Levi sneers at the bowl Kenny sets before him. “This looks so bad it’s already giving me the shits.”
“Listen hear, you little cuss, you said you were hungry so I made you dinner.” It’s only defrosted and reheated leftovers of some questionable casserole the old lady downstairs made Kenny nearly a year ago, but still. It’s something. “And it looks just fine,” Kenny grumbles.
“If I eat it, I’ll probably die. Do you want to kill me?”
“…Mom would have at least made it look good.”
“Well, I’m not your ma.”
“Yeah, you’re a pile of shit, just like this food.”
“If you’re not gonna eat it, I’ll just pitch it.”
Kenny reaches out to take the bowl back. Levi makes an indignant noise and pulls the bowl closer, dips his spoon it, and shoves some of it into his mouth. He chews with a scowl on his face, staring at Kenny the whole time. He swallows loudly when he’s done.
“I’ve been poisoned,” he says before taking another bite.
Kenny snorts. Kids. He grabs a beer from the fridge and sits in the chair on the other side of the table, cracks the can open and takes a long swallow.
Out of all the jobs Kenny’s had over the years, he never thought babysitter would be one of them. There’s no one else to watch Levi, though. The dad has been M.I.A since he knocked Kuchel up. Fucking deadbeat. Kuchel herself works three jobs and is barely home. Kenny gives her credit for lasting so long on her own. She only came to him for help a few months ago, face tired, eyes desperate. And Kenny had caved. He may be an asshole, but he’s an asshole that loves his little sister.
“Aren’t you going to eat anything?”
Kenny looks at Levi. Despite his complaints he’s already nearly done. “I’m having a sandwich in a can,” he answers.
Levi furrows his brows and frowns. “They make those?”
“Sure do.” Kenny holds up his beer and takes a sip.
“Is that all you ever have? No wonder your bathroom smells like acid after you piss.”
“You have a foul mouth for a seven year old, you know that?”
Levi shrugs, goes back to eating. Kenny drinks more beer. When Levi is done he hops off of his chair and drags it to the sink, then he climbs back up with his dishes and washes them. Levi’s just finished putting them away when the click of the doorknob turning signals the arrival of Kuchel. It’s the most excited Kenny’s seen Levi look all night - he scampers quickly out of the kitchen yelling “Mom!” with a smile on his face - and Kenny would be lying if he said it didn’t sting a little.
He finishes off his drink and stands, follows Levi to the door and watches as Kuchel squeezes him in a tight hug, peppering his face with kisses until he starts to squirm in embarrassment.
“How was he?” Kuchel asks when Kenny walks up.
“Fine. He knows some…colorful words.”
“Course he does, he hangs out with you all the time. You swear worse than a sailor.”
“Bull fucking shit.”
Kuchel gives him an exasperated look.
“Okay, so you might have a point.”
She rolls her eyes. “Go get your stuff, baby,” she says to Levi, who nods and goes over to the small coffee table in front of the couch to start packing away his things. “You’re still okay to pick him up from school tomorrow, right?”
Kenny hums. “You should take off once in awhile. He misses you.”
“I miss him, too,” she says as she watches Levi neatly place his notebooks in his backpack one by one, “but I’m doing this for him. I want him to do better than us, Kenny.”
Kenny glances around at his sad excuse for an apartment - the peeling wallpaper, the worn-away carpet, the yellowing curtains, the window he fixed with duct-tape after a branch came through it last winter.
“Suppose the brat deserves it.”
“I’m ready,” Levi says, padding back into the room as he slings his backpack over his shoulder. He grabs Kuchel’s hand, then looks up at Kenny. “See you tomorrow, you big shit.”
“See you tomorrow, you little shit.”
“You two,” Kuchel sighs, but she has a small smile on her face.
Can you do TodoMomo confession? I want her to pick up advice from the girls and do something cute, like a love letter!
Note: Thanks! I was inspired by some of the official art including this oneso I decided to add the girls cooking! I decided to do something other than a letter though. It’s fluffy…Enjoy!!!
In which Yaoyorozu bakes him cookies and leaves him a card.
sure you don’t want to add seaweed this time?”
Jirou, you never let me live it down after that ONE time I thought we needed
her arms, “we were making cheesecake last time, Yaomomo.”
The girls of class A were having
an emergency meeting at Yaoyorozu’s house. The creation heroine, after what
felt like an eternity according to Ashido, messaged the others to go over to
her place in order to ‘discuss something’. The other girls, undoubtedly so,
were confused as to why they couldn’t gather in their dorm rooms as usual but
Ashido kept insisting that her intuition told her it was definitely about
Yaoyorozu’s long time crush. Despite the numerous times the vice-president of
the class furiously denied this claim, Ashido felt something was going on
between her and a certain classmate.
And was Ashido ever wrong?
Jirou stopped for a second and
noticed Tsuyu and Ashido reading the ingredients list beside Yaoyorozu while
meticulously trying to identify what exactly the dark-haired girl just added.
Ashido started, “You’re sure that was cocoa?”
course it was! It was brown!” Yaoyorozu looked slightly irritated, “Could you
guys trust me a little more?”
Yaoyorozu frowned when a little
bit of the dough spilt out onto the counter. Everyone knew she was the best in the class
and one of the smartest students to set foot in UA, but the girl’s horrible sense
in cooking was so pathetic she made Jirou’s leftover casserole look like a
“So now that these are almost done,”
Yaoyorozu shoved the bowl into the freezer and wiped her forehead with the back
of her hand, leaving a small streak of cooking reminiscence in powder form
along the way, “I really want to ask for your opinion….on how to write a love
letter…” Her voice was uneasy and she tilted her head up to look for a reaction
from the others and was welcomed with thoughtful smiles.
“I think Yaomomo should draw a
lot of hearts and write about how much he means to her,” Ashido was the first
to blurt out her suggestion. As the acid heroine was putting her hands on her
hips, Yaoyorozu fished out a pen and notepad from her pocket and began to
furiously note down every single word.
“And I mean pouring your heart
out!” Ashido almost cried out her last point and at that, Yaoyorozu’s face
reddened but she kept nodding, her pen still moving in a frenzy.
Tsuyu looked over, doing her
usual finger-to-chin gesture and commented in a courteous voice, “I agree with
Ashido, but I think it would be better to add something more ‘Yaomomo-like’
in the letter. It would really add something special, I think.”
Yaoyorozu tapped the end of the
pen against the page a few times, pondering about Tsuyu’s valuable opinion and
Jirou turned her head over to her before giving the others a quick glance, “I’d
suggest something like song lyrics?”
Uraraka grinned at that, “Ya! I
think lyrics are so romantic, that’s perfect!”
“Or even a poem!” Hagakure’s
gloves in socks lifted off the air showing her joy, “Yaomomo, didn’t you
mention how you used to be president of a poem reading club back in middle
Yaoyorozu leaned back against the
counter and looked up from her notepad, “Ya, that sounds like a good idea.”
Taking a sip of water, she paused.
“The biggest problem though,”
Yaoyorozu put down her mug with a clink. Something else was irking her and her mouth
formed a thin line.
“I’m not sure how to give it to him.”
next morning came as fast as the night receded and Todoroki was sure the box on
top of his desk must have been a prank of some sort. Curiosity got the better
of him though, and as he approached his seat, he held the quaint white box in
his palm and lifted the lid up.
chocolate aroma drafted out of the box subsequently and he looked around to
observe the others as to gain a clue. He cocked a brow.
he looked over, pulling the last coat sleeve off of him after dropping the box
down, “did you see who put this here?”
His friend walk across the room, “No
I didn’t. What’s inside?”
the boy answered, fixing his collar.
Midoriya quickly covered his mouth, “A girl must have left it for you,
Todoroki!” He scanned the room, “I actually just came to the classroom a little
before you did. Maybe we could ask around to see who put it here.” He closed
his eyes, doing a signature rambling session by himself for a few seconds, and
stopped abruptly, eyeing as the boy beside him moved the box around in a
Midoriya took a step closer to take a look, “is there anything else inside?”
A card that
was snuggled underneath the baked goods peeked through, and Todoroki pulled it
out without hesitation and turned it over.
there’s today’s date at the top….and also a poem,” Todoroki skimmed it over, “It’s
Shakespearean I think, not sure though, not that fond of that kind of a thing.”
He flipped it around, searching for more, “By the looks of it, a girl wrote
this. But she didn’t sign it.”
seemed nonplussed and closed the box right before pushing it into his desk, “I
guess I’ll deal with this later. I’m not too interested in seeing who left this
here. For all I know, it could have been poisoned.”
to him, Yaoyorozu was watching far from her seat, pondering as to why he didn’t
bother to take a bite out of the cookies. Her shoulder slumped, looking
defeated, and after taking a deep breath, she continued her Vice-President
duties, writing the day’s agenda on the chalkboard.
the class, the girl would shift her gaze over to the boy sitting next to her to
see if anything has changed, but her gift to him still lied unloved inside the
dark caverns of his desk. By the end of the day, Yaoyorozu’s solemn expression was
branded onto her and it wasn’t until she told the girls about the morning’s
incident that she felt a teeny bit better. Her friends waved goodbye after some
warm encouragement and they parted ways; Jirou saying how she had to make sure
Kaminari mastered English literature by midnight while the others wanted to do some
grocery shopping before heading back to their dorm. Yaoyorozu sent them a smile
half-heartedly, clutching a strap of her backpack as she did so and trekked
peacefully through the streets of their campus alone.
until she felt a tap on her shoulder that she realized someone was behind her.
girl stopped dead in her tracks as a few cherry blossom petals fell at her
feet, and she turned around, trying as hard as she could to summon a bout of
she said, faking a smile, “you’re heading back now too?”
was his response and he walked beside her, not once giving her a glance.
usual silence conquered their path and Yaoyorozu distracted herself by
analyzing the beautiful landscape. He, however, had something else
for the cookies.”
heart skipped a beat.
awhile to figure out that it was you,” He continued and he didn’t catch the
hitch of her breath that released her from her tension, “I read your writing on
the board every single day so I should have known earlier, but who else looped
their 2s and crossed their 7s like that on their dates.”
put my name…?” She mumbled to herself, stunned, and gradually recalled her blunder. She paid no heed to Todoroki’s hidden smirk as her face grew warm from affection.
time, I’d suggest to sign it,” he said, and swiftly unzipped his bag to yank
her box out, “and also to use less chocolate and more flour.”
opened the box and the contents surfaced. She gasped at the horror, looking as
if she was looking at a crime scene. The cookies became puddles of brown goo
and no identifiable shape was present.
She said in disbelief. All the hard work gone to waste!
melancholic ring of her voice goaded Todoroki to pull out the spoon in his bag,
and the girl observed as he scooped a spoonful into his mouth.
“Still tastes good though,” he
noted appreciatively and began to scoop another. This time, he pushed
it in front of Yaoyorozu.
The girl’s jaw dropped at his
“Do you want to try it?” He said,
oblivious to the ramifications of what he implied, and the girl took a few
steps back in embarrassment.
“What?!” She had to calm herself
down, “We would be sharing a …sharing a spoon!”
An indirect kiss? She thought as she covered her flushed face in
her hands and detected Todoroki’s apathetic stare.
“Fine,” she finally gave in, eyes
looking downwards and took the spoon. She gagged at the taste. Whatever she
added was definitely not cocoa. How was the boy in front of her
enjoying any of this disgusting sludge?
“Throw it away,” she said, voice lacing with disappointment, “It
tastes horrible. I shouldn’t have made anything. I have the worst cooking
skills ever.” She tried to snatch it away from his hands, but he turned it away
“I like it,” he stated simply,
eyes locking onto hers, and the passion in her eyes betrayed her as he leaned
forward, “How does the poem go again?”
“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s
day-” She started shyly but he cut her off. Yaoyorozu’s heart hammered against her ears.
“Right,” he stopped for a bit,
examining the tug of her lips, and continued, looking like he was cautiously rolling the next words around on the tip of his tongue before letting it escape.
“Thou art more lovely and more
His response lingered for
a moment and her eyes twinkled, surprised that he even remembered. Watching as
a trail of cherry blossom petals rained down around them, the girl swallowed hard.
“I’ve…I’ve admired you for a long time, Todoroki,” she said, “if you could understand…from what I did…I just wanted to show you how much I appreciated your help. And..and..” This was too nerve wracking and as she stuttered, Todoroki bent down to place the box beside where he was.
“Yaoyorozu,” he let his hand rest on the back of neck, “Don’t be so nervous.”
He took both of her hands in his.
“Show me some of your favourite poems tomorrow.” He cleared his throat twice, attempting to break the awkwardness. He’s never done this before, but he knew she hasn’t either. It’s only fair for him to share some of her burden, even though there was nothing for her to worry about.
“Maybe over some coffee and cake down by the bookstore?”
Yaoyorozu lips widened into a delightful grin and nodded at his proposal.
“I’d like that,” she answered, feeling engrossed by the new feeling of his touch, “I’d like that a lot, Todoroki.”
It’s been over six months now, and there’s no reason for him to turn into a pile of mush whenever Levi compliments him, but he does anyway. He admits to himself that this is a thing that happens to him, and now that he’s acknowledged it, surely it will become less of an issue.
Turning into a pile of mush is still manageable, but the unmistakable arousal that also washes over him is most inconvenient.
- - -
ahahaahsad have i ever told you guys about my massive love for ereri fics with praise kink?? no? srsly i will marry u and have ur babies for ereri praise kink. i’ll sell my own grandma for ereri praise kink, idec.
this is set a while after dental care, but since all that’s here is mostly plotless frickle-frackling, you don’t have to be familiar with what happened previously. this also got way longer than expected and, as usual, contains an obscene amount of fluff bc that is what i’m all about. i’ve never written smut before, so do give me constructive feedback if something comes to mind!! < 3
there is mature content under the readmore, so proceed with caution.
aight finally got something your prompt requests. How about a PIdgance magical girl/superhero au?
Man this ended up way longer than planned! Just for fun, I decided this takes place in the same setting as my Kallura Superhero AU Thanks to @isabeau25 and Hubby I got other headcanons for this AU which I’ll probably post in a separate post. For now, the fic!
Title: Caught You
Series: Voltron Legendary Defender
Characters: Pidge and Lance
Summary: The last thing Lance expected to find on his way home was a superhero caught up in a tree.
Lance’s brain desperately needed a reboot. It could be the only logical explanation for what he was seeing. Running into the local super hero Evergreen after finishing his practice at the pool?
Naw, that wasn’t so odd when Lance thought about it. Evergreen was a common sight at the university. It was a popular theory among the student body that he either worked or attended there.
Seeing Evergreen hanging upside down from a tree with his cape caught in the branches? Yeah, that was a bit bizarre. The guy was suppose to be a huge plant lover, and a natural for climbing trees. It was like watching a cat attempt to land on it’s feet and completely screwed up near the end. Lance discreetly took a photo because frankly it was funny. It was an opportunity he just couldn’t pass up.
Sometimes it’s using a cool whip tub to hold leftovers until the day the lid cracks. Or having mismatched dishes rather than buying a whole new set. Or an edible but not-so-delicious leftover casserole. Sometimes it looks like poverty, because the poor are often the best at reuse and making the most of what they have.
There’s a lot of prettiness in solarpunk, and that’s great in a fantasy setting, but it’s important to maintain your ideals even when it doesn’t look so nice
Another piercing wail rips through
Harry’s flat as he paces back and forth and Teddy’s face turns redder in a
non-metamorphmagus related change. He
sighs in frustration, running his hand over Teddy’s back, and the baby quiets
for a moment, drawing a shuddering breath before his cries resume. “Teddy please. What is it, little man?”
He walks Teddy toward the entryway and miraculously hears a
knock at the door over the din. Pausing,
Harry presses his eye to the peephole and finds his elderly neighbor on the
Harry glances toward Teddy’s luckily mousy brown mop and
tugs the door open with an apologetic smile.
“I’m sorry, Millie. Little Ted’s
having a rough go of it.”
The older woman adjusts her deep blue cardigan and brushes
aside his explanations and gestures toward his flat. “Could I come in? I’ve more experience with little ones than you
Millie was the first neighbor he’d met when he moved in, and
Harry had accompanied her on trips to the market on more than one
occasion. She also had a tendency to
drop by with leftover casseroles and roasts she just happened to have, although Harry knew from their shared outings
Millie made it a habit to overbuy and bluster past his protestations.
Grinning sheepishly, Harry holds the door open for her and
she settles onto the couch comfortably as Teddy’s whimpers continue. “I’ll assume you’ve done all the usual things
– nappy, feeding, burping?”
Harry nods his assent and she considers him for a
moment. “You may want to try the kangaroo method.”
His brow furrows in question and Millie smiles kindly, “I
was a midwife, back in my youth. Haven’t
practiced in a long while, but I know my babies.”
Tugging the rocking chair from the corner, Harry presses a
comforting kiss to Teddy’s flushed forehead and nods for Millie to explain. “Kangaroos?”
She laughs lightly, “Skin to skin contact sometimes makes
the baby calm. He’ll hear your heart
beat and feel comforted by the warmth.
Among other things you likely don’t care about.”
“So he’ll stop crying if I-” Harry cuts off, blushing at the
thought of disrobing in front of his neighbor, and Millie catches his
“Don’t you worry, dear.
I’ll be off so you can try my theory.
He should go down to his nappy, and you’ll need to take off your
jumper. Skin to skin.” And she’s off
with a wink and a wave, calling out reminders about their trip to the shops on
As soon as he twists the lock on the door, Harry’s already
settling Teddy on the couch while he strips himself of his jumper and t-shirt
before removing Teddy’s onesie. “Worth a
Gently, Harry lifts Teddy to his now bare shoulder; the
baby’s tiny ear pressed over his heart, and miraculously, Teddy’s steady cries
slow to quiet hiccups. “That’s it mate.”
He’s swaying and absentmindedly singing one of Celestina
Warbeck’s ballads Mrs Weasley loves so much when the floo flares behind
him. “Well isn’t this a pleasant surprise.”
Blushing, Harry turns to find Ginny slowly drinking his
semi-clad state in with a smirk. Until
she notices Teddy’s glassy eyes. “Teddy
Bear have a rough day?”
She brushes a kiss over Teddy’s pale head, then gives
Harry’s cheek the same treatment before she disappears in search of the loo.
By the time Ginny returns, Harry’s already settled him into
his cot and pulled the door shut with a quiet snick. He’s pulling his
t-shirt back on and Ginny sighs dejectedly, “Don’t get dressed on my account.”
Harry laughs and slumps back onto the couch, pulling his
jumper from behind him where it’s bunched uncomfortably against the
cushions. For the first time in an hour
it’s quiet and his arms aren’t juggling a wiggly and highly unhappy baby, so he
melts into the worn fabric, green eyes disappearing behind his lids.
Blindly, he stretches a hand toward where he thinks his girlfriend still stands and
soon enough she’s tucked into his side.
Her steady breaths are brushing across his collarbone when he mumbles
hesitantly, “Y’really like it?”
Ginny pushes back, hand on his thigh, and Harry opens his
eyes to find her questioning gaze resting on him. “Really like what?”
Whatever sleep deprived haze gave him the momentary courage
to broach the topic seems to have abandoned him and Harry stumbles for some
plausible alternative answer but he’s never been able to scramble successfully
when Ginny’s brown eyes pin him in place.
“My – you know.”
Lips twitching, Ginny refuses to relent, “I’m afraid I
“My body,” Harry
barely whispers, and Ginny gapes at him wordlessly. His flush rises in full blast and he starts
to pull away but Ginny’s freckled hands pin him in place, squeezing at his
shoulders. “Did you really just
ask me that?”
Slowly, carefully, Ginny settles her
knees on either side of his hips, “Perhaps show
would be better than tell.”
ok this is a very minor nitpick and I’m aware of that but one of my biggest pet peeves is the misuse of the phrase “let alone”
if you’re using it in the form “negative claim about x, let alone y,” y is more intense or extreme than x. “negative claim about x, let alone y” implies that while “negative claim about y” is true, “negative claim about y” goes without saying because “negative claim” applies to similar but much less extreme situations, such as “x.”
My roof won’t stay watertight in a light summer rain, let alone a hurricane. I can’t read my own handwriting, let alone the tiny cursive in this historical diary. No one should be able to get away with saying that, let alone the president. I don’t like when two foods touch on my plate, let alone your everything-leftover-casserole. He gets dizzy when he stands at the top of a short flight of stairs, let alone on the roof of a skyscraper.
I made this chocolatey, decadent enchilada casserole using leftover mole sauce. The mole recipe I posted last week makes a big pot of sauce. If you use it for baked chicken like I did, you only need about a cup and a half of it, so you’ll have plenty leftover for another dish or two. It’s great with scrambled eggs & tortillas, or over crispy tortilla chips as a chocolatey chilaquiles type dish. But this post is about using it to make enchiladas.
I used leftover cooked chicken in my enchiladas, but you can fill your enchiladas with anything you like and nobody can stop you. You might try grilled tempeh, tofu, black or pinto beans, corn, rice, bell peppers, or any greens you might have on hand like spinach or Swiss chard. And of course you can always add some cheese. And some on top. Unless you’re on a diet, then maybe don’t. Or maybe tell your diet to fuck away. Cheese enchiladas are so bad for you sincerely delicious.
It’s easy to make a quick cheater version Mole using the Mole sauce they sell in a flip top jar in the Mexican food aisle. If you do it that way, just sauté some onion and garlic in a sauce pan, add the Mole paste, and then some enchilada sauce or canned tomato sauce, and maybe a little wine or chicken stock to thin it while it simmers. It will thicken back up. It’s not really cheating, you’re cooking, but it’s way faster than doing the whole thing from scratch. The home made version is infinitely more flavorful though. But, the kind in the jar is ok if you doctor it up with fresh ingredients.
Heat oven to 375
Heat corn tortillas on both sides in a dry hot pan
Roll any cooked chicken, pork, tempeh, veggies, peppers, cheese or greens into corn tortillas. Place in a casserole dish. Cover with enchilada mole sauce, top with shredded cheese and bake. Serve with rice and green salad.
Description: Stiles, the nerd he is, makes note cards in preparation to ask out a girl, but things go awry when Scott comes over to check on him.
Warnings: None :)
Stiles sat in the middle of his room surrounded by index cards, head in hands. Every few minutes he would mumble to himself, grab a new card and start scribbling. Some cards went into a neat stack beside his left leg, but most were scattered everywhere else out of frustration. It wasn’t unusual for the boy to be in this situation, so when Scott walked in the room and sat on his best friends bed, he wasn’t startled by the familiar sense of card stock being crushed beneath his bottom.
However, he was startled when he picked one up and began to read. Lines and lines and lines of cheesy pickup tricks littered the floor.
“Stiles,” Scott said. The boy only grunted in return, too busy to be bothered by his best friend.
Amused, Scott realized that Stiles had probably been working on this all night.
“Stiles.” Scott said a little more firmly. This time, Stiles threw a balled up index card at Scott. It missed- by a lot- but Scott was growing tired.
His best friend sat on the ground, with ink stains and moles dotting his face. Scott couldn’t distinguish which was which. Stiles’ hair was flat on his face, which meant he hadn’t bothered doing anything but the activity he was preoccupied with.
“Stiles!” Scott finally yelled. The boy on the ground flailed and knocked over his stack in shock.
“What, Scott? I’m sort of in the middle of something here, and if you couldn’t tell, you just made me knock over the stack of things-I-could-say-that-would-possibly-be-good.” Stiles clambered to grab the cards he had knocked over, but Scott grabbed the boy’s legs and pulled him away.
“Wha- what? No, no, no, no, Scott put me back, Scott. SCOTT!” Stiles screamed as he struggled to hold onto the five-by-three sheets of paper. He tried to pull himself across the floor, to no avail, and was taken into the hall.
Scott heaved his best friend over his shoulder and walked down the stairs, eventually setting him down in a kitchen chair.
Stiles crossed his arms over his chest. “Was that really necessary?” He demanded, cocking his head.
“You tell me. We all thought you were up there obsessing over some new supernatural breakthrough-”
“Technically, I was.” Stiles mumbled.
Scott smirked. “You think that wasting time and packs of index cards figuring out how to ask out (Y/N) is going to help you?” Stiles nodded. “Okay, let’s hear what you’ve got.”
Stiles was taken aback, but huffed and looked in his hands to find four crumpled pieces of card stock.
Scott noticed you walk in the front door, and put a finger up to his lips to signal you to keep quiet from the boy who’s back was turned to you. You nodded and smiled, leaning up against the wall outside the kitchen doorframe.
“Fine. But keep in mind that this isn’t my best work because the best ones were in a separate pile.” Scott raised his eyebrows at the boy. “I’m going, I’m going. Okay, um- should I just? Alright, number one, oh this one I’m actually proud of, ‘Our love will Endor all time, will you go out with me?’”
Stiles looked for any seal of approval, or recognition to the reference, but was met with a smirking Scott McCall. You could barely keep yourself quiet.
“I don’t get it.” He said in response.
‘Seriously, Scott come on,’ you thought.
“Seriously? Still no Star Wars?” Scott shook his head. “See, this is why I’m asking out her and not you, because she would get the reference, and probably laugh.”
“No offense, Stiles, but it sounded like you got that from a box of Star Wars themed Valentine’s Day cards for kids.” The alpha laughed at his friend, winking at you when Stiles looked down.
Stiles, taken aback, tried to redeem himself, and opened the second card. “'I don’t want to be flyin’ Han Solo anymore, so would you give me the honor of being my Leia?’”
“That’s even worse, in my opinion.” You said, walking through the doorway to the kitchen. “Who ever you’re asking out had better have either the best or worst sense of humor.”
“(Y/N).” Stiles breathed out.
“In the flesh. Hey, Scott. Mind telling me what this is all about?” You said, faking a smile. If Stiles was this nervous about asking out some girl, he must really like her.
Scott smirked at you. “Stiles is having some girl trouble.”
“(Y/N), how long were you standing there?” Stiles asked you.
“Long enough to know that you need major help. My help. Thank you, Scotty, but I’ve got it from here.”
Scott left with a smile and mouthed at Stiles while your back was turned, 'Now’s your chance,’ giving the terrified looking boy two thumbs up.
You rummaged through the Stilinski’s fridge, trying to find something remotely edible to distract from the growing pit in your stomach. You had to help Stiles. He was your best friend, and obviously nobody would rather see him happy than you. And Scott.
“Okay, cupcake, who’s the girl? Do I know her? Is she a werewolf? Ooh, a were-cheetah?” You ask, sitting down, with one hand holding up your head and the other brandishing the leftover macaroni casserole.
“First, no. You don’t get to know her name, that gives you too much power. Second, yes. Third, I don’t think so, and fourth, I don’t think those exist.” Stiles says, taking the second fork you brought and eating to preoccupy himself. You noticed ink smudges on the boy’s face opposite you. Deciding to mother him, you licked your thumb and brushed its pad over the ink on Stiles’ face. 'There, all better,’ you smirked.
“Okay, were-cheetahs totally exist if were-jaguars do, get it, Stilinski?”
“Got it, (Y/L/N).” He replies.
“Good.” The both of you say .
You look up at him. The boy you fell in love with years ago. His hair was shaggier, his body was more toned, his life was more hellish, but he was still the same Stiles Stilinski you knew. He still sucked at lacrosse. He still sung you the Hannah Montana theme song on your birthday. He still made fun of your obsession with 'Nsync. He still was there for you through everything.
He was yours, but he wasn’t, and the fact that he was going to ask out some other girl proved it. As you looked down to the casserole, Stiles stared at you.
The girl he fell in love with years ago. Your hair was longer and less matted, your body was fucking amazing and your life was full of shit because he and Scott dragged you into it, but you were still the same to him. You still watched Groundhog Day on repeat with him every February second. You still wore the friendship bracelet he made you in middle school. You still were the only one to truly appreciate the beauty of comic books. You were still there for him through everything.
Stiles shot up out of his seat like he’d been electrocuted.
“Easy there, tiger, I was just about to give you some advice on how to win over your cru-”
Your words were left trapped inside your throat as Stiles pressed his lips on yours. It was hesitant but passionate. You were shocked and didn’t move. Stiles pulled back, noticing your stiffness, and you realized this was your chance. You wrapped your arms around his neck and captured his lips in yours again. This time it was more decisive, both of you sure of what you were doing.
You felt him smile into the passionate embrace, and you chuckled yourself. You felt his hands on your waist and his body flush to yours. You only stopped when your lungs begged for oxygen, and the two of you rested your foreheads together.
“Stiles,” you panted, unmoved from your position. “I really, really, really like you. Have forever.”
“(Y/N),” he responded, smirking. “Ditto.”
He looked in your eyes and saw a sparkle of hope. He saw the reflection of his emotions in you and jumped at the chance to show you them.
2. Big Burrito Bowl inspired by my Raw Taco Salad. It features a sun-dried tomato walnut “meat”, shredded kale, salsa, spiced tomato rice, green onions, black beans, and hummus. Divine!
3. Travel Meal: This is a meal I packed for travel last week. It includes a simple chickpea salad I threw together with balsamic vinaigrette, two slices of seedy spelt bread, hummus, apple, and a banana.
Requests: Hi! Can you write a cas x reader where the reader is obsessed with supernatural and then she meets cas and he tells her that everything from the TV show is real? (anon)
Could you do a fic where Cas finds out that the reader likes him, a lot and when he goes to confront the reader about, things get a little wild? Please and thank you (malonepeters)
A/N: I modified the request a little bit, but it’s mostly the same idea. Actually, I was planning to write these two separately, but then they just sort of collided together. I ended the one shot this way because I have an idea that could lead to another part if there was interest. ;)
“You are way too obsessed about that show,” your best friend Ben grinned.
“What? It’s a good show,” you protested.
“Just because it’s a good show doesn’t mean that you have to force me to dress like the Castiel to your Anna,” Ben pointed out.
The two of you were at Comic Con with your cousin Ethan, waiting in line to get pictures with Misha and Mark. You had been looking forward to this for a long time. Castiel was your favourite character in Supernatural and you were pretty sure that you weren’t going to get a single word out when you met Misha.
“What else were we supposed to dress up as?” you asked. “Castiel and Meg? That would just be awkward.”
“And weird,” Ben agreed. “Though I thought that Iron Man and Black Widow was a better option.”
“Nope,” you shook your head. “This is my day. My costume choices. You had us do Mario and Princess Peach last year, which I’m never going to live down.”
Stepping around an array of used white needles on the brown hallway floor, violently stained, Ashton slid off the cage elevator with a small stack of folded papers in hand, his schedule at the top to be studied. Between his teeth, he held a blue ballpoint pen that he had accidentally stolen from the front desk of a hotel he accompanied a band in for a wedding gig.
He considered himself a musician. A drummer, if he had to be specific. However, 5 Seconds of Summer hadn’t really taken off. He was clocking hours as a session drummer currently while taking any odd gig he could regardless of the music or act. Unfortunately, he couldn’t choose to be picky. He still laid awake and dreamed about being positioned behind his three best friends, smashing the drums to a crowd of a thousand screamers, but until then recording background percussion for local Australian acts and gigging at shitty underground bars would have to do.
Ashton tossed his hair back with one hand, shaking it before fetching the pen from his mouth and circling a date on the schedule that he wasn’t totally sure of. He stood in front of his apartment door, ‘309’, and waved at his neighbor, a little four year old girl, malnourished and locked out until her parents came out from their jobs and favorite seedy joints. Usually, he invited her inside and made her something to eat, but he had been screamed at in foreign tongue and sucker punched in the gut by her father last time he came home, drunk, and found her watching TV and eating vegemite and toast on Ashton’s couch.
“Honey, I’m home.” As he generally did after a day of work well done and actually pocketing a little bit of money, Ashton called out to you as he pushed the door open with a harsh nudge of his hip. He had been saying since you two moved in last year that he would sound down the top of the door, but he still hadn’t come around to do so.
The place was a shoebox, at best, as it stood at exactly 500 square feet. There was no reason for him to announce his arrival at all as you two locked eyes as soon as the door opened. The front entrance also quadrupled as the living room, master bedroom, and nursery. If you had been standing in the kitchen, he might have had to have stepped around your futon that was also yours and Ashton’s bed, but that was it. The bathroom was small and tucked to the side and was currently being used prominently to store the acoustic guitar and other pawnable goods that musicians gave Ashton in lieu of cash when he helped them out. Ashton was aware it wasn’t a castle, but he was proud of the little life you two were trying to create. He always promised you that one day his music would be heard enough to build you the home of your dreams, the ones that Martha Stewart styled for magazines, and he would make sure you two had appliances that didn’t have duct tape over them, keeping them in working condition.
“Daddy’s home.” Smiling, you gasped. You were sitting on the floor with your son, weeks away from seven months, holding him up on his socked feet and bouncing him as he stood in front of the laundry hamper of clean darks you had beside you. “How was the studio?” Turning little Eli Irwin and his quarter sized blue eyes around, you stood up on your own socked feet and groaned while adjusting the baby against your side and making your way closer to Ashton as he carelessly kicked off his sneakers, dirty from walking home through puddles from the bus stop, the back bent under his heels.
“Good.” Breathing out as he spoke, Ashton nodded. He tripped out of his left shoe, leaning in to kiss you with a hand cupping the mostly bald head that belonged to his son. “Really good.” He smiled in memory of what he had laid down just hours ago at Marmalade Sound Station where he was working on a contract currently. Ashton squished his lips together and poked them out while bending at his knees and grabbing a sticky kiss from Eli. “How was your day?”
“Alright.” You shrugged and continued to bounce Eli up and down, nervous he would whale if you stopped to so much as brush at the tip of your nose. “The internet we usually steal from is down, so I’m going to have to go to the library after school to finish my lecture.” You explained, leading Ashton into the living room and going back over to your laundry as he sat down on the couch, sighing in order to unwind from a day of work. “I would have went earlier, but Eli has been very fussy today.” You chalked it up to the fact that you had to use the no name brand of baby wipes on his plump little behind, leaving him with a bit of an unpleasant itch where there should have been a satin finish.
“Have you been bad for Mummy?” Ashton squinted at his son, tight in your arms, but watching his father with googly eyes from over your shoulder.
“He has been difficult.” You laughed and kissed his head speedily while picking up the plastic hamper with your other hand and holding it to your side. “Can you hold him actually? Every time I put him down, he cries like a warlock going to battle.” You laughed. “I have to get ready for work.” Zipping over, you started to carefully lower Eli into Ashton’s awaiting hands. “He’s fed though and your mom’s leftover casserole is in the fridge. The microwave is working again…kind of.” As soon as Eli was standing on his father’s jean clad lap, bumping up and down happily, you were talking away and rushing around to get ready. You took the hamper over to the front closet and slid it in since you didn’t have time to actually organize the clothes in their rightful piles.
“You don’t usually work Tuesdays.” It took him a second, but Ashton remembered how constant your schedule had been since Eli came, surprisingly, into your lives. He scrunched up his face and stood up, Eli’s feet moving to both his front and back while he sat at Ashton’s side like a koala on a tree, nibbling on his own chubby fist.
“I ran into Carissa in the laundry room. Remember her? Pixie cut, triangle boobs?” Standing in front of the bathroom mirror and combing your hair out of its ponytail, you explained to Ashton as he stood in the doorway, watching you throw the small, ceramic and cracked, sink. It was apparent to you that Ashton didn’t have the slightest idea who you were talking about until you uttered ‘triangle boobs’. “She lives, like, directly below us. She’s the assistant manager of the bakery in the Foodland on Colbourne, she said if I could start tonight, she’d hook me up with some evening shifts.”
“You already work all the time at the shoe store…”
“They’ve cut my hours a lot.” Putting the comb down in the sink, you scratched at your sculpt and tried to produce volume. “Besides, we need the money.” You both could work two times as hard as you already were, bills would always be stuffed into your already full mailbox and having a baby met having surprise expensive jumping out at the worst times.
“What about school?” Ashton had ditched the idea of University long before year ten. He knew he wanted to be a working drummer, a professional musician, as soon as he was sat in front of his first drum kit many moons ago. However, he was so proud of you for continuing with your educated, before Eli and even now that you two were parents. You had a year left and he really didn’t want to see you throw in the towel now despite how stressful it was.
“I’m still doing school. I’ll work out a schedule.” Your eyes pleaded with him through the mirror as opened up an old compact, moving the saturated sponge around its edges to gather up the little that was left of the foundation inside. It was considered finished last month, but you were forcing it to last. “Baby, it’s free groceries with this gig. I can bring home day old cupcakes too.” Smiling, you tried to show Ashton the bright side as he adjusted Eli in his arms, the little squirmer reaching out for your hair and trying to break free from his father’s loose grip.
“Well, when are you going to be home?” Ashton sighed and began to walk away, but not before his eyes dropped and he slid them up right to your backside, admiring the angle of you that had brought him to his knees as a nineteen year old boy and he still claimed it was the same part of you that was guilty for bringing little Eli Irwin into the world. If you hadn’t been walking around in your bikini bottoms, sucking on a grape Popsicle due to the unreal Sydney heat last June, there would never have been a baby born on February 8th. Of course, he knew the case wasn’t that simple. “We’re practicing tonight at Luke’s.” He was moving into the kitchen, but kept talking to you as if you were right in front of him still.
“I don’t know!” Hollering back, you were rolling mascara over your lashes. “She didn’t say and that Foodland is the one that’s open til midnight.” It was also the shadiest of all the Foodlands, but you decided not to mention that to Ashton. He already felt so protective of his mini family living on the slum of a neighborhood that you all did call home. It certainly wasn’t the upbringing he had had, but in the back of his mind, he visualized better lives for you both and tried to focus on those the days he came home to fighting neighbors or police tape on the front door. “Just bring him along.” It wouldn’t be the first time Eli came to one of 5 Seconds to Summer’s practices. You had brought him with you to see Ashton and the boys play a few times when they needed someone to work the ticket table.
“I can’t play drums with a baby Bjork on.” Ashton opened the fridge and stared inside at it’s few contents, taking out a half drank flat cola for himself and tossing it back.
“Just sit him down in his car seat.” It’s not as if the grey seat actually had been used much since you were both without a car. Ashton had sold its beat up Saturn by the time you were in your second trimester since you needed to cut all the extra expenses you two could. What he used to spend on gas, you two were now shelling out for diapers. “Or I’m sure Liz would be plenty happy to watch him.” Along with Ashton’s mum, she had been a Godsend since his Aquarius birth.
Ashton heard you, deciding that this wasn’t something he could argue. While he always treated his music like it was the number one priority, he knew that it simply wasn’t. There were other things on the list you two had complied that desperately required more attention than taking his band to the next level, but it was easier for him to focus on his passion than it was the reality of the situation. He plunked Eli down in his small playpen, a hand-me-down from Liz Hemmings that she had housed in her garage after years of it going untouched since all her boys were grown now.
He fished the paper work, folded in threes, out of the back pocket of his jeans, figuring he should put it up on the fridge door with a magnet so you two could properly schedule the next week. He held the schedule open with one palm while opening up the junk drawer beside it, looking for a Scotch tape or an extra magnet as the others were in current use to show off a past due credit card bill and picture Ashton’s sister had drawn for your last birthday. Ashton reached over and pulled open the second drawer, a stack of flat yellow papers staring up at him, ‘EVICTION NOTICE’ written in large deep black letters in the center.
Eli began to scream suddenly, not content with being separated from his parents, but Ashton let his schedule drop to the floor as he picked up the yellow papers, shuffling through to see that there four eviction notices, all dated just a few months apart from the other and behind them were bills from hydro company and a MoneyMart insisting they needed their loan to start being paid back.
“Ashton, what’s the matter?” Since Eli was still crying profusely, you asked as you hustled out of the washroom, changed into a black shirt and your somewhat clean black leggings. The girl in the laundry room had simply told you to wear all back until she could manage to order a uniform in for you. Instead of finding your boyfriend trying to comfort Eli in the kitchen, you saw him staring at the mail that you had been successfully hiding from him since Eli was born practically.
“How come this is the first time I’m seeing these?” All at once, Ashton felt what everyone swore he would when he announced he was moving out and into an apartment on his own. They promised him that the stress would come for sure when he became a father, but generally, Ashton kept his chin up. He knew that his life wasn’t as good as it could have been, but he had been ignorant to the real struggle going on. He didn’t mind skipping meals to save money or not having a car. He was doing what he loved and he had made a small family for himself that he loved coming home to and sharing his life with. On days where he felt particularly delusional, he dreamt of having a second child in the tiny apartment.
“Because I’ve been hiding them…” It was already difficult to hear one another with Eli’s loud cries, but you spoke as low as you could before walking around to find your son on his butt in the playground, sobbing with his hands raised above his head, the international symbol for, ‘pick me up now’. Ashton was right behind you as you stood up straight again, Eli rubbing his face into your shirt, drying his own tears on the blended fabric.
“This one, the one on top, we got it two days ago!” Ashton waved it in front of you as if you had already seen it, like it hadn’t nearly made tears well up out of your eyes when you came home to it plastered on your door, covering the peephole. “Two days ago. Seriously?”
“I took care of the rest and I’ll take care of this. I didn’t want you to worry.” Ashton was an extremist. If he wasn’t on top of the world, he was freaking out about the world’s impending doom. You were trying to prevent him from easily slipping into the space of darkness. It was Ashton’s smile that had lured you to him in the first place and you hated the days you didn’t get to see it.
“When did you take out a loan at MoneyMart?” Hot on your toes as you walked around, bouncing Eli, he continued.
“Two months ago. I only owe a hundred. I’ll take care of it.” This was just one more reason why you really needed the shifts at this bakery. There was always bills, but rarely money to pay them with.
“God, [Y/N],” Ashton collapsed down on the futon, hanging his head down and dropping his hands, still holding all the bills and notices, between his knees with great defeat. “Two days ago I turned down a gig in order to make time to practice with the guys…” He could have made four hundred dollars, but he allowed his band to take precedence. “I feel like such a fucking loser.” He sighed, rubbing at his temple with the corners of the most recent eviction notice threatening to poke him in the eye.
“Don’t say that.” You hissed. This was your cue to sit down, so you made space next to Ashton and rubbed his back with one hand, still holding Eli close with the other. “You’re not a loser at all. You’ve been working so hard with the band these last few months. I know it hasn’t been easy with a baby, but you’re doing it and you’re working every day.” You tried to remind him. He looked absolutely spent, his smile a distant memory and his face pale from agitation.
“Yeah, but my Uncle offered me an actual job with his company and I should have taken it. I have a baby. Jesus Christ, we can’t be on the streets.” Ashton looked at you and griped, his voice weak suddenly as if he had spent nine hours singing and not playing the drums. He couldn’t believe he had been so selfish to keep dreaming and trying to be a musician. He was a father now. His Uncle was right, he needed to grow the fuck up. “I’m such a fucking loser.” He said again, this time into his hands. Ashton had never felt like a failure before. Not when his dad left, not when he actually failed his midterm in year nine, and not even the number of times he had went off beat during an important show with the guys.
“Stop, Ashton.” Firmly, this time you said and even squeezed his shoulder in order to bring his face up to you, eyes swollen with self-hatred. “I’m proud of you and I believe in you that’s why I don’t show you things. You’re going to make it and this is all just part of the story, okay? If you want to pick up a shift here and there somewhere, cool, but I will never ask you to give up on your music. I want Eli to be raised by someone who never gave up, not someone who let his dreams fall to the side. Do you hear me?” Your voice was sweet, cotton candy and chocolate kisses in verbal form, but you wanted to be sure that Ashton was listening. Your eyes studied his and he was looking at you with melting pupils, softening his gaze and allowing his lips to quiver out of their straight line.
Kissing you, he moved away after a moment just to kiss the top of Eli’s head, the little boy’s hand smacking on his father’s lips.
“I am the luckiest man in the world.” Truthfully, Ashton told you again with another kiss to your succulent mouth. He might have been wrong all this time. He thought your backside was pure perfection, but your kind heart was certainly bigger. “You’re superwoman.”
Knocking your head against his forehead, you only smiled back before whispering, “I know.”
With a wink, you gave him his son and kissed both boys before rushing back into the washroom to find deodorant, choosing to roll on Ashton’s.
“Lithium!” Your hands banged loudly on the edge of your kitchen table as you jumped up to answer the door, the bell of your apartment being rung over and over again and demanding attention. It had taken you longer than usual to answer the question, but you recalled the Nirvana shirt your boyfriend had left on your bedroom floor and called out the correct answer.
“What’s the atomic number?” Jake, the leader of your college study group, asked as you bustled across the cold kitchen floor and over to the door, whipping it open to reveal Michael. Usually when your boyfriend showed up, you received a text that he was outside or you were made somewhat aware, but today he caught you completely off guard.
“Michael!” Cheering his name almost, you stood up on the tips of your toes and linked your arms around his neck, hugging him as if it was a reflex. “What are you doing here?” He was peering over the top of your head, noting the three other bodies around your kitchen table as you kissed him.
“Picking you up for the show…” Michael liked to refer to you as his ‘good luck charm’ even though he really didn’t any luck when it came to performing. He had been born with the sort of talent most people envied. Every time you saw him up on a stage or even just jamming within a circle at a house party, you were instantly struck and mesmerized by just how skilled your boyfriend was when it came to music. He could turn a song you despised into something beautiful.
“I thought we didn’t have to leave until seven?” You let him into your place, his eyes shy around the new group of strangers who were talking in low tones at the table.
“I wasn’t really doing anything, thought I’d come by early and surprise you.” Truthfully, Michael was looking for a pre-show quickie. Since his life was one hundred percent his band, he sometimes grew restless with waiting for you. You went to school full time and held down a job on the weekends. He wished you would quit and spend your free time with him since he was often just lying around, fumbling on guitar or playing video games, but he admired that you had bigger goals for yourself and supported them.
“I have study group. We’ll be done in a half.” You lightly pulled on his hand, bringing him just a few steps further into your kitchen. “You guys, this is Michael,” You began to introduce him to your classmates. “This is Robbie, Colton, and Louisa.”
“Hi guys.” Somewhat sheepishly, Michael acknowledged them with a simple raise of his palm.
“You can quiz us if you want.” Kindly, while fixing the round bun on top of her head, Louisa offered.
“No, it’s alright. I’ll stay out of your way.” He hadn’t the hottest glue what subject they were even studying, but Michael was confident that he wouldn’t be able to hold his own at the table with the three of them. When it came to academics, Michael always felt like an idiot. He avoided them in order to continue to feel good about himself.
“Yeah, we just need another half hour.” Slapping your hands back and forth on your waist, you looked up at him and smiled. “You can watch TV in my room or something if you want…” Shrugging, you suggested while looking over Robbie’s head at the page in his notebook he was on, a sneak peek for what questions might be tossed out next.
“Alright.” Michael agreed and instantly began to walk away, the studying in front of him already impacting his fragile self-esteem. “Nice to meet you guys.” He waved and earned himself a collective ‘goodbye’ call.
In your bedroom, Michael laid on top of your unmade sheets, still crinkled and tossed around from the night before when he drove over after a late practice in Luke’s basement, waking you up and practically grinding you into the mattress. He could still smell the two of you fresh on the pillow case beneath his bleached blond hair. He tried his best to focus on the Teletoon that he was watching on the television. Usually, it wasn’t hard for Mike to tune out and zoom in on a cartoon show, but he couldn’t help, but listen closely to what was going on in your kitchen. He imagined had he paid that much attention back in his own classes, he wouldn’t have just barely passed. He probably would have been able to sit at the table with the four of you now and hold his own.
Every time your group would laugh, a new periodic table of elements joke cracked like a cold can of beer, Michael would roll his eyes. He didn’t understand why the joke was funny and, more specifically, he didn’t understand the joke at all. He had never felt out of place around you before, but right now, he felt like a fool, like he didn’t belong there. It was strange considering he spent so much time at your apartment, hanging out with you or with your roommate and her boyfriend. Your apartment had become his favorite place besides Luke’s basement, a stage, and his home kitchen. He had half a mind to leave your place all together and just tell you to meet him at the club 5 Seconds of Summer was supposed to be playing at.
He turned down the volume on your television, listening as your friends began to pack up their backpacks and tie up their shoes, leaving your place. It was one of the longest half hours of his life, a perpetually impatient Michael had thought. He glanced over at the time on the television and realized it had only actually been a grand total of twenty two minutes.
“Are you ready to go? Everyone’s gone.” Merely poking your head in, you spied Michael lying flat on his back, a double chin appearing as he pushed the back of his head onto the pillow.
“Yeah.” Nodding, he felt the outside of both his pockets, checking for his car keys behind his tight skinny jeans. “I didn’t know you were majoring in bio.” Michael mentioned as he lazily sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and crinkling his toes into the brown carpet below.
“That wasn’t bio….” Shifting your eyes from side to side, you corrected him while stepping further into the room. “It was chem lab and I’m not majoring, I’m still undeclared.” You shrugged and walked over to your dresser, picking up a purple perfume bottle, the awkward shape reminiscent of a flower, and sprayed just a squirt over your clavicle. “I just need to take a science and writing course, it’s mandatory.”
This was all news to Michael. He didn’t know the first thing of what went on inside a real University building. He had only sat parked outside yours, impatiently waiting for you to come out a class, wishing you would pick up the pace so you guys could get to the house party at Calum’s faster. He didn’t even realize that your group was discussing the periodic table and not something to do with an ecosystem.
“Oh, do any of the people in your group know what they want to do?” He asked while itching at the back of his head, his back to you as he sat mostly still on the bed.
“Louisa wants to go into education, Colton is double majoring in things I can’t remember, and Robbie wants to be a surgeon. That’s why he is the leader of the group.” You laughed, looking down at the outfit you already had on and deciding it would be good enough. You had attended so many Five Seconds of Summer shows at this point that you would have felt appropriate in pajama bottoms and a big t-shirt. “Why?” It wasn’t really like Michael to take a keen interest in people in had just barely met.
“Just curious.” He followed his lie with a shrug. “They all seemed pretty smart to me.”
“They are.” Casually, you mentioned and walked around your messy bed to him. “You know, I know when something is wrong, right?” Leisurely, you allowed one hand of fingers in his hair, staring with doting eyes down at him. His eyes weren’t ablaze as usual and his energy was at a low decimal. Even when Michael was feeling lethargic, he was still ‘on’. Right now, he was something of a memory of himself, sitting on your bed, but mentally a million miles away. It was most unsettling. You put your knees between his and watched him roll his eyes upward to look into yours. “Want to tell me what’s got you blue?” Like popping a large bubble gum bubble, you pronounced with a purse of your lips.
“It’s stupid.” Typical Michael, he played with his own hair, nearly nipping at your fingers, and put himself down in an effort to take the attention off of himself.
“I love stupid.” Instantly, you came back with a grin so cheeky, it couldn’t fit on your face. “Come on, Clifford, spill. It’s not like I haven’t said stupid things to you before.” About twelve different scenarios instantly surfaced in your mind and the way Michael began to innocently laugh, you knew he was remembering a couple questions you had asked while driving around in his car.
“Do you think it’s stupid I’m still in the same band I was in in high school? Trying to make it?” Sincerely, he asked, looking at you with worried looks and his nose scrunched up, a little worried at your response. Michael could be brutally honest with you, but he knew that he, himself, couldn’t always take what he dished.
“No, I don’t think it’s stupid. I think you work pretty damn hard.” Considering a few different aspects, you nodded as you spoke, weaving your fingers from his hair. “You guys play a lot of gigs and you travel to places just to do an hour show. I consider what you do work.”
“I know your parents wish you were with someone in University.” His own parents probably wished the same for you. They believed in him, sure, but he bet they would sleep a lot better if he had a better sense of direction. He could work at being a signed band his whole life and never get anywhere. At least you would have a degree to use in four years or so.
“Mikey, you know, my mom loves you.” He had already heard your father’s concerns about you being with a musician, but your mother had always welcomed Michael into your home and treated him as if he had lived there his entire life. “Where is this coming from?”
“I just feel fucking stupid when I hear you guys talking about actinoids and lananoids.”
“Lanthanoids.” You didn’t want to add insult to injury, but you saw a teaching moment so clearly hanging in the balance. “I think you’re smart, Michael. I always have and I think you guys are on the verge of something. Your new stuff is doing well, people are starting to follow your music. You’re smart, the only dumb thing about you is that you don’t trust that.” Poking his temple repeatedly, you told him. “And one day, you’re going to be on some big show like Graham Norton or David Letterman and some boy is going to see you playing guitar and think, ‘I’m not going to go to school. I’m going to be, like, Michael Clifford.”
Instantly, his cheeks went as pink as the color you had painted your toes that morning when you should have been doing a little extra studying. He could just picture a small kid like him, somewhere in Sydney, sitting cross legged in front of the television in footie pajamas. It seemed like a fanasty, but Michael was burning up at the thought.
“Thanks, babe.” He leaned up to nip at your nose and then moved over your lips, rolling his generous mouth over yours. “If that chemistry shit doesn’t work out for you, you got to job as the band therapist….” He laughed meekly and held both your hands in his, swinging them back and forth before getting up and ready to go.
“You can’t come!?” Calum shouted from the washroom, behind the door, as he zipped up his trousers and flushed the toilet. You could hear his voice as if he was standing right beside you though, looking through the messy closet you two shared for one of the many Royal Prince Edward Yacht Club polo shirts you two shared.
“That’s what I said.” You hummed, picking up one of Calum’s t-shirts and examining with a quick look and sniff before tossing it to the side. While he was fully capable of doing his own loads of laundry, that chore had fallen on you since you two moved in together two months ago.
“You didn’t come to the last show. Ask Jay to take your shift.” He was playing with the waist of his jeans as he stalked into the bedroom, crashing down on the bed behind you, giving your ass a little smack once he was on his back.
“I’m the team leader, Cal. It falls on me.” Just as he took his band seriously, you took your role as shift supervisor at the yacht club the same way. Sure, it wasn’t your dream gig, but it paid rent and, right now, you were still trying to figure out what you wanted to do with your own life. Calum griped about being a struggling musician, but you were happy that he, at the very least, had found a path to follow. You two had met at the Yacht Club when he applied simply to make a little extra money when he needed his favorite guitar fixed. You wrote him off when he first asked you out, not interested in anyone who called themselves a musician, but you had come around the more shifts you two were scheduled to work together. “This is what happens when you book off last minute, your girlfriend has to take it.”
“I don’t know half the time. These opportunities just pop up.” Lately, Ashton and Luke had been pushing for better venues and were trying to set up a local tour, just small venues around Australia, but Calum could not have been more excited about it. He was acting as if they were opening for the Rolling Stones. “You don’t have to take the shifts, you just do.”
“Yeah, because we have rent to pay.” By the time 5 Seconds of Summer split their small pay four ways and bought gas to drive home after shows, Calum usually had a grand total of negative dollars. Calum was looking for the remote somewhere on your side of the bed, but he rolled off of his side and stared right at you, flat on his back again, looking at your annoyed face through the closet mirror that was the door.
“I contribute. I pull my fucking weight.” In a mumble, he argued. Calum had always figured you would grow frustrated with his constant living paycheck to paycheck, how he never had enough money to pull together and take you out to somewhere nicer than the nearest Margaritaville. He was on the verge of cutting up colorful construction paper and turning them into relationship coupons as your Christmas gift, but luckily his sister had saved the day with a gift card to the mall so he could go into Juicy Couture and buy you a leather band bracelet with a circle gold charm in the middle, the letter ‘C’ written in shining stones. He always apologized when you would pick up the tab somewhere or if he saw one of your friends showing off the pair of shoes or dress her boyfriend bought her just because, but you never seemed to complain. Calum worried constantly that you would find someone better and leave him. Everywhere he looked, he saw someone who could spoil you rotten or, at least, have his half of rent ready at the end of the month. He knew you wanted him to pick up more shifts at the club, but it felt like too much a sacrifice to be away when he could be practicing with his friends or trying to work for studio time.
“I’m not complaining, Calum.” Finally, with a somewhat clean royal polo between your hands, you turned to face him with a deflated sigh. “I’m the biggest 5 Seconds of Summer fan around. I’m just saying that in order for you to pursue this, I’ve got to take some extra shifts which means I can’t be there, working your CD table, or just dancing away. You know that if I could, I would…” Sincerely, you tried to express yourself to him. He would have to be seriously diluted if he thought, for even a second, that you would rather be serving dinner to people with more money than God by harbor than watching him up in his happy place, playing the songs that had become almost anthems to you.
“One day, you won’t have to work, you know…” Calum reached over for you as you went back to the pile of clothes on the closet floor, looking for black pants that weren’t leggings. The only time you ever found yourself in trouble at work was when you tried to get away with wearing yoga pants over actual black trousers with the uniform polo. “I’ll be blowing up the radio and you’ll have everything you want…” He drew the tip of his finger across the back of your thighs, happy to have any excuse to touch you. He hoped that one day he could spoil you. He knew that he could give up his music at any time, return to football or even apply for a management position in the restaurant at the club, but Calum knew internally that he was doing what was right for him. He could feel that his band was going to make it through, he just wished that break would hurry up and arrive already.
The two of you locked stares through the mirror, your laughter breaking first at the way he was sneakily raising his bushy brows up at you. The truth of the matter was that you had everything you could want. Calum wasn’t the big shot rock star he dreamt of becoming, well not yet, but you were still happy to come home to every night and hold his hand in the front seat of his piece of shit car that he was still paying off, the engine stalling a few times a week. It wasn’t the perfect life, but it was yours and you were happy.
“You won’t trade me in for an easy groupie with a belly button ring?” From what you could tell, the girls that tried to pick up Calum and his band mates after shows almost always had their navels pierced and laughed at everything they said, even their honest answers to standard questions.
“I’ll definitely try.” Calum cackled, giving your butt another smack before finding the remote with his spare hand and turning the television on, looking forward to some football in bed with you before you had to go to work and he had to go play rock star for another night.
He hadn’t been able to come home all day. His morning and afternoon were spent in the mailroom of the graphic design company he had just started working with. While Luke had absolutely no interest in the industry, the job paid better than his former gig at the kebab food truck in the park and he liked coming home without reeking of grease and garlic. Besides, the food truck only seemed to make his acne worse than it already was. After his day, he went straight to the studio where he met up with his three best mates to begin recording their first professional demo. He had a slap happy smile stuck to his face. Luke couldn’t shake it off even when he was driving home and the radio was playing nothing, but garbage. However, he couldn’t show it to you since as soon as he stepped into the apartment, holding the keys to keep them from jingling in case you were asleep, he reached for the light switch only to be left in the darkness. The plastic piece moved up and down on the flannel, but no sign of illumination occurred.
“Fuck.” Luke grunted as he did at the beginning of every month and began to feel his way around the place, kicking off his shoes. “Fuck!” He shouted loudly this time as his toes rammed into the corner that separated the bedroom from the rest of the apartment.
“Hey…” Barely, you could make out Luke’s perimeters in the darkness as you opened up your eyes in bed. You slept by the window that you were keeping open for now to allow in an easy night breeze. In your mind, it was easier for Luke to roll into bed straight from the door this way, but it was comforting to know that if a burglar broke in, they would probably attack him first and give you ample time to scurry away.
“I was trying to be quiet, sorry.” In a whisper, even though you were awake, Luke noted before limping into the bedroom as if he had done something harder than bump his toes like sprain his ankle or completely lost a leg.
“I think I had just dozed off…” You watched his figure make it to the bed, kneeling onto the mattress with his left knee and leaning in to kiss you, moving the hair that he could make out under pale moonlight before leaving a small tap from his mouth on the side of your forehead. “How was the studio?” You would have liked to stop by and seen the quartet in action, but you were so far behind on your essay for an English Lit class that you couldn’t pull yourself away from your laptop as much as you would have liked to.
“It was so fucking awesome.” He whispered, his smile vibrant enough to make it out in the darkness of your bedroom. Luke stepped off of the bed in order to shuffle out his clothes, knocking the snapback off his head before pulling his shirt over and leaving it right by the plastic hamper, not in it. “We’re working on Lost Boy right now. It’s going to be sick.” Generally, he was critical of his music and the whole time in the studio, he had been making comments and worrying about every line, but in retrospect, he couldn’t have been happier. He was on cloud nine recording his songs, even if nothing ever ended up happening with them. “Are you done your paper?” He checked, pulling up a blanket and sneaking down into bed beside you, his bare feet colliding cold with yours as he made himself comfortable.
“Yeah. 3500 words all done and cited.” It wasn’t even the longest essay you were going to have to write this year, but it had felt like a major accomplishment. You shimmied closer to your boyfriend, lying the side of your head on his neck and listened intently to the sanguine beat of his heart as it usually lulled you to sleep without a hitch.
“Good job.” He had to move his face around and search for your lips, but eventually, in just a few short seconds, he found them to give a proper kiss. Luke had listened to you go on and on about how much you hated writing papers, but he knew that you would have it done on time despite your concerns. “Sorry about the lights.” A moment of silence between you passed, but he could feel your lashes moving up and down on his bare chest, a clear signal you were still mostly awake.
“It’s okay.” This wasn’t the first time your electricity had been cut. You were used to feeling your way through the one bedroom you two shared. “I ate by candlelight and used the electric outlet by the elevator when working on my paper.” Even though you weren’t the songwriter in the relationship, you could be plenty craft when need be.
“I’ll try and look after it tomorrow.” He didn’t know where he would find the money, but Luke was the king of making a promise and then busting his ass to come through. You had no idea still how he managed to get the lights turned back on three months ago, but you just thanked him instead of asking questions.
“Well, if you have to choose, I think turning the water on would be better.” You had no problem running to the University an hour early in order to shower, but eventually, you two would need to have running water again as your neighbors were growing tired of always letting you fill your pots for boiling pasta in their sinks. Luke had been the reason the couple in suite ‘103’ fought for two days as the husband kept coming home from the night shift to him having his morning shower in their bathroom. It started to seem very fishy and majorly inconvenient to the police officer.
“The water, too? Jesus.” He lifted up his hand that had been flat on your back, right between your shoulders and rubbed at his temple. It had seemed so amazing to him that you two had managed to pay rent without a hitch, cell phone bills, and put some towards your student loans, but he had let his mind forget about all the other bills. “I’ll get on it. I’m sorry. The studio costs were more than I thought, I guess.” He had crunched the numbers with his mom and felt confident he could cover everything this month, but he must have overlooked something. “You’re great, you know, most girls would skip out…” He was well aware that being with a coffee shop musician, making ends meet wasn’t exactly what you had in mind for yourself when you were younger and fantasizing the future.
“Luke, we’ve known each other since we were in diapers. I’m not backing out because we aren’t filthy rich.” If you wanted a man made of money, you wouldn’t have insisted on sharing a plastic nap mat with Luke throughout pre-school. You would have tried to become better friends with Sam Carrera. “You’re doing your thing, I’m doing mine. We’ll be just fine.” You found his hand in the darkness, pulling it away from his hair and tightly lacing your fingers through his and pulling it down to hold close to your chest. “I’m happy.”
“You’re happy?” He laughed lightly above your head, finding it hard to believe that anyone could be happy living in the darkness without a working faucet.
“I bitched to Krystal earlier, so I’m happy.” Looking up at him, you winked, not sure he saw, but he continued to chuckle anyway. “One day, this is all going to seem worth it when I finish my bachelor of criminal justice and you’re touring the world…”
Luke wasn’t sure that his dream would ever come into fruition, but it was helpful to talk about it now with you when the lights were off and everything felt unbalanced. You believed in him enough for the two of you and that was sometimes enough for him to keep going. There were plenty of times where he considered packing the guitar away, even pawning it, and joining you at University, but he only ever felt right when he was working on becoming a rockstar.
Diane, I am dining at Leland Palmer’s funeral. I have never seen a larger display of salads, slaws, and casseroles. The leftovers alone will leave the Double R diner empty for days. I am deeply moved by the care The people of Twin Peaks show their bereaved neighbors, surprised that a lawyer had so many friends, and delighted that I will get Norma’s pies all to myself.
A/N: This is it! Never in a million years did I think a simple one-shot would turn into more than 30,000 words, but here we are. @caprelloidea, you’re the best friend/beta/head-canon partner anyone could ever wish for. Thanks so much for your help on this. To everyone who read, liked, reblogged, or commented, I can’t thank you enough. Thanks for sticking with me.
Emma watches as Killian slowly pulls himself back together.
She didn’t think it was possible to be any prouder of him. He keeps proving her wrong.
She helps as best she can, and it doesn’t escape her notice that he finally lets her. He doesn’t hide his nightmares anymore, curling away from her silently or slipping from the bed to suffer in silence downstairs. He reaches for her instead, allowing her to draw him tightly into her arms. Sometimes she holds him until his heartbeat slows and he’s able to drift off once again; others his lips will find hers and he’ll drown in her touch, passion pushing away the nightmares as they find solace in a tangle of limbs and sweat, interlocked fingers and mingling breaths.
She almost always accompanies him when he goes sailing now. She doesn’t tell him he’s being cautious or push him to go out by himself, not after he explained what happened to him that day (he knows there’s a phrase for it now, that panic attacks are a thing and he’s trying to come to terms with the fact that it doesn’t make him weak). He’s always at his best out on the water anyway, and she adores watching him work, light and free and easy as the wind whips through his hair and he squints against the sun.
He puts himself on a schedule, too, to keep himself up and moving and engaged - some days patrolling with Emma, some at the library, some at the docks, and even the occasional friendly sword fight with David in the park (an event that draws a bigger and bigger and crowd each time it happens; the betting pool is getting a little out of hand).
imagine: daryl has pissed you off so much that you decide to purposefully annoy him back. once the anger has subsided, the two of you chat about what your relationship is, and where it is headed. (1,665 words)
an: a part 2 to Secluded was requested, so here it is! it can also be read as a separate imagine, but you should check out the first part HERE if you haven’t read it already! - gabby
Once the clinking sound of silverware on china plates had subsided and our stomachs were full and satisfied, Glenn, Tara and I proceeded to the sitting area of our house. We’d returned from a run late, and to our delight we’d discovered the leftovers of Carol’s celebrated casserole. Being in Alexandria was strange; eating home-cooked meals after months of cutting our fingers on the insides of canned beans was just one of the things we’d had to adjust to.
Maggie shuffled over to accommodate for Glenn on the couch, and I observed as she guided his head onto her shoulder, affectionately running her fingers through his ebony hair. Tara collapsed to sit beside Eugene, grinning as he jumped at the surprise of her presence. I scanned the room for a place for myself to sit, and felt my heart flutter once I’d noticed Daryl was sat alone. Almost timidly, I wandered across the room and perched myself on the arm of the chair Daryl was slumped in.
“Evenin’.” Daryl’s whisper was barely audible over the chattering of the group. Tara was recounting an amusing story about how we’d caught Glenn perusing the lingerie section of a store we’d come across. I feigned laughter and attentiveness, preoccupied by Daryl’s hand subtly caressing my inner thigh. Boldly, I slid from the arm of the chair right into his lap, wrapping my arms around his neck and resting my head upon his shoulder. I longed for Daryl to comb my hair with his fingertips, just like Maggie had done for Glenn. Instead, I felt his muscles tense beneath me and his hands grab my sides.
“The fuck are ya doin’?” He demanded, much louder than everyone, including himself, had expected. Daryl had forcefully pushed me away from him and I was now stood alone in the centre of everyone, all eyes on me. Daryl’s expression was a blend of confusion and regret; I could feel my own face becoming a vexed shade of crimson. I scratched my arm uncomfortably and cast my gaze to the floor, unable to look at Daryl for much longer.
“I think we are all in agreement that that was incredibly awkward,” Eugene announced, voicing everyone’s feelings in the least empathetic way possible. I watched as Tara shoved him lightly, shooting an embarrassed glare in his direction.
“Yeah, you’re right Eugene,” I said, my annoyance evident in the way my voice trembled. “That was awkward. Thanks, Daryl.”
And with that I stormed upstairs, ignoring the incoherent murmurs that followed my departure and immaturely slamming my bedroom door behind me.
After what could have easily been an hour of furiously glaring at the ceiling above me, I began to drift into unconsciousness. I could feel my anger dwindling as I eased into sleep, only for it to come flooding back again when I heard a harsh knock on my door.
“Go away,” I groaned, pulling the sheets over my head and rolling onto my stomach. I sighed as I heard the creak of the door opening, and the softness of socks scuffing along the carpet.
“Lemme in,” Daryl called out, sounding unusually soft. I didn’t answer, knowing that if I opened my mouth I’d barely be able to string together a couple of insulting sentences; both sleepiness and anger would inevitably hinder me. Daryl somehow took my silence as a yes, and I remained stiff as the mattress dipped with the weight of his body joining mine underneath the sheets.
Daryl and I had never put a name on our relationship, not only because we weren’t official and had never had to explain ourselves, but because nothing seemed to fit. While we cared about each other, it felt odd to call ourselves boyfriend and girlfriend, and while our relationship was mostly based on sex, we weren’t merely friends-with-benefits. It had been like this for over eight months, the first time we’d hooked up occurred during first week at the prison. I’m sure the entire group were aware now that we were fucking, the majority of them having caught us at some opportunity. During runs from the prison we’d discovered a secluded cabin in the woods to avoid these interruptions, and somewhere among the countless nights spent there together, I’d discovered a love for Daryl deeper than just sex. For some reason, I’d hoped that cuddling him on the armchair in front of our family would have proved that his feelings were similar, but his rejection proved otherwise.
Daryl’s hands snaked around my waist from behind, and goosebumps decorated my body as his breath danced against the nape of my neck. Irritated, I squirmed away from him and sat up, switching the bedside lamp on in the process.
“Wha’s wrong?” Daryl naively asked, his voice hoarse with fatigue, something I usually would have found endearing.
“What’s wrong?!” I spat, resent surging through me. My entire body felt hot with rage. “You’re so fucking annoying, Daryl!”
“C’mere, Y/N, I’ll calm ya down,” he murmured, his strong arms returning to their position around my waist. This time, I smacked them away.
“Oh, so now you wanna cuddle? You’re such a….. such a shitdick!” I felt my face redden more, this time with embarrassment. I don’t think it was possible to have chosen a worse insult, and I’d most likely woken the entire house judging by the volume of my voice.
“Shitdick?” Daryl chuckled lightly, an infuriating smile dancing on his lips. “How’d ya define that?”
“You tell me, you should know seeing as it’s your middle name. Daryl Shitdick Dixon.” I was aware that I was rambling, so I decided to make my request snappy. “Now get out of my fucking room.”
When I awoke the next morning, I found that my intense anger towards Daryl had fizzled away, leaving behind just a twinge of annoyance. So, instead of giving him the silent treatment, I formulated a plan that would force Daryl to experience the same frustration I was feeling.
Glenn, Tara and I had again just returned from a run, but this time, rather than settling down to eat another one of Carol’s fabulous recipes, I raced straight upstairs. As I passed Daryl, I bit my lip seductively and cocked my head to signal that he should follow me, hoping and praying that my plan would work. I internally cheered for myself as I noticed that he’d eagerly risen from his chair and was close behind me.
I rid myself of my clothes quickly, fumbling and cursing to myself when my shirt got caught over my head. When Daryl entered the room, I stood poised before him, dressed only in black lace lingerie.
During our run we had explored the same area as the day before, and I’d managed to meander away from my friends to find the underwear Glenn had been browsing. I’d chosen the set I thought Daryl would enjoy the most and had quickly slipped it on underneath my clothes.
Daryl stood with his arms folded across his broad chest, smirking as his eyes studied my lace-clad body. I briefly checked myself out in the mirror, running my hands over my skin in a way I knew would arouse Daryl.
“What do you think of it?” I asked sweetly, trying not to smile as I noticed that Daryl was trying his hardest to play it cool, smoothly tucking his hands into his pockets yet remaining restless on his feet.
“Pretty fuckin’ hot,” was his confident reply, his words muffled by the way he was nibbling at the corner of his bottom lip.
“Oh, I don’t know,” I breathed, pretending to frown with uncertainty at my reflection. “I guess I’ll ask Spencer what he thinks.”
“What?” Daryl burst out, taking a miniature step towards me. “Why would ya do that?”
“Well, I mean, you and I are obviously not official, right?” I replied, shrugging my shoulders with false nonchalance. “You’re just in it for the sex, and that’s cool. But if we’re not in a relationship who’s to say I can’t fuck other people, too?”
“Who’s to say we ain’tin a relationship?”
“Well, you, Daryl,” I snapped in a flurry of exasperation. “If you’re so disgusted by being affectionate in front of everyone, then surely you’re disgusted by the thought of us being in an official relationship.”
Daryl was unable to formulate a response to this. Instead, he sat himself down on the edge of my bed and picked at his dirty nails while I clothed myself. Eventually, once I’d sat beside him and we were both staring into the mirror in front of us, he spoke in a gravelly voice.
“I ain’t just in it for the sex.”
“Really?” My tone was hopeful this time, relieved to find after all this time that he felt the same way.
“Yeah. I care ‘bout ya, an’ I don’t wanna see you fuckin’ nobody else.”
“I don’t want to fuck anyone else, it’s not about that,” I insisted, reaching out to place my hand on top of his ever so gently.
“I’m sorry I pushed ya off the couch,” Daryl mumbled, finally looking me in the eye rather than talking to my reflection. “I was jus’… worried what people would say ‘bout us.”
“I think they all know anyway,” I laughed, snuggling into his shoulder and beaming to myself as I felt his hand meet my head. No, he wasn’t running his fingers through my hair, and was just kind of patting me awkwardly, but the thought was what counted.
“Let’s make it official then,” Daryl pronounced. “I’ll hold your hand or somethin’ at dinner tomorrow.”
“Oh, how romantic,” I teased, leaning up to kiss him on the cheek. I caught his gaze momentarily, and gave him a sincere smile. “Thank you.”
“’S a pleasure, fuckface.”
“If I’m shitdick, then you’re fuckface.”
“Daryl Shitdick Dixon, if you call me that one more time, I’m taking this underwear off and throwing it in the trash.”
I’m about tostart working on my 1st day of productivity as promised. I am happy to be home at my mom’s cute little table so I can spread my work all over it. I’m enjoying some leftover sweet potato casserole and coffee for breakfast.
I’ll begin by taking some notes from my first lecture for the upcoming exam. And then I hope to work on some organizational projects for SNPhA and Kappa Psi.
You were literally dying of sickness. All you did was crawl on the floor and moan all day, occasionally running to the bathroom. Of course you took medicine but it seemed to be getting worse.
You knew by the time Harry came home, he would be tired so you didn’t want to bother him at all.
“I’m home, love!” Harry’s cheerful but worn out voice came drifting down the entrance. You were lying on the sofa, coughing your brains out, but when you heard him, you froze and tried to look presentable. His head of curls poked out behind the wall as he whispered a quiet “boo”. You quickly wiped your sweaty forehead and tried not to moan.
“Mhmm, h-hi, babe..” You stammered. Harry’s expression told you he was suspicious, but you ran off to get some water. After staying there and chugging water, you sat down on the kitchen floor, unable to handle your coughs. Harry ran in, and patted your back, trying to contain you. He gave his signature cheeky grin and looked at you.
“Babe, I just choked on water, it’s fine.” You put down your water and yawned, trying to act as natural as possible. “I don’t -“ He started to say but you cut him off.
“Well, there’s leftover casserole I made in the fridge, please eat, ok?” You fidgeted with your fingers and got the dish out. “I made it today…” You explained feebly, trying not to cry because of your aching body.
Harry’s expression changed immediately as he ran over to you.
“No, baby, you’re sick.” He lifted you into his arms and carried you back to the sofa. “Now, let me take care of you, love.” He got you your favourite cup of tea, yummy soup, more medicine and bundled you up in blankets.
“How did you know?” You mumbled, straining your voice. “You were dying! It wasn’t that hard to tell…” He kissed your nose and massaged your head. “You need to take acting lessons, babe.”
You let out a wheezed laugh. “I didn’t think it was that bad, Haz. I tried.”
He chuckled and made you eat some soup. “But why were you trying to hide it? I mean, you know I would take care of you, right?” Harry’s emerald eyes clouded with confusion.
You sighed. “Harry, you’re always worn out after work at the studio, I know that. There’s no use bothering you with a little cold.” You grumbled. He looked at you with horror.
“Bother me?! No, you couldn’t do that even if you tried… Me being tired is another thing, I love you more than feeling tired.” He pressed your head against his chest and entwined your legs with his.
You calmed down a little and felt a bit better.
“Oh God, I love you so much.” You whispered. “I love you more than you know.” He said back. “You looked so helpless back in the kitchen; I just wanted to kiss everything better.” He sighed and held you gently.
“You’re too sweet, Haz.” You murmured as you drank your tea in 3 gulps. Harry’s eyes widened. “I guess you want more tea?” He chuckled he pressed kisses to your forehead.
“Baby, I’m taking the day off work to snuggle and do something extra special to make you feel better so get well!” He winked and ran off to get you more tea and dodge your flying pillows.