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bratzkoo · 2 months ago

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our three year plan | pt. 1 wonwoo

Author: bratzkoo Pairing: chaebol heir! wonwoo x chaebol heiress!/ nurse! reader Genre: angst, fluff, eventual smut Rating: PG-15 to NC-17 Word count: 4k~ Warnings/note: merging arrangements rewrite. will keep the original merging arrangements chapters in my blog but it’s discontinued ☺️. Also! Updates for this fic is not going to be as fast because I haven’t been writing in advance. 😔 So see you between a week to a year. Lol.

summary: you think your life is ruined when your parents announced that you’re marrying the heir of a tech chaebol; jeon wonwoo. so you offered him a plan, pretend to be in love until you can fake a catastrophe to break the engagement.

jeon wonwoo thinks his life just got better when his parents announced that he’s marrying the heiress of the medical group. his long time crush and basically the woman of his dreams. so when you offered him your plan, he’s going to use it to make you fall in love with him

masterlist | next part

The conference room felt too small, too airless for the bombshell that had just been dropped. Y/N stared at her parents, certain she had misheard them.

"I'm sorry, what did you just say?" Her voice sounded distant, even to her own ears.

Her father, straightened his already impeccable posture. As CEO of Seoul's largest private medical group, he never made requests; he issued commands. "Your engagement to Jeon Wonwoo will be announced next month. The wedding is scheduled for spring."

"Engagement? Wedding?" Y/N's coffee cup clattered against its saucer. "To Jeon Wonwoo? The tech heir? I've barely exchanged ten words with him!"

Her mother's perfectly manicured hand reached across the polished conference table. "Darling, the Jeons are an excellent family. Their conglomerate is expanding into medical technology. This merger—"

"Merger?" Y/N stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor. "I'm not a business asset to be traded!"

"Lower your voice," her father hissed, glancing toward the door. "This is still a hospital."

Y/N inhaled deeply, the familiar antiseptic smell grounding her. Yes, Seoul Medical Center—her workplace, her sanctuary—was now the setting for this life-altering ambush.

"I'm old enough to make my own decisions."

Her father's expression hardened. "While you waste your medical degree playing nurse, the rest of us are securing the future of this institution."

The familiar barb stung, but Y/N had grown used to it over her years being a nurse. What she couldn't get used to was the idea of an arranged marriage.

"This discussion is over," her father announced, gathering his papers. "The Jeons are expecting us for dinner tomorrow. Wear something appropriate."

As her parents exited, leaving her alone in the conference room, Y/N sank back into her chair. Her phone buzzed with a notification for her afternoon rounds, a reminder of the life she'd built—the life that was now being dismantled without her consent.

"They can't be serious!" Alexys slammed her lunch tray down, causing several heads to turn in the hospital cafeteria. "Are we living in the Joseon dynasty?"

"Lower your voice," Dr. Ela Song whispered, sliding into the seat beside Y/N. "The walls have ears, especially when the CEO's daughter is involved."

Y/N pushed her salad around aimlessly. "They're dead serious. Apparently, the contracts are already being drafted."

"Contracts?" Alexys scoffed, her lab coat still bearing traces of what looked suspiciously like the methylene blue from the pathology lab. "For a marriage? Who does that anymore?"

"Rich people," Ela replied matter-of-factly, carefully separating her kimchi from the rest of her lunch. "Trust me, I know. My parents still haven't forgiven me for marrying Mingyu instead of the Chinese pharmaceutical heir they picked out."

Y/N looked up at her friend. Despite coming from immense wealth herself, Ela had chosen love over family expectations, a path that had cost her dearly. "How did you do it? Stand up to them, I mean."

Ela's expression softened. "I knew what I wanted. Do you?"

The question hung between them. What did she want? Y/N had spent years defining herself by her work—the midnight emergencies, the precious moments with patients, the medical missions to remote villages where her skills made a tangible difference. The thought of trading that for corporate functions and producing heirs made her stomach churn.

"I want my life," she finally said. "My career. My freedom to go on medical missions. Not... whatever this is."

Alexys paused mid-bite. "Then you need to find a way out of it."

"How? My father has made it clear this is non-negotiable."

Alexys grinned mischievously. "What if you make yourself so undesirable that this Wonwoo guy backs out? Men hate clingy women, right? Or maybe develop some disgusting habits?"

Despite everything, Y/N laughed. "You're suggesting I start picking my nose at business dinners?"

"I'm serious!" Alexys insisted. "Or what if—"

"What if you just talked to him?" Ela interrupted pragmatically. "This Wonwoo person might be just as trapped as you are."

The thought hadn't occurred to Y/N. In her mind, Jeon Wonwoo had been a faceless corporate puppet, willingly participating in this archaic arrangement. But what if he was another victim in their parents' chess game?

"Nurse Y/N to Emergency, Nurse Y/N to Emergency."

The overhead page pulled Y/N from her thoughts. She gathered her barely-touched lunch.

"Duty calls," she sighed, standing up. "I'll figure something out. I have to."

As she hurried toward the emergency department, a plan began forming in her mind. If Wonwoo was as reluctant as she was, perhaps they could form an alliance. A temporary arrangement with a predetermined expiration date. They could pretend just long enough to satisfy their families, then orchestrate some kind of falling out.

It was desperate, perhaps even foolish. But as Y/N pushed through the swinging doors of the ER and the familiar controlled chaos enveloped her, she knew one thing with absolute certainty: she would not give up the life she had fought so hard to build.

Seungcheol was already gloved up when Y/N entered the trauma bay, his calm presence a welcome sight amid the flurry of activity.

"MVA, three minutes out," he called to her, his eyes crinkling with the smile hidden beneath his surgical mask. As the ER's most experienced trauma nurse, Y/N was always his first choice for critical cases.

She nodded, slipping into the familiar routine with practiced ease. Gloves, gown, mask—the ritual momentarily pushed aside her personal crisis.

"Heard you got called to the executive floor earlier," Seungcheol remarked as they prepared the crash cart together. "Everything okay?"

Y/N hesitated. Despite Seungcheol being her closest friend at the hospital, something held her back from sharing her current predicament. The situation felt too raw, too complicated to explain—especially to someone whose opinion mattered so much to her.

"Just quarterly performance reviews," she lied smoothly, checking the laryngoscope light. "Nothing exciting."

He studied her for a moment, clearly sensing there was more to the story, but the wail of approaching sirens saved her from further questions.

For the next three hours, Y/N lost herself in the work she loved—stabilizing patients, anticipating needs before they were voiced, bringing order to chaos. Here, in the ER, she wasn't the reluctant heiress of the medical group; she was simply Nurse Y/N, respected for her skills and dedication.

By the time her shift ended, Y/N had almost convinced herself that she could find a way out of her predicament. Almost.

"You look like you could use this," Seungcheol said, appearing beside her locker with a steaming cup of coffee—made exactly how she liked it, with a splash of almond milk and no sugar.

"You're a lifesaver," she murmured gratefully, accepting the cup.

"Rough shift," he commented, leaning against the lockers. "You handled that crush injury like a pro, though."

Y/N welcomed the shift to professional topics. "The ortho team said we saved his arm. Sometimes I forget why we do this, and then days like today happen."

Seungcheol smiled, the kind of smile that usually made her day brighter. Today, however, she couldn't fully return it, her mind still preoccupied with tomorrow's meeting with Wonwoo.

"You seem distracted," he observed. "Sure there's nothing you want to talk about?"

Y/N took a measured sip of her coffee, buying time to compose her thoughts. "Nothing worth mentioning. Just tired." She forced a lighter tone. "Tell me about that new protocol Dr. Kim was discussing yesterday. The one for pediatric traumas?"

She could see Seungcheol wasn't entirely convinced by her deflection, but he respected her boundaries enough not to push. As he launched into an explanation of the new protocols, Y/N nodded along, grateful for his friendship yet oddly relieved to keep her impending engagement private—at least for now.

Some burdens, she decided, were better carried alone until she had a clearer path forward. Perhaps after meeting Wonwoo tomorrow, she'd have more answers than questions.

"Whatever's going on," Seungcheol said suddenly, interrupting his own explanation, "just remember I'm here if you need anything. No questions asked."

The simple offer of support without demands for explanation touched Y/N deeply. "I know," she said, her throat unexpectedly tight. "Thank you."

As they parted ways in the hospital parking lot, Y/N felt a strange mix of guilt and resolve. Seungcheol deserved her honesty, but until she understood her own situation better, silence seemed the wiser choice. Tomorrow, she would meet Jeon Wonwoo, and perhaps then the path ahead would become clearer.

The Jeon estate was exactly as ostentatious as Y/N had expected—a modern glass and steel structure perched on one of Seoul's most exclusive hillsides, overlooking the city like a watchful sentinel. As the security gates parted for her parents' Mercedes, Y/N smoothed down her conservative navy dress, chosen specifically to project seriousness rather than bridal potential.

"Remember to smile," her mother murmured as they approached the entrance. "First impressions are everything."

Y/N bit back a retort. If her parents wanted a corporate puppet, they should have groomed Haerin for the role. Her younger sister would have thrived in this world of strategic alliances and business dinners.

The thought of Haerin triggered a pang of longing. If only her sister were here instead of "finding herself" in Italy. Their last conversation replayed in her mind:

"You should be the heir," Y/N had insisted during their video call. "You actually want this life."

Haerin had just laughed, the Mediterranean sun glinting in her hair. "I just want to be in Italy and be rich."

"You just want to be in Italy and be rich." Y/N mocked in sing-song tone.

"Yes, thank you, next!" Haerin had quipped, ending the discussion with her typical breezy dismissal.

Now, as a stern housekeeper ushered them into an expansive foyer, Y/N wished for just a fraction of her sister's carefree attitude.

Mr. and Mrs. Jeon awaited them in a sitting room that could have been featured in an architectural magazine—all clean lines, expensive minimalism, and strategic splashes of color. Y/N instantly recognized Jeon Siwoo from business magazines, his silver hair and commanding presence befitting the CEO of one of Korea's largest tech conglomerates.

Introductions were made, pleasantries exchanged, but Y/N barely registered the conversation. Her attention was fixed on the conspicuous absence of her supposed fiancé.

"Wonwoo sends his apologies," Mrs. Jeon explained, noticing Y/N's wandering gaze. "He was called away to handle an emergency at our Busan facility. He's flying back tonight and is looking forward to meeting you properly tomorrow."

Y/N couldn't decide if she was relieved or frustrated by the delay. On one hand, it postponed the inevitable awkwardness; on the other, it prolonged her anxiety.

"Perhaps it's for the best," her father said smoothly. "The young people can meet privately tomorrow. Sometimes these arrangements are better discussed without parental interference."

Mr. Jeon nodded in agreement. "Wonwoo will pick Y/N up at noon. I suggest lunch at the Sky Garden—private, yet public enough for propriety."

Y/N fought to keep her expression neutral as her future was arranged like a business meeting. Tomorrow, she would meet Jeon Wonwoo, and everything would change. Her mind raced with questions: Would he be as reluctant as she was? Would he consider her plan? Or would he be exactly like their parents, seeing her as nothing more than a beneficial merger?

As the evening progressed through an elaborate dinner where business dominated the conversation, Y/N remained largely silent, mentally rehearsing what she would say to Wonwoo tomorrow. By the time they left, she had a clear strategy: she would be direct, practical, and unemotional. This was a negotiation, nothing more.

The following morning dawned bright and crisp, autumn painting Seoul in shades of gold and crimson. Y/N had barely slept, her mind cycling through various scenarios of how her meeting with Wonwoo might unfold.

At precisely noon, her phone pinged with a message from an unknown number:

I'm outside your building. Black Tesla. - Wonwoo

Direct and to the point. Perhaps this was a good sign. Y/N grabbed her purse and headed downstairs, her heart hammering against her ribs despite her determination to remain calm and collected.

The sleek black car was idling at the curb, its electric engine silent. As she approached, the driver's door opened, and Jeon Wonwoo stepped out.

Y/N faltered momentarily. The man before her was not what she'd expected. Business publications typically showed him in formal attire at corporate events, looking serious and unapproachable. Today, dressed in dark jeans and a simple white button-down with rolled sleeves, he looked younger, more approachable—and annoyingly handsome, with sharp features softened by warm eyes behind round glasses.

"Y/N," he said with a slight bow. "It's nice to finally meet you properly."

His voice was lower than she'd anticipated, with a gentle quality that didn't match her mental image of a cutthroat tech executive.

"Likewise," she responded automatically, accepting his gesture to enter the car.

The interior smelled of new leather and something else—a subtle, clean scent that she assumed was his cologne. As he slid into the driver's seat, Y/N steeled herself. Handsome or not, this man represented everything she was fighting against—the loss of her autonomy, the end of her carefully constructed life.

"I know a place that's more private than the Sky Garden," Wonwoo said as he pulled into traffic. "If that's alright with you. Somewhere we can actually talk."

Y/N turned to study his profile. Was it possible he had his own agenda for this meeting?

"I'd prefer that," she admitted. "I have some things I'd like to discuss."

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "I thought you might."

The drive was mostly silent, but not uncomfortably so. Wonwoo seemed content to focus on navigating Seoul's busy streets, occasionally pointing out a landmark or asking a neutral question about her work. Y/N provided brief answers, saving her energy for the real conversation ahead.

He eventually parked near a secluded botanical garden, leading her to a small café nestled among trees just beginning to turn color. The place was nearly empty, offering the privacy both apparently craved.

After they ordered—he knew precisely what kind of tea she preferred, which was mildly disconcerting—Wonwoo leaned forward, his expression serious.

"I think we should address the elephant in the room," he said directly. "This arranged marriage."

Y/N appreciated his straightforwardness. "Yes, we should."

"I understand this must be difficult for you," he continued, surprising her with his perception. "Being told who to marry, having your future decided without your consent."

Something in his tone made Y/N pause. He didn't sound like someone equally trapped in this arrangement; he sounded like someone trying to be understanding of her predicament.

"Isn't it difficult for you as well?" she probed.

Wonwoo's eyes met hers, and for a fleeting moment, something unreadable flickered in their depths. "My situation is... different."

Before she could ask what he meant, their drinks arrived. Y/N wrapped her hands around the warm mug, gathering her courage.

"I have a proposition," she said once the server had left. "A way for both of us to satisfy our families without actually committing to a lifetime together."

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow, his expression cautiously interested. "I'm listening."

"We pretend," Y/N stated simply. "We go along with the engagement, play the happy couple in public. Meanwhile, we live separate lives as much as possible. After a suitable period—maybe a year or two—we stage a falling out. Something believable but not scandalous. We part ways amicably, our families maintain their business connections, and we both regain our freedom."

She held her breath as Wonwoo considered her words, his expression thoughtful. After what felt like an eternity, he spoke:

"And what if it doesn't work?"

"What do you mean?"

"What if our parents don't accept our breakup? What if they push us back together?"

Y/N hadn't considered this possibility. "Then... we make the falling out more dramatic. Irreconcilable differences. Something they can't fix."

Wonwoo studied her for a long moment, his gaze so intent that Y/N fought the urge to squirm in her seat.

"Three years," he finally said.

"Excuse me?"

"Not one or two. Three years. That's how long we commit to this charade. It needs to be believable." He leaned forward slightly. "If we announce the breakup too soon, they'll know it was planned."

His logic was sound, though the thought of maintaining a fake relationship for three years was daunting. Still, three years of pretending was better than a lifetime of reality.

"Three years," she agreed tentatively. "But with conditions. I maintain my career. I continue my medical missions. No children, obviously."

"Agreed," he nodded. "And I have conditions as well. We live together in the house my parents have already purchased. Separate bedrooms, of course," he added quickly, seeing her expression. "But we need to appear committed. They'll expect it."

Y/N swallowed hard. Living together would complicate things significantly. "Any other conditions?"

Something shifted in Wonwoo's expression—a subtle change she couldn't quite identify. "Just one. We make a genuine effort to know each other. To be friends, at least. Three years is a long time to live with a stranger."

The request was reasonable, even practical. If they were to convince the world of their relationship, they needed to understand each other.

"Alright," she conceded. "Friends. But nothing more."

Wonwoo extended his hand across the table. "Then we have a deal. Our three-year plan begins now."

As Y/N placed her hand in his, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was missing something—something in the way his hand lingered around hers, something in the quiet intensity of his gaze.

What she didn't know, what she couldn't know, was that Jeon Wonwoo had just agreed to a plan that aligned perfectly with his own agenda—three years to make the woman he'd admired from afar fall genuinely in love with him.

The house was beautiful—Y/N had to admit that much. Nestled in a quiet neighborhood that somehow managed to be both exclusive and understated, the modern three-bedroom structure was nothing like the ostentatious mansions their parents inhabited. If she had to be trapped in a fake engagement, at least the cage was gilded.

"Your things arrived this morning," Wonwoo said as he unlocked the front door. "I had them placed in the master bedroom. I've taken the room down the hall."

She followed him inside, noting with surprise the warmth of the interior. She'd expected cold minimalism like his parents' home, but this space was inviting—clean lines softened by natural materials, large windows filling the rooms with light, and carefully chosen art that seemed to reflect both Korean tradition and modern sensibilities.

"Did you decorate this?" she asked, running her fingers along a handcrafted wooden shelf.

Wonwoo shook his head. "A designer handled most of it, but I made some adjustments. I wanted it to feel like a home, not a showpiece."

Y/N glanced at him curiously. There it was again—that disconnect between the corporate heir she'd imagined and the thoughtful man before her.

"Let me show you around," he offered, leading her through the space.

The tour ended in a kitchen that would make a professional chef envious—state-of-the-art appliances, expansive countertops, and a view of the small but immaculately landscaped garden.

"Do you cook?" Y/N asked, noting how at ease Wonwoo seemed in this space.

"It's one of my few hobbies," he admitted. "Work doesn't leave time for much else." He hesitated, then added, "I thought I might make dinner tonight. If you're comfortable with that. Consider it a housewarming."

The offer surprised her. In her family, cooking was the staff's responsibility; the idea of the heir to a major corporation preparing dinner was foreign.

"I'd like that," she found herself saying.

Later, as she unpacked in her new bedroom, Y/N's phone buzzed with messages from Ela and Alexys:

Well??? Did you meet him? Is he a troll? A robot? DETAILS, WOMAN! - Alexys

Hope you're okay. Call if you need anything. Mingyu says Wonwoo is actually decent, for what it's worth. - Ela

Y/N blinked at Ela's message. "Wait, Mingyu knows Wonwoo?"

As if on cue, her phone rang with Ela's call.

"You didn't know?" Ela sounded surprised when Y/N asked. "They've been friends since university. Mingyu never mentioned him because, well, you know how my husband is—he doesn't like to name-drop."

Y/N sank onto her new bed, processing this connection. "What else does Mingyu know about him?"

"Just that he's not like other chaebol heirs. Works ridiculous hours, actually earned his position rather than having it handed to him. Mingyu says he's brilliant with technology but awkward with people." Ela paused. "Did you propose your plan?"

"Yes," Y/N confirmed, lowering her voice although she was alone in the room. "Three years of pretending, then a clean break."

"And he agreed?" Ela sounded skeptical.

"Surprisingly easily. I think he's as trapped as I am."

There was a strange pause before Ela spoke again. "Y/N... did you consider that he might have his own reasons for agreeing?"

Before Y/N could respond, a gentle knock on her door interrupted the conversation.

"I need to go," she told Ela quickly. "I'll call you tomorrow."

She opened the door to find Wonwoo standing there, sleeves rolled up further and an apron tied around his waist. The domesticity of the image was so at odds with what she knew of him that Y/N momentarily stared.

"Dinner's almost ready," he said, seemingly unaware of her reaction. "Nothing fancy, just some doenjang jjigae and banchan."

"That sounds perfect," she replied, following him downstairs.

The kitchen was filled with mouthwatering aromas, the countertops lined with small dishes of perfectly prepared side dishes. As they settled at the dining table with steaming bowls of stew, Y/N found herself genuinely impressed.

"This is delicious," she admitted after her first bite.

A pleased smile curved Wonwoo's lips, transforming his serious face. "My grandmother's recipe. She insisted I learn to cook for myself, even though my parents thought it was beneath me."

"Your grandmother sounds wise."

"She was," he said softly, and Y/N noted the past tense with a pang of empathy.

They ate in companionable silence for a while, the awkwardness of their situation temporarily set aside. It was strange, Y/N thought, how quickly the human mind adapted to new circumstances. This morning, she had been dreading meeting Jeon Wonwoo; now, she was sharing a home-cooked meal with him as they embarked on a three-year deception together.

"I've been thinking about our arrangement," Wonwoo said as they finished eating. "We should establish some ground rules. Beyond what we've already agreed on."

Y/N nodded. "That makes sense."

"For instance, we should discuss how we handle public appearances, family obligations, holidays..."

"And dating," Y/N added, thinking ahead. "If we're going to be living separate lives, we need parameters for discretion."

Something flickered in Wonwoo's eyes—so briefly Y/N thought she might have imagined it. "Of course," he said evenly. "Discretion would be paramount."

Their conversation continued late into the evening, mapping out the contours of their pretense. By the time Y/N retreated to her bedroom, she felt surprisingly at ease with the arrangement. Wonwoo was reasonable, practical, and seemingly as committed to maintaining their independence as she was.

As she prepared for bed in her new home, Y/N remembered Ela's question: Did you consider that he might have his own reasons for agreeing?

She dismissed the thought. Whatever Wonwoo's reasons were, they aligned with her goals. That was all that mattered. Tomorrow would be another day of adjustments, of learning to navigate this strange new reality. But for tonight, at least, she could sleep knowing she had found a way to protect the life she cherished.

In his own room down the hall, Jeon Wonwoo sat at his desk, a small smile playing on his lips as he closed the leather-bound journal where he'd been writing. On its cover, inscribed in his neat handwriting, were the words:

“Our three year plan.”

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malereadermaniac · 1 year ago

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ʕっ•ᴥ•ʔっ Daddy ~ Kakashi Hatake x Male Reader

Word Count: 600

Plot: A belated Father's Day imagine/drabble with your sexy boyfriend - SFW! NO SMUT!! (⸝⸝๑﹏๑⸝⸝)

Note: Art by @ / Alterinku

Warnings: m!reader (no genitalia mentioned) / FDNI

Boyfriend!Kakashi going out on a regular old date with you; his cute, sexy, lovable boyfriend. The ninja ensuring to enjoy one of his few days off with you, having spent most of the morning chilling in bed with you (along with doing some other things with you in that bed), and now strolling through the village centre with you.

Boyfriend!Kakashi spoiling you, he gets paid a hefty sum for protecting the village and teaching youngsters, so why would the man not share his wealth with his beloved? The muscular man ensures to tease you when looking through new clothing imports, trying on clothing which shows off his killer body to make you blush, and making you give him a little fashion show in feminine Kimonos or revealing outfits.

Boyfriend!Kakashi who notices a lot of families out on this random day, watching with a smile under his mask as little boys and girls run around the street with their parents behind them. Very quickly, Kakashi puts two and two together, after noticing that it was mostly dads out with their kids and also seeing a few advertisements in shop windows, that the village was celebrating fathers Day!

Boyfriend!Kakashi who can't stop thinking sappy, domestic thoughts! The grey-headed ninja fantasising about raising a little runt with you; thinking about feeling a wave of relief when he hears a high-pitched voice shouting 'Dad!' and seeing you cooking up a meal for your family as he walks through the door, coming from a tiring day.

Boyfriend!Kakashi who isn't verbally the sappiest guy, so he decides to vocalise his cute, fluffy thoughts of raising a family with you in a jokey sense; a jokey, naughty sense.

"Hey, [Name], my darling~" the handsome man starts "Hm? What's up with you?" you respond, immediately weirded out by your boyfriend's sappy tone "How come you never wish me 'Happy Father's Day'?" Kakashi questions, a comedic pout visible through the man's translucent, mesh mask "....'Cause you're not a dad?" Your expression just becomes more quizzical, your confusing boyfriend's glimmering eyes giving away that he was planning to say some stupid, pervy joke "Then how come you sometimes say to me 'Ah~ Daddy!'-" "OI! SHUSH!" you shout, moving your hands up to your annoyingly loud boyfriend's mouth to prevent him from publicly embarrassing you some more

Boyfriend!Kakashi who gets scolded for a solid 15 minutes after his very well-executed joke, but just doesn't care; cause the embarrassed, cute look on his boyfriend's face and your angry voice are so worth it. And that isn't the only moment where Kakashi nods towards the liking he's taken to the idea of raising some little trouble-makers with you...

Boyfriend!Kakashi who brings up the serious conversation of children after you calm down from his remark, and despite his nonchalant attitude, Kakashi is pissing himself internally. But his face literally lights up when you seem quite open to the idea of a domestic life with Kakashi; his ego as a macho man, a provider for his lover, getting stroked so, so nicely when you give a simple 'that sounds nice' to the ninja suggesting he takes you as his house-husband.

Boyfriend!Kakashi who does his best to wine and dine you that night, giving you a taste of what is coming if you two decide to go through with your little fantasies from earlier. And don't put it past your sex machine of a boyfriend to try for some biological babies with you that very night - he's a true believer that even as a man you can get pregnant if you two just try hard enough~

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doctorbitchcrxft · 3 months ago

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Fake Plastic Trees | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader | A doctorbitchcrxft Original

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: everybody's mental health is in the shitter, drug use, simp behavior, mentions of overdose

Word Count: 1273

A/N: A special little surprise!!! As you may have seen while I was losing my mind posting about this Radiohead song, Dean and Y/N's current relationship state reminds me so much of it. I highlyyy recommend listening while you read! I hope you enjoy!!!

Mobile Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Playlist

Smoke passed through your lips as you blew out a shuddering breath. The night air was warmer than you’d come to expect from a midwestern night. Still, the metal of the Impala’s trunk was cooling the undersides of your thighs while you sat on it wrapped in Dean’s black hoodie. It was a wonder you’d even been able to find as much weed as you’d been smoking recently; many of your old contacts in different states had been arrested for possession or died from using harder drugs. The marijuana soothed you, and you’d occasionally use cigarettes to bridge the gap between smoking or drinking yourself into oblivion.

You were just tired. You didn’t know how to explain it; it was a fatigue you’d never known before. Taking care of yourself felt like a chore, but you forced yourself to do it anyway.

Everything just felt so… futile. The gentle rustling of tree leaves across the parking lot felt forced; as if the universe was trying to lull you into believing all was well. However, time and time again, the angels were showing you every person was just a pawn on a chess board. Everything everyone valued— wealth, brand names, appearances, security, safety, friends, family— it all seemed so inconsequential; a drop in the ocean of time. Nothing was in your control, and maybe that was why people resorted to being materialistic: to prevent themselves from going insane thinking of all the ways they didn’t matter.

“You okay?” a deep voice rumbled from behind you.

You jumped instantly, pressing a hand to your chest when you realized it was just Dean. “Jesus, dude,” you breathed out. “You scared me.”

He chuckled. “Sorry.” Dean gestured to the joint still burning between your fingers.

You passed it to him, eyebrows furrowing when you noticed something. You grabbed his other hand while he took a puff from the joint and examined his fingers closely. “Your fingers are different,” you said finally.

Dean gave you a quizzical look before he realized what you meant. “Oh, yeah,” he replied, sitting next to you on the Impala’s trunk.

Then, you noticed his chin, cupping it and tilting his chin toward you. “Your scar’s gone, too.”

“I know,” he said, smirking a little, “no more broken fingers, no more scars; nothing. It was all gone when I popped up out the box.”

You nodded in understanding, pausing for a moment to think. “Does that mean you were re-hymenated?” you wondered aloud.

Dean shoved your shoulder lightly, and you giggled. “That’s what I was tryna tell Sam! He said no, though.”

Then, a weight settled back on your shoulders. “And you lost it to Jamie,” you sighed under your breath.

The man deflated. “I’m sorry,” he said finally.

When you looked over to him, you gestured for the joint that was almost fully smoked. “ ‘S nothing,” you said while you took it back.

“Bullshit,” he replied.

You closed your eyes. “Dean, it’s okay. Bigger fish.” You flicked the remaining filter away from you and watched as it burnt out completely on the pavement.

The two of you sat in silence for a while; both feeling the weight of the world settling in.

“I’m tired, Dean,” you muttered, still staring out at the parking lot.

“Maybe we should head inside, then—”

“No,” you said, grabbing his hand and stopping him from getting off the trunk. “I’m tired.”

Dean settled back onto the trunk and nodded. “I know,” he replied. “I am, too.”

You looked up at him with sad eyes. “How do we fix this, man? How do we fix us?”

He looked right back at you with eyes seeming to pierce through to your soul. “I don’t know,” he replied earnestly. “I really don’t.”

“I thought about what you said a few weeks ago,” you told him, “about missing who we used to be.”

Dean looked like he was going to say something, but you cut him off.

“And I know you barely recognize me anymore. I’m still learning how to recognize you; if I’m honest.”

Your best friend just stared through you while you spoke despite the fact that you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him.

“Do you think, maybe…” you trailed off, swallowing a burning feeling in your throat, “maybe you’ll never look at me the same again?”

Dean grabbed your hand. “I don’t even wanna go there, (Y/N), look at me.”

You did.

“You still look like you. You still taste like you. That’s all that matters,” he replied. Dean rubbed his thumb over yours while the two of you sat next to each other in silence.

Then, he asked, “What do you mean about ‘recognizing me’?”

“It’s kinda like what you said,” you replied, “you still taste like you, you still look like you, but it’s different. We changed so much since the last time I saw you. And, like, during that time, we didn’t get to grow together if that makes sense.”

“I guess it does,” Dean sighed.

“What’s that about?” you asked, looking him over. He looked up at you. “What?”

“That sigh,” you responded. “Sighing’s my thing. You’re more of a huffer.”

He chuckled. “It’s jus’ a lot to take in, y’know?”

“Trust me, I do.”

The parking lot went silent again. The wind taunted you once more by blowing tendrils of your hair just enough to kiss your cheeks. It felt like mockery; given no real comfort could be provided to you.

“(Y/N)?”

Your heart skipped a beat at the gentle way Dean said your name, and you turned your head toward him.

“I don’t think I can be who you need right now.”

The glowing feeling inside your chest dissipated as quickly as it came. “I know,” you replied, looking down at your shoes.

“You do?” He looked over at you; genuine shock on his face.

“Just like I can’t be who you need, either,” you said evenly. “But I don’t need you to be perfect for me. I don’t expect you to fix me. I just want you.”

“(Y/N)—” Dean cut himself off, tears welling in his eyes, “I can’t be the guy I was before— before I—”

“Dee,” you tried to assure him as you grabbed his hand. “Listen to me.” You put your hand on the side of his cheek to guide his eyes to yours. A small wet spot formed on your skin where Dean’s tear had fallen, and you brushed your thumb across his cheek. “I don’t want you to be the guy you were before. I don’t need him. I need you exactly as you are today. Okay?”

He nodded.

“The version of you that existed a year ago couldn’t help the me I am now,” you explained. “And I know what you’ll say— that this is the sappiest fuckin’ thing you’ve ever heard in your life— but it’s the truth; something keeps pulling us together. Something is always pulling us together. I mean, with as often as I’ve run off, somehow we always end up right back here.” You took a deep breath. “All that to say, you, Dean Winchester, are the only thing I need right now.”

Dean sniffled, a slight smirk forming on his face as he reached up to grab your hand off his cheek. “You were right,” he said. “That was the sappiest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever heard in my life.”

You shoved his shoulder playfully with your free hand. “Asshole.”

A chuckle rumbled deep in Dean's chest. “But you love me.”

You smiled as he grabbed your waist and pulled you closer to him. “Yeah, I do.”

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-nesmith @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h @fandomloverrr @metalmonki @onlyangel-444 @yu-winchester @benniwiththefanni @daisychaingirl @immagods @missmieux @yoongi-holland @littledebbieinabigworld

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x y/n #spn #supernatural #dean winchester x you #dean x reader #dean x y/n #dean x you #spn series rewrite

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yeopoet · 10 months ago

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MEET ME IN THE HALLWAY

`౨ৎ~ pairing: ateez x gn!reader genre: forbidden romance, fluff, kinda suggestive if you read between the lines ౿ ׂ ִ warnings: kissing (?) word count: 2k.

author's note: highly inspired by this post. ps: the divider does not belong to me.

﹒ ◠ ✩ hongjoong ⊹ ﹒

Two powerful families competing fiercely in the construction industry, locked in a never-ending battle over urban development projects: his family prioritizes large, luxurious complexes, while yours is dedicated to eco-friendly, sustainable initiatives. The differences between you go beyond business, turning what should have remained professional into something personal and deeply entrenched. Your parents have made it clear—they never want you anywhere near the Kims, and his parents share the same sentiment. But Hongjoong couldn’t care less about the rules. He sneaks to your bedroom window in the dead of night, not with malice, but driven by an irresistible urge to explore what he’s been told is forbidden. You’ve tried pushing him away, again and again, but nothing works. He’s relentless, and despite all the barriers that should keep you apart, to him, you’re the only thing that matters.

“You can’t just show up here like it’s no big deal,” you whisper-yell as you open your window. “They’ll find out, and that’ll be the end of both of us.”

“I’ve tried to forget about you, but it’s impossible.” Hongjoong exhales deeply, slipping through the window with ease, like sneaking into your room is something he’s mastered. “I missed our midnight talks.”

You raise an eyebrow, crossing your arms, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “What? Are you in love with me or something?”

He smiles, stepping closer until he’s near enough that you can feel his warm breath on your face. “And what if I am? Would that be so bad?”

﹒ ◠ ✩ seonghwa ⊹ ﹒

Someone born into a life of luxury, with a future carved out by endless wealth, isn’t supposed to waste his time with people of "lower status." As the heir to a well-established hospital chain, Seonghwa has never had to worry about anything—not even the clothes on his back. His sole purpose in life, as dictated by his family, is to follow the path toward taking his father’s place. But with dreams of his own, he somehow ended up in your studio, signing up for a beginner's sewing class. It wasn’t exactly the best first encounter, especially since your classes weren’t designed for heirs of empires, but over time, Seonghwa managed to capture your attention. He now pays for private lessons, driven by his passion to become a fashion designer. He shares sketches of outfits with you, designs he’s never dared to show anyone else. What was supposed to be a professional relationship between teacher and student gradually became something more. And honestly, how could he not fall for you?

“I know I shouldn’t be here, but I couldn’t stay away.” His words spill out the moment you open the door, sadness pouring at your feet. “Please, just give me a chance to fix all of this.”

“You’ve already caused enough damage.” You take a deep breath, holding back tears. Watching him beg for something you both know he can’t change feels like a knife to the heart, and if you’re not careful, you might cave. He steps closer, and you know this is the moment to slam the door in his face—before his father shows up again, threatening to destroy everything you've built if you don’t leave Seonghwa alone. But your heart wavers, seeing the redness in his eyes. “Don’t make this harder than it already is, Hwa. We can’t be together. If anyone sees us, it’ll be the end for both of-”

“Just one last time.” He’s crying now, his hand gently cradling the back of your neck like he's afraid you’ll disappear. “Let me be with you one last time.”

﹒ ◠ ✩ yunho ⊹ ﹒

It’s not easy having parents who watch your every move as if you’re incapable of taking care of yourself. But if it weren’t for their overbearing protectiveness, you never would’ve met Jeong Yunho, your bodyguard—the one who pulled you out of your monotonous life and gave you a taste of freedom. He sneaks you out for daring, late-night adventures, always careful not to push things too far and jeopardize both your lives. Yunho tried to keep his distance; he was never the kind of employee to cross the line. But avoiding his inevitable downfall with you was impossible.

“They warned me about you,” he says softly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his hand gently cradling one side of your face. “But I didn’t listen.”

“And I’m glad you didn’t.” You smile openly, wrapping your arms around his waist before pressing your lips to his with intensity.

﹒ ◠ ✩ yeosang ⊹ ﹒

When the extravagance of your world becomes overwhelming, you find yourself seeking a place to breathe. Conveniently, that place always ends up being in the arms of Yeosang, the butler of your household. You've known each other since childhood, long before he took over his father’s role and before you were promised to marry someone you don’t love. The quiet meetings behind the tallest hedges in the garden offer you a peace you’ve never experienced around your family. The love that has never faded grows more painful as your wedding day draws near, and no matter how much you both long to escape, you know you've been condemned since the day you were born.

“This is the last time,” you whisper, casting a sorrowful glance at the man lying beside you. “We can’t keep doing this.”

Yeosang doesn’t respond right away but holds your gaze with a quiet tenderness. Then, after a few torturous seconds of silence, he presses a kiss to the back of your hand. “We said the same thing the last time we met,” he murmurs, leaning in to kiss you slowly, lingering. “The truth is, I’d have to move to another continent to ever be able to stay away from you.”

﹒ ◠ ✩ san ⊹ ﹒

He fought hard to get where he is. It wasn’t easy landing a job at one of the most prestigious networks in the country, and once inside, he quickly realized why the selection process was so difficult. His bosses are strict; they don’t tolerate irresponsibility and push him to the brink of exhaustion. Still, the salary makes it all worth it. San is building his life, shaping his dream career as a reporter, doing everything he can to avoid trouble. That is, until you, the boss’s daughter, showed up and threw all his plans into chaos. It wasn’t your intention to disrupt anyone. You’ve always kept a distance from the company’s employees, taking your duties as an heiress seriously. But who could have predicted that at a party with over 100 people, you’d end up kissing the newest intern?

“No one can know about this, promise me,” he whispers, gripping your elbow as he keeps the two of you dangerously close. “That was a mistake, and it won’t happen again.”

“As if I wanted it to,” you fire back, your breath mingling with his as your gaze locks onto his—eyes that are saying something completely different. “But if you keep pulling me into closed-off spaces out of nowhere, people are going to get suspicious, and it won’t be my fault.”

“Right, we should keep our distance,” he says, yet doesn’t move an inch. “I just wanted to make things clear.”

“I got the message loud and clear.” With every passing second, your faces inch closer. San tightens his grip on your arm, though not enough to hurt. He tilts his head, muttering a soft “good” against your lips before making the mistake of kissing you again.

﹒ ◠ ✩ mingi ⊹ ﹒

A friendship that has lasted for years could never be shaken by something trivial—or so you thought. But could your feelings for her brother be enough to ruin everything? She’s always made it clear that Mingi is off-limits. He constantly breaks her friends’ hearts, and they always end up drifting away. So, to keep the friendship intact, she put up a wall between the two of you. Too bad it only makes things more exciting from his perspective. You try your best to resist Mingi’s advances, but he makes it nearly impossible when he walks around the house shirtless after training, or when he finds lame excuses to touch you at random moments—like holding your waist to squeeze past you when there’s clearly plenty of space. It’s ridiculous.

“You really need to stop doing that,” you say, crossing your arms like you’re throwing a tantrum. Mingi looks at you, eyebrows raised, with that same clueless expression that drives you insane. “I’m serious, Mingi.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he shrugs, leaning forward to reach something in the back of the fridge.

“There are literally two other ways to get to the fridge, and you chose the tightest spot—right where I’m standing.” You stomp your foot. “And not only that, you—”

Your sentence is cut off by the sound of the fridge door closing. Mingi steps closer, and you hold your breath. “And I what?” he asks, leaning against the counter without breaking eye contact. “Last I checked, this is my house, and I can walk wherever I want.”

“You know exactly what I mean,” you mutter, avoiding his gaze and staring at your toes. Mingi gently lifts your chin, forcing you to look at him again.

“I thought you liked it when I touched you.” He tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his hand slowly trailing down your shoulder, along your arm, until his fingers entwine with yours.

“We shouldn’t…” your voice falters. “Yena is—”

“I know, but I can’t help it sometimes.”

﹒ ◠ ✩ wooyoung ⊹ ﹒

He’s never been the type of guy to care about his friend’s girlfriend. It’s one of the most disloyal things you could do to a friendship. But when it comes to you, Wooyoung loses every last shred of honesty within himself. Falling for you was never part of his plan, and he tried everything he could to push those feelings away. If he had known that taking care of you when his friend messed up would spark such a dangerous affection, he would have let you handle your problems on your own. You, on the other hand, are deeply grateful for the countless times Wooyoung has saved you, and for showing you that love isn’t what you thought it was. All the lingering hugs, unfinished sentences, and the longing to give in to something forbidden have made you both question how much you're willing to sacrifice for each other.

“Every time I see you, I have to remind myself that you’re not mine,” he says, standing just far enough away to keep himself from giving in to his darker desires. He’s held back all this time, never crossing the line—but here you are, at his doorstep on a Saturday night, minutes after his best friend just left your house.

“So please, don’t make this harder than it already is.”

“And you think it’s easy for me?!” you explode, pushing his chest hard enough to make him stumble back a couple of steps. “You decide one night that you’re going to cut me out of your life, and you expect me not to react?”

Wooyoung grabs your arms, stopping you from hitting him again. “I’m trying to make things easier,” his eyes fill with tears, or maybe it’s yours—both of you just staring at each other, struggling not to sob out loud. You finally weaken, collapsing against his chest, muffling the sound of your pain as Wooyoung holds you tight, the way he always does.

“There’s no easy way out of this. No matter what we decide, someone’s going to end up hurt.”

﹒ ◠ ✩ jongho ⊹ ﹒

The life of a celebrity isn’t always glamorous. The fear of appearing in the tabloids caught in a dating scandal can feel more terrifying than the fear of death itself. After appearing on a variety show with you, Jongho developed a silly crush that, over time—fueled by risky texts during award shows and innocent meetups while everyone else was asleep—grew into something much bigger. To keep things discreet, you both decided to act indifferent toward each other, even though it’s become nearly impossible for him.

“Every moment we spend together is a risk, but I just can’t stay away,” Jongho says as he plants a flurry of kisses across your face. He made sure to clear out everyone from the dressing room just to have a few minutes alone with you before the show.

You laugh, trying to pull away from his eager touch to keep him from messing up your appearance. “Jongho! I have a performance in half an hour. You can’t mess up my makeup!”

He immediately steps back, placing his hands behind his back in an exaggerated effort to keep them off you. “You’re right. Sorry.”

“We’ll see each other later, okay?” You give him a playful, reassuring smile.

“Okay, I’ll try not to die until then.”

#ateez scenarios #ateez headcanons #ateez fluff #ateez smau #ateez fanfic #ateez x you #hongjoong x reader #seonghwa x reader #yunho x reader #yeosang x reader #choi san x reader #mingi x reader #wooyoung x reader #jongho x reader #ateez fanfiction #ateez texts #ateez reactions #ateez imagines

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ofteacupsandclocks · 3 months ago

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There are a lot of different themes in Hannibal but there’s one I haven’t seen talked about a lot.

Hannibal is a wonderful metaphor for the destructive, excessive indulgence of the upper class.

Hannibal is the very pinnacle of indulgence. He is the aristocracy, the wealthy elite.

And he is hedonism personified.

He is a count. He is rich beyond belief - and unafraid to flaunt the wealth purchasing the finest things in life. He savours life - indulges in all the finest things: the finest properties, the finest clothes, the finest wines. He is a serial killer - out of pleasure, killing because he can. He is a cannibal - not out of necessity but out of his sense of superiority. He is indulgent.

The elite consumes those below them both metaphorically and physically. Countless people have been trampled under finely polished shoes. Have been worked to the bone, used and abused and then discarded both by aristocracy in the olden days and the wealthiest 1% now.

It is also interesting how Hannibal kills those he considers rude. Manners are something the elite often uses as an indicator to separate themselves from the pigs below them. Those who were uneducated in proper manners are seen as beneath them.

Additionally it is much easier to adhere to niceties and formalities and pleasantries when you do not have anything to worry about. When you have enough money and connections to make any problem simply go away. But to someone who has just finished working their second job, someone who is tired and hungry and thirsty a simple smile at a stranger may take up unbearable much effort. It is unfair, cruel to hold such a person to the same standard of “niceties” as someone who has never had to worry a day in their life.

But much like the elite in real life Hannibal accepts no excuses for such behaviour. He sentences people to death based on a minute impression they had on him. A single wrong word, a single twist of the expression a single shift in tone could be a death sentence.

Perhaps the only thing that distinguishes Hannibal from the elite, makes him more palatable and more likeable is that he just as readily consumes people from his social circle. He is equally ready to consume anyone who stands in his way regardless of self their social standing. And he follows an albeit entirely messed up yet strict not-quite-moral code. He sees Mason’s cruelty towards children and towards his sister as discourteous. He punishes a councilman who destroyed a natural habitat. So even though Hannibal does not show mercy to other people he does seem inclined to protect the weak.

#this is a bit of a more serious post than my usual stuff #still it’s something I felt needed to be said #I think I would like Hannibal much less if he hunted exclusively the poor #or if we didn’t get these small bits of not-quite-humanity but something #anyway enjoy #hannibal lecter #hannibal #nbc hannibal #overanalyzing #again

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thecharacterchronicler · 10 months ago

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Playing With Fire (Part 1) || Coriolanus Snow || Smut

Outline: Coriolanus is forced to work on an assignment with a classmate but, while alone in her bedroom, he finds something interesting in her drawers and requests a demo.

Word count: 4’700

Warnings: mostly unhinged, explicit and shameless smut.

Author’s note: this is prompt 20 from my list, it was meant to be written as a one shot but not only am I not capable of writing short stories when it comes to Coriolanus Snow, I also happen to be absolutely incapable of not making it a series so there is a part 2 to this! 🖤

(( Part 2 ))

It had to be her.

Their professor had decided to pair up his students himself for once, forcing Coriolanus to work with her instead of Clemensia, like he usually did. He was fairly certain that it was a provocation from his professor, a way of getting him to drop from his position as top of his class, or maybe just a twisted experiment meant to amuse him, who knew ? But one thing Coriolanus knew for sure was that he wasn’t amused at all to be walking through the city to go to her house after class, there wasn’t many people he didn’t get along with but she was a rare exception.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like her, if anything, he didn’t care much about her at all, they didn’t hang out with the same people, nor did they have anything in common to discuss so they basically were strangers to each other.

No, what actually made him despite the fact that he had been paired up with her was that she was one of those self righteous people who had strong opinions when it came to the morality of the Hunger Games. Maybe it was because she used to live in the districts before her wealthy parents moved back to the Capitol ?

For some reason, she couldn’t help but be very vocal about the way the Capitol treated the districts, as if they hadn’t attacked them first and caused such chaos! For Coriolanus, the things she sometimes said in class were close to being considered treason and he couldn’t understand how such a wealthy and powerful heiress could ruin her reputation for a question of dubious morales…

Coriolanus stopped in front of the imposing gates of a luxurious manor, in the nicest part of the city. The garden surrounding the modern building was lush and green, contrasting with the gray of the city in the horizon and the burnt grass of less cared for gardens in the neighborhood. He shook his head, still finding it quite unfair that she had been blessed with such wealth and luxury when he had spent so many years having barely anything to eat on his plate.

He rang at the gate and announced himself through a microphone. For a moment, he wasn’t even sure he’d be allowed in, the security around the manor seemingly high and strict. But the gates finally opened for him and he walked towards the main doors, ready to press another button to announce his arrival but they opened before he was able to, revealing a middle aged woman, in designer clothes, excitedly smiling at him.

“Coriolanus Snow, is it ?” She purred, eyeing the university student from head to toe, punctuating her analysis with a discreet nod of approval. “I was told you’re here to see my daughter ? What does the son of the legendary Crassus Snow wants from her ?”

“I’m here to work on a project with her. For class.” He clarified, with a charming smile that seemed to make her melt.

If at first he thought she was interrogating him on his intentions because she was worried, he now realized that the disappointment on her face could only mean that she was hoping for another answer. Perhaps she believed that he was here to court her daughter ? …What a ridiculous idea.

“Oh, of course, my sweet girl is such a dedicated student.” She replied, nodding at herself. “She’s brilliant isn’t she ? So outspoken and smart. I’m often told that she’ll make a wonderful wife when the times comes…”

She looked at him, waiting for some kind of response but he wasn’t sure of what to say.

“You’re late.” The familiar voice of his classmate stated, coming from the imposing double staircase in the hallway behind the silhouette of her mother, still blocking Coriolanus at the door.

He would have almost felt relieved to hear her if he didn’t hate everything about her.

“My apologies, our driver was sick and needed to go home so I walked.” He lied, making the mother gasp in horror while the daughter simply rolled her eyes.

“My goodness, you walked ?! In such scorching heat ?” She exclaimed, looking as if she was about to pass out from shock. “Oh please, don’t hesitate to let me know when you are done with your project so our driver can take you home, perhaps you could even dine with us tonight ? I’m sure my husband would love to meet you, our daughter needs…”

“Needs to work on her project, mother.” She interrupted, visibly annoyed.

“I’d hate to make her wait any longer.” Coriolanus told the lady, as an excuse to finally enter the house and join his classmate inside, although he surely couldn’t care less about her and the disapproving glance she was throwing at him.

“Of course, of course…” The mother moved out of the way and he slipped inside, hurriedly climbing the stairs as if he was running away from the talktative lady of the house, straight to the brooding heiress.

“I told you to be here at 5 because she would still have been shopping in town and wouldn’t even have known that you had been here.” She whispered, once he was just a few steps away from her.

“I’m sorry but what else was I supposed to do ? Don’t tell me the advocate of less fortunate citizens that you are would have wanted me to force our sick driver to still do his job and get me here on time…”

She looked at him and he couldn’t help but smile. He had her there, stunning her enough with his remark to leave her speechless.

Silently, she led him upstairs and walked down a long corridor to a door at the very end of it. She pushed it open, revealing a bedroom bigger than the apartment Coriolanus and his family used to live in. There was a bed larger and with more pillows and sheets than she could possibly need, a desk and modern bookshelves lining the walls, and a large window displaying the nicest view of the Capitol he had ever seen, even the president probably didn’t get to see such a magnificent scenery from his bedroom.

“What are you gaping at ?” She asked him, her tone still annoyingly upset. “Do I have to remind you - again - that we have an assignment to work on ?”

Coriolanus resisted the urge to roll his eyes at her and instead, decided to smile in a way he knew usually won everyone over to his cause. But she, as always, didn’t seem very receptive to it. She didn’t even bother to politely smirk back at him, sitting down at her desk and taking out her studying material with a loud, obnoxious, sigh.

He sat next to her and fix his gaze to the white paper in front of her, on which she only had written the title of their project for now. It was no surprise that the assignment they had been given revolved around the Hunger Games. Coriolanus knew that Dr Gaul and her team liked to get the opinions of university and academy students alike from time to times, in hopes of finding new ideas to improve the games. All they had to do was write down a few suggestions, detail why they believed it could work and then it would be done, they’d never have to speak to each other ever again… Except that their point of view on the Hunger Games were completely opposed to each other, and that was the very reason why Coriolanus believed their professor wanted to mess with him by pairing him up with her.

“I think the tributes shouldn’t be on display for all to see at the zoo, they are not animals.” She started. And once again, he had to resist his urge to roll his eyes at her.

“Having them there is a good way to get people to be interested in them.” He countered, wondering if all her ideas would be as counterproductive as this one.

“Maybe but they deserve some dignity… The Capitol could have them stay in comfortable bedrooms, give them some privacy and not mix them all together to avoid accidents…” She continued, and maybe she had a point when it came to that last argument. “Imagine being treated like an animal when you are already tired, starving and afraid! People were talking about you being a great mentor a few years ago, they said you brought them food so you know that it’s not right...”

“Feeding them would give them enough strength to fight and in turns, it might give us a better show.” He thought, out loud.

“That’s not what I’m suggesting.” She protested, clearly upset that the only thing he seemed to care about was making the games even worst.

“No, indeed, you are suggesting we treat rebels who have no shame and no hesitation when attacking us and killing our people, with more honor than what they deserve.”

“Because they still are human beings! And the tributes are just children, they didn’t do anything wrong…”

“The districts attacked the Capitol!” He exclaimed, unable to understand why she defended people who perpetuated such cruel acts.

“But children have no say in politics, they are innocents! If we put some notorious criminals in there instead, then maybe it’ll be more fair, especially if the idea is to punish the rebels for their crimes.”

“Children are sent into the arena to represent all the innocent lives we lost during the war, changing that wouldn’t make sense…”

“But it’s barbaric !” She protested, clearly disgusted by his point of view.

“It’s fair!” He riposted, determined to not let her point of view on the matter affect the quality of their assignment.

She opened her mouth, ready to counter with something but the voice of her mother, calling her name from behind the door interrupted her. She was fuming, her brows furrowed in disapproval and her knuckles white with frustration as she got up and excused herself to go open her bedroom door for her intrusive mother.

“Did you think about offering your friend some tea and scones ? Or maybe a saltier snack ? It’s not every day that you get such an opportunity to make a good impression on a man of his rank, did you remember to mention that your father is studying some marriage arrangements for you?” The mother said, whispering but he still heard every word of it. She glanced over her shoulder with embarrassment, fully aware that her mother wasn’t exactly being discreet so she stepped out of her room and closed the door behind her, hoping to make their conversation more private.

Coriolanus chuckled and moved the piece of paper in front of him, pondering which of his ideas he should present first. Surely, he couldn’t let her write her own, it would cost him his position as top of the class and might even flag him as a potential traitor if he showed this much mercy to the districts and their tributes.

He shook his head as he thought about the things she said, wondering how she could possibly think that she could get away with such ideas on their assignment. Even if the Hunger Games were revolting and barbaric in her eyes, it would have been smarter on her part to simply comply to what the university expected of her… But Coriolanus guessed she had nothing to worry about with a family as wealthy and powerful as hers, she could go on and protest against the Games, defend criminals and rebels and get away with it with a single word from her all mighty father… In many ways she reminded him of a certain boy he used to know, back during his Academy days. The kind to do foolish things and end up hanging from a tree in a public place.

Lost in his thoughts, unwanted memories filling his head, his pencil ripped on the page, a sharp line ruining the neat start of his presentation. He sighed and looked around, in search of an eraser to try and fix his unaesthetic mistake. He foraged through the compartiments of the desk, finding an exaggerated amount of study supplies and notebooks in each one but not a single item he could use to fix the page.

He sighed again as he moved to open the last drawer, forcing it a bit as it seemed blocked by a plastic box. Intrigued, he pulled it out and opened it, peeking inside despite knowing full well that he surely wouldn’t find what he was looking for in there. But his curiosity simply got the best of him, after all, he wanted - no, needed - to know what kind of dirty secret a woman like her may hide. Because if there was something he had learned in the past few years, it was that he was better off knowing everybody’s secrets in case he found himself in need of leverage.

He wasn’t disappointed when he saw what was inside the box, his eyes growing wide and his mouth hanging open as he took a closer look at the toy hidden in the box. It was shaped like a penis, making its purpose pretty clear. He felt his whole body tingle at the sight of such an unexpected discovery, his mind going blank when he realized that the toy was roughly the same size as his own cock. Even the veins on the shaft and the soft pink head resembled his, a realization that caused his imagination to run wild with images of her using this toy to pleasure herself. Did she like the feel of the veins rubbing against her walls ? Did her pussy have to stretch to accommodate for such a big toy or was she so used to it that it fitted her like a glove by now ? And if it did, did it mean that his own cock would fit effortlessly inside her too ? There was no way she could know what his cock was like, yet with an ego like his, he couldn’t help but wonder if she had chosen this toy in particular because it was almost a perfect replica of him, a device to train herself to take his whole size in, perfectly.

Her footsteps and the door opening pulled him out of his contemplation. He shoved the toy back in its box and threw the plastic container across the room. It landed on the bed, next to a pillow that slightly concealed it.

She walked through her bedroom and sat back down at the desk without noticing the blush on her classmate’s cheeks or the bulge in his pants.

“My mother insists that you stay to have dinner with us, she wants you to meet my father. I said you had other plans but she won’t listen.” She sighed, grabbing a pen from one of the drawers he had explored. “But before thinking about dinner, maybe we should at least get started on this assignment.”

He watched her, his perception of her completely altered by what he had discovered hidden in her desk. Now all he could think about was her, using her replica of his cock to pleasure herself multiple times a day.

“Well, I thought about your idea of sending criminals into the arena, I don’t think it will be good enough for our professors but if it’s important to you, we can write it down…” He offered, deciding that being in her good graces might help his cause.

She raised an eyebrow, sucpiciously glaring back at him.

“And what exactly would this great act of generosity on your part cost me ?” She demanded, crossing her arms over her chest in a way that made her cleavage even more voluminous.

“What makes you think I’ll ask for something in exchange ?” Coriolanus asked her, really struggling to look at her beautiful eyes and not lower below her neck.

“My father’s a businessman, I know nothing is ever free.” She stated and he couldn’t help but grin at her answer, it was the first smart thing he had ever heard her say and it happened to align perfectly with the way he viewed the world too.

Instead of answering, he leaned down, his hand brushing over the last drawer of her desk, causing the young woman to jump off her seat in panic.

“Don’t!” She warned, ready to throw herself between him and the content of her secret box to keep him from seeing what was inside… Buf from the amused smirk that instantly appeared on his face, she understood that somehow, he already knew. “Did you go through my stuff ?!”

“I was looking for an eraser.” He justified, which was the truth after all.

“Then you should have asked, not rummaged around in my bedroom !” She fumed. She opened the drawer in question herself, instantly blanching as she found it empty.

“So here’s the deal, I’ll write down your idea on our paper but in exchange, I want to see how you use your big toy to make yourself feel good.”

She stayed silent for a moment, looking at him with a mix of mortification and anger.

“You can’t be serious.” She finally said, hesitating between a scoff or a slap across his face.

“Oh I’m very serious when it comes to making deals.” He assured her, leaning back on his chair in a victorious stance.

“Alright… What do you want to know ?” She asked, still slightly hesitant.

“I don’t want you to tell me about it, I want a demo.”

“You…” She started, but the embarrassment that she felt stopped her from finishing her sentence, her cheeks turning crimson when she finally spotted her precious box on her bedsheet. “You’ll put my idea on our assignment and defend it in front of our professors ? In front of Dr Gaul if it’s considered worth being transferred to her ?”

“I will.” He promised, doing his best to not scoff at how naive she was. There was no way Dr Gaul would ever be interested in her ridiculous ideas to care for the tributes, all the head game maker wanted was more blood and gore to serve as an example for years to come.

She nodded and took a deep breath, standing straighter and holding her head high like a true lady of the high society of Panem as she walked to her bed. She sat on the edge, gulping down her anxiety as she reached for the plastic box and retrieved her very realistic looking toy.

Coriolanus sat straighter on his chair in anticipation of the show that he was about to witness, all the blood in his veins suddenly changing course and rushing to his cock instead, making it even harder and bigger as it strained against the fabric of his white pants.

It took her another couple of minutes to start moving again, very visibly at war with herself about it all. When she finally moved to tug her pants off and closed her eyes as she brought the toy to her lips, Coriolanus already felt on the edge of bursting into his pants.

He shuddered as he watched her suck on the pink tip with hunger, giving him a clear picture of what it would look like if he ever had the opportunity to fuck her pretty mouth. Drops of saliva escaped from her lips, rolling down the veiny length she tightly held in her fist. He was watching so attentively, he could almost feel everything on his own cock, begging to replace the toy already. But he behaved, not interrupting her until she stopped licking the toy, satisfied with the amount of saliva she had coated it in.

He saw her fingers caressing their way down her stomach with still a bit of uncertainty. Then, she tugged her panties aside, revealing her perfect pussy to him. Once again, his mind went blank with shock as he observed the shiny sheen that coated her skin, a clear sign that, despite exceptionally having a spectator this time, she still was pretty aroused at the thought of fucking herself with her big toy.

She pushed the tip of the fake cock between her folds, moving it up and down a few times to spread her arousal and the saliva still coating the silicone further. It seemed pleasurable already, making her close her eyes again and lean back down on her bed, her legs folded against her stomach, giving her attentive onlooker the best view possible of her wet pussy.

Finally, she pushed the soft tip inside her, gasping as her hole stretched to welcome it in. Coriolanus shuddered again, the urge to touch himself in front of such a delightful show becoming almost unbearable. He dug his nails into the armrests of his chair, focusing his pale gaze on the length of the toy slowly disappearing as it entered her and stretched her out wider and wider.

Her breathing was loud and sharp, her belly rising and falling almost in synch with the movements of her hand, pulling the toy in and out of her, agonizingly slowly at first. Did she like to be teased ? Or was she simply the kind of girl that needed to take it slow ? Coriolanus couldn’t quite decide but the one thing he knew without the shadow of a doubt was that, if it had been him and not some kind of silicone replica that she had full control over, he wouldn’t have been as patient and gentle with her.

Eventually, her toes curled and she sounded like she was struggling to be silent, biting down on her lower lip as she arched her back and came with a desperate whimper.

Even if it had been a bit too slow and soft for his taste, it still had been a lovely demonstration. She knew her body so well that it didn’t take long for her to climax, but he was still curious to see more. So much more.

She sat back straight on her bed, after pulling the toy out of her. A shiny layer of her arousal still covered the pink synthetic material. Her face was flushed and she didn’t dare to look at Coriolanus right away, awkwardly pulling her panties back in place instead.

“I’m not sure if you fully held your end of the deal.” He stated and she glanced at him, still lightly panting.

“What else did you expect me to do ?” She asked, her tone frustrated and breathless.

“Well, I’m sure you know better ways to put that suction cup in good use.” He remarked, pointing at the round end of the toy. She looked at it, as if she needed to make sure it was indeed a thing and blushed, her face turning a few shades darker, making his imagination run wild with possibilities, surely if that was her reaction, she must have been doing some even filthier things with the help of that suction cup to hold her toy in place. “Show me.”

His voice was low and commanding which didn’t leave her any opportunity to protest. Or maybe it was just because she actually enjoyed being the center of his attention, showing him her body and the delicious things it could do in a controlled way.

She stood up, bringing her hand to her mouth and spitting in her palm. She used her saliva to prepare the suction cup to stick, but Coriolanus’s body was reacting in a whole different way to such a suggestive gesture.

He had expected her to stick her toy up in the shower, or maybe on the shiny surface of her desk, but never had he imagined she would glue it to the large window behind which the sun was setting on the Capitol.

He admired the curves of her body, her ass still cupped by her wet panties and his need for relief became almost painful. His cock was begging to cum inside her warm pussy and yet, she preferred to be fucked by a plastic toy mimicking his size.

This time, she pushed her panties down to her knees and turned her back to the window. She took a few careful steps backwards and impaled herself on her toy, her gasp of pleasure loudly resounding through her bedroom, making his cock twitch with despair still constricted inside his pants.

She seemed to enjoy herself even more this way, getting fucked from behind with her legs closed and the whole city to witness how her dripping cunt swallowed the replica, over and over again as she rocked her hips back and forth.

“Are you not concerned someone might see you ?” Coriolanus couldn’t help but ask, wondering if - if he managed to sneak into her street at night - he might be able to watch her from the sidewalk across the street as she used her window as a prop for pleasuring herself.

“Not really, the possibility of being watched by strangers always sounded pretty exciting to me.” She admitted, so caught up in the intensity of the pleasure she was giving herself that she didn’t care about being embarassed anymore, shamelessly pleasuring herself as she even held his gaze with defiance.

She squeezed her round boobs with each of her hands, leaning slightly forward as her legs started trembling from her efforts. She was so close to him, it would have been easy for him to pull his erection out and force her to take it into her mouth as she’d keep rocking herself against her toy. They both would have enjoyed it immensely, but Coriolanus Snow was a gentleman and, as his request had only been about watching and not touching, he made sure to respect it, even if it pretty much equaled torture.

A few desperate cries escaped her lips as they still kept their gaze glued to each other and the sticky sounds of the toy thrusting inside her soaked pussy filling the room were enough to make his cock unload itself inside his pants, the warmth spreading over the fabric as it kept coming out like an erupting volcano, making him feel pretty miserable about it all. She hadn’t even touched him after all.

It didn’t take long for her to follow him into a blissful climax, her breathing becoming so erratic that it almost sounded like she was suffocating until she fully pushed herself back, fully leaning her body against the window, the toy completely buried inside her as she whimpered even louder, shaking with pleasure and relief.

“Coriolanus.” She breathed, as she shook with violent spasms of pleasure and another load of wasted cum pooled in his pants at the sound of his name on her lips. Was she thinking about him ? Imagining that it was him who was fucking her from behind ? Or was she just attempting to speak to him and tell him that the demo was over now ? Whatever it may be, he was pretty sure that he’d never forget such a lovely sound, a melody to his ears.

“Can we… Get back to… Our assignment now ?” She asked, breathlessly as she once again pulled the toy out of her and put her panties back on.

“Of course.” He nodded, glad that she didn’t notice the wet spot on his pants. He didn’t want to seem pathetic for coming undone without any help.

She put her pants back on and abandoned her wet toy on top of her bed and, despite the relief he got, it took Coriolanus all his willpower to not attempt to fuck his classmate on top of her desk for good measure. But, charming as always, he behaved, even letting her believe that the show she had given him didn’t have much of an effect on him and only served to satisfy his curiosity… Little did she know that, as soon as he got back home that evening and after he rewrote their entire paper, he spent hours pumping his cock and milking every last drop of cum out of his body while thinking about her perfect curves and the delightful sounds she made when she was getting fucked by what could have been his own cock.

♡ - (( Tip Jar )) - ♡

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fresidoll · 3 months ago

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★ COLLEGE EREN GENERAL HEADCANONS

.ᐟ General headcanons of Eren as a college boy

.ᐟ ModernEren!

.ᐟ Content warnings none

.ᐟ Word count 1.14k

.ᐟ A/N english it's not my first language so there may be some spelling mistakes. This might be quite long because i tend to rant and it’s also my first work;(

☆ First off, Eren for sure comes from a rich family. His family from his father’s side comes from generations and generations of inherited wealth with inherited business, companies or associations that add more to the current patrimony of the Jaeger family. Even if he was born with a silver spoon on his mouth, Eren isn’t a petty brat about it. Thanks to his mom's good education and gentle nature, Eren doesn’t like to brag about the money his family has and always uses the money he gets from his parents wisely.

☆ There was a little bit of nepotism involved when he was admitted in college. Since his father is well known and knows a bunch of important people all round the world, Eren’s last name didn’t go unnoticed and even if he didn’t get a very good grade in the Math part in the entrance exam, he got in automatically. But even if he didn’t do great in Math, he nailed everything else in the exam so that’s why nepotism was used but very little.

☆ He shares a room with Jean. The influence of his father had limited use so he didn’t got to choose his roommate and ended up in a room with a guy that seemed to dislike him from the very start. Jean also came from a wealthy family but unlike Eren, Jean seemed to be more spoiled and smug which caused Eren’s dislike towards him, which resulted in Jean disliking Eren for thinking he was better than him. For the first month of sharing the room they were constantly arguing about who made was more messy, who took the other’s stuff, who was taking more space of the room, who took the other’s food from the mini fridge and stuff like that, but after that month, the got to tolerate each other eventually and then they became kind of friends even if they won’t admit it.

☆ Him, Armin and Mikasa are childhood friends so of course they ended up in the same school because their parents are friends and it was bound to happen. Eren and Armin are on the same dorm floor so it’s usual for them to walk out together and meet Mikasa halfway from her dorm building. They are always hanging out together, it's a rare sight to not see the three of them or to see one of them by themselves. Even if they formed a group of friends, they three are stuck like glue and it’s very likely that if the group of friends tears apart, they still will be a trio.

☆ I think that it’s very likely that Eren would either pursue a degree in law, arts or in medical sciences following his father’s steps. Growing up going with his father at work at the hospital he works in, Eren learned a lot of things involving medical terms, basic procedures and the names and how medical instruments worked, and on top of that, he showed an aptitude for handling emergencies and medical crises so medical sciences seems like the perfect degree for him. Since Eren it’s someone that has very strong morals and a very strong sense of justice, law it’s a very asserted degree for him to pursue. I think being a lawyer would be a good choice since Eren has a good ability for talking and thinking fast. And arts, i think Eren could choose arts because it’s something he actually likes but i see him pursuing this degree more as a side career or more like a kind of hobby he wants to master. I feel he’s good with instruments like piano, guitar and violin. He also has a very good voice that he can control very well, so singing it’s an ability of his. I also think he may be good at drawing and painting, he wouldn’t be an ace but he has some talent he could polish and he would become very good at it. Eren really loves all forms of art so pursuing an art degree would be something he does from the heart more than anything.

☆ If Eren doesn't pursue a degree in arts, it’s very likely that he joins a club involving arts like music, painting or even theatre. He’s a very creative person with abilities he’s very interested to polish and to explore the highest potential of them, he would be very devoted to the branch of arts he will choose to pursue and would give his all and literally would pour his heart out in every creation he makes. I think it would also be very likely that he would chose to start a band of his own *wink, wink *

☆ Now, he’s actually intelligent academically speaking but he totally sucks at Math. Eren is a letter’s person and all the subjects like English, History, Languages are very easy to understand and he always gets perfect grades in their exams, projects and presentations. He even tutors Connie and Sasha in those subjects, sometimes in exchange of buying him his lunch or candy from the vending machines. But, Eren it’s a complete airhead in Math and in any subject that has to do with numbers. He can do basic operations like addition, subtraction, multiplication and division and they are right most of the time but equations are another story. He can’t get inside his head how equations work, he always forgets the formulas and obviously always gets the results wrong. It doesn’t matter how much Armin tries to tutor him, Eren never seems to grasp how equations work. And for the record, on one of his Math exams he only got 3 questions right out of the 25 questions that were on the exam.

☆ Lastly, he was very homesick for the first two weeks of his college life. He missed his parents a lot (he missed his mom way more than his dad) and would be constantly texting them and he would spare some of his free time to call his mom just to hear her voice even just for a few minutes. He even cried some days when thing would get too overwhelming and sometimes he even thought of going back home even if he didn’t really was actually considering doing it. His homesickness went away as the days passed and he got used to the new stage of his life, and also thanks to the baked sweets his mom sended to him every week. By the way, his mom sends him baked sweets every week because she used to bake very often for Eren and now she can’t get out of the habit, and also because she misses her baby too much and baking it’s her way of telling Eren how much she loves him even if he’s away from home.

A/N; i think i ranted a lot buy luckily it wasn't so boring;( i loved to write this btw ✨

#eren headcanons #aot headcanons #eren jaeger #eren yeager #modern!eren #modern!au #eren fic #eren aot #eren x reader #boyfriend eren #modern eren #modern au #୨🍓MODERN｡˚EREN🍰୧

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steddieasitgoes · 2 years ago

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written for @steddiemas Day 1: Deck the Halls read on ao3 | ao3 collection

Steve’s annoyed.

More than annoyed, really.

He’s supposed to be at the Munson’s, sitting between Wayne and Eddie, watching the Hoosiers play. Well, trying to watch the game, at least. Eddie has a habit of dozing off before the first quarter ends, head thunking against Steve’s shoulder so he can’t move for the rest of the game.

But no.

His mom just had to call and demand he set up their stupid Christmas tree before she and his dad get home tonight because the annual Harrington Holiday House party is this weekend, and she doesn’t have time to do it herself. Honestly, he’s surprised she’s trusting him enough to decorate the thing. He can count on one hand how many times he was allowed to hang an ornament on the statement piece in their living room.

He can’t even celebrate the decorating victory, though, because he’s still trying to assemble the goddamn thing. Nine-foot trees really aren’t meant to be set up by one person. At least, that’s what Steve’s learning as he tries to balance the next segment of the tree over his shoulder as he climbs up the ladder.

Focused on not falling, Steve doesn’t hear the front door open or the stomps of boots coming into the room. It isn’t until Eddie tuts does Steve startles, nearly toppling over.

“Woah, there big boy,” Eddie teases, reaching out to steady the ladder. “Don’t fall.”

“Don’t scare me then,” Steve snaps. It takes a moment, but he manages to get the next piece into the slot before carefully climbing down the ladder.

“Christ, someone’s feisty today,” Eddie says, hands up in surrender. “I guess it’s a good thing you bailed on me and Wayne to uh…” He glances at the half-assembled tree in the middle of the room. “What are you doing exactly?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Building a stupid Christmas tree.”

“I’m sorry, you what?” Eddie asks, shaking his head. “You can’t build trees. You grow trees.”

Steve snorts. “It’s an artificial tree, Eds. My mom called as I was headed out to your place. Said I needed to get the stupid thing up and fluffed before she got home tonight because she needs a full three days to decorate the damn thing for the annual Harrington Holiday House party.”

“This thing is blasphemous!” Eddie says, circling it like a predator stalking its prey. “I thought rich people love Christmas trees. Don’t you like custom order the biggest one to show off your wealth?”

“Uh, no? My mom says real trees make too much of a mess.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Eddie says, abandoning the tree as he stalks towards Steve. “You mean to tell me you’ve never had a real tree before? Is that what you’re telling me?”

“You’re being weird,” Steve says, shaking Eddie’s hands off his shoulder.

“I am not being weird. You’re being weird. You’ve never had a Christmas tree! Do you even know what they smell like? Steve, you haven’t lived until you’ve smelt a freshly cut down Christmas tree!”

“Jesus, I didn’t know you were so passionate about this,” Steve snorts.

“You think this is bad. Wait until I tell Wayne. He’s going to flip out!”

“Wayne has never flipped out in his life.”

“Yeah, well, there’s a first for everything.” Eddie crosses his arms and then immediately uncrosses them, clapping his hands instead. “That’s it. You’re coming with us this year. Don’t make plans for next Friday! I’m stealing your Christmas tree virginity.”

“Don’t say it like that,” Steve groans, wrinkling his nose. “But fine, I’ll go with you. If you help me with this thing.”

“I don’t think that’s a fair trade-off, Stevie.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t really give a shit,” Steve says, bending down for the next segment of the tree. “Now grab an end.”

Steve yelps when he feels a firm hand squeeze his ass. All it takes is one deathly glare over his shoulder for Eddie to stop cackling and get serious.

🎄 🎄 🎄

“I’m going to sue your family,” Eddie whines, collapsing on the couch a few hours later.

“Don’t be a baby,” Steve scolds before dashing off into the living room to grab a couple of beers.

“Excuse me! That thing attacked me! Multiple times! Look at the evidence,” Eddie shouts, yanking up the sleeves of his Hellfire shirt to examine a dozen or so scratch marks up and down his forearms. “And don’t even get me started on my hands! How am I supposed to play guitar, Steven!”

“I told you to wear gloves,” Steve shrugs, returning to the room. He passes Eddie the cold can of beer before sinking into the couch beside him.

“I shouldn’t need gloves because you shouldn’t need to fluff a tree! They already come fluffed because they’re not rotting away in a box all year.”

“You poor thing,” Steve playfully tuts. “Guess I can’t hold your hand now since they’re so beaten up.”

“I never said that,” Eddie squawks as he yanks Steve’s hand into his own.

They sit in silence after that. Nursing their beers as the Christmas tree stands in its makeshift glory in front of them. Steve can tell which side he fluffed and which side Eddie did. The giant gap between the top two layers is obvious, and he knows he’s going to have to climb the ladder and fix it before his mom gets home, but that’s a problem for future Steve. Right now, he wants to sit here with his boyfriend even if his boyfriend is gearing up for another faux Christmas tree rant.

“Don’t tell me your mom is one of those people who only puts those stupid decorative ball things on the tree, too.”

“What do you think?” Steve says, hiding his smile behind the can of beer.

“Jesus H. Christ!”

🎄 🎄 🎄

It takes a bit of convincing and a formal invite from Wayne, but Steve keeps up his end of their deal, joining the Munsons on their quest for the perfect Christmas tree for the trailer.

Eddie has a habit of embellishing when he tells stories, but Merrill’s farm lives up to all the hype. As done, the process of selecting and chopping down the perfect tree. Steve gets stuck being the tie-breaking vote when Wayne and Eddie end up arguing over which tree to bring home. Naturally, Eddie throws a minor fit when Steve sides with Wayne, whining that he likes him better than his own boyfriend, which has Wayne rolling his eyes.

Steve gets to make the first chop but passes the ax off quickly. He doesn’t want to impede on their tradition any more than he has. Besides, axes have never been his thing. He prefers to swing bats instead.

“See, isn’t this much better than building a tree?” Eddie asks, slinging an arm over Steve’s shoulder as they stand off the side while Wayne pays.

“It definitely smells better.” Steve inhales deeply, scents of pine and hints of peppermint flooding his senses. Someone should bottle this stuff up and sell it as a cologne, he thinks. He’d definitely wear it.

“It’s easier, too.”

Steve scoffs. “Speak for yourself! You’re not the one who helped Wayne drag it all the way up here.”

Eddie laughs, eyes sparking mischievously. “Wait until you have to help him load it into the truck. That’s always the worst part.”

Steve eyes his boyfriend through squinted eyes. He ducks out of Eddie’s grasp and settles his hands on his hips. “You set me up! You just brought me here so you wouldn’t have to do manual work!”

“You wound me, Harrington,” Eddie gasps, clutching a hand over his heart as he staggers backward. “How can you think so lowly of me.”

“Because I know you, Munson,” Steve teases.

“Alright, alright, fine,” Eddie says, slinking over to Steve. “Maybe I had ulterior motives, but it's only fair after what I suffered helping you with that abomination you call a tree. At least now you’ve experienced a true Christmas tree experience.”

Steve can’t help but laugh, shaking his head as Eddie beams proudly at him.

“Ready to go, boys?” Wayne asks, rejoining them. They both nod, watching as Wayne makes his way over to the heavier side of the tree.

“You don’t have to carry it, Wayne,” Steve says, mischievous flooding his own veins. “Eddie and I will carry it to the car.”

“You bastard!”

“Hey,” Wayne scolds, swatting Eddie’s shoulder. “No swearin’ ‘round kids. I ain’t raise you like that.”

Steve bites the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing as he watches Eddie sigh dramatically before carefully shoving Wayne away from the tree. He waits for Eddie to follow his lead, squatting down before he counts them off. On three, they hoist the tree over their shoulders and start heading back out to the car.

🎄 🎄 🎄

“So, what do you think?” Eddie asks later, passing Steve a mug full of Wayne’s signature hot chocolate. “Is it better than your tree?”

Steve knows the answer immediately, but he takes a moment. Wants to make Eddie squirm as he admires the tree in front of him. It’s not perfect. It’s a little crooked, and there are hundreds of pine needles littering the floor. The lights are bright, though, and the branches are full of homemade and sentimental ornaments that span decades. A homemade star sits on top in lieu of the traditional angel. A star, Eddie tells him, he and his mom made by themselves the year before she got sick.

It’s perfectly imperfect.

His own traditional, straight out of the pages of a Home and Garden magazine doesn’t stand a chance against this one.

“Yeah, Eds. It’s better than my tree.”

“Victory!” Eddie shouts, nearly spilling his hot chocolate all over himself.

🎄 🎄 🎄

A month later, Steve’s belly is full of the Munson Christmas feast, but instead of lazily lounging on the couch enjoying his food baby, he’s carefully taking ornaments off of the dead Christmas tree that nearly caught fire twice since he’s been here.

“I take it back,” Steve says, carefully taking an ornament off of the dead tree. “Artificial trees are better.”

“They are not!” Eddie whines, wrapping the ornaments Steve hands him in tissue paper.

“I don’t know, Eds. I’ve never had to take down a tree on Christmas before!” he grumbles, reaching for another ornament. “This sucks.”

“It’s all your fault. If you chose my tree, it would have lived for another week! I just know it.”

“Sure it would have,” Steve snorts.

“Look on the bright side, at least we have firewood for the New Year's Eve bond fire now. We can’t do that with your stupid tree.”

“Nope, because I get to use my tree again next year, and you have to buy a new one. Think that’s another point for fake trees.”

Eddie screeches, wrapping his arms around Steve’s middle and tugging him off the ladder and onto the couch. Despite their full stomachs and tired eyes, they wrestle and laugh as Wayne shakes his head from the doorway, a light cigarette perched between his lips.

“Cut it out, you too,” he scolds when things get more heated between them. “Need it out before it really goes up in flames.”

#steddiemas #steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #steve harrington #steve harrington fic #eddie munson #eddie munson fic #dani writes

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knavesflames · 1 year ago

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Hi! Remember this?

I decided to finally make a part two. Unfortunately, no, there isn’t a happy ending. I tried and tried but couldn’t find anything that would let them be happy. The quality of this is also not as good as the first one, I fear. Alas, it is here. Hope you enjoy!

Word count: 1147

Contents: bro just sadness

utc!

Arlecchino doesn’t come home for hours. The night ticks on and for the first hour, you just sit there in tears, your outfit not at all matching, though that seems to be the least of your problems. By the second hour, your eyes and throat burn, and you feel like it’s almost impossible to stop crying, and you wonder if you ever will. You drag yourself out of the bed, the bed you’ve made love on so many times, the bed she has laid you on as she coaxed our every single orgasm you’ve ever had. The tangled bedsheets and what’s remaining of her imprint from her body is a cruel, painful reminder. A reminder that you are not the one she’s been in love with this entire time, that you were just a replacement.

You wander the halls of your home, a gigantic, lavish home. Much larger than it needs to be, really, but Arlecchino always loved to show off her wealth. You don’t look towards the walls, you know that you’ll only see many, many photos of you and Arlecchino. Ones you that you hung there, and you remember the grin on your face when they were in place. You remember how your smile faded slightly when Arlecchino replied with a simple “that’s nice, dear.” You assumed she was only tired. Every single thing you remember but ignored comes crashing onto you, and all you can do is stare at the floor like some pathetic dog being scolded for doing something they shouldn’t have. You feel pathetic, or worthless, or angry. You can’t really tell which when they all blend together. You pad around the hallways aimlessly, a hollow, miserable look in your eyes.

You find yourself in the bathroom, and one look at yourself breaks the dam and your eyes fill with tears again. You can only see her, yet you look nothing like her. Therein lies the problem, you realise. Your hair is not red, nor do you have her white headband. You stare at yourself, muttering hateful words until yourself is not yourself. Your reflection is just a blur and you can’t tell what you look like. Your fist clenches, and you understand you have to leave the bathroom before the mirror shatters over the floor. Sombrely heading towards the living room, you’re met with pure rage at the sight of the lumidouce bells. A scoff is heard from you as you notice the picture of you three right next to them. Yet again, it went unnoticed, or perhaps, ignored. In a fit of impulsivity, the photo frame crashes to the floor with a guttural scream of “I hate you!” And of course, the vase topples to the floor too. You give no fucks as to the fact it’s four in the morning, or that the neighbours will probably complain. Let them complain, you think.

Arlecchino finally comes through the door at 9am. Your face is so swollen and puffy she wonders if you’re even the same person. You hear rustling and look towards her. There, in her hands, lies a bouquet of lakelight lilies, and yet it stings more than ever before, being the second choice. But doesn’t it fit so well? Perhaps too well. You quickly look away to avoid the sixth batch of tears.

“Beautiful, aren’t they?”

A bitter laugh leaves your throat before you can even stop yourself, your gaze refusing to even glance in her direction, your voice practically a sneer.

“What, did they run out of my favourite?”

“Stop that. Please. You know I love you.”

How are you so angry, so hurt, yet your heart still beats for her? Her lips come to your forehead in a kiss, and there’s a whimper before you burst into quiet sobs again.

“You admitted you don’t. What am I to you? A friend, a lover, the way I thought we were? Or some sort of sick rebound?”

Arlecchino has a tendency to stay silent when someone is correct and she does not want to admit it. Maybe because she won’t can’t admit it to herself, maybe because she can’t see you cry anymore.

“You are a cruel woman, Peruere. You use me all these years, you pretend I am someone I am not, you ruin me, and yet I find myself choosing to wait for you to want me like a dog with a bird at the door. A stray dog chasing after any sort of attention you will give me, don’t you realise, you stupid woman? I whine for you and your affection and you choose to muzzle me and leave me at the side of the road to favour someone who died so long ago. Is that what I am to you? A mutt, waiting and ready for you to kick when you’re down?”

Your outburst is unexpected, the usually stoic and unfearing woman flinching at the sheer desperation in your words. Her lips begin to form your name, but you snarl, cutting her off.

“Call me for who you think I am. Strays and mutts cycle through names anyway, so why does it matter? Say it.”

When she doesn’t respond, your anger explodes, and you push the lilies out of her hand, trampling on them and shoving her over and over again as you demand that she calls you the name you know she’s been secretly calling you. If anyone were to push and shove her the way you’re doing, they’d be ash, a new spirit to haunt her in her dreams. Yet, she withstands it with a blank face, her eyes swirling with regret and sadness.

“Shall I bark for you, Peruere? Get on my knees and beg for you to pay attention to me? Would that make you feel better? Or shall I dye my hair red and buy a white headband, and wear that damned necklace I know you keep?”

Eventually her eyes close, and she mutters a word so quiet you almost can’t hear it over the sound of your rushing heart and your ragged breathing. Your eyes burn again, but you only wish you could burn her in her own flames until she herself becomes a spirit.

“Clervie.”

That seems to do it for you, barking out a harsh laugh that’s anything but happy. You move towards the door, sliding whatever shoes you can find on.

“Oh, my poor, mad, cursed knave. You live up to who people think you are, after all. When you’re dying in the war that will occur when your precious god gets what she wants, I hope you scream for me. I hope I’m there to watch.”

With your final words, you slam the door so hard it almost comes off of its hinges, leaving a stunned, hurt Arlecchino Peruere to clean up the mess of what she had caused, both physically and mentally, though she wonders if she ever could.

#knavesflames #Ayo sorry I am not happy with this #arlecchino #arlecchino angst #genshin x reader #genshin impact #arlecchino genshin #arlechinno genshin #arlechinno x reader #arle #genshin fanfic

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musicforastylesrestaurant · 2 years ago

Text

Saccharine Recoveries.

my masterlist || ask me anything <3

series masterlist.

authors note - a part two was highly requested, so here you all go! not going to lie to you all, i’m not the happiest with how this turned out, but writers block is a total bitch. i’m sorry if it doesn’t live up to your standards. 🫶

word count - 7.9k

in which, after being in a medically induced coma for the past four days, your eyes are finally open, just when your husband thinks that everything is rosie, trials and tribulations occur once again making the processes of your recovery ten times harder, but he’s optimistic and always looks on the bright side , even when that all comes crashing down.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Recovery Day One. — 15th August, 2022.

19:03pm.

“(Y/N)?” Harry spoke in a hushed whisper as you tried to smile at him.

The sensation of the tube in your throat was uncomfortable, a reminder of the ordeal you had endured. You instinctively reached for your voice, your lips parting to form words, but the effects of the coma lingered, rendering your efforts into silence.

A group of doctors entered the room, and your heart skipped a beat as they approached your bed. Dr. Parker, his eyes kind and understanding, stepped forward.

"Hello, Mrs. Styles," he greeted you with a gentle smile. "I'm glad to see you awake."

Your gaze shifted to Harry and Alfie, their expressions a mix of hope and concern. Your fingers trembled slightly as you lifted your hand, pointing toward them. A stray tear slid down the side of your face, its path traced by a mixture of emotions – relief, gratitude, and the unspoken words that your voice couldn't yet express.

Dr. Parker followed your gesture, his gaze softening as he understood. "Harry and Alfie are right here with you. They've been waiting for you to wake up."

Your lips curved into a faint smile, your eyes locking onto Harry's and then Alfie's. Your heart seemed to speak for you, conveying the depth of your emotions and the overwhelming love that surged within you. Your hand trembled slightly as it remained pointed toward them, the tear on your cheek a testament to the profound connection that held your family together.

Dr. Parker's voice carried a note of reassurance. "It's okay, Mrs. Styles. Take your time. Your body is still recovering from the coma, and your voice will return when it's ready."

As Dr. Parker finished his conversation with you, his gaze turned gentle and concerned. "Are you experiencing any pain, Mrs. Styles?"

You managed to summon the energy to nod your head slightly, a subtle indication that discomfort still lingered. The faintest flicker of concern crossed Harry's features as he watched your response.

"Where are you feeling the pain?" Dr. Parker's voice was soothing, his attention focused solely on your well-being.

Harry's grip on your hand tightened, his gaze fixated on you. "M’love, where does it ‘urt?"

You shifted slightly, your gaze fixed on Dr. Parker. Weakly, you managed to lift your hand and gesture toward your chest and ribs, the source of your discomfort.

Dr. Parker's expression turned thoughtful, and he nodded. "Thank you for letting me know. I'll make sure you receive the appropriate pain relief."

With a gentle smile, he turned to leave the room, leaving you and your two boys alone once again. Harry's eyes never left your face, his concern palpable.

"Darlin’, are y’okay?" Harry's voice was laced with worry, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on the back of your hand.

You managed a weak smile, your gaze never leaving his. The silent exchange between you carried a wealth of emotions, unspoken words of comfort and reassurance.

Dr. Parker returned with a nurse who began administering the prescribed pain relief. As the nurse worked, Dr. Parker approached your bedside once again.

"We'll make sure you're as comfortable as possible," Dr. Parker assured you. "Your body has been through a lot, and it's important that you're not in pain."

Harry's voice was a mixture of gratitude and concern. "Thank you, Doc."

Dr. Parker nodded, his attention shifting to you. "Rest is crucial for your recovery. If you need anything, don't hesitate to let us know."

As the nurse finished administering the pain relief, you felt a sense of relief wash over you. The tension in your body began to ease, and you gave Harry a small smile – a silent acknowledgment of his unwavering presence by your side.

"We'll be here with you, love," Harry's voice was filled with determination. "Every step of the way."

And as Dr. Parker and the nurse left the room, you found comfort in the knowledge that your journey to healing was not one you had to travel alone.

The doctors then turned their attention to the monitors, checking your vitals and heart rate. Their movements were methodical and practised, their focus on ensuring your well-being.

Satisfied with their assessments, Dr. Parker looked at you with a reassuring smile. "Your vitals are looking stable, (Y/N). Your body is responding well."

You managed a weak smile, your voice still struggling to find its strength.

"We're going to give you a moment with your family now," Dr. Parker continued, his tone considerate. "Harry and Alfie are here with you."

As the doctors began to step away, Harry's presence came into view. His eyes were fixed on you, a mixture of relief and emotion evident in his gaze. Alfie stood beside him, his expression a mix of curiosity and concern.

" ‘ey, m’sun," Harry's voice was a soft, soothing balm. "How are’y’feeling?"

You managed a faint smile, your fingers reaching out to Harry's hand. It was a small gesture, but it spoke volumes – a silent reassurance of your connection.

Alfie shuffled closer, his eyes wide with wonder. "Mummy?"

You offered Alfie a tender smile, your hand extending toward him. Your fingers lightly brushed against his, a gentle touch that conveyed your love and presence.

Harry's voice was a mixture of encouragement and understanding. "Y’safe now, (Y/N). We're all here with ya’.”

As the doctors left the room, the atmosphere settled into a quieter, more intimate calm. The warmth of Harry's hand in yours was a constant reassurance, a lifeline that tethered you to the present.

Harry's eyes, filled with a mixture of love and concern, never left your face. His voice, gentle and soothing, filled the silence. "Y’been asleep f’a lil’while, m’love. There's some catching up t’do."

Your gaze locked onto his, a flicker of anticipation in your eyes.

"M’postponed the American leg ‘f the tour," Harry began, his voice carrying the weight of the decision. "It jus’didn't feel right being on t’road without ya’."

The news hit you like a shockwave, and your eyes widened in disbelief. A tremor ran through your body, and you started to shake your head, your voice struggling to find its strength.

Harry reached for your hand, his touch grounding you. "M’know it's a lot, m’sun, but it was necessary. Our family comes first."

You searched his eyes, finding reassurance in the depth of his gaze. The unspoken promise of unity and support between you was unwavering.

Harry continued, his voice soft and filled with emotion. "M’mum flew over as soon as she heard. She wanted t’be here f’us, for Alfie. And Gem, she's flying out soon too. We're all in this together."

A sense of gratitude swelled within you, knowing that your family was rallying around you during this challenging time. The bond you shared with Harry and the love you held for your son were at the heart of it all.

As the conversation with Harry continued, Alfie, who had been sitting patiently by his father's side, leaned in and whispered something into Harry's ear. The words were hushed and filled with earnestness.

"Can I go and sit next to mummy?"

Harry's eyes softened with understanding as he glanced at his son. He nodded, a tender smile playing at the corners of his lips. " ‘f course, buddy."

With gentle hands, Harry lifted Alfie from his spot by his side and carefully placed him on the bed beside you. Alfie's little frame nestled against your side, and he instinctively shifted closer, seeking the comfort of your presence.

Your heart swelled with emotion as you felt Alfie's warmth against your body. The tenderness in his touch and the trust in his eyes were a testament to the special bond you shared. It was a moment of quiet connection, and even though you lacked the energy to cuddle him back, the love that flowed between you was palpable.

Harry watched the two of you with a soft smile, his heart undoubtedly touched by the sight of his son seeking solace in the arms of his recovering mother. It was a moment of unity, a reaffirmation of the strength of your family's bond.

19:30pm.

In the quiet stillness of the hospital room, Harry leaned in, his lips poised to share a deeply personal revelation. The weight of the secret he held had been on his shoulders for too long, and he was determined to share it with you. His eyes, full of anticipation and love, met yours.

Just as the words were about to leave his lips, the door to the room opened, and the nurse, entered with gentle steps, entered at precisely seven-thirty. Her presence was unobtrusive, and her warm smile radiated compassion as she approached your bedside.

You greeted her with a subtle nod, your curiosity piqued by her arrival. Harry, ever the vigilant protector, looked up from his tender embrace of Alfie, his concern mirrored in his eyes.

"Good evening, Mrs. Styles," the nurse greeted you softly, her voice a soothing balm to the quiet room. "It's usually dinner time now, but given your recent awakening from the coma, we need to proceed cautiously with your diet for the time being."

Your gaze remained focused on her, a silent invitation for her to continue. Harry, still cradling Alfie with the care of a seasoned parent, nodded in acknowledgment, his concern for your well-being unwavering.

The nurse, her eyes kind and reassuring, continued to explain, "Your digestive system may need some time to regain its strength after the period of inactivity. Therefore, we've decided to provide you with a special formula through your IV. This way, we can ensure that you're receiving the right nutrients and proper hydration."

Harry's response was immediate, his voice laced with gratitude and trust. "Whatevers best f’her, Nurse. We want t’make sure she's getting ‘hat she needs."

You managed a faint but appreciative smile, your eyes conveying the depth of your gratitude for their unwavering support and care. Despite your current inability to speak, the silent bond between you and your family spoke volumes.

The nurse proceeded with her preparations, her skilled hands deftly checking the IV line to ensure its proper function. Throughout the process, Alfie remained fast asleep in Harry's embrace, his peaceful slumber a testament to the exhausting day he had experienced.

With her preparations complete, the nurse offered one final reassurance. "We will be closely monitoring your progress, (Y/N). This is just a temporary measure to aid in your recovery."

The nurse had just left the room, her instructions regarding the specialised IV and dietary changes echoing in the air. Harry, sensing the moment was right, leaned in closer, his eyes filled with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. Alfie was securely cradled in his arms as he gently took your hands, his gaze never leaving yours.

With a soft, reassuring smile, Harry spoke the words you had both longed to hear. "Y’pregnant, m’sun."

You reacted with a swift, adamant shake of your head, your eyes wide with disbelief. The shock and confusion etched across your face were undeniable.

But Harry, determined to share this moment with you, leaned forward, ensuring that Alfie remained comfortably nestled in his embrace. He spoke with a tender reassurance, his voice a soothing balm amidst the swirling emotions.

"Yes, y’are," Harry affirmed, his voice steady and filled with unwavering love. "T’doctors said y’thirteen weeks along, ‘n’everything's fine, m’love. T’baby is fine."

Overwhelmed by the weight of this revelation, tears welled up in your eyes. Emotions surged within you, a mixture of astonishment, vulnerability, and joy. The reality of the situation began to set in, and you couldn't contain the flood of tears that followed.

With Alfie nestled between you both, Harry's comforting presence and the assurance that your family was growing filled the room with an overwhelming sense of love and unity.

Harry continued to hold you close, his soothing words offering comfort amidst your tears. "We're in this together, (Y/N). You, me, Alfie, ‘n’our little one on t’way. We’ll face everything together, just like we always do."

20:07pm.

As the evening hours continued to pass, the time for Harry and Alfie to leave the hospital room drew near. Harry turned to you, his eyes filled with both longing and a sense of duty.

"Alf’s goin’ school in the morning," he explained gently, his voice soft and reassuring. "But I'll be back straight after I've dropped him off, alright?"

You nodded your head in understanding, your silent agreement filled with trust and love. Leaning in closer, you pressed a gentle kiss to Alfie's head, your lips conveying all the warmth and affection you felt for your precious son.

Harry's heart swelled with love as he watched you share that tender moment with Alfie, a silent promise of your presence and love even in his absence.

Turning his attention back to you, Harry then leaned in to press a loving kiss to your lips, a feeling that both of you had missed dearly during this challenging time. The warmth of your kiss was a poignant reminder of the deep connection you shared, a source of strength that would carry you through the days ahead.

With one last loving glance, Harry and Alfie left the room, the door closing softly behind them.

As the door gently closed behind Harry and Alfie, you found yourself alone in the dimly lit hospital room. The silence of the space enveloped you, broken only by the soft hum of medical equipment. It was in this solitary moment that you finally allowed yourself to embrace the vulnerability that had been suppressed for too long.

With one hand instinctively resting on your stomach, you pulled the hospital blanket closer to your body with the other. Its warmth and softness provided a semblance of comfort in the stark, clinical environment.

Tears welled up in your eyes, and, without hesitation, they began to flow. They traced a path down your cheeks, unburdening the emotions that had been building within you. These tears were not borne of despair but were simply a release, an acknowledgment of the pain and uncertainty you had endured.

Your ribs ached with each breath, serving as a constant reminder of the accident, and your throat still bore the discomfort of the breathing tube that had sustained you during your coma. The physical pain mirrored the emotional turmoil that had gripped you since that fateful day.

As you allowed yourself to cry, the hospital room witnessed the rawness of your feelings. The tears, like a cleansing rain, carried away the weight of your journey, drop by drop. In their silent descent, you found a sense of relief, a moment to acknowledge your strength in facing adversity and to grieve for the challenges you had encountered.

Recovery Day Two. — 16th August, 2022.

08:31am.

The new morning painted the world with a sense of hope and renewal. Harry and Alfie, hand in hand, approached the grand entrance of Alfie's primary school. The sun's gentle rays played through the leaves of towering trees, casting intricate patterns on the path they trod.

Alfie's backpack, on his petite frame, appeared comically oversized, an emblem of his premature birth three months prior. It slung over his shoulders, almost grazing the ground with its weight. Yet, it was a symbol of his resilience, a testament to his eagerness to embrace this new day.

Harry, looking down at his son and offered a warm, reassuring smile.

"Y’going t’do great today, Alf," he encouraged, his voice infused with love and unwavering support. He couldn't help but marvel at the little boy who had already faced so much in his young life.

Alfie, his tiny hand holding on to his father's with a mixture of trust and nervousness, clung to the familiarity of his touch. The weight of his backpack seemed nothing compared to the emotional burden he carried on his first day back at school since you had been hospitalised.

"I'm scared, Daddy," Alfie finally admitted, his voice barely more than a whisper. The uncertainty of returning to school after an extended absence weighed heavily on his young heart.

Harry knelt down, coming to eye level with his son, his eyes mirroring Alfie's with a gentle understanding.

"S’okay t’feel scared, buddy," he assured, his words carrying the reassurance of a father's love. "But remember, y’not alone. Y’friends ‘n’teachers are here f’you, ‘n’Mommy will be so proud ‘f y’when she hears ‘bout y’first day back."

Alfie nodded, a glimmer of determination shining through his eyes. With a deep, steadying breath, he took that brave step through the school gates.

As they approached the classroom door, Mrs. Lucas stood outside, offering warm greetings to the arriving students and parents. Alfie's steps grew slower, and his grip on Harry's hand became hesitant. Mrs. Lucas, with a kind smile, extended her welcome to them.

"Good morning, Alfie," she greeted with genuine warmth. "It's so good to have you back."

But when those words reached Alfie's ears, his steps came to an abrupt halt. He turned to his father, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. The plea in his gaze was clear – he needed to be picked up.

Harry tilted his head in concern as he knelt down to Alfie's level. Without hesitation, he gently lifted his son into his arms, Alfie clutching him tightly. Tears began to flow down Alfie's cheeks as he buried his face in Harry's shoulder.

With genuine worry, Harry asked,

"S’wrong, buddy?" His voice was soft, a comforting presence in this moment of turmoil.

Alfie, his voice quivering with emotion, didn't immediately respond. He simply continued to cry, his tiny frame trembling in his father's embrace.

With Alfie still nestled in his arms, Harry tried once more to coax words from his son.

Amidst the sympathetic gazes of the other parents, Alfie's tears continued to stream down his cheeks, his sobs growing more intense with each passing moment. Harry's heart ached as he held his son close, longing to soothe the pain that had gripped the young boy's heart.

"S’wrong, Alfie?" Harry asked once more, his voice tender and filled with empathy. He knew that Alfie needed to express his feelings, to release the emotions that had built up during the time when his mother was in the hospital.

Alfie hiccupped, struggling to find his words through his tears. Finally, in a soft, quivering voice, he managed to convey his deep longing, "I don't want to go to school... I want Mommy."

Harry's heart felt like it had shattered into a million pieces as he held his son tighter. He understood Alfie's pain all too well, and he wished he could make it all better. In that moment, he felt the weight of your absence more than ever.

Harry held Alfie close, his arms wrapped around his trembling son as they stood outside the classroom door. Alfie's tears still glistened in his eyes, and his grip on his father remained firm.

In a soft, soothing voice, Harry began to speak. "Y’know, Alfie, t’second I pick y’up after school, we can go’n’see Mommy. But right now, it's important f’y’t’go t’school’n’learn all sorts of new things."

Alfie's response was a shaky, tearful shake of his head. He reached up to play with the soft peach fuzz at the back of his father's neck, a comforting gesture that harkened back to his baby days.

Harry, understanding the depth of his son's reluctance, tried a different approach. "Y’remember y’best friend Casey, right? Well, he's in y’class already’n’his daddy texted me last night sayin’ that Casey really missed ya’ Do y’think y’could go in’n’see him today?"

Alfie considered this for a moment, his watery eyes reflecting the uncertainty he felt. Eventually, he nodded his head, a small but significant step toward the classroom.

Harry gently wiped away the tears under Alfie's eyes, his heart full of love and pride for his brave little boy. He leaned down and pressed a tender kiss to Alfie's forehead, their foreheads touching briefly.

"I love you, Alfie," Harry whispered.

"I love you too, Daddy," Alfie replied, his voice filled with trust and affection. With that final exchange of words, Harry lowered his son down to the floor.

Watching Alfie take those uncertain steps toward the classroom, Harry couldn't help but feel a swell of pride for his brave boy.

After Alfie had taken those hesitant steps into the classroom, Harry turned his attention to Mrs. Lucas, his expression a mixture of concern and determination. He approached her with a polite smile, trying to maintain a sense of normalcy.

"Mrs. Lucas," he began, his voice soft and earnest, "I just wanted t’let y’know that if, at any point during the day, Alfie starts getting upset or, well, anything happens, please don't hesitate t’give me a call."

Mrs. Lucas regarded him with a curious yet understanding gaze, her concern evident. She knew that something had been amiss, but she also respected Harry's discretion.

“Of course, Harry," she replied kindly. "I'll keep an eye on him and be sure to reach out if he needs you."

Harry nodded, a sense of relief washing over him. He appreciated Mrs. Lucas's willingness to support Alfie during this challenging time. However, when she inquired further, her voice gentle, about what had happened, Harry hesitated.

"I'd rather not discuss it," he said quietly, his gaze momentarily distant. "Just, please, call me if Alfie gets upset. That's all I ask."

Mrs. Lucas nodded in understanding, recognizing the importance of respecting their privacy. She gave Harry an understanding smile, appreciating the depth of his concern for Alfie's well-being.

"Of course, Mr. Styles," she reassured him once more. "We'll take good care of Alfie here."

With that, Harry offered his gratitude with a nod and turned to leave the school, knowing that, despite the challenges ahead, Alfie was in capable and caring hands.

09:00am.

The room was bathed in the gentle morning light as the clock on the wall struck nine. It marked the beginning of another day in the hospital, a new chapter in your journey towards recovery.

A soft knock at the door signalled the arrival of a specialist, a man named James. His presence was a breath of fresh air, a beacon of hope in the sterile environment of the hospital room. With a warm smile, he approached your bedside, his eyes filled with empathy and reassurance.

"Good morning," he greeted, his voice carrying the calm confidence of someone experienced in helping patients on their path to recovery. "I'm James, and I'm a speech therapist. How are you feeling today?"

You nodded in response, your eyes locked onto James, eager to hear his guidance and reassured by his professional demeanour.

James continued, his words measured and encouraging. "I want you to know that since your coma was relatively short, only three days, your speech should recover quite well. It might take some time and effort, but we'll work together to help you regain your full communication abilities."

James gently pulled his briefcase onto the bed, a sense of purpose in his movements. From it, he carefully extracted a pack of flashcards, each adorned with colorful images. He placed them on a small table beside the bed, arranging them neatly.

With a kind and encouraging tone, James explained the exercise ahead.

"We're going to start with something simple," he said, his voice soothing. "I'll show you some pictures, and I'd like you to try and name what's on each of them."

As he revealed the first flashcard, you looked at the image, your eyes focused. A glimmer of determination flickered in your gaze as you attempted to find the words within you. You opened your mouth, trying to conjure the sounds, but it was a formidable challenge.

The effort required to speak felt overwhelming, and a wave of frustration washed over you. Your body seemed to slump into the bed behind you, the weight of the task pulling you down.

James observed your struggle with empathy, recognizing the immense effort you were putting into this seemingly simple task.

Seeing your struggle and the evident frustration it brought, James reached for a glass and a jug of water from the bedside table. With careful movements, he filled the glass, and then he placed a straw inside it.

"Let's take a little break," he suggested kindly, offering you the glass. "Having some water will help keep your vocal cords hydrated, which can make speaking a bit easier."

He held the glass to your lips, allowing you to sip the cool water through the straw at your own pace. It was a small but essential gesture, a reminder that the journey towards recovery was a series of steps, each one significant in its own way.

James sat on the edge of the bed, his presence calm and reassuring. He held up the flashcards once more, looking at you with encouragement in his eyes.

"Would you like to try again?" he asked gently.

You hesitated for a moment, the memory of your previous attempt still fresh. But deep down, the determination burned, and you nodded your head, a sign that you were willing to give it another shot.

Taking a deep breath, you steeled yourself for the task at hand. As you looked at the first flashcard, your lips parted, and you began to speak. However, the words that emerged were not the smooth, effortless ones you once knew. Instead, they came out in stutters and hesitations, like a rusty engine struggling to turn over.

"Th-th-that's... a b-b...bird," you managed, your voice breaking into a series of stutters.

James listened attentively, his expression unwavering.

James, ever patient and understanding, held up another flashcard, maintaining his reassuring presence. He had seen your determination and knew that progress was often marked by small, steady steps.

You looked at the new image on the flashcard, gathering your resolve once again. The previous stuttering attempt had not deterred you. With a deep breath and a sense of focus, you tried again.

"That's a... c-c-cat," you stammered, your voice still marked by hesitations and stutters.

James nodded approvingly, acknowledging your effort with a warm smile. Each word, no matter how challenging, was a testament to your resilience and determination.

James lifted another flashcard, his calm demeanor providing a reassuring backdrop for your efforts. He understood the significance of these small steps on your path to recovery and was there to support you every step of the way.

You focused on the new image before you, taking a moment to gather your thoughts. With a deep breath, you began to speak once more, your voice still marked by stutters and hesitations.

"That's a... d-d...dog," you managed, your determination shining through despite the challenges.

James nodded encouragingly, his smile warm and appreciative.

James, the dedicated speech therapist, held up a total of ten flashcards, one after the other. Each image presented a new challenge, a test of your ability to express yourself despite the obstacles in your path.

With unwavering patience, you faced each card, taking a deep breath before speaking. Your words, though marked by stutters and hesitations, emerged with determination and clarity. Ten times, you summoned the strength to name each object before you, each success a hard-earned victory in your journey to reclaim your voice.

James observed your progress with a sense of satisfaction, recognizing the strides you had made. He wore a gentle smile as he leaned in slightly, his voice filled with encouragement.

"Now, I'd like to take it a step further," he began, his tone still reassuring. "I'd like you to try speaking a few sentences. I believe you can do it."

You nodded your head, your confidence bolstered by the progress you had made with the flashcards. This felt like a significant step forward.

James handed you a piece of paper with several phrases on it. The sentences gradually grew longer, each one challenging you a bit more. It was a carefully crafted exercise to help you regain your ability to construct sentences and express yourself more fully.

He looked at you, offering his support.

"Whenever you're ready," he said, ready to listen and guide you through this next phase of your recovery.

The phrases on the page seemed like stepping stones on your path to recovery.

You looked at the first sentence, its simplicity contrasting with the complexity of your journey.

With a deep breath, you began to read it aloud, your voice still carrying the echoes of your previous stuttering attempts.

"I... like... to... pick... flowers," you managed, your voice steadier than before.

James nodded approvingly, his eyes filled with encouragement. The progress you had made in the short time you had been working together was remarkable.

He pointed to the next sentence, which was longer and more challenging.

"Take your time," he encouraged, ready to offer guidance if needed.

James, encouraged by your progress, nodded and presented another sentence. This time, the sentence was a bit longer, intended to further challenge your speaking abilities.

"Let's try this one," he said with a supportive smile, handing you the piece of paper. "Take your time, and whenever you're ready, go ahead and read it aloud."

You accepted the paper, your determination shining in your eyes. With a deep breath, you focused on the sentence before you, prepared to tackle this new challenge head-on.

“Exploring... new... horizons... broadens... our... perspectives.” you said, your words coming out with more fluency than before.

James nodded, his smile growing wider with pride.

"That was wonderful," he praised. "Your progress is truly remarkable."

He pointed to the next sentence on the page, which was even longer, yet he had full confidence that you were up to the challenge.

"Whenever you're ready," he encouraged, providing you with the space and support you needed to continue improving your speech.

James, the dedicated speech therapist, observed your readiness for the next challenge. With a supportive smile, he handed you the paper with the new sentence.

"Let's work on this one," he suggested kindly. "Remember to take your time and speak at your own pace."

You accepted the paper, your determination unwavering. You focused on the sentence, recognizing that it was longer than the previous ones but confident in your ability to meet the challenge.

With a deep breath, you began to speak, your voice gaining strength and fluency with each word. James watched, filled with pride at your progress, ready to offer guidance and support whenever you needed it.

As you finished reading the longer sentence, James couldn't contain his excitement. He clapped his hands together, the sound echoing with a sense of accomplishment. You looked up at him, tilting your head inquisitively.

With a beaming smile, James leaned in closer to you and spoke with genuine enthusiasm. "Your stutter has gone, and you're saying the sentences in full!"

Your eyes widened with joy and realisation. It was a moment of triumph, a sign that your journey to reclaim your voice was progressing even better than you had hoped. Your excitement bubbled over, and James, equally thrilled, wrapped you in a quick but heartfelt hug. It was a gesture of celebration and encouragement, a recognition of the significant strides you had made in your speech therapy.

With a warm smile, James expressed his delight at your progress. "I'm going to go inform the nurses at the station about your incredible improvement," he said. "And I'll be back in a few days to check up on you."

He then couldn't resist adding a lighthearted touch to the conversation. "You know," he chuckled, "when your husband comes into the room, you can surprise him with your newfound voice. I'm sure he'll be amazed."

James's positive energy and humor added a sense of camaraderie to your sessions, and you nodded with gratitude for his support. His dedication to your recovery was evident, and you looked forward to the day you could indeed surprise your husband with your progress.

12:07pm.

Around lunchtime, the door to your hospital room gently swung open, and in walked Harry, carrying a bag of Raising Cane's, the scent of delicious fried chicken filling the air. He had a warm smile on his face, relief and affection evident in his eyes as he saw you awake and alert.

He carefully placed the bag of food on the tray table, positioned at the edge of the bed, ensuring it was within your reach. Then, his eyes fixed on you, he leaned forward, closing the distance between you and placed a tender kiss on your lips. It was a kiss filled with love and longing, a silent expression of how much he had missed you during your recovery.

As he pulled away, he gazed into your eyes, his voice soft and filled with emotion.

"I brought y’favourite," he said, a hint of excitement in his tone, eager to share this moment with you. The sight of you awake and engaged was a testament to your resilience and strength, something he admired deeply.

Harry turned to refill your glass of water, his heart lighter with the knowledge that you were awake and speaking. As he poured the water, his mind was already occupied with thoughts of the delicious meal he had brought for you.

However, when he heard your voice, a voice he hadn't heard in days, his movements froze. The glass hovered over the pitcher, and his hands trembled ever so slightly. His eyes widened in astonishment as he slowly turned to look at you, a mixture of shock and joy dancing in his gaze.

"I didn't think I was allowed to eat," you said, your voice a little raspy but undeniably yours.

Harry's heart soared at the sound of your voice, and his lips curved into a wide, elated smile. He took a few steps closer to your bedside, setting the glass down with a gentle clink. Overwhelmed with emotion, he reached for your hand, his fingers intertwined with yours.

"Y’speakin’," he whispered, his voice filled with awe and relief, as if he had been granted a miracle.

Harry's heart raced as he rushed over to your bedside, his eyes fixed on you in disbelief. Carefully, he sat down on the edge of the bed, his hands trembling slightly as he reached out to pick up your hands. Gently, he brought them close to his face, pressing tender kisses to your wrists as if to confirm that this moment was real.

Tears glistened in his eyes as he looked at you, his voice quivering with emotion.

"Can’t believe it," he murmured, his breath hitching. "V’been ‘ere f’days, prayin’ t’hear y’voice again."

Even though you had been awake for a day, one thing he was craving was the sound of your voice, it was the one thing that made him feel same.

Before the accident, when he would get home from a heavy day full of meetings and executive decisions revolving the tour, he would come home exhausted and collapse onto either the sofa or the bed you shared, wherever you were that night and would lay his head on your lap, your hands running through his hair and your voice lulling him to a slumber with tales of what you did throughout the day, it was as if he was the same age as Alf.

His eyes never left yours, and he continued to place sweet kisses on your skin, each one a testament to the overwhelming relief and love he felt in that moment.

"Y’ave n’idea how much I missed you," he admitted, his voice barely more than a whisper, filled with a mix of gratitude and love.

Harry's fingers gently traced patterns on your palms as he leaned closer, his forehead resting against yours.

"Was so scared," he confessed, his voice cracking with vulnerability. "I couldn't bear the thought of losing you."

He pressed his lips to your forehead, a gentle and reassuring gesture.

"But y’here," he said, his voice steadier now, filled with determination. "And y’speaking, and m’so, so grateful."

Harry couldn't stop himself from leaning in and capturing your lips in a sweet, loving kiss. It was a kiss filled with months of worry, days of longing, and the promise of a future together. In that moment, he held you close, cherishing every second as if it were a precious gift.

As you pulled away from the sweet, lingering kiss, your fingers tenderly brushed under Harry's eyes, wiping away the glistening tear tracks that had formed there. You couldn't help but chuckle softly as you gazed at him, a playful glint in your eyes.

"Why did you bring food?" you asked, your voice filled with light-hearted amusement. "I thought I wasn't allowed to eat. The nurse explained about the IV and all."

Harry held onto your hands, his eyes never leaving yours. He chuckled, a warm, melodious sound that filled the room.

"Well," he began, his voice playful, "Was walking through t’ward, Nurse Lauren came up to me." He paused for dramatic effect, his lips curving into a mischievous grin. "S’told me they reviewed y’vitals’n’explained that y’could eat solid foods again."

You blinked in surprise, a smile spreading across your face. "They did?"

Harry nodded eagerly, his eyes filled with excitement.

"Ye’, they did. S’practically sprinted t’the Cane's next door, knowing s’y’absolute favorite."

You couldn't help but laugh, feeling a warm, fuzzy feeling spreading throughout your heart. "You really know how to make a girl feel special, don't you?"

Harry's smile grew wider, and he leaned in to press a gentle kiss to your forehead.

"Only the very special ones," he whispered, his voice filled with love and adoration, "like you."

Recovery Day Three. — 17th August, 2023.

14:54pm.

The next day painted a stark contrast to the peacefulness of the previous day. As late afternoon sunlight filtered through the window, it did little to alleviate the tension in the room. Your face, contorted in anguish, told a different story.

You had decided to try and have a little nap whilst Harry departed your side to go and get your little love bug, you were tired, you would wake up during the night confused about where you were and just decided to close your eyes, even if it was for five minutes.

Lying in the hospital bed, you were locked in the grip of a restless nightmare. Your brow was furrowed, and a faint sheen of sweat clung to your forehead. The morning sun, instead of casting a gentle glow, seemed to intensify the torment of your dream.

Outside, the world buzzed with life, oblivious to the turmoil within. Your slumber was anything but serene, as you wrestled with unseen demons in the depths of your subconscious. The room, too, held its breath, but not in quietude; rather, it was a silent witness to the tumultuous nightmare that held you captive.

Despite the sunlight's attempt to illuminate the room, a pall of unease lingered, a stark reminder of the night's torment. In that moment, the hospital room became a battleground between your deepest fears and the fragile flicker of hope that sought to break through the darkness.

In the depths of this haunting nightmare, you found yourself ensnared in a nightmarish tableau. Behind the wheel, your hands clenched the steering wheel with an iron grip. Alfie was in the backseat, his voice a haunting crescendo of terror as he called out to you.

"Mommy! Mommy!" His tiny voice trembled with fear, echoing through the confines of the car.

Beside him, a baby girl, a chilling glimpse of the child growing within your belly, wailed inconsolably. Her cries were a haunting lament, a stark reminder of the fragile life depending on your protection.

The world outside the car window blurred into a nightmarish frenzy, colors blending into an incomprehensible whirl. Tires screeched, a discordant symphony of desperation. The vehicle careened out of control, spinning and swerving as if propelled by malevolent forces.

Then came the deafening crash, a cataclysmic collision that reverberated through your very core. The world exploded into chaos, metal screeching against metal, an eruption of sound and fury.

In this nightmare, you teetered on the edge of consciousness, imprisoned within the nightmarish wreckage of the car. Through half-shut eyes, you beheld the unimaginable horror unfurling in the backseat. Flames danced, fierce and relentless, licking at the edges of the car seats. Orange tendrils of death reached hungrily toward Alfie and the tiny, wailing baby girl.

"Mommy, help me!" Alfie's desperate pleas were a chilling refrain, his voice tinged with terror and helplessness.

Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision as you strained against the invisible chains that bound you to the twisted metal. You could feel the unbearable heat, the scorching breath of the flames inching closer with every passing second.

The baby's cries grew louder, a heart-rending symphony of fear and agony. In this agonizing nightmare, you reached out a trembling hand, your fingers desperate to soothe the infant, to cradle her in safety. But the inferno was relentless, its searing fingers inching ever closer.

"Please, Mommy," Alfie's voice cracked with fear, his eyes wide with terror.

"I'm trying, Alfie," you whispered through trembling lips, your voice barely more than a quiver.

In this nightmarish realm, the scent of smoke filled your nostrils, the acrid taste of fear clinging to your tongue. Your heart pounded in your chest like a relentless drumbeat, and the weight of powerlessness bore down on you like an unyielding stone.

Flames engulfed the backseat, painting a hellish tableau of despair. It was a nightmare you couldn't escape, an agonizing loop of terror that clawed at your very soul. Your mind screamed for action, for salvation, but your body remained pinned, an immovable captive.

The cries of the baby grew louder, her tiny voice a heartbreaking plea for rescue. You stretched out your trembling hand, fingers straining toward her, a silent promise of protection. Yet, the flames danced ever nearer, their scalding touch tormenting your outstretched arm.

"Please, baby," you whispered, your voice choked with desperation.

In the midst of this living nightmare, you were rendered powerless, a witness to a tragedy unfolding before your eyes. The world dissolved into a surreal nightmare, where time seemed to stand still, and the relentless flames threatened to consume all you held dear.

The shrill, frantic beeping of the heart monitor filled the room, a discordant symphony of alarm that pierced the air. It was as though the nightmare from your dream had spilled into reality, an unrelenting cacophony of distress.

In an instant, the tranquility of the hospital room shattered. The door flew open, and a team of doctors and nurses rushed in, their faces etched with urgency and concern.

"What's happening?!" one of the doctors exclaimed, his voice taut with anxiety as he approached the bedside, his eyes darting between the monitor and your face.

Another nurse swiftly checked the vitals monitor, her fingers dancing over the buttons. "Her heart rate is skyrocketing! We need to stabilize her!"

A palpable tension filled the room as medical personnel worked in unison, their practiced movements a testament to their training. They adjusted IV lines, administered medications, and conferred in hurried, hushed tones.

Amidst the frantic activity, you felt a profound sense of helplessness, trapped within the confines of your own body. Your heart raced uncontrollably, its furious pounding echoing in your ears.

The lead doctor, a seasoned figure with a commanding presence, addressed the team. "We need to get this under control now. Administer sedatives if necessary, and prepare for an EKG. We can't afford to lose her."

With a sense of urgency, they acted swiftly, the room becoming a whirlwind of activity. Amid the commotion, your fear and desperation were evident in your wide, frightened eyes.

Just when the doctors and nurses thought your condition had stabilized, a sudden jolt coursed through your body. Your limbs convulsed uncontrollably, your fingers clawing at the sheets, and your eyes rolled back as a seizure gripped you with merciless force.

Panic filled the room once more as medical professionals scrambled into action. They lowered the bed's side rails to prevent you from falling, their faces tense with worry.

15:10pm.

Harry leaned against the school gates, patiently waiting for the school day to end. His eyes scanned the children as they poured out of the building, searching for Alfie among the crowd.

As he stood there, a woman with a confident stride approached him. She flashed a flirtatious smile and initiated a conversation, "Well, hello there. You must be Alfie's dad, right?"

Harry nodded, offering a polite smile. "Ye’, S’me. M’here t’pick ‘im up."

The woman, her tone flirtatious and forward, continued, "I've seen you here a few times before. You're a handsome dad, you know. What's your name?"

Harry chuckled nervously, feeling a bit taken aback by her directness. "M’Harry. Nice t’meet ya’."

She leaned in closer, her gaze fixed on his left hand. "Harry, huh? And are you married, Harry?"

Harry held up his left hand, showing his wedding ring. "Ye’, M’happily married,been married almost five years in fact."

Undeterred, the woman's eyes twinkled mischievously. "Happily, you say? Well, you know, sometimes a little excitement outside of marriage can be... refreshing."

Harry raised an eyebrow, a clear signal that her advances were unwelcome. "I appreciate the offer, but I'm quite committed t’m’wife."

The woman seemed slightly disappointed but didn't give up easily. "Well, if you ever change your mind, you know where to find me."

The bell rang, and the main doors of the school swung open, releasing a flood of excited children, all eager to reunite with their parents. Among the crowd, Alfie emerged, his face lighting up as soon as he spotted his father.

With a joyful shout of "Daddy!" Alfie dashed toward Harry, his small feet carrying him as fast as they could. Harry crouched down, ready to catch his son, and as Alfie reached him, he scooped him up in a warm embrace.

"Daddy's ‘ere, buddy," Harry said with a grin, feeling the energy of Alfie's hug and seeing the paint stains on his school uniform. "Did y’have a good day at school?"

Alfie nodded enthusiastically.

"Yeah, we painted today! Look at this, Daddy!" He proudly displayed his hands, covered in a rainbow of paint colors.

Harry chuckled, looking at his son's colorful hands. "Wow, y’quite the artist, Alf! Let's get y’cleaned up before we go see mummy."

15:27pm.

Harry and Alfie had just entered the bustling ward when a sudden commotion erupted from your room. Doctors and nurses hurried in and out, their faces filled with urgency, and the chaotic energy in the corridor was palpable. Harry's heart clenched with worry as he instinctively tightened his grip on Alfie's hand.

Harry and Alfie quickened their pace, the corridor seeming to stretch endlessly as they rushed toward your room. The knot of dread in Harry's stomach tightened with every step. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong.

As they reached the doorway, Harry's heart plummeted in his chest. There, on the hospital bed, you were having a seizure, your body convulsing uncontrollably. The sight was both horrifying and heart-wrenching. Harry's legs felt like lead, but he forced himself to move closer, his grip on Alfie's hand never wavering.

The sight of you having a seizure was too much for Harry to bear. In that harrowing moment, he couldn't maintain his composure any longer. He released Alfie's hand, and his legs gave way beneath him. Harry fell to his knees outside your hospital room, his hands trembling as he watched you convulsing, unable to do anything but feel the sheer helplessness wash over him.

Alfie stood there, wide-eyed and frightened, looking at his father on the floor and then back at you. His small world was unravelling before his eyes, and he had no idea how to make sense of it. Harry wanted to be strong for his son, but the overwhelming fear and concern for you had shattered his resolve, leaving him vulnerable and devastated.

A doctor yelled above all the commotion that was taking place, directing his speech to one of the nurses. His voice sounded desperate, he needed to help you as quickly as possible.

"Seizure activity!" one of the nurses called out, her voice strained as she rushed to retrieve necessary medications and equipment.

The lead doctor called for additional assistance, his voice urgent and commanding. "We need a crash cart, now!"

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