#I’ve already seen a smattering of it over the years

[galwithalibrarycard]

…..his reward was saying goodbye. Who gave RTD the right to do this to me? *sobbing*

(Defensively adding, it’s not my fault I didn’t have easy access to Doctor Who until very recently ok I know I’m fourteen years late here)

[beautification-tales]

The Pill

An Age Regression Tale

Margaret stood at the kitchen sink, the warm water running over her calloused hands as she scrubbed the last of the dinner dishes. The kitchen window framed the fading light of a weary sun, casting a dull glow across the kitchen's yellowing tiles. She felt every one of her fifty-four years in her bones, especially on nights like these when the quiet was as thick as the dust that clung to the picture frames on the wall.

Her thoughts wandered to her husband, Tim, out with his friends again. The same friends who often brought home tales of their flings and conquests, their laughter echoing in her mind like a taunt. A creeping doubt had settled in her heart, whispering that she was no longer the woman Tim had married. Her reflection in the faucet was a sad reminder of the toll time had taken on her once youthful visage.

The TV in the next room played a commercial for a new miracle pill, "YouthRestore", promising a rejuvenating transformation. Desperation gnawed at her. She'd seen it before, but this time the words "turn back the clock" and "reclaim your vitality" resonated with a new urgency. Her hand hovered over the phone, her heart racing. What if it could give her back the spark she felt she'd lost?

The next day, Margaret found herself at the drugstore, the box of YouthRestore clutched in her trembling hand. The cashier, a young girl with a smattering of freckles and a knowing smile, scanned the box and said, "You're going to love it, my mom does!" The girl's casual endorsement filled Margaret with a mix of hope and embarrassment. She hurried home, eager to swallow the first pill.

She put on lingerie and sighed as she looked at her figure in the mirror. The wrinkles and sags that had haunted her seemed to more visible than ever. She felt her eyes water as she thought of how little she felt desired now. Tim gave her attention and love but that animalistic attraction he once had for her had faded away with her youth. She closed her eyes as she remembered how he would rip her clothes off desperate to feel her tight body.

Taking a deep breath she held the pill in her hand. It was time to change everything. “Honey, I’m home.” Tim called out as he entered the house. Margaret's heart skipped a beat. She hastily swallowed the pill with a gulp of water, hoping beyond hope for a miracle. She waited, her nerves jangling like a thousand tiny bells.

Tim entered the bedroom and was surprised to see his wife on the bed in lingerie. He was puzzled and excited. “What’s going on baby? Did you miss me?” He asked with a cheeky smile. Margaret’s heart raced, was this the pill already working? “Yes and I want your hard cock right now.” She said, a little too eagerly. Tim looked at her strangely, she’d never talked like that before. But he wasn’t one to refuse a good offer.

Tim walked over and sat on the bed as Margaret touched his crotch. She frowned as she felt no bulge there. "What's wrong?" she asked with a pout. Tim took a deep breath, trying to hide his confusion, "Nothing, baby. I just had a long day." But Margaret wasn't convinced. The pill had promised to not only make her look younger but to also boost her sex drive and allure.

“I know you when you lie to me. You just aren’t attracted to me anymore.” She said with a hint of sadness in her voice. Tim felt a pang of guilt. He didn’t know how to tell her that it wasn’t that he wasn’t attracted to her, it was just that she wasn’t acting like herself. He leaned in and kissed her forehead, trying to comfort her.

“I saw your porn history Tim. It’s all the same. Big breasted blonde girls. You want a bimbo not a grey haired tired old gal. I know I’ve changed and I know I can’t give you what you need anymore.” Margaret’s voice was shaky, her grip on Tim’s hand tightening.

Tim looked at her, genuinely surprised. "What? No, Margaret, that's not it. I love you for who you are, not just for how you look." He tried to sound reassuring, but the doubt in her eyes was unmistakable.

Margaret smiled and put her hand on his cheek. “I know that baby but your dick has a mind of its own. I miss being able to make it mine. That’s why I took the pill.” She looked down at her hand and realized she was still in lingerie. “But if it’s not working, I guess I’ll go change.”

As she started to get up, Tim's eyes grew wide. Her body began to shimmer and morph before his very eyes. The wrinkles and sags she had been lamenting moments ago began to smooth away, her skin tightening like a canvas being stretched over a frame. Her hair grew longer and more vibrant, changing from a dull gray to a luscious blonde that cascaded down her back. Her breasts swelled, becoming perky and firm, and her waist cinched in dramatically. Her hips widened and her ass rounded out into a perfect peach.

"Margaret!" Tim gasped, his voice hoarse with shock. "What the hell is happening?" He watched as she looked down at herself, her expression a mix of amazement and fear. The lingerie she had once felt embarrassed in now hugged a body that could make any man's jaw drop.

Margaret's eyes sparkled with a youthful glow, and she felt a surge of energy and confidence that she hadn't felt in decades. The pill had worked, and she looked like a woman half her age. She spun around in front of the mirror, watching as her new body moved with a grace and sensuality she hadn't felt in years. The tight, revealing lingerie now perfectly showcased her new curves and firm skin.

Tim couldn't believe what he was seeing. His eyes darted over Margaret's transformed body, taking in every detail. Without realizing it, his hand had found its way to his crotch, and he felt his cock growing hard and stiff in his pants. The sight of his wife, now a goddess before him, was more arousing than any of the bimbos in his secret porn stash.

Margaret spun around and saw the bulge she had been wishing to see for so long. “See baby I told you it has a mind of its own.” She said with a mischievous smile. Tim could only nod, his mouth agape as he took in the sight of his wife's incredible transformation.

Margaret sauntered over to him, her newfound confidence and sex appeal radiating from every pore. She reached out and began to unbuckle his belt, her eyes never leaving his. Tim's cock sprang free, thick and hard, and Margaret couldn't help but let out a gasp of excitement. It had been so long since she had seen him this aroused by her. She took it in her hand and began to stroke it gently, feeling it pulse and throb under her touch.

Tim's eyes rolled back in his head as he groaned with pleasure. "Margaret," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "It feels so good." He hadn't felt this way in so long, and it was all because of her. The woman he had vowed to love and cherish had transformed before his very eyes into the embodiment of his wildest fantasies.

Her soft, warm hand continued to stroke him, her movements growing more confident and sure as she watched his reaction. She had forgotten how much power she held in her grasp, the power to bring him to his knees with just a touch. The pill had not only changed her appearance but had also ignited a fiery passion within her that she had thought had been extinguished long ago.

Tim felt his knees buckle slightly as Margaret's grip tightened around his shaft. The sensation was overwhelming, like a dam had burst and decades of pent-up desire were flooding through him. He reached out and cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing against her plump, youthful lips. He leaned in and kissed her deeply, his tongue exploring the mouth that had been his for so long yet now felt like uncharted territory.

The taste of her was intoxicating, a sweet and salty blend that made his cock throb even more. Margaret moaned into the kiss, her hand moving faster as she felt the power she had over him. The fabric of his pants grew wet with precum, and she pulled away with a naughty grin. "I want you to fuck me …. Hard," she whispered, her voice low and seductive.

Tim didn't need to be told twice. He picked her up effortlessly, feeling the firmness of her new body in his arms. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her pussy already wet and begging for his touch. He carried her to the bed, his cock straining against her soft, smooth skin. He laid her down gently and began to kiss her neck, his hands exploring the curves of her breasts and the dip of her waist.

Margaret arched her back, pushing her breasts into his eager mouth. She had forgotten the thrill of being desired, the way it made her body respond. Her nipples hardened as he sucked on them, sending waves of pleasure through her body. She felt a hunger inside her that she had long ago convinced herself had disappeared. The pill had not only restored her youthful appearance but had also reawakened a primal need within her.

Tim's hands roamed her body, tracing the lines of her newfound curves. His thumbs circled her hardened nipples, teasing them until she was squirming beneath him. He felt a surge of lust that was both familiar and alien, a potent cocktail of love and desire that had been lying dormant beneath the layers of routine and age.

He slid his hand down her body, his fingertips grazing the slick folds of her pussy. Margaret's eyes rolled back in ecstasy as he dipped a finger inside her, feeling how tight and wet she had become. It was like the first time they had made love, all those years ago, when every touch was a revelation and every sensation was amplified.

Tim paused, looking up at her with a fiery gaze. "You're so wet," he murmured, his voice filled with awe and passion. Margaret felt a warmth spread through her that had nothing to do with the pill. It was the warmth of being truly seen and desired by the man she loved.

With a growl, Tim positioned himself between her legs and pushed inside her. The sensation was electric, as if they were both experiencing each other for the first time. Margaret's body was tight and warm, wrapping around him like a glove. They both gasped at the intensity of it, their eyes locked as he began to move.

Every thrust brought a new wave of pleasure, the years of familiarity replaced with a raw, animalistic hunger. Margaret's legs tightened around him, her moans grew louder as she met him stroke for stroke. The room was filled with the sounds of their passion, their moans and gasps echoing off the walls like a symphony of desire.

Tim felt his orgasm building, his cock swelling even larger inside her. Margaret's eyes widened as she felt his hot seed spill into her, filling her with a warmth that seemed to radiate through every cell in her body. She clutched at him, her nails digging into his back as she climaxed around him, her pussy contracting in waves of ecstasy.

As they lay there, panting and entwined, Margaret felt a sense of relief and joy that she hadn't experienced in what felt like an eternity. “You want to go again?” She whispered, her voice playful and filled with a newfound seductiveness. Tim looked down at her, his eyes smoldering with a mix of love and lust. He chuckled and kissed her deeply, feeling his cock already stirring to life again.

[disillusioneddanny]

Barbie and Ken {Dead on Main}

The light flashed bright in Danny’s eyes, momentarily blinding him as he held the sign with his name up. He couldn’t believe this was happening. When Jazz had told him that she was going to set him up with a coworker of hers, Danny was expecting a nice night at dinner where they had some wine, talked about shared interests and all that jazz. 

What he got instead was a knock out drag out fight with a bastard who immediately started throwing hands as soon as Danny had walked into the restaurant! He hadn’t even gotten to meet this guy that Jazz was setting him up with! 

She had set him up with an English teacher at the school she was working at. The siblings had moved to Gotham together as soon as Danny had graduated from high school. In that time Jazz enrolled in Gotham University and got her degree in Chemistry and her teaching license. 

Danny decided to go to school for linguistics. When you already know all the dead languages and most languages come from those, the idea of studying all of the others just sounded neat. 

But none of that mattered now. 

Why?

Because Danny Fenton was in fucking jail. 

He scoffed as the police officer booking him in had him step away from the camera and put in his finger prints before escorting him to the hallway where the jackass he fought was already waiting, handcuffed and leaning against the wall, a scowl on his face. All Danny wanted to do was meet this Jason Todd guy that Jazz had been talking up for weeks and instead he got some fucking liminal prick who wanted to fight instead. 

Which usually, the halfa was all for getting into a fun ghost fight! Even with fellow halfas or liminals. But not when he’s supposed to be on a date! Not when he’s trying to make himself look good for a guy who sounds like a match made in heaven for him!

Sure, the fight was a lot of fun, and it was the first time in years that he got to fight another ectoplasmic entity, but that was beside the point! Now Jason was going to think that Danny was nothing more than a criminal. 

Oh, Danny hoped to the ancients that Jason hadn’t seen his fight with the liminal. He hoped to anyone who was listening, to Clockwork, to the Ghost Queen, anyone who was willing to listen to his pleas, they had to make it where Jason didn’t see him get arrested. 

“Todd, Fenton! Follow me,” a guard shouted, Danny glanced over at the asshole and raised an eyebrow. 

“Todd?” He said incredulously. 

“Fenton?” The man asked with a disbelieving laugh of his own. 

“Danny,” Danny said with a small smile, trying not to lose his shit. If his fucking date was the same guy with that fantastic left hook, he was going to lose his mind. 

“Jason,” he said, letting out another chuckle. “Jazz was right, we did have instant chemistry, but not for the reason she thought. I’m fuckin’ sorry, I don’t know what came over me. I’ve never just attacked someone before. Well, not like that, at least,” he said, shaking his head as the two followed behind the guard. 

The officer snapped at the two to shut up and Danny held back a sigh as he glanced over at the liminal. It was likely that Jason didn’t even know he was liminal and damn, that was a story that Danny wanted to hear as soon as possible. In the meantime, though, he looked this Jason Todd up and down and smiled to himself. 

Jazz definitely knew what Danny’s type was. That was for damn sure. 

Jason Todd was built like a goddamn tank. While Danny still managed to be taller than him by a few inches thanks to that Fenton height, the six foot man stood tall and buff compared to Danny’s own tall and lanky. He was absolutely sure that Jason could throw him around like a rag doll if Danny let him and by the ancients would Danny let him. 

The freckles that smattered across the bridge of Jason’s nose reminded Danny of some of his favorite constellations. If he looked close enough he bet he could find quite a few, just looking where he was he found ursa minor, polaris sat right at the tip of Jason’s nose. He wanted to trace each and every constellation on his skin. 

“Don’t worry about it, I have a punchable face,” Danny said with a laugh as the two got shoved into a holding cell together. He turned to the officer and called after him. “Don’t we get a phonecall!”

“Shut the fuck up,” the officer said before walking away. 

“Gotta love Gotham’s finest,” Jason said with a chuckle as he sat on a metal bed with a pitiful paper thin mattress on top of it and a threadbare blanket laid on top. Danny took a seat beside him and let out a breath of air. 

“Well, this wasn’t what I was planning for our first date,” Danny said softly. “I was thinking we’d get dinner, probably bail because I’m not big on fancy dinners and it was Jazz’s idea and then we could go walk around together and talk about books and the fact that the smog in Gotham is terrible.”

“That does sound fun,” Jason said with a chuckle. He glanced over at Danny and gave him a small smile. “You’re not what I was expecting. I mean you’re a lanky mother fucker but that punch to the jaw was no joke, I think it’s already bruising.”

Danny chuckled and took Jason’s face in his hands and turned his face to the side to look at where he had punched him to the face. “Yeah it’s bruising,” he said but smiled softly before he allowed his hand to ice over and pressed it against the bruise. “How’s that feel?”

“Better,” Jason said with a sigh as he smiled up at Danny. “You’re a meta?”

The halfa let out a soft hum. “In a way, does it count if you died in a freak lab accident and then came back wrong and with weird ghost powers?”

Jason looked at him startled before he threw back his head and let out a laugh of his own. “I’m jealous, all I got when I died and came back wrong was a white streak in my hair and an intense rage that never really goes away.”

Danny tilted his head and looked Jason over for a moment before he noticed the little ball of a blob ghost that seemed to be gnawing on his core inside of his chest. 

“Remind me when we get out of here, I can fix that rage for you,” Danny said with a smug smile. “And trust me, I bet without that messing you up, you’ll get some fun little ghost powers too.”

Jason just laughed and launched into the tale of how he had come back to life in the first place, telling Danny a wild tale of assassins and weird pits of ectoplasm called Lazarus Waters and how he decided to become a crime lord in the night while during the day he went to school and eventually became an English teacher where he found a passion for helping teenagers who wanted to go somewhere in life. 

In turn, Danny told his own story, about being a small town hero and later defeating the Ghost King, only to turn down the throne when it was offered and instead moved to Gotham with his sister to finally live a normal life and managed to somehow become a linguist despite the childhood dream of becoming an astronaut. 

He didn’t know how long they spoke to one another, but by the end of it, Danny had completely forogotten he was in jail in the first place! At least until a guard came in and opened the cell. 

“Fenton, Todd, you’ve been bailed out!” he barked. The two quickly got up and followed the man out of holding and into a hallway where Jazz and a tall dark haired older man stood giving the two twin looks of disappointment. 

“Hey Bruce,” Jason said, a dopey grin on his face as he looked at his father.

“Hey Jazz, thanks for hooking us up,” Danny said with a grin as the guard uncuffed each of them and they immediately held hands. “Now, I know you want to chew me out for getting arrested. But technically this is your fault for setting me up with a liminal, of course we were going to get in a fist fight. Also, Mr. Wayne, interesting to meet you, Jason has told me so much about you it’s batty,” he said with a wink. 

“Danny don’t you dare even think about it,” Jazz growled out, pointing a finely manicured finger at him. Danny looked from his sister to his date and smiled. 

“Thanks for getting us together, Jazz, you’re a great coworker,” Jason said with a smile. “But we have a date to finish,” he said. Danny turned the couple intangible and the two shot into the air and out of the jail before either of the family members could stop them. 

Jazz sighed and turned to Bruce. “I’m so sorry for introducing them to one another, I didn’t think that would happen,” she said with a sigh. 

Bruce looked up at the ceiling before he looked back at Jazz. “Would you like a drink?”

“God yes,” she said with a sigh before following the older man out of the jail. 

[thedeviltohisangel]

All The Things I Did (Interlude): The One Thing I've Been Wanting

a/n: wow oh wow i think you guys are going to love this one. another mini novel featuring all the emotions and filth you could ever ask for. john and cass have their formal wedding in south carolina that he always promised her they would. a few little easter eggs in there i hope you guys want to scream at me about. hope you all enjoy, happy reading and love you endlessly!

warning: smut

In May 1946, almost one year to the day that John Egan hung an American flag in the middle of Germany, he was sat in a plush hotel room in Charleston, South Carolina looking at a photo of himself in a smattering of local newspapers and even The New York Times. Locally it was the front page, nationally a column right in the economics section. The headlines ranged from proclamations of a fairytale come true to rumors on how the match would affect the valuation of the Cooper empire. 

He liked the picture they had all chosen though. It was from a photocall Mrs. Cooper had insisted they do just last week. Cass had worn a beautiful forest green skirt and white silk blouse, her smile perfectly measured across her face. There had been a bit of commotion over what John should wear. He wasn’t set to pin on Lieutenant Colonel until June and the communications team had proposed stalling the wedding until his new rank could be proudly displayed in the photographs. Might I politely remind you he is already my husband. If you make me wait one second longer to appease people with this party you will not enjoy the sight was how Cass chose to handle it. In this setting, one completely new and foreign to the boy from Manitowoc, he was entirely reliant on her to guide him.

In the final image, she was looking at the camera but he was looking at her. It was fitting. He was merely a planet orbiting around her sun. He looked stricken by her beauty and nothing could have been closer to the truth.

“Come in,” he called at the knock on the door. He folded the paper and tossed it onto the coffee table. 

“You about ready to get out there? Don’t want Spook thinking you ran away.” Gale clicked the door closed and stood watching his friend. “You’re nervous.” It was a statement rather than a question. 

“I don’t know why. I’ve been married to her for almost three years. Today is just a societal formality.” Marrying in secret in London was not how women like Cass were supposed to carry themselves, according to her mother. If no one was there to see it then they wouldn’t believe it. “Just…what if something changes?”

“What if something changes? Bucky, you two are still going to be the same people tonight as you were this morning. You’re still going to love the wits out of that girl just like she loves the wits out of you.” John stood and started to pace around the room.

“I know that. I know how I feel and how she feels won’t change but it’s now so formal. And there’s an audience and my wedding is in The Times, Buck, the goddamn Times!” 

“The photo did look wonderful,” Gale pointed out as he nodded towards the papers on the table. “Your wife doesn’t need all this if you don’t want it, John. I am pretty certain that girl would run away with you to a farm out West if you asked her to.”

“No,” he shook his head, “all of this is good to be sure she is always provided for. When we have kids, they won’t want for anything.” Wealth like this was almost unmoveable during the Depression. John had been in college for the worst of it. Had seen the toll it took on his family and the people around them. Cass and he could make sure their kids never had to worry about that. 

“When and not if, huh?”

“Buck, you of all people should know we aren’t exactly celibate.” Gale didn’t need the reminder. All too often he had found himself pleading for a moment of respite with the two of them. It didn’t matter when or where, he would run out of fingers and toes trying to count the sanctified places those two had breached. “She’s going to be the best mother.” 

“And you’re going to be the best father.” John and Cass had spent the past year filling in all the blanks their time apart had forced upon them. They had gone to Wyoming for Gale and Marge’s wedding and not a single incident had occurred. It was as if John had never gotten on a plane to avenge Gale that day. They were so in love they talked about having a baby in nine months, talked about the perfect house to raise them in. Talked about names and nursery colors. 

But then they had gone to visit his family in Wisconsin. And something had snapped. All the anger they had hidden from each other in the name of surviving the cold German winter had bubbled to the surface viciously. All the anger he had harbored towards her for putting herself in danger would not lay dormant any longer. Anger that every night when he closed his eyes he had prayed to keep his wife safe, that John could take any pain as long as she was spared, and she had negated it all without a thought. Anger that she had wasted almost two years of her life running herself ragged to maintain their relationship and he had been able to do nothing in return. Anger that no matter the horrors he had inflicted upon people, the horrors of Stalag Luft that kept him up at night, the horrors of not knowing who you were looking at in the mirror, that she didn’t find someone better.

“Buck, I’m sorry you weren’t there the first time Cass and I did this. But I am happy you’re here for this one. I couldn’t ask for a better best man.” John pulled him into a hug, clapping his back a few times. 

“I only agreed to see you cry when you get a glimpse of her.” 

“Yeah? You’ve seen her?” She had put him under strict orders that he was not to see her the morning of their wedding. Had even made John sleep by himself. He was missing her desperately at this point. 

“She said the dress was a family heirloom. You didn’t manage to sneak out a parachute?” John blushed and looked at his feet. 

“You’ll make fun of me if I tell you.” He had. They had just agreed to save it for a more special occasion. 

“Not on your wedding day.”

“Cass had the idea that it might make a nice christening gown one day.” Wait until Marge hears how John Egan has gone all domestic on us Gale thought with a smile. “Did she get the gift I left for her?” It was a silver locket, the date and a note that simply said I love you and his name on the back, a photo of the two of them in Wyoming neatly placed inside. 

“It’s her something new,” Gale answered. Her dress was something old, her mother’s diamond headband something borrowed and she had taken the time to stitch her favorite line from Blue Skies inside her skirt in blue thread. Gale cleared his throat. “She told me to pass along that you would get your gift from her…tonight.” All the girls had giggled furiously when Cass had asked him to pass along the message. There couldn’t have been a better man for the job.

“I think her asking you to tell me that is a gift all in itself, Buck.”

----

Cass was sat in front of the vanity mirror, admiring how her new necklace looked with a smile. She had already married John, had been through more life with him than any other couple she knew, but the prospect of the day still had butterflies in her stomach. It was the kind of day that flitted across her dreams as she had grown up. Wondering what kind of dress she would wear. What the ring on her hand would look like. Who would be waiting for her at the end of the aisle. Never before would she have pictured a man like John Egan but now not a day went by where she didn’t think of him and was waiting for both of them at the end of that aisle. 

“Ma’am, all the guest have been seated and Major Egan is making his way to the altar in-”

“I’d like to see him.” Maybe that was what she needed to calm her nerves. Some needed whiskey or cigarettes but she just needed John. “He doesn’t need to see me, I just need to see him.”

And that was how, on his way to walk down the aisle, he was dragged into a room and told to sit patiently while the woman in charge of ensuring this entire wedding went off without a hitch, tied black fabric over his eyes. 

“Is this really necessary?” he asked once his vision was completely obscured. 

“Yes. Mrs. Egan requested it.” Gale sighed as the woman used Cass’ new last name. It always opened the door to something unscrupulous. 

“Mrs. Egan,” John repeated with a wicked grin. “Mrs. Cassandra Ann Egan. My wife.” He wasn’t ashamed to admit that he had asked Cass to write her new name for him just so he could relish in how it looked. How naturally her wrist and fingers moved to draft the letters. It was spectacularly wonderful and he was addicted. 

“Gale? Is he successfully blinded yet?” Cass was getting impatient on the other side of the bedroom door. She could hear her husband and she could feel him. It was like torture not being able to see him or touch him. 

“Spook?” John got up and turned in the direction of her voice, his shins colliding with a coffee table almost instantly. “Motherfucker!” 

“I’m giving you two…” Gale ran through the numbers in his head. He had seen the feral acts the two of them were capable of committing in less than five minutes. Anything more than thirty seconds seemed like they would be consummating a marriage that hadn’t happened yet. “Forget it. You two wouldn’t listen to me anyways. Just remember your parents are right outside!” Gale escorted the planner out and shut the door behind him, a stillness settling over the suite.

“Cass, baby, they’re gone. Can I take this-”

“Absolutely not!” Her voice was no longer muffled as she opened the door and took in the sight of him. Her beautiful, handsome man. Hers and hers alone. The man she had fought for and lived for and loved every day no matter how treacherous. “We have done absolutely nothing the traditional way. Let me have this, please?” John never was too good at denying her anything.

“Fine, then let me have a kiss at least.” Cass gathered her skirt with a small giggle as he stood there awaiting her with his arms open. She pecked him quickly and he leaned forward in a chase for more. “I’m dying, Cass. You didn’t let me see you after dinner last night and now you’re right here in front of me and I can just tell you look heaven sent and now you want to tease me?”

“I’m just so happy right now, Johnny.” Now that name only fell from her lips when the emotions in her chest were too much to even say his name. Whether she was sad or angry or blinded by happiness. He had gotten so used to hearing John that anything different locked him in on a dime. 

“I’m happy, too. Get to marry you all over again.” He felt a little better when her hands rested on his chest, his wrapping around her waist and pulling her as close as he could. His palms could feel lace until her hips and then silk. Maybe a bow at the top of her skirt. “I love you, Cass. Making things grandly official today won’t change anything about us. We’ll still sing as loud as we can in the car and share ice cream on the beach and count stars when we can’t fall asleep.” Her soul warmed when he said the exact words she had needed to hear, not knowing how John had ached with the need to say them. 

“Those sound like the vows you should be saving for later.” 

“I can think of a thousand ways to vow to love you forever, don’t you worry.” She indulged him in a proper kiss then, careful not to mess his perfectly coiffed curls and John restraining himself from tearing at the buttons going up her spine. Everything felt heightened, John unable to anticipate her next move with the fabric covering his eyes.

“What did I do to deserve you?” she asked softly as she knocked her nose against his. “You are so beautiful, inside and out, and intellectual and selfless and meet all my weaknesses with strength...”

“Sounds like a soulmate,” he whispered. “I can’t wait to do forever with you.” 

“We deserve it, my love.”

----

John held his breath as he waited at the altar, all eyes on him as everyone waited for the orchestra to begin playing as a signal of Cass’ arrival. He fiddled with the front of his jacket, ensuring it was straight and smooth, smiling when he caught Olivia and Jill giggling at him from their spots across from him. 

“Your sister is trying to kill me with anticipation,” he whisper-yelled. 

“She’ll make it worth your time, Major,” Olivia teased. Buck clapped John on the shoulders just as the first notes of the Bridal Chorus began to sing through the grove of Spanish Moss trees. 

“Here we go,” Gale said lovingly. Everyone stood and John breathed deeply as Cass’ niece, Jessie, slowly walked down the aisle with a shy grin, tossing rose petals as she did. Her brother Sammy was next to her, two silver rings on a plush pillow in his grip. John squatted down to be at their level as they approached.

“Thank you, princess. You look so pretty.” Jessie threw her arms around him as best she could.

“Thank you, Uncle John.” She ran off to take her seat by her father just as she’d been instructed to at the rehearsal. 

“Sir.” Sammy summoned all seven years of stature he had in him to stand at attention. 

“At ease, Sammy,” John chuckled. The young boy had fancied himself a future soldier. Had been amazed when he found out John was a real pilot just like in his comic books. “My best man, Major Cleven, is going to take those rings and keep them very safe.” Gale took them gently and locked them into his breast pocket. 

“Good work, Sammy.” Buck saluted him with a smile and the little boy was off in the same direction as his sister. John stood to his full height and squared his shoulders, his eyes sharpening their focus on the ornate wooden doors that hid his love from his sight. 

And when they opened. 

And when she lifted her veiled face to look at him, finally. 

And when their eyes met and their smiles matched and the tears welled in his eyes…

Everything felt right in the world. 

Cass kept her eyes on him as she held her fathers arm down the aisle. She had to slip her bottom lip between her teeth to keep from giggling with glee at the sight of John waiting for her. As she got closer, she could see the glassiness in his eyes. He was always so strong. Her stability in this world. The man who had her back through anything with no questions asked. The one person in the universe that loved her unconditionally and with no strings attached and in the exact way that she needed to be loved.

“Do you give this woman to be married to this man?” John was itching to lift her veil and kiss her senseless now that she was this close to him. 

“I do,” her father spoke with pride.

“I love you, Daddy,” she whispered as he pulled her into a hug. 

And then finally it was just the two of them.

And then finally he was able to hold her hand and help her up the final step to stand across from him.

And then finally his shaking fingers found the lace trim of her veil and he finally exhaled as he lifted it over her head. Her eyes were full of adoration as she looked up at him. 

“Hi,” he whispered. His hands landed on her cheeks and her hands rested against his chest.

“I’ve been missing those eyes.” Her own twinkled in kind. John leaned in, he couldn’t help himself, the officiant clearing his throat to stop them.

“We are gathered here today to witness the sacred union of John Clarence Egan and Cassandra Ann Cooper,” they smirked at each other. She hadn’t gone by her maiden name in almost three years. Not since London. “We stand here to honor and celebrate the love shared between these two people, as they come together to start their new life with a solemn vow, surrounded by their closest family and friends.”

A journey of love. Their love had already survived so much. From the moment their eyes had locked on an airfield in England, it had strengthened to withstand the tests of time. Their journey had taken them to the darkest corners of humanity the world had to offer. Had forced them to make difficult decisions in the name of survival. But all those decisions had led them here. All the darkness had led to this overwhelming light. Neither of them would change a thing.

A journey of understanding. They had come together and been torn apart and brought back together. And every stage had led them to becoming a new version of the person they had fallen in love with. They worked hard each and every single day to understand who was sitting across from them. Who was looking at them through the mirror. They had been off kilter for a little while but would always find their balance. 

A journey of perseverance. This was the easiest for them to feel when they looked at each other. They were both stubborn. Bull-headed in their pursuit of survival and a life after war. Aggressively unable to give up on each other. Relentlessly devoted to the forever that they had promised each other. 

“...and dedication to one another that lasts through time. As we stand here today to mark this occasion, we remember that what matters most is not the ceremony itself, but the love and companionship you will continue to share throughout your married life together.” John squeezed her hands. “There are no vows more meaningful and powerful than those which will be shared here today. Your wedding vows are a sacred declaration of your love for each other, the foundation of your relationship as a married couple, and the life you want to build together.” Cass thanked her sister as she handed her the piece of paper her vows were on, turning back to face John and letting his gaze give her the strength to lay bare her emotions.

“John, my blue sky, my love. From the moment I saw you, I couldn’t shake you. You were the first person in a long time to see me. To see all my faults and jagged edges and not to look away but to meet them like a perfect puzzle piece. Where I am weak, you are strong and you have spent everyday making me feel loved and safe and happy in ways words cannot capture.” John used his thumb to wipe a tear from her face and stroked his knuckles up and down her cheek for good measure. “I wouldn’t trade a single moment with you for anything in the world. Even the tough ones, even the painful ones, even the ones where I thought I was going to lose you. Because we’ve already proven our love can face anything and come out stronger on the other side. That forever will only be the beginning for us. And doing life with you, John Egan, will be the honor of my life.” Cass dabbed at the tears under her eyes, John knocking his forehead against hers.

“That was so beautiful, baby. I love you so much and-”

“Major Egan, you could just say your vows.” Gale smiled. Finally someone was getting a taste of what he had dealt with. He handed John the piece of paper and sent a wink in Marge’s direction. John looked down at the paper and swallowed before handing it back to Gale.

“Bucky-”

“I’d rather just tell you, Cass, how I feel in this exact moment because I have never been more in love with you.” She giggled as he held both her hands and locked his baby blues onto her eyes. “I fall more and more in love with you every second that I am with you. You are the reason I survived everything we went through, my love. The reason I made it through to the other side was because I knew that was where a future with you was waiting for me. You had this flyboy dreaming of growing roots from the moment I saw you. From the moment I saw you at a pub with your nose buried in a book, I knew I was done for. I knew you were going to challenge me and make me work to earn your love and it was so worth it, Cass, is still so worth it. We are going to build the most amazing life together, our own little solar system, and I will fight for you and our future every day, Cass. I promise.”

“And you’ve never broken a promise,” she whispered as the tears flowed freely down her face. 

“I don’t plan on starting now, Spook…Can I kiss her yet, Father?” A gentle laugh rippled throughout the crowd around the tears they were wiping away.

“Soon, Major. Repeat after me.”

“I, John Clarence Egan, take you Cassandra Ann Egan to be my wedded wife.”

“I, Cassandra Ann Egan, take you John Clarence Egan, to be my wedded husband.”

“I promise to stand by your side through good times and bad times…”

“...for richer or poorer…”

“...in sickness and in health.”

“I vow to stay true to you and love you…”

“...unconditionally for the rest of my days.” They both finished with a smile, drifting closer and closer to each other as the words wrapped around them. There was no daylight between their torsos as she threaded her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck and he locked his fingers at the small of her back.

“Do you, John Clarence Egan, take this woman to be your wedded wife?”

“I do,” he said just to her, his blue eyes molten pool of crystalline love.

“Do, Cassandra Ann Cooper, take this man to be your wedded husband?”

“I do,” her heart skipping a beat as John licked his lips. 

“It is now time for you to exchange rings. Your rings symbolize the eternal commitment that you make to each other, and the never ending circle of your love. May these rings always remind you of the commitment you are making here today.” Gale handed each of them a ring, John taking Cass’ left hand tenderly. 

“I, John Clarence Egan, give you, Cassandra Ann Egan, this ring as a symbol of my love and commitment to you.” The silver band fit perfectly on her finger, John swiping his thumb over it a few times to ensure it was real. That after everything they had been through, the two of them were right where they had always wanted to be.

“I, Cassandra Ann Egan, give you, John Clarence Egan, this ring as a symbol of my love and commitment to you.” The band looked at home on his hand. Like he was always meant to be claimed as hers. 

“By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may-” He wasn’t able to get the word out as their noses bumped together in the urgency to connect their lips. Cheers erupted from the guests and he held her tighter and tighter and tighter against his body and she slipped her tongue into his mouth, John groaning with ecstasy. “It is with great honor that I present you Mr. and Mrs. John Egan!” Cass giggled as John dipped her triumphantly, his lips pressed to the side of her head as they faced the adoring mass in front of them. Her one hand was gripped tightly by his, the other holding her skirt, as they made their way back to the doors that led inside. 

“Mr. and Mrs. Egan, congratulations! We have the reception area-”

“I think I need to change out of my dress, first,” Cass said to the woman but looking at John. Her fingers were already loosening his tie. “Would you like to help me, Mr. Egan?” He nodded wordlessly, catching her chin between his thumb and pointer finger. 

“Don’t wait for us to start the party, ma’am. I’m going to take my time with my wife.” 

----

The door to her suite slammed shut behind them and he was on her in an instant. They couldn’t help but laugh into each other’s lips as their noses collided, and her hair was falling out of its style and his hat landed on the ground. 

“You make me so happy,” she whispered as her fingers carded through his curls, tossed his tie to the side and slowly began to undo the buttons of his jacket. “I love you so much, John Egan. Just the way you are.” John brought his hands, delicately, to the diamond headband in her hair, lifting gently and placing it on the table by the door. 

“There was a time I would have done anything to hear you say those words.” She whined as he kissed her once then pulled away. Cass pushed his jacket off his shoulders. “I thought, after I heard them for the first time, that feeling would go away. I’d still do anything just to hear you say you love me.”

“I love you. I’m in love with you. I love you.” Her arm hooked around his neck and dragged him down to her lips, his hand fumbling to free her hair from the confines of her veil and pins. 

“If I can’t get your hair out of this riddle…” Her kisses were doing nothing to help his concentration. And her hands on his belt buckle were doing even less.

“You haven’t even seen the complex feminine garments that are under this dress yet,” she teased. 

“Cass, I’ll just fucking rip it off of you if you aren’t careful.” She reached her hand towards her hair, pulling one pin for it to cascade around her shoulders in bountiful waves. “How in God’s name…”

“You were going to get started on the buttons of my dress, Major?” 

Thankfully, he was able to compose himself long enough to undo them without tearing the lace of her dress. The release of her corset and stockings allowed her to take a full breath and John lifted her into his arms, her legs around his waist and her chest between his lips. 

“So, so beautiful,” he muttered in a daze as he laid her on the bed. “And all mine.” 

“Let me see what’s all mine,” she breathed as she sat up and kissed down his chest, his fingers undoing the buttons of his dress shirt as quickly as he could possibly manage. She paid extra to kiss exactly where his heart would be. “This right here is the part I’m most honored to have.” She pressed her hand flat and he placed his on top. 

“It’s all yours. Every last beat.” 

Their kisses were sloppy and impatient as they were both fully bare, John crawling to hover over her and kissing a long line down, down, down. He kissed her clit softly, her fingers threading into his curls instantly. He moved oh so slowly and oh so softly and with direct intention behind every flick of his tongue and curl of his finger inside of her. “All mine,” he repeated. 

“All yours, John,” she panted. Her hips lifted ever so slightly off the bed, his forearm pressing them back down into the mattress with force. 

“You’re so pretty when you cum for me.” Two of his fingers curled against the spot that made her muscles quiver. “That’s my girl.” Cass propped herself onto her elbows to look him in the eye, exactly the way she knew he liked, as his thumb pressed against her clit in the same rhythm as his fingers.

“Oh, fuck, John. Faster.” He obliged. Watched in wonder as her moan caught in her throat and her chest blossomed with the flush of her orgasm. Her hips squirmed as she came back to reality but his fingers weren’t stopping. 

“Want you to make a mess for me, baby.” Ever since he had first learned he could coax arousal from her in such a way, he had been focused on working it out of her again. “Think you could do that for me?”

“Yes, Johnny.” His fingers went deeper and faster and curled against the front of her with a sense of purpose only she would be able to inspire in him. Her hands gripped at her breasts as she moaned. 

“Good girl. Just let yourself go, baby.” She gasped as her hips bucked again, John could hear the change in his fingers pumping in and out of her. Cass was so close he could taste it. When her nails scratched at his scalp and her back arched and her toes curled, he spread her thighs even wider latched his mouth onto her. It was like drinking nectar straight from the source. She writhed against his tongue as he lapped at every drop, John’s own hips seeking friction by rutting against the matress. 

He looked absolutely sinful. Chin coated in her cum. A curl hanging down his forehead. Kissing at the inside of her thigh to make sure he didn’t miss a drop. 

“John…” She was practically out of breath as he stroked her clit one more time just to watch the way her stimulated body reacted to his touch. 

“You soaked the sheets baby. I’m so proud of you.” 

“Need you inside me,” she whimpered as John stood, pulling her to the edge of the bed. “Need my husband to fuck me.” 

“My wife needs my cock?” he asked rhetorically. She nodded, trying to move her hips forward to close the gap. He tapped her with the head of his length before teasing up and down her slit to gather her wetness. He saw stars as he pushed into her. She welcomed as much of him as physically possible, her brow furrowed and mouth agape as she watched him rock in and out of her gently. “Cass.” His hand reached to wrap around her throat as he picked up his pace. A moan escaping her lips in time with his thrusts. 

“Cum inside me, John.” He almost lost his focus at her words. They had been so careful since getting back. Not wanting a child to complicate the things they had been working through. But maybe now that all of that was behind them…

“You mean that?” He needed to be sure, his hips quickening with a mind of their own. 

“I’m cert- oh, right there.” She grabbed his wrist as he hit a particularly sweet spot deep inside of her, her eyes rolling to the back of her head. “Oh, Johnny, I’m so close.” Her own hand reached between them and began to work tight circles around her clit. John loved watching her touch herself. Had a habit of sitting behind her in a mirror and talking her through exactly how he wanted her to do it. 

His hip snapped quicker, the sounds of skin on skin and her sweet moans echoing through the room. “Get there with me, Cass, come on baby.” She knew how many thrusts away he was based on the way his forehead creased and his moans sounded strangled and he would always seek out a kiss from her. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she chanted as he stilled and she felt a warmth filling inside her that she hadn’t experienced before. He gripped her hips and pulled her forward, burying himself inside of her to the hilt. Her breath caught in her throat with a squeak as her whole body went stiff before it was shocked back to life by her orgasm. Her moan was the sweetest song as it caressed his ears, his chest heaving as he looked where their bodies were connected. 

“Going to need to do that a couple more times before dinner,” he said, “Just to make sure I’ve gotten the hang of it.” A knock at the door broke their trance.

“We’re busy,” Cass called out lazily as John moved to drop his forearms on either side of her head. He kissed the side of her neck and she craned it to offer him more skin to love on.

“Mr. and Mrs. Egan, we’ve delayed your arrival as much as we can.” There was a very specific balance of timing for such an affair. The first dance and the dance with her father and his mother had to be cadenced perfectly with the toasts and the dinner. Not to mention the five tiered wedding cake and not to mention they had a ship that would be waiting in the morning to take them to their honeymoon. If they were any later, everything could be derailed. She knocked again.

“I am a little hungry,” Cass noted, her thumb smoothing over the crease in the middle of his forehead. “And you did promise you’d sing Blue Skies for me tonight.”

“I did, didn’t I?” She nodded. “Guess we better get you all cleaned up then.”

----

There was an empty chair at the head table the whole night because Cass refused to leave her husband’s lap. No one was surprised that they were late. That Cass’ hair was no longer in the elaborate style she had had previously. Both of their sisters certainly noticed the way her knees buckled and John tightened his arm around her waist. Gale and Marge recognizing the shade of lipstick peeking out from just underneath John’s collar. 

“And now the best man, Gale Cleven, has a few words for the lovely couple.” John whistled as Buck made his way to the microphone, Cass kissing his cheek until he got the hint and turned to kiss her.

“If any of you are new to the John and Cass solar system, I can say with authority they are like this all the time.” The crowd laughed and John raised his glass before taking a sip, Cass burying her face in his neck. “I’ve spent a lot of time with John Egan. Known him from the moment he put on that uniform, making the choice to serve his country. He is a natural pilot. A natural leader. It’s natural for him to love others but hard for him to accept their love in return.” 

“I think he’s trying to make you cry,” Cass whispered. 

“He might.” 

“When I was writing this speech, I was having trouble finding the words to describe the love these two have for each other. The love that never waivered, even on the darkest of nights. And that is because of two things. Firstly, Cass is his compass, his North Star. She guides him home. To safety, to her. To comfort and to love. In return, John chases away the shadows of the night and brings her a Blue Sky. His favorite song, that fact she stuck around after hearing his rendition should tell you all you need to know, and his favorite sentiment. That the presence of someone you love is enough to chase away all your blue days.” Buck turned and faced two of the most important people in his life. Those responsible for his survival in Germany. Who he would never be able to thank enough for getting him home to Marge. “You two gave me the strength to keep fighting. The strength to make it home to my wife. Because you two gave me the courage to believe in destiny and fate and the notion that our souls can find their other half.” 

Cass used her napkin to dab gently at the corner of her eyes, John’s hand squeezing where it rested on her knee. His eyes were focused on his friend with a look of pure love. The look of a man who had survived unspeakable horrors but had his anchor keeping him sane. One on that stage and the other in his arms.

“I love you, John. I don’t say it nearly enough,” she said with her lips pressed to his cheek. 

“Cass and John, I know you have the most incredible, love-filled days ahead of you and I cannot wait to watch the life you two build together because I know for a fact the world is a better place with your love in it. To my two favorite heathens.” Gale raised his glass, Cass blowing him a kiss and John tightly smiling and nodding in an effort to keep his emotions at bay. The flutes of champagne that were passed out went down in a single gulp, the band starting back up as Gale made his way back to the head table. 

“Gale, that was so beautiful. Thank you.” Cass untwined herself from John’s grasp to wrap Buck in a hug. “Here I was thinking you were sick of us and our antics.”

“I am sick of catching you two working on my future niece or nephew but will never tire of watching you two love each other.” Buck went to shake John’s hand but John pulled him in for a hug instead. 

“You got me through, Buck. Got me here with all these blessings,”John looked his friend in the eye, “I’ll never be able to repay that.”

“You repay me by loving your wife with all you got, every day.” Marge walked over to join them. “Hey, maybe you two even name your son after me!”

“Don’t count on it.”

----

The party showed no signs of dying down even a few hours later. Everyone was sufficiently drunk and full of cake. John had brought the house down when he sang just as Cass requested. She was giddy with her love for him.

“Get some fresh air with me?” she requested as he lifted her up and spun her around. 

“Lead the way, my love.” Cass dragged him out the door and a few yards away, dramatically dropping into the grass with a giggle and John followed suit. “Haven’t gotten to just look at the stars with you in awhile.” 

“We’ve been busy. I wouldn’t mind slowing down a little,” she murmured as her cheek rested over his heart.

“Me neither. A little time away is going to be nice.” A couple weeks on safari in Tanzania followed by a couple weeks on the beaches of Zanzibar. It sounded heavenly. 

“It’s going to be perfect.”

One year ago, they had finally escaped hell. It had taken all 365 days since to learn the new intricacies of the person lying with them. To learn their new scars. To love them as equally as the old ones. To convince each other they were safe and could let their guards down again and love each other with the same reckless abandon they had back in England. They had found their way back to each other. Found their way back into the perfect synchronous dance they had mastered. Found their way permanently nestled in each other’s hearts. No longer two separate people but a union. Two halves of a whole locked into a willing embrace for the rest of time. 

They had each other. And not a worry on the horizon.

[thewintersoldierdisaster]

a/n: this one actively broke my heart while writing it and i hope i did the topic justice. title came from a song on @pyotrkochetkov ‘s barzy playlist and i just knew i had to write something angsty for it. a bunch more happy and smutty long fics and headcanons are coming! seriously, let me know what you thought of this one - much heavier and angstier than i usually write 😬 ignore any inconsistencies, i’m not an expert on this particular medical procedure or professional hockey team travel

word count: 7k

tw: miscarriage, subsequent emotions

summary: on a mini trip to vancouver to watch andrei play, you suffer the worst loss of your life. andrei is your rock throughout the ordeal

Vancouver is a fun city - maybe not as fun as Raleigh or New York, but fun nevertheless - and you’re excited that part of the Canes’ Western road trip fell close to Thanksgiving weekend so you could join in for a bit of it without having to miss too much time at work. Part of your goal this season, your first married to Andrei, is to see him play in every arena. You’ve managed a few of the east coast arenas so far, but this is your first time out west. Nykki joined you too, so it’s like a mini-girls’ trip rolled into a ‘supporting our men’ trip.

The team’s there before you and Nykki get to Vancouver, having already played in Seattle two days before. It’s actually been slightly more than a week since you’ve seen Andrei in person and you miss him a lot. You’ve been with him for four years now, so you’re used to the travel and not seeing him for chunks of time, but this week feels extra hard. Luckily, after this little West Coast swing, Andrei will be home for a good chunk of time - the quirks of the NHL schedule are always insane to you.

You and Nykki get dinner before the game, discussing her wedding plans. It’s scheduled for early August, but time is already flying. You’re a bridesmaid, but you’ve been pushing off picking a dress, knowing that it’s not going to fit you by the time the wedding happens. Your fingers curl carefully against your stomach, hidden by the table and the bulk of your sweater, your little secret.

Butterflies roll in your stomach, excitement mingling with nerves, knowing that you’re going to tell Andrei the news after the game tonight. It’s so early in your marriage, and you’re definitely freaking out a little bit, but the idea of a little baby that looks like Andrei is enough to help the excitement win out.

“Martin wants to do Bali for the honeymoon,” Nykki tells you while you find your way to your seats. You bought tickets for the lower bowl, wanting to be in the middle of the crowd and all the excitement. The Canucks fans are already a little rowdy, with warmups halfway over. There’s a few Canes jerseys smattered through the crowd, but it’s certainly an uneven match.

You sip at your overly large Coke, your stomach turning a little. Dinner isn’t sitting right with you, but it’s manageable for now. “Bali’s nice, I mean, so I’ve heard. But what’s the weather like in August?”

Nykki points at you, her other fingers wrapped around her beer can. “That’s what I said! I thought it would be unbearably hot and humid, but apparently it’s gorgeous - 86 and barely any rain,” she grins. “I promised he could be in charge of the honeymoon, so I think we’re going to Bali.”

“Well,” you smirk back, “there are worse places to spend two weeks with your gorgeous NHL player husband, Nyk.”

She laughs and takes a sip of her beer, eyes twinkling. “You have a point there. How about you and Andrei? What are the big summer vacation plans?”

You pause, thinking of an answer because you’re anticipating having a newborn this summer, so a vacation isn’t likely to happen. Andrei’s been floating the idea of a mini European tour - hitting Rome and Paris for a few days each before heading to Russia for a little bit to visit family. But you haven’t really committed to plans since it’s only November and you have plenty of time. “We haven’t really talked about it,” you answer Nykki truthfully. “Drei’s been focused on the season and I’ve been busy with work. He doesn’t like to plan anything before the end of the regular season anyway.”

“Superstition,” Nykki sing-songs, putting her beer in the cup holder as she stands for the anthems. You get to your feet, pulling off your baseball hat and holding it over your heart, humming along with both anthems. You shift your weight from foot to foot, stretching out your lower back a little.

The puck drops and the game starts - Andrei’s almost immediately put in the penalty box, complaining and shouting at the ref the entire time he skates over. His hands fly in the air as he gestures, but his passion isn’t moving the ref at all and he takes his seat in the box, slumping down. You laugh, shaking your head affectionately. He’s a sweetheart off-ice, but on the ice, Andrei is a borderline criminal. He’s leading the team in penalty minutes and you’ve definitely heard plenty about how he doesn’t deserve it.

The game clock ticks down, Andrei’s released from the box and immediately scores on a breakaway. You and Nykki jump from your seats, screaming and cheering with the Canes up one to nothing. The Vancouver fans around you glare and chirp, but you and Nykki just laugh, giving back as good as you get.

It’s pure fun to be supporting the visiting team and you and Nykki thoroughly enjoy yourselves, dancing to the music and gossiping during TV timeouts and slower moments. Nykki gets another beer and you refill your soda, your stomach still acting up. The popcorn Nykki gets is too salty and you end up joining the crowd when they start throwing their own snacks at the refs. It’s a penalty called on the Canucks, which is good news for you, but the crowds enthusiasm is infectious.

The fans of the Canadian teams are definitely a little more intense and vocal with their displeasure with the refs, you’ve noticed. A particularly obscene chant breaks out when Brady dances around one of the Canucks’ defensemen to set up a powerplay goal for Brent Burns.

You and Nykki throw your arms up and cheer, screaming yourselves silly. Your stomach cramps a little and it puts a damper on the celebration and also serves as a reminder that you really need to see a GI doctor to determine if you’re actually lactose intolerant or if you have a gluten allergy. You grimace and sit back down, clenching your stomach a little, which seems to help. The rest of the second period flies by and the boys are up two to one.

The people around you start to shuffle off to get more food or go to the bathroom, now that the second intermission has started. You finish the rest of your soda and shift in your seat. Nykki looks over at you curiously. “You okay? You seem like you’re kind of uncomfortable,” she says, twisting her hair back into a ponytail.

“I’m fine,” you hum. “My back is killing me though. I must’ve tweaked it on the flight over.”

“You want an Advil?” Nykki’s already shaking around her purse and you can hear things rattling around.

“Let me go refill my drink, pee, and then yeah, I’ll take an Advil,” you reply, holding the reusable cup to your chest and getting out of your seat. Nykki pulls her knees to the side and you scoot past her, stopping when she makes a little noise. “What?”

“Babe, I think you need a tampon too,” she whispers, gesturing to the back of your jeans.

Your eyebrows draw together. You’re not getting your period anymore. “Tamp-?” The word catches in your throat and your eyes go wide. Your mind spins as the pieces start clicking into place and, as if to serve as the final kick in the ass sign, your lower stomach twists unpleasantly with a sharp cramp. Tears fill your eyes and you reach down to grab Nykki’s hand. “Um, surprise, I’m pregnant, but maybe see should go to the hospital or an urgent care?”

Half a dozen emotions cross Nykki’s face before it settles on shock, but all you can focus on now is the persistent cramping in your stomach. The cramping that’s been bothering you all day and you ignored, thinking nothing of it. God, you’re a terrible mother already.

“Okay, okay,” Nykki jumps to her feet, squeezing your fingers and dragging you out of the row and up the stairs to the main concourse. Her other hand is gripping her phone tightly and she’s jabbing at it with her thumb. “I’m calling an Uber. The hospital is like a ten minute drive.”

You nod, feeling numb as Nykki drags you along, your feet stumbling to keep up as you dart around the people waiting in lines for the bathroom and for food. How could your whole night - your whole life - have just taken a complete one-eighty in the matter of minutes. The cold Vancouver air hits your face like a slap, shocking some feeling back into your body. You wish it hadn’t.

The cramping is worse, the feeling between your legs - blood - like free bleeding during your period, but worse, so much worse.

Your stomach lurches and you rip your hand from Nykki’s grasp, bending at the waist and vomiting into a bush next to the entrance to the arena. “Oh, it’s going to be okay. Let it out,” Nykki’s voice is soothing and she rubs a hand in between your shoulder blades while your stomach seizes and you vomit again, spitting into the dirt.

Tears streak down your cheeks and your throat burns now. “I want Andrei,” you whisper, heart clenching with grief.

“Let’s get you to the hospital,” Nykki guides you towards the rideshare pick-up area, where a four-door sedan is already waiting. “I’ll get a hold of him somehow, but let’s take care of you first, okay?”

You let her bundle you into the backseat of the car and swallow back your tears, pressing the heels of your palms into your eyes hard enough to see starbursts. Forcing yourself to take a deep breath, you try to calm down, you don’t know what’s happening for sure. Even though it feels very much like the end of something, you have to find a little piece of hope to keep yourself sane. The driver catches your eye in the rear view mirror as he pulls out of the arena parking lot, his mouth twisted down in a concerned frown even as his eyes are slightly judgmental. He’s driving you from a hockey game to a hospital - god knows what he’s thinking about you.

Nykki squeezes your knee and smiles gently at you, even as she’s typing on her phone with her other hand. “It’s still intermission, no one’s going to have their phone on them, but I’m trying to see if I can get through to one of the trainers or something. Just stay calm and we’ll figure it out,” she’s no-nonsense and you’re so grateful for her taking control of the situation.

Your lower back complains as the driver hits a pothole and another leak of fluid rushes between your legs. The drive is too long and too short all at once and before you know it, you’re being admitted to the Vancouver General Hospital emergency room and deposited on a bed, a curtain drawn around you. A nurse with warm, sympathetic eyes and a kind smile does your intake, her lips twisting to to side as you’re answering her questions.

“I just found out a few days ago,” you whisper, starting your fingers together. “I haven’t even told my husband.”

“Mrs. Svechnikov,” the nurse pats your arm comfortingly, “we really don’t know anything for sure until we get an ultrasound. Try not to put added stress on your body.”

You don’t even bother correcting her about your last name, the Russian name sounding strange in her Canadian accent. Nykki comes behind the curtain, clutching her phone. “There’s about ten minutes left in the third,” she says. “I can’t get ahold of anyone, but I’ll keep trying.”

“We’re going to get an OB down here and check everything out, okay?” The nurse says kindly, but brusquely, and then disappears back into the main emergency room. You roll your neck so your cheek is resting on your shoulder and a few tears leak out of your eyes.

“You didn’t leave any messages or anything for Andrei, right?” You ask. “I don’t want him to see and freak out.”

Nykki brushes your hair off your forehead and shakes her head. “No, I left a few messages for Martin to call me as soon as he could. I figure I’ll get to Andrei that way. Do you need anything?”

“Just Andrei,” you hiccup a sob, pressing a shaking hand to your mouth. Your other hand hovers over your stomach, afraid to touch it. The bleeding hasn’t stopped, so despite what the nurse said, you know it’s a miscarriage. Your stomach rolls and you press your lips together tightly so you don’t vomit.

“I’ll get him here as fast as I can,” Nykki reassures you. While you wait for the OB, she absently braids your hair back from your face, tying it off in an efficient, utilitarian French braid down your back. She talks as she works, trying to distract you, and you’re grateful for her efforts even if they don’t work. All you can think about is the little life that had been growing in you just a few hours ago. Your heart lurches painfully when you realize Andrei’s going to find out about the pregnancy and the loss all at once.

The OB is a middle-aged Black woman with a slight Canadian accent who introduces herself as Doctor Hayes and she doesn’t sugarcoat the news, which you appreciate. “I’m very sorry, Mrs. Svechnikov,” she sighs, looking very much like she hates this part of her job. “But you are actively miscarrying right now. We’re going to admit you overnight for monitoring and will reevaluate in the morning.”

Your entire body goes cold at her words and you grip Nykki’s hand - you hadn’t let her leave your side, terrified to be alone. A cramp rips through your lower body and you bite your lip hard enough to draw blood. “What-“ your voice is hoarse and you clear your throat, trying again, “what, um, are the next steps?”

Doctor Hayes rests her hands on the guard railing on your bed. “Well, we’ll have you on a hydration IV throughout the night while we monitor the miscarriage. There may be a need for a D and C, to make sure it’s complete and there’s no tissue left behind.” Your face blanches as she talks. “But all of that will depend on what happens tonight.”

“Thank you,” you murmur and she pats your hand gently, sympathetically, as she leaves. You can hear her giving the nurse instructions and you slump back against the pillows, completely drained.

Nykki checks her Apple Watch and grimaces. “It’s Martin. I’ll be right back, okay?”

“Be gentle with Andrei, okay?” You reply, desperately wanting him at your side, but also wanting to protect him from this heartbreak a little longer.

She’s back in a few minutes, after the nurse has started you on an IV. “Martin’s going to bring him over,” she says, sitting carefully on the edge of the bed. “I didn’t tell him why you were here, just that you started to not feel well during the second,” she says. “It sounded like Andrei was halfway out the door before Martin could finish his sentence.”

You nod faintly. That sounds like Andrei. “I hope they don’t get slammed by Rod for leaving…” You twist your wedding rings around your finger, the diamonds catching the fluorescent lighting.

“They won’t,” Nykki says firmly. “He’d have to be a real bastard to punish Andrei for coming to the hospital for you. Besides, someone should’ve been available to get Andrei here earlier! It’s ridiculous.”

“Let him have an extra hour of normalcy,” you sigh, shifting on the bed, sore and uncomfortable.

You’re moved into a private room and given a hospital gown that bares your entire back and ass. A giant pad that’s probably as big as a damn puppy pee pad is wedged in between your legs to contain the bleeding and the IV is tugging unpleasantly at your skin. Nykki’s waiting downstairs to bring Andrei directly to you and you hope he’s here soon because now that you’re alone, the reality of the situation is sinking in and your chest is starting to feel tight. You turn your head and try to bury your face in the pillow, but you catch a whiff of the lingering Tom Ford Lost Cherry perfume you’d applied earlier mixed with antiseptic and sterile hospital smell and your brain briefly registers that it’s a shame, because you really love this perfume and now you’ll never be able to wear it again. Your heart thumps painfully in your chest, a reminder that you’re losing more and more of your baby with each passing second.

You hear him before you see him, the pounding of his footsteps echoing through the hallways. He’s running down the hall, that much is clear, and when you look over at the door, you catch the blur of Andrei skipping completely past your room before he doubles back and skids to a stop in the doorway.

He looks terrible - hair still damp with sweat, the red mark across his forehead from his helmet is still prominent, and he looks like he got dressed in the dark - or an extreme hurry - in a pair of basketball shorts and his button down with the buttons done up all wrong. But it’s the look of complete panic in his eyes that scares you the most. Andrei never looks that panicked.

“Solnyshka,” he breathes, his shoulders dropping from around his ears. In three long strides he’s at your side, holding your hand, and you finally feel like you can breathe.

“Hi,” you whisper before bursting into tears.

“Hi,” he replies softly, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. His grip is almost painful, but you welcome it as you hiccup. “What’s going on, solnyshka?”

Insanely, the only words that come out of your mouth are, “your shirt is buttoned wrong.”

Andrei looks surprised, “what?” he asks absently as his gaze flickers down to his shirt. He shakes his head, “I rush. Solnyshka,” his voice is high and nervous, “what is going on? Neci didn’t know anything. Just that you’re here, in hospital.”

“I…Andrei, I’m so sorry,” the words rush out of your mouth on a flood of fresh tears. “I was pregnant and now I’m not. I lost the baby.”

You’re not even sure if Andrei can even understand you, you’re crying so hard. But one glance at his face and the completely shattered expression it wears, and you know he understood you. His fingers tighten around yours and he’s shaking his head, hair falling forward over his forehead.

“What? I don’t - a baby?” He rubs at his forehead with his other hand, eyebrows pinched together in confusion. “When did you - why didn’t -“

He can’t seem to get a full sentence out and it only makes you cry harder, your entire body hurting with the effort. You know what he’s asking though.

“Last week,” you manage. “The day after you left. I was going to tell you tonight, but…” You trail off, shrugging one shoulder.

Andrei’s head hangs, chin to chest, and he makes a little noise in the back of his throat. “I’m so sorry, milaya,” he says, voice hoarse. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here.”

The worst of your tears are drying up and you shake your head. “It’s not…I had Nyk. I hate that you had to find out like this. Baby and then no baby, all at once,” your voice cracks and you trace the little embroidered A.S. on his cuff, barely able to look at him.

Your husband sighs and drops his head so he can rest his forehead against yours. He smells like sweat and fear and Old Spice and your throat clogs with emotion again. “I thought…” he breathes. “I hear hospital and I think the worst. I thought the worst.”

This is the worst, you think. The worst possible thing. But you know what he means, that he thought something even more awful had happened to you, that he was worried he lost you because he didn’t know there was something else to lose.

Andrei’s lips brush against your cheek, soft and delicate, the rasp of his stubble a stark contrast. You sit like that, foreheads touching, for who knows how long. Andrei doesn’t cry, but his chest hitches and you think he might, maybe, when it all sinks in. You’re all cried out and now there’s just bone-deep exhaustion.

“i’m tired,” you murmur, the words getting lost between you.

Andrei nods against your forehead and pulls back, looking like it takes him a huge effort to sit back up. He cups your cheek and his thumb strokes a careful arc over your cheekbone. You lean into the familiar gesture, comforted. “Sleep, okay? I’ll…I have to call Rod. Get my stuff. I’ll take care of everything,” his voice is steady, but his eyes are clouded.

You nod, your eyelids already closing. Andrei gets up and brushes his lips over your forehead, murmuring that he loves you. Once he’s outside the room, you can hear him talking quietly to Nykki and Martin, but your grief and exhaustion pull you under before you can really concentrate on what he’s saying.

Sleep doesn’t last and you’re awake again after a few hours. You blink awake blearily, confused for a second before everything comes rushing back. Andrei’s scrunched up in a chair in the corner, his chin propped up on the palm of his hand, eyes shut. He changed in the time since he left, now dressed in a pair of jeans and a plain black t-shirt. His legs are kicked out in front of him, a pair of white sneakers on his feet. You don’t want to wake him, but when you shift, a sharp pain pierces your side and you gasp loudly before biting down hard on your tongue to muffle the noise. It doesn’t work and Andrei’s eyes fly open, his entire body jerking.

“Hey,” he’s at your side in a second, “what hurts? I call a nurse?” His accent is thick with sleep and worry.

You shake your head, the pain subsiding. “I’m fine.” And you are, the worst of the cramps are gone, leaving just a vague soreness and uncomfortable tightness in your chest and stomach. “You should’ve gone back to the hotel.”

“And leave you?” Andrei looks at you like you’re crazy. He shakes his head. “I got my bag and Nykki brought yours back. Do you want anything?”

“No,” you reach for his hand and lace your fingers together. “I just want to go home.”

He nods, looking exhausted. “Me too. I spoke to Rod, if you’re discharged later today then you come with us on the plane. If not, I stay and come home with you when you’re ready,” his lips quirk up at the corner when you start to protest. “Is decided, solnyshka. I’m not leaving your side.”

“But…” you trail off, all the arguments that you can think of fading when you realize that you don’t want to be separated from Andrei, not right now. “Okay,” you whisper.

“Good,” he chuckles under his breath. “I don’t want to argue with you.”

“No arguments from me,” you reply dryly, rolling your head so your cheek is on the pillow and you can look directly at him. “Why don’t you try and sleep some more? I’m not going anywhere.”

His jaw tightens a bit. “Can’t sleep,” he replies, even though you had just seen him asleep. “If the doctor comes, I want to be awake.”

You nod again, sore and tired, and Andrei just sits with you quietly for a while before you think to ask, “how was the game?”

He snorts. “We won, but who cares?” It’s such an unexpected answer - Andrei’s never not cared about winning a game - and it startles you into silence.

A nurse comes in a few minutes later, saving you from having to find an answer. She introduces herself as Kayla and speaks in a soft, but firm tone. You’re starting to recognize the undercurrent of apology and sympathy in the nurses and doctors’ tones and you’re beginning to hate it. Andrei doesn’t let go of your hand while she checks your vitals and puts another bag of saline on the IV pole. “The OB will be in soon to do another ultrasound and see if you need a D and C,” Kayla says gently. “But everything else looks good. You won’t be staying another night and I would guess that you’ll be out of here by early afternoon at the latest, either way.”

You nod robotically, not really absorbing what she’s saying. By this afternoon, everything will be over and you’ll for sure, 100% not be pregnant anymore. It’s a gut punch, even though you knew this was coming. Andrei asks the nurse a few more questions before she leaves, but you don’t really listen, focusing on a small stain on a ceiling tile. It looks like nothing at all, just a blob of brown, but the more you stare at it, the more your vision unfocuses, the more it starts to look like one of those stereotypical ultrasound blobs.

You don’t even realize that you’re crying again until Andrei wipes the tears from your cheeks. “Try and sleep again,” he murmurs, chewing at the inside of his cheek. “I think you’ll need strength.”

“Can you get me some water?” You ask, running your hands over the braid Nykki had done. It’s so messy and it feels like she fixed it a million years ago, but it was only four or five hours. It feels like another lifetime, sitting in the arena and joking around with her. From halfway through second intermission to a hospital room at 2 a.m. Certainly not how you were picturing the end of your trip to Vancouver.

You think you must fall asleep again because the next thing you know, there’s sun coming through the window and Andrei’s at your side again, his large hand resting on the top of your head, cradling the crown. Unfamiliar doctors and nurses are in the room and they all speak to you and Andrei, but the only words you hear are “incomplete miscarriage” and “quick procedure” before you’re being shuffled off to an operating room. It all happens too fast for you to even be scared and the last thing you remember before the anesthesia is Andrei by your ear, whispering in Russian to you, the spicy scent of his deodorant filling your senses.

Andrei’s there again, when you wake up, eyes looking red and face drawn. You’re barely conscious, but the sigh of relief he exhales permeates the fog. His hand is warm in yours and you manage a weak smile at him. “Hey there handsome,” you croak and he laughs weakly. “Miss me?”

“You…” Andrei coughs, “I love you very much.”

“Love you,” your words slur a bit. “I wanna go home.”

“Soon, solnyshka,” Andrei promises, stroking your hair. “Soon.” He’s still stroking your hair when you fall asleep again.

When you wake up again, the overwhelming sense of emptiness is what you notice first. Then Andrei comes into focus again, his weight of his head resting on your leg, his hand on your hip. You’re not sure if he’s awake or not, but you gently run your fingers through his hair and he looks over at you, shifting.

“Hi,” he murmurs, dark circles under his eyes.

“Hi,” you rasp back, fingers still working through his hair.

“How do you feel?”

“Sore, tired,” you hesitate, “empty.”

“Yeah,” Andrei’s reply is barely an exhale. “Doctor said we can go, once they give you the all-clear.”

You nod, chewing at your lower lip. “Andrei,” you choke his name, the words coming out like broken glass, “we don’t have a baby anymore.”

“I know,” Andrei replies simply, sitting up all the way and leaning forward to gather you into his arms. You go to him easily, moving carefully and ignoring the pull of your protesting muscles, and bury your face against his chest. He’s in the same black t-shirt and he smells stale now, like he needs a shower desperately, but under that he just smells like Andrei, like home, and you cry into his chest, the fabric growing wet under your face. He just holds you, his arms a strong cage around your back, his hands running up and down your back. Everything in your body hurts, but nothing more than your heart.

Throughout the next few hours, when you’re given a clean bill of health, instructions to take it easy and abstain from sex or using a tampon for three weeks, and discharged, Andrei is a rock. He’s right at your side, helping you get dressed in the soft joggers you were using as pajama pants and an oversized hoodie. He laces up your sneakers for you and carries all the bags out to the waiting Uber. You were discharged in time to make the team flight home, but after hearing Andrei on the phone before the doctor came in for your exam, you kind of suspect that he may have pressed Rod to change the travel plans. You can’t even start to think about what he’s done for you, exhaustion seeping to your bones.

No one says anything to you when Andrei ushers you onto the plane, but Neci gives you a small smile and squeezes your hand when you walk past him. You return the smile, feeling awful that Nykki has to fly home on her own. She’s been texting, checking in on you, and you haven’t answered yet, too distracted to deal with even holding your phone. Andrei bundles you into a seat near the back of the plane and wraps his jacket around you.

“Thanks,” you say quietly, resting your head against his shoulder.

“Anything for you, solnyshka,” he presses a kiss to the top of your head. “Try and sleep, long flight. I have the pain pills, if you need, okay?”

You nod against his shoulder and wrap his jacket tighter around your body, tucking your hands up into the sleeves. Andrei rests his palm on your knee and before the plane even takes off, you’re asleep.

It’s a long flight back to Raleigh and you don’t sleep the entire way, but after a solid three hour nap, you wake up feeling better. Andrei’s asleep when you wake up, his head dropped back against the headrest, his mouth open slightly. He finally looks relaxed and peaceful and you’re grateful, so grateful, for him.

Your whole body still hurts, but your legs are starting the cramp up, so you carefully shimmy out of your seat to stretch in the aisle. Brady and Jarvy wave at you from a few rows up and you wave back, wondering what they know, if they know anything. No one really tries to talk to you, so you assume Andrei told them that you had some kind of medical emergency. Legs feeling better, you settle back into your seat, finally pulling out your phone and connecting to the in-flight wifi so you can text Nykki.

She reassures you that none of the other guys know what happened and that if you need anything when you’re back in Raleigh to let her know. You’re blessed to have such a good friend in her and you thank her, thinking that maybe in a few days you’ll see if she’ll bring Gigi over for some puppy cuddles.

Andrei wakes up about and hour before you land and he gulps back half of a water bottle before he even says anything. Then he tips his head close to yours and whispers, “how are you feeling? Any pain?”

“No,” you whisper back, “I’m okay. Just sore. It’s like being drained after a really bad period. I feel better after my nap.”

“Good,” he pushes the half-empty water bottle into your hands. “Drink.”

“Yes, sir,” you tease, the moment of lightness making you feel a little better. You sip at it slowly, starting to get a little nauseous. Andrei wraps his arm around your shoulder and you lean against him, drawing comfort from his solid warmth.

When you land, Andrei guides you off the plane, his palm reassuring against your lower back. It’s easy to let him take the lead and to not think about anything. He’s got both of your bags and you don’t even put up a fuss when he refuses to let you carry even your purse. You’re just too tired.

Andrei’s car is parked fairly close and you don’t have to walk very far. You lower yourself into the front seat of the Lamborghini, muttering, “I hate this car.” Your stomach gives a protest of pain from having to climb into the car.

“I know,” Andrei laughs a little, loosening up. His string of ugly sports cars is a long running topic of conversation. The last one was orange, the one before that a strange green. This one is electric purple and it’s hideous. His terrible taste in car colors is his only red flag. “Next one will be red.”

“Why couldn’t this one have been red?” You ask, breathing deeply to stave off the nausea. You sink back against the seat and Andrei pulls out of the parking spot. He’s driving must slower than usual and is taking extreme care with navigating the roads.

“This one was only 75 made,” he explains again. “It’s a collectors item.”

“It’s still ugly,” you tease, a smile playing at your lips.

He reaches over and takes your hand, bringing it up to his mouth to kiss your knuckles. “I love you so much, moya solnyshka, and I’m so…proud of your strength.”

Andrei doesn’t look at you when he says it, but his voice gets thick and he swallows roughly. He continues, “it hurts to know there would’ve been a baby in the summer.” So he did the math, you think. “But, this is maybe the wrong thing to say, but I’m glad I didn’t know before.”

It’s not really the right thing to say to you in the moment, but you can’t blame him. You sniff and nod. “I know. I almost wish I hadn’t known either. It was only a week, but I was so attached to…to the idea of our baby.”

“When you’re ready,” Andrei says slowly, turning to look at you while you’re stopped at a red light, “you tell me and I’ll give you a baby. When you’re ready.”

You nod, unable to even think about trying for a baby right now, but Andrei’s words and his earnest expression make your heart melt. You love him so, so much. “When I’m ready,” you repeat, squeezing his fingers.

When you get home, Andrei runs you a shower and joins you after a minute, soaping up your hair and scrubbing down your body gently. You don’t speak while he works and his touch is nothing but chaste. He’s careful around your stomach and between your legs, impossibly gentle with those huge hands of his. You stand under the spray while he gives his own body and hair a quick wash, the heat of the shower starting to make you a little lightheaded. Right before it gets to the point where you think you’re going to have to say something, Andrei flips the water off and reaches out of the stall for a huge, fluffy towel, wrapping you up in it and rubbing his hands up and down your arms to keep you warm. He grabs another towel and wraps it around his waist, gripping your elbow and guiding you back to the bedroom.

You rummage in his drawers for oversized clothes, not wanting anything constrictive on your body. Once you’re comfortable in an old pair of Andrei’s grey sweats and a threadbare Duke t-shirt, you crawl under the covers and curl up on your side. “Join me?” You ask, looking up at Andrei. He nods, silently climbing into bed behind you and gently scooting you closer to him. The warmth of his body is comforting against your back and he wraps his arms loosely under your breasts, avoiding your stomach. Andrei buried his face in your hair and you let a few silent tears leak out of your eyes.

What did you do to deserve this wonderful man?

With Andrei’s arms around you and your heart heavy in your chest, you fall asleep again, but it’s unsatisfying. After a few hours, you need food even though you’re still nauseous. Andrei makes himself a sandwich and warms up a can of chicken soup for you and you eat in bed, a rerun of The Nanny on TV. Andrei doesn’t really get the show - the humor is too specific - but he does like to point out all the outfits that Fran wear and he thinks you can pull off. It’s a nice distraction.

You take the next few days off of work, just to recover, but Andrei isn’t as lucky. You’re mostly fine physically except some lingering soreness, most of your problems are mental. After talking about it on the way home, neither you not Andrei has really brought up the miscarriage.

Two days after the miscarriage, the team is playing at home and Andrei’s right there in the middle of it all. You don’t watch the game, still too raw to watch hockey after what happened in Vancouver, so it’s a little shocking when he comes home with a blackened right eye and a cut across his nose and part of his cheek. “What happened?” You yelp upon seeing him, getting carefully to your feet and reaching up to lightly touch the side of his face.

Andrei grunts. “Distracted, got hit,” he winces when he moves his face.

You feel awful, knowing he was distracted because he was worrying about you. “Luckily it didn’t need stitches,” you say softly. “Can’t have anything ruining that pretty face,” you tease him lightly.

He gives you a tight smile and his gaze flickers down to your stomach, covered in an oversized sweatshirt. You catch his look and brush your thumb over the edge of his jaw. “I’m okay. You don’t have to worry about me so much,” you say. “I’m tough. I’m strong.”

“I know,” Andrei sighs, dropping a kiss to your forehead. He hesitates, wanting to say more, and you wait. “At the game,” he says slowly, “Burnsie, Staalsy, they had their kids there. I couldn’t help…I was picturing…”

Oh.

Your heart cracks right over the scabs that had been forming the past two days and fresh pain floods your veins. “Drei…” you’re not even sure what to say to him. You knew he was sad, but you hadn’t really thought about how deep his feelings went.

He smiles sadly at you. “Today, it hit me,” he says, twisting his lips. “We lost a baby.”

“Yeah,” you reply, throat tight. “We did.”

Andrei pulls you close, twisting his hand in the end of your ponytail. “I wasn’t expecting it to hurt like this, when I didn’t even know for very long,” he murmurs and you can feel a few tears drip onto the top of your head. You wrap your arms around his waist tighter.

“I don’t think that matters,” you mumble. “It hurts no matter how long you knew about it.”

You can feel Andrei’s head turn, his cheek pressing against the top of your head. You just stand there in his arms, holding tightly to the only other person that’s feeling the same pain as you. The longer Andrei holds you, the more you feel your fragile heart mending itself, the steady beat of his heart a constant under your cheek.

After that, things slowly start getting back to normal. You’re physically healed and cleared to resume normal activities. Andrei’s not so distracted during games. You can go hours, days without thinking about the baby that’s gone.

Andrei mentions it, off-hand, about a month after you get home from Vancouver, after he’s back from another quick road trip. “We could’ve been telling our families about the baby at Christmas,” he’s clearly been thinking about it.

You nod, a little startled by his comment. “Probably, yeah. Or we would’ve told them already, too excited to keep a secret,” you smile a little to yourself, thinking about how Andrei almost spoiled his proposal twice before he actually popped the question because he was so excited.

He grins at you, dimple popping, and pushes a slim box across the table at you. “Early Christmas present,” he says, answering your unasked question.

Looking at him suspiciously, you pop the lid on the jewelry box, finding a thin gold chain bracelet with two delicate charms on it - the common blue and white Greek mati to ward off the evil eye and a little horizontal cross attached at each end to the chain. You trace your fingers over the chain and look up at Andrei.

“A little luck?” He says, lifting one shoulder. “I saw it in a store window, in Long Island, before we played. Made me think of you.”

“Thank you,” you murmur, getting out of your seat to kiss him softly. You trace your tongue over his lower lip and desire stirs in your stomach, something foreign after the last few weeks, but oh so familiar. You’re not quite ready to have sex yet, but it’s a good reminder that you will one day soon. “It’s perfect.” You hold out your wrist and Andrei clasps the bracelet on.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he says, reminding you of the promise he made in the car.

“Whenever I’m ready,” you repeat, crawling onto his lap and letting him hold you. The thought of getting pregnant again doesn’t make your chest feel quite as tight anymore, doesn’t get the panic alarms ringing in your head. Andrei’s been so patient and gentle, making everything just a little bit easier to bear.

Every day just reminds you that as long as Andrei’s by your side, you can handle anything life throws at you.

He kisses the side of your head and holds you close, chasing the shadows of grief away.

[henriettarhippo-hrh]

Miracles on Ice - chapter update

Getting so close to the end now

New chapter here

Next chapter is a doozy and I am both excited and terrified to write it

Extract:

“To clarify, Crowley, you’re no longer involved with the blonde woman you’d been seen with late last year?”

Crowley felt Aziraphale’s hand go lax, he took hold of it more firmly as he leant towards the mic. “No. She and I were just friends, nothing more.”

There was a smattering of confused murmurs and the bearded man raised a brow.

“And the other women you were rumoured to be dating? Like Charlotte Digby, for instance?”

Crowley sat up straighter, ignoring the insistent blinking of cameras. “Charlotte and I were just friends, that is correct.”

“Did you actually date any of the women you claimed to?”

Crowley bristled. “I don’t believe I’ve ever formally claimed to be dating anyone until now.”

The rumbling intensified as reporters shuffled through their notes. Crowley’s leg started bouncing anxiously beneath the table and he clung to Aziraphale’s hand like a lifeline. 

A man in the front row cleared his throat. “Do you not think it’s a bit…inappropriate, shall we say, to make such deliberate choices that led your fans to believe you’d had all these romantic entanglements with women, only for you to come out as gay?”

Crowley flushed. “I’m…I haven’t, that’s—”

“It just feels quite deceptive on your part.”

“It was never my intention to—”

“Don’t you think you should apologise to the fans who’ve supported you all these years?”

Crowley heaved a sigh through his nose. “Of course. I’m incredibly sorry for any—”

“Don’t apologise.”

Aziraphale's low growl stunned Crowley into silence. The hand holding his squeezed tightly and Aziraphale leant towards his mic, fixing the crowd with a cold stare.

“He doesn’t owe any of you or the fans an apology,” Aziraphale said. “None of you are entitled to details about his private life. He's not to blame for stories you fabricated about him or anyone else. Crowley has worked extraordinarily hard to reach this point, and I won't allow anyone to make him feel guilty over the lies your gossip-peddling publications printed to chase a tantalising story.”

The reporters fidgeted in their seats while they took down Aziraphale’s words. Crowley stared at him, his heart swelling. Aziraphale caught his gaze and gave him the softest smile, brushing his thumb over the back of Crowley’s hand.

Crowley leant in instinctively before catching himself as the cameras flashed. He bit his lip.

Fuck it, he thought. It’s not like they didn’t already have a photo of them kissing. 

Crowley captured Aziraphale’s lips in a fleeting kiss. Spots dotted his vision from the sheer number of camera flashes that followed; some of the reporters whooped and applauded. 

When they parted, Aziraphale was blushing lightly and Crowley couldn’t resist stealing another kiss.

Or start at the beginning

[flameo-fanfic]

Ripples of Destiny

Book 1 : Chapter 1 The Boy in the Iceberg

The south sun was rising on the snow-smattered ice and I was once again taking in the view, longing for the days when the rays had shone through vibrant leaves, for the days when my mother would call to me over the rushing river bends and my father would guide me home. The days are long here, and so are the nights, and they’re both just as cold. It has been just shy of three years of living in the Southern Water Tribe and I’m still getting used to the chill.

The voices of the village waking up filled the early air, gentle like the dawning light. Katara and Sokka were already out fishing for food. Knowing their bickering antics, it would take longer than intended, so here I sat in my own peace, awaiting their return so that I could begin feeding the many women and children who were also left behind by the warriors of the tribe. I spent many mornings like this, alone in my memories. Then, everything changed when a beam of light etched through the horizon, breaking my trance.

I wouldn’t have been surprised if the Northern Water Tribe saw that blast of light. The village was worried, we didn’t know what it was. Gran-Gran found me in her concern that Sokka and Katara weren’t back yet, so we waited agreeing if they weren’t back by nightfall that I would go out looking for them. When the siblings finally returned, our concerns ebbed as our questions were answered. It was an airbender.

“He was stuck in the ice?” I questioned my friends as we helped the unconscious boy take a rest in one of the extra tents.

“Isn’t it amazing? An airbender! Maybe he can teach us, Kaida.” Katara beamed almost as bright as that unnatural light at the thought of finally having a master. I had to admit, this was an exciting discovery and it would be nice to have a bending master fall right into our laps, but I couldn’t help but to be a little suspicious considering he bursted out of an iceberg.

“Let’s get to know him a little bit first, yeah Katara?” She didn’t seem to let my tepid response affect her mood. She’s always been a stubborn optimist.

We waited for the boy from the iceberg to wake up, and when he finally did we had all gathered around to meet him. I was actually quite nervous. I’ve always respected the air nomads, at least from what I heard of them through stories, but I never thought I’d get the chance to meet one.

“Aang, this is the entire village.” Katara gestured to our remaining people. “Entire village, this is Aang.” Everyone but me had cowered a bit, not being used to meeting outsiders, let alone one that was thought to have been extinct. A pang rang in my heart as I remembered the day I arrived at the Southern Water Tribe and how hesitant everyone was to accept me, so I decided to respond with my own bow of respect for our new guest.

“Uh, why are they looking at me like that? Did Appa sneeze on me?” He was checking his clothes for bison snot when Gran-Gran stepped forward.

“Well, no one has seen an airbender in a hundred years. We thought they were extinct, until my granddaughter and grandson found you.”

“Extinct?” Aang exclaimed. I couldn’t help but think this was a strange reaction considering the general knowledge was that the air nomads had been murdered by the fire nation, but I decided to keep my questions to myself.

“Aang, this is my grandmother.” Katara gestured towards the elderly woman, ignoring his shock.

“Call me Gran-Gran.” The interaction was deadpan.

Sokka walked toward Aang and abruptly snatched his staff out of his hands, examining it.

“What is this, a weapon? You can't stab anything with this!”

“It's not for stabbing! It's for airbending.” Aang snatched his staff back with a gentle gust of wind before revealing the red fans hidden within the staff.

“Wow…” I said, amazed and waiting to witness more.

“Magic trick! Do it again!” The little ones were just as excited as I was, they only expressed it more outwardly.

“Not magic, airbending.” He moved his glider around him, visually demonstrating what he was talking about. “It lets me control the air currents around my glider and fly.”

“Ya know, last time I checked, humans can't fly!”

This comment had me jabbing my elbow into Sokka’s ribs, earning me a baffled look. Aang smiled before challenging Sokka. “Check again!”

Aang grabbed hold of his glider and pushed himself off the ground, leaving Katara, Sokka, and me to cover our faces against the sudden wind. The village stared in awe as Aang made some loops and turns in the sky.

“He’s flying!” Aang made another loop and sped up to soar past the gazing villagers. “It’s amazing!”

Aang's shadow passed over Katara and I, who were smiling at him. Aang, intending to further impress the villagers, flew sideways and closed his eyes while grinning broadly. He promptly flew head-on into the village's watchtower, causing his head to be stuck in its side. Katara covered her mouth as she watched Aang struggle to extricate his head from the icy watchtower. Succeeding, he tumbled downward onto a pile of snow at the base of the tower that crumbled from the building. Katara immediately rushed to his side while Sokka stared in shock at the damage inflicted on his watchtower. “My watchtower!”

Aang lay covered in snow at the base of the partially collapsed tower. Katara and some other girls of the tribe, including myself, ran toward Aang, beaming.

Offering her hand to pull him out of the snow, Katara announced, “That was amazing!”

Sokka ran to his watchtower in an attempt to keep it from being damaged anymore, but ended up getting a huge glob of snow on top of his head.

“Great. You're an airbender, Katara and Kaida are waterbenders. Together you can just waste time all day long.” He wedged himself free from underneath the weight of the snow and stalked off muttering to himself.

Aang whipped his head towards Katara and me, “You’re waterbenders?”

“Well, sort of. Not yet.” Katara sideways glanced at me in what seemed to be embarrassment.

“We still have a lot to learn.” I said.

“All right, no more playing. Come on, Katara, you have chores.” Gran-Gran disrupted the excitement by leading Katara away from Aang and I. The rest of the villagers let them pass but formed a crowd around Aang almost immediately to study him.

Aang started showing off some tricks again before licking his staff, his tongue freezing to the wood. “See? Now my tongue is stuck to my staff!” One of the younger boys started yanking the staff trying to unstick Aang’s tongue from the wood. I couldn’t help but giggle at how silly the interaction was.

Eventually we dispersed, I left Aang to have fun with the villagers as I got to work doing my own chores alongside Katara. As I was bending the excess water out of the laundry I was washing, I overheard Aang ask Sokka and Katara a jarring question.

“What war? What are you talking about?”

“You're kidding, right?”

I stood up and walked towards the group as I began to ask “What do you mean what wa-“ I was cut off by Aang screeching at the sight of an otter-penguin in the distance, and he left my words in the wind behind his back. “Penguin!”

Sokka glanced at Katara and me with an annoyed, dumbfounded look. “He’s kidding, right?” Katara and I began our trek as we attempted to find the exuberant airbender. “We might have to put a bell on that kid.” I said before I began to jog in Aang’s general direction.

“Aang?” We found him in a field full of otter-penguins, chasing the cute animals over the dunes of snow. “Hey, come on little guy. Wanna go sledding?” Aang begs as he jumped on one of the penguins with little to no luck. He belly-flopped on the ice with a grunt before airbending himself back onto his feet to face us. “Heh heh. I have a way with animals.” Aang stretched his arms wide and imitated the sound and movements of the otter-penguins, making Katara and I both laugh.

“Impressive tactics.” I let out a sarcastic tease amid my giggles.

“Hehehe, Aang, I'll help you catch a penguin if you teach me and Kaida waterbending.”

Aang released the tail of a penguin that he had attempted to capture before responding to Katara’s request “You got a deal! Just one little problem ... I'm an airbender, not a waterbender. Isn't there someone in your tribe who can teach you?”

I looked over at Katara sympathetically “No. You're looking at the only waterbenders in the whole South Pole.” She said sadly, looking at her feet. “Kaida is the only one who has been able to teach me, but she hasn’t mastered waterbending, either.”

“This isn't right. A waterbender needs to master water.” He paused, and I knew what he was about to say. “What about the North Pole? There's another Water Tribe up there, right? Maybe they have waterbenders who could teach you.”

“Maybe, but we haven't had contact with our sister tribe in a long time. It's not exactly "turn right at the second glacier". It's on the other side of the world.” It was Katara’s turn to look at me with an understanding look. We’ve all lost people to the war, and it was easy to recognize it in others, even if we were only children.

“But you forget, I have a flying bison. Appa and I can personally fly you to the North Pole. Katara, Kaida, we're going to find you a master!”

Aang’s appearance in our humble lives here in the South Pole may have been a blessing. For once in my sixteen years in this world, hope was the strongest feeling in my heart. I had been yearning to go to the North Pole my entire life, yearning to learn more about my mother’s childhood, my mother’s family, and why she left home. “That’s a great idea, Aang!” I blurt out in a blitz of excitement, earning a smile from Aang.

“That's... I mean, I don't know. I've never left home before.” Katara spoke up timidly.

“Well, you think about it, but in the meantime, can you guys teach me to catch one of these penguins?”

Katara gave me a final look of consideration before turning back to Aang “Okay, listen closely my young pupil. Catching penguins is an ancient and sacred art.” She summoned a hidden fish out of her sleeve. “Observe!”

Katara threw the fish into Aang’s grasp and he stood uncomprehending as the penguins crowded him in a flurry of desire for the fresh treat in his hands.

Soon enough we were all mounted on our new rides at the top of an iceberg that we were using as a makeshift slide. The air was whipping past my ears as Katara, Aang, and I soared through the air before once again meeting solid snow. We raced down the steep slope and Aang used another iceberg as a ramp to propel him into the air, soaring over Katara and me. Our penguins bolted down the hill and we both turned onto the next iceberg, gaining a bit of speed and landing once again next to Aang as we all let out euphoric laughter.

“I haven't done this since I was a kid!” Katara gleefully shouted.

“You still are a kid,” Aang responded.

We all entered a tunnel of ice, Katara in the lead, constantly changing her direction to hold Aang and me back. Aang used his airbending to race over the ceiling past both of us, picking up the lead. There was no way Katara or I would catch up to him, so it was between us to take last place and Katara was still a bit ahead of me.

“If he can play dirty, so can I.” I thought to myself before waterbending a clump of snow into Katara’s face. My penguin flew past hers as she lost her ability to steer for a second, and I cackled in competitive pride as I watched Katara slow behind Aang and me in third place.

“That’s so unfair!” Katara lightheartedly scolded me while wiping snow off of her cheeks and waterbending her own ball of snow at me in protest of my cheating behavior. The ball had missed my face and hit my shoulder before I bantered with my friend and we used our bending to send more snow towards each other. A full-blown snowball fight would have ensued if Aang hadn’t interrupted us. “Whoa! What is that?”

Katara’s expression darkened, “A Fire Navy ship. And a very bad memory for my people.” Aang began to approach the wreckage. “Aang, stop! We're not allowed to go near it! The ship could be booby-trapped!”

“If you want to be a bender, you have to let go of fear.” I could see Katara taking his remark into consideration before stepping forward to join him. I reached out and grabbed her wrist. “Wait, Katara. This could be dangerous.” No matter how much fun I was having with my new airbending acquaintance and my best friend, I wasn’t certain venturing into an old Fire Navy ship was the best idea, and I didn’t want Katara to get hurt.

“It’ll be okay. You’re with me.” Katara gave me a gentle smile and squeezed my hand before I let go of her wrist.

“Fine. But no messing around in there, okay?” Katara and Aang nodded respectfully, agreeing to my conditions as we all slowly entered the old ship.

There was little life left in the abandoned vessel, only some small hamsters that I spotted scurrying against the edges of the walls. We soon entered a room stocked full of weapons. “This ship has haunted my tribe since Gran-Gran was a little girl.” Katara began as we spectated the weapons more closely. I picked up “It was part of the Fire Nation's first attacks.”

“Okay, back up. I have friends all over the world, even in the Fire Nation.” Aang picked up a guandao to inspect it. “I've never seen any war.”

This is the second time now Aang’s statements have confused me and I couldn’t help but feel a bit questioning of him.

“Aang, how long were you in that iceberg?” Katara asked what I was thinking.

“I don’t know. A few days, maybe?”

“I think it was more like a hundred years!”

“What?! That's impossible! Do I look like a hundred-twelve-year-old man to you?”

“No, Aang. Katara is right.”

“Think about it. The War is a century old. You don't know about it because, somehow, you were in there the whole time! It's the only explanation.” Aang’s expression was dooming as he slumped into the wall behind him.

“A hundred years! I can't believe it.” My heart broke slightly, looking down on this lost boy, one hundred years out of his time.

Katara, nurturing as she is, knelt down beside Aang. “I'm sorry, Aang. Maybe somehow there's a bright side to all this...”

“I did get to meet you.” Aang cheered up a bit, smiling warmly at Katara before averting his eyes towards me.

Katara offered him a warm smile of comfort. “Come on, let's get out of here.”

“Aang, let's head back, this place is creepy.”

“Agreed. This ship feels colder than it does out there.” I shivered, taking in my surroundings and rubbing my arms in an attempt for warmth. The metal walls felt empty and void of love, the complete opposite of the environment I was raised.

As we were heading towards the hole that we entered through, Aang tripped on an almost invisibly thin wire, causing metal bars to slam down and trap us inside.

“Huh?” Aang said as we all ran towards what would have been our exit. “What's that you said about booby traps?”

Just like Aang awakening from that iceberg, the gears of the shipwreck shifted to life. We all watched as the movements of the ship powered a flare high into the sky, exploding and alerting nearby inhabitants.

“Uh oh...” Aang looked up at a hole in the roof of the ship and took Katara in his arms. “Hold on tight!” Katara yelped as Aang hurled them upwards and out of the ship with his bending abilities before coming back for me. The shorter boy grabbed me by my waist in a flurry of incredible speed and suddenly I was being bolted out of the ship.

[itsmajel]

I posted 1,456 times in 2022

That's 146 more posts than 2021!

72 posts created (5%)

1,384 posts reblogged (95%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@ruffboijuliaburnsides

@letmetellyouaboutmyfeels

@yetanotherobsessivereader

@comebackcas

@thelittleblackfox

I tagged 162 of my posts in 2022

#0 - 30 posts

#buddie - 44 posts

#majel arts - 29 posts

#fic rec - 25 posts

#911 fox - 22 posts

#911 fanart - 21 posts

#majel reads - 20 posts

#buddie fanart - 16 posts

#self promo - 16 posts

#because look i made this! - 16 posts

Longest Tag: 120 characters

#nowadays if the post does not have pictures i am usually confused at least 3/4 of it until ive figured out who its about

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Remember that shirtless firefighter calendar from season 2 that Eddie and Buck didn’t get into?

Yeah, me too.

Anyone else bummed we didn’t get to see their entries because damn we should have?

Yeah, me too.

Fortunately I remembered I can in fact draw and cast them both for 2022. I know I already drew Eddie once but I felt like I could do even better now and also I just can’t stop myself and really why should I?! So here we go again:

Eddie’s second entry to the LAFD Calendar 2022. Buck had no input in this pose, but it has him hot under the collar anyway. Enough to have him shelling out 18 bucks for a calendar he already owns. Again, it’s for charity and Evan Buckley is a charitable guy.

See reblogs for links to Buck’s and Eddie’s other entries and TK’s and Carlos‘ entries to the Austin first responder calendar 2022.

[Image description: The artwork shows a man—Eddie Diaz—posing shirtless. One neon yellow and silver suspender is visible, draped over his left shoulder and secured to the waistband of his dark pants. The thumb of his left hand is hooked in the black clasp of the suspender, resting on his hip. The red band of the right suspender is just about visible, undone and hanging down by his right hip. A smattering of chest hair lines Eddie’s naked chest, as well as a happy trail disappearing into his pants. A tattoo in Spanish can partially be seen wrapped around his left forearm, the words ‘la mente y’ just about visible. The background is a turquoise hue with streaks of white through it. The artwork was done digitally.]

202 notes - Posted August 20, 2022

#4

“Did you know you produce enough saliva in a year to fill two bathtubs?”

“Are you seriously giving me facts about saliva right now?”

“What? It’s interesting and sort of relevant and -”

“Buck, just shut up and kiss me okay?”

Smiling Buck closed the space and did just that. He kissed Eddie and it felt like fireworks exploded in his chest. Bursting with colour and light and warmth and something that felt an awful lot like happiness...

* * * *

I’m finally back with some Buddie art and this one is dedicated to all the magic, fireworks going off, world stopping, world changing first kisses in fanfic. I love them and Buck and Eddie deserve one. So this is my attempt to visualize that special moment. It’s also the first Buddie kiss I drew way back in …. May. Yes that’s how long it took me to post this even though I’ve been posting my art chronologically (the pride month art being the exception). So yeah please stay tuned for more to come. 

See reblogs for links to more Buddie art by me and the taglist.

[Image description: The artwork shows two men kissing in the foreground—one taller blond (Evan ‘Buck’ Buckley) on the right, and one shorter brunet (Eddie Diaz) on the left. Both men’s eyes are closed. Eddie is heavily stubbled, wearing a maroon T-shirt and Buck is wearing a grey T-shirt with his signature birthmark visible around his left eyebrow. They are backlit by a bursting lens flare. The background is a soft, baby blue hue, with a myriad of coloured confetti decorating the image. The artwork was done digitally.]

263 notes - Posted September 30, 2022

#3

A Buddie sticker design I did for my lovely and beloved friend @octoberobserver who complained there wasn’t enough Buddie merch out there.

I am personally holding her responsible for a) getting me into this mess by making me binge watch season 1 - 4 of this silly litte show and even worse b) delivering the epiphany that Eddie is in fact hot guy from Step Up 4.

For once I have not crawled willingly into this dumpster but been forcefully shoved. Anyway hi 911 Buddie folks, I love it here!

330 notes - Posted April 27, 2022

#2

“Dad, come on! Buck wants to take a picture of us!”

“Yes Eddie come on, I want to take a picture of us!”

“Of course you do, don’t you have a million of them already?”

“Yeah, but one can never have enough pictures of one's favourite Diaz boys. Also I have a feeling this is gonna be a good one!”

* * * *

I’ve been promising some Buddie family art and deliver I shall. Here’s Buck’s favorite playground selfie of the three of them. Eddie teases him for having it as his phone background but it gives him a little happy flutter in his stomach whenever he looks at it so he doesn’t mind. Especially when he finds a copy stuck on Eddie's fridge a few days later.

[Image description: The artwork shows two men in the foreground—one blond (Evan ‘Buck’ Buckley) and one brunet (Eddie Diaz) standing either side of a young brunet child wearing glasses (Christopher Diaz). Everyone is smiling brightly at the camera that is being held up by Buck, posing in front of the outline of a playground. Buck, on the left side of the frame, is wearing a red shirt with a white T-shirt peeking through underneath. Christopher, in the middle, is wearing a light blue shirt while Eddie, on the right, is wearing a darker blue T-shirt. In the background, a bright, clear blue sky can be seen behind the outline of the playground. The artwork was done digitally. ]

366 notes - Posted August 28, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Happy Pride month everyone! Here are Buck and Eddie celebrating the day and proudly showing the world that they are, in fact, more than buddies! ❤️ 🌈 

[Image description: Artwork shows two men—one a taller blond (Evan ‘Buck’ Buckley) and the other, a shorter brunet (Eddie Diaz) kissing. On the left—Buck is wearing a black T-Shirt. He is holding up a bisexual flag (pink, purple and blue striped) in the air with his left hand. On the right—Eddie is wearing a grey T-Shirt. He is holding up the gay flag (rainbow striped) in the air with his right hand. Both men are wearing pride wristbands and their faces are painted with a pride flag, one on Buck’s right cheek, and one on Eddie’s left. Their eyes are closed and smile lines are visible. The background shows a bright blue sky, with fluffy clouds, while multicoloured confetti rains down over the entire image. The artwork was done digitally.]

916 notes - Posted June 7, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[ihavenocluedude]

The Visits - The Unexpected Visit (3/?)

Link to reading this on Ao3 Link to my main masterlist

Link to The Visits masterlist

A/N - This one is sort of angsty, but also fluffy. Hope you enjoy? This was like the second part I finished writing but that also means that I've rewritten this like at least 5 times. Some just to make sure I liked it and also to feel that it was the next part and not just a part I wrote before the last one.

Word Count - 2 795

Early Summer, 1985

Waking up in the middle of the night was usually not a huge concern for you. It wasn't often that you jolted up out of bed not really knowing what woke you up. So you didn't find it in you to worry when you did. There hadn't been any nightmare or urgent need for anything when you woke up. Just a quite peaceful but spontaneous awakening at a weird time. It could've been the rain that night that smattered loudly outside against every surface possible, not even the grass softening the sound of the harsh rain. But that didn't feel like the cause of your suddenly very awake state.

  And then you heard it, a harsher singular tap against your window and then another a second or two after. Something that definitely didn't fit into the rain, but still definitely sounded familiar to you, and didn't quite have any reasonable explanation as to why it was happening, yet. So you investigated.

  Eddie Munson was standing outside your window, throwing pebbles at said window and calling your name.

This very situation wasn't all that uncommon in your friendship. Whether it had been because he couldn't sleep or wanted to see you without getting sucked into a conversation with your parents at the frontdoor or simply just go for a drive in his van together. Either way it usually continued with either him climbing into your bedroom, or you out of it, or either of you actually using the door. It had simply always been a thing you did.

  It wasn't rare... if you had been in Hawkins. Which you weren't.

  Instead you were several hours away from where this would be a normal situation. Several driving hours distance away from where Eddie was supposed to be.

  And although you'd in hindsight thought about if you'd seen any signs before this that could've warned you about this happening... this was the first warning sign if any. He'd sounded so happy the other day on the phone, no warning sign there in the slightest. School had been going pretty good, he'd ensured you that this would be the year, told you there would be no more obstacles, told you about the great Hellfire session the group had had just some day prior to that and all-in-all everything seemed absolutely fine at that moment.

  But in this moment everything clearly wasn't fine. He wouldn't be here if it was. The situation sent a furious chill down your back, it made your brain take off running with a hundred-thousand thoughts a minute minimum, and eventually when the situation had fully clicked in your head... you were also physically running.

  Eddie was outside your window, in the middle of the night, and completely soaked by the rain. So you ran.

  "Eddie!- shit." He'd still been in the middle of throwing pebbles at your window when you ran the last bit of the distance towards him almost sliding on the slippery ground beneath you. Once you called his name though he stopped, looked towards you and his eyes looked devastatingly sad. You felt as if your heart got stuck in your throat when he looked over at you. "C'mon, let's go inside."

  It felt like an obvious thing to do but it turned out necessary to announce to get Eddie out of the slight daze he'd been in. So you started guiding him, softly and slowly, he was already soaked by the rain after all and you didn't want to rush him. "Eddie?"

  "Hi."

  "You okay?"

  "No." Shit.

  As best friends who'd known each other since 'bad moments' in one's life had just resulted in quite childish temper tantrums that went away after a few hours... you'd certainly been there for Eddie for many shitty moments before, whatever they were. Tantrums or moments alike this one. But you had never thought about how it'd all be after you'd moved away. They thankfully didn't happen regularly enough for it to cross your mind as a regular worry. But either way you certainly hadn't expected this anyway.

  But there were at least a couple of things you thankfully knew at this point. For example whilst you've never pointed it out to Eddie, and never would; he sort of has a timeline or process when something shitty has happened. It doesn't always look the same, but usually.

  First of is a kind of... quiet desperation. For the shitty moment to end, change, or just go out of his head for a while. Though he spends most of that time quiet with just a tornado of thoughts inside his head. Not able to get it out of his head at all.

  Secondly, there might be anger, although not always. But... anger, irritation, frustration, and a lot of throwing his hands around in gestures as he talks loudly. Which is how you usually get to know about the situation that made his mood sour if you hadn't been there in the moment.

  And after all of that there's just the plain but deep sadness. Eddie with the avoiding eyes, manufactured deep breathing and guilt. Not that he himself necessarily had done something in these moments. But you could always see that he felt guilty anyway.

  Knowing all of this helped, helped you comfort him, helped you understand. And it certainly helped to know that when you could sense he was in the first stage you'd usually get to hear the explanation soon enough. Not that he needed to, but it was nice to know anyhow.

  You practically examined Eddie's face and body language once you were finally inside the dorm building and saw that you had already missed the first two stages. It made your heart sink but you knew you had to put that feeling aside. And then you more physically inspected him, trying to see that he wasn't actually hurt physically. That some weird jackass hadn't carried out whatever threats they felt they could make towards 'the freak'.

  Thankfully, he was completely unhurt physically. His hands a little dirty from picking up the pebbles to throw at your window but other than that no marks on him or anything. But his eyes were red, irritated from tears and the probably very consistent act of wiping them away harshly. His body still leaned into you for support as he had started to do when you'd started guiding him. His eyes very much focused on one of his hands' rings which he'd started to fiddle with. You knew he tried to look like he wasn't avoiding your gaze, but it was always rather obvious when he did it.

  Once assured that he wasn't hurt in a way that you should get medical help or be ready to leave him in your dorm room whilst you run to a pharmacy, you started to walk quite quickly to your dorm room.

  "Is Randi here?" His voice almost shocked you when he spoke again, just outside your dorm room, mere seconds away from being alone and hopefully able to get to know what happened. Or at least be able to make him... not as sad.

  "No, it’s just us." Once inside the room he gripped onto you and basically threw you onto himself in a tight hug. His arms clinging onto you quickly and snugly. Your own going around him tightly too.

  Although he pretty quickly after remembered that he'd just very much pushed you into him with his drenched clothing and hair. Releasing you just seconds after and looked down at his clothes.

  "Shit- sorry." He grumbled with slight urgency and desperation and looked around the room. Feeling completely clueless about what to do. If he was at home in the trailer he would've just thrown all of his clothes on the floor carelessly, which he definitely didn't want to do here. Even if he hung up the clothing it would just drip onto your floor.

  "Do… do you want to take them off?" You questioned softly, it wasn’t as if you hadn’t ever seen him in somewhat undressed conditions. It isn’t a given in knowing someone as long as you have known him. But it has happened. Still this felt… it sort of felt wrong to even offer it. You knew it was the right thing to do, the nice thing to do, try to make him less uncomfy…

  But it also felt like you were almost forcing him to be even more vulnerable when he already was. Even if it wasn’t the intention.

  "Yeah." His answer almost sounded like a question, wondering how he would do that.

  As quickly as you could you'd gotten two big towels out, laid one out on the floor just to the side of the door, hoping that Eddie would get your idea. Which he thankfully did. Almost immediately but carefully shrugging his vest-jacket combo off and laid it on the towel. It would make the floor damp or maybe even wet anyway but it was probably the best option possible at the moment. You hung up the other towel near him and gestured towards it, to show that it was there for him to dry himself off too.

  You turned your back to him just as he'd started tugging off the wet Hellfire Club shirt he'd been wearing. And although you felt slightly terrible about it... the image of that would definitely be stuck in your head for way too long.

  You'd started with your eyes glued stuck to the floor in front of you, knowing that if you looked at the window you would see whatever was happening behind you. But then an idea had flickered in your head, your eyes going over to Randi's dresser.

  Thankfully and slightly unthankfully, Randi had recently gotten a boyfriend, Chris. Thankfully the reason why she was not in the dorm room and thankfully Chris kept clothes in your dorm room. So you dug out a shirt and a pair of sweatpants of his and threw them over your shoulder.

  "Hey!" Eddie yelped behind you, the loudest Eddie's voice had been so far this night, making you chuckle in response at the startled tone. "Whose are these?" He then grumbled, sounding as if it was grumbled a bit more to himself than to you.

  "Randi’s boyfriend’s."

  "Oh."

  "Oh?” You questioned, " ’Oh’, what?" A slightly unsure tone in your voice as you asked him what he meant.

  "Nothing. Oh as in… Oh, I didn’t know that?"

  "Eddie?"

  "Mm?"

  "Can I turn around now?"

  "Yep." He responded simply. He was definitely drier. Although his hair still dripped despite obvious efforts, his hair more frizzy than before. And Chris' jock-esque sweatpants with the college's 'branding' on them looked quite amusing on Eddie. Eddie would probably never be one to show school pride like jocks did. Mostly because it was usually the jocks 'representing' the school and its pride.

  "You want to try that again?" You asked gently and opened your arms for him. And then, there he was, in your arms just a second later. Tugging your arms around his neck with his own hands before he circled your body with his arms, clutching you tightly to himself. His breathing eventually, and for the first time since you'd first seen him earlier that night, calmed down at least a bit.

  "I’m sorry."

  "It’s nothing." You responded quickly, maybe somewhat naively thinking it was just about the maybe slightly failed hug he'd given you earlier.

  "No, I’m sorry." Well… that didn't sound good. You parted from the hug slightly to look at him but found his eyes avoiding you.

  "What for?" Your thoughts searched every corner of your mind for what Eddie could be sorry about but found nothing as far as you knew. So instead your mind started making things up.

  "I… Can I sit?"

  "Yeah, of course." Instantly sat beside him as swiftly as you could. Your hand closest to him reached up quickly to slide some of his hair behind his ear so you could see his face even if he didn’t face you. Even if seeing his sad eyes hurt, you wanted to see him. Wanted to be able to help as best as possible. "Why didn’t you call me?"

  "I just wanted to go. Wanted to get away. Didn’t… didn’t want to tell you over the phone."

  "Okay, well you’re here now." You tried your hardest not to sound demanding. Not wanting to sound as if he owes to tell you something. But you’re slightly afraid it comes out that way anyway. "If you want to tell me?"

  "I do." It sounded forced.

  "You don’t need to if you don’t want to?"

  "I need to."

  ”Okay, well..." You trailed off trying to come up with something to make him less pressured "I’m here, And… you’re here. I’m not going to allow you going home tonight, so you’re sleeping over… So, we have time."

  "Yeah?"

  "Absolutely. You tired?" He shrugged but just a short while after nodded as he knew that you would’ve been able to see the actual answer anyway. So you got up and got underneath the covers, held them open for Eddie to snuggle in once you were situated. In the moment not giving any attention at all to the thoughts that had tormented your brain before and after his last visit about the mere idea of him sleeping in your bed with you. "Better?" He nodded in response.

  You tried sort of keeping your distance. Those tormenting though by now quite old thoughts from fall rearing their ugly head a little but also mainly the concern you felt for Eddie maintaining that distance.

  Thinking about if he was comfortable, what’s the thing he was saying sorry for, if he would be okay if you snuggled into him, what’s the thing he was saying sorry for, you hope he doesn’t think you don’t want to snuggle with him just because you're giving him space, what’s the thing he was saying sorry for?

  And so it went. Around and around. Until he snuggled into you. Which thankfully made your brain shut off for at least a few minutes. Enough time for you to fall asleep.

  ~

  You woke up just three hours later. Still way too early for it to be a reasonable time for you to wake up. The sky somewhat light already, although with the summer quickly approaching the sky hadn't been dark for long anyhow. But the view out your window was slightly obstructed by Eddie sat up in your bed, looking out said window.

  "You okay?" You mumbled softly, hoping not to startle him. Sitting up next to him, nudging your shoulder into his side lightly and facing him. His eyes had calmed down quite a bit, but you can still see it somewhere in there. Whatever it was he’d been afraid to talk to you about.

  "I- I’m not graduating this year either… that… that’s the thing." Eddie sighs, rubbing one of his hands over his face. Leaning his elbows against his knees and eventually looking over at you to try and gauge your reaction.

  "Okay."

  "Okay?"

  "Eddie, it's going to be summer soon, it's happened, I'm guessing there's not much to do about it now, and... it's not the end of the world, we saw that last year right?" He nodded in response, thankfully, whilst you tried keeping your voice as gentle as possible and desperately hoping you didn't sound patronizing or anything. "Okay so... I'll- I don't know... We'll figure it out. C'mon, class of '86 sounds way better than class of '85 anyway." You stumbled through your words slightly, sleep and slight shock making you maybe not sound as confident as you wish you could. But Eddie just chuckled in response and gave a thinking nod.

  "Yeah?"

  "Yeah, for sure. Come on… ’86 baby! That’s your year." You chuckled with a grin on your face, nudging your shoulder into him again before he suddenly wrapped you up in a hug. Practically slamming the two of you back to laying down on the bed. The upper half of your body on top of him, your legs tangled.

  "Yeah. That sounds… right. It sounds right." He sighed with a smile on his face and wrapped his arms even tighter around you, pressing a kiss onto your cheek. Your grin wouldn’t fade anytime soon, not even when your breath got stuck in your throat at the realization of how close together your faces were. "Thank you."

  "I’m always going to be here for you. You know that right? Even if it’s for unplanned late-night visits in pouring rain."

  Eddie nodded, the smile softening and his arms relaxing with it. It didn't take either of you long to fall back asleep.

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Gavin’s MQ: Moon Beyond the Curtain (Ch 3)

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a Mind’s Quest, 帘外月胧明, which has not been released in EN! 🍒

🌕 Ch 2: here

[ Chapter Three ]

I return to my tent with an ice-cold fury. However, my anger dissipates abruptly when I see the sea buckthorn blossoms on the table.

Back in Hongwen Academy, Gavin and I often shared lofty ambitions, thinking about lands beyond the capital.

Although sea buckthorn blossoms were only a coarse smatter of red on paintings from Mobei, I’ve looked forward to seeing them for a very long time.

[ FLASHBACK BEGINS ]

Three years ago.

Clutching a book of paintings, I’m filled with curiosity as I show Gavin the sea buckthorn blossoms on the page.

MC: I heard that Mobei is bitterly cold, and grass can’t grow there. I wonder why these flowers can survive.

Gavin: They emerge from barren soil, grow in harsh winter, and probably rely completely on their natural tenacity.

Gavin sits on the porch of Hongwen Academy, lowering his eyes as he looks at the book of paintings in my hands.

Gavin: If you want to see them, I’ll find some sprouts when I head to the Mobei Army and bring them back for you.

I lift my head. Gavin’s words send my emotions soaring off to the flourishing lands beyond the capital.

MC: Aside from sea buckthorn blossoms, I’d also like to drink Mobei’s lychee wine and see the view of its mountains and rivers! When you go there, don’t forget to bring wine and paintings back for me.

My figure is reflected in his certain eyes.

Gavin: I won’t forget.

[ FLASHBACK ENDS ]

The images in my mind are so fresh that it feels as though it happened just yesterday. The sea buckthorn blossoms sway in the evening breeze, as though brushing the years that couldn’t be persuaded to stay.

I reach out to touch the petals sentimentally. Despite how soft they are, they grow tenaciously in this barren land.

Perhaps I should talk to Gavin. However, a gloominess lingers on my heart, and my gaze returns to the sea buckthorn blossoms.

MC: Since I’m in Mobei, I might as well check them out.

On my journey to Mobei, I had passed by a dune with huge clusters of sea buckthorn blossoms, and it seemed pretty close to the military barracks.

I’ll use this chance to make sense of my emotions.

With this thought in mind, I get up and head out of the tent, then lead a horse out of the stable. Before I can reach the entrance, someone grabs my hand.

His finger pads are rough, and the thick calluses that emerged from wielding swords in countless battles can be felt through my clothes. Even without turning my head, I know who he is.

MC: Your Highness, is something wrong?

The person behind me doesn’t say anything, and simply takes the reins in my hands.

Gavin: Horses from Mobei have a fierce temper. You’ve already scraped your hands over the past few days. If you continue gripping the reins, it’d leave scars.

I open my mouth, wanting to say something. However, I’m suddenly lifted up, and my vision whirls. By the time I come to my senses, I discover that I’ve been carried up the back of the horse.

MC: Your Highness, this won’t do!

I quickly stop him, afraid that someone would see this intimate gesture. However, Gavin holds me tightly. I can feel his rapid heartbeat across his armour.

He remains silent, and simply tightens his grip on the horse as we rush out of the military barracks. Amid the rustling wind, I hear his response.

Gavin: Don’t you want to see the sea buckthorn blossoms? I’ll take you there.

Gavin: This is Red Moon Hill.

Gavin dismounts from the horse, then offers his hand to me. After hesitating for a moment, I support myself on his hand and leap off the horse.

Under the boundless blue dome of heaven, the icy moon illuminates fiery red petals, which are thousands of times more stunning than the paintingsI saw in the past.

The surroundings are completely quiet, and not even the digging sounds of commonly seen gerbils can be heard. Gavin sits on a sand dune, then uses his eyes to beckon me to sit as well.

MC: This isn’t appropriate...

Gavin: I’m the chief commander of the Yanzhou Army. Since you’re in Yanzhou, you have to listen to me.

He interrupts, casting a glance at me.

Not expecting Gavin to frighten me with a military order, I remain hesitant in my spot. In the end, I move over tentatively, maintaining half an inch of distance between us.

MC: This place is... really quiet.

Gavin: It’s quiet because the flames of war from two years ago burnt everything down.

I lift my head in shock, looking at Gavin. Pale moonlight envelops his face, reminiscent of ash from the flames of hell.

MC: This was... the battleground of the Battle at Yumen?

Gavin: It isn’t as obvious now. Back then, this area was still occupied by the Rong Tribe. After a bloody battle with the Yanzhou Army that lasted three days, the crooked blades of the Rong Tribe were never allowed an inch into Yumen. Fifty thousand soldiers were born in Dayu. After they died, they ought to be buried in the land of Dayu as well.

The evening breeze brushes my face. I stare at the clusters of flowers which are icy yet ardent. They are reminiscent of brilliant and blooming flames, soaked in blood and yet illuminating the entire land.

I’ve read through every single military report, and am aware of every detail concerning the Battle at Yumen, and every person who died.

Through Gavin’s voice, the names on the military reports are given flesh and bone, giving me a completely different perspective than when I had simply read about them.

At this moment, I seem to gain a semblance of why Gavin brought me here in person. I look at him, his thick armour, and his lonely gaze.

I’ve read dossiers from the Imperial Censor Archives concerning the Yanzhou Army, and am aware that there’s a deep-seated grudge beneath this armour. 

It turns out that aside from leaving him with old injuries that can’t be healed, the battle had also left a fire burning in the depths of his heart for two years.

An icy wind whimpers, reminiscent of a lament, and also reminiscent of a tune sung by soldiers who yearn for home. While listening with rapt attention, I sing it softly.

MC: “The spring takes its time, and the flowers and trees are lush. The orioles chirp, and women gather wormwood. Prisoners are seized for interrogations, but they return happily. The north is majestic, and the people are safe.”

[Trivia] This is a poem about the hardships of war.

Hearing the tune, Gavin freezes momentarily. Tender starlight seems to fall into the depths of his eyes. He looks at me, his voice as soft as a gentle breeze.

Gavin: “The country is in shambles, and there’s no time to be an idle guest. Do you not think I yearn for home? I’m afraid there’s an urgent military order.” We learnt about this poem detailing one’s longing for home in Hongwen Academy.

Suppressing the ache in my chest, I gaze at the clusters of sea buckthorn blossoms.

MC: Your Highness, the burial mounds of the fifty thousand are in Yumen. They’ve already returned home, and there is no need for you to remain troubled. You’ve personally experienced the Battle at Yumen, but what happened along the frontline isn’t everything that happened during the battle. Would Your Highness wish to listen to what I heard?

A light flashes in Gavin’s eyes. He looks at me with extreme seriousness, as though wanting to learn everything about the past three years from my eyes.

MC: Although I was still in Hongwen Academy, I’d read the military reports thanks to a schoolmate from the Ministry of War. Back then, the entire army was annihilated, and only Your Highness remained alive. The reason why Your Highness didn’t die during the siege was because the peace party sought for reinforcements. You were in a coma for days...

Talking about this evokes lingering fear within me. Back then, an arrow from the Commander of the enemy army shot Gavin in the heart. When he returned to Yanzhou, he was in a precarious state.

After steadying my quivering voice, I continue.

MC: ...the reason why the Emperor is pressurising the army is because he intends to expend the Rong Tribe through Yumen, then deploy troops from the southwest to strike while the enemy is unprepared. He isn’t completely indifferent about your life. He simply has a long-term perspective. I’m deeply aware that in the eyes of the imperial household, every life in the Yanzhou Army can be exchanged for land at the border. However, lives shouldn’t be inserted into plans this easily. There are many people who admire your strength of character, and strive towards the Yanzhou Army. The effort put in by the imperial household will be futile if you aren’t safe.

After hearing this, Gavin’s gaze seems to be akin to the gentlest wind in Mobei, lingering on my face.

Gavin: I know about these things. I can understand that you’re trying to advise me against it, but this battle is a necessity. There’s only one thing that I can promise you.

At some point, an ashen fog appears. His tone is as determined as a boulder, and his words pelt into the air.

Gavin: Even if I’m left with one breath, I’ll return alive. When that time comes, there’s an answer I’d like to hear from you.

My heart stirs slightly while I gaze at the persistent light in his eyes.

Gavin: Back at Hongwen Academy, you were clearly striving towards freedom, and you wanted to explore the mountains and rivers instead of being stuck in a cage. Why did you end up becoming a court official?

His words stir up great billows in my heart. I recall how I had once told Gavin that I’d someday see all the rivers and mountains with my own eyes.

If it weren’t for the Yumen War and that imperial edict, perhaps I might have been able to meet him freely today.

Vast deserts, long rivers, armies and iron-clad horses - as long as I’m able to stay by his side, I can go anywhere.

All of a sudden, I feel like telling him everything without a care in the world. However, we’re no longer the same versions of ourselves at the Hongwen Academy back then.

I simply bite my lip, not allowing any signs of weakness to seep out. Noting my hesitation, Gavin changes the topic.

Gavin: Three years ago, the Rong Tribe killed the senior general at the garrison post and succeeded in its invasion. There weren’t any generals available in the imperial court, and I volunteered to lead the troops and rushed to the border. Do you still remember how you gave me a farewell dinner on my last night in Hongwen Academy?

MC: ...I remember.

I admit softly. Gavin suddenly draws closer to me. Taken aback, I instinctively shirk backwards. However, he grabs my wrist.

Our eyes meet. He reaches out to tuck windswept strands of hair behind my ear, and his extremely soft voice lands on my ears.

Gavin: That night, I made a vow to myself. I’ll tell you what it is when I return. But I wish to hear your answer, and you have to let me know what it is.

He removes the wineskin at his waist and gives it to me. While initially planning to brush him off, the scorching blaze in his eyes compels me to accept the wineskin. I nod solemnly.

MC: I promise.

-

Grey clouds shroud the moonlight. The vanguard has already gathered at the front of the barracks, looking at Gavin resolutely.

Gavin downs a pre-battle cup of wine, then tosses it onto the ground roughly. The cup shatters into countless fragments, accompanying his voice.

Gavin: It’s been three years since the bloody battle began, and the number of dead and injured in the Yanzhou Army are innumerable. The ocean of blood is filled with deep vengeance, and it will end today.

I’m standing on the lookout tower, watching as Gavin lifts his head to glance at me, his gaze as bright as day.

With a metallic clang, he brandishes the sword at his waist, pointing it towards the faraway darkness.

Gavin: Our triumphant return will mark the day Dayu never engages in warfare again.

Soldiers: Kill!!

Under the concealment of night, those cloaked in dark amour set out to a distant place. I grip the fence tightly, sending them off with my eyes till they vanish into the night.

🌕 Ch 4: here

[a-cupof-jo]

Next to you, Next to me

4. Coffee Shop AU + 60. Poorly Timed Confession 

Flowershop owner!Taeyong x Cafe owner!Reader

Warning(s): language

~~

“So what do you think?” You passed the cup over to Taeyong. 

A frown settled on his lips as he looked down at your creation, “You’re sure you’ve done this before?” He watched you skeptically. 

So latte art wasn’t your forte, that didn’t mean that he had to make it seem like you had just done a crime against humanity, “I swear, I have,” you leaned over the counter, pushing the cup a little closer to him, “I know it’s not the best looking, but I promise you that it is going to be the best cup of coffee you’ve ever had.”

He hummed, pushing his open laptop to the side to grab the cups with both hands and bring it to his face. There was something so nerve racking about watching the man take a deep breath of the hot drink before taking a large swallow. His face puckered slightly and he yanked the cup from his mouth. 

Had everyone been lying to you before?! 

Your mom swore that it was good, and though your brother didn’t drink coffee, he liked your tea and pastries. 

“I’m so sorry, you don’t have to drink it. I’ll work on it. Here give me the cup,” you reached across the bar to grab the cup that he pulled from your reach.

“NO!” he yelled, “No, it was just hot. I didn’t think about that before I took a big drink.” And you thought that you saw a faint smattering of red on his cheeks. He quickly took another drink, “I love it.” He smiled at you and you tried to believe it, but it was hard when you could see how hard he was trying to make everything seem okay.

“You don’t have to lie to me. Even if my coffee isn’t good, I plan on still opening the café. I put in too much time and money for this to fail.”

Taeyong frowned again, “I’m not lying to you. You’re going to be great. And hey, you’ve already got one customer.” He pointed to himself, “You know I’m right next door, that’s why I came over, because I’m nosy. I’ve seen you here the past few weeks and curiosity finally drew me over.” The smile on his face eased your nerves and you were starting to trust the truth behind his words.

“Right,” you looked across the road to where the small flower shop sat. Taeyong shuffled his feet and you remembered that he probably just stopped by to say hello, not sample your sub par coffee. “If you want I’ll get you a lid for your coffee and you can be on your way.” He was probably busy and didn’t want to be gone long.

“Oh- yeah,” he tucked his hands in the flower shop logoed apron he wore, “I’m sure you’re busy getting ready, didn’t mean to pull you from your work.”

“You didn’t,” you pressed the plastic lid on the cup. Taeyong grinned shyly at you as he made his way to the door, “Feel free to stop by anytime.”

He tipped his head at you, “I will, thank you for the coffee, it’s delicious.”

Yeah, maybe it wasn’t so bad.

~~

“Wait, wait, wait, you went to SSU too!” you grinned at the man across from you. Taeyong had become your first regular customer. Well, your only customer, considering that you weren’t open yet. Every morning since that one two weeks earlier he stopped by like clockwork.

7 am, he knocks on the door and you unlock it for him,

7:02 he hands over the menu you were working on and orders something new, 

7:05 he takes one sip of his drink gives you his first thoughts

7:06 you chat with him about whatever is on his mind as you go about setting up tasks you have to do for the day

7:15 he goes back across the street and you only catch peeks at him through the window until you leave or he closes 

 The same thing for almost two weeks. You couldn’t even be upset that the man was getting free coffee and pastries off of you. He was good, attractive, company that you grew closer and closer to inviting to dinner with every passing day. 

“Yeah, I got my degree in horticulture and botany. I wanted to stay close to home, but branch out some. I graduated about four years ago.” 

Delight and shock lit up your face, “No way, me too. I bet we passed each other on campus or maybe even had a class together.”

Taeyong watched you calmly, a somewhat knowing smile on his face, “We may have had a business class together once.” He shrugged. 

“It would be like fate,” you pushed the chocolate croissant he ordered with his tea over to him and took his dirty cup. 

He chuckled softly, “Yeah.”

“Speaking of fate,” you checked the notepad you had sitting next to a cash box on the counter. “I have finally set a date for the grand opening.” A small squeal left your lips and you jumped in place. “It’ll be next Friday!”

Taeyong blinked owlishly at you before a grin crossed his face, “That’s amazing! And so soon, but amazing! I’m so happy for you.” You thought that he was going to jump over the bar and hug you. You wouldn’t have been complaining, if he had. Instead he ripped the croissant in half and offered one part to you. “This calls for celebration!” You would have rather had dinner with him, but he was still here and happy for you, so you couldn’t complain. 

“Thanks, Tae.” You said through a mouth full of bread and chocolate.

He raised his half in toast, “Just doing duties as a friend and neighbor.” 

And maybe something more? You had thought about it a lot over the past few weeks. He seemed to like you. There was nothing stopping both of you from just exploring whatever chemistry there was between you both. Still that little niggling of fear crept it’s way in and no one likes to be rejected. Plus, you are so busy with the store opening, it’s just not a good time to ask him.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” You watched him open the door, letting in a cool breeze that smelled of clean air and fresh cut grass.

“Not if I see you first,” he took a bite of his croissant and strolled across the road, taking your heart with him.

~~

He wasn’t there. 

It was the day of your grand opening and he wasn’t there. 

T-1 minute until everyone around you watched as you cut the small ribbon that crossed in front of your café. Taeyong literally worked across the road, how could he not be there?

You needed to try to get rid of the hurt. If you didn’t, then no one was going to think you were very happy about opening the shop you had spent weeks working on. 

“You ready, darling,” a stout old lady who was a part of the city board stood next to you.

You gave her a grim smile, “Of course.”

“Oh dear, I know that there are a lot of emotions that come with this, but try to focus on the happy ones.” She shoved a pair of scissors in your hands that had to have been made for giants. “You’ll be busy enough with the new cafe, don’t worry about having too much time on your hands,” she laughed good naturedly.

“It’s not that, it’s-”

“Wait!”

Your head snapped up as the voice met your ears. A car door slammed and you saw Taeyong round his small pickup truck. In his hands was a large bouquet, along with a picnic basket. There was a grin on his face, but you could sense the urgency of his steps as he got shuffled up to you. 

“Shit,” his glasses were skewed on his face as he finally stood toe to toe with you. “So, I totally meant to be here before now.” He set down the basket and held the bouquet out to you. “These are for you. Um- congratulations on opening your shop and I’m so proud of you.” He patted around his pockets. “I have something to say to you. I wrote it down. Well, you see, I was wondering if- You know I have been wanting to do this for weeks, but was nervous and then this morning it hit me that I could ask you here.”

“Taeyong,” you stopped his rambling.” Thank you for the flowers. I appreciate them, but I don’t have enough hands to hold them and cut the ribbon.” 

“Right,” he grinned sheepishly, “I’m holding you up, sorry.”

You grinned back as the crowd started counting down, assuming you were finally ready to open shop. 

Hesitating a second after they said one, you threw another glance at Taeyong, “And I like you too. So yes, I will go on a date with you.”

The ribbon split in two just as his mouth did and you laughed as he wrapped you up, spinning you around in a circle. “Now?” He looked hopeful.

“How about after we close tonight?”

“But the wine will get warm.”

“Lucky for you, I know a nice new café that has the perfect industrial fridge for that.”

“I may have to check it out,” Taeyong linked a hand through yours. And you tugged him to follow the people that had started to trickle in. 

“I think you may just like it.”

“I think that it will be my favorite place to be”

“Oh really,” you raised an eyebrow at him. “Why is that?”

“Cause I’m next to you, standing next to me.”

Yeah, your heart was in good hands.

[nevertheless-moving]

Continued from here. You can read the origin of this branch of the au and a continued smattering of @dykerory‘s and @willowcrowned’s original ones under the corn boy anakin au 

The conversation between Batman and Anakin skywalker goes as well as can be expected. 

(l love that i just wrote that sentence wow crossovers are fun)

They’re very frank and depart on cordial terms

Anakin doesn’t try very hard to convince Batman, “yeah it is a crazy story, I don’t really have any proof that couldn’t have been fabricated at this point, I’m flattered that you think so highly of my intellect, sorry Clark roped you into this.”

and Batman doesn’t try very hard to convince Anakin “No you’re quite stable and I don’t want to mess with what you’ve got going on, I don’t have to show you the profiles I put together if you don’t want, sorry Clark keeps bringing this up.”

And Wayne Co. supports another one of the Shmi Foundation’s civil rights projects. They tell Clark that Batman put his best resources behind it but another universe is another universe, you know?

Clark doesn’t stop trying on their intersteller missions. Batman just sort of resigns himself to cringing internally whenever it’s brought up- he supposes legends have to come from somewhere.

A year later, 31 years after Anakin crashed in the Kent’s corn field, another spaceship crashes to Earth, appearing out of nowhere on Earth’s fledgling intersteller sensors. 

Due to high prevailing winds that day, it unfortunately does not land on the Kent Farm, but rather across the road. The property owners do the responsible thing and call the police about the UFO, who call the military about the spaceship with a little green man inside, who call the CIA, who are strong armed by the Department of Extranormal Operations, and manage to claim custody over the spaceship over Checkmate. 

Yoda is brought to DC Area 51, where scientists quickly realize he’s dying, well before they even get to start any experiments

Lot of frantic running around and yelling- they even try to ask the thing what he needs from them but he just says “The Force. Without the force, dying, I am” and no one has any idea what that means.

Batman get’s word of this like...oh fuuuuu and reluctantly sticks the Justice League’s hand in for custody of the extraterrestrial 

because if he doesn’t Superman’s going to tear down area 51 and he does not need that. 

There’s some precedent for this, but it’s not exactly a threat per se, so this is really overstepping some of the agreements they’ve made

J’onn and Kal-El have to make a bunch of rapid promises to sit down for interviews that they’ve been dodging with some important figures

Superman whooshes Yoda away to the new Justice League Facility in Upstate [Redacted]

Everyone with alien or magic expertise is called in to try and keep Anakin’s um...great-great-grandfather? did he say grandfather? alive 

Wait Anakin is Superman’s brother? I...what?

Anakin is deeply emotional at seeing the old troll again, and Yoda is just as thrilled to see the lost padawan alive and well. Even without the force, Anakin has the bearing of a Jedi Knight.

“He’s dying,” Anakin explains to the assembled magicians and scientists. “He’s 900 years old, the only reason he’s lived this long is because of his connection to the Force. Without it...”

Constantine: “You’re both talking this awfully calmly.”

(sidenote: by the time Anakin stumbled upon actual magic users who could actually teach him magic, he was settled enough in himself that it was the connection he missed, not the power. He tries a few spells, shows some basic aptitude but hates the feeling and doesn’t try again) 

Anakin, sadly: “Emotion, yet peace.”

Yoda, coughing: “Ignorance yet knowledge.” 

Together: “Passion yet Serenity; Chaos yet Harmony; Death yet...”

They trail off- Anakin looks devastated and Yoda’s ears droop

Anakin: “Grandmaster, I don’t know what happens to people in this universe when they die- every religion says something different!”

Superman (Christian): “Um.”

Batman (Atheist): ...

Zantana: “I’ve been to the underworld! It’s...not for everyone.”

Constantine: “Literally fucked Satan and I’m also unclear. Wait, does your universe have one set afterlife, like for certain? Nevermind, I’ll ask later, sorry.”

Yoda: “...That I will find my way to the force, hope i must have.”

Anakin: “Kal, I need you to get my lightsaber.”

Throwback to the Checkov’s Kyber earlier. Zantana overloads the crystal, it explodes and releases the remnants of force trapped inside. 

Clark and some of the League get to experience the Force for a minute

It’s very beautiful, ok? 

Anakin gathers and directs the explosion of force towards Yoda

And a tiny window opens up to what looks like the Council Room. 

Yoda thanks Anakin and then fades into thin air ok that’s a bit weird for everyone except Anakin who just pretends that he already knew that was going to happen because ‘joining the force’ was a thing that he did believe in he just had never seen it happen so literally

and obi-wan runs at the window desperately and it's too small for anyone to fit through anyway but mace and kit are holding obi-wan back because they just saw Yoda fade into oblivion while in the arms of a strange man but obi-wan's like ANAKIN ANAKIN THAT'S MY PADAWAN ANAKIN WHERE ARE YOU

Anakin jolts up desperately IT’S ALRIGHT OBI-WAN I’M-

and the window closes and the force fades and Anakin sort of sags in on himself

“I’m glad I got to show you what the force was like, Clark, even just for a moment”

“Me to Ani...I’m sorry...”

“It’s alright, I just...it’s fine.”

[palbabor-writes]

Latibule pt. ii

Pairing: Sakusa Kiyoomi x Fem!Reader

Warnings: mentions of anxiety, kinda heavy petting? we still going slow up in this ride, adult language, eventual SMUT, oh & Kiyoomi being a blunt asshole

Words: 12,880

His usual spot at the cafe is taken, and he’s already decided to keep walking on, but somehow, somehow, he manages to catch your eye.

His feet are slowing, a stuttering breath stagnating in his lungs, all at once hopeful and bewildered, but before he can examine his fluttering emotions, you’re alongside him on the noisy sidewalk, passing him his usual evening drink, a pleased smile on your soft lips.

Suddenly, the world smells like velvety pine and heady bergamot, and he can’t stop staring down at you.

Notes: me: try to keep it at 7,000 words, also me: what’s a word count?  

i owe my life to @wickedfaerytale & @albinoburrito​ for their edits and suggestions on this monster. i love you both & appreciate you to the moon and back.

Latibule 

pt. ii: Four Set

a high set to the strong side/outside hitter

[ pt. i: an opening ] || 

[ You: 4:35pm ]

Hey! It’s me– from the coffee shop. Wanted to see if you were busy this evening? Maybe we can meet up when I get off?

[ Sakusa: 5:02pm ]

I know. Sure.

[ You: 6:21pm ]

Great! I’m off at 9:30. Want to meet at the shop?

[ Sakusa: 7:10pm ] 

Read at 7:10pm

“Is he coming?” Kane asks, following you out of the coffee shop and pausing under the shallow awning, twisting his head, watching your back as you turn the key in the door. You tug against the handle, testing the hold, your hands heavy against the cool metal. 

“I don’t know,” you sigh, eyes peering into the darkened depths of the cafe lobby. “It says he read the last text, but he didn’t respond. He’s likely busy. I have no idea how long they practice; he’s a professional athlete, and after seeing that game...well, I can only imagine how intense his training schedule is. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone move like that before it was so fluid, like watching quicksilver.”

“Eh? Quicksilver? What is this, a poetry slam? Who describes people like that? Still, I bet he does, like, 20,000 sit-ups a day. You can tell, even under that baggy jacket, that he’s crazy fit,” Kane ruminates, leaning against one of the stacked sets of metal chairs. “Damn. It’s kinda crazy to think about, you know? You and a hot pro athlete going out on a date.”

You huff out a laugh and give him a playful scowl. “Ugh, shut up, you’re so rude, Kane. And I wouldn’t say it’s a ‘date.’ We just exchanged numbers. That’s all.”

“Oh? I’m sorry. You’re totally right. All those googly eyes must have happened with someone else. Definitely not you and that six-foot monster of a man. I mean, usually the guy just sits at his seat and ignores us, watching those videos on his computer and taking his notes, or he gets his coffee and is on his way, but today he was practically sitting on the hand off plane, and staring at you. 

Don’t gimme that face! You know I’m right. And–awe, look at you! So bashful! Oooh, you like him, don’t you? That’s so cute! Come on (Y/N), that’s so––ow!”

“Didn’t you say you had a paper to write?” you grumble, shoving your knuckles against his shoulder again. “There was so much whining from you tonight. Way worse than usual. So many, ‘hurry up, (Y/N)! I need to get home. What if this makes me bomb my paper! What if I fail the class because of this?’ What happened to all that? Huh? Suddenly you’ve got time to suss’ me out on the sidewalk?”

“Yow! So touchy! And this is totally workplace harassment, ya’ know! Jeez, that’s a mean right hook you’ve got. You didn’t even warn me! Eee, I’m gonna be bruised tomorrow!”

“Oh, shut up. You completely deserved that. Now go away and go finish your paper, you soon to be fail––”

“You said 9:30, right?”

The sound of Sakusa’s low voice startles you and you spring away from Kane, head whipping around and eyes wide. He’s standing a few feet behind the two of you, his shoulders curved into their usual hunch, eyes dark behind his fringe of curls. Under his golden jacket, a crisp white shirt is stretched across his broad chest, the bottom tucked carefully into the front of his jeans, and his MSBY bag is hanging against his back. His onyx hair looks heavy and you can see some lingering moisture, no doubt from a recent shower, glistening against the raven waves. 

“Hey!” you call, unable to bite back the elated grin that’s suddenly curving the edges of your lips. Kane is right about one thing, you think, stepping closer to Sakusa’s stiff form. This is kinda surreal. “We just finished closing up. Uh, this is Kane,” you wince, gesturing to the smirking face of your coworker. 

Shit. Stop it. You sound like an idiot. He knows who Kane is. You’ve seen them talking at the register before, but the rambling introduction keeps tumbling out of you. “He works here. He’s usually at the register, he’s learning, um, the bar and–uh. I don’t know why I’m telling you this, you’ve seen him before, uh, probably...definitely...ha, but, er–”

“And that’s my cue,” Kane chuckles, shaking his head at your janky attempts to introduce him properly to a man that he’s known, in passing, for over a year. “Nice seeing you Sakusa-sama,” he bows, tossing you a cheeky wink from his polite curve, “you guys have fun.” And with that, he’s gone, leaving you and the impassive Sakusa alone on the empty street.

A hushed quiet falls over the two of you as you adjust the straps of your purse, eyes lowered. Stop freaking out, you chide yourself, taking a deep inhale of air into your lungs, fingers padding aimlessly over the leather slings of your bag. Just talk with him. It’s always easier when you ask the questions first, since he’s not much of a talker. So ask him about something he can answer.

Volleyball. Yeah, ask him about that. It’s not exactly a groundbreaking conversation starter, but it will work.     

Strategy set, confidence mounting, you open your mouth.

“So, how did your practice–” “How was your day–”

He speaks when you do, and the two of you clatter directly into each other, words smattering into nothingness as you both fumble into an uneasy silence again.

Hopeless, you’re both hopeless. It’s kinda funny, in a horrifically awkward way. 

“Uh,” you grin, eyes finally lifting to his. “You first?”

The gentle thud of his heart echoes against his ears and his breath is hot under the cover of his mask. You’re so close. If he wanted to, he could reach out and touch you, could drop his hand from his pocket and let it slip into yours again. That thought makes his palms feel itchy, and he scrapes his nails down the skin, easing the ache.

Not yet.

He watches you as you shake your head, a glowing smile breaking across your lips. You’re not just pretty, he thinks, unconsciously drifting closer, you’re captivating. It’s like you’re some kinda homing beacon. 

He’s a cautious guy, always has been. But something about you makes him want to blindly reach, to be nearer to you. 

“Practice was fine. Where did you want to go?” he murmurs, fingers lifting, tugging his mask down his face. 

He wants to kiss you. 

It’s been on his mind all day, through the training, through the practice games, hovering over him, shrouding him with the foggy remembrance of the pressure of your lips. He’d fucked your first one up and he wants to try again, to do better. But it’s different when you’re expecting it, when he can see your gaze following the downward pull of his hand, your eyes hooded and watchful as he reveals the lower portion of his face to you. When you bite your lip into your mouth, teeth pressing before slowly letting the plump flesh spring free again, he nearly groans aloud.  

He wonders if you’ll let him do it, let him kiss you, and that thought makes him feel lightheaded. You’re so close––No, he gulps, jaw clenching and shoulders straightening, his back arching upward and right foot jerking a step, pulling away from your tempting openness. It’s too much, it’s too soon. 

Just wait, he reminds himself, be patient. Not now, not yet. 

You notice his shift and look up at him curiously, popping your weight onto your other leg, one hand braced against your hip, but you still smile up at him, acknowledging his unspoken cues for distance. “Well, I was going to see if you wanted to get a drink.”

“I don’t like bars,” he blurts.

Your eyes widen and you suck a sharp breath into your lungs, lips falling into a half-formed ‘oh.’  

No. He didn’t mean it like––Damn it. 

Kiyoomi flinches, nose wrinkling and mouth pulling into a thin line. He’s not good at this. 

“Mm, well, this is less of a bar and more like a gastropub. It’s small, laid-back. Plus, it’s a Tuesday night, they’re gonna be slow, and if they’re not, we can leave and try something else...”

“It’s fine,” he rectifies sharply. Again, he sounds too harsh. “I don’t care about any of that. If it’s slow or not. If you want to go, we’ll go. I didn’t...I didn’t mean to be rude.”

“Don’t worry about it. Besides, I didn’t think it was rude.”

Kiyoomi jerks his chin up, his mouth pressing into a pursed frown, peering skeptically at you, eyes narrowed. You let out a laughed exhale and tilt your head, quickly shrugging your shoulders, attempting to mollify his mistrustful stare. “I mean it!” you insist, waving your hand. “I’ll take someone who’s blunt any day of the week. It’s exhausting trying to read people who are good at hiding behind smiles, or false facades. You always know where you stand when someone is straightforward. Seriously,” you continue, grinning up at his abashed expression, “it doesn’t bother me. Be yourself. Besides, I like it. It kinda makes me jealous…”

“Jealous?” Kiyoomi echoes, watching you step past him and down the darkened street. His heart is beating out that uneven tattoo again, and it feels like he can’t catch his breath. What do you mean, ‘you like his bluntness’? No one’s ever told him that. No one’s ever told him to ‘be himself’ either. And, as if that wasn’t enough for him to chew on, now you’re casually saying that you’re jealous of his unapologetic retorts. It doesn’t make any sense.

“Sure,” you nod, slowing your footfalls, letting him catch up with you as you stride down the sidewalk. “I always lean on the polite side of things, likely because I’ve spent too many years in customer service, haha. So it’s refreshing to hear someone just speak their mind. Besides, you don’t strike me as someone who’s careless with what they say to others; you’re candid, but careful, you just don’t mince your words. Nothing wrong with that. Anyway, I’m babbling, again. Looks like you kinda have that effect on me, huh?”

His lips quirk at your admission and he steps a little closer, the fabric of his jacket wicking across your clothed arm as he matches your pace. “Is it far?” he asks after a time, watching as the lights of the main street twinkle between the lumbering edges of the buildings. 

“Not much farther. But you might wanna put your mask up, we’ll go past the cross street and that area is always a little busy this time of night.”

[ Damn. That’s––The fact that that thought would even cross your mind–– ]

His hand is out of his pocket before he can blink, seeking the soft warmth of your curled fingers, cupping over your knuckles as he heeds your advice with his other, tugging his mask up and pinching it securely over the bridge of his nose. He can feel your eyes on him, but he doesn’t pause, doesn’t look down. He likely should have asked. After all, he doesn’t know you that well. But you ease your digits against his, your thumb curling over the joint of his ring finger, and his lips twitch into a smile.

You greet the girl behind the hostess stand with a hug and a few other members of the staff walk up to the table that you select, big grins and booming voices calling out jovial ‘hello’s’ and ‘good to see you’s’.

“You come here a lot?” Kiyoomi inquires, slouching against the cushions of the booth, obsidian eyes peering around the space. The table is off to the side, tucked away from the hustle and bustle of the main dining area and bar, and is half covered by a glass wall that provides the two of you with an extra buffer of privacy. It’s an ideal spot, and he’s inwardly grateful that you’d chosen it. 

“I used to work here,” you answer, lifting your purse onto your lap before fishing around for something within the depths of the leather. “I–ah! Here it is. I always lose stuff in here, it’s like a black hole, no matter how many times I organize it, it goes right back to being a mess. Price you pay when you have a big bag, I guess.” You lift a small bottle of hand sanitizer out and dollop some onto your palm. He blinks, following the rapid motions of your hands as you clean them off with the solution. That’s...nice. Nice feels like a strange word for this observation, but it’s true. You spy his gwaping expression and hold the bottle out, nodding your head at his coiled fingers. “Want some?”

“Thanks,” he rumbles, mimicking your motions as he eases the cold sanitizer against his chapped hands. “So you worked here?”

“Yeah! I did this and the coffee shop for a while. I was behind the bar, mostly. It was a good job, but when things picked up with my degree plan, I had to drop it.”

“Ah,” Kiyoomi hums, pulling his mask off and tucking it carefully into the pocket of his jacket. “That’s why you knew it wouldn’t be busy.”

“Yup! Tuesdays and Wednesdays are always slow. This is likely the busiest it will get. They have food here too, if you’re hungry. Got some good sushi and the agedashi tofu is one of the best in the city.”

“I already ate.” [ Shit. ]

“Ohh-kay. Well, I’m probably going to get something. They’ve got non-alcoholic drinks as well. Should be at the bottom of the menu.”

“I said I don’t like bars, not that I don’t drink.” [ Fuck. ]

“Fair enough,” you shrug, cocking your head at his clenched jaw and averted eyes. “You see anything you want?”

“Sorry,” Kiyoomi sighs, lifting the paper menu and scanning the side that lists the specials.

“I told you,” your voice is soft, and he glances up at you, glad to see that you’re still smiling happily at him, “I don’t mind. Tell you what, if you go too far I’ll let you know, sound good?” You stretch your hand toward him, bunching your fingers, except for your pinky, which is waiting, outstretched, and reaching toward him.

“What?” he asks, chin dipping and heavy brows furrowing as he eyes your hand suspiciously. 

“Whaddya’ mean, ‘what?’ It’s a pinky promise. You’ve never done this before?”

“I’ve never done this before,” he deadpans, blinking slowly. 

You guffaw and the burst of joyous sound makes him snicker too, his shoulders easing from that all too familiar hunch, his head ducking, the faint stain of a blush seeping over his cheeks. It’s just a laugh, he reasons, annoyed by his flushed skin and twitching fingers. Why is he getting worked up? He takes a second to refocus, but when he does, you’re still waiting for him, your pinky wiggling, blithely enticing him. 

“It’s easy,” you promise. “You just hook your smallest finger with mine and we shake once on it and boom, that’s an unbreakable promise. And, well, if it kills you then I guess you’ll go down in a book of world records or something.”                        

Kiyoomi scoffs at your jab and lifts his arm onto the table, holding his pinky out, waiting for you to make the last move, rolling his eyes at your dramatically slow approach.  

Your touch is gentle, finger ghosting over the middle joint of his pinky, curling slowly, teasingly, before it wraps around the width of his digit. Then you give him a quick squeeze, swiftly bobbing your joined fingers in a mock shake. It’s over in an instant, but you maintain the touch, gradually untwining your crooked digits. “Your fingers are long,” you observe, eyes catching his before traveling back to that lingering connection, distractedly easing your fingertip down the line of his hand and pausing against the base of his wrist. 

It feels like his entire arm is electrified and a fine shiver of goose flesh breaks across his warm skin. His mouth is open, lips parted as he sucks in a shallow drag of air and he can’t stop staring, wholly enraptured by your flirtatious strokes. When your eyes rake upwards to playfully find his, that pleased smile soft against your lips, he thinks he might just lurch forward and grab you. 

“There,” you beam before pulling away. “Now that that’s done, what are you gonna’ order?”

He lets you place your drink order first, saying he needs to keep looking, that it has been a while since he’s had a drink, and he’s never been all that sure of his preferences, anyway. 

It’s an unexpected admission. 

If there’s one thing that you’ve been relatively sure of, it’s that Sakusa is a man who doesn’t hesitate. In the two years that you’ve known him, granted from the other side of the counter of a coffee shop, he’s always known what he wants and is confident in his selections. He can rattle them off by rote, by flavor, by taste, by temperature, so seeing him this off balance, a little frazzled and out of his depth, is a bit of a surprise. 

He’s not fidgety, his hands are resting placidly in his lap, feet evenly placed on the floor, but you can tell there’s an underlying thrum of agitation behind all those half ducked glances he keeps giving you, his obsidian eyes sharp, gleaming like flints each time they linger against you. He’d laughed once, before you’d squeezed his pinky with yours, and then promptly fallen back into that sullen silence, answering your questions with one word quips or hushed murmurs. 

It made you feel guilty. 

He said he hated bars, so maybe you should have taken that admission a little more seriously. But out of all the places the two of you could go, this late at night in downtown Osaka, you’d figured that this was likely the quietest, the one where he’d feel the most comfortable. 

“So you’ve played with them for two years?” you ask, giving your server a quick thanks as they sit your drink down. “That’s impressive. But you said you went to school for four? That’s different. I bet most players skip college and go right for the pros, so why didn’t you do that?”

“Volleyball isn’t everything,” he answers, tone clipped, matter of fact, as he watches you take a sip of your drink, waiting for the clink of the ice and the gentle clatter of the glass as you set it back down on the table before he continues. “I’m not invincible. Someday I won’t be able to play. And it makes sense to have a backup, something that I can do later.”

You pop your chin into your upturned palm, lips resting against your curled fingers. “True. You’re very thorough, you know?” 

Sakusa’s forehead creases, and those two perfectly stacked moles lower over his right eyebrow. “I like to do things properly, that’s all. It just feels right. To take things one step at a time. I do that with everything. I guess most see it as something repetitive, or monotonous, all those basic tasks that you do day in, day out, but I like it. And if you think of them as mindful tasks, rather than mindless, then you can get to that point where those little things become pleasure, instead of drudgery. I know that I’m not guaranteed anything, but, if I’m lucky, I’ll be able to go out, to leave volleyball, satisfied. Knowing I did my best.”

It sounds stupid to his ears, pompous, and as soon as he finishes his preamble, he lets out an inaudible sigh, teeth worrying against the soft flesh of the inside of his mouth. Damn it. Why did he say all that? What’s the point? You’d only asked him about college and here he is, rattling off his ideologies and distant thoughts. Why did he–

“That’s...that’s a cool way of looking at it.” 

His jaw is gritted, his face covered by a sheen of impassive blankness. But he looks up when you say that. He wants to see you, even if it’s only to take in your bewildered amusement. But you’re not giving him some piteous smirk, no, you’re looking at him like he’s helped you solve a long awaited puzzle, and your face is filled with the softest, haziest glimmer of ardent happiness that he’s ever seen. Your smile broadens, and he looks away, fingers feeling blindly for the pulse in his lowered wrist. 

His heart’s pounding. 

How do you do that? Then, as he tries to steady his shaking breaths, you lean back, lifting your glass to your parted lips to take a quick sip, a distant look in your eyes.

“You know, I’ve never really thought about it that way, but you’re right. I always have so much trouble explaining that mindset to new hires. Like, how do you tell them that, yeah, while this seems like a stupid thing we have you do, to keep busy during the slow period of the day, it matters in the long run. Take our cleaning routines, if you don’t clean something, and clean it diligently, then the gunk and grime builds up, and it’s harder to get out later. Things harden, become set in their ways, and I guess the same thing can happen to the pros too. It seems like most don’t go to school. They just slip right into the sport–after all, if you’re good enough to make it onto a division ranked team right out of high school, then there you go, that’s your end goal, right? 

But I like that you took the little steps, the ones that people ignore, or try to bypass. It’s another sort of preparedness, really. Others may not see it that way, might think of it as wasted time, but you did what felt right for you and I know it’ll pay off. It’s–oh! Sorry! I’m babbling again! Ha, God, I’m gonna stop, okay?”

“You don’t have to,” Kiyoomi utters, arms lifting from his lap, pressing against the smooth wood of the table, ignoring the racing of his heart. “I liked it. I’m glad that you...I liked it. Keep talking. I like hearing you talk. And, uh, can I try your drink? I know nothing about gin, or whiskey, or whatever that is. I usually just stick to beer and sake.”

You bite your lip, a soft chuckle falling between the two of you, and press two fingers bashfully against your nose, covering your giddy smile and pushing your drink forward, toward his open palms. “It’s kinda nice to know that I’m not the only one who’s flustered. Hmm, but here. If you don’t drink much, then you may not have had this before. Sorry if it’s strong. Also, I go for brown liquor, so it’s got rye for the base.”

“Rye’s a whiskey, right?” he asks, pushing the tiny black straw aside and taking a careful swig from the rim of the glass. It’s got a smooth flavor, almost like the caramel notes of his doppio con panna, but without that cloying sweetness that sometimes sits against the back of his tongue when he’s finished. Instead of the hum of sugar, there is only a shiver of bitterness and then the quick bite of the alcohol is gone, passing over his teeth and down his throat in a single gulp. 

It’s good. 

Better than he expected. And he passes the glass back, his fingers holding against the cool surface, waiting for yours. “I’ll get that,” he tells you, an impish smirk lifting his lips. “It’s perfect.”

After that-and a second round of drinks-the night went a little smoother. He did his best to not lapse into unsociable silences and you did just as he’d asked of you and kept talking. 

You traded the basics, where you were born, talked about your family, your education, degrees, pets, and, slowly, the uncertainty simply faded away. 

You were easy to talk with, impossibly so; always ready with another question, a congenial quip, or an antidote about your own life. Soon he was regaling you about his cousin, Motoya, the latest antics of his teammates, his hopes for the upcoming season, for the 2021 Olympics, for anything that he could think of, anything to keep you in that seat, to keep you chatting with him for just a little longer. 

[ It’s late, but that doesn’t matter. Keep talking, ask her something else. ] 

Is it supposed to feel like this?

He’s never really had a relationship; not when he was in high school or college, and any of his half-formed attractions always fizzled out before they ever really started. He was too busy, too one track minded to notice, [ to care ] to find the time [ to make the time. ] 

It’s certainly not love, [ Tch. Love at first sight, who believes in stuff like that anyway, this isn’t some movie, plus he’s known you for years, so it’s not first sight either ] not yet, but there’s another feeling that’s laced within this humming excitement that keeps bubbling to the surface, that has him hanging onto every word that passes from your lips.

It’s want.

He wants more, greedily so, and he hasn’t experienced that feeling, outside of volleyball, in a long time.

“I’m not too far from here. I’ll just hop on the train and then be back in my district. Easy-peasy.”

Sakusa nods at your jovial reassurances, hoisting his track bag higher against his shoulder, following you toward the lights of the street. It’s late, later than he’s used to, and his eyes feel heavy. The lull of the alcohol isn’t helping either, so he shuffles closer, bumping unevenly against you every few steps. You twist your head toward him, a faint smile on your lips, eyeing his lumbering form skeptically. “Sure I don’t need to walk you to your station, Sakusa? You look dead on your feet. Sorry I kept you out so late.”

“You didn’t,” he sighs, his words rasping past a yawn. “I wanted to stay. I’ll regret it tomorrow. For now, I’m fine.” 

“Pfft, okay, well, I’ll look forward to receiving your annoyed text about me keeping you out past your bedtime in the morning then.”

Huh? Text? You want him to text you in the morning? Can he do that? Be the first person you think of when your notification lights up your dark screen, the first one that you reply to. Shit. What–what does that mean?

Sakusa slows, his hand reaching for you. 

He misses your arm and snags your purse instead, jerking the straps, and by association you, a little harder than he intended. [ Damn it. His coordination’s off. ] You stumble backwards, shoulders bracing against his broad chest, and you blink up at him. You lift your face, looking at him curiously. He’s already peering down, and the glow of the distant street-lamps makes the onyx of his irises morph from jet to a rich blue. For a long breath both of you simply stare, content to watch the other, waiting for some kind of advancement in this stalemate. 

You cave first. “Um, you alright?”

“What are we?” he asks pointedly, large palms running up the sides of your arms, his head tilting, dropping raven curls over his brow. 

“Friends?” you reply, but it feels more like a question than an answer and you let the word hang, unsure what else you can say, what else he wants to hear. You feel a bated breath leave his lungs. It dips you back as his chest falls, slipping you minutely closer even as his hands droop limply from the curve of your shoulders. His eyes shift from yours and his lips fade into a thin line as he steps away, letting you slip from his grasp. The air between you changes, hardening back into that early uncertainty, and by the time you turn to face him fully, his hands are re-tucked into his pockets and his slouch has returned.

“What’s wrong?” 

You know, but you don’t want to assume. You’d warned him after all; you’re not good at being blunt. 

He gives you a frank stare, dark brows creasing, furrowing his expression. “Friends means I can’t kiss you.”

For a moment you can’t feel your heart. You know it’s beating, still diligently pumping blood through your body, but as that declaration leaves his lips it’s like your entire world has narrowed. He wants to...how can he just say that? Just blurt out whatever comes into his head and not care what happens after. Where do you find confidence like that?

You flash your gaze upward and he’s still looking at you, his unmasked face open as he stares, dark eyes watchful, half veiled behind his lashes. 

He waits. He’s good at that, you think, feeling a smile creep across your face as your tongue passes over the swell of your lower lip. He instantly tracks the movement and takes a shallow step forward. You can hear his fingers coiling and uncoiling inside of the slick lining of his pockets, but that simple, near silent admission of his nervousness makes up your mind.

“Well,” you begin, eyes lowering, easing closer, pressing until you can almost feel the heat of him against you. Your hands lift tentatively, passing over the flat, honed planes of his chest until they come to rest against the top of his stomach. His nostrils flare at the tempered stroke but the rest of him remains stock still, wholly rooted to the spot, listening, observing, a glimmer of distant hope cresting against the back of his mind. 

[ Yes. Keep going. Don’t stop. ]

Then, those final, all important words are leaving you, cast into the air. 

“I wouldn’t say that.”

Before you can look up at him, his hands are hovering beside your ears, the ghost of his touch urging you upward as he lowers himself over you. 

His lips meet yours with a gentle tap and you can feel his unsteady exhale pass over your mouth as he allows himself to linger against you. It’s more like a press than a proper kiss, but you indulge him, gripping your impatient hands against the thin material of his jacket, giving him time to adjust. He’s featherlight, his lips scratchy, but the lubrication that your swiped tongue has left behind eases the touch and he gasps when you lift to meet him, your lips gliding over his.  

Then he’s wavering; like he can’t decide. 

He shifts away, only to return moments later, lips never fully leaving yours, caressing until you’re doggedly chasing after him, a poorly concealed groan slipping from your throat. He hums appreciatively at your enthusiasm and steps impossibly closer, his fingertips tapping under your jaw and down your neck. 

On one of his shuddering pulls you slip your tongue over his lips, tracing the seam, wordlessly asking for him to deepen the kiss. The sound he makes in return is garbled, caught against his throat and lost in the shuffle of his hands, his breath, his want. 

His arms are like steel cables as they twine around your waist, holding you to him as he finally opens, his teeth clattering against yours in his rush. You smile against his eagerness and pop onto the tips of your toes, hands releasing his jacket, sliding up his face before you let your fingers coil into his obsidian curls, your teeth nipping against his dampened lip. He lets out another hushed gasp, the flat of his palm warm against your shoulder blades as he urges you upward.  

“You’re — mmm, you’re too tall, Sakusa,” you complain, finally easing away from his greedy kisses, and grinning when he follows. 

“Kiyoomi,” he insists, hands cupping, thumbs tracing the edge of your jaw, dropping another kiss against your upturned lips. “Call me that. I want to hear it.”

You laugh and he huffs impatiently against you, brows folding into that deep crease. “Not joking,” he grumbles, lips and breath hot against yours, “I want to hear you say it.” 

When you manage, at long last, to pull away from him again, your eyes bright, lips kiss shined and swollen, he knows this image of you will be etched into his mind for weeks to come. It’s perfect [ you’re perfect ] and all he can think about is that he wants so much more. 

“Kiyoomi,” you call, head canted at his staggered expression, eyes glittering with fond amusement. “You’re kinda bossy, aren’t you?”

He scowls at your question and tugs you back, kissing you until your laugh fades away and his name comes a little easier.

[ You: 9:18am ]

You sure you want to go there? I don’t care if we do something else instead, your call.

[ Kiyoomi: 10:54am ]

Got the tickets. See you after your shift.

“Bringing your phone onto the court–ballsy move Omi,” Atsumu leers, dropping his bag beside Kiyoomi’s, a troublesome smirk on his face.

“Shut up,” Kiyoomi snaps, darkening the screen with a click and placing the device beside his trainers. “At least I know how to keep it hidden. And you’re the reason we’re banned from bringing them out here at all. You and your stupid snapchat stories.”

“Omi! Ya’ big jerk! Be quiet, ya’ know yer’ not supposed to mention that app where the coaches can–”

“Miya!” a booming voice calls from across the gym, “You better not be doing what I think you’re doing! If I catch you on that phone, you can expect to do a hundred serves at the end of this practice match! Got it?”

Kiyoomi scoffs, a lackadaisical grin ghosting over his lips as he neatly dodges Atsumu’s elbowed jab. “See? I’m not the problem here.”

“Such a jackass. It’s a miracle (Y/N) is even giving you the time of day.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Kiyoomi bristles, heavy brows creasing. 

“Means I don’t know what she sees in ya,’ you big dummy. Where you taking her this week?”

“Why do you care?”

“Damn it. Why do I bother? I mean really, am I some kinda masochistic or something? Yer’ terrible to talk with, but here I am, attempting some harmless small-talk. Cut a guy some slack, would ya’?”

“What are you talking about?” Kiyoomi stares, onyx eyes narrowing at Atusmu’s haggard expression. 

“You! I’m just trying to have a conversation, you know, checking in, seeing how yer’ doing. Making sure you haven’t screwed things up yet. Ya’ know, being polite!” Atsumu glowers, golden hair falling over one umber eye as he flashes Kiyoomi a fixed glare.

“What would I screw up?”

Atsumu lets out a heavy sigh and shakes his head. “Tell you what, ask me that question again when you do, how’s that sound?”

“Miya–”

“Bringing your phone to practice, coming in late, or right before things kick off, yeah, you got it bad, don’t cha’? You better watch yer’self Omi.”

“The hell you talking about?” Kiyoomi sneers, chin lowering, steeling himself for one of Atsumu’s long-winded tangents. 

“God, yer’ so dense, especially with shit that’s not volleyball. Come on, Omi, use your head. The coaches, the managers, they’re all gonna try and make you pick. That’s what they do. She’s a nice girl, and I’d hate to see her get caught up in all of that bullshit. Stop gaping at me like that! Like I’m not making any sense! I’m trying to look out for ya’! Not that you deserve it, being such a prickly asshole, and all...”

Kiyoomi sighs, lips pursing into a sharp point, his shoulders slumping forward, arms hanging limply against his sides. Fine, he’ll engage. Whatever. If it’ll get Atsumu to explain whatever the hell he’s talking about before the practice match, he reasons, then it’ll be worth it. “We’re going to the museum in Tennoji Park.”

Atsumu stares. “Damn. You agreed to go to a public park? In the daytime? That’s real big, if true.”

“I’ll serve every ball directly at the back of your head, don’t think I won’t.”

“Alright, alright,” the setter laughs, propping his hands against his hips. “Shocked yer’ not just staying close to that one restaurant. You seem like a, ‘this is what I like and I’m sticking to it’ kinda guy. Not one to branch out. You know, boring.”

“How do you know about the restaurant?” 

“She told me about it?”

Kiyoomi curls his lip over his teeth. “When did she do that?”

“The other day, went by for a coffee.”

“Ugh,” he huffs, swinging one arm across his chest, stretching out the muscles of his biceps. “What else did she say?”

Atsumu grins, bracing his forearm against Kiyoomi’s shoulder, waggling his brows mischievously. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Fine. I’ll just ask her.”

“Ughhh, zero fun. That’s what you are. Tell me, ya’ got a mode that’s not: ‘Sakusa Kiyoomi, ‘the world’s most boring man’,” Atsumu groans, head dropping as he lets his body hang limply off of Kiyoomi’s stiffened form.

“Shut up. What we do isn’t your business anyway, so enough with the questions. You’re just poking your nose in shit that doesn’t concern you,” Kiyoomi accuses, shrugging Atsumu’s heavy arm off of his, glaring.

Atsumu straightens, a quiet scoff puffing between his smirked lips. “Fine. So touchy today. And you think this crap ain’t gonna bleed into your playing? Yer’ way–”

“Line up!” the assistant coach booms, silencing Atsumu’s bristled retort. Kiyoomi opts to hold his tongue, letting the setter pace away from him, eyes narrowing while sucking in a steadying breath before he follows. 

Damn it. He got so caught up in––Atsumu never told him what he meant.

It’s early afternoon and the broad concrete pathways of the park are mostly empty. The spring flowers are in bloom and the ginkgo trees sway in the crisp breeze that dips in from the sea. It’s a beautiful day, but Kiyoomi can’t shake himself out of his head.

He’d stared dutifully at the portraits in the museum, read the placards that rested below the painted screens and pottery, and listened when you asked him questions, or answered his own. He shouldn’t be like this, he fumes, adjusting the ear straps of his mask as the two of you step out into the bright sunlight once more. 

Who cares what Atsumu was trying to imply. It was vague and unhelpful; likely meant to get under his skin, something that–

“You alright?” Your voice shakes him out of his thoughts and he looks down at you, brows unknotting, eyes softening as they rake over your curious face. 

“Yeah. Miya said something at practice that I’m having trouble forgetting.”

“Oh? What?”

He tells you, and it feels like some of the tension leaves his shoulders. It’s nice.

Usually he’s guarded, quiet. Sure, he’ll let others know what he’s thinking with little finesse, but that doesn’t mean they know the truth of what’s on his mind. This is different. With you it’s easy to disassemble, unexpectedly so. It’s only been a month since the two of you started seeing each other, but in that time he’s opened up more to you than he has to anyone, outside of his family, and he’s still not sure if he likes that.

[ That’s a lie. He likes it; he does. He’s just not used to it. ]

“Make you pick?” you ask, skimming your hand over the red railing of the bridge, head cocked thoughtfully to the side. “He actually said that?”

“Mentioned it. Like I said, Miya talks in circles. I usually just tune him out, but this felt...different.”

“Hmm,” you ponder, easily keeping up with his long strides, your body close to his. “Well, maybe he means they, the coaches that is, don’t want you to be distracted? I could see that. I mean, you are playing at an extremely high level and next year is the Olympics. Damn, it feels strange to say that. I know someone who’s playing in the Olympics…”

“I know that. And I’m not distracted,” his tone is clipped and his chin ducks, his side swept curls fanning over his left eye. 

You look over at his tensed expression and puff out an exhale of air. “Well, maybe he’s just messing with you? You said he likes to do that.”

“Told you, this felt different.” The words are sharp, punctuated by his clenched jaw and the forward roll of his shoulders, and you suck your teeth softly, staring across the shimmering surface of the pond as the two of you cross the last stretch of the bridge. You’re on the back foot here, a little unsure of how to reassure him, but you can tell he wants to shake this off, so you press the issue, hoping it’ll help ease that stiff tension that’s building in his shoulders.  

“Okay, it felt different. How so?”

The words come without hesitation. [ This isn’t normal for him, but it’s also so damn nice to know that he can be this comfortable with someone. ] “Miya usually babbles. Goes on and on about the most inane things. But he also loves to chatter about his reasoning, and this time he didn’t. Instead of answering my question, he gave me that shitty smirk and changed the subject to something he knew would distract me––why else would he say he’d gone by the coffee shop?”

“I mean, I don’t know him as well as you do, but he seems like the kinda guy who likes to provoke–to see if he can get a reaction out of you and...I know it’s not much of a reason, but maybe that’s all that it was?”

Kiyoomi gives you a curt nod and picks up his pace, his hands coiling into clenched fists within the confines of his pockets. You follow him, unsure if you should strike up another line of conversation or let him simmer for a bit. You opt for the latter and turn your attention to the scenery of the parklands, quietly studying the picnicking couples and laughing clusters of children that jostle beside a nearby set of monkey bars. No matter his mood, it’s a lovely day and you’re still glad he’d agreed to come with you to the park. 

But when the trail reaches the main street, you pause. “Hey, you wanna call it a day?” you ask, a soft smile on your lips. If he needs time, you rationalize, then you can give him that. 

Kiyoomi jerks to a stop, his heavy brows furrowing as he stares down at you. “What? No,” he grumbles, voice muffled by the fabric of his mask. 

You raise your hands in a gesture of supplication, palms facing his looming form. “It’s just...you seem like you’re upset...”

“I am upset,” Kiyoomi answers frankly, his breath heavy. 

His honesty never fails to catch you off balance, and you laugh cheerfully at his stoic expression. Kiyoomi promptly fixes you with a perturbed stare, his eyes narrowing. “Kiyoomi, if you’re upset, then we should head back. You don’t have to stick around me if you want space, I totally–– ”

“I don’t want space. I want to be here, with you,” he bites, stepping closer, watching as your grin fades into a perplexed gape. 

For a breath you’re flabbergasted, lips parted, eyes wide, but with a shake of head you step forward, your arm twining with his, and dipped forehead pressing against the sleek material of his jacket. “Alright, then stay with me,” you smile, hands squeezing against his coiled muscles, a pleased warmth spreading up your joined arms before flowing downward, into the pit of your stomach.

The contact, as muted as it is by the shell of his track jacket, makes him shiver and he can feel the thump of his heart speed up. It presses against his ribs and makes his chest feel tight and his head light, and when your fingers slip into the warmth of his pocket, your smooth digits tracing the knuckles of his hand, he lets out a contented sigh before lightly brushing his chin over the top of your bent head.

“Come on,” he murmurs, the rich tone of his deep voice dampened by the stretch of his mask, but you can still hear the creep of his smile within the clipped words, “I’ve got an idea.”

You’ve walked past the training facility plenty of times, so many that it’s a blip on your radar now, its jagged silhouette falling into the category of mundane, but never, not in a million years, did you ever see yourself actually passing through those glass doors.

It’s a massive space. 

The blazing down-lights scatter brightness over the finely polished elastic flooring. You’d worn comfortable shoes to the park, but they still scuff loudly against the unfamiliar material so you stop gawping and look toward Kiyoomi’s arched shoulders. 

“Uh, are you sure we can be in here?” you ask, trying to keep your voice down, but it reverberates around the vast space and you wrinkle your nose at the sharpness of the sound. 

“Yes. I work here,” Kiyoomi answers simply, tugging his mask down and stopping just short of one of the white lines, cocking his dark head at your question.

“Okay,” you snicker, rolling your eyes playfully at his static features, “let me rephrase that, are you sure I can be here?”

“Why would you being here be a problem? Practice is done for the day. It’ll be fine. Worst case, Bokuto or Miya might show,” he replies, shrugging his shoulders, a faint smile passing over his lips. “So what do you say, you wanna try to play?”

A full-throated laugh bubbles out of you, and you shake your head frantically. “No way! You’ll either kill me with one of those terrifying spikes, or be bored out of your mind trying to teach me the ropes. Besides, I haven’t played volleyball since middle school, and even then, I’m, uh, not sure a quick rotation in a 40 minute P.E. class counts as playing. It was more like all of us kids screwing around and testing out how many times we could annoy our teacher.”

He snorts at your explanation and strides over to a dark red cart, digging one of his long arms into the depths before straightening and returning with a yellow and blue Mikasa ball that’s perfectly balanced within his broad palm. “Humor me,” he smirks, one brow quirking upward. 

“Tch, I’m not wearing the right clothes...or shoes,” you bemoan jovially, but you’re already letting your purse slip from your shoulders.

“So whiny,” Kiyoomi tuts, stepping away from the cart and tossing the ball rapidly between his spread hands. “That doesn’t matter. Don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you.”

“Oh, you will, will you?” you tease, a beguiling smile lifting your lips. He looks so good in here, you think, admiring the flex and bounce of his hands, the lean coil of his powerful neck that peeks from underneath his track jacket, so different from the stoic man who walked beside you in the park. 

As soon as he touched the ball, his entire demeanor changed. Within the space of a few seconds he’d gone from hunched and brooding to dauntless and firm, all of his early agitation and uncertainty forgotten as he slipped into the comfort of his element. 

“All right, coach,” you sigh with mock dejection, “where do you want me?”

“On the other side of the net. See that line? The first one past the netting? That’s the attack line. Stand there.” 

He’s clear-cut in his instruction, telling you where to plant your feet and how to stand with the correct form. You listen intently, nodding or asking one or two clarifying questions, and he’s patient with your queries, answering you swiftly and thoroughly, obsidian eyes keen as they follow your movements across the net. 

“Alright, that looks good. We’re going to do a simple drill, the catch and throw. Don’t worry about setting the ball, or receiving it with your arms, see how it feels to position yourself under it, just make sure it never gets behind you, and catch it with both hands and toss it back to me. Try and keep it in an easy arc.”

You blink at him, pulling your lips into an exaggerated frown. “Just catch it? That sounds too easy…”

“It’s meant to be. It teaches you how to see the ball. If you’re wanting something harder, I can always up the speed as you get better at it. Now, you ready?”

You nod and the ball lifts from his fingers in a flash, gliding over the net cleanly, and you shift back, arms outstretched, feet planted firmly against the slick flooring. You catch it neatly and mimic his overhand toss, sending it back to Kiyoomi’s half crouched form. But the arc isn’t controlled and the ball paps against the tape of the net, screwing up the trajectory and sending it shuddering toward the gym floor. 

“Shit,” you curse, wincing at your clumsy return, but he’s already moving, his form a blur. He slides under it easily, back curved under his well-muscled legs, all ten fingers spread, as he neatly catches the ball, sending it prettily back to your side. 

You’re so mesmerized by the fluidity of his supple form that you completely ignore the returning ball and it slaps against the floor with a crack. Always the professional, he’s intently watching the ball’s trajectory and doesn’t notice your open stare at first, but once his dark eyes flash back to yours a faint blush seeps across the well-cut apples of his cheeks and he ducks his head, obscuring his flush with a cascade of onyx curls. “That’s one point for me,” he sighs, his voice low, tone gruffly catching over the words as he studiously avoids your awed expression. 

“Points?” you repeat dumbly, snapping your mouth closed before popping your hands on your hips, forcing yourself out of your stupor. “Hey! You didn’t say anything about points.”

“It’s a game,” he counters with a shrug of his broad shoulders, “of course there’s gonna be points.”

“Pfft,” you chortle as you walk toward the discarded volleyball. “What happened to this is just a drill?”

Thirty minutes later your hands are aching and you move sluggishly as your feet squeak over the polished flooring of the court. Kiyoomi, on the other hand, looks perfectly at ease, his eyes hungrily stalking the track of the ball as it flies to his side of the court. When you miss the next lightning quick toss that he sends your way, you drop your head and lift your hands, palms flattened and facing toward him, signaling your defeat as a heaving exhale leaves your straining lungs. “I think that’s it for me. I’m about to collapse onto the floor, like seriously. This is not a joke.” 

Kiyoomi huffs out a bemused laugh and ducks under the netting, pausing beside your half crouched figure. He peers down at you through the lazy waves of his hair. You look staggered from the constant shuffling and overhand tosses, but you smile up at him and he can’t help but return it.

“I may be down for the count, but it looks like you wanna keep going,” you say coyly, eyes shining under the brilliance of the lights. [ You’re so pretty ] He [ wants to kiss you again ] sucks in a shallow breath and mutely nods at your assessment. [ Don’t go. ] 

“Well,” you begin, lips falling into a thoughtful pout, arms twisting behind your back, “In that case, I’ve got some things that I need to finish up, anyway.”

[ No. Don’t go. Not yet. ]

“I left my laptop at the cafe, so I’ll head that way. Maybe I can see you–”

“Use mine.” The words leave him with a sigh, his voice hushed, but you hear him and your head whips up.

“What–I’m sorry, what?”

“Use my laptop. It’s here, in my locker.” [ Should he have said, please? He’ll say it, if that will get you to stay a little longer. ]  

“You don’t...that’s not necessary–– ”

“I know. I want to,” he closes the distance between the two of you, his hand ghosting up the line of your arm. “Stay. If you want to.” 

You contemplate his request, tapping a finger against your bottom lip, the flicker of a grin catching at the corners of your mouth. Finally, you nod.

[ Good. ] 

He can feel his pulse against his eardrums and he feels jittery now but through that excited haze he tells you he’s going to change into his gym clothes and grab it, that there’s an outlet under the scorer’s table that sits at the edge of the court, and that he’ll be right back. He’s not sure why he feels the need to elaborate, that’s not like him, but he’s doing a lot of things that don’t feel like him these days.

He likes you; he thinks as he steps toward the double doors that will take him into the locker room. 

He likes you so much.  

When he returns, he’s wearing a dark pair of shorts and a bright yellow shirt emblazoned with the words Itachiyama VBC across his left pectoral. The laptop is propped under his muscled arm and he walks slowly toward you, dark eyes watching you thoughtfully. But you’re not meeting his gaze. No, your regard falls to the curve of his calves and the sharp jut of his ankles before you track back up to his thighs and linger over the ripple and pull of the corded brawn that peeks from under the line of his shorts, and it takes him clearing his throat to lure your eyes back up to his burning face.  

You’ve seen him in his MSBY uniform, and you’ve seen him in various outfits over the last month, but the way you’re watching him right now makes his skin prickle and the air around the two of you feels charged, like the smallest push could create some kind of reaction. 

He pauses beside the table and waits for you to sit before he leans down, one leg shaking restlessly under him as he clacks his passcode across the black keys. He’s lifting his right hand to click ‘enter,’ when you cup your hand under his jaw. 

Kiyoomi quavers under your touch, a low shiver slipping up his spine as he twists to face you, his heavy brows arched and onyx eyes wide. He’s perfectly level with you and so close he can faintly smell your lavender shampoo. It’s a nice scent, lulling and woodsy and he wants to shift closer, but before he can act on his instinct you’re already leaning upwards and using your fingertips to dip his head forward, your lips pressing a chaste kiss against his topmost mole, breath warm against his heated skin. 

“Thank you,” you purr, delicately resting the tip of your nose against his curled hair. 

It feels like his body is sputtering to a halt, his arms heavy, his head desperately following your touch as you shift back, a half groaned sigh tight against his split lips. His fingers are twitching against the cool surface of the table and he knows he must look like an absolute idiot when he lifts his eyes back to yours, but he doesn’t care. 

He’s glad you’re going to stay.

“Question for you,” you ask from your perch on the scorer’s table, your fingers flying over the computer keys as you clatter out another email. “How the hell do your hands do that?” 

Kiyoomi smirks at your curious amusement and flips his wrists deftly upwards, easing onto his haunches, flicking his fingers out and rolling his newly stretched wrists as he finishes his final cool down routine. “It’s called joint hyper-mobility. Most lose it when they get older, I’ve been lucky.”

The two of you have been at the training facility for hours. You’d dutifully finished up some last-minute work enquiries and partially outlined the basics for your upcoming grant proposal, while Kiyoomi worked on his spin rotation and spikes.  

You’d watched him intermittently, teeth plucking at the swell of your lower lip each time he lept into the air for a jump serve, or dropped low to the ground as he dug another ball up from his hit to the nearby wall, so you’d noticed when he’d finished his first water bottle. He’d set the plastic down, the tap ringing hollowly over the quiet gym, and rose from your folding chair, making your way over, already asking him where a water station was. 

When you’d returned, passing the newly filled bottle back to him, your fingers stroked up his arm and swirled faint patterns against his clammy skin as he steadied the plastic in his grasp. And later, when you’d refilled his second water bottle, you’d pushed some of his raven waves back, lifting onto the balls of your feet to tuck the dampened strands behind the shell of his ear.

He was a sweaty mess, but that didn’t bother you.

Usually he didn’t like for others to touch him when he was like this. Something about the sheen and prickle of the salty perspiration bothered him, [ disgusted him ] so he actively shunned his teammates when they sought high fives during a game, but this was different.

The instant your fingers alighted against his skin he’d felt a jolting lurch of electricity, but instead of pulling from it, he’d leaned into it, draping his broad palm over your tracing digits, or resting his warm cheek against your open hand, eyes half lidded as they watched for your reaction.

He liked this. 

“Hey, Kiyoomi? Uh, hello, Earth to Kiyoomi! You listening?”

The sound of your voice jerks him from his musings, and he glances at you. “Hmm?”

“I said, how do you feel about a low-key dinner?”

“I’d prefer it,” Kiyoomi replies, easing from his haunches to his feet, rolling his long arms over his head as he stands.

“Yeah, but I mean...low-key, low-key.”

He fixes you with a flat stare, his face falling into that well practiced blankness, obsidian eyes dimmed. “What does that mean?”

“Well, I’ve got some things that I’ve been meaning to cook and, uh, I guess what I’m trying to say is...did you want to maybe have dinner at my apartment? I know you’re picky about how your food is prepared, so if you wanna go out instead, that’s fine too. I won’t be offended. I just wanted to– ”

“I’d like that, but...can you cook?” he rumbles, a teasing smile coiling against his lips. 

“Oh, I see. No, you got me. Totally can’t. I just wanted to know if you’d suffer through burnt rice, and then lie and tell me you’d liked it, or some shit,” you threaten, sticking your tongue out and scrunching your face at his blatant leer. 

“Don’t worry, I’d definitely tell you.”

“Pfft. You’re the worst, you know that? Now go shower. If we wait too long, we’ll hit rush hour at the station and I bet that’s pretty high on your list of things to avoid at all costs.”

Your apartment is small.

Well, compared to his. But his place is an empty shell, brittle, almost sterile in its vacant emptiness. He’s not there often, so why fill it with more than the bare essentials? It’s got what he needs, and he’s never been bothered by the Spartan coldness of the tiles and dark wood, that is, until he steps into your space. 

There’s so much color. 

The living room is blanketed in a mix of cheery yellows, warm reds, and deep purples. It’s not displeasing, but it makes him pause within the confines of the genkan, onyx eyes wide under his raised brows. It’s a difference. Now there’s an unexpected worry that’s pricking at the front of his mind.

“You coming?” you ask, poking your head around the cut of the wall that divides your living room from your kitchen, peering curiously at his tense expression.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, easing his trainers off of his feet. This place reminds him that there’s still so much about you he doesn’t know. 

So, to alleviate himself from his lingering trepidations, he peers curiously around the apartment.   

Most of your furniture is Western. And while there is a traditional chabudai beside your kitchen and a familiar kotatsu that rests beneath the glass doors of your balcony, the rest of the room is decorated with cushioned couches, stiff-backed chairs, neatly organized shelving units, a large tv and stand, and several side tables that hold a mixture of lamps, artfully stacked books, picture frames and candles. 

He’s still gazing over the plethora of things when you appear beside his elbow. “I’m going to shower. Make yourself at home. The remote for the tv should be on the kotatsu. You alright with soba stir fry and okonomiyaki for dinner? It’s easy, well, quick...”

“That’s fine,” Kiyoomi breathes, voice muted as his eyes rake over one of your bookshelves. “You could have taken one at the gym, you know...a shower.”

“Oh-ho, sure! Like a shower at your gym doesn’t come with the awful possibility that one of your teammates or, god forbid, coaches could have walked in. Yeah, no thanks,” you chuckle, shaking your head as you pad over to the small hallway that separates your kitchen and living space from the rest of your apartment. “I won’t be long. Please do not rob me, kay’?”

Kiyoomi blatantly scoffs at your remark but doesn’t look up until he hears the click of your bathroom door. Instantly, his feet carry him toward your collection of books and miscellany, one long finger tracing up paper spines. He will not miss this opportunity. 

He’s curious, ravenously so.

There are small bowls that are filled with a mismatch of silver and gold jewelry, peeling bound novels with English titles printed down their spines, and asymmetric jars that carry the weight of seashells that gleam translucent and bright against the dimming sunlight.

Beaming smiles radiate from your collection of pictures. Some are snapshots of you and others who look enough like you he assumes they must be your family, while other images are older, with people dressed in vintage clothing, the photos sheened in dull greys and time blown sepia rather than vibrant, modern colors. 

Then there are the books. The room is littered with them. Most are organized within the confines of the shelves, but a few are stacked on the kotatsu and he flips open one cover, eyes scanning the orderly lines of Japanese that dart down the pages.   

There’s just so much here, so many little pieces of you that are scattered about, and he wants to see...no, he wants to ask you about all of it. 

Dazed, he leaves the open space of the living room and steps toward the kitchen. It’s less cluttered in here, and he can smell the faint tang of bleach and lemon as he moves onto the dark tiles. Clearly, the fastidious habits you’ve displayed at the cafe are ingrained into your daily routines. 

Cleanliness and routine. You’ll always have that in common.

His roving observations falter at your fridge. It’s covered in a scattered array of playful magnets, pinning down lists and newer Polaroids and he steps closer, index finger extended once more as he glides the digit down the faded ink and shine of the photos. Resting atop one of the larger check-lists is a crisp slip of cardstock. It’s clearly been given pride of place and Kiyoomi curves himself downward, somber brows wrinkling as he reads the print.

The departments of Anthropology, History, Languages, and Education invite you to attend:

The Deans Meeting

10th Annual Conference & New Faculty Welcome Event

Thursday, April 23rd

6:30 - 9:30 p.m.

Graduate School of Human Sciences, Osaka University

(Number Attending: ____ *limit of one guest per invitee)

Kiyoomi straightens, raking a hand up through his loose curls. The 23rd? That’s a month...no...almost five weeks away. He slips his cellphone out of his jacket, thumb tapping over to his calendar. It’s a Friday...but good, there’s no game that day–however there is a team meeting. If he asks now, he should be able to be excused from the meeting and maybe the mid-day practice as well. You haven’t mentioned this event to him, he muses, fingers rapidly tapping the date into his reminders, but it looks important and he wants to go with you, if you’ll let him. 

He hears the telltale shudder of your shower’s cut-off valve and he turns, ready to walk back to the neutral safety of your living room when he spies a haphazardly cracked doorway that clearly leads into your bedroom. His feet are carrying him around the low base of the chabudai, and before he can justify his impulsive [ curious, hungry ] reasoning he’s already leaning in, unabashedly looking over the space. 

The room is dark; the dusky light of the sunset is muffled by the curtains that drape over the large window, but Kiyoomi marvels, obsidian eyes whisking over the small space, greedily taking in the neat folds of your downy comforter, the soft pillows that nestle under the headboard, and the fan that sits atop the tatami mats. It smells like you in here; the chilled air holds the gentle scent of rich florals and spice and he wants to step closer, but then his hand is catching against the doorframe and he jerks back, hurriedly gulping down a sharp breath as his black hair slumps over his hooded eyes. 

It’s...it’s not...he shouldn’t have looked. It’s not polite, but damn, he almost doesn’t care.

What would it be like to step past that threshold? To walk into something that’s so saturated with you? He feels like his skin is too close, too heavy, and he wants nothing more than to stretch out on the cool sheets of your bed to ease that simmer that’s thrumming under his heated flesh.

Wait. A bed. You have a bed. 

Shit. 

Kiyoomi’s always been content with his futon, satisfied with the simplicity of it. He’s always considered beds to be a waste of space, unnecessary, after all, he’s just sleeping on it. Why did it matter? 

Unanswered questions whir around his half cocked head. What if you don’t like futons? If you think they’re uncomfortable, or inconvenient? Besides, now he’s picturing laying with you on a bed, [ this bed ] not a futon. Kiyoomi wants to see you stretched out beside him, comfortable and happy, with that tantalizing smile and those playful eyes watching him, waiting for him. What side do you prefer? Right? Left? And then? What happens when you’ve picked your spot and settled in? 

Would you want him to shift closer? Could he run his palms past your arms and down the sloping curves of your hips? Would you do the same for him? What would your nails feel like as they scratched faint lines along his sides, over the muscles of his abdomen, or down his back? You’d be so close. So close that every sigh that passed between your lips would be shared with him and he’d inhale every sound, his lips rough against yours. And if you arched into him, your hands urging him to straddle himself over your intoxicating softness, your thighs spreading as he lowers his hips––  

The bathroom door clicks and the fevered daydream fades, his feet cumbersome and tangled as he lumbers back to the living room, his heart pounding in his ears. He doesn’t like this breathlessness, doesn’t like that his hands are trembling as he stuffs them into his pockets. Any second now you’ll be in front of him and he wants to hold you, to let the pull of your hands and the sleek drag of your lips satiate the feel [ throb ] of his unexpected [ visceral ] arousal.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to take that long, I just–– ” 

The distance between the two of you is closed within a heartbeat, and his outstretched fingertips glide down the smooth line of your neck. You suck in a sharp breath, your body rigid under his hold, [ damn it, too fast ] and he drops his hands, easing you into the suddenness of his movement with lazy kisses against your warm cheek and neck, grinning when you lean into him at last. 

[ Yes. Perfect. ]  

You want him to kiss you properly, and you do your best to chase his lips, your arms folding around his bowed neck as you tap a few impatient kisses against his lowered forehead. But he ignores your temptations, not ready to move away from the intoxicating fragrance of your freshly cleaned skin. That soothing smell of peppermint and fresh lavender is near ambrosial, and he greedily digs his nose against you as his muscular arms drape over your sides, and his broad hands pause against the small of your back.

His sharp exhales against your shower dampened neck make you shiver but he maneuvers you closer, rubbing his lower lip against the dip of your shoulder before lifting to catch his teeth on your pulse. He knows just what you like now; he thinks smugly, tracing the flat of his tongue over a line of gooseflesh that bursts over your slicked skin. 

In the last month he’s gained a steady mastery of your preferences when it came to his kisses. You preferred to start things slowly, to have him cup your face and stoke you up steadily, but once he eases down the intricate line of your neck, well, all that softness and coy sweetness would bleed into something else entirely.

You liked it rougher then; liked for these caresses to be charged with lightning fast pushes and pulls, your fingers alternating between the sides of his jaw or the coiled thickness of his hair as you swayed him closer, and that shift never failed to set his heart racing and often sent his tightly reigned control spiraling. But that’s not what he wants, not right now, so he’s careful to keep you at bay, distracting your breathless twists with a fresh set of nips and unhurried pecks against your throat.

He wants to lose himself in you; to blank out all the other worries. The differences don’t matter, not when he can hold you like this.

“Hey, Kiyoomi,” you gasp and only then does he stop his incessant assault, arms tensing as they clutch you to the broad slope of his chest, his dark waves falling heavily against your kiss glistened shoulder.

“Hmm?” he murmurs, his voice reverberating against your wet skin.

“What...what’s gotten into you?” you falter, distracted by the hum of his low tone and the soothing pass of his hands as they curve along your spine.

“Dunno, just felt like kissing you,” he lies impassively, lifting his head from you, obsidian eyes shielded by his mussed curls, the tops of his cheeks aglow.

You exhale a tight laugh at his serious, but utterly flushed expression. “Okay–so why did you stop?”

“Liked it that much, huh? I’m hungry,” he clarifies, a smirk curling his erubescent lips and you laugh, melting that jaunty grin into his usual straightlaced frown. “Tch,” he tries again, sliding his dark eyes away from your open bemusement, a pink blush staining the bridge of his nose. “It’s not that I...hmph, come on, don’t act like you’re not hungry, too...”

You were an excellent cook. Not that he’d fully meant his droll quip at the gym; after all, why offer to do something if you’re not good at it? But he’s glad he agreed to a home cooked meal. 

Besides, there is something soothing about the whole thing.It was nice, watching you deftly maneuver around your tiny kitchen, turning on burners, setting timers, and arranging the ingredients in simple bowls and plates; it reminded him of the coffee shop. And he’s always liked watching you work. Your movements were always smooth [ elegant ]. You kept your hands close and your elbows in, so confident in the motions of your ingrained routines and the tidiness of your space, that you could easily carry on a conversation with him, your eyes careful to meet his over the top of the espresso machine.

But this is better than watching you in the coffee shop. There’s no divider now. There’s just you and him. It’s comforting and he wants to experience it again and again.  

You let him set the plates out, chop the vegetables, prep the soba, and asked him to pick out some beer from your fridge, saying you trusted his choice and chuckling good-naturedly when he padded back to your side, four cans sticking icily to his palms as he asked a few [ five or six ] clarifying questions about the brews.He enjoys your cheerful teasing; he thinks as the two of you sit at the low chabudai; it makes him feel like he fits in, like he can be part of this side of you. You tuck your legs to one side as you sit, your shoulder gently bumping against his as you ease into a comfortable position on the tatami mats and Kiyoomi leans closer, indulging himself in the press long after you’ve picked up your chopsticks–a shared meal of of cabbage and onion okonomiyaki and salmon stir fry resting between the two of you. 

It’s a simple thing, all of this touch, but Kiyoomi can’t get enough of it. Every time your arm brushes against his, or you ask him to pass you something from his side of the table, he wants to prolong the contact, to keep his fingers beside yours, or feel the warmth of your thigh and the jut of your hip as he shifts nearer.

He didn’t think he enjoyed being touched. 

He always did his utmost to avoid it, shunning the clapped backs and constant high fives that always seemed to be prepackaged and expected in the contact heavy sport of volleyball. Not because he didn’t like his teammates [ sure, sometimes– eh, most of the time ] they were too much, but he genuinely liked playing with them. But he didn’t enjoy the balmy heat of skin on skin contact, or the worry of shared germs. Touching meant weakness. It allowed things to spread from person to person; it created variables, and more variables always meant things could slip out of his control. No, Kiyoomi valued the predictable, the known, the cleanliness and routine, and touch threw most of that out of the equation. 

He doesn’t like touch. 

Yet he’s craving yours.  

It’s another thing that isn’t like him, he contemplates, passing his empty bowl to you, already missing that pleasing closeness you’d shared with him as you walk back into your kitchen and that stark absence makes him stand. It’s an urge, a compulsion, and it’s not something he wants to question so he listens to his instincts, feet planted firmly beneath him as he follows you, his hands lifted, reaching for you. When he tugs you against his chest, his dark head dropping beside yours, jet curls fanning beside your cheek and along your neck, he feels the ache within him settle and he lets himself wallow in the familiarity of crisp peppermint that sits against your skin. [ There. He can worry about the rest later, right now this is all he wants. ] 

“I should go,” he whispers, the tip of his nose cool against you. He locks his forearms around your waist and sighs when you rest your temple against his. 

He [ doesn’t want to ] should go. 

“Yeah,” you echo, cupping your fingers over his crossed arms and stroking them over his goose-fleshed skin. “I work in the morning. So I need to be up early.”

His steady breaths match yours and he pulls you closer, humming contentedly as the curve of your back falls into the hollow of his chest. “I’ll go,” Kiyoomi stalls, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the slope of your neck. He really should. There are only a few more trains tonight, but he can’t let go.

So he lingers, his heavy body leaning against yours, full lips dragging along your pulse as his arms loop tightly around you. You twist your head and he lets you return his caresses, groaning against the sweet pressure of your lips. You’re gentle with him, your kisses filled with restrained desire, and the gossamer touch makes him reach for more. When you pull away, your eyes shining in the gleam of your kitchen lights, he brings you back, his broad palms turning you to him as his chapped fingers tilt your chin, his arms cupping you so close he can feel the thud of your heart against his.

He [ doesn’t want to ] should go.

notes: @kugutsuu​ made me these lovely lines. aren’t they pretty! (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧��    

[dothwrites]

(--or Awful First Meeting + Arranged Marriage!) ❤️

Castiel paces the length of the grand foyer. Normally looking at the stained-glass windows can bring him some sense of peace, but not even the jagged, multi-colored splashes of light across the white marble floor can please him today.

"If you don't stop, you're going to wear a hole in the floor," Hannah says. Her voice is mild, but the slight snap holds a hint of disapproval.

Castiel rolls his eyes and doesn't stop. There's no reason for his older sister to be here, other than for baby-sitting purposes. It's almost insulting that his mother thinks that he can't handle this meeting by himself, if Castiel wasn't halfway convinced of the same thing.

"It's not like they're barbarians," Hannah continues. She opens a tablet and starts to scroll through a page. "Lawrence is fairly sophisticated, technologically speaking. They're not near our level, but then again, who is?"

"Amazing that other people have accused you of being a snob," Castiel murmurs.

Hannah makes an undignified face at him before turning her attention back to her tablet. "Anyway, I'm sure it will be fine. You'll meet the delegation, make nice, and make arrangements. Tonight, you'll host the dinner, and tomorrow they'll leave, and you won't have to see them again for a whole other month. And after the wedding... Well, as long as you make the required public appearances, I'm sure that your conjugal duties won't be too difficult."

When Castiel doesn't immediately agree, Hannah lowers her tablet. "Castiel," she says, her voice turning softer and more sympathetic, "if you don't want to go through with it... I could speak to Mother. Tell her... I don't know. I'll think of something."

As heir apparent, Hannah has more sway with their mother than Castiel ever will, but he doubts it goes as far as this. The royal wedding has been planned for years, and only a minor global conflict could end it.

Not that Castiel hasn't thought about starting one, just so he could get out of this.

"It's fine," Castiel says. He hears the unmistakable sound of engines pulling in front of the palace. His stomach drops to somewhere around his knees before it rockets back up to lodge somewhere in his throat. "It'll be fine," he repeats, clenching his fists by his side.

His ceremonial clothes feel like they're two sizes too small. Castiel yearns to do nothing more than loosen his tight collar, but before he can reach up, the front door opens.

"May I present the delegation from Lawrence," drones the voice of the crier. Though he announces the delegation with the same disinterested tone that he takes with everyone, Castiel doesn't think that he's imagining the small note of malicious glee.

Overcome with the sudden need to vomit, Castiel swallows. Seconds later, a tall figure comes bounding through the door and up to him.

Castiel likes to think of himself as indifferent to the aesthetic purposes of most people, but this man is enough to catch his attention. He has sandy hair, bright green eyes, and a smattering of freckles across his fair skin. His shoulders are broad and his waist trim. His legs are bowed, but somehow that only draws attention to his toned thighs.

Castiel has never been so immediately attracted to another person. He feels like he's accidentally skipped the last step and now he's crashing to his earth. His previously reliable stomach is performing all sorts of unorthodox movements. Castiel swallows and idly wonders if he's about to be sick.

"So, you're Castiel," the man drawls. His eyes move over Castiel. Every part of him gives the impression that he thinks Castiel could do much better. As a prince, Castiel isn't accustomed to feeling inadequate, but this man makes him feel pathetically small.

"Welcome to Lebanon," Castiel says, his tongue thick and clumsy in his mouth. "I hope your stay here will be--"

"Let me stop you right there, pal," the man interrupts. "I'm not looking to enjoy the natural beauties or wonders or whatever of your country. I didn't really have any choice in coming here, so I've just got to grit my teeth and get through this. Same as you, I'm guessing. So do us a favor, save the small talk, and look pretty for the pictures."

Color floods Castiel's cheeks. He's never felt so humiliated in his entire life, and he grew up as the punching bag for a mother who was constantly disappointed in him.

Why was the treaty made with Lawrence? It's not as though Lawrence has anything that Lebanon particularly needs: though rich in natural resources, it's a little bit of a backwater. Its citizens are uncouth, as evidenced by this specimen standing in front of him. But for whatever reason, the treaty was made when Castiel was a child, selling away his future to... To...

"Dean! Please don't tell me that you're torturing people already!"

Castiel turns towards the newcomer, feeling pathetically grateful for the interruption. The man walking towards him is one of the tallest men Castiel's ever seen. His floppy brown hair shakes into his eyes, and he tosses his head to clear his vision. He's dressed similarly to the green-eyed man, but his smile is friendly, and when he walks up to Castiel, he extends a hand in greeting.

"I see that my brother didn't bother to make his introductions. I'm Sam Winchester, and this is my brother Dean. We're Lord John's sons, and we're here as escorts."

Another figure appears in the doorway. Castiel looks past Sam and Dean and swallows as his heart tries to jump into his throat.

The woman standing in the doorway is petite and blonde. Her dress is attractive, though it's not the fashion in Lebanon. Still, she's beautiful enough that she could wear almost anything and still manage to look glamorous. Her smile stretches across her face as she walks towards him, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes. Still, the curtesy she performs is exquisite.

She stretches her hand out. Knowing the protocol, Castiel takes it and kisses the soft skin on the back of her hand. As he does so, he sweeps his thumb over her palm. Interestingly enough, her hands have callouses more designed to a hunter than a lady.

"Castiel of Lebanon, may I present Lady Joanna Beth Harvelle of Lawrence. "

Castiel forces a smile as he looks at Joanna Beth Harvelle, his future wife. He holds out an arm and tries not to grit his teeth at the wrongwrongwrong feeling that settles over his skin as she places her hand in the crook of his elbow. Surprisingly, Dean, her escort looks about how Castiel feels, his handsome face twisted into an expression of mingled distaste and fear.

This is his marriage. This is his duty. And he'll see it through, no matter what.

[hoe-doroki]

Hi there! I don't think I've requested anything from you before ( my memory is awful though)

Anyhow I was wondering if I could get some Izuku smut with a female reader.

The scene is youre out with your girls, ( mina, hagakure, Momo) at the club having a good time. You see this green eyed stranger looking at you across the room.

His boys hype him up to ask you to dance and it ends up turning into following him back home ( I LIVE for soft dom! Deku!)

Thanks for taking the time to read and answer this!

Ugh, sorry this took so long, nonnie! You sent this in just as I was being eaten alive by a fic that’s wayyyyy longer than it needs to be. But I’m here now and you said the magic words: soft dom. Yesssss. I went college!AU for this and I hate clubs (drinking, dancing, flirting, no thanks) so I projected that on the reader a bit. Oopsie! It was hard to keep Izuku in character for this, but I did my best. Anyway, hope you like!

minors do not interact

warnings: 18+, Kaminari and M*neta leering, spanking, slight exhibitionism, alcohol (not drunk sex, though), dirty talk

rating: explicit, 18+

wc: 5k

edit: I no longer write x reader but here’s my old masterlist - mobile | desktop

Sometimes people looked at you, Mina, Momo, and Tooru and wondered how you were friends. People who had only known each of you as you were in college could never put it together. But the answer was simple: you’d been friends since high school. You were rapidly becoming different people, but those three were still your girls through and through.

That was how you, Mina, Tooru, and Momo ended up in the club that day. Two friends who really wanted to go—Mina and Tooru—and two friends who really didn’t—you and Momo. These things happen when you become friends years before you could be allowed in any club. Your college friends never would have invited you on an excursion like this—hell, none of them would ever be seen at a club either. But when Mina and Tooru showed up at your door begging you to go out and experience your twenties, you couldn’t say no. Now you were spilling out of the car Mina had called and walking on high heeled booties to a club you’d heard of but never been to.

“Obviously you actually wanted to go, Momo, otherwise you wouldn’t be wearing a top like that.”

Tooru wasn’t hiding the fact that she was ogling Momo’s very prominently displayed chest, all but bursting out of the deep v-neck she had paired with a short skirt.

“It’s only sensible for me to wear a top like this,” Momo said, her voice firm despite awkward fidgets to put her breasts a little more away. “Places like these are so hot that a shirt with a higher neckline would be soaked with cleavage sweat in a minute.”

“Mhmm, right,” Tooru said, flouncing away in her own crop top and shorts, eager to enter the club.

You’d gone simple, just tossing on a bodycon dress that you’d ordinarily pair with a sweater and tights, but that Mina had convinced you to wear on its own tonight. You crossed your arms, the chill of the evening seeping past the thin fabric even just in the short time it took to get from the heated car to the sweaty bar.

Tooru had run to the door and was nearly bouncing, waiting for the rest of you to catch up. Mina jogged over to her, looking the coolest of all of you in her black mesh crop top with nothing but a bra underneath and shorts that had the lacy scalloped hem of her underwear peaking out the top of. You hurried after them, just eager to get out of the cold. Tooru whipped the door open and the three of you piled in all at once, flashed your IDs, and then you were in.

The sound of the bass had thrummed loudly even outside, but once inside, your senses were overloaded. The music was deafening, the smell of alcohol bitter and heady, and the heat of sweaty bodies oppressive as Mina grabbed your wrist and dragged you through the crowd.

Even with Mina clearing the way, you had to elbow your way to the bar. This was the easiest part of the night—a task, something to do aside from trying and failing to work up the nerve to dance. Over the music, you yelled, “Whiskey ginger, well is fine,” to the bartender and turned to your girlfriends.

Mina and Tooru were already swinging their hips as they waited for their drinks, shimmying against each other to the beat. You and Momo were a little stiffer, not quite having the nerve or confidence to let your bodies be taken by the music.

“Girl’s night!” Mina cheered once everyone had a drink in hand. Glasses clinked and Tooru took a healthy gulp of her drink

“Can’t dance if you’re worried about spilling your drink,” Tooru said.

“Not with that attitude!” Mina said. She thrust her beer bottle in the air and then grabbed Tooru’s hand and the two of them stumbled into the mass of writhing bodies.

“You gonna follow them?” Momo asked, chewing on the straw of her drink.

“Not yet.” You had to shuffle away from the bar to make room for other patrons, moving to lean against one of the walls. “Maybe a bit of liquid courage.”

“It probably would have been wiser to do shots.”

You looked around, noticing how many people were already sending glances Momo’s way. You could draw direct lines all around the room between men’s leering eyes and Momo’s partially exposed chest, already beginning to glisten with sweat. You pursed your lips. It was nice to have Momo around as a fellow shy dancer, but it was discouraging to always be the one next to the prettiest girl in the room. People were looking right through you.

“You’ll probably get some sent your way soon enough,” you muttered.

“What?” Momo asked, her voice loud over the music.

“Nothing!” you replied. You squeezed the lime wedge into your drink and swirled it, drinking thirstily.

You hoped for one of two things. For the night to pass by quickly or for, unlikely though it was, something exciting to happen. Bars and clubs were predictable. Just once, you wanted to be surprised.

“Woah, look at her.”

Midoriya tried and failed to follow his friend’s gaze into one of the dark corners of the bar. Mineta was a good foot shorter than Midoriya, so it was hard to tell exactly where his line of sight was taking him. Kaminari seemed to hone in right away, though, pointing eagerly at the wall near the bar.

“Good find, Mineta,” Kaminari said. “Damn she’s hot.”

Midoriya followed Kaminari’s finger and noticed two girls huddled close together, sipping their drinks and observing the crowd, occasionally leaning over to talk to each other. One was dressed in a top and skirt and the other in a tight dress. The second girl’s hips were moving to the beat just slightly, as though she might not even know herself that she was doing it. She laughed at something her friend said, smile opening wide and fearlessly.

“Wow,” Midoriya said, eyes locked on her.

“What, did Mineta finally find a girl to meet your ridiculously high standards?” Kaminari asked, clapping Midoriya on the back.

“Maybe,” Midoriya murmured, watching as she waved to some other girls in the crowd.

“About time,” Mineta said. “I’ve never seen more perfect tits in my life.”

That snapped Midoriya out of his focus and he looked down at his friend, whose eyes were unblinking, scarily locked straight ahead. “What?”

“That plunging neckline perfectly showing what it would look like if I had my hands on either side of them,” he continued, his voice distant. Luckily, Kaminari smacked him upside the head.

“If you’re saying it loud enough to be heard over the music, you’re saying it too loud,” Kaminari chastised. “Besides, if Midoriya finally found a girl he likes, you should give him first dibs.”

“What?” Mineta asked, turning towards Kaminari, outraged.

“Wait, wait, I think there’s been a misunderstanding,” Midoriya said, waving his hands in front of him before his friends could have it out. “The girl I was looking at isn’t wearing a plunging neckline. Look there.”

Midoriya pointed in your direction as subtly as he could, smiling as he caught another glimpse of your beautiful laugh.

“Oh, her friend,” Mineta said.

“Yeah, that tracks,” Kaminari added, looking between Midoriya and you. “Well, you should go for it, man! Try your luck!”

Midoriya looked at Kaminari, brows furrowed. “Did you guys invite me just to get me laid or something?”

“Of course not,” Mineta said. “Your innocent face makes us look less like two fuckboys and the girls will trust us more. You’re our cover.”

“Purely selfish reasons then, okay,” Midoriya muttered. “Okay, yeah, I’ll go talk to her.”

“Do it!” Kaminari said, giving you a thumbs up. He kicked the back of Midoriya’s calf and sent him tumbling into the crowd. Amidst a song of sorrys, Midoriya made his uncertain way toward you.

Three men had already tried their luck with Momo in as many songs. She’d kindly refused each advance—no level of drunkenness had ever led Momo to so much as a sloppy makeout and you weren’t sure how many times hell would have to freeze over for that to change. You joked about each of the guys and their sad pick-up attempts, but, still, it had you feeling low. None of the guys even pretended to be interested in you. They went straight for Momo, trying their darndest to keep their eyes on hers and not drift south.

“Hello, uh, miss…”

You nearly rolled your eyes as you looked up from your drink, half gone already, to find another sucker that Momo would have to reject. As soon as your eyes landed on him, you were struck by how different this one was from the others. He didn’t look like the usual meathead dude-bro who swung by. He had a round face and freckles smattered under the roundest green eyes you’d ever seen. He looked sheepish already, anticipating the rejection he’d get from talking to a girl so far out of his league.

You felt the jolt of an elbow in your ribs and looked at Momo who was giving you intense eyes, eyebrows raised. She looked at you and then at the boy with the green hair, tilting her head, and suddenly you realized that you were “miss.”

“Oh, hello,” you said, unable to hide the confusion on your face.

“I’m Izuku,” the man said, smiling softly at you. “Would you, um, care to dance?”

You smiled. It sounded like this boy was expecting a waltz instead of the hips that were grinding against each other in the middle of this dance floor.

“I’m… not sure,” you said, so unfamiliar with the procedure here that you were floundering.  “You see, I don’t really dance.”

The boy breathed out what looked to be a sigh of relief and you suddenly noticed the muscles bulging under his t-shirt. His cute, innocent face was hiding a man who was seriously stacked. “The truth is, I don’t usually dance either. I was pressured into coming here by some friends.”

You looked over at Momo. “We know the feeling.”

“Ah, I’m so sorry, I didn’t get your names,” Izuku said, suddenly looking between the two of you.

Momo looked at you for a second then said, “I’m Momo and this is Y/N. It’s nice to meet you, Izuku.”

“You as well,” Izuku said to Momo before turning back to you. “You know, the thing about dancing is that if you just start and let go of everything, it can actually be kind of fun.”

This boy sounded just like Mina, the same argument she made every time she dragged you and Momo to one of these things. Sometimes you managed to let your guard down enough to enjoy it, sometimes not.

“It’s also more fun with someone else.”

Izuku was looking at you hopefully, and that just made his eyes even wider, such a dark forest green in the dim light of the club. You could feel yourself being pulled to him, like a string between you growing taut when Momo put a hand on your arm. “I’ll hold your drink and just come back when you want it, okay?”

Momo was giving you an intent gaze and you knew she was offering you an out. Try dancing with the boy and, if it wasn’t turning out well, say that you needed to go back to your friend. Easy.

“Okay,” you said, taking one more sip before handing your drink off to her. Then you extended you hand toward Izuku, who took it with his broadest smile yet, and led you into the mosh pit.

There was no sign of Mina or Tooru anywhere, haven fallen invisible in the throng of people. So it was just you and Izuku and a hundred strangers, all feeling the music sync with their heartbeats and then their hips, sending them moving.

You started facing each other, your hips moving from side to side, the rhythm slowly moving up so that your shoulders were shimmying, head bobbing. Izuku grinned, bopping along excitedly. He wasn’t a smooth dancer, not cool or rhythmic, but he didn’t seem to care. He put his hands lightly on your hips, encouraging you to move a little more. Asking you to let go.

You let your hips follow his touch and laughed when he rocked you from side to side, totally out of line with anything that might be sensual or suggestive. It was silly and you realized that maybe you’d been putting too much pressure to look a certain way, to be a certain kind of person. Music was for everyone, dancing was for everyone. Izuku seemed to know that already.

You wrapped your arms around his waist, giving yourself into the joy as the two of you rocked, free of expectation or anyone else’s experience. Before you knew it, the music had changed, the next song slightly slower, and your motions smoothed out to match. Izuku slid one of his hands back into yours and raised it over your head, initiating a turn. You went along and the next thing you knew, your back was pressed against his muscular chest, hips moving in tandem.

“Is this okay?” he asked.

“Mhmm.”

You could feel all corners of him pressed against you and you couldn’t help but push back into him. His chest was broader than it seemed, and you could feel the crease of his pecs, of his abs. His hands were on your hips, strong arms brushing your sides. You brought one hand up to touch his bare bicep, feeling how hard it was even unflexed.

Suddenly, you could feel Izuku’s breath on your jaw, the flutter of his lips brushing against the sensitive skin. You tilted your head, exposing the long column of your neck to him. He took that as invitation enough and pressed a kiss to it. He kissed up to your jawline and just behind your ear. He gave the lightest of sucks before you pulled away and offered him your mouth.

He took it eagerly, your lips moving at the same pace as your gyrating hips. You lost yourself in the feeling, the anonymity of kissing, hidden in a crowd of people. The rhythmic dance of your hips lulling you into a kind of easy complacency as you felt Izuku’s hand on the back of your neck, keeping your lips against his. The other one crept forward on your thigh, awfully close to your center, to the hem of your too-short skirt. He never breached either line, though. Just kept his hand there, suggesting where it could go.

“Come home with me,” you whispered when you separated for breath.

“What?” Izuku asked, face flushed, voice just carrying over the music.

You twisted back around so that you were face to face so that you could press your lips right up against his ear. “Come home with me, Izuku.”

You called for a car and sent Momo a text saying that you were going home. You hoped that Momo, Mina, and Tooru wouldn’t want to come back to your shared home anytime soon—Momo was smart enough to figure that out herself.

Twenty minutes later and you were home, you were horny, and you had someone willing and able to solve that.

“You’re not drunk, are you?” Izuku asked while you unlocked the door and ushered him in, kicking off your shoes as quickly as you could.

“Half a drink,” you said quickly. “You?”

“None.”

“Perfect,” you said, and you wrapped your arms around him once again, pulling him in for a kiss.

Izuku did you one better, grabbing hold of your thighs and picking you up like you weighed nothing. Your dress rose up over your hips and your center fell right against his crotch, grinding into it.

You were ready to give directions to your room, but Izuku didn’t carry you further than the living room before slamming your back against a wall and pressing his hips into yours. You gasped at the impact, but it was nothing painful—just surprising. Izuku dug his fingers into your thighs and said, “You seemed awfully eager for this. Desperate enough to handle a little roughness, princess? Or did you think this was gonna be easy?”

The epithet of princess send your heart plunging to your core, heat spreading throughout you. His voice was low, much lower than it had been at the club and your thighs clenched around him. “I thought…maybe…”

He’d been so sweet at the club, shy almost. You tasted his tongue on yours and he hadn’t been lying—no alcohol. The only taste passing between the two of you was the tang from your whiskey ginger. But now his grip on you and the low growl in his voice was telling you another story.

“Do you wanna be rough or do you wanna be a little princess? Or maybe both?”

“Both,” you keened desperately, breathlessly.

“I shoulda known, you grinding down on my cock like that,” he said, nibbling your exposed neck. “Can’t wait for me to fuck you, can you?”

He pulled back so you slid an inch down the wall, but his grip was tight enough to keep you from falling any further. Then his hips slammed back into yours, as though you were fucking already.

“Shit,” you whispered as he bit down on your collarbone.

“If you’re good, I’ll give you what you want,” he said. “If you’re not, it’s going to be a very long night.”

That half threat was almost enough to trigger your backtalk, see exactly what he had in mind to turn this night into a long one. But, by the same coin, you wanted to see what he had planned already.

“I’m good,” you whimpered.

“You are?” Izuku asked. “Prove it.”

He pressed his chest into yours, and you felt your breasts flatten against his pecs, your ribs trapped from a deep breath by his thick forearms.

“Strip and suck my cock.”

You unwrapped your legs from his waist and he released you to the ground. Your dress was stretchy and off in an instant, thrown to the floor, panties soon to follow. Then you were on your knees undoing his dark jeans and pulling out his long, plump cock.

“That’s a good girl,” he said, stroking your hair.

Preening at the praise, you wrapped your lips around your teeth, and swallowed him as far as you could go in one go. You wanted to be a good girl, after all.

“Shit,” Izuku said, keeping a light grip on the back of your head, but letting you do what you want, setting your own pace. You wasted no time with playful licks and kisses, immediately bobbing your head up and down and stroking the rest with your hand.

The noises that Izuku made, little huffs and whines, were cute, showing glimpses of the shy boy who had approached you at the club. He took off his shirt and you could see his abs in all their glory, even better than you’d imagined. As you sucked him off, you brought a hand up to the ridges of his lower abs and rubbed lightly, enjoying the hard muscle. After a trip down to his balls, sucking one into his mouth and you kept up your firm strokes, Izuku pulled you off, breathing heavily.

“That’s good. You’ve proven that you’re a good girl, princess.”

“I did?” you asked shyly, giving his cock a long lick just to make sure.

“Yes,” Izuku shuddered. “Stand against the wall.”

“Here?” you asked.

There were windows all over your living room, giving a clear view to the street and, more importantly, from the street into your apartment. More than that, there was no telling when your housemates would get home and, even if they knew you’d brought a boy home, they’d hardly expect him to be fucking you in the living room.

“Was I unclear, princess?”

“No,” you said, and you went to stand facing the wall. Izuku came up behind you and knocked your legs further apart, and then reached in front of you, rubbing two fingers from your slit up to your clit in a couple firm strokes. You gasped, your head falling forward, but before you could get used to the rough touch, he was gone.

“Where do you keep your condoms?” he asked casually.

“In my nightstand,” you said, moving to stand straight. He pushed your hands back against the wall, warning you not to move.

“Which room is yours?”

“The far one on the left,” you said, only turning your head to look over your shoulder.

“Good,” he said. “Don’t move.”

Then he was gone, leaving you naked, legs spread in your living room. You could feel how drenched you were—Izuku had taken a whole globule of your wetness and spread it all over your pussy. Now, standing spread, you could feel the cold air from the room on you when all you wanted was heat.

Izuku took his time in coming back, slow footfalls making their way back to the living room. You saw a box of condoms drop on the couch next to you and heard the telltale sound of one of the packages being ripped open. The next thing you knew, Izuku’s hands were on your hips, just like at the club, only now his cock was free, sliding in the slick of your pussy.

You gasped, pushing harder against the wall and thrusting your ass back toward Izuku. “Please,” you whimpered.

“Oh, you don’t have to ask,” Izuku said casually. “I know exactly what your slutty pussy wants. I can feel it dripping all over my cock. And you’ve been very good, princess, but that doesn’t mean that you’re in charge. Understand?”

“Yes, Izuku.”

You were pushed forward by the sudden force of a slap against your ass, then Izuku’s chest pressing firmly back into yours, his teeth by your ear. “Yes, who?”

“Yes, sir,” you whispered.

“That’s better.”

He went back to thrusting, one of his hands snaking around your front, through your curls to spread your lips. Your puffy clit was exposed to the air and Izuku’s fingers spreading the skin provided just the slightest bit of pressure, but not nearly enough. You whined, bending more into him, aching for more contact than the occasional brush of his cock skating across your clit. But you wanted to be a good girl too.

“Okay, sweetheart,” Izuku said, his thrusts coming to a stop as the head of his cock butterflied your opening. “You’ve been very patient. Are you ready for your reward?”

“Yes, sir,” you breathed.

You groaned in relief as he split you open, sinking into you just as he pulled his fingers in a hard, slow stroke up your clit.

“You like that, princess?” Izuku asked, making his thrusts slow and deep, his finger’s strokes on your clit languid and intentional.

“Yes,” you moaned, rocking your weight back onto your heels as you met Izuku’s every plunge.

“You feel so good,” Izuku said, his voice becoming softer and more breathy as he got lost in the feel of you. His right hand began spinning circles on your clit, the left wrapped around your middle, fingertips rubbing almost tenderly along your side.

You could only pant, leaning your head back on his shoulder as Izuku’s thrusts sped up, your climax rising within you. “Fuck,” you murmured as his left hand fell to your hip, changing the angle so that he was now pounding your g-spot with every go. He continued like that for a minute, each hit bringing you higher and higher until he suddenly stopped.

“What?” you asked, and the next thing you knew, you were being pushed to the arm of your couch, a hand to the small of your back pressing your spine parallel to the floor, and—before you knew what was happening—he was back in you, going full speed.

You gasped, your head falling down, nipples rubbing against the fabric of the couch as your tits were sent swinging. That sensation caught you, sending fresh sparks through you.

“Are you close, Princess?” Izuku breathed, his quick thrusts breaking his voice.

“Yes, sir.”

“Touch yourself, then.”

You followed his instruction immediately, snaking your hand down to your clit and rubbing it with your practiced touch. The feeling of your cold fingers against your scorching clit, Izuku’s hot cock railing in and out of you, and the occasional spark of your nipples rubbing against the couch had you on the edge of your peak in no time.

“You gonna cum, baby? You gonna cum on my cock?”

“Yes,” you whispered, the heat in your stomach burning, almost unbearable as you reached your cusp.

“I’m close too, Y/N,” Izuku whispered. “God, you’re so perfect.”

He leaned forward and pressed a kiss onto your shoulder just as you shattered around him, keening as you rubbed yourself through your orgasm.

“Fuck,” he said, and you felt his thrusts become jagged, barely leaving you every time before plunging balls deep back into you. He shuddered and, before long, he finished too, taking slow, easy thrusts in and out of you before falling fully on your back, wrapping his arms around your middle.

He stayed there for just a moment before pulling out, taking off his condom and knotting it. You’d collapsed onto the arm of your sofa, face falling down the side as you tried to get your breath back under you, the feeling back into your legs.

“Was that too much?” Izuku asked, his voice soft and gentle again as he came in front of you, gently putting his fingers under your chin to bring your face back to him.

“No, that was amazing,” you said.

Izuku smiled and brought your lips to his for a quick kiss. “I’m glad. Where do you keep your water glasses?”

“Cabinet above the sink.”

“Great.”

Izuku gave you another kiss, this time on the cheek, and then he was gone. You stayed still for a few more moments, your breath back in both hands, the heat seeping from your face slowly but steadily. You pressed yourself up, curling your spine like a cat to fight against the deep sway you’d had against the couch and the wall and gave a little shimmy to work out the kinks. You took a quick trip to the bathroom, then you went around and scooped up all the pieces of clothing that had been thrown hither and yon and carted them back to your room. You’d just flipped on the light switch and dropped them in a pile on the floor when Izuku came back with a glass of water and a wash cloth.

“You got up,” he said.

“I just didn’t want my roommates to get home to find me fucked out against the couch,” you said with a smile, taking the glass he handed to you. “We have house rules.”

“That’s fair,” Izuku said as you took a glug of water. “Lie back on the bed.”

His voice was far less demanding than before, but you went along anyway. You set the water glass on the nightstand and then lay down, allowing Izuku to spread your legs. Some of the old heat returned to your face and you looked away from him as he took the washcloth to your center.

“There’s no need to be embarrassed,” he said.

“It’s just different,” you squeaked. “After we’re done…In the full light and you’re just down there looking at me.”

“It’s only for a moment longer,” Izuku said as he cleaned you. True to his word, he took the washcloth away after a moment, pressed a kiss to the inside of your thigh, and said, “You’re beautiful.”

The washcloth was added to the stack of clothes on the floor, and then Izuku was back in front of you, running his fingers lightly along the outside of your thigh.

“Thanks for tonight,” he said softly.

You sat up, putting a hand on his arm. “Stay.”

“Can I?”

His eyes were wide and innocent, like he hadn’t just fucked you raw in plain sight of the neighbors. Like he hadn’t spanked you and called you princess.

“Of course,” you said.

“I’m glad.” He smiled. “Cuddling is kind of my favorite part.”

“Is it, now?”

“I’ll prove it,” Izuku said, flipping off the light and climbing into bed behind you as you settled in. Then he had you wrapped tight in his arms, pulled flush against his chest. He let out a deep, satisfied sigh into your neck and said, “It’s just the best.”

“It kind of is,” you said, snuggling back against him.

There were a few more murmurs shared between you two but, slowly, the words fell loose, eyes falling closed. Your breathing evened out, and then there was nothing but Izuku’s arms and breath around yours.

“There’s a box of condoms on the couch!” you heard Mina screech a couple hours later, jolting you out of your deep sleep. You felt Izuku’s arms tighten protectively around you as he too let out a sharp intake of breath. “Our girl fucked!”

“Ooh, what a surprise!” Tooru cheered.

“Out here?” you heard Momo groan, her voice much more tired than Mina’s or Tooru’s.

“Dammit,” you whispered, and Izuku giggled behind you.

“That was my fault, I’m sorry.”

“Shh, just go back to sleep,” you said. “If we wake up early, we can sneak you out before any of them are up.”

“So long as I get to see you again,” Izuku murmured, nuzzling back into your shoulder.

Your chest warmed and you pulled Izuku’s arms closer against you, gripping them tightly before your hold fell lax in sleep. Tooru was right—you’d gotten the surprise you’d wanted.

“Definitely.”

[fireheartbuzzard]

my dream

day one: i just realized i’m desperately in love with you

author’s note: hi everyone!! this is my very first rowaelin fanfic, so i’m sorry if it’s bad lol. i’m also sorry that it wasn’t posted on time. my senior year of high school started at the beginning of september so everything was very hectic and crazy around that time, still is with college applications coming up, but i was able to finish this story. for all the other prompts, i either have an outline/idea for it or i’ve started writing something already. i know it’s late, but bear with me as i try to balance high school and everything else. i’ll add a header photo later, i think. idk. i’m new to this 😭

content warning: slight angst, lots of repeated words/phrases (sorry lol)

word count: 4.3k

~

Rowan’s eyes drooped as he walked into his home after a long day of work, desperately needing a nap on his lumpy couch. He set out to make some coffee for later tonight, knowing that he’d have to stay up again to finish another project for his summer class.

Rowan probably shouldn’t have procrastinated his assignment in order to spend time with Aelin at the carnival earlier this week, but he’d rather that than have Aelin spend time alone with Chaol. Just the thought of his name made Rowan scoff.

After being friends for a couple of months, Chaol had recently become Aelin’s new summer fling. Rowan always knew he’d had ulterior motives, but when the idea was brought up to Aelin, she’d laughed and said, “If anyone here had ulterior motives, it’d be me.” Rowan had no clue as to what Aelin was talking about, but she’d insisted that it was only a one-time thing and so far, had been determined to keep a buffer between them, which meant that Rowan had to accompany them on every single “date.”

Despite grumbling the whole time to Aelin at the carnival, Rowan had to admit feeling satisfaction after shoving the ice cream into Chaol’s face in order to prevent him from kissing Aelin. While Aelin looked amused during the whole ordeal, Chaol looked the exact opposite with a scrunched up mouth and furrowed brows. Rowan thought he looked constipated.

Maybe, he was. Rowan shook his head, no no, he was definitely angry.

Rowan smiled to himself as he poured boiling water into the coffee strainer over his mug. Letting it sit when he finished, he walked over to his couch and laid down, allowing his body to rest after hours of exhaustion. His eyes drifted closed as he thought back to Aelin’s situation with Chaol.

Rowan didn’t understand why Aelin wouldn’t just break up with him if she didn’t like him at all. Hell, he doesn’t even understand the reason why she does half the things she does, her mind truly baffles him. He wouldn’t trade her for the universe though, not for anything. Every single part of Aelin fuses to create the most amazing person Rowan’s ever met; Rowan adored everything about her—her witty remarks, her melodious laughter, her long golden hair, her beautiful turquoise eyes with a ring of gold, her bizzare and wicked humor, just about everything.

Gods, don’t even get Rowan started on her smile. Rowan fucking loves her smile. He would do anything in the world for her face to brighten with that glorious smile of hers. It’s the first thing he thinks of in the morning and the last before he goes to bed. Just thinking about her can light up his mood and make him smile.

Settling into the couch even more, Rowan drifted off to sleep with a smile on his face and his mind stuck on Aelin.

~

Rowan woke up with a start, accidentally jerking the dead weight on his arm. He felt warm breaths puff against his chest as he looked down at the culprit of his numb arm. Aelin lay in his arms, halfway on top of him, with her arm thrown across his waist and her legs entwined with his. Rowan smiled as he looked at her slightly open mouth and her golden blonde hair cascading down the edge of the couch.

Rowan had to get started on his project soon and he had his coffee waiting for him, but he couldn’t even move with Aelin lying on top of him, not that he wanted to anyway. So, giving in to this small defeat, Rowan stroked Aelin’s hair as he thought about his dream.

Rowan woke up to a smattering of kisses across his face and the loud giggling of a toddler, followed by quiet laughter. He felt a slight weight on his chest and small hands grabbing at the skin on his face. Opening his eyes, Rowan was met with striking cerulean blue eyes and a head of silver hair.

“Hey, papa!” The toddler grinned at Rowan, eliciting a smile from him.

“Hey, baby,” Rowan grabbed the toddler’s head and placed a loud smacking kiss on her forehead, evoking even more giggles from the kid.

He noticed Aelin drifting closer, hands cradling her swollen belly. “Alaïa wanted to wake you for breakfast. It only seemed fair to have her loudly slobbering all over you as your wake-up call since we all woke up early to make breakfast,” Aelin smiled as she spoke, her face glowing with happiness and amusement.

As Aelin sat on the edge of the bed, next to Rowan’s arm, she leaned down and pressed a kiss to his lips. Leaning in towards his ear, Aelin whispered, “Hurry up and get your spectacular ass downstairs before all the food is gone.” Aelin gathered Alaïa into her arms before leaving the bedroom.

By the time Rowan was downstairs, breakfast was in full swing. Instead of going to the dining table, Rowan stayed standing at the foot of the stairs, observing his family. A girl—with the same golden hair as Aelin and the same pine green eyes as Rowan—ate quietly with her shoulders back and her head held high. The boy across from her—with Aelin’s eyes and a head full of silver hair—smiled at his younger brother who was struggling with getting the food onto his spoon. The younger boy looked exactly like Rowan, as if someone made a clone of him with his hair.

Alaïa was a sight to behold. With food on her face and clothes, she looked to be having trouble maneuvering the food to her mouth with her spoon, accidentally flinging it into her silver hair instead. She seemed to be on the verge of tears from frustration, but with one quiet laugh from Aelin, Alaïa peered over at the smiling Aelin and gave a little giggle.

Aelin glanced up at Rowan in that moment and opened her mouth to say, “Da—”

A small noise of content broke Rowan out of his reverie. Rowan looked down and noticed that he’s still stroking Aelin’s hair as she nuzzles her head further into his hands. A small smile graced Aelin’s face, making her appear peaceful. Watching Aelin sleep made Rowan smile; he could watch her do anything and never get bored because he was just so enamored by her.

Rowan jerked to a stop. Enamored? His brows furrowed in confusion as he thought back to Aelin. Rowan does not believe he can live his life without Aelin in it; he doesn’t even want to think about the prospect of it.

As a groan broke out of Aelin’s lips, she snuggled closer to Rowan. He watched as her eyes fluttered open and she took in her surroundings before smiling up at him. It was the sight of that smile that made Rowan realize the truth of why he’d felt so satisfied upon smashing that ice cream cone into Chaol’s face and why his heart beat a bit faster whenever Aelin’s attention was on him. Just like it was now.

“Hi,” she croaked, voice still hoarse from sleep.

Rowan smiled, “Hi.” He looked around before looking back down at Aelin, “So, how’d you get in here?”

Her brows furrowed in confusion before she quickly snapped her fingers. “I broke in by using a rock to smash your windows,” Aelin grinned. Rowan felt blood draining from his face at her answer.

“WHAT?!” Rowan sprung up from the couch and walked to his front windows. Knowing Aelin, that couldn’t be exaggerated and didn’t sound like it’d be far from the truth. However, as he got to the curtains, he heard quiet giggles and turned around in time to hear them turn into loud cackles of laughter.

“Calm down, Buzzard. I was only kidding. I snuck into your backyard and used the key you hid in your shed by breaking down the shed door.” Aelin rolled her eyes at his exasperated expression, “Oh, don’t be so dramatic, you told me where you hid the spare key when you were confessing secrets while drunk off your ass,” Aelin waved a hand.

Rowan was never so mortified before. Secrets? Not just one, but more?!

Aelin must’ve seen the mortification written on his face because why else would she bellow with laughter like she was right now. Rowan just shook his head as he walked into his kitchen and grabbed his mug of coffee.

By the time he got back, Aelin was scowling at her phone.

“What’s wrong?” Rowan asked as he sat back on his couch and took a sip of his coffee. Aelin only groaned before throwing her hands up in the air and kicking her feet like a petulant child, causing Rowan to chuckle at Aelin’s antics.

“Chaol wants to go on another date,” Aelin frowned. “He’s insistent on continuing to meet up until he has to go back to Rifthold by the end of the summer.”

Rowan couldn’t help but frown along with Aelin. “I don’t understand why you won’t just call it quits. You obviously don’t like spending time with him.”

Aelin rolled her eyes in return. “I find his company companionable and I want to keep having him in my life.” Aelin sighed, “Anyway, can you please join us? He wants to have a picnic on the beach this Friday.”

Rowan thought about seeing half-naked Chaol and his grabby hands around half-naked Aelin on the beach and grimaced. He did not like the idea of seeing Chaol around Aelin at all, let alone a half-naked Aelin, so Rowan definitely had to go.

Rowan sighed as he ran his hand over his face, “I’ll go.”

“Really?” Aelin beamed. At Rowan’s slight nod, Aelin shifted on the couch and squeezed Rowan tight around the waist. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She murmured into his chest. Rowan wrapped his arms around her frame and squeezed her back. Rowan could definitely get used to this. Aelin pulled back a second later and stood up from the couch. “Okay, I’ve got to head home and feed fleetfoot now,” Aelin smiled, “Thanks for the amazing power nap.”

“Break in again anytime,” Rowan smiled as he heard her chuckle.

“Yeah, yeah, Buzzard.” Aelin waved goodbye before leaving the living room and closing the front door behind her.

Upon hearing Aelin leave his home, Rowan thought back to his revelation earlier today. Rowan Whitethorn was in love with his best friend and she didn’t even know it. He was screwed. He was so irrevocably screwed and he had no clue as to how he’d get himself out of this mess.

~

Rowan was fuming. He swore that steam was blowing out of his nose and ears like those cartoon characters. Aelin had given him a popsicle to “cool off” and right now, Rowan felt like a petulant child at the beach.

The whole day, Rowan’s been doing his damn best to block Chaol from Aelin, but it seemed like Chaol caught onto his game and is now quicker with his actions. Aelin hasn’t been helping either. Not with the way she’s voluntarily playing in the water with Chaol right now in her show-stopping black bikini with embroidered little golden dragons.

Earlier, Chaol offered to put sunscreen on Aelin’s body for her. Before Rowan could beat him to it, Chaol had already started applying the cream to her long tan legs. Aelin didn’t even protest, but she didn’t miss the sharp glare Rowan sent Chaol’s way, silently laughing at Rowan.

It certainly didn’t help when Chaol was applying the sunscreen slowly, as if trying to memorize the feel of her skin. And instead of quickly stopping Chaol, Aelin keenly kept an eye on Rowan, an amused look on her face as she caught the narrowing of his eyes.

A while later, they played in the sand together like two toddlers on a date. Aelin giggled the whole time as she buried Chaol in the sand and created a mermaid body for him. Rowan figured she needed help getting sand so he repeatedly kicked sand towards Chaol from where he sat on his beach chair. A lot of the sand landed on Chaol’s face, which earned him a shout and glare from Chaol, but it wasn’t Rowan’s fault that the sand landed on his face when Rowan aimed it towards his neck.

Totally not his fault. Must’ve been the wind.

Aelin seemed to be amused by the whole ordeal, if the twinkle in her eyes and the giant smile spread on her face were anything to go by.

The rest of the day seemed like it was “Ignore Rowan Time” because they both ignored Rowan and kept to each other. They went to buy popsicles together and deserted Rowan at the beach. They reappeared about twenty minutes later, only to desert him again to go into the water. Rowan had enough of it.

Now, Rowan watched from afar as Chaol put his slimy hands all over Aelin, carrying her onto his shoulders and dropping her into the water. Sighing in frustration, Rowan angrily bit down a big bite of the popsicle before throwing the rest into the trash can a few feet away.

Grumbling the whole way, Rowan walked down towards the water, looking for ways to easily throw Chaol into it. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Aelin spin towards him, smiling as she looked at him. Rowan returned a small smile, hoping it didn’t look like a grimace.

As Rowan crept towards Chaol, he kept eye contact with Aelin, conveying his plans to her through the movement of his eyes. Aelin’s face shone with amusement as her eyes held a mischievous gleam. Chaol, noticing something amiss and Aelin’s wandering eyes, turned just in time to be tackled into the water by Rowan’s broad shoulders.

Aelin cackled as Chaol’s arms flailed above the water, paying no attention to Rowan as he stalked toward her. It was already too late by the time Aelin felt herself get lifted by Rowan’s hands.

“Don’t you dare, Buzzard,” Aelin warned as she repeatedly slapped Rowan’s bare back. Rowan only slapped her butt in return, to which Aelin quickly gasped, “Rowan Whitethorn! You did not jus—”

Aelin was thrown into the water before she could even finish her sentence. Rowan watched in amusement as Aelin’s arms flailed before she pulled herself above water, spitting a mouthful of salty water at Rowan’s chest. Wiping the water from her face, Aelin glared at Rowan before running as best she could in water and trying to tackle Rowan. Rowan was immovable, but he grabbed her around the waist and fell backwards into the water anyway, pulling Aelin with him.

Up above the water again, Aelin glared at him and huffed as she crossed her arms over her chest, Rowan’s arms still encasing her to his body. Rowan’s chuckle reverberated through Aelin’s body from where their bodies were touching.

The sun was setting, creating beautiful hues of pinks and oranges that reflected off of the many white fluffy clouds in the sky. Seeing Aelin bathed in that light was surreal. The ring of gold in her beautiful turquoise eyes, eyes that Rowan loves, more accentuated in the golden sunlight. Her golden hair glowing as if it was on fire. Aelin looked stunning.

Aelin grinned as Rowan’s hand flattened against her waist, his fingers contracting as if debating letting her go. Rowan noticed Aelin’s hand lifting to cup his face. Her hand was warm, as though the warmth of the sun she personified extended to her fingertips.

Rowan stared into her deep questioning gaze, eyes inquisitive as if waiting for him to do something. Rowan could only stare as she carefully stroked her thumb across his cheekbone, her hands slick with the beach water.

His eyes locked onto hers as she lifted her other hand to his face, her fingers tracing the lines of the tattoo along his temple. Rowan’s breathing turned ragged as he was reminded of the day’s events: how he was constantly left behind to watch over their things, how he was left out of the activities Aelin and Chaol had chosen to do, and how utterly frustrated and defeated he’d felt when Aelin didn’t try to avoid Chaol’s advances on her.

“Rowan,” Aelin breathed as her fingers slid down the side of his tattooed cheek, reminding Rowan of the way she’d touched Chaol today and how she’d allowed that touch to be reciprocated.

He quickly yanked both wrists off his face. He didn’t want her to touch him when she was fawning over some other man. He dropped her hands and stepped back, staring at her as she briefly closed her eyes in hurt.

“Don’t do that,” Rowan rasped, “Don’t—touch me like that.”

Aelin swallowed, her face burning red, “I’m sorry.” She backed away a step. “I’m sorry,” she repeated. “It was nothing.”

Rowan’s eyes shuttered, “Good.” The word repeated in his head. “Fine.”

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

Rowan kept a neutral face as he stalked away, trying not to look like a wounded puppy. He quickly toweled himself off before gathering his things and leaving the beach without Aelin in tow.

~

Rowan didn’t know why he was here. He’d definitely ruined things between him and Aelin if the hurt on her face was anything to go by. But, Rowan couldn’t go to sleep knowing that he’d done something that hurt Aelin. He’d lied in his bed, staring at his ceiling before deciding to just go apologize to her. He didn’t look at the time at all, just put on some clothes and left his house. He didn’t take his phone, didn’t take anything but the keys in his hands.

Now, Rowan was staring at a small two-story cream-colored house. Kingsflame flowers lined either side of the short path leading to the front door. Aelin’s favorite flowers.

“Fuck,” Rowan sighed. He shook his head as he slowly brought it to lean against his car horn. “I should’ve gotten her flowers.” He glanced at the clock to see if there’d be a possibility for him to make a quick trip to the flower shop. 2:48, the clock read.

The flower shop wouldn’t even be open at this time.

Rowan sighed as he quietly got out of his car and made his way up to Aelin’s door, dread pooling in his stomach at the idea of Aelin ignoring him completely. As Rowan waited after ringing the doorbell, he took note of the light ballad coming out of Aelin’s small home, the sorrowful melody hitting him in the chest. Aelin only ever listened to that type of music when she was feeling heartbroken and Rowan was hurt knowing that he’d been the one to cause that pain.

He rang the doorbell another time before deciding that she probably couldn’t hear if her music could be heard from outside. Sighing, Rowan pulled out his phone and called her, hearing the music pause for the duration of an unanswered call, and waited until the call went to voicemail before he reluctantly walked to the fourth kingsflame flower from her front door.

Rowan, then, got onto his knees and dug out dirt until he was met with Aelin’s spare key, which was only supposed to be used in dire emergencies.

Oh, this was very dire.

Grimacing at his dirty hands, Rowan walked back towards the front door and opened it before getting inside. Rowan threw the spare key onto the counter before rinsing his hands and hightailing towards Aelin’s bedroom.

Slamming open the French doors, Rowan’s eyes frantically searched for Aelin, finding the woman standing at the threshold of her connected bathroom in nothing but a blue towel wrapped around her lithe frame.

Shocked still, Aelin stood with wide, puffy, red eyes and a frown marring her beautiful face. Rowan knew she’d taken a bath to feel better, but it wasn’t enough to abate her emotions if the tears still lining her eyes were anything to go by.

Rowan’s chest hurt, his face crumpling in pain at the sight of her. “I am so, so sorry, Aelin,” Rowan apologized as he looked deeply into her sorrowful eyes. “I hadn’t meant to react like that—like your touch had been so repulsive that I had to quickly get rid of it. But when you did touch me, I was reminded of how you’d touched Chaol earlier in the day, how you’d allowed yourself to be touched by him. I didn’t like watching you with him, let alone touching him.” Rowan took a step forward and some of his anxiety quelled at the insistence in her eyes for him to keep talking. “I was mad and I took it out on you. I’m sorry.”

Aelin seemed at a loss for words as she silently processed everything he’d said, her eyes analyzing his face as she searched for the sincerity of his words. Her head tilted slightly as if trying to further understand his words. “Why were you mad?”

Rowan subtly winced as rubbed the back of his neck, ducking his head and staring at the wooden floor. “Like I said, I don’t like Chaol,” Rowan explained.

“No, no. You said you didn’t like watching me with Chaol. You were jealous,” Aelin deadpanned.

“Mad or jealous, I don’t care. All I care about is you and the fact that I love you,” Rowan shouted as he threw his hands into the air.

Aelin’s breath hitched as she stared in shock at his sudden outburst. Her mouth opened and closed a couple of times before she gaped at him. “Wh-what did you just say?” Aelin sputtered.

“I had a dream, Aelin. I was woken up by a 2 or 3 year-old child and she was laying on my chest when you walked in. You told me that you had her wake me up by giggling and kissing my face because while I slept in, you and the kids woke up early to make breakfast. Our children were in that dream and you were pregnant with our fifth child.” Rowan ran a hand through his hair before he took the remaining steps between them and gently cupped her face as he looked into her eyes. “When I actually woke up, you were right there in my arms. I’d never been more peaceful and content than when you were in my arms. As you were laying there, I’d realized I wanted that dream to become reality. And, I wanted that with you. You’re it for me, baby. You’re my dream and my forever. I love you, Aelin. Please forgive me.” Rowan gently rested his forehead against hers as he wiped the tears streaming down Aelin’s face.

Aelin’s hands came up to grasp his elbows as Rowan leaned down and kissed her right cheek, his hands moving to tuck her hair behind her ears. His lips moved towards her other cheek, pressing another light kiss there before moving onto both of her eyelids. He continued placing light kisses onto her forehead, her nose, and her chin.

As Rowan got to her lips, he angled his head away from her face to stare into her eyes, seemingly asking for permission to continue his path. When Aelin reached her hands up and gently cradled his face as he slowly leaned in, Rowan threw all caution to the wind and finally pressed his lips on hers.

Kissing Aelin was better than anything Rowan had ever known. The soft and hesitant, yet determined and insistent press of her lips against his set his body on fire. Rowan felt like he was burning inside out, but he didn’t care because every second with this woman in his arms was worth burning to ashes.

Pulling away, Aelin looked into his eyes, placed her hands on his shoulders, and said, “I know.”

Rowan pulled back a bit, pressing another kiss to her lips before looking at her questioningly. “What do you mean you know?” Rowan gently rested his hands on her waist and pulled her closer to his body.

Aelin sighed, “I mean, I know that you love me. Don’t worry, I love you, too, Rowan.” Aelin leaned onto her toes to lightly kiss him on his lips. “Why do you think I’d devised all these plans to make you jealous anyway?” Aelin shrugged.

Thrown off guard, Rowan froze as he stared her down. “Plans to make me jealous? What are you talking about? How did you know?”

“All I have to say is that you need to learn how to control your alcohol intake. Getting a love confession from my best friend when he’s shitfaced drunk was not how I planned on learning about his undying love for me.” Aelin waved a hand, “Anyway, I had Chaol act like an obsessed lover so you would get riled up and finally make a move. He’s truly only a friend that’s visiting for the summer and he has a fiancée back in Adarlan; she's actually in on it too, so no need to worry. I’m not so sure if my plan was a good or a bad idea, considering the tumultuous outcome.” Aelin glanced up at him to gauge his reaction.

Rowan didn’t know whether he should laugh or cry. A sudden laugh erupted out of Rowan, startling both him and Aelin. “It was definitely a good plan if I’m able to be yours in the end,” Rowan muttered, leaning down to kiss Aelin.

Aelin pulled back and quirked a brow. “Who said you could be mine?” The question was paired with Aelin’s arms crossing over her chest. Rowan immediately paled.

“Well,” Rowan rubbed the back of his neck, “I assumed that since you reciprocated my feelings, you’d be my girlfriend now, but…” Rowan trailed off awkwardly.

“Did you ask yet?” Aelin inquired, a serious expression taking over her face.

Gripping Aelin’s hands in his, Rowan looked into her eyes as he asked, “Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, will you do me the honor of allowing me to become your boyfriend?”

Aelin pretended to be thinking for a few seconds, eliciting a pinch in the side from Rowan. Aelin grinned, a smile so beautiful, Rowan would be a fool to not smile back.

“Of course, Buzzard.”