#╰【 TAGGED AS … 】❖ ━━━━━ ❛ titled「 a soft october night 」

[keulixeutin]

A Soft October Night

a/n: i have a thing for citrus scents—and an inability to describe perfumes and colognes—so leave me alone asidlfhad.  i felt sad and wanted to write something sad, but i hate writing sad things bc i’m delicate and sensitive, so this is as close as i’ll get.  this was supposed to be like 1k.  and then???? idk. also, this is noted as a drabble but it's the length of a dang fic lmaoo but the vibe is drabble, u feel??? anyways, i hope u enjoy!!!!!

summary: after receiving a heartbreaking rejection, you find comfort in the arms of someone you least expect.  bakugou x fem!reader (if you squint). one-sided shindou x reader, or more like nakagame x shindou x reader.

cw: she/her pronouns, fem!reader. swearing, angst, heartbreak, hurt and comfort, reader feeling super insecure, shindou kind of leading reader on (implications), alcohol, drunk reader, bakugou being comfort, some fluff and cuteness at the end.

word count: 4,696.

You stared at the side of Yo’s chiseled face as he pulled out his phone and responded to a text message.  You knew better than to look; you knew you’d simply be twisting the knife in your side, confirming what you already knew.  Your eyes flickered down to the smiling face of a cutely sweet blond: Nakagame Tatami.  It was embarrassing and humiliating to call her your rival in love, but there wasn’t any other way to say it.

And, actually, it wasn’t much of a rivalry.  She was in the lead, if she hadn’t already won.  The evidence was right in front of you—there you were, drunk and upset, and Yo was still messaging her.

When the two of you got to his car, he pocketed his phone and opened the driver’s door.  You opened the passenger side—but then you stopped, heart throbbing like it was being squeezed in someone’s apathetic hand.

“Yo,” you began, “do you like me?”

He looked to you, brows furrowing.  “Babe, you know the answer to that,” he said, and the pet-name that once had you shuddering in elation now had you trembling in grief.

“Yo—”

“Of course I like you.”

It wasn’t an answer though.  You knew him well enough to know that what he said wasn’t what he meant; what he said wasn’t a real answer to your question.  He was only trying to placate you for another day, say what you wanted to hear to keep you quiet for another week, say anything to avoid admitting a decision that he had already made.

“I’m really tired,” you said suddenly.

“I know, babe,” he said.  “Get in the car, and I’ll drive you home.”  

“I’m exhausted, Yo,” you continued.  “Fucking exhausted.”

He didn’t say anything, realizing then that you weren’t referencing your physical fatigue.  You held tightly onto the passenger door, grinding your teeth to keep the tears from falling, to keep from screaming.

“I can’t keep doing this,” you whispered.  “If you like me, then you’re mine; and if you’re mine, then you’re mine.”

“…Let’s talk about this later.”  His voice had softened, but it was because he could see the breaking on your face, and not because he wanted the talk to be later so that he could be sweet.

He wasn’t sweet to you.  He’d never be, not in the way you wanted, not in the way you asked.

You pressed your hand over your eyes, as if you could force the tears back.

“It’s okay if it’s fucking Nakagame,” you said, your voice cracking.  “But if it is, then you need to leave me alone.”

He hesitated.  “It’s not like that.  I’m not saying that it’s Tatami—”

“Then who is it?” you asked, hearing the high and hissing desperation in your voice.  It had been months like this, long weeks of secret laughter and tender touches and quiet kisses in the corners—and yet there was nothing to show for it in the light of the day.  Everything that had happened under the cover of darkness stayed there, and you were always left waking with questions and confusions.

“It’s—it’s not anyone,” he said.  “I care about you—I care about the both of you.  Why is that a crime?  You’re both important to me.  I can’t choose because you matter to me in—in different ways.”

That was enough for the dam to break.  You leaned your forehead against your forearm, still gripping the door for support as you tried to swallow the gasping sobs breaking through. 

You both mattered to him in different ways.  Of course, you thought.  It was always like this with every person you had ever loved.

“Why can’t you say that it’s me?” you asked.  “That you pick me?”

“[Name]—”

“Is that so bad?”  You let out a pained and incredulous laugh.  “Is it so hard to say, ‘It’s you, and it’s only you?'”

He stepped around the car to you.  When you felt his hand touch your arm, you jerked away, face stained with heartbreak and tears.

“You’re drunk,” he said gently.  “Let me get you home and we can talk about this tomorrow.  How’s that sound?”

“Sounds like bullshit,” you spat.  “Sounds like another way for you to avoid the hard conversation.  Sounds like another way for you to keep me on the side and Nakagame in your bed.”

Hurt flashed across his face, and it only made you angrier.  How could it be that he felt hurt?  How was that fair that his feelings got to be hurt when he was the one stringing you along?  How was it that he could look so goddamn handsome with pain coloring his brows while you, the actual victim, had ugly snot and tears and smeared eyeliner and frizzy hair?

“Babe, that’s not what I’m saying—”

“I hear what you’re saying,” you interrupted bitterly, “loud and clear, Yo.  It’s not me—and that’s fucking fine—but this—whatever this is—this is not fucking fine.”

“[Name], wait—”

Yo tried to grab your arm, but you quickly side-stepped him, storming back toward the bar.  The car doors closed behind you; then, after a brief moment’s hesitation, you heard him quickly follow after you.  Picking up your speed, you entered through the back door and shuffled through the crowd on unsteady feet, rubbing at your face to try to wipe away any evidence that this had hurt. You paused, quickly looking around, trying to recall where the bathroom was; you figured you could hide in the women’s bathroom before leaving, or maybe even climb through the window and call for an Uber.

Abruptly, someone grabbed onto your wrist.

“Hey, what the hell?” It was a familiar, gruff voice. 

You turned, meeting bright red eyes: Bakugou. 

He took in your blotchy face and disheveled hair, concerned etched into his normal scowl.

“You alright there, doc?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” you said tightly, trying to pull your wrist out of his hold, but he held on, frowning.  “Just need to get to the bathroom.”

You thought you heard Yo calling for your name above the buzz of the music and the crowd, but you weren’t sure if it was simply part of your imagination.  You couldn’t lie; you had a moment of weakness where you hoped he would catch up to you, grab you by the waist, and then profess his love and apologize for his stupidity, but even in your drunken and despondent state, you knew how ridiculous that dream was.  Him calling you hadn’t been in your head, though, as Bakugou had heard him as well; the both of you turned to look back in the same direction.

“I can’t talk to him right now,” you said, and he finally let go of your hand.

“Hold on,” Bakugou said.  “Come here—that dumbass would be stubborn enough to follow you even into the women’s bathroom.”

He walked you backwards to the bar a few feet from you, shoving others aside to make space for the two of you.  Bakugou blocked you in against the countertop and his chest; one hand gripped the counter, covering you from sight with his arm and shoulder, and the free hand looped loosely around your waist.  He tilted his head down toward your ear.  The position was intimate; to anyone looking, they’d see a man murmuring sweetly into someone’s ear.  The stance perfectly obstructed views; he hid you from wandering gazes with his large back as he pressed you into his hard chest, into his earth and citrus cologne.

You didn’t know if Yo passed by.  You were enveloped by Bakugou’s scent and warmth, and as he pulled you in closer, or as you leaned in further, you suddenly released the heartbreak that you had been trying to wipe from your face, a weight you had been trying to hold onto until you reached the safety of the bathroom stalls.  In Bakugou’s arms—in his surprisingly warm and tender embrace, in his arms that encircled you like you were the softest and most delicate thing he ever had to hold—you cried.  Your shoulders shook as you sobbed into his chest, unable to help yourself.

You thought he’d tense, thought he’d push you away in sneering disgust.  It wasn’t as if you had a particularly volatile relationship with him, but he wasn’t known to be the most compassionate person.  But, defying your expectations, Bakugou pulled you closer and wrapped his arms around you fully.  He pressed his cheek against the top of your head—and you felt him sway slowly.

“Hey, hey,” he murmured against your hair, and for some reason, that made you cry harder.

You felt so pathetic, crying over someone you knew would never pick you, crying over something that had happened to you over and over again already.

You must’ve been so pathetic that Bakugou—the explosive, hot-headed, roughest-around-the-edges Bakugou Katsuki—was trying to comfort you.  You had asked—begged—pleaded—Yo to give you a little bit of anything, shamefully crying for scraps for so long, and here was Bakugou, giving you what he could, turning down his fire, his heat, to give you a little bit of warmth that wouldn’t burn.

How was this fair?

“You’re fine,” Bakugou whispered.  “You’re okay.”

You gripped his shirt, not caring that you were potentially ruining it with the tight clamping of your nails and your tears seeping through the fabric.

“Fuck that guy,” he muttered.  “I never fuckin’ liked him or his fuckin’ ugly face anyways.”

The sudden shift made you laugh, hiccuping against the cries fighting for dominance in your throat.  It didn’t provide any lasting relief, though, but you were grateful even for the second of reprieve.

Once you got a handle on your breath, you pulled back, saying, “Thanks—for hiding me.”  You didn’t want to stand here and keep crying in Bakugou’s chest; you were drunk, but you were aware enough to know you’d regret it embarrassingly in the morning.  “I’m, um, gonna sneak out before he comes back around.”

—But he didn’t respond like you had expected.

“I’ll walk you out,” he offered.  He smoothed out your hair, detangling some strands, a gesture that was tenderhearted, something you never would’ve thought to attach to the hero voted most likely to attack journalists and paparazzi.

“I’ll be fine.”

He rolled his eyes.  “Shut up and walk.”

With a huff, you looked over his arms and shoulders.  When you didn’t see Yo, Bakugou released you from his hold and followed you as you pushed through club crowd, heading for the entrance.  When you finally made it out onto the street, you took in a deep but shaky breath of the cool night air.

Just another night, you thought.  Just another second place trophy to add to the shelf.

Nothing new, you told yourself.  Nothing new.

Bakugou gently touched your hand, getting your attention.  When you looked at him, he jerked a thumb toward the parking lot.

“Over here,” he said.

It took a while to piece it together, due to the fog of alcohol and heartache, but when you realized what he was offering, you shook your head.  “Seriously,” you said, “you’ve done enough.  You don’t need to drive me home; I’ll just call a taxi or Uber or something…”

“Why the hell would you spend money when I’m telling you I’ve got a fuckin’ car?”

“Because I want to wallow alone.”

He stopped, staring at you.  “Do you?” he asked.

It seemed like, if you said yes, he’d leave you alone; it seemed like he was giving you an option to be honest and he’d respect your answer—but, truthfully, you didn’t know yourself.  This was the only way you knew how to deal with your feelings toward Yo.  This was the only way you had ever dealt with feelings such as this, alone in the dark.  You didn’t know if you wanted company.  You didn’t know if it would make it better or easier, or if you’d just feel stupid and humiliated in the presence of others.

“Doc?” he asked.  It wasn’t a creative nickname.  He—and many others—called you doc because you had a PhD in bio-engineering with quirk applications—but there was something sincere about the way he said it, something softer and more intimate than Yo’s frequent usage of babe.

You shrugged, feeling your eyes sting with unshed tears again.  You didn’t know you had so much in you to give, so much to lose, so much already lost.

“Come on,” he said.  

Bakugou didn’t grab onto you, letting you decide, but you ultimately followed him as he wove through parked cars.  He led you to the other side of the lot where the metal barrier stopped cars from driving off the hill and down into traffic.  Past it was a expansive and beautiful view of the sea, sparkling underneath a bright crescent moon.

He motioned for you to go to toward the back of his car; he helped you up to sit on the trunk.  Then, he reached into the back passenger’s seat for an unopened water bottle.

“Drink,” he said, putting it into your hands.  “You hungry?”

You shrugged again.

“Stay here,” he ordered, and you irrationally found it so goddamn hilarious that he thought there was somewhere you could go.

While he was gone, you stared at the passing cars below and the soft shimmering of the ocean.  From so high up, you could see the stars reflected back in some of the calmer waters before gentle waves rippled the view.  You drank from the bottle slowly, sniffling and wiping your nose with the back of your hand every few minutes as you mentally tortured yourself with every little bit of Yo that had made you fall in love—his stupidly soft smile in the glow of the morning light, his bark of laughter whenever you unwittingly bumped your shoulder into corners, his nimble fingers braiding your hair as you were bent over costume and gear schematics in the early dawn, him having just finished his patrol and you still having yet gone to sleep.

You wondered if he did the same with Nakagame on the days he didn’t visit you.

—No, you knew he did.

He probably did more.

In the morning light, he probably kissed her.  If she bumped into walls, he probably checked for any injuries.  After late night patrols, he probably pulled her into the bed, skin-to-skin underneath the sheets because that was the best way to sleep.

You gripped the water bottle tightly.

Bakugou came back then; he had a plate of chicken karaage and two beers.  He handed you the warm plate and drink before hopping onto the back of his car, settling down right beside you.  His body emitted heat constantly.  You wondered if that was how he was or if it had to do with his quirk; maybe a mixture of both.  It was welcoming in the cool night.

“Doesn’t this defeat the purpose of my water?” you asked, replacing the water bottle with the beer when he popped it open for you.

“Who fuckin’ eats chicken karaage without beer?” Bakugou snorted.

The two of you clinked the glass bottles and took a swig, picking at the food in your lap.  You turned to stare at the shifting ocean under the silver light.

“Shouldn’t you go back in with your friends?” you asked suddenly, masochistically trying to push him away so you could be miserable alone.

“They’re fine,” he answered.  “Eijirou’s been slowly sobering up ever since Dunce Face started hitting on the dancers.”

You cracked a wry grin.  “The dancers that are dating the bouncers?”

“The dancers dating the fucking bouncers.”  

He took another swig of his drink.  You followed suit.  It was quiet.  You thought it would stay like that, just an hour of complete silence while you wallowed and moped; it’d probably be easier for the number two explosive hero.  He wasn’t one for small talk, much less sentimental ones—but he continued to surprise you, and you found yourself secretly grateful.

“…You wanna talk about it?” he asked.

You glanced at him, sniffling without meaning to.  “I’m surprised you wanna hear about it.”

“I don’t,” he retorted.  “But—feels like something you might like.  Or need.  Or whatever.”  Under the dim light of the night, the harsh lines on his face made from his training, his anger, his life, seemed to soften.  

“That’s sweet,” you remarked.  “I think.  Well, it is sweet for you, I guess.”

He didn’t respond, letting the silence fill until you felt ready to say something.

You didn’t think you were.  You didn’t think you’d ever be.  Even with your past blunders in love, you never truly felt comfortable enough to talk about them with anyone, not even your closest friends.  You never felt okay enough.  It was difficult to move on when you were consistently trapped in these situations.  Everyone who had wrapped their arms around you under the cover of night disappeared as soon as the sun kissed your eyelids.  Even worse, they disappeared and fell into someone else’s arms.

“There’s nothing to say,” you finally said, voice low as though you were afraid that, any louder, and you’d burst into tears.  “I stupidly…waited around, and—and he didn’t pick me.”  You scratched at your cheek, attempting nonchalance in your tone and movement, even though you were staring pointedly at your heels to keep the stinging in your eyes from morphing into anything else.  “To be fair,” you continued, “he didn’t pick either of us—me or Nakagame.  Turtle Neck, if you remember.  But, anyways, I know what that means.”

“What does it mean?”

“That I am, once again, not good enough to be chosen.”  You smiled bitterly.  “Always the bridesmaid and never the bride, is what they say.”  You tried to laugh, but it came out hollow.

You could feel him staring at you, the heat of his gaze warming the side of your face.

“I know you’re not interested in a pity-party,” you said, “but I just need it for the night and then it’ll be over.  Back to being the doc tomorrow.”

“You—”

“Is it okay that I’m sitting on your car?”

He was taken aback by the abrupt shift in conversation, blinking and frowning in confusion.  “What?”

“I lathered a shit ton of glitter lotion on myself before I left,” you explained.

Bakugou looked down to your legs, glistening under the moonlight, an entire galaxy dotting every part of your legs.  You lifted your thigh and saw the sparkly smear on his car.  

“What the fuck.”

“Sorry,” you said.

“Whatever, it’s fine,” he grumbled.  “I’ll take it into the carwash tomorrow.”

“I’ll pay,” you offered.

“I said it’s fuckin’ fine, Jesus.”

“Why are you being so nice?” you asked suddenly.

He glowered at you, looking annoyed by the question.  “Why kind of asshole do you think I am?”

“The asshole kind,” you deadpanned.

“Well, I’m not that kind,” he muttered.

You peered at his expression, seeing something on his face that you hadn’t ever seen before, something sentimental, or soft, or delicate.  “What kind are you then?” you prodded.

He sipped his beer, glancing at you.  “The kind that gets fuckin’ annoyed,” he replied, “but not the kind that would fuckin’ leave you while you’re crying.”  He was glaring at you from the corner of his eyes, but he looked sincere, and if Bakugou had shown you anything from his shouting and his scowling, it was that he was earnest in his worst—and best—of moods.

“Oh.”  You didn’t have anything else to say, looking down at your hands.  You picked another piece of chicken, a small and crispy one, and popped it into your mouth, chewing absentmindedly.  It was more for the alcohol than hunger.

You suppose there was a lot you didn’t know—about the people around you.  About anything.  You hadn’t been sure that Yo would've picked you over Tatami, but you hadn’t been sure that he wouldn’t have, either.  You had been sure that you could wait, could hold off long enough until he found his way back to you, but you were wrong.  And you hadn’t expected Bakugou to be the one to swoop in and help you, but he had—he did—he was.

You wondered what else you would get wrong tonight, or for the rest of your life, and you thought this feeling should perhaps leave you hopeful and excited, but, instead, your chest felt empty and aching.

You looked from the fried chicken in your lap to Bakugou leaning forward, resting his elbows onto his knees, to the gentle ripples of the ocean water, the reflective night sky unexpectedly cut by a pod of jumping dolphins.  The chilly night was backdropped by the music blaring from the clubs all around and the stars all above, and there were goddamn dolphins playing in the gleaming waters—it was so romantic, so dreamy, so perfect, the entire fucking thing.  You couldn’t do anything but curl into yourself and cry, thinking, stupidly, that you wanted Yo to be here beside you, sharing this meal and this beer and this soft October night.

The chicken fell out of your lap, and you had just enough sense to tighten your hold on the bottle, or maybe you just wanted something to hold onto.

You felt a hand on your back, rubbing lightly.

“…Do you want a hug?” Bakugou asked, his voice low and gruff and the sweetest thing you had heard all night.

“Yes,” you whispered.  “Yes, please.”

He gently pried the bottle from your hand and placed it aside, and then he opened his arms to you.  You climbed into his lap, burying your face into his neck as you sobbed, seeking a warmth that you weren’t going to get from anyone else.

You cried about Yo.  You cried about the mean things you had thought about Nakagame in moments of cruel jealousy.  You cried about all the boys that had picked smiles more beloved than yours.

Just once, you’d like to hear it.

Just once, you’d like to be someone’s first choice.

Just once, you’d like someone to touch your face, and cup your cheeks, and sigh against your mouth—it’s you—it’s you—it’s always been you—it’ll only ever be you.

And as if he could hear it in your cries, Bakugou murmured kindly into your hair.  “One day.  It’ll be you one day.”

You didn’t quite believe it.  Logically, you knew you couldn’t say it was impossible, but it was the same way you approached ghosts or miracles—they were there, but they weren’t.  You couldn’t say never, but you couldn’t say for certain either, and wasn’t that answer enough?  That you couldn’t confidently say yes?  That you couldn’t look at something and say it was a miracle, but it was so easy to say it only a trick of the light?

You cried harder, tightening your hold around him.  In response, Bakugou held onto you all the tighter, unaffected by your dress riding up or your legs straddling him or the glitter that was surely getting smeared onto his black pants.  He held you as fiercely as you wanted, loosening his hold when you loosened yours, contracting when you did.

After a while, you lost the energy to cry.  There was nothing left to give or heave.  The next breath you took, though shaky and unstable, didn’t devolve into bawling, and then, soon, with more exhales that didn’t trigger tears, you began to slowly calm.  Eventually, it was just your occasional sniffle and the heavy beating of Bakugou’s heart.  You felt him untangle your hair, shifting you closer on his lap. 

“I’d pick you,” he said softly.

“Not Uraraka?  Utsushimi?”  It was supposed to be a dry joke, but your cracking voice and your sniffling made it sound pessimistic and sad, like you believed that, in the grand scheme of things, you’d always be in someone’s shadow.

“Nah.  You.”

There was a finality there that soothed you.  A brusqueness that refused questioning. It was nice. Reassuring.

You closed your eyes, breathed in his scent—sweet and citrusy in the heated dark.  As your body relaxed, Bakugou tightened his hold on you.

Tired by the night’s events, you fell asleep for a moment.  You jerked awake when you felt drool pooling at the edge of your lips.  You didn’t know how long you had fallen asleep; it didn’t feel long, but you couldn’t be sure.  Bakugou was laying against the back window of his car with you still in his arms, his hand slowly running up and down your back in soft strokes as he stared at the stars with half-lidded eyes.

You sat up, disentangling yourself from his hold.  “Sorry,” you said, wiping your mouth.  “I—I think I drooled on you.”  With the alcohol fading and the cries subsiding, you immediately felt an embarrassment creep into your chest.

“It’s fine.”  He had one careful hand on your hip to keep you steady as he lifted himself up with his other hand.  “You ready to go?”

“Bakugou—really, I—I’ll just Uber…”

“Shut up,” he grunted.  He helped you down and then gathered the trash to dump into a nearby trashcan.  Before you could open the door, he opened the passenger side for you.  “Get in, crybaby,” he said, gruff voice ending in a lilting tease.

“Too soon, asshole,” you grumbled.  You looked up at him and rubbed at your runny nose with the back of your hand.  His shirt had some wet spots on it, but he looked impeccable; you, on the other hand, must've looked like an absolutely disgusting mess.  

“I feel really gross,” you said, attempting to laugh as though that would ease the embarrassment.

You expected him to agree, but he only looked down at you.  His left brow was raised, trying for something hard and stony, but there was half a smile curling at the corner of his lips.  Emboldened, you sent a hesitant smile his way—and then you caught sight of a familiar dark head of hair across the parking lot.

Yo stood at the club entrance, staring at you and Bakugou.

Bakugou, seeing you avert your eyes to somewhere behind him, turned around and saw Yo as well.  He looked back to you. 

There was a silent question in the air—would you go to Yo?  Would you go back?  You had told him that what he was doing wasn’t fair—but what if he changed his mind?  What if he finally picked you?  What if—

You looked from dark brown eyes to bright vermillion ones.

Then, wiping at your sniffling nose, you sat inside the car, and Bakugou, after checking that both your legs were in, closed the passenger door.  He ignored Yo as he walked around the car and got into the driver’s side, something you thought was wildly mature.

“Text me your address,” Bakugou said as he closed the door.

“What’s your number?” you asked.

“You never saved it?” he asked, nose flaring.  “I fuckin’ texted you last week about my gear.”

“You rarely hire my company to adjust your tech,” you said, scrolling through your messages until you found the unknown number with the choppy messages lacking any type of normal human etiquette.

“What does that fuckin’ matter?” he muttered.  “Fuckin’ save it this time.  And hand sanitizer’s in the compartment; don’t think I didn’t fucking notice you wiping at your snot the entire night.”

“Shut up,” you muttered.

As mature as he had seemed earlier with not yelling at Yo, you should’ve known that it wouldn’t have lasted for long. Bakugou couldn’t help but give in to his hotheaded instinct, to his mean streak. As he pulled out of his spot, he pressed his middle finger against the window at Yo’s furious face. The car sped off with you clutching your side in the passenger seat, laughing and gasping for air bittersweetly, wrapped still in his citrus scent and tenderhearted whispers.

[deancasbigbang]

Title: Two Worlds Apart

Author: destielpirate

Artist: LamiaSage

Rating: Mature

Pairings: Castiel/Dean Winchester Background Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester

Length: 55000

Warnings: Nightmares, Panic Attack.

Tags: Amnesia AU Mysterious Cas Mutual paining Angst Past DeanCas Idiots in Love Dark fic Falling in love again Hurt/comfort

Posting Date: October 30, 2023

Summary: After being injured in a car accident and suffering through a memory loss, Dean spent the last four years attempting to put his life back together. The majority of his memories return, but something still remains missing—something he can't identify—that everyone is hiding from him, something that always remains unanswered. Dean’s past comes back to haunt him when he visits Sioux Falls for a business meeting where he meets a stranger named Castiel, but something about the man seems strange and oddly familiar which makes Dean wonder if he knows him, but the guy always refuses. And that marked the beginning of a quest to solve the mystery of his past hidden in between those recurring dreams which becomes more, and more vivid the more time he spends with Castiel which soon leads to a painful realisation and a series of regrets.

Excerpt: “How was it?” Cas asks, glancing back at Dean. “Amazing!” Dean whispers. "It was!" Castiel says in a low voice, "... It really was!" He murmurs, openly staring at Dean as if he had something to say, but then decides against it and casts his gaze away. After hearing the response, Dean casts a brief glance in Cas' direction because it didn't seem like he was talking about the book, but Dean chooses to ignore it because Castiel is hard to understand and has a habit of talking in riddles. Dean sighs, driving on an deserted road late at night, he takes the turns as instructed, paying close attention to the twisting roads. They settle in a comfortable silence, and somewhere along the way, Dean’s eyes flicker over to check upon his new friend in case he has fallen asleep, but Cas is wide awake, reading like he hasn’t picked the book up in ages and wants to absorb each, and every word of it. The road is nothing but a dull route with little to no traffic, and he finds the passenger in the shotgun who is engrossed in the book a little tempting, and happens to steal occasional glances at the nerd beside him, and something drops in his chest watching Castiel wear that soft smile while reading the book as the street light falls on Cas’ face, and fades away just as swiftly, before being replaced by another warm light of the nearing street light, Dean stares intently at the sight before it becomes a memory. Maybe, Dean wasn’t being subtle at all, and maybe Castieln noticed it as he glances at Dean to meet his eyes, and Dean is taken aback by the mesmerizing shade of blue prominent even in dimly lit atmosphere, Cas doesn’t say anything, but offers that lovely smile and Dean find himself mirroring the expression as Castiel tears his gaze from Dean to peer out of passenger seat window, and Dean allows himself to linger a little more at the strange feeling because something tells him this is not the first time he is looking fondly over the person sitting in the passenger seat, and something about Cas that has brought up this feeling, which almost seems like a déjà vu. A faint, blurry memory that is there, but still remains locked somewhere deep inside his brain. “Eyes on the road, Dean,” Castiel reminds, in a delicately soft tone. And without missing a beat, Dean finds himself saying, “But the road is not beautiful.” Castiel’s head snaps in Dean’s direction quickly, probably startled by the response and Dean looks away abruptly, snapping back to reality, flinching at his own words, he clears his throat not sure what had gotten into him seconds ago, it happened too quickly before Dean could even register what he was even saying. Castiel’s reminder triggered something in his brain and he replied with the answer that popped up in his head, as if he has always replied like this to whoever used to be in the passenger seat.

DCBB 2023 Posting Schedule

[lizzybeth1986]

Rose Gold

Book: The Royal Romance

Pairing: Hana Lee x Kiara Theron

Rating: PG

Word Count: 4, 304 words

Content Warning: Mention of Gun Violence, Character Injury.

Summary: Six months after King Liam and Queen Esther's wedding, Hana and Kiara take their next big step as a couple.

A/N: Set in the P&Tverse. Since P&T spans the timelines of Books 2 and 3 (the Engagement Tour and the Unity Tour + Liam & Esther's wedding), most of this fic takes place after the series is meant to end, and there are references to things that happen there that aren't canon.

The first half of the fic, however, takes place just before the group reunites with the MC and Drake at the safe house (TRR3, Ch 1).

I've borrowed a few elements from Hana's own engagement to the MC in the books: the rose gold ring, the coin throwing ritual at the foundation and the proposal at the lake.

Tagging @hanaleeappreciationweek for Day 5: Romance, @choicesficwriterscreations for FoTW and LGBTQ Archive, and @choicesmaychallenge24 for Hera: Marriage

October 14th, 2017. Half past Midnight.

Foolishness. Sheer foolishness.

The voice inwardly chiding her right now sounded suspiciously like her mother; for that reason alone she was desperate to ignore it.

But what else would one call an impulse to jump out of a car that could take her in complete secrecy to the city's best safe house, only to race to Argyros and Sons - Cordonia's premier jewellery store - for a gift she wasn't even sure would be accepted...a promise she wasn't even sure its intended recipient would want?

"Looking for something specific, Your Grace?"

Surprised, Hana looked up from the case displaying an assortment of glittering diamond rings. The eyes that met hers in a speculative survey were ocean-blue, marked by wizened crow's feet. It was at the tip of her tongue to correct him (Lady Hana, sir!) when she spotted the Twitter feed on the iPhone in his hand.

News sure does travel fast around the Capitol!

But no sooner had that thought left her head, than the riptide of memories began to flood her.

The Homecoming Ball. Hors d'oeuvres. Speeches. Fireworks. Announcements. Please welcome Esther DuPont, Duchess of Valtoria, and Hana Lee, Duchess of Krysanthe. Cheers. Expectant Gazes. And then...

Darkness. Gunshots. The acrid taste of fear.

Hana bit back a grimace. How long would memories of tonight haunt her? How long would it be before she heard people address her by her new title, without memories of the violence that followed?

She held her handbag with a sudden death-grip, forcing herself to breathe. To push forth happier, sweeter memories.

Unbidden, comes the one memory that had managed to keep her sane this night.

Her laughter.

Sharp. Raucous. Loud. Jarring against the tinkling sounds of cutlery and glassware, as far away as one could get from the soft, windchime quality of delicate laughter, that every female courtier was taught to emulate.

She thought she'd known love until that moment, fool that she was. Thought that no matter who she dated, no matter how distant she'd be from those memories of the social season - Esther would somehow remain her first and forever love.

Until she had taken that one fateful look at Kiara's wildly joyous face, heard her cackle - the kind one would never normally dare to do at court - and realized with piercing clarity that if she were to compare her feelings for these two women, they would be nowhere close.

Her love for Esther had all the subdued warmth of a crackling bonfire. But these newfound feelings for Kiara?? They made her feel like she was plunging herself headfirst into a raging volcano.

Something within Hana had trembled violently in that moment; some premonition that felt searing in its finality.

Kiara was the one. She was all Hana had ever wanted, without knowing it; all that Hana would ever want, from now till eternity. The one in whose arms she would want to stir awake, every day for the rest of her life.

Kiara Thorne, or no one. Kiara Thorne, or lifelong loneliness.

The phrase rang in her ears like a verdict: final, eternal, unchangeable.

When Hana opened her eyes, she found to her consternation that they were blurry from unshed tears. Quickly blinking them away, she noted dully how different the rings on the display now looked.

Certainly she must have moved to another part of the store without knowing. Where before she'd seen glittering, brilliant, ostentatious diamonds, set in white gold and platinum...now she saw stones nestled in the embrace of a warmer, almost blush-toned metal.

Rose gold.

The metal that was all the rage in her mother's birthplace Bethulia, for its delicate shimmer and soft pink hue. Mama had told her often enough in her childhood that their barony's love for it went far beyond just the colour...that her mother - Hana's Nanimaa - loved it for being such a perfect union of gold, silver and copper...

A whisper of a memory of Nanimaa, the one time she'd ever seen her. At a fountain, glowing from the glimmer of abandoned coins.

It took her less than a minute to find exactly what she didn't know she'd been looking for. Had you asked the jeweller about her, he would have told you that the newly appointed Duchess of Krysanthe had chosen her ring with the greatest confidence. The confidence of a woman who had probably wooed her beloved, confessed her love, basked in the joy of being loved back.

A confidence Hana didn't feel.

When she returned to the limo, she was greeted with the sight of a pensive Liam, rubbing the frown between his brows absently with his fingers. A telltale muscle jumped inside his jaw.

"Any news?" Hana whispered, almost dreading the answer.

"Yes," his voice was grainy from exhaustion and guilt. "Three people injured. Bastien, Esther's press secretary, and...."

"And?" Her voice had gone small and high, that a fearful child's.

"And Lady Kiara. She was..."

Hana blinked once, then blinked again. Liam's mouth was moving, yet no sound seemed to come out. All that she could hear was a low, keening noise, like a muffled siren...or like the moan of a woman in terrible pain.

Kiara. Kiara. Kiara.

--

May 12th, 2018. Afternoon.

"How far from the palace are you taking us?" Kiara asks, her voice alight with laughter.

"Not even outside its gates," Hana replies, grinning. Kiara looks down at their fingers laced together, palms almost touching.

They've been together for just six months, and still somehow, the lines on Hana's palm feel as familiar to her now as her own. Without even looking she can conjure up the memory of the heartline on Hana's left palm at a moment's notice - long and deep, starting from her index finger, suggesting she would be a wonderful lover with a very fruitful love experience - and her marriage line, stretching from one end of her palm all the way to her ring finger...suggesting friendly in-laws.

(The thought of luring Hana to marry her under the premise of palmistry is sounding more and more tempting by the minute)

Involuntarily - perhaps to stop herself from checking her trouser pockets once again for that tiny box she took from her vault today - Kiara's hand tightens around Hana's.

Can she dare to hope that fortunate beloved could be her?

She steals a glance in Hana's direction, noting with alarm that her fingers are trembling in Kiara's hand.

"We're here," she says, her voice suddenly small and quivering against the gurgle of water in the courtyard fountain. It's been a palace fixture for several decades now - ornate and imposing - a legacy from King Liam's formidable grandmother, the late Queen Mother Cassandra. According to Kiara's father, the woman had married into the family as a young princess from Monterisso, and for her foreignness alone was expected to be crushed by the strictures of the palace and the expectations of her people - yet in a decade's time she had somehow became the most imposing figure there! There was very little in the palace that didn't have her stamp of approval first.

As they come closer, Kiara sees the one thing Queen Mother Cassandra may not have predicted when this fountain was built - the glimmer of coins, all gleaming in the sunlight like they were minted just yesterday.

Her own smile begins to tremble on her lips, even as she notices Hana swallow a telltale nervous lump in her throat. For the first time since they have gotten here, Kiara notices that Hana's other hand is fisted around something. Something that could very likely be the same coins they just saw in the fountain.

She takes that hand gently in hers, knowing now how nervous Hana must feel; knowing that if they complete the ancient lover's ritual that she so hoped to do today, there will be no going back. She uncoils Hana's fisted hand, finger by quivering finger, watching her face as her breathing quickens. She smiles again - a smile more aimed at reassurance than amusement.

"Are we going to do what I think we're going to do today, ma moité?"

For several seconds, Hana doesn't respond. The three coins in her hand (Heavy. Ornate. Engraved with apples. Ancient) are proof enough. The answer, when it finally comes - almost like it is torn out of her throat for fear that Kiara's feelings may not match her own - is barely audible.

"Only if this is what you want too."

Gold. Silver. Copper. Tossed in one after the other in an ancient lover's ritual - one that Kiara knows only because she'd learned about it from her mother, who'd had friends in Bethulia where this ritual was most popular. Maman and Baba themselves had done it on a trip there when she was a teenager, still squirming over her parents' ability to still act like swoony romantics in their (and this would be said well out of their earshot) "fucking forties!".

Wiser now, Kiara feels the same anticipatory tingles that her parents must have felt back then.

This ritual wasn't for the faint of heart in ancient days. You did it only when you were certain. When you looked at your lover and knew that a life without them wasn't a life worth living.

Well, Kiara muses as she watches a hundred emotions flit in a second over Hana's face, I think I've known that long enough. I've known ever since I saw you fight your father in Shanghai, even when you knew it would cost you everything. Since that one moment, I've been yours.

Planting a tender kiss on the corner of Hana's mouth, she takes the coins. "Ready when you are," she whispers softly.

Hana swallows again, her eyes glistening and moist and relieved all at once. In a silk pouch that dangles from her wrist, she fishes for three coins identical to the ones on Kiara's palm. She breathes deep once, twice, three times.

Kiara links their free hands, grips them tight as they turn their backs to the fountain. Hana looks up, a question in her eyes.

"For friendship!" Kiara says, tossing the copper coin into the fountain. Faint memories of something that almost feels like another lifetime glimmer and fade in her memory. Applewood, sipping water, giggling over their favourite fruits and flowers. The Beaumont Bash. Watching from the sidelines as Hana did the verbel equivalent of ripping out Olivia Nevrakis' spine at the Coronation Ball.

Hana takes out the silver coin, and waits for Kiara to holds up hers'. "For love?"

Engagement tour. Fearing Hana would hate her in Fydelia, but never understanding why that should suddenly matter. Standing with her against a bridge in Paris, each mourning their lost loves.

Finally learning what love really was, when she opened her eyes and truly saw Hana for the very first time.

Kiara nods, touching her forehead to Hana's. "Par amour." Their coins splash in unison in the water.

Her girlfriend lets out a watery giggle as she takes out the final coin, glittering and golden on her palm. Her voice breaks a little as she tosses it behind her. "For...bel- belonging".

Kiara's own sigh releases in a shudder as she lets the final pledge sink in.

There were very few places in the world that truly felt like home to Hana. Not the place where she was born, not the barony that could have been her legacy. It took her months to even find comfort or security in her future in Cordonia - much less belonging.

Without a moment's thought, and without releasing the golden coin in her hand, she cups Hana's face and kisses her. Hana shudders and buries her hands in Kiara's hair, her lips trembling against the unspoken promises in her lover's.

"For belonging," Kiara says it like it is a vow. "And I don't care how long it takes - I give my word right now. I'll never let you feel like you have lost your home. Ever." Another kiss - this time on Hana's temple. "I hope you will always find one. In me."

Hana's smile is warm and dreamlike, her eyes closed as if to savour this moment, her fingers playing with Kiara's curls. She barely notices the sound of Kiara's gold coin landing in the fountain. "I love you, Kiki."

Kiara chuckles at her teasing use of the nickname, brushing Hana's nose with her own. "Together forever?"

Their hands, now free, close around each other. "Together forever."

It's quiet now, except for the sound of collard doves, the rustle of leaves and branches in a light breeze, and their breathing. The air smells of wildflowers, citrus and a subtle floral scent that Kiara knows to be the perfume Hana has been using for months. Orange Blossom. She grins as she remembers. It's a scent Hana has often loved to wear, just for her.

Hana's thumb feathers lightly over the ring finger on Kiara's left hand, almost as if to commit the bare space on it to her memory. Kiara doesn't miss that gaze - bright-eyed and soaked in longing - and how it mirrors a need she has felt ever since they landed at the Capitol last week.

Kiara swallows. She had wanted to take things slow, she really did. Woo her, bathe her in every luxury possible, make this trip even more unforgettable than Hana could ever imagine, and then spring this surprise on her - like a kirsch-soaked cherry topping on an already very tempting Black Forest Cake.

But...but that gaze of Hana's has always been Kiara's undoing.

Simply, she says, "come with me."

Puzzled, Hana looks up. "Where?"

"To Lake Sôse," Kiara whispers, wasting not one more moment and grabbing her hand. Hana lets out a nervous, slightly incredulous laugh as she allows herself to be pulled along.

Kiara isn't sure why she's suddenly rushing this. When she thinks of the elaborate plans she'd been constructing all week - chocolate-dipped strawberries and champagne at one of the Capital's premier restaurants, flowers everywhere, a proposal at the hedge maze with a picture together by the swing to commemorate the occasion - she wants to laugh. She isn't even sure why Lake Sôse was the first place she'd thought of just now.

She takes a deep breath, and grounds herself. Uncommonly impulsive though it may be, her decision has been made. There is even a part of her that seems to prefer it to happen this way!Kiara has never been one for last minute changes of plan...but ever since she fell in love with Hana, she's learned to expect - and enjoy - the unexpected.

It's only when she sees the shine in Hana's eyes that she realises why her mind took the turn it did.

Lake Sôse. The one place Hana Lee has always chosen for solace and comfort. The one place in the Capitol where she felt the most at home. It had been here, Hana told Kiara once, that King Liam had told her his plans to appoint her Duchess of Krysanthe. It was here, hours later, that she'd shared that momentous news with her best friend Esther; where Esther - herself aglow with love and a newfound purpose - hugged Hana and told her that the world would now be Hana's oyster.

She'd brought Kiara to this lake for the first time the day after King Liam and Queen Esther's wedding, following a night when the queen herself had been kidnapped, and Hana had joined the king's entourage to rescue her.

A night that Kiara - in constant fear of losing her forever - had recklessly kissed Hana. In public. In front of the entire court. Braving gazes of teasing approval from Kiara's parents, and near-murderous glares from Hana's. The night everyone outside of Hana's friend circle finally realized the two were a couple.

Kiara remembers the day after that like it was yesterday. Something must have changed fundamentally in Hana that night, because the fear seemed to have gone, and with it the compulsive need for hiding and subterfuge and constantly looking over her shoulder. It was as if Hana had faced what she'd thought was the worst thing that could happen to her, and realized she really was strong enough to face that fear.

You're my safe place among people, Hana told her that morning, her fingers lacing through Kiara's. The one I feel most at home with. I want to bring my safe space..to the place in Cordonia I've always felt safest in.

It is afternoon, and the yellow crocuses behind them exude a warm, buttery golden glow in the sunlight. Hana lets out a breathless, incredulous laugh. "You seem like a woman in a very huge rush today, Lady Thorne."

Kiara's own laughter in response is high-pitched and halting. She tries to hide the moistness of her palms as she makes a blind grab for the small velvet box in her purse. "Believe me, this wasn't the way I'd planned this to go at all."

Intrigued, Hana's eyes follow Kiara's hands, and her eyes widen as she recognises the familiar deep blue velvet, the embossed silver lettering on top. Argyros and Sons.

"Is that --"

"Yes," Kiara says, clearing her throat, "I'd been planning this. All week. It was going to be romantic, elaborate, I was going to sweep you off your feet. Just like I'd planned to ask you out seven months ago."

Hana lets out a watery giggle. We all know how that turned out, don't we, qīn'ài de? Kiara can almost hear her saying.

But the humour stops almost immediately when she looks at the box again, and suddenly Hana seems too still, too shocked...too far off from how Kiara hoped she would react.

Kiara lets out a deep breath, then lets the words gush out of her. She's too scared to stop, too terrified to think - the fear that she may be doing too much too soon is so overwhelming that she knows if she stops she won't be able to bring herself to do this for a long, long time to come. The humiliation would be too strong.

"I'm not one for impulse. I never have been. I've never felt comfortable with anything if I didn't have a plan for it first."

Kiara gives herself a moment to half-smile at the irony of it all. Approaching Hana Lee with a smile and a bottle of water, after that first eventful bite of a Cordonian Ruby was definitely an impulse. So were half the things she had done with Hana since. So will many, many, many of the things they may wind up doing together, if (if!) this leap of faith works in her favour.

She looks up at Hana to see if she's laughing at the memory too. She isn't. In fact, Kiara isn't even sure Hana's reacting yet to what she's saying. Perfectly still, her eyes never moving from the box, so wide that they would go bloodshot if they were widened any further. Kiara swallows, and finds that her throat feels suddenly, inexplicably sore.

"I could never tell what it was about you that changed all that. I still don't. All I know is that...around you, Hana, I feel so much more brave. To let go of the need to plan and organize. To not be too afraid of what will follow - whether it goes in my favour or not. I find myself not just willing, but eager, to trust my gut."

Kiara's eyes search every inch of Hana's face as she opens the box, revealing the ring inside. It's a gorgeous piece, all platinum and sparkling diamonds. The smaller stones form a cluster around a massive one, leading the viewer to believe they are seeing a glittering snowflake, fallen fresh from the heavens.

Kiara had known the minute she saw the ring that it was the one. That it would remind them of the first time they confessed their love. Of their very first date, of the first time they shared Hana's cup of homemade hot chocolate. Of why the two of them will always love winters.

Hana's fingers move, trembling, towards her mouth, her face suddenly flushed. She remembers it too.

"Hana Lee," A frisson of fear slithers down Kiara's spine. "Will you marry me?"

When Hana finally opens her mouth, several seconds later, Kiara has to strain to hear her voice.

"I - I -" her eyes dart away from Kiara as if she's just remembered something important - her beautiful bronzed skin suddenly a little drained of colour. The next few words, she says in a "I.... I'll be back. Give me five minutes? I...just remembered something."

She leaves without waiting for an answer.

Kiara sinks into the grass, covering her face in her hands.

What have I just done?

--

All the way back from her room in the palace to the lake, the pouch hanging from her wrist feeling only a slight bit heavier, Hana cannot stop mentally kicking herself.

"You fool! You imbecile! Bèn dàn!!" Hana curses herself as she speeds up her sprint into a run, "What happened to your tongue? What kind of reaction was that?? What will Kiara think?"

Her mind now sprints miles ahead of her feet, racing in panicked ferocity over the possibilities.

With any luck, Kiara could still be waiting - puzzled and perhaps a little worried. Or she could be actively panicking, the way she does (on very rare occasions) when a plan goes terribly wrong.

Or...or...

Hana holds the silk pouch from her wrist in a deathlike grip as she speeds up towards Lake Sôse. Or.

The thought of that lovely, open space completely devoid of Kiara, of that beguiling combination of rose and jasmine emanating from her favourite Dior J'adore perfume, makes Hana's stomach drop to her feet.

It isn't until she sees that that heartbreakingly familiar figure of Kiara's, hunched over the grass, that Hana allows herself to breathe.

Kiara is there. Shoulders bent, head buried in her hands, almost stumbling as she tries to get up when she sees Hana.

Morose. Defeated. But still there.

Without another thought, Hana rushes into Kiara's arms, almost knocking her off her feet.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Hana whispers against her hair. "I wasn't trying to run away. I really had to get something. For you."

Kiara pulls back to look into her eyes, and when she does Hana's heart twists at the sight of unshed tears. "I thought I'd scared you off."

Hana's own laughter quavers, pitched high in disbelief. "I've just pledged myself to you this afternoon, body and soul, at the palace fountain. This -" she lifts Kiara's left hand to her chest, her thumb caressing the empty space on her beloved's ring finger " - just makes it so much more real."

Kiara's arms wrap around her, pulling Hana flush to her. Hana can feel Kiara shake as she giggles in response. "...you mean to say that I'd have saved myself so much stress if I'd just remembered those coins."

"Yes, qīn'ài de, a thousand times yes." She cups Kiara's face, pressing their foreheads together. "Place that ring where it belongs, Kiki. I can't wait to see it on my finger."

Hana holds her tight until Kiara's breathing becomes slower, calmer. She raises her newly-adorned hand for Kiara to see - marvelling at how the ring really mimics the glow of a snow crystal in the winter sun.

When they part, shyly, reluctantly, Hana begins to fiddle with the silk pouch.

"Here's what I'd gone to bring."

Kiara's eyes brighten at the sight of the box in her hand; a wave of warmth floods through Hana in anticipation of her response. Kiara gasps the minute she opens the box, revealing a delicate, intricately carved rose gold ring, flanked by small diamonds on all four corners, cradling a bigger one at the center.

"Rose gold," Kiara murmurs in wonder.

"Yes," Hana brushes her fingers over Kiara's knuckles. She'd told her once, long ago, how revered that metal was in her home province Bethulia. How Bethulian jewellers and goldsmiths and young women swore by the rosy hue it exuded. How it was a perfect amalgamation of three precious metals - all highly valued in the province. How tied it was to their folktales and bridal rituals.

"Copper..silver...gold." Kiara's tears glitter like diamonds before she lets them fall. "For friendship. For love. For belonging."

Hana smiles, her hand still stroking Kiara's cheek. "You remembered."

Kiara rolls her still-moist eyes, trying hard not to sniff - it would take out all the humour in this situation. "It's hard to forget a ritual we'd performed just ten minutes ago, ma moité."

"I'd planned to give you this ring a week from now," Hana says, shaking her head at her own impulsiveness as the ring she'd chosen on a fanciful whim so long ago, now finds its home. "I've been holding onto it for far too long."

Kiara caresses the stone on her own finger lovingly, admiring the way the rose gold glows on her skin. When she speaks, her voice is breathless in anticipation. "How long?"

For several minutes, Hana's only response is to pull Kiara back in her arms again. Her hand slides slowly, almost with a tinge of regret, down the dip of Kiara's waist on her left side. The wound that had once served as a constant, searing reminder of so much (of her vulnerability, of her inability to run from pain, of what she'd once considered her failures), has healed in more ways than one - only a faded scar that Hana never fails to kiss, now remains.

"For seven months," Hana's voice shakes at the memory, "Since the night after Homecoming Ball."

With a choked sob, Kiara enfolds Hana into her arms, almost as if she'd want to absorb her into every cell of her body. Fervently, reverently, she presses her lips all over Hana's face - her eyelids, her cheeks, the bridge of her nose, all the little-known, barely-noticed parts of her. It takes her a while - perhaps too long, in Hana's opinion - for Kiara's lips to meet hers, but she welcomes the sweet torture of waiting.

"Mon cœur," Kiara says between kisses, "ma raison de vivre."

When they part, the two women keep each other's hands interlinked, one left hand over the other. Neither of them will remember how long they stay at the lake; only that they never want this joy, this warm afterglow of seeing their dreams come true...to end.

The empty spaces on their ring fingers, over which they'd each stolen such secret, hungry glances today, now bear the mark of their lovers. Now bear the most tangible signs of their love, their memories, their promises, their commitment.

Together forever.

--

Translation:

Ma moité - a romantic endearment in French, meaning "my other half"

Qīn'ài de - Mandarin Chinese for "my dear"/"darling"

Bèn dàn - Mandarin Chinese cuss word that means "stupid egg!"

Mon cœur - French endearment, meaning "my heart"

Ma raison de vivre - French for "my reason to live"

--

References for Hana and Kiara's engagement rings:

Kiara:

(Source: Maxine Jewellery)

Hana:

(Source: This article on engagement rings, but the actual pic itself came from Blue Rose Photography)

[nerdieforpedro]

I was tagged by @din-cognito @for-a-longlongtime @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @604to647 and @magpiepills

Thank ya’ll! 🥰 I don’t have much. I haven’t written much this last couple weeks, between work and my class, my motivation has been nil 😭

I did a mix of Mysty’s titles, explaining what some of them are and a spicy 🌶️ peek of one 🤭 like Bat.

My list of WIPs is always rotating (these I’ve actually written):

1. It’s Incidental - a soft Dave fic, I normally write him dark, manipulative and forceful. We’ll see.

2. Din Djarin tentacle - so this title is not final but it involves Din Djarin, a tentacle monster and a reader? 🤨 A long way off.

3. Din’s in the Neighborhood - working on a new chapter from Grogu’s perspective. I think it will be cute.

4. Nights in Coruscant - working on chapter 2 where Din will be working as a bodyguard and then some.

5. Coasting across the Rainbow - my queer Javi fic. Part five and six should be done by October (at least that’s my goal).

6. Waters of Lethe - my Qimir fic working on chapter two. 🤗 Close to done. (On AO3)

7. Honey and Sugarplum - Working through chapter three where we’ll reach that ranch. Jack is busy…convincing Maeve to go. Might need to carry her to the car at the point. (On AO3)

These are just notes but still in progress:

1. Unnamed Jack Daniel as a fae fic - I got my notes I just got write it.

2. Nathan Bateman researching the female orgasm because why not make your sex bots the best they can be? 🙌🏽

3. Untitled Max Phillips (I dunno why I decided to write for this man, maybe as a challenge to myself?)

4. Maybe add more to the Marcus A fic I told myself I would write ✍️

5. A Safe Place for Us - The Dieter baby daddy fic. I need to update it on here. I think it’s up to chapter 5 on AO3 but only chapter 3 here.

6. Therapy for the Well-Adjusted - Marcus and Aisha are in the cottage. 😙 Hehe

As for an actual sample of writing:

Dave knows what he has to do. He despises it, hates when people beg for their lives, often not even while he’s taking different men from the back would he put up with pleading. He just wants them to shut up so he can focus on coming. Never did he tease them or edge them like this. It’s too messy and takes too damn long. “Fuck…” He mutters. His ass feels empty, even from the loss of their how own fingers and his hole stretched from just the tip of his dick. “P-Paint the inside of my ass…” Whispering as he drools, Dave tries to look over his shoulder but only sees Santi’s curls.

This sample is from my Dave York/Santiago Garcia M/M fic I started back in January. Never finished it and still haven’t but I have made some progress. 😘 Much to Dave’s detriment or pleasure, whichever he’s in the mood for.

NPT: @morallyinept @secretelephanttattoo @chaithetics @lotusbxtch @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

@yourcoolauntie @soft-persephone @megamindsecretlair @arcanefox207 @maggiemayhemnj

@inept-the-magnificent @chaithetics @jolapeno @syd-djarin @sin-djarin

@alltheglitterandtheroar @handspunyarns @perotovar @secretelephanttattoo @schnarfer

[xocasper]

Warm October Nights

Pairing: Gerard Way x Reader Summary: Kinktober Day Nine - Cockwarming Warnings: NSFW content Tags: cockwarming, praise kink, riding, soft sex Word Count: 2320 A/N: Is the title a cop-out? Sure. You’ve got the words ‘October’ and ‘warm’ in there though, so it’s fitting enough. Also, Yellowcard is great. I rest my case. This one’s pretty short, but I wrote it a few months ago. As previously mentioned, anything after September is unnecessarily long. Enjoy!

It was around six o’clock on a Sunday night, evident by the way that the day seemed to drag on, slow and boring despite the early morning sun that shone through your window, promising a picture-perfect day. Maybe it had the potential to be pleasant, but Gerard had locked himself away in his office, busying himself with concept art for a comic. This wasn’t uncommon, but you were used to lazy Sunday mornings with him, curled up in bed until ten o’clock, filled with giggles and stolen kisses until you finally got up. From there, you would cook breakfast together–typically pancakes–with Gerard’s arms wrapped around your waist and his head tucked in the crook of your neck, rambling about the little things that never failed to make you smile.

This morning wasn’t like that though, Gerard giving you a sweet peck on the forehead at only eight o’clock before hiding away in his office. You knew he was busy, so you didn’t fret too much, although you did miss him a bit throughout the day. Once, you checked up on him, asking if he wanted lunch, but he gave you a small smile and shook his head, telling you he’d be finished soon. That was five hours ago, and there had been no sight of him.

Books only kept you so much company throughout the day, and cleaning didn’t distract you quite as long as you had hoped, leaving you bored out of your mind as the minutes ticked by. You had lost a few hours along the way, eventually finding that it was nearing dinnertime, which gave you a solid reason to go see Gerard again.

Light knocks at the door snapped him out of the trance he was in, buried so deep in his work that he almost missed it. He’d had a long day, and he was more than happy to have a break, or at least a bit of company.

“Come in,” he called softly, easing up when he saw you in the doorway. You always made him smile, his heart fluttering the same way it did when you met. “Hey hun, what’s up?”

“Can I sit with you?” you asked him, understanding if he was too busy. A wave of relief washed over you as he nodded and beckoned you over, patting his thigh as you closed the door behind you.

In your mind, there was no place more comfortable than Gerard’s lap, sitting placidly against his chest. His arms hooked under yours and his head rested on your shoulder as he continued to work, your eyes transfixed on his hand as he did so. Proudly, he wore his wedding band, shining under his warm desk lamp. No matter how many times you saw it, you would never get over how it felt to be shown off and cherished by him.

About ten minutes had passed before you began to grow restless, shifting ever so slightly in his lap. Gerard had predicted this the second you walked in, knowing that he wouldn’t get much work done. He didn’t mind, of course, but he would play dumb for as long as possible. Besides, he’d take time with you over work any day.

It was nothing he couldn’t handle at first, a bout of squirming every fifteen seconds or so. The wiggling was definitely manageable in his opinion, as he was still perfectly capable of scribbling down notes and sketching faces, so he saw no reason for you to stop. You, on the other hand, were trying your best to stay still, grateful each time you were able to move. It was a hard battle, and you could certainly leave the room, but it didn’t seem like you could tear Gerard away from his desk any time soon.

You had a bit more trouble handling it after that, realizing that the squirming was not only making you more restless, but it was causing another problem. Every time you moved, you would brush right against his thigh, creating sweet friction that was causing a growing need for something more. You were already embarrassed by how wet you were growing just from sitting in his lap, but it would pale in comparison to how you’d feel if you were caught; which, unbeknownst to you, Gerard was already well aware of the situation.

At least you didn’t know, anyway, for about five more minutes. Your not-so-subtle attempts to relieve the ache between your thighs had led to him growing exponentially hard, his semi rubbing against you with each shift. He didn’t say anything until you knew you’d been caught, as he could hear the faint hitch in your breath as you noticed his erection.

“Sit still, alright?” he mumbled, kissing your neck softly before getting back to work–not that he was really doing anything, but if it meant dragging this out, he’d keep the act up.

You let out a soft ‘mhm’, trying your best to focus on anything but your arousal. There wasn’t much that you could do though, not when you were so close to him, Gerard occupying every inch of your mind.

He moved his left hand to your waist, soft and warm as his skin met yours. You could hear his steady breathing, and how it would pause every now and then, brows knitted together in thought as he chewed his bottom lip. The sight of his hand gliding across a nearly full sheet of paper, finding nooks and crannies to make little notes in made you smile, admiring his neat handwriting. He smelled of old books and espresso, an aroma that fit him perfectly, radiating an air of coziness wherever he went. And as he turned to give you a tender kiss, you could taste his morning coffee, faint and sweet, and reminiscent of the man himself.

Everything around you just seemed to remind you of how badly you needed him, and although you tried to stay still as requested, it became increasingly difficult as time flew by. Slowly, you rocked your hips downward, hoping it wasn’t too obvious–of course it was though. You quickly realized that he was fully hard, and there was no chance he couldn’t feel you.

“You’re not as subtle as you think you are, honey,” he told you, a smile playing on his lips as he peppered kisses on the crook of your neck.

You hummed in response, embarrassment returning, but you knew he didn’t mind. “Keep me warm while I work and I’ll give you what you want, okay?” His voice was chaste and soothing, a stark contrast to his amorous implications.

“Okay,” you agreed, sliding off his lap for a moment.

You could’ve sworn he was being slow on purpose, or maybe you were just restless, but it definitely seemed like he was taking his sweet time. He knew what he was doing, slowly letting his boxers pool around his ankles, suppressing a grin at your impatience.

With delicate fingers, he tugged down your panties, staring up at you with soft eyes despite his intentions. It was then that he noticed you were wearing an old t-shirt of his, which wasn’t particularly uncommon. At the moment though, it acted as a sign of possession, making his cock twitch at the knowledge that you were his.

He was gentle as he guided you over, holding your hips as you found a comfortable position before letting you sink down on your own. Gerard’s self-control was more than impressive, remaining stoic and returning to his work while you struggled to do the same. Now, that wasn’t to say it was ineffectual, his head completely empty as you wrapped your legs around his waist, returning the sweet neck kisses he had given you earlier. He certainly tried to finish what he was doing, but the wet warmth of your cunt had him in a state of bliss–not to mention how you’d clench around him every now and then.

Although it was tempting, he refused to give in so soon, having you wait as promised. He found himself writing down the most subpar ideas, just to make it seem like he was doing something, gripping his pen hard enough to turn his knuckles white. You had completely given up on staying still after about five minutes, rocking your hips against his gently, moaning softly in his ear in hopes of getting him to crack. Unfortunately, he caught on, one of his hands swiftly landing on your hip to hold you in place, though you didn’t miss the breathy moan he let out before your movements ceased.

“Please, Gerard,” you pleaded, and he could practically hear your pout. He stayed strong though, only humming questioningly. “I love how you feel inside me, but please. I need you.”

He didn’t offer you more than a slow kiss, hoping it was enough to hold you over for a few more minutes. “Just a little bit longer,” he assured you, and you sighed dejectedly, trying your best to keep yourself distracted.

That was easier said than done though, and after fifteen minutes of pure torture, Gerard finally gathered his papers and put them aside. You were aching with want, yearning for movement after keeping your composure for so long. You weren’t rewarded right away though, no. Seeing as you had waited a while already, Gerard figured there was no harm in testing your patience a bit more.

At least this time his attention was on you, pulling you back to meet your eyes, needy and pleading as you stared back. He stayed quiet, deep in thought as he ran his knuckles along your jawline, fingers uncurling as he cupped your face. His thumb brushed against your cheek, smoothing over the skin before pressing his lips to yours. It was slow and passionate, and though it was lovely, you craved his touch elsewhere.

Obviously, he knew, making sure to spend as much time above the waist as he could, seeing just how long it would take for you to be a desperate mess. You were responsive at first, grinding against him as he kissed you, but he stopped you once more, holding your thighs against his own. He received a short whine in response, almost beginning to pity you.

“Please,” you breathed as he pulled away. “Please fuck me.”

God, was it tempting. The brokenness of your voice already, crumbling so easily before he could really even touch you. “I don’t know,” he said, thumbs rubbing patterns on your thighs. “Do you think you deserve it?”

You nodded eagerly, “Yes, please.”

He smiled gently, kissing you again as his hands trailed up your shirt, securing them on your waist while you took the opportunity to rock your hips against his. Gerard could feel himself giving in, getting a power trip as you desperately ground against him, silently begging to be touched. He studied you closely as he lifted your hips, moaning as you sunk down again, greedily taking every inch of him.

Gradually, you set a steady pace, his hands staying flush against your skin as you fucked yourself on him, leaving him entranced by the way his cock disappeared inside of you, whines and moans bubbling up in your throat all the while. He was thick and always filled you up so well, a variety of unholy sounds escaping him as you enveloped his dick in wet heat, your tight cunt feeling perfect around him.

He never failed to remind you of this either, praise rolling off his tongue as you rode him with ardor. “So perfect, so pretty,” he told you in between kisses, giving your thighs a gentle squeeze.

Somehow, Gerard always managed to sweeten the most sinful acts, kissing and speaking to you as if his hips weren’t snapping against yours, and you weren’t making obscene noises because of it. It was a wonderful contradiction though, and you savored every moment of it, his rambles of how good you were only egging you on, bringing you closer to orgasm.

He could tell you were close, placing his hand on yours and trailing it down before pressing against your abdomen. Maybe it was the sensation itself, or how he held your hand as he did it, but the light pressure had you crashing into release. Everything seemed to blur for a moment, and once more, the only consistency was Gerard and the buck of his hips as he came buried inside of you.

You admired the relaxed expression on his face, listening to his breathing as it steadied, his head tilting back and exposing the length of his neck, pale and pretty as you kissed it. In one hand, he held yours, while the other slithered up under your chin, your lips slotting against his. Every move he made was delicate, whether it was stroking your hand tenderly as he kissed you, or the way he rested his forehead against yours as he pulled away.

“Hey,” he breathed, eyes full of love as he stared into yours. “I missed you.”

Even though it had only been about ten hours, you had missed him too. More often than not, your schedules were packed, so weekends were a time to spend with each other. When work got in the way though, you found yourselves missing the other more than usual.

“I missed you too,” you said, pecking his lips and curling back into his chest.

For now, you could savor the last few minutes you had like this before it was time to worry about dinner and other mundane tasks. He had no issue staying there either, holding you close while the rest of the world faded away into nothingness, leaving the two of you alone to revel in the sweet afterglow. With another glimpse at your softened features, Gerard knew he was right where he wanted to be–blissed out and in love on a Sunday evening.

kinktober taglist: @clichedlovers  @halloweenbitch2764  @lubbockshusband @cigarettesandalcohols  @couldbegayer1234  @doc-martens-enthusiast @yachiiko @becausethedrugsneverwork @enchantinghouseofwh0res @dangerouslittlefairy @chronicallythicc @zggystrdst  @partypoisonzz @blueouid

[banshee1013]

Suptober / Flufftober Day 4 - The Flames and the Light

Waaaaay behind but still plugging away at this thing and this thing.

Prompts: Suptober: Nimbus Flufftober: Cinderella Moment

Today's installment is below and on AO3, and also added to the series October Days (and Nights).

Title: The Flames and the Light Rating: Teen Warnings: No Warnings Apply  Tags: Men of Letters Bunker, Winchester House Fire, Dean Winchester in Hell, Dean Winchester is Saved, Righteous Man Dean Winchester, Visions, Memories Summary: Hester had said, “When Castiel first laid a hand on you in Hell, he was lost!” She claimed the touch of Dean’s soul had corrupted him.

She was partly correct: touching Dean’s soul, bright and warm in a place that was so sullen and cold, changed him; but it wasn’t corruption.

It was love. Words: 603 AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50938690

==============================

“Hey, Sunshine, there you are.” Dean’s voice projects over his shoulder, his back to Castiel as he crouches by the hearth of the fireplace in the Bunker’s library. Castiel can hear the soft swish of the brush as Dean sweeps the spent ashes of a previous fire into a dustpan.

The back of Dean’s head inclines toward the two plushy upholstered chairs opposite the fireplace, lit by a small hurricane lamp on the small table between them. The flickering flame within sparkles on the crystal decanter filled with what Castiel knows is Dean’s favorite whiskey, accompanied by two matching glasses. 

“Just need to clean this up before laying a new fire. Don’t want to burn the place down or anything.”

Castiel begins to take a seat as requested when Dean rises from his crouch and turns to beam a smile at him. He wipes the back of his hand across his cheek, leaving a trail of soot…

And Castiel is struck still as an image arises in his mind…

A dark street, lit only by flashing red and blue lights and a dim yellow glow. A small boy sitting on the hood of a large black car, his arms overfilled with a small, wimpering bundle wrapped in a blue blanket. The lights flicker across cheeks ashen with shock and residue from the flames that consumed his family home and set him on his path. 

Castiel blinks, reality returning with a metallic clatter as Dean empties the ashes into the bin by the hearth and turns, his arms filled with firewood. He sets the wood on the metal grate inside the firebox, reaches for the box of fireplace matches on the mantle and strikes one. The bright yellow-blue flash as the match catches turning to red-gold and sparking off the highlights in Dean’s hair as he applies it to the kindling. Yellow orange flames flick as the kindling catches and licks the dark wood bark, turning it gold and then red as the flames climb.

Dean rises and rubs his hands over the flames, cinders rising around him before being swept up into the flue like dying stars. 

Another image arises in Castiel’s mind, unbidden…

He and his brethren, their armor shining sullen red and burnt gold from the fires of Hell even through the smoke and haze — but their goal was something which shone brighter still. The Righteous Man, the nimbus of his glowing soul cutting through the smoke like a beacon. Castiel both curses the necessity of their rescue, but relishes being the first to reach him, the first to touch that shining soul with his Grace, the one to grip him and raise him from Perdition. 

Hester had said, “When Castiel first laid a hand on you in Hell, he was lost!” She claimed the touch of Dean’s soul had corrupted him. 

She was partly correct: touching Dean’s soul, bright and warm in a place that was so sullen and cold, changed him; but it wasn’t corruption.

It was love. 

He’s pulled from the vision by Dean’s solid, firm grip on his shoulders, his warmth flowing onto Castiel’s skin like sun-warmed honey. 

“Hey, Cas.” Castiel blinks and finds himself staring into green eyes sparking gold from the firelight. “Everything okay?”

Castiel’s hand rises to touch Dean’s cheek, brushes against the solid, warm skin there.

He had to make sure — the light of Dean’s soul still so bright, so warm, Castiel couldn’t be sure he wasn’t still locked in his vision.

“Perfect.”

Dean huffs a soft chuckle as he pulls Castiel to his chest, wrapping him in light and love. 

“Yeah, you are.” 

[streamafterlaughter]

Fundamental Differing

gif credit

masterlist | playlist | chapter vi

Chapter VII: Soft But Estranged

summary: an off day on tour doesn’t mean an off day for partying! The entire touring family heads out for what’s supposed to be a fun night off on the Vegas Strip.

tags/warnings: so much angst it’s gross, mutual pining, rockstar!eddie x rockstar!reader, slow burn, hurt/slight comfort, pining, longing, break up, excessive drinking

a/n: i’m turning up the dial on this fic to 11. angst to the max. no fluff all pain. torture. enjoy! Disclaimer: I do not give permission to have my work reposted on other sites. Reblogs are more than welcome, but please inform me if you find my work elsewhere unless otherwise stated. Reblog to support the author!

——

October 1989

“Oh, honey, come here.” Robin pulls you into a tight hug, letting you sob and snot into her shoulder. It’s three in the morning, and you’ve been drinking yourself into a stupor. You left Eddie a week ago, and haven’t been able to breathe right since. Seeing the video for The Crawl on MTV this morning sent you into a dizzying depression, remembering the days when Eddie would sit at the kitchen table trying to put the chords together. You wished you were with him, on tour, greeting him with kisses after every set. But he left for tour yesterday without telling you, and you only found out when Dustin asked why you weren’t with him. You hadn’t had the heart to tell him you’d broken up with him, so Steve had to break the news.

“I just don’t get it. Why didn’t he try harder? Why didn’t he fight for us?” You weep into the fabric of Robin’s shirt as she rubs your back in soothing circles.

“I don’t know, love, but he’s a fucking idiot.”

Present day

Your POV

Your issue of SPIN comes out today, and your heart is slamming in your chest in line to check out. In your hands is a copy of the magazine, a picture of Corroded Coffin plastered across the cover. Eddie’s eyes seem to glare even from the glossy paper, his arms crossed over his bare chest while the rest of his bandmates stand behind him, looking equally stoic. In the top corner of the page reads, Femme Punk Takeover: An Interview with Death Dance Approximately. You read the words over and over, refusing to spoil the spread for yourself until you’re alone and safe to scream with your friends about it.

Once you exit the store, magazine clutched in your hand, you speed walk back to the hotel you’re staying in. Today is your off day, but tomorrow you play a show on the one and only Las Vegas Strip. Your plans include celebrating the magazine spread by drinking yourselves silly.

Back in your hotel room, you kick your shoes off and fling yourself onto the bed. Robin’s out shopping with Steve, and Sylvie and Lilith are getting lunch, so you have the afternoon to yourself. Instead of diving right into your own spread, you curiously turn the pages until you find the Corroded Coffin interview. It spans four full pages, including photographs and quotes in bold, big lettering. You swear to yourself you’ll only skim, but that promise is quickly broken when you read the first sentence.

Kings of Rock, Corroded Coffin, sit uncomfortably in their folding director-esque chairs, as if sitting for an interview is the least punk thing they could be doing. Their frontman fidgets with his gleaming silver rings, his lips pressed together in concentration or annoyance.

Jessie Stevens: So, on your new album Freak Show, there’s a song titled Sweetheart. It’s far different from the rest of the tracks, a calming break before the climax of Severed Thumb and Wiped Clean. What influenced this mood change?

Eddie Munson: Sweetheart is about someone that was once very close to me. It’s about love and loss, and a whole shit ton of heartbreak, and the one person that never made me feel like, the freak, y’know?

J: Do you still talk to this person?

The frontman’s face falls a little, like he’s reminded of something upsetting.

E: It’s… complicated.

You roll your eyes. It’s not complicated, the answer is a firm no. You and Eddie don’t talk, not more than you’re forced to. You continue scanning the article, until you find something else that catches your eye.

J: You’re currently touring with Death Dance Approximately, who are quickly moving up in the world of rock. What advice would you give them as seasoned rockstars?

Munson pauses, looking at his bandmates with a question in his eyes.

E: I guess I’d tell them never to let go of themselves. I lost myself for a while, honestly I’m still pretty lost. The industry is brutal, it takes so much of your soul away from you, and if I could go back and tell myself one thing, it would be not to let go of who I was. I miss that person.

You read Eddie’s answer, over and over, your eyes stinging. You miss who Eddie was, before signing, before giving in to fame and attention the way he has. Desperately, you want to believe that sweet boy is still in there somewhere. You think he is, after the events of last night, but you’re not sure how to yank him out of the steel shell he’s built around himself.

Further down, one more thing catches your attention.

J: Do you wish you’d done anything differently? Whether it be in your career, or in your life outside of it?

E: I wish I fought harder for my people. I lost someone I loved so much. I let them walk out of my life without any objection. I wish so badly that I could’ve made them stay, but… It was too late. I’ll never know now. I’ll never get to fix it.

Munson’s bandmates look to each other knowingly, clearly aware that the mysterious person he speaks of is the reason for his sour mood.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” It’s barely a whisper, despite no one being in the room with you. All he had to do was ask, and you’d tell him everything. Why you left, what would’ve made you stay, but he’d rather tell the whole world he fucked up than just apologize to you.

—

Eddie’s POV

His copy of SPIN lay open in his lap as he reads the Death Dance interview. His bandmates are god knows where, enjoying their day off while Eddie mopes in his hotel room.

J: How do you guys feel about touring with one of the biggest names in rock?

Eddie rolls his eyes at the question, knowing you probably hated hearing his band brought up in your interview.

Y: I mean, we knew them growing up. It’s really cool to see them all again, and we’re honored to tour with them.

Eddie’s surprised you’d even mention knowing him at this point, it makes his heart beat a little faster.

J: You know Corroded Coffin?

Y: Yeah! I moved to Hawkins my senior year, where I met Robin, and they were all seniors. We played DnD together, made music together. We lost touch after high school, but the world is so small.

J: Is that what Indiana is about?

Y: In some respects, yeah. Indiana was a huge change from where I grew up in Boston, a much smaller, more conservative place for sure.

Eddie puts the magazine down, and reaches for his CD player. He skips to track 5, and closes his eyes as the guitars wail in his ears. He only knows parts of the song, from hearing it live when he can stomach watching your set, but somehow it feels like listening for the first time.

I’m from a city where no one knows each other / where we walk down streets avoiding eyes and shoving by / and when I moved to Indiana, I began to understand why / I wasn’t meant for smaller towns, where everyone knows my name, / but you had been there, my saving grace, / and now I miss the comfort. / I miss the sounds of singing birds, and the crackle of a fire. / I moved back to the city, and though it’s pretty, / it’s no longer what I know. / Indiana wasn’t home, but I found my home there / In the warmth of your eyes and the smell of your hair / I let myself believe I could make my life here / and when I lost you, I lost everything. / Indiana wasn’t home, but I found my home there. Indiana wasn’t home, and I lost my home there.

He plays the song four times before he can bring himself to breathe right again. Eddie can hear your heart breaking through your voice, the way it cracks on the chorus, the way you belt the final verse. All at once, he understands why you left, why you felt you had no choice. He was drowning in the pressure of being famous, leaving you behind to watch him from the shadows.

—

Your POV

You finally throw the magazine down, and rush to shower and get ready to go out. Tonight is your night off, a night to relax and not think about the boy across the hall. It’s easier said than done, though, as your mind keeps wandering to that final paragraph. I’ll never know now. I’ll never get to fix it. All he had to do was ask. You’d tell him everything; why you left, what could have gotten you to stay. But he’s been so cold, so distant with you, and you can’t really blame him. It’s just as difficult for you to be on tour with him, but you’re still trying to be mature about it.

Your spiral is disturbed by a knock on your door. You clip your earrings in and rush to answer it, smoothing your shirt to make sure you’re presentable. You open the door to Robin and Steve, their arms linked together like best friends on the playground. Both of them are dressed up, Steve in a button down and black slacks, Robin in sequined overalls that scream Vegas! They greet you with gleaming smiles, and you move aside to let them in.

“I’m almost ready! Any idea where we’re going?” You ask them both before pulling your lipstick out of your bag.

“We’re taking the strip by storm! It’s a group outing, everyone’s coming!” Robin claps her hands together

“Everyone?” You quirk an eyebrow, looking at her in the mirror.

She bites her lip and glances at Steve, who only shrugs. “Yeah, Gareth and Jeff overheard us planning, and we figured some bonding was in order. But don’t worry! We can separate when we get there.”

You smack your lips together and shrug. “It’s not me you have to worry about.” You turn to face them, extending your arms to present your glammed up self. “How do I look?”

“Like you’re gonna rip Eddie’s soul out of his bod— Ow!” Steve rubs where Robin has elbowed his arm. “You look beautiful.” He recovers, and you stick your tongue out at him.

“Let’s get goin’ then!” Robin heaves herself off the bed, and you hold the door for her and Steve, following them out the door.

—

The casinos are the most insane thing you’ve ever experienced. The bright lights almost blind you, and the sounds of slot machines are so loud you can’t hear yourself think. It’s no wonder no one wins these things, it’s impossible to concentrate.

“C’mon!” Sylvie grabs hold of your wrist, leading you and your bandmates to the blackjack table. You glance behind you, sending a help me look to Steve, who shrugs in defeat as he follows Eddie and Jeff to the bar.

“Robin, I don’t know how to play!” You object, but she’s already sitting in a free stool by the dealer.

“No worries, babe, this is all on me. I just want you all to watch me win!” She’s buzzed, having gulped her champagne down in the car on the way here. You giggle at her confidence, knowing damn well she also has no idea how to gamble.

“Whatever you do, don’t bet our royalties.” Lilith nudges her, hiccuping on her own bubbly.

“Yeah, yeah. Hit me!” She slaps the table, and the dealer smirks like he knows he’s about to watch Robin lose all of her disposable income.

—

Eddie’s POV

“Whiskey, neat.” He orders his drink, flopping down on an empty stool. Steve sits next to him, while Jeff orders drinks for himself and Gareth. “Come hang out, man!” Jeff calls when he receives his drinks, already walking to the table his bandmates sit at with yours. Eddie nods a response, nursing his drink.

“You gotta at least try to enjoy yourself tonight.” Steve says, taking a sip of what looks like fruit punch.

“I am enjoying myself, Steven” Eddie holds up his whiskey, as if to prove the point. Steve glares at him, and Eddie takes a swig. “What?”

“You’re moping! You’re a famous rockstar on a cross country tour, and you’re moping. Had I known you were gonna be a drama queen this whole time I would’ve brought a goddamn book to read.”

Eddie groans, taking another sip. “I know, I know. I’m miserable.”

“You need to talk to them.” Steve says bluntly, not looking at Eddie.

“Why would I do that?”

“I know you want to.”

“I do not!”

Steve snorts, and Eddie presses his lips together in annoyance. “You read that interview, right?” Eddie nods. “So you know they talk about you now. You’re on their mind. You listen to the song they mentioned?” He nods again. “So you still care about what they have to say. What’s stopping you? Why are you so fucking scared?”

Eddie turns in his chair, back to where your band sits at the table, anxiously watching as Robin plays another round. Your face is pink, caused by the alcohol or the warmth of the building. Your shirt hugs your frame tightly, accentuating your features. You lift a glass of champagne to your lips, pinky extended, leaving a smear of red lipstick on the rim of the glass. Your eyes sparkle with excitement as your friends cheer Robin on. You have a happy glow to you, and it takes everything inside of Eddie to rip his eyes away. “What’s stopping me is the fact that they deserve better.” Eddie grumbles, gulping the rest of his liquor down and calling the bartender over. “I don’t want to ruin this for them. I’m already here, and that can’t be easy. I want them to enjoy this experience, I don’t want to intrude on it.”

“So, what, you’re just gonna drink yourself to death every time we have an outing? You think that isn’t causing them any distress? Your liver is gonna deteriorate soon, man. May wanna figure out a different strategy.”

“Will you get off my ass about drinking, Harrington? It’s rich, coming from the kid that shotgunned like sixty beers a week his freshman year of high school.”

Steve chuckles, and Eddie can’t hide the grin creeping onto his face. “Fair enough. But that was high school. I didn’t have a billion fans relying on me not to die of alcohol poisoning.”

“Nah, just the six hundred Hawkins High students. Big whoop!” Eddie emphasizes his point with a show of jazz hands. “Either way. If I’m gonna talk to them, I’m gonna be drunk when I do it.” Eddie gulps down his second drink in one go, feeling the effects of the alcohol starting to kick in.

“Whatever, dude. You wanna go play some cards?” Steve offers his hand, and Eddie takes it begrudgingly, yanking himself away from the bar and into the mass of the crowded casino. He’s forced to squeeze by you, apologizing under his breath as he brushes against your back, sidestepping between the tables. You don’t seem to notice. He takes his place next to Gareth, and Steve stands firmly between him and you, a bridge neither of you dare to cross. Eddie feels your eyes on him, and it takes everything inside of him not to look back. Instead, he’s dealt into the next hand, planning only to play one round as a distraction from your presence. The waiter drops off another round of drinks, and Eddie slaps his palm on the table. “Deal me in.”

—

“Okay, that’s enough!” Steve yanks on an objecting Eddie’s arm, hauling him away from the table. He’s already lost a good chunk of change, both at the table and to the expensive drinks he’s been gulping down. Despite his objections, Steve manages to drag Eddie out of the casino unscathed.

“Here,” Steve sticks a cigarette between Eddie’s lips and lights it for him. “Sober up a little.”

Eddie plucks the lit stick from his mouth and exhales, the cool night air bathing his warm face.

“Where,” Eddie’s eyes are glassy, his vision blurring as he takes in his surroundings.

“We’re outside the casino. Waiting for the car.” Steve lights a cigarette for himself, inhaling as Eddie does the same.

“Where’s Y/n?” He realizes suddenly that he hasn’t seen you in hours.

“Back at the hotel. They left a while ago, but you didn’t want to get up. Sometime around your fourth hand, when you accused the dealer of cheating.” Eddie looks down at his feet, seeing four of them, and hums in response. “They told me to make sure I get you home safe.”

He looks back up to his friend, cautiously optimistic. “They said that?”

Steve nods, a smirk on his face. “Told me they’d kick my ass if anything happened to you. So I’m keeping my promise.” The car pulls up, and Steve opens the door for Eddie. “C’mon, in ya go.”

Eddie lets his eyes slip closed as the car starts moving, promising himself he won’t throw up on Steve. He thinks of all the ways he could possibly tell you he’s sorry, how he could start to mend the wounds he’s caused you. He’s going to, he decides, as soon as he can manage to walk on his own.

—

Your POV

There’s a banging on your hotel room as you’re clawing your way out of your clothes. You pull your big t-shirt on, pause Breaking The Girl, and rush to answer it. You’re expecting room service with some wine, or Steve with tomorrow’s game plan. “Coming!” You call, finally opening the door, only to be greeted by Eddie’s wobbly figure. “Oh. Hi.” You look at his nose as you speak, afraid of what would happen if your eyes were to meet his. His face is flushed from the drinking, his eyes glazed over and his hair frizzy.

“Hi. Bad time?” He looks you up and down, causing your cheeks to warm despite your blood running cold. You realize now that the shirt you’re wearing is one that once belonged to him. “I’ll, uh, go. I can um… I’ll come back later.” His speech is slurring, and you can smell the alcohol as he speaks.

“No!” You say, too quickly. “It’s okay, I’m just getting ready for bed. You wanna come in?”

Eddie hesitates, but you step aside to let him enter. He stumbles forward, placing himself gingerly in the chair across from the bed, where you sit across from him, acutely aware of your current pantsless state. “I read the interview.” Eddie starts, looking at the floor. You cross one leg over the other, waiting for him to continue. “And I’ve been listening to the album. Your album, I mean. It’s great, by the way, really fucking great.” He won’t look at you, instead focused on fiddling with his rings. You don’t respond, unsure where he’s going. “I came to say I’m sorry.”

Your eyes widen. This was the furthest thing from what you were expecting. “For what?”

Eddie slides further into the chair. “Everything. I’ve been such an asshole since the tour started. Especially to you. I wanna say I didn’t mean it, but I did. I wanted to hurt you. Flirting with all those girls, playing that fuckin’ song in front of you. I meant all of it.”

You bite your lip, unsure of how to respond. You doubt Eddie will even remember this conversation tomorrow, so you refuse to let his words convince you of anything. You don’t answer, just blink at him as he continues searching for the words to explain himself.

“I was trying to ignore it, I guess. How I felt about seeing you again. I was hiding it, and probably really poorly. I can't imagine it’s been easy for you, either, but you seem so happy. And it’s made me realize how horrible I’ve been.” He looks up from the floor then, his eyes searching yours for an answer. His face is flushed, his hair disheveled, and his lips are set in the pout that always got your heart stalling.

You clear your throat quickly, knowing it will crack under the pressure otherwise. “Eddie, it’s not your fault. You didn’t force this tour to happen. It’s an unfortunate coincidence.” He winces at your words, and you rush to correct yourself. “I mean, we didn’t know we’d see each other like this. We weren’t prepared. The way you’ve been acting, though hurtful, is completely understandable.” You want to cry. You want to throw Eddie out of your hotel room so you can sob into your pillow. But you don’t move, and neither does he.

“Why’d you leave?” He asks after a long moment of silence. “What happened to us?”

You know he’s drunk, and you shouldn’t be indulging him, but you’ve wanted to say so much to him since breaking it off, and you’re still a bit tipsy. “I was losing you. To groupies, to the label, to whatever you had become, and I didn’t think it was fair to fight it. This is all you’ve ever wanted, all we ever talked about when we were together. And you got it! The only thing you ever wanted. And I am beyond proud of you, Eddie. Who was I to pull you away from it? I couldn’t hold you back from this, but I couldn’t live in the background either. I couldn’t make you choose between me and your dream, so I chose for you.” Your voice falters as you explain, eyes threatening to spill the tears they harbor. “You deserve everything you ever want, Ed. I truly believe that.” You don’t tell him you still wish he wanted you.

Eddie is less than graceful in his response. “I would’ve chosen you. Over and over again, Y/n. I wish I hadn’t made you feel like you were my backup, my plan B. I lost sight of us, I know that now.” You sigh, your heart breaking as he speaks. Years ago, it’s all you wanted to hear. But it’s too little, too late now. “It got to my head, having you and getting signed. I felt like I could have it all. It got overwhelming, and I didn’t realize what I was doing to you. You were right to leave, and I’m so sorry it took me this long to figure it out. I blamed you for my misery when I caused all of it myself.”

You get up from the bed, and approach Eddie, kneeling beside the chair so he’s forced to look at you. “I appreciate the apology, Ed. I know you mean it. But I needed to leave for my own sake, too. I couldn’t keep competing with you, with all of the attention you were getting. I needed to focus on my own dreams, and I couldn’t convince you to root for me the way I had for you. Now that I’m here, I’m glad it happened this way. I wouldn’t have gotten here any other way.” You rest your hand on his knee, and you feel a drop fall from his cheek onto your finger. “You’ll always be special to me. I need you to know that.”

Eddie nods, sniffling. You stand up and offer him your hand. He takes it hesitantly, and you feel the familiarity of his calloused fingers entwined with yours. You can’t bring yourself to let go as he gets to his feet, missing the way his skin feels on yours. “Let’s get you back to bed, yeah?” You lead him out of your room and down the hall. “You got your key?”

Eddie clumsily pats his many pockets before finding his key card in his vest. He swipes it, and you pull him into the messy room, the bed unmade, empty beer bottles lining the nightstand and entertainment center. Eddie collapses onto the bed, and you get to work yanking his shoes off the way you used to after a long night out. He’s still in his jeans, but you don’t make a move to take them off. He’s not yours to take care of anymore, and if he wakes up uncomfortable, it’s not your problem. “Okay. Goodnight, Eddie.” You’re about to leave when you hear him whisper something. “What was that?” You don’t want to believe what you think you heard, but he says it again, clearer this time. “I’d still choose you.” You press your lips together, stifling your sobs as you close the door behind you. You can’t bring yourself to believe him.

—

chapter viii

taglist: @children-of-the-grave @five-bi-five @wiildflower-xxx @beebeerockknot @champagne-glamour @xxgothwhorexx @therensistance @chonkzombie @brxkenartt @sidthedollface2 @bibieddiesgf @gaysludge @eddiesguitarskills @littlepotatobeansworld | send a message to be added!

[timebegins-onopeningday]

October 2023 New Works Round Up

Happy Sunday, everybody! It’s our inaugural new works round-up post, a mere two days after the soft deadline. Let’s do a round up of all the works posted to the collection so far* 🥳

*by Saturday night, when I drafted and scheduled this post.

AO3 | All works | Ask box

New works, in no particular order (link in titles):

spit it out on three by pamlipsestic | Oakland A’s, San Francisco Giants | Zack Gelof/Casey Schmitt

It was in the scouting report, and even if it hadn’t been, the neon yellow custom sliding mitt would've given it right away.

FIX ME A BLUE SKY by hualuo (baiyunli) | Philadelphia Phillies | Bryson Stott/Trea Turner

“Right,” says Trea, feeling like he missed several steps. You’re gonna be good,” promises Stott. “You’re Trea fucking Turner.” He squeezes Trea’s shoulder again, tips the bill of his cap down like he’s letting him in on a secret. His eyes brim with it, crescent moons shot through in hazel. “And call me Bryson, okay?” Trea Turner, on things (and people) he can't control.

our bodies to bargain by sorrellegiance | San Francisco Giants | Sean Manaea & Blake Sabol | neocities 

This is a comic about places and going to them!

step by step by glowfruit | New York Yankees | Aaron Judge/Anthony Rizzo

Aaron's simple request for Anthony to teach him how to cook is not as simple as he might think.

what you want, what you got by powderblu (bluspirits) | Philadelphia Phillies | Brandon Marsh/ Bryson Stott

So yeah, Bryson is a gift giver. That's about the only explanation he can come up with for what's in front of him. Or: courting rituals, daycare edition

we all end in the ocean by Anonymous | New York Mets | Francisco Alvarez/Brett Baty

“Why don’t you come over here for a second,” Eduardo frowned, cringing as he approached Brett. The injury must have horribly deformed him, or something. I’m fine, you don’t need to carry me, he’d wanted to complain, but it was like Brett weighed nothing at all, and no matter how much he kicked and squirmed, Eduardo didn’t falter, carrying him over to the sink. What the fuck? In the mirror, staring back at him, was an orange cat. Eduardo raised Brett’s arm and waved. The cat waved back. Brett let out an ear-splitting scream and the cat in the mirror screamed back, fur puffed up all over. animal transformation au: baseball magic is real and the rays are petty

Unbuttoned by powerblu (bluspirits) | Philadelphia Phillies | Bryce Harper/Trea Turner

Bryce had always told him he'd look good in a Phillies jersey. Now that Trea's on the team, it's time to prove he meant it.

all play no skips by powerblu (bluspirits) | Philadelphia Phillies | Garrett Stubbs/J.T. Realmuto

Some people would refer to what he has going on right now as 'intangibles'.

If I’m not my body by planesandtrainingwheels | Toronto Blue Jays | Danny Jansen/Jordan Romano

He catches sight of the beginnings of a bruise that promises to be ugly tomorrow morning stretching across Danny’s thigh. “You’re insane,” he says appreciatively. Something in him itches to put his hands on it, to brush across the tender purple skin with his fingers - which isn’t a thought he’s ever had before. Oh boy. Danny grins. “Anything for you, Romy.” Or, Jordan Romano, Danny Jansen, and the mortifying ordeal.

The next round-up post will be posted sometime on Sunday, November 12, so if you need a new deadline, aim for the North American morning of November 11.

Under the cut: October Challenges for readers and creators + 3 questions for creators (for your WIPs or completed works) and a bonus side quest for readers!

October Challenge for readers: Before the November post, comment on THREE works you haven’t commented on yet! If you’ve commented on them all already….king shit, because it’s been two days. Go get a boba to celebrate and watch some postseason baseball.

Bonus Readers Side Quest: If the creator of the work allows it, create a moodboard for one of the works you enjoyed and post it on Tumblr. Tag @timebegins-onopeningday so that I can reblog and of course make sure you link to the work and tell the author too!

October Challenge for creators: Every week until the November post (on the 12th), do the following:

Writers, add FIVE sentences to your work.

Artists, spend FIFTEEN MINUTES on your work. 

Podfic? Five minutes of editing or ten minutes of recording. Something else I’m not thinking of? Adjust accordingly to your medium.

Creator Questions: Answer in the notes, send an ask, or just post on your blog and tag @timebegins-onopeningday!

Which player in the work inspired you to put them in the boba shaker of baseball rpf and why?

What is one thing you want everyone to know about your work that didn’t (or won’t) make it into the final work?

Without spoiling anything, what part of your work are you most excited for people to experience?

That’s it for this month! I hope you all enjoy the works that have been posted - I’m still making my way through them, but I’m loving what I’ve read so far. Remember to leave comments if you read, and to treat yourself kindly as you create.

As always, ask box is open and anon is on. I can also be reached at rpfisfine@/gmail.com 🌞

[laissezferre]

WIP tag game

i was tagged by @asparklethatisblue and @veganthranduil (thank you!)

RULES: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! and then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

i only really have one wip at a time, so that's

1. spy au

then i have various fic ideas yet fully developed:

2. love allergy james 3. outsider pov 4. sleepless in seattle 5. shakespeare vs musical theater 6. rough sex miscomm

tagging both writers and artists! @brainyraccoons @zevons @kiingbooooo @ghosstkid @soft-october-night @egospects

[angelsdevils]

Flufftober: Day 23❤️

Title: Warmth Prompt: Fire Place October 23, 2022

Flufftober Masterlist

A/N: This one is much shorter it's more of a drabble then anything else.

Tag List: @thisbicc @chuuberrysworld @missmadness123 @kazenomegaminowanpisu

If interested in joining my tag list feel free to click here. And fill the form out.

Atsumu could never deny the fact he loved clinging to you. You were always so warm, and soft. You were the perfect person to come home to after a volleyball game. Being able to fall right asleep after a shower, against you. Tonight though it was hard to sleep, the both of you were curled up next to the fireplace, sharing one blanket and each having your own mug of hot chocolate and snacks. 

The power had gone out due to a snowstorm, and this was the only source of heat you guys could muster. Cuddling up to each other, and trying to keep each other warm the best you could. You leaned into his side, and he couldn’t help but set his mug down and pull you closer to his lap. 

“This sucks, I am so tired.” He mumbled and you stroked his hair.

“I am sorry, I wish I was warmer so I could help you sleep.” 

“Can you just stay like this while we try to sleep?” He asked with those puppy eyes. 

“It won’t be comfortable. Let’s move the couch just a tad bit closer to the fireplace so we can try and stay warm as well.”

“Better idea, be back.” He wrapped you in a blanket and went to the bedroom. You were confused but stayed put. You heard a lot of moving around before seeing Atsumu bringing in the mattress. You moved everything out of the way as he laid the mattress down on the floor close but not too close to the fireplace. 

“This is a better idea.” You said. He then went back to the bedroom and came back with a lot more blankets. You laid down and he covered the two of you with the blankets before he wrapped his arm around you tightly. He kissed your shoulder gently before signing softly.

“Warm…” he mumbled almost instantly falling asleep. You would have laughed if sleep wasn’t consuming you as well, just as quickly.

The next day, you woke up to several whispers and a few snapping noises. You slowly opened your eyes to see Atsumu’s twin, Osamu looking at the two of you with a grin. Suna was taking photos of you and him sleeping like normal. You blinked and he pointed to his brother. You looked up and saw him, with drool at the corner of his mouth. You gently wiped it and looked at Osamu before the rest of the volleyball team. 

“What happened?” Suna asked and you yawned a bit.

“The power went out, so we were freezing and proceeded to sleep in front of the fireplace.”

“Ahh, that sucks. We had the power all night…” Suna said, and you shrugged before cuddling into Atsumu again and closing your eyes, not caring about the audience. Atsumu unconsciously pulled you on top of his chest and you fell asleep again. The warmth was all you and Atsumu cared for, and it was a great thing to fall asleep to.

© [@angelsdevils] all rights reserved. none of my posts or stories should be modified, reposted etc. I do not own the character, but I own the plots to these stories.

[dragonflylady77]

First Lines of 10 Fics Game

Rules: share the first lines of 10 of your most recent fanfics and then tag 10 people. If you have written fewer than 10 fics, don’t be shy and share anyways :)

I was tagged by the lovely @callieb this time around.

1. definitely better than being dead (on Ao3)

When Billy comes to, everything hurts. He keeps his eyes closed, even though the space around him feels dark, and slowly takes a tally of where it hurts: hands, sides, chest, back, feet too...

He listens to the noises in the room and the regular beeping of a machine close by tells him he’s in a hospital.

Huh.

This is new.

Neil never lets him go to the hospital, not unless he absolutely has to, like that time before they left Cali—no, not thinking about that.

2. Steve's pick (on Ao3) (Billy Hargrove Bingo)

“So you’ll do it?”

Steve sighed, wishing his shift would end already so he could go home and crash, instead of listening to whatever issue Dustin had had with Mike fucking Wheeler. Again. He looked at the clock. Half an hour to go. Wednesday afternoon shifts usually dragged but this one had to be the worst one ever.

“Steve? Are you even listening to me?”

“Yeah, yeah, Dustin, fine, whatever.” He rolled his eyes, never happier that the shop was currently deserted. He guessed that everyone was at the movies, catching the new releases. Lucky them.

“Steeeeeeeve!”

Henderson’s whiny voice pulled him back into the present.

“Oh my god, what? I’m at work, you know that right?”

“I am aware. But I also know there is no one there. It’s Wednesday, Steve. So will you tell Mike you agree we should let Max in the Party?”

Steve heard the bell chime when a customer walked in so he looked up and who the fuck was the sex god who’d just walked into Family Video?

3. finding peace together (on Ao3)

Then one day Steve shows up.

Because there's nothing keeping him in Hawkins anymore and he's had enough of the cold and the monsters and he always wanted to see the ocean.

And slowly Steve and Billy become friends. And Steve is absolute rubbish at surfing but it's okay because every time he falls off the board, it makes Billy laugh.

And Steve comes to realise that's his favourite sound. He can't wait to finish work every day and meet Billy at the beach. He lives to hear him cackle when he gets rolled by a wave.

4. a frankly ill-timed visit (on Ao3)

Steve stretches as he wakes up, arm reaching beside him to find the bed is cold. He knows it’s not very late by the way the sun doesn’t quite reach into the room yet. Billy always gets up so early, even when they’re up half the night making love to each other.

Steve yawns and stretches as he finishes waking up. His body is sore in that pleasurable way that says ‘I had a really good time last night’. He can smell the enticing aroma of fresh coffee and slowly realises that the noise he can hear coming from downstairs is actually voices.

Plural.

5. never fall for a straight guy (on Ao3)

Billy is browsing the movies in the Horror section at Family Video, trying to find something Max hasn’t seen yet, when he hears Harrington whisper from the counter.

“You deal with him.”

“Steve…” Buckley whines and Billy moves closer to the head of the aisle so he can hear better, while still pretending to be oblivious and looking at the titles.

“No, Rob. I can’t. Not after…” Harrington stops and Billy feels a pang in his chest.

6. Steve can't take it anymore (on Ao3)

"I've been waiting to meet this King Steve everyone has been telling me so much about."

There's blood on Billy's lip and Steve wants to wipe it off with his thumb.

"Get out"

He presses two fingers onto Billy's chest and gives a little shove. The skin is soft. And warm. So warm even though it's October and Billy's shirt is unbuttoned.

Billy stares, his tongue coming out to wipe his bottom lip, murder in his eyes.

Steve can't take it anymore. If the guy is gonna kill him, might as well give him a reason to. So Steve gives into the urge he's been fighting since he saw Billy in the carpark on that first day of school. Before he can second guess himself, he grabs both sides of the collar of Billy's shirt, pulls him close and plants his lips on the other guy's mouth.

7. wake me up (on Ao3)

"Billy?" Steve wipes the sleep from his eyes and tries to remember where he is. He feels really good but isn't sure why.

His boyfriend's muffled reply provides an answer.

8. we talked about this (on Ao3)

“Oh my god, pretty boy, just fucking do it already.”

Max freezes in her tracks in front of Billy's door, the juice in her cup sloshing from the sudden stop.

9. only the best (on Ao3)

"Munson!"

Steve looked up when he heard the familiar voice. Wasn't he supposed to be at work? "Billy?"

Sure enough, Billy was making his way through the trees to where Steve was sitting with Eddie Munson.

10. DELIGHTFUL (part of my Harringrove Micro Poems series on Ao3)

Daily loving casual touches getting bolder

Envying other couples who don’t need to hide

Languishing to be away from prying eyes

Wow.

I have more I'm working on , including fics for @billyhargrovebingo and the fic for the @harringrovezine and my @harringrovebigbang fic too!

Watch this space!!

no pressure tagging @discodeviant @spaceofentropy @thissortofsorcery @intothedysphoria @half-oz-eddie

[weathertheraine]

Tagged for this ao3 year recap by my bestie @unacaritafeliz thank you rae !! Sorry it took me forever :P

Most Popular Fic

By both Kudos and Hits (and to my surprise technically posted in 2022) its ‘Sugawara’s genius foolproof matchmaking masterplan: Mistletoe Edition’ ! Which makes sense as it’s the one with every pairing under the sun in it :,) My second ever Haikyuu fic !! Though I’ve come a long way with my writing and characterisation over this year I am still proud of this one and all the Karasuno Shenanigans it contains hehe

Favourite Fic

Man is it conceited to say it’s SO hard to pick ?? I’ve had so much fun writing for Haikyuu this year… I’m gonna cheat and say two because the first one is smut:

Grapes from the Vine - my first smut fic and the softest Ukatake I could muster (which is very soft) I am so proud of this I really got to lean into a more poetic writing style and it cemented my Takeda characterisation which I am SO happy with :,,)

No more time to waste - one of my fics for tsukkiyama week, which has my favourite, confident Tadashi and pathetic pining Tsukki, as well as all my Karasuno Kouhai who I had so much fun inventing !!!

Most Unexpected Fic

Probably ‘from the same cloth’ because it’s such a rarepair and such a far deviation from canon (most of my work stays largely canon-compliant) - Aone/Asahi royalty au for the royalty bang !! They are such a soft rarepair that I have gotten very attached to

Fics for Next Year

WIP fics I’m taking into the new year are:

keep me intact - t4t tskym childhood friends slowburn :,,) this fic is so close to my heart and I’m really enjoying it

Win My Heart! - Timeskip Kuroken ft Kodzuken Loving Their Friends and a very silly dating sim (a gift for @unacaritafeliz)

Fic I’ve started and hope to post this year is:

Hold on to Anything - Huge Tanaka-focussed Night in the Woods AU !! I am SO excited to share this massive project in October, wish me luck

Fics I next plan on writing

Other than the above WIPs, the next fic I’m planning to start (probably after keep me intact is finished) is:

Bokuto and Kuroo’s genius foolproof matchmaking masterplan: Tsukishima-kun Edition (working title lmao)

Tagging

@lilac-writes and @oloreandil !! Though I know it's not really seasonal any more! 😅

[deancasbigbang]

Title: Any Way That You Want Me

Author: nhpw

Artist: LeafZelindor

Rating: Mature

Pairings: Castiel/Dean Winchester Background Sam Winchester/Jessica Moore Previous Castiel/Balthazar

Length: 25128

Warnings: No Major Archive Warnings Apply

Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics Mpreg Alpha Castiel Omega Dean Winchester Unsafe Sex Practices Pregnant Dean Winchester Angst and Fluff Castiel and Dean Winchester Need To Use Their Words John Winchester's A+ Parenting Happily Ever After

Posting Date: October 5, 2023

Summary: Dean, a hyper-independent omega, meets alpha Professor Castiel at a bar on a Wednesday in September, and they come together for one night of passion. And that's it. That's all. That's the end. Or maybe it's the beginning. Maybe Dean was right on the edge of his heat, and maybe they weren't as careful as they should have been, and maybe Castiel teaches at the very same school where Sam Winchester is a high school senior, who just wants his brother to be happy.

Excerpt: Dean is halfway through his burger, and his rumbling stomach has quieted, when he sets the sandwich down and finishes chewing the bite in his mouth so he can speak. “Anyway, point is we’re here now.” He gestures vaguely to his growing belly. “And I thought I’d be going it alone, but that was… well, I guess I was wrong.” There. He’d said the word. His shoulders felt lighter already. “So you wanna… I dunno. Make dates out of doctors’ appointments? Set up a custody arrangement?” Castiel laughs softly, and he has a much easier time setting his food aside than Dean did. “I want those things very much,” he confesses, and Dean can’t help noticing an adorable blush creeping into the alpha’s cheeks. “More than that, though, if you’ll let me, I…” There’s a heavy pause. Dean looks down, grabs two french fries, and puts them in his mouth while he waits. “I didn’t want to wake up alone that morning.” Ouch. “And the past five months have been just… lonely and empty. Like something was missing from my life that was supposed to be there.” Dean probably looks like an owl at this point, all wide eyes and frozen face, but he can’t think of anything to say. He slowly feeds himself a fry. “I want to date you, if you’ll let me, Dean. I want to– I know we didn’t plan on this, but I would really like to date you.” “I mean I said– you know, doctors’ appointments and–” There’s that chuckle again, warm and soft. Dean wants to curl up inside it. “Yes that, but I want… to date you. Like this, but… nicer. Candlelight dinners, walks on the beach…” “We live in Kansas, dude.” “On the prairie, then. Or downtown. Dinner and a movie, let’s start with that. And yes, doctor’s appointments, and let’s buy a stroller, and register at Target, and–” Dean holds up a hand, and the alpha halts, eyes going wide. “I’m– sorry. I’ve just never been a dad before.” And that, at least, is something they can start from. Dean smiles as he feels a flutter in his belly. He picks up his burger. “Yeah. Me neither.”

DCBB 2023 Posting Schedule

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Reader request updates:

Hardcore Daemon x Reader (Martel/arranged marraige. I think I figured out what you want, anon!) smut post. : Done. Can be read here

Nuidis Vulko x reader one shot. Done. Can be read here.

Another Daemon and Summer Islander wifey post (squee!) Done. Can be read here.

Daemon x reader (daughter) claiming wild dragon. Done. Can be read here.

Reader requests closed | Regular asks and anons are welcomed.

                                                     ........

During September/October I started work on a big-ish project for December, (yes, this is how my mind works) and all based around Tolkien, titled, The Twelve days of Tolkien. Starting from the 10th, and ending on the 21st, each day will have fan art, headcanon, fanfics and a poem. Posts have been scheduled for 9.00 pm, Sri Lankan time. Links will be added after each post.

Day 1   : Art- Barad-Dúr

Day 2   : The Valar and how they make their presence known, headcanon

Day 3   : Art– The constellations of Arda

Day 4   : Poem – Narsilion, the song of the sun and moon (Not going to lie, this nearly did my head in.)

Day 5   : Art – Orthanc at night

Day 6   : Art – The silmarils

Day 7   : Fanfic – The last Christmas Cookie (Lindir x Reader) Soft | Modern AU | Light NSFW Elements

Day 8   : Art - Map of Utumno  

Day 9   : Fanfic – Under the mistletoe (Irmo x Manwë x Reader) Soft | Modern AU | Light NSFW elements

Day 10 : Fanfic – ‘Twas the night before Christmas (Thingol  x Reader) Smut | Modern AU

Day 11 : Art - Temple of Morgoth, Númenor

Day 12 : Fanfic – A very bratty Christmas (Oromë x Reader) Smut | Modern AU

Links for previous months’ uploads can be found here.

Random posts for the month:

Criston Cole x Reader : Consequences ( Smut | Modern AU)

Prince Aegon x Reader : Mistletoe crown (Soft | Fluff | Drabble)

Want to be tagged? Want to know the reader request rules? Read all here.

[landwriter]

I posted 421 times in 2022

That's 421 more posts than 2021!

131 posts created (31%)

290 posts reblogged (69%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@softest-punk

@landwriter

@fishfingersandscarves

@teejaystumbles

@moorishflower

I tagged 393 of my posts in 2022

Only 7% of my posts had no tags

#the sandman - 273 posts

#dreamling - 206 posts

#dream of the endless - 106 posts

#hob gadling - 98 posts

#asks - 73 posts

#ruined once again by gorgeous art - 58 posts

#dream x hob - 47 posts

#my writing - 39 posts

#the sandman fanfic - 36 posts

#saint morpheus in stained glass - 34 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#maybe i'm biased but i think learning about things you'd never have encountered otherwise bc someone has done research as a hobby and woven

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

thinking about dream this morning. thinking about how he dresses buttoned up to the neck in finery for every meeting with hob. thinking it might be like armour. thinking he must keep his feelings in his shoulders his forearms the base of his throat and that’s why he has to keep them covered around hob. thinking of the tension in his body. thinking of his clothes as holding him together. thinking if hob ever reached over and undid a single button he fears the whole of him would spill out and swallow hob up. thinking it might be like courtship. thinking it might be like declaration. thinking it might be like ritual. thinking he might not magic it all off when he returns to the dreaming after their meetings. thinking that maybe instead once every hundred years dream undresses by hand. thinking he sometimes imagines the hands of another. thinking about hob’s warm knuckles brushing his throat. thinking about the rasp of hob’s calloused fingers across the lines of his collarbone. thinking that alone would be enough to be undone. thinking about hob’s lips pressing a kiss to the tender spot where his collar had pressed against his neck all the same. thinking about centuries of wanting. thinking about centuries of denial. thinking about clothes.

1,085 notes - Posted October 17, 2022

#4

Hob is not the daylight to Dream's darkness. He is not the sun to Dream's moon.

Dream is a night sky, Dream is darkness that swallows you whole, Dream is the pale brushstrokes of the moon spilling into your home while you are sleeping, yes -

But Hob is not the day. He is not the yellow glow of a distant star, but the heat and light right here, the heat and light of men. He is fire. He is the hearth. He is the heat we make and the light we tame. Hob is no sunrise. Hob wants.

Hob is the hot roar under the stars, licking into darkness and swallowing it back. Hob is the wild flickering light upon walls that makes us want to tell strange stories. Hob is the steadfast hunger of the most sated fire, burnt down to lazy embers, tracing orange veins into blackened wood, and ready, always ready, to burn for more.

Hob is no star. Hob is a light that is, in comparison, terribly young and terribly human. Hob is a warmth that comes from loving something so much you would consume it forever. It is the opposite of a sun. Hob asks for more. Hob says, Oh, yes.

Hob does not banish the night. He lights it, and he lights it from the ground. He is comfortable in the darkness. But if he is a light of any kind, it is this.

Dream is night. Hob is fire. They both consume. They both desire.

1,118 notes - Posted November 6, 2022

#3

thinking about writing a 250k established relationship dreamling fic spanning centuries of dream keeping a diary of soft vignettes about his husband hob and their lives together just so I can title it My Immortal

1,133 notes - Posted October 15, 2022

#2

hob gadling being so goddamn normal compared to his anthropomorphic husband, in-laws, and husband's social circle that he circles right back around to being the more sus/shady one OR hob gadling keeps accidentally derailing dream's attempts to be King of Nightmares by horny vibes/going "joke's on you, i'm into it"/"promise?" to any and all threats

Hob isn't normal, is the thing. He's not. He never was. He was smouldering with strangeness and hunger long before his future sister-in-law took one look at him and decided he'd be good for her little brother.

He asked her, once, bit drunk, if that was why she chose him: if she'd heard him forswearing her in the White Horse and looked at him, peered into the contents of his soul, and thought: well, there's one at least as stubborn as my brother - maybe they'll be good for each other. She'd just smiled and waited for Hob to take another sip before saying, "Good? I just thought it would be interesting," and twinkled at him when he sputtered. Hob said older sisters were terrors, and they'd toasted to that.

Whether she'd intended or not, they were good for each other, him and Dream. It took them a little bit to realize, a small handful of centuries holding one another at arm's length for fear of what would be seen any closer. Then they'd crashed together anyways, and it had turned out they were matched not just in that bloody-minded stubbornness to keep a decent thing going, but also in all the intensity they'd tried to smother to do so, the roaring hunger and devotion and need; the both of them strange creatures capable of giving so much and greedy enough to take just as much in kind.

On the outside, though, others see Dream, his distance, his power, the thunder of his voice, and don't see it as the armour it is, the necessary carapace protecting the sort of tender feelings that could scorch the entire earth, because he is a vessel for human emotions that are strong enough to live on in stories and dreams, because he is, in that respect, - and Hob gets choked up about this, if he allows himself to think about it too much - fundamentally more human than him, than all of them, the embodiment of every fantasy and fear and tall tale of men, tending to them each night, taking no rest for himself.

On the outside, others see Hob, his banal humanness, and other humans assume the rest of him is the same, and so do most non-humans, except they're baffled by it, baffled by why he is Dream's husband. So he plays it up, because it's funny, and if they're too incurious or gullible to figure out what lays beneath, then that's alright, because his husband figured it out, and loves him for it, and that's all he needs.

Dream didn't understand at first why Hob acted extra human whenever they mingled with other capital-e Entities and inhuman sorts, but now he finds it so amusing as well that Hob wonders how the gig isn't up from the moment anyone sees his twitching smirk. His husband has a terrible poker face, Hob thinks.

He's much better at pretending. In fact, he's so good at performing the petty normality expected of him that it goes full circle and becomes, somehow, magnetically strange to all the fantastical creatures in his husband's social circle.

He had not realized the heady effect of normal human upon non-humans until the time he had gone to a Samhain 'do in the Underhill, in his formal role as Prince Consort to the Lord Morpheus, Dream of the Endless, first of his name, et cetera, and, rather comfortable with those sort of events by then, which were really not that dissimilar to interdepartmental faculty parties, with all the posturing and alcohol, only far better outfits, had, a bit soused on the fantastic elphin mead, accidentally started talking with a member of the faerie delegation about the football tables. At first he thought he'd committed a faux pas when the faerie just stared at him, slack-jawed, but later that night, he'd found himself surrounded by a cluster of wide-eyed dryads and undine and fae, gratifyingly holding court on why Billy Wright had been such a shite Arsenal manager. Apparently, it was the highlight of the evening.

It also helps grease the wheels of immortal statecraft, which Hob thinks of as something of a secondary benefit to making his husband smile. He would be a fierce bodyguard and soldier for Dream, in a heartbeat, he would curry favour on his behalf with pretty words and eager gladhanding, but what works out best, he's realized, is when important folk approach them to talk shop with Dream, to head it off with warm conversation about things like Tube construction, ABBA, and sausage rolls, until they look thoroughly disconcerted, before gracefully handing them off to his husband.

Whenever the occasion allows it, he'll skip on the finery too (another thing, he thinks, that he only cares about his husband seeing). Once, a baku ambassador, himself arrayed in glorious golden robes that matched his sharp gilt claws, had been so baffled by Hob's appearance on the arm of Dream, in his ratty old jeans and a United jersey he got as a gag gift once (and, on principle, refuses to wear in the Waking) that the chimera had absently agreed with Dream's suggestion for revised quotas on devouring nightmares.

Dream had been so delighted by that victory that he'd pressed Hob up against the front door of their flat in Islington, the moment they got back in, and laid kisses all over the hideous jersey, murmuring that Hob was a fearsome diplomat, and Hob had laughed and said he was only a distraction, then let Dream drag him to the bedroom anyways to thank him for his contribution.

Some see what's underneath, of course, and Hob's just as glad for that too.

The second time they'd had dinner with Crowley and Aziraphale, well past the food and making excellent headway on the rest of the wine, Dream had been called away on urgent business. Hob thought the night would end there, but the moment Dream left, Crowley had leveled an unsober finger of accusation at Hob and said, "Don't think I can't tell what you're doing."

Hob hadn't needed to try and look confused, but then Crowley leaned in and said, conspiratorially and only accidentally hissing a little, "This 'regular bloke' thing, but you're worssse than him, aren't you? Bet you are. Bet anything," and Aziraphale had genuinely emitted a tiny gasp of affront on Hob's behalf, and Hob was too busy laughing to say that he wasn't wrong at all, while Crowley gleefully swiveled around and said "I told you so, angel. S'obvious. Humansss. Not a normal one among 'em."

It was a lovely thing to say, actually, and all too easy for Hob to forget sometimes, being a particularly abnormal human leading a particularly abnormal life. But Crowley knew what he was talking about. He spent far more time with humanity compared to most of the inhuman lot. When Hob had made him promise to keep his secret from the rest of them - humanity's secret, really - and explained why, Crowley had laughed and laughed and laughed. He thinks it's the moment they became proper friends.

Hob isn't normal, is the thing.

But it's fun to don it like ceremonial garb and be an ambassador of humanity twice over: in truth and performance both. It's fun to be exactly what's expected and still disconcert.

And most of all, it's fun to go back home with his husband, to their terribly normal human flat, and curl up together in their terribly normal human bed, and watch Dream's face flush with pride or amusement as he debriefs Hob on what chaos he's wrought this time, intentionally or otherwise, with his terribly normal human presence, and Hob just laughs, then smiles until his face hurts, because Dream is his husband, wholly apart from humanity and still the most human creature Hob has met, and he knows all the ways that Hob feels like both, too.

1,370 notes - Posted November 10, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

headcanon where hob adopts a little cat that was living in the alley behind the new inn and after an enemies-to-friends slow burn (250k) dream and the cat become bffs and one day dream says are you bored? come to work with me, tiny emissary of the night and the next morning hob is reading the news and spittakes his tea when he sees the headline Black Cat Crossed Your Path? Scientists Theorize Collective Unconscious After Same Cat Reported In Nation's Dreams

3,659 notes - Posted October 14, 2022

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[ripeteeth]

wip tag game

RULES: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet of it or tell them something about it.

Thanks for the tag @jaggededges123!

Introduction to Natural Philosophy (Victor Frankenstein/The Creature) blood, bones, and butter c.3 (songxuexiao) folgers coffee gross little holiday fic (niecest) long slow love song (fengqing) Revachol Calling c.8 (Harry/Kim) but father's house is full of arrows (fitzier) cleaning out the rooms (wangxian) what sharp teeth you have (wenzhou)

Tagging @mia-ugly, @soft-october-night, @racketghost, @danpuff-ao3, @neonpastelnina, @perverse-idyll, @pearwaldorf, @liladiurne, @itsevidentvery, @ivorycloudscape, @jouissants, @orchisailsa, @rcmclachlan, @wildcard47 and anyone else who would like to!