the first time Newt had ever gotten on your bed. You had been on his plenty of times, but he had never been on yours. This was different. “Not anymore,” you replied breathlessly, afraid of what he would do next.
Newt nodded. “Good that. Now be a good girl and do as I say,” he growled at you roughly.
You smiled mischievously up at him, fully aware that he was still hovering over you, his face just inches from yours. If you just leaned up… “And what if I don’t?” you asked teasingly.
“I’ll punish you,” Newt said tonelessly.
You lifted yourself up slightly, meeting Newt’s cheek with yours, your lips brushing against the side of his face as you moved to whisper playfully in his ear. “I’d like to see you try,” you threatened, your lips pressed against his skin hotly.
Newt jerked back surprisedly, before his eyes filled with a new look of… lust. The wild, crazed desire finally unleashed within him, Newt grabbed you by the shoulder roughly and pushed you down against the bed, smashing his lips against yours. He kept you pinned down as he delved deeper into the kiss, your lips opening and parting to meet his. He pressed his tongue against your mouth, pulling away before giving you two hot kisses with tongue, each time exploring deeper and deeper. You gasped in order to catch your breath, taken aback by the suddenness and rushed manner of Newt’s kisses. He didn’t even give you a chance to catch your breath before lowering himself down on you again, pressing his lips to yours with a deep hunger you didn’t know he had in him.
You flicked his tongue with your own, moaning at his every touch. The blonde, instantly turned on by the sounds your moans, cupped your cheek, pulling you even closer to him, and you trailed your fingers up to tangle them within his disheveled hair. You smiled at his eagerness, and as your mouth twisted in victory you pulled away teasingly. Newt tried to lean down to kiss you but you merely turned your face slyly, laughing. Newt groaned in frustration and looked at you inquisitively, panting heavily. You watched him as his eyes followed you as you scooted back to the top of the bed. “It’s so easy to get you, Newt,” you giggled.
Newt raised his eyebrows in arrogant surprise. “Oh yeah? Sure about that, love?” He slowly crept forward and suddenly lunged to tackle you against the soft sheets, and though you laughed and tried to wriggle your way out of his grasp, Newt’s strong arms forced you against his hard chest.
You gasped for breath in between pouts and cried, “That’s no fair, Newt!” Newt smirked and flipped you over, releasing you playfully against the bed, running his hands up the side of your body until he reached your arms, which he moved up by your head and pinned your hands under his. He laced his long, rough fingers through yours and raked his teeth down the side of your neck, causing you to drop your head back against the sheets. You arched your back, surrendering yourself, as he lowered his wet kisses down your neck.
He paused, watching your eyelashes flutter and small, gasping breaths escape your lips. Seeing you crumble under his touch made him smirk, swelling his heart with pride that only he got to see you this way. “All’s fair in love and war, Y/N,” Newt whispered in your ear and pecked it with a small kiss after.
You smile and take his cheek into your hands, turning it to face his sweet caramel eyes towards you. “Well, if this is what a little war with you brings, I’m not complaining,” you winked and pulled Newt down to kiss him again.
(A/N) How goes my fellow nut busters? I’m jumping right onto the request train by giving you some fluffy and a little smutty study partner Taeyong! While our resident being of perfection may have enough sex appeal to shut down a male stripper convention, I think Taeyong/s sweeter side needs a bit more loving too. So I hope y’all enjoy this one because it was really fun to write!!
Staring out the window of your classroom like some angsty anime character was one of your favorite pastimes. You wished every waking hour you were in this hell hole of a school to be outside, riding your bike through the streets, picking flowers in the park, playing in the stream that ran through town, anything but this class.
It’s not like you were bad at writing and literature, in fact, you were exceptional, the brightest in your class. But you hated the teacher, hated what he made you write. You didn’t want to write about the characters in a Greek tragedy, you didn’t want to analyze Jane Austin, you wanted to write soaring stories about adventurers, magic, and romance. This class made you despise writing, and you loathed that, because writing was one of your secret passions.
It was a stormy night. Ravaging winds and eviscerating rain
had swept in from the West, following a summer of nothing but eternal sunshine
and hot spells. The skies were dark and swirling, and the road shone slick with
The old manor house stood largely unaffected, solid and
unwavering in the face of such an onslaught. The trees groaned, shifting with
the weight of the wind ploughing into their trunks, and there was a little
broom shed that’s foundations looked as though they would be pulled from the
earth and the wooden panels of the walls would go splintering. Other than that,
there was nothing.
Until a figure appeared out of nowhere.
It was largely unremarkable, for the wind made one’s eyes
hard to trust, but one minute there was solitude and silence, and with the next
bout of storm, a boy stood in its place.
He was relatively tall, though his body was racked, and he
was shivering violently. He ran with fear lacing his strides, clutching tightly
at the thick cloak wrapped around him and lugging after his heels an old
The boy stopped only when he got to the house, collapsing
against the doorway, gasping sharply for air. He knocked desperately.
There was no answer. Nobody even stirred.
But then, a light flickered on above him. And another. It
was like a game of dominos, each light lit quicker than the last, until the
door was flung open and a yellow warmth devoured him.
James Potter stood in the house, glasses shoved onto his
nose, tired eyes slowly widening. His hair was stuck up in all possible
Sirius tried to smile, but he could taste blood and knew it
was more of a grimace.
“Dear Merlin,” James whispered.
“I didn’t know where else to go,” Sirius offered quietly.
It was only then that James noticed the trunk behind him. He
didn’t waste another second, throwing the door wider and ushering his friend
inside, taking the trunk from his cold and clammy hands and hauling it into the
entryway. The door slammed shut behind them.
James had seen many things in the five years he’d spent
being friends with Sirius Black. He had seen him thrash around in the dead of
night, pleading to an invisible man to stop, flinching and crying out when they
didn’t. He had seen him determined and loving ferociously, stopping at nothing
to make sure that Remus Lupin was not alone when the rest of society seemed to
believe he should be. He had seen him cold, when the hatred burned through him,
black as his namesake and eyes. He had seen him euphoric and free, laughing
like nothing in the world could touch him and at one time, James had believed
that to be true.
He had never seen him like this.
Sirius’ eye was swollen, purple and bulging, protruding from
his ashen face like a stone from water. His lip was bust, still oozing blood,
and there was a bruise blossoming on his cheekbone, ugly and grey and pink.
James knew that if he lifted Sirius’ shirt, even a fraction, he’d see identical
bruises, like a meadow spreading up his skin.
He was shaking, trembling so vigorously, James was sure he
would burst. He was convinced that Sirius would explode and everything he’d
ever felt, everything he’d held inside of him, would come ricocheting out, all
the red and gold and black traversing through his veins.
whispered James, and he felt his throat close up. Without saying another word
(he wasn’t sure he could), he pulled the smaller boy into his arms, hugging him
so closely, so tightly, as if this embrace would make all of Sirius’ broken
parts fit back together. But then James wondered if he wasn’t whole to begin
The two boys stood there, clutching onto one another so
firmly they left marks. Sirius sobbed into James’ shoulder, fingers clenched
around the material of his pyjamas and James didn’t mind that he was now as
drenched and cold as the storm outside. His brother was safe in here, in his
arms, and if it meant he had to hold him for an eternity, James would do so in
“James, darling, what-?”
Euphemia Potter stopped at the foot of the stairs. She
breathed in sharply, and her words were lost.
“Sirius, love, is that you? What’s happened? What’s-? Oh my.”
She didn’t wait any longer, rushing over and she bundled
both boys into her arms, hugging them to her body as though they were till
children in need of a mother’s embrace, and she felt Sirius cling to her, melt
into her warmth.
Euphemia realised he had probably never felt the love of a
mother’s embrace before. She made sure to hug him tighter.
She patted his back to let her go, pulling away and wiping
at her eyes, sniffing resolutely. She cast a drying and warming charm on him,
smiling softly, holding his face tenderly in her hands. “Love, we need to get
you out of these clothes. You’ll freeze to death if not. James, run and get him
some of your pyjamas.”
James seemed hesitant to leave his friend, but his mother’s
eyes urged him and he set off at a sprint, returning mere seconds later with a
pair of clean Quidditch nightclothes, emblazoned with snitches and Puddlemere
United. Sirius hardly had the effort to jab at James’ shocking allegiances.
“Can you walk, dear?” Euphemia asked him, brushing away some
hair by his eyes. Though her face didn’t show it, she wanted to flinch at the
sight of him. A child. And yet, here he was, beaten and bloody, almost a pulp.
She tried to lead him upstairs, but he collapsed in her arms. “No, it’s okay.
We’ll get you on the settee for tonight and move you upstairs to your room
With James’ help, they gently led Sirius over to the settee,
and Euphemia procured blankets and pillows to wrap him up with. She flicked her
wand and a fire leapt in the hearth, bathing the room immediately in heat.
“I’ll just go and get some balm for his eye, and see if we
have any potions for his bruises. I-”
“Mum,” James cut her off.
She fell quiet and the two looked at the broken boy on their
settee. He had settled into the cushions, burrowing into their warmth, with the
blanket tucked right up to his chin. In the firelight, the purple of his face
made him look haunted, nearly dead. James’ throat clenched up at the thought
and he cast it away instantly, focusing instead on the steady rise and fall of
his brother’s chest.
Euphemia felt her heart melt. A sad smile formed at her
lips. “I’ll be right back.”
Luckily, because they had a son as danger prone as James,
their medical cupboard was well-stocked, and she was returning in no time with
the necessary balms and potions and a warm cloth to wipe away any blood, but as
she stepped back into their living room, she stopped in her tracks.
James had climbed under the covers beside Sirius, and was
snoring peacefully, the smaller boy tucked against his chest. He had his arm
draped over her son’s waist, and every now and then, his hand would seize into
a fist and he’d clutch the material of James’ shirt. James absently stroked
She and Fleamont had always had trouble having children.
They had thought, as old as they were, that they might be condemned to live in
a big, empty house, happy and in love, though missing something, missing the echoing of laughter and the high-pitched
glee that followed it, spiralling out of control, and yelling after ghosts that
sprinted down the hallways and slammed doors and made messes in the kitchen,
and trailed mud into the house after a day spent dancing in the rain-
The day she found out she was pregnant with James was the
happiest of her life, and though he was her blessing and her joy, it had come
at a cost, and she was warned that another childbirth would kill her. And so,
the dreams of a big family with several children had bubbled down to one child,
whom she loved with all her heart.
Now, however, she thought that wasn’t true.
She laid the tray of medicines down on the coffee table,
before quietly moving over to her boys. She pressed a lingering kiss to each of
their foreheads, and pulled the blanket further up, making sure it covered
Euphemia stopped in the doorway, looking back once more at
summary: your family past has left you insecure, and when you meet bucky barnes, you can’t get close to him because you think that you don’t deserve him
pairing: bucky x reader
word count: 1748 words
warnings: insecurity, slight angst, fluff
notes: a request, I’ll be answering your ask privately, I’m not sure if I interpreted it correctly, but I hope it’s okay!
Your life has been, frankly, a whirlwind, and some parts
of it have been great. Others, however, have left you wanting to shrink away
into the background. Mainly, you were never close to your family, and you never
really got along with them. To some, that may seem normal, but unfortunately,
they’ve messed you up. Maybe not on the outside, but definitely your mind has
become much more insecure from your upbringing. You don’t live with them
anymore, thank goodness, and that’s where your story takes an unexpected turn.
You began working for Pepper Potts, a woman who you
looked up to greatly, and your close friendship with her linked you to the
Avengers. They made great friends, and you trusted them with telling them all
your problems, they were a sanctuary. That is, until, James Barnes walked into
Summary:She calls Bucky by many different names. Each one portraying a different emotion, motive behind her words changing and telling with every utterance off her lips.
WC:2063. Guess it’s not really a drabble anymore.
A/N:Language and Angst in this one.I’m honestly not happy with this chapter and I’ve been stuck on it for days, but I figured it was time to power through because I basically have the rest of this stuff written in some form of random drafts. So here it is. Sorry. I’m also going to be closing tags after this chapter, so if you want to be tagged, please send me a message. They’re a little easier to keep track of then the comments section.
If Barnes was a knife she used to stab his psyche, then Buck might as well have been a machete. Buck was the name she used when anger consumed her. It was her mantra when she saw red and couldn’t be calmed; when rage spilled out through pursed lips, clenched fists, and a lack of restraint when it came to colorful language.
“I swear to god Buck, Tony is driving me insane. We need a fucking vacation…”
“What do you mean it’s too late for an epidural? Fuck you Buck, you are NEVER touching me again.”
more spy au for @badacts! andreil’s first meeting:
“Can you not stand behind me like that?” Neil says, turning to Agent Boyd. “You’re looming.”
Boyd shrugs, apologetic.
“Sure,” he says. He phrases it like a question. There’s a small huff from the receptionist leaning on the desk - it could be amusement or sympathy, with how Boyd towers over them both, but something about the flint-set of his eyes, the hook of his mouth in counterpoint to the cut of his jaw -
Yeah, Neil’s being laughed at. See, here’s the thing: Neil never quite learnt to sit and take shit from strangers. The only person who could ever mock him back into line was his mother, and she burnt up state lines and lifetimes away. All Neil had left was ashes on his forehead, a reverse blessing, sticking to his hands like tar.
“You pull this on everyone?” he says, and he makes his voice mean.
“Sorry?” Boyd says, his eyes puppy-wide.
“I wasn’t talking to you,” Neil tells him. “I was talking to your friend.”
The receptionist - or rather, the man who really, really wants Neil to think he’s a receptionist - blinks once, black-clad and lizard-slow. His smile slips up, just a fraction.
“Oh,” Boyd says. “You’re - are you talking about Andrew?”
prompt: We’re roommates and I heard you crying in the shower when I came home, are you okay? pairing: destiel tags: roommates, hurt/comfort, angst, burgers cw a/n: part one,
wrote this during my writing livestreams. thanks to everyone who joined, you’re amazing <3
Shopping bags bounce against Dean’s legs as he runs up the stairs. He doesn’t work out as much as he used to, so the elevator might have been a better idea. Instead, he tries to look tough and take all five stairs without ending up like an asthmatic rhino. He takes a few deep breaths when he ends up in front of his door with a red, sweaty face. He fumbles with the keys for a while, cursing under his breath because they’re slippery between his fingers. Still cursing a little, he enters the small hall which is just large enough to get in a coat rack. He puts down the bags so he can slip off his leather jacket and hang it next to Cas’ trenchcoat.
“Hey!” He calls, but there’s no response. Maybe Castiel is focused on his school work again, or found a book in the library that he didn’t already know. Dean brings in the shopping bags himself, muttering he would’ve preferred a little help. Once he is in the kitchen and leans against the counter, he hears the sound of rushing water coming from the bathroom. He can use a shower right now too, so he decides to take a shower once Cas is finished.
Humming some AC/DC song, he begins putting away the groceries. He bought ingredients for burgers, a little surprise for his roommate because he passed his English test. It was no surprise to Dean, but Castiel had been worrying the entire week. Dean forgave all his grumpiness days ago. But Cas apologised so many times yesterday that Dean wants to show him it’s fine that he was a bit absent-minded and pettish. To be fair, it’s actually kinda cute when he’s frowning and his hair is a mess because he keeps running his hands through it.
Castiel normally doesn’t shower so long. At first, Dean doesn’t pay attention to it, but once he puts away the last bottle of coke, it occurs to him that Cas has been in there for more than five minutes now, and he was already in there when Dean got home. A little hesitant at first, Dean walks over to the bathroom and carefully knocks.
“Cas, buddy, you okay in there?” No answer. Dean frowns and knocks again. He puts his ear against the door, but that doesn’t really work. Just as he’s about to knock again, he hears a sound that’s definitely not the shower. It’s a sob, soft and weak. But Dean is sure, even though he never heard Cas cry before. Castiel is crying.
Absolutely! I’ve never written these two together before, but I really enjoyed imagining them meeting, and it did become shippy
¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Thanks for the prompt!
The first thing Oikawa notices are his lips, the upward slant of them, crooked and teasing. He doesn’t like it. It feels off balance. It suggests that there are things this dark-haired boy knows that Oikawa does not. He hates that feeling.
“Who is that, Iwa-chan?” he asks, tipping his chin just slightly in the direction of the lanky boy who has caught his attention.
“Kuroo-san?” Iwaizumi says, as if that name should mean anything to Oikawa. “He’s their captain. Middle blocker. You didn’t watch their tapes?”
In retrospect, maybe inviting you over to his apartment with the excuse that he ‘needed a favor’ hadn’t been the brightest idea Jungkook has ever come up with. But when the basis of your relationship sprouts from that exact same line, it doesn’t really leave him with too much legroom on how to go about conversations with you, especially ones that involve these particular moments.
‘These particular moments’ pertaining to instances like these where he just really wants to see you and he can’t seem to get you out of his mind. Not because his mother had thought to call again to ask about your wellbeing, or to ask about grabbing another lunch with another family member; not because he needs you to spew up some lie about different milestones in a nonexistent relationship—but because he just really, really, kind of sort of maybe really enjoys your company. A lot more than he probably should, which is dangerous, considering that once his parents deemed his relationship with you ‘good enough’, you wouldn’t necessarily be… needed in his outside life anymore.
And that thought, that uncertainty of what will follow, frightens him deeply. It’s gotten to the point where he can no longer picture an evening without you by his side, a dinner party where you aren’t grumbling snarky remarks about the wine underneath your breath, or filling him with stories about your childhood that makes him double over the chair in laughter—can no longer picture a day without your hands which, although much smaller than his own, still manage to fit perfectly in his own, can no longer picture a moment in front of his family where he couldn’t kiss you, partly because he had to but mostly just because he wanted to.
when i got the idea for this i got so excited, i wrote it up so fast lol anyways i hope you enjoy it and if you want a part two let me know x
It had been about a month and a half since school started, and I had a parent/teacher conference with Mason’s teacher. I showed up early, and as I walked down the hall to his classroom I heard his class singing the clean up song. I smiled as I got to the door, seeing all of the kids happily singing as they cleaned up their messes, cheering once the room had been cleaned.
I saw Mason’s teacher, and noticed he was wearing a red floral print shirt, one that most people probably wouldn’t be able to pull off, yet it looked great on him. He was tall, with short brown hair, and though I could barely see his eyes from across the room while at the door, I could still tell how pretty they were.
“Alright everyone, fingers on lips, please.” The teacher said, putting his index finger to his mouth and the students followed suit as they quieted down, then sat in their seats.
“Now, before you go make sure your field trip paper is in your take-home folders, as well as your matching homework. They are both very important. I would like both of them back tomorrow, but if you can’t get the field trip paper back tomorrow it’s okay. As long as I get it by friday.”
Just then, the bell rang and everyone got their backpacks and left for the bus, the teacher saying his goodbyes to them as they did so. I walked in and Mason beamed as he saw me, running to me and hugging me tightly.
“Hey sweetie, did you have a fun day today?” I asked him.
“Yeah!” He said excitedly, pulling away to look at me. “We learned about seasons today.”
“Wow, how fun!” I smiled.
“You must be Mason’s Mum,” His teacher said as he approached us, shaking my hand. I immediately noticed how gorgeous he was up close, but I quickly pushed the thought away.
“The kids call me Mr. Styles, but you can call me Harry.”
“Hi Harry, I’m (y/n).” I replied.
I started to get butterflies as his hand lingered a bit on mine before he pulled away.
Harry bent down in front of Mason. “Hey, Mase, do you want to go draw a picture while I talk to your Mum?”
I thought it was cute that he’d only been Mason’s teacher for a short amount of time, yet he called him by his nickname.
Mason agreed, going to his desk as Harry brought him some paper and crayons. I then followed him to a table in the back of the room, sitting across from him.
“So, before you ask, Mason’s not in trouble,” Harry assured me.
“I just figured we should talk, as you couldn’t make it to orientation.”
I smiled sheepishly. “That makes sense. I’m so sorry I couldn’t come.”
“No need to apologize, I completely understand.” He smiled.
“Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to ask you questions like I’ve asked the other parents. Just to get a sense of how things are for my students outside of school to see if we need to adjust things here.” He explained.
I nodded. “Ask away,”
He chuckled lightly. “So, what is Mason’s home life like? Does he have any siblings?”
“Well, his home life is fine. And no, it’s just me and him. He doesn’t have any siblings and his father isn’t exactly… around.” I said, looking at hands.
Harry frowned. “Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that.”
“It’s fine, I’m managing on my own. I’d rather it just be me and Mason than having to deal with drama or visitation stuff. With me working, it would be so difficult to get him back and forth like that.”
“Do you have a babysitter for him?” Harry asked next.
I sighed. “I did, but she quit recently.”
Harry all but frowned again, then said, “Well, if you ever need someone to watch him after school or on the weekends then I’ll gladly do so.”
“Oh no, I couldn’t.” I waved him off.
“I’m sure you’re already busy as it is, and you technically already watch him five days a week anyways.”
Harry smiled. “Exactly, so what’s a few more hours here and there?”
I laughed, him joining in. “Thank you, I really appreciate it.”
Of course my son’s teacher had to be one of the most beautiful, sweet guys I’d ever met.
“It’s no problem,” He said as he pulled his phone out, tapping on the screen, and handed it to me. “Put your number in for me.”
I obliged, grabbing my phone and pulling up my contacts so he could do the same. Then we returned each other’s phones.
“Thanks for coming in,” Harry said nicely.
I grinned. “It’s no problem, it was nice meeting you.”
“The pleasure’s all mine,” He smiled back.
We looked over at Mason, who looked content as he drawled. I looked back at Harry and he was already looking at me, an adorable look on his face. As we looked at each other, a feeling washed over me, one that I couldn’t quite put words to. But the moment was interrupted as Mason came up to us.
“Momma, Mr. Styles, look at my drawing!” He said eagerly. It was a picture like most kids would draw of their family, everyone holding hands, except it was of Harry, Mason, and I. My eyes got wide, and I looked at Harry to see how he reacted. I expect him to look slightly uncomfortable, but instead, there was a big smile on his face. I mentally sighed as I looked at the picture again. It was honestly really cute. And I couldn’t help but think that it looked so… complete.
thank you for reading, if you have any other imagine ideas feel free to request them, requests are always open x
Prompt 9 between Bruce and Bat Fam where perhaps Bruce was magically transformed into something else, be it angst or comedy. I need more fic with Bruce bonding with his kids.
This didn’t turn into exactly what you wanted, and I’m sorry about that. But I have some problems working with specific prompts like this sometimes. I swear my fingers have minds of their own sometimes. I hope you still enjoy!
This is set a few weeks after Bruce comes back from being lost in time.
“How many times have I told you not
to run down the stairs, Dick?” Bruce says when he hears feet stomping down into
the Cave. His head is pounding something fierce, and he’s lying on a medical
cot. Must have gotten hurt on patrol then. Wouldn’t be the first time. He only
pushes himself up when the steps falter at the bottom of the stairs, and then
Because that’s not Dick. That’s—he doesn’t
know who that is, but it’s not his
son. A young man, maybe seventeen or eighteen, with dark hair and blue eyes
that sport dark shadows underneath, is standing at the bottom of the steps. He’s
also extremely pale, and he’s staring at Bruce like he’s just seen a ghost.
“Who—” is all Bruce manages to get
out before the other cuts him off.
“I’m just gonna go get—get Alfred
and the others,“ the teen says, blinking rapidly. And before Bruce can respond
(like ask how the hell this guy knows Alfred, or why he’s in Bruce’s secret cave), he’s gone. Up the stairs
and into the manor.
It takes a few minutes for Bruce to
make himself move from the medical cot and tumble over to the stairs. He’s just
about to try and go up them when the clock above him opens and he hears a
Bruce’s vision wavers, and only
once he steadies himself does he look up to find—Dick. But not Dick. Because
Dick is eleven years old, and this man is clearly only a few years younger than
Bruce himself is. If that.
“Dick?” he asks, his brow
furrowing, and No-Dick supports him when he wavers again, leading him back over
to sit on the cot. “Or are you—you can’t be John.”
Not-Dick sucks in a sharp breath,
and no. Bruce would know those bright blue eyes anywhere. This is Dick. This is
his son. But somehow, he’s in his twenties, not his little boy who’d just
celebrated his eleventh birthday. It looks like Dick’s aged fifteen years in a
night, and that’s when Bruce’ circling mind really starts working overtime.
Unlike Brothers | The Tomarry I Blame on MistiCon We started talking about tom/harry at Misti, and I said the only way it would work for me would be if Harry got thrown back in time and they grew up in the orphanage together. And I’m sure that’s been done to death, but I started another one. Not sure how far I’ll take it.
When Aurors and inspectors and Order members arrived they found James and Lily Potter horribly dead, Sirius Black laughing with the hysteria of the mad, and no trace of Voldemort.
That’s canon. The papers said that. People raised toasts to that, and to The Boy Who Lived. The horror was over. The wizarding world could move on.
What everyone in the know decided to cover up was that the baby was missing too.