#This is assuming the schedule isn’t delayed a bit with everything going on

[saltpepperbeard]

so it’s august.

two months out, officially.

which means there’s a very VERY real possibility of actually getting promotional material this month.

like, a teaser could legitimately drop if they follow the same two month out teaser/one month out trailer pattern.

we could legitimately see season 2 stede for the first time, more of season 2 ed, and get glimpses of what’s actually in store for us like,,,

[mynameismckenziemae]

A Little Bit Stronger

Part 4

(previous part here, next part here)

Bradley Rooster Bradshaw x OFC

Summary: You get more bad news but it turns out to be a blessing in disguise

Just like everything else I write/post: this story is for 18+ only. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. It will contain smut, adult themes, situations and language. Please also note this story may be triggering due to the topic of domestic abuse (physical, emotional, sexual) violence-feel free to message me with any questions before reading.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI! Smut, mutual masturbation, a little voyeurism.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

The front door closing quietly wakes you the next morning, well, more like Hank jumping off the bed to see the person who opened it.

“Alright,” you yawn, stretching before you get up, feeling again well-rested. “Let’s go.”

He races down the stairs ahead of you, excited to see Bradley.

“Did I wake you?” He asks as you enter the kitchen, continuing when you shake your head. “Sorry, I get up early. Went for a run this morning.”

“You’re fine,” you smile, “Hank was just excited to see you. I usually get up early too, must’ve just been tired from yesterday. Is that why you’re called Rooster? You’re an early riser too?”

“Uh, yeah,” he says, turning pink as he rises from petting Hank to look in the fridge.

Now you’re totally convinced that there’s more to the story by his avoidance.

“I don’t have much besides eggs and toast,” he sighs, looking at the loaf of bread on the counter, “I’ve gotta get to the grocery store. I should warn you too, I can’t cook for shit.”

“That’s okay,” you reply as you open the door to let Hank outside, “I used to love cooking.”

“Yeah?” He doesn’t need to ask why you stopped loving it, assuming (correctly) it was because of Chad. “My mom was a great cook. I’d do anything to have one of her home-cooked meals again…that I complained about at the time, wanting McDonald’s or pizza instead.”

You laugh as you fill Hank’s food bowl, “I did the same thing, I think most kids do.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles, grabbing the eggs and pulling out a pan. “The best was her meatloaf and homemade Mac and cheese. She left me a whole book of her recipes but it never ends well when I attempt them.”

“I could try making it,” you reply as you let Hank back inside, “if you want.”

“Really?” He lights up as he cracks an egg, “that’d be great.”

“Yeah,” you smile, “it’s been a while so I might be a little rusty, but I’d love to try. It’s the least I can do since you won’t let me pay you for staying here.”

“That’s not a big deal,” he murmurs. “Her recipe book is in there if you wanna take a look,” he nods to one of the drawers. “Do you like your eggs scrambled? Cause that’s all I can do.”

You laugh again, “Scrambled is perfect.”

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

“Wanna invite Reese, Jake, and Drew over?” Bradley asks as he packs the groceries into the back of the Bronco, “I know the recipe makes a lot, we always had a ton of leftovers.”

“Sure,” you reply, buckling your seatbelt as he gets in the driver's seat. “Do you mind stopping at the post office? I should check my PO Box.”

“Not at all,” he replies, heading that way.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

“Everything okay?” He asks when you frown, reading the letter from the court.

“The divorce hearing is scheduled for next Friday,” you reply.

“Isn’t that good?”

You nod, “It is, but I have to work. Thankfully it’s being conducted over the phone, but I don’t want to ask for time off when I’ve only been there a few weeks.”

“Reese will gladly take off,” Bradley assures you.

You sigh, “I hate asking her to, but I don’t think I have a choice. I don’t want to delay this any longer.”

“Do you have a lawyer?” He asks.

“Yes, but I’m not asking for anything from him; no alimony, nothing from the house…I don’t want or need any of that. I just need him to sign the papers and leave me alone.”

“Do you think he will?” He asks softly.

“I don’t know,” you whisper, “I hope so.”

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

Bradley plays outside with Hank while you start the food; both recipes are easy enough to follow.

“It smells amazing,” he comes in just as you’re closing the oven. “Jake and Reese will be here any minute.”

“Good. Hopefully it tastes amazing too,” you smile, looking at him over your shoulder.

“I’m sure it will,” he replies, stepping close to dry his hands on the towel hanging on the oven door. “It’s looking better already,” he murmurs, his deep brown eyes on the fading bruise on your cheek before meeting your own.

Your eyes flick to his lips, fingers twitching as you fight the urge to bring him down to yours for a kiss.

You both jump when the doorbell rings.

“They’re here,” he says, before clearing the huskiness from his throat. “I’ll let them in.”

“Yeah,” you nod, “okay.”

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

Bradley brings a round of beers outside while the food cooks inside, Drew’s giggling at Hank’s antics, and Reese is telling you and Jake about the trouble she and Bradley got up to with Andy back in the day when your phone rings.

The relaxed smile falls from your face when you recognize the number as your new landlord.

“Excuse me,” you say, stepping inside to answer it and check the food.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

The oven timer goes off just as you hang up the phone.

Somehow you manage not to get any of your tears on the food as you take out the dishes.

“Wow, everything looks great-hey what’s wrong?” Bradley asks when he sees your tears.

“That was my landlord,” you tell him, wiping your tears with the back of your hand, “he terminated my lease…that hadn’t even started.”

“What?” He asks, handing you a paper towel, “Why? How can he do that?”

“Said he overlooked something when I applied,” you sniff, “it’s just a bullshit excuse. This has Chad written all over it. God only knows how he figured out that’s where I was moving,” you inhale shakily, “I’m guessing he either bribed or threatened the landlord.”

He hesitates for a moment before gently wrapping his arms around you in a hug.

“Shit, that was stupid. I’m sor-“ He starts to let go when you stiffen instinctively but you shake your head once before allowing yourself to melt into his embrace. All of your anger, sadness, resentment, grief, and fear hitting you at once. Your shoulders begin shake from your suppressed sobs as you bury your face into his solid chest.

Neither of you hear the back door open again.

“Actually Drew, can you take Hank out one more time?”Jake says when he spots you, “I think he might have to go potty.”

“Sure! Come on,” he says, and the door closes a moment later.

“What’s wrong?” Reese asks, stroking your hair.

“I l-l-lost my apart-“ you take a deep breath before reluctantly pulling away, “I lost my apartment.”

Reese tears up and there’s a tick in Jake’s jaw as you explain everything.

“Oddly enough, I was thinking of taking next Friday off anyway,” Reese says when you tell her about the divorce hearing.

“Liar,” you laugh wetly, “but thank you.”

She just smiles.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

“This is exactly like she made it,” Bradley murmurs, mostly to himself. You pretend not to notice the tears in his eyes.

“Roo, is Shae your girlfriend?” Drew asks a few minutes later.

Reese snorts as Bradley chokes on the food in his mouth, “No, she’s just my friend. Why?”

“Because she slept over last night,” he shrugs.

“Well, are you my boyfriend? You sleep over sometimes too,” Bradley asks, raising a brow.

“No!” Drew giggles, “I was just wondering. I thought when adults sleep over it means they’re dating. Jake sleeps over all the time in Mom’s room. He leaves really early in the morning though. I don’t know why he doesn’t just move in.”

You bite your lip to keep from laughing at the shocked look Jake and Reese share.

“Busted!” Bradley bursts out laughing, “not as sneaky as you thought, huh?”

“Oh fuck off,” Reese says, her and Jake laughing now too, “Drew, don’t repeat that.”

“I won’t,” he giggles.

“Shae is just a friend and she’s going to stay here for a while,” Bradley explains before clarifying, “in the guest room.”

Your lip quirks at that.

“But why?” Drew asks.

“Drew-“ Reese starts but you interrupt.

“I just moved here and it’s hard to find an apartment that allows big dogs,” you explain, not lying…just leaving out some details.

“That’s dumb,” Drew scoffs, “he’s such a good dog.”

“I think so too,” you smile.

“Do you like baseball?” He asks, changing the subject, “I love baseball…”

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

You begin the apartment search again the next morning, requesting tours and submitting applications to anything that looks promising.

But by Thursday evening, you’ve gotten zero responses.

While discouraged, you weren’t exactly disappointed. It’s been a week since you’ve been staying with Bradley and you two already have fallen into a routine together; he quietly opens your door every morning to let Hank out so he doesn’t whine and wake you. Already gone by the time you got downstairs but had coffee, toast, and eggs waiting in the microwave. He’d gone home to let Hank out without you asking one day when you didn’t have time to take lunch. His delighted reactions to your cooking makes you remember why you loved it.

“Still nothing?” Bradley asks as he sits across from you while scrolling for a movie to turn on.

“Nothing,” you confirm with a sigh, “I promise I’ll be out of here soon though.”

“You don’t have to be,” he turns to you, but his eyes won’t meet yours, “I mean, there’s no rush.”

He hesitates so you wait for him to continue.

“It’s been really nice having someone else here,” he admits, “It gets…quiet living alone.”

His admission tugs at your heartstrings; you got lonely too.

“I understand. I do like having someone around. For little things like talking over dinner, watching movies together…and I can finally sleep. I don’t keep myself awake overthinking every little sound.”

“Good,” he murmurs, “you can stay for a while if you want. Until you find an apartment you like, or until things get better with your ex and you feel safe again.”

“Okay,” you agree, “but only if you let me pay you.”

“Sure,” he says as he returns to scrolling, “we’ll figure something out.”

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

Bradley’s Bronco is already in the driveway when you pull in the following afternoon.

It was a long, exhausting day, but it’s over. You’re free.

It was conducted over the phone, so while you didn’t have to see Chad, you still had to hear his voice. He behaved though; his daddy must’ve been present.

“Bradley?” You call when you open the door, feeling better already as you step inside.

He doesn’t answer but Hank is relaxing at the top of the stairs. His tail thumps heavily as you make your way up.

“Hey pup,” you murmur, kissing the top of his head before passing him.

You realize where Bradley is when you enter your room and hear the shower running.

Having every intention of taking a nap, you flop down on the bed with a sigh and close your eyes.

Just to open them a minute later when you keep hearing something; a wet, rhythmic slapping.

Is he…? No. It’s none of your business if he’s jerking off.

Then he moans softly.

You ignore your body’s reaction.

It’s wrong…right?

There’s a thump above your head and you can’t help but picture him bracing his arm against the wall as he strokes himself.

“Oh,” he groans, then, “Shae.”

There’s no ignoring the arousal that rushes through your body before settling between your thighs.

You slide your hand down the front of your pants, gasping when you touch your clit, swollen and pulsing.

Your eyes fall shut as you circle your clit, listening to the sounds he makes and picture him while he’s apparently picturing you.

It’s been so long since you’ve had an orgasm that you’re on the brink in no time at all.

His gasped “fuck” above your ear is all it takes.

Your mouth falls open as you shudder through wave after wave of pent-up pleasure. Tears stream from your eyes at the long-overdue emotional release.

The shower turns off as you come back into your body and by the time you muster enough strength and coordination to get up to close the door, he’s already walking past.

“Shit!” He jumps when he glances into your room, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t think you’d be home until later.”

But you hardly hear him; your eyes follow a droplet of water as it runs down his bare chest, wanting to follow it with your tongue. It’s absorbed the towel wrapped loosely on his hips.

A light tug would make it fall.

“Hey,” he notices your disheveled appearance and drying tears, “you okay? How did it go?”

That snaps you out of it.

“It’s-yeah,” you shake your head to clear it, “I just got here a minute ago. I’m…it was a long day.”

“I bet,” he nods, “I’ll listen if you want to talk about it or there’s beer in the fridge if you want to drink about it?”

“Drink about it,” you smile.

“Alright,” the way he grins makes your heart (and other parts) flutter.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

A/N: posting 2 chapters in 2 days-who even am I? I think I wrote over 5,000 words today 👀

Anyway…Shae is a single woman and things are s l o w l y heating up! What did y’all think?

As always, any interaction is appreciated but I LOVE hearing what you think in the comments/reblogs! Seriously, feedback helps me more than anything.

Please let me know if you want to be added to (or removed from) my taglist…and if I forgot to add you-it wasn’t intentional.

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[lusttttforlife]

I think it’s great how much you are defending the band. Loads of us agree at how shite they have handled things, but you also don’t focus on it being as negative as everyone else. I think because we accepted that’s how the band is going to be, we’re able to move forward and focus on enjoying whatever comes next, and we are much happier for it.

This is literally the only anon ask that isn’t shitting on me for being a fan or telling me how to be one soooo I’ll answer this one. I appreciate the constructive ask

I know it’s been awful and I feel for literally every fan. It really is shitty not being communicated with. I’ve been through it over and over again and each time learn something new. I’m frustrated with this band as well and complained plenty myself. However I’ve also been at the business end of similar situations and see so many damaging effects and a downward spiral into hell when fans are left unsatisfied and fuming cause nothing will ever be enough. Therefore why I’m so against the constant criticism. It’s distressing being let down and having to take the bare minimum. But yeah moving on is great and looking forward to whatever is next is absolutely how it should be.

A bit more context to those interested in hearing my spitball take on the current situation ⬇️

Catfish deserve better in the sense of not being treated as if everything has gone to shit. Things could be worse but whatever, not the point. It really does seem like some fans are calling for Catfish’s downfall which is wild

Kicking and screaming isn’t going to change what’s happening currently. All it does is bring negative attention to the band and puts pressure on those that can’t do much. I don’t think most fans realize that things can’t move forward until everything is lined up and ready to go. Clearly it’s not. I don’t know what the holdup is but I’m purely assuming either due to legal reasons (something in their record contract regarding creative decisions / scheduling) or delays beyond the band’s control i.e. prep time, covid-related production delays (worldwide issue atm), pressing problems, and middlemen being out of touch.

Plus there’s hundreds of thousands of £££ put into this album which the label is trying to recoup so they’re going to do whatever they want on their terms and I doubt Catfish has much say. It’s not as straightforward as putting out promo, singles, the a album, tour, and repeat when you’re signed to a label. There’s essentially a middleman deciding what’s best and it gets frustrating having to sit on your butt waiting for things to happen. My dad and his band call it the “hurry up and wait” game.

There’s probably so much stress and pressure on Van’s end knowing fans are so unhappy. I can’t imagine he’a comfortable with the state of distress this fanbase is in

[hanniiesuckle17]

All I Want For Christmas

A/n: so this started off as a blurb......then i got carried away.......so.......happy christmas everyoneeeee also HAPPY CHRISTMAS TO MY SECRET SANTA GIFT PARTNER !!!!!! (also this is not thoroughly edited I'm soso sorry )

For: @hansoulmin  HAPPY CHRISTMAS BABY!!! I was your secret santa! I hope you like it! 

Tag List: @ashisparanoid @mini-meanhoe @leggomylino @hanstagrams @desertofdessert​ @hoes4hoseok​ @yangomangos​ @jeonqqin​ @geminirules​ @crscendoforsung​ @mrsunshine999​ @jisungsjheekies​ @hannie-squirrel00​ @cotccotc​ @kodzu-ken​ @konenichi​ @yangs-jeongin​ @strykiss​ @skzwriternet​

Warnings: cussing, lots of sexual tension maybe...idk

Word Count: 5.4k

Summary: Minho and Y/n have never gotten along for reasons unknown to anyone. After circumstances arose, Y/n is stuck with Minho driving him up to the cabin the boys rented. It seems that things go terribly wrong at every turn as Y/n is kept from her long desired Christmas vacation. Will she be able to change Minho’s mind about Christmas....and possibly his view on her? 

Genre: Christmas au, enemies to lovers au, fluff, romance, slice of life au, forced to share bed trope, Fem reader

❅

Out of all people, the universe seemed to only choose you to throw misfortune on. You were nice. Some might even call you kind and selfless! You were by all means a good person! So why? Why out of all the eight other people going on this vacation did you have to stay behind a day and drive Satan’s spawn up to the cabin?

Lee Minho was a grown man of twenty two years. He should be able to drive himself! Also what was his deal? The rest of the boys had cleared their schedule for a week and a half of Christmas vacation.What was so important he had to delay your winter getaway as well?

The frigid winter wind bit at your skin, latching onto the soon disappearing warmth. You rolled your eyes watching the coat clad form of Minho come down the stairs of the entertainment building at a painstakingly slow pace. You had no clue why, but ever since you met, Minho had been nothing but cross and hateful towards you, and it seemed like he had no intention of changing. 

“Y/n.” Minho said coldy, tossing his duffel bag into my arms. 

“Satan.”

‘Clever.”

Deciding to be the bigger person, you securely placed his bag along with yours in the trunk and walked over the the driver’s side. The door slammed shut as Minho sunk into the passenger seat. “This is going to be a long ride,” you mumbled. 

An hour into journey and your prediction was already coming true. The two of you sat in awkward uncomfortable silence. Minho stared out the window seemingly unphased by the unwieldy tension. “Should I turn on some music?” You asked, reaching for the radio.

“No. It will just make things uncomfortable.”

You scoffed, retracting your hand. “I don’t see how it can get more uncomfortable than this.” Minho rolled his eyes turning to look at you. 

“It will be annoying for me when you start singing along to the radio and I have to tell you how utterly shit your voice is.” There was no hiding the scowl on your face. Your grip tightened on the steering wheel. Only five and half more hours with this asshole. 

You sighed, glancing over at the man in your car. He was messing around on his phone, completely ignoring you. It was like the conversation you had only a few seconds ago had never happened. “Look. I know you hate me and you definitely aren’t my favorite person either.” No response came from Minho. He simply rolled his eyes. “What was so important that you had to delay my Christmas vacation? Don’t you like Christmas? What possibly would be worth setting back such an amazing holiday?”

Hearing no response you looked over at Minho in question. He was looking out the window with a rather pointed scowl. “Not everyone loves Christmas.”

“What? Everyone loves Christmas! Christmas is the best time of the year!”

“Well, not me. I don’t like Christmas.”

“WHAT?!”

You turned to him eyes wide. “Hey! Eyes on the road!” Minho grabbed the steering wheel and jerked the car back into the right lane. “What’s so wrong about not liking Christmas?” Light snow flurries began to fall on the windshield. “Christmas is just another stupid holiday. There’s nothing special about it. Plus it’s cold.”

“Maybe you really are satan....” You mumbled under your breath. 

“What was that?”

“Nothing.....I just can’t believe you hate Christmas...”

❅

Two painful hours later you were driving your impossible passenger down a long stretch of snow filled road. The windshield wipers screeched as they pushed snow off the glass. The storm had really picked up as you drove further out of the city. The roads were icy and you did your best to keep your old run down car from drifting. 

“How much longer?” Minho sighed, resting his head on the cool glass. 

“Quite a bit-” BANG!

Suddenly, it was much harder to control your car. You felt a rumble in the back wheels. Minho shot up in his seat. “Wait- what the fuck is going on?” Easing your foot off the gas, you pulled over onto the side of the empty road. 

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no!” Hitting your steering wheel, you tried to hold back your frustration. Tears pricked at your eyes, begging to spill over. There was no way you were going to cry in front of Lee Minho. Couldn’t one thing go your way this year? As if this wasn’t bad enough, a loud bang came from your engine and smoke started spilling from the hood. “Fuck...” 

Defeated, you let your head fall onto the wheel. A long continuous blast came from the car horn. Minho grimaced, covering his ears. “Can you like....stop?” You turned to look at him. Feeling even more dejected under his gaze you lifted your head, ceasing the blaring noise. 

Taking a moment to gather your emotions, you blew out a shaky breath. “Just....stay in the car, I guess. Not like you’re gonna help anyway.”

Jerking open the car door, you stepped out onto the snowy road. Deciding to look at the hopefully less damaged part of your car, you wrapped your coat further around your body and walked to the back of your car. Just like you thought, the rear left tire was completely blown out. 

“I knew my car was shit, but I thought it was going to last at least another two years.”

Now it was time to face the music, or rather the smoke. Snow falling at a fast pace, you shuffled through the cold and around to the front of your car. Raising the hood more smoke rose into the winter air. Looking around you saw it was getting darker. You had told Chan you and Minho would be at the cabin the boys rented by dinner time. It was already six o’clock.

A quick glance under the hood was enough to tell that this car was going no where. Brain trying to solve the prediciment you somehow ended up in, you crouched down and attempted to come up with a way out of the situation. So deep in thought, you didn’t even hear the sound of the passenger door opening and closing. 

“I’m assuming you can’t fix this.”

Looking up you saw Minho standing over you. His hands were stuffed into his coat pockets and white snow flurries floated onto Minho’s dark brown hair. “Do you just assume I’m useless at everything?” Minho rolled his eyes. The man turned around and opened the trunk. He returned with your bag as well as his. 

“Come on.” Not even casting a glance your way, Minho tossed your bag at your kneeling figure. The momentum sent you falling onto your butt, the wet cold snow immediately seeping through the one warm layer you were wearing. 

“Where the fuck are you going?”

“There’s a hotel a couple miles away.” Minho said holding up his phone. 

Pushing yourself off the ground you grabbed the bag and hurried to catch up with the sulky hateful man who was already walking further into the snowfall. “Are you serious?” You questioned, trying not to slip on ice. “Hey- Minho! What the fuck, dude?” 

“Come on, idiot. Keep up.”

“Minho! Wait up!”

❅

The sky was almost pitch black by the time the two of you made it to the hotel. Whether it was from the snow clouds or time you weren’t sure. Minho had not bothered to wait for you. He was already through the sliding doors of the building before you had reached the hotel’s driveway. “Selfish jerk.” You mumbled, dragging your bag through the rising snow. 

You did your best not collapse as you were embraced by the warm heating in the hotel lobby. Minho was brushing the show from his hair as he confidently approached the front desk. The clerk greeted him with a friendly smile. 

“Hi. We need two rooms please.”

Her smile faltered a little bit. “I’m so sorry, sir.” She wrung her hands together, keeping that hospitality smile on her face. “With the snowstorm, almost every room is booked.” Minho sighed, casting an annoyed glare your way. 

“Are you sure?” 

After catching your breath, you joined the singer at the desk. The lady typed away on her computer. Looking over, you could see red boxes by all the rooms she scrolled through. “I’m so sorry, sir. But all but one of our rooms is booked.”

“We’ll take it.” You jumped in, eager to have any relief from the storm outside. 

She smiled and Minho grumbled something under his breath. “Okay then. Here is the key to our Honeymoon Suite. It’s on the fourth floor at the end of the hall.” There was no stopping the blush flooding your cheeks.

“H-honeymoon suite....?”

“Yes. It’s our last room.” 

Minho snatched the key card from the woman’s hands. “You’ve already said we’ll take it. Stop blubbering and get your stuff.” Grabbing his duffel, Minho began walking towards the elevator with no intention of waiting for you. 

The concierge looked at you with pity. “You’re boyfriend isn’t the nicest...is he?” 

With a scoff you replied, “Believe me, Minho is not my boyfriend.”

Rushing through the lobby, you squeezed through the elevator doors just as they were closing. Minho remained silent as you both rode up to the fourth floor. Your wet feet against the plush carpet was the only sound to be heard as you walked to the end of the hall. 

Before he could slide the keycard, Minho scowled at the heart engraved on the door. The happy beep and green light prompted him to push into the room. His scowl deepened as he flicked on the lights. 

Even with the lights turned on, the room was cast in a warm dim glow. There was only one bed, shaped like a huge heart with rose petals strewn across the duvet. Your eyes widened seeing a tall metal poll in one corner of the room, red light shining down on it. Subsequently a similar color grew on your cheeks. The whole room was lavishly decorated and had several interesting adult objects lying about.

“This is.....”

“What? You can’t handle a little atmosphere, Y/n?” Minho taunted with a smirk. He tossed his bag onto a chair, seeming to enjoy your embarrassed state. 

You sat on the bed only to jump up and scream feeling it move beneath you. “It vibrates?! What the fuck! Who makes a bed that vibrates?!” Minho chuckled, possibly the first time you had ever seen him give anything remotely close to a genuine smile. 

“Not kinky are you, Y/n?” 

You froze. Your hands gripped tightly onto your bag and you pulled it higher to cover your chest in embarrassment. “Regardless, there is no way I’m sleeping on that thing.” He shrugged and flopped onto the bed, rose petals flying into the air. He looked rather comfortable, completely unphased by his surroundings. 

“Suit yourself.”

Cautiously, you sat on the plush couch holding your bag like a teddy bear. This was certainly not how you imagined your Christmas. You were so looking forward to spending Christmas with your friends. Decorating the tree. Sitting by the fire in the rented cabin. Eggnog with slightly too much rum. Giving gifts you spent way too much of your paycheck on. Now you were stuck in some hotel sex dungeon with the devil spawn. What a Happy Christmas it was turning out to be. 

❅

After getting used to the room, you showered and changed clothes to leave Minho to do the same. While he cleaned up, you phoned a nearby auto-shop and asked them to tow your car in and fix it. Finally able to resolve the stressful phone call, you let your head fall into your hands. Minho exited the bathroom rubbing his hair with a towel. 

Just as you were about to tell him the only slightly good news, the lights shut off. Both of you looked around in confusion. “Minho, did you do this? Is this some kind of prank? Cause, I’m not afraid of the dark.” He shook his head and grabbed his phone from off the dresser, using it as a flashlight. 

It was then you noticed that the room was getting colder by the second. Rubbing your arms, you shuffled over to your bag and grabbed a cardigan. A knock sounded at the door. Sighing, Minho answered it.

“Ah- Mr. Lee! We are so sorry about the inconvenience. It seems the powerlines have frozen over and the hotel has lost all electricity.” A man wearing a bellhop uniform said. Hearing the news, you came to stand next to him. “We are doing our best to get our generator up and running. It seems our heating system is also down.”

“How do you expect us to stay like this?” Minho asked with a cold stare. The man shrunk under his gaze. 

Slapping Minho’s shoulder you pushed him aside. “Stop being a grinch. Thank you so much for letting us know.” The man nodded and pulled a blanket from a nearby cart. You flinched awak from his cold hands as he passed it to you. The poor thing. He must be freezing walking around the halls in his uniform. 

“Here. This extra blanket will help. The hotel will also discount your stay.”

“No, take the blanket. We’ll be fine. You need it more than us. Thank you for doing such hard work!” The man smiled and thanked you profusely before you closed the door. Turning, you found Minho looking at you strangely. “What?”

He looked you up and down before scoffing and turning away. “You’re just so nice to everybody. You’re so gullible.” 

“Gullible?” You couldn’t believe him. “I’m not gullible. It’s called being nice. Have a little Christmas spirit will you.”

He rolled his eyes, dragging a hand through his damp hair. “I already told you. Keep all that Christmas bullshit to yourself. It’s all just an excuse for the tinsel and ornament industry to make money off losers like you.” 

There was no convincing him otherwise, so you simply watched as he pushed back the covers of the bed and climbed in. “Fine. Be a grinch or a Scrooge or a Hans Gruber for all I care.”

“Hans Gruber?” Minho questioned, head popping up in the dark. 

“Die Hard is a Christmas movie too, okay?”

You were shocked to hear a chuckle come from the big heart shaped bed. Sure, you must be imagining things, you took down a rather thin blanket from the closet and headed to your spot on the couch. Your barefeet flinched at every step on the cold hardwood floor. Curling up into a ball on the sofa, helped your body temperature rise a little bit, but you still froze with the tiny blanket you used. Eventually, you fell into a cold restless sleep. 

❅

You awoke to some shuffling in the room. Assuming Minho was getting up to get a glass of water or something you tried to go back to sleep. But, you were puzzled as you heard his footsteps come closer to the sofa. Unsure what he was doing, you pretended to be asleep, wrapping the blanket more around your shivering body. 

“I’m only doing this cause I can’t sleep with all that teeth chattering,” Minho whispered under his breath. “It’s not like I care...” 

Suddenly you felt his long fingers gently reach out for your ankle. Still pretending to be asleep you resisted the urge to flinch away. Brows furrowed and eyes still closed, you tried to figure out what he was doing. Minho tenderly pulled what you imagined to be a pair of his socks over your cold bare feet. Your breath hitched as his soft hands brushed over your skin. He was....being kind? 

Hearing movement, you shut your eyes tighter as Minho pushed himself off the ground. “That should be fine.....” He whispered. You waited, but didn’t hear him walk away. “Why am I even bothering...” Again it seemed like he stayed. After another moment of silence he shifted. 

Surprisingly, you felt his hands reach under your legs and behind your back. He lifted you into the air and pulled you into his chest, carrying you as if you were the most fragile thing he had ever touched. Minho moved across the room before gently placing you on the bed. The covers were pulled up to your chin and you felt him tuck in the fabric around your body. You were shocked to say the least. 

Surprising you further, Minho climbed into bed next to you. His arm cautiously wrapped around your stomach and pulled you flush against his warm chest. You were feeling very conflicted for many reasons. Deciding to test just what was going on, you turned around, eyes still closed, and hugged onto him tighter. You buried your face into his chest. He froze obviously contemplating what to do. 

Hesitantly, like his body was stuttering, he let his arms fall around you in an embrace. You found yourself....content. His scent was comforting. He smelled like amber and some sort of spice you couldn’t quite name. Just as you were about to fall asleep, Minho sighed and let his fingers tenderly stroke your hair.

“This doesn’t mean I like you....” He whispered. There was something in his voice that made you not believe his words. You didn’t have time to think about them, because you were soon lulled into a deep sleep. 

❅

The next morning you woke up to soft white light streaming through the hotel curtains. Minho was still asleep next to you, fingers still tangled in your hair. The room around you was cold, but your body was nothing but warm in Minho’s arms. You smiled remembering Minho’s kind action last night. Not knowing how he would react you decided it might be best if you weren’t in the room when he woke up. 

Each time you moved, you were sure the man was bound to wake up. Finally you swung your legs over the side of the bed. You smiled, looking down and seeing his gray warm socks on your feet. Your eyes widened as realization passed through your mind. 

Did you like Minho?

Looking over at Minho’s sleeping face, you felt your hears start to beat faster. Grasping at your chest, you tried to still your literally beating heart. This was not a problem for now. Minho could wake up any second and you didn’t really want to confront these possible feelings with him awake. 

Sliding into a pair of the hotel slippers, you shuffled to the door, rubbing your arms to keep warm. Slipping the keycard into your cardigan pocket, you closed the door quietly so as not to wake up the sleeping singer just yet. 

“Oh- I am so sorry!” Someone said, bumping into you. 

“It’s fin-...Hey, I know you!” You turned to find the bellhop from the night before. “Has your shift not ended yet?” 

He shook his head, shoving his hands in his pockets. “The roads are icy, plus they have everyone staying because of the power situation.” He shrugged like it was no big deal. He seriously was a hard worker. “By the way, we got our back up generator working, but there seems to be something still wrong with the heater.” 

“Don’t worry about it! Minho and I were fine last night so I’m sure the other guests were as well.”

He chuckled. “You’re really nice. You’re like walking Christmas spirit.” You smiled, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. “Oh- the kitchen staff managed to scrap together our usual breakfast service downstairs. You should go check it out. It was nice talking to you, Mrs. Lee! Merry Christmas!”

“Oh- I’m not...” But it was too late. The bellhop was already swiftly moving down the hall. 

Deciding to move past the conversation, you headed downstairs to the breakfast buffet. The lobby was full of Christmas decorations; something you had missed last night in your urgent desire to get a room. It made you smile. A reminder that Christmas Eve was tomorrow. 

Following the delectable odor of breakfast food, you wandered into the buffet area and built two plates for you and Minho. Balancing the full platters of food like a professional circus performer, you journeyed back up to the room. By some feat, you opened the door and entered the still freezing room.

Minho sat up in bed, still looking half asleep. “I...I- uh... I brought breakfast. I wasn’t sure what you liked so-”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll eat anything warm right now.” 

Wearing a nervous smile, you sat down on the bed across from Minho and handed him a plate. The two of you ate in semi awkward silence, this time for a very different reason. “So-”

“About last night...” Minho started, rubbing the back of his neck. “I-...I-...you're teeth were chattering pretty loud and-”

You smiled, stopping his train of thought. You could practically see every word he had planned to say leave his brain. “You don’t have to say anything. Thank you, Minho.” The boy nodded, hair falling into his eyes as he looked down at the plate of food.

Another silence followed only slightly less awkward. “If you don’t mind me asking,” Minho’s head raised at your voice. “Why do you hate Christmas so much?” He sighed, shoving a sausage in his mouth and chewing on the savory food. 

“I just never really got the whole Christmas thing. My family never celebrated. Every time we try to get together for the holidays everything just seems to go wrong. Just like how things are going now.” He scoffed picking up another sausage.

“Okay...I can respect that. But...you’re hatred of Christmas seems to be more than that.”

Minho rolled his eyes. Contradicting his actions, he reached over and placed a piece of his toast on your plate. “It’s just....I don’t get it. Like, explain to me what is so great about Christmas.”

You set your plate down with a grin and ate the piece of toast Minho gave you. “I don’t know. I just get this warm feeling around Christmas time. I love seeing all the love that people share. There is just something about Christmas that brings people together. It’s beautiful everywhere and everything is just bright and happy.”

Minho smiled watching you talk. You rambled about all the things you loved about Christmas, from making snowmen to decorating the tree, to watching people unwrap their gifts. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but there was something about the way you spoke that made his stomach twist in knots. 

At some point you stopped talking and noticed the dazed look on his face. “Did you even listen to me?” You looked down at your lap, slightly disappointed. Not liking the frown on your face Minho quickly nodded his head.

“Yeah, of course.” 

Before he could remedy the tension he accidentally created, your phone rang pulling away your attention. Minho watched you get off the bed and walk away to answer the phone. Your back turned, he started beating himself up about not paying full attention to what you were saying. 

“So, Minho,” You said turning to face him. “That was the auto shop. They said we should be able to pick up the car tomorrow afternoon. Thankfully we’ll be able to see the boys on Christmas Eve!” 

Minho smiled, watching your face light up at the good news. “That’s great.”

❅

After two nights in a hotel, you were finally pulling into the driveway of the rented cabin. It was gorgeous! The huge vaulted roof was covered in snow and the warm wood stood out against the blanketed white backdrop. “Minho,” You said slapping his arm to get his attention as you parked the car. “Look how pretty this is!”

He looked up from his phone, first looking at your bewildered grin, then the lodge in front of you. “Yeah,” You stared in wonder at the place you would be staying for the next week. “Really beautiful.” Turning you found Minho already looking back at you. For some reason, just the way he was looking at you had your stomach doing somersaults.

Pushing your hair behind your ear, you attempted to calm the heat on your cheeks. Both you and Minho awkwardly laughed and looked away from each other. Pressing your hands to your cheeks, you tried to pat away the blush like an idiot. 

“THEY’RE HERE!”

Suddenly, seven rambunctious boys stampeded out of the house and came bounding through the snow to your now fixed car. They pounded happily on the windows and had you not known them, the event would be absolutely terrifying. “Guys, let us out of the car!” Minho shouted with half a laugh. 

Eventually, you were dragged into the cabin by the idols and hugged until your faces turned blue. The inside was even more beautiful than the outside. Everything was made out of wood and there was practically a wall of huge windows overlooking the snow covered forest. 

“What took you guys so long?” Jisung asked hanging off your arm. 

You sighed, ruffling his fluffy hair. Minho watched with a pointed stare. “Well, my piece of junk car broke down and so Minho and I were stuck in a freezing hotel honeymoon suite. but, now we’re here and I cannot wait to start our Christmas vacation!”

“Woah, woah, woah, woah. Back up. Honeymoon suite?” Chan asked with raise brows, looking between Minho and you. The look stopped when Minho made a slice motion across his neck. “Well....um...guys I hate to break it to you, but there's only like 5 rooms and the rest of us have already paired off.”

The band collectively ‘oo-ed’ and started jokingly shoving Minho around. “Think you lovebirds can survive without biting off each other’s heads?” Jisung said jokingly. Obviously he was kidding, but you were blushing more in the last hour than probably ever in your life. 

Thankfully, Chan noticed your embarrassed state and ushered everyone away to let the two of you settle in. Christmas Eve with the rest of Stray Kids was quite possibly one of the greatest nights of your life. By the time everyone retired for the evening, it was almost midnight. Your room was smaller than the hotel suite but shared the commonality of having....one bed. 

While Minho was in the shower, you snuck downstairs to get a better look at the tree Hyunjin, Chan, and Jeongin had put up the other day. The lights twinkled on the real tree that was standing tall in the living room. A fire was raging in the fireplace. The glow of the flames reflected in the red, gold, white, and green ornaments. 

The tree reminded you of the one your parents used to put up when you were little. Feeling the urge to act childish you crawled on your hands and knees until you could lay down under the tree and look up into the lit branches. Resting your hands on your stomach, you smiled looking up at the shiny glass orbs. 

“Y/n?” Minho called out into the wide expanse that was more than an excuse for a living room. “You in here?” Turning your head, you watched his sock feet come down the stairs two at a time. 

“By the tree,”  Through the branches you watched him approach the large Christmas tree. 

Minho chuckled and kicked your leg lightly. “Whatcha doin’ down there, idiot? you look like the Wicked Witch of the East!” He soon regretted the comment as a swift kick was directed at his unprotected calf.  “Ow!” He exclaimed, rubbing his leg. “But, really, what are you doing down there?” 

“You never did this as a kid?” He shook his head. The strong smelling fronds obstructed most of his face from your view, but you could make out the glint of his round spectacles in the firelight. “Come here!” 

Letting out a sigh with an intention you couldn’t decipher, Minho got on all fours before crawling to lay next to you under the Christmas tree. His shoulder brushed up against yours, making your skin tingle. “What’s the point of this?” He whispered after a few moments of staring at the lights. 

Shrugging, you answered, “I don’t know. When I was little, my parents fought a lot. I used to walk down in the living room and lay under the tree. Sometimes I would pretend all the little lights were stars and I would wish for a Christmas miracle hoping maybe that this year they would stop fighting. Or at least fight a little less.” As you spoke, you watched the ornaments and colorful Christmas lights sparkle and twinkle. “Some years it worked. I really did get a Christmas miracle.”

“I think you were the Christmas miracle.” Minho said turning to look at you.

“I doubt that.”

“Well...you’ve made me not...not like...Christmas. I’d say that’s miracle quality.”

You laughed, reaching for his hand on instinct. His eyes widened, but the boy let you grasp onto his fingers. “Minho, you really aren’t so bad. I feel like maybe I just didn’t take the time to get to know you.” Minho grinned. You felt like it may have been the lights, but a rosy dust filled his cheeks. 

“Yeah, well....like I said. You’re my Christmas miracle.”

You were at a loss for words. Minho shifted his fingers to interlock with yours. “Can- can I kiss you?” He asked with baited breath and furrowed brows, eyes trained on your lips. If you weren’t sure of his feelings, you knew now. Fearing your voice would betray you with any attempt to speak, you nodded and looked through the glass lenses into his deep brown eyes. They were softer than you had once thought. 

Slowly leaning over Minho pressed his lips against yours. That warm feeling returned to your stomach and slowly traveled until you’re whole body felt like it was glowing. Minho kissed you under the twinkling colorful lights of the tree, earasing every other bad thought or thing he had ever said to you before. He pulled away as the grandfather clock in the hall struck twelve. 

“Merry Christmas, Minho.” You whispered, his lips still inches away from yours. 

“Merry Christmas, Y/n.”

❅

“GOOD MORNING CHRISTMAS LOVEBIRDS!” Hyunjin screamed, bursting into the room you and Minho shared. He shrieked seeing the two of you, legs tangled together under the sheets. With sleepy eyes, Minho sat up and tossed the pillow you were using at the blonde’s head. 

“Minho! That was my pillow!” Groaning, he just laid back down and pulled you into his chest, letting you use his arm as a headrest. 

Chan pulled Hyunjin from the floor shaking his head at the drama queen. “In all serious, guys, Jisung, Felix, and Jeongin are very eager to start opening presents so get your butts downstairs.” Minho raised his arm to shoo his leader away. The door closed returning you to your original state of privacy. 

Minho kissed your forehead, snuggling back under the warm duvet with you. “You know this is the first Christmas morning I’ve been excited to wake up. This time I’m just excited to see you though.” 

“Never would have pegged you for the cheesy type, Lee Minho.”

He chuckled, leaning down and capturing your lips in a kiss. You were unable to keep the smile from creeping up your face. “We should get down stairs. The boys will be missing us.” 

“Fiiiiine.” He grumbled, pushing himself off the bed. Slowly, your body still waking up, you swung your legs over the side. Before your barefeet could touch the ground, Minho’s hand once again wrapped gently around your ankle. He smiled up at you, kindness in his dark brown eyes. Tenderly, his long fingers slid a warm pair of his socks over your feet. “My Christmas miracle can’t have cold feet, can she?”

Smirking at your blush, Minho took your hand and led you out of the cabin bedroom. You joined the rest of the boys around the tree, Jisung already tearing open a gift and Seungmin passing out presents. Minho found the last empty spot on the couch and pulled you into his lap. 

“You too seem pretty cozy,” Changbin stated, with a knowing look on his face. 

Completley oblivious to the conversation, Jisung chimed in. “So, Minho, did you finally figure out what you want for Christmas? Shopping for you was so hard!” Jisung groaned, holding his new gifted plushie in his arms. 

“I gues all I want for Christmas this year is Y/n.” Minho said with a smile. He leaned over and kissed your cheek, not afraid of any of the boys making fun of him apparently. 

“SO I SHOULD JUST RETURN THE $475 JACKET I BOUGHT YOU HUH?”

❅

Masterlist

[matwith1t]

A/N: Hiii! I’m fairly new to writing for Mat, but I heard this song and went !!! so I wrote a little something based off it! There’s a part two in the works! I’d love to hear any & all feedback!! 💗✨ @itrocksmysocks​​ here’s your tag 🤩 

Summary: Mat felt beyond nervous to meet your family for the first time, but like you predicted, your family absolutely adored him. But when your relationship suddenly comes to an end, Mat unknowingly broke more hearts than yours. (heavily inspired by More Hearts Than Mine by Ingrid Andress)

ITALICS ARE FLASHBACKS

MASTERLIST | LET’S CHAT 🥂

Warnings: swearing, mentions of drinking // WC: 11.8K // Fluff & Angst

The trees were in full bloom as you drove down the familiar streets of your hometown. The sweet smell of April air wafted through the slightly cracked car windows; and the sun shined just as bright as the smile on your face when you looked over at the person sitting next to you in the driver's seat.

“And there’s the park where I broke my wrist after jumping off the swings,” you excitedly pointed out the window.

Mat chuckled and squeezed your hand as he slowly rolled to a stop at a stop sign. With no one behind you two, he idled the car for a little longer, and took his time looking out the windshield, “And the place where you got in your first fight, right?”

You turned in your seat to face Mat, who had a wicked smirk on his face. With your mouth wide open you gasped, “I was five and they pulled my hair!”

Mat leaned his head against the seat, eyes shut tight with a crinkled nose, as he let out a boisterous laugh. “Always the fighter,” he said as he brought your connected hands up to his lips, and pressed a kiss on the top of your hand.

You tried to contain your smile, but all of your efforts were lost when Mat’s eyes connected with yours. At the delicate soft smile on his face, you couldn’t control the smile that slowly crept onto your face. And the only thought circling your mind was how did you get so lucky six months ago.

Six months ago, you wound up at a mutual friend's house for a birthday party where you met Mat. It started off with talking in the kitchen over drinks, then to beer pong partners where he would clasp his hand around yours after a high five, and by the end of the night, you two were on the couch off in your world talking nonsense as he kept knocking his knees against yours.

Phone numbers were exchanged by the time the party was over, and a day and a half later, you met him at a coffee shop early in the morning.

A loud honk from behind brought you out of reminiscing. Mat seemed just as startled as you as he dropped your hand, checked to make sure no other cars were at the all-way stop, and then hit the gas pedal.

“Asshole,” Mat muttered under his breath as he slowed down and picked your hand back up.

A small chuckle escaped your lips, “We’ll walk around later and then you can see everything again,” you squeezed his hand as a promise, “Turn left here.”

He turned the blinker as he approached another stop sign, “With all of the stories you’ve told me….” After checking to see no other cars, he turned down the street your parents lived on for as long as you could remember, “I feel like I’ve been here before.”

You felt yourself heat up in embarrassment, “Sorry, I––”

Mat shook his head and quickly glanced at you, “Never apologize. I love hearing your stories.”

With a little embarrassment still lingering in the pit of your stomach, all you offered him was a closed lipped smile. Mat took his time driving down the residential street, admiring the quaint neighborhood, as you piped up, “We’re coming up to it on the right––three more houses––the one with the navy blue door.”

With a deep exhale, Mat’s hand tightened around the steering wheel, as he nodded his head, “Cool.”

With scrunched up eyebrows, you tilted your head to stare at his side profile. Because with his knuckles turning slightly white, locked jaw, and clammy hand, you knew he wasn’t anywhere near feeling ‘cool.’

“Why are you nervous?” you asked him sincerely as he pulled up and parked in front of your childhood house, “You’ve met them over FaceTime and they loved you.”

Mat rolled the windows up before turning off the ignition and turned in his seat to face you with a worried expression, “Because it’s your family, FaceTime is barely anything. This is meeting them face to face and that’s…different.”

You appreciated his honesty instead of denying his nerves, “You’ve already passed with flying colors with everyone,” he still didn’t look convinced so you listed your reasons, “My mom loves anyone who makes me happy and I’m very happy with you.” Mat tucked his chin into his chest to hide his blush, “My dad thinks it’s awesome that you’re a hockey player, won’t shut up about it. And my sister likes you because she thinks you’re her in to get her a hockey boyfriend.”

Mat took the key out as he threw his head back in laughter again in a way that made you fall in love with him all over again. The two of you opened your doors at the same time and got out of the car.

“Trust me,” he said with a few small laughs, “you wouldn’t want your sister to date a hockey player.”

You raised your eyebrows at Mat as he popped open the trunk and took out both of your bags, “What about you, Barzal?”

Mat shut the trunk, slung his bag over his shoulder. When you tried to reach out to hold your bag, Mat pulled it back and shook his head as if asking you why you would even try to carry your own bag.

“I’m better than the rest of them.”

This time, it was your turn to throw your head back in laughter; eyes shut tight and nose crinkled. And when you opened your eyes, you saw Mat staring at you, eyes full of adoration. You imagined it as the same look you gave him after he laughed.

You whispered, come on, to him and Mat followed you up the driveway to the front door. Your hand was floating on top of the door handle to open it, but the door swung open. The sudden movement startled you, which caused you to stumble back a bit, but Mat placed his hand on your lower back to keep you steady.

“Finally, you’re here,” your sister let out an over dramatic sigh and flung herself into your arms.

You hugged her back, “Hit a bit of traffic.”

Your sister scoffed as she pulled away from the hug, but kept her hands resting on your shoulders as she stood arms length away. She raised her eyebrows and looked over your shoulder, “I’m assuming he drove?” You nodded your head and your sister rolled her eyes, “Guess fastest skater doesn’t translate to fastest driver.”

You masked your laugh with a cough as you peered over your shoulder to see Mat’s face turning a deep shade of red.

Knowing how nervous Mat felt, you rolled your eyes and lightly shoved your sister’s shoulder, “There are laws we have to follow when driving.”

“Touchè,” your sister said as she stepped aside and let the two of you in, “Would be kinda cool if there was something in driving that was like the same as getting in a fight during a hockey game.”

“Are you condoning road rage?”

She shrugged her shoulders, not paying any mind to your question as she focused her attention on Mat, “I’ve seen you get pretty feisty out on the ice––”

“Oh, that’s enough out of you,” your mother chastised your sister as she walked in from the other room, “I told her to wait until the two of you were inside.” She playfully glared at your sister one last time before facing you and Mat with a glowing smile, “Mat, so nice to finally meet you in person.”

Mat set down both of the bags on the hardwood floor, “Thank you for inviting me over, my schedule isn’t always the easiest to work with, so sorry for the delay.” He held out his hand, but your mother batted it away and brought him in for a hug.

“No need to apologize,” your mom said with a smile as she pulled away from the hug, “We’re just happy you could make it here for a weekend.”

Mat smiled and shuffled toward you, but kept his arms stuck to his sides, “I’ve been wanting to come, and I know it’d make Y/N happy,” he looked down at you with a smile that you returned, “So I’m happy to be here.”

Your mom clasped her hands together in front of her and the corners of her eyes crinkled as she continued to smile, “You’re too sweet.” She then turned to look at your sister, “Go show Mat the guest bedroom so he can drop his bag off.”

With a nod, your sister was off, talking a mile a minute at Mat who looked petrified. But you gave him a knowing look, referring back to your conversation in the car, how your mom approves of anyone who makes you happy. With a shake of his head and a slight roll of his eyes, he followed your sister up the stairs to see where he would be staying; in a separate bedroom from yours.

You stood in the foyer with your mother in silence for a few seconds before she broke, “I love him.”

“Mom,” you directed your eyes up to where he was only a floor above and had the possibility of hearing.

She laughed as you followed her into the kitchen. You slid onto one of the barstools as she went to stand over the stove. She picked up a spatula and moved around the vegetables in the pan, as she looked over her shoulder, “He’s perfect for you.”

You slumped forward, and buried your face in your hands, something about this conversation with your mom felt as if you were transported back to high school. Peeking up from your hands, your mom was still staring at you with a smile on her face, “He’s pretty great.”

“There’s something about the way he looks at you,” your mom’s comment struck a chord that caused you to sit up straight.

“What do you mean?”

She shrugged her shoulders, “He just…He looks at you with a lot of admiration.”

“You’ve spoken three sentences to him.”

Your mom spun around and pointed the spatula at you as she playfully glared, “You don’t see the way he looks at you when you’re not looking at him. And I’ve noticed it on the FaceTime calls as well.” Her features softened, “You can see how much he cares.”

An electric jolt shot down the back of your spine as you bit the inside of your cheek to contain your smile. Her comments also made you curious. No one else had ever pointed out the way he looked at you, of course your mom pointed it out because she’s your mom…but no one else had.

Did that mean that his friends saw the way he looked at you? Did his teammates notice a difference in his demeanor whenever they saw you two together after one of his games? Did his family notice the way his eyes lingered on you for just a bit longer when you met them?

You didn’t doubt anything your mom told you, in fact, it only made you confident that your relationship with Mat was definitely one for the long run.

Playing off the semi-serious look she gave you, you let out a small laugh, “You’re falling in love with him faster than I did.”

The spatula your mom held fell against the pan with a clatter as she whipped around, “In love?”

With a slight nod, you let a smile overtake your face as butterflies filled your stomach, “Yeah…” you said softly as you remembered the night Mat told you. There weren't any grand gestures, nothing over the top, just the two of you on the couch––with Mat laying his head on your thighs as you ran your fingers through his hair––and it slipped out from him.

“Just as of a few weeks ago,” you fiddled with your thumbs, “Still a bit new, but yeah.” You looked up at your mom who looked like was on the verge of tears, “He makes me really happy.”

Your mom sniffled, “And that’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

You smiled at her, but with the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs––and your sister’s nagging about how much time Mat spent in the penalty box last season––your mom picked up the spatula and went back to cooking. Soon enough, two more people came into the kitchen, and your sister picked up a task to help with dinner.

“Do you need help with anything?” Mat asked your mother as he stood next to you.

She waved him off, “No, no––Everything’s almost ready anyway, just relax, I know the drive was long.”

Mat looked down at you, as if asking you if there really wasn’t anything for him to do. Shaking your head, you patted the barstool next to you.

He slid in easily and his hand automatically rested on your knee. Normally, Mat was a very touchy person; whether it be a small hand on your back in public or his hands ventured further up your clothes in private, he always had some sort of physical contact with you. But in front of your family, he was stiff.

So naturally, he placed a hand on you that was out of sight from both your sister and mother.

“Has she harassed you about a hockey boyfriend yet?” You leaned in and whispered to Mat so neither one of your family members could eavesdrop.

Mat chuckled, but shook his head, “No. She did ask a million questions about hockey though, I think she’s trying to warm me up.”

“Keep your phone close, I wouldn’t put it past her to steal a few numbers out of it. She’s had her eye on Tito since she started watching the games.” Your tone of voice was joking, but Mat’s face looked terrified. You knocked your knee against his, “I’m kidding, she wouldn’t disrespect someone’s privacy like that.”

Mat squeezed your knee, which caused you to let out a small laugh, “I––”

He was cut off by the front door opening and a loud voice saying, “Are they here?”

Immediately knowing that your father walked through the door, Mat’s hand from your knee dropped and he moved his chair a few inches away from yours. You let your mouth drop at his actions, but found the whole ordeal hilarious.

You slid off the stool just as your father walked into the kitchen. He set down his work bag and smiled, “Hey, you.”

It only took a few strides to be over to your dad and in his arms for a hug. After a few seconds, he pulled away, and you just knew that he was looking at Mat. And you didn’t need to look at Mat to know that the fear of God was in his bones. He stumbled out of the barstool, placed both hands on the back of the stool to stop it from wobbling, and took a deep breath.

“Mathew,” your dad nodded at your boyfriend, “Nice to meet you.”

It wasn’t lost on you that he didn’t tack on the in person like your mom had. In your father’s eyes, he had yet to officially meet Mat, and considered this their first meeting, even though they had talked on FaceTime a handful of times. And if it wasn’t lost on you…You knew that Mat was overthinking it all in his head.

“It’s nice to meet you too,” Mat took a few steps forward and reached his hand out, and unlike your mother who waved off his handshake for a hug, your father reached out and shook Mat’s hand, “Thank you for inviting me for the weekend, I–-I know how much Y/N loves it here.” Mat nervously glanced over at you next to your father for reassurance, and you nodded your head as to say good job.

“We’re glad you could find some time in your schedule,” your father stiffly responded.

There was a part of you that felt bad for Mat. You knew how intimidated he was to meet your father face to face for the first time, but there was another part of you that wanted to laugh. Whenever you talked to your dad, there was always some part of the conversation that Mat was brought up in, and it was mostly by your dad. He admired Mat’s work ethic as a hockey player, and was a big fan of hockey himself, so it was a bit comical to see him acting disinterested toward Mat.

“Dinner’s ready!” Your sister yelled out as she carried a steaming hot pot and weaved in between the three of you.

“Does everyone have a drink?” Your mom called out as she carried a pan of vegetables over to the table.

“Is there something I can bring over?” Mat asked your mom as she set the vegetables down.

She smiled, “There’s a chicken in the oven if you can bring that over.”

Mat nodded, finally feeling like he was of use for something, “Of course.”

The two of you walked into the kitchen and Mat released the biggest breath you had ever heard. You let out a chuckle as you took oven mitts out of a drawer and handed them to him, “Alright there?”

As you took down two glasses, Mat slipped on the oven mitts,  “I think I was more nervous meeting your dad than I was for the draft.”

You let out a loud laugh as you started to fill the glasses with ice and water, “Don’t worry, he really likes you, trust me.”

“He called me Mathew.”

“And other people don’t?”

You knew where he was coming from, but you wanted to also show him that it wasn’t a big deal.

Mat opened the oven and carefully took out the chicken, “It’s your dad––everyone else called me Mat.”

With a roll of your eyes you picked up the waters and slowly walked toward the dining room with Mat at your side, “He’s just playing the dad card,” you hip checked him, “By the end of dinner I swear you’ll see it.”

Mat didn’t look convinced, but the conversation was dropped when the two of you entered the dining room. Mat set the chicken down on the table where your mom instructed and then sat down in the chair next to yours.

Dinner started normally; plates were passed around to be filled up, stories of your childhood were shared, and Mat was able to share some of his stories face to face with your parents rather than a FaceTime call.

Mat perfected the skill of acting suave, mastering easy conversation skills from all the times he’d done press interviews, but no one else was aware that Mat moved his chair a teeny bit closer to yours. And no one was aware how you were slightly sitting on the edge of your seat so that way it would be easier for Mat to hook one of his feet around your ankle.

Again, it was the physical contact that Mat always craved, but you also knew how nervous he was, and skin to skin contact made him feel calmer.

“So, Mat,” your dad started out, and when you heard him not use his full name, you pulled his foot toward you in an I-told-you-so way, “Hockey is quite the career.”

As if he knew that this conversation was leading for him to defend his atypical career path, Mat unhooked his foot from your ankle and straightened out his shoulders, “Yeah, it––Hockey isn’t a normal day job, but I can’t see myself doing anything else.”

“No school?”

From the corner of your eye, you saw Mat’s index finger rapidly tap against his thigh.

“I wasn’t very good at it––Not that school isn’t important, because it is,” he fumbled over his words, afraid that he said something wrong, “But when playing hockey professionally started to become a reality, I wanted to put all of my effort into that. Studying for a test was like doing a drill over and over again. Making friends was getting to know my teammates. Doing homework was working out at the gym and camps all year round. And now I…Now I play hockey professionally.”

Everyone at the table was silent as they took in Mat’s well thought out answer. To say the least, you were impressed with his answer, and by the relaxed look on your dad’s face, you knew he approved instantly.

Mat coughed awkwardly into his elbow, “I do have a high school diploma though.”

Your sister snorted at Mat’s attempt to prove that he has at least some level of education, albeit not a higher level of education, but education nonetheless. You stepped on her foot under the table and glared at her.

“That’s a very interesting way to look at it,” your dad took a sip of his water, “Being on a sports team––at any age��–means you have a lot of dedication,  hardworking, have goals, and that you know a lot about teamwork.” Your father’s eyes shifted over to you momentarily before he regained eye contact with Mat, “And I respect that in a man.”

You could see the stress float away from Mat as he tried to hold back his smile, “Thank you, yeah it’s a lot of hard work, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.”

Your dad raised an eyebrow, “Nothing?”

Instead of panicking like you expected, Mat paused for a few seconds, “One thing,” he glanced over at you momentarily before looking back at your father with a small smile, “I would trade it for one thing.”

You ducked your chin into your chest in order to alleviate some of the attention, but it was a small table, and of course Mat was talking about you, so there was no use. But your sister wasn’t shy in stealing away the spotlight.

“Hockey,” she let out a low whistle, “A very demanding sport.”

Mat nodded, “It is, but you end up building a lot of stamina and you sometimes don’t feel the effects of it until you sit down on the bench for a bit.”

“It’s quite aggressive too,” your mom cut a piece of chicken up, “Between fights, getting smashed against the board….”

“Yeah it can be aggressive,” Mat laughed it off, “I mostly get hit in the face with pucks.”

Your mom and dad laughed at his quip before getting into a conversation of their own. And with your parents not paying full attention to the three of you, your sister decided to slip in another comment.

“High stamina and being aggressive?” she shot Mat a look and deviously raised her eyebrows, “I’m sure Y/N likes that.”

Mat spat his water back into the glass and started uncontrollably coughing into the crook of his elbow at the same time you dropped the metal silverware loudly on the ceramic plate.

Your parents paused their conversation, and your dad looked between you and Mat, “Everything alright?”

Mat held up his thumb as he still coughed, and you nodded your head frantically, stuck in a daze that your sister had the guts to say that at a family dinner.

“Everything’s fine,” your tone was high in pitch, but you knew your parents wouldn’t let the topic drop unless they got a verbal answer.

Your sister shot you a wink and a smug smirk as she nonchalantly picked up a few vegetables with her fork. And when you took a peak over at Mat, his face was redder than you had ever seen it. He could’ve played a full three periods of hockey, without any break time, and still wouldn’t be as red as he was now after your sister’s comment.

Luckily, the rest of dinner went without another crude, double meaning, comment from your sister. And when everyone was finished, it was all smiles and laughs as everyone pitched in to help. Mat teamed up with your mom on dish duty, taking it upon himself to wash the dishes. While you and your sister put the leftovers away, your dad wiped down the counters and swept the floor.

In no time, the kitchen was cleaned and everyone was off to the family room to relax, except you and Mat. A few of your high school friends decided to either stay local for college, or to move back to your hometown after graduation, and they were all very keen to meet up…Especially when you slipped it in that your boyfriend would be visiting with you.

You drove Mat’s car to the neighborhood bar where you had one too many nights where you couldn’t remember everything, but you knew they were all happy memories.

“So how many people are coming?” Mat asked as the two of you got out of his car and he locked the doors.

“Just a few,” you said as Mat came up next to you and slid his hand into yours, “You’re not nervous, are you?”

He shrugged his shoulders, “They’re your friends.”

You rolled your eyes as you came up to the front entrance. Mat opened the door for you and you dropped his hand to walk through, “You’ll be fine,” you stressed, “They don’t pay too close attention to hockey if you’re worried about that.”

Mat playfully glared at you, “Were you nervous to meet Tito and the rest of my friends?”

Seeing the point he was trying to make, you offered him an apologetic smile, “You’re right, I’ll stop downplaying your nerves.”

He squeezed your hand and looked down at you, “Nothing to apologize about, I just want them to like me.”

You leaned up on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek, “They’ll like you because I love you.”

At that sentence, Mat’s face lit up and he looked down at you with the kindest eyes, “I love you, too.”

It had only been a few weeks since the first I love you with Mat, but you knew you didn’t want to hear the words from anyone’s lips but his for the rest of your life.

Before you could get another word out, you distinctly heard one of your friends yell over the chatter of the bar, “With twenty-two goals and sixty-three assists during his rookie season, there’s the 2018 Calder Trophy winner!”

Mat’s face turned red as he looked down at you, “They don’t pay close attention to hockey, eh?”

You dropped his hand and softly punched his bicep, “I bet they have Wikipedia open right now.”

Mat threw his head back with laughter as he followed behind you to the table your friends currently occupied. You introduced everyone to Mat and he easily fell into conversation with them. It warmed your heart to see your friends taking so kindly to your boyfriend.

Even when Mat tried to decline your friends buying him drinks, they didn’t listen to him. One after the other, they walked up to the bar and always came back with two drinks in their hands.

“Now this one,” your friend Tyler pointed a finger at you, “Stood up on that bar,” his finger moved away from you and pointed at the packed bar counter, “And sang Dancing Queen at the top of her lungs when it came on for karaoke.”

You hid your face in the crook of Mat’s neck and his arm that was around your waist tightened as his chest shook with laughter, “The ABBA song?”

“Stole the show,” Tyler chuckled at the memory.

You lifted your head up from Mat’s shoulder, “In my defense, it was the first time I was of legal drinking age and I was having fun.”

“Don’t act like you haven’t done that before when you weren’t of legal drinking age.” Your other friend, Paige, said as she laughed before taking a sip of her drink.

“What?” Mat continued to laugh as he looked down at you, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

Even though you were embarrassed by your friends sharing stories that you only half-remembered, you couldn’t help but reciprocate Mat’s smile.

“We have a ton to fill you in on mister NHL-er,” Tyler clapped Mat’s shoulder with his hand and then got off his seat, “What are you drinking? I’ll buy.”

With everyone jumping at the chance to buy Mat a drink, he knew that arguing to pay for his own would be futile. So Mat said a simple, surprise me, and Tyler was off to the bar. Mat had gravitated to talking a lot with Tyler, who actually knew a lot more about hockey than you originally thought, so when he was gone, your friends jumped in on the chance to get to know him more.

And with Mat’s strong arm wrapped around your waist, and his thumb slowly rubbing circles into your side, you stared up at him in admiration. You had only been home for a day, but everything was going even more perfect than you imagined.

The night ended a few hours later, with you and Mat denying any drinks that were offered to you both after Tyler brought him his ‘surprise’ drink. Sober enough to drive the five minutes back to your house, Mat kept his hand in yours the whole way home.

It was only a quarter past midnight, and you were sure your sister was still up, but the two of you still entered as silent as possible. The two of you tiptoed up the stairs, and came to your room, which was closest to the stairs. Unfortunately for Mat, the guest bedroom was across the hall from your parents room.

Mat held both of your hands in his, eyes locked on your fingers that he played with, as you admired the small smile dancing on his face.

“I had fun tonight,” he whispered.

Your smile widened, “I had fun too,” you squeezed his hands, and he picked his eyes up to stare at you, “I’m really happy you’re here.”

“I think your parents like me,” he tried to hide his smirk, but failed miserably when you let out a soft chuckle, “They probably think I’m the best boyfriend you’ve ever had.”

You scoffed, “You’re getting cocky.”

Mat raised his eyebrows at you, “But am I the best boyfriend you’ve ever had?” His confidence was nothing new to you, but your mouth still dropped as he left you speechless. Mat’s smile widened, “That’s what I thought.”

You dropped one of his hands and whacked his chest, “You’re ridiculous.”

His laughter slowly faded away and the two of you were left standing outside your childhood bedroom door in silence. You so desperately wanted to tug on his hand and tell him to follow you into your room, but you knew he wouldn’t go against your parents wishes under their roof. While he acted a bit egotistical just moments ago about having your parents approval, you knew he was still terrified of them; especially of your father.

Slowly, he brought a hand up to cup your face, and let his fingers trail down your cheek. With his index finger placed under your chin, he tilted your head back so you had nowhere else to look but at his eyes.

His eyes were your favorite thing about him. Whether they were glazed over in the morning just after he woke up, slightly squinted in frustration as a penalty was called on him, or screwed tight when he laughed…His eyes were the first thing you fell in love with.

“I love you,” he whispered the exact phrase that was playing on repeat in your head.

“I love you more.”

Mat slightly laughed as he trapped your lips in an innocent kiss. You had trouble kissing him back with the smile on your lips.

He pulled away, his forehead against yours, as his eyes shined bright in the pitch black hallway, “Not a chance.”

You ignored his statement, because while you two could stand in this hallway and debate on who loved each other more until the sun came up, if Mat claimed to love you more…Than that meant the love he had for you was infinite considering how much you loved him. And it filled you with nothing but happiness.

You leaned forward and pressed another small kiss to his lips, “Goodnight, Mat.”

And for the third time that night, you felt his lips against yours. He pulled back with a smile, “Night, Y/N.”

You placed a hand on the handle and pushed it down, but you watched Mat walk down the hallway and to the guest room before walking into the room where you used to dream of having a boyfriend as wonderful as Mat. After you finished your nighttime routine, you pulled your covers back and crawled into bed.

While you set your morning alarm on your phone, a text from Mat caused your phone to vibrate. A smile erupted on your face as you clicked on it to read.

Can’t wait to see you in the morning…Love you :)

Sometimes, when you and Mat didn’t sleep together at night, you found yourself struggling to fall asleep. But with his text message, and knowing that he was only a few doors down, you slept peacefully.

––

You woke up a few minutes before your alarm, ready to start a new day. And while you didn’t rush your morning routine, you definitely got ready faster than normal. Once you were satisfied with your look, you quietly stepped out into the hallway and tiptoed down to the guest bedroom. Mat liked to sleep in when he didn’t have morning skate or a game, so you expected him to be laying on his stomach, face buried in a pillow, with one leg sticking out from under the covers.

But when you cracked the door open a little, you were surprised to see the bed fully made with no Mat in sight.

A small hmpf escaped your lips as you checked your phone. But the last communication you had with him was when you responded to his goodnight text. Curious to find out where he had gone, you made your way downstairs.

When you walked into the kitchen, you saw your mom sitting at the island drinking tea, and your sister leaned up against the counter with a bowl of cereal.

But there was still no Mat.

“Has anyone seen Mat?”

Your sister looked up from her cereal and smirked, “Good morning to you too.”

With a roll of your eyes, you took a mug down from the cabinet, picked out a tea bag, and poured the water from the kettle that was still hot. Cupping your hands around the warmth of the mug, you glared at your sister, “Morning.”

“He and your dad went on a walk,” your mom answered.

Your hands tightened around the mug to keep it from dropping to the ground, “What?”

“Oh don’t worry,” Your sister let out a laugh as she shoveled a spoonful of cereal in her mouth, “He looked scared to death when dad asked him to go.”

Ignoring your sister, you looked over at your mom with wide eyes, silently asking her if your sister was telling the truth. Your mom’s bashful smile confirmed it, “He did look a little…uneasy.”

With a groan, you leaned your head back, “He is absolutely terrified of dad.”

“With reason.”

You elbowed your sister in her side and looked at your mom for some reassurance. She set her mug down, “Your father likes him, he just wants some time to get to know him more.”

You took a sip of your tea and sighed. From talking with your dad, you knew that he was fascinated by Mat, but no matter how many times you tried to reassure him…Mat never believed you. Maybe this walk would be good for him, you thought to yourself, maybe this is what Mat needs.

The more you talked to yourself, you started to feel better. That was until your sister decided to share her input.

“I wished him luck before he went. Told him if it didn’t go well to not forget to say bye as he hightailed it out.”

An aggravated breath left your lips as you turned to face her, “Would it kill you to––”

But you were cut off when you heard the door open and laughter fill the front of the house. Your ears perked up and your sister sent you a sly smirk.

When your dad and Mat walked into the kitchen, they were all smiles, and Mat didn’t look the slightest bit nervous. A smile instantly brightened up your face when you saw Mat. His hair was a bit unruly, but he looked soft in his gray New York Islanders sweatshirt and gym shorts. And when Mat made eye contact with you, he smiled.

He made his way through the kitchen and leaned up against the counter next to you. His hip touched yours, and you felt like it was a win considering it was the closest thing Mat had done to show any public displays of affection in front of your family.

“Morning,” Mat smiled down at you.

“Hi,” you reciprocated his smile, “Have a nice walk?”

He nodded proudly, but before he could get a word out, your father spoke up.

“Next time I’m in New York, Mat, let’s meet up for dinner or lunch.” Your father spoke so nonchalantly as he poured himself a cup of coffee that it made you choke on your tea, “I’ll buy.”

You looked between your dad and Mat with wild eyes.

Mat let out a laugh and tucked his hands in the front pockets of his sweatshirt, “That sounds nice. If you’re all ever in New York, let me know and I’ll get you tickets for a game.”

Your parents and sister started their own conversation and you bumped your hip against Mat’s, which caused him to look down at you. With your eyebrows raised high, you repeated your question, “Have a nice walk?”

“I think he pretended not to like me at first,” Mat whispered, “But then we talked about fishing, and then hockey, life,” he tilted his back and forth as he listed the topics of conversation, “you.”

“Me?”

A single breathy laugh passed through Mat’s nostrils, “Of course you were a topic of conversation.”

“And?”

Mat shrugged his shoulders and took the cup of tea out of your hands and took a sip for himself. He looked straight ahead as he brought the mug down from his lips, “He said he likes me.” A smile lit up your face, but before you could say I-told-you-so, Mat handed the tea back to you, “He also told me not to fuck it up.”

You let out a laugh as you leaned your forehead against his bicep. When your laughter calmed down, you looked up at him through your eyelashes, “So far, I think you’re doing a pretty good job.”

“Oh, just a pretty good––”

“Hey, hockey player,” your sister cut Mat off, which caused both of you to pick your heads up to look at her. After a moment of silence, she wickedly smiled, “What’s your preferred alcohol of choice?”

“It’s literally not even nine in the morning,” you deadpanned.

Everyone in the kitchen laughed, but your sister defended herself, “It’s Saturday, I want to know in preparation for tonight.”

“Tonight?” Mat’s voice sounded just as confused as his face.

You rolled your eyes, “She wants to sit around the fire pit outside and drink.”

“That sounds fun,” He looked at your sister with a smile, “I’m not too picky, whatever you have is fine.”

As the day continued, everything went more smoothly than you could’ve ever imagined. Mat clearly got along with your family, which made you happier than ever, and you walked around your hometown with him. While you loved the dynamic Mat was creating with your family, it felt nice to have some alone time with him. Especially when he slipped his hand into yours and pulled you close.

And when you were back at the house, and the sun was just starting to set after dinner was all cleaned up, your dad and Mat went to start the fire pit outside. You grabbed a few blankets, your mom made sure there were seats for everyone outside, and your sister grabbed the bottle of wine and glasses.

The fire crackled as you pushed the screen door forward to walk outside. You set the blankets down on the backs of one of the chairs as you made your way over to Mat, who was sitting on a little bench. With a little skip in your step, you walked over and plopped down next to him.

With your head on his shoulder, he threw an arm around you and pulled you in close. You pressed a single kiss to his jaw, “What’re you drinking?”

He shrugged, “Whatever your dad is having.”

“Show off,” you snorted.

Mat’s shoulders softly shook with laughter, “Need to keep impressing him.”

“You play professional hockey,” it was your sister’s voice that took both you and Mat out of your own little world. She came over and handed you a glass of wine, “You can just breathe and he’ll be impressed with you.”

Mat’s face turned red and you gladly took the wine from your sister, “She’s not really wrong,” you said to Mat.

“But I––”

The three of you stopped talking when you heard the squeak of the screen door open. All eyes were focused on your mom walking out with your dad not too far behind, with two glasses of liquor in his hands.

Your mom sat down in a chair, with your sister giving her a glass of wine too, and your dad walked toward you and Mat.

“Hope you like whiskey,” your dad chuckled as he handed Mat a glass.

Mat nodded in appreciation, “This is perfect, thank you.”

As everyone got settled in their seats, you threw the blanket over you and Mat, because you knew that would be the only way for Mat to feel comfortable holding your hand in front of your parents. And your assumption was correct. With the fire, and it being the beginning of April, a blanket felt perfect, but you liked the way his hand felt between yours more.

“He poured you whiskey over ice,” you smiled into your wine glass, “He loves you.”

Mat tried to conceal his smile, but you knew how much it meant to get the approval of your dad.

That night turned out to be one of your favorite night’s ever. Everyone had themselves a good time drinking, your sister eventually brought out her speaker and played music, and everyone––including Mat himself––had a good laugh when they heard him shamelessly singing along to Drops of Jupiter.

Nothing could compare to the bliss you felt in that moment, holding Mat’s hand under the blanket, as everyone had the time of their life.

–––

Sunday night came sooner than expected and that meant your little vacation was close to an end. Both you and Mat had to get back to New York, but your parents––especially your dad––encouraged the two of you to come back whenever you felt like it.

You were stood by your mom as your dad and Mat were kneeling next to his tires, checking the air pressure.

After a few minutes of hushed conversation between them, that you tuned out, they both stood up. Your dad wiped his hands on jeans, “They seem fine to me.”

Mat looked a bit embarrassed as he brought one of his hands to rub behind his neck, “Yeah…I don’t know what happened. All of a sudden the light started to blink…”

“No worries at all,” your dad said, “Better to be safe than sorry. If it happens again, there are a few gas stations before you hit the highway.”

Mat nodded with a closed lipped smile, “Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.” He then looked over at you, “Ready?”

With a nod, you gave your mom one last hug and promised that you’d see her again soon. And just when you let go of your mom and turned around to walk to Mat’s car, you saw your dad and Mat shake hands, before your dad brought him in for a small hug.

Your dad placed a small clap on Mat’s back before pulling away, “Take care,” his eyes fell on you for a brief second, before looking back at Mat, “Alright?”

Understanding the underlying meaning of what your dad meant, Mat nodded his head firmly, “Always.”

After saying bye to your dad, you and Mat hopped in the car for the second time. And this time, whatever light started to blink wasn’t there, and the two of you pulled out of the driveway, with your parents waving.

“Told you you had nothing to worry about,” You turned to smile at him.

Mat rolled his eyes, “Whatever.”

As he pulled up to a stop sign, you quickly leaned over and pressed a kiss on his cheek, “Thank you, again, for coming. It really meant a lot to my parents.” Mat sat at the stop sign and turned toward you as your voice dwindled off with your next sentence, “And it meant a lot to me.”

“You know I’d do anything for you,” Mat furrowed his eyebrows in seriousness, “And I had a really great time with your family.” He smiled as he picked up your hand, “I love you, you know.”

You squeezed his hand in appreciation, “I love––”

“Shit.”

A loud honk from behind––And Mat swearing––interrupted your sentence and it caused him to drop your hand, look both ways to make sure there was no oncoming traffic, and stepped on the gas pedal. You laughed at his face turning a deep shade of red as he slowed down his speed.

“It’s not funny.”

You leaned back in the seat and wiped a few tears from the corner of your eye, “It was so––you looked so scared––and you swore––”

“Whatever,” Mat grumbled, but there was a hint of a smile on his face, that you knew he agreed with you that it was a little funny.

Once your laughing settled down, you finished your sentence, “I love you, too.”

With his eyes straight ahead on the road, Mat blindly picked your hand up and gave it a squeeze, “You better.”

And it was that moment that made you realize you didn’t want to say I love you to anyone else, except for Mat, for the rest of your life.

–––

The trees were bare as you drove down the streets of your hometown. Your windows were rolled up to keep the frigid December air outside; and the sun was hidden beneath an array of clouds, just like the nonexistent smile on your face. And when you looked both ways as you came to a stop sign, you were reminded that there wasn’t a person accompanying you in the passenger seat.

Part of you thought about cracking the windows open slightly, because letting in the brisk air would make you feel something other than the numbness that had made a home in the center of your chest recently.

You tried to ignore the sting behind your eyes, but trying your hardest to not focus on everything that had happened in the last few weeks caused your mind to do the exact opposite. In a matter of seconds, you were only thinking about everything that happened nearly two weeks ago. Your frown deepened because how did everything blow up in your face.

Nearly two weeks ago, Mat broke up with you.

For you, it felt like it came out of nowhere. But for Mat, he said that he had been feeling it for a few weeks. It started off with Mat cautiously bringing up how he felt like he didn’t see you enough, then to you defending your work schedule and how hockey had started back up again, and by the end of the night, you had failed to hold back your tears as Mat kept apologizing about how he felt like the two of you were “growing apart.”

You left his place before he could give you another reason as to why he didn’t want to be with you, and a day and a half later, when you made sure he was at hockey practice, you picked up your stuff from his place and left your key on his counter.

The loud honk of a car horn from behind didn’t phase you in the slightest.

Carefully, you checked to make sure there weren’t any cars at the all-way stop, and drove off. You weren’t too far from your parents house, and spent the rest of the drive on autopilot.

Soon enough, you were in front of your old house. With your hands gripping around the steering wheel, you screwed your eyes tight and inhaled a deep breath; I’m fine, you repeated the lie in your head as you exhaled, I’m fine.

With a few more breathing exercises, you decided it was time to face your family. Opening the car door felt like ripping off a band aid as you took your duffle bag out from the back seat.

Sluggishly, you walked up the driveway to the front door. And with another deep breath, you silently whispered “I’m fine” to yourself before placing your hand on the handle to open the door. The first thing you saw was your sister sitting on the bottom step of the staircase.

She looked up from her phone with a surprised face, “You’re here early.”

You mustered up the smallest of smiles, “There was barely any traffic.”

Hesitantly, she nodded her head because she didn’t buy your lie. And she was right not to because you had requested the day off from work so you could get out of New York and to your family as soon as possible. Even though it was one of the most populated cities in the world, you felt suffocated by the thought of potentially running into Mat at any given time.

You needed out of the city like he wanted out of the relationship.

“How are––Are you––You know…” Your sister stumbled over her words, backtracking every time she was about to ask how you were because she knew the answer to that already. She apologetically smiled and itched the bridge of her nose, “Want a hug?”

You took an audible deep breath, and nodded, “Yeah.”

She kindly didn’t point out the way your voice cracked.

With her arms wrapped tightly around you, you squeezed her back as if you were about to fall off the Empire State Building. While your friends in the city had comforted you, there was nothing more comforting than a hug from a family member in a time of distress.

When she felt your grasp around her loosen, she took a step back, but kept her hands on your shoulder, “Do you want water? Or some tea?”

You shook your head and politely declined her offer, “I think I’m gonna put my stuff in my room and then come down.”

She nodded her head with a small smile and you turned around to head up the stairs.

Trudging up the stairs felt like it took too much energy than it should have, but you reasoned with yourself that between driving and being emotionally exhausted…It was fine to feel winded walking up the stairs.

You pushed open the door to your childhood bedroom, dropped your bag on the floor, and went straight to your bed. Unpacking your clothes could wait a few minutes.

Your head was buried into your pillows, the comforting scent of your childhood surrounded you, as you let out a shaky breath. Everything is fine, you repeated, I’m fine. But the more you kept saying the little mantra, the more you felt your throat tighten and the stinging behind your eyes intensify.

No, you scolded yourself as you sat up on your bed, no crying.

So you did your best to distract yourself; you decided to unpack. You absolutely hated to unpack your belongings, especially since you were only going to be home for the weekend, but you hated wrinkled clothing more. And that was your motivation to hang up all of your articles of clothing.

You had just finished hanging up your last sweater, but had let go of it too soon, so the sweater fell to the floor. Letting out an annoyed sigh, you bent down to pick it up, but something blue in the back of your closet caught your eye.

Holding your breath, you hadn’t seen that shade of navy blue in a few weeks.

With shaky hands, and your fallen sweater long forgotten, you grabbed the sweatshirt that was pushed in the back of your closet. And once you brought it out into the light, you sucked in a deep breath, because your thoughts were confirmed when you saw the familiar Islanders logo on the front.

It was as if that sweatshirt was the final key. The final key to unlocking the heart wrenching memory of the day that the relationship you thought would last forever…ended. All you could do was clutch the sweatshirt in your fist and remember.

You remembered the painful sting in your chest when you first arrived at his place and he slightly moved out of the way when you went in for a hug.  

You remembered the lightheadedness you felt when you realized that your worst fear was suddenly starting to become a reality.

You remembered the ringing in your ear when he asked if you felt it too.

“Feel what?” The words barely came out.

“This,” Mat stood at the other side of the kitchen as he gestured his hands between the two of you, “This-–This space. This disconnect.” You were left speechless as he rubbed his face with his hands, it didn’t look like he was enjoying himself having this conversation with you, and that left you even more confused.

“What––Where is this coming from?”

Mat was a very perceptive person, but he ignored the way your hands slightly shook in panic and how your breaths grew shallower.

“I’ve been feeling it for a few weeks,” he confessed in a strained voice, “We’re growing apart––I never see you anymore––”

You let out a laugh of disbelief, “Never see me? You––You just came back from a God knows how long road trip from the west coast!” You waited to see if he had anything to say, but he didn’t. “I work a typical nine to five job, I have time for you. But you––Hockey is––”

“Hockey’s what?” Mat’s voice was challenging as he carried himself across the kitchen to you. He narrowed his eyes, “Want to finish that sentence?”

With a sigh, you took a deep breath and squeezed your eyes shut. This is not happening, you repeated in your head, This can absolutely not be happening.

You opened your eyes and tried your best to remain calm, even though on the inside you could feel your soul shatter. And it would only take one vicious sentence from him to break absolutely everything inside of you.

“I don’t want to fight,” you took a deep breath because you knew whichever way this discussion went, a fight was bound to happen, “But I have time for you. I make time for you. I know hockey is demanding, I know it’s not a typical job, but if we both work at it, we can make more time for each other.”

“What time?” Mat let out an irritated laugh. You wanted to believe that he wasn’t irritated at you, and that he was irritated at hockey instead, but with his earlier confession of disconnection, you didn’t know what to believe.

“You just complained about me being gone for an extended amount of time.”

You picked at a loose piece of skin by your thumb, “I did, yes–—I know.” You let out a shaky breath, “But we talked, we FaceTimed, we kept up that connection.” You pleaded with him, “What do you––What can I do?”

The anger washed away from his face and you saw that it was replaced with remorse.

With his eyes casted downward, he frowned, “Is there…Is there anything left to do?”

You were left stunned at his ease of abandoning your relationship. In the time you had known Mat, he was never a quitter. He never gave up on anything he was passionate about, even with the trivial things that he didn’t quite care about, he always saw them through. He was an athlete…He never gave up on anything.

So why was he giving up on you?

When you took a step back, he whipped his head up to look at you. His eyes were red; full of pain and heartache as if he wasn’t the one surrendering. He took a step toward you, but like a dance, you took another step back.

“Mat, we’ve been together for over a year,” your voice wavered at the thought of all those months with him dissipating into nothing, “What is happening.”

His best response was to keep silent and shrug his shoulders.

Reality hit you like a ton of bricks. This is it, you thought to yourself, I’m losing the most important person in my life. A tear rolled down your cheek as you let out a hiccup from trying to hold your breath to stop the scratchiness in the back of your throat. You brought a hand up to cover your mouth.

“I hate seeing you cry,” he whispered softly.

“Then why––why are you doing this?”

Mat ran a hand through his hair and let out a deep breath as he leaned his head back to look at the ceiling, “It’s holding me back. Everything is just––I can feel it affecting me and it’s not what I want––”

You heard his reasons differently though, instead of ‘it’s’, you heard ‘you.’

You’re holding me back.

You’re affecting me.

You’re not what I want.

All while you felt your relationship was stronger than ever, Mat felt like it was falling apart at the seems.

“I’m sorry,” Mat sniffled, “I’ll always love you, but––”

You shook your head, “You––No.” You brought both hands up to rub away your tears, but when you dropped your arms down at your sides, the tears you washed away reappeared. “You can break up with me, this relationship can be over, whatever.” You glared at him, “But you cannot say that.”

Mat scoffed, “Say that I love you?” You nodded angrily as Mat flared his nostrils, “But I do! I can’t help that this is how I feel about our relationship now, but I loved you then and I love you now! Things just aren’t working now––”

“While I don’t like what I’m hearing, I’ll respect your feelings,” you choked out, “but you need to respect mine and not say those words to me.”

“I want you to know that I still feel love for you,” his voice trembled, “That I’ll always––”

“Then why are you quitting on us?!”

“Because I feel like I never see you!” Mat threw his hands up in the air, “Sure, we can love each other, but what about the actual connection of a relationship? Furthering something that we can make a future out of?”

“I’m always here for you in New York when you get back,” you clenched your jaw, “We see each other as often as possible between our schedules! What do you––Do you want me to come out to away games?” You raised your eyebrows at him, “Because while I wish I could be at every one of your games, I can’t. I have a job. Just like you have a job––”

Mat scoffed, “So it all comes back to hockey?”

“Maybe if you put in a bit more effort, you wouldn’t feel this way.” You fired back.

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, really,” your voice softened when you saw his eyes betray him for a moment. Instead of the fiery eyes that burned through you like a wildfire, you saw eyes that looked one sentence away from breaking a dam of tears. And while you wanted him to feel every ounce of betrayal and heartbreak that you were going through, there was a piece of your heart that still loved him too much to put him through that kind of pain.

So instead, you said what you were feeling, which had the possibility to cause the same damage if you had just berated him.

“If hockey is your one true love in life, then that’s great,” you failed miserably at faking a smile, “I’m happy for you. Happy that you found something you can fully commit to and put in effort to make work even when it would just be easier to quit.”

Mat almost reached a hand out to you, but brought it back down to his side after a second thought, as he softly shook his head and whispered, “You know that’s not true–-”

“But it is,” you wiped away dry tears from your cheek with the heel of your palm, “And it’s…Whatever. It’s whatever, but if you don’t put that same effort into your relationships with people––If you don’t prioritize the right things in life––then you’ll end up alone and unloved.”

Mat stood frozen in the middle of his kitchen. And when he snapped out of whatever trance he was under, all he could manage was to shake his head as a single tear fell down his cheek, “You know I’d do anything for you.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, “I’m not asking you to give up hockey. I’d never do that because I know how happy it makes you and it’s your career,” you gave him a weak smile because the realization set in, “But I think that last sentence is a lie.”

“I just––” Mat pinched the bridge of his nose, “Something is off, we’re not the same––”

You shook your head, tuning out more reasons why the man you loved more than life itself didn’t want to be with you anymore. You walked over to where your bag hung over the back of a chair, picked it up, and then walked toward the front door for your shoes.

“Where are you going?”

Once your shoes were securely on, you turned to face him one last time. He looked as if he also couldn’t believe that this relationship was over, even though he was the one who pulled the trigger. His mouth was slightly agape, eyebrows raised in anxiousness, and eyes filled to the brim with tears.

“Home,” you said matter-of-factly, “I really don’t want to hear more reasons why I wasn’t enough.”

“Y/N, I’m sorry––”

You were out the door before he finished his sentence.

“Y/N,” a voice pulled you out of the nightmare that was doomed to play on repeat in your mind for the rest of your life, “Y/N?”

You blinked a few times to see your mom kneeling in front of you. She had a hand placed on your thigh and her eyes were filled with concern. But when her eyes flicked down to what you were clutching on for dear life in your hands, her face dropped as she looked back up at you, “Oh, sweetie…”

“I’m fine,” you sniffled as you itched your cheek. But when you scratched your skin, your cheek felt damp, and upon further inspection of wiping away the wet substance on your cheek, it dawned on you that you were crying.

“Y/N…” your mother repeated your name cautiously, expecting you to hit your tipping point soon.

With a shake of your head, you folded the sweatshirt up. But with the way your hands shook, the folding wasn’t even and the sleeve poked out a bit, so you unfolded the sweatshirt just to re-fold it again, “I’ll donate this somewhere.” The sweatshirt was still uneven, so you refolded it again, “I’m sure someone would buy it fast, it––It’s in good condition––”

Your mom tried to take the sweatshirt away, but you tugged it back toward your chest, refolding it again.

“New York teams are pretty––pretty popular,” you let out a hiccup as your vision started to blur, “I––maybe I can bring this back with me? Give it away as a birthday present?” Your chin wobbled as you felt your breathing come out uneven, “It’ll make someone happy, right?”

Your mom gently grabbed you by the wrist to stop your folding of Mat’s sweatshirt. Sitting on the floor, by the edge of your closet in defeat, you clenched your jaw tight as you sucked in a deep breath. Finally, you looked up at your mom through your teary vision and tried to sniffle away your runny nose.

“It’ll make someone as happy as he made me.”

She didn’t have to say anything for you to bring his sweatshirt––one that still smelled like him––up to your face as you openly sobbed.

You had been in other relationships, loved other people, been upset when those relationships ended…But you had never loved someone as much as you loved Mat. You thought that Mat was your forever––the person that the universe specifically made just for you––But you lost him.

Your mom wrapped an arm around your shoulder and pulled you into her chest. Easily, you fell into her and continued to cry as you clutched the last remaining piece you had of him close to your chest. Your mom didn’t say anything as she cradled you; she knew that no words could mend this feeling of cataclysmic heartbreak, so she simply offered you her presence and a shoulder to cry on.

“I––Mom, what did I do wrong?” While your words were muffled in his sweatshirt, she heard you loud and clear, and it broke her heart.

She shushed you as she ran a hand up and down your spine, “You did nothing wrong, absolutely nothing…”

“But he––We’re not––I thought that he was the one,” you peered up from the sweatshirt, eyes puffy and irritated from crying, to see tears welled up in your mom’s eyes. You wanted to ask her why she was crying, but an all too familiar pain ripped through your chest as you let out a whine, “Mom.”

Again, she brought you back into her chest and held you close.

“I––I told him he would end up alone and––and unloved,” you tried to speak through the tears, but your erratic breathing made it hard to get a full sentence out without it sounding chopped up.

She shook her head, “We all say things when we’re upset.”

“No, I––I told him that because I––I don’t want anyone else to love him,” you let out a whimper, “I wanted to be…Want to be the only person who loves him like that.” You blinked a few times to look up at your mom and frowned when you saw her tear stained cheeks, “Why are you crying?”

Your mom let out a small laugh and wiped under her eyes “I feel every heartache you go through,” she sniffled and tried her best to offer you a reassuring smile, “If he couldn’t recognize how great of a person you are, then you’ll find someone else who will.”

“But he’s the only one,” you sat up, continued to hug his sweatshirt close to your chest, and reciprocated her sad smile, “I don’t want to fall in love with anyone else.”

Knowing that the heartache you felt was still fresh, your mom knew that no matter how much she tried to convince you that you would find someone else, it would be useless. “I know,” she swiped her thumb under your eye, catching the last of your tears, “Why don’t you take a nap, I’ll come up when it’s dinner.”

You nodded and made your way over to your bed. Once you were under your covers, the blankets tucked right under your chin, your mom shut off your lights and softly closed the door.

While you should’ve knocked out in a few seconds, every time you closed your eyes, all you saw was Mat listing reason after reason why he didn’t want to be with you. Your own personal hell. So, while your eyes stung from crying your heart out, you kept them wide open as you stared at the ceiling out of fear of what you would see when they closed.

A few hours had passed and there was a knock on your door. You let out a small, come in, and saw your dad walk in.

Slowly, you sat up, wiping away a few stray tears, and let out a chuckle when he placed a glass down on your nightstand, “Whiskey over ice?”

He offered a sympathetic smile, “The best cure for what you’re going through.”

For what you’re going through, he said it as if he was still in denial of your break up. Which was fair, because you had never seen your dad warm up so fast to one of your boyfriends.

“Dinner’s ready,” he said, “If you’re feeling up for it.”

You smiled in appreciation, “Thanks, but I’m not too hungry…Might try to sleep some more.” Your dad raised his eyebrows, “I’ll eat in the middle of the night when I wake up, promise.”

He smiled and gave in to your promise as he retreated toward the door. He was halfway out when he decided to stick his head back in, “You know, I never really liked him.”

It was the first genuine laugh you had let out in weeks. Because both of you knew how much of a lie that was.

Whenever your dad was in New York, he texted Mat and they would meet up for a meal or drinks, and sometimes they wouldn’t include you in plans. Your dad never missed an Islander’s game, and for his birthday, Mat had gifted your dad a signed Barzal jersey as a joke. They had their own relationship, and in turn, it contributed to the happiness you felt with Mat.

But nonetheless, your dad was always on your team.

After his comment, he slowly shut the door like your mom had done earlier, and this time, you really did try your best to sleep.

Sleep had been impossible since Mat broken things off with you. It took everything in you not to call his number and have him talk you to sleep most nights. And you wished that deleting his number would be enough, because even if you had deleted it, you had it memorized and could easily dial his number with your eyes closed.

But with his sweatshirt that you still held close to body, sleep came a little easier.

PART TWO

[joshslater]

Delayed Graduation

This is a repost since the original story got banned for unclear reasons. The previous image was totally innocent photo of a guy in wrestling attire. Let’s try with a different one (without updating the story). Similar stories and bonus material on my Patreon.

- We might have a solution of sorts for you.

I barely registered principal Johnston talking. My world had been shattered, without warning. It all felt unreal, and most of all unfair. I know I hadn’t done anything wrong, but there were no witnesses, just my word against hers. She wouldn’t press charges, Johnston had explained. I was almost demanding that she did, so I could clear my name, but thought better of it. If it went to trial all outcomes would be bad, to varying degrees. This way I would just be expelled. I guess I could use the term “drop out” to soften it further. It’s not like the job market is stellar even if you have a degree, but this would firmly pigeon hole me as manual labor.

- What? - I said we might have an arrangement that could interest you.

He pulled out a stack of papers from his manila folder and placed them in front of me, and continued.

- We have a little trial project we would like to push ahead with, to see what the full potential is. Coach Andrews would personally take charge of your training to see how far he can take you in a year. Similar to what he managed to do for Shane O’Brian. Since you will be heavily supervised, fully scheduled and not share any classes with your former class mates, she has agreed to allow you complete your studies under these conditions. It’s not that many months until she graduates anyway. Your graduation obviously will have to wait until next year.

Shane of course was the star of the basket team. He was two years below me, so I didn’t know him, but I heard he had basically never touched a ball before he met coach. He must have been active in something else though, with that body. The girls were swooning like crazy. Some of the boys too, as rumor had it.

- Sir, I’m really grateful for this opportunity, but I’m not really made for sports. Just look at me. Tall and thin. Not much track and field around here. - We are not asking for any miracles. Just follow all instructions given and do your best. That’s all we’re asking.

I started to flip through the papers. I was bored just looking at the page numbers.

- Should I bring this home to my parents? - This is a bit time sensitive, so I’d prefer if you make your decision already today. You’re 18. You get to decide this on your own. Why don’t I leave you for a bit? You can have a read through, and then decide what you want to do.

As he left the room I started to go read through the contract properly. Why do they make things so complicated? The contract really just said that I assumed responsibility for the “infraction”, but the school would not disclose it to anyone unless the contract was breached. I would agree to participate in the athletic education study for one year. In return the school would allow me to graduate next year. But written over 26 pages.

I didn’t feel like I had many options. Initials on every page and signature on the last. Then repeated on the second copy of the contract. I was about to leave and find principal Johnston when he returned, followed by coach Andrews.

- Have you made up your mind, or would you like Mr. Andrews to explain it in more detail. - I’ve already signed the papers. - Oh, well then. I’m so happy we could work something out.

Coach Andrews opened the gym bag he was carrying and pulled out a blue singlet and ear guards, and held them for me to take.

- Let’s try this on right away. - Now? Here?

Johnston opened a door to a side room of his office.

- You can change in the conference room here. - But wrestling?! Have you seen me? - As I said, follow all instructions and do your best is all we ask.

It was the first time I even held a singlet in my hands. I’ve never even thought of how to put one on. It wasn’t hard, just step in them like some shorts and then pull the straps over your shoulders, but I never imagined doing it.

I looked ridiculous. I guess size isn’t as important when the fabric is stretchy, but this sure wasn’t my size. The taut straps pulled the fabric in the groin, while at the same time my thin legs didn’t fill out the legs of the singlet. What a mess. I walked back into the office, naked apart from this one single piece of clothing.

- Should I put on the ear guards as well. - No, that isn’t necessary. Here.

Coach opened a small, brown, glass bottle and poured its contents into a white plastic cup from the water cooler, and handed it to me.

- This is the time sensitive part. Drink up.

This day was going from horrendously bad to confusing to weird. I emptied the cup. The liquid tasted like cough syrup. Sickly sweet and with bitter herbs.

- What is.. *cough* *cough* - Here. Take a seat.

It felt like drinking really hot cocoa when you are frozen. It kind of spreads from the chest to the rest of the body. All of me was getting warm, and an uncomfortable feeling or pressure. Everything was off, like I was drunk, or high or something. It was over in a minute, though it is quite possible my mind was playing tricks and it really was longer than that.

- Stand up against the wall, so I can take a photo.

Bewildered, and with unsteady steps, I did as told. He snapped a few pictures with his phone, and then showed me one.

- Don’t tell me this isn’t a great starting point.

I couldn’t believe what I saw. It was definitely me in the photo, but it was like the aspect ratio was wrong. I must be several inches shorter, but everything, arms, legs, chest, shoulders, neck, was wider. Even my face was altered, if ever so slightly. Where just minutes before, or whatever, I was a lanky gamer, I now was a hunk of muscle.

- How is this... - Don’t worry about the details. We must work quickly now while you are fresh, to get the wrestling technique right. Meet me in my office tomorrow at 7 am.

With that he slapped me on the shoulder and left. Just as he was about to exit the office, he pulled out a pair of shoes from the bag and placed them at a table.

- Oh, I almost forgot these. Your new size. See you tomorrow!

My head was spinning. What had just happened to me, to my body? Starting point? Principal Johnston had his distinct “anything else?” look.

- What about my studies?

My voice was lower than before, I think.

- You’ll be placed in the athlete’s reduced curriculum class. We just need to retest your proficiency levels first. - Why? I don’t understand. - My point exactly.

He didn’t make any sense. I felt tired, slow and almost dizzy trying to understand him.

- What about this body? What happens when I graduate? - You graduate with the body you have, like everyone else. It’s not like we can change it by magic or anything.

He smiled and chuckled to himself.

- Take your old clothes with you as you leave. Something might still fit.

It didn’t.

[todoscript]

Syndicate —  [ 3 ]

parts: one | two | three

SUMMARY: The four of you arrive at Hatsume’s workshop, hoping to find some leads about the mysterious bullet you discovered in the aftermath of the scuffle against the Shie Hassaikai yakuza group.

genre: mafia au. pairing(s): mafiabosses!todobakudeku x fem!reader word count: 2.1k+ warnings: mature themes. mafia talk. crude language/cursing. future adult and violent scenes. polyamorous relationship. characters are aged-up. taglist: in reblogs. please ask if you would like to be included in the taglist for updates on future parts.

author’s note: oh my god, i am so sorry for the very long wait everyone! trying to crank this part out was a bit of a struggle with everything going on, but i’m glad it’s finally done! i initially planned to make this chapter a bit longer and continue on with some of the next section, but it made more sense to end it off here so the next part could be flushed out more on its own

Nothing but the grating sound of machinery sparking against each other fills the room the moment you walk into Hatsume’s workshop, located in the more uneventful parts of Tokyo, and away from the seeing eyes of the public. Your ears recoil at the noise; however, it is a cacophony of sounds you are used to, considering this is far from your first time here. Thus, it’s not so much a surprise, being greeted this way, though still jarring nonetheless.

Mei Hatsume is a woman who usually busies herself with work. Whenever she wasn’t occupied filling out a client’s order, such as creating the gadgets they requested necessary for certain heists, she was always active in coming up with new inventions—other gizmos to win people over. In turn, she managed to catch the three pairs of eyes that are responsible for overseeing the infamous Yuuei mafia. Before long, the syndicate had become one of her most frequent and loyal clients due to her high-quality skills and work ethic. 

Your three men are in tow behind you when you enter, following in not only your steps but your strained expression over the racket.

“Hatsume!” you shout out to try and capture the girl’s attention, being that her eyes are covered in her dense, protective goggles to even see the four of you coming.

Far too engrossed in her work, her nonchalant hums in between her buzzing equipment indicate that she isn’t going to notice you anytime soon. Knowing this, Bakugou grits his teeth out of annoyance and marches past you.

“Hey Goggle-Head!!”

Unsurprisingly, his yell is garishly loud and is enough to cut through the jarring grinding of the machines and reach Hatsume’s ear. Bakugou does prefer to take a strident approach to things after all. And today especially, he isn’t in the mood to wait around.

“Bakugou. That was unnecessary,” Todoroki says, side-eyeing his partner for his boisterous attitude.

“It was totally necessary, Icy-Hot,” the blonde retorts.

Hatsume soon stops what she’s doing and finally brings the noise to a halt. Lifting her bulky steampunk goggles from her eyes, she properly greets her guests.

“Well, well, if it isn’t my favorite clients!” Her tone is welcoming and chipper, despite the somewhat rude awakening courtesy of the blonde. “What can I help the four of you with today? Perhaps in need of some more firepower for your men? Hmm?” Hatsume wiggles her brows—a crafty gesture she usually gives to entice her customers while flaunting some incredibly elaborate contraption of hers in her arms. Midoriya declines with a shake of his head, waving a hand out.

“No, we’re fine with all the equipment you’ve provided our group with so far, Hatsume. They’ve been working wonders for us,” he says kindly.

“Especially that earring from the other night.” You join in the praises, and Hatsume readily eats them up as her yellow eyes begin to sparkle.

“Ah, the teardrop earring, I presume? As expected, I knew that particular item would perform excellently, what with its compact size and design to elude suspicion, along with its vast set of features—”

“Come on, quit yapping already! We’re here for business, not to give our fucking reviews,” Bakugou dispels the girl’s incessant ramblings with his ill-tempered tone.

Todoroki steps forward, following in the blonde’s approach. “He’s right. Excuse us, Hatsume, but we wanted to ask you about something we encountered last night,” he explains, hand digging into his coat pocket to procure the ziploc bag containing their item of inquiry—the bullet.

Your hands glow magenta; your quirk lifts the bullet from the plastic and into the air to prevent Hatsume from needing to touch it directly for examination. As it hovers in front of her, Hatsume’s eyes start to gleam a brighter amber yellow inactivation of her quirk, allowing her to scrupulously inspect every detail down to even smidgen of a scratch.

A few hums leave her lips the more she tilts her head at the object, index finger steady beneath her chin.

“Well?” you ask, a tad impatient for answers as are the other three. Hatsume gives the bullet one last look before turning to you, a somewhat uncertain look on her face.

“Just who did you retrieve this bullet from?”

“A henchman from the Shie Hassaikai yakuza fired this at us last night while we were in a scuffle with them,” Todoroki answers with Midoriya continuing.

“We managed to avoid getting hit by it thanks to a comrade of ours.”

“Hah, as if those jokers could pose even a threat to us with flimsy weapons like these.” Bakugou punctuates with his arrogant poise, and you playfully roll your eyes at his comment before returning to the situation at hand.

“Still, for us to not recognize something as ordinary as a bullet like this is concerning, adding onto the fact they were willing to use this instead of facing them head-on with their quirks,” you add. There’s a silence lingering in the air at your words, but it eventually isn’t long until Hatsume says her piece. 

“Well, after seeing this, I suppose the talk going around the crime groups is true after all.”

The four of you exchange peculiar looks, inquisitive at the mention of such “talks”.

“What ‘talk’?” Midoriya asks, voice dipping low for his standards.

Taking a seat at her workbench while facing her four guests, Hatsume’s expression grows unusually serious.

“Some of my clients have spoken about some shady business going on in the underground recently.”

“Shady business?” Bakugou repeats vehemently, eyebrow quirked.

“This is the first I’ve heard of this,” Todoroki comments, growing wary at the shift in the situation.

“We practically have total control of the black market on the east side of Japan. What shit could be going on under our fucking radar?” The blonde’s eyes flare a menacing red over the news.

“To begin,” Hatsume continues, “my clients have spoken about a new weapon being spread around amongst many criminal gangs. It’s no surprise you haven’t heard of it actually. The ones producing them have made sure to evade the gaze of your mafia group by offering them to those in the west, and have only recently moved to the east.”

“They didn’t want us to intervene and mess with their steady business on the black market, I’m assuming,” you add, and Hatsume nods at your conjecture.

“Likely. Anyways, this weapon didn’t seem like a big deal at first. Just some talk about a bullet similar to the one here.” Hatsume gestures to the transparent bag. “But a bit of prodding later, I learned that the contents inside the bullet actually contain a drug created by a scientist, which was forcibly taken by the Shie Hassaikai yakuza.”

Midoriya, Bakugou, and Todoroki are immediately attentive at the name, their expressions soon altering into revulsion as if a vile stench had suddenly wafted into the air, turning the atmosphere sour.

“So the yakuza made out with some stolen research and are mass producing these bullets onto the black market behind our backs, correct?” Todoroki relays the info with malice prevalent in his timbre.

“Those fuckers. Thinking they can do whatever the fuck they want, huh?” Bakugou’s teeth grit at every word uttered under his breath, fists clenching together. “They’re asking for it now.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Kacchan. We’ll make sure each and every one of them is delivered the punishment they deserve.” Midoriya joins his fellow mafia bosses in the menacing pressure exuding from them. His smile is far from genuine—two-faced with intense animosity emanating from just a simple glance.

Having been by their side through situations similar to this level of tension, you’re very much used to witnessing these expressions painted on each of their faces—such as a time when their shipment of goods came far delayed due to a few lackeys’ miscalculations. In turn, Yuuei had lost a bit of time in their well thought out schedule, which was something Deku, Ground Zero, and Mercury were not at all happy about as they thrived on pure efficiency. To make the story short, those henchmen had received a rather brutal ending for their errors when the three were done with them.

Since then, the trio have let it become a lesson learned not to rely on a bunch of simpletons to carry out such important tasks. As a result, the mafia group had become more efficient from then on out, now centering around your smaller group of elites in the aftermath of the events.

You have to admit, seeing the three so riled up is quite attractive in your eyes. They were already charismatic on their own—being in their presence gave you a very tasteful glance of their domineering aura. But in action, that charisma somehow manifested many times stronger, and when in pursuit with such determination in hand, it felt like they could do just about anything they set their minds to.

However, there are times when you knew you needed to step forward and become their sense of reasoning, lest they walk through fog with no sense of direction. Now is one of those times.

“Well, to start, we need some leads.” You join in, and the three turn to you, ready for what their right-hand woman has to say. “Hatsume, do you know what the drug does?”

The girl shakes her head, much to your dismay, but offers a hunch. “I can only assume it must disrupt the body in some way on contact.”

“It’s a good thing Kacchan didn’t get hit by it then,” Midoriya comments.

“Shut up, Deku.” Bakugou harshly jabs his elbow into the young man’s sides, annoyed.

“Now’s not the fucking time.”

“Right, right… My apologies…” Midoriya replies, holding no ill will at his partner, despite his rough demeanor. The trivial exchange between the two quickly ceases. You decide to resume your questions directed at the craftswoman.

“Alright then… How about the scientist that created the drug? Do you have any info on them?”

Musing in thought, Hatsume’s eyes draw to the ceiling as she rummages through her head to recollect her memories.

“Hmm… What I have heard is that the yakuza had infiltrated a place located in the corner of Kamino Ward in Yokohama to obtain the drug.”

“So that must be where this scientist’s laboratory or base of operations must be then. Kamino Ward.” Todoroki guesses and the girl gives him a brief nod.

“Then that’s where we’re going next. We’re gonna find this scientist and get the info we need, even if we need to beat it out of them!” Bakugou exclaims, voice thundering throughout the workshop as his palm emits a small, concentrated burst of fire while coming in contact with his fist. “Not a single one of those half-rate yakuza asswipes are getting away, pulling this shit on us.”

“Though I have to warn you,” Hatsume interrupts forebodingly as a shadow casts over her features, “there have been rumors of people disappearing around those parts.”

You lift a brow, suspicious at the meaning behind those claims.

“Disappearing?”

“That’s right. Anyone that so much as approaches that area ends up poofing out of existence.” She emphasizes this notion by springing her arms outward. 

“Oh? Sounds a bit… far-fetched.” you reason, adamant on the idea that no such thing could happen without natural causes. After all, quirks are biological phenomena. Nothing as supernatural as disappearing from existence should be occurring, right?

“No, Angel Face, it sounds more than just far-fetched. It’s more like a load of bullshit to me,” Bakugou chimes in, bolstering your doubt against it.

“Probably something stirred up to keep people off this scientist’s back,” Midoriya speculates. “He’s already had his research stolen from him. I’m sure he wouldn’t want a repeat of that.”

As he appears behind you, Todoroki lays a hand on your shoulder reassuringly. “Even if something like that is true, I doubt it could truly pose a threat against us, considering who we are.” His hand dips down to find yours before lifting it above your shoulder to lay a quick kiss on your fingertips. You smile at both his words and his touching gestures.

Ignoring the affectionate display, the girl only shrugs. “That’s what I’ve been hearing is all, but I suppose you could take it with a grain of salt.”

Despite the ominous admonition, Midoriya gives Hatsume a grin before reaching into the pocket of his coat. “Thank you for the warning, Hatsume,” he sets a wad of cash down on the workbench in front of her, “along with the valuable set of information. We’ll be sure to put everything you told us to good use.”

She returns the smile, fingers curling around the stack furtively. “Well, a pleasure doing business with you, Yuuei. And remember, my services will always be available to you when you need it.”

“Dutifully noted.”

[ladyeliot]

No pressure

Request: Anonymous. Hiiii! I had a Chris Evans x reader request. The reader is famous and has to go through a stalker who breaks into her home. She calls 911 and isn't hurt, but Chris wasn't there so he comes to her and visits her and comforts her. It could be fluffy. It's ok if you don't want to do it. I'm sorry if it sucks. 😊

Pairing: Chris Evans x Fem!Reader

Warning: Stalker and at the end fluff.

Word count: 1636

Notes: Thank you very much for the request, I loved it. In the end I modified the character of the stalker a bit, but everything else is there. / English is not my native language, sorry for the mistakes.

Anyone could have said that having a nice comfortable life in a country house in the middle of the countryside and with a regular job could be very boring, but that was all you needed on days like this. The energy consumption of your life prevented you from enjoying the little things. Day after day you would arrive home after midnight after spending more than 10 hours a day locked up in a recording studio and if you were lucky at least 2 of the 10 hours had been profitable. When you weren't in the studio, you were touring in the remotest places on earth and when that didn't happen you were probably promoting the new album.

Without a doubt it was an unimaginable life, which during your childhood had been a dream for you, and after effort and persistence you had achieved it. However, it wasn't all that beautiful, and the sacrifices you made were endless.

Like any other Saturday you arrived home after 00:30 and because of the low traffic in Los Angeles your arrival was delayed by about 45 minutes. Crestwood Hills was a lovely residential neighbourhood to live in, with nice views of the Santa Monica Mountains and the coast, but quite problematic if you wanted to go from your studio in Venice Beach, yet you knew you wouldn't move from that house for anything.

The automatic garage door opened as soon as you got close to it, when it opened you could see the Christmas lights that you hung around the palm tree at the entrance last week, which gave a homely feeling to your garden, and that made you think of the comfort your bed would provide when you lay down in it.

The door closed behind the car and with great heaviness you picked up the guitar and went to the entrance door, thinking about how much you wanted to fall on the bed. To your surprise you saw a dim light coming out of the living room, accompanied by a pleasant smell of your favourite sauce. Strangely enough, you left your guitar on the floor, right next to the umbrella stand, and headed towards the light. The first thing that crossed your mind was that you had probably forgotten some date with Chris, or maybe some special date. However, there was nothing scheduled in your diary, so you assumed it would be a surprise that I had prepared.

"Mr. Evans?" you said with a half smile.

You entered the living room and right next to the window that led to the garden you came across a mahogany table decorated with purple tulips and two candles on each side, complemented by the plates and cutlery and a small note on your plate. You couldn't help but deny with your face as you smiled.

-This night is all ours. Just make yourself comfortable, enjoy and ask me for whatever you want.-

You arched an eyebrow forgetting how tired you were and how many things you would ask for if he only made himself available to you. A loud noise coming from the kitchen made you think about those juicy thoughts. You put the note back in its place, and leaned in, trying to expand your change of vision.

"Is everything all right out there?" you burst out laughing. "Aren't you going to come and give me my welcome?"

The feeling of happiness that had invaded your body vanished in an instant, unless Chris had shrunk a few inches, worn long hair and taken on a feminine look.

"What? What the hell are you doing here? How did you get into my house?!" Every pore of your body began to give off an intense heat that was present in your cheeks.

In an instant you rushed to her, taking away all the kitchen gadgets that were in her hands. The situation went from the most romantic to the darkest, and even a bit comical if you think about it coldly. The story you had with that person was long and full of chapters, but even so the current situation had gone too far.

"Get out of my house" you stretched out your right arm and pointed to the front door. "I have no idea how you got in, but the only thought that you've been wandering around, touching my things and preparing food in my kitchen is making me very nervous.

"Does that make you nervous now? We have to talk, you know that...", your ex-confident could not finish his words.

"Get out! I know that you haven't stopped following me since I came from Memphis, that you're there every night when I go out waiting for me at the back door of the studio and that more than once I've seen you on the beach when I go for a run. I told you and I'm telling you again, it's all over, there's no more, it's been a year and a half. And now get out of my house if you don't want me to call the police."

“It's all over, there's no more? What a harsh word for you" the honey-coloured eyes of the young woman who was just a few metres away from you, turned, but she hardly moved from her place. "After all this time, after all I've done for you!

"For me?! I can't believe it..." your tone calmed down, you had gone from anger to bitterness in a few seconds.  "Are you listening to yourself?"

She barely showed a clear intention to leave, you knew her well, but the last few months she had become a complete stranger to you.

"It's okay, you asked for it," you took the mobile phone out of your back pocket and typed in 911. "If you don't want to leave my house, and tell me how you got in, explain it to the police.

The fight of looks continued, it seemed that she wasn't going to give her arm to the wall and although you didn't want to put on any show either, as you preferred to do it on stage, you knew that if she didn't see against the sword and the wall she wouldn't leave your house. You hated her for getting you where you were going.

"911, what is the address of your emergency?" you stared for the last time into her eyes waiting for her to make a gesture to leave.

Time stopped and the wait became eternal, both for you and for the female voice coming out of the earpiece.

“911, what is the address of your emergency” repeated the woman.

The girl in front of you smiled uncertainly as she reached into the right pocket of her jeans and pulled out some keys, the keys to your house along with an alarm control.

"You got it," she whispered, heading for the exit door.

“911, what is the address of your emergency?”

"Nothing" you said with a thread of voice contemplating the keys on the kitchen counter and with your heart racing because of the amount of contradictions that had just happened.

Thirty-five minutes passed before Chris' car was planted in front of your house. During that time you got rid of the whole scenario that person had set up, avoiding leaving any trace of it. Chris arrived with an expression of disbelief mixed with irritation, all you needed was someone to calm you down, but in the end you had to spend fifteen minutes trying to get him to relax.

"I'm sorry" said Chris. He put his arms around you and put a little kiss in your hair. "I just... I don't want to take thirty minutes to get here if anything happens.”

"I don't think she'll show up again," you said sure of that fact.

"I don't care. Today this happened, tomorrow anything else can happen," he said kissing your hair again, and realising how serious he was being changed his tone to one of comedy. "If I could I would wrap you in bubble wrap so nothing would happen to you."

"You know that wrapping obsesses me, in less than two hours all the bubbles would be bursting," your comment made Chris laugh, so you could finally breathe easy when you saw him like that again.

"Come here."

The hug broke up and Chris led you to the sofa, sitting in a position where you were facing each other.

"Listen. I've been thinking..."

"Thinking?" you arched an eyebrow after the playful comment, trying to break its seriousness again.

"Yes, honey, sometimes I think," Chris responded to your comment with the same playful tone. "No, listen, I know you're not very friendly about serious conversations, but listen to me. I've been thinking, and I've been thinking about the idea of living together. Don't think it's because of what happened today, or what I said before, I've been thinking about it since last month when we spent Thanksgiving in Boston," you nodded slightly, wrapping yourself in memories of that familiar day. "I'm not asking you to do it immediately, I just want you to think about it, no pressure.”

"No pressure," you repeated arching an eyebrow and looking at Chris' hands that were on your lap.

"No pressure," he imitated.

"Okay," you whispered, taking one of his hands and giving him a slow kiss on the back of his hand as you let yourself be enveloped by his gaze. "I'll think about it."

It took you just two seconds to approach her lips and seal your answer with a kiss.

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[crescentsteel]

Just Friends - Part 8

plot: fubu set up with Kuroo , model fem reader warnings: slow burn, fluff, smut word count: 8.5k (I can’t be stopped, can I?)

AO3

Happy Birthday, my favorite captain!! [additional notes at the end]

Part 7 | Part 9 | m.list

You’ve decided. 

You’re going to tell him. You just couldn’t hold it in anymore. After that phone call, you couldn’t reply to his texts without getting nervous. When he asked you for dinner one night, you made up an excuse not to go because you were scared that he’d see through you. You don’t plan to avoid him. You just want some time to collect yourself before you face him again. Unfortunately, you didn’t have much of that. His party is tonight. Because you were so flustered during the call, you didn’t ask any details about the party. You only asked what it's for, but he didn’t really give any specifics. 

‘I just felt like it.’

That’s the only thing he told you. You don’t know who are the people going. You don’t even know what to wear.

You’d call Kenma but you’re not sure if he’s actually invited. You’re left with no choice but to ask the guy himself. You get your phone and shoot him a message.

‘Where and when is the party? What do I wear?’

You weren’t expecting a quick reply because it was still working hours, but your phone vibrates before you can put it down. 

‘Something like what you were wearing in my grad party. Kenma will pick you up.”

You’re relieved that it was Kenma and not him. You couldn’t imagine being alone with him in that tiny space of his car. You realized that this will be the first time you and Kenma will get a chance to talk to each other without Kuroo around. It couldn’t be more perfect. He’s the perfect person to tell your dilemma to. 

You finished your scheduled shoot that morning and went shopping for what you can wear. While you were looking for dresses, you determined that you should just tell him tonight. After the party, you’d ask him to drive you home. You’ll do it during the ride. You weren’t going to confess for the purpose of moving your relationship forward. You just want to let it out of your system. You believed that when you say it this time, you can finally move on from your feelings. You’ll just talk it out like two adults. You still want to be friends with him and Kenma. Surely, you could still be that even when he rejects you. It’ll be awkward at first, but it’ll pass. Before you even know it, it’ll just be laughing matter between you two. 

You become more meticulous in choosing what to wear. In the end, you decided with a white leather bustier and a high waist black skirt that went just below your knees. You throw in a brown cropped jacket so you won’t get cold. Sure you’d get rejected, but at least you’ll be exceptionally pretty when you do.

—

When you get in Kenma’s car, nostalgia hits you. Around a year ago, it was him in your car when you were crying your eyes out like an idiot.

“How’ve you been y/n?” It wasn’t small talk. He honestly wanted to know how you’ve been since he hasn’t been around much.

“Awful recently. I realized I’m still in love with that bastard.” You don’t mince between words and go straight to what you wanted to talk about. You’ve been keeping it all to yourself that when your trusted confidant is there, you just had to say it immediately. 

He glances at you briefly, then returns his eyes on the road. His face remains impassive.

“What do you plan to do about it?”

You sigh. “I’ll tell him later.”

Even from the side profile, you noticed the way his eyes lit up with amusement and the way the corner of his lip twitched. You know what he’s thinking. He probably finds it a bit funny you’re going to try again despite what happened last time. 

“Is it weird that would?” Your words coated with doubt. You were determined in your decision, but if Kenma thinks otherwise, your composure will plummet down and you’re not sure you can recover.

“No. You should do it, y/n. You never know.” He was more than encouraging. He sounded like it was definitely the right thing to do. 

When you made up your mind that you’d confess, you had no expectations. You know that Kuroo’s just flirtatious and touchy because of the previous nature of your relationship. Those couldn’t mean anything else. 

But Kenma knew Kuroo better than you did. They go way way back. With Kenma’s statement, a bud of hope sprouts from your once unexpecting heart. He wouldn’t say that if there’s no likelihood that Kuroo has feelings for you too.

You managed to calm yourself before. Now that you thought you and Kuroo can actually happen, you feel your nerves fluctuating.

“Wish me luck, Kenma.”

The stoplight turns red. With the car stopped, Kenma looks at you with warm and supportive eyes.

“You don’t need it, y/n.”

The bud of hope you had earlier was watered and fertilized by those four little words. Maybe there really is something more than just friendship for you and Kuroo. You push back the surge of confidence you were feeling. You didn’t want it to get in your head. You still were going to tell him the same things you rehearsed in your head this afternoon. The only difference is now there’s a chance that you won’t get totally turned down.

You didn’t talk about it further with Kenma. He gave you what you were looking for and he didn’t ask about the details as well. You move the topic to him and the rest of the drive was spent talking about his career and yours. It was mostly about what happened when you left.

You both arrive at the hotel. Apparently, Kuroo rented the bar of the building. When you entered the place, there were many people there already, people you didn’t know. How glad you were that at least Kenma was there. You’d assume this is a work-related party, but the people don’t look like they’re from the business side of things. Everyone looked like they’re about the same age as you.

A man with slicked back brown hair approaches. “Kenma! How’s our resident CEO?” 

“Still the same, Yaku.” If Kenma knows him, he might be someone from their high school. The guy looks at you and stares for a few seconds, admiration quite transparent on his face.

“Hi.” You smile courteously.

A faint blush surfaces on his cheeks once he realized he was indeed staring. “Oh hello.” He recovers quickly and adds, “I didn’t know Kenma has a girlfriend.”

You were about to correct him, but Kenma already spoke before you were able to say anything. “She’s not my girlfriend. She’s Kuroo’s …uhhh, friend.” Even to a stranger, that pause was very telling. Even though you liked it to be what Kenma was implying, you didn’t want anyone to misinterpret your relationship with Kuroo. Especially when it really isn’t like that. 

“Y/n. I’m a friend of Kenma and Kuroo.” You took the liberty of introducing yourself properly and clear any possible misunderstanding.

“Morisuke Yaku, former teammate of this guy here and that rooster head.” Your smile widens at the nickname. You’ll be using that next time when you have your usual banter battles. “Speaking of which, where’s the birthday boy?” Yaku asked.

Birthday boy? 

People suddenly started clapping and cheering. You turn around to see the commotion and find Kuroo to be the center of attention. “There he is.” Yaku looks at Kuroo who’s currently being greeted by persons he was passing by. “See you later, y/n. I have to greet the stupid celebrant.” He gives a quick wave and walks to Kuroo.

Holy crap! It was his birthday? That’s why the people in the room looked like his age. They’re his friends he invited to celebrate with him. 

Last time, you weren’t able to celebrate his personal graduation party. Now, you attend his birthday party without knowing it’s his birthday. You came empty-handed. You harshly faced Kenma. “Why didn’t you tell me it was his birthday?!”

“Huh? Didn’t he tell you?”

“No! He just said he was throwing a party. I thought it was work-related or whatever.” Kenma suddenly coughs and looks straight ahead. You follow his line of vision which traveled to Kuroo who is now only a few steps away from you. 

You thought you were prepared for the whole confession jazz you were about to do, but at the sight of the man on the receiving end, your head became a fumbling mess. If anyone could see your brain right now, they’d probably see fumes steaming out as you drill it with one question after another. 

What do you say to him? How should you act? Do you look weird right now? How do you normally talk again?

Kenma taps your shoulder. “Just greet him a happy birthday y/n.” He said softly beside you. He must’ve noticed that you suddenly went rigid.

“Heey. Glad you made it.” Kuroo’s delighted smile erased all the worrying in your head. He looks happy with his friends coming together today. 

At that moment, you decided to delay your plans for now. It was his day. You didn’t want to burden him today with the need to tell him your feelings. Even with Kenma’s encouragement, you just weren’t entirely sure that Kuroo sees you the way you see him. For tonight, you’re going to pretend everything’s fine.

“I did say I’d come, right?” You smile back at him and go for a friendly hug. “Happy Birthday.” You say softly while still enveloped in his arms. “Thanks, kitten” You’re about to let go but he prolongs the embrace, his one hand going up to the back of your head. 

You’re a second away from panicking when someone calls his attention, causing him to release you. 

“Catch you later?” He asked you before going back to other guests. “Go ahead, birthday boy.” You’re glad to still have at least a tiny percentage of your sass with you right now.

“Please tell me you’re still going to do it.” Kenma said behind you. You let out one heavy puff. “Not tonight.” He groans while rubbing his face with frustration.

“I’ll head out for a bit.”

“Where are you going? He might look for you.”

“Just at the balcony. I need some air.” You pat his shoulder with a smile before heading towards the veranda. It was true that you needed some air.

When you opened the glass door leading outside, the cold breeze welcomed you in its full glory, but you embraced it. 

You stare blankly at the building and the night sky as you lean your elbows on the railings. This is nice. It’s not totally quiet. You could still hear the muted chatters inside, but you feel isolated from them. For once, you felt alone even from your own thoughts. It felt great. You weren’t even aware of it, but you realized just now that ever since you came back to Japan, you were always preoccupied. If it wasn’t your job, it was Kuroo. 

Weirdly, even though your thoughts drifted back to him just now, you still feel at peace. It must be the ambiance.

You hear someone open the door leading to where you are. You have no problems having small talk with strangers, but right now, you didn’t want to be disturbed. You don’t get moments like this at all. If you’re lucky, they won’t talk to you.

You continued minding your own business until someone stood beside you. Still, you pretended not to notice them, whoever they are.

“What’s a pretty lady doing all alone out here?”

You rested your chin on your palm as you face the source of the voice. Of course you knew who it was. You didn’t even have to look at him. 

A humored grin crept on your lips when you see him resting his back and elbows against the metal balustrade.

“What’s the star of the night doing out here?” You countered. It’s strange. You don’t feel nervous. You are alone with the object of your affection. You thought you’d fidget at least a little. 

“Got a little tired from entertaining everyone. Just wanted to take it easy for a while.”  He responded while staring blankly at the direction of the bar. Like you, he found the stillness of the atmosphere relaxing. You could see it in his face.

“Why didn’t you tell me it was your birthday?”

He chuckled. “Cause knowing you, you’d buy some expensive shit I probably don’t need.”

“So? It’s not like I can’t afford them.”

He stood straight, only to turn to the same direction you were facing. He slouched and placed his elbows on the railings while his eyes took in the busy streets of Tokyo.

“You being here today is enough already.”

His statement contained no humor. It wasn’t affectionate either. He just threw the words plainly in the air like an objective truth.

Only comfortable silence followed as you eye the same scene he’s watching. You don’t know what was it that came over you, but it just felt like it was the perfect time to say it. You’ll be disregarding that it was his birthday, but you don’t mind. You should say it now. 

“Listen, Kuroo.”

When your orbs meet his, you don’t falter. More than anything, you feel more sure about the next words that are about to come out of your mouth. “I’m—

“Kuroo-san!”

You both look at the doorway leading back to the bar from which a light blonde lady and a gray haired guy came out. They look awfully familiar, like you’ve seen them somewhere. 

“Lev. Alisa. What are you doing here?” 

The Russian siblings. You’ve seen them on a billboard. They’re big names in Japan, according to what you’ve heard from the people you’ve worked with when you came back. 

“What do you mean ‘what are we doing here?’ You invited us.” Lev said. 

Kuroo sighed and looked irritated. “I mean right here on this balcony.”

“We couldn’t find you inside.” Lev replied before he shifted his attention to you. “Wow. Woow! Kuroo-san. Is that y.n?” He turned to Kuroo as he asked.  “Oh right! You guys model too.” Kuroo introduced the three of you properly. “Oh my Gosh. You look even prettier in person.” Alisa said with eyes twinkling in admiration while she gapes at your face. 

You’re used to flattery, but it feels weird coming from other models, especially her. She had gorgeous green eyes and natural blonde hair. She’s also taller than you. You honestly think that if you two entered the room at a same time, the attention would all be on her.  

“How did you and Kuroo meet?” She questioned inquisitively. You’ve never had to answer that question. It was always a question of how you and Kuroo related, now how you two met. “Uhhh. Well..” You think hard of a possible scenario where you and Kuroo could have possibly made acquaintances, one that doesn’t involve alcohol and sex. 

“Met her at a party during uni days. She also knows Kenma.” Kuroo answered for you. 

It wasn’t a lie, but it sounded normal. Now you know what story to tell when someone else asks. 

“I see. Nice to meet you, y.n!” She said enthusiastically right before clinging to Kuroo’s arms. You were shocked at the gesture. Kuroo didn’t seem to mind though. Were they close enough for that amount of physical contact?

“Happy Birthday Kuroo-san!” The siblings greeted in unison with jovial tones. Alisa suddenly looks at you. “Is it okay if we take him for a while?” The way she asked was very pleasant and kind, but it annoyed you. You were about to tell Kuroo something extremely important. You already overlooked the fact that they barged in at that moment. Now, they’re going to drag him away with her holding onto him. 

“Actually, we were talking.” Kuroo said hesitantly. “Eh? It’ll just be a while. And they’re also looking for you inside.” Lev voiced out. 

There were many times you had to fake a smile, but this one, this one takes the cake. It took everything from you to make it as genuine as you wanted. “It’s okay! You should go with them, Kuroo.” 

‘Resist some more.’ You pleaded in your head, only to be disappointed. 

“I’ll be back, I swear.” The determination in his voice didn’t help lessen the displeasure you have on what’s happening. Your jaws are hurting from the effort you put in smiling. As soon as they turn their backs on you, your eyes squint at where Alisa’s and Kuroo’s limbs are connected. You didn’t think Kuroo was the kind to be that cozy with other women. You tried to reason with yourself that maybe they’re just really close. You’re not the only lady friend after all. 

But it wasn’t working. You’re downright exasperated that some other girl took him right when you’re about to confess to him. Did they have any idea how your week has been, constantly thinking about him and him only? Everything was going so smoothly and they just had to ruin it. 

Even if Kuroo will be back, he won’t be back to how he left you there. Hell no. That’s not how it’s going to be. It’s just impossible to be that calm again when you’re boiling over like this. 

You decide that the best way to spend the rest of the night is to spend it with a long lost friend - liquor. You haven’t been drinking at all since you flew to U.S. and you never went out partying like you did here in Japan.

You stomp back inside. 

“Anything with vodka.” You told the bartender as soon as you reached the counter. 

While waiting for your drink, you automatically look for Kuroo. He’s surrounded by his friends with Alisa on his side. She’s pressed a little too close to him for your liking. 

The realization that hit you wasn’t a welcome one. 

You were not just irked. You’re jealous. You’re fucking jealous for Christ’s sake. You took your seat and palmed your forehead. You’ve never been more thankful to a bartender when your drink arrives. 

You drank the mix like it was water. You needed it. You were so upset. Not only were you not able to admit your feelings, you also got jealous when you had no right to be. They were probably just friends anyways. 

It’s too early to be drinking, but you don’t give a damn. “Hey.” You called out the bartender. “Keep them coming until I tell you to stop.” 

It was on your fourth glass when you felt the aftermath of drinks you raced to finish. You didn’t even have to move for you to know that your sense of balance is getting wobbly. 

“Y.n.? You okay?” 

 Someone sat beside you. It sounded like a man, a concerned one. But you just laugh it off. “Please. If you’re not drinking with me, I’d rather not have this conversation.” You hear him sigh. “Gin and Tonic here.”

You swivel your chair so you could face him, which was a bad idea. The sudden motion made you extra dizzy. You slapped the cold marble of the counter to stop yourself from swirling further than you should. When you stabilize yourself, you take a good look at the person beside you. 

Brown hair, bright eyes. What was his name again? Toshisuke Gaku? Maku? Or was it Saku? 

“Hello, Taku-san.” You made your best impression to look sober. 

He softly laughed. “It’s Yaku actually.”

Lucky you, you were almost drunk so you just giggled. “Sorry. I blame these.” You pinpoint the three empty glasses and the fourth one that’s half finished. “Isn’t it a tad early to be getting drunk?” The bartender hands him his drink which he takes a sip at. 

“Yeah, it is.” Yet you continued drinking the liquor you asked for. You’d stop if it was making you feel any better, but it wasn’t. So you’ll keep drinking until it does. It isn’t like you to be reckless. But tonight, you’ll make an exception. You’ll just ask Kenma to drive you home when you’re wasted already. 

“Want to talk about it?” You couldn’t figure out if he was flirting or he’s being nice. You haven’t been into any dates, so you’re a bit rusty picking up if you’re being hit on.

“Not really.” You chose to be cautious. 

"I’m practically a stranger. Your secret will be safe with me.”

You scoff at him. “You’re not a stranger. You’re friends with Kuroo.”

He puts his glass down on the counter with gleaming eyes. “So it’s about him.”

What is seriously up with these people? Kuroo, Kenma, now this guy. They’re all too astute, it’s abnormal. “No, it’s not.” You denied. Even though he was spot on, you still wouldn’t admit it. 

“You keep peeking at him every once in a while.”

You take another sip. “Why are you hellbent on talking about him? I don’t want to talk about him.” You intended to sound ticked off, but the rising and falling of your voice from the alcohol failed you. He chuckled. “When I saw you a while ago, I thought you were the serious type of person.”

“I am! I’m just really tipsy right now.” That you admit. 

“I can see that.”

You involuntarily look at Kuroo to see if the Haiba lady is still with him. It’s been a great while now since he left with her. But there they are, still huddled with his other guests. 

You gulped straight your remaining drink. You’re going home. The alcohol is useless. You’re still pissed. You stood up from your seat. At the first step you take, the four glasses hit all at once. Your vision became unsteady. Your feet can’t tell if you’re about to go straight or sidewards. You’re also not sure if you’re swaying or it’s just your head that’s spinning. 

On your second step, you confirmed that indeed, it was you who’s swaying. You tried to regain your footing, but it only made things worse. You trip.

“Oh shit.” Yaku exclaimed as he saw you about to go down.

Good thing he was fast on his feet to catch you. He grips your arms to support you, but it looks like the drinks you had caught up with you already as you groan on his chest. He tried to shake off the effect it had on him. 

You are extremely attractive. He couldn’t take his eyes off you when he first saw you, but he sensed that something’s going on with you and Kuroo. You just confirmed his speculation from that tiny exchange you had. Him and Kuroo usually had contrasting tastes, but you happen to be one of the few exceptions. 

You try to hoist yourself up by gripping the fabric on his chest. You’re a bit taller than him, but you were slumped at him from the way you staggered earlier. You lift your head up and look at him with misty eyes. Crap, you’re too pretty even when at the brink of drunkenness. “I’ll call for Kuroo, okay?” That way, you’ll be out of his hands already.  

“Don’t!” You frantically opposed. “I’m going home. Please help me call a cab.” You suddenly giggle like a kid. “Apparently, I suck at it.”

That’s when he knew that the alcohol had fully set in your system. You were guarded not long ago and now you’re being cutesy and comfy with him. He couldn’t believe you thought you could go home by yourself like that. 

He should call Kuroo, or Kenma at least. But how can he do that when you look like you’ll fall on your face without assistance? 

To make things worse for him, your hands that were previously just on his chest crawl up to his shoulders as you rest your cheek on the crook of his neck. “Mmmm.” You put your weight against him as you relax within his hold. 

Oh no.

You passed out. 

On another side of the party, his own party, Kuroo couldn’t wait for the non-stop chatters to end. He held this party because he wanted to get everyone he knew together. Since everyone invited was almost related to Volleyball, he thought it’d be more like a reunion and he’d just be the sponsor. He didn’t plan to be the star of the night. It wouldn’t be so bad if Lev and Alisa didn’t bother you when you were about to say something important. He’s getting ahead of himself, but for a moment there, it seemed like you were about to confess. 

He’ll let Taketora finish whatever he’s saying then he’s going back to you. His eyes roamed around to see if you went back inside.

Someone must have said something funny because everyone around him suddenly laughed, everyone except him. He didn’t hear shit about what it was. All he focused on was you’re comfortably snuggled up on Yaku.

“Excuse me.” He didn’t even look back before he marched as fast as he could to reach you. 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Yaku?” He gave the former Nekoma libero a threatening glare. Seeing you cozied up with someone else, even if it’s his friend, right on his birthday made him seethe with anger. Still, he lowered his voice to avoid unwanted attention.  “I’m not doing anything, dipshit. She drank like hell while you left her alone. You dumbass.”  

That alleviated his temper. For one thing, Yaku was right. He did leave you all alone. Most of the people here knew each other. You were practically an outsider. He should’ve introduced you to everyone. He was used to your self-reliance that he became unmindful of your situation. Still, what made you drink until you got this wasted? 

He shook his head from the lack of answer and from his own unthoughtfulness. 

He carefully takes your hand to gently wake you up. “Hey.” You raise your head and meet his eyes. At the sight of him, you instantly let go of Yaku and went to him on your own accord. You put your head against his chest and clutched his bicep with your other hand that he wasn’t holding. 

You groan before murmuring, “Kuroooo.” 

“Yes, kitten?”

“Happy Burthdaaay.” You already greeted him first thing a while ago, but this one softened him up. Even at your intoxicated state, it was his interests that are present in your mind. 

“Yaku, can you tell Kenma that I’m leaving the party to him?” 

Before Yaku could respond, Kenma beat Yaku to it. “I’m right here.” Kenma must have followed him when he walked away all of a sudden in the middle of their group’s conversation. 

“I’m leaving the party to you for a while.”

Kenma made a face as soon as he saw you flopped onto him, but Kenma didn’t complain. “Come back as soon as you can.”

He nods before slowly walking away with you hanging on to him. When you and Kuroo exit the place, Yaku walks to Kenma’s side.

“How long do you think before he comes back?” Yaku asked. 

Kenma took a few seconds to reply. “He’s not going to come back.”

—

“I want my bed,” you mutter on your seat with your eyes closed. He thought you’d be comfortable since he reclined the seat so you can lie down a bit.

“We’re on the way to my place, okay?” His one hand briefly lets go of the wheel to caress your knuckles. You swat his hand away and whined.

“Nooo. I want my bed.” 

You look like you’re about to throw a tantrum if he refuses. 

“In my purse. Keys. My bed.”

He didn’t hear anything from you again. When he had the chance, he glanced at you. You must have slipped back to unconsciousness.

He’d prefer if he took you to his apartment, but he wouldn’t want you throwing a drunken fit when you get up and find that you weren’t at the comfort of your own home.

So he drove to your place. 

He goes to your side of the car and helps you get out of the vehicle. The nap you took didn’t do you any good. He tried to support your strides, but your legs were like jelly. 

He went in front of you and slouched a bit. “Get on my back.” You immediately obeyed him.  He secures his grip on your legs as he starts walking towards your room. The place didn’t change so he still remembers where your unit is.

The guard almost halted him but didn’t do so when they saw that it was you he’s carrying. 

He let you down when you arrived at your door. 

“I feel like puking.” You covered your mouth with one hand.

Instead of answering, he quickly searched for your key card on your purse. If you’re gonna barf, you’re gonna do it inside. He hurriedly opens your door and assists you as you make your way to the kitchen sink. 

He caresses your back while you let out what you ingested earlier, which wasn’t a lot. It was mostly colored liquid, probably the ones you drank at his party.

“Feel better?”

You open the faucet to clean the mess you made, then you wipe your mouth before nodding to his question.

“Get me water please.”

You seat yourself on the edge of your bed while he gets what you asked for. 

He sits beside you before handing you a glass of water. 

Your eyes can now focus on something compared to earlier where you fluttered your lids just to fight the urge to pass out.

“Still fucked up, aren’t you?”

You laugh lowly. “The good kind though.” It was true. From being wasted, you’re now just happy drunk based on that amused grin playing on your lips.

He has no idea what’s going through your head. Maybe it’s just the alcohol coursing through you that made you feel elated. Still, he’s glad you’re somewhat okay now. He’d ask you what you were gonna say earlier, but he’ll be doubting any answer you’ll give. 

You did tell him before. You’re not you when you’re drunk. 

He’ll ask another time. For now, he’ll let you rest. 

He’s debating whether he should come back here later after the party or just leave you right now that you’re safe anyways. Honestly, he doesn’t want to come back to the party. He’d rather stay here and make sure you’d be okay, especially if you wake up in the morning with a hangover. 

Although you did let him in your place, it was only to take you home. You might flip if you wake up with him there. Also, the party was his. He kinda feels bad for Kenma who he left the burden to.

“Will you be okay?”

You place your palm on your sides as support while you lean back a little bit. “Yep. A-okay!” You simpered right after answering. 

He smiles at your cheerful drunk self. You’ll be okay. He’ll check up on you first thing in the morning to make sure.

“Call me when you need me, okay?” 

You grab his arm, halting him before he stands up. “You’re leaving already?” He almost thought that it was cute, but he couldn’t with the way you’re looking at him. 

You’re up to something. Something not good. Jesus Christ, he wanted to indulge you. But it’d be best to just ignore it. It’s all that liquor you drowned yourself with. “I still have my party, remember?”

“You won’t even kiss me good night?”

That heightened his awareness of the situation. It was just him and you, on your bed, with you stripped off of your inhibitions. One wrong move, and he might find himself doing something that will lead to regret when you’re both satiated. He hasn’t been enduring these past few months only for him to give in to your temptation now. He’s the sober one. He can keep things in check.

He moves closer to your face. You don’t even budge. Your eyes are fixated on his lips as he comes nearer, but his lips go up to your forehead instead. 

A flash of disappointment comes across your face, then you cackle all of a sudden. 

“What are we? In high school?” You continued laughing. He just stared at your overjoyed state. You didn’t need to be that vocal about your dissatisfaction in the kiss he just gave you. His plan to be nice to you tonight is still intact, but in the morning, he’ll give you a thorough narration of everything you did tonight. So sure, he’d let you enjoy whatever humored you at the moment. Tomorrow, it’ll be his turn. 

“When I said kiss,” your one hand creeps to his chest with your eyes following the movement. When your fingers reach his nape, you look into his eyes and softly say, “this is what I meant.”

You pull him in and press your lips onto his. 

He always imagined how this situation would go. Sometimes, when you talk, your words get tuned out and he can only think about how it’d be like to kiss you again. But no product of his imagination prepared him for this moment when he finally feels the lusciousness of your lips. When you open your mouth to nip his lower lip softly, all rational thoughts leave his head. Your taste was intoxicating and it wasn’t the trails of alcohol on your mouth. It was you, all you. 

You pull back right before he’s about to return the kiss.

Your hand leaves his neck, but your eyes keep locked with his. You don’t smile. You don’t move an inch. He does the same, as if you two are trapped in that point in time until one of you decides to shatter that moment. The air felt heavy as that fragile point of no return dangles dangerously between you two.

Even though he’s the sober one, he’s the first to give in.

“Fuck it.” 

His hand goes to the back of your head and reclaims your lips once again. He could not reciprocate your gentle kiss. He can only ravage your lips as he tries to make up for the time he’s lost you. It doesn’t help that you respond to him with the same intensity. It was a kiss that abandoned the boundary of friendship you both agreed to. At this point, he couldn’t give a shit as the clash of your tongues spur him on even more. 

He lets go of your lips. He moves to that nook just below your jaw and licks it right before sucking it softly. You let out a soft moan which made him smirk. He still knows your body all too well. 

Your hands that were gripping his shoulders frantically moved down to unbutton his suit. He takes off your jacket so he can trail down kisses on the curve of your shoulders. It’s been so long, yet he still hasn’t forgotten how you delicate your skin felt. He couldn’t get enough. He craved to do so much to you all at once. 

His one hand grips the side of your knees and hitches up the fabric of your skirt so he can feel the bare skin of your thighs. while the other snakes around your waist as his mouth moves down to your chest. As much as he loved the way your boobs looked with your top, it needs to go. He goes for your lips again as he fumbles with the clasps in front of your outfit. 

When he felt it come off, he pulls away for a moment just to take in the vision you provided, and holy fuck. You’re a sight straight from his fantasies. Your eyes are hazy with desire. You weren’t wearing anything beneath the top, so your unclad breasts graced his eyes as the garment still hung loosely on your shoulders. Your skirt’s yanked yup high enough that an inch more and he can already see what the cloth is concealing beneath it. 

You haven’t even touched him that much, but his arousal is already in its full glory. He’s so torn. He wants to fuck you slowly and delicately to savor the feeling of having you once again. But your appearance is making him want to do otherwise. 

“Why are you staring?”

Your question was real. You really had no idea why he was gaping at you. You had no idea how you look like a feast laid out for him and him only.   

He gets back to your bed and latches his lips onto yours again. You welcome him once more by grabbing the back of his head and treading your fingers on his hair. Instead of encasing you in his arms again, he gently moves you so that your back is against the headboard of the bed. He needs his two hands for all the things he’s going to do to your body. 

When your back is planted against the cushioned headboard, his hands proceed to cup your naked bosoms while he continues ravaging the delicious wonders of your lips. When he pinches the two hard buds, he earned himself a groan that you delivered right on his mouth. 

Even with his senses full of you, he didn’t miss how you clenched your thighs together. 

His lips wander down, taking his time as he sucks the skin leading to your breast. He swirls his tongue on the stiff nipple while he tweaks the other one with his deft fingers. You grasp his hair when he puts it between his teeth and gives it a soft tug. 

“Hnnnnng”

Your head is clouded with lust as Kuroo continues driving you wild with his tongue. It feels so good already. You are overwhelmed with nothing but the sensation he’s giving you. All you can do is take it as it assaults your whole being. The throbbing of your core only gets worse when his mouth showers your other breast with the same licking and sucking as he did with the other. 

Your thighs are quivering from how hard you’re pressing them together. He must’ve noticed since he suddenly pries them open with a nudge of his knee. That only made it worse though. Now there is nothing that’s appeasing the need in your center. 

You pull his head and look at him. 

“Touch me already.”

His fingers immediately trace the skin of your thigh until he’s grazing your clothed slit, but it still not enough. 

“Your underwear is soaked, kitten.”

How can it not be? You’ve been wanting to touch and be touched by him for so long. If your body didn’t feel as heavy and if your head just spun a little less, you would’ve shoved him on his back and rode him until you got your release. 

But as you requested, he did as you told. He removed your thong and threw it somewhere on your bed. At the first stroke of his fingers on the flesh of your damp cavern, you whimper already. Your hands fly to the edge of the headboard to steady yourself as you spread your legs open for his further ministrations. 

Kuroo always thought you were hot as hell. He leans back a bit so he could take a good look at your whole body positioned that way. He never underestimated the effect you had on him. But this is beyond being hot. You look like a fucking goddess. He could feel his precum oozing from his cock already. You just had to make it harder for him to keep it together. All he could think about now is burying is dick deep down your pussy that’s soaking wet just for him. 

“Why won’t you touch me?” Instead of impatience, your tone was woeful as if you thought that he didn’t want to do just that. You have no idea that he wants to do more than touching. 

Recovering from his entranced state, he gets back your lips right before tracing the wetness of your slit with his middle finger repeatedly. You breathe heavily with eyes closed as each stroke increases the ache in your groin. He moves his focus on your clit, rubbing the bundle of nerves in small tortuous circles. 

You remove one hand from the headboard to grab his tie, twisting the material in your hand, then pulling him closer so you can reach for his lips. Before you can even connect his mouth with yours, he slides in one digit inside your eager cunt. “Uhhhhhh,” your planned kiss suspended as his finger penetrates your walls. 

“That’s it. Let me hear you moan for me again.” 

He targets your neck again with open mouthed kisses while he quickens the thrusts of his finger. You really had no choice but to obey him, your obscene moans leak from your mouth as each thrust makes you crave him more and more. Barely slowing down, he pushes in another one. You arch your back from the sensuous stir it gave you. It’s been so long that you forgot how he can do a hell of a job in pleasuring you with only his fingers.

As he pumps in and out of you, his palm brushes your clit which adds to the rapture building up in your stomach. “Kuroo please.”

“Please what, kitten?” He doesn’t cut back on the speed of his fingers, his eyes completely absorbed in your face that has carnal delight pronounced all over. 

“Stop.” You whisper helplessly. 

He’s caught off guard since he probably thought you were about to cum, and you were. That’s why you had to stop him. With all the strength you can muster, you lift yourself up and push him against your headboard. You position yourself on his lap and cover his mouth yours while you briskly unbutton his polo, which was proving to be a task with your light-headedness. 

“Your suits are stupid. Stop wearing them.” Of course you didn’t mean that. He’s a treat to the eyes with his suit on. But they’re not the easiest to remove. 

He chuckles a few inches from your mouth right before gripping your fists that were trying to undress him. One fierce tug with his hands guiding yours, he rips off his own clothes, the buttons coming off loosely in all directions. 

“Better?” He asks with a breathy voice that made you gush even worse. Goddamn this man. He didn’t lose shape at all. He still looked as godly as you remembered.

Instead of answering him, you aim for his crotch and unzip his pants. His erection springs free from his pants, hard with moisture leaking from its tip. “Yes, better now.”

You place one hand on his shoulder while the other guides his member to your drenched entrance. You let go of it when the tip is in and support yourself by putting your hand on his other shoulder as well. 

Kuroo’s gaze is stuck on the spot connecting your bodies. He couldn’t take away his eyes on how your cunt slowly swallowed his length.

“What the fuck. You’re so tight.” It’s like he didn’t even prepare you just now. 

You wince as you sink yourself lower. You look at him with hints of tears in the corner of your eyes from the discomfort. “There hasn’t been anyone since you.”

He grabs your ass and in one vicious thrust, hauling you down on him as he shoves his dick completely inside you. 

“AHH!”

He pulls you in for a kiss as he lets you adjust to the feeling of being stuffed full. Never has someone made him feel good like you did. And it wasn’t just how you’re sitting on him right now with his cock inside you. 

It was the fact that you didn’t let anybody touch you the way he’s doing to you right now. You were still his despite the months that passed by with no communication and no idea of seeing each other again. He didn’t think he’d be the possessive type, but knowing he was your last increased the exhilaration of your lovemaking. 

Lovemaking? He sure wished that was the case for you, instead of just drunken sex with a former fuck buddy.

He caressed your shoulders, your waist, and down to your hips, waiting for you to give him a signal to move. But you don’t. 

With your eyes closed, you release your lips from his and rest your forehead on his. 

“I missed this,” you let out a heavy puff and add, “I missed you.”

The ache in your voice struck a cord on his yearning heart. He sweeps away the strands of hair stuck on your face. 

“Hey,” he softly said. 

When you open your eyes, he cups your cheek and ushers you to look at him.

“I missed you too, kitten.”

You give him a smile, the one that he revered so much, right before kissing him softly. Your mouths perfectly melded together, your lips nipping gently against each other until it escalated to a feverish clash of your tongues. Then, you lift your hips and take your time descending on him, making him aware once again how tight you are. 

And by God, you feel divine. 

“You’re so big,” you whimper.

“Hmm? But you’re taking me so well.”

After a few bobs, you have gotten used to him inside you and picked up the pace. He fought to keep his eye open despite the incredible urge to just close them and relish the way you’re bouncing on his dick. He wants to witness you lose yourself in carnal delight.

You pant heavily, the exhilaration, the fuzziness in your head, and the stress in your thighs all battling at the moment. Shortly, it was your muscles that made you cave in. You stop moving and bury your face on his neck. “I’m tired,” you weakly said. 

He strokes your hair lovingly before moving both his huge hands on your ass. “:Grind for me, kitten,” he spoke right in your ear, making you moan at his command before heeding it. You wanted to rest for a while, but the first thrust of your hip electrified your whole body that you craved for more. His hands on your ass alleviated most of the tension from your thighs and helped you move against him faster. His tip was hitting you deeper than it did before. The position created friction for your clit as you grind on his crotch. 

You push yourself up a bit so you have more control on your rhythm. Once you steady yourself, you move your hips in slow circles.

“Fuck, yes!” he groans as he whips his head back., but only for a moment as he lifts his head up and scandalously eyes your whole body. “Shit, you do me so well,” then captures a perk nipple on his mouth, sucking and licking on both buds alternately. He knew exactly how to drive you mad until it was pure delicious frenzy that took over your whole being. 

“You feels so good. So gooooood—hhnnghh.” You shamelessly voice out, followed by a series of moans that grew louder and louder. It was equaled by his guttural groans that his throat produced.

Nothing else was distracting you anymore, only that increasing heat in your groin that you desperately chased. Suddenly, he stops you by gripping your ass forcefully. 

“Slow down.” He kisses a spot in your chest. “I want this to last for us.”

You whine and softly shake your head. “I don’t want to. Please don’t stop. Fuck me until I cum already.”

That’s exactly what he wants to do, but it’s been a while for you. He wanted to extract as much pleasure as he can from you, given your current state, before giving in to his own needs.

“Please, Tetsu.”

The last string he’s been holding onto snapped. You just had to pull that move, knowing fully well how feral he’ll get. “You want to cum that bad, huh?” With his hands still clutching your cheeks, he starts moving you again until you were viciously rutting against him. “Then ride me like you mean it.”

“Haaaa. Fuuuuuuuccccck.” He could feel your body tensing up every thrust you make.

Your body glistens with sweat from the repeated roll of your hips toward his. He loves how dirty your mouth gets when you’re about to cum. The sound of your uninhibited, obscene moans goaded him closer to his release. But no way he’d go first. No way he’d miss the look in your face when you reach the peak of pleasure.

“That’s it, kitten. Are you gonna cum for me?” 

“Yes.” He harshly bites one nipple while his one hand lands a firm spank on one ass cheek. “YES!!” Your movements get wilder and faster while you seem to forget that you have neighbors with how loud you are.

“I’m gonna cum. Gonna cum, Tetsu.” Your voice strained and a tad pitch higher.

“Do it. Milk my cock with your pussy.”

“AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH! ”You wail as absolute bliss takes over your face, allowing him to take in how beautiful you looked as you seize that euphoric gratification. That was it for him. That was all he’s waiting for before he goes after his own climax. 

Your ass would probably bruise tomorrow from how hard he’s holding you. He closes his eyes and lets himself get lost on the pleasure of you savagely riding him. The pleasure he’s been keeping at bay quickly travelled to his groin with extreme intensity. 

“Holy fuck. HOLY FUCK.” He hauls your hips against him a few more times before he quickly takes out his cock at the highest point of his orgasm, shooting his load at your pelvis.

You throw your arms around him and dip your head in his neck. Only heavy breathes can be heard from the both of you. When you recover yours, your body completely relaxes against his. 

You must’ve fallen asleep right after coming down from your high. 

He sighs.

The sex was fucking great, but that’s all it was. Sex. Again. Nothing changed. He doesn’t regret it. He just wished things were different. 

You snuggle closer to him until you’re satisfied. He moves his hands to wrap you in his embrace, making the most of what he could get from you tonight. 

You seemed to like it based on the way you purred. You had no idea how his heart ached for this to last. Still, he couldn’t stop himself from smiling. He plants a soft peck on your shoulders right before you murmur something next to his ear.

“I love you.”

  Part 7 | Part 9 | m.list

A/N: 

Food has been served. Enjoy!

Do you all remember when I said this was gonna be the last chapter? I was clowning myself. Apparently, I still had a lot going on in my smol brain. But the next one gonna be the last istg.

I have so many upcoming collabs from our server. I even have an Oikawa fic going on too but I’ll do my best to update as fast as I can. Bear with me pls :((

I love kuroo so much u guys have no idea

Did you notice I included a legit banner this time, right on the last two chapters haha I hate me

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[dorminchu]

Insult to Injury: The Director's Cut — Chapter 01

Note: All right, it's been a hot minute since I uploaded anything substantial in regard to this fic. So I'm going to try something a bit risky! I've archived Insult to Injury as you all know it, with the exception of a few errant reblogs outside of my control. But that's neither here nor there; I am very excited to present to all of you all the definitive version of this fic — the Director's Cut, if you will. ;)

Fandom: James Bond Characters: Madeleine Swann, Lyutsifer Safin, various OC(s) Relationships: Madeleine & OC(s) Warnings: Strong language, intense scenes of violence, general cynicism. Rating: M Genre: Crime/Drama Summary: A troubled psychologist desperate to escape her past criminal ties finds herself drawn into a far more insidious schism. [Post-Skyfall]

[Ao3 | FFNet]

— ACT I —

“Everything which is done in the present, affects the future by consequence, and the past by redemption.” — Paulo Coelho

— Episode I: A THOUSAND DETAILS —

In the sterile comfort of her office, Dr Madeleine Swann stared blankly at her computer monitor. The notification that her application as a psychologist consultant with the Médecins Sans Frontières had been sent six days prior blurred with lack of focus. The location of the mission in question was Conakry, Guinea. Her contract duration would last from the start of May to the end of August; just shy of two months away from now. There was an additional caveat:

All non-ECOWAS foreigners are required to have a valid Guinean visa and a vaccination card in order to be granted entry. Yellow fever vaccination cards are verified upon entry into the country at Gbessia.

Approval for the visa necessitated a seventy-two-hour window of clearance. And it would be at least four weeks until she heard back from the Human Resources Office—up to six if she were unlucky. She sat erect and the movement alone was enough to incite a sharp stab of pain into the back of her head. Through the window the sun cast a reddish glare, obfuscating the monitor and warming the nape of her neck. She shoved her face into the heels of her palms while the pressure in her skull abated to a dull throbbing.

Usually she made a habit of drawing the blinds. There were already enough odd complaints about her office being too cold and sterile passed along by the secretary. It had been a stressful enough week that Madeleine saw no reason to keep the shutters closed, so her clients might have something else to focus on besides four polished wooden walls and the analog clock.

What came off to most outsiders as a cool and direct manner of conduct was simply pragmatism. She had a laptop computer used primarily for sending emails. She recorded the bulk of her notes on patients by-hand and revised by means of portable recorder. She kept no photographs in her home nor office. The casual anecdotes she provided to her colleagues were ostensibly as droll as her taste in décor; though her efforts to blend in had largely gone unappreciated.

There wasn’t anything else immediate to review for tonight. She wished a curt good-night to the secretary before donning her coat and exiting into the crisp evening air.

⁂

It was only a fifteen-minute walk from the clinic to the flat. Above her head the clouds hung grey and pregnant with snow. By the time she had ascended the staircase and opened the door to her apartment her fingers prickled. Numbness seeped into her skin. She’d never much cared for the colder seasons.

“You’re back early,” said Arnaud—a fellow Sociology major from her college days. After graduating from Oxford, Madeleine had taken his offer to return to Paris and transfer over to the 8tharrondissement with the understanding that they would be rooming together. Her colleagues back then often referred to them as friends-with-benefits as Madeleine had showed little interest in dating before. After three years of cohabitation, her co-workers at the office wondered how she and Arnaud remained so cordial while balancing their careers and relationship.

“Yes.” Madeleine hung up her coat, noting that he had not yet changed out of his own. “I submitted my request with the MSF a week ago. If I am accepted I’ll be working as a psychologist consultant. In that case, I’ll be out of the country until August at least.”

“Well, you’ve never landed a position that didn’t suit you.” Madeleine smiled politely. “Can I get you anything?”

“No, thanks.” She looked away from him towards the window. “You could open the blinds. It's very bright in here with the lights on.”

“There’s hardly much to look at when the sun is in your eyes. Isn’t that what you say?”

For the most part, Arnaud was easy to live with. Neither of them required financial support and he was of equitable social standing. Her relentless volunteer work did not always lend much time to get to know his inner mind. “It’s late. Are you going out again?”

“No, I got back first. And it’s fortunate. You looked awfully cold when you came in.”

“I can hardly control the weather. And you needn’t worry, I always carry a key on me.”

“Madeleine, we live together. It wouldn’t be right to avoid you. But you know, if I were going out to an unscrupulous club it would make for a pretty good story.”

“Hm.”

“And knowing you,” Arnaud continued, “you probably won’t be going out drinking. The sunrise disturbs you in the mornings, and you woke up before I did, at seven. I assume you’ve been busy all day. In just a few weeks you’ll be working that much harder. You ought to get some rest while you can.”

“So,” a little cooler, “you’ll be another mission?”

“Most likely.”

“All these countries must seem the same after a while.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t expect you to understand. When was the last time you volunteered out of the country? 2011?”

Arnaud laughed. “Jesus, this isn’t a competition.”

“But it’ll give you something to talk about to your friends while I am away.”

Arnaud said nothing. Madeleine frowned. She went into the other room and began to change. He could not approach her in the same casual manner as his peers, nor dissect her outright. His life was one of prestige as well as privilege, and Madeleine could not foster any underlying resentment towards him for acting in his nature. The silence held, strained. Then Arnaud said:

“It’s always been important to you. That’s what should matter.”

⁂

In two weeks’ time she got a response from the HRO; the initial interview was scheduled shortly thereafter. By the middle of April she was making preparations to depart. Thanks to Arnaud’s tactic of avoidance she had little reason to tell him the details. No one would know where she was headed unless they broke inside her laptop and hunted through her mail. The situation in Guinea had kicked into mainstream awareness back in February for a week or so before gradually sinking back into obscurity.

Reports from several news outlets cited the emergence of an outbreak primarily affecting South Africa. Originating inland, a mysterious illness that revealed itself first with fever and spells of vomiting, then gradually ate away at the flesh of those afflicted and bore their bones and muscle, vulnerable to further rot. More emboldened journalists had taken to calling it the Red Death on account of this. Neither a cure nor a place or origin had been discovered.

The situation had not improved in the last two months so much as stabilised. Madeleine had been assured several times over email and electronic conference that those working in the field had already taken precautions, and she’d be instructed further on what to do upon her arrival. She was issued a few pamphlets and strongly advised to vaccinate before boarding the flight. Which she had done, but it was very kind of them to remind her.

In spite of Arnaud’s apparent disinterest, his last words to her before she departed had been: “Last year it was four missions. I'd never seen you so tired. I wish I knew what you’re trying to prove.”

After managing to get some sleep on the plane she touched down Conakry International Airport around mid-morning and contacted the Project Coordinator; a shorter man in his mid-forties with a photogenic smile and toupee. He clasped her hand in both of his clammy ones and said: “Very glad you've made it, Doctor. We need you on-site in twenty minutes. Make sure you are ready.” Her luggage was dropped off on the second floor of the Grand Hotel de L’independence, where she and the other MSF members would be rooming. The staff were polite enough, though their attention was fixed on the Project Coordinator.

Her room was spare and a little dingy, and the only means of fresh air came from opening the window and polluting the room with outside noise, but it was at least reasonably clean. A fine sheen of sweat was building on her skin. No reason to delay the inevitable.

Upon reaching Donka Hospital she met up with the rest of the team, most notably the Medical Coordinator, and the Psychosocial Unit. It soon became apparent that there were still not enough medical doctors to handle the influx of infected. An isolation ward had been established before the MSF’s involvement, but they were reportedly at full capacity; the workers in there were clad in full-body personal protective equipment. Another section of the grounds had been set aside and fenced off; rows of tents all lined up, reminding Madeleine distantly of a prisoner’s accommodations. No matter where you went the stench of rot always seemed to hang pervasively in the air.

She was paired off with another psychologist by the name of John Herrmann; American, around her age. He was of a friendlier disposition than she was used to, introducing her semi-formally to the rest of the group before adding:

“So, one thing you should know now, we’ve been having problems with the electricity on site as well as the hotel. There’s no running water either.”

“This isn’t my first mission with MSF. And I lived out in the countryside when I was small. I know how to look after myself.”

Herrmann smiled. “That’s fair.” He scratched his neck. “The mosquitoes are worse. Bug nets won’t help worth a damn. Make sure you close your windows at night, I had to learn that the hard way.”

“I see.” The humidity combined with the smell off-road were already becoming intolerable. But she did not want to appear so snobbish or weak in front of someone she would be monitoring for the next three months. “I won’t go any easier on you just because you are unaccustomed to the environment.”

 “See ,that’s the kind of attitude we need around here!” He clapped a hand on her back; Madeleine regarded him levelly until he relented. “Good to have you on the team.”

The other members on the Psychosocial Unit were as amicable with Madeleine as the situation permitted. None of them got on her nerves as much as Herrmann. His enthusiasm was never to the point of seeming false or obsequious, but he remained just enough of a go-getter to piss her off. After a week of monitoring them she came away with the impression that Herrmann was genuine. He had been consistently genial with the clientele and hospital staff alike, no matter the severity of their condition. She saw no reason to socialise with him outright. The most he ever noted about her mood was: “You’re pretty reticent for a psychologist consultant.”

“I’m here to do my job. That’s all.”

Herrmann shrugged. “I can respect that. We all deal with the situation in our own ways.” He paused. “I can see why the Project Coordinator wanted you. You’re handling this situation a lot better than I would have.”

“Thank you.”

“The workload must be insane compared to what you’re normally used to. I know it took me time to adjust—" he stopped as Madeleine threw him a look of confusion “—what is it?”

“Back home, I am usually referred to as what one would call a workaholic. Or didn’t anyone tell you?”

“Oh, hey, I didn’t mean to imply—”

“No offence taken.”

The higher temperature was not so bad as the humidity that slapped her in the face whenever stepping outside—according to the forecasts, it was only going to get worse within the coming months. There was no manner of ventilation or air-conditioning in the hotel so often times she had to draw the curtains and keep her hair back. She resigned herself by reminding herself that it was better than sleeping in a tent.

There wasn’t much time to be hung-up on much else besides her assignment. The members of the Psychosocial Unit all looked good on paper, but they betrayed their inexperience through a shared level of idealism towards the mission that Madeleine deemed ill-fated. She did not blame them. Young, perhaps fresh out of school, looking to make a difference in the world without truly anticipating the gravity of the situation. Their time spent observing the crises of the rest of the world through the lens of journalism and outside empathy could not compare with the experience of actually sitting down and listening to the stuff their patients talked of with prosaic seriousness.

It often sounded outrageous when Madeleine played back the recordings, taking down notes in the quiet, stuffy hotel room. Mortality was an expected outcome, and the implication of negligence by their government a common topic of discussion among patients. Most conversations were conducted in French or else by way of an interpreter, though the antagonism in the voices of these patients needed no translation.

There was a growing disparity between the narrative put into circulation by the news and what was happening in the field. According to several members of the MSF and the staff at Donka, the media blew the problem out of proportion. The people whose condition had kicked off the “Red Death” story had been subjected to long-term exposure. Most of the patients that came through were not in that same condition, but it created an illusion of immediacy that incited concern in the public eye and a need for donations. Government officials wanted to cover up the severity of the situation as not to detract from any potential business opportunities; until the MSF got involved, they were only employing the most rudimentary of safety procedures.

This latter revelation had shaken up the Psychosocial Unit considerably; Dr Herrmann had lost his patience with the Medical Coordinator. To this end, he’d apologised profusely to Madeleine afterwards though she would hear none of it. Whatever he felt about the situation was not necessarily invalid, but out of consideration for their patients, he would not bring it up again.

Herrmann never held it against her. So Madeleine busied herself in her own work. Whatever quiet camaraderie forged between the other MSF members was not her business. When pressed for advice, she would talk calmly, carefully with the rest of the team about what would be optimal but never overreach. In the sweltering nights and throughout the early morning, Madeleine would pore over her notes, listening to the passing automobiles and indistinct conversation carried over by civilians.

⁂

June crawled by. Currently the MSF were in the process of dealing with a new influx of internally displaced persons (IDPs) from the surrounding prefectures and villages, all of whom had to be tested and separated from those not stricken with disease. Thanks to the cooperation with the local civilians and tireless efforts on part of the medical staff and Medical Unit, there had been a forty-five-percent decrease in fatalities compared to the start of the year.

The atmosphere within the hospital was not improving. The topic of insurgence was the new favourite with patients. Allegedly there had been several attacks on neighbouring villages; a consequence of the lack of tangible progress coupled with deep-seated mistrust of government officials. Now the Force Sécurité/Protection, or FSP, had been brought on in collaboration with an additional Protective Services Detail (PSD) by the name of Kerberos, to ensure the hospital and surrounding property remained untouched.

Their Project Coordinator called them all in for the sake of reviewing protocol in the event of an attack. Outright criticism of the government’s method in handling the situation was discouraged. Madeleine was savvy enough to keep herself abreast of any controversy. For the rest of the Psychosocial Unit, she presumed they were either too naïve or willing to look the other way.

The only exception to this was the Vaccines Medical Advisor, Francis Kessler; a stoic older man with thinning hair and glasses. He and Madeleine had cooperated a handful of times beforehand, at the discreet behest of the Medical Coordinator. Madeleine had found nothing wrong with his conduct. A diligent worker, he acknowledged her judgement fairly but did not overextend his gratitude. Outside of his work he was straight-laced and reserved and wouldn’t be seen socialising with any of the younger MSF who all talked about him as though he were some out-of-touch stick-in-the-mud. As the situation in the hospital became more dire he would stay behind on-site, late into the evening. Whenever they had a break, he would disappear on calls. Once he came back late by only a few minutes and apologised to Madeleine.

“I was supposed to be sent home last month, but with the situation being what it is, I decided to stay on until things are resolved.” He did not sit down, his attention turned towards the path back to the infected ward. “It’s madness. We’ve already waited until things are too severe to think of bringing in a proper security detail—who the hell does the Project Coordinator think we’re fooling?” Madeleine ignored him. “Dr Swann. The Medical Coordinator tells me you’ve been involved in volunteer work for a while.”

“Five years, as of March.”

“Perhaps they would be more willing to listen to someone with your expertise.”

“I’m flattered. But it’s fortunate that I was not selected for my personal opinion.”

Kessler chuckled. “You’ll go far.”

Madeleine had no interest in pursuing this topic any further. “Who were you speaking to?” He froze up, didn’t answer immediately. “My apologies. I shouldn’t have been so blunt. But you leave often enough on calls, and it appears to be taking a toll on you.”

Comprehension dawned on his face, his shoulders relaxed. “Just my wife. This past month has been no easier on her. But I find that it can help somewhat, just talking to someone outside of this element.” Madeleine nodded stoically. “I’ve never seen you contact anyone outside of your unit.” Madeleine did not anticipate the conversation to take such a turn, nor did she wish to divulge much about herself. But she could not deflect as she could in the clinic back home, and Kessler seemed forthright enough to warrant a harmless response.

“I’m living with a friend. We graduated from college together.”

“And you keep in touch while you are abroad?”

“He tends to lead his own life while I am away.”

“That’s a great deal to ask of someone.” Madeleine inclined her head in his direction. This was not a man that emoted often; now the thin mouth was set, and the eyes behind the glasses disillusioned. “Few women your age would devote themselves to a thankless vocation as this. Not everyone is going to want to stick around until you decide you want to settle down.”

Madeleine’s smile did not touch her eyes. She hadn’t even mentioned the nature of her relationship to Arnaud. “We have an understanding, that’s all. Besides, I don’t bother him about his social life.”

Kessler shook his head. In a few minutes they were back to work as usual. By the end of the day, Madeleine resolved to let him dig his own social grave without further interference.

By the time July rolled around Madeleine found her mind snagging easily on technicalities. She became less tolerant of the Psychological Unit’s personal hang-ups with the lack of resources and lack of any obvious moral closure. Smell of rot and disinfectant permeated into her clothing and hair until she had begun to associate the smell itself with a total lack of progress.

She left the window to her hotel room cracked most nights, afraid to open it completely. Alone with her own mind and the recorder. The conversations now circled back readily to death and terrorism. An overwhelming fear of retaliation from looming insurrection.

Madeleine stopped the recording. She checked the time and cursed under her breath. Just past one in the morning. In six hours she would return to Donka Hospital and repeat the process. A month and a half from now she would be on a flight back to Paris. Her mind wouldn't settle on either direction.

Outside her window she heard the distant voice of Francis Kessler. He was conversing in German, from a few storeys down, but as Madeleine came over to the window she understood him clearly:

“…I’ve been saying it for weeks, and they dismiss me every time. These wounds are the result of prolonged exposure from chemicals. We’ve seen evidence of IDPs coming through, exhibiting the same symptoms as the PMCs we treated back in February. How we can expect to make any progress if the Project Coordinator refuses to bring this up? We’re putting God-knows how many lives at risk waiting for a vaccine that we don’t know if we need—and even so, it won’t be ready for another week. There’s not enough time to justify keeping silent….”

Madeleine closed the window carefully. She’d never been one to intrude on family matters.

⁂

When Madeleine exited her room the next morning, she found the Project Coordinator waiting for her in the hallway, along with the head of security from Kerberos and a couple Donka Hospital staff Madeleine knew by sight but not intimately.

The vaccines had arrived earlier than anticipated, around three or four in the morning. Several members of the Medical Unit had stayed on-site in order to determine if all had been accounted for and subsequently realised it was rigged. Thanks to the intervention of Kerberos the losses were minimal. Several doctors had suffered chemical exposure and were currently isolated from the rest of the IDPs to receive immediate medical attention. Others, such as Drs Kessler and Herrmann, had been less fortunate.

Now there was additional pressure from the hospital doctors and Logistics Team to begin moving the high-risk patients to a safer area. The fear that this story would circulate and any chance of obtaining vaccines would be discouraged could not be ruled out. So they would not be reporting this as a chemical attack, but as a failed interception of an attack by local terrorists, stopped by the FSPs.

“Dr Swann.” The head of security, Lucifer Safin, gave Madeleine pause. His accent would presume a Czech or Russian background but his complexion and eye colour invited room for ambiguity. The MSF on staff commonly referred to him by surname; perhaps Lucifer was simply an alias. What set him apart was his face. Gruesomely scarred from his right temple to the base of his left jaw, though the structure of his eyes and nose remained intact. In spite of the weather, Madeleine had never seen him without gloves. “I understand that you were one of the last to speak with Dr Kessler?”

His manner wasn’t explicitly taciturn, more akin to the disconcerting silence one might experience while looking into a body of still-water—met only with your reflection.

“Yes,” said Madeleine, “but that was nearly five days ago.”

“You were instructed to monitor him during that period by the Medical Coordinator?”

 “That’s correct.”

Safin glanced at the Project Coordinator. “I’ll speak with her alone.”

“Of course.”

Safin nodded. They walked down the length of the hall back to her room. His gait was purposeful and direct. He had a rifle strapped to his side. Madeleine tried to avoid concentrating on it. Her attention went to the window. She'd forgotten to lock it.

“Dr Swann.” The early morning light put his disfigurement into a new, unsettling clarity. Too intricate to be leprosy or a typical burn wound, it was more as if his very face were made of porcelain and had suffered a nasty blow, then glued together again. “What was the extent of your relationship to Dr Kessler?”

“I did not work with him often. We talked once or twice but that was all. I have my own responsibilities with the Psychosocial Unit. From what I could tell, he never made an effort to befriend anyone.”

“But you were asked to monitor Dr Kessler.”

“I was requested to do so on behalf of the Medical Coordinator. There were concerns that Dr Kessler was somehow unqualified to continue his work. In observing him, I had no reason to suspect he was unfit for the position psychologically.” Safin said nothing. “The only issue I could see worth disqualifying him for, was that Kessler and the Project Coordinator had very differing views on protocol.”

“He spoke to you about his views?”

“He expressed to me once, in confidence, that he did not understand the Project Coordinator’s hesitance to bring in a security detail.” Safin’s attention on her became sharper. “He also told me he’d elected to continue volunteering here past his contract duration, just to ensure the operation was successful. That was my only conversation with him outside of a work-related context. You would be better off asking the other doctors about this.”

“We have video surveillance in place on the Grand Hotel de L’independence. At around one in the morning, Dr Kessler exited the building and contacted an unknown party by mobile phone. Then, a minute later, you were at your window.”

“Oh, yes. I have been forgetting to close it. With so many longer days, it can be difficult to remember these things.”

“Your room was the only one to show signs of activity at that hour.”

“I was reviewing my notes from that day’s session. I heard a voice from outside, though not clearly. It was distracting me from my work, so I got up and closed the window.”

“Do you commonly review your notes in the early hours of the morning with an unlocked window?”

“I just wanted some quiet. I leave the windows open because otherwise I seem to find myself trapped with the smell of rotting flesh as well as humidity.”

Safin’s expression became easier to read, but not in a positive sense. This was not a man you wanted to be on opposing sides with. Madeleine kept any apprehension away from her face and her voice tightly controlled.

“Look. Without information about Dr Kessler’s lifestyle outside of the MSF, I cannot give you an answer in good faith. I was assigned to survey him. He showed no signs of dereliction in his work, and to my knowledge kept his personal views separate from his work. Whatever he said to me during outside hours was assumed to be in confidence. Many people say things to one another in what they believe to be confidence that they would not admit to otherwise. If I had reason to suspect he was unfit to work, I would have contacted the Medical Advisor immediately.”

Safin held her gaze. She did not dare avert her face. Then he said: “Thank you for your cooperation. The Project Coordinator is waiting for you downstairs.”

The rest of the day she spent in a different wing of the hospital. The Psychosocial Unit was cut down from four members to three. Another inconsequential day of thankless work that never seemed quite good enough. That night Madeleine laid back on her bed and watched the shadows on the ceiling stretch over peeling paint until daybreak.

When she’d arrived at the airport she could stave off her doubts with shallow, private reassurances. As long as you are here, you are just Dr Swann the psychologist consultant. Your father is many miles away and he won’t contact you again. No one else will come looking for you in a place like this.

With a guy like Safin around she was undoubtedly safer than she would have been with the FSPs alone.

Safer, but no longer invisible.

⁂

July brought hotter weather and brittle peace—the vaccines had finally arrived. The wing of the hospital that had suffered the terrorist attack was still closed and they had lost several more staff members wounded in the initial attack. Madeleine and the remaining MSF were encouraged by the Project Coordinator to take earlier shifts. Progress remained steady but there was no clear resolution in sight. The stench of rot imprinted into Madeleine’s senses to the point where she no longer consciously registered her own nausea. Discontent among the staff continued to bubble under the surface on account of the closed wing and bad press.

It couldn't last forever.

A week away from August. Just another humid morning at six AM. Madeleine rose and prepared herself mentally for the day ahead. Stress kept her mind working late into the night, but her position with the Psychosocial Unit barred her from working overtime in the hospital. She was overwhelmed with keeping up the pace, not yet to the point of exhaustion.

There was an inordinate of activity on the road outside as she got dressed and left the room. She put it out of her mind.

Outside the hotel she met up with the Medical Coordinator and a few members of the Logistics Unit. They spent about ten minutes standing idle in the humid air, too weary to speak. The streets were usually empty this time of day.

An unremarkable black Jeep pulled up. The Medical Coordinator opened the door and was about to step into the car when it happened. The Medical Coordinator’s head burst over the interior of the vehicle and Madeleine. The body slumped like a doll to the dirt. Madeleine wanted to scream but could not. She turned and found herself facing down the barrel of a rifle.

Around a dozen men with guns, sans insignia, circled them. The man who had fired addressed her harshly in French: “Where are the rest of the MSF? Why are they not at the hospital?”

“I don’t understand.” Madeleine could see another group of men approaching from the rear. A massacre, onset.

“We’ve been waiting for months for a solution, and you have been injecting us with a useless vaccine.” He aimed right at her sternum. “Your doctors gave them all false hope for months. Now the MSF have abandoned you.”

“You have been protecting them!” the insurgent roared, levelling his weapon. “All this time! You knew why they were here, and you allowed them to experiment on our families like dogs!”

The man at his left turned and fired. The insurgent fell dead. “That’s enough.” One of the men from Kerberos in plainclothes. A dozen more in military gear materialised as if from nowhere. “There is no need for additional bloodshed,” said the plainclothes. “Release them now or you will be shot.”

All around her at once, gunfire. Madeleine didn't wait to see who had fired first. She prostrated herself, hands clasped over her neck, breath clogged in her throat.

All sound ceased. Her head continued to ring. Her eyes were open but she did not process the colour staining her skin, on her clothes, the smell of it. She hadn’t been shot. Her heart hammered against her ribcage.

Heavy footsteps approaching. She closed her eyes awaiting the kiss of metal at her temple.

“Dr Swann.” Madeleine shrunk away instinctively from the gloved hand upon her forearm. “It’s all right. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Another soldier pulled her upright. Sight of blood on dry earth briefly mixed up with blood spattered across wooden floorboards. Madeleine went limp. Ushered into the backseat of an unmarked Jeep, she could not stop trembling. Shoulder-to-shoulder with another man she recognised as head of Logistics, Peter Miller. The door slammed shut, jolting her back into her own body. Sound of the ignition set her into trembling. Miller’s naked hand materialised on her shoulder. His voice overtaken by the roaring in her ears. Madeleine bowed her head into her hands like a child, whispering: “Ne me tuez pas. Je n’ai rien fait. Je ne sais rien.”

[inventors-fair]

Missed Opportunities Commentary

Thank you all, once more, for a fantastic week. I wish my schedule allowed me to do this more often, since it really is so much fun. Now, then, let’s get into it! All 14 remaining submissions are under the cut, card and commentary included.

We’re going to be going in reverse alphabetical order this time, so let’s start it off with @shadowtag‘s submission, Traumatic Reunion

This is an absolutely beautiful callback to Cathartic Reunion in both function and flavor, but this is not a black effect. The only color allowed to return any card type from their graveyard to their hand is green, and spells that return multiple cards at once all exile themselves (or otherwise remove themselves from your graveyard like Seasons Past.) Very good job on the flavor, but unfortunately the mechanics don't quite pull through.

@misterstingyjack​ Tocasia’s Ingenuity

A deep pull to be sure, but not an unwelcome one. Although, given that Primal Plasma is blue, and blue is the central overlapping color between Urza and Mishra, I don't see why this wasn't a blue card. The fact that it makes a token with all the abilities of the card is strange to me too, as with Soul Separator from Shadows Over Innistrad there is precedent of making token copies of things in graveyard with different characteristics. That aside, an artifact focus was 100% the right direction to take here, even with the Elementalist spin, and the card is well balanced, all things considered. Unrelated to the judging, you mentioned Darksteel Colossus in the notes, but unfortunately that wouldn't work. Darksteel Colossus shuffles itself into your library if it would be put into a graveyard, so it's impossible to interact with it in the graveyard (Blightsteel Colossus does this as well.)

@i-am-the-one-who-wololoes​ The First Battle

I always love to see the Demon Leviathan given the attention it deserves. The lore on this is absolutely wonderful, but it's also way too much text to put on a Saga. If it did fit, I'd suggest swapping the first two chapters so that you can better set up the killing blow, but as it is I think it should just be an instant or sorcery that makes the planeswalkers fight and adds the counters immediately.

@ozthearistocrat​ Mistmeadow Jack

I also had to look this one up, and flavorfully I'm liking what I'm seeing! Unfortunately, this is not a white card. Stealing things, even temporarily, is not a white effect. If this card were blue to cast with a white activation (or keeping the hybrid activation) it would have been perfect.

@snugz​ Khanfall

Choices were a big part of Fate Reforged, and Khans block in general, so it makes sense that a splashy mythic set in that time would have a choice attached as well. However, given that the card is named Khanfall, and there's only one way that can go down, it seems strange to me that there's a choice at all. The mechanical aspects of this card are wonderful, but I think it should have done only one of these things rather than try for both.

@starch255 Hyperi, Titan of Sky’s Tyranny

I'm definitely a fan of the concept, and I'm glad you caught on and made the Helixing optional, but my feelings on Hyperi are mixed. The two Titans we have fit into a playstyle of "Good spells on turn 2/3, good value engines later in the game," but Hyperi doesn't. It's an absolutely backbreaking card late game, especially since grave hate powers up future versions, but on curve it most likely does nothing at all. You would have been better served making it either flat damage + lifegain or tied to a number other than cards in exile.

@gollumni​ Hurrik, Savior of Gods

There's a lot to say here, so let me start by assuring you that I really wish this card worked. If you activate this and target any creature that then dies to damage or 0 toughness, it creates an infinite loop of replacement effects that ends the game in a draw, because it doesn't remove marked damage or debuffs, so the creature will die again to state based actions so the replacement effect, which lasts until the end of the turn, will grab it ad infinitum. If it said "the next time" and removed damage, or it exiled and brought it back under your control, then it would work perfectly. It also saves your own creatures without the downside, which I don't think was intentional based on the wording.

@hypexion​ Hack the Guildpact

Maybe I have a skewed experience with this sort of thing, but this looks very easy to win with. If you have even three unique color pairs and a proliferate card, you'll win in three turns. But worse than that, the card doesn't do anything aside from winning the game. If it gets to 9 counters and then gets blown up, it didn't do anything. Cards which say "win the game" on them usually have either some sort of protection, like Helix Pinnacle and Darksteel Reactor, or some other effect to help win or survive, like Approach of the Second Sun and Simic Ascendancy. Maybe it could have a ramping scry/surveil based on the number of counters, and then win at 10.

@teaxch​ Gvar, Krumar Commander

It's simple and clean, although it doesn't quite carry the same flavor as what the Krumar really are. The mechanics of this card imply that they defeat the children and then take them, and although the flavor text describes it properly, it's still at odds with the functionality. A better way to do this might be to follow the example of Offspring's Revenge, and have Gvar make 1/1 token copies of opponent's creatures that die, with appropriate stat balancing.

@bread-into-toast​ Glimpse of Perfection

I get what you were going for, and I like it, but it's messy. It's a counterspell and a stealy card, but the fact that it namedrops the Shadowspear specifically means it's very niche, and the fact that you're paying more than usual for the counterspell, and then 4 life (or UU) for a 1 mana artifact that you don't always keep forever makes the card underwhelming even when it does work. I think a better way to accomplish this flavor would have been to make both the counterspell and search effect on etb, and make the steal effect search for any artifact with mana value 1 or less.

@morbidlyqueerious​ Glimpse Beyond

Mechanically, this card is perfect. Blue and green are the perfect combination of colors for this effect, weaving together cards like Commune With the Gods and Investigate the Mystery seamlessly. My only gripe is that, looking at this without the flavor text, I would not know what it's representing. It's a great effect, and I do love me some Rashmi, it's just a little too nonspecific.

@shakeszx Dack’s Fate

Very on the nose. Normally, most things about this card would be working against it, but in the specific context of War of the Spark, it fits very well. Legendary sorceries would have been great in a set with 36 planeswalkers, as well as planeswalker specific removal. I'm not sure why this is white, though. Nicol Bolas has never been associated with white, least of all the Eternals, and everything this card does can be done in mono black.

@wolkemesser​ Clockworking

Mechanically, this card is fine. I think it should have been a delayed trigger to choose one ("when you win" instead of if), and the "use" should be changed to "activate" but the card works as written. Apart from that, the effects are of wildly different power levels (compare Raise Dead to Disallow). Flavorfully, I'm very confused why you re-used a Lorwyn mechanic for the Scars of Mirrodin story, let alone one as divisive as Clash.

@col-seaker-of-the-memiest-legion​ ______, Planeswalker

This is a wonderful example of a card that is only silver bordered due to flavor. It functions exactly as intended in black border, without any changes to the rules or mechanics of the game, but is still a card that would never be printed outside of an Unset. That being said, the card itself does need a bit of a templating update. It needs to specify that you can look at cards exiled with it, otherwise you won't be able to play any of them, and I assume you meant for the last ability to be less than or equal to the number of land counters on the Planeswalker. Mechanically, there's a few changes that would need to be made to get it to the right spot in terms of balance. The cost, for one, is a mess. Twobrid mana isn't used anymore for good reason, and while I understand the intent behind its use here, it drags the design down. The fact that all of the abilities subtract loyalty means that even though it starts with 20 counters, you're likely not going to be able to play anything off of it. It playing the land in the second ability is more restrictive than you might assume, since the opportunity cost there is both drawing a card into the planeswalker and your own land drop for the turn.

~

And that will do it for us today! It was a genuine pleasure to host this for you all, and I look forward to the next time our paths cross in such a manner.

-Mod @illharg-the-rave-boar​

[argylemnwrites]

Fight or Flight - Chapter 14: Help

Pairing: Drake Walker x MC (Riley Liu)

Book: The Royal Heir (canon divergent from the end of book 2)

Word Count: ~4100

Rating: R (language, 30 diamond scene)

Summary: About three weeks since The Walker Absconding

Author’s Note: With my state surging so badly that the CDC had to come up with a new category for coronavirus monitoring, and my hospital group changing policy constantly, even the illusion of an update schedule is pretty much out the window at this point, so thank you to all of you who are still sticking with this series! I saw that in canon, our crew just now decided to go on the run, but my MC and Drake have been on the lam for a while at this point, hahaha, so thanks for going on this wild ride with them!

This series follows the Walkers, their friends, and Cordonia as a whole after they flee the country with their daughter during Barthelemy Beaumont’s attempted coup. To catch up on this series, check out it’s masterlist. (link can be found via my bio - sorry, Tumblr is once again not putting my posts with links in tag searches)

Olivia let out a sigh as the privacy divider in her town car finally finished closing, tipping her head back and tugging the pins out of her hair. “God, what a nightmare.”

Liam hummed in agreement. “Yes, I suppose it is.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay at the palace tonight? It might be good optics, keeping you in the thick of things since the social season just started.”

He shook his head as he shifted slightly next to her. “After Hana’s conversation with Kiara and all its revelations, we need to be able to discuss things openly. With everything that has already happened, I don’t trust my assigned quarters at the palace to not be bugged.”

All Olivia could do was let out a little shrug. She knew he had a point, but she was worried about his overall approach here. All the strategizing and discussing in the world wouldn’t matter if he didn’t maintain an image of strength and dependability. Trotting back to the seclusion of Lythikos consistently would absolutely weaken the perception others had of him.

“So, I think we can safely assume that Amalas knows about this alliance between Barthelemy and Auvernal. It would explain why she was so eager to strike a deal with us,” Liam continued, reaching up and loosening his tie as he stretched his neck.

“But why would Aurvernal agree to work with Barthelemy? He wasn’t exactly supportive of them when they were trying to force Drake and Riley to solidify the betrothal. Hell, he used that mess to argue against their suitability to raise Bridget.”

Liam frowned, his eyes dropping to his lap for just a moment. “The latter part of your statement I can see him spinning over the coming months. He can argue that he has met with neighboring leaders and struck more beneficial alliance terms than I was ever able to foster, making him better suited for the role of monarch. With the delay in the start of the social season, he’ll have plenty of time to sell it as believable.”

“We had to push Rashad to delay. Hana told us that we need to make sure-”

“-Kiara represents House Theron, I know. It’s just unfortunate the delay may also be desirable for Barthelemy’s camp as well as ours. It would be nice to catch a break for once.”

“Liam…”

He ignored her attempt at sympathy. “Oh well, that’s just the reality isn’t it? We need to figure out how Auvernal played into Landon’s decision. Have you been able to buy off any of their staff?”

Olivia shook her head. “Not yet. I have a couple of leads on a maid and a driver who might be loyal to you, though.”

“That’s something, I suppose. I guess we should probably try and gain some intelligence about the motives of Bradshaw and Isabella as well, shouldn’t we?” He sounded tired, his hands working to remove his cufflinks.

“Yeah, we definitely need to hit this from multiple angles, find out their goal and what they might have done to sway not only Landon, but Hakim and Adelaide. Barthelemy is absolutely going to challenge Bertrand for control of House Beaumont, so we need to gain at least two of those votes. Counting on keeping the Beaumont vote in our camp is just too… dicey at this point, don’t you think?”

Liam nodded, but didn’t seem to want to say anything, so Olivia just kept going. “Now, I think since it’ll be Kiara voting, and she’s been very willing to divulge things to Hana, that is probably our best bet. And I know I’ve been focusing on getting some dirt on Landon and Emmeline, but maybe Adelaide would be the easier pick up? She’s never had much interest in actual politics, so maybe if we had Maxwell just socialize with her repeatedly at the upcoming events, that might be enough? For whatever reason she’s always loved him.”

She glanced over, surprised to find Liam with his eyes closed, his head tipped back. Had he fallen asleep that quickly?

“Liam?” she hissed out.

“I’m still listening; I promise you I’m not asleep.”

“Do you have anything to add?”

He shook his head against the back of the seat without opening his eyes. “No, you seem to have things under control.”

“But, I was-”

“-I trust you, Olivia.”

His words should have been affirming and confidence boosting, but instead all she felt was fear. He should be more invested than this. He needed to be more invested than this. And honestly, she was sure he knew that fact. He would go through the motions of strategizing with her on a regular basis. But he always faded quickly, becoming distracted or introspective. He was ruminating instead of focusing and channeling that hurt and pain into something productive. 

But that wasn’t going to stop tonight. It was very late, and the drive back to Lythikos was a long one. So, Olivia just let him rest, pulling out her burner phone and scanning for any news bulletins about the Walkers being found in Athens, letting out a small sigh of relief when she found none. It looked like Leo and Riley had managed to pull it off. Combine that with Hana’s intel, and she knew the night had been more successful than not. She just needed Liam to start to see things that way. Otherwise, the upcoming months were going to be even bleaker than anticipated.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Riley kept her head down as she shuffled past a man in the hallway. With two large duffels, it was a bit awkward, and she didn't want the man to remember anything about her other than the fact that it was a bit of a tight fit with all her luggage.

Once he was out of sight, she unlocked the door to their hotel room, opening it as narrowly as possible to slide into the room. She had barely closed and locked the door when she felt a pair of familiar strong arms engulfing her. She dropped the duffel bags to the ground and spun in his embrace, wrapping her arms around his back.

"You're back," Drake murmured into her hair. She could feel his chest rising and falling rapidly, his whole body practically trembling. "You were late, and I thought…"

"Leo was almost an hour late," she said, her voice somewhat muffled by his chest because of how closely he was holding her. "I wanted to text you, but-"

"No, you made the right call." They had decided early on to avoid using their new phones to contact each other if at all possible. That way, if one of them got picked up and taken into custody, the other wouldn't be instantly traceable. It meant a lot of anxiety and fear when they weren't together, though. "I just… I… I was worried that…" Drake kept trailing off, almost as if he was unable to say his fears out loud.

"I know, Drake. I know. But it's okay. It all went okay." She slid her hands up, tracing between his shoulder blades, running her fingers through his hair, trying to soothe both him and herself. To call tonight stressful was a mad understatement.

“Leo had our stuff?”

She nodded against his chest. “In his hotel room. I obviously didn’t take the time to dig through it all, but I saw toys, clothing, documents, money.”

Drake ran his hands through her hair, then loosened his hold on her enough to lean back and look her in the eyes. “Did anyone… were you...”

“I don’t think anyone noticed me, Drake.”

He let out a shuddering breath, and then he was kissing her. Not some gentle, tender peck, but hard and deep. Like he used to kiss her when they were alone. Before she turned their lives upside down.

She missed this. She knew it was stupid. They were wanted fugitives and barely getting by in a foreign country. They were hungry and stressed and sleep-deprived. On top of that, they shared one room with their soon-to-be 11 month old daughter, so they had no privacy. Their sex life was far from their most pressing concern.

But… she still missed it, that sense of shared connection and intimacy, and that encompassed more than just the sex. She honestly felt like his teammate or coworker more than his wife far too often. They just spent so much time on the practical, discussing next steps, trying to arrange logistics. Moments of shared laughter and warmth were few and far between these days. And sure, they didn't really have much to laugh about, but it was still a loss.

When she’d sat on his lap yesterday after dyeing her hair, it almost felt like a sliver of their old life and dynamic was back. She’d teased him, he’d held her close. But moments like that were just not the norm for them anymore. Most of the time, even any physical affection was more focused on comfort in light of something negative. Holding hands, hugs, that sort of thing seemed to only happen when their world felt like it was crumbling around them. It’s like they shared nothing but worry and fear most of the time.

There was also the fact that Drake hadn't opened up to her about his own emotions. She knew him. She knew that his fractured relationship with Liam must be weighing on him, that he must feel mad guilty about so many things. But he wasn't telling her anything. He hadn't kept things from her like this in years, and it honestly scared the shit out of her. At first, she thought he was just trying to shield her from his own pain. She knew that her initial panic had probably sent him into hyper-protective mode. But that was weeks ago. She was pretty sure she was holding it together better now. At the very least, she didn't think she was a walking mess anymore.

But Drake was definitely still keeping everything bottled up, and she had to wonder if that was in part because he didn't trust her. Whether it was because her initial panic had meant that she had not considered him enough or because he resented her decision to take Bridget out of Cordonia and away from their entire support system or because he couldn't help but see her as the reason he was named a traitor she had no idea. And maybe he was still just trying to shield her from his own worries and anxieties, but the fear was there that in her efforts to protect her kid, she was slowly losing her husband.

While Drake was off busting his ass to keep their family afloat, she'd had a lot of time to think, and she knew that wasn't helpful. When Bridget was awake, playing with her kept her mind off of those awful thoughts, but they kept creeping back in when she napped and slept. There was only so long that playing Dopey Cat could provide a distraction, after all. So instead she wondered endlessly if she had only been able to keep Bridget by her side at the cost of the foundation of her marriage.

For so many years, those fears of never mattering enough to someone else, of always ending up alone in the end had led her to keep relationships superficial. She’d avoided vulnerability, and therefore pain, at all costs. But then she came to Cordonia, and she had Drake, Hana, Maxwell, and Liam. She’d come to trust and feel and it was beyond anything younger her could have ever dreamed up. But now she’d ruined things with Liam, was disconnected from Hana and Maxwell, and it seemed all too likely she’d damaged things with Drake, too. All those people, who actually cared about her. She’d made a mess of the best parts of her life.

And maybe she was overreacting. Drake still clearly loved and cared about her. Worried about her constantly, in all honesty. But she also worried that he was gradually pulling away from her, that some day would creep up on them where all they would share would be concern for Bridget. But tonight, after all the stress and anxiety and fears of the evening, he was kissing her like he wanted her, like he loved her, and she couldn’t get enough of it.

She let out a pathetically needy moan, the sort of noise that would usually draw a smirk and some teasing from Drake. But tonight, he didn’t. Instead, he just surged forward with a groan of his own, driving her back into the wall and hooking his hands around her thighs, hoisting her up onto his waist before she could even process what was going on.

Riley clawed her fingers into his shoulders, dropping her head back against the wall as he moved his lips across her jaw. She began rocking her hips against him, tilting her head to the side as he worked his way down her neck, biting down lightly as he went. She tugged at his t-shirt, and after a few moments, he finally got the hint, sliding his hands out from under her thighs, letting her drop to the floor as he pulled off his shirt.

Deep down, Riley knew they had a lot they still needed to talk about and that doing this wasn’t going to fix the ache that had been growing in her heart, day by day. But she also knew that after weeks of stress and the horrible possibilities about tonight that had been running through both their minds, maybe this was just something they really needed. So she scrambled to tug off her shirt and jeans, kicking her sandals somewhere towards the door as Drake unbuckled his pants, and in almost no time they were both adding their underwear to the pile of clothing on the floor.

They were back on each other in an instant, hands grabbing and stroking, mouths everywhere. Riley felt her feet leaving the floor, so she wrapped her legs around Drake’s waist as he held her under her thighs, slamming her back against the wall. And then he was sinking into her, dropping his head to her shoulder to muffle the groan he let out as he did so.

It was all quick and frantic, both of them thrusting against each other wildly. She could sense that Drake was just as desperate as her. Desperate to feel something besides anxiety and guilt and pain. She knew she was going to have bruises from his fingers with how tightly he was clutching her thighs, but she didn’t care. Hell, she wondered how badly she was scratching his back. None of that mattered.

She hissed out his name as his lips latched back onto her neck. She knew this was going to be quick, so as she slid one hand up to his neck, tugging on his hair, she also dropped her other hand down between them, letting her fingers trace circles right above where they were joined. It didn't take long before she felt a warmth spreading out, down her legs and up her back, and then she was gone. Drake must have felt her climax, because he muttered "Fuck" into the skin of her neck, only driving into her a couple more times before she felt him spilling inside her. He slumped against the wall, his weight the only thing keeping her from sliding to the floor.

After a few moments, Drake let out a sigh, placing his hands back on her thighs and easing her down as he took a step back. “You okay?” he asked, his head slightly downturned.

Riley closed the newly-created gap between them, stepping forward and sliding a hand up to his cheek. “Drake, I’m fine. Are… are you okay?”

He nodded, tugging her into a gentle hug. “I just… I think I…”

“It’s okay, Drake. I get it.” She didn’t like that he still apparently couldn’t talk to her, but if he’d needed a minute of physical comfort and reprieve, well that was pretty fucking understandable. So she didn’t push him, just joined him in getting cleaned up and dressed in a t-shirt and underwear. While Drake washed the day’s clothes in the bathroom, she checked on Bridget, passed out in the travel crib Drake had picked up a few weeks back. They hadn’t used it to this point, and Riley wondered why Drake had dug it out of the car tonight. It had been safely tucked away with the tent, sleeping bags, and ground pad since he bought it.

“I thought we should probably start trying to get her used to it.” Drake’s voice cut through the room, startling Riley and answering the question she never got a chance to ask. “We are looking at months of being on the run. We need to start… I don’t know, making things… stable for her, I guess.”

“Makes sense,” said Riley, giving her daughter one last look before turning around to face Drake. “How did she handle bedtime?”

He grimaced and shook his head. “I think she was scared or upset because you weren’t here. She was basically inconsolable. I contemplated taking her on a drive just to calm her down. I kind of figured the night couldn’t get any worse, so I might as well try the crib. She screamed for about an hour before she wore herself out.”

Riley walked over and wrapped her arms around Drake. He struggled more with the sleep training than she did, even if he talked a way bigger game about letting Bridget “cry it out” in the light of day. “Well, she’s asleep now at least.”

Drake nodded, running a hand up and down her back. “You ready to go through the bags?”

She nodded and gave him a little smile, sitting down on the end of the bed as Drake grabbed the duffels and brought them over. They slowly worked their way through them, item by item. Hana had included so many useful things, from the practical, like clothes appropriate for a variety of types of weather and spare contact lenses and Riley’s glasses, to the unessential but truly missed, like Bridget’s stuffed corgi and Riley’s good hair brush. There was a lot of money in there, too. Thousands of Euros, which probably wouldn’t be enough to get them all the way until January, but at least made their situation a lot less dire. Their passports and birth certificates were tucked in there as well. For the first time, it felt like they might have some options when it came to their next steps. 

After twenty minutes or so of sorting and unpacking, they reached the bottom of the bags. There were a handful of framed photos. Riley hadn’t mentioned any pictures as being something they wanted, so this must have been Hana’s idea. There were a couple that had been displayed in their bedroom and den. A candid Maxwell took on their wedding reception, Drake sitting down as Riley stood behind him, her arms looped over his shoulders, both of them looking at each other with stupid, cheesy grins on their faces. The two of them with Savannah, Bertrand, and Bartie taken down in Texas, the day before the wedding. A photo of the three of them that Hana had taken in the privacy of their home the day after the anointing with them in casual clothing, just curled up on the couch holding Bridget, a stark contrast from the pomp of the formal portrait for the history books and press release the day before. There were a couple of new ones, too. The corgis snuggled together on their massive cushion in the den. Hana and Maxwell grinning with arms thrown over each other's shoulders, clearly a selfie taken by Maxwell at a formal event. Liam and Olivia sitting on a couch at what appeared to be the Lythikos keep, Olivia with an eyebrow raised, Liam with a hollow-looking smile.

Riley glanced over at Drake, unsure how these photos would affect him. He just swallowed roughly before placing the stack of photos he was holding on the bed next to him. Riley leaned into him, resting her head against his shoulder. They were both silent for a few moments until Drake finally spoke.

“Was that everything?”

Riley shook her head. “No, there’s a letter. At least I assume that’s what it is. It’s an envelope with Hana’s writing.”

Drake didn’t say anything, so after a few seconds, Riley leaned forward, grabbing the envelope with “Riley & Drake” looped in beautiful cursive sitting at the bottom of one of the duffels. She slid her finger under the flap and pulled out a sheet of stationary with delicate pink and cream flowers in the corners. She held it between them so that Drake could read it at the same time.

Riley and Drake,

I hope that you and Bridget are all doing well and in as good of spirits as the circumstances will allow. I can only imagine how incredibly difficult this must be for you. 

In these bags, I’ve included the items you mentioned as well as a few more toys for Bridget and pieces of clothing that I thought would be suitable for when the weather gets colder. I know it isn’t much, but hopefully this will make your lives just a little more comfortable.

I also sent some pictures I thought you might like to have, both old and new. Whenever things get tough, just remember that you have people who love you and want the best for you and your family.

While this is probably the furthest thing from your mind, I want to assure you that I am not taking my position as Duchess of Valtoria lightly. I am setting up citizen meetings for the upcoming weeks. Judging by the protests outside of the estate, you have a lot of support still here, and when this is all resolved, I will step down if you would like to rightfully reclaim your titles.

I love and miss you both, and tell Bridget that Aunt Hana misses her, too. Maxwell said I should include paw prints from Anderson, Vera, Ellis, and Ilsa, but for the sake of the staff who would need to clean up that mess, I will just settle on saying they clearly miss you as well.

Keep safe, Hana

Riley twisted to look at Drake. She knew he would already be done since he was a faster reader than her. His face was very still as he stared over at Bridget’s crib. 

“Drake?”

He jerked his head over to look at her, giving her a very empty smile as he did so. “Your best friend is really something, huh?”

She frowned, trying to suss out how much she should read into that statement, but he kept his expression blank. When it became clear he wasn’t going to elaborate more, she settled on a light response, knowing he probably didn’t want to delve into things too deeply at this point. “She really is. But her assumption that we would be at all worried about our former titles is adorably naive.”

Drake let out a little snort of a chuckle, so Riley kept going. “Can you imagine us just rolling back to Valtoria after all of this and challenging Hana for the title?”

His smile became a little more genuine at that. “Well, being out of touch with reality is a common trait amongst the nobility. Maybe it would just be us finally catching up with the rest of them.”

She nudged him with her elbow. “Come on, let’s pack this stuff up and get some sleep.”

“Sounds like a plan, Walker.”

Riley stood up and offered a hand to Drake, tugging him to his feet as well. There was still a lot they needed to sort through and take care of, both practically and emotionally. She knew that. Even with everything given to them tonight, the months ahead were hardly going to be a cake walk, and she knew she would have to get Drake talking at some point. But for the first time in weeks, she felt true hope. Hope that they could make this work, that they weren’t two seconds away from failing their daughter and each other, that they were moving forward. And for tonight, that felt like enough.

Perma: @walkerswhiskeygirl @octobereighth @kimmiedoo5 @mom2000aggie

TRR/TRH: @iaminlovewithtrr @mskaneko @axwalker @jovialyouthmusic @marshmallowsandfire @kingliam2019 @sirbeepsalot @texaskitten30 @princessleac1 @ladyangel70 @debramcg1106 @masterofbluff @sarahx206

Drake/MC: @no-one-u-know @iplaydrake

FoF: @burnsoslow @bobasheebaby​

[mulletcal]

get what you give, give what you get - a sugar daddy!cal blurb.

A/N: okay, so here’s one of my two fics for the fic event! i’m so happy and so grateful to be able to be apart of this cool event, and to have made some new friends along the way.  this truly was such a welcoming environment to toss ideas into.  also, this isn’t gonna be a conventional dom!cal sugar daddy type fic, but i hope you enjoy anyways.

word count: 2.6k warnings: mentions of death, light grieving, drug mention

Event Masterlist

***

The morning that Calum had gotten the call from his mother that his grandma had passed away, he had ended up in the cafe you worked at. A blank, emotionless expression with a muttered ‘thank you’ was Calum’s first impressions with the baristas there, assuming they probably thought of him as an asshole following that. 

Calum became a regular of the cafe though, realizing it wasn’t like the typical cafes he and his friends would frequent. No one knew him, he could be a nobody here. He didn’t have to have his friends look at him with sympathetic eyes while he mourned the loss of the biggest supporter in his life. His grandmother never questioned when Calum wanted to drop out of school to be in a band, nor did she ever bat an eye when that band never made it off the ground, leaving him working temp jobs just to get by. 

He was able to make it out for his grandmother's funeral, being around his family easing his grieving in the slightest bit. Calum wasn’t often able to see his grandmother, both of their schedules never really matching up other than the typical family holidays, and the fact that he lived in California, and her in Australia; but she always called him on his birthday to let him know how much she loved him.

It came as a shock to him when he received mail from his grandmother’s estate, letting him know that his grandmother had left him a ridiculous amount of money, quite possibly her entire fortune from throughout her life- he of course had no way of knowing, maybe she was that filthy rich and she never let any of them know. What had she left to his mother? His sister? Calum supposed reading the letter would answer some questions for him, but he instead stood there, at a loss for words with the letter in hand, unable to bring himself to open it.

Calum decided he’d need coffee to process this information further, maybe delay him opening the letter just a little bit.  He ended up not too long after that at his usual table in the cafe, giving a tight smile to the baristas who were working that day.  Turning the letter over and over in his hands, he jumped when someone had appeared beside him with a coffee and baked good.

“Sorry to bother you, you just hadn’t come to order yet, so we thought we’d bring it to you.  You seemed a little lost in thought,” You spoke softly, the mans’ warm brown eyes gazing up at you, slightly glassy and distant.  

“Oh, uh… Yeah, sorry.  But thank you, I really appreciate it.  D’you mind if I come up to pay shortly?”

“Don’t worry about it,” You said, placing a hand on his shoulder, “We’ve got you covered.”

The small gesture made Calum’s chest warm, a genuine smile appearing on his lips before you turned away.  Something about you made him pause; he had noticed you before, sure, but normally you were more bubbly.  You seemed sad today, and he briefly wondered if there was just a dark cloud hanging over the rest of the world like it was for him, or if his most recent loss was just making him bitter towards everything.

Turning his attention back to the letter in his hands, the feeling of the paper was making his skin hot, and uncomfortably so.  It was time to rip the bandaid off, so to speak, and open it.  What could possibly be wrong with the letter? Or the money? Had his grandmother been the leader of a drug ring, and Calum had somehow inherited that title? A million thoughts raced through his mind while he broke the seal, his breathing quick. 

His grandmothers writing filled the page, causing his eyes to water a little just due to the fact that she had written this herself.  She had meant for him to get this.  Calum’s eyes scanned the words, tears fully forming as he really read them.

‘Calum,

If you’re reading this, it means I’ve gone - though I’m sure you’re aware of that.  If you’re not well… Shit, sorry to tell you my love.’

He had to pause his reading to chuckle, wiping the tears away from his eyes as he did so.

‘Because you’re a sweet boy, I know you’re already wondering why.  Why did I leave all of this to you? What about your mum and Mali? Don’t fret, they will not be left empty handed.  This money, this is all for you.  I want you to go and live your dreams, my sweet.  I’ve always believed in you, in your talents; you’re a hard working young man with big dreams.  Take this money and do something amazing with it, take a trip.  Take all your friends on a trip for all I care, the main thing I want from this is for you to be happy. 

I love you, be well.  I’ll miss you.

Gran’

Calum sniffled quietly, once again wiping at his eyes when he had finished reading.  She had been gone less than a month, but the month had felt so long; Calum forgot briefly that she was gone, and gave her a call on her birthday, only to find that someone had already disconnected her phone.  That had been a rough day in particular for him. 

Finishing his coffee in silence, he tuned into the conversations around him, picking up on one in particular coming from behind the bar.  The barista who had previously brought him his coffee leaning against the counter, talking quietly to her coworker.

“It doesn’t make sense… they’re busier than ever, I don’t get why they let me go. They had even said it wasn’t a performance based termination…” 

Calum frowned, trying not to eavesdrop, but she continued on with her words.

“That was literally my only way to finally make ends meet.  My student loans are ridiculous, my landlord is an asshole and keeps raising the rent,” The woman sighed, “I gotta find another job.  Or marry rich.” The last part of her sentence was said with a half-hearted laugh, no hope in her voice at all.

A thought occurred to Calum then, the words in his Gran’s letter ringing through his ears, “Take your friends on a trip for all I care.” Well, his friends didn’t need any sort of vacation, choosing to live it up whenever and wherever they could; but this young woman, she could really benefit from money like this.  Also there was a hefty chance that the entirety of her student loan would hardly make a dent in his inheritance, which made him nauseous to even think about.

He couldn’t think about it for too much longer, or he’d chicken out, so he made his way up to the counter, both baristas turning their attention to him. “Something wrong, sir?” The second barista asked, but Calum’s eyes nervously remained on the first.

“I have an offer for you.  I heard your situation and I’d like to help, if you’d let me.”

The first barista clicked her teeth, leaning on her elbows on the counter so they were inches away from each other, “No offence man, but I’m not about to smuggle kilos of cocaine up my lady bits to pay off my college fees.”

Calum was a bit taken aback by her comment, letting out the first genuine laugh he had since his Gran had passed, “What? God, no! Listen.  I wanna pay off your student loans.”

“What’s in it for you?” She had cut him off, but he couldn’t blame her for being suspicious.  He would be too if a random person approached him offering to pay his debts.

“Nothing.  I don’t want anything in return, I swear.” Calum paused, “Well… Maybe one thing.”

She cocked her head to the side, encouraging him to continue, and he did.  “Maybe just someone to talk to? M’not a fan of feeling vulnerable in front of my friends, but you both have seen me cry in the middle of this cafe, so…”

Pulling back from the counter, she tossed a glance over her shoulder to the second barista, who was quick to leave the two of them alone.  Calum assumed she would be filled in of the details later anyways, so her being shooed away didn’t make him feel guilty. 

“Okay.. What?  Are you some kind of lonely sugar daddy? Surely you’re too young to be so lonely.”

Calum shook his head, letting out a sound of exasperation, but the smile remained on his lips, “I don’t know if you can tell, but I have no idea what I’m doing.  I almost never do.”  Pulling out the letter and setting it onto the counter, “My Gran passed away recently, and she left me quite a bit of inheritance; I have a strong suspicion that your student loans won’t hardly make a dent in the number, so let me help you.  In exchange for a friend.”

The girl thought for a moment, meeting his eyes to sense any deception.  “Can I think about it? Also, that does kinda make you a sugar daddy.  You’re paying for me to keep you company.”

“Take your time; also if I’m a sugar daddy and you say yes, that’ll make you my baby.”  With a final wink tossed her direction, he headed out of the cafe to go back to his apartment.

Calum returned the next day, hoping that he would find her working once again, his chest deflating a little when she wasn’t.  The second barista from the day before was working though, her eyes landing on him the second he came through the door.

“She’s sick today… Said she must’ve come down with the flu or somethin’.”

Calum nodded in acknowledgment, heading over to take a seat in his usual spot.  His plan to convince her was potentially out the window now, quite possible she would be avoiding coming to work because he weirded her out.  He had formed a whole plan, too, he was prepared to pay off her tuition, as well as a few months of her rent… Though he was prepared to pay for far more than a few months of her rent, he was sure that she wouldn’t let him unless she became really desperate.

Why was he so dead set on helping her? Was it because she was beautiful? Maybe, but she seemed more than that.  The way she never judged the moods he was in, simply gave him his coffee with a smile, most days him returning the gesture; or maybe it was the small fact that yesterday she noticed he wasn’t himself, so she had bought him coffee in a small hope of brightening his spirits. 

His phone buzzing on the table took his attention away from his thoughts, brows furrowing at the request for an AirDrop.  Calum accepted hesitantly, opening the phone to see that the first baristas contact information had been sent to him.  Looking over his shoulder, he laughed lightly at her friend from the day before staring him down, waving his hand in a thanks.

He clicked to send you a message, pausing before typing out, “Hey, it’s Cal.  The weirdo wannabe sugar daddy from the cafe? Your coworker/friend(?) Gave me your number.  Think she wants you to take my offer if you ask me.”

It was a few minutes until the three dots appeared, quickly disappearing and reappearing several times before he actually received a reply, “Yeah, definitely seems like it.  I don’t wanna infect you with whatever I’ve come down with, but I’d like to discuss terms.”

“We can do that, I’m also not terribly concerned about getting sick.  Send me your address.”

“Serial killer.  Here.”

The message that followed was her address, and Calum placed an order at his favourite restaurant for soup before he turned to ask her friend if there was anything she liked to drink when she was sick.

After another thirty minutes of picking up random things on his journey, he finally arrived at her door, biting his lip to hold back a laugh when she answered wrapped in a blanket.

“Welcome to hell… Or.  I dunno, it’s not hell cause it’s fuckin’ freezing.  Hurry up and get inside before you let the cold air in.”

Calum squinted, a small smirk tugging at his lips, “Doll, it’s nearing June in Los Angeles, there’s not a draft anywhere in sight, unless you’re talking about a cold beer.”

“Did you come here to talk about terms, or to make fun of me?” She said with a pout, curling up onto her couch.

“Actually, I’ve brought you some soup and crackers, and also have come to discuss terms… and  make fun of you.  You’ve gotten a three for one deal here, darlin’.” Calum grinned, placing the bag on the table in front of her, her pout only getting worse.

“Fine.  Only because you brought me soup.”

Calum rolled his eyes, helping her to get settled sitting up so she could eat her soup.  Something about the silence that fell between them while she ate wasn’t uncomfortable, but rather welcome.  It had been a long time since Calum was able to feel comfortable sitting in silence with someone, and it made him relax a bit into her couch.

“Okay so terms,” she started, setting the last of the soup down to turn towards Calum, “No sex.  If that’s what you’re expecting, I’m 100% out.  Not because you’re not attractive, but I don’t know if I’m personally cut out for the sex work business.”

Calum nodded, letting her continue on.  “And I want to be able to stop whenever I’d like.  I don’t want some sort of fixed term contract like m’buying a phone.  Honestly I can’t think of anything more than that.  What did you have in mind?”

Turning towards her as well, Calum rested his elbow on his leg, chin in his hand while he looked at her. “I wasn’t expecting much, if I’m honest.  I just want someone to spend time with.  The dating pool is slim, and I’m not particularly lookin’ for a girlfriend, so having someone to kinda bitch to after a hard day is what I was hoping for. And I’d want to hear about your day too.  What annoyed you the most, what was the best part of your day, things to take my mind off everyday life.”

She looked at him for a long moment, and Calum frowned in response thinking she was going to say no.  It wouldn’t affect him terribly if she had, but it would certainly mean he could never go back to that same coffee shop again.

“Why me?” She finally said, pulling the blanket down so it was pooled at her waist now.  “Why do you want to spend your money on me?”

“Like I told you yesterday, this money was inheritance.  My Gran told me to take my friends on vacation, or to do something fun with it; but in all honesty I’d rather do something useful with it, like helping someone else.  You seemed like you could use it, and from what I can tell you’ve never been anything but kind to me - so, you.  That’s why you, because you deserve a break.”

Her eyes had moved from Calum’s down to the floor, her breathing uneven, “Okay.”

“Okay?” “Yes, okay.  As long as you agree to my terms,” Lifting her head, Calum could see that her eyes were glassy, as if she had been trying to hold back tears when he spoke.

“I agree to your terms.  What costs shall we tackle first, baby?” His teasing tone earned him a pillow to the head, a stream of giggles falling from her lips.

“Another term - don’t call me baby.”

“Mmm, that one may have to be an agree to disagree there, baby.”

regular tag list:  @haikucal​ @talkfastromance4​ @softbabiestan​ @boyfriend-cal​ @calum-uncrowned​ @wildflowerirwin​ @irwindoll​ @gosh-im-short​ @thesubtweeter​ @heavenisapeach​ @ridingcthood​ @loveroflrh​ @mantlereid​ @inlovehoodx​ @irwinkitten​ @n-ctarinenga​​ @g-l-pierce​ @thecurlsofgod​ @idontneedanyone​

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[popculturebuffet]

Green Eggs and Ham Reviews: Car (Patreon Review for Emma Fici) “The Green Eggs and Ham Circle of Hell”

Hello all you happy people! And welcome back to my monthly reviews of green eggs and ham for my patron Emma Fici. If you too want a review a month simply join the 5 dollar tier on my patreon, link is HERE. Join soon won’t you, new  month starts saturday and if you join by then i’ll add your review to the schedule and the 5 dollars helps reach my next set of stretch goals. So join me won’t you?

Plugging aside we’re back as Sam and Guy finally properly hit the road, we find out just waht the chickaraffe is like, and find out from Michelle that you can somehow make a second impression even worse than an already odiious first impression. So with no real background to cover join me under the cut on the road to meepville, come on inside. 

Previously on Green Eggs and Ham: Guy Am I, a failed inventor failed once again in front of a large audience, leaving his dreams broken and himself planning to head to Meepville to take a job watching paint dry. He met Sam I Am, an enegetic animal thief whose desperate for friends, and accidentally swapped suitcases with him, leading to Sam ending up with the Chickaraffe, a rare animal Sam swiped from the zoo. We also let Michelle a smothering mother who treats her child EB terribly by overprotecting her and is in general a smug consdesencing bitch, our main villian Snerz who has someone bringing him the meep and the BAD GUYS, a mysterious mismatched duo after the chickaraffe.

We pick up where we left off: Guy is being stalked by a mysterious shadow. of the chickaraffe.. only for it to turn out to be a friendly, cuddly creature as you’d expect, if a bit destructive as it destroys all the vases in the room, which comically are expensive and in general casuses chaos. it’s a fun scene. Guy gets it to sleep BREIFLY when his complimentary lullabye shows up, but it wakes right after due to the door slamming. 

Meanwhile Sam discovers the Chickaraffe, which he plans to take to Meepville, is gone, and we get a cut to Smerz who is not pleased his chickaraffe is delayed by someone and threatnes to put them in his wall if they don’t bring the chickaraffe on time because he’s the kind of sadistic dick who already puts a bunch of animals in a wall for his own viewing pleasure, why wouldn’t he threaten murder or imprinsment for slight inconvenience. We catch up with said BAD GUYZ with Mcwinkle sugarcoating the fact the boss is not happy, and Gluntz not only catching onto that.. but also having alreayd found their perp as Sam  bought his kite polevault and snorkel from Lem’s Kite Polevault and Snorkel (”Plummeting out of business”). While they do that Guy gets Sam’s adress from Donna. So it turns out sometimes giving your adress out to random strangers CAN pan out. The last time I did that I got shived by a guy dressed like soundwave on my front lawn. 

Naturally given Guy’s luck he winds up running into the bad guys who mistake him for the thief given he has the chickaraffe, and back him into a cliff with a net gun because that’s what BAD GUYS do.. or rather people with that acronym who don’t get how due process or a misunderstanding works. Thankfully Sam swipes their car and rescues guy .. it also has a bunch of hats trailing for some reaosn I don’t know what that’s all about. 

So with our heroes to the road, they swap plans... well more like Sam tells his of taking the chikaraffe to meepville and Guy sorta grunts out that he’s going to watch paint dry, with Sam.. not impressed at all and clearly feeling like he’s giving up on his dreams.. Which he is, and to Sam’s credit he’s TRYING to be tactful. Trying is the key word but given the man has no real filter tha’ts understandable.  Guy not wanting ot be an accesory to crime gets out and decides to hitchike. Same TRIES to get him to stay because he’s clingy like that, but eventually leaves and Guy is left to wander the desert. 

And it’s here... my patience for Michelle runs out. Guy is trying thitchike she passes by, SLOWLY, as in the same speed as walking.. and not only puts up a bunch of security btu calls him a weirdo, without actually ASKING why he’s in the desert asking fo ra drive, assumes he’s going to hurt her and her daughter and says all this within earshot, something he calls her out on. I already had little patience for the character but I assumed you know sh’ed get better, maybe have some depths or something that explained why she’ such a bitch. But no amount of depth can really.. excuse the way she acts. I GET wnating to help keep her daughter safe, I do , I get not wanting to pick up randos on the side of the road. Both things are necessary. But Guy... is clearly not dangerous, clearly not doing anything, and clearly about to pass out from heat stroke.. and you just ignore him and assume i’ts his fault because your a self righteous, smug, selfish sampler platter of bitch. I get she’s supposed to have an arc, so are Guy and Sam.. but Guy and Sam are LIKEABLE. Guy is a bit grumpy but beaten down by life and the world and Sam’s a bit in your face, but is clearly deeply lonely. BOth have things that justify it.  Michelle is later revealed to have lost her husband apparently, so I know she has some depth and some reason for how she acts with ehr daguther.. but how she treats guy in both episodes so far just makes her so unlikeable and there’s NTOHING to explain it. She just makes assumptions about him for stupid reasons and treats him like garbage and it’s nto nearly as funny as the series thinks. I do not look forward to 11 more episodes with this character and feel any time she’s on screen she drains the energy out of a show tha’ts bursting with it. 

Thankfully she’s gone for the rest of the episode, so Guy is free to have a horrifying heat induced nightmare about green eggs and ham. 

Yup. in the best part of the episode, Guy has a small breakdown and we get a horrifying and wonderful acid sequence wher ethe road melts, he’s stalked by green eggs, and ham, which is everywhere, and when he thinks he’s getting some rain it’s in fact green egg drippings. It’s just so delightfully batshit and unexpected. I love EVERYTHING about this. I admit when I woke up today and turned htis on I wasn’t expecting Guy to end up in a heastroke induced nightmarish hellscape with living green eggs and ham, nor did I ever expect htat but I can’t say i’m dispaointed. 

He snaps out of it when Sam shows up. Unsuprisingly Sam didn’t want to leave without him, and simply looped around having picke dup some green eggs and ham and some hot and cold choclate.. naturally he accidnetly gives guy the hot choclate first. Still it shows that beneath is all too pushy and needy demeanour.. Sam’s a good guy and genuinely WANTS to help well.. Guy. He looped around entirely aware Guy wouldn’t find a ride probably but would be too stubborn to accept it if he kept pushing so he simply went to get him some help. 

Even Guy’s stubborn Grumpusness can’t fight dying of heatstroke so he relucntantly agrees to be travel buddies and Sam nicely agrees to drive while the poor guy get somre rest, especially since the whole escapade with the chikarafffe liekly means he’s gotten no sleep whatsoever. 

And so as the episode ends this naturally goes pear shaped as Guy wakes up to find the car about to tumble over a cliff into a lake. TO BE CONTINUED. Next month

FInal THoughts: This episode was okay. I didn’t like it as much as the premire nor really have as much to say about it, as it just wans’t as deep... it was still VERY funny, with tons of great gags i glossed over, like Gluntz having the party she set up for her partner, he intends for this to be his last job, slowly back away as the job’s now longer thanks to Sam and Guy getting away. But while the first half is fine with plenty of energy, jokes and plto progression the second half just stalls: outside of the green eggs and ham circle of hell, there’s really just not a lot that’s funny, with Michelle being ungodly obnoxious and sam being a bit obnoxious, coming on a bit strong with Guy and never once apoologizing to him for getting him nearly captured and arrested. It just drags on and on a bit, and it just isn’t funny to see poor guy tourture dfor rightfully not wanting ot travel with someone who nearly got him captured by shady goons, or get rejected a ride by a self righteous harpy. It’s not TERRIBLE, I still can’t wait to see what happens next, but it’s a marked step down after last episode. 

And i’ll see you next month for next episode, here tommorow for the next chapter of life and times and if you fancy joining my patreon, I inend to have an exclusive review of Thunder Force up sometime this week. Until the next rainbow it’s been a pleasure. 

[rivalsforlife]

AA7 Speculation Post: 2021 Edition

So I did one of these back in August, claiming that it was likely we’d get an AA7 announcement sometime in September for the Tokyo Game Show. Obviously it was wrong. So I am doing ANOTHER ONE, because I apparently like publicly being proven wrong?

This will be shorter than the last one because I exhausted most of my material on the first one, and also there’s less material. There is, however, SOME new stuff we’ve learned since August. ... And I was going to make a post in November but completely forgot, so consider this a starting point for the year. I’ll be covering the leaks, in general terms, and theorizing when we will be getting announcements/releases.

The rest will be under the cut so as not to burden everyone with my ramblings.

The Capcom Leaks

First things first, a disclaimer: this information was leaked through a hack which was highly illegal and compromised the personal information of many former and current Capcom employees, and therefore, I do not condone the methods through which this information was obtained and will not provide any guidance as to how to obtain this information, nor have I sought it out myself. However, I will still talk about then in general terms, because the information is out there already, and the information I am discussing will not compromise any personal information.

In summary: early this November, the hacker group Ragnar Locker managed to hack into Capcom’s databases somehow and retrieved 1 TB of information from the company; this includes a bit of information on ace attorney, which was leaked in mid-November after the group demanded a ransom and, presumably, Capcom didn’t pay up.

The two major ace attorney reveals that came from this are as follows: the announcement of a DGS/DGS2 port for the nintendo switch, steam, and ps4 with an English translation, and a calendar for the development and release of this port along with... ace attorney 7.

It’s highly likely that this information was real, given the level detail and the fact that Capcom confirmed some of their information was leaked, essentially confirming that AA7 either is or once was in development -- more news about this than we’ve had in a long time! But what does it mean and when can we expect it? Let’s take a closer look at the calendar.

The Calendar

Unfortunately, this little thing happened in between the creation of this calendar and it being leaked, called “a global pandemic” or something like that, so this calendar is almost certainly behind.

But what did it say? I lost track of the original, but I did find a roughly translated version someone made (from this post which summarizes some of the stuff in the leaks):

So... what does this mean? First, let’s remember two things: one, this calendar was made pre-COVID and things were definitely pushed back. And two, the Japanese fiscal year starts April 1st, meaning that FY2021 starts in April. This means that as of writing this, we are technically in FY2020 Q4 - where, if we were on track, would be nearing the end of DGS1&2 port production and midway through AA7′s production. (We are almost definitely not on track.)

The pandemic started hitting Japan around April 2020, I believe, so that would be in FY2020 Q1. The DGS ports seem fairly unaffected, considering it’s later in production, and also, the DGS games are already complete, so most of the work would be on translating and adapting the games for modern consoles, rather than starting completely at scratch like AA7. AA7 is a little trickier: it was still in the prototype/pre-production stage, most likely, when the pandemic hit. I’m not tooootally sure what that means because I’m not a game developer, but it’s quite possible that this meant it took a serious hit. Given that there didn’t seem to be a lot of other AA7 data leaked, including in a large schedule of releases for Capcom later, there is the possibility that AA7 ended up being scrapped owing to the pandemic or other extenuating circumstances... but I don’t believe that’s likely, with the 20th anniversary coming up. We’ll see.

Another thing of note is that the name “AA7″ is temporary. Here in the English-speaking world that isn’t a big deal because all the AA games have random titles (like “Justice for All” and “Trials and Tribulations”...) but in Japan, they’re referred to simply with their numbers (GS2, GS3, etc. standing for Gyakuten Saiban 2, Gyakuten Saiban 3). The fact that “Gyakuten Saiban 7″ is a temporary name could possibly mean that what we are getting is not another mainline game. 

However, again, there’s not really anything to support either of these things. I’m just bringing up random possibilities to cover my bases; but personally I think it’s likely that it is another mainline game, and that it is still in development. If we hear absolutely nothing about AA7 for all of 2021, though... then perhaps not.

Now... obviously, this calendar was pushed back. If we’re in 2020Q4 right now, then by the calendar DGS1&2 is hypothetically going to be released in about three-six months, and there has been absolutely no word on that so far. If this calendar were still being followed, we’d have AA7 on sale in Q3 of 2021 -- meaning October-December 2021, possibly in October for the 20th anniversary of the series, which would be super cool. ... but I doubt that will happen now.

So then, when are we getting the games?

I haven’t seen actual evidence of it, but rumour is that they’re pushing back DGS1&2 for a July release and an April announcement, giving three months between announcement - release. This is a shorter period than the most recent trilogy switch/ps4/pc/xbox release, which was announced in September 2018 and released February 2019 in Japan, a five month waiting period. 

When we English-speaking players will get the duology is unknown, too -- the trilogy rereleases took a month and a half before they were released in English, despite already having been translated and the original released in Japan coming with an English language option. (No idea what was up with that!) The duology released in Japan reportedly will have an English option from the outset, though the English released version will not have the Japanese option because of copyright issues surrounding Sherlock Holmes -- sorry, I mean, Herlock Sholmes. Still, we should expect a few months following the Japanese release before we are able to play it ourselves. Same goes with the hypothetical AA7, which seems to typically be around three months following the Japanese release for an English release.

As for when we can expect AA7′s announcement... to the extent of my knowledge, the shortest announcement-release period for a game was Spirit of Justice, announced in September 2015 and released in Japan in June 2016, a period of nine months. Usually it takes longer. Assuming that there’s still that six-month gap between the DGS duology release and the AA7 release, we could hypothetically have AA7 in early 2022, pushed back a quarter, and if the announcement comes nine months ahead... it lines up pretty nicely with an April announcement. If we’re having a DGS announcement in April as rumoured, it would make sense to tie in the AA7 announcement to that as well.

How will they be announced? ... I’m not sure. TGS back in September would have been the most opportune time for an announcement, but I have the feeling that owing to our good friend the pandemic, they didn’t have enough to show for either the ports or AA7 back then and so opted not to show anything. If these games are for the Switch, they could be announced in a Nintendo Direct. Or they could be announced in a Famitsu magazine with trailers released later outside of any other event. Honestly I don’t really know for this part.

Overall, though? This is the upcoming 20th anniversary of the series. I’d be surprised if we ended up not getting anything. Despite the pandemic likely pushing everything back, I think it’s highly likely we’ll get some big ace attorney news soon, even if it’s not quite in time for the anniversary -- of course, the safety and health of the employees comes first, so a bit of a delay will be just fine.

TL;DR: I’m theorizing we’ll have DGS port/ AA7 announcements around this April, with DGS being released around July and AA7 being released late 2021/early 2022, with a few months delay for the English versions.

[dynamics-of-an-asteroid]

Dont suppose you have a copy of the interview you could share?

For you, dear anon~

His Dark Materials: Andrew Scott on life after Fleabag and Sherlock

We’ve loved him as both Fleabag’s Hot Priest and Sherlock’s menacing Moriarty. Now, he’s back on our screens in the new series of His Dark Materials. Polly Vernon talks to our TV crush

Andrew Scott is mortified. The actor – formerly Moriarty to Benedict Cumberbatch’s Sherlock, then the Hot Priest of Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s Fleabag, imminently Colonel John Parry in the BBC’s adaptation of Philip Pullman’s His Dark Materials – arrives at the photographic studio, bang on the appointed hour, in a fawn cashmere cardigan with a fine gold chain around his neck, bemoaning “this terrible, terrible eye infection, which is making me so self-conscious. I’m so sorry. It isn’t that you’ve massively upset me before we’ve even started. It’s so annoying. But anyway…”

Scott, 44, is small, vivid, wiry and garrulously Irish, with a face that is not handsome so much as mesmerising, intense, sharply boned, symmetrical, startlingly expressive. Sequences of emotions so subtle and complicated that I can’t begin to identify or keep up with them ruffle his brow from moment to moment. And, yup, the whole thing is rather disrupted by his left eye. This is no light kiss of conjunctivitis. It’s a swollen, red, perma-weeping situation that engulfs the whole socket. Scott turns his face two thirds on to me, so the infection is largely hidden, which would probably help if we weren’t sitting in a brightly lit hair and make-up room with a massive, inescapable mirror fixed to one wall. “Oh God,” Scott says every time he catches sight of his reflection.

Stress?

“Let’s be honest,” he says. “Let’s not skirt around the issue. It’s being overworked and…” Scott’s eye begins weeping. “Oh my goodness. I am so sorry. Really, really very sorry.”

Wanna wear my sunglasses, I ask, holding them out to him.

“That would be a bit more weird, wouldn’t it? I actually did think about that in the taxi, but I thought that would be some sort of weird and screwed Invisible Man-type thing. I mean, it couldn’t be worse. And then we have to go and get our photograph taken. It’ll be one of those pictures where, you know, those creepy pictures… Of people crying?”

That’s what Photoshop’s for, I say.

“Anyway. Let’s just ignore it.”

I wonder if it’s particularly hard to walk around with an eye infection at a point in time where you’re not merely famous, as Scott is – a star of stage, screen and Bond film, winner of multiple awards, including, as of barely two weeks ago, a Best Actor Olivier for Present Laughter at the Old Vic – but specifically famous for being sexy.

In 2019, Andrew Scott became synonymous with, well, sex. While playing a character technically known as the Priest, whom the general public instantly renamed the Hot Priest, the spiritual support turned transgressive love interest of Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s supremely popular Fleabag, Scott became a cypher for the nation’s more exotic desires. A deliciously contentious pin-up. Ground zero on an earnest social media debate about whether the Priest’s relationship with Fleabag should be considered abusive, power imbalanced, “problematic”. And that was just for starters.

The Priest’s sexual iconography extended far beyond the limits of the show, becoming the subject of internet memes and real-life merchandise (visit online retailer Etsy for your £12 Hot Priest mug emblazoned with an illustration of Scott in priest’s robes, alongside the word “kneel”, a reference to a pivotal moment between the show’s lead characters, which takes place in a confession box, the climax of which, assuming you haven’t already seen it, you could probably take a stab at). There was an unprecedented upsurge in young worshippers, and women started bombarding social media “influencer” the Rev Chris Lee of west London with nude photographs. There was much foetid fan fiction.

To be publicly defined by so much sex, as Scott still is, a year and a half after Fleabag concluded, and then to be encumbered by something as visibly unsexy as an eye infection, I can see how that might make a chap self-conscious.

Scott isn’t here to rake up all that old Hot Priest stuff, mind. He’s here to talk about the second series of His Dark Materials, a lush, expensive fantasy drama based on the Philip Pullman books, jewel in the crown of the BBC’s autumn schedule. The series was filmed through 2019 and the beginning of 2020 and had all but wrapped before lockdown. Good timing, as it turned out, because the extensive post-production processes, unlike shooting, could be completed in isolation.

Scott’s Colonel John Parry is an explorer, the missing father of the central character, 14-year-old Will Parry. He’s a man who slipped into a parallel universe some years earlier, acquired a “daemon” – an exterior animal-formed expression of his soul, a female osprey called Sayan Kötör, voiced with public-pleasing symmetry by Phoebe Waller-Bridge – and never found a way back to “our” world and his son. I speak as a fan of the books, which you might describe as a darker, existential response to Harry Potter, although honestly? They’re better than that. The show is great, a deft, rewarding interpretation, and Scott is an exciting prospect as Parry.

Did he jump at the part?

“I did, actually. It was definitely something I was into. We were doing a play and it seemed like a fun thing to do.” Scott is one of those who slips into the third person when speaking about himself in a professional capacity.

Had he read the books?

“Yeah,” he says. “I think they’re extraordinary. The truth, but told on a slant. I love the way Pullman tells children about spirituality or religion in such an extraordinary, intelligent way. He doesn’t speak down to them. He talks to children’s souls.”

Given that Pullman effectively kills off God through the course of the books and Scott’s a lapsed Irish Catholic who has suffered his share of shame on account of the church’s grip on his homeland (more on which shortly), I’d imagine Pullman’s books talked to Scott’s adult soul too.

Presumably, he didn’t have to audition. Presumably, he never has to. Too famous for auditions?

“No,” he says. “Although I’ve always thought auditioning is a pretty good thing to do.”

Why?

“Because you’re able to understand, ‘Oh, this is the vibe here.’ You think, when you’re an actor, you don’t have much choice, but I’ve always felt like auditioning is a good opportunity for you to go, ‘Oh well, I don’t much like you either. I think you’re dreadful!’ ”

I don’t care that you didn’t give me that part?

“Yeah.” Scott becomes playfully, theatrically defiant. “I don’t care!” He flicks aside an imaginary rejection with a churlish hand.

Will John Parry and His Dark Materials be enough to eliminate all residual overtones of Hot Priest sexiness from Scott? Maybe. He is a fine actor, no question, entirely transformed from role to role. I saw him play Paul, a narcissistic, fame-addled touring rock star, at the Royal Court in 2014 in Simon Stephens’ Birdland, back when his deeply sinister Moriarty weighed almost as heavily on Scott’s reputation as the Hot Priest does now. I’d watched him become someone else entirely on stage. “Oh, you saw that?” Scott says, pleased.

I quote, “Am I cancer?” at him, his defining line from the play, as evidence.

“Oh Jesus. Oh f***ing hell. Oh my. I’d forgotten that line. ‘Am I cancer?’ ”

The Hot Priest association hasn’t left him yet, which is why I find myself asking what it’s like to be the very definition of sexiness.

“You get invited to more parties.”

Better parties?

“Yeah.”

Better than during his Moriarty phase?

“Definitely.”

It must be fun to find yourself le dernier cri in sexy, according to the whole nation.

“Yeah, that’s fun,” he says. “I didn’t really like being associated with scary. It’s not what I’m interested in being, in life, being intimidating to people. It’s not part of my nature, whereas being sexy to people…”

That is part of his nature?

“Well, they’re very different things.”

They’re both about having power over people.

“I suppose they are, yes.”

So did Scott, bored of scaring people, say to Phoebe Waller-Bridge, writer and star of Fleabag and a long-term friend (they met in 2009 while starring in Roaring Trade at the Soho Theatre), “Write a role for me that will make everyone think I’m just really, really sexy now”?

“That’s such a good belt. Are they two ‘Gs’?”

“Exactly.”

——————————

Andrew Scott is not the easiest interview. He’s utterly charming. Really, just a delight. In between prostrating himself for the offence of his eye and apologising for not turning up the first time we were scheduled to meet (ten days earlier; a delayed Covid test result meant he couldn’t make it), he ensures I have a good time in his company. He is playful. He makes me laugh. His every utterance is delivered as a grand performance. (“Shhhh! Just… Shhhh!” he implores, placing a finger against his lips while expressing frustrations over the mindless jabber of social media, and he does it so powerfully, he compels me to be quiet, breathlessly to await delivery of his next line.) He finds elegant ways to flatter me. He laughs at my jokes and is terribly taken with my belt.

Yeah. For Gucci.

“Oh. Ha ha! I thought it was the Golden Globes. I love the Golden Globes. Ha ha!”

And of course, he’s Irish. Clichédly, melodiously Irish, which makes everything sound softer and jollier than it might otherwise.

As for the actual business of being interviewed, of answering straight questions with straight answers, finishing off sentences, offering more than a slip-slide of vagaries punctuated by vigorous hand gestures, none of which translates into print? He’d rather not.

He tells me, as he’s told other journalists before, this is because he’s interested in navigating the line between “privacy and secrecy”, then says he’s aware he’s sometimes “got away with secrecy under the guise and respectability of privacy”, as if signalling potential incoming slipperiness, which means I prepare to throw every trick in the book at him.

First up: amateur psychology.

Might Andrew Scott’s gayness be at the heart of his reluctance to speak more freely? Perhaps. This is no scoop. He’s been out for almost as long as he’s been famous. “I mean, as a civilian, I was quite young [when I came out], you know? But then, as a celebrity…”

He tails off, allows me to fill in the blanks. This is another of his evasion tactics. I can’t very well quote Scott on the presumptions I make about things he never quite says.

He had to have another coming out?

“Yes. And I have another one coming up.”

He has another coming out coming up?

“Yeah.”

So that will be, what? Tier 3 gayness?

“Tier 3, yeah.”

Scott grew up in Ireland at a time when it wasn’t legal to be gay, which could certainly seed an enduring reluctance towards carefree openness in a person. He invokes the concept of shame more regularly than the average interviewee. He was born in Dublin in 1976 to Nora, an art teacher, and Jim, who worked at an employment agency. He has one older sister, Sarah, and a younger one, Hannah.

He was shy, so started attending a children’s drama course.

Did that help?

“Yeah. Acting to me is not pretending to be someone else. It’s more like, this is who I actually am. The lie that tells the truth,” he says. I am none the wiser. He was clearly talented. He went from adverts to his first starring role in a film aged 17 (Korea, directed by Cathal Black), won a bursary to art school but took a place at Trinity College Dublin to study drama instead, and ditched that six months in to join Dublin’s Abbey Theatre. He’s been gainfully employed in the field ever since.

How Catholic was his upbringing?

“Well, there were Catholic priests in my life,” he says. “None of whom I wanted to have sex with.”

Does it amuse Scott to know he inspired a mass fetishising of priestly ranks? That in 2019, the Hot Priest would make, “Can you have sex with a Catholic priest?” one of the most googled terms of the year?

“Absolutely f***ing mental,” he says.

Homosexuality wasn’t legalised in Ireland until 1993, when Scott was 16.

“I always think, if I’d had a boyfriend then, which I definitely did not…”

No?

“No.”

He knew he was gay, though?

“No. No, no, no, no!”

Was he suppressing it or not thinking about it?

“I would say suppressing. Definitely suppressing. I don’t believe people just don’t think about it.”

An upbeat, cheesy jazz remix of something or other starts playing outside the room.

“Oooh, this is the soundtrack for this bit of the interview,” says Scott. He wiggles his shoulders to the music.

I switch to strict dominatrix interviewer mode. Focus, I say. You were about to tell me something good.

“Oh, shit, was I? OK. I think what’s really insidious is that people don’t ask you about sex or… People wouldn’t say, ‘Are you gay or are you [straight]?’ And the lack of directness is very damaging. They just didn’t go there.”

Does he think his family, friends, the people closest to him knew then that he was gay?

“No,” he says. “I don’t think they did know. Or maybe they have a suspicion, but they think, I want to be respectful, so I’m not going to ask about that. Then [when you do come out], people say, ‘Oh, I’m glad.’ You know? If you do talk about it. So I suppose what I feel now is, talking about sex or sexuality is important. Really important.”

Having said that, “There’s still getting rid of the shame. In a situation like this, 10 or 15 years ago, I would have been…” He fakes shock, horror. “Oh no! Polly’s just asked me about [he switches to a whisper] that.”

Scott will talk about his sex life only notionally. No specifics. For 15 years, between 2001 and 2016, he was in a relationship with the actor turned screenwriter Stephen Beresford (Scott starred in Beresford’s 2014 film Pride). Ever since, he’s refused to answer questions about his romantic life.

And he’s not going to talk about it now, I presume.

“No.”

What if we talk about it opaquely?

“OK.”

Where does he see himself, domestically, in an ideal world? Married with kids whom he’ll, I dunno, adopt or have via surrogacy?

“I like it. It’s bold. Am I going to adopt or…?”

Get a surrogate?

“I definitely think that’s something I would be open to.”

Great, I say, with blatant sarcasm. Thanks. How specific.

“Ha! I’m sorry. OK. Have I got any children at the moment? No. How can I… [explain]? OK. I was with a friend of mine in Dublin…”

His partner?

“No, no, no. Not my partner. Ah ha. I see what you were…”

Teasing. Yes.

“Ha! Yes. So, I was with a friend in Dublin and we were walking around and he was looking at apartments and I was like, ‘What about this place here?’ You know? And he said, ‘No,’ and I said, ‘Why not?’ and he said, ‘I don’t live a heteronormative life, so I don’t want a heteronormative house.’ ”

What’s a heteronormative house?

“Two up, two down thing. He goes, ‘I can live in a loft or a weird space. I don’t need those things.’ He was so proud of it. He really owned it. I think where a lot of one’s pain comes from is when you go, ‘I should want that.’ And so, to answer your question opaquely, I have kids I adore. I love children, genuinely, and I had a very happy childhood. But I also feel, if I don’t have kids, that’s all right. I think I would’ve attached a lot of shame beforehand, with not living a particularly heteronormative life… Even with being gay, there’s a sort of way of being gay that’s acceptable. And I don’t feel that any more.”

He feels you can be unacceptably gay?

“Exactly. Exactly!”

I ask when shame shifted for him and Scott says it was when Ireland voted overwhelmingly in favour of same-sex marriage in the 2015 referendum, which felt, he says, “like acceptance, genuinely. And I remember going out to this gay bar in Dublin and this girl came up to me, this cool Dublin girl, and she said, ‘What are you doing here? You need to go down to, I don’t know, blah, blah, this bar in some park.’ She was saying, ‘This isn’t the right gay bar for you. This is some shit gig,’ when the fact I’m in a gay bar in Ireland [at all] is a miracle to me, and then some person with a half-shaved head is telling me, ‘No, you need to go somewhere cooler.’ ”

His left eye starts weeping again.

“I’m so happy about that,” he says. “Even though I’m crying.”

I ask Scott if he has a game plan when picking roles, if he plots his course from Sherlock villain to Bond quasi-villain (he played Max Denbigh in Spectre) to sex icon, and, if so, what next? “No. Jesus, no,” he says.

We talk about the totalitarianism of social media, which he isn’t on, and share a mutual despair over it. “I thought it was something one would associate with the right, but actually, now it’s [the left] that is very ‘you’re this’ or ‘you’re that’. I find that quite frightening. It actually makes me feel ferocious.”

Is he not worried about being cancelled, of somehow saying the “wrong” thing, according to Twitter sensitivities, then having a thousand voices mobilised against him, demanding his firing, in the style of JK Rowling?

“I’m not,” he says. “I refuse to be. A very intelligent person I was talking to recently was writing a book and he said, ‘I’m going to get a sensitivity expert to have a look. I don’t want to get cancelled.’ I found that frightening.”

Is he rich? “Rich is the absence of worry about money,” he says. He can’t remember the last time he worried about money.

That must be nice.

“Of course it f***ing is. I think it’s a miracle. I really do. I was working in a French theatre in London for nothing – none of us was working for anything – and I remember the artistic director of the theatre talking about the fact we weren’t earning any money as some sort of virtue. I remember feeling really annoyed about that, like this isn’t good.”

This leads to an inevitable conversation about how the arts are suffering with Covid, including a segue down the Fatima route, the much shared government advert that depicted a young ballerina and suggested she retrain in something called cyber. “Her name’s not even Fatima,” Scott rails. “I think she’s called Desire’e. From New York.”

I mean to ask him about his experience of filming The Pursuit of Love with Lily James and Dominic West, stars of their own recent off-screen micro-scandal in Rome, just in case he lets any scurrilous insight slip, but our time’s up and it’s not as if Scott has much form on offering up scurrilous insight anyway.

Still, I feel grateful to him for meeting me halfway on the other stuff. And so I say goodbye to Andrew Scott, the UK’s foremost gay heterosexual lapsed Catholic faux-priest lust icon with a troublesome eye infection.