#also i did pass out o(-< and there was no mat to fall onto just the old dirty floor

[tamagotchikgs]

i showered && i am very afraid my mom is gonna b mad at me because it took maybe 3 times as long as normal because i could only use 1 arm and it filled the tub up so much

[after-witch]

In Sickness [Yandere Sesshoumaru x Reader]

Title: In Sickness [Yandere Sesshoumaru x Reader]

Synopsis: You were not often alone with the demon lord who took you captive. Then again, you were not often touched by the demon lord who took you captive, either.

Word Count: 2029

notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, mentions of illness

You were not often alone with the demon lord who took you captive.

Then again, you were not often touched by the demon lord who took you captive. Yet here he was, bent over you, hands wringing out a rag he’d just dipped in a pail of river water. You barely register his fingers glancing against your skin, the slight sharpness of his nail edges, as he lays the damp rag on your forehead.

You can’t help it. At the touch of the damp rag, you sigh, soft and pleased. The coolness is blissful, a brief respite from the fever that has been wearing you down for days.

“You are a nuisance,” he mumbles, grimacing at droplets of river water that dribbled their way onto the elevated mat he’d set you on. To keep you away from the cold ground, you supposed, but you hadn’t the ability to care about his unusual generosity.

Once it had become clear that your illness was no minor trifle, he’d sent Rin away with Jaken as unwilling, grumpy but admittedly loyal protector. Where they were, you didn’t know and truthfully, you didn’t have the strength to care. It was hard enough to muster up the energy to care about your own self, drenched with sweat yet wracked with bouts of shivers that alternated with fevers that made your dreams terribly real.

It had started small. A tickle in your throat, a bit of weariness. You were tired, more so than usual, more so than you expected. But it wasn’t until the fever came and refused to leave, until your legs became red and swollen and could no longer carry you, until you started to become delirious, that Sesshoumaru had taken direct action. Jaken and Rin were gone, and you were taken somewhere. A cave? It was a shelter, at least, something more permanent than the campfires and group sleeps you were used to in recent months.

And Sesshoumaru had tended to you, quietly, without much in the way of conversation. You slept most of the time, half-awakening to hear him grinding medicine and waiting until it was placed on your swollen legs, or in your mouth mixed with hot water, to fall back into a listless sleep. You wonder how long you will be able to recall the feeling of his hands on you, the unusual way he sometimes bent over you and stared, checking your breathing, feeling your forehead.

It was intimate and uncomfortable, but you couldn’t be bothered to fight it.

You were just so sick. You were just so tired.

Yet you weren’t exactly a stranger to fatigue, to stress, particularly since the day you’d been forced to go with the demon. Stress dragged you down, often making you wish you could sleep for days, a luxury that was not afforded due to the frequently traveling nature of your captor. 

That day that came back to you so often in your dreams, and was now a memory that ebbed and flowed with your fevers.

Did you talk about that day, in your feverish ramblings? Sesshoumaru acknowledged what you said sometimes only with passive noises, either uncaring or not wanting to encourage your incoherent words, intent on making you better and resuming the original course.

You really were a nuisance. So why did he keep you? You’d never asked him this out of fear. You’d certainly never questioned his decision to keep you alive, much less questioned why he wanted you in the first place. Why he agreed to the wild offering thrown before him.

Your village elders had begged the passing demon lord Sesshoumaru to lay waste to a band of lesser demons that plagued the village for years. Men, women, children, even animals--taken and slaughtered in unspeakable ways. Sometimes even killed in their homes, partially eaten. It was not unusual to wake in the morning to piercing cries from mothers finding their children mangled in their beds, or hear husbands wail in agony at the loss of much-beloved wives on the way home from fetching water.

You remember the day so clearly. Like the rest of the people in the village, you were watching from your home, peering out the door like a child, as the elders got down on their knees and begged for assistance from a demon who’d passed along the outskirts of the village.

You remember the shock of his long white hair, his luxurious clothing, his imposing presence that seemed strong enough to make you shake even from behind the safety of the doorway.

He didn’t even bother saying no. He’d simply glared at them as if they were dirt and began to walk away. Then one of the elders pivoted on his knees, spitting out words that would turn out to seal your fate: ��We will give you one of our women as an offering! Please, o great lord!”

Still, he did not stop, and the elder let out a shaky cry. Then the elder stood on wobbling knees and looked wildly around the village until his eyes landed on your half-open door, your face barely peeking out of it. He was a man who’d witnessed your birth, a man who’d once given you a special treat for free when you tripped and skin your knee as a child, a man who had serious conversations with you in recent weeks about finding a husband as surely someone so dutiful and kind did not wish to remain with her parents forever.

He was also a man who’d run to your home, quick as you’d ever seen him, and yanked you out of the doorway until you fumbled and fell over on the ground. His hands were sweaty with fear yet they clamped around your wrist like a weight.

“This one will make an excellent servant! She can cook and clean and embroider! Or you may have her--or, or kill her! Whatever you wish! Please, please,” he’d begged again, bowing low while keeping an iron grip on your wrist.

You remember the sound of wind in your ears. You remember the feeling of pain in your knees, in your elbow, where you’d fallen hard. You remember the soft scratch of the door opening, the way your neck twisted around to see your parents and brother hiding behind one another, simply watching you. You remember the look on their faces, confused and scared yet saying nothing. Why didn’t they pull you back in?

And then you remember the sound of footsteps approaching. It was the demon. You looked up and he loomed over you, staring impassively at your form. He didn’t bother glancing at the elder, who was now trembling as much as you.

“Very well,” he said quietly, yet with a tone that was unmistakably firm. “She is mine. In exchange, I will kill some vermin for you.”

A sound rushed through the villagers from behind their doors. Sometimes when the wind blows just right, you’re reminded of it. It was a murmur, a gasp, a collective sound that was relief and sadness all at once. They would be saved from the demons at the expense of one of their own. A sacrifice.

You remember pulling on your arm, crying out something. Did you cry for your mother or your father? You can’t remember now. It didn’t matter. They had already shut the door, and the sound of your sister crying from behind it was the only noise that came through.

Someone tied a rope around your wrists. You kicked, and the rope was jerked until you were standing on numb legs. You had no choice but to walk, to be dragged, as the demon held onto the other end and simply left the village without another word. You cried, you begged, you feverishly cried out to the people watching from behind the doors, to the elders who clutched their hands but watched you leave all the same.

He took you. But he didn’t kill you, or have you, or even make you a tireless servant to his demonic whims. He simply expected you to pull your weight, or at least, that’s what the green imp--Jaken, you’d learned--told you was the expectation. So you helped to cook, you helped to mend clothes, you minded Rin. Nothing more or less than the others were expected to do.

You were kept bound when not doing your chores for a few weeks. When he’d taken the rope off, you’d waited for the moment and run--not that you got far or got anything than a few more weeks with the rope for your troubles.

You hadn’t tried to run for a while. It did no good. And the areas you’d traveled through were sometimes riddled with demons or wild animals that would surely kill someone such as yourself with little effort, should you try to make it on your own.

With Sesshoumaru, you were fed. You got enough rest. You were protected. Not that you didn’t wish every day to return home, to sit with your family for meals, to chase your sister around and tease her to get her to laugh when she felt blue. Not that you didn’t hate being sometimes treated like a pest, like a dog, when it wasn’t your choice to be here in the first place. But at least you were still alive, still able to hope you would see your family again some day.

A sigh from lips that weren’t your own draws you out of your memories, sweeping away the memory of that day and every day of captivity since like dirt being beaten out o f fabric.

You open your eyes, grateful for the soft light in the cave, and see Sesshoumaru sitting across from you, his back up against the stone wall. Your head feels clearer, less foggy, less hot, thanks to the rag and you decide to sit up a bit. Laying down all the time makes you feel dizzy. He watches with no change in expression as you wiggle yourself into a higher position, wiggling yourself back on the mat until you’re resting against the wonderfully cool stone.

You stare at each other for a few moments. The sound of the fire he’d set up further in the cave is low, crackling. You try to imagine him gathering wood, crouching low to do the mundane work that you and Rin and Jaken often did, and it seems ridiculous.

You try to imagine these things in order to avoid asking a question that has been on your mind since the moment the ropes had chafed your wrists, the moment you’d been forced to stumble after him.

But you can’t avoid it forever, and finally, you speak.

“Why did you take me?”

You would never dare to ask this question if the others were here, if Sesshoumaru hadn’t been tending to you, intimate and up close, for days. But the fever and the strangeness of the situation has made you feel clearheaded in a bold, perhaps too much so, way.

He simply stares at you for a few moments, and you think that he will choose to ignore you until his gaze shifts almost imperceptibly to the side.

“You were offered to me.”

It is your turn to offer a passive noise. The answer he gives is is nothing. At least nothing that makes sense to you, makes sense of your situation.

“Why didn’t you kill me, then?” Surely there was a reason, since he didn’t make you a hapless servant, either. “I was supposed to be a sacrifice.” Or you were meant to be. Instead he’s made you something altogether in-between. You weren’t worked to the bone or treated terribly, but you couldn’t leave. You weren’t killed, but you weren’t any more useful than his willing companions, either.

You don’t get the answer you wanted. Or any answer at all. Instead, he merely scoffs, and stands up to leave the cave. He pauses at the entrance, waiting until you turn towards him to speak.

“I will not take long.” He gestures towards the mat with one hand. “Go to sleep. And refrain from asking such stupid questions when you wake up.”

[4dtk]

NCT127 falling in love with a s/o with a time-consuming job like a lawyer or a doctor

NCT 127 with an s/o who has a time-consuming job

this is so cute, thanks for requesting! i made this in a format in the ways that the boys might show their care when you’re so busy with your job :) long as hell LOL enjoy!!

brief spoilers for shang-chi if you haven’t watched! i just watched it this week lol it was really good

→ TAEIL would direct conversations to a more neutral stance. it’s not that he wants to talk about himself, but sometimes if you don’t want to talk about your case or patients, he easily slips into conversation about theories or his favourite tv show or your rundown of what groceries to take for the next time you head to the supermarket. just really normal small things that take your mind off the stress, especially at night when you’re laying in bed and just before you’re drifting off to sleep, the two of you would engage in a topic that you both know fairly well about and then you’re usually the first to succumb to sleep. taeil purposely picks out topic he knows will excite you (and bc he knows you’re passionate about it, he reads up on it which allows a well-balanced convo). if you’re rambling on about a topic, then he’ll occasionally play the guitar while laying down, just simple melodies that bring a lot of peace to the room.

“wait- how d’you like this melody?” taeil softly says, changing it instantly when you commented on the previous, discordant one. your nod encourages him to carry on with the plucking of his fingers while you yourself continue with your rambles. “so i’m saying right, it seems totally unfair for him, and you’d think that, right? but all he ever does is whine and moan about his misfortunes, plus his character is so terribly written i kinda feel sorry for-“

the halted melody prompts a sharp turn of your turn to the guitar, which you almost collide with, “what?” taeil only shrugs. “nothin’. just like how passionate you get about the show, it’s cute.” your boyfriend smiles after, ignoring how his words affect you and how your cheeks heat up at it.

→ JOHNNY is one to take you out after your work. it’s not to a super intense, high-energy place like a club or anything, but small little dates that won’t take up much time. eating dinner at a restaurant, walk in the park, small cafe trip, strolling through supermarket to make fun of brand names. if you’re too tired that day, he always finds a way to make your time at home fun. from setting up a small karaoke session, to maybe making a pillow fort, to trying out new cuddling positions, he has everything on his mind. always showing you things to cheer you up if you happen, from memes to funny videos. is low-key down for you to review crime/doctor shows too, just to see how accurate they nail it. your time at home is consuming endless pieces of media until your tummies hurt or you’re sniffling at a movie together.

“hold on- lemme show you this video,” johnny’s hand is outstretched to you once he finds the video and your spoon full of food is left near your mouth. you proceed to watch the low quality video which your boyfriend claims to be the funniest video on earth.

W-HOR? WAH? the girl’s finger in the video traces over the word “who” as she struggles to pronounce it, with presumably her sister in the background prompting her. the repeated pronunciation of the word makes you snort, while the wheezing and the loud NO in the background causes you to fully erupt into laughter. johnny simply smiles at another successful attempt to make you smile.

→ YUTA always has a hand on you when you return home. he brings you into a hug, he guides you by your back, you have to eat with one hand bc he can’t keep his hand off of you. he hopes his little touches will ease your tiredness even by a bit and if you don’t want it, he’ll stop, but it’s yuta’s way of showing he cares without words. busy days with yuta usually involve just sitting in silence as you catch up on a show or a series, or even listening to a song in silence and enjoying each other’s company. he will talk if you want to, but if not that’s fine too, preferring more to stroke your hair in silence and think about how much he loves you. becomes very sappy when you’re in the quiet of your room and generally is very fond of the small pockets of time you get to spend before you two fall asleep. likes that you’re so resolute in your job but can be soft around him behind closed doors.

“you comfortable?” yuta calls out, barely above a whisper as he wraps an arm tighter around you. there’s comfortable ministrations that his does with his fingers, massaging the skin under your pajamas while you snuggle deeper into his chest. humming, you tighten your hold around his top.

“i am, yeah,” you can’t care much for the tv show on the screen now, with empty takeout boxes and tissues littering the coffee table. you feel the gentle kiss of yuta on your head before you’re drifting off to dreamland to a scratchy, 60s jazz song playing through the speakers.

→ TAEYONG would always welcome you back with a table set and food ready, always. he knows that food is the way to someone’s heart and you eating his food always makes him happy and offers to clean-up. lets you shower first if you come back together, puts you before himself very often that sometimes you have to tell him to tone it down because you don’t want him ending up more tired than he already is. following up on this, taeyong would show his love by cooking your lunches for you. when he has the time he makes the effort to put it in a nice bento or box for you to eat. he also does the general chores around the house (assuming the two of you live together) so the bed will be a little less messy when you come back, the floor’s cleaner, the countertops aren’t so cluttered with stuff. even if there’s nothing to clean up, he always these small little things before you come back, and even if you don’t notice it, he sees the way you’re able to navigate the space or when you’re more at ease and it makes him smile.

“do you want to shower first?” taeyong calls out softly, admiring the clean house he’s managed to do up before he went to meet you, “i’ll just hang around until you’re done.”

“you need to prioritise yourself too, yong,” you pout, rubbing a hand up and down his forehead as you toe off your shoes, “how ‘bout we shower together? you did clean the house up pretty nicely.” that earns a grin and a kiss from taeyong, who goes straight the prepare the bath. you chuckle, “he’s already forgotten what i’ve told him.”

→ DOYOUNG supports you silently and listens to your day when you return home and talk about your patient or a case you’re working on. he gives you his own input when he sees fit but other than that he wants you to explain the details. being a doctor and lawyer is crazy and hectic and just wants you to know that you’re appreciated in the workforce. the way he might show his love when caring for a busy s/o like you is when he brings you stuff that you might’ve forgotten like an umbrella or your lunch since you were rushing out of the house earlier. he doesn’t mind going the extra mile to you literally bc it’s a win-win! you get your food, he gets to see you, etc. if not he’ll send someone over to pass it to the receptionist, or he’ll make up for it by meeting you outside the office to apologise and then ask you what you wanna do so he can make it up to you.

“did you manage to get the bento i bought you?” doyoung asks worriedly through the phone, holding up a hand to the staff member who was beckoning him to his photoshoot. “you bought so much!” you exclaim, with a shoulder to your ear, phone perched in between, “thank you doyoung.”

“’m sorry i couldn’t come over to give you your lunch today, angel. i’ll see you after you’re done with work, okay?” you smile at that, shooting a quick reply before you delved into your food.

→ JAEHYUN would honestly serve you once you come back from a busy day tbh. where taeyong does the chores around the house, jaehyun helps by doing the chores on YOU and only you. giving you massages, bringing you dinner on a tray, other unsaid things… and maybe even carrying you from room to room lol he’s relentless and just goes you need to rest, lemme help. big gentleman even when you reject him, doing smaller things like constantly checking up on you, pulling the blanket higher onto your body, cuddling you closer to his body when it’s cold. on top of that jaehyun also one that would meet you at your workplace and take you out like johnny, but those dates are extremely chill. he lets you choose, and when you’re not sure, he takes you on a night picnic at the field or a rooftop, just dinner, but outside bc the view is really nice and he likes the way you look even after a long day of working.

“where should we park our mats?” your head moves from left to right, looking for a suitable spot while you tug on jaehyun’s hand. he hums at it, searching for a spot just like you are. the wind’s blowing gently when you settle near a tree, mat occasionally flying up which you counter with your heavy laptop bag.

“any idea where we can get desserts later?” you call out as a half-joke, not expecting jaehyun to pull up his phone to instantly search for a baskin robbins. “there’s one close-by, wait here for a minute and i’ll go get one for you-“ you laugh before pulling him back down, “don’t worry! we’ll go together, plus i don’t want to be left alone.” jaehyun softly smiles, nodding along as he takes out the food he packed.

→ JUNGWOO has similar intentions like johnny, except he would just wanna stay home. where johnny’s goal is to make you laugh, jungwoo just likes doing things together at home. playing board games, folding the clothes together, making dinner together. it’s not that he doesn’t want to do it, but when he’s given free time he sometimes just likes to laze at home and rest from schedules. he sometimes takes himself out of bed to help before you come back but he’s lazy lolol. loves it when you’re both equally tired and living off 5h of sleep. it’s not romanticising the lack of sleep but your schedules just don’t allow you to sleep equal amounts of hours of sleep. through that, you’re at least able to connect over sleepy talk and droopy smiles while you make the bed or assemble a lego piece or playing video games. if jungwoo’s energetic enough he doesn’t mind doing the crazier activities but he generally prefers those activities done in semi-silence while you exchange jokes and funny videos.

“noooo- no! you only need to move three times, you’re cheating-“ jungwoo pouts and moves back your playing avatar back three spaces on the board game. you purse your lips, not expecting him to see it since he was particularly invested in the movie playing on the screen. knowing it was a shitty film, you tried to talk him out of it, but he insisted. with eyes glued to the screen a few seconds earlier, you took your chance to move down one more space in order to get the benefit on the game board.

“you’ll get to buy a house soon, honey,” jungwoo grins cheekily, laughing even more when he’s able to move four steps, landing on the square that you wanted. now it was your turn to pout as he flips the card for property purchases, happily placing it next to his five other houses. “you’re so annoying!” you say as you fall back on the bean bag, but jungwoo doesn’t believe it when he sees a smile poking out from behind the hands shielding your face..

→ MARK sends you a looooot of texts. your convos with him are just him spamming questions or sending you memes. on every platform LMAO he has tweets sent, ig dm’s are blowing up from the weirdass nct memes that some of the fans make, he uses the official nct tiktok account to send you viral trending videos and he’s like we should try this!!!! and it’s a couple doing acrobatics or some shit. he’s crazy. anyway, he just likes to share things with you, from songs, to playlists, to youtube videos or interesting topics like crime psychology or movie theories etc. he knows that you’re hardly going to see it in your job but he sees the way you react across the room when he sends you stuff so he’s sure that you’ll like it after you get off work. sometimes likes to rickroll you, he knows it’s an old trend/troll thing but the thrill of seeing your frustrated replies always make him laugh out loud. when you’re back home, the both of you review whatever you send each other and then laugh together at them.

“hey, babe, check out this video,” mark says in a text, pasting a twitter link to a video. the video starts out interesting enough, mentioning something about a fun fact with stunning visuals has you wanting to learn more. when the guy in the video starts on his first word, the video immediately changes to rick astley with never gonna give you up. you mutter a small fuck under your breath, gaining a bit of attention from your colleagues during lunch break.

under the table, you flip him off in a picture, which he responds with a big smile of his that’s obviously teasing you for falling for it. you’re going to get it when i get back home!!!!! on a new high, you text the message and set your phone down, already excited for the evening where’d you be able to spend your time with him.

→ HAECHAN is a mix of everything kinda. he’d bring you out after work sometimes and other times likes to stay at home, mainly takes you out to eat after work, but that’s the extent of his after-work-escapades, he doesn’t want to tire you out too much. i think one prominent things he likes to do to is vlog to you, send you videos of what he’s doing on set or at home and just treats your convo like a bank for endless videos. y’know how there’s this video feature in telegram? he sends sooo many of those that you have the time of your life watching those on the ride back home. if you have time, you HAVE to facetime him during your lunch break and tell him how you’re doing and how’s your work coming along. do i have to kick someone’s ass for making you feel uncomfortable? is that patient being creepy again? and you have to explain that haechan, no, that patient is an elderly you cannot beat his ass. he’s like i don’t care, creepy dudes are not excused!!! and you can’t help but smile at that. always wants to be talking to you, close to you. if one day, you’re able to bring him to your job, this man follows you around like a lost puppy and just admires what you do, it’s endearing.

“ah, wait- you know how the sister, xia ling was sent to shut down the ten rings army? well… i just reviewed some of the articles and-“ the video cuts into the next one, haechan’s face zoomed in as he looks straight into the camera, “y’know, she might become a villain one day, i don’t know. maybe i should review some of the comics too?”

“anyway! come look at our set for the music video! it’s sexy, outfits are fire, sets are so good, the choreo this time isn’t too hard, either.” haechan asks the other members to wave as he passes them by, no doubt going his own make-up and hair after the others were already done, “okay, gotta go- love you bye!” you smile at that, texting a quick reply before you open up a video of your own, whispering through the speaker with a promise that you’d see him tonight.

[atths--twice]

Autumn Blessings

Mulder arrives at Scully's apartment, believing he will find her alone and interested in the case he brings over. However, his plans go so much better than he could have planned. Tagging @fictober-event @today-in-fic @xffictober2021​

I am late, so it’s a double day, two days for the price of one!

Fictober Day 21 and 22 

Word Count: 3327

Rated: T 

Prompt: No promises and You have no proof.

Fandom: The X-Files

October 30, 1996

Mulder walked down the hall to Scully’s apartment, his arms full of files, and his head down, paying no attention to anything around him. If he had, he would have noticed the fall decorations on the doors he passed. He would have seen the pumpkin themed welcome mat Mrs. Carson had laid out in front of her door, but he did not.

Not until he raised his hand to knock on Scully’s door did he take notice. There was a fall wreath on her door. A wreath. He actually turned his head, looking back and forth, to be sure he was at the right apartment.

The wreath had leaves of green, gold, rust, and crimson. Small pumpkins sat inside of it, green vines wrapping around the metal frame. Autumn Blessings was written on a small cream colored plaque in fancy lettering of rich orange.

Four years he had known Scully and not once had he seen a wreath on her door. It gave him pause while also filling his mind with many questions.

He heard her laughter through the door and he shook his head, knocking on it just below the wreath, still looking at it with curiosity as he waited for her to open the door.

When she did, he was once again taken aback. She had her hair up in a messy bun and her cheeks were flushed. She wore a black apron with two white smiling ghosts on it over a button up blue flannel shirt, the sleeves rolled to the elbows, and a pair of black pants. No shoes, but she wore green socks with orange pumpkins poking out from the hem of her pants.

Who was this Scully? He was sure he had never met her before.

“Mulder!” she said with a happy smile. “What are you doing here?”

“Uhh, what-”

“Auntie Dana, I washed my hands,” said a little voice and Mulder looked past Scully, finding a boy of about four with reddish blond hair standing in her kitchen, wearing a long sleeved black shirt, jeans, and a dark blue apron with many happy smiling pumpkin faces on it.

“Umm…” Mulder said, looking back at Scully in confusion and she motioned him into the apartment with a small laugh.

“Mulder, this is my nephew, Brandon. Brandon… this is my friend, Mulder,” she said, bending down to speak to him. “Can you say hello to him?”

“Hello, Mr. Mulder,” Brandon said, sticking out his small hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Scully looked at Mulder, her eyes wide as she stuck out her lower lip and placed a hand on her chest at his actions. Mulder smiled and squatted down in front of Brandon, taking his hand in his own and shaking it solemnly and then letting go.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Brandon. You can call me Mulder. Are you having fun with your aunt?”

“Yes. We watched Babe and now we’re going to make puhkins.”

“Pumpkins,” Scully said with a smile. “Yes, we are going to carve pumpkins.”

“Did you come here to help us?” Brandon asked, looking Mulder in the eye. “Do you know how to do that?”

“Well,” Mulder chuckled, glancing at Scully. “It has been awhile, so I make no promises, but I think I could try.”

“Okay, that will be good. We have big pumpkins. Auntie Dana said those are best for making jack… jack oh lam… lammers.”

“Jack-o’-lanterns, yes,” Scully laughed, stroking his cheek, and tapping his nose with her finger. “Like a light, remember?”

“Yes. Will you help us to make the jack lanterns?” Brandon asked, his bluish green eyes on Mulder.

“Sure I will,” Mulder said, standing up and setting the files in his hand onto the table behind Scully’s couch. He laid his coat beside them and rolled up his sleeves, nodding his head at Scully. “Where do I get an apron like one of those?”

“You don’t,” she laughed, shaking her head. “I only have these for me and him. Although, there is one hanging in the closet if you want to use it, but it’s not exactly… Halloween themed.”

He left to check what she meant and came back with a cream colored apron covered in flowers and butterflies. Scully pursed her lips, trying not to laugh, but he saw the mirth in her eyes.

“Don’t suppose you’ll switch with me?”

“Not a chance,” she said with a chuckle, retying the strings on Brandon’s apron in the front, as they were far too long to trail down the back.

“Well then…” he said, slipping the apron over his head and tying his own strings behind his back. Looking down, he nodded as he smoothed it down. She laughed again, seeing how it came to just below his crotch, the waist of it near his chest.

“A perfect fit,” she said, her eyes sparkling.

“Absolutely. Definitely not too short.”

“Nope.” He smiled at her as she helped Brandon up into the kitchen chair, the table covered in plastic and four large pumpkins sitting on top of it, the tops already cut.

“I want that one, Auntie Dana,” Brandon said, pointing to the one in the middle, and she nodded.

“I know. Okay. We just need to be careful, right? First, I’ll draw the face you want and we’ll trace it like you do in school to cut it out, okay?”

“Yes. I will be careful.”

“We just finished scooping all the insides out, didn’t we?”

“Yeah. They were yucky. I didn’t like it.”

“No,” Mulder said, reaching for a pumpkin. “I don’t blame you. It’s an odd texture.”

“What does testure mean?” Brandon asked, looking at Mulder with a frown.

“Texture,” Mulder said with a smile. “It’s how something feels. Like the pumpkin here, what is it’s texture? How does it feel when you touch it?” He held his pumpkin out to Brandon and waited for him to touch it.

“It’s… smooth but it’s bumpy too,” Brandon said, looking at Mulder for confirmation.

“That’s right. How did the texture of the inside of the pumpkin feel?” Mulder smiled, raising his eyebrows as Brandon furrowed his brow and gave it some serious thought, his small fingers touching the outside of the pumpkin as he did.

“It was… yucky. And not smooth.” Mulder flicked his eyes to Scully and saw she was smiling at Brandon with such a soft expression, it made his heart ache.

“I’d say that’s a good explanation,” he said, patting Brandon’s back gently. “Now how about that face, huh? Tell your aunt what you want her to draw.”

As they began to plan out their own jack-o’-lanterns, Mulder listened and watched Scully interacting with her nephew. She laughed and smiled more than he had ever seen and he reveled in it, loving seeing her so happy.

Brandon helped to carve the pumpkin until his attention began to wane and he asked to get down and play with his toys. Scully went with him into the bathroom to both wash his hands and use the toilet, leaving Mulder alone at the table.

He listened to her again, how she spoke to Brandon, the caring and kindness in her voice. Remembering their conversation on a bench in front of the police station, in a town rather ironically called Home, he stopped what he was doing and simply sat and thought.

He had not lied to her when he said he had never seen her as a mother before. Their work lives did not afford a family life, well not for him anyway, and therefore he had never thought of her living her life in that manner. But, did she want a family? Is that what she was hinting at? Speaking truthfully of her own worries while still projecting about others?

He knew she had to have her worries after her abduction. Worries about what had been done to her without her consent and how it would affect her ability for children. Christ, what if she would not be able to have children? That was a common thread with women who had been taken. But not her, right?

“Fuck,” he breathed, not wanting to think about it. She was a doctor, a woman. She had to have had tests done when she had been well enough.

But would she have told him something so personal?

“Can I have my backpack?” Brandon asked and Mulder sat up, breaking from his thoughts and reaching for his pumpkin, a forced smile on his face.

“It’s on the coffee table, remember?”

“Oh, yeah.”

Brandon ran to the living room and Scully rejoined Mulder in the kitchen, laying Brandon’s dark blue apron along the back of a chair. She smiled and nodded toward the bottle of wine on the counter.

“Would you like a drink?”

“Sure.”

She poured them each a glass and brought it to the table, glancing at Brandon with a smile before she sat down to finish the pumpkins.

“Your brother’s still in town then obviously?”

“Until Sunday, yeah. He and his wife wanted to go out to dinner, just the two of them, so I offered to watch Brandon.”

“Hadn’t had enough of Babe yet?” he asked, smirking at her and she laughed softly.

“Apparently not. But we only watched it once tonight, so there is that.” He laughed with a nod, glancing at her before looking back at his pumpkin.

“Was there something you needed tonight?” she asked, picking up her small knife and looking at him. “A case?”  

“Eh... not exactly, just something I was thinking of looking into a bit more.”

“Halloween related?”

“No.”

“Hmm… you know it’s interesting, considering the cases we do pursue, that we’ve never gone out to a pumpkin patch at midnight on Halloween.”

“While we sit around waiting for the Great Pumpkin? Come on, Scully. That’s not real.”

“But vampires, werewolves, and witches are?” she teased, raising her eyebrows and tilting her head.

“Yes,” he said firmly without thought and she laughed.

“Auntie Dana, can I watch Babe?” Brandon asked, coming over to stand beside her chair. Scully groaned under her breath, but rose from her seat to put the movie on for him, holding his hand as they walked into the living room.

Once he was engrossed, echoing the dialogue of the movie and dancing around, Scully and Mulder worked together to finish the pumpkins, though they did not speak much as they focused on their task.

“You have some small candles?” Mulder asked as he stood up a few minutes later, stretching and looking at her. She smiled as she glanced up from her pumpkin.

“I forgot you were wearing that apron. That’s hilarious.”

“Yeah, thanks for swapping,” he said sarcastically and she shrugged.

“I didn’t buy this to not wear it. You crash the party, you get the flowery apron.” He nodded and smiled, glancing down at it again.

“It’s not so bad actually, just wish it was a bit longer.” She looked up at him and he saw her mouth twitch and her eyes dancing, as he realized how sexual it sounded. “Not how I meant it.”

“Mmhmm,” she hummed, nodding her head with a smile. “Candles are in the cupboard behind you.”

Turning around, he took out four votive candles and put one each into the pumpkins he had finished and one into the Scully had done. She was still working on the last one, so he set the candle beside her for when she had finished.

Untying the apron strings, he took it off and laid it on top of Brandon’s as he went to use the bathroom. He looked around at the spaces he did not usually get to see, the private part of Scully that did not belong to the office. He liked to see the things she chose to display and hang on her walls, to learn about that woman, the one he still did not know very well.

“Okay, I think I’m finished,” she said as he reentered the kitchen, giving her pumpkin another look. “Yeah, that’s good. Brandon, you want to come and see the jack-o’-lanterns?”

“Yes!” He ran over and looked at them all lined up as he scrambled up on the chair for a better look. “Oh, I like them!”

“Now, we just need to add the last candle,” Scully said, lifting the top of the pumpkin and placing the candle inside.

“Why is there a candle in it?” Brandon asked, rising onto the table to look inside.

“So it makes it like a light, remember? Like a lantern. Watch.” She took a box of matches from the cupboard and lit each candle, replacing the top of the pumpkin as Mulder turned off the lights.

“Ohhhh,” Brandon exclaimed and Scully met Mulder’s eyes over his head, smiling as she blew out the match and rubbed Brandon’s back. “It’s like a nightlight.”

“Kind of, yeah,” Scully said softly, bending to look at them from his eye level.

“People used to light pumpkins like this to ward off evil spirits,” Mulder stated and Scully raised her head, glaring at him as she shook her head and looked down at Brandon in warning.

“Oh,” Brandon said. “That’s smart.”

“You think so?” Scully asked him cautiously and Brandon nodded solemnly.

“If pumpkins can take warts off, it’s smart to use them. My friend had a wart. He said it was from a frog.”

Mulder blinked his eyes, looking at Scully in confusion, her expression mirroring his own, when she suddenly smiled and covered her mouth. He shook his head, still not understanding, and she leaned close to him, exhaling a soft laugh.

“They lit pumpkins to wart off evil spirits,” she explained in a whisper. “That was what he heard.”

“Ohhh,” he whispered back, clearing his throat to cover his laugh, looking at her as she shook her head with a huge smile.

“Can I blow out the candles?” Brandon asked.

“Sure, just be careful,” Scully said, standing close to him again. “Do you want to do it through the top or through their smiles?”

“Oh, pick the smile, it’s more fun,” Mulder said and Brandon smiled, getting closer to the first pumpkin and blowing hard.

The candle went out and he laughed, moving onto the next one. Mulder watched Scully watching Brandon, keeping a hand on his back as he moved down the line of pumpkins, her tender smile once again making his heart ache.

When the last one was out, the only light in the room coming from the television, the scent of burning pumpkins in the air, she scooped Brandon off the table and squeezed him. He laughed, hugging her back, and suddenly Mulder felt as though he might cry.

It was so innocent, so simple and small, and yet it stole the air from his lungs.

Never before had he thought of himself as a family man, never wanted to have that, knowing he would most likely fuck it up somehow, given his own family’s track record. Never had he considered any of his past relationships maturing to the point of marriage or children.

But seeing Scully with her nephew, the love she felt and the ease at which she cared for him, he knew if he were to ever change his mind, it would be because of her.

With her and her alone.

And the realization of that nearly knocked him on his ass.

“Auntie Dana, it’s too tight!” Brandon said with a giggle and Mulder swallowed down the lump in his throat, forcing yet another smile to mask his feelings.

“Too tight? What? I don’t think there’s any such thing,” Scully argued, tickling his sides and making him laugh harder.  

“No, it’s too tickly,” Brandon said between giggles and Scully stopped, pulling back and looking at him with a smile.

“I love you Brandon Bee,” she said, kissing his cheek.

“I love you Auntie D,” he answered, obviously something they had said many times. Kissing him again, she set him down with a smile as he ran toward the television.

“Can you get the lights?” she asked Mulder and he nodded.

Turning around once he was done, he watched her gathering things and putting them into the sink. Joining her, he helped her clean up, placing all the trash into two trash bags, the pumpkins sitting proudly in the middle of the table.

“I can take these when I go,” he offered and she looked at him with raised eyebrows.

“That’s okay, I can do it later. You sure don’t want to stay? I’m going to put him down soon. We could discuss that case you brought over.” She gestured to the table and he shook his head with a smile.

“Nah, it can wait.”

“Because it does involve a werewolf, doesn’t it? I knew it,” she teased and he smiled.

“You have no proof.”

“Not yet, but once you tell me about it and I’m standing in another forest, freezing cold and-”

“Rolling your eyes?” he teased back and she laughed.  

“Most likely,” she answered with a smile and he nodded.

“I’ll let you two enjoy the rest of your evening. Thanks for this, it was fun.”

“Even the apron bit?”

“Especially that bit,” he said, picking up his coat and putting it on with a smile. “That’s my apron from now on, I’ve laid claim to it.”

“You may have to fight my mother for it if you, should both be here at the same time, but other than that, consider it yours.”

“Oh, your mom won’t ever fight me. She cares about me too much,” he said, picking up the files and winking at her.

“I know,” she said with a sigh, shaking her head. “She would get such a kick out of seeing you in that apron, she would gladly hand it over.” He smiled and looked at Brandon who was sitting on the floor with his diecast cars around him as he stared up at the television.

“Brandon,” Mulder said, squatting down beside him. “It was nice to meet you. Thank you for letting me help with the jack-o’-lanterns.”

“I like you, Mr. Mulder. You’re nice.” He got up and came to Mulder, wrapping his thin arms around his neck and hugging him tight. Mulder put an arm around him, tears threatening to choke him again.

He really needed to leave before he embarrassed himself.

Squeezing him once more, he said goodbye, smiling at him as he stood up. Nodding to Scully, he said goodnight and headed to the door. Glancing back at the pumpkins on the table, staring at their happy, big-mouthed smiles, and he nodded, glad he had made the impromptu decision to stop by.

“Goodnight, Mulder. See you tomorrow. Owoooo…” She howled softly, smiling at him as he raised his eyebrows.

“Oh, Scully… never a dull moment with you,” he said, shaking his head and walking out of the door and starting down the hallway. He turned around and saluted her with two fingers to his forehead. “Autumn blessings to you.”

“And also to you,” she said, making the sign of the cross. He laughed and she smiled.

“Goodbye, Mr. Mulder,” Brandon called, stepping into the hallway and waving with a smile. Scully bent low and wrapped her arms around him, rocking him against her, as they went back inside the apartment, the door closing on their laughter.

A part of him wanted to forget his pride, to go back and stay until she kicked him out, tired of his constant dotage, wanting to give her the world and asking nothing in return except to see her happy smile.

But the other part of him, the one that knew he had no right to ask that of her, to demand anything, was the one that walked down the hall and toward his car.

Alone, and for the first time in a long time, wishing that he was not.

[gophergal]

So this is the third oneshot I've finished this week (second I've posted here. The other that isn't posted here is already up on Ao3.) Don't expect this often, I just wanted to get some WIPs off my plate and I still have many to finish. This is just a short, sweet ficlet, but may have a companion or sequel later on. Who fucking knows. This is a sort of a collection of short moments with the two of them. No real plot, just fluff.

Home On The Range

Word Count: 2,000+ | Rating: T+ | Michael Myers x Jason Voorhees (Western AU) | M/M

Warnings: Implied Murder, Description of Injury, Hurt/Comfort, Failed Hanging Mention, Rushed Ending, Fluff

Samhain plodded along wearily, his rider slumped forward in the saddle as he made his way toward safety. The shootout in town, when the Shape had been driven from its prey, had resulted in Michael being shot thrice, twice in the shoulder, once center mass. He'd fled in a haze of pain and blood loss, mounted his horse, and eventually passed out.

And so that led Samhain to his current situation, following instinct to get he and his master somewhere safe, preferably somewhere with abundant food and water. The stallion stopped for a moment, ears perking up as he caught the sound of whistling coming from the valley below. A tall man, his head covered in a feed sack, was the source. The horse tentatively descended from the hilltop towards the strange man, focused on his joyful whistling.

Hearing the careful clop of hooves behind him, the large man turned, ready to strike with the ax in his hands, which he quickly lowered. Samhain snorted weakly where he stood, far away enough that the man couldn't grab him. Instead, the bag-headed man reached into a pocket on his tattered jacket, and pulled out a half eaten stick of peppermint, holding it out to the stallion who took it, eating greedily. His rough hand pet the horse's black, velvety nose and he hummed reassuringly. The horse's rider did not move, even as the tall man took the reins from his hands and led the horse away from the area.

Trees became more dense as they walked until they came upon a small cabin. Samhain's head perked up as his rider was removed from his back, and he let out a piercing whinny. The man hummed again, reassuring the distressed animal, who slowly returned to a relaxed state. Michael was taken from the horse's back, draped limply in the big man's arms like a doll. He groaned, still unconscious, but alive. After taking the smaller man into the tiny log cabin, the large man returned and removed the tack from the black stallion, running his hand along the sweaty, matted coat that had been beneath, then led the horse to a small stream by the halter, leaving him there to graze and drink the fresh cool water that flowed so freely.

Back in the cabin, Jason studied the man he'd sat on his bed, scratching his beard through the rough burlap of his hood. The dark haired man was covered with a layer of cold sweat, his face twisted in pain, even while asleep. Grabbing a basin of clean water and a rag, Jason set to work undressing the man's torso, looking at the bullet wounds that littered his flesh, nestled alongside other pale scars, some fresher than others. While dabbing the blood crusted injuries, he examined them, determining that the shoulders had been entered and exited cleanly. They would only need liquor poured on them to fight infection. The shot in the abdomen, however, looked more serious, and had no exit wound, all but guaranteeing that the offending lead was lodged within. Jason debated whether he should remove the bullet while the man was unconscious or not, deciding to finish dressing the other two wounds beforehand.

When the alcohol was administered, the man roused with a shout of pain, startling Jason, who in turn fell backward. The man looked around in panic, wearily reaching for his gun, which was no longer on his hip. There was a fire in his eyes, which Jason could now see were mismatched, one black as the horse he rode in on and the other milky white. Rolling off the bed, the man struggled to get to his feet, groaning quietly in agony. Jason approached slowly, as one would a wild animal, which earned him a glare. Disregarding this, he grabbed the man's good arm, careful to help him get seated on the mattress. He did not fight back, but kept scowling weakly, allowing his saviour to do as he pleased. With little fuss, his wounds were bandaged, the pressure of it relieving some of the aching.

Michael fell back onto the cushion, flinching in pain that radiated from his midsection. He inhaled sharply, looking over at the bag headed man who gestured to the leaking wound. He mimed pulling something out, which Michael nodded in response to. Steeling himself in preparation of the pain and biting down on the rolled cloth which was put in his mouth. His eyes screwed shut at the first penetration of the hole, burning pain blinding all his senses as the man's fingers searched for the bullet. It seemed to last forever, and Michael threatened to black out.

His stomach turned as the white hot agony coursed through him, reaching every point on his body. Finally, the man extracted his fingers, and he relaxed slightly, breathing heavily around the fabric gripped tightly in his mouth. When he looked up, the man held the bullet in his bloodied hand. Which he set down beside the basin of water. The pain had subsided enough that Michael could feel the touch of water on his abdomen as the man cleaned his wound again, and finally wrapped it.

“Michael,” he rasped, exhaling sharply and extending a hand to the other man, who said nothing in reply, instead holding his hand after shaking it, and drawing wobbly letters into his palm with a finger. He did this twice, then again, writing on his palm until Michael picked it up: J-A-S-O-N. Michael nodded in recognition, leaning back into the mattress and shutting his eyes. He let out a shaky breath, recalling what had happened in the past week. Then shoving it aside. Yet again, the Shape had led him into danger, just as it always had in search of feeding its insatiable hunger.

A few days passed with Michael resting up and Jason keeping his wounds clean. The two would sit in each other's presence, drinking in the peace. Samhain was well, happy to munch on the green grass of the field nearby. It was nice, but Michael was growing restless. His wounds were beginning to close and hurt far less than they had at first. As soon as he was well enough to ride out again, he'd go after that damned Marshall's head. The thought was delightful and served as his sole motivator for remaining at the cabin. So he told himself, that is.

The other big reason was standing out in the clearing around the back, the muscles of his arms shifting as he chopped firewood. Jason had the strength and stature of no one Michael had ever seen. Even the big bastards he'd get in fights with while swacked on whiskey were puny in comparison, though Jason didn't seem the type to fight drunkards in run down dead-fall saloons. No, he seemed like a good enough man that Michael felt no worry around him. Even if he hadn't seen the man's face, which Michael figured was his right to hide anyway, he could tell in his gut that Jason could be trusted. Michael stirred the pot of stew on the stove as he tried to figure out his plan for when he'd head out.

The more he thought about it, he began to realize that he had no idea where to start looking for Marshall Loomis. In theory, he could just go to the nearest town and start shit, then wait while word spread of his whereabouts, but that just wasn't the way Michael liked to do things. He'd much rather be the hunter, waiting in the shadows for his prey.

Jason walked in, skin still glistening from his hard work outside. It should be time for supper soon, he figured. After all, the sun was hanging low in the sky, ready to set within a couple hours. Jason stopped in the doorway, watching as Michael stood at the stove. Something was nice about watching the smaller man (and that's smaller, mind you, not small. Michael was a large fellow in his own right) tend to their supper.

It was very thoughtful of him, despite how Jason tried to keep him off his feet, lest his wounds reopen. There was also something about the scene that caused warmth to bloom in his chest. He pushed it down. Michael would leave at some point. Jason would be on his own again. He didn't even know why he'd helped the younger man.

A month later, December brought cold, dry weather and Michael sitting in front of the fireplace with Jason, whittling away at a chunk of wood. As he whittled, he made excuses for why he should stay now that his wounds had fully healed, now just marks on his skin where the skin dipped low. He owed it to Jason to repay him for all he'd done in nursing him back to health. Samhain needed time to recuperate. Things to justify his extended stay.

With a glance to his side, he stopped carving for a moment, taking in the picture of Jason, his burlap hood nowhere to be seen. His red hair burned vibrant in the firelight as he mended the hole in a shirt. Michael stopped lying to himself, knowing in his heart that he stayed for his own selfish reasons. Jason was a warm presence. Comforting in a way Michael had never felt.

It was contentment, he supposed it would be called. The closest he'd ever gotten was the come down off an adrenaline high of fighting or the fuzzy, numb stupor he would often find at the bottom of a bottle, but neither of those quite fit the word. It just felt good to be around the red haired man. Michael was good at reading people, a trait that came from many years of playing poker to pay for his needs, but he didn't need any of that to know that Jason felt the same. Michael just couldn't leave him now, he simply had no desire to.

Jason had once showed his face freely to those around him. Back when his mama was alive. He remembers the name calling, the tears Mama wiped away, the accusations after her death, the first bit of darkness when his head covered when he was to be hanged, all of the things that led to his hiding. He'd been nervous when Michael saw his face that first time. Washing his burlap hood in the stream, he'd been suddenly confronted by the brunet. His good eye scanned Jason's face with curiosity. He didn't say anything, just looked. There was no laughter or disgust, just the fire of interest, then of concern when they dropped to the faint ring of scarring around his neck. The two sat there quietly, a silent understanding forming.

That had been within the first couple weeks of Michael's stay. Now, Jason kept the hood off. Only putting it back on when trespassers came to their land, in need of disposal. Michael showed no hatred of that horrible face, but often looked at him, focused as though he were looking at the brightest star in the heavens. Jason allowed himself to hold onto the warmth it brought this time, savoring the way Michael brought him comfort.

Michael rode off to take his vengeance on the Marshall in mid spring. He'd put it off long enough, for as much as he wished to stay with Jason, true peace would not come to him until Marshall Loomis was dead and buried. There was a kiss goodbye, a lingering farewell and promise of return, then suddenly the red haired man was left alone once again. The land was emptier now without Michael. Jason busied himself with protecting their home (for now it was just as much Michael's as it was Jason's before) in the meantime.

It was incredibly lonesome, more than he'd expected. It's not as though Michael left without warning, he'd mentioned he would, and yet Jason was worried. Worried that he'd never see the dark haired man again. Had those silent confessions of adoration been lies? They never were on Jason's part, but Michael's face held no clues to the truth. He supposed Michael would been great at bluffing. It reminded him of something Mama once said: You ought not trust a poker player, Jason, they'll steal everything from you, and they'll make you feel special when it happens. He didn't want to think about that, and held on to the memory of the last time he held the black eyed man.

Days began to blend together before Michael returned on his black stallion. He'd been injured again, but nowhere near as badly. He fell into Jason's arms two months after he'd first left. He was weaker now, a husk of who he'd been. Anger no longer held him together. Jason could tell that he'd ate little and slept less since he'd been gone. His heart was simultaneously broken at the sight of his frail state and filled with his presence. He didn't want to ever let him go again. After a few days rest and many good meals, Michael looked much better physically, but something was different still.

Touching was more common than it had been before. When they sat in front of the fireplace of an evening, Jason would often find Michael reaching out for his own calloused hand, weaving their fingers together and scooting closer. Once, he pushed a curly, red lock of hair behind his ear, the corners of his mouth quirked up in an unpracticed smile. Jason melted at that first smile and every smile after. The weight that had been lifted from Michael's shoulders would never be commented on by either of them. They were simply too wrapped up in the pleasure of one other's presence and comfort to bring up that pain.

There was no pain or unhappiness in their little home that they built, not anymore. Not so long as they had each other to look out for them.

[alilbihh]

woods&witches — knj

masterlist

pairing: namjoon x reader

summary: You think it ends with you saving a fox. That is, until you start getting love letters sent to your doorstep and little knick knacks left on your window sill.

genre: fox shifter!namjoon, witch!reader, fluff

words: 4.5k

a/n: this was meant for the bingo challenge but completely escaped its original prompt. anyway. heres shy!lovestruck!namjoon bc i love him. also no this is nOt a witch au blog idk whats wrong w me

A finch flutters onto your windowsill, and you shuffle over once you hear a tap, tap, tap on the glass. You push it open and the bird hops inside, beak leaning forward tentatively.

You take the letter. "Ah, so they sent you this time?" Or maybe the finch volunteered, you wouldn't be surprised. They are quite the gossips.

It's a soft blue envelope, and when you turn it over there's a scrawled #12 on the left side corner. You think that even if he hadn't written that, you'd know. It's easy to keep track, after all.

A maple leaf slips out when you open the envelope. You set it aside and tentatively take the letter, brush a hand over the ink. It was written by hand in messy but deliberate hand writing and it smells like chamomile and honey, like it was written under a half-moon.

You read it once then twice then three times until it feels like you've been dipped halfway underwater, until the buzzing of the midday cicadas has faded into white noise and everything is suddenly tinged blue.

The man, you deduced a while ago, tells tales of palm trees and blue ponds and red and pink frogs, of catching crabs on a stranded shore. He's writing poetry but he's not, writing reality but he's not, and you don't know how he does it, how he can make five paintings with just one phrase.

You clutch the letter to your chest, feel yourself have an out of body experience because of a not-poem. Your head whips towards the finch when it chirps suddenly, and you huff.

"Why're you still here?" You shield the letter from the bird's eyes. Its head tilts. "And don't give me that look, I know exactly what you're thinking."

The bird only gives another chirp before flying away.

You scoff out a laugh, and when you walk towards your bedside table, the drawer opens before you can even think too much about it. You glare at your walls before tucking the letter with the others, as if to stop the house from teasing you too much.

It all begins and ends on a sunny afternoon.

The tree roots whisper as you pass, as if to purposely lead you astray, but you follow them anyway. The forest is never wrong, after all.

So when you stumble against a snowy white fox lying on a field of wisteria, you're only a tad bit surprised.

"Ah, you don't want to do that," you say some time after it woke up in your home and stopped panicking. It's now looking down at your polka dot socks, then looks up sharply to stare at you. You don't think there's a way for foxes to show emotions, but you think that if there were, he'd be staring at you with a little bit of awe.

You clear your throat. "Your foot, I mean. You don't want to strain it."

It just keeps staring at you, one ear twitching a bit.

"Um." You say when it doesn't stop, "You'll be better in a few weeks time. It wasn't that serious."

The fox blink blink blinks before shaking itself off, fur spilling every which way. You take it as acknowledgement enough.

In a few minutes he's managed to sniff and inspect every piece of furniture in your home, ranging from your small couch to your droopy house plant. He trudges and limps and sometimes skips from place to place, and then becomes highly confused when you don't let him climb the kitchen table.

Yoongi appears on your window somewhere between the fox kneading at your rug and the fox trying to catch a moth with its mouth.

"Hey grump," you say to the black cat, scratching behind his ears. Yoongi's tail twitches in dismissal, but he whines when you stop petting him, anyway.

You can almost see when Yoongi's gaze settles on the fox, because when you turn to look he's frozen solid on your couch, as if hoping he can't be seen if he stays still enough. The cat gives you a look.

You raise a brow. "What? Don't look at me like that."

He keeps looking at you like that.

"I helped him over by the wisteria. His foot's a little bad, but it's nothing too bad." The fox stays curled up on your couch, digging his nails into the cushions much like a cat would. An ear twitches in your direction, as if he's sheepish but won't admit to it.

Yoongi mewls a single, drawn out mewl of acceptance. You nod nod nod, and the cat jumps down your window and disappears into the woods right when the wind starts blowing north and the sun starts climbing higher before dropping lower.

The world stills for a while as you work through your home, organizing your chipped cups and bent spoons and funny forks. The mushroom wraith on your door wiggles when you pass it by, and when the frog figurine on your counter croaks in greeting the fox nearly jumps out of its skin.

(The fox is gone by morning, right when the sun settles over the honeysuckle tumbling down your thatched roof. You try to feel for his presence, but it's overwhelmed by the snails and woodpeckers and oversized mushrooms.

You think that's when the letters started coming, perched nicely over your windowsill whenever you're not looking).

There's a man in your pond.

The carp in the water yells indignantly as the man tries to stand but tumbles, pondweed curled over his ankles as if begging him to stay. You just stare because the man tries to get up once then twice then three times, hair loose and windblown and positively drenched, twigs and pondweed in the knots.

You stare and stare until the man notices you and startles, looks away quickly before cringing and hesitatingly meeting your eyes. He lifts a hand, lowers it, lifts it again and waves. You wave back.

"Hello." You say. The man looks a little stunned, more stunned than when the carp had nipped at his feet. You point at the pond, "You're standing in my pond."

"Ah!" He startles, head whipping down like he'd forgotten all about it. "I am! In your pond, I mean. Sorry, sorry." The pondweed untangles itself mercifully, and he shuffles out of the water, toes curling into the dirt around it.

"It's okay!" You shoot him a thumbs up. He stares. "Do you want to, uh, come inside?"

So the man walks through the slim wooden trellis and diligently wipes his feet on the rug, shuffling through the door with hesitant steps. He looks a little like a painting left out too long in the rain, all ruffled hair and stiff shoulders, but pretty nonetheless.

"Would you like some tea?" You say, already grabbing the kettle from the cupboards, "It will have to have milk, though, since the cups don't like serving without."

"Okay! Tea is nice. Thank you." Then he smiles with knee-deep dimples and pinchable cheeks and something inside you kinda melts a little.

The man's name is Namjoon and his skin is tan despite it already being winter, the color of salted caramel. He's so bright you find it easier to look away, to look instead at the space around him, the shadow against the pane of his neck, the length of his-- very long legs. You'll pretend you never noticed that.

You don't talk about why he was in your pond, not really. He's already apologized to the carp, he says. You talk instead about mushroom glades and why avocados are acceptable dinner foods and his intense love for moths and his hopes for snow this year.

When Namjoon leaves it all feels a bit unprecedented. Lost souls show up on your doorstep often, always leaving after a cup of tea and a few helpful directions, but Namjoon doesn't look lost at all. Looks a little like he belongs, really.

He rubs awkwardly at the back of his neck, then sticks a hand out in offering. You shake his hand. He nods, lingers on the doorway, plays with a loose stitching of his soft green overalls.

"I'll-- be seeing you, then," he clears his throat, and you just laugh a little loosely because no, you won't. With lost souls, you never do.

Except Namjoon does return. He returns, in fact, in green baseball shorts and an open-collared shirt with sugar packets sticking out of the front pockets. He looks a bit like a dad showing up for his son's football game. Looks a little dangerous but in a harmless way, like a huge gangly bug. A six-foot stick insect hovering outside your door.

You're a little stunned. Very stunned. So stunned that Namjoon cringes, shuffles a bit on your welcome mat. It's a frog with a thought bubble that says welcome! that Namjoon has expressed his love for on multiple occasions.

"Hello," he purses his lips. "I... wanted to thank you. Again. For everything." He sucks in a breath. "Bad time? Bad time. I don't actually remember knocking-- did I knock? God, I didn't, did I? I'm so rude, I'm so sorry."

"No, no," you say once you've recovered. "You, you definitely knocked."

"Oh!" His lips form a surprised little 'o'. You're so fond. "That's good. Okay. I'll... be leaving, then."

"Um!" You interject, "You can come inside, if you want?"

So he comes inside and drinks tea and names the cactus by your windowsill Gerald and discusses his complaints on climate change and you're a little content and a lot confused, because--

Only creatures of the forest can find your house more than once.

Unless--

(That night, you knock on your own walls and glare indignantly. Say, "You led him here, didn't you?"

The walls do nothing. You think you hear a floorboard creak, though.

You stomp your feet like an overgrown child. "I don't know what you're trying to accomplish, but I'm not falling for it!"

No response. Except the wind chimes outside sing brightly, but when you look out the window there's no wind at all).

Namjoon visits once then twice then three times, always showing up unplanned and out of nowhere. He brings a pinecone first then a dandelion next, blushes and says I didn't pluck them against their will! I told them they looked pretty and they volunteered to help me.

He's so pretty it's become a little harder to hold in. He was always pretty, always smiles a bit too brightly, like he's swallowed a star and can't quite keep all the brightness to himself, but something's shifted a bit.

(You contemplate this in a mid afternoon. As in: whisper-screaming to the ceiling for a while. And then whisper-screaming some more when Yoongi walks directly across your face.

"You're a monster," you inform him.

He digs his tiny monster-claws into your stomach.)

One day, you learn the man is weirdly good at knitting. You learn he has a pretty solid grasp on quantum physics. You learn that when he laughs it's a little hah! under his breath, and when he really laughs it turns sideways and belly-up, pitching into something that could almost be defined as a giggle. You learn that you need to stop staring.

Another day, Namjoon sits in the corner of your couch, curled up reading a book he'd picked up from the next village over. It's small but very thick with what could only be very small letters, because he's squinting a bit as he reads. It's vastly endearing.

Another day, he makes cheesy bread in your toaster and felt bad about it for the next three weeks. Which is also the amount of time it took for you to get all the cheese out.

Everything's great.

Today, though, you're walking through the forest alone. The forest doesn't guide you, not really, maybe because it knows you're walking on your own terms.

The forest is noisy with the sounds of birds calling and trees growing and little things skipping here and there through the undergrowth. Your shoes are so muddy you don't really care for how much worse they get, and they squelch when your heels sink into puddles and spongy moss.

You walk and walk until you come across a clearing, a bird feeder propped neatly over a tree branch. A sparrow squawks when it sees you.

"Hello," you say in greeting, and the tree with the bird feeder sighs, the wind blowing and carrying the sound.

A tree root on the ground grabs a fistful of dirt and promptly flings it onto your knees. You shriek indignantly.

You have a lot to figure out, the tree echoes because of course it does. It has a history of saying things vaguely and hoping you'll understand.

"I don't understand," you say out loud.

It flings more dirt onto your knees. You step back protectively, "Okay, okay! I get it!"

One, two. Four clouds in the sky, for now, it says at last, and you're a bit afraid of prying, so you just accept what it says as fact and move on, say one last goodbye to the bluetit that flutters onto the bird feeder.

It starts raining not long after that, when more than four clouds settle over the evening sun, makes it a bit harder to maneuver through the woods. You walk based on feeling, a hand brushing over the tree trunks, silently cursing the tree.

Namjoon is already waiting when you arrive home, hurries forward when he spots you through the trees, holding an umbrella up high.

And it's-- sweet. Just a really sweet thing to do, really considerate. He could have waited inside, in the warmth and shelter, but instead he's walking through puddles to meet you halfway with an umbrella.

He looks a little funny when he stops in front of you, hair disheveled and sticking up in random places, eyes all worried and sullen. He looks like a goose.

"You look like a goose," you say out loud with a little laugh, "I'm already wet though, so there's not much point in this, you know?"

Namjoon's smile is a bit dopey, a bit sloppy at the edges. "But there's not many trees to shield you, from this point on." He says, "Let's-- go inside?"

So you go inside, the house already setting the fireplace with its never-ending firewood, the frog figurine croaking and the wind chimes singing and everything feels a little right. A little more homey.

"Did you find your way back easily?" Namjoon says later, hands cupping his tea mug as he sheepishly adds, "I know this is your-- home, obviously, I don't wanna just assume anything, but-- For me, it's a bit harder to navigate when it rains like this. Fogs my senses and all," he clears his throat.

You purse your lips to keep from smiling, "Do you know how a wood witch works, Namjoon?" You continue when he shakes his head, "A wood witch is the one who planted the first seed that sprouted the first tree that grew the first forest," you say, half-chanting it, cite it like a rhyme long forgotten.

He looks a bit awe-struck. A lot awe-struck. Says, "Oh." And that's that.

You add, sheepish, "It's really not much. I'm not as powerful as other wood witches, but I am grateful to the woods." You hum, "They gave me this cottage. They gave me who I am, really."

"Oh." Namjoon says. "Oh." He stares and stares, open mouthed and in awe and sort of dazed but pretty, pretty. His gaze trails over the room once before settling back on you, says, "You're all the beauty in the world."

And the world-- stills, maybe-- balanced atop a drop of nectar.

You whisper a small, delighted "Oh." And that's that.

Namjoon somehow manages to drag you outside the woods.

You're being dragged through busy streets, cars and crowds and carriages that boggle your senses. The difference between the village and the woods is astounding. (Not that you've never been to nearby cities or villages-- sometimes you crave poptarts and there's nothing you can do about it-- but it's been a while since you've walked into the very heart of it).

You might be a wood witch, but Namjoon is the one who looks a little — lost, outside the woods.

"This is my favorite corner cafe," he admits proudly, "Um, if Seokjin-hyung says anything, please be aware I'm not associated with him."

"Got it." You like this Seokjin guy already.

Taylor Swift is blasting through the speakers when you walk inside, a broad shouldered man swaying from side to side behind the counter as he pours milk into a cup. Once his eyes land on Namjoon he positively grins.

"Namjoon, my man!" He belts out a particularly impressive high note as Namjoon approaches him, but no one around seems at all fazed. "It's been so long!"

"I've been here last week, hyung." Namjoon says but he seems a bit happy to be missed, sheepishly ducking his head.

"That's too long. You should visit more often, it's great! I get free coffee here and don't have to walk through muddy paths and ominous sounds to visit you."

"It's not free though?" Namjoon frowns, "You may own the shop but you're the one who buys all the coffee in the first place."

The man behind the counter makes a noise that's too distorted to understand. "If I wanted someone to tear apart my ideas with logic I'd talk to Yoongi, you're both insufferable."

You want to interject but at the same time don't. You get so absorbed in your own thoughts you almost don't notice when they mention a Yoongi. Huh.

"Oh, you know Yoongi? The cat?" You blink when two sets of eyes settle on you.

"Ah, yes. Yoongi." The man you've now established has to be Seokjin sighs, resting a chin over his palm, "The devious fiend. The pest of the nest. The gremlin goblin."

"Do you ever think before you speak."

"I do! I thought of those words and then I said them."

Namjoon sighs and none of them elaborate any further, but you decide not to pry. You can always just ask Yoongi, anyway.

You both sit in a booth in the far corner where light reflects onto it perfectly but not in an overwhelming way, just enough to be warm and comforting. Seokjin pads over with your drink and Namjoon's latte and shoots excessive finger guns as he leaves, and Namjoon looks a bit like he's refraining from apologizing on his behalf.

Namjoon doodles on napkins and talks like he's reciting a far off poem, except he's talking about what should be the correct pronunciation of pickles and you're kinda maybe really hopelessly endeared.

"Do you think I should paint my nails?" He's saying, closely inspecting his nibbled nails, "Maybe it will make me stop biting my nails."

"Have you thought of green?"

He hums delightedly, "Green! I love green. I'm thinking pink though, since gender norms are a social construct and pink is just pretty in general."

"You'll look like a pretty little winter fairy!" You grin. He flushes pink, too.

Then when you get up to order another drink he stands quick, as if intending to order it for you, but you're already grinning and skipping to the counter and when you turn to look at him he's slowly sitting back down, defeated.

You're maybe smiling too hard when Seokjin walks to take your order. "Ah, Y/n-ssi! How may I help you, my gentle woodland elf?"

"Can I just have the same thing, please?" You say and he hums, walking mechanically towards his cabinets.

Then after staring dazedly at the separate christmas mugs and cinnamon buns and droopy plants, you're looking around when you spot a box by the back counter that looks like an awful lot like a letter slot, a stack of envelopes sitting neatly on top. Oh.

"What's that for?" You gesture towards the box, and Seokjin turns away from the coffee grinder to smile something a little gentle. A little secretive.

"We're a letter shop too, you know?" He looks like he's suppressing a sort of devious smile he doesn't want you to see, "We deliver letters on the writer’s behalf, so the sender stays anonymous."

Your organs twist and melt together all at once. You mumble a small "Oh" and that's that.

Then when you leave Seokjin winks before sending you both off, the man waving boisterously and maybe obnoxiously but you're immensely endeared, wave back until the shop is out of sight and Namjoon is sufficiently embarrassed.

You predictably invite Namjoon inside after you arrive home, deciding that soup after coffee doesn't sound too bad. So you watch as the fireflies do somersaults and the moths hover over lamps as you both go for seconds and then for thirds and you don't say much, maybe say nothing at all, but that's okay, too.

The soup signals a change, you think. Either

1) You are in love with Namjoon and need to tell him.

Or

2) You are in love with soup and need to seek help.

So you walk through the forest.

Namjoon is at home, you know, but you feel that talking to Namjoon about your possible love for Namjoon is a bit counterproductive, so you walk through the forest instead.

Everyone is still adjusting to last night's downpour, the floors muddy and the leaves droopy and everything smelling like wet earth. You walk but you're hovering a few inches off the ground, silently thank the forest for its kindness.

You walk through the forest again the next day, think back to the tree with the bird feeder and think that maybe he wasn't so vague after all. Just wish that he could tell you what to do next.

It's easier to listen to a tree's vague advice than it is to follow through with it, you think, until a few weeks later, when the universe decides you need a little push. A big push. The biggest push.

Namjoon has been visiting consistently for the past month or so, sometimes staying over and sometimes staying just before nightfall, but for maybe a week you haven't heard of him at all. He's disappeared without a trace.

The forest guides you this time, patches of sunlight shining through trees as you follow. You think you hear the shrill argument between a finch and a jay on the treetops as you navigate through mushroom patches and mossy rocks.

It's the field of wisteria. You're in the field of wisteria when you find a small burrow, a little home for a woodland creature.

When you turn, you see-- Namjoon. Namjoon, eyes widened in horror, a strangled sound breaking free from his throat. Two white fox ears standing ramrod straight on his head.

You clear your throat. Say, "Hi, Namjoon."

He shrieks.

A finch flutters onto the bird feeder, eyes twinkling, "Guys, you will not believe what I just found out--"

"We know," the jay says.

"We know," the bluetit says.

"We know," the sparrow says.

Even Yoongi mewls from a higher tree branch.

The finch squawks, gossip stolen from right under its wing, "How on Earth did you all know?"

"The forest made the house bigger," Yoongi drawls, tail swishing here and there, "And we all helped deliver the letters."

"Different from someone, we can actually keep secrets!" Says the jay, chest puffed proudly, ignoring the offended squeals from the finch.

"You know, it was actually kind of obvious."

You hum from beside Namjoon, his arm draped over the back of the couch inches away from dropping onto your shoulder. He wants to tug you closer, comb a hand through your hair, but the mere thought has his face burning and ears threatening to pop out at the stress. He's kissed you before, dozens of times, for many reasons and for no reason at all, but it all still feels a little nerve wrecking, like one push will have you burst at the seams.

(Which, frankly, is ridiculous-- you're the strongest person he knows, but-- but.)

"What is?" He says to distract himself.

"The letters stopped coming after you started showing up, and you literally took me to a letter shop." You falter and add, "And just.. the way you say things, it sounds like how you sound when you write. I don't know if I'm making sense, but it's-- nice." You explain, a hint of affection on your voice.

That has nothing to do with being a fox shifter and everything to do with you sitting so prettily next to him, smelling like Ilsan sunshine and kept promises and damp earth, like the forest itself.

"Hmm," he hums, a hand settling on your thigh, finally gathering the courage to drop his arm onto your shoulder--

"Namjoon, you really don't have to hesitate for this kind of stuff." You say, turning to look at him with a grin. His face burns as he clears his throat pointedly, crossing one leg over the other as he finally drops an arm over your shoulder.

"M'sorry," he mumbles.

"Don't be," You press a kiss to his chin, "And you better kiss me properly this instant, because it seems you still think that crocs are acceptable footwear. I'm gonna come to my senses any second now."

"Please don't," he says, a little wild. Then he's moving, nose brushing over your cheek, and then— and then—

A hand curling softly over your cheek, a little giggle, and his lips pressing gently over your own. Something a bit real. Un-takeback-able. You taste a lot like the poetry he writes, still writes, like you're pressing the wonders of the world to his lips, like he's skimming the universe with his hands.

(Once upon a time, you saved a fox lying in a field of wisteria.

The rest of the story is told in open envelopes, messages left for the moon to see.)

[miscellaneous-bnha]

Brought Back to Me (FULL)

(I meant to release it yesterday, but with burnout coming at me from all angles, I needed to take an extra day to breathe)

Tomura Shigaraki x Fem! Childhood Friend Reader

(Warm Bodies AU where they're less like zombies, but they're more mindless breeding machines and the only way to bring them back is by giving them intensely positive emotions.)

It's been months since the outbreak started.

One little quirk is all it took for all of Japan to fall into shambles. Curiously enough, only the men were affected by it, turning into insatiable beasts, searching endlessly for someone to breed mindlessly. Not really the undead, but not entirely human either.

Somehow, those who were able to escape from the clutches of such a dangerous quirk were only the men who already had partners, lovers. In some cases, those who were not sexually attracted to anyone-- and/or those who had impossibly strong bonds to their friends-- could also scrape by unaffected.

Unfortunately, the Safe Zone only allowed people in if they contributed to the saving of another.

—————————

He wanders about aimlessly, not remembering a single thing. Where he came from, who he was. His head felt like it was in a cloud, body heavy.

Though he doesn’t think much of it. This is all he’s known, after all. ‘Breed, breed, breed.’ echoes inside his head, eyes scanning the baren wasteland. The sound of quick shambling and panicked breaths hit his ears; ‘a chase’, he thinks, ‘follow.’

He finds his way towards the sound of aggravated groaning and hissing, careless fists slamming against doors. Locked in, it seems. Something tells him to put his hand on it, but nothing happens. He doesn’t know why he expected anything to happen.

The door flexes when a loud thud rams against it, and a tiny yelp behind the flipped dumpsters. The groans grow more aggressive, more hungry. ‘Breed breed breed breed breed breed breed—‘ bounces around more fiercely in his skull; he shuffles quietly over to the dumpster.

He can feel himself starting to salivate, the idea of finally being able to achieve his purpose growing more and more prominent. Peeking over the bags of trash, everything in him halts; big doe eyes stare up at him, afraid. Trembling, eyes leaking... water? ‘Tears,’ his brain supplies. Tears.

He doesn’t like them.

He watches for a moment; eyes scanning her trembling form. Another loud bang and the shriek of metal starting to give snaps him out of it. He takes her arm and yanks, dragging her out of the alley, sprinting passed the door just as the hinges burst.

He doesn’t need to breathe, heart doesn’t pump, yet his chest grows tight from the sound of her struggling to keep up. ‘Go slow. Slower.’ he complies, falling into stride. He feels something starting at him, so he turns back to look at her, grumbling, glaring.

Suddenly, he’s running into a building. She titters excitedly, too frantic to understand before she’s pulling away. Slamming the door shut and locking it. He’s a little confused; surely, she hasn’t forgotten what he is.

For a moment, she does. Her chest heaves with relief, sliding down before plopping in front of the door. He carries himself into the corner of the room, gurgling to himself.

She tenses, eyes darting to him; he squints back. ‘Now she remembers.’ he grunts.

He doesn’t know why the echo in his head went silent. The usual monotony of ‘breed’ long gone, ever since he laid eyes on her; replaced by ‘protect’ and it baffles him. Though, at the same time, it feels right.

She snivels, and his eyes latch back onto her. Still sitting by the cold door, staying away from him. He rolls his eyes and turns away, stuffing himself into the corner.

Some time goes by, how long he doesn’t know. Though he doesn’t need to know such irrelevant things. He gurgles in surprise when he feels something warm fall over him. He turns slowly, eyes meeting her curious ones.

“You’re strange, you know that?” She whispers; her eyes more curious than afraid. He only gurgles, letting the warmth of the blanket encompass him.

‘Warm is nice,’ he decides.

--

She rambles on about ‘no circulation’, or something like that. He doesn’t quite get it, but he doesn’t fight her when she insists he stand out in the sun, absorbing more of this ‘warmth’ thing he’s gotten addicted to.

He follows her around as she needs supplies, gurgling along quietly to her aimless conversations. He knows she’s only talking to fill the silence void (‘maybe she’s gone crazy,’ he thinks, ‘talking to someone who might not even understand.’) but somehow he appreciates it. Gives him something to think about.

Overtime, he finds himself enjoying her company. Mindless babble filling the everyday droning of grumbling footsteps passing by.

One day, she yelps in excitement over a can, startling him and every other mindless dolt in the area. He hisses in irritation, dragging her back to the safe house as quickly as he can. Despite the harrowing situation, she smiles, giggling with childlike glee.

He glares at her once they make it to safety, yet she hardly notices when she’s shoving the can into his face.

“Peaches! It’s canned peaches!” she cheers, prying the lid off with a can opener. The smell is sweet, unlike the usual foods she would find. He’s surprised when he feels his stomach growl instead of twist.

“Did.... did your stomach just growl?” she whispers, baffled. He shrugs, opting to pretend it never happened when it growls again. Her eyes light up.

“It did! It growled!” she laughs, then hands him a peach. He twists his face up, remembering the first time she had him try food. “C’mon, try! Maybe it’ll be different.”

He takes the peach from her hand, eyeing it distastefully before licking it. To his surprise, he didn’t feel sick. He stares at it for a moment before dropping it in his mouth. He feels satisfied rather than sick when he swallows.

“Fascinating...” she whispers, slowly approaching when he doesn’t immediately retch it back up. He eyes the can without realizing it, pouting when she offers him another peach with a coy smile. “See? Good thing I had you try.”

He takes it with a huff, grinning wryly.

--

That night, he dreams for the first time.

“Tenko...!” Echoes inside his ears. He feels his heart beat, and it nearly sends him stumbling from the shock.

“Tenko..!” Closer this time, but even as he spins endlessly to look, he doesn’t see anything.

“Tenko! Wake up, Tenko!” Its right next to him now, and it has him jolting awake

He sits up, but it’s still dark when he opens his eyes. He looks around frantically for her, finally calming when he sees her curled up on the sleeping mat. He scoots closer, putting a hand on her back, just enough to feel it rise and fall with each breath.

He settles.

--

He starts to realize he’s capable of doing more with each new event, and with each new event, he dreams.

The worst nights are when he can hear the voice screaming in agony:

“Tenko!! No!! TENKO!! STOP IT!” “GET AWAY! TENKO!”

The eventual sobbing that grows quieter and quieter, leaving him feeling colder and colder. He hates those nights.

Even when his heart isn’t beating, it still feels painful. His mind races with questions and anxiety (a feeling he wish he didn’t know).

He wonders if his name is— was— Tenko, or maybe someone he used to know? He’s not sure, but he’s afraid to find out.

Afraid.

Another emotion he was starting to know well. He finds himself afraid a lot more often too.

He’s afraid of waking up one night to find her gone. He’s afraid of losing her to some other mindless victim (if he could call them that. Men fallen to the quirk; victims). He’s afraid of watching her find companionship with another human.

He knows it’s selfish, but a part of him wants to stay just like this, with her.

Without knowing who he is.

--

Life is the sweetest when she’s sharing her canned peaches (the only thing his body cares to let him eat). Two unlikely friends, making the best of what they got, but then she starts telling him about her past.

“There used to be someone very important to me.” She said one restless night,

“He and I only ever had each other. Two peas in our own little pod.”

“We didn’t get along at first, but only because we were scared. Just the two of us, living on the street. He had the strangest way of holding things too, but I guess that was just because of his quirk.” Her eyes seemed so glassy, yet so clear. So far away, yet here all the same.

“We uh... used to huddle under the same blankets, just like this.” she slides next to him; she’s warm, yet somehow still so cold, “we even shared peaches too. He never admitted it, but they were his favorite. It’s a shame we couldn’t get them often.”

“Just us against the world...” he doesn’t like the sound her voice makes when it cracks, words turning into a strained whimper. He nudges himself closer to her hoping it’s of some comfort.

“Then some weird man came and took him away, and I never saw him since.” she sniffles and rubs at her eyes, “My Tenko.”

He goes completely stiff. He can tell she’s talking to him, but it’s drowned out by the sound of something rushing through his ears.

‘Tenko! Over here! Hurry!’ his body is so much smaller than he’s used to. He feels the pounding of his heart. It hurts. It hurts.

‘Tenko! No!! TENKO!!’ the agonized screams, and a little girl who looks a lot like her is reaching out through the fog towards him, eyes shining with desperate tears.

There’s the feeling of something grabbing him by the shirt, dragging him away. He knows he’s screaming, his throat burns with the force of his cry, but he can’t hear.

As quickly as it begins, it ends.

“Hey, are you ok?” She’s peering into his face, concern written all over hers. He gurgles, fighting with his own vocal chords.

“I-I-I’mmmm ssso-o-orrrry...” it’s gravelly and slurred, almost incomprehensible, yet she seems to know what he’d been trying to say, seeing as her eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“You... you talked. You actually talked!” She seems so excited for him, but then she frowns, worried.

“‘Sorry’? What for?? There’s no need to be sorry!” she rubs his back. Warm. He feels his chest squeeze.

He wants to try to talk again, even if to just make her smile, but his throat aches far too much, so he just gurgles softly, nudging his head onto her shoulder.

He practices his speech at night when she’s asleep. Quietly, of course, as to not disturb her, but it’s frustrating. Trying to sound out words messily.

“Mmmm-my nnnnnname....” his voice gives away to a wet growl, and he wheezes out a cough, “my nnname issss... Tennnko. Ten...ko. Tenko.”

--

He’s remembered a lot more after the first memory.

Rainy nights under the bridge, hushed giggles over a can of peaches.

Hard winters when all they had were a pile of blankets and each other.

The... THING that stole him away, abandoning her.

Quiet fury burns in him, but it fizzles out soon after when he hears her mumble in her sleep. It’s inaudible, and probably complete nonsense, but he likes to think that maybe she was dreaming of the good ol’ days too.

But only the good days, he hopes. Before ‘THAT’ day.

He whispers her name, stroking her back gently when she starts to fuss. ‘A nightmare,’ he muses, watching as she quickly settles back into a peaceful dream. She has them a lot, but he likes to think that they end as soon as he soothes her.

‘You’ve suffered enough.’

Thoughts come easier now as his memories come. Things that he isn’t proud of, things that makes him wonder if she’d hate him.

He remembers becoming ‘Shigaraki Tomura’, a name he thinks of in disdain.

He much prefers Tenko now.

--

“You know, you’ve been pretty warm lately. I guess sunning yourself every day does help.” She muses out loud, and he grumbles, pleased.

“Mmmaybe.”

“Hey! No stuttering this time! You’re getting better!” She smiles at him. He grunts, leaning against her.

“Oof— hey, easy there champ. You may not eat much, but you’re still heavy compared to me.” He hears her, smirking, but opts to lay more of his weight onto her.

“Hey! Come on!” She laughs, his gurgled wheeze of a laugh only making her laugh that much harder,

He thinks he feels his chest growing lighter in moments like these, wishing desperately that he could have been left unaffected.

He knows there’s no reason to worry about the past in his current state, but he still finds himself wishing.

--

“Hey, that’s weird,” She says to him one morning, ruffling his hair, “your hair is getting darker somehow.”

She shows him in the mirror what she’s talking about, and sure enough, there it is.

A tuft of black hair poking through the sea of pastel blue.

“How funny is that.” she grins. It’s lopsided and curious, but she just muses his hair one more time before going back to her morning routine.

Overtime, he notices more and more sprout in, and she always laughs at the bewildered look he always seems to have.

--

The first time he felt his heart beat was during one of those nights when you couldn’t sleep, so you would tell him about Tenko.

“I thought it could just be the two of us forever... In the same way kids feel when they ask each other to get married when they’re older.” Her words are melancholy, but her smile is peaceful, happy.

“I wanted it to just be the two of us against the world. All we needed was each other, maybe we could have been adopted by a nice couple or something, but still inseparable.”

He doesn’t say anything or make any sounds, so she continues.

“Sometimes I wonder if maybe we could have fallen in love.” He sputters then, heart thudding once, twice, then falling still. His hand smacks over his chest in shock, and for a moment, he wondered if that’s what it felt like to be alive.

“Is that really so ridiculous??” she snorts, not really offended, but not really as happy as he would like.

He shakes his head aggressively, and she laughs. Her smile is so genuine he almost misses out on the sweet kiss on the cheek she gives him.

“Thanks for always listening to me ramble. Actually—“ she sits up, and he watches her from his spot on the floor, “thanks for staying, even though you didn’t have to.”

He puts his hand over hers wordlessly, patting it gently.

“Always.”

--

He wonders if it’s possible to die without being alive.

He hopes it is.

When he wakes up, she’s gone. Nothing more than a note left behind.

‘Need food. Be back soon.’

A simple food run shouldn’t be such a big deal, but it’s climbed to be the most dangerous thing to do over the last 10 months (Has it really been that long?) and losing her so soon after getting her back is the last thing he wants.

He goes barreling out the door just in time to hear her scream.

His heart leaps into his throat. He feels sick, but the adrenaline pumps into his veins, and suddenly he’s running.

Heart racing, sweat dripping, lungs aching. His ears ring with the sound of her scream.

He stops, stomach acid rising into his throat. He feels far too sick. He runs his hands through his hair, he doesn’t even notice the light blue strands that fall away.

He hears her scream again, closer this time. He starts running again despite his shaking legs.

He barely makes it in time to see her get surrounded. The roar he lets out is nothing less than ground shaking, and it’s certainly enough to catch the attention of everyone in the vicinity.

He doesn’t remember what happened next. Colors and sound blend together to make a symphony of tragedy.

Memories and reality all blend until they start and end with her. Her.

“Tenko, my Tenko... you’re okay.” Sound re-emerges from the depths.

Warm. Warm. Warm.

She’s in his arms; so small in comparison to him. He remembers when she was the same size as him.

And, god, she’s so warm.

“Tenko.” His eyes open to meet hers. They’re glassy, but relieved. He whispers her name like it’s a prayer.

“Who would have thought this is how we meet after all these years, huh?” Her voice is soft. He finally realizes her hair is covered in dust. Dust. His dust.

He jumps back in a panic, afraid. He hadn’t been careful with his hands, hands.

“Tenko. It’s okay! It’s okay!” she soothes and grabs his hands freely, pressing his palms to her face.

She doesn’t decay like she should.

“Remember, Tenko? We practiced.”

Yes. Practiced. You helped stabilize his quirk long before he came. Promised to keep it between the two of them.

“Yes... yes... I remember...” he mumbles, and she places her hand over his chest.

“Your heart!” He nods,

“Yeah...”

“Does that mean—“

“Yeah...” he nuzzles his face against her shoulder.

“Warm...” she laughs gently,

“Yeah... you’ve always liked warm things.”

“Mm...” he stands, picking her up in the process, walking back in the direction of the safe house.

“We’ll head to the city zone tomorrow.”

“Okay... Tenko?”

“Mmh?”

“I’m glad you’re back.”

He smiles; he’s glad he’s back too.

[tryingmyves]

Sober

DENKI KAMINARI x Y/N

part two

A/N: A fic inspired by Wish You Were Sober by Conan Gray (I swear they put crack in this song). You’ve been in love with Denki Kaminari for as long as you can remember and he only seems to think of you as more than a friend when he’s inebriated. Simple, right?

sorry this chapter got a bit long but things are getting ~spicy~

c/w: alcohol mention, smut (soon)

chapter 1

[FOUR MONTHS AGO]

Technically, classes wouldn’t start for three more days, so you weren’t quite a college student. But you and Kaminari came to the city early because the lease on his apartment was starting and you needed to meet someone from Craig’s List about the car you plan to buy. To be honest, the car was what you expected: a piece of shit. But it would get you to your part time job and back to campus, so what more could you ask for? You couldn’t move into your dorm until tomorrow, but Kaminari said you could stay with him for the night. His roommate Kirishima hadn't moved in yet, so he had extra space.

Aside from the brief meeting with the stranger you bought your car from, you and Kaminari spent the day hauling cheap furniture up four flights of stairs into his apartment. Both of you were utterly exhausted. You were both covered in the grime of your own sweat; countless trips up and down the stairs had left your legs burning and heavy. When you agreed to help Kaminari move in you didn’t expect that he'd have so much shit, or that his apartment would be on the top floor of a building with no elevator. But at the current juncture you were too fatigued to complain. The two of you are laying on your backs, sprawled out on the cold wooden floor of the living room, unpacked boxes surrounding you.

“I feel disgusting,” you complain, raising your head slightly off the ground and unsticking the mat of sweaty hair from the back of your neck. You push it upwards so it fans out above your head.

“Yeah, you smell kind of disgusting too,” Kaminari replies with a laugh that becomes a cough when your arm swings down to connect with his stomach.

“I think you mean, “gee Y/N, thanks so much for helping me move into my apartment! I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Kaminari raises himself up on his elbows, still recovering from your blow. “Hey - I have your thank you, it’s just in one of these boxes. Alcohol tends to be the universal thank you for helping a friend move - plus I don’t have wifi until tomorrow, so tonight we’re getting drunk and celebrating as college students!” he smiles.

You let out a sigh, “Well I hope you have ice. Find my thank you gift - I’m going to go break in your shower,” you say rising from the floor, “but not because you said I smell. Only because I want to!”

Kaminari laughs as you make your way to the bathroom, pulling himself off the floor as well to start rooting through the cardboard boxes full of his belongings. You lock the bathroom door behind you and spend a few moments deciphering how to use the unfamiliar shower. You start the water, a bit cooler than usual, still feeling balmy from all of today’s physical activity. After moving all of Denki’s belongings into the apartment you didn’t remember to grab anything of your own, so you would be using his toiletries to wash up. You throw a thin towel on the back of the toilet before stepping into the refreshing stream of water. The water cascades down your face, snaking down the curves of your body before disappearing down the drain. A sigh escapes your lips, thankful for a small moment of relaxation after a long day. You get to work washing your hair and scrubbing the day's sweat off of yourself, wrapped in the scent of cedarwood and lemon, something you’ve long associated with Kaminari. After roughly fifteen minutes you feel sufficiently clean and turn off the shower, stepping out to towel yourself off.

Not wanting to put your dirty clothes back on, you sneak out of the bathroom with your towel wrapped around you and down the hall to Kaminari’s room. You snatch a t-shirt and pair of sweats out of an opened box and creep back to the bathroom to get dressed and brush out your hair. You pull the over-sized shirt on, relishing the traces of Denki’s cologne that linger on the fabric and step into the sweats. You rake a comb through your wet tresses before re-emerging from the bathroom. You find Kaminari in his kitchen, haphazardly unpacking a box of cutlery with a mixed drink in his hand.

“Did you break into my thank you present without me, Denki?”

He turns at the sound of your voice, “Well maybe if you hadn’t taken so long -” He stops, registering you’re now in his clothes instead of your own. “Hah, nice threads,” he laughs.

You grab the hem of the shirt, holding it out from you a bit as if you're presenting it. “Yeah, well my shower wasn’t going to do much good if I got back into my sweaty clothes, so I helped myself.”

“Seems to be a recurring theme tonight. I don’t mind, you look cuter in it than I do anyway,” he winks at you. “Now,” he slides a second cup across the counter towards you, “thanks for helping me move in. Let’s get drunk!”`

You smile as you place the cup to your lips for a drink, your mind buzzing even without the alcohol. You’ve been friends with Denki long enough to know that he is always flirting, even if he doesn’t mean anything by it. Usually you just brush off his comments or turn the tables with a line of your own, hoping to get him flustered. But lately you haven’t been able to ignore the flutters in your chest at his words. The pair of you have been friends since middle school and you’ve grown accustomed to people assuming you’re more than that. But in reality, things between you and Denki have always been platonic, despite the incessant flirting. However, you want there to be more. His golden eyes draw you into him and he can so effortlessly make you laugh. For you, home isn’t a static location but wherever Denki happens to be.

“Woah Y/N, I didn’t mean you had to chug it!”

Denki’s comment snaps you out of your thoughts and you realize you’ve drunk nearly half of your drink while lost in silent longing. You lower the cup, “Well you have a headstart on me!” you reason, not wanting to tell Denki he’s the reason you got lost in your cups.

“Fair enough, but head start or not, I’m drinking you under the table tonight,” he challenges. “Let’s play some Mario Kart! I set up the switch while you were in the shower.”

“Fine, but if you’re wanting to get drunk we’re playing Beer-i-o Kart.”

Kaminari huffs, “well, obviously.” He grabs a bottle of whiskey in addition to his own cup and heads to the couch, you following close behind.

The rules of the game are simple: you win if you’re the first person to cross the finish line but you have to finish your drink before the end of the race. Even in the world of Mario Kart, drinking and driving is a no go, so there’s a few different options on how to play. You can either chug your drink at the start, put your controller down mid race to slam your drink, or stop just before the finish line on lap three to empty your cup. You can also drink while you’re put back on the track if you somehow manage to drive off the course. Both you and Denki are highly competitive, and while he might think he has the monopoly on video games, your skills rival his.

Unsurprisingly, Denki picks the Lightning Cup as it’s both a nod to his quirk and he’s a sadist who actually enjoys rainbow road. He beats you handily in the first two races, able to finish his drink slightly quicker than you, but you manage to win the Grumble Volcano race. He hits pause before the final race can start so he can mix two more drinks. You laugh as he nearly drops his own cup, his cheeks pink from all the liquor.

“Oh shut it, Y/N, or you can make your own drink.”

“Aw, don’t be bitter just because you lost that one Denki!” you tease.

He hands your now full cup back to you, “Yeah well this next one’s all mine. You’re going down!”

You just stick your tongue out in response and ready yourself for the last race. Once you’ve both situated yourself, Denki unpauses the game and the countdown begins. He immediately starts chugging his drink but you peel out from the starting line. You know you’ll fall off the map several times, so you might as well use that time effectively by drinking then. Denki finishes the freshly poured drink in under 30 seconds and is already in hot pursuit. He manages to pass you on the first lap and despite the multiple red shells you send his way, you can’t catch up. You’re not sure if it’s your competitive nature or the copious amounts of alcohol that influence your next move, but you shift from your seat on the couch and plant yourself directly in Denki's lap, blocking his view of the screen and making him drive off the road.

“Y/N, you cheater!!” Denki squirms beneath you, trying to dislodge you from your new position.

You laugh, “We never said this was against the rules!”

You zip past his character as he’s being lowered back onto the track, a triumphant hah! announcing you’ve overtaken him.

“Well in that case, neither is this!” Denki’s hands grip at your sides, his fingers poking at all your most ticklish spots. You shriek in surprise and jump from his lap, desperate to get away from the sudden assault. You land on the couch, laying on your back, but Denki doesn’t relent. He crawls between your legs and bares over you with a wicked grin on his face before bringing his hands to your sides once more.

Now you’re squirming beneath him, a breathless ball of laughter, your game forgotten in the background. When Denki finally stops tickling you his face is no more than a foot from your own. Your better judgement goes out the window, forced out by the haze of your laughter and half a bottle of alcohol. You wrap an arm around the back of Denki’s neck and pull his lips to yours. You can feel the smile on his face as he opens his mouth, tracing at your lips with the tip of his tongue. You part your lips, allowing him inside. His lips are soft and you're not sure whether or not he activated his quirk but you’re feeling sparks.

He separates from you, nipping at your bottom lip as he does. His forehead resting on your own he whispers, “I’ve always wondered what that would be like. It’s better than I thought.”

The low hush in his voice makes your breath catch. “What else have you wondered about?”

“Well if kissing you is this good, I can only wonder what you’re like in bed.”

You press your lips to his again, “one way to find out,” you say through the kiss.

At that, Kaminari grabs your thighs and stands from the couch, hoisting you to his waist. He carries you down the hallway towards his bedroom, kissing you the whole way. As you cross the threshold of his room he separates from you, “say less.”

[miracleonice87]

38 with Mat

from the Winter/Christmas Writing Prompts list

38. “You’re under the mistletoe so stop stalling and just kiss.” 🎄

quick note: this one is prob a bit longer than the others will be. I just L O V E writing Sydney and Marty as secondary characters in Mat stories.

quick warnings: swearing, alcohol, super snowy powdery Christmas fluff

and, just for fun, song pairing: mistletoe by Justin Bieber (obviously)

_____

There really was no place like home.

After moving away to Los Angeles to attend USC for both undergrad and grad studies, you were finally back in New York. You hadn’t been able to resist the pull — it was almost as if, from all the way across the continent, you could feel the Atlantic tide receding and pulling you home along with it. For better or for worse, you belonged to the Empire State.

Sydney, your lifelong best friend and a New Yorker herself, was beyond ecstatic, as she had recently gotten engaged to her longtime boyfriend Matt, a hockey player, and named you her maid of honor. Planning a wedding — not to mention showers and bachelorette festivities — would be far easier, and far more fun, with you in the same zip code. Since moving back six weeks ago, you’d spent about ninety percent of your time with Sydney by your side, making up for lost time with the woman who had long been your other half.

So sweet, right? There was just one problem. Sydney wouldn’t stop trying to set you up with guys. She was insistent that you’d been single for too long — you’d broken up with your college sweetheart by the end of your senior year — and she made it her mission for you to find love again. And she, on her own, was bad enough — she’d already hooked you up with so many friends of friends that you’d lost count, and none had been interesting enough for a second date — but her fiancé conspiring right along with her made resisting them that much more difficult.

This particular night, she had lured you to the home she shared with Matt under the guise of having dinner with her family, when in reality, she was throwing a Christmas dinner party for Matt’s closest friends on the team. All of whom had — and brought — significant others. Except for one. What a coincidence.

Also coincidentally, his name was Mat, too, or so you were told — you didn’t quite believe Syd’s Matt when he told you that upon introducing the two of you.

“Mat with one ’t,’” he announced, one arm slung around Mat’s shoulders. The handsome, dark-haired man swallowed thickly and gave you his best polite smile — it was in that moment that you realized beyond a shadow of a doubt this was yet another set up.

Matt made a lame excuse about needing to check on Sydney in the kitchen and snuck away after some brief pleasantries, but not before blatantly nudging your much-smaller frame toward New Mat. You gave Matt a menacing glare before recovering, standing a safe distance away from New Mat, leaning against the wooden beam behind you to keep you steady.

“So, Mat with one ’t,’ how long have you played with the ever-obnoxious Matty?” you asked, trying to play it cool.

Mat laughed easily. Damn, he had a nice laugh — the kind that made his pretty eyes crinkle at the corners. Nice hair. Nice teeth — perfect fucking teeth. Wasn’t he supposed to be a hockey player? Wait, what was he saying? Something about Seattle, and the draft, and… now you were lost. You nodded slowly with a forced smile as you tried your hardest to focus on what he was saying. He was just so goddamn pretty.

Thankfully, Sydney’s call from the kitchen saved you from the embarrassment of not having heard a word this poor boy had spoken.

“Dinner’s ready! I’m really type A, as you all know, so I made little placecards for everyone at the table,” she announced to the group of ten, hands clasped before her as Matt snaked an arm around her from behind and smiled proudly.

“Guess that’s our cue,” Mat mused. “Shall we?”

You threw him a grin and nodded, turning your back to him and making your way to the dining room.

On your way, you paused in front of your dear friend just long enough to grumble, “Assigned seats? Really, Syd?”

She clapped enthusiastically and smacked your ass as you passed her. “Yep! See you in there, champ!” she exclaimed as you heard frantic whispers exchanged between Mat and Matt. You couldn’t hold back your snicker, and as you glanced over your shoulder, Mat gave you a strained smile. You shook your head bemusedly and turned to the table to find that, to no one’s surprise, you and Mat were indeed to be seated side by side at one end of the table. You cleared your throat and nodded toward the cards bearing your names.

“Subtle, no?” you joked, causing Mat to blush pink. He choked out, “Ah, yeah. You gotta love them.” Then, he pulled out your chair and motioned for you to take a seat, which, as luck would have it, Sydney and Matt caught just in time because they were bringing in the food on serving dishes at that very moment. Their eyes sparkled and Sydney looked like she may self-destruct out of sheer joy as you sat down and thanked Mat. You gave her an icy look and she visibly retreated, holding herself back from making a complete scene.

“Okay, dig in!” she said instead as she sat down across from you.

Dinner was incredible, as usual — while your talents lacked in the cooking area, Sydney had always been an outstanding chef. Even more, you enjoyed the conversation, which was mostly inclusive of everyone at the table, save for the occasional chirp Mat secretly muttered in your ear about Matt or Anders, making you cover your mouth with your hand to stifle a giggle as Sydney looked on smugly. Meanwhile, whenever you and Sydney would say the exact same thing at the same moment or finish the other’s sentence, Mat would look to Marty, who would only raise his eyebrows and nod, confirming Mat’s suspicion that these two were always this in sync. Mat found it endearing. He adored Syd — if he didn’t, he wouldn’t have agreed to come here tonight when she told him, “There’s someone I want you to meet…” — and already, he saw countless similarities in the two of you.

After he’d helped you clear the plates and load the dishwasher for your hosts, you and Mat settled onto a couch in the farthest corner of the living room, near the Christmas tree, while the others gathered in the center of the space, loudly entertaining themselves. As you curled your feet underneath yourself, you didn’t miss how Sydney reached for a nearby remote and slowly flickered on the fireplace right beside you and Mat. Yet again, you shot her a killer look that she pretended not to see as Mat smiled, amused at how flustered you were by Sydney trying to further set the mood.

“So how long have you known Syd?” he asked as he took another swig from his beer bottle, attempting to get you back on track. “Has to be a while. I swear I’ve never seen two friends who were more alike.”

You tucked some hair behind your ear and let out a breathy chuckle. With anyone else, you were ever prepared to skirt that question and quickly move on to another subject. But with Mat, it was nice knowing you really didn’t have to.

“Yeah, my whole life, actually,” you answered, a smile on your face at the thought. Your eyes flickered up to his as you added, “My dad played for the Jets... with Boomer while he was there.”

Mat’s brows quirked noticeably, but not in the familiar way that made you feel like he was about to ask you to FaceTime your dad or get an autograph from him. Because he was a professional athlete himself — which was ironic because you’d sworn up and down your whole life that, because of the lifestyle you saw your dad and his teammates, not to mention their families, lead, you’d never fall for anyone who played sports for a living. Even when Sydney insisted with a shrug after settling down with Matt, “It’s not that bad.”

“No way,” Mat said with a casual laugh. “That’s awesome. What position did he play?”

“Uh, receiver,” you replied. “So he and Boomer were tight. Our moms hit it off right off the bat and have been best friends since. Since then, we’ve always vacationed together, ended up living in the same neighborhood after they both retired. I’m three years younger than Syd and I was basically like her shadow. Still am, I guess,” you added with a smile.

Mat nodded, his eyes never leaving your face as you told the familiar tale. “I think that’s awesome though,” he spoke. “You guys could be sisters I feel like. You act just like her. Plus Marty says you’re the only friend of hers who’s kicked him out of bed so you could sleep with her.”

You threw a hand to your chest and your head back laughing at that, and Mat’s heart soared at being able to elicit such a reaction from you himself. You pointed a gold-polished index finger at him and admitted, “He tells no lies on that one.”

Just then, you caught Mat’s unabashed gaze, which had shifted from well-mannered and nonchalant into something deeper, something... affectionate. You swallowed, casting a downward glance at your lap, and swirled the ice cubes in your otherwise empty highball glass.

“I need a refill,” you said with a nervous giggle. “You want anything?”

Mat looked all too pleased with himself at your offer, and he nodded. “Sure, yeah, another beer would be great. Thank you,” he said. You smiled and nodded as you turned away and headed for the kitchen.

Ever the subtle one, once again, Sydney, who had been shamelessly watching the two of you from her perch in Matt’s lap across the room, stumbled over Jax’s paw as she bolted to the kitchen island where you now stood. You blinked at her wildly and said, “May I help you, Sydney Irene? You nearly wounded your poor dog.”

“So,” Sydney sang, ignoring your question completely as she leaned back against the kitchen counter, propping her palms on the edge and looking much more smooth than she had just a moment ago. She waggled her eyebrows at you before continuing. “Whadd’ya think? He’s cute, right?”

You scoffed. “Sydney—“ you began in a warning tone as you reached for the rum, but were interrupted before you could speak another word.

“If you hate him, it was Matt’s idea,” she deadpanned, then allowed a mischievous grin to stretch along her painted red lips as she cocked her head. “But if you like him, it was mine.”

You rolled your eyes as you poured yourself another rum ginger, ignoring the flush you could feel creeping up your chest and neck under Sydney’s scrutiny.

“You’re blushing! You do like him!” Syd squealed as she poked at your side, thankfully making an attempt to stay quiet as the guys, Mat included, carried on noisy shenanigans in the family room before you.

“Sydney, stop! I just met him,” you tried to argue, turning away from her. It was Sydney’s turn to roll her eyes.

“Like that matters. I fell for Matt like—“ she snapped her fingers for dramatic effect, “—that. And look at us now.”

You pursed your lips to the side. You couldn’t exactly argue that. With no quick comeback coming to mind, you stirred your drink, took three generous gulps — as Sydney watched, wide-eyed — and licked your lips before sighing at her.

“Well, fine,” you grumbled as you opened the fridge and grabbed a fresh beer for Mat. “Let’s not keep the boy waiting then.” You sashayed away from your friend who, spinning away from you, quickly squeezed her eyes shut and crossed her fingers before turning back and following behind you.

Mat thanked you profusely for the drink as you returned to him. Now he sat among his teammates, and Sydney sat back in Matt’s lap as you took the seat beside Mat on the opposite couch. You noticed how he immediately leaned back and comfortably stretched his arm across the cushion behind you, and you’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t inch a little closer then. It briefly occurred to you that you were drawn to him in the very same way you’d been drawn back home not long ago.

He felt like home. Already.

And soon, after a few hours more of merrymaking, Mat never leaving your side, the other couples had all headed for home. You four who remained had played several rounds of euchre and sang and danced to half a dozen Christmas carols before you realized how late it was. Knowing you’d had too much rum and wouldn’t be fit to drive, you’d already established that you’d stay in Sydney’s guest room — or maybe kick Matt out of the master. Regardless, you were staying put. But Mat, reluctantly, was leaving — the boys had practice in the morning.

“I guess I should go,” Mat sighed after a long round of goodbyes. Matt and Sydney gave him one last hug and retreated to the far side of the spacious room, aiming, of course, to leave the two of you to your own goodbye.

You nodded. “I guess you should,” you said, caught off guard by the twinge of sadness in your tone. “I’ll walk you out.” Mat smiled and turned toward the front door, and your heart truly may have skipped an actual beat when he glanced back at you and reached his hand out for you to grab. You did so, biting down on your smiling bottom lip as you followed him down the hall into the entryway, acutely aware that, if Sydney and Matt were indeed watching — of which you had no doubt — they could still clearly see you.

But when Mat pulled on his shoes and stood up straight again, stepping slowly, so slowly, closer to you, all you could think about was how hard your heart was thumping against your ribcage. You looked up at him in anticipation, and he smoothed his hands down the sleeves of your sweater softly.

“I had a really, really nice time tonight, you know,” Mat spoke. You had to remind yourself to breathe as the sincerity of his voice flooded your senses and his warm, honey-flecked eyes pierced through you. “Tonight was honestly the most fun I’ve had in a long time.”

You beamed — how could you not? “Yeah?” you asked incredulously. Mat nodded.

“Yeah. In fact,” he cleared his throat. “I was wondering if maybe, uh, you’d want to go to dinner with me sometime. Like maybe this Sunday night, after we play?”

You felt yourself grinning like an idiot, yet had no control.

“Yeah,” you finally answered. “Yes. Of course. I’d love that.”

Mat blew out a long breath and chuckled nervously. “Thank God,” he added as you both dissolved into a fit of giggles. You stepped closer to him and smelled his clean, woodsy cologne, inadvertently breathing it in. Mat came nearer, too, and tentatively reached his hands around to your lower back. “It’s a date then,” he spoke, his voice lower now, gravelly. You swallowed — hard — and gave a nod.

“It’s a date,” you echoed.

You simply stood in one another’s presence for a few long moments, smiling giddily at each other, before Mat sighed once more and glanced toward the door.

“I really don’t wanna go, but I—“

“No! Syd, just leave them be,” Matt suddenly whispered sharply to his fiancé — who seemed to have literally leapt up from the couch — though there was no point in whispering at all because you still heard him loud and clear. Jumping up behind Sydney, Matt easily wrapped her in his arms and clapped his hand over her mouth just as she started to speak.

After wrestling for control of Matt’s hand, she finally pulled it away just long enough to call out, “You’re under the mistletoe so stop stalling and just kiss already!”

With one final “shush!”, Matt covered her mouth once more, though his entire body was wracking with silent laughter.

“Goodnight, kids!” Matt said tersely as he all but manhandled Sydney down the opposite hallway into their bedroom, the two of them erupting with laughter the second they closed the door.

You rolled your jaw and looked above you and Mat to find that, yes, indeed, there hung a very Sydney-like crystal ornament adorned with glittery mistletoe, suspended from the archway.

“Un-fucking-believable,” you muttered, resting your head against Mat’s chest as you both laughed anxiously.

But a moment later, Mat’s voice rumbled in his chest. “Hey...” he spoke. You took that as your invitation to look up at him, and when you did, you found him gazing at you even more tenderly than he had before.

“I mean, since there’s mistletoe and all.. would it be okay if I kissed you?” he asked. His hand found your cheek and you grasped his fingers in your own.

“Well,” you began, leaning further into him. “Only since there’s mistletoe.”

Mat breathed a chuckle and whispered, “Okay, good,” before his lips found yours in a toe-curling, snow-melting, heart-growing, hell of a Christmas movie kiss that you both found yourselves smiling into by the end.

“Wow,” was somehow all you could whisper when you finally pulled away for air.

“Yeah,” Mat agreed simply. “Wow.”

“It worked!” You heard the muffled squeal from behind Sydney’s closed door.

You rolled your eyes once again, hating Sydney in that moment, as Mat snickered and leaned in for another kiss.

Little did you know that a few years later, your dear, meddling Sydney would stand up at your side in front of a ballroom filled with your and Mat’s family and dearest friends and proudly tell the story of that cold late-December night when your love story with Mat began.

[sheabeeprime]

I Drive Me Mad

AO3 Link

By: @sheabeeprime for @superherotiger as part of @friendly-neighborhood-exchange -> I'm so sorry this is late. I worked really hard though and wouldn't even read my story until this was posted so I hope you love it <3

Rating: Teen + Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark

Summary:

Even though he couldn’t make out most of the distinct features that would confirm this figure to be human, let alone someone he knew, he wasn’t afraid. This man wasn’t scary like his captors had been. No, he radiated safety and warmth and through the armor plating that now gently caressed his cheek, Peter detected a familiar smell of expensive cologne mixed with motor oil which he recognized as home. “D-Dad? Please…help me,” Peter whimpered, fighting spirit returning ever so slightly as he resisted the need to allow his eyes roll back into his skull and fall into the forever slumber. It hurt to stay awake and to try and comprehend reality, but something inside of him said that he had to. He had to, if not for himself than for the blob of red and gold which held him close. He couldn’t imagine how terrible it would be for a father to lose their only child. “It’s okay Peter; you’re going to be okay." Or: In the aftermath of his kidnapping, Peter takes comfort from Tony during a Thunderstorm.

References to Torture

The first time Peter called Tony “Dad,” he was tired and 100% drugged out. Whatever his kidnappers injected him with was strong, with its effects still lingering even after his captors ceased their torture and left for him dead. Peter only hoped the reason they finally abandoned his husk was because they realized Iron Man and the rest of the Avengers were hot on their tail.

It took an additional 36 hours after that, however, before Tony and the others finally found him. At that point Peter was damn near dead.

Days prior he was still trying to fight through the toxins as they were administered. He tried to stay awake and learn everything he could about his captors... Now, the spiderling was just trying to save his energy enough to stay alive, to maintain his vital functions, even if poorly.

Peter couldn’t even hold his head up anymore; allowing it to lull from one side to the other when his mentor tried to shake him back into awareness. The unpleasant feeling of his head rolling about his shoulders, however, was just barely enough ignite the fringes of his mind with a semi-consciousness. He mentally reached for the feeling, trying to hold onto it as long as possible.

“D-Dad?” He asked, tongue thick and cottony.

It took all his enhanced strength, but Peter lifted his head up just enough so that when his eyelids fluttered open, he was looking at the blurred figure before him in their eyes.

Even though he couldn’t make out most of the distinct features that would confirm this figure to be human, let alone someone he knew, he wasn’t afraid. This man wasn’t scary like his captors had been. No, he radiated safety and warmth and through the armor plating that now gently caressed his cheek, Peter detected a familiar smell of expensive cologne mixed with motor oil which he recognized as home.

“D-Dad? Please…help me,” Peter whimpered, fighting spirit returning ever so slightly as he resisted the need to allow his eyes roll back into his skull and fall into the forever slumber.

It hurt to stay awake and to try and comprehend reality, but something inside of him said that he had to. He had to, if not for himself than for the blob of red and gold which held him close. He couldn’t imagine how terrible it would be for a father to lose their only child.

“It’s okay Peter; you’re going to be okay.”

He clung to the feeling of hope that being in this figure’s arms brought him. Hands still bound behind his back with vibranium cuffs, Peter simply nuzzled into the neck of who he hoped to be his father, breathing in a heavy and ragged way while trying to hold back tears as the man cradled him and whispered sweet nothings, only stopping on the occasion to bark orders at the other Avengers.

Peter tried to ignore how every fiber of his body seemed to suddenly be subjected to hot flames when he was finally lifted up by the red and gold. As they took off into the air, Peter moaned, head throbbing to the same rhythm of his uneven pulse. His senses were both still dulled and on overdrive. He couldn’t even enjoy the way the cool air that filtered past them brought relief to his burning body because of the simultaneous wind sounds and air pressure that pounded in his ears.

Landing had to be worse than flying though. Peter wasn’t sure how long they’d been in the air for prior to hitting the ground, but the jostle it wrought was enough to displace Peter’s empty stomach such that his body, tired as it was, instinctually lurched forward in an attempt to dry heave. The strong arms holding him tightened their fatherly grip as Peter trembled in the aftermath, praying that the numbness he felt before might return and mask this pain once again.

There seemed to be no time to try and relax though. Almost immediately after his stomach attempted to turn inside out did a group of hands try to pry the crime-fighting-spider from his human safety blanket. Peter half expected the metal man to defend him, so when the man instead began the relinquish the hold he had on Peter to the group of strangers, Peter felt fear strike his heart.

“No!” he cried out, pushing back into the chest of the one person he knew was safe while trying to violent kick at his attackers.

“Pete, it’s okay. They just want to help. You’re safe,” The figure spoke in his ear, voice smooth and even, never once showing there was a reason to panic.

The words seemed to cocoon the spiderling up like his favorite MIT Hoodie. They allowed just the smallest morsel of comfort to sink into his skin and convinced him to momentarily stop bracing against the mass of hands just long enough for them to somehow release him from confines of the vibranium cuffs.

When Peter felt the pressure on his writs dissipate, his arms immediately snapped forward to wrap around his red and gold savior, gripping into the alloy mixture without fear of denting it. The person behind the armor didn’t even flinch he crunched the suit like aluminon foil.

“Don’ wan you ‘o leave me,” Peter slurred.

A couple minutes of silence passed, where the figure just hushed Peter by massaging his arms with one hand, supporting him still with the other, until the teenager could be coaxed into letting go and laying onto a gurney. When he finally relinquished the last of his grip and the medical staff began to work, Peter felt a stab of panic into his heart again. Behind his eyes, he could see the masked faces of his captors, taunting him in his intoxicated, helpless state and reaching to inflict more pain. Before Peter could open his mouth to scream, however, the sensation of someone holding his hand cut through the vision, anchoring him to reality.

The hand was about the size of the metal ones holding onto him earlier, except this time they were made of flesh. They felt soft yet calloused; gentle yet firm.

“Dad?”

Peter blinked a couple times, double vision lining up long enough to see Tony Stark’s face hovering over his own, concerned eyes and a worried smile. He ran his free hand over Peter’s sweat and blood matted hair, just like a parent would.

“It’s okay, little Bambino. I’m not going anywhere.” ~~~~~~~~

Peter didn’t remember calling Tony “Dad.” Actually, Peter didn’t remember much from his recuse at all. He wasn’t as embarrassed about it as his mentor, and even he himself, thought he was going to be though. Peter had recused people from kidnapping situations before and accepted that sometimes they say and do weird things. Never mind the fact that he had been fighting off calling Iron Man “Dad” in everyday conversations about a month prior to the incident.

Surprisingly, Peter was more flustered to find out that, true to his word, Tony stayed with him through all the poking, prodding, and evaluating. Even when surgery was deemed necessary

to reset some broken bones Peter had, Tony was there while he was put under and prepped for surgery. It was not until the lead doctor, Helen Cho, insisted that his presence in the surgery suite would be unsanitary and could inhibit the team of doctors that the billionaire finally did step aside. And even still, Tony’s face was the first he saw when he woke up.

Peter made a pretty quick recovery after that, all things considered. Once he gained enough weight back for his super healing to begin and work again, his bones and wounds seemed to knit themselves back together at an astronomical rate. 48 days after the incident and Dr. Cho even cleared him to be Spider-Man again, to Tony and May’s disgruntlement.

But Peter figured, this kind of thing…it happens to heroes. It happened to Tony. Sure, that was before he became Iron Man, but it still counts. And anyway, he didn’t want it to stop him from helping people; from preventing that kind of thing from happening to anyone else. He did the time in the hospital, he went to Tony’s mandated therapy, he should be able to be Spider-Man. It was the best thing for him anyway; to just move on.

Because that’s what heroes do.

Right?

But while he may have recovered from his physical wounds, his mental ones seemed tattooed with ugly ink on the back of his skull

Peter found he no longer felt safe in the apartment, with the sounds of the city beneath him. Whenever he closed his eyes, the dripping of their old bathroom faucet, or the sounds of his neighbors arguing, or the smell of the trash on the curb somehow brought him back to that grimy warehouse he had been kept in.

And when he was out and about, Peter’s Spidey Sense would constantly thrum. It made him seem paranoid. He would jump at just the sound of car doors closing or cats meowing or even just his friends approaching from behind. Everyone felt too close, but also too far.

The nightmares had to be the worst of it. Every night, he felt tortured again. Sometimes they were memories, sometimes imaginative scenarios, but always his fears playing out before his eyes. He tried to immerse himself with Spider-Man patrols and schoolwork in the late hour of night when sleep felt like imprisonment, but that wasn’t helping his mental state either.

That’s how Peter found himself sleeping at the Tower.

Peter wasn’t sure if being so high up and far away from the streets was what helped him calm down, or the bullet proof windows, or if it was just being close to Tony, but something about the Tower allowed him to sleep, even if only a little bit.

May was the first to approve of the arrangement.

“Anything to help my baby get better,” she said.

Tony had been pushing for him to stay anyway.

“It’s safer,” the genius would claim. And he was right, but there was more too it than that.

Either way, the Spiderling now had his own Star-Wars themed room in the Stark penthouse, down the hall from the master bedroom. And he would be lying if he said staying with his mentor hadn’t been great. The long lab days, the movie nights, the expensive family dinners, all of it was wonderful…except for one thing.

Thunderstorms.

KA-DUUUM!

Peter snapped forward in his bed, a mangled shout caught somewhere in this throat, never to make it out into the open. His eyes darted to the window which was being battered by rain. Part of him was thankful for the thunder for waking him from his impending nightmare. The other part of him, however, knew that this was almost worse.

FU-FOOM!

Another burst of noise had Peter jumping from his bed and into fighting position, hands balled into fists to keep them from shaking.

The tower was not soundproof. And being so high up, Peter felt the sounds of the storm were the only things that were made to be even louder.

Peter could feel see his veins throbbing with increased blood pressure. He squeezed his eyes shut to try and focus on his breathing, but the darkness behind his eyelids made his mind swim with anxiety.

“There is nothing to fear. There is nothing to fear. I’m safe here. I’m safe here,” Peter whispered to himself.

Logically, Peter knew this was just a harmless storm. He used to love watching them out of the massive windows in the tower. But ever since he came home from being kidnapped, he couldn’t handle it. The noises, the flashes of light, the way the tower seemed sway in the wind, all of it was too much for his heightened senses. The worst of it was, he didn’t know why. Maybe it was because it had been storming the night of his capture, or maybe it was just his PTSD, but either way it was driving him insane.

BARROOOM!

This time, Peter darted out of his room and into the hallway. Instinctually, he wanted to seek out comfort from the only other person in the house: Tony Stark. However, Peter was also trying to hide his fear of thunderstorms from his mentor, and up to this point he thought he had done a pretty damn good job. He had even had Ned hack FRIDAY so she wouldn’t alert Tony when he wasn’t sleeping well. He just didn’t want anyone to worry about him more than they already did. Which was a lot, by the way.

Tony didn’t need anything more weight on his mind, in Peter’s opinion. Despite how he hid behind a mask of sarcasm and sunglasses, Peter knew his mentor blamed himself for the world’s problems and carried that weight on his shoulders at all times. What kind of person would he be to add to that weight?

So, the young superhero padded past the Stark master bedroom and instead went into the kitchen to grab some water. He was about halfway done with his glass when another flash of lightening caused the kitchen-living area to momentarily flicker to life with a blinding white light. He could feel his stomach drop and hairs stand on end in the pitch black that followed, waiting for the room to be filled with sounds of thunder.

WA-BAMM!

CRASH!

Peter dropped his glass to the floor and jumped to the ceiling, whimpering when the glass he was using shattered beneath him. Tears pricked at the corner of his eyes as he crawled into the safety of a corner.

“Peter?”

Tony poked his head up over the back of his luxury couch, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes to help them adjust to the dark as he scanned the room for the spiderling. It wasn’t long before he spotted the human-sized form on the ceiling, huddling in a corner, silently sobbing.

“Oh Pete…”

Before Tony could even get up to go collect his kid, thunder struck again.

BUUU-DUDUMM!

Inhibitions falling, Peter scurried across the ceiling and dropped down on the couch next to Tony, curling up into his side like an infant.

“Dad, I’m sacred…” he mumbled into the genius’ oil-stained shirt, fear completely taking over.

Tony was sure Peter was unaware of what he had called him, but one look into the teen’s desperate, pleading eyes, and Tony decided he would let it be. The title gave him a warm, tingling feeling anyway. He knew in a second, he would be honored to be this kid’s Dad.

So, Tony did what any Dad would do and wrapped his arms around the boy, rubbing circles into his back and told him it would be okay. And they sat like the for the whole duration of the storm, until sobs became sniffles.

Peter was the first to break away, although not far enough that he was out of his mentor’s strong hold.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Stark. I don’t know what came over me,” he said, faced flushed from both crying and embarrassment.

Tony gave him the same concerned eyes and a worried smile that he vaguely remembered from his rescue. The man then ran his hand through the boy’s curls and, in a move that surprised them both, kissed the top of Peter’s head.

“You have nothing to be ashamed of. I know how difficult recovery can be. After Afghanistan…well…I guess you could say storms bothered me too, and I don’t have your senses,” the billionaire admitted.

Peter was shocked.

“Really? Is that why you were sleeping on the couch?” he asked.

“Uhh, actually, I just stay out here because I worry about you…ya know, in case you need me,” Tony answered, looking away a little nervously. He felt exposed, although deep inside knew his kid would never exploit that.

“Oh. I’m sorry,” Peter said quietly.

Tony noticed his guilt sinking in and immediately looked back at the kid and squeezed his arm so Peter would do the same.

“Hey, don’t be sorry. I really don’t mind.”

Peter looked skeptical.

Tony sighed.

“Listen. You are so good, Pete. What happened to me, I deserved that. But you? You do nothing be help people who have no advocate. I am so proud of you and the least I can do is be here when you need me. I’m not particularly good with my emotions but know that just how Iron Man will always look out for Spider-Man, Tony Stark will always look out for Peter Parker. Okay?”

Peter smiled. A genuine smile. Tony could swear it stopped raining in the moment and the room seemed almost brighter.

“I’m here for you too,” Peter said.

Damn this kid was too good.

“It won’t always hurt like this. It’s okay to lean on other people. I guess that’s something I’m still learning too.”

“We’ll get through this, Mr. Stark. Together.”

Tony smiled down at his kid, but a sudden thought turned his sweet smile into a mischievous smirk.

“Don’t you mean ‘Dad’?”

Peter flushed.

“Mrrrr. Starrrkkk.”

[dreamescapeswriting]

BTS Reaction || Losing Weight [TW]

A/N: Before this started please remember that you are all beautiful in every way possible. Everyone comes in different shapes and sizes and you should love yourself for you!! In the wise wise words of Rupaul, Love yourself first cause if you can’t love yourself how in the hell are you gonna love somebody else! THAT BEING SAID! I love you all!!! Again no one will be tagged because I don’t want to upset anyone.

WARNINGS: Mentions of bad weight lost habits, diet pills, negative thoughts about S/O and mentions of ED please don’t read if you are triggered by any of those things

Seokjin:

Jin hadn't noticed until it was too late until you were pale and were getting sick far too often for anything to be a coincidence anymore. You were starting to get tired quicker from the smallest of things, running up the stairs resulted in you holding your knees and trying to catch your breath, a common cold was currently making you feel as though you needed to be hospitalised because your body wasn't fighting the bug off. It didn't have the energy to do so and your immune system wasn't healthy enough.

"Baby, we should take you to the doctor." He whispered as he sat beside you on the bed, he took off the wet cloth he'd applied two hours ago and replaced it with a cold wet one to try and keep your temperature down.

"I'm fine Jin, it's just a bug." He stared at you as you tried to sit up in the bed but failed to do so,

"A bug that took me three days to kick-off, you've been this way for a week." You rolled your eyes at him and shivered, he wrapped the duvet around you and shook his head at you.

"You have to see someone," You looked up at him and you could tell he was really worried but it was just your new diet plan...Or at least that's what you kept telling yourself. It was the new fasting diet plan you were trying out but no one had told you that since you weren't used to it your body would react poorly.

"You're not eating enough." He commented as he looked at the plate of half-eaten food beside the bed.

"It's not my eating time, I can't-"

"I don't want to hear that anymore, if you want to go on a diet we will go on a better and healthier one together but for now I want you to eat and get better." He didn't snap at you but you knew he meant what he was saying, he was red in the face kind of like he was whenever he yelled at one of the younger members when they did something bad or something he didn't like.

"Jin-"

"Please, it's killing me to see you like this. You're perfect in every way to me." You stared at him as he went on to list everything he loved about you,

"Your personality made me fall for you but then you, your positivity it made me fall harder. I thought you loved the skin you were in?" You looked down at your hands, you were losing the weight faster than you intended and you were only looking to tone your body.

"I do I just- I wanted to tone up and look good for you." He groaned laying his head on your shoulder and then pulling your hand to his lips, leaving a small kiss on the top of it.

"You always look good for me, you could walk into my room in a bin bag and messy hair and you would look good." You stared at him from the corner of your eye and then looked at yourself in the mirror beside the bed. He was right, you knew he was right he was Jin he was always right.

"I'm sorry, I promise I'll come off the stupid diet and eat properly," He nodded and looked up at you,

"We can start joining Jungkookie in the gym if you want." You nodded as you yawned out and closed your eyes feeling tired thanks to the painkillers the doctor had put you on for the cold.

Yoongi:

"Painkillers?" Yoongi asked when he woke up the next morning with a hangover from the night before. You'd all gone out drinking to celebrate his D-2 release and it ended up turning into an afterparty back at your apartment where you both promptly passed out in your shared apartment bed.

"Top shelf of the bathroom cabinet." You mumbled into the pillow not having the energy to go and get them for him, you felt the bed shift and then you heard the door so you knew he'd gone for himself.

"Can you get me some too?" You called out as you sat up in the bed, you stared at the mattress in front of you holding your head and trying not to fall over. The room still felt as though it was spinning and you were going to vomit at any moment.

"Sure, which bottle-" He cut himself off when he poured the contents of what said painkillers into his hand, but inside were little red pills. He knew them anywhere, he'd seen other idols taking them before.

"What did you say?" You looked up to see him standing in the doorway between the bathroom and bedroom holding a handful of the pills in front of you. You gulped and he waited for an explanation from you,

"They're just to help me lose some weight." He stared at you waiting for you to continue but you didn't,

"How long have you been taking them?" He asked taking the ones in his hand and the ones in the bottle and dumping them into the bin.

"Yoongi!" You yelled out but he wasn't bothered he stared at you,

"Well?"

"Four weeks," He stared at you and then at the bin,

"Why?"

"I just wanted to lose a little weight," He looked you up and down and he noticed how different you looked. You were losing weight but it wasn't a healthy way to do it,

"Why the pills?" You felt like you were under interrogation so you laid back down on the bed and closed your eyes wanting him to drop the subject but he wasn't going to. The bed shifted as he got in next to you, he rolled you over so your head was laying on his thigh and he rubbed your shoulder blades.

"Do you understand why I'm being like this, do you know how dangerous they can be?! You could have been hurt and I wouldn't even know what to tell the doctor because I didn't know you were-" He stopped talking once he saw you staring up at him, you weren't in the mood for the rant he was about to do and you just wanted to sleep away the hangover.

"There are healthier ways of losing weight." He whispered and you nodded in agreement with him, you knew there were better and healthier ways then what you were doing but nothing worked quite as much as they did.

"They stop me snacking." He glared at you as you tried to defend your actions,

"They also can raise your blood pressure to high levels. You knew he was doing this for your own good but you still hated how right he was about it all, he laid down with you and kissed your forehead.

"We'll start working out together if you want to lose weight, you can come with me to the gym."

"You hate me watching you work out."

"I'll make an exception." He whispered to you but you nodded in agreement with him, working out with Yoongi did seem like a good idea.

Hoseok:

It wasn't Hoseok that had noticed what was happening with you at first, it was Army. Your relationship with Hobi had been out in the open for the last year and they adored you, you would keep them updated on anything and everything you were allowed to. Always checking with Hoseok first though in case you weren't supposed to tell them something like the time you almost leaked Hope World to everyone who followed you. Army was starting to worry about you though, with every new picture you posted to Instagram you were starting to look skinner and you had stated you were trying to lose weight but this seemed too fast to everyone that was following you so they started to call you out on it. You ignored the comments but Hoseok who had a private account saw the comments and started to notice himself that you were losing too much too fast.

"Hey baby, did you enjoy lunch?" He asked one day when he came in from work, you rolled up the yoga mat you'd been using to work out on and nodded.

"It was lovely, thank you Hobi." He stared at the back of your head, you were lying and he only knew that because he hadn't made you lunch that day to try and trip you up on it.

"It's funny though, well not funny but weird..." You turned to look at him with a frown, he dropped his bag onto the floor and watched as you put your work out things away.

"I didn't make you lunch today." You felt your stomach sink as you realised he was catching on to what you were doing,

"I just skip lunch Hobi, that's all." He hummed and followed you into the kitchen,

"Did you have breakfast?" You stared at him from across the kitchen and he knew then that you didn't, you were never good at lying and especially to your boyfriend Hoseok.

"Why?" You looked down at the floor trying not to cry over something like this, it was something you dealt with a lot and so did other people but it didn't make the subject easy to talk about.

"I don't like the way I look Hobi..." He walked over to you and wrapped his arms around you, he knew there was nothing he could say in this situation to make you feel better so he did the best he could to help you.

"Losing weight this way is harmful, I know you've probably heard it all before but this is a bad way of doing it...Let me help you if you want to change." You nodded along with him and he kissed the top of your head,

"But you have to eat so your body has the nutrients it needs to help you lose weight." The rest of the night you came up with a diet plan together, something that you would feel comfortable with and then you wrote a workout plan, planning to go with him to dance practise twice a week to have a little extra workout together.

Namjoon:

The moment it became clear to Namjoon what you were doing he wanted to help you but he knew a direct approach wasn't going to work with you, you'd never been good with people coming right at you with information, you had to be shown that what was happening wasn't good. So he started by skipping meals with you just until you would notice he wasn't eating like he had with you, he stopped having breakfast like you, then lunch and that's when you picked up on it, he was sitting up in his studio at home working and you found the food you'd made him was still sitting in the fridge and he hadn't touched any of it,

"Was your food not okay?" You questioned coming into his home studio, he looked up to see the food you'd made him still in the small lunch box and he shrugged his shoulders.

"I wasn't hungry." You walked back out of the room without questioning him again and he felt bad already for doing this to you. He felt awful for not eating your food but he knew he had to make you realise this wasn't a good way to lose weight and this was the only way to get it through to you.

(X)

"You're not hungry again? Shall I call a doctor, you look pale." You panicked rushing over to Namjoon later that night, you'd offered to cook him something to eat claiming that you'd already eaten but it wasn't true and Namjoon knew that and he was upset that you'd lied to him about it.

"No, baby...Don't you see what I'm doing?" You shook your head and he groaned at you, he took your hands in his and sat you down on the chair that was in front of him.

"I know you've been skipping meals and I want to know why." You stared up at him, his eyes were tearing up and you knew he was upset over the fact that you'd been doing this to yourself,

"I was just trying to lose weight."

"Why not go onto a diet? Or work out more, you don't have to skip meals, it doesn't work." You looked at the floor, he was right and you knew that. You'd done all the research you could on losing weight and you knew what worked and what didn't but this was working for a short time,

"It'll work now but once you start eating normally again your body will retain everything and you'll build the weight back up," He'd been doing his research, he wanted to be able to talk to you about this properly he didn't want to come charging at you without any information to help you with.

"I know-"

"So why are you doing it?" You didn't have a real answer for him, you knew what you were doing wasn't going to work but it was working then and there and you wanted results fast.

"Your weight will bounce up and down while you do this...But I promise you if you want to lose weight we can do it together in a healthier way, we'll start going out on more walks? We'll-" You cut him off by kissing him on the cheek and he stared at you,

"Thanks, Namjoon, I promise I'll start looking after myself." And you meant it, you were going to take his advice and look after yourself.

Jimin:

Jimin was overjoyed when you told him you wanted to start dancing with him and it was fun at first but as time went on he began to notice something odd about you. You looked paler than usual and with every dance routine it was taking you longer and longer to recover and move onto the next one, you were out of breath and practically dying on the floor for air.

"We should take a break." He said one day looking at you panting against the mirror but you threw your hair back into a ponytail and that's when he noticed the bruises. There were small purple bruises lining your wrists and hips.

"What the fuck?!" He called out a little louder than he probably should have because Hoseok looked up from his phone on the other side of the room, you stared at him from the mirror and then noticed what he was staring at.

"You and Jimin going a little too hard at night?" Hoseok joked getting up to leave the room, he left and Jimin rushed to your side examining the bruises but they weren't from him or from the bedroom.

"I bruise easy." Which wasn't a lie, since starting the new diet you were on you had started to bruise easier than normal so he stared at you.

"What do you mean? You used to bang your legs and never have a bruise." You looked at your skin and ran your fingers along the bruises.

"I cut meat out of my diet, I'm probably just not used to it, I'll get some supplements and multivitamins." He stared at you as you went back to the stereo ready to start the next dance but he turned off the music the moment you started it and you frowned.

"Jimin what's the-" You stopped when he lifted the corners of your shirt up to reveal your stomach to him,

"What are you doing?" He sat down on the floor and pulled you into his chest, he felt awful and that he was the worst boyfriend in the world for not noticing until that point.

"What did you have for breakfast?" He asked rubbing your head,

"Nothing, I never eat breakfast." He nodded in agreement, he knew that. You hadn't eaten breakfast in the three years you'd been together so that was nothing new to him.

"What did you have fun lunch?" You pushed him away from you and stared at him,

"You were with me, what is this about?" He stared at you as he tried to remember what you'd had that day at lunch but he couldn't remember anything.

"You had coffee? A black coffee? That was your lunch?" You stared at the floor as he began to catch on to what was happening and then he forced your head up to look at him in the eyes.

"You are perfect-"

"Jimin stop," You said trying to push his hands off you but he held them steady on your head and kept your eyes trained on him.

"Listen to me, you're perfect okay? You don't need to start skipping meals or working out harder." You looked at him and he sighed he knew that you weren't going to listen to him but he wanted to be able to let you know how he felt about this.

"If you really want to lose weight, which you don't need to, I'll come up with a diet plan for us, we can do it together." You shook your head at his suggestion,

"Jimin you're hot, look at you! Your body! You're just- You're everything and I just- I want to look good enough for you." He blinked at you and then shook his head.

"You're good enough for me, fuck that, you're more than good enough for me." You began tearing up and he pulled you into his arms,

"Just promise me you'll start eating again and taking breaks, please." You promised to go back to meals and he continued to hold you on the floor while you talked about everything.

Taehyung:

You were standing in front of the mirror measuring your body and jotting them down into a notebook when Taehyung came home, you hadn't heard him come in and so he watched through the gap in the door and everything started to make sense to him. You'd stopped having breakfast and for lunch, you were having shakes that he didn't think were good for you but you continued to have anyway because they helped you. The more he thought about it the more he couldn't remember the last time you had a real meal, he snuck back down the stairs and slammed the front door.

"I'm home! Making dinner!" He yelled going straight into the kitchen and started getting things ready, you came bouncing down the staircase to him and hugged him from behind.

"I'm not hungry baby, but why don't you go and have a shower and I'll cook you something." He shook his head insisting that he would cook for the night and he wanted you to have a nice long bubble bath.

While you were in the bath and the food was cooking he snuck up to your shared bedroom to find the notebook you'd been writing in, he found it stuffed between three different books on your nightstand and he flicked through. Finding photos of you and then measurements beside it he heard the bathroom door unlock so he raced down the stairs with the notebook in his hands.

(X)

Halfway through the meal he watched you, he wanted to make sure you were at least eating something but he noticed you'd only eaten the vegetables,

"I found a book I like." He started and you looked up at him,

"What book?" He walked over to where he'd hidden your notebook and placed it in front of you tapping his fingers on the front, your eyes widened as soon as you saw the writing on the front and you swallowed hard looking back up to his face which was full of concern.

"I just want to know why." You looked back at the notebook and then back to Taehyung trying to think of something to tell him to make the situation lighter but there was nothing, you were trying to lose weight and you weren't doing in the best way.

"I wanted to-"

"I know what you wanted to do but I just want to know why this way, why not a different and healthier way?" You felt bad for the way that Taehyung was looking at you and you knew you'd hurt his feelings by doing something that could have been dangerous to you. All he wanted to do was protect you and he felt as though he was failing now, you looked at the photos in the book and then back up to Tae.

"There are better ways," He promised you taking the book and putting it into the kitchen bin beside him, you knew he was telling the truth and that there were going to be better ways to keep the weight off and still be healthier and he was going to sit and come up with a plan for you. After telling you how beautiful you were and how much he loved you and how you looked and that you only have to change if you wanted to.

Jungkook:

Everyone knew how much of a work out freak that Jungkook was, he was always at the gym and when he wasn't he was doing at home workouts and that's how it started, you started feeling insecure because of how fit your boyfriend was and you decided that you wanted to be fit with him. Jungkook hadn't noticed at first that you were losing weight dramatically, he saw you working out with him and going to the gym more but Namjoon had noticed for him and mentioned it to the maknae that it could be dangerous for you. Since then Jungkook had been keeping an eye on you, what you ate when you worked out and what you did between, he wanted to make sure you were staying healthy. You were standing in the gym together and while someone was spotting him you went onto the treadmill to go for a run, you knew how long Jungkook was on the weights because he focussed on building his body while you focused more and losing what you already had.

"Be careful," Jungkook called out to you, he'd noticed you'd skipped lunch that day and he wasn't too sure about you coming with him to the gym but he couldn't say no without making it look like he was suspecting you, he wanted to be sure that you were doing what he thought you were doing even though it was worrying him so much.

"I always am." You yelled back cranking up the speed and turning from a jog to a sprint within a couple of seconds. Jungkook kept an eye on you and noticed that you were starting to look pale and your body was swaying a little,

"I'm done." He put down the weight and rushed to your side just in time as you slipped on the belt and fell backwards off the treadmill, the machine shut down and you sat up from the floor. Jungkook cradled you in his arms and you tried to stand up,

"I'll go again." Jungkook pushed you back down into his arms and sighed at you, Namjoon was right you were going too far with it and it was starting to worry him.

"We'll go home." He helped you walk into the changing room to get you some water and to get changed,

"Kookie I'm fine I just-"

"You're not fine!" He snapped as you were alone in the changing rooms, you stared up at him he'd never been this angry with you before and it was unsettling to you.

"I've been worried sick and so has Namjoon, he noticed you were skipping meals and how much weight you were losing...Y/n, don't you see what just happened?" You looked down at the floor, you'd hoped no one had noticed that you'd skipped meals or started working out harder than you should have but someone had.

"Kookie-"

"Don't, okay? I thought that maybe Namjoon was seeing things but you just nearly passed out Y/n, don't you see how bad this is now?" You looked at him and nodded, of course you saw how bad it was.

"But I was doing well, I was losing weight." He sighed at you and took your hands into his,

"You'll only put it back on the moment you start eating again, you have to eat regularly and work out, that way your body will have the right things to burn while you're working out and you'll stay healthy...Won't pass out like you almost did in there." You nodded in agreement with him and he sighed pulling you into his arms trying to come up with some kind of diet plan for you both so you would stay healthy with him and still feel good about yourself.

[hq--fics]

How The Captains Started Dating An Athletic/Sporty Fem!S/O

A/N: This is my first time doing this so decided to pick something at random. Feel free to request scenarios/head canons and I’ll do my best!

Characters: Daichi Sawamura, Kuroo Tetsuro, Bokuto Koutaro, Oikawa Toru, Ushijima Wakatoshi 

Warnings: none

Masterlist

Daichi

Sport of choice: Football/Soccer 

- You first met in the summer before starting middle school. You’d just moved into the house next to his. Naturally he came over with his parents to welcome you to the neighbourhood.

-Became friends almost right away when you appeared with a ball in your arms and asked if he wanted to play in the garden (anything to break up the boredom of unpacking) and got to know each other more, both finding your mutual love of sports an easy connection along with your open and friendly personalities.

- Your nervousness about starting school in a new area eased after finding out Daichi was going to be going to the same school as he was. At least you’d know one face in the sea of strangers. It was an even bigger relief when you were in the same class as him. Both of you swiftly becoming inseparable and best friends, though many classmates immediately assumed you were both a couple within your first month of school. Who could blame them with the way you both looked at each other? 

-The gossiping was only intensified when they saw you walk to and from school together every day, both in your own little happy bubble. It wasn’t your fault that football and volleyball practice ended at the same time, even when you guys got home you both found yourselves in one of your back gardens talking about anything and everything while passing a ball around.

-A confession occurred naturally in your final year. You were both walking home and talking high schools. Daichi became nervous, worrying how a different school might change things but you surprised him by laughing softly and putting your hand in his stating and ‘Isn’t it obvious by now? Where you go, I go.’

-Both of you are a power couple at Karasuno, excellent captains of your teams and cheer for the other at all matches. He is very vocal and worries immensely when you and another player come into contact over the ball. He’s the one to help patch you up and soothe your bruises after a particularly intense match. 

Kuroo

Sport of choice: Tennis

-You both met in second year of high school after being partnered together for a large science project. Up until then you barely had any interaction. Of course you had both looked at the other idly at times, you noticing his hands while he took an interest in your legs.

-After you were partnered you spoke briefly at lunch to work out what days and times would be best to get together and work on the project. He suggested the school library after school but you immediately declined stating firmly that you had practice, which caught his interest that only grew when you said it was tennis. 

-‘Oh? You mean like the short white sports skirt and suggestive grunting?’ he asked showing you his trademark grin. ‘Can I come watch?’ He expected you to blush but instead you wrote your number on a slip of paper and slipped it into his shirt pocket. 

‘Well if you’re as sharp with biology as you are with sports, we may actually pass.’ You told him with a smirk before throwing him a sly wink and left to have lunch with your friends and he couldn’t help but watch you go with a growing grin.

- On your first session together you both split the work evenly and begin on your respective sections and he wastes no time and immediately starts flirting with you in the hopes of getting some sort of reaction. You give him a witty remark in response most of the time or smirk. It’s entertaining and helps fill in the time you’re both researching through textbooks and notes.

-After your first session he insists on walking you home, managing to make you laugh out loud as he tells you about the antics he’s gotten up to at the training camps with the other schools. He could listen to that sound all day but his smile lessens when you sigh.

-‘Must be nice. Compared to volleyball, tennis is a lonely sport. I’m jealous.’ After that Kuro stops by during your practices, working on his side of the project and keeping you company. It works out well that your practice days don’t conflict with his so you can return the favour. Although both of you find it incredibly difficult to focus on the work in front of you, not when the other looks so good.   

-You confess mutually to each other after school when you celebrate passing your project, both going into a tight hug after the bell rang gaining a lot of attention from the rest of the class.

Bokuto

Sport of choice: Gymnastics

-You both met as a result of his overly enthusiastic and energetic afterschool practice. He had spiked the ball so hard it shot out of the gymnasium and across the walkway, rolling to a stop outside the gymnasium you were in. 

-‘You’re the one who hit it, you go get it.’ Akaashi had instructed him, refusing to throw another set to him until he went to retrieve the ball. Bokuto rushed out immediately and grabbed it, pausing when he heard music playing. Noticing the door was opened he peeked in.

-His eyes widened and his mouth hung open as he watched you twist and leap on the balance beam, moving in ways he never thought possible but it was so hypnotic he all but forgot about the sport he was meant to be playing which is saying a lot. 

-At one point it looked like you were about to slip and fall he felt his own stomach lurch but let out a sigh when you arced and continued with steely determination and grace he realised you were okay. When you leapt from the beam and onto the mat he let out a cheer that made you jump watching with wide eyes as he ran toward you already praising you. 

-However he was quickly stopped when Akaashi appeared from behind him and took a firm hold of his captain’s shirt. He apologised to you making Bokuto stop and watch the exchange with lessening enthusiasm. Why did he already know your name and he couldn’t even introduce himself? He was beginning to pout heavily.

-‘We’ll let you get back to your practice, come on Bokuto.’ He lets himself get dragged away but he’s looking over his shoulder at you until you’re out of view. It isn’t until he’s back in his own gym that he interrogates Akaashi, finding out your name and that you’re in his setter’s class.

-Your poor classmate somehow becomes the middleman between the two of you. Bokuto begs him relentlessly to ask if he can have your number and is shocked when you approach him at lunch to sheepishly ask him for Bokuto’s. Blushing you said it was flattering that the ace had complimented you so much.

-After numbers are exchanged you’re both texting non-stop and poor Akaashi has to listen to you both gush about the other constantly. 

Oikawa

Sport of choice: Volleyball

-You both know each other since middle school through reputation and watching each other play in tournaments and you’ve both hated each other since the first meeting. No one really knows how it came about it’s just always been there.

-He’s the Grand King that the girls scream and swoon over? You’re titled the Goddess of the Court by the boys. (It annoys him so much that your nickname is a rank higher than his but would never say it out loud.) 

-You’re both the same year and spent your entire first year doing all you could to avoid the other. Class projects, trips, tournaments, festivals? You both point blank refused to be in the same group at all costs. 

-When you do interact it’s snide comments and intense staring contests with Iwaizumi watching the two of you like it’s his favourite soap opera. He can feel the tension between the two of you and knows not all of it is fuelled by negative emotions. Far from it. While it’s his favourite thing to watch he can’t help himself but poke the hornet’s nest one day when both teams are at a tournament. 

- ‘We should go watch.’ He suggests lightly tapping the roster and Oikawa clicks his tongue so sharply the first years flinch. ‘Our match isn’t for a while yet. You got a better idea to pass the time before we have to warm up?’ Some of the others speak up, eager to just look at the girls in general but won’t pass up a chance to see the Goddess play as a bonus. 

- He joins the others regardless and when he takes his seat he realises he hasn’t seen you on the court since you were kids and now he’s taking notice of everything. The way you move, your presence on court, your silent but powerful dominance of the opponents that makes them lose hope with every point your team takes under your wordless command. You’re amazing. 

-He finds you when your match is concluded and he’s on his way to his match and asks to speak to you in private. Iwaizumi has to bite the inside of his cheek to hold back his smug grin as he passes. 

-You’re curious about the sudden change in him when he begins to apologise for his previous behaviour towards you and asks would you consider spending time together outside of the tournament. You agree on the condition he wins his next match, which he does that starts the beginning of your unstoppable relationship.

Ushijima

Sport of choice: Kickboxing

- Probably the most unexpected and unintentional of meetings for you two as dating was never really on either of your radars, both minds set on your ambitions and nothing else. Both of you were in the same year and knew of the other’s standing in their sport and respected that but there was no other interaction.

-That was however changed on one of his runs, his teammates far behind him as usual. Then he heard the muffled sound of music behind him and saw you pass by him with headphones on. Given the weather was starting to get colder he was surprised you were just wearing a tanktop and shorts but it did let him notice your toned body. (he may be stoic but he’d definitely notice the results of hard work and dedication.)

-He also notices the suspicious looks some people on the street throw his way and then he sees it; a guy his size running behind a young girl who doesn’t realise his there? Yeah that’d send warning bells ringing anywhere so he speeds up to overtake you. Last thing he needs is for the police to be called. Then he blinks to see you out of the corner of his eye taking the lead again which he does his best to avoid you in succeeding at.

- It goes back and forth until you both have to stop at the traffic lights. That’s when you pull your headphones out to throw him an incredulous look. ‘There a problem?’ you ask wondering were the sudden racing competition came from.

-‘I don’t want people to think I’m chasing you like a pervert.’ he answers so matter-of-factly you blink and let out a laugh. You can’t argue with that and when the light turns green you lightly punch his arm. 

- ‘You’re welcome to run beside me…if you can keep up.’ You challenge playfully and start running again. It takes him a moment to register your words and feels where you hit him as his lips quirk into a brief smirk and sets off after you catching up in no time. 

-This ritual of running together starts after that day and after a while Ushijima notices you’ve stopped listening to music completely on your runs and notes his observation aloud one day. 

-‘Why would I when I’m spending time with you?’ you answer before throwing him a teasing grin. ‘Besides I need to listen out for potential perverts chasing me.’ ‘Not while I’m here.’ He answers simply and you smile, sensing the deeper meaning to his words. You both fall into a relationship easily after that. While you both can’t attend all of the other’s events you both support each other fiercely and loyally, knowing you’re both more than capable of keeping up with the competition. 

[crazyyanderefangirlfan]

The Rabbit of Night Raven: Chapter 1: Demons in high places. Pt 1

A collection of drabbles of Valerie and boys, the story takes place after the Diasomnia arc.

"Read pages 46-55 for tomorrow's quiz, otherwise expect immediate failure and remedial classes. You are dismissed" "Meow." Stated a familiar elderly teacher and his cat. One-by-one students were standing from their seats and filed out of the door.

"Gyaah! Finally, it's over. But studying all that sounds so boring." Cried a familiar black and blue trash cat as he slumped over the desk. He felt himself getting picked up by a soft pair of hands whose fingers began scratching under his chin.

"Aww. Don't be like Grim. If you want to be the greatest wizard, then you have to attend class." He felt the fingers gently bopping his nose before swatting them away. Valerie giggled at the sight of Grim feebly swatting away her fingers. She opted to cradle him to her bosom.

"Don't treat me like a pet henchwoman!" He cried but purred at the sensation of her fingers gently scratching his ears. The girl internally squealed at his cute expression.

"Are you done babying him now? Come on." A familiar voice called out to the girl and turned to the source, her first and best friends in Night Raven, Ace, and Deuce. The two boys were glowering at the monster who was engulfed by the girl's bust, but luckily for them, the girl and her monster did not notice.

"Yes, I am." She re-adjusted her bag and walked with them outside the classroom.

"So princess, we're heading to clubs; don't miss us too much." Ace teased and playfully pinched her cheeks. Valerie grimaced at the gesture and rubbed her cheek once he was done.

"I won't, besides at least I can take a break from your lack of brain cells." She smirked at their indignant expressions.

"Hilarious princess. But you still have to deal with Grim." It was Ace's turn to smirk but directed it to the vexed monster in her arms.

"What's that supposed to mean!? I am the great Grim, don't you dare say I'm unintelligent!" He was ready to blow a stream of fire towards Ace if it weren't for Valarie scratching his ears to calm him down.

"Grim, if you start a fight, I'll limit your cans of tuna for 2 months" She smiled, but the cat monster saw through the girl's mask, a sense of dread blowing a cold chill down his spine. Defeated, he let out a whimpering "Sorry."

"Great, now that's outta out of the way, we can text you when we're done." The atmosphere lightened up as Deuce's voice, with the girl returning the comment with a smile, "I have a new movie we could watch, maybe later tonight?" Deuce finished up, walking up to the girl, he places a palm on her shoulder.

"Jack, Epel, and Sebek can't come. They said they got caught up with some dorm stuff, so it's just us."

"Tonight it is." She remarked, giving the two a peck on their cheeks as she playfully walked out, causing the onlookers to eye the now blushing boys with an envious eye.

____________________________

The brunette happily hummed as she walked out of the school, and as she made her journey to Ramshackle, her thoughts drifted on how everything was now.

It's been months since her arrival in Twisted Wonderland, and honestly, she loved every second here. Don't get her wrong she missed her family and friends back home and wishes to go back. But she secretly desired for the crow to give up on his research if he did any that is, she loved it here too much, and it was beginning to feel like home. Surely her loved ones can live without her...

Valerie shook her head at the ridiculous thought. What was she thinking? Of course, they would miss her, she has to stop those ludicrous thoughts, she has to go home someday. 

"Valerie, we're here." Grim's voiced snapped her out of her head. Apparently, she was so focused on her thoughts, she nearly crashed into the gate.

"O-oh. Thank you, Grim. I didn't even realize we're here."

"Tch, honestly henchwoman, what will you do without me?" 

She laughed heartedly at his comment, but before she could step on the porch. She overheard a crashing sound. Both students froze. Valerie could feel Grim shaking in her arms from how loud it was.

"W-what was that!? I-I mean, I'm not scared, but where did it come from?" the poor monster tried to brush off his fear, but it was apparent on how violently she shook in her arms.

"It came from the back, let's go and check." He blanched at her words and started to squirm when he felt her move.

"Are you crazy!? I mean, I won't have a problem fighting it, cause no one is a match for the great Grim. But you? You have no magic!"

"I know hand-to-hand combat."

"Even so, you'll be obliterated!"

"Oh, look, we're here." Grim had to do a double-take on her words. Sure enough, they were in the back of the woods, and lo and behold, a large crater stood amidst of it.

"You have no self-preservation." She didn't respond. Instead, she peeked inside the crater. But the sight left both the girl and monster were dumbfounded on what they've discovered.

It was a young man, he appeared to be in his early 20's. His midnight blue hair was in disarray and matted with dirt, his bronze skin was littered with various scars and wounds. An ugly gash was near his forehead and bleeding profusely. His clothes consisted of a white dress shirt, a red vest coat, and khaki pants were torn and stained with blood. He was also missing his shoes.

"Oh my gosh!" The girl dropped the monster in her arms and rushed inside the crater and quickly hauled the young man onto her back, indifferent to the blood staining her clothes. 

"Grim! Go back to the house and tell the ghosts to prepare a medical kit, and hurry!"

"Are you seriously going to take him back with us!? What if he's doing some shady business? Or some kind of criminal?"

"Then I'll have the great Grim to protect me. Besides, helping others is the duty of a human being, regardless of their background." Grim sighed but did what she told him. Not before muttering 'how a reckless human she was' under his breath.

Valerie huffed as she tried to balance both her weight and the stranger's as she tried to get out, which proved to be difficult due to how deep the crater was, which caused her to slip from time to time. But thankfully, she managed to climb up and run full speed back to Ramshackle.

  ____________________________

The door was opened once she got there, and the short ghost came to helped her carry the man to the couch. The ghosts and Grim were waiting for them in the lounge, the medical kit was on the table.

"Jeez, who did he pissed off to get such a beating?" The skinny ghost commented as they watched the two placed the man on the couch.

"Thanks for the help, Bennett." The ghost merely tipped his hat and smiled.

"No problem, kiddo."

"Gerald, please go to my closet and get some clothes. An oversized shirt and a pair of sweatpants will do." The skinny ghost saluted and went upstairs.

"Wilbur, please fetch me a bowl of water, soap, and a towel from the kitchen." The stout ghost nodded and did what he was told. Valerie painstakingly proceeded to remove his clothes. She winced on the number of wounds inflicted on his body. What did he do to deserve such a severe punishment? 

Her heart stopped when she caught the sight of his right leg. It was gruesome, it was a third-degree burn, the skin was in a ghastly shade of black, the skin was so dry and leathery that flakes were falling off. She nearly cried at the sight of it, but she pulled herself together. Now is not the time.

Wilbur was first to come back with the things she needed. He winced at the sight of his leg. She sent him a grateful smile and began her procedure. She gently washed his body, thoroughly removing the dirt from his body, before she patted him dry. She carefully treated his wounds and wrapping them tightly with the gauze.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

"So... Are you planning to tell the headmaster about your discovery?" Bennett inquired as he watched the girl sipped her tea.

The residents of Ramshackle were situated in the kitchen, discussing what to do about Valerie's unconscious guest, and whether or not he can be trusted. Valerie, currently sitting on the counter with a mug of tea in her hand and Grim on her lap, petting his fiery ears. 

"Of course I am, and knowing that crow. He'll probably milk money from him as a reward because one of his students saved his life. Because he's so gracious." She stated as she sipped more of her tea. The sarcasm on her voice was heavy when she spoke the last sentence.

"That guy will gladly take money for himself, and say it's for the school," Grim chimed in.

"But still. I'm bothered about not knowing who he is. He could be a dangerous criminal for all we know." Gerald voiced his thoughts.

"That's what I told her! But no! She refuses to listen to the Great Grim and decides to be a suicidal maniac." The monster exclaims while waving his arms for emphasis. She flicked his forehead. 

"Grim, we can't just leave him there. We live near a forest remember? Who knows what monsters are out there." The stern look she gave made him freeze. Before anyone could utter another word, an unfamiliar voice made Valerie dropped the mug from her hands and spilled the boiling liquid on the floor. Everyone's heads snapped towards the lounge.

"THE FUCKING HELL!? WHERE THE FUCK AM I!?" The sounds of crashing furniture, broken glass, and vulgar words filled the atmosphere. Scooping Grim on her arms, they all swiftly made their way to the lounge, to find their guest on the floor.

It looked like a hurricane pass through. Furniture was overturned, pieces of glass were littered around, and the man was on the floor flailing around like a fish out of water. The blanket that Wilbur provided for him was now acting as a straitjacket.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck! You've got to be bullshitting me!" He let out another flurry profanities, before noticing his bewildered audience.

"Oi Sugar tits, get me out of this."

They were truly surprised by the man, but for different reasons.  Grim was amazed by how fast he recovered and how he managed to get into that position. The ghosts and Valerie were... Appalled by his choice of words.

"Young man, you should not talk to a lady like that!" But he merely rolled his eyes, annoyed at the ghost's nagging.

"Whatever the fuck grandpa. So anyway, get me out of here." Valerie quickly snapped out of her stupor and gently placing Grim down before helping him. Carefully, she placed him back to the couch before untangling the blanket from his frame. 

"Thanks for the help, Sugar tits." Upon closer inspection, she finally noticed the details on his face but was too busy saving his life. He had lovely almond-shaped eyes with long lashes, his left eye was taffy pink, while his right was cornflower blue. His surfer hairstyle complimented his diamond-shaped face. From his sitting position, she can tell he could possibly be Azul's height. He had pointed ears, which made her briefly wonder if he was a fae like Malleus and Lillia. 

The man stretched his arms but winced. He finally took a good look at himself and let out a low whistle.

"Damn, the fucker did a number on me. But you did a pretty good job in healing me up Sugar tits, even if you did a fucking sloppy job at it." He remarked, flexing his fingers.

 Valerie frowned, what was with this guy? He was starting to remind her of one the pervs in and out of school. She counted in her head to calm herself, before asking the question that was in everyone's mind.

"Excuse me, sir, what's your name?"

He looked at her in disdain, as if she made a joke that so awful that she needed to shut up. She wondered if she insulted his pride, but, oddly he chuckled and slung his arm around her shoulder.

"Good joke Sugar tits. Pretending to know who I am hilarious." He gave another mirthful chuckle and brought his hands up to her head to play with her bow. But, she slapped them away before they could even reach. He sat there stunned, eyes wide and mouth gaping as if no one has done that to him before. 

Valerie's lips were pressed into a thin line, her expression was calm. But everyone in the room, including the heterochromatic male, could feel a shift in the air. The aura surrounding the girl was foreboding, and her eyes were locked on him, like a predator watching its prey to make a mistake and go for the kill. Finally, she spoke.

"No. I do not know who you are."

The silence was thick as fog, the noises within the house seemed more prominent as the rest of the residents stared at two, giving uneasy glances to one another. Grim, who has been with her since the beginning, has known what her anger is like. He shivered at the thought of her hellish gaze and silently prayed to the Great Seven to let this man survive.

Her opal-Esque eyes held burning fire as she stared down the man. Her body tensed up, legs twitching erratically, waiting for him to make any reason for her to kick him in the gut.

The man studied her face to know if she's joking or not. Once he confirmed she genuinely doesn't who he is, his curled up in amusement.

"The name's Amane Mania." She sighed, at least one problem is out of the way...

"So I'm guessing you want your reward huh? So what do you want? Money or a fu-"

Amane didn't get to finish and suddenly collapsed on her. Stunned, she peered behind him to see Bennett with a cane on hand and a mildly irritated look on his face.

____________________________

"I could have done it myself," Valerie grunted as she carried the unconscious man again, but this time to one unoccupied but clean rooms of Ramshackle.

"I know you could, but I couldn't stand his attitude anymore," Bennet grumbled.

"Yo, Val we're h-WHO THE FUCK IS THAT!?." Ace exclaimed. She turned to find her friends gaping at her in shock, more specifically at Amane.

"Guys! Don't be so loud, I don't want to wake him up." 

"H-Hang on I'll help you." Deuce scrambled to get to the stairs with Ace following behind, once he got there. He grabbed his legs and began to make their way through the hall.

They came across one the doors and she gestured Ace to opened it. Once they were inside, they dropped him on the bed and Valerie covered him with a blanket. Quietly as they could, they walked out of the room and made their way to the now cleaned lounge.

"Okay who the fuck was that? and why does he look like he went through a war?" Ace questioned.

"Grim and I found him in the back of the woods. He was laying on a giant crater and I brought him to get fixed up. Then he woke up and started to call me Sugar tits-"

"He called you what!?

 "And Bennett him in the head. You guys know the rest."

Deuce took a deep breath and tried to organize his thoughts, before speaking.

"Valerie. You mean to tell us you brought a stranger to your home, who doesn't seem to have any respect towards females and healed him?"

"Yeah, that's it." He sighed.

"Valerie, as much as I admire your selfless nature, but you should be careful with strangers. Especially when you get people like that and don't know their intentions."

"Come on guys. You witness me took down people five-times my height. I can take care of myself."

"What he means Princess, we don't know what kind of magic he does or what he's capable of using." Ace injected.

"Well in that case. I'll just use a potion on him to make him feel weak. Professor Crewel already taught us that so I know I can make use of it."

The boys could only glance at each other in worry.

Amane felt a throbbing pain when he woke up.

Grunting, he sat up and held his head. He hissed when he grasped the side where the was gauze wrapped. 

"What the fuck was that?" He mumbled, before taking note of his surroundings. 

He was in a bedroom and spotted a first aid kit near his bed. He gazed down at his body, he was sporting a black shirt and a pair of grey sweatpants.

He tried to get out of bed but hissed when tried to move his legs. The pain was agonizing. He pulled up the right part of the pants and perceived how heavily it was wrapped.

He clicked his tongue. The bastard really went all out, and he was going to bring the pain back tenfold.

The sound of the door brought him out of musing. The girl was back with a tray of food, two boys one had ginger hair and a heart mark while the other had blue and a spade mark, and a weird cat monster of her shoulder. There was clear mistrust on their eyes when they stared at him.

"Glad to see you awake." she offered him a smile and placed the tray on his bedside. He scanned its contents. An egg and chicken fried rice. He knitted his brows and faced her.

"You ain't gonna poison me, are ya?"

"If I wanted you dead, I would have just left you in that crater." She asserted. She sat down on a chair next to him with boys leaning against it, and the monster stretched itself on the bed.

"Besides." The monster spoke, a male by the tone if it's voice. "She's too much a goody-two-shoes to let anyone die. Unless they pissed her off too much." Amane raised a brow on the last part but said nothing.

He took the bowl and brought the spoon to his mouth. He hummed it was pretty good. He began to devour the whole thing, finally realizing how hungry he was. He placed the bowl back once he was finished.

"You're a pretty good cook, Sugar tits." He licked lips in satisfaction. The girl, surprised by how fast he finished the food, narrowed her eyes. The boys scowled at him.

"Could you just ask me my name, instead of calling me that?" The exasperation in her voice was transparent. He raised a brow, but his lips curled in a teasing grin.

"Why should I? When that name fits you so well." Eyeing at her ample bosom. He snickered at how red her face is. She was so fun to tease and seeing the looks on those guys was priceless.

"Ow! The fuck!?" Pain shot through his body, clenching his teeth, he found her adding pressure on his wounded leg. All with an innocent smile on her face.

"Oi Sugar tits quit that!" He let out another string of curse words when she pressed harder.

"You know what she wants." The ginger boy's deadpan voice rang out. Another yelp of pain came out when he felt she dug her nails on his leg.

"Okay! Okay! What's your name!? Fuck." He sighed in relief when she stopped but glared at the still smiling girl.

"Ugh. What's you're name?"

"I'm Ace." The ginger started.

"Deuce." The navy waved.

"It's Valerie, and this little guy is Grim."

"That's the Great Grim, Henchwoman!" She playfully stuck her tongue out, while Grim growled. Valerie returned her attention back to him.

"So. How are you feeling?"

"Besides having a helluva headache, and nearly losing my leg. I'm good."

"That's great. Cause you need your all your sanity on what comes next." This confused him greatly. He was about to ask what she meant when the door slammed open.

 There stood a man in rather extravagant clothing and a crow mask. As soon as his eyes landed on Amane, he visibly froze. Mouth hanging wide.

"No.." He whispered

"Long time no see Crow shit."

"Sir, are you okay? What wrong?" Deuce glanced at Amane who looked like he wanted to laugh. He ignored his students.

"You look tacky as usual." He flinched at his words.

"I see you’re as rude as ever."

"As if I care. You old crow." 

"The nerve! What would you're parents say about your attitude?'

"Probably nothing."

"Such insole-"

A loud cough broke their dispute, and turn their attention to the sole girl in the room.

"Headmaster, don't you think instead of lecturing him about how to respect authority. Shouldn't you be focused on his well-being?" She gave him a pointed look, the man coughed.

"A-ahh. Yes, of course." He cleared his throat.

"I see Ms. Kemonohito has taken good care of you. It warms my heart to know my students are capable of such compassion and selflessness. Ah-huh huh!."

Aman arched a brow while the other four just sighed, already too used at this display. Crowley quickly regained his composure.

"So please tell me, how he ended up like this?"

She told him everything from the beginning. Crowley nodded once in a while. After she finished, he had a contemplative look on his face, or at least she assumed it was one with the mask and all.

"Hmm, how strange." He turned his attention to students.

"All of you come with me for a moment." Crowley quickly stood up and made his way to the door, gesturing his students to follow him. They all stood up, silently following him.

"What was that about? You know him or soemthing." Grim questioned.

"Do any of you know who he is, or at least his family." He finally spoke, the serious tone in his voice startled them momentarily but shook their heads. Crowley frowned.

"Oh dear, this quite a predicament. To think he’ll be back here in school." He muttered under his breath.

"Just what so great about his family?" Ace prodded.

"The Mania family is an old crime organization who ruled Twisted Wonderland before Crewel was born. Though they are disbanded and faded in history, their influence is strong. They have many businesses, and still manage to have loyal followers who will gladly do anything for them, and he was a former student here as well."

This information floored them. To think this guy was part of a mafia group and to top it all that. Now Valerie understood why he looked surprised when she said she didn't know him. She jumped when Crowley called her.

"Ms. Kemonohito, I thank you for saving his life. I'm so proud of having such a benevolent and caring student." He cried once more earning annoyed looks from all four of them.

"Seriously. How old is this guy?" Ace grumbled. 

"However, due to his critical condition, and lack of phone. He will remain in Night Raven until he fully recovers." He gazed at Valerie, she frowned. She knew what comes next.

"Which is why you, Ms. Kemonohito will let him lodge here until he recovers. I cannot ask the dorm leaders due to their duties, and the infirmary is full due to the last Magift practice."

"I have no choice do I."

"Unless you want me to cut off the dorm's budget, then no." She sighed.

"Fine, I'll do it." He beamed.

"Wonderful! I shall inform him right away." He went back inside. Grim glared at his back.

"Grrrr. This again, whenever something happens we always get the short end of the stick! Why can't he be useful for once in his life!"

"The day he's reliable is the day I go back home."

Which she secretly hoped that it never happened. They returned to the room, Crowley was already finished explaining to Amane about the situation, who couldn't decide whether to be annoyed or amused.

"I can assure that Ms. Kemonohito is a gracious host such as myself, will surely make feel right at home!"

"Oh, I'm sure she'll be a great host. Huh, Valerie." The way he said her name, made her instantly wary of him. Even more when he turned to her.

His smile was borderline sadistic, and his eyes held a mischievous glint in them. Valerie felt a shiver up her spine, oh Great Seven, please save her soul. She can already tell that this guy won't make it easy for her. Ace and Deuce scowled at him and formed a wall between them.

"Splendid. I'll be off then." With a flourish, he vanished.

_____________________________________

"Still a weirdo I see." Amane stared at the spot where Crowley vanished.

"Yeah, you'll get used to it," Deuce assured, scratching the back of his head. He turned to Valerie.

"So. Still up for that movie?" She perked up at his words, but before she could say anything, Amane beat her to it.

"Umm. Hello~ Are trying to exclude me? How standoffish of you Ms. Kemonohito. What would that crow say once he learned that you are being unkind?"

He had raised a single brow and propped his face to his hands, all with a shit-eating grin on his face. Ace fumed.

"Hey! You don't own this house asshole! She can do what she pleases!"

Amane turned to him, sporting a bored look on his face as he studied him. Seconds after, he had a lecherous smirk on his face.

"Why hello~ I didn't get a good look at you earlier, but now I do, I gotta say you're pretty hot. Say, after I recover, why don't we booked a love hotel hot stuff~" He purred as he licked lips and eyed at Ace's bottom with such fiery hot intensity.

Ace flinched at his words and shivered when he stared at him with such hunger. Amane then turned his attention to Deuce, who also trembled at his wanton gaze.

"You're not so bad too handsome. Maybe we should do a three-"

Valerie coughed loudly to get everyone's attention.

"Uhh...Why don't we get set up the movie here, Ace go and help Deuce get the projector, while I get some snacks. Grim, you stay here."

The boys briskly walked out before sprinting away from the room. Valerie trailed after them, ignoring Grim's protests. She found them hastily getting the stuff, both having shaken expressions.

"What the actual fuck was?" Ace was carrying an extension wire and mini wireless speakers.

"How...How could someone be so...Shamless." In Deuce's arms was the laptop.

After getting everything they needed. Wordlessly, they made their way upstairs and found Grim struggling to get out of Amane's grip, who was squishing his pink paws.

"Aww, aren't you a cute little piece of shit~"

"Fgua! Put me down ya weirdo!"

"Ahh. So mean."

Ace snickered at the sight, he would have laughed if Deuce didn't nudge his ribs. After setting up everything, Deuce showed them the movie. It was a comedy, Cater suggested it to him. Then he pressed play.

It wasn't even twenty minutes, and Amane began to make licentious and snarky comments about the characters, and the general plot of the movie. He called them out from their costumes to their acting. The boys covered Valerie and Grim's ears whenever he made a perverted comment.

"Dayum~ Look size of that guy. Bet he's packing something bigger." 

"Seriously? How the fuck people find that funny? Even burning trash has better humor."

"How much longer is this movie. It's fucking boring!"

As much as boys wanted to beat the shit of him, they can't due Valerie holding a vice grip on their arms, a silent plead to not to do anything stupid, lest they get in trouble. They grudgingly oblige but cast resentful glances at him. After the movie, the boys were��very hesitant to leave her but assured them she'll be fine.

"I dealt with overblots. I can handle a rich boy."

That didn't reassure them but eventually left because she reminded them of  Riddle's curfew. After waving goodbye, she was headed to her room, when...

"Oi Sugar tits! Bring me another pillow!"

_____________________________________

(A/N: I decided to make this a two part chapter)

[justsomefluff]

Can we have a reaction for Ateez finding their s/o sleeping in random places, like the kitchen floor or a cabinet, under the bed? Please and thank you!

A/N: This is so funny to me because I relate so heavy no lie.

Hongjoong:

Okay, so basically

You fall asleep on the couch, waiting for Joong to get home so you could go to dinner together

At some point during your little nap, you fall off of the couch and onto the floor

The only real problem with this is that you are right underneath the lamp

So, the only logical solution to this new problem is to roll under the coffee table

Which you do, and then just fall asleep again, no biggie

When Joongie finally gets home he calls for you like always

Totally expects you to come running, excited for dinner

But, alas, you do not

So, he spends about an hour looking for you all over the place

Kinda starting to freak out

Ends up standing in the living room and pounding your number into his phone

After the first ring, he hears your phone going off in the same room

and then a very loud thud followed by some less than polite vocabulary

He looks down at you, wiggling your way out from underneath the table and stretching for your phone

You notice him, and it’s kinda awkward for a second

you kind of feel like you were caught doing something you shouldn’t be

“Hey” 

“hey…”

Then Hongjoong is laughing

like full falling over in tears laughter

Like how dare you judge me for sleeping where I am safe from the light

After he finds his composure, he just tells you to get up so you can get food

And you do, and he doesn’t mention it again

Not in words anyway

But if ever he can’t find you, he always checks under the coffee table first

Seonghwa:

(PRETTY BABYYYYY)

Okay so Seonghwa was gonna be home in about 2 minutes based on his text

So, you decide to try and scare him

Knowing he typically goes to the kitchen first, you situate yourself in a cupboard

There’s literally a pan handle up your ass, but it’s worth it for the prank

Seonghwa’s 2 minutes quickly turn into a half hour

You’ve fallen asleep by then since you had been sitting still for too long

When your boyfriend finally gets home, he’s already shouting apologies into the front hall

“THERE WAS SO MUCH TRAFFIC”

just his excuse to complain no lie

As predicted, he goes straight into the kitchen, still ranting about his day

fully expects you to join him at some point

Did not expect that you would be crawling out from the cabinet though

You heard him yelling once he got into the kitchen and you were like “I guess it’s too late now”

You push the cupboard door open… straight into his shins

“AH OW WTF”

he jumps about 10 feet

so I guess the prank kind of worked??

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!”

you just kinda shrug, still a little groggy and sore from being in such a weird position

“were you asleep?”

you nod and yawn and then all of a sudden he’s soft

Scoops you up and plops you on the couch for cuddles

Will definitely make you answer his burning questions later but he’s feeling all snuggly now so it can wait

Yunho:

(Barefaced Yunho im in tears)

When Yunho comes home after work, having stopped and picked up ice cream because he felt he deserved it (AND HE DOES)

Struts around the house with the ice cream balanced on one hand

Hoping to find you and make you laugh

Cannot. Find. You. Arm. Getting. Tired.

Finally puts his arm down, totally defeated

Wanders through the different rooms before he catches a glimpse of your socked foot peeking out from behind the couch

Leans over and sees you fully tucked in, blankets and pillows everywhere

Knocked OUT

He gingerly steps over the couch… jk he tripped

Falls on you

You scream because 1) scary 2) ow

He’s stuttering apologies but also laughing his booty off

Asks what you are doing back there in the first place

“wanted to make a fort but got sleepy”

“FORT FORT FORT”

demands that you get up and help him finish making it

“I’LL GET THE SNACKS”

eventually, he returns with basically the entire fridge

then you set up a movie and snack together and its so cute but then you both end up passing out anyway because the fort is just the comfiest

Yeosang:

ok one thing I will say about Yeosang is I feel like he can pretty much fall asleep anywhere too so he’s not gonna judge you

how you ended up falling asleep on the bathroom counter may remain a mystery forever

you vaguely remember climbing up on it to get a better look at a zit or some other blemish you wanted to get rid of, but after that who knows

Yeosang rushes into the house after work

literally screaming that he’s gonna pee his pants

Runs into the bathroom and slams the door

Scares you and you almost slip off the counter and onto the tile floor

“GET OUT I NEED TO PEE”

you’re barely awake and he’s screaming at you

so confusing but you just kind of waddle out the door and fall into bed

you wait for him to finish and he comes out with a smile

“I’m better now”

“you woke me up you dramatic idiot”

“what do you mean? I didn’t wake you up, you were in the bathr- OHhhh”

You just kinda pout at him and he comes and sits next to you

strokes your hair for a little bit

You’re almost asleep and he can tell

“LETS EAT”

“KANG YEOSANG I SWEAR TO GOD”

and then you’re chasing him around

he is fearing for his absolute life

like he’s gonna suffer the wrath of a thousand suns for waking you up twice

boy better PRAY

San:

In the morning, San had woken you up and coaxed you out of bed with the promise of coffee

he did not tell you that he did not yet go and get the coffee

So, when he skips out the door to pick up your drinks, you literally just drop to the floor in front of the welcome mat

Like I’m sleeping and I don’t care where I just need it

And it was actually a pretty good morning nap until San almost knocks your nose off your face when he swings the door open

At first, he’s kinda worried like… “you good”

And you just scold him for almost killing you with the door

“Not my fault you chose to sleep on the floor. I got your coffee”

Thrusts it into your face

the only thing more bitter than your face is the drink

“you almost killed your sweet sweet baby aren’t you sorry?”

“it’s you’re fault in the first place”

and I mean he’s kinda right but he’s the reason you’re tired

waking you up early with lies… coffee wasn’t even ready yet

so you have a good natured squabble about your sleeping habits and San’s door-opening habits before coming to an agreement

You can only sleep in front of the door when he’s already home

And he can swing the door open with as much dramatic flare as he wants… as long as he can see you are clearly not within range

a perfect compromise imo

Mingi:

Mingi is such a dork okay

when he finds you curled up in front of the oven he starts laughing really loud

shakes you awake because he just has to know what you think you’re doing

You explain, patiently, that you are waiting for your brownies to finish, and that the oven is really warm

Mingi will just nod in agreement and be like “of course, of course. you’re so smart, jagiya”

Gets up and leaves you there for a minute but then returns

He has more pillows and an extra blanket

He also brought your laptop so you could watch a movie

He pulls you into his lap after he sits himself on top of some pillows

Covers both of you in the blankets and then makes you hold the computer on your lap

You fall asleep again within 10 minutes, and although he’s getting sleepy he’s like

Someone has to make sure the house doesn’t burn down

Mingi should not be in charge of this and we all know it

But what can he do?

So he watches the movie for a while before the timer on the oven finally goes off

You snap awake so quickly that Mingi jumps a little

“MY BROWNIES ARE DONE”

and then you eat brownies and cuddle some more

But Mingi is not allowed to have as many brownies as you because you did all the work in the first place so TAKE THAT

Wooyoung:

(hIS SMiLe)

When Wooyoung gets out of the shower after a long day and finds you… not in bed where you should be

He pouts…like a lot

Wanders around for a while

Almost gives up when he catches a glimpse of the hoodie (his hoodie) that you’re wearing

Opens the closet door…was kinda scared not gonna lie lmao

Then he’s LOUD

laughing at you like a crazy person

Screaming at you through his laughter

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING? WHY ARENT YOU IN BED? HOW ARE YOU SLEEPING HERE?”

“WOOYOUNG TAKE IT DOWN LIKE 18 OCTAVES, KID”

whispers, “sorry”

asks you again what you were doing 

you just kind of look at him because, to be honest, you don’t really know either

just experimenting with some new bedding, I s’pose

He drags you out of the closet by your heels and forces you into bed where he cuddles you close

you can still feel his chest vibrating from all of the giggling

He never gets over this

every time he finds you sleeping in a new spot, he’s like “FIRST THE CLOSET NOW THIS”

Jongho:

Jongho gets protective when he finds you sleeping in weird places

He doesn’t want you to wake up stiff from being in awkward positions and everything

So when he finds you dead asleep on top of the kitchen table, he is less than surprised

Like he knows you’re a whole ass meal but seriously?

But also lifts you and walks you over to the couch

Sets you down and then just stares at you like a creeper until you wake up

When you do, he’s scolding you straight away

“You’ll hurt your back”

“what if you fell”

“MY GOD WE EAT THERE”

And then you’re laughing because even he knows he’s being dramatic and he always is when you do things like this

“thank you for moving me to the couch, Jongho”

he huffs but he’s like “you’re welcome”

Always tries to make you promise not to sleep in such strange places anymore

“What you do in practice, you’ll do in the game”

“What does that even mean”

“One day we will go out to dinner and then you’ll probably just get on the table and sleep or something”

So dramatic, but he really loves you and everything he says is just out of worry

But every time he scolds you, you both end up laughing at each other 

And he secretly has a folder on his phone titled “where is y/n sleeping today?”

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

Best Two Out of Three

A/N: i know y’all have been waiting so anxiously to see who won the sparring fight between demon!harry and angel!Y/N and i’m more than happy to finally give it to you guys! i hope you enjoyyyyy

word count: 7.9k

content: cocky yet lovable asshole demon!h and a smidge of filth  

preview:

Y/N knows that fighting has to do with impulse just as much as training, and she knows the brain finds comfort in patterns. Lower left hip, the center of the ribcage on the opposite side, meaning that instincts expect her to strike somewhere on his left side again. This is exactly why she does the contrary, slamming her palm against Harry’s right shoulder and smirking to herself when, out of her peripheral vision, she glimpses him trying to protect his left. The impact sends him jarring backwards.

Her knee zones in on his abdomen, though he manages to block it with his conjoined fingers, catapulting her heel towards the ground. She advances forward with two quick punches between his pectoral muscles and then one straight for his jaw, which he manages to evade by ducking his head sideways. Harry returns her jaw punch with one of his own and she just barely skims by unscathed, dropping towards the floor onto her belly and slipping between her boyfriend’s parted legs. She flips onto her back, pulling her legs against her chest and then jutting her heels upwards with all her might. Harry’s ass takes the heat.

He’s launched forward, stumbling a few feet and saving himself with the pads of his extended fingers against the mat. He reels around to face Y/N (who has already recovered her footing) with an expression of shocked amusement at her target. Y/N retaliates with a coy shrug of her brows. 

“You quite literally just kicked my ass.”

“And I quite literally enjoyed it.”

or Y/N challenges Harry to a sparring match with two very important prizes on the line: a strip tease versus a month of litter-box duty.

///

“First rule: absolutely no powers in any way, shape, or form.” Harry tightens the neon yellow boxing tape securely around Y/N’s knuckles, tugging the last layer with finality, ripping the excess off with his teeth. “Which means you can’t shock me with that electricity shit you do with your fingers.” 

“How many times do I have to tell you it’s static.”

Harry tosses the roll of athletic wrap into the supplies bin he has at the corner of his work-out room, eyelids dropping over his irises in a disbelieving, humorous scowl. “I’m pretty sure static doesn’t look like pastel blue lightning.”

Y/N shrugs easily as she extends and curls her bound fingers, trying to get used to the firmness of the protective cloth. She glances upwards, batting her eyelashes at him with a blank stare of faux innocence. “You never know.” 

Harry reaches into the left pocket of his starch white Nike gym shorts, fishing out a hair tie as he drifts towards a rack of bo staffs at the opposite corner of the room, pulling his messy curls into a short ponytail atop his head. Y/N can’t rip her gaze from the way the taunt muscles of his back shift with his movements, rippling beneath the thin material of his grey-wash Harley Davidson muscle tank.

“Second rule,” he picks up one of the long, waxy wooden poles, giving it a slow, full spin as he passes it between his palms, “no dirty play.”

“Never thought I’d hear you say that.”

Harry’s grip clenches around the middle of the combat stick, the familiar bite of the smooth surface prickling his skin and sending a buzzing up his arm. He smirks knowingly down at his feet while Y/N distractedly peers at the veins chiseling their way up his forearm. “Neither did I, but I want a fair fight so that when I beat you, there’s no wiggle room.”   

“You sound so confident, it’s gonna hurt my heart when I make you eat your words.” Y/N jolts her eyebrows challengingly, a teasing grin toying with the edges of her pursed lips. 

Harry tilts his head back up, eyes focusing on his girlfriend as she rests in an instinctual defensive stance a few feet away from him, clad in an old Vans tee and a pair of black compression tights he’d let her borrow. His chin edges upward, the gesture tainted with an aura of cocksure smugness. The natural glint that reflects off the usual deep canopy green of his eyes suddenly brightens— the unmistakable sign of a darker, more reflective hue washing over it. 

“Lucky for me, mine stopped beating a long time ago. Means I’ll feel absolutely nothing when I wipe you across the floor.” 

“Mm, I don’t believe that.”

“You’re right. I forgot ‘satisfied joy’ is an emotion.”

Harry reaches for another staff, picking the one at the bottom rung. It’s completely black, the surface twinkling alluringly under the light that streams in through the sheer silver curtains, giving away that the weapon is made out of some type of stone or gem. 

He catches Y/N studying the stick intriguingly, voicing the answer to her curiosity. “It’s made of obsidian and onyx. Forged by a good friend downstairs. It’s weighted specifically to my hand, balanced to my liking.”

With his single free hand, Harry gives the staff a few quick, skillful twirls that show off his close fellowship with the tool, the pieces of onyx strewn within the tempered obsidian bouncing the faint rays of sunlight all across the maroon walls of the room. He slams one end down onto the floor, the circular flat edge digging into the royal blue safety mat covering the entirety of the ground. “Never lost a fight with it.”

Y/N tilts her head to the side a tad, licking over her lips as excited anticipation starts sparking across the tips of her fingers. “There’s a first for everything.”

Without warning, Harry hurls the other bo staff toward Y/N with his full strength, wanting to test her impulses in order to survey his competition. 

Y/N doesn’t miss a beat, her body acting on centuries of muscle memory and celestially-spiked adrenaline. Her arm shoots outwards, the staff ramming longways right into the palm of her awaiting hand, digits wrapping around it tightly as she absorbs the strength behind the blow, her own canceling it out. 

Harry simply gives a satisfied nod, his bare feet padding against the vinyl plastic of the mat as he draws closer to her until they’re about a yard apart. He leans against his custom prop as Y/N lowers her’s beside her right thigh, his eyes tinted their usual jade once again, full of impressed amusement.

“Final rule: best two out of three wins and if you’re down for at least three seconds, you lose the round. The first two are hand-to-hand, the last one is with the staffs. I’m guessing you’re versed in Krav Maga, right?”

“Was there when it was invented, so obviously.”

“Jujutsu?”

“Mmhm.”

“Taekwondo?”

“Yeah.”

“Boxing?”

“Yes. I can also make a mean bologna sandwich and can touch the tip of my nose with my tongue. Are you done stalling?”

“Just wanna make sure that when I win, you don’t pull ‘I wasn’t taught that style’ as an excuse.”

Y/N lightly chucks her pole just outside the bounds of the practice mat, where it won’t be an obstacle. “I’m a little insulted you’d think so little about Heaven’s first line of defense.” 

“And I just don’t want you to be a sore loser. Pettiness isn’t a cute look on you.” Harry quips as his staff is strewn across Y/N’s, the crack of the impact echoing across the entire apartment. 

He starts rolling his shoulders to loosen up, craning his neck from side to side, feet shifting into a diagonal, parallel fighting position. “Did you stretch? Wouldn’t want you to pull a muscle mid-kick, would we?”

Y/N mirrors his posture, pushing a few rogue strands of hair from her eyes with the back of her hand, bare feet planting themselves steadily apart as she ducks slightly, knees bending a smidge to calibrate her center of gravity. The grip of the rubbery plastic beneath her toes fills her with a type of soothing hum, her muscles purring as her senses hone into crisp awareness. She can hear the blood pumping in her ears, feel the coolness of the air expanding her lungs, and she can even make out the faint, dull ringing that is suspended in the electrified air, which fills the gap of Harry’s lacking heartbeat. 

“Don’t worry about me, I’m all good.”

Harry holds up his palms in a peaceful gesture, the bright boxing tape seeming to glow in the dusky light swimming across the air. “Just trying t’be a caring boyfriend.”  

His hands fall into fists, thumbs instinctively resting beneath his lower round of knuckles instead of tucking under his fingers— a method he’d learned early on in his training, conceived with the notion of preventing one from breaking their thumbs with the force of their own punches. The flat side of his forearms face outwards as a first line of defense, veins carving their way under his skin as his fists clench readily, itching for the feel of collision. 

His heels carve deeper into the mat, balancing his mass and revving his nerves. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

“Alright. Ladies first.” 

As much as Y/N hates to admit it, it makes sense that Harry won the first round. 

He’d recently been assigned to coaching the newest flight of demons-in-training, meaning that for the last two weeks, he’d been practicing on his combat skills for six hours a day, five days a week. Y/N hadn’t sparred in a while— months, maybe. She was unfortunately rusty and it shows pretty evidently in how it takes Harry less than a minute to give her left cheek a mat-patterned makeover. 

She had started off fairly solid with a distraction technique that she was always confident in. A punch aimed right at the center of Harry’s sternum with the intent of cutting off his airflow, which he blocked swiftly, just as she predicted he would. 

What she wasn’t expecting was the form he used to block her. 

Y/N expected him to throw up his forearms parallel to one another to defend himself, meanwhile she would use that split second to sweep him off his feet with a hooked kick to his right ankle. That was the original plan.

Harry threw a wrench in it. 

Instead, he crosses his forearms in front of his chest, Y/N’s fist ending up wedged between them. Her eyes do a terrible job of hiding her alarmed panic as she glances up momentarily, met with an expression of conceited triumph painted over her boyfriend’s annoyingly handsome features. The sly snark in his voice makes her teeth grate. “Oops.”   

The small change in tactic was enough to throw her off rhythm; the rest of the round was basically his for the taking. 

He doesn’t waste a single moment, delivering a quick, sharp kick to the side of her left knee, using the hold on her wrist to twist her arm roughly, throwing her body off equilibrium. She is met with another kick right to her stomach, the front of one of Harry’s calves hitting her about an inch above the belly button, right below the ribs. Y/N crumples to her hands and knees, a deep ache radiating across every one of her bones, concentrating mainly on the points that had taken the blows. All of her attention is diverted to her labored breathing, having to consciously force herself to go through the motions, her lungs rattling with every inhale. Her eyes blur with overwhelmed tears, which she messily wipes away with the back of her hand before Harry can see them. 

She’s not hurt, just stunned (the ache is ebbing away fairly quick as her self-healing kicks in). She hadn’t realized just how out of practice she was until now.  

Harry allows a few seconds to drag by (both for her sake and the three-count forfeit rule) and then crouches down level with her, elbows propping on his knees as his head cocks sideways to catch her line of sight. He reaches forward and gently taps on Y/N’s nose playfully, voice airy and teasing (though there’s an obvious haughtiness in the undertone). “Don’t take this the wrong way, darling, but if this is what Heaven’s first line of defense is like, it’s pretty shitty.”

He offers her his hand and after a pause of petty hesitation, she begrudgingly accepts it. 

Once she’s back on her feet, she balances on one foot and lightly swings the lower half of her injured leg back and forth. The joint pops back into place, drawing a faint wince on her behalf. “Asshole.”

“You shouldn’t have underestimated me, minx.” 

Y/N regains her combat stance, shuffling back a step or so for a better range of motion. “Call it.”

“Are you sure you don’t want a minute to—”

“Call it.”

The second round goes much better. 

She takes off at a running start, pulsing herself off the ground about two feet, coming down onto Harry with her forearms crossed. She’s met with a mirror of her gesture as Harry allows her full weight to sink against his arms and then uses the momentum against her. He pushes up and forward, feeling the force leave his muscles as Y/N flies back. She lands crouched low on her feet, not phased at all. One of her palms juts down against the mattress for stability as she swings out her left leg in one quick motion, ankle colliding with Harry’s. 

He teeters backwards a bit, but manages to preserve his footing. 

Y/N lunges again, a punch hitting him square in the stomach. The feeling of finally pulling one on him swells here confidence. She follows with an intricate set of moves, aiming each jab at specific pressure points that should shock her opponent’s nerves just enough to grant her a window of opportunity for a total knock out. One aimed at his left hip, which throws his torso sideways. Another at the other side, higher up, concentrated between his second and third ribs. He blocks it with his wrist, but Y/N doesn’t let it distract her this time. Her mind is racing, eyes darting back and forth across Harry’s body, analyzing it for weak links and connecting it to the technique layout in her mind. 

Y/N knows that fighting has to do with impulse just as much as training, and she knows the brain finds comfort in patterns. Lower left hip, the center of the ribcage on the opposite side, meaning that instincts expect her to strike somewhere on his left side again. This is exactly why she does the contrary, slamming her palm against Harry’s right shoulder and smirking to herself when, out of her peripheral vision, she glimpses him trying to protect his left. The impact sends him jarring backwards.

Her knee zones in on his abdomen, though he manages to block it with his conjoined fingers, catapulting her heel towards the ground. She advances forward with two quick punches between his pectoral muscles and then one straight for his jaw, which he manages to evade by ducking his head sideways. Harry returns her jaw punch with one of his own and she just barely skims by unscathed, dropping towards the floor onto her belly and slipping between her boyfriend’s parted legs. She flips onto her back, pulling her legs against her chest and then jutting her heels upwards with all her might. Harry’s ass takes the heat.

He’s launched forward, stumbling a few feet and saving himself with the pads of his extended fingers against the mat. He reels around to face Y/N (who has already recovered her footing) with an expression of shocked amusement at her target, which Y/N returns with a coy shrug of her brows. 

“You quite literally just kicked my ass.”

“And I quite literally enjoyed it.”

She barrels towards him and he comes to the conclusion that it seems he underestimated her.

Harry waits until the distance between them is dangerously short and then dives to the right, his tank top rustling as she attempts to brake her trajectory. He slams his forearm flat across her upper back and then follows it up with a repeat on the lower half, but with his elbow. Y/N’s body arcs, absorbing the brutal force of the blows and processing what to do next. Harry takes this chance to fling himself onto her, arms snaking around her and gluing her arms to her sides. His girlfriend tries to break free by rending from side to side, but as soon as she realizes it’s useless, she switches tactics. Y/N sprints upwards, Harry’s body leaning back to accommodate. 

Instead of landing on her feet, she allows herself to fall onto her knees on the mat, ignoring the cold shot of pain that ices the joints. She then swings her upper-body forward, tumbling across the ground with Harry in tow. She ends up on top of him, his arms still clamped around her but lose enough that she can get a dig in with her elbows. There’s a crack on impact. 

Harry grunts in pained alarm, releasing her out of instinct. She rolls off him onto her stomach, pushing herself up to get her legs propped on each side of his thighs. She grabs his wrists, ramming them against the safety cushion. He struggles for a hot minute, twisting, turning, and bucking to fight her off, but eventually gives up. She’s too well calibrated to budge. 

Instead, he allows his head to fall back onto the mat, emitting a low, achy groan that slowly molds into an impressed chuckle. “Fuck, that hurt.”

Y/N’s breathing is ragged, her brows itchy with sweat and eyes stinging. Most of her hair has found its was out of the carefully-crafted ponytail she’d pulled it into, tickling down her jaw and across her glistening cheekbones. “It was meant to.”

His fingers dissolve from the tight fists they were bound in, tapping against the plastic covering beneath them. His tongue swipes over his chapped lips as the edges coil into a sly, lascivious simper. “But you gotta admit, this is pretty hot."

Y/N tries to ignore the way he shifts his hips between her thighs, attempting to pray away the fact that his jogging shorts are made of a sports material so thin she can feel the chiseling of his pelvis beneath them. Her voice comes out throaty and slightly quivering, defeating any authority she’d inclined for it to carry. “Stop that.”

Harry’s eyebrows raise questioningly, expression one of fake clueless innocence as he pouts his lips in a mystified frown. “Stop what?”

His eyes dash down to where their bodies meet, then back up to meet her furrowed-brow glare. His hips begin to rub up against her harder.

“Cut it out.”

Harry softens his irises into a watery, pleading facade, quivering his lower lip dramatically. “But I’m getting close.”

“Idiot.” Y/N grumbles, dismounting now that it has been well over three seconds.

He carefully sits up, one hand resting along the area of his wounded ribs to ease them back into place (it’s a literal pain when things settle incorrectly— requires him having to rebreak the parts so they recover accordingly), the other palm propped flat on the floor behind him to help keep upright as everything heals. A warm surge undulates through his fractured bones and he can feel the pieces mending back together. 

Y/N is already at the edge of the practice mat, combing her hair neatly back from her face and tying it off tighter than before to ensure it doesn’t get in the way. It’s a simple action with no meaning behind it at all, but somehow, Harry finds it infuriatingly endearing. Her perfectionism is peeking through, obvious in the way she releases a soft exasperated growl when a few rebellious strands dance across her eyes. She takes down the entire do, raking her fingers through her locks once again (with a slight vengeance) and looping the neon tie-dye scrunchie around them with annoyed finality. Her hair obliges this time. 

She leans down and scoops the bo staffs into her palms, giving Harry’s one last fascinated once-over before rolling it across the ground in his direction. It thuds to a halt at his outer thigh, a muted holographic glint tennising between all the pretty jewels encapsulated in the tempered midnight glass. Harry wiggles his digits underneath his weapon, rolling it comfortably back and forth before using it to brace himself into a standing position. He hoists himself up with a strained grunt (not necessarily because it hurts, but moreso to guilt Y/N a tad for the hell of it) and twists his torso from side to side to make sure all the nuts and bolts have sifted into gear. 

He contemplates his girlfriend with a slow, conceited blink and the unmistakable twitch of his plump lips, the entire regard coated thick with shit-eating smugness. She avoids his gaze by glancing down at one of the ridges in the mat, willing her eyes to keep from flaring. 

The intense moment passes, Harry’s voice breaking through the atmosphere with a jesting complaint. “You broke a few ribs.”

She glimpses back up at him from under her lashes, taking in his casual demeanor as he leans against the pole easily, resting it snugly in the divet along the inside of his elbow. “And you dislocated my knee. Let’s call it even.” 

He runs his teeth across the length of his lower lip, pursing it and pairing the action with a thoughtful purr. “Fair enough.” 

Harry cocks his chin upwards, uncurling his index finger from the staff and making a come-ether motion. 

Y/N shuffles towards him, squeezing her rod anxiously. She stops about three feet in front of him, squaring her shoulders in order to mimic his nonchalant attitude. She’s well aware of the mental manipulation that goes into phasing out your opponent and she wants to let Harry know it won’t work on her.

He mulls her over for a second, then his mouth curves into a lopsided grin, dimples winking awake. “Last round, same rules.”

He holds out his bo staff before him for indication, both hands spaced evenly across the expanse. He taps the very center with his right thumb. “See that fine little line?” 

Y/N studies the crevice he’s signifying. “Yeah?”

In one swift, harsh motion, Harry slams the combat stick down against his knee and Y/N can’t help but jump at the abruptness. The pole snaps cleanly in two, her boyfriend holding up either pieces and shaking them lightly in the air. He goes about his explanation without a hitch. “You can split it into two.”

Y/N looks down at her own tool, running her thumbs down its waxy wooden surface until she feels the crease he’s referring to. “Got it.”

Harry reconnects the two halves, spinning the entire five foot staff over his hand, around his wrist, and finally into default combat position. It rests parallel against his hip, the top half diagonal to his stomach, both of his hands gripping it tightly. He bends down a few inches, feet planted expertly to distribute his weight evenly as he shrugs his brows knowingly. “You better start thinking of a good song to strip to.” 

Y/N assumes her own fighting stance, copying his but with her pole on the opposite side, its mass strangely comforting against the curve of her waist. “And you better get ready to clean Hemmy’s litter box for the next month.” 

The final round lasts longer than the first two and both combatants have multiple close calls, but one eventually comes up victor. Harry was the first to initiate this time. 

He had pounced, reeling his bo staff back and bringing it down towards Y/N at full velocity. The crack of the two sticks colliding scatters loudly along the walls of the apartment. 

Y/N isn’t a fan of staff technique fighting. She favors hand-to-hand, simply because there’s a stronger confidence in having direct skin contact with one’s combatant, as well as having the fighting constricted to close quarters. Closer engagement ensures that there will be no surprise attacks from anywhere, where as with the poles, the length of the weapon can’t be focused on all at once. She could be hit on the shoulder one second and have her feet taken out not even an inhale later. It requires quicker, keen impulses and rigid, acute blows. The combinations of attacks are endless and unpredictable until a heartbeat before they happen, and it demands a defense that is also an offense, so there is no time at all to pause and recoup. Not to mention the fact that the material of the staffs is cruelly solid, so impact packs five times the pain of a regular fist. 

It’s because of all of this— because of all of the limiting factors she’d encountered with this style of sport— that she had willed herself to become so good at it. It was what she practiced most whenever she sparred back home; she refuses to allow herself to be weak when it comes to protecting everything she’s ever known. Hatred is a valid catalyst for exceeding, and as much as she hates these stupid sticks, exceeding ranks higher in her priorities and it’s paid off in the long-run.

On the other end of the spectrum is Harry. He loves bo staff combat. Thrives in it. It was the form of battle that he picked up the quickest during his training and he favors it over everything else (except maybe blades). During his time in Hell, he knew nothing but agonizing anguish for fifty years. Nothing but continuous torture and abuse that seemed to rip his being to shreds, only for it to be sewn back together and demolished all over again. Once he did his time and was released from the punishment wing, he was less than ready to face all of the emotions that had been forcibly shoved to the back of his mind by the animalistic instinct to survive and persevere.

Fighting was the one place he could let it all out simultaneously, both the emotional and physical turmoil, and put to test the resilience he had gained. He excelled in all forms of hand-to-hand combat and breezed by knife-throwing as if he’d done it all his life, but bo staff warfare provided the challenge of soliciting coarse, brutal techniques with fine-tuned precision, grating accuracy, and accelerated speed responses. It was the perfect cocktail of exertion he needed to work through most of the shit he had been through, all while gaining him a name within the new community he was destined to join. He never personally saw it occur (or maybe he just doesn’t recall it considering specific instances from that time tend to blur together), but people tell him word got around enough that Lucifer himself came to watch one of his matches. 

All in all, the array of details is a way of emphasizing that this round was meant to be his even before it started. However, his confidence begins to shake as they escalate further into the fighting. 

Y/N is good— incredible, actually. Her technique, her timing, her strength and agility, the way she flows through her movements in such a graceful yet cut-throat manner. It all shows she’s had extensive experience in this field and she’s not holding back on showing it off. Every one of his attacks is met with a perfect counter and every one of his defenses is met with an assault of the same caliber. She looks amazing holding her own, brows cinched in extreme concentration and muscles taut as inhuman strength courses through them like a current. Her footwork is excellent, supporting her every motion with flawless balance, delivering strike after strike without a moment of hesitation. 

Harry has never met anyone he could confidently say leveled him in skill, and as cheesy and sappy and idiotic as it sounds, he thinks he’s finally found his match. If he wasn’t in love before, he’s mostly definitely neck-deep in it now.  

He’s lucky he’s practiced enough to multitask or else his dwellings would’ve gotten him knocked on his ass by now. His body had gone into a type of automated combat mode that relied purely on pattern experience and muscle memory, his mind focused partially on the sparring and partially on his thoughts. Harry manages to fully zone back into reality just in time to block an advance at his jaw. The obsidian glass of his pole clacks forcefully against the smoothed red oak of Y/N’s, mere centimeters from his face. 

He goes cross-eyed to look at the staff and then looks past it to the assailant wielding it. “Did you really have to go for the face?”  

Y/N doesn’t respond, yanking her staff back and swinging it downwards towards his ankles, which he intercepts in a blur of glittering jewels. He twists her combat stick around his, attempting to force her into releasing it. She does, letting it fall from her left hand into her right, pulling it out from its cage and spinning her entire body, packing the motion with as much momentum as possible and aiming it for the middle of Harry’s torso. He just barely meets her blow, saving himself from getting the other side of his ribcage broken. Y/N pivots on her heel again, this time aiming for the junction between his neck and shoulder. It’s a sensitive point and should cripple him enough to get him down. 

Harry ducks, slamming the top half of his bo staff against his girlfriend’s stomach, hearing her exclaim on impact. He isn’t even able to celebrate finally getting in a hit because the next thing he knows, a searing ache ruptures across the top of his skull. His vision blurs into a dark red, the edges of his sight vignetting between purple and black. He drops to his hand and knees, ears ringing and teeth going numb. 

The room is spinning and he feels like he might throw up, but he’s stubborn. He rolls sideways on the mat, stopping on his stomach and clumsily hobbling up onto his feet. He blindly extends his staff before him as a defense mechanism, blinking rapidly in an attempt to dissolve the red from his surroundings. He’s faced worse, and frankly, he deserves it after the way he crippled her in the first round. 

Through the hazy curtain washing over his mind, he’s able to focus in on Y/N, who is edging towards him carefully with her pole poised. He works his injury to his angle, pretending to be worse off than he actually is by shaking his head as if trying to regain his bearings. When Y/N is within jumping distance, he launches, taking her by surprise and smacking along the lower half of her sternum. She staggers back, using her pole to keep from tripping, leaving her unprotected. His combat stick finds its way into the left side of her waist, causing her to bend over at the force. Harry steps past her, looking over his shoulder and getting an idea. 

The weapon comes down flat, swatting Y/N right across her backside. 

She yelps out in angered alarm, hands flying to her throbbing bum as she jumps forward a couple of feet, whizzing around with indignation pinching her face. Harry’s eyes flit black as he sticks his tongue out in an open-mouthed smirk, wagging his head tauntingly.

An infuriated snarl rumbles in the back of Y/N’s throat, her limbs acting out of their own accord. She unclasps the two halves of her combat stick over her knee as Harry had before, the ring of color that hugs her irises illuminating itself with a blinding celeste hue. 

He just can’t keep the stereotypical asshole comment to himself, uttering it through a provoking simper. “You look hot when you’re mad.” 

When her next swing comes down, it easily packs the strength of a hundred men. 

Y/N advances on Harry with no remorse, her hits strong and curt, clean-cut and precise. She’s getting in consistent blows now that she has more ammunition, bruising his left shoulder and swelling his right thigh. Her two halves come down at him at once, concentrated toward his chest, and he intercepts with the center of his pole. The brunt of the clash fulfills the purpose Harry had intended, snapping his single staff into its secondary form. 

He twirls each twin piece over the back of his hand, feeling them settle into his cupped fingers snugly. “That’s more like it.” 

They go back and forth for what Harry dubs to be about a minute or two, the sharp clacking of the surfaces biting into the sweat-tinged air. He’s thankful bruises heal almost immediately after inflected or else he’d be purple and blue from head to toe. He’s growing bored and achey of the round, well aware of the fact that since Y/N equals him in skill, the match could go on for hours and he has to work in less than three. 

Not to mention, he hasn’t even had breakfast yet and he can practically hear an omelette calling his name. Maybe with some French toast and homemade lemonade...Fuck, that’d be perfect. 

He still has to take Onyx and Nimbus out for a their daily morning lap around the park nearby. He has to get there early lest he run into that fitness coach with the annoying Doberman that has some weird grudge against his dogs. And now that he recalls, he owes Dylan a coffee for that bet he’d lost over one of his trainees losing a match to another. That’d take at least ten minutes considering how busy Starbucks is in the morning, and that doesn’t include how long it takes them to make the drink due to Dylan’s peculiar (and annoyingly moronic) tastes.

Harry’s daydreaming is what teeters the fight into its end. His lack of focus leads him into making a mistake that is theatrically ironic. 

After deflecting a hit to his jugular, he groups both ends of his pole above his head, bringing them down towards his girlfriend without any real target other than to just plant a hit somewhere. He knew she would block it and he figured he’d use that millisecond window to slam her backward, hopefully with enough give to render her onto her rear. 

However, that is not how it goes down at all.

Instead of hindering the collision with the flat side of both her rungs, Y/N crosses her forearms diagonally before her, both of Harry’s wrists ending up wedged between them. It’s the same exact move he’d used on her to win the first round. 

Y/N quirks her eyebrows up at her opponent mockingly, voice thick with sarcastically satisfied amusement. “Oops.”

She swiftly rotates her arms clockwise, Harry’s trapped wrists following suit and twisting his arms roughly sideways. This gives Y/N the perfect way in, using the butt of one of her rods and striking it across his cheekbone. Harry staggers back, flailing his weapons loosely as he tries to keep from collapsing. Y/N dives forward, her staffs connecting with the back of Harry’s hands, forcing him to release his tools out of nerve-induced impulse. 

After she’s disarmed him, she directs a flat-footed kick to his abdomen, right between his ferns tattoos. The strength behind the gesture sends a vibration up the knobs of her bones, so she can only imagine how it must’ve felt to him. Harry’s feet leave the ground unintentionally for the first time during the entire match as he flies back, the nearest wall so kindly cushioning his fall. He slides down the surface, the matte paint burning the skin of his elbows until his body settles onto the mat. He immediately attempts to regain his footing, but is stopped short on his knees.

The end of a combat stick hovers a few inches in front of his nose, a sweaty, heavy-breathed Y/N looming down upon him from behind it, eyes gleaming— literally— with cocksure victory. “Stay down unless you want a matching bruise on the other side of your face.” 

Harry’s chest shallowly heaves a count of three, then his eyes string upwards from the circular flat face of the bo staff to lock with his girlfriend’s. He teeths the corner of his bottom lip as it jolts with the ghost of an aroused, awed simper. “I quite enjoy being on my knees, anyways.”

Y/N’s pole rattles against the ground.

She keens over, palms resting on her knees as she gulps down air like she can’t get enough of it. Harry sits back on his heels, back flushed with the wall to support himself, head thunking against it hollowly. He hasn’t felt this exhausted since his first ever training session all those centuries back. 

Sweat mazes its way down his throbbing temples and across the veins chiseled into his neck, following the curve of his collarbones and tickling its way down the valley of his chest. All he can get out is a low, scratchy, “Fucking hell...” and his throat goes sore with the effort. 

Y/N throws her head back in fatigue, groaning softly as every muscle in her body complains at the motion. A weak, giddy smile dances its way across her warm cheeks. “I won.”

Harry sighs grandly in defeat, wincing lightly as the movement irritates the fracture he knows is running the length of his cheekbone. “Give credit where it’s due. That final move was mine, so you’re welcome.” 

He sticks out his hand as a post-fight symbol of good will, wiggling his fingers when she stares at it cautiously. “C’mon, I won’t bite. No dirty play, remember?”

Y/N takes Harry’s hand and the conjoined pair shake out a final truce. She then rests down onto her knees, crawling across the mat to take the spot beside him. As her back nests again the wall, she feels a mixture of both relief and disgust. Relief because the surface is nice and cool, which works wonders for her overheating body. Disgust because the wall flattens her t-shirt against her skin and she can feel the cotton soaking up all the sweat as it sticks to her like glue. 

She lulls her head over to Harry, who is dabbing at the big green and purple shiner that she’d slashed across his face. Now that the fight is over and her brain has gradually waned off of the cruel adrenalin that had been fueling her strength, guilt starts settling in. “Sorry about that.” 

Harry cranes his neck in her direction, gifting her a tender smile that she knows probably hurts. “S’okay, it’s already healing. Plus, I had a good time. Was fun.”

Y/N playfully bumps his shoulder with her own. “Not as fun as it’s gonna be to watch you clean up cat feces for the next month.” 

“Still can’t believe that’s what you chose.” Harry mumbles, reaching up and releasing his damp curls from the tiny ponytail atop his head, slipping the hair-tie over his wrist and shaking out his stringy locks.

Y/N rolls her eyes dismissively. “I’m sorry I’m not constantly thinking about filth like you do. Some of us have control.” 

One of Harry’s eyebrows jumps up challengingly. “Oh? You have control, y’say?” 

“Absolutely.”

“Well, then, I guess you won’t mind.”

He proceeds to grab the back of his drenched muscle tank, yanking it over his head and balling it up into a crumpled mess, using it wipe down his face. 

Y/N shrugs without worry. “Go ahead. I’ve seen you without your shirt plenty of times.”

“Yeah, you have. But...” His hands trails along the ground in the space that lays between them, his index finger tracing along her left outer thigh. “It’s different when I’m covered in sweat, muscles all tight right after a workout.”

Y/N hesitantly glances over at Harry, taking in the way his strong, thick chest is rising and falling rhythmically, glistening with a sheen of water that makes his lightly tanned skin look like gold porcelain. The ink stains ripples as his tendons contract and release, biceps flexing temptingly. 

Y/N swallows down the dryness in her throat, running the back of her wrist along the pearls of sweat itching her brows. “Makes no difference to me.”

Harry looks down upon her from over his shoulder, eyes flickering black for a second, her reflection painted across the glass-like surface of the dark hue. “Then why are you ogling?”

She scoffs incredulously, but can’t stop herself from looking away in embarrassment. Her voice is a begrudging grumble. “I wasn’t ogling.” 

“Right. You were just staring profusely. My mistake.” 

“Dickhead.”

Harry’s tongue glosses over his front teeth, pressing against the inside of his cheek, his expression one of pompous entertainment at being able to get her so flustered. He scoots a bit closer to her until their legs are touching, leaning forward to try and catch her attention. “For what it’s worth, I was doing my fair share of ogling, too.”  

The comment is enough to fish her consideration. 

Y/N’s vision flits to him, full of confused curiosity. “When? I’ve been fully dressed the whole time?”

Harry sways his head at her incorrect assumption, hand sneaking its way fully onto her leg. “It has nothing to do with nudity, though I won’t object if you decide to go that route.”

She ignores his suggestion. “Then what is it?”

The pads of his digits dig into the suppleness of her thigh, squeezing once testingly, tingling with glee when she doesn’t swat him away. “When you we were fighting just now. Your skills are incredible.” 

Y/N blinks at him blankly. “What part of me looking sweaty and busted was attractive to you?” 

Harry’s forefinger maps his name over her clothed skin, the cursive big and loopy, gentle and feathery. “The part where you showed such confident ease and deadly perfection.”

He halts the tip of his finger halfway through his last name, right at the curve of the Y. His tone carries a reflective hazy fondness. “It was so fucking beautiful.” 

Y/N is intrigued in the way Harry can conjure something so outlandish as charming, but she can understand why he’d enjoy it. Demons have a warped sense of beauty. She finds herself pushing for more details, her interest wandering. “What was beautiful about it?”

His clouded jade irises meet her’s, appearing soft and admiring. “Everything. The way you moved with elegant delicacy, but somehow still made every hit dangerous. You hold your own really well, and that’s meaningful coming from me. Gotta love a girl who can beat your ass.”

Y/N laughs airily. “Yeah, I suppose.” 

Harry absentmindedly reaches up, cupping her chin between his thumb and index finger, rubbing over the faint dimple endearingly. The way he’s staring at her lips hungrily makes them buzz. “Fuck, I wish you could’ve seen yourself. It was so hot.”

She swallows thickly, her eyes glimpsing anxiously between his mouth and eyes, voice full of innocent wonder. “It was?”

Harry’s gaze flirts over the dip of the crescent along her upper lip, both of his own parting open smidge at the way the light hits its peaks alluringly. “Yeah, it was. Wanted to just drop to my knees right then and have you ride my face.”

Y/N’s breathing catches in her throat, thighs clenching unintentionally. 

His Cupid’s bow feathers over her’s, their foreheads knocking softly. The mood has shifted drastically, the air seeming to solidify inside her lungs as Harry’s low, melodic thrum of a voice paints itself with needy awe. “Wanted to just spread you out on this mat with my face between your thighs and your hands tangled in my hair. To feel you drip down my chin and wet the tops of my cheeks.” 

“Harry...” 

The word comes out as a desperate croak, begging him for something, though he’s not sure what. It can either be for him to stop, or for him to explicitly keep going. “Are you sure you don’t want to tie anything else into that prize?”

Y/N sighs shakily through her nose, eyelids drooping shut at the tension weighing in the atmosphere of the room. “Don’t tempt me.”

The snicker Harry releases is the ideal ratio of boyish giggle and arrogant chuckle. “M’afraid I have to. It’s kinda my profession and all.”

She wants to say no— wants to uphold the statement she had made about being modest enough not to include raunchiness into everything they do. Wants keep herself from giving in when she was always taught to fight off mindless desires. 

She tries to search for anything to put a halt to her deteriorating control. “Don’t you have a ton of stuff to do before you leave for work? Like breakfast and handling the dogs?”

The breath of his words is warm and gooey as it rolls over the fizzling skin of her lips. “I can grab something on the way, and Onyx and Nimbus can walk themselves. I just go to keep up appearances.” 

“In that case, it’s probably not a good idea to let them walk themselves, is it?”

Harry grabs Y/N by the collar of her borrowed tee, the sweaty fabric crinkling as he tugs her into a deep, wet kiss that is made up of desperate little whines and breathy whimpers. He murmurs into her mouth, his two front teeth claiming the center of her bottom lip. “You go with them later, then. Problem solved.” 

She tries to pull back (despite every fiber of her being telling her not to), fabricating any excuse that comes to mind. “They hate me.”

He yanks her back in, noses bumping as his tongue works to convince her. “No they don’t.”

Her strong will proceeds despite the prickling creeping down her neck and across her temples. “Yes they do.”

“Well, I don’t hate you and at the end of the day, isn’t that what matters?”

“That has absolutely nothing to do with—”

Y/N’s counter is cut short by Harry using his hold to swiftly jerk her into his lap, maneuvering her accordingly, her heels pressing into the sides of his calves as she straddles his thighs. He slides her forward until the close proximity forces her to balance onto her knees at either sides of his hips, his face level with her navel. His head rests back against the wall, eyes drunk on the way she’s perched above him, looking down over her burning cheeks. He wastes no time in putting their position into to good use, fingers perching at her waist and beginning to fiddle with the zipper of the compression shorts he’d lent her. 

“What about—”

“Why don’t you be a good girl and stay quiet.” He murmurs lowky, dragging the zipper all the way down and working on easing the nylon material down her sticky thighs, placing a slow, drawn-out peck to the swell of each hip. In all his decades of life, he’s well learned that it’s the subtle touches that work the biggest wonders.

“But—”

His lips smooth over her twitching tummy, biting it teasingly while his mouth moves over her heated skin as he forms his words, voice heavy and deep. “I said quiet, didn’t I?” 

Her panties are at full access now, the hem of the sports leggings resting right below the curve of her bum, and Harry can’t stop himself from smirking coyly at her choice of daisy and sunflower print. He stretches his neck, sticking out his tongue and giving a long lap at her over the underwear, the edges of his mouth carving upwards as he feels a hot flush of sudden dampness pool at the area over her clit. He glances up at her from beneath his long lashes, eyes electric with self-assured delight as he hums appreciatively in the back of his throat.  

Y/N’s fingers find their way into his tousled curls, holding his head between her thighs as she digs into his scalp, her sentences lodging in her throat. “We can’t— we shouldn’t. Y-You’ll be late for work and—”

Harry gives her another drawn out lick over the garment, flirting the tip of his tongue over the swollen little bud that lies at the thick of her crotch, savoring the way she shudders and writhes. His hands have migrated to grip her ass, keeping her in place as his face moves from side to side, tongue sloppily toying with her cunt and causing her to utterly ruin her favorite pair of undies.

“H-Harry, please. You’ll get in trouble—”

“For fuck’s sake, just shut up and let me make you cum.” 

[vanchlo]

Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes / Green Eyes 4

Read all 3 previous parts here! 

Blurb Synopsis: With final exams approaching, you find yourself coming to rely on Harry more, whether for help with teaching, emotional support, help packing your apartment, or to complain about your students wanting to set the two of you up together. The saying goes that ‘stress makes you stronger,’ and that will be the true test during this season in your lives, and relationship. 

Genre: Teacher Harry, soooooo much fluff, some angst, a little sad, and lots of romance.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 10k words, whoops

Pairing: Harry x Reader

Music Inspo: Changes by David Bowie & Butterfly Boucher (click to listen; yes the Shrek version, YES FROM THIS VERY PART) 

I also wanted to thank my pals @sunflwrnarry​ and @bfharry​ who’ve helped me with this story with their support, ideas, and love for it. I love freaking out with you two over this story  ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ 

*

As you bring your fist to the blue door, you suddenly pause. Thoughts dance inside of your head and tie themselves to your heart. Happiness comes over you in another wave as Harry’s voice interrupts the thoughts, his voice telling you that he loves you from earlier. A content sigh meets the air in front of you in a white cloud. You had forgotten how cold you were, but the playful barking coming from the other side of the door brings you back to reality. 

“C’min!” Harry replies once you knock. 

Slowly opening the door, the warmth of Harry’s house greets you, along with the musky cinnamon smell that accompanies it. What surprises you is the little bundle of golden fur barking at you, but with the cutest bark, you’ve ever heard. 

“Ya, you get ‘er, Gatsby! Go get mummy, go say hullo t’ her!” Harry giggles, and soon you are too as you fall to a crouch as he approaches you. With that tail dancing in the air, you only laugh harder as he slips and falls in front of you. “My goodness, yer a clutz li’l boy. ‘Bout third time ya’ve fallen down and we’ve only been home fer a few minutes, jus’ beat mummy by a tick.”

“Hi, bud. How was your ride home with daddy? What do you think of your new home?” you coo to the puppy, rubbing the top of his furry head. He continues to yip at you for a few seconds until his sniffer takes over. 

“I see how good o’ guard dog, you are, pup. Ya smell any food on ‘em and they’re yer friend,” Harry sighs with a titter, carding a hand through his hair when you glance over to him. 

“No, you’re a good guard dog, Gatsby. You just have to get used to mummy and daddy, don’t you?” you croon, rubbing both hands along his chubby face as he sniffs the air. “Come on, let’s go sit by daddy,” you suggest, unable to hide your laugh as you observe him struggling to walk on the hardwood floor. 

“Looks like I might need t’ get su’more rugs or else he’s gonna be fallin’ e’rywhere.”

“Yeah, it’ll be easier to clean up his accidents on the wood flooring, though,” you note aloud, sliding off your slushy winter boots onto the mat by the door. After hanging up your coat on one of the hooks, you turn right into Harry’s living room to take a seat by him on the long red rug. “Did you take him potty yet?”

“Ya, I did befo’ we went in tha school and afta, and a few minutes ‘go. He went befo’ we went in but not since. ‘m not too worried tho’, I knew when I got him that he’d be peein’ on e’rythin’,” Harry notes, his eyes stuck to the waddling furball. Quickly, they dart to you and his strong arms come around your middle, pulling you into him. “C’mere, love, and have a cuddle wit’ me.”

Gatsby turns and begins to bark at the both of you as Harry pulls you over to sit in his lap, the both of you laughing loudly. He tottles over and proceeds to sniff the both of you. 

“How does she smell, Gats’? Does mummy pass yer sniffer check?” he mumbles, against your cheek where his words tickle your skin. You contribute to the conversation with a laugh at the both of them, sinking into Harry’s arms. Contentment washes over you when your back meets his chest and you feel him press a kiss to your temple. 

“Come here, Gatsby!” you say, patting your lap excitedly. 

“Nah, he’s too busy sniffin’. I swear ‘s all he did when he was in me car, even tho’ I was holdin’ him tha whole time.”

“It sounds like you should’ve named him Scooby-Doo instead,” you remark, earning a soft laugh from Harry. You squirm when you feel his breath tickle your neck. Sighing, you relax against him, his arms resting on your soft tummy and sometimes rubbing his knuckles against it. 

“Perhaps,” he comments, the feeling of his smooth cheek against yours an absence now, his stubble already prickling your skin. “Fit right into me arms, tha both o’ you,” he continues, swaying the both of you back and forth in his arms now clad in a long-sleeved Rolling Stones crewneck. 

You hope he can see the smile adorning your face and being all the reply he needs. You’re uncertain the last time you felt this content and happy all rolled into one, but it’s hard to pinpoint because Harry always seems to have that effect on you. 

“Hope ‘s okay I named him, jus’ thought it was perfect when I saw him tha otha day,” he whispers against your temple, the cinnamon from his gum tiptoeing over your face. 

“Yeah of course, it is. I couldn’t imagine him being named anything else. I don’t know how you kept him a secret for a whole week, I would’ve squealed,” you say with a grin, backing up when the puppy gets brave and stands up, his front paws on Harry’s knee. You titter at the feeling of his feathery whiskers on your skin, the sound of his adamant sniffing, and the cold wetness of his nose on your chin. 

“Yeah, I dunno how I didn’t. There were so many times I almost told ya, but I jus’ wanted t’ surprise ya, bird.”

“I’m glad you did. Okay, Gatsby, you go and smell daddy now,” you relent, your hands coming around the chunky puppy. His tummy is warm against your palms and his whine fills your ears as you lift him up to set in your lap. 

“I dunno, I think he likes how ya smell betta. What, did ya eat sumthin’ on tha way here, a Twix or Bit-O-Honey, or sumthin’?” Harry murmurs, his smile felt on your temple. “We’re gonna hafta watch it, he’ll wanna get into e’rythin’.”

“Yeah, he must smell that Twix I found in my car,” you reply, squealing when you feel the puppy’s warm wet tongue on your cheek. 

“Sumbody already loves their mummy, I see,” Harry comments. “Ya, Gats’, le’ss give mummy all tha kisses!” he exclaims before pressing loud smooches all over your face too. 

“Oh no, attacked by kisses, whatever will I do?!” you shout, feeling the energetic puppy in your lap as you close your eyes, chuckling. You wouldn’t change this for the world, no siree. 

*

“Thanks for dinner, it was delicious,” you tell Harry as you set your dishes in the dishwasher. 

“Welcome, love. Would ya like some wine? I should finish off dis bottle already, ‘s gettin’ all flat,” Harry asks, the soft click of the fridge door opening following his words. 

“I don’t know, it’s getting kind of late and I have to drive home . . ,” you answer, conflict showing through in your words.

Your eyes follow Harry’s tall figure as he reaches an arm to a shelf in the cabinet, grabbing two long-stemmed wine glasses. A smile tickles at your lips when his shirt rides up a tad, and his fern tattoos adorning his hips say hi to you, as well as his happy trail you love so much. It amazes you the amount of restraint it takes to not reach over and touch his tummy. Ugh. 

“You could have as much wine as ya’d like and ya wouldn’t hafta drive home if ya stay tha night. Gatsby had wanted me t’ ask ya, anyways. I told him we could make it work - we’ll all pile togetha in me bed, and ya can borrow sum jammies o’ mine,” he hums, turning to face you as he sets down the two empty glasses. The bubbles rising within your chest only worsen when you see the smug look pulling his lips into a smile. “I mean, that’s if ya want t’ sleep ova.” 

The gurgling of the white wine filling a glass occupies the silence between the two of you. Words fleet you as you watch him fill one glass three-quarters of the way full, and when his eyes lift to you they brim with uncertainty and anxiety. 

“Bird?” he inquires softly, raising an eyebrow. His adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he bites on his lip. “Sorry, nevamind, maybe ‘s a bit early fer that still. Yer not movin’ in fer anotha’ month, so ‘s okay,” he finishes, trying to diffuse the situation with a soft laugh. 

You deliver your answer by grabbing the full wine glass and bringing it to your lips that part with a smile, “I’d love to stay over and steal your ‘jammies’,” you reply softly, the wine surprising your lips with its sweetness and chill. His face collapses into a blushing laugh as he shakes his head. 

“Birdy, you li’l shit,” he remarks, clucking his tongue as he pours the rest of the bottle into the second glass for himself. “Ya can’t scare me like that, thought I jus’ made a proper fool o’ meself.” 

“No, you could never make a fool of yourself in my eyes, Harry,” you mumble, setting down the wine glass on your short walk over to him. Your fingers soon find him, first on his backside where you cup his ass, earning another head shake from him.  

“Ya really fancy me bum, dontcha, love?” he snickers, setting down the bottle with a clud, twirling the metal cap back on quickly. He turns around to face you, but you leave your hand on his bum. 

“Mmmhmm, it’s quite nice,” you try to say seriously, but it comes out accompanied with a laugh. 

“So ‘s yers, y’know,” he winks, slapping your butt as he dips to plant a kiss on your lips. “We betta go find out what that li’l boy ‘s doin’ in there, prolly gettin’ into trouble.” 

“In a second,” you whisper, placing your hand on the back of his neck slowly. 

“Jus’ a second?” 

“Maybe more,” you shrug, feeling the wispy hairs on the back of his neck as the golden glints in his eyes come into focus. 

His rose lips spread into a smile, showing his straight teeth, and disappearing when your lips meet his in a kiss. The remnants of the chocolatey brownies you had for dessert linger on his lips. Wafts of dark smoke from when he started the fire in the fireplace titillate your senses, coming to be a favorite smell you associate with him. 

“You taste and smell so fucking good, like brownies at a bonfire,” you breathe against his lips, your eyes wandering to his that stare at you so adoringly you feel like you’ve already had five glasses of wine. 

“Look at tha potty mouth on you, can’t believe it sumtimes,” he smirks from above you, the smell of cocoa hitting your face. 

“Yeah well, you sure like to kiss it a lot.”

“I do, don’t I?” Harry coos, brushing the pad of his thumb along your lip, adding another theoretical glass of wine to the overflow of your senses. “I’d kiss it bloody all day long, if I could.” 

Your head fills with wishes similar to those as his lips caress yours, but you’re broken apart when you hear a whine from nearby. Parting, you both peer into the other room, finding Gatsby waiting in the doorway. You swear that he stares at the both of you while he lifts a leg and pees onto the dark wooden floor. 

“Well, so much fer that,” Harry giggles, stealing a kiss from your cheek before he lets go of you. “Where’d ya leave those baby wipes we were usin’, love?” 

*

Although Harry’s pajama bottoms swallow your entire bottom, legs, feet, and all, you can’t help but smile at them. The gentle smell of his laundry detergent reminds you of marshmallows for some reason, and you couldn’t be happier as it envelopes you. His Beatles shirt falls over your head and comes down to your thighs, but you’re not complaining. I think these are tha smallest ‘ve got, they should fit, he had murmured a mere minute before as he handed you the folded pile of clothes. Okay, Harry, if you insist, you think silently as you inspect your appearance with a dumbfounded smile. 

With a nervous grin, you set your outfit from today on a shelf in the cabinet and turn off the light. You can hear Harry talking to Gatsby as your socked feet pad down the hallway, easing your nerves quickly. Low and behold, once you push the door open, you find him sitting on Harry’s chest, looking like he’s getting a talking to. Sure enough he is, you find. 

“‘s time t’ go t’ bed now, so we’re all gonna sleep in dis bed. Please try not t’ pee on daddy’s sheets. Ya have a pillow t’ lay on down at tha end o’ tha bed, and yer bed’s on tha floor in tha corner. There’s one o’ those blue plastic sheets down fer ya t’ go pee too, alright? Understood?” he tells the puppy with a toothy smile, wagging a finger at him and twirling one of his floppy ears around another 

“Uh oh, somebody’s in trouble,” you joke, leaning against the doorframe. When Harry’s eyes carry over to you, you self consciously cross your arms over your chest not contained by a bra. “What?” you mumble, narrowing your eyes at him as he stares at you, that toothy grin only growing wider. 

“Nothing,” he confesses, looking back to Gatsby with reddening cheeks, stealing glances at you every now and then. 

“Harry,” you continue with emphasis, dashing around the bed to slide under the cream covers on the right side. “Hi, Gatsby,” you coo excitedly when his tail begins to wag frantically, pulling a giggle from your lips when he turns towards you, hitting Harry in the face. 

“Gosh, kid,” he manages, lifting the puppy up to pass him to you. You’re almost drowned in puppy kisses to the face, sending giggles from your lips. The puppy’s name flies into the air as you try to fight him off. “Guess he likes that taste o’ tha toothpaste.”

“I guess so,” you agree aloud, finally his attack of kisses ending. Soon, he forgets you and wanders around the bed sniffing. He finally lies down and curls up against Harry’s leg towards the end of the bed. 

“I sacrifice one o’ my pillows fer ya t’ lie on, and that’s where ya lay?” Harry huffs, but soon an adoring whine sounds behind his lips as he admires the puppy. “I guess we tired him out runnin’ laps downstairs.”

“Yeah, it’s about time. He has so much energy, I can’t believe it,” you murmur in agreement. When you look over to see the look on his face for the puppy, instead you find his eyes waiting on you. “What? Do I have toothpaste on my face?”

“No, but if ya did Gats’ woulda gott’it,” Harry hums, nevertheless brushing a thumb across your cheek with the sappiest smile you’ve seen him wear in a long time. “Ya jus’ look . . cuter than I thought ya’d look in me clothes, bird.”

“I’m swimming in them, how is that cute?” you ask, pulling on the front of the shirt as proof, eliciting a loud laugh from Harry. 

“‘m sorry, I thought they’d fit betta. But they look great on you, they really do. E’rythin’ does, and sumhow I love me jammies on ya best,” he remarks, his hand coming to cup your cheek. “Yer so beautiful, birdy. ‘m gonna go get ready fer bed too, befo’ I keep blabberin’.”

The smirk painted on his face looks much like the one you’re sure is consuming yours at his words. He folds back the covers and Gatsby moves over as Harry leaves the bed, but you grab hold of his hand at the last second. He turns to you with a questioning look, saying he has to go and brush his teeth. 

“I like it when you blabber, especially to me,” you share, pulling on his arm until he returns to lean over the bed, steadying himself with a hand on the mattress. 

“There’s n’body else ‘d ratha blab t’ than you, love, and ‘m guessin’ we’re in fer a long night with this li’l one,” he smiles, pecking you fast before his hand slips from yours and he leaves the room. 

Yawning, you slide back under the covers and pull them over your shoulders, savoring Harry’s smell they hold. Your head falls onto the satiny pillowcase as the top plush blanket a shade of sage caresses your cheek. A huff tickles at your ears and you find Gatsby’s made his way over to you and settles his head to fall on your calf, his large ears splaying out on the splash of green. Emails and texts on your phone occupy your time as you wait for Harry, listening to Gatsby’s adorable little sounds where he’s curled up beside you. Your sleepy hand finds his furry body, keeping you warm, and you tickle his fur as you turn your phone off to set on the table at your bedside. 

“Look at you two, snug as a bug in a rug, ‘d say,” Harry murmurs out of nowhere, appearing in the doorway, rubbing his eyes. For a second, you think you need to do the same because you’re sure the image in front of you is a mirage of some sort. Harry scratches at his bare chest, a yawn leaving his lips while stretching his bare arms into the air. “Oh sorry, I neva sleep with a shirt on, I hope that’s okay. It doesn’t make ya feel weird, does it?” he questions, closing the bedroom door so Gatsby won’t wander around the house, as he said earlier. 

“N-No, it’s okay,” you mumble, trying not to stare as he pads across the room. The closer he gets, the more your heart freaks out in your chest, you’re sure of it. “I like it,” you confess, suddenly wishing you weren’t so good at this blurting out secrets thing. 

“Oh, d’ya now?” he smirks, shutting off the overhead light, leaving his lamp on to carry soft light on his side of the bed. You suffice a response with a shrug of your shoulders, cozying into the bed as he slips under the top sheet, pillowy comforter and blanket. 

“Yer sumthin’, aren’t ya, birdy?” he quips, flicking off his lamp, leaving the soft glow of a few night lights he installed about ten minutes ago for you and Gatsby, his guests. 

“Something special,” you tease with a snicker, hearing his breathy one in return, and soon finding his face lit by the glow. 

“That, ya are, love. My sumthin’ special,” he acknowledges, the squeak of the mattress following his words as he arrives at your side. “If ya need anythin’ tonight, ya can wake me, alright? Figure we might be up a few times with him, anyways.” 

“Thank you, Harry.”

“Welcome, bird, I hope ya have sweet dreams. ‘m glad ya stayed fer a sleepova, thank you,” he hums, a dimple falling into his cheek with his words, leading you to think if you had any they’d already be there in your cheeks. Sometimes you can’t believe your luck. 

“Of course,” you answer, leaning forward to place your lips atop his. He giggles into the kiss as your lips move together, the spearmint in his toothpaste forgotten as it tickles your own tongue too after he gave you a spare toothbrush. His hand comes to rest on your side and it feels peculiar with the absence of his rings, but you savor it and it’s warmth. 

His bottom lip remains between yours, pillowy soft and warm until you begin to hear Gatsby’s snores and your fingers have found the bravery to roam his chest. The cheekiness comes out in you when one wanders to his bum, giving it a good squeeze through the checkered fabric of his ‘jammies’ as he so adorably calls them. A muffled snicker slides into his mouth when the hand on your side drifts to your bottom with a soft slap. You’re grateful for his absence of a shirt, letting your fingers admire the slope of his back warm against your fingers that are cold from washing up. The little hairs all over his body are satiny smooth beneath your fingertips, just like his top lip that you take between yours, your hurried breaths filling the air. 

“‘Kay, bird, time t’ get sum sleep. We can snog in tha mornin’, ‘m beat afta t’day with school and runnin’ after this li’l boy,” Harry sighs after ending the kiss, mirroring your frown but much more dramatically. “Get sum sleep, ‘ll see ya in tha mornin’. We’ll all three go t’ tha shops t’ buy tha rest o’ his stuff and ingredients fer pizza t’morrow,” he yawns, leaving a kiss on your nose afterward. You nod in response and hastily lay a kiss on his cheek. Nervously, you pull away, afraid you’re pushing his buttons, but he just smiles and kisses you on the lips one last time. 

“Goodnight, Harry,” you whisper, arms diving back under the warm covers as you try to get comfortable without moving Gatsby. 

“Night, bird . . and Gatsby.”

“Goodnight, Gatsby,” you murmur, patting his small head softly, his snores continuing against your leg. 

“Oh, I see how it ‘s, yer already becomin’ a mumma’s boy,” Harry tuts, clucking his tongue as he squirms in the bed, finding his sweet spot. You drift off soon next to your two boys, counting down the days until you get to fall asleep with them by your side every night. 

*

Browsing YouTube, you scroll through the videos that appeared from your search request for haikus. Yawning, you rub at your eye as you pause your scrolling and inspect a video before playing it. It doesn’t get a chance to play very far when you’re interrupted by a voice. 

“Thanks fer tha lunch again, bird. Ya really do spoil me, I always forget t’ make one,” Harry hums, waltzing into your classroom holding the Rolling Stones lunchbox you had bought for him for Christmas last month. He sets it down on a clean corner of your desk, leaning across it to peck you on the cheek. 

“You’re welcome. Did you eat everything?” you ask, dragging it over and undoing the zippers. 

“Ya. I loved tha bagel sandwich you packed tha fixings fer, and tha soup was lovely,” he hums, leaning against your desk, crossing his arms over the soft yellow button-up covered in black flower designs. 

“No, you didn’t,” you disagree smiling, opening one of the small pockets to take out a box. 

“What, how’d I miss those? You musta hid ‘em from me!” Harry exclaims, taking the box of Chocolate Banana Pocky from your grasp. A cocky giggle of his fills the air as he opens the box and rips open the white bag. 

“Harry, you better not eat those all in one sitting!” you warn. He looks you in the eyes as he sticks four of them into his mouth and takes a bite, a smirk playing along his lips. “Harry Styles!” you proclaim, sitting forward and threatening to rip the box from his hand. He only giggles harder and takes another bite, the four pocky gone in a flash as he crunches on the rest of them loudly. 

Shaking your head, you watch him walk away, sticking three more between his rose lips. You sigh with a smile, unsure of just how many times you’ve seen him devour a box of them within an hour, or less. 

“What’s your full name?” you wonder aloud, looking away from the computer screen and to him where he stops in your doorway, turning around. 

“Well ‘m not gonna delight ya with that info afta ya jus’ yelled at me, now am I? ‘m sure ya jus’ wanna use it t’ yell at me su’more,” he replies, shrugging his shoulders as he shoves the rest of the half-eaten pocky into his mouth, winking. You can hear his chewing all the way from here. “And no, yer not gettin’ any o’ me pocky.”

*

The deep breaths just don’t stick, and soon you find yourself out of your chair and pacing your classroom. You busy yourself picking up forgotten pencils and papers on the floor, tidying the messy containers of books, and the disaster that is your desk. 

“Ya ready t’ go?” somebody sings from your doorway where a shuffling sound comes from as well. “Birdy?”

You don’t respond, unfreezing your hands from the sound of his voice. Instead, you flip over a copy of The Tempest and replace it in the bin right side up, because Harry would not allow that to be done to a Shakespeare. His shuffling of feet comes next, tapping along the floor and getting closer. A swallow is met with the lump in your throat, and you brush the back of your hand over your cheek, hoping they’re gone. 

“Hey, anybody home?” Harry laughs, arriving at your side and slinging an arm around your waist. “‘m ready t’ go, if you are, love. ‘m sure Gatsby ‘s waitin’ fer us at my place, all excited. He’s missed you, y’know,” he coos, pecking your cheek. 

“Yeah, sorry I-.”

“Hey, yer phone’s ringin’. Here, ‘ll grab it fer ya,” he volunteers, soon feeling his absence as his footsteps are drowned out by the loud ringtone. “It says ‘s yer mum.” Closing your eyes, you groan quietly or at least try to. Soon, he’s at your side again and places it in your hands where you hit decline. 

“What, why didn’t ya answer?” he questions, probably eyebrows knitted together in the cutest way possible, like he does. You don’t look though, so you’re not sure as you shove it into your pocket, busying your hands with the mess of books before you. Removing a copy of The Christmas Carol that was shoved into the front of another bin backward, you replace it to face forward now. “Birdy, what’s goin’ on?” he continues, a hand settling on your arm, but when you reach to grab another book his hand grabs it. It leaves your fingers to grace your chin, turning your head to look at him. 

“I just don’t want to talk to her right now,” you reply softly, hoping he won’t detect the spent tears that aren’t so invisible on your cheeks. 

“Oh,” he breathes, a dimple falling into his cheek when his mouth quirks into a confused expression under his layer of five-day-old stubble. “Y’know, ya’ve neva talked much ‘bout yer parents, ‘d like t’ meet ‘em. I mean we’re movin’ in togetha soon and ‘m sure they’d like t’ meet Gatsby. Ya met me sista fer tha first time tha otha day.”

This time you’re positive he doesn’t see the tear streaks or how they still cling to your eyelashes coated in mascara. Boys can sometimes be so ugh, you mutter to yourself amongst your thoughts. You knew this was coming the second she called, and well, months ago, but you had hoped you could’ve gotten by longer without it. 

“You don’t want to meet them,” is all you say as you turn away, his hand dropping from your chin now cold from the drought of his touch. You soon arrive back at your desk where you pick up a stack of worksheets from this week’s vocabulary words, looking for a paperclip to fasten them. 

“You can’t decide what I want and don’t want, bird. I don’t like that,” Harry responds, and you can see him looking at you from the corner of your eye. “I mean, ya met my parents already, why can’t I meet yours? I don’t undastand.” 

“I don’t want you to meet them,” you reply, setting the now fastened stack on one of the wire shelves of the little stackable organizer on your desk. You continue to avoid his gaze by gathering together another stack of today’s green root words quizzes. 

“I thought we weren’t keepin’ secrets, bird, but ya can come ova when yer ready t’ tell me. ‘m goin’ home, so take howeva much time ya need,” he grumbles with a loud exhale, almost slamming the door to your classroom on his way out. 

Sinking into your chair, your hands rake through your hair as a defeated sigh joins the air. Another one falls after the next when you spot the neon blue Post-It note stuck to the underside of your desk, just at the edge where you would’ve spotted it, just like you have. The crack along your heart only grows deeper when you begin to read his messy chicken scratch, and all of the love that leaks from its words. 

Birdy, 

Gatsby wanted me to tell you that you are such a greatttttttt mummy already, and that he loves you soooooo much! His daddy loves you too ;) I’m looking forward to making homemade pasta together tonight, you always have the greatest ideas. My students asked me today when I’m going to ask you out on a date, soooo would you like to go out on a date with me this weekend, toooooo pack up your apartment to come and live with me? ;) I’m so excited to wake up to you every morning and fall asleep next to you every night, bird. Only two more weeks! Fourteen more sleeps, it’s not like I’m counting or anything. 

I love you, so much

Harry xoxo

*

“C’min!” a voice drawls when you rap your fist against the door. The warm inviting scent of cinnamon greets you when you walk into Harry’s house an hour later, along with the growing puppy who scurries over to you. 

“Hi, bud,” you murmur with a smile, giving him a good petting as his tail sweeps along the floor. “Is daddy still crabby?” you ask him, closing the door behind you with your foot. 

After toeing off your boots and hanging up your coat, you peek into the kitchen where the smell of onion, garlic, and broccoli waft from. Harry stands at the stove in a shirt and sweatpants, rolling his bottom lip between his fingers. You don’t get much of a chance to figure out what mood he’s in, because Gatsby jumps up onto your lap, licking all over your face. 

You play with the puppy in the living room as Harry cooks in the kitchen until he announces the food is ready, homemade pasta night forgotten apparently. You eat together silently while watching TV, Gatsby begging at your feet. You thought that things were better now when compared to earlier, but for the rest of the night something was off between the two of you. You focused your attention on Gatsby who you swear has grown since the last time you saw him, if only a few days ago. Now, he fills your lap comfortably, and you’re sad to say goodbye to him when you leave early. You just couldn’t take the awkwardness floating in the air anymore, and left after a short peck from Harry. 

*

The next day, a Saturday, Harry showed up with Gatsby and a bunch of cardboard boxes to pack close to the last of your stuff. You tried to make it up to him by cooking him breakfast, which he loved, but you still felt it sticking to every moment that passed. You weren’t sure if you should bring it up or not, and at the same time you were waiting for him to bring it up, readying your defenses. Something was clearly bothering him or on his mind, and as you bubble wrapped things and packed them away, you were curious about why he kept looking at his phone. Then around one in the afternoon, after a few hours of packing, he stepped out to take a call. 

“What’s going on with daddy, Gats’?” you posed to the puppy who ignored you, albeit stealing a look at you, returning to the rawhide he’s been intent on destroying. You swallow nervously, glancing over to the hallway outside your bedroom where you can just make out his voice. Tearing your gaze from it, you try to busy yourself by gently placing the wrapped picture frame in the box, and picking up the next one. 

“Everything okay?” you ask softly when Harry returns, shoving his phone into the back pocket of his blue jeans. 

“Ya, e’rythin’s fine,” he replies casually, pulling at the collar of his charcoal-colored henley shirt. 

“Okay,” you mumble quietly, wishing you could forget about packing and admire the way that shirt hugs him in all of the right places. That will have to wait for another day when he wears it, you agree silently, seeing that he’s not in the mood today for his buttons to be pushed. You don’t want to find out what happens when you push them when he’s in a bad mood. You try to forget about it as he helps you pack up some of the less necessary items in your bedroom, like summer clothes, novels, photo albums, CDs, DVDs, and more. 

*

As you stare at the barren shelves of your fridge, you make a mental note to go grocery shopping soon, something you’ve forgotten recently with finals approaching at school and packing. 

“Do you want to get takeaway or go out for lunch?” you call out to Harry, leaving the kitchen to find him sitting on the sofa in your living room. He’s staring at something intently on his phone, but when he hears your footsteps behind him, he quickly hides his phone in his pocket. 

“Takeaway’s fine,” he answers, clearing his throat, his nervous tic. 

“Harry, is something going on? You’ve been acting weird, like you’re hiding something,” you assert, walking around to face him. You’re unsure of what he’ll say as you’re unable to read his face, and you know that’s when it’s bad. 

“What, so yer tha only one who can keep secrets?” he retorts, his face screwed up in crude disbelief. You’re sure the same emotion painting yours is even worse as you feel the sting of his words. He sighs as you shake your head, beginning to walk away. “Bird, stop, ‘m sorry.” 

“What, Harry?” you ask, stopping your feet, but not turning around to face him. You hear him breathe in deeply among the squeaking of Gatsby’s toy he plays with on the couch beside Harry. 

“I was offa’d a teachin’ job t’day, a few hours north at that Wright Arts Academy, that’s who called me,” he announces solemnly. The only thing you’re grateful for in the moment is the fact that he can’t see the look on your face as you’re positive every breath just left your body. “They’re so focused on enrichin’ tha students in arts, ‘s great. ‘d be teachin’ classes like Mythology, a whole class on Shakespeare, Improv, Rhetoric, Intro to Sci-fi and Fantasy, and jus’ so many great English courses. Tha classes are smaller and so ya get t’ know yer students betta. ‘d get t’ teach ‘bout my favourite, Shakespeare, fer an entire semesta, bird! They’re offerin’ me more money, too . . ,” he continues, and you’re unsure of when you want him to stop, or if you wish he had never begun. Suddenly, you do a three-sixty when your thoughts are consumed by the happiness and excitement in his voice. 

“You should take it,” you say, spinning around to look at him. His eyes are stuck on a random part of the wall, but then he looks to you. 

“But ‘s three hours away, bird? ‘d hafta move away and we’re s’posed t’ move in togetha,” he counters, eyebrows falling and quickly you’re more confused than you were a moment ago. 

“You’ve always wanted to teach those kinds of classes, Harry, you’ve told me so yourself.” 

“But, birdy-.”

“Take the job, Harry, if it’s what you want,” you insist, trying to smile at him, but it doesn’t stay long when you see the look on his face. 

“I dunno if ‘s what I want, yet. I don’ wanna move away from you, I don’ wanna do long distance. Wait, do you? ‘s tha movin’ in with me too soon, are ya gettin’ cold feet?” 

“What are you talking about? Harry, no of course not. Where are you getting this from?” you reply, dumbfounded at the words coming out of his mouth. Apparently, you can only grow more confused. 

“Maybe it has sumthin’ t’ do with not wantin’ me t’ meet yer parents, I dunno, you tell me, bird. D’ya not wanna commit? Why would ya want me t’ take a job that would make us do long distance?” 

“I don’t know, Harry, maybe because I want you to be happy!” you exclaim, feeling telltale signs of incoming tears, and they fly faster than you thought they could have. “You’ve told me that you’ve always wanted to teach classes like those, because you enjoy those topics so much - myths in literature, science fiction and fantasy novels, and even though I don’t understand it, you love Shakespeare! You almost named Gatsby after Romeo or Duncan instead, you love his work so much. Of course, I don’t want you to move away, because things are so perfect right now having a job that means I get to work across the hall from my boyfriend. I can’t believe you think I’d want you to move away and do long distance. I would never- but I want you to be happy, and I’m not going to stop you from taking this job if it brought you that. I’m not going to be selfish and make you stay for my own happiness. A-and my parents are another story, I haven’t spoken to them in years. They’re just not good people. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, I didn’t know how,” you finish, feeling grateful for that blurting talent of yours because sometimes you need it. Harry’s jaw almost hangs off its hinges as you stare back at him through blurry eyes, wishing the last few minutes hadn’t happened. Well, the last day. Quickly, the tears triple and you can’t stand him seeing you cry anymore because of the thoughts bashing against the walls of your head. 

“I’m going to go pick up lunch,” you say softly, defeat evident in your tone as you turn around. After grabbing your keys and coat, you stomp out to your car and start it. You wait for it to warm up as the cold air from the vents slowly turns warm, but really you only waste the time so you can spill your tears in silence. 

It takes all of your strength and willpower to not go back into your apartment and tell him not to leave, because you’re pretty sure it would break you. You can’t imagine a stranger teaching in Harry’s classroom, no shared kisses in the copier room and staff lounge, crossing the hall to ask him a question as soon as it pops into your head, and the fun you both have with your students trying to set the two of you up together albeit it being futile. The doubt of getting a job for yourself at this stupid Academy of Arts to join Harry only makes you feel worse, especially because of the memories your school holds for the both of you. 

Wiping your tears away, you try to take a deep breath that won’t come, and you pull the car away to leave him and hope that he won’t do the same to you. The tears left as you drove to go and pick up fast food, but they returned when Harry texted you while in the drive-thru to not get him anything because he was going home to think. Once you returned to the empty apartment, that’s all you could do was think, and it tore you apart. 

*

You had left Harry be for the rest of the weekend, although it was one of the hardest things you had done. You’d liken the effort to running a triathlon, although you’ve never done one of those, but you feel like you have the strength of a triathlete after giving him space. You relented and texted him once though, but just once. It was to ask for a picture of Gatsby who you missed, and he followed through, sending you a couple of pictures. They made you the happiest you’d been all weekend, even despite the tears that crept up when you saw Harry’s reflection in the mirror in one. Then his ringed hand holding Gatsby in another, a selfie of sorts with your favorite shirt of his on his torso. It all made you doubt your words the more, not wanting to have to suffice for only seeing him and Gatsby through pictures if he took the job. You were reminded of your reasoning for it all - wanting him to be happy, but it still gnawed away at you what that would mean if he moved. You tried not to let yourself get too carried away and at times you almost called him, but you weren’t sure who was the bad guy after your argument. You were the one who exploded on him, and you both kept secrets from the other, something you had recently agreed not to do. A promise that the both of you broke so soon. 

*

You had yet to see Harry the following Monday at school, even though you could hear the Cat Stevens album trickling from his classroom at seven-twenty in the morning. Somehow you avoided a run in on your way to the early morning staff meeting, and you didn’t mean to, but you were roped in to sit by a colleague. You found your first seconds of joy of the day when she showed you pictures of her growing baby, one Harry doted on and hogged during most of the staff Christmas party last month. You tried not to think of that while looking at the baby’s chunky thighs and rolls on her arms, and how much you wanted to tell him about it. The joy didn’t stay long when you spotted him taking a seat next to Julie, the visual arts teacher who has had a thing for him as long as you can remember. The pit in your stomach hardens at the sight of him, messy-haired and unshaven, and yet handsome as ever. Confliction carries your features when you spot him wearing the multi-colored Peter Max inspired pop-art button up you had bought him for Christmas. It all only gets worse when he senses your stare and meets your eyes, showing you the sadness hidden in them before you look back to the pictures of the baby. 

*

“Hey, teach! I have a question!” a tall brunette girl in your classroom whispers to you, glancing over to the librarian nervously. 

“Yes, Sabrina?” you reply, trying to ignore how some of the students call you that, but then again it’s some that you’re the closest to. 

“Um, Mr. Styles is just right over there, aren’t you going to go and talk to him?” she grins, playing with her ponytail, ignoring the computer in front of her. 

“Yeah, he’s looking extra cute today,” the girl beside her comments and you have to hold back your laughter. “But he was all glum when I had Creative Writing with him earlier, I don’t know what his deal is today.”

“Maybe he’d be happier if he had a girlfriend,” Sabrina comments wryly, raising her eyebrows at you. 

“Maybe I’d be happier if you two were doing your review for the final exam, and not trying to set me up with your teacher, when I can manage just fine on my own,” you comment firmly, trying to avert their attention back to their computer screens and review packet. 

“Hey, Mr. Styles, um Ms. Y/N needs some help with something about Shakespeare!” Sabrina calls to Harry two rows of computers to your right. 

“I don’t need help!” is all you say with a sigh, loud enough for him to hear, turning around the second you see his head of tousled curls lift where he’s leaning next to a student he helps. 

“He ignored you!” Sabrina’s friend exclaims in a whisper, inhaling dramatically along with Sabrina. “You’re not just going to let him ignore you, are you, Ms. Y/N?” 

“God, what you’d do to him, he’s usually all over you?” Sabrina sighs.

“Girls, please return to your work. I’m sure Mr. Styles is busy helping a student with their final review, which you’re supposed to be doing right now too. Finals are at the end of the week, we all need as much studying as we can get,” you calmly say although rather curtly, walking away when you see a student with their hand in the air. 

“I wish they’d just confess their love for each other already, they’re perfect for each other,” Sabrina grumbles, clicking her pen annoyingly. 

“Me too, then maybe they’d both stop being so crabby during finals week,” her friend notes aloud with an exasperated sigh. 

Usually you can take the teasing of your students wanting to set you up with Harry, but today you’re not in the mood for entertaining them or carrying a conversation about it. Today, it just hits a little too close to home, you realize silently as you lean against a wall to observe your class, the student no longer needing help. You steal a glance at Harry who stands up straight after helping a student, patting their shoulder with a smile. His attentiveness shines through when he moves on to another student, falling to his knees to get to eye level with him, giving them all of his attention. The way the shirt hugs his torso in every way only makes it all the worse, clinging to his biceps, the slope of his back, and his love handles you love so much before it disappears into the waist of his black slacks. 

“Ms. Y/N, are you okay?” Sabrina asks, her eyes on you when you look over to her. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just got something in my eye,” you answer with a hard swallow, picking up your clipboard and checking your watch. You do anything to try and not think about Harry leaving, and how not only you would suffer, but his students. Also, just how much you’re dying to tell your students, hopefully one day soon, that you’ve been dating all along. Hopefully. 

*

Finals had been wreaking havoc on you and only causing more hell for the day you were having. Luckily, Harry had helped you with the majority of it in the recent weeks and even had given you some of his old tests. The anxiety still overwhelmed you at times wondering if you’re preparing your students enough, if the final review packet was too much or not enough, and if your students would be ready. Finals were going to be the death of you, you were sure, if Harry’s revelation about the job offer wouldn’t kill you before then. You couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking, if he had sought it out and applied, or how it even came about. It drove you even more crazy as the tests neared, knowing that you’d be spending the rest of the week in your classroom from seven-thirty most likely until five pm every day, with him just across the hall.

You craved his voice and his touch, his hugs, and that laugh that could fix anything in seconds. That Monday and Tuesday you didn’t mean to ignore him, but when he walked into the staff room while you were in there, your feet found their way to the door quickly. You’re sure you could have left the bone you bought for Gatsby on his desk or bring it over to his house, but instead you left it in his mailbox with a note. 

Give this to Gatsby, please. Tell him it’s from Mummy xx

It stung when you found it in your mailbox later that day with a note from him. 

You can give it to him yourself the next time you come over :) xo

It was even automatic when you agreed to get lunch with Lola on Tuesday, even though that was the day you and Harry always went and got pizza together. During your prep hour that morning, you lingered in the staff room after he made his appearance. But when Julie the art teacher started to compliment how good he looked wearing the tie you bought for him with Fleetwood Mac song titles covering the fabric, it drove you up the wall. She didn’t stop there, and continued on about how nice he looked and how much she liked his returning beard, making you want to throw up onto your doughnut you had just warmed up. You dropped it into a trash bin in the hallway after deserting the scene, unable to endure her flirting with him and not being able to do anything about it. It pained you to not be able to tell her to stop because he’s your boyfriend, but you and Harry had agreed early on to not share your relationship with colleagues unless necessary. 

It was all becoming too much for you to handle, finals week and kind of fighting with Harry and thinking about him moving away. Too much too quickly. 

*

The hard copy of Creative Writing’s final exam sat in front of you that Tuesday afternoon. The sun already hides beyond the horizon outside the windows hugging the wall to the left of you. This has to be the second or third time you’ve printed a copy to look over, always finding something wrong with it, but this time you think maybe you’ve found a winner. The clicking of your pen meets your ears when you think you find a problem, but it’s whisked away when there’s another click. Your classroom door opens and in walks Harry, playing with the black-tie dotted with song titles of all different colors. 

“Hi,” he rasps, gently closing the door behind him. 

“Hi,” you return, eyes straying to the test in front of you. Your attempt to continue checking it is futile as goosebumps cover your skin and your heart hammers away. 

“Gatsby misses you.”

“I miss him too,” you reply, feeling the tears press at the back of your eyes with warmth, trying not to think about not seeing him for months at a time if Harry moved. 

“I declined tha job yestaday,” he announces gently, but the whiplash you feel from looking to him quickly almost hurts. His bubblegum lips sit in a taut and nervous line, hands bunched into fists in the pockets of his red slacks. They leave your view when the printed words on the test return in your eyes, growing hazy quickly. “Can ya say sumthin’, please, bird?”

“I hope you didn’t do it for me,” is all you say, hoping the true meaning comes out in your honest tone muddled by your waterworks. 

“‘Course I did it fer you. I did it fer us, and Gatsby. I did it coz ‘m ashamed it took me longa than ten minutes t’ figure out that no matta tha luxuries, that’s not my dream job. I already have my dream job, ‘s here teaching across tha hall from you, gettin’ t’ have ya botha me durin’ my prep hour, combine our classrooms t’ play Jeopardy, have our students harass us t’ go onn’a date already, and gettin’ t’ have a snog with you wheneva I want. I don’ care if I don’ get t’ teach all those bloody fancy classes and get paid mo’, coz I lose all o’ that here that already makes me so happy. ‘m sorry I didn’t realize it earlier,” Harry confesses, emotions wavering in his voice that he clears a few times, taking slow steps over to where you sit. 

“You know . . . ,” you begin, listening to the silence that takes your words and probably how much they’re killing him right now, especially when you leave you chair. “I think we’re going to have to tell our students sooner or later, because they’re driving me nuts. So are these tight outfits you keep wearing, they make it really hard not to attack you with kisses whenever I see you.”

A smile explodes on Harry’s lips, the first you’ve seen him wear in days, as you approach him. Your hands sing when they touch his chest, feeling the necklace under the fabric before they wrap around the buttery smooth fabric of his tie. 

“Y’know,” he begins sarcastically, a hand coming to his chin where he strokes his new beard, although not quite as majestic as it’s been before. What a little shit. “I think ya might be right on that one, but I like t’ watch ‘em squirm. ‘s been fun t’ hear ‘em get all frustrated ‘bout us not datin’ yet,” he giggles, his rings finding their home on your back once again. 

“Little do they know, huh?”

“Oh yes, very li’l,” he chuckles, the dimples falling into his cheeks under his patchy facial hair that you love so much. Quickly, they disappear and his cheeks flatten from their prior roundness. “‘m sorry y’know, so sorry, birdy. I was a proper asshole t’ ya, I feel terrible ‘bout it.”

The tears signal their return when his head falls and you spot one escape and fall down his cheek. You catch it with your thumb before it can get very far and lift his chin up to have him look at you. You thought your heart couldn’t hurt after everything he had said moments ago, but it wrenches inside of your chest at the sight of his red-rimmed eyes, tears falling from them. 

“Harry, please don’t cry. It’s okay, we all make mistakes. I just want you to know that I am committed to you, so much so that I can’t wait to move in with you . . and Gatsby.”

“I know, ‘m sorry I ever doubted it, I dunno why I did. ‘m committed too, coz I love ya so much, birdy. I love you,” he weeps, shaky words hitting the air that you pass when you pull him into your arms. “I didn’t know I could miss ya so much ova jus’ four days,” he continues, his hot tears meeting your neck as his beard leaves tickles after brushing it. Your heart breaks even further at the feeling of his chest trembling with a sob against yours.

“I know, Harry, me too,” you coo, raking your fingers through his hair as he holds onto you, his face hiding in your neck. 

“Plus, I couldn’t take tha job coz ‘m not gonna be one o’ those shit parents who makes Gatsby spend a different weekend at each parent’s house. Also I miss you makin’ me lunches, I neva rememba,” he cries against your skin, his subsequent giggle gracing your ears. He’s the first to pull away and your heart aches a little harder at the tears painting his face, ones you try to make quick work of. 

“Good, I don’t think I’d have the heart to tell him, so it’d have to be you.”

“‘Fair is foul and foul is fair’,” he pouts dramatically, quoting a certain William, the pad of your thumb swiping below his left eye, feeling his feathery eyelashes against your skin. “Guess we’ll hafta stay togetha then,” he sighs sarcastically, pursing his lips that soon sing out a bubbly laugh still adorned with the remnants of tears. 

“Oh, I’m sure our students would harass us to get back together if that were ever to happen,” you giggle, adoring his wispy dark eyelashes that clump together with wet tears, his murky green eyes peeking up at you beneath them. 

“Ya, they’re gettin’ ratha rowdy ‘bout that, aren’t they?” he notes aloud, clucking his tongue as if disappointed then sniffling. Your thumb wanders to his forehead to smooth out the crease that’s formed between his eyebrows, pulling his eyes to yours. “‘d love t’ tell ‘em but ‘s fun t’ watch ‘em go crazy right now, but sumday, ya.” 

“Yeah, we have to make it fun first,” you agree, catching the last tear with your finger, hands wandering to his tie the same dark color of his button-up. 

“Right, you are,” he hums, eyes darting to your lips as you slowly yank on the tie, bringing him closer. “I knew I hadd’a smart birdy.”

His smile dissolves against your lips that surround his in the sweetest kiss containing the unsaid words and forgotten kisses from the last few days. Sorry’s pass between your lips as his warm rings press into the small of your back, the tie caught between your hands until you let go, certain he’s not going anywhere anymore. His lips sputter a laugh against yours when both of your hands come to caress his lovely bum that you squeeze greedily. 

“Watch those naughty finga’s o’ yers now,” he warns through hooded eyes, the bitter smell of black coffee dancing across your face. 

“Or what?” you reply with a shrug, the both of you feeling your fingers slowly dive underneath the tight fabric of his pants. 

“Or yer gonna catch me without any briefs on one o’ these times,” he replies, trying to keep a straight face until the words leave his mouth that soon pecks yours. 

“Oooo, I’d like to see that happen,” you tease, wiggling your eyebrows at him until he collapses into laughter above you. 

“I dunno what ‘ll do with ya, bird, with a potty mouth like that.”

“Well, you can’t dump me now, we have a son together,” you shrug dramatically, mouth pressed into a fake line as you watch his eyes roll into the back of his head. 

“Very true, altho’ a crappy joke there. I guess I might hafta kiss that potty mouth outta ya.”

“I’d like to see you try, Mr. Styles,” you counter, happy to see the tears have abated from the both of you, hoping you don’t find them again for months and months. 

“Oh, would you, Ms. Y/N? ‘ll take that bet, and if I win it, ya hafta come ova and make Gatsby and I dinna t’night. And have wine with me and stay tha night, gotta get su’more practice befo’ ya move in with me soon,” Harry continues, a smug expression donning his features. 

“Deal,” you say, squealing when his hands come under your bottom and lift you up to sit you on a nearby desk. The words on your lips disappear when he plants his lips on yours hastily, hands drifting along your waist. “You better get it all out before our field trip next week.”

“‘The lady doth protest too much, me thinks,’” Harry replies, quoting Shakespeare with a funny look on his face, replacing his lips on top of yours. Your tongue scoops up and into his mouth that he parts for you, tasting the Bit-O-Honey he just had that you’re sure his pockets are full of if you checked. You giggle into his mouth when your hands brush against his thighs, sure enough feeling the hard candies in his pockets on your way to explore his bum again. 

“‘We are such stuff as dreams are made on, and our little life is rounded with a sleep,’” you recite as your nose draws a line across his cheek moments later, leaving him silent. A smile curls upon his cheeks at the sound, astonishment playing with his features. 

“Our students are right, we really should be t’getha, birdy. I love me a Shakespeare girl. ‘The course of true love never did run smooth,’ but I think ours ‘s doin’ pretty well, if I do say so meself.”