#in less than three months after breaking up they had me talking to a psychic boyfriend | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

delicrieux · 3 years

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☆ﾐ 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚊𝚢 “𝚘𝚑”

PART 24: OH...HI

after months and too much longing, you finally meet corpse in person.

─── corpse husband x reader ─── soc. media + written fiction! ─── word count: 3.8k

author’s note: we did it joe.

ultimate masterlist. ҉ myso masterlist ҉ previous. ҉ next.

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You woke up. That’s a lie, you didn’t sleep. Too much to plan, too much can go wrong and you’re...Not nervous, no, that’s not quite accurate. Excited. Yes, excited, so excited that two Redbulls and three coffees (so far!) make you jitter around the apartment like a butterfly that can’t find a flower bed to rest on.

Rae has almost had enough of your...random spurts of energy. So what if you ran a few laps, climbed a few tables, sang karaoke a bit too loud and yet another noise complaint had been issued? It arrived exactly an hour after your concert via your displeased landlord. Rae was, of course, the one to apologize because you were too busy trying on miniskirts. After that ordeal was taken care of, no sooner than Rae shut the front door with an exhausted sigh, you emerged from your room clad in your prettiest outfit. You present it to her with a bright smile and flourish.

She is not impressed.

“Will you quit it?” She questions, arms crossed over her chest. Your grin does not damper -- you’re used to such harsh treatment, having accepted her backhanded way of showing love long ago. Instead, you flick your wrists, showing off an ungodly amount of rings. You’re not certain of the exact number because you can’t count, “Y/n.” Her voice gains an edge, but you persist. Show off your shoes that have cute lil’ charms that jingle jangle not unlike the spurs on a hot cowgirl’s boots, “Y/n.” Her eyes narrow in displeasure, her stern tone making you falter in your dramatic stride down the imaginary catwalk, “Just stop.”

Okay! So maybe you’re not as used to her coldness as you thought you were. Your expression sours, and you quit the act, even if a part of you - one you barely fight off, goodness, you almost perish in that battle - wants to continue but even more annoying. As if you could somehow block her rationality with manic energy.

“What?” You ask, trying to keep the mood lighthearted despite her squared shoulders and tight frown, “I’m just having a bit of fun!” You say with a joyous little laugh, reaching for a glass of much needed water.

“No, you’re panicking.” Her words make the glass still, hoovering by your painted lips, but it’s short lived. You take a greedy gulp and it tastes fresh with a pinch of lipstick, “Look, I get it...” She shakes her head softly, “You’re meeting the guy you like for the first time, you jumped the gun straight to dating and now you’re...Anxious. It’s normal, you know.”

“But I’m not anxious.” You persist, and you really do mean it. You don’t like how she looks at you as if you’re the one that’s misunderstanding your own feelings. You set the glass down with a soft clink, heaving your own sigh, “I’m not, I’m really happy actually.” You explain softly, “It’s just...my way of dealing with it. I’m more... Worried about Corpse, to be honest.” You add, a tad quieter, “But, like, it’s all good!” You exclaim, strolling up to her and landing your hands on her shoulders, “I prepared.”

And it’s true! You had spent the night scouring the depths of the internet. Read every WikiHow article on how to deal with someone with extreme anxiety, how to not make things painfully awkward, and how to talk to boys (just in case. The last time you stumbled upon that particular article was way back in middle school when you had a crush on that one guy you saw in your school’s cafeteria every now and then. Naturally, that led you down the rabbit hole, and according to WikiHow’s How To Tell If A Boy Likes You guidebook, you found out that he was absolutely enamored with you because he glanced in your direction, like, two times. Safe to say that love story went nowhere. The point still stands).

So you forward all of this information to Rae, nestled in her bed whilst she lazily folds her clothes; clarify that you know that nothing much can happen, and that this whole situation is delicate, and that you must tread carefully because you don’t want to overwhelm him. She pauses her actions, glancing behind her to watch you staring idly at the ceiling, so peaceful, so thoughtful. And it’s not the eerie calmness you had displayed during your murderous spree in the last Among Us game, no, it’s just...quiet understanding.

“I’m actually impressed.” She says. You merely hum, counting the dust slowly descending in the cascading light, “You’re not as clueless as I thought.” Your lips quirk into a shy smile at the compliment- “Or as tactless.” - and turn downward just as quick.

“That implies that I’m always tactless.”

“You are.” She states and you sit up, a soft frown pinching your brows, “Not like, in a terrible way. You just...don’t think about your actions. Or the repercussions. You just know that you can get away with everything.”

“And I can!”

“That doesn’t actually mean you should do something just because you can. You know I’ll always support you. Literally everyone will always support you. But I’m not gonna coddle you. You’re just...a lot. Online and especially in person. But the fact that you’re actually taking this seriously and taking his feelings into consideration is...well, the bare minimum, but still, good job.”

...Much to think about. You don’t like thinking, it makes your head hurt. Though, that could just be the lack of sleep. You cross your legs and plop your head in your hand, tired eyes blinking owlishly, “Do you...think I should change what I’m wearing?”

Prompted by your question, she gives you a careful once over, “I mean, it’s signature you.”

“Signature me is a hoodie and some sweatpants.”

She smiles, “Then go change. Your outfit is a bit distracting for just...Hanging out indoors, no? I’m sure he wouldn’t mind either way, though.”

“I just...” You bite the inside of your cheek, mulling your words over. Truly, the last time you were so attentive was when you went Psycho Mode in Among Us, which, to be fair, wasn’t that long ago. Perhaps there wasn’t a chance to let your mind dull - it’s almost as sharp as your butterfly knife, “I figured that if, like,” You vaguely motion with your hands, “if I be, like, all over the place, and wearing something cute, he’d be, like, distracted? And less anxious? No...awkward silence?”

“First meetings are always awkward, it’s natural.” She chimes, “I mean, if you’re so nervous-”

“I’m not nervous!”

“-then just don’t overthink it. I know it’s easier said than done, but you’re you, and Corpse is Corpse, and he likes you for who you are, and even if it is a bit awkward, I’m sure it’ll, like, blow over in a second. It really doesn’t matter how you look, Y/n.” She grins, “Plus, it’s not like you’re greeting him in your underwear or something.”

You will not admit that that was your plan B, not when you just landed in her good graces. You nod, “...I’ll go change.”

And so you do. Pick out your cutest hoodie and some sweatpants. Put away your jingle jangle shoes with a broken heart, instead of them donning your fluffiest socks; slip off some rings because they keep falling off of your fingers. It’s almost like all of those transformation scenes in rom-coms that are still popular for some reason, except you’re hot before and after, so there’s really no transformation at all.

Now you wait. Just wait, all other activities are excluded from this. Rae comes back to find you sitting on the edge of your bed, back straight, hands neatly folded on your lap. She compares you to a Sim’s character and you allow her. After mercilessly mocking you and snapping a few pictures - for blackmail, you assume - she helpfully informs that she is leaving because she doesn’t want to get in the way, but your psychic abilities which you acquired just now tell you that she simply doesn’t want to witness this train wreck. Not that it’ll be a train wreck, it would be if you were nervous, but you aren’t.

You just aren’t. You fidget with the rings adoring your hand; toy with the hem of your hoodie; bounce your leg up and down. It’s just caffeine, okay?! Fuck this, Twitter time.

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[ADDING A MUSICAL INTERMISSION, LISTEN TO THIS IF YOU WANT (I WROTE THIS CHAPTER WITH IT IN MIND)]

The waiting commences, only now it somehow feels more intense. The sun is setting, and you really want to be one of those cute girls that fill their camera roll with pictures of the sunset and the roseate sky, but your hands are trembling and holding up your phone feels like too much of a hassle. You’d rather just sit there, alone in the apartment, in the pin-drop silence, extremely uncomfy and tense, as if waiting for the end of the world.

A notification sounds off and your life flashes before your eyes. Hastily, you check it, a sticky mixture of delight and something else, something unpleasant constricting, making your stomach churn. He’s here. Holy shit, it’s happening. You order your anime plushies to stop fucking panicking, they’re like, totally embarrassing you at the moment! You wonder if they have their own little group chat, but instead of Totally Spies it’s called Total Embarrassment. Yikes, okay, that was harsh. After a good scolding, and a heartfelt apology for getting so heated, you smooth down the non-existent wrinkles on your modest outfit, and quickly waddle over to the electronic apartment thingie something something... you unlock the main door, okay!? This is for some reason feeling very not cash money, so you break out in a little dance number.

The doorbell does not sing that shrill, unpleasant tune; rather, there’s a soft knock on the apartment’s door, and you pause your shuffling, your renegade, and perk up at the imposing future hidden behind a slab of wood. Your heart beats a melody all on it’s own, and it’s loud, uncoordinated, like a musician that’s still familiarizing themselves with their instrument. And there’s that knock again, as uncertain as you’re feeling, and your clammy fingers latch onto the lock and turn it and now there is no more hiding - such a possibility is no longer an option; no more sporadic dances or sitting in disheartening silence and letting your thoughts weight you down.

You’re not quite sure what you were thinking about before you saw him in the threshold, head tilted slightly, fluffy dark hair obscuring the bags under his eyes, hunched, one ringed hand clutching onto the strap of his duffel bag, the other frozen mid-air, ready to knock one more time lest you didn’t hear him the first two. No, truly, you can’t, for the life of you, remember what all the fuss was about.

“...Oh.” It’s a soft sound, so quiet, but not surprised, rather...relieved. Faint shimmers of a smile reach you, hidden behind a black face mask - the panini chic! You must stan a respectful king - but there’s something about the way he looks at you that makes you question it’s sincerity. He fails to return your gaze, rather choosing to stare somewhere over your shoulder. His eyes seem unfocused. Apprehensive. A wild thought occurs to you that he expected you to trick him somehow, and wild thoughts invade the land of your mind often, but never in such a way. You clutch the handle just a bit tighter.

His hand retreats to his side, up to his mask and you think he’s about to unhook it but he stills, and there’s panic there, as if he had been moving unconsciously, as if he hadn’t realized what he’s doing. He plays it off by idly scratching his cheek, muttering an equally quiet, “Hi.” to fill the silence.

Finally, your WikiHow knowledge can come in handy, along with your common sense, “Hey, pretty boy.” You mutter, pulling away from the door, “Make yourself at home!” You slide to the kitchen, your socks acting not unlike ice-skates cutting through the Arctic frost covered ground. You hope that with you occupied and not watching him as closely he’ll feel slightly more at ease.

You’d like to hug him. Kiss him, definitely. But if he’s so uncomfortable that he can’t bring himself to shed his mask in your presence, then there’s really nothing you can do.

You hear the door shut and lock behind you as you pull out two glasses from the cupboard, humming a song you can’t quite recall the name of. You ask him if he’d like something to drink - it was a short flight, yet a flight still, and planes always make you thirsty, and there you go talking his ear off. You end abruptly, but smoothly, like a true diplomat; if he notices, you have no way of knowing - he doesn’t provide even a hint. He’s hard to read, and literature was never your best subject. But you’re trying.

He sets his duffel bag down on a nearby chair, “I, uhhh,” His voice is raspy and low, another indication of a pathetic lack of sleep, “I...got you something, uhh, I dunno-dunno if I should...give it now, or?” He sends you a questioning glance, but it doesn’t linger. Your offer of drinks is momentarily forgotten, though you hardly mind.

You grin, “Sure! I love gifts, gimmie gimmie.” You make grabby hands, and he snorts, and it would’ve sounded endearing if he didn’t sound so fucking tired. He unzips the bag, and you pad your way to him, mindful of personal space (something you, in most social situations, chose to pretend does not exist). You note his hands quivering lightly, just like yours had in the agonizing wait, but he hides it well. You wish you could hold them. You’re afraid to try.

He pulls out a black hoodie and you recognize the custom art on it instantly - it’s his merch. He presents it in awkward flourish, murmuring a “Tadaaaa” under his breath; your heart skips a pleasant beat, and you have to bite down on your lower lip lest you smile appears too big. The fabric is soft under your fingers, and you accept his gift with a dramatic bow, and he turns his head away with another little laugh. You’re chipping away at the ice around him; it’s a slow process, but it’s worth the effort.

Truly, your own hoodie is shabby in comparison - icky, how could you have ever worn such a thing in the first place?! You’ll have to do extensive research in fashion magazines and Printerest so such a slip-up may never happen again. You discard it hastily and put his on instead; it smells like washing detergent with hints of cologne, one you instantly pin point belonging to him, “It’s, uhhh, it’s mine? I hope you, uhh, I didn’t have any spare ones, so-I hope you don’t...mind.”

He’s finally looking at you, but he’s still tense, still hesitant, and you shake your head softly, “No,” You admit, “I like it even more now.” You pull on the hood, toy with the strings and yank them quickly; your face is concealed, save for your nose, “Comfy.” Your commentary is unmatched, best of it’s kind - eloquent and effortless, much like yourself.

Another small laugh reaches your ears, and it sounds a bit livelier than the others had been. Success!

“Stop that.” He says gently, and you see moving shadows; his hands loosen the strings and your face is revealed to him once again. He’s close now, and he doesn’t move away; his hands come to rest on your shoulders, warm even through layers of fabric, “I came all this way to see you, don’t hide your face from me.”

Your eyes narrow playfully, your finger rapidly tapping away on his clothed cheek, “What’s all this then? Hm? Hm?” Instead of swatting your hand away, which you figured he’d do, he complies and finally tugs that fucking mask off. Your breath catches in the back of your throat and you halt your ministrations - truly, seeing him smiling on screen is nothing compared to him smiling in person. You can’t quite contain yourself any longer - your excitement might burst out in another dance number otherwise - as you throw your arms over his shoulders and pull him flush against you. He’s quick to return the embrace. Maybe it was all the encouragement he needed.

“Wow,” He mumbles, only slightly offended, “so I finally show my face to you, in person, and you just-...you just look away?”

“I’m hugging you, dumbass.”

“...Touche.”

Things fall into place after that, like a dozen puzzle pieces fitting together. He won’t let you go - he doesn’t want to. You put on some music, something easy and indie and that doesn’t require too much effort to listen to, as the two of you contemplate what to eat. Cooking by yourselves was dismissed due to the unstable relationship between yourself and cooking utensils. The stove and you had had a falling out recently, but this feud had started long ago, back in pre-school, with only short intervals of friendship. He listened to your extensive explanation absolutely enraptured and only moderately confused.

So you settled on ordering pizza from Domino’s. You have no trouble calling or receiving phone calls, because you have no trouble doing anything, and he admitted that he only really calls you because he gets too anxious to do more, so you’re tasked with ordering the food. You accept this mission with pride.

You stand tall, gazing out the window into the wild California domain: massive buildings and towering eucalyptus trees, bleeding skyline and the sun slowly getting swallowed up by the ocean. Corpse looms behind you, with his arms snaked around your waist and his chin resting on your shoulder, looking at you through the corner of his eye. You wait patiently for the underpaid, overworked staff member to pick up, and once they do, you have the audacity to grin brightly and chirp, “Hi! I want pizza.”

Conversations flow smoothly, and you make hot chocolate - because you are hot and you crave chocolate - and he insists he wants one too, because you want one, and you don’t hesitate to overflow his cup with whipped cream and an ungodly amount of miniature marshmallows. A premature heart attack, just for him. Whoever said romance is dead has clearly never met you. When the doorbell chimes, you’re astounded that an hour flew by so quickly.

After the delicious meal, the movie night must commence. So what if you watched 10 Things I hate About You yesterday, you insist that you have already forgotten the plot. You lead him to your room and he tries not to stare, but can’t help himself. Pretty boy in a pretty girl’s room. His eyes linger on the massive posters of Chrollo on your walls, and you sense his displeasure rolling off of him in waves.

“What?” You huff, fluffing the pillows, “You don’t like my husband?”

He jabs his finger into his chest, into the spot of his heart, “I’m your husband.”

“Side hoe, then-”

“-No.”

You didn’t lie when you said you love to cuddle, or that you’re clingy. It’s a good thing he’s just as clingy as you are, because when he lays down and you latch onto his side. He doesn’t complain, rather wraps his arm around pulls you close. His thumb draws lazy circles on your side; with your head resting on his chest, you feel each rhythmical rise and drop.

The opening credits play on the projector, the room dark enough for your pile of plushies to look like a whole fucking human just standing in the corner. A ghost! Sucks for it, you’re not scared. You feel safe. Protected. So comfortable in Corpse’s hold that you’re honestly wondering how did you manage to be so long without him. To think all of this started when Sykkuno followed you on Twitter. What a lucky accident.

“Can I ask you something?” Your voice cuts through the bopping 90s soundtrack and Julia Stiles’ voice. He hums. You take it as a yes. Tilting your head upwards, you find his eyes again, a thorn of displeasure picking you as you note that that apprehension you had seen previously is still very much there, “...You really wouldn’t date me if I was a worm?”

His chest rumbles with a laugh and his lips split into a grin, “I would.” He presses your side for emphasis, “I really would.” He repeats, reassuringly. You, however, are not convinced.

“But I’d be a worm.”

“I know. We’d... roll around in the dirt together, or something.”

“But you’d be human.”

He frowns softly, “Why couldn’t I be a worm, too?”

“Those are the rules.”

“What kind of shitty fucking rules are those?”

“I dunno, it’s like the Thanos snap or something. I just turn into a worm. I’m the only one.”

“That’s fine.” He smiles, “I’d take you out on a fishing date or something.”

Shocked, offended, and heartbroken, you hit his chest and pointedly turn away with a pout, which he finds very funny for some reason, but you fail to see the humor anywhere except the movie. Despite the fact that he’d sacrifice you for a fish, you smile shyly and close your eyes. He did say you would take a nap together, and if he really thought you’d stay awake for movie night, well, then he’s just an idiot. You had decided you would fall asleep as soon as he was next to you. It’s a miracle you managed to stay awake for so long.

“...Sleeping already?” You don’t appreciate his teasing tone.

“’m not sleeping...” You murmur, “’m resting my eyes.”

“Sure.”

You’re not quite certain (of anything, really) how much time drifts by, but you’re nearly lost in unconsciousness, in the warm, nice feeling that comes along with him like a cloud. Perhaps he thinks you’re asleep, he has to, else he wouldn’t say anything at all, “You’re stuck with me now, you know.” It’s such a soft admission, riddled with the same notes of anxiety that always prevail in his speech; with the same hopeful sincerity he had been gazing at you the whole evening.

Moving your lips is such a hassle, but you manage, “’m...stuck...” You mumble, “’m...stuck...what are you doing step-”

“No!” He laughs, and your lips quirk into a lazy smile, “No, no, no. Just no. Do you talk in your sleep?” You fake snore at that, loudly, “You’re like a little dragon.”

“...Fuck you.”

“Fine, a kitten, then.” That’s better. You feel something chapped, but soft, press onto your forehead, “Goodnight, Y/n.”

God, you’re so fucking happy. Does he know how happy you are? How happy he makes you? But you’re too tired for screaming and flailing around, too tired to even crack an eye open. You want him to know all the same, “...like you.” You whisper, but you don’t know if he hears you over the movie, “...I like you.”

His reply is instant, breathless, “I like you too.”

Good, you want to say, and maybe you do - can’t tell anymore. Sleep takes you too quickly.

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tags (in italics is those i couldn’t tag! make sure all’s ok w your settings!) : @littlebabysandboxburritos - @fairywriter-oracle - @tsukishimawh0re - @ofstarsanddreams - @bbecc-a - @annshit - @leahh19 - @letsloveimagines - @bellomi-clarke - @wineandionysus - @guiltydols - @onephootinfrontoftheother - @liamakorn - @thirstyfangirl - @lilysdaydreams - @pan-ini - @mxqicshxp - @tanchosanke - @yoshinorecommends - @flightsandfantasy - @liljennyx3 - @bingusmode - @unknown-and-invisible - @sinister-sleep - @fivedicksinatrenchcoat - @mercury--moon - @peterparkerspjsuit - @unstableye - @simonsbluee - @shinyshimaagain - @ppopty - @siriuslystupid - @crapimahuman - @ofthedewthesunlight - @mythicalamphitrite - @artsyally - @corpsesimpp - @corpsewhitetee - @corpse-husbandsimp - @hyp-oh-critical - @roses-and-grasses - @rhyrhy462 - @sparklylandflaplawyer - @charbkgo - @airwaveee - @creativedogs - @kaitlyn2907 - @loxbbg - @afuckingunicornn - @fleurmoon - @yeolliedokai

more tags are in the comments bcs tumblr only allows me to tag 50 people max 💙

#corpse husband #corpse #corpse husband x reader #corpse x reader #corpse husband x y/n #corpse husband fanfic #corpse x y/n #corpse social media au #corpse husband social media au #social media au #myso #make you say oh #reader #xreader #imagine #imagines #fluff #wtf i have never been this soft no one hmu

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perlukafarinn · 4 years

Text

(ao3)

The day starts out pretty unremarkable. Dean wakes up at the crack of dawn to Cas slipping out of bed for his morning jog. He pulls him down for a good-morning kiss that turns into a make-out session that turns into them trading lazy handjobs and then falling asleep in each other’s arms again.

Their actual start to the day is around ten AM, when Cas finally gets up for his jog and Dean gets up for his cereal and a scroll through the morning news. He’s on the look for hunts, mostly out of habit since there’s been very little monster activity since Chuck went and fucked off for good. He doesn’t find anything this morning but that’s hardly a surprise. It’s been a couple of weeks since they’ve been out on a hunt and that inactivity, weirdly enough, is starting to bother him less and less.

Cas comes back from his jog about an hour before noon and with the mildest of prodding convinces Dean to join him in the shower. Afterwards, they throw together a lunch made from yesterday’s leftovers, taking their time eating and playing footsie under the table, because that’s apparently the kind of couple they are.

Usually by this time of day, Cas would be off in the Men of Letters’ library working on translations or cataloging and Dean would be on the phone helping Garth help out young, out-of-their depth hunters or in the garage, working on one of the beautiful but sadly neglected vehicles left behind there decades ago.

Today, both of them are seemingly feeling kind of lazy and so hardly any work gets done. It’s not until late in the afternoon that Dean feels the urge to do something productive and suggests they go out for groceries, which Cas readily agrees to.

The ride into town is quiet. Cas plays his mixtape - the damn thing should be worn out by now and Dean should long since be sick of it but for reasons too sappy to mention he isn’t - and they sit and listen in comfortable silence. It’s not until they pass the town hall on their way to the supermarket that Cas gets a contemplative look on his face.

“Should we get married?”

Only years of experience behind the wheel prevent Dean’s hands from twitching wildly and veering them into oncoming traffic.

“What.”

Cas looks over, frowning. “I’ve been thinking about this for a while. Is there any reason for us not to get married? We’re already planning on staying together for the rest of our lives.”

“Is there any reason-” Dean wheezes. “What the fuck, Cas? Is this your idea of a proposal?”

“Are you saying no?” Cas asks, mildly curious, as if they’re talking about the fucking weather and not getting married. “Because we don’t have to.”

Dean stares ahead, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. “Are you actually asking?”

“I suppose I am.”

“You ‘suppose’,” Dean mocks. “Gee, Cas, that’s real romantic.”

“Will you marry me?”

Dean pulls over. It’s far too sudden, probably leaving tire tracks in the concrete, and the driver behind them honks his horn loudly as he passes. Dean ignores him, taking a deep breath as he finally turns to face Cas.

“Are you sure?”

He doesn’t really have to ask - Cas wouldn’t have brought it up if he wasn’t sure - but he needs to hear it.

Thankfully, Cas seems to get that. “I want to marry you, Dean. Do you want to marry me?”

“Son of a bitch,” Dean breathes. “I mean - yes. Yeah, I do.”

Cas nods decisively. “Alright then. Now?”

“Now?”

It’s not exactly how Dean imagined this scenario would go (not that he - shut up) but it’s somehow the most romantic fucking thing that’s ever happened to him since Cas first told him he loved him. And hey, this time no one had to die!

They turn around, since there’s no point in going in without (forged) birth certificates. Once they get to the town hall, shortly before closing, they find out that it’s a three-day mandatory waiting period between applying for a marriage license and them actually being allowed to get married.

Cas suggests they use the interim time to pick up wedding rings. They wind up spending the next day driving to Topeka, where they find a couple of silver rings in a pawn shop. They’re tarnished but otherwise in good condition and once they get home, Dean spends the rest of the evening cleaning them while trying very hard not to think about just what they’re for.

The second day, Cas spends out back tending to his garden while Dean almost dials Sam’s number repeatedly before hanging up, torn between wanting to let his brother know that he’s getting married and not wanting to jinx it.

The third day, they head back into town. They arrive at the town hall just after it opens and it’s not until they’re standing in front of the clerk that Dean realizes they don’t have any witnesses. The clerk assures him that they don’t need one for civil ceremonies and the next ten minutes pass in a blur until Dean is being prompted to place the ring on Cas’ finger.

He does so with shaking hands, stilled only once Cas places one of his own on top and gives Dean a patient smile. He’s this calm for a reason, Dean finally realizes.

This doesn’t change anything.

Married or not, they’ve already promised themselves to each other for the rest of their lives. Til death do them part doesn’t even begin to describe it, and in sickness and in health is almost laughable at this point.

This really doesn’t change anything.

Dean’s own hand is still as Cas takes his turn, sliding the silver ring upon Dean’s finger. They say their “I do”s when prompted by the clerk, exchange a short, firm kiss, and just like that it’s over.

They’re married.

When Jody invites them to dinner about a week later, they still haven’t told anyone. Sam and Eileen will be there as well as Jack and the girls - it’s a regular family reunion and the perfect chance to announce the big news to everyone.

Dean has a better idea.

“Let’s not tell anyone,” he says. “At least, not before dessert. Let’s see if they notice first.”

They’re in the Impala, about half an hour away from Jody’s place.

Cas shoots him an amused look. “Is this because Sam claimed he always knew we’d get together when we first told him we were involved?”

“No,” Dean lies. He drums his fingers on the steering wheel, seeing Cas still giving him that look from the corner of his eye. “Fine, yes. But he didn’t know, for the record. He just likes to pretend he’s always on top of this shit.”

“He doesn’t like to admit when you’ve surprised him,” Cas agrees.

The conversation ends there but Dean’s plan is apparently agreed upon since once they arrive at Jody’s, Cas doesn’t say a word about their recent relationship upgrade. Jody doesn’t seem to notice anything different, but then Dean didn’t expect her to. She’s not the one they spend most of their time around. Neither do Donna, Alex, Claire or Kaia, none of them surprises. Patience, Dean is less sure about, but she at least doesn’t say anything. Her eyes do linger unusually long but that could mean anything.

Damn psychics.

Sam and Eileen arrive half an hour after Dean and Cas, Jack in tow. This is the real test; Sam and Dean may not spend as much time together in the past few months as they did in the years before but he’s still the person who knows Dean best and would be the most likely to notice a difference.

And yet, nothing.

Dean tries not to feel too smug.

They go through dinner without anyone mentioning it. Dean makes a point of reaching across the table as many times as he can, showing off the ring glinting on his finger. Cas must notice him doing it, judging by the fond exasperation on his face, but he’s the only one.

It isn’t until dessert that Patience breaks, patience (hah) clearly run out:

“Is no one going to mention that Dean and Castiel are wearing wedding rings?”

And all hell breaks loose.

Sam is wounded - mostly over Dean and Cas not telling him before they got married, though Dean can tell some part of it is his pride at not seeing this coming - but he’s over it soon enough, once they explain that it wasn’t a big deal, not some proper ceremony, just a quick affirmation of what they already knew.

“See if I make you Best Man at my wedding after this, jerk,” Sam tells Dean.

“Your wedding?” Eileen asks pointedly.

Jody and Donna offer their congratulations before the conversation can get awkward, and Kaia, Alex, and Patience chime in with theirs as well. Jack looks confused at the whole proceeding, finally asking whether this means there won’t be any bouquet to catch, which only means Dean has gravely failed him in his pop culture education (oh, who’s he kidding, as if half the romcoms Jack has watched didn’t come directly from the recommended tab on Dean’s Netflix account).

Finally, with a pointed elbow from Kaia and a hangdog expression from Cas, Claire mumbles that she’s happy for them. While Dean doesn’t doubt that’s true he also knows that this is more complicated for her than the rest of them, and for the first time he kind of feels guilty about springing this news on everyone.

It doesn’t last long, not after Donna cheerfully raises her glass and proposes a toast to the happy couple and everyone else follows suit. They chant for them to kiss and, blushing outrageously, Dean complies, leaning over to press a quick kiss against Cas’ lips.

“So, who proposed?” Sam asks once the hooting and hollering has calmed.

“Cas did,” Dean says, slinging an arm around his husband’s - his husband’s - shoulders. “And it was the least romantic proposal of all time, you should’ve heard him.”

Cas rolls his eyes. “If I had left it up to you, we never would have gotten married.”

“He didn’t even give me time to pick out flowers,” Dean informs Sam gravely.

“There’s always the vow renewal,” Cas says, the casual statement managing to sound like a threat, and Dean shuts up.

The conversation moves on, the mood noticeably cheerier. As Jack and Sam launch into a story of their most recent hunt, Dean leans against Cas.

“We could have flowers, if you want,” he mutters.

Cas smiles at him, so bright and easy that it makes Dean’s heart stutter. He takes Dean’s hand, rubbing his thumb over the cool silver of Dean’s ring.

“That’s not necessary,” he says. “I’ve got everything I want right here.”

#deancas #destiel #spn fanfic #perlukafarinn writes #fluff #domestic #post-canon #established relationship #thank u to miriam who read through most of this #and assured me that it's plenty gay!

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iliveiloveiwrite · 4 years

Text

Learning to Swim

Request: (whenever you have time of course.) What about a post-war draco malfoy x reader where after astoria dies draco and scorpius are left alone for a couple years then he sees y/n a friend from Hogwarts and they fall in love again (you can decide how). this is my vision and I'm a sucker for post-war fics with draco. 🥺💕 - @obx-beach

A/N: I LOVED THIS REQUEST SO MUCH. Thank you so much for requesting it and for trusting me with your request! It got away from me but I really wanted to explore this idea in depth because for me, anyway, grief isn't something that disappears over time, but rather, becomes bearable. Please read the warnings before reading, I cover some heavy topics. As always, I hope you like it!

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Fem!Reader

Warnings: heavy talk of grief and loss, some swearing, mentions of food, alcohol consumption, mentions of ghosts, a very cheesy ending.

Word count: 11.9k

Draco so rarely finds peace nowadays; a consequence of a confidently walking toddler who’s penchant for curiosity has him grabbing at what he can – the paper, the rug, the dog’s tail.

Draco so rarely find peace nowadays, but once a week, on a Saturday, he drops Scorpius off at his parents. His mother and father doting over the blonde-haired boy who looks more like his mother everyday despite the argument from Narcissa – “He has your nose, Draco!”

On the days he drops his son off at the manor, he apparates to the familiar black gates. They squeak whenever he opens them and no matter how many times he visits, he never remembers to bring the oil he promises to fetch.

Now, he doesn’t look at the names as he makes his way towards the familiar row, hands in his pockets, shoes sinking in the wet grass.

Before, he’d drag his feet. Reading every name he could as he struggled to come to terms with his disbelief and grief.

The granite headstone sits prettily above its plot; the marker for Draco to slow his pace to an amble.

She had died a Malfoy but had been buried in the Greengrass plot.

Draco had known of Astoria Greengrass for years; had been schooled with her sister but had known the family personally for years due to similar social circles, and as a result, social functions. Draco spent ball after ball getting to know the younger Greengrass sister much to the chagrin of Pansy Parkinson who still held a candle for Draco since their fling ended in Fifth Year.

He worked up the nerve to ask Astoria to dinner after a particularly hellish function where his father had pushed him to dance with every available girl that looked his way. For the most part, Draco accepted – wanting to keep his father happy and his mother hopeful. But through every dance, through every twirl on the floor, his eyes would wander back to where Astoria sat very intently focused on the napkin design.

On his third circuit of the dancefloor, Draco broke away from his dance partner earning a glare for his disrespect. He apologised with a smile but turned to the brunette sitting alone; he held his hand to her, and she took it with the grace of a well-raised daughter.

They span around the dancefloor; circle after circle after circle. They laughed, and they smiled, and they settled into a happy silence. One Draco felt so comfortable in that by the time they had finished their second dance together, Draco was certain he wanted to marry her.

By the end of the night, Astoria knew she wanted to marry him.

They were married less than six months after that night.

Three months after they were married, Astoria announced her pregnancy. Rumours started; stating that was the real cause for their quick wedding. But their families knew different; their families spent the entirety of the pregnancy wrapped in a cocoon of worry.

Then blood curse on the Greengrass family meant that Astoria would die at a young age, and Draco had prepared himself for that. Though, in private, he researched what he could to see if he could break the blood curse. This meant, however, the pregnancy was watched closely by Narcissa, by Daphne, and by multiple Healers flooed in from St Mungos.

Nine months later, on an unusually warm day in January, Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy was born. Immediately, Draco knew that though he had his hair, Scorpius had his mother’s eyes and mouth.

Three hours after the birth of her son; as she held him tightly in her arms, watching him with the love only a mother could know, Astoria Malfoy nee Greengrass took her last breath.

-----------

The months after her death, Draco barely coped. He woke up in the mornings solely for Scorpius and Scorpius alone. He devoted his time to his son, marking every milestone in his baby scrapbook which on occasion he would take to his wife’s grave and go through it with her. Scorpius never visited the grave; for starters, he was too young, Draco wouldn’t let his son go through that but his son knew that his mother was no longer with them.

But that didn’t stop Scorpius asking for his mother after a nightmare had pulled him from sleep.

Narcissa tried to help; tried everything she could to help with his grief – at one point even suggesting he go see a psychic, but the fear of transference was enough to put Draco off the idea.

He didn’t have the heart to tell his mother that he didn’t need a psychic to tell him Astoria had made it to the other side and that she had found peace.

She haunted him nearly every night.

Flashes of her white night gown in the corner of his eye; glimpses of her beautiful face in the mirror.

His heart would race, and his palms would sweat as the panic set in.

For a long while, he believed himself to be going insane. The sheer grief he felt at the loss of his wife driving him to madness as though he were Heathcliff suffering the loss of his Cathy.

------

Draco had memorised the inscription on her headstone after visiting for a month straight.

He had memorised the path to her grave by the end of the first week; the soil still needing to settle.

His feet knew where the uneven ground would be, so it was all dodged expertly.

Draco has very little to say to Astoria when he kneels in front of her. He updates her on Scorpius; promises that he will bring him soon, but it was still too early for his son to see his mother.

In fact, most of his time at the grave is spent in silence. His knees soaking wet from the morning dew still covering the grass.

“Draco? Is that you?” A chiming voice asks as Draco’s head remains bent over his wife’s grave. He releases a sigh before looking up to see that it’s you – someone he hasn’t seen in years. The last he saw of you; you were stood defiantly facing the hordes of Death Eaters in courtyard at Hogwarts.

“(Y/N)?” He asks.

You frown, pointing towards the grave where his wife lies in perpetual sleep, “I heard, but I didn’t believe. I’m sorry for your loss, Draco.”

“Thank you,” he murmurs, “Why are you here? If you don’t mind me asking.”

You hold the flowers in your hand up in response, “I lost my grandfather less than a year back. I visit every week.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know. He was a great man.” Draco murmurs, shame washing over him from his curt tone.

“Thank you,” You murmur quietly, “It’s still hard.”

Draco wants to offer words of comfort; to tell you that pain eases over time, but he would be lying to your face. The pain doesn’t ease, and the grief doesn’t lessen, it simply moves to one side and becomes bearable until something reminds you of the one you’ve lost whether it be a sound or a smell and then the pain washes over you like a tidal wave and you start to wonder whether you’ll come up for air or simply drown.

Draco decides not to say anything; turning back to face the woman he had pledged his life too.

You walk away after a slow nod; you wouldn’t get anything more out of him now.

-----

They say that time heals, that grief lessens, but it doesn’t.

Draco loves his son; he adores his son, but he cannot help but see him as a reminder of what he lost on the day of his birth.

He had gained a son; an heir to carry on the Malfoy name but he had lost the love of his life.

Draco leaves the graveyard soon after his encounter with you; feeling surly with how he had spoken to you.

He searches you before he leaves, but he finds you knelt at the grave of your grandfather with your head bent as the silent sobs rack your body.

He leaves you to your privacy; understanding that right now, intrusion is the last thing needed.

------------

Draco sits in the living room of his marital home that night; a tumbler of whisky in his hand as he leans back in the chesterfield armchair gifted to him by his parents as part of their wedding present.

The wedding present being the house.

There are reminders of Astoria all over the house; from the pattern of the curtains to her photos lining the walls. She was everywhere. How was he was supposed to start living his life when his house remained a mausoleum?

He feels the hand on his shoulder; he doesn’t need to turn to see who it is.

“You need to stop doing this, Draco,” She murmurs.

He sighs through his nose, “I don’t see why.”

“You’re hurting everyone around you; you didn’t use to be like this.”

“It’s been a trying time, love.”

“I know it has. For both you and Scorpius, but it’s been three years, darling.”

The air in the room has become cold; too cold. To the point where his breath has started to fog; he takes a sip of the amber liquid to warm his body through.

“I can’t forget you, I won’t. He has no memories of you; he needs me to remember you.”

The voice behind him shakes, “My love, you’ll never forget me. I live on in him.”

Draco doesn’t say anything; the lump in his throat making it impossible for him to speak. The absolute yearning with him has him reaching up to take the hand settled on his shoulder.

The tears start to fall when his hand falls through the ghostly spectre.

-----

Morning comes and Draco wakes in the same chair he had fallen asleep in. He scratches at the stubble lining his face as he stretches his legs, bones popping as he stands to full height.

The clock on the mantle chimes seven times and Draco supposes he should start the day and collect his son from the Manor. He hadn’t been in any state last night to have him at home; it was better for Scorpius to stay with his grandparents.

The light to the bathroom flickers as Draco drags himself into the shower; the hot water and lavender shower gel doing a good job at leeching the tension that had become set into his shoulders.

He wipes the steam from the mirror before lathering his face with shaving cream and beginning the soothing action of shaving. Narcissa preferred him clean shaven anyway; believed that the stubble made him look like a vagrant.

A flash of white in the corner of his eye has Draco freezing with the razor halfway to his cheek.

His hand begins to shake, and he places the razor back in the sink as he braces himself on the counter. He counts to ten before he dares to look back up at himself in the mirror.

He was being haunted.

------

In the years after the Second Wizarding War, Narcissa had taken it upon herself to entirely renovate Malfoy Manor from the dark, dank place it was to make it more of a home for her family. A home in which Draco should have been raised in.

Narcissa greets him at the door with a kiss on the cheek and a concerned look that only a mother could pull off.

“Good Morning Mother, how are we today?”

“I’d be a lot better if you looked better. Did you get any sleep?”

Draco nods, thinking to the few hours in the armchair, “I got some.”

“Not enough by the looks of it, but at least you shaved. Have you eaten yet?”

He shakes his head, “I came straight here.”

“Luckily for you, Scorp is still eating.”

Draco hangs his coat on the grand railing by the door before following his mother through his childhood home.

His son beams at the sight of his father walking through the door, “Dad!” he yells, dropping his piece of fruit and jumping off his chair. He runs to Draco, wrapping his arms around his legs.

Draco chuckles, picking his son up, settling him on his waist, “Hey there squirt, did you have a nice night with granny and grandpa?”

Scorpius nods, still chewing his last piece of breakfast, “Yeah, me and granny baked, and she let me eat the mix!”

Narcissa lets out an overdramatic gasp, “That was our secret, Scorp!”

Scorpius laughs at his granny’s reaction, “I had to tell Dad!”

Draco tickles his son’s stomach; grinning at the laughter leaving his son’s mouth.

He had never known a world with his mother; and he never would, yet here he was as happy as any three year old could be.

“Are you joining us, Draco?” His father’s voice sounds; breaking Draco from his melancholy.

Draco clears his throat, letting Scorpius down so he can sit next to Narcissa at the table, “Yes, I think I will.”

Anything to not go back to the house so soon; anything to avoid seeing her in the corner of his eye or in the mirrors.

Narcissa nails him with a look she has made entirely her own after dealing with a supremacist order for over a decade.

Draco wavers under his mother’s stare; ready to drop the pretence and cry in her arms.

He doesn’t.

Instead, he grabs the bowl of strawberries and scoops a spoonful onto his plate before reaching for a waffle and grabbing his knife and fork.

“Lucius, darling, why don’t you show Scorpius your matchbox collection? I know he’d love them.”

“What are matched boxes?” Scorpius asks.

Narcissa laughs lightly at her grandson’s pronunciation, “Match boxes, sweetheart.”

Lucius stands from the table; knowing very well what the determined look in his wife’s eyes meant, “Come on, my boy. I’ll show you my collection; I want to see if you can count how many there are.”

Scorpius’ eyes light up at the chance to make his grandfather proud; he jumps down from the chair before reaching to grab Lucius’ hand. Together, they leave the dining room, Lucius prattling about the history of the match box and why they needed to be collected.

Narcissa waits until they’re out of earshot before turning on her son who on the outside, almost pulled off looking so put together. Inside, she knew, was a broken man desperate to find a way to lessen the pain.

“It’s been three years, darling.”

“I know,” Draco answers; resisting the urge to groan.

“How often are you visiting her?”

“Once a week now.”

There was a point in the first months after her death where Draco would visit the graveyard every day for hours. He didn’t even say anything; he just sat on the perfectly trimmed grass in front of her grave and sobbed for the life that had been lost and the future that had been robbed.

Narcissa nods, “That’s good, Draco.”

Draco nods; he had gotten better in the years since her passing but Narcissa would never understand what it feels like to lose a spouse a year into a marriage that should have lasted an eternity.

Narcissa sighs, “Do you think it’s time now?”

“Time for what?” He asks; voice hard.

“To think about finding somebody else? I’m not saying you need to do it right now, Draco, but it’s something to think about.”

Draco sees red, but he tries to keep a lid on his temper for the simple fact that it is his mother sitting in front of him, “I lost my wife, mother. She died giving birth to my son; your grandson. She died and now Scorpius doesn’t have a mother and I don’t have my wife standing beside me. I think I’ll take all the time I need to recover from this.”

Narcissa sighs, “Of course, Draco. You know I didn’t mean it as an insult.”

Draco rubs at his eyes; feeling wretched for the way he had spoken to his mother. She barely left his side after Astoria’s death; she had been the one to pull him away from her body.

“I’m sorry, mother. It was a tough night.”

“You’re having a lot of those, I’ve noticed.”

Draco’s lip begins to wobble, and he thanks Merlin that Scorpius is out of the room, so he didn’t have to watch his father fall to pieces.

Narcissa folds her son into her arms with the care only a mother could show. She strokes his hair as he sobs against her.

“I didn’t think it would be this hard,” Draco sobs.

“Neither did we, my love.”

-----

Draco feels better after talking to his mother. Lucius returned fairly quickly after Draco had dried his eyes; Scorpius following on his tail, chattering about what he planned to do when he returned home.

Draco opens his arms for his son who happily falls into them; preferring to be carried rather than walking unless he was running around the gardens or the park.

“Do you have everything you need?” Draco asks his son.

Scorpius nods as Lucius holds up the small overnight bag that holds his clothes, pyjamas and his priceless teddy, Wellesley. It was the first thing Astoria brought when she found out she was pregnant. Scorpius treasured it like nothing else.

Draco takes the bag from his father; well aware of the extra treats hidden there. Scorpius had Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy wrapped around his little finger.

After they apparate home, Lucius and Narcissa watch the spot in which their son and grandson disappeared. Hands clutching the other; both worried sick over their only son.

-----

He fills his week with his son; adventures, hide-and-seek, visits to the library. Draco makes sure Scorpius fills his day with activities designed to educate but to also have fun.

It’s also a way for Draco to keep his mind drifting to the one person who no matter how he often prays and wishes, will always remain absent.

The park is one of Scorpius’ favourite places to visit. He has a personal aim to swing as high as he can without giving his father a heart attack.

They spend their hours doing all sorts together, and every night before bed, Draco tucks Scorpius in tightly. Dropping a kiss to his son’s head and then his teddy’s head, Draco wishes Scorpius the sweetest of dreams.

On a night, Draco lets the memories of his short marriage consume him. He doesn’t wear his wedding ring on his finger anymore, but rather, attached to a chain he wears around his neck. He twists this chain for hours on a night thinking of the mother that Astoria never got the chance to be.

------

Draco’s visit to the graveyard is shorter this week on account of what happened last time. He knew what happened in the living room was down to the fact that he had spent too much time at her grave, lamenting how much he missed her.

It was expected that she would answer his calls.

So he resolves to make this visit shorter; long enough to clean the area and replace the flowers but short enough to not tempt fate and spectres.

Draco recounts to her tales of Scorpius’ week. Draco laughs and beams like a proud father when he tells the story of Scorpius adopting the family of Nifflers from their copse at the bottom of the garden. He had been so proud of himself; walking all the way back to the house with a four Nifflers in tow who had deemed Scorpius as one their own.

“You’d have thought he was a Scamander,” Draco laughs, patting the loose grass from his suit pants. “I think he could very well excel at Care of Magical Creatures but it’s too soon to tell, my dear.”

Eventually, Draco stands, wiping down his black suit trousers and whispering a goodbye.

Draco is a few steps away from the black, creaky gate when you bustle through; bouquet in hand, sad smile on your face.

You pause in the gateway when you see Draco standing before you.

“(Y/N),” Draco greets, “I was hoping to catch you. I wanted to apologise for how I spoke to you the last time I saw you.”

“Draco, there’s nothing to apologise for. You’re mourning your wife; the last thing you need is someone invading that space.”

“All the same, I’m sorry for how I spoke to you.”

“I accept your apology, Draco.”

“Would you like to join me for a coffee? It’s been years since I saw you last, and I think it would be nice to catch up.”

You glance between the flowers in your hand and Draco waiting patiently for an answer.

“It’s okay if you don’t. I understand if you want to be with your grandfather.”

You bite your lip, glancing back to the flowers, “Do you want to come with me? All I need to is say hello and change the flowers. You don’t have to, though.”

Draco shakes his head, “No, it’s okay. I’ve had my visit today, so I don’t mind waiting with you.”

You smile at him gratefully, “Thank you; he’s just this way.”

Draco follows you as you walk the well-trodden path to your grandfather’s grave. He doesn’t let himself think as he follows, and as a result, almost bumps into you when you stop in front of a grey granite headstone.

“Hi Grandad,” You greet, “I’ve brought someone with me today, I hope you don’t mind. I’m just changing your flowers though because then we’re going to get coffee.”

You turn your attention to Draco when you finish speaking, “It’s morbid I know but it helps me process. I know he isn’t hearing me, but I can vent here and somehow I always find a solution to my problem.”

Draco nods, “I do the same with Astoria. I tell her about Scorpius and her parents though I know they visit just as much.”

You smile at the blonde-haired man before discarding the dried out flowers to one side, replacing them with the fresher, brighter flowers.

Draco watches you through the process; not missing the way your eyes dart between the headstone and to something just past it.

For a brief moment, Draco wonders if you’re being haunted too.

-----

The coffee shop is warm compared to the brisk wind that howls outside. Draco’s body relaxes as he takes in the familiar scent of bitter coffee beans; it was a recent love of his, but now, he wouldn’t find himself going a day without a cup of the acrid liquid.

You unravel the scarf hanging around your neck before taking a seat at a corner table, “I didn’t think it would be this cold today. It makes me glad I overdressed,” you chuckle.

Draco laughs politely; his own coat now hanging on the back of his chair.

You smile, “Do you know what you want? I’ll go order.”

“Nonsense, I’ll order, I invited you here.”

“Well I won’t turn down free coffee, I’ll have a latte please.”

“I’ll be right back,” is all he says before leaving the table to order.

As the drinks are being made by the teenaged barista, Draco starts to second-guess his intentions for why he asked you for coffee in the first place. All week the conversation he had with his mother had been replaying in his mind, and then he runs into you as he’s leaving the graveyard. Before he knew it, the words were flying out of his mouth and he was unable to stop them.

He’s panicking, but he doesn’t find himself regretting asking you.

He’s only regretting his intentions as to why he asked you.

He’s been alone for three years. He has Scorpius, and his parents, but he doesn’t have anyone he can talk to on a night when the air is quiet, and the moon is high. He doesn’t have that one person that he can simply hold and know that everything will be okay.

Then and there, he lets himself admit it: he’s lonely.

Astoria had been everything for the eighteen months they had been together. He was utterly devoted to her; completely besotted by her. Draco knew that he had found the love of his life; he just didn’t expect her to be taken from him so soon.

But still he wonders.

He wonders if it’s time; he wonders whether Astoria watches him and urges him to find someone new.

To feel that rush of falling in love all over again.

The clinking of mugs rips Draco from his internal debating. He thanks the barista with a smile, picking up the tray of drinks and walking carefully back to where you wait for him.

You thank him as you pick up your latte, “You looked to be thinking pretty intensely over there.”

“You were watching me?”

Shrugging your shoulders, you say, “I got bored of the view of the café.”

Draco nods; sipping tentatively at his coffee, wincing before adding another sugar to taste.

“What were you thinking of? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“I don’t mind. I was thinking of Astoria,” he admits.

You simply nod your head; understanding completely that a widow would think of his loss.

“How are you coping with her loss? It’s been a few years now, hasn’t it?”

“I could ask you the same question about your grandfather,” Draco murmurs, “We’re coping okay. Scorpius is thriving; he’s such a smart three year old and I know I’m biased but he retains information like a sponge.”

You laugh, “I was going to ask you about your son, I’m glad to hear he’s happy.”

“He doesn’t have any memories of his mother, but he knows who she is. He has a framed picture of her in his room that he says goodnight to every night.”

“He sounds precious, Draco.”

Draco nods; thinking of his dear boy, “He is. And I know she’s proud of him, I just feel it in my bones.”

“I’ll bet my last sickle that she’s proud of you too.”

Draco blinks fast; ridding the sudden tears away. “Thank you,” he whispers, taking another drink of his coffee to distract from the sudden wave of emotion.

He clears his throat once the wave has passed, “I asked you here to catch up; not for me to ruin the mood with my grief. How have you been? I haven’t seen you since the war.”

“You can talk to me about this, Draco, I don’t mind,” You state before continuing, “I’ve been well – I travelled a lot after the war. The whole realisation of life is short really hit me, so I left the country for a bit; travelled through Europe before jumping ship to America.”

Draco’s eyes widen, “That’s incredible. Where was your favourite place to travel?”

You glare at him playfully, “That’s such a hard question!”

He laughs lightly, “Still – you have to answer.”

You tap your fingers against your thigh, thinking his question over. You had loved everywhere you visited; feeling extremely fortunate to have met such a range of magical communities as well as integrate yourself within muggle society for a time.

“I think it would have to be this tiny island in Greece; it is said that in ancient times, the locals believed it was the end of the world, and if you went any further, you would fall off. I stayed there the longest; around a month where I explored the island, ate their food, and drank with the locals. It was the best time of my life.”

Draco inhales sharply at your words; not realised that he’s instinctively leaned towards you through your speech. He leans back into his chair, running a hand through his hair, “It sounds wonderful,” he whispers.

You nod; eyes glazed somewhat as you think back to your time on that heavenly island, “It really was.”

You shake yourself from your reminiscing, “What about you then, Draco? I know about the wedding, and your son, but what did you do after the war?”

Draco waves his hand in a nonchalant fashion, “Nothing as wonderful as travelling the globe though I did go to France on my honeymoon. I trained as a Healer straight from Hogwarts; I’ve been at St. Mungo’s since Scorpius was born.”

“That’s great, Draco! I always knew you would make a great Healer ever since I saw you in Potions.”

Draco ducks his head, “Thank you, I enjoy the work. Are you working now?”

You nod your head, “I work for the Daily Prophet; writing real articles and not the trollop that Rita Skeeter used to waffle on about.”

Draco barks out a laugh, surprising himself at the volume of it, “I remember her coverage of the Triwizard Tournament! It was so awful.”

You beam; eyes bright with joy, “Weren’t they? I promise I’m a much better writer… not to sound big-headed.”

“I completely believe you; I’ll have to start keeping an eye out for your articles. I haven’t read the paper in so long. I haven’t had the time if I’m honest – I get my news from my mother.”

“How are your parents? I heard about them after the war.”

“Mother coped so well. She made it her mission to entirely renovate the house, and with it, the Malfoy reputation. She donates to charities now; her focus is children orphaned during the war. Father struggled, but he’s found his purpose for life again in Scorpius. Last time I was there, he showed him his collection of matchboxes.”

You laugh lightly, “That’s brilliant. I’m glad to hear that they’re doing well.”

“How is your family? I remember your mother from Kings Cross, always running to meet you off the train.”

“She’s doing okay,” You sigh, “She struggled after my grandfather but she’s working her way back to herself.”

Draco nods in understanding; he felt nothing but pride and a sting of jealously for your mothers process with her grief. Here he was, three years later, and still reaching out to the other side of bed only to grasp at empty, cold sheets.

However, as all things must, your time together comes to an end. The coffees are drank; coats are pulled back on and goodbyes are said on the pavement.

Draco walks away from you; apparating back to his home feeling lighter than he has in years.

------

Draco takes Scorpius to Diagon Alley on a Wednesday morning.

His son had been particularly restless the night before; a nightmare waking him. Draco does what he can to chase the monsters away before scooping up his only son and carrying him to the master bedroom. Scorpius sleeps soundly after that, but Draco remains awake – mind plaguing him with memories of Astoria but also of the coffee he shared with you.

It’s noon when Scorpius begins to pester his father for lunch. In his own words; he’s starving, and he hasn’t eaten in hours.

Draco laughs at his son. Three years old, but utterly dramatic. He kneels down so he’s eye-level, “How about we have ice cream for lunch?”

Scorpius’ face lights up and he begins to jump in his spot, “Can we go now? Please?”

Draco nods, holding out his hand for Scorpius take so he doesn’t get lost in the short distance to Florean Fortescue’s. He had lost him once; and whilst it was only two minutes before he found him, it was two minutes, he never wants to relive.

Draco lifts Scorpius so he can see the rows of flavours behind the glass. Scorpius’ eyes are wide as he checks the colour of every flavour. He even goes so far to press his face to the glass, fogging it up. Draco chuckles at his son’s antics; knowing full well he’ll pick the same flavour he’s gotten on every visit.

“Have you decided?”

Scorpius nods, “Chocolate please.”

Draco places Scorpius on the ground, “One chocolate tub, and one caramel fudge swirl tub please.”

Florean nods at the young Malfoy family with a large smile; watching them sit down at a window table before bringing their ice creams to them.

Scorpius attacks his chocolate tub with ferocity. Draco touches his son’s hand, “Slow down, squirt. You’ll get stomach ache.”

Scorpius looks as if he doesn’t believe his father’s word but not wanting to risk the chance of a stomach ache, he slows his pace. Carefully scooping the frozen treat before eating. His legs swing as he watches the scores of witches and wizards passing; they all look to be hurrying somewhere yet Scorpius doesn’t know where, but seeing all the different people, keeps his attention squarely on the window.

Draco works his way through his ice cream faster than his son; his weakness being the caramel fudge swirl that Florean makes fresh every day. He settles for drifting once his tub is empty and Scorpius is happily distracted by whatever he’s watching out of the window.

Draco begins to wonder about his son’s future – something he’s done a thousand times since his birth. He wonders about what Hogwarts house would best fit his sons personality; though he knew that the Sorting Hat would be the final word on that. But Draco can’t help but ponder over what attributes his son will demonstrate – will he ambitious enough for Slytherin? Courageous enough for Gryffindor? Loyal enough for Hufflepuff? Creative enough for Ravenclaw?

He had eight more years to ponder over it, but it’s still a question he’d like answered. However, Draco would still adore his son no matter his house.

“Draco?” Your voice sounds, breaking him out of his deliberating.

“(Y/N),” He greets.

Scorpius turns from people-watching, taking in the visitor standing at their table.

“And you must be Scorpius, it’s very nice to meet you. I’m (Y/N).”

Scorpius shies away slightly from the new person, inching back a bit in his chair.

“It’s okay, Scorpius,” Draco reassures, “I went to school with (Y/N).”

You nod, “I did! I was in Slytherin with him, and he was so smart! He still is; he’s a Healer isn’t he? Isn’t that so cool?”

Draco blushes at your compliments but it brings Scorpius out of his shell.

“My dad is the coolest! He fixes people when they are very sick.”

You nod seriously, “Yes, he does. It was very nice to meet you, Scorpius but I have to get back to work with my ice cream.”

Scorpius smiles, his teeth on show, “Goodbye!”

“It was nice to see you, Draco,” You say, smiling at the blonde-haired man.

“It was nice to see you too, even if it was so brief.”

You laugh, “Work calls I’m afraid, but I always have an ice cream, so I wasn’t going to let work stop me,” You wander back to the counter where Florean waits with your cone, “I’ll also cover Draco’s bill too, Florean.”

“You don’t have to,” Draco begins to protest.

You hold your hand up, smiling gently, “You treated me to coffee. I’ll treat you to your ice cream.”

Draco nods, wordlessly. Scorpius watches him with his eyebrows furrowed.

You take a lick of your cone, “I’ll see you soon, Draco. Have a nice day, Scorpius!”

And like that, you leave the ice cream parlour, heading back to the office where a pile of work awaits.

Draco leans back in his chair, disbelief clear on his face.

“What’s wrong, dad?”

Draco shakes his head, “Nothing, squirt.”

Scorpius shrugs, determining it adult stuff. “I like the lady who spoke to us.”

“(Y/N)?”

Scorpius nods, “She was really nice.”

“She is. She was nice when we were at school together.”

“She’s a good friend.”

“She is,” Draco murmurs once again, mind in another place entirely.

Scorpius lets his father have his moment; turning back to the window, wondering if he might get to see the nice lady named (Y/N) again.

------

Two months pass, and January’s winter gives way to March’s spring.

The gardens at his home and at the Manor have started to bloom beautifully meaning that Draco is constantly surrounded by floral aromas that make his head spin and Scorpius sneeze.

Draco starts to see more and more of you at the graveyard. After each visit, you seem to wait for the other – always asking whether the other would like to go for a coffee; very rarely refusing the offer.

He enjoyed the time he spent with you; Draco felt like he got to make up for the lost time he was an arsehole at Hogwarts.

The more time he spent with you; the more he started to feel the urge to begin his life again. But the hauntings continue; he continues to see his wife in the mirror; hearing her voice on a night whispering to him that it’s okay to move on. But hearing those words from the mouth of the woman he promised an eternity with racks his entire body with guilt.

But it’s gotten to the point where he doesn’t want to stay away from you.

The more time you spend with Draco Malfoy; the more you can feel yourself fall for him – his smile, his eyes, his mind. You just hoped that the landing wasn’t going to be too rough.

------

Draco drops Scorpius off at the Manor before heading to the graveyard for his usual Saturday visit. He blindly hopes to see you again after running into you at the ice cream parlour and seldom seeing you after but refuses to let himself dwell too long on the hope.

He was visiting his dead wife, after all.

He still grieves for her; still reaches for her in the middle of the night, but there are times through the day where he doesn’t feel so weighed down by grief – where he feels as if he can begin functioning fully once again.

But then that brings the guilt.

And that leads to the sightings.

And then that leads to the visits.

It’s a vicious cycle, and he’s desperate to break it.

He knows logically that Astoria would always be a part of him; he sees her every time he lays eyes on Scorpius but the small voice in the back of his head tells him often that he isn’t ready to let go yet.

And all Draco is desperate to know is: when?

-----

You find him knelt before her grave. He’s silent; simply staring at her headstone, reading the words that are already seared into his mind: Beloved Daughter, Wife, and Mother.

You place your hand on his shoulder and he jumps at the sudden contact. He relaxes once he sees it’s you, “(Y/N),” he breathes out, “I thought you were someone else.”

“I can tell,” you murmur, “Are you okay?”

He nods silently; gazing at the headstone once again, “I will be.”

“I can stay with you, if you need me.”

He shakes his head, “Go. Go see your grandfather; tell him hi from me.”

You want to laugh but nothing comes out. Draco looks at you; his blue eyes bright, “I’ll be okay,” he says gently.

The softness of his voice has you stepping away, “You know where I’ll be if you need me.”

Draco nods, hearing you walk away from him.

He’s a man made entirely of conflictions. He watches you from the corner of his eye and wonders whether he is finally ready to start his life again after Astoria; ready press play once more and see what happens but the sheer fear that runs through him, paralyses him.

He doesn’t know what to think; he doesn’t know what to do.

All he knows is that in the handful of times he has seen you, you make him want to live again.

----

Your time with your grandfather comes to an end, and you stand from where you had knelt, murmuring a goodbye.

You can’t miss the way Draco remains in front of his wife’s grave. Standing just after you; stretching out the tight muscles in his back that had stiffened the longer he had sat there.

You sigh at the sight; mindlessly wondering if you would ever find a love that would impact you this much.

It was unintentional; it hadn’t meant to happen but the feelings you once harboured for the Slytherin Prince were returning in full force the more you saw of him.

But now, there was so much more to consider.

At Hogwarts, it was social groups that kept you from ever revealing your crush – that, and Pansy Parkinson. Now, though, Draco was a widower still very much in love with his dead wife, and he had a son that came first.

You know you need to tread carefully, but there was something addicting about the man’s presence. His way with words; his hand gestures; how he’d slip off into his own mind – it all had you caught; you were hook, line, and sinker.

You make your way back to the blonde-haired man, “What do you say to another coffee? I wish I could have stayed longer the last time I saw you, but work, you know?”

Draco nods; looking very much as if he wants to accept – the words being on the very tip of his tongue, but he sighs heavily, “I can’t today, I need to grab my son from my parents.”

“Oh,” You shake your head – of course, “Another time then! I’d like to see you again soon.”

You make to walk away but a hand reaches out and grabs your wrist, “Would you like to come with me? I need to grab Scorpius but we’re making dinner tonight and you’re welcome to join.”

“Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“You won’t be. Scorpius has been asking about you.”

That makes your decision for you, “Alright, I’ll join you for dinner.”

Draco smiles; letting go of his hold on your wrist, “I usually apparate to the manor, do you mind?”

You shake your head, placing a gentle hand on his outstretched arm.

Within a second, you’ve landed at the seat of Malfoy power for the last century. Draco was right you realise; Narcissa had lightened the manor up. Flowers border the main path; stemming from Hyacinths to white Lilies, to Irises. Colour lives up the home immediately, and the warm light coming from the masses of windows only makes the place more welcoming.

“I remember visiting here when I was a youngster,” You start, “I remember it being cold and uninviting… no offence, but now it feels so warm and happy.”

“That’s my mother’s influence,” Draco states; smiling wryly at the sight of all the flowers, knowing too well of the masses of Roses behind the manor.

Draco sounds the knocker three times before Narcissa pulls open the door with the smile reserved only for her son. She blinks twice before registering your presence; then she needs to do a double take.

“Afternoon, Mother,” Draco greets; leaning in to kiss her cheek which Narcissa returns distractedly – her eyes still on you.

“Draco, dear,” She greets, “And who have you brought with you?”

“Straight to the crux, aren’t we?” Draco laughs, “This is (Y/N). Surely you remember her?”

“Not Anthony’s granddaughter?”

You nod your head; ignoring the spear of grief flung through you at the sound of your grandfather’s name, “The very same,” you greet, “It’s lovely to be here. I was just mentioning to Draco how gorgeous your flowers are.”

Narcissa beams; her flowers are her pride and joy other than the son who had battled so much and came out the other side only stronger. “Thank you, my dear. Lucius and I were so saddened to hear of Anthony’s passing – tell me, how is your mother doing?”

“Better, thank you. She took his death as a blow – well, we all did but she took it the hardest being the only daughter and losing my grandmother so young.”

Narcissa nods; ushering you into the foyer of the grand manor, “We sent flowers, but we’re sorry we couldn’t make it to the service.”

A lumps forms in your throat at the mention of the service. It had been a beautiful and respectful service, but your memories of it were tied with the heart-clenching sobs of your mother as he cried about how she missed her father. It was a hard day and night for all; very few had dry eyes.

Draco notices your hesitancy at replying to his mother; notices the glazed look in your eye. He wraps his arm around Narcissa’s shoulder, distracting her from asking you any more questions, “How was Scorpius today?”

“Like always, an angel,” Narcissa coos, “Lucius has started to teach him French.”

“French? So early?” Draco asks; keeping a wary eye on you.

“Nonsense, my love. You were three when we started to teach you the basics.”

“You speak French?” You ask; mind now focused back onto the conversation. You shoot a grateful look to draco; he replies with a soft, kind smile.

Narcissa nods, “Most of our family does. Draco has spoken French fluently since he was nine years old.”

“Oui, maman,” Draco responds cheekily.

Narcissa playfully hit her son’s shoulder, “Hush you. Scorpius is with your father in the Library – shall we go grab him?”

Draco nods; desperate to see his son after hours apart, “Are you okay to follow?” he asks, throwing a glance to where you remain rooted.

You shake yourself free; banishing all thoughts of Draco and his speaking of one of the most romantic languages on the planet from your head.

You follow with a sheepish smile, “Definitely. Even I’ve heard tales of Lucius’ library.”

Narcissa chuckles, “He spends more time in there; researching and reading anything.”

“What does he research?” You ask; curiosity piqued.

“Anything – the pagan tribes of the celts at the moment. He’s focused on the history of Wiltshire at the moment; I’ve had stop him twice this week from apparating to Stonehenge and scaring the tourists.”

Draco pauses; falling into step with you as Narcissa opens the library doors, “My father needed something to do after the war; historical research turned out to be his niche.”

“It sounds like he’s having one hell of a time,” You comment; not kissing the grin that stretches across Draco’s face.

“Scorp, darling, your father is here!” Narcissa calls out after not having found her grandson where she had left him with his grandfather.

It’s hard to miss the footfalls of the toddler as he runs through the shelve stacks, crowing, “Dad! You’re back!”

Draco catches Scorpius in his arms, “Hey there, squirt. How was your day?”

“Fun. Grandpa taught me about the selts.”

“Celts, my boy,” Lucius says, appearing from behind one of the many shelves, “A hard C. Celts.”

Scorpius’ eyebrows furrows as he repeats the word again, “Celts.”

Lucius claps, “Excellent! We’ll make a historian of you yet.”

Scorpius beams at the pride rolling off Lucius in waves; he almost doesn’t notice you standing next to Draco.

“(Y/N)!”

“Hi Scorpius,” You greet.

“Why are you here?” He asks.

You laugh at his curiosity, “Your father invited me for tea, is that okay?”

The young boy nods, “We’re having pasta.”

You smile, “I like pasta.”

Scorpius nods again, and just like that, it’s settled.

Draco hitches Scorpius higher onto his hip, “He wasn’t much trouble?”

His question breaks his parents from staring at the exchange between you and Scorpius. Lucius smiles at Draco, “Scorpius is never any trouble.”

“Thank you for looking after him again.”

“It’s no bother to us. We love the boy,” Narcissa comments; blinking away what look to be like tears.

“We’ll see you soon, no doubt,” Draco says, “Say bye to granny and grandpa, squirt.”

Scorpius yells his goodbye with a large smile.

Draco holds his free arm out to you, and the three of you apparate to his home in the next village over.

Draco’s house is nowhere near the size of Malfoy Manor, but it is still large in comparison to the two bedroomed flat you rented in Diagon Alley.

It’s perfectly symmetrical you realise as Draco opens the garden gate. Two windows on either side of the pale green front door. Always a Slytherin, you think as you follow Draco up the main path. He readjusts Scorpius as he reaches for his key; putting Scorpius down as he opens the door.

Scorpius reaches for your hand, “I’ll show you the kitchen,” he states, leading you through the large foyer to a room just to the right.

The kitchen is the biggest one you’ve been in. The island being home to a breakfast bar where Scorpius tries to climb up to before you cave and place him on one of the stools.

Draco follows closely behind; opening the fridge to grab the ingredients for dinner.

You hop off a stool, “What can I do to help?”

Draco pauses, “You need to sit down, I said I was cooking.”

You roll your eyes, “I want to help, so what can I do?”

“Add the pasta to the pot when the water starts to boil. I’ve already salted the water.”

You nod, rolling the sleeves up on your blouse. Draco doesn’t miss the small tattoo on your left forearm, “When did you get that?” he asks as he starts to crush and chop some garlic.

You look down to the now familiar swirling patterns below the crook of your elbow, laughing, “I got it after our Eighth Year. I snuck out to a muggle artist and got it done; mum hit the roof.”

Draco laughs, moving on to slicing the tomatoes in two. You look down at the pot of water, happy to see it boiling. You add the pasta to the pot, stirring twice before stepping away from the pan.

You sit back down at the breakfast bar; ruffling Scorpius’ hair as you do so. The blonde-haired boy giggles, “Can I see your arm?”

You glance at Draco to check that he’s okay with Scorpius seeing your tattoo. Draco nods and you hold out your arm for Scorpius to gaze at your tattoo.

He reaches out a small finger, running it over the ink gently, “Did it hurt?”

You shake your head, “Not a bit.”

“Dad has a tattoo.”

You stiffen at his words; so does Draco.

The Dark Mark that mars Draco’s arm wasn’t spoken about when it was placed on his forearm, and it wasn’t spoken about now. It has been years since the Dark Lord was vanquished by Harry Potter yet his mark upon the house of Malfoy had definitely been left.

“It’s pale but I’ve seen it.”

Draco clears his throat, saying somewhat brokenly, “Dinner is almost ready. Go clean up, squirt.”

You help Scorpius down from the stool; grinning as he rushes away to the downstairs bathroom to wash his hands before dinner.

As soon as he’s left, you turn your attention back to Draco who’s stirring the pan of pasta quietly, “I’m sorry, Draco.”

“For what?” He asks incredulously.

“For showing him my tattoo. I didn’t think he would bring up yours.”

Draco shrugs, “It’s okay. I’ve learned to live with it, and like squirt said, it’s pretty faded now.”

You nod, “I’m glad. Where do you keep your plates? I’ll grab them for you.”

“Second cupboard on from the fridge. There’s a small plastic one for Scorpius there too.”

You grab the three plates, wandering back to where Draco is adding the pasta to the sauce simmering away in the pan. Scorpius rushes back into the kitchen, taking a seat at the table by the window.

“Show us your hands, squirt. Are they clean?”

Scorpius holds his hands up, waving them at his father. Draco squints, pretending to look over his son’s hands with extra care, “Very good. Are you ready to eat?”

“Yes!” Scorpius shouts, legs kicking under the table.

Draco laughs, “Well it’s a good thing it’s ready then!”

Draco takes over yours and Scorpius’ plates first before grabbing his and the cutlery. He cuts up Scorpius’ pasta before settling in his own seat and starting to eat.

“This is so tasty,” You compliment, “One of the best meals I’ve had.”

Scorpius nods rapidly, working through his own mouthful before saying, “Dad is the best cook! You should try his pancakes!”

“Thanks, squirt,” Draco replies, smiling at him.

“I’ll have to try those pancakes one day,” You murmur, casting a side glance at the blonde-haired man sat to your left.

“I think you will,” He replies, effectively knocking the breath out of you.

Of course, you would rekindle feelings for your teenage crush when he’s now a widow and a father. You wanted to roll your eyes, but instead, you focus your gaze back to your meal.

The dinner is soon over, and the plates are cleared away to the sink where they’ll be washed after dessert.

Dessert is a slice of chocolate cake and ice cream; a treat from Narcissa. Scorpius makes as much conversation as he can; telling his father and you about the day he had at his grandparents where he learnt about the mystical celts and Stonehenge. Soon, though, his eyes start to droop and his final spoonful of cake clatters to the plate.

Draco scoops up his son; cradling in his arms as he once did those years ago. Draco murmurs an apology to you as he carries his son from the kitchen to his room, but you wave him away.

To help, you collect the plates and start running the hot water, adding dish soap as you go. You’re almost finished with the final plate when Draco returns from putting Scorpius to bed.

“You didn’t need to do that.”

You shrug, “I don’t mind – it makes me feel useful.”

“Alright. You washed, I’ll dry,” Draco bargains; grabbing the tea towel from the counter and picking up the first plate.

“Did he fall asleep okay?” You question.

Draco nods, “Out like a light, I had put his pyjamas on for him.”

You chuckle, “Bless him.”

“He really likes you,” Draco comments.

“Well, what’s not to like?” You quip, grinning, “I really like him too. He’s a credit to you, Draco.”

Draco finishes drying the final plate; putting them back in their assigned cupboard.

“Thank you. Would you like a drink, or do you need to be at work early?”

“I do, but I’d like that drink.”

Draco pulls two glasses from the display before reaching for a bottle of red wine. You already knew that you would wake up tomorrow with a headache, but it was worth it to spend more time with him.

Draco pours two glasses before handing one to you. He grabs the bottle and his glass, leading you to the living room across the foyer.

You take a seat on the maroon couch, taking a drink of wine before placing the glass on a coaster.

“Thank you for the meal. It was delicious. Where did you learn to cook like that?”

“That is all part of Narcissa Malfoy’s rearing of a good husband. She started teaching me to cook before I left for Hogwarts and would give me lessons every school holiday.”

“Well, you’re very good. I’ll be thinking of that pasta for days.”

Draco smiles at you from over the rim of his wine glass and your stomach flips.

“Why did you tell your mother that it was just dinner?” You question, referring to the incident earlier at Malfoy Manor. You take another sip of wine, watching Draco the whole time.

“Mother has it in her mind that it’s time for me to find someone new. She worries that I’ve been alone too long,” Draco drawls wryly.

“What do you think?”

Draco swishes the remaining wine in his glass; reaching for the bottle to refill.

“I don’t know,” is his answer as he tops off your glass too.

“Are you lonely?”

“You really are a journalist, aren’t you?” He teases.

You roll your eyes, smiling, “Are you though? Lonely?”

Draco locks eyes with you; the answer is on the tip of his tongue, ready to make its entrance but he’s interrupted by the cry of his son.

Wine glasses are placed hurriedly as you both rush to the young boy’s room; his cries getting louder.

The both of you fall into the room in a hurry; desperate to help Scorpius. Draco shakes his shoulders, bringing him back to reality.

“Scorpius, Scorpius – it’s okay, open your eyes.”

“Dad?” Scorpius asks; his voice a sob.

“It’s me, squirt. I’m here.”

Scorpius opens his arms for his father. Draco picks him up with no hesitation; cuddling his son to his side – drying his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt.

“It sounded like a bad one,” Draco comments.

Scorpius nods, “I don’t want to go back to sleep, I’m scared.”

Draco looks torn in two. On the one hand, Scorpius needs to sleep otherwise he’ll be as cranky as a Hungarian Horntail tomorrow. However, on the other hand, Draco won’t force Scorpius back into another nightmare by insisting he sleep.”

You step forward, perching on the end of Scorpius’ bed, “I have an idea, but you need to be all comfortable and cosy, okay?”

Scorpius nods timidly; rearranging himself against Draco’s side, cuddling his beloved teddy tighter.

“Are you cosy?”

He nods once more.

“Okay, I’ll begin: Once upon a time in a far off land there lived a king who was very lonely. He had tried for years and years to meet the love of his life, but he felt defeated for he hadn’t found the one…”

It takes over an hour – three stories and two muggle songs before Scorpius is soundly sleeping once again.

Draco shifts him with the expertise of a parent before leaving his bedroom with you in tow.

He goes to close the door, but you place a hand on his wrist, stopping him. “Leave it open two,” you start, “the light from the landing will comfort him a little if he has another nightmare.”

Draco leaves the door open a crack. Turning to you, he says, “I don’t know why I never thought of that.”

You shrug, “It’s something my mum used to do for me.”

“You were incredible in there by the way,” Draco compliments as you descend the stairs together.

“Thank you,” You murmur shyly.

“Where did you learn those stories and songs?” He asks, “I feel like I should take notes for next time,” he chuckles half-heartedly.

You laugh too, “The stories I made up years ago and the songs are muggle ones I heard on my travels. I used to babysit my younger cousins for extra pocket money – I got to be creative very quickly.”

“Well it paid off,” Draco comments, eyes flickering to the stairs.

“It certainly did,” You murmur; eyes following Draco’s.

It’s silent for a few moments; the both of you thinking of the other without the other knowing. You, terrified to tell him for the fear of rejection. Him, terrified about letting down his dead wife.

You both go to speak at the same time and promptly burst into quiet laughter.

Through the span of the conversation, you’ve gravitated towards Draco – bodies angled towards each other, hands close to touching, heads close together.

If you leaned forward an inch, your mouth would be on his.

The alcohol coursing through your veins makes the connection for you as in the next second, you’ve leant forward and attached your lips to Draco’s.

He doesn’t respond at first; too in shock by your boldness but when you’re about to pull away, he wraps a hand in your hair, keeping your mouth pressed to his. Lips glide together seamlessly. He bites down on your lower lip, making you gasp. He deepens the kiss then; shifting on the couch to press you further into it.

Your hand make their way into his hair, and Draco groans against your mouth at the feel.

But it’s all too much and you need to pull away.

Chest heaving, you drag your mouth away from Draco’s. He nuzzles his nose into your cheek, pressing little kisses across your jawline to your ear before sitting back up.

“I didn’t expect that,” You gasp.

“Neither did I, but I’m not mad about it.”

“You aren’t? I did just jump you.”

Draco laughs, “It would have happened sooner or later.”

“Really?” You ask; a note of happiness unmistakable in your voice.

Draco nods, running his thumb across your lips, relishing in the fact that they’re swollen because of him.

The wine has gone to your head, and you feel your eyes begin to droop before the first yawn hits. You sigh, pulling away from Draco’s distracting touch, “I think I better head off.”

“Are you sure? You don’t have to leave.”

“Why, do you want me to stay, Draco?” You tease.

He nods, “I can’t offer much, but this couch is really comfy.”

“And where will you be sleeping?” You ask; the wine making you more brash.

Draco blushes. You take back your words, “I’m sorry, Draco. Red wine goes straight to my head.”

“Don’t be, it’s okay.”

“No, it isn’t. I just propositioned you and all we’ve done is kiss,” You groan, dropping your head into your hands.

Draco pulls your hands away from your face, “(Y/N), it’s fine, really. The blanket on the back of the couch is really warm; grab it will you?”

You feel your face heat as you reach for the large grey blanket draped over the back of the couch. Draco stands momentarily to toe off his shoes before settling back down on the couch. You slip off your own shoes before clambering onto the couch next to him.

This was all so intimate.

Draco throws the large blanket over you both. Once suitably covered, his arm slips around your waist and your hand rests on his chest.

Neither of you say anything. No words need to be spoken now; everything expressed through actions alone.

With a kiss to the top of your head, Draco falls asleep unafraid of what he’ll meet in the morning.

--------

It’s the sunlight that wakes you. Bright light warming your face; you flutter your eyes open to find you face to face with Draco’s chest. Neither of you had moved in night; if anything, becoming closer together. At some point, his legs had tangled with yours and your hand had gripped his shirt so tight, it came away wrinkled when you loosened your grip.

You sigh happily; then you glance at the clock on the mantle piece where the hands make it abundantly clear that you were going to be late for work.

Extracting yourself carefully from Draco’s hold, you pick up your shoes from the floor. You search quickly for a spare piece of paper and a pen; scrawling a note for Draco to read when he wakes.

With one last look at the man you had fallen for in such a short amount of time, you apparated away.

-----

Draco wakes not long after you leave; feeling oddly light without the weight of your body pressed up against him. He frowns when he realises that you’ve left without a goodbye but with a glance at the clock, he doesn’t have much time to worry about it.

Scorpius would be awake any minute and demanding breakfast.

Draco sits up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. It had been so long since he had slept with someone by his side; wrapped around him the way you were, and he was happy to admit, he had missed the feeling of another human pressed so tightly against him, he could feel every contour in their body.

He almost falls off the couch when he notices your note lying on the table. He grabs it with shaking hands:

“Had to go to work – meet me for lunch if you can? Thank you for last night. You still owe me pancakes – (Y/N).”

He feels like a teenager again experiencing the rush of his first crush. He runs a hand across his face; standing up to get a start on breakfast. He folds your note in two before sliding it into his wallet for safekeeping.

It’s then that Draco realises he has two things he needs to do.

-----

Draco drops Scorpius off at Astoria’s parents for the morning. Apologising to his son for bailing on their plans of the park and the library; Scorpius simply pats his father’s face in goodbye before running to his grandma and grandad Greengrass.

Draco waves at his in-laws before apparating to see their daughter.

-----

The graveyard looks entirely different, but Draco knows nothing has changed. What has changed is him, and he need to tell Astoria.

Kneeling in his usual place in front of her grave, Draco releases a shaky breath.

“Hi darling, I know I’m early for our visit, but I have something important to discuss with you,” He looks down at his hands before continuing, “I think I’ve met someone, and I really want to pursue it. I want to see where it goes.

“You have to understand, darling, I never thought I would love again after you. I really didn’t and for three years, I’ve been an island with just enough room for Scorpius. I didn’t expect it, but it happened, and I like the way (Y/N) makes me feel. I feel excited again; my hands are shaking from the very thought.

“Scorpius likes her by the way, and she likes him, but they both know they won’t ever fill the role that you were supposed to. And I think they’re both happy with that knowledge.

“I’m not asking for your permission, but I am asking for your forgiveness. For not loving you harder; for not taking more time to be with you; for not apologising immediately after every argument. But I’m ready to start living again and I’ve found someone that makes me want to live again; that incites that spark of life within me, and I desperately want to see where it goes.

“I haven’t seen you in a while; around the house. I think you realised what was happening before I did and finally made your peace with it. I can’t ever forget you and our time. I see whenever I look at our little boy, but I’m ready to begin again, and so I shall.”

Draco stands from the grave feeling as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He had to speak to Astoria before he could speak to you; he had tell her his choice but to reassure that he would always love her, but his heart was ready to make room for another person.

And that person was you.

With one last glance at the marble headstone, Draco apparates to Diagon Alley.

----------

The offices to the Daily Prophet newspaper lie in a side street just off the high street. He signs in at reception but asks the receptionist not to alert you of his presence. The receptionist flushes when she realises that she’s now part of a romantic plot. Draco smiles at her gratefully as he makes his way to the main lift, asking for your floor.

He taps his foot the entire ride up to your floor, annoying every single person in the lift with him. But he can’t help it; he’s both excited and nervous.

In a few moments, he’s changing the direction of his life forever, and he couldn’t feel more ready to start.

The door opens on your floor and Draco rushes out, followed by the happy sighs of those journeying to higher floors. He wants to laugh at their reactions, but the butterflies rioting in his stomach make him feel as if he could vomit right on the muddy brown carpet.

It’s not hard to find which desk is yours by the amount of trinkets on there. Files are precariously high in one section, and then the rest of the desk bar the cream typewriter is covered by snow globes and tiny figurines of landmarks from your travels. From this first look at your desk, Draco already has a sense of what your flat will look like.

You gasp when you see Draco standing in the door to your office, “Draco, you’re early for lunch.”

Draco walks up to your desk; his hands shaking through it all, “Let me make you pancakes.”

“What?” You ask, breathless.

“Let me make you pancakes,” He repeats, “I want to make you pancakes in the morning.”

“Really?” You sniffle; tears collecting.

Draco nods, “I’m still grieving, but I always will be. However, that doesn’t mean my life needs to come to an end and I realised that I want it to continue with you by my side so… let me make you pancakes every morning.”

Tears have started to fall down your face and you sniffle before speaking, “Okay. You can make me pancakes.”

Draco beams; eyes crinkling. He leans in close to you, whispering, “Do you think you can get off early?”

You grab your bag before he finishes his sentence, “Let’s get out of here.”

Draco holds his hand out for you to take. At the feel of your skin against his, a jolt of electricity runs between you. It takes everything in him not to drag you into a kiss in the foyer of the building.

He waits until he’s in the street.

Like a gentleman.

He waits until the coast is somewhat clear before pulling you into his side and drawing your mouth to his like you did last night. Your arms wrap around his neck, bringing him closer to you.

It’s not your first kiss, and it won’t be your last, but this one kiss means the world to the both of you.

Through it all, you’ve learnt to swim.

-------

A year later:

Scorpius is almost five years old when he visits his mother’s grave for the first time in his life. He had been less than three weeks old when she was buried in the Greengrass plot

Scorpius watches as his father kneels before her first; apologising for his absence and asking for her forgiveness.

But then he looks to Scorpius; where he stands with his hand holding onto yours tightly.

Draco beckons to Scorpius with an open hand. Scorpius staggers to his father’s side immediately.

“Hi Mum,” he whispers.

Draco’s hand is firm on his son’s shoulders; a comforting presence.

“I miss you,” he starts, “I know I never got to know you, but I miss you. I have your picture in my room, so I know what you look like, and Wellesley. I’m starting school soon; a small magic school with kids like me and I’m really excited. Dad’s doing well. He was sad for a while but he’s happier now and he talks about you more with (Y/N) who I like too. I want to come back, and I think Dad will let me, so I’ll see you soon, Mum.”

And with that, Scorpius walks away, happy to have finally met the mother had wanted to meet for so long.

Draco watches his son potter back to the still creaky gate in awe. You join his side; fingers tangling in his. “How are you feeling?” You ask, watching Draco’s face.

“Happy and in love,” is Draco’s reply.

*****

Muggle songs:

Johnny Ace - Pledging My Love

Paul Anka - Put Your Head On My Shoulder

General (HP) taglist: @chaotic-fae-queen @obsessedwithrandomthings @harrypotter289 @dreamer821 @kalimagik @heloisedaphnebrightmore @nebulablakemurphy @the-hufflefluffwriter @figlia--della--luna @bforbroadway @idont-knowrn @summer-writes @big-galaxy-chaos @black-lake-confessions @annasofiaearlobe @imboredandneedalife @levylovegood @mytreec @haphazardhufflepuff @teheharrypotter @chaoticgirl04

Draco Malfoy taglist @the--queen-of-hell @obxmxybxnk @obx-beach @sycathorn-slush @dracomalfoyswifey

#draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy fanfic #Draco Malfoy #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco x reader #draco malfoy reader insert #draco malfoy one shot #draco malfoy imagine #draco fanfiction #draco lucius malfoy #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fanfic #hp fanfic #hp fanfiction #harry potter imagines #draco malfoy x y/n #draco x y/n

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psychicdreamfriendoperator · 3 years

Note

Going off from the free dating headcanon… how about some for Miguel and Agata? >.<

I’m so happy to see another blog writing for the shishigumi, they’re finally getting the character development they deserved

I'm happy to write for the lovable bastards, though it does seem like there's only 1 or 2 other blogs that write for all of the Shishigumi.

Speaking of blogs, @couldyouspeakmyname is a very nice one ü, please check them out if you haven't already!

I had to keep the word limit in mind (especially since there's 2 characters involved here), so, if this ask wasn't what you wanted, feel free to let me know and I can try again!

— Psychic

General Dating Headcanons

Agata

Agata has had his fair share of partners. Society makes lions out to be good leaders, and so, many animals begin relationships with them. Agata's a darker-coloured lion, so this effect was multipled for him.

While he did have a “bad boy” phase, Agata is truly a nice person at heart.

That would have been more than enough for others to stay in a relationship with him, had he been born almost any other animal.

He was cheated on a lot by love interests who wanted to make a lion jealous, and by those who expected something . . . more passionate from a relationship with a lion.

As a result, Agata's very clingy, and mayhaps a bit bitter.

Miguel

Miguel's relationships tend to last 6 months to 1 year, but never much longer than that. He doesn't have much of an interest in relationships, but he's open to love if it finds him first.

Previous lovers had a tendency to sexualise him— this is something that makes Miguel very uncomfortable.

He doesn't mind dirty jokes, etc, but more intimate actions have been partially ruined for him.

Meeting Them

Agata

It's quite possible that you ran into him at a local community college.

I can imagine Agata taking a course there— perhaps it's related to technology?

It's also quite possible that the both of you shared the same, mandatory class.

“oh shit oh shit oh shit . . .”

A noise that was more whisper than spoken word. You don't see it, but you can almost taste the anxiety that flows over from your colleague.

Your eyes moved involuntarily over to your left, where a dark-maned lion crawled on his hands and knees, as if searching for something.

You rest your head on your hand. “Looking for something?”

A muffled, “Dropped my pen . . .”

You fished about in your pencil case, pulling out one of your spares. It wasn't nearly as favoured as your gel pens, and, it also wasn't one you would miss if someone were to steal it.

“You can borrow this one . . . just give it back.”

You had never seen someone look so grateful; the expression was genuine, which filled your body with a cosy warmth.

Miguel

Perhaps you met him at the gym.

Although Miguel had more than enough exercise equipment at the Mansion, he preferred to workout away from the Black Market.

It gave him the chance to organise his thoughts.

“STAY FIT”— a simple, two word long mantra and a reminder of the New Year’s resolution you wanted to keep.

In order to achieve that goal, you signed yourself up for a gym— it was only a few blocks away on foot. Since it was so close, you were always the first one there . . .

Or rather, you were always the first one there, until recently.

“You must really love working out,” You struck up pleasant conversation whenever the both of you took your breaks. There wasn't anything else to do, really.

The feline, whose mane was tied up neatly behind him, took a swig of his bottled water. “I suppose you could say that.”

It was a curt response, yes, but it was also the start of a wonderful acquaintanceship.

Growing Closer

Agata

over the course of several weeks, Agata racked up a fine collection of pens— all of them yours, of course.

Somehow, you didn't believe that you would get them back.

It didn't matter much though— you had more than enough to spare.

The pair of you studied together often; either on-campus or back at your place.

His notes were very neat, you noticed.

He divided his pages into three sections; one for definitions, one for summarisations of the text and one for miscellaneous notes.

When you expressed your interest, Agata is more than happy to explain the Cornell Method to you.

You were just pleased that all the pens you lent him hadn't gone to waste.

Miguel

you actually had to put some effort in before Miguel felt comfortable enough instigating a conversation with you.

In the beginning, you talked to yourself, more or less.

Miguel gave short, curt answers in reply.

You both took note of what subjects the other person was interested in, and then went from there.

Polite conversation made to pass the time became deep and insightful discussions.

Miguel kept a neutral expression when speaking to you, but after a while, his lips curved into a pleasant smile more and more often.

You liked his smile.

Going Steady

Agata

You didn't notice the way Agata’s hands shook until much later, when you were both reminiscing on how he had asked you out the first time.

You did notice that the lion had a few bags’ worth of stationery with him, though.

“Finally decided to return those pens you borrowed?” You were teasing of course — your friendship with him was such that you didn't care about those trivial things anymore.

“Let’s go see a movie tonight!”

You blinked once. Twice.

Then, you cleared your throat. “Ah . . . sure—” You turned around, intending to fetch a jacket. “I’ll just get a coat and—”

“Y-you can borrow mine!”

Thought it was several sizes too large, Agata's jacket was indeed very comfortable.

Miguel

It just sort of happened.

One thing led to another, really, and soon, the both of you were bouncing ideas back and forth.

“You're weird,” You snorted, playful as always. With the gentle push of a button, the treadmill belt beneath you began to move.

You thought you saw Miguel smile. He slung his towel over one of the machine's handle bars. “Maybe so, but, aren't you going to answer? It's not hard, right?”

“Well . . .” You clicked your tongue, actually thinking. “I've always wanted to go cycling at the park with someone else.”

“Are you free Thursday?”

You eyed the lion suspiciously, but nodded, “Mhm . . .”

But then, it clicked, “Oh . . .”

It really clicked, and you broke out into a wide grin, nodding up and down quickly.

Dating

Agata

he was very nervous at first, and very, very clingy.

He felt as if he had to keep impressing you, and giving you gifts just to keep you around.

You didn't think much of it at first, but you drew a line when he arranged for a limosuine to drop you off at your agreed rendezvous point.

Where did he even get the money for a limo, anyways?

You called the date off, in favour of talking it out with him.

Though a part of you wanted to let Agata have it, the more sensible part just wanted to know why.

As the both of you stood in the parking lot of the movie theater, you noticed that several pairs of eyes were on you.

You grabbed him by the hand and, after a short walk, came to a more secluded area.

You sighed, and told Agata exactly how you felt.

In turn, he explained his side of the issue.

It wasn't planned for, but you both enjoyed the impromptu heart-to-heart under the stars nonetheless.

It was enjoyed so much so, that neither of you saw the black car which drove away, its scar-faced driver satisfied that Agata could handle things from there.

Miguel

dating Miguel feels as if you're hanging out with a dear friend — which you were, in a way.

Your dates are spent cycling around the district, dominating patronising the local basketball court and just enjoying the other’s company.

And then, you slept together.

It had been late, so, you told him that he could crash at your place until daylight.

Despite your insistence that he take the bed while you slept on the sofa, Miguel was adamant that it be the other way around.

You had shrugged your shoulders, and decided not to fight him on it further.

Come morning, you had successfully moved him into your bed— he looked mad uncomfortable on the couch, anyways.

To your surprise, Miguel awoke with a start, a hand over his chest and eyes wide.

He demanded to know whether or not the both of you had done anything the previous night.

You didn't know about his . . . fear at the time, but you knew that you had royally fucked up.

You promised not to do that sort of thing again, and the rest of the morning is spent in the other's arms.

#beastars #beastars agata #beastars miguel #beastars x reader #beastarsxreader #ask #beastars headcanons #beastars imagines #beastars dolph mention

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dr-spencer-reids-queen · 3 years

Text

Extreme Aggressor: Part One

Pairing: Eventual Spencer Reid x Reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, woman gets killed in an alley, talk of strangling and stabbing a woman

Summary: Jason Gideon is called back from a six-month leave from the Behavioral Analysis Unit to profile a killer. Meanwhile, the team flies across the country to Seattle when another young woman goes missing at the hands of "The Seattle Strangler," another serial killer.

Author’s Note: Here is it finally! After hard work, it is finally ready for your viewing pleasure! Please, feedback is always appreciated so let me know what you like about it and what you didn’t!

I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there is any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them. If you’ve seen the show, then it’s the same level of angst unless otherwise stated.

So without further ado, please enjoy!

"The belief in a supernatural source of evil is not necessary. Men alone are quite capable of every wickedness." - Joseph Conrad

Not everyone knows this but each and every person has an aura around their body as if it hovers to remind people like you that they have things to hide. Not many people can see and do what you can do, but then again, you don’t want them to. All your life, you have been able to connect with people on a much deeper level than the average human. Those auras contain energies that you are able to connect with, therefore see more than what the normal eye can.

This ability that you have has gotten you in places you should never be. It’s gotten you where another dare not to venture. It’s allowed you to see the true intention and personality of a person no matter how high and thick their walls may be. Now, some people are better at hiding their true selves than others, but you always manage to figure out what makes them tick.

Your abilities have captured the attention of a really great friend, Jason Gideon. When he figured out the thing you could do, he knew you would make a great addition to his team. Granted, he was on a “summer break” so to speak, but he would be more than happy to give you a recommendation. It’s not that you didn’t want to work for the FBI, you just didn’t know if you would be good enough.

Never have your abilities let you down even if they didn’t always give you want you wanted. No one really knew what you could do, not even your family. It made you feel like a freak, like you never belonged anywhere since all you could do was see on the soulful plane. Maybe the BAU would benefit from having you on board, but would you benefit from having the BAU on your side? Your father always told you never to join any kind of government work, and at the time, he gave a good enough reason to keep you away. Something about them always taking jobs right from underneath everyone’s noses, and you believed him when you were a kid.

Now, not so much.

It was hard to when all you saw was death wherever you go. You didn’t ask for this ability, but you got it, and it was your responsibility to help as many people as you could with it until the day you die. That was the only reason why you were considering taking Jason up on his offer. There was still some hesitation on your shoulder, and you thought a walk would do you nice.

The crowded city rushed on without you, but you only had one thing on your mind. It was the busiest part of the city, but you liked walking through there once in a while. Everyone’s thoughts and feelings came to light when they were in a rush. It bombarded you and often overwhelmed you, but nothing overcame the sickening feeling you got in your stomach when you stepped on Jefferson Rd.

The energy in the air swirled around you, but it wasn’t energy from the people around you; it was from the dead. Even spirits leave energy behind when they pass which allow people like you to snatch it up to figure out their story. The way it works is that you become so overwhelmed with the emotions and the energy that you begin to see some of the last moments that spirit went through before it passed. You are allowed to see it based on how well you connect with it.

Some people have called you being psychic while other people called you a witch. Being an empathetic person helped you see the picture clearly. Not always will you get a clear one, and sometimes, you may not even get a full body. It’s whatever the spirit left behind and wanted you to see. They laid down the stepping stones, and it was up to you to be able to pass them.

Standing still in the middle of the sidewalk, you looked to your left to see a woman appear out of thin air. She was a bit transparent which is how you were able to spot the difference between an energy source and a real human. She was maybe in her mid-twenties, and she was jogging with headphones in. She passed by you without a second glance, and everyone around you seemed to disappear since the only person you were able to focus on was her.

She jogged for a few more seconds when a black apparition came out of the alley not far from you. The black shape grabbed at the woman, but you needed to replay that scene over if you wanted to connect with his spirit. Sometimes, when a picture isn’t clear, you have to replay the mini silent movie over and over again until you can either get a clear picture or you knew that you weren’t getting anything more.

As if you had a remote in one hand, you pressed it which rewound the action. The woman jogged backwards past you to where she first emerged, and you hit the play button. Just like before, she jogged past you, minding her own business when the black shape came at her. This time, he was a bit clearer. Repeating this process over and over again, you watched the woman get kidnapped about twenty more times before you could see the exact details of the man’s face.

He grabbed her and pulled her into the alley, but you couldn’t seem to move. The clearer the picture, the stronger the energy. The stronger the energy meant the event you watched happened recently. The longer the event goes unsolved, the less amount of energy you are able to connect with.

Something happened in that alley, but you dreaded going anywhere near it. However, this woman’s story was untold, and her spirit won’t rest unless someone tells it for her. Taking a deep breath, you looked at the busy street and suddenly remembered that you were in the middle of a city with a bustling amount of people around you.

Pushing past the crowd, you made your way to the alley until you were completely alone as the rest of the world left the single girl who was in the alley alone. There was one particular spot that drew you in, and you took a few steps towards it before getting another vision. The man jammed a knife into the woman’s abdomen, and you gasped when you felt her emotional pain. Being an empath is really hard work since you had more than yourself to worry about.

The woman dropped to the ground with a loud thud, and the man kept stabbing her over and over again until she was way past dead. Once he was satisfied, he took the murder weapon with him and fled the scene, running right past you to do it. It took everything in you to look away from his eyes despite your body telling you to do so.

The noise of the busy city drowned out the sound of a body thumping on the ground, and you crept to the area where she was stabbed. Instead of a body, there was a thick blue tarp covering the ground. It looked like a body was underneath it, but it could be trash. Please let it be trash. Please let it be trash. Picking up the end of the tarp with your gloved hand, you peeked underneath it to see wide soulless eyes staring at you.

The shock overwhelmed you, and you dropped the tarp in shock. Tears threatened to escape your eyes, but if it wasn’t for you, this woman probably would have never been found—or, at least, not right now. From what you could gather, the body was still fresh with only sight signs of decaying. If you called the police now, they might be able to find her killer.

Taking out your cellphone, you dialed 911 and put in an anonymous tip before getting the hell out of there. It didn’t take long for first responders to arrive on scene, and you watched from the deli across the street as they uncovered her. She was found because of you. She is going to get justice because of you.

That was all the evidence you needed to make your decision.

Taking out your phone once more, you called your dear and beloved friend. It took him three rings to pick up.

“Jason, it’s me, Y/N. I’ll take it.”

Gideon was sucked back into the BAU on a case after he needed to take some time for himself. He was involved with a bomber that took out one hostage and six agents, so you could understand why he requested for your help. He trusted you to aid this team in finding a killer, especially when he saw what you can do first-hand. It was hard to explain your abilities to someone who couldn’t possibly understand, but you knew you had to since he had a jet full of his other teammates.

It didn’t take long to get to the airport where the jet was waiting, and before you ascended the stairs, you could feel everyone’s emotions—impatient, curiosity, calmness, and eagerness. They were all waiting for you, and you needed to show them that you belonged on their team. Walking on the jet, all heads turned at the new presence. Gideon stood up and approached you with a welcoming smile on his face.

“It’s good to see you again,” he stated.

“Well, you needed me. Here I am,” you nodded, looking at everyone else on the jet.

The person you noticed first was what you assumed to be the second person in charge. He had almost black hair and a hard gaze since he didn’t really like newcomers. The next person was a black male who emitted impatience since he just wanted to get in the air. The last person was a scrawny young male which is where the curiosity was coming from.

“Y/N, this is my team. Agent Aaron Hotchner, Derek Morgan, and Dr. Spencer Reid.”

“Spencer Reid?” you asked, and the young man perked up at the sound of his name. “Sorry, but I’ve read everything you have ever written especially Identifying Non-obvious Relationship Factors Using Cluster Weighted Modeling and Geographic Regression. You have a very intelligent mind.”

“Thank you,” he smiled, clearly impressed that you read his work.

“Guys, this is my good friend Y/N that I’ve asked to help us on this case.”

“Is she FBI?” Hotchner asked.

“Not exactly.”

“I am what’s known as an empathetic psychic. If ‘witch’ makes you sleep better at night, then call me that. I see things that most people are not able to see. I connect with people’s energies, especially the dead. Believe it or not, I see events that lead up to someone’s death due to the energy and the spirit they leave behind. The more recent the event, the stronger of a picture I get. It doesn’t always give me what I want, but it always provides me with what I need. I’ll be a valuable asset to this team.”

“I already approved it with the board. She has her firearm qualification and she passed the academy with flying colors,” Gideon sided with you.

“We need to get going. We’ll see how you do on this case,” Hotchner nodded.

With that, the plane was off. It wasn’t until the pilot let you know it was safe to move around the cabin that everyone start to talk about the case.

“His first victim was Melissa Kirsh—stab wounds and strangulation,” Spencer read from the file.

“Wait, wait. Back up. Back up,” Derek interrupted. “He stabbed her and then strangled her to finish her off?”

“Other way around,” Gideon cleared his throat before turning to you, the hopefully newest member of the team. “Why do you think he started using the belt with the second murder?”

“Strangulation with your bare hands is not as easy as one would believe,” you said, earning a few stares from the others. You knew it would take some time for them to get used to you, especially when they didn’t even know you. The fact that you’re with them is because you’re friends with Gideon. “He tried and probably found that it took too long so he stabbed her instead and realized it would be hours cleaning up the blood.”

“Next time, our boy's got a method—the belt,” Derek added.

“He's learning and perfecting his scenario. Becoming a better killer,” Gideon stated.

“So, Y/N, where did you learn about profiling?” Hotchner asked, taking a break from the case.

“I have a PhD in Criminal Justice with a sole focus on profiling. Another one in Psychology which better helps me connect with others. I thought Gideon told you all of this,” you asked, looking at your friend.

“How old are you, if you don’t mind me asking?” Spencer asked.

“Twenty-three. Well, I turn twenty-three in a few months.”

“Wow, I’m impressed. How did you get two PhD’s at your age?”

“How’d you get three at yours?”

“I’m a genius with an eidetic memory.”

“Yeah, well, I worked my ass off to get where I am so just know that you’re not letting just anyone on this jet with you. I’d be happy to prove myself to you guys. I’ve been doing it since I could read.”

“There’s a few more of us you still have to meet,” Hotchner stated.

“Lucky you, Reid,” Derek grinned. The young doctor stared at his friend in confusion. “You’re not the youngest one here anymore.”

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satendou · 3 years

Text

⟼ makes the heart grow fonder

⍣ 365 days of sun series | previous | 2/2

・‥…━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━…‥・

⇢ pairing: iwaizumi hajime/reader/oikawa tooru

⇢ au: 365!au, poly!au, college!au, pro!oikawa

⇢ summary: prequel to 365 days; everyone always calls paris the city of love, but love can come anywhere, especially the unlikeliest of places

⇥ masterlist

⇢ warnings: pre-relationship, polyamory, fluff, kinda angsty, alcohol use

⇢ word count: 11375 (oops)

Oikawa was nothing if not a creature of habit. He woke up, texted the two of you, showered, ate, went to classes and left for practice, which had been nonstop since he arrived in San Juan. When he got home, he would text you and Iwaizumi-- if he remembered between eating and crashing-- letting you know how practice had gone.

Sometimes he would get home to find some endearing, supportive message from you, letting him know you were going to sleep but that he needed to eat or pay his phone bill. You knew him too well, even from across the globe, and it made him smile, the stinging pain of something missing never stronger than in those moments. It was something he could ignore most days, exchange it for the radiating heat of a ball meeting his palm and forget for a while, but when he was slapped in the face with reminders of what he’d left behind, they were almost impossible to deal with.

He didn’t get to talk with the two of you half as much as he wanted, the 12 hour time difference making it nearly impossible to sync your schedules up, but on the rare nights where everyone was still awake and not quite tired enough to fall asleep yet, he lit up in ways he’d never experienced when he lived with you.

It made him wonder how much he’d taken for granted.

He couldn’t deny that a part of him was jealous that the two of you got to stay together. That same selfish part of him had come close to picking up the phone and saying he was coming home multiple times after he arrived in Argentina, the feeling was so strong. But the other half, the part that was equally selfish in a different way, couldn’t give up his dreams, not when he’d worked so fucking hard to get there.

On those days, you seemed to know what he was thinking and either you or Iwaizumi, with near psychic accuracy, would call him on his bullshit and things would be okay for a while. Those days had slowly grown less frequent the longer he stayed away, but the jealousy had simply been replaced with longing.

So when you had mentioned a break from school that just happened to coincide with his very first game, he couldn’t resist. Besides, he wanted some familiar faces in the crowd, and who better than you and Iwaizumi? Or his family, but they hadn’t been able to swing it for a myriad of reasons.

Then you had said yes, which was why Oikawa was standing up on his tiptoes at the luggage carousel, trying to see over the people for a glimpse of familiar faces. If he wasn’t looking at the crowd, he was staring at his watch.

Your plane had landed nearly twenty minutes ago, so you should have already disembarked. So why weren’t the two of you there in his arms yet?

“Oi, Brattykawa, you’re looking the wrong way,” a familiar voice sniped from behind him, and he whirled around, nearly losing his balance in his excitement.

“_____! Iwa-chan!” he yelled, throwing his arms around your necks and sending you faltering backwards.

Only Iwaizumi’s strength kept the three of you up, his arm wrapped around your waist and legs braced under Oikawa’s weight.

“You damn idiot, quit making a scene,” he snapped, but only pushed his friend back far enough to rebalance before squeezing him tight, his fingers curled in the back of the thin t-shirt Oikawa wore.

Your free arm came up around him as well, not nearly as strong but just as familiar and welcome and even though you all secretly swore you wouldn’t cry, tears still spilled over. The feeling of relief, of being whole again was overwhelming, and you linked your fingers with theirs as you moved through the crowd. Oikawa carried one travel case, Iwaizumi the other, and you lugged the shared carry-on bag you had brought.

Coming out of the airport after a twenty hour flight was a bit jarring and, though the two of you had prepared for a few days in advance and even slept on the plane, you could still feel jet lag kicking in. San Juan time was directly opposite Japanese time, so though you had gotten on your plane in Tokyo in the pitch black, Oikawa had carefully planned the flights and layovers so that you had arrived early in the morning.

The sun beat down from a cloudless sky, and you started sweating almost immediately.

“I can’t wait to show you guys around. But first, you’re probably hungry, right? There’s this cafe right around the corner from our apartment that has the most amazing churros I want you to try,” he rambled as the driver loaded your luggage in the trunk. Iwaizumi slid into the backseat beside you with Oikawa on your other side, all your fingers still linked together. “Oh but I guess we could go after you unpack. Don’t want you to have to drag your luggage everywhere.”

“Thank you for realizing, Shittykawa,” Iwaizumi griped, and Oikawa laughed.

“Sorry, sorry, I’m just so excited for you guys to be here! It’s only been a few months but it feels like a part of me has been missing,” he said, and his fingers squeezed around yours tighter. It was exactly how you had been feeling since he left, like things were off kilter.

The conversation after that was mostly questions about the flights and the layovers, and how the jet lag was. The longer Oikawa watched and listened, the more he thought something was wrong.

It wasn’t...wrong wrong, it just seemed like there was something new and different to your interactions with Iwaizumi and vice versa. He would just have to keep an eye out for it, to see if he could discern what it was.

The apartment was the one Iwaizumi had picked out for him months ago, not that anyone was surprised. Usually when he suggested something, Oikawa took it without question.

As soon as the door was open, you were slammed with the familiar smell that you associated with Oikawa. That light and airy cologne permeated everything, like he had spritzed it everywhere, mixed with the detergent you used at home, or as close as he could get, you would guess. It was a double whammy-- you realized what you had been missing as soon as you got it again, and realized that when you left you would lose it.

It made you wonder what walking into your own apartment would be like.

Before you could get too lost down that train of thought, Oikawa put his hand to your back, leading you further in. Almost absently, Iwaizumi took your hand, letting Oikawa lead both of you to one of the large windows.

Light flooded the large combined kitchen/living room area. He had put curtains up, but they were currently tied back, leaving the windows exposed. The view was breathtaking, just high enough that it rose above most of the other buildings and gave you a long view of the city, marred by other highrises here and there.

He pointed out a large, strange dome shape in the distance, light reflecting off the top back into the city.

“That’s our stadium. I’ll show you around it later today, if we have time.” he said with a lopsided grin. “Anyway, your rooms are this way! You can pick which ones you want.”

His fingers linked with yours-- it seemed as if he couldn’t get enough of feeling your hand in his-- as he led you down the hall opening first one door and then the other. Both rooms filtered plenty of light, curtains tied up and exposing the decent sized rooms. A bed and dresser decorated each, but that was it. A simple beige color coated the walls and a ceiling fan spun slowly while the air conditioner kicked on. You set your bag down beside the bed and turned to face them again.

“I didn’t expect them to be this big,” you said, looking around. It was across from Oikawa’s, versus Iwaizumi’s, which was right across from the bathroom and closest to the kitchen.

“Sorry they’re so sparse. I figured I’d let you decorate them how you saw fit,” he said, leaning against the frame of the door. “The master is even bigger, but I said the same when I saw them the first time.”

Iwaizumi stood behind him, peering over his shoulder as you surveyed the room, close enough that Oikawa could feel his chest brush against his back. “Are you sure you should be giving these rooms away to just us? You’ll have other guests, won’t you?”

As nonchalant and almost coldly, he shrugged. “They can sleep in here when you aren’t, and there are hotels around the corner. But these rooms were never meant for anyone but you.”

With that, he steered Iwaizumi back down the hall to his room with you hot on his heels. Rifling through his closet, he threw two sets of light aqua sheets at you and Iwaizumi.

You stared at them for a moment, and then Iwaizumi coughed. “Did you pick these colors for a reason?”

Oikawa, busy restacking the things in his closet, stopped and gave him a quizzical look. “Uh, not really. Why?”

The two of you snickered behind your hands, sharing a knowing look before you held the package up higher. “Doesn’t this remind you of anything. A certain uniform, perhaps?”

The color faded from Oikawa’s face just before it all returned in force, a pretty shade of red covering his cheeks. His hand met his face with a loud smack, and he groaned. “I cannot believe I did that. I really did though, didn’t I?”

More snickering met his ears and his lips turned down in a pout. Before he could start to really get into it, you looked up at him and said, “It’s fine, Tooru. They’re very pretty anyway. I like them.”

Beside you, Iwaizumi sighed, his lips quirking up just the slightest bit. “They’ll do. You probably just closed your eyes and picked though, huh?”

Stomping his foot, Oikawa stuck his tongue out, pulling one eyelid down in a very familiar move. “Did not, Iwa-chan! Don’t be mean or I’ll kick you out!”

But Iwaizumi had already turned and headed back across the hall, missing Oikawa’s childish display, while you tried to breathe through your giggles. “Sure you will. You can try, Brattykawa.”

“Poor ______, how have you put up with him without me all this time,” Oikawa asked loudly as he followed you back down the hall, his fingers gripping the back of your shirt. There was this an urge to constantly be near you or touching you in some way ever since he’d first seen the two of you at the airport. It was like there was a magnet, drawing his hand to your back or your hand, a small zing of anxiety and a desire to make sure you were really here. It even extended to Iwaizumi, which he found unusual. Separation really was playing havoc with him.

As the day progressed, Oikawa slowly began to realize that your interactions with Iwa weren’t just different, they had changed. The way the two of you revolved around each other was new and a part of him felt shut out as he watched you go about your day. The conversations you had, the stories you told, he didn’t understand any of it and it left an empty feeling in his chest as he realized that in the few months the three of you had been separated you and Iwaizumi had started living a whole new life.

“Oikawa,” you said for the third time, and watched him blink as he refocused on you. You frowned, putting your hand on your hip as you stared up at him. He had been showing you around some of his favorite spots in the city with little enthusiasm and it was starting to worry you. “What’s going on with you? You’ve been out of it for hours now.”

The sun was relentless, so you had stopped at a street vendor for some shaved ice and moved to the shade of a large oak tree. Most of his had melted as he stared off into space, making the paper cone soggy and you watched it drip to the grass. Iwaizumi had thrown away your own garbage and was now staring at Oikawa, waiting for his answer.

But he hesitated, trying to figure out how to explain the foreboding feeling clutching at his heart. It had never occurred to him just how much things would change when he left Tokyo, too focused on himself to consider anything else.

His mouth opened and closed several times, his chocolate brown eyes wide and swimming with an emotion you could only describe as sadness and your stomach clenched. When you reached out to him, he drew you into his arms, burying his face in your hair in a familiar gesture, but even your shampoo had changed.

“Tooru, what’s going on?” you asked, feeling another hand land on your back, overlapping Oikawa’s. You turned your head to look up at Iwa, your heart pounding in your chest. Oikawa’s fingers were twisted in your shirt, and you could feel his heart racing under your hand until you wound your arms around his neck.

Iwa looked down into your face, taking in your wide, nervous eyes asking him to help, but he shook his head and shrugged. He had no more idea of what was going on than you did, but knew that Oikawa would explain when he was able. Whatever had gotten into him was clearly big, and he just needed time to figure himself out.

It was a few minutes before Oikawa moved, and you were sweating in his hold. There were other people walking by, whispering and pointing, but they quickly scurried off when Iwaizumi turned his ferocious scowl on them. When he did finally shift, it was only to stand up a little straighter and set his chin on the top of your head, locking eyes with Iwaizumi.

“It feels like so much has changed since I left. Like there’s some space between us now that wasn’t there before, and you two are standing on one side and I’m standing on the other,” he said at last, and he sounded as empty as his eyes looked.

Iwaizumi knew that look, it was the “I’m about to shut down and refuse to acknowledge that I’m an idiot and overthinking things” look. If it wasn’t stopped in its tracks right now, the rest of the day was going to be miserable.

Before Iwaizumi could smack him upside the head though, you piped up, voice small and fragile as you clung tighter to Oikawa. All the pent up worries and emotions you had hidden from Iwa flooded out, and he was a little aggravated that the two of you had decided to do this right now in the middle of ninety degree weather.

“I know how you feel. I’ve felt the same for the last few weeks, wondering what it was going to be like seeing you again knowing that you have a whole new life here. I was afraid that-- that you would have changed so much that-- I don’t know,” you tapered off, and then whispered, “I thought you wouldn’t want us anymore.”

He laughed at that, a tight, high noise that carried no humor, but the cold feeling in his chest abated and he relaxed, his hand sliding up to cup the back of your head and suddenly he was comforting you. “Never ever in a million years, _____. You’re too precious to me. Even Iwa-chan, who’s done nothing but bully me all day. I’d never try to replace you. I’d never let anyone replace you.”

And it was so easy to believe he meant it when he held you like that. Rubbing your face against his chest, you smiled. “You’re still such a sap. I should’ve known you hadn’t changed.”

He whined and pinched your side. “Don’t you be mean to me too, _____. I couldn’t take it.”

Squealing, you pushed him away, but he didn’t let you get far. It was hot and your palms were sweaty and it was uncomfortable, but when he laced his fingers with yours, you didn’t complain.

Iwa did though.

“Are you two done? It’s like, 100 degrees and I am melting. You two are such idiots,” he said, scowling at the two of you. His face was red and shiny with perspiration, and he looked seriously annoyed but he was also watching you with a fondness you’d only recently begun to notice. Since that night a few weeks ago, he had been far more affectionate and open, which was saying something because you were already so casually affectionate to begin with.

Poking his tongue out at him, Oikawa tugged you along down the sidewalk with renewed vigor. Iwaizumi grumbled behind but allowed himself to be led by the hand as Oikawa told you about the next place he was going to bring you and about the game in a few days.

“Unfortunately, I have to go to practice tomorrow, but feel free to wander the city, of course. Just please don’t get lost,” Oikawa prattled on, turning a corner onto a street lined with shops.

The rest of the day was spent investigating every one of them, Oikawa insisting that you get whatever you wanted to decorate your rooms and you obliged only to appease him. It was a little uncomfortable having him pay for everything, but you were weighted down with bags by the time you left the last store. It was mostly clothes, so that you wouldn’t have to pack so much when you visited again and some other small knick knacks that he bought even though you argued against it.

Iwaizumi was carrying far less bags-- at least until he took yours-- mostly because he refused to give into Oikawa’s puppy dog eyes and threatened to maim him if he continued to nag. But Oikawa couldn’t be stopped completely and picked up the things Iwa expressed interest in anyway. Iwaizumi wasn’t happy about it but the look of happiness on Oikawa’s face as he chatted with you, the bags swinging lazily from his arm, made up for it, and he found himself smiling.

The walk back to the apartment was considerably more pleasant without the heat of the sun cooking you alive, and the way first Oikawa then Iwaizumi laced their fingers with yours only made it that much better. There was an indescribable pressure in your chest as you took in the city lights and chatter of people around you. The sounds of sizzling food and smells wafting from street vendors made your mouth water, and Oikawa stopped to purchase a plate of kebabs from one as you passed by.

“You really don’t have to do all this, Tooru. We aren’t poor, you know,” you commented as he passed one to you and then Iwa. Grease dripped down your fingers, and the first bite you took was an explosion of different flavors over your tongue, making you groan. “Shit, this is so good.”

Oikawa watched you with a soft grin, holding his own kebab in his hand but not eating it just yet as he said, “Well there’s not much I’d rather spend it on than you, my little _____.”

The wonder in your eyes as they reflected the lights crisscrossing the street was doing strange things to his stomach, and when those eyes landed on them and the wonder deepened to something more intense, it exploded into butterflies. Something in his head clicked as it changed and he realized you were absolutely beautiful right then and there.

“Shit,” he muttered, and your brows furrowed in confusion as he shook his head. What a weird thought to have, and an even weirder reaction overall. Of course you were beautiful, he had always known that, so why had it hit him so powerfully all of a sudden?

“You alright?” you asked, wiping your mouth with a napkin. Setting your empty stick back on the plate in his hands, you picked up your second one. “You look like you’re in pain.”

He blinked and took a moment to answer, locking eyes with Iwaizumi, who was watching him with curious amusement. “Yeah, I’m okay. Just tired, I guess. It’s been a while since I’ve run all over town like this. The heat must’ve gotten to me.

The heat, huh? Iwaizumi smirked, watching Oikawa watch you with a newfound fascination. He wondered if he even realized he was doing it and how long it would take him to recognize it for what it was.

“Oh, well,” you said, your cheeks heating up for reasons you couldn’t identify. The look in his eyes had changed, emotions you couldn't identify swirling around in his soft brown irises, but it caused your heart to stutter. “Maybe we should go home then. You have practice tomorrow and I’d hate for you to get sick or something. And just before your game too.”

You began to walk as you polished off the last of the food, still struck with wonder at the liveliness of the city. It was different than Tokyo, if no less crowded. Your city was quiet in a lot of ways, tame, whereas this one was wild and loud and raucous. It was enough to make your head spin, and you wondered if you were experiencing culture shock. Only the pressure of Iwaizumi’s and Oikawa’s slightly greasy fingers kept you from wandering off into the crowds, absorbed as you were with the lights and music.

Oikawa understood all too well, having experienced the same thing when he first arrived as well. He had been grateful for his guide, who had kept him from getting lost and probably mugged or worse in his first few weeks there. Now he knew the layout of the places he most frequented, at least, and he mainly stuck to those.

The street his apartment was on was quiet, the streetlamps casting soft light on the dark buildings with the sun just barely visible on the horizon. You could still hear the faint sounds from the main street, but it was muffled and filtered and you were surprised to find it was almost comforting. It was only nine o’clock, and he wasn’t quite ready to go to sleep yet, even though he knew he really should. He would be up early tomorrow morning and busy all day and probably into the night getting ready for his big game.

There was a sudden rush of nervous energy, one he was used to just before a game, and it never failed that it would keep him up for a while longer.

“Wanna watch a movie?” he asked, gesturing to the TV. He had a wicked setup, high definition, ultra-surround sound, the works, along with a collection of DVDs and probably every streaming service imaginable to boot.

But he looked exhausted. There were dark circles under his eyes that you had failed to notice before, and you kicked yourself for not realizing sooner. Stupid, stupid, Oikawa!

“I-- maybe we should head to bed, instead,” you suggested, giving Iwaizumi a pointed look.

He was quick to catch on and gave Oikawa a once over as the three of you stood in the kitchen The man looked ready to collapse, his hands trembling ever so slightly, but there was some manic glint in his eyes that he recognized as pre-game jitters, and he groaned internally. Oikawa was going to work himself to death, same as usual, only here there was no one to tell him when to quit because it was his job.

“Goddammit,” he muttered, glaring at him. Dealing with Oikawa really was a full time job, even from halfway around the world. Louder, and to your annoyance, he said, “Actually a movie sounds good. I’m not tired quite yet.”

Oikawa perked up from the slump he had gone into and nodded, scurrying across the room to the TV, and you used the opportunity to turn on Iwaizumi.

“Hajime, he looks like he’s going to drop dead. He needs to sleep,” you whispered, eyeing Oikawa. But he was so absorbed in setting up the sound system that he didn’t even realize you were still in the kitchen. “I-- I’m worried.”

Iwaizumi sighed, cupping your cheek. His other hand squeezed your shoulder, and you realized he was no less worried than you. “I know, but what can we do? He’s an adult and not our responsibility anymore.”

Both of you had been with him through his overzealous competition with Kageyama, one or both of you having to literally pick him up from the floor when his knees wouldn’t hold his weight more than once. There had been too many fights and sleepless nights with him about overworking himself and his obsessive need to defeat both Kageyama and Ushijima that you didn’t want to think about what he was doing to himself without someone to yell at him now.

And the way Iwaizumi talked hurt because it was true. He wasn’t, and hadn’t been for months. You hadn’t even really stopped to consider what he might be doing to himself without you and Iwaizumi to knock some sense into him, but it was plain as day that he was working himself to the bone when you stopped to really look at him.

“I know that,” you muttered, but you didn’t really believe it. It was second nature to take care of each other, and that didn’t change just because of a few months apart. Years of friendship trumped that by miles and you weren’t sure that would ever change. “Still…”

“Look,” Iwaizumi said, glancing at Oikawa again. He was still messing with something and in a rush Iwa continued. “He’s too worked up about the game, so he won’t sleep anyway. Let’s just stay up and maybe we can help him relax--”

Oikawa’s voice cut him off, playful but a little suspicious, making the two of you jumped. “What are you two whispering about?”

Feeling guilty at the betrayed expression on his wan face, you opened your lips but no sound came out. There were words stuck in your throat-- worried reprimands and demands-- but you knew they would do no good. Not with his very first game on the international circuit looming in just two days time. Nothing you said would make a difference, and to stress him out with a fight before that wouldn’t be fair, or at least no more fair than he was being to himself anyway.

Picking a fight right now would only ruin your vacation and make everyone miserable, so instead you closed your mouth and reached out to take Iwa’s hand, which squeezed yours so tight you could feel your bones grinding. “Sorry, Tooru, just chatting about tomorrow. Didn’t realize we were whispering.”

Your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes, though, and Oikawa’s narrowed, his lips turning down. Everything had been fine until you had gotten back to the apartment, but now you and Iwa both looked withdrawn and distant, unable to look at him for more than a moment before finding each other. “Are you...sure?”

The air filled with a tense silence, and once again you felt like a chasm was between you, with you and Iwaizumi on one side and Oikawa on the other, and you wondered if it would ever truly close up again. He looked so alone on the other side, drawn into himself and insecure, that you had to clos the distance to him and took his hand. It created a chain between the three of you until Iwa reached out for Oikawa, and you breathed a little easier for it.

“Everything is fine, Tooru, if you are,” you said, and he heard the pointed question in your tone.

Iwaizumi groaned internally. He should’ve known you wouldn’t just leave it alone.

For Oikawa’s part, he should’ve known you would notice, no matter how hard he tried to hide it. But he didn’t feel like getting into it with you on your first night in-- if at all-- but he knew he would have to let you fawn over and get onto him following the game. He just hoped you would drop it until then.

“I’m tired, _____, but I’m okay. Things will slow down once the game is over, I promise,” he said, and you picked up on the thin warning in his voice.

Another tense silence followed as they waited for you to make your decision, and you ultimately sighed, dropping his hand. You understood his sentiment all too well, and knew that Iwaizumi was right when he said it would be better to wait, but that didn’t mean you were happy with what Oikawa was doing to himself.

Breathing a sigh of relief, he gestured to the collection of DVDs lining the shelves. Ultimately, it was left up to you and you picked out something you knew everyone would enjoy: The X-Files. The way Oikawa’s tired face lit up was a testament to that, even if Iwaizumi huffed in exasperation. At least you hadn’t pushed the issue with Oikawa, letting it devolve into a fight. He really didn’t feel like having to mediate between the two of you tonight.

Three episodes in and Oikawa was drooping onto your shoulder, eyes fluttering with the effort to remain open. The hand he had been using to hold yours was slack, fingers loosely intertwined, and he whined when you pulled away, reaching out for it again. But you were pushing at his shoulder, guiding him down to lay in your lap, and he hummed in contentment. A blanket landed on him, the one from the back of the couch, then your fingers were brushing through his hair, nails scraping his scalp and he was drifting, images of the day flickering through his mind’s eye. They mixed with some weirder things, like a giant cat and running through Tokyo away from an alien, and he stopped fighting to bring the other images back.

His breathing evened out, his full weight coming to rest on your legs, and your fingers stilled. Eyes locked on the screen, you said, “Sorry, Iwa, for earlier. I know you’re right, but I can’t help but worry.”

Iwaizumi already had the remote in hand, fiddling with the buttons until he could figure out how to switch the screen over to Netflix, and he sighed as he flipped through the shows. “I know how you are, ______, but you know how Oikawa is. He’s always been that way.” He wasn’t patronizing as he said it, just pointed, making you flinch.

“I know that, but is anyone down here going to keep him from killing himself? You know he doesn’t know his limits,” you said, watching as he clicked into the info screen for Mad Max. The opening title played and you relaxed into the back of the couch, propping your legs up on the coffee table.

He sighed, eyes fixated on Charlize Theron coming down on her platform. He loved that movie, watching it almost as often as Godzilla. “Yeah, I do know. But there’s nothing we can do, is there? He’s halfway around the world from us and texting him about it will only get ignored.” His arm came down around your shoulders, squeezing you to his side, and you let your head fall to his shoulder. “He’ll be alright, _____. Once this game is over, he should settle down. He’s probably just desperate to make a good impression.”

You chuckled at that as you watched the movie, Iwa’s warmth surrounding you and the steady rise of fall of Oikawa’s shoulders lulling you into a stupor. You knew he was right because Oikawa had always been like that-- desperate, for some reason, to make sure everyone knew he was worthy of the praise he received. As if you didn’t already think he was.

You didn’t even realize you had fallen asleep until Iwaizumi was nudging your shoulder. The weight on your legs was gone and you jerked awake to find Oikawa sitting up, rubbing his eyes and glaring at Iwaizumi.

“I was comfortable,” he whined, draping himself over you dramatically. You giggled, your eyes stinging with sleep, but pushed him off you gently. “Not you too, _____.”

“We should go to sleep,” you reprimanded, letting Iwa help you up off the couch. Holding your hand out to Oikawa, you were almost pulled back down by his strong grip, and heard him snicker. “Don’t be a brat, Tooru,” you said, pinching his side and listening to him whine.

You parted ways in the hall, the resonating click of three doors closing before silence reigned, and you changed quickly. Collapsing onto the bed with a sigh, you breathed in the fresh smell of laundry detergent and smiled as you realized that, somehow, Oikawa’s damn cologne had stuck to the sheets too.

The next day, you and Iwaizumi wandered around the city again, following Oikawa’s suggestions of sites to check out. The city center was beautiful but packed, the fountain gurgling away happily, and that’s where the two of you had lunch. Following that, you went around to a museum, taking a tour where the guide explained the founding of the city and other interesting facts. Iwa accidentally ripped the pamphlet, causing you to laugh at the confusion on his face as he tried to figure out how it happened.

The last place you visited was an absolutely beautiful park. There were people everywhere there as well, sitting in the grass and on the benches littered around the lake. Iwa casually reached out, taking your hand as you walked down the riverwalk, gazing at the serene blue waters, and your heart skipped a beat.

When you returned to the apartment, greeting the doorman on your way by, it was still dark, and you set the ingredients you had purchased down on the counter. On the way back, you had mentioned how Oikawa had probably not had any homemade food since he moved there, so Iwaizumi had suggested making onigiri for him.

The two of you worked in quiet tandem, putting the rice on before turning to help Iwa make the fillings. You had opted for a few different ones, and you were overflowing with rice balls by the time you were done. To an outsider, it would look like too much, but you knew your boys all too well-- they would eat every single one of them before the night was through.

As you worked, you asked, “How long do you think he’ll be?”

He shrugged in response, molding rice around a tuna filling. His muscles flexed with the effort, veins popping naturally all along his forearm, and you found yourself lost in watching him work. It was something you were always prone too, but lately thoughts of a different nature were popping into your head, thoughts you really, really didn’t want to be thinking.

It took him a moment to realize you hadn’t said anything more, and he looked up to find you staring at him intensely. “See something you like?” he joked and watched you jump, your face flushing as you turned back to your own work. His eyes narrowed at your unusual reaction-- normally you would come back with a defensive “No,” or some quip about how there was nothing to see at all.

“Anyway, I can’t wait to see the game tomorrow,” you said, and he could hear the strain in your voice. You were packing the rice balls with more tenacity than normal, obviously determined not to look at him again, and something about it soothed the low burn in his chest that had been there for some time, diligently ignored.

He nodded, even though you weren’t looking, and picked up the next onigiri. “Oikawa is gonna be amazing out there, like always. I’m glad we get to be here for him.”

“Me too,” you said, and then laughed. “Imagine if we hadn’t come. He would be blowing us up right now, whining about how nervous he is and how we don’t love him anymore.”

He laughed with you, imagining Oikawa stomping his foot as he complained about being abandoned. “Thank god we came then. We would never survive his wrath.”

When the onigiri was done, you plopped down on the couch, putting on Family Guy on Hulu for background noise while the two of you played on your phones. Your feet were in Iwa’s lap as you tapped away at a game on your screen, the sound drowned out by Peter’s loud laughter, and that was how Oikawa found the two of you an hour later.

The sound of his entry was covered by the TV, and something heavy settled in his stomach when he opened the door and called, “I’m home.”

He snickered when you both jumped, twisting around to look at him. A smile lit your face while Iwa just looked unimpressed.

“Welcome home!” you said, throwing your arms up with dramatic enthusiasm, and Oikawa snickered.

“Awe, you even cooked. My little housewives,” he cooed, picking up a rice ball from the plate on the counter. He took a bite, nostalgia and longing filling his heart at the familiar flavors. It reminded him of home-- not Japan, not Tokyo, not Miyagi, but you and Iwa.

“Watch it, Shittykawa,” Iwaizumi growled, scowling up at his friend, and was stopped short by the expression on his face. It was so tender it was almost painful as he stared down at the rice ball in his hands, and then he turned it full force on the two of you.

“I really missed you guys,” he said, and then laughed. “And onigiri, and takoyaki, and Japan.”

He brought two more over and squeezed between you, practically sitting on top of you, slinging his arm over Iwa’s shoulders. You exchanged a glance with Iwaizumi, who just shrugged in amusement.

“What’re you doing home so early anyway?” you asked, returning to your game. You were only 500 points away from beating your highscore, and you tapped away to get there. Oikawa watched over your shoulder, his warm breath tickling your ear, and a shiver ran down your spine.

He was unusually quiet and focused as your character moved across the screen, avoiding obstacles and slashing at small blob monsters in your path. “Uh, they wanted us to rest for the big game. Speaking of which, I have your passes in my bag, so don’t let me forget to give them to you otherwise they won’t let you in.”

You hummed, avoiding a blob only to get killed by an arrow on your last life. “Goddammit.”

Exiting out of the app purely out of spite, you locked your phone and looked up at Oikawa. His face was closer than you had realized and your face heated up when your nose bumped his. He seemed as startled as you and jerked back, his cheeks turning a pretty red underneath his tan. His brown eyes were wide with surprise, lips parting slightly, and his arm slid off Iwa’s shoulders.

Iwaizumi watched the whole thing with something that could have been amusement, but he couldn’t quite tell. There was a flareup of something in his chest, and he might have named it longing if he hadn’t been trying to ignore those feelings. Clearing his throat, he continued to scroll through his phone and watched the two of you shift, trying to ignore the tension in the air.

“Anyway,” you said, picking at the hem of your shorts. You picked your phone back up and unlocked it, clicking into Twitter. “Do you know where our seats are?”

Back in familiar territory, Oikawa perked back up. “Well...I got you front row seats! And you’ll meet me in back after the game is over to go to the afterparty.”

“Oh, we get to party with the great Oikawa still?” Iwa asked, snickering at the way Oikawa huffed.

“Not with that attitude, Iwa-chan. Maybe I’ll just take _____ and leave you at the stadium,” he said, wrapping his arm around you possessively. It seemed whatever strangeness had occurred earlier was wiped from his mind as he pulled you into his chest.

You laughed into his shirt, fingers wiggling against his stomach until he squirmed and let you go. “You can’t be that mean, Tooru,” you chided, curling your legs up underneath yourself. Liking one of Bokuto’s tweets, you continued, “What would we do without Iwa there to keep us from getting too drunk?”

“And going home with the wrong people again?” he piped up, and Oikawa flushed bright red again.

“It was one time, Hajime. Stop bringing it up!” he whined, hiding his face in his hands. “_____, help me!”

Instead, you snickered and said, “That was the funniest fucking thing I’ve ever seen. You should have seen how confused they were when you stumbled up to them screaming Iwa-chan, _____ I’ve been looking all over for you!”

Iwa burst into laughter while Oikawa groaned.

“I hate it here,” he said, muffled by his hands. “Why does everyone hate me?”

Patting his back, you choked out, “It’s because you’re pretty.”

“Ugh.”

The game that day was absolutely fantastic. Oikawa was flawless, encouraging his teammates and commanding everyone’s attention-- then again maybe that was just you projecting, but if anyone asked you would say it was true-- and it seemed they won the game without effort.

They all clapped him on the back in the middle of the court, laughing and cheering and, when they turned to acknowledge the crowd, Oikawa’s smile was all for you.

A security guard approached your seats a few moments later, gesturing you towards the set of doors the team was heading towards, and Oikawa fell into step beside you, slinging a sweaty arm over each of your shoulders.

“God, Oikawa, you’re disgusting. Get off us,” Iwa snapped, shoving at his arm, but Oikawa was undeterred.

Still regaining his breath, he asked, “How was I out there? Amazing, right?”

“If you already know,” Iwaizumi said, giving up the fight with his arm, “why are you asking?”

“Because I want to hear you say it, of course,” he answered, guiding you towards the locker rooms. There was a series of benches lining the hall and he stopped in front of them, grinning. “Wait here. We’re gonna have to do a few more interviews and then we’ll go to the venue,” he said, turning towards the locker room.

It was almost thirty minutes before the team finally trudged back out, still in high spirits, and another thirty to deal with the throngs of reporters and news crews who wanted interviews. Finally, you loaded up onto the bus, stuck between Oikawa and Iwaizumi. The whole ride was loud and you laughed at the antics of the team. Iwaizumi was right at home amongst them, as if he were right back in highschool, riding the high of a win.

The party was being held on the rooftop of a nearby hotel, complete with an open bar, DJ, and more athletes, friends and family of said athletes, and reporters than you could count. You were introduced to the team and their spouses before being dragged off by a few of them to dance. Iwaizumi found you a little while later, three drinks in and giggling maniacally with the libero’s wife, Trish. She was telling you about when she first met her husband at a party just like this one and how she threw up on his girlfriend at the time’s shoes. He had laughed so hard she broke up with him right then, and you couldn’t help but laugh even though it was kind of sad.

“Hey, princess,” Iwa said, and you shouted his name happily at the sight of him. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes slightly unfocused, and when you took a sip from his cup you were overcome with the taste of vodka. “Oikawa was looking for us.”

“Oh,” Trish teased, pushing you a little harder than intended in her drunk state. You fell into Iwaizumi, who only caught you out of habit. “Are you dating our little all star?”

“W-What?” you shrieked over the loud music, shaking your head wildly. Your hair fell into your face and the sky spun, then you started giggling again. “No, no, it’s-- nothing like that?”

“Are you asking or telling, _____?” she asked, but Iwa was pulling you away, pushing through the pulsating crowd towards the bar.

Oikawa was standing there, eyes bright with drunkenness as he chatted with someone you didn’t recognize, and he waved as you stumbled up. Pulling you from Iwa, he said, “_____, this is Andre. He’s from the Swedish team. This is my best friend from Japan.”

You straightened up, the haze of alcohol clearing as you focused on the tall man in front of you. He was smiling kindly at you, a cup in his hand like everyone else, and nodded at you. He spoke with a Spanish accent as he said, “It’s nice to meet you, _____. You’re very beautiful.”

Eyes widening, you stuttered as you said, “T-Thank you.”

His grin grew bigger, and you missed the way both Iwa and Oikawa tensed to either side of you. If he saw it, he ignored it, asking if you wanted to dance.

Your friends let you go with reluctance, a pained expression on Oikawa’s face as he looked to Iwaizumi. Neither knew what to say-- they knew it would happen eventually, you couldn’t remain unnoticed forever.

“She’ll be okay,” Iwa said, pouring himself another drink. It was his fourth so far, and he was careless as he poured his alcohol. “We’ll keep an eye on her.”

Oikawa didn’t like the calmness in his voice when something ugly was raging in his chest, something he had been ignoring all this time whenever you talked about other people you expressed an interest in. But alcohol made him loose and the jealousy reared up sharper than ever as he caught glimpses of you twirling and swaying with the beat of the music. Andre’s hands were on your hips and you were laughing at something he was whispering-- at least as far as Oikawa could tell-- into your ear.

His hands were tight around his cup, squeezing and crinkling the cheap plastic, then it was being tugged from his fingers and another was replacing it.

“Drink,” Iwa said, sipping from his own cup. “Jealousy looks ugly on you.”

“Iwa,” he snapped, watching your arms loop around Andre’s neck, “how can you be happy about this?”

Iwa tensed beside him and pinned him with a glare that would have cowed him if he was less drunk or less irate. “What makes you think I am, Oikawa? But she isn’t-- she’s not ours.”

Ours echoed in his head, and for the first time he really looked at Iwaizumi. He realized that the jealousy never flared when he was around, and watching the two of you curled up together on his couch never elicited the emotion either. It felt like home watching the two of you, and yesterday was the first day he had actually looked forward to coming home. Seeing Iwaizumi’s spiky black hair over the back of the couch and your smiling face as you welcomed him home had made all the difference to him, and he took a large swig from his cup, the rum burning on the way down before he spoke again.

“She could be.”

It was said so quietly that if Iwa hadn’t been standing shoulder to shoulder with him he wouldn’t have heard him. His head whipped around, swimming a little with the alcohol, and narrowed his eyes.

Oikawa could feel his eyes on him, meeting his gaze head on. He wasn’t joking, the mix of jealousy and alcohol wouldn’t let him. Iwaizumi’s face was blank, but he could see the gears turning as he processed his words as best he could with his level of intoxication.

At last, he seemed to reach a decision, the blankness morphing into a calculating look and he said, “What about her? Does she want that? And us? Oikawa, we can’t hold her back because we don’t want to let her go.”

Oikawa looked back to you and sighed. You were now dancing with Andre and one of the other wives whose name he’d already forgotten, laughing without care. “If she doesn’t want us, then we’ll let her go. But I can’t-- Iwa, you feel the same, don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” he said, admitting to it at last. It felt like the weight of finally confessing was lifted only to be replaced with the weight of acknowledgement, and he wasn’t sure he liked it any better. “For both of you, but it doesn’t mean anything if she doesn’t want it. What will you do if she rejects you?”

“Then I’ll beg her not to cut me out of her life, of course. And she’ll forgive us because even if she doesn’t love us, she loves us,” he answered, and said it with such certainty that even Iwaizumi believed him. He sighed, clapping Oikawa on the shoulder and, as if the gods were listening, you disentangled yourself from Andre and approached them.

Even in the dim light they could see how happy you were, skin flushed with a light sheen of sweat. A few strands of hair were sticking to your forehead, and you pushed them back as you greeted them. “Hey, guys, what’re you just standing here for? This is a party for you, Oikawa!” You were shouting over the music and reached out, taking Iwa’s cup from his hand. Taking a swig, you grimaced. “How are you still standing, Haji?”

Iwa chuckled while Oikawa took a long swallow from his cup.

“You’re right, princess. Let’s go dance!” he said, and took your hand. You grabbed Iwa’s at the last minute and pulled him after the two of you, his drink sloshing as he stumbled to keep up.

You found yourself pinned between the two of them, the heat radiating off of them and everyone around you making your brain fuzzy. Your arms looped around his neck when you handed Oikawa’s cup back after stealing a sip, body swaying to the beat of the music thudding from the speakers. Andre was all but pushed from your mind as his hand settled on your waist, Iwa’s landing on your other. His back was pressed flush to your back, your chest touching Oikawa’s, and suddenly nothing else existed.

The smell of his cologne filled your nose, mixed with the heady scent of alcohol and sweat. Your head spun when Iwa pressed his nose into your hair, pulling it to the side to expose the back of your neck, and you breathed a sigh of relief.

The song changed, more intense, and you lost yourself in the feel of their bodies against yours, tall and protective. Spinning around, you wrapped your fingers around Iwa’s neck now and his fingers tangled in your hair.

“Having fun, princess?” Oikawa whispered, a breath of air ghosting over your ear making you shivered. His hand was low on your hip, squeezing as he pulled you back into him, and you nodded. “I could use another drink. Keep her warm for me, Hajime.”

His warmth disappeared and you instantly missed it and the feeling of security. Nuzzling closer to Iwa, the beat shifted again, slowing down and going darker, and you shivered as the bass thrummed through you. His hand drifted lower, settling just below your hip, and you looked up at him. Both their drinks were a lot stronger this time around, and you could feel the effects on you in the way everything swam. You couldn’t focus on anything but Iwaizumi and the way he was staring at you with dark, hooded eyes. You were sure he was as drunk as you, but you didn’t even realize you were leaning up until he stopped you, giving you a soft smile.

“Not here, princess, not while you’re drunk,” he said into your ear, and you flushed under the spinning strobe lights. You were too important to him to do this when you weren’t sober, and he wanted to talk before you made any decisions.

His words held a promise you didn’t expect, and you swallowed thickly around the cloying taste of vodka.

“But when I’m sober?” you whispered, and it was only because you were still right by his ear that he heard you.

He chuckled, nodding as he rested his sweaty forehead against yours. “If you remember, princess. Yeah.”

“What have we here? I thought you had more chivalry than that,” Oikawa said from beside you. He slid back into his place behind you, resting his cheek on your shoulder, lips a hair away from touching Iwa’s forehead. “By the way, Andre is not happy. Isn’t it great?”

Iwa snickered, kissing the tip of your nose before he took in Oikawa’s shit eating grin. Leaning in close, his nose brushed Oikawa’s. “You take way too much pride in that, Shittykawa.��

“Don’t you? Our _____ is a desired woman, after all,” he said, eyes narrowing as they dipped down to look at Iwa’s lips. The temptation was strong enough that it caused him to lick his own before meeting Iwa’s again, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. He was following the beat of the music, swaying side to side with you. It had shifted once again but remained low and resonating, the others around you pushing and pulling you with the flow. Your head tipped back to rest on his shoulder, eyes half-lidded and amused.

“What do you mean our?” you asked, teasing. You snatched the cup from his hand and took a drink, playing keep away from Oikawa when he reached for it. You weren’t expecting for Iwaizumi to take it from your hands and drink from it, both of you laughing when Oikawa whined.

His arms wrapped around you, pulling you to him while Iwa held onto the cup, laughing brashly. Maybe it was the alcohol, but he was feeling lighter than air, and he looked at you and Oikawa, draped around you like a blanket. Love flooded his system, mixing with the drink and his head spun at the intensity. He wondered if he would feel that way tomorrow, but decided that was a problem for another Iwaizumi. He came back to you, arm slipping around you both as far as the could to curl in Oikawa’s shirt.

The party was still raging, and he was going to enjoy it with the two of you.

You didn’t stumble into the apartment until the early hours of the morning, when the earliest risers were getting ready for work, and half-assed the removal of your makeup. Hands had grabbed you the minute you exited the bathroom and dragged you back to the living room, where you collapsed in a pile on the couch. You passed out until mid afternoon and woke up tangled in long and muscular limbs, remaining makeup caked and the lingering taste of alcohol in your mouth. How you had managed not to throw up was a miracle, and the men only groaned when you untangled yourself from them.

Stumbling into the bathroom, you cleaned the rest of the makeup off your face and snagged some of Oikawa’s facial cleanser before hopping into the shower. Flashes of last night came back to you. Dancing with Andre, listening to him whisper into your ear and laughing at things that weren’t that funny now, then finding Oikawa and Iwa and being dragged back into the crowd. That caused your heart to race, remembering the way they had pinned you between them, hands groping at your hips and moving against you. Oikawa had disappeared and it was just you and Iwa, the intense look in his eyes as he stared down at you, leaning up and--

God, you had almost kissed him. And he had-- he had said if you remembered when you were sober. Your heart was thumping so hard that your hungover brain was spinning. The question was, did he remember?

Feeling marginally less dead but more nervous than ever before, you dressed and headed back into the living room to find Iwaizumi and Oikawa both sitting up with their heads in their hands.

“I haven’t gotten that drunk since my last party in Japan,” Oikawa groaned, massaging his temples. He remembered a surprising amount about last night, but most clearly was the conversation with Iwaizumi, and he knew without asking that he remembered it too. Neither of them were drunk enough to forget, but after that was a different story. All he remembered was dancing with you for the rest of the night, your hands in his hair and on his chest, body moving against his, and his heart throbbed in his throat.

Iwa chuckled at that and then winced when the action made his head throb. “Weak. But same.” His schedule was always too packed to get that blitzed, so he stuck to two drinks and then went home.

The door to the bathroom opened and you came out into the living room wearing one of their shirts-- they didn’t even know whose at that point-- and sat down between them on the couch.

“You look like trash,” you said, snickering when they grumbled.

“I’m gonna go shower now,” Iwa said, standing up from beside you. He gave the lightest touch on your cheek before disappearing down the hall. The sound of water running met your ears, and you fidgeted with your hands.

Oikawa groaned and flopped sideways down on the couch. “I ordered takeout already. It should be here soon. I need something greasy, so I hope you don’t mind burgers.”

Your stomach grumbled at the mention of food, reminding you that the only thing you had eaten were some hors d’oeuvres at the party. “That sounds absolutely amazing.”

You put on Netflix while Oikawa replaced Iwa in the shower, the air tense between you two. The words from last night replayed and you were working up the courage to see if he remembered as well when he turned to you.

“Hey, uh, _____, do you-- I mean, what do you--?” he said, and the doorbell rang, indicating the food was there. “Well, nevermind.” He stood up and answered, the smell of greasy food hitting you after a moment.

“Gimme gimme,” you said, taking the box he handed to you.

The shower cut off and a few minutes later Oikawa joined you, groaning as he took a bite of his burger. “Nothing has ever tasted so good.”

You continued to eat in silence, a tense weight hanging over the three of you and the longer it went unacknowledged the more nervous you got. The scene kept playing over in your head, exhausting you more than the hangover, your stomach rolling with anxiety. At last, you couldn’t take it and pushed your burger away.

“Listen, guys, um, I have something to say and I really hope that you don’t freak out but I--”

“Do you remember last night?” Iwaizumi asked, cutting you off. You flinched beside him, eyes wide as you nodded, and he reached out, taking your hands. “Was that real? Is it something you want?”

Your mouth went dry as he moved closer, leaning in like you had last night, and your lips parted, but no words came out. Oikawa shifted behind you, unaware of what you were talking about, but Iwa’s eyes locked with his over your head and he understood that whatever it was, it was promising.

Heart in your throat, you nodded, and that was all Iwa needed.

Your first kiss with him was soft and sweet, his hands coming up to cup your face, and he tilted his head to the side to deepen it. Oikawa groaned, fingers digging into your sides and letting his head drop to your shoulder. Somehow, what he had talked about last night was actually happening, and he fought the urge to pinch himself to make sure it was real, just in case he was in the midst of an alcohol induced dream.

When Iwa pulled back, his eyes were hazy as they stared into yours, hands rough and warm against your cheeks. He dipped in again, stealing one more before letting go, and Oikawa wrapped your hair around his fingers, guiding your face around so he could get his.

That kiss was heavy with unspoken emotion, needy and hot and you reached up behind you to tangle your fingers in his hair, pushing back into him to get closer. His arm wrapped around your stomach, hauling you into his lap and when he pulled away, he was panting. It didn’t stop him from diving in several more times, moaning at the taste until he rested his forehead against yours, eyes closed and lips swollen.

“I love you, princess. And not just as one of my best friends,” he whispered, his thumb rubbing your stomach through your shirt. You gasped at that, eyes misting over as you stared up at him.

“I-- really?” you whispered, and he chuckled at the disbelieving tone of your voice.

He nodded, and Iwa distracted you by taking your hand and lifting it to his lips, kissing each knuckle in turn and then pressing your palm to his cheek. “I love you too, _____, if that’s okay.”

“W-Wait, I don’t-- I don’t want to choose between you,” you breathed, and they snickered at the panic in your voice. Dumbfounded, you fell silent, looking between them and waiting for an explanation.

Pulling your hand down, Iwa set it in his lap, stroking the back of it with callused fingertips. “You don’t have to choose between us, if you want both of us. We’ve already talked about it.”

“When?” you asked, overwhelmed by the information. Your two best friends, both of whom you’d managed to fall in love with over the course of the last few months, were confessing they both loved you and both wanted to be with you. It was almost too much.

Iwa colored red while Oikawa snickered again, turning your face to him again. “Last night, actually. Speaking of which, what were you talking about that happened last night?”

It was your turn to be embarrassed, and you hid your face in his neck, mumbling it to him.

“You tried to kiss him?” Oikawa laughed, rubbing your back. “Oh, _____, you little minx.”

“Shut up,” you whined, smacking him in the arm.

He continued to laugh at you, locking eyes with Iwa again. He looked amused, his cheeks still faintly pink but the smile he was wearing was so beautifully genuine that it almost hurt to look at, and Iwa’s words from last night flashed back to him.

Of course I do. For both of you.

His eyes dipped down to Iwa’s lips and, when he looked back up, he was wearing a knowing smirk. He shifted you slightly to the side, keeping you steady with an arm around your waist, while Iwa scooted forward. His knee pressed between yours as he leaned forward, cupping Oikawa’s cheek before his fingers slid up into his hair.

Your mouth fell open as he pulled his head down, slotting his lips against Oikawa’s. It was tentative at first, testing the waters, but then Oikawa’s fingers curled into his shirt and tugged him closer, groaning into the kiss.

Their pupils were blown wide with wonder when they pulled apart and, when they looked back to you, they found you wearing the widest grin imaginable. There was a pause where no one said anything and then Oikawa pushed you into Iwaizumi and threw himself on top of you. Iwaizumi grunted at the impact as his back hit the couch while you laughed loudly.

“You fucking brat,” Iwaizumi snapped without malice, while you wiggled around trying to get Oikawa off of you. He fell to the side between you and the couch, and Iwa held you to his chest, hand rubbing your back.

Oikawa braced himself up on his elbow, gazing down at the two of you with a bright smile, radiating happiness. He finally understood the ache that had sat in his chest since he announced he was leaving for Argentina, the fierce longing to see you and touch you ever since you had arrived explained by the fact that he was unconditionally in love with you. He wondered how he had only realized it after he left, when the signs had been there for a lot longer than that. Maybe he had simply taken what he had already for granted, or maybe he had just been blind to it.

Knowing him, it was probably both.

Your eyes had closed, listening to the steady beat of Iwa’s heart in your ear, but you suddenly jerked up, looking excited.

“Does that mean I can call you my boyfriends? Everyone is gonna freak,” you said, and Oikawa snorted and burst into laughter. Under you, Iwa groaned, clapping his hand to his forehead.

“You are unbelievable, _____,” he huffed, but he was smiling again, and you could see he was trying not to laugh. “But yeah, I guess you can. I will revoke the right if you abuse it, though. Both of you.”

Oikawa’s eyes lit up at that, and a mischievous smirk lit up his face. “Wonder what we’d have to do to make that happen.”

“Oh, no. I am not gonna risk that,” you said, pushing his face away as he leaned forward. “I just got the right, I’m not gonna lose it already.”

“You’re no fun, _____,” he pouted, grabbing your hand. He kissed your palm, listening to you giggle at something Iwa whispered into your ear. “Already keeping secrets from me, hm? I’m not sure you--”

“I love you, Tooru,” you said, and he sputtered and turned bright red, dropping your hand in favor of covering his face with his, whining in the back of his throat. You burst into laughter while Iwaizumi snickered, high fiving you.

“Why are you two so mean to me?” Oikawa asked through his fingers, though he was grinning hard enough to hurt. His heart thumped in his chest at what was probably an unhealthy rate for an athlete of his caliber, but if he died of a heart attack right then, he’d be alright with it.

It was Iwaizumi who answered, pulling his face down into his neck. Oikawa went willingly, listening to the deep timber of his voice as he said, “You didn’t really think anything would change did you, Brattykawa?”

“Well I had hoped, since you love me and all,” Oikawa admitted. He was starting to feel tired again, his eyes heavy as he soaked in the warmth of your hands on his back and Iwa in general.

“Nope,” you said, popping your lips on the ‘p’. You settled yourself on Iwa’s chest again, pushing your fingers through Oikawa’s hair. He seemed to purr at that, murmuring as he snuggled closer into Iwa’s side. “I could go for a nap.”

“Same,” Iwa said, proving his point with a yawn. Tucking his arm beneath his head, he let his eyes close with a sigh.

Oikawa was already asleep, his breathing deep and even and warm against Iwa’s neck, and he thought you were too until you murmured a sleepy, “I love you too, Haji.”

His lips ticked up, his heart skipping a beat at the quiet confession. They were words he had been longing to hear for a longer time than he cared to admit, and he sighed again.

“Love you too, princess. Now shut up so we can sleep.”

⇥ masterlist

⍣ 365 days of sun series | previous

#iwaizumi x reader #oikawa x reader #iwaizumi hajime x reader #hajime iwaizumi x reader #oikawa tooru x reader #tooru oikawa x reader #iwaizumi x reader x oikawa #.365days #.lmhisj

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nyxdelanuit · 4 years

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It Started With a Postcard (Sero x F! Reader)

This is my contribution to the BNHarem’s penpal event! This event is nsfw so be warned! I had a lot of fun with this collab <3

Please see the Penpal Masterlist to see the other characters!

Warnings: smut, nsfw themes below!

Sero stood outside his apartment, staring down at a flowery postcard in his hand with an apprehensive gaze. The early afternoon sun warmed his shoulders, reminding him that he was still stood outside of his modest house. He brought the mail inside, kicking off his shoes at the door. Bills and various coupons were glanced over quickly before his eyes returned to the stiff postcard. The other mail was inelegantly dropped on the kitchen counter. Sero’s eyes scanned the delicate writing as he rummaged his kitchen for a drink. The handwriting was rushed and messy, but still a softer hand than his own.

It had been a spur of the moment kind of thing, signing up for an anonymous penpal. He had been passing through a stationery store on his way home from patrol, preferring the calm walk home instead of flying above as he did for work. It allowed him to leave a lot of the tension of his job outside of his home as he watched the calm masses meander through the streets in the dying light. He had passed the shop many times before. There was just something that pulled to the shopfront that day. The scent of wooden pencils and lightly perfumed paper leaked out onto the streets, likely from the kiosk placed in front of the encompassing window. He knew it was a ploy to get more out of a dying business, selling a penpal package with bundled paper, envelopes, stamps, and a single postcard. There were spaces to fill out his information, and all letters would be sent through the shop. It had been tempting at the time, the opportunity to talk to someone who didn’t know his hero persona.

It had gotten tiring throughout the years, being the backbone of his friend group. Bakugou didn’t have the emotional intelligence to comfort their friends, Kaminari and Mina were too reckless and blase, and poor Kirishima was ironically too soft. So it had fallen to him, the voice of reason. The one everyone called at three in the morning when the weight was too heavy for one of his friends to hold alone. He had carried it all for years, not stopping to wonder who would hold him together while he supported everyone else. He just had to shrug it off with a smile, as they expected.

But now, the unassuming postcard in his hand offered something different. This person expected nothing more from him than a letter. He didn’t have to be Sero the hero, or Sero the strong one, he could just be Sero. His eyes roamed over the postcard once more before he searched the house for the bundle of paper he purchased. He flopped down onto his couch, picking out a soft grey piece of stationary and leaning over his coffee table to write.

For the first time since high school, Sero struggled with his words. His sentences were awkward and stunted and he floundered over what to say. It was harder than he remembered to start up a conversation with someone who couldn’t instantly reply. Even more so when he was trying to be vigilant about not letting his penpal, Y/N, know about his hero work. Everything he put down about his life felt vague and he hoped his new penpal would overlook his obvious avoidance of the topic.

It took a few days before Sero received a reply. He couldn’t excuse the excitement he felt at the soft envelope in his mailbox, stamped with the stationery store’s address. Sero briefly wondered about who his penpal could be, it would have to be someone within his patrol area. The store was locally owned after all. Perhaps he had even saved his penpal before.

While Sero’s letter had been subdued, neutral in both color and tone, his penpal was decidedly exuberant. The paper itself was awash in pastels with a light littering of designs, neither dark enough to obscure their writing. He noticed the writing was less hurried, but not much neater. It helped anchor Sero to the idea that it was another person on the other side of this letter, something as little as not having the best penmanship was oddly endearing.

His name ‘Hanta’ curled in a delicate slant at the top, causing the breath in Sero’s lungs to hitch. He had forgotten he hadn’t signed his full name, too worried that his penpal would connect it to his hero life and put him on some sort of pedestal. His penpal wrote significantly more about themselves than he had, but didn’t seem perturbed at his reluctance.

They worked a job they were okay at, they lived modestly within their means, they saw their friends often enough, and they met with their parents once a month for dinner. They were happy, but they wished for something to break up the monotony, therefore they signed up for the penpal service. Even though the topic was a bit dull, Sero saw the life behind their words. Humor laced their words and although Sero wasn’t quite happy about the self-deprecating tone, he could work with that. Your name was signed at the bottom, a messy smiley face scrawled just next to it. Without thinking, he brushed his thumb over the doodle, the smile blurred but still bringing a smile to Sero’s face.

There was no hesitance this time as he picked a more playful stationary. The words seem to flow onto the paper with no thought, he had forgotten how nice it was to just communicate with someone with no pretenses.

Weeks passed this way, and people could tell there was a little more pep to Cellophane’s step. He was more eager to get home, a new letter appearing in his mailbox every few days. Truth be told, he hated the wait. Every word poured out to pages made him feel closer to his mystery friend. He paused today, walking through the busy streets. Did he consider his penpal his friend? In every way you could consider someone you know only through words on paper, he supposed he did. Throughout the months of writing, there had been no lack of conversation. They shared in each other’s good fortune and even a few less fortunate events. Sero looked forward to their letters even more than Kaminari’s occasional club invites. Even now as he dodged his neighbor’s attempts at conversation, all he could think of was the softly scented envelope he hoped was waiting for him.

His hopes were rewarded. Sero glanced sheepishly at the growing piles of neglected mail on his counters as he cradled the letter to his chest. He wasted no time reclining on his couch and opening your letter. He wondered, not for the first time, if you sprayed some sort of perfume on your letter or if that was just the scent of you. Either way, it had become a comfort to him. There was no stopping the grin that dominated his face as he laid back onto the couch, intently running his eyes over your words. You always made sure to respond to everything he said, Sero had no idea the last time he felt this seen.

He was already moving to pen up a reply before he noticed your signature smiley face was missing from the end of the letter. Instead, penned in a shaky hand,

‘Call me sometime, Hanta. XXX-XXX-XXXX’

Sero stumbled over his feet trying to get up, ultimately ending up in a heap on the floor. In his haste, he struck out with his tape, pulling his phone from the counter into his hand. He quickly unstuck the tape and tapped open his contacts. Once your contact was filled out, the empty picture stared Sero in the face. His fingers seemed to move on their own, pressing the phone icon softly. It finally registered as the dial tone rang through his silent house, his hands fumbling to get the phone to his ear.

You picked up after two rings.

“Hanta!” His heart swelled as he realized he wasn’t the only one eager to talk, not to mention his given name falling so easily from your lips.

“Wow, do you have some sort of psychic quirk?” He chuckled into the phone. Neither of you had disclosed your quirks as of yet. You returned his laughter nervously.

“Oh definitely, I haven’t been answering every unknown number the past two days with your name or anything.” Sero settled himself on the floor, his free arm stretching up over his head. The sun streaming through his window, the particles in the air lit like tiny embers as they drifted. It felt as if his grin was etched into his face with how much he was smiling. He almost missed the silence that stretched on as he tried to imprint your voice into his head.

“Oh, sorry. I just got off of work, why don’t you tell me how your day went while I unwind a little?” It almost felt as if he was floating as you prattled on about the mundane happenings of your day. It was so normal, so nice. He forgot how nice it was to just live for a minute.

“Hanta?” He hoped you couldn’t tell the way he choked on his breath every time you said his name. “You just got off of work, how was your day?”

“Well I’ve got a few hours to rest before I’m on call, but today was pretty low-key as far as they go.” It felt natural to tell you about his day that he didn’t notice his slip up. It wasn’t as easy as it was on paper.

“On-call?” Sero cringed as you questioned. “Like at a hospital or something?”

”Something like that.” He rubbed at the bridge of his nose. He heard you hum an affirmation, but to his surprise, you didn’t push any further.

“Sounds kinda rough, Hanta. I know I’m pretty cranky when my schedule gets changed.” He appreciated how you kept trying to get to know him without pushing the things he wasn’t ready to share. “And it must be some commute if you work in something like a hospital. There aren’t any close-by. Oh, sorry, I guess I’m assuming you live nearby since the paper shop is local.”

“Yeah, I do. Live nearby, I mean… and the commute isn’t terrible.” Sero muttered awkwardly into the phone.

“I wonder how many times we’ve passed each other without knowing.” Your voice came out a little breathlessly as if you were daydreaming on the other end.

It was easy for Sero to fall into you. Hours passed by as the two of you talked about anything that came to mind. He had barely even noticed the shadows growing deeper as the light faded from his house, until only darkness remained, cut by a singular beam of light from the bright moon. He was fully content to talk to you all night, provided that he wasn’t called into work. At least he was until your yawn cut through your voice.

“I didn’t realize it was so late. Shouldn’t you be getting some rest?” Your voice was getting exponentially drowsy with each minute that passed.

“I’m already on-call, you should get some sleep though.” He chuckled softly into the receiver. Your sleepy voice was adorable.

“Hanta! You shouldn’t have let me blather on instead of letting you rest.” You tried your best to reprimand him, but it only brought forth another soft chuckle.

“I’ll be fine. It was worth it to talk to you, anyway. Now go to bed. Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Hanta.” Your voice was barely a breath, and Sero was reluctant to hang up.

It became a nightly ritual between the two of you. Sero called whenever he got off of work, and the two of you talked throughout the night. He insisted you stay on the line even as he made dinner. Sero gave good advice on your shitty coworkers, and he told you stories about his eccentric friends to fill the empty space. You had even tuned into a show together, commenting about the bad storyline and cheesy acting. Every night, Sero would wait for your yawn and wish you a goodnight. You had buried yourself in his heart, and he was in no hurry to remove you.

You were convinced you had worried a path in your floor. Sero’s calls were never on a set schedule, but he had called you every night for over a month, and it was passed the time you usually fell asleep on him. There had been no word from him all day, not even a text to say he’d miss your call.

Sero got back home late. It had been the worst day that he’d had in a while. He was called for assistance rescuing people while some of his more combat-oriented heroes took on a villain, but there had been heavy casualties. All the tape in the world couldn’t fix someone crushed by the rubble. Sero knew that too well now.

His body moved on muscle memory. He had already changed out of his gear and showered at the agency, so he simply kicked his shoes off and stumbled to the couch. There was no thought to it as he dialed your number.

“Hanta! Are you okay?” The panic in your voice floored him.

“Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t even think of how late it was. Did I wake you?” The somber tone of his voice shook you.

“It’s fine, did something happen?” Sero sighed into the phone, choosing his words carefully.

“My work involves helping people, but I wasn’t able to save all of them today.”

The two of you talked into the early hours of the morning. Sero felt everything spill over as he spoke, and you somehow took everything in stride.

“...And I couldn’t do anything.” Somehow his chest felt lighter and tight all at the same time.

“That doesn’t mean that your work isn’t important anymore. You make a difference. A big one.” Was this how other people felt when he was on the other side? It didn’t stop hurting, but knowing that someone was there carrying the weight with you was more than Sero could have hoped for.

Life returned to normal after that, with the exception that Sero started being a little more forthcoming with how his days went. You still didn’t know his exact occupation, but you knew enough to help on the rough days. It only made the feelings Sero had for you more intense. Even though the two of you talked every night and sent little text messages throughout the day, neither you nor Sero stopped sending little letters to each other.

Sero was rummaging through the leftover bits of his penpal package, trying to find a good piece of stationery to pen his next letter. His frown marred his face as dull, formal paper littered the bottom of the box. It would have seemed silly to him at the beginning of your correspondence, but he wanted everything to be perfect in his letters. He had saved every one you had sent, after all. If you were doing the same, they had to at least look like they were worth saving.

Sero wandered into the stationery store, sunglasses perched on his face and a practiced neutral expression on his face. With his hoodie bunched up around his oddly shaped elbows, the only recognizable feature Sero seemed to have was his trademark grin. If he could get in and out without being noticed, he would be able to get a letter out tonight instead of tomorrow morning.

If drumming up business was the reason for the penpal event, it sure seemed to work if Sero was any judge. He wandered through the aisles, stopping often to look at delicate papers with seasonal decorations. He noticed with a flush that all papers in his grasp were soft and floral, reminiscent of new spring love. In an effort to shake those thoughts from his mind, he watched the other patrons roaming the store. Any of them could be you, passing by without even knowing. One customer in particular had caught his eye, thumbing papers in soft greys and a pale yellow clutched in her hands. How lucky he would be if you were anything like her. He realized a bit later that his distraction had only led him deeper into his daydreams, so instead, he browsed the rubber stamps and stickers towards the end of the aisle. Would you like it if he placed stickers on his letters? Which ones would you like? Maybe the delicate cherry blossom stickers, or the pack with puppies? Did you like a specific character?

He had been so lost in his thoughts, he almost missed the ring of the vaguely familiar voice from the front of the store. He heard it every night, but never this clear. Who else could it be but you? He rushed to the front of the store, the bell chiming as it fell closed. He had half a mind to follow you into the street, seek you out finally. Maybe then he could get you out of his head. But the shopkeeper had called to him, noticing his armful of papers, and Sero knew it was too late. Even if he left now, he wouldn’t be able to pick you out of the crowd. Next time he wouldn’t hesitate.

It was easier to admit on paper. Sero wrote to you that night about how he thought he may have just missed you earlier, and how he had started thinking about meeting up. His hand trembled as he wrote about he was a bit nervous about how much he liked you. He finished the letter quickly, sealing it in an envelope and placing it in the mailbox before collapsing in bed. No taking it back now.

It had been quiet for days, and Sero was starting to feel on edge. He liked the days where there wasn’t much to do, it meant that everything was safe and he was doing his job, but multiple days in a row meant trouble. It didn’t take long for his hunch to be proven correct. Glass shattered onto the streets, metal crunched against metal, and Sero moved as fast as he could push himself to go.

Thankfully a few heroes had been nearby to assist Sero with the robbery-turned-mass-destruction. It took them longer than Sero liked, but the villains were subdued. With the criminals apprehended, Sero focused on the cleanup. He had no more than a few scratches, but he was worried about all those that may be trapped in the toppling buildings. A few buildings sat askew, steel beams exposed like snakes reaching out into the sky. It was fairly easy for him to stabilize the buildings, swinging around with his tape like a spider cocooning its prey. As each building was stabilized, he quickly scanned through the halls, escorting any remaining citizens out of the building and past the danger zone. He worked methodically, moving down the street and clearing each building before the next. Compassionate, yet logical. He couldn’t let the recent memory of his losses skew his current predicament.

Those thoughts had swum through Sero’s head until a harsh squeal accompanied by a metallic groan met his ears. He wasted no time jumping into action, flinging himself through the sky to the source. There you hung, dangling by increasingly sweaty hands as you desperately tried to get a better grip on the slowly sagging steel girder. Sero’s heart beat erratically against his chest, but his body moved on instincts ingrained in his muscles.

It always looked so smooth in the movies when the hero swoops in to save the girl. The girl would stare up at the hero in admiration as they glided through the air, as graceful in the sky as a bird. That’s not how you felt. Cellophane’s body collided against yours like a truck, pushing the air from your lungs. Your whole body lurched against his as he scooped you up. The crashing of the beam behind you echoed in your ears, you couldn’t begin to imagine what would have happened if he had been even a minute later. Cellophane may have swung through the air like he was made for it, but your body was jostled by the air beating against your face. The helmet seemed a really wise choice at the moment. As you struggled to grip onto his form, you felt the phone in your pocket easing it’s way out.

“Hey, stop squirming. I’ve got you.” Cellophane spoke to you calmly, but all you could think of was the phone that was about to shatter across the pavement far below you. Your hand reached out to grasp at the device, grasping around thin air. “It’s just a phone, you can get a new one.” Cellophane tried to comfort you as you watched the glittering of your phone exploding and becoming one with the debris of the street.

“No, I have to be there when Hanta calls!” You cried out. Today had already been hard enough, and in your frightened state, all you could think of was how Hanta would hate you if you ghosted him. Cellophane’s chuckle rumbled through where your chests touched, and you couldn’t help but smack his shoulder lightly. “It’s not funny.” Tears gathered in your eyes, all these emotions were too much for you.

“I think Hanta won’t mind if you miss a call, Y/N.” He cooed. You were startled as the tears escaped your eyes.

“Hanta?” His grin was visible through his helmet as he clutched you a little closer to his chest.

“Gotta say, this wasn’t what I was thinking of when I said I wanted to meet you.” You manage to loop your arms around his neck and pull him closer, causing him to veer off course slightly. He righted himself with a nervous chuckle, landing gently on a stable rooftop nearby. “Sit tight for a bit and I’ll come get you, okay?” You could only nod numbly as he propelled himself back into the sky.

Sero may have rushed through his work, knowing you were waiting for him as the chill of the night started to set in. It had been a long time since he felt such a thrill soaring through the city. He circled lowly around the building, coming up behind you as you swung your feet off the edge of the building, staring up at the night sky. He plopped down beside you, removing his helmet and fidgeting with his sweat-slicked hair.

“So… come here often?” Sero pulled a startled chuckle out of you before you leaned onto his shoulder.

“Good one Hanta. Or should I say Cellophane? Now I kinda get why you were so reluctant to tell me your job.” You returned your sights to the sky, a little nervous to look him in the eye.

He stood then and offered you a hand. “Sero Hanta, hero name Cellophane, at your service.” He grinned down at you, and you took his hand to help you stand. You toed the ground with a flush.

“So should I call you Sero then?” It was Sero’s turn to blush.

“Actually, I was hoping this wouldn’t change much between us. I like it when you use my given name.” You nodded, finally looking into his eyes.

“Then you should use mine, too!” Your joined hands still sat between you, and although Sero had realized, he simply gave it a soft squeeze.

“Well, my place is nearby if you want to get cleaned up?” He offered awkwardly. You were suddenly and intensely aware of how all the dust and dirt clung to your skin.

“That would be wonderful.” His smile turned mischievous as he pulled you to his chest, not giving you time to get nervous as he vaulted the two of you off the roof. You had half a mind to scold him, but you were too focused on enjoying the ride. Seeing the city you lived in, the streets you walked every day, from a bird’s eye view was not something you would forget anytime soon. The biting wind stung your eyes, but you couldn’t bring yourself to close them.

To your surprise, Sero deposited the two of you on his balcony. Why waste time with the front door when he could meander through the sliding door? He quickly ushered you through his room. He tried to at least. You were having too much fun pretending your legs were jelly and trying to get a glimpse of his room. It was nice to know that the light-hearted chemistry you had felt over the phone was more than present in person by the way Sero was laughing along with you instead of kicking you out.

The two of you settled into his living room, cold drinks in hand as you tried to catch your breath from the whirlwind of a day. Sero seemed to be keeping an eye on you, and you wondered if he was simply looking for any lingering unease from the attack or if he was as enamored with you as you were with him.

“The bathroom is down the hall, you should get cleaned up.” He broke the comfortable silence, motioning to a door behind you. You shook your head vehemently.

“Oh no, Mr. Hero, sir.” You giggled at him, “You worked a long and hard day, I can wait.”

“You’re the guest!”

“And I’ll be a damned good one and let you go first.” Sero huffed at you before conceding, tossing you a remote to the television as he passed.

“Fine, but next time you go first.” You gasped as he disappeared behind a door.

“Oooh, so you already think there will be a next time? Hanta, I took you for a gentleman!” You jeered at him playfully. Even with the door closed, you could hear him groan.

“Shush! I have neighbors ya know.” He tried to sound put-off, but you could hear the laughter in his voice. To his credit, he didn’t make you wait very long. Steam rolled out of the bathroom as he walked out, still toweling his hair. You tried not to stare at the way his shorts hung low on his hips or the way his shirt stuck to his still-damp skin, but there was no good place to look that wouldn’t make it obvious. Luckily, he didn’t seem to notice your conundrum, simply gesturing to the bathroom.

“It’s all ready for you, I’ve put out a towel you can use. Feel free to use any of my stuff, although it might smell as nice as you’re used to.” You thanked him softly as you escaped into the bathroom to hide your flush. The water still ran warm from Sero’s shower, and you were quick to strip and step into the stream. You watched in fascination as all the day’s mess ran down the drain, a sickly grey.

Sero waited for you on his couch, still pristine. He frowned, realizing that you had probably stood the whole time as to not dirty his furniture. You were too stubborn for your own good, it seemed. He mindlessly flipped through the channels, wondering vaguely if he should just watch one of the many shows he neglected. It wasn’t until he heard the soft padding of your feet that he pulled himself from his thoughts. You stood at the entrance of the hallway, covered only by the fluffy towel he had left for you. Your face was fully flushed, and Sero tried to convince himself it was only from the shower.

“My clothes are completely wrecked, do you have anything I could change into?” Your voice was soft and reluctant, and Sero was quick to pop off the couch, slipping slightly in his haste to help you once again. He tried to slip past you to his room, but he couldn’t help stopping as your skin brushed against his. You looked up at him, eyes wide and questioning.

Sero prided himself on his control. Out of all of his friends, he was known as the level-headed and logical one. Even so, that restraint only went so far. Seeing you in such a state of undress, looking up at him so earnestly, it broke the dam holding back his desires.

His hands tangled in your wet hair, pulling your lips to his with bruising force. You gasped into his hold, dropping the towel as you draped your arms around his neck. Clothes were forgotten as his hands traveled down your neck, moving your head to fit against his better. His tongue traced against your lips with agonizing slowness, but his hands held no such restraint. His rough fingertips drifted down your neck, ghosting past your nipples as they made their way to your waist. He didn’t hesitate to lift you by the thighs, making you anchor your legs around him.

Sero staggered to his room, never once compromising his hold on you. His body followed you down onto his bed, not letting his lips leave you for more than a moment. When he finally broke away, eyes hazy with lust, he gazed down at you.

“Is this okay?” He wanted you to be sure. You were, especially after his question.

“Yes, Hanta. I want you.” Your voice was heavy with your desire, driving him to strip his shirt with an urgency he rarely felt outside of work. The fabric flew into the darkness of the room and his lips were on you shortly after. He let his hands roam now that you were in his bed, kneading experimentally at your breasts. You pushed your chest into his hold, encouraging him to give you more. Your hands found their way to his navel tracing down the path of dark hair. Sero was already straining against the fabric, and you softly swirled your fingers over the tip. He groaned darkly against your mouth, pulling back to rip the shorts off of his body. His lips descended on your chest, harsh nips and soothing licks raining down on your skin. You were so focused on the way he wrapped his lips around your nipple that you hadn’t noticed his hand grazing your skin down to your core. Sero swirled his tongue around your nipple, lavishing the other in rough pinches and soothing circles.

Your back arched off the bed as he spread your folds, skimming over your clit. You bucked against his hand, desperate to feel his fingers against you.

“You’re so wet for me.” He panted against your chest, staring up at you with dark eyes. “Did you think of me after our calls? Did our talks make your heart race like they did mine?” You nodded helplessly.

“Please Hanta.” You begged for his touch and he was too enamored with you to resist. His finger entered you deftly, his palm rough against your clit.

“I had hoped so, ya know I liked you even before I saw your face. Now I know how good you look, I don’t want to let you go.” He finished his breathy sentence with a nip to the underside of your breast, making you squirm against him. He moved back to watch you, adding another finger and then two. The squelching noises coming from his fingers would have normally embarrassed you, but you found yourself lost in the way that he stared at you like an oasis in a desert; like you were something he had been waiting for so long to indulge in. “I already knew you must be beautiful, just from your voice, but fuck, you are so much more than I could imagine. I think I could be happy to spend the rest of my life in this bed with you if you kept looking at me the way you do now.” His hand retreated from your heat, and your body tried to follow. “I’m sorry, I can’t hold back anymore.” He panted, fisting his weeping length before sliding it through the slick collected between your legs.

It was a sweet stretch as Sero sunk into you, a few thrusts before he was fully seated inside you. You reached for him, scratching at his shoulders as you tried to roll your hips up to meet him.

“Fuck, babe. You’re pulling me in so good.” He groaned, placing sloppy kisses across your shoulder. He pulled out to the tip, teasing himself as much as he was teasing you, before slamming home with a lewd smack. Your keening moan set him off, pistoning into your tight cunt without remorse. His fingers dug into your thighs as he tried to angle them higher without slowing. Sero’s hands slid up to the underside of your knees, almost bending you in half as he rolled his hips viciously, grinding up against your engorged clit with every thrust.

“I can’t get you off of my mind. F-fuck, I can’t let you go now. You’re stuck with me.” His hips stuttered against you as he spoke, slowing down to edge himself. The slowed pace had you writhing, not able to buck up against him well in this position. He chuckled softly, his breath hot on your skin. You were so focused on chasing your high, your eyes shut tight and head thrown back, that you barely noticed the tearing of tape coming from Sero. He deftly crossed your legs, attaching the tape to his headboard off to the side in a way that still allowed him to see your face. “Goddamn, babe, you’re so tight like this.” His breathing was erratic as he placed his newly-freed hands on your ass, separating them until he could clearly see himself sinking into your warm cunt. You gasped under his intense gaze, clenching around his cock. The veins were clear in his neck as he tried to hold himself back, his voice caught in his throat.

Then he snapped, a low groan resonating throughout the room. He was all fast, demanding thrusts and blissful praises. You responded in kind, wordless wails of pleasure and breathless gasps. “I’m not gonna be able to last much longer. Cum for me, baby, please.” He pleaded with you, his voice gravelly and needy. His calloused fingers found your clit easily, rubbing figure eights just on the right side of pain. Your legs struggled against the tape as you tried to grind yourself more on his length, pushing his cock into the spongy area that craved his attention. You felt yourself wind up, breaths shallow as you stayed rigid against his passion, desperate for him to keep rubbing against that spot. Your head was swimming with the lack of oxygen as you held your breath long enough for the tension to snap. Sero’s head flew back with a moan as your walls started to drag him further in, constricting his cock with an encompassing ecstasy. He sped up, keeping you on the precipice of over-stimulation. With a final wet smack, he sheathed himself within you, pulsating as the warm ropes of his cum branded your insides.

He stayed within you as he gently removed the tape from your skin, leaving soft kisses on every reddening section of skin. His hands rubbed soothing circles into your thighs, moving down to your calves. “Are your legs sore? I probably should have asked sooner.” He looked a bit ashamed as he asked, only relaxing once you shook your head. “Good.” He pulled out of you slowly, your combined fluids steadily flowing from you.

He quickly ran to his bathroom, grabbing a washcloth and wetting it with warm water. Once he returned, he returned to his spot between your legs, delicately wiping up all remnants of your fluids. His touch was careful against your swollen sex, and the warmth soothed away any ache that may have remained. He cleaned himself quickly after, only settling himself in bed once he deemed you were taken care of. Once he collapsed onto the bed, he pulled you onto his shoulder.

“So… would it be presumptuous of me to call you my girlfriend?” A thread of nervousness weaved through his voice as he tucked your face away from his flushing face. You allowed yourself a tired giggle.

“I think that’d be nice, Hanta.” He shuddered at the feeling of your breath against his neck.

“Oh, great! Well then, does my beautiful, caring, amazing girlfriend want to stay the night.” You could feel his grin against your head and couldn’t resist the one on your own face.

“Well, I’m pretty sure I don’t have work tomorrow, so why not.”

#sero x reader #sero hanta smut #bnha x reader #mha x reader #nyx writes #bnharem collab

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wickedgamesoyaoya · 4 years

Text

❧ part of Jan’s Halloween Circus

❧ about: atsumu hates ghosts, but free food and the company of his friends leads him to the angel inn where he meets a journalist who is seeking more than a cheap thrill.

❧ prompts: Anybody else notice the small child staring at us & wait! its too dangerous to go alone, take this! *puts my hand in yours*

❧ pairing: Atsumu x F!reader

❧ wc: 2.7k

❧ triggers: anxiety, mentions of death and murder, a touch of dark humor, ghost children.

❧ A/N: I hope you guys like this! I had so much fun writing it. I edited this twice but if I missed anything pls ignore. MWAH.

The Angel Inn was not merely famous for their delectable burger, no – its name had been splattered across dozens of newspapers for a reason far more dreadful. In 1954, a tragedy occurred on the property, drawing the attention of locals and foreigners alike. On the morning of October 31st four lifeless bodies were discovered by the unsuspecting housekeeper. She was sent to the room after the neighboring occupants complained of a nauseating smell to the front desk.

After initiating an investigation, the authorities ruled that it was a triple homicide and suicide. The Angel Inn remained closed for months to allow the authorities 24-hour access to the crime scene, and when it was time to reopen, they opted to covert the establishment into a restaurant instead.

During the renovation the owner had received various complaints from the contracted party, who claimed that something was amiss. There were reported sightings of a little pale boy, along with concerns about flickering lights and screeches that would ring through the narrow hallways. Soon the haunting of the Angel Inn was assigned the status of town gossip, alluring ghost hunters and disbelievers alike to the newly opened restaurant. Though, fearful of a potential lawsuit, the owner of the property elected to lock each of the bedrooms – whether it was to keep the humans out or the ghosts in was questionable. Yet, she hoped either way it would save her from enduring another investigation.

When your boss originally assigned you the story for the Halloween edition of the magazine, not a single protest left your mouth. Instead, the sound of excitement crawling up your throat had to be swallowed, to spare your manager from a potential earache. Not only would your dinner be covered, you were being paid to explore a haunted motel, something you would have agreed to do if your boss had simply asked. Ghost stories had always captured your interest as a child, partially due to the fact your grandmother was a self-proclaimed psychic.

Was it bad that communicating with a ghost was on your list of life goals?

Maybe you should aim higher, but the possibility of encountering a ghost child had electricity surging throughout your nerves. It was going to be perfect.

When four vouchers were allocated to the Ace of the MSBY Black Jackals for dinner at the Angel Inn, he naturally decided to invite his closest team-mates. Hinata agreed immediately, oblivious to the reputation of the property. Sakusa declined the invite promptly, until he noticed the colour drain from the setter’s face. The panic flaring in Atsumu’s eyes and the strained smile tugging at the corners of his mouth indicated that at minimum, the dinner would be interesting. He could sacrifice peace for one evening if it meant watching his friend tremor the entire time.

“Tsum Tsum, don’t worry! If any ghosts come, I’ll protect us. I am the Ace after-all.” A teasing laugh rose from Bokuto’s chest as he snuck an arm around the setter’s shoulder. The blonde responded with a low grunt, mumbling something inaudible. Ghosts were not his thing, and he failed to understand how they could be anyone’s thing.

But alas, on October 30th, the setter found himself sat at the Angel Inn with his three team-mates. Earlier in the day, he attempted to bribe his brother to colour his hair and attend on his behalf. While Osamu was certainly tempted – it was food after-all, he was unwilling to colour his hair to match his brothers. Blonde was a colour that suited only a subsection of society, and he was not fortunate enough to be granted permission into that branch. And so, he left his older brother to fend for himself.

Nothing could distract Atsumu from the supposed danger that loomed over him, his senses were sensitive to every noise that vibrated within the confines of the establishment. For most of the night, the setter found himself observing every creak, sneeze or laugh, to ensure that its source was not supernatural. However, the anxiety gripping his heart had released its hold when the sound of a melodic laugh touched his ears. It took him a few seconds to discover the source of the laughter, and when he connected it to you, eagerness brought him to his feet.

“What’s wrong with you? Are you possessed now?” Sakusa raised an eyebrow at the blonde as a small simper formed on his mouth. He had read that the weakest one in the room is the most likely to fall victim to possession, and so it made sense if Atsumu was their first target.

“I’m gonna go talk to that pretty girl.” With his fingers adjusting the collar of his shirt, a flirtatious expression adorned his features, washing away any hint of gloom that was once present. While Bokuto and Hinata strived to detect who their friend was referring to, Sakusa clicked his tongue in artificial distaste.

“Did it ever occur to you, that maybe she is a ghost?” The humour laced into the inquiry could not be successfully disguised by the outsider hitter’s pretentious attitude. It was clear to them all that it was his attempt at a joke.

“Shut up, Omi!” Before stepping away from the table, the blonde administered a glare at his friend. There was no way you were a ghost… Right?

When Atsumu was close enough to catch a glimpse of your face, any concerns on the status of your existence were banished. Although, he was not particularly enthusiastic when he spotted the notebook situated in front of you. Reporters were usually far too intrusive and insensitive for his liking. Yet he still found himself claiming the empty stool beside you.

“Whatcha got there?” Shifting his gaze to the sheet filled with scribbles, his breath caught in his throat at the title. The Haunting of The Angel Inn.

It took you a second to comprehend that the question was aimed at your work. The last thing you anticipated was for someone to seek you out during your little investigation today. Dressed in ordinary business attire, it was surprising that someone of his calibre would consider sparing you a second look, yet alone a conversation.

“Hm? Oh, I’m writing an article.” Despite instructing yourself to not stare, your y/e/c irises refused to leave the stranger’s face. There was something familiar about him – was he a model? As you racked through your mind for an answer to the question of his identity, you blinked in slow intervals.

“About the hauntings?” When his attention traveled from the notebook to you, it finally clicked. Miya Atsumu – pro volleyball player. The realization tempted you to pound your forehead with the edge of your palm.

“Yeah, I’m a journalist. Star here was just telling me about her experience with Haru.” His question about your work returned your mind to the task at hand. Gesturing towards the bartender with the pen nestled between two fingers, a soft laugh was exhaled. Right. You were on a mission tonight to gain an audience with the ghosts of Angel Inn.

“Haru?” Atsumu narrowed his brows, the smile on his lips slipping away into a frown. Who was Haru?

“The ghost kid who haunts this place?” Adjusting yourself on the seat, excitement sparkled in your eyes. It was at this point that Atsumu realized that you were the polar opposite of him – you were seeking a paranormal experience, whereas he simply wanted a burger.

“Well shit. Didn’t know he had a name.” The setter propped an elbow onto the wooden counter, directing artificial laughter to leave his lips.

“They call him that because he apparently looks like the child who was murdered here.” A knowing wiggle was given to your eyebrows. While he may have sought to disguise his discomfort with the topic, it quickly dawned on you that MSBY’s setter was afraid of ghosts.

“Right. So lemme get this straight, you came here willingly? You want to see a ghost?” His eyelids fell into a quizzical slit. He knew the answers to those questions, and still was foolish enough to vocalize them.

“Yeah. I think it would be fun.”

And there it was. Confirmation that you were less than sane.

“Not if they try to kill ya.” There was a bitter edge to his comment, earning him a puzzled titter.

“I doubt a four-year-old ghost is going to kill me.” A shake to your head accompanied the reassurance. His anxieties were rooted in foolish assumptions, but you found the pout on his lips to be oddly adorable. “But if you’re scared, you can sit with me and I promise if a ghost comes, I’ll do all the talking.” An eyelid was then dipped into a wink, which prompted the blonde to break into a laugh.

“Yer the second person to offer to protect me.” Embarrassment flooded his stomach with bees, instead of butterflies. Yet he refused to lower this façade, with laughter continuing to drip from his mouth.

“Hey, we all have our fears. You can protect me if a spider appears. Deal?” The arrangement prompted you to offer out your pinky to solidify the verbal contract.

“Yah. Okay. Deal.” Atsumu curled his pinky around yours, and the smallest touch had calmed the insects inside of him. Maybe you weren’t that bad, even if you were a little crazy.

“I’m l/n, f/n, by the way.”

“I’m Miya, Atsumu.”

The following hour contained various conversations, ranging from past paranormal experiences to locker-room gossip. Atsumu munched away at the plate of appetizers while you supplied him with stories of your childhood. He was beginning to piece together why you were so keen on communicating with the ghostly residences of the Angel Inn. You were halfway through another story when his attention drifted onto a figure in the corridor behind you.

“Err. L/n. Did ya notice the small child staring at us? Please tell me ya see it too.” It was never his intention to lock stares with the almost transparent being that was beckoning him over. The poor male choked on the fry in his mouth, and then dove for a glass of water.

“Hm? Where?!” Spinning around on the seat, you attempted to attain a visual of what had frightened the blonde. To your disappointment, there was no sign of a young child. “I think it ran away. I’m gonna follow it.” The announcement of your plans was followed by a little fist pump in the air. If Haru wanted a playmate, you were certainly available.

“Yer gonna follow the ghost child? Can we talk about this?” After administering a cough to clear his throat, the setter prepared his best impression of a puppy-dog, hoping it would convince you to abandon your endeavours.

“You don’t have to come with me, Miya. I’ll meet you back here when I’m done.” With laughter dancing up your throat, you settled onto your feet then presented a bright beam in the setter’s direction. Atsumu was appreciative of your efforts to reassure him, though he would refuse to allow you to leave without him.

“No. It’s too dangerous to go alone, take this.” Before you could question what he was referring to, the male intertwined his fingers with yours then casted his gaze aside shyly. “Alright. Now ya can go.”

“That was kinda corny and kinda cute. I’ll accept it.” The inside of your cheek was bit as you pushed to conceal the happiness the action brought you. For someone who was notorious for being a ‘bad boy’, he was ridiculously sweet. The circumstances surely called for an eerie chill to fill your bones, and yet warmth engulphed every inch of your skin.

The quest to find Haru was unsuccessful on the lower level. It was only when you proceeded up the staircase did you hear a strange giggle from one of the hallways. It appeared that you had accepted a game of hide and seek with the dead. When you tugged on Atsumu’s hand to indicate that you desired to follow the noise, a low whine vibrated inside of his throat.

“This is exactly what a couple does in those horror films before they get killed. Haven’t ya learned anything from Hollywood?” Despite his warnings and the anxiety swarming his insides, he trailed behind you closely, refusing to release your hand.

“Shh, Miya.” To drown out the laughter threatening to depart, you sunk your teeth into your bottom lip. The sound of varied giggles increased in volume until you reached room 204. What was strange about the guestroom was that the door was cracked open. Based on your research, each of the hotel rooms were said to be double locked. What made the circumstances significantly worse was that 204 was the room where the murders occurred… Not that you planned on sharing any of this information with the blonde male shivering behind you.

“L/n, I am begging ya.” He applied a bit of pressure against your hand, and regretted his decision to accompany you when he knew what was lurking behind the barrier would not be pleasant.

“Just a little peek, and we can go.”

You should have retreated when tiny needles prickled your palm as you ushered open the door, but you were far too stubborn to leave yet. And nothing could prepare you for the horrific sight that awaited you. In the center of the room stood a four-year-old boy with blood splattered across his face and a single hole penetrating his chest. His injured state did not stop the apparition from smiling ear to ear, and frankly that only added an additional layer of horror. Beside you Atsumu blinked wide eyes, unsure how to react to what had melted into view.

“No. Nope. No. We’re done here.” Releasing your hand, the setter scooped you into his arms, then began down the hallway before rushing down the stairs. He continued to utter his denial to the situation and refused to stop until reaching the parking lot outside.

“Miya!” Maybe it was his reaction that prompted laughter to erupt from inside you, or maybe you were terrible at handling distress. But you could not contain the melody that brought your chest to rise and fall, even after he returned you to your feet.

“We are not goin’ back in there. No.” The setter raked his fingers through his hair roughly, struggling to regain his composure. Did he really just see that? More importantly, why didn’t you listen to his warnings? And why were you laughing?! “How aren’t ya scared?!”

“I express my fear through laughter?” Your shoulders were pushed into a shrug as you delivered him a sheepish smile. Disbelief led the setter to lift a finger in your direction, communicating that he required a minute to accept this explanation.

“How about I get my things, then you and I go can grab some hot chocolate for your nerves.” Seconds after the suggestion was posed, you took his hand that was extended forward, cupping it with both of your palms. This was certainly not how you expected the evening to unfold. How could you have known that you would meet someone so fascinating and sweet as Atsumu while writing an article on a haunted motel? But you were glad you did. Not only did you secure details to an incredible story, you also thoroughly enjoyed yourself. It had been a while since you laughed this much – you missed it.

“Yah fine. Jus’ don’t bring back any uninvited guests with ya.” A dramatic sigh was blow out by the male to illustrate his exhaustion. If he saw another spirit today, he doubted his fragile little heart would survive.

“Oh, you mean like Haru?” Allowing your hands to drop to your side, you retreated a step away from him, prior to lowering an eyelid into a mischievous wink. The mention of the spirit’s name brought Atsumu to grimace. “I’m joking. I’ll see if his sister is available instead.”

“L/n! Stop!”

The whining of your name had never sounded more endearing, and for the first time this evening, you accepted that maybe just maybe...you weren’t the sanest.

Taglist: @newfriendjen @haikyuufairy @bringmelily @4fterh0urs @shegrewupwithoutafather @chocolaterumble @aquariarose @tsukkismamagucci @yourstarvic

#atsumu x reader #atsumu x y/n #atsumu imagines #atsumu miya #atsumu scenarios #atsumu fluff #atsumu x you #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu atsumu #atsumu x female reader

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keanureevesisbae · 4 years

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The alluring charm of Henry Cavill - Chapter 5

Summary: After a short two day break, Adelaide finally comes back to the cottage. During their next challenge however, things don’t go to plan.

Henry Cavill x Adelaide Park (ofc)

Wordcount: 7.9k (I know, this is a lot, but I don’t know what happened to me

Warnings: Descriptions of a haunted house and what can be found in them.

Masterlist // Previous chapter // Next chapter

I’ve been here in Italy for a week and a half now, but I have to take a small break, because the I had to travel to Switzerland. It was only for two days, to sign some papers and meet up with the director. The filming process isn’t starting for three more months, but it’s nice to know a bit more about it and to finally see the director in real life.

Plus it felt like I finally had time to breath, when I’m not being surrounded by camera’s. Henry and I prerecorded our challenges, so the schedule isn’t messed up.

Two days ago, the second episode aired and I actually liked the way people write about us and me. For once I’m not the ditz, but I’m the daredevil and actually quite smart.

I’m in the back of a taxi, as the driver soars over the roads. Thankfully he can’t hear me because of the plastic that separates us and from the looks of it, he doesn’t want to talk to me. That’s a good thing, because I see my dad wants to FaceTime me. ‘Hi,’ I say when I pick up.

Ever since I have been making a lot of money, he started to look even better and better. Not because I’m paying for his botox, but because he finally can relax. Years of overworking himself, stressing over me and my mom, it took a toll on him. Though he still works hard to make sure my mom is happy, it’s nothing compared to what he had to do.

The smile on my father’s face when he sees me is priceless. Even when I was younger, his entire face would light up when he saw me. I’m happy to know that I still have that effect on my dad, even when there is an ocean in between us and we’re on FaceTime. ‘You look so pretty,’ is the first thing he tells me.

He is an absolute sweetheart. ‘Thank you.’

‘Where are you?’

‘I’m in a taxi, appa. I went to Switzerland for my new movie. Now I’m on my way back to Italy, to the cottage I’m staying at.’

‘Right,’ he says. He tilts his head. ‘You okay?’

‘I’m totally fine,’ I tell him. ‘Why? Don’t you like the show?’

He smiles, holding his phone very close to his face, as if he is closer to me then. ‘I do, but you look tired.’

I simply shrug. ‘I’m okay. How is eomma? She likes the show?’

Dad nods. ‘She is resting now, but she loves the show. Tell me, you like this Henry guy?’

Why am I blushing? What a way to give yourself away, Adelaide Park. ‘I like being around him, yes.’

‘Don’t lie,’ he says. ‘I taught you better than to lie to your appa. You like like him, right? I can tell, you know. Your smile when you’re with him tells me enough and you do that thing.’

My brows furrow together. ‘What thing?’

‘You touchy.’

‘That sounds perverted,’ I say. ‘And by the way, I’m not touchy.’

‘You are,’ dad tells me and this man is dead serious. ‘You touch his arm in your sleep. You always do that when you sleep, touch the other person. I remember when you were little girl, maybe five, and it was summer. It was very hot. Normally at that age, you always lay next to me, very close, because you were scared. But it was too hot, so you only placed your hand on my arm, because you couldn’t sleep without psychically knowing that I was there.’

I’m so grateful that there are no camera’s around, because this is one way to get exposed.

‘Also, you are happy around him. I haven’t seen you like that in a long time,’ he says with a smile.

I lean my head against the head rest. ‘I’m always happy,’ I tell him. ‘Not just because of him.’

He simply nods. ‘I see you don’t want to talk about it. That’s okay, I understand. You don’t want to talk about your love life with your appa.’

‘This is barely a love life,’ I chuckle.

‘It’s more than you have now.’

I purse my lips together, to not burst out into laughter. ‘Thanks for putting it into perspective.’

‘You take good care of yourself?’

‘Yes, dad.’

He nods. ‘I’m very proud of you,’ he says in all seriousness. ‘Only a daughter of mine eats fried spider like it’s nothing.’

I keep thinking about that challenge. It was disgusting, sure, but it’s true what I said: I can eat anything. One time, we didn’t have anything to eat and my dad was desperate. After spending an entire day at school, with only half an apple, I was starving and crying. It was pretty rough weather outside, so he couldn’t go on his usual round of finding food behind the restaurants, something he did when it was a situation like this. He went to the garden and found us some earthworms. My mom refused to eat it, after dad sort of made a meal out of it. She told him she wasn’t going to accept that we were that poor that we needed to eat earthworms.

What was next? He was going to snatch the snails out of the yard? He was going to catch a pigeon? Go fishing in the lake a few kilometers from our house?

They started fighting. My mom was mad at my dad, my dad thought she was being ungrateful. Just to stop them from fighting, I ate the fried earthworm and despite it being disgusting, I was too hungry and needed something in my stomach. It instantly stopped them from fighting and my dad was proud of me eating it. My mom even ate one, because she didn’t want me to think any less of her, she told me years later.

We talk for a bit and then he has to hang up, since he needs to do some groceries. I stare at the picture he send me yesterday. We don’t have many pictures of us from when I was younger, but he actually found the only one we have of the three of us. It was during Christmas. Both him and my mom were home when I was seven and the neighbor came over with her polaroid camera. She made a picture of us and during a clean up session, my dad found it again.

I remember what he texted with the picture: I loved you when you were born, I loved you when you were my little princess and I still love you now you are my hardworking princess. I’m so proud of you.

I’m pulled out of my thoughts, when I see that Henry wants to FaceTime. I answer the call and see his handsome face appear on my screen. ‘There you are,’ he says, a grin spread across his face. ‘Are you almost home?’

Home. I never had a place that I called home. It was always the people that made a place home. My parents were my home and since I moved out for my career in the acting industry, I have an apartment where I stay, but it’s never a home. I can’t seem to turn it into a home.

But staying in this cottage with Henry, felt homey, but I didn’t dare to call it a home, not wanting to come across weird or desperate.

However Henry does it now and it makes my heart skip a beat.

I look at the navigation screen and say: ‘Forty minutes.’

‘I miss you,’ he admits.

This shouldn’t make me blush like it does right now. I can’t stop my smile. ‘You miss me?’ I teasingly ask.

‘A whole lot, Addy. The place is so quiet without you here.’ He flashes me a dashing smile and sits outside on the doorstep, in the nice evening sun. ‘How was Switzerland?’

‘It was okay,’ I tell him. ‘The place where we are going to shoot is beautiful.’

‘Did the director have someone in mind for the love interest?’

I nod. ‘Yes, he is thinking about asking David Castañeda again. We also starred in another movie together and he liked our chemistry.’

When I told Henry about what the movie was about, he simply raised his eyebrows. It’s about a woman who goes to Switzerland, she is a journalist and needs to write a story about a mysterious man who owns way too many dogs and no one seems to understand him.

I don’t really need to explain how the rest of the movie will go, since it’s still a romantic comedy, thus pretty self explanatory what is going to happen.

‘But if David says no…?’

‘We’re back at square one,’ I say. ‘You sure I can’t pursue you?’

‘You, Addy, can pursue me any day.’ He winks at me, but I don’t understand the joke. ‘I think you wanted to persuade me, not pursue me.’

Oh shit, this is embarrassing. I’m tempted to open the car door while we’re going this fast, simply to throw myself out. ‘Yeah, I meant persuade. Sorry, English is hard.’

Henry smiles, but it disappears when he looks at me on his screen and he tilts his head in the process. ‘Are you okay?’

‘I’m fine.’

‘You have watery eyes.’

I clear my throat, before I blink away the tears in my eyes, because I indeed have watery eyes. ‘Really, it’s fine.’

‘Sure?’

Though I want to tell him a bit more about my private life, the words never roll out of my mouth. Like something is physically stopping me. However, now I say: ‘My dad called me. Just wanted to know how I was.’

Henry nods. ‘When was the last time you saw him?’

‘Think eight months ago. I just miss him a lot, just like I miss my mom.’

‘Understandably so.’ He leans against the doorframe, while he simply stares at his screen. ‘What did they think of the show?’

‘They liked it, but they like every single thing I’m in. They rewatch interviews, movies and episodes of Remembering High School when they miss me.’ I smile, thinking about the millions of videos that my dad send me of them rewatching episodes. He would film himself and say sweet things about how his daughter is the most talented one on the screen, or that his daughter is the prettiest. I know that he sends those videos to me, but he also sends them to friends. ‘I think I just realized now how much I miss them.’

‘That’s totally understandable,’ Henry says. ‘Are you going to visit them once this is over?’

‘I think so.’

Henry smiles. ‘Well, they can be proud of you and they should be. I am proud of you too,’ he says. ‘I mean, you totally put me to shame with that food challenge. I even got a message from Angela Bassett, saying how you are by far the coolest and that I’m a wimp.’

I chuckle. ‘That’s sweet and she is right.’

We talk for a while and those forty minutes fly by. The taxi stops in front of the cottage and Henry stands up with a bright smile. He always looks so happy to see me. The chauffeur hands me my bag and after I thanked him, he gets in again and drives off. Henry walks over to me and snakes his arms around my waist, lifting me up after he pulled me close to his body. ‘I’m happy to know that you aren’t going to leave me here again in this cottage,’ he says. ‘It felt like every second went by at least seven times.’

Sure, what he said was sweet, but I can’t seem to focus on those words, since this is the tightest hug someone has given me, apart from my parents of course. This is actually the first time he is hugging me. I press my nose in his shoulder, taking in his familiar scent and I close my eyes.

I’m really home now.

He lets go of me way too quickly. ‘I made you dinner.’

‘Really?’ I ask. ‘What did you make me?’

‘Pasta bolognese. When in Rome, right?’ He points a daring finger at me and says: ‘Don’t you dare say we aren’t in Rome.’

‘I wouldn’t dare,’ I chuckle. He holds out his hand and I give him my bag, before we walk into the cottage. During dinner, I tell him more about the movie and how beautiful the little town was where we’re going to film.

‘Isn’t it tiring, though?’ Henry asks. ‘To constantly play in romantic comedies?’

He asked me this before, but I didn’t know him that well to answer truthfully. Now I do know him well enough, to at least be sort of honest, without sounding like an ungrateful bitch. I simply shrug. ‘Sometimes I wished I would get other offers, but I guess I just have the face for romantic comedies.’

‘What kind of genre would you like to play in?’

‘Like a thriller or an action movie,’ I say. ‘More serious, you know? Maybe even Lara Croft one day. That would be amazing.’

‘You would nail Lara Croft,’ he says. ‘I feel like you have a lot of potential to play in tons of different movies. You would do great in a drama too, but a thriller is something I would like you to star in. Really different from what you do now.’

‘Don’t you ever want to play in a romantic comedy or something really serious?’ I ask him. ‘A drama for example?’

‘I would like to try it out one day,’ he says.

‘I think you would be great in a romantic comedy. You have that charm that women fall for.’

Henry cocks an eyebrow. ‘A charm you say?’

‘Yeah, exactly.’ I smile at him, stirring through my pasta. ‘What is a role you really want to portray one day? I mean, you already played Superman, that was pretty awesome.’

He nods. ‘Maybe James Bond one day.’

‘Why would you want to do that?’

‘I mean… It’s James Bond. That’s almost every men’s dream.’ Henry takes a sip of his water, as he clearly is studying my face. ‘Why? Don’t you like James Bond?’

I shake my head. ‘My mom hated the movies with a passion when I was growing up. It’s kind of sexist, really. I feel like, if you should ever play a movie with something like that, you should look into a movie where they create a whole new legendary character. Just like Keanu Reeves is the start of a John Wick legacy, you could be the start of something else.’ I smile at him, before adding: ‘You deserve better than to portray James Bond, Henry.’

He plays with his food for a second, before he looks at me again. ‘You think so?’

I nod. ‘Of course. I wouldn’t lie to you.’

Henry smiles. ‘Well, I’ll consider it.’

After we finish our dinner, I take a shower and get dressed in my pajamas. Despite the fact that I only drove back to the cottage today from Switzerland, I am really tired. Before I would go to bed early, simply to avoid falling in sleep in front of him, but now we usually get in bed together. We talk about tons of stuff before we actually fall asleep, still with the wall of pillows between us.

My mind is nearly in Dreamland already. I turn on my side and wrap my leg and arm around the pillows, my fingertips accidentally caressing his soft skin. ‘You don’t mind me doing this?’ I groggily whisper, still remembering my dad’s words that I’m apparently doing that thing.

‘I don’t,’ Henry says. ‘I think it’s sweet.’

I open my eyes for a brief second and I see him already looking at me, a smile toying on his face.

‘Go to sleep, Addy. Tomorrow you and I go swimming in the morning, remember?’

‘Oh right,’ I yawn, closing my eyes again. Somehow my hand finds his and I hesitate for a second. Should I pull my hand back or just leave it here? Thankfully I don’t have to think about that, because Henry wraps his fingers through mine and whispers: ‘Good night, Adelaide.’

‘Good night,’ I mumble, slowly drifting off to sleep.

◎ ◎ ◎

The next morning, I’m back in the insanely cold pool again with Henry. We’ve done this two times before now, but I still don’t trust myself enough to do something alone in the water. Even if it’s just holding the edge, as I’m sort of swimming by myself, Henry close by. I know that even if I do that, he wouldn’t let anything happen to me.

‘No, no, no,’ I quickly say, when he suggests that same idea, for the second time this morning. ‘Don’t let go of me, please.’

‘Addy, have I ever let go of you, when you didn’t want me to?’ he asks me. He decides to answer his own question. ‘No, I have never done that, so I’m not going to do that now. I’m just going to remove one hand from your waist to hold your hand, okay?’

‘No,’ I whine.

Henry starts to chuckle. ‘What’s up with you today?’ he asks. ‘You’re shaking. Is the water that cold or are you scared?’

‘I’m scared,’ I admit. ‘I know that I have to do it myself one day and at least try a bit alone, but not today. Please.’

‘Okay, not today,’ he assures me. ‘You seem a bit tense. Is everything okay?’

I sigh. ‘I just got a text from my dad this morning,’ I whisper, but loud enough for him to hear it, maybe not loud enough for the “hidden” camera’s that are stationed in the garden to pick up. ‘It’s just that my mom has a cold and that always worries me.’

‘Why?’ he asks, as he stops walking in the water.

I don’t want to tell him, but I know that I eventually will. My arms are wrapped around his shoulders, while his fingers are circling on my skin. It’s such a small, yet caring gesture from his side. ‘My mom is paralyzed from the waist down,’ I tell him. ‘But… She… After she got paralyzed, she never got back to her old health, if that makes sense. She is very prone to colds and a simply cold can turn into a nasty flu and that can result into her needing to go to the hospital. She ended up in the emergency room a few times and each time I wasn’t home. My dad always tells me not to worry about her, just like my mom tells me not to worry, but it’s hard. I worry a lot about them all the time, especially when she’s sick.’

Henry doesn’t say anything, he simply studies my face. ‘I had no idea,’ he tells me. ‘Come here.’ He pulls me towards his body and I nuzzle my face in his neck. ‘I’m so sorry, Addy. I understand you worry a lot about them, but… I just have to ask: why don’t you tone it down with the movies, so you can be with them?’

I pull back and say: ‘Because… I want to provide for them.’

‘Why?’ His blue eyes almost look innocent. I have to hold myself in, not to brush the wet curls out of his face, not to press my nose against his cheek, to kiss his jaw, feeling the short hairs puncture my lips. I can’t stop myself falling in love with him. He is everything that I was apparently looking for in a man. He is kind, he is patient and he is caring. He knows how to cook, he can read me like the back of his hand and yesterday, the way he held my hand when I went to sleep, is making me feel all sorts of things.

But there is one thing that I know: if he ever becomes a bigger part of my life, he should know more about me. I have been dodging it for too long now, but I should tell him. And even if we don’t become an item, I know that we will end up as friends. I know that after the Celebrity Project ends, I don’t ever want him out of my life again.

‘When I grew up, we were very poor,’ I say. ‘Like, my dad had to work long hours in a factory, my mom became a live in nanny and I had to raise myself. My dad barely ate after a long day of work, so mom and I could have most of it, when my mom would be home to eat it. I went to one of the only schools that was close by and was free. It wasn’t a great school, I don’t even think my teachers remember me at all. We couldn’t afford testing for me, something that my parents didn’t even know about, because they couldn’t miss a day at their jobs and I did my own parent teacher meetings.’

‘Geez, Adelaide,’ he says. ‘I’m so sorry.’

I clear my throat, because I don’t want to cry. ‘When I was nineteen, I was working at a diner, to help meet ends back at home, since I couldn’t go to college, my mom was hit by a car and left paralyzed. The medical bills were out of the roof and she needed physical therapy, but we couldn’t afford it. And that’s the whole reason I started acting in ‘Remembering High School’. I had zero acting experience, but I needed the money. After I made that money and my year on the show was up, I got offered two different movies. A romantic comedy or a thriller, but from the looks of it, the romantic comedy would definitely make more. Thankfully I chose that movie, because the thriller was a big flop. Every penny I earned from that movie and a few after that, went to my parents, for their bills.’

Henry nods and removes his hand from my waist, so he can wipe the tears of my cheeks. Not that it helps, since his hand is still wet from the water. ‘You are amazing,’ he says. ‘I think you are by far the most amazing woman on this earth. Do you still do that? Give your money to your parents?’

I nod. ‘I don’t really know what I should do with it and my parents worked so hard for me. This is my way of thanking them.’

Henry pulls me closer to him, his arms around my body and I let out a tiny sob that I was holding in, when I bury my face in his strong shoulder. ‘It’s okay,’ he whispers. ‘If you want to go home, you just go home, okay? I totally understand. Your family is more important than this show.’

‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before.’

‘No, no, no, don’t say something like that. I understand. It’s very personal and this isn’t something that you just tell people. You are amazing, Addy, please remember that, okay?’

I nod, before slowly pulling back, so I can look at him again. Henry is smiling. ‘What?’ I ask.

‘You just keep on surprising,’ he says. ‘And in these days that I’m spending time with you, I’ve gotten to know you in a way that I never thought would be possible. Angela spoke so highly of you, though she barely knew you. Now I know you quite well and I can’t speak anything but highly of you.’

I let out a nervous chuckle. ‘You don’t have to.’

‘But I will anyways,’ he smiles. ‘Let’s get out of the pool now, you are freezing.’ We go to the edge and when I climbed out, I grab my towel and wrap it around me. Henry’s perfectly shaped body, with the right hip-shoulder ratio… I can’t help but look.

‘Henry,’ I say, causing him to look up. ‘Thank you.’

He chuckles. ‘Not a single problem, Adelaide.’

◎ ◎ ◎

Dad: No need to worry. Eomma will make it, it’s a tiny flu.

Adelaide: Sure?

Dad: More than sure. Enjoy your time.

Dad: I love you 😘

Adelaide: I love you too 😘

I keep thinking about my dad’s texts. I mean, he tells me that it will be alright and I should believe him. Back in the day, he was always right and that shouldn’t change now.

After our little swimming adventure, Henry and I got ready for the day and now we’re standing in front of a haunted house, waiting for the host of today to get ready. What exactly the challenge is for today, I don’t know, but I’m not looking forward to it at all.

The rest on the other hand seem to be totally fine. Henry places both of his hands on my shoulders and I look back, placing the top of my head against his chest. Even upside down, he is beautiful looking. I bet I look like a moron. ‘Are you okay?’ he quietly asks.

‘I’m fine.’ Thankfully over the course of the years, I have become a better liar, which I think is a skill thanks to my acting career. I have always been a master at hiding my emotions, but when people get closer to me (just my parents, but nowadays Henry too), it’s harder, because they see right through me.

And right now, I’m not fine. My mom is sick and I don’t know how she is doing as we speak. We have to go through the haunted house and I’m afraid that they are going to make us go individually. I really want to go with Henry, because then I can just hop on his back, bury my face in his neck and not look.

However, this show is the stupidest thing I’ve ever participated in, because we have to go through the haunted house all by ourselves, while even doing some challenges while we’re inside.

My heart is racing and I can’t even look at the big screen outside of the house, without jumping. Henry is still standing behind me, with his hands still on my shoulders, his thumbs pressing into the tight muscles to make them less tense. ‘Relax,’ he whispers, when someone else is going inside. ‘You’re going to be fine.’

But I can’t believe him. I’m not going to be fine. Justin screams his lungs out when someone pops up in front of him, as he is trying to solve a Rubik’s cube. Jennifer is hiding in a corner, while she is singing one of her own songs. And when it’s Henry’s turn, he has to solve a sudoku, but he jumps at every little sound and that is really not easing my mind. If a man like him, who nearly tripped over his own feet because I moved the fried tarantula in his face, screams like this when he hears water drip on the floor, how the hell am I supposed to do this?

After watching everyone else go, it’s time for me. I feel like my petite frame reminds them of a kindergartner, because they all wish me extra good luck. Jennifer even pulls me into a motherly hug and whispers that I’ve got this.

But do I have it in me to finish this?

I push open the door and I step into the house of horrors. I could eat the most disgusting looking snacks and people called me a daredevil. I can manage this. This isn’t that terrifying. It’s just fake, it’s like acting.

Only this set looks scary as hell and there is no one out here to say cut.

The lights start to flicker, something they didn’t do before. How am I supposed to read and answer eventual questions if I have to do that? I take a step forward, but my heart is pounding so loud, that my eardrums hurt.

The steps are minuscule, but at least I’m taking steps forward. Every door, every corner, every closed window… It makes me hesitant, but so far, nothing has happened. Maybe the actors that work here feel sorry for me.

I could crawl over the floor, I think to myself. Maybe that would be—

Something falls down from the ceiling and bounces on the floor. I jump backwards, letting out a scream that is more a high whistle note. When I finally can open my eyes again, I notice it’s a head and just a head. ‘It’s fake,’ I tell myself out loud. ‘It’s fake.

But then the head starts to scream, causing me to scream and a tiny sob escapes my lips. No, no, no, this can’t be happening.

I quickly jump over it and hurry myself through the rest of the hall.

Because I’m simply just walking and not paying attention, I bump into a wall and I go left, but someone with a fucking knife comes out of the door and I stumble backwards. Thankfully this person keeps standing in the doorframe and I crawl past them, but he or she keeps standing in the doorway, not attacking me. ‘Thank you,’ I squeak, my throat tightening, almost like someone is physically choking me.

Okay, I managed this and I see a clipboard with some questions on a table. I press my back against the wall, so I can see everyone.

What is the capital of Russia? Easy peasy, lemon squeezy, I think to myself. If these are the questions, I’m out of here within a minute.

I hear footsteps and the light that was flickering two seconds ago, is completely out. It’s dark. Oh no, oh no, oh no.

I can’t see anything, but I hear screams and dark voices. I try to catch my breath, when the light come back on and I’m surrounded by a bloody nurse, a creepy clown and oh my, is that not one, but three zombies? They are really close to me and I can’t help up but scream bloody murder, as I hide my face behind the clipboard. ‘No, go away, go away!’

Is that a fucking chainsaw?

I open my eyes for a second, only to see that someone who looks like Chucky is really close now with a chainsaw. This doesn’t seem fake anymore. This seems way too real and my brain is going crazy. What is happening? Am I dying?

I start to cough, as the tears run over my cheeks. ‘No, stop, please!’

I hear something, but the pounding of my heart is too hard for me to hear what is happening. All I can do is cry, shake and cough as the tears nearly make me choke.

‘Addy, I’m here,’ I hear a voice say, but I keep hiding my face in my face, kicking my feet and I hit something. ‘Ouch, no, no, it’s me, Henry. Don’t worry, it’s all over.’

I peek through my fingers, to see the lights are on and all the scary people that cornered me, are gone. The only one I see now, is Henry. My cheeks are flushed and my eyes hurt from crying. I try to say something, but my breathing is all over the place.

Henry holds my hands and places one on my own chest and the other on his. ‘Try to breath with me, Adelaide,’ he says to me. ‘Now breath in deeply.’ He takes a deep breath, holds it for a second, before slowly breathing out. I try to copy him, but my breathing is too erratic. It takes at least ten times before I’m finally sort of managing. ‘Very good,’ he says in a soft tone. ‘Very good.’

‘Is it over?’ I whimper.

Henry nods, holding my hand tightly in his. ‘It’s all over. I’m so sorry that this happened to you and I’m sorry I didn’t come in here way sooner. I should’ve noticed that this was too much.’

‘Did we lose?’

‘Doesn’t matter,’ he says sternly. ‘You shouldn’t worry about that.’ Henry stands up and pulls me with him, but my legs feel like jello and simply give out, because of all the adrenaline that is breaking down. I cling onto his shirt, as he holds me up by my waist.

‘I can’t anymore,’ I cry, as I bury my face into his shirt, not caring about wiping my tears on the fabric. ‘I’m so scared.’

‘I know,’ he sighs. ‘Fuck, I know.’ He hoists me up in his arms, guiding me into wrapping my legs around his waist. ‘Don’t look,’ he tells me.

I don’t even want to look at this awful, awful place anymore, so I bury my face into his neck, as he walks out of the haunted house. He places me on the soft grass and he runs his fingers through my disheveled hair. ‘Addy, listen to me,’ he says, ‘you’re breathing is good, but you need to make sure that it stays like this okay?’

I simply nod. ‘I’m just so embarrassed.’

‘There is absolutely no need to be embarrassed,’ he tells me. ‘You can stop with this program if you want. I mean, I totally understand that you want to quit.’

‘I think I just want tomorrow off,’ I whisper. ‘And do nothing.’

‘I understand,’ he says. ‘You want to go home?’

Home. ‘As long as you are there.’

Henry smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. ‘I’m not leaving you, Addy. Not after this.’

◎ ◎ ◎

When Henry and I are home, I feel disgusting. I could actually use a shower, but I’m too afraid of standing in the shower cabin by myself and I don’t want to shower with Henry (our friendship is too fragile for that), so a simple washing cloth should do the trick.

The producers of the Celebrity Project gave me the next day off and depending on how I feel after tomorrow, I will decide whether or not I’m staying here. I don’t want to give up and I think I can overcome this.

Henry sits next to me on the couch, as we both stare at the television. We have been watching Mamma Mia, simply because of the ABBA songs and the story line is predictable and predictability is exactly what I need right now. ‘You want something to drink?’ he asks me, when the credits are rolling on the screen.

I shake my head. ‘No, thank you.’

‘How are you feeling?’

‘I don’t know,’ I whisper.

‘Do you want to go to bed?’ he suggests. ‘We could do that. I bet you are tired.’

I am tired and the fact that he said that we could do that, must indicate that he is going to stay with me, right? I simply nod and he says he is going to close off. To be alone is not what I want right now, so I follow him around the cottage like a puppy.

When we’re in bed, I ask him if he wants to leave the light on his nightstand on. I still sit up straight in bed, my arms wrapped around my knees. Henry places a hand on my back.

‘I’m scared,’ I whisper, as I feel my heart pounding painfully in my chest.

He sighs deeply. ‘I know. Is there anything I can do for you?’

I turn my head to the side, so I can look at him. ‘Can… Can you… Can you hold me, please?’ Tears burn in my eyes. ‘I’m so scared, Henry.’

He throws the pillows from the bed, before I crawl into his inviting arms. I place my head on his chest, my arm wrapped around his waist. ‘Breath, Addy,’ he whispers. ‘It’s all okay now, I’m right here with you. Nothing can happen to you now.’

However, the tears come again and they aren’t stopping. His large hand cups my cheek, his thumb caressing the skin right underneath my eye. He lets me cry, even though I have been crying a lot for the past few hours.

I force myself to stop, because I’m out of breath and I’m just too tired to cry anymore. Henry pulls me closer to his broad and heavy frame.

‘There, there,’ he says in a soft tone. ‘You are all okay now.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ I whisper.

‘No need to be sorry, Addy. You just try and go to sleep, because you are really tired and after this day… You should just sleep, okay?’

During the night, I wake up a few times, but every single time I’m closely tugged into Henry’s protective arms. Sometimes he is behind me, his face buried in my neck or my hair, our hands linked. Sometimes I have my head on his shoulder and then my face is nuzzled in his neck. But every time I wake up, he is still awake. ‘Go back to sleep,’ he whispers, his fingers drawing soothing circles on my skin.

And as if his voice is working like hypnosis, I drift off right back to sleep.

◎ ◎ ◎

The next day, Henry has been nothing but a sweetheart to me and halfway through the day, I feel a whole lot better and decide to stay here and finish the competition. I don’t care that we are last and that we are probably going to lose anyways.

The two of us decide to take a walk through a large orchard, with trees filled with apples and oranges. We end up on a lovely field and I plop down in the grass. The sun is burning on my skin, but I chose a spot near a tree, so we can alternate between sitting in the sun and the shadows.

Henry and I lean against the tree when the sun is too hot for us to sit in, as we stare ahead of us. ‘You know,’ he says, ‘I was wondering something.’

‘Tell me.’

‘You kept your personal life very private over the course of the years. Why was that?’

‘I thought it wasn’t anyones business.’ I look to the side and chuckle. ‘That’s the I try to be really tough-answer, but the truth is: I was embarrassed. No one at school knew about my situation at home and I certainly didn’t want the entire world to know.’

‘You didn’t have any friends?’

I shake my head. ‘Yet again: I was too embarrassed to share this with anyone. Besides, I was the weird girl who wore the same clothes for three days on end.’

‘Kids can be cruel,’ he says, referring to his own past.

I wrap my arms around his strong one, pressing my cheek against his bicep. ‘They can.’

‘Can I ask something else?’

‘You can.’

‘Have you ever dated?’

I place my chin on his arm, so I can actually look at him again. ‘No, I have never.’

‘You have played alongside quite a few single guys. Was there not a spark in real life?’

‘Goodness gracious, Henry, you sound like you’re in a retirement home. A spark in real life? Really?’

He chuckles. ‘You get what I’m saying.’

‘I do,’ I say with a smile. ‘But to answer your question, no, there wasn’t. I mean, I remain in contact with some of them and we’re still friendly, but I never let them in. Not like how I’m with you.’ I place my cheek against his bicep again, but one of my hands slides down his arm. He intertwines his fingers with mine and his thumb draws soft figures on my skin.

Henry nods. ‘You know,’ he says, ‘you are really one of a kind.’

‘Why?’

‘Because you do something that no one else does. You haven’t mentioned my appearance once since we are here.’

‘Really?’ I ask frowning. ‘I thought about your appearance quite a few times.’

He smiles. ‘But you never voiced it. You know, it’s flattering that people comment about my appearance, but you don’t do that. You comment about my personality traits and I don’t want to become all sappy, but… It means a lot.’

‘You are sappy,’ I mumble, causing him to laugh. ‘But since we are being sappy with one another, I should tell you that… You are one of a kind too. You give me a chance. I remember one of the first times I was having issues with speaking and you didn’t fill in the rest. You just waited till I could finish my sentence. That means… a lot. Also, Henry, you… You ran into the haunted house for me.’

‘How…’

‘I saw the footage,’ I say with a smile, remembering what I saw this morning.

He was standing outside, his arms crossed in front of his chest, a deep frown between his brows. ‘Can you just leave the lights on?’ he asked. ‘Flickering lights make it harder for Adelaide to concentrate.’

But there was no response. He shook his head, clenched his jaw and eventually he simply walked away. He went in the haunted house, pressed the “Stop” button, before rushing towards me, pulling some of the actors away. ‘It’s over,’ he told them. ‘Get the fuck out of here.’

After seeing the footage, it made my heart swell like crazy. ‘Quite romantic, really,’ I chuckle.

He laughs, but it sounds more nervous this time. ‘Well… It was nothing.’

‘It meant the world to me,’ I retort. And because of that, I think I’m even more in love with you than I already was. However it doesn’t leave my lips. I don’t want to scare him off.

‘This never happened to me before,’ Henry says. ‘Feeling about someone like this.’

‘Like what?’

‘Like how I feel about you.’ He squeezes my hand, before continuing by saying: ‘I care so much about you, Adelaide. Before you told me about your life, after you told me about your life. Even if we don’t win this contest, I did win something else. I won the privilege to get to know you.’

‘You care for me,’ I repeat, letting those words process for a bit. But that’s not falling in love with me.

‘And,’ he continues, ‘I’m slowly falling for you too.’

I resit, so I don’t strain my neck when I look at him. ‘What?’

He holds my hand tightly in his, as if he is afraid that I might slip away. ‘I’m falling in love with you, Adelaide Park.’

I bite my lip. ‘You are?’

‘I am,’ he confirms. ‘Even if we don’t win this show, I want to figure out how we can manage after this. Maybe you can even tone it down with your movies.’

I chuckle, hiding my face in my hand. ‘Maybe I can do that.’ I look at our linked hands and I whisper: ‘I’m falling love with you too, Henry Cavill.’

‘You are?’ he asks with a smile. ‘Lucky me.’

We don’t say anything. I just look into his eyes, trying to figure out what he is thinking. I can see him staring at my lips, before he moistens his own. ‘When I kiss you,’ he says, ‘there is one problem. I fear that I can’t stop then, but I also want us to remain a little secret. For time being of course.’

I nod. ‘Then you don’t kiss me.’

‘But I want to,’ he chuckles.

‘You have to pick one of the options.’

‘What do you want?’

‘I mean…’ I purse my lips together. ‘I wouldn’t mind if we kissed.’

Henry pulls me closer by my hand. I lose a bit of my balance, so I fall against his chest. ‘Careful now, Addy,’ he chuckles. ‘We don’t want any injuries, now do we?’

‘Shut up.’ I finally place my hand on his cheek and as my thumb is slowly caressing his soft skin, I accidentally graze over his velvety lips. He turns his head, to kiss the palm of my hand.

‘Can I kiss you?’ he asks against my skin, as he places his hand on mine, so he can press another, but more firm kiss on the inside of my hand. ‘You can say no.’

‘I want to kiss you,’ I hoarsely whisper. ‘Badly so.’

‘Badly so,’ he repeats with a self fulfilled grin on his face. He leans in closer to me and teasingly kisses my cheek, the tip of my nose and even my forehead. ‘Where?’ he whispers. ‘Where do you want me to kiss you?’

‘Right here,’ I whisper, before pressing my lips on his. They fit perfectly on each other. I cradle his face in my hands, as he pulls me closer to his body, though my legs are in the way. Without even thinking about it, I sit on his lap, causing him to smile underneath the kiss.

‘Badly so it was,’ he mumbles against my lips, his hands slipping underneath my shirt. He opens his mouth and carefully his tongue invades my mouth. I whimper, as his fingers dig into my back, his thumbs softly circling my stomach.

How many on screen kisses have I done?

Billions.

How many felt like this?

None.

I pull back, so I can catch my breath, but he is not giving me a break. He buries his face in the crook of my neck, pressing wet kisses on my delicate skin. ‘Can we stay here forever?’ he asks against my collarbone. ‘I don’t want to go back to the camera’s.’

‘Me neither,’ I whisper. I place my pointer finger underneath his chin, lifting his face. ‘How are we going to do this back at the cottage?’

‘Well,’ he chuckles, ‘we are already behaving like a cute couple, so we don’t have to change a lot about that. Just have to hold back the kisses.’

My fingers run through his curls, messing them up a little, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Henry simply smiles at me. ‘I think we can manage that,’ I say, smiling back at him.

‘Can I have another kiss?’ he asks.

‘You can,’ I whisper, before he captures my lips again. This kiss is even more intense and my fingers toy with the buttons of his shirt, when we hear someone clear their throat. We look up, to see a little boy staring at us, while his grandmother is screaming something in the back. ‘Maybe we should find another place,’ I suggest, stepping off his lap.

‘Yeah,’ Henry says, ‘maybe we should.’

◎ ◎ ◎

Adelaide: You were right.

Adelaide: I like Henry a lot

Dad: I’m always right

Adelaide: And I kissed him.

Dad: You didn’t?

Adelaide: I did, but please keep this a secret.

Dad: I can tell your eomma right?

Adelaide: Yes you can

Adelaide: I love you 😘

Dad: I love you too, future mrs. Cavill

Adelaide: Please, don’t.

◎ ◎ ◎

Taglist: @thelastsock // @jolly-polly // @henrythickcavill // @maan24 // @diegos-butt / @agniavateira // @onlyhenrys // @turkish276 //

#henry cavill #henry cavill x ofc #henry cavill x oc #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fandom #the alluring charm of henry cavill #henry cavill x actress #henry cavill x adelaide park

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jazminebrightxx · 3 years

Text

LIKE MAGIC

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SHOW: Teen wolf

CHAPTER THREE: “works like magic”

EPISODE: 3x02 “chaos rising”

(part two)

The sudden fact and shock of Erica's death hung in the air, tension rising between Derek and Isaac. After Kaitlin had passed out Stiles grew worried for his childhood best friend. But the thought of the bombshell she had dropped on the two of them not even an hour ago still loomed in his mind.k

He looked at the brunette who sat on a table, her uncle looked here over, double checking she was okay, Stiles was confused, he didn't know how to feel about the fact that the girl he'd known his whole life was a supernatural. In one instance, he still just saw Kaitlin, the girl he had grew up with, the girl who's mom was best friends with his mom before she died. He saw the way her nose crinkled up when she laughed and the dimples when she smiled. Or how she played with her collarbone when she was nervous. Then on the other hand, he saw her in a whole new light, she was a witch, he'd seen her do it, she held Isaac down so effortlessly and was willing to hurt herself to help.

Kaitlin caught Stiles gaze, sighing, she says a few words to her uncle, jumping from the table and made her way over to the two friends, awkwardly standing in front of them.

"We should talk" she stated, her arms crossed over her chest, the boys look to each other, silently agreeing "okay" They make their way outside, standing near the redheads car, she leans against the hood as she crosses her arms.

"Why would you lie to us?" Scott questions, a scowl grows on Kaitlin's face, shaking her head slightly "I didn't lie to you, I'd never lie to you. I just..." she sighs, looking at her feet.

"My mom tried to hide it from me for the first few years of my life" she looks up at the two, slight hurt in her eyes

"When it finally happened she explained everything to me, but made me swear to keep it a secret" her voice was horse, her head still slightly sore.

"How'd it happen" Stiles questions from his place, standing against the wall across from the redhead

"Eight years ago" she starts "I came home from school after a really bad day" she takes a quick glance at Stiles, the boy listening intently. "Every little thing annoyed and agitated me, then I got really upset with my mom, which ended in me shattering my kitchen windows without trying" she chuckles lightly at the memory. "she knew she had to tell me after that, I was young, but I wasn't dumb"

"She explained everything to me, but even if I was allowed I couldn't tell you guys" her voice wavers, emotion building up slightly, she looks to Stiles "you had just lost your mom" then to Scott "and your dad...you were just kids"

"Katie you were a kid too"

Kaitlin goes quiet, looking down at her feet, she sighs "it was so hard, when I moved away, it killed me. I hated it, the thought that I might never see you guys again, I thought that I would never get the chance to tell you guys the truth" she shakes her head, looking back at her friends.

"The reality of it set in when Lydia told me she knew" the two boys look at each other dumbfounded, Kaitlin laughs

"Yeah that's how I felt, she said something about a feeling"

"Psychic" Stiles mumbles

Scott steps forward, his arms slightly crossed "Katie, I think I speak for us both when I say, we don't blame you and we're okay with it" he smiles "but how did you know about... you know, me" Kaitlin smiles

"About two weeks before I moved back, deaton came to Boston for the weekend. He sat me down and explained everything, Peter, Derek, the kanima and what's currently happening, the alpha pack" Scott smiles with her "have to admit, I was speechless"

Stiles stands straight from his position, clapping his hands together. He walks forwards standing beside Kaitlin and wrapping an arm around her shoulder

"Well, I for one am very excited for all of the 'Sabrina the teenage witch' jokes I'm about to make" he jokes, Kaitlin laughs at him, wrapping her arm around stiles lower back, he pulls her closer, squeezing her comfortably

"Looking forward to it."

******

"She's not dead" Derek Hale yelled at his beta, Isaac flinched at the loudness of his voice, the two had been arguing over the status of Erica.

"Derek, he said, 'there's a dead body. It's Erica.' Doesn't exactly leave us much room for interpretation" Stiles explains, Kaitlin sat beside Isaac on a counter, rubbing her temple in irritation

"Then who was in the vault with Boyd?" Kaitlin rolls her eyes, growing tired of the same conversation "someone else obviously"

"Maybe it was the girl on the motorcycle." He looks to Isaac "the one who saved you?"

"No, she wasn't like us, and whoever was in the vault with Boyd was." Stiles crosses his arms, a sigh escaping his lips.

"What if that's how Erica died? They pit them against the each other during the full moons and see which one survives, it's like werewolf thunder dome" Stiles rambles, Kaitlin lets out a breathy chuckle, Stiles' humor always slipped through at the worst times.

"Then we get them out tonight" Derek pushes even further

"Be smart about this, Derek. You can't just go storming in" Deaton buts in. But Derek won't give up "if Isaac got in, then so can we"

"But he didn't get through the vault door, did he?" Kaitlin finally says, the alpha turning his gaze to her "we need a plan"

"How are we going to come up with a plan to break into a bank vault in less than 24 hours?" He questions the witch, a smug look on his face, challenging her. She gives him an exasperated look.

"Oh I don't know you tell me, your the one that plans on getting them out tonight?" She sits up from her position, Derek glares at the witch

"Uh I think someone already did" Stiles looks at his phone "beacon hills first national bank closes its doors three months after vault robbery" he reads from his phone, handing it to Kaitlin who skim reads over the article

"It doesn't say how it was robbed but it probably won't take long to find out" the girl hands the phone back.

"How long?"

"It's the internet, Derek. Okay? Minutes"

*****

Scott and Stiles went to stiles' house after leaving the animal clinic last night to try find out more about the bank. Kaitlin had told them she would stop by in the morning before school and see how they had progressed, what she didn't expect to see was the two boys Sprawled across the room, papers scattered everywhere, some coming from the printer, both passed out.

"Guys" she attempts to wake her friends, the two teens not moving "guys!" Still even at her raised voice, they slept soundly.

She crosses her arms, smirking, she kicks the chair Scott sat on, he falls from the chair, waking himself and Stiles up as he does.

The two boys smile sheepishly at the witch when they notice her, she stands tall smirking at the boys, wearing a light purple spaghetti string top over a long sleeve white T-shirt paired with denim high waist jeans and her converse.

Stilinski walks into the room, two cups of coffee in his hand, he hands Kaitlin one, the brunette smiles at him, saying a quick thank you

"I see you woke them for me" he laughs "time for school" he states, turning to walk out of the room "Wait, dad!" Stiles calls, his father turning back to look at him

"Heather?" Kaitlin's ears perk up at the familiar name, Stilinski frowns, shaking his head "no. Nothing yet" Stiles' face falls after his father walks out

The room is silent for a few moments, before Stiles speaks up "ten hours and nothing." He states in frustration

"We're gonna find something" Scott reassures him, glancing at Kaitlin

"Finding something doesn't make Erica any less dead" Stiles argues, moving to clean his room "or Boyd any less about-to-be dead

"We still have time" Scott reassures further, Stiles glances at Kaitlin who shrugs

"Is this whole 'remain optimistic in the face of complete and utter disaster' thing apart of the 'be a better Scott McCall' program?" Classic sarcasm from the king of sarcasm, Kaitlin chuckles, trying to hide her amusement

"Not if it doesn't work"

Stiles sighs in frustration, crumpling a piece of paper in his hand "no, it works"

Kaitlin looks at the papers around the room "Uh guys, maybe your work isn't a total failure" she calls when she notices a newspaper article with Stilinski arresting a man outside beacon hills first national bank

She moves to show Stiles the article, the boys eyes widening and pushing the article to Scott, moving to run out of the room

"Dad! Dad! Wait! Dad!" He runs out of the room, Scott looks to Kaitlin who smiles

*****

Kaitlin jumps out of her car, parked next to stiles' Jeep. The boy groans when he jumps out of the Roscoe, waiting for Kaitlin to catch up to the two, when she does, Scott pulls out his phone and they start walking

"Alright, so we meet at Derek's at 5:00 to go over the plan, and then we don't get started until dark" he swings his bag over his shoulders, Kaitlin sighs

"Do I have to come, Derek's a bit of an ass" she states, Derek's attitude towards the whole situation yesterday make Kaitlin look at the man differently

"Derek's not all that bad, Katie. He's just sour about everything with Erica and Boyd" Stiles explains, reassuring the girl who nods "Yeah I guess, what do we do till then?"

"Well right now, we've got English."

*****

The school day had gone by like any other, boring classes and boring teachers.

After school, Kaitlin, Scott and Stiles met at Derek's like planned

"Okay, you see this?" Stiles pulls out blueprints and a red marker, marking a few places on the sheet

"This is how they got in, it's a rooftop air conditioning vent" he explains the route of the vault that the robbers had took

"It leads down inside into the wall of the vault, which is here. Okay?" He circles the section where the vent is.

"One of the robbers was lowered into this shaft, now that space is so small it took him about 12 hour to drill into that wall, which is stone by the way." He continues, glancing back and forth

"Then throughout the rest of the night, they siphoned the cash up to the guys in the roof, through that one little shaft in the wall. Boom!" He hits the table, putting the cap on the marker

"Can we fit in there?" Scott questions, leaning over the table and observing the sheet

"Yes, we can, but very, very barely." Stiles continues to hit the paper lightly as he talks "and they also patched the wall, obviously,so we're gonna need a drill of some kind"

Kaitlin watches the three men from a counter near by, her legs crisscrossed under her

"I'm thinking maybe a diamond bit.." Stiles starts to ramble again but is cut off by Derek

"Look, forget the drill." He states, Stiles freezes in his place, moving his fist slightly up and down "sorry?"

"If I go in first, how much space do I have?" He looks down at the prints, his mind set in stone

Stiles questionably eyes him, glancing at Scott and then back. "What do you think you're gonna do Derek?"

"Are you gonna punch through the wall?" They straighten up, Derek crossing his arms

"Yes, stiles, I'm gonna punch through the wall." Derek smugly smiles at the teenager

"Okay, big guy let's see it. Let's see that fist." Stiles challenges the taller man, Kaitlin straightens up to watch the scene unfold

"Big old fist. Make it, come on." He pushes further, growing cocky

Derek clenches his hand into a fist, his arms still semi crossed.

"Get it out there. Don't be scared. Big, bad wolf. Yeah, look at that" Kaitlin snickers, earning a glance from Peter Hale who sat on the stairs

Stiles grabs Derek's wrist, putting his hand a few inches away from Derek's fist "Okay, see this?"

"That's maybe three inches of room to gather enough force to punch through solid..." Stiles doesn't get to finish his sentence as Derek punches his hand, Sending him backwards in pain, he hits his hand against the metal table. Kaitlin winces.

Stiles whines like a dying cat, falling around the room, holding his newly injured hand "he could do it"

"I'll get through the wall" Derek ignores Stiles as he quietly whimpers

"Who's following me down?" He rests his hands back down in the metal table, looking at Peter

"Don't look at me." Derek's uncle states "I'm not up to fighting speed yet. And honestly with Isaac out of commission, your not looking at very good odds for yourself"

"So I'm supposed to just let them die?" Derek questions his uncle

"Well one of them is already dead" Peter states, a sarcastic grin on his face

"We don't know that" Derek insists, Kaitlin rolls her eyes, sighing and jumping off the table

"Give it up Derek" she starts, all eyes turn to her "you do know what we're up against, right?"

"A pack of freaking alphas. All of them killers, ruthless killers at that. We don't even know all of them" the redhead crosses her arms, standing beside the table

"And if that doesn't scare your testicles back into your stomach, try to remember that two of them form together to make one giant alpha" she finishes, Derek looks to her curiously.

"She's right you know" Peter speaks up "I'm sure Erica and Boyd were great kids, they're gonna be missed" he finishes, stiles glares

"Can someone kill him again please?"

Peter looks back at Stiles, a stern look on his face. "Derek, seriously"

"Not worth the risk" he finishes, referring to the plan to rescue Boyd and the person in the vault

"What about you?" He looks to Scott, Stiles shrugs

"Yeah, if you want me to come..."

"Not you" Derek sternly denies, looking back to Scott

"Scott?" Stiles turns to look at his friend, pointing his thumb in the werewolf's direction.

"I don't know about Erica,but if Boyd's still alive, we have to do something" Scott states, Derek clenches his jaw but nods. Scott looks at Peter, he rolls his eyes and sighs.

"We have to try" Scott pauses, Derek raises his eyebrows "but?"

"Who's the other girl" he turns to look at Stiles and Derek "the one locked in there with Boyd?"

You should know, I am slow with updates. IM SORRY. but anyway have this crappy update :( I promise it gets better and Kaitlin is my favorite oc I’ve ever made so get ready to get to know her more.

#teen wolf #stiles stilinski #dylan obrien #scott mccall #stiles stilinski x reader #isaac lahey #stiles x reader #stiles stilinksi imagine #dylan o'brian gifs #alison argent #stiles imagine

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fictionadventurer · 4 years

Text

Christmastime Again: A Hallmark Sci Fi Presentation

When the room stopped spinning, Lacey found herself on Christmas morning again. The guests had all arrived, the tree was standing and a light snow was just starting to fall out the window. The start of a picture-perfect Christmas.

As long as she kept it that way.

Alright, from the top.

By now, she could navigate the first part of the day by muscle memory. Scoop up the cat and lock her in the carrier in the laundry room. Straighten the rug and move Uncle Wendell’s beer stein away from the edge of the counter. Turn down the Christmas music just in time to hear the timer buzz and bring the turkey out of the oven at the peak of golden-brown perfection. Stash the cookies out of toddler-reach and get every child at the craft table a red crayon before the hair-pulling started.

Since she could navigate these hours without thinking, her brain was alert to the rest of her surroundings, watching for any unexpected ripples that could upset this version of the Christmas timeline. She noticed nothing out of the ordinary, except for the stares of the guy in the sweater. She’d heard his name--Julian, some cousin of her sister-in-law who had nowhere else to go--but it was hard to remember it when her senses were distracted by the ugly sweater. It wasn’t cute ugly or ironically ugly; it was “I was raised by color-blind trolls” ugly. All beige and orange and yellow, displaying a big fuzzy reindeer with lopsided button eyes and trimmed with bits of bright green tinsel. If she could have made the loop go further back, Lacey might have tried to prevent him from wearing it. But she could only control the things that took place in this house today, so the sweater stayed, assaulting her eyeballs at every turn.

Not that the guy himself was hard on the eyes. With his dark hair, blue eyes, and a square jaw shadowed by neatly-trimmed stubble, he had a boy-next-door appeal--if the boy next door happened to be working as a model for the world’s worst sweater company. In the opinion of Lacey’s sister-in-law, Julian was only single because he was married to his work in some university department, but Lacey doubted that was the reason. If he stared at all women the way he was staring at her, the women had good reason to keep their distance.

Dinner was served and eaten with no mishaps. Cleanup was a breeze. Presents were handed out and unwrapped without disaster. And she still, in quiet moments, caught Julian studying her with unusual intensity. What was up with him? He hadn’t done this on previous loops--or maybe she’d just been too distracted to notice it. If he didn’t stop it soon, she’d miss a cue, tumble into disaster, and have to live this day all over again.

While the rest of the family wandered into the dining room for refreshments, Lacey stayed near the tree, picking up the last bits of wrapping paper and defending the tree from the handful of kids playing with their new toys. She moved on reflex, deflecting a rubber ball, a foam dart, a runaway remote-control car. One, two, three, like a dance, and then on beat four, in perfect time, she pivoted on one foot to catch a ball of crumpled wrapping paper.

And found herself nose-to-nose with Julian, his hand around her outstretched wrist.

Those blue eyes stared into hers. “You’ve lived this day before.”

It wasn’t a question or a joke. It was a statement of fact.

Lacey met that gaze straight-on. “What did you say you teach at the university?”

“Temporal mechanics.”

“Ah.” Lacey dropped the wrapping paper.

He let go of her wrist. “I don’t have much practical experience, but when I see my hostess unexpectedly developing superhuman reflexes and responding to statements before they’re spoken, I start to think that either she’s the world’s most boring psychic, or she’s making use of that pretty little bangle on her arm that looks alarmingly like an antique temporal elastic.”

Lacey tugged her sweater sleeve over the twisted copper casing and red control stones of her overworked time travel device. “It belonged to my grandmother.”

“How many times have you done this loop?”

Lacey pushed up her sleeve and counted the tally marks on her arm. “52.”

His eyebrows rose. “That’s almost two months of Christmas Day.”

Lacey’s shoulders fell. “I am sick to death of turkey.”

A silence fell between them that was louder than the chatter from the dining room. Finally, he straightened the sleeve of the Ugly Sweater and said, “Putting aside your obvious mental instability and the frankly fascinating paradox storm that must be swirling around us at the moment--remind me to bring some instruments here within the next twenty-four hours--I have to ask: Why?”

She looked at a fragment of ribbon on the carpet and rasped, “I have to get it right.”

The crowd started trickling back in, pooling around the couches while holding plates of goodies and glasses of wine.

As the noise rose, Julian gave her a significant glance “I think we should talk about this somewhere quieter.”

She stepped back, brushing the tree. “I don’t need to go anywhere with you.”

“I think you do. You’ve got two months of memories to work through. You can’t keep that to yourself. You’ll go crazy.”

He wasn’t wrong. She had already learned why the Guild recommended against these sorts of changes--holding onto these alternate timelines was exhausting. She could do with a debrief.

But she had no time for a break. “I can’t,” she said. “I’m hostess.”

“They can look after themselves for half an hour.” Julian opened the door to the hall and waved her through. “And if not?” He shrugged. “What’s one more loop?”

It was an odd kind of Christmas weather--cold enough to send fluffy flakes scattering, but warm enough that they needed only earmuffs and scarves and didn’t even bother zipping up their light jackets. She lounged with Julian on the wood steps of the back porch, watching the flakes fall while they sipped at mulled wine.

Julian threw back his head and laughed as Lacey finished telling him about one of the earliest of her failed Christmases. “The whole tree?” he gasped. “The cat just--” He held one arm upright and used the other to mime a cat clamping onto the tree and sending it toppling. “Why did you redo that one? No one would have forgotten that Christmas.”

“I know. That’s the problem.”

He sobered. “The cat didn’t get hurt, did it?”

“No, Fluffy was fine.”

“Anyone else injured?”

“No. “

“Property damage? Lost family heirlooms?”

“No. It was a gentle fall, and the only family ornaments on that tree were the pom-pom panda bears. They're resilient.”

“Then I don’t see what the problem is.”

“The problem?” Only a guy who wore reindeer sweaters would need this concept explained. “The problem is that no one wants the Christmas party interrupted by a toppling tree. It’s a nightmare. Chaos.”

“But memorable.”

“No one wants those types of memories.”

“Those are the only ones people actually remember. If Christmas goes smoothly, everyone forgets it in a month or two. But ‘the year Lacey’s cat took down the tree’? They’d go back to that story for years.”

“How does that make it better? I don’t want them constantly rehashing my failures as a hostess.”

“How is that failing? You provided good food, a comfortable home, a lovely tree. That’s not changed by a few mishaps.”

“This was more than a few mishaps.”

“Only because you’ve done it fifty-two times.” He leaned back against the wall of the house and lifted the steaming mug closer to his face. “What gave you this idea that Christmas has to be perfect?”

She twisted the time travel bangle on her wrist. “My mom...she died last year.”

“I’m sorry.”

She swallowed a lump. “She always hosted these perfect Christmas parties. She’d plan them for months and everything just ran like clockwork.”

His eyebrows rose. He pointed toward the bangle. “Did she...?”

Lacey pushed it beneath her sleeve. “No, never. We never knew it existed until we were going through my grandma’s things a few years ago.”

He relaxed. “That’s a relief. I thought I was going to have to get this place declared a temporal wasteland.”

Lacey chuckled. “Even if she’d had it, she wouldn’t have needed it. Her parties were works of art. Beautiful decorations, perfect food, everyone laughing and singing carols by the end of the night. When I asked her why she did it, she told me, ‘Lacey, these people are giving you their Christmas. It’s your job to give them the best Christmas you can.’” She sipped at her mug to swallow back tears. “When she died, that job fell to me. And when everything went wrong, I had to fix it.”

“Fifty-two times.”

She shrugged. “As many times as it took.”

“I doubt she’d have said your duties extended that far.”

“You’re probably right. But once I went in quest of the perfect Christmas, I couldn’t settle for anything less. It would have felt like dishonoring her memory.”

“It wouldn’t have been. I’m sure her Christmases had plenty of flaws.”

“Not as many as mine.”

Julian ran a finger along the edge of his mug. “You have this idea that everyone wants a Christmas of picture-perfect trees and crackling fires and cozy rooms without a speck of dust out of place. But if they wanted that, they could stay at home and look at pictures on the streambox. They come here because they want your Christmas. Burnt turkeys and cat-toppled trees and all. They want you experiencing it with them. Not fifty-two alternate versions of them.”

She fingered the fringe on the edge of her scarf. “I suppose not. But what’s wrong with trying for the perfect Christmas?”

“Lacey, there’s no such thing as the perfect Christmas. There’s never been one at any time, anywhere in the world.” He bunched up snow in one hand and tossed it into the darkness. “Even the first Christmas wasn’t perfect. Do you think Mary planned to let her child sleep in a feeding trough? Do you think Joseph planned to let strange shepherds gawk at his son? It was one long exercise in embracing the unexpected, and it created one of the most memorable stories in human history. Do you think your mother would call that a failure?”

This had gotten more abstract than Lacey had expected. A little dazed, she said, “No. No, of course not.”

“You want to control every little detail, but no one can do that.” He leaned forward and took her hand in his. “You don’t get the perfect Christmas by crafting it. You get it by appreciating the one you’re given.”

She knit her fingers into his. “A gift,” Lacey said.

He smiled. “Now you’re getting it.”

They stepped into the laundry room together, brushing the snowflakes out of their hair.

Julian held up his mug, which held one last swallow of wine. “To Christmas,” he said.

Lacey clinked her mug against his. “Whatever we’re given.”

Throwing back their heads, they drained the dregs, then set the empty mugs on the window ledge.

Then hand in hand, they crouched down and let Fluffy out of her cage.

#adventures in writing #the sci fi christmas special saga #hallmark #christmas #yes i'm publishing a christmas story on halloween #this is my blog i can do what i want #i'm just surprised that this came together as easily as it did and i'm riding this high #and yes it's not really sci fi just an ever so slightly tilted version of the usual fantasy plot #but it gave me a chance to make fun of hallmark tropes while also fully indulging my every saccharine impulse #so thank you for putting up with me

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welcometomy20s · 3 years

Text

February 8, 2021

Welcome to the final part of the Introduction of Nijisanji. Thanks for going through all of them, if you did. It was pain to work with so much and so little. This part would cover everyone who has debuted in the year 2020.

Nijisanji IN 1st Gen

Aadya - The name means beautiful. 21 year old, who likes to play games and sing. Does dancing as a day job, so acts as a gaming nightingale. She has a knack for games in my cursory view, but that might be just the competitiveness.

Vihaan - The name means breaking dawn, kind of. Likes gaming very much, and plays them very loudly and complaining... which to be expected from this crew.

Noor - The name means light. Likes BL, coffee and beer, BL to the point she learned chinese from watching a BL drama. Basically a middle-aged man at heart, including a very nice husky voice. Does talks and games. Sings randomly and looks up to Rion, of all people. Ange mentioned her, Ange likes to mention foreign people.

Nijisanji KR 1st Gen

Min Suha - Knows the culture through their parents and has a nice voice. Sister Claire likes him, and who doesn’t? He’s freaking cool, man!

Shin Yuya - College student in virtual Seoul. Always has a smartphone at hand, does self-searching on a constant basis. Definitely has otaku knowledge, likes singing, drawing and cute things. Doesn’t like horror games, but played a lot on stream.

Plays a lot of different games, including FPS like Apex, and this is where she gets to collaborate with Japanese senpais, which is always fun to see.

Gaon - Originally Moarin’s brother, but Moarin left, so the lore changed. Has a twintail for attention purposes. Only member of Nijisanji KR to work as a job, but quit as the end of 2020. He’s pretty cool. Not nice, but definitely not a mean person either.

Han Chiho - He’s a time-displaced psychic, and so speaks with a high register. High register is usually seen as old, people don’t use it anymore, but it’s usually perfectly understandable... it’s an interesting quirk. Other than that, pretty normal streamer.

2020 Part 1 (Jan-Apr)

Furen E Lustario - During debut, expressed a liking choking oneself... so we know who we are dealing with. Has to add using fingers, as to illustrate her math prowess. But overall a fun person to watch, and has a pretty good variety of streams.

Melissa Kinrenka - Wants to be a songwriter, but still needs help. But she is a great singer, and can write and mix songs. Usually called Meli. Has a deep side, basically.

Ibrahim - Originally an oil prince, but now runs an onsen. Acts like a child at times due to his supposed past, and he is muslim, as the lore and name implies. But overall, fits right in with the child-like male of Nijisanji... kind of.

Nagao Kei - He’s an exorcist, but really does any job. Pretty good at all kinds of fighting. Pretty old in terms of human member at the age 26. Very much like Ibrahim, but much more bishonen, which melts a woman's heart. Oh, he’s good at learning stuff. Like he tries to learn morse code, and completely memorized the KTANE manual. Just to make Fumi, one of his seniors, happy for a while. That’s some big dedication.

Genzuki Tojiro - Works as a secretary for the gods. Has that unmatching haircut. Very good at making songs and does mixing for Nijisanji events.

Kaida Haru - A demon researcher, but too lazy. Quiet and nice voice leading the viewer to see him as a mother figure, but as you guess, he doesn’t like it due to the work. Oh, said a slur on stream but got banned less than Yumeoi, which is quite sus.

Nijisanji ID Gen 3

Azura Cecillia - An alien angel. Has a sword with a really long name, but calls it Chonsuke for short. She’s pretty cute and a little bit ditzy, from what I remember. Got mistaken as a boy, which is such an odd thing, but maybe it’s the deep voice?

Nara Haramaung - A princess of a tribe. Originally released as part of 1st gen, but got delayed here, but the gen mates fit together very well. Sings spontaneously sometimes.

Layla Alstroemeria - Time-traveling history major. Definitely more airheaded of the group and most child-like of the generation. But she’s pretty fun to watch, regardless.

Nijisanji KR Gen 2

So Nagi - Traveling virtual Japan, speaking fluent Japanese with a nice clear voice. Likes Ange Katrina, which she readily repriocates. Seen as the top seed in Nijisanji KR.

Lee Siu - A female kitsune, and yes from the same illustrator as Fubuki. Likes dad jokes and an endurance player and does speak three languages. Roha likes her. Occasionally can hear the apartment announcement, which is always a fun moment.

Chae Ara - She’s an angel, and a great singer. And likes to people-watch. Has a cute voice, and good at hosting. I really liked her in the streams that I watched. There’s something about her personality that speaks to me.

2020 Part 2 (May-August)

Sorahoshi Kirame - Made her name through twitter, and traded fan art with KR members. Has the same illustrator as Kanata. Couldn’t stream due to money purposes for four days, got his PC after a month of hard work. Overall a poor and diligent girl.

Asahina Akane - 1st year high-schooler. Very energetic and follow people well. Likes a Jpop band, and likes to travel as well. Also does a lot of collabs with senpais.

Suo Sango - The youngest member of the theater club, which is the theme of the latest generation. Has a wide range, and likes Sanrio and tomato. Very motherly calm voice.

Like girly anime, you know Pretty Cure and stuff. Likes western pop music as well.

Todo Kohaku - Third-year high schooler. Said she’s a lady, but she’s definitely just a normal girl. Had a good cover of Mela, and overall a decent streamer.

Kitakoji Hisui - Middle-school transfer student. Likes a lot of different things, but Minecraft is what she is most known for... I guess it makes sense.

Nishizono Chigusa - She’s the troublesome one of the theater group. Very frequently makes sexual quips. Also I thought she was a boy when I first saw her. Definitely my favorite of the newest group, and also did a stream with Matsuri as well.

And that actually has a history. You see this is not Chigusa’s first rodeo... as it is apparent, and during her previous life Matsuri and her did a sleepover, and was quite close as well... so this is actually a really nice reunion. I didn’t know that until now.

Nijisanji KR 3rd Gen

Nun Bora - A second-year high schooler, likes drawing and playing the recorder which she has a battle with So Nagi. Quick learner, apparently. Plays APEX and Fall Guys, but is competent in pretty much any game. Definitely top tier APEX player.

Akina Ray - Japanese streamer who streams in virtual Seoul. Does a morning talk show, likes baseball, since she’s from Hiroshima, and Shadowverse. She’s actually an art student and a meat lover. But overall, the most seiso art student of Nijisanji.

Lee Roha - Idol trainee from outer space, a mixed race. A bit of a ditz, with the appropriate thumbnails. Streams in Japanese on YouTube, in Korean on Twitch. Does a lot of League of Legend on twitch, and does evening piano stream. Likes Lee Siu.

Nijisanji ID 4th Gen

Etna Crimson - Half supernatural, likes to make everyone happy. Definitely not Amber from Genshin Impact, because Amber is Kizuna Ai. Okay, bad joke. Yeah, she’s good.

Bonnivier Pranaja - Originally a fisher, but quit after being swindled. Usually appears with KR streams, actually. Maybe likes Hana? Who knows.

Siska Leontyne - Security officer for shady company. Pretty good at games involving killing... make sense considering her profession. Pretty cool and laid-back.

Nijisanji KR 4th Gen

Ryu Hari - Likes to collect nightmares, likes reading and playing the electric guitar.

Shin Kiru - A 25-year old NEET, has an odd way of speaking and strange topics. Likes Rock and horror movies. He seems pretty laid-back as well.

Yang Nari - 19-year old girl from a different world who now lives in the countryside. Pretty good at hosting with her cute voice. Likes sewing, and talks in high status. She has a thing of suffering, and that kind of comes out from lore.

Oh Jiyu - She’s a female vtuber, although she looks and sounds boyish. Third-year college student representative. Speaks Korean and Japanese, and like gacha and also singing... so maybe a boyish Suisei? I’m sure she’s more normal, though.

Nijisanji ID 5th Gen

Nagisa Arcinia - Wannabe fashion designer, speaks a bunch of languages... but that’s normal for ID... yeah, she’s cute and might be a little psychopathic. Typical.

Derem Kado - 16 year old girl going to magical school, always looking for a cat, but a special cat that makes contracts and stuff. High pitched scares and gets lost.

Reza Avanluna - He’s a world chronicler, he visits and chronicles worlds in his dreams. Has a ship going on with Hana, I think? I’m not sure. Please correct this, if untrue.

There you go! All 139 extant members as of February 8th, 2021, which is the third anniversary of Nijisanji... that was a long post... even though it was in three parts. Sorry for filling the days with this... I have been busy with collecting data and so on. But I hope you have a good inkling of the landscape that is Nijisanji.

#nijisanji #vtuber #long post

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ahsokadrabbles · 5 years

Text

𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐝𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐫 [dan torrance x reader]

request: First off I love your writing and hope you're doing well :) I was wondering if you could do a Dan Torrance x reader(f) where his shine is drawn to her for some reason-u can pick why- and how they connect through that. Like maybe he could talk to her in her thoughts and what their dynamic would be like together. Thank u! Hope it's not too complicated. -i had a lot of fun writing this request, thank you anon! <3

warnings: age gaps and lots of fluff!!

word count: 2,091

Dan Torrance was passionate about his job at the local retirement home. It was there that he discovered he enjoyed helping people. It also gave him a way to use his shine for good and because of that, he earned the nickname Doctor Sleep from the patients. For the first time in a while, Dan felt purpose, he felt needed. He didn't think anything could make his job better, but that was before you showed up to be the new receptionist. You were one of the youngest employees and had just graduated high school. You were sweet and polite and maybe one of the most beautiful girls Dan had ever seen, but he couldn't say a word to you. He knew that you were all too young for him and worried that you'd turn your nose up at him if he even said a word to you. But what if he could speak to you without showing his face? Dan tried to use his shine at a minimum, but this situation seemed like an exception.

Dan peered around the corner and into the main entryway where you sat at your desk with Azzie the cat in your lap, peacefully stroking his white fur. It was a slow day at the home with very few visitors so you figured it called for a break. "Who's a good kitty?" You cooed, throwing the cat over your shoulder like a rag doll. Azzie caught a glimpse of Dan in the doorway and skirted off to your dismay. Dan slunk around the corner as he quietly cursed the cat for nearly blowing his cover. He realized that it was now or never, he had to say something. He swallowed hard and then deeply concentrated, letting himself enter your mind. "Hey," You lifted up your head, expecting to see a guest at the door, but no one was there. "Hello?" You called out, scanning the space around you. "Please don't freak out-" The same voice said, causing you to now stand up from your seat. "What the hell?" "My name is, Dan. You don't really know me, but-" "Where are you exactly?" You questioned, stood in the middle of the room as stumped as could be. "In your head I guess?" Dan poorly explained. "I'm losing it aren't I?" "You're not crazy, I promise." You pinched yourself, feeling as if you were trapped in some weird dream, but you could still feel the sting of pain. "If you're in my head, can you see my memories?" You tested. "If I tried, yeah." "Say something no one would know about me."

Dan obliged and began his trek down the long hallway of your mind. The last time he had done this was long ago, but he found it funny how everyone's mind looked so different. Your mind was a massive library with towering shelves made of polished oak, your memories were written in leather-bound diaries that smelt like dust with a hint of your perfume. Dan picked up one of the diaries and flipped the pages in search of your most specific memory. "In middle school, everyone made fun of you for still having stuffed animals at the foot of your bed. It hurt you a lot, but you couldn't bear to get rid of them and you still have them now." You swallowed the golf ball-sized lump in your throat as you anxiously twiddled your fingers. "Where did I start to hide them when my friends came over?" You asked. Dan was quiet for a moment as he scanned the cream-colored page for an answer. "You pulled back the paneling in your closet and shoved them back there." He replied. "Your mom pitched a fit when she found out that you had torn up your closet, but when she discovered why she felt sorry for you."

You used the heel of your hand to wipe a stray tear as you let out a dry laugh. You hadn't thought about that in so long. You could picture your stuffed animals at the foot of your bed back in your apartment, you really did still have them. "How can you do this?" You puzzled, sitting back down in your chair. "I always called it the shining. It's like being a psychic." "Are you a ghost?" You innocently asked, earning a chuckle from Dan. "Not since the last time I checked." He wittily replied. "Can you see me?" You further questioned. Dan paused and carefully thought out his next move. You didn't know who he was so technically he could say whatever he wanted. "I see a very beautiful girl behind a desk." You felt your face heat up as you smiled softly down at the floor. You didn't even know who this man was, why was he making you feel this way? "I-I should get back to work." You stammered. "Will you talk to me again sometime? It's nice having some company around here, it gets too quiet." "Of course," Dan replied as he smiled to himself.

After a few months of talking, Dan realized why his shine had been attracted to you in the first place; you were lonely. He could already sense this about you, but he saw the full extent of your loneliness when he caught you crying one night. "You okay?" He asked, in his mind, he was projected at the foot of your bed. "Yeah," You sniffed, aggressively rubbing at your eyes which only smeared your makeup worse. "You don't look fine." "I don't want to talk about it. It's embarrassing." "Y/N, you know you can trust me. My job is to be here for you and I can't do that if you don't tell me what's going on." "I just feel really alone." You simply put it. "All I have is you. Everyone else I've ever known is out doing something with their lives or has just left me behind. This is gonna sound selfish, but nothing feels like enough anymore." "That's not selfish, Y/N. I know how you feel." Dan solemnly replied. Suddenly, a wave of guilt struck him deep. He had been there for you all of this time, but not psychically there. He felt like a coward because he was watching you break down and fall apart when he could probably walk to your apartment and fully be there for you. "What time do you go to work today?" "I almost forgot!" You groaned, turning your head to glance at the alarm clock on your nightstand. "I've got to be ready in an hour. I should really get going." "Alright, have a good day. Don't be afraid to reach out if you need me." Dan added. "Um, before you go-" You quickly said. "I love you." Dan froze in shock at the words that left your mouth. You had said the three words he had been dying to say to you. "I love you too, Y/N."

You had managed to collect yourself after your pity party and successfully made it to work. Your chest was filled with butterflies after the earlier events you had with Dan. You couldn't believe that you had said you loved him. You had never even seen his face before, but your affection for him was growing harder to hold back. Truthfully; you didn't regret a thing. You spent the first few hours of your shift smiling to yourself and organizing paperwork and suddenly you found yourself on cloud nine. He said I love you back! Maybe you weren't so alone after all. While you swooned over your somewhat secret admirer, Dan paced back and forth down the hall with a bouquet of flowers in his hand. Earlier that day he had built up the courage to reveal his identity to you, but that courage got watered down with the passing hours. "What do you think I should do, Azzie?" Dan asked, crouching down to rub the head of the cat that had been weaving between his legs. The cat purred in reply and stared up at Dan with striking blue eyes. "I bet you're telling me not to be such a coward, huh?" He chuckled as he came up out of his crouched position. "Let's go woo the girl, kitty."

"How's work?" You heard Dan's voice say. You made note of how he sounded a lot less echoey than he normally did, but you brushed it off and figured that it must've been some sort of telekinetic interference that you wouldn't understand. "It's fine." You sighed. "I'm feeling a lot better after talking to you. You were right about-" You lifted your head to look forward as a man's shadow cast itself across your desk. "Hi! how can I help you?" You kindly asked, admiring the handsome smile on his weathered face. You'd seen him around before and recognized him as one of the nurses. You figured he just needed some paperwork or something like that. "It's a lot easier to talk to you in your head." He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Dan?" You nearly choked as you shot up out of your chair. "In the flesh." He grinned. You ran out from behind your desk and wrapped him up in a tight hug that nearly knocked him off his feet. "I can't believe it's you!" You exclaimed as you tucked your head beneath his chin. "You've been here with me all this time?" "Yes, and I wish I could make it all up to you. I feel like I've been playing you." Dan explained as he sunk deep into your touch. He hadn't been hugged in so long, it felt even better than he remembered. "You have nothing to make up for. I just want to know why you kept yourself from me for so long." You said.

You were still holding onto him as if he'd disappear if you let go. He was so warm and soft and he smelt like nice aftershave. "Let's just say I didn't expect this reaction," Dan replied as you slipped out of his arms and sat on the edge of your desk. Once you got situated, you pulled him over by his hands so he was stood in front of you. "I thought I would come off as some creep because I'm so much older than you. The last thing I would want is to scare you away." "Well, you already scared me pretty bad you started talking to me in my head!" You giggled. "Why would I be bothered by the fact that you're older than me?" You knew what point he was trying to get at, but you wanted to hear it come from his own mouth. Dan was furiously blushing at this point as his blue eyes shifted to the linoleum floor beneath him. "Doesn't this drive the point home?" He nervously replied as he held up his bouquet of flowers. "You wanted to give these to me because..?" You drawled out, fighting back your smile. "Because I love you." Dan grinned, setting the flowers down beside your thigh. "I love you too, Danny." You hummed, contently smiling up at him. "Are you free for dinner tonight?" He asked as you held your flowers flush against your chest. "Yes!" You exclaimed as you pulled him into a hug again. "I can't wait!" "Neither can I," Dan replied, hesitantly stroking your face with the back of his hand. "Kiss me?" You softly asked, looking up at him with those sweet, wide eyes. "How could I say no to that?"

You giggled as he pressed his lips against yours and cradled your jaw in his rough hands. You followed suit and wrapped your arms around his neck. The kiss came to an end after a loud crash cut through the air and the two of you looked over to see nearly everything pushed off of your desk, including the flowers, with Azzie stood in the middle of it all looking as guilty as ever. "Azzie!" Dan scolded, kneeling down to retrieve your fallen paperwork and flowers. "I think Azzie is telling us to get back to work." You teased, resting your hand on the small of Dan's back. "I can take it from here, you should head back before you get in trouble." "I'll pick you up at six o'clock?" Dan said, looking up at you from the mess on the floor. "Perfect." You answered before placing a kiss on his stubbly cheek.

You found it funny how the person you needed most was just down the hall.

#dan torrance #danny torrance #dan torrance x reader #dan torrance imagines #ewan mcgregor #ewan mcgregor imagine #doctor sleep #doctor sleep imagine

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birbleafs · 4 years

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[fic] It’s A Matter Of (In)Convenience

Series: Saiki Kusuo no Ψ-nan || The Disastrous Life of Saiki K. Rating: T Genre: Humour, Breaking The Fourth Wall Character(s): Saiki Kusuo, Aiura Mikoto, Toritsuka Reita, Kaidou Shun, Kuboyasu Aren, Nendou Riki, Yumehara Chiyo, Teruhashi Kokomi Warnings: None, save for canon-typical shenanigans Summary: Saiki Kusuo’s plan for a quiet Sunday spent shopping for desserts in an ordinary konbini is thrown into disarray when he runs into several… inconveniences, much to his dismay. A/N: I've been re-reading/re-watching Saiki K. during this quarantine period and I haven't laughed this hard since I was into Gintama. This series has given me so much ridiculous joy, it’s great for helping keep anxiety and existential despair at bay lol. Fic can also be read on AO3

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Saiki Kusuo could not say he dislikes commuting by public train but he’s not particularly a fan of it either. After all, it’s exceedingly more troublesome and vexing for someone like him, encumbered with psychic abilities beyond human comprehension. He’s unable to switch off his telepathy at will, so it’s no small feat being stuck in a packed cabin and trying to filter out the cacophonous thoughts of fifty-odd passengers buzzing incessantly in his mind throughout the long ride to the next town. Distance isn’t an issue today, however. Not that it had ever been an issue, mind you—he could teleport to almost any location he so wished. But Kusuo had long since mastered inconspicuousness into an art form, and teleporting to his destination and appearing seemingly out of thin air in the middle of a packed convenience store was sure to draw unwanted attention to himself. No, it’s not worth the risk, even for such a coveted goal at the end of his journey. Besides, Kusuo is a man of principle, one who does not easily succumb to using his powers for self-interest. He will do this the ordinary, pedestrian way.

In any case, travelling out of Hidariwakibara-chō to neighbouring Tonari Machi on a random Sunday morning would also mean the chances of him running into certain... inconveniences are very nearly zero. Forty-five minutes and twelve stops later, Kusuo beams in quiet triumph as he walks past the automatic sliding doors and into the aforementioned convenience store, barely registering the musical jiggle over the speakers. He steps through the sparse crowd, pausing midway through the snack and desserts aisle when he finally catches sight of the neat row of orange boxes with silver trimmings on the top shelf. Kusuo allows himself a tiny grin as he reaches for a box, eyes bright with anticipation as he gazes upon its wondrous contents—three cups of chocolate brownie and cherry parfait, infused with coffee jelly and topped with dollops of luscious cream and cinnamon sprinkles. A simple but unmatched delicacy right here in this nondescript konbini, he thinks, savouring the glorious moment a little longer. Still, as fate would have it, he would be reminded in less than ten seconds that his life is but an unfortunate series of daily disasters, and his current reprieve short-lived. And it comes in the form of a young woman who had waltzed through the crowd and is now latching onto his arm with garishly pink manicured nails, her wavy blonde hair already casting a dark cloud over Kusuo’s face. Aiura Mikoto, resident soothsayer and trendsetter gal. Inconvenience No. 1. Ah. So it begins. “Wassup, Kusuo!” Aiura chirps a little too brightly. Already two or three mob characters in the konbini are throwing scandalized looks their way, but to Aiura they’re nothing but background scenery and lazily drawn silhouettes. “Who woulda thunk we’d meet here like this? It must totes be our destiny as soul mates, fer sure!” Isn’t it more because someone is totes a stalker? Kusuo deadpans telepathically her way, even as he makes no real attempt to avoid Aiura’s smothering embrace. Instead, he fixes her with a stare as blank as stone canvas. This is an invasion of privacy. Also, what’s with the meta observation in the previous paragraph? Stop messing with the readers like that. “Man, you sure are a ray of sunshine sometimes,” Aiura pouts, before she breaks into a giggle and relents. She unlatches herself from him, putting some distance between them. “Anyway, can’t your BFF like, just accidentally bump into you while shopping for the same box of snacks you no doubt travelled all the way out here for?” So you admit you really are a stalker then, Kusuo counters drily, only to frown again at the sudden creeping presence of another aura. He feels the weight of another arm draping carelessly over his shoulder, followed by the brusque yapping of an over-eager and desperate hot-blooded young male in his ears. “Yooo, Saiki-san! What a coincidence!” Toritsuka Reita, the spirit medium and an exemplary specimen of the most depraved life-form, the lecherous scum. Also known as Inconvenience No. 2. Saiki Kusuo, a man most unfortunate, lets out a weary sigh. “I see you’ve got that accusatory glare painted all over your face.” Toritsuka wags an annoying finger before Kusuo. “Now, now. Before you also accuse me of stalking, Mister Doom and Gloom, let me just say that I’m only here for one thing.” He flicks a furtive glance towards a discreet corner of the magazine section. The shelves are filled with magazines wrapped in plastic, large R-18 stickers plastered across the covers and over the spines much like indecent warning signs. Toritsuka dabs towards the third shelf, waving a mini poster at both Kusuo and Aiura, and this sentence then abruptly proceeds to describe the close-up of said poster—a particularly titillating centre spread featuring a curvaceous model’s skimpily clad... assets. “Surely there’s no better reason to be here now than for the special compilation of EROmag’s Greatest Upskirts And Panty-shots Of The Month!” Toritsuka exclaims, echoing the thoughts of all resident perverts. “Ugh, grody to the max,” Aiura says, lips curled in utter revulsion. For once, the stars are aligned and Kusuo finds himself wholeheartedly agreeing with her sentiment. Before he can get a retort in edgewise however, he’s unceremoniously tugged closer into Toritsuka’s one-armed embrace, who then proceeds to thump a hand over Kusuo’s chest in a grand show of obnoxious male posturing and solidarity. “You women will never understand,” Toritsuka counters with an ingratiating smirk. “But Saiki-san and I, we’re bosom buddies, connoisseurs of refined aesthetics. Together, we’ll finally gaze upon those heavenly lace panti—A-ACKK!!” He hacks up a lung just as Kusuo nonchalantly drives a sharp elbow right into his solar plexus, causing him to stagger backwards onto the floor. Bosom buddies? Kusuo echoes ominously, glaring daggers at the pathetic writhing form before him. Pretty sure that ridiculous thump you just pulled is both an outrage and insult of my modesty. Hey, can I call the police? I’m calling the police. Aiura nods at that, lips curved into a Cheshire grin and looking extremely pleased with herself as though she’s the one to suggest calling the cops. “Delusional sleazebags should just crawl back into the garbage bin where they belong. Like the skeevy trash panda that they are, right Kusuo?” “Who are you calling delusional, huh?!” Toritsuka snaps, jumping back to his feet. “I’ll have you know that Saiki-san and I have been nothing but the most loyal, the tightest of all bosom buddies—” Refer to me as your bosom buddy again and I’ll crush your windpipe, Kusuo interjects without missing a beat, and the EROmag poster in Toritsuka’s hand spontaneously combusts into flames. “Argh, not the panties!!” Toritsuka yelps, watching in despair as the poster shrivels up in the blaze, only to catch sight of the eerie, voidless depths of Kusuo’s inscrutable gaze. The spirit medium pales at the split-second reminder of his fleeting mortality, sweat dripping down his nape as he carefully backs away from the precarious jaws of death. “B-B-Bros! I-I meant that we’re the best kind of bro-some buddies, ahahaha! T-That is to say, brotherly and wholesome—R-right, Saiki-san? So don’t get all conceited just because you’ve got big knockers, Tits McGee!!” “Pfft, brotherly and wholesome? As if!” Aiura scoffs, unimpressed. “You’re about as wholesome as your d*ck aura and a college frat boy’s porno stash. Just admit you ain’t nothing but a tiresome anime trope!” “Look who’s talking, Miss Fanservice. This is a wholesome shounen series, so how about you take those bazongas back to Hooters where they belong!” “Haaah? You looking for a fight, you raunchy racoon?!” “Bring it on then!” Kusuo scowls at the petty squabbling, exasperated at how easily his quiet Sunday was already going awry, much like the metaphorical train wreck poised for a manic spiral off its rails. He decides to take his leave then from the two inconveniences bickering loudly, making his way towards the self-checkout station near the entrance. He pays for his items, stealthily packing them away with a subtle flick of his psychokinesis, and is only a few paces away from complete freedom at last when the generic musical jingle blares from the speakers overhead. “♪~Welcome to F☆mily Mart Konbini, We Guarantee 99.9% Shopping Satisfaction! It’s A Matter of Convenience~! ♪” Kusuo frowns at the jingle. Why is it only 99.9% satisfaction? And really, a matter of convenience? Not when he’d already run into two inconveniences in a row and all in a convenience store. Is God conspiring with the universe and pulling a sick prank on him right now? What a horrible sense of humour. The automatic doors at the entrance slide wide open then, and in saunter three terribly familiar faces—Kaidou Shun, Kuboyasu Aren, and Nendou Riki. Inconvenience No. 3, No. 4, and No. 5 respectively. “What did I tell you, Aren? Not only did we manage to beat traffic, but this unexpected change in my Sunday routine would’ve thrown a wrench into Dark Reunion’s plans of attempted kidnapping. Too bad I, The Jet-Black Wing, am always several steps ahead. Heh.” “Uhmm, yeah I guess… Hey, Shun, look! There isn’t a queue for the limited edition Ginta-Man figurine raffle tickets here at all. Good thing you insisted we meet at the crack of dawn—Tch, Nendou, don’t dawdle around and block the entrance like that! What’re you looking at anyway?” “Oh? I thought I saw my pal just a few seconds ago...” “Huh, Saiki’s here too-?! Oh, you mean that. Don’t be daft, Nendou, that’s just a cardboard cut-out of that kiddie hero show, Cyborg Cider-man Mark II.” Seriously?? Kusuo curses irritably as he dives inconspicuously out of sight from the passing trio, right into the bath and shampoo aisle. It’s just been a series of inconveniences one after another this morning, the metaphorical train wreck already hurtling itself past the edge of no return. Good grief, what a pain. May as well have the rest of the cast show up next— Another cheesy musical jingle, another swoosh of the sliding doors, and— “Waahh, it’s really you, Kaidou-kun!” “Hello, what a nice surprise to run into everyone here.” “Oh, hey there, Yumehara and... Offu~! T-T-Teruhashi-san?!” Saiki Kusuo, ever the suffering protagonist, drags a hand over his face. See? God hates him. Two aisles over, he can still hear Aiura and Toritsuka’s voices drifting over: “Man, I’m sick of looking at your pervy mug. C’mon, Kusuo, let’s ditch this loser—Huh, where did you run off to, Kusuo?!” “Your petty squawking has given us all an earache and must’ve driven Saiki-san off as well!” Oi, oi, Kusuo flinches inwardly, seized by a helpless fear of watching his quiet Sunday careening off the cliff and further away from his grasp. Quit yelling out my name like that and throwing me to the wolves already! Too late. At the mention of Kusuo’s name, Nendou cranes his neck 270 degrees Exorcist-style like a hideously monstrous owl and rushes over to Toritsuka’s side. “Oh! Did you just say my pal is here?!” he exclaims happily, shaking Toritsuka by the shoulders like a dog shaking an unfortunate chew toy. “I knew I’d seen him when we walked in earlier!” Not to be outdone by Nendou, Teruhashi also leaps forward before Aiura with none of her previous composure, her unblemished, porcelain visage now dusted with a hint of rose, a conflicted mix of perplexity and (envious) shock pooling in her angelic eyes. “D-Did you say ‘Saiki’?! H-Hey, Aiura-san, you did say ‘Saiki’ and not actually ‘Kusuo’, right? M-My, I must have misheard things, right? R-Right?!” “What the heck is going on? Is Saiki really here?” Anxious, Kusuo grits his teeth at the growing clamour as his friends converge from all corners of the store towards the aisle where he’d been forced to hide. Guess there’s no avoiding it after all, he frets despairingly, and in less than a nanosecond, teleports unnoticed from the konbini to an empty street outside. Kusuo sighs, relieved to have finally escaped. Minor inconveniences aside, perhaps a quiet Sunday spent savouring chocolate brownie and cherry parfait in the comfort of his home isn’t beyond his reach yet. What? Didn’t he just use his powers for self-interest to teleport out of a sticky situation? Foolish readers, that was for self-preservation and completely acceptable, of course. He holds his shopping bag close, pleased that he’d managed to avoid a disaster, and begins to walk down the street—only to freeze mid-step when he feels a sudden splitting headache jolt through him… A flash of images appears: Aiura and Toritsuka crouching in fear together, Kuboyasu bracing his bleeding arm, Kaidou screaming shrilly as he shields Yumehara and Teruhashi from a masked man brandishing a gun, Nendou digging his nose with his pinky—That’s just disgusting, no one wants to see that, stop it!! The vision finally ends, and Kusuo lifts a hand to his face, massaging his temple to clear the precognitive fog from his mind. An armed robbery, huh. He lets out another resigned sigh. Good grief—What a pain, Saiki ‘I-don’t-(but I actually really do)-care-about-my-friends’ Kusuo mutters internally in annoyance, even as he yeets himself head-first into other people’s business and right back into the convenience store to stop a future robbery. Still he smiles, eyes soft with perhaps the slightest flicker of affection for this dysfunctional bunch of people in his disastrous life. Someone has to protect them and save the day, after all.

–End–

#saiki kusuo no psi nan #the disastrous life of saiki k.#saiki kusuo #aiura mikoto #toritsuka reita #fanfic #too lazy to tag all the characters here #this show's over the top ridiculousness and crack is 10/10 my type of comedy #i love it lol

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darklingichor · 3 years

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Odd Thomas, Forever Odd & Brother Odd by Dean Koontz *MAJOR SPOILERS* Long post

I've written a little bit about these before. My goal was to listen to all seven of the Odd books plus the two short stories... I couldn't make myself do that.

I use to really love those books. I use to really love Dean Koontz, just recently, the writing has started to annoy me. Since I haven't read any of his new stuff since Saint Odd came out, I can't say it's because the writing has changed. I think I have changed, I'm just not sure in what way. So, I'm going to look at the first three books in the series because 1. I like them the most (sort of). 2. Because I honestly feel like the series should have either ended there or jumped to Saint Odd. 3. Because I'm going to see if by writing about them, I can figure out why reading Koontz in my 20's was like a breath of fresh air, but in my 30's it feels like when the air conditioner is some how making everything too cold, yet not cooling things down at all: uncomfortable and bafflingly frustrating.

Odd Thomas is a 20 year old fry cook in the small california desert town of Pico Mundo. He's seen as sweet but strange to all but a few people in town. He grew up with a mostly absent father, a crazy mother and a loving but wild grandmother, the last has already gone to the great beyond, so what family he has, he has found.

He has a girlfriend named Stormy, they've been together since they were sixteen, his boss at the Grill where he works, Terry, who has an encyclopedic knowledge of Elvis Presley, a 300 lb mystery writer named P. Oswald Boone (Little Ozzie), his landlady who is afraid she'll turn invisible, and the cheif of police.

Odd also sees ghosts, or The Lingering Dead as he calls them. He trys to help them crossover. Sometimes it's as simple as talking to them (though they don't speak back, "the dead don't talk") oftentimes is complicated and dangerous. Hence why his close relationship with the cheif comes in handy and also why it formed. He has other gifts. The occasional prophetic dream that usually only gives him bits and pieces to work off of, he sees these spectors of calamity that tend to show up right before something bad happens (like an earthquake or a shooting) they are black shadow things that Odd calls Bodochs, and psychic magmatism, where he can find anyone he's looking for by wondering around with a clear picture in mind.

Everyone in his circle knows about his gift other than his landlady who is slightly and gently insane.

There is one other person in his circle, the ghost of Elvis who Odd had been trying to help crossover since he was in highschool.

The first book takes place over the course of three days.

To avoid a blow by blow, I'll summarize. After an eventful morning during which he helped a murdered twelve year old cross over by catching her killer, Odd goes to his shift a the Grill. There, he sees a creepy little man that reminds him if a mold and fungus, followed by a group of Bodochs. He finishes his shift, goes looking for the guy he's dubed Fungus Man.

He eventually finds his way to Fungus Man's house, breaks in and finds it unnaturally cold and silent. He discovers a room that is pitch black except for a small red light. He soon finds that what has made this room so black and the house so cold and quiet is the mob of Bodochs occupying it. After the Bodochs stream out, Odd is able to see that the room is an office and Fungus Man (aka Bob Roberts) is obsessed with serial and mass murderers, he has a file cabinet full of folders on them and posters of famous murders on his wall. Bob seems to be planning something, but Odd doesn't know what, as his only clue is a planner page in a folder from the killer cabinet. The folder is labeled with Bob's name and the date is two days away.

A series of happenings eventually leads to odd trying to stop a horrifying plan

*SPOILERS STOP READING RIGHT HERE IF YOU DON'T WANT TO KNOW THE END*

So, Bob is a satanist in cahoots with a couple of other satanists to shoot up and blow up the Pico Mundo mall, among other places. He is able to stop them from completing their goal, but some people do die, including Stormy who was working at an ice cream shop at the mall.

Forever Odd

It's months later and Odd has moved into Stormy's apartment. He wakes up to find the ghost of one of his best friends's stepdad at his bedside. Strangely, Danny, a guy with brittle bone disease, with whom Odd grew up, was not mentioned in the last book.

So, the ghost of Danny's stepdad convinces Odd to go to his and Danny's house. Once there, Odd finds stepdad's body and discovers that Danny has been kidnapped.

What follows is a slightly weird story.

Odd eventually finds Danny and his kidnappers. One is a bug-shit woman Danny was talking with on a phone sex line. To impress her he told her about Odd. She's into her own twisted form of the Vudun religion and decides that Odd can show her the lingering dead and wants him become one of her crew. She kidnapped Danny to lure him out.

Danny is rescued, bad guys defeated, and Odd decides he needs to get out of Pico Mundo for a while.

Brother Odd

Odd has spent the last several months at the St. Bartholomew's Abbey, in the California Mountains, as a lay visitor among the monks and nuns. The Abbey is also home to a a community of disabled children. Odd becomes close with four people in particular The Mother superior, The Priest at the head of the monks, Brother Knuckles, an ex mob guy turned monk, and Brother John, a wealthy guy turned monk. Only the first three know of his gift.

Waiting up to see a snow storm break, Odd finds Brother Timothy unconscious or dead on the grounds. He is then clubbed on the back of the head and knocked out. A search for Brother Tim leads to a strange mix of science and the spiritual that I for one found really cool.

** SECOND SPOILER**

Elvis crosses over in this one and Odd contemplates becoming a monk. Two reasons I think that this should have been the last one. Another reason is that he comes very very close to connecting with Stormy though a conduit to the otherside. Third, this is the last book where Odd is truly Odd.

See, Odd hates guns and will only use one as a last resort. In the first, Odd takes out most of the bad guys with a baseball bat, in the second, bug-shit lady was killed by a cougar, the bad guy in this one was killed by someone else.

Although his ability to see and help the lingering dead is not the main focus of the second or the third, it's still something he does. There is character progression from the first to the third. When we meet Odd he is trying to carve out a life dispite his traumatic childhood and while trying to do right with the gifts he has. After he loses Stormy, the second commitment becomes more intense, because of his conviction that the only way he will meet Stormy on the other side is to live his life in the best way he can, and that means using his gifts to help people. He's sadder, slightly less heedful of danger, but still fully committed to flighting the good flight, in his unconventional way.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again, in the fourth through the seventh, the train is derailed, possessed, and also on fire.

Not only does his primary gift take a back seat, but the fight he is flighting isn't between the forces of good and evil, or even between justice and injustice, it's a culture war.

And the side of the war that Odd is on is peopled with climate change deniers, dooms day prepers, anti-government people who supply other "good guys" with guns, other anti-personnal gear, tech that circumvents federal guidelines. All the "bad guys" are anyone with any sort of power judges, lawyers, cops, corporations, politicians. Their victims are the hard working Americans, the waitresses, the truck drivers... Strike that. The victims are the Christian hardworking Americans who evedently are being "persecuted in their own country" (this might be a different rant for a different blog but I maintain that there is a big difference between Persecution and Denial of Entitlement. Persecution is being in danger of being harassed, hurt, killed or imprisoned for your beliefs, ethnicity or culture. And when that happens justice is less likely to happen for the person or people targeted. Denial of Entitlement is when a person, or people, cry injustice because they either can't dress up their persecution of others in their beliefs, or can't force those beliefs on others, through law, or through being amazingly obnoxious).

Not only are anyone in power corupt, they are satanists, not are they satanists, they are the same sect of satanists who attacked Pico Mundo, not only are they the same satanists that attacked Pico Mundo, they have an actual connection to Satan. Like they can call up demons and monsters.... Yet for some reason they still use bombs, guns and weponized diseases to wreak havoc.

Now, if Koontz wanted to showcase some characterization of how to fight against a corupt system, that's cool, I mean I'm all for calling out people in power. But this vears into government lizard people territory, and if that was the type of book he wanted to write then that's cool too,but he essentially highjacked Odd's story to do it.

I have a hard time believing that when Odd picked up the ghost of Frank Sinatra at the end of Brother, and walked off into the sunset, that the original intent was to end up in the middle of a plot to plant nukes around the country and then, accompanied by pregnant girl who is some how The Virgin Mary's mother, to a house where time travel is possible and mutant pigs fade in from a post apocalyptic future and want to eat people, where they pick up a sort of dead, sort of immortal child, who is neither of those any more. Only to then to leave them to go on a road trip with an old lady, who some how has connections to the metaphysical, and a microchip planted in her ass that makes it to where she doesn't have to sleep, to rescue kids kidnapped by the powerful satanists to be used as human sacrifice. Along the way, they meet up with some fighters in this coming war, who while they do not wear tin foil hats, they have the cheerfully bloodthirsty air of cult members waiting for the end times. (Side note about the roadtrip book: Deeply Odd is the most boring, yet weird book I have read since Breaking Dawn. Say what you will about the crazy pigs and time travel in Odd Apocalypse, it's at least interesting).

And then to end up back in Pico Mundo to fight said satanists. The in increasingly nonsensical plots really just there to deliver commentary on how the world has gone to shit and everyone is to focused on the material.

Again, remember that Odd is pretty apolitical. He's never voted, owns only the clothes on his back, prefers Shakespeare and old movies to tv, which I figure also includes the news. How does this not equal out to a kid being a patsy for this group, which essentially takes over the narritive. I mean, yeah, he's still doing his thing, but he has many of his moves ditcatated by this group. This includes carrying a gun, all the time.

Again, Odd hates guns. Granted, by the last book, he has spent three books killing people with guns while talking about how much he hates killing people with guns, but up till the last two books, his hatered of guns is seen as a virtue, and then suddenly, he's an idiot if he doesn't arm himself to take a piss.

This makes very little sense to me. Odd is a simple guy, he wants to live his life as long as he has to, do right by the dead and make his way back to Stormy, all the while perfecting his pancake recipe. How the fuck did we get from this to "Everything is shit, there are three type of people, those in power who are working for the devil, those on the side of the angels and the idiots who don't see what's going on. And dispite all the supernatural stuff, we still need to busta cap in someone's ass.

I know that Koontz is Catholic, and I speculate that he had a renewal of his faith somewhere, but also somewhere along the line he took a turn into conservative libertarian territory if that is a thing that can exsist.

I feel like originally, the idea was to have Saint Odd follow Brother Odd, at least in some incarnation. It makes sense, the satanist sect want to come back and finish what was started, and take out the town and Odd, who cocked it up to begin with. In the first book Odd describes Roberts and his cohorts as playing satanists but just using it as a delivery system for their sick want to kill people and be famous for it. It follows that others who are also playing at being satanists would come back to town to get revenge for their fallen brethren. This also trucks with Forever Odd where the bug-shit lady was playing at being a Vudun, and with Brother Odd where people played at being faithful.

This is how ai think it should have gone:

Odd goes from the Abbey, where he is shown, yet again, that evil is a human driven force, that those who wallow in pride, in want of adoration and perfection can be the down fall of themselves and others, back to his home town to defeate these sad delusional people once and for all.

Odd goes home for Christmas at the end of Brother, decides he wants to take vows, and goes about the process of becoming a man of the cloth. Maybe he goes back to St. Bart's, and he figures out a way to help the lingering dead from there, or, after he is confirmed in whatever capacity, he goes back to Pico Mundo and works along side Stormy's priest uncle. He sort of Father Dowlings it until he passes.

Instead, suddenly the structured feel of all of the supernatural things, which (implied by the third book) are based in science and the laws and rules of the universe that God laid down, turns into... Magic?

Doesn't matter how or why, what matters is there is a war! And the little fry cook shall lead them!

Seriously. Five years of Christian School has me seeing the turn that Odd's story takes, a couple of ways.

First it is either an overworked Christ story, where Odd is swept up in a war between the oppressed and the opressers, even though his life and mission is mostly one of mercy. In the end being a sacrifice that saves millions (by preventing the spread out f a weponized strain of rabies) but his sacrifice will only be remembered by a handful of people at first. The difference is of course that Odd buys into the culture war even though it make no sense.

Or, it's a Saint's story. Struggle, strife and miracles. See, it use to be that to be canonized, you had to have three miracles. His miracles? Well, first, his helping of the dead to cross over could be one, the preventing of whatever demon the satanists summoned in Deeply Odd, could be another, and finally, somehow managing to send Little Ozzie the manuscript for Saint Odd after Odd himself had already died, could be the last.

Either way, books four, five, and six are completely unnecessary.

So why does knootz's writing annoy me? It's self righteous and condicending. Poking fun a people who watch tv, enjoy unsophisticated things, bemoaning those who don't see just how stupid it is to buy into media, and how people are just marching their own way to misery because they just don't Get It.

It's the same time of people who look down on adults who do kid stuff sometimes "Why would you read John Green when you can read Dickens? Why would you watch Inside Out when you can watch Citizen Cane?"

Why would you eat coco puffs? Adults don't do that!"

I'm sorry, have I outgrown fun? A book is a book, a movie is a movie, breakfast cereal is breakfast cereal and you should be able to watch anything you want on tv without being shamed by a book that has an exploding cow in it.

#book #books #odd thomas #dean koontz #spoilers #revisit 7 8 and 9 #Book blogging 2021 #revisit

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