#and to think if i had deposited that one birthday check when i got it i probably wouldn't have even noticed

[roosterforme]

Aim for the Sky Part 24 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Spoiled beyond his wildest dreams, Bradley tries to take some time to appreciate everything he has on his birthday, but it can be hard to contain his excitement.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, adult language, lactation kink, body image, oral sex, anal sex, DILF Roo

Length: 3800 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Aim for the Sky masterlist. This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order.

Bradley was eager. He didn't want you to know how eager, but he was sure it was obvious by now.

"Your cheeks are pink," you whispered, cupping them in both of your hands as he buckled you in. "Did all the dancing and hot sauce get to you?"

"Something like that," he murmured, kissing you so thoroughly, you gasped when he pulled away. The look you gave him beneath the dome light was indecent as he dragged his hand up your body and between your breasts so he could stroke your chin and your perfect cheek. Oh, you absolutely knew why his face was flushed and his hands were so grabby. But it was your fault anyway.

"Should we head home for the night?" you asked innocently.

As if you hadn't been talking about how your ass was all his since this morning.

Fuck. Every year, you gave him the most perfect birthday. When he turned thirty-six, you took him to La Jolla, and he couldn't wait to take you back there next week when your parents came out to watch Rose. Last year when he turned thirty-seven, he fucked you so hard in the backseat of your wretched little Honda Civic, he totaled the thing. At least you got pregnant with Rose that night.

And this year, he got to spend the evening reminiscing and enjoying the company of his wife and his daughter. He couldn't even remember how fucking bad every other birthday was between the year he lost his mom and when he turned thirty-five right before he met you. Since then, he'd been treated like a king. Today was no different. Tonight would follow suit.

"Yeah," he grunted, "let's go home."

The drive back to Coronado was mostly quiet while Rose slept. You had your hand on Bradley's thigh, and he had his hand on top of yours.

"You're excited," you whispered into the darkness. "I can practically feel your anticipation, Roo."

"Oh, fuck," he groaned. He was a complete mess for you tonight, and you knew it. He might as well just say it, but he didn't want you to think you didn't satisfy him all the time. He ran his left hand over his face when he stopped at a red light. "I'm really horny, Sweetheart. Somehow you know just what to do that's going to make me go wild. You've always known."

He could feel you preening next to him as the light turned green, and he hit the accelerator. "I like making you excited on your birthday."

"You do this to me every day," he insisted.

A few minutes later, he was rushing Rose inside in her car seat, and you were locking the door behind him. "I'll put her down in her crib if you put Tramp outside?"

You were already heading for the sliding glass door as you said, "I'll meet you in our bedroom."

He grunted in response, unclipping Rose from her carrier and depositing her gently in her crib. "I'll come back to change your diaper," he promised, straightening out her outfit. 

He needed to calm the fuck down, because the last thing he wanted to do was hurt you. But when he walked into the bedroom, you made eye contact before pulling your dress over your head and tossing it onto the floor.

"You're killing me," he groaned, already working at his shirt buttons as you climbed into bed in your matching red lace bra and thong. He wrenched the fabric over his head and nearly fell down as he tried to take his shoes and jeans off at the same time. 

Just as he was about to dive in bed after you, he watched you hold up your hand and whisper, "Go get the lube from the bathroom drawer, birthday boy."

Bradley felt dizzy as he turned toward the open doorway and dug around inside your drawer until he was rewarded with exactly what he needed. Armed with the water based lube and a massive boner, this time he did dive into bed with you. The bottle came to rest next to your head, and you giggled as he dipped down into a push up to kiss you.

"You are eager."

"There's no point in lying, Sweetheart. I am fucking eager." 

It was almost better that this was a rare occurrence for him, because he just knew how good it was going to be as you tilted your chin up to kiss him. He could feel your hands on his abs before they slid inside his underwear. His eyes fluttered closed against the feel of your fingers teasing him, and he whispered, "I'm already turned on. Let me turn you on, too."

As he worked his way down your body, he felt your hands on his face. "Don't look at my belly," you whispered, pushing him further down toward your pussy.

"I like your belly," he grunted, pulling your underwear down so he could get to your tattoo and kiss you everywhere. "I like everything about you. Why do you think I'm so turned on?"

"Because you're about to have anal sex."

"With my wife." Bradley's lips skimmed your pussy as he spoke. "I'm turned on, because I've been thinking about you. And how fucking hot you are. And about the fact that you trust me not to hurt you. And how you let know every intimate inch of your body."

"Roo," you whimpered as he licked your pussy before kissing you there.

"I don't really care if we have anal sex tonight or never again," he said, looking up your body and meeting your gaze as your fingers gripped his hair. "But don't act like the mere notion of me getting to explore and enjoy your body isn't going to drive me wild. You know me. You know what you do to me."

He watched your lace covered chest rise and fall as you sighed deeply. Bradley took your thighs in his hands as you spread your legs wider for him. "I want you to enjoy every inch of me."

He ran his nose through your slick warmth, kissing you everywhere while he said, "You're absolutely fucking perfect, Baby Girl."

-----------------------------

You weren't expecting to feel emotional tonight, but while your husband ate your pussy, leaving you a squirming, writhing mess in the middle of the bed, your heart skipped a beat as you replayed his words. 

I like everything about you. Why do you think I'm so turned on?

He told you so frequently that he thought you were perfect, and you kind of felt perfect as you sucked in deep breaths in nothing but your red bra while he gave you an absolutely killer orgasm.

"Oh god," you whined, your right heel digging into his back as he sucked on your clit and hit that mind-blowing spot inside you with two firm fingers. Bradley knew just what to do because you'd willingly let him explore your body to his heart's content for years. And you wanted him to have more, because you knew he'd give you more in return.

When your back arched off the bed and you came for him, you saw colorful stars at the edge of your vision. It was just that damn good. It took you a few seconds to catch your breath, but when you did, you rolled onto your stomach and looked back at him.

"It's your birthday, not mine," you whispered, and he raised one eyebrow before crawling until his body was covering yours. "Why am I the one getting all the orgasms?"

"Because I love you," he replied, kissing your cheek. You could feel his erection against the back of your thigh, and you wiggled your rear end against him until he groaned. "If you keep teasing me with that thing, I'm going to make a mess all over you."

You didn't try to hide your smile as you said, "Go ahead and make a mess inside me. Just go slow so it doesn't hurt."

His dark eyes widened a bit. "In your ass?" When you nodded, he asked, "Are you sure?"

"I'm absolutely sure, birthday boy."

But he didn't jump right to it. He carefully unhooked your bra and slid it down your shoulders so he could kiss the full expanse of your back. "You're so fucking soft," he whispered. His lips and mustache left your skin extra sensitive as he sucked along the back of your neck until you were moaning his name. "That sounds so pretty." Then you felt his hands rough against your ass and your thighs before he made himself at home, lapping at your pussy from behind. You knew you were still wet, and he used your slick to coat up your asshole with his tongue, big hands gripping you.

"Does that feel good?" he asked, and you groaned a garbled answer letting him know that yes, it did. "Want me to keep going?"

You could feel his finger at your opening, and you whimpered. "As long as you use the lube."

He did, and he worked at you for a while, never rushing you to the next stage before you were comfortable. His fingers were thick, but you knew how big his cock was, and you balled your fists up in the sheets and got onto your knees when you were ready for him.

The stretch felt good. Bradley's body behind yours was like a dream, and his voice in your ear as he pushed himself incrementally deeper made you relax. "Jesus Christ," he rasped. "My god, Sweetheart. Oh, fuck." His lips were on your shoulder, and then his face was tucked against your neck as he whined softly, chest heaving against your back. You felt almost too full as his hips met your ass. "Am I hurting you?"

When you wiggled in response, Bradley's nose dug into the side of your neck, a string of expletives flowing from his lips. "It feels almost good," you promised. "Like I couldn't be more full."

"If I move, I'll cum," he groaned. "But I really, really fucking want to move."

You rolled your hips against him, and it didn't hurt, but now his forearms were shaking, and his knuckles were white, and you knew how hard he was trying to keep himself still. "You can thrust slowly."

He did. He gave you three long, languid thrusts where you felt every bit of him, and then you knew by the sounds he was making that he was almost there. One more wiggle from you, and he was up on his knees with his hands gripping your hips, filling your ass with his cum.

"Jesus fucking Christ," he crooned, withdrawing himself inch by inch until you heard him say, "that's so goddamn pretty." His fingers were smoothing along your pussy up to where you could feel the mess he made on your skin. "What a perfect ass."

Then he was a fatigued mess, sprawled out on his back on the bed, pulling you closer to him. "Happy birthday," you whispered, and he looked up at you with pink cheeks and wide eyes.

"I am so spoiled by my wife."

"You are, Roo. It's insane."

---------------------------------

After a quick trip to the nursery to change Rose into a sleeper, Bradley coaxed you into the shower with him where he took the time to clean both of you up. "It's almost midnight, Daddy. Did you enjoy your day?"

"You know I did. It was absolutely perfect."

"There's cake for you in the kitchen."

He narrowed his eyes. "Are you still talking about your ass, or..."

"Actual cake," you told him with a laugh. "I baked it the other day and then hid it." He honestly didn't know how he deserved to be treated this well, but he always tried his best to do the same for you. He was too in love not to.

You definitely seemed to be less self conscious now as he ran his hand down your belly before using it to give you a soft smack on the ass. "I would love to have any and all of your various types of cake." He leaned down to kiss the tops of your breasts. "Rosie will probably wake up soon wanting to eat. That's literally the only thing holding me back from going to town on these bad boys."

Your laughter filled the room. "I think you've just about reached your treat limit for the day. But the cake in the kitchen is lemon."

"My favorite," he whispered, kissing your lips. "You're the best."

Once you were both towel dried and dressed for bed, Bradley scooped you up and carried you into the kitchen. "A year ago, I was fucking a baby into you."

"You fucked a baby into me, and you fucked up my car beyond repair. That was a big night for you, Bradley." When he set you down on the counter, you yelped.

"What?" he asked as you cling onto him instead.

"My asshole is sore," you whispered, eyes wide.

"Oh. I'm sorry."

You smiled which made him smile. "I just wasn't expecting it," you said with a laugh as you slid down his body until you were standing. "It's not terrible. Kind of a nice reminder of your birthday present." You reached for the lemon cake which had apparently been hiding with the pots and pans for days when you gasped. "I forgot! I got you another present."

Bradley watched you run into the spare room at the bottom of the stairs, and a moment later, you returned with a gift wrapped in red paper with a silver bow on it.

"Before you open it, please remember that you did ask for this."

Curiosity got the best of him. The day was already too good to be true, but when he tore into the paper, he knew what it was almost immediately. "Another sexy calendar," he moaned, and then his eyes bugged out. "A pregnant, sexy calendar."

"That's what you wanted," you repeated when he looked at you. "I had the photographer take them before you met me at the beach for maternity photos."

He absolutely did remember asking for it, but he couldn't believe you actually did it for him. January was a photo of you in your red bikini, pregnant with Rosie, hand resting on your belly. February was you wearing some kind of flowy dress that left nothing to the imagination. March was you in your unbuttoned jean shorts with your hands over your breasts, adorable bump front and center. April had you in a top with your tits practically spilling out of it.

"Incredible," he murmured, mesmerized by May where you were playing in the water in a wet, white tee shirt.

"You like it?" you asked as you sliced up some birthday cake.

"It's fantastic," he groaned when he got to June. It was a close up of your face and tits in that same wet shirt. "Holy hell." You were holding out a forkful of cake to him. "Are you going to make me a sexy calendar every year for my birthday?" he asked before taking the bite which melted on his tongue.

"Only if you're very well behaved. Those things require me to muster up every fiber of my courage, and I swear the photographer works some sort of magic to make me look so good."

"You always look that good, Sweetheart. If you check the photo gallery in my phone, you look just as hot in every photo in there as you do in the calendar pictures. You look that good right now. And you looked that good at the hot sauce restaurant. And you looked that good with my cock in your ass an hour ago."

Once again, he had you preening before him as you fed him more cake. "If you insist, Roo."

"I insist. I look at you more than anyone else does. I've got to be some sort of expert." He took another bite from the fork. "This is incredible. Thank you for everything today." He propped his new calendar up against the backsplash, open to June. 

"Just make sure you put that away before my parents get here on Sunday," you said, tossing the fork into the sink and wrapping your arms around his waist.

"Right," he replied. You had him so excited about Father's Day and his birthday, he almost forgot they were flying in. "I'll put it out with all my workout gear tomorrow," he promised. "And you better start packing for La Jolla."

"I'll just throw some stuff in a bag before we leave on Thursday," you told him with a shrug.

"But I want you to make sure you pack all of your sexiest outfits. You always look good no matter what, but I love peeling that stuff off you."

You buried your face against his chest and whispered, "Okay." He could tell you were smiling just as Rose started crying.

"Midnight. On the dot," Bradley groaned, leading you backwards through the kitchen. "That kid is punctual."

You leaned up and kissed him, "I love you, birthday boy."

"I love you, too," he said over the sound of his daughter wailing to be fed. His past three birthdays were each more exciting than the last. He had no idea what else could be in store for him, but he wanted all of it.

---------------------------

On Sunday, you sat down very gingerly to enjoy brunch with Maria and Cam. You were still sore from Friday, and then last night, Bradley spanked you for being sassy. It wasn't entirely your fault you accidentally called him Daddy while you were FaceTiming your parents. He was using his commanding voice, going over the schedule for the upcoming week. You didn't think your parents even heard you say it, but you happily accepted your 'punishment' in the form of Bradley's hand on your ass and his cock in your pussy as soon as the call was over.

"Your parents are coming out today?" Cam asked, snapping your attention back to the last bit of your avocado toast and mimosa.

"Yeah. They're staying with Rose for a few nights while Bradley and I drive up to La Jolla. I won't be at work on Thursday."

"Bob and I are going away for Independence Day, too," Maria said dreamily. "He's taking me to Santa Barbara."

"Fuck you both," Cam grumbled, biting into some cinnamon toast. He chewed obnoxiously as he said, "I wish I had a hot aviator. I'll just be at home alone, watching Marvel shows and trying to feel something."

"I'll send you a postcard," you told him, giving him a loud kiss on the cheek.

"How's Rose?" Maria asked, ignoring Cam's comments completely. 

"Adorable," you sighed. "You'll get to see her when Bradley picks me up to head to the airport." 

No sooner did you mention your husband and daughter, and then they appeared. 

"Hey," Bradley greeted your friends, leaning down to kiss you with Rose in his arms. He was wearing his aviators low on his nose, and he looked so good.

"Hi," Cam mumbled, and you could tell how badly he wanted to call your husband Lieutenant Commander Mustache. Maria on the other hand popped out of her seat to get to the baby.

"She got big," she said, scooping her out of Bradley's arms. "Such a big girl now."

Bradley eyed you over his sunglasses, and his smirk reminded you of last night. "We need to leave soon. They land in less than an hour."

"It's my turn to pay anyway," you said, digging in your wallet for some cash before Bradley handed you his credit card.

"I really hate you at times," Cam murmured, and you had to stifle your laughter.

"I only have love in my heart for you."

He rolled his eyes, but both of you were stifling your laughter now as Maria continued to bounce around with Rose. Eventually you signed the slip and handed it back to Bradley along with his credit card. "I'll see you both at work tomorrow," you promised, picking up your bag as Bradley took Rose back from Maria.

When you walked out of the restaurant, you saw several heads turn in your direction as women stared. "Everyone is looking at the DILF," you whispered.

"Where?" Bradley asked in confusion, looking around with his brow furrowed. 

"I'm referring to you," you replied with a laugh as you walked out toward the red Bronco. He rolled his eyes but put a firm hand on your waist.

"Hang on. I want to buckle you in after I put her in her car seat."

So you waited until he was ready before climbing in the passenger seat, and then he pulled the seatbelt across your body before giving you a kiss. "Thanks, Roo."

He kissed your lips and the tip of your nose. "Let's get to the airport. Last time, their flight was early."

It was smooth sailing down the highway, and Rose was asleep by the time the Bronco was parked in the garage where she was conceived. Of course Bradley made a comment about it as he very carefully scooped her up again.

"Do you want to use the stroller?" you asked, but he immediately shook his head.

"I like carrying her like this."

"I know you do," you said, heart melting as you watched him kiss the top of her head. "I just thought I'd ask."

He carried her with both hands, and you tucked your arm around his waist as you headed inside and looked for their baggage carousel number. "This way," he rasped, and you followed him to the far end of the area. You snuggled in against him while you waited, and Bradley kissed the top of your head this time. "I cannot wait to get you in that fancy hotel room and have you all to myself."

You tilted your face up toward his and kissed the corner of his mustache. "Just so you know, my asshole still hurts."

"Fuck, Baby Girl," he grunted. "You always do this to me. You always say or do something to get me all stirred up right before your parents arrive."

You were about to tell him you had no idea what he was talking about, but you heard your mom calling your name. And when you turned, she was rushing toward you with your dad in her wake. "There they are! Oh, and look how sweet Rose looks!"

Bradley glared down at you, and you bit your lip and smiled up at him. "I'll make it up to you in La Jolla."

------------------------------

Happy birthday, DILF Roo. If you have an idea for something BG can do in La Jolla to "make it up to him", I would love to hear it. Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 25

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

@solacestyles

@daisyhollyxox

@blog-name6996

@bcon24

@avada-kedavra-bitch-187

@katiebby04

@marantha

@averyhotchner

@abaker74

@heli991113

@k-k0129

@noz4a2

@shanimallina87

@ccbb2222

@xoxabs88xox

@thedroneranger

@cherrycola27

@fanboyswhore9

@xomrsalliej4787xo

@desert-fern

@horseslovers2016

@mattyskies

@hookslove1592

@blahehblah

@sadpetalsstuff

@local-spidey

@schoollover

@lex-winchester

@nicole01-23

@jessicab1991

@happyrebelruins

@samsgoddess

@bellaireland1981

@sagittarius-flowerchild

@mygyn

@yuckosworld

@daggerspare-standingby

@nessjo

@trickphotography2

@lyn-js

@furiousladyking

@godsfavoritebabe

@bethabear12

@halo-mystic

@sherlockstrangewolf

@theamuz

@khaylin27

[slrsunfire]

I’ve been trying to get a little mdtb piece out for Tobirama’s birthday but I don’t think I’ll be able to post it for his actual day :( 

It’s a re-work of a mdtb a/b/o fic I’ve been playing with in the background between all my projects and I’m thinking I’m just going to keep this a one shot due to time constraints. I can always add on to the ‘verse later if I so desire and interest is there. 

Anyway, here’s a sneak peek until I can get this posted: 

----

Izuna shot up from the desk fast enough his form blurred when the briefest surge of electricity was conducted through the wood, and Tobirama couldn’t help but smirk viciously in vindication at the yelp that followed.

“Ow, what the fuck Tobirama!”

“I told you to get off the desk, Izuna,” Tobirama lightly reminded the man, “it’s not my fault you can’t follow directions.”

Izuna glowered at him for his cheek, and Tobirama smugly rolled up the scroll he’d just completed before standing to walk it over to the outgoing document box that was due to be picked up in an hour or so.

“See if I come to check on you again. I can’t believe you shocked me.”

“I warned you,” Tobirama calmly retorted as he checked to make sure he’d already deposited all of the other vital documents needing immediate filing for the day.

“What is this?”

At the question, Tobirama’s head snapped up and he spun around, just in time to see Izuna pick up the hanten jacket he’d kept stored in his lower desk drawer, it’s furoshiki covering discarded on the floor beside Izuna’s feet.

For a moment all he could do was stare at Izuna in shock before his face flooded with color.

“It’s a coat, what does it look like?” Tobirama waspishly retorted, trying for unimpressed as he glared at his formal rival.

Tobirama had no idea how to classify the stare Izuna turned on him next as the shorter omega shifted to really look at him, his pleasant, almost cinnamon tinged scent unfurling around him with his quickly shifting emotions.

“Where did you get it, Tobirama?”

At the question, Tobirama’s lips pursed as he juggled being honest or brushing Izuna off.

“I don’t know,” he finally admitted after a moment of struggling with himself, “I came back to my office and found it waiting for me on my birthday. Is it really so surprising I’d get a gift?”

Izuna’s expression turned utterly serious, which in turn made Tobirama’s hair stand on end out of pure instinct. Nothing good usually came from such a thing. He’d learned that very well during their constant and repeated battles over the years.

“It’s not just a coat, Tobirama. This is—”

Tobirama watched Izuna pause and take a deep, almost calming breath before he continued.  

“These seals, they’re proprietary Uchiha seals. The coat stitching, too— I’d recognize it anywhere. My mother had a jacket just like this that our father gave her at the start of their courting, made with good Yuki silk like this that our seamstresses wove to make the coat. It’s the first gift you give someone you wish to bond with, Tobirama. It’s a promise to cover you in their protection, and a sign you are already being pursued to any others who would dare to approach you with alternate offers.”

He theoretically understood what Izuna was saying, but Tobirama found himself also doubting he was understanding Izuna properly. An Uchiha was—or wanted to—court him of all people?

“I had no idea,” Tobirama breathed out the moment he got his voice back, certain his eyes had to be incredibly wide. “I haven’t even—how will they know if I agree or not?”

[travelingtheusa]

ARKANSAS

2024 Oct 15 (Tue) – We stayed in the campground today.  Paul worked on the truck.  I spent time on the caravan details.  Made a deposit for one of the campgrounds.  We are committed now!

2024 Oct 14 (Mon – Columbus Day and My Birthday) – We drove over the border into Mississippi today.  First stop was at the 1927 Flood Museum.  It was closed.  Then we went to the Blues Museum.  That was closed, too.  Next stop was at the Jim Henson Delta Boyhood Home Exhibit.  It was a tiny place with some storyboards about Jim Henson and his creation of Kermit the Frog and all the other Sesame Street characters.  There were tons of toys on display.  We took a picture with a giant Kermit.

      It was lunch time and we stopped at No Way Jose for margaritas and food.  Then we stopped at Kroger to get groceries and a liquor store next door for libations.  After a quick fill-up at the gas station, we returned to Arkansas.  It was a fun day.

2024 Oct 13 (Sun) – We took a walk around the campground today, looking in all the buildings in the area.  They have a lot of outbuildings for a campground.  Later, in the afternoon, we drove into the town of Lake Village.  We drove along the top of the levee and could see the Mississippi River on one side and Lake Chicot on the other side.  The town has a very poor section.  We think the businesses moved up to the main highway and the local town area died off.  There are many very nice homes along the lake front.  The water in the lake is very low and there were many boat hoists that are no longer in the water. There is a gas pump for boats in the campground that is about 10’ from the water’s edge.  There’s no filling up with gas there! And, naturally, there is a burn ban in the area.  No campfire for us.

2024 Oct 12 (Sat) – We pulled up stakes and left Conway at 9:25 a.m.  It was a pleasant 3-hour drive to Lake Village.  We are camped at Lake Chicot State Park campground.  It is a very nice campground – lots of trees with plenty of space between sites.  We are next to the lake.  After check-in, we took a walk around the area.  There is a bait store, a pool (closed for the season), a pavilion to rent (there was a party going on), a community room, and boats to rent with lots of fishing access to the lake.  This used to be part of the Mississippi River but when it rerouted itself, the lake was created.  We will be here for 4 days.

2024 Oct 11 (Fri) – Didn’t see any northern lights last night.  Lots of postings on facebook from people who did see them.  Even Miranda sent me a text message with a picture of the aurora she took along the parkway on Fire Island.  I will look for them again tonight.

       We drove into town to run some errands.  We had lunch at the Brick & Forge.  Dropped off an envelope at the post office.  Stopped at an ATM to put some money in Paul’s pocket.  Went to the Woolly Hollow State Park to pick up our mail and then to CVS to pick up a prescription.  There were signs for Toad Suck Park.  Curious to know how it got that name, we stopped at the visitors center.  The gal didn’t really know how the name came about.  So, we looked on the map and drove to Toad Suck Park to see if they had a board describing how it got that name.  There was a dam and lock but no descriptions anywhere.

2024 Oct 10 (Thu) – We doodled around most of the day. Went to Jo’s campsite at 9 AM and helped undecorate everything and take down the tent and tables.  We visited a bit then went back for lunch.  Checking the UPS app, it turned out our mail was scheduled for delivery between 3:45 and 7:45.  So, we packed up and left at 1:30 PM.

      Down the road 30 miles, we arrived at Fort Javelin RV Park.  It looks like the edge of a farm where they added a row of campsites.  We have full hookup, backed up against the trees and facing the fields with hay bales waiting pickup.

      After set up, we drove into downtown Conway and had dinner at O’Malley’s Irish Grill.  It was a tiny place but the food was good.  We couldn’t find any liquor stores around.  Paul thinks we are in a dry county.

      The news this morning said Arkansas has a good chance of seeing the northern lights tonight.  There has been tremendous solar activity with lots of auroras.  We will have to look for them.

2024 Oct 9 (Wed) – It is cold at night and hot in the day.  We went into town to get fuel and a few groceries.  Everyone gathered at Jo’s site around 2 PM.  Lisa & Bobby & Jo tried to teach me Hand & Foot (a card game).  It was interesting but complicated.  At 6 PM, we had food that Jo had prepared.  She has cooked every dinner meal during this muster.  She has also had coffee and banana bread for breakfast.  We all sat around the campfire, made smores, and enjoyed one another’s company.

      We thought we had reservations through to October 12 but discovered we are only paid through tonight.  We have to leave tomorrow.  We went to the office to see if we could extend but the clerk said no.  So I got on the phone and found another place 30 miles down the road.  Our dilemma is that our mail is being forwarded here but won’t arrive until tomorrow.  Since check-out isn’t until 3 PM, maybe it will arrive before we have to leave.

2024 Oct 8 (Tue) – Temps fell overnight and the heat came on.  I had, fortunately, brought out the quilt for the bed the day before yesterday.  We had to snuggle down for the night. 

      We hung out for most of the day.  At 2 PM, Jo had us all carving pumpkins.  At 4 PM, they had their chapter meeting.  The president invited me to speak about recruiting and retention.  At 5:30 PM, we dug into some delicious food.  We had a campfire tonight, which was very nice.  At 7:30 PM, we left because the sun had set and it was getting cold.

2024 Oct 7 (Mon) – We pulled up stakes and headed out for Greenbrier, about one hour north of Little Rock.  Since we only had 48 miles to go, we waited until after 11 AM to leave.  The GPS tried to send us by this crazy, circuitous route so I pulled up my phone map.  It was a somewhat scary route.  We drove on narrow roads with no lines hemmed in by trees.  We both swore we could hear banjos playing!

      We arrived at Woolly Hollow State Park campground around 12:45 PM.  It is a lovely park.  Trees adorn the area with campsites situated in and around the trees.  Our site is right next to a lake.  There are six other RVs here with folks from the Arkansas Hogs chapter.  We are here to attend their muster.  The muster master, Jo Huddleston, is an 83 year old widow who had big plans for decorations and food but no energy to follow through on any of it.  We would up putting up the tent and decorating the area.  We were supposed to eat at 5 PM (she was serving hors d’oeuvres for dinner) but didn’t dig in till after dark.

2024 Oct 6 (Sun) – We packed up and tried to leave Fulton, MS, at 9:30 AM.  The right blinker and brake light were not working.  The left blinker was spastic but the brake light worked.  The running lights came on OK.  In the meantime, I tried to put in the address for the next campground we were going to and the Garmin couldn’t find the place.  I tried my phone but had trouble getting a signal.  We were frustrated and couldn’t get up a route to drive.  Paul pulled out the truck manual and was trying to figure out the fault message.  A ranger pulled up and asked if we needed help.  I explained our situation.  She stated that we wanted to go right past West Memphis as there are gangs there.  So, we did.

      After we got on the highway headed in the direction we wanted to go (NW), I tried to find an alternate campground.  It took a while for the apps to open up and to get the internet.  There was a big solar flare a day or two ago so that could have been affecting things.  There was also the hurricane a week ago.  That could be some of the problem, too.

      At any rate, we stopped at a travel center, had lunch, and finally got the app to work.  Paul found a campground about 130 miles down the road (it was 100 to where we had planned to stay).  I called and got us a spot.  We pulled into the Barnes RV Park in Bald Knob after 4 PM.  Later, after supper, we did the laundry. It was a long day.

[ireceived-p8250000]

May 10-16, 2014

It was Ran's birthday, so I couldn't help Roxanne with moving. She said tomorrow would be fine. I withdrew money for a deposit and two months' rent in advance.

Also, my parents were leaving this week.

I practiced driving for long stretches, sticking to what I had practiced, and went around town. I just prayed nothing would go wrong. I'm still quite slow.

Monday:

We went to Roxanne's new place with Roxanne's two friends, my boyfriend, Hollmae, Dom, and me. Dom came along when he heard there were other girls. We stopped at a shop first to buy a mattress because the place wasn't fully furnished. My car was packed, and we unloaded it. We moved in and cleaned up. Someone knocked and asked if everything was okay, just to check the shower.

To my surprise, it was Sir Apollo. I froze for a moment and we locked gazes. I greeted him first so no one would notice my unease. My heart was racing. I introduced Roxanne as my niece who was moving in, and we were helping her settle. I was dressed in shorts and a tank top, and I felt his eyes on me.

It wasn't allowed to have many people there, but he said it was okay for now. We went to Good Taste and ate while Dominic flirted with others.

Wow, what luck. I won't be going back there anymore.

I had warned Roxanne earlier if she wanted to move out. I told her some truths about the owner, Sir Apollo, but not everything. I told her to be careful.

But she claimed he was kind. Yeah, that's the point, sister!

Tuesday:

My parents left for Isabela with Ran. I'm alone, so I invited Mansoor to hang out.

Nothing spicy—just talking, watching House MD, eating, browsing magazines, and casual kissing. We went for a walk, but I'm pretty sure the neighbors will gossip.

I already asked my parents if he can come over, and Mom said it's okay as long as we know our limits.

He accompanied me to the gym.

Wednesday:

I went driving just to practice. But there was something wrong with the carburetor, so I called Kuya Marvin to check it out. He told me to go home, and he arrived and checked it. There was nothing wrong; it just needed cleaning, so he taught me how to do it.

I got home quite early and read a book Dominic lent me about types of men or something.

Thursday:

I went jogging with Djang, Dom, and Walt. We ate at Chow King.

In the afternoon, Roxanne called me to her apartment. I said no unless she was dying or something. She said she needed help finding a job and that she would stop schooling this year. So I drove by, and thankfully, he wasn't there. I helped her out.

I went to visit Mans in his home. It was already nighttime, and we made out in the car. But I was afraid to go home because it was dark.

So I stayed at his house. I didn't have things with me, but I had extra underwear in my glove compartment because it's summer.

His parents were there and allowed me to sleep there. Mansoor would be sleeping with his brother.

We didn't mention sleeping together in a bed. We both lied, saying I had a sister living there and she separated us.

His parents asked if he was doing something I didn't like, but I assured them their son was very respectful.

Friday:

In the morning, I helped his mom make breakfast, which I insisted on because I like cooking. We talked, and she was really nice.

Mans left with me, but we had a small joy ride before going home. In the hot afternoon, we were just watching on the laptop. We kissed lovingly, but that's all.

Before it got dark, I offered to drop him off at the station only. I went grocery shopping and went back home. I was doing some work and thinking about enrolling in a Spanish class again, probably after enrollment.

Saturday:

I went to the gym early for weights and then a light jog. Mansoor was going on a trip with his cousins.

At home, I finished some work and watched TV5. I cooked. It feels lonely without Roxanne; she was busy finding a job.

[luvnotrage]

Lost My Way p1 will finish later

On my 20th birthday I dropped my first official mixtape WAYS(Who are you? executively produced by suprxmetony). I received some of the love I thought I deserved for a while. The support felt amazing. But on that day an energy shifted. Maybe It was the fact I failed my driver license test that day or I didn’t get to go out and spend my time with friends or when I got home there was no one there. I didn’t think too heavily on it tho at the moment I just popped some downers and recorded a few songs (just turned 20 and fr.). Fast forward a few months to march 2023 since my bday and me and my closest friends who are my roommates are drifting apart due to my failure steadily keep a job and pay rent on time while also abusing pills. I was letting people i seen as family down but I thought I’d be able to just bounce back so I didn’t think too much about my next plan. My nephews 1st birthday was also this month and among plenty of faces I hadn’t seen in a while my girl best friend of the time Camryn came to support and I suppose with me not seeing her in a long time and being reintroduced to her amazing presence I seen her in a way I never had before. I made a song expressing my newfound feelings for her shortly after that(when the times right). As April came along it became abundantly clear that my time at the apartment with my estranged friends was coming to an end. I had been spiraling mentally at this point from a mix of depression money problems feeling exiled the drugs and struggling romantically. I needed a break so when an opportunity arose I took it immediately to take a trip to New York for a week. I got to perform, make a few bucks, smoke some good weed and see my family that I rarely see. It was a great feeling that I needed so much that i decided to myself I will be moving back home to NY soon as possible. Back to South Carolina. I didn’t really go back to my apartment like that knowing what I knew so I spent time with grandmother and mom. As May came along I became drinking heavier than I ever had in my life. I had signed over the apartment and was no longer speaking to my best friend Lijah at this point but Kurrp still stuck around for the most part but our friendship will never be the same as it once was. Still Drinking. June came along and me and cam had been talking pretty much every day strengthening those feelings I had. I had received a check in the mail for my light bill safety deposit and upon opening my family all told me to just keep it for myself. I had nothing so I agreed with them and decided to keep the news I received it to myself. My great grandmother had given me her truck Betsy this month too. A 2000 black ford explorer. I grew up in this car and I was excited to have it. I immediately started DoorDashing picking up my friends and going out more. After 7 days I got up to do what I been doing I was gonna DoorDash until 2:30 pm and go to the studio but at about noon while driving on the highway in the rain my truck had swerved deep into the mud. I had a very good week with that car but I was now out of commission. Another Loss whatever… still drinking. Lonelier than ever as the summer goes on I begin hanging out with anyone basically desperate for human interaction.

[raspberryconverse]

I think my sister might be mad at me.

Yesterday was her birthday and I texted her to wish her a happy birthday and didn't get a response. Yeah, she might have been busy, but there also might be more to it than that.

Last year she got a new car (mainly because her boyfriend's ancient dog either barfed or shit in her car and they couldn't get the smell out, though she was already planning on replacing it the next year) and posted all about it on Facebook. Which is fine. I posted about my new car when I got it too.

But then a week or two later, I talked to our dad and he asked me if she told me he cosigned on a car for her.

Obvs, she didn't mention that on Facebook (because it's definitely not anyone's business), but yeah, I had no idea. And I knew this was going to be a bad idea.

So when I was in high school and lived with our dad, our mom's car died and she needed to get a new one. She called my dad from the dealership and asked him to cosign for her. Her ex husband. What I didn't realize what that her credit was so bad, she couldn't even get a loan with a cosigner. My dad had to take the loan out in his name. He never told me this was the case (and my mom never admit it) until years later.

My mom, being my mom, only made a few payments on the car before she stopped. And since the loan was in my dad's name, he had to pay it or it'd fuck up his credit.

I had really hoped my sister wouldn't do that to my dad, but we found out at Christmas that she did. My dad had gotten us a $300 gift card to Menard's and Spouse and I said, "Dad, that's too much!" to which he responded, "Well, I've been helping [sister] with her car payments, so..."

Spouse and I were really pissed. Spouse never met my mom, but has heard the fucked up stories from my childhood (they had similar experiences with their mom, but not on the level that I did), so they were equally concerned. Plus they're friends with my sister on Facebook, so they see all the "Look what I got" and annual Disney trip posts from her (yes, they go to Disney almost every year and usually do another vacation with just the 2 of them as well).

My sister's excuses were that her dog needed a dental and had half his teeth removed and that the ancient dog died.

Now, the dental thing I kinda understand because Lola needs one and I had been putting it off because of the cost (I think they quoted me $2500), but Spouse and I decided to take out a Care Credit card to pay for it. We wondered why my sister didn't do the same, though she might not have had good enough credit to do it.

The ancient dog thing was a bunch of bullshit. See, her boyfriend (who she's been with close to 10 years at this point) and his ex wife share custody of their son and the ancient dog. Ex wife is remarried to some sort of finance guy who works at a national bank and has since had 3 more kids with him. They're not hurting for money. But the dog was not actually my sister's and therefore not her responsibility. The cost of his end of life expenses was not on her at all. Half of it was on her boyfriend. Sure, they share living expenses (and he's a teacher, so I get that he doesn't have a huge salary), but I don't think she really had to personally contribute to the dog's expenses. She did buy a bunch of memorial shit for the dog, though (pillows, blankets, ornaments, etc).

Spouse and I really wanted to rip her a new one about this, but I talked to my therapist about it and she said to talk to my dad first. And I do think he agreed that he needs to be more firm with her, even though he's a pushover. I expressed my concern. I gave him some suggestions to get her to get her shit together so she can make her payments (offer budgeting help, suggest she do what I do and have money for the car payment deposited in a separate account she doesn't look at and put it on auto pay so she doesn't have the think about it). He seemed receptive to the idea. I just hope he follows through. I'll have to check in on him and see how the conversation went (or if it even happened).

I will be the first to admit I'm not the greatest with money (which is why I don't have $2500 in savings to pay for Lola's dental, partially because I spent $800 on her ass over a year ago and that depleted it quite a bit, plus am still paying off the 20% of my surgery that my insurance didn't cover). But I'm trying. I don't think my sister is trying, though. She's being like our mom, buying things to keep up appearances and not thinking about important things like her car payment. She got the attitude from our mom that if she can't take care of it, she can find someone who will. And that's not ok. Especially because my dad doesn't make a ton of money either. He really can't afford to be paying my sister's car payment each month. There's a reason why he bought an older van with high mileage. He didn't want to be spending a lot on a car payment. And now my sister is trying to get him to do that for her and it's just not ok.

At least my dad agreed that he has to do something. I just hope he has the balls to do it, because he's normally not that kind of guy.

[smart-ass-comments]

I Thought It Was Me, but There’s No Way It’s Me

I genuinely worry that im too easily irritated at times. Like, in the grand scheme of things, the actions and behaviors of the people I come across don’t really matter. But in the moment, I want to strangle them.

I don’t want to think I’m the problem. It can’t just be me.

Three guests tonight come to mind. Actually, 2 of them weren’t even guests. They wanted to be though.

Number One

A guy called about a reservation he made for New Year’s Eve. He wanted to know what time he could check in. I looked for his reservation and learned that it was cancelled 8 days ago because no deposit was made and they didn’t return the phone call my Front Office Manager made to them. They were naturally flummoxed.

I told them they could make a new reservation online. Unfortunately this was before I remembered that we were sold out for New Year’s Eve (that part was actually on me, I can admit that).

I did not expect them to physically come to the hotel demanding to know when we started requiring deposits (always) and if a manager was available (it’s me, as far as they knew). When they couldn’t get any further with me, they retreated.

Number Two

An actual guest came to check in to his actual reservation. I greeted him with a hello. He greeted me back with just his last name. I bristled. Then I figured he was one of those people who operate better with just one-word exchanges. So I played along.

“I.D.?”

He gave his ID. Okay. So far so good.

“Parking?”

This confused him. I repeated myself.

“…you need to know what kinda car I got?”

Holy shit, a full sentence! So I clarified that I needed to know if he was parking with us so that I could issue him a parking pass. He confirmed.

At the end of his check-in, he asked for food recommendations. Had I had the presence of mind to do so, I would have answered with “Restaurant.”

Number Three

These people were just plain weird.

They came up to the side of the hotel that I have locked for safety reasons. It’s accessible with a key card if you were issued one. If you were not, there are clear instructions to ring the door bell or use the courtesy phone to call the front desk to gain access.

These three people decided they had a better way. One (grandma, I guess) decided to bang on the door. Hard. Loud. Another (mom, I guess) decided to call the hotel from her cell phone. The last one (child) decided to streak his chubby little hand down the glass.

I ignore the ringing phone because I can safely assume it’s the mom that I can see through our see-through glass door. As I’m walking to the door to clearly let them in, grandma is waving frantically at me, as if I’m about to let her get eaten by a bear. This makes me walk slower.

The door opens. The mom is still waiting for me to answer my ringing phone. She pants to me,

“HOW ARE WE SUPPOSED TO GET IN?! WE DON’T HAVE A KEY! WE JUST WANT TO MAKE A RESERVATION!”

I wordlessly gesture for them to come inside. I lead them to the front desk, making sure to get my eye-rolling out of the way before I have to face them again.

The mom pants to me again,

“Please tell me you have rooms available! We’ve been driving for 5 hours and this is the first place we stopped!”

The kid rings the bell I have on the desk. I silently remove it while Mom and Grandma begin talking at the same time.

What are your rates?

What kind of amenities are we looking at here?

Do you have adjoining rooms?

I wanna do something special for her birthday.

I manage to answer a single question with a straight face.

“We don’t have adjoining rooms.”

And before I could get to any of their other burning questions, Grandma grabbed Mom and Baby and walked right back out the door.

People. Are. Weird. As. Fuck.

[cartoonsbyandie]

I almost got scammed! How to avoid my mistakes.

I’ve been pretty quiet on my social medias for a bit for a lot of reasons, and one of them being that I very nearly fell for a scam that would’ve cost me $2000. Several calls to my bank later, it’s finally all been sorted out, which means I can finally talk about the whole thing. Even though I didn’t end up losing much of anything (certainly nowhere near $2000), I don’t want any other commissions artist to go through this for the crime of giving someone the benefit of the doubt that doesn’t deserve it.

I do commissions online. I got a message on Instagram from someone wanting me to do a picture for their daughter’s birthday this month, offering to pay me way above my commission rates ($200) for what I assumed was a rush job. They provided pictures and lots of details about what their daughter liked and what would be good to include in the picture, and I even drew up a sketch for them. The way my commissions work, I take the full payment once the sketch had been approved, and so far, everything was looking normal.

That is, until, they revealed they were going to pay by check. And really I’m just going to give you the biggest TL;DR piece of advice: Just don’t take checks. It’s not worth it. The reason is that they’re prone to scams because when you deposit a check, the funds will show up in your account. That doesn’t mean the check has cleared, and won’t bounce. This is incredibly annoying to research because so many google results will tell you that a check ‘clears’ within 1 to 2 days, but that’s because the law requires the funds to be made available that quickly. If they find out the check is forged or bad-- WHICH CAN TAKE A MONTH OR LONGER-- you not only get hit with a returned item fee, but the money vanishes from your account.

So say, if the person you’re assuming is trustworthy has told you they “accidentally” wrote a check for $2000 instead of $200, and gave some excuse why they couldn’t simply write a new check, and came up with the brilliant suggestion of just having you deposit it and then Zelle them the remaining $1800-- If you do all that, suddenly you’re out $2000.

I came dangerously close to falling for it. When the person wanted to email me a scan of the check (so I could use mobile deposit, which I did because I figured it’s a rush job and they didn’t want to wait to mail the physical check, look I’m not smart okay--) AND THEN suddenly demanded I use Zelle to instantly give them the money, that’s when I got suspicious. I literally googled “Scams that use Zelle” and found my exact situation. But I figured it’d be fine if I waited until the check fully cleared and kept my bank in the loop, which is why I risked depositing it. I figured I was at no risk until I actually sent them the money, and I still wanted to believe this was a legitimate customer, and I really liked the idea of making $200. Which definitely blinded me to better things I could’ve done. Like, you know, not depositing the check and demanding a different method of payment.

It’s been about a forty days since I deposited the check. Three calls to my bank’s fraud department + one physical visit (two of which told me they might find me culpable for depositing the check and burn my account, which was scary) is what it took to get this mess sorted out. ONE OF THOSE CALLS TOLD ME THE CHECK HAD 100% CLEARED AND HAD A 0% CHANCE OF BOUNCING. I almost Zelled this person the money that night.

Seriously. If you get a bad feeling, trust that. That’s the only thing that saved me here. So did getting lots of advice from family and friends about how this stuff works.

TL;DR Here’s a quick and dirty list of red flags I learned just from this single experience:

Insisting on paying with a check is a red flag by itself if I’m honest, but especially if they just mail you an image of it and expect you to mobile deposit it. Seriously just don’t do this I don’t know what I was thinking

Especially especially if they insist on paying with a check and then want you to give them money with some instant form of payment, like Zelle.

If all their accounts have different names. (This one was Jessie something, their email was Shawn, they wanted me to Zelle to another account with a different name.)

If their account is a generic name + number thing. (Like jessie.10 or something.) I know a few legitimate people with accounts like that but it’s just one of many boxes to tick.

If they seem way too trusting to give a stranger on the internet a crazy amount of money with the expectation that you’ll pay them back. I’d never met this person and they were saying they trusted me with the $2000, I just had to give them my word that I’d give it back.

If they’re offering you well above your commissions prices. They want to blind you with the idea of a big payday when they’re paying with imaginary money.

If they put a ton of pressure on you to respond quickly. This person kept spamming me with Instagram audio calls early in the morning or while I was at work.

If they say stuff like this, which honestly was the biggest gift they could’ve given me because it just removed all doubt:

[barry-j-blupjeans]

25 barry and the twins?

25. 🎂am I the first person to wish you a happy birthday today? it's so late :( I'm dropping everything rn let's celebrate you

((emoji prompt list here - send some in!!))

--

Barry parked his car, though he wasn't sure whether he was inside the lines or not. The sun had just set over the horizon, the streetlights switching on as Barry got out of his car, rounding to the other door to pull stuff out of the passenger seat. There were two gift bags, which he hurriedly stuffed with the tissue paper he had bought alongside them. He slipped those onto his arm and then heaved the cake out of the car, snapping the door shut behind him.

He nearly forgot to lock it. Nearly. But after that, he hurried his way into the apartment building, down the long hallways towards the elevator. Then, he stopped dead for just a second upon discovering it was out of order and headed to the nearest staircase.

Up one, two, three flights of stairs. His legs were burning. His back was aching. He had almost dropped the cake two times and he wasn't looking to do it a third. He scoured the floor, looking for the right apartment. Finally, finally, he knocked on the door. While he waited, he got a party hat out of his back pocket (it was rather smushed) and hastily placed it on his head.

The door opened.

"You're not Taako and Lup," Barry said.

"No," said the little old woman at the door. "Though I did know you were coming. Please-" she shoved a basket of something at Barry and he shifted the things in his arms around to take it. It smelled amazing. "Deliver this to your friends for me, yes? Tell them it is a gift from Paloma."

"Uhm, sure," Barry said. "Which-"

"Taako is allergic to peanuts, yes?" Paloma asked, disappearing behind the door. Barry had no choice but to wait for her to come back, seeing as he had been sure this was Taako and Lup's apartment. Palama returned, this time with a brown box. "The cake you bought..." she tsked, shaking her head. "They do not properly take care for allergies. You will take this."

She pressed it into Barry's arms. Barry, now incredibly overwhelmed with objects and very confused, tried to say something. Once again, she beat him to the punch.

"Next door down, if you will," Paloma said. "Number sixteen. Good night."

And she shut the door in Barry's face.

He cleared his throat, taking the few steps to door sixteen. With much more difficulty than before, he knocked. It took a while longer than it had with Paloma. Barry tried not to think about the fact that Paloma had just seemed to be waiting for him. When at last the door opened- this time with Lup standing there, wearing footie pajamas- he grinned.

"Happy birthday!" he said.

She slammed the door in his face.

Barry blinked. He waited for a second, not really sure how to follow up after that, but decided to knock again. Halfway through the knock, the door opened again, this time with Taako, who was also wearing footie pajamas.

"Barold!" Taako said. "How nice to see you here at, uh," he glanced behind him. "Seven PM."

"Should I... not have come over?" Barry asked. "You told me I could come over."

"No, no, you're fine," Taako said, opening the door a little wider to let him in. "Is that from Paloma?"

"Uh, yes," Barry said. Taako snatched the basket from him, leading him further inside. Barry deposited his stuff on the nearest surface. "I tried to find you both something nice, but it was sorta hard? Not- not that you're hard to shop for! It was just very late notice, I didn't even know-"

"Shhh," Taako said, through a mouth full of scone. "I'm having an Experience with this food, Barry, give me a minute."

"Sure," Barry said. He took a seat at the table as Taako chewed, closing his eyes and leaning against the nearest counter. Barry sorted out his stuff, checking the cake had bought. In a very messy scrawl, the words "Happy Bornday Taco and Loop" were written. Barry shut the lid of that box, sliding it to the slide. The one Paloma had made was much nicer.

"Sorry about that!" Lup said, sliding into the kitchen with them. Taako put a finger up silence her, eyes still closed, but she didn't adhere to that. "If I had known you were on you're way over I woulda put more effort into this."

She gestured at her outfit. She had disregarded the pajamas for a very stylish dress and hoop earrings.

"You look- perfect," Barry said, a little breathless. Lup flushed. Taako finally opened his eyes again to glance over Lup.

"What happened to not coming off too strong?" Taako asked.

"What-" Barry started, confused, but Lup cut him off.

"Shut up," Lup hissed in Taako's direction. "Barry, babe, thank you so much for coming. You really didn't have to get all this! Just being here is enough, y'know?"

Taako had a cough that sounded a lot like the word subtle. They both ignored him.

"I- I just thought it'd be nice," Barry said, not mentioning the fact that he had left work as soon as possible for this. "You deserve nice things." He paused. "Both of you! Both of you do, I mean. Not- not just Lup. Not that Lup doesn't deserve nice things when she's not grouped with you, Taako, but-"

"Let's see what you got me," Taako interrupted, going for the bag marked with his name. "This had better be good if I gotta spend all night like this."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Lup said, reaching for her own bag.

"I, uh, I also don't know what that's supposed to mean?" Barry said.

Taako groaned.

[secondhand-trash]

There’s (supposed to be) only one bed

A/N: lmao I wasn’t gonna write anything for bakugou’s bday but I was chatting with @redbeanteax​ about this prompt list idea I have and it just seems to fitting for him for me to pass on. I’m sorry for doing this to him on his bday I guess LOL

If you want more Bakugou, there’s a B(akugou).B(irthday).B(ash) goig on rn! You can find the other creator’s work here^^

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x reader

Warning: shamelessly suggestive but I won’t say it’s nsfw lmao

Word count: 1056

“I am fucking gonna write a letter to their management,” Bakugou slammed the sturdy door shut and let out a displeased ‘tsk’ when it did not come out as loud and aggressive as he had hoped it would be, “no, I’m calling the head of the hotel company-”

“Baby, your PR team will cry,” you sighed as you sat on the smooth sheets of your hotel bed.

Note, yours, as in, you on your own.

“Fucking-” he sucked in a deep breath, running his palm down his strong jaw to stop himself from letting the string of curses that sat on his tongue run free.

You almost wanted to chuckle at his state. You did not think you had heard him cuss so much ever since he grew out of his hedgehog phase in high school but since you knew him well enough to know there would be no turning back if the giggle slipped through, you bite the inside of your cheeks and held it in.

“It’s fine,” you leaned over the mattress to tuck at his sleeve, “two beds aren’t that different to one.”

“Huh?” he barely let you finished before snapping his gaze towards you.

Bakugou Katsuki had a lot of plans on how his birthday was supposed to go.

He was not really one for birthdays in all honesty. Replying to messages and fan comments were a hustle he did not want to deal with and his head ached just from seeing the “99+” when his publicist sat him down every year because he needed to cash in on that parasocial relationship. Then work would have to continue like always, villains weren’t going to stay in for the day because it was your birthday. Actually, now that he thought of it, he was almost sure that there were people going out of their way to aggravate him more just because it was his birthday. Then he would have to work facing the mountain of presents and letters for the next several weeks until they finally found places in the storage unit to put them to the side. God knows how angry people would get if even just one letter addressed to Great Explosion Murder God Dynamite.

People only seemed to want to call him by his full hero name when it’s a special occasion which was another thing he held pettiness over, but that was a whole different story.

The thing was, he actually managed to get a day off hero work this year, finally, after years of packing schedules together only to have something tricky thrown to his hands when he was so near scoring that sweet sweet vacation. The first thing he did when he got the confirmation was to call that luxury hotel he knew you had wanted to book secretly for your anniversary in the coming month. He thought it was insanely cute how you wanted to surprise him but hell, why wait when it could happen now. 

He reserved the nicest room they had to offer, the one that was a suite and had a built-in massage tub in the bathroom. He had seen pictures of it before, the whole thing was right in front of a wall-length window and facing towards the sea. He paid the deposit immediately when he thought of all the things you could do separately or together in that tub, in front of the window, looking out towards the sea.

You screamed at him when he sent you the screencap of his bill without saying a word. “I’m supposed to be the one surprising you, not the other way around!” 

Your irritated voice from the other end of the phone made him smirk. “Now, I think I gave you plenty of hints on what to do for me already,” he laughed as you fell into silent, cutting the call right when you got the hint and started going off on him again.

He did not specifically bring it up again, but he was looking forward to the day. Bakugou knew that you made dinner reservations without telling him when he saw the confirmation text from the hotel in your notifications but remained quiet about it, humming a soft tune as he turned away like he saw nothing. He ordered for champagne to be sent to your room at night, the kind that both of you liked a little too much. You were clicking into your emails after you woke up one morning to see that you had been subscribed to an email list for a lingerie company you did not recognise.

‘Demanding,” you rolled your eyes with a smile before clicking into the link, going straight to the ‘all items’ page and started scrolling.

There was no way you did not get the hint, and he was thrilled about it.

Now imagine how he felt when he was told that the hotel had an error in his system and gave him the wrong room, one with two twin beds instead of a double bed.

He was so close to losing it at the poor staff who checked you in and had to tell him that they ran out of other rooms with a large bed.

As he stood between the painful space between the two beds, you were sure you could see steam rising from his head.

“Twin beds aren’t that bad,” you said, not with much certainty.

He huffed, “Is that so.”

“You can still fuck me into a twin-sized bed,” you suggested.

You could see the jump at his pulse point right below his jaw, and bite back the smile that was crawling up onto your face.

You got up and pouted dramatically before taking his hand again, swinging it back and forth as you step closer to him. “Besides,” you said, leaning into his face, “we still have the wall-length window.”

He gulped. You could hear him gulp. The scowl on his face slowly eased away, until the imagery you successfully coaxed into his head brought a sly grin onto his lips.

“I also got a new set,” you tilted your head when you felt his hand creeping onto your waist, “wouldn’t you want to see?”

The bed size suddenly didn’t bother him anymore when it was at just the convenient location for him to push you down on.

[zmediaoutlet]

in support of Texas relief, @padaleckimeon donated $100 and requested Dean Jr. meeting Sam and Dean in heaven. Thank you for donating!

to get your own personalized fic, please see this post. (no longer taking prompts) 

(read on AO3)

When Dad dies, Dean takes a week off. It wasn’t sudden, or a surprise. Dad had been sick for a while, his body starting to fail him. At first Dean had been scared, and then he’d been angry. He was only twenty-four when Dad got the diagnosis and it wasn’t—fair, in some stupid but essential way. He’d barely graduated from college and, yeah, Dad was kind of old, older than a lot of his friends’ parents, but—he thought, somehow, that him dying just wasn't… applicable. Dad was just—there, always. Solid, supportive, kind of boring maybe but also stronger than anyone Dean had ever known, or would ever know, and it wasn’t right that he could just be sitting in his apartment midway through a novel and get a call and kind of sigh, because he was in a good part in the book, and then to sit up straight with his hair standing on end to hear Dad say, quiet, I'm sorry, buddy. We need to talk about something. That’s what he said, first. That he was sorry.

There were treatments, but not many. Dean had flown out and gone to a few of the appointments with the oncologist and Dad had been quiet, listening to the options. He’d researched a lot of this on his own, because Dean had done the same thing, and they’d both been nodding along during the options. Injections, radiation. Chemo. Dad had asked, polite, what the life expectancy was for each option, and Dean had watched the side of his face and not the doctor, and when the answer was given Dad had closed his eyes briefly, and then looked away from both Dean and the doctor, out the window at the snowy day, and Dean had known, then.

Dad made it past Dean’s twenty-fifth birthday. He had a party with his friends, at his girlfriend’s apartment, and they tried to keep his spirits up but it was a pretty shitty party, all told. The next day, his actual birthday, he flew back out to Dad’s house and he was in good spirits—had a mini-cake, even, with a single candle that he made Dean blow out—but he was thin, and his hair was growing back in snow-white and tender-soft, and when Dad fell asleep in front of the crappy old cowboy movie that Dean had picked just because he knew Dad for some reason liked it, Dean went out onto the porch into the nearly-springtime air and he cried, pissed at himself. Pissed at everything. Then just—unbearably sad, because he liked his current girlfriend but he didn’t think he was going to marry her, and that meant that whatever girl he did marry would be one his dad would never meet—if he had kids, they’d never know how his dad concentrated like a motherfucker on crossword puzzles and obsessed over documentaries and knew every single piece of the inside of that behemoth car in the garage and was just the smartest kindest most stubborn person. Just—the best person. They’d listen to Dean’s stories maybe but they wouldn’t know, because Dad would never meet them, and that was just—unbearable, that night. In the morning, Dad made oatmeal and Dean added a bunch of sugar because Dad’s oatmeal was inedible otherwise, and Dad smiled kind of rueful like he always did when Dean did that, and then Dad said, I’m sorry, again, kind of quiet, and Dean reached out and held his hand—thin, and the bones feeling frail—and he said don’t be sorry, Dad, and four months later, Dad was dead.

Dad was always pretty up-front with him about most everything, especially after he and Mom split up. When he was twelve, Dad explained the supernatural very carefully, telling him that he was safe but that other people might not be, and why. When he was thirteen, Dad told Dean that Hell and Heaven were both real and that there was, definitely, confirmed, a God, and maybe it wasn’t the same God that other people knew but that Dad said he was kind, in his own way. The person in charge of Hell, Dad said, was maybe less so, but she wouldn’t hurt Dean, ever. Dad said he knew that for fact, and he said it so certainly, looking Dean in the eye, that Dean believed him. When Dean turned eighteen, a few months from graduating high school, Dad took him to a tattoo parlor and said for maybe the first time in Dean’s life that something was non-negotiable, and Dean hadn’t cared because what other kid in the senior year was going to walk at graduation with a kickass demonic tattoo?

There were other things, though, that they didn’t talk about. Dad said one day a lot when Dean was little but then, when he was older and it was clear that one day would be never, he just said—I can’t, buddy. I wish I could.

After the week off, rattling around the old house, and the cremation with no service that Dad had insisted on, Dean drives out to the lawyer in Sioux Falls. She’s nice. Respectful but not cloying. The Samuel Winchester Estate that Dean is the sole beneficiary of is—a lot of money. A lot more money than he knew Dad had, or that he could have ever earned. Dad has assigned some of the money to go to charities, and to some people Dean doesn’t know—the lawyer doesn’t say who in the specific, but says they’re kids of some of Dad’s old friends. Dean didn’t know Dad had many friends, much less ones who’d get trust funds in inheritance. Aside from the stock options and the accounts and all the money left over, Dean inherits a list of assets. The house, of course. The Chevy in the garage, with the stipulation that he can never sell it. A safety deposit box, from which the lawyer has already retrieved the contents.

She leaves him alone, to go through the box. Neatly organized, like everything else in Dad’s life. File-folders of pictures, printed out all old-fashioned. Some of Dean when he was a baby. Some of when Dad and Mom were still together, leaning against each other, Dean hugged between them. Some—much older, creased and faded, stored in little plastic sleeves so they can't degrade. He recognizes a few from the framed copies Dad always had in the house. Some he hasn't seen. Most of them—almost all of them—are of his Uncle Dean, who died before he was born, and he looks especially at one that just—hits him in the gut, in this awful way where he has to sit there looking at the soothing taupe paint of the conference room wall before he can look at it again. Uncle Dean's facing the camera, sort of, although he's laughing about something and not really looking into the lens, and there's Dad, laughing too. He looks… young. Younger than Dean is now. He flips the picture over. Dad's handwriting, careful: 2006, Bobby's house. Almost fifty years ago. An entire life he didn't know. He thinks again of his imaginary future kids. These lives they have, grandfather to father to son, that overlap like a venn diagram but—not enough. Not close to enough.

*

What's a life? How to summarize, from beginning to faded end, in a way that would make sense to anyone but who it happened to?

Dad left letters, explaining, but he's gone and the context is missing. There are so many questions Dean wants to ask but he can't, of course, anymore. The first letter is attached to the key to the bunker, where he would never take Dean when he was alive, and on winter break from med school Dean flies from Boston to Kansas and rents a car and drives alone through the snowfields.

Dark, inside. He throws the big switch and the lights crackle, hum on, almost reluctant. He has no idea how it's getting power. Dust, but not as much as there could be. A library, a kitchen. Archives upon archives. Dad had explained, but what little he'd said both in life and in the letters didn't come close. It was home, he wrote, for over a decade. The only one we had with four walls, for our whole lives, although we didn't think of it that way. I didn't, at least. Dean doesn't know what that means but he looks into the bedrooms and sees… emptiness, plain bunks and old desks and funny lamps. I just picked a random room, Dad said, and as Dean's looking he really can't tell which was Dad's. Figures. Their house when Dean was growing up didn't change a bit, no matter how terrible that wallpaper was. It's only when Dean pushes open the door to room 11 that there's any personality, and he flicks the light and stands there blinking, surprised. Guns and knives on the wall. Books, piled up. Empty beer bottles crowded on the little table. Dust, but—not as much as there could be. He walks in, cautious, this feeling in his gut like he's in someone's home and they've just walked out, and could return any moment. A food bowl on the floor. A shirt flung over the chair. On the desk: more books and magazines and a folded actually-on-paper newspaper from 2024, and a job application, half filled out. Dean Winchester, it says at the top, in mostly-neat capitals, and Dean rests a hand on the back of the chair and feels… strange. He tries to picture it—the man from the pictures, Dad's brother, filling up this space. Drinking beer and reading pulp westerns and checking out—oh, weird, magazine porn. Dean shakes his head. Impossible.

In the letters, Dad said: Hunting was all we knew how to do. With everything we knew, it was our duty to use the knowledge the best way we could. I went back and forth on it. Your uncle never did, even if I know there were times he wished he—that we both—could be something else. I don't want that for you. I want you to live exactly the life you want for yourself. No expectations, okay? Not from me or anyone else.

There are printed files that go back a hundred years. More than. Paper files, but old SSDs too, with connectors Dean has to find adapters for. Dad: If you want to know what we did, it's digitized. I know I always said I'd tell you one day, but I never knew how to say it. I'm sorry for that. I always thought I'd be one hundred percent honest, if I ever got a kid, because of how we were raised. I didn't know how hard that could be. Stuff that you'd want to say, but when it came time to just open your mouth and say it there weren't any words.

Dad wrote up all the old hunts, it turned out. Simple notes about where/when/how, the kind of monster it was, the number of people who died and the people who were saved. The people they had to explain things to, who knew now about the supernatural underbelly to the universe. He noted, too, if there were injuries, and Dean reads with his hand over his mouth a long, long litany of Dean W. shot, right arm; Sam W. broken bone in hand; Dean W. concussion; Sam W. strangled. On and on. No wonder Dad didn't make a big fuss when Dean broke his leg in the fourth grade.

He sleeps in the bunker overnight, in one of the spare bedrooms that's not room 11. There's a fan on the ceiling, dusty office supplies on the desk. By lamplight he reads the letters, on his back on the stiff terrible mattress, his eyes stinging and past-midnight tired. Our lives weren't the kind of thing anyone would want, Dad wrote. I spent so long trying to get away from it because I thought 'it shouldn't be this way' – and I was right, you know? It shouldn't have been how it was. But it was that way, anyway, and in the end that was something I was okay with. We were making what difference we could. We were happy. A lot of people have it worse.

'We'. Dad hardly writes Uncle Dean's name but he's in every letter. We, we, we. Dad told Dean stories, of course, the dumb stuff they got up to when they were teenagers, or the (sanitized, Dean's sure) adventures they had as adults, but despite the pictures on the wall at home and the pictures in the deposit box and the whole life that's here, Dean can't—see it. Beer bottles on the table in the bedroom, one on either side of the tiny table. The shirt slung over the chair. We were happy, he says, but—how? Dean can't imagine it.

In the last letter Dad wrote, I think I'm writing this when I've got a month or two left. Dr. Hendricks isn't sure. I wish I had more time, to explain how it was. Who we were. I never told you the most embarrassing thing in the world, but I'm old and I'm not going to be around and not much will be able to embarrass me anymore, so screw it. (Fifty years ago I would have gotten really mad at myself for that kind of comment; more things age can fix.) There are books about us. There's a hard drive, in the bunker. It's labelled BURN THIS. (That's your uncle's handwriting.) They're true, more or less. Written by a really crappy, amateur writer, but he was a kind of prophet, and he knew everything there was to know about us, and he wrote books for about five years, based on our life and the real things we did. Some of it is exaggerated and melodramatic. A lot of it is just how it happened. You'll have to decide which is which. I don't come off too well in some of them but I hope you'll understand that the world… I don't know how to describe it. Somehow the world felt different, then. It was just us, trying our best. I hope it gives you some idea of the life we had. No matter what happened, I'm glad that life led me to you.

*

What's a life?

Dean marries. Not the girl from college but a woman, later. Red hair, blue eyes. Absolutely no sense of humor beyond puns. Hates cooking and has strong opinions on movies from the 1980s. They have three kids, a girl and then a boy and then a girl again. All dark-haired, smart. Dean gives the boy the middle name Samuel and his wife holds his hand, says it sounds great.

He's a doctor. He meets hunters. He sets bones for free and prescribes medication when needed and when it will be needed. A woman, last name Novak, calls him and says you know, your dad was one of the greats?, and he meets people—older than him by twenty, thirty years, with scars and dangerous lives and guns hidden in every corner, and he hears stories. Sam Winchester, who saved the world. Dean knows—he's read the books—but there are more years that the books didn't cover, more people who didn't die because of his dad's intervention. "They were the best," one man says, shrugging, and gets no argument, nods and shrugs from every hunter in the room, and Dean goes home that night and kisses his littlest girl where she's already tucked up in bed, and he thinks: what will she know, about who her grandfather was? Who their family is? What could she possibly know?

Dean's wife dies in her eighties. An accident. A broken hip, an infection following. Still happens, even in this new century. The kids are grown, have kids of their own, and the funeral is big, and there are people at his elbow who say to him we're so sorry and who share anecdotes of her life and who support him to his chair, even though at ninety he's perfectly capable of getting to his chair himself. He's a cranky old man, he realizes. She would've laughed at him. He thinks, inevitably, of his own father's death. Silent and unmourned, except by one. What's a life.

He writes letters, for his children. The estate is handled. He calls the oldest girl and explains to her that she's going to be the executor, and that there are things she has to keep. A key. A car. Pictures, so that her boys will know where they came from. "Of course, Dad," she says, placating a little because he's old and clearly starting to lose his grip, but she'll do it. She's a good kid. Dean learned how to raise a kid from the best.

When he dies, he's expecting it. The trip to the hospital. The monitors. He knows the pain meds even if he's retired and his doctor looks like an infant but she gives him the good stuff. It's—easy. A slipping away. He closes his eyes to sleep and there is a moment where he thinks with surprisingly clarity, this is okay, isn't it, and has the feeling of someone's hand laid on his, and then he sleeps, and doesn't wake up again.

*

He opens his eyes in an armchair, in a house that he doesn't recognize but that feels instantly familiar. Music playing, somewhere, and a gold-tinged afternoon spilling through the window, and tone-deaf singing from the kitchen. His mind feels clearer than it has in… Tears come to his eyes but it doesn't hurt. He puts his fingers to his mouth and smiles, breathing in slow, and thinks—well, this is it. Heaven.

Time is no longer time. Space is—immaterial. There's a house, not their house, but it's roomy and it has what he needs and the bed he crawls into with his wife at the end of a day is comfortable, and that's what matters, as he lays his hand on her hip where he used to lay it always, and she sighs against the pillow and squirms and tucks herself into a fetal pretzel, like she always used to. The spill of her hair red against the pillow. Her warmth, plush against his bones. She smells not of honeysuckle or vanilla but just like warm, human skin, the faint bite of salt-sweat at the nape of her neck, the must in the morning in thin bluish light when she turns over and finds him awake, and smiles. Incredible. The weight of her is real, and the spot between her breasts when he kisses her there is real, and he'd always believed in some distant way that what his dad had told him was true—that there was a heaven, that there would be some kind of justice after death—but it was distant, and academic, because of course there was a life to live and patients to care for and children to raise and a wife to bury and a death to get through. What a thing, to come to. This place, with her hair on the pillow, and her smell. He hadn't forgotten it, in the end, after all.

The house sits in some place that feels like South Dakota. Home, or close to it. A lake among trees. A distance between things. He reads, and plays games he barely remembers from being a kid, and he watches the Ghostbusters movies again because his wife insists and they are, he has to admit, still funny, but he makes fun of the weird museum guy anyway, and she kicks him where her feet are tucked in his lap, and he tickles her in retaliation, and then—well, the movie will be there, later, when they're done.

She rides her bike every day. One day she comes back and says she was just visiting her mother, and Dean sits up and says, "What?" But—of course. What's time? What's a space, between this shared slow heaven and another? She shrugs—his mother-in-law says hi—and he sits there on the couch with his game paused, watching her go into the kitchen and shake her sweaty hair back from her face, redoing it into the practical twist at her neck like she always does, and he thinks—okay. Okay, maybe now.

The bookshelf has every book he could want, and seems to know what he needs to read before he does. Raining outside, spattering gentle on the eaves, and his wife made a huge pot of tea and took it to bed upstairs and left him just a cup, and so he sits at the kitchen table with his cup of tea and opens the book—Home, by Carver Edlund—and reads it, lingering, even if he's read it three times before online, his thumb brushing over the cheap too-thin pages of this physical copy. There's a poltergeist, preposterous. The psychic, odd and familiar. The brothers, united, and he reads the next-to-last chapter very slowly, lingering, as they find the box of pictures, as they get into the car together. Drive off, to meet some new dawning day.

He finishes his cup of tea. Puts on a clean shirt, combs his hair. "I'll be back," he says, to his wife, and she blinks at him from her nest of blankets with her own book and then only nods, and Dean goes downstairs and gets into his car and finds the road, beyond the garden gate, and drives.

He doesn't know where he's going but that doesn't matter. He turns on the car radio and it's playing—oldies, but really oldies, the stuff that was old when he was little. What childhood sounded like. Farms appear, melt away. Trees rising, through hills. He sings along, under his breath, remembering: a roadtrip to his grandma's house, Mom sleeping in the passenger seat and Dad driving through the night, and Dad singing very, very badly, as quiet as he could, and Dean thinking even as a kid that this was some private thing, to see, and he had to be silent and not show that he was awake or it would disappear. That feeling, it crept up on him at the oddest times, when he was an adult, and later. That sensation of the armored tank of the car moving through the dark, and the silence around them, and the quiet music inside, and Dad, in a world of his own, entirely separate from the world he shared with Dean.

Another hill. Climbing a mostly-paved road. Not raining anymore but the sun coming in slanted gold through the trees. Distance, and a curve, and then: a house. Old-looking. Older maybe than the one Dean and his wife share. In front of it, a car. The car.

Dean parks. He gets out, and the air smells washed-fresh, a little fecund. Like summer. He puts his hand on the hood of the Impala and it's sun-warm and he tears up, completely unexpected, and has to sit on the hood and hold his hands over his face, his heart—full, in a way he's felt since dying, but not in this particular way, this way of feeling that he thought had mellowed, a lifetime ago.

So much for putting on a good face. He wipes over his mouth and dashes his eyes clear. A porch, with new-carved railings. A door, painted blue. He knocks, his body feeling empty and clean and young, terribly young, and before he's quite ready the door opens, and it's—his uncle, in a purple plaid shirt and paint-spattered jeans and grey socks, frowning at him, saying, "Uh, hi?"

He looks—almost exactly like he looked in the pictures. Maybe forty, lines beside his eyes and heavy stubble on his jaw. The age he was when he died. Dean opens his mouth, can hardly dredge up what to say, and then he hears a voice say, "Dean?" and Dean and his uncle both turn their heads to see—Dad, young too, completely shocked, standing on the far side of the porch in running gear with sweat slicking his hair back from his head, and Dean drags in air and says, "Dad," and Dad grins at him, that big creased dorky-looking dad-smile that Dean only got once in a blue moon, and he steps forward and they're hugging, then, and it's—heaven. That's all he can think. Heaven, Dad's arms tight around him, his shoulders slotting in under Dad's because—Dad was so tall, and this is where Dean fit and never would fit again once Dad was gone. Here, under Dad's arm. Like being a kid again.

Dad's hand on the back of his head. A startled, shaky, deep breath in, and then hands gripping his shoulders, and being shoved reluctantly back to have Dad look down at his face, serious and worried. "How long has it been?" he says. "Are you—you didn't—?"

"I was ninety-seven," he says, and Dad's eyebrows go high and he smiles, big and glad and real, relieved. He touches Dean's face and Dean smiles back, tears rising again for no reason and for so many reasons. "I look good, don't I?"

Dad huffs a laugh. "You look great," he says, and then his eyes lift over Dean's head, and Dean has to turn around because—

What to call him? Uncle Dean. Standing there with his shoulder against the doorframe, his mouth tucked in on one side. Like from right out of one of the pictures, returning Dad's look. His eyes drop after a second to meet Dean's and Dean feels this odd jolt, in his chest. Bizarre, to see. He's real. All Dad's stories, the wall of memories, the books, and here he is, in grey socks, looking all over Dean's face like he's seeing it for the first time. "Guess you got your looks from your mom's side of the family," Uncle Dean says, finally, and Dad says, behind him, "Nice, dude," and Uncle Dean shrugs, unrepentant, but with an unexpected dimple quirking into his cheek, and holds out his hand to shake, and Dean takes it and has another shock at it, warm, callused, firm, real—while Uncle Dean says, wry, "Well, I guess some introductions are in order, huh?"

Uncle Dean and Dad share the house. It's nice, inside. Old fashioned in a way that feels comfortable, as Dean's come to expect. (He wonders, in a few hundred years—will new arrivals to heaven expect old-fashioned arcologies?) Uncle Dean brings beers from the kitchen and Dad takes his without even looking, drinking in Dean's face when Dean's doing the exact same to him. He looks so young. Younger, maybe, than he was even in the few pictures Dean has of him being a baby, held tiny in the crook of Dad's massive arm—some past time, some time Dean doesn't belong to, but Uncle Dean clearly does. Dad shakes his head after a few seconds, huffs again, rueful. "I don't even know where to start," he says.

Uncle Dean rolls his eyes, behind him, and says, "How about you ask the kid how he's doing, genius." Mean, but he squeezes Dad's shoulder too, and Dad bites his lip, looks at Dean, his head tipping. Asking.

It's awkward, but only in the way Dean would expect. To see his dad after so long—and both of them dead—and to explain… what? A life. Being a doctor, meeting a wife. Children. Grandchildren. "Great-grandpa Sammy," Uncle Dean fake-whispers, "told you you were old." Nudging Dad, half-sitting on the arm of his chair. Looking proud enough he could burst, although Dean doesn't know exactly why.

"Are you going to make dinner or are you just here to heckle?" Dad says, looking up, exasperated, and Uncle Dean raises his hands, says, "Oh, I'm here to heckle," but he gets up, too, says, "You get tired of the inquisition, kid, we've got more drinks in the kitchen," and cuffs Dad around the back of the head before he disappears down the blue-painted hall—and music comes on, after a moment. The kind of music that was on Dean's radio as he drove. Comfort sounds that go deep into some space beyond his bones.

"He's a lot, sorry," Dad says, after a second.

"I know, I read about it," Dean says, and Dad blinks at him, mouth half-open, before he remembers.

They have dinner. Uncle Dean makes burgers, fries, a spinach salad that Dean and Dad both groan at, and he looks at them across the table with his burger in his hands and shakes his head. No salad on his plate, Dean notices. They talk but about—nothing. Uncle Dean asks if the Broncos ever won the Superbowl again and Dean tries to dredge up an answer. Dad asks what his wife did for a living. Dean wants to ask things and doesn't know how. There's time, he knows, but for now all he can do is—watch. Dad leaning back in his chair with a beer, smiling at him while Uncle Dean tells some probably well-worn story about trying to fix the Impala in a rainstorm, and Dad was pissed for some reason and so kept handing him the wrong tools. "It was too dark to actually read the grip numbers," Dad says, patient like it's the hundredth time, and Uncle Dean says back, immediately, "Who needs the numbers? You can feel the weight in your hand!" Old arguments, well-worn, in the well-worn house. The way they move around each other, washing dishes, putting plates away. The way Dad's eyes will jump across the table, half a second before Uncle Dean's even opening his mouth, a smile already waiting to be pushed back down.

When it's night he says he should get back to his wife. "I'd like to meet her," Dad says, "some day."

"Gotta see who's willing to put up with a Winchester," Uncle Dean says, eyebrows waggling.

Dad sighs but nods, too. Dean gets folded into a hug, there under the tuck of his arm, and then he hugs Uncle Dean, too, impulsive and just—wanting to, feeling like a kid. Uncle Dean startles but hugs him back right away. "You're good, kid," he says, quiet against the side of Dean's head, and Dean nods and says, "Thanks," for more than he can say other than that, right then on this particular day, and then he gets into his car and pulls away from the house and looks back to see Uncle Dean gripping Dad's shoulder again while they watch him move away—and when he's home, after a blurring drive that's long enough for him to settle himself, he comes up the stairs to where his wife's warm in bed and slides in beside her and she says, sleepy, "How was it," and he says against her hair, "Perfect," because—it was. It was perfect.

*

Dean comes alone to their house twice more, on days when he needs it and doesn't see a reason not to. He brings his wife, the third time, and Dad's extremely polite and Uncle Dean asks her about engineering and Dean enjoys it, from the couch, while she gets the same interrogation he did, and they're driving home with her at the wheel, his eyes on the passing trees, before she says, "They're an interesting couple," and it doesn't strike him, for what may be a mile of blurring distance, why that sentence wasn't quite right.

It should be a shock. It isn't. That it isn't should, itself, be a shock, but he sits with it for a few days, the easy rhythm of heaven sliding around them.

He goes to see his mother, finally. She's in a place on a lakeshore. Her first husband, kind but remote, giving them space. She presses his hands between her own and he goes through the list of answers to all her questions, smiling, feeling déjà vu, and then says, cautious, that he's been to see Dad. "Oh!" she says, and doesn't seem upset. "How is he?"

"Good," he says. They never married, his parents—Dad had told him, much later, that it just didn't occur to him to ask—and he knew they didn't resent each other, but there wasn't much closeness there. He didn't realize how little until he was married himself. Still, he's cautious as he says: "He and my uncle have a place. Uncle Dean, you know?"

Mom sits back in her chair. "Well, then," she says, soft. She's youngish, too. Fifty maybe, her hair shot with grey. "That sounds about right."

He doesn't know how to ask but there's no way to do it other than just—to ask. "What do you know about him?"

Mom smiles, slow, and looks out at the lake. "Honey, your dad's a good man, but I think you know as well as I do that he doesn't give a lot away." Dean follows her look. A boat, far out on the water. Not close enough to hail. "He didn't talk about his brother, much. That said more than I think he knew it did. All those pictures. Well, you remember." She shakes her head, looking down at her lap. "I resented him for a while. A dead man. Silly of me. But then I suppose your dad could have resented Luke, if he'd—cared more. Sorry. That sounds like I'm angry, but I'm not. There just wasn't much left in Sam, that's all. He loved you and he loved someone that wasn't here anymore and there just wasn't room for me, or at least not room for what I needed. I wished I could've known him. Dean, I mean. I would've understood your dad a lot more, I think, but then—I don't think I would've ever met him, if Dean were around."

When he gets home he pulls a book off the shelf. Frail, the spine cracked badly. Supernatural, the first book in the whole series. When Dad was at college and the whole thing started. He sits on the floor by the bookshelf and lets the cup of tea his wife brings go cold on the rug, and reads again and again the scene—coming down the stairwell, finding the car in the garage, going through the details of the voice on the tape, on where their dad (Dean's grandfather) could possibly be, and Dad says there's this interview he can't skip. His whole future, on a plate. In the story, it's Dad's point of view, and he looks at Uncle Dean and Uncle Dean smirks, and Dad thinks, This is exactly what I was getting away from. Dean drags his thumb over the page, looks at the shelf. All those books. All the years in them, and the horrors in those. Hell, and apocalypse, and none of it euphemisms or easy metaphor. All the things Dad wanted to get away from—and then all the years, after, where he stayed exactly where he was. And then—a lifetime later—to come back home to a house, with a blue door, and his eyes not bothering to follow his brother as he leaves a room, because he knows without doubt that he'll be back.

In bed, he asks his wife, "When do you think the kids will get here?" and she turns over and stares at him, and says, "Hopefully not for years?"

He shakes his head, folds his arm under his head. "Duh," he says, and gets her to punch his chest lightly. "Ow. I meant… I don't know. What do you think their lives will be? Like… who will they be? I can't even imagine."

She stops trying to lightly beat him and goes thoughtful. Her thumb finds the little scar on her chin and rubs it, as is her habit, and her eyes slip over his shoulder to the distance. "They'll be—them." He raises his eyebrows, and she shrugs, rolling closer. "I mean, what do you want from me? I knew Abbie for fifty-one years and I still think that girl's a mystery. When she's… probably a grandmother herself, now, I guess. Is she still at Notre Dame? Are she and Andre happy? Are the boys healthy and do they like each other, and did she ever get Jacob to stop drawing cartoon dicks on the walls?" Dean laughs—god, he'd forgotten that—and she smiles at him, props her head on one fist. Says, softer, "Did she live the life she wanted to have? I don't know. I guess when she gets here we can ask her, but we'll never…"

No, they'll never. Dean touches the scar on her chin and she focuses on him, instead of some other world they're no longer privy to. "It's a venn diagram," he says, after a moment. "All of us. Abbie, overlapping with you and me, and then us overlapping with our parents, and on and on, all the way back. I guess we don't get to know what's outside the center parts."

"Even if there's a hundred and four crappily-written books about the other parts," she says, raising her eyebrows, and Dean shrugs, caught. She grins, shaking her head at him, and then squirms in close, tucking in under his chin. Kisses his throat, sighs. "Why not stop at a hundred? Seems random."

"I don't know, maybe the publisher wanted him to stretch it out," Dean says, and she hums, and puts her nose on his collarbone to settle in. He smooths her hair back, away from her shoulder. His favorite book is Swan Song, probably. The final one, as far as most people knew. His dad, the hero, saving humanity and the world, but that wasn't the best part. The best part was the army man, stuck in the door. His dad, looking at that, and meeting his brother's eye, and that being—enough. Just that, and all the life it represented. Enough.

"Venn diagrams," he says, aloud, quietly.

"Yes, you're very brilliant, Dr. Winchester," his wife says, mumbling. "Now go to sleep."

He kisses her hair, and does.

[dustofbrokenheart]

The Lost Boys: Summer Nights

Dwayne x Reader

Word Count: 987

Summary: Dwayne and reader enjoy a summer night walk on the beach.

Fingers intertwined tightly and swung in the middle of the two of you. You were walking, filling Dwayne in on what had happened during your day.

It was a common occurrence. Not only were you an item, but it was often cathartic for you to vent about your life and it was nice for Dwayne to listen to what happened during the day of a normal life, emphasis on the day part.

Knowing that, you made to sure to describe the sky in between the events of your story.

“The sun radiant today, downright simmering but there was a breeze, which was nice because I didn’t completely sweat through my shirt when I walked to grab lunch. But can you believe that when I got back, Margaret had me…”

Dwayne smiled, a little gentle lift of his lips, as he listened to you. On most summer nights, he brought you to the beach. Ocean waves crashed in the background as you walked an isolated part of the beach.

Your voice was passionate yet it never failed to sooth him. By that point, he was so familiar with your work situation that he knew every single person. He knew their personalities, their motivations, and, most importantly, which of them you liked and which you disliked.

Margaret was firmly in the dislike category.

Despite knowing how you would react, he still offered. “I could always take care of her for you.”

Your eyes were pleased but you made sure to firmly set him straight. “I keep telling you, Dwayne. You can’t go around offing people that make my life difficult.”

He shrugged, his heavy leather jacket riding up his exposed stomach. “As long as you know the offer is there.”

Bumping your head into his shoulders in an attempt to hide your face, you instead squeezed his hand.

You were sure that if your well being and safety ever was in jeopardy, he wouldn’t hesitate to kill for you. It was a strangely sweet and a little problematic, but you chose to focus on the sweet part and not what it said about you.

“Any way, she claimed that it would—” You were caught by surprise when Dwayne swept you up, bridal style, and rushed toward the water. It didn’t take long to realize what he was up to.

“Dwayne!” you screamed. “Do not, dump me—”

Once again, you were cut off as you were submerged in cool, salty water. In the night, it was impossible for you to make out anything, the ocean seeming like an endless inky void. It lasted only moments until you were gasping as Dwayne pulled you up.

He was laughing. Your clothes were suctioned skin-tight to your body and your hair was plastered into your face, and he was laughing.

“Looked like you needed to cool down,” he tried to say in between laughs. “You were getting pretty worked up.”

In a small act of revenge, you splashed water into his face. You weren’t legitimately mad but you’d be damned if you were the only one who got soaked.

“Guess I deserved that,” he said, gently stroking your cheeks.

Carrying you to the sand with water trailing behind, he deposited you on the ground and crawled in behind you. Words weren’t needed as you laid there together under the dim light of the moon.

Until you shivered, that is. It may have been summer but it still got cold after the sun went down, especially when you were dripping water.

“Shit,” he murmured, arms wrapping around you even tighter. “Sorry. I should’ve known you’d get cold.”

You tried your best to soothe him with soft kisses to his stubbled chin. “It won’t kill me, I just need to warm up a bit.”

Reading the thinly disguised ploy for more kisses, he gladly indulged you. 

Hefting himself up onto his forearms, his dipped down in a practiced motion, chasing your lips with his own. They were a little chapped and his stubble poked at your chin, but it didn’t matter.

Kissing Dwayne was always an experience.

His mouth was smooth, the weight of him grounding where he pressed down on your front. You didn’t even care that your hair was about to be caked in sand, you thought as you gripped his forearms, the muscle flexing under your touch.

Peeking through your lashes, you saw his eyes burn the tell-tale mottled yellow that signaled his vampiric instincts, as well as the fact that he was really turned on. Eyelids fluttering shut again, you pressed even deeper into the kiss, doing that thing with your tongue that drove him wild in anticipation that things were about to heat up even more.

That is until he pulled back, sucking on your bottom lip as he left you panting. “Better?”

“Better,” you replied dreamily. His soft breath stirred your damp hair as he stroked it off your face, snuggling you closer. You nestled in, muscles completely warmed and still trembling.

It seemed like he was done for now though, no matter how you tried to entice him. Damn him for knowing how much you actually would complain about the sand if he managed to get you naked.

“Good. Wanna talk about Margaret some more?” he asked teasingly.

“Yep. Mood’s completely gone. Please don’t bring her up when we do these kinds of things, it makes we want to recoil in horror.”

“Good,” he said again. Your brows raised in disbelief which he tried to smooth back down with his thumb. “Because I was thinking, if you wanted to, we could head to your place to continue. A bed is…less sandy.”

Catching on quickly, you nodded. A bed. A bed sounded good. Excellent even.

Peels of laughter tore out of you and echoed along the coast as he scooped you up and started running. He moved a lot faster than you could, after all.

Summer nights, really were the best.

_______________

I wanted to write something short and sweet for my favorite boy before my birthday month is up. Hope you enjoyed reading! Thanks for checking it out! 

[lilyrachelcassidy]

Birthday Cake

A/N: Suprise folks!!! *me laughing maniacally* The whole scenery for this fic somehow appeared in my head and I just COULDN’T let it slip away, so... My biggest inspo for that was @drawlfoy!! Remember her posting the fic where Draco and Reader work at McDonald’s and are total suckers in their job (arguing with the customers; preparing wrong orders; etc.)? Dee unfortunately, deleted this precious, but it’s stuck to my head ever since (lol lol, it’s the moment where Dee wants to get rid of something, but I kindly remind everyone it existed). Therefore I present to you the next Draco x Reader fic related to our fav fast-food rest. This time, however, they’re not working at the same workplace but... I'm going to stop here cuz I don't want to spoiler :P

**The second thing that triggered me to write this fic is the YouTube video I recently saw with a lady who orders the 'specials' appearing to be out of the menu list of McDonald’s, through the Drive-Through. She asked for a birthday cake, was laughed at a few times, but eventually got what she wanted. Applause for the attitude!!

About the fic (context, my bitches): ofc it’s the modern AU, non-magical world. Draco’s the worst boyfriend ever but always manages to turn things into their righteous place. 

Summary: The birthday is upcoming, and Draco is in a rush to think up an idea for a perfect gift. His ingenuity fails, however, and leaves Y/N very unsatisfied with a disaster that has been forged. 

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: my brain playing a total psycho, language, alcohol, sexual undertones/allusions to sex, Pansy being too much of her self... deal...

Tags: @drawlfoy @eltanin-malfoy

Such an unrestrained desire to strangle somebody you hadn't felt in a long time.

Really.

Today was your birthday, which you had been widely announcing for almost a whole month to people you might have accidentally forgotten about it. Having your boyfriend, Draco, on your mind in particular.

You doubted he would have the guts to omit your big day, though as repeatedly as he had done for a few years back. But something between foresight and the second sense of prevention told you to keep reminding him every day of the upcoming event, with a heap of birthday-themed emojis and uppercases in the messages.

Everything was planned out in your head: him picking you up from your house with the sharp-red cabriolet that he used only for special occasions; him driving the two of you to the fanciest restaurant he could find in town; him bestowing you with a nice-looking, golden necklace or a different piece of jewelry you had been suggestively pointing out in the store's exhibition; him booking up a hotel room for you two to celebrate.

Either way, that was much beyond your expectations, as it turned out. And now you were sitting in the front yard of your house, waiting for him to show up.

'If he was going to at all.' This thought invaded your mind for the last hour, try as might to subdue it. An hour you had been sitting tight, hoping it was only a delay caused by a traffic jam or other irrational explanation he could come up with. But you were deceiving yourself, you eventually presumed -- you had been checking up your phone every one minute, only to see if any message notification popped up on the screen, other than birthday wishes from friends who actually cared for you.

2.02pm: Nothing.

2.03pm: Susan 'Happy birthday bitch!'

2.04pm: Instagram notif. (Someone liked your photo, which you had posted before leaving your room, posing in front of the mirror in the best cocktail dress you could find in the wardrobe.)

2.05pm: Nothing yet again.

2.06pm: Still... Peace and quiet.

"Fuck it...Enough," you muttered under your breath, an annoying disillusionment falling like a heavy mile stone on your chest. Tears suddenly started sprinkling in your eyes at the regret, and you were very reluctant to admit that your friends were right -- Draco Malfoy was an egoistic, negligent, self-absorbed pri--

"Hi." You heard the raspy, panting voice says. "Sorry for the delay."

You blinked slowly, stupidly. You raised your head to assure yourself it was him. That his expression actually corresponded to his words and showed some kind of remorse for standing you up. But no... There he was: standing in front of you, plainly confident and unashamed, with his cocky smirk provoking you to slap him.

Oh, how much you craved to slap him right now. "Where to the fuck have you been?"

"I've tried to pick this up," he explained, simultaneously lifting up the paper bag he'd been carrying in his hand. The big, exclaiming letters 'McDonald's' with the brand's logo were printed on its exterior, and it was fully stuffed with something inside.

Not quite comprehending, you furrowed. You attempted to hide the venom in your voice, but somehow it found its way to leak out. "Couldn't you do that in advance?"

"Nope..." It was his turn to furrow, looking almost shocked with the question. And thanks to all those years of your relationship, you knew it was his piss-poor estimation of time taking over. "It was a last-minute surprise."

"Sounds like it," you commented irritably. "What's that?"

"Your birthday present, sunshine," he drawled happily, ignoring your remark. He sounded positively delighted and satisfied with himself at surprising you with that because he saw a slight crease of shock painting on your forehead. "Here you go."

You took his deposit out of his grasp, still quite unsure. What if his gift would only make a situation worse? Can it get any worse with Draco's total lack of tact? Yes. But it was only one way to find out.

Without even stealing a second glance at him, you ripped off all of the packaging that had been folded around, protecting the contents. You tried to do it carefully and without any impact of emotions revealing the way you felt inside, but your hands were shaking with rage, and you couldn't quite contain yourself. You had been highly aware you shouldn't have expected much from him, but still...

You wondered if the universe was playing against you.

There was a moment of tense silence as you struggled to deal with all the wrappings. Rather unfortunately, you wished you hadn't put so much effort in opening your so-called 'gift' because as you finally did, it only angered you more, seeing as the disappointment laughs at your face. And yes, as a matter of fact, the universe was against you today...

"Are you kidding me?" you asked in disbelief, fury reappearing in your eyes. "A birthday cake?! From McDonald's?" Ugly, little cake with the creepiest smiley face of a clown. It wasn't even fresh, you realized, when you smelled it and felt a musty reek of a freezer, it probably had been kept in. A confusing sense of sadness in your chest couldn't reach any higher at this point.

"Don't you like it?" he asked, detecting the wrath in your eyes. At that, you felt the dumbest urge to laugh and never stop. "I thought it'd be something original."

"Oh, I love it," you said sarcastically, a faint voice of hope telling you it was only a very bad joke was still lingering in your head. But it wasn't a joke.

"It's not just--" He struggled to form a coherent sentence. "I've been asking Blaise and Theo about any ideas. I told them, what you had said to me -- 'you didn't want anything fancy.' So we decided it's... something."

"Of course I didn't tell you I want anything, you dolt!" Your voice raised up almost two octaves, and the pulse sped up so fast it entailed a headache along. A neighbor from the opposite garden who was watering the flowers looked at you, startled, and eyes widened your exasperated tone. You didn’t care. "It's how it works: you don't tell other people you expect them to buy something!"

"But I'm your boyfriend. You shouldn't -- er-- feel uncomfortable to tell..."

"Exactly! As my boyfriend, you should have known!"

"Well... I didn't. If that's what's bothering you, we can...we can..."

"Stop." Listening to him and his pathetic excuses was the last thing you were going to do now. "What – why would you even – " You sputtered out, unable to process or express exactly what you were feeling. There was definitely anger and indignation. Curiosity, for another, as to why Draco would even fall for such foolish and ill-considered idea, and -- to the top of it -- hope it would make a good fit. And possibly, the last and most satisfying part, was the wicked impulse to throw the cake directly into his arrogant face, letting him taste his own medicine he had been serving you for years on each failed birthday.

"You know, for once, you could pay more effort and try doing something nice for me," you told him firmly, deflating to calm down your buzzing nerves.

"I've been tr--"

"Do you realize how much it costs me to pretend to be happy when you forget about me? Last year, I organized a big-ass party for your birthday, inviting over all of your friends and buying the best booze I could find to celebrate it properly," you said harshly and pretentiously, as you intended. "The best part is, you didn't even thank me." You stared at him, wringing your hands and expecting to perceive any trope of shame in his eyes. For the first time, you actually did.  

"Listen, about that--" he calmly attempted to cut off your monologue.

"No, you listen..." Did you really want what was upcoming next? Maybe it was about time. "Today, I decided I'm standing up for myself. So, for the last time, get out from my porch."

He bristled, the thunderstruck air hanging around him. "Because of the stupid cake?"

"What?! No! It's just... I feel like you don't give a damn about me anymore." Gulp formed in your throat, and the tears finally left your eyes at the consciousness of what was happening. "I think we both deserve some time."

Your eyes moved to his, and you almost wished you hadn't looked. He was watching you, with pursed lips and a pure mixture of every emotion: anger, sadness, resentment, pretension, dejection. The faintest of his flustered blushes appeared on his cheeks, and you suddenly wished you could hug him. "So you are putting us..." His finger pointed at him and you as if expecting clarification. "...on a break? Is that what it is?"

You were truly torn, to be honest. Becoming single on your birthday was the last wish you had for this day, but you felt a strong sense of adequacy and pride for building up the boundaries of tolerance. Besides, seeing as it was heading nowhere, it was only a matter of time that your relationship came to an end.  

Although, it hurt. A lot. "Yes."

You darted your eyes from him, not wanting to study his reaction in case it caused you to meltdown and jump to his embrace, apologizing endlessly for your words. You loved him. But you didn't regret what you had just said.

Something like a dry chuckle of disbelief escaped out of his mouth. "Is that what you really want?"

'No,' your thoughts prompted you instantly before you could even contemplate. 'I want you to say so many things you're never willing to say. But you don't know.'

So instead, you lied: "Yes."

All expressed, you spun around without peeking back and rushed into your room, already knowing there was no more sense in strives to make this day any better; all of it would bring only bad associations. It would be depressing, even more than it already was.

God, was it how the break-up pained? Because if so, you wanted to be deceased. The world spun suddenly, and you sank to your knees, shaking madly and doing your best to find your way back to your bed, located a few mere meters from you. Part of you felt numb, but your head was wide awake and alarming you that something in terms of a disaster had just happened. Because it did. The clutching in your chest was unbearable, and tears were dashing out of your eyes like a living waterfall, which made you bury your face in your hands. Never have you ever wanted to be so drunk before.

And so many questions rung up in your head at once.

Did you make a good decision? What if you are going to miss him, yet knowing you could never call? What about college -- are things about to get awkward?

No answers.

But you knew someone who would be able to reply to them.

With the blurred by tears vision, you struggled but managed to find your phone in the purse, and then clumsily scrolled through and tapped in your list of contacts before holding the phone to your ear.

Please answer, you begged. Please, please…

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!" Pansy's voice roared from the other side of a line, as always, enthusiastic.

"Pansy." You tried to sound less brokenly than you were, feeling marginally worse at the reminder of your birthday. "Is Daphne around?"

"Ouch, you're a really nasty bitch sometimes, you know. I'm not goin' to point out today, but since you didn't let me end my wishes, I'll note that for the future reference." You were sure she was grinning at the teasing, seeing as much as she liked that. Normally, you wouldn't mind, but... "How--"

"Pansy, please..." you sobbed out, almost desperate to have someone to consult and share emotions with. Daphne -- contrary to Pansy, who could be very judgy sometimes -- was someone you had especially on mind now. "I need to talk to her."

You heard her sigh; the kind of sigh she used to either prove her resignation or concern. But, as much as it surprised you, she suppressed her curiosity and, without a second word, obediently handed the phone over to Daphne. At least, that's what you assumed because you heard a pause and subdued mutters in the background.

"Y/N?" the milder tone spoke up, and you felt suddenly very strange as if submerged in water of relief; relief to hear the familiar voice. That released you from keeping a distant attitude, and yet again, a sadness washed over you, triggering a loud wail to come out of your mouth. "Y/N, is everything alright?"

"No..." you sniveled, unable to collect yourself together. "I-I... We br-brok-e up."

"You and Draco?" Daphne asked, astonishment evident.

You nodded but then remembered she couldn't see you nor read your expression. So instead, you forced your vocal cords to work again. "Mhm..."

"What happened?"

Restoring the story in your brain again, you told her everything, still tearfully but much more coherently this time. You avoided the details, briefly skipping from one utterance to another, as your conversations had gone, and you were very much thankful she didn't press for more information about the prospect of the situation. If it hadn't been her sporadic gasps or loud inhales of breath, you would have almost presumed she wasn't listening. However, she was, and as soon turned out, Pansy was as well.

"That's bananas!" Pansy shouted somewhere from the back as you had ended, and despite your gloom, you giggled quietly at her comment.

"Shush," Daphne tried to silence her, covering up the fact she had put you on the speaker. You didn't mind because you knew Pansy, who would definitely expect Daphne to cite the whole conversation if needed. But knowing Daphne as well, you could bet she flushed more than she would want to at that point. "So it all started because of the cake?"

"And the delay," you added. "But it's not just about that, obviously. It feels like... he completely stopped caring. And I don't want to be stuck in a relationship where everything is about sex and having fun only. Draco wasn't looking for a commitment, which..."

"Sucks,"ended this time Pansy unhesitatingly, who wasn't now screaming from the other part of a room but openly participating in the discussion.

"Yeah," you agreed.

"As for me, I think he might love you more than you know, Y/N." It was Daphne talking again, and she sounded positively convinced about her view as for someone who had hardly exchanged any word with Draco for the past few years. As if reading your thoughts, she continued. "I've observed you a lot. I know he might seem unemotional, but it's you who discovered him. That must require a lot of trust, you know."

You contemplated, and some of the memories and images from your first encounter run across your brain, try as might to suppress it: spotting each other at the party; binging some whisky shots together; flirty teasing; the very masculine scent of cologne; and then... more spicy recollections -- eager lips pressing against each other; against each others' necks; against other parts of the body; stripping off the clothes in the passionate haste...

Receiving a long moment of silence, Daphne took a second chance and asked. "And what's with you? Do you want to end it?"

It felt like standing before the oracle of truth. Therefore, you couldn't deny it in front of yourself. "No."

"So what're you still doing there?" commented Pansy impatiently, and you could imagine her rolling the eyes. "Get out and find him!"

She was right. You will.

XOXOXOXO

"I thought I'd find you here..."

No. Actually, you didn't. 

You had tracked Draco's phone with your own one with some help of an app that, as the two of you had established still in the relationship, would be a good idea in case of an emergency. That in itself proved to be more than helpful, believing that your argument may be pinned as something in terms of an emergency, right?

So having access to his location, you had found out he was in the park where he had taken you on the first date, shortly after dinner, to watch the sunset that, as he had described, 'was a typical cliche from every romantic movie.'

But you had fallen for that. So much.

You hadn't been aware the place had actually some meaning for him until now, and that... God, that he had even remembered it. Time showed, however, that it indeed did, to which your heart reacted with a happy jolting. But also with a nasty sting of nostalgia following shortly after.

Yet, that only had encouraged you to make up your mind and go looking for him, which hadn't been such a difficult task per se. He was sitting on the bench, in the shade of a tree, and hiding his a little too delicate skin from the sun rays. As soon as he had heard your voice, his gray eyes flew up to see you standing a few meters away.

"What are you doing here?" was the immediate question that tumbled out of his mouth. He arched his eyebrow, and to your surprise, he didn't even look angry or sad with you. Nothing near the edge; actually, almost something like the amusement was painting on his face.

"Aren't you mad with me?" you asked intrigued, completely forgetting about his question.

He frowned. "Why would I be?" His tone was so mild that you weren't sure if he was referring to the double meaning; but then he smirked playfully and said, "Besides, I knew you were coming."

"Wha-- How?" you asked, eyes dilating a fraction, in shock.

He smirked, pointing at his phone in an explanatory manner. After a moment, you finally figured out what he meant: the app must have registered he had been tracked and that your phone was trying to find his. At this notice, you reacted with a wave of flush, suddenly regretting your previous lie. His smile only widened at your expression. "Wanna sit? It's plenty of room here."

"Mhm..." You nodded, pleased to accept his offer, and walked over to the bench, doing your best to hide the evident embarrassment on your face. You felt strange he had taken you with such ease, seeing as merely two or three hours ago, you had burst at him like a cram-full volcano of unspoken emotions.

Draco shifted a package from his side, making more space for you to sit, and it took you a moment to realize it was a McDonald's cake from earlier. Everything started from that -- a stupid, little piece of cake which stood up between...

You shook the thought away, taking a seat next to him, close enough to smell his sandalwood cologne. "You didn't answer my question," Draco reminded you. "What's so important to make you track my phone?"

"I'm sorry, okay?" You rounded your face to him, flustrated, leaning at the backrest of a bench. "That's why I came. I wanted to apologize."

"Oh... Couldn't you call?"

You sighed. "I figured you wouldn't want to talk to me after...you know... our quarrel," you said half-despondent, half-desperate, watching your feet as if it were the most interesting thing to peer at now. "I didn't mean what I said earlier."

"I know," he said. Out of nowhere, he was gently grasping your palms which forced you to look up directly into his intense gaze. His eyes were swirling like molten silver at you. "But I should be apologizing, love. I made a mistake, okay?" His hands traveled all across to your tense shoulders, squeezing them lightly. "I know I should be more... affectionate with you. And this was...dumb. A dumb mistake. With that cake. But I'll try to be better if you give it another shot."

He looked so serious that you instantly believed him. You wanted to actually, with all force of longing, which grew up too rapidly in you when he wasn't around. Draco was a fool, you could easily say. But he was your fool, which was a thing you couldn't be more proud of.

Peeking slowly in the other direction, you asked, out of the topic, "You remembered the place?"

"Of course," he puffed jokingly, smiling. "Our first date. Officially our place from then on."

"Right..." You smiled back.

Honestly, the mere fact that he had called this spot 'yours' warmed up your heart, and you felt yourself grinning at his never-before-discovered emotionality. To assure yourself you weren't the only one caring, it was all you needed to hear.

The whole moment was intense, and now, you realized, is when you should have hugged him. Kissed him. Said something back at his sincere endearment.

But instead, spotting plastic cutlery next to your 'gift', you asked, "So what's the taste of the birthday cake?"  

And you knew he had caught the subtext of your playful inquiry. And you knew that soon you would work things out again. But, as for now...

"I thought you would never ask."

XOXOXOXO

A/N: Looooooool. Such a drama-comedy, right? And I could easily say It feels like 50% Draco-x-Reader / 50% Draco-x-BirthdayCake... But whatever (2am is working like a drunken bud, folks). Happy beginning of August :)

[heavyy12]

Colin and Tripp: Part 1

When Colin was in high school and vacationing at his parents’ summer home in the Hamptons, he ran into his parents’ best friend’s son, Tripp Larson. Tripp was over a decade older than Colin and someone he always admired. At fifteen, Tripp lost both parents in a plane crash. As the only child with little family left, the Laceys made sure he completed prep school without issue and attend Cornell like his late father.

Tripp came out as gay to the Laceys his freshman year at Cornell. Colin was just five at the time and his parents were dealing with their oldest daughter’s teen pregnancy. Although accepting of Tripp’s admission, the Laceys weren’t present as much as Tripp hoped during that difficult time.

During the summer going into Colin’s junior year of high school was one he’d always remember. At sixteen, his parents had just bought him a new Mercedes and allowed him to spend the summer at their house in the Hamptons, permitting he maintained a summer job. It was at the local country club where Colin was working as a caddy that he ran into Tripp Larson.

Tripp didn’t recognize the teen immediately because it had been four or five years since they last saw one another. The thirty-year-old Manhattan executive to his late father’s textile company was playing a round with friends from Cornell. Colin was immediately attracted to him. He was tall and had a thick, rugby look to him under his pale blue polo that hugged his pecs and biceps.

Colin had grown a lot in those past few years and stood about an inch shorter than Tripp at 6’2. He was playing lacrosse and rugby at the same prep school Tripp attended years ago and also had come to terms with being gay.

After bumping into each other at the clubhouse, Tripp asked Colin to join him on the deck after his game. The two caught up on just about everything. Toward the end of their conversation, Colin confided in Tripp that he was also gay and planning to tell his parents by the time he finished high school. Tripp was more than supportive and gave Colin his number in case he ever needed anyone to talk to.

Throughout the same summer, Colin had been fooling around with another caddy from the club. By August, the two were fucking each other in his parents’ Hamptons home almost daily… and everywhere else they could manage. The other caddy, Zane, was another prep school kid from Manhattan and the same age as Colin. The two parted ways at the end of August and kept in touch for a couple weeks after.

By Halloween, Colin was preparing for holidays across the world with his family and applying to colleges. After a couple weeks of the stomach flu, Colin was concerned he could be pregnant. A test soon confirmed his concerns.

All four of Colin’s siblings were eight years or older than him and he wasn’t particularly close to any because of the age gap. He didn’t want to tell his parents, so he remembered having Tripp’s number from the summer. He reached out to Tripp, who suggested Colin take the train into Manhattan the following week, Colin’s seventeenth birthday, and he’d help him with an abortion.

Colin took the train the following weekend and met Tripp at his apartment in Chelsea. It was a palatial penthouse with four bedrooms and six bathrooms. Tripp greeted him and let him get settled in one of his guest bedrooms before ordering take out.

Tripp mentioned he made reservations Sunday for a special birthday brunch for Colin before his scheduled procedure the following day. The newly seventeen year old was beyond excited for his first drag brunch experience. On Saturday, Colin had the run of Tripp’s apartment while the older family friend dealt with a work issue.

After drag brunch on Sunday, Tripp took Colin to Central Park for a walk and ice cream. It was on their walk that Colin confided in Tripp that he was really excited to get pregnant someday when he was ready. Tripp made a mental note of the conversation after realizing Colin mentioned “getting pregnant” instead of “having kids”.

On Tuesday morning, Tripp accompanied Colin to the train station after his abortion the previous morning. The two hugged and Colin thanked him for everything before heading back to Connecticut. Tripp checked in with Colin daily for quite some time after and the teenager very much appreciated the support.

Colin was accepted to Cornell and started the following year. He decided to play lacrosse, like Tripp, and had an amazing freshman year. He came out to his parents the summer before he started and was accepted by his teammates and friends.

During his second year, Cornell was hosting alumni for their final game against Columbia. Tripp messaged Colin on Instagram to inform him he’d be at the game and wanted to see him during his visit. The two old family friends met up before the match and Tripp wished the young twenty-year-old good luck. He also couldn’t get over how mature Colin looked.

At twenty, Colin could easily pass as twenty-five. He stood 6’2 and weighed about 215 with muscular, hairy legs, tanned olive skin, and beautiful blue eyes. He had really grown up since the last time they saw each other on his seventeenth birthday.

Cornell ended up winning the game 5-4. Tripp and some of his buddies met the team and coaches in the locker room to congratulate them. Tripp made a point to find Colin in the process.

“Congrats, big guy!” Tripp said as he approached Colin while he changed.

“Thanks, man!” Colin said, going in for a hug with Tripp.

“Do you have some time to show me around the campus? Things sure have changed since I was here.” Tripp asked.

“Yeah, I don’t have anything planned until later-- let’s go!” Colin said excitedly.

The college student left his keys and other belongings in his locker and the pair headed on their tour. The truth was, Tripp was a major donor of Cornell and he had been there within the last three years. He wanted to spend some quality time with Colin and catch up.

Flirting was exchanged almost immediately into their walking tour of campus. Both men caught each other looking at one another numerous times throughout their campus excursion. At the library, Tripp mentioned his first sexual encounter with another boy being in the old stacks during his freshman semester exams.

“Damn, I wouldn’t mind trying that someday!” Colin joked.

As their two-hour tour ended and they approached Colin’s locker, Tripp suggested they meet up later for drinks.

“I’d really like that” Colin replied as be shut his locker after grabbing his things.

The two locked eyes in that moment and the younger man dropped his belongings and pushed the alumnus into the locker behind him and started making out.

“Have you ever done it in a locker room?” Colin asked, referencing Tripp’s comment about his library hook up during his heyday.

“I haven’t, but I’m willing to try.” Tripp grinned.

Colin lowered himself to his knees and swiftly undid Tripp’s belt and pulled down the older man’s chinos. He began blowing him for several minutes before Tripp pulled him upwards for a kiss and suggested he return the favor.

After a couple minutes, Colin pulled Tripp up for a kiss and then discreetly turned himself around, exposing his bare ass, and planted his forearms on the lockers. Without words being exchanged, Tripp used his own spit to lube his cock and gently inserted it into Colin’s willing hole.

Tripp picked up speed and the clapping of Colin’s ass cheeks intensified, as did the twenty-year-old’s groans. Nearing climax, Tripp pulled Colin back by his neck and made out with him ferociously while he deposited a big, warm load deep into the lacrosse player’s hole. After he pulled out and kissed Colin all over his back and neck, Tripp turned Colin around so he could finish him off by accepting the younger guy’s load in his mouth.

Neither man had an experience like that in their life. Although a nearly fifteen-year age gap, there was sexual chemistry like no other. Colin had another month of school and a European trip planned with friends, so the pair decided to reconvene in August at Tripp’s family’s home in the Hamptons before Colin began his junior year at Cornell.

When Colin returned from six weeks in Europe, he texted Tripp, “Hey man, when do you think we can meet up? Sooner rather than later, I hope ;)”

Colin drove to the Hamptons in the Mercedes his parents had bought him years earlier for his sixteenth birthday. When he arrived at Tripp’s, the newly thirty-five year old was tanning by the pool. Colin snuck up on Tripp as he lay on his back on an outdoor lounger.

“Getting your tan on?” Colin asked as he straddled Tripp over the lounger.

“I thought you might appreciate that.” He responded.

“I sure do!” Colin exclaimed taking off his shirt as he rubbed his ass against Tripp’s growing erection.

Colin pulled lube from the backpack he carried outside with him and within minutes of reuniting, Tripp was inside Colin. They fucked near the pool, on the lounger, against the bar, and on the pool steps for nearly an hour before retreating to the bathroom to freshen up.

“It looks like you ate well in Europe” Tripp joked as he poked Colin’s noticeably larger belly.

“Yeah, I’m not sure how I managed it, honestly!” Colin fidgeted as he embarrassingly grabbed a shirt. “There was so much walking and hiking over there!”

“I was just kidding, Colin.” Tripp replied, stopping the younger man from putting on his shirt. “I think it looks cute!”

The two spent almost an entire month together before Colin was expected to return to Cornell. During that time, Colin’s belly only grew larger.

In bed one morning as the pair cuddled, Colin suggested he might need a pregnancy test. The two discussed how he wasn’t having any of the symptoms he experienced when he was in high school and that the last person he hooked up with was Tripp. On their last day together, they drove to a drug store and got two tests.

“Well, babe, you were right.” Tripp said walking into the master suite with two positive pregnancy tests.

“I can’t believe it. I’m not even twenty-one and I’ve managed to get pregnant twice!” Colin exclaimed as he sat in disbelief at the foot of the bed.

“You must be one fertile lad.” Tripp joked.

They immediately started discussing their options. With the timing of their last hook up at the end of May, Colin was easily twelve weeks along. He had already gained nearly fifteen pounds. Tripp suggested he bring an OB/GYN to the house the following morning and Colin pushed back his return to Cornell by a couple days until they figured everything out.

“So I have some exciting news for you boys.” The OB/GYN said during Colin’s ultrasound atop Tripp’s bed. “You’re having twins.”

Colin and Tripp looked at each other in disbelief.

“I’d say you’re about thirteen weeks along, so that puts your due date around, uhh, February 20[sup]th[/sup].”

“Wow, well thank you, Dr. Houston.” Tripp said as the woman in her forties began packing up.

Colin and Tripp saw her out and the pair retreated to the back yard. It was a hot August afternoon and normally they’d be in the pool.

“So, what do you want to do?” Colin asked Tripp over some lemonade on the patio furniture.

“That’s up to you, babe.” Tripp replied. “You need to get back to school. You need to finish school.”

“I know, I know.” Colin said, “Honestly, this all feels right, though. Does it feel that way for you?” he asked Tripp.

“Very much so, Colin. We’ve only spent a month together but I can already see ourselves growing old together.”

Tripp stood up and pulled Colin up from his seat. The two embraced for quite some time and kissed before Tripp lifted up Colin’s shirt and gave his belly a rub.

“You’re going to make a fantastic parent.” Tripp suggested as he kissed Colin’s tanned and protruding belly.

“You will too, Tripp.”

As the pair continued to embrace, Tripp moved his hands into Colin’s pants and grabbed a cheek in each hand.

“I like the idea of you carrying my children. You’re going to look so beautiful growing our babies inside that fertile womb of yours.”

“I’m glad you’re excited, babe, because I’m kind of excited to see what’s in store for us.”

Colin packed up and left for Cornell the following morning. Tripp had a realtor looking for properties in Ithaca the same day. Within a week, Tripp purchased a townhouse near campus so he could split his time between Manhattan and visiting Colin.

Colin moved his things into the townhouse shortly after and began telling friends of his twin pregnancy. Colin turned twenty-one in early November and planned on returning to Connecticut for Thanksgiving with Tripp to break the news to his family.

The pair regretted not telling Colin’s family sooner, but they were still worried about their reaction with Tripp being the father and them being in a relationship. Their age gap was nearly fifteen years, after all.

As Colin packed for Connecticut, Tripp was organizing an elaborate dinner to soften the blow to his young, pregnant lover’s family. He planned on having a catered dinner at his family’s home near the Laceys the day before Thanksgiving. Colin called and broke the news to both his older sisters. Beth and Liza both knew Tripp very well and were beyond surprised of their situation; however they seemed supportive.

[folerdetdufoler]

What are Magic 8ball Evak doing today? I miss them.

xo

hey, sorry, you sent this a few weeks ago i think and i really got hung up on it.

usually this kind of thing would be fun to think about but because of the way time works i didn’t know how to write around it! like, when you sent it it was late august, and technically that had like, just happened in the story. we’d just had a late august, so i couldn’t figure out if i should write another “late august day” almost a year after the story finished, even though i only finished the story back in april. that felt like too much of a time jump though, and i hadn’t given isak and even enough time to grow after the story ended. someone else had asked for an update in the comments on ao3 and i couldn’t give them one, not the same way i have been doing for mondays. but i do want to do something, so…

even’s birthday fell on a sunday. it was the first one isak would be celebrating with him, so isak wanted it to be special. but so did sigrid, and she worked faster than him. she invited them to their house for dinner months in advance, which annoyed even. the saturday before, when they were all hanging out at elias’s apartment, even spent most of the time grumbling about it.

“i thought things were getting better with you guys?” elias asked from his throne.

even sighed. “yeah, i mean, we’re fine. this guy is her new bff.” even patted the head of curls sitting against the couch between his legs. “but i just know it’s going to be this over-the-top thing that i don’t want to have to deal with on my birthday of all days. i don’t want that attention.”

isak paused the race he was playing against mikael and whipped around. “you love the attention.”

“yours, not hers.” even gave that same head a correcting tap and isak returned to the game. “if she actually wanted to celebrate my birthday with me then she would ask me what i would like to do, and then maybe it would be something i would enjoy.”

isak scoffed but didn’t pause the game this time. “if she did that you would just tell her to leave you alone.”

“happy birthday to me!”

“then you should just tell her no, you don’t want to spend your birthday with her.” elias doled out the reasonable and obvious advice.

“i would have, but she invited both of us and isak accepted immediately. besides, it’s kind of a regular thing now, sunday dinners.”

“that’s cute,” mutta noted as he walked in from the kitchen with a bag of pretzels and jar of peanut butter. mikael pointed to the coffee table, a silent command to place the snack within his reach.

isak felt a little guilty then, but he kept it to himself. they kept playing their game until it was mutta’s turn, and then isak pushed himself to his feet. he gestured to even to follow him to the kitchen.

even had a big smile on his face as they stepped away, because he was probably thinking isak wanted to kiss him in the privacy of another room. isak did pull him in close by the waist, but it wasn’t for kisses. “we can skip tomorrow,” he offered instead.

even froze for a second, but then shook his head. “no, no, we can go. i would only make it worse by skipping.”

“i would be happy to tell her we’re skipping but take her out to dinner on her own another night, smooth things over.”

even chuckled. “i absolutely love that you feel comfortable having one-on-one dates with my mother but it’s really not necessary. I’m just…complaining. and i’ll complain a little bit more in therapy, and then i’ll work through why i’m complaining and then i’ll be in a better mood for tomorrow. okay?” he reached up and rubbed isak’s shoulders in reassurance.

“will you tell me about it when you get home?” sometimes even shared what they’d talked about and sometimes he didn’t. isak was getting better about asking permission to cross the ever-changing border.

even’s eyes shifted to the side. “it depends on what we dig up.”

isak accepted this. “okay.” he leaned in to kiss even’s cheek, physically changing the subject. “my next question is…how angry do you think elias will be if i steal the big pillows?”

―――

isak had moved into even’s apartment right before christmas, hauling bags and suitcases back and forth over a few days until most of his belongings were at even’s. he fit a desk and his nice chair in the bedroom, and somehow all of his clothes fit in even’s closet. the giant pillows he’d bought had stayed at elias’s apartment, mostly because they would get more use there; the boys still gathered on saturdays and needed the extra seating. but after even left for therapy this was isak’s chance to make the steal without ruining his surprise.

mikael helped him carry them to even’s apartment, since he was ready to leave around the same time as isak. they didn’t talk much on the walk over, but isak knew that that was mikael’s preferred level of communication, and they were both comfortable with it. isak would much prefer a mikael at peace than a mikael ready to launch an attack.

they deposited the pillows in the living room and mikael turned to leave. “we should be here at six?” he asked over his shoulder.

“yeah. i don’t know how late we’ll be but if we leave early then that would be a good time.”

“okay. and elias still has his key?”

“yup.” isak followed mikael down the stairs to their shoes.

“aight. we’ll see you tomorrow then.” mikael offered his hand for a casual slap-shake goodbye, the most physical intimacy isak had ever experienced with him.

“thanks for the help!”

mikael disappeared. isak went back upstairs to find his phone and finalize plans with kari anne in the group chat.

―――

isak dressed nicely for dinners at sigrid & jan’s house. this time he had a red fair isle sweater and dark wash jeans, and some chunky socks keeping his feet warm in his leather boots. even wore something very similar, but his sweater was cream with a different pattern. “do you think she’ll want to take pictures of us again?” even wondered while he combed back his hair, then gently mussed it into a style.

“of course. it’s your birthday. and we look handsome.” isak was applying a dot of concealer just because he could, though he would have to ask emma for more if he wanted to keep up this routine. even put his comb bak in the drawer then leaned in to kiss isak on his opposite cheek. he added a smack to his ass on the way out.

isak liked to dress up a bit because it felt like sigrid and jan dressed up too. it was the polite thing to do, but also isak knew that conversation would flow better if they were all on the same page, even with their appearance. they were all putting the same level of effort into the gathering, and then no one would feel out of place. and it wasn’t too much extra effort, because they would just save the same outfits for work the next day…as long as they didn’t get any stains on them.

they gathered their outerwear as they walked down the stairs, pulling hats and scarves and heavy coats from the hooks along the walls. isak checked in with even right before they left. “are you sure?”

even nodded and smiled and isak didn’t doubt the honesty of his response. he’d shared that his session yesterday had gone well, and they’d talked about certain behaviors from sigrid and himself that he wanted to avoid. “like i’ve been remembering things she’s said and reacting to those instead of what she’s actually doing now. when i feel ready to discuss those past…transgressions, then i need to have a conversation specifically about those moments, versus whatever might be triggering those memories now, whether they’re related or not. otherwise it’s kind of like these mixed messages. she won’t understand what’s actually upsetting me.”

on the way over isak suggested a dinner with just his parents, where isak stayed home. “would it be easier, or give you more of an opportunity to discuss those things without me there?”

“maybe another time. sundays are nice with you.” he gave isak’s hand a squeeze.

they held hands in public now, while they were commuting to work or grocery shopping or walking over to elias’s or meeting emma for dinner. if isak happened to catch a stranger’s curious look, he might tense up a bit, but he didn’t let go anymore.

sigrid & jan’s house was a tiny thing that they’d moved into after even went to university. its yard was bigger than the actual house, but it was completely filled with jan’s garden. another nice thing about going to visit was that they always came home with plenty of seasonal crops. and in the winter it was usually canned fruits, jams, or pickled veggies. sigrid greeted them with big hugs and jan immediately presented two very small jars of “blackberry jam! i got just enough off of that bush at the back.”

“i thought it had died!” even exclaimed, the genuine shock and delight at the gift lifting his voice.

“it’s definitely on its last legs…uh, roots.”

“he was out there every day scouring the brambles.” sigrid shook her head but she was clearly proud of his efforts. then she took isak’s hand and pulled him to the kitchen. even and jan went to the tall closet at the back of the living room where jan stored his jars. “you both look so cozy today. remind me to take a picture later.” she brought him to the stove where she had two large pots simmering. she pointed to one. “i need you to blend that while i get this bread finished.”

“what is it?”

“that’s butternut squash, and this…is a ministrone. kind of. i’ve taken some liberties.”

isak picked up the immersion blender that was sitting next to the stove. sigrid had gotten it started but it was still chunky in spots. while he stood there and mixed the soup she sliced a loaf of bread and laid it out on a baking tray. each slice got a thick spread of butter. isak stepped to the side so she could open the oven and slide the tray in for a quick broil.

she flicked her eyes toward the living room and then leaned toward isak’s chest. “how has he been?”

sigrid asked this question every time they were together. isak had thought it was just general curiosity about the new relationship, but once isak revealed that to even he had rolled his eyes. she was asking isak because it was the nervous curiosity that even had tried to distance himself from years ago. eventually he told his mother to stop using isak to get answers about her own son. that turned into an argument where sigrid nearly started crying about how even wouldn't answer her so she had no choice. she excused herself from the table and jan was left to host the boys through the rest of a very quiet dinner.

at this point isak was comfortable pushing back to defend even’s boundary. “sigrid, you know i’m not going to speak for him. how’s this, is it smooth enough?”

she glanced into the pot. “yes, that looks good.” isak’s deflection seemed to work. “now grab some bowls from the shelf for me please. thank goodness he found a tall one to bring home,” she muttered to herself. isak blushed but easily picked four bowls from up high.

even and jan came to the kitchen shortly after, with jan still talking as they headed to the table. isak passed them the silverware and glasses to set out at each seat. then he helped sigrid carry the pots to the table. before she sat down she dropped a kiss on the crown of even’s head. “how are you doing?” she asked as casually as she could as she moved to her chair. isak sat on the other side of the table, so the couples could look at each other directly. isak studied even as he answered.

“i’m fine, mamma. a little nervous about pappa’s grand scheme over here, but everything else is okay.” isak couldn’t hear any tension in his voice so he relaxed a little bit.

“oh, is he trying to get you on his side about buying a van?”

“how else will i transport my vegetables, sigrid?” jan sounded exasperated by her skepticism.

“dearest, you don’t even have the stall permit yet. don’t put the cart—excuse me, the van—before the horse.”

“catch me up?” isak requested of the table in general. jan gleefully started from the beginning with his grand plan to join the farmer’s market that summer, with the full list of his crops and ideas for clever names for his backyard farm.

most of dinner was spent discussing this great undertaking, with even contributing creative enthusiasm and sigrid sprinkling it all with caution and logic. then they pivoted to jan’s work at the office, and how he found his attention shifting so easily in the warmer months. jan and sigrid lived comfortably and were starting to entertain plans for retirement. that led to talking about the cabin, which turned into the perfect segue by the time they were clearing the table for dessert.

Isak fetched smaller plates from an even higher shelf, and even clapped when sigrid revealed his cake. it was a tall layer cake draped in swirls of light blue icing. there were six candles on top and even’s name written in a shaky, dark blue script. “do you remember that picture you put in the folder for me? the close-up of his face?” sigrid asked isak. he nodded. every few weeks he picked a photo (with even’s approval) from his phone and uploaded it as a wordless update for his parents. that one had been from early december, when they went out for lunch on a random tuesday, just to get some sunlight. “i zoomed in on his eyes and picked the blue color from there.” sigrid twisted to even and cupped his cheeks with her small hands. even leaned into the adoring gesture and those blue eyes crinkled up with a smile. they shared a silent moment of connection and then she released him to stand in front of her chair. isak stood up too. jan struck a match to light the candles.

even laughed and gamely clapped while they sang the birthday song. he watched isak spin around with a little flare, and isak genuinely enjoyed performing something he used to roll his eyes at. then even paused to make a wish and blew out the candles. isak knew he would ask him what he wished for later.

the cake was delicious, and they each had two slices. even tried to flick icing across the table at isak but sigrid threatened him with a spoon. “if you get icing on my wall you are cleaning it up, birthday boy.” even agreed to those terms and kept trying. then jan left the table for the bedroom, and returned by sliding a tall, skinny cardboard box through the kitchen. it had a blue bow stuck on top, which was enough, since it would’ve taken an obscene amount of wrapping paper to cover the whole thing.

“eh?” even stood to look at the box.

“happy birthday, dearest.” sigrid looked very proud of the gift and was enjoying even’s puzzlement. jan stepped back and let even walk around it. they had to hold it at the top so it wouldn’t fall over.

“it’s heavy….” even’s eyes scanned each side. “is…did you get me a bed?” he gripped the box to turn it around, showing sigrid and isak the diagram on the other side. it was, in fact, a bed. “thank you,” even whispered, without much conviction.

“it looks like a nice bed,” isak added, coming around the table to look at the dimensions. “we can get the guys to help us carry it upstairs.”

“oh no! no!” sigrid nearly yelled. “it’s not for—it’s for the cabin. you don’t have to carry it anywhere. pappa and i will take it up on our next trip and build it in your room, so now you’ll have a proper bed for when you and isak visit. i didn’t want those flimsy beds from when you were a kid stopping you from staying in ålesund.”

even’s face relaxed as his mother explained and the bed made more sense. he leaned the box against the nearest counter edge and moved around it to give sigrid a hug. “thank you,” he said again, with actual gratitude. “that’s such a lovely gesture for the both of us.” he pressed a heavy kiss on sigrid’s cheek and isak saw her squeeze her eyes closed. she was going to cry. she let out a tiny gasp when even pulled back. he went to jan to give him a hug as well, and sigrid turned away from them to hide her tears. but isak stepped in and opened his arms for a hug as well, and she fell into his chest and let loose against his sweater.

“thank you, sigrid. that means so much to us.” he rubbed her back to calm her down. “let us know when you’d like a family vacation and we’ll try to clear our schedules for it, okay?” her blonde hair scratched at his chin as she nodded. isak knew it was a big promise, committing to a vacation with his boyfriend’s parents, but that seemed to be the least they could do since they bought them a bed. aside from the literal comfort they were providing, it felt like a grander statement since the gift would serve both of them. isak felt like it was his birthday too.

when even and his father separated, jan peeled off the bow and stuck it to even’s chest. they shared a low chuckle, and then jan slid the box back to the bedroom where it had been hiding. “you know, if we have a van, it will be a lot easier to transport this up there!” he sang as he left. isak let go of sigrid and spun into even’s arms. she plucked a napkin off the table to wipe at her tears while isak was crushed into a hug with the bow.

“we’ll keep the little mattresses, of course. you never know when elias and mutta and mikael want to come for a visit too. but yes, this will be a nicer frame for you both.”

“it’s such a thoughtful gift, mamma. thank you so much.”

“you know…i thought of it as soon as you came back from your first trip, when you brought back the clean sheets and blanket. it might’ve been presumptuous but if…if isak was having a nice time then i thought he might want to come back, and then i wanted it to be ready, and you two could have your own space.”

isak laughed as he pulled out of even’s hug. he kept to his side though, and wrapped an arm around even’s waist. “you were very right to presume. though i suspect i would’ve had a wonderful time even if i had to sleep on the floor.”

sigrid looked horrified when he suggested such a crime, but that just made even laugh. jan reappeared. “oh i forgot to bring these out.” he was carrying a colorful quilt and coordinating linens, also with a blue bow on top. even let go of isak to accept them, and both boys admired the pattern.

“pappa helped me pick those out. they were on sale after christmas. oh, and if you bring them back to the city to wash, you could just use them on your regular bed too. everything fits.” sigrid returned to her pleased homemaker attitude, with any remaining tears in her eyes only there out of pride. she’d surprised her son with a useful and enjoyable gift, that doubled as a reason for him to visit her at the cabin. it was a very successful birthday dinner.

―――

they enjoyed a little bit of champagne in the living room before they left, relaxing on the couches and catching up on the skiing gossip from sigrid and jan’s most recent trip. isak disclosed that he hasn’t skied since he was very young, which sent even giggling, picturing his boyfriend flying down the slopes. “this might be even better than my skateboarding fantasy.” luckily neither sigrid nor jan inquired further into what that fantasy actually was.

when isak noticed the time was getting close to seven he made the gentle suggestion to head home. sigrid and jan were happy to let them go, having enjoyed the whole bottle together and noting their earlier bedtime now that they were getting older. but she also demanded photos once they were standing, so isak took a few pictures of even with his parents and then jan took a few of isak and even alone. they had to brainstorm a way to take a picture of all four of them together, but then sigrid cleared a small space on the fireplace mantle to rest a phone. Even set the timer, they lined up with the boys in the middle, and they wrapped their arms around each other. they smiled.

after another round of hugs and kisses they bundled up and went home. isak carried the new linens in an oversized shopping tote over his shoulder. “that went well, yes?” isak looked over to see even nodding into his scarf. he pressed the button for their stop.

“it was really lovely. i had to, like, constantly remind my brain to not interpret what she was saying negatively, but that’s…what i’m supposed to be doing.” they stepped off the bus carefully, navigating the packed snow on the sidewalk. “maybe after a few more visits it will be less of a conscious effort. but even as it was, i enjoyed myself. i liked seeing you with my parents.”

“speaking of me with your parents, i kind of promised sigrid we would go on a family vacation with her to ålesund.”

isak could barely hear the chuckle underneath the scarf but it was there. “i think that was a given. that was the whole point of the bed. it was quite clever on mamma’s part.”

“mm,” isak agreed. “so we’ll have to start looking at our schedules. and now we have the weekend farmer’s market to take into account.”

even’s laugh was louder and drew his mouth up above the warm wool. “he really has leaned into his gardening in the last year, jesus. if you had asked me five years ago what hobby i thought my dad would pick up next, i never would’ve thought ‘fruits and vegetables.’”

“forget hobbies; he’s halfway to his own business.”

they approached their building. isak had his own key now, and he unlocked the first door for them.

“what are you thinking about?”

isak was thinking about the surprise that was waiting for them upstairs, feeling nervous that he didn’t have any texts with updates, even though he didn’t ask for any. but he quickly thought up a work excuse that would explain his distance. “um, how maybe someone from jakob’s team might be interested in profiling jan. has there been a surge of home gardens lately? what’s the process for joining a farmer’s market? how profitable is it to bring produce into the city from a farm versus urban, hyperlocal crops? what resources are there for farmers when it comes to direct-to-consumer sales?” he felt ridiculous spitting out these ideas because they were rushing out without a filter yet they sounded somewhat legitimate. he really should be putting these questions in a voice memo, but even was climbing the stairs in front of him and that was…well that took priority.

the bag of linens landed with a light thump on top of isak’s pile of shoes. they removed their outerwear slowly as they climbed, hanging everything back up. isak listened for noises but didn’t hear anything over the shuffle of their own clothes. there wasn’t any light coming through under the door. and even—even was still undressing. isak reached up and tugged at his belt. “what are you doing?” he hissed. even threw his sweater and undershirt over his shoulder, and they skimmed isak’s head as they fluttered down the steps.

“getting naked. wanna help?” even was still climbing and his hands were at his belt buckle.

“even, no!” isak was torn between holding his boyfriend back and trying to reach for his shirt, while also not pulling them both down the stairs.

“what…what’s going on? you love when i get naked.”

isak blushed, praying whoever was on the other side of the door was far enough away to not hear them. maybe they were hanging out in the living room. even undid his belt but he did stop climbing to look at isak.

“do you want me to blow you down there?” he pointed down to the graffiti door and isak was going to melt from the flames burning his neck.

“shut up, no, just….” he stumbled down the steps to fetch the sweater and chucked it back up at even. “put this back on. we can’t be naked.”

“why not?” even was seriously confused but he did as isak asked. “we always get naked.”

isak pinched the bridge of his nose. “not tonight, okay babe?”

even dropped his sweater and his jaw. “is this…is this the first time you’re saying ‘no’ to a fuck?”

“even! i’m not—that’s not what this is. just please put your clothes back on until…until later or something.”

even reached into the pocket of his sagging pants and pulled out his phone. “i need to document this. for the record.” he snapped a photo of isak staring up at him with an annoyed look on his face. “this was the first time isak denied me.” even snorted. “it looks like you’re about to give me a very angry blowjob though.” he showed isak the photo.

if he weren’t so frustrated by the situation, isak would’ve laughed. that’s exactly what the photo looked like with that angle. unfortunately isak’s face just made even want to persuade him even more, so even tucked his phone under his chin and promptly shoved his pants down to his ankles. he was wearing bright red boxer briefs and he shook his ass in isak’s face. then, before isak could get a grip on his body, sexual or otherwise, even waddled up the few remaining steps and reached for the door. isak screamed, “NO!” at the same time as their kitchen, full of friends and coworkers, screamed “SURPRISE!” at a nearly naked even.

maja screamed, marius howled, and mikael took approximately 50 photos, the flash of his phone camera lighting up the kitchen like a red carpet. isak was so embarrassed he sank down behind even’s legs. even laughed and made no move to get dressed.

“pull up your motherfucking pants even! i came here for your birthday, not a peep show.” kari anne's booming voice had a hint of a laugh in it.

it did not occur to isak until just then that all of their friends were not just seeing even in his underwear—they were seeing even’s boner in his underwear. so despite isak’s desire to melt into a puddle right there on the steps, he now felt enough possessiveness to lunge forward and pull up even’s pants from behind. it was a challenge to dress someone blind, especially when that someone was a giggly, wriggly mess. isak got a flash of the kind of future where he was getting a toddler dressed, but he had no time for that future right then. he got even’s jeans up to his butt and then he had to forcibly turn his boyfriend around in order to navigate his bulge.

“looks like dinner with the parents went well, then!” elias shouted out, making everyone laugh again and isak’s cheeks turn an impossible red.

“oh, babe.” even finally noticed isak’s general struggle. he took over with his pants and hefted them up to his waist. “i’m sorry. i should have listened to you. but this was amazing and hilarious. are you okay?” he buttoned his jeans and cupped isak’s jaw.

isak was still too flustered to say anything. his eyes darted from even’s face to the gleeful faces behind him, checking to see who was still laughing. “come on, bedroom.” even started walking isak backward toward the privacy of their bedroom. “five minutes!” he announced to everyone else.

“i thought you only needed two!” someone else shouted back.

―――

the laughter and voices faded as soon as the door closed. isak spun around and flopped himself on the bed face first. “surprise,” he mumbled. even collapsed on top of him, blanketing him with rough denim and warm skin.

“this was the best surprise ever. i’m sorry i embarrassed you with my penis.” even added a little thrust as if that would convey sincerity. the heat that flushed isak’s cheeks now was a slightly different kind. even nuzzled his face against isak’s cheek and gave him a few kisses. “i’ll get dressed and we can hang out with my favorite people.”

even pushed up and went to the closet. he swapped out his jeans for grey sweatpants and put on a white t-shirt. isak kept his jeans but opted for a clean white t-shirt too. even swept isak into a hug before they went through the door. “i love you in general and i love you for this. thank you for such a nice gift, and the perfect way to relax after the family dinner.” he squeezed across isak’s back and then shifted his head in for a kiss. isak demanded tongue as part of even’s apology and he got it, a nice open, wet kiss that tasted like champagne. even grunted when they parted. “um, yes. friends first, but then we’re definitely revisiting the naked thing.”

isak agreed with an aggressive grip on even’s ass. even kissed his way out of it and wiggled toward the door.

the kitchen roared with another greeting when they appeared, birthday wishes thrown from every direction. even opened his arms and accepted all of them with a wide smile. “thank you all for coming. this is such a fun surprise, and i clearly had no idea.”

“it was a fun surprise for us as well,” kari anne smirked.

“since we’re all here and there is a grotesque amount of alcohol behind mutta, have we agreed to absolutely ruin our sunday night?” another cheer went up. isak moved around even to get to the counter by mutta.

as requested, everyone bought the alcohol isak had assigned them and paid for. he couldn’t bring much into the apartment on his own without raising suspicion, so he spread out the drinks, food, and decorations among their friends. maja and marius picked up a cake from a bakery on their side of town. mutta and kari anne brought most of the alcohol. sana and yousef brought food from mamma bakkoush, enough to last them at least a week. elias and mikael were on decorations & entertainment duty. their friends had started drinking, as was to be expected when you’re trapped in an apartment for a couple of hours. since everyone had helped themselves to the juice and ice in the fridge, isak didn’t bother with setting anything else up. he searched for sana in the small crowd, who was chatting with mikael by the entrance to the hallway. when he caught her eye he nodded a question and she held up a full glass in response. with her taken care of he mixed up a dark & stormy for even.

“here you go, babe.” he only interrupted even’s conversation with marius and maja to put the cup in his hand. then he went back to the counter to assess the food. yousef joined him to point out the options.

“all of even’s favorites. mamma didn’t leave the kitchen all morning. this…this tray is okay. these two should be reheated a bit.”

“okay, thanks.” isak reached over to start the oven.

“and this we actually eat cold sometimes, so it would be fine as is.”

they figured out the food and then isak moved on to the living room. everyone was still in the kitchen, so isak got to see the decoration efforts as intended. streamers looped colorfully from even’s shelves, carefully taped as to not disturb his toys. balloons hovered at the ceiling, their strings becoming vines that dusted isak’s shoulders. on the coffee table was a pile of markers and a large brown envelope. he went right to the envelope to see what was inside. “yesssss.” isak dumped out the contents and spread them out. he had found ten particularly embarrassing photos, a mix of recent shots from isak and childhood ones from sigrid, that he’d ordered temporary tattoos of. he had a good feeling that this group was going to get very creative with the placement. in the very least he knew exactly where he wanted a tattoo of even on his own body. he practically skipped back out to the kitchen to get water and a sponge.

everyone had started eating, so isak joined the queue for a little bit of the bakkoush cuisine. no matter how full they were, isak and even would always make room for mamma’s food. isak refreshed even’s drink and then led some people into the living room to eat, for more seating. even stayed in the kitchen at the table with sana, yousef, and kari anne.

maja screamed again when she saw the tattoos. she and marius abandoned their food immediately and took the sponge to the bathroom. three minutes later marius returned with at least four evens plastered across his face. then he dared mikael to do even more. after that, it was chaos.

elias tried to tie a balloon to the back of sana’s hijab. kari anne was the first one to get a tattoo of even on her ass cheek. mutta and mikael started doing shots, and marius and maja were caught making out in the stairwell when it was time to break open the markers on the door. their defense was that maja could stand on one step above marius and they would be a closer height for kissing.

“like my apartment is the only place with steps, get the fuck out.” isak shoved marius against the door. but that’s exactly where everyone stayed. they all shared the markers and wrote silly birthday messages to even on the door, reading old ones and laughing, and recording new jokes that they now all shared. the graffiti door was due for an update and everyone got a chance to leave their mark. isak made sure no one wrote over his original “shithead,” and he added a couple more questionable names wherever they fit.

unfortunately marius convinced maja to paint her lips with marker ink and kiss the door, but then she was stuck with deep purple lips. sana immediately dragged her up to the bathroom to start exfoliating. isak had to console maja from the doorway. “i’ll get emma to give me some lipsticks that would cover it up if it doesn’t come off.”

“matte,” sana instructed.

isak opened his recording app and noted that: “matte lipsticks from emma for maja.”

“anything from a maroon to a magenta should cover it up.” isak added that. “in the meantime, here, you can use this.” sana pulled a tube of lipstick out of her small crossbody bag and opened a drawer. she plucked an alcohol wipe from where even kept them next to the tweezers and cleaned off the tube and used lipstick. she handed it to maja and maja looked like she was about to cry from the gesture. sana nipped it in the bud with a glare and a single finger held up in maja’s face. “just be glad your friends are so clean.”

isak blushed, assuming sana knew that they had those wipes to clean their toys. but then marius burst into the bathroom, shoving isak aside. “baby, it looks like we just kissed too hard for a little bit. ‘cheer up! a hickey from kenickie is like a hallmark card,’” he quoted in his best american accent. this actually made maja cry so isak excused himself and went to get more alcohol.

eventually yousef was tasked with getting mutta and mikael home. marius gave maja a piggy back ride down four flights of stairs and across the city. they found kari anne had removed her pants and crawled into their bed, so they left her there. sana, even, and elias collapsed onto the couch and giggled their way through a nonsense conversation the way siblings do. isak put the food away, got water for them all, and then joined them on the floor with his giant pillows. even found grease on the tv and they watched and sang along with the few bits they knew. then isak fell asleep, his fingers wrapped lightly around even’s ankle and his head resting against even’s knee.

[palbabor-writes]

Quarter-Century

Pairing: Sakusa Kiyoomi x Fem!Reader

Warnings: mild heavy petting, but this is pretty tame, oh & lots of fluff, likely enough to kill someone, so watch out for that, k?

What’s with him today? It’s just another day. After all, birthdays don’t matter when you’re this old, right? It’s not like he’s a kid. He doesn’t need a party, doesn’t really want one either. Besides, you’ve likely got something planned, you always do.

Words: 3754

Notes: if i call this a drabble are y’all gonna get mad at me? 

Quarter-Century quar·ter-cen·tu·ry /ˈkwôrdər/ - /ˈsen(t)SH(ə)rē/ noun  a period of 25 years

Twenty-five.  

It’s always spoken about like it’s some kind of milestone. Eh, it’s just another year, Kiyoomi thinks, tugging his sweaty shirt off of his back and walking toward the MSBY team dressing room, there’s nothing special about it. 

He’d woken up at 5:25, taken his first shower, kissed your sleeping form absentmindedly on the cheek before he left the bedroom, and jogged the three miles to the training facility.

He’d worked on his digs, on his jump float, and looked over the drills. The team had two practice games and had huddled up for the review at the end, the same as always. As Kiyoomi made his way out of the locker room Atsumu and Bokuto had both clapped him on the back, joking about the fleeting joys of ‘youth,’ and congratulating him on his performance on the court before they all went their separate ways, each gliding along their own trajectory. 

No, there’s nothing special about birthdays.

You’re not back from work when he gets home, so Kiyoomi pads around the empty apartment, flitting from room to room, disjointedly flipping on lights and switching them back off seconds later. It’s like he can’t make up his mind. Should he take a nap? He could sleep off these uncharacteristic and frustrating jitters that keep coursing through him. No, he reconsiders naps just make him groggy and irritable. What else?

He’s showered twice today, there’s no need for another, and it looks like you’d cleaned up the living room and kitchen before you’d left for the day, so there’s nothing for him to clean either. Ugh, what’s with this restlessness? 

There are old matches that he can watch, already primed and loaded onto his laptop, but it’s charging in the bedroom, likely tucked under some of your leaflets and various heapings of paperwork. It’d be a pain to move everything.

Eh, he could start a puzzle, maybe flip through some channels, see what’s on TV, and there’s that book that you’d told him he should check out, he’s weeks behind on starting that, but it’s in the bedroom too, and–

Damn it. It feels like he’s stuck in some kind of loop.

He flops down on the couch, tipping his dark head back, obsidian curls fanning around his forehead as he stares up at the ceiling. What’s with him today? It’s just another day. After all, birthdays don’t matter when you’re this old, right? It’s not like he’s a kid. He doesn’t need a party, doesn’t really want one either. Besides, you’ve likely got something planned, you always do. He smiles at that thought, running his hands through his hair and letting out a deep exhale. It’ll be alright, he reasons, you’ll get back and he’ll shake himself out of this funk, and then maybe he can–

The sudden scrape of the lock turning makes him jump, and he pops his head up just as you step through the door, a smattering of canvas bags tucked under your coiled hands. You spot him as you tap the door closed, a broad grin lighting up your face. “Hey there!” you call out, stepping toward the kitchen to deposit your purchases. “Did you just get home? Practice go okay?” 

“It went well,” Kiyoomi replies, hunching forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “That reminds me, the next match is this weekend, you still planning on going?”

“Yeah!” you confirm, tucking a few things into the fridge before you pace over to his seated figure. “It’s right before the playoffs start, so it’ll likely be one of the last ones I can get a good seat to. Once you guys get in those end of season bouts it gets...Hey, you sure you’re alright? You look a little, I don’t know, downcast?” You kneel in front of him, your hands reaching, stroking gently over his hair and down his jaw. 

“I’m fine. Feel a little...off...is all. Happens.”

“Off?” you question, bright eyes finally catching his onyx. “Well, we can’t have that. Not today!”

“Hmph, it’s just a Saturday,” Kiyoomi huffs, catching your wrists and lowering your hands from his face. 

“Yes,” you continue, watching as he distractedly toys with your hands, trailing his thumbs over your fingers and flipping your palms this way and that within his hold. “It’s also a Saturday where I’ve played the role of good– no great, girlfriend and got us some tickets! Surprise!”

“Tickets?” he echoes, his head cocking to the side as he lifts his gaze back to yours. “To what? If it’s some kinda concert, not to be an ass, but I don’t really want to go to a–”

“Really?” you deadpan, arching an eyebrow at his morose expression. “You think, after two years of dating, that I’d take you to a concert? You? Kiyoomi Sakusa, the man who is pretty much allergic to crowds, who completely dipped out of a shoe store once because there were five people in the ‘athletic wear’ section, who abhors the mere thought of tight spaces and groups of twenty or more, thought that I, his loving partner, decided to put some some color into his living nightmares, and on his birthday no less, by bringing him to a concert?”

Kiyoomi clicks his tongue and exhales a tight laugh. “When you put it that way, no. But on the off chance that you did, and you’re trying to bluff your way out of the situation by over elaborating your reasons for not bringing me, well…I’m gonna have to decline the gift.”

You narrow your eyes at his impassive face and purse your lips. “And to think, I was gonna come over here and give you a kiss and everything.” 

“You’ll still give me one,” Kiyoomi smarts, a coquettish smirk lifting his lips when you openly scoff at him. “So, out with it, what are the tickets to?”

“Oh? Now you wanna know? Suddenly you’re curious. Well you can hold on to that buddy, cuz’ I’m not gonna tell you.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Why should I?”

“It’s my birthday,” he intones simply, broad palms already sliding up your arms, pulling you closer. You smell nice, Kiyoomi thinks, lips barely missing your own as you twist playfully away from him.

“Pfft, what happened to ‘it’s just a Saturday?’” you tease, following his insistent tugs, one knee pressing down into the cushions of the couch as you lower yourself over his lap. 

“Changed my mind,” Kiyoomi states, finally catching you and caressing his lips sinfully against yours. “I’m allowed to do that,” he continues, sucking a rasp from you as he drags his sharp teeth across the plush swell of your lower lip. “Mmm, you might have gotten a little distracted, so let me repeat my question: what are the tickets to?” 

He is genuinely interested; he wants to know what you’ve planned for the two of you, but his hands have already started that downward journey, long digits stroking over the curves that flow down your side, cupping and pulling just the way you like. Your knees lift when he buries his fingertips into the flesh of your upper thighs and you sigh, breath warm against his flushed cheeks. 

Actually, this is fine. After all, he’s good at this. He’s had plenty of time to learn you, to practice, and he loves that he knows just what to do to make you quake between his heated palms. But when he jerks you closer, your lips slip from his and you’re careful to brace yourself away, momentarily safe from his distracting caresses. 

“Baseball,” you pant, hands resting over the hard plane of his pectorals.

“Huh?” he queries, heavy brows furrowing, wholly distracted by the rise and fall of your uneven breaths and the gentle twitch of your spread legs against his hips. 

“A baseball game. I got us tickets to a baseball game.”

“It’s smaller than what I was picturing,” Kiyoomi says, adjusting the placement of his mask before looking down at you. “And what are you gonna do with that bag? Can you even take that in here?”

You laugh at his question, hoisting the thick strap of your insulated pack higher on your shoulder. “It’s the Yomiuri Giants, they’re part of the minor league so it’s a smaller stadium and don’t worry, they let you bring coolers and snacks in.”

“Eh? Snacks? Don’t they have concessions? Seems counter-productive if they let you bring your own food. How are they supposed to make money? Atsumu said that half of our vendors make a good deal of their revenue from their booths during the playoffs and the regular season. So I don’t see how that’s practical. What do you have in there, anyway? It looks heavy. Oh. Did you want me to carry it?”

“I’m not sure which one of those I should answer first,” you grin, dodging his extended hand and stepping forward. “Come on, I think we can head in now.”

The seats are located in the shade of the upper deck, right behind the third base, giving you both a perfect bird's-eye view of the action that will take place down on the field below. True to your word, the ticket inspectors had let you and your pack pass through without a word of protest, and as he flipped down his plastic seat, you carefully tucked the thick canvas between the two of you. 

“What’s in it?” he asked again, peering over your shoulder as you unzipped the long teeth and reached into the dark depths, hands searching for something. 

“You’ll see,” you promise, leaning back once you found your prize, a small bottle of hand sanitizer. You pop the lid up and nod for his palms, carefully pressing some of the clear antiseptic onto his hands. “Game should start soon,” you inform, repeating the cleaning process yourself before closing the top and tossing the bottle back into the bag. “And I wanna make sure you’re set before I head down to the concession stands.”

“So it’s food,” he determines, slipping his mask off of his face, tucking it under his chin, an appreciative smile winding its way up his lips. 

“Of course it is! You think I’d leave you to languish for 9 innings while I sit beside you, gorging myself on the delicious food they sell at the concessions, which you refuse to eat? Alas, not even I am that cruel. Nah, I brought something that I hope you’ll like.”

“I’ll like it,” Kiyoomi replies, resting his muscled shoulder against yours, watching as you arrange a few clear sets of Tupperware in your hands, lifting them evenly out of the bag. 

“Careful,” you jab, tossing him a mischievous grin. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

Kiyoomi shrugs. “It’s from you; I’ll like it.”

Your hands still after his declaration and you twist your head back to him, eyes wide, searching his placid expression. “Okay,” you laugh, setting the Tupperware aside, fully turning to him and wrapping an arm around his neck, your other hand cupping his cheek, pulling him down to your seeking lips. “That was too much. There some sort of class you stoic types take? How to make others swoon in five lessons, or less?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Kiyoomi rolls his eyes, prying your hands from him. “It’s true. No need to make a big deal about it. You put a lot of effort into today, and I...I just think that...I mean...thanks,” he finishes lamely, dark eyes balefully avoiding yours. You chuckle again and reward him with another peck to his cheek.  

“So cute.”

“Stop it,” he grumbles, a faint blush staining his cheeks. “Weren’t you gonna show me something? Better hurry. After all, there’s still time for me to mess it up.”

“What does that mean?” you puzzle, pulling away.

“I dunno. I always say the wrong shit. You know that.”

“Well,” you ponder, tapping a finger against your chin. “We’re at a baseball game, so, in the spirit of the sport, why don’t I give you three strikes?”

“Just three? I mean, wow, that’s so generous of you.”

You flash him a quick glare, tutting your tongue against the roof of your mouth. “Oooh, swing and a miss. Strike one!”

He’s just about to give you some retort when you press two of the containers into his hands. The heat of the plastic feels nice against his calloused palms, and he can see the fresh steam that surrounds the food that’s waiting inside. “Onigiri?” he questions, popping the lid, mouth watering at the sight of all of that pristine rice. Damn, when did you have time to make these?

“Homemade onigiri with pickled plums,” you inform him, a gleeful smile lighting up your face, pleased that he’s already reaching for one, a look of genuine happiness falling over his usually impassive expression.

“You remembered,” he murmurs, picking up the carefully shaped ball and lifting it to his lips. He bites into the fluffy rice, fastidiously letting the flavors fall over his tongue and across his pallet. It’s perfect, he thinks as he chews, just the right amount of pickled savoriness and clean, delicate grains. Damn, when did you do all of this?

You let him finish the first onigiri before you pass him a can of beer. It’s chilled, likely sitting toward the bottom of the bag, and he flicks a stray chip of ice off of the rim. A sealed can of beer, a carefully packed meal. Is there anything you haven’t thought of?

He’s just about to turn, to tell you that...well, he’s not sure what exactly. Maybe it is something about how lucky he is. How he’s somehow stumbled into something so sublime, so wonderful, as you, and how he should tell you that more, when you stand. 

“I’m going to hop down to the food stands. Inning should open up any minute. I’m glad this is an off season game, we’ve pretty much got this whole deck to ourselves! Be right back, ‘kay?”

He nods, eyes lingering on your hands, your smile, your eyes, just everything that he can see that’s you, but he doesn’t speak. He can’t. What’s he gonna say? Don’t go? Stay here. He’ll go down. 

He’ll do whatever you want; anything for you, anything.

You tilt your head at his stony, almost stricken expression, but you don’t comment on it, content with tucking one of his stray curls behind his ear before you spring up the steps, stepping away from his overwhelmed and utterly entranced form. 

Damn. 

He’s scrolling through his phone when the 1st inning ends, thumb whisking over the lists of required paperwork, the $50 dollar notarial fee, the Kon-in Todoke, mentally counting up the required signatures, the necessary witnesses. This is crazy, he thinks, skimming over the U.S. Embassy & Consulate regulations on the ‘Affidavit of Competency to Marry’ in Japan, he hasn’t even talked with you about this, but he’s honestly never felt more sure of anything in his life.

Right as he flips to a secondary tab, one that holds a few jewelry stores and ideas about ‘how to pop the question,’ he catches sight of you. You slide down the row of empty seats, your hands filled with various snacks and a tall glass of foaming beer. 

“Sorry! Wasn’t expecting to take that long, I completely missed the 1st inning! Good thing no one scored. Hopefully things will liven up with the 2nd and 3rd innings.” You settle in beside him, setting your beer against the cold concrete before jostling your popcorn and hot dog to your opposite hand, eyes peering over the brightly lit field. 

Kiyoomi bites back his grin and switches his phone off, obscuring the glittering pixels of diamonds and his future plans from view and tucks his device into his jacket pocket. You turn to look at him, your eyes narrowing and brow arching at his poorly controlled attempts to hide his giddiness. 

“What?” 

“Nothing,” he replies, slinging a long arm around your shoulders, tugging you close and planting a quick kiss against your temple.

“Liar,” you accuse, leaning back, eyes following the sharp angles of his handsome face.

“What made you pick baseball? You feeling homesick or something?”

“Hmph, no! I just...hmm, how to put this. I figured it’d be nice to take you to a game that’s not volleyball. One that we can just watch. There’s no need to worry about analyzing anyone’s performance, or your own here…you can just relax.”

Kiyoomi cocks his head at you, a few errant curls falling over his brow. “Do I do that when we go to a volleyball game?”

You nearly choke on your beer. “Mmm...koff...do you do that? Did you seriously just ask me that?”

“Yeah,” he affirms, obsidian eyes watching you closely. Wait, is he a pain to go to a game with?

“Kiyoomi?”

“Hmm.”

“I wasn’t about to take you to a volleyball game for your birthday. That’d be like you taking me back to the office and asking me to celebrate with you in the staff break room. I mean, I know you love the sport, but it’s your job. It’s what you do all day. Besides, the last time we went to a match I don’t think you said more than five words to me and you were constantly writing down the plays on your phone. I–Oh! That’s not a bad thing, not at all! It makes sense,” you amend, catching sight of his abruptly ashen expression. 

“It’s just...you’re good...no good doesn’t cut it...you’re amazing at what you do. You’ve got that hunger that all the sports documentaries I’ve ever watched talk about and you’re constantly looking to improve. It’s impressive, really! But...I just thought this might be a change of pace. Something that we could both go to, could watch, with no additional stakes. Who cares who wins? I mean, I want the home team to, obviously, but we can leave here when it’s over and just take memories, not more worries or challenges. And definitely not any notes. Sorry, that prolly’ sounds so rude, but I really want you to relax today. You more than deserve it.”

“It’s perfect,” Kiyoomi confirms, finally leaning back against the strong plastic of his seat, pulling you closer, bringing his knee toward your thigh, pressing until he can feel the heat of you past the material of his jeans. “Thank you.”

“No need to thank me,” you laugh. “It’s the least I could do. If you’re happy, then I’m happy! Oh! Speaking of, you gotta try this beer! It’s so good!”

He looks skeptically down at the plastic glass that’s still clutched between your fingers. “No. I’m not drinking out of that cup.”

“Kiyoomi,” you begin, fixing him with a hard stare. “You know we live together, right? If I pick anything up from this, then, and I hate to tell you this, but you’ll get it too, eventually.”

With a scoffed exhale and a curl of his lip he leans away from you, nose wrinkling distastefully at your threat.

“Come on,” you taunt, shaking the cup playfully in your hand, “You won’t regret it!”

“No.”

“Ugh, you’re no fun, you know that?”

“Never heard that before,” he laughs, coiling himself toward you, his arm around your back, squeezing you closer, holding on as tight as he can. 

It’s dark when the two of you get back home, but you won’t let him flip on the overhead lights, not yet. “Just wait, gimme a sec. There’s one more thing I wanna do...why don’t you go sit on the couch. I’ll turn on the lamp and be right back, promise.”

Obediently, he perches on the edge of the cushions and waits. 

He can hear you as you move around the kitchen, and he feels like he can still feel the warmth of your skin under his fingertips. Throughout the game, on the cab ride home, as he stood behind you in the darkened hallway, waiting for you to unlock the door, he’d kept his hands on you. It was like you were some kind of magnet and he couldn’t help but be tugged forward by your irresistible pull. 

“Hey! Close your eyes!” you call, feet soft against the wood as you pad back to him. He shakes his head at your request, a faint smile pulling at his lips, but he obliges you. How can he not? “No peeking,” you warn, and he it’s like he can almost feel you again as you come to stand in front of him once more. “Alright…I think that’s good. Now...open them!”

The space in front of him is bathed in a soft glow, with whisking yellows and gentle oranges dancing, flickering across your arms. The light from the candle illuminates your face, catching against your eyes and making them shine, and he’s honestly not sure if he’s breathing anymore. 

“I know it’s not much,” you justify, cupping your fingers around the delicate flame and lifting the cupcake toward him. “But I learned my lesson last year. Got you that huge cake and the leftovers languished in the fridge for almost a week. And you know what they say, less is more, right?”

Without thinking, his hands race forward, gripping your waist and pulling you closer. “Woah,” you exhale, a laugh bubbling from your lips. “Careful! I don’t wanna catch you on fire. Some birthday that would be. Come on, time’s a’wasting birthday boy, blow it out and make a wish!”

He’d lied earlier. 

When he’d thought that there was nothing special about birthdays. There is something special about this birthday and, for the first time, he knows just what he’s going to wish for. 

It’s easy to blow out the light. It’s a little harder to protect the cupcake from his downward tug, his hands insistent, firm, but somehow you safely tuck it behind you and twist back to him, fingers lacing into his onyx curls. 

“What did you wish for?” you ask, settling yourself across his lap.

“Can’t tell you yet,” Kiyoomi answers honestly, lips already seeking yours.

“Huh? You’re not supposed to tell me at all!”

“Too bad,” he intones, silencing any further retorts with the heady persuasion of his caresses and wandering touch. “I’m gonna tell you soon. Now let me enjoy you.”

notes: hbd! shoutout to @albinoburrito for her excellent edits and suggestions :*