#light grey pajama bottoms with pink cuffs(?) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

paperpocalypse · 3 years

Text

seam.

50 Wordless Ways to Say “I Love You”: 34. Mending an item of their clothing that was ripped.

Pairing: Five Hargreeves x Reader

Word Count: 1,331 words

Warning: Swearing

[A/N: Takes place sometime before blink of an eye.]

You have a favorite hoodie. Five – and everyone else – knows it’s your favorite because you wear it every night and any other time you don’t have to wear the uniform; you had been wearing it when you first set foot into the academy, and you still wear it now, no matter how worn out it’s gotten. And it’s worn. The Eiffel Tower printed onto the front is cracked and faded, the elbows patched up because the fabric there had been scuffed thin.

By all accounts, you should probably get a new one. But Five knows that you won’t because you’re a sentimental person, and that ancient article of clothing has some sentimental value that he will probably never understand.

With this in mind, it’s no wonder that tragedy should befall your precious hoodie at some point, that point being today.

“It ripped.”

Your tone is sullen as you hold your hoodie out, showing Five where the top seam of the front pocket had torn. The flap of fabric hangs on by an inch of intact stitching.

Glancing down at the damage and then back up at your forlorn expression, Five wonders why you had specifically gone to him about this. “How’d that happen?” he questions.

You twist your mouth, rocking back on your heels. “… I pull on the pocket sometimes,” you admit. “And I guess I pulled too hard this time.”

Five nods slowly. It would be a lie to say that he’s surprised, but he finds himself unwilling to give you shit over it. “Our mom can fix it for you,” he points out, uncrossing his legs.

“I know, but she’s recharging,” you murmur, lowering your arms until the sleeves of your hoodie touch the floor. “And my mom’s gonna be here soon.”

Which means …?

“You want me to hold onto it,” Five guesses, “and give it to my mom so she can fix it over the weekend.”

Your expression lights up, though you seem apologetic as well. “Yeah. If that’s okay with you? I asked Klaus, but he told me to ask you instead because he’ll probably forget.”

Good idea. “Sounds about right,” he responds wryly. Standing up, Five holds out his hands, and you carefully place your hoodie in them. “I’ll take it to her.”

Based on the blinding smile on your face, one would think that he just agreed to babysit your firstborn child. “You’re a lifesaver, Five. Thank you.”

He nods again. From the stairs, Klaus shouts your name, and after one last fervent ‘thank you,’ you turn on your heel and run out of the living room to rejoin him. Five listens as the two of you race up the stairs, loud as usual, then looks down at the bundle of cloth now in his possession.

The fabric is soft and light against his fingers – nothing like the starched stiffness of the academy uniform. He scrutinizes the torn pocket again, pressing it back into place. Mom could fix this easily …

—

As soon as noon hits the next day, Five takes your hoodie and blinks to the mezzanine where Mom is.

“Mom.”

She looks up from her work – it’s a cross stitch of a bundle of roses, all sunny yellow with pink edges – and smiles at him, unstartled by his sudden appearance. (She never is.) “Five!” she chirps, tilting her head. “What is it?”

He shows Mom the pocket. Her beam immediately turns into a worried frown, and she sets down her cross stitch to lift up the drooping fabric.

“Oh, dear.” She runs her thumb along the torn edge. “This is [Y/n]’s favorite sweatshirt, isn’t it?”

“You can fix it, right?”

She takes the hoodie from him, inspecting everything. A hum leaves her throat, and then she smiles again, nodding happily. “Of course,” she assures him. “It’ll be as good as new! Oh, and I could clean it properly, too.”

You’d appreciate that. The edges of the cuffs could use a proper cleaning, given that they’re supposed to be yellow, not grey. “Thanks.”

“You’re very welcome, Five,” Mom says warmly, standing up.

She waltzes past him, heading down the stairs and towards the sewing room; and although Five knows that he should very well get going with his own business, he follows her, having an inexplicable need to keep track of what you had entrusted him with. (Well, not completely inexplicable. He’s responsible.)

There’s nothing extraordinary about the sewing room because it doesn’t have to be. He’s only been here a handful of times in the past, each of them for measurements so Mom and a tailor could make new uniforms and pajamas as he grew out of his old ones; upon glancing around, he sees that it hasn’t changed since then. Aside from the general organized array of sewing materials and tools, there are two large tables and two sewing machines, as well as eight mannequins, the shapes of which resemble himself, his siblings, and you.

Seating herself at one of the tables, Mom lays your hoodie down and smooths out the folds and wrinkles. “Five,” she calls him from the doorway, picking up a small, lumpy green pincushion that looks suspiciously handmade, “Could you be a dear and look for the yellow thread in that bin?”

Five silently obliges, then grabs a chair to sit near the sewing machine.

He watches as Mom makes careful but prompt work of pinning the pocket back on. Then she moves to set up the sewing machine, threading it and choosing the right stitch length and all of those things that Five hadn’t cared to know about before; now, however, he sees why someone might find this appealing. It’s methodical and practical, this sewing machine. Subconsciously, he leans in further to see how it works.

Mom lifts up the little metal foot below the needle, sliding your hoodie underneath until the pocket’s lined up just so. She presses the foot pedal, and the machine hums as she begins to sew the fabric back into place.

However, once she gets about halfway through, she stops.

When Five looks at her to see why, Mom smiles at him. “Would you like to try, Five?” she asks.

Hm. Well, it doesn’t seem difficult.

He shrugs. “Okay.”

—

“Five!”

Five looks up from his book as you bound into the living room, swathed in your newly repaired hoodie. You come to a stop in front of the sofa and tug at the bottom of the sweatshirt to show him the attached pocket.

“Look, she fixed it!” you exclaim. “And it’s so clean.”

“I can see that.”

You grin broadly as you stuff your hands into the kangaroo pocket, seeming to revel in the soft fabric. Your strange enthusiasm is almost palpable, and as it sinks in that you’re pleased with the result, Five feels a sense of satisfaction.

And that doesn’t make complete sense to him, because of course you’d be pleased. It’s ridiculously hard to disappoint you.

“You’re lucky to have such a cool mom, Five,” you continue. “She can do everything. And she’s nice, like, all the time.”

There’s a reason for that. “She’s a robot,” Five reminds you.

You pout. “Well – yeah, I know, but that doesn’t make her any less cool. It makes her even cooler, actually …”

Trailing off, you tilt your head at him, seemingly lost in thought. Five is slightly unsettled by the pensive look in your eyes, but he holds your gaze, unwilling to be the one to break contact. It’s a hidden relief when you shake your head.

“Ugh. Sorry, I spaced out. Thanks for looking after it for me, Five.”

“You’re welcome.”

You hug him briefly and bid him good night, then saunter off in your hoodie, humming some off-key tune of which he doesn’t know the origin. Five settles back and opens his book once more, locating his half-finished note in the margins.

For some reason, your smile sticks in his mind for the rest of the night.

#wordless ways to say i love you #source: @50-item-writing-prompts #five hargreeves #five hargreeves x reader #five hargreeves imagine #the umbrella academy five #the umbrella academy #tua #five x reader #five imagine #tua fanfic #fanfic #reader insert #fluff #tua grace #i've used a sewing machine like once in my life and that was years ago lol #blarrrgh this is ooc i know but five n grace having mother-son time made me soft #anyway #magneticverse

362 notes · View notes

sml8180 · 4 years

Text

Ego Christmas - Day 24 - Breakfast

This story actually takes place on Christmas morning, and it leads up directly to tomorrow’s story (which I might queue up, despite the fact that I made it a rule for myself while doing these that I would let myself stock up on the stories, but have to post them manually, ie. no scheduling posts). Anyways, it’s Christmas Eve (day) at the time I’m posting this! And tonight is the third night of Hanukkah for any of my Jewish readers. No matter what you celebrate, Happy Holidays, everyone!

Breakfast

Dark hummed as he worked in the kitchen. He’d gotten up earlier than usual, not even bothering to change out of his black pajamas. It was Christmas morning, after all, there was no rush to get ready for the day. The only thing he had changed was pulling on his Christmas sweater over the white undershirt he wore. The sweater was black, with red and blue stripes on the neck, wrist cuffs, and bottom of the sweater, with flecks of red and blue thread throughout, along with candy canes.

He was humming with the soft holiday music that was playing in the kitchen as he got things ready for breakfast. As he worked, he hardly noticed Wilford come out of the bedroom, his own pink and yellow Christmas sweater on, until he felt strong arms wrap around his waist from behind.

“Merry Christmas, Darky,” Wil softly mumbled, kissing Dark’s cheek.

“Merry Christmas, Wil,” Dark replied, kissing Wilford’s cheek.

“French Toast?” Wilford asked, though the question had an obvious answer.

“It’s a tradition,” Dark simply told him, continuing his work as various Egos began to enter the kitchen.

The twins entered, up surprisingly early compared to their usual time, still in their pajamas. Google and Bing entered, followed by Yancy, Magnum, Bim, and King. All of them were still in their pajamas, as well, wearing their Christmas sweaters over them. The twins both had blue sweaters, with their respective equipment patterned all over; Google’s was also blue, with little white G’s, while Bing’s was black with his logo all over. Yancy’s had silhouettes of flying birds and broken chains, all in black and white, Magnum’s had a pattern of pirate ships and coins that were sewn in sparkly golden thread. Bim had a purple sweater on, with simple white a zig-zag pattern, and King’s was white with a pattern of squirrels and acorns.

“Smells great out ‘ere,” Yancy mumbled, seemingly still waking up.

“Thank you,” Dark responded. “Take your seats, everyone. It won’t be too much longer.

Silver, Ed, and Reynolds entered next, with Eric and Illinois not far behind. Silver wore his black and white sweater over his pajamas, Ed had foregone his hat in favor of his tan sweater, patterned with dull red zig-zag and cowboy hat patterns. Reynolds wore a grey sweater with yellow hardhats and yellow stripes on the cuffs and neckline, Eric wore a light green sweater with various birds and flowers dotted all over it in yellow and light blue, while Illinois wore a khaki colored sweater with a pattern of what looked to be brown monkeys.

Dr. Iplier and Host were the last to enter the kitchen. Host wore a dull brown sweater with red waves decorating it, while Dr. Iplier had on a pale blue one with a pattern of TARDISes and snowflakes.

Dark couldn’t help but smile as he prepared breakfast for everybody, listening to the chatter of all the Egos at the table as the older ones explained that his cooking was a rare treat. He laughed along with some of the jokes, as he finished cooking and turned off the burners he was using, bringing the plates of French Toast over to the table with Wilford’s help. With a snap of Wilford’s fingers, the table was dotted with various toppings for the sweet breakfast and each Ego’s favorite mug filled with a hot drink, as Dark finally got the chance to sit down.

“Merry Christmas, everyone,” Dark simply stated, smiling at the returning chorus of Merry Christmas from the others.

With excited chatter and a generally joyful energy in the air, all the Egos began to eat their breakfast, praising Dark’s cooking as they did. It was a special occurrence, after all; Dark hardly ever cooked for them all, though that made the holidays even more special. It was another Christmas at the Ego Manor, and it was bound to be a wonderful one, if breakfast was any indicator.

#egochristmas2019 #Markiplier Egos #ALL the boys are in this one #Darkiplier #Wilford Warfstache #Darkstache #long post

13 notes · View notes