#THAT DOG IS FOR SALE I SWEAR

[gucciwins]

harry brings his girlfriend home to meet his family but it does not go as planned

word count: 5896

a/n: enjoy this story inspired by a lovely anon. happy reading, my sweet friends 💜

+

Y/N was nervous. 

She squeezed Harry’s hand, trying to ground herself, but it seemed to transport her to the first time they met at the diner down the street from her apartment. 

Going to university in Los Angeles wasn’t glamorous, not when she had endless bills to pay to keep a roof over her head. She had gone to Martha’s Cakes, a small diner ten minutes from her apartment that served the best hot chocolate. The food was good too but the hot chocolate is what she ordered each visit without fail. It’s a place she’d eat when Y/N had a bit of extra to spend on herself. Instead of buying herself new shoes, or another jelly cat bag charm (Otto, the sausage dog, went everywhere with her) she decided on eating a good meal that didn’t consist of ramen or buttered noodles. She came here when she needed a pick me up or simply wanted to have a nice conversation. It was a late Tuesday in the Spring. Where the sun took longer to come down, allowing her extra time at the bar to do assignments and chat with Antonio about the best produce sales. Y/N had her head down working on an essay due two weeks from now. It was based on one of Los Angeles buildings; it could be based on the oldest church to the Dodger Stadium. Y/N decided on the Avila Adobe residence. Known as the oldest standing residence in the City of Los Angeles. Olvera St. was a famous street and was filled with history. It was one of her favorite places to walk through. 

As she was looking through photos, taking notes of significant dates, a patron sat next to her. Y/N didn’t bother seeing who it was, simply scooting her scattered papers closer to her, tucking a few under her laptop. 

“It’s not bothering me.” A man spoke. 

It startled Y/N only because he had a deep British voice. It felt odd to be hearing in such an unknown area. 

“Darla would throw coffee on it if she saw I was bothering a customer.” 

“I said it’s okay.” 

Y/N laughs. “She would say it wasn’t.” 

It seems the man lets it drop as he has nothing to reply. Y/N keeps up with updating her notes as she hears the man order a stack of the lemon poppy pancakes. Those were her favorite, Y/N would get them when she was having a bad day because it would without a fail make her smile. Y/N worked in silence over the next half hour when she felt the need to step to the restroom. Y/N did not want to pack up. Usually she asks a staff member to watch her items, but the diner seemed to be a bit busier. She looked around and her eyes landed on the pancake guy who had his headphones on. She hated bothering people, but he looked kind enough. 

Y/N tapped next to his plate to get his attention. It worked because in seconds he slipped off his headphones and had turned his whole body to look at her. It gave her the chance to look at him fully for the first time. He had a buzz cut, and it looked really good. He had slight stubble, but what captured her attention were his bright jade eyes. It felt like he was staring deep into her soul.

“Do–uh–Would you please watch my stuff? I have to use the ladies’ room.”

“Course. Guard it with my life.” 

Y/N thanked him and hurried away. When she came back, the man had slightly shifted over, his eyes staring intently at the dark screen of her laptop. 

“Thank you,” she shot him a smile. Waking up her screen and getting back to her assignment, except she couldn’t get the man out of her head. 

The dimples were something she focused on when he smiled, telling her it was no problem. Then his green eyes were so beautiful she felt she had seen them before. Though she could swear she had never met him before. She did have a weird feeling she had seen him before. Once it hit eight o’clock, Y/N knew it was time to call it. Y/N had her rough draft ready and could continue tomorrow. For now, she’d walk home and take a bath to wash away today’s day. 

Y/N was packing up and could see the green-eyed gentleman was too. She would hate herself if she didn’t ask him where she knew him from, if she knew him. Y/N had her bag strapped on her shoulder and turned to him for the last time. 

“Excuse me, sir?”

He turned, as if he was waiting to hear from her. “Yes?” 

“How do I know you?” 

The man’s smile dropped. He looked confused, so she didn’t know him. 

“Don’t think we’ve met, until today, Y/N.”

Y/N’s frown deepens. “I didn’t tell you my name.”

He pointed to her bag. She looks down at the red stitching displaying her name. Well, now she looked dumb. Of course, he could read. “You look familiar to me. Sorry if that’s weird.”

The guy clears his throat, shaking his head. “I get that a lot.” 

That’s odd, Y/N thought. 

“I feel like I know you,” she tried one last time. 

“Promise we don’t know each other. I would remember someone as beautiful as you.” 

Y/N’s jaw dropped (not literally), but her face felt warm. Fuck, she was not expecting this turn of event. “Ha, uh. I want to say me too, but uh, there’s something familiar about you.” 

Harry chuckles as if he knows something she doesn’t. 

“Can I walk you out?” He asks. 

She nods. He leaves a large tip and follows her to the exit. Y/N ways to Sonia, who shoots her thumbs up, but Y/N has no idea why. Y/N and the man linger outside the door, waiting to see who makes the first move. 

“Well, uh, can I have your Instagram?” Y/N asks, not knowing if asking for his number was too forward. At least this way she could stalk him for a bit. 

“Oh, I don’t use that. I can give you my number,” he counters. 

Y/N perks up. “That works.” She hands him her phone where she watches his hands type in his phone number into her contacts. He hands her back her phone, and she looks at the newly added contact. 

Harry S. 

It seemed that’s all she needed for her to connect the dots. She lifts her head up and Harry has a flushed face. He didn’t look away from her, almost waiting to see what she’d say. 

Y/N not sure how to break the silence. “Harry Sanchez?” 

Harry laughs, and it’s all the confirmation Y/N needs. “More like Styles.” 

“Oh.” 

Did she fuck up her chances? She feels like she didn’t. She got his number. 

“What can I use your number for?” She asks, wanting to double check. He still wants her to have it.

“Hopefully for us to plan a date.” 

“Even after this,” she points between them as if to explain what they know just happened. 

“I’d like to see where it could go.” 

“Shit, uh. Well–I’m free Thursday.” Harry smirks, making her want to crawl in a hole because now she feels desperate. “I’m going to leave.”

Harry stops her by grabbing her hand. “I think Thursday is perfect. Are you up for a sunset dinner by the beach?” 

“Sounds perfect,” she promised him. 

“Good. Thursday it is.”

Now she is standing in front of his childhood home, about to meet his mother and older sister. Y/N had spoken to his mother, Anne, on the phone a few times, but his sister was always busy when Harry tried to pass her the phone. Harry promised her it would go well, but she feared the worst. Their story was genuine but to others could sound fabricated but come on, no one knows Martha’s cakes, it’s not even on Yelp. It’s a place once stumbled upon and then shares the magic with people in their life. 

Harry said he felt like coffee and walked for a while until he saw people walk out. The smell of coffee is what drew him in, but the pretty girl he sat next to had him stay for hours. It’s something he shared months down the line. Y/N and Harry had now been together for nine months. Because of her Master’s Y/N had no time to travel. Harry visited home often, but Y/N couldn’t drop everything she was doing to go with him. He understood, but she felt his family wouldn’t. Harry met her dad and twin brothers six months into dating because they lived down in San Diego, only a two-hour drive from them. While Harry’s family lived an ocean away and she refused for him to pay for her flight to London. On top of that, she had classes and exams to worry about that did not allow her to hop on a flight for a week. Thankfully, she made it through the winter semester and had a few weeks off from her internship before going back for her last semester. Y/N knew graduation was just around the corner, and thankfully, had little debt to pay off.

Harry held her tight as he led her up the steps. Y/N was walking slower, trying to prolong the introduction. In her mind, she hoped she was simply psyching herself out and that things actually went well with Harry’s family. That they accepted her because they could see how much she loved him. 

“You ready, Lovie?” Harry flashed her a dimpled grin.

Truthfully, she wanted to say no, but Y/N couldn’t do that to him. Not when he was bouncing with excitement. “Ready.” She confirmed. 

Harry gave two loud knocks and then opened the front door. Y/N stood behind him as he rushed to embrace his mother. Anne was a sweet woman, much shorter than Harry, but by the tight embrace she held Harry, Y/N could tell she was strong. 

Anne gave Harry two big kisses, one on each cheek, before turning her attention to Y/N. 

“Y/N!” Anne cheered. She said it with so much delight, it surprised Y/N. 

In a matter of seconds, someone tightly wrapped Y/N in a hug, which she quickly reciprocated. “It’s lovely to meet you, Mrs. Twist.” 

Anne waved her off. “Call me Anne, my dear.” 

“Anne,” Y/N repeated.

“Now come in and tell me all about the trip. Did he trick you into going to that fancy lounge where you get free food?” Y/N giggled because Harry indeed took her to a fancy lounge when he said he was taking her to get a smoothie. 

Y/N spared a smile at Harry, but it was quick to fall when Y/N met another pair of eyes in the kitchen, looking at her with an intense stare. It dropped quickly because her attention shifted to Harry. Y/N focused back on Anne, trying to brush off the moment as something she imagined. 

Y/N tried her best to ignore the pit forming in her stomach. There was no need to worry. Harry talked about wonderful things about his family. She was in safe hands. At least that’s what she kept reminding herself.

+

Y/N didn’t feel welcome. Anne was a gem, but Gemma was cold and looked bored whenever Y/N said a word. Y/N wondered if Harry picked up on it. He hadn’t said a word. Harry was home and had no time to deal with Y/N’s insecurities. She had to be reading into Gemma, not liking her. Harry spoke the world of his older sister. He said she was his best friend, someone whose opinion he valued. Fear struck her. If Gemma didn’t like her after this visit, she knew that as soon as she got on that plane to go home, Harry would be breaking up with her. At least she’d had several hours to cry about on the plane pathetically.  

“There’s no way she didn’t know who you were,” Gemma scoffed, unbelieving of their story. 

Harry brushed off her comment as if she said nothing. “Gem, I was bald.” 

“Your face didn’t change.”

Harry sighs, “no, but you did a double take when I showed up to your doorstep to show you.” 

Gemma frowns, knowing he was right. “Whatever, you were all over twitter.” 

Harry is beginning to pick up on his sister’s defense and knows to drop it but will be picking it up with her later. “Anyway. Sitting next to each other, she asked me to watch her stuff when she had to use the restroom.”

“To look you up,” Gemma coughs.

Y/N fidgets in her chair, wanting to be anywhere but here. Harry continues with his story. “She thanked me and went back to her work. Before she left, Y/N asked if we knew each other, but I told her we didn’t. I wouldn’t forget someone as beautiful as her.” 

“Charming,” Anne gloats. “My charming boy.” 

Harry finished the story, stating it was meant to be. He had loved spending the time in Los Angeles getting to see the city through Y/N’s eyes. It’s a city she’s been living in for a couple of years. There was a lot for her to share with him. Harry had taken a liking to her favorite coffee shop. It had a design resembling a greenhouse and filled with plants, mainly featuring dried lavender. Truthfully, he spent a lot of time there because it was Y/N’s preferred place to study because it never got busy. Y/N called it her hidden gem. 

“I’ve never been happier,” Harry shares. Y/N beams at his words but can’t help glancing at Gemma, who can’t help but look sick to her stomach at hearing this news.

Dinner passed dreadfully slowly. Y/N comments when she needs to but honestly hopes to disappear for the night soon, no longer wanting to burden Gemma with her presence. While Anne showed Y/N where she could freshen up, Harry stayed downstairs to share a nightcap with his sister. 

Anne comes back to join them, but Gemma bites her tongue until their mother bids them goodnight. Harry gives his mother a tight embrace, commenting on how much he missed her. Gemma was happy her younger brother was home. 

“Are you happy, Harry?” Gemma breaks the silence that had fallen between them.

Harry sighs, “never been happier.” 

Gemma frowns, because she believes him. “I-I-nevermind.” 

Harry frowns because Gemma is never someone to stop herself from saying what’s on her mind. “Hey,” he places his hand on top of hers. “It’s me. Your annoying younger brother, you can tell me anything.” 

She removes her hand from under his and places them on her lap. “I don’t think she’s right for you.”

Harry sits back, surprised. “Sorry?”

“It’s clear she’s after something.” 

He’s having a hard time believing his sister. “Like what?”

“Your money.” 

“Is that all I’m good for?” He asks, baffled. 

“No. That’s why I’m telling you. She’s after one thing.” 

“How would you know?”

“Come on,” Gemma scoffs. “She goes to a prestigious school with a cost that no one could afford. It’s clear she wants you to pay for it.” 

“Gemma, I met her during her last year.”

“Debt doesn’t go away overnight,” she fights back. “She’ll get you to pay off her loans and leave you.”

Harry’s anger is overwhelming him. 

“You don’t even know her. Yet you say bad things about her.” It shuts Gemma up, and he uses that to his advantage and walks away.

“We saw the donation you made,” Gemma comments before he can make it up the stairs. 

He turns back, trying his best to swallow down his anger. “If you would have asked me, you would know it’s for the music program. I did that for several universities if you would have taken the time to do a bit more research. It grants them a scholarship, plus pays for room and board.” 

Gemma has no response. Harry is now standing in front of her and Gemma is nervous. She had never seen her brother this upset. 

“What I do with my money is my problem. If she wanted me to send her money for a new car, I would. If she wanted me to buy her a piece of land, I would do it in a blink of an eye. If Y/N asked me to give her every last dime in my account, I would do it without a second thought because I love her. I love her and she loves me. You know, five minutes is not enough to judge her. I do not have to tell you of her financial issues, but I will so you can go home tonight and sleep knowing how upset I am with you. Y/N received the presidential scholarship covering her tuition for the three years she was there. Y/N has applied to hundreds of scholarships to cover her book fees, and has to take on an unpaid internship while working 40 hours a week to cover her rent. Y/N has not accepted a single dime from me for her school because she has gotten this far without me. Y/N only lets me pay for her seven dollar coffee every other day. Y/N would rather give every last dollar to me if I needed it instead of keeping it for herself. Y/N still sends money to her twin brothers for new shoes, or new backpacks, because she loves her family.” 

Harry is near tears but keeps going. “I love Y/N. You might not, maybe you never will, but that girl has been the best thing to happen to me. I’ve never been more cared for and loved since she entered my life. So please, don’t bother coming back tomorrow or the rest of the week unless you have an apology for her.”

Y/N is grateful Harry’s room connects to the bathroom because, while she finished getting ready, she thought she would ask Harry for a cup of water and instead stumbled upon a conversation she shouldn’t have. Y/N tries her best to swallow her tears, but it’s no use. They’re more powerful than her. They stream down and Y/N decides to lie in bed, hoping by the time Harry comes in, she’s fast asleep. Y/N isn’t sure how much time has passed, but her tears have dried up and she’s as still as a rock when she hears Harry come in. She wants to tell him that she’s not worth defending if it means he’s messing up his relationship with his sister.

She hears him get ready for bed. Y/N knows he’s folding his clothes and placing them on the chair. He’s meticulous about his night-time routine. He crawls into bed next to her. Y/N tries her best to steal her breathing to make it seem like she’s sleeping, but Harry knows her too well. He scoots right behind her, his hand sliding over her hips and settling on her stomach, right by the scar she got on her eight birthday when she fell off her bike. Harry rubs the lifted skin, where she got four stitches. 

Y/N lets out a deep breath, working up the courage to say something, but her throat is closed. She relaxes against him. All her tears dried up. She is beginning to feel better now that she’s with him. A kiss to her temple has her heart slowing down. This is what it is to be protected. 

“I’m sorry,” Y/N croaks out when she feels like enough time has passed. 

Harry pulls her tight against him. It fills her with ease. “How much did you hear?”

Y/N shakes her head. “I don’t want you to argue with your family.” 

“It’s only my sister,” he defends.

“She’s an important person in your life. You’ve always specified that.” 

Harry sighs. He leaves a kiss behind Y/N’s ear. “You are important to me, too.”

“You don’t need to be fighting. It’s not necessary.” 

“It is when she needs a wack to her head.” 

“Harry,” Y/N drags out. “I don’t want you burning bridges.”

Harry understood where she was coming from, but Y/N was not seeing how it affected him as well. “We’ll be fine. She’s my sister. We’ll talk in a few days. All this will be in the past.”

Y/N freezes, feeling as if someone dropped a cold bucket of water on her. If Harry believes everything will be alright with his sister, that means he sees himself forgiving her for what she said but also means he would be getting rid of the problem. Her. 

Harry was going to be breaking up with her. This started her tears to fall again, only this time she couldn’t keep quiet. They were pouring out of her at a quick rate. He was quick to sit up bringing Y/N with him.

“Hey, hey,” Harry cooed. “What happened? What did I do?”

“Y-y-you,” she stuttered. Nothing was coming out. 

He would not rush her. Instead, he shifted her to straddle his lap. Y/N tucked her head into his neck. Hary felt his neck dampen with tears. He pressed soft kisses to her hair, whispering “I love you,” hoping it would be enough to calm her. He snaked a hand under her night shirt softly running his nails up and down her back. Y/N curled in closer at the action. His sweet girl was feeling overwhelmed, and he felt awful because he wasn’t being helpful. 

Y/N pulled away. Her eyes were puffy and tears streaming down her cheeks. Harry still thought she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. Her hands moved from her side up to his neck, she settled them on his cheek. She caressed his face, calming him down. He hadn’t realized how overwhelmed he was, but it’s clear Y/N could see what he needed even in her moments of sadness. 

“I don’t want to lose you,” Y/N voiced. “I love you. I love you so much.”

Harry frowned. No one had said anything about him leaving. He would never dream of walking away from her. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

“But Gemma–”

He cuts her off. “Gemma doesn’t know you like I do. She is looking out for me and I know she meant no harm, but she went about all this wrong. She decided to judge us, judge you before getting to know you.”

Y/N did no wrong. She was nothing Gemma accused her of. Y/N knew that, of course she did, but Y/N hoped to impress his family, not make them upset. 

“I know you, Lovie. My mum knows you. Mostly, you know yourself. Your character speaks for you and it has never been anything but kind and loving.”

Harry’s words slowly begin to mend her heart.

“I love you, Harry.” 

He connects his lips with hers in a loving kiss. “I love you so much.” 

Y/N falls asleep to Harry’s voice as he sings her to sleep. It’s a lullaby he says his mum would sing when he had a nightmare. While Y/N didn’t know how tomorrow would go, she was happy to have Harry at her side.

+

The morning passed slowly between the three of them. They shared stories with Anne, Harry, catching her up on his upcoming plans. Y/N talked about her looming graduation and told Anne about her thesis project. Anne promised to make the trip for her graduation, something Harry couldn’t stop gloating about how she was top of her class on her way to graduate summa cum laude. Y/N had stepped outside wanting to enjoy all the open land Anne had. The cats happily roamed around Y/N as she settled in the grass. Y/N thought of her dad at home and what he’d have to say about the situation. He’d probably tell her to run while she could, but Y/N knew Harry was her person. Y/N laid down, closed her eyes and took in all the surrounding noise. She heard birds chirping, a purring in the distance and the rush of the wind hitting the wind chimes. It was perfect. 

There was a loud band that had Y/N sitting up in a hurry. She looked back and realized it was the back door. Anne had stepped out, Y/N could see Harry in the kitchen, hands moving rapidly, and she knew he wasn’t alone. Anne sat not to Y/N, neither of them saying a word. 

“My daughter owes you an apology.” 

“Anne–” 

She stops Y/N. “No, I raised her better than that. I’m not sure when she got so protective, but it’s clearly not for the best. Harry is nearing 30 he doesn’t need his sister looking out for him. While I’m glad they have each other, this was unnecessary. It caused a lot of hurt that should have never existed.” 

“Thank you.”

“You don’t have to talk to her if you’re not comfortable.”

Y/N didn’t know how to feel. She dreaded talking to Gemma, but Y/N knew she’d feel worse if she went home and never talked this out with her. “I’m willing. I-I might need time to forgive her.” 

Anne squeezed Y/N’s hand. “That’s perfectly alright. Now tell me about these brothers of yours.” 

Y/N spent the rest of the evening with Anne, forgetting about her problems. It isn’t until Harry called them both in for dinner that they realized they spent hours outside. 

Harry greeted her with a kiss.

Dinner went off without a hitch, the three of them sharing all kinds of stories. Mostly Harry interrupting Anne to tell her a new story about Y/N he remembered. Harry that night promised he was alright with Gemma. He was feeling hurt. Assured her he loved her, but needed time to move past it. 

Y/N woke up early the next morning and decided to go on a walk along the river. Harry told her it felt never ending. They had walked it once every day, but today she went alone, letting Harry sleep in but also have that extra time with Anne. As Y/N walked, she thought of her brothers and how they would love to be throwing rocks in the river. Y/N was sure one of them would even fall in on accident. The weather would pique her dad’s interest. He was a sunshine man. She was sure the gloomy weather would be too much for him to handle. 

Two hours later, Y/N came back and was taken aback by Gemma’s presence on the front steps of the house, holding a thermal mug. 

“Hi,” Y/N greeted. 

“Morning, nice walk?” Gemma asked. 

Small talk. It was safe. “Mhm, Harry showed me the trail he liked to walk on.” 

“Mmm…coffee?” Gemma offered.

“Uh, I’m okay,” Y/N rejected.

Gemma looked dejected, but continued on. “Do-Is it okay if we talk?”

Y/N nodded. “Sure.” 

Y/N approached Gemma sitting on the opposite end of the same step. She wouldn’t be the first to talk, but it looked like Gemma was figuring out her words. 

“I’m sorry” are Gemma’s first words. “I’m sorry talking about you behind your back, even more sorry that you overheard.” Gemma looks sincere, and Y/N nods for her to continue. “I love Harry. He’s the best brother, and a person in general. He cares so much that I fear he’s gotten screwed over so much in life because he trusts with his heart and not his head.”

Y/N frowns, because that’s one of the things she loves most about Harry. How welcoming he is with his kind nature and how much love he spreads every day whether it’s through his music or holding the door open for a stranger. It all adds up to show that he’s a person full of love.

“Those are his mistakes to make. His own hurt to go through. Life isn’t all sunshine.” Y/N tells her. 

Gemma sighs heavily. “I know. Sometimes I feel like he’s still the same kid who cried when I would go out without him.”

“That hasn’t been him for a long time.” 

“I know.”

It’s clear Gemma has something deeper than she has to figure out and talk with Harry about, but it seems that’s a bridge she’ll cross when she is ready. 

“I love Harry. I think we have a wonderful relationship.” Y/N knows Gemma might not want to hear this, but it is important he does. “Harry loves communication. I swear we’ve never had an argument that didn’t end in us making up. He gives me my space but makes sure to be near. I’m reminded of his love every second of every day, whether he’s with me or not. I’m not sure if I make him feel loved every minute, but I do my best to remind him in my actions and words. I’m big on writing notes. He’s received a few love letters. I’m sure he’d show you if you asked.” Gemma tries her best to hide her surprise, but it’s written all over her face. “I’ve only heard wonderful stories about you, Gemma. I’m sure they’re all true, but I know Harry thought we might become friends.” Y/N pauses. “Even if that doesn’t happen, I do want you to know I respect you. For however long I’m around, I know that I respect you, even if it might take some time for me to trust you.” 

Gemma has tears running down her face. “I’m sorry. I never provided you with an opportunity. I’m not sure why I didn’t. I am really sorry. Meeting the family is always hard, and I fucking ruined it.” 

“It’s not okay, but we’ll give it time. Time heals.” 

“Thank you for hearing me out.” Gemma tells her gratefully. 

Y/N smiles. “Are you joining us for breakfast? Harry promised to make lemon ricotta pancakes.” 

“I’d like that. I’ll head in soon. I want to finish my coffee.” 

Y/N heads inside, where she finds Harry at the stove wearing an apron. She wraps her arms around his waist, resting her head between his shoulder blades. 

“Morning, pretty girl.” 

Gemma looked dejected, but continued on. “Do-Is it okay if we talk?”

Y/N nodded. “Sure.” 

Y/N approached Gemma sitting on the opposite end of the same step. She wouldn’t be the first to talk, but it looked like Gemma was figuring out her words. 

“I’m sorry” are Gemma’s first words. “I’m sorry talking about you behind your back, even more sorry that you overheard.” Gemma looks sincere, and Y/N nods for her to continue. “I love Harry. He’s the best brother, and a person in general. He cares so much that I fear he’s gotten screwed over so much in life because he trusts with his heart and not his head.”

Y/N frowns, because that’s one of the things she loves most about Harry. How welcoming he is with his kind nature and how much love he spreads every day whether it’s through his music or holding the door open for a stranger. It all adds up to show that he’s a person full of love.

“Those are his mistakes to make. His own hurt to go through. Life isn’t all sunshine.” Y/N tells her. 

Gemma sighs heavily. “I know. Sometimes I feel like he’s still the same kid who cried when I would go out without him.”

“That hasn’t been him for a long time.” 

“I know.”

It’s clear Gemma has something deeper than she has to figure out and talk with Harry about, but it seems that’s a bridge she’ll cross when she is ready. 

“I love Harry. I think we have a wonderful relationship.” Y/N knows Gemma might not want to hear this, but it is important he does. “Harry loves communication. I swear we’ve never had an argument that didn’t end in us making up. He gives me my space but makes sure to be near. I’m reminded of his love every second of every day, whether he’s with me or not. I’m not sure if I make him feel loved every minute, but I do my best to remind him in my actions and words. I’m big on writing notes. He’s received a few love letters. I’m sure he’d show you if you asked.” Gemma tries her best to hide her surprise, but it’s written all over her face. “I’ve only heard wonderful stories about you, Gemma. I’m sure they’re all true, but I know Harry thought we might become friends.” Y/N pauses. “Even if that doesn’t happen, I do want you to know I respect you. For however long I’m around, I know that I respect you, even if it might take some time for me to trust you.” 

Gemma has tears running down her face. “I’m sorry. I never provided you with an opportunity. I’m not sure why I didn’t. I am really sorry. Meeting the family is always hard, and I fucking ruined it.” 

“It’s not okay, but we’ll give it time. Time heals.” 

“Thank you for hearing me out.” Gemma tells her gratefully. 

Y/N smiles. “Are you joining us for breakfast? Harry promised to make lemon ricotta pancakes.” 

“I’d like that. I’ll head in soon. I want to finish my coffee.” 

Y/N heads inside, where she finds Harry at the stove wearing an apron. She wraps her arms around his waist, resting her head between his shoulder blades. 

“Morning, pretty girl.” 

“Hi, Harry. I love you.” 

Y/N knows he’s grinning. “I love you too. Even if you left me alone this morning.” 

“I couldn’t sleep,” she defends. “You always told me a morning walk here cleared your head.” 

“And did it?” 

“Mmm…like magic.” 

“Are you okay, Lovie?” Harry turns off the stove. He turns around, setting his hands on Y/N’s waist. His hair makes her laugh as she sees it sticking in different directions. 

“We talked. She apologized. Promise I’m okay. It still hurts, but I’ll try my best to forgive her for you.” 

Harry tuts his tongue. “No, honey.” Y/N tilts her head, confused. “You don’t have to do this for me.” 

“But she’s your–”

“She’s my sister, but that doesn’t mean you have to change how you feel about me. I promise I am with you. She made a mistake, and I’ll forgive her but at my own time. You take your time as well.”

Y/N feels overwhelmed all over again because she really did get lucky with Harry. “I love you so much.”

“I love you more, my love. So much more.” 

Harry gives her a kiss. A promise that everything will be alright.

+

thank you for reading my beautiful friends! let me know your favorite parts

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles angst #harry styles story #harry styles fluff #harry styles x y/n #harry styles angst story #harry styles fic rec #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction

[babygirl-riley]

The Riley’s

You surprise a new Riley in the family.

“He’s a four legged tracking machine.”

simon x reader guide

simon x reader family edition

Warnings: swearing and fluff

You couldn’t resist, you were alone for two months now. Which is pretty normal for how Simon’s job is. So you went to a couple of shelters, animal shelters. Originally it was to check out what type of dogs were out there. Simon and you talked about it before, that if there was a dog present that it would not be some small yappy one.

Simon hated the small dogs, thought they were to tiny and he could squash them by accident when walking around. Which was fair, he was a large man in stature. So just looking for ideas wasn’t suppose to have the end goal you got.

It was a loud shelter many dogs barking and howling. It broke your heart to see them, some were cowering in the corner others up against the fence. You would look at the names Sparky, Jack, Velma, Cupcake. Really odd names. However there was one that made you stop in your tracks.

Riley. You looked into the cage to find a German Shepard, at first he was cautious on when you stopped. Glaring and still. “He used to be a military dog actually,” The woman said behind you. “We might have to put him down soon cause he is getting aggressive.”

You smiled and turned to her. “Can I walk him?”

She stared at you for a minute and shook her head. “I don’t know he isn’t for sale.”

You chuckled. “No worries just one walk and if he snaps then don’t worry about it.”

The lady shrugged and walked to grab a leash. You turned back to the dog who still hasn’t moved. Just staring, you kneeled down and looked at him. Tried to read his eyes. Curious was behind them yet cautious at the same time. “Hey bud,” You whispered. “It’s alright, I’m here to take you home.”

The dog stared unsure before sitting down waiting until the door opened. You watched as the lady cautiously took the dog and handed the leash to you. You grabbed it and he walked with you, he was next to you the whole time. When you looked at him he would look away but when you didn’t he sniffed you.

It reminded you of Simon, cautious and curious. When you both started to date Simon was standoffish yet caring at the same time. You knew nothing of him until damn near 2 years of the relationship. Didn’t know his family was killed until marriage. You could tell how similar the personality between Simon and Riley really was. You guess that’s what the military can do to you. Give you horrible things to twist your mind into think no one is trusted.

Not once for the hour you were with him he was aggressive. You pulled the lady aside and talked about taking him home. She explained that he doesn’t like children or other pets. Luckily for him neither of those were there, she explained that the personality would come out and she expected for him to be back.

You negotiated and bought him, he followed you to the car, hopping in normally. The drive home was nice, he sat and watched the world go by. “Ya know your new dad is military,” You spoke looking over for Riley to be laying down. “You two will get along just fine.”

Riley was to himself a lot of the time, you would feed him and taking him for walks. He wasn’t loving at first until 2 weeks later. He would play with you and cuddle up to you when it was time for bed. Would growl if he felt someone was too close to you when walking. Eventually you tested to see how trained he was. Learned he knew the basic things but also knew how to do protection tricks.

Simon didn’t expect when he pulled home to hear a deep growl at the door when putting his keys in. He wanted to surprise you if being home early, Simon even checked if it was the right house. The growl was deep, a warning. It was dark out, late very very late. So maybe he was hearing things, it wasn’t until he heard you tell something to sit.

“Simon!” You yelled swinging in for a hug. He hugged you back but all he could see is that dog. The dog that was glaring at him for a moment.

“What’s that?”

You turned smiling before biting down on his lower lip. “So I got lonely,” You stated walking over to Riley petting his head. “I wasn’t going to buy a dog but something ironic happened.”

Simon watched as the dog scooted closer to you. Still cautious of him, Simon was just a big man, he rarely wore his mask at home. Takes it off in his truck unless he was extremely tired. “What is it?” He said again.

“His name is Riley.”

Simon was shocked, you were joking, there is no way his name was that. That would be very strange and interesting. “Really?”

You nodded and grabbed his dog tag and his name was engraved. He was a beautiful dog. He walked up to the dog, at first the dog froze then sniffed his hand. Simon let it do whatever as he growled lowly before walking away. You sucked in your lips. “He will get used to you.”

Simon hoped it would be awful to have a pet that tolerated him. For the couple of weeks he was there, Riley slowly got closer to him. Riley followed him everywhere, bathroom, back hard when mowing, on the side of his bed. All of it. Hell Riley would watch football with Simon.

Riley and Simon started to do more training. Taught him how to search, would hide little things of yours, eventually you as Riley searched. Slowly Riley would leave with Simon to the base, slowly would not be at home.

You rolled your eyes humorously. “He hated you.”

Simon scoffed. “He was shy.”

You laughed placing the noodles on each plate. You frowned. “You promise you both come back safe? Intact?”

Simon frowned as well. He knew how you felt when you both talked about what would Riley do, stay at home. That was your only thing, he didn’t need to go out and fight anymore. He did it when he was younger. However Riley has been anxious been doing things that Simon noticed that the other canines would do. Especially when they retired.

Price watched Simon and Riley together on the base. Riley was a good tracking dog and really good at attacking as well. So Price pulled Simon aside and asked how he felt about Riley joining 141. Simon said he would love to but he would have to ask the Misses.

At first you walked away from him, angry of course. Simon knew not to follow you, that he got you that upset to retreat to the bedroom. So he waited. Until you came out and asked what Riley would do. He explained that he would only go on missions that needed the enemy to be found. Capture or kill.

You would listen sit and made tea for both of you as you both negotiated on what would happen. You sighed again. “It would only be for those missions. Some I will know ahead some I won’t. Just like normally.” Simon explained holding her hands. “Ya seen him. He walks around the house like he needs something. He just got into the planets last week.” Simon explained.

You looked outside remembering him bringing in a whole bush of flowers. Dirt and a fucked up backyard. Riley would start destroying things after one paw of his stepped into the base. He wanted more. Needed more. More energy. You frowned looking down at Riley. Riley wagged his tail looking up at you.

“Dogs don’t need to fight the wars Si.” You whispered petting Riley.

Simon nodded his head. “I agree lovie, unfortunately he has already been trained it wouldn’t be his firs’. He would be a good asset.”

You watched as Riley licked your hand. Like he was reassuring you, like he was telling you it was fine. “Alright, only for those missions. But I next time Simon I am getting a yippy and you can’t do shit.”

Simon shook his head chuckling lowly. “No I don’t think so sweethear’”

Simon thought you were kidding but three months later, you brought home a tiniest dog. Yorkie of all dogs. Simon now knows not to take the dogs with him to base. Well Riley fell in love with the little bugger. Eventually Simon did as well having both dogs near him.

You came home from grocery shopping and while walking in you saw the dogs and him sleeping. Riley laid at the end of his feet while Hallie laid on his chest. You scoffed, pulling out your phone, clicking the picture. You smiled as you sent it to Price stating you will have a drug locator too.

#simon ghost riley #call of duty modern warfare #simon riley #simon ‘ghost’ riley #call of duty mw2 #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x female reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x f!reader #simon ghost x reader #Spotify

[catscraftsandcommentary]

So I had some time to think tonight at work (in between operating heavy machinery, swearing at the materials, and trying to keep the line running, fun times!) And I asked myself, "self, hypothetically, what might @inexplicifics Accidental Warlord AU look like in another generation or two - once people really get used to witchers being The Good Guys (TM) and helping out?"

And I was like "well, they'd probably get invited to social events - ooh! Who'd like which events best?!? What would that look like?"

Geralt, as we all know, detests anything too formal or Warlord-focused. He enjoys weddings and receptions, but his TRUE favorite is baby christenings. Seriously. Put him in a room with a tiny baby and he's happy as a clam. He'll happily growl away (or weaponize his puppy-dog eyes against) grannies, aunties, and other family members to hold the baby for as long as possible. He's also 90% of the reason that witchers are now rumored to be able to bless babies.

When Mouse and Treyse bring this new rumor to the council, everyone has to just sit. And process for a minute. Because what the ever-loving fuck?!? (Jaskier immediately writes the sweetest lullaby ever, "A Witcher's Blessing", and it is the ONLY song that Geralt ever sings in public, and only ever to babies and small children. Multiple women blame this for their immediate conceptions.)

Jaskier adores weddings and festivals of all types, and if a happy couple includes details of how they met and/or fell in love with their wedding invitation, there's at least a 50% chance that he'll show up to the wedding with a personalized love song, holy shit.

Ciri loves tourneys. Loves watching them, loves displaying in them, loves sneaking into competing in them (omg, heir, NO), loves WINNING them. She's a menace. She has various stealth coats of arms that she rotates between when she's not supposed to be competing, but her favorite is the battle goose. Obviously.

Eskel doesn't like crowds or being the center of attention, which are almost inevitable with public invitations, but he does enjoy being the +1 for his family. Several of his and their interests overlap, and even where they don't, he likes to see them enjoying themselves.

Yennifer becomes well-known as an extremely efficient - albeit terrifying - treaty negotiator. She'll talk to both sides, get a list of their must haves, deal-breakers, would-likes, and don't-wants (as well as - perhaps more importantly - the reason why each of those are on that particular list). Then she draws up a draft and viciously negotiates a compromise. She is genuinely surprised the first time that both sides thank her for her help.

Vesemir, with all his long years of teaching, loves visiting schools and seeing any sort of student performance or sporting event. Kindergarten to university, drama to music to dance recitals to track and field meets to football games to student symposiums to science contests to... He buys out bake sales and funds club field trips and donates several fortunes worth of antique knick knacks to various schools. He's invited as a guest lecturer, a commencement speaker, a competition judge, a referee.

Lambert and Aiden, at some point, discover bachelor's parties, call dibs, and never look back. People learn very quickly not to invite witchers to their stag nights unless they want the entire party to get horrifyingly drunk - but at least Lam and Aiden will make sure that everyone makes it home (or to the wedding) safely. Perhaps not soberly, or sans hangover, but definitely without major injury. (And if the bride asks nicely and the groom and friends weren't total jerks, Lambert can usually be counted on to make a hangover cure. He really is a softie at heart.)

Dragonfly and Serrit get tapped for the odd bachelorette party or ladies' birthday parties. Anything that falls under "I want to be able to drink and party with my friends without worrying about some strange guy hurting one of us." They are extremely protective and have both been drunkenly proposed to several times. (Livi finds this terribly amusing. Gweld just wants to know if he can watch.) Milena and Zofia sometimes go with them.

Milena loves going to wedding showers and baby showers, but outside Kaer Morhen, she has to stay in sight of Lambert or one of his brothers. Lambert's rule. (She got KIDNAPPED, okay? He's allowed to worry!) Usually she'll take Geralt (there might be babies! He's excellent protection!) or Eskel (he's very quiet and has excellent manners, and his signs are impossible to fight) for the more, ah, female-heavy events. If anyone asks, they're her brother-in-law and genuinely like spending time around kids. And very, very married.

#the witcher #accidental warlord au #inexplicifics

[skzhua]

Caroling to my Heart

MASTERLIST

Pairing: Lee Minho x Female!Reader

Genre: Inspired by A Christmas Carol, Christmas love story, angst, fluff.

Word Count: 14,653

Warnings: Swearing, talks of regrets, mentions of alcohol, heartbreaks.

Summary: Christmas is meant to be spent with your loved ones. Minho stopped loving a long time ago.

A/N: Credits to my boyfriend for the general idea of the plot (story is all me, though)

November nearing its end, Chrismas was approaching quickly. Children playing in the snow, shops filled with decorations to sell for the holidays, sales everywhere for presents shopping, music playing everywhere you go; truly the most wonderful time of the year.

At least, that's what most people think.

Chan has always loved Christmas. He always took it as an opportunity to gather up with his college friends with whom life was always enjoyable. Jeongin had recently gotten a promotion at work which he took very seriously, Hyunjin finally opened his dog rescue center a few years back, Felix was happily getting married in the following spring, Seungmin had finally started to get recognition for his stand up comedy shows, Changbin had entered a production company with Chan, and Jisung was finally seeing someone after not daring to date for years.

And then, there is Minho.

Him and Chan used to be the closest friends ever, and Minho was always the life of the party. He messed around in college, got good grades, made his way up to become a successful lawyer. Overall, things had turned out pretty well for him.

What Minho considered as his biggest accomplishment was his lover. The apple of his eyes, the prettiest woman he had ever laid eyes upon, the sunshine of his life. Y/N was in the same major as him, one of the top students. It started out as a very typical college love story. He was annoying her, she found him funny, they were paired for a project, they got closer, and they got together in a matter of weeks. From that point, life was perfect. They moved out together after college, adopted a ton of cats, went on so many trips outside of the country... they even got engaged.

That was until Minho messed it all up, losing everything he loved the most in one go.

Ding dong.

Jumping at the sound, Minho takes a second to recover and puts the movie he was watching on pause. He checks the clock; it is 7 o'clock in the evening. He wasn't expecting anybody to visit him. Nonetheless, he goes over his front door and looks into the peephole. He isn't surprised to see Chan waiting patiently with a plastic bag in hands. He rolls his eyes in annoyance before letting his friend in, greeting him boringly.

"Hey, Chan," he says before yawning loudly.

The older man looks him up and down, analyzing every bit of his friend's appearance. "Wow, you look like shit."

Minho doesn't answer, giving Chan the death stare instead. "What do you want?"

"Well," he starts while allowing himself to get comfortable on the couch. "Jisung is presenting his new girlfriend to us and because you didn't answer in the group chat, I thought I would check on you."

"Tonight? No, I have to get up early tomorrow."

Chan's shoulders drop as Minho, once again, declines an invitation. "You haven't come to see us in months."

Minho shrugs, visibly not seeing a problem. "I'm just very busy. I have cases coming in all the time and I can't trust my associate to work on them."

"You're overworking yourself, a break would do you some good. Besides, we miss you."

It's not that he doesn't want to see his friends, of course he does. He just knows very well he'll only end up ruining the night by not being the funny guy he used to be.

"I don't know."

Chan takes a nicely ironed shirt out of his plastic bag and puts it on the coffee table in front of him, and stands up to walk to the door. "You're welcomed to drop by if you change your mind. It's at the restaurant we used to go in college."

"Why the shirt?" Minho's eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"Consider it as an early Christmas gift from me."

After throwing a small smile his way, Chan opens the door and leaves. Minho finds himself alone again, perplexed. He approaches the shirt and scrutinizes it. It's a designer piece which does not surprise him, Chan has always been the kind to go an extra mile for his loved ones. Looking at the clock again, it indicates 7:20 P.M. Does he still have time to go? It would mean he has to shower, get dressed, drive all the way to the restaurant... Right, that specific restaurant.

He will visit his friends, just not tonight.

2 years ago.

Christmas was the most important holiday to Y/N. It brought so much nostalgia to her and she absolutely adored every aspect of it. Baking cookies and go ice skating were part of the many activities she loved doing in December.

This was also the first year she had to spend it away from her family. She didn't regret choosing to study so far away from home but it hurt nonetheless. It would be difficult and Minho knew that.

Y/N had to work an extra shift that night if she wanted the day of Christmas Eve off. It was ridiculous, she thought. As if the restaurant really needed her to stay so late. Coming home, Y/N was so glad to finally be able to relax as she climbed up the stairs.

Meanwhile, Minho was waiting excitedly at the front door of their shared apartment. He made sure the gingerbread cookies were all ready to be assembled to construct a house, checked if the Christmas lights were working fine, and put a playlist of Y/N's favourite holiday songs on his speaker.

"Soonie!" he yelled frantically at his cat as he saw him get on the counter. "You don't want to ruin your mama's night, do you?"

He picked him up and brought it close to his body, petting his head lovingly. Needless to say, this couldn't be a cuter sight to have when Y/N walked in.

"Hey, my two favourite boys," she chuckled at them before taking in how well-decorated the home was. "Min, did you set up all this?"

Her boyfriend put his pet down before bringing her into his arms. "I did. You've been feeling off recently, I thought it'd be a good idea to cheer you up. And since Christmas is next week, why not decorate cookies for the occasion?"

"You made gingerbread cookies?!"

Y/N's eyes lit up from seeing the baked goods and she rushed to go sit at the counter. Minho smiled at himself, proud he had managed to lit up her inner light just a little.

"Thank Felix for these."

"Well, thank you Felix."

Present.

Minho remembers every night she came home from that workplace. He always tried to make her feel better each time, Y/N despised working so late but she somehow always stayed positive.

How much he misses her.

Minho gasps for air, sweat all over his body. He had another nightmare, nothing unusual. What is odd is the phone ringing nonstop at this hour of the day; 4 o'clock. Who in their right mind would call someone so early?

"What?"

The person on the other side of line doesn't respond, Minho can only hear them breathe unsteadily.

"Hello?"

"Minho," Jisung finally speaks. "Sorry to bother you this early."

"It's 4:00 A.M."

"I know, I know. Just, I'm getting worried about you and I can't call you tomorrow –well, today–  or you'll say you're busy with work as always. You're not okay and I think you could use a friend."

Although not wrong, his statement fueled Minho with annoyance and frustration. He doesn't need help, or anyone for that matter.

"Minho?" Jisung speaks up again as he doesn't get a response.

"Good night, Jisung," he simply says with the intention of hanging up.

"Wait!" he hurries to stop him. "If you don't want to talk for your own sake, at least do it for mine. Not just mine, the other guys' too."

Sure, Minho hates talking about his feelings. Still, he's not a monster and cares a lot about his friends nonetheless. Feeling a bit obligated, he agrees.

"So, uhm, who's your new girlfriend?" he asks, getting uncomfortable already.

"She's a friend of Jeongin. Remember that girl he worked with in college? Well, that's her. She's so nice, I wonder why Jeongin hadn't introduced me to her sooner. She kind of reminds me of..." he trails off but stops himself before stepping out of line.

"I'm happy for you two. I'm sorry I couldn't come."

Jisung lets out a huff. "Thank you but I know you could have, you just didn't want to."

"That's not-"

"Don't lie, Minho," he cuts him off. "You didn't come because of her, am I right? Because of Y/N again?"

Minho can feel his heart tighten while his friends keeps going at it, insisting on speaking about her. He doesn't want to, is it so hard to understand?

"Let's not talk about her."

"That's the problem, Minho. You never want to open up about it."

"She left. What is there more to say?"

"How you're coping with all, how we can help-"

"The only thing you can do to help is leave me alone. I'm doing just fine. Talking was a bad idea, I should go back to bed."

"Min..." Jisung says in a desperate voice.

"Good night."

As he hangs up, he can sense it might have gone too far. Regardless, he discards his phone on his nightstand and buries his body in his bedsheets. He hears meowing coming from the entrance of his room. A second later, his cat Dori jumps on the mattress to come and lay next to him. Minho reluctantly cuddles the cat back, his last one he got with Y/N. Dori is technically her baby but she left so suddenly that Minho had no other choice but to keep him.

"Where are your brothers?" he whispers affectionately to the ball of fur who replies with some more purring. "Are Soonie and Doongie sleeping too?"

Chan is probably the only one able to get Minho out of his house, especially during Christmas time. Maybe it is guilt or shame that he feels, but Minho hasn't been so great ever since he had his early chitchat with Jisung. Shopping for presents wasn't what he had in mind when he thought of making up for it but Chan insisted it would be a good idea.

"Look," he says while pointing at the pig plush on the top of the pile. "It looks like Changbin."

Minho shrugs. "I guess it does."

"What about this?"

He looks boringly at the shirt Chan is showing. Yeah, maybe he should have done something else to make the most of his day off. A good meal at home seems so much more appealing to him.

"Come on," Chan encourages him. "Enjoy a bit."

"I am enjoying, look," Minho tries to convince him with a forced smile.

"Hmm, maybe it's time to go to the food court and take a break."

Dragging his friend behind, Chan moves from restaurant to restaurant in search of a meal for his lunch. After a while of debating internally, he settles for a hamburger. As for Minho, rice with pork seems to be tasty enough. They sit at a table and start to eat in silence. Minho looks around the place, watching people chat and laugh. He sees one couple in particular and they remind him too much of Y/N. Adverting his gaze from this spot, he focuses back on his food before speaking.

"I was thinking of buying a new hoodie for Jisung."

Chan is surprised his friend is even conversing with him but smiles. "A hoodie? Doesn't he have plenty of them already?"

"He does but he sent me a picture of one specifically the other day."

"Then you should buy it for him. Have you heard from him, by the way?"

Minho gulps. "No."

Although suspicious, Chan doesn't push it. They quickly finish their lunch and decide to head towards a clothing store to find Jisung's present. At a certain point, they unconsciously part ways as they look at different pieces of clothing. Minho would look for Chan but he has the hoodie to find. Chan is fine on his own anyway, he tells himself. He goes to the right section and begins to browse through each item. He frowns as he inspects them, not convinced these would be appropriate for his friend.

"Minho?"

He freezes in place. Has he gone crazy or has he just heard Y/N's voice?

"Minho," she says again.

Finally turning around, he is somewhat relieved that it isn't his former girlfriend, but her sister. "Deena," he greets her politely.

"It's been a while, wow. How have you been?" she asks cheerfully, too much in his opinion.

"Nothing much."

She seems taken aback by the short length of his answer. Minho used to be the nicest man she knows. Of course, she doesn't know the full story about what happened. Nonetheless, she still considers Minho as family. So seeing him so lifeless in front of her is quite a shocker.

"I'm in a bit of a rush but we should go grab coffee soon and catch up," she suggests but from the look on Minho's face, she knows she shouldn't have.

"I'm pretty busy."

"Alright," she answers, uneasy. "I'll see you around then."

"Yeah."

Without adding anything, he resumes to looking through the hoodies. Deena eventually leaves and Minho feels like he can breathe again.

He has nothing against his former "sister-in-law" but seeing her so unexpectedly is not something he has prepared himself for. He will go grab a coffee with her when he feels ready to.

Chan comes back a few minutes after with a couple of black shirts and an oversized pair of jeans he picked for Jeongin. As they wait to pay for their things, Minho can feel that Chan has something to say. It wasn't an abnormal occurrence but this time feels like it's eating him inside.

"What is it?"

Chan hesitates for a second. "It was Deena, right?"

He hums. "Yes."

"I'm running out of ways to tell you appropriately but you need to get your shit together. The girl did nothing to you and she seemed to be on the verge of crying when she left the store."

Minho rolls his eyes, like always. "What do you want me to do? Run after her and apologize? I didn't do anything."

"Exactly. Dude, everyone around you is getting sick of your way of dealing with what happened. Sure, your feelings are valid. This doesn't mean you have to inflict your pain onto us. We only want to help," Chan responds, not realizing his tone is increasing more and more.

"Always wanting to play the good savior, uh?" Minho scoffs. "In front of strangers too? Look, I don't need you to tell me how to be. You're not my dad or anything."

"I took you under my wing in college, of course I'm still looking out for you."

"That was back then. I don't need your pity anymore."

Chan's jaw clenches as the two men stare right into the eye. The cashier awkwardly calls for them to proceed to payment which breaks their staring contest. They hurry to pay before storming out of the mall, both of them fuming with anger. The moment they get into Chan's car, the latter explodes.

"This has lasted long enough. How long has it been now? A year?"

"Eleven months," Minho corrects.

"Whatever, same difference. My point is that it might be time for you to move on or at least stop being such a pain in the ass."

Minho's eyebrows raise as he lets out a chuckle. "I didn't know such strong words could come out of your mouth."

"Minho," Chan says in a warning tone.

"So what if I'm not as easygoing as before? You don't understand how it feels anyway."

"Help me understand, then!"

"You just wouldn't!"

He surprised himself by yelling so harshly. The hint of regret creeps up but he tries to hide it by looking away. They both know this is the end of this conversation, neither want to continue anyway. Chan starts the car and the ride home can't be any worse. The tension is so heavy, he swears he feels his body crushing.

Still in silence, he drops Minho off in front of his apartment complex and drives away. Face blank, Minho goes in his building and lazily enters the elevator. It's like he's in a daze, not fully aware of himself. Before he knows it, he's back home sitting at his counter with three cats waiting patiently in front of him as they expect him to fill their bowls with food. But he remains still and stares at nothing in particular. Has he gone too far this time?

In all of the people he knows, Chan is the last one he would have thought to snap at him so harshly. Most importantly, he never thought he'd yell at him for no reason. For the first time in a while, Minho allows one single tear drop from his eye.

Christmas has come. Well, almost. Work has been the same and no contact have been made with anyone for the last week or so. The lack of human interaction felt both good and bad, but mostly aching.

Every day is the same, Minho realizes. Waking up, eating a very mediocre peanut butter toast with coffee, scrolling through his feed on social medias, getting dressed, going to work, bossing his ass off in return of a less than decent pay, coming back home, eating, washing up, going to bed, sleeping, only to do the same all over again the next day.

In a way, he loves not having to think about planning things out. On the other hand, his life is becoming more and more dull with less of a purpose. Why is he alive for if it's only to do the same task over and over again?

For a change, Minho decides to start a Christmas film instead of rotating watches of the same five movies. A mistake he does is not reading the synopsis before pushing play on the remote. He settles comfortably on his couch while Soonie and Doongie cuddle next to him. Dori is somewhere nearby, playing with a piece of paper Minho had dropped on the floor earlier that week.

At first, the show is boring he thinks. The more the story develops, however, the more he sees the resemblance between himself and the protagonist. The movie is A Christmas Carol, one Y/N once had begged him to watch with her. Scrooge is very unlikable, there is no denying in that. But Minho tries to ignore the similarities he shares with him and keeps on watching the screen in silence. At some point, it simply became impossible to ignore the tightness in his chest. In an abrupt move, he turns the TV off, picks up his two cats, and heads to bed.

Christmas is so near, he thinks as he is watching his alarm clock getting closer to midnight. He really does his best to not make a big deal out of it but his mind can't stop having these images of Y/N, his friends, Christmas... everything. He can't escape pain, no matter what.

Thankfully, Dori comes in his room to join the other felines which distracts him for a second, just long enough so he can finally fall asleep.

The clock indicates 11:55 P.M. when Minho is in a deep sleep and the only sounds that can be heard throughout the whole flat are the appliances running and the cats snoring. Maybe some snores are coming from the man himself but they are faint. Slowly, Doongie wakes up. He wiggles around to find a new comfortable position but fails and falls off the bed. Luckily, cats always land on their feet. He was going to hop back on the bed but a weird sound catches his attention. It sounds like a bell. Curious, he comes out of the room in attempt to find where it comes from. But nothing. Or maybe there is something.

A faint light can be perceived from the bottom of the front door. The cat carefully gets closer, lowering his body. In a single snap, something flies right from under the door and moving straight into Minho's room which scares Doongie well enough to go hide in his cat tree and let out a cry.

This immediately wakes Minho up as his instinctive cat dad senses take over but it is soon replaced with an unsettling feeling as he sees the bright light in front of him. He squints as it almost blinds him but he wants to know what it is. He can feel his heartbeat increase by the second as the source of light gets closer and closer. Holding his breath, he shut his eyes closed and moves his head away from whatever that is. Until he hears a sigh too familiar to his liking.

He dares to open his eyes and his shoulders drop at the sight. "Chan?"

It's not exactly Chan, it is more of a ghost-like version of him. He wears a very formal suit with his hair styled with gel and his body is translucent, making Minho very skeptical. This is a dream, he thinks. Chan is very much alive and very much not in his apartment. Certainly not after the events of the other day.

"I see you didn't even reach out to me."

Minho frowns and looks around the room as if to make sure he really is speaking to him. "What do you mean?"

Chan chuckles, his voice sounding more like an echo. "After our fight, dumbass! Come on, you weren't going to leave things as it is until Christmas."

He checks his alarm clock quickly. "Well, it is Christmas."

"In five minutes," Chan smirks at him. "I know the past few months have been hard on you."

"Great, even my subconscious is trying to fix me," he whispers to himself, loud enough that the ghost-like figure hears it.

"As in a dream?" Minho nods to the question only for Chan to laugh some more. "You're funny. Anyway, I'm not here for fun. I'm here to help you."

"You tried that already," Minho grumbles in an annoyed voice but receives a shook of the head as an answer.

"My human self tried, I haven't tried yet. You see, I only appear if I'm really needed and your case is a pretty severe one."

Minho tries to protest but is quickly shushed.

"Look, this is a night shift on Christmas Eve, I don't want this any more than you do so let's do it quickly. I'll send you three spirits tonight before it hits midnight. They'll guide you through your entire life and help you make the right choice. Got it?"

"Midnight is in five minutes."

"I know."

"But-"

"You'll understand," Chan cuts him off. "As for now, bon voyage."

Not even conscious that he had been awake —or dreaming— Minho hears a snap of fingers before opening his eyes widely and gasping for air as he wakes up. He is still somewhat confused, but rather glad this was simply a dream. He can feel that the sweat has gone through his pyjamas and makes a face out of disgust.

Quickly, he eats breakfast and freshens up before leaving for work. Yes, he is working on Christmas day. This might be the only way he can get distracted from everything going wrong in his life.

As he approches his work building, he notices a young man. He looks awfully similar to Jeongin but not quite. Curiosity gets the best of him, however, and Minho instinctively walks up to the man. He takes a moment to scan his appearance: he's shorter than Jeongin, has light golden hair and wears loose white streetwear clothing. He also takes notes on the grey of his eyes.

"Lee Minho!" he says cheerfully before Minho could let out a single word.

The man jumps in surprise. "Jeongin?"

He shakes his head as a no and smiles brightly. "No, my name is P."

"P..." Minho repeats slowly, slightly confused.

"Shall we go in?"

He doesn't wait for an answer as he begins to walk and Minho automatically follows him into his building, assuming this boy might be a new worker in his firm. They hop onto the elevator together and P pushes the button to level 7. As Minho is about to look for his own floor, he notices something odd. The building has 26 levels. So why the hell are the numbers going up to 30? He slowly turns to come face to face with the younger man who keeps a wide smile on his face, fear creeping in.

"Who are you?" he dares to ask.

"I told you, I'm P!" the boy repeats with an even bigger grin, almost creepy. "Short for Past."

Oh. Oh no. It all suddenly clicks in Minho's head. Either this is a dream occuring because of the movie he had watched before going to bed or this is his own story of A Christmas Carol. He pinches the side of his arm, hoping he would be back in his room but it only results to him hissing in pain.

"Do you remember your Christmas when you were seven years old?" Minho can only glare at him but P doesn't seem to care. "This might refresh your memories."

The doors of the elevator open right after and not only are they not in his workplace anymore but the setting is exactly as he remembers it from his childhood. They are right on the street of his parents' home. The street is empty, understandably so because of the light snow falling down and the cold weather. It is early in the morning and his childhood home looks much smaller than he remembers, and in a much poorer state.

P walks out first before turning around, encouraging Minho to follow. "Can they see me?"

"No."

The answer satifies Minho and he finally steps out of the elevator, letting himself get led by this Jeongin look-alike. He wonders why this specific time was chosen in all of his years of life. He ponders the idea of asking P but it soon vanishes when he spots his younger self coming out of the house with his parents observing him in a loving way. A knot forms in his belly. He hasn't talked to his parents since Y/N left. Are they doing okay? Maybe he should have called a few times at least.

"Can we bring one home?" younger Minho asks his mom, eyes full of hope.

"Do you want a kitten as your Christmas gift?" his mother asks and the child happily nods. "We'll go see the cats and I'll think about it, okay?"

Satisfied enough, he skips down the street while humming a Christmas song. Oddly enough, it is Y/N's favourite: Winter Wonderland.

Minho watches his former self with nostalgia. He remembers the moment perfectly. This was the first time he ever owned a cat after begging his mother to get one years after years. He had named her Nala, which he thought was very clever at the time.

"Can we follow them?"

P takes his hand, much to Minho's surprise, and they begin to float just slightly above ground and fly right to where his past self is. He doesn't question the spirit about how this works and resumes to watching himself coo at the cats. For a brief moment, his eyes advert from the scene and land on his parents. But there is something catching his attention. He sees his father emptying his wallet as well as his mom before they give it to the worker. His breath gets heavier as he looks back and forth from them to himself.

"Is this why my mother stopped going out for tea with her friends? And why my father couldn't take my mother out for dates? They used to argue so much about it..." Minho almost whispers.

"Parents make great sacrifices for their children," P says longingly.

"Why didn't they tell me?"

P shrugs. "Probably because you were a literal child but also because they didn't want you to feel bad."

"My grandmother would have helped us in an instant if she knew."

P shrugs again. "They didn't want help."

He easily catches on why the ghost brought him at this exact moment. Just in time, Minho gets a hold of himself and says in incoherent words that he won't fall for P's tricks. The latter isn't nearly fazed by this statement and he takes the man's hand to bring him back to the elevator in a quick flying trip.

After the door closes, Minho is relieved that he can finally go back home. That is until P pushes the button for level 18 which earns a frown from Minho.

"Aren't we done?"

"No, you have other things left to see before I send you back. Well, a few more years to see."

"And me at 18 years old was an important year?"

P sends him a knowing look but he acts clueless, as if he doesn't know what happened back then although it's painfully obvious he does. Denial is the best way to cope, isn't it?

The doors open to the hallway of his college dorm he used to share with Chan. He can instantly recognize the said-man and Changbin joking around before they walk in his dorm. Without waiting for P, Minho follows and freezes when he stumbles upon Y/N. This moment was merely over two months into their relationship but he could tell he already knew she was his everything at that time.

Y/N greets the two boys and encourages them to put their wrapped presents under the mini Christmas tree she had insisted on making to display in his small living room. Meanwhile, a nearly adult Minho is unwrapping takeout as he watches the scene with a huge smile.

"What took you two so long?" he asks, walking towards the group with the food in hands.

"Chan's fault," Changbin immediately accuses, earning a stare from the older man.

"Not true."

"I'm not the one who lost Hyunjin's present."

Hyunjin's eyes lit up. "You got me a present?"

A small smirk appears on Chan's face. "I got all of you a present."

"Even me?"

Minho's heart tightens. He still struggles to listen to your voice and because you were there physically in front of him, it pains him so much more.

"Even you."

"Can we open them?" Felix asks, eyes lighting up.

"After eating," younger Minho says in a stern voice. "Otherwise, you'll get your dirty ass hands on the gifts, or on anything for that matter."

Y/N glances at Jisung with a knowing smirk that his friend returns, something he hadn't caught onto back then. She still hastens to give Minho a hand with all of the food dishes, not forgetting to give a napkin to each person. He knows he can be a bit peculiar with keeping his place tidy and he never wanted Y/N to feel pressured with that. Still, it visibly seemed to have been a common issue she and Jisung had with him.

"Y/N, I thought you were supposed to go back home for the holidays," Seungmin tells with food already being chewed in his mouth.

"I was," she confirms. "Minho and I determined we wanted to spend our first Christmas together and, sorry, but I rather be here than with my aunts. They were going to be all over me about not knowing what I want to do with life, I can spare myself from it."

The whole group lets out a laugh as they go on with their feast before discussing all sorts of things. Hyunjin and Chan are in the corner laughing their asses off, much to Minho's dismay who is keeping a close look at his white carpet. Hyunjin has always been clumsy and this wouldn't be the first time he spills something.

Present Minho watches it all, fully aware of what is about to happen. He never regretted getting mad at his friend for a small spoil but this kind of behaviour is one of the many that contributed to his separation. He sees what P is trying to do by showing him this.

"I get the point, can we go?"

P chuckles. "After you know what."

In shame, he observes from the corner of the eye himself exploding at Hyunjin for staining the carpet, Chan nagging at him for doing so, the boys uncomfortably watching the scene as they back away from him... and he catches a glimpse of Y/N getting the necessities to get rid of the sauce stain, not even complaining.

"I think we're good here," he tries again to convince P.

He receives a playful smirk from the spirit. "Are you sure?"

Minho groans but, nonetheless, nods. "Please."

P is quick to grab his hand and fly right back into the elevator, doors shutting behind them. He does give Minho a minute or two to recuperate from the sight before pushing the button 24. Minho's eyes are stuck on the lit up number and gulps, feeling suddenly hotter. That was last year.

"Don't you have another Christmas to show me before..." he trails off.

He is met with no answer and has to settle for the tranquility of the metal box going up. Anxiety keeps letting itself known through his body the more the number rises. Finally, after what felt like eternity to him, the ding sound signals that they have reached the level.

"You might want to prepare yourself for this one."

Minho huffs and glares at the ghost as to tell him "no shit". The doors slide open and they are already in his apartment. At least, P was kind enough to spare him from reliving what triggered the actual argument.

His cats are all doing their thing as normally. All seems out of the ordinary until he feels footsteps through the ground. He takes a deep breath in and watches Y/N barge into the place, hair messy and tears streaming down her face. The guilt pit down in his stomach when he sees himself step inside after you, throwing his scarf carelessly on a chair.

"Are you going to talk at least?" he asks, looking down at Y/N who scoffs at her boyfriend's question.

How dare he is the one demanding explanations from her?

"Are you going to talk about it?" she questions back, crossing her arms on her chest.

"Oh, come on, I didn't do anything."

"Telling everyone you want to call off the engagement is something."

P hisses in a disapproving way. "Man, you outdid yourself with this one."

"Shut up."

Y/N still waits for Minho to speak up but nothing comes out of his mouth other than his unsteady breathing. In a swift manner, she walks behind the counter and fills their cats' bowls in the meantime of waiting still for her lover to say something. But the man stays where he is, observing his surroundings in awkwardness.

"Minho," she finally calls out.

"I didn't call off the engagement."

"Really? Saying getting married is bullshit isn't telling everyone you don't want to marry me?"

"It's not like that. I meant it's not a necessity for us to know we love each other."

"You don't get that marriages can mean something other than that, it's so much more."

"It's an excuse to spend thousands of dollars on things that will last a day or two at most."

Y/N buried her face in her hands as she let out a groan. "You've always been like this."

"Realistic?"

"No, a grumpy old man. You can't see the beauty in anything."

Minho smirks for a second. "I see beauty in you."

"Don't try with your sweet words, Lee Minho," she says, raising a finger up at him. "You know exactly what I mean. I can give you so many examples. Firstly, you never buy me anything on Valentine's day because it's a marketing holiday. Then, you want every single aspect to be perfect and at their exact place although life isn't like this. And finally, you just see the negative everywhere, always pointing out what is wrong. What happened to my sweet Minho who would smile at the slightest thing?"

He remains quiet as he sits on one of the dining table's chairs. Not knowing what to do next, Y/N copies his actions and gets seated in front of him. They don't dare to look at each other just yet but Minho most definitely wants to. His ego too big, he doesn't budge.

"Minho, please," she begged.

"Alright, it's enough."

P lets out a huff. "The action barely started."

Clenching his jaw, he doesn't insist more and settles on looking at the ground while the scene he had been trying to forget about for almost a year was happening right in front of him. Minho hates it, his heart is bleeding in pain.

"I've grown, maybe that's something you should consider doing as well," he hears himself say.

Curiosity gets the best of him and he can't contain himself from looking at her, he never knew how she had reacted to his words. The view he has in front of his eyes makes his heart shatter in an instant. He swears he can see her soul leave her body just now. Had he really done this to her?

"What- Min, I-" she tries to speak, but struggles.

"Y/N, we want different things now."

She chokes out on her tears, the ones that she finally lets stream down her face since she had been containing them. She hated crying, especially with Minho.

"No, we want the same things," she affirms, her voice breaking. "You've just become too obnoxious and focused on your career that you don't see it anymore."

"You think I'm the obnoxious one? Y/N, have you seen yourself?" Minho asks in a loud voice as he gets up from his chair. "You're so full of bullshit with your positivity and ignorance towards actual problems, it makes me sick. Take the cat, for example. We don't have space for a third one but yet, here is Dori who can't even behave properly. And your Christmas decoration is taking too much space too."

"This is about space now?"

"Yes, I need space! And I'm sorry I cancelled our last date but I just can't deal with you right now. You're in the way and I can't work and- Fuck, I don't know how to tell you but we can't keep on going like this."

Her breathing is becoming more unsteady while the tears are still flooding out of her eyes. Present Minho approches her and tries to put a hand on her shoulder, but it goes through. Right, he forgot. He is not really there.

"I didn't want to call off our engagement. But maybe I do now."

Slowly, she gets up and walks towards their shared bedroom which leaves a perplexed and helpless Minho standing alone in the middle of his dining room. He hears unknown noises and hesitates on whether he should go to you or wait. But again, his ego takes over and he stays right where he is.

Soon later, only a couple of minutes, he sees Y/N walk out of the bedroom with one bag and two suitcases full of her belongings. His face dropped immediately.

"You're leaving?" he asks, desperate. No answer. "For how long?" Still silent. "Y/N, please, I know we can figure it out."

Her lower lip quivers as she sobs some more, trying her best to ignore the man in front of her. She dares to walk towards their front door, not acknowledging her lover for one second.

"My love, please," Minho tries once more.

And just like that, she walks out, door shutting quietly behind her.

"We've seen enough."

P is about to say no when he catches Minho's watery eyes. He taps himself on the back mentally, he didn't think he would break down so fast. Taking him by the forearm, he leads him towards the elevator. The doors slide shut rather fast, which Minho is thankful for. In a careful move, P presses the ground floor button and the elevator goes down.

Once arrived, the doors reveal Minho's bedroom. It looks the same as it did the night before. Minho takes notes on that, it means his night is far from being over.

"I don't think I'll be able to sleep."

"You will," P reassures. "I'll leave you alone, now. It was my pleasure being your guide for tonight."

As the two men exchange a small smile, more as a form of respect, P begins to glow, brighter and brighter. So much that Minho can't even look at him anymore and is blinded. He tried to look away but even then with his eyes closed, the light goes through.

Suddenly, there's nothing.

The morning is brighter than he thought it would be. He swears he saw on the news the day prior that Christmas day was going to be gloomy. The blue sky with the sun shining is definitely a pleasant surprise.

Enough with admiring the weather, Minho finishes rapidly his coffee, grabs his briefcase, and heads out to work. As he walks towards his building, he can't help but think of his dream from last night. He did expect dreaming of Y/N but not having to relive the day she left so vividly.

As he is about to cross the road, he feels his body collide with someone which is soon followed with the feeling of burnt. He curses out loud and is considering telling the other person off. Only, it is someone he hasn't seen in a while and who has a face he definitely recognizes.

"Hyunjin?"

The man cocks his head to the side and frowns. "Are you Mr. Lee?"

Minho, as equally confused, nods. "You don't recognize me?"

The Hyunjin look-alike seems to take notice of his whereabouts and clears his throat. "I apologize, sir. This is my first year working as a guiding spirit. Shall we start over? Hi, my name is P."

Suddenly, Minho has flashbacks of his encounter with the boy of the same name. Was he still in the dream? Or was the Chan spirit saying the truth? He feels a lump growing inside of his throat as the P man in question goes on about himself.

"I'm sincerely sorry about the coffee I spilled, let me fix this," he says before splashing Minho's figure with gold dust. The stain instantly disappears. "Now, where was I..? Oh, right! I'm P, short for Present. I was assigned to you to review your Christmas of this year."

At this point, Minho doesn't have it in him to protest. Without saying a word, he walks in the building as P follows him behind. This one spirit is much giddier than the previous one. The moment he steps in the elevator, he does nothing but look around nervously. It is with a heavy sigh that Minho empresses himself to push the button next to 25.

"I thought I forgot something, thanks," P laughs nervously, receiving a glare in return.

The ride up is quiet and awkward but when the doors open, they both step out in sync and walk along the trail of snow. The Christmas market is an event that the real Hyunjin takes part in each year. He always contributed with an animal rescue center to help them give puppies up for adoption.

This year is especially important to him, it is the first time he does it with his own dog rescue shelter. For the occasion, a few of the boys promised him they would come by to encourage him. Including Minho.

Far from the distance, Minho sees Felix and Seungmin arguing about whatever while Chan greets warmly their friend who has just finished setting his booth up.

"Guys, come look at the doggies," he calls the younger men who rush to pet the furry creatures.

"I'd call this one Seungmin," Felix jokes as he picks up a baby labrador.

Hyunjin laughs at the comment. "Her name is Daisy."

"Not very original," Felix allows himself to point out to which Hyunjin chuckles again.

His laughs trails off while he looks around, brows furrowed. "Didn't Minho say he'd come too?"

Chan sighs heavily, giving one of the poodles some scratches. "I called him but he didn't answer. Plus, we had an argument last time I saw him so I don't think he'll come."

"About Y/N again?" Seungmin asks and Chan nods. "The number of times I told her to talk it out with him, she really should call him. The guy is getting on my nerves."

Minho's heart stops for a moment. Not only because he finally knows what his friend thinks of him but also because he apparently has been in contact with Y/N, without his knowledge. He thought all of his friends haven't heard from you since.

"I told her too but what can I say? They're both stubborn," Felix shrugs. "I thought of stopping by her place today to see how she's doing but Minho would kill me if he discovers."

"Oh, please. He'd kill you if you even mention her name."

The four men share a sad laugh before changing topics. Hyunjin is careful with each dog as he introduces them one by one. All of it becomes a blur for Minho, he doesn't know if he wants to leave now or listen more to it. As much as it hurts him, he can't help but be curious.

"Did you know this?" he finally says, turning his body towards P.

"I did read it on the report paper before meeting you but, hey, I don't know you all," he responds with his hands up in defense. "We can go see her if you want."

Minho ponders for a moment. Was he ready to face her once again?

"No. Not yet."

"As you wish. Your friends are having a party tonight if you didn't know. We have to see that."

"I know, yeah."

P takes his hand as they float away all the way to Changbin's house. Before setting foot on the ground, he can already see all of his friends with Felix's fiancé, Chan's wife and Jisung's new girlfriend. Everyone is there. Except him.

He carefully approaches the group inside the living room where the girls are busy putting the presents under the Christmas tree. What takes him aback the most is seeing a tall and beautiful woman coming down the stairs before placing a kiss on Changbin's cheek. Since when is he seeing someone? It takes everyone a few minutes to settle down and serve themselves drinks. Once everyone is sat, they hold their glasses up for a toast.

"Who wants to do the honours?" Jeongin asks and Jisung immediately gets up.

"Merry Christmas, guys! Thank you for this year and thank you to Changbin for hosting the dinner tonight," he says, bopping his head towards him. "And let's have a moment for our Minho. He might not be here but he's in our heart. Let's hope he can get back on the right track next year."

There is a pause in the room, everybody suddenly feeling a wave of guilt and sadness. They know they've done everything for their friend, but they still feel like they should have tried harder.

Minho, this time, doesn't try to contain his cries. He walks up Jisung and smiles, just a little.

"Thanks, Hannie," he whispers.

"To Minho," he cheers, holding his drink higher.

"To Minho."

P lets out a cough, grabbing Minho's attention. "Not to be a mood breaker but I think you should see Y/N."

"What do you mean?"

"See what she is doing at this exact moment."

He surprisingly agrees with no hesitation and they both float away to another neighbourhood of the city. One Minho isn't too familiar with. This must be why she chose to move there, somewhere she knew she wouldn't encounter Minho. They float down at the apartment's balcony and Minho can see her right away through the window.

"You can go through walls," P informs and he does as told.

He's surprised to see her alone with her sister. She used to be a social butterfly, he wonders what happened. Deena sets the table while humming to Christmas music and Y/N finishes up with cutting the ham. It's not as Christmas-y as it should be, it's rather sad. The atmosphere is sad.

"Need help with that?" Deena offers.

"I'm good, thanks," Y/N answers as she brings the dishes on the table.

She looks paler than he remembers, maybe because of the lighting. Her hair is longer and she seems to have dyed it brown. She's also much skinnier.

"Thank you for cooking," Deena smiles warmly at her.

"It's nothing," she smiled back and begins to serve herself a plate. "I would have definitely given a piece of ham to the cats if they were here."

Deena shakes her head. "How many times did I tell you that I can go get them back?"

Y/N shakes her head too and sighs. "He loves them as much as I do, maybe even more. Who knows how he would survive without them."

"He's not really surviving, if you want my opinion. You should have seen him at the mall the other day."

Y/N shrugs while playing with her potatoes. "He's coping in his own way."

Her sister lets out a groan, desperate. "Jeez, you two are so sad to see, it's depressing."

Well, if Minho wanted to be sure Y/N is still struggling with getting over their separation, he has his answer right there.

"I'll be fine and so will he. Besides, it's not like we lost everything. I still have you and he has the boys."

Deena deadpans at her and then points at her ring finger. Minho looks at it more attentively and allows himself to gasp quietly. Y/N still has the ring, the one he proposed to her with. After what he said to her, she still wears it?

She is quick to pull her hand off the table and cover it with her sleeve. "It's a pretty ring."

"It means more to you than that and you know it."

"He didn't want to get married and it's alright. We grew apart and it is what it is. Can we talk about something else now?" she says in annoyance.

"Y/N, Felix, when he called-"

"Stop," she cuts her off. "Felix doesn't know what happened. He doesn't understand."

"Okay, I'll stop. But just so you know, this is doing no good to anybody, especially the two of you."

Minho can't hear any more of it. In a second, he turns around and goes back to the balcony which indicates to P that the visit is over. The ghost throws some of his golden dust in the air and the elevator magically appears next to them. They step inside and press the button to the ground floor.

As it goes down, Minho is looking away from the spirit, he has a certain pride to maintain. P hesitates but decides to put his hand on the man's shoulder.

"Can I just say? In my whole year of working, this might be the only case where I really empathized with my client."

Minho moves his hand away from him and grumbles something under his breath. P doesn't hear it properly but it goes along the lines of "I don't need empathy, don't act like you care".

When they get to his room, the spirit is quick to take a leave, leaving Minho alone in his cold room. At least he has his cats. He has them because of Y/N's kind heart knew he needs them.

At least, maybe she still cares a little.

The formula is the same this morning. So much that Minho knows he isn't going to work and is still trapped in this weird loop of exploring his life. He doesn't bother dressing properly nor bringing what he needs for his job. He doesn't even change his cats' water.

The moment he walks in his workplace, it doesn't even take him a second to spot the ghost of his future. It's Jisung this time. Well, not him exactly.

"Hello, my name is-"

"F, I suppose? For future?"

The spirit, stunned, slowly nods. "Usually, people are happy to see me."

"I had a long night, buddy. Just show me what you have to show me and I can move on with my life."

F doesn't argue with him and he leads him to the elevator when he presses the button 30 right away. "We'll do the quick version since you're in such a rush. I would have gone through 26 beforehand but-"

"What happens next year?" Minho interrupts him.

"No, you want this to be quick. I respect that. It's Christmas anyway, I can make an exception."

"What happens next year?" he repeats.

F smiles knowingly before glancing at the button 26. Minho, hesitantly, goes ahead to press it himself to which the ghost responds with a satisfied smirk. Before he knows it, they already reached the level.

As the doors open, Minho soon recognizes Jeongin's penthouse. Looks like that year's Christmas is settled to be at his place. Jeongin is alone with Changbin as they seem to be preparing food and drinks for the guests they are expecting. It is soon confirmed when Jisung walks in without knocking, alongside with his girlfriend. In the following minutes, each of his friends, sometimes with a significant lover, come inside and the party gets louder and merrier. However, after Hyunjin arrived, it dawns on him that his future version himself won't take part on that year's dinner.

Just like the previous year.

After chatting some more about what they are up to in their lives (nothing much other than Felix getting married but everyone knows as they attended the ceremony), Changbin calls everyone for dinner and they sit around Jeongin's dinner table.

"Can I make the toast this year?" Jisung asks, earning looks from his friends.

"You did last year, I say our host of the night does it," Seungmin suggests and they all seem to agree.

So, a bit uncomfortable still, Jeongin gets up with his glass of wine in hands. "Thank you for another year of our usual Christmas party. I'm really glad all of you were able to come. Of course, we still have a thought for our Minho who won't be joining us, yet again, tonight." The guests exchange glances in agreement and let the youngest continue. "Merry Christmas and let's enjoy our meal!"

They cling their glasses together, wishing a merry Christmas to one another, and don't lose another second to attack their plates. Although it pains him to not see himself enjoy the feast with them, Minho is somewhat happy. At least, they still have each other.

"Why couldn't he make it, anyway?" Chan asks around the table, looking at anybody who might have the answer.

The only person to answer is, unsurprisingly, Jisung. "The last time I saw him was in September and he said he had some issues with the cats. I don't know if he was making up excuses but he seemed to be alright."

"It was a miracle he even showed up for my wedding," Felix scoffs, making Minho huff. "An even bigger miracle was that he didn't make a scene when he saw Y/N there."

"They left together, no?"

What Seungmin just said gives him some kind of hope. Wanting to be sure he would hear every detail, he gets closer to his friend who continues to speak on the matter.

"I know they drank a lot but has someone seen what they were doing?"

"He was cuddly," Jisung answers. "No, clingy as hell. Poor Y/N who had to drive him home."

"They could have made up then?" Chan questions and Jisung nods.

"But we all know him, he missed his chance to fix things again."

"I really thought inviting both of them would have put an end to their mishaps," Felix sighs, discouraged. "I'll send Minho a message later."

"We could call him all together?" Chan suggests but by the reactions of everybody, this is not an option.

Just like that, they change subject and continue to discuss cheerfully about everything and anything. F gives a sad smile to the man, who watches the scene feeling beaten. There must have something really wrong with him that his closest friends wouldn't even wish him a merry Christmas.

"Where am I while all of this is happening?" he asks the ghost.

Carefully, he is transported away from the penthouse and directly to his apartment. The moment he takes in the sight of his place, he sees how nothing much changed in a year. Everything is still where it was during the present year.

His hair is longer, he notices. Not only that but he grew a bit of a beard, a choice he questions a little. His cats are still doing their thing, none of them appear to be sick. What particularly catches his attention is the glass filled with a bright yellow liquor that is set next to him as he scrolls down through his feed on his tablet.

Is he drinking? He does have a few occasions where he'll consume alcohol but a glass full of whiskey is new.

Soonie jumps on the counter and, unlike what Minho would automatically do as of right now, his future self pushes the cat off. He gasps in horror and runs to catch his pet. Only, he did forget he isn't actually there and that things pass through his body. Fortunately, Soonie is fine.

"I should text her, at least," he hears himself say.

The man he sees is far from being remotely close to what he is. Hair messy, tie loosened and a beer belly growing; he wonders what caused him to let himself reach this point.

Future Minho opens his e-mail app and clicks on New Message. He is quick to find Y/N's e-mail address, which real Minho takes as a sign he must have done the same more than once in the last year. He tries to read what he is typing but the amount of typos is quite overwhelming. Despite that, he manages to make out a somewhat coherent note.

___

Hey,

I know I should probably not be writing this but it is Christmas today so, merry Christmas. Remember how we used to go out with the others and play stupid games until late? Then, we'd come home and I'd make you a hot chocolate before going to be? You remember all of that, don't you?

I miss it, and I miss you. I know I said I'll stop writing but you broke my heart, Y/N. How can I forget and ignore what happened? You left so suddenly for no reason. I should be furious, maybe I am. No, I know I am. I still can't help myself but longing for you.

Have a jolly holiday, even if it's without me,

Min xox

___

"Wow, that's pathetic," Minho breathes out after reading. He turns to face F and frowns. "That's a year from now?"

"Precisely."

"No, it can't be. I'm alright, I moved on."

F visibly tries to contain himself from speaking on that, but he can't. "You're one oblivious man."

"I am okay!"

F scoffs. "Sure. Now, shall we visit you at 30 years old? It's Christmas and I have others plans after this."

Minho keeps finding it ridiculous how these ghosts continue to act as if they are actual people. He's still dreaming, why would he bother imagining spirits with personalities?

He is soon led to the actual elevator of his apartment building where F presses the button quickly. Once the level reached, the doors open to a beautiful wedding reception, leaving Minho confused. He does not know anybody other than Felix, who is supposedly already married by then, who is engaged.

The two men walk around the room, recognizing a few faces, and Minho finally spots himself sitting with his friends. At least he isn't alone, he tells himself. He goes straight ahead to observe the scene where he is obviously bored and sick of being there. He does notice how his appearance seem much better than before with gel in his hair and a tuxedo well ironed on.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Chan asks him in a concerned voice.

"Stop with that, I'd leave if I wasn't fine," Minho rolls his eyes.

"You haven't spoken to her, though."

"You really are good at observing, Chan," Minho responds in a mocking way and the older man simply sighs.

Suddenly, the entirety of the room begins to cheer loudly and clap. Minho tries to follow their gaze to find out who they were waiting for. After moving around to see through the dozens of head, he finally spots her. And him.

Y/N. It's her wedding. And she invited him of all people?

His brain short-circuits and he feels his heart pounding faster and faster. He can't think properly anymore, the only thing he can vividly see is her. How she smiles at every single person who congratulates her. How she clings onto this man as if her life depended on it. But most importantly, he sees how her smile just gets sadder when her eyes stop on him.

He knows time stops for the two of them before they walk towards each other. He knows so many things are still left unsaid. Gaining back his consciousness, he follows himself to watch what is about to happen.

She hugs him, a bit awkwardly. "I didn't think you'd come. Thank you."

"Congratulations," Minho says, retracting from the hug as fast as he can. "You two make a fine couple."

"Thanks," she chuckles. "Look, Min-" she starts but Minho shakes his head.

"Don't, it's okay. Enjoy your day."

Grateful, she sends him one last smile and moves to thank other guests. Chan, at this point, can do nothing else but pat his friend's shoulder. Surprisingly, Minho doesn't budge. He does, however, let one single drop fall from his eye.

"That's it?" he exclaims, now looking at F. "I'm not even trying? I just gave up? What even happened between then and that moment?"

"I've shown you plenty, you can figure it out by yourself," F says calmly and then begins to walk back to the metal box.

Minho, refusing this as an answer, runs to join him hastily. "Who's this guy, anyway?"

"Does it really matter? You two are not together anymore."

"Yes, if it can help me to prevent this."

"So you don't want her to be happy?" F perks an eyebrow making Minho groan in frustration.

"I'm asking you what I need to do to change this. It can't be like this. I'm the one who's supposed to marry her."

F smirks as they walk in the elevator, presses the button to the ground floor and finally looks at the man. "You know what has to be done, you're just afraid."

"Of what?"

"Oh, please. Stop with the act. How has the last year really been like for you?"

Minho gulps, already feeling himself choke up. "I-" he starts. "It's been hell."

F nods. "What else?"

"Y/N was right, as she always is... I'm the one who lost myself with time. I did want to marry her and I did not think she was obnoxious. Certainly not..."

He starts to cry, heavily this time. There is no more hiding or denying, he just said it all out loud. Regrets and pain, that's what's been eating him. He sobs as everything finally hits him so brutally. He lost Y/N for good. Or he will lose her for good if he keeps acting the way he does.

And his friends, the only people who stick with him through everything. The ones he keeps pushing away in fear of himself.

"You're home," the spirit says, interrupting the moment.

Minho doesn't hesitate to crash into his bed and sob some more. Even if F wanted to leave so badly, he doesn't think he should just yet. Cursing at himself, he comes to sit on the bed and pats the back of the broken man.

"It's alright, let it all out. You've had a rough night."

Minho hiccups and sniffles before glaring at the ghost. "No shit."

"You know, I think you can fix this."

Minho shrugs. "I've been horrible to everyone."

"You acknowledge it, that's a start. From there, only you can decide how things will be." F looks at his watch for a second and gasps. "I'm late for my next human! Good luck with everything."

Minho doesn't watch him leave. He is still crying but he has no more energy. He desperately wants to wake up, but mostly, he wants to see Y/N.

Minho doesn't wake up until the later morning. With the dream he just had, the sleep deprived guy seriously needed more than eight hours of resting. He does miss out work but, honestly, is not bothered the slightest. In fact, he is grateful he won't be working today.

After feeding Soonie, Doongie and Dori, he determines he should catch up on the gifts he planned on offering to his friends. Walking to his home office, he pulls out the wrapping paper he hadn't touched in a while and begins to wrap each and every single one of the presents he bought. He is definitely happy to have made some purchases the day he went shopping with Chan.

The task does grow tiring and boring after a while. To keep himself motivated, he plugs in his speaker to play some music and hums alongside the lyrics. He hasn't done that for a long time. As he is about to skip the current song playing on his playlist, his solo karaoke session is interrupted by a call coming in.

Not bothering to look at the contact, he answers happily. "Merry Christmas, you joined Lee Minho. How can I help you?"

The other side of the line is silent but he can hear that there is someone. Frowning, he repeats himself to encourage the person to talk.

"Minho, it's Changbin."

"Oh, hey! How are you doing? I was about to call you to ask what you wanted me to bring for tonight."

He senses that his friend is quite taken aback and he smiles proudly to himself.

"You're coming?"

"Unless I wasn't invited-"

"No, no," Changbin cuts him. "You're always welcomed, you know that. I'd just expected you to say you have work or something."

"I was supposed to clock in but I didn't feel like going to the office. Oh, by the way, can I ask a favor from you?"

"Uh, yeah, go ahead..." Changbin replies, skeptical.

"I know you're still in contact with Y/N."

Changbin, on his side, freezes. "How did you- Min, I swear we all wanted to tell you-"

"I'm not mad. I just wanted to know if you could possibly invite her and Deena for dinner, please? Don't tell them I'll be there, though."

"Are you certain?"

"Yes, I want it to be a surprise."

He doesn't say anything for a minute, processing what is happening. "Then, I'll invite them and say you aren't coming."

"Good! See you tonight! And tell your girlfriend I'm excited to meet her!"

He doesn't let Changbin question him on how he learned about his girlfriend and hangs up. Resuming to his activity, he stops when he sees Soonie playing with wrapping paper. Filming him, he coos at him before giving him loving scratches.

"I won't ever hurt you, I promise," he tell his cat, recalling what happened in his dream.

When he has finished with wrapping his gifts, he goes to his closet to find an appropriate attire for the night. For the last year, he hadn't wore anything other than work clothes and sweats. The nice shirt Y/N once bought him catches his attention. The dark green buttoned blouse seem to be a perfect match for his black clean pants. He changes fast and does not forget to add a few pieces of jewelry to finish his look.

He is all set to go. But one look at himself in the mirror at his entrance stops him for a moment. It suddenly clicks that he is a couple hours away from seeing Y/N again, for real this time. Although terrified, he has found some peace with it from the events of the previous night. He wants to make things right.

And one thing he can do just now is call his parents, the ones he has been ignoring for a year. He did expect his mother to cry but certainly not his father. Both incite him to come to his hometown in the following days and he can't refuse the invite. Not when they are begging with their puppy eyes.

"I'll come for New Year's, does it sounds okay?"

His mother nods vigorously through the screen of his phone. "Will Y/N be coming with you?"

He might have left out that he isn't with her anymore. Seeing the look on his parents' faces, he does not have the heart to tell them yet. Instead, he goes with a safe answer.

"I'll see with her if she can clear her schedule, but no promise."

"Tell her she's always welcomed here whenever. Merry Christmas, son!" his father wishes him adoringly.

He smiles, feeling suddenly nostalgic. "Merry Christmas to you two!"

And he hangs up.

Before going to Changbin's place, he doesn't forget to stop at the Christmas market to pay his friend, Hyunjin, a visit. Mentally preparing himself to face a pissed off Chan, he strolls between the booths and stops at a few of them. Some are selling soaps, a lot of them in fact. Others sell clothes they crocheted themselves and a few offer samples of their baked goods.

A few minutes later, Hyunjin's golden locks are easily found from afar. Minho also spots Chan, Seungmin and Felix. He has a heavy case of déjà-vu when he sees the four of them discuss with frowns on their faces.

Discreetly, he walks towards his friends who don't take knowledge of his presence yet. That is until he arrives right behind Felix.

"-stopping by her place today to see how she's doing but Minho would kill me if he discovers," the man is telling the others, oblivious that Minho is hearing everything.

Seungmin gulps and nods his head towards him but Felix cluelessly frowns. Hyunjin does the same which finally makes him turn around and come face to face with Minho. His eyes grow twice their sizes and his mouth opens slightly in shock.

"Hi, Yongbok," Minho says, unbothered. "Cute puppies you got, Hwang."

Hyunjin smiles, thankful. "Do you want to pet one? I've got this chihuahua that looks like Kkami."

He doesn't have the time to answer when a small dog is suddenly placed in his arms. With no complaint, he pets the puppy affectionately. The four men look at him, rather confused, and say nothing. They simply have no idea on how to react to this.

"Minho, what I said about Y/N- She- Uh... We-" Felix stammers out his words but Minho interrupts him.

"I know and it's all good. She is your friend too, I can't be mad at her for wanting to keep you all around."

"I see you've made some thinking," Chan finally speaks up, eyes stern.

"You can say that... I'm sorry about the other day, you were right. I shouldn't have shut you out of my life," he admits, much to his own surprise.

"Apology accepted," Chan grins. "A little birdie told me you asked Changbin to invite Y/N and Deena for dinner."

Seungmin's eyes lit up. "So you changed your mind? You'll come?"

Minho huffs. "I never said I wouldn't come."

Hyunjin sneers. "I know someone who'll be ecstatic about that."

The girl paces the floor nervously, biting her nails as she waits for her sister to arrive. Even if Changbin assured to her that her ex-fiancé wouldn't be attending the party, she can't help but feel like he will find out. She already feels guilty for keeping contact with his friends, who knows how he would react if he learns she went to celebrate Christmas with them.

As Deena finally walks in the apartment, she lets out a heavy sigh of relief. "Finally!"

Her sister rolls her eyes. "It took me barely five minutes to get here."

"Still," she chuckles sheepishly. "Thank you for coming with me."

"What would you do without me?" she exclaims dramatically. "For real, it's very nice for them to invite you. Especially after last year. Plus, it's better than our sappy sister date night."

Y/N lets out a small laugh but resumes automatically to biting down her lower lip in nervousness. Deena notices it but doesn't comment on it. Instead, she rushes her to leave, saying they will be late otherwise.

In the car, Y/N can't wait any longer. She has worries and needs to let them out or she'll go mad.

"What if Minho ends up showing up?"

Deena gives her a look but answers nonetheless. "He won't. And if he does, he'll have to suck it up and be an adult about you being there."

"Do you think he'll get mad when he discoverd that I still talked with the guys?"

"Y/N, for fuck's sake, it's not your problem to deal with! He's the one being a little bitch. Besides, you're not with him anymore."

"It doesn't mean I want to hurt him... and..."

She doesn't complete her sentence since she knows Deena must have understood right away. Y/N is still hopelessly in love with Minho. As much as she believes that leaving was the right thing to do, there were so many instances where she tried to convince herself that he'd change if she goes back to him.

She knows, deep down, she might be right on that.

"I can't believe you're actually here with actual presents!" Jisung almost yells as he brings his friend into a warm hug.

Hyunjin scoffs. "Let the man breathe! See, Min? I told you."

Minho taps Jisung's back a few times as to tell him to let go but he refuses, tightening the embrace. Jeongin is the one to break them apart to be the next in line to hug Minho. Everyone is baffled by his change of heart but they look past it and are simply grateful to have gotten their friend back.

"So? Is she coming?" Minho asks Changbin once he greeted everybody one by one.

"She confirmed she is."

Chan frowns and takes him by the shoulders. "Are you sure you want to talk to her?"

"Things were left unsaid, I need to clear this out once and for all."

Ding dong.

Oh. Now things are getting a bit too real, and panic begins to settle throughout his entire body. With once glance exchanged with Chan, it somehow reassures him. Still with his heart beating fast, he retreats himself behind the group as Changbin goes ahead to open the door.

She looks just like he remembers, stunning. There is, however, a hint of something he can't quite understand. She is paler and shyer. Past that, she is the same. While hugging everyone with her bright smile on her face, she shines. Minho is not too sure if he wants to ruin her brightness by letting his presence known. Looking around nervously, we wonders if this was a bad idea after all.

Before he can escape, he hears his name being called from afar; Jisung. Cursing at him mentally, Minho steps aside from behind Hyunjin and waves, embarrassed.

To no one's surprise, there is a moment of awkwardness settled in the room. While Minho is too ashamed to look back at her, Y/N can't rip her gaze away from him. She can't believe he is actually there. She has to make a mental note for later to smack Changbin for lying to her.

The moment is interrupted by Deena, thankfully. "Hey, Minho! I didn't think you'd be here."

"Hi Deena," he replies in a small voice.

This seems to be enough for the others to resume to their thing: Changbin taking his guests' coats to the other room while his girlfriend offers drinks, Deena putting the presents under the Christmas tree, Chan's wife and Felix's girlfriend sitting in a corner to discuss... Y/N, however, does not budge. Not until everyone leaves the entrance, revealing Minho standing in front of her.

"You dyed your hair?" he finally says, more or less to break the weird tension between the two.

She chuckles and runs her fingers through her longs brown locks. "I did, I thought a change might be good."

He nods as he puts his hands in his pockets, rocking his body back and forth. Now what? He knows he wants to talk about the obvious, but how?

"You're wearing that shirt," she points out with a smile. "It fits you well."

"Thank you. Your dress is cute."

"Thanks. I haven't wore this in a while."

"In a dress or not, you're cute either way."

She blushes. It's not as bad as she thought, they can at least do small talk. Still, this is far from being what she was used to with him. It suddenly snaps in her mind how much she missed him.

"I'll go get a drink, you're welcomed to come along," she offers which makes Minho smile.

Changbin's girlfriend makes no complaint when Minho asks her to make a specific drink, one Y/N would always get when they were together. It does not get unnoticed by the latter and she is amazed he remembers such details even after not speaking to each other for a whole entire year.

"You seem to be doing good," he comments once they get a hold of their alcoholic drinks.

"I'm not too bad. I joined a new law firm and, hopefully, they'll let me work on a case on my own."

It pains him to know she is still struggling with work, this was never an issue for him. "One day, someone will recognize your competence."

"Easy for you to say. I've heard you climbed status and have your own office?"

"Which one of the boys told you that?"

By the look on her face, he has managed to surprise her. "So you know."

He takes a sip of his glass and shrugs. "It did hurt a little that nobody told me but it's alright. You needed them as much as I did."

Her eyes soften. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I'm the jerk here. I pushed you away to the point you left and after you did, I was so close to losing all of my friends. You did nothing wrong."

She moves her head to the side, unsure on how to react. "We both made mistakes."

He scoffs. "Maybe, but you have to admit I did things way worse than you."

"It's alright, we're okay now. It wasn't meant to be."

His heart tightens and he scoffs once more. "What if it was?"

"Minho-"

"No, Y/N, listen to me for this one. Please." The gleam in his eyes convinces her and she nods for him to continue. "I don't know exactly what happened, it might be work, but I lost myself at some point. I never thought weddings were bullshit, not once in my life. My dream the moment I met you was to put a ring on your finger."

Minho stops himself and gives a scan around to make sure nobody is watching. He is thankful when he realizes his friends are busy with watching a funny video on Felix's phone. With no hesitation, he takes Y/N's hand and moves her sleeve up to reveal her engagement ring, still beautifully worn on her finger. Embarrassed, she is quick to retract her hand back in hiding. How did he know if she has been hiding it as soon as she saw him?

"And I think you might still want that."

Her eyes get watery when she forces herself to stare back at him. "This year has been... a lot. I was not ready to remove it just yet and, I guess I just got used to wearing it."

Although tempted to correct her as he know the truth, Minho does not insist any more. Instead, he sends her a look that says he understands. Almost as if it was planned, Chan calls everyone in the living room to open the presents and to, as they do every year, make a toast.

It takes a few minutes until everyone is sat and silent but once they seem good to go, Chan nods his head at Minho. "Why don't you do the honours this year, Min?"

"Oh, um..."

"I think it won't be appropriate if it is anybody else other than you," Seungmin adds to which the others seem to agree on.

Reluctantly, he gets up from his seat and clears his throat. "First of all, I'd like to apologize for the way I've been acting. I was going through a lot and I shouldn't have imposed it on you, I'm sorry. Second of all, thank you all for sticking by my side although I was a total asshole."

"Heck yeah, you are," he hears Changbin jokingly respond.

"Something else I want to mention," he continues, ignoring his friend, "is how much regret I've felt this year. Y/N?"

All eyes move to her figure by the mention of her name. She looks at Minho, feeling a bit intimidated, but smiles to let him know she wants him to go on.

"I've never loved anyone else more than I have with you. I am aware things were not ideal but you brought the best out of me. I'm sorry I had to be the one ruining this for us. I love you still and I can only wish you the best from now on." He gives the others a last glance before raising his glass. "Thank you Changbin for hosting this year's party, and merry Christmas!"

Even though the entire room cheers and applauds in response to Minho's sweet speech, Y/N is not mentally there anymore. Her mind going wild, she can't think straight other than what Minho has said. She undeniably still loves him, more than she'd like to admit. But is she ready to let him in again?

"Hey," Deena calls her out, shaking her away from her thoughts. "You might want to figure some things out with lover boy."

Her face grows red. "You think so?"

"He just left outside to go for a walk but I'm sure he isn't too far yet. Go join him."

"I don't know..."

"Y/N, stop being in denial. You still love him, he still loves you, he obviously wants you back... Just go get him already."

Slightly intimidated by her sister, she doesn't need to be told twice to go grab her coat and boots, and walk out the door. She expected for him to be at least further away on the street but it is definitely a surprise to see him sitting down on the porch. His back facing her, she quietly approaches him and sits beside him.

There is a moment of quietness before he finally looks at her. "It's snowing."

She chuckles. "Thank you for the info, Mr. Obvious."

They share a laugh and both go back to watching the snowflakes fall. It's calm and peaceful, Minho loves it. It painfully reminds him of many occurrences where they'd watch outside the window for no reason on snow days.

"That was a good speech you just made."

He smirks. "I know."

His playful demeanor is something she doesn't remember seeing in the last moments of their relationship. It feels nice to see him back, as himself.

"What you said earlier, did you mean it?"

He frowns. "The part about regrets? Yeah, I mean, I was an ass and it didn't help me getting better so... I just know I want to fix it."

She shakes her head. "Not just that. The part about still loving me."

He moves his eyes from the snow to her own and she looks at him expectedly. She is so pure, he hates himself from even thinking he had hurt her. Carefully, he takes her hands in his and sets himself just a bit closer to her while still giving her space. He feels the sweat on his forehead, waiting for either getting rejected or getting the love of his life back. Either way, he has to say it. He's been putting it off for too long.

"I meant every word I said, I still and will always love you. How can I not? You're sensitive, smart, beautiful, and so caring. You always put me before yourself. So far, you were ready to give up your cats so I could have them because you knew I needed them."

"Minho-"

"No, you don't get to interrupt me until I'm finally done saying what I have to say. Y/N, never once did I think you were obnoxious. You see beauty in everything, something I'm incapable of doing and that's what bugged me. It bothered me how you are so perfect while I am not even close to be as loving as you are."

She scoffs with a knowing smile pending on her lips. "Now, I'll have to cut you here. You don't see yourself how I see you, Minho. Why do you think I fell in love with you in the first place? You have your own little ways of showing affection, each cuter than the other. I don't mind the rest because I know you do love me."

"I hurt you," he argues sadly.

"And I forgive you, just as long as you don't do it again," she grins, tightening her grasp on his hands.

Minho raises an eyebrow in confusion. "You forgive me... As in-"

"Don't make me say it, I have my own pride too."

Minho wipes away his tears he hadn't realized were starting to fall on his face and doesn't lose another second to bring her close to him and crash his lips onto hers. They're just like he remembered and maybe better, sweet and soft. At that point, both of them are crying. Only this time, it's not because they are hurting. So many feelings are said through the kiss and not a single one is coming from pain. It's sereine and warm, Minho can feel his whole body get lighter.

"Fuck, I missed you so much," he says when they break away, holding her close to his chest. "I'm never letting you go again."

"You better," she chuckles through a sniff.

The door behind them opens wide with more than seven pairs of eyes on them. Minho blushes while Y/N hides herself in the crook of his neck.

"So we good? Everything is sorted out? Please, the food is ready and I'm starving," Jisung complains, receiving a smack from Changbin.

"You're not starving and let them have their moment!"

Jeongin sighs. "I think the moment was already ruined.

The couple, who are still sitting, explode in laughter before getting up and joining their friends in the warmth of their home where Changbin's girlfriend has selected a nice Christmas playlist to complete the ambiance. Music Minho recognizes to be Y/N's favourites. A coincidence? Probably but he likes to believe it isn't.

While the boys congratulate him for being back together with his love, Minho looks outside through the window one last time. He isn't too sure if what he sees is right but four figures seem to look at him proudly.

While nobody is watching, he mouthes a "thank you" before the silhouettes fade away in the wind.

Minho still doesn't know to this day if what happened that night was real or not. One thing for sure is he can't be any more thankful for these spirits. Most importantly, he is finally in a happy place.

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[thedegu]

Tag yourself, what you bring when you go out:

Bard: Alongside the necessities, you always bring either a musical instrument and/or a full makeup set. You never know when a party might start! Your bag is either $2 or $200. You make it work either way. Essentials? eh, if they're in there, they're in there.

Barbarian: phone wallet keys. Pants have pockets for a reason. If you're feeling spicy, you'll have a multi tool on your Keychain

Cleric: At LEAST one first aid kit, two lip balms snacks and drinks, bug spray and sunscreen for you freinds who forgot to put it on. Your purse weighs as much as a neutron star, but at least it's cute!

Druid: same as cleric, but you, instead of a purse, use one of those huge reusable grocery bags. More emphasis on snacks than the first aid kit (someone else will probably have that coveted, right?) But you might also have some loose dog treats in the bottom of your bag, so pay attention when snacking.

Fighter: You carry a backpack or over-the-shoulder duffel, but your phone wallet and other essentials are kept in your pockets because it's easier to access. What do you keep in your bag? Well, at least one knife and assorted tools and emergency supplies. You keep on forgetting to put in that first aid kit, but then you'd probably need to take out that 75 piece screwdriver kit, which, tbh is more useful in more situations.

Rainger: Look, you HAVE a bag, or... had one... you just leave it at home more often than you remember it. Look, you don't really need your phone when you're on a hike, right? And the trail mix in your pocket should be enough, too. Or you have a fanny pack that is more akin to a benign tumor. There is no in between.

Rogue: Just.... so many pockets. Like, sewing extra pockets into the inside of your jacket. Like "How did you fit that sub sandwich inside of there" pockets. Like you somehow have all of the tools you need for any reason on your person at any time without a bag amount of pocket. When you're fully suited up, your clothes work as a weighted blanket. It's honestly impressive and slightly terrifying.

Paladin: Like.... a bag?? Over the shoulder with RFID protection. Nothing too fancy either, phone, wallet, keys. Snacks and a small tube of sunscreen and maybe a hand warmer in the winter. Just get the job done, if you need something more you'll take it when you need it.

Wizard: You got the backpack on sale. That's what matters to you. Never mind how it makes your back hurt or that it's falling to pieces. It holds your books and laptop and.... ah, hm, everything else you need. Oh! It does have a cool wallet compartment... just let me... oh, it's so hard to get to give me one second... really, I do have the cash for this coffee. I swear one... oh, there goes my thesaurus.

Warlock: bags are meant as a fashion statement over their utility. Yeah, I can only fit my phone or my wallet in it, but I look good doing it, so what does it matter. Black is always in season, and so are chunky boots and spiked collars. Well it's not like you'll be going out without your freinds, you might as well have them hold your things, they honestly shouldn't trust you with your own credit cards anyway so it's a win-win

Sorcerer: You have one of those electronic bags that fallows you, and you've never looked back. Yes, it might be risky. Yes, taking a full luggage bag everywhere is a bit excessive. But if it does get stolen, the glitter bomb inside will make everything worth it. Hm? Where do you keep essentials? Oh, front pants pocket and brest pocket nbd.

#dnd #dungeons and dragons #tag game #tag meme #bag #purse

[proqhetic]

laura lee w total opposite style f!reader? like reader trying to help her live a little more, taking her to dates, showing her new artists, skipping classes to get together ^^ and also laura lee teaching r things such as baking and stuff

AHH this is so cute i love laura lee she deserves sm more love and attention from every1

laura lee’s obviously quite conservative and a stickler for the rules, that is until she met you

loud, independent, known for defying the norm — perfectly complementary!!!

the first time you took her out on a date (you took the initiative to ask her out), she was really nervous and spent hours getting ready like in those movie montages <3

bringing her to a theme park and her being so anxious at first ,, but as the date continued she grew to let loose

at the end of it even did the raise your arms thing on the roller coaster with you!!

the literal definition of “most unlikely couple” and “opposites attract”, but you two manage to make it work 😚😚

she loves holding your hand. it’s a huge source of comfort for her

trying to convince her to skip class with you one day and rent was DUE

“no we shouldn’t—” “i meannn, it’s the start of the semester. we skip now, we can’t get away with doing this for the rest of the year…” [pleading with puppy dog eyes while taking her hand in yours] “it’s one day, the only really important lessons today are chemistry and literature. and we could just get all the notes from lottie or jackie-“ “lottie and jackie…” [in unison] “EXACTLY.”

you end up buying her a sweet treat as a thank you for joining, then taking her to your favourite spot at the back of the park, sharing the mixtape you made for her (spoiler alert: she loves it) while she braids your hair

becomes your guys’s spot & she loves going for picnics there with you 🧺🥪🧃!!!

in turn, you ask her about her faith and she loves sharing it with you, without any judgment from your end

also think she would start swearing slightly more after getting close you, just silently or under her breath

laura lee is definitely known as that one designated baker in your school. whenever she bakes something at home, she saves a portion for you and gifts it in a tupperware for you the next day 😋

on days when she bakes bigger batches she’ll go around and hand it out to friends too!! bake sale #1 contributor

you on the other hand have come close to burning down your house via oven several times

her lowk stressing out while you’re baking brownies because you somehow keep measuring everything slightly off and mixing the wrong ingredients together

“was it 200ml…? or was that 200g for something else??”

at the end of the day she finds it (you) extremely endearing, hovering around and watching you closely all afternoon.

giving u a kiss on the cheek after you two finally shut the oven door before u pull her in for a proper one :>

you end up turning ‘clean up time’ into ‘make an even bigger mess time’ by playing with the flour and tossing some at laura lee .. at first she >:( and then she got you back with an even bigger handful hehehe

decorates the brownies with you and on one of the squares writes “(r’s initial) + LL” in frosting, encasing it in a cute pink heart 💗

you try and recreate something similar but it just turns into squiggly illegible lines — she hits you with the “it’s the thought that counts!!” while giggling her ass off

#anomz #laura lee things 💭 #laura lee #laura lee x reader #yellowjackets #yellowjackets x reader

[fortheloveofwonderland]

Me & You & Everyone We Know | Chapter 14 | S.R

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter Summary - When Spencer’s drinking gets out of control, he reaches out to a friend for help. He makes a series of decisions for the sake of his own mental health.

Pairing - Single Dad! Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - hurt/comfort, angst with happy ending, smut minors DNI.

A/N - I don’t know how finals work so I just made it up. Also questions detailed for Spencer’s therapy are taken from real life therapy questionnaires.

Warnings - arguing, drinking, drunk Spencer, one night stand, mentions of protective sex, swearing, slight alcohol abuse, AA meetings, mention of past drug addiction, therapists, talk of depression, Spencer gets angry at Taco, mentions of dog urine and faeces, therapy questionnaires, mentions of affairs and divorce, mentions of schizophrenia.

WC - 5.7k

Chapter 14 - Forever Winter

He says he doesn't believe anything much he hears these days,

He says, "Why fall in love, just so you can watch it go away?"

He spends most of his nights wishing it was how it used to be,

He spends most of his flights getting pulled down by gravity.

Professor Monroe did not return to work on Monday and so Spencer had to spend another week with you. 

It was finals week which meant longer hours, more time having to be spent together. It made the long, awkward silences more uncomfortable, the withering looks more grating. 

He tried to focus on the fact two days after he’d put in the offer on the house it had been accepted, and less than twelve hours after that he’d agreed an offer on his own home. 

Between finals, the tension with you and getting the ball rolling with his house sale and purchase, Spencer was stretched extremely thin. 

He still tried to give his all to his girls but his evenings were spent with papers and forms and all kinds of other legal nonsense that Maeve had taken care of last time. 

Honestly, he was exhausted. And it didn’t help matters that every time he saw you his heart shattered a little more. 

He thankfully made it through the last week of the semester with his sanity still just about in check. He was packing up his office for the summer when there was a knock at his door. 

“Come in,” he stood up straight as the door opened and you tentatively walked inside. 

You clutched your purse close like it was your only lifeline. 

“Was there anything else you needed before I head out?” You asked politely, but there was a hint of frustration in your voice. 

“Uh no I don’t think so. Have a good summer I guess.” He replied, chewing on the inside of his cheek. 

You nodded curtly and turned back to the door but before you could leave Spencer spoke again.

“Do you want to maybe grab a coffee? I’d really like to just clear the air.” 

Your back straightened as you slowly turned back to him. 

“I, uh…I have plans.” You shrugged, rolling your lip between your teeth. 

Your facial expression told Spencer all the things you weren’t saying. 

“Oh,” he croaked. “You have a date?” 

“Not a date…not really. I’m just having dinner with a guy I went to college with. S’not a big deal.” You continued gnawing on your lip. 

“Wow, good to see you’ve bounced back so fast.” His lips drew into a tight line and he grabbed his satchel off the desk, swinging it over his shoulder and heading for the door,  

“It’s not like that.” You huffed, holding your hands out to stop him as he went to pass you. 

“Sure it’s not.” He rolled his eyes. “So while I’ve been missing you every second of every day you’ve been reconnecting with an old college “friend”. Super, just super.” 

You grabbed him by the shoulders when he tried to pass you again and shoved him backwards a little. 

“You don’t get to do this,” you spat. “You don’t get to be mad at me for moving on. We broke up because you’re in love with someone else, Spencer! What am I supposed to do? Pine over you? Make myself miserable and wallow because you didn’t love me the way I love you? You don’t have the right to be mad, Spencer.”

“I have the right to be whatever I want to be.” He bit back. “Clearly you didn’t love me as much as you claimed to if you can move on so fast. I was married for a long time, I’m allowed to have complicated feelings about that. But my feelings for my ex in no way diminished my feelings for you. There’s no rule book on love Y/N. Just because I still love my ex-wife doesn’t mean I don’t also love you. Have a good summer, and have a wonderful time with your college friend.” 

He pushed past you and you let him go. He swung open the door so aggressively it bounced on its hinges and hit the wall. You stepped out into the corridor after him and couldn’t stop yourself yelling after him.

“Go to hell Doctor Reid!” 

You saw him slow his pace briefly, as though he might turn back and reply but he didn’t. He forced himself to keep walking. 

And once he was out of sight, your first tear escaped your eye. 

***

The music thrummed through the speakers, vibrating down the walls, through the floorboards and up through the soles of his shoes. 

It pulsed and pumped like a frantically beating heart, filling his veins with a nervous energy which manifested in his constantly jiggling left leg and fingers drumming against the table top. 

His free hand which wasn’t tapping the table was grasped around his glass as he raised it to his lips and swallowed down the amber liquid. 

He slammed the empty glass back on the table and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. 

“I’m getting another drink.” He yelled to be heard over the music and went to stand but a hand on his arm stopped him. 

“I think you’ve had enough, Reid.” Emily replied just as loudly. 

“Weren’t you quitting drinking anyway?” JJ asked him. 

“I thought this was supposed to be fun. I’m not having fun.” He groaned. 

After dropping the girls at Maeve’s he’d called JJ and asked if he could come over, not wanting to be alone. 

She’d informed him it was girls night, she, Emily, Penelope and Tara were going out to a club on one of their rare Friday nights off. 

The next thing she’d known, Spencer had invited himself along. 

He was four scotch’s deep and it was already going to his head. All four women were incredibly worried about him. 

“What if we dance? Dancing’s fun.” Penelope tried. 

“I hate dancing.” Spencer shook his head. “I’m getting another drink.” 

This time when he got up no one tried to stop him. The four women exchanged glances as he pushed his way through the crowds towards the bar. 

“I’m worried about him.” JJ shook her head sadly. 

“Me too.” Garcia agreed. 

“He just needs to blow off some steam. I’m sure he’ll be fine.” Tara shrugged, sipping her wine. “Not much of a ladies night.” 

“Let’s go dance while he’s distracted.” Emily suggested and the others nodded in agreement. 

Spencer didn’t see them go, too busy trying to get the bartender's attention. His head was spinning and he felt like he could taste the music, it was so loud. 

But the more he drank, the less he thought about you and your date-not-a-date. The more scotch he consumed the less he pictured you rolling around in bed with some college friend you’d never mentioned before. 

The more alcohol he indulged in, the less his heart felt like it was breaking. 

He ordered his drink and took a large sip of it, relishing in the way the alcohol burned as it slid down his throat. 

When he turned away from the bar there was a set of large brown eyes staring right at him. 

The woman the eyes belonged to was tall and curvaceous, shoulder length blonde hair and a smile directed right at him. 

She moved closer to him, her hips swaying as she walked. When she reached him, she placed her hands on his shoulders, moving her face close to his ear so she could be heard when she spoke. 

“Hi,” she breathed against his ear. “I’m Lauren.” 

“Spencer,” he replied, his free hand finding purchase on her hip. 

“I saw you with that group of women, one of them your girlfriend?” 

“Nope, no. Just friends. No girlfriend.” He swallowed, his hand gripping the glass shaking a little. 

“That’s good to know.” She giggled, pulling away from his ear and looking down at his lips which were parted slightly. 

He knew this was a terrible idea, so far past terrible in fact. But he also couldn’t help himself. Lauren was beautiful, seductive and clearly interested in him. And maybe she was just what he needed to take his mind off of things. 

He raised his drink to his lips and downed it, placing the empty on the bar behind him. One hand still on her hip, his now free one cupped her cheek, brushing his fingertips against her skin. 

“You got a problem with me kissing you?” He smiled at her. 

“Not at all.” She smiled back before he was soon slamming their lips together. 

The last thing Spencer remembered before the alcohol took over was grabbing her by the hand and leading her towards the door, the two of them fleeing together into the night. 

***

By the fourth time Taco barked, Spencer forced his eyes open. The mangy dog was sitting on the floor next to his bed, glaring at his owner with his beady little eyes. 

“Go away,” Spencer grumbled, his head immediately starting to throb. “You aren’t going to starve. Just need a little more sleep.” 

He pulled the duvet over his head and ignored Taco when he barked twice more. He groaned into his pillow, his stomach turning and head pounding.

Taco barked again and Spencer half considered getting up just to kick the dog until he was silent. But the dog was the least of his concerns. 

“Can you shut that thing up?” A female voice came from behind him and Spencer sat up and whipped around so fast the whole room spun.

Her blonde hair was tangled on the pillow and the sheet was slung around her waist, her bare chest on display. 

“What the fuck?” He panted, lifting the sheet and looking down at his own naked body beneath it. “Oh fuck, did we? Shit!” 

He lept out of bed and the woman grumbled while he tried to locate his boxers. 

“Why are you being so loud?” She whined. 

He found his underwear and pulled them on before turning back to her. 

“You need to leave, now.” He told her, her eyes fluttering open. 

“Well that’s rude.” She pulled the sheet over her body. 

“This shouldn’t have happened. We shouldn’t have…fuck!” He raked his fingers through his hair. “Did we use protection?”

Lauren sat up against the pillows, eyes blurry and hair messy. 

“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “I was as drunk as you were.”

“Are you on the pill?” He glared at her. 

“Yes.” She huffed, 

“But you don’t know if we used a condom? Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck I’m such a fucking idiot.” He started pacing, hunting the room for a used condom or a ripped packet. 

“What is your problem?” She groaned, rubbing her eyes and causing her mascara to flake. 

“My problem? My problem!” He raised his voice even though it hurt his head to do so. “My problem is I have two kids that were born from a combination of too much alcohol and forgotten condoms. Fuck, how could I be so stupid?” 

“You have kids?” She frowned. 

“Yes! Why do you think I live in this giant suburban hell hole?” He continued to search the room. 

Lauren glanced around the room, she hadn’t noticed last night how feminine his bedroom was.

“Jesus Christ, you didn’t tell me you were married!” She spat, swinging her legs out of the bed. 

“I’m not married. I said I have kids.” He found the trash can in the corner and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the used condom sitting on top. “Oh thank fuck.” 

“You’re telling me a woman doesn’t live here?” She scoffed, locating her clothes and starting to dress. 

“A woman used to live here, I haven’t decorated. I’m moving out…it doesn’t matter. None of that matters. You need to leave.” 

“Don’t worry I’m going.” Lauren dressed as quickly as she could. “I did not sign up for this.” 

She was soon throwing her heels back on and found her purse tossed on the dressing table which she grabbed before leaving the room. Spencer followed her, still wearing only his underwear and motioned her downstairs towards the front door. 

“I, uh, I don’t mean to be an asshole,” he swallowed as he unlocked the door. “I really wasn’t in the right frame of mind last night. I’m sorry.” 

“Whatever,” Lauren clucked as the door opened. “It is what it is.” 

She weaved past him and out of the door, heading down the front steps as the gate opened and someone started up the path. Spencer closed his eyes and leant back against the door jamb. 

He didn’t watch as you encountered the scantily dressed blonde halfway down the path. He refused to look as you gave her a once over and as Lauren rolled her eyes. 

“I thought you said a woman didn’t live here?” Lauren called back to him. 

Spencer’s eyes shot open and he looked guiltily between you and her. 

“It’s not…I know this looks bad but it’s not…” He groaned, wanting the world to swallow him whole. 

“Wear a ring, asshole!” Lauren spat and before he could explain, she was strutting away on her too high heels.

You glared at him from the path, not wanting to come any closer as the rage bubbling through your veins might cause you to physically hurt him. 

“Hi,” he shrugged meekly. “I really wish you’d shown up like, two minutes later.” 

“You really are something else, aren’t you?” You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “You called me sixteen times last night, left me five voicemails telling me how much you missed me and now I show up here and see some bimbo leaving your house? Jesus Christ, Spencer, seriously?” 

“I…sixteen times?” He frowned, he didn’t remember calling you once let alone sixteen times. 

“Yes,” You nodded, taking a few tentative steps closer. “I even left dinner earlier, I walked out on a nice evening with an uncomplicated, charming man. And I actually came here today because I thought, maybe, maybe we could work on things. And then I see her leaving and it certainly doesn’t take a genius to figure out what happened between the two of you.”

He followed your gaze when you gestured up and down his nearly naked frame. He grimaced, wrapping his arms around his torso as his cheeks flushed. 

“I was…drunk. Really drunk and I made a really bad judgement call. But in my defence, I was upset, ok? I was sad and so I drank and I couldn’t stop thinking about you and your college friend and I figured a one night stand might take my mind off of things.” He shrugged with a deep sigh. “It didn’t mean anything, I swear.” 

“I don’t care, Spencer.” You shook your head. “I’m glad I saw her actually, because now I know it was a huge mistake coming here. We were never going to be able to work things out. Your one night stand saved me from more heartbreak.” 

“Just come inside, let's talk.” 

“No.” You shook your head, taking a few steps backwards. 

“Y/N, please?” He begged, stepping out of his house. 

“No, no. I shouldn’t have come here in the first place. I have to go.” You continued walking backwards while Spencer carried on towards you. 

You bumped into the gate and quickly turned to open it.

“Y/N, wait, please!” He hurried towards you, but you were already back on the street, running towards your car. “Y/N! Wait….please? Fuck!” 

He yelled, running his fingers through his hair. He glanced across the street where his neighbour who had been tending to her yard was staring at him. Of course she was, he was the crazy man screaming after a woman wearing nothing but his boxers.

“Morning Mrs Lopez.” He offered a tight lipped smile and meek wave before turning away from her and retreating back inside. 

Once the door was closed he fell back against it, shaking his head at his own stupidity. Just when things seemed to be as bad as they could get, he kept making them worse. He couldn’t seem to do anything right lately. 

Drinking as much as he was certainly wasn’t helping matters. He thought he’d had it under control but maybe he was wrong. 

He was falling apart at the seams. He needed to do something, needed to make a change before his anger and his sadness ripped his whole life apart. If he continued on this self-destructive path he could lose everything, his girls included. 

And they deserved more from him. 

It was time he took a good, long look in the mirror and made a change. It was time for Spencer Reid to start thinking about himself and make some drastic changes before his life wound up upside down. 

No more drinking. He had to put a stop to that before it had a chance to escalate, he knew all too well the perils of addiction. 

He dragged himself back upstairs and found his cell phone, pulling up his contacts and locating her number. He sat on the edge of the bed while it rang a few times, soon her breezy voice was carrying down the line.

“Reid, hi. Where did you go last night, we were worried about you?” 

“I’m fine, everything’s fine.” He tried to placate her but then he sighed. “Actually that’s not true. Nothing is fine.”

“What’s wrong?” She quickly panicked down the line.

“I need your help.” He sniffed, his eyes welling with tears. “I hate to have to ask you this with your history with your ex, but I don’t know who else to ask. I can’t keep on like this, I really need to get sober. Would you…would you go to a meeting with me?” 

There was a pause of silence while his words sunk in and he worried briefly she would shoot him down. But soon enough she was speaking.

“Of course I will, Reid. Of course I will.” Tara Lewis replied, that calming tone of hers wrapping him in a comforting blanket.

“Thank you Tara. Thank you so much.” He sniffed again, a few tears escaping. 

“I’ll have a look online and find something nearby ok? I’ll text you the details.” 

“Ok,” He nodded, closing his eyes. “Tara?”

“Yes Reid?”

“Please don’t tell anyone. They’ll only worry.” 

Tara didn’t think it would help him to hear how worried they all were about him already. Instead she agreed and soon they were both hanging up the phone. 

***

It had been over fifteen years since Spencer set foot in some kind of meeting. Back then, when he’d been going through his dilaudid addiction, he’d attended a few meetings at Beltway Clean Cops. This was his first time going to such a place with civilians.

But he’d been a civilian himself now for a long time, so he guessed it made sense.

He spent most of it sitting in the back with Tara, clutching her hand while others spoke. Towards the end she encouraged him to go up and speak.

Despite his awkwardness, public speaking had never phased him much. Not usually anyway. But standing up at that podium and having to talk in front of a room full of addicts was one of the most nerve wracking experiences of his life. 

He made eye contact with Tara who gave him a soft smile and a nod of motivation. 

“Uh, hi, I’m Spencer.” He began, not taking his eyes off of Tara.

“Hi Spencer.” The room spoke in unison.

“I, uh…I suppose I’m here because I have a problem. I don’t want to use the word addiction because I don’t think I’m at that stage yet but it’s certainly heading that way.” He rolled his lip between his teeth. “Years ago I had a problem with dilaudid, I haven’t used in over fifteen years. I don’t know that I can say I was sober though, because I still drank from time to time. 

Over the last year that drinking has gotten heavier. For a long time I didn’t think of alcohol the same as I did dilaudid, it seemed so harmless in comparison. But I think I’ve started replacing one vice with another and if I don’t stop drinking entirely it is going to get to a point where I can’t stop. 

I have two kids, two little girls and I am their primary caregiver. Lily is seven and Daisy is fourteen and old enough to know that I am struggling. Their mom and I were married for thirteen years before she dropped a bombshell that she’d been having an affair for three years. I guess I’ve not been the same since. On the weekends I don’t have my girls, I tend to drink to numb the pain. 

I know I need to make a change, even if only for my daughter’s. So I came here in the hopes of quitting drinking before it’s too late for me.” 

He took a deep breath once he was finished. He hadn’t planned to say all of that but he found when he started talking he couldn’t stop. 

Tara was smiling at him with pride and she started to clap which caused the rest of the room to join in. 

Spencer felt his cheeks burning with embarrassment and he averted his gaze down to the podium. He hurried away while the applause continued and kept his eyes on the floor as he made his way back to his seat.

As soon as he sat down, Tara took hold of his hand and he glanced at her. She was smiling brightly at him and if he wasn’t mistaken, he swore she had tears in her eyes.

“I’m so proud of you.” She mouthed at him, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. 

He smiled in thanks and turned back to face the front as another speaker took to the podium. 

Truth be told, he was proud of himself too. 

***

Tara took him for lunch after the meeting and he regaled her with all the sorry details of what happened after he left the bar last night, including you showing up at his house. She listened patiently, giving input where necessary and never once judging him. 

After they ate, they went for a walk in the park for a while until it got a little too hot and they found a bench in the shade of a large tree. 

“A while ago you mentioned to me about seeing a therapist.” He spoke without looking at her. “I think it’s probably a good idea.”

“I have some friends in the field, I can give you some numbers.” She watched the side of his face.

“Yes please, that would be helpful.” He played with his hands in his lap, slowly turning his head to look at Tara. “You know, Daisy asked me if I was depressed and I honestly think that’s the first time I’d ever really thought about it before. That’s what this is right? Depression.” 

“Most likely.” She nodded slowly. “But I think with the right combination of therapy and medication you’ll be just fine, Spencer.” 

“You think it gets better?” He asked, rolling his lip between his teeth somewhat violently. 

“I know it will get better.” She took hold of his hand once more and held it tightly. “You’ve had a rough time, life has not been kind to you. But you deserve to be happy again and you will be.” 

“Thank you.” He sniffed.

“For what?” 

“For today, for everything really. If it weren’t for you and the team and my girls, I would have crumbled a long time ago.” 

“If you ever do crumble,” Tara squeezed his hand. “You can be assured we will all be there to help you pick up the pieces. That’s what family is for.” 

A tear escaped his eye and he was quick to bat it away. Tara continued to hold his hand while they sat in silence, watching the world pass them by from the park bench. 

When they parted ways, she gave him some numbers of therapists and he promised to call her if he felt the need to drink again. He had to admit he felt a little lighter by the time he returned home that evening. 

But then he walked in his door.

In the state he’d been in that morning he had forgotten that leaving his shit for brain’s dog alone all day would be a terrible idea. He’d also forgotten to feed the mangy thing. And boy had Taco protested. 

His couch was almost entirely ripped to shreds, the leather fabric clawed and scratched apart. The one remaining couch cushion Taco hadn’t already destroyed was now ruined, in a pile of fluff on the floor. 

He’d knocked over the coat rack and torn apart Spencer’s favourite navy blue pea coat. The coat rack had clearly knocked into the wall and left a dent behind, one more mark he would have to fix before he moved. 

On top of that there was a yellow urine stain in the middle of the living room and as Spencer moved further into the house he found Taco had also defecated at the bottom of the stairs. 

He ignored the mess and the dog, because if he didn’t he might actually strangle the mutt, and headed through to the kitchen. He opened the back door and Taco sprinted into the yard. 

He put food down for the moronic creature, wanting nothing more than to open the back gate and let the dog run free, he could tell the girls he accidentally got out. He cleaned up the pile of faeces in the hall and scrubbed the carpet of urine. 

He left the back door open while he trudged upstairs and was met with yet more destruction caused by the dog. 

Thankfully Daisy and Lily’s bedroom doors had been left shut but he’d failed to do the same with his own. One of his pillows had met the same fate as the couch cushion. He’d managed somehow to get the book off of Spencer’s nightstand and torn that to shreds, ripped pages littering his bed. 

He’d turned the trash can upside down and the used condom was laying in the middle of the room.

“Gross, so gross.” Spencer groaned, picking up the garbage, condom included and throwing it back in the trash. “I swear to god I am going to put you down myself, Taco.” 

In his ensuite, Taco had pulled his towel off of the back of the door and urinated on it. 

He snatched it up and marched downstairs where he tossed the soiled towel into the washing machine. Taco was back inside, happily eating his kibble without a care in the world. 

“Something needs to change.” He spat at the dog even though he couldn’t understand him. “I am not putting up with this.” 

Taco, not surprisingly, didn’t reply, instead carried on eating. 

Spencer closed the back door and slumped through to his living room, falling down on his trashed couch. 

He pulled out his cell phone and typed a quick text message. 

📲 To: Luke Alvez - Hey man, I don’t suppose you know any good dog trainers? This fucking creature is going to be the death of me. 

He hit send, before pulling out the list of names Tara had given him earlier. She’d put a little star next to one name in particular who she thought would be a good fit for Spencer. 

Before he could change his mind, he dialled the number. 

“Hello, you’ve reached the office of Doctor Maria Sanchez, Hannah speaking, how may I help?” A chipper female voice came down the line. 

“Uh, hi. A friend of mine gave me Doctor Sanchez’s number. I’d like to make an appointment I guess.” He rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. 

“Ok, sure. You’d need to fill out a questionnaire but if you give me an email address I can get that sent over to you. You can just email it right back and Doctor Sanchez will review it and be in touch.” 

Spencer exhaled before reeling off his email address. A few minutes later he was hanging up. A reply from Luke awaited him. 

📱 Do I know any good dog trainers? You offend me, Reid. Who do you think trained Roxy? I’d be happy to help corral your pup. Just been called in on a case but I’ll hit you up when I’m back.

He put his phone down and exhaled deeply. He was starting to make strides. He was moving house, he’d gone to his first meeting, he was looking into a therapist and sorting out his nightmare dog. 

The next thing on the agenda was to buy a new couch. 

***

The following morning he opened his computer in his office and faced a four page pre-therapy questionnaire.

It started out simple enough, his name, date of birth occupation, current employer and his home address. Relatively straight forward stuff. The first set of questions were about his parents, what his childhood was like and a section to detail any siblings.

It wasn’t easy to fill out given his family history, but he managed it. It was the next section in which he started having issues. 

If married, please give the name and age of your spouse and the date of your marriage. If you have been married before, please write the names of your former spouses(s) and the date(s) of that (those) marriage(s).

Briefly describe your marital relationship(s). 

God-fucking-damnit.

He tried not to let himself think about what he was writing, just let his fingers glide across the keyboard without giving it too much thought. It was easy enough to type out her name and age and the date of their marriage. It was the second question he had difficulty with. 

He swallowed thickly as he started to type in the allocated box.

I became separated from my wife over a year ago when she informed me she had been having a three year long affair. We later got divorced. Before her affair we had a good marriage, for the most part. I wasn’t always home a lot due to my job but we were happy I think. I guess that’s not true though because if that were true then she wouldn’t have cheated on me. We have not remained on good terms. 

He started typing about his girls but then his eyes glanced at the next question and realised that was better saved, so he deleted that part and moved onto the next box. 

Please give the names and ages of all children and stepchildren, whether or not they are living at home.

Daisy Reid, fourteen / Lily Reid, seven. They live at home with me and stay with their mother every other weekend. 

He stopped typing to take a sip of coffee while he glanced at the next question. 

Do you or anyone in your family have a history of depression or other mental illness? Were any ever hospitalised for this? 

He closed his eyes and let out a staggered breath. He’d thought the actual therapy would be the hard part, this was supposed to be a walk in the park in comparison. He had another sip of coffee and began to type again.

My mother suffers from schizophrenia and I made the decision to institutionalise her when I was eighteen. 

Short and simple. He didn’t want to dive too much into this. But then the next question almost forced him to shut the computer down entirely and retreat back to bed. 

Have you or any member of your family ever had a problem of misusing alcohol or drugs? Who and for how long? Is there a current problem? 

He let out another breath, shaking his head at the computer as if it was somehow the device's fault. 

I had a problem with dilaudid between 2006 and 2007. I have been clean since but have recently realised I use alcohol as a coping mechanism. I am going to meetings and trying to get sober. 

The following few questions were about his educational history and his physical health which were much easier to answer. The next section was about his concerns about therapy and what he hoped to achieve from it. All fairly straightforward. 

The last section was a list of fifteen statements in which he was supposed to mark on a scale of 0 to 3 how often those problems had affected him in the last week, zero being none at all and three being severe. He took a breath and just tried to hurry through them. 

Feeling lonely 3

Low motivation to get things done 2

Trouble concentrating 3

Fatigue 3

Worry 3

Trouble falling asleep 3

Awaking during the night with problems returning to sleep 3

Tension in shoulders, neck or chest 3

Irritability 3

Thoughts of ending your own life 0

Feeling guilty 3

Feeling hopeless 3

Feeling worthless 3

Sexual concerns 0

Body discomfort 0

At the very least he hadn’t answered three to all of them, he thought, grimacing at his answers. Before he could talk himself out of it he replied to the email and attached the form, hitting send and not letting himself dwell on the answers he’d given. 

He sat back in his chair and sipped his coffee, knowing he needed to go out and buy a replacement couch before he picked the kids up tomorrow. He didn’t enjoy the idea of them seeing the destruction their stupid dog had caused. 

It took him almost an hour of sitting at his desk, staring at the wall until he finally got his legs to cooperate and he stood up. Before he left the house he shut Taco in the kitchen, hoping to contain the mutt's cataclysmic behaviour.

And then he drove out to the district to a furniture store and reluctantly picked out a new couch, paying extra for the privilege of having it delivered the same day and for having them haul his old one off, before driving back home and waiting for them to show. 

His therapy application played on his mind all day, that and the fact he really wanted a drink. He didn’t call Tara, not wanting to bother her while they were on a case and just hoping he could stave off his cravings until it was time to pick up Daisy and Lily. 

@andiebeaword @measure-in-pain @muffin-cup @dreatine @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @justreadingficsdontmindme @spencer-reid-wonderland @thebloomingeagle @foxy-eva @kbakery @simxican @aysixdy @givemeth @loonalockley @shamelessfangirl-3 @redbulldinner @derekm24 @pinkiceee-prose @werewolfbansheelove @mindbelova @angelicasworld

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x fem! reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction

[sashimiyas]

In the Wild Grass

Summary: Osamu arrives at your roadside flower stand in need of a bouquet for his upcoming date. You flirt with him to get his loyal patronage and it works, maybe a little too well. 

Content: roadside floral vendor reader; established entrepreneur Osamu; pining and poor timing; fluff; a reference to ATLA; a lot of references to Ghibli; even more wind imagery and references; Osamu’s love language is food; reader eats meat; reader has an aunt that they are very close to; discussion of death (metaphorically) by corporate means; a special appearance of mama miya in here because the miya family is everything.

Word count: 10.4k

A/n: this was originally inspired by roadside flowers by droeloe but got way too fluffy for the ambience. so we’ll do one summer’s day by sleepy tom which is like the lo-fi version of the ghibli one which is coincidental but still very fitting.

“I’m telling you, Auntie,” you catch the tablecloth every time you sway your foot, “the sales are at Taguchi, not West Food.”

The woman on the line gives a nasal hum, “no, I have the coupons right here! Weh-est food. That’s what it says.”

“Did you check the expiration date?”

“I did! It’s… oh…”

You stretch out your leg with a laugh that quickly stifles into a cough when the dirt you kicked up reaches the back of your throat.

She laughs into the phone that’s accompanied with the sound of crumpled paper. That’s what you’ve always admired about your Aunt. The woman never takes anything seriously, not even herself and you can only wish you can live life half as carefree as she.

“It’s okay.” You stop fiddling with the leaves of a bouquet in front of you once you hear her sing the words. Nothing good comes from Auntie singing and don’t ever, ever invite her to karaoke. With your back straightening, your fingers tighten around the phone the same time your eyes narrow. “Guess who is going to Taguchi to buy my corn dogs and umeboshi?”

“Not me!” you quickly say.

“Yes, you!”

“No.”

“It’s on your way home,” the final note hits sharp and forces you to pull the phone away from your ear.

“Yeah, but I’ll be tired. I’m working so hard–” she snorts at your statement, “–I am!”

“If you’re working hard, why are you talking to old lady me?”

“Because who else would…" you trail off.

He enters like the lead of a Ghibli movie.

A rickety truck announces his presence, but what captivates you is the image slowly revealed as he rolls down the window of his driver’s seat.

Your tongue hastens to lick your lips, “look at that.”

The wind billows through his hair as he pulls his truck over onto the gravel road. He makes a move to wave hi, charm lofty upon his cheekbones, but the breeze threatens to take his cap and he swiftly moves to tilt it back onto his head.

You vaguely hear Auntie whipping questions at you, but as the man swings out of his truck, all you can muster is a distracted hang on a sec before throwing your phone onto the table. He hustles to you as you stand up to greet him.

“Bless ya,” he says once he reaches you.

Now that he’s closer, you recognize the Ghibli charm is closer to human than magical. Handsome in all the right places and flawed in a perfectly relatable way. He’s got a stock face you swear you’ve seen on TV before but there are several stains on his shirt of various ages.

There’s a scar at his brow, a strike of land where hair doesn’t grow and you’re already picturing a backstory in your head. Did he grow up with a brother who he’d tussle and roughhouse with? Or was it a freak accident like his sweater getting caught in an escalator?

There are sparse patches of hair along his chin that imitate a rural map more than a suburban neighborhood but the way he speaks and the eye contact he holds is honest. With the trailing apron string hanging out from his front seat, you take it that working with people is what he does for a living.

“Are you in trouble?” a conspiratorial grin displays itself onto your lips.

He nods and it makes you chuckle, “yeah. I’ve got a date I’m running late for. Hoping this’ll help soften the blow.”

“With a face like that, no one could ever be mad at you.” He laughs instantly at your statement with a palm placed on his chest. His head bends backward as he closes his eyes and you cannot help but warm inside at the genuine reaction.

“Ya good at your job, ain’t ya?” He asks once he’s done. The observation surprises you, “flattering me so that if I get my heart broken, I’ll come back to ya so ya can raise my ego again.”

You grin, “I need to make money somehow.”

“Ya got me. Profit off my fuck ups, I’m begging.”

“Tell me the situation,” you say sagely.

He hesitates for a moment, picking up his hat to ruffle the hair underneath. He takes the back of his forearm to wipe the sweat that’s gathered at his temples and you witness a blessed second where his shirt ruches up to uncover a plump hip, soft and curving over the edges of his faded jeans like a perfectly formed roll of bread. It’s almost improper that you’re not biting into it.

“I’ve had to reschedule twice because things kept coming up,” he acknowledges your slight wince with a nod. At least he’s self aware. “Right? Hard to find someone with enough patience for me so I’m really hoping I don’t mess this up.”

You pick up a bouquet and hand it to him, “this should get them in your good graces.” He reaches for it but you pull back, eyeing him narrowly, “but the rest is up to you and that pretty face of yours. Make good use of it!”

“Ya really got to stop calling me pretty or ya won’t be able to get rid of me,” he mentions as the two of you exchange florals for currency.

Customer service toes the line with flirtation dangerously. A half true statement is far more enticing than blatant lies and calling this man pretty is the greatest half truth to exist because the word can hardly hold a candle to how attractive he really is. And usually, you’re better than this.

Usually.

“And what if I don’t want to be rid of you?”

He eyes you, mouth snapping shut as his gaze flutters from the bouquet in his hand and you.

“I need loyal customers like you to come back.”

You take one final look at him in all his Ghibli appeal. The wind kisses his hair once more, romance amplified by the swaying splotches of colors in his hand.

Then with a closed lip grin, he says, “like I said, ya got me.”

Your attention is rapt on him until he disappears with his truck into the distance. It takes a breath to still your heart and you bring your phone back to your ear.

All she says is, “who was that?”

He doesn’t come back. It’s unsurprising to say the least, though disappointing. Interactions are fickle and just because it was a good one doesn’t mean it has to happen again.

You’ve taken to daydreaming of sensible reasons why he hasn’t windswept his way back to your roadside stand. The date could have possibly failed but who could say no to a man like that? You’ve settled on a wild boar attack that’s neither life threatening or critical, but maybe has him houseridden for some time to heal. There’s that, a possible impromptu trip to the brother you’ve imagined him to have, or maybe he too has an aunt that has been piling her errands off to him.

“Which brand of corn dogs do you like?” Auntie has little patience for you. Being corndog-less and you deciding to procrastinate until the final day of sale has her quite irate over the phone.

“The one that’s on sale.”

“Yeah, there’s two brands.”

“I don’t know,” she’s probably throwing her hands up right about now, “the one that I eat.”

You purse your lips, staring intensely at the freezer section of Taguchi, willing one of the boxes to speak up and let themselves be known. The silence must unnerve Auntie because she gives in.

“I think it’s the red one.”

Neither of them are red and neither of you want to continue the conversation.

“Got it.” You open the door and play a small game of eenie meenie. It lands on one with purple packaging and you know little about color theory but you think it’s close enough. Purple is half red, isn’t it? You grab the box behind the first because it’s fresher and bid your aunt goodbye.

As you put your phone away, a familiar vision catches your eye. He registers you before you even recognize him.

“Fancy seeing ya here,” he greets all too familiarly with a cart full of items. You take a quick peek, notating the ungodly amount of mirin that clanks at the bottom of the trolley before picking your gaze back up at him. He’s handsome in fluorescent lighting too. Good for him, unfortunate for you.

“Hey, my most handsome customer,” you wince internally. What was that? You only hope it comes out in a doting kind of way like how the Aunties do instead of a creepy weirdo who spends their days stalking his socials.

(You have not stalked his socials. How could you when you don’t even know his name? What were you supposed to put? Hot guy in Hyogo with a black hat? Scrounge through recent Hyogo news until you find a recent wild boar attack? So yeah, you’ve not stalked the socials but would you if you had the resources? No comment.)

He shuffles in place, tongue riding the ridge of his upper lip as he picks up his hat and flips it backwards. Then he changes his mind a second later and turns the cap forward once more. Strands of hair escape from the circumference and it adds to the disheveled charm he’s got going on. 

You can scratch out the wild boar attack because he’s looking better than ever. Especially with the way he’s grinning at you, cheeks spread so wide it’s almost morbid.

“Okay, calm down big guy. You’re competing against a couple of my uncles and a few farmers whose stray cows ventured further than they expected.”

He shrugs, unaffected. “I know a farmer and he’s a real handsome guy.”

You go to bite your lip, rolling your eyes at the same time and doing your best not to look amused. He’s so funny and cute and dammit, why couldn’t he have been roughed up by a wild boar even just a little bit? This interaction would have been easier that way.

“How’d the date go?”

That sends him for a loop. He sucks in a breath between teeth and your expression morphs into pity, “yeah, not so well.”

“What’d you do?” the affronted look he gives you is combated with a pointed stare, “I know it wasn’t my flowers that scared them away.”

“Definitely not ya flowers,” he ascertains and after a heavy dose of eye contact, his gaze falls to the contents of his cart and he shrugs, “just didn’t go the way I planned.”

His statement leaves something to be desired but who are you to know when you’re just the stranger that sold him a bouquet less than a week ago?

“Is it because you made them mirin soup? Because I can assure you that does not sound appetizing.”

You get another belly laugh from him and now you’ve made a game. You’re certainly not funny, but how many times can you make this attractive man laugh anyways?

“I’m telling ya, I can just about make anything taste good.”

“Oh really?”

You reckon this is his usual character as you gaze at him and the natural confidence he adorns. There’s a proud simper on his lips, one that dares you to take the bait. You step forward and you plan on saying something to egg him on, coast this flirtatious edge that started out easy because he was your customer but now, without the barrier of your floral stand, you do so for your own personal gain.

The contents slide in your carry and the box of corn dogs slips. The man tries to reach out, catch it before it falls, but he only grabs the corner, flipping it mid-air for it to land so spritely on the ground. It rolls a few steps away and you’re reaching for it immediately from embarrassment.

He has the same idea because he’s bending down with you, though much more graceful than your own movements. The rest of your armheld contents fall, and here you now are, hunched over and flustered in the frozen aisle of Taguchi.

You scamper around and grab onto everything before he can even help, a go for independence to save yourself from embarrassment.

“I’ve got it,” you reach for the bound bundle of leftover florals you brought in with you but his wingspan is longer, there before you are. The pads of your fingers graze the back of his hand. You retract at the sensation, like swirling your fingers in a freshly poured bottle of soda. There’s a desire that fizzes, thrums, beneath your skin and you know nothing good could come from exploring this feeling.

He’s dating. Doesn’t even matter. He’s a customer and you’re his romance provider.

He’s too busy picking it up for you that he doesn’t notice you staring.

You watch him inspect the flowers before handing it back. His hands twirl the stems between his fingers. Thick as they are, one index finger is bandaged with a design of the Little Twin Stars from the Sanrio franchise. You would have said something about it if you weren’t so deliberately focused on leaving the conversation.

“These for someone special?”

“Yeah.” The fluster makes you answer quickly, ducking your eyes away from him and snatching back your belongings.

“They’re lucky.” He stands up and you nod your head.

Internally, you’re elsewhere. It’s already been a long day, but now you’re trying to digest what just happened. The sensation is still present at the tips of your fingers. It feels like the dull burn after touching a hot pan, a throb that aches for the source.

“Yeah, uhm,” you gesticulate as you avoid eye contact with the man, “well, my Auntie’s been really craving these corn dogs so bye.”

Whatever response he provides is behind you, and when you get home, you decide to have a corndog for yourself as consolation.

(And one for Auntie of course.)

Your fingers struggle with opening the packaging, disgruntled at the thick cardboard it’s boxed in as the layers peel at your prodding. Then the bag slips from your fingers, the corndog tossed a little too harshly it rolls off the plate and onto the dining table. You fumble even with the microwave which is ancient, as old as Auntie herself where there are grooves at the “1” button and start. Your fingers shake as you stand dumbly in front of the appliance. They tap against each other, and finally alone with your thoughts and the hypnotic hum, you realize beneath the pads of your fingers is a quiet bubble searching for heat again. 

Working a roadside floral stand is very tedious work. Auntie wouldn’t say so, but her word is worthless when you’re the one here and she isn’t. When you get in, you have to set up the table and if you don’t find paperweights made of large gravel within reach quickly enough, the tablecloth ends up flying off. The further it’s blown the more difficult it gets because you like to park on the edges of farmland. Cows consider cheap linen a premium option to grass it seems and you can’t sell bouquets without a cute little tablecloth. It may be a roadside stand, but it’s still a business. There are standards to uphold.

It takes precision, one that requires the use of your compass app on your phone to gauge the perfect spot among the beautiful wild grass, sweltering sun, and drying cow dung. Then with a snap of your chair and an open umbrella, you set your stand up lush with greenery and vibrance, from backyard to roadside.

The rest of the day is full of intermittent interactions, of school children with innocent crushes and lost tourists who buy flowers as payment. Your umbrella follows the rotation of the sun and when you get thirsty, you share a bit of your own water with your bouquets as well. 

It’s a modest life. A simple one. A stress-free one.

“Welcome back!” The reminder is worth it. Your greeting is breezy and light, just like the sway of leaves on your bouquets. “Need more flowers?”

What is it with this recent weather here in Hyogo? It has him constantly looking like the main character of a movie with the way the sun casts a golden glow on half of his frame and clothes billowing the other. Who has blessed him with this benefit? The wind goddess? Because if so, what had you done wrong because all it lands you is dust in your eyes and hair stuck to your lips.

In an effort to remain polite and cordial and to retain your valued proclamation of a family-friendly business, your eyes glance down at the bag in his hands. There’s a large character on the bag, one that you recognize matches the cap he wears. It’s pleated neatly as if someone had taken care to avoid wrinkling the edges, careful in its presentation.

“Ya ain’t going to call me pretty this time?”

He effectively gets your attention at his statement, a goading simper on his lips when you catch his eyes that pulls an entertained glimmer in your own. It’s easy to get caught up in his presence, a drawstring pulling you loose at his easy words and you wonder really, who is standing at the vendor side of the table.

You pucker your face, an exaggerated expression that prickles the corners of his lips. It’s earnest and you almost lose yourself in wanting to smile at him. Almost.

“It’s not cute when you have to ask for it.”

“Wasn’t trying to be cute,” he mutters to the side. The confidence is replaced with petulance. You have little time to admire the way his bottom lip protrudes, a shiny shimmer lining the plumpest part of his lip, because he shoves the contents in his hands onto yours. It’s like if he didn’t, you would have declined him. The takeout bag lands dumbly in your arms as you stare up at him. You think it’s the residual warmth of it, the heft of it, meaning the contents inside must be hearty and fulfilling that leaves you speechless.

“Hope I can win some points with this, then.”

“This.”

“Lunch. I didn’t see ya have any last time I came by.”

“Oh, I just…” You look back at your little van. The door is brandished open, revealing the inside of the vehicle. There’s the thrifted seat covers Aunty got, blue plaid that isn’t quite your style but very much her price, and the groovy little flower pot you have taped to your dashboard that bobs its head at every swerve of a pothole which is your addition, very much your style. The small little trash can is hidden near the foot of your passenger side that’s accumulated at least two week’s worth of jelly pouches and stray bags of snacks didn’t seem to need much mentioning. So you gesticulate, feeling quite clumsy at your stand for once.

“Figured as much,” is all the man says to you. Then he taps the bag twice, eyeing your purposely, “and I told ya I can make a mean meal. Looked like ya didn’t believe me so I had to prove ya wrong.”

You pinch the swell of your lip with a canine, “you’re doing this out of imaginary spite?”

“Honor,” he corrects.

Your hand thoughtlessly moves to cover your left eye.

Then in a deeper voice, straight from the chest, “I must find the Avatar and restore my honor.”

“Ya think I’m like Zuko?”

The shriek you emit startles him. He takes an exaggerated step back with a palm as the first line of defense but you’re unperturbed because in the midst of his shock, is an entertained quirk in his lips.

“You’ve watched Avatar?”

He drops the hand now, fully grinning, “who hasn’t?”

“Points! You have all the points, you pretty, beautiful man with the very good taste.”

And though he’s the one who asked for it, he gets uncharacteristically shy when you finally say it. You pause, taking in the way a finger rises to brush his cheek as his chin dips to his chest. The movement taunts your own, as if a string is drawn from his chin to your chest as it constricts with a want that shouldn’t be there.

It all comes back, that breezy feeling as the wind picks up his hair again. The man places a palm flat to your table as you hover all your plant babies. They brustle under your care and you have to close your eyes when the flapping of nylon behind picks up. He shuffles himself to the side which softens the wind’s blow as he grabs onto your awning to hold it down. The two of you stay there under the wind’s torment. If you had your eyes open, you would have noticed that the man’s gaze never left you.

You run your hands across your face, the breath of a deep sign finally withheld from your chest when it’s over. See, you mentally think, assessing the damage to your goods. They’re slightly ruffled, not as quite picturesque, but no losses. You might have to redo a couple of bows or sell some at a discount if anything. And Auntie tells you this isn’t hard work.

“Thanks,” you grin at the guy who helped you through the small blustery storm, but quickly, you’re disarmed at the racing in your chest from the vision of him. He has arms up as he pulls back down the nylon that had been displaced. The muscles in his back flex against his tight shirt leaving you in an enchanted stupor. Ridges form in the large expanse, an eruption of new land, and suddenly you’re ready to put a hat on and call yourself an archaeologist.

His Ghibli appeal has gone off the ratings. Or maybe your mind has.

You clear your throat. He looks at you, torturously attractive, and you can’t meet him back.

“Flowers, right?” You sound lame so you play with an arrangement that’s gone astray. A red camellia is askew, far from the rest of its friends. You pick it up and dust the sticky pollen that’s painted its petals before returning it back to its rightful spot. “What’s the occasion this time?”

“Oh.” He mutters it so softly that you can’t help but glance up. He’s surprised, as if the statement is shocking. You want to reach for the feeling that it lights up in you, but against all desire, you let it snuff out into the small squall that has sprung into your stand.

“You can’t have just come here to drop me off food from,” and you pick up the bag to read the character, “the shrine?”

“Onigiri Miya.”

“Miya. Why does that sound so familiar?”

“It’s the best restaurant around.”

“No, that’s not it,” you’re too busy thinking of where exactly you’d heard that name to notice the way his face wilts. “I feel like I know someone or something. I just can’t remember…”

“Miya Atsumu?”

You snap your fingers, “yes! the volleyball player for… for uhm–”

“MSBY.”

“Yes! That’s it! My deskmate was obsessed with him. Oh my god, do you know him?”

Your delighted mood stutters at the cross of his arms. It’s the first time he seems unwelcoming, miffed even. His eyes fall to the table now, chewing on his cheek, and you notice the way his nose slightly flares when he breathes in.

“Oh no. Is he a conceited asshole?”

“Ain’t even the start of it.” The response is quick, as if defensive. Or maybe instinctive? He seems to know him quite well.

“Oh, don’t tell me. My deskmate is going to be crushed. I mean, the whole hand-fist thing he does on court is one thing, but it’s kind of sexy how he commands a crowd, you know? But I could totally see it. He does give horrible boss vibes.”

“Ya think Tsumu’s my boss?”

Now the man before you looks absolutely crestfallen. It aches you with the urge to apologize even if you don’t know what for.

“Hey, I’m—” you quickly cut your breath because is saying sorry even the right thing to do?

He shakes his head and picks an arrangement closest to him. “No worries. I’ll take these.”

He’s out before you even have a chance to reach for change, but before he goes, he doesn’t fail to remind you.

“Make sure ya eat.”

So you’re lying. Maybe working a floral roadside stand isn’t hard work. Maybe it’s just a lot of sitting and waiting and scrolling through social media and searching up wild boar attacks and going on deep dives of a couple of Olympic athlete’s socials. And when you finally reach the end, photos from 2014 that have an unpolished finish and grainy texture untouched by a PR team, one that you have to zoom with two fingers and a withheld breath, wary you’d accidentally like it, do you just sigh.

Because that’s it. You’ve finally hit the bottom of the seemingly never ending void of the internet and the last public photo of him to exist is from his and his brother’s graduation date.

So you call your deskmate for more information because if there were any resource to trust, it’d be him.

It’s not even hard to coax the details out. One small mention of the joint calendar you two shared, a quick, wasn’t your favorite athlete on there? Who was it again? and you’ve created a spiraling madness of all things Miya Atsumu. 

“He’s a libra sun and he went to Inarizaki High where he was captain of the volleyball team in his final year. His official height according to the Olympic roster is 187 cm and his favorite food is fatty tuna.”

“Fatty tuna?” Your mouth waters instinctively at the bite you had snuck in while Auntie wasn’t looking. When the man had brought you lunch all those days ago, you don’t know who exactly he was trying to feed because the two of you had leftovers for at least two meals over. And that’s only because you had to beg Auntie to share.

“Yeah, specifically fatty tuna onigiri made by his brother.” A bubble of breath creates a blockade in your throat. You still at the mention of him. “His twin brother.”

“He has a twin?” you ask softly, so unconvincingly innocent but any reason for your deskmate to keep prattling on.

“Oh yeah, just as hot as Atsumu actually. He played volleyball too but decided he didn’t want to go pro. Atsumu talks about him in interviews all the time. He’s his favorite teammate…”

You want to listen, learn more about your customer that you’ve so frivolously flirted with, but your mind wanders to those hands. The ones with the sanrio bandaid idling behind the register at his shop as he looks at the readymade onigiri in the display case up front. Him in all his Ghibli grandeur, the tight  black shirt, the hat, and the small sheen of sweat that covers the short hairs on his nape.

His hair sways from the wind despite him being inside. (It’s your imagination and not everything has to be realistically sound.) You can imagine him with one arm crossed and the other bent with his chin between the crook of his thumb, pondering what flavors of onigiri he should give you before heaving a sigh and taking a towel to wipe at his neck.

Of course he gives you a couple original onigiri. Popular in its simplicity, it’s easy to taste talent in the meager ingredients. But for you to receive a fatty tuna one, it seems purposeful. There’s meaning to his choices and it forces your heart aflutter, even if you might be making this all up.

“…but the best part of Miya Atsumu is how endearingly clumsy he is. There’s all these videos of him tripping on court. I’ve got to send you some. Hold on. I’ve got some saved here.” You hear clicking on their end and then he laughs. “Oh my god, I have to send you this interview too. I have so many videos saved. Do you want them all?”

“Yeah, yeah.” The response is mindless as you continue tapping your foot, playing with your tablecloth in the process. You’ll take any crumbs you can get since you doubt he’d ever come back to your stand after you’d offended him.

Ugh. If not for the overwhelming guilt you’ve been sleeping with, you can’t even believe you’d said that.Goose flesh bubbles on your arms that you physically have to stave off as you remember how your last interaction happened. You called his own twin brother his boss, completely undermined all the hard work he’d probably put in to get his business out there, and basically demoted him.

It shouldn’t be that big of a deal, you know. He was just a customer. But no matter how many times you tell yourself that, it never becomes more convincing.

Maybe that’s how it started and maybe that’s what made the flirting so easy, but it was the shy look he’d get whenever you called him pretty. And it was when he’d brought you lunch of his brother’s favorite. And the feel of his skin beneath your fingertips. And–

“I’ve got to go.”

You throw your phone to the side as you stand up, rigid with your hands behind your back. Your hands throw themselves behind your back as you fidget in your spot. Fingers pinch between each other, twisting and turning this nervousness that you have no idea how to hold because he’s back. Devastatingly as beautiful as ever.

Your lips roll inward because there’s so much you want to say but you can’t quite parse what you’re trying to express. Apologize, of course, but you also want to say you miss him. How appropriate would that be?

The metal clank of his truck door slamming closed pulls you out of your reverie. He approaches, a more serious look on his face than ever before and for some reason, his gaze falls downward at the dirty clouds of dust every step of his makes. It’s as though he cannot even look you in the eye.

To be deprived of something you’d always had, it turns idle hands into fists.

“Welcome back, Miya-san.” You bow to show your earnestness. When his shadow doesn’t come, you look up to see him stalled mid-step.

He looks at you in bewilderment. The pause is intensified by the way the wind blows. It sways his bangs as his tongue peaks out to moisten his lips. The cellophane wrapped around your bouquets rustles. You hold his gaze, hands still jittering behind your back, fiddling with unspoken words you can’t bring yourself to say.

Miya Osamu. With a name and a background not formed from your imagination, and finally, his presence real and in front of you, the desire swells. It slips between your fingertips and forms into something far larger than you can manage. Like hanging a hand outside of a moving car.

“Miya-san?” he repeats back to you but there’s this contagious grin on his features that lightens you inside. You have to bring your hand to your chest, tamping your heart in before it leaps out.

“I had to look you up. I’m sorry about last time, for calling Miya-san, er, Miya Atsumu-san–”

“Call me Osamu. Or Samu. Ya can leave Miya-san for my shitty brother.”

You wring your t-shirt into a fist at the idea, introducing yourself to him. He nods brightly at you when you do. “Well thank you, Osamu, for lunch last time. My Auntie and I enjoyed it very much and she agrees. You own the number one restaurant around.”

The ecstasy on his face is infectious. You have to smile too, though you know that you’re probably fueling an ego that is large on its own. It’s fine, you think. What’s life without a little indulgence?

“Well ya tell her that she’s welcome to stop by any time.” Then he gives you a pointed look, “and tell her that she should bring ya along. It’s only right that ya visit me next time around.”

You bow, not out of gratitude but only to hide your elation. “Thank you for your loyalty.”

“Like I said, ya got me.” He brings his thumb to rub at his jaw. This time, you notice he’s shaved. “Ya had lunch yet?”

You shake your head and he tells you to wait right there. You ask him where else would you go. Then he runs to his car, rummages through his front seat, butt bent over for you to see, and he quickly scurries back with another pleated bag in his hands.

“Mind if I sit here?” He points to an upside down milk crate that you use to hold your vases and you simply urge him on, sitting with him. “Ya should start bringing ya own food. Didn’t ya listen to me when I said ya should eat? It’s basically dinner time and I won’t always be available to stop by.”

“I bring snacks. Besides, I thought you said I’ve got you,” you flutter your eyes, annoyingly teasing. He entertains you with a small chuckle.

“Ya do. Favorite roadside stand around.”

“I’m the only stand around.”

He bends his neck back to laugh, “ain’t that right. Bit of a drive to get out here.” Then he pulls out the contents of his packed lunch. “Which one ya want?”

“The one that’s your favorite.”

To your surprise, he hands you a fatty tuna onigiri. You take it, wide-eyed and enamored. “Tell me why this one is your favorite.”

He looks at the onigiri in your hand with a fond expression, affection oozing from just his gaze. But his answer is despite that.

“No big reason. Just my favorite to make.”

What a liar. What an endearing, little liar that has you hiding your cheesy grin behind your hands.

“What?” he asks innocently.

You shake your head, “nothing.”

He speculates, ponders you with a side glance, before letting it go. “Well, mind telling me how ya ended up in the roadside business? Pretty peculiar if ya ask me.”

“I don’t think anyone asked you,” you mention wryly as you unwrap the clingfilm around your onigiri. He snatches it from your palms with a chuffed grin.

“Brats don’t deserve my food.”

“Hey.”

“Don’t ya pout at me with them puppy dog eyes. It ain’t gonna work.”

You blink rapidly, jutting your bottom lip forward. He holds your gaze and it’s a valiant effort. The poker face would fool you. If only he could he hide the breadth of his chest and the way it heaves at every passing second.

Still, he does not budge. So you succumb with a nod. The loss is not so bad when you get to see his victorious face, a smugness that only amplifies his boyishness, the small scar on his brow pulling taut.

“Fine,” you say as he tosses you back your onigiri. “It usually does.”

“Grew up with a soppy ass brother. I’m desensitized as it is.”

There’s more you want him to divulge, but you don’t press. Not when you had prodded in the wrong way last time. If he’s going to share pieces of himself, you’ll let him do it on his own accord. (And then maybe you might sneakily stalk him on the internet but who doesn’t?)

You unwrap it and allow your hands to follow the grooves of rice beneath the seaweed. You nibble at the top, let the wrapping melt upon your tongue with a burst of salt and umami. Spurned by the taste, saliva pools in your mouth.

He nudges you with his shoulder, almost completely knocking you out of your chair. He scoffs at what he believes is probably an exaggerated reaction but does he even realize how big he is? A granule of rice pops from his mouth and onto his shirt. He sweeps it off without a hint of embarrassment.

“Go on now,” he says to you, “tell me ya story.”

You take a bite out of the onigiri. It’s preciously held between your hands, handling it with care just as you assume Osamu had done in every step before this. At first, you’d done it just to gather your thoughts because though it’s not much of a story. It feels like a whirlwind of a lifetime since the start of your stand, but Osamu grows antsy. He starts bouncing his foot beneath him in small little movements so as to not kick up dust. So you hold off just a little longer, relishing the undivided attention he provides you.

“There’s not much to tell,” you reminisce of a past life, one that’s more regimented, one that abided by the hour of the clock than the pattern of the sun. “I was a regular corporate peon working in those multi-storied buildings with the business clothes and everything.”

The man gives you a look, as if he couldn’t even imagine you in corporate clothing.

“I can clean up nicely if I wanted to.”

“If ya wanted to.” He repeats knowingly, as if he’s suddenly in on a secret you’re privy to. 

“If I wanted,” you reiterate. Osamu doesn’t threaten to taunt you any further so you continue. “I just did it because everyone does it. I respected my seniors, never turned down an invitation to drink after our shift, and when I was no longer the newbie, I extended the invite to the coworkers under me.”

The way you speak feels out of place, like you’re not telling your own story, but someone else’s. Which in reality, it’s true. That was a different person who lived that life and definitely not twho you are now.

“And as business cycles do, it lulled and I was laid off.” Osamu wants to say something, but can’t seem to find the words. So you save him by ignoring the silence and move along. “Working was my whole personality and I didn’t know what to do with myself afterwards. But is it weird? My boss told me the news and for some reason, the first feeling I had was relief. I was relieved I didn’t have to wake up at dawn again just to get ready. I could do whatever I wanted and wake up when I wanted and go wherever I wanted. But then the reality set in. This society is so structured that I had no idea what I even wanted with the freedom I had because everything is decided for you. You know what I mean?”

He only hums beside you, listening intently and allowing you the stage. It’s nice, you realize. Auntie, as supportive as she is, has a tendency to make you feel guilty even unintentionally. It’s hard to diverge from the paved path that society likes for everyone to follow and the journey has been rigorous. It may have led you to a backroad of wild grass and dust, but even then, you know you’d rather have that than the heavily trekked footpath of the soulless.

“You go to school and you take all these prep courses, go to club activities, and then you go to college. You’re expected to basically plan your life the moment you speak your first word and your parents and teachers all like to tell you you’re special when in reality, you’re just a number. I was a quota, not a name. I was defined by metrics and not really by who I was. It didn’t matter how many after work dinners I accepted or offered.

“I hated that. And I remember vividly the moment I realized it. It was the first time in a long time I ever felt strongly about something and the last time before that was watering flowers in my Auntie’s garden.”

“So ya Auntie got ya selling these flowers?”

You snort, remembering the fiery ire of your beloved maternal figure. You broke the news to her during a random session where she’d pulled out her karaoke kit to belt out an off-Broadway (off-off-Broadway. Like Broadway in a different country off) rendition of Let It Go from the famous children’s movie. You thought her good mood could compete over your complete disappointment and figured the sentimentality of it all would be convincing. It, unfortunately, had not been.

She had sung-yelled her lecture at you, feedback from the mic and all. Reminded you it was just a hobby and that hobbies do not make money. You did so anyways, worked like you had something to prove. You bought off her secondhand van that she had no use for anymore with a portion of your savings, roamed across cities, met and learned so many things, and eventually claimed your space here.

“Not really. She was so mad at me but she couldn’t say anything when she had more flowers than she could give out for free. I don’t have any talent growing them. Even arranging them required a lot of classes to get it just right. I’m still winging it most of the time, but I guess Auntie saw something in me that made her just accept it. Maybe like renewed vigor because even if it’s not her first choice, she’s still the one who leaves a basket out for me every day after her morning pickings.”

You look at the arrangements displayed before you and then at the onigiri in your hand, turning it over as you admire the handiwork he’d put in. “I never wanted to be a number ever again.”

“I get ya.” Osamu’s voice is pitched so soft you can’t help but look at him. His onigiri has been long devoured so he displays all his attention on you. You feel so seen, you almost feel just as shy as you would be if you were found naked in public.

“Everyone expected my brother and I to go pro. Volleyball.” He adds offhandedly, “and I think I wouldn’t have minded doing that if I had to. I could see a future doing it just because I’d already done it all my life. We started playing when we were young and I ain’t gonna lie, I was pretty good. Still am to be honest.”

“You’re very modest,” you note.

“Thank ya,” he supplies wryly. The two of you share a knowing look with tilted smiles though he’s far more beautiful when he does, wind charming his hair into a pretty tussle. “But I know I would have been doing it all for the wrong reasons. Tsumu’s in love with volleyball. I’m telling ya, he’d marry the sport if he could, and I love it, just not exactly like him. And we’d always been a set. They’d call us the twins of volleyball, but he was older and more obsessed. He was invited to this youth training camp while I just stayed at home and maybe I’m just like ya. I was tired of being a number but if I had to be, I wanted to be number one.”

Pride blossoms within you. It makes you grin at him. “The best restaurant in town.”

He gives a quiet, little chuckle. It’s very different from its predecessors. Small, contained, and fond. You hold your breath so you don’t stir it. “Yeah and mind ya, my brother hated the idea just like ya Auntie. We argued, made it everyone’s business because that’s just how we are, but eventually he came around. Not without a fight though.”

“Who won?”

Offense saturates his features, “course I did.”

“Maybe he was just being a nice, older brother and let you win.”

“Ya have no idea how Tsumu is and it shows.”

“Actually,” you point out, “my deskmate who’s obsessed with him says he’s clumsily endearing and that his favorite food,” you hold up the onigiri you’d been coddling with a satisfied smirk, “is fatty tuna. What a coincidence, right?”

Instead of being embarrassed, a single glimmer flecks his beautiful, slate eyes, “ya think ya so smart, don’t ya?”

“No, not at all. I’m actually very modest.”

You settle into a comfortable silence. His company is welcomed and he sits, eyeing the surroundings and your tablecloth and your awning, and he keens his neck to take a peek into the inside of your van while you chew on the onigiri he proffered.

You roll your final bite between your fingers before popping it into your mouth. “What else do you have planned today?”

The question has Osamu jumping up in his seat. It makes you almost tilt out of yours. He looks wide-eyed, like a fox who’d just heard a twig snap. Then eerily, he turns to look at you with that same helpless expression he’d first come with to your stand.

“I’ve got to make a dinner.”

“Oh.” The sentence is innocent, but the weight of it makes your stomach lurch. Its implication is obvious. He doesn’t say anything, only watches the way your expression changes so you do your best to school it back into something more controlled.

You had known this since meeting him from the very beginning. He was out dating and socializing and surely meeting very nice people that would be perfect life partners. You were never a contender, just the romantic means to a successful date.

“You better get going,” you urge by standing up. “You can’t be late for another date. Here, the flowers are on me this time.”

“Ya don’t need to do that.”

“It’s my treat,” you insist. “Which one would you like?”

He looks down to deliberate on his choices far longer than you expect. “I liked the ones that ya brought to the grocery store.”

It takes you a beat to even garner an inkling of what he’s talking about.

“Ya know, that one that ya brought for ya special someone?”

Special someone? Who in the world? It finally hits you that he’s talking about the corndog incident and the flowers you’d brought for Ito on behalf of your Auntie. She wanted to thank him for walking her to her car.

“Oh. You want something like that?” Those were more of an arrangement that spoke of gratitude, not romance.

He shrugs a single shoulder. “Something like that. They liked it, right?”

You nod and he shrugs again, pensive this time.

“Then yeah, something like that. Whatever ya recommend.”

It had been a decent day with only slim pickings left. You look at your display stand, mulling over your choices. Instinctively, you pluck an arrangement from the center and hand them to him. He looks it over. There’s a cute crinkle to the bridge of his nose when he dips his face near them.

“Ya sure I can have these?” he looks over to you with a cute quirk in his brow.

You nod and he gratuitously accepts. He walks away with color fluttering in his hands. What he doesn’t know is that he holds the hues of your heart.

They’re your favorite flowers.

There’s something ominous about the way Auntie holds onto the crook of your elbow. Her bony fingers dig in and the meat in your arms is not enough to soften her touch.

“Auntie,” you’re begging as your freehand tries to pry the grip of her fingers, “loosen up a little, geez.”

She only grasps harder, a click on her tongue as she provides you a stony glare, “you’re walking too slow.”

“It’s not going anywhere,” you remind her. “For someone with a bad hip, you sure are walking fast. Will you please calm down? You know I can’t lie to Dr. Sarada if she asks me if you’ve been overworking yourself. That woman is a saint.”

There’s no argument to be made because what you’ve just said is not a lie. The doctor is a walking patron, the embodiment of miracles and kindness. Auntie repays her by slowing down but with the small grumblings beneath her breath, you know she’s only doing this for her and not for you.

When the two of you arrive at the restaurant, it’s packed to the brim. There’s a small line out the door. Auntie starts complaining lowly again, saying if you’d walked faster then you would have avoided this. There’s hardly any true animosity beneath her tone, but you know she means her words even when you tell her that a few extra seconds saved would not have been enough.

You leave her on a bench nearby so she can rest her legs while you wait in line. Of course it makes sense for the best restaurant in town to have a line outside, and it’s not like you thought the claim was false, just maybe slightly exaggerated. The truth proves you wrong and after a half hour, you’re finally at the front of the line.

The hostess excuses herself for just a second so she can lead the group in front of you to a seat. She comes back to tell you that there should be another table ready in about ten minutes. Auntie won’t be happy, but once she finally satisfies her craving for Osamu’s food, it’ll be nothing but sweet hummings from her.

You busy yourself with a mindless game on your phone when you hear the call of your name. He’s even more devastatingly beautiful with the apron on. You wave shyly when you notice a woman at the end of the bar turn your direction. She smiles knowingly at you as Osamu beckons you in.

“Excuse me,” you mutter as you pass the hostess and stand awkwardly behind seated patrons. Osamu wears the same uniform, but this time with a towel around his neck. He moves to brush the tip of his lips, holding your gaze when he does. When he’s done, he reveals this delighted smile that has your heart shamefully stuttering.

This is no way to look at a taken man. 

“Gotta be honest, I’m surprised to see ya.”

“Of course. I had to visit my…” you pause, because there’s no way you can call him handsome now without it being an awfully truthful burden. He looks on, so you finish lamely, “customer.”

Your name is uttered again but not by Osamu this time. You look to your left and find a middle aged woman eyeing you up and down. It’s nerve wracking and you almost wish you didn’t make eye contact so you could just pretend you didn’t hear her.

“Is that ya name?”

“Yes.”

She smiles with a sly look on her face that seems so familiar and it all makes sense when you hear Osamu again.

“Ma,” it’s a strained warning, soft, scared. Embarrassed?

You look at her again in a renewed light. When the sun hits Osamu just right, their hair color matches. Her easy to read expression reminds you of the candor you’ve witnessed in all these videos of Miya Atsumu your deskmate had sent you but the way she carries herself is all Osamu.

Atsumu is intense and commanding. From all the videos you’ve watched, even the squeak of his sneakers has a distinctive sound that forces everyone’s attention. The two Miyas in front of you attract flock with mellow waters. It’s a calm draw, an easy thing to sink into.

“Osamu, baby, grab another chair.” She strikes the tabletop beside her. The sound is sharp. “Ya come over here and ya sit by me. Pack in like a tin of sardines, why don’t we?”

“I came here with my Aunt,” you try to divert.

“Well what are ya waiting for? Grab her!” The woman gets up so she can scooch her seat closer to the other patrons. “Osamu, two chairs!”

It seems you and Osamu are both under the rule of a domineering maternal figure. Auntie is happy to find out her wait is over and even happier to notice that her seat is at the bar where she can watch the magic happen.

“The corndogs you got me could never compare to this.” Your nose scrunches at her unfair comparison.

“Ya’ve had my son’s onigiri before?”

“Only a sample because I had to share with this one.”

It was a mistake to sit in the middle. Where’s Osamu to act as a buffer? Your eyes flick to the back of his restaurant only to find a controlled madness of people and food and plates. 

“I shared it with you.”

“Oh, don’t ya bicker now. I’m sure my baby will send ya home with a truckload if ya accepted.”

“Really?”

The polite laugh you emit hardly hides your true feelings. “Auntie, we don’t have enough fridge space.”

“Ya better fill up here then. I had Osamu start a special batch for the two of ya.” The Miya matron passes you a contraption that holds a multitude of small containers. “Ya need any sauces?”

You decline while Auntie graciously accepts. She busies herself with concocting her perfect complement to the food she’s about to eat while you settle in an uncomfortable silence. Osamu’s Ma won’t stop eyeing you with her knowing grin. You feel like a specimen underneath her gaze, finding things about you that you don’t even know yourself.

And because you’re searching for something to do, and not so much that you’re eager to impress the mother of a handsome man/stranger/customer/guy who brings you lunch every so often, you reach into your bag to pull out the small batch of florals you’d forgotten about.

The vision of your favorite flowers renews a sense of pride and confidence in you. You’re finally able to meet her in the eye and hand them to her in complete assurance.

“I brought these because Osamu always brings me something when he visits. To liven up the place but please accept this as gratitude. Thank you for sharing a meal with us.”

She twirls the flower by the stem with a honeyed expression. It’s wistful when she says, “ain’t ya a pretty thing.”

Something spurs on in your stomach because in the middle of her sentence, she decides to look at you. She breathes in deeply. The open end of her cardigan spreads as she does and then deliberately, with a low and slow tone, “ya know what. I’ve got to ask ya. What do ya think of my son over there?”

You flutter at her forwardness. Eyes follow her pointed finger to find Osamu’s back (the deliciously rippled back) turned to you, bent over something steaming. It seems your gaze must be telling because when you look back at the woman, she’s giving you a conspiratorial grin.

“He’s nice!” you deflect by naming an objective truth. Osamu is kind. He doesn’t have to continue his patronage, doesn’t have to bring along something for you to eat, but he always does. Every interaction you’ve had with him has been a good one.

“I think so too,” Mother Miya confirms. Then she props her head in her hands with an elbow bent on the table and provides you a lazy look. “Ya know he works too much.”

You look around. The restaurant is a blur of interaction. There’s a baby crying and two uncles gossiping over fish prices. It looks like there’s a group of students who’d meant to study but succumbed to easy conversation between each other. Employees weave through the crowds in practiced motions, quiet tables filled with the sound of indulgent chewing. It’s lively and so very human.

“It looks like it’s worth it.”

She smiles at your response, as if it was the correct reply to provide. “Ya really think that, don’t ya?”

“I do.” It’s impossible not to raise your inflection at her question. Of course you do. It’s not hard to see that this is where Osamu belongs. You try your best to imagine him in the same uniform that his brother dons, with a number and jersey on his back. It’s easy to slap his face on top of Miya Atsumu’s and change the hairstyle and color just a bit. With the way the athlete plays, you’re sure that Osamu could wear a similar presence on court.

But there’s something about the way he looks in apron and the way he fits behind a bar that’s beyond any Ghibli romance or appeal. He’s the reason, the source, the one who’d whisked everyone into his restaurant.

“Both of them are like that,” she takes a sip of her water before continuing. “I don’t know what I did but somehow I’ve raised two of the hardest working boys. Ya know he’s a twin, right? Ya want to see my other one?”

Osamu’s mother doesn’t even wait for your response, unlocking her phone to barrage you with an album full of her beloved children. You lean in closer to her shoulder so you can get a better look, eager to rid yourself of the attention she had on you.

Osamu was a very cute baby and a horribly awkward teen. He hardly smiled in pictures during high school so you’re happy to see the more recent ones where he is.

“This was us after Atsumu’s first pro game.” She zooms in on the picture, “that’s sweet Aran, their childhood friend.” Then swipes to the left so it’s only the twins on screen. They wear pride the same. That, you notice immediately. Then she zooms in closer onto Atsumu’s face, “doesn’t he look so happy?”

You hum. He does. The two of you admire his expression, but you spend more time trying to dissect the differences between the two. You’re so caught up in the moment that you don’t even realize Osamu’s set plates in front of you.

“Alright, he ain’t that interesting to look at.” He plucks his mother’s phone out of her hands with a grumble. Then turning to her, “I leave ya for just a second and ya causing trouble already.”

“Now ya know exactly how it feels. Don’t feel good, do it?” She looks at you, a teasing hushed into your ear. “The two of them gave me hell when they were younger. Ya don’t even know the start of it.”

“Ma,” Osamu whines again.

“Oh and this one,” she stands up to pinch his cheek to the point it looks like it hurts. Osamu squirms under her grip, the large man looking so small next to his mother. “He’s sweeter than he looks, I promise ya.” She moves to cradle his chin into the crook of her thumb, squeezing hard. “Gets a little moody sometimes and likes to curl in on himself like a fox in a dry patch of sun whenever he’s upset, but I’m telling ya, he’s a good boy.”

He reddens immediately and you can’t help but feel secondhand embarrassment for him, “Ma!”

“What?” she looks at him innocently, “ya don’t know how it broke my heart every time I heard ya dates didn’t go well. And then I find out it’s because ya late or ya wasn’t listening and I know I didn’t raise ya to be like that. I was worried ya was going to go gray in this restaurant all by yourself. Ya out here buying all these flowers but they end up on my kitchen counter instead. Of course ya had me worried.”

“Ma, no!”

“Ma, no, what?” Then she looks over to you, “you’re single too, ain’t ya?”

For all her behaved silence, Auntie finally decides to speak up. “They wish they weren’t.”

“Auntie!” It looks like you’ve joined the one worded whining.

She ignores you, looking at Osamu’s mom instead. “You should look at our karaoke history. Full of love songs.”

“That is mostly you.”

“Ya don’t have a special someone?”

Osamu’s voice makes you look up at him. Hopefulness is ladened upon his features; it makes your heart pang.

“Does my stuffed animal count?”

He smiles widely at you. It’s so stunning you feel like it’s only the two of you in the room. He looks down real quick then snaps his eyes back at you. “Ya had lunch yet?”

You shake your head, pressing your lips into your teeth to hide your joy. He takes his apron off in response, yells a quick farewell to his team. Then he grabs you plate, his other hand grabbing your arm, and ushers you out of his restaurant.

“Is this okay?” You can’t help but look back, feeling guilty. His Ma only waves you along, another knowing grin on her features as she scoots closer to your aunt. 

Osamu looks at you completely chuffed. “Course it is. I’m the boss.”

Glass vases clink a chiming sound at every reverberation of your van. They’re heavy as you toss the crates in, the springs doing their best to compensate for the weight.

A bead of sweat falls down the corner of your eye, bending you forward at the minor sting. The wind picks up a cooling breeze and you know from the sound of crunching gravel, he’s arrived.

“You’re late,” you cast a teasing glare the moment you can open both eyes. The glare of the sun blinds your vision, but as he continues walking forward, he obstructs it.

Osamu shakes his head. “Think I’m right on time.” He picks up the last bouquet you hadn’t been able to sell. “These for sale?”

“50% off just for you.”

“Bless ya,” he smiles but still hands you full price, forcing the money into your grip when you try to decline. Osamu walks behind your empty table and begins swiping the foreign crumbs. You’d already taken off the tablecloth but the man brought his own. He lays out a beautiful Ghibli themed quilt he had tucked under his arm and places a picnic basket down.

“How are ya?” He continues to set the table without looking up. There’s cutlery and canned beverages and many, many tupperwares of food.

“Hungry,” you say as you pull out the second lawn chair you keep in your van now.

“Good because we’re just about to have dinner.”

He places the final touch, a vase of flowers he’d just bought right in the middle. 

#reina.writeshaikyuu!! #haikyuu x reader #miya osamu x reader #osamu x reader #miya osamu fluff #bless me this is so long #still ill 🙂

[foxymoxynoona]

"Can I interest you in some cookies?" with a loving husband and father of two, Min Yoongi. please and thank you Foxy😌

Characters: Dad Yoongi x Reader Words: 4963 CW: references to sex, some swearing, otherwise just fluff

[Sugie]: need anything from store on my way home?

[Y/N]: onion diapers sz 4 wipes (NO scent!) kid toothpaste stwbry cucumber cheese sticks 

[Y/N]: bananas bandaids rice blueberries if on sale

[Y/N]: apple juice for kids 

[Y/N]: 8*stwbry flavor toothpaste

Yoongi reads between the lines of your disorganized list, no doubt dashed together as you whirl through the house to see what’s low or missing. You’re thinking about what to cook for dinner and seeing no onion. Size 4 diapers means Joo, who’s been leaking through the legs of her old kind since she started walking, a little on the late side but she’s really a power house now, especially when she runs headfirst into immovable objects; maybe she’s out of diapers or maybe you’ve had a day of cleaning the leaks and have made the call the toss the remaining ones. He’ll get the ‘active baby’ kind that Jungkook says work well because if it works for a kid of Jungkook’s it must work for Joo. The toothpaste will be for Kija and he disagrees they’re completely out because he’s still able to squeeze a little tiny bit but fine, he’ll give you this victory and go ahead and buy a new tube; maybe you’re hoping he’ll forget the argument that had seemed so important for some reason when you sent him the list the other day. He’s a little offended you don’t expect he’ll know the toothpaste has to be strawberry, not mint, but he’s learned his lesson that Kija will scream and cry and scrape at his mouth like it’s on fire. Three tubes of mint kids toothpaste wait in the cabinet for him to grow out of that someday.

Most of the food items are obvious but the bandaids could mean someone got hurt or that someone got into the box unsupervised. Kija is big on bandaids suddenly after two years of shrieking if you even tried to put one on and now suddenly every imagined bump needs a bandaid. 

But the rice…

[Sugie]: rice? I just bought some its in the bottom of the pantry

[Y/N]: bad storage place, got dump out all over kitchen

He sighs. 

Your typos gives him the image of you chasing children and dog through the house, texting distractedly while trying to get them corralled safely so you can make their early dinner. In the old days you texted as articulately as you spoke. He’ll cook something better for the two of you, he decides, and remembers to tell you that so you don’t just heat up extra dumplings for yourself too.

[Sugie]: i’ll cook so stay hungry

[Y/N]: k

Definitely busy. 

He makes quick work of the shopping trip, double checking he has everything on your list even though he had expected you’d only have one or two things for him because he was at the store two days ago. They don’t have strawberry kids toothpaste but hopefully watermelon will do –the bubblegum flavor he almost grabs has sparkles in it and Kija will decide that means it’s “spicy.” Yoongi is proud of himself for predicting this.

But now that he’s thinking about it, he feels bad about such a stupid argument about the toothpaste. Did it matter if you threw the tube away while there was still a squeeze or two left? You weren’t that cash-strapped right now. He didn’t know why he’d felt so strongly about his way being right. What a waste of energy, fighting with you over something stupid, when energy was already hard to come by.

So he grabs a box of cookies too, for you, the maple flavor ones that aren’t usually available outside of this time of year and sell out fast. They aren’t anything expensive, and definitely not as good as what you could bake on your own. But with two small children at home, him working full time and you still working part time as a compromise for juggling your careers and family, sometimes you have to take the shortcut to a treat. Boxed cookies instead of homemade. At least it was something.

The house is in chaos by the time Yoongi gets home and your stress level isn’t helping it. Knowing he was out busy but childless all day, you had hoped to have the kids settled, obedient, and clean when he walks through the door, to show what a good grip you have on things. He doesn’t expect it, but still you feel the need to prove that you can handle the kids all day just fine on your own and have it look tidy and have dinner on the table. The woman who does it all! After all, you’re the one who wanted to have the first kid. After all, you’re the one who suggested a second even though you had agreed on only one. Kija was too easy of a baby. He tricked you. And yes Yoongi had agreed, but when things didn’t go well, sometimes you felt like you’d tricked him too.

It is not a perfectly ordered and quiet household Yoongi walks into. You’ve made an appropriate snack for the kids to eat while waiting for Yoongi to get home with the ingredients for you to make the rest of dinner (or hopefully he will take over that part), but Joo choked on a piece of cracker and threw up a little, which scared you; Kija took advantage of your distraction to climb onto the back of the couch and throw his food onto the floor for Holy to gobble up; because Holy is there, you aren’t prepared for the puddle of pee in the hallway, which you step in as you’re dragging Joo to the nursery to clean up. When you yell at the unexpected warm puddle and jump to the side, you hit your shoulder on a picture frame, which crashes to the floor and shatters, making Joo cry. Kija and Holy come running to see what happened and you shriek at them to stay so they don’t walk through the glass, and Kija starts wailing at being shouted at.

This is what Yoongi walks into. You are on the verge of tears. One look at your husband’s surprised face is enough to nearly pitch you over the edge into your own meltdown. His lifted eyes feel like a lecture –but you should know better. He won’t lecture about something like this. Instead he scoops up Kija and takes Holy by the collar, guiding his dog son to the crate and his human son back to the TV. He returns a moment later with the broom, and you feel confident in picking your clear path the rest of the way to the nursery.

By the time you come back, Joo is clean and Yoongi is on his hands and knees cleaning up the dog pee and any small shards of glass. You suspect he’ll be out here again later tonight for one more wipe of the floor just to make sure there’s no glass left. You haven’t even said hello yet but you’re embarrassed he had to walk in and go right to problem-solving.

When he looks up at you, you start to apologize, “I’m sorry that–”

“Your leg is bleeding,” he points out. You hadn’t even noticed. The corner of the frame must have cut you on the way down.

So you settle Joo on the couch with Kija and go to clean yourself up this time. You finish around the same time Yoongi is bagging up the last of the dirty paper towels.

“Sorry about–” you start again, but this time he interrupts you with narrowed eyes, realizing, “Kids are too quiet.”

The two of you share a look and step quickly to the living room where bright flashy cartoons are lighting up an empty room. A toddler’s laugh is followed by the urgent hush of a child. And Holy is no longer in his crate.

“Kija,” Yoongi murmurs as you both follow the sound of nails scrabbling excitedly against tile –Holy, but that good pup never operates alone. You both dart to the kitchen to just stare in awe for a moment at the scene of chaos.

The grocery bags Yoongi set onto the counter have been upended. Holy has turned from the onions but the cucumbers are being shredded before your eyes. Joo has a fistfull as well that has no doubt gone through Holy’s mouth prior, but her other hand delicately holds a single cookie, still intact despite the fountain of crumbs around her. 

Kija is the cause of the waterfall, of course. He’s perched innocently on the counter, feet dangling, a box of cookies you weren’t even aware was on its way into the house ripped open like a fucking bear got to it and the cookies are mangled, pieces strewn across the counter, across Kija’s lap, and cascading down to Joo.

“Holy likes cookies,” Kija informs you and Yoongi with a crumby smile. You dart forward to knock the dog-masticated cucumber from Joo’s hand but it means she takes another bite of cookie before you can wrestle that from her too. The tantrum is instant as you pull her up, kicking and screaming, the whole bit because she’s clearly hoping her appa will insist you give the cookie back to her.

“You got into the bags,” Yoongi says, voice serious but steady. He scoops Kija off the counter, sending the cookies falling from his lap. Holy goes wild at the sound of more falling food and you’re the one to grab him, dragging him straight backwards as he scrabbles to try and stay. By the time he’s back in his crate, Yoongi has Kija and Joo both on the counter, feet in the sink as he rinses their toes and hands off. 

Only then do you recognize the smell of the maple cookies you enjoy so much; it’s almost enough to tip you truly into tears to realize Yoongi brought home your favorite cookies and not only did you not have a clean, orderly house for him to enter but now the cookies have been destroyed while he was cleaning up another mess that happened on your watch.

He’s mumbling to the kids and shaking his head; when you come over to offer to take over, he has a smile for you and finally a greeting,

“Seems like it’s been a crazy day, huh?”

“Yes,” is all you can manage as you collapse briefly against his arm, just for the comfort his his solid body. His energy immediately resets you. 

Yoongi’s home. The evening will be better now.

He lifts Joo from the sink first, settling her into your arms to hold as he towels off her toes with the dish towel, then he twists Kija.

“Ah, you were a naughty boy not helping your eomma,” he scolds Kija lightly as he works the towel. “If it’s a crazy day, it’s even more important for you to be a big brother.”

“I do help,” Kija defends. “I feed Joo! She is so hungry and I am so hungry too. It is past our dinner! And you’re late! Why did you go away all day today? It’s not the right thing to do.” He points at the digital readout on the fridge magnet to punctuate his reverse lecture, except not only can Kija not tell time, it’s not a clock, it’s an egg timer. The time right now is definitely not 02:17, that’s just how long was left when Yoongi cooked yesterday and decided the meat was ready before the timer went off and paused it so the beeping wouldn’t wake Joo up from an impromptu nap.

But now that he’s given his defense, Kija’s mouth widens out in that line Yoongi knows appears on his own face, and he gives his father a serious look, trying to gauge how in trouble he actually is.

“No one was bad,” you offer. “Just… busy. Today was a busy day.”

“It was a very busy day,” Kija agrees. He sounds like such a little man, sometimes you have to remind yourself that barely-four is still a very little kid. He watches Yoongi another second but then decides he’s not in trouble and launches into, “Eomma took us to the library for story time and it was about robots! I want to be the blue robot and Joo can be the green robot and you can be the white robot and–”

“Why are the kid books and shows all about robots?” Yoongi sighs, even though he knows that’s not totally true. 

Kija insists hotly, “There are buses and cars too! And airplanes and–”

“Don’t you like animals?” Yoongi presses. “What about mountains and the sea?”

You can’t stop yourself from snickering under your breath, “Yes I married such a nature-boy…”

“I like natural things! Didn’t I make that table and chairs for us?” He had, the very ones nestled in the corner of the kitchen where the four of you would gather to eat what was looking more and more like a dinner of takeout. With a self-aware smile, Yoongi adds, “I like nature as long as I have my computer and electricity and a fan. Then it’s ok. But robots… I want our children to appreciate the natural beauty in life.”

“I want to play with your phone,” Kija counters, a perfectly timed response, on theme even without him understanding how.

Yoongi gives you a look and laughs at his son as he sets him on the ground, “No. Go sit in silence and be alone with your thoughts.”

“I hate silence! I hate my thoughts!”

Now Yoongi is laughing; he’s never lost patiences when Kija gets mouthy, which he seems to do more now, though the obstinacy started as a toddler. He sounds like you, Yoongi had once insisted when you’d worried, but the truth is he sounds like Yoongi more often than you; you’re convinced he already has a sharp wit and a dry sense of humor, just like his dad. But he does happen to be going through a robot and race car phase, which Yoongi can’t identify with, and Kija does not seem to enjoy music in any particular way despite it being Yoongi’s life’s blood. 

But Joo does, soothed nightly by the soft melodies of lullabies her appa has composed for her. She giggles now as he leans in to kiss her toes, only to suddenly scowl and scold in her little chirpy voice, 

“No! My toes!”

Abruptly Yoongi stops and mutters playfully, “Already telling her old dad to back off…” A second later though she’s sticking her foot towards him again, trying to tempt him into more tickles expressly so she can tell him off again. She has no problem demanding what she wants, or defending what’s hers, or making it clear when she’s had enough of people and wants some quiet time. As soon as she could crawl, she was trying to break into Yoongi’s studio to get to his keyboard, where she’d jab at a few keys and then call for Appa, her desire for music developing earlier than her ability to verbally communicate it. But Yoongi understood and played for her, improvising melodies around the random keys she’d push. Just like Yoongi understood Kija’s need for praise when he’d make something cool, or more recently, for his dad to be engaged in the things he liked, even if Yoongi didn’t really care about race cars or robots. 

You were not surprised to have learned in the last four years that Yoongi is better as a father than you had ever dreamed. Not perfect. Your years of entering parenthood hadn’t been without friction and frustration. But his love for his children is always first and foremost and watching the way he listens to the children rattling off nearly incoherently about their day under his attention now warms you again. And fans the flame of your own feeling of failure.

Suddenly Yoongi stops them with a hand on each child’s head; they are confused and silenced by the odd behavior as Yoongi says to you, “Go sit and relax with them. I’ll make dinner.”

“It’s late. I didn’t even start rice–”

“I bought microwaveable,” he says –not just a compromise, but a reference to an argument you had in fact won, or at least the realities of parenting small children had. Yoongi had sworn to never have a microwave because of the “horrors” they did to food. But that was before the two of you became connoisseurs of meals that had gone cold while you tended to unfortunately timed diaper explosions, or sleepless nights of teething, of not wanting to turn the oven on to reheat the dino nuggets Kija refused at dinner but Yoongi loving himself a little more than just eating them cold like you do. 

“I wanted to have it ready when you got home,” you sigh. 

He can sense your frustration, though he doesn’t share any of your disappointment. He’s simply moved by understanding; today you were the one with the day busier than expected under the direction of small children. Other days it’s him. His fingers are light on your lower back as he nudges.

“You had the kids by yourself all day,” he shrugs. “It’s enough. Go sit and I’ll get food for everyone. And you will eat more than just cookie crumbs for dinner,” he adds, giving Joo a serious look that only makes the toddler smile. When Yoongi holds the look, eyes slowly narrowing, Joo starts to giggle. 

Yoongi, a fire-spitting underground rapper in his younger days with hard lyrics and rivalries with other artists? It’s impossible for his toddler daughter to imagine. She just performs an incredible feat of agility possibly only for toddlers and presses her foot into his mouth even though she’s still on your hip.

“Ah, kids these days…” he grumbles to make you laugh because he sounds like his own dad. You take the life raft he has offered you and go to watch cartoons with the children. They are deliciously quiet.

For better or worse, Yoongi’s arrival does not actually settle the day down, it simply gives you an extra pair of hands and a calmer mind. The kids eat next to nothing but then complain about being hungry. They cry when the TV is turned off to eat together. They cry when Yoongi won’t give them more cookies even though Kija claims they’re his favorite. Bathtime happens, to be left at that, and with obvious proof by the destruction of the bathroom. Joo has an accident before they even get a diaper onto her so technically bathtime happens again. Kija can’t find his special monkey he sleeps with –the one Yoongi brought back from the weeklong trip he took before Kija was old enough to remember and yet racked him with guilt for months– and then finds it in Holy’s crate which leads to a loud standoff between the two and then an emergency trip through the washing machine and dryer’s quick cycle, which delays bedtime but you both know it won’t happen without Raps the monkey anyway. Kija throws a fit about the different flavor of toothpaste, and the kids can’t agree on a story so it’s settled there will be two, and then there’s a fight for Yoongi’s lap until he shifts and shuffles in the rocking chair until they’re both snuggled down. 

You, the one who worked so hard to care for the children all day, are left with an empty lap on the ground, but other days these roles are reversed so you try not to be hurt by it. Instead you just admire the way Yoongi reads to the kids, so very different than your own attempts to sound like the characters. He just sounds like himself, his smooth voice gliding around the words as he tells the story of Olivia’s trip to the museum like it’s a conversation. In a way it is: every two pages Kija interrupts him to tell him something totally unrelated –a fact he learned about shrimp in a book at the library, that they saw a dog in a backpack on the train, that there were ants on the sidewalk in the park– and Yoongi’s eyebrow raise and he nods in acknowledgement of this precious fact Kija needed to share, and then he continues to story, his voice steady and slow.

Honestly, it’s putting you to sleep too. Yoongi’s way of speaking has always been soothing to you. It was one of the first things you loved about him, that no matter how worked up you were, however bad your day, he could speak about literally anything and his calming words and rhythm would rock you to a place of peace. 

It’s no surprise Joo is almost asleep when he finishes and Kija’s facts have petered out. You carry Joo to her crib and Yoongi tucks Kija into the little boy bed he’s only recently transitioned to; Yoongi and Kija built it together one afternoon from a kit as Yoongi tried to lecture Kija about the importance of building furniture with your own two hands and you tried not to giggle too loudly in the background about how cute your boys are. It took twice as long to build but afterwards Kija announce “Me and Appa are a superteam!” and Yoongi’s smile made clear he didn’t mind the delays.

You trade places, so each child gets a kiss or hair ruffle and whispered I love you from you both, and then meet at the door of the bedroom for one final glance before you shut it.

Except Yoongi has already gone down the hall, calling over his shoulder, “The pork wasn’t very good, I’lll make something else.”

“What? No, the pork was great and I ate enough.”

“Will you eat it if I make something else?”

“No,” you insist, knowing he won’t believe you. He doesn’t. He’s disappointed that he rushed the veggies and left the pork a little too long. It's not the meal he wanted you to have after an obviously tiring day with the kids. But you say again, “I don’t want anything else to eat. I just want…”

“Hm?” He freezes at the kitchen doorway, looking casually back at you as if everything in him doesn’t pause to see what you’ll say. You could say pretty much anything right now and he’d find a way to give it to you as thanks for the day focused on his work, as an apology that he wasn’t here to help, to express his regret that the dinner was not what you deserved.

“Just sit with me and watch a show. Do you have time or are you needing to go right to bed–”

“I have time for you,” he quickly assures you. “Do you want tea? Beer?”

“No, nothing.”

He brings you ice water anyways because he knows you forget to hydrate any when you’re chasing children. 

And he brings a plate, holding it out to you, the mangled remains of the maple cookies displayed.

“Can I interest you in some cookies?” he asked. 

The laughter bubbles out of you, followed by tears he predicted. He sets the water and plate of cookies on the table –with a stern “No” to Holy whose head lifts curiously from his bed by the TV. Then Yoongi bundles you into his arms, and stretches out into the corner of the couch and lifts the remote, silent and casual in his comfort of your minor breakdown. As soon as the show is selected –the next episode of something you two have been gradually making your way through, slowly since you each tend to fall asleep– he wraps both arms around you.

“Seems like it was a long day,” he says, hand stroking gently down your back. You nod under his chin. 

“Sorry,” you mumble. “I wanted to make it look easy and have everything nice when you came home after working all day–”

“Cut it with that bullshit,” he snorts. “I know it’s not easy. I just feel bad I was away all day–”

“You shouldn’t feel bad about it. It’s good! You deserve to go and it’s for your career… I know you keep passing on things to be at home.”

He shrugs again, voice low as he points out, “So do you.”

“Yeah, well…” It’s true. It’s true for both of you, and maybe, you consider, Yoongi feels that same blend of relief and regret that you do when you leave the house. The same blend you feel when you come home too. “It’s hard to want to be two places at once,” you sigh.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “So we’re doing the best we can, I think.”

You nod. It’s true. The rest of the world makes it look so easy, like as soon as you have children your interests become singular, your patience and energy unlimited, your bond with your partner unshakeable. The last four years have tested all of those things –and yet you don’t regret it, not really, even after a day like today.

“I don’t regret any of this,” he says, as if he’s read your mind. “Except the dinner.”

“I thought it was good.”

“That’s because you’ll eat cold dino-nuggets. Your taste has always been terrible.”

“Yoongi!” you cry, laughter lacing his name on your lips. “I chose you, didn’t I?”

“Proving my point.”

“No, disproving it. You made very good little kids, even if they were little stinkers today.”

“I didn’t make those, you made them. I just gave you some of the materials. Maybe I’ll give you some more materials tonight.”

It earns a giggle against his chest. You both know you’ll fall asleep too quickly to get that far, even if you try to rally right now. You also know the materials won’t be true; a small procedure months ago has made sure that Kija and Joo will be the only two offspring for Min Yoongi. Two felt right to you both. Two felt like the maximum. Sometimes two felt like too much but you pushed through those moments, and once the glass and pee and cookie crumbs were cleaned up, two felt right again. 

“What, you don’t think I can?”

“I’m not sure I’ll be awake for it,” you admit.

“Ah, it’s like that, huh? I’ve lost my touch.”

“Your touch is good, my energy meter is just low.”

“Have some cookies, maybe the sugar will help you rally.”

“Why… wait, you really want to? Tonight?”

“I don’t know… you were so busy all day, I won’t bother you…”

“It’s not a bother, I just figured you were working all day…” You’re flattered now by the sudden bashfulness as he refuses to meet your eye when you push up against his chest. How many years have you been together now? And he still gets shy sometimes. You adore him, there’s no need to be shy, but it’s a core part of him and you treasure it, just as much as you melt at the times he is very much not shy about his wants.

So you reach over and grab a handful of cookies from the plate. They crumble in your hand, but still you sit up to eat the remains. It helps that he looks horrified by the crumbs escaping your cupped palm. You can’t stop giggling. He starts laughing too as Holy comes over to inspect this windfall.

“I just wanted to bring you your favorite cookies,” he sighs.

“I just wanted the house to be nice for you,” you point out. “Anyway, I’m still eating the cookies.”

“In crumbs.”

“They still taste good.”

“I’m so glad you have bad taste,” he sighs. You hold out a hand and he opens his mouth but doesn’t seem to expect you’ll actually dump some small pieces into it. Now he’s laughing and you’re both missing the show but you don’t care. He slings his arm around your shoulder and pulls you close. 

“I’m so glad I had good taste when it mattered,” you argue, poking his side. 

You don’t have to see it to feel his gummy grin as he says, “Come on, I’m not that great–”

“I mean about this flavor of cookies, they’re really good.”

“You brat.”

The giggles are the final balm you needed, and maybe for him too. He seems happy when he drags you back in his arms and he doesn’t have to say it for you to know he’s glad to be home, and glad to be here with you. Even when it’s hard, you’re happy together. Even when your dinners aren’t perfect and your cookies get crumbled. Even when you both are interested at the suggestion of sex but then fail to make it to the end of the episode despite your best intentions.

It’s ok. There will be many more nights. You’re both learning, like how he should have just taken you right to the bedroom instead of watching the episode. But maybe the snuggles on the couch were all you each wanted or needed anyway. 

It’s ok. You still feel Yoongi’s love because in the morning he takes the kids and lets you sleep, and pulls the blanket back over you before he leaves the bed, and that really is love. And because of that, tonight you will make sure you have energy. 

Probably. Maybe. Hopefully.

It’s ok. Waking up to the sound of your husband's low chuckles and the high giggles of your children is worth it all. And unlike that business about the toothpaste, Yoongi couldn’t agree with you more.

#yoongi drabble #yoongi x reader #yoongi x y/n #yoongi fluff #yoongi fanfiction #dad yoongi #yoongi ff #bts fanfiction #yoongi fanfic

[stopiteatpopcorn]

Ello! Hello, Hellooo little bug~ We were talking about this earlier, but I think Ler Ranpo would look amazing in your writing style! It's a small request but take all the time you need to write it. I won't rush you! Take your time and have fun with it.

A Birthday Filled With Laughter

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Fandom: Bungo Stray Dogs

Characters: Ler!Ranpo x Lee!Reader

⚠️THIS IS A TICKLE FIC SO IF YOU DON’T WANNA SEE THAT, YOU HAVE BEEN RANDO WARNED⚠️

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It was a bright and sunny day out, but you had decided to stay in despite it being a special day. You were chilling on the couch when all of a sudden came a knock at the door. Wondering who it could possibly be, since you didn’t remember inviting anyone over for any plans, you waited it out. Another knock. And another. You eventually got up, hesitantly opening the door. It was Ranpo!

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the birthday person themselves~ about time you let me in! Jeez, do you know how long you made me wait out here?” The detective whined.

“Well sorry, I didn’t think anyone would come over- I mean- it isn’t that big of a deal-“ he simply put a finger up to your lips, raising his eyebrow at you.

“Nuh uh uh- Shut it. None of that, I didn’t come here for nothing! Especially after I brought you all these snacks!”

“Well you didn’t have to go out of your way to do that!”

“You’re right, but they were on sale and I convinced Poe to gimme some extra money, so take ‘em!” He shoves a basket full of snacks, ranging from your favorite chips to your favorite candies, into your hands. Then before you could even decline, he waltzed through the door and slumped himself onto the couch. “So, what’re you watching? Something boring?” He asked. You merely shrugged, going to sit beside him.

“I dunno…Some random show. But don’t you think it’s a little boring just sitting and doing nothing? I mean you don’t have to stay!”

“Well, I did have a little idea..~” He smirked, looking at you as he pushed his glasses up slightly. He had a mischievous glint in his eyes that made you flinch and quickly try to get up, however you were too slow as he dragged you back down to the couch, wrapping his arms around you. “Nawww what’s the matter~? This is just my other gift to you~!”

“Ranpo- don’t you dare! I swear I wihihill- hehehey-!” You interrupted yourself with giggles as you felt two nimble hands slowly tracing up and down your sides.

“You’ll what~? You’ll laugh~? Well I sure hope you would, that’s the point!” He grinned at you, continuing to lightly tickle you. His hands trailed up to your ribs, gently squeezing and making you squeal! “Nawww~ This is adorable~!”

“Rahahanpo! Nahahaha-!” You giggled even harder when his fingers traced up to your neck, and then trailed down your back.

“Seems like someone isn’t bored now huh~?” He observed, smirking at you. You went to protest, but all that came out were more giggles. “That’s it, keep giggling! I know you’re enjoying this~!” He called out, making you blush in embarrassment.

“Shuhuhut uhahap!” You squealed, hiding your face in your hands.

“Hmm…No~ You know it’s true, so I’ll keep going until you ask me to really stop, okay?” You nodded in response, as you spent the rest of your birthday giggling up a storm!

———————————————————————————

A/N: OMG HAPPY BIRTHDAY MY DEAREST VANITY!! CANT BELIEVE ITS YOUR BIRTHDAY RAAAAA! I HOPE YOU LIKE THIS FIC AND THE ART, I POWERED THROUGH MY WRITERS BLOCK AND ART BLOCK FOR THIS!! ANYWAYS ONCE AGAIN HAPPY BIRTHDAYYY!

#I LOVE YOU SO MUCH MY DEAR #<3333 #ler!ranpo #lee!reader #sfw tickle community #sfw tk blog #sfw tickling community #bsd tickles #bsd tickle fic #bsd tickle #tickle fic

[n3ptoonz]

'Half Past Five'

Pairing: Nanami Kento/F!Reader

Fandom: Jujustu Kaisen

Warnings/tags: Smut!! Explicit, creampie, dirty talk, face fcking, office setting/romance/sex, hair pulling, swearing, reader wears a skirt and heels, there aren't pronouns but reader is implied to be female, not proofread

word count: 1.6k

explicit content under the cut

There's nothing more that Nanami despises in this world than overtime. Ever since you replaced him in the leading position for a popular global marketing company, it's like you've been on a power trip ever since.

He missed the deadline to one assignment for numbers and products. One. And he gets demoted, resulting in him being your assistant. A few weeks ago, it was the other way around. Though, it annoyed the hell out of you since you were often talked over in meetings, despite not even being a quiet person. You were confident and pretty outspoken. But hey, why not just listen to the men? Why not just listen to the men who have been here half as long as you, and half the experience?

'Fuck-'

"You think everything is about you!"

'Was that so hard?'

"Then why am I the only one here who gets assigned work that cannot get finished before 5 o'clock?"

'I asked you a question.'

Were you doing it on purpose? The world may never know. It wasn't all about him, per se, but he did have an issue keeping to himself no matter who it was. You two were more than just coworkers, but not super close, you know? So, why would he feel obligated to speak up for you when you were his assistant?

I mean, come on. Look at him. Tall, blonde, sleeper built Nanami fucking Kento. It drove you nuts when you stood next to him while he presented in meetings. Seeing the way his muscles flexed in that damn blue dress shirt. The dominance that oozed from his being whenever he answered questions without hesitation. The few compliments he gave you that replayed in your head like a broken record.

It wasn't fair. Truly. All it took was one fuck up on his end to replace him and have the tables turned.

But how much did that really mean if...

"You're humping my leg like a dog? Hm? You like it when I pull your hair and make you beg? I thought you were in charge?"

You are in charge...

You were in charge...

Let's look at the facts. You're great at what you do. You have the qualifications of a leader and someone who understands what the hell those numbers and lines mean on the computer.

"Please.."

You thought you were in charge? You give a bunch of work to the only man you know who hates overtime with his entire being. The only man you know you'd let fuck you on your new desk. The only man you know silently gets off to the fact that his own superior is writhing in his lap after being fed up with the stupid amount of work you gave him.

And the funny thing is, he got it all done. Everything was on time. So, why are we here?

It's half past five. You needed him to swing by for a bi-weekly progress report on work performance and running the numbers to make sure they match the sales in the past month.

"You're lying." he said, standing three feet from your desk, and his tone stern, but you swear you could hear a faint smirk somewhere in there.

"And why would I be lying about that? You're supposed to run the numbers by whoever is in charge of this department every two weeks. Did you forget?"

The attitude in your voice almost made him laugh. This stoic, straightforward man who rarely speaks, laugh.

"What's that folder on your desk?" he asked, pointing to the folder that indeed had all the numbers and performance reports. Complete and ready to filed.

He caught you.

God damn it, he fucking caught you. Tell us, why did you call him in here after work hours? To chew him out? To waste his time? To tell him-

"You were right! God damn it, Kento-"

It's like it was all a blur. You stood up to get in his face and tell him off, he just stared at you and said nothing, you get even more pissed. Not even paying attention to how close he got, even pulling you towards him from the small of your back and nodding slowly. Listening to every gripe you had about him.

You couldn't stand how he didn't acknowledge you when it mattered sometimes. You couldn't stand that it felt like you were dismissed by your peers, and he was too in his own world.

That's just how he was. He clocks in, clocks out, and goes home. A simple pattern for a simple man. He didn't think it would affect you this much. He always assumed because you were someone who spoke up for yourself, he didn't need to step in like a white knight.

So he listened attentively, took in your concerns and let you have your moment.

How the hell did we get here?

He shut you up with a kiss. It was a simple, short kiss. Quickly turning into a heated make out session laced with the past's intense emotions and feelings rising the surface. Next thing you know, both blazers are tossed onto the ground, your heels kicked off, and the pure sound of heavy breathing, muffled grunting, groaning and moaning.

You didn't call him in here about work. You called him in to-

"-fuck you on your desk? What would your boss think?" he said, crouched down since you were on your knees by this point. The grip he had on your hair still was making your brain turn smooth.

All you could do was whimper as he stood back up, your back facing the desk's drawers for balance. He directed your face towards his clothed crotch area, his belt still snug and buckled.

"Undo it." he demanded. The slight drool from your lip reflecting off the soft luminescent lights overhead the desk made his dick twitch in his pants.

Your wrists were tied together with his tie, but you think since you can still use your fingers, it shouldn't be an issue. Raising your bound wrists up towards him drew a solid few tsks from his mouth.

"With these." he purred, running his thumb over your bottom lip, exposing your teeth. He wants you to undo his belt with your teeth.

Your eyebrows raised slightly in surprise, who knew such a quiet and stoic man like Nanami Kento could be so dirty?

You did. Well, you're about to.

You did exactly as he told, adding some fake innocence to your eyes as you looked up at him, causing a low growl to rumble in his throat. You took your sweet time, successfully getting the hook from the hole that held it all together.

"Very good. Now, use your hands."

You did exactly that, unzipping his pants and pulling him free of his confines. By the gods, the horse is here!

He chuckled at the genuine surprise on your face. The man was packing a hefty seven and a half, thick and curved (to the left) clean shaven dick. It almost concerned you how the fuck it would fit inside of you.

"Open."

As if your lips weren't already parted the moment his third leg looked you in the face. The second- no, millisecond he felt the warmth of your mouth, he could die right here right now the happiest man alive. You felt so fucking good, it almost felt unnecessary to move. This was perfection; heaven.

Unbeknownst to himself, he was already fucking your face. Beads of tears at the corner of your eyes formed from the growing force from using your mouth like a fleshlight. The rest of your body ached so good in anticipation, subtly moving with your head as he kept it relatively still as he thrusted harshly, chasing a high he'd rather complete with you. Or in you, rather.

"Fuck- Stand up." He said breathlessly, shakily pulling out as you struggled to stand quickly. In which this didn't matter too much since you immediately sat on the open part of your desk as he pushed your skirt up with fervor and determination.

As you laid on your back he peered his head through your arms since your wrist were still bound, so he looked you right in the eyes and gripped one of your soft thighs as he penetrated you. You could feel him twitch inside you right after you let out one of the loudest moans he ever heard. He never knew your moans and sighs would be so- fucking-

"-pretty. You know that? You're so pretty when you pull me closer so I can fuck you harder. You like the idea of getting fucked by your former superior. It all makes sense now."

All you could do was whimper in response. Words weren't an option. You both were just about ready to blow already. The coil in the pit of your stomach was quickly unraveling, and the tears in your eyes from the immense pleasure received.

"Nanami, m'gonna...I'm gonna-"

"Do it. Cum for me."

You did exactly that. Your body bucked and trembled as your orgasm hit you in waves. Nanami came right after, shooting his warm seed inside of you, not daring to let it drip as he kept you stuffed and full like a good dinner.

He slowly pulled out, softly smiling at the sight of you holding in his cum so well, almost effortlessly as some got out. But it's okay, he still did what he's wanted to do since you became his assistant.

He untied your wrists and helped you up, using a disposable handkerchief to clean you and that part of the desk up before fixing your clothes. He stuffed himself back into his pants, leaning down to give you a kiss on your temple.

"Working overtime wasn't so bad."

#jjk #jjk x reader #jjk smut #nanami kento #nanami x reader #jjk nanami #smut #nanami x you #n3ptoonz

[marvelwitchergilmore]

In Love

Summary: Clint Barton x Fe!Reader ~ Turns out, you’ve been keeping a massive secret from Clint despite being his friend and co-worker for the last six years. 

Disclaimer: violence, swearing (I think), pining, life-or-death situations, kiss to keep cover, fluff, hand holding, angst, blood, torture, Clint does not have kids or a wife or has ever, 16+ themes (Criminal Minds kinda thing). MDNI - This is your warning - If you read on, you have agreed to read 16+ themes.

The moment you came home your first day in the field, you knew what was to come. 

You never fell in love. Never even fell into ‘like’. But the moment you met him…it was game over. Your future self laughed at your younger self. 

“I’m never gonna fall in love.” you would say. “I’m never gonna like a boy like that. I’m not going to want someone to come home to. I want my own space. I don’t want anyone by my side. I don’t need anyone but my dogs. They can keep me company when I’m old and grey.”

God, you wished you could be like that again. Despite knowing none of it would be true, you wished you still had those ideologies. That you would never fall in love. That you would never date or marry or want children and turn out to be a Sports Mom with a minivan filled with gear, orange slices and cases of water you got on sale from Costco. 

But the moment you saw him…that ideology died. In fact, it burst into a ball of flames. 

You had never had that feeling before. That kind of feeling that sent a tornado through your stomach, blood pumping around your body as if you’d just fought for your life in a cross country race and your heart doing somersaults against your lungs that knocked the air out of them. 

But the moment you saw him…you had to scold yourself. 

And you scolded yourself over and over and over and over again, for years. 

Agent Clint Barton was first and foremost your teammate. You could only trust one another to the extent that the other did. Same with the rest of your team. 

Without trust, there would be no foundation for anything. 

And he trusted you. That much was clear. 

Afterwards, you, Clint and the rest of your team became friends and before long, you were a unit. A family. 

Each and every one of you knew the other like the back of your hands, except…Clint felt like he was missing something with you. 

He knew you were keeping something from him. And sometimes it felt like the rest of the team were trying to keep your secret, too.

Though, you knew that the rest of the team didn’t know for certain about your feelings towards Clint. They knew you but when it came to your love life, you were the only one none of them could figure out. Your cards were kept firmly against your chest. 

One evening, Willa (one of your teammates) spotted you in a small cafe getting a drink with a guy and when she saw you Monday morning, she instantly asked you about him. The whole team was there. Were you about to reveal that you have a secret boyfriend this whole time? Perhaps he was your husband and you had 4 kids and secretly owned a private school in Nebraska?

But, no. 

“He was just a guy and we had a good time but I don’t think I’m gonna see him again.”

“Why not?” Clint asked you. 

“Because the day after I saw him in the park with his girlfriend and their dog.” 

“Ooh,”

“I’m sorry, honey.” Willa frowned. 

“It’s okay.” 

For the next couple of months, you went on more dates. Some were set up by Willa and Jerry (another teammate) and the rest by online sites. And, some were more successful than others but in the end, none of them gave you that feeling that you had when you first met Clint. That kind of feeling, the moment you dropped your bag and closed your front door had you nodding your head and accepting, “Yep, this is it.” as you realised, somehow, miraculously, you’d managed to have a loving crush on someone. But it wouldn’t matter, because he is your teammate. 

And, after two years of trying to get rid of your feelings for him, or at least, trying to accept them and move on with your life, Clint sent your heart spirally and fell even harder when yourself, Willa, Jerry, Una and Clint were all sent on a mission together. 

It was an extraction. 

The host of the gala was a multi-millionaire and would be auctioning off his prized possessions in a secret auction. The gala was simply a front. After all, why would more than three dozen highly wealthy people all come to the same country for “a holiday”. 

His prized possessions included a hard-drive that opened the buyer to a world of information surrounding offshore accounts that were used to help free-lance agents that still had ties to any and all government organisations. 

Shield included. 

Only, after the initial smooth sailing, things took a turn. 

“It’s not here.”

From the other side of the bar, your eyes met with Clint’s and you spoke into your drink as you lifted it to your lips. “What do you mean it’s not there?”

“I mean it’s not here.” Jerry told you down comms. “The harddrive. It’s not in this room.”

“Then where could it- oh no.”

“Oh no? What oh no?” Clint asked. 

Willa turned her back to the column. “It’s in his jacket.”

“What do you mean it’s in his jacket?”

“Ten O’clock.”

Low and behold, there the host stood, the silver USB stick in his hand, smiling as he waved it around three other potential buyers. 

One of them went to touch it and the host pocketed it before he could, smiling before removing his jacket and handing it to his butler beside him who folded it up and began to walk away with it. 

“Where’s he taking it?”

Willa lip-read what she could from the conversation. 

“His bedroom.”

“His bedroom is heavily guarded.” 

“You don’t say.”

“Guys, what are we going to do? We need that hard drive.” Jerry’s voice rang through.

“Someone needs to get his attention.” Willa replied. 

“How?” you asked. 

“I have an idea.”

Moments later, Clint was by your side. 

“What are you-”

“Just trust me. You can punch me later.”

You placed your hand in Clint’s as he led you to the dance floor and suddenly you were very aware of your own skin. It was an odd feeling. 

“Just do what I do. But backwards. And in heels.”

“Thanks, Fred. What exactly is your plan here?”

Clint’s eyes met yours. “He looks in your direction every 45 seconds. I’m going to give him an excuse to make his move.”

You yelped in shock as Clint pulled you flush against him, his hand flexing on your lower back. 

“Just trust me?”

You caught the sincere look in his eyes and all you could do was nod. 

It worked. 

Just as Clint was moving you around the dance floor, your mind going elsewhere, there came a tap onto Clint’s shoulder. 

“May I cut in?”

“Of course.”

Clint pressed a kiss to your cheek, quickly whispering in your ear. “Flirt. You look beautiful, by the way.”

You smiled and nodded as he walked away, letting your hands slip from his and into the host’s. And, after flirting for the length of a song, feeling his hands go lower down your back, your own hands stopping him, he finally walked you up the stairs and towards his bedroom. 

“Don’t worry, I’ve got eyes on you.” Clint spoke down comms. 

You looked over your shoulder as you climbed the grand staircase with the host’s hand at your back, and you saw Clint to the left of the dance floor, watching you carefully. 

Once you found yourself with the host, alone, in his bedroom and the guards told to clear away and take their break for an hour or so, you made quick work in knocking him out, finding the jacket and removing the hard drive. 

Only, once you left and met Clint outside the bedroom door, a new to duty guard came around the corner. 

“Just follow me.” Clint took your hand in his as he pocketed the hard drive into his jacket. 

You only got half-way walking down the hall when the guard, who had peaked in on the host, came back out and shouted for you both to stop. 

Of course, you didn’t. 

You both ran instead. 

Then an alarm was pulled and every guard the host paid seemed to be after you and Clint. 

“What are you going to do?” Willa asked as Clint pressed something into her hand as he ran past her and out of the door.

“We’ll meet you back at the safe house.” Clint told Willa. “Just take the hard drive and get it to Jerry. Una, tell me you’ve got the van ready.”

“Ready. I’ll meet Willa and Jerry at the extraction point.”

“Good.”

And for the next ten minutes, you and Clint were running through the streets and back alleyways of the town, running in separate directions for a while before bumping into each other down a side-ally. 

Footsteps were coming closer and the sound of bullets were flying through the air. 

“They don’t know what they’re aiming at.” 

“But they’ll find us soon.”

“If we run out now, they’ll shoot at us.”

“So what do we do?”

“I don’t know.” you looked at him, breathless, before looking back down the alley. 

Then it hit Clint. 

“I have an idea but I need you to trust me. Like, really trust me.”

“Jesus Christ, Barton. Just get on with it.” you finally called out as he tried to prevent the inevitability of his plan - despite you not knowing what it was. 

The footsteps were drawing closer and for a moment they stopped, a light flashed down the alleyway and voice talked before the running continued.

But none of that registered in the moment because your brain was short-circuiting since Clint’s bright idea was to kiss you. 

His hands came to your face and he could feel your hands on his arms, ready to push him off and probably punch him. But you didn’t. And, rather than the kiss being stiff and awkward…it was unlike any other. 

One of his hands still remained by the side of your face when the light shone down the path but his other came down your body, sending goosebumps in their wake, before he pulled you against him and he stepped closer pressing you between him and the wall. 

Your own hands travelled up to his neck and pulled him closer but once the footsteps died away, the kiss slowly came to an end leaving you both breathless against one another. 

“I think it worked.” 

Clint nodded, swallowing hard, as he looked at you. 

How had he never noticed the reflection of the stars in your eyes before? 

“I think it did. Are you gonna punch me now?”

Clint watched as you paused for a moment. 

“Not right now. But if they come back, I might.”

“We better go?”

You nodded. “We better go.”

You had to push yourself along because you knew, if you didn’t, you’d kiss him again and he’d simply kissed you to avoid getting caught, right? There would be no dire consequences after that kiss. 

But all Clint could do was scold himself as you both made your way back to the safe house. How had he never noticed the stars in your eyes before? Or how, in the morning, the rays of the sun shone back just as bright? He also scolded himself from allowing himself to emotionally indulge in the kiss he shared with you. You are his teammate. And he knew himself. 

He couldn’t let his heart get involved, or else there would be dire consequences. 

Initially, things felt…awkward. But, after four years, it was just an old memory, right? And, yeah, sure, the memory would be revisited from time to time whether independently or shared…kinda. Mostly, this was when the team would have drinks one night and would be talking about love lives and first kisses and worst kisses. 

“Alright, alright, alright. I’ll give you that one.” Una said, swirling her bottle of beer. “But kissing to avoid something, that can't work, can it?”

“It can.” 

Your mouth spoke the words before your brain could stop you. 

“And how would you know?”

You caught Clint’s smirk as he looked down to his beer. 

“I just do.”

“Oh, really?”

“Come on, tell us!” Willa cried. 

You shook your head with a suppressed laugh. “I’ve said too much.”

“No, come on!”

“Maybe some other time.”

“No fair.”

“Okay,” you smiled. “You tell us about what happened with Derek and your ‘worldly knowledge’ and I’ll tell you my story.”

Willa narrowed her eyes at you, playfully. “You play a clever game.”

You just sat back and smiled.

But despite all of this, four years on, neither you or Clint had seemingly changed. But he still felt like you were hiding something from him. 

Except, he’d find out soon enough. And not in a way either of you hoped he would. 

This time, you’d been called in on your day off. 

“What’s going on?”

Clint turned around from the monitor and was at first taken aback from your clothing. Usually, you wore black pants and a black t-shirt to work or a work shirt or, if the situation called for it, sand coloured cargo trousers and a breathable t-shirt. Though, that was usually when having to attend a military base outside of cooler weather. 

Instead, you wore a cosy jumper and dungarees that had paint splatter all over them, including your white pumps and small freckles of pain on the baby hairs that had escaped their cover of the hair bandanna. 

Clint also spotted the remnants of nail polish in your cuticles and light paint on the side of your hands. 

“We’ve just got- have you been decorating?”

You looked over yourself. “Oh, yeah. Felt like a change. Anyway, what’s going on?”

“We’ve just got wind of a hostage situation. We can’t make verbal contact with the abductor but they did send this out.”

It was a note. 

And it was through that note that led you and Clint making an extraction which was initially successful until you did a final sweep afterwards only to be knocked out when you spotted a door had been left ajar and the lights turned off. 

Clint, after not hearing your reply, came in after you. 

And that was how you both ended up waking up inside some beat down old home that had probably been designed in the 40s. 

His voice was hazy, but you heard Clint call your name. You also tried your best to take in a breath but was only met with a damp stench and the feeling of your lungs crushing you into shock. 

“Take it easy, he hit you pretty hard.”

After a few minutes, you finally gained some normality in your lungs but the sting was still there. 

“What happened?”

“After he went all sleeper agent on you, I came in and found you unconscious. I was trying to wake you when he stuck something in my neck.”

“I see you got the peaceful option.” 

“Funny.”

“Where the hell are we?” you asked, trying your best to look around. 

“I don’t know. I haven’t heard any cars so I’m gonna take a guess and say we’re in the middle of nowhere.”

“Well, that narrows it down.”

“Did you see who took us?”

“No.”

“Would you like to?”

You and Clint snapped your heads to the open space in front of you both. 

Out from the shadows appeared the guy who you had seen just before his gun came across your head and your body hit the ground. 

The man walked from one side of the room, to the other, screwing in the light-bulbs beneath the lampshades causing both you and Clint to squint at the brightness. You’d both been submerged in darkness for quite some time. 

“My name is Jack. I know, how original. It was actually my mother’s father’s name. Named after my grandfather, grand ol’ Jack. Lived till he was 92. Always said the best way to survive was to always tell the truth. That lies weighed on the soul. And to have a small shot of whiskey before going to bed. Said that was good for the heart since it quietened the mind.”

“Really touching story,” you cut him off. “But why are we here?”

“Don’t you get it?”

You and Clint looked at one another. Had you both missed a part of this conversation? 

“I tried to save those people in the warehouse.” Jack told both of you as he straddled a chair. “People in this world need saving from themselves. People are dying younger than they ever did. And it’s because of all the lies. The lies they keep from their parents, and their children and themselves. It’s all crushing their soul. And I knew…” Jack smiled, wagging his finger. “I knew the moment I saw you down there that yours was being crushed the most.”

“Saw me?”

Jack stood from his chair. “I was in the corner office, on the top floor. It has an excellent view. Whoever has that office next will love it. The accents on the wall, ah magnificent.” Jack kissed his fingers before continuing. “But it gave me a good scope. I understand not everyone will…agree with my methods, per say.”

“No, because you took people hostage.” Clint pointed out. 

“I was trying to save them! And I was finally getting through to them until those SWAT guys pulled out my team.”

“Again, because you had taken them hostage. And now you’ve taken us hostage.”

“This world needs saving!” Jack yelled. “It needs saving from the lies people tell and the secrets they all hide.”

“Alright!” you yelled out before calming your voice. “Alright. So…the world needs saving? Jack, do you really think you’re saving it…by killing people? The hold-up down on 9th? That was you, right? Those people you let go-”

“They let their souls free. They told the truth.”

“So, if we-” you looked at Clint before turning back to Jack. “If we tell you the truth, will you let us go?”

“Yes.” 

For a moment, the feeling in the room got lighter. Maybe there was a way out after all. 

“But you’ll only lie. No, you…your secrets are too big to just give up freely. You…you’re a take em’ to the grave kinda gal. So, no. I won’t let you go. Not until I know that it’s the truth.”

“How will you know?”

Clint regretted asking the question. 

“Because she’ll be begging to tell me. You both will.”

Neither of you knew how much time had passed but the spots from the light were getting duller and bigger. 

“No, no. You can not sleep yet. You haven’t freed your soul.”

“Why do we have to free our souls?” you asked, the taste of blood coming to your mouth. “What if I don’t want to be saved? You said it yourself. I’d rather take mine to the grave.”

“Oh, but you don’t. Not really.” 

Jack had been circling you and Clint for a while, as if he were a hunter, teasing you - waiting for you to beg to be killed. 

“No, I can see it in your eyes. The eyes never lie.” 

Jack levelled himself though he wasn’t close enough to knock out. His hands gripped your thighs as he hummed, annoyance clear in his expression as he tried to figure out your secret. 

“Perhaps you killed someone? No, that isn’t it. Maybe you ran away? Have a secret family? No, that’s not it either. The eyes never lie to me. What is it? What are you not telling me? What are you not telling yourself?”

Clint called your name and Jack saw the slightest change in you. So slight, in fact, even you didn’t feel it. 

“It’s him. It had something to do with your team. No, teammate. It’s him and just him.”

Jack pushed against your thighs so he could stand up straight. Quickly, he made his way over to Clint and circled him. 

“What is it? What is it about you, huh? What has her secret got to do with you? Let's see if we can find out.”

You heard the snap of a switchblade as it opened and the fight for Jack to steady Clint but before he could make the first cut or slice, you cried out. 

“Stop! He doesn’t know! He- he doesn’t know. Please…just…just don’t hurt him. Please.”

Jack looked over to you and Clint’s name escaped your lips, both in pleading and question. 

“Oh…oh, this runs so much deeper than just a secret.”

You lowered your head for a moment. The pounding in your heart was only made harder by your own silent cries telling you to not say anything else. But there was a chance you’d both die, so why not tell him? Right? Maybe it would save your lives? Or would it only give Jack more ammunition to use? 

 “Doesn’t it?”

“Please…don’t.”

Jack knelt in front of you and gently touched your cheek before moving his hand down and grasping under your jaw, forcing your head up. 

“Tell me. Let me free your soul.”

Tears rolled down your cheeks, your heart crushing your lungs inside your chest. 

“If you don’t tell me, I will only hurt him more. And you don’t want to hurt him. Tell me. Help me save both of you. Tell me. No, tell him.”

Jack moved your head, forcing you to look at Clint with tear stained cheeks. 

“I’m sorry, Clint. I’m so sorry.”

Your name came from Clint’s voice, barely above a whisper. 

“You can admit it,” Jack said your name. “You committed the most heinous act an agent such as yourself can do, didn’t you? You created a danger, not only for him, but yourself.”

Clint said your name again, trying to move his hands only to find them still shackled to his chair. 

“You fell in love.”

You took in a breath, the beating feeling in your chest, turning into a stabbing feeling against your lungs. Your head remained down as you squoze your eyes shut, more tears escaping from your lids, down your lashes and onto your lap. 

“Please…”

You didn’t even know if Jack could hear you, but you pleaded with him anyway. 

“We need to hear you say it.”

You remained silent but then-

“Say it!”

Jack’s hand came to your face and pushed you to look at him. 

“Say it! Say it!”

You continued to plead with him until he pushed you back further and you screamed out. 

“I fell in love! I fell in love! Please! Stop! No! Please! I-I fell in love! I fell in love with him! Please! I-I fell in love with him. I’m in love with him!”

Jack stopped and waited a moment before pulling you back so all four legs of the chair were on the ground and he finally removed his hand from your face. 

“And there it is.” 

He was smiling. The look and sound of fear in your body had pushed him further but the defeated look on your face…that couldn’t be bought. That had to be created, by his hands. 

Clint looked between Jack and you and he didn’t know what to be more worried about. What Jack could possibly do to you next, or the fact that even he knew you were telling the truth to Jack. 

You were in love with him.

But he didn’t have long to sit and think about it because flashing lights suddenly came from behind the thick fabric that covered the broken windows, blocking out the light of the day and night. 

“No! No!” Jack shouted. “I still need to save them!”

It all happened so quickly, Clint barely caught the fact that Willa had rushed inside, Una arresting Jack and detaining him. Willa rushed over to Clint as Jerry came over to you.

“How did you find us?” Clint asked Willa as Jerry came behind you and picked the locks of your handcuffs. 

“Are you okay?”

Jerry knew it was a stupid question, even when you didn’t answer him. 

“A dog walker called it in. Said they could hear someone yelling as if they were in pain. He also knew no one has lived in this house since 1982.”

As Willa picked Clint’s handcuffs, Jerry had managed to get you out of yours and without looking back, you darted for the door. 

“Wait, wait,” Una called after you. “We need to wait for the medics.”

“Can you take me to the hospital?”

Una looked you over. She could see the clear look in your eyes. You didn’t want to stay here for another second. 

“Don’t you want to wait for Clin-”

“Now?”

Una nodded, radioing into Willa who was standing behind Clint, letting Jerry finish unpicking the locks. 

“Sure, I’ll call ahead.”

“Thank you, Willa.”

Hoping into the passenger seat, you shut the door as Una climbed into the driver’s seat and took off down the road and to the local hospital. 

“What happened in there?” Una asked you as she flicked her eyes from the road to you and back again. 

“I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Even with your hand shaking, you pushed your fingers across your face to try and wipe away the tears. 

By the time you arrived at the hospital, you were taken to a separate room where Una stayed in the waiting room, filling out your forms. Your hands were too shaky to even hold a pen and you could just about remember your own name. 

The doctor ran multiple tests and pushed the small cuts together with closure slips. 

“You’re all good but I’d like you to remain here for a couple hours, just in case there’s any change.”

You nodded and quietly thanked the doctor as she left. 

There were patches of dirt on your hands, as well as blood and old tears where they washed away the stains. 

After an hour, Una came in only to leave a few minutes later since she was called back to base to interrogate Jack. And, as she left, you slowly lowered yourself down on the hospital bed and, despite the noise in your head, you fell asleep. 

A few hours later, a nurse came in and woke up. 

“You can go home now, honey. We’re gonna need this bed.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” you tried to get up quickly but the nurse only laid a hand on your shoulder. 

“It’s okay, honey. Take your time. I read your chart, you took quite the hit. Your friend is waiting for you in the waiting room to take you home.”

You nodded, swinging your legs over the side. 

“Here. Take these for the headache.”

“Thank you.”

“No worries, honey.”

By the time you had grabbed your jacket and started walking down the hallway, you stalled when you saw who the nurse was talking about. 

If you had the energy, you probably would have run in the opposite direction. But you didn’t. You were tired and if the nurse hadn’t woken you, you probably would have slept for the next 24 hours. 

“Una was gonna come but I fought her for it.” Clint tried to smile but he could see your’s was just forced. 

“Look, what happened-”

“Clint, please…I– I don’t want to talk about it. I just want to go home.”

“Okay.”

The drive back was silent and awkward and by the time he pulled up, you looked at him for as long as you could stomach (which wasn’t long) before opening up the door and thanking him. 

And, the moment you pushed your key inside your door, you thought you were safe. That everything was finished for the day and you could deal with it tomorrow. 

But Clint got out of the car and called your name. 

“Wait!”

He took the porch steps two at a time and when he finally reached you, you forced yourself to look at him. 

“I need to say something.”

“You don’t have to say anything, Clint.”

“But I want to.”

“Please…I’d…I just want to forget what happened today. Please…I can’t do it again.”

“I know you’re scared and watching what he was doing to you…I was scared, too. I am. I am scared.”

“Clint,” you could see the look in his eyes and you shook your head. “No. Don’t. Don’t say anything you’re gonna regret.”

“The only thing I regret is not telling you earlier.” Clint told you. “Then maybe none of this would have happened.”

“Clint-”

“I-”

“Please.” 

Your hand flew to his chest and he stopped talking. “Please. Whatever you’re about to say…please wait. Wait for the right time.”

Finally, you looked at him and his hands came to the top of your arms, stroking downwards before holding you close. 

“Please…just wait.”

“Okay.”

That was all he said before kissing your head and saying it again. 

“Okay. I’ll wait.”

By the time you woke up in the morning, your mind had stilled and before it could get loud again, you started painting again. All of your furniture was covered and two out of the 6 walls you had planned to paint had been cleaned, stripped, sanded, coated and painted. 

And, just as you started on the third, a knock came to your door. 

“I just want to help.” Clint told you. “And, let’s be honest, last time you tried decorating this place on your own, you nearly knocked yourself out with paint cleaner.”

You, for the first time in the last 48 hours, smiled. 

“You can take the kitchen. There should be some new cupboards to keep you company.”

“You’re finally changing them?” Clint asked, entering the kitchen, his tool belt around his hips. 

“I am. Picked them out last week.”

“Thank god.” he said. “I hated the last ones.”

“Same.”

The rest of the day ran smoothly enough, despite what the last couple of days had revealed. Clint informed you that you and him both had the next two weeks off before either of you could go back into the field. He also helped fix the kitchen cabinets to the wall as well as install your new oven. You could have done it on your own, but having someone else there made it easier. Clint also helped you move around the heavier furniture and, when fixing the wiring to the lightbulb, he held the ladder steady under you so you wouldn’t fall. 

And for the following two days, neither of you mentioned anything about what happened with Jack. It was like nothing had ever happened in the first place. 

Until Clint decided he couldn’t wait anymore. 

It was easier, before the kiss, to shut off his feelings for you; that worry, that concern, that joy that exceeded more than just the smile of friendship. But after, they became much more clear. He saw the stars in your eyes and the light in your smile. He was more than just amazed at your talents of being an agent. Of course, those who joined Shield all had similar talents, but there was just something more about you. More to be figured out, more to learn, more to be desired and most of all, more to be loved. 

He couldn’t wait any longer. 

Sure, he’d been called stubborn before but now he was impatient. He’d let time slip by for six years and in that time there had been moments where he wanted to call out from the top of buildings that his feelings for you were more than that of a friend, of a teammate. But he couldn’t. 

There was always a mission or a job to be done or a date that got in the way. And now, there had been a raging lunatic that, if Willa and the rest of the team hadn’t landed when they did, could have killed you. He’d set your soul free, you’d been able to tell your secret. What was to stop him from not letting the rest of you go? What was stopping him from shooting you where you sat or using your life against his? 

Nothing. 

Because Clint couldn’t free himself. He couldn’t free himself from his chair or the shackles that kept him there. No matter how many times he called out your name or shouted for Jack to stop, he couldn’t free himself. He couldn’t get there. He couldn’t stop Jack from doing whatever he wanted to the women he fell in love with all those years ago. 

But he could do something now. 

So, as you stood beside him in the kitchen measuring out a plank of wood to fit on the wall above your stove, Clint looked at you and finally told you what he’d been wanting to tell you for years and what he was about to tell you two days ago before you begged him to wait, you not fully knowing whether he was going to reject you or tell you that he loved you. 

“I’m in love with you.”

Whatever you had been saying about the plank of wood and how you needed to get some more sandpaper from Home Depot quickly came to a stop as you stumbled over your words and looked at him. 

“What?”

“I’m in love with you.” Clint repeated. 

“No, Clint. Don’t-”

“I’m not just saying it because of what happened.” Clint assured you. “I should have told you years ago but I kept making excuses. But, after what happened, I don’t want to be able to find an excuse. I nearly lost you because I didn’t tell you sooner. I’m not losing you again. I’m in love with you.”

You were stunned to say the least. 

“I know, two days ago, you told me to wait. I was going to tell you when I got to the hospital but they told me you’d just fallen asleep. And then you told me to wait when I dropped you off and maybe I should, but I don’t want to. I don’t want to miss a chance to tell you again.”

Again, you were stunned into silence. 

“I’m in love with you.”

“I’m dizzy.” 

That was all you could say. All the information and realisation of every action made in the last six years all hit you at once. 

Swiftly, Clint pulled out one of the bar stools and you sat down holding your head. 

“You’re in love with me?”

“I’m in love with you.” Clint repeated. 

“You’re in love…with me? Me? The woman sat in front of you? Me?”

“Yes. I am in love with you.”

“Have you inhaled paint cleaner?”

Clint chuckled and pulled out a chair himself, sitting with his knees locked into yours before he took your hands in his. 

He stated your full name, “I am in love with you. And have been for the last six years.” Clint also stated your birthdate, star sign, address and badge number. “Does that clear it up?”

Your heart was beating in your chest so fast you thought it might actually explode. 

“Clint, I…I need to know you’re not just saying this because of what happened.”

Clint gave a small nod. “I have an idea but I’m gonna need you to trust me. Like, really trust me.”

You nodded and a moment later, Clint’s hands had moved from yours to your face, cupping your cheeks before pulling you in for a kiss. 

It was gentle and loving and unlike any other kiss you had experienced before. Other guys had taken what they wanted, forced the kind of kiss they wanted out of you. But not Clint. 

Somehow, he conveyed every emotion he could into the kiss and you couldn’t help but feel your mind wander back to your first kiss, down the side alleyway. That felt real. You had to convince yourself it was fake but this, and that, was real. 

It was all real. 

For a moment, you felt Clint smile into the kiss as your hands gripped at the collar of his checked shirt to pull him closer. A smile which you returned. 

“I’m in love with you.”

“I’m in love with you, too.”

Clint smiled and kissed you again, and again, and again. 

Despite everything that had happened, and everything that you had previously thought, you had come to realise that maybe it wasn’t so bad to learn to love and accept love in return. And in the years that passed, despite the dangers the job put you both in, it was nice to come home and be greeted with a familiar face and a warm embrace and to have a family you could both call your own. 

#clint barton #hawkeye #clint barton x reader #hawkeye x reader #mcu #marvel #marvel imagines #marvel oneshots #shield #agents of shield #ocs #original characters #fluff #angst #jeremy renner #criminal minds #16+themes #kissing #clint barton x fe!reader #clint barton x gn!reader #hawkeye x fe!reader #mission impossible #william brandt #the avengers #clint barton x platonic!oc #clint barton x oc #marvel fanfic #fanfiction #xreader #xfe!reader

[crissiebaby]

Double Diaper Dare: Chapter 5

DISCLAIMER: This story contains diaper usage, public humiliation, masturbation/diaper sex, WAM, hypermessing, hypnosis, diaper filling, slime transformation, and other ABDL themes. I hope you enjoy!

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Watching from afar, Crissie wasn’t sure if she should step in or let Codi lie in the bed she had made for her. With Lotte cornering Codi step by step, her time to act was fast depleting. As much as her bratty nature wanted to let Codi anguish in kinky misery, she figured should be a good sport and give Codi a fighting chance. 

Running over to the counter, Crissie leaped onto the register stand, much to the nearby employees’ disapproval, and snatched the PA microphone. “Attention all CrissBaby shoppers, this is your blushy friend, Crissie, speaking. Yes, the one and only CrissieBaby” she said, stiff-arming the male employee next to her as she rambled on, “We’ve got a wide selection of fluffy diapers on sale in aisle 69. For a free coupon, please check in your butt-OOF!”

Before Crissie could continue, a plain-looking security guard showed up to put a stop to all the fun. He quickly grabbed Crissie around her waist and pulled her off of the check-out counter. “Causing trouble, are we?” said the guard, sounding almost delighted to have someone acting out in the store. He set Crissie down on her feet, keeping a firm hand on her wrist.

“Uhhhhh…no?” said Crissie, lowering her head and giving the guard the biggest pair of puppy-dog eyes she could muster. Sadly, the look the guard gave in return was more than enough to let her know she wasn’t getting off the hook that easily.

Meanwhile, Codi had taken Crissie’s distraction and ran with it. It wasn’t much but it got Lotte to look away long enough for her to dash into the nearest aisle. However, much like a wolf with her scent held deep in its nostrils, Lotte refused to let Codi get away so easily, forcing Codi into stealth mode as she snaked her way through the rows of diaper supplies until she reached the far back wall of the main floor. With nowhere else to go, she ducked through a nearby entryway into the next room only to be utterly shocked by what she found.

Next to the main CrissBaby sales floor was a space that looked more like a daycare than an actual store. There were changing tables, a playpen with dozens of toys set up, and a small media area where a TV was playing Finding Dori on loop. Unsurprisingly, no CrissBaby setup would be complete without a bit of kinky fun. Beyond the babyish stuff were a few punishment tools that looked more fit for a dungeon than a nursery.

With her jaw hanging open, Codi took a step backward, wanting to put as much distance between herself and this room as possible. The last thing she needed was for Crissie's mind to explode with ideas over the discovery of an in-store play area. Sadly, as she backed up, she bumped into a squishy set of boobs. She didn’t even need to turn around to know who it was.

“First, my butt. Now, my boobs. Someone needs to teach you that foreplay is supposed to wait until after the first date…or during if you’re feeling kinky enough,” said Lotte as she ran her fingers through Codi’s hair. Brushing the strands away from Codi’s ear, she leaned and whispered, “Don’t worry, I’ve been told I’m a wonderful teacher.”

Before Codi could formulate a proper rebuttal, she was being led by Lotte through the nursery over to where the more dungeon-esque items were stationed. “W-Wait, I swear I’m not normally like this,” she pleaded, fumbling over her own words in an attempt to avoid punishment, “I’m so, so sorry that I hit your butt. I promise I’ll never do anything like that again.”

“Oh, I know you won’t, sweetie, but that doesn’t mean you’re getting out of this. Bratty girls like you need to be taught a lesson,” said Lotte as she guided Codi toward a set of two sex chairs. The chairs were simply designed with two leather, padded pedestals to kneel down on and a central padded platform to lean over, placing the subject in a perfect spanking position. The bright red color of the leather chair clearly stood out against the pastel wonderland that made up the rest of the nursery.

Codi was sweating bullets as she was forced to march toward the sex chairs. “P-Please, I’m really, really sorry! This was all just a big joke! My friend Crissie and I were playin-MMMMMF!!” said Codi, her words suddenly cut off by a large pacifier being shoved into her mouth.

“That’s enough outta you. I don’t know who your Big is but they clearly need to show you a lot more discipline,” taunted Lotte, giving Codi a firm swat on her padded rump and causing her to yelp in anticipation of more to come.

However, right before Lotte could get Codi hooked up to her sex chair, the security guard made his grand entrance with Crissie tucked under his arm. “Lemme go, you meanie head!” shouted Crissie as she kicked her legs back and forth, refusing to let the guard get away with an easy capture.

“Not until you’ve learned your lesson,” said the guard, who was undeterred by Crissie’s flailing tantrum. He walked up to the row of sex chairs and proceeded to strap Crissie into one before yanking her diaper down, “Hey Lotte, get a load of this! Our resident Crissie impersonator is looking a bit chaste.”

As the guard tapped Crissie’s chastity belt to make a big show of his discovery, Crissie was dying of blushiness. She buried her face into the padded bench, silently cursing Codi for giving her such a rotten dare. It was already bad enough when she got recognized by random bystanders. To be taunted as a fake version of herself was somehow far worse.

“I see you’re also dealing with a naughty troublemaker, Lotte. Do you mind taking this one off my hands? I need to get back to my post,” asked the guard, giving Crissie’s right butt cheek a playful thump. 

Nodding her head, Lotte joined the guard in strapping down her mischievous Little. “I should be more than capable of handling these two. See you after work, hot stuff,” she said, leaning in and planting a kiss on the guard’s cheek. The guard then bashfully tipped his cap to Lotte before rushing out of the room, while Lotte wandered over to a wall of paddles, carefully selecting her weapon of choice.

“Well, that was adorable,” commented Crissie, her mind already filling with ideas of a diaper store worker and her adorably subby security guard hubby. She whipped her head toward Codi wearing a cheeky smile, “Hey Codi, now would probably be a good time to turn to slime so you could escape your restraints.” Sticking her chin out and turning away from Crissie, Codi refused to let Crissie get the satisfaction of watching her alter her form, even if it meant being on the receiving end of a brutal spanking. Besides, she had far more tactful ways of dealing with her situation than aiming for a risky escape plan.

Speaking of which, Lotte returned with a wide, pastel pink paddle in hand. Its wooden surface had seven holes carved into it, which were certain to add an extra sting to each impact. “Okay now, little ones, it’s time we teach you what happens when you decide to be on your brattiest behavior here at the CrissBaby Store,” she said, a twinge of sadistic joy reverberating throughout her tone, “Now who wants to go first?” “She does!” screamed both Crissie and Codi, not hesitating for an instant to throw the other under the bus.

Amused by Crissie and Codi’s bullheadedness, Lotte quickly came up with a compromise that was sure to make neither of them happy. “How about I just go back and forth then,” she said, her words drenched in condescension. If these girls were still refusing to repent for their brattiness in the face of an excruciatingly painful punishment, then there was no chance she was going easy on them.

*SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!*

The crackling sounds of wood and skin crashing together were as haunting as they were wince-inducing. Out in the main area of the store, shoppers listened in to the mother of all spankings being dealt to the pair of helpless, yet deserving girls. Still, much to their surprise, neither girl could be heard screaming out in pain.

“OH, FUCK YES!!!” shouted Crissie, as what should’ve been painful stings were partially nullified by her chastity belt, both of which vibrated tremendously with each smack, “Don’t be afraid to- *SMACK!* OHHHH! …put your back into it.”

Meanwhile, stationed next to her, stoned-faced, was Codi. While Crissie’s spanks were taken pleasurably, Codi had selected a much different approach to surviving her punishment. Just before each impact, she had her rear revert back to its slime form for a split second, making it so not even as much as a pinprick was felt no matter how hard Lotte swung. Her only regret was that she couldn’t enjoy hearing Crissie beg for mercy. “Of course, a diaper perv like her would find this scenario pleasurable,” she thought, slightly regretting her previous decision to lock her into that chastity belt.

After several minutes of non-stop wacking, it was Lotte who ended up conceding. Lowering the paddle, she leaned against Codi’s sex chair to catch her breath. “What are…your asses…made of?” she asked, gasping for air. The paddle slipped from her fingers and clattered to the ground as if to signal a white flag.

“Mmmmmm,” moaned Crissie, recovering from the immense satisfaction she got from having her butt brutalized, “You up for another round, Codi?”

TO BE CONTINUED…

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Edited by AllySmolShork

#diaper art #diaper stories #crissiebaby #little space #ab/dl #ab/dl stories #ab/dl art #diaper humiliation #md/lg #dirty diaper #diaper messy #wetting diaper #crissbabydiaperco #doublediaperdare #double diaper dare #ab/dl girl #diaper hypno #hypnosis #wet and messy #slimegirl #slime girl

[sherifftillman]

busy streets and busy lives • ralph penbury x reader

A strange day at work gets even stranger when you meet a man who claims he's from 1926. With no certainty as to when he can get back, you decide to take him in until that time arrives.

masterlist | prev. | next

Tags: Timewasters (series), modern!au, slow burn, mutual pining, idiots in love™, fluff, some angst, swearing and mentions of adult themes throughout, eventual adult content, alcohol content, drug content, penbury is a fanon surname

Word count: 9.7k

A/N: Sorry this one took so long, gang. New work rota to get used to (which, as a night shift worker, is a rough one) and then just as I got some good time off, I got hit with a MASSIVE cold that I'm still fighting off but it's been a downer on the ol' creativity.

Next chapter's a REALLY BIG one plotwise, so hopefully it shouldn't take as long!

You wake up to an empty bed and an overly natural lit bedroom. Pouting at the lack of Ralph, you throw yourself out of bed.

Thankfully, he's in the kitchen, sitting at one of the stools you'd recently bought in the January sales, since Ralph had said that he had enough of eating from his lap like a "feral animal". His eyes light up when he sees you, greeting you with a soft, "Good morning, darling!"

"Morning, yourself, handsome," you grin back, going to start making breakfast. "I know I couldn't avoid work today, but I'll still make us both your favourite, yeah?"

"Aren't you forgetting a little something?" he asks in a hopeful lilt. "Something for the birthday boy, perhaps?"

You roll your eyes, "Of course not," as you walk round to him, trying not to get too distracted by how simply adorable his little anticipatory shoulder wiggle is. Reaching over to cradle the back of his head, you pull him in for a kiss. His soft, sweet lips, still minty from having brushed his teeth, sandwich your top lip between them as he kisses you eagerly. You pull away with a soft, “Happy birthday, Ralphie,” before giggling, “and what have I told you about brushing before breakfast, it’s pointless!”

“I’m afraid I get rather a bad case of halitosis when I first awaken and I would hate for you to have that sully your opinion of me,” Ralph admits, frowning at your lack of presence as he watches you walk over to the other side of the counter.

“We all get morning breath, babe, you don’t have to worry about that!” you wave him off. Somehow, you know that you’re making him breakfast, but the actions don’t quite seem to match up. Before you know it, you’re sliding a plate in his direction. “Here you are, my love.”

“Sorry, what was that?” Ralph asks, a small smile on his face as he points to his ear.

“Shut up, you heard me, you just want me to say it again,” you shake your head, laughing under your breath. He simply smiles contentedly as he starts eating, and you watch him adoringly.

A strange noise starts to ring in your ears. It sounds as if it’s coming from outside, then as though it’s in the room with you.

Finally, you jolt awake, face half-buried in your pillow as your alarm rings over for the twentieth time. You grumble until you look at the time and you practically throw the phone at the wall as you yelp. How the fuck do you end up oversleeping through your alarm for twenty whole minutes?! Today, of all days, too. Head Office are coming in and your regional manager has stressed the importance of all hands on deck.

You finally emerge for Ralph to see you for the first time that morning, running between your bedroom and bathroom shouting a chain of, “Shit, fucking piss-stain wanker! Dogs-bollocking, dick-shitting nipples, fucking - ahhhh!” You shout as you violently brush your teeth.

Going back to throw on the first vaguely business-casual outfit you see, you stride out into the main part of the flat and face Ralph for the first time. With half a piece of toast in his hand and a crust sticking out of his mouth, he looks at you in horrified fear. You groan, “Sorry you had to hear all that. I’m running so fucking late, oh my god, why did I do this?!” You let your muscle memory take over the act of finding your jacket and shoes as you continue scolding yourself internally.

Ralph finishes his mouthful and pouts, “Aren’t you forgetting something? A certain birthday boy, perhaps?”

With an exasperated sigh, you continue running on autopilot, huffing an, “Of course!” Marching towards him, you hold the back of his head and gently bring it forward to kiss him in a sweet, lingering peck. “Happy birthday, Ralphie,” you smile before rushing out of the door, not noticing the surprised and confused look frozen onto his face or his beetroot ears. 

As you hear the lock of the door click behind you, the realisation of what you’ve just said also clicks. You freeze, accidentally mirroring Ralph’s expression. What the fuck did you go and do that for?! You certainly weren't dreaming that time. You should go back in there and apologise. You should go back in there and assure both yourself and Ralph that it was purely an accident.

But then your phone buzzes with the name of your regional manager illuminated on the screen. With a sigh of resignation, you tap to answer the call and tell them, “I know, I know, I’m literally on my way in now, I’ll be there in time, I swear.” You run down the stairs, not even thinking of waiting for the lift, and once you’re in your car you catch your reflection in the rear view mirror just long enough to scream at yourself for being so fucking stupid. How you’re going to talk yourself out of this one, you just don’t know.

Ralph remains frozen in the same position, with the same expression, for several minutes. When his brain finally allows him to actually do something, the first thing he does, naturally, is slap himself across the face. He rubs his stinging cheek with mixed confusion and realisation. He can’t be dreaming. But why on earth would you just kiss him like that, out of nowhere? Had Ralph missed a cue or… Seven, if you’re at the stage where you’re happy to just up and kiss him? Could he have been outwardly courting you this whole time? And since when was this an established thing between you, anyway? The only other time you’d kissed was exactly one month ago to the day and -

Of course. Reality falls on him like the setting winter sun - quick, harsh and cold. You kissed him to celebrate the New Year, and so now you’re kissing him to celebrate his birthday. It must just be another tradition. Of course he shouldn’t have expected anything more. If there were any other potential for an actual relationship between you and him to blossom, you’ve had plenty of chances to let him know that you’re interested, and you never have. Your kiss was simply a nicety for his big day. Nothing more.

Still, Ralph’s heart is racing. What a rush to feel your lips on his again! Though he immediately scolds himself for indulging in his selfish fantasy. It’s honestly unfair to the both of you for him to keep pretending that you could possibly seek his companionship. It would put you in an awkward position, and its inevitability finally being addressed out in the open would surely break Ralph’s heart to no end.

To distract himself, Ralph goes to make himself a coffee, but curses internally at the empty jar that’s been left on the side. Of course, stupid Ralph. He’d already used the last of it up yesterday, and you’d told him not to worry, that you’d pick more up on your big weekly shop. Ralph thought it wouldn’t be a problem, but now he needs a boost to keep his mind moving, to stop him dwelling on… Whatever just happened.

He strides over to the other side of the flat to look out of the window. He could go to the supermarket, though this smaller one doesn’t have the coffee you like to buy, and the last thing Ralph needs on today of all days is to cause more friction between the two of you. And so, with a heavy sigh of resignation, he goes to get dressed before begrudgingly making his way out of the house.

“Hi!” The barista grins from behind the counter. “Are you… Okay? You look kinda… Not sure if you’re lost, or just… Grossed out,” they cock their head as they try and study Ralph’s reaction.

“Well, I certainly never thought I’d be stepping foot in this… Coffee house of yours since it replaced my favourite shop,” Ralph frowns.

“Ahh, yeah. Sucks to see the old plant shop go, but I guess there’s not enough gardens in South London to keep them in business, eh,” they shrug.

He scoffs, “My friends and I are more than proof enough that you don’t need a garden to enjoy having greenery around!”

They put their hands up, “Alright, alright, I’m sorry? I dunno, I didn’t have any say in what happened here, I’m just one person.”

“Yes, of… Of course you are, my most humble apologies,” He squeezes his eyes shut, but the barista offers him a forgiving smile. “I… Have no idea what any of these things mean.”

“Oh, what, the different types of drink?” They point at the board behind them, and Ralph nods. “You ever drink coffee before?”

“The kind you would make at home, yes,” he nods.

“Okay, so that’s pretty much the cafe au lait,” they point to the entry up on the board. “If you’re looking to expand your horizons a little bit, a flat white’s similar but it’s made with espresso, not filtered coffee, so that’ll pack a real punch. An Americano is a diluted espresso, you can ask for milk with it but as a coffee snob, I will judge you a little for it,” they joke. “If you like milk, lattes are a safe bet. If you’ve got a sweet tooth, we’ve got cappuccinos, or mochas if you really like it sweet. If you’d prefer a cold drink, I can make you an iced latte, mocha or a tea of some kind, if you’re into those…”

“I’m still not quite sure what I’d like,” he frowns, more puzzled than ever.

“How’s about we start you with a cafe au lait, then? See how you like it?” Ralph nods in agreement, and the barista taps away at their register. “Wanna start a loyalty card?”

Ralph turns his nose up, “Feels like a betrayal.”

“Oh my god, I promise your houseplants won’t care that you’re buying your coffee here now,” the barista groans sarcastically.

Ralph sucks his lips in before looking to the barista and nodding. “Very well.”

“Just need your full name and date of birth, please,” they ask, and Ralph freezes up. “Alright there, mate?”

“Y-yes, of course, just need to check something,” he frantically takes his phone out, taps the calculator and works out what 2023-26 is. “Ah! February 1st, 1997!” Despite knowing he now lives in a year that starts with a 2, the notion of saying 1997 out loud still feels alien to him.

The barista ducks their head to look up at him past their eyebrows, disbelievingly. “You just check the date to try and get free shit?”

Ralph looks shocked at their vulgarity. “Not at all! It truly is my birthday today, why would I lie about such a thing?!”

They shake their head, “Whatever. Have a birthday every day if you really want, no skin off my back,” they tease.

Ralph takes his free coffee back to the flat with him, expressing his gratitude to the barista before leaving.

After replying to texts from both your friends and his little girl gang, Ralph finishes his coffee and starts looking around the flat for something to do. Everything is clean, he daren’t get any shopping done without you for fear of getting it wrong… If only he could do some redecorating of some sort. That would be nice. It’s all looked the same for the last five months, and who knows how long before?!

As he goes to check Twitter, to read through some inevitable birthday greetings, he accidentally clicks open Instagram instead. Terrified, he notices that all of the adverts are for home decor. It’s bad enough that the speaker knows his voice, now his phone can read his thoughts?! He slams his phone down and marches back out to end up back at the coffee shop. “Hello, again.”

“I liked that drink, but I feel a little… Adventurous,” Ralph’s eyebrows waggle. “May I try that flat white now?”

“Sure thing,” the barista smirks. “Have you downloaded the app yet?”

Ralph frowns, “What app?”

They point to a sign detailing the loyalty reward scheme. “You need to scan the code from your phone to get the points to get the prizes. Get it?”

His eyes narrow. “I don’t think I can trust my phone anymore. Mine can read my thoughts. Can yours?”

The barista looks at him, bewildered, until they finally understand. Laughing, they shake their head. “Listen, mate, you seem like a decent guy and all, and I wish I could help, but I don’t get paid enough to learn all the ins and outs of datamining just to teach you.”

“Fair enough,” Ralph admits quietly. “But so, you mean I’m not the only one being targeted?”

Another head shake. “It’s just how advertisers get to you now. Don’t sweat it too much, it’s inevitable.”

“Very well. I promise I shall bring my phone back next time. Though you may have to teach me how to use this new app, I’m not very good with them. I apologise if my inadequacy is frustrating to you.”

“Normally it would be, but I dunno, there’s some strange charm about you that makes me actually kinda want to help you?” The barista asks, confused by their own sentiment.

With a small smile, Ralph muses, “I do rather seem to have that effect on people.”

Ralph’s journey through the coffee menu proves very educational to him. The cafe au lait seems boring in comparison to the flat white, but the flat white was far stronger than Ralph could handle, for now at least. The latte proved to be too bitter, the mocha too sweet. Cappuccinos seem to finally hit the sweet spot with Ralph, but once he’s finally realised that, the barista cuts him off. “You are literally vibrating, mate. That’s enough caffeine for you.”

“Are you quite sure? I’m finding this all rather riveting! Are there any more drinks for me to try, perhaps? Or I could start making that cappuccino a regular thing!” Ralph babbles, his own speed ramped up hundredfold.

“Very sure. Come back whenever you’ve come down from your high and then we’ll talk, alright?” they smirk, flashing their eyes towards the door for Ralph to take a hint.

“Could I at least have one to take back with me? I promise I won’t drink it as quickly!” If there is one thing Ralph has learned in recent months, it’s that he’s got a face that few people can say no to, and even if they do, he can make it more persuasive. He lowers his chin ever so slightly and makes his eyes look especially wide, sticking his lower lip out just enough to not look deliberate.

The barista’s poised composure falters a little as they sigh, “Fine. One more. But don’t you dare come back until tomorrow, promise?” Their face melts as Ralph holds out his little finger to them and they link it with their own. “You’re a weird one, Ralph. But you might be becoming my favourite regular.”

With an unnaturally wide smile, Ralph nods to them in thanks, pays for his drink and takes it back to the flat with him.

Once he’s back in, the first thing his eyes are drawn to is the stool he was sitting on when you kissed him. Oh, blast, and now that’s all he can think about, with all cylinders firing. You should be home soon, and then you’ll have to talk about it, and Ralph’ll have to while he’s like this, and that’s no condition to be having such a serious conversation in.

He checks the time on his phone and accidentally unlocks it to the page he had been scrolling through furniture on. That’s it! Ralph thinks in an epiphany moment. He’ll just put all of his energy into imagining the perfect way to redecorate.

~~~

Finally, as you wave your regional manager and the Director of Somethings (it’s been far too long a day to remember specifics) out of your store, you close the door and collapse against it. You make eye contact with the day’s floor workers and smile gratuitously at them with an exhausted nod. “Alright, good job, team, think that’ll keep them off our backs for a little while.”

“You were amazing, chief,” one of them grins, and you wave them off, pulling a face of disbelief. “You really had your head in the game today!”

“I swear to fucking god, if any of you start singing High School Musical…” you falter through the first half of your threat, not having any of the brainpower to finish it. Thankfully, the silence is filled with your team’s laughter, instead.

“Nah, seriously, you were on one today. Haven’t seen you like it in yonks,” another pipes up.

“Yeah, well,” you shake your head, “believe it or not, I’d rather do all that all over again than what I’ve got waiting for me at home.”

“Oo-er, trouble in paradise?” One teases, and you throw two fingers up at them as a joking insult.

“Trust me, living with someone like Ralph is far from paradise sometimes,” you shake your head, but you let out a tension-relieving rasp of breath at that sentiment. The way you’re talking about him makes it look as though the ensuing awkwardness of the evening is his fault. You woke up too late. You rushed yourself out of your sleep. You kissed Ralph again. How on earth were you going to explain this to him?! You can’t tell him the truth, that you’d been dreaming so vividly about a situation where kissing him would be so normal that you just forgot that it wasn’t. Maybe you could call it a modern tradition to kiss people on their birthday? But then he’d expect it from the others, and you’d have to explain to them why he’s expecting it. Which would unravel as to why it would be weird for you to kiss Ralph, which would unravel the truth of Ralph’s circumstances. And you’re in far too deep, now.

The walk to your car, the drive home, even opting to walk up all nine flights of stairs still proves fruitless as you try and think of any excuse to give to Ralph.

But thankfully, in true Ralph fashion, he seems to have created his own problem to discuss instead, as you open the door to find your furniture splayed out across the expanse of the flat, all at various angles. “Okay,” you start, alarming an unusually extra-jumpy Ralph, “I’ve had the most insane day at work, so I’m clearly just imagining this. I’m going to close the door, open it again, and everything will be the way it always is.” You step back, swinging the door shut, take a deep breath and open it again to find the flat still in total disarray. You rub your face with your palms. “Dare I ask?”

“Ah! Well, I’ve had quite the brainwave today! I really thought that all of this furniture could do with a little… Revamp, and so I’ve found some pieces that I thought could really brighten the place up, and some wouldn’t quite fit, unless! I had an idea! Since we have the stools now, we can begone with the table in front of the sofa, and then I thought that would open up the space for one of those ones that’s also a bed, but then I thought, well that’s pointless now, isn’t it? But then I had another bright idea, what if we moved things around to create some more open space here near the entryway, and then perhaps we could create an area for playing more of those card games with everybody instead of all being hunched over that tiny little coffee table, and -”

You zone out for most of his rambling, but you check back in in time to interrupt him. “Oh my god, please breathe.” Ralph takes a deep breath in, but he can’t seem to focus his gaze on you. “Even if we could get the furniture up here, getting all new stuff would cost money that neither of us have -”

“Ah, but that’s the remarkable part! There are apps that sell furniture for cheaper! I found one, it’s called Ebbay -” somewhere between your tiredness and the hilarious mispronunciation of eBay means you decide not to correct him - “and they sell secondhand furniture for far cheaper, and a lot of it is still in good condition!”

You groan, “Please tell me you haven’t bought anything yet.”

“Oh, heavens, no, it appears to be some kind of auction, and Mother banned Victoria and I from attending those when we were young for assuming it was a consequenceless game and accidentally spending frivolous amounts of Father’s money on items we certainly had neither the room nor the use for!”

The mental image of a young Ralph simply waving a paddle around for the sake of it at a high-end art auction charms you just enough to take your mind off of that matter, and to finally get around to addressing the elephant in the room. “Look, Ralph…” you start slowly. “I really think we should talk about this morning -”

“Oh, what? That?” Ralph asks, visibly shaking. “No, no! No need to talk about that, there are far more important matters at hand! Now, if I could just bend your ear about -”

“Ralph, we do not need more furniture!” you interject impatiently, and his face falls, still not making eye contact with you. “What is with you?!” You look around the flat for some kind of clue, and finally spot a take-out cup with the same logo as the new cafe that opened up opposite. “Oh, thank fuck it’s just coffee this time,” you sigh with relief as Ralph’s dilated eyes continue to dart in every direction.

“Yes, although I shall miss the plants a great deal, it is rather a splendid alternative, now that I know what I like! And whoever it was that was working there was incredibly charming, I’m already a favourite - oh,” he goes from giddy excitement to a flat deadpan. “Oh, heavens, was I being wooed earlier?”

Most likely, you think to yourself. Who wouldn’t want to flirt with Ralph? “Alright, listen,” you hold his biceps at arm’s length, and he finally looks straight at you. Big, blown-out, warm brown doe eyes bore into you intently. Swallowing hard, you continue, “You’re probably due to crash any minute, so there’s no point in trying to think anything through, you’re not in the right frame of mind. Just go lay down in the bed, sleep it off, and we can get ready for tonight when you wake up.”

“You look rather tired, yourself,” Ralph looks concerned. “Perhaps we would both benefit from a nap?”

“Yeah,” you rub an eye sleepily. “Yeah, I could take an hour’s kip on the sofa once I get it back to normal again.”

“W-well, there’s no harm in us both still sharing the bed, is there?” He asks, his eyebrows knitting together. “Plus, if you sleep through another alarm, at least I would be right there to wake you.”

Blinking slowly, you look disbelievingly at him. “So, you knew I was sleeping through my alarm and you didn’t think to do anything else to wake me?!”

“You always complain that you forget to switch your alarms off on days that you don’t need them! I assumed -” his yawn interrupts him, causing you to yawn as well. “The evil contagious yawns are back,” he muses, and you laugh under your breath.

“Yeah. Let’s just go to bed, shall we?” You ask in resignation, padding your way over to the bedroom and deciding that putting the flat back is not a task for your current self.

You awaken not by your alarm, but far sooner than it from the sound of panicked shouting coming from the other room. You fly out of bed, vaulting over Ralph’s body entirely and waking him up in the process. You swing the door open to find your friends looking terrified and calling your name. “Oh my god, babe, I think you’ve been burgled!” Grace states breathlessly through her squeezed cheeks as she looks around in horror, hands holding her face the whole time.

You can’t help but giggle, “Sorry to panic you all, but crisis averted. Ralph decided to do some sudden renovations on a caffeine high and crashed before we could fix it.” Ralph emerges from behind you, looking in wide-eyed fear at the prospect of an intruder. “He’s the robber you’re worried about!” You jerk your head at Ralph from where he stands, and all four of your friends all exchange strangely knowing glances at each other. “What?”

“Furniture all over the place, you two in the bedroom…” Scott smirks quietly. “Guess we were the intruders, after all!”

You feel yourself get flustered, while Ralph seems to have thankfully not heard. “Oh, piss off, do we look as though anything happened?” You hiss, and everyone merely looks at each other in the same way.

Ralph instead looks at everyone’s hands intensely to make sure they’ve all understood the assignment for tonight. He had requested no gifts for his birthday, as he had insisted that everything everyone has done for him has been more than enough, but he wanted to celebrate by getting as many of his friends together for a night out as possible. His girl gang had suggested a rather high-end club in the city, which everyone is happy enough to meet at to compensate for not buying gifts. The one thing your friends have been looking forward to the most about Ralph’s birthday is getting him on public transport.

Once everyone has helped you get the flat back in order, you and Ralph get ready - as separately as you can show your friends - and you make your way over to the train station - but not before grabbing a McDonald’s to eat on the train. Ralph initially turns his nose up at the thought of eating such a meal out in the open, but after Connor reminds him of the dangers of drinking on an empty stomach, he wolfs his burger and fries down while you’re all still waiting at the platform.

Ralph rushes ahead of you all to press the button that opens the doors, jumping up and down with glee as the doors do, in fact, slide open. He leaps onto the train to make sure he gets a window seat, despite it being too dark outside to see anything. You, Connor and Anna all sit at the four-seat bay with him, while Scott and Grace sit on the other side with their partners. Nobody can take their eyes off of Ralph, though, who seems enamoured at the view through the window as the train moves even though most of it is plunged in the pitch black of night.

You make a plan for the Underground - teach Ralph how to use his new Oyster card to get through the barriers, then Connor was to take the lead in charging ahead, with you quickly following, Ralph in tow by way of you holding his hand, with Anna also holding his other hand behind him to make sure he didn’t get lost. You tell Ralph over and over again of how ruthless the Tube is, and that there is no room for manners, or dithering, or anything other than getting to the next train as quickly as possible. He finds it all rather overwhelming, especially as he learns the hard way that standing up on the Underground means having to hold on at all times, but his eyes light up as his body is thrown around under his grasp on the hand rail. He giggles at the names of certain stations, such as Plimlico, and you curse yourself that nobody knew of a good enough place to go that would be on the same line as Cockfosters station. Oh, to see Ralph’s reaction to that name.

Most of Ralph’s girl friends greet you outside of the bar, as well as one of his work colleagues. “I’ve been told to tell you that Babs appreciates the invite, but she’s already had enough of her body replaced that she’s not in the business of seeing what else science can do for her,” they recite to Ralph, to your amusement.

“You invited your boss?!” You ask him through laughter. “The lady who’s like 107?!”

“84,” he corrects you indignantly, “and I was simply trying to be nice!”

“Yeah, looks like you extended that nicety to the customers, too,” his colleague smirks as someone strides over confidently.

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Ralph, how many strangers have you invited?!”

“None!” He frowns. “This is a friend!” He smiles and claps as this friend of his that nobody seems to recognise approaches.

“’Sup, everybody? He-hey, Ralph! Happy birthday, my dude,” he greets, taking Ralph’s hand to shake it.

If the accent hadn’t already been a dead giveaway, Ralph nods excitedly, waggling his eyebrows. “He’s American!” He says to you pointedly, as though showing off.

You suck your lips in, trying desperately not to be too sarcastic in response so as not to embarrass him in front of his new friend, but you do allow yourself a little snarky, “Exotic,” comment, knowing it’d just go over Ralph’s head.

“He calls me dude,” Ralph continues proudly before introducing him to the group by name. “Um, Connor, would you be so kind as to introduce him to the ladies? I just have a small matter to discuss, I shall fill you in later,” he looks to his friend with a greater intent in mind, and Connor happily obliges.

“So, how did you meet Mister Cowabunga over there?” Grace smirks.

Ralph does not look amused. “He likes to come in on his work breaks to see what new ideas we’ve - I’ve - come up with! He has quite the experience level, though, he says that when he was younger, he worked in a whole city that was devoted to partying so he’s seen plenty of costumes in his time, but he says they’re nothing like what our shop does!”

You all allow yourself the moment of silence it takes to process how differently Ralph has perceived something yet again, but Grace’s boyfriend permeates that with a, “Wait, isn’t Party City just a chain store over in the Sta-”

“Yeah,” Anna nods quietly, “yeah, it is. Just let him think what he thinks, though.”

Grace also nods, “Trust me, babe, there is not enough time in this world to convince Ralph of something he’s wrong about. Just smile and nod.”

“So, did you only invite him because he gives you a very generic nickname?” You smirk.

“No! I have a plan,” he claps his hands together again. “I am going to wing him with someone tonight.”

“Right, and just who are you playing wingman with on his behalf?” You ask in a subtle attempt to correct him, but of course, it goes in one ear and out the other.

“Well, I thought he might be a good match for Charlotte, you know? He seems so calm about everything all of the time, and she’s quite… Excitable, albeit in a violent manner. I think he could possibly help her to chill out.”  He looks around at all of your dropped jaws and throws his hands up exasperatedly. “Oh, heavens, what more could I have possibly gotten wrong for you all to keep judging me on my birthday, no less!”

“No, Ralph, you said that perfectly. Like, in context and everything,” Anna smiles proudly at him, and he beams back.

“Well, then! Who’s the bee’s knees now?!” He asks confidently, striding over to join the girls with his chest puffed out.

“And he’s back,” you mutter under your breath as you follow him, to Anna’s amusement as you link arms with her.

The girls seem to have arranged for a special VIP listing which they vouch for everyone personally, which you’re grateful for as you suddenly remember that, had that not occurred, Ralph has no ID, and your luck with that is bound to run out any day now. But that day is not today, and so you can relax somewhat. Just before you go in, you debrief all his other friends on his drink tolerance, and his American friend finds it particularly hilarious that Ralph can turn different types of drunk at will depending on what drink he has.

Everyone has already assured that since a) most of you are a fair distance away from home, and b) tonight is all about Ralph, nobody will get too drunk so that everyone can focus on making sure that he has a good night. You get into the bar, with its rhythmically thumping bass and dim lights, and immediately get hit with the tiredness you’d been putting off. Shit. You don’t want to risk drinking to the point that it’s going to make you even more drowsy, nor do you especially want to be the only sober one of the group; especially after the day you’ve had, knowing there was a drink and a good time waiting for you by the evening was the only thing keeping you going.

You head up to the cocktail bar and see that they’ve got something called an espresso martini. Perhaps that’ll keep me going, you think to yourself, though you make sure you personally tell everyone in the party to make sure that Ralph doesn’t get bought it - after the events of earlier, the last thing you need is to try and rein home a caffeinated birthday boy on the night train home.

The bartender lets you know that his specialty is actually a banana espresso martini, and that he only makes it for his favourites. He slides the glass over to you with a wink and a gesture that alludes to him expecting you to drink it in front of him. The bitterness of the espresso is cut short by the sweet taste of what you assume must be banana, even though you hadn’t specified. Bit presumptuous, you think to yourself, what if I was allergic? Still, the tastes complement each other well, and so you hold your glass up to him and nod. He looks you up and down and bites his lip as he turns to serve another customer, and Anna sidles up to you, one of Ralph’s other friends, Emily, closely following. “Well, guess I know where we can find you tonight!”

You look at her in confusion. “Excuse me?”

Her new friend points over at the bartender. “Come off it, we was halfway through coming over to tell you two to get a room when he’d finished with you!"

“Excuse me?” You repeat, now wide-eyed.

“Oh, come on, you can’t say you didn’t realise he was flirting with you!” Anna exclaims. You shrug and shake your head and she scoffs, “Seriously? What is it, hm, you got your eye on someone else?”

Your face deflates as you rasp in disbelief. “Give over,” you shake your head, but as you innocently sip, you chance a look over at Ralph, to see him chatting away with his American friend and a girl who you vaguely remember as going from wanting to fight you to fighting for you within seconds in a bathroom about four months ago. This doesn’t go undetected, but the fact that it hasn’t remains undetected by you.

Considering how exhausted you are, you actually last well through the night. Every time you feel yourself starting to wind down, you simply order yourself another drink, grab at least two of Ralph’s - and now, you suppose, your - friends and get on the dance floor until one of you inevitably needs the bathroom, to which you all go together.

At one point, you’re there with his friends Lauren (or Loz, if Ralph’s around) and Hannah. “You alright, hun?” Hannah asks, making you realise you’ve been stood in a trance-like state for however long.

“Hm? Oh! Yeah, just dead tired. Had a long day at work, and not enough time to nap before getting out here,” you shake your head and wave her off.

“Okay, well, don’t feel like you have to bottle stuff up, alright? Me and Lauren, and all the rest of us, we’re here for you if you need us, okay?”

“Yeah, just ’cause we’re Ralph’s friends, don’t mean we’re not also yours,” Lauren rubs your shoulder comfortingly.

“Thanks,” you offer them both a small smile, “but I promise that’s all this is. If I have anything truly on my mind, I promise I’ll book an appointment for some toilet therapy.”

Lauren cackles loudly, “Good! I’ll have to start charging you lot soon!”

After some bathroom mirror selfies, which warm your heart that Ralph’s friends are opening their arms to you as well, you head back to the bar. Ralph is still very much playing wingman, and it actually seems to be working. Charlotte seems far more fixated on the American than on Ralph, even when the latter is talking. Already warmed by his friends’ affection for you, your chest almost bursts at the sight of Ralph just… Existing happily, amongst people he didn’t even need you to introduce him to. Living his own little life. That all starts to sink when you then remember that he’s going to have to pull himself away from all of this to live a life that doesn’t appreciate him the way people do now.

And then comes the strangest feeling yet. As you watch the three of them take their shots - it’s just too dark to make out what they’re drinking, but it at least looks darker than vodka, thankfully - you just about catch eye contact with Ralph from the corner of his eye, keeping it as he puts the glass to his mouth and tips the shot down his throat. Something about that whole interaction has you feeling light-headed, accompanied by a sort of tingling sensation that moves through your body, but most definitely starts and ends between your legs. 

As you process everything, you sigh loudly in resignation, which doesn’t go unnoticed by your new friends. “Alright, come on, what’s up, babes?” Lauren asks. “Tell me exactly what’s in your head, right now.”

In a fleeting moment of sheer lack of autonomy, either caused by lack of sleep, the presence of alcohol, or a bit of both, you simply shake your head and sigh, “I’m gonna have to fuck him before he goes, aren’t I?” When you come to, oblivious to what you’ve just admitted to, you have the urge to check your bag for your phone. “Shit,” you mutter to yourself, “think I left it in the bathroom. Um, would you get this one for me and I’ll buy yours next time?” You ask either of them, confused as to how they’re so dumbfounded, but Lauren nods.

“Sure thing, hun, take your time.” Once you’re out of earshot, the two girls slap at each other’s arms. “Did you hear that?!”

“Yeah, but what did it mean?!” Hannah asks, shaking her head.

“Well, based on who’s around us, if that was triggered by seeing whoever it was about, there’s only two options, in’t there?” Lauren flashes her eyes, gestures with her head and points over to where Ralph is now chatting to just his American friend.

“So… Ralph?” Hannah asks excitedly, but Lauren sucks the air in through her teeth.

“Nah, I don’t think so. I wish it was, I love a good rom-com moment, but why say before he goes? Ralphie would have told us if he were going anywhere, but I’m assuming Mister United States over there isn’t here forever, so…” She shrugs.

“Oh, but that’d break his heart,” Hannah pouts.

“Who’s breaking what’s heart? Lemme at them,” Connor interrupts jokingly, with Anna, Emily and Ralph’s colleague in tow.

Lauren and Hannah fill the others in on what’s just happened, and Anna and Connor look at each other excitedly. “What, were you guys rooting for Team… Whatever the other guy’s name is, not Ralph?” Lauren frowns, making Connor laugh.

“Oh, we are very much Team Ralph,” Anna waggles her eyebrows, informing the other girls of how they’d all interrupted yours and Ralph’s “shared nap”. As Scott and his partner join the conversation, quickly waving over Grace and her boyfriend, too, everyone starts swapping stories about you and Ralph that have convinced them all to start shipping the two of you. As though they could sense the vibe, the other girls also start to gravitate towards the group as the conversation goes on.

“So that’s it, then,” Scott shrugs. “We tell them that they’re madly in love with each other and finally get this painstaking slow burn over and done with!”

Lauren hums in disagreement, her eyes narrowing. “Hmm, I don’t know. Ralph would never believe us in a month of Sundays, remember that whole mess when they matched on Tinder?”

“When they WHAT?!” Your unaware friends chorus.

“Yep, Ralph accidentally,” Lauren holds up air quotations at the word, “hit the super like option or whatever, I don’t use Tinder, and ended up automatically matching with you-know-who.” The others vibrate with excitement. “So, we laid out an entire game plan to have Ralph finally confront everything, and what does he do? Panics as soon as they start talking, calls it an accident and runs away to call us, blathering on.”

“Right before that shitty date of his, too,” Emily scowls. “He could have dodged such a bullet, there.”

“Those two have taken so many easily dodged bullets, I wouldn’t place my money on either of them in a game of Russian Roulette,” Scott pulls a face, making everyone laugh.

“So, yeah, I don’t think we’re much use, there,” Lauren shrugs. “Sadly, I think the only way those two idiots are gonna get together is whenever they finally figure it out for themselves.”

“Right, we better start planning now what care home we’re all going to, so we can at least see it out together,” Connor nods, taking a little extra pride in how Lauren laughs louder than everyone else.

“God,” Ralph’s colleague pipes up with a laugh, “I had no idea about any of this, I can’t wait to tell Babs!”

~~~

Once you’ve grabbed your phone and gotten back to the main room, Lauren and Hannah are lost in a crowd of your other friends. You look over at the only other place you know definitely has at least one other person you know. You watch as Charlotte and the American - you wish you had the brainpower to remember his name right now - go off on their own and, not wanting to leave Ralph unattended for too long for fear of literally any consequence, you make a beeline for him. “Hey there, birthday boy!” You grin.

He flashes his phone up, and you get a glimpse of his lock screen - a photo of the six of you at New Year’s. “Not anymore, unfortunately! It has passed midnight now, so it is the day after,” he frowns.

You nudge his arm, “Yeah, well, it’s still your birthday in some countries, and we haven’t slept yet, so tomorrow isn’t today yet, either!” You raise your eyebrows at him, and he looks perplexed back at you. You giggle, “Never mind, ignore me. Been a hell of a day.”

“Yes, I can imagine. You, um, must have been under an awful lot of stress all day,” he mutters, barely audible over the thumping music.

“I know, I’m sorry I haven’t had the time to properly give you your card and your present, although hey! Extra birthday tomorrow! Who cares what time it is?!”

He frowns, “I specified no gifts, I just wanted a night surrounded by the people I care about the most, and I certainly have had that!”

You smirk, “Yeah, except we’ve barely seen you, Casanova!”

He laughs bashfully, “Yes, well, I thought I’d give a little something back, in return.”

“By giving Charlotte someone to distract her with?” You laugh.

“Not only that,” Ralph muses. “You talk a lot about teaching me how to assert myself more, and proving that what I have to say matters. I wanted to - well, firstly, to show myself that if I could do it for others, I could do it for myself, too, but - I wanted to show you, as well. What you’ve done for me. And why I must insist that I cannot receive any more of a gift from you.”

Just toeing the edge of alertness enough to know it’s a bad idea to kiss him again, you instead opt for throwing your arms around him and hugging him tightly. He reciprocates for a while, until your supposed love interest for the night, the bartender interrupts to ask if you want anything. You insist on buying Ralph a martini, but not yourself, partly to start allowing for a steady and time-appropriate decline into exhaustion, and partly to ensure Ralph has no idea that the espresso martini exists, though you doubt he’d be privy to the bartender’s “special”.

You get lost in your own thoughts for a second. If the bartender had really been flirting with you, so obviously that it was spotted from the other side of the room, why didn’t you tell? Even through the tiredness, it’s been long enough that surely even your “take what you can get” instinct would have latched onto that and run with it. But something just felt so wrong about the way he approached you. Immediately calling you a favourite without knowing you. The wink and the way he looked at you like you were some kind of object to be claimed. 

The word you’re looking for hits you with another realisation. It feels vulgar, and you only know one person who would use that phrasing. Ralph’s purity mindset has permeated your brain now, to the point where you can’t even allow yourself to be flirted with. If your dating life wasn’t already dead in the water, it certainly is now. Who, in all of London, would be willing to have the patience to “court” you and “woo” you the way Ralph insists you “deserve”?

“Are you alright?” His concern pierces through your train of thought, and you shake yourself back to reality to nod at him. “The man behind the bar said you should take this. I took a little sip to be safe, and it certainly seems to just be water.”

You thank Ralph with a grateful nod as you take a sip, before turning to catch the bartender’s eye and smile warmly at him, too. You hadn’t meant to buffer his advances, you just… Don’t care about seeking anyone else out at the moment. And yet, the only person you do care about doing that with, you’re doomed to never get to. What a tragic life.

Trying not to focus on the doom and gloom of it all, you try and distract yourself. “So, about Charlotte and Whatshisface,” you state as you start to approach the rest of your friends, who seem to hurriedly hush each other. “That seems to have gone well.”

“Certainly! And I have my eye on my next two subjects already,” he replies coyly before slinking himself away to rejoin the group, specifically standing next to both Connor and Lauren - Loz, now that Ralph’s here.

You all gradually drink, dance and sing the rest of the night away until the time to get ready to catch the night bus home looms. You slide into a seat on it, opting for the side closest to the window, and allowing yourself to switch off, merely enjoying the feeling of the bus beneath your forehead, vibrating away. You only know that Ralph has decided to sit next to you because, of all the slowly fading voices, Ralph’s is still the loudest.

You’re prodded awake by Ralph, who leans awkwardly to do so as you’re draped across him, head slipped just off of his shoulder to rest above his chest but still very much on his torso. You jolt up, hurriedly apologising, but Ralph waves you off. “Oh, pish-posh, Connor woke me up with such a forceful slap to my other shoulder I fear I’ll be bruised in the morning!”

“You fell asleep, too?” You ask, amused, before groaning. “Oh, god, there’s gonna be pictures of us sleeping on each other circulating the group chats for weeks now.”

“Well, that’s not a problem, is it? Not if we don’t make it so.” You’re not sure where Ralph’s managed to find such profoundness, but it impresses you. “Connor woke me up to say that he was getting off, but that the next one is ours.”

You nod, “Wanna push the button to tell the driver we’re next?” And watch affectionately how giddy Ralph gets at the action of pressing the button, hearing the bell and seeing the “Bus Stopping” sign light up.

You both thank the driver and walk back to the flats, thankful that the bus stop is barely a two-minute walk. Once you’re back at the flat, Ralph clears his throat. “Um… I suppose… Since it is still my birthday… And I’m certainly not tired for the moment…”

“You wanna open your present now?” You beam, and he mirrors you back in response. “Gimme a minute.” You rush to the bedroom and fish it out from your hiding spot. “Okay, you can come in!” You call for Ralph to follow you, and invite him to sit on the bed, which he does. As you brandish it to him, you explain, “At first, I got it because I saw it and I thought it’d look great as one of your window displays, but then I looked inside it and I thought… Well, you’ll see, “ you prompt, and he tears open the packaging.

He looks astonished at the sight in his lap. A suit jacket, golden in colour, adorned with sunburst and jacquard patterns. He lifts it out and turns it over to see an almost glistening black fabric. “Well, good heavens, this looks just like -”

Excitedly, you interrupt, “Look at the inner pocket! Left side!”

He pulls the jacket open to reveal a label: Tailored by Dower & Smyth for the personal wardrobe of Lord R. Penbury. His jaw drops. “Y- This couldn’t possibly - This is… Mine?” You nod vigorously, and he looks up at you, his doe eyes wide with shock.

“How weird, right? It’s like it was fate or something! It was just in some charity shop!”

“Yes, well, I’d rather not dwell on that,” he mutters under his breath as he carefully folds the jacket back onto his lap. “You know… This was tailored for mine and my sister’s 25th birthday party. The day we met Lauren and the rest of them.”

“That’s the first time you’ve said her name without hesitating or blubbering,” you point out light-heartedly, and he lets out a small chuckle, though it’s heavy with sadness. Not the usual woe-is-me, romantic-tragedy sadness, though. A different kind.

“It’s also the first time I’ve really thought of my sister today. My own twin, my... supposed other half. On her birthday, too. What a terrible brother I am,” he wrings his hands together, but you interrupt by forcing yours between his to hold one.

“Oi, none of that,” you start. “Considering how shit of a sister she was to you, and that she’s probably long gone by now, I think it’s allowed.”

“Do you think she mourned me?” Ralph asks quietly. “I mean, surely at some point they would have presumed me dead eventually. Do you think they held me a service? No, don’t answer that, what a morbid end to such a wonderful day.”

“Hey, I’d started this mess of a day, it’s only fair that you end it that way, too,” you tease, which makes him laugh a little. “I think… It shouldn’t matter either way. When you go back, I’m sure H.P can get you back to a time when they’ll still think you’re off with the Army or whoever you went to join. And before then… Who gives a shit? They’re not here, now. And they never did anything to deserve you in life, so why should they get to in death?” You shrug, squeezing his hand. “You’ve really found a way to find your people here, Ralph. I could see that tonight. And trust me, if you can win people over in this day and age, you can do it anywhere.”

Ralph blinks back tears and pats your linked hands with his free one. “I suppose I should get ready for an actual night’s sleep.”

“Sure thing,” you smile as you let go of him. Once he carefully hangs his present up, and grabs some pyjamas, he heads into the bathroom. You, too, quickly change into something far more comfortable, but your attention is interrupted as you notice that Ralph hasn’t quite shut the door between the bedroom and the bathroom. And that he is apparently the kind of person to strip all the way down to his underwear and then put his next outfit on. Watching him feels wrong, perverted, scandalous. But you can’t tear your eyes from him. His slender structure, with just the perfect amount of chub to form a perfect little tummy. One that also has a smattering of hair that leads down from his navel and beyond, burying itself beneath the elastic of his -

That’s when you pull yourself away from your sickest train of thought yet. Whatever prompted you to start objectifying Ralph like this, you hope it ends soon. Quickly throwing your own night clothes on, you silently await his return so that you can quickly head into the bathroom to wash your face, making sure you have the water as cold as possible.

Once you get back into the bedroom, though, Ralph looks at you apologetically. “What’s up?” you ask.

“You got me the most thoughtful present anyone could have done and I didn’t even have the decency to thank you for it.”

“Ahh, don’t be so silly,” you smirk, sitting on the bed that he’s already tucked himself into. “Your reaction was more than enough.”

“Well, I wasn’t exactly jumping off the walls,” Ralph frowns, but you shake your head.

“Doesn’t matter. I could tell how much it meant to you anyway, plus it got you to open up, which speaks volumes.” You reach over and take his hand again. “You know what you said earlier? About proving yourself to me, and to you, too?” He nods, and you grin. “Everything you just said about Victoria, and again, not being scared to say Lauren’s name anymore? That’s everything I need to know I aced that gift.”

“It truly is a wonderful find,” Ralph nods, once again misty-eyed. “Though I must again insist for the billionth time that everything you all have done for me to get me to that point is more than enough of a gift to last me many lifetimes.”

“And I must insist for the billion-and-one-th time, phooey to that! You deserve to be spoilt!” You grin. “And not in your usual little-rich-boy way,” you quickly add as Ralph’s brow knits together.

“I was about to say that you often refer to my past as being rather spoiled,” he comments, and you laugh.

“Yeah, but that’s more in a rich-people way. You deserve to be spoilt in other ways, for other reasons. But I better not talk too much about that, you need to fit your head through the door to go to work tomorrow afternoon!”

“Yes, I suppose we should both go to sleep soon, should we not?” Ralph asks, looking at the free side of the bed expectantly.

“Yeah, I guess,” you give in, throwing back the cover and basically dropping yourself onto your mattress.

Ralph sidles up to make his way slightly closer to the middle of the bed, “So, we should probably make sure we’re comfortable, shouldn’t we?”

You sigh with realisation. “That shot you had earlier was whiskey, wasn’t it?”

“I’ve had several, yes,” he admits quietly. “Though they were all bought for me before I could request my own drinks!”

“It’s fine,” you comfort him with a laugh. “So, big spoon or little?” You look over to see him mouthing your words back at you in confusion, so you hold your hands up in the air to demonstrate. “Two spoons, yeah?” You cup your hands and place one in the other. “Big spoon holds little spoon.”

Ralph nods. “So, I should be the bigger spoon, correct? Since I am… Bigger."

You shrug, "Not necessarily. Sometimes the little spoon is more figurative than literal. Though that's more, I guess… Backpacking than spooning," you laugh to yourself.

Ralph ponders for a moment. "Well, I suppose under any normal circumstances I would opt to be the big spoon, but… I think after everything, I should rather prefer to… To be held, I think."

"Alright, then, over you go," you gesture for him to roll over on his side, and you line yourself up to tuck his shoulder just under your chin as you wrap am arm around him, moving the rest of your body to fit the shape of his comfortably. "This alright for you?" You ask, unable to see his smiling, contented face.

"Just perfect," he replies wistfully, and you squeeze back in affirmation.

"Good. Night, Ralphie. Hope it ended up being a good birthday for you."

"Just perfect," he repeats in the same tone, "all of it." And before he can say anything else, and before you can think too much about that addition, you both fall asleep in synchronisation.

next chapter

#ralph timewasters #ralph timewasters x reader #ralph timewasters x you #ralph timewasters fanfic #ralph timewasters imagine #ralph penbury #ralph penbury x reader #ralph penbury x you #ralph penbury fanfic #ralph penbury imagine #ralph timewasters fluff #ralph penbury fluff #bsbl #fic: bsbl #*myfics #fic: ralph

[inkedmyths]

Sell me on monster hunter, go

OHHHH YOU'RE GONNA REGRET ASKING THIS ARE YOU READY

Concept is very simple: Kill hig monster before it kills you (hence the name)

Onto the selling points

Monster Design

The monster design is widely regarded as some of the best out there. In a series dedicated to fighting monsters, it has to be, and it doesn't disappoint. It ranges from dinosaurs, to wyverns, to dragons, to things that don't fit into any of these categories! The designs also generally have a basis in some concept of biology, taking notes from real life creatures and using fantasy concepts to create creatures that feel almost believable.

A few monsters found in Rise, for your consideration: Aknosom, Rathalos, Zinogre, and Magnamalo

These are just a sampler, from some of the Early stuff in base Rise. There's quite a few things you can fight, and the DLC features some of my absolute favorite monsters ever: Gore Magala and Malzeno

Gameplay

Rise admittedly works a bit differently from classic MonHun, but the base concepts are still there.

In this game, it's all about hitting the monster and trying not to get hit. You have to memorize attack patterns, dodge them at the right time, figure out where to get the best damage in. You're opponent doesn't have a health bar; rather, you have to try and determine how close you are to winning based on the monster's behavior. It gets slower, shows signs of damage, will often run off to rest when near death.

There's also not a standard player leveling system. Instead, you upgrade your gear, and get better at playing. In order to get new gear, you have to kill monsers, and use their parts to make new weapons and armor. The armor design is also very neat, and occasionally very very silly.

Speaking of weapons, there are 14 different different weapon types, one for everyone. I prefer the fast paced and acrobatic Dual Blades, while my mom prefers the heavy hitting and complex Charge Blade. Theres simple, theres complicated, there's close combat, and ranged. Whatever floats your boat!

Rise's special mechanic that sets it apart is Wirebugs. Think of them as a gear piece that lets you grapple hook in midair, and perform all kinds of fancy moves. They take some getting used to, but once you master them, you'll be virtually unstoppable.

Pets

One of Monster Hunter's longtime traditions are Palicoes! They are little cat friends that help you fight in combat, and can also act as support. Very cute and useful.

Rise is also the first game to introduce Palamutes! If you're more of a dog person, congrats, you can have a dog that will help you in combat. They have different uses than Palicoes, so mix and match as needed

Music

THIS IS ONE OF THE MOST UNDERRATED PARTS OF THE SERIES I SWEAR

I could talk about about the soundtrack for days and days. Some tracks are better than others, of course, but they're generally very good at creating a good atmosphere

For your perusal:

Proof of a Hero, the Main Theme of the series. Often played in the final phase of major boss fights (The version I have linked is the original, and doesn't actually play in Rise. Rise has it's own version, as does the DLC, Sunbreak, which has my favorite version)

Spark of Blue, Zinogre's theme (a personal favorite)

Barbarous Beast, Magnamalo's Theme

Brilliance Eclipsed, Gore Magala's Theme

Scarlet Feast, Malzeno's Theme

The soundtrack is really fun, and Rise puts a fun twist on several tracks

Co-Op Play

You can play alone, but it's really fun to play with friends. Nothing like watching your buddy get smacked across the map and dying. Up to four friends can play together, and you can tackle everything in the game alongside them

Okay I have to pay attention to stream now but this is my sales pitch hope you enjoyed

#answers #monster hunter #monster hunter rise #i am so so passionate #we haven't streamed it in a while but one of these days we will. and we can play w/newcomers. its always fun

[steddie-fanfic-recs]

That Awful Sound

by BoudicaMuse

Rating: Mature Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationship: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson Characters: Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson Additional Tags: Assassins & Hitmen, Modern Era, specifically this is a mr and mrs smith au, Lovers to enemies to lovers, violence to animals, but it's minimal I swear the dog is going to be fine, Domestic Violence Words: 4,720 Chapters: 1/1

Summary

Ten million dollars for Henry Creel's head. That wasn't just retirement money. That was fuck off to your own private island in the south Pacific for the rest of your life kind of money. Probably not enough for one with running water, but still. There was just the one problem. "You run out of bullets, babe?" Steve fucking Harrington. Adoring husband, criminally hot gym teacher, hero of the basketball team's annual bake sale, and oh yeah. Apparently, also a rival assassin. "Why don't you come over here and find out?"

#steddie #steddie fic rec #oneshot #1-5k #au modern