#this is like whatsapp voice notes all over again

[unclewankenobi]

Me: I love the symbolism of the costumes in this particular scene, the way her nail polish and his jeans completes an RGB trifecta with their shirt --

Also Me: Huh, how long has Tumblr had a message feature?

[icallhimjoey]

Define Close

♥ ♥  Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader

Summary: What good are flatmates even, if they don't comfort you when you need it most? Or when you need it a normal amount? Or, you know, when you don't really need it, but just really want it?

CW / disclaimer: rpf, fem!reader, hurt/comfort i guess? idk we're sad a lot and joe cheers us up a lot

Author’s note: this sort of came about after taking small little bits from several requests that i combined and then shaped into what i wanted for myself, and for a minute, i thought 'what if i don't make this one extremely self-indulgent for once' but then... why the fuck wouldn't i? so...

Wordcount: 2.7K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

One of those days.

You weren’t going to wait until you got home to ask Joe what pizza toppings he wanted. Not today. So you texted,

“peperoni or chicken?”

And it took just a few seconds for Joe to open Whatsapp and to reply.

“those my only two options?”

You didn’t have the mental capacity to even think of any other pizza toppings, let alone get into some banter over text with your flatmate.

“joe”

There were a million ways for Joe to have read that, to have interpreted that. Yet, he got the tone of it just right.

“don’t worry, i’ll take care of it”

No playing. Just quick solutions to problems of which Joe didn’t even really know what they were yet. Then another text from him followed, asking you the question you’d just sent him.

“peperoni or chicken?”

“chicken”

You remembered exactly when this pizza tradition started. Could pinpoint the exact date, time, and place.

“no i was wrong.” “peperoni”

The first time you and Joe shared a pizza as new flatmates, was when you’d gotten home one morning, still very obviously in the outfit you’d left in the night before. Joe had been cooking up some breakfast in the kitchen and had his jokes ready, already grinning to himself when he hadn’t even seen you yet.

“Well, well, well,” he called over his shoulder as you took a moment by the front door to just... breathe. You would’ve tried gathering yourself, but there wasn’t much to gather.

“I know you said the plan was to go out and celebrate Friday, but you didn’t mention anything about Saturday morning,” you could hear the joy in Joe’s voice, all chipper and lively. He’d very clearly had a great night’s sleep, unlike you.

Joe heard footsteps, and when they stopped in the doorway, he turned his head to look. Spatula still in hand, eggs just about ready in the pan in front of him.

“Look at what the cat’s drag–...” the comment died on his tongue. “Jesus, are you all right?”

Joe had expected a tired, sloppy girl to have walked in. One with messy hair, eye make-up all smudged and sort of drunk a little, still.

He’d been right.

That was exactly what he was looking at, which should objectively be funny. Hence the smile that still lingered on his face as his brow slowly furrowed in confusion.

“You look like the inside of a shoe,”

Joe tried his hand at humour, but it fell completely flat.

What he hadn’t anticipated, was for his flatmate to look quite so sad in reaction to his comments. So very drained of life. You’d obviously been crying and looked like you hadn’t slept in weeks.

For a moment you just stood in that doorway, looked a little dazed because, um, why were you going into your shared living space again?

You needed your bed.

Without answering Joe, and without even really acknowledging him at all, you took a shuddering breath and slowly turned back around, only to ignore Joe’s question and disappear into the hallway.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Joe quickly turned the hob off and rounded the island to go after you. He was too late though, stepping into the hallway just as your bedroom door closed behind you. The immediate guilt that followed his poking-fun carried him over to stand in front of it, just enough self-restraint left to not just open your door and walk in right after you.

You didn’t seem like you needed to be pissed off any more than you already were.

From just outside of your bedroom door, you heard a very faint knock, followed by Joe’s voice, asking if you were all right once more.

“Did– did something happen? What’s going on?”

All you managed to do was sigh, just loud enough for Joe to catch it.

“What happened?”

But you didn’t want to get into it.

“Do you– hey,” Joe called your name, waited for a second, in case you wanted to answer him, but then when you didn’t, he followed it up with, “Do you want some breakfast?”

And honestly, breakfast sounded nice. But so did burying yourself into your duvet for a few days, where no one would try to look you in the eye, and where no one would try to make you talk. Were you going to listen to your rumbling stomach that wanted some food, or to the rest of your body that just wanted to be horizontal?

“Some scrambled eggs? Piece of toast?” 

You milled it over in your mind.

“Or, I could make you something else? You want some yoghurt? With some berries in?”

Joe tried. Was actively trying. But it didn’t seem to work, just didn’t seem to do the trick. It stayed silent on your side of the door.

“Some pizza?”

And it was meant as a careful joke. A hopeful small little thing to at least lift the mood, if nothing else. If you were even still listening to him at all, that was.

He was about to tell you that he’d be in the kitchen if you needed anything, that you could just let him know. No worries if not. But then he heard rustling. Stumbling footsteps, followed by your bedroom door slowly opening.

“Hey,” Joe cocked his head to the side at the sight of you, his eyes all soft, forehead crinkled with worry. “I’m sorry.”

You looked right past him.

“What... what kind of pizza?”

You focused on the important things instead. Didn’t really care to acknowledge Joe’s apology.

“Well,” Joe tried to hide his smile as he looked down at his feet before stepping aside and holding an arm out, inviting you to walk ahead of him, making your way back into the living area. “I think there’s a few to choose from in the freezer.”

You’d shared a pizza that morning, you sat at one of the stools of the kitchen island, and Joe stood on the side. He hadn’t asked you any questions then, but instead had just tried his hand at light conversation until suddenly, halfway through a slice, you’d started sobbing.

And it wasn’t like you and Joe had never hugged before.

But you’d never been hugged by him like that before.

Where Joe instantly dropped his food and stepped closer to fold arms around you. Where Joe got an arm around your head to press your face into his chest whilst the other curled down around your shoulders that pressed your chest into his stomach. Where he decided he wasn’t going to be the one to pull back first, and so you’d just embraced like that for over half an hour.

He hadn’t asked you any questions.

Not when you cried.

Not when you’d stuttered through breaths as you tried to recollect yourself after.

Not when you eventually pulled back and reached for another bite of now-cold pizza.

Not when you then silently frowned at the hardened cheese and softly sighed to yourself.

Not when you did eventually retreat back into your room but came out just a minute later and asked if Joe had any plans that day.

Even if he did have plans, Joe knew that he’d cancel them all for you.

“Want to rot on the sofa with me? Watch films all day?”

And you hadn’t meant to fall asleep all sagged into his side then, but you had. And Joe had played with the ends of your hair until the warmth and comfort had pulled him into a nap as well.

You’d never talked about what had happened then, why you had been so sad, because you didn’t need to. It was nice that Joe hadn’t asked for you to explain why you’d cried, and instead had just comforted you until you managed to smile for him again.

Joe thought that maybe, if you wanted to tell him, one day you would. But he didn’t need to know why his flatmate was sad when she was. He was happy just being there to help and fix it.

And now, here you were. Two flatmates who shared a tradition of having pizza and watching a film when you’d had a bad day.

And today had just been... long. Hard. Frustrating. You didn’t want to get into all the things that had nearly pushed you over the edge, and you were glad that you didn’t need to.

Joe didn’t ask questions. Never did.

Just went to get you the peperoni pizza you’d asked for.

Would cuddle you on the sofa all night if that was what you wanted.

It was what he wanted, anyway.

He was well aware that none of that was normal though.

You were flatmates.

If Joe referred to you in conversation with a friend, with a family member, or even with a stranger, you were his flatmate. The girl that he shared the living area of his flat with. The pantry, the fridge and the freezer. The coat closet by the door. A letterbox downstairs by the entrance.

Flatmates.

But if someone were to ask you if you and your flatmate were friends too, you’d tell them yes of course. You shared dinner more often than not. If you had friends ‘round, Joe would hang out too. And vice versa.

Normal.

Just normal friendly flatmates that also knew each other’s parents by their first names, but you know, those things sort of just came with sharing a living space together, right?

And no one ever really thought there was more to you and Joe, anyway.

Why would they even assume?

You dated other people. Went on regular dates with different men. Other guys. Would even sometimes sit and watch a film with someone, and Joe would join you for a little while. Have casual conversation with whoever you’d invited over.

Normal.

What wasn’t so normal was that the second it would just be you and Joe, you wouldn’t hesitate to touch if you wanted to touch. Wouldn’t hesitate to find him, wherever he’d be, and sling your arms around his stomach from behind, just to hold him for a minute. Would wait to get comfortable on the sofa until Joe would join you there and you’d wait for his arm to find its way around you before you’d settle in.

You never talked about it.

It was just what it was like. You were close. The affection was just a natural thing between the two of you. It didn’t need any words. Any explaining.

But Joe knew you both understood that this could be interpreted very differently through other people’s eyes.

It’s why you kept referring to each other as flatmates, and why you weren’t like that in front of other people.

Which was fine.

You lived together.

There was plenty of time without other people there.

When you walked into your flat that evening, the promise of a shared peperoni pizza combined with the contrasting warmth that immediately made you feel uncomfortably hot in your coat, was nearly enough to bring you to tears.

“Joe?”

“Hey, bad news,”

Oh no.

Joe appeared at the other end of the hallway.

“They didn’t have any Sprite left, so I got you a Fanta.”

You let your shoulders drop and let your head fall to the side in relief. That was hardly bad news. You didn’t love Fanta, but the bad news revealed Joe had gone out to get a pizza instead of throwing a frozen one into the oven.

“Fanta’s fine.” You smiled. Joe easily copied it.

“Good, okay. Now,” Joe continued, suddenly his face all serious again as you took your coat off and toed your shoes off. “I know that last time, I got to pick a film, so technically it is your turn... but, I’ve already chosen something to watch, and I did go out to get us the largest peperoni pizza London has to offer, so...”

You stilled and gave an exaggerated sigh, all mock frustration, because you honestly didn’t give a shit. If anything, it was nice that Joe had made the choice for you, seeing as you didn’t really have the mental capacity for any decisions right now. If it had been left up to you, you’d hav been scrolling through Netflix for at least half an hour until settling just to watch some celebrity panel shows on Channel 4.

“No sprite and I don’t get to choose the film?”

“I’m sorry,” Joe was trying stupidly hard to hide a smile.

You blinked at him a second.

“You’re not sorry.”

“No I’m not. You made me go out and it’s fucking freezing outside today.”

You made your way over to your bedroom to get changed, and just before disappearing, you said, “Cool way of letting me know you’ve not left the flat all day.”

Like Joe’s hair hadn’t told you as much already.

You wished your job would let you work from home too. Although, with Joe spending weird stretches of time just sitting around and reading, you didn’t think you’d get much work done. Would probably be a bit weird if you logged onto a zoom meeting from your spot on the sofa, half of Joe in frame.

“I did leave the flat! I just said!” Joe argued, leaving you to get into a more comfortable outfit.

You grinned to yourself.

Joe was an idiot.

In an oversized sweatshirt and a pair of joggers, you joined Joe in the living room where you found a large pizza box on the coffee table, two cans of Sprite next to it.

Sprite.

“Surprise.”

Joe had lied.

Then you looked at the TV screen, paused at the title of the film Joe’d chosen and, fuck all the way off, did he want you to cry?

“I know it’s not your genre...”

It was. It absolutely was. It wasn’t Joe’s genre, though. “But I promise you’ll like it.”

You didn’t know if you wanted to hook an elbow to his jaw or squeeze your nails into his cheeks, but you needed to do something to get this surge of emotion out.

You opted for swearing at him instead of physical violence.

“I fucking hate you so much right now,”

“Yea?” Joe sat down, pressing play on the remote and reaching for the throw blanket. “Come hate me over here.”

And so you did.

Sat down next to Joe, thigh to thigh, and let him sort the blanket so it covered the both of you before leaning over to grab the pizza box.

The heat coming from the pizza quickly found your legs through the blanket and through your joggers. It was a stark comparison to how cold your fingers still felt from your trek home.

You rubbed them together as Joe opened the pizza box and, shit, that looked good.

“You cold?”

“Just my fingers,” you replied, already putting both hands to use, ripping the pieces of crust that hadn’t been cut properly and lifting a slice out of the box.

Joe did the same, and then when he saw one of your hands lower down, he was quick to grab it, encasing your cold fingers into his large palm.

The act of being upset with him for being nice faltered, and you smiled at Joe as he smugly grinned whilst he chewed.

See, had someone else been there with you, you’d have gotten comments. If not jokes, at least you knew you would’ve gotten some judging looks. Some questions later, about what was going on between the two of you?

Nothing was going on between the two of you.

Just warm cuddles and comforting touches, which was fine when it was just you and Joe.

So what if Joe held your hand whilst you ate pizza and watched a romantic comedy together?

So what if a piece of peperoni was about to slide and fall to your chest, but Joe saw and got it just in time, and you thought he was going to pop it into his own mouth, but then instead he held it up in front of you and waited till you ate it from his fingers?

So what if, after finishing the pizza, Joe planted his feet on the coffee table and pulled you into his side a little? Grabbed your arm to lay over his stomach? Ended up with both arms slung around, his own fingers locking on your back to keep you in place whilst you watched actors older than the both of you act as if they were in their early twenties still?

Life was just more comfortable when it was filled with good snuggles, you and Joe both agreed.

But you never talked about it.

You were just close.

No questions asked.

Flatmates. Friends. Just, close.

---

The Taglisted

@adoreyouusugar, @alana4610, @ali-in-w0nderland, @alwayslindie, @babybluebex, @barfightzanddiscolightz, @bettyfrommars, @cancankiki, @capricornrisingsstuff, @chaoticgood-munson, @choke-me-eddie, @demonsanddemogorgons, @did-it-work, @dirtyeddietini, @dylanmunson, @eddies-puppet, @electricmunson, @emma77645, @emmamooney, @everythinghasafacee, @figmentofquinn, @frootvelvet, @ghost-proofbaby, @ghostinthebackofyourhead, @harringtonfan4, @haylaansmi, @jasminearondottir, @jewellethief, @joesquinns, @kellyxo1, @kennedy-brooke, @lovelyblueness, @manda-panda-monium, @miserybeans, @munson-mjstan, @nadixq, @notverywise, @pepperstories, @phyllosilicate-s, @roosterisdaddy36, @sherrylyn628, @sidthedollface2, @thebellenouvelle, @thewondernanazombie, @tlclick73, @werepartnersnow, @winterwakesthewolf, @witchwolflea, @yelyahcardella, @yunirgo

taglist currently full, sorry

[mrs-barnes-rogers-writes]

The Fate Of A Fae - Part 3

Marvel AU

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader x Steve Rogers

Theme: Soulmates / Monster/Fantasy AU

You know on sight. Friends also know when they meet you if you're a match for one of their friends.

Summary: Natasha Romanoff is a meddling, pain in the ass Sprite, who you wrongly thought would leave you alone once you introduced her to your best friend, Darcy. News flash, she doesn’t and she won’t. Not when she thinks you’re a perfect match for two of her best friends. Could she be right? Maybe. Just don’t tell her that.

“Never tell Natasha Romanoff she was right” - Clint Barton

Chapter Summary: This Zoom call could have been an email and the reader is starting to teeter.

If this Zoom call went on any longer you were going to take the pen you’d been twiddling in your fingers for the last half hour and gauge it into one of your eyes.

Dramatic but a Zoom call that could have been an email or voice-note was not what you wanted or needed this morning.

You continued to look out of the window again. The drizzle of the rain and wind a reflection of your mood. Probably too windy for dragons too.

Your laptop pinged with a WhatsApp message and you immediately regretted adding it to your desktop. There was a reason your phone was off. Luckily the others had seemed to have taken the hint. Your work acquaintances not so much.

Tyler At least act interested

Did you mute yourself so we couldn’t hear you sighing, because we can still see your eyes rolling you know!!!

Shit she’s asking you a question!!!!

You tried to style out you jumping up in your seat and your eyes going wide as you scrambled to take yourself off mute.

“Sorry you broke up at the start?” you lied.

Amanda huffed, she knew you weren’t paying attention but let it slide. You were one of the best freelance editors she had. Your deadlines were always met, you were meticulous in your work and you could hold your own with the writers, even with some of the more arsehole creatures. The fact you weren’t paying attention was out of character. Glancing at the screen she knew the other two editors were on friendly terms with you and Tyler’s concerned face along with Marshall’s frown pushed her to break her usual ‘no casual chat’ protocol.

“Y/N? Is everything ok?”

You felt a lump form in your throat. Was it that obvious that something was wrong? That someone that barely knew you would ask if you were ok?”

“What do you mean?”

“Are you alright? You don’t seem like your usually bright, sarcastic self.” She said lightly trying to make light of the situation, when in all honesty you looked like shit, and this book was awful. You’d usually have given opening notes on how bad it was but you’d barely said hello.

“I’m fine” you replied too quickly for any of their liking.

“Are you sure kid? You don’t look good.” Marshall replied.

Tyler put his head in his hands. Fuck you were 100% going to lose it now. Marshall might have been 10 years older than you but him calling you kid was something you hated, him pointing out the obvious of you looking like death warmed up was sure to make you snark back.

“I’m fine. What was the question?”

Tyler couldn’t help but let his mouth fall open in shock. Where was the snarky reply?

Amanda repeated the question a frown across her forehead.

“We were going over plot issues?”

“One sec I have a list” you’d replied, reading them out like a shopping list, no usual sarcastic notes to go with them. As you rounded up the end of your notes the funny anecdotes were back but the glint in your eye that usually came with them wasn’t.

“It’s basically like he’s watched a bunch of Walking Dead, 28 Days Later, a couple of low budget movies and pushed them together. How the virus started has changed three times and we’re a third in.”

“Okay, okay. Let’s pause on this, put in your invoices so far and make a start on the next project.”

The next thirty minutes was spending prepping for the next project. This time a military and spy type drama, which was almost entirely human based.

“So it’s a fantasy drama then?” Tyler had quipped.

“Just make a start please.” Amanda replied pleadingly.

“Y/N? You OK to lead this one?” Marshall asked. You were looking out the window again.

“Y/N?” Amanda asked.

“Sorry what?”

“Are you good to lead? And actually what’s so interesting on that side of the room?” Amanda asked.

“The window.” Tyler replied for you.

“What?”

“I’ve been to her apartment, it’s the window.”

“What? I’m not doing anything?!” you interrupted.

“I just asked if you were good to lead?” Marshall asked softly again.

Clearly you weren’t. Leading meant checking everyone’s work, being thorough and you couldn’t even pay attention on a zoom call.

“Actually no.”

There was a flurry of gasps and widening eyes.

“Y/n?”

“I don’t have any military background, and I’m not entirely human am I so, I don’t think I should lead this one. I should be last edit.”

Your laptop pinged again.

Tyler What the fuck is going on?

You never take third!! You’re way too qualified for that.

Y/N what is going on?

You ignored it and looked back at the Zoom call. You were met with concerned faces. Amanda broke first.

“OK, why don’t we sleep on this and regroup tomorrow morning? But put in your invoices for the zombie trash.”

You nodded, trying to hold yourself together and left the call. You pushed down your emotions and pure exhaustion and decided going back to bed with a cup of tea and some chocolate was the answer. Yeah that was it, you were a bit hormonal and that was the problem. It had nothing to do with meeting one of your soulmates, your complete lack of self worth and the fact you were damaged, along with your ears now felt like they were on fire.

Yet none of that had stopped you looking out the window hoping to see Bucky again. It’s too wet and windy for dragons anyway.

As you pulled a mug from the drainer, your favourite mug no less, you caught it on the stack of plates, sending them towards the floor. Trying to catch them you caught the mug on the worktop and broke it in half.

It went downhill from there when you threw what was left of it on to the floor in your temper. This was quickly followed by you swiping all the other dishes off the drainer as a scream of frustration ripped from your throat. You burst into tears and slipped down on the floor and sobbed.

Your laptop pinged repeatedly. Messages and missed calls from your work colleagues.

Then Darcy.

Darcy Boo Can you pick up please? Tyler called. He said you were out of it on the work call. Are you ok?

Please? I’m worried.

Bucky Doll, is everything ok?

Precious, I’m going to need you to answer me.

I’m coming over there if you don’t reply.

Look, I know we aren’t bonded yet but I know something is off.

You have 5 minutes to reply or I’m coming over.

Answer me.

On the other side of the room, sitting on the floor among broken plates and mugs, your sobs slowed as you drifted off to sleep.

[malk1ns]

36. things you said but didn’t mean (sidgeno)

tell me you're not over contractgate without saying you're not over contractgate...

thanks anon! the prompt list is here :)

Zhenya’s phone has been going off since the news broke last night.

He turned it off after he signed his contract and got confirmation it was received; he wanted to go to bed without constant interruptions, actually get some sleep after an emotional and exhausting couple of days. He hadn’t been that successful, but he’d at least woken up and for a few minutes been able to pretend that it was just a regular day, that nothing dramatic had happened to him recently, and all he’d have on his phone were the usual drunk messages from Sasha begging him to come back to Moscow early and a few good-morning emojis from Sid.

After he finished his tea, though, he couldn’t avoid it any longer, and he reluctantly took his phone into the living room, hoping that maybe the background murmur of the TV would lessen the blow.

It did not.

The TV is on, sure, but Zhenya had to turn it to mute—the morning news clashing with the constant pinging and buzzing as his phone frantically tried to alert him to every missed call, text, email, telegram, WhatsApp, instagram DM, snapchat, and tweet was giving him a pounding headache. And two hours later, he’s just barely climbing out from under it, deleting the majority of the notifications unread and focusing his attention on responding to teammates and the guys who are still lingering around Miami for the summer. The rest of the Russians and his family can wait—his parents will understand, and he doesn’t care about pissing Sasha off.

There’s one conversation that’s been pushed all the way to the bottom of his iMessages, inactive since yesterday morning. Zhenya’s scrolled past it a few times, but can’t bring himself to click on it.

Finally, when he finds himself actually contemplating responding to fans’ DMs with apologies for making them worry, he forces himself to open the last things Sid texted him, right after their fight.

hanging up on me? seriously?

this isn’t my fucking fault

and now you’re ignoring me? fucking awesome

whatever man. i don’t have to deal with this shit from you. i’m sick of your bs whenever you’re not getting your way. do whatever the fuck you want, i’ll find out what sorry team signs you tomorrow afternoon

Zhenya feels a little sick, reading it back now. He’d been so angry when he’d hung up on Sid, screaming at him like he hated him. Some of the stuff he’d said…he can’t blame Sid for being upset.

There are Flyers fans from their early years in the league who’d love to take notes on what Zhenya said to Sid yesterday.

Sid’s weathered Zhenya’s temper before, though—let him rant and rave and calmed him down with just the right words, and eventually, just the right touch. He’s always known when to leave Zhenya alone and when to engage, just like Zhenya knows how to handle Sid’s bursts of anger and the rest of his quirks. It’s why they work, it’s why they’ve always worked.

Now, though, staring at a conversation that hasn’t been updated in over 24 hours, Zhenya wonders if he finally said something that Sid can’t forgive. What else would have kept him from sending a message when he got the news that Zhenya was staying after all?

Screwing up his courage, Zhenya presses ‘dial’ and waits, holding his breath.

When it goes straight to voicemail, he wonders for a second if he really will pass out.

call me pls he fires off, sinking into the couch and rubbing his hand over his face when the message stays green.

He fucked it up for real this time, then. And now he’s tied himself to Sid’s team for the rest of his career, when Sid’s never going to talk to him again—or worse, he will, but in that freezingly polite voice he uses with annoying reporters and former teammates who have fallen out of his favor.

Zhenya wonders if Hextall would be able to trade him, even with the dramatics of the last 36 hours. Surely someone would be able to accommodate his new, reduced cap hit.

He’s not sure how long he sits on his couch, the TV playing soundlessly and his phone slack in his hand, but when his lock starts to turn, it sounds like a gunshot.

“Fuck,” Zhenya hisses, scrambling to retrieve his phone where it had fallen when he jumped. Probably Seryozha; old man never knows when to mind his own business.

When the door is finally open, though, the voice that floats through from the foyer is distinctly Canadian. “G?”

“Sid??” Zhenya says incredulously, jumping to his feet and almost tripping over his couch on his way to the hall.

Against all odds, it is Sid in his hallway, raggedy in his sweats and with bruise-dark circles under his eyes. He has one of his plain black caps crammed over his head, and the curls escaping from the sides are greasy.

“You’re staying,” Sid says, dropping his duffle. He looks small, shoulders uncharacteristically hunched in, and Zhenya moves toward him before he remembers what happened.

“I’m not sure you see,” he says cautiously. Sid seems skittish, darting his eyes around Zhenya’s condo like he’s never been here before. “I try to call, it’s voicemail. Sid, you’re here?”

“Oh, I was on the plane…I think my phone died while I was in the air, I don’t have a charger, can I plug it in somewhere?” Sid’s fumbling in his pocket. He won’t meet Zhenya’s eyes.

“Sid,” Zhenya says, concerned now, moving closer just as Sid sways forward alarmingly. “Sid! Jesus, come sit down.”

“Sorry,” Sid says faintly, letting Zhenya manhandle him into the living room and down on the couch. Zhenya remembers when they went to pick it out, how Sid had spent hours thoughtfully trying every couch in the store until the salesman looked like he was about to scream, before finally convincing Zhenya that this boring beige monstrosity was the right choice. He’d been correct, of course; this one is big and deep, and even ten years later still the most comfortable piece of furniture Zhenya owns.

“You’re sick?” Zhenya asks, plucking Sid’s phone from his hands and plugging it in. “Need water, maybe, or like, soup?”

“No,” Sid says with a deep sigh, settling back into the cushions and cracking his neck. “I’m fine. I’ve been traveling since last night, I haven’t slept…I’m just tired.”

“Last—” Zhenya snaps his mouth shut when Sid looks at him steadily. Last night, when his contract extension was announced. “Sid, I…”

“No,” Sid says firmly. “Listen. I get you were mad. I…well, I don’t know what it felt like, but I understand. And we both said some things…” He heaves a sigh. “I didn’t mean what I texted you. I’m not sick of you. I want to deal with your shit.” He looks down at his hands, twisted up in his lap. “I…you promised me. Do you remember?”

Zhenya does. After their first Cup, when they’d been so sure that they’d be back the next year, and the year after that. He and Sid had been tucked away together in a corner of Mario’s backyard, passing a bottle of shitty flat champagne back and forth and watching the sun rise. They’d been talking, but after a while it had faded to nothing, just quiet company, shoulders pressed together as the next day arrived.

“You’ll stay, right?” Sid had said abruptly, and Zhenya had looked at him, bleary-eyed and confused. “Here, in Pittsburgh. With me. You’ll stay? Even after your next contract?”

It hadn’t been a question that needed answering, in Zhenya’s eyes, but he’d answered anyway, leaning over and tilting Sid’s chin up and kissing him before whispering, “I stay always. Promise.”

He’d meant it then. He meant it last night, when he put pen to paper and signed away the rest of his playing career. He’d meant it when he was spitting invective at Sid over the phone, too, swearing he’d leave and sign somewhere the front office actually gave a shit about him.

“I never forget,” he says now, sitting next to Sid on the couch. “I’m so sorry, Sid, I’m like, I don’t know what I say to you. It’s such horrible things…I’m not mean, I swear. What do I do for forgive?”

When he looks over, Sid’s eyes are squeezed shut, but there’s a tear trickling down one cheek anyway. “I know you didn’t,” he chokes out. “I know, but…I was scared, G. I never really thought you’d leave me, and then…”

He opens his eyes and glares fiercely at Zhenya. “Fuck you for saying all that shit,” he spits, and Zhenya bows his head, because he deserves it. “Fuck you for doing that to me.” He sticks his hands in his hoodie’s front pocket, pulling out a small velvet box. Zhenya goes very still.

“I had to stop in Pittsburgh, on my way here,” Sid says, turning the box over in his hands. “I’ve had this…well, I had ideas, but we haven’t exactly made the most of the last couple of playoffs, so.” He snorts humorlessly. “We might not ever again, so I’m not sure what the point of waiting is.”

Sid flicks the box open. Inside there’s a ring, nestled in satin, shining bright. It’s gold, with beveled edges cut through with black striations, and thick; something that won’t look out of place on Zhenya’s big hands. If he knows Sid, there will be something on the inside—a date, maybe, or even a time.

“You don’t deserve this right now,” Sid says quietly, lifting Zhenya’s right hand and sliding the ring on. “And I’m not sure I deserve to be asking, either. But maybe that’s the point, eh? We’re still here.”

“Yes,” Zhenya says, splaying his fingers out to admire the ring, then folding his hands around Sid’s.

“Yes to what?” Sid asks, a bit of amusement lacing into his voice.

“Yes to everything,” Zhenya replies. “Everything, with you.”

[wolfiemcwolferson]

i dont know what trick or treat is but i wanna do it too 🥺❤️️

Hi Akira! I wanted to save this for my pre-race drabble and so here it is! Piarles, obviously.

It's too cold when Charles packs his bag for the day, but he knows that by the time he gets a coffee from the cart at the corner and walks down to the park, there will be a patch of sun that he can sit in on his favorite bench.

He could have slept more - he could have gone straight to class, but it's the first sunny day in far too long and he needs to enjoy it.

The coffee warms his hands enough that he pulls his phone out of his pocket, hoping for a last minute cancellation for his orientation this afternoon, but instead he gets distracted by a long thread of whatsapp messages from his brothers about the two of them coming to see him soon and he isn't paying attention to the fact that there's an asshole spread out across his bench.

Charles doesn't mind sharing the bench. He actually loves to share the bench with people as long as people are respectful and don't have things spread out all over the bench - as long as they aren't taking up all the space by manspreading and -

"Excuse me," Charles says in English - possibly a bit too harshly because the man looks up in surprise and oh. His eyes are...blue blue blue.

Charles clears his throat and points to the bag that is taking up the other side of the bench.

He's about to ask if he can sit when the guy leans back, one hand smoothing down his thigh and sitting lower. Cocky.

"There is a bench," the man points across the walkway to the bench that is not in the sun. His accent is French and Charles is surprised. He doesn't often meet Frenchmen here. "I am refreshing for a work thing currently. These are my notes."

Charles turns to look at the bench and turns back, watching the way the man's eyes are looking at him. Charles could flirt, but he's tired and he doesn't want to flirt to have this guy extend some basic human decency.

"Yes," Charles agrees, but his voice is whiny. "But this bench is in the sun and I left Monaco to live in a sunless place to study here and I would very much like to -"

But then the man cuts him off - in French. "Settle down, princess. I will move my things so you can sit."

And then he winks.

Charles hates that he's pretty and that he is flirting with him now and that he's calling him princess and Charles is blushing uncontrollably, so he tries anger.

He turns away and instead of stopping at the bench just across the walkway, he keeps walking until he is two benches down, throwing himself down into the seat and glaring at the man on his bench.

"Suit yourself," he calls out with one hand cupped around his mouth and Charles wants to throw his coffee in his direction, but he needs it for warmth and also to get through this training.

He glares again and gets a smile back and he's really mad because that man is beautiful and definitely Charles' type, but he's an asshole who doesn't share benches in the sun.

He pulls his book from his bag, tries to ignore the beautiful man on the bench and read.

He manages. Mostly.

He finishes his coffee and he reads three chapters of his book and then he takes the long way around so he doesn't have to walk by rude man again and then when he's sure he's out of earshot, he sends Arthur a three minute voice note about the shade of his eyes and how much of an asshole he was and then as he's walking into the place where all the grad students are gathering to start their six week training course before they're let out onto their own next semester to teach their own courses, Arthur texts back mate when is the last time you got laid?

Charles is typing back an even ruder reply when the front door of the lecture hall bangs open and in walks rude asshole from the park.

"Hello," he greets them in English and Charles starts to wonder if it's not too late to drop out entirely and return home and work for Lorenzo. "I have been drafted from the education department to oversee this course."

Charles wants to sink through the floor because his eyes have started to roam over the 17 participants in this lecture series and he's nearing Charles.

"My name is Pierre Gasly and -" he pauses looking right at Charles, one side of his mouth tugging up into a smile, "I have just spent the last hour sitting in the sun and I'm in a wonderful mood, so we can skip straight to today's objective before I release you back into the world so hopefully you all can get some sunshine as well."

And then he winks.

Pierre.

Charles barely contains his scoff. It's going to be a long six weeks.

[princesssmars]

can you do a aki menzies x reader 🥺 please

all the money in the world!

an aki menzies x reader

aki grapples with a rapid influx of popularity, and finds solace in someone who doesnt even know who he is.

wc : 1.227

contains : fluff

a/n : anon. anon. this is so late and i am so sorry 😭 tbf in the first season i did nawt like aki and i was bipolar to him in the second. so i hope this suits your fancy.

--

yet again, aki's life was being ruined by his friends.

ok, hes being dramatic. normally the "ruin" comes in the form of being dragged along to some party, or monet forcing him to photograph her and the girls on the steps of the met while they ate lunch.

but this time it was bad.

the day started normally. he woke up, got ready for school, and gave his mom a goodbye kiss on the cheek. meets up with his friends at school. does pretty good on an english test. everything fine.

until they're all getting lunch from some pop-up nearby. he's relaxing at a table, enjoying the taste of his odd fusion cupcake when he hears a giggle and looks to his right, being met with the black of max's iphone. he smiles, used to his friends' antics around lunchtime before gently smacking the phone away.

it was simple. and normal. until he woke up the next day to thousands of notifications. tiktok, instgram, twitter, fucking whatsapp?

and at the top of his lock screen, a little message from max.

the literal devil : oops! :)

so the next two weeks are...rough. max posted the little lunch video onto his socials and it blew up for no reason at all. well, aki knew the reason. he knew he was attractive, he'd had his share of girlfriends and boyfriends over the years. but this was a lot. dozens of dm's on multiple sites, and he didn't even want to know what the comments sections looked like. his normally quaint insta profile of mostly skateboarding and basketball videos now had an infinite stream of girls, guys, and everyone in between thrusting over him.

and then it leaked into real life. girls in his classes leaving notes in his locker, one of his teammates giving him a flirty comment after the game! sure he might've gotten their number, but that's beside the point. aki was a low-key person, and this insane amount of sudden attention was the opposite of what he wanted.

the only place where he doesn't have to worry about any of it is the skatepark. the whole viral fiasco was only mentioned once, with one of his skateboarding friends teasing him about it when they were sitting by the edge of one of the drops.

its a random saturday when aki decides to skate to let off some steam, when he sees some new little jazz cafe only two blocks from it. he isn't a big fan of jazz but decides a quick snack couldn't hurt. he orders a little snack and as he's turning into a girl and spilling her drink all over her front.

he groans out about twenty apologies in under a minute, telling her he'll buy her a new drink and enough to replace her outfit if she needs it. she laughs and assures him its fine, that she was returning her drink anyway. that based on his beaten-down skateboard she wouldn't want to run his pockets dry anyway.

and he laughs. like, really laughs. probably one of the first girls in weeks outside of his friends who hasn't fawned over him and she just called him broke within two minutes of meeting.

you exchange names and he gets your number. he feels like he's walking on air. he can't even find it in him to care that the wheel on his janky-ass skateboard falls off.

he texts you as soon as he gets home. and when he wakes up the next day. and whenever he's at lunch. and dinner. and before he knows it you're texting everyday, graduating to phone calls after only three weeks.

he learns so much about you and vice versa, such as the beautiful and life-saving fact that you don't have social media and go to a school in brooklyn. he's so overjoyed to have someone treat him normally that the tiny little dickhead voice inside of him tells him it would be a great idea to keep his identity from you. and he nearly considers it until you tell him one of your friends recognized his picture in your phone and told you who he was.

great. perfect.

and then the next day some stranger must have taken a picture of you sharing a milkshake on your date because his group chat is flooded with messages. tales of betrayal and disgust and "you sure you don't wanna share?"

he's scared about the idea of inviting you to meet his friends, but you don't seem too worried about it. you tell him you don't care if they're rich and famous or whatever, that at the end of the day, they're just people like you. it makes him feel better if not a little scared.

its decided you'll tag along to some informal dinner party aubrey's mom is hosting, having come into a good deal of money with the boom of her fashion line. it takes a lot of convincing to get aubs to agree to let a 'civilian' into her mom's party. all he had to do was find her some obscure signed book from some swedish author she liked.

and god, was he thankful they all seemed to like you. jordan complimented you bag, leading the two of you to bond over how you both loved some shop down in queens, and once jordan started to warm up to you it was only a matter of time before the others did.

as soon as monet and luna were talking about how your hair 'wasn't as bad as they were expecting', he knew everything would be fine.

now that his friends were off the board, there was only one thing left. to go public.

he could tell you were actually nervous about this, and he was too. while he jokingly referred to his friends as the final boss of dating, he knew that teenagers on the upper east side were much worse.

but, yet again, maximus wolfe just has to interfere.

it was going to be a boring weekend until max told everyone he wanted to go to dumbo. aki was able to extend an invitation to you, and damn was he glad when he sees you in your outfit. it was new, something you'd picked out during a shopping trip with jordan. so he cant really be blamed when he's cuddled into your side while you're sipping into your drink, just enjoying the night with his friends.

until he hears you giggle and ask max what he's doing, opening his eyes to see his camera pointed at the two of you.

"max, no."

"what, im not doing anything!"

the next morning, aki realizes that when max wolfe says he won't do something, he's going to do it.

you send him the link to max's near bare tiktok account, the most recent video having nearly double the number of views as the last one about aki.

its only fifteen seconds long, the camera pointing straight at you as you talk to obie beside you as he tiredly rests into your shoulder. opening the comments he's expecting the worse, until he sees a wall of compliments about the pair of you. well, most about you.

he gets a message notification from th etop of his screen.

yn : well, at least that part's over.

god, he wouldn't change you for the world.

[sparkles-oflight]

Have I ever told you, you are like Dopamin? - CHAPTER 2 - Plastika

Master Post | Chapter 1

Author's note: Hello, hello! Welcome to chapter two 🙃 I hope you enjoy this one!

Word count (according to Word): 5334 words

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It’s 11 am. I am well rested, I’ve drunk my coffee, and I’ve done everything I needed to do – well at least according to my to-do list. I’m just so glad the meeting wasn’t early like yesterday. I hate to wake up early in the morning and I hate every and any interaction when I’m in a “half-sleep” state.

I walk up to the studio and notice it’s already open. Nace must have arrived earlier to open it.

Or so I thought.

I placed my stuff in the meeting room, and as I walking up to the recording room, I hear guitars, bass, drums, and even voices.

- “Waiting for the rain to wash away” – I heard Francisca’s voice – “Everything the shadow dancers say”.

They seemed to be singing “Carpe Diem”, so I entered the room where Todd was listening to them sing.

- “As we light up with the fall of dusk”.

- “We'll play our love against your hate” – Bojan kept it going while also playing the guitar - “Don't you count on us to let you win today”.

I saw her slowly waving at me.

- “Let me hear you say”!

- “We'll dance and play until the stars fade”. – both sang together.

-  Ah-ah – Jan would try to sing my back vocals.

- “Across the sky, we're writing our names”.

-  Ah-ah. – I also sang along, but they couldn’t hear me.

- “Got no regrets, we want it all”. – Bojan sang solo this time.

- “Got no regrets, we want it all”. – and she followed right after.

- “Won't count the hours 'til the sunrise”.

- “Got no regrets, we want it all”. – they truly sounded like a powerful duo with their voice and pitch matching so well.

- “Let's leave a mark before our goodbyes” – and they joined their voices together once more – “Because we're only fully alive this moment in time”. – and I just sang along with them from where I was - “No mountain we can't climb”.

- “We danced and played until the sun came” – and once more, it was just Bojan’s voice as the instruments quieted down – “Writing a story using our names”.

And slowly I saw him turning his head towards Francisca. He held her hand, smiling.

- “About a generation not afraid to seize the day”… - and it was all quiet.

When their eyes met, it truly felt like the song, from Bojan’s perspective, meant more than just a “party like crazy” song. From my perspective…it was different. The truth is that Bojan doesn’t sound the same when he sings in English…there’s something lacking there. And I think Francisca does bring up that something. Both their voices are very similar, and she does have a weaker control over it, sure. However, she excels in interpretation, especially in English…

- Nice. – Nace grabbed a bottle of water – I need to have a break.

- Kris! – she said putting her headphones down.

I walked into the room they were in. She was smiling at first, but quickly that smile vanished as she remembered our past interactions…

- Hey everyone! I can’t believe everyone actually got here early.

- Actually, you are the only one late. – Maček said while picking up his lighter.

- Wait, what?

- We started two hours ago… - she said.

- Why am I the only one who doesn’t know about this? Again?

- Wait, you are telling me you are not in the group chat? – the cat boy said.

- I am… Did you kick me out of the SSF group chat!?

- No, I mean the Joker Out group chat on WhatsApp.

- We have a WhatsApp group now?

And at that moment I heard a notification from my pocket. I looked at my phone and saw: “Douch bag from TikTok has added you to ‘Collab’ group”.

- I might have forgotten to add you – said the Douch Bag, Bojan.

- Very funny…

- Oh, so that’s why I couldn’t save your number. – Francisca said – I just assumed you had me blocked. – I sure as hell can block her now.

- What were you guys doing? – I asked Nace since both Jure and Jan seemed to be out of the room.

- We were trying to figure out her singing key and rhythm.

- We don’t need to change a lot since her voice pitch is very similar to Bojan’s. They both seem to sing in similar keys.

- We were experimenting with Carpe Diem since it’s a song that she can sing well pretty much with no problems. – Nace was back to speaking Slovenian to me, so I looked at the couple who seemed to not be paying attention to what had been said – It’s just easier to experiment this way. You can play now. Bojan was just filling in for your position.

I walked up to those two and grabbed Bojan’s guitar.

- This is mine now.

- What?

- I’ll have it now. – I smiled at him – I’m the guitarist, after all.

- Oh, yeah. Sure, man. – he gave me the guitar and went towards Nace – I’m going outside. Wanna join?

- Yeah, no problem.

- And you? – he asked Francisca.

- I’m fine. I would rather not have to inhale the smell of smoke right now.

Both of them laughed as they left.

I was fidgeting with my rings and hands, and every time I played a cord, the sound just wouldn’t come out…

- So… - she said as she sat down.

But then she stopped. She started rocking in her chair with no idea of what to say. I tried to get the guitar the way I wanted but instead, I only got more nervous because nothing was going how I wanted. Eventually, I actually let a grunt out. That is the second time it has happened when I was next to her. Her stare alone can be pretty annoying.

She looked nervous as if she wanted to say something.

- What?

- I didn’t want to say anything…because you surely know more than I do…but…

- But what?

- Your guitar is unplugged. – I looked at it and I saw it – When you grabbed the guitar, the cord fell.

- Are you shitting me? – I sighed.

- That’s why, no matter how much you raised the volume, it was not working as it should.

- Thanks…I got that. - I resigned.

- No problem… and…

I looked at her.

- Nothing…

- What?

- It’s really none of my business but… you really have beautiful hands…

- And?

- As someone with small hands, I really like them. Also, I like to draw! And hands really do provide some of the best shapes in art.

- You draw?

- Yeah…I could draw you someday…

- I see you two get along. – Matej’s voice entered the room.

- Well, do we now? – She turned to me.

- I wouldn’t say that. – I said sitting down as well.

- I know Bojan is kinda “taking care” of her, but you know you are the boss in this band.

- I’m not exactly the “boss”. Nobody is.

- And I’m not exactly being “taken care of”. – she cringed at the thought of it – I’m my own person and adult. I would rather not be taken as a baby just for being slightly younger, thanks.

- Sorry about that. – he apologized to her - I’m going to call the rest of the boys. – and just like that he was gone.

- Ah, sorry. I was rude again. – she told me as she took a sip of her water.

- You weren’t exactly rude, just stating what you think.

- Yeah, but I never know when to shut up…honestly. I don’t understand much about social cues…

That seems funny. I thought she had this strong character and knew exactly what she was doing. So…she is just winging it? I guess that makes sense, putting a character on should be easier for her…But it also makes it harder for me to understand and connect with her…because I don’t know who she is. And I don’t know if I’m ready to go through something like that again. Knowing someone who doesn’t want to be honest, but instead prefer to act and put on layers of masks…

- Do you… - but before I could ask anything, I was cut off by the sound of the loud but short guy we all know and love.

- Are we ready for more!? – he said enthusiastically.

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I had Fran next to me…we were both looking for some inspiration, but it’s not easy if no one actually has any idea of what to do…

- I have an idea! – Fran broke the ice after a while of being stuck coming up with a concept.

- I’m all ears. – I told her.

- We want a love story, right?

- Yeah.

- Why don’t we spin a wheel?

- What?

- We spin a wheel with different options on what we want to do for the song’s concept and then we decide what to do.

- Where do you intend to get a wheel? – Kris asked her.

- Online, duh. – she smiled as she got her cell phone from her pocket – There are some templates where you just fill in what are your options, press “spin”, et voilà: you get a randomized answer.

- Let’s do that then! – I told her.

- First, “girl meets boy” or “boy meets girl”?

She wrote both options down and I placed my arm around her comfortably.

- Girl meets boy! – she announced.

- Oh my god, it’s us. – I bopped her nose and she smiled.

- Next, who falls first and the hardest?

The wheel spun once more, and the answer was clear:

- Holy shit, you like me? – I told her.

- Apparently, yes! – she said with a smile and with her hand on her chest.

- But where am I from? North, South, West, or East and central Europe?

- You are…

The answer was convenient:

- East and Central Europe. – I slapped my knee and, ironically, I said:

- Oh, what a coincidence. I know a guy like that!

- I’ll let you decide which country he’s from then.

I stretched my arms because of how offended I was by that question. He’s obviously from:

- Slovenia! – I told her, and she laughed.

- Okay, and the girl is from…- and the wheel spun.

- Ah, if it isn’t my favorite part of Europe: southern Europe. I personally believe she should be from Portugal, the capital of Spain.

- Shush! – she hit me lightly – You are this close to Slovenia becoming the capital of Croatia. – she said showing me her two fingers close to each other.

- That’s pretty and all, but uh… - Jan interjected – what about the actual story?

- Wait, I’ll write a bunch of tropes and see which one gets selected.

She copied and pasted the most popular music tropes onto the wheel.

- “Soulmates” … - Kris read the result out loud.

- Good or bad ending? – she said with a trickster smile.

- “Good ending”.

- That’s settled! – I announced by getting up and stretching! - It’s the beautiful story of a girl… - I ask for her hand, which she gives it – who came from a country bathed by the sun and the ocean to a beautiful country that borders the Mediterranean Sea.

- Slovenia has barely any coastline.

- A beautiful country nonetheless. – I help her get up like she was a lady – She meets a boy – I held her by the waist with one hand and with the other, I took her hand – who’s her soulmate and they fall in love.

She doesn’t directly look at me. Instead, she looked at the other members, in embarrassment, and held onto me as well. And after a dramatic pause, I finally let go of her hand and release a bit of her waist.

- I like the idea! – I said with assertiveness and in a funny tone. She laughed and hugged me sideways.

- Well, that was certainly dramatic. – she sat down again.

- Well, that’s what I live for! Drama! – I did some jazz hands which got her doing the same as me.

- Okay this is good, for you guys – Kris muttered – but lyrics aren’t really what is important right now.

- No… - she said – But now that we have a theme going on, we can research the topic. As a matter of fact…- she looked at me.

- Throughout the past months, the two of us have been talking a lot… and we have both shared songs that remind us of our cultures.

- So, we might have an inspiration for what the vibes of the characters are.

- So… - Kris noted – everything just fell into its place very nicely?

- It’s cool, isn’t it? – I showed some enthusiasm to that gloomy face of his.

But it seemed not to be enough. He has been like this since yesterday. He looks annoyed at how things seem to be going smoothly with Fran’s integration and possibly how quickly they are moving…. And he clearly wanted some time and space alone.

So, I did what any normal person would do.

I jumped on top of him and tickled him until he started hitting me with a pillow and we eventually fell on the drums’ cymbals.

- I HATE YOU! – Kris yelled as he laughed his ass off.

- I LOVE YOU TOO! – I was still on top of him. He tried to fight me off with his hands, which I grabbed and kissed him on the forehead.

I smiled and let my tongue out to mock him.

- ENOUGH! – Matej finally shouted at us. – Do you want to pay for damaged materials?

We looked around us as we sat on the floor, and we saw what we had just done. Everyone was very quiet after our storm… But not for too long… Nace and Fran were looking at each other, red as tomatoes, and they were trying to see who would burst out laughing first.

However, it was Maček the first who snorted. It was loud enough to break those two poker faces.

- “I LOVE YOU TOO” – Nace mimicked me – That was too good! - And the younger had already lost her shit and was laughing on the sofa.

Jan, on the other hand, was covering his face so that we wouldn’t see his expression, but I bet it was priceless. I smiled at Kris.

- Not my fault you have such a kissable face. – I told him in Slovenia since Fran was clearly busier trying to breathe.

I got up and Kris lightly slapped me in the butt as I walked towards the sofa. He barely managed to hit me - he was still gasping for air.

Matej and the whole crew were already fed up with us. So fed up that they had to call in lunch early so we decided to go out for a smoke break outside… It’s starting to get cold though and we’ll have to find an alternative to smoking in the studio since Fran is so sensible to the smell…

- Where do we go to eat today? – Juček asked after he let the smoke of the cigarette out of his lungs.

- Honestly, I’m not sure. – I told him, doing the same thing.

- Cya everyone! – Fran said rushing away from us.

- Where are you going?

- Having lunch with my friend! – she only stopped after reaching a safe distance from our “smoke corner”.

- Do you come back in the afternoon!?

- Obviously, you dumb-dumb ¡Nos vemos!

- What did she say? – Juček wondered.

- She said uh, that she’ll see us, in Spanish, right? – Jan waited for my confirmation.

- Yup.

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The five of us walked up again to that tiny room we were in this morning. We would have to, once again, deal with being stuck and! With a small creature claiming to be a singer, also known as Francisca.

- I can’t believe you brought me to a sandwich place… - Nace complained

- But there were gluten-free options. – Bojan told him.

 - Yeah, but gluten-free bread is *not* the same.

- You are a big boy! – the small annoyance told him, in English, and hugged Nace’s arm – You need carbs!

- “You are a small boy! You need soup!” That’s what my grandma would have said. – and of course, the only one who would say that would be her, Francisca, who walked in.

Bojan immediately hugged her and, this time, he even went for two kisses on the cheeks.

- Two kisses? – I asked.

- Last time Bojan tried to go for three kisses we ended up kissing on the lips. – she pointed it out very casually.

- Do you just kiss twice in Portugal?

- Yup. – she shrugged – So officially, Bojan was the first person to ever kiss me. Even if accidentally.

- Also, she’s so bad at kissing people on the cheek – he mocked her.

- Hey!

- It’s true! You don’t know how to kiss on the cheek, and I find it hilarious. She’s like a child!

- You see why we don’t do it.  – she looked at me and pointed at him.

She ended up sharing the playlist both of them had worked on. And after some back and forth, we even start coming out with some sounds. We even decided to incorporate one extra instrument that Bojan knows how to play: the accordion. Apparently, it was a common sound found in both folklore songs that they had compiled. I personally don’t think the sound of the accordion fits our music style, and we still want to be very truthful to our music style. The problem is, Francisca is not attached to a specific music style, and she likes music experimentation so we also should incorporate that part, but we are struggling a bit with it.

- I have an idea… - she said – my “character” comes to Slovenia, right? What if she brought a sound with her? It doesn’t have to be an instrument.

- Go on… - Bojan told her.

- For example, there’s stuff that reminds me of Portugal, certain sounds such as the guitar, like I told you. – she looked at Jan that nodded back at her – now imagine the sound of her footsteps when she meets the boy. In Portugal, we have this thing called “Portuguese Calçada”.

She pulled up her phone to show how the pavement of some sidewalks is done in Portuguese culture. Different black and white rock squares composed the shapes and drawings on the floor.

- It’s very pretty. – Jan told her.

- Yes, but it’s an endangered art. It’s too dangerous for people that aren’t used to walking on them and don’t expect holes in the floor. Or when it’s raining! This rock is super slippery. Now, see this.

She showed us some shoes with flower patterns sewn onto them.

- These are some shoes we use in typical folklore, there are different types of shoes and materials, but the traditional ones were in wood.

- So, what you are saying is…? – Jan was nearly asleep from the long explanation.

- Imagine the “wind” brings the sound of these shoes hitting the mosaic on the floor. It would be a really good repercussion sound.

- Took you that long just to sa- I was going to make a snarky comment, but I was stopped by our loud “leader”.

- ¡Maravilloso! – Bojan told her.

- ¡Muchas gracias, Bojan!

- Aren’t you Portuguese? – I told her – shouldn’t you refrain from speaking in Spanish?

- You aren’t the only ones allowed to speak multiple languages, obrigado.

We kept listing a bunch of noises and possibilities, Bojan and Francisca thought too much alike…even behaved similarly, she was just a bit shyer. When one cracked a joke, the other one had the perfect quote to complement it. When one was stuck, so was the other, and whenever one needed a break, so did the other. These two morons share a brain cell.

I thought that was just too funny. So, I let out a little snort and everyone looked at me.

- Are you okay? – Bojan asked as a grin formed on his face – What’s so funny?

I noticed the staring and decided to compose myself.

- I was sneezing. – I ahem to get my voice back to being firm - But I agree, a break sounds nice.

- Are you okay?

- Yeah, sure, man. – and I coughed some more – I’ll just not go outside right now. It’s a bit cold.

- Do you have a cold? – I noticed everyone starting to talk to me in Slovenian, as I tried my best to stay in English.

- No, I am fine. Just need to eat something.

- Me too. – Jan put down the guitar - I’m starving.

Everyone got up and we all went towards the vending machine to get some snacks. Nace had to stick to the ones he brought from home. Afterward, the guys left to smoke, and it was just me and Francisca in the room, once again.

We didn’t talk for a solid minute. She had her earphones plugged in – as if we hadn’t already listened to enough music and sounds in the past couple of hours – and wrote a lot on her cellphone. Even so, from time to time, I would catch her looking at me. Eventually, I asked.

- Okay, who are you texting?

- What? – she said with a confused face as she unplugged her earphones.

- Don’t pretend you didn’t hear me. You are probably texting someone you like, and you don’t want me to tell Bojan that you are seeing someone else.

- What are you talking about? – she still had that same expression of pretending that she doesn’t know what I’m talking about.

- Come on, at this point, everyone knows you two have been dating in the past couple of months. If you are cheating on him, you can tell me, and I’ll make sure to tell him for you. I just don’t want you out there breaking my friend's heart like that.

- What!?

- Come on…You wouldn’t talk so casually about an “accidental” kiss, or even behave so alike if you two do if you weren’t dating. You might not realize this because you never had a relationship before, but cheating hurts. Either that or you are just a big “pick me” and are making everything possible to be the perfect partner for Bojan, which, if you are here for that, you might as well have not come. We don’t need an actor playing a character, we need someone focused, and right now you are just slowing us down!

- Comes merda às colheres ou nasceste assim? – she said it with her hand in her head seriously getting angry at me.

- What?

- It means “Do you eat shit with spoons or were you born like that!?”

- Didn’t you say you like people telling you what they are thinking!? Why are you so rude?

- YOU ARE BEING RUDE! I am not dating Bojan! Bojan is helping me out every step of the way. And you? Ever since I stepped foot here yesterday, you have been throwing me shade with snarky comments, side-eying me, and constantly tearing me down and sometimes straight up excluding me. If you want this done in time, be a fucking professional and grow up!

Wait…They are not dating…? And I’m the one being rude? I’m the one excluding her? I don’t think I had realized that…If anything I thought I was the one being excluded. Her bright personality seemed to be shining on top of everyone else’s, and her “narcissistic gentleness” seemed more like an act than her own feelings…but if that’s so…why do I see truth in her eyes right now…?

I had no idea she felt that way. She felt the same as me.

- I’m sorry…

- Well, you better be! – she sighed - I’ve been trying to get along with everyone. And it’s frustrating that no matter what I do, you still treat me like this…

She went silent for a moment...

- Sorry for bursting onto you like that… - she said plugging her earphones again – I understand that I’m hard to deal with, and I understand two days is too long for anyone to put up with my BS, let alone two months. I should have regulated a bit more my emotions. I’m sorry…

Silence again… but this time, I’m the one bringing in the sound.

- Do you need help with something…?

She looked at me…as if I finally said the right words…

- I… - she stopped and messed around with her hair – I’m just texting my friend…I’ll be fine…

- I apologize for making so much drama with you and Bojan… - I looked at the floor and fidgeted with the rings in my hand.

- No, it’s fine… - she said, also looking at the floor.

- I’m sorry I’m acting like a child. I’m an adult… - I sighed as I looked up to avoid a tear to get away from my eyes – I should know better by now that I shouldn’t mess around with other people’s lives and not make assumptions…

- It’s fine… - she kept saying, not actually listening.

- And I was rude…I’m sorry. – she was not listening to a single word of what I was saying. She was just disassociating.

I approached her and kneeled down to see her expression. Her eyes were red from holding back her tears and she started biting on her nails, which was hurting her…

- Hey… - I said as I grabbed both her shaking hands – What do you need?

She took a deep breath and finally let out a single tear. With her voice sulking she finally asked for what she needed.

- So, uh…my manager is going back to Portugal after this week. And I also only have a reservation for a couple of days at the hotel. I was hoping I would find an apartment to rent until January easily here, but I guess it’s just as hard as in my country.

- Can’t you stay longer at the hotel?

- Nope, every single one is booked in Ljubljana until after Christmas, and it’s super expensive either way. Sorry, I don’t make that much money. – she laughed, as more stray tears left her eyes.

- That’s why you were texting your friend?

- Yup. She – she breathed in a little bit, and she was starting to get calmer – she says I can stay at her home for a bit, but personally, I would feel bad because her parents don’t speak a word of English. – she smiled – Do you have a tissue?

I touched my pockets, but I couldn't find the ones I thought I had with me.

- Sorry, already took them away from you. – she said smiling and showing me the package.

- What!? How!?

- You probably have a hole in your pocket. That’s how. – she finished cleaning up her nose and face.

- Oh god, I really do have a hole in my pockets! – I said as I found the motherfucker.

- Let me see. – she said putting the tissues in my pockets.

- They are not just gonna fall out like that.

- I mean… if you move around, they probably will fall.

- Let me just- I was about to get up but before I could process it, a couple of arms were hugging me.

They were of a small person with a long green and white sleeve shirt. They had puffy short hair and the most beautiful brown eyes you could ever picture. That was brave of her…How come she hug someone with whom she was just angry at? Who mistreated her? I understand the whole “forgive and forget thing” …but she should really learn how to have some self-respect.

I wanted to say that…but it did feel nice to have her around me for once…

- Fran… - she let go of me and smiled directly making eye contact with me.

- Nice to meet you. – she told me, extending her hand – My name is Francisca, but you can call me Fran, like you just did.

I was hesitant at first, but I took her hand.

- You must be Kris, right? I really enjoy your music. I’m very glad I got the chance to talk and work with you.

I laughed awkwardly and then I finally accepted it: this is the true way we first met. Eye to eye, no pretending to care about each other, no bickering…

- Yes, I’m Kris. And I hope this collaboration sails smoothly.

She smiled a lot. She was for once looking at me brightly. She was looking at me as someone who actually took her into consideration. She was looking at me as someone meaningful in her life. I hope I’m looking at her in the same way…

From the entrance, I heard some claps. We both looked at the door, and everyone had already returned.

- Whoaw, that was beautiful. – the author of the claps, Nace, said – Bojan is crying.

- No, I’m not. – he tried to wipe away a couple of tears that were running out of his eyes – it’s the cold!

- Think fast! – I told him.

I threw at him the tissue packet, only for it to hit his face and then land on his hands.

- You deserved that for eavesdropping.

- We weren’t here for too long actually. – Juček said as he was doing pull-ups in the doorframe.

- We came in when she was already crying. – Jan walked towards his guitar – So, uh, you need a place to stay?

- Well, I’ll have to find something, yes. – she said still cleaning her face.

- Bojan – Jan called for him – Don’t you have a spare room in your house?

- Yeah, I do. – then Bojan redirected his attention to Francisca – You could totally sleep there, if you are okay with it. I live with Martin, but he’s studying most time. – he crossed his arms – If I sleep on the sofa, my room should be available. Free of charge.

- But I could never do that! – she protested – If I were to go live with you guys, first you’d have to ask Martin. Second, I’m not using your room! It’s yours! I would sleep on the sofa. And third, I can’t stay there free!

- If you insist a lot, I might make you do my laundry.

- Yes, me messing around with a washing machine in Slovenian makes a lot of sense. – she looked at him with a tired look.

The lovebirds debated back in forth for a while before settling on Francisca staying at Bojan’s house until the end of this journey.

And once again, I had that annoying feeling in the back of my head. About this whole collaboration, about Bojan and Francisca’s relationship…why do I despise her? Or do I? I don’t think that’s it… I think I just don’t like all the attention she gets.

Honestly, I would think as an adult I would already have my emotions all sorted out, but, man, I’m a wreck.

WHATSAPP: “+351 XXX XXX XXX sent you 2 messages”

Unknown: Hello hii, it’s Francisca :)

Just wanted to tell you that I arrived at the hotel safely :D

This is your sign to save my number *finger guns*

Unknown: Anyways,

Keep calling me Fran :D

I like it <3

DO YOU WANT TO ADD THIS CONTACT OR BLOCK?

ADD

SAVE AS: “Fran-chica”

♫♩♫♩♫♩♫♩♫♩♫♩♫♩♫♩♫♩♫♩♫♩♫♩♫♩♫♩♫♩♫♩♫

After note: I actually hate to write Kris 😅 at least bitchy Kris like in these first two chapters. Maybe because he's the one I can predict the least out of all the boys. It's hard for me to read that boy (cough cough I just have a crush on him lol Cough cough).

Btw! Franciscas are usually called by Chica or (more recently) by Kika, not Fran. Anyways, in Spanish, "Chica" means "girl". Just thought you'd like to not that info :)

Chapter 3

[thesurferidiot]

Since i’ve not seen even one Larry fanfic over there, i thought i’d come here and fix that, enjoy :)

TW: swear words

*HARRY’S POV*

Today i came home earlier to surprise my roommate and best friend, who’s none other than mu crush, with two tickets to the cinema, so i could finally confess my feelings. Now i’m outside the door, and i hear two different voices: Lou’s voice, and Zayn’s voice… i don’t want to over hear the conversation… but it’s too late!

“You have to tell him how you feel Lou!” Louis likes someone? I knew i shouldn’t have hopes…

“But Zay, he’s my best friend! I can’t end a friendship not knowing if he likes me back or not!” So he’s a boy… that man is lucky…

“Lou what do you not understand? Harry loves you! More than he loves his friends! He cares about you in THAT special way!” Wait what? He knows another Harry? Why didn’t he let me meet him? I’m his best friend after all…

“I can’t just yell “I fucking love Harry Styles so much i’d die for him” that would be fooking weird, and we’re not su-“ i stop them by entering in the house, Zayn slowly exites the house and i’m alone with Louis

“So Lou, why didn’t you tell me you “fucking love Harry Styles so much you’d die for him” mhm?” I say with a pleased smirk on my face.

He blushes and looks away, than sighs and says :” i didn’t want to ruin our friendship, i knew you didn’t like me back…”

“Nonsense, i fucking love you Louis Tomlinson, i was planning to tell you at tonight’s date at the cinema, i bought two tickets just for us, but you told me first” he looks at me with disbelief, then i take a step towards him, and let our lips collide in a perfect kiss

“The cinema date doesn’t sound that bad you know?” He says jokingly with a grin on display, i laugh and kiss him again. Best day of my life

AUTHOR’S NOTE

Heyy did you enjoy this fanfic? Hope so, if you have any requests just pm me, i’m open to all of them :) also here’s a game to know each othes better:

Where are you from? Me: italy

Which languages do you soeak? Me: italian and a little bit of english (no i didn’t use a translator for this story)

Fav food? Me: can’t decide hehehe :)

Fav socials? Me: instagram, wattpad, tumblr, reddit, quotev, youtube and whatsapp

Byee hope you enjoyed :))

[talesofstyles]

Drs Styles

paediatric heart surgeon harry, husband harry and dad harry. honestly the holy trinity.

warning: they did it in the car. bloody animals.

Harry

“Move your car, please!”

“What are you going to do? Write me a ticket?”

“This is in the interests of safety for the children!”

I look at the time in the car. I’ve still got about twenty to twenty-five minutes to watch this drama unfold at the school gate. I just wish we had popcorn because drop-off and parking situations at the school gates are always more entertaining than Good Morning Britain. 

The school gate is a strange social scene, and honestly, I don’t blame my wife for trying to avoid it like a plague. Sometimes, you don’t even have to talk to these people to know everything about their lives and more. I swear there are more gossips in the class WhatsApp group and daily playground chattering than in the copies of The Sun and Daily Mail combined. You know who’s married, who’s getting a divorce, whose husband shagged the au pair again, whose party you haven’t been invited to, even who’s looking for a builder. 

I see the school caretaker chuckling to himself as he sweeps the autumn leaves off the pathway, no doubt also enjoying our morning entertainment. 

“Why is Mrs Chambers screaming like that?” Alma, our eldest daughter, asks from the back of the car. 

“Because that man parks his car in a drop-off zone,” I reply, still watching him as he removes a child from his car seat. “Do you know who that is?”

“I think the boy is your classmate,” Alma turns to her sister.

Fiona, our youngest, peers over to inspect. “Oh yeah, that’s Rufus and his dad.”

“Do we like Rufus?”

“Not unless we like boys who pee down the slides,” Fiona scrunches her nose up. “He stood at the top and peed down like a waterfall. I haven’t gone down the slide ever since.”

I shake my head and let out a chuckle. “M’sure they’ve cleaned it up since, button.” 

Did you know that choosing a school for your child after nursery can be a head-throbbing, stomach-twisting, heart-pounding experience? Well, it can. How is one supposed to choose a school anyway? According to the proximity? Leavers Results? Adorable uniforms? Parents’ agendas?

After many, many discussions and visits through more schools than I can count, we ended up with Thomas’s Kensington. It’s a great school, and only ten minutes away from our home, making school runs easier. The downside of this school is the fact that it costs us an arm and a leg and that they’re always trying to rip us off any chance they get. Also, they only take the kids until 11, so after that, we’ll have to look for other schools again. But since our girls are only seven and five, we can worry about that later. 

There’s a strange mix of parents at this place. I went to school up in the North and the school gate scene is nothing like this. Here there are more au pairs, fancy cars, nicer clothes and people coming with impressive tans from their last weekend break in Antibes. The kids here are suited up too: the PE kit is the size of a small weekender bag, and we put them in uniforms that make them look smart, hoping that will increase the size of their brains. A child walks past our car with a cello case, another with a hockey stick. It’s a different land here. One that my socialist in-laws constantly tease us about and one which my mum was hysterical about because she was scared her grandbabies would be little Tories. I promised her I’d keep them grounded by only giving them plain hobnobs. None of those luxury chocolate covered ones.

Jokes aside, my girls are happy here. They’re thriving. They learn French and Spanish and Mandarin, even if they share a class with kids who have ridiculous names like Kitty and Archibald. 

A knock at my window calls me to attention. I wind it down.

“Are you Fiona’s dad?” A mum asks me.

“I am.”

“It’s about Ophelia’s riding party this Saturday at the riding stables.” 

Like I said, it’s a different land here.

“I thought we RSVPed to that?” I look at her in confusion.

“Yes, you did, but we have to change the food options as one of the partygoers is allergic to nuts. I’m making everyone aware and we need to let the guests know that they can’t bring any nuts on the day.”

A dirty joke is right there on the tip of my tongue and I’m trying my hardest to keep it in. My wife would definitely find it funny though, I’ve got to remember this and tell her later. 

“Noted,” I mean, I wasn’t going to send my daughter to a party with a packet of cashews anyway but I nod politely.

“And just gift vouchers for gifts please. Smiggle, if you can.”

Again, I nod, biting my tongue at the presumptuousness. But then I suddenly panic, because we haven’t entered the realms of pony riding just yet. Do I have to buy jods and boots? If I don’t, will my daughter be the odd one out? But Ophelia’s mum saunters off before I’ve got the chance to ask.

“Do I have to go to that party, daddy?” Fiona asks. 

“Well, we’ve already replied, poppet,” I tell her. “Did you not want to go?”

“I’ll go if I have to.”

I don’t answer because I get distracted by a vacant space. I edge the car forward so my girls can hop off. 

“I love you both. Have a good day, make good choices.” 

“Bye daddy! We’ll see you after work!”

***

Evelina London Children’s Hospital is our second home. Of course, as a children’s hospital, we try to make the place as fun as possible as not to freak those little patients out at being ill. It is bright and primary coloured, and each ward is decorated according to its own theme with different colours and lovely artworks. There are televisions and toys almost in every corner. We have a giant slide on the ground floor, and even the bins are shaped like red London buses. The aim was to help the children to forget that they’re in a hospital and take their minds off their sickness.

Since my wife and I are in the same department, our offices are next to each other, both overlooking the Thames. It’s nice up here. Would’ve been nicer if we could sneak in a quickie, but that’s practically impossible with our shared secretary’s desk sitting literally in front of our doors. 

Speak of the devil.

“Good morning. Here’s your tea,” my secretary follows me into my office with a cup of tea and a tiny plate with a couple of rich tea fingers. “Clinic until 3 pm, scheduled PDA ligation in the laboratory for 4 pm and then evening rounds on the wards.”

“Mornin’ Rhonda, you look lovely today,” I greet her cheerily. She’s a stern-looking woman who definitely likes her tea as strong as tits and who has probably never cried in her life. With such severity, she runs a tight ship, but she secretly has this affectionate side in her too. Not only is she a great secretary, but she also takes care of us in a way as a grandma does. She makes us tea, feeds us in between surgeries with biscuits or nice baby cheeses and crackers just so we wouldn’t starve. 

See that sofa over there in the corner of my office? Rhonda got me that. It was around the time when I had just become a new father with the sweetest, most gorgeous little baby who did not sleep. Alma wasn’t a fussy baby though. For some reason, she just wouldn’t go back to sleep after her midnight feed for months. Believe me, I tried everything. I changed her nappy, I swayed and jiggled and rocked and sung her to sleep. Odd nonsensical songs like, ‘Alma darling go to sleeep. Sleepy sleep sleep. Pleeeeease. I’m so tirrrred. My eyeballs may actually exploooode. I don’t want you to see thaaat.’ And she would just look at me all wide-eyed like I’d lost the plot. Those were song lyrics? That was rubbish. Please don’t give up your day job. Also, it’s not sleeping time. I’m awake. I’m ready for life. Come on, entertain me, old man. Isn’t this nice, just you and me? Tell me everything you know. EVERYTHING. 

Except of course she didn’t say all that. She would just stare at me and I had no idea what was going on in her little head. 

I took over my wife’s patients at the hospital during her maternity leave, so I had longer hours at the hospital. One day Rhonda found me napping on the floor between surgeries, so she sweet-talked some porters into looking for any old sofas on the go and paid to have this one reupholstered. She even bought me a fleece throw for it too. We really don’t deserve her.

“You hittin’ on me?” She deadpans. “Yer wife not doing it for you these days?”

“It’s the blazer. I’m a sucker for a blazer.”

“If I’d known, I would’ve worn it more often,” she replies. “Did my nice dress yesterday not give you the fanny flutters?”

“It’s schlong shiver for me,” I roar with laughter. “And it’s the tartan, makes you look well old.”

“YN, yer husband’s a bloody git, did I ever tell you that?” Rhonda says loud enough for my wife to hear, and I can hear my wife’s laughter from her office next door. “Drink your tea. Your first clinic appointment is in twenty.”

“Yes ma’am,” I salute her. 

***

The Arctic ward in the Evelina is home to many of our imaging, heart and kidney services. The name is probably giving it away, but everything is decorated in blue and white to go with the theme. We have several zones, and since paediatric cardiology clinics are held in the Walrus zone, I spend a great deal of time each day looking at walrus and snowflake decals. 

“Doctor Styles!” I hear a little voice shouts in excitement as I walk towards the waiting room in the outpatient ward. I smile, because I recognise that voice even before I see the little person.

The waiting room is very open here compared to other hospitals. There’s a sea of noise, snacks, tiny juice boxes and colouring pages. There’s also always a look of expectation, judgement on the faces of parents and guardians every time I walk in. They want to see if their doctor is old or qualified enough to see their children. There’s always one child who has the whole gang with them; parents, two sets of grandparents and even several aunts and uncles, and there’s also at least one child running around in circles out of boredom. 

This little lad bounces off his chair and hurls himself at me in a way like a little puppy would when its owner comes home from work. I put an arm out, hoping that he’ll apply the brakes but no such luck and he bundles himself into my arms. “Nice to see you, mate.”

His parents smile as they watch their son’s antics, who then runs off as I shake their hands. I turn around to see what caught his attention, and I can’t help but chuckle when I realise it’s my wife. 

“Doctor pretty Styles!” He exclaims excitedly as he bundles himself into her arms. She gets a mouthful of curls in the process. 

“Hi Rory,” she greets him as she runs her fingers through his curly mop. 

“Oi,” I pout as I walk towards them. “You don’t think I’m pretty?”

“Your wife is prettier,” he says with a shrug, his tone matter-of-fact.

She laughs and gives him a high-five. “Rory, you are officially my favourite patient.”

She is right. Rory is one of our special patients for sure. We’ve both known him for about six years now, ever since Rory’s mum gave birth to this tiny human next door at St Thomas and his heart was literally broken. I remember watching proudly from the theatre when my wife replaced two of his valves when he was born. It was in our early years of training. Long time patients like Rory almost always feel like family. We’ve seen all their parents’ tears and watched over their children throughout the years. They send us cards and wine every Christmas and despite all attempts to keep a professional distance, their kids do feel like our own.

Rory shrugs off his dinosaur rucksack and unzips it, pulling out a drawing of a blue whale and an opened packet of KitKat. I like that the whale wears a top hat and appears to also don a moustache. 

“I drew you both a picture. Only one though, because I figure you can share,” he says with a big toothy grin and hands the packet of KitKat to my wife. “And I’ve got half a KitKat here. Do you want it?”

“I’m good for now. Keep that KitKat for later on the tube,” she smiles and waves at Rory as she begins to walk away towards the fetal cardiology ward just down the hall. “Bye Rory, thanks for the picture.”

“Bye doctor pretty Styles,” Rory replies, making my wife laugh as she walks away. I give her a wave and a wink. 

“Hey Rory, did you know a blue whale has a heart the size of a small car?” I ask him and his eyes widen.

“No way! That’s mega!” He exclaims. “Do you think you could operate on a whale heart?”

“I would need a very big ladder,” I tell him. “And a wetsuit. I’d give it a go though.”

A senior nurse from the outpatient ward, Florence approaches us with a junior nurse trailing behind her. “Dr Styles, always a pleasure.”

I smile at her. “Florence. How are we today?”

“Busy as usual,” she replies. “We’re about twenty minutes behind I’m afraid. We had Dr Goodridge in this morning and you know he likes to talk.”

“He always runs over,” I chuckle. “Well, don’t worry. I’ll skip lunch and get us back up to speed.”

“I’ll make sure to send some snacks for you. Here’s your chart, your files are already in your office. And this is Alice, your nurse today. She’s newly qualified so might need some instructions.”

The new nurse looks terrified so I smile at her to try and calm her fears. I totally get that. When you work in medicine, unfortunately, you’ll realise that there are a lot of rude self-important wankers. 

I look down at my chart and find Rory’s name on the top of the list. “Well, look who’s coming with me to the exam room.”

Rory reaches out to hold my hand and we walk towards the examination room. His parents follow us closely, carrying the usual coats and devices that people do when they know they’re bound for a hospital waiting room. I see them inside and sit behind the desk.

“So, young man, I hear we’ve had a touch of drama with you. Can you tell me what happened?”

I’ve actually already got the information in the file, but I like the way this kid tells a story. He reminds me of my youngest. 

“So… I was at school and we were doing PE and I wasn’t really feeling it because it was cold and really we should have been inside but Mr Witter makes us go outside because he used to be in the Army apparently and he says we should get used to the cold but that’s what they do in prisons.”

I smile. “Go on.”

“And then my heart started running.”

“You mean racing?”

He nods firmly. Racing isn’t even the word. It sprinted to the finish like Bolt at 252 beats per minute, three times the speed it should.

“It felt like bubbles in my chest and then the school went crazy panicky and they called the ambulance and they brought me to the hospital but not this one, it was another one and it wasn’t as good because you weren’t there and they had really bad biscuit.”

His mum adds. “And they gave him some drugs to bring it back to a steady rhythm; they were close to shocking him.” Her voice trails off and both parents’ faces look drawn and pale remembering the incident.

Rory looks absolutely unbothered by this. To be fair, we have put this little man through everything. We’ve cut his chest open more times than is necessary for someone so small, we hook him up to machines and put him on treadmills. His resilience and character amaze me, and I really can’t imagine what it feels like to see your child so vulnerable and helpless, to be paralysed and weighed down with such worry.

“Alright then, little man, we need to make sure that your heart is working as it should. This is Alice, and she is going to take you over for an ECG and we just need to make sure your tick-tock is in good shape.”

Rory nods and jumps off the chair. His dad offers him a piggyback, and his mum smiles at them. I can hear Rory offering that half KitKat to Alice as they leave the room. 

His mother turns to me as the door is closed, her shoulders relaxing, allowing herself to breathe. “And how are you?” I ask her.

“You just think it’s done and then something like that comes along to scare you,” she says with a sigh.

“Let’s have these tests and then see if it’s anything major to worry about,” I try to calm her. “Episodes of rapid heartbeat is quite common in Rory’s case, and we can look into drugs to remedy that if necessary.”

She smiles, nodding.

“Did you have any other questions for me?”

She studies my face for a moment too long. “I… well, it will show up in Rory’s records soon, but my husband I are… I mean we’re getting a divorce.”

I pause for a moment. Of course, I know these things happen in life, but I’ve known this couple for years. I’ve seen them at their lowest ebb, bound by friendship and their love for that boy. I really do feel sorry for them.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I mumble.

“We just… we’re terrified about telling Rory.”

“He doesn’t know?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “We’re scared of breaking him. I mean, look at him. All of this stuff he’s been through and he carries on like nothing has happened. We don’t want to upset him.”

“It took a team of us the best part of six years to build Rory’s heart. There's a warranty on that workmanship,” I reassure her. “Have that chat with him. He’ll be fine.”

***

“Have we got time for dinner first?” I turn to my wife as we walk out of the hospital. We don’t normally have the luxury of ending our shift at the same time, but today is exceptional. We have parents’ evening at the girls’ school so Rhonda made sure to clear up our schedule after our evening rounds at the ward. 

“No, but we can raid M&S and eat in the car?”

I’m starving and I almost cry with relief at the suggestion. “Always knew I married the right woman.”

She chuckles. “Damn right you did.”

We leave the car at the hospital and she drags me along the walkways to Waterloo, the breeze biting at our cheeks. I pull her into M&S, dodging the marching commuters and grab a basket. 

“I’ll look for some wine,” she says before she saunters off. “Oh and I want sushi. None of that crap with the mayonnaise please.”

“Alright.”

I skipped lunch today so the whole place calls to me. I start taking very random things off the shelves: a packet of raspberry iced buns. That’ll do. I also take some hummus for my wife because she bloody loves hummus. I’m not even joking, I’ve seen her down a whole pot of it. Then I take some sushi as requested, some coleslaw, a family bag of mature cheddar and red onion crisps and a trifle. I hope I don’t bump into Rhonda. Next are cheese twists, noodle salad and cocktail sausages. 

It takes me a while to notice that there is a man right next to me with a roll of yellow stickers in their back pocket. Hello there, you are one of my favourite people tonight. Have I managed to find that sacred hour when all the food is being marked down? He labels some prawns with dip and even though I get a little squeamish about eating fish near its expiry date, I put it in my basket. I then follow him around the corner. Now, this is dinner. I put all sorts of random food in my basket and smile at the thought.

Ooh, knockdown pizzas. I should get a pizza. That’s tomorrow’s tea sorted, the girls will love it. Although I can’t help but wonder, what’s the limit for us to feed our daughters frozen pizza in a week before they get taken away from us? But eh, we might be able to get away with it if we give them frozen peas on the side. 

“Look at you,” says my wife, depositing two bottles of red in the basket. 

“Yes, it’s me. I’m the yellow sticker bitch.”

She snickers as we turn to head for the tills. “Excellent work.”

***

“Mr and Mrs Styles, welcome.”

“Mrs Ebner, always a pleasure,” I shake the headmistress’ hand who’s standing at the door. 

“Busy evening?” My wife asks her as she shakes her hand next.

“Always,” the headmistress replies with a smile, then proceeds to speak like she’s reading out of brochures. “But such a wonderful opportunity to connect with our parents and build on the special relationships we have with our school community.” 

Two uniformed minions appear.

“Lewis, Maggie, could you please show Mr and Mrs Styles through to the drinks reception?”

They both nod in unison. The boy holds his arms out like a waiter showing us to our table. We follow them through the school’s grand corridors to the main hall. It’s the one thing I like about this place. It’s very Hogwarts-like with hefty engraved name boards and sepia photos of successful sports teams. In the hall, a throng of parents mill around waiting to see respective teachers. It’s the same every year. We all dodge the people from the PTA trying to sell us quiz tickets, and the bowls of crisps out of hygiene concerns.

“Red or white?” Asks a lady in an apron.

This right here is the very reason we get through parents’ evening. From the look of the bottle, it’s decent wine too. I think that’s where a good proportion of our fees is going. 

“Red, please.”

We both take our glasses and walk to the corner of the hall. It’s essentially a holding area without the background music. The idea is that all the parents will get on and create a party vibe but it just becomes a strange family gathering. As terrible as it sounds, it’s sorted into cliques: parents who know each other via NCT groups, the international expat brigades who keep to themselves, the parents who’ve ostracised themselves by gossip, the ones who you know regularly brunch and ski together.

The boy from earlier suddenly appears in front of us. “Mrs Hughes is ready for you.”

I put my hand on the small of my wife’s back as we walk towards the classroom. Fiona’s teacher first and then Alma’s straight after. Right, we can do this.

“Mrs Hughes, we meet again,” I shake her hand. I’ve got no qualms about Mrs Hughes. She’s a seasoned teacher who likes a slack and sensible moccasin and we’re familiar with her since she taught Alma two years previously. When we enter the classroom, Lewis bows in reverence, taking his leave and I wonder whether to tip him. 

“It’s always lovely to have another Styles girl in my classroom. Fiona is a particular delight.”

My wife and I smile proudly. I’m sure Mrs Hughes says this to every parent here about their child, but that’s always nice to hear. 

“She talks a lot about you,” my wife says. “She seems to have settled in well.”

Mrs Hughes opens up a couple of books and it’s classic Fiona. Alma is ordered and neat—if she makes a mistake then she erases it completely and she underlines things with a ruler and listens to instruction carefully. She gets that from her mum. Fiona though, on the other hand, she’s all me. She has more wild abandon about her; no rulers, no rubbers. She puts giant crosses through things that don’t work and likes her bubble writing decorated with doodles of many, many cats.

I glance around the classroom as Mrs Hughes talks to us about standardised scores. The theme of the school is to show you how smart and educated these children are. Look at the copperplate handwriting, their reproductions of Van Gogh and our languages corner where they’ve all had a go at telling us what they like in French. I spy a contribution from my girl. J’adore les chats et le gâteau au chocolat. 

I’ve lost track of the conversation so I try to catch up.

“So to push Fiona into those top scores, perhaps we can look into tutoring? For maths, in particular, so she can grasp some of the concepts a little more tightly,” says Mrs Hughes. 

My wife and I look at each other confused. “Uh, I don’t think there’s a need, right? She’s only five.”

“It’s never too early,” replies Mrs Hughes. “We run an after-school tutoring club on Tuesdays that would help.”

Back when I was a youngster, clubs were fun endeavours that involved matching baseballs caps or were a chocolate biscuit that you had in your lunchbox. Maths tutoring session was not a club.

I ask her. “Is it free?”

“It’s fifteen pounds per session.”

See? My point being this should be a parents’ evening, not a sales session.

“Well, then it’s something to think about,” says my wife. “It could be that Fiona catches up with people throughout the year.”

“Possibly,” Mrs Hughes nods. Still, though, she proceeds to go into her folder and passes me a form. Sneaky. “Fiona has also shown great interest in languages and art. Her pictures have been a joy.”

Mrs Hughes goes to a file and pulls one of Fiona’s drawings. I glance down at it. It’s a standard child piece of art. The grass and sky are strips of colour to the top and bottom. It’s a family portrait, and we are as tall as the broccoli style trees. Wait, hang on a second. I count the number of people in the picture again. Is that-

“And Mrs Styles, I gather congratulations are in order,” she says with a smile. “Such lovely news.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Fiona told me it’s a boy,” she adds, and the sheer terror on my wife’s face at the realisation is priceless. “You must be very thrilled.”

I study the picture. There’s a house in the middle, and standing in a line in front of the house is our family. The one slightly taller than the broccoli tree is me. I’ve got my white lab coat, and I look like a serial killer because I’m holding a scalpel with the size of a butcher’s knife. Next to me is my wife, also with a white lab coat, but instead of a scalpel, she’s holding a very chunky baby who rather looks like a basketball with a head.

“Oh dear,” I chuckle. “Guess now we know what she’ll ask for Christmas.”

“Yeah,” my wife shakes her head. “We’re not expecting.”

“Oh, I apologise,” Mrs Hughes says with a sheepish smile.

“No worries, Mrs Hughes,” I tell her. “So, what else has our girl been up to here? Besides gossiping of course.”

Mrs Hughes laughs under her breath. “Well, in class, Fiona is attentive, bright and very helpful. She is a credit to you both.”

***

“I swear your daughter, Styles.”

We’re sitting in the car now. Finally done with parents’ evening, still laughing at the slightly creepy, chunky basketball baby in Fiona’s picture and the fact that three people, including Mrs Hughes, have congratulated us for the ‘baby’.

“You haven’t called me Styles in years,“ I turn to her with a grin. “Not since medical school.”

I can’t help but flashback to the good ol’ days when we had matching university hoodies and we’d test each other on the parts of a kidney whilst walking into lectures, sitting next to each other, sharing pens and cans of Lilt. 

“Well, after that I became a Styles too,” she chuckles. “Would be confusing then, wouldn’t it?”

“True,” I laugh under my breath, then I grab her hand and pull it to my mouth so I can kiss her knuckles. “Thank you.”

“What for?”

“For being a Styles.”

“Aw, aren’t we soppy tonight?” She smirks. “Alright, stop the car.”

“What?”

“There,” she points to a dark empty spot and I oblige. 

Then, before I can even ask her why, she reaches over and grabs me by the collar. Pulling me close to her and gives me a kiss. I kiss her back, and I smile when she bites gently on my bottom lip.

“Oi, oi. Something’s got you randy.”

The next thing I know, she undoes her seatbelt and then rolls her trousers down her legs along with her knickers, fumbling and giggling at the awkward movement. I push my seat back and pull my trousers down. 

“Don’t fall on gearstick now,” I joke as she climbs over to straddle me. “Well, unless you want to, of course…”

She laughs as she lowers herself over my lap. I really can’t believe what’s happening here.

“Mrs Styles, we’re about to have sex in a car. Around the corner from our daughters’ school.” 

“I know,” she says with a smile before she runs her tongue along my neck. “Not our first rodeo though.”

“Oh right, we did it in our Volvo years ago, didn’t we? Thought the suspension couldn’t take it.”

“And it turned out fine. Told you that you needed to have more faith in the Swedes, they’re a reliable breed.”

“I love it when you talk about Sweden.”

“Ikea.”

“Fuck.”

“Meatballs.”

“Billy Bookcase.”

She throws her head back in laughter and I take this as an opportunity to run my tongue along her collar bone. She gasps. I reach down to lift her before I slowly lower her over my cock. We both sigh as I enter her, a long exhalation with our lips barely touching. 

“Viggo Mortensen.”

“Isn’t he Danish?”

“Tomato, Tomahto.”

I smile at my wife and push my hips up, silently telling her that we don’t need to talk about Swedish people anymore. She grabs onto the car seat and levers herself up and down. I look at her in the eye, a goofy smile still plastered across my face.

But then I squint. Light. Bollocks, what’s that? Where’s that light coming from? Crap, that’s bright. Shit. I see the flash of a hi-vis jacket, a knock at the window and someone shaking their head.

Oh sodding fucking bollocking shit wank.

[king-litchi]

Picture source : @Mnine5 (Meijo) in Twitter

Note : actually, it’s not a request but I was bored and I wondered « what kind of person would the SNK characters on the social medias be » - soo here we go

Sorry for my english…I am french and I still learning - please forgive me and protect your eyes 🤧

Warning : (12+) social media can be dangerous

SHINGEKI NO KYOJIN ON SOCIAL MEDIA 💥

Eren

Instagram : friends, family, abs, outfits, travel….king of instagram, super popular on instagram, everyone follow him but he only follows his friends and instagram he finds interesting, over time it has become an influence, Eren has like a million followers on Insta @IamErenJaeger

Snapchat :  « who has a netflix account ? » in story, selfies with friends at all kinds of events, often takes pictures of Mikasa and Armin by surprise, never puts a filter on for him or for the people he snaps, everyone can watch his story and comment (public baby), already received nudes… @ErenJaegeeer

Whatsapp : he is in all group discussions but rarely answers, when he answers it is surely because the conversation becomes funny or because they talk about Jean and then it degenerates (when too far between Eren and Jean everyone leaves the group and they end up « wait…everyone is gone…? ») and a new groupe is created but the fight starts again (others are like « here we go again » )

Twitter :  can easily get upset in a debate, is not afraid to say what he thinks, it is blocked by a lot of people (please take away his twitter), has a large fanbase : Jaegerist (@CaptainFlochForster is the leader fanbase…best to avoid them.) it’s very simple : either you’re wrong or you’re not right @ErenJaeger

Tumblr :  He is not really known on tumblr, follow only his friends and is followed only by his friends. Does a lot of reblog tumblr he likes and post a lot kind of sick jokes like « What is the only dog you can eat? - A Hot Dog » (20 followers…)

Armin

Instagram : sharing photos of his travels around the world, a lot of ocean scenery, monuments like the Eifel Tower, does not put a photo of him or his friends, his instagram is public to share his beautiful photos with the world  (2,5K followers) @ArminVibe

Twitter : Sharing conspiracy theories with other twittos, if by misfortune a conspiracy ends up in TT you can be sure that it will tweet all evening, twitter reveals its dark side, It can deal with all subjects and he’s gonna take his time to make you understand that you’re WRONG @ArminArlett

Snapchat : he doesn’t know why he has a snapchat, if you send him a snap photo he will just look without answering but if you start a discussion he will probably lose your message if you have not recorded (his fault, but he really does not do it on purpose, he does not really drag on this social media)

Whatsapp : quite active on whatsapp, in groups it is the one that stays the longest active, uses a correct grammar, always has time for someone who needs to talk (a colossal heart…)

Tumblr : very popular on tumblr with his famous landscape photos, he also likes to share theories with whoever wants it, has created a discussion group of which Erwin and Hanji are part (these three are often found in several discussion groups…), is subscribed to Annie

Mikasa

Instagram : her account is private (like most of his social medias) if she does not know you be sure that she will never accept a subscription request (and she receives a lot of subscription requests), sometimes post photos of Eren and her, sometimes with Armin and a picture with the whole group together, has maximum 5 publications and has maximum 100 subscriptions and she subscribes to only 25 people (who are they?) and her favorite girl’s band @MikasaAckerman

Twitter : is fan of girl’s band, a twitter just to follow their news, she has already been on top tweet (never knew why and honestly she doesn’t care), her account is totally private but she receives a lot of follow requests (she declines) @MikasaAckerman

Snapchat : does not do a lot of selfie but she likes cute filters, often does black snap with dark quotes « the sun always shines after a dark night » , tends to reply 2 days after being sent a snap (🤡) yet she makes the flames with Eren (already 834 flames) so she just ignores snaps

Whatsapp : she is in full of group discussions, but always reads without answering (”Read”), she often ends up leaving the discussion groups (but there is always someone to add her to the group, often Sasha)

Tumblr : has a fake account, by the way she is super popular, she posts her covers of her favorite songs @Mikasong (fucking great voice), already has a small community

Reiner

Instagram : is totally subscribed to Emily Ratajkowski (but who is not?), was the first happy to know that the likes are hidden, kind to like a lot of ass and body fitness (…<.<) it’s sure Historia blocked him (probably deserved) @ReinerBraun

Twitter : profile photo of a football player, often mentions his friends, and ALWAYS mentions Conny for challenges « Dare or not to ring your neighbor’s door at 3:00am and ask him for sugar », the kind to tweets like « Nicki Minaj or Cardi b ? » @ReinerTheBigBrother

Snapchat : You see this guy who makes a lot of views on snap and who everyone asks for publicity? Yes, it’s Reiner. Become master of the screenshot (already found himself in a complicated situation because of it…this awkward moment where you catch something you shouldn’t capture…), also receives nudes (btw 🤡) he never watches stories @ReineerGg

Whatsapp : he often ends up being ejected from discussion groups for his dubious humour and is often the victim of Ymir’s blackmail (screenshots can be fatal…)

Tumblr : he doesn’t even know what it’s for

Bertholdt

Instagram : has two instagram accounts, the first is his real account, he only follows his friends and is only followed by his friends and the second is a (secret) fan account on Annie Leonhart @fannie-kickass

Snapchat : goes selfie on occasions like birthdays (party) or when he is with friends, likes animal filters, snap everyone and without warning, during the evenings with friends he often finds himself in the snap of everyone without his knowledge and discovers him the next day (sleeper pose) @Berth5

Whatsapp : the kind of person to share a lot of petitions like « Hi, Nolan still needs 300,000 signatures to be able to convince his parents to buy him ps5 » (he can’t refuse to share when asked…colossal heart - like Armin <.<), calm in group discussions (is not the type to get involved in an argument, always remains neutral when the situation degenerates), he often speaks with Reiner privately and gives him advice on how to approach Annie - but by the time he decided to send a message to Annie, she had already deleted the application… (legend says he’s still waiting for an answer)

Twitter : if you identify him in a tweet, it will probably not read it but will still like it (why not), he does definitely part of the commentators of entertainment shows or sports matches @Bertholdt

Tumblr : hesitates to create a tumblr but does not really know what he could talk about

Annie

Instagram : shares his training and does not hesitate to make demonstrations of his techniques, is quite popular on instagram, to a lot of publication, post a photo with his father just after each victory with a caption « It is God who gives » ; already has a good community (320K followers), account is certified

Snapchat : never goes on his account, totally professional use, it is his father who manages his snapchat to post in story the videos her training and his official matches with the caption « Little Rocky 🔥 »

Whatsapp : it ended up deleting the app because too much discussion that ends in spam (it will be for a next time Berth)

Tumblr : her little cocoon where she can be herself, the only social media that has her interest, her tumblr is dedicated to the cat, she is a fan @Kitty-Catnnie , the only person in the group to know her tumblr is Armin with whom she sometimes chat

Twitter : She is still on top tweet despite her « Mikasa vs Annie, who wins ??? », she never tweet but retweet a lot of things especially those of Conny, it happens to like the tweets of commentator Jean

Jean

Instagram : if you want to see his account you must first subscribe, generally accept all requests, send quite a lot of DM like « you wouldn’t have a bandage because I hurt myself by falling in love with you » sometimes succeeds other times it ends blocked ( or screenshots that end up on Twitter) @JeanOfficiel

Snapchat : He was blocked by Mikasa and Eren (not for the same reasons), made the flames with everyone (but the most with Marco), has already tried to snap Mikasa in secret (it is caught in the act), loves selfies @Ihateeren

Whatsapp : the kind who doesn’t look to whom he sends a message and always has the wrong discussion, so becomes panicked « DONT READ!!! » accidentally already sent a nude in a group discussion (unfortunately screenshots have been made) Eren laughed about this story for several months like « How is Jeanbo doing ? He’s grown up since last time? » (he doesn’t talk about Jean…you know…)

Tumblr : he created a popular mini series on tumblr « You prefer…? » and also « If you were… » (the concept is very cool and we can do it with all the subjects), made a lot reblog, reblog ALL covers of Mikasa

Twitter : has been blocked by half of the tweetos sphere after several heated debates, is one of the people who comment on the shows mainly reality TV (he does it with passion) « SANDRA LEAVES WITH ANTONIO W/O MONEY !!!! IT’S A FUCKIIIING JOKE ?????!!!!! #TheVillaOfBrokenHeart2 » or « I’m the only one who hates Mike ? #MonacoShore » , it’s that kind of tweet that Annie likes) @JeanKirschtein

Marco

Instagram : accepts only requests from friends, his account is private, sharing small moments of his life with friends and families, use many hashtag like #AllThatGlittersIsNotGoldEvenJean (but nobody understands what he means)

Snapchat : often comments his friends’ stories, is the kind to come talk to you if you put a dark snap like « cruel world »

Whatsapp : often receives private messages like « Marco, are you there? » it always ends in long discussions (« The confidant ») he knows how to find the right words, it is active and always “available” if someone needs it

Twitter : always makes Jean’s defense on twitter, the kind of person to be part of a fanbase (like HarryPotter), uses hastag LGBT+

Tumblr : super popular on tumblr, he makes headcanons and screenplays of his favorite books, series and movies, has a preference for Yaoi but he can make any request (2K followers) @HalfMan

Conny

Instagram : very very popular on instagram thanks to his account with Sacha where they share their farce and does not hesitate to challenge, they post the pranks they make to their friends (1M followers) they are not yet certified @TwoDummies , he has a second private account :  with just family and friends (arround 55 followers) @hismotherson

Snapchat : the kind of person who does a snap at 2H00 of the mat « who for the flames », has a lot of snap discussions, always makes stories that ends badly like « I’m going to ride a bike » and in his last snap he ends up in emergency… (true story)

Whatsapp : has an unimaginable number of “caption this” for ALL situations, it sometimes created discussion groups (it’s just that it prepares a stupidity) otherwise is not super active but will always answer if it has a message

Twitter : clash with everyone « Your mother was pregnant for 9 months of your big head but you can’t stand a joke ? SHAME » (blocked), king of challenges, makes all the challenges where it is mentioned, retweet all the « Dare or not… » of Reiner, uses a lot of abbreviation, he invented a lot of hastag like #AlphaLevi and people have fun with his hastag

Tumblr : his more than empty tumblr, has no profile photo, and compulsive liker, it’s literally a fake account for liking funny things @JustConny

Sasha

Instagram : receives many comments under the photos of his joint account with Conny like « POTAETOS GIRL WE LOVE U » and « POTAETOS POWER », often pranks and ends up in the account, has a second private instafood account and also post photos with Nikolo @MadamePatate

Snapchat : oh my dear, he gets into a lot of trouble (funny drama) so stay connected for his “Storytime” evenings (we often hear Ymir commenting in the background with sarcasm and Conny’s laugh)

Whatsapp : the kind of person to send in a « bbiad » discussion (I’ll be back in a bit) and never come back in the discussion, written in abbreviation, loves group conversations

Twitter : has disabled twitter because of a "caption” that Conny posted on it (potaetos girl exists thanks to a tweet) but there reactivated a week later, tweets like a dramaqueen « WHAAAAT @netflix SEASON TWO IS COMING OUT TOMORROW BUT NOT TODAY  ???? WHYYYYYYYYY ! I’m never gonna be able to wait till tomorrow to eat my popcorns frkrkellelrlrl BUY ME POPCORNS NETFLIX BUUUY », has already been on top tweet #potatoesgirl

Tumblr : victim of her reputation even on tumblr, reblog a lot of post food and potential future challenges from Conny, often finds “caption this” with her face and always reacts with a more than dramatic surprise « SHIT AGAIN ??! »

Historia

Instagram : receives a lot of DM from people she doesn’t know, never accept them, like all the photos of her friends, you can see her insta only if you subscribe…(15K followers) @RealHistoria

Snapchat : renames all her friends by cute nicknames, the kind that snaps the place where she is or her food with a « have a nice day », queen of selfie, likes the filters

Whatsapp : uses a lot of emoji, hearts have become a punctuation, in group discussions she often comments « Ymir !! » after a sarcastic comment, tries to temper when the situation becomes too stormy

Twitter : avoids twitter like the plague, has disabled her account, reactivates it on occasions before losing interest once again, in fact her account is a fake where she is named @christaLenz

Tumblr : pretty active, committed LGBT+ activist, reblog testimonials, lots of likes, reblog Mikasa covers a.k.a Mikasong

Ymir

Instagram : a lot of photos of Historia (it looks like a fan account), often comments the photos of her friends (unfortunately for them) @Ymir

Snapchat : a lot of selfie with Historia, if a fight or something awkward happens in front of her she will be the first to make a snap (and no scruple to put it in her story), if Reiner is the King of awkward screenshots then she is the Queen for INTENTIONAL screenshots, her memories are filled with compromising photos on EVERYONE

Whatsapp : Do you remember the screenshots on snap? Well it is on Whatsapp that they find their usefulness. Can send them to a discussion group as if nothing had happened but her specialty is a service for her silence (yes blackmail) it’s never anything bad, but enough to piss off the victim (who is often Reiner)

Tumblr : forgot her password and honestly she doesn’t want to find it, why did she tumblr ?

Twitter : she is often upset about debates, often sarcastic in her retweets, « Caption This », always the last word, she is very popular on Twitter, she’s already been on top tweet (because a drama with her identity) @LadyYmir

Levi

Instagram : does not really look at his newsline, Instagram in black and white and very orderly (#GrandArt), his account is public but no one can comment on his photos @LeviAckerman

Snapchat : a block Hanji (too many snap video that turned into spam), to rename all his contacts by nicknames like « Brat Number one », « Brat Number 2 » (etc.) and Zeke « shithead » nothing abnormal, It has already posted a snap of his head in front camera (had not done it on purpose) deleted after realizing…(especially after receiving plenty of notifications), he and Zeke attack each other by proxy story (no one understands…but it’s funny to read)

Whatsapp : is always “offline” or “busy” but will always respond if sent a message, probably blocked Zeke on all social medias

Tumblr : shares his passion for tea and cleanliness, loves the healthy atmosphere of tumblr, has quite a fan, reblog and subscribes to Armin @TeaWithLevi

Twitter : Tweet by accident (in the pocket >.<) like « jf’dyt’rimsjrdy’yfgi » but other thant he almost never tweets, but when he does it is to complain or creepy « today I learned that a lollipop breaks easily like the legs of a clown » (…we don’t want understand), he’s already been on top tweet with the #AlphaLevi like « #AlphaLevi can surround his ennemies. Alone. » ; « #AlphaLevi makes the onions cry » ; « #AlphaLevi can go up downstairs » (we thank Conny for this hashtag) @LeviAckerman

Hanji

Instagram : honestly if you want to do a search on someone you have to check with Hanji, FBI of the net (”the stalker”), its account is public : post photos with Levi (who has to be taken by surprise) mentions everyone on its posts, photo with Moblit during their experiences (like “Break”), its instagram looks cool @OfficerZoe

Snapchat : snap often its scientific experiments (and other) and we always hear Moblit screaming in the background « Hanji-san! Back ! » , they like to comment on the stories of Levi and Zeke, already tried to make the flames with Levi and Erwin (tried without success)

Whatsapp : spends its time doing focus groups before it degenerates, its favorite pairs are Eren/ Jean and Levi/ Zeke but never has a battery

Tumblr : strangely its tumblr is very serious, they share its hypotheses and theories on scientific subjects, they talk about its experiences and future scientific experiments, they post the results of its research, has its own focus group (Erwin is one of them) @DrHZoe

Twitter : @Dr.troublegirl everything is in the pseudo, will accumulate and then become spectator of a massacre, his catchphrase is « you’re implying… »

Erwin

Instagram : it is very orderly and pleasant to look at, post works of art that crosses his path, does not often check his actuality but when he does it everyone is happy…(always the little comment that makes a good mood and a little like)

Snapchat : his story is public but only his “friends” can comment, snap his visits to the museum and snap a lot the streetart but is not really active when he makes “snap discussion” @Eyebrow (account created by Hanji…)

Whatsapp : uses impeccable punctuation and grammar, often discusses with Armin on intellectual topics and confronts their assumption he is the only one who is not part of a discussion group with ALL the characters (just a few groups like Hanji/Levi/Mike), from time to time he receives family photos of Niail and talks about old times

Twitter : activist totally committed to good causes ( #blacklivesmatter) (#justicepourAdama ), retweet the political news, has already tweeted with the #AlphaLevi @ErwinSmitt

Tumblr : pretty active, post on subjects that fascinate him (like history), his tumblr is very interesting and orderly, proposes developed theories and some people (students like Conny) go there to find answers to their homework… @Sasageyo

Zeke / Sieg

Instagram : created an insta to talk with Eren but he got blocked after commenting on one of his photos « Beautiful sweetren, you grow up day by day, signed your beloved brother » didn’t understand why he couldn’t see his instagram after that ; his instagram is very neat : instafood & instabook but doesn’t have many followers because his instagram account is private (like 150 follower) @ZekeJaerger

Snapchat : made stories to address to Eren instead of sending him directly in private (didn’t really understand the concept) that’s how to start the attacks between him and Levi, Eren ended up deleting the app to him

Whatsapp : uses impeccable grammar (also blocked Livai on all its social medias), tends to read without answering « Read since two days »

Twitter :  tweets like « I am now on twitter. » or  « Good Morning Twitter. » and lots of  « Join me on Candy Crush » , he also likes to comment on his favorite culinary shows with a lot hastag, honestly he is one of the people who blocked Eren on Twitter but does not really assume it  « What ? Weird…I must have hit the wrong button… » yes of course… @ZekeJaeger

Tumblr : reblog Erwin’s posts which he finds very interesting, to himself his own theories which he confronts with Erwin in discussion groups, is part of a quite popular team on tumblr “GenshiKyojin”, (with leader Eren Kruger) #uses #too #much #hastag (#like #me) @KemenoNoKyojin

[maddiewritesstucky]

IT’S SOMEONE’S BIRTHDAY!! 😆💕🎉

How do I possibly sum up how loved you are, how special you are, how deeply appreciated and important you are @howdoyousleep3?!

I thought long and hard about what I could give you, what I could do for you from such a great distance, and I could think of no greater show of love than to take the very two things I said I would never do, and use them both to create something extra special smutty for you 💜

😘 So K, angel, light of my life...I give to you the most esoteric thing I will ever write, my first (and likely only) reader insert, definitely my only RPF, I give you...

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Pairing: female reader x douchebag CEvans character we coined ‘Jersey Boy’

Tags: Public sex, fingering, mild degradation / humiliation, dirty talk, hypothetical girl-on-girl, gratuitous use of the word ‘fuck’, not a condom in sight

Based on a dangerously horny WhatsApp conversation that will live rent free in the spank bank for the rest of eternity. Beta credits to @buckyandthejets - thank you for holding my hand on this one 😂

***

“Your eyes better be open,” he rumbles, tequila-slick lips hard up against your ear. 

You’d laugh if you had the breath to do it, if you weren’t strung bow-taut trying to stay off the bouncer’s radar. He’s kicked the two of you out before, more times than you’d admit to, and he’ll do it again if you give him reason enough. 

You’re not going to give him a reason, tonight. 

You’re gonna sit there, tucked away in your favorite corner booth with your mouth shut and your eyes on the stage; perched in your boyfriend’s lap with your back against his chest and his hand stuffed between your thighs, and you’re not gonna make a fucking scene about the fact that he’s knuckle deep in your pussy. 

“She’s good, tonight,” he sighs, all false nonchalance like he doesn’t know how that particular set of curves up on the pole always makes your blood run a little hotter.

‘Roxi’ she goes by on stage, but you can call me whatever the hell you want, when she’s in your lap with her tits in your face.

“She’s always good.”

You stare, transfixed, at the sensuous shift of her body; that sinful rhythm that rolls through her limbs and makes every movement seem like something you should have no right to see.

He hums a noncommittal sound behind you, stroking languid at that spot inside that’d get you in trouble if he went any harder with it. That’s why you know he won’t - he’s not about to risk getting kicked out when it’s so much sweeter to send you spiraling like this, subtle and silent.

“You should learn to dance for me,” his breath falls warm over your shoulder, his lips nestled into the crook of your neck, “put on a show, get me all worked up…”

“You don’t need any fuckin’ help getting worked up.”

The sharp flick he deals to the peaked bud of your nipple makes your breath hitch, even through the barrier of your shirt. 

His hand is working slow and lazy between your thighs, but you know his body is winding tighter for this, too. It’s there in the vague shudder at the top of his inhales, the twitch of his cock inside his jeans. 

“Bet she could teach you some moves,” he hums, squeezing at your hip and your waist; tracing the curve of your rib cage. 

She could teach me a lot of things, you think, swallowing hard for the endless stretch of her legs and the curve of her ass.

You lift your eyes to her face and she’s looking right at you, her gaze flickering familiarity before it drops to the hand buried under your skirt. She smirks so goddamn knowing, and it’s your saving grace that the lighting is already washing your skin in shades of red. 

“Aw, look at that,” that voice at your back coos, “is the pretty stripper smilin’ at you?”

“Shut up.” 

It comes out breathy and insipid, and you feel more than hear the soft, mocking laugh that rumbles through his chest. 

He tucks his chin over your shoulder, presses his smirk right against your cheek as his hand snakes up under your shirt.

“What’s the matter, baby? Don’t you wanna be her friend? I bet you girls would get on real well…”

Your skin flushes hot under his lips, under the maddeningly chaste kisses he’s leaving there like he’s not fingerfucking you in public. 

“That’d be nice, huh? The two of you, gettin’ close...maybe she’d let you touch that body you can’t stop staring at.” 

“Jesus...”

He’s kneading slow and hard at your tits, drawing mindless circles around your nipples and flexing his thighs beneath you, just enough to keep you a little off balance. 

You can almost taste blood for how deep your teeth are sunk into your bottom lip.

“You think about it, don’t you?” he whispers, “You wonder what it’d be like, getting your hands on those curves, maybe getting your lips on hers...That what you want, baby? You wanna give her a little kiss?” 

...Fuck, but you hate how he does this. 

You do wanna kiss her. 

You wanna get on your knees and swap spit with her around the dick currently pressed up against your ass, but you’re not about to tell him that.

“Maybe...” 

“‘Maybe’?” He slips his fingers out of you just to push them back in slower, shallow this time because he’s an asshole. “‘Maybe’ don’t drip like this, sweetheart.”

“Fuck,” you press back against his chest; tip your head back against his shoulder as you suck a shuddering breath in.  

“Yeah, I know this ain’t for me,” he draws his fingertips up through the warm, wet center of you; sweeping figure-8 strokes that kiss your clit and dip shallow inside you. “Maybe I should call her over here, tell her she went and got my girl’s pussy all wet...maybe she’d help you out with it.”

You almost crack, then; barely catching the hoarse cry that’s shocked out of you as he smacks those soaked, taunting fingers down in a tight swat against your pussy. 

Your whole body lights up for it, your cheeks flooding hot and your pulse throbbing to rival the bass from the speakers. 

“Jesus, you can’t just—”

“I can’t what?” His other hand slips up to curl around the front of your throat, gripping you tight under the line of your jaw. “What can’t I do with this pussy, huh?” 

God, your body’s screaming. 

There’s nothing he couldn’t do, nothing you wouldn’t want, and you both know it. Fuck, does he know it...

You cuss under your breath, splitting your thighs wider over the spread of his lap, and he huffs a laugh that catches in your hair. 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“Fuck you.” 

You roll your hips forward against that broad palm cupped between your legs and the grip on your neck tightens; his face tucking in close against yours as he growls right up against your cheekbone.

“Watch your fuckin’ mouth.”

He’s so hard beneath you, nudging his hips up to rub the denim-clad line of his cock against your ass; toying with your clit and pulsing his fingers inside you. 

The cigarette he had before you came out tonight is still clinging to him, making the amber notes in his cologne sing sweeter, and every time you squirm you can feel the chain around his neck rubbing cool against the back of your shoulder.  

“You gonna fuck me?” 

You already know the answer, just like you know you might not even make it home before he’s getting it in you. You might not make it to his car, and you’re nowhere near as ashamed as you should be that it wouldn’t be the first time he’s fucked you in the alley behind the club.

...It might be the first time for something else though, you realize, as he squeezes your hip and tells you to lift up.

“Here?” you hiss, “Are you fucking kidding me?” 

Your eyes frantically sweep the room, your entire body flooding hot as he pulls his hand from between your legs and slips it under you to get at his zipper.

“What, you wanna wait ‘til we get home?” he scoffs like the notion is ridiculous. “You want some fuckin’ rose petals, some jazz playin’? Should we do it missionary?!” 

“God, you’re an asshole.”

You try to put some venom in it, but it’s lost to the fact that you’re pulling your panties to the side; trapping a gasp behind your teeth as the blunt head of him nudges up against you. 

“And you’re about to get fucked in a strip club,” he hums, “so what does that make you?” 

Another place, another time, and you might bite back. You might get up and walk away entirely, just to hear him hit you with that ‘aww come on, baby, don’t be like that!’ 

But right now you’re here, and his hands are on your hips and his cock is pushing into you bare, and you know exactly what this makes you.

Your fingers dig an iron grip into his thighs as you sink down on the length of him, grinding against the heavy stretch of him inside you. It takes your breath away every goddamn time, makes you spread your legs wider like it’ll make a lick of difference to the way he fills you up; immense and overwhelming and so fucking good. 

“Oh my god,” you whimper, circling your hips as you settle your whole weight down onto him, “oh my god.”

“Hey, you take this quiet,” he chides, his arm wrapping tight around your waist. “You start makin’ a scene, I’m gonna pull out.”  

Fuck, if he pulls out you’re gonna put him in his grave. 

There’s no move you can make here that doesn’t send you reeling, no shift of your body or swivel of your hips that doesn’t wind you further up the spiral; not with the way he takes up every last inch of space inside you and then some. 

His voice is a constant rumbling bass in your ear, and it doesn’t fucking help, those coos of that’s it, baby, and find the spot, and make it feel good. 

It doesn’t help when he starts rocking up into you in tiny pulses, when he uses his grip on your hips to angle you just perfect so his cock strokes you right fucking there.

It definitely doesn’t help when his fingertips find their way back between your thighs to drum a soft staccato against your clit.   

“Gonna come?” He curls his body closer around you as you start to shake; as your breath leaves you on a reedy exhale.

You can only nod, screwing your eyes shut and sinking into that building surge of heat. You are gonna come, right here in this room full of people. And he’s never gonna fucking let you forget it. 

“Open,” he commands, low and rough.  

You’re about to open your eyes, but then his fingers are pressing at your lips, and you’re swallowing a soft groan as he stuffs them into your mouth.

“Not a fuckin’ sound, you hear me?” 

You barely have time to nod before he’s jacking his hips up into you faster, rubbing tight circles around your clit to send you careening over the edge.  

You can’t moan, so you suck. Your eyes water, and your thighs twitch, and you shake apart right there in his lap, in front of god and everyone. 

Silently. 

Like the good girl you are.

“Jesus,” he buries his face in the crook of your neck, gasping a weak strangled sound as your body clenches around him. 

His muscles are drawing taut, his thighs and his  stomach tensing. He’s breathing shaky and shallow, and you want him to break; want him to lose it so you can call him a slut later and goad him into giving it to you all over again. 

So you let yourself go boneless in his lap. You tip your head back against his shoulder, and you make damn sure he hears it when you choke out “do it, Daddy,” around the gag of his fingers.

And he does. He comes inside you with his teeth sunk into the flesh of your shoulder and his hand white-knuckling a grip on your thigh. 

It’s objectively disgusting, the half-hour drive home you’re gonna be facing with his come dripping out of you. But you’d put good money on him pulling you into the backseat and licking you clean before you even start the car, so you can’t bring yourself to give a shit.

“Christ,” he shakes his head softly, slipping his fingers from your mouth and wiping them on your skirt. “Can’t fuckin’ take you anywhere.” 

“You could take me home.”

There’s too many clothes on you, too many eyes and ears around you for the way your skin’s buzzing; the way you’ve barely scratched the surface of that rippling need inside you. 

He hums at your back, pulling out of you slow and tugging your ruined panties back into place. “Just you? Or you wanna invite your friend?” 

You can hear the smirk in his voice and you know he’s fucking with you when he cocks his head toward the stage. But you chance a look up there and she winks right at you, and it’s not the worst idea he’s ever had.

“Two girls at once, huh?” You arch a brow at him, incredulous. “You think you got the stamina for that?” 

He holds your stare as he downs the rest of his drink, sweeps his tongue out over his slick bottom lip. 

“Well her shift ends in ten minutes,” he rumbles, “...why don’t we find out?”

***

And there you have it, the beginning and end of my het-writing career. Goodnight and good luck everyone, and the happiest of birthdays to you my beautiful soul sister 😘

[imnotwolverine]

Stay

Henry Cavill x reader one-shot

Disclaimer: NSFW, Angsty nightmarish smut, injury by boiling water, bodily fluids, unprotected sex

Word count: 2.414

Author’s note: I’ve written this fic after a fic request I received from the lovely @wednesdaybraids : “Can I make a fic request, for Henry? Female has many nightmares about Henry leaving for work and ultimately leaving her. One night her nightmares wake Henry, who tries to soothe her and give her "proper" reminder that he's not going anywhere, that he won't return from. Listening to 5 Finger Death Punch's Walk Away, has me in an angsty mood.”

--

‘Please stay.’ You trembled, your voice coarse as you listened to the deafening silence at the other side of the phone line. Was he even there? 

‘H-Henry?’ 

*KGGGGG - beep beep beep*

Did he just..did he just hang up on you? You blinked slowly, eyes burning with anxiety as you removed the phone from your ear, the screen indeed showing that the call had ended. One of many calls. 

Your thumb switched the device back to the main screen, a picture of a shared holiday with him in the background. You, him, laughing like there wasn’t a worry in the world. But there was a worry in the world now. Why wasn’t he answering? Was something wrong? Did something happen? Did YOU do something wrong? Hmmm.. not willing yourself to give in to your anxious, jittery heart, you moved through your small studio apartment to make yourself some tea. 

If anything could calm you when he wasn’t around, it was a nice cuppa cuppa. Keeping your phone close in hand in case he’d manage to call back - which was unlikely as he was super busy with wrapping up filming for his new movie - you flicked on the electric water kettle. 

*Click* 

Strange. Did it just..turn off by itself? Flicking down the little plastic lever again it did indeed shoot back after a second or so. Ugh..darned thing! Pushing your thumb on the lever to keeping it down, you decided to just stay like that until it came to a boil - if electronics failed, manual labour had to step in. 

Talking about electronics. You looked back at your lit up phone screen, your other hand semi-automatically opening Whatsapp to see if he was perhaps shooting a message through there. And, let the devil be speaking, finally you saw the long awaited; Henry is typing…

With your heart beating loudly in your chest, your finger kept on the proverbial trigger, or in this case water kettle, you watched and watched. Waited and waited. 

He removed the message. 

Oh come on! Furrowing your brows slightly, the kettle now coming to a slow boil, you saw it again: Henry is typing… 

Okay, come on now. You just wanted to know when he was going to be back home. That’s all. No difficult question, right? 

*BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP*

The microwave started to call for your attention, even though you couldn’t remember ever having turned it on. Keeping your finger on the kettle lever - darned thing - you reached out to open and close the microwave door, the beeping quieting down again. What was it with these machines today? There wasn’t even anything IN the darn microwave. Sighing you returned your attention to the screen. 

Henry is typing… 

*TRRRRRRRRIIIIINGGGGGGGGG*

‘Oh..come on..’ You turned a little, seeing the kitchen timer jitter over the small kitchen table. ‘How..?’ You frowned and reached your free arm out to catch the timer before it walked right off the edge of the white washed wooden surface. And then the freaking microwave started humming like it was heating something up. And..the clock on the wall started to tick real loud. 

Flicking your eyes back and forth between the hellish orchestra that was starting to build up into a crescendo you barely realised when the water in the kettle came to a boil. In fact you could swear the very house was haunted, a soft scratch at the door from a dog that wasn’t there. The clock ticking and ticking. Louder..louder! You felt yourself suffocate as your ears rung, all appliances in your kitchen slowly coming to life. And then there was your phone, stuck in an endless repeat of  “Henry is typing…” 

That was until his message did finally appear. 

And then.. 

Everything became quiet, your eyes rushing over the black little letters that etched the brightly lit screen. 

Henry: Babe. Sorry for hanging up on you. I don’t know how to say this. I wish I could tell you what you want to hear, but I just can’t. It’s too much. I fear I cannot give you what you want ..and need. And that’s not fair. For neither of us. You are such an amazing woman and I love you so much, so terribly much, that I just can’t say these words to you, to your face. I would just give in again, postpone the inevitable, delay what I have to do. I can’t do this any longer. Us. I’m so sorry. I really am. Henry.

W-what? 

You felt every fibre of your being falter, your legs stumbling and your arms grabbing onto anything to hold onto. Anything to keep you upright, to solidify the crumbling ground beneath you. You grasped and grasped and reached and reached, fingertips flailing in the suffocating air. But none could stop the truly inevitable; your crash down from paradise. 

It was then, a moment too late that you realised what you DID take down with you in your fall. The kettle, hot water starting to spill from its snout, a fountain of hell-water spitting evil burning tears, scorching splatters, followed by a wave that melted away what Henry had not taken away. Your shell of skin and bones. The pain that coursed through your nerves but a mere echo of the ache that had broken your heart in a million pieces. 

Wailing you reached up, more so for your phone than to save yourself. You needed him, you needed him! You..

--

‘Sweetheart.’ A tender hand caressed your boiling hot skin, streaks of hair stuck to your clammy face. Shooting up in bed you were out of breath from the mere act of waking up. At least..this was you waking up, right? 

Gasp, gasp, gasp. Your eyes wide with shock, you saw the absolute last thing you thought you’d see next to you. 

Henry. 

‘Hey..are you okay?’ His brows furrowed in worry as he noticed the absolutely bewildered expression on your face. Slowly shaking your head you took a shivery breath, your lungs still tight and your skin tingling with the memory of the scorching traces of the boiling water that had melted you away moments earlier.

‘Fuck.’ You gasped, unwanted tears starting to spill from your eyes. ‘I..I..’ Your lip started to shiver, the tears almost having a cooling effect on your hot skin. ‘Hey..hey hey..Sshhh..shhh. You’re safe. It’s okay. It’s okay.’ Henry also sat up and pulled you into the safety of his chest, large arms wrapping around your trembling frame. 

‘I thought...oh gods..’ You angrily wiped away some of your tears. ‘..I thought you left.’ 

‘What? What do you mean baby?’ He cupped your cheek and turned your face so he could search your eyes, your large watery eyes, the white of your eyes reddened with the prickling of the salt water onslaught. 

‘Mwuuu..’ You bawled, leaning into his chest, your nose starting to run with snot that mingled with the tears as they drowned you slowly. 

‘Sshhh..baby I’m right here. I’m right here.’ He murmured, pulling you into his warm, naked chest, his breath smelling of musky sleep and night flights. 

‘I thought you left me.’ You finally muttered, quietly, your tears slowly dying down as Henry’s warm embrace and deep musky scent calmed you, his lips pressing small kisses into your hair. 

‘And why would I do that?’ He asked gently, pressing another kiss on your temple before pulling back slightly, watching your eyes as they quickly averted away from him. 

‘I don’t know. You were away, shooting a movie. And I tried to c-call you..and..’ Another sob broke through. ‘..and then you texted me that you didn’t want to see m-mu-me anymore.’ 

Henry was quiet for a moment, eyes searching your face but you kept looking away. ‘Sweetie..hey..look at me.’ You shivered at his words and your lip started to tremble again. ‘I would NEVER do that. Okay? And what a fool I’d be to let you go. Look at you! You’re perfect for me. Inside and out. Hey..ssshh..shhh..baby..come on..’ 

‘But what..what if that changes? Hmm?’ You finally looked back into those big blue puppy eyes, a worried storm raging behind them. He wasn’t used to seeing you so upset. 

‘People change.’ You muttered. 

‘And so we will. But we can change together. Grow together. I want that. Okay? Now...’ He used both his hands to cup your face, thumbs brushing away all those angry tears. ‘..it was just a nightmare okay? I love you,’ He pressed a kiss on your brow. ‘I love you.’ He kissed the tip of your nose. ‘I love you.’ He kissed your lips, delicately, your eyes fluttering closed at the sensation of his pillowy lips filling your heart with his tender promise. 

And ugh..there was something about your sweet prince chasing away your concerns like they were just another monster to defeat. Like the hailing sun, Henry would be there, his caressing, warm fingers willing you to surrender to his touch. You sighed softly and leaned into his hands. 

‘Again.’ You whispered quietly. 

‘Again what?’ - ‘The kiss.’ You said shyly, blinking open your eyelids, long lashes sticking together with the remnants of your tears. Henry smiled. 

‘Just a kiss?’ He looked deep into your eyes, searching for the true answer there. 

‘Mmm-maybe a little more. To make the bad thoughts go away?’ 

‘Want me to SHOW you how much I don’t want to leave you? How much I always miss you?’ He smiled softly, then pulled you back to his lips, his stubble delightfully scratching against your skin as he placed another kiss on your lips. 

‘Mhm.’ You hummed, deepening the kiss, so eager to make him do just that. Show you just how much he loved you. Because no nightmare could ever win from the truth that was in Henry’s eyes, hands, heart, as he pushed you back down on the pillows, the crinkled sheets beneath you becoming a whole new ocean to drown in, writhe in, his lips claiming every inch of your skin until your tears had been replaced with soft giggles. 

‘Hen..please.’ You sniffled, wishing him to come back to you. ‘Please what? Hmm?’ He smiled against your belly button, flicking out his tongue and using his hands to spread your legs a little wider, creating space for him to crawl on top of you, right in between your waiting thighs. 

‘Please take me.’ You whispered onto his lips, lips that turned up into such a devilish smile that you just knew how glad he was to hear those words come from your bruised lips. 

‘You want that, hmm?’ He purred.  

‘I need you Hen..’ You sighed, closing your eyes as you felt him rub his groin into your soaking folds, experimentally sliding down to coat himself in your juices. 

Here you were, naked as the day you were born, your sweet prince having slain the beast, now ready to claim his prize. And oh..he was taking far too long, far too… ‘Please.’ You muled, wrapping your legs around his waist and trying your best to pull him closer to you..inside of you. 

Henry breathed into the crook of your neck, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. ‘Do you now believe me?’ He said, rubbing his cock against you once more, your core lighting up with desire as skin rubbed onto skin. You keened softly and writhed underneath his touch. Underneath his groin. 

Mmm..that delicious friction. 

But you needed more. So much more. 

‘Not enough.’ You breathed. 

Which was enough to make Henry squeeze a hand in between your bodies, his expert fingers finding your nub before you could even fully understand what he was doing. You gasped as wild electricity burst through your veins, the tears and terror fast forgotten as your body trembled by a whole new onslaught of feelings and sensations. 

‘Oh gods Henry.’ You gasped, clawing into his back. 

‘And now?’ He smiled, biting gently in the soft tissue of your neck. ‘Almost..almost..’ You shivered. 

‘Mm..’ He growled and shifted his weight up..up...and IN. 

‘OH GODS.’ You gasped, your open mouth captured between his lips before you could let out any more throaty moans and gasps. With a practised jerk of his hips he was snugly sheathed inside your trembling walls, ready to show you just how unwilling he was to let you go. And he was more than eager to show you again..and again...and again..one thrust at a time, his finger keeping up that much desired friction on your nub, until all you could think and feel was Henry. 

Henry, Henry, Henry. 

The sheets were your ocean as you swam in love, no dream quite managing to touch you like this, make you feel like this. Oh, how great this primal dance was, your limbs entangled and your moans a song that were only meant for his ears and his ears only. A dance you practised often, and gladly. Especially after he had been away for just too long. 

Like he had been now. 

Oh, how eager you both were to close the distance between you two until there was no inch more to gain, your bodies practically one. 

‘FUCK.’ He growled, teeth nipping on your jaw as his steady rhythm became more frantic, more alive, more needy. The restraint of your sweet prince could no longer hold back the bear that thundered deep inside Henry’s chest, the beast ready to chase his end of the bargain. 

‘Gods baby.’ He groaned, hips stuttering as the end was so very near now. You couldn’t speak, could barely breathe, his weight pressing you deeper into the mattress with every rough jerk, every flinch of his muscular physique. Until all you could do was give yourself like he gave himself to you. 

‘Gods I missed you baby.’ He breathed, the vague scent of airplane still hanging around him, bringing with it the memory of how many weeks you've had to miss him. How lonely your shared bed had been.

You could only nod, hands clawing into his back as he spasmed, a final war cry leaving his bruised lips. 

For the slightest moment you were truly one. His body collapsed into you, his heavy breath ghosting over your shivering skin. ‘I love you.’ He whispered, pushing himself back on his forearms once he somewhat regained his strength. But you protested. 

‘No.’ You whimpered, begging him to lay back down on you. Cover you like a weighted blanket. He frowned slightly - ever careful, because he truly didn’t want to hurt you. 

‘Please, stay.’ You whispered. 

And so he did. He stayed. 

--

General Tagsquad: @harrysthiccthighss​ @tumblnewby @magdelen69​ @thereisa8ella​ @mary-ann84​ @darkbooksarwin​ @summersong69 @madbaddic7ed @luclittlepond

[daantaat]

twu s2 thoughts even though nobody asked <3 just a brain dump and it’s quite long so I tried to separate my commentary by categories but it’s still a mess unfortunately. Spoilers under the cut!

General

Overall, I enjoyed season 1 more than season 2. I’ve watched season 2 three times now, and I do think it had some good parts that I definitely overlooked during my first watch (probably because I was preoccupied with Charlotte x Shona 😶😅). My initial reaction to this season was like ‘hmm so that happened and I’m not sure what to think’ but then I rewatched it and tbh I think my complaints are mostly to do with the time jump between seasons and the pacing...

Like yeah there’s only so much to touch on in six 25-minute episodes but!!! I finished the season wanting a bit more, because I thought that some of the things that were introduced were either not explained fully/well or they just dropped off completely and didn’t really have an effect other than me asking questions after the season was over, like it felt as though there were missing scenes— more on that later (though maybe they will be addressed in season 3??? If there is one? How soon do shows get renewed? Idk). Though I guess the audience does have to do some interpretation of their own but still... Idk! Idk. And the assumption that certain events/plot points mentioned in a character’s dialogue would be enough for context had me kinda “:///” y’know? Like don’t tell me, show me?? I’d like the full course please!!

Charlotte x Shona (+ Vish I guess)

I think it was really jarring to see their relationship grow from colleague/business partners to friends and then finally to something more in season 1 only to see them awkwardly handle their unresolved feelings in the workplace with nothing to show for their actual relationship besides a mention of “a week-long gay safari” + the brief flashes of a sex scene that was intermingled with Shona and Vish’s cyber sex session, which in itself is 😐😐😐 like yes it shows that Shona still thinks about/fancies Charlotte in some capacity, but if I were to choose between that sex fantasy/flashback or a flashback of Charlotte and Shona together (like Charlotte telling Shona she was falling for her!!!!)... I think I’d choose the latter? I was just disappointed that we didn’t really get to see Charlotte and Shona being all cute and romantic with each other this season :(

ALSO I wished we got to see more of jealous!Shona; I was super hyped to see that since that scene was included in the trailer. It was nice to see her want the best for Charlotte because she’s “great” but the jealousy part of knowing Charlotte is dating someone great got settled pretty quickly and instead we got Shona evaluating her commitment to Vish and considering the idea of having kids after learning she has a womb of a 39-year-old (😐) and it felt.... like a lot!! It was definitely different from season 1 Shona (”I actually don’t want kids” “I genuinely, I genuinely don’t, you know, it’s not a big deal. Just never have” in 1x04) but if this was to show her dealing with comphet or internalized homophobia or just simply running away from her feelings then... idk what to think of it! I really don’t. I think this is where things could have been written differently because using an affair with Charlotte like that (an affair that we didn’t even get to see besides the stolen kisses at the finance event) was so... ugh, I’m suffering here

Anyway, I think their office scenes were definitely highlights of the season, like Indira and Sharon really gave those scenes their all!! Even though it hurts to see Charlotte so heartbroken and Shona running away from her feelings and hurting Charlotte in the process, I live for the angst lol. I will say though, the 180 that happened after their convo outside Charlotte’s office was a bit “🤔” considering Charlotte had talked to her therapist about Shona for 4 months. Like one hungover feeling dump from Shona and they can move on? Hmm communication is connection, huh. And I guess they were just excited that the article got good results? But how cute that they got each other gifts of their picture in the article??? Wtffff I love my “unfunny and obvious” gal pals even though I’m in pain

As for the voice note... omg, so many questions. Like did Charlotte try to reach out to Shona after she abruptly ended their call to check if she sent the voice note to Vish?? Was that gonna be the first time Charlotte heard Shona say “I love you” to her? What was the reason Shona said “I love you” anyway??? Is she, you know 👀 Also do y’all think Vish will listen to the entire voice note since it was clear it was meant for Charlotte? And who knows maybe Vish’s phone died and he can’t turn it back on or check his WhatsApp or whatever. I’m in denial lmao. But also I think he's a pretty good guy, like when he sent biscuits over to the house when Shona wanted some and him saying what’s the point of having fun in New York when she's not there with him... :/ but he was also a bit weird about her putting a nail in a wall or leaving out the egg duck or whatever as a display item in their house though I suppose that’s not a huge problem so like idk man idk!!! I'm just saying season 3 better not have a time jump I need to see what happens and not just in exposition

Shona and Aine

Love them :) I wish they had more scenes together (if that's possible??) but I liked the somewhat change in dynamic seeing Aine a bit worried about Shona (asking her if she’s okay when she mentions she’s thinking of getting a fringe lmao and again asking if she’s okay when they’re unpacking in Vish’s house). And of course Shona is still very protective and worrisome but seeing Aine just miserably lounging around her apartment over the weekend and getting in her bike accident after Shona wasn’t too supportive of her and James’s business idea made me so sad :( like Shona was so shitty about her not typing up everything in the notes for the meeting! And not even reading James's CV... big yikes. Anyway I thought it was odd that we didn’t get a follow up on the voice note Aine left Shona after getting into the bike accident... like she sounded soooo shaky and out of it :((( what luck Shona was sick and didn’t see Aine with a missing tooth before she got it fixed

Anyhow, Aine was right when she said Shona needs to talk to her and talk about her feelings more!! AND this is part of where my complaint about the pacing and the missing scenes comes into play! I think we should have seen Aine and Shona fighting about Shona’s affair and leaving Vish the voice note. The audience knows Aine cares about Vish and I’m not entirely sure where her relationship with Charlotte stands since Charlotte told Freddie about her being in rehab (on the assumption that he knew, as Aine’s ex-boyfriend) but!!! Just cutting to them on the floor waiting for Vish’s flight to land was not as hard hitting as it could have been

Aine x Bradley (+ Richard)

OKAYYY. Cute!!! I definitely overlooked the signs during my first watch here but yeah they were definitely there during my rewatch(es)!! I quite liked seeing Bradley try to get Aine to stop talking negatively about herself and just try to treat herself better in general like exercising and actually eating off of a plate :’) and the comparisons between Bradley and Richard have me like 👀📝 Bradley saying he likes how much Aine talks vs. Richard’s friend Mark saying she talks a lot and how he wasn’t expecting a whole show to which Richard replies he thought that at first too but she “calms down” like brooo... alright. Anyway Bradley going with her to Tom’s funeral/service made sense since he actually met Tom (though Aine did vaguely talk about him and his drinking problem to Richard in 1x05) and the fact that she told Bradley about PACT and her time there but she didn’t tell Richard (to be fair she was thinking about telling him) hmm 👀 Also Bradley saying “Sometimes it would just be nice to be with someone you could just relax with as yourself” yeah I’m on board with them

Loneliness, COVID, Communication is Connection

Initially I thought these themes could have come across a little stronger but after rewatching... hmm. Yes, Shona was lonely in the house by herself; she even asked Anil to stay for dinner, had her own “pile of shit” boyfriend on her bed (which she did clear off), and told Vish that nobody had time for her. Also after the business meeting she asked Aine what she was doing during the weekend (which Aine also spent alone anyway), but I dunno... oh yeah her hen/bachelorette party was a bit lonely since places were starting to go into lockdown and not everybody could attend, but I think the COVID element entered a bit too late into this season? I’m not sure it really added much in terms of the loneliness. Maybe it did add to the uncertainty of things though

“Communication is Connection” was there but I thought it kind of fell flat as well, but maybe that was the intention— to highlight the mess that a lack of communication can cause? Shona apparently writing off Charlotte’s feelings and them not necessarily talking about their relationship/feelings until their convo outside Charlotte’s office... Shona talking to Seema saying she’s never really asked what Vish wanted (regarding kids) and Seema saying that’s a convo for her and Vish to have... Aine not telling Richard she overheard him and Mark talking about her... Richard not consulting Aine about telling Etienne about them and just getting a new tutor for him... hmm. What does it mean. What does it all mean

Other stuff I’m still thinking about/have questions about

Shona mentioning it’s “annoying” how Aine talks like she’s the only person to ever get sad in episode 1 but still telling Aine she’s fine and then in episode 6 Shona saying she only has two emotions or whatever so she doesn’t need to talk to Aine about her feelings as much -____- istg we need to get Shona to talk to a therapist in season 3!!!

I also liked that Shona, Aine, and Eileen talked more. I’m still a little disappointed that the fact Eileen leaving Shona for three months when she was a baby was not mentioned at all. Yeah it was a secret but when Eileen said “well, you should never lie. You’ll always get caught out.” I— HELLO? If anything, that secret seeing daylight could have had something to do with Shona's sadness + loneliness this season. Also could you imagine that becoming a fear of Shona’s, like what if she doesn’t want kids because she’s afraid of doing the same thing to hers if she has any??

Jim asking Charlotte if she’s straight and Shona immediately going “what does that have to do with anything” or something like that and apologizing to Charlotte after Jim left— I’m not sure how I should have read that??? Did Shona mention to Jim that Charlotte is a lesbian?? When he started to ask, he was still looking at Shona (yeah I’m reading too much into this I know)

Marcia figuring out that Aine and Richard were seeing each other (after he touched her hand on his way out to get a taxi)— what was the purpose? Other than Marcia obviously feeling bad for Etienne, whom I assume she sees as a son of her own (based on the Mom Instinct™ snooping when she was doing housekeeping + her convo with Aine when he came back from France). She didn’t talk to either Aine or Richard about it, just told Aine to have a good time when they were leaving the house to go to their “separate” events. I guess it wasn't her place to say anything, but hm. Speaking of Etienne, it was obvious he had a schoolboy crush on Aine (or at least he was vying for her attention) in season 1 and it’s really too bad we didn’t get to see his reaction to suddenly getting a new tutor or dealing with Aine and Richard’s relationship other than him looking at them hugging while the new tutor was teaching him. He deserved some more screen time this season :(

Hmm so that was all very incoherent but if you made it this far thank youuu <3 here are some last silly comments:

Absolutely loved Julie!! I want to know what she knows about Charlotte and Shona 👀 girl give me the scoop on the last 4 months at the office

Super sad we didn’t get to see Charlotte’s cat (I’m always gonna be vocal about this 🗣🗣🗣) or know who her new girlfriend was but at the very least we were introduced to one of the most important side characters of all: Charlotte’s stompy boots <33333 she really wore those around the office with a blazer/blouse/leather skirt! We love that lesbian attire

[theflowerisblue]

Sábado 20:45

Nora: should we meet up tomorrow to study?

Eva: Amy girl, we missed you yesterday.

Nora: we didn’t like Fran Parra’s speech.

Viri: I did.

Eva: that’s because you’re so cheesy.

Viri: hahahahhaa

Amira: did Lucas say something? [she deletes the message]

Hi I’ve been thinking [deletes the message]

Hello I’ve decided that [deletes the message]

*Voice note*

Hi, Cris. I’ve been thinking that because of all the exams and everything maybe it’s best if I’m off social media. Instagram, WhatsApp, everything. at least until evau is over.

Dani: hi

Amira: hey, what a coincidence.

Dani: how are you?

Amira: fine. I’m pretty overwhelmed with evau. How are you? I didn’t know you got out of practice so late.

Dani: yes, I’m exhausted. Hey, listen-

Amira: how are the kids?

Dani: great! The other day we had a friendly match and we almost did good, but then we didn’t. Well, they ask about you everyday, they really miss you.

Amira: I’ll swing by some time.

Dani: listen, it’s not a coincidence that we ran into each other, okay? I was on my way to your place.

Amira: why?

Dani: because I really miss you too.

Amira: okay then. Now that ramadan is over, one of these days we could go out for a drink or something if you want. As friends, you know?

Dani: I don’t want to go as friends. The more time goes by, the more I think we’ve made a mistake. And why? Because of one argument? I want us to try again. That’s what I was going to say.

Amira: you just don’t know the mess that’s my head right now.

Dani: Okay, if you don’t want to them just tell me. It’s fine. The last thing I want is to put more pressure on you.

Amira: it’s not that. How do you call it, in rugby, when the teams are crashed together and they push each other?

Dani: a scrum?

Amira: that’s it. A Scrum. That’s how I am, the ball in the middle of the scrum.

Dani: alright. Then let’s do this, you focus on your exams because that’s what matters the most. And then if you still want to talk it over, then we can meet up once the evau is over. What do you say about Friday? 7pm at the swings? It’s totally fine if you don’t go, I’ll get it then. No problem.

Amira: listen I...I have to go, they’re waiting for me to start the iftar.

Dani: Okay.

Amira: but I’ll see you.

Dani: yeah.

Amira: bye.

Joana’s teaser

Joana: but you did go out on Saturday, right? I saw you on ines’ story.

Cris: I want to be with you. I don’t want to break up, okay? I don’t.

Joana: being in the hospital didnt help me at all. How long did it take me to throw it all away? A fucking week?

Cris: maybe we dont need to go minute by minute anymore.

[ambidextrousarcher]

The Beat of a Heart

In honour of Doctor’s Day (barely in time), here’s a short story by my hand. It’s based mostly on real-life experiences, most of the scenes based on things I have seen in clinical postings. I am not sure whether I got the main character’s emotions right, but I did my best, so I guess that counts. 

[Image ID: A stethoscope with blue tubing, silver diaphragm and black earpieces lying on top of a blurred keyboard, a blue pad to the left of the stethoscope, with a piece of blank paper pinned on it. On the bottom left, the words ‘The beat of a heart...’ are written in red England Hand font. End ID]

I’m tagging my usual writer mutuals and putting the actual short story under a cut.

My taglist: @ambitiousandcunning @medhasree @shaonharryandpannisim @chaanv @arjunaparantapa @hindumyththoughts @spockswhore @ashsnipes​ @annlillyjose​ @seekerbrave​ @avakrahn​ @a-confusedmess​ @arachneofthoughts​ @paneerlajwanti​ @vishnupada​ @bookdragonfanish​ @iamnotthat​ @foreveres​ @shellweed​ @will-die-without-chai​.

She coughs a little, ignoring the rasp in her throat, wishing she could reach for her water bottle, but is impeded by the sheer number of people between her and the bottle in question. She reaches for the hand rub instead, the familiar smell of ethanol almost soothing for a moment. She blinks, turning to the older man sitting across her, the familiar questions on her lips.

‘Can you tell me why you’re here?’ she asks, noting down the man’s anxiety, trying to make her voice sound soothing. That is all the prompting he needs to launch into his long-winded story. She stretches a little, noticing the line of people in front of her, and the students hanging on each of her words standing behind her chair.

She smiles, looking behind her at the students, gesturing subtly for one of them to take over. ‘Make sure to examine him properly,’ she instructs. The student she had instructed nods, her eyes wide. ‘Yes, ma’am,’ the younger girl responds, leading the man to a bed. She can see the couple of students who had bothered to attend all clustered together, their discussion hushed.

She suppresses a grin. They’ll learn. She herself had. And indeed, one of the the students comes forward tentatively, stopping her peer who had been taking the man’s history, and begins the examination.

She turns to her work, leaving the students occupied for now. It’s a familiar battleground of questions and answers, having to rush the patients because of the lack of time. ‘Ma’am?’ it’s a young gentleman. ‘Yes, sir?’ ‘I am sorry,’ he says hesitantly, ‘I don’t understand what you said.’ She nods. Clears her throat, looking wistfully at the bottle that still is too far to reach, and too empty besides. Looking at it only diverts her attention to the humidity the fan is doing little for, the sweat trickling down her back.

She shakes her head. Do not divert your attention. Her colleague shoots her an understanding look, as she explains the prescription once again. He nods, with a quiet ‘thank you.’ She nods back at him as he leaves.

‘Ma’am?’ She turns once more. If nothing else, she muses wryly, choosing medicine has definitely taught me to multitask. The students lead the first man back to her, their clinical skills enthusiastic if a touch inexperienced. One of the girls excitedly details the sound of an ejection click. She smiles, lending the younger girl her own stethoscope. The girl listens in with the man’s permission in quiet absorption, the ritual being repeated by each of her friends, all of them clearly awed.

The gentleman looks amused at the furore the click of his valves, amplified by his metallic pacemaker, has elicited. She corrects them when needed, leading to a response of all heads nodding at once.

As the clock strikes 1, the students ask for leave to disperse and the crowd of patients mercifully thins. She tells them to go and come back for a short class in the evening, finally leaving behind the pursuit of her elusive lunch and the all-important water.

Her lunch in front of her, her thirst finally quenched, she ruffles through her iPad for information to make the class slides for tomorrow’s discussion. All too soon the short break is over, the slides still unfinished, and she stands, following her friends out of the Duty Doctors’ Room to go on ward rounds. Her eyes flit to a notification on her News app, of a doctor being beaten by goons. She sighs. There is no use pondering over this. I can only do my best. She knows protests do little good, so she hardens her heart and strides out, sliding her phone in her pocket.

Somewhere in the middle of the rounds, the students following her and the senior doctor like ducklings following mother duck, one of them comes running to her. ‘Ma’am,’ his voice is high with fear. She gives him her immediate attention. ‘There’s a man on that bed…’ the boy points, ‘…17, he’s…he’s not really breathing.’

Oh, no. Her friend steps up, running to the patient, while she looks for his details, adrenaline sharpening her senses.

He is a new patient, there is next to nothing on his chart. She can hear a lady wailing and she winces. No one should see their loved one in such a situation, she thinks, even as she squares her shoulders, moving towards the bed, shaking her head at her friend, who had already started CPR. She gently moves the lady aside, trying to console her, even when there is fear in her own heart that the news she might have to deliver could be irredeemable.

‘Doctor?’ asks the lady querulously, ‘you’ll save him, won’t you?’ She looks down for a moment, before meeting the lady’s gaze. ‘We will do our best,’ she replies quietly, grave as the situation is. The lady nods, tears still pooling in her eyes.

She can hear her friend panting. Quiet and quick, she swaps her place with him, continuing CPR. He shoots her a grateful look. She turns her attention to the patient. Between the three of them, they manage to get the patient breathing, she notes with relief. That relief doesn’t last long, though, as she looks the patient over. The catheter connected to him, filled with orange urine, the gross ascites and icterus. He’s on Rifampicin. TB with hepatic encephalopathy. One glance at her friend tells her that he, too, is thinking the same.

The lady with the patient…his wife by the sound of it, reads the grave news on their faces, facilitated, perhaps, by her intubated husband’s gasps of breath. She sinks into the bars of the hospital bed for support. She is at a loss for a moment, as she always is when confronted by the inevitability of death. She kneels then, her hand on the lady’s shoulder, silently commiserating.

When she stands, she looks at the downcast yet awed students and forces a smile. ‘Well,’ she says, stopping them as they turn away, towards the exit, clearly assuming that class is cancelled for the day. She has no intention of doing that, though. They need to learn that life doesn’t stop for those of us still hale.

At the sound of her voice, they turn as one, looking at her with eyes comparable in size to dinner dishes. ‘I’ll just wash my hands and come back,’ she says firmly. ‘You guys go wait in the Duty Doctors’ Room for your class.’ They keep staring at her for a few moments. ‘Go on,’ she instructs. They obey, darting reverential glances at her, talking in hushed whispers. How could someone literally save a life and just go back to normal like that? She hears one of their voices, quiet, dazzled. Despite knowing the truth, the innocent fascination in the boy’s face makes her smile.

I don’t know! She hears one of his friends reply. I want to be a doctor like that, when I finish my degree, when we really become doctors, the girl says, making her smile wider. The younger girl sounds like a young child deciding the goal of her life.  

She tamps down the giddy joy and the grief simultaneously warring inside her, long since used to contradictory emotions, keeping a straight face as she strides to the washbasin.

When she enters the Duty room for the class, they’re discussing the exposure she could have had. She smiles wryly for a moment. This kind of exposure is a fact of life, she nearly blurts out, deciding not to, enjoying their impressed approval for a moment, before she clears her throat.

They all look abashed. She decides to proceed as if the moment before had not occurred, which was helped by one of them asking about the man she had done the CPR on. She summarises the case, gives them a few topics to read on and sends them home.

Before leaving the hospital proper, she circulates the wards once more. The CPR patient crashes again. This time, though they try long and hard, the lose the man, the beat of his heart forever silenced.

Her senior takes responsibility of the formalities, telling her to leave. Leave she does, casting one last glance back at the shell of the man, helplessness overtaking her for a moment.

She checks in with her colleague manning the night shift if she is free to go, fighting the uncanny feeling of déjà vu that comes with every patient they lose suddenly, the realisation striking anew that life goes on.

It is a leisurely walk back to hostel, the cool air soothing on her sweat-soaked shirt. She is thinking once more of the next day’s presentation, the number of slides still left to finish off.

After a quick wash-up and dinner, she sits with her iPad. It is nearly midnight when she finishes her work, fighting her drooping eyes. She checks in her WhatsApp, shooting a quick goodnight to her parents. The statues of her medico friends are full of calls for justice against the recent violence. Her non-medico friends are, as usual, conspicuously silent on the matter.

Ah, well, she thinks, it’s not like armchair social media posts can actually do much. Besides, this is not an issue that they face. Why judge? They’re probably thinking the same I do.

 She debates posting a status of her own then decides against it, for again, social media can only do so much. The bitter truth can’t be changed.

Her mother’s voice echoes in her head, what mama had said the last time she had shared news of such violence. At least they didn’t kill him. You people get a lot of respect, you know?

She shakes her head, banishing those thoughts. She doesn’t want to have nightmares. Besides, tomorrow, she has to report for ID duty. She needs to be well rested for that. So she thinks of the awestruck students, the young girl’s voice playing in her head. I want to be a doctor like that, she said, when I finish my degree.

She falls asleep with a smile on her face.

When she is leaving for duty the next morning, she loops her stethoscope along the back of her throat, the diaphragm of the steth sitting firmly over her own beating heart. Time for another day at work.

Some terms that might be unknown:

Ejection Click: In some patients with heart problems, there is some backflow of the blood when the heart contracts. This backflow is heard as a ‘click’ sound when a stethoscope is used. This ‘click’ is amplified if the patient has a prosthetic metallic valve, as in case of the old gentleman in the story who is based on a real patient.

Rifampicin: A drug that is part of the four-drug regimen for Tuberculosis (TB). It increases the effect of another drug in the combination, Isoniazid, which is toxic to the liver. India has a huge number of cases of TB, being one of the TB-endemic countries. The orange urine is one of the most noticeable side-effects of using this drug.

Hepatic encephalopathy: Loss of proper brain function due to inability of liver to remove toxins. The patient on whom CPR was administered was in a coma due to this condition. He, too, was based on a real patient.

Ascites: Swelling of the abdomen due to accumulation of fluid in the abdomen.

Icterus: Yellowing of the sclera  (whites of the eyes) and bulbar conjuctiva, a hallmark of jaundice.

The doctor here makes the diagnosis of TB with drug induced hepatic encephalopathy because of the ascites and icterus combined with the rifampicin usage and the coma. It is an unfortunately common condition here. 

I just noticed that I haven't clarified ID Duty. It means Infectious Diseases ward duty. In this case, I meant COVID-19 duty, though it may not always mean that.

[frywen-bumbles]

The Way to a Man's Heart Goes Through His... Cat? Ch1

Fandoms: The Witcher

Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg

Word count:  1545

Chapters: 1/? 

More tags in AO3

***

DAY 1: Jaskier meets the biggest and meanest cat he's ever seen

Jaskier looks at the house and checks he has the right number again before approaching. The house is nice, not as nice as some of the others he has been in, but a regular two-storey house in a nice neighbourhood. Nothing remarkable which makes the secrecy of the gig more baffling.

Some people liked their privacy Jaskier guesses as he tries to spot a flowerpot without looking too suspicious. The flowers have almost wilted but Jaskier doesn't reserve them a second glance as he fishes out the spare key under the pot.

He checks the notes from the owner again from his phone.

<Use what you need in the kitchen. Clean sheets on the bed. No guests, second floor off-limits.>

<Roach hates people>

He could deal with cats who hate people. Animals love him, he just has to be patient and offer peace and love. And food. Food is very important.

He opens the door carefully, not sure if Roach is the type of a cat to try to squeeze her way to freedom every chance possible. He slips through, his bag in front of his leg to protect his pants in an event of a clawed attacker but, to his relief, there is no cat in sight.

He leaves his shoes and bag at the entryway and makes his way to inspect the house. The ground floor consists mostly of an open plan kitchen and living room, the backdoor in the kitchen leading into a small yard.

The living room looks like it's from a magazine, only the small decorative items usually on display are stuffed haphazardly in a cabinet, and by the looks of it, forgotten there. But what draws Jaskier's attention isn't the fine furniture. No, it's the gigantic cat tree in front of the window facing to the street. Jaskier eyes the cat tree warily. Either the owner is very enthusiastic about their cat (Jaskier has seen those, usually ladies in their middle ages or older) or the cat is a giant. No normal cat requires a cat tree that large.

He ventures further into the house, phone in hand and selects his best friends number.

"Hi, Essi, it's me. I arrived safely, there are no axe murders in sight. Yet."

"One of the days there will be and then I can tell you I told you so," Essi's voice is amused despite her admonishing words but she turns serious as Jaskier walks up the stairs, trying to find the bedroom, "You need to call me every day. If you won't I'll come storming over with Priscilla and that won't end pretty."

"Yeah, yeah, Little Eye. I got this, don't worry." The first floor seems as devoid of a cat as the ground floor. There are three doors Jaskier guesses lead to two bedrooms and a bathroom. All doors are ajar so he peeks through the first. A study. A boring one at that. Bookshelves line all the walls, and two decent sized monitors sit on the desk. No laptop.

It doesn't surprise him, the owner said he had to leave for work for at least two months. But why did it have to be so boring?

He glances at the bookshelves expecting to find more boring stuff.

What he finds are two enormous golden eyes staring down at him.

He would deny shrieking like a little child to his dying day.

"Jaskier?! Julek?! Are you okay?! What is it?" Essi screams at him.

"Fuck, fuck, cock, bloody Melitele, fuck, that is the biggest fucking cat I have ever seen, is that even a fucking cat, what the fuck?"

"Jaskier what the fuck? You can't just scare me like that, what the fuck are you talking about?"

"That thing is not a cat. No cat is that big. Nope. Exotic pets weren't in the deal I'm not having this, no."

The long-haired tabby stares at him and waves it's tail in irritation, hitting it against the bookshelf with a series of thuds.  

"Um, yeah... goooood kitty, I'll just... go..." Jaskier runs from the room all while listening to the wheezing laughter of Essi from the other end of the line.

"Are you sure it's not a Maine Coon or something?" Essi laughs.

"Do you think I haven't seen Maine Coons? That cat is a monster!" Jaskier hisses while keeping a keen eye on the door of the study.

"You know for a fact there are monsters in the world and you're scared of a little cat? Sure, catboy. Have fun with your monster cat."

The cat (Roach, Jaskier's brain helpfully supplies) walks out of the study and stares at him unimpressed. Now, on a reasonable height, it clearly is just a very large cat. Sure, it's by far the biggest cat Jaskier has ever seen, but a normal longhaired cat none the less.

"Please, don't tell Pricilla about this," Jaskier beggs as he eyes the cat and blinks slowly in hopes of gaining the enormous cat's trust.

"Yeah, of course, I won't, why would I do that?"

"You're telling her as soon as this call ends aren't you?"

"Oh, don't worry about it, I already texted her," Essi mocks him gleefully.

"Traitor!" Jaskier hisses.

"Love you too! Call me tomorrow!"

"I will," Jaskier admits defeated, "bye."

He stuffs his phone in his pocket and looks at Roach, "I guess it's just you and me then, girl."

Roach screams at him.

"Umm, yeah, you're going to have to be a bit more specific than that."

Roach screams again.

"You could meow like a normal cat, you know?"

Jaskier has never seen a cat look as unimpressed with him as Roach is at the moment. She gives him a wide berth as she heads for the stairs to the second floor. And screams.

"Sorry, that's off-limits for me, you're on your own." Roach looks him up and down before she heads upstairs. He can hear her digging around and meowing pitifully. Something crashes to the floor.

Still, off-limits, he reminds himself and turns to investigate the rest of the house. Bathroom, bedroom. Both void of any personal belongings.

It's all fairly boring, all personality stripped, no pictures in sight. There's a sort of detachment to the whole thing Jaskier finds unsettling.

He steps to the back yard, making sure that firstly the door is unlocked and secondly Roach is nowhere in sight. He looks up after closing the door and blinks in surprise.

The whole yard is one giant catio, reaching all the way to the first-floor windows. The windows are connected with planks, leading to a wooden ladder. In the yard is a small vegetable garden and a shack Jaskier guesses contain the gardening tools.

"Well then... I guess I don't have to worry about leaving the back door open." He eyes the garden again and makes a vow to try to remember water the vegetables. He's not sure he'll succeed.

By dinnertime, Jaskier has settled down, unpacked his belongings in the bedroom and claimed a space on the desk in the study. He's putting his shopping away in the fridge (where all he found was cheap beer and snacks clearly meant for a child, thanks for the hospitality) when a demanding meow sounds from the other side of the kitchen.

"Oh, hello Roach. Is it time for your dinner?"

Another meow.

Roach walks in front of a cabinet and screams, as demanding as before.

"Is that where your food is? I'll be right with you, sweetie, just wait a moment..."

Another scream.

"Yeah, yeah..." Jaskier mutters as he tries to find some logic to where everything is in the kitchen. Like it was organised by some crazy witch who never cooked other than their evil potions.

A loud metallic bang makes Jaskier jump in the air and hit his head on a cabinet door.

"Roach?! What the fuck was that?" He looks at the cat who sits next to her empty bowl which sits upside down on the floor, a good half a metre from her tray.

Meow.

"Yeah, okay, food! You'll eat me soon if I don't feed you..." he mumbles and goes digging the cabinet Roach pointed to him.

Roach trills and screams and attacks the cup as soon as Jaskier puts it on the floor. Roach doesn't eat, she just keeps her head in her bowl and stares at Jaskier, a low growl rising from her throat.

"Right, of course, I can't watch you eat. Don't worry, I don't want to steal your food." Jaskier takes a step back. Roach eyes him warily, but apparently, he's far enough she starts to eat her food, selecting carefully the tastiest bits first.

Jaskier digs his phone from his pocket and snaps a selfie of himself, Roach happily munching away in the background. Or so he thought, as soon as he looks at the picture more closely he can see the cat staring at him like it wants to eat him instead.

He picks up the right conversation in WhatsApp and hits send before he turns back to Roach.

"You know, you have to start to trust me soon, I have to brush you so you don't get tangles and mats in that gorgeous hair of yours."

Roach doesn't look impressed.