#I broke my arm at age six and am drawing on experience slightly

[lendmyboyfriendahand]

Elrond is the greatest healer in Middle Earth because starting at age six gives you a lot of practice.

Killing people diminishes your healing ability. There is literally no one in the Feanorian host who can heal after Sirion.

Picture Elros breaking his arm that day. He was trying to escape - to find his mother, to get away to Balar, to be surrounded by anyone other than the people who murdered everyone he’s ever known - and fell off a horse. It was a six foot drop, far enough to break both bones in his lower arm when he threw it up to protect his head.

Maglor is the most practiced at field medicine - cavalry on Ard-galen are frequently days away from the nearest fortress with a healer. Maglor wraps Elros’s arm, and makes a splint and sling, but that’s the limit of what can be done. He says the break might take four months to heal, and longer before Elros can lift much.

Elros asks why they can’t just heal him, like their mother did with cuts and scrapes from playing on the rocky shore.

Maedhros answers, “Those who kill too many can no longer heal.”

It was going to be hard to reach Amon Ereb with two captive children in the first place, but they couldn’t just abandon the boys and hope someone arrived before they starved. A broken arm does not make leaving the children to fend for themselves better. It does make transportation even more difficult though, as Elros can’t hold on riding pillion even if he wouldn’t run away. A horse of his own is likewise out. Riding in front of someone will keep him from falling off, but the ride wouldn’t be smooth, and he’d be in pain with every pace.

The Feanorians don’t expect a flag of truce to be believed, even to return Elwing’s sons, and one of them being injured doesn’t help with that. Any Men they come across will not be able to heal Elros any more than the Feanorians can. The twins must go to Amon Ereb.

Maglor and Maedhros discuss the relative merits of numbing the arm or sedating the boy. With a numb arm, Elros would be able to sit enough to share someone’s horse, but he might use the arm and damage it further, and there’s the potential of addiction. Sedated, he won’t injure himself further or try to escape again, but he would have to be held or tied in place, and the dosage is harder to monitor and more dangerous if wrong.

Elrond overhears. He hears enough to know that it is becoming a lot of trouble to keep him and his brother alive and safe, more than expected. He knows that the last time the Kinslayers attacked, they took two princes and then abandoned them. He has to find some way to be worth keeping.

“I can heal him.”

“What?”

“I can heal him. I’ve watched Mom do it before. And I’m...” He isn’t sure how to say he’s not a murderer without offending the murderers and having them decide to murder him after all. “I can still heal people.”

It’s clear after a few minutes that Elrond doesn’t actually know how to channel his fea. Maglor talks him through it slowly, first understanding your own spirit and then identifying the break, drawing on what he’s heard at dozens of sickbeds. Maedhros takes some men to loot the palace for any medical supplies available, including sedatives in case Elrond fails.

Elrond succeeds, but is dizzy from giving so much of his own energy. Elros’s arm doesn't hurt, and the bones appears to be connected again, though it’s still too fragile to use much. Elros is in good enough shape to ride with someone, and worried enough about his brother he won’t try to run. This will do for now.

The Feanorians depart from Sirion.

That night they make camp, and Elrond heals Elros enough that he can ride without a sling (though still tandem, due to his small stature and inclination to escape) the next day.

When they stop again, Elrond asks if anyone else needs healing, as his brother is recovered.

Maedhros knows that it’s unfair to ask so much of a child, but on the other hand Aistanil has been bleeding from his belly for the past two days. If Elrond has the energy to spare, healing would be appreciated.

Elrond agrees, and Maedhros explains how muscle and skin connect on a healthy body and how ragged edges on a cut make healing more difficult.

Elrond does not throw up, and is very helpful to the Kinslayers.

No one drags him an Elros out into the forest and leaves them, not even after the last injury from Sirion is healed. He’s useful.

[keigoslovebird]

Next Chapter

Pairing: Ushijima Wakatoshi x Reader

Warnings: Manga spoilers!! Pregnancy and references to pregnancy, you have a child (obvi), aged up characters, breeding kink, negative self image (on Toshi’s part), references to alcohol, self deprecating language, very fluffy Daddy Toshi shenanigans

Genre: Fluff, smut

Word count: 8.3k

Author’s note: I had so much fun writing soft husband Toshi, if it isn’t obvious by the word count. I just want to rub his soft belly and tell him how much I love him. Hopefully you enjoy this as much as I did writing it!

Note: Flashbacks indicated by italics

Wakatoshi Ushijima has always been a man of few emotions and even fewer words, with just one thing on his mind—volleyball. 

Since he was a young child, he has always slept, eaten, breathed volleyball. Nothing came close to his fiery, burning passion for the sport, not that he had the time to care about anything else.

That all changed when he retired from professional volleyball at the ripe young age of thirty-one, the years of wear and tear on his body finally catching up to him. He knew it was time when the pain in his joints was so severe he could no longer keep up with his much younger teammates. It was a difficult, emotional decision, but he ultimately viewed it as passing the torch to the next generation of volleyball players.

The announcement of Wakatoshi’s retirement was met with great sadness from the sports community at the loss of such a talented, renowned player, but he left behind an exceptional legacy marked by achievements and historic wins. 

His final game with the Schweiden Adlers concluded in a symbolic victory, this chapter of his life drawing to a close the same way it began—with Wakatoshi as an indisputable champion. Every player, coach, and audience member rose from their seats, clapping and screaming words of encouragement. Each of his teammates got on their knees, lowering themselves to press their foreheads into the floor of the stadium, bowing in an ultimate show of respect. The sight of his peers, his coaches, the entire auditorium giving him such an impassioned send off made a heavy lump form in his throat that refused to go away, no matter how many times he tried to swallow it down. Tears pricked at his eyes but he didn’t want to cry, not in front of all of these people.

The dam broke when you sprinted across the court, wrapping yourself around him in a bone crushing hug.

“You did so well Toshi. I am so proud of you,” you praised through choked sobs, pressing your tear-stained face into his neck. Your watery eyes and trembling smile shattered whatever willpower he had, his own tears streaming down his face like a waterfall. All those late night practices away from you, the excruciating injuries, the heartbreaking losses, all led up to this moment. This was the last time the Super Ace would step foot on a volleyball court as a professional player, but all good things must come to an end. 

The screaming and clapping was so loud you could barely hear his quiet, trembling whisper of, “I love you.”

----

It took him awhile to adjust to what one would call a “normal” life, one that didn’t include daily flights from country to country or backbreaking practices that lasted from sunup to sundown. Sure he still went to the gym and practiced with the volleyball net strung up in your backyard, but it was nothing like his grueling schedule when he was a pro athlete. To make matters worse, the blinders he wore his entire life that blocked out anything but volleyball prevented him from finding any real hobbies of his own. This meant for the first few months, your husband followed you around the house like a lost puppy, just wanting to be a part of whatever you were doing.

You would be cooking dinner, some soup simmering on the stove, when Wakatoshi’s massive form would come up from behind you to shyly peek over your shoulder. 

“What’re you doing?” he wondered, resting his head in the crook of your neck.

You could feel a smile tugging at your lips at how cute he was being, getting used to domestic life, something you never really got to experience until now. Before, you would often be sleeping when he came home at night, and still be asleep when he left in the morning. “I’m just cooking, do you want to help me?” you asked, holding a knife out to him to cut some vegetables. He nodded silently as he took the knife from you. 

His chopping skills left much to be desired, but what could you really expect from a man who only ever held a volleyball?

Another time you were sitting on the couch, scrolling through Twitter on your phone. You could feel your husband staring so intensely you were afraid he’d pop a blood vessel in his head.

Looking up at him, you cleared your throat and asked, “Did you need something, Toshi?” You set your phone down and gave him a questioning look, hoping to solve whatever was troubling him.

He was pensive for a moment, his eyebrows scrunching as he figured out what he was trying to say. “No, I just… There’s nothing to do,” he answered finally.

You nearly burst out laughing at his concern for simply being bored, but you held it in. “Of course there’s something to do!” you exclaimed, “You can go on a walk, read a book, watch TV, or even just take a nap.”

His head tilted quizzically, unsure of what you were suggesting. “A… nap? Why would I sleep? It’s the middle of the afternoon,” he questioned, sounding like you had proposed he eat sand and not to take a quick snooze.

You chuckled and walked over to the chair he was sitting in, plopping yourself down into his lap. “Sometimes people sleep in the middle of the day because they’re tired, or just because they want to,” you clarified, “We can go take a nap right now if you would like.” 

Suddenly Wakatoshi stood up, causing you to squeak in surprise, his arms securely carrying you bridal style.

“W-what’re you doing!?” you squealed, panicked by your sudden lack of solid ground, slightly struggling in arms. 

He tilted his head again, reminiscent of a pet confused by its master’s orders. “We’re going to take a nap together, yes? I’m taking you to our room,” he said, jerking his head in the direction of your shared bedroom. 

You stopped squirming once you took in his words, your belly fluttering with affection. Sighing happily, you snuggled your face against his chest, giving him a simple “mhm” in response.

That day Wakatoshi took his first nap since he was six years old and to this day, he still swears he’s never had a more restful, peaceful sleep in his life.

Those instances happened less and less often as he figured out ways to occupy his time that didn’t involve volleyball. 

You adopted a dog, a commitment you didn’t want to make in the past due to both of your busy schedules, but your lives became a lot less hectic after Wakatoshi’s retirement. Your husband made it a daily ritual to take your puppy Leo out on a morning run, both of them returning tired and sweaty before promptly passing out for an hour. He took up a job at the local university to help coach their men’s volleyball team, deciding to try it out when the requests to lend his wisdom and skills kept coming in. Although, his favorite pastime now consists of him standing outside on the patio, beer in hand as he sweats over the flames of his fancy silver grill.

But perhaps the most significant change in your lives came in the form of your son, Hidetoshi. 

Much like your refusal to commit to taking care of a dog, neither of you wanted to have kids while your lifestyle was so unfit to raise a child. You didn’t mind making those compromises for your husband, having known the path he would take since you started dating in high school. Frankly, you didn’t mind not having children at all, so it surprised you when he was the one to broach the subject. 

“What if we did?” he inquired under the darkness of your bedroom.

You turned over to face him, reaching up to gently stroke his cheek. “What if we did what, my love?” you murmured.

His eyes flitted across your face with an uncharacteristic nervousness. “What if we decided to have a child?” The shock on your face made his stomach churn uncomfortably and he almost regretted saying anything at all, but his fears quickly vanished as your expression melted into a soft smile.

“We’d have to talk about it more but I’d love to have your children, Wakatoshi Ushijima.”

You had a deep, lengthy conversation about your wants, needs, plans for the future, and whether or not a kid would fit into them. Once all of your cards were on the table you decided to start trying to get pregnant, a mission that your husband took very seriously.

Even as a teenager Wakatoshi’s sex drive wasn’t very high, and his frequent absence and exhaustion in his adult life made it somewhat difficult for you to have sex often. You made up for it where you could, having phone sex and masturbating together over FaceTime, once you convinced him to do it. When he was bewildered as to why you would suggest such a salacious act, you explained you were a grown woman with needs and if he wasn’t there to take care of them, he’d have to help you in other ways. Once he realized how serious you were, he agreed. 

But your husband as a young adult and your husband post-retirement are almost two  completely different people in regards to sex. He has seemingly unlimited reserves of stamina, built up over years of rigorous, intense training, and he no longer had an outlet to expend them. So, his new outlet to test his endurance became you and your body.

He began fucking you every chance he got with the vigor and gusto of a hormonal teenager, seeking to make up for lost time. He asked for sex at all hours of the day, waking you up in the middle of the night with the insistent prodding of his arousal and lazily thrusting between your thighs in the early hours of the morning before you had to leave for work. He fucked you in every room in your house and on every surface—on the dining room table, in the shower, on the living room floor, and even on your back patio when you both got a little too drunk on some cheap rose. 

You welcomed Wakatoshi’s insatiable hunger with open arms, unable to resist your strong, ridiculously handsome husband, but that, coupled with his seemingly limitless stamina, spelled trouble for your muscles and pelvis. In the first year after his departure from professional sports you had to call in sick to work seven times, too tired to function, too bruised to look presentable, and too sore to walk to the bathroom. At first he felt guilty for fucking you out of commission, but the way you begged him so sweetly to pound your needy, gushing cunt deeper, harder, faster and how you whimpered with delight when he bit bruises down your throat, he didn’t feel that bad. A baser, more primal part of Wakatoshi’s brain purred at his marks covering our body and relished in the way you limped. You were just too tempting, too irresistible not to ravage you every chance he got.

After you agreed to start trying for a baby, your partner’s already voracious sexual appetite became downright menacing now that he had a goal to strive for. 

“Gonna breed you, gonna fill you so full with my cum and knock you up,” he grunted as he battered into your sore, dripping hole, your body folded in half in a mating press.

“P-please Toshi! Ah~ please,” you babbled, nonsensical and uncertain what you were even asking for. He had been fucking you for so long everything was muddled into a singular dreamy, intangible haze of pleasure and ecstasy. 

Wakatoshi gave your clit a slap, hard enough to make you cry out. “Please what? Please breed you like a bitch in heat? Please stuff you full with my cum?” He leaned down to wrap his fingers around your throat, squeezing with enough force to make your head swim and forcing you to look into his wild olive eyes. “Well, what is it?” he demanded.

“W-want you to b-ah! Want you to breed mee,” you slurred, too drunk on the delicious feeling of his cock dragging against your pulsing walls to form a more coherent sentence.

His thrusts grew sloppy and uncoordinated with his impending orgasm. “G-gonna give you what you want, you cock hungry slut, I’m—” He came with a choked, shuddering groan, his warm cum flooding your awaiting womb.

You were both basking in the afterglow, exhausted and soaked in sweat and your combined fluids, when you noticed the furious blush spreading across your husband’s cheeks. “I apologize for what I said during sex. I… I don’t know what came over me,” he confessed, giving your shoulder a remorseful squeeze.

Giggling, you leaned forward to kiss his cheek. “Don’t be sorry. I really enjoyed it,” you proclaimed, “I love it when you get rough with me.”

Trying to get you pregnant gave your husband a new goal to strive for and he has never been one to do anything with less than his all.

Thanks to your husband’s dedicated efforts, you got pregnant six months after you started trying, to your shared elation and delight. Those two little lines filled you with as much excitement as they made you anxious, but as long as Wakatoshi was by your side, everything would be okay. 

Seeing your little bundle of joy in a 3D ultrasound changed you, changed Wakatoshi forever. Up until then you had only seen him as a colorless little blur on a computer screen, but getting to watch his precious face scrunch and his chubby legs kick reminded you that he was a real living being. The late night sprints to the bathroom, horrible morning sickness, and miserably aching back were all worth it when you were able to hold Hidetoshi for the first time. With his olive eyes, brown hair and chubby cheeks, he was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen and to this day he still is. 

Taking after his father from the start, Hidetoshi was a happy baby that rarely fussed or cried, not that you complained. He slept soundly through most nights, so soundly you slept in a chair by his crib for the first month to periodically check he was still breathing, despite your husband’s insistence the baby would be fine. Your mother-in-law had insisted that you and Wakatoshi would be exhausted for the first several months after the birth. Imagine her surprised when you and Wakatoshi looked just as well-rested as usual, better even, since you no longer had to deal with pregnancy. Many people, relatives and strangers alike, were astounded at how charming and polite your son was, even as a newborn. He was happy to just sit and play with his toys as you had lunch, smiling and waving at everyone who passed by.

A man as attractive as your husband with a boy as sweet as your son meant that, much to your irritation, women were tripping over themselves to flirt with him. To make matters worse, Wakatoshi picked up your son alone most days due to your office job preventing you from leaving early enough to go with him. This meant many of the moms at Hidetoshi’s school thought your husband was single and they weren’t shy in their pursuit.

A crowd of women surrounded Wakatoshi as he waited for school to end so your son would come running out with his arms spread wide, confident his daddy would always catch him. Most of the moms simply stared at your husband with dreamy looks in their eyes, attempting to make small talk with him.

One especially bold mother reached out and stroked his bicep, slightly squeezing to get a feel for his muscles. “My my Ushijima, you’re so handsome and strong,” she purred, batting her eyelashes at him.

“My wife thinks so as well,” he grunted as he gently but firmly removed his arm from her grasp. 

The woman looked as if he had slapped her across the face and cursed her family. “Y-you’re married? But you don’t even have a wedding ring!” she spluttered, “If you have a wife then where is she everyday?” 

“I do have a ring. I just don’t wear it on my finger because I’m afraid of losing it,” he clarified, lightly tugging on the chain around his neck for emphasis, his ring clinking softly against the metal. “I’m happily married to my wife who cannot be here because she is hard at work providing for our family. Do not disrespect my wife or my marriage again or we will have a problem.”

After that the other moms kept their distance, choosing to admire Wakatoshi from afar. It did not, however, stop them from staring with envy on the rare occasion you came with him to pick up your child, glowering at you with an intensity that surely wished you would drop dead. Your husband paid them no mind and neither did you because at the end of the day, you’re the one he chose to marry and have a child with. They can all flirts and look as much as they want, but they’ll never have him like you do.

----

Fast forward to present day, Wakatoshi is seven years into his retirement at the age of thirty-eight and Hidetoshi is now six.

Your husband is an assistant coach part time for the men’s volleyball team at an up and coming university, the rest of his time divided between you and taking care of your son. Hidetoshi just started kindergarten, growing far too fast for your liking. He seems to have gotten a double dose of his father’s genes as he’s already several inches taller than his classmates, though you can tell by the way he smiles and the slope of his nose that he’s yours as well. He’s the perfect combination of both of you—he has Wakatoshi’s tenacity, work ethic, and confidence and your sense of humor, intelligence, and empathy. He continues to amaze you every single day and you nor your husband couldn’t imagine a boy more wonderful than him. 

These days your lives are a lot less busy than they were when your husband was still a pro, but sometimes it doesn’t feel that way. With all the playdates, school functions, and parent-teacher conferences combined with your own job, Wakatoshi’s games, and regular house chores, sometimes it feels like you’re right back where you were ten years ago. This time, however, you have your incredible husband and son helping you and you wouldn’t trade your life for anything, no matter how hectic it may be.

Today is Saturday, it’s the weekend, and you’re only awake because of the bright sunlight that’s streaming through your bedroom window and hitting you directly in the face. You rub the sleep out of your eyes with the back of your hand, yawning loudly as you stretch your tired limbs. As soon as you try to get out of bed Wakatoshi’s arm around your waist tightens, pulling you flush against his solid, muscular chest. 

“Don’t leave. Don’t need to be anywhere,” he mumbles into his pillow, voice even deeper and raspier with sleep. His legs entangle themselves with your own so you’re completely enveloped in the warm, comforting embrace of your husband.

“Need to start getting ready for the party,” you sigh drowsily, but make no efforts to remove yourself from his sleepy but surprisingly strong clutches.

“Not yet,” he says simply, and that’s when you realize when he’s doing. He’s slowly, lazily grinding his morning wood on the soft curve of your ass. You’re a little more awake now.

“Oh I see what this is about,” you chuckle, wiggling yourself against him teasingly. 

He groans quietly under his breath, but you can feel the sound rumble in his chest. “Want you,” he says, still groggy from just barely waking up. His fingers find the hem of your shirt and he slips them underneath it, trailing his digits lightly down your stomach, making you shiver.

“Little man will be up soon,” you halfheartedly protest, but you can feel the warmth pooling between your legs.

“He’s not up yet, we have time.” The movements of his hips become more insistent, more demanding and you have to stifle your mewls behind your hand. Wakatoshi easily maneuvers his hand into the waistband of your panties, making a satisfied hum when he discovers you’re already dripping for him.

You’re still resisting, though it’s weak and feeble. The list of all the preparations you have to make for the barbecue still manage to just barely cut through your sleepy arousal. “We have so much to d—ahh~” You try to sound firm, but it just comes out as a breathy moan when he begins rubbing your swollen clit. 

He uses his other hand to push up your shirt that’s actually his shirt, tracing small circles around your nipples with his rough fingertips. You try to push your hips into his hand in hopes to gain more friction, but his arms keep you locked in place. 

“No need to rush. Let’s just enjoy this,” he insists, but the finger massaging your bud gets faster, knowing just how to make you whine after all the time he’s had to learn your body. He pinches one of your nipples between two fingers and squeezes with just enough force to make you gasp.

His erection has gotten even harder at the sound of your mewls and whimpers, hot and achingly hard against your ass and your cunt clenches in anticipation. Your slick is dripping out of you in thick, syrupy strings that makes your thighs sticky, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

“Please Toshi, need you,” you beg, desperate for your husband to stuff you full just as he’s done so many times before.

Wakatoshi doesn’t respond, opting to push his pants and underwear down to his knees and you almost sigh in relief, just needing to satisfy the desire that’s threatening to burn you from the inside out. You’re so hot you feel like you’re burning and you throw the comforter off of you to try to escape the heat. He removes the hand that was in your panties, instead using it to rub his hard length along your slick folds. You’re keening and so so needy, gasping each time the head catches on the tight ring of muscle around your entrance. 

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he grits out, barely able to control himself.

Your breath is coming in short, uneven pants as you try to sink yourself down onto him. “I love you so much I...”

That’s the moment when he sheaths his entire cock inside you in a singular fluid movement. You let out a strangled moan, relishing in the familiar burning as you stretch to accommodate how thick he is.  Your pussy clamps down on him like a vice, molding perfectly around his length.

“It’s like you were made for me, made to take me,” Wakatoshi growls, sending another wave of arousal rippling through your body. He stays still for a moment, breathing deeply because he doesn’t want to cum and have this end so soon.

He starts moving his hips, thrusting slow and deep to reach the spongy spot inside you that makes you scream. The hand on your breast reaches around to grab your throat, stifling your moans into small, stuttering gasps. You whine each time he shoves himself deep inside you, his cock dragging deliciously against your spongy walls.

You stay like that for a while, bodies joined in the most intimate of ways as Wakatoshi moves his hips in leisurely, unhurried strokes. Your body is hot, sweaty, thrumming with the pleasure that’s so overwhelming all you can focus on is the intoxicating feeling of your husband’s cock deep inside you. The tightening in your core signals your impending orgasm, but each time you get close to the edge, it escapes your grasp over and over again. You need him to pound into you faster, harder. You need more.

“Toshi please, I-I need,” you manage to stammer out, but your words are stolen from your throat as he sharply thrusts as deep as he can, the tip of his cock smashing against your cervix with just the right amount of pressure. 

“Don’t worry. I know just what you need.”

Wakatoshi is fucking you with so much force that your eyes are rolling back in your head, and all you can hear is the wet slapping sound each time he’s sucked back into your wet heat. He’s close, you can tell by the breathy groans he’s making, but so are you. You clench and spasm around him, growing impossibly tighter and bringing both of you closer to climax. His merciless pounding of your insides just gets faster and rougher, and his other hand moves down to rub your clit in tight, fast circles. 

The pleasure that clouds your senses is overwhelming, just dancing on the edge between pleasure and pain and your body can’t take it anymore. Your vision goes white as you cum, cunt clamping down so hard Wakatoshi can barely move. You clamp a hand over your mouth to keep from screaming, your body shaking and trembling as you gush around him. The endless clenching of your muscles practically milks his orgasm out of him, a stifled groan leaving his lips as his thick, hot cum coats your insides. All you can do is moan softly in appreciation, too incoherent to say anything else. 

Your husband presses a kiss to your sweaty neck. “Are you okay?” he asks, taking in the sight of your limp, spent body. 

You haven’t caught your breath yet and your lips won’t form proper words, so you make the only noise you can, “Mmfmm.”

You whine as he slowly pulls out his softening length with an audible pop, sensitive cunt spasming at the slightest stimulation. He untangles himself from you and you want to reach out for him, but you’re too boneless to even attempt to do anything yet.

As Wakatoshi gets out of bed to get a warm washcloth, you hear the familiar sound of little footsteps making their way towards your room and you shoot up in bed, fully alert. You quickly pull the covers over your body, just in time for Hidetoshi to come bounding in.

“G’morning Mama! Where’s Daddy?” he wonders, his little head poking around the corner.

Your husband comes out of the bathroom, now fully dressed and washcloth in hand. “I’m right here, Hidetoshi.” The boy runs straight towards his father who picks him up effortlessly, swinging him around in the air as he squeals with delight. “Did you sleep well?”

Hide bobs his head enthusiastically, “Mhm! I had a dream I was a professional volleyball player just like you.” 

Your loud, exaggerated sigh draws both sets of olive eyes to you, but you train your gaze on your husband. “Have you been putting ideas in his head?”

Wakatoshi shakes his head no, but the child in his arms pipes up first, “Daddy has been showing me videos of his old matches from when he was with the Schwimmy Addles.” Your husband makes a noise of surprise, a guilty look on his face now that he’s been found out.

“You two are going to be my undoing, I swear,” you chuckle as you flop back into the fluffy pillows.

Hide squirms in his father’s arms, reaching out to you, but the man recognizes the warning look in your eyes and tightens his arms around him. “We should let Mama finish waking up first. Why don’t we go downstairs and make breakfast?” he asks, tickling his sides.

The boy shrieks with laughter and wriggles even harder in Wakatoshi’s arms. “F-fine Daddy! Stooop it!” Your husband stops his tickling and hoists your son over his shoulder, gently patting his back.

He passes the washcloth to Hide. “Why don’t you give this to your mama? Then we can go have something to eat.” 

Hide uses his little arms to hold the cloth out to you and you take it from him, nodding with gratitude. “Thank you sweetie, now go with your daddy.”

Your husband starts walking towards the door as a small, chubby hand waves bye to you and you blow kisses to them as they disappear into the hallway.

Using the washcloth, you clean the mess between your legs and muster the monumental effort it takes to get out of bed. You begrudgingly walk over to your dresser to put on clean pajamas and brush your hair so you’re presentable for a meal with your family. The sound of the fire alarm going off has you racing downstairs to the kitchen where Wakatoshi and your son should be.

As you slide into the kitchen and almost fall on the slippery hardwood in your haste, you realize your panic was for nothing. There’s a pan on the stove, grey smoke billowing out of it. Upon further inspection you discern that it’s eggs, you think, that are simultaneously under and overcooked. The guilty parties are sitting at the kitchen table a few feet away, a jug of milk and a couple of boxes of cereal surrounding them. Hide is shoveling spoonfuls of Cheerios into his mouth as your husband eats his own breakfast, only slightly neater in his approach.

“So… you tried to cook?” you ask, quirking an eyebrow at the large man chewing his Wheat Chex. He looks over at you and nods, mouth full with milk and cereal. “I’m guessing it didn’t go very well, judging by all the smoke,” you say slowly. Your husband simply shakes his head no, unbothered by the fact that he nearly gave you a heart attack.

Deciding it’s not worth the argument or the work to make a proper breakfast, you sit down next to Hide and pour yourself a bowl of Cheerios. He smiles at you, mouth open and full of disgusting half-chewed food, but you still return his beaming grin and ruffle his hair. The both of them are troublemakers in their own ways, but they’re your troublemakers nonetheless.

After you’ve all eaten breakfast, you lay a notepad in front of them that has a list of all the things you have to do before your guests arrive for the barbecue. 

You’re standing between them, pointing at each task on the list. “I still have to sweep and vacuum the house, Toshi you need to go to the store and buy all the food, and Hide you need to pick up all your toys that are in the backyard. We have a lot to do today and everyone has to do their part, okay?” you urge, looking between the males on either side of you and they both nod emphatically.

With everyone so busy, it’s difficult to find weekends where they’re all available so this get together has been planned for months. You’ll all be seeing friends and loved ones you haven’t seen in a long time, and it’s a team effort to make sure everything is ready for tonight. 

----

You finish all of the tasks on time, with an hour to spare thanks to your joint efforts. 

Hide is playing in his room while you and your husband get dressed and ready for what will likely be a long night of socializing and entertaining.

As you’re doing your makeup and getting ready for the party, you notice Wakatoshi staring at himself in the mirror, shirtless. His brows are furrowed, a deep frown on his face as he scrutinizes his reflection. He pinches his belly with both hands, scowling at the softness that used to be hard muscle. Tracing a finger along the stretch marks on his stomach and arms, he sighs heavily.

“Babe, what’s wrong?” you ask from the bathroom. 

Your husband walks over to lean against the wall behind you, his unreadable expression reflected in the bathroom mirror. He hesitates before answering, “I’ve let myself go.”

You set your mascara down on the counter and spin around to face him. “Wakatoshi, what in the world are you talking about?”

“I just said what. I heard a couple of my players say that I’m not as strong or as fast as I was when I was a professional.”

You loosely wrap your arms around his torso, squeezing gently. “Of course you’re not what you used to be, Toshi.” At the sight of his deepening frown you quickly add, “You’re so busy being a father, husband, and coach you don’t have the time to work out like you used to.” Getting on your tippy toes, you press a kiss to his nose, “And that’s okay.” It’s a rare occasion that he looks this vulnerable. His anxiety and self-consciousness are so clearly written in his features and it makes your heart ache for him. 

“It doesn’t bother you that I don’t look like that anymore?” he asks, pointing at the framed photo of his first win with the Japan National Team that hangs on the wall.

“Why would it bother me? This is the body races my son across our backyard, helps me fix our home we bought together, and makes love to me every night. I love you just as much as I did back then, and even more now that we have Hide,” you reassure him and you mean every word of it. Sure he’s not the most romantic of husbands, but he’s your husband and you love him just the way he is, with or without muscles.

A smile tugs at the corners of his lips and he squeezes you even tighter to him. “I know I probably don’t say this as much as I should, but I love you.”

You pepper kisses all over his eyelids, lips and nose. “And I love you more than anything, Wakatoshi. More than you will ever know.”

Your hands lovingly caress his chest that’s softer now, but still sturdy and muscular, and his arms that are not as lean anymore, but are still just as powerful and capable. “For the record, I love how soft you are these days. It’s great cushioning for when we cuddle.”

“Hidetoshi says the same thing,” he recalls, smiling at the thought of your beloved son.

After giving him a knowing look, you go back to putting on your makeup. “See? I told you. That boy is just as smart as his mother.”

It’s nearing five o’clock so Wakatoshi goes to the backyard to start grilling the food for everyone, while you and Hide finish plating the fruits and vegetables you prepared earlier.

You work in comfortable silence until your son turns to you, his eyes shining with unanswered questions. “Hey Mama?”

Putting down the strawberry you were holding, you sit down on the stool next to him and hold his hands in yours. “What’s on your mind, sweetie?”

“Do you not want me to be a volleyball player like Daddy? Is that why you got mad when I told you he showed me the videos?” 

You almost break your neck with how fast you shake your head in denial. “Of course not! I wasn’t mad, it’s just…” you start, trying to find a way to phrase your thoughts that he’ll understand. “Daddy’s job was very hard. His body still hurts a lot from all the times he got injured when he played volleyball. And… his job took him away from me and I missed him a whole lot.”

The look on his face is so reminiscent of his father, it’s like young Wakatoshi was frozen in time and plopped into the chair right next to you. With the way his eyebrows are scrunched up and his mouth is downturned as he thinks, he really is the spitting image of your husband. “Did it make you sad?”

Taking a deep breath, you hold your arms out to him so he can climb into your lap. “Sometimes it did. Mostly at night when I was all alone and Daddy was really far away.”

He rests his head against your shoulder, looking up at you. “Do you wish Daddy had a different job?”

You look out the window at your husband who’s starting up the grill, then look back at the sweet, round face of your boy. “No, I don’t. Daddy’s job was really important to him and it made him so happy that I grew to love it too, even if it made me sad sometimes.”

He sits up in your lap, thinking hard about what you said as he plays with your necklace. “Does Daddy still wish he could do it?”

“Probably, but it’s okay. If he hadn’t stopped, we wouldn’t have you, and you make our lives so much brighter and happier. Your Daddy and I love you so much, you couldn’t even imagine it.”

He spreads his arms out as far as he can. “This much?”

You shake your head. “Nope. Even more.”

“Wow, that’s a lot.” Hide’s eyes are wide with surprise, mouth slightly agape as he tries to imagine something so large and vast.

Laughing, you press a kiss to his head. “It sure is a lot, baby. Now why don’t we finish putting out all the food so we can go see what Daddy’s doing?”

Your son leaps out of your lap to grab handfuls of grapes and blueberries from the cartons on the counter, dropping them into the divided sections of the serving platter. “Aren’t you going to help me, Mama?”

You give him a look of mock offense before standing ramrod straight, giving him a mock salute. “As you command, Commander Ushijima.”

You carry both trays of food out to the backyard, not trusting Hide’s ability to hold them upright, while he carries a volleyball in his arms. Wakatoshi turns at the sound of footsteps, a small smile on his face as your son drops the volleyball, barreling straight into his legs with a force that makes the man grunt.

Hide looks up at his father, both arms wrapped around his legs. “Whatcha doing Daddy?” he asks.

Your husband reaches a hand down to ruffle his hair, a slight look of pain in his eyes from the boy slamming into his shins. “I’m just getting ready to start cooking the food for tonight. Do you want to help me?” He bends down to pick him up and Hide quickly hops into his arms, well practiced and effortless with how strong your husband is. The man points to different parts of the grill, explaining what they do, taking care to keep the boy far away from the flames. 

Setting the plates down on the table, you inform Wakatoshi, “Hajime and Tooru should be here soon, so should Tobio and Eita. Satori called and said he might be late, something about his luggage getting lost.” At that moment the doorbell rings, signaling your first guests are here. “I’ll get it. You two stay here and get the food on the grill.”

You open the front door, greeted with the familiar faces of Hajime and Tooru. “It’s so nice to see you two! Come on inside, don’t be shy,” stepping aside, you hold your arm out to welcome them into your home. 

“Mrs. Ushijima you get more and more beautiful each time I see you,” Tooru teases as you snicker in response.

“I see marriage hasn’t changed you at all, has it?” you question, more so directed at Hajime. 

“I tell him people are going to get the wrong idea,” the shorter man replies, sounding exasperated.

You usher them towards the backyard before picking up various soda and beer cans. “Wakatoshi and Hide are both in the back. You two go ahead and keep them company while I bring these out.”

It takes a few trips before you join them in the backyard, handing each adult a can and a juice pouch to Hide, who’s sitting at the picnic table with Tooru while Hajime chats with your husband. 

“How old are you now, little man?” the brunette asks.

Hide holds up five fingers plus his thumb as he swings his legs back and forth. “I’m six! I just started kindergarten.”

They both wave at you as you join them, sitting on the other side of the table. Tooru leans in towards you, a hand cupped around his mouth, and you tilt your ear towards him. “He’s so… polite and well-mannered. Are you sure Ushiwaka is the father?” he whispers, narrowing his eyes.

You lightly smack his head, glaring daggers in his direction. “Yes, obviously. Look at them, they’re basically twins.” Tooru looks at the boy sitting next to him then at your husband standing at the grill, then back to your son, then back to your husband. Hand on his chin, he takes in their matching olive eyes and hair and similar expressions, nodding seriously.

“I was just making sure.”

The doorbell rings a couple more times, Tobio and Eita arriving one right after the other. With almost all of your guests present, everyone is drinking and catching up, some casually passing a volleyball back and forth with Hide.

You’re in the middle of telling Tobio that Hidetoshi is too young to be thinking about his future career when the doorbell rings once more, indicating the last of your guests has arrived. You rush inside to get it, not bothering to check who’s there because you already know who it is. Swinging the door open, you pull the man into a tight hug. 

“Satori! We’re so glad you made it,” you exclaim, giving his back a few hard slaps.

The redhead pulls away from you, smiling. “I’m so glad I was able to make it in time. The airport lost my luggage, then my parents forgot to leave me a key to their house so I had to wait until a neighbor could let me in. To make matters worse, I got stopped by security when I landed because of this,” he says, holding up a white box with a bow around it.

You quickly grab the box, shaking it to try to hear what’s inside and sniffing it for good measure. “Ooh la la, did you bring us some fancy French chocolates?” you ask. “Actually, don’t tell me, Hide will want to open it.” You hand the box back to him and gesture him to follow you, “Everyone’s in the back so just follow me.”

With Satori in tow, you step onto the back porch and call your son’s name. He hands the ball to Eita before running over, eyes lighting up when he sees the man standing next to you.

“Uncle Tori!” he shouts, launching himself into Satori’s arms.

“Hey there Little Toshi, how you been? Keeping your dad out of trouble?” he asks, hugging the boy tightly.

“I think so! Well… we burnt some eggs this morning and the smoke machines started beeping, but that doesn’t count, right?”

The red-haired man waves his hand dismissively. “Of course it doesn’t. Any crimes committed in the name of breakfast are excused,” he insists. Pulling the box out from behind his back, he offers it to Hide. “I brought you something all the way from France, do you know where France is?”

Hide takes the present from him, “Yeah, it’s in Europe! Daddy showed it to me on a map.” He struggles a bit with the bow before he decides to just rip it off, lifting up the lid.

Satori points to the various chocolates laid on top of wax paper. “This one is filled with something called ‘ganache,’ which is basically just more chocolate, but it’s liquidy. That one over there has caramel, and the one right next to it is a bonbon filled with strawberry jelly. I picked all the best ones just for you.”

The boy smiles, eyes wandering over the chocolates like they’re bars of gold. “Thank you Uncle Tori! I bet they’re really yummy.”

He pats Hide on the head. “I hope you enjoy them lots. Now I gotta go say hi to your daddy, where is he?” Your son points to where Wakatoshi is standing at the grill, a spatula in one hand and a beer in the other as he chats with Tobio. “Thanks Little Toshi,” he says, ruffling his hair.

Satori walks over to your husband, pulling him into a crushing bear hug before he can say anything. “Wakatoshi, it’s been too long! I sure get lonely all the way in France, have you guys ever thought about moving?”

Wakatoshi freezes for a moment before giving in, hugging the man back, though slightly stiff in his movements. “We will not be moving to France. Hidetoshi will be raised here in Japan.”

The redhead releases him, sensing his discomfort. “Well, it was worth a shot. How’s your retirement? You miss being a pro?”

“I do miss it sometimes, but it was necessary to let a better, younger player take my place. I wouldn’t trade a few more years on the court for the life I have now with my wife and my son.” 

 Satori lets out a loud whistle. “I never thought I would hear the day that Wakatoshi Ushijima would say he cares about anything more than volleyball.”

“Volleyball was my entire life before, but they’re my entire world.”

The shorter man just smiles, silent for a moment before pointing to the apron your husband is wearing. “I didn’t think you’d actually wear that thing, Wakatoshi!” The apron black with bright red lettering that says ‘Wakatoshi: Grill Master,’ with a drawing of a flaming steak next to it.

“It keeps my clothes clean. Why wouldn’t I wear it?” he asks, genuinely curious. The redhead just laughs and shakes his head, patting him on the shoulder.

Your husband finishes grilling the food, much to the excitement and relief of the many hungry men who have been circling him like a hawk. Everyone takes from the piles of meat and vegetables, noticeably happier now that their stomachs are full. You’re all sitting around the picnic table, laughing and enjoying each other’s company.

Hajime recalls a story from when he first signed on as the athletic trainer for the national team. Wakatoshi had approached him after practice, saying he had a serious issue that he wanted someone to take a look at. Concerned for his player’s wellbeing, naturally he took him into the locker room and Wakatoshi took off his shirt. At first, he thought he might’ve stretched one of his ligaments too far or had even torn his rotator cuff muscle. Imagine his surprise when Wakatoshi pointed to an ingrown hair on his back, saying it was inflamed and causing him pain. It was then that Hajime had to explain that he’s not that type of medical professional, and that he should make an appointment with a dermatologist.

 The sun starts to set, but with the fun everyone is having they barely notice. The night begins to wind down once Hide yawns, rubbing his eyes tiredly, and it sets off a chain reaction of yawning that reaches every person at the table. Your son starts tugging on your sleeve, informing you he’d like to go to bed. Not wanting to leave him alone in the house and taking note of the exhaustion on everyone’s faces, you politely suggest to end the night early. A chorus of heads bob, indicating their desire to head home and sleep. 

All three of you hug and kiss everyone goodbye, waving to them as they drive away. You sigh from exhaustion and head inside to put Hide in bed. You and your husband hold each of his hands and take him to his room, pulling back his covers so he can climb in. 

He yawns again and closes his eyes, settling into his bed. “Night night Mama, Daddy. I love you.” 

You stroke his cheek lovingly before placing a kiss on his forehead. “Goodnight sweetie, I love you too.”

Your husband comes up from behind you to kiss Hide as well. “Sleep well, Hidetoshi. I love you.”

With your son asleep in his own bed, all you have to do is take off your makeup and brush your teeth before you too can sleep. 

You’re in the middle of washing your face when Wakatoshi comes into the bathroom to brush his teeth.

“I enjoyed tonight, I hope you did too,” he says.

You turn around to look at him and smile. “I did, it was amazing to see everyone in one place. It’s been years since we were all able to see each other.” After you finish washing your face, you stretch and yawn loudly, telling your husband, “I’m getting in bed now, join me when you’re done.��

Climbing under the sheets, you nestle yourself into the softness of your bed. You nearly doze off right then, but the shifting of the bed under Wakatoshi’s weight keeps you awake just a bit longer.

He slides in behind you so he can spoon you, an arm slung over your waist. 

“Goodnight Toshi, I love you.”

“Goodnight, I love you too.”

Before he falls asleep, Wakatoshi thinks of all the things in his life that led him here, to you, his wonderful wife, and his precious son.

Leaving professional volleyball was one of the hardest decisions he’s ever had to make in his thirty-seven years of living, but the end of that chapter of his life gave him Hidetoshi.

He knows that every moment of uncertainty, suffering, and hardship was worth it because it ultimately led him to you and your son, to this life you’ve built together. 

He’d do it all over again a thousand times over if it meant that your beautiful, shining face would be there to greet him in the end.

[skydiving-without-a-parachute]

Release Day

Enjoy this rambling of a fanfic with the most hurried and inspire-lost ending ever.

Pairing: Johnlock (Sherlock Holmes x John Watson) | Genre: Angst, fluff, explicit smut! | Word count: 2254 words | Warnings: Talk about rape, mention of suicide

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It had been the day John had been totally, completely, undeniably sure would never ever come. Sherlock had broken some laws in the name of a case, and this time neither Mycroft nor Lestrade had been able to save him. Six months in prison. Four for his minor crimes and two for mouthing off at his hearings. What a dumbass, John had thought. So brilliant, and yet, a complete dumbass.

It had been the longest six months in his life though; A life without Sherlock was hard to keep going. John had not even bothered to get out of bed the days he was off from the clinic. His off days were absolute agony. No cases, no taking care of Sherlock... God, he would have killed even for a good fight with Sherlock!

But here he now was, at the gates of the prison, finally seeing Sherlock walking out in his sharp suit he had been wearing when arrested. Six months had not only been long, because John was bored, but because it had given him time to actually think about things. He wasn't constantly going after Sherlock, he was just... By himself. And in those six months he had realized things.

Sherlock looked around and soon spotted John, his face lighting up a little. Clearly he had not expected John to be there when he would finally be released. The detective strode over to his doctor, who grabbed him in a tight hug. It felt good. John felt Sherlock's dark, smooth curls and breathed in his fresh scent. Sherlock had showered and shaved, and judging by the short strands of hair on his shoulders, he had gotten a hair cut as well. He looked exactly the same as the day Lestrade had cuffed him. John was sure half the department had volunteered as the arresting officer, but due to their history and Lestrade's undeniable fondess for Sherlock, Greg had handled the arresting himself.

They sat in silence, both in their chairs, as they were meant to. John had been studying Sherlock the entire evening, not being able to find any symptoms of having suffered a trauma in Sherlock. After another thirty minutes, Sherlock grew annoyed. "What is it, John?" His voice was sharp, as he lowered his book. "Huh? Oh, I... Nothing", John responded, trying to seem genuine, but obviously the detective was having none of it. The world's most successful detective in the history of mankind wouldn't fall for any of John's lies, ever, and the doctor should have been aware of it. Sherlock's stare was drilling holes through John's skull. "You seemed to survive jail well", John finally told him. For a fraction of a second Sherlock seemed confused, before his lips parted and he looked down, realizing, what John meant. "I was. Repeatedly", he admitted silently, biting his teeth together. John could see Sherlock's facial muscles tense up. "Oh my god, Sherlock... I'm so sorry."

The silence built up again. John was deep in his thoughts while Sherlock was still reading his book. One could practically hear the dust settling in the room. "How did you...", John abruptly broke the silence, not daring to finish his sentence. Not that he needed to, Sherlock had known the sentence since John uttered the first word. "My mind palace, John", he replied, eyes focused on the pages, but he stopped reading. "I went to my mind palace. Thought of some unsolved cases and... And you."

John's head snapped up and he looked at Sherlock like a deer in the headlights. Had Sherlock just said that he had gotten through rape by thinking about him? John's head was reeling. "It's okay", the detective continued. John wanted to tell Sherlock to stop talking, but this was probably Sherlock's way of conciously or subconciously tell him, that he needed to talk to someone about it, so John kept his mouth shut. "I have never enjoyed sex. It's dull, a boring need. Like eating and sleeping. Absolutely meaningless."

The good doctor felt sorry for Sherlock. He had never experienced a good shag? He had felt like rape was just another time he was having bad sex? John got up from his chair, took a few determined steps towards Sherlock, and sat down in his lap, knees on both sides of Sherlock. "Sherlock, I am going to kiss you. If you don't like it, tell me to stop", he told the detective, and proceeded to bring his lips down on Sherlock's, cupping his face with his rough hands. John started slow and gentle, but got more passionate, when Sherlock's lips parted. Their tongues tangoed, as John pressed closer to Sherlock's body. The detective wrapped his long arms around John, as his book fell to the floor with a thud.

John's breath was ragged, his pulse off the charts and he could almost feel his dilated pupils. Sherlock wasn't in a much better condition; His breath was hot and heavy on John's skin and his eyes had gone dark. It only fueled John's fire. "All good?" he felt the need to ask. This was for once about Sherlock. John wanted him to feel loved and understand just how amazing sex could be. Much to his relief, Sherlock nodded, "it feels... good, John." The doctor lost himself in another kiss, before realizing, that Sherlock might not be comfortable in the chair. "Want to move to the bedroom?" "I think that could be a good idea", Sherlock let out a little laugh, that made John smile wide.

Sherlock always did look good in purple, but John wasn't gonna dwell over that as he started to unbutton said color shirt. He had already discarded his jumper and Sherlock's jacket on the floor. The detective looked absolutely delicious laying on his back on the bed, looking up at John with lustful eyes. Never mind John "Three Continents" Watson, this was a real achievement - Sherlock Holmes, not having a single good shag in his life, lusting for the doctor.

John let out a moan, as Sherlock removed his trousers and pants, and grabbed John's erect cock. "Oh god... You have... You have lube?" John was out of breath, more than he should have been at this point. He could've cum all over Sherlock's toned stomach just by looking at the detective underneath him. Sherlock was so fucking gorgeous, his skin milky white and bones almost pressing through. John trailed one of Sherlock's collar bones through his skin, before reaching for the lube Sherlock promised would be in the top drawer of the nightstand.

John squeezed some lube on his hand, warmed it up and slowly started working Sherlock's cock, drawing the most sinful moan out of the detective's mouth. God, John was going to be wanking to that moan for ages. "Condoms?" "I- I wasn't prepared for that, but you won't be needing one. It's okay, we're both clean", Sherlock struggled to talk, arching his back slightly at the pleasant feeling John was causing.

Being a doctor was a privilege, to be able to help so many people, but every once in a while John found it to be an advantage in his personal life; This was one of those times. John slicked a finger and after massaging around Sherlock's hole for a minute, he pushed it in. He could hear Sherlock hiss at the feeling, so he gave him a moment to adjust, before starting to look for his prostate. The walnut-sized gland was easy to find with said medical training, and John didn't hesitate to use every single trick in his book on it. Before he even knew it, Sherlock was rocking himself onto John's finger, moaning and wanting more.

John drew his finger out, earning a displeased whimper, but soon pushed back in, this time two fingers, and headed back to Sherlock's prostate. John felt a burning need to pull out his fingers and fuck Sherlock utterly senseless. This is about Sherlock, he reminded himself. This is about giving him for once in his life a good experience that's all about him. All about someone loving and wanting to please him. The thought was almost as good as getting to fuck Sherlock, so he rolled with it. This seemed to please Sherlock the most, so John would keep it up at any cost.

"Good god, John!" Sherlock's body was tensing up and he felt a heat building in his stomach, pushing him to worm against John's fingers even more desperately. John knew Sherlock was chasing his climax, so he added just a little more pressure in massaging, and wrapped his other hand around Sherlock's twitching cock. A few strokes did it, and Sherlock came undone with a cry.

God, he looked so beautiful, absolutely wrecked with pleasure. Judging from the lube, Sherlock did please himself every once in a while, but John was sure he had never experienced something this good. Sherlock's ivory skin was covered in a thin sheet of sweat, riddled with hormones that made an intoxicating scent. His dark hair was messy and his plump lips parted, as he breathed heavily after John had guided him through his orgasm. The doctor completely ignored his own touch-starved erection, and just kneeled between Sherlock's long legs and watched the beautiful view in front of him. Sherlock opened finally his eyes as the corners of his mouth tugged upwards. "That was... good. I apologize for my lack of a better word."

John let Sherlock just enjoy his bliss and wrapped a hand around his own cock, when he felt Sherlock gently grab his wrist. "Just... Wait just a second, alright? You deserve some reward of your own", Sherlock promised, apparently feeling like he owed John to let him fuck him. "Oh no, Sherlock, this is... This is not something you keep score of", John told him. "This has nothing to do with me. This was all about you, Sherlock. About you having one good shag even if it would be the end of me", he explained, feeling a little sting in his heart. He wanted to be more than one good shag, he wanted to be Sherlock's everything the way Sherlock was his everything. He wanted to stop sleeping upstairs and move into Sherlock's room, to make gentle love in the morning sunlight and to cure Sherlock's overthinking with a good pounding, when he was getting lost in a difficult case.

"I want to." John felt his heart stop for a second, as he looked into Sherlock's silvery blue eyes. Sherlock actually wanted to have sex with John. It couldn't have all been the effect of one good orgasm, could it? "But you just climaxed", John protested. "I recover fast, doctor", Sherlock smirked at him. John shook his head, slightly amused at Sherlock's reply. "You sure?" he confirmed, and got an eager nod in response.

It was better than John could have ever imagined. After prepping Sherlock properly and lubing himself generously, John aligned himself with Sherlock, and pushed in. A soft cry left his lips as he slowly pushed all the way in, letting Sherlock adjust and find a comfortable position. Oh my god, Sherlock was so tight and hot. John was already moaning like a freight train when he slowly pulled away, almost to the end, and pushed back in. He started building up a pace and tried to angle his thrusts so he brushed Sherlock's prostate every single time. And good god, when Sherlock started to beg for John to absolutely wreck him... "Harder, John, please!" He gave Sherlock everything he had, until he reached his release, crying out in ecstacy.

Sherlock helped himself into his second climax while John was panting and half out of it. Apparently it had been a while since he had gotten laid properly. The detective held his doctor close and closed his eyes, just enjoying the moment. He felt thorougly spent, but thoroughly loved. It hadn't been a coincidence, that he had thought about John while getting raped in prison; John was his everything. John was the reason Sherlock made it ouf of prison alive. While Sherlock was the master at manipulating and managing his feelings, being in prison, where his tall and thin frame - and especially that cute bottom and curly hair of his - had been very appreciated, could have gotten the best of him. Even if he hadn't killed himself, he wouldn't have been the same man that went in. Sure, he wasn't the same man in this scenario either, but with John by his side, he would be able to recover.

"They said it was the only thing this pretty mouth of mine was good for", Sherlock quietly said later that evening, laying in bed with John. They had showered and had dinner, before crawling back into Sherlock's bed together. But as he saw the horror on John's face, he realized, that he shouldn't have said that. "I'm sorry, John, that was very insensitive of me-" "No, Sherlock. If you need to talk about it, talk about it. I'm here, I'll listen, day or night. Don't you once think you have to keep this inside." John was almost defensive, sounding nearly... Angry? Had Sherlock angered him? "You are the world's most brilliant, most successful detective. Your mouth tells the rest of us what's going through your head, and it's bloody brillint. The most beautiful thing I have ever witnessed", the doctor kept talking, looking at Sherlock with a serious look. "Don't ever think they were right." "Thank you, John."

[needdl]

One Spawn at a Time (Part Two)

Part One    Part Two

FFN and AO3

It could be said that Neji was very stressed out. It could also be said that Naruto was slightly fond of ramen. Both would be understatements.

“Neji,” Tenten said very calmly from where she was slowly bouncing up and down on an exercise ball, “I know that telling you to relax won’t actually help you relax in any way, but could you at least pretend to relax?”

“I could try,” he said, somewhat numbly. He’d stopped blinking again. “But I doubt I will be good at it.”

“Okay.” She bounced in silence for a few moments, then said, “Holy fuck, this is taking a long time. How long since I first woke you up?”

He checked his watch. “Almost seven hours.”

“Wow.” She slowed to a halt. “And that’s after I waited for an hour too.”

“You what?”

“I wanted to be sure they were real contractions. Plus I figured if they were real then it’d be best to let you sleep for as long as possible.”

“Tenten- how could you- what if you-” Neji sputtered for a moment, then burst out, “Next time, let me know right away when they start.”

She grinned at him, and despite the exhaustion in her eyes they still sparkled with humor. “Let’s get through this one first, babe.”

There was a quiet knock on the door, and they both blinked at each other for a moment before Tenten called, “Come in!”

Sakura poked her head in the room with a barely-contained grin. “Hi!”

“Hey!” Tenten was just as excited to see her. “You must be about to start your shift, huh?”

“Yeah! I just wanted to quick drop in and say hi, I hope that’s okay-”

“Of course it is!”

Sakura brightened up even more. “So this is it! Big moment!”

“Can you call it a moment if it takes more than six hours?” Neji questioned dryly.

Sakura’s eyes went round. “How far apart are your contractions?” There was a pause as she analyzed what she had said, then held up a finger. “That was definitely my doctor voice.”

They both smirked at her, and she said hastily, “I’m asking as a friend. I am definitely not your OB-GYN.”

“Oh really?” Tenten said. “I hadn’t any idea. They’re about seven minutes apart, we got to the hospital about an hour ago when they were closer to ten minutes apart.”

“That’d put you at the end of your latent stage then. And your water hasn’t broken yet?”

“Nope,” Tenten said wryly. “It’s all such fun.”

“Well, I can’t say from experience but I’ve been told that active labor is much more painful.”

They both stared at her flatly. Tenten said, with no inflection to her voice whatsoever, “Thanks, Sakura. I feel so good about that.”

“Happy to help.” Sakura’s pager went off, and she muted it with a little sigh. “Well, hopefully I haven’t put you off to the point that you don’t let me drop by later if it’s an okay time?”

“If I’m not in the middle of pushing a baby out of me, sure.”

“Great.” Sakura walked over and hugged Tenten (who patted her back somewhat awkwardly in response) then burst out, “OH MY GOD TENTEN YOU’RE HAVING YOUR BABYYYYYY.”

“Yes?” Tenten’s face was smushed into Sakura’s abdomen and her face wasn’t visible, but the confusion in her voice came through loud and clear. “What did you think was happening?”

“Shut up, I know you’re having a baby,” Sakura snapped, “But you’re MY FRIEND AND YOU’RE HAVING A BABY. TENTEN IS HAVING HER BABY.”

Tenten twisted her face around to look at Neji and mouthed, ‘Help me.’

He cleared his throat. “Sakura, if you wouldn’t mind…”

“Right, right.” Sakura stepped away from Tenten somewhat reluctantly. “Ugh, I can’t even handle this. See you later if you aren’t in horrible pain and you hopefully have a baby!”

Tenten was not in horrible pain when Sakura next saw her, but neither did she have a baby.

She was reading on the bed when Sakura came in during her break, looking slightly sweaty and uncomfortable but otherwise fine. Neji was nowhere in sight.

“Knock, knock.” Sakura said.

“Who’s there,” Tenten muttered to herself, then seemed to realize what was actually happening. “Oh, right. Hey Sakura.”

“No baby?”

“Well, there’s a baby, but it’s really just not feeling the whole ‘birth’ thing.”

Sakura frowned a little as she took a seat. “Wait, do you not know the gender?”

“Nope.” Tenten put her book to the side and stretched out her neck. “Hyuga tradition, I guess.”

“Huh. Speaking of Hyugas, where’s yours?”

Tenten grinned fondly. “He went out to grab us some lunch. Should be back in a few, actually.”

“Ah. Well, besides labor, how’s your day?”

“Pretty uneventful, honestly. I’m mostly just bored in between contractions. Neji is super unwilling to make out with me to keep me entertained, for some reason.”

Sakura stared at her, looking awkward. “Oh, well- um.”

Tenten let the silence draw out for a bit, then said, “Anyway. How’s your day going?”

Tenten and Neji were actually playing cards when Tenten’s water finally broke, resulting in him panicking and her feeling mildly disappointed that the cards got crumpled and, kind of disgustingly, wet in the resulting flurry of action, rendering them unusable in the future.

And Sakura was quite right. Active labor was much more painful then latent labor.

Hui Na Hyuga was born at 2:38 PM on June 13th. She weighed 7 pounds and 2 ounces and had what was apparently the loudest cry the doctors had heard all day.

Tenten held it together all through the delivery, but the second Hui Na was placed on her chest she started bawling her eyes out right along with the baby. Neji, right at her side with purple fingers where she had been clenching her hand around his through her contractions, surreptitiously wiped away a few of his own tears as well.

Delivering the placenta was a piece of cake when she had a baby to hold in her arms and coo over. She was a little slimy still, but Tenten’s lower area was slimy too so who was she to judge? (Her upper area was just sweaty.)

Once things had settled down a bit and Tenten was cleaned up, she took a longer moment to look over Hui Na’s tiny, delicate features, Neji at her side and staring down at the baby with gentle eyes. They counted up her fingers and toes- twenty of each, of course, but it was so fun to check- and gently stroked her arms.

“She’s so soft,” Tenten whispered, awestruck. Neji hummed in response, hugging her a little closer and resting his head on her shoulder. She propped her head on top of his as they both watched Hui Na yawn, captivated.

“This is like the shot people always show in TV shows and stuff when they have a baby.” Tenten murmured. They certainly were picturesque, curled together on the hospital bed and cradling their child.

Neji hummed in response again. Tenten rolled her eyes. “Are you even listening to me?”

“Hm.” He never stopped staring at Hui Na, and she couldn’t help but smile. “Fair enough.”

Hui Na let out the tiniest of whines as she squirmed around a bit under her blankets. They both watch with bated breath as she settled herself back down.

“That was so intense,” Tenten whispered, only 70% joking.

Neji hummed.

Tenten woke up from a nap and instantly felt the soreness in her entire body reminding her that yes, she did in fact have a baby a few hours ago.

It went away a little, though, when she rolled over and saw a shirtless Neji seated in a chair and cradling a diaper-clad Hui Na to his chest.

“Why’re… shirt.” She slurred.

“She pooped on me,” Neji said. Tenten blinked a few times, unsure whether she should be upset that she missed her baby’s first poop or not.

“How’d it go?” She asked.

“...Fine, I think. A nurse came in during your nap and did some check ups on Hui Na. She’s doing well.”

Tenten smiled. “Yaaay!” She pushed herself up to a sitting position and stretched her arms out in front of her, rolling her shoulders a little to shake out some residual tension. “You think we should try breastfeeding again in a little bit?”

“Your breasts, your call.”

She grinned and shook her head at the phrasing. “Your baby.”

“Your baby too.”

Tenten beamed at the little baby girl in Neji’s arms. “Yeahhhh.”

Neji had wanted children almost the minute he realized he could have his own someday.

His father had been his entire world for a long time, and though his death was devastating- even now, sometimes- he remembered how much they had meant to one another. Sometimes he thought he was one of the few bright spots in Hizashi’s short life.

(Neji was already older than Hizashi was when he died, which pained him deeply to think about.)

But he remembered that bond, and longed to have it again someday, and if it meant becoming a father then it would be something he would relish.

At one point, he realized that to have children in a stereotypical way would mean having sex and getting someone pregnant. That put him off it from ages nine to thirteen, and then he decided that maybe having sex would be not that bad probably.

It didn’t meant he wanted children right away. In fact, the idea of having children in high school or college- before marriage, really- put him off quite a bit.

And he wouldn’t want to ask such a thing from his partner if they didn’t want children just as much as he did.

He always just assumed he would have to wait most of his life to find someone that he loved and would want the same thing- and then he walked into the Chinese History and Heritage offices in the Konoha Institute of Art to whip through a publicity-gaining, pro-bono case for the newly formed law firm of Hatake and Maito and saw none other than Tenten Huang, his own best friend from ages thirteen to nineteen, sitting at a desk with her hair just as he fondly remembered it.

(He joked to her later- once they had become close enough friends again- that she herself had been so excited to see him that she threw up. She was not as amused as he was.)

Three and a half years later, he married her. Two years after that, she told him she wanted to have kids.

And now here they were, a family.

He had a daughter now, small and loud and grumpy and perfect. When Tenten fell asleep and he and Hui Na had their first moments alone together, he couldn’t stop the few tears from falling.

Hui Na glared at him for a few seconds, then stubbornly clenched her eyes shut and fell back asleep. He grinned down at her and gently stroked his hand over the top of her downy head. It was small enough to fit in the palm of his hand, and he almost couldn’t believe she was his own child, finally here.

He raised her slightly in the crook of his elbow to kiss her forehead, then settled back in his chair, content to watch her sleep.

An hour, a big baby poop, a subsequent shirt removal, and one breastfeed later, Neji had moved back to the bed with Tenten, his arm around her waist and legs tucked in next to hers as they lay on their sides and watched Hui Na slumber away, swaddled in her bassinet and wearing the ridiculously adorable turtle hat from Gai.

“You know what I just realized?” Tenten murmured.

Neji dropped a quick kiss to her cheekbone. “Hm?”

“She’s ugly.”

He had to hastily bury his laugh against her shoulder. He pulled away again a minute or two later, still grinning, and said, “Tennie, you can’t call her that-”

“I mean, she is! I’m not going to pretend to people that she’s cute. She’s a newborn, they’re almost never cute and I won’t make people say she is.”

“Hui Na is perfect.”

“I didn’t say she wasn’t perfect. I just said she was ugly.”

“I’m going to ignore you now,” Neji informed her.

Tenten settled back against his chest and sighed. “You do that.” She was asleep in minutes.

Neji startled awake at the cry of an infant, and had a disorienting moment where he wasn’t sure what was happening. Tenten, tucked against his side with her arm thrown over him, woke up when he sat up, and in the time it took for her to open her eyes he remembered: hospital, baby- and not just a baby, Hui Na, his daughter.

His daughter.

He got up before Tenten could, quickly crossing to Hui Na’s bassinet and gently lifting her from her bed. She continued wailing, and Tenten’s voice broke in distress. “Neji- she’s crying-”

“I know,” he dropped his voice to a low, comforting hum. “She’s hungry. Take your time, get comfortable and I’ll pass her to you.”

Tenten sat up and propped up some pillows around herself, then tugged down the front edge of her gown. Neji passed her the wailing infant then sat down next to her on the bed as she settled Hui Na close to her chest. From what Neji could tell from the light falling softly through the cracks in the door, Tenten’s expression was… not good.

Hui Na quieted and began nursing, seemingly without an issue. But Tenten’s expression didn’t ease.

She took a sudden, shuddering breath. Neji reached out to cup her jaw. “What is it?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered back. He felt her tears fall over his fingers. “I just- she was crying, and I didn’t wake up until you moved me.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“I’m her mother.”

“And you just gave birth to her a few hours ago. You’re exhausted, Tenten. You can let yourself rest.”

He slid his hand back to cradle the back of her head. “I’m here for both of you.”

“Okay,” she whispered.

He leaned in and slowly kissed her temple, aching over the hitch in her breath as she fought to keep her sobs quiet.

When Hui Na finished nursing and had been burped, Tenten gently moved her to rest on her bare chest, sitting back in the bed and closing her eyes. Neji draped his arm over the top of the pillows behind her and gently started stroking her hair.

They stayed like that for a few minutes, breathing together. Tenten let out one last quiet snuffle and said softly, “Can you put her back in her bassinet?”

Silently he sat up and lifted Hui Na from her arms, shifting her in his grip and pausing to stroke the baby’s cheek, feather-light, before settling her back down. She wiggled a little under her blankets and turned her head as she slowly drifted off again. He watched her for a few long moments, contemplating how much his life had changed in mere hours.

He turned back around to go to bed and found Tenten smiling softly at him through sleepy eyes. She held out a hand to him in invitation and he slid down under the covers next to her, catching the proffered hand and kissing the fingertips.

She put her arm around his waist again and draped her leg over his, tucking herself against his shoulder as she drifted off. Neji laid on his back and placed one hand over her arm and the other on the back of her head, turning to kiss her forehead before he closed his eyes.

They were headed home early evening the next day, after some more check ups, a few visits from friends and family, and a day spent resting and cooing over Hui Na. Neji, despite Tenten’s muttered, petulant protests, decided to use the cot the hospital had provided for them rather than sharing a bed with Tenten while she napped- she wouldn’t admit it, but she physically felt better if she had it to herself for recovery.

Plus, it gave him to opportunity to lay Hui Na on his bare chest while they napped together- and Tenten was sure to get plenty of pictures of that.

By 4:30 PM, they had packed up all of their things besides a few essentials- and of course, Hui Na, awake in the carefully vetted baby carrier and watching the outside world move around as much as she could.

Neji pulled the car around while Tenten waited with Hui Na, cooing over her and quietly telling her about what her home would be like. Hui Na was distinctly unimpressed, squinting up at Tenten and making a face that probably meant she was gassy.

Their ride home was uneventful, but it certainly didn’t stop the new parents from being quite tense over the possibility of any danger. Tenten was certainly prepared to shield Hui Na with her body at a moment’s notice, and Neji was hyper vigilant at the wheel.

They got home and settled Hui Na down in their room for a nap, took hundreds of pictures of her, unloaded the car, and then realized they had no idea what to do next.

They sat on the couch and stared at each other for a while, before Tenten said, “Well… dinner?”

Neji blinked. “We have that tofu stir-fry Lee and Gaara made us.”

She yawned. “Sounds good.”

They stared at each other again. Finally Neji said, “I guess I’ll heat that up, then,” and stood and walked into the kitchen. Tenten called after him, “I mean I could do it, but since you’re up and everything.”

“You just stay there and look pretty.” Neji said.

Tenten cast a quick look over herself. She was wearing a pair of loose sweatpants and one of Neji’s shirts, because like most people after giving birth her postpartum body looked about five months pregnant. She hadn’t actually washed herself in almost thirty hours (she’d had a nice zen experience in the hospital shower, but hadn’t felt like doing anything beyond sitting in the chair and zoning out for a bit.) She didn’t even want to consider what her hair looked like.

“Okey dokey,” she told Neji.

She was asleep by the time he came out with a bowl of stir-fry.

[figjelly]

The 2018 Rumination Spectacular

It’s a long post. It’s gonna be triggering. Blacklist “ash 2018″ and “long post.” Sorry mobile users. Here’s a picture. Use this as a warning that you should blacklist those tags NOW if you don’t wanna read:

For about a week, I’ve wondered how to start this post. How to finish it. What to put in the middle. It’s really a shame, being depressed and anxious and all sorts of other things but maintaining a high self-esteem. It’s not like I want to. My mind and my brain and my body refuse to let me just be. They constantly remind me I have to be center stage, the best, to be adored. Let’s be honest. I don’t have high self-esteem. I have an obsessive, insatiable desire for love because I was born to abusive people. I was raised by more abusive people. I’ve continued to place my trust and well-being in abusive people. And then, when things fall spectacularly apart, I blame myself. I blame my body. I blame my brain. I blame my mind. A lot has happened this year. A big thing: the realization that I desperately crave others to want me. I want to feel loved and valuable and interesting and just wanted. And, I guess, that’s what school gave me. I left my PhD program in May 2017 and it’s taken almost two years to realize I didn’t stay in school or move into higher education because I had a burning passion (okay, I mean, I do still have a passion for my work but it wasn’t the foundation). The American education system gave an abused child something slightly better than I had: praise and positive feedback for jumping hoops. My home life twenty years ago? There was no rhyme or reason to which behaviors would yield which result. School? College? Grad school? Let’s face it. I’m white. At the time I was identifying as straight and female. I was going into STEM. Perform well, earn As, be friendly. Rules rules rules. Two weeks ago, I finally told my therapist of almost five years how my first sexual experience was a doctor raping me. It’s really funny. Hilarious actually how it’s taken thirty-one years to feel like I am my own person. Because before the doctor, there’d been my step-father (”It isn’t really enough to do anything with,” the police had told me when I was sixteen at my then therapist’s office). There’d been the high school boyfriend (”My dad was in the marines. I inherited his anger management problems.”). But there was also my mom. My grandmother who isn’t my grandmother but she “adopted” my mom as her daughter. They met online on a forum for Forever Knight, a 90s Canadian supernatural romance crime show about a woman who has a vampire for a partner. It’s really hard, yanno, to be gentle with myself. Don’t be angry.

So, 2018 was a year of me working on this. I’m still working. I’m angry at everything nowadays. There’s no good resolution to it other than to sit with it. I don’t understand how people can say, “Let anger go,” like I intentionally hold onto it. This anger and pain and trauma is carved into my bones and it gets carried through like oxygen in my bloodstream. Whenever I think about this anger at myself, the regret and the hurt, the left side of my left arm hurts. It starts about the middle of my forearm and goes to my pinky. Asking when this started isn’t a useful question. I’m angry because I let myself be used and hurt by people. I’m angry because I ignored my own needs and wants. I’m angry because now I’m thirty-one and it feels like my life is over. I made a lot of decisions and they were all made for the benefit of others. “Be your own person,” only works when you’ve got a person who isn’t desperate for love. I’m angry because I feel like I’ve wasted my life worrying about other people. Yes, yes. I’m not old. Don’t bother telling me. You don’t pay my bills. You can tell me what I feel when you give me money--substantial amounts of it. In 2005, I gave my step-father $1500. I’ve been working at the local Dairy Queen for years, saving money religiously because I was desperate to get a car, drive, gain independence. My parents told me the insurance was too expensive. My step-dad was the only driver because my mom has MS. It would probably never happen, but just in case. I should save, just in case. I gave my step-father money because he said, “The van needs fixed. Without it, you know your mom can’t get to the hospital.” I can’t remember any night between the ages of 15-17 when the police of the EMTs weren’t at my house. All of my homework was usually left abandoned in red and blue lights. I’d get back to it at midnight. Nothing mattered to my teachers except that I made As. At this point, I don’t know where blame lies but it seems pretty solid that I get stuck with the anger. 2018 was the year I realized that I don’t know how to have friends, how to keep a job, how to think about a career. 2018 was the year I realized that I have to make peace with living in poverty again. I was doing so well. Grad school was the best my finances had ever been. Until December 2013. I tried to kill myself. It’s old news. I was in the hospital. They forgot about me and I ended up spending three more days than needed. PROTIP: don’t try killing yourself during the holidays. Everyone will just tell you the holidays are rough for everyone. And finals. Mid-December is the time for students to also feel the pressure. If you’re neither of these, good luck. I took out massive amounts of student loans to go back to school. To pay my hospital bills. I was so desperate to get back into school because it was the only place that made sense. 2018 was the year I decided to change my name, my gender. I’m learning how to live in my body. It’s taken thirty-one years, but I’ve come to the realization it was mine. For six years, I took meds that made me weigh over 200 lbs all for the benefit of the high school boyfriend. For five years I starved myself because I wanted everyone to see what a successful PhD student I was. My body has never been mine before. This is a new thing for me. 2018? It started off with hope. There was less hope for most of it. I think it’s ending with hope. I hope it is.

My mom refuses to stop calling me. Five years ago, I stopped answering her calls. I begged her to stop. I was polite. I was rude. I was angry. I was at peace. I’ve tried everything. Her contacting me isn’t about me, it’s about her. It’s about what she wants. in December of 2013, I tried to kill myself.

It’s so old news, my mom told my partner when he called her, “Oh. Well, let me know when everything’s okay.” In 2009 I was admitted into the hospital for exhaustion. I’d had a breakdown in college. I was told to try yoga. Meditation. I was told it was just test anxiety. All I’ve ever desperately wanted was to be the priority.

And I bent for other people. I broke myself and put myself back together in ways other people would find pleasing. I bend and I break and now my body hurts. Chronically. In 2016 I was in a car accident. My partner has told me most of this story. I remember almost nothing. I spent two months locked up in my house with a concussion. More debt. More weight gained. My partner tells me at one point the doctors kept poking and prodding my feet. He tells me that I wasn’t responding and that my legs weren’t moving. He was horrified that the accident had left me paraplegic. I don’t remember any of this. The doctors eventually told him it was just shock. My body overloaded with too much too fast. And not enough neuron action, I guess. Too much, not enough. I discovered yesterday that Jack Kerouac said something similar. I’ve never read anything by him. Must be a common human feeling. Everything is too much. Everything is not enough. 2018 is right now still and I’m still working on reshaping myself for myself and not for others. 1987 was right then and thirty days before it ended, I came at the last minute. I’ve spent my entire life trying to make sure I was early to make a good impression. Now, I arrive when I arrive. I live in the land of -ish. Work hasn’t yelled at me. Yet. 2018: I started drawing again. I started writing again. I am trying not to feel like I’m too old. I’m working. I’m trying. I’m doing. I’m poor. I feel like my college degree warrants me not that but que was que is. I obsessively think about contacting my mom. No matter the meds, I have to count 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 every time I lock the door to the comic book shop where I work. If I don’t, the door isn’t locked. I’ve never had wide hips but I’ve always had thick thighs. My butt has always been big. My culture rather I’d accept my fate as a woman, bend myself and break myself to be one. They don’t belong to me. My thighs eat anything that comes between them. I wish I was being literal. I wish my thighs had eaten other people’s hands and other body parts. Vagina dentata is too late for my tastes. I want my thighs to reflexively snap like a bear trap and break someone’s neck. But I have a hard enough time finding clothes I can live with. I’m wearing the pants of Theseus right now. I’m tired of sewing patches into the holes my thighs keep eating. 2018 and I’m wondering if I will ever stop hurting. But it’s 2018 and I know I’m a better me than I’ve ever been before. And right now, that’s enough.

[sassycassie-s-writing]

The Princess and the Twins

By: SassyShoulderAngel319

Fandom/Character(s): Avengers - Steve Rogers/Captain America

Rating: PG

Original Idea: Single Parent!AU, y’all!

Notes: (Masterlist)(About Me) This is the second LOOOOONG one in a row. (That I wrote not posted.) Wow. It just kinda ran away from me. @steverogersnotebook This is the one I wasn’t sure if I was ever going to finish! (That title sounds like a band name.)

^^^^^

I sat on the bench at the station, waiting for my train. With headphones in and a sad song playing, I stared at the ground. It was my weekly existential crisis of oh-boy-what-am-I-doing-with-my-life time so I was completely lost in my own little world.

Until a little blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl boosted herself up onto the bench right next to me. She was probably four.

I paused my music and pulled my headphones out, shoving them into my bag.

“Hello,” I greeted, slightly awkwardly, as I looked around for her parents or guardians or whatever—some adults who she was with.

With any luck this kid had been taught Stranger Danger and wouldn’t say much to me, but would let me help her find her grownups while sitting on the same bench. She wasn’t crying so I assumed she hadn’t gotten lost, per se. She probably ran off, distracted by a butterfly in her mind, since the station was indoors.

“Are you a princess?” she asked me.

I looked down at her, confused but also amused, and finally got a good look at her. She was wearing an American flag shirt, frilly denim skirt with cotton shorts underneath, and Velcro kids’ Converse. There was some glittery face paint of a star on her cheek farthest away from me and she had sparkly red nail polish on her tiny fingernails.

Raising my eyebrows, I smiled at her. “Am I a princess?” I repeated back at her cheerfully. “Why do you think I’m a princess?”

“Because princesses are always the prettiest ladies! And princesses wear pretty dresses!”

I tucked the skirt of my dress slightly under my leg and put my hand on my chest. “Aw! You’re so cute. And I’ll tell you a secret.” I bent forward a little in a non-threatening way. “I am a princess!” I stage-whispered near her ear. My whole grownup life I’d done my best to encourage imagination in the children around me—my neighbors’ kids and grandkids, my nieces and nephews, my young cousins—because I felt like imagination was a resource that some people were losing but other people never ran out of.

The little girl gasped. “You are?!” she stage-whispered back in awe.

“Yes I am. But you can’t tell anyone, okay?”

She nodded. “Okay.”

“RED!” a frantic voice shouted.

The girl and I looked up, following the sound.

A handsome, six-foot-two, muscular-as-heck man pushed his way through the small crowd at the station towards us, carrying another little girl in one arm. He had the same blond hair and blue eyes as the girl sitting next to me.

When he broke through the line of people separating us from him, the girl next to me hopped down from the bench. “Dad!” she squealed excitedly, running over to him.

“Red, honey, you can’t go wandering off like that! You scared me!” the man admonished gently, picking her up in his other arm. The second little girl was probably the same age as the first, but looked frail and younger. She had brown hair and brown eyes. Her eyes were sharp even if her legs and arms were thin for being around four.

“But, but, Dad! I found a princess!” Red told the man. He looked past her small face at me. I gave an awkward single wave, just tilting my wrist down and setting my hand back on my leg. The man approached me.

“I am so sorry if she was bothering you. She’s a bit of a handful. They both are.”

I shrugged. “It’s no problem. She was no bother. I have a lot of experience with kids.”

“See, Dad?” Red pressed, trying for quiet and utterly failing. Kids were so cute. “She’s in a pretty dress, she’s pretty, and she told me she was a princess!”

“I see that, sweetheart,” the man acknowledged. He turned back to me. “I’m Steve, by the way.” He paused for a moment. “Uh… I’d shake your hand, but… my hands are full.” He looked at his hands as he spoke, each cradling one of his daughters.

I laughed and stood up, slinging my bag securely onto my shoulder. “It’s fine. A slight breach of etiquette for a good reason is no breach of etiquette at all to me,” I dismissed.

Red didn’t like being ignored, apparently, and Steve wasn’t picking up on what she was trying to say. “Dad!” she complained. “You’re a king! So you have to marry a princess to have a queen!” Her tone was full of a “duh!” tone.

Steve blushed. “Sorry,” he muttered to me. “Ever since their mom died, Red here has been determined to find me a new ‘queen.’”

I chuckled. “No problem. She’s cute.”

“Dad!” Red protested. “She’s the first princess we’ve met! Aren’t you going to at least try to make her your queen?”

“Red, sweetheart, how about I give her my phone number, and she gives me hers, and then I can let her see if she would like to meet me again?”

“Okay!” Red replied brightly.

Steve sighed and gave me a small grin as I pulled out my phone. “I’ll forgive you if you just tell me your number instead of typing it into my phone yourself,” I commented casually, creating a new contact and writing Steve into the first-name section with an American Flag emoji next to it, taking a context clue for me later from Red’s outfit.

He recited his phone number as I plugged it in, and then showed him to make sure I got it right.

“That’s it,” he informed me.

I sent him a text with my name. “And now you have mine.”

“Daddy?” the other little girl asked. “Why didn’t Auntie Nat come with us?”

“Because she wanted to stay with her other nieces and nephews for another couple days. But I wish she’d come with us because then I’d have someone else to watch you two crazy kids,” Steve replied.

“Well, what train are you on?” I wondered.

“The eleven-twenty back to New York.”

“Hey so am I. If you want, I can sit by you and keep an eye on these two. I promise I’m not a kidnapper or anything.”

He shook his head. “I couldn’t ask you to—”

“Nonsense. If I spend the ride alone I’ll just listen to music and fall into the void of What-am-I-doing-with-my-life. I’d be happy to help.”

“Well… if you really wouldn’t mind…” Steve began.

“She wouldn’t!” Red put in enthusiastically.

Her frail little sister rolled her eyes.

“Red, leave that up to the princess,” Steve chastised gently. Red pouted.

“Well she’s right. I wouldn’t mind.”

“Well, then, princess, if you’d care to join us, I’d love to escort you to the train.”

I chuckled and readjusted my bag strap on my shoulder. “I’d consider it an honor, Your Majesty,” I remarked, taking his awkwardly-offered elbow. We strolled through the station towards the train we’d be getting on. I noticed that Steve had two little backpacks slung over his shoulders that I hadn’t seen before.

“So, this is Red,” I began, nodding at the blonde little girl. “But I don’t think you told me your name, sweetpea.” I looked at the brunette entreatingly.

Wide-eyed, she looked to her dad. He smiled and nodded. “You can tell her, honey,” he murmured.

“Peggy,” the little girl told me.

Steve grinned. “Their real names are Sarah and Margaret,” he explained. “Sarah was my mother’s name. But this little one’s favorite color is red so her uncle started calling her Red and it stuck.” He gave Red a pointed glance so I knew which twin he was talking about.

I nodded understandingly. “I see. I like Red. It’s a fun nickname.”

We reached the train. Steve jumped over the gap between the platform and the interior with ease, set Red down, and offered me his hand. I took it and let him help me hop the gap myself before he scooped his obviously-more-adventurous daughter back up. “Let’s go find some seats,” he told his girls. Peggy gave a tiny little nod and Red smiled widely with a more enthusiastic nod. I followed them down the aisle of the train until Steve found an open booth with a little table and four seats. “Here alright?” he asked me.

“Of course,” I answered.

“Mind if Red sits by you next to the window so she doesn’t run off?”

I laughed and held my hands out for the blonde twin. “Not at all.” She leaned towards me. I took her in my arms and set her down on the seat next to the window before taking the aisle seat for myself. Peggy sat across from her sister and Steve sat across from me. Red blabbered about “Uncle Bucky” and “Uncle Sam”—the latter of which made me furrow my eyebrows and think of those I Want YOU posters that turned into memes—for a while and Peggy doodled on a little notebook covered in scribbles.

“Princess?” Red asked after a couple minutes, poking me in the leg.

“Yes, sweetpea?”

“What’s it like running a kingdom?”

“It’s a lot of hard work—and I’m still learning how to do it—but it makes me a good leader and a thoughtful person. I have to carefully consider my actions and make the best decisions I can with what I have to work with. It’s not an easy job, but it is a good job.”

Red watched with rapt attention—even Peggy looked up from her notebook. Steve was grinning between me and his daughter.

I felt my phone buzz in my purse.

You certainly have a way with kids. It was from Steve.

I smiled across the table at him and shrugged. “I have a lot of kids in my family that I interact with,” I explained.

“Would you mind, I don’t know, maybe joining me for dinner some night so I can thank you for being so good to these two today—assuming I can find a babysitter?”

Peggy perked up. “Auntie Nat?” she asked.

“Or Uncle Tony!” Red put in excitedly.

“Not Uncle Tony,” Steve told his blonde daughter. “Last time I let him tend you two he let you play with tools and Peggy almost took her eye out.” Red drooped a little but agreed that wasn’t a good thing.

“I’d love to go to dinner with you whenever you can find a babysitter. I’m free most nights anyway,” I told Steve quietly. He smiled.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Red started to stare out the window and Peggy went back to drawing. They were cute kids—and they had a very handsome dad. I was trying not to notice, but come on, how could one not notice? He was tall, blond, and chiseled.

Steve and I talked quietly during the ride, swaying with the movement of the train. I didn’t want the ride to end. It was just… nice. Pleasant. I hadn’t had such a good conversation with someone I’d just met in a long time. He was just easy to talk to. He had a good personality and when he listened to me talk I felt like he was really listening.

But all good things had to end. Eventually, with screeching brakes that made all four of us cringe, the train ground to a halt in the Big Apple. We were home.

After Steve and I got the girls off the train, he shook my hand. “I look forward to taking you out to dinner.”

“I look forward to joining you,” I replied.

Red looked up at me. “It was nice to meet you, princess,” she offered.

I smiled. “It was lovely to meet you as well.”

Peggy just gave me a timid wave from her dad’s arm. I waved back.

Steve took Red’s hand and the three of them went off in the opposite direction to me.

I smiled as I headed home. I liked Steve and his daughters. I couldn’t guarantee our date would go anywhere, but I kinda hoped it would. Poor guy. Single dad raising two daughters all on his own—and at such a young age too!—couldn’t have been easy.

Yeah. If the date went somewhere, maybe one day I could be the queen to his king, as Red suggested.

[lavenderprose]

45 for victuuri please 🙏

Viktor isn’t even supposed to be in Detroit today, and it’s frustrating that such a seemingly-small snowstorm has grounded him in the motor city for the “foreseeable future”. Six hundred flights out of Metro Airport have been cancelled already, with more forthcoming, including Viktor’s ride back home. Yakov is somewhere in Saint Petersburg, pulling out his hair and screaming.

Viktor isn’t even supposed to be here. But the moment he sees Yuuri–almost six years to the day since the last time he saw him–his heart stops, and he experiences a brilliant, stunning moment of religion. 

Dear God. Maybe everything does happen for a reason. 

Viktor sees him through the large picture windows of a hotel restaurant and bar. He’s sitting with maybe four or five other people, all of them business casual like they’ve just gotten off work. It’s seven PM on a Friday, so that’s very likely the case. It’s also the Friday before Christmas. The lights on Woodward are casting festive shadows and Yuuri is wearing a large and comfortable sweater. There are poinsettias along the bartop every six feet or so. A large artificial Christmas Tree has been set up in one corner of the sparsely populated restaurant. 

It’s been six years. Yuuri has grown from the timid boy Viktor knew in college–his shoulders always closing in, his eyes always averting–and into a gorgeous man. He looks easy in his skin, although not completely void of a certain heightened self awareness. But as Viktor watches, standing in the falling snow like some idiot from a B romcom, he sees Yuuri laugh and drag a hand through his hair–a far more stylish cut than he wore when Viktor knew him–and realizes that he’s grown up. 

Of course, as Viktor’s luck as of late would have it, Yuuri turns around just in time to see Viktor mooning. His eyebrows shoot up and Viktor sees him say Viktor? but can’t hear him, for obvious reasons.

His friends look up, too. Viktor doesn’t know if they’re friends Yuuri had in college. He doesn’t recognize them, but that doesn’t mean much–Yuuri never really introduced him to his friends, in the few short months during which they dated.

There are three men aside from Yuuri, all of them dark haired and looking to be around Yuuri’s age–which would mean late twenties now, Viktor supposes. The one closest to Yuuri says something to him, casting a strange glance in Viktor’s direction. Yuuri nods, and the other man sets a hand on Yuuri’s leg.

Viktor thinks he understands what was said, then, even if he couldn’t hear it.

Viktor as in your ex-boyfriend?

Yes.

Yuuri, to Viktor’s surprise, rises from his seat and walks across the restaurant. Viktor, against his better judgement, meets him in the breezeway.

“Oh my god,” Yuuri says, casting a casually appraising gaze over Viktor’s person. “How are you? I can’t believe it’s actually you. What are you doing here?”

“Photoshoot,” Viktor says, shuffling his shoulders in an effort to seem nonchalant. “I was supposed to, um…I was actually supposed to be out of the city already, but…the storm.” He gestures outside, where the snowfall has yet to really pick up speed–but it will, he’s been assured by weatherman after weatherman, sometime overnight. 

“Oh,” says Yuuri, sparing only a brief glance outside. When his gaze returns to Viktor’s, it’s calm, but unsure. Yuuri used to practically vibrate with intensity. Too much emotion and not an outlet with which to express it–too scared of his own shadow to speak his mind. Viktor supposes that a lot changes with time and age. 

“You look good,” Viktor says, because it’s very true–practically an understatement–and it’s the only thing he can think to say. “Um. Healthy. You look like you’re…doing well.”

“You too. I’ve seen a couple of your spreads. The one in–in Vogue, that was really nice.”

“Oh,” Viktor says, and he wonders if the cold-flush on his cheeks will hide his blush. “That’s…nice of you to say.”

“I’m glad that…everything turned out well for you,” Yuuri says, smiling. It’s an earnest smile, if sad. “I was really–I never stopped wanting good things for you, even after you broke up with me. I hope you know that.”

Viktor can’t help himself–he physically takes a step back, as if punched or slapped. He blinks hard at Yuuri, who’s now staring at him in concern like he’s afraid Viktor is in the midst of a stroke.

“Me?” Viktor says slowly. “I? I broke up–broke up with you?”

Yuuri’s brow knits. “Yes?”

“Yuuri, you broke up with me,” Viktor says, shaking his head. “You ghosted me for like two weeks and when I finally got tired of it and went to your house, your sister answered the door and told me I wasn’t welcome. How is that me breaking up with you?”

“That was after you broke up with me,” Yuuri says as his expression furrow even deeper, progressing from slightly confused to definitely pissed with alarming deftness. 

“What are you talking about?”

“Viktor, you all but outright said you didn’t want to stay with me. How am I supposed to interpret that, aside from as a break-up?”

“When!” Viktor says. He knows they’re drawing attention to themselves, because Yuuri’s voice is raising and his own hands are doing wild things around his head, but he can’t help himself. “When did I ever say anything like that!”

“It was–I can’t remember, I think we were–were in bed.” Yuuri blushes, and Viktor watches it travel up his ears and down his neck and feels that old, familiar stab of want that Yuuri Katsuki has somehow always inspired in him since the day they met. “And I said–I told you I–I said something like…I can see myself spending the rest of my life with you. And I knew it was early, and I would have understood if you had just said–that’s nice, or something, because–yeah, I knew we’d only been dating for, like, eight months. I knew it was too soon to say something like that. But all you said was I’ve never wanted to spend my life with anybody, and then you practically got up and ran out the door.”

Viktor’s eyes widen. He remembers the day in question. He remembers it with perfect clarity. It’s the kind of thing that plays on repeat in his head when he has nothing else to think about, in frayed sepia tones like an old movie. “No. That’s not–that’s not what I said. Or at least, not how I meant it. And I didn’t–I didn’t run out the door. I told you I had something to do. That I had to go do something.”

“How else was I supposed to interpret that?” Yuuri asks, and now his voice is back to the low hush he was using before. More sad, now, than angry. “I said the most–intimate thing I’d ever said to another person. Ever, in my life. And you left.”

Viktor shakes his head. “Yuuri, no.”

He holds up a finger, practically touching Viktor’s lips. Insistent, but gentle. “It’s okay. I understand. I wasn’t–I wasn’t the most stable person back then. I wouldn’t have wanted to tie myself down to me, either. It was probably smart, what you did.”

Viktor opens his mouth to protest again–and he plans to keep protesting, until he can make Yuuri understand how wrong he is–but the restaurant side of the breezeway opens, and the young man from before, the one who put his hand on Yuuri’s leg, steps in.

“Hey,” he says, wrapping his hand gently around Yuuri’s arm. “You good?”

“Yeah,” says Yuuri, nodding. “I’m…fine. This is, um…” he turns his head away, and attempts surreptitiousness as he swipes a tear from the corner of each eye. He clears his throat, turns back. “Phichit, this is Viktor Nikiforov. You probably know who he is.”

Phichit nods, and holds out a hand. Viktor shakes.

“Viktor, this is Phichit. I…work with him.” With the glance that passes between them, Viktor knows that their relationship must be more than a working one.

“Ah,” Viktor says, nodding. “I…understand.”

Yuuri says to Phichit, “It’s fine. I’ll be back in a minute. Tell Guang-Hong to stop gawking, he’s going to sprain his neck.”

Phichit chuckles, and Viktor sees his knuckles tighten on Yuuri’s arm in a squeeze. “Alright.” To Viktor, he only nods.

When he’s gone, Viktor looks back to Yuuri and asks, “Does he treat you right?”

Yuuri frowns. “What?”

“Is he good to you?”

“Phichit?”

“Yes.”

“…Of course, but–”

Viktor nods, pulls his scarf tight around his neck. “That’s good. That’s–I’m glad. I’m going to…Um, goodbye, Yuuri. Merry Christmas.”

“Viktor.”

Yuuri reaches out a hand, but Viktor grabs it–takes it between his own, and kisses it, then sets it back at Yuuri’s side. 

“Merry Christmas, Yuuri.”

Yuuri bites his lip. “Happy birthday, Viktor.”

Viktor, despite himself, smiles as he walks back out into the cold.

–

Back in Saint Petersburg, the first thing Viktor does upon arriving home–aside from picking up Makkachin from Yakov’s house, and touch base with his agent who is absolutely losing her mind–is go to the bottom drawer in a seldom-opened dresser in his closet and dig past the contents–mostly memrobilia of college; pictures, old school supplies, a couple of documents pertaining to his first couple of modeling gigs–until he finds a small box. It’s blue velvet, the inside is satin, and on the center of the cushion is a ring.

Viktor vividly remembers the day he bought it. He remembers how excited he was, almost frantic. 

He remembers Yuuri being gone when he returned. 

Several hours later, Viktor is four shots into a bottle of vodka has the open ring box next to him on the table when his phone vibrates.

The text is from a number that isn’t listed in his phone, but it reads:

Viktor–

I hope it’s okay that I never got rid of your number. I don’t even know if this will work. You might have changed your number, but I had to try.

I don’t know what happened between us. I never really have. But I know that we’ve both done a lot of growing the last six years and I think, maybe, it would be good for us both if we got together and talked. 

I know your schedule is busy. Mine is too. But I really want to talk to you. It may sound stupid, since we only dated for a few months in college, but I’ve missed you a lot. Maybe the feeling is mutual. If it is, please consider what I said.

-Yuuri

(Oh, by the way…Phichit isn’t my boyfriend.)

The sound Yakov makes upon discovering that Viktor is returning to Detroit less than twenty-four hours after he left is legendary.