#it was all so stupid and that first half-hour felt like it took ten years.

[princehendir]

Play by play on the Easter hunt this is like I've been watching filler episodes and this is the big finale of your work™️ posts

PREVIOUSLY ON:

we do movies at my theatre sometimes because we have a screen. This showing of [REDACTED RABBIT THEMED FILM] has been planned since the beginning of the season, but in February it was decided that since the movies haven't been selling so great we wanted to add an extra event to help draw people in. Several ideas were pitched (by me) but what we (they) landed on was an Easter egg hunt before the movie.

I hated this idea, but was out voted. 

The plan was this: at 1:00pm, we will open the house (eggs will be hidden in the house) and let everyone in. And then the movie will start at 2:00 and everyone will sit down.

I hated this plan, mostly because it's not actually a plan. “Let’s just have kids look for eggs and then the movie will start” is just like, an idea. Its not a plan, there’s no structure. A plan would be something like, between 12:30 & 1:00 kids are free to search for eggs, at 1:00 everyone will be asked to leave the house so they can go see the easter bunny over by concessions! (wink wink) The children can then be entertained by the easter bunny until 1:30, when we will re-open the house for seating, or their parents have the option of leaving and coming back at that time, whatever works best for them. In that half-hour gap the house can be cleaned up and reset for a business-as-usual film screening. 

That is the plan I put forward at our first event planning meeting. It was shot down, very rudely and aggressively, by my coworker Katrina. She insisted that i was “maing this too difficult” and over thinking this” and “we don’t need any of that”. She interrupted me, loudly, multiple times to say these things. And then my boss went with this non-plan that she presented over mine, even though she’s from marketing and doesn’t ever interact with customers and I’m literally the house manager a.k.a the person who is in charge of the house & the lobby whenever it is in use? Because she’s been here longer and can speak more words faster and louder than I can, I guess? I was too flabbergasted to that this woman who is not my boss and not in my department and who I’ve met in person exactly once before was talking to me like this (and that no one else, including my boss, felt the need to intervene).

I tried several more times over the next two months to add structure to this event but was shut down and told to relax by either Katrina (who again, is from marketing so why does she have any say here?) or my boss, who would always side with her. Eventually, because i was demoralized (and because my boss literally told me she was sick of talking about this with me and not to bring it up again) I just gave up.

SATURDAY THE FIRST (24 HOURS REMAIN)

2pm. I & several other coworkers (but not Katrina…🤔) + our boss arrive to hide 700 eggs in the house

 it's kinda hard because there's not really a lot of places to hide anything? Because it's just rows & rows of theatre chairs? I warned them about this btw.

 also an issue! The floor is sloped. Because it is a theatre :) So eggs just kind of keep, rolling towards the orchestra pit. And it's really loud the whole way down. I literally told them this would happen  but I guess we all just have to pretend this is a surprise.

at finish, none of the eggs are like, at all hidden. They are all 100% visible from all angles. Also something about them all being in there suddenly makes it really clear how many forbidden dangerous areas, delicate historical features, finger-crunching mechanisms, and weird little trip-fall-break-your-leg-and-sue-us ledges & stairs there are in this room.

my coworker April (heavily involved in the planning, but only because the poor thing can't say no, she is a victim here too imo) privately admits to me that she's dreading this event and just wants it to be over. 

previously it was agreed, MULTIPLE TIMES, that we were going to set a limit on number of eggs per kid, and exclusively allow only the bags we provide (small) to be used. But when I brought it up my boss (Kelly) said "oh no we won't need a limit that's not necessary :) and people can bring their own bags who cares"

whatever. 

SUNDAY.

arrive at 11:30.

April is already there. This is way earlier than she said she was coming. She admits that she was too anxious to stay at home.

also, the gal who was going to wear the Easter Bunny costume sprained her ankle. So now April is doing it. Good lord. Anyways

Also now we’re apparently going to have the Bunny in the main lobby? Greeting kids? Instead of else where so that bored kids could Go and do something else/split the crowd so as to ease congestion in our small historic lobby? Which has been the plan the entire time until just now????

whatever.

further backstory: I couldn't get any fucking volunteers to staff this stupid thing. So my mom finally took pity, volunteered herself & my father and bribed two family friends with lambshanks into coming and helping also.

further further backstory: our good popcorn machine is broken. Started out that it was just tripping the breaker every single time it got plugged in, but now it's throwing sparks when plugged in also lollllll. So we're using the small, older, back-up machine. This will become relevant soon.

Katrina arrives, two of her grandchildren in tow. She lets them into the lobby even though we aren't open yet. They are EXTREMELY badly behaved. Loud. Throwing things, hitting each other. She's not managing them very well and I feel uncomfortable intervening. Eventually she takes them outside (confusing, is she working today or here as a patron?)

volunteers arrive. Parents + friends + the one other volunteer I could get. I explain to them the "plan". They are confused. Why isn't there a distinct end time for the egg hunt & start time seating? What about people who show up for just the film? Do they have to sit with an egg hunt happening around them? Are we really letting people bring their own bags? This room seems like a terrible place to let children run around in? I tell them that I brought up literally all of these issues, AND had clear solutions for all of them, and was rejected every time :) oh well!

there's a lot of people lining up out front. Way more than expected. You can hear crowd noises through the glass. It's kind of intense.

some big 12-year-old literally charges the doors, Jurassic Park velociraptor style. Building is 95 years old so it's loud AF and everything on the whole wall shakes.

its Katrina's grandson. Because fucking of course it is.

one last check on the concessions stand before we open. The credit card machine has no power. Oh shit, I think, is this machine tripping the breaker too now? no, breaker is fine. It's just somehow this one wall plug has stopped working. Suddenly. Whatever. I plug the machine into a different socket and decide to fix the other issue later because the doors need to be open in 5 minutes 

i get the lobby doors open at exactly 1:00. Check with tech to make sure we're good to open all the way up, get the ok. We start taking tickets and letting people in to hunt at about 1:01.

A mother approaches me to tell me that her kid got no eggs, and there are no more eggs to be found. It is 1:07.

Multiple complaints now that there are no eggs left. It's been less than ten minutes. 

check in with my mom, she confirms that the first couple of kids to get let in had shopping bags, and since the eggs were not actually hidden they were just kinda laying there those kids just basically..... Cleared the room.

extra gift bags full of the leftover eggs are quickly made up by my boss. Easter Bunny passes out a lot of those.

meanwhile, a line is forming at concessions. The popcorn machine is not quite keeping up. It's not an.... emergency yet. Though.

meanwhile, unbeknownst to me, my mother has corrected this one boy for his bad behavior three separate times. On the third time, the adult with him got really nasty with her. When I come by again mom reports this interaction to me in case there's a complaint. After she describes the boy and adult to me, I inform her that that was Katrina & her grandson.

"Katrina... Is she that cunt who cc'd you in that really nasty email you showed me?"

yeah mom. That very same cunt.

because there are no eggs left, most people have just taken a seat. It's still only 1:20. There's 40 minutes until the movie starts. The children are restless and tense because there is nothing for them to do. Eggs gone. They already saw the Easter Bunny. They are bored now. I predicted this btw.

several parents talk to the volunteers to confirm that there really is nothing else to do but sit until the movie starts. "I don't know if I can keep my kids focused  and still that long, plus the movie runtime" “you really expect people to sit and do nothing for 40 minutes?”

I'm sure you're sick of hearing me say this but I literally predicted this issue. And I tried to prevent it! But I was told I was "making this way too complicated" and "overreacting 🙄"

fuck them.

April, despite being in a mascot suit, is still very visibly miserable.

the line at concessions is now the length of the entire hallway between the lobby and the concessions area. This is like two car lengths. There's a separate line that's just people who have already paid and are waiting for popcorn. I literally don't know anything about what happened in the house after this point because I spent every single moment until the movie started helping them try to get through this. They ran out of water bottles and I had to raid the bar fridge of every single bottle there and we went through those too. People are ordering like 3-6 popcorns per group and the machine can really only kick out about 5 per batch. The coffee machine ran out of water which has never happened before? We ran out of napkins and I had to go raid the upstairs bar for those?

my off-duty coworker who showed up as a customer with her kids (very polite, unlike some people's) literally jumped in to help me because she could see how crazy it was.

I need you to understand that this is only 35 minutes in.

boss will not make eye contact with me. General guilty puppy vibes. I fucking told you bro

finally, eventually, the line dies down enough that I feel like I can leave the concessions volunteers alone for a bit. (Sidenote: they are almost completely out of candy at this point.) I go to the bathroom for the first time in like an hour. I'm coated in sweat from running back and forth. I scream into my hands for a couple of seconds to decompress. And then I get right back out there.

unbeknownst to me: my mom has pulled aside the technical director (they know each other sorta) because he seems irritated, asks him what he thinks of all this. He repeats literally every complaint I have. Mom says "yeah, Ashland predicted all of this in a meeting two months ago and she says that no one listened". He laughs for 20 straight seconds.

some adults came to just see the film. They came close to the start time hoping to not be bothered by the egg hunt, but because there was no real cut off/end time, and no reset of the room, it was still kinda sorta maybe not really happening around them, and they were annoyed. WHICH IS EXACTLY WHAT I TOLD MY BOSS WOULD HAPPEN.

several volunteers now have now independently reported to me that they've had to intervene with this same ill-behaved boy. He tried to go backstage, tried to pull the fire extinguisher off the wall, running even though we keep saying not to, climbing things, pulling on curtains. I'm tired of being nice and inform every one of them, bitchily, that yeah, that's my coworker's grandson. Crazy huh. Yeah really inappropriate and unprofessional I agree. Yeah :)

THE MOVIE FINALLY STARTS. Ten minutes late for some reason. A lot of people end up leaving about 20 minutes in because their kids are under/over stimulated and can't sit still any longer. WHICH IS EXACTLY WHAT- * I am pulled off stage with a shepherd's crook*

anyways, funny detail! Two weeks ago I went to my boss and said look, I'm really stressed out about this Easter thing, I genuinely think it's going to go badly if it's done the way you're asking me to do it, please just let me use the schedule of events I wrote up in our first meeting it will go so much better. And she said no :) and said "Ashland I think it will go fine if we do it the way me & Katrina are planning. And if it doesn't I will eat crow" and I said do you promise. And she said "of course :)" and I said okay I'm holding you to that :) And we both laughed. But I wasn't joking.

 ANYWAYYYYYS I spent like an hour and a half in the lobby with my boss while the movie was going, covered in sweat because I’m the one who was Actually Working, and she awkwardly made small talk and avoided all eye contact the whole time. I think she's really hoping I drop it. I won't though.

Katrina is nowhere to be seen for some time now. Again, I'm really confused as to whether she was supposed to be working or not, as she did nothing 

after its all over and all the volunteers (tired and annoyed) are getting their coats. Family Friend A invites us all over to her and Family Friend B's place for drinks because "what the fuck was that. I mean you warned us it was going to be bad but what the hell was that".

the day wrapped up pretty well at least. I got to drink soooo much alcohol at A & B's house and it was so fun to bitch and complain for three hours and then my mom bought my drunk ass fast food :) love is real btw.

tune in to the season premiere this Tuesday to see the thrilling conclusion (my staff meeting is on Tuesday) (I have four pages of notes) (and I fully intend to take up the whole meeting talking about what a shit show this was) (lol + rofl + neener neener + told you so + get fucked)

[heyimkana]

24 Hours with You (Satoru Ver.) - Ep. 2

Series Masterlist Chapter Summary: The second episode of a mini-series where you’ll live through the hours you spend together with your husband, Gojo Satoru. Pairings: Gojo Satoru x Female Reader Genre: Domestic AU, Fluff, Romance, Humor Word Count: 9K Warnings: no plot, just a compilation of fluffy scenes that you share with your whipped, super annoying husband, Satoru. there's a bit of a smutty scene but it's not explicitly written.

Episode 2: Daylight

07.04 AM

The morning sunray seeps through your windows, kissing your skin with familiar warmth. The red roses Satoru bought you yesterday greet you with their sweet scent as they sit prettily in a glass vase that glimmers like crystal underneath the light. You take a quick scan around, expecting the worst but surprisingly, besides the bedroom, your place is still recognizable despite the drunk antics that you and your husband did last night after finishing a whole bottle of wine to yourselves. 

Your work doesn’t start until nine, and although usually, you would leave at 8.15 to avoid the risk of turning up late, after noticing what day it is, you reckon that traffic won’t be so bad. Plus, your home is only around ten minutes away from your office anyway. It’s the main reason why Satoru insisted on buying this condominium in the first place—to give you more time to yourself (and for him to cuddle with you on the sofa because you always look so snuggly in the morning). Maybe you can take it easy today. Brushing your teeth and changing your nightgown into an oversized hoodie (Satoru’s) and a pair of comfy sweatpants, you get yourself to work.

Among the clutters on the floor are your cocktail dress and Satoru’s expensive suit and tie, scattered all over the carpet, giving you a quick flashback of what happened after you arrived home from the fancy restaurant he took you last night. The exchange of heavy, scorching kisses in the elevator… Your spine pressed flat against the wall with his head between your thighs the second the front door was shut close… A bottle of red wine tasted directly from each other’s tongue… And…

You glance down at your hands, feeling heat flaring in your cheeks as your eyes land on the thin, but quite noticeable, purple bruises that circle your wrists like dark bracelets.

Last night was… wild. 

“God, we’re not young anymore,” you mumble to yourself, shamefaced, as you head toward the kitchen. There are empty plates and half-filled glasses left abandoned on the aisle, and a pizza box that you ordered at two in the morning for an emergency snack (Satoru always gets hungry after sex), but it will only take you a few minutes to clean everything up, so everything’s fine.

Today’s start isn’t so bad.

The condo that you and Satoru bought together felt too spacious and grand at first. The neat white walls somehow screamed lonely, desperate for human touch. But after living here for three years, three whole years of a happy marriage with occasional fights that never lasted a night, it felt truly like home—the kind that you’ve never had the joy to experience before. 

Silly Polaroid photos of the two of you are plastered all over the fridge. A collection of your favorite novels sits on the bookcase among healthy pileas that tumble elegantly over the shelves. Satoru’s favorite Hatsune Miku figures are there too, despite your constant begging to just throw them away, but that’s marriage, isn’t it? You just have to compromise on every single thing. Even when the color of Hatsune’s stupid hair—why does it have to be turquoise of all shades?—ruins your aesthetic.

A huge, beautiful mural showcasing the map of the world can be found painted on one side of the wall. In some countries, there are words written by colorful markers, telling a story of the memorable journeys you’ve had together. Satoru’s messy handwriting used to be there but you scrapped them all because drawing a bunch of arrows pointing at different cities and writing down the words “We did it here” or “We also did it here” and “We toooootally did it here” with wink faces on the sidedon’t exactly seem appropriate, especially since Megumi’s son often comes by to visit his favorite uncle. (The word ‘favorite’ here is self-proclaimed. Megumi never said that. His son also never said that. Satoru is just delusional.) 

You catch a whiff of your husband’s perfume, still somewhat lingering close, a sweet reminder of your chaotic days in high school and the moment your romance bloomed during your college days. Oh, also, coffee. You’re gonna need a lot of that if you want to get through all of your work meetings today. The smell of freshly brewed coffee is one of your favorite scents in the world and you smile to yourself as you pour it into your mug. 

“Someone looks happy,” Satoru sniffles as he places his chin on your shoulder, long arms winding themselves around the dip of your waist. And cuddly, he adds in his head. Though he always finds himself swooning seeing you in your cocktail dress or work attire, he adores this look the most. Messy bun, bare face with acne patches on your chin and nose, his hoodie covering your body to the middle of your thighs. You're precious.

He won’t say this to you though, not today.

“Someone sounds a bit grumpy.” You tilt your head just enough to peck him on the cheek. “Took you long enough to finish.”

“Well, it would’ve only taken me ten minutes if somebody was kind enough to lend me a hand.”

“What, your two hands aren’t enough?”

“They don’t feel as good as yours.” He’s pouting. Even if you can’t see it, you can tell he is. “I didn’t finish, by the way. Thank you for asking.”

A chuckle escapes you. “Honey, you finished, like, four times last night.”

“You’re missing the point,” he sighs. “I don’t think I’ve told you this but…” He turns your body around, making you face him with your cup between your hands and your back leaning against the kitchen counter. He’s still in his boxer shorts, you notice, but he’s made the effort of throwing on a green pastel shirt, hanging loose on his body and unbuttoned to his chest. Satoru rests his palms on the surface, trapping you between his arms. “I think I’m getting so dependent on you now that I can’t even cum on my own.” 

“You can’t do anything without me these days, actually,” you comment, running your mouth without realizing that he’s desperate for your sympathy. He gives you a look, staring flatly at you. “And I can’t do anything without you, my love,” you add with a smile, tapping his cheek. “There. Happy now?”

“Wouldn’t kill you to say it once in a while,” he answers, and you roll your eyes. “I’m just saying, I used to do it so easily, you know? I didn’t even need to look at actual porn to jerk off. I was so in control of my body. Just had to picture you naked on your knees with my di—”

“Careful.”

He cuts himself short. “—and I’d be done in, like, two minutes.”

“I see. And here I thought today was going to be boring,” you reply, sarcasm running thick in each word.

“But these days…” His eyes droop. “It hasn’t been that easy. Sometimes I couldn’t even, umm… get it hard,” he admits, blushing. It’s a bit of a confession that he’s been trying to keep to himself for a while.

“What, really? Like, at all?” 

He sheepishly nods. “There’s this one time when you were away on a business trip and it had been so long since we had sex so I wanna… You know…”

“Play with your carrot?” You suggest, taking a sip of your coffee. “Rub the eggplant? Stroke the banana?”

There’s a momentary silence where he just looks at you, unamused. 

You, also, stay hushed. 

Then, “Caress the fresh zucchini—”

“I think that’s enough, babe.”

“Oh, so when I say it, you don’t like it. But when you say it—”

“You’re not saying it at the right time—You know what? Forget it.” Satoru pushes himself away from the counter, fuming and you laugh. 

Catching him by the wrist, you whirl him back to you. “I’m sorry. You’re just so cute. I think this is the first time I’ve seen you act like this.”

“Can you be serious, please? This is actually very important to me.”

“I know, I’m sorry.” You stand on your toes, kissing his pout away. “I’ll pay attention, I promise. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

“I’m a bit scared,” he says, his shoulders sagging. He looks like a sad puppy. A giant, 193cm tall sad puppy. Even your puppy didn’t look as depressed as him now when she was on the verge of death. “What am I going to do when you’re away for two weeks and I can’t even jerk off once?”

You know you don’t have to jerk off, right? Your mouth is itching to say the words. “Two weeks aren’t even that long.”

“Of course, they are!”

“Okay, so you can’t jerk off for two weeks. What is the big deal—”

“What’s the big deal?!” He gasps, as dramatically as ever, one hand slapped against his chest. “You’re asking me what’s the big deal?! What if this is a sign of early erectile dysfunction?!”

Hereeee we go. “From someone who came four times last night, what are you saying?!”

“Excuse me, are you a doctor?” His voice drops, his face solemn. “Are you an urologist?”

You sigh. “No.”

“Do you have a penis?”

“Satoru—”

“Do you?”

You’re rubbing your head, headaches incoming. “You wouldn’t have married me if I had one now, would you?”

“Not true but okay. Anyway—”

“Wait, hold up, what does that mean—”

“The point is,” he puts pressure on his words, pinching your nose so you’ll stop talking. “No penis, no opinion. Also, multiple studies by Chinese researchers have shown that in order to avoid getting prostate cancer, men should release their sperm around two to four times a week. And—” He holds up a finger in the air, shutting you down before you even begin to open your mouth. “When you orgasm, your brain releases a surge of dopamine, right? I need that, especially when you’re not around to help me manage my stress.”

You press your lips together, as tightly as you can, afraid that you’ll break into another bout of laughter if you don’t. “I see.” It’s so hard to keep your voice away from shaking. He’s so serious, it’s almost out of character for him to be this serious. “So you’re, uhh… You’re stressed, huh?”

“Oh, I am, baby. I’m so stressed out.” He swats his bangs out of his eyes, pushing back his hair. “Look at me. I just woke up and I look like this. You think it’s not stressful to look this handsome every day? I have to work twice as hard as anyone else in my building just to be taken seriously. Especially by the CEO.”

“You mean your daddy.”

“My CEO.”

“Who’s your daddy.” Right after you hear yourself saying the line, you snort, failing to contain your laughter. “I’m sorry, I’m not laughing at you. I just had a flashback of the time when you said those words to me in bed and—” You wipe a tear away, your body shaking from your titters. “God, that was cringe.”

Satoru narrows his eyes. “So you are laughing at me.”

“Yeah, but not because of the things you’re saying right now.” The more you try to explain, the more he seems insulted. “Sorry. Continue.”

His nose flares. He would’ve been vexed if you didn’t look so adorable holding back your giggles. “All the other workers think I’m not fit to be next in line—to lead the company. They think I get everything I want just because I have a pretty face and I’m his only son.”

Well, I mean, they’re not wrong, you ponder to yourself, though you know if you mention it out loud, he’s going to cry. “They’re jealous of you.”

“And then of course there’s that guy, Kenjaku, who clearly wants to take my place so he’s been trying to get close to my dad,” Satoru clicks his tongue in annoyance. “Can you believe they went golfing together? Gol. Fing. My dad never even let me touch his golf club!”

Oh, he’s ranting. He’s so upset, he’s ranting like a tired housewife and it’s hilarious. “I’m sorry, sweetie.” You spread your arms, offering him a smile. “Do you want a hug?”

“Okay,” he mumbles cutely, moving toward your embrace with his lower lip jutted out. He goes down to his knees, tangles his arms around your waist, and nuzzles his face against your belly. 

“I think they just feel intimidated by you.” You land a hand on his head. For some reason, his hair is always extra fluffy in the morning. “Smart, charismatic, and sexy? They don’t stand a chance against my husband.”

Usually, you would have him go back to his feet (figuratively and literally) right away after hearing such words, but Satoru only lets out a small hum—responding but not quite agreeing—as he buries his nose deeper in your fabric. Seems like this one is serious. “Toru, you’ll be okay.”

“I can’t do it without you, babe,” he says, his voice muffled by your hoodie.

“What, getting that promotion without people judging?”

“No. Cumming.”

“Oh, we’re going back to that.” You chortle lightly, stroking his strands. “Okay, listen.” Cupping his cheek, you lift his face to meet your gaze. “You don’t have erectile dysfunction.” You return the small space between you, your lips curving up beautifully as you bend down and give him a light kiss on his forehead. “And next time, I’ll take care of your needs. Promise.” Noticing how his eyes take a quick look at the kitchen counter, you add, “Not right now, Satoru.” 

“Meanie.” Your husband groans, playfully biting your hand. “And how are you planning to take care of me the next time we’re separated from each other?”

“I’ll do something to help you, uhh… do whatever it is you need to do.”

His eyes light up. “Will you FaceTime me and give me a strip dance with Closer by Nine Inch Nails playing in the background?”

That’s… oddly specific… “And why does it have to be that song, if I may ask?”

“No reason, really…” He averts his gaze. “Just… You know, it makes me think about you…” He seems a bit shy.

Wait. Shy? Satoru is?

How does the song go again?

You tear down my reason  It's your sex I can smell  You make me perfect  Become somebody else  I wanna fuck you like an animal

You send your husband a blank stare. Look at him. This pervert is asking you this while acting like an embarrassed schoolgirl standing in front of her crush. “If it’s not too much to ask,” he says, so cutely as if he was asking you to make him his favorite dish for dinner.

Of course, it’s too much to ask, are you insane? “Or,” you suggest calmly with a forced smile. “We can do slightly more romantic stuff like calling each other on the phone and—”

“DO PHONE SEX?” Stars in his eyes. There are stars in his eyes.

“Uhh…”

“Please say yes, please say yes!”

That isn’t exactly what you have in mind, but can you even decline when he’s like this? Telling him no right now would feel just as awful as when you (because of Satoru, of course) accidentally revealed the truth about Santa to your nephew, giving Megumi a hard time feeding his son who started a hunger strike as he went into depression mode for three days. (This is a horrible comparison, by the way. One child was asking about Santa while this one is asking for the opportunity to whisper “I wanna fuck you like an animal” in your ear when you’re a hundred miles away from home. Two totally different cases, but you know Satoru will behave the same way as your nephew if you reject his wish. Probably even worse.)

With your head throbbing, you murmur, “Maybe just a little…”

“Promise?” He holds up his pinky, grinning from ear to ear.

All that positive energy you had this morning? Drained. “Promise…”

“Yaay~” 

As you break into a cold sweat thinking about the unfortunate event that will soon befall you (aka the phone sex), Satoru, is already back to his giddy and frisky self. Well, as long as he’s happy, I guess. 

“What are you having?” He asks, jumping back to his feet. “Coffee?”

“Mm. You want some?”

“Nah. I’m craving hot chocolate.” He reaches a hand toward the high drawer to get hold of his favorite mug, looming above you and intentionally knocking his chest against your face as he traps you in between. He giggles when you glare. He’s childish that way.

“How very girly of you.”

“It’s to relieve my stress.” He pokes you in the stomach. “Also, liking hot chocolate doesn’t make me look girly.”

“Sure, but trying on my skirt does.”

“Babe, come on,” Satoru whines, his earlobes turning scarlet. “How many times are you going to hold me on this? I was just messing around!”

“Honey, you were alone in our bedroom, wearing my maxi skirt and checking yourself in the mirror.”

“It was a dare from Suguru.”

“And taking selfies.”

“So I can send some proof to Suguru.”

“Not the point, Satoru.”

“That is the point! Babe, can’t you see? Saying no to the stupid dare would’ve made me seem less manly than he is.” 

“So you’d rather put yourself in a skirt?”

“Well, duh!”

You can’t find the logic in his excuse, you really can’t. “In my defense, though,” he adds. “I thought you were gonna be out for a little longer.” 

“What would’ve happened if I were? Gonna put on my thong next?”

“No,” he scoffs, trying to regain whatever amount of dignity he has left. “Also, it’s not like you’ve never done something embarrassing before. Remember that time when we went to Megumi’s birthday dinner and you ended up telling his nana a dick joke?”

“That was also you.” 

“No, no. I meant, that one with the salaryman meeting a guy in a horse costume—” His realization falls upon him. “Oh my God, it was me.”

You shake your head, amused. “It’s okay.” You turn to face the counter once again, placing your mug on the surface before you reach forward to grab a bit more cream.   “After being married to you for three years, the only thing that will surprise me is if you grow another head. Anything else, I can manage.”

“Why does this sound comforting and insulting at the same time?”

“Because it’s both.”

With his lower lip protruding, Satoru hugs you again from behind, his chin settled on the top of your head this time. This is why he claims to be all stressed out whenever you’re away. He’s so keen on physical touch that he can’t bear even a few inches of distance between you when you’re around. He reaches up to open the counter, grabbing a jar filled with cocoa powder. His chest is pressing against your spine, his other arm never leaving your waist. “I think we run out of sugar,” he says. “Wanna drop by the mart after work? I’m gonna have meetings all day today, but I can ditch the dinner party.”

“You’re not coming?”

“Hell no. Suguru’s hosting. He makes the worst parties.”

“Isn’t he the guy who’s rumored to be in love with you? I heard about it from Shoko.”

“Yeah,” Satoru snickers, very childishly. “I was the one who started the rumor by putting a note on his desk that said ‘I wish one day you’ll look at me the way you look at your wife. Your silver hair and pretty blue eyes have captivated me from the moment I laid my eyes on you. I dream of tasting your soft lips every night.’ It was so easy to copy his handwriting, I just couldn’t help it. Yuki found out about it and she started gossiping and by the end of the day, everyone knew. I took the note away before he noticed. Suguru never found out I did that, didn’t even know what was going on. He was so confused when people tried to cheer him up. I saw Choso giving him a pat on his shoulder, saying ‘We all love you for who you are, never change.’ And Suguru was like, ‘Uuuh, thanks, but I don’t want to be a salesman forever.’ And so both of them were confused.”

Your mouth twists into a grimace. “You are evil.”

“I prefer the term genius,” he corrects you, seemingly proud of his deed. 

“Also, soft lips?”

“Aren’t they?” He seductively raises an eyebrow. To be fair, yes, they are. Even on the coldest night, they’re still as soft as a butterfly’s wing. He has claimed many times that he only used a lip balm if necessary but you don’t buy it. There must be witchcraft involved. He puckers his lips, ready to kiss you and make you experience the thick jealousy you have of his pretty mouth—because, really, all these lip balms you have and your lips are still chapped during winter. You dodge, pushing your palm against his face instead. The big puppy that he is, he licks it.

“I think I’ll be out of the office around seven today,” he informs as you scrunch up your nose in disgust, wiping his saliva away.

“Okay. Pick me up first?”

“Like you need to ask,” Satoru smiles, granting a cute kiss on your forehead. He dabs his thumb on the corner of your lips, rubbing off a little bit of sugar from the leftover doughnut that you enjoyed with your coffee. He cleans it off his digit with his tongue, randomly ruffling your hair as he makes his way to the living room. 

“Oh, wait, almost forgot,” he says, retracing his steps.

“Hmm?”

Satoru snatches a jar from the counter—the one that you just used, filled with cream—and puts it in the highest drawer, the closest one to the ceiling. “Just a little payback,” he sniggers. “For giving me blue balls this morning.”

With him being 193 cm tall, he simply needs to stand on his toes for a little bit to reach it, but you? “I think you’re gonna need a ladder.” His teeth flash in an irritating grin. “Enjoy your creamless coffee for the next few weeks, Sweetcheeks—OUCH—BABY, THAT’S MY KNEE!”

“Grab the jar.”

“Fine.” He retrieves it with a grumble, handing it back to you. “But I’m reporting you for domestic abuse.”

You raise your wrist, showing the actual bruises he left on your skin. “I’ll see you at court then.”

“Babeeeeeee~”

***

07.21 AM

“Satoru.”

Your dear husband has been lying down on the couch for the past ten minutes, a head of velvety hair—which somehow still smells pleasantly like your favorite shampoo—resting on your lap. With a pair of round glasses perched on his nose, he turns deaf ears to everything that’s going on, focusing on nothing but moving his thumbs to win the next round of Momotetsu. As his eyebrows wrinkle in deep concentration, Satoru punches the buttons on his Nintendo Switch, glaring at the screen and swearing under his breath.

“Satoru.”

“Wait, babe, I just need to choose this card and—NOOOOOOOO!” He launches himself forward, sitting up with his mouth gaping, his eyes shaking in horror. “Did I just—yep, lost a million yen. Fuck this game. A Martha card?! A fucking Martha card?! Oh, I’m gonna—” He slams his console against the cushion. Repeatedly. He’s 29, and he throws a bigger tantrum than Megumi’s three-year-old son. 

“Watch your blood pressure, Honey.”

“Who even invented this game?! Stupid as shit. Babe, do me a favor and don’t ever let me play—” His phone rings before he can finish. Throwing one glance at his screen, Satoru mutters, “Oh, great. Here we go.”

The name Dumbass Monk is written on his phone. You wonder who it is.

Satoru answers through gritted teeth. “Fuck you, Suguru.”

Ah, yes, of course.

“No, how the fuck should I know that the card was gonna choose me?!” he barks, his voice bouncing off the walls. “I wanted it to choose you—oh fuck off, asshole, you’re broke as hell, you smell like wet socks, and your wife hates you. Wait, what was that?” He suddenly switches his voice, doing his best impersonation of a nosy old lady talking about the latest gossip. “You don’t have a wife? Not even a girlfriend?” He maniacally cackles. “I don’t know, man, I don’t think I’m the loser here. Unlike you, I’ve got a super hot wife who loves me unconditionally.” 

You flip a page of the book you have sitting on your lap. “Only ‘cause you’re rich.”

“And—” Satoru continues yapping on his phone but he makes sure to poke you on your side for your unnecessary comment. “She’s not just hot. She’s a complete package. She smells like daffodils, she makes me breakfast every morning and she looks so fucking gorgeous when she fucks—”

You slap a pillow against his head.

“—feeds me cookies,” Satoru finishes lamely, wincing, one hand raised in the air as a form of surrender before he takes another hit. “No, I’m not gonna pay you, idiot, you won purely by luck!” He then gasps, his jaw dropping low. “Did you just call me a monkey? Oh, that’s it—” 

Satoru is on his feet, shouting, growling, fingers jabbing and clenching as his mouth runs wild. You can somewhat hear the other man’s voice, giving you enough idea of what they’re arguing about although you can’t make out every word. Suguru’s tone is always soft and melodious when he speaks, but his insults are truly on another level. Chuckling to yourself at the strings of expletives that tumble out of their mouths, you watch your husband yell until blood pools on his face, “Fine! Don’t come crying to me when you have erectile dysfunction, which, based on all the non-existent sex you’ve been having, I know you will! Good day!” Suguru is still calling him names when Satoru ends the call with, “I SAID GOOD DAY!”  

You flip another page of the novel you've been trying—and failing due to someone’s endless shouting—to immerse yourself in. “Seems like you two are close.”

“Oh, he can die, I don’t care.” Angrily, he tosses his device away, landing his head back on your lap with the loudest groan he can muster. “Whatever. I’m still a better player than he is.”

“Of course, you are, honey,” you respond, your hand naturally falls back to his hair, caressing it like you’re stroking a cat’s fur. 

It only takes a few seconds before your husband stops shaking in vexation, even looking a bit sleepy from your comforting touches. “Were you talking to me before?”

“Mm. There’s something I wanted to ask you.” Placing a bookmark in between the pages, you close your book and set it down on the coffee table next to you. “About before, when you told me about your co-workers. How did you know that they’ve been thinking about you that way?”

He blinks, not expecting you to return to your previous conversation. “Aaaw, honey, are you worried about me?” From wishing someone to suffer crucially from impotence to wiggling in joy like a thirteen-year-old girl at the slightest sign of affection, your husband really does have an emotional range of a teaspoon.

“Of course, I do. You’re my husband.”

His mouth curves upside-down, his eyes glimmering, “Babeee, that’s so sweeeet.”

Though you're not so sure why he’s so happy when you just stated a fact, you let him be. “So what happened?”

“I heard them chatting when I passed by the smoking room one afternoon. I don’t smoke—you know I quit a long time ago—so I didn’t know they were ganging up on me and talking shit about me behind my back. Isn’t it gross for a bunch of thirty-year-old men to gossip?” His face scrunches up in disgust. He, the same man who spent two hours on the phone talking to the Dumbass Monk about the recently hired secretary, Maki Zenin (who’s apparently so strict and vicious that, in Satoru’s words, “Almost made me cry in fear when I arrived late at my lunch meeting last week.”), actually had the audacity to ask that question.

"What did they say?” You ask him.

“They said if it wasn’t because of my family name, I would’ve never gotten promoted to C-level.”

“But that’s not true!”You catch him off guard with your sudden fervor after spending the last conversation acting so dull. “I’ve seen how much you worked for this! Satoru, you earned that position fair and square!” Your husband might act frivolous almost every hour of the day, but there were times that he missed his sleep trying to come up with a new marketing strategy to promote their upcoming products. There were hours spent with him taking one conference call after another with his clients, even at two in the morning from the comfort of your living room due to the difference in their time zones. He’s the CEO’s son, true, but he worked just as hard, if not more, as everyone else in the company.

The more it sinks into your brain, the more irked you become. “Who said this?” You snap. “Huh? Who talked shit about you behind your back? I want names.”

Satoru lets out a chuckle, his eyes thinning into a line. It’s been a while since he last saw you being this protective of him. It reminds him of the old days in high school when you, despite acknowledging yourself as being his archenemy, were always quick to defend him when someone threw shade at him. “Honey, relax—”

“Was it Naoya? Or was it Toji? It was Toji, wasn’t it? Oh, that bitch—”

“It wasn’t Toji,” Satoru says, holding you by the hand in a futile attempt to calm you down. “Though you could still punch him if you want.”

“Why, did he do something to you?”

“I just hate his face.”

That’s very Satoru behavior of him that you don’t even bother to comment. “Nobody talks shit about my husband. If they think you get things done easy for you, it’s because you’re so smart, you make things look easy.”

He sits up, turning around to face you with warm, round eyes. “You think I’m smart?”

“Are you kidding me? You’re the smartest man I know.” You give him a light punch on his chest. “If I were your dad, I would’ve still given you that promotion, regardless of our relationship. You’re just that good at your job.”

“That’s…” He swallows. “This is the first time you’ve complimented me like this.” It’s a surprise to him, a very pleasant one, causing contentment to fill his heart.

You feel awful once you notice that even though you constantly thought of him this way, you never spoke your appreciation out loud. “Satoru, I’ve always admired you.” You rest your fingers on his knuckles, apologizing. “I know you complain about having to wake up early to go to work every morning, but despite your flippant attitude, you bear a deep sense of responsibility. You always manage to surpass people’s expectations—surpass mine and I already thought highly of you.” You give him a squeeze, smiling more with your eyes than your lips. “You make me proud. Every day you make me proud.” 

Satoru mirrors your expression, a soft blush painting his cheeks as his joy engulfs him whole. He wraps his arms around you, sinking his nose in your hair as he pulls you close. “You’re not throwing compliments at me just to cheer me up, are you?” He whispers and it’s only during times like this that he lets his vulnerability show. Satoru always shines like the brightest star, his eyes brimming with confidence, but there’s still a part of him—part that he conceals from everyone else except you—that needs to be consoled. He’s still a little boy who wishes for a gentle pat on the head and you always give the warmest one.

“I’m not complimenting you, I’m telling the truth. But yes, I am trying to cheer you up.” You return his embrace, your hand sliding up and down his back. “I wouldn’t have said this if you were okay ‘cause I know it’s gonna boost up your ego even more. You’re already annoying the way you are, so…”

He titters. “Can we stick to you being nice to me?”

You echo the noises he made, returning the space between you just wide enough to kiss his cheek. You cup his face with your fingers, your thumb caressing his cheekbone. “I’m sorry people said mean stuff about you… Are you okay?”

“I am now.” His smile is softer than the clouds. He leans close, cutely nuzzles the tip of his nose against yours. “This is why I need you in my life. You act aloof around me but you always think about me more than you think about yourself. You pretend to be ignorant, but you never fail to notice all these efforts I made. You care about me more than anyone else.”

Watching him put your feelings into words makes you feel flustered but you don't deny it. Not when he speaks only the truth. “I can also kick everyone’s butt for you.”

“As someone who has witnessed your heroic tales in high school, yes, you can, one hundred percent.” You feel his smile forming on your skin as he kisses your temple. “But just having you around me right now is enough. And it’s fine. I don’t care what anyone else thinks about me, at least not anymore. As long as you’re proud of me.”

“I am,” you say without missing a beat. “I’m proud of you, Toru.”

He takes away your hand that’s been warming his face, kissing your wrist while he maintains eye contact with you. “That’s all that matters to me.”

Your stomach swirls at the intensity of his gaze, his voice—just above a whisper—bears the same kind of tenderness and affection he portrayed on the day he asked you to marry him. His lips rub against your veins, the softest kiss against the softest skin. Your hand seems tiny in his grip but it’s a perfect fit. Every part of you is when it comes to him. 

“So, uhh…” You clear your throat. “What are you going to do now?”

“I guess I’ll just have to keep doing my best so I can prove them wrong.” His grin returns. “I’ll make my wife feel even prouder of me.”

He replies to your little chuckles with a kiss, light but sweet. Despite your heart wanting more of his touch, of the heat of his lips against your own, you focus on the matter. “Why have you never told me about this before?”

“Because I never cared about it too much,” he replies with a shrug. “Work only feels overwhelming when you’re not around. When you’re with me, no matter how stressful my workplace is, I’ll feel at ease instantly.” He lays his forehead on your shoulder, rubbing his face against the fabric. “So, don’t leave me, okay? If I have to go out of town, I’ll have you hide inside my suitcase so I can carry you around.”

You chortle lightly. “And if I have to go?”

“Well…” He pulls away, his eyes fixated on the shape of your lips as he caresses them with his thumb. He looks back at you, his fingertips resting on your nape, holding you still. You find your breathing stalled as his own fanned your lips. “I guess I’ll just have to convince you to stay.”

And when he kisses you again, you know that he doesn’t mean with his words.

***

07.34 AM

“Bunny!” Satoru calls from the bathroom, his voice reverberating loudly through the hall. “Baby, come over here!”

Standing in your apron with your hands moving to fetch your chopped onions from your kitchen aisle, you try your best to focus on your cooking while answering him at the same time. “For the last time, Satoru, I’m not interested in taking a shower together with you!” You sprinkle some pepper into the dish, wiping your sweat away from your temple with the back of your hand. You take a glance at the digital clock nearby. “Not when we have to leave in an hour!”

“But I’ll let you shape my hair!”

“Not interested!”

“I’ll even let you give me a mohawk!”

“Not intere—oh shit—” It’s a given, really, that you’d accidentally pour too much salt into your cream soup from all this diversion. Taking a deep breath, you start to glare at your ceiling as you chant don’t get angry, don’t get angry inside your head. This is the reason why you try to keep him off the kitchen floor as far away as possible whenever you’re making food but even when he’s meters away from you, he still manages to annoy you somehow. 

“Babe, I couldn’t hear you. Was that a yes?”

“NO!”

***

07.41 AM

“Oooh~ Something smells good~” Satoru chirps, popping back into the living room with a toothy grin and a white towel wrapped around his hips. It’s hanging low on his body, showcasing very distracting V-lines that you (secretly) adore. You look away. No good can come from staring at your husband’s lean, perfectly shaped stomach at this time of the day. 

But then you catch a glimpse of the scratch marks you left on his back from last night, your face aflame since you can barely remember how hard you dug your nails into his skin. Satoru always likes it when you’re not careful with him—just like how you love it when he’s rough with you—but were you really that… desperate to keep him close, clutching onto him like that?

You shake your thoughts away. “Dry your hair properly,” you mutter, keeping your eyes on the plates you’re currently setting on the dining table. “I just mopped the floor.”

“Okay, Mom.” Dabbing a smaller towel against his hair, Satoru walks closer to your spot and pulls back a chair.

You eye him cautiously. “What are you doing?”

“Taking a seat, what do you think I’m doing?”

“You’re not gonna wear your clothes first?”

“Do I have to?” He takes a sip of your half-finished coffee, smacking his lips before he throws a naughty grin. “I mean, I fucked you right here last night. Surely you won’t mind eating breakfast with me only in my towel?” Before you can say a word—and you have lots to say—Satoru adds, “I’m just giving you a chance to ogle at my body as much as you want as you enjoy your food. I know you’re too embarrassed to ask, so you’re welcome. And if you’re willing to take a day off, I can be your dessert too.” 

You make a face. “Gross.” 

“And yet, you don’t deny the fact that you’re planning to stare.” Peering into your eyes, he places his chin on his hand, resting his elbow on the table. The haughty look he displays on his face is supposed to irritate you, but what it does is make your heart pound harder. “You’ve seen and touched these babies for years, and you still can’t get enough? Babe, come on.”

“You seriously calling your abs your babies?”

“Yep.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “But if you play nice, I’ll let you call them—”

“Just eat your breakfast.”

***

07.46 AM

“Babe?”

“What?”

“I have something to say but promise me you won’t kill me after I said it.”

“Okay…” You look up from your plate, feeling a bit concerned. “What is it?”

Satoru has never looked this serious in his entire life (because face it, Satoru and the word serious don’t really belong together now, do they?). 

Taking hold of your hand, he gently squeezes it, providing the comfort that you might need.

“This soup is salty as hell.”

***

07.58 AM

With the taste of salt still lingering thickly on his tongue (and a bump on his head, a masterpiece done by your fist), Satoru steps inside the bedroom with a yawn, his fingers scratching his undercut. He unwraps the towel from his waist, tossing it onto the sheets without care.

Your husband smiles the second he notices the way you’ve prepared his clothes so neatly on the desk, all the way from his tie, his belt even down to his socks. His dress pants are ironed to a crisp seam, and his phone is fully charged (after being married to him for three years, you’ve learned all of his little habits). You’ve selected a matching dark tie to go with his suit, one that he recalled was given to him as a gift during last year’s anniversary. He loves it. He loves how you always buy the things he needs instead of what he wants, even when he, himself, didn’t realize how essential they were. But what makes him the happiest is when he sees the way it makes you smile so warmly every time he wears it, like a painter landing a final stroke on her masterpiece. For someone who doesn’t speak romantic words so often, your little gesture never fails to portray what’s on your mind. You love him and it shows. 

“I’m being spoiled, huh?” Satoru mumbles to himself, nothing but elation in his chest. He spots the little notes you left him on the same table, your handwriting scribbled on a piece of paper. “Ooooh~ A love note?”

Dear husband, If you leave your wet towel on the bed again  I’ll kill you.

“Not a love note.” Wincing, he immediately retrieves the towel from the bed, his mind playing a traumatic flashback of you scolding him about it for two hours straight (because suddenly it wasn’t just about the wet towel, was it? The forgotten toilet seat. The countless jackets hanging on the coat rack because he kept grabbing a new one. The pile of hentai doujinshi piling up on the coffee table. All of them.)

With the thought of skipping today’s work lingering in his head, Satoru forces himself to dress. As he turns around to face the mirror, he captures a brief look at the kiss marks blooming on his neck, ones that you painted on him last night. They’re faint because, unlike someone in this condo, you make sure to always be considerate of his appearance (though Satoru wishes you weren’t), but even the lightest shade of red seems vibrant on his fair skin. 

Although he acts nonchalant most of the time, your husband is quite the possessive type, so it’s a given that he likes the idea of having his marks on you. He gets a kick out of watching you struggle to hide the love bites he left on your neck, even more so when someone notices it. But, of course, nothing beats the feeling of having your marks on him. If you allowed him to, he would’ve worn every bite and bruise like a medal. Proudly. Contentedly. The same way he exhibited every present you’ve given him. Satoru just loves the idea of having a wife—of having you as his wife—and he would showcase that to the world in every second of his life if he could. 

He traces the bruises with his fingertips, drowning himself in the thoughts of you gasping against his ear, your teeth grinding against his neck as he pushed your knees further against your stomach with every thrust of his hips. He wasn’t lying when he said you looked absolutely gorgeous during sex. The way you parted your lips. The way your eyebrows stitched together in pleasure. The little noises you made when you breathed out his name as you bounced on his lap—

Satoru looks down. There it is again, the ache between his legs. Funny how you’re already so distracting even without doing anything—or being in the same room for that matter. Sighing, he grouses, “Guess she’s right. No signs of erectile dysfunction.” Willing his indecent thoughts to go away, he tucks his hands into the sleeves, buttoning up his shirt before he circles his tie around his neck.

“Satoru!” He hears your voice resonating from the bathroom. “Toru, can you come here for a sec? I need your help!”

“Oh, now she’s calling me to have sex with her.” He rolls his eyes. “After I finish taking a shower. So much for playing hard to get,” he scoffs. It’s ironic that he says this because right now he’s the one who’sacting that way. With giddy hands, he unfastens his tie, rushing to take off his pants again and almost tripping on his way out. He dashes toward the bathroom, opening the door while he strives to keep his excitement in check.

“WHOA!” You yelp in surprise, your body nude and drenched, hiding behind the door with only your head peeking out. “Why are you naked?!”

He frowns, confused. “Cause we’re about to have sex?”

Now you’re confused. “Uhh, no?”

“Why did you call me then?”

“I forgot my towel.”

“You’re asking me to get you your towel?” He sounds so appalled as if that thought never occurred to him when it’s supposed to be the first thing that should pop out in his head. Before you can respond, however, his mind, delusional as always, answers the question for him. “Oh, I see,” he smirks. “You’re using codes.”

“What?”

“‘I forgot my towel’—isn’t that, like, our code for ‘let’s have sex in the shower?’”

“Satoru.” You hold yourself back from ripping the silver strands out of his head. He’s testing your patience. Again. “We don't have any secret code.”

“We don’t?”

“Nope.”

“Oh…” It almost feels a bit cartoonish the way his shoulders sag upon hearing your words. There he is, a 29-year-old male standing in front of you in all his naked glory, saddened to his core over the fact of not having a cipher for sex. Well, for three seconds anyway. “So… You wanna make this our secret code, effective immediately, or—”

“Get the damn towel.”

With a stomp, Satoru leaves the bathroom only to return with your towel in one hand and his eyes squinting in a glare. Being the brat that he is, instead of handing it directly to you, he lets the thick cloth fall to the floor just a few inches away from where you’re standing. 

“Oh, you’re so annoying.”

“Isn’t that your secret code for saying you love me?”

You throw a jab to his stomach.

***

08.24 AM

Pushing your hair out of your coat, you call out your husband’s name. You examine your appearance one more time in the mirror, tidying your strands until they frame your face perfectly. The condo is fairly clean. Your stomach is full though you can’t seem to wash away the saltiness of your soup just yet. You’re only seven minutes late from your original plan, which isn’t bad. You’re all set. 

“Toru, you’re ready to go?”

Your husband is still yawning when he meets you in the foyer, carrying his handbag with his shoulders sagging forward. He’s dressed sharply in a white button-up shirt, combined with a black suit that accentuates the broadness of his shoulders. He looks handsome. He always does.

“Well, well, well, hello, Mr. CMO,” you snicker, pulling him by the tie while seductively batting your eyelashes at him. “Do you have time to spare? I would like to have a private meeting with you.”

He’s so tired, he doesn’t have the strength to keep up with your flirting, which says something since it’s usually the other way around. He spreads his arms wide open, his pout turning more prominent by the second. “Come here.”

“What?”

“I need my twenty-second hug.”

So, apparently, Satoru believes in this theory he found recently on the internet that said when you hug someone for, at least, twenty seconds, your body begins secreting the hormone oxytocin which is known to boost the immune system and reduce stress. He said that but you know that he’s just doing it so he can squeeze your ass, and that’s a fact, not a theory.

“Fine, but don’t grope my ass.”

“As long as you don’t grope mine.”

“I literally never did that.” You bury your face in his chest, tangling your arm around his waist. Satoru’s warmth is really one of a kind, or maybe he’s just as warm as a normal human being and you’re just too intoxicated by his scent that you stop making sense. No matter what the reason is, it’s comforting to be in his arms and if he doesn’t make a big deal out of it every time (acting like you’re the one who desperately wants to embrace him), you’d probably spend hours of your day just hugging him like this.

He buries his nose in your strands. “Your hair smells different.”

“I used your shampoo.”

“Yeah? That’s hot.”

You close your eyes, basking in his warmth and enjoying the smell of his perfume. He’s wearing a different brand today, just for a change, and although it’s not as sweet as his other one, this somehow feels much more comforting. Soft and fresh, reminding you less of summer and more of spring this time. “You smell different.”

“I used your perfume. And your bra.”

You’re not sure if you’re laughing over his terrible joke or his deadpan delivery, maybe a bit of both. Nuzzling your face against his chest, you titter, “Yeah? That’s hot.” 

And he’s not sure if he’s smiling over your reply or the way you just sounded so cute giggling like that—no, definitely both. He tightens his arms around your shoulders, squeezing your body against him until you start pounding your fist against his chest, begging for a time-out before he steals all the air in your lungs. “I think we should just skip work today,” he mutters as he releases you. “We can watch a wildlife documentary and count on how many times Benedict Cumberbatch mispronounced the word “Penguin” as ‘Pengwings.’”

“That sounds productive. If you want Maki to kill you.”

He shudders in fear, pulling you back to him. “Just for that, I’m gonna need another twenty.”

Though you feel the urge the roll your eyes, you let him tug you back into his arms and rest his chin on your head. After all, he’s your personal teddy bear. You can spend your eternity just sinking into his embrace like this.

“Satoru?”

“Hmm?”

“Your hands are on my ass.”

“Yeah, but I’m not groping them.”

“You are now.”

“Well now that you mentioned it, I just have to, don’t I?”

You break away, giving a playful slap on the chest. “Enough, we’re running late.”

“Where do you find the energy to go to work every morning?” He asks with weariness in his eyes. “I am this close to throwing myself back to the bed.”

Funny how literally an hour ago, he promised you that he’d work harder to make you feel even prouder of him. “Well, I guess, it all started when I turned into a fully grown woman.” You smiled at him, fixing his tie before you dealt with his collar. He might be the youngest person to enter C-level in his company, but he still dresses as clumsily as a five-year-old if it wasn’t for you to keep his appearance in check all the time.

“I’m a fully grown man too and I still wish I could lay around all day,” he sulks.

“You’re a man-child.” Tugging on his tie, you pull him down until your lips meet his in a chaste kiss. “But I love you. Body, mind, and soul.” You beam at him with your widest grin. “How’s that for your energy booster, Gojo-san?”

To your surprise, Satoru answers you by tossing his handbag to the side and dipping his head down once more to re-attach your lips together. He kisses you with the same fervor he had last night, tongue sneaking inside to taste the minty scent of your toothpaste. You gasp against his mouth, fingers fisting the fabric of his suit as you struggle to maintain your balance. Can’t help but take a couple of steps back from how hard he’s kissing you, you stop only when your spine meets the wall. “Satoru—” You attempt to push him away by placing your hand on his chest but he clamps his fingers around your wrist, bringing it over your head.

With his body pressed against yours, you wonder if he can feel your palpitating heartbeat beating against his own. There’s no stopping him when he gets this aggressive with his kiss and it’s not like you can find any willpower within you to stop him. Fortunately for you, he breaks away, wetting his bottom lip once as his eyes still glaze over your bruised ones.

“Spirits lifted,” he smiles against your lips, sending blood to pool in your cheeks. “Thanks, babe.”

When he lets you go, you find it almost impossible to stay composed. Three years… Three damn years you’ve been married to him and he still knows how to make your knees buckle with a single kiss.

“Babe?”

You push yourself away from the wall, your fingers tangled in your hair when you try to fix it. “W-what?”

Putting on his sunglasses, he casts a smirk, “You might want to fix your lipstick.”

“Oh, I hate you.”

He pecks your cheek. “I love you too, baby girl.”

***

08.32 AM

Despite you being the better driver—better as in I’m not gonna try and bribe an officer with a brand new iPhone whenever I get pulled over or threaten him with my family name when things don’t work out my way—Satoru always insists on having his hands on the steering wheel every time you’re with him. “A gentleman wouldn’t let his lady drive, especially when she looks this pretty in that skirt,” he always says, and yes, maybe this is his gentleman sidetalking—even when the said gentleman had put on the same skirt and caressed his own butt in front of the mirror a few days back. But honestly? You know this is just a part of his master plan to control the music playlist for the next ten to fifteen minutes.

“We’re not listening to Hatsune Miku again,” you say, putting on your seatbelt. 

“Oh, we totally are,” Satoru cackles, his fingers sliding up and down the touchscreen. He has seventeen different playlists consisting of more than a hundred songs in total, all taken from his favorite albums. Which is not much, really, considering Hatsune Miku is featured in around two thousand songs by now (a fact that you, honest to God, don’t care but he keeps reminding you of).

“Satoru, if you play one more Hatsune Miku song, I swear I won't put out tonight.”

“Well, if I have to listen to cookbook again—”

“Jungkook.”

“If I have to listen to cookbook one more time then I won’t put out tonight.”

“That's fine with me,” you shrug.

“Fuck,” he clicks his tongue, desperately jumping to the next option. “Okay, uhh… Oh, I know! You’re not getting my credit card ever again.”

You have one finger hovering above the screen. “So which Hatsune album are we listening to today?”

He sends you a dead stare. “Do you only love me for my money?”

“Oh, honey…” You rest your palm gently on his face, cupping and stroking his cheek. “Of course, I do.” You give him a tap that goes a little too hard than you intended but then again, he kind of deserves it. “Now, drive.” 

Satoru doesn’t even have the energy to come up with a retort. Exhaling in defeat, he kicks in the gear while you, with your face crumpled in repulsion, try to pick the least insufferable Hatsune Miku song. Unfortunately for you, Satoru catches a title that steals his attention.

“OOOH go back, go back! I want to listen to that one!”

You sigh, selecting his song choice. “It’s too early to listen to—” Beaming with joy and oblivious to the hatred you have for that one song, Satoru sweeps in and cranks up the volume until you feel your ears ringing from the inside. 

“Oh my God—” You flinch. If his loud nagging didn’t bust your eardrum, this definitely will. “Does it have to be this loud?!”

“Of course, my goddess is singing!” He shouts, grinning from ear to ear. He starts singing along, just as loudly, if not more. At this point, you swear there are people jogging on the sidetracks looking at your car with their faces contorting into frowns. 

 “I’m the number one princess in the world, so that's how you'll treat me,” he sings, slamming his hands against the wheel, head bobbing to the beat. “Oh my God, this is the soundtrack of my life!”

Still scowling, you have no choice but to listen further to the lyrics.

It's not like I'm acting selfish, I'm not asking for much  I just want you to think from the bottom of your heart that I'm adorable I'm the number one princess in the world  Notice me! Hey! Heeey!  Keeping me waiting is out of the question  Just who do you think I am?  Whatever, I think I could go for some dessert!  Yes, right now!

You grimace. “It really is.”

***

10.54 AM 

11.45 AM 

01.10 PM 

01.29 PM

02.05 PM 

02.29 PM 

03.22 PM 

04.02 PM

05.28 PM

06.11 PM

07.06 PM 

***

AN: Thank you so much for reading! I'm so sorry for the amount of cringe that you had to suffer through while you were reading this 😭

[adore-laur]

THIRD TIME’S THE CHARM

— flashback from the dadrry universe about how you & harry first met 🍸

——

Harvelle's was where Harry went to unwind. The dive bar in downtown Santa Monica was home to an intimate, narrow bar room that had once been a popular speakeasy nearly a century ago. Live jazz music, bewitching burlesque dancers, and eclectic alcohol choices attracted people from various backgrounds to visit and escape reality for a while.

Harry was there after a strenuous ten-hour shift, his back and feet aching to the highest degree. No amount of pain pills or sleep had fixed it, so he decided to come to a place where he could drink his sorrows away and focus his mind on anything other than his premature midlife crisis. The hangover he'd wake up with tomorrow would be dire, but thankfully, he'd have the weekend to recover.

As a generous patron of Harvelle's for over a year, his designated seat was the circular stool snug against the corner of the bar. Every Friday evening after work, he'd sit down, slap his credit card in the bartender's hand, and quietly sip cocktails while he observed everyone around him dive into drunken ecstasy.

This night was different, however, because someone at the opposite end of the room caught his attention.

In a trance, he watched you sway your head to the sultry music playing while holding a martini glass filled with pink liquid. Something strawberry-flavored, probably. He flicked his gaze to your lips, which puckered around the thin straw and took graceful sips occasionally. You were... gorgeous. Effortlessly so. You had the kind of face Harry would remember for a long time, even when he was slightly tipsy.

His lemon drop martini was half empty, and his eyes drooped from either exhaustion or the alcohol coursing through his blood. Tendrils of his hair fell over his forehead, which his sunglasses failed to hold back. His sheer, patterned shirt was sticking to his skin because of the room's humidity.

Or maybe it was because of you.

There had to be a way to garner your attention from where he sat. Your body was turned away from him, the shimmering lights from the rotating disco ball dancing across your back. Harry didn't want to be the type of guy in a bar who uncomfortably invaded a woman's space and sparked a lousy conversation until he could sense boredom practically exuding from them.

So, after the band finished playing a song, Harry put two fingers in his mouth and produced a loud whistle as everyone else clapped. It worked, much to his surprise. Your head shifted to glance back at him, and Harry felt instant regret. Too annoying? Had he turned you off?

"Sorry," he mouthed for some stupid reason.

You just smiled kindly and ran your eyes up and down his figure before casually jerking your head in invitation. Harry pointed at himself to ensure he was reading your gesture correctly, and you nodded in response while patting the empty stool beside you. The bar wasn't packed since it was nearing the early morning hours, so he grabbed his martini glass and stood up before approaching you. He awkwardly sat beside you and decided he should introduce himself.

"Hello, I'm Harry," he said, holding out his hand.

You placed your hand in his and gently shook it, telling him your name. "Nice to meet you, Harry."

"Where are you from?" It had been a brutal couple of months of having minimal luck in the dating realm, so he hoped he wasn't coming across as a total moron.

"Topanga," you answered, absentmindedly twirling the straw in your glass.

Harry had already fallen in love with your voice, if possible. "Wow. That's all the way in the mountains."

Shrugging, you sipped your drink, then said, "I don't like big cities. If I could, I would live closer to the coast, but properties are so expensive there."

Harry crossed one leg over the other, trying to appear nonchalant even though he was nervous as all get-out. "Like a beach house?"

"Yes, exactly!" you said, your eyes lighting up. "Maybe with my own private beach or something. That'd be amazing."

"Sounds like a dream," he replied, placing his chin in his palm.

"And what about you? Where does a guy like you live?"

"I live in Santa Monica in an apartment complex a few blocks away."

"That's nice. Do you come here often?"

Harry didn't want to give off lonely, miserable drunkard vibes, so he chose not to fib. "Um, sometimes," he admitted sheepishly, hoping his answer wasn't too vague.

"This is actually my first time here. It's quite intimate."

Harry licked his lips, desperately fighting the urge to longingly stare at yours whenever you spoke. "Yeah, it is. They have burlesque dancers on Saturday nights."

You whistled attractively. "I'm sure you enjoy that."

"Hey," he dragged out, smiling a bit. "I appreciate their flexibility." Too far, man. Dial it back a bit. "Just kidding," he quietly added.

You downed the last of your drink and then tapped your phone screen. "Yikes, it's getting late. I should probably head home."

A wave of disappointment and insecurity washed over him. He was just getting to know you. Had he said something wrong? Was he boring you? He could be quite the awkward, clingy idiot when he was drunk, so he genuinely felt worried as to why you had to leave so suddenly.

His brain was hazy, and the words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop himself. "Can I have your number before you go?"

You collected your purse, shooting him an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, but not tonight. Ask me again when you're sober."

Harry went utterly speechless. You hadn't said it dismissively or rudely, but it caught him by surprise nonetheless. In response, he just lamely lifted his drink in a cheers gesture as you left him alone, mysteriously disappearing through the exit and never glancing back.

——

You were running considerably late to work. A mandatory meeting was supposed to begin in less than twenty minutes, and you'd only just pulled into the parking lot of some random restaurant to pick up a cake for a coworker's birthday today. You followed the directions your boss gave you, which led to a burgundy building on the outskirts of Santa Monica. Luckily, the bakery section of the restaurant was right next to the lobby doors, so you parked your car and rushed inside.

When you pushed the glass doors open, a bell chimed, and you immediately heard something clatter to the ground, along with a hushed swear. The place was empty of people; chairs were still stacked upside down on the tables. Its modern interior design with neutral shades provided a subtle background for the colorful pastries crowding every corner. There was also a grand window display of desserts, all aesthetically and meticulously organized.

A man suddenly came shuffling out of the swinging kitchen door, his hands full of supplies teetering on each other.

Oh, it was the hot guy from the bar you went to about a month ago. What was his name again? Harvelle? No, that was the bar's name. Maybe it was Henry? Hector? Hubert? You didn't exactly remember, but you were positive it was something close.

Anyway, he seemed flustered in his oversized knit sweater and green trousers. A Styrofoam coffee cup was balanced in the crook of his elbow, and honestly, it looked like he just woke up. Yet somehow, he appeared even more beautiful than he did in the moody lighting of Harvelle's. His features were now accentuated by the pure daylight pouring through the windows.

You cleared your throat and waited by the front counter, observing him clumsily set things down before flipping through a notepad and blindly reaching for a pen off to the side. He had yet to notice you, too caught up in whatever task he was trying to complete.

After a few silent seconds, he ripped out a piece of lined yellow paper scribbled with scrawly handwriting and skimmed over it while walking forward to greet you. When he glanced up, he froze in place. His green eyes took in what seemed like every inch of your being. His fingers twirled the ballpoint pen he was holding.

"Hi," you said quietly, adjusting your purse strap.

"Hey," he replied, scratching under his eyebrow with his knuckle. "Uh, hey. Hi. What— why are you here? Sorry, that sounds rude." He took a deep breath before continuing, "I meant, how can I help you?"

You bit back a smile and took out your wallet. "I'm here to pick up a cake for my work. We're having a birthday party for someone, and this is where I was told to get it from."

"Ah, okay. Can I have the name associated with the order?"

"It's under mine, but I—"

He politely interrupted with your name unfurling from his mouth as a question. "We talked at Harvelle's not that long ago, right?"

He remembered, and you thanked the heavens that you quickly noticed his name tag because otherwise, you would have been guessing every name in the book.

"Yeah," you confirmed with a nod. "And you're Harry. You asked for my number."

His cheeks flushed pink as he rubbed his forehead with an embarrassed scrunch of his nose. "I'm so sorry about that. It wasn't the greatest first impression, was it?"

"I've had people try worse lines on me," you assured him with a laugh. "So, how much is the cake? I only have cash on me."

Harry checked his notepad. "Twenty-four dollars and sixteen cents."

You fished out a crisp twenty- and five-dollar bill, then handed them to him. He took them, his hand brushing against yours as he opened the cash register.

"Did you know there's a Carlo's Bake Shop in Santa Monica?" you asked.

"Mm-hmm. It's just around the block, actually."

"That's wild. I almost screamed when I found out."

Harry slowly smirked and closed the register with his hip, silently counting your change in his palm. "Why? It's just any old cake shop."

You gasped with wide eyes. "Excuse me? Any old cake shop? It's from Cake Boss!"

"Cake what?"

"The show that was on TLC with Buddy Valastro. Hello? Do you live under a rock?"

He tilted his head and tucked a pen behind his ear. "You're speaking Greek to me. I've no idea what you're on about."

"Never mind." You rolled your eyes playfully and began gazing at the displayed pastries. "Do you make everything here?"

"If I'm not scheduled elsewhere, then yes," he answered. "I'm usually here for the morning part of my shift."

"What else do you do?"

"I'm mostly an assistant chef in the restaurant kitchen, but sometimes I bartend or run the bakery."

"Well, everything looks delectable." You checked your watch and huffed when you saw the time. "I need to get going."

Harry snapped his fingers twice. "Shit. I almost forgot to give you your cake." He turned around and opened the see-through fridge, searching for the correct box. He eventually took a baby blue one out from the bottom shelf before setting it on the counter and taping the receipt he printed out onto the top.

"Here you are," he said, sliding it toward you before taking a sip of coffee.

You found yourself liking the way his voice sounded when no one else was around. "Thank you. Um, you forgot to give me my change."

Harry cupped both of his cheeks and slowly shook his head. "I am so sorry. It's early, and I didn't sleep much last night."

Waving him off, you said, "It's okay. Mondays, am I right?" You mentally facepalmed yourself for sounding like a loser.

"Right. You get it." He breathily laughed and handed you your change.

You put your wallet away and then picked up the cake box. "Thank you again."

"Of course," he replied with a handsome smile. "It's nice to see you again, by the way."

"Same here." You checked your watch for the second time. "I really need to go, but I'm sure I'll come visit another time to buy something for myself."

Harry gestured a thumbs up. It made your heart skip a beat for some reason. "Please do," he said. "Have a good day, yeah?"

"You as well."

You headed toward the door, and just as you were about to pull it open to leave, Harry called out, "Hey, wait!"

You abruptly stopped and turned around. "Did I forget something?"

He stuffed his hands in his pockets, clearing his throat. "No, but you told me to ask you sober, so can I— sorry, may I have your number? Please? Or we could go out somewhere?"

Your spirit sank. "I'm actually running super late right now. I'll try to come back soon, though. Promise."

Harry nodded, his head dipping low. "I understand. I'll catch you later."

"Bye," you whispered hastily before stepping outside.

When you finally got to work and sat down for your meeting, you thought about Harry the entire time.

——

Harry was bartending when he saw you again. He was topping a white Russian with cream, almost overflowing the glass, when he did a double take at your figure walking toward the counter. He wasn't expecting you at all, entirely confident that he'd never cross paths with you again after his failed attempt at asking you out a few days ago.

You were dressed in a black suit with matching heels. Your hair looked frazzled, but it was ridiculously attractive. He had to check that he didn't make the customer's drink wrong because of how many times he had glanced at you.

"Hey," you said breathlessly, sitting on an open stool in front of him. "I had a feeling you'd be working here tonight. Are you busy right now?"

Harry nervously swallowed and slid the drink down to the customer. "Hey. N-not really, why?"

You bit your lip, your teeth puncturing the soft flesh. "I just wanted to say thank you for the delicious cake. My coworkers loved it."

"Oh, thank you," he said, casually placing his arms behind his back. "I'm happy to hear that."

"I also came here to tip you." Harry followed your movements with his eyes as you took a ten-dollar bill out of your pocket, smoothing the creases against the edge of the counter before holding it out. "This is for you. You're very talented."

He accepted the money because, in all honesty, he really needed it. "That's kind of you. I appreciate it."

Harry couldn't believe he had the woman he couldn't stop daydreaming about right in front of him. His mind scrambled for a flirty gesture or pick-up line to impress you, and he ended up going for what he was best at. Jerking his chin up, he smoothly asked, "Can I make you a drink?"

You set your elbows on the counter. "What do you suggest?"

"A strawberry margarita. Isn't that what you ordered at Harvelle's?"

"It was! I'm surprised you remember."

He wanted to say it was impossible not to since he had been besotted with the way you puckered your lips around the straw, but he refrained for the sake of his dignity. "I'll make it for you right now," he said. There are also appetizers in the back if you'd like some. Jalapeño poppers are the special tonight."

You nodded eagerly. "I'd love some."

Harry walked toward the kitchen, smiling as he grabbed a steaming basket. He thought it was going well so far, and it was wild that you had visited to simply tip him.

When he came back, he set the food and a couple of napkins in front of you. You immediately took a bite as Harry started making your drink.

"I'll go out with you, by the way."

If he hadn't been working, Harry was sure he would have acted like a lovesick girl at a sleepover who was spilling juicy details about their crush while giddily kicking their legs in the air. Him? You wanted to go out with him, of all people? The burnt-out food service worker who drove a shitty Subaru and was living paycheck to paycheck?

Maybe the third time's the charm.

"Are you sure?" he asked as he stuck a sliced lemon on the rim of your glass.

Before you could reply, a customer pulled him away, waving him down. He apologetically smiled before rushing over and helping them as fast as possible. Once done, he spread his hands on the counter and tapped his fingers. "You're serious?"

You leaned forward and stared at him with a glint in your eyes. "Dead serious."

Harry blew out a sharp breath and chewed on the inside of his cheek. "Would it be lame if we got dinner here since I work literally every day this week?"

"I don't mind at all," you replied without missing a beat. "Whatever works for you."

"Cool." He straightened his posture and flung a dishrag over his shoulder. "How about this weekend?"

You hummed, quirking your lips to the side. "How about tonight?"

Harry's eyes went wide, clamminess instantly infiltrating his palms. Tonight? As in, there wasn't enough time to mentally prepare himself for a date tonight. Is it even considered a date? He was freaking out.

"Unless you're not in the mood," you added quickly. "I understand if you just want to go home after work."

He briskly shook his head. "No, no, I'm in the mood. Totally in the mood. I get off in about an hour, if that's not too long of a wait for you."

You lightly knocked on the counter three times. "Perfect. I'll sit here and watch you make drinks until then."

He just grinned and handed you your margarita. "Wave me down if you need anything."

Throughout the last hour of his shift, Harry tended to everyone in the bar while checking in on you every so often. Making sure no one tried to hit on you, for the most part. After his coworker finally arrived to replace him, he washed his hands and rounded the counter to stand next to you.

"Let's head outside where it's quieter."

You nodded and grabbed your drink as he led you away from the crowd, his hand hovering over your back. He didn't want to overstep unknown boundaries too soon.

"Where do you think strawberry margaritas are better? Here or at Harvelle's?" you inquired as you both walked to the outdoor seating area right by the beach.

"Here, obviously," Harry said with a smirk. "Why, does mine taste bad?"

You both sat down opposite each other at a circular table. "No. I'm just wondering since you're the expert."

Harry bashfully smiled, then became a little more serious. "Listen," he started, "I'm sorry again about asking for your number while tipsy. That wasn't very gentlemanly of me."

You laughed and said, "Don't worry about it."

"All right. Good."

After you ordered food and more drinks—Harry insisting that he could get everything for free since he was a loyal employee—the two of you began getting to know each other more, taking turns asking questions and falling into an easy flow of conversation.

"Do you want kids?" Harry asked on his tenth or eleventh turn, his rings clinking against his glass as he tapped it.

He watched you ponder the simple yet complicated question, wondering if asking such an invasive thing was a stupid mistake. "I'm not sure," you replied eventually. He let out the breath he'd been holding. "I'm still young, and I don't think it's a decision I can confidently answer right now. What about you?"

Harry cradled his cheek in his palm. "I definitely want babies in the future—with the right person, of course, so I guess I have to wait for that first."

Your eyes softened as you took a sip of your drink. "How many babies?"

"Hmm, maybe two. Three, if my partner doesn't hate me by then."

"Boys or girls? Or both?"

"Honestly?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. You nodded as he rested his foot on the bottom of your chair. "All girls would be ideal. I don't know why; it's just what I see for myself."

"I get that," you said, nudging your foot against his. "Daughters would be really special to raise. They make the world go round."

He hummed in agreement, subtly brushing his kneecap against yours. "I also think I could learn so much from them, you know?"

"Who, your hypothetical children?" you teased.

He chuckled and shrugged his shoulders. "Yeah, I guess. We're speaking hypothetically, right?"

"Sure. Unless you're speaking it into existence."

"With how my love life is going, it doesn't seem likely."

You made a noise of protest. "Don't say that! You're a handsome guy."

"Well, my looks only get me so far."

"You're also sweet and charming." You took a small bite of food and maintained eye contact with him. "I'm shocked you're not taken already."

"I swear it's because of my job," he muttered. "Whenever I tell someone I work in a restaurant, they look at me like I'm a disappointment."

You retracted your head. "What's wrong with working in a restaurant?"

"You tell me," he murmured around the rim of his glass.

"I think it's hot."

Harry nearly choked on his drink, raising a fist to his mouth as he coughed in shock. "Come again?"

"You're a chef."

"Assistant chef," he corrected.

"Same difference," you continued confidently. "You can cook food, you can bartend, and you know how to woo a woman. That's hot."

"Are you sure you're not just quoting Paris Hilton?"

You rolled your eyes with a knowing smile. "Maybe, maybe not. Please tell me you've watched The Simple Life."

Harry stared at you, waiting for the punchline, but you looked completely serious. "No," he deadpanned. "Absolutely not. I will never watch trashy reality shows."

"Not even The Bachelor?" you asked, leaning closer with interest. "That's my favorite franchise to watch."

"You're insane if you enjoy that," he replied, wiping a napkin around his lips. "Anyway, back to you calling my job hot. Elaborate, please."

You gawked at him. "Has no one ever told you that before?"

He blinked slowly with a straight face. "It's not like I have the sex appeal of Bobby Flay, love."

Your eyes scanned him up and down. "I'm sure it's hidden somewhere deep inside you. Do you wear a chef jacket?"

"Yeah."

"See? That's hot."

He barked out a laugh. "You're lying to me."

You mimicked his surprised expression. "I am not!"

Slightly leaning over the table, he looked at you with unwavering eye contact. "Liar."

"You don't know me."

He said in a low, self-assured voice, "I'd like to."

A heartfelt exhale escaped your beautiful lips. "Then stop assuming I'm a liar when I compliment you."

Harry breathed in deeply and glanced at your lips. One brief look at them rendered him weak, their shape curving into a smile, stained pink due to your margarita. He wanted to kiss you, but it wouldn't be very romantic to do so in public. He could kiss your cheek instead, but he already imagined how awkward he'd make it. He could hold your hand—a more subtle gesture that wasn't too bold. That sounded manageable.

So, with a single swig of his liquid courage, he went for it. His hand slowly scooted to your thigh under the table, delicately grabbing your fingertips with his own. He rubbed his thumb along your knuckles and set his fingers underneath your palm so you were holding hands, fingers not interwoven but holding nonetheless. You'd gone quiet; whatever you were about to say was lost in the intimacy swirling in the air.

Harry squeezed your hand and said, "Let's walk down to the beach."

"Okay."

Harry let go and stood from his seat, then pulled you up with him before leading you to the sand. The sun had fully set, yet several campfires and tiki torches lit the way to the shore. There was barely anyone out, which was perfect for Harry since he planned to kiss you senselessly. At least, he hoped so. He might chicken out, which was highly likely considering his heart nearly gave out whenever you looked at him.

"Can I kiss you?"

"Pardon?" Harry's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. Damnit, you beat him to it.

You took off your heels and started walking toward the water. "You heard me."

"Yeah, I-I did," he stammered, sliding his shoes and socks off as he strode up to you.

His black work shirt almost caught fire from the tiki torch with how fast he walked toward you. The waves calmly met the shore, and he admired you step into the shallow water, the Ferris wheel and pier merely twinkling lights in the background. The nearby flames danced off the reflection of the ocean as well as your skin, and he swore he'd never experienced such a magnetic pull toward someone before. He followed you like a puppy on a leash, digging into his pocket for a mint he secretly grabbed. He popped it into his mouth.

Eventually, he faced you with the water rising just below his knees. You were staring at him with a particular look, and he took it as his cue to initiate the first move. "Do you want to kiss me, or should I kiss you?" Harry asked nervously.

You placed your hands on his hips and said, "Just kiss me, please."

So he did. He ducked his head down to mold his lips onto yours, feeling them immediately find the shape of his and move beautifully against his bottom lip. He tasted strawberry residue, weakening his knees with each soft pull. His hands gently held the sides of your neck, and he used his thumbs to tilt your jaw. He wanted to open his eyes and savor how you looked, but he was so caught up with how fast his heart beat and how euphoric he felt touching the woman of his dreams.

When you finally ran out of breath and pulled away, Harry rested his forehead against yours and made a noise somewhere between a whimper and a groan.

"Was that okay?"

He shook his head in disbelief but quickly turned it into a nod so that you didn't think he was saying no. "Yes. That was the best thing to ever happen to me."

You laughed and kissed the corner of his gobsmacked mouth. "I'm honored."

Harry stared at you, mesmerized by every square inch of your face. "I feel like we were always supposed to meet," he murmured, more to himself than anyone else.

"Me too," you said sincerely.

He really hoped he didn't mess things up.

——

[cosmicobubisi]

Cosmic's Malleyuu Whump vs. Flufftober: Day 1

search party / Lost Pet Meet Cute

Hello! This is the 2024 version of a challenge I undertook last year, my Whump vs Flufftober challenge. For each prompt day, I’ll flip a coin and write a story based on the prompt I get (heads for whump, tails for fluff), unless I decide I want to do both prompts. The prompts may vary in length and context, and most of them will be malleyuu-centric. Some prompts may lead into one another, but I’ll indicate when I switch prompts and worlds.

This will also be compiled and posted on AO3, if you prefer that format. On tumblr, all pages will be tagged with the "Cosmic Whump vs Fluff 2024" tag, for easy organization.

Thank you!

--

"Grim?!"

The autumn leaves crunched under their boots as Yuu stumbled blindly through the forest.

A sick feeling was rising up from their stomach as they batted away tree branches in their quest to look through more of the endless maze of yellow, red and brown that was the forest, but they made themselves to keep their breaths steady, forcing their anxiety out through their nostrils.

Their cat was gone. Grim, their spoiled little grey cat, had slipped out of their apartment when they'd opened the door to get some fresh air as they studied.

Yuu's brutal school schedule, compounded with an utterly exhausting job behind the counter at a deli, had pushed them to a near-breaking point, and though they'd wanted nothing more than to lie in all day on their one day off, Yuu had dragged themselves out of bed and poured themselves into their desk. With a fluffy blanket and a mug of tea, they'd popped open the doors to their balcony, but after a frustrating half hour of studying later, they'd glanced over only to realize that Grim wasn't anywhere to be found.

They'd immediately felt sick to their stomach, knowing for sure it had been their stupid, stupid mistake that had caused Grim to escape, but they'd held out hope until they'd inspected every nook and cranny, and had even poured out a little more food into his bowl to entice him back into the living room. No luck.

Fighting tears in their eyes, they'd shrugged on their coat and forced themselves outside, feeling that every second spent unsuccessfully searching was another wasted. Not just in the sense that they could have spent their time studying, but that Grim had surely already met a terrible fate, and that Yuu was barely qualified to be a pet owner anyway.

The thick cover on the ground had made it impossible to see what was underfoot, and so when their boot caught on some unknown object and Yuu barely stuck their hands out in time to keep themselves from crashing down, it took them a few moments to register that they were stuck in a foxhole.

Yuu felt tears of frustration well up within their chest as they wriggled themselves free, and it was all they could do to not collapse in on themselves.

In the solace of the woods, Yuu allowed themselves a few moments of weakness, even though they felt like that's all they had nowadays.

It felt like everyone in their program was thriving, when all they wre doing was failing. Managing the workload of being a full-time student, as well essentially having a full-time job, was killing them.

Yuu couldn't help but feel like the jobs were just excuses for not doing better in school, though, and a small part of them was relieved when they got to work. The deli wasn't fun, but it felt much better to have a simple, repetitive lineup of tasks to do until quitting time, rather than having to formulate a ten-page paper of their own execution.

Not for the first time, Yuu wondered if they were even cut out for this, when there were a dozen more deserving people out there.

Before Yuu could let themselves fall into even further despair, they saw a shadow out of the corner of their eyes, which was odd, because it was high noon, and they were in broad daylight.

Upon inspection, it was no shadow, but a tall, slender form standing in the middle of the forest.

Yuu's eyes widened, and they tried to scramble behind a bare tree. They didn't know the intentions of this somewhat creepy-looking stranger, and it would be better to not let them have the upper hand.

But they hadn't taken the time to be quiet, and so the stranger immediately noticed them.

They stared at each other for just a moment, before the stranger broke the silence.

"Hello," he said in a light, almost curious tone.

At least, Yuu thought the stranger was a 'he'.

"H-hi," said Yuu, mostly just to say something. The situation felt awkward and tense.

The stranger walked over, and Yuu was able to get a better look at his clothing. It was no wonder that Yuu had thought he was a shadow, since he was dressed in all black.

His hands were in the pockets of his long, black robes. Yuu could see slight detailing around the ends, of thorny vines and roses. Their curtain length made it difficult to see anything else about him, but the two, gleaming horns spiraling off of the top of his head.

Yuu couldn't help but stare for a moment too long, forcing their eyes to snap away.

Kneeling on the ground in front of this... person certainly wasn't helping Yuu to gain the upper hand. They pushed themselves up without taking their eyes off of him, and brushed the leaves off their knees, as they were asked a question.

"Are you searching for something?"

Before they could even blink, who would crawl out from deep folds of robes than their eternal partner in crime- Grim, in his collar and bow, looking completely unruffled by a situation that had been giving Yuu grey hairs just a moment before.

"Grim!!" Yuu nearly shrieked, holding their hands out to let the cat jump into their arms. Grim purred, and Yuu stuck their nose in his fur.

"You're ok," they murmured. "You're ok."

"He was delightful company, I'll have you know," said the stranger. "Very good conversationalist."

Yuu chuckled, feeling like they could joke about the situation now.

"I'm glad," said Yuu with a chuckle. "Usually, he just whines for food."

The stranger smiled back, but silence hung in the air as Yuu's heart rate settled.

They didn't know what was happening right now, but Yuu figured htey could use a longer break from their work.

"I'm not sure what you're doing," began Yuu, "but would you like to come over to my place? At least let me thank you with soup."

The stranger blinked at them. "Soup, you say," said the man.

"Yep. I've got turmeric."

He stroked his chin, tilting his head slightly. Even when they were standing, the man still towered over them, and it felt more like they were being examined and studied.

"I will accept," he said, punctuating his gravelly statement with a very slight nod. "Where is your home?"

"Just out of here. C'mon, you can follow me."

Yuu began to lead the stranger out of the forest, before pausing in their thoughts.

"I didn't even ask. What's your name?"

"My name?" asked the stranger, looking a bit surprised. He recovered quickly, though. "I am... Malleus."

"Nice to meet you. I'm Yuu."

They exchanged smiles, but returned to silence as Yuu led them back briskly to their apartment.

"Make yourself at home," said Yuu, shrugging off their own coat as Grim leapt onto their shoulder. "It'll be a bit 'till dinner, but I can get you something to nibble on."

Malleus seemed to be inspecting their apartment with gusto. He was able to keep his fascination mostly to himself, but his hungry eyes betrayed his interest.

Yuu hopped into the kitchen to put some biscuits on a plate, and set it down in the window that led the living room be seen from the kitchen, and turned back to start the soup.

As they added their frozen veggies and soup cubes to the pot, Yuu gave themselves a moment with their thoughts.

A fae. And so near them, too. What was he doing here? What did he want, and why was he dressed like that?

Yuu's program was related to study of the local area, and while it mostly concerned more... mundane research, it was also a program designed to strengthen their powers as a witch.

Grim hopped down from one of the cabinets holding something in his mouth.

The spice bottle said nothing, but the symbol Yuu knew on the front represented splinters of a mountain ash tree.

"Turmeric, Grim," corrected Yuu, reaching up for some ginger to add to the pot.

Yuu spared half a glance backwards, and saw 'Malleus' had his back turned to them.

They added the ginger and the turmeric. Before anything else, they were gonna eat.

[writingmeraki]

WORTH IT ?

summary : When your best friend, Heechan, sets you up with someone who he knows is the perfect match for you, you begin to contemplate his words when said perfect match almost leaves you stranded. Definitely not the first impression Guesung had hoped for.

pairing : cho guesung x gn!reader, strangers to friends to more (?)

genre : romance, humor (attempt), fluff.

warnings : alcohol consumption, cussing.

author's note : welp pretend this is not a part of a series cause i'm scrapping that idea haha anyways ! let me know what you think ? (not entirely proofread.)

word count : 3.6K

Admittedly you were pissed.

Very pissed because you were not the type to go on blind dates because for one you didn’t believe you’d ever be able to get along with someone who you’d never met in your life, not even once, a typical stranger let alone go on a date with them in your first-time meeting.

But also secondly your paranoia was on another level and you also hated to admit it, you were very nervous. Which is normal right? Yet the thing was you were feeling a little insecure. Insecure about whether the stranger who was going to arrive anytime soon now, yes you had arrived there first, would find you well…attractive.

Then again though,  that is all you were, strangers, and you think you fuck it who cares about their opinions as you down your 2nd cup of ridiculously expensive red wine, it seemingly cooling your nerves as well as leaving a sweet aftertaste that complimented your slightly bitter insecure thoughts. Yet you had gone out tonight, even Heechan, your one and only best friend who was in fact the one who set you up (more like forced to be set up) on this blind date.

He did say the guy was a good friend of his and was the perfect match for you while all you had done was scoff at his words and roll your eyes at the finally finding your perfect match because in your 23 years of existence all men ever did to you was disappoint. [ Except Heechan though but you would never admit it to him.]

You took a deep breath calming your nerves and once again rose your hand up to look at the time on your dainty little watch you adored since you bought it with your very first paycheck.

‘8 :47’ it read and you could not help but frown a bit, unknowingly it had already been 17 minutes past the initial meet up time Kangin had told you on. You do think showing up ten minutes earlier was a bit extra but you thought it was better just in case but now you had been waiting for almost half an hour and you were getting even more bored.

You picked up your phone, ready to cuss at your best friend for setting you up with a no show, his good friend or not, it was still asshole behavior for standing you up. Feeling some inkling of embarrassment begin to creep up your mind as you also realized you did agree on this and skeptical thoughts regarding this Heechan’s so called friend initially agreeing thinking you were desperate and decided to toy with your agreement and not show up.

On the third ring, Heechan picked up and you could hear the slight surprise in his voice because he didn’t expect you to call so…soon.

“Yo Y/N- wait why are you calling me right now? Aren’t you supposed to be on your date?” He asked with genuine confusion and you could tell he had no idea.

Letting out a sarcastic chuckle “Well since you’re so eager to set me up with a self date, I thought why not just call you in hmm?”

“Self date wha- Hold on Guesung is not there?” He asked now with concern hinting in his shock “Trust me I wouldn’t have called you in if your Guesung hadn’t been a no show.”

You spat through gritted teeth in an agitated voice as you ran your free hand through your hair which had taken so much time to do. You were also beginning to feel hot in your coat as it had been a cold night in Seoul so you decided to leave on your coat even though you did feel like ditching it so you could do the cliché your date gives you his coat as you feel cold.

Now you just felt stupid as you wished instead of his coat or jacket, you wished he had been the one to show up. You felt stupid to feel a bit hurt over a fucking stranger but it was not like you didn’t have the right to. Heechan had given you some high expectations through his tales of his friend about how incredible he is and so totally your type. You felt obligated to tell Heechan he owed you a lot, maybe strawberry shortcake with some chocolate milkshakes would make up for it, but still you felt it was not enough.

“You so owe me for this seriously like what an assho-“

“Wait just a minute, Guesung should have been there, he literally left my place at 8 wanting to show up early even when I insisted for him to go like at 8:20 or something.” Heechan defended his teammate who was basically his dongsaeng as well.

“Let me do one thing I’ll call him yeah?” He said as he sat up from his lying down position, and just as you were about to respond him, the little bell on the door jiggled, indicating someone had walked in.

A rush of cool breeze swept in as the man quickly closed the restaurant door behind him, catching his breath as he swept his hand over his previously tame hair which had become slightly messy as though he had been running through the night as the wind tousled his perfectly set pulled back slick hair.

And that was not too far off, as Guesung looked at his own expensive watch that sat on his wrist, cursing mentally as he realized he was late.

Very fucking late.

His eyes lifted up as he tried to smooth down the imaginary wrinkles on his blazer of his Louis Vuitton Suit, fixing up his black tie properly and making sure his hair was once again set as to how it was before, or well tried to but a few impatient strands escaped and rested gently on his forehead.

He scanned the room, hoping you had not actually ditched him because that would imply you already had a judgement on him, which he knew was not a good one as it would also mean you thought you’d been stood up and already concluded him an asshole.

He mentally once again cursed at the paparazzi who had gone absolutely nuts once he had left Heechan’s apartment, following him while shoving their cameras in his face all while the bright lights almost blinded him. He knew to expect this already but he had underestimated his own fame once the world cup had ended, and alas faced the consequences on the worst possible days out of all.

Him being the gentleman he was and also just for the sake of you being a stranger as well, didn’t want them to intrude on his own privacy or even endanger your own privacy, so he stalled them, tried to stall them and shot quick texts to Kangin of help which the latter had been more than helpful as he distracted them so that Guesung could literally make a run for it.

It was good, he was an athlete and a fit one at that because holy fuck running almost 15 minutes continuously in a damn suit was very very impressive.

You had looked up the moment the bell had jiggled, stuck in your own star struck daze as you looked at the man who’d stepped in, and blinking to make sure you hadn’t accidentally fallen asleep and this wasn’t one a trick of your hyperactive imagination.

Your jaw dropped literally when his eyes locked with yours as a look of acknowledgement followed and he began making his way towards you.

Holy fucking shit, that- that’s Guesung ?!?

You whispered out your thoughts unknowingly and a static sound of a chuckled echoed in your ear as you pulled the phone out of your ear, slightly cringing at your words when you realized you had thought out loud, mentally wanting to hit yourself.

“So I’m guessing he has finally shown up huh? Well don’t forget the rules of a first date, no kissi-” You hang up as Heechan’s chuckle came through and before he could begin his teasing as you felt your own face heat up at the cut words and cleared your throat placing your phone down on the table and sat up straight as Guesung finally made his way over and stood next to his own seat.

“Um sorry, but are you perhaps Y/N? I am Guesung. Heechan’s friend, you know the one who uh- organized this whole thing.” He spoke with nervousness seemingly apologetic and it did make you think back a little on your judgment of him being an asshole but you couldn’t jump to conclusions just yet. Frankly, the man was the definition of a fucking model, the looks, the height, and everything, you’d think he would have the ego of a typical male but the apologetic look on his face and the tone of his voice contradicted your own judgment.

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms, as you tried not to let your heart be biasing your angry thoughts but God it was so hard especially when his eyes twinkled with a sorriness and one of his hand raising up to fix his tie for the third time since he stepped into the restaurant (yes you kept count)

You clicked your tongue narrowing your eyes, as you leaned backwards to look into his eyes directly “Well Guesung, for your information, yes I am Y/N you know the person who you’ve kept waiting for almost an hour now.” You finished chuckling sarcastically, your last few words being laced with more spite than you intended to and you suppose it was now the hunger taking over.

You decided it was rude to keep him standing, even though you suppose he could have sat if he wanted to but you felt like he was waiting for your permission and that little thing did more to your heart than you wished it would have, you lifted one of your hands, pointing towards the seat in front of you “This table is not meant for one you know? You should take your seat since it is yours anyways.”

His eyes widened slightly, as the tip of his ears became a light shade of pink in embarrassment and you almost felt bad for being hostile towards him but it was not your fault as well because he had yet to explain as to why he was late. He sat down in front of you, even though he was nervous, he didn’t let it affect him physically as in he made sure to not let clumsiness play a part tonight, as he sat down letting his hands rest on his lap, and even when he sat down he still managed to make you look small, or maybe he was just too tall you justified your average height.

“So, why? Why were you so late?” You sat a little straighter as he cleared his own throat, running his hand through his hair once again, a habit, you noted. He let out a sigh of relief as he relaxed slightly in his seat, you eyed his frame, trying not to obliviously check him out again for the 10th time, it was just to observe his body language, you argued with yourself.

He seemed slightly out of breath which made you furrow your eyebrows, you of course could not see that when he first walked in but now you could clearly see it and wondered, unconsciously pouting slowly as you tried to think of reasons while being lost in your mind.

Guesung’s eyes moved to your lips as he scanned your face and noted the small furrow and pout, before even fully thinking of an answer, he replied “Sorry, really, I promise I did leave early but- but the media, they can’t just give me a damn break, ever since I came back to Seoul, they have been on our backs like fucking hawks, I swear I tried to come early but I had to run here and I had no other better option than that, it got really crowded and again I really am sorr-“

“Hey, hey first of all calm down.” You told as he was going to continue his ramble, placing your hand on his which were now folded on the table, fiddling clearly showing his emotions, and you placed yours on top because  you could not really think of any other reason other than hoping it would somehow calm him down.

Comfort from a supposed stranger seemed to have worked.

He stopped fidgeting and took a deep breath as he looked away, his cheeks now a shade of scarlet and you really tried not to fall then and there like a shameless person because you did have some self-respect but the man in front of you was just too…too cute.  You pulled away your hand quickly once he seemed to have calmed down and he continued, now a little more relaxed,

“The reason I got even more late was because I called up Kangin so that he could help me out of the whole mess and it did work but also- I had to make a run for it here…quite literally.”

You widened your eyes as he finished talking and now it made sense as to how disheveled he looked when he walked in, though it did not make him any less attractive, and were honestly impressed because running in a damn suit let alone running itself was a task, though you suppose him being an athlete of course benefitted him in that aspect unlike your non existent work out routine.

“That’s- that’s wow okay, I definitely was not expecting that I won’t lie, I think I forgot you guys are like famous now.” You told chuckling at the end, an indicator that you weren’t as upset anymore because his explanation did make sense and you also told the honest truth because you genuinely forgot these guys were actually famous after the whole world cup thing.

“Though are you alright now? Do you want some water or something? I didn’t order anything because I was waiting for you since I didn’t know what you’d like.” You asked him with ease and he nodded skeptically, unsure whether you were being sarcastic or not as you rolled your eyes seeing the skepticism on his face “Look it’s fine I guess, I forgive you for being late, it’snot your fault I suppose.”

Guesung looked at you surprised by your words but they did the work as he let out a sigh of relief, you understood more easily but then again you did already have a famous best friend so he guesses you have already experienced the tardiness of another showing up way late than you did,

“But! You still have a lot of making up to do.”

You finished with a cheeky tone to lift up the mood and with a tiny smirk which Guesung couldn’t help but let out a chuckle at which you also giggled a bit trying not to be swayed so easily but the way his eye became small crescents as his cheeks pulled up.

Clearing his throat, he gently spoke “Then I guess we deserve a proper introduction right?”

He leaned ahead, while he crossed his arms, taking in a casual stance, evidentially feeling more at ease now as the misunderstandings had been cleared, and you raised an eyebrow at his posture, wondering what he was thinking.

“So…you come here often?” He said in an flirtatious deep voice, which broke any resounding tension, that had you smiling as you leaned forward wanting to muse along with him.

“Never been here in my life.” You said whispery, as you continued smiling, his eyes now twinkling in delight which made you giggle as you put your hand to cover your mouth, you own eyes now squinting in laughter.

“Interesting, interesting…you come here alone often then? I see you already ordered something to drink huh?”

“Well…” You said trying to appear deep in thoughts for an answer “I hadn’t known I would have wait so long for you. And maybe I needed the liquid courage.” You shrugged at him and he laughed at your response shaking his head,

“Then I am sorry to have kept you waiting,” He spoke with sincerity again and even though you had told him it’s okay, you still replied “All’s forgiven but again you still have a lot of making up to do.”

He giggled at your words and then smirked slyly “Oh don’t worry darling, I promise I’ll give you the time of your life.”

“That’s a bold proposition.” You spoke, your eyes shimmering with mirth as one corner of your lips turned up, you bit your lip trying not to grin like an idiot again.

“Babe, you don’t know me just yet then but you’ll find out eventually.” He winked at you which made you slightly blush as you tried to cover up the fact that he was affecting you with nervous chuckles.

“Well then I’d be delighted to find more about you, Mr. Cho Guesung.”

And the rest of the evening went with the same ease, both of you flowing into an effortless conversation as he told you about his own life, which lead to eventually you telling about yours, what you did for a living, your friends and family, especially how you knew Heechan, which you told that he was a good friend of yours since your high school days and he paid attention to everything you told with an interest that had your heart fluttering.

Though he was shocked when he found out you barely knew anything about football, as you had always been more of the literature and music nerd rather than the sporty type which he of course did not mind, even though he was a football star, he knew it was not everyone’s cup of tea. He was delighted when you promised you would come to see one of his games if he was willing to teach you about the sensational sport to which he agreed more than eagerly which had had you chuckling.

Guesung and you had been in your own bubble, just talking and the apparent chemistry between you both seemed to worked well. So, when the time came to eventually end the evening, the tiny disappointment was something inevitable and to your unknown surprise Guesung felt the exact same way.

Gosh Heechan was right…for once. Why does the evening have to end so soon?

You both thought as you exited the warm restaurant now the cool Seoul breeze passing by making you rub your hands over your arms, even though your coat did sit comfortably on your arms, let us just say you felt extra sensitive to the entire winter season no matter how much you’d think you layered up.

Guesung saw your smaller form shivering while your teeth chattered, a habit you had whenever the weather got too cold even by a little, unknowingly smiling gently as he began removing his blazer. You noticed this and widened your eyes,

“Oh no Guesung, it’s totally fine, you’d be cold and anyways I already am wearing a coat-”

Before you could argue more, he had already placed his larger blazer over your shoulders, now it completely draped over you while masking you in his cologne.

It smelled…nice, just as he did of course.

You looked at him and grinned, your eyes shining under the soft moonlight and Guesung felt his heart skip as he got lost into the stars they held. And under the moonlight, he too looked like a prince, his features delicately standing out as your eyes traced his angel kisses.

“Thank you. And actually thank you for showing up as well…for a second there I thought I was stood up you know ?” You spoke jokingly as you slipped your hands through the blazer, now fully enveloped in it, letting it fall till a little below your waist. It seemed like a perfect as though it were meant for someone your size.

You continued to smile even though you now jokingly narrowed your eyes, your cheeks pulled up, indicating you were messing around with him, not meaning that you were upset now, well you were before he had his explanation but as the evening passed by, time felt unreal as you spent it more with the man who had a charming smile and an equally charming personality. The whole evening was indeed worth it when you realized the grin on your face refused to remove itself in his presence.

Guesung rolled his eyes as he clicked his tongue, trying to not smile widely at your cuteness but he failed to do so as he bowed his head in a fancy way “My deepest apologies, your majesty, is there any way to possibly earn your full forgiveness?”

You giggled gently at his accent, playfully putting your finger on your chin as you stared of seemingly in deep thought “Well, I do know one way?”

You bit your lip as you stood in front of him, trying not to burst out laughing at the way his eyes shone with curiosity and eagerness at your answer.

For a man as tall who one would think would be intimidating, he was not definitely playing the part, you thought.

And in a moment, you stood on your tip toes and placed your hands, gently on his shoulders as you raised your head and placed a soft peck on his cheek. You stood back at your place, now bursting out in laughter as Guesung looked taken aback, his face now feeling warmer despite the harsh winds, because he was, out of everything, not expecting that.

“I think all is definitely forgiven now.”

all written works as well as images and edits (unless credited) belong topri.do not plagiarise, repost, re-edit or claim as yours. pics mostly found on pinterest.

writingmeraki Ⓒ 2022

💗 tags : @alotofrandomfangirling

links : main navigation !

[eddiernunson]

Found Again | Part 2 | Sequel to Trapped

Word Count: 5.2k

Summary: The year is 2005. Vecna is defeated, Steve Harrington is finding grey hairs. Eddie has already been dead for 19 years. Unfortunately, you have too. Since 1989. In a new life, new state, new friends, new school, you find yourself drawn to the new kid, and he to you. Something tells you it had to do with the dreams of a man with long hair when you were small.

Authors Note: To everyone who has read the parts of Trapped to read this, you are wonderful and I appreciate you! So this is the introduction to the character Eddie reincarnates into... and I hope you like him. Also I forgot the tags on the last chapter. I gotta get better at that.

You ran into the gymnasium as Coach Rudy introduces the newest junior year to their upcoming semester, and as it’s the first day of school he seems to ignore your tardiness. You find yourself sitting right next to Kaitlyn, thank god.

“Late already? Aren’t you usually on your best behaviour for the first week or so?” She asks, and yes, unfortunately tardiness is a habit of yours.

You grit your teeth in a smile, itching to tell her all about the mysterious new kid you just saw in the parking lot.

Coach Rudy was in the middle of explaining the introductory 'game' he was about to have you all play, the stupid one where you say your name and a fun fact about yourself, when said mysterious stranger pops into the gym, out of breath.

“Aah, this must be our new student.” Coach exclaimed, holding his hand out and walking towards him quite dramatically. It was a bit over the top, but again, there weren’t a lot of new students in your school. “Here, you can start us off. Introduce yourself, where you’re from, and one fun fact about yourself.”

For the record, where you’re from was only for the new kid. Most of the population of your high school were from here.

“Sorry, couldn’t,” he speaks, and holy hell, it sent shivers down your spine, and you suddenly wanted to spend hours talking to him. “Couldn’t find the gym. My name is Patrick, I’m from Ohio, and I broke my left thumb twice, at the same spot.” He holds out his hand, extending his thumb where you could see a dent on his first knuckle. Your eyes zoom in on it, fixated on him showing his hands.

The moment you had realized you were staring, you blinked away. It felt like slow-motion to you, but it only lasted half a second. You were startlingly aware of how much you wanted to endlessly linger over him without a care and these intense reactions were overwhelming you.

You saw this guy literally only ten minutes ago, get it together, girl!

“Welcome to our school, Patrick. Glad to have you here. Who’s next?” Painstakingly, you all sit in a circle and one at a time the twenty-five of you say your name and a fun fact. Some of them were weird, others were interesting.

Somehow your brain refused to tune in your classmates. How has this person affected you so much, and why does this feeling feel like coming home at the same time?

“Maddie, your turn?” Next to you Kaitlyn lightly bumps into you.

“Oh. I’m Maddie and my mom took me to a psychic when I was four.” It wasn’t exactly unknown; it became your fun-fact when you realized teachers would be pulling this stunt every year. Having known most of your classmates since you were 4, it makes no sense to be experimenting with fun facts when most of them have grown up with you.

“Boo.” Kaitlyn whispers, and you knew why.

Because of all the juicy secrets you have told her over the years, she could never get out of you why you had gone to a psychic. You were keen on not telling, it was nice to have a mystery that people had wanted to know. There were even rumors speculated as to why, none of them true.

The class introduction took the first forty-five minutes of class. The coach insisted that he wanted a judge free place where you’re free to play without judgement of your classmates. As always, Coach Rudy was met with furrowed eyebrows and rolling eyes. As much as he tries, and he truly does, it doesn’t negate that teenagers can be sneaky with their malice.

You had once rolled your eyes at upper classmates who insisted the class wasn’t all what it promised to be. That was when you learned teenage girls have such a quiet way of being cruel.

Turns out, anti-bullying policies are bullshit.

The second half of your class was spent separating into teams for a fun game of dodgeball. Yes, dodgeball. On the first day. At first period. You found yourself on opposing teams to both Kaitlyn and the newcomer your neck couldn’t stop turning back towards.

Rather than allow yourself the embarrassment of being one of the last ones because you didn’t participate then being hit in the face with a ball, you let yourself be one of the first out. You were not about to put yourself through that in front of him.

“Maddie!” Rudy blows his whistle, “more participation!”

You didn’t care if he called you out for not taking part, something Rudy was known to be passionate about. It was a preferable fate.

Turns out, Patrick was fantastic at dodge ball. He dodged effectively, his aim was skillful, and lastly, he didn’t shoot to kill. His shots were kind.

That was what stuck out to you. He had the ball in his court, but it never felt malicious, he was just enjoying the game. Damn this was really attractive, your mouth watering as you watched obsessively.

The bell rings minutes after Patrick hits the final standing on the court, and the other person laughs when he hits them with the ball. Patrick’s joy for the play of the game was contagious and the smile on his face spoke a thousand words. He meets up in the middle when Rudy calls you all over.

As you catch a closer glimpse, his forehead was beaded in sweat, poor kid is going to his first day having sweat everywhere without any gym clothes. You were sure Rudy didn’t think anyone would be that into the game, in fact it might've been the reason he chose this game to begin with.

After the class is dismissed, they all pick up their bags off the floor, something you would usually put in the locker room. Someone stands in your peripherals, clearing their throat to get your attention. You were sure it was Kaitlyn, but unless she has grown six inches over the span of five minutes and cut, curled, and dyed her hair, it wasn’t.

It was Patrick.

“Hey.” He greeted, his face still shiny, his smile contagious.

Your heart skipped a beat.

In fact, you thought it stopped working altogether for a solid minute before your brain even catches up.

“Hi.” You manage out, and your body feels like it’s in a time lock, stuck in place.

“I don’t know this school at all, I thought I’d be able to figure it out, but I was proven very wrong. Can you show me around?” How was this real?

Things like this didn’t just happen.

This literally felt as if the world had delivered him to you on a silver platter. Here you go, you’re welcome.

“Uh, sure. No problem.” You agreed, as if you didn’t spend the entire period staring at him obsessively. “Just one moment, ok?” You hold out a finger, walking slowly towards where Kaitlyn stand in a corner, gesturing wildly and wondering what the hell was going on.

“Ok. I’ll meet you in the hall.” He gestures towards the big doors on the opposite side of the gym, and you nod stiffly in response.

“Uh, did I miss something?” Kaitlyn demands as soon as he’s out of earshot.

The fact that you didn’t get any time to tell her about seeing him by the time he had approached you was almost too much for you to process. “So, I saw him in the parking lot, he showed up about five minutes before the bell, and I was one of the only students there. Maybe he recognized a familiar face?”

“Ok, but this isn't that. Whatever that was between you two, was insane.” She describes it, adjusting the pastel dress she had chosen for the first day. “Seriously. Like, I know you’ve been crushing on him but it’s obvious he likes you back.”

You make a weird face at her, shaking your head in disbelief. “No way. I was staring at him the whole time. He’s just gonna let me down gently.”

“The way he looked at you, no.” Your head shaking continued, insisting that she was delusional. “Whatever. I’m just saying, he literally could’ve just asked to be assigned a student to help him out, but instead he asked you.” She sighs, grabbing the already crumpled up schedule from her bag. “What do you have next?”

“Math.”

“Ew. I have Chemistry.” Damn it.

“I’ll see you later?” You call out as she runs to the opposite door that Patrick did.

“Text me, keep me updated on how it goes!” She shouted and the door shuts behind her.

Your feet suddenly rush to move, realizing you barely had the time to now both show Patrick and get to your class. With your luck he probably got tired of waiting for you and went to someone else for help.

Nope. He was leaning on a locker patiently, and he pushed himself off lightly, hands in his low sitting pocket pants as he walked to you.

Did-did your mouth just water?

“Uh, which class do you have next?” You ask him, suddenly aware you weren’t in class with him anymore, technically it was just you and him with extra people around you.

He pulls out his schedule, folded more neatly than Kaitlyn’s was. “Uh, Math.” He calls out.

You’re stunned into silence. “With Miss. Lipton?” You ask incredulously, and he nods his head quickly to confirm. “Damn. Same class, follow me.”

Ok. Now, this, this right here? Same class? What was this John Cusack bullshit that was happening and when was the other shoe gonna drop?

He follows you down the hall as you give a quick tour to that specific area of the school to which your footsteps covered. There was a fight last year by that trophy case, a teacher was found hooking up with a student under that staircase over a decade ago, and your freshman locker until you reached the room in the nick of time, only a handful of seats left.

Two of them happened to be next to one another, but you start to walk towards the one in the back, any assumptions that might be wrong would kill your insides. As you turn away from his seat he tugs you by a strap hanging from the bag that sits on your shoulder. When you turn back to him confused, he tilts his head to the desk next to him.

And while this had a part of your body floating on air, the other part was sinking via anvil. You couldn’t shake the feeling that this was too good to be true. It felt too right, like him asking you to show him around was always gonna happen. You were always going to forget your phone and see him run in late. It just made sense.

Too much sense. This sense of coming home just felt overpowering and it was a terrifying feeling towards someone you had just met.

A crazy part of you, a small boat in the sea of this is weird asked you, ‘If this is too good to be true, would it be so bad to believe in it?’

Nope, too crazy.

You sat next to him, Miss. Lipton welcoming all her students back, wrapped up the conversation she was having with her favoured students when until only minutes after the bell. “Morning, students. Welcome to Algebra II!”

Miss. Lipton is the only teacher that doesn’t want to torture you with the get to know one another game, in fact, she just wanted to get right into the learning and make sure her students knew her expectations. She was kind, but she was brutal when it came to missed assignments and homework.

While you were dreading a full semester starting off with gym and algebra, but if it meant you got to sit next to Patrick, maybe it won’t be so bad.

The only reason you know Ms. Lipton’s rules, is because you’ve heard them said to you twice already.  If this was your first time in her class you would’ve been screwed, your ears muffled like there’s no sound, all too aware of him within arm's reach. God, the three minutes of leading him to the classroom were being played on repeat, speaking to him, his laughter at a sillier expression you had made once announcing the scandal that was Mr. Wes, his easy stride next to yours.

Was your breathing this deep, or did you just think it was?

Miss. Lipton wasted no time, getting right into the first lesson and assigning 12 questions for homework. You were given time in class to work on them, and you’re leant down on your desk, staring hard at a math problem you didn’t even listen to the lesson for.

Oh, sitting next him was gonna be bad for your already mediocre grades.

“Did you get a word of that?” Patrick asks you, leaning towards your desk. You caught sent of his Irish Spring soap, and somehow his freshly showered scent melted you.

“No. My brain is all gooey today.” You state in an even voice, leaning towards neither positive or negative in your tone.

“Summer has a tendency, that’s for sure.” Patrick exclaims, going back in his text to read over the lesson.

Sure. Summer.

You follow his lead, might as well figure out what the hell you missed while you can still ask questions.

As you finally start to grasp the concept the bell rings, and Patrick looks to you expectantly, holding a strap of his bag with an easy smile on his face.

“Alright, what next?” You ask him, and he brings out his chart again.

“I have band, next.” He explains, showing you the timeslot.

You definitely did not have band, not knowing how to play a single instrument. “Well, I’m not in that. Here, I’ll show you.” You start down the hall, and the band room was actually pretty far in the school compared to your gym and algebra.

As you make the second turn down another hallway he asks, “What, no commentary, this time?” And you didn’t know him enough to be sure, but there was something in his voice. You weren’t hopeful enough to think he was flirting.

“Oh, well not much to say in these halls. The mural is redone by different senior every four years, there’s the drama room we do one play per semester, down those halls is our art room, here is the auditorium. Oh. If you pass by the bathroom at the end of this hall,” you point at it, “don’t use it. It reeks because the stoners took control of it last year.”

“Didn’t the teachers do anything?”

“You think they didn’t try? Because these kids did everything to dodge them. Kinda like you in gym today, you overachiever.” Was that…flirting?

“Hey, dodgeball is fun when you play it right.” He claims, and he was apparently right.

You stop in front of some open and painted double doors. “Ok, this is your stop.” He looks up at the doors, and you wondered if they were intimidating to you, how bad would they be to him? “What instrument do you play?” You ask, trying to cut his nervousness.

“Uh, bass.” He answers, pretending to do the double pluck that bass players are so known for.

“Electric, or—”

“Electric.” He interrupts you, dismissing the thought of him playing the double bass.

“Go get ‘em, tiger.” You tell him, patting his shoulder lightly. Your brain malfunctions in the middle of the pat, wondering just what the hell did you think you were doing.

You freeze on the spot, muttering a goodbye as you walk away as you felt overwhelmed. At least English would be simple.

-

English was not simple. The first book of the semester, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde turned out to have so much illusion to imagery to describe a single sentence you were bored to tears by the second page. You understood none of what was happening, feeling less dumb when multiple classmates also had questions.

The bell rung, signifying lunch time. You sat with your food alone waiting for Kaitlyn when the seat next to you is filled by Patrick.

This boy is literally enabling your fixation on him. One part of you wanted to tell him to run from you, because you were unhealthily obsessed with him, and you only met him hours ago.

The other side wanted to beg him to continue, because it gave you the delusion that this might not have been one-sided.

“How was band?” You ask him, the Irish Spring soap hitting your nose sweetly again.

“It was lame.” He responds, opening up his bag of chips on the tray. “We didn’t really get to play much, and it was just some introductory talks. I do music theory on the weekends, so it was basic knowledge. Dunno, felt like Junior High band than High School. What class did you go to?”

That was certainly a critique. And while you were no means an arts school, the drama program you had was nothing to laugh at. Maybe the band class wasn’t up to par with the drama program.

However, you’re now fixed on the idea that he also wanted to know how your class went, too.

“English. I usually love this class but the book she introduced us to was stupidly hard.” You complained and suddenly Kaitlyn pops down next to you.

“I warned you that she’s a villain.” She claims, laughing as you finally discover the true nature of the infamously tough English teacher that was Mrs. Van Heerde. “She’s that intense all year long, by the way. You get used to it within the first week.”

“Do we have any other classes together, or will we be just tortured together during PE all semester?” You ask, yanking out your ever-folded schedule.

The two of you compare, and you have your last class of the day together, Anthropology.

“Hey me too.” Patrick comments, already putting his schedule back in his pocket.

Kaitlyn side eyes you, nodding towards Patrick pointedly with her head. You wish you could express every thought you’ve been thinking, but the fact that it’s stopped by his mere presence is a gift you could never have predicted. She leans forward onto her elbows towards him, a devilish glint in her eye. “So what’s Ohio like?”

“Boring.” Patrick deadpans to her, mouth still chewing as he said it. “Nothing happens there.”

“Why’d you move here? No offense, but nothing happens here either.” You laugh, leaning back in your chair.

Your small town was made of only one high school, and the town had major meetings in which the smallest of squanders were battled out by the leaders. What squanders were so important to gather (most of) the town’s population you might ask?

New library signs. Where to place wheelchair accessible ramps on old buildings.

Stars Hallow was very reminiscent of your town, without all the romanticization of it.

“Dad’s job moved him.” Patrick answers, lips pursed as if he was considering his opinion on being moved going into his second last year of high school.

“To here? Of all places?” Kaitlyn asks, her eyebrows raised up to her honey blonde bangs.

Patrick laughs silently, nodding solemnly in response.

“So why did your mom bring you to a psychic when you were so young?” Patrick asks, taking a sip and your mind is captivated by his Adam’s apple bobbing as he drank. You never realized it was so prominent.

“You won’t get an answer out of her.” Kaitlyn answers when she realizes you were preoccupied. “I’ve tried for years, and nothing.”

“Why not?” Patrick asks, the question directed towards you.

His brown eyes look into yours, and without either of your food to distract you anymore they were so captivating. “I like to have a little mystery in a town where everyone knows everything.”

“Do you even know why she took you?” Patrick challenged you, his eyebrows tilted.

“Yep. I could tell you vividly why she took me.” You pause, leaning over to your bestfriend to tease her. “But I won’t. I let this one fact fester for years so the real thing will not live up to the hype. I guarantee it.”

There’s something behind his eyes that you couldn’t place, an unsaid sentence in his brain. You wanted to be brave and ask what was on his mind, but, then again you were only his tour guide. Tomorrow he’ll be hanging with some people he actually liked.

The air as tense as you thought it was, Kaitlyn switching her glance between the two of you as an unspoken sentence seems to be exchanged. Not that either of you were aware of the sentence, but Kaitlyn was, even if she didn’t know what it meant.

Patrick wondered if you were feeling any bit of as intense as you were towards him as he did about you. Why was he so drawn to you? Why did not knowing about this story of the psychic drive him so crazy?

You wondered why you had the sudden urge to tell Patrick a story that you had stored away in a safe. How was he not freaked out by the sheer intensity of how much you’ve been staring at him all day?

Kaitlyn just wanted to know when the two of you would get a grip and just admit you were into one another. Patrick was cute, and by the reactions of the girls in the classes without you, also desired. However the general consensus is that the two of you were into one another, and anyone with eyes could see it.

Anyone but the two of you, at least.

“Alright I gotta jet. I’ll see you both in Anthropology, I guess.” Kaitlyn walks off, shaking her head in exasperation. One day when the fog settled you’d be able to have a conversation again.

Hopefully.

-

After you dropped Patrick off at his second last class, you were able to show him the classroom for Anthropology, which so happened to be diagonally across the hall. He thanked you graciously for showing him around, and you had to fight back insisting that the pleasure was all yours, you got to look at him all day.

Now you walked into the classroom, seeing the desk layout as both Kaitlyn and Patrick had already seated, with a seat between them you supposed was meant for you. You walked to the seat, and they were already in the middle of a conversation.

“No, I swear to god, you should’ve seen her reaction.” Kaitlyn insists, and you’ve got a bad feeling you were the her she was talking about.

Patrick lets out a light laugh, and his smile brightens up the room.

At least, to you it did.

“I’m not even going to ask.” You claim, shaking your head in contentment. Contentment? Why were you content?

“Oh, I'm telling him about the time-”

“Nope. Don’t want to know.”

“Fine.” Kaitlyn lets you be stubborn, raising her hands up in surrender.

You stare straight ahead to the whiteboard ahead of you, refusing to look Patrick in the eye and give in to Kaitlyn’s little game. You knew, as well as she did, that the moment you looked at him and the spark in his eyes you would want to know what story Kaitlyn was telling him.

The possibilities were endless.

Anthropology was as interesting as you hoped it was, picking it based on liking social studies more around the study of how people lived. At the end of the class the teacher Mr. Sullivan assigned a project that was due towards two weeks.

It was a long project that required days of working together, a study on different tribes in East Africa. It involved basic research, a visual and oral presentation with an artifact that represents the tribe as a whole.

It was a long project, something that earned a groan as he handed the assignment out.

Mr. Sullivan didn’t care, telling you to partner up with whoever.

Kaitlyn, ever a sweetheart, knew what you were going to say before you even say it. “Hey, I’m gonna partner with Lacey, her whole thing is research projects. You should go with Patrick.” Very subtle, Kaitlyn. Very subtle.

You take out your flip phone, texting her under the table as you turn to your right towards Patrick.

UR THE BEST

The sound of her phone flipping shut is the signal that she has received it, and she simply just says, “I know.”

You gulp, facing towards Patrick. “So, partners?” You ask delicately, ready for any rejection.

He keeps surprising you. “Cool.”

As if on que the bell rings, and you find yourself walking with Patrick to your car. He was, after all, parked right next to it. In fact, you found yourselves in between his van and your car and the air is so much thicker than when you saw him that morning.

After the miracle of being in the same gym class as him you had expected your only interactions with him to be limited and one-sided. Patrick outright asking you if you would show him around stunted your perception, and you found your luck growing throughout the day.

You look up at him, and nothing in his face is giving him away, the sweater open to reveal he wore an MCR shirt but the baseball cap on his dashboard surprising you.

As vehicles started to leave the lot, still much unsaid, you were about to turn to your own vehicle to reminisce your world-wind first day when an electric shock surges through you as he grabs your hand to stop you. You freeze, staring at it.

You turn back to face him, questioning the grab.

“Can I say something crazy?” He asks you, his voice low and vulnerable.

Crazy seemed good. You nod, because even if crazy didn’t seem good, you’d be willing to listen to him talk about snails if it meant you didn’t have to leave him yet.

“I have spent all day wanting to kiss you. From the moment I saw you, it’s like this…” he looks down, frustrated, looking for the right word.

“A need.” You offer for him.

He smiles, nodding.

“It’s not crazy, because I’ve been feeling the same way.” You respond, the sentence escaping your throat before you could stop it.

Patrick takes this as a go-ahead, walking two strides before his hands frame your face and his lips are on yours. It sounded crazy, but it was like it was coming home. His lips felt familiar, and a tear was already down your cheek before you had processed this emotion. Like something you were missing has been found.

Like you found him and you didn’t even know you were looking.

Patrick connects his forehead to yours, your heavy breaths loud in the silence surrounding you both. You allow yourself to sit in the silence, until Patrick insists you join him in his van so you could finally talk it out.

Because, it was odd, but it felt like this should’ve been happening. Like you going home instead of kissing him would’ve been the wrong choice.

You climb into his passenger seat, feeling strangely safe as you glance around for hidden details about him.

“So.” Patrick starts, leaning on his steering wheel as he talked to you.

“So.”

“You’ve been feeling it?”

“Since the moment I saw you. I thought I was going insane with how much I stared at you in gym this morning. I thought you were going to tell me to stop stalking you.” You confessed, the openness of it refreshing.

“I was actually showing off.” He replied, a hint of sheepishness in his voice. “My mind kept telling me that you didn’t care and to stop but there was something that told me not to let you go too far, which is why I requested you to show me around.”

“Do you think all people feel drawn to one another like this?” You asked him, keenly aware of the feeling of a magnet that’s been pulling you to him.

Patrick shakes his head, “I’ve never felt anything this strong. This is something else.”

“This is insane. I know nothing about you, but I had this need to be near you all day. I know you’re athletic. I know you play the bass. I know you listen to My Chemical Romance. That’s it. But. Kissing you, is like—"

“Relief.” He interrupts you, understanding everything of what you were talking about. “You’re saying we don’t know one another very well, so tell me the one thing you refuse to tell everyone else. Tell me about the psychic.”

You blink, and the inkling that this had something to do with her was all too much all day. “Did that story intrigue you because I refused to tell it, or because of the psychic?”

“The psychic.”

You knew it. “I used to dream about someone. He was from a long time ago, before we were born, and when I woke up, I talked about him and how much I missed him. My mom took me to the psychic because apparently my details about him were consistent enough to make her raise some questions.”

“What happened?”

“I actually never found out, but the psychic believed me. And there was something, in my little brain that thought she was the real thing. I remember thinking that because that thought is my first memory.”

“I never told anyone else before, because my mom just dismissed it as childish stories, but I used to dream about a girl. I didn’t know much about her, other than she was a light in the darkness. Her laugh, her hugs, when she came into the dream everything was amazing. Then these…” his face grimaces, and you could tell it also became nightmares for him, too. “These cracks would echo in my brain; I think they were bones. I don’t know much after that; they all blend but I will never get that sound out of my head.”

Patrick places the baseball cap on his head backwards, sliding down in his driver’s seat.

“This can’t be a coincidence.” You start, his dreams making sense yet being mind blowing at the same time. “Are you up for something crazy?”

“This already feels insanely crazy, what do you got?” Patrick answers, one hand clutching onto his steering wheel.

“When I went I told her about my dreams, she hired a Private Investigator to look for answers on the person I dreamt about. She said as a four-year-old I’ve given her enough consistent information that if the person I dreamed about was real, then she would get answers.” You pause, letting Patrick soak it in.

Patrick laughs, closed mouthed as if the insanity of the circumstances finally caught up to him. “Fuck it, let’s go.”

-

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[lockes-woods]

A Rose's Thorns

CHAPTER 1; LUST AT FIRST SCENT

When Ash moved back to the east coast they were set on experiencing new things. They had a new apartment, a new job, and a new outlook on life. One thing they didn't account for was meeting their true mates less than a day into that new life, but the universe worked in mysterious ways.

(Mishanks/nonbinary reader)

WARNING: Sexual Themes; MDNI

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ash couldn’t believe their luck; it had been less than a day since they moved into this apartment building, and they were already trapped in the elevator. Their initial fright of being stuck in a six-by-six room had melted away and bloomed into irritation. They had been waiting for over an hour for the emergency responders to do anything to remedy their current situation. On top of that, they were starving. The whole reason they had gotten into this mess was because they had no food in their apartment and their stupid jetlag wouldn’t let them sleep. All they wanted were some chicken nuggets and fries from the 24-hour McDonald's up the block. On top of everything else they were 70% sure that they were in pre-heat. Ash knew that their heat was coming up, but they had lost track of their suppressants in the coast-to-coast move. It felt like the universe was against them.  

          They took a deep breath in through their nose and out through their mouth. Ash tried to look at the very thin silver lining of their situation. At least they hadn’t gotten seriously hurt when the elevator jerked to a stop. At the most, they’d be a little sore in their knees from the fall.

          Ash let out another groan as they checked their phone. It was only at 14%. While they were relieved that they had any battery life left they had no idea how long it was going to take for them to be ‘rescued’. The security guard relayed that they should stay calm and that the fire department had arrived, but that was over a half hour ago. If Ash had to guess they’d say that they were fully between floors. There wasn’t any other explanation for why it was taking the firefighters so long to free them.

          Their head snapped up as they were suddenly jerked into motion; Ash braced themself against the floor as the elevator lowered them down a bit. Their relief was short-lived when the elevator stalled again. At least now they could hear muffled talking on the other side of the doors. Ash heard the faint sound of clanking before the doors were being pried apart from the other side. They quickly scurried back as the mechanical sounds only got louder. If they had to guess it was probably the jaws of life being used. They couldn’t think of anything else that could be that loud and effective.

          Before they knew it the doors had been breached open. Ash was suddenly hit with a wave of alpha scent. It was strong, but not in a bad way. It had the base notes of campfire undercut with the sweet smell of freshly mowed grass in the summer and a citrusy smell they couldn’t quite place. Fuck. Ash cursed to themself; they could feel themself getting wet. It has to be my preheat, right? They tried to rationalize. Ash tried to push the other possibilities aside. They hoped to god that this random alpha hadn’t triggered their heat; It’d be so embarrassing to suddenly go into heat at the mere smell of their scent. Hell, the last time that happened to them they had been a teenager; they were almost thirty and should have better control of their primal instincts. Ash didn’t even want to entertain the idea that this could be their ‘True Mates”. After living all over the country for the past ten years they had given up on that fairytale. They were convinced that they’d never find the other two people they shared their mark with.

“You alright up there?” a deep voice called from the other side of the door.

“Yeah,” Ash responded as they crawled closer to the door. Only the bottom two feet were open; the rest of the door was blocked out by a brick wall.

“Are you hurt in any way?” the deep voice followed up.  

 “I have a few bruises, but nothing life-threatening,” they answered.

“That’s good to hear,” the same voice responded, “We’re going to have you scoot through the opening legs first.”

“Won’t there be a drop?” Ash asked nervously. They hated heights with a passion; they couldn’t even get past the second rung of a ladder if someone was paying them.

“Yes, but we won’t let you fall.” The voice answered.

“O-okay,” Ash said hesitantly. They slipped their cross-body bag on and scooted over to the opening. They took one last deep breath before sliding through the opening, Ash was immediately caught by a pair of strong arms before being placed gently on the ground. The gray-haired firefighter who caught them immediately backed up away from them as another firefighter stepped towards them. Ash had to crane their neck back slightly to make eye contact with the redhead. He was at least 6’6” at the shortest, an almost full foot taller than the Enby. If they had to guess they’d say he had to be an alpha prime. Not only because he towered over the alpha who had helped them out of the elevator, but also because of the way he held himself.

          Ash bit their lip as the alpha stepped into their personal space. They could feel themself getting wetter as they were hit by another wave of the smokey scent. The air around Ash felt thick. They swallowed nervously as they looked up and made eye contact with the firefighter. His pupils were blown, they could just make out the faint silver of his iris.

“I know you said that you were okay, but it’d make me feel better if you’d let my paramedics take a look at you.” The redhead said, looking down at them. Ash tried to contain the shiver that shot through them at the sound of his deep voice. They simply nodded in response, not trusting their voice to stay level.

“Lucky Roux, get over here.” The redhead barked over his shoulder.

“Comin’ Chief,” a tall wideset man responded as he hurried through the lobby.

“If you could come with me Mx. I can give you a once over and send you on your way.” The EMT said smiling down at Ash. They nodded and followed him over to a nearby bench.

“Now if I could have your name and date of birth,” he asked as they took a seat on the bench.

“Ash, March 9th, 1996,” They responded as he unpacked his bag.

“And your secondary gender?” he prompted.

“Omega prime,” They answered.

“Are you currently taking any medications?” he asked.

“Just suppressants and birth control,” Ash answered.

“And are you feeling pain in any part of your body?” he asked.

“Just faint ache in my knees; I fell on them when the elevator stopped.”

“Okay, even though it isn’t likely; I’d like to check you over for a concussion and do a baseline check of your vitals.” He said crouching in front of them.

“Who is the current president?” he asked pulling out a pen light from his pocket and shining it into their eyes.

“Biden,” They answered.

“Good,” he said, “Now I’m going to have you follow my finger with your eyes”

          Ash nodded and followed his finger. After a moment the EMT nodded and pulled his hand away from their face and pulled out a stethoscope and blood pressure cuff. Ash bounced their leg nervously. They were acutely aware that the fire chief’s focus hadn’t left them since they exited the elevator. He was currently talking to the gray-haired firefighter in a hushed tone about ten feet away, but his gaze remained on them.

“I’m going to take your blood pressure now; do you have a preference of arm?” he asked, pulling Ash’s attention back to him.

“Whichever’s easier for you.” They answered. The EMT nodded wrapping the cuff around their left arm. Ash tried to focus on keeping their breathing as even as possible. At this point, they were trying to get this over with as quickly as possible so that they could run to the store before their heat began in full earnest.

“Good,” the EMT said pulling the cuff from their arm, “You’re free to go,” he said smiling down at them reassuringly. Ash nodded and thanked him before standing up. The lobby had emptied out significantly since they had been helped out of the elevator. The only ones remaining were the fire chief, them, and the EMT. The chief made his way over to them at a relaxed pace as the EMT made his way out of the building.

          Ash was again surrounded by the smell of sweet smoke as he advanced towards them. They had been around a lot of alphas in their lifetime, but no one else’s scent came close in comparison to how strong his smell was.

“So how do you want to do this?” he asked quirking an eyebrow at them.

“Do what?” They asked confused.

“You don’t know?” he asked.

“Know what?” Ash asked back.

“We’re true mates,” he said, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“You're joking,” Ash responded, genuinely confused.

“Sweetheart how does my scent smell to you?” he asked, leaning in close.

“Like I’m being suffocated by it.” They answer honestly.

“In a good or a bad way?” he asked. Ash paused for a moment before responding.

“In a good way; it feels like I’m being cocooned by it.” They answered bashfully; they could feel their face begin to warm from his attention.

“Has another alpha’s scent ever done that to you?” he asked patiently.

“No,” they shook their head.

“I know we just met, and you have no reason to trust me, but I can smell your scent the same way.” He said.

“Really?” They asked. He nodded as he leaned down to their level.

“I can smell your slick from here and it’s driving me fucking insane.” He whispered into their ear. Ash bit their lip to contain a groan as they felt a new gush of slickness leak out of them. They shook their head slightly trying to clear their mind.

“Can’t we just touch and see if there’s a spark?” they asked.  

“We could, but after we touch there’s only a certain amount of time before you go into your heat, and I go into my rut. I want to get you in a safe location without having to deal with the time restraint or other alphas picking up your scent.” He explained, “For now I think you’re just going to have to go off of my marking.”

          Ash bit their lip and nodded in agreement. They could already feel their mind begin to get hazy just from being in his presence for this long. The redhead shrugged off his jacket and sat down facing away from them. He reached behind him and pulled down the collar at the base of his neck revealing two roses that were crossed at the stem. One was in bloom while the other was still just a bud. They were the same as the markings behind Ash’s ears, except for the fact that neither of Ash’s had bloomed yet.

“You’ve met our other mate?” they asked as he tugged his jacket back on.

“Yeah, his name is Dracule Mihawk. He’s also an alpha prime, he’s waiting at home if you’d like to go to our house. Or would you feel more comfortable here with your nest?” he asked.

“Oh, I actually don’t have my nest set up here yet. I just moved back here from the West Coast yesterday. All of my things are still in boxes.” They explained.

“Would you feel comfortable coming to our home?” he asked, standing up and turning to face them. Ash paused for a moment before nodding in agreement. They were in no way set up for a heat, hell their box bed hadn’t even finished fully expanding yet. That paired with the fact that they had no real food in their apartment or nest made the decision a no-brainer. Plus, the idea of being surrounded by their scent made their inner omega purr in satisfaction.

“Do you need anything before we leave?” he asked.

“Maybe I should grab some clothing?” they said after giving it some thought.

“Okay,” he nodded, glancing at the wrecked elevator, “I guess we’re doing stairs unless you want to risk it?” he asked looking at the other elevator.

“Yeah, no stairs sound good,” Ash said with a laugh as they led him over to the staircase and began to ascend up to their level. “I live on the third floor,” they called out over their shoulder. Ash didn’t have to look behind them to know he was following them. They weren’t sure whether or not they were imagining it, but they could have sworn the temperature around the redhead was at least ten degrees hotter than the rest of the space around them. Ash fished out their keys from their bag and unlocked their apartment. Ash paused after taking a few steps in when they could no longer hear the alpha behind them. They turned and saw him waiting respectfully outside their apartment door.

“You can come in ya’know.” They said with an amused look on their face. He grunted in acknowledgment and leaned against the closed door as they grabbed their things. Ash made quick work of gathering three outfits, basic hygiene items, and their blanket that they’ve had since they were a pup. They were about to zip up their duffle bag when an unopened package caught their eye. Ash tore into and let out a sigh of relief at the sight of two protection collars. They tossed them into the duffle bag before making their way back to the redhead.

“All set?” he asked, Ash nodded. Before they could even think of throwing the bag over their shoulder, the alpha picked it out of their grasp and slung it over his right shoulder. They smiled up at him in appreciation as they made the walk back down to the lobby.

“I’m Ash by the way; I use they/them pronouns. What’s your name?” Ash asked looking up at him as they approached the entrance.

“Shanks; he/him” he answered, before pausing at the door, “I know we just met and haven’t even cemented anything yet, but would it be okay if I held your hand? I don’t trust those who are out at this hour to behave themselves; especially when your scent is so strong.”

“Sure,” Ash nodded as they took his gloved hand and interlaced it with their left hand. They looked up before continuing to see if he had any other hold-ups. They caught a brief glance at Shank’s reddened cheeks before they stepped out into the night.

“How far away do you live?” they asked as they headed a block south to the nearest subway entrance.

“We’re two subway stops west of here,” Shanks said, keeping pace with Ash’s shorter strides.

“Oh, are you in the suburbs?” they asked. Their apartment building was about as far west as you could go in center city before hitting the suburban neighborhoods.

“We’re on the cusp of the suburbs and the city; we live in a townhouse,” Shanks answered as he briefly released Ash’s hand to tap his phone for the fair before entering the subway station. They followed his lead and quickly paid before relinking their hands. Ash bit their lip to hide their smile as Shanks squeezed their hand reassuringly as they waited for the train.

“What were you doing out at this time of night?” Shanks asked, peering down at them as their train pulled up.

“Oh, I was on my way to McDonalds. I haven’t gone food shopping yet, and I’m wide awake from the time difference.”

“When did your flight get in?” he asked as they stepped onto the train. Shanks led them to a seat in the corner and had Ash sit between him and the wall, while he took a defensive seat between them and the rest of the train. Ash could feel their inner omega purr again. They had known each other for less than an hour and he was already taking steps to ensure their safety like they were his.

“I took a red eye and got in around five am yesterday morning.” They answered, as Shanks’s released their hand and pulled out his phone.

“So, you haven’t even been in the city for a full day yet?” he asked.

“Yeah, no that’s why my sleep schedules all messed up. I would normally stay awake until midnight on the West Coast. So even though it’s only four in the morning I’m wide awake.” They explained, “I don’t think it helped that I took a four-hour nap yesterday afternoon.”

“Probably not,” Shanks responded with an amused look on his face as he slid his phone back into his pocket.

          Ash felt their face heat up as their stomach let out a grumble.

“Are you hungry?” Shanks asked, peering down at them.

“A little bit,” Ash answered rubbing the back of their neck, “I never got to McDonalds because of the whole elevator thing.”

          Shanks nodded in response as he pulled out a granola bar from his inside pocket. “Do you want this?” he asked.

“Please,” Ash responded, taking the bar from him and taking a healthy bite out of it. They were too focused on eating the bar to notice the fond look Shanks had on his face as he watched them eat something that he provided for them.

“So do you have to go back to work, or are you off for the rest of the night?” they asked, after swallowing the last of the granola bar.

“I’m off for the next few days; I’m taking rut leave. My lieutenant Beckman is more than capable of running things while I’m away.” Shank answered as they pulled into their stop. He once again gripped their hand in his gloved one as they ascended to the street.

“Oh, okay.” Ash responded slightly relieved, “Was he the one who helped me out of the elevator?” they asked.

“Yeah,” Shanks nodded, “I don’t think I’d let anyone else touch you.” He confessed.

“You already knew I was your mate?” Ash asked slightly confused.

“Yes, as soon as they opened the doors to the shaft I was hit with your scent.” He explained, stopping in front of a charcoal gray building, “I’ve only ever been hit like that by Mihawk’s scent when we first met.”

          Ash nodded in understanding as they made their way up the steps to the stoop of the gray townhouse.

“Ready?” Shanks asked, looking down at them fondly. Ash nodded as they tried their best to mentally prepare to meet their other mate. In a way, they were relieved that they were jetlagged. They were too tired to properly feel all the emotions that came with meeting your mate. While they were a bit anxious it was nothing compared to how their nerves would normally be. Ash quickly toed out of their shoes before they trailed behind Shanks as they made their way through the corridor to the back of the house towards the only source of light.

MASTER LIST

[gellavonhamster]

half savage and hardy, and free

The Musketeers BBC || pre-canon || how Constance first met Athos, Porthos, and Aramis (alternatively, how to make friends as an adult)

ao3 link rus || ao3 link eng

When Constance was ten years old, she spent a night at the cemetery. To be precise, she spent there merely an hour, but it is a grand undertaking for a child to slip away from home at night without waking up the father, the little brother who would start begging to come along and wake everyone up with his whining, and the big brother who would pull her by the ears and not let her leave ��� and then to make it to the cemetery in the dark, hang around for an hour, and get back home, so it really felt like she stayed there from midnight till the break of dawn.

“You can head back as soon as the tower clock strikes one,” told her Jean-Luc, the middle brother, the one she bet with that she would dare such a feat. “And bring me something from there, or I won’t believe you were there.”

“What can you bring from a graveyard?” Constance asked. It hadn’t even occurred to her that she could cheat and spend that hour, say, hiding behind the neighbouring house. She was no coward, and she was going to prove that to the entire world – or at least to Jean-Luc, who loved to set all sorts of challenges for his little sister.

“Whatever you like,” Jean-Luc permitted graciously. “But if you lie and pick up something in our yard, I will find out!”

“Bah!” Constance stuck her nose up in the air.

“Well, then you’d better be there by midnight.”

“Can I take Simone with me?”

“No way, sis. You’re going alone. Or are you scared?”

“Bah!” Constance spat up again, and stomped her foot in indignation.

“What are you doing?” asked little Thomas, entering the kitchen with a kitten in his arms.

“Nothing,” his siblings replied in unison, and did not discuss their plans that day anymore.

That was how it came to be that little Constance wrapped herself up in her mother’s old shawl and took the dusty road to the graveyard. And the memories of that summer night wouldn’t leave her mind another summer night twelve years later, when she, also wrapped up in a shawl, was walking through the streets of Paris at a brisk pace after midnight, making haste to get home.    

Well, she thought, at least this time it’s all because I’m stupid and kind, not just stupid.

It went like this: as she was returning from her acquaintance’s that evening, Constance ran into Mme Vannier, the aged mother of the cobbler who the Bonacieux spouses usually took their shoes to for mending. Constance had only ever exchanged greetings and pleasantries with her before, but as she saw the old woman wiping away the tears and looking utterly defeated, she felt compelled to stop and ask if she could help her in any way.

The old lady unburdened herself at once, seemingly abashed by her own openness. Her son had been drinking like a fish for the last couple of days, in and out of taverns where he lost at cards everything he hadn’t drunk away yet. That day, having gambled away all he had, he took the money his mother had been putting aside to ensure a decent burial for herself, and disappeared with it. In hopes of salvaging her savings before it was too late, Mme Vannier went to the inn her son used to frequent, but he was not there, and his usual drinking companions ordered her to tell her son to pay them back all that he owed them – and ordered that in a highly threatening way. Mme Vannier was already waiting in fear for those ruffians to make her empty her pockets and surrender them the mere pittance she had on her, but the innkeeper intervened and pacified the rowdy guests. Still, the distress she experienced reduced her to tears.

Constance really wished to express all she thought of the cobbler out loud, but the feeling that his mother might not appreciate that held her back.

“Don’t worry, Madame Vannier,” she said instead, and took the wizened hands of her interlocutress into her own. “I will help you find your son.”

They made the rounds of four more establishments in search of Vannier that evening and left all four empty-handed. The prodigal son was in none of them. Instead, there were a lot of brazen, noisy people who just laughed at Mme Vannier’s timid inquiries and tried to attract Constance’s attention in a most unpleasant manner. Meanwhile, it was growing dark outside, the sky was being sprinkled with stars, and there were less and less passers-by, especially the kind whose presence caused no anxiety. Constance was about to propose tactfully that they should stop searching when they finally had the luck to find Mme Vannier’s son at the fifth inn.

The misadventures did not end there. Vannier was thoroughly plastered; it was not that he refused to leave, he just didn’t look like he’d be able to. Fortunately, he hadn’t managed to spend all of his mother’s burial money, but the suggestion that they could take it from him and go home was met by another fit of sobbing – whatever her son might be like, now that she had found him, she didn’t want to leave him God knows where for the night. With a promise of payment, Constance enlisted a boy that worked at the inn to help them take the cobbler home. The lad agreed – and when Vannier had been finally dragged into bed and the poor old lady had thanked and kissed Constance about a dozen times, he disappeared with his earnings at once. Constance was left alone on the twilit streets before she realized she would have to get home on her own then.

Of course, Cercy-la-Tour had nothing on Paris, and a graveyard populated by the dead was not the same as a city populated by the living. Still, as her quick steps struck the paving stones, Constance couldn’t help thinking back on that one night and the fear and excitement she felt back then. She had already been living in Paris for five years at that time, but she’d never went anywhere so late without her husband. On the one hand, she felt quite ill at ease all alone, even though the August twilight and the city lights let her pick out the way without much effort. On the other hand, it was awfully interesting to see Paris the way it had never yet appeared before her eyes. It must have been darkness hiding the litter and the cool of night relieving her fatigue after wandering the city for so long, but in spite of herself, her wariness and disinclination to encounter someone like those boozers she and Mme Vannier had had to deal with earlier did not stop Constance from enjoying the way everything looked so unusual and mysterious.          

It was an adventure – such as it was – and her life had been lacking adventures for quite a while. However, there was no point thinking about it. Bonacieux, who was away on business, was to return from Troyes the next morning. It would be nice to catch some hours of sleep before his arrival so that nothing in her appearance evidenced that she had a late night. Another kind of man might have admired her compassion, or might have been amused by her bad luck, but not Bonacieux.

Sunk in thought, Constance didn’t notice at once that the sound of someone else’s footsteps had joined her own, so she flinched when a squat man with his hat askew appeared in front of her. She recollected herself, and moved aside to let him by.

The man moved in the same direction.

“How much?” he asked. The way he said that was enough to see he was drunk.

“Pardon?”

“I said how much?” and the man reached out for her. Constance took a step back.

“You are mistaken, Monsieur,” she pronounced, offended. “I am going home.”

“Are you now? Wanna make some money?”

“No, I don’t.”

The man stepped towards her.

“You sure?” he asked. The smell of bad wine hit her nostrils. “I’ll be quick, honest.”

Constance turned around to run, and he immediately grabbed her by the waist from behind.

“Going somewhere, gorgeous?”

“Help!” Constance yelled, struggling to break free.

“Don’t buck, sweetheart, or I will… Argh, you bitch!” she must’ve managed to hit some sensitive or sore spot with her heel because one of his hands quit his hold of her, but she could not break away because that same hand instantly, and painfully, seized her hair. “Well, you asked for this, cunt!”

“Let her go at once!” a new voice rang out. Some man was approaching them; there was no discerning his face in the semi-darkness, but she could make out a sword at his hip. He was approaching them – and swaying a little.

Wonderful, Constance thought with resignation, another drunk.

“And who the hell are you?” the first one asked, holding Constance with an iron grip as she desperately tried to get away.

“I said let her go,” the other repeated, pointing his sword at him. The light of the lantern fell upon a pale face with an unreadable expression and unshaven cheeks.

Constance’s assailant let her go at last – or rather, flung her away so that she almost fell.

“All right then, you bastard,” he said grimly and whipped out a short knife.

She should have run. Instead she froze, pressed to the wall, unable to look away from the fight unfolding in front of her. Despite clearly being under the influence of alcohol, the stranger who came to her aid wielded his weapon confidently, but his opponent was displaying unexpected agility by managing to dodge him until the sword and the knife crossed each other. For a few very long moments a blade pressed hard against a blade, but the one who assaulted Constance apparently was stronger – he also looked larger than the other. He succeeded in repelling the attack, pushed his opponent away, and stabbed him in the thigh. The musketeer – and he was a musketeer, Constance could make out the uniform and the pauldron – gave a feeble moan.

Constance rushed to the nearest porch and hammered at the door.

“Help!” she cried. “Somebody help! Call the guards!”

Just as when she was caught, no one responded to her call. The windows of most of the houses remained black, and the one that had light seeping through a crack between its shutters immediately went dark. No one was going to risk their life for heaven knows whom.

No one except that stranger who stood up for her even though he could have just walked by.

Constance took a fevered look around. By the porch next door, a bottle was lying on the ground. Giving a wide berth to the fighters, she darted to that house and picked up the bottle by its neck.

The men were engrossed in a fight and didn’t notice her come closer – quietly, carefully, mentally berating herself for moving too slowly. The first thing she was concerned about was not getting accidentally hit by the knife or the sword; the second was not accidentally hitting the wrong man. However, when she approached them, both had already lost their weapons and were engaged in hand-to-hand combat on the ground – more specifically, the wounded musketeer was lying on the ground and making all effort to throw off his enemy, who was on him, pressing his thumbs on the musketeer’s eyes.

Constance crept up on him and smashed the bottle on his head.

The man stopped. Hiccupped. Turned around slowly. That momentary confusion was enough for the musketeer to punch him twice on the jaw, throw him off, get on top of him, and deliver several blows more. The drunkard went limp and stopped fighting back.

Constance dropped the bottle she had been nervously clutching until the fight was over, and made a dash for the musketeer, who was crawling away from the vanquished foe, breathing heavily.

“You’re wounded,” Constance said in alarm, casting a glance at the blood-soaked pants of the musketeer.

“I have noticed,” he replied in a low voice and tried to sit up. Constance dropped on her knees next to him, holding him up – it looked like he was about to pass out. Suddenly he jerked away. “Move aside!”

Constance was taken aback.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Move aside, I said!” the musketeer pushed her away roughly and turned his back. Next thing he vomited – all but on his opponent, who was stretched out nearby.

Constance let him wipe his face with his sleeve without being embarrassed as she crawled away to pick up the drunkard’s knife off the ground, and then sighed and set to tearing a piece off her petticoat.

“Let me bandage it,” she ordered.

The musketeer obediently let her bandage his thigh.

“Thank you,” he muttered. After that one moan when he got stabbed, not a single sound gave away that he was in pain, except for loud breathing. Nevertheless, Constance saw that his face – a young face still, he didn’t look more than thirty years old – had an unhealthy pallor, and his forehead was covered with a film of sweat.

“Thank you for saving me,” replied Constance. It seemed like her body had been keeping all her senses strained to the limit since she was caught, and when the danger had finally passed, it was surrendering to exhaustion. But it was too early to relax – she still had to get home (would she get there tonight at all?), and now a man was bleeding out in her arms.

She cast a sidelong look at their enemy, who still hadn’t tried to stand up or at least sit up.

“Did you kill him?” she asked, dropping her voice. It felt wrong to speak of such things aloud, even though there was no one around.

“I don’t think so,” replied the musketeer. As if to confirm that, the wretch stirred and whined.

“You pieces of shiiit…”

Constance fiddled with the knife. A fleeting memory flickered before her eyes: here she was, trembling with fear and agitation, picking up a strange stone at the cemetery. She wrapped the knife in a handkerchief and stuffed it into her pocket.

“I am taking this,” she announced vengefully. “As a compensation for damage.”

The man spat out a couple of words which, according to him, described her exhaustively, and continued whining.

The musketeer tried to stand up and almost succeeded, but lost his balance at the last second and had to lean on Constance.

“You need a doctor,” she pointed out. “Sit on the porch, and I’ll find someone to call one.”

“No need… I’ll walk… my friend lives nearby.”

“Can he help you?”

“He knows how to treat wounds.”

“Where does he live? I will help you get there.”

“I told you, I’ll walk…”

“Walk where, into the gutter? Where does he live?”

“Between the Rue Cassette and the Rue Servandoni. I’ll show the way,” suddenly he frowned and touched his neck, then lowered his head and looked at his chest. “The devil!”

“What is it?”

“I lost my locket. That brute must have torn the chain,” the musketeer looked first under his feet and then around him. “Wait.”

“Is it so important?” Constance asked impatiently. “You are bleeding out.”

“Yes, it is important, and I’m not going anywhere until I’ve found it.”

Constance rolled her eyes.

“Sit on the porch, and I’ll look for it.”

The locket turned up in a few steps from her – a small, delicate thing on a long broken chain. It was open, probably by force of hitting the ground. Usually such lockets had someone’s locks of hair or miniature portraits inside them, but this one contained just a dried flower – a forget-me-not. A gift from his ladylove, without a doubt.

“Here,” Constance held out the locket to the musketeer. He looked at it in an odd way – as if she was offering him not a piece of jewellery he wanted to find so much, but a rope to hang himself, or a pistol to shot himself with. In a moment that shadow passed.

“Thank you,” he said calmly, took the locket from Constance, and put it in his pocket.

Constance helped him get up, he leaned on her, and they set off together, leaving behind their acquaintance, who was still lying down but must have built up a little strength, because his whining gave way to loud swearing.

“What is your name, monsieur?”

“Athos.”

“Is that a name or a surname?” Constance was only familiar with a mountain by such name.

“It’s a name, and that name is enough. Turn left here. And your name is?..”  

“Constance Bonacieux. Are you unwell, monsieur?”

“No,” Athos replied firmly, closed his eyes for an instant, reeled, and continued walking.

If he faints, I won’t be able to carry him, Constance thought grimly. She needed to engage him in a conversation to make sure he stays conscious.

“Where to now?” she asked aloud.

“On that corner… turn right,” all of a sudden he stopped and she felt him grow heavier against her the way people do when their legs give way, but he mustered his strength and stepped forth again.

“Have you been in the Musketeers long, monsieur?” Constance inquired, trying to think what to ask him on the spot.

“For two years. What of it?”

“You must have been returning from your watch.”

“I was returning from a tavern.”

He smelled like wine indeed, even if less than the one he had fought.

“And your friend that we’re going to…”

“Is also a musketeer. His name is Aramis. And, mademoiselle…”

“Madame,” she corrected him reflexively.

“Madame Bonacieux, if you believe that… oh, damn it… that I’m about to swoon, you are mistaken. This is far from being the gravest injury I’ve received.”

“Said the man who can barely move.”

“As I’ve told you, I was returning from a tavern,” Athos remarked, mildly irritated. “What about you, Madame? Not a tavern as well?”

“No!” Constance exclaimed in outrage. “I mean, yes, but I wasn’t drinking. I was looking for the cobbler.”

“What on earth did you need a cobbler for at night?”

“Not I; his mother.”

As she was recounting their search of Vannier to Athos and observing his reaction – grunting, nodding, most importantly not passing out – they reached a small house lost in greenery. Tall bushes and tangled vines of wild grapes all but completely obscured the entrance Athos pointed out – a plain door much like one for the servants.

“Here,” said the musketeer, leaning against the banister. Drops of sweat were rolling down his face.

Constance banged down the door.

“Monsieur Aramis!” she called. “Your friend’s here, he needs help! Monsieur Aramis!”

She stopped, gulping for air, and listened. Fortunately, there obviously was someone inside – she could hear the noise and muffled voices. Hoping to hurry up the resident and whoever was there with him, Constance began knocking again. Finally, the door flung open, and she was face to face with a young man of about the same age as Athos, wearing an open shirt, barefoot.

“Madame,” he flashed a dazzling smile, smoothing down his tousled dark hair. “How can I…” then he noticed Athos. “Good God,” he uttered, instantly turning serious. “Porthos!”

Another man appeared in the doorway – big, broad-shouldered, brown-skinned. It was unlikely he really was the tallest person Constance had ever seen, but she’d never met anyone who just towered over everything the way he did.

“Damn it, Athos,” the giant said, pushed the other man aside, and hurried to the wounded. He was dressed much as his comrade, but he was wearing boots. “Good evening, Madame.”

“Good evening,” Constance nodded wearily.

“Help him in, and I’ll prepare everything we’d need,” said the one who apparently was Aramis, and made an inviting gesture. “Come inside, Madame.”

“And no ‘good evening’ for me?” Athos asked Porthos behind Constance’s back.

“You’ll manage,” Porthos replied. Constance didn’t see his face, but his voice sounded good-naturedly. “Let me guess, the Red Guard?”

“Didn’t look like one of theirs, no.”

The summer night and the light of two half-melted candles on the table and one on the small chest of drawers by the wall let Constance view the surroundings – a bottle of wine and a pack of cards on the table, the unmade bed, the washstand, a chest crowned with a small pile of books, a chair with pistols on its seat and coats on its back. The room was furnished rather modestly but looked lived-in and cozy, particularly in that soft light. Constance felt the awkwardness characteristic of the uninvited guests who are not without the sense of conscience.

“Madame Bonacieux,” said Athos as he entered the room, leaning on Porthos, “let me introduce to you Monsieur Porthos, the best fighter of our regiment, and Monsieur Aramis, our best shot.”

“Look, Madame, how he’s fawning over us so that we don’t come down on him too hard for getting in trouble without us again,” declared Aramis. While Porthos was helping Athos lie down on the bed, he poured water from a jug into a big bowl and opened the chest of drawers to take out a case containing tools, the purpose of most of which Constance couldn’t determine at a glance, save for scissors, a skein of thread, a needle, and a short knife. “Deeply pleased to meet you, and sorry for the mess.”  

“The pleasure is mine, monsieur.”

“And I’m pleased to meet you too, madame,” said Porthos, “too bad it is under such circumstances. What happened?”

“I was attacked on my way home, and your friend stood up for me.”

Porthos smiled, which gave him dimples that completely ruined his formidable image.

“Yeah, that sounds like him.”

“Madame Bonacieux,” Aramis turned to her, “I am not sure you would like to watch this.”

“I am a married woman, Monsieur Aramis,” retorted Constance. She felt vaguely displeased that after she changed the course of a fight by whacking a stranger on the head with a bottle, someone still worried about offending her sensibilities. “You won’t shock me with a sight of a naked man.”

“I rather meant the sight of his wound.”

“I’d venture to suggest any woman has seen no less blood than you.”

Having blurted that out, Constance blushed – the joke was far from proper, to put it mildly. People like her husband’s friends would have been scandalized. But their host just laughed, and his friends, even the worn-out Athos, laughed with him.

“Upon my word, madame, I like you,” Aramis said merrily. Constance frowned a little under his mischievous glance; handsome men who were aware of their handsomeness were usually insufferable, and that one evidently was aware of his. “Well, in that case, let us begin.”

Out of respect for Athos, Constance looked away in the end while the other two musketeers helped him take off his pants and smallclothes. However, the long shirttail thereafter concealed everything that might have embarrassed a lady, at the same time not covering the wound, which certainly looked unpleasant but wasn’t bleeding as much as it did at first. While Aramis carefully cleaned the wound, Athos kept on enduring stoically, with his teeth set and his eyes closed, but when the needle pierced his skin for the first time, he let out a stifled groan. Porthos took the bottle off the table and helped Athos sit up, but the hand of the latter was trembling, so the Porthos took the bottle from him and put it to his friend’s lips himself. Athos drank greedily until he gagged and the wine ran down his chin. Perhaps these gulps renewed the influence of what he had dunk earlier that evening at the tavern and sufficiently numbed his senses, for he didn’t groan anymore, although his face was far from serene. For a moment Constance wished to take his hand, but she wasn’t sure how he’d take that and didn’t want to impede Aramis’s work, so she went with a look she hoped was reassuring enough. Athos nodded slightly, and in his eyes she read gratitude.

“You know, Madame Bonacieux, if I were in his place, there’d be no wine for me,” Porthos observed. “These two would’ve just knocked me on the head and proceeded to stitch up my senseless body.”

“Because your body yells too loud when it’s not senseless,” said Athos through his teeth as he lay down again. Aramis chuckled, keeping his eyes on the wound. He was sewing it up with concentration, a slight frown on his face, and Constance couldn’t help thinking she liked that sobriety more than his former archness.

“So you’re also a doctor, Monsieur Aramis?” she asked.

“I am many things, madame,” he replied, without pausing his work, “as we all are.”

Are all of us, really? Constance thought. When she looked at the three of them, she was filled with a strange feeling, one she found hard to name.

Porthos moved the weapons to the table and put the chair closer to the bed so that she could sit down while remaining close to Athos, and gave her a glass of wine.

“We should’ve offered it sooner – you must be tired and thirsty,” he said as he sat back down on the bed next to Athos. “Sorry. There’s also water if you’d rather have it.”

“No, thank you, wine will do,” shook her head Constance. And smiled. “A whole evening spent in taverns without having a single drop, and now…”

“Taverns?”

Athos laughed – hoarsely, weakly.

“Tell them about your cobbler, madame,” he suggested.

To the accompaniment of Constance’s tale of the prodigal cobbler, Aramis finished treating Athos’s wound and bandaged it. Athos sighed and tried to sit up, but winced and went for just propping himself up on one elbow instead.

“Thank you,” he told Aramis, who was washing his hands over the washstand, and then turned to Porthos and Constance. “All of you.”

“Why, you’re welcome,” Porthos winked. “You know, one for all and so on.”

“It seems you happened to include Madame Bonacieux into ‘all’, my friend,” Aramis smiled, “but she gave no promises to watch your back in combat.”

“Madame Bonacieux helped me defeat her assailant,” Athos said with that subtle curl of his lips that in his case must’ve stood for a smile, “with a timely knock on his head.”

“Whoa!” Aramis exclaimed, sitting down on the edge the table. Porthos whistled in approval. “A heavy hand you must have.”

“More like a heavy bottle in that hand,” Constance smiled modestly. It was a strange compliment, but it pleased her.

“Good move! A classic,” Porthos approved. “But still, you’d better have some sort of weapon on you when you go out so late.”

Constance took the knife out of her pocket and unfolded the handkerchief.

“Now I will,” she said. She had no such intention when she took the knife from that man, but at that moment she suddenly realized that is what she should do.

“Whose blood is this?” asked Aramis.

“Mine, I fear,” Athos said and yawned. Porthos grinned and ruffled his hair, which made Athos furrow his brow a little, but he didn’t pull back. Constance shifted her gaze to Aramis, and the fondness with which he was looking at his friends brought back that strange feeling which pressed down on her chest and made her angry with herself for some reason.

“One of you should escort the lady home,” Athos told his friends. Constance felt a slight pang of shame. It was so agreeable here after the streets and their dangers that she had completely forgotten she should be on her way if she wanted to catch at least some sleep that night.

“I’ll go,” Porthos volunteered, and got up. “Just a moment, madame; I need to sort out which of these are mine,” he indicated the weapons on the table with a wave of his hand.

Constance put the knife back into her pocket and approached the bed.

“Get well soon, Monsieur Athos,” she said. “Thank you once again, and farewell.”

He must’ve felt self-conscious about lying down when she was on her feet, so he managed to sit up.

“I’ll be fine, Madame Bonacieux,” he replied, and bowed his head solemnly and courteously. “Goodbye. You two,” he looked at Porthos and Aramis. “Stop this right now.”

“But we’re not saying anything,” objected Porthos.

“Exactly. Stop glancing at each other and kindly speak a language everyone understands at least when a guest is present. Goodbye, madame.”

“Goodbye.”

“We’re just happy to see you make new friends,” Aramis smiled slyly. “Goodbye, Madame Bonacieux. It was a pleasure to meet you.” Before she could answer, he took her hand and swiftly put it to his lips. Constance tried to glare at him, but it didn’t come out that impressive.

Porthos was waiting for her on the porch.

“Well, madame,” he gave her a lopsided smile and offered her his hand, “lead the way.”

Finally I’ll get home, Constance thought, and sighed.

***

Jean-Luc hadn’t specified where exactly she should wait at the graveyard for the stroke of the clock and what she should do all that time, so that night twelve years ago Constance started by spending about half an hour glued to the spot behind the crypt of a local noble family. After neither ghosts nor werewolves nor, most importantly, the caretaker appeared, she grew bolder and began strolling among the graves, looking for something to bring her brother as a proof of her coming here. There were flowers on some graves, but it seemed improper to steal from the dead.

Here and there clover was growing, and Constance picked a few flowers, found her mother’s grave, and placed them on it. It had only been three years since mother passed away, and the hole it left in her chest hadn’t even nearly begun to close. Constance stood in front of the grave until the sleeve she wiped her eyes with was completely soaked.

Then she looked up and saw a white face in the bushes.

Later Constance learned that it was none other than Jean-Luc. “Like I would’ve let you go alone! Father would’ve killed me if anything happened to you!” But he only made that confession many years later, at the feast in honour of her wedding to Bonacieux. As to that night, she had no idea that the creature staring at her was her brother, so, naturally, she shrieked and bolted. At some point she fell down, and her fingers found some sort of stone in the grass; she grabbed it without thinking, got up, and ran onwards.

When she was past the cemetery fence, she dared to look back. No one was following her. Then Constance felt ashamed – she wasn’t going to be a coward, after all. She made some steps at a leisurely pace but then ran anyway, except this time it wasn’t out of fear. It was just that the relief and the realization that she was completely alone that brisk and silent night and she could do whatever she wanted, and no one would tell her how to behave – it all filled her with a desire to run. It gathered all the summer wind, and put it into her lungs and into her legs.

As she was approaching home, she examined the stone she picked up for the first time. Turned out it was not just any stone but an adder stone with a little hole. People said those brought good luck. She didn’t even want to give it away, but an agreement was an agreement. That was why next morning she crept on Jean-Luc and pressed the stone to his neck.

“Dead man’s finger!” she cried in triumph. Jean-Luc yelled like he was younger than her, and dropped a pitcher full of milk. The pitcher broke to pieces, and both of them got some stick for that, but it was still worth it.

No one else knew about her – their – night foray. Constance didn’t even tell her friends anything – partly because she was worried their parents would find out and tell her father; partly because at some point that night she had been scared, and it didn’t reflect well on her. Likewise, twelve years later, she didn’t tell anyone about the events of another summer night, but mostly because she had no one to tell it to. Not her husband, that was for sure. He returned in the morning in high spirits – the trip hadn’t been for nothing, he managed to strike a good bargain – kissed her benignly, and sat down at the table. He saw neither the knife she cleared of blood and hid in a drawer among her undergarments nor the torn petticoat she stuffed into the same drawer, and if he noticed the dark circles under her eyes – she only got to sleep a couple of hours; it was as if her body refused to relax – then he made little account of it.

Soon after his return, Mme Vannier knocked on the door.

“Dear Madame Bonacieux,” the old woman offered her a little basket full of cherries, “this is for you.”

“Oh, Madame Vannier, you really shouldn’t have…”

“Constance, who is it?” Bonacieux called. The next instant he was peering over Constance’s shoulder. “Ah, Madame… umm…”

“Vannier,” prompted Constance.

“Right, yes. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Oh, I just brought a little gift for your wife, Monsieur,” the old lady, apparently made shy by his self-important demeanour, pointed at the basket. “She helped me so much yesterday…”

“To carry some heavy groceries,” Constance finished with a wide smile. “Thank you, Madame Vannier, that’s so sweet of you.”

All that day Constance was not herself. As she was cutting vegetables, patching an apron, shaking out the rugs, she could not rein in her wandering thoughts. The previous night had shown her that the daredevilry she possessed in her childhood and youth was still with her, and she didn’t know where to put it now.

The next day there was a knock on the door again – and this time it was Athos, leaning on a cane.  

“I don’t believe a new petticoat to replace the one you tore for my sake would be an appropriate gift on my part,” he observed almost primly, after they exchanged greetings and Constance asked how he was feeling. “But I know a craftsman who would make you a fine sheath for your trophy, and I would gladly pay him for it. We could visit him together so that you could describe what result you’d like to see yourself.”

“Now?” Constance was at a loss.

“At any time you like when we’re both free. I am on duty and thus don’t belong to myself, but I have to thank you accordingly, so I’ll definitely make time for you.”

Constance smiled.

“Well, Monsieur, that’s nice to hear. Thank you. Where will I be able to find you?”

“At the garrison of Captain de Tréville’s regiment – and if I’m not there, they would likely be able to tell you where to find me. Perhaps Messieurs Porthos and Aramis will be there as well; they’d be happy to see you.”

“Particularly Aramis, I believe,” Constance remarked dryly.

Athos chuckled.

“Pay him no mind, Madame. No doubt he’ll try to flirt with angels in heaven when he’s dead – if he goes to heaven, of course – but he would never impose himself if a lady isn’t interested. Of course, unless you…”

“No, I’m not,” laughed Constance. She was young and not blind and she could see that all three of her new acquaintances were good-looking, but she could also clearly see that to want a sword, a pistol, the heat of the battle, the sweetness of adventure was not the same as to want the one who has all these things.

“Then you have nothing to worry about.”

“You love your friends,” Constance said, a statement not a question. Athos shrugged.

“I’d be lost without them,” he admitted matter-of-factly, as befits a fundamental truth.

Envy. That was what she felt looking at Athos and his friends – envy. And in her heart she’d been aware of what it was from the very beginning, but she could not admit that, for envy is a bad thing. But she wished these young men no ill, not at all, she just longed for what they had – fellowship, familiarity, unspoken understanding. The certainty that somewhere there’s a house where all your wounds would be cured. These three had each other. She had brothers who were far away, some acquaintances, none of whom was as close to her as her childhood friends in Cercy-la-Tour, and a husband she, frankly speaking, had never truly loved.

But she was brave. She remembered that now: she was brave. Brave enough to admit that she was lonely, and brave enough to do something about it.

“What time does that craftsman of yours open his shop?”

“About eight in the morning, usually.”

“Excellent. I’ll have to go to the market to buy some groceries tomorrow. If I drop by the garrison on my way there, say, at nine, will you be there?”

“I shall try to.”

Later, the knife Constance chanced to obtain was provided with a well-made patterned sheath, and she made a habit of carrying it any time she went anywhere, in case she came across someone like its previous owner again.

Later, that winter, when a strange young man grabbed her at the market and kissed her, it was that very knife that she pulled out.  

But all of that – as well as many other surprising, at times happy, at times distressing, always thrilling events – came later.

[assjuice4ever]

Part1/ Part2/Part3

-Anna! It's you! -

-Oh thank God, it's you. - Anna answered to Osamu while realising her first. She wasn't going to fight anybody in the middle of the street, that was fantastic.

Osamu looked really happy to see her, a little smile on his lips that was difficult to notice if you didn't know him. But she knew him perfectly, even after years she remembered everything about him as if the last time they talked it was yesterday, she didn't even hesitate to recognize him, hair less long and a little bit of beard but it was the same face she always knew.

-I didn't know you were in Osaka. - He said and she smiled a little bit without really knowing what to say. It wasn't like she didn't want to see him but it felt strange to write a message asking if they could meet after all that time and everything else.

-Do you have something to do in like - He took his phone from the jacket to control the hour -An hour and an half? -

-Not really. - Her friends just told her that that night they weren't going out because there were ger boyfriend's cousins in the city. Stupid happy couples.

-Then you have to come to Onigiri Miya. Now I really have to go, I'm covering the delivery guy! - He said while putting the helmet back on before going, without asking if it was okay with her.

This was she found herself sat on a table inside Onigiri Miya, all alone with Osamu cleaning the last pot in the kitchen. He left her with a water glass and a "I need only ten minutes".

Onigiri Miya was exactly like she imagined a place owned by Osamu, Japanese style with a touch of modernity. There were comfortable chairs who didn't make the table seem to high or to low, photos on the wood walls, banners hanging in front of the open kitchen so you could see him work. The place had this lovely feeling of home with it.

-So. - Osamu started while coming to the table. Anna could see now, without the jacket or the helmet, that the haircut wasn't the only thing that changed. His shoulder were broader and he was a little bit taller than the last time she saw him. Two years ago. The last time was nearly two years ago. -How life is going?-

She breathed before talking, she didn't notice that she was holding it. If Osamu asked her why she didn't call him or let him know in anyway that she was living in Osaka she wouldn't have know how to answer. But Osamu was always gentle with her, letting her say whatever she wanted to say whenever she needed to.

They talked. It was a long talk cut short only by the opening of Onigiri Miya for the evening.

She wasn't sure how it worked but while talking to Osamu it felt like they never really stoped to. He didn't really tell her things, he wasn't the type of person that explained to you how difficult it was to start his business, how many times he thought it was going to fail, how many sleepless night he did, yet in the middle of his stories he implied that in a way, with his little nervous tick were he looked to his left whenever he was remembering something annoying or that made him angry, or the way his voice changed a bit, getting more low whenever there was something that he didn't like.

Listening to him made her always a little bit happier.

Anna instead didn't really told him anything about her life, there wasn't really time to and at the same time she was glad about it. She felt a failure in some way while listening to him, as if her life had been in the same place for years while Osamu was going on with his dream. It wasn't something she wanted to say.

It was like that that her routine started to have a new stop every week. At least for the next two weeks.

[tjsplace]

aug 26

4.55 pm

i can't stop listening to the same ep over and over again today. boy by luke hemmings. it fits the mood. i haven't been super depressed, but i've been sick with a cold. it's super annoying and of course because of my fibromyalgia, it hurts me more than other people. but whatever. today therapy was rough though. i made the exercise of recalling all the traumatizing events that led to my first suicide attempt. i cried, so much. it felt like i had a whirlwind inside my head and i couldn't see clearly. i felt like a horse with blinkers. yesterday i was sad because i felt like a failure in my career. my mom told me over and over again i'm talented. i wanna believe her. but what if i'm not? what if i'm not all the things she says i am? i'm not obsessive with music production. am i? i literally have no idea. it's because i spend maybe 1 to 2 hours a day on ableton. sometimes. a few times a week. sometimes every day. it depends on what i have to do. but i don't know, it doesn't feel like a hobby yet. it feels like work. because i'm not talented enough to not get frustrated when my songs don't work. it's the sounds, the mix. structurally i'm good. lyrically, eh. maybe. i don't play guitar super well because i don't practice enough. it's my stupid hand injury from two years ago. i gotta warm up every single time i gotta pick up a guitar, for ten minutes. it's annoying. i just wanna listen to music. today, right now, i'm sick and i'm high. i bought two grams. i hadn't bought any weed in over a week. maybe therapy today was too tough for me. also, it was online. i couldn't bring myself to my therapist's office. too tired. too much snot. i wanna write about leon and salem, but mar hasn't given me permission to write salem yet. i don't wanna overstep her boundaries. i know it's her character. i didn't create it, she did. i wish i could write her in a way that made mar proud. a version of a similar salem maybe. my own perspective on salem. maybe i should tell her that.

6.24 pm

i'm so overwhelmed with emotion right now. listening to i'm still your boy feels surreal when i'm high and watching videos from california. being at the beachwood café. laurel canyon. west hollywood. when i went to the recording studios. westlake, eastwest, sunset sound and henson. they all said i needed an appointment to check out the place if i was planning on recording there. i was like, i'm from chile, this is my last day here, i can't make an appointment. i said only half of that. i went to do that too late. but i couldn't do it the other day, when we went to disneyland and i had a panic attack. i went back to the inn, took a shower, went to an atm in a grocery store, bought a joint. got high, took a nap and went to visit inglewood. it was really cool. then i went to buy makeup at ulta beauty in west hollywood. maybe i should do yoga, i'm all contractured. my neck, my back. i haven't done yoga in ages. my mat is probably all dirty. i'm sick. why do i want to do things that are good for me just when i'm sick? like, what the fuck.

6.52 pm

i'm getting anxious now. i know it when i feel like i absolutely must talk to someone, tell them everything, otherwise i'll lose my mind. i don't know if i got into a fight with mar. shit. maybe i shouldn't have written her long messages explaining why i thought writing about leon and salem would be a good idea. and that i understand if she doesn't want me writing salem in any way. which is totally valid. and now she's not replying, she's most likely busy, and i NEED to talk this out with someone.

[akaashioppa]

Forever Will Never Be The Same

pairings: oikawa x reader

summary: The reader finally confronts her husband Oikawa after cheating allegations in the male locker room. angst!!!

warnings: curse words, mentions of the reader having a son with Oikawa, confronting of cheating. 

w/c: 1736

A/N: first time writing for Oikawa :)

Haikyuu Masterlist  Masterlist

“Everyone get out now!”

Your voice echoed off the metal lockers of the locker room. Eyes widened as you made your way into the changing room, not because of the fact that a girl was entering the male’s locker room. It was the fact that Oikawa (Y/N) was coming to kick her husband’s ass. Just as every man passed you to flee, their musky scent filled your nose making you cringe.

After the final whistle of the game, people were scavenging to take pictures with Oikawa Toru except you. Each morning that you woke your husband up he would give you one of those cheeky grins that he was giving the fans right now, the stupid grin was fake. Laughter, jokes, and cries filled your ears, for what reason? The Great King made his grand entrance back to the court, winning both sets with the help of Iwaizumi. The Great King himself showered his fans with love and pictures while you stood from afar, anger flowing through your veins. Knowing the Poker Face King for ten years and having been married to him for two, it was easy to mimic the grin. As girls would pass by screaming about the pictures they took with him you would shoot them that famous grin. 

You timed each moment perfectly, celebrating the win, pictures with fans, interviews with the sports commentators, more fan interaction and now he hits the locker room for a shower. Luckily for you, he was beginning to take his sweaty jersey off, beads of sweat from the previous game were still prominent.

“What are you doing here?” The look on his face was one of a kind, it was a mixture of panic and anger. Nothing to be afraid of, it’s not like he didn’t give you the same look when you caught him at the bar with another woman. Or the time you were driving down the road with his phone constantly going off, every other minute he’d get notifications, this would go on for hours.

The yelling of the men from the locker room made you come back to reality. Have they not seen a woman before or was it because you were standing there looking at their dick prints? A white tint cast over their knuckles from how hard they were holding their towels around their waist. ‘What a sight to see

“You can either tell me the truth or you can tell me the truth there’s no in-between.” You barked at Oikawa, men were still scattering out of the locker room. You barely gave them time to leave before you bombarded your husband with your question. 

The  panic on his face was quite entertaining, he moved in front of you so you couldn’t see his half-naked teammates running out of the locker room.“What are you talking about!?”

“When were you going to tell me that you went to a nightclub with Iwaizumi!? He told me everything so I’m giving you the chance to come clean about it!”

“I didn’t tell you because I knew you were going to be mad.”

“Did you sleep with her?” You got straight to the point, there was no need for you to sit here and procrastinate any longer. This has been on your mind ever since you got those three attachments from Iwaizumi.

“No” He scoffed, “Why would I sleep with her? I have too much respect for you to sleep with her.”

“Oh really, the way you were holding her waist makes me think differently. The way you kissed her neck makes me want to snap yours!” You held up a photo on your phone with him and another girl at the nightclub. His head was in her neck, you could see that he was kissing on it, his arms were wrapped around her waist but his hands were dangerously low.“Respect? Do you even know the definition of respect because if you did you wouldn’t have me out here looking stupid!”

He sat down on the bench of the locker room, his arms were tightly around his chest. Oikawa was already over this conversation, this wasn’t the first time you blew up in the face about this. Nor the second, he respected you in a weird way. He never laid hands on you, or even yelled at you but he couldn’t keep his hands off other women. 

“How do I make you look stupid!? I give you everything you want!”

“Everything but love.” You yelled desperately, the thing about arguing with him about these situations was that he’d always claim that he knew what you wanted. He’d always try to bring light on the situation when he clearly fucked up. He was a great husband, you guys had been dating since high school. Since he got the fame and money things turned upside down, he became a legit monster. 

“I show love to you every day, I make love to you every week!” His voice rose an octave, his hand was flying all over the place when he spoke. 

You were appalled, sickened, offended, that he could say something like that. It hurts to know that he thinks this way, it almost makes you feel worthless. Does he really consider having sex as love? “That’s not loving Toru, that's lust.”

He sighed, his hands were on his knees, he got up to finish packing up his things. “Well, I’m over it. I don’t want you here anymore. Leave”

“How can you give up so easily on us.” You forced his hands away from his bag, he looked at you with a confused face. You poked him hard in his chest slowly provoking him, “I forgave you so many times after you treated me like trash. All the times you cheated and came home with women’s numbers falling out of your pockets. Many sleepless nights just to make sure that your knee would stop bothering you. I wake up every morning to make you your special breakfast so you can be game ready and yet I haven’t given up on you.”

“I’m just tired of arguing with you. All you do is complain about my lifestyle. If you can’t keep up then we shouldn’t be together. How can I keep consoling you after you get all jealous about me hanging out with fans or me taking pictures with my fans? It’s just toxic (Y/N).” He spat back, he didn’t seem angered. It was more of an annoyed look. 

“Because you only hang out with female fans, it’s fine and all but when they’re posting sexual pictures with you, it’s a different story. I scroll down my feed to see you with more women than see pictures of us together. It’s like I don’t exist”

“Whatever (Y/N) I need to get ready for the after-party.”

“What about us? How are we going to fix this?”

“There is no us!” He screamed, his voice echoed off the lockers. He placed his hands on his hips trying to compose himself. “It’s only you and Torio. And me, Torio and volleyball! There is no us, not anymore and that’s it!”

You took a step back, each word was like a dagger in your heart. He would often bring your son into the matter. Ever since your son was born you’ve always felt like you and Oikawa had grown apart. It was like you were forcing yourself to stay for Torio’s sake. There would be days where things were good, on those days you and Oikawa wouldn’t argue. However, when days like this occur he’d make you hurt, you’d always end up questioning your ability of loving. Deep down you felt like you guys were drifting apart but you didn’t want to admit it. It was too painful, Oikawa would have been left if it weren’t for Torio. He wanted his fans and the sports media to look at him as a family man.

“Why is it so hard to ask someone to love me!?” Your breaking point had finally come, you held your hands over your mouth to stop the loud sobs. It was hard to know that your husband and high school sweetheart didn’t want you. You gave up everything to support him with his dreams, family, friends, work, school, and even your fucking sanity and yet she still treats you this way. 

He stood there watching you beat yourself down, he didn’t do anything but place a hand on your shoulder. You shrugged it off, the last thing you wanted was for him to touch you. “Listen I loved you back in high school but now high school is over. You’re still basing this love off of that and I’m not here for it. All these insecurities you have are a bit annoying in my defense. Maybe this relationship would work if you grew the fuck up.”

“You can’t give up on us now. We need each other. Torio needs his dad. ” Lie, you needed him. Yes, Torio needed his dad but you needed your husband. It was crazy to think that you would go back to him but it was just your toxic ways. You never loved anyone but him, he was all that you had. Your life that you lived was based upon him. 

“Look, we can talk about this later if you want, but right now I have thousands of fans waiting for me to show my face. You can either suck it up and go out there with me or you can hit the back doors and go home.”

“Toru…”

“What do you want?” He groaned, he turned back around with an annoyed face. He was fed up with you and even the situation. You knew he wanted you gone, he was waiting for the minute you’d leave so he could go and party. 

Obviously an answer, he was too consumed with himself to even realize that. It was the reason why you came in here yelling at his teammates to leave, you wanted to ask him a question in private. The thought of getting your feelings hurt in front of everyone was not ideal.

“I just asked a simple question. Did you sleep with her?”

You looked up at him for the first him, your vision was blurry but you could see him well enough to see that stupid smirk.“What do you think?”

[artemissunn]

TopGun ff/1

So uhm, this is the first fanfic I’m posting here (and first one in a long long time haha, pls have mercy) 😆 also English isn’t my first language, there can (probably will) be mistakes. Enjoy! Chapter one tomorrow!

Quick summary: The main line is that Lacey (the OC) is Maverick’s daughter, but their relationship isn’t the best. Her mom is Charlie and she lives with her and her husband but one tragic night Charlie and her husband dies in an accident and die leaving Lacey behind. She moves to Mav and hears that her long time crush, Bradley is engaged however both can feel their bond still.

Chapter one

I. Prologue

The family dinner happened very well. Charlie’s mom was always a sweetheart, and she absolutely adored Lacey. They always chatted about some gossip because even if Charlie didn’t like it, her daughter and mother lived for the steamy banned stories. Both women were lively and full of energy. Lacey was their little sunshine and her mother was the grandma from the movies. Always in the kitchen or garden knowing the best stories.

She had that air around her, which made her ten years younger.

The house was always full of smiles.

But the night sadly ended and Charlie, Steve and Lacey had to go home because the next day they had a long day ahead. After saying their goodbyes they got in the car and the one and half hour drive began. It was mostly trough forests. The sun already sank beneath the horizon. Lacey pulled down her window. Because she needed to feel the wind, it was like that since she was young. One window always had to be open. Even if it was winter time. It didn’t matter. It was somehow coded into her.

Her hand plays outside of the car with the cold air. It didn’t matter that she was 22.

They were around halfway through and that huge bridge came. Which crossed over one of biggest rivers in the US. The Mississippi river was huge, but beautiful.

“Sweetheart at home please help me choose some outfit for tomorrow.” Charlie looked back at Lacey.

“Of course mom.” She smiled at her.

It was not planned. And they never could have do anything in the other was. All it took was a drunk truck driver to push the smaller car into the river. He crashed into the front of the car making it flip multiple times. Because Lacey’s window was open somehow the barrier on the bridge got stuck into it and ripped out the door on her side. Steve was unconscious by the crash. Charlie hit her head somewhere and it was now bleeding. She wasn’t awake either.

The car didn’t stop turning around even in the air, it only stopped when they hit the depths of the river. The water was cold, it was only the beginning of September but still it felt so cold. The last thing that Lacey could do, was to unbuckle herself and only then went unconscious. She tried to save her mother and Steve too. But no power was left in her.

Ambulance and the police was called by a driver going home from work that night. He saw the truck burning and that the barrier of the bridge was broken. He immediately dialed 911. In twenty minutes everyone arrived . Ambulance, officers and firefighters. There was a helicopter coming too, Lacey was the only one still being somewhat alive.

The next days were complete hell for everyone there, the doctor were fighting so hard for her life. To bring her back and not let her slip away.

Maverick got onto a plane as soon as he got the call from the hospital. The doctors told him everything on the phone, that Charlie and Steve was gone, that her daughter might have brain damage, and that they didn’t know if she will make it.

Maverick put aside his phobia of the airline planes - he was not the pilot, that always gave him anxiety- and rushed to the airport grabbing only a bag of stuff. It was the longest four hours in his life. Ice texted him, to call him when he arrived. He knew Maverick could do stupid things, and he also knew that airline flights freaked him out. He wanted to talk to his friend before he entered the hospital.

It was all white. Another thing that sent him up to the wall. He hated plain, cold, chemical smelling places. But that was the last thing on his mind right now. And then he finally saw her, her right side of the forehead bruised and a cut. It wasn’t deep but will leave a mark.

Lips dry, split. Looking like a ghost.

He spent days out of the Top Gun program, sitting in the hospital room.

Finally on the fourth day she woke up gasping for air, crying her eyes out. Mav was there holding her. Because he really didn’t knew what to do.

After one more week she was finally let out. It was not the cut on her forehead, or the concussion, or the bruised ribs, the trauma was pain. She didn’t have any brain damage, and luckily nothing else which would make her life harder, or not being able to do something.

Her grandparents called her every day since she had enough power to hold the phone.

A few days later they were on the plane to San Diego.

[helpistolethesecharacters]

All Secrets Have a Habit of Coming Out

Hello all, this was for @iiblueberry-15ii

Hope it's all you wanted from your request :)

Ron Weasley x Male Potter Reader

Word Count: 1464

Just a little note, I only know a cursory amount about Twin-to-Twin Transfusion Syndrome, just what a quick google search could reveal so it might not be the most accurate, but I did my best, so I hope this ticks the box for what you wanted @iiblueberry-15ii

--------------

Everyone may have only known his brother's name when they first entered Hogwarts, but Y/n Potter had worked hard to fix that.

He had always been smaller and more frail than his twin brother Harry due to a rare condition that had affected them during pregnancy called Twin-to-Twin Transfusion Syndrome.

Essentially an imbalance during development made Harry receive more blood (and thus nutrients) than he gave back.

If this had been explained properly in a caring and loving environment, Harry might not have felt so guilty about it. Unfortunately for the twins, they grew up with their Aunt, Uncle and cousin, all of which took every opportunity to cause them pain. It had been spat at them one day when they were much younger that it was all Harry's fault that his twin brother wasn't as healthy as he was.

This all lead to Harry becoming incredibly overprotective of Y/n. He couldn't take more than two steps outside of Hogwarts during winter without Harry pushing extra scarves and coats into his arms and telling him to rug up more. Guilt was a great motivator, and Harry felt awful that Y/n was weaker than him physically.

Y/n couldn't play quidditch either because his lungs had suffered during development as well.

Y/n had, in his lower moments, like when his older brother (by like ten minutes Harry!) won a game of quidditch, or came back from some fantastic adventure that he had forbidden him from joining them on, allowed the hate to take root just that little bit more.

But he would wake up the next morning and realise that it couldn't possibly be his brothers fault. It was just an accident of life that this had happened.

He would be reminded in every class that there were some things that he could do that Harry just couldn't. His brother might be naturally talented with power for his magic, but as his favourite saying played through his head he would think about that instead. Hard work beats talent when talent doesn't work hard.

Y/n truly shone in classes too. He worked just as hard as Hermione at his studies, and it paid off. Often, when they got back essays or test results they were the top two in the class.

This naturally made the two a lot closer, as they were practically a built in study buddy for the other.

As they were getting older and reaching the age that people started to notice the other gender (or their own in Y/n's case) other guys would come up and ask him about Hermione.

-------------

Y/n couldn't believe the stupidity of his own gender sometimes. That had been the forth time today that he had had to fend off another guy who only wanted to get into the female bookworms pants while getting their homework done for free.

He stormed back into the Gryffindor common room in a huff.

He landed with a thump on the couch beside Ron and pouted.

"Guys suck."

Ron looked up from his homework which was looking rather untouched.

"I could do with a break anyway, been at this near five minutes. What's up Y/n?"

He sat back up closer to the other boy, giving him his full attention.

Ron wasn't sure what it was about Y/n, but there was just something that made him want to spend all day staring at him, or listening to him talk about the things that made him get all excited. He made the cutest faces when he got all worked up, eyes shining brighter than any star in the sky.

Okay, so he knew why he felt that way, heck, he had even acted on it. He still couldn't believe his luck when Y/n had agreed to go on a date with him. Of course they had had to pull off some pretty fast talking to get their friends to stay behind without it seeming like they wanted to be alone.

Ron focused back in just in time to see Y/n narrow his eyes at him.

Oops, he had noticed that he wasn't paying attention to him.

Ron cringed slightly.

"Sorry, was just thinking."

He cast a furtive look around the room, but they were pretty much alone right now. He was sure that wouldn't last.

Y/n just looked curious now.

"About what?"

Ron shifted awkwardly. Feelings weren't really his forte.

"About how I must've used up all the luck I had stored up for the next few years just to get you to agree to go out with me."

Ron sheepishly rubbed at the back of his neck, knowing that he was blushing.

Y/n was blushing when Ron had managed to gather up enough courage to look over at him.

They went to move closer, but their moment was ruined by the portrait entrance slamming open to let in some other Gryffindors.

"Later?"

"Later."

-------------

Y/n and Ron had stayed up much later than anyone else. It wasn't unusual for Y/n, but Ron knew the only way it wouldn't look suspicious for him to stay up was to pretend to be engrossed in a game of chess. He had thought of his homework at first, but then realised that he was usually the first one to give up, so working on it for hours unprovoked would be almost more suspicious than anything else he could come up with.

By the time that midnight rolled around Y/n and Ron had been alone in the common room for just under an hour. In that time they hadn't moved closer. They didn't want to risk it when people might still be remembering that one last thing they had accidentally left in the common room. Nothing said guilty like two teenagers springing apart as someone comes down the stairs.

It was Y/n who made the call. He stretched and shoved his book into the bag before moving over to the couch.

Ron could take a hint, no matter what anyone said, and followed Y/n over.

They sat looking at each other for a minute, just taking the other in.

"It's pretty exhausting hiding this, huh?"

"Yeah," Ron answered. "I sort of thought it might be kind of fun, but it's mostly just tiring. Can't really enjoy spending time together when we're constantly looking over our shoulders."

Y/n gave a half smile.

"Still worth it?"

Ron grinned back and reached out for Y/n instead of answering.

"Can I kiss you?"

Y/n nodded too fast and almost fell over.

Their lips met while they were both still laughing.

They didn't keep laughing for long. It had been a long week for them both, and they hadn't had very much time alone lately.

Things were just about to get more heated when they heard a noise from behind the couch.

They froze, still looking into each others eyes, then they pulled away from each other faster than either of them had ever moved before.

"Yeah, bit late for that really."

Neither of them had hear Harry's voice sound so cold.

Y/n turned to face his brother who had apparently walked in on them making out.

Well, at least everyone was just as embarrassed as each other judging by the blush on Harry's face.

Ron and Y/n watched Harry silently from opposite edges of the couch.

Harry clenched his jaw several times before seeming to try to calm himself.

"Ron. A word."

Y/n cringed. Well, it had been nice knowing Ron, but Y/n was pretty sure he would be helping to bury his body soon.

Y/n watched as Ron and Harry made their way over to one of the windows. He pouted, he couldn't hear anything from where he was. He sat back and crossed his arms as he waited for Harry to come back and deal with him.

-----------

Harry was so far past mad he didn't have a word for it anymore.

His little brother, who was smaller and just generally more frail, was apparently down here making out with Ron.

What the hell were they thinking?

And hiding it, Harry was sure neither of them had been thinking properly.

"What exactly did you think you were doing with Y/n?"

He stated each word as clearly and calmly as he could, but he could still hear his voice shaking in his rage.

He waited for Ron to start explaining himself, but just as he opened his mouth, Harry decided he didn't much care what he had to say.

"Look, I think it was pretty obvious what you two were doing, but let me just say, as Y/n's older brother and the only member of his family who cares about him, if you ever do anything to hurt him. Well, I'll show you exactly why I'm considered a threat to Voldemort."

[thetoadghoul]

Volunteering: (Ohtani x Reader) <333 (Part - 2)

part 1!

plot: Wednesday’s game arrives which Ohtani invited you to, some bonding time before the first pitch <3 slowwwburn, long cause idk details are fun lol

Wednesday quickly arrived, made much faster by the crazy amount of work you were required to do for your ‘actual’ job. The last three days had been spent with you running around the LA area, as well as cyberspace, to serve your role as interpreter. It was hell, for more reasons than one. The biggest of all being that even though you were not in Japan at the moment, you were still required to wear a proper suit. That meant a tight navy skirt, stockings, and some blasted heels. Sexist men, long meetings, and endless paperwork aside, you enjoyed your job for the most part - but this aspect really wore on you. However, the pain in your feet wouldn't damper your excitement for tonight’s game. Today you were not actually volunteering at the Angels stadium.

The day before yesterday, when you were actually volunteering, a bashful Ohtani had tapped you on the back while you were picking up baseballs from the batting cages. When you turned around the giant man was holding out a lanyard with an attached document, marked ‘VIP Guest of Player’. It took all you had not to let your hands shake with nerves as you reached out and grabbed it gingerly.

“Uh, see you on Wednesday.” The man looked to the side awkwardly, running a hand through his hair.

“...Yeah.” You responded with a small smile, feeling stupid, but it was all you could think of.

“Well, uh, I better go...” He motioned behind his back with a lazy thumb, staring to jog backward.

You nodded quickly, rushing to go back to picking up balls before you said something super lame, or weird.

It wasn’t till you were on the way home did you take a look at the back of the stadium pass. It read ‘Guest of Shohei Ohtani’. So he had put in the request for you, that was just like him, so kind. It would be an understatement to say you weren’t excited for tomorrow.

-----

Currently, your heart was still racing, but for another reason other than a certain super cute and insanely talented baseball player. It was because it was almost three-thirty in the afternoon and you were running around your company-provided apartment, trying to get ready as fast as you could. Ippei let you know you should get there around four-thirty, by then the team would have been done warming up and starting to enjoy a pregame meal while the away team got the field to themselves. From that point onwards, pretty much everyone was free to relax in the clubhouse till just before the first pitch.

With little time to consider, not even enough time to take a shower after having just got off work, you went with an oversized red T-shirt, baggy jeans, and some cool Jordan’s. This was your go-to, and it was comfortable. You don’t have many clothes anyway, living out of a suitcase.

Right as you were about to run out of the door you remembered to grab your standard Angels cap, it had been provided to you as part of your volunteer uniform a while back, slipping it on over your tight work bun. You would let your hair down later.

All right, everything was in order, Uber scheduled, lanyard secured.

It took about half an hour to arrive at the stadium, and once it came into view, you instructed the driver to let you out in front of the ballpark entrance. It had been a long time since you got to go through the gates as a member of the audience, it actually gave you a wave of nostalgia seeing everyone in their gear, so hyped up for the game, tailing gating outside for what was probably hours.

Once you were through, you started walking through the concession stands and various other stalls, dodging around the fans that were already inside watching the warm-ups, as well as hanging out drinking and eating. There were pictures of Ohtani everywhere, people taking turns snapping pictures of each other in front of the various cutouts of him. The air was buzzing with energy, and it seemed like all for that guy. Honestly, you had worked for a couple different teams over the years, but you had never seen hype like this. It was surreal, seeing a legend in the making.

You smiled, gripping the lanyard around your neck, making your way through the stadium. Shohei was super nice to do this for you, really, you should show him your support. Maybe a quick peek in the team store would do? Plus, you deserved to spend some money on yourself. After all, this was the first time you had really been ‘out’ in the almost three months you had been in California. Your free time was either working, volunteering, video games, or sleep.

You took a couple moments in the Angel's merch shop, quietly perusing the aisles, keeping an eye out for any Ohtani-themed items. Unfortunately, there weren’t really that many, probably sold out by the fans. What was there, was way too small for you.

“Y/n, you here to watch the game?” A young voice sounded.

When you turned to see who addressed you, a familiar girl was standing there grinning.

“Hey Jordan! I didn’t know you were working tonight.” You grinned back.

Jordan worked at the store as a stock manager, she was close in age to you so the two of you often hung out. You had invited her over a couple times, both bonding over your love for crappy reality TV, beer, and of course, baseball.

“Yeah it was last minute, a girl was feeling sick and there wasn’t anyone else cept’ me.” She sighed.

“Bummer, text me if you need help?” You offered, to which she waved you off.

“Nah, you enjoy being here and NOT working.” She chuckled, walking over to organize a messy shelf.

“So, you looking for something in particular?” The girl glanced over her shoulder.

“Uh yeah, you recommend any cool Ohtani stuff? Or is there any at all... seems wiped clean in here.” You said while looking around.

“Ohtani? You here to cheer him on too then. Wanna catch his eye.” She teased.

“Don’t say it like I’m just here for my like, prince charming.” You snapped back playfully, but, maybe a little too fast.

“Aren’t you?” She pressed with an eyebrow.

“Okay, I’m leaving.” You pouted, fake walking away.

“I’m just kidding, actually, stay here for a second I might have something you’ll like.” Jordan yelled as she jogged off to the back room behind the counters.

You did as you were told and when she came back there was a large white Angels jersey in her hands.

“Ta-da!” She grinned, twisting it around to show the player’s name on the back.

“Oh, it’s in Kanji? That’s cool, I didn’t know these existed?” You questioned, running your finger over the ‘tani’ character of Ohtani.

“It’s the last one on the floor, had to grab it off the mannequin. Hope it’s not too big? It’s XL?” She questioned, passing it to you to hold.

“Nah it’s perfect, can’t you tell.” You joked holding the jersey next to you, while you showed off your oversized clothes.

“Figured it'd be fine, wanna get rung up? I’ll give you that ‘good good’ employee discount. But, don’t tell anyone.” She smiled, heading to the register, to which you nodded and jogged after her.

After you finished your purchase and waved bye to Jordan, it was time to head to the clubhouse. It was around five, so you were later than you planned but Shohei usually practiced batting in the cages a little while longer while everyone headed in. Slipping the plastic shopping bag into your purse, and ripping the tags off your new jersey, you slipped it on over your T-shirt, smoothing out the material as best you could. It felt great to finally have some real merch from the team, and part of you sort of wondered what Ohtani would think when he saw you. Hopefully, it wasn’t too much to just show up in his gear after he pretty much randomly invited you, let alone in the stadium-specific one, as you just learned from your colleague.

After you got to an employee-only doorway, you pushed on it hoping it was actually open. Ippei had also let you know via text that it would be unlocked for you. Another kindness of Shohei, not just inviting you, but making sure you had access to all the catering and AC inside the resisted area of the building. You slipped in and locked the door behind you, not wanting to encourage some intoxicated fans to follow. The hallway was empty and cool as you started making your way to the clubhouse.

You were admittedly a bit nervous by the time you got to the doors, feeling a bit awkward about strutting in as anyone other than a volunteer for the first time. Carefully you pushed open the door, making sure not to hit anybody. The room was full of chatter, some players eating, some playing cards, others watching TV on the room's monitors. You looked around for Ohtani, but he wasn’t there yet apparently. No matter, you strolled in and went for the snack area. Truthfully you hadn’t eaten since that morning, and that was just a toasted bagel. Turning your back to the rest of the room, you began filling up your plate with cocktail shrimp and grapes.

“Nice jersey.” Ippei said, coming up next to you, grabbing small sandwiches for his plate.

“Is that sarcastic?” You questioned with a smile, finishing your plate.

“Nah, I’m sure he likes it.” Ippei jerked his head to the left.

He? You leaned back to see around the man, meeting Shohei’s surprised face almost immediately. Had he been standing there the whole time? He had obviously been staring at your back, at his name, bashfully looking up to your face when you moved, blinking a couple times to clear his eyes.

“I uh, got it ten minutes ago.” You grinned awkwardly, pointing your thumb proudly at the jersey, hoping he wouldn’t think you were a weirdo.

The large player didn’t say anything, blinking more slowly this time before opting to just nod gently, with a quick “thanks for your support”, hurriedly leaning forward to start filling his plate with all kinds of foods.

—-

Once everyone had their food the three of you found a place to sit while you ate, it was at the back of the room away from the noise, and where the two usually sat before a game anyways. A small conversation started while the three of you ate calmly.

“Why... do you only have grapes, and shrimp?” Ohtani questioned suddenly, looking at your plate baffled. You looked down at it as well, pausing for a moment trying to find out what was so weird about that.

“Uh, well, it’s because... these things are... super expensive in Tokyo. It’s like a rich person food to me.” You smiled, eating a couple shrimps happily.

“Wow. That’s so sad.” Ippei chuckled before taking a bite of his sandwich.

Shohei on the other hand burst out laughing at your response, making you laugh a bit too at your pitiful confession.

“Seriously, I feel like a mega-rich, and very posh, Ginza lady right now - eating nothing but shrimp and fruit. So fancy right? ” You exclaimed, popping a grape in your mouth.

The Japanese player laughed even harder, tears building up as he wiped his eyes.

“Those people wouldn’t touch that stuff with a three-meter stick.” Ippei stated, letting out a small laugh.

“Just let me have my moment.” You pouted through a smile, shoving more shrimp in your mouth.

The other man calmed down finally and was now sitting there smiling while he ate.

“So, fancy y/n, are you okay to sit in the dugout tonight. Not too unrefined for you?” Ippei questioned with a smirk.

“That’s, allowed?” You asked, surprised.

“Yeah, if you want to. Can’t stay there the whole time, but.” The man responded nonchalantly, shrugging his shoulders.

“It’s the best place to hear, ‘the surprise’.” Shohei added, food in the process of being shoved in his mouth.

“Well, doesn’t seem like there’s any other option.” You smiled at the player, who nodded in acknowledgment.

“He’s batting first tonight, you won’t have to wait long.” Ippei spoke, starting on the next sandwich.

“Hope me being in there won’t be bad luck.” You joked.

“You believe in that?” Ippei smirked.

“My family ingrained it into me, wasn’t allowed to watch a single super bowl game in the living room till I literally moved out.” You frowned, stabbing a grape.

“Harsh.” The man smirked with a small laugh under his breath.

“You will be good luck, for sure.” Shohei leaned forward in a hunch to take another bite of food, smiling sincerely at you as he looked up from his food.

“Then, I will see to it that will become a very good omen. Please believe in me.” You responded in the highest form of keigo you knew, bowing rigidly from your seat for comedic effect. Since you never studied that level of grammar, it was really freaking bad, causing the two men to laugh again.

“You’re funny.” Ippei chuckled.

“Yeah, and your Japanese is so good though?” Shohei exclaimed, eyebrows raised, eyes wide.

“Nah it’s pretty bad, I fell off the study wagon a long time ago.” You laughed awkwardly, waving a hand in front of your face.

“You’d be there forever if you stayed on.” Ippei chuckled again, while Shohei nodded in sullen agreement.

“Writing would be nice though, having to look up every other kanji at the doctor's office, or like city hall makes me literally sweat, like, a lot. Buckets. But when I look around, I'm the only one.” You giggled.

“You’re so honest.” Shohei chuckled, wiping his mouth with a napkin, still leaning forward in his chair, you grinned back at him. Your eyes locked for a while, you had never noticed, but his eyelashes were sort of long.

At that moment Ippei had to take a call, letting the two of you know he’d be back in a bit, walking off. The two of you looked away and finished eating in silence.

When you looked up from your empty plate, the large player was now staring at you with a soft expression. The warmth in his eyes made you blush, he didn’t even break his gaze once he was caught like he usually did. You responded back to him simply with a shy smile, before being the one to avert your own eyes to the floor again.

Thankfully at that moment, a group of Angels came over, slapping the Japanese man on the back, starting up a conversion. They were going over strategies for the game and overall just getting hyped up. You didn’t have much to input, so you just kind of sat there enjoying the excited chatter. Shohei smiled merrily the whole time, inserting little jokes, completely affected by their excitement. The way he carried himself really reminded you that the essence of baseball was really just about having fun with your teammates and giving it your all. He looked simply happy to be there, and it made you smile too, just watching him goof off. It was charming to see his duality of being a just big kid with endless laugher, versus the super-serious, and seasoned player he was on the mound.

You were really trying hard not to but, you were rapidly developing feelings for Shohei. The last three months of volunteering here, you of course thought he was really cute and kind, classic boyfriend material. A simple crush, like many of the girls working around him, surely had as well. However the possibility of you two actually dating had always been a foreign concept, one which stopped you from even considering it, at all, you just didn’t know if you even could. With you both traveling for work, how would there be time? Plus, what about the media? His family? Yours? All those things seemed unscalable walls, that is, until this moment, when you could feel his gentle eyes on you once again.

Maybe, there was something? Or maybe, he was just a super nice guy, and you were treated no different than anyone else.

When you snapped out of your thoughts, Shohei was starting to stand up, grabbing everyone’s empties plates. He reached his hand towards you, asking for the one in your hand with a tiny nod of his head, to which you thanked him, stood up, and handed it over.

Well.

Either way, you were so screwed.

-------

Hope you enjoyed! <3

[somebodysumbuddy]

Monstertober, Day 13

Following @snejkha ‘s Monstertober prompt list.

Day 13: Kelpie

d20: Veil (yes I know, the wrong kind of veil most likely)

Content warning: descriptions of uxoricide, murder, drowning. Implied domestic violence, implied kelpie eating someone. (Yea, I don't know what happened, how we got here)

If you had truly attempted to catch them, you wouldn’t have been successful you were sure. Even still you weren’t sure if it was lucky or unlucky that you’d caught them so easily. It was your neighbor, the village elder, who had told you how to do so. She saw the same things you did, she believed you. Following her whispered instructions, you stitched two crosses on each corner of a long sheet of veil, before tying a long thread from each corner. You felt silly holding the fabric, it looked like the most inadequate parachute rather than any kind of mythical trap. You were half between curious and skeptical as you stood by the water.

In the end you decided it was worth being silly if there was any possibility that it could help you get answers.

Careful not to step foot in the water you tossed the balled up veil as hard as you could. It was unsatisfactory, it landed barely two feet in front of you. The center of the lake was at least ten meters in. No matter, the village elder said it was only necessary that every bit of it land in the water. You watched as the veil began taking in water, being slowly unfolded by the almost undetectable flow of the water.

It took the better part of an hour but you finally saw it fully unfurl and slowly start to sink down deeper into the water. The fabric had inched away from you, more towards the center. Now as it was fully out of view you went and settled at the trunk of a nearby tree. You had brought a blanket with you, determined to be warm if stupid. The day light had quickly faded away and you found yourself easing off to sleep a lot easier than you had expected. You were sure the unpleasantness of sleeping on the ground, and general fright of spending the night outdoors would have been enough to keep you from sleep. If not, the possibility of a sinister mythical existing, specially so close, should have filled you with enough apprehension to keep you from dozing off. It didn’t.

You woke with the very first rays of light. You were tightly cocooned in up against the tree trunk, but even so, a shiver worked its way up your spine as you took in a deep breath of fresh crisp air. You woke very fast; the last drops of sleep were shaken off of you by the chill morning. You didn’t finish stretching before you caught sight of the creature standing in the lake.

Your breath caught. Your heart nearly stopped. You didn’t allow yourself to blink in an attempt to clear your eyes. A feeling at the pit of your stomach warned you not to take your eyes off of them.  Gracelessly you got to your feet.

Now with your full attention on them you realized your first assumption has been wrong, they were not standing in the lake. They were standing on it. Tension ripples were visible on the surface of the water where each of their hoofs stood.

Years ago you had read that kelpies where similar in appearance to horses. You almost wanted to laugh at how inconsistent that comparison was. You would grant them that they did stand on hooves, though they had six legs. Their build was more like that of an elk leading up to their throat.

Their head was indescribable. Five individual horns, all different, formed a crown on their skull. Their face, eyeless, was dominated by a too big mouth filled with too many teeth and an inconvenient amount of tongues.

The best description, over all, was ‘not a horse’.

They stood, their entire body tense, mouth agape, as they studied you. You were certain of it. Even without eyes you felt their attention on you. As you braved a couple of steps forward they kept their head steadily focused on you, adjusting slightly as you went. You didn’t dare approach further, leaving a half dozen meters between you. The village elder had explained that such a delicate trap worked because they were bound by duty. It was more likely anyone could bind them by obligation than by overpowering them.

You trusted this malevolent creatures’ commitment to obligation even less than you trusted the thread you tied to the veil.

From your new vantage point you saw a slightly white sheen spread taught along their back. You could spy the thin threads but you remember the elder explaining how they would coil around the legs. You wonder if she knew there were two unaccounted for. If she was to be believed, you could safely travel on their back in such a condition. You wouldn’t chance it.

You steadied yourself, unsure how to proceed. You hadn’t been sure they existed, you definitely hadn’t planned on being successful in trapping them. With no other plan you decided to address you questions immediately. Kelpie were fae. The one thing you could count on were truthful, if convoluted, answers.

“Are you responsible for my sister’s death?” She had been found drowned in this very lake. She was an experienced swimmer. Odd marks on her neck pointed your suspicions to her spouse, yet it seemed the council would rather point to something supernatural.

You traveled to the edge of the village, where her husband had hidden her since their wedding, and sought out the place of her death. It was a fruitless rage filled endeavor all to prove to yourself that your suspicions were right. Now, with the kelpie in front of you, you allowed for the possibility that you may be wrong.

“I have slept for 80 years with no call to tip the scales of fate.” You unfocused your eyes from their face, the view of their maw as they talked was overwhelming.  You tried again, unsatisfied with their implied answer.

“Were you awake or aware, a fortnight from this day, when a woman was found floating in your waters?”

“I am aware even when not awake.”

You paused. You had one more question. The fae were bound to 3’s and 7’s but there was no way of knowing which it would be. You needed one straight answer. You swallowed the bile building in your throat.

“What her my sister’s last words?” You were knocked back several steps. You found yourself on your knees. You were frozen with misery. You hadn’t expected the Kelpie’s answer. Angry thrashing in the water, sobs and screams filled your ears. It was like it was happening around you. As everything went silent once again wrath filled every part of your body. Your whole mind was locked onto one unmistakable phrase. “Please, Earl-no no Earl-.”

When you straightened the Kelpie was still there, standing onto of the water. Fueled by rage you made your way to the edge of the lake.

By the time Earl rose and stepped out of the door you had surrounded the entirety of the farm house with wet stones from the lake. It took several trips but the physical task helped bring you back to yourself.

A thin trail of the same rocks led up to the ring around the house. It wasn’t impressive as a stockade, but you didn’t want to keep anyone out, instead leading someone in. You placed the last stone down at the door swung wide. You met his eyes as he took in your appearance, clothes soaked to black, face flushed with fury.

The kelpie demonstrated the use of it’s six legs as it appeared out of thin air. You felt its movement past you, and you were thankful they didn’t go for Earl’s head first. You hoped the last image in his eyes was your smile. 

Later, when the village council went to investigate Earl’s disappearance, every stone surrounding the house was overlooked. 

By the time you were given the Kelpie’s name your own home was surrounded by similar rocks, with a different invitation for the monster you’d grown to know. 

[wizkiddx]

work with me

this is for @worldoftom 'lolbrosgetsicktoo' challenge event thing - go check it out bcos lots of much better writers have got involved too✨! I'm v new to these things but I tried :) the prompt was: 'would you quit whining and just get in the bath' . (also look at me acc posting sort of regularly, who'd of thought?!?!)

warnings: sickness / fever (more dramatic than it needs to be) / LOTS of medical inaccuracies

summary: when tom doesn't take advice and ends up very ill, very far from home, there's one person whose stuck dealing with it

“Please Tom… I need you to work with me!”

It wasn’t his fault he was being a complete nightmare, though your patience was wearing off somewhat.

For context, you were in Morocco, where he had been filming part of his next film, which only made trying to take care of him that bit harder.

Everyone got ill sometimes. It wasn’t his fault.

That was the mantra ringing through your head, even if you had a more challenging time believing it. Tom wasn’t stupid, as much as he liked to joke about it. HOWEVER, what he was less good at was heeding warnings. He was a white boy in Morrocco; the health and safety briefing had literally been aimed at him. Had he taken the advice not to eat any dodgy looking meats at the market?

Of course not; that’d be boring.

Everyone else was fine. You’d all sampled Morroccos culture without giving yourselves the worst case of food poisoning you’d ever witnessed. But not Tom - possibly one of the only ‘indispensable’ people on the set. If you, or one of the minor characters, or even the director, had got ill - the show could continue.

When you’d been rudely awoken by your phone going off, you’d known instantly. It was as if you’d told him not to take a bite out of the weird burger once you were away from the eager view of the street vendor. Sure enough, with bleary eyes, you hissed at the brightness of the phone screen before seeing ‘Tom H’ on the screen.

“Y/n?” His voice was croaky, but just from the single call of your name, it was clear he was feeling sorry for himself.

“Are you okay? It’s late T.”

“Um I… can you come over? You…you might need the key I’m - um- in the bathroom.”

As his stylist, it technically wasn’t part of your job description to also be mother when he was sick, but (unfortunately for you) after the 3 years working side by side with him - you were also friends.

Which you were almost regretting by the second time rinsing the toilet bowl clean after he’d evacuated what seemed to be the majority of his vital organs into it. Honestly, it was impressive how he managed to keep going.

That had been at around 4 in the morning- the doctor had been called at 8, coinciding beautifully with his 5th toilet extravaganza. Once the doctor had confirmed your original, if completely unqualified, diagnosis of food poisoning - you hadn’t been able to bite your tongue. Perhaps an ‘i told you so’ might’ve slipped past your lips, but Tom was a bit too out of it to argue back.

You’d been given firm advice from the doctor - he said little sips of water, rest and control his temperature. It all had seen pretty simple - though the action? Not so much.

It wasn’t his fault, yet Tom was not super compliant. You and Harry had both been taking turns in practically forcing him to take sips of water, having to turn off ‘modern family’ till he did. The blackmail had put you both in his bad book.

Honestly, thank the lord Harry was here too. You’d woken him up at seven, begging for help and since then, you’d tagged teamed. While one was looking after Tom, the other was phoning the director, the doctor, and the crew to inform them of the current situation.

Again, of all people. Why’d it have to be Tom?

Mainly because you knew how mortifying he found this. He didn’t like people fussing over him, never had. He liked to work hard, liked to make people happy - definitely didn’t like to feel a burden. Perhaps what made him feel ten times worse was that he knew he was inconveniencing the whole production team massively.

And yes, as you’d unhelpfully reminded him, it was ‘his fault’.

The lavish hotel room, big bathroom and pretty efficient AC still didn’t manage to mask the pungent in-the-back-of-your-throat smell from the bathroom. At the doctor’s advice, who had been a little concerned at Toms fever, Harry had cranked the AC on high. It had forced you to steal one of Tom’s big hoodies and a pair of joggers- you hadn’t left his room since he first called you, still wearing your tiny pyjama shorts and an old tee.

“Please turn the air con off.” His little voice whined from where he was lying, huddled up under the covers. Perched on the other side of the double bed, but over the covers with your laptop on his lap, you could actually feel him shivering with the chills. It felt like you were torturing the poor boy.

“T you know I can’t. It’ll make your fever worse.” The way he looked up at you, like a little Labrador that you were refusing to pet, actually pained your heart.

Okay, so yes it was his fault, but you weren’t mad, you just felt so awful for him.

“Please I’ll- I’ll pay you more.” His voice was hoarse; though he denied a sore throat, it sounded like the constant sickness was burning his windpipe.

“Tommm” you pouted, sticking your bottom lip out “I don’t want your money, want you to get better.”

Apparently giving up, brown eyes shot you the filthiest look in disappointment, rolling to face away from you. You thought he was giving you the silent treatment in a huff, but instead, he was praying on the weaker one.

“Harry, I’ll buy you that set of golf clubs-“

“NO!” You had to interrupt before Harry would say yes - because from the way his younger brother shot up from the arm chair, he was about to. Scowling eyes slowly focused back on you in annoyance, making you huff - shutting the laptop and kneeling on the bed to face him. After pressing the back of your palm to his forehead, which was scorching hot, you sighed. “I know you feel shitty and I’m so so sorry but I’m trying to make you better. So shut up, drink this and go to sleep!”

Like a child scorned, you received another death glare however, then he complied, taking a sip of the water you offered before lying back - huddling even tighter.

And it had been relatively peaceful for a few hours; Tom seemed to be getting some sleep - even if he was tossing and turning. Eventually, a prescription that the doctor had requested worked its way through the system, Harry getting a text to say he could go pick it up. The nearest pharmacy was probably a 30 minute drive from the hotel, so he left as soon as.

This left you alone with Tom, where the situation only descended into more chaos.

Almost as soon as Harry had left, Tom had stirred with a grunt. All it took was one look at his face for you to know. Both of you leapt up and flew into the toilet, Tom once again getting very familiar with the Moroccan toilet bowl.

This time though, when he had leant backwards, he’d sort of lost control and flopped most the way - you catching him before he could hit his head on the tiled floor.

“Woah, easy there!” It wasn’t like he’d passed out, but the look in his eye as he slumped into your lap… he wasn’t all there either. “Hey Tom… you with me? Tom?”

Lazily he blinked up at you, not really replying except for groans of half-formed words.

Deciding this had all got a bit direr, you almost sprinted back into the room, grabbing your phone and returning. He was still on the floor, his thumb and first finger pressing into each eye - groaning again.

“Hey Tom? I’m gonna call the doctor you need anything?” He whined in response, stopping only when you stroked his sweaty hair back, most of your attention on dialling the correct number.

The solution he’d given wasn’t pretty: Tom’s fever was too high hence why he was all woozy and groany. Until the doctor could get over with the stronger medications, you needed to lower his temperature in other ways or take him to hospital. He’d absolutely hate hospital, but the other choice? Boy, was he not going to like it either.

Ignoring Tom’s croaked question of what you were doing, you busied yourself switching on the bath taps. You let the water run until it was the right (very mild) temperate, then turned back to Tom, who’d managed to work himself up to sit against the sink unit.

“The doctor says you need it.” His brain was foggy, his mind was slow but your tone told him enough to know something was wrong with the bath. “Just take your clothes off and then I’ll help you-“

“Absolutely fucking not.” Good. He was still with it enough to argue.

“I am just as uncomfortable as you are Tom, but we both know you can’t stand up without fainting, so you are going to need my help.”

“Y/n!”

“Keep your boxers on and it’s just like a fitting! I’ve seen you have those before!”

It was clear as day just how emasculated he felt, especially because he knew you were right. Sitting up at this current moment was a push; there was no way he was getting in the bath without some help. Defeatedly he nodded, but gave you a piercing look to turn around before he started wiggling himself out of the flannel pyjama trousers and light cotton t-shirt. Most confusingly, he still felt freezing cold, yet he had long since learned not to argue with you - especially when your justification came from the advice of a doctor.

Your cue to turn around came in the form of an extra angry-sounding grunt- the look you got when you did wasn’t much better either. It was a weird contrast, though, having someone who physically appeared so indestructible (a superhero for crying out loud); to have been absolutely beaten to a pulp by a few mouth fulls of weird meat. You had seen his bare torso before, although it still wasn’t something easy to get used to - making you clench your teeth together just slightly. A very welcome view.

Perhaps you looked just a little too long at the man who was technically your boss, hunched angrily on the floor in nothing but his calvins - another grunt shaking you out of it. By now, the bath was almost full and you hurried to shut off the water, feeling your cheeks heat up as you cursed silently to yourself.

“Okay come on, gimme your arm.” Begrudgingly Tom followed your request, slinging his arm heavily over your shoulder as you crouched beside him. As strong as he looked, you knew right now he felt powerlessly weak - all that muscle was just going to be almost dead weight.

Now it was your turn to grunt and groan as you pulled Tom up to stand, him focusing on blinking away the headrush he got.

“Come on T work with me here.” Getting him to the side of the bath wasn’t too difficult, the issue came when he stepped with one foot into the bath and yelped, instantly withdrawing as if it was a literal ice bath.

The sudden movement had you both losing balance, ending with Tom sitting on the edge of the bath and you leaning over him, in between his legs, and slapping your hand on the wall opposite purely so you both didn’t end up in the bath.

“Tom!”

“It’s like ice water!”

“Its lukewarm like the doctor said!”

“It is not its from the fucking arctic!”

“Oh for god sake!” Exasperated, you paced up and down the bathroom shaking your head at his ridiculousness. This was ALL. HIS. FAULT.

You came back to him with an ultimatum.

“It’s this or the doctor said I had to drag your ass to hospital.”

“Nooooooo.” The 25 year old seemed to convert into a whiny three year old again.

“Those are the two options. So will you PLEASE quit complaining and get in the bath.”

Keeping up the toddler persona, Tom huffed but reluctantly nodded in agreement - you had come up trumps. It didn’t stop him yelping when you helped to lower him in. His breath was shaky, as a response to the ‘cold’, but he was firming it. At least when you felt his forehead after a couple of minutes, it certainly seemed as though the fever was starting to ease off .

“You can go if you want.” His voice was murmured and as you looked up at him, he did his very best to avoid your gaze.

“Not a chance, if you drown on my watch, Nikki will never forgive me.” At the very least he seemed to appreciate your joke, scoffing a little with a small nod. “If you don’t want me here I get it. As soon as Harry’s back, I’ll swap with him.”

“No! It’s not that its… I’m just an ass when I’m ill.”

“A self aware ass, though.” Again he chuckled a little, as you folded your arms on the edge of the porcelain tub, resting your head lying to one side. “You had me pretty scared there for a moment, you know?”

He nodded a little, creating a wave of ripples in the water which you watched to avoid his gaze - which you knew was tracing all your features inquisitively.

“Hey it’s in the job description, always a bit dramatic... I’m sorry though I should never of called you- don’t know why I didn’t just get Harry.” In response you tutted, taking a moment to lean up and push his sweaty curls back a bit.

Just because you could, it was allowed in this moment.

“’m glad you did.”

“Yeh me too” He sighed, eyes fluttering shut in the easy silence of the bathroom. You kept a vigilant eye on him for the next 20 minutes, checking the temperature of his forehead using the back of your hand, whilst he seemed to finally get a bit of proper restbite, appearing like the worst had passed. You had no idea what was taking Harry so long; in fact it was the doctor that arrived first- who you ran to let in (not wanting to leave Tom asleep in the bath one bit).

Whilst the doctor did all his checks, taking his temperature properly this time, satisfied that it was much more manageable. He still wanted to set him up with some oral rehydration rescue packs to get his hydration status a bit better and give some anti-sickness tablets and antipyretics.

Having actually been getting some rest before all the prodding and poking, Tom was back to being a grumbling dick - now not wanting to leave the bath (the irony was real - making you roll your eyes). Once again, he appeared embarrassed to have you see him like this, so you left the doctor to help him get out and changed- instead going down to reception to get a fresh set of sheets, as he’d done a pretty impressive job of sweating through the old ones.

Even if tired and grumpy, when Tom exited the bathroom, he looked much better - he was walking himself without the doctor’s help. Which honestly was such a relief because when he had passed out on you, you genuinely were terrified. Thankfully the doctor stayed for the next 20 or so minutes, which was just when Harry returned with a bag of medications - which were now wholly redundant, given the doctor had already supplied everything.

“What happened?” Harry asked you in a hushed voice, whilst Tom was distracted with getting his medications. Recounting the story of Tom pretty much passing out, Harry grimaced for you, then launching over to give you a tight hug.

“Are you okay?” That was a novel idea, you hadn’t really thought about yourself at all - but honestly, you were a bit shaken, having been running on adrenalin for most of the night.

“I-uhm… yeh I think so… just-just was a bit scared, I guess? Felt bad too because he didn’t want me there but-“

“I can promise you Y/n, he did want you there. Just probably embarrassed he wasn’t all manly and that…” With a nod, you smiled softly at the frizzy-haired boy.

Whilst working with Tom, it also meant getting pretty close to his younger brother. The two Hollands were almost attached at the hip, which you were very much okay with.

It was weird though... your relationships were completely different. Harry was just your brother, through and through. He wound you up like a sibling but also knew you as if he had your whole life. With Tom… it wasn’t that. Arguably, you were closer to Tom, but on a different level. It was more exciting, more nerve-wracking and heartwarming all at the same time. Honestly, you couldn’t get your head around it properly.

“Hey, you’re probably shattered. Why don’t you go back to your room and get some sleep? I got it in here.” You knew Hary was trying to offer something nice, and now all the excitement had worn off, you were unbelievably shattered. But you didn’t like the idea of not being there, as a just in case.

“Uhm, I think I might just stay, you know?” And he did, with a deliberate, knowing smile, he nodded.

He knew you were worried. He knew Tom had really really scared you. He also knew how much you cared about his brother.

Just like how Harry knew Tom wanted you there, even if he felt embarrassed. Well, anyone would- when you are passing out half-naked in front of the one person that really matters.

It was just at this point that the doctor was done, giving Harry instructions about the rest of the day, when you made a beeline for the bed. Tom was propped up against the headboard, still with a pale sullen look and tired eyes, but a bit less clammy and more human. He cracked a smile as you crawled up onto the other side of the bed, kneeling next to him.

“How’re you doin’?”

“All drugged up, just feel fucking exhausted.” Instinctively you reached up to feel his forehead, really appreciating the fact it felt almost normal.

“Join the club mate, I had a 5am wake up call too.” You almost whispered, intending to make Tom laugh, but instead only getting a pout.

“I am sorry, a-are you going to go back to your room?”

“Nah” Tom’s eyes didn’t light up, except the fact that they very much did. “Can’t trust you not to get into trouble while I’m gone Holland.”

“Thanks.” He laughed weakly before shimmying down on the bed, so he was much more comfortable. “And thankyou, I-I’m sorry I’m a dickhead and made your life-“

“Shut up Tom!” Laughing, you lightly slapped his arm, also leaning down on the bed, so you were lying facing him. “You’re all feverish; go to sleep before you say something stupid.”

There was a long pause, Tom just gazing deep into your eyes, because he was pretty sure what he was thinking was nothing to do with the dodgy unidentified meat he’d had the evening before.

“What... like asking you out?”

…..

“Maybe that wouldn’t be so stupid.”

~~~~im really not sure how I feel about this one, let me know what you thought ;) ~~~~

tagging: @lovehollandy12 @hallecarey1 @crossyourpeter@hollandfanficlove