#feel free to call me out on any inaccuracies to your idea

[writingonleaves]

i've been yours since you stepped through the door tonight - andrei svechnikov

pairing: andrei svechnikov x original female character

warnings: swearing, drinking alcohol, lotta fluff, inaccuracies regarding anything athletic trainer related (timeline of training, terminology, etc), proofread maybe once, mentions of injuries, author has never been to raleigh, mostly based off the first hald of the 2023-2024 season but i couldn't be bothered to keep track how often svech had been in and out lmfao

title: "almost touch me" by maisy kay, also inspired by "lowkey" by NIKI

word count: 16k

author's note: this idea's been swirling around my head for awhile now, but @wyattjohnston's summer fic exchange 2024 inspired me to really revive it. @callsign-denmark, this is for you, my friend. i hope you enjoy it!

~*~*~

“Chrissy!”

Christina turns around from where she’s restocking ice packs in the training room. She nods at the smiley Russian. “Svech.”

He walks to her and swings an arm around her shoulder in a friendly side-hug. “Good summer?”

“It was alright,” her summer back home in the Delaware suburbs wasn’t anything to write home to. And Andrei Svechnikov is technically a coworker who doesn’t need to know everything. “Good to be back though.” 

“I know what you mean,” he says. Andrei leans back against one of the treatment tables. “You graduated, right? College?”

She blinks. When did she ever mention that to him last season? “I did. Back in May. The week after playoffs ended.”

“Congratulations.”

She smiles genuinely, turning to face him completely. “Thank you. Did you need something?”

“Nope,” he says with a smile that somehow still stuns Christina even after a season of seeing it so much. “I just wanted to say hi and welcome back.”

“Well, welcome back to you too.��� As he’s turning away to go to fitness testing, she calls out. “Hey! Come back after you’re done. Should check on the knee before you go home.”

He halts, turning back around with a raised eyebrow. “Is that part of my regimen to get back to playing?”

“Has Doug told you?”

“Told me what?”

Clearly not then. Trust her boss, who’s lovely but also like a purposefully annoying father, to leave it to her to break the news. “They put me in charge of you this season.”

“Me?”

“Well, your recovery. And not completely. Obviously, Doug will still have final say. But if anything’s going on, I’m your person. Especially as you’re getting back into it.”

“Oh?” Andrei smirks and Christina refuses to be affected by it. 

“Is that gonna be a problem?”

He shakes his head slowly. “Of course not. I trust you.”

“Then I better see you before you leave today.”

“Deal.” He shoots her one last smile. “Bye Chrissy.”

“See you later, Svech.” Andrei brushes shoulders with Brady and they exchange excited greetings. She waits until Andrei leaves the room and smiles. “What can I do for you, Brady?”

“Got any tape?”

“Plenty.” She heads to the cabinet. “Take a seat.”

Christina Hawthorne feels very fortunate to even be back in this training room. After a co-op with the Hurricanes last season with their athletic training team, she graduated from UNC Chapel Hill in the spring. They liked her enough to offer her a position on the team for this season while she prepares for her certification test in January. They’re putting an immense amount of trust in her, and she couldn’t be more grateful. 

She loves the guys, so it’s nice to see that they seem to like her enough to keep her around. 

When she has a few free minutes with no players trailing into the training room, she wanders over to the gym. She may have had dreams to be a professional ballerina when she was very young, but actually working with professional athletes everyday is definitely a humbling experience. 

She’s sure to stay out of the way as the players are getting tested, leaning against the wall and sorta zoning out. She takes note of Andrei’s visible frustration at himself for not getting some of the results he wants. She knows that he won’t be ready for the first few games, and he knows too. But she’s sure he’s not happy about it. 

As promised, Andrei does come back to the training room after his fitness tests. She wrinkles her nose as Sebastian ruffles her dyed blonde hair in thanks for helping him stretch out before he leaves. She brushes her fingers through her hair to try and tame it. “Oh good, you’re back.”

“I promised, no?” He takes a seat on the table and puts his leg up. 

“How did today go?”

He huffs. “Fine.”

She presses her thumb against a particular part of his knee and he hisses. She immediately stops and does the same to the other side. No reaction there. She quickly turns to scribble something down in her notes. “I know this is annoying. But you’ll be back on the ice soon.”

“Not frustrated at you,” Andrei says, running a hand through his sweaty hair. “Just myself.”

“Don’t be,” Christina says, gesturing for him to lie down. “Have you been doing the stretches you’re supposed to be doing?”

“How do you know what I’m supposed to be doing?”

“Because I look over your notes and your trainers and the medical staff are in constant contact.”

He chuckles. “Right. Yes, I have been.”

“You lying to me?”

“Never.”

She bends his knee against his chest. “Then believe me. You’ll be back on the ice soon.”

“Okay,” he replies simply. “I believe you.” 

She twists slightly. “Any pain?”

“No.” 

Christina grins, then twists it the other way. “How about now?”

“No.”

“Music to my ears,” she gestures for him to sit up. “You’re good to go.”

“You sure?”

“Unless there’s something else you want me to look at.”

He shakes his head. “No. I think I’m good.”

“Then I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He gets up and flashes her a smile. “See you, Chrissy. Thanks. As always.”

She waves him off. “Just doing my job. Have a good night.”

…..

College was hard, but having a full-time job while trying to study for a certification is a whole new game. Trying to fit in study time while doing a job that already has weird hours is also another thing. Christina’s lucky that the athletic training and medical team understands and lets her study when the players are on the ice or she’s not needed. She even has her own little table in the trainers’ office this year, where she’s often found pooling over textbooks and scribbling notes. 

Training camp and pre-season is a chaotic time for a lot of reasons. There’s more players to keep track of and people are dusting off their rust. No one ever wants to get hurt of course, but especially not during pre-season. Which means everyone is also taking extra precautions. With new faces comes new routines and an adjustment period. 

Christina has a few moments of quiet, the last pre-season game occurring later that evening against Nashville. Players aren’t coming into the arena for at least another hour, and she pours over a chapter in her textbook. She has a pink highlighter in her mouth and a blue one in her hand when someone knocks on the wall. 

She looks up to see Andrei, who looks amused. “Sorry. Are you busy?”

She spits out the highlighter gracefully and caps them both. “Not at all. What’s up?”

“Are you sure?” He nods over to her books. “You look busy.”

“What’s up, Svech?” She repeats. 

He takes the hint. “Can you stretch out my hamstring?”

“Is it-”

“No. It’s not bad enough to need Doug. Just a little tight. And you said I should go to you whenever I need something.”

She stands up as they both head into the training room. “I did say that, yes. Which one?” He points at his right hamstring and she starts. 

“What were you doing earlier? With the books?”

“I’m taking a certification exam in January.”

“For what?”

“To become an official athletic trainer.”

“You’re not one already?”

“I am not,” she says. “Don’t worry. That’s why Doug and the rest of the team do all the nitty-gritty stuff.”

“I’m surprised,” Andrei says. “I thought you were, like, official. You seem to know everything.”

She chuckles, feeling a knot and focusing on that area. “That’s kind of you. I definitely don’t though.” She sees his breath hitch and grimaces. “Sorry. Just a few more seconds.”

“It’s your job,” he says in a strained voice. “You don’t have to apologize.”

“Well, I still feel bad when my job elicits pain in others,” she says. After two minutes, she nods. “Need more?”

He moves his leg around and shakes his head. “I think I’m good. Thanks.”

“Of course.” She looks at the clock hanging up on the wall and furrows her eyebrows. “You’re in early.”

Andrei shrugs. “I like to come in early.”

“I know,” the right side of her lip quirks up as tilts her head to the side. “This is really early though, even for you.”

“Well, you’re in too,” he says. “So why can’t I be?”

She chuckles. “I’m not saying you can’t, Svech. I’m just saying I didn’t expect to be seeing any hockey player for at least another hour.”

“Was feeling too restless at home,” Andrei says. 

She suddenly gets an idea. “Are you busy right now? Am I keeping you from anything?”

Ha shakes his head, “Not at all.”

“Wanna help me study?”

“I don’t know if I can be much help.” Nonetheless, he follows her back into the offices. 

She pulls out a chair for him to sit in and opens her textbook back up. “I study best when I can talk to someone and describe a concept or topic and they tell me it makes sense. I would be a shitty athletic trainer if I can’t tell the athlete what I’m doing.”

“So all I have to do is sit here and listen?”

“And ask questions if I’m not making any sense,” she bites her lip. “Again, if you have other places to be, I get it. This isn’t the most interesting stuff but-”

“No, no.” He assures before smiling widely. She has an urge to poke her finger in his dimple. “I’d love to help.”

Christina smiles in satisfaction as she flips through her pages. Andrei sits back and makes himself comfortable. 

Yeah, she’s glad to be back. 

…..

Every year, the players, coaches and staff head out to a bar in downtown Raleigh before the start of the first regular season game. It’s to stir up excitement and camaraderie before the season starts. Christina couldn’t make it last year because she had class, but as she’s looking at herself in the mirror —a fitted white t-shirt under a green leather jacket she rarely gets to wear that her sister bought her for Christmas and light washed flare jeans — she tells herself to call the damn Uber before she backs out. 

It’s not that she doesn’t like her coworkers. She really likes them, actually. But seeing them outside of work in a social situation where she could make a fool of herself is a bit anxiety-inducing. 

Once she thanks her Uber driver, she steps out into the swanky rooftop bar that has her tapping her foot as she waits for the elevator. Once she steps up, it’s easy to find the Canes crew, various familiar faces crowded around a specific area of the spacious rooftop. Taylor, the head of social content, who Christina’s become good friends with, sees her first and waves her over, and soon Christina is enveloped in exciting chatter. Taylor, the saint they are, pushes a White Russian, Christina’s favorite drink, in her hands. 

Christina can’t feel too bad. The organization is heading the bill tonight and she’s gonna milk that for all it’s worth. 

A bit later, when she’s on her third drink of the night and feeling comfortably tipsy observing the people around her, she feels a tap on her shoulder. She turns around in her stool and immediately beams. 

“Andrei!”

Andrei laughs and returns Christina’s enthusiastic hug before he leans his hip against the bar counter. “Hey Chrissy. You having fun?”

“Plenty.” She giggles. “Especially now that you’re here.”

Maybe it’s her tipsy self or the bar lighting, but she swears his cheeks become redder. Pair that with his button up shirt that has the top buttons undone and a pair of dark jeans and Christina needs to chill. “I’ve been trying to get to you all night,” he says. “You’re a popular woman. I saw Coach laughing at your jokes.”

She shrugs nonchalantly, leaning her chin on her palm. “I’m a funny gal, what can I say?”

“A confident one too,” he says, nodding to her empty glass. “What are you drinking?”

“You do know that the tab is on the Canes tonight, right? You don’t need to butter me up with drinks.”

Andrei rolls his eyes playfully and Christina bursts out into giggles. “I’m not trying to..butter you up? What does that even mean?”

“Like, uh, flatter me or whatever to get something. Like you’re doing something only hoping that you’ll get something out of it.”

“I’m definitely not trying to do that. I’m just trying to be nice. So what are you drinking?”

She offers a toothy grin. “A White Russian, please.” She pokes his shoulder. “Kinda like you, I guess.” Andrei snorts before waving down the bartender to order her drink. She squints at the drink in his hand. “Just a beer?”

“Don’t feel like getting too drunk tonight.”

“How responsible of you.”

He smiles, and Christina is suddenly overcome by the urge to kiss him. But she shakes her head and refocuses back on whatever he’s saying. He leans in closer to hear her response and she has to swallow roughly so her voice doesn’t crack. 

Talking with Andrei is always so seamless. The conversation may shift between three different topics in two minutes but it feels natural. Christina never has an urge to overthink when she’s talking with Andrei. He’s funny and sweet and makes her feel like she’s actually being listened to. 

In a world where she’s surrounded by men on a daily basis, it’s stupidly rare to feel as heard as she does whenever she speaks to the star winger of the Carolina Hurricanes. 

After she finishes her drink, she realizes she should probably start thinking about going home. They all technically have work tomorrow, even if it’s a later start, and people are starting to filter out, having come by to say goodbye to the both of them in the last 10 minutes. 

She starts to stand up and immediately sways on her feet. “Woah,” Andrei says, immediately putting a hand on her waist to steady her. “Slowly.”

“I’m fine,” Christina says, slapping his hand but ultimately grabbing onto his wrist as she steadies herself. “I should probably get going.”

Andrei’s eyebrows furrow. “You didn’t drive here, right?”

Christina snorts, “Of course not. I took an Uber.”

“Where do you live?”

“The Six Forks area.”

He pinches their empty glasses and puts them on the bar counter, nodding in thanks to the bartender. “You’re on my way home. I drive you.”

“Where do you live?”

“North Hills.”

She narrows her eyes. “I’m not that drunk to know that that’s definitely not on your way. You’d be overshooting.”

“I don’t care. It’s late, and I’d feel more comfortable if I just drove you home rather than you taking an Uber.”

“Andrei.” She deadpans. “I’m a grown woman. I can get home myself.”

“I know. But just let me drive you. Please.”

She huffs. “Fine. Thank you.”

He grins, “Anytime. Let’s say goodbye to everyone and then we head out.” Christina stumbles again and his hand is immediately back on her waist. “Slowly,” he repeats. 

“I’m fine,” she repeats. 

After they both say goodbye to everyone who’s still at the bar (Taylor eyes her with a smirk, gaze shifting between Christina’s eyes and Andrei’s hand that’s hovering over her back. Christina just rolls her eyes and discreetly flips them off), Andrei leads her to the parking lot. 

Christina’s nose crinkles at the sight of the lamborghini as Andrei unlocks it. “I forgot you drive this.”

Andrei lets out a loud laugh before opening the passenger door. “Don’t worry. I drive extra safe with you in the car.”

“Thanks,” she mutters, climbing in. She’s heard about his questionable driving. She hopes she doesn’t regret this. 

The engine roars to life and Christina rolls her eyes at the sound. Andrei just shoots her a smile before backing out of the spot. He unlocks his phone and hands it to her. “Put in your address.”

She hums, typing it in before putting his phone in the center console. She closes her eyes for a few seconds, before turning her head so that she’s facing him, leaning on the headrest. “You really didn’t have to do this.”

“You’re telling me you don’t like me as your personal Uber?” Andrei asks. She watches as he turns the wheel with one hand and rests his other hand on the center console shift. “You feel okay? I can open a window if you need.”

“I’m okay, Svech. Just don’t accelerate like a mad man.”

He laughs and she can’t help but giggle along. “I won’t. Promise,” he says. “You like to talk when you’re drunk.”

“Not drunk,” she mutters. 

Andrei’s hum blends in with the engine. “Sure.”

“Not drunk,” she repeats. “Especially not in front of you all. That would be unprofessional.”

“Why you afraid of being unprofessional? The staff loves you. The team loves you.”

“I’ve worked hard to get here,” she says, forcing her eyes back open so she doesn’t fall asleep. “But the fact that I got this job in the first place is a blessing. I’m not gonna do anything to fuck it up.”

He nods. She closes her eyes. He gently jostles her awake when they’re parked in front of her apartment. He insists on walking her up to the door, and she leaves him with another ‘thank you,’ a tight hug and a sleepy smile. 

He doesn’t move his feet until after a minute of staring at her front door.

…..

Opening night is always so thrilling. Of any sport. Christina has to tell herself to stop grinning so widely when the team is getting announced, making sweater paws with a Hurricanes crewneck she found on Etsy. She rocks back and forth in the tunnel, trying to stay out of everyone’s way on the side while simultaneously trying to see the ice and crowd. 

Once the game is about to begin and the arena lights come back on, Christina shakes her head at herself to focus. It’s go-time. Like last year, she’s not with Doug on the bench — the day she gets on the bench will be the day her heart rate explodes — but she’s closeby in the tunnel or in the training room, making sure everything’s all good and she’s not needed. 

“Hey.”

She turns to see Andrei, in his gray plaid game day suit coming from the bench where he was during player introductions. She smiles, “Hi. Happy season opener.”

“Happy season opener.” He grins. “The red earrings are back.”

Christina automatically reaches to touch the red rose earrings she has on tonight. She puts on a red pair of earrings every game day, whether its a flower, a cool design or ruby studs.

It’s something she just does for fun. For herself. She’s surprised that Andrei has noticed. 

“You heading up to the press box?”

“Yeah.”

They’re interrupted by Bob, the head equipment manager, greeting them with a grin “Miss you out there, Svech.”

“Soon,” Andrei promises. 

Bob turns to her with a playful raise of his eyebrow. “That true, Chrissy?”

Christina grins. “That depends on him,” she jokes. “No, he should be good to go soon. Let me know if you need any help tonight..”

Bob waves her away. “Of course. Can always count on you. See you both later,” He then heads back to the bench. 

She takes one last look at the bench to see if anyone needs anything. No one does. She turns back to Andrei. “Thanks again for driving me home last week.”

“Of course. Did you wake up okay?”

“I don’t get hungover.”

“Lucky you.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “Are you heading on the road trip after this?”

“I’m not, actually. I should be on all the other ones though.”

“Why not this one?”

She chuckles. “Funnily enough, because of you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s my job. I also think it’s because it’s early in the season so I’m not really needed yet. Hopefully.” She grimaces, “I just jinxed it, didn’t I?”

Andrei laughs, while nodding a greeting at one of the assistant coaches passing by. “Maybe. I feel bad you can’t go on the road, though.”

“There'll be plenty of other chances. You can make it up to me by helping me study again,” she jokes. 

“I will do it,” he says seriously. 

“I was kidding.”

“I will do it,” he repeats and clears his throat. “I should head up.”

She nods. “Enjoy watching from above.”

“Thanks. I mean it. I will help you study while you put me through painful stretches.”

“The stretches shouldn’t be that painful otherwise you’re not ready to go,” she admonishes. She internally wants to cringe at her tone switch, but she can’t help it. 

Luckily, he just grins, a twinkle in his eye. “I know, I know. I’m teasing.”

She rolls her eyes. “Leave. I have work to do.”

He laughs, “See you later, Chrissy.”

…..

Last year, when she still had school, she couldn’t go on road trips either — until it came to the playoffs. So she knows what it’s like to come to the rink when no one’s really around. 

Christina’s planning just to come in for a few hours in the morning to gather her own notes and to organize a few things. Also, she might study for a bit, wanting a different environment than her apartment. Andrei also texted her — she got the number of every single player at the start of the season — saying that he’s planning to come in to work on some things with Steven, one of the other assistant athletic trainers who’s also staying behind this road trip. 

She taps her ID to get in, sipping her iced latte as she strolls down the hallway. She smiles and nods in greeting to a few staff members who she passes. Heading into the office, she sets her stuff down and immediately pulls out some of her notes, along with going through notes that the team has been sending on their road trip. 

She hears Andrei before she sees him, the sound of him and Steven talking echoing through the hallway. They come to the office and she gives them both a wave. 

“Good morning.”

Andrei and Steven both grin. “Morning,” they respond in unison. 

“Did you get Doug’s notes last night?” Steven asks. 

“Yeah. I’m in the middle of putting them in.”

“Amazing. Thank you.” Steven pats Andrei on the shoulder. “You’re all set this morning, Svech. Just remember what I said.”

Andrei nods as Steven leaves the room. “Thanks, Steve.” Steve puts his hand up in acknowledgement. Andrei pulls over a chair and sits down. She saves her work. He looks at the pair of old pointe shoes on her desk that she had just remembered to bring in. “What are those?”

“Old pointe shoes.”

“Well, yeah. I know what they are. Are they yours?”

She goes to play with one of the fraying ribbons. “They are. These are the last pair I wore before I left for college. I brought them in as something to put on my desk.”

“I didn’t know you danced.”

“Well, you don’t know that much about me.”

A pause, before the most beautiful smile spreads across Andrei’s face. “What makes this pair so special?”

Christina smiles bittersweetly. “I was pretty good. Like, went to international competitions good. Could’ve maybe done it for a living good. And I loved it so much. But I fucked up my ankle pretty badly when I was 15 and was never the same after that. I still danced and I made a full recovery, but, you know. At my dance studio, every graduating senior got to perform a solo at the yearly showcase and I did mine on pointe. It was a big moment for me.”

“And you did it in those shoes.”

She nods. “Yup.”

“Was professional dancer the first dream?”

“Yes and no. I think as I got older I realized I had other dreams and wanted to do other things. That didn’t fully sink into me until the injury. But it would’ve been cool, you know, be on a stage for a living.”

“Do you still dance?”

“When I can. UNC didn’t have a ballet company, so I tried to take classes out here in Raleigh. I’m a bit too busy these days, but I’d like to get back in a class at some point.”

Andrei hums, reaching to pick up a shoe. He hesitates, looking at her for permission and she nods at him to go ahead. “I just know you’re a beautiful dancer.”

She tries not to blush. But from the knowing glint in his eye, she knows she fails. He places the pointe shoe carefully back on her desk and she looks at the well-worn satin briefly, wondering what that life could’ve been like for her. 

But then her attention is brought back to Andrei as he asks a question relating to his recovery, and Christina knows she’s right where she wants to be. 

…..

The next day, when she’s not scheduled to go into work, she still somehow sees Andrei. 

Christina has just finished grabbing lunch with a college friend and decides to wander into a nearby cafe, its flowery and vine covered entrance enticing her. With a book in her tote bag and taste buds that always welcome coffee, she orders a latte and perches herself at a table by the window. 

She’s staring out the window lost in her own world when she hears his name being called out by the barista. She whips her head towards the counter. There’s not a lot of people you run into in Raleigh named Andrei. Before she knows it, she makes eye contact with him. She hates that he literally lights up before briskly walking over to her. 

A backwards cap and a gray henley has never looked so good before. It’s almost infuriating. 

He stops abruptly in front of her table, right hand bracing the chair across from her and left hand holding his coffee. “Are you waiting for someone?”

“Not at all.” She grins as he sits down. “Even on my off days, I can’t escape.”

Andre laughs, putting his coffee down on the table. “I come here all the time but I never see you here before.”

“I was in the area meeting up for lunch with a friend and the flowers outside convinced me,” she says. “Now that I know this is your spot, I’ll avoid it.”

He rolls his eyes. “Don’t do that.” He nods to her open book. “Reading?”

“Trying. Been trying to read a bit more because I never had time in college.”

“Did you like college?”

Christina smiles. “I did. Part of it was interrupted by the pandemic, but even then, I had a great time.”

“Are you from Raleigh?”

“No, I’m not. I grew up in Delaware, and my family’s all still there.” 

“Where’s that?”

She chuckles. “A small state around Maryland, Pennsylvania and New Jersey. The closest NHL teams would be the Caps and Flyers, probably. But my family are more football fans. Dad loves the Eagles.”

“So no hockey?”

“Not really. I honestly didn’t really get into hockey until working with the Canes.”

“So now what? You’re a Canes fan?”

“Because I work for them, sure. And you guys aren’t so bad off the ice either.”

Andrei laughs and it’s such a delightful sound. She puts her chin on her palm and listens as he continues talking.

She was hoping not to have to talk to a single person for the rest of the day. She ends up at that cafe with Andrei for over an hour.

…..

Christina grimaces at her TV as she watches the game end, the Hurricanes now on a three game losing streak. It’s still early in the season, but no one likes losing. She glances at her phone as it buzzes, knowing it’s a text from Andrei. They’ve been texting sporadically all night about the game that he’s also watching in his own home. He hasn’t outright said it to her, but she imagines it’s frustrating for him because he can’t be out on the ice with his teammates. 

Christina looks at his response with a quiet laugh, shoots back a text and tosses her phone a few feet away from her with a deep breath. 

The thing is, when she lets herself really think about it, her and Andrei’s professional relationship from the start has always been different compared to her relationship with the other players. From the first time she introduced herself and saw his smile, she knew this was gonna be tough. 

The athlete part of him doesn’t faze her — she’s danced with and been taught by world renowned ballerinas and she worked in the training room of various teams at UNC. It was his ingenuity and kindness that reeled her in. The accented voice paired with his ability to make things look so easy when she knows it’s anything but, always with a smile on his face. 

Christina would be lying to herself if she says she hasn’t ever considered her and Andrei as…more. She’d be an idiot not to. Obviously, she knows Andrei is incredibly handsome. She’s known that from the very first time she saw him in the training room last season. And it doesn’t help that he’s also so nice with no pretense. Nice just to be nice. 

But it would never happen. Could never happen. He has the entire city of Raleigh falling at his feet and she works with him. 

One night when she was a bit too wine tipsy in her dorm last year, she pulled out the contract she had signed and found the tiny section that addressed romantic relationships among “any members of the Carolina Hurricanes organization” and found some super vague shit basically saying that it was okay in most instances. Which it is. One of their assistant coaches is married to the head of the PR department. 

But she has an inkling that players are a whole different subclause. 

So while they developed a good rapport last season, Christina purposefully kept her distance a bit, sparing little details about her own life and always turning it back to him. To be fair, she was careful around everyone last season, not wanting to get in the way and just wide-eyed overall. But now she’s (hopefully) gonna be around for a bit and will try to let her personality shine a bit more. Push herself to be more casual and comfortable with the staff and team. 

Like texting Andrei about things that aren’t related to his recovery. 

It started with Andrei texting something funny about one of the pregame photos of Brady that had been tweeted. His comment made Christina snort out her tea as she quickly replied back. It’s not like they’re texting often, but it always puts a smile on her face whenever his name pops up on her phone. 

She knows she needs to be careful. But before anything else, she’s just glad to have another new friend. Someone at work she’s comfortable enough to joke around with. 

That’s enough for her. 

…..

Andrei’s long-waited season debut has the fans, his teammates and the whole staff excited. But no one’s more excited than Andrei himself, who’s bouncing around all day from the moment he walks in for his daily check-in.

As she watches him skate around for warmups, she grins at his infectious happiness. He picks up a water bottle and squirts water on her when he comes back to the bench for a moment and she wants to flip him off so badly. She totally would if there weren’t cameras around and if also wasn’t, you know, unprofessional. He’s lucky she’s wearing a black sweater today. Jordan reaches to pull on the ribbon in her hair and that’s when she makes her way off the bench, causing Doug and the other staff to laugh. 

Once the game starts, she does grimace a bit as she’s watching footage of the game from the training room when she sees Andrei go in for a heavy hit. She hears the cheers from the fans and she gets it, but he’s literally just coming off a season ending injury. Yes, he’s a professional athlete, but she’s (almost) a certified athletic trainer. 

They win 3-0 and everyone’s pumped. She’s busy documenting notes as the athletes start leaving the arena. Andrei, as instructed, comes in and she makes sure everything’s okay with his knee. 

“Hey,” she calls out before he leaves. He turns back around with an expectant smile. She beams. “Good game. Glad to have you back.”

“Thank you,” he says with a grin. “Good to be back.”

…..

When you work in such a team centered environment, there’s always someone around. Always someone to talk to and joke around with. She loves it. The collaboration of the work she does is probably her favorite part. 

But she also loves time by herself. So she vows to herself that on every road trip, after some studying, she’ll take the time to explore wherever she is by herself. Whether it’s simply grabbing a coffee or walking around whatever city they’re in or just sitting outside, she’ll carve out some time for herself, while exploring cities that she’s never been to.

The first mini road trip she goes on is to Philadelphia and New York. In Philadelphia, she heads to the Philadelphia Museum of Art. Her younger sister Layla is a graphic design major at Carnegie Mellon so she’s filtered some of her love and knowledge to Christina. With her airpods in, she wanders through the exhibits on her own. 

That’s another thing about post-grad. Learning how to do things alone. 

New York has a lot more options. She only has one full day she isn’t working and another half day. During the full day when she’s actually in the city, she meets up with a friend from high school for a nice walk around Brooklyn before dinner. On the half day, after morning skate in Long Island, she wants to just people watch outside for a few hours on a weirdly warm day for November. 

The elevator doors open and Andrei comes walking out, looking down at his phone. When he looks up, a grin spreads across his face and he locks his phone. “Hi Chrissy.”

She nods. “Svech.” The elevator doors close. That’s fine. She’ll catch the next one. “Where’d you just come back from?”

“Just grabbed some lunch with the guys after practice. Where you off to?”

“Honestly, probably also gonna grab a coffee and then sit outside by the water and just daydream. I brought a book, but we’ll see if I’m in the mood.”

Andrei laughs. “Sounds like a great day.”

It is her alone time, but she asks anyways. “Would you like to join?”

His eyebrows shoot up his forehead. “Oh. I don’t want to intrude or-”

“You wouldn’t be. I’m asking you.”

“Oh. Well, um, yeah, then. Sure. Give me a minute to use the bathroom?”

“Take your time.” He shoots her a thankful smile as he briskly walks to his room while she waits by the elevators, shifting on her feet. A few minutes later, he comes back out, this time with a backwards hat on. He shoves his hands in his off-white sweatshirt and she presses the elevator button, purposefully not looking at him.

There’s something about a backwards hat. It’s actually really annoying how attractive it is.

“How’s your first road trip been?”

Christina smiles as they step into the elevator. “Good. Went to an art museum in Philly. Saw a college friend in Brooklyn and just walked around the city. The rest of the time I’ve been with you guys.”

“You like art?”

“A bit. My sister’s studying graphic design, so her love for it has bleeded into my life.”

“That’s sweet. Are you two close?”

“Yeah. I don’t know if we’re as close as you and your brother though.” She teases, and she swears she sees his cheeks tinge pink as they walk out of the elevator and out of the hotel. “She’s much cooler than I am, just started her second year at Carnegie Mellon. I was actually just texting her because she’s trying to figure out flights to Raleigh for Thanksgiving.”

“She’s coming down?”

“Yup,” they start wandering to the nearby park. “Usually, we’d go back home to Delaware. But since we have games the day before and after and they’re at home, they’re all coming down to me. First Thanksgiving in Raleigh. They’ll probably come to a game or two.”

“That’s really nice.”

“How about you? Is your mom or dad coming to visit anytime soon?”

“Not sure yet, with Geno now back in Russia. My mom was mainly here to keep me company when I was injured. I’m sure you’ll get to meet her soon though.”

They see a cafe ahead of them and she suggests they pop in to grab something. He opens the door for her and also pays for her, which is really annoying and she takes note of his coffee order so that she can get him back once they’re home. Once they receive their coffees, they’re back outside and in the park, sitting and people watching while petting the dogs that occasionally come up to them.

“Do you miss dancing? Like, at the level you were before getting injured?”

A sad smile automatically appears on her face. “All the time. But it’s changed. It used to be more painful and frustrating to think about. Now it’s more of looking back at the good memories.”

“My grandma used to dance as well. She took my brother and I to a ballet in Moscow once. I honestly don’t remember much of it. I was too young.”

Christina chuckles. “Yeah, it’s not for everyone.” She lets out a deep breath. “God, I haven’t seen a ballet in ages.”

“Can I ask how bad your injury was?”

“A recurring stress fracture that required surgery,” she says. “I don’t know if they could ever actually diagnose it officially because it was so fucked up. Or maybe I just block it out of my brain because it was such a painful time.”

“Even after a full recovery, there was no chance to go on as intensely as before?”

“There might’ve been. But I made the choice that I didn’t want my ankles wearing down on me by 25 and like I said, I had other dreams.”

“That must’ve been a hard decision to make.”

Christina swallows. It’s been awhile since she’s talked about this with anyone. “It was. I was heartbroken, honestly. It just felt like my life was over, you know? Obviously, it wasn’t. But I didn’t know that at 15. But if that hadn’t happened, I wouldn’t have thought about going the athletic training route, and in a way, what I’m doing now connects to my dance background, so I’m happy where I am now.”

His eyes light up with hope. “Do you have a video of you dancing?”

She laughs. “I actually do.” She gets her phone out and searches for a particular video. “This was around a year ago. A little across the floor combo we were doing in a class.” She hands him her phone and looks over his shoulder to watch with him. It’s a short video, only about 20 seconds long, but it combines a bit of everything — waltz, pirouettes, leaps and footwork. 

He replays it again. She has no idea what to make of that. “I was right.”

“Hm?”

“You’re a beautiful dancer.”

“Oh. That’s kind of you. Thank you.”

“I mean it,” he says. “You have beautiful…lines? Is that the right word?”

“Yeah, actually.” He gives her a triumphant smile and she can’t help but laugh. “Thank you. That's really sweet. I appreciate it.”

He watches the video again. She stares at the side of his face, trying to see what he’s seeing. She can’t quite place it. The only thing she can place is her faster than normal heart rate.

…..

A loss against the Panthers at their barn, a win against Tampa on their ice the next day and then a loss against Philly at home. Andrei still hasn’t recorded his own goal, and Christina knows it’s eating him alive. 

It’s funny, because he’s trying not to let it show, especially in front of media. But Christina knows better, especially when he starts pushing himself on the ice even more. 

She’s not usually on the bench during morning skates. More often than not, she’s in the training room or her office, studying or doing miscellaneous tasks until players file in during or after practice for various needs. But once in awhile, she likes to walk out to the ice. Today, she’s taking her studying out there to see if the crispness of the air and the sounds of hockey keep her focused. 

She’s reading over a passage in her textbook when she sees a shadow fall over the page. She looks up to see Andrei drinking some water. 

“If you spray water on this book, you’re paying for another one,” she warns. 

“Of course,” he says with an easy smile. 

“I hope you’ve been stretching out your knee,” she says. “With how hard you’re going at during practice.”

“How do you know how hard I’m going in practice?”

“It’s part of my job,” she responds dryly, backing away and glaring at Seth as he reaches out to mess up her hair. 

“Coming out here to study now?” Andrei asks.

She shrugs. “Trying something new.”

“Is it working?”

“It was,” she says pointedly. 

Brady skates to a stop in front of them and laughs. “That’s her telling us to stop annoying her.”

“You could never annoy me, Skjeisy.” Christina grins. 

Andrei pouts. “What does Skjeisy have that I don’t?”

“The most beautiful smile,” she grins charmingly. Andrei playfully narrows his eyes and Brady shoots her a wink. No one’s flirting. Christina’s met Gracia a few times and those two childhood friends are very in love with each other. But it’s worth it to see Andrei squeeze water out of his water bottle in Brady’s face. 

“When’s your exam again?” Brady asks.

“January 7.”

“That’s soon.”

She sighs, staring down at her book. “Don’t remind me.”

“You’re gonna be great,” Andrei assures her. 

“Sure, if you all actually practice and leave me to study.” As if on cue, a whistle is blown and Christina waves her hand at them. “Shoo. If Rod blames me for distracting you, I’ll be out of a job.”

She takes some notes for a few more minutes before giving up and closing her books. She puts her elbows on her knees, resting her chin on the palms of her hands as she watches them focus on winning board battles and protecting the puck. Practice is more intense than usual today as Christina loses herself in the focused energy in the air, eyes tracking the puck and the players and how they’re positioning themselves around the puck. She almost laughs at herself at how hockey she sounds. Her football loving uncle would be proud and a bit confused. 

Practice is over, and Christina decides to stay on the bench until everyone clears the tunnel, knowing that if any players need treatment, Doug has it. He would text her a random emoji if he needed her anyways. Last game, he took a liking to the red-headed fairy. 

She squints at Andrei, who’s the only player on the ice now, as he takes shot after shot from the blue line. She just observes him and the determined look on his face, the smoothness in his shot. 

As if he can feel eyes on him, he turns around and laughs, before gathering the pucks and skating over to her. “Stalking me?”

“Observing,” she corrects. “How do you feel? Physically?”

“Good.”

“Good,” she says. “You look good.”

“Oh?”

She rolls her eyes. “You know what I mean.” She trails behind him as they head to the trainers room. “Don’t forget. Doctor’s appointment tomorrow.”

“I swear you’re my personal calendar.”

“That’s actually my second job” she says flatly, a smile peeking out after he grins at her. “Go get your protein shake or whatever disgusting thing you like to drink.”

“Sassy today.”

“I want to go home,” she deadpans. “I’ve been up since 5 a.m.”

To his credit, he looks concerned. “Why so early?”

“Studying.”

“Oh,” he says softly. “Well, make sure you sleep. Sleep is important.”

She has to chuckle. “Thanks Svechy. I’ll keep that in mind.”

He flicks his hand. “Go home.”

“I don’t think you have the authority to tell me that. You’re not my boss.”

“But I am,” they both turn to see Doug peeking out of a doorway. “Get out of here, Chris.”

She narrows her eyes playfully. “You schemers.” 

“Go sleep,” Andrei says, pulling at her ponytail lightly. She whacks his hand away. 

The last thing she sees as she walks into her office is his smirk. 

….

The day before Thanksgiving, she’s preoccupied with her parents and sister flying in for the first half of the day. She picks them up from the airport and takes them all to one of her favorite lunch spots before she has to head to work and they go sightseeing on their own. She offered to get them tickets for the game against Edmonton, but they waved her off. They’ll enjoy their time at a game on Sunday. 

Thanksgiving morning is peaceful, with the Macy’s Parade on the TV as everyone is just relaxing. In the afternoon, as Christina and her mom are taking charge of dinner, someone’s knocking on her apartment door. Immediately, Christina is confused. She’s almost positive her dad and Aimee grabbed her keys before heading out for a quick walk. She calls out a “coming” as the person knocks again. 

“Andrei?” 

He shifts from side to side, flashing a quick but genuine smile. He looks extra cozy in a brown sweatshirt and a backwards hat. “Hi Chrissy. Happy Thanksgiving. I’m sorry for interrupting.”

“Not at all. Happy Thanksgiving. What are you-what’s up?” 

He holds out a cake container. “Uh, I’m heading to Staalsy’s for Thanksgiving at their place, and I made ptichye moloko, which is a cake my mom makes for me back home in Russia. I made two. I was wondering if you wanted the other?” 

Her mouth drops open. “Oh, Andrei. That’s…you didn’t need to do that.” 

“I wanted to,” he replies. “And honestly, I hope it’s good. It’s my first time making it and I had to call my mom for help. I made too much batter so, two cakes.” 

She laughs, propping her hip against the doorframe, easy smile on her face. “I bet it’s delicious. Thank you. You’re so-you really didn’t have to do this.” 

Andrei shakes his head. “I wanted to-“

“Honey?” Marianne’s voice calls out from the kitchen. “Who’s at the door?” She doesn’t bother waiting for an answer before appearing. 

Christina internally sighs. “Andrei, this is my mom Marianne. Mom, this is Andrei. He’s one of the guys on the team.” 

Andrei balances the cake on one hand while reaching out to shake Marianne’s hand with the other, easygoing smile on his face. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Hawthorne. I apologize for showing up without warning.” 

“Oh, no apology necessary!” Marianne smiles, and Christina can tell immediately that her mother is charmed. She wants to roll her eyes. “Are you staying for dinner? You’re more than welcome.” 

Andrei shakes his head. “No, though thank you for the offer. I’m on the way to our captain’s house. I just wanted to stop by and drop this off.” 

Marianne takes the cake from his hands with a delighted smile. “That’s so sweet of you.” 

“He made it himself,” Christina chimes in, smirking in his direction. “Hopefully it doesn’t poison us.” 

Andrei laughs. “Hopefully.” 

The door opens again, and her dad and sister are back from their walk around the block. Christina swallows. Guess he’s meeting the whole family today. 

“Andrei, this is my dad Mark and my sister Aimee. Father and Aimee, this is-“ 

“Andrei Svechnikov,” her dad finishes for her. He and Andrei shake hands and a weird feeling appears in her stomach. “I watch the Canes games from time to time.” 

“It’s nice to meet you, sir.” He then turns to Aimee and shakes her hand with a small smile. “You too, Aimee. Your sister talks about you all the time.” 

Aimee shoots her sister a look. Christina telepathically tells her to shut up. “Does she really?”

“She does. All good things.”

“It’s good to see you back on the ice again,” Mark says. “How’s the knee?” 

“Knee is good,” Andrei says, before casting a smile in her direction. “All thanks to Chrissy here.” 

“He’s lying,” she deadpans. “I just make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.” 

“Are you staying for dinner?” Aimee asks with a hopeful look.

Christina shakes her head. “I wouldn’t subject him to that. He’s going to Captain Staalsy’s.” 

“Lame,” Aimee says. Christina elbows her. 

“Chrissy mentioned you all were coming to a game?” Andrei asks. 

“Yup. We’ll be going Sunday.” 

“Have you ever been to a Canes game?” Mark shakes his head. Andrei grins. Christina wants to poke his dimple. “Well, hopefully we put on a good show.” 

She snorts. “Alright, Andrei. Better leave before Dad starts grilling you on the powerplay.” Expectedly, Andrei’s eyes light up. He turns to her as she rolls her eyes.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna stay for dinner?” Marianne asks. 

Andrei grins. “I’m sure. Thank you though.” He looks back at Christina. “See you tomorrow?” 

“Bright and early.”

He turns back to her family with a warm smile. “It was nice to meet you all.” 

Christina nods to the door, “I’ll walk you out.” She catches Aimee’s smirk and rolls her eyes. She puts a shoe in the door so that it won’t shut on her as she faces Andrei. “Thank you for the cake. Seriously.”

“Careful,” he teases, and if butterflies flutter in her stomach from his tone that’s no one else’s business. “It could be awful.”

“It won’t be.” She grins and gives him a quick hug before she can overthink it. She pulls away before she wants to. “Happy Thanksgiving. I’ll see you tomorrow. Thank you again.”

“Happy Thanksgiving.”

She watches him disappear from the hallway before she lets out a deep breath.

…..

The crowd at the PNC arena goes nuts with Andrei scores with less than two minutes left in the third against Columbus. Christina herself bounces around on her toes in excitement, her parents and sister somewhere up in the box seats. What a way to get your first of the season. She feels weirdly proud of him. 

She only catches him as she’s heading out a bit earlier than normal to drive back with her family. And by catch him, she only means by eye contact as Andrei’s swept up in media. She stops for a moment and just leans against the doorway of the locker room, watching him answer questions

Christina’s about to push herself off the doorway when Andrei’s eyes meet hers. He’s still talking, but his smile widens, and she just shoots him a thumbs up and a grin of her own before walking to the parking garage. 

…..

Christina groans as she skims the email from the management of her apartment complex. Fixing the water pipes will shut down water for 24 hours. It’s not the end of the world, but how inconvenient. 

She leans back in her chair, mentally going through her mind to see where she could crash for a whole day last minute. The one friend she would go to immediately is away on vacation right now. 

She’s twiddling her fingers as she walks to the locker room, needing to check in with Andrei. But weirdly, he’s nowhere to be found. She’s about to walk out of the room just as Andrei walks in. 

“Oh, perfect,” Christina says. “I was looking for you.”

“Were you?”

She tries not to roll her eyes as he follows her back to her office. “Get your ass on the table.”

He laughs, following her instructions as she works on his shoulder. She must sigh without realizing because his eyebrows furrow. “Everything okay?”

“Hm?”

“Are you okay?”

“Oh, I’m fine,” she waves him off. “The pipes are getting fixed in my apartment building for a day so I gotta figure out where I’m crashing for the night. That’s all.”

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes. “That must be annoying.”

She shrugs. “It is what it is, but the friend I usually would stay with is away right now, so that kinda has me scrambling. I probably will have to get a hotel room for the night or something.”

“How about you stay with me?”

Christina has her back towards him to take some notes, before she spins back around and raises an eyebrow. “Andrei, no. I can’t-”

“I have a guest room. Multiple guest rooms, actually,” he runs a hand through his hair. “It’s no problem. Serious. It would be like I’m not even there.” She opens her mouth to protest but closes it again, weighing her options. Like he senses her hesitation, he barrels on. “You don’t have to drop money on a hotel. And only for a night, right? Just stay with me.”

She bites her lip in thought. It would save her a lot of trouble. And he’s right, it’s just for a night. “Are you sure?” She says. 

“100 percent,” he promises. 

“Okay,” she says gratefully. “Thank you. I owe you big.”

“No worries,” he says. “I text you my address. Come over whenever you’re ready. I text you the garage code too in case I’m not home.”

She’s a bit surprised that he just blindly trusts her so much, but he trusts her to handle his body and recovery, which is arguably the most important thing for a professional athlete, so staying in his home is next to nothing. 

But it’s a big deal to her. She’s reminded of that when she drives home to grab some things. She’s reminded that her phone buzzes with a text from him, the garage code like he promised, along with what her sushi preferences are — anything, it’s her favorite food. She’s reminded of that as she drives over, immediately feeling overwhelmed at how nice this neighborhood is. 

She forgets often that these players are earning more than she ever will. Andrei is a multimillionaire. The cost of his living room alone is probably worth more than a year of Christina’s current monthly rent. 

It doesn’t phase her necessarily. It’s just an observation. 

As she pulls into his driveway, she sees Andrei coming out of his garage. He perks up with a wave, waiting for her to park her car. He approaches her as she comes out of her car with her backpack.

“Just in time. I grabbed dinner.”

She glances at the bag in his hands and she tries not to gulp at the familiar (expensive) restaurant logo “I could’ve grabbed it on the way here.”

He waves her off as they walk through the garage, him swinging her backpack over his shoulder. “You’re a guest in my home. Why would I make you do that?”

Christina’s not used to this. The chivalry. The acts of service. It all feels a bit too much, especially as he gives her a brief house tour and shows her the guest room. It’s all so minimalistic and clean and expensive and she was not prepared to be staying the night in Andrei’s house today. Or ever.

She jumps in the shower really quickly to wash off the day. It takes her a moment to figure out how to control the temperature. She’s afraid to mess anything up. When she walks back out into the main room, Andrei’s just finished setting up the table. When she spots the familiar label of her favorite wine, she blinks. 

He notices her silence and chuckles sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. “I asked Taylor what your favorite wine is.”

“You could’ve asked me,” she says softly. 

He shrugs. “I wanted to surprise you, I guess.”

She hoists herself up on the stool of the island, trying to control the butterflies in her stomach. “Well, thank you. You didn’t have to do that.”

Being with Andrei in his home is expectedly intimate. She feels very comfortable at work to poke fun at the players and staff. But it’s different sitting for meals in the kitchen at the office compared to sitting across a kitchen island eating sushi that Christina only has when her parents foot the bill. Something as simple as Andrei’s sushi plopping into his soy sauce and her bark of laughter feels almost too much, especially when he chuckles with her at his misery. Because it’s just the two of them in his home and it’s almost too much. 

But even if it’s too much, she doesn’t feel uncomfortable at all. In fact, it’s probably weird how comfortable she does feel, as her and Andrei chat about everything from the team to his brother to her college days. When his dimple pops out and his brown eyes brighten with curiosity, she has to remind herself that she works with him. They’re co-workers at best. Friends possibly. 

She gets up to clear their dishes away, but Andrei’s quicker and pushes her shoulder down so she’s sitting again. She gives him a look. “Andrei. Come on. You bought dinner and you’re letting me stay for the night. I can wash dishes.”

He shakes his head, “You don’t need to do anything but sit there all pretty.”

She just blinks and sips her wine because what the fuck. 

They debate putting on a movie or show, but end up just hanging out on the couch and continuing to talk because he’s just so easy to talk to. Christina stops herself after her third glass of wine when she remembers she has work tomorrow, and she thinks he’s so sweet for grabbing her a glass of cold water without her even asking. 

When they’re winding down for the night, he hovers by the door of the guest room, making sure she doesn’t need anything. When she assures him that she’s all good, he leaves her with a “goodnight” and the cutest smile and Christina knows that she’s fucked. 

The next morning, she wakes up to the smell of coffee. When she walks out, yawning and rubbing her eyes, she sees two plates of waffles. 

“Good morning,” she says with an air of surprise. “This looks great.”

He chuckles. “Eat it first before you say anything.”

She hums, making sweater paws with her UNC sweatshirt and smiling when he slides over a mug of coffee. 

“You sleep well?”

“I did, thank you. You have a very comfy mattress.”

His dimple pops out and Christina can feel herself falling. “You’re welcome anytime.”

That statement doesn’t help either. 

After they finish their breakfasts, she yet again isn’t allowed to help with dishes, so she wraps her hands around her coffee and watches him. “Thank you, though, Andrei. Seriously. For letting me stay over. You saved me a lot of trouble.”

“Of course,” he says over his shoulder, catching sight of her packed backpack in the living room. “Are you heading out so soon?”

“Yeah. I have to get into work earlier than you do, remember?” She teases, as she finishes her coffee, hands him the mug and goes to grab her backpack. “I also wanna stop by my place to drop this stuff off and pick some stuff up before heading to the rink.”

He turns off the faucet, wipes his hands and walks over to her. “I was gonna say I’ll miss you, but I see you in probably an hour.”

She laughs, not quite processing what he just insinuated. “Probably.”

“Can I ask you something before you leave?”

“Yeah. What’s up?”

“Would you want to go on a date with me sometime?”

Her jaw drops open a bit. Oh. “Oh.”

He backtracks. “You can say no. I won’t be hurt. Or, well. I just want to ask to see if you give me that chance. I really like you, Chrissy.”

“No, it’s not that. It’s just…Andrei. We work together.”

“I know, I know.”

She lets out a sigh, tipping her head back and squeezing her eyes shut. “Andrei-”

“One date,” he practically begs. “Let me take you on one date to prove that this is real to me.”

She swallows, her resolve starting to crumble down from his pleading eyes. “I could lose my job.”

“You won’t. And I wouldn’t let that happen.”

She can’t help but snort. “Carolina loves you, but not that much.”

He pouts before taking her hands. “Christina,” he says sincerely. “Just one chance. And then if it doesn’t go well, we stay coworkers and friends and this never happened.”

“And if it does go well?” She bites her lip.

The dimple appears on his cheek again. She wants to kiss it.  “Then we figure out where to go from there.”

“There’s just, it’s not- you’re wonderful and kind and sweet, but I’m putting a lot on the line here.” She feels vulnerable, her voice shaking at the edges. “I’ve worked too hard to have this fall apart on me.”

“I know. I understand.” And huh, Christina thinks. He actually probably does understand more than most, because if Andrei is anything, he's a hard worker. He gently places a hand on her waist and she can’t fucking think. “I wouldn’t ask you just to ask you or risk anything.”

“You like me that much, huh?” Christina jokes weakly.  

Andrei squeezes her waist lightly “I do.”

Oh. Okay. 

A few more seconds pass with Andrei staring at her hopefully and Christina blinking rapidly. He’s so gentle with her it makes her wanna scream into a pillow. 

“One date,” she relents. His eyes sparkle and her smile grows with his. “You have one shot, Svech. Use it wisely.”

“Oh believe me, I will.” He says confidently. “When are you free?” 

“My work schedule is the exact same as yours.” 

He lets go of her hands to dig into his pocket for his phone, checking the Canes schedule that’s synched up to his calendar. “When we’re in New York. Two weeks from now.” 

“New Year’s Eve?”

“Yeah. I know we’re already all going out at night but during the day. Just you and me.”

Immediately, her mind goes into planning mode. “Sure, yeah. That works. I have some friends who live in the city I could ask for recommendations for-”

“No,” she tilts her head in confusion at his firm tone. “You don’t worry about anything. I take care of all of it.”

“Andrei.”

“I take care of it, Chrissy.” he repeats, shoving his phone back in his pocket. “All you need to do is show up.”

She opens her mouth and closes it, before, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay. Will you at least tell me what to wear?”

“Anything. You always look beautiful.”

She rolls her eyes at the fact that he’s already loading on the charm and they’re not even on the date yet. “Nice try. I’m not wearing my work attire to our date.”

“Seems like you already know what you’re wearing, then.”

She huffs before softening. “Thanks for letting me stay the night.”

Andrei clicks his tongue. “Of course. I see you later?”

Christina chuckles. “Yup.” 

They walk to his front door, and he hesitates for a second before leaning down to give her a quick kiss on the cheek. She’s absolutely floored. “Get home safe.”

She gives him one last smile as goodbye. It isn’t until she’s in her car when she leans her forehead on her steering wheel and smiles into it does it fully sink in. 

She has a date in two weeks.

…..

No one likes a loss, and even if Christina is kinda immune to it by now, it’s not fun. But the holidays are near and her heart feels light as she packs up her things. Her flight takes off early in the morning, so she’s hoping to catch a few hours of sleep before then. A knock on the doorframe has her looking up to see Andrei dressed back in his game day suit with a light smile on his face. 

“Hey,” she greets. “Everything alright? You need treatment?”

“Everything’s fine. I’m okay.” He says, shuffling in and looking a bit sheepish.

Christina hesitates. She’s not sure how Andrei is after a loss, if he likes to talk about it or forget about it. “You wanna talk about it?”

“Not really.” 

“Okay.” She looks down at his outstretched hand holding a box she didn’t see at first. “What’s that?”

He clears his throat. “It’s, uh, your Christmas present. You fly back home in the morning, yes?”

“Yeah,” she shakes her head. “Andrei, I-I don’t need…I didn’t get you anything.”

“That’s okay.” The annoying thing is that she knows he means that. She tentatively takes the box out of his hand and opens it. Inside is a pair of silver dewdrop earrings. 

“Andrei.”

“Uh, I asked Taylor and they told me you wore silver and gave their approval. But if you don’t like them, I can return them and exchange them for-”

“Andrei,” he halts as she looks at him. “They’re beautiful. Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome.”

“You really didn’t have to get me anything.”

“I wanted to.”

She chuckles shakily, closing the box. “We haven’t even been on our date yet.”

“So?” he shrugs, like it’s not a big deal. But it is a big deal. “You’re important to me. I get everyone important to me Christmas presents.”

Christina wants to melt at the soft look in Andrei’s eyes. She’s a bit at a loss for words, so she just gives him a tight hug. She lets herself fall into him as his arms wrap around her securely, resting her chin on his shoulder and letting her eyes fall shut at how safe she feels. 

She reluctantly pulls away and puts some space between them. They are still at work after all. “Thank you. Seriously. You’re so sweet.”

“I’m glad you like them,” he says with a light in his eyes. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t get you anything.”

He shakes his head. “No need.” She gives him a look as he chuckles. “I promise. A date with you is enough presents to last me a lifetime.” Jesus Christ. Where does he pull this shit out of? He just grins. “You heading out? I walk you to your car.”

She swallows and nods, packing up the last of her things, carefully placing the box on top. She makes sure she’s not looking at him when she says her next statement. “You’re way too nice to me.” Silence for a bit besides her rustling her things. Once she’s ready to go, she looks back at him, who’s staring at her thoughtfully. It throws her off guard. “What?”

“I’m not too nice to you,” Andrei says, eyebrows furrowed adorably and sincerely. “I’m just..how I am.”

“It’s not a bad thing,” Christina quickly assures him as she flicks off the lights. “I just, uh, am not used to it? None of my exes have ever even treated me this nicely.”

“That’s a shame,” he says. “You deserve someone being kind to you. No such thing as too nice.”

She just swallows as they head down the hallway and to the parking lot. Because what can she say to that? Andrei has always been sweet and polite since the day they met, but she didn’t expect him to be so sincerely earnest. 

She slides into the passenger seat of her car and he leans down, resting his hand against the hood. “You’ll be good to go home?”

“Yeah.”

“Merry Christmas, Christina,” he says with a grin.

“Merry Christmas, Andrei.”

…..

Andrei gets a hat trick against Montreal and looks right at her as his teammates converge upon him. She has no idea how he even finds her so quickly considering she’s not standing where she usually would be, but he finds her anyway. 

She grins at him and he gives an imperceptible nod paired with his signature charming smile.

Three more days.

…..

Half an hour before Andrei’s supposed to be at her hotel room door, Christina is already ready. 

She hadn’t managed to squeeze many details out of him, because he insisted that he would take care of it. It’s not like she doubts him, perse. But she’d at least like to know how to dress so she doesn’t feel out of place. She told him that, and he caved, saying “not a sweatshirt, but a nice sweater or dress will be fine, but not overly fancy,” which, actually, doesn’t say much. But she could work with that. 

And she did. When packing for this mini-road trip, she put thought into what she would wear today. She’s settled for a black-neck long sleeve with her favorite dark green pants, paired with black ankle-high boots and her favorite brown peacoat. 

As she sits on her bed and waits, she starts becoming more fidgety. She’s nervous, yes, but not because she doesn’t know him. She has a feeling that he’s going to be the perfect gentleman and the date will go well. 

She’s nervous that it’ll go too well and she’ll get ahead of herself. 

Before she knows it, she hears a knock on her door. With a deep breath, she grabs her bag and walks over to open the door. 

She swings it open and swallows. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Andrei says softly. She takes a moment to look at his outfit — a navy blue button up with a gray jacket draped over his arm. With black dress pants and sneakers, she’s thankful that it seems like their outfits match on the formal scale. He clears his throat. “You look beautiful.”

“Thank you,” she says softly. “You look great too.”

“Shall we?”

Christina reaches into her purse to make sure she has her room key, phone and wallet before nodding. “Where are we headed?” She asks as they walk down the hall. 

“We’ll have to head on the train a few stops to Lincoln Center.” Lincoln Center? She furrows her eyebrows. He clears his throat as they step into the elevator, him leaning against the wall. “Today’s the last day they show The Nutcracker. With your dancing history, I figure, I don’t know, maybe it would be fun?”

Suddenly, a frog appears in her throat. It’s probably the most thoughtful first date she could go on. She looks into his earnest eyes, as if he thinks she’ll hate it or not wanna go. 

“It’s perfect,” she manages to get out. He’s perfect. “I-I haven’t seen a ballet in ages.”

“I know,” he responds. “You told me, remember?”

Oh. She did. And he remembered. She bites her lip to keep herself from blurting out that this might be the best date she’s ever been on and they just stepped out of the elevator. 

She can tell he’s a bit nervous, quieter than usual. They’re not quite holding hands, but their fingers keep brushing and she feels the ghost of his hand on her lower back as they head down to the subway and onto the train. 

“When’s the last time you were in New York City?” He asks. 

The train lurches and Christina takes a second to find her footing. “It’s been at least two years. I used to come up here for, funny enough, dance intensives and camps when I was in middle and high school.”

“Are you planning on getting back to classes now that it’s been a few months?”

Again, she’s impressed with the things Andrei actually remembers. She shrugs. “I definitely think I’m still too busy during the season. But maybe in the off-season.”

More people pile onto the train, causing the two to move closer towards each other. She can smell his cologne. She looks up in shock at the feeling of a feather-like kiss on her forehead. 

“Thank you.”

“For?”

“Saying yes. This will be the best date of your life, I promise.”

She just leans her head onto his elbow as the train runs on its tracks. 

As they walk into Lincoln Center, all Christina can do is gape as they find their seats, Andrei leading the way — in the first row of the second wing. It’s a perfect view of the stage with all the formations, lighting and sound. Andrei plays with her hand the whole time and it feels so good to see a dance performance again. During intermission, she gushes over the choreography and costumes as Andrei just smiles, listening intently to her observations. When she suddenly stops and apologizes for rambling, he tells her to keep going. (“I love how much you love dance.”)

Afterwards, they head to a nearby dessert place and share a bowl of shaved ice and ice cream. She’s having such a good time talking with him that it isn’t until the sky becomes dark does she realize they both have to head back to the hotel before anyone questions them and they can get ready for the team and staff New Year’s Eve party tonight.

She swipes her keycard, closing the door as he steps into her room. “Thank you for this. I had a really good time.”

“Yeah?”

She nods, biting her lip with a small smile. “I did.”

“A good time enough that you want to do it again?”

“I think so.”

“Yeah?” His eyes are practically sparkling and Christina’s elated that it’s because of her. “I didn't blow my shot?”

She chuckles, “You did.” She doesn't want to tell him that if she’s being honest with herself, he had her from the very start. 

“Great,” he grins. “Great. I’m glad you had a really good time. I was really nervous.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Oh,” she says, walking closer to him and instinctively wrapping her hands loosely around his neck. “You didn’t have to be.”

“You-you always make me a bit nervous, even if I don’t show it,” he admits. 

Christina’s stomach tingles. “Can we go on another date when we’re back in Raleigh? Maybe after I take my exam?”

“Yes,” he rushes out. “Of course. Yes.”

She catches his eyes flickering to her lips for a split second and decides to just bite the bullet. She presses a delicate kiss on his lips, and backs away to see a light pink dusting his cheeks. “I’m gonna go get ready for tonight.”

He chases her lips, causing her to giggle. “Bye,” he mumbles against her lips. “I see you in a bit.”

As soon as her door shuts, she lets out a little squeal into her hands. Happy New Year’s Eve to her, indeed.

…..

Christina’s certification exam happens to fall on a rare week where the Canes have no games, which she’s grateful for because she doesn’t want to miss out on any. There are some practices, but she’s excused from those to study. 

The day after her exam, she feels a large weight lift off her shoulders. She won’t get the results for a few weeks, but she feels confident that she did well and she can pat herself on the back for a bit. 

She comes into practice in high spirits, having gotten a coffee and pastry from her favorite cafe on the way as a treat. She takes congratulatory messages from all the staff and some players with a smile. When Andrei skates up at the start of practice to her on the bench, he just smiles at her, shooting her a quick wink before skating off. She hopes she’s not blushing. 

He’s left her alone in the meanwhile while she’s been studying, but she’s hoping to catch him before he leaves the rink today to see when they can go out again.

Unfortunately, the team is in the video room as Christina heads to her office to pack up for the day. She guesses she’ll have to talk to Andrei tomorrow. She could just text or call him, but that doesn’t feel good enough. 

When arriving at her car, she stops short and squints. There’s a bouquet of flowers wrapped in brown paper tucked inbetween the door handle, red roses and sunflowers to be exact. 

“Oh good, you haven’t left yet,” she whips around to see Andrei jogging towards her. 

She turns back around to her car, staring at the flowers as he stops beside her. “What’s this?”

“A little gift. To congratulate you on finishing your exam.”

She swallows, suddenly emotional. “They’re beautiful.”

“Beautiful flowers for a-”

She whacks him lightly. “Don’t finish that sentence, you sap.”

He laughs. It’s becoming one of her favorite sounds. “But I mean it.”

“I know,” she finally turns to look at her and grins. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. “Are you around this week to grab dinner or something?”

He runs a hand through his hair. “You know my schedule more than anyone.” She rolls her eyes as he chuckles. “Of course I am. We’ll find time.”

She hums. “Okay.”

“What should I tell the guys for now?” A sudden flurry of anxiety flashes through her veins. Andrei must see her face change, because he continues quickly. “I don’t have to say anything. We can keep it quiet.”

“Would you mind if we did? Just because it’s so…”

“I don’t mind,” his dimple pops out. “Promise. Let’s just go on another date first. Sound good?”

She bites her lip with a nod. “Yeah.”

“Yeah,” he repeats. His hands itch to reach towards her before he remembers that they’re just outside of the rink and that anybody could walk out at any minute. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“See you tomorrow. Thank you for the flowers, seriously.”

“I hope you’re proud of yourself,” he says, backing away. “You’re so smart and you worked really hard.”

She looks down at her shoes, warmth spreading through her body. “Thanks. Have a good night.”

“You too.”

(When Christina goes home and arranges the flowers in a vase, she sends Andrei a picture. He responds immediately with the heart-eyed emoji, and she feels the excitement of something new starting.)

…..

Christina’s a smart girl. When she gets a text from Doug a few weeks (and more than a handful of dates with Andrei) later to come to one of the conference rooms, she has a feeling it’s about her and Andrei. Though who would’ve said something? 

Her stomach drops on the walk over, her palms sweating as she fiddles with her staff badge. When she walks in, she sees Doug, Mary, head of the HR department, Coach Brind’Amour and Andrei himself all around a rectangular table.

Mary offers a warm smile. “Hi Christina.” 

Christina tries to smile back while shutting the door behind her. “Hi Mary and everyone.” 

“Please take a seat,” Mary says. The only empty one is next to Andrei. Christina gingerly sits down. “I guess we’ll just cut to the chase. It’s come to our attention that you and Andrei here are in a romantic relationship.” 

She blinks. Well, yeah. But-“From who?” 

“From me.” Andrei says. She whips her head to look at him and he grimaces. “I’m sorry. I know we planned to go together next week, but I slipped up in front of Coach this morning and…yeah.” 

“Of course you did,” Christina mutters. She hears Doug trying to cover a snort. “Um, yes, uh, we are. Seeing each other. Together. Whatever you wanna call it. We were going to come to your office next week. We weren’t gonna hide it or anything, I promise.”

“I understand,” Mary says. “First of all, your job is not in jeopardy. You’re not going to get fired because of this. Especially because it’s obvious you two weren’t trying to hide anything. ” Christina knows that, but she would be lying if she said that she wasn’t a little bit relieved. “Workplace relationships occur all the time. However, as I’m sure you both understand, your particular situation is a bit different. I have to ask when you two started this relationship.” 

Christina lets Andrei take the lead, partially curious about what he’ll say. He doesn’t hesitate. “New Year’s Eve.” 

She smiles internally. It’s nice to know he considers their first official date as serious as she does. 

“You do understand that in the workplace, there are boundaries.” 

Andrei and Christina both nod. Christina continues, twisting her fingers. “Of course. I’ll obviously continue with my responsibilities as I have been since I joined the organization and continue to do the best I can do with every player and staff member. Our relationship won’t affect that at all, I promise.”

“And I also understand the boundaries,” Andrei adds. “This will also not affect my performance on the ice and off. I continue being professional with all staff.”

“You both understand that no matter what happens that your professional relationship comes first?”

“Yes.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“And you both understand that when you come into work, you’re at work and focused on work?” They both nod. Mary looks around the room. “I mean, that’s really all I got. It seems like you two understand. I’ll draw out the paperwork and get it back to you two in a few days. Doug?”

Doug clears his throat. “First of all, I called this and Steve owes me $50.” Andrei lets out a surprised laugh but Christina isn’t even fazed. “Only thing I got is that I should probably take you off as the main person of contact for Svech for his general recovery regime we started in the beginning.”

She kinda saw that coming. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Andrei about to protest but she kicks him underneath the table. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

“No worries. I’ll just take over. There’s not much to that anymore anyways, right?” She nods. He grins. “Great. As long as you keep doing the good work you’re doing, no issues here. Coach? Anything to add?”

Christina swallows looking at Coach Brind’Amour, but she breathes easier when he smiles a bit. “Nothing really from me. Svechy, you know what I expect from you. That doesn’t change. And Christina, you’ve done your job wonderfully thus far and as long as that doesn’t change, which I’m sure it won’t, no issues here. Do your teammates know, Svech?”

Andrei smirks. “Some of them have probably picked up on it. Nothing for sure though.”

Coach grins wryly. “You can be the one to tell them then, should you want to.”

“You’re gonna get chirped like hell,” Christina snickers, making everyone in the room laugh. 

Andrei looks over at her with a small pout. “And you won’t?”

“A little. But you’re the one playing with them. I’m just an lowly assistant trainer.”

Doug cackles. “Chrissy, I think you underestimate how much the boys like you. Get ready for comments everyday.”

“But not too mean,” Andrei says. 

Christina snorts. “Down, boy.” She turns back to Mary, Coach and Doug with a smile, feeling more comfortable now. “Is there anything else?”

Mary shrugs. “Besides the paperwork I’ll get you two to sign later, nope. You two are free to go. Thanks for coming in."

They all file out of the conference room while Christina and Andrei linger. Once everyone is out of earshot, she playfully shoves him. “Really?” She deadpans. 

“I’m sorry!”

She chuckles. “It’s fine. At least it’s out of the way. Would appreciate a warning next time though.”

He nods solemnly. “I know. I’m really sorry. It won’t happen again.”

She swallows, before leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek and going their separate ways. 

(Andrei lingers to watch her turn the corner of the hallway, a big smile on his face. Rod watches him)

…..

three years later 

The times that Christina is on the bench has gotten higher and higher the longer she’s been here. Hell, she’s one of few women to this day that has been on an NHL bench as a trainer, which is ridiculous since it’s 2027 and she’s just doing her job. Doug’s son is getting married this weekend so Christina knew she’d be taking over head duties for this game against the Rangers long before. 

It’s thrilling every time though, being on the bench. Everything’s so much louder and things seem to move so much faster, even though she’s been doing this for three years. Since puck drop, she’s been in the zone and thankfully so far, not needed. 

Until Andrei gets checked. Hard. Which rarely happens since he’s the one usually doing the checking. 

Fights break out on the ice, whistles are blown and Christina doesn’t need the ref’s signal — or anyone’s — to know that she needs to scurry out there fast. She’s praying that it looks worse than it is. 

She bends down next to Andrei, who’s crouched over in pain and places a gentle hand on his back. “Hey, baby. It’s me. Can you tell me what hurts?” He’s breathing heavily and doesn’t respond for a few seconds. “You have to tell me what hurts so I can help you.” He mumbles something in Russian and while Christina is 90% sure of what he’s saying, she can’t take any risks right now. “English, baby, please.”

“Chest.”

Okay. Lungs. Maybe ribs. He’s talking and breathing fine, even if heavily. “Okay,” she nods, going through her mental checklist rapidly. “Can you skate off by yourself?” He nods and she just rubs his back, giving him a few seconds. He eventually gets up on his own, which is a good sign, and she tries not to eat shit as they both get off the ice and go straight down the tunnel. 

Once he’s sat down on a training table, she puts her hands on his cheeks. “Drei. I need to hear the words from you.” 

Even in his injured state, Andrei knows. “I’m okay, solnyshka. Just hurting a bit.” 

“Okay. Let’s get your gear off and see what’s going on, yeah?” She helps him get off his gear until he’s completely shirtless. “Lie back for me.” She does her routine, pressing in specific spots and seeing how he reacts. She winces every time he hisses, even though it’s helping her determine what’s wrong. She goes through her questions, quickly determining if he’s done for the day or may be able to head back out. It's the end of the second period anyways, so they have more time to assess. 

“You got your shit rocked.” She says bluntly. She smiles lightly when she gets the reaction she wants, which is a snort out of him. 

“Yeah, which is fucking annoying.”

She swallows. “But you’re okay?”

“Yeah. Think it was more of just an impact hit.”

“Good, good.”

“What are you thinking, Doc?” Andrei jokes. “Am I good to go for the third period?”

“That really depends on you,” she says. “Like you said, it seems like it was more just an impact hit. Beside soreness and tenderness, nothing’s out of place or broken or sprained. But it’s all about how you feel.”

“Then why do you sound unsure?”

“Because I’m trying to talk to you like your trainer, not your fiance.”

Andrei softens and she has to look away. “Talk to me like you’re my fiance, solnyshka.”

“It was just a scary few seconds there, when you didn’t get up. That’s all.”

She swallows as he puts down the ice pack and puts his hands on her cheeks to make her look at him. “I’m sorry I scared you.”

She waves his apology away. “It’s okay. Getting hit is part of the gig. I know that by now.”

He rubs his thumbs on her cheek. “Still. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s just hard sometimes. Seeing you go down. Keep icing,” she instructs, backing away. Christina’s not afraid of being caught with PDA nowadays. Everyone in the organization knows they’re together after three years. But she still prefers keeping up a level of professionalism at work. 

“I think I’m gonna go back out, but I do limited minutes.”

She furrows her eyebrows. That doesn’t sound like him. “Limited minutes?” He just shrugs. “Andrei.” She deadpans.

“It depends on me, right? How I feel?” He says, throwing her words back at her as he starts putting his gear back on. 

“Yes. But you’re Andrei Svechnikov. You don’t know what the word limited means because you have no sense of self preservation.”

“Limited minutes,” he says firmly. “I don’t want you to worry about me.”

“The ring on my finger kinda indicates that I’ll always worry about you,” she responds dryly. 

He laughs, standing up. “Only for tonight, to be safe.” They hear the boys about to head out for the period and start walking out of the room. “Thank you for taking care of me.” 

“Just doing my job.”

He pulls her in to place a quick kiss on her lips. “And you do it well.”

“Good luck out there. Love you.”

“Love you more.” He runs back onto the ice with his teammates as she follows slower behind.

“He all good?” Coach Brind’Amour asks when she’s back on the bench.

“Yeah. Up to him if he wants to take every shift, but he’s cleared to go.”

Coach nods, “It never gets easier, does it?”

“Hm?”

“The look you had on your face when Svechy went down. It’s the same look I have when my son goes down. Still. And he’s been playing his whole life.”

She shrugs, trying to be casual. “It’s part of the job I signed up for.”

“Sure. But that doesn’t mean it’s easy.”

They both watch as the teams skate to center ice to take the faceoff. No, she thinks. It most definitely does not. 

It’s close to midnight when she and Andrei are walking out of the arena together. She yawns as she leans into him and he puts an arm around her shoulder. Luckily they have the day off tomorrow. Maybe she’ll force Andrei to try a new recipe for dinner together that she found online.

It’s not until she’s in bed, listening the shower run as Andrei quickly rinses, does she see her notifications. Fifteen texts from six people.

She clicks Layla’s first. It’s a link to a short Twitter video. She clicks on it. 

It’s a short clip of the broadcast right after Andrei’s injury, a replay she winces at, cameras showing her running out and all the chaos before they head into the tunnel. But it’s what the commentators are saying that Layla — and all her other friends who sent her messages — are freaking out about. 

“Svechnikov seems to be alright, able to get up on his own and slowly skate to the bench, which is always a good sign.”

“Christina, the Hurricanes’ assistant athletic trainer is out there with him, with Doug, the head trainer out for a few games for family obligations. Fun fact, she’s one of the few female athletic trainers in the NHL. Fantastic at her job and an incredible person as well.”

“Another fun fact to those who may not know, Christina and Svechnikov are engaged, getting married sometime next year. And that’s a beautiful Canes love story if I’ve ever heard one.”

“I can imagine it isn’t easy to have to see your fiance go down like that, even if it is a part of her job. They’re both heading down the tunnel now, so we’ll see if he comes back out for the third period. Hopefully he’s okay.”

She locks her phone. It’s been known to the general public that Andrei is engaged. He had posted on Instagram when he proposed. But it had been a silhouette shot and he hadn’t tagged her out of respect for their privacy. Christina’s Instagram is private too, so very few people they don’t personally know had put it together. 

Until now, that is.

“You saw it too?” Andrei says, coming out of the bathroom.

“Yeah. A bunch of people sent it to me.”

“And?”

“They didn’t say anything that wasn’t true. What do you think?”

He slides under the covers and kisses her forehead tenderly, “I love being known as your fiance. I’d ask you everyday to marry me if I could.”

“Sap.” She feels him laugh as she leans her head on his chest, drawing circles on his bare skin. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“I’m always gonna be okay. I have you.”

She kisses his lips before yawning, and he reaches over to shut off the lamp. 

(When Christina goes into work the next morning, Taylor’s waiting for her in her office. With no greeting, they set their laptop down and press play on a video. It’s a compilation of her and Andrei’s little pre-game ritual they had started a few months after they started dating. 

It’s Andrei, usually in his game day suit, and her in the hallway of whatever arena they’re in. He grabs both her hands and kisses her three times. Twice on the lips. Once on her forehead. She always adjusts his collar even if it doesn’t need to be adjusted, and then they’re both off to their separate ways. 

Christina had no idea Taylor had been filming this. For years, apparently, if the description in the bottom right of the video indicates anything. 2024, 2025, 2026 and this year, 2027. 

“I was gonna originally ask you if I could post it the day of your wedding,” Taylor says as the video ends. “But I also would never post it anywhere without you or Svech’s permission. I’m perfectly prepared to just keep this in the archives and never let it see the light of day.”

“You’ve been filming that all these years?”

Taylor smiles softly. “I have. The clip from last night is everywhere, with the broadcast talking about you two while you’re helping him on the ice. Twitter’s going crazy.  And I was thinking, and no pressure at all, but I was thinking that we could post this today. Everyone always loves behind the scenes content, like Marty screaming Svech’s name. I have a feeling everyone’s gonna love this little ritual too.”

The video has been replaying automatically and Christina can’t help but smile. “Okay.”

“For real?”

“Yeah. If you think it’s a good move, I trust you. You’re the social expert.”

“Well, perfect,” they grin. “I’ll catch Svech when he comes in to ask for his permission too.”

Christina snorts. “He’s not gonna say no, I can promise that.” 

He doesn’t. Taylor posts the video three hours later. The internet goes nuts. Andrei surprises her with dinner when she gets home after him, two plates of delicious-looking pasta on the table with a candle lit and a vase of fresh flowers. But the most beautiful sight is his dimpled smile. 

She kisses him. Hard. It feels like the first time again.)

~*~*~

tag list: @ru-kru, @bunbunbl0gs (lmk if you wanna be added!!)

[noramoons]

renounced | x.dj

summary: your life as the eldest child in the royal family is simple: follow everything you’ve been told, without complaint. the game is easy—until you meet xiao dejun, who shows you that you may not have to play their game at all.

pairing: prince!xiaojun x gender neutral!royal reader

genre: angst with a happy ending (?)

wc: 4k

rating: T/15+

warnings: unspecified time period, historical inaccuracies, brief mention of religious analogies, implied suggestive content, language, not proofread (😧)

a/n: happy xiaojun day! :D (me, finishing a fic on time?? 🤯🤯) hope u enjoy this little one-shot. i’m sure there are MAJOR historical inaccuracies for the politics depictions in this - feel free to leave any feedback or concrit you might have!

This is the last time.

It's like a mantra. You repeat it to yourself, over and over, starting the sentence over with every other stairstep you reach.

This is the last time. It has to be.

Of course, you said that the last time, too.

Prince Dejun has been a fixture in your life for nearly as long as you can remember. And for a long time—you hated remembering.

His family's kingdom had brought yours to the brink of annihilation in war—a long, terrible, stupid war that your nation had been comically unprepared for. The Xiao family had industrialized their military years before your father's generals even began to think about the idea, studying and honing in their technological advances to the point that when they finally brought their army to your doorstep, your father had no choice but to kneel. Can it really be called war if the other side never even stands a chance?

You had hated Xiao Dejun, then. Hated the very idea of him and his entire family. Hated that they had been so generous as to allow your family to stay in their palace for a month while yours was being rebuilt, him and his brothers running through the halls with gleeful abandon while you and your younger siblings had to restrain yourselves at all times. You always had to be poised and patient, silent unless spoken to—the perfect guests for who you saw as little more than your captors.

It was several years later before your father's advisors began whispering again, hushed murmurs that gradually tumbled their way down to your eavesdropping ears—not of war this time, but of the future. Of building future alliances with the very nation that had nearly decimated your home.

And you, as the eldest child, were the perfect sacrificial lamb.

You had felt just as much, too, the night of your first outing with the prince. You would be supervised, of course, but you still found yourself unable to shake the feeling as the servants dressed you quietly, whispering to each other when they thought you couldn't hear. Like they were preparing a stuffed pig for a feast.

You'd dreaded every step down the main stairwell of your newly rebuilt home, clinging to the marble railing that you were sure was just as cold and unforgiving as the prince waiting for you at the bottom of the stairs (Completely unlike the way you are currently racing up a flight of stairs, heart growing lighter with each step).

You had been surprised, then, when Dejun had taken your gloved hand in his—it turned out he was warm flesh and blood, after all.

He'd engaged in perfectly polite, yet expected small talk all throughout the main entryway and into the gate outside. It wasn't until you reached that first step outside, the furthest you'd been away from home in months, that he had squeezed your hand and dropped his voice into an octave that sounded much more familiar to the Dejun you had seen briefly in his home.

"Do you trust me?"

You were taken aback by the question—but you certainly weren't a liar. "No."

He'd laughed at that—a light, airy sound escaping past his lips that you thought had no right to come from a devil. "I thought as much. I would've been surprised if you'd said so." Something glinted in his eyes. "Can you give me a chance to change your mind?"

What on Earth was he talking about? The two of you were only supposed to wander the gardens until dusk—that was what your governess had said. "Why would I do that?"

A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth—you thought, for an absentminded moment, how seemingly perfect his teeth were. What a strange thing to notice. "Because it'll get us away from the eyes of your governess." 

Your own eyes widened. "What are you talking about? I—" I hadn't even noticed she was out here, you'd wanted to say. You had spun around, looking intently for somewhere she must have been hiding—she couldn't have been that inconspicuous if Dejun had noticed her already.

He'd squeezed your hand again, warm fingers still intertwined with yours. "I spoke with the stablehand before coming to call on you. He said he would leave a horse tied just outside the gates." He paused. "It's up to you, of course. Your Highness." He dropped your hand only to cross it across his chest in a mock serene bow, and you had bit onto your own tongue, hard, to keep a laugh from escaping you at the sight.

You had tried to weigh the consequences in your mind, but the thought of freedom was just as alluring as it always had been under the watchful eye of seemingly everyone else in the palace you'd grown up with. Even if it came with a price of momentary companionship with Xiao Dejun.

"We..." you had started. "We have to be back by sunset. No later."

He had grinned and taken your hand, running with you close behind, helping you mount the horse when you did, in fact, find one tied just outside the palace gates—and giving you the first taste, if only for an hour, of what real freedom might feel like.

You were chased down by your governess and a slightly bruised stablehand before the sun had even begun to set, but you and Dejun had talked, lying on your backs in an empty field miles away from the palace, for what felt like hours. It was then that you learned he cared practically nothing for politics, that he had no plans to be king the way his father had ruled. You discovered, through a series of conversations, that he wanted so much more for his life—to not be tied to something he hadn't chosen for himself. You'd never forget for the rest of your life how his eyes shone that evening, how they sparkled as he listened to you, and how he talked about the life he wanted with such excitement. He wanted to learn how to walk across a trapeze, or become a traveling musician, to sail across the world with a band of pirates—he wanted to at least have options. To be able to choose something for himself, something that was only his.

That glass facade you had built in your head of him shattered. He was so, so much like you, in every way you had never imagined.

Your governess gave you an earful when you were dragged back to the palace that night, but you could barely find it in yourself to care. Dejun had planted a dangerous seed in your brain—the idea of getting to choose.

While your father wasn't entirely pleased with the events of your first outing with Prince Dejun, his advisors still believed it would be a beneficial match for the future of the kingdom—so you were allowed to continue your courtship with the prince.

With every meeting, you found your affection for the worldview he had given you growing. You were allowed to let yourself want for the first time. You wanted the ability to choose what you did with your life. You wanted to see what the rest of the world looked like outside of your room in the palace.

You wanted Dejun. And he wanted you, too.

But perhaps that grasp of freedom was something you didn't deserve. After all—at the end of the day, there wasn't truly any aspect of your life's path that you chose yourself. Even the idea of freedom was ludicrous. Everything was preordained for your life by the same gods (who you had been told since birth) that had put your father on the throne—to say or do otherwise was simply unthinkable. Heresy. A refusal of everything you had been put on this planet to do.

It had clearly been too long since you had any reminders of that fact—and so your father's advisors, moods changing like the tides of the ocean, provided you with one.

Your kingdom and the Xiaos found themselves in a trade standoff—the Xiao kingdom had the grain your kingdom so desperately needed after his soldiers had burned your farmlands down to the soil, but your father's advisors refused to pay what the Xiaos were demanding. They could get grain and cattle at a much lower price from the Qian kingdom to the south—not nearly as militarily advanced as the Xiaos, but a longtime ally of your father's, and a royal family with a son your age.

One too many insults were exchanged between families over tense negotiations—and so your courtship with Dejun was called off. Replaced with a hurried engagement to the prince of the Qian family, a man you'd never met.

And yet—you couldn't burn the roots of what Dejun had planted in you. Now more than ever, you wanted that freedom Dejun had promised you. You wanted the ability to lash out about this choice made for you, to scream at your uncaring father who only saw you as a political pawn to be used for the betterment of the nation.

But what could you do? You had been raised in a calculating way—everything you did was politics. Every choice you made was a stepping stone for your future—and not just yours. The future of your family, your lineage, your nation rested on your shoulders as the next in line for the throne. Who were you to just cast that aside? Run away with nothing but the hope Dejun would follow you? Would he follow you?

There was still a positive outcome, albeit a small one—you learned that while your relationship with Dejun had been broken for you, your kingdom's alliance with the Xiao family was not entirely lost. It was damaged enough to not want your families permanently intertwined, but not enough to go to war again—or more importantly to your circumstance, not damaged enough that their invitations to your family's yearly galas with the surrounding kingdoms had been rescinded.

A full year passed by the time your family hosted another gala, and it took all the self restraint you had mustered within you to not rush across the ballroom and hold him impossibly close to you when you finally, finally locked your gaze onto Dejun again for the first time in a year. You saw the way his eyes lit up when he saw you from the top of the staircase—the same way you had seen them shine all those years ago, when he had first introduced that damned idea of freedom into your stupidly impressionable mind. You wondered if anyone else in the ballroom could hear how loud your heart was pounding.

It took almost the entire evening, dancing with several other princes and high-ranking officials (the ones your advisors had informed you to charm for potential future alliances) before you were finally able to drag Dejun out of the ballroom, unnoticed, and into a nearby corridor.

You stared at each other for a moment. Then two.

Dejun whispered your name, as if saying it too loud would shatter the moment you've given him.

"I've missed you," you said. Ever the careful, political one—you'd ached with how much your mind and soul had missed Dejun, but you couldn't tell him that. What if he didn't feel the same? What if he didn't want to be seen with you, now that you were engaged to someone else? What if—

He leaned across, cupping your cheek in one hand and pressing his lips to yours in one singular, fluid motion.

Once again—Dejun had presented you with an opportunity you hadn't even thought of yourself. You had seen a door at the end of a hallway and thought it to be the only exit—and Dejun had shown you how to escape through a window.

The next two years of galas were the same—on one night a year, you'd entertain guests for hours, dancing until your feet were sore and mind swirling as you tried to remember everyone's name and affiliation and rank. None of it mattered once everyone retired to their guest suites, preparing for a long day of travel tomorrow, and you were free to slip away and spend the long hours of the night, unnoticed, with Dejun.

Each time, you heard a rock at your window as you were preparing for bed, and each time, you knew what it meant. You'd look outside to see a shining pair of eyes in the darkness, holding a single candle and beckoning you to follow. You'd end the evening as far away from the palace as you could get, tangled in Dejun's limbs underneath the moonlight, the two of you only pulling your cloaks back on and hurrying back in giggles when the first rays of morning sunlight were beginning to rise.

It's what you're doing now—heart racing as you ascend the final stair and make your way to the balcony before you. But this time will be different, you know. It has to be.

You're getting married next month to Prince Kun. You should have cut this tryst off before it even began—you know it will only continue to cause you and Dejun both heartache and suffering. And from what you hear, his own father's advisors have been hard at work finding an engagement for Dejun. It won't be long before you're both encumbered with marital duties.

All of this is at the tip of your tongue to tell him—and then he turns around from the balcony railing.

The moon frames his dark hair like a halo, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he sees you walking towards him—and oh, gods, how could you ever tell him anything of the sort? When he's running a soft hand through your hair and he's pulling your lips to his, when you're closing your eyes against him and letting him glide a hand down to the small of your back and press his chest to yours—when you're tasting freedom on his lips, how could you ever take that away? 

But the thought still haunts you when you're lying on your back beside him, miles away from the palace and watching the stars glitter in the sky above you. You know why neither of you have discussed the fact that you're engaged to Kun, that you'll be living in a palace in an entirely different kingdom after next month. Admitting that you need to have a discussion, after all, feels like admitting that this has to end.

Dejun stirs beside you—you had thought he was asleep. You turn on your side to look at him.

He smiles when he sees your face, and you can't fight a smile from tugging at your own lips. How can you give this up? "This is it," he says, suddenly, and you feel your stomach lurch—of course he'd be the one to acknowledge this. "Isn't it?"

"What do you mean?" you say, quietly—but the quiver in your voice betrays that you know his meaning all too well.

Dejun reaches across and intertwines his fingers with yours, bringing your connected hands up to his lips as he kisses each fingertip. "Did you want to never discuss it? To lie with me here, and then never see me again?"

You frown. "Of course not. But I don't exactly know how—"

"Run away with me," he says suddenly. "They'll never find us. We can go to the ends of the earth."

You laugh at how abrupt he is. "They'd find us, Dejun. Your father owns the greatest military in the world, and my father has spies on every inch of this continent. We'd never make it across either border."

He's insistent. "We have to try. I told you, all those years ago, that I want to be able to choose something for my life, something that's only mine. It's you, Y/N. I don't care where we are or what we're doing—I can't stand to be apart from you anymore."

His words strike your heart like daggers, but you still shake your head slowly—grabbing the hilt and driving the daggers in further yourself. "It's too late. Don't you see? It's not just my family that's depending on my choices now—the Qians are too. I can't turn my back on this anymore by just running away."

"And who decides that?" He shoots back. "None of this has been up to you. Don't you think you deserve a chance to choose a life for yourself?"

You don't know why it's never occurred to you before. It's a fantasy—all of this. Ever since the moment your courtship with Dejun was called off years ago, you've been in a child's delusion. The real world calls now, with all of its accompanying rules and responsibilities—you have no place allowing yourself to stay in this illusion anymore. There has to be another universe, a different life where the two of you were smart enough to never do anything this stupid, but it isn't this one. There's no substance to you and Dejun. "And in that life, I would do what? Continue to be a once-a-year tryst to you? Do you..." You take a sharp breath. "Do you love me, Dejun?"

He looks like you've stung him with your words—maybe you have. "You know how I feel about you, Y/N, I—"

"Can you say it?" Part of you is screaming internally for giving him an ultimatum like this, for probably ripping away the only respite you've ever had from your life in a cage—but you know that if you don't do it, it'll be done for you. Just like everything else.

"I..." he trails off, and you find yourself utterly afraid for what he might have said—because it might have convinced you.

And then he inhales again. Clenches his jaw. "Goodnight, Y/N."

Your heart sinks, but you swallow down the self-induced disappointment. "Goodnight, Dejun."

You don't think either of you sleep much that night. You watch the sun rise on the horizon hours later—beautiful, cheerful shades of pinks and oranges that are a perfect contrast to the knots of worry you can feel brewing in your stomach.

As you and Dejun hurry back (in silence) to the south side of the palace, you begin to slow at the gate behind the gardens. In the past, you've always stopped here to say your goodbyes before heading back into the palace on your own separate ways, as to not arouse suspicion.

Dejun never stops. He never even begins to slow down his walking pace. Instead, you watch him walk past you, through the gardens and into the side door into the scullery—and now you really can't shake this feeling that you've made a massive, unchangeable mistake.

You remember how much you once hated him—how to even hear the name Xiao Dejun made your stomach twist. Now, you think, you'd give anything to hear his name announced in the same room as you. And it may never happen again.

The month that follows your engagement with Qian Kun goes by in a blur. The wedding preparations, the attire, the food for the guests—it's all chosen for you, anyway, so why should you care? You silently mourn the loss of all things good and routine in your life that you'd come to cherish before—including Dejun.

The wedding itself is a different experience—mostly because you don't feel like you're even really there. Everything is just as you had rehearsed the day before; your father walks you down the aisle in full royal regalia. You stand beside Kun and recite your perfectly memorized vows. You touch your lips to his.

It’s a game, all of it—and you’ve been told every move to play.

You don't eat much at the reception, and your new husband seems to notice. He asks if you're not feeling well, if you need to leave early—and as much as you know you need to stay to keep up appearances, to maintain the alliances your father's advisors have so carefully crafted for you with this marriage—you can't help but nod yes.

Kun is too kind for his own good, you think. He briefly shows you around the royal wing of your new home, where you'll presumably be staying for the rest of your life, before opening the door to the bedroom at the end of the corridor. You expect him to follow you inside, so you're surprised when he moves to open the door again to leave.

He turns around, a small smile of understanding on his mouth. "I'll see you in the morning, Your Highness. When you're feeling better." He hesitates for only a brief moment before adding, "You don't have to keep up appearances around me. I hope you know that."

You don't know that, in all honesty—but you smile and nod gratefully anyway.

You let yourself sit in the silence of your room for a long while, comfortable with it in contrast to the loud reception you can still hear ongoing downstairs. You think about calling for help on undressing out of your royal wedding attire, but the thought of being alone is still far more appealing, even if it takes you an hour to get out of all these layers.

You've only undone two buttons when you hear a thump on the floor, right below the open window. It's a rock, you realize in disbelief as you bend down to take a closer look. You hold it under the candlelight, and you finally recognize the familiar scrawled ink across the surface.

I love you.

You lean over the window, heart pounding so loud you can hear it rushing in your ears—and you see him. He hasn't even dismounted from the horse he must have ridden to the castle on, one hand still clutching the reins, other hand waving in the air to catch your attention.

Dejun's face lights up when he sees you, and you suddenly feel that same lightness in your chest the instant you see it. Like you'd never even left his side.

You grab the candle on your nightstand and bring it by the window to see him better, and it's then that you begin to hear what he's been saying—not yelling, thankfully, to ensure any wedding goers won't hear. But you don't even think you'd mind now, as you lean further out of the window and finally hear it from his own lips.

I love you.

You think about what he said only a month ago, an echo of the things he'd said to you when you were younger. That you deserve to choose.

You think that while there is a lifetime where you were smart enough to never do anything this stupid, there must also be another where you are brave enough to run away—to be in love, to choose with your own mind to leave behind everything you've known for each other. For something that you both know would last.

Maybe there's a part of you that thinks that lifetime can be this one—that they're one and the same. That some part of you still longs to be that foolish, and that brave.

You cup your hands around your mouth and call down to him—your answer to tonight's unspoken question.

I love you too.

a/n: feedback is always welcome through reblogs, comments, and messages 💛 thank you sm for reading!

taglist: @petrichor-han @kangroo-chan @ot7lonelylover @lilacdreams-00 @mainexiii @awkwardnesshabitat @lotus-dly @elizabeth11moreno @nerdysl-t @seung-scrittore

[askdacast]

I don’t really get the way The Chosen portrays Jesus. When one of his disciples gets something half right by offering to help Jesus carry stuff out of the goodness of his heart, Jesus responds with a half assed, “Thank you but…” When Jesus orders his disciples to work with wheat, Jesus acts like an earthly king by not even being there to work with them. Jesus also rudely interrupts one of his disciples when that disciple tries to tell him about an idea to raise funds.

Hey anon, forgive me for not answering your questions directly. But seeing as you’ve been going around sending this same message to several different blogs talking about The Chosen, I do feel the need to address something else.

(IMPORTANT EDIT: if you’re not the same anon who’s been sending messages to @sojourner-between-worlds then please ignore this post, I wrote it with this assumption in mind)

First of all, while I’m not really particular about spoilers, you have to keep in mind: I’m a busy person. Most of us are, with jobs and lives outside the internet. I have my postgraduate studies right now, and lately because it has been quite busy, I haven’t had the time to catch up with The Chosen’s new episodes exactly as they are uploaded. I’m still stuck on episode 3, mind you, with basic knowledge of episode 4, and I won’t be able to catch up very quickly. I know it probably wasn’t your intention to spoil me, but coming into my asks and telling me directly about events I haven’t watched yet is just a tad rude in that regard, especially if I really DID care a lot about not being spoiled.

Which brings me to my next point - I have absolutely no problems discussing The Chosen, even critiquing it. I’m not going to tell you that you shouldn’t criticize anything about this show. It’s not like I have 100% positive things to say about this show either - as mentioned before, I quite disliked the ending of S4E3. So I’m usually more than glad to share my opinions, positive or otherwise about this show. And I don’t mind either you sharing your opinions and asking for a discussion.

However, it appears to me, from your asking this same anon Q to many blogs, that it’s not really a discussion you want, so much as to complain about things you don’t like and asking “big name blogs” (if you can even call us that, we are just random people on the internet…) to affirm your negative opinions about this show. And I’m sorry to say, I don’t intend to do that.

If it really was a discussion you wanted, you are free to make your own Tumblr blog to make your own critical posts. You can complain as you please, and you can even invite further discussion and other’s opinions. After all, reblogs are much easier to keep track of than anon asks. But instead, I see you not just repeating the same asks, but when a blog gives you an opinion you disagree with, you send further anon asks basically picking apart their opinions and arguing with them ad nauseam about how The Chosen has so many detail inaccuracies in the show.

Forgive me for being blunt, but there are so many better uses of your time than arguing with strangers online. This is neither healthy nor productive.

You need to remember The Chosen is NOT Gospel. It is entertainment - it is an adaptation of the Gospel. Artistic liberties and inaccuracies are bound to happen. ANY story - not just gospel-related ones, but adaptations of history, famous books etc. - will inevitably have to take some liberties as you move from book to screen, fact to fiction. Do I agree with all of these changes? Do I think the “it’s fiction” argument is a good excuse to just change the source to whatever I want? Of course not. One needs to respect the heart of their source material and what it’s trying to say. We will rarely agree 100% with the way something is adapted. But we need to approach these things with grace and some common sense, because adaptation in writing is really really really hard. Word for word faithfulness to the text will not always translate to the screen well, and liberties NEED to be taken in order to tell a good story.

Just because the Bible never says exactly where Jesus did XYZ miracle doesn’t mean The Chosen should just show them going nowhere. Just because we don’t know the half the disciples actual backgrounds, does not mean it would be better storytelling for Thomas, Thaddeus, Nathaniel etc. to just show up like “ayo Jesus I appeared from the ether and want to be your disciple.” It would be confusing, especially for a newcomer who knows nothing about the Bible!

As I said, The Chosen is not Gospel. It is a piece of entertainment to encourage people TO read the original gospels and form THEIR OWN opinions about who Jesus really is and what He came to do for us. Dallas Jenkins and co. have made NO claims to presenting gospel truth or a new gospel. All they have ever set out to achieve was to bring to light what the gospel is, why it is so important, and HOW it could be important to you too. We can absolutely disagree with how they have gone about this goal. But let’s not claim that the very act of making a tv show is the same as trying to rewrite the gospel.

If you still don’t like The Chosen despite other people’s opinions, that’s 100% fine. You are entitled to your opinions, and you can hold firm to them. Ironically, going around asking people to agree with you, and angrily arguing with them when they disagree, only shows a lack of conviction in your opinions, that you NEED someone (people online whom you’ve never met no less) to tell you that you’re right. I’m not asking you to like this show, but to have some grace towards the people who do - the people who’ve really been touched by God through this show - and the people who’ve made this a possibility.

I am, once again, not saying you cannot criticize this show. But I am imploring you to do so in a way that doesn’t tear people down, but builds them up. If you don’t like how The Chosen portrays Jesus, then show people who the REAL Jesus is.

We are all doing our best to obey and serve the Lord with what’s in our hands, and only He alone can judge whether or not we’ve done the right thing. (Romans 14:3-4) I suggest you do the same.

[littlemisskittentoes]

Weekend WIP Game

holy guacamole, so many of you tagged me. i appreciate you all so much @affectionatelyrs @@read-and-write- @happiness-of-the-pursuit @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @daisymae-12

Rules: List your WIPs (if you only write one fic at a time, feel free to include future WIPs/ideas!) then answer the following questions. Then, tag as many people as you have WIPs (or more)

WIP List- this has my little brain blasts, ones with actual words, and ones still living in the realm of brainstorming

it always leads to you (in my home town) -- childhood friends au/ 'tis the damn season au

don't you call him baby-- second chance romance/kensington divergence au

tell me anything you like (except for goodbye)-- assassination attempt au

5+1 alcholic alex fic

Threesgiving-- featuring dom!alex, needy henry, and pez as a guest star

college au/stoner alex oneshot

pet play oneshot-- featuring kitten!henry

local bdsm dungeon meet cute fic

aftercare oneshot

greek mythology au-- featuring alex as persephone, henry as hades, and david as cerberus

2. Which of your WIPs is currently the longest?

'tis the damn season au! there are so many vignettes i'm really excited about for this fic that i've already started penning out. it also has a fairly hefty outline

3. Which WIP do you expect will end up being the longest?

don't you call him baby. this one definitely has the biggest character arcs, and a timeline that needs to span a decent number of years.

4. Which WIP is your favorite to write/ the most enjoyable to write? Why?

i'm really excited to write the dungeon meet-cute. i have a sneaking suspicion this will end up being a series of oneshots. i'm just like, so in love with firstprince being involved in the community and caring about community etiquette and watching them learn. also, i'm so exciting for witty banter laced within their first negotiations with each other.

5. Which WIP do you find most intimidating to write? Why?

the assassination attempt au. this one is going to be HEAVY, chickens. there's a lot of emotional turmoil. it's also a bit of a character study with henry, while i typically tend to write from alex's pov. also slightly concerned about backing myself into a corner with medical inaccuracies

6. Which WIP do you experience the most self-doubt about? Why?

don't you call him baby. it has a long timeline of events that i have to construct and stay true to. it also features henry absolutely decimating alex's heart. so i'm worried about being able to pull that off while still keeping the readers rooting for him to end up with alex.

7. Which of your WIPs will you seek out a beta/sensitivity reader for? Why?

probably anything longer than a oneshot or a 5+1. i'm not super familiar with working on longer pieces and want to make sure they won't be coming across as boring or poor quality.

8. Have any of your WIPs been struck by the curse of writer's block?

greek mythology au, which breaks my heart. i love the concept, but don't know i'll ever have enough brain hatching to let it come to fruition

9. Which WIP has your favorite OC? Tell us about them

don't you call him baby will feature alex having a boyfriend named Noah for a portion of the story! Noah is meant to be someone we know isn't going to end up with alex. but we still genuinely like him. he's kind, he's supportive, he cares deeply about alex. he's honestly a bit of a golden retriever.

10. Which WIP is the sexiest?

Threesgiving baby!

11. Which WIP is the angstiest?

assassination attempt au. there's a lot of hurt and emotional turmoil from a lot of our favorite characters. we see June, Zahra, Ellen, Oscar, and Henry really struggling. and there won't be much comfort.

my goal for this fic is for it to be a bit of a gut-wrenching read, a go to 'i need to read something to make me cry' fic. but edged with a hint of hope

12. Which WIP has the best characterization (in your humble opinion)?

i hope it'll be either the assassination attempt au, or the 5+1 alcoholic alex fic. both depend pretty intensely on introspection and living in a character's head

13. Which WIP has the best setting (in your humble opinion)?

dungeon meet-cute. gotta love a local dungeon as the staging for a fic

14. Which WIP have you worked the hardest on?

i'd say probably don't you call him baby. i've worked pretty hard to try to nail down a rough timeline for it, which has seemed like a lot more work than just sitting and hammering out writing scenes for me

15. Which WIP do you have the highest expectations for?

'tis the damn season au. i have so many cute vignettes for it. i'm gonna hate myself if it doesn't string together well

16. Do you dream about any of your WIPs?

not so far! but i do daydream about them a lot. i'll brainstorm vignettes for wips and let them play in my head as a little movie during mundane life things

17. Do any of your WIPs have any particular complexities that your other fics don't?

the assassination attempt au barely has alex in it. for the vast VAST majority of the fic, alex will be in surgery or still unconscious recovery. it depends SO heavily on the other characters. that fic also demands a hospital setting, and medical information that i've got to do some deeper research for

18. Which WIP is the funniest or has the most humor?

funny you ask, i'm actually atrocious at writing humor and try to avoid it like the plague. but i'm hoping the aftercare oneshot has a special sense of levity and sweetness. and the dungeon meet-cute is going to aim for some funny banter

19. Do any of your WIPs contain outside POVs or a deep dive on a character other than the main ship? How are you finding that process?

the assassination attempt au dives into a lot of characters! it is intimidating haha. more than anything i'm just nervous about writing any of the characters that i love so much in a way that doesn't feel authentic

20. Tell us something we don't know about one or more of your WIPs

don't you call him baby will showcase alex deciding to get sober early into the fic, and will include david playing matchmaker!

it always leads to you (in my hometown) reunites henry and alex through pez and a dairy aisle. henry also has a tattoo in it.

__

honestly, i'm a bit late to the game and have no idea who hasn't already done this, but if you haven't consider this an open tag to do so!!

[invisibleraven]

Inked

Julie and her dad go on a trip to Puerto Rico and Julie comes home with more than just souvenirs.

After seeing the picture of Madi's own tattoo that she and her dad got in Brazil, well this idea just came to me.

I know next to nothing about Puerto Rico and not much more about getting tattoos, so sorry for any inaccuracies.

On AO3!

When Julie graduated at the top of her class after four grueling years of study, her father offered to take her on a trip wherever in the world she wanted.

“I want to go to Puerto Rico,” she replied. “See where you and mami grew up. Meet mi abuela and any other relations that might be there.”

“We can do that,” Ray said with watery eyes and a sniffle.

Of course then, Carlos and her aunt wanted to come, but Julie insisted it was a father daughter trip, and the two of them were welcome to take their own trip after Carlos finished school. Neither was happy about it, but they relented, and before long, they were in the air towards San Juan.

They had a lovely time there, with Ray showing Julie all his old haunts, and a few he knew from Rose’s past. Julie nearly wept as she saw her mothers name inscribed on a wall of the club where the Petal Pushers were born. Her Instagram feed was filled with photos of all the places she saw, and especially all the food she was enjoying.

There was a lot of food.

All her relatives were so happy to see her and were determined to stuff her with their signature dishes. Plus all the street vendors and small stalls always had something to snack on.

Julie is positive she’s gained at least five pounds during this trip, but it’s nothing a few hot yoga sessions with Flynn and a few runs around Malibu with Carrie won’t solve. Plus she’s on vacation, so she feels free to indulge.

It’s also nice to get in touch with her heritage a little more. She’d grown up with pictures and stories about Puerto Rico, but nothing compares to seeing it. She even attends a Mass with her papi, something she rarely does at home. They’re more prayers over meals and church on major holidays people now, well aside from tia, but it was nice to go. To hear the service in Spanish, to light a candle for her mami, to sing the songs, loud and proud in her parent’s native tongue.

It was their second last day there that her father asked if there was anything else she wanted to see or do. “Anything you want,” he vowed.

Julie hummed as she scanned the plaza they were standing in, enjoying the last sips of an iced coffee, and that’s when she saw it; a way to forever keep Puerto Rico with her.

“You wanna get a tattoo?” she asked, pointing to the neon sign.

Ray followed her finger and sighed. “I did say whatever you wanted I suppose. Dios mio your aunt is gonna kill me.”

Julie shrugs and pulls him towards the studio, hoping they’re free to do a walk in. The place looks clean and new, with a few people milling about, but not overly crowded. She can see certificates and photos of the art on the wall, and she immediately gets a good feeling about the place. A friendly looking guy covered in ink is manning the desk and smiles when Julie approaches.

“Hola señorita, qué puedo hacer por ti hoy?”

“Mi papi y yo queriamos tatuarnos,” Julie replies.

“Muy bien!” the man exclaims, then calls to the back in heavily accented English. “Reggie! Got a client or two for you!”

“Coming Paulo!” a voice calls, and then out from behind a curtain comes one of the cutest guys Julie has ever laid eyes on. He’s pale, very pale in comparison to everyone around him, with a dusting of fine golden freckles dancing across the bridge of his nose. His eyes sparkle a spring time green, with flecks of flinty gray that Julie can spot as he gets closer. She can also see the toned nature of his body in the tight tank and ripped jeans he’s wearing, and she’s struggling not to match the blush painting his face as he scopes her out as well. Thank goddess she decided on a cute little sundress today and not the oversized tee and shorts she’d been sporting most of her time here.

“Hi there, I’m Reggie…. Um, No hablo español, is that okay?”

Julie giggles, and finds her fingers twisting in a loose curl from her braid. “It’s fine, we’re from LA.”

“Me too!” Reggie says, escorting them back to his station with a megawatt grin. “Paulo and I met in college and I came down to visit. Somehow got roped into working for him for a few days while his partner is out with the flu. But now I’m glad I did!”

Ray gives a wry chuckle, making the both of them turn, finally noticing that he’s even there. Reggie gives a little cough, blushing even more vibrantly, and Julie really wants to know how warm that would feel against her lips, but shakes herself a little. Not while her dad is right there!

Reggie asks them what they’re looking for, and shows them a few examples of his work. Julie is amazed by the artistry. She had always been a fan of tattoos, even if getting one for herself had been a spur of the moment decision. She knows her dad has one; a rose and dahlia intertwined on his shoulder blade, while her mom had a sun on hers, a matching set that Julie had loved to trace whenever she saw them as a little girl.

Ray finally finds one he’d be okay with getting; a small smiley face with the Puerto Rican flag inside of it. “What do you think mija?”

It’s a bit simplistic, but Julie knows her dad is only doing this for her, and she finds she kind of loves the cheery design. She gives him a thumbs up and tells him he can go first, given he’d done it before. Ray gives her a grin and shows Reggie the spot on his bicep he wants the ink.

Soon the prep was done and Reggie was sitting, readying his needle. “You can stay, if you want,” he tells Julie. “Might help to see it happening to hype yourself up for yours.”

“Thanks,” she replies, and leans over to squeeze her father’s hand. “Thanks for doing this with me papi.”

“Anything for you mija,” Ray replies. “But you’re the one explaining it to your aunt.”

“Fair enough.”

The next hour passes quickly, with the buzz of the needle and Reggie chatting away with them both. Apparently he and Ray share a love for Star Wars that Julie will never get, but he also apparently loves music, so he and Julie spend a good chunk of time discussing the finer points of Dolly Parton, Taylor Swift, and Green Day.

Then Reggie was done, wiping down her father’s arm, going over the after care instructions and wrapping the ink up. “Your turn darlin’,” he said turning to Julie, a tiny bit of Georgia twang coming into his voice at the endearment.

Julie bit her lip, but slid into the freshly sanitized chair, shivering at the cool leather. “Nervous?” Reggie asked, and all she could do was nod. “I was too, before my first one.”

Julie looked him up and down, but couldn’t see a trace of ink on him until he turned, pulling the strap of his tank top away, revealing a small Star of David with the name Chavala Cassidy under it. “For my MeeMaw,” he said. “She passed away while I was in high school but there wasn’t a kinder woman alive than her.”

“That’s beautiful,” Julie said, fiddling with the pendant her mother had once worn that now hung around her neck. “Maybe one day I’ll do one for my mom.”

“She would have loved that mija,” Ray said, squeezing her shoulder. “Bet you she would have loved to be here for this too.” He gives a little sniffle, and then coughs. “Do you want me to stay? Get you anything?”

“A drink would be great-just no more coffee, I’m already wired,” Julie replied.

Ray makes the same offer to Reggie who tries to demure, but Ray insists, and then goes off to fetch them some juice. Julie partially wishes he had stayed, to hold his hand during this, but she also knew he needed a moment so she let him be.

“So where do you want it?” Reggie asked.

Julie decided that she’d prefer to get the tattoo on her shoulder blade. Easy enough to cover with a shirt, but also could be shown off whenever she wanted to without being immodest. Reggie hummed as he prepped her skin, a soft lilting tune that Julie recognized, humming along with him. He chuckled and then started singing softly, a warm tenor that made Julie melt. She decided to join in, the words coming easy.

“Wow, that’s quite a set of pipes you have,” Reggie said as she finished the chorus. “Please tell me you’re sharing that voice on the nightly somewhere.”

“I do the occasional open mic, but I actually just graduated with a degree in Graphic Design and Illustration,” Julie replied. “I’m helping a friend by doing pictures for their kids book, and designing ads once I land a job mostly.”

The needle started to buzz, and Julie sucked in a breath. Reggie laid a soothing hand on her other shoulder, the warmth of his hand bleeding through the thin latex glove. The first touch of the needle wasn’t too bad-just like a cat scratch, but the sound went right through her, making Julie hiss through gritted teeth.

“Want me to stop?” Reggie asked in a low voice.

“No-just distract me?”

“That I am great at. So-graphic design huh? Did you always want to be an artist?”

“I mean, when I was a kid I wanted to be a dolphin,” Julie quipped, and she heard Reggie chuckle. “But I always loved art, and then I designed a logo for a local company in a contest and won. Got noticed by a few other firms, and they offered to pay my way if I would work for them part time. I have a few offers, but I don’t know where I’m going yet.” The needle stopped for a moment, Reggie wiping over her skin in a feather light motion. “What about you? Did you always want to do tattoos?”

“I mean I’ve been drawing on my skin for as long as I can remember,” Reggie said with an audible smile. “So I guess so. I like it, it gives me a way to make art that lasts, that’s personal and tells a story.”

“Ever done anyone famous?”

“None that I can talk about.” The needle stopped buzzing again. “There, the outline of the circle is done. I’m going to start the flag now, unless you need a break?”

“Just to stretch my arms out,” Julie said, doing so, sighing when she heard her back crack. “Alright, let’s keep going.”

The rest of their time was punctuated with chatter. Reggie telling her about his internship at a parlor in Ventura, Julie talking about some of her classes. Plus lots of little getting to know you questions. Julie still didn’t get the whole Star Wars thing, but was shocked when Reggie confessed to never having seen her favourite movie, The Princess Bride.

“How?” she gasped. “It’s a classic! Most quotable movie ever!”

“Never got around to it I guess. We-we didn’t have a lot growing up, and the Star Wars movies were the few we owned, so they became a staple of my childhood. I know of Princess Bride, but it’s one of those movies I never watched,” he offered in explanation.

“Well when you’re back in LA we are definitely sitting down and watching it, and I will sit through one Star Wars movie in exchange,” Julie said.

“Oooh, now I have to pick just one?” Reggie whined. “Gotta go with Empire Strikes Back then, it’s the best one.”

“I’ll bring the popcorn,” Julie said. “You bring the drinks.”

“Sounds like a fun date,” Reggie said, pulling the needle away. “We’re almost done, by the way. Only the smiley face left.”

“Really?” Julie asked. “Wow, time really flew.”

“It usually does when you’re having fun,” Reggie quipped. He stretched out his long limbs and Julie was glad she turned her head to watch, seeing his straining muscles, the sliver of skin as his shirt rode up, the flash of more ink sitting against his hip.

“How many tattoos do you have?” she asked once they were back at it.

“A couple,” Reggie said. “One for MeeMaw, one for my best friends that we all got on one of our twenty first birthday bashes. A few others. They get a bit addictive honestly.”

“Did you design them all yourself?”

“Nope, just the one for our friend group, and my little Millennium Falcon one that is flying over my thigh.” Julie heard the needle stop, then a gentle touch wiping over her skin, Reggie’s other hand still a comforting presence on her opposite shoulder. “You’re done, by the way.”

“Can I see it?”

Reggie brought her a few mirrors, and Julie let a smile burst forth as she saw the small patch of colour now marking her shoulder. The skin around it was inflamed with redness, but Reggie assured her it would fade with time, as long as she took care of it. Then he bit his lip, and looked at her with wide eyes. “Would you be okay if I took a photo for my portfolio?”

“Knock yourself out,” Julie said, and turned her head to the side, seeing Reggie pull out his phone, taking a couple of shots. Julie could feel his eyes burning into her skin and blushed as she let him look, the small sound of his phone camera and their breathing the only sound.

“O-okay, let’s get you wrapped up,” Reggie said, covering the tattoo, his touch lingering on her skin for just a moment longer than necessary, making Julie shiver as his callouses slid against the now sensitive part of her body. Tried not to notice how Reggie croaked his way through the after care instructions.

Finally they came from out back, and went to the counter. Paulo gives Reggie a knowing look, and passes him a bottle of juice. He pointed to where Ray was sitting out in the sun, Julie’s juice sitting next to him. “Your papi paid for you both a while back. Said he’d wait for you.”

Julie leveled her father with a look that made him laugh, and then turned back to Reggie, handing him a few bills, plus her card. “As a tip,” she said with a wink. “See you in LA?”

“I sure hope so,” Reggie replied. “Enjoy the rest of your vacation Julie.”

~

Back in LA, Julie’s mind kept drifting back to Reggie in San Juan. His crooked grin, his easy affable nature, his full looking lips and lamented that he hadn’t called her yet. Then again, maybe he was still there? Maybe he had been joking about the date? No matter, she would still think of him fondly every time she caught sight of her tattoo (which her aunt nearly had a conniption over, but what was done was done) and went on with her life.

It was only a few days later that she got a text from an unknown number. Still up for that movie date?

Julie definitely was, and texted him back straight away.

Reggie, it turned out, loved The Princess Bride. Julie still wasn’t a big Star Wars fan, but she found that The Empire Strikes Back was an excellent movie to make out to. Reggie heartily agreed, not even complaining that Julie had still not seen the whole movie.

They had time after all.

However, after a few weeks of dating, Reggie seemed nervous. Shyly asking Julie if she wanted to go to an art exhibit with him. “Sounds fun cariño, why not?”

They went to a local museum, but there was no one there. “Are we early? Or late?” Julie questioned.

“Pretty early,” Reggie replied, pulling out a key and unlocking the door. “It doesn’t technically open until tomorrow, but I know a guy who said he’d let me have a sneak peek.” He guided her in, his large hand spanning the small of her back. She caught a glimpse of the exhibit name; Paint & Ink, but not of the artist as Reggie brought her inside.

The lights flickered on, and Julie gasped. The walls were covered in paintings and photos. Each piece was exquisite, splashes of colours in the more abstract pieces, but then came the portraits. A scruffy looking guy playing guitar with deep concentration. A pair of figures dancing together in a swath of lights, a cheeky grin offering a hand.

“Reggie, these are beautiful,” Julie said, “I hope the artist knows how talented they are.”

“I’m sure they do,” Reggie said, leading her to the photographs.

A still shot of a skateboarder in the rays of the setting sun, mid air with no ground beneath them, a set of fingers on the fret board of a rhythm guitar, a broken set of drumsticks.

Then she saw it.

A black and white shot of a tattoo… her tattoo. The ink itself was in full colour, but the expanse of her shoulder, her neck, the small smile she had on her face was left in black and white. You couldn’t see above her cupid’s bow, but there was no mistaking that it was her.

She turned to see Reggie, fingers twisting together as he looked at her anxiously. “Do you like it?”

“Reggie…” she breathed out. “Is all of this yours?” He nodded shyly. “I thought you were a tattoo artist.”

“I mean, I am, and I love it! But that’s what I do to pay the bills. This,” he waved to the plethora of art surrounding them, “this is my passion.”

Julie turned back to the picture of her, then back to him. “Don’t let anyone buy this one, I want to keep it.”

“That one isn't for sale anyways,” Reggie replied, taking a step closer. “The artist loves it too much.” He tentatively wound his arms around her waist. “You’re not mad right?”

Julie shook her head, twisting her head around. “No-just reeling from it all. But… I’m glad the artist loves it.”

“And you,” he whispered against her ear, lips brushing against the skin, making her shudder. “From the moment I set my eyes on you, I knew.”

“Reggie,” Julie breathed out, letting her eyes flutter closed. “Te amo.”

And well, Reggie didn’t need to know Spanish to understand her, and swept her into a passionate kiss, making Julie’s toes curl in her heels. Her breath came out heavy and laboured as they pulled away, noses brushing, overwhelmed with feeling as her eyes stared into his.

“Show me the rest,” she whispered, and Reggie gave her the softest smile showing her all his other creations. But in the end, the one titled “Beauty in San Juan” would always be her favourite. It was the first piece she hung in the home they came to share together.

At least until they added the shot of their intertwined hands showing off their freshly inked wedding rings.

[whiskeyswriting]

I posted 2,024 times in 2022

That's 2,015 more posts than 2021!

173 posts created (9%)

1,851 posts reblogged (91%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@callsign-dragonbaron

@cycbaby

@youlightmeupfinn

@therebeccaw

@stargazing15

I tagged 435 of my posts in 2022

#top gun maverick - 102 posts

#mrsjaderogerswrites - 92 posts

#top gun - 84 posts

#whiskey talks crap - 54 posts

#tgm things - 45 posts

#oh it’s some mail 💌 - 43 posts

#mrsjaderogersanswers - 43 posts

#tgm - 41 posts

#callsign dragonbaron - 39 posts

#jake hangman seresin - 33 posts

Longest Tag: 86 characters

#this is the prime example of taking characters and throwing them into alternate worlds

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Maverick: I know you snuck out last night, Slider.

Whiskey: Play dumb!

Slider: Who's Slider?

Whiskey: NOT THAT DUMB!!!

~*~*~*~*

Slider: Come on, I wasn’t that drunk last night.

Iceman: You were flirting with Whiskey.

Slider: So what? They're my partner.

Iceman: You asked them if they were single.

Slider:

Iceman: And then you cried when they said they weren't.

~*~*~*~*

Whiskey: Bye Slider! Bye Iceman! Bye Maverick! Bye Goose! Bye Slider! Iceman: You said ‘bye Slider’ twice. Whiskey: I like Slider.

~*~*~*~*

Whiskey: Slider and I don’t use pet names. Wolfman: I see. Hey, what do bees make? Whiskey: Honey? Slider: Yes, dear? Whiskey: Wolfman: Don't ever lie to my face again.

~*~*~*~*

Goose: Here’s a fun Christmas idea. We hang mistletoe, but instead of kissing, you have to FIGHT whoever else is under it. Whiskey: Goose no. Slider: Mistlefoe. Whiskey: Please stop encouraging them.

~*~*~*~*

Goose: Whiskey isn’t answering their phone Slider: I’ll call Goose: Iceman and I have both tried six times each, what makes you thi- Whiskey: Hello?

~*~*~*~*

108 notes - Posted November 2, 2022

#4

Love Me Like You - Chapter 1: Breathe

Read Chapter 2: A Mess (Happy 4 U)

😍pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin x F!Reader

💭summary: High school and college sweethearts. That’s what the two of you were. And that’s the keyword: were. What are you to do when you come face to face with the man that broke your heart three years ago?

⚠️warning: mentions of alcohol consumption

🎶 Song Inspiration 1: Breathe by Little Mix

🎶 Song Inspiration 2: A Mess (Happy 4 U) by Little Mix

🎶 Song Inspiration 3: Love Me Like You by Little Mix

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117 notes - Posted October 12, 2022

#3

How To Be A Heartbreaker: Rule 1

😍Pairing: Ron “Slider” Kerner x Reader

🎶Song Inspiration: How to Be a Heartbreaker by Marina

💭Summary: During your time in the Navy, you learned how to heal the hearts of the aviators, as well as yours. You also broke your fair share of them. Now you teach your favorite instructor’s granddaughter on how to be a heartbreaker.

⚠️warning: mentions of alcohol; Naval inaccuracies;

📝A/N: Goose is alive here! Reader’s call sign is Whiskey. Dividers by @firefly-graphics. Cover image and Slider banner created by yours truly (@mrsjaderogers) using Canva.

📝A/N2: This is a work of fiction. Please do not copy or post anywhere else. Feel free to like and reblog but do give credit. Any constructive criticism is appreciated. I do not own any of the photos included in this post. Photos used have been from Pinterest or Tumblr or Instagram. I also don’t own any of the characters mentioned.

See the full post

123 notes - Posted October 31, 2022

#2

What If I Missed You?

😍pairing: Beau “Cyclone” Simpson x F!Reader

💭summary: Can two people be lucky in life and have a second chance at love after their respective spouse passed?

⚠️warning: mentions of death and grief; age gap

🎶 Song Inspiration: What If I Missed You by Jesse McCartney

📝A/N #1: This is a work of fiction. Please do not copy or post anywhere else. Feel free to like and reblog but do give credit. Any constructive criticism is appreciated. I do not own any of the photos included in this post. Photos used have been from Pinterest or Tumblr or Instagram. I also don’t own any of the characters mentioned.

📝A/N #2: While no physical description is assigned to reader, she is in a band that does covers of musicals and other songs. Reader is between 29-34.

Read Part 2

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153 notes - Posted October 2, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Chaos Activated

📝 A/N: No prompt just word dump of hilarious chaos the Dagger Squad causes… Mainly the Chaotic Trio: Maverick, Rooster, and Whiskey (Reader’s Call Sign) Oh and Reader is Slider’s daughter…! Fic based on the comments of this post.

It was a miracle that Maverick and Rooster survived the mission despite the near death experiences. The both of them had to thank Hangman and you for saving them and getting them back to the ship.

What was more of a miracle was that Vice Admiral Cyclone did minimal shouting at Rooster for breaking orders and going after Maverick.

Now they were being taken to the infirmary to check and treat for any injuries. You don’t know why the doctors and nurses even bothered trying to separate the two.

Despite their rocky past, the two deeply cared about the other. You knew Uncle Mav did what he thought would be best for Rooster by pulling his papers. It was something you and your father never agreed with and expressed it to him.

Rooster was like a cousin to you and you knew he was just as stubborn as Mav. You couldn’t help but love the two to death. (Sometimes quite literally).

The weeks passed and you all found yourselves back at The Hard Deck. It didn’t matter how much you tried to behave, you knew, one way or another, Mav and Rooster would end up dragging you into their schemes.

“No! No! No way am I going to use my daddy’s name to get Cyclone to give us another three free days to play dogfight football,” you say.

“C’mon kid. You’re a Kerner. You’re Slider’s sunshine. He’ll move earth and planets to make the Navy listen to you,” Mav says.

“When did you turn into a poet?” You ask sarcastically.

Bradley throws an arm around your shoulder. “Princess. Whiskey… We all know Cyclone is sweet on you. Live up to your name Whiskey. Use those smooth words and seduce him.”

You can’t help but start laughing. “You do know I don’t have to seduce my own boyfriend?”

Penny comes over and refills your drinks. “I can already sense the chaos activating with you three.”

“I’m heading out to the beach to get away from these two troublemakers,” you say taking your drink with you.

Penny winks at them and at that moment the rest of the squad came out from hiding. “So is the plan set?”

Phoenix nods. “I’ll go keep her distracted for a moment but then Mav and Rooster come back into the mix while Yale and Fritz get Cyclone here.”

Fanboy starts setting up the camera to record the planned proposal.

But Penny knew. She already knew that whenever the three of you got together, nothing would ever go according to plan. She started closing out tabs and closing the bar early.

All of a sudden the aviators hear shouting and see Mav and Rooster running along the beach and you running after them yelling.

A group of college aged guys were following the three of you. It was then they realized that Mav and Rooster used you as bait to steal the guys’ football to start their own game.

Bob looks around a bit panicked. “Shouldn’t we stop them?”

You can feel uncle Goose and Ice just shaking their heads in disbelief. “I know… I know,” you mutter as you keep running after Mav and Rooster.

Penny finally rushes outside. “Did I miss anything? I closed off the bar. I didn't miss it right?”

Hangman hands her some popcorn (that mysteriously appeared) and a drink. “No you are just on time.”

Suddenly you feel yourself getting thrown over someone’s shoulders. You are about to start screaming, thinking it was one of the college guys. You then recognize the backside you’re looking down at. “Oh hey!” You give it a squeeze.

Maverick and Rooster stopped running and ended up explaining dogfight football to the college guys when they spotted you being carried by Cyclone. They shake their heads.

“As I live and breathe… I never thought I’d see Cyclone running at the beach?“

“Was that supposed to happen?” Bob asks looking around. “Did we all see the same thing?”

Phoenix wraps an arm around Bob’s shoulders. “Cyclones loves Whiskey too much to actually be mad at them. Mav and Roos on the other hand,” she says grimacing.

See the full post

155 notes - Posted October 10, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[midnight-pluto]

COFFEE: special.02 — fun facts

COFFEE: tim drake x gn!reader

SYNOPSIS: Tim meets a barista that gives him what he needed most — a large coffee with way to many shots of espresso. Though what happens when just a single action changes the other's life, forever?

coffee master list

assuming you have gone through the whole of my coffee smau — here’s some things that you might’ve not known, my headcanons, and external info

PLAYLIST: coffee — i made a playlist that i think fit this smau or just tim in general, so feel free to listen

coffee pg.00 was originally meant to just be a one-shot but I had the bright idea to turn it into a smau since I had been really interested in them at the time and I had already created the main casts profiles so i saw no reason to not go through with it

originally reader was supposed to be adopted and have 2 moms but I didn’t know if you guys would necessarily want that or how relatable that would be so I scrapped it and went with unnamed overbearing mother and father

i actually had this idea back in December of 2022 and meant to post it on wattpad yes ik laugh at me but i didn’t have the guts to do so and I already had a lot of unfinished work that will remain unfinished

this smau also sprouted up bcuz i had gotten back into the dc rabbit hole bcuz of this goddamn site

I had also originally planned for reader to give Tim a sticky note attached to his coffee that said something along the lines of: “Good luck with whatever you need 8 shots of espresso for :)” but I for some reason didn’t so the special note at the end of the pages didn’t rlly make any sense

tim might be a genius but he has a terrible sense of direction which is multiplied tenfold when he’s sleep deprived, hence why he almost dropped you off at the wrong apartment once — pg.04

duke being readers bsf happened cuz i personally believe duke deserves more content about him

duke also always somehow manages to be the messenger bird whenever both you and tim have a fight given how tim's first resort is the silent treatment and you're petty enough to give it back so the most the two of you ever communicate during that time is through duke — pg.15

on that same note harley has become your couple counselor which always manages to become awkward due to the sole fact tim is trying his best to subtly glare at harley since she has repeatedly tried to break his kneecaps when he was on red robin duty; again, petty

this was written by a person who has never worked at a coffee shop before so if you see and inaccuracies and have worked at one, feel free to call me out on it — not so i can fix, but bcuz i find my mistakes hilarious dont ask why, i just do

i still struggle on how i format the titles of the pages and always have to look back on my previous posts to remember how i typed things out

i also suck at developing feelings and crushes with characters so if it seems rushed or sucks that will be my one and only excuse given the fact that i find it extremely hard to even gain a crush irl

nothing was proofread

tims favorite taylor swift album is evermore i may or may not make seperate headcanons about that later

planning on posting a wattpad version of this fic sometime this year, i am still debating on starting an ao3 acc since the only thing i ever do on there is simply just read fics and im not sure if i like/understand ao3's format enough to start tho

TAGLIST: @grandstrangerphantom @marsbars09 @fabitheraven @lovelypitasworld @dyjcksn @mae77eris @sugarrush-blush @djchik @soundsfunbutno @apizzacalledmel @strangetrashblog @cipheress-to-k-pop @harleycao @unhingedtimdrake @a-homosexual-homosapien @aquarii-doodles @love-stay @criminallycan @hecate-frenchfries @job-ross-the-second

[crystalninjaphoenix]

Branded

A JSE Fanfic

I wrote a short thing based on this picture by @blade-of-memeora, which was in turn inspired by Branded by NWTB. Because that picture was really, really cool and the song is good. For some reason I love this concept a whole lot, it’s really interesting and it was fun to write. Hope you guys like it ^-^

He thought something was off the moment he started walking up the path to the doorstep. There was no reason for this, just an...itching, crawling feeling on the back of his neck, running down his spine. He almost didn’t want to go inside. But that was ridiculous, it was his house...yeah, it was. He’d been out late, and he needed to, you know, eat and sleep. There wasn’t any sign of a break-in.

Cautiously, he pushed open the door. It was unlocked, but he was pretty sure that was his fault. He wasn’t the best at remembering to do that. Whatever, the neighborhood was safe enough. He reached over and flipped on the lights, revealing a totally normal—

Everything flickered. He gasped, but whatever it was, it was gone as quickly as it had come. What was that? He could’ve sworn he saw someone standing right in front of him, way too close, with a mask hiding most of their features. He shook his head, pressing a hand to his temple. He must really be tired. Maybe he could just go to bed, he wasn’t that hungry anyway. But he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that something was wrong, that he wasn’t...alone.

Fine then. He’d do a check around the house to satisfy his paranoid brain. First up, the living room. Down a short hallway and into said room, with its yellow walls and marble fireplace. Nothing there. Now to check everywhere else.

This house was much too big for one person, but he liked the space. Even though it meant he had to wander through several rooms and halls to get anywhere, and that was a pain in the ass. Luckily, the place had come with fancy decorations already hanging on all the empty walls. Mostly paintings. He walked past one on the way to the study, and...could’ve sworn it looked different. He stared at it as he passed.

Nothing in the study. Nothing in the bedroom. Nothing in the bathroom. He was basically walking in a giant circle at this point, because for some reason every room, even the bathroom, had at least two doors. He walked past another hanging and thought the painted eye blinked. But he dismissed it as nothing, because painting don’t blink. They don’t have eyes to follow you, tracking your movement. They don’t give you the creeps when the hairs on the back of your neck rise like you’re being watched.

He blinked. There was another flicker, another image like there was somebody else with him that he couldn’t quite see. He faltered, then kept on.

He ended up back in the living room. He was feeling a bit...dazed. Mindless. Like his brain was a TV that just turned to a blank channel. Mechanically, he walked straight over to the fireplace, leaning on the mantle. He sighed, and turned around.

There were people.

He just stared for a moment. How did they get in? How did he miss them? There were six, dressed rather well, all in dark colors, and a few had capes. Some were sitting in his furniture, others standing. And they all wore masks of some sort, metal and styled, almost like that steampunk he’d heard about but also just...strange.

That was all he could register before fear and adrenaline kicked in and he bolted for one of the room’s many doors. 

He made it just in time. When he glanced behind him, the masked ones were running after him. He slammed the door shut, feeling them pound on it, trying to push it open. His mind raced. There was a small table in this hallway, so he hooked his foot around one of its legs and with some effort pulled it over. He wedged it against the door, under the doorknob, and ran.

After a mad dash down the halls, he ended up hiding in the bathroom. Shit, this couldn’t really be happening. Whatever this was. Who were these people? Why were they after him? Maybe they wouldn’t find him...he had to hope that, because he didn’t have a weapon, nor did he have anything like that in the house. He could throw a lamp at them. At all...six of them. He leaned back against the bathroom door and exhaled slowly.

This situation was looking bad. But he needed to keep calm. Keep his head clear. It didn’t help that he still felt kind of fuzzy and tired. He pushed away from the door and crossed over to the sink, turning the handles once he got there. He cupped the water in his hand and splashed his face. Then he shut off the water and leaned on the sink, blinking water out of his eyes. He looked up at the oval mirror hanging on the wall over the sink.

The mirror showed somebody else.

It was just a split second long. But he clearly saw it. A face that almost looked like his own, but with dark green hair. The eyes were open, and empty black. The face was grinning too wide. Then the mirror shattered, showing broken pieces of his own reflection.

There was a rattling sound behind him. He spun around and saw the doorknob of the door he’d come in was jiggling, with such force that it was shaking the door. He watched it burst open, and the masked ones came flooding into the room.

For once, he was glad that every room had multiple doors, as he darted the room and flung the other door open, running once again. They were right behind him, they were just as fast but he had to be faster, throwing doors shut whenever he passed through run as he sprinted down the halls.

And then, all of a sudden, they weren’t there anymore. It was so sudden, the realization that there were no longer footsteps behind him, that he also had to stop. He’d reached a T-intersection in the halls, and there was a narrow table leaning against the wall here. He stumbled, leaning on it, only to look to the left and see the masked ones staring at him, having somehow circled around.

Two of them stepped forward in eerie unison, both wearing capes. He backed up, hands half raised in the air, eyes darting to the doorways to his left and right before fixing on the masked ones again. They were close enough that he could notice something he hadn’t seen before...there were strings on their wrists, wrapped around their necks as well. The strings were red, and didn’t look entirely real, more like strands of translucent light. Then his eyes darted downward. The one on the left was holding something loosely in one hand. Another mask, this one copper and shaped like a cat’s face. He could see the symbols of the card suits in a diamond in the center of the forehead.

“What’s your name, young man?” The one on the right asked. The voice was blank, devoid of emotion.

“M-Marvin?” he stuttered out.

“Marvin.” The masked one said the name like it tasted exotic. The eyes behind the mask flashed. “You sound like you could make a lovely magician.”

He hesitated a moment too long, wondering about what that meant. When he tried to run again, the other masked ones had surged forward. They moved jerkily, limbs seeming to spasm. One blocked the way left, one blocked the way right, the two in front ran directly at him while the two remaining came at a diagonal angle. He was outnumbered. Hands grabbed his arms, arms wrapped around his torso. There was a mask everywhere he looked.

They dragged him down the hall, seemingly immune to his attempts at struggling and thrashing. Why were they so strong? He screamed, yelled, pleaded, and got no reaction. One of them threw open a door, and he realized they’d made it to the bedroom.

Despite his best efforts, they pulled him inside, throwing him down on the bed, where he landed on his back. He was staring up at a ring of masked faces. The one from before held up the cat-shaped mask, as if for him to see, then flipped it over. Now he was looking at the other side, the side that’s curved to fit a face inside.

“No—!” The word sounded ripped from his throat. They didn’t listen.

He jerked, trying to sit up only for hands to push him back down. Every attempt to rip free and fight back was blocked as they wrapped their hands around his arms and forced them to stay still. He tried to kick out, but they even pinned down his legs. He kept squirming and struggling. That mask was still there, getting closer to him. So he turned his head to the side, only for one of them to grab his face and hair and force it back to position. He twisted his head back and forth, resisting the inevitable. It was yanked back into place every time he tried. He cried out one last time, but the hand keeping his face in place was covering his mouth so even that was muffled.

The mask was inches from him. More hands came, forcing his head to stay perfectly still. He gave one last effort to get free, desperately trying to wrench free. He failed.

It fit on his face perfectly, like it had been made for him. Wide blue eyes stared through the eye holes. There was a single flash of green light, and suddenly his hair was a bright emerald shade, and his eyes were glowing to match.

When the strings wrapped around his wrists and throat, he stopped struggling and went blank.

[russellsppttemplates]

Our little family (Charles Leclerc)

Note: english is not my first language

Another idea that has been brewing in my brain and I thought I'd share, I got carried away and wrote this massive thing

Also, I've never been pregnant so I'm going with what I know, I apologise if there are medical inaccuracies here

Feedback is appreciated 🤍 and although I'm not taking requests per se, if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to do so!

Tw: health concerns, pregnancy, labour and child birth, breastfeeding, mention of family members who have passed away

"Charles", you called, "Can you come here please?", and waited for him to come downstairs.

"What's up, mon coeur?", he asked as he crossed to corner from the dining room to the living room and stopped, "Did your waters break?".

"No my love, I couldn't reach the bathroom so I just peed in the middle of our living room", you teased, "Can you help me away from here? My hips are hurting and I'm afraid I'll slip and fall if I set my foot down in the wrong way", as you stretched your arms and let your husband guide you away from the wet floor. It did have a lot less water than you'd seen in the movies, and now that you looked at it it kind of looked like you didn't have time to reach the bathroom.

"How are you feeling?", and there was the concerned expression back in his handsome face, a look that came about everytime you so much as winced. "I think so, honestly it just feels like really bad period cramps right now, but we should monitor the time like the midwife explained, so that we know when to go to hospital", you said as you opened the app your friends had advised you to have when monitoring contractions, "Why don't you go upstairs get all the things down here and I'll clean this up, yeah?", you smiled back at him, ensuring him that, for now at least, everything was fine.

Reluctantly, he did as he was told, not too happy about having you out of his eyesight but also wanting to just get everything ready so he could come back to your side.

As you grabbed the mop and cleaned the floor, you could faintly hear Charles upstairs talking to himself and checking the last items off the list and putting them in the bags.

When the floor was clean and dry, you placed the cleaning products back in their place, and as you got back to the living room you caught your reflection in one of the windows, and took a few moments to appreciate it. Sure, there were moments where you didn't feel amazing, morning sickness that lasted all day, tears that came out of nowhere, pain in you back and hips. But it was so worth it. You had created a new life with the love of your life and although you couldn't wait to meet your little boy, you were going to miss having him so close to you and in this safe bubble of baby love.

You were so focused on your bump that you didn't even hear Charles going down the stairs, placing the bags down and reaching you slowly, seeing your focused state and not wanting to startle you, "So beautiful right? I love you so so so much, you're gonna be the best mama for little man here", he whispered as he cradled your bump and pressed multiple kisses to your face. After swaying with you for a little bit, the pressure increased, "I think I want to go bounce in the ball", you said and Charles immediately guided you to sit on it, helping you balance in it and sitting on the sofa so he could be face to face with you.

His phone started ringing, and as he was ready to press the denial button, Pierre's name flashed on the screen, "C'mon, let's give him a good surprise", you said as Charles accepted the call and put it on speaker, "Hello mate, what's up?". You heard some commotion on the other side of the line as your husband's best friend spoke "Hi, good man, good. We were wondering if you guys wanted to come over for dinner today, maybe it'll be the last time before the baby comes", leaving you to snicker a giggle, "That would've been great, but it seems little man will come in the next few hours", Charles replied as he grabbed your hand as you pulled a scrunched up face from the pressure in your belly.

"No way, are you serious? Y/N, please tell me he's not joking", Pierre almost whispered like if he spoke to loud he would jinx it.

"She's here in front of me, bouncing on her ball", he replied, "she's doing great", Charles replied and you hummed in agreement, "Not sure why you guys complain about porpoising, I'm having the time of my life bouncing in here", you joked loud enough so both drivers could hear you, fully understanding the differences and how dangerous it could be in their side, hearing Pierre break in full belly laugh, "you're still making jokes, I see", to which you replied "Well, one of us has to be calm and collected right?", as you pressed a kiss to your husband's cheek. "Ew I heard that, and I didn't need to, so I'm taking it as a sign to go. Keep me updated, yeah? Y/N, you've got this!", and after saying your farewells, Charles clicked off and focused back on you, "Do you need anything? Water, some food, a massage?".

You shook your head, "I'm good, I'm good, it's picking up now but I'm good", you smiled.

As things progressed and Charles called your midwife to update her, she advised that the two of you should head to the hospital, figuring from what she heard that you would be admitted.

"So, I'm gonna grab our things and you'll wait here?", Charles asked, "I can still walk, you know? I'll head to the car", you said grabbing your ball and taking it with you.

"Why is it all in your car?", he asked, "Because, as much as I like your car my love, all of this won't fit in there, I don't even know I'll fit in it", you giggled, "and it's because I like it so much that I also don't want to get your seats dirty if something happens", you blushed.

"Alright, you're right", Charles replied as he placed everything that was left in your car, helping you get on the passenger's seat, "Let's go have a baby", he finished placing a sweet kiss on your forehead as he helped you buckle your seat belt and closed the door.

After updating close family where you were heading, the car ride was... interesting. You were sure your car had never even worked in those speeds before, and you were just glad that the night as settling in and there weren't many cars in the Monaco streets, "I'm glad you are a safe driver, because if you didn't have all those skills, I would do something that maybe would make you unable to have anymore children", you joked still, and finally, it seemed to bring that pretty smile you adored so much, he had been so tense that you were starting to get worried. "Hey,", you grabbed his hand over the console, "So far everything is good, and we're finally gonna meet our baby boy. So we don't need to worry, not until we have to, if we have to", you finished as he parked in front of the hospital.

He flashed you a smile and the left his seat, going around the car to help you out onto the wheelchair your midwife had already brought outside when she saw the car coming around, "We're doing this, we're finally meeting little man. Let's go and do this mon coeur", he placed a kiss on your forehead and grabbed your forearms to help you.

"How are we doing, Y/N?", Paula, your midwife, asked as she wheeled you in, followed by Charles with your bags.

After checking you in and going up to your room, Charles went to park and car and came back to you bouncing in your ball whilst the medical staff filled your birthpool with water, giving a quick greeting to everyone in the room and going straight to you, crouching down to be at your eye level, "Hi darling, how are you handling it?", he asked.

You smiled at his voice and slowly opened your eyes, "they're getting closer now, stronger too. But they are filling the pool so I can get in and it'll help the pressure".

Charles' heart was going faster than the cars he drives, nervous for the whole situation and there you were, handling it all like a champ.

After getting checked up and getting the okay from the medical team, you were allowed to go in the pool. With Charles helping you undress, you got in and immediately felt a sense of comfort around you, easing your muscles and pressures. Kneeling down and resting your arms on the edge of the pool, Charles did the same outside the pool in front of you, offering you all his support.

You heard a knock on the door, followed by Paula getting in with coloured things in her hand, "Hello again mama, just went to get you your accessories", she said ripping what looked like bracelets out of the coloured sheets she was carrying. During your appointments, the medical team found out that, due to a medical condition, you were not advised to have an epidural, only if it was a last case resource, and since it was a common procedure, the hospital had implemented a colour system so no matter what professional came to see you, they could see the bracelet cues. "I have these for you, so if anyone talks about medication and all that, you show them your wrist yeah? Even if you're in the middle of a contraction you don't need to talk to them, just show them your wrist. I promise they won't think you're rude", she smiled, knowing you for long enough to know your worries and how far to take her jokes, handing Charles the bracelets so he could put them on your wrist like he asked.

"In the GPs I usually wear them around my neck so this is a nice change", you said as you waved the bracelets around, leaving a kiss on Charles' arms that were back interlocked with yours, allowing you to squeeze his forearms everytime you felt the need to.

You were in that position for hours on end, the time now approaching 4am and you were loosing motivation to keep going.

"Y/N, we need to check you for a little bit now okay? We're gonna move to the bed", one of the nurses said, and it was the last straw for you. You were tired, sore from the position even though it was the only one comfortable for you, and the last thing you wanted was to get out of that warm pool and lay on your back. So the tears started rolling, you felt Charles' and lift your chin up a bit, making you look at him, breaking his heart a little bit more, "I know it's not comfortable for you to go on the bed but I know you can do this. You're a superwoman, the strongest one out there and-", by that point you were looking into his eyes, those eyes that always calmed you down and took a deep breath before your request, "Can you come with me? I need you to hold me while I'm in the bed".

Looking at the nurses, who nodded along, Charles helped you up and sat beside you on the bed, holding you like he always promised he would. After checking your dilation and looking at your's and baby's stats, the nurse happily announced, "You're progressing very well, you're 7 cm dilated, nearly there!", and your tears where placed with a wet smile, giving you that boost of confidence you were lacking.

"See? I knew you could do it, my amazing wife can do anything", he said peppering kisses everywhere on your face he could reach.

Between shared affections, words of encouragement and a few laughs along the way to keep you going, the time came. Your body was urging you to push and you did what it told you. Grabbing onto Charles' arms and squeezing what you could to relieve the pressure, it took you four big pushed until your baby was out in the world.

Sitting back against the pool, the nurses lifted the little boy and after a few taps on his cheek, he let out a high pitch scream both you and Charles would remember for the rest of your life, "He's here, Y/N, congratulations mama and papa", Paula said as she placed the baby on your chest.

You couldn't believe it, he was finally here. A head full of hair, the softest of chubby cheeks ever and eyes wide open just taking in the world around him. You briefly looked at Charles and, like you, tears were running down his face as he kept caressing your shoulders and whispering a chain of praise and "thank you" on your ear.

"He's our baby. Like forever. We have a baby Charles, and he's ours forever. Our baby", saying it out loud sounded even crazier. From dating back from when you were teenagers, to you getting to university and Charles to F1, all the ups and downs, moving in together and getting married, and now holding the beautiful life your love created, you still couldn't believe it.

"Now we're gonna need to take little one to check everything while you deliver the placenta alright?", one of the nurses said and you extended your arms so she could grab him, "go with him Charles, I'll be fine here", you ushered him.

He looked at the busy station of nurses checking and measuring your little boy and figured he would just get in the way and switched his position a little so he could manage to see your little boy still whilst watching you too, "I'll just be in the way there, and I can see you both from here", he said with loving (and still a bit teary) eyes, "I love you so much. Thank you for not letting me give up", you whispered and you kissed his hand that was caressing your cheek and moving the hair that had fallen out of your bun away.

In the pregnancy classes they had warned about everything, but what they did not warn you about was seeing the love of your life cradle your newborn in his naked chest. The hormones were all over your body from post birth and the image of Charles holding your little boy in his chest, skin to skin, was making them go even crazier.

"I think he looks a lot like you, the big curious eyes, the hair colour is like the pictures your mom showed me of you when you were a baby like him. Yeah, carbon copy of you", you said, appreciating your two boys. "I guess so, but these cheeks are all you, look at them", Charles replied, kissing the chubby cheeks that your son had, "they're so soft and kissable and squishable, like yours".

One of the nurses knocked on the door, slowly entering after confirming she could do so, "how's everyone in here?" to which you replied "we're doing good, the food helped a lot, thank you", referring to the tray of food they brought you as you had barely gotten any sleep since the day before and did not have much of an appetite during labour.

"Now we should see this little one's tummy, if that's okay. Because any minute now I think he'll be hungry. How are you planning to feed him?", she asked as Charles put on a shirt after placing your son on your chest.

"We're gonna try breastfeeding. If it doesn't work, we'll switch to formula", you looked at Charles, remembering the conversation you had a few weeks before after he had read a book about how sometimes either the mom or the baby didn't feel good about that feeding modality, making you promise to always tell him if you felt any pain or discomfort you couldn't handle.

"Alright, let's get this baby boy to latch, shall we? I'm probably going to have to touch you if that's okay", the nurse said while you nodded and took the strap of your top down, "There you go little boy, well done!", she said as he latched immediately.

After feeding him until he seemed full, Charles learnt how to burp him and settled him in your chest.

"We have here also his paperwork, that's all going home with you don't worry, but we need this one here for his name, so when you have the time, that would be great for us. No rush", the nurse said as she was getting ready to leave. You thanked her as Charles grabbed the papers and pen and began writing in them, "my love, come here and you can put the papers on this tray here and write better", you said, sightly scooting so he could sit. "I don't want you to get uncomfortable. You need to rest, my love", he placed a kiss on your forehead and lightly grazed his son's cheek with his finger, "Nonsense," you patted the mattress, "you sit here. We want papa to sit here don't we? So we can all have a cuddle", and Charles gave in, sitting next to you and allowing you to cuddle into his side.

Helping him make sure that all the information was written down in the right places, he reached the spot for his name, "You want to keep the option that we talked about?", Charles asked. You had discussed loads of names and different combinations, not wanting your child to have a name no one could pronounce or having them take ages in pre school trying to write a 10-letter first name.

"Only if you're sure, my love. But I really like it and it will be a nice way of remembering the both of them", you said, squeezing his left hand as he wrote "Hervé Jules" in the destined place for his name.

"I love you so much, love you both so much", he finished writing and placed the papers back in the vanity the nurse had left them in, returning back to cuddle you and pressing kiss to little Hervé's forehead and then yours.

When you found out you were having a baby boy, it seemed natural. Paying tribute to two of the men who raised your husband and that mean so much to him. You even ran the idea with his mom, who held you so tighlty, his brothers, who thought it was a really nice idea, and even Pierre, who you may have promised that you would name your next child after, thought that Charles would appreciate it. So when you ran the idea through him, he just stared at you in silence. Only after what felt like hours did he break his stance and hugged you and your bump like his life depended on it.

"I think Jules would have loved to meet him. Dad too, probably didn't think you'd be able to put up with me for this long, let lone marry me and have my child", he said remembering his father's advice when they first started dating, "he always said that you would be the most amazing thing to ever happen to me", he kissed your forehead, "and he was right, you have been my rock for so many years, I couldn't have done it without you and now", he kissed your little boy's hand that had come free from his swaddle, "this little man, so perfect and amazing, I truly can't thank you enough mon coeur", he said before the three of you closed your eyes and caught up on some much needed sleep.

[genuinewhy]

isamira hanahaki au

Hi.

One of the ideas I have for seasonal hanahaki-inflicted Isabela is that the flowers she spits out have meanings corresponding to how she feels at the moment (about her feelings, about the object of her affection). This idea supports the concept(?) that her love for Mirabel is not defined by a single flower but a whole garden, which I mentioned in my previous post. Now read that sentence again but stop at flower and replace the word with ‘definition’. 

[This idea supports the concept that her love for Mirabel is not defined by a single definition.]

Now, on to the flowers.

Disclaimer: I did some research but I wouldn’t call it extensive. This also lacks any looking through a cultural lens. Apologies in advance for any inaccuracies.  

Gardenia for secret love, striped carnations for “a love that is not shared”, purple hyacinths because she feels she should apologize, marigolds to mirror her grief, morning glories for how impossible her love is. Toadflax¹ climbs up her throat when Mirabel tells Isa she hates her or just straight up ignores her. Yellow hyacinths² for when a village girl/boy around Mirabel’s age gets too close. Pink³ and yellow⁴ roses for the sound of Mirabel’s laughter as she plays with the children in town. Petals of red roses because it’s love and it’s real no matter how much she wants to say it’s not. 

¹Toadflax - notice my feelings

²Yellow hyacinths - jealousy

³Pink roses - happiness, gratitude and gentleness

⁴Yellow roses - joy, gladness

WAIT. What if Isabela interpreted the meaning of her flowers as the description of her feelings. So when she coughed out flowers usually seen at funerals (lilies are the only ones I can think of), she interprets that it’s a love that should be killed off? (Though even without the flowers, she’d still think it’s wrong.) It doesn’t make sense to you as the reader but for Isabela who’s confused, carrying the encanto’s expectations, and has no one to tell her that no, her love isn't disgusting? She believes in it.

[After reading this paragraph for the fifth time, I decided I don’t want this idea, but I’ll still put it on there.]

Mindless ramblings here which I don’t recommend reading:

While we're on the subject of flowers and gardens. If Isabela’s hanahaki flowers signify how she feels for Mirabel, then it means that when/if she’s ready to allow herself to let those feelings run free, she's also allowing her flowers to have space somewhere else other than the tight, narrow darkness in her lungs. Willingly.

So. She's letting her feelings out into the light. Quite literally.

On that note, I am beginning to form a concept of hanahaki that doesn't rely solely on whether your love is requited or not. It also depends on how repressed you are or how tightly you keep a lid on the said feelings.

And the reason why the flowers keep blooming inside her is because she doesn’t tell anyone, she doesn’t give them to anyone, because she keeps them to herself.

i think i just decrypted deciphered decoded unriddled unraveled the logic of hanahaki

her blooming feelings really said ok u wanna keep me to urself? alright then, keep me to urself 

hanahaki was aggressive attention-seeking flower language all along

so. listen. uHhhh. if Isabela ever decides to, let's say, *voice drops an octave* confess *audible gasp*, the symptoms of her hanahaki could mellow. ??? question mark? and not just confess. i mean she starts expressing herself instead of bottling it up like she's always done

Hanahaki is still based on having unrequited feelings, though, so even if she does let her feelings out in the light, she still has hanahaki unless Mirabel loves her back. So, in modern medical terms, she's sick but she's taking the proper steps (finally!) to get better.

Another point to discuss. Since it's seasonal hanahaki, then does it mean the intensity of the symptoms change or depend on how 'at peak' it is in spring? For example, in early spring Isabela doesn't spit petals that much and she could more or less still keep the 'vomiting' under control. It gets more and more uncontrollable as peak spring gets closer and it slowly fades as summer draws near.

In conclusion, the type of hanahaki Isabela has (or may have) in this au is seasonal. She only ever experiences the symptoms every spring and the intensity of the attacks is controlled by two factors: (1) how repressed her feelings are, and (2) how deep she is in the spring season.

Not ramblings anymore but are still just as mindless (scene ideas):

Isabela made a bouquet unconsciously while gazing fondly at Mirabel from afar. She catches herself mid-thought and chants the now overfamiliar mantra (“Don’t. It’s wrong. I shouldn't” rinse repeat). A second later she’s spitting petals again and then she thinks, “hm? Why do the petals look similar to the bouquet I just made?” And then it clicks, “ohnonono my feelings are showing.”

Mirabel almost catches Isabela in action spitting out flowers. There's an orange flower in her hair. (she was nervous)

One of the kids in town saw Isabela vomiting by accident but didn't understand what it meant so he now refers to what happened as magic trick practice gone wrong. 

I just think it’s a crime that we don’t have many Isabela With Hanahaki aus.

[hoboal87]

Don't Speak, Part 11

Characters: Sam, Reader, John, Bobby, Ellen, unnamed doctor, mentions of: Dean, Claire and Jo

Pairings: Sam x Reader, implied Dean x Claire, implied Reader x Claire, implied Sam x Reader x Dean

Summary: Y/N recovers from Sam and Dean's assault.

Warnings: soft!dark Sam, gaslighting, past rape/sexual assault**, recovery from assualt, stockholm syndrome, medical inaccuracies, mentions of past miscarriage, fluff?

Word Count: 1700+

**TW: past rape/sexual assault is mentioned throughout this chapter in non-explicit detail.

a/n: once again, i'd like to thank @negans-lucille-tblr for letting me bounce ideas off of her in the middle of the night (well, my time) thanks, Bee!

beta'd by the wonderful, lovely, @writethelifeyouwant

This is a dark!fic that includes potentially triggering content and is intended for mature audiences only. You are responsible for your own media consumption, so please, read the warnings and if you feel that you may be triggered and/or offended please move along. If you have any questions about the warnings/tags please feel free to DM me.

My Full Masterlist

Don't Speak Masterlist

Part 10

You’re tucked warmly in your bed and every inch of your body aches, so much so that even the slightest movement makes you want to cry. After Dean had finished with Claire, he and Sam focused all of their rage on you, showing you a level of brutality you’d not seen in months. The brothers invent a story about your injuries for Mrs. Harvelle and Joanna: that you and Claire had snuck out of the manor and were attacked by a stranger. They’re either too scared or too loyal to the Winchesters to question otherwise; but you know they don’t completely believe them. Joanna had told you on more than one occasion that most people who lived in town feared the Winchesters; none of them were brave enough to step on their property without permission. The look on Mrs. Harvelle’s face tells you that she doesn’t trust their story, and at one point, you think she may ask you what really happened, but she’s interrupted by John entering the room to check on you.

There’s a fleeting smirk on John’s face as he looks you over; no doubt the brothers had already given him every sordid detail. The smirk quickly turns into a look of concern when Mrs. Harvelle notes your unusual injuries, and suggests that they call for the doctor and possibly a midwife, so that you can receive proper care. John frowns at her suggestion, you’re sure he wants to keep your interactions with anyone outside of the manor to a minimum, but as she lifts your nightgown to show him the extent of Sam and Dean’s assault, he reluctantly agrees.

The doctor is a young man, he doesn’t look to be much older than you. You don't quite catch his name; you're too focused on the pain radiating throughout your body. He almost resembles Dean; dark blonde hair and chiseled features, but in place of Dean’s green eyes, blue ones shine back at you. Mrs. Harvelle holds your hand as he speaks to you warmly, examining your injuries gingerly, before declaring you have a broken wrist, cracked ribs, and a fractured cheekbone. He raises an eyebrow when Sam feeds him the stranger story, but you know he wouldn’t dare question a husband about what may or may not have happened in his marital bed. No one would be able to do anything even if they believed you. You were Sam’s wife, his property for all intents and purposes, and he could do with you whatever he pleased.

The doctor sets your wrist, and wraps a bandage around your chest, ordering that you stay on bed rest for the next two weeks. He not-so-subtly suggests to Sam that you keep ‘nighttime activities’ to a minimum. The idea of Sam sharing your bed at all sends you into near-hysterics, and you hope that the midwife will also give him the same order. the doctor gives Sam a little brown bottle full of a clear liquid, and you can make out the word morphine written in large block letters. For a moment you think you might have a way to help yourself and Claire. If the doctor comes to the manor every day, then maybe he'll see what's happening to you both. But your hopes are shattered when he begins to instruct Mrs. Harvelle on how to administer the dosage, at John and Sam's insistence, providing her with a needle and taking her through the steps. Once Mrs. Harvelle feels comfortable enough the doctor makes sure that she is watching your intake very closely.

As the doctor leaves your chambers, you hear hushed words between him and John. You want to speak up, to thank him for being so kind, but it hurts to open your mouth. the doctor nods and offers a warm smile when his eyes land on you, seeming to know what you wanted to say. John’s eyes narrow, and he grabs the doctor roughly by the arm and escorts him out of the room.

The same midwife who had given you a clean bill of health not two months ago is examining you again. She asks Mrs. Harvelle about the damage between your legs, and Mrs. Harvelle repeats Sam’s story about a stranger assaulting you. You wince as she looks you over, and when Sam asks if it could affect you becoming pregnant again, she answers with a sigh. She advises, just as the doctor did, that he refrain from lying with you until you are fully healed, and tells you both that you should have no problem conceiving again.

Mrs. Harvelle and Joanna seem to be splitting their time between you and Claire, but you’ve yet to learn what kind of state she is in. The brother’s may not have beaten her as badly as they did you, but the way they used her body will be seared into your memory forever. As it was before, the only men you can even tolerate being around are Bobby and John, and only then when you were in a morphine-filled haze.

“No man is stupid ‘nuff to come on this property,” you can barely make out Bobby’s voice through your still fogged brain. He didn’t seem to fear the Winchesters, unlike some of the other servants, but you weren’t sure with whom his loyalty truly lay. “Those girls barely do anything without the boys. Why would they sneak out in the middle of the night?”

“They’re young, not much older than Joanna,” John excuses.

“Yeah, but–”

“What exactly are you gettin’ at Bobby? You think Sam or Dean hurt them?”

“All’s I’m sayin’ is… I love those boys as if they were my own, John, you know that,” you’d never heard any of the servants at Winchester Manor call John by his first name, and to hear Bobby say it was almost unnerving. “But you know as well as me that there’s something off about them. Ellen and me have turned the other way for a long time now, we don’t say nothin’ ‘cause they weren’t hurtin’ nobody. But I saw Dean bring Claire back to their room–”

“What my sons do with their wives is none of your business, Robert, and I’ll thank you to keep your thoughts to yourself. Don’t forget your place, you and Ellen.”

You drift off to John and Bobby still talking, both making what seemed to be thinly-veiled threats and accusations. Thanks to the morphine, you spend a majority of every day sleeping, only waking for short bursts to be fed or bathed.

You wake one morning to see Sam sitting in a chair next to your bed. His focus isn’t on you, but a book in his hand, Frankenstein. Your body still aches but nothing like it did before. How long had it been– a few days, a week, more? Your wrist was still wrapped, and the bruises that you could see were no longer a deep purple but a light yellow-green.

You whimper as you move onto your side, unintentionally gathering Sam’s attention.

“Hey there, princess,” he smiles warmly, closing the book and putting it onto the table next to your bed. “How ya feelin’?”

You don’t know if you can speak, so you shrug your shoulders, and your hair falls in front of your face. Sam reaches out and you recoil, unsure of what he wants.

“S’okay, baby girl, I just wanna see those pretty eyes,” he soothes as he pushes your hair behind your ears. “There we go, now I can see my beautiful wife.” An uncontrollable warmth fills your body at Sam’s praise. “I’m gonna have Mrs. Harvelle draw us a bath, how does that sound, hmm? Let you soak up, s'been a while since you had a proper one,” Sam laughs slightly.

“‘Kay,” you mumble, fighting the soreness in your throat.

“Good,” he leans forward, pressing a gentle kiss on your forehead, “how ‘bout some tea as well? Warm you right up.”

You nod, sitting up slightly as Sam leaves your room. It’s late in the day, supper time at least, oranges and reds coloring the sky outside your window. The leaves of an oak tree are an orangish-brown, at least the ones still attached to the branches, and you realize that all your memories since the loss of your baby are hazy at best.

Ten minutes later Sam is gathering you out of your bed, and carrying you into the bathroom. Mrs. Harvelle is there, offering to help you undress but Sam politely shoos her away, saying that he will do it himself. There is a moment between them that you don’t quite understand, and her eyes briefly flicker to you, as if she’s waiting for you to give her a reason to stay.

Part of you wants to ask her to, but you dare not go against Sam’s wishes; he’s being unusually kind, and you don’t want to sour his mood. The large, clawfoot tub is filled with steaming water, and you can’t deny that it looks very appealing. Sam sets you down on a small chair, and reaches for the hem of your nightgown. Your breath hitches, and Sam stops before looking back up to you. You take a moment before nodding your head, answering his unasked question, and he removes the dress, gently caressing up your body as he does so.

“I’d like to get in with you,” Sam asks, almost innocently, like a naive young boy, not the brute you know him to be. “If that’s okay?” you nod meekly and he slowly strips himself of his own clothes.

Sam picks you up gingerly, carrying you as you had always imagined a husband would carry his wife. He sinks down slowly, and you gasp as he places you in the water. It’s almost uncomfortably hot, but after a moment or two your body adjusts and you let yourself be overtaken by its warmth. Sam climbs in behind you, wrapping his arms around your stomach, and encourages you to lean back against him and settle between his legs.

Sam hums as you relax into him, and you find a source of comfort in the steady beat of his heart. There’s silence between you, for once, and you don’t feel the need or pressure to do anything but be with your husband. Water ripples as Sam’s usual rough touches are replaced by soft and meaningful caresses over your healing body.

“You know I love you, Y/N,” Sam murmurs in your ear, breaking the silence. It's the first time he’s ever said that to you, and you feel your heart swell.

“You do?” You ask as you turn around to face him.

“Of course I do. That’s why I had to teach you a lesson, because I love you,” Sam caresses your face. “I know you want to be a good girl, a good wife for me, and you try so hard. The baby–” he stops as you retreat back. “–it wasn’t your fault. I don’t blame you.”

“You don’t?” You’d been blaming yourself for the better part of two months, but now knowing Sam doesn’t, you find relief from the guilt you’d been feeling.

“No, baby girl,” he pulls you towards him, letting your chest rest against his. “It'll happen when it's supposed to, ‘kay?” You nod, too overcome by his confession to do anything else. He loves you. “I need you to promise me one thing, Y/N,” you perk up, staring deep into his eyes. “Don’t you ever do anything like that again.” You don’t need him to be specific, you know exactly what he’s referring to. “We took it easy on you, and you don’t want to see what happens when I get mad, do you sweetheart?”

“I pr-promise,” you nod your head.

“Good girl.”

Feedback is fuel! Please tell me what you think!

Part 12

[zukkaoru]

good evening zukka nation yesterday i watched episode 3x03 of legend of korra and decided hmm. you know what would be fun? if zukka had been casually canon! why would that be fun? because then we could’ve seen p’li trying to tick zuko off by mentioning sokka.

anyway then i wrote this. i haven’t watched past 3x07 of tlok so just... ignore any inaccuracies 

tw for references to character death

and in the end, it had word count: 1016

P’li creeps closer to the cell door, and lowers herself enough that she can look Zuko in the eye. He meets her gaze, knowing better than to display any sign of fear.

“Where’s your little Water Tribe toy?” she taunts. “Didn’t bring him along today?”

Something icy stabs through Zuko’s chest at the reference to Sokka. It’s been long enough that the mere mention of his name doesn’t throw Zuko off kilter, but the way P’li speaks - like she somehow already knows - has Zuko wishing he could rip the cell door off its hinges and put an end to her right here and now. He might do it, too, if not for the knowledge that Sokka would disapprove.

Sokka would say something like, “She’s just trying to get under your skin. Don’t let her. You’re stronger than that, I know you are,” because Sokka always, always, believed in Zuko.

As it is, Zuko can’t stop his body temperature from rising.

P’li gasps, mock concern filling her voice to the point where it’s making Zuko sick. “Oh? Don’t tell me something happened to him.”

Zuko looks away from P’li’s gaze enough that it answers her question wordlessly. He can feel Tonraq standing tense next to him, like he’s ready to hold Zuko back from a fight. Like he’s hoping he even can. 

P’li clicks her tongue. “Well,” she says, the false sense of concern abandoned in favor of her original taunting tone. “We all knew you’d outlive him anyways.”

Zuko wants to scream. He wants to tell P’li off, tell her how it should have been Zuko to die first, how Sokka’s only gone because he sacrificed himself to save Zuko’s life. But then again, maybe that’s what she means. Of course Sokka wouldn’t have let Zuko die before him. He’s too stubborn, too loyal, too self-sacrificing, too insistent that he’s always the less important one.

He never was. As far as Zuko is concerned, Sokka was the most important. As far as Zuko is concerned, he still is.

Because it’s Sokka’s memory - Sokka’s ghost, haunting Zuko’s mind - that stops him from lashing out at P’li. It’s the part of Sokka’s spirit still dwelling in Zuko’s bones that reels his temper in and stops him from inadvertently freeing P’li before Zaheer even makes it to the North Pole.

She’s just trying to get under your skin.

If it had actually been Sokka speaking, he would’ve thrown some pet name in there that Zuko would have pretended to hate during the early years of their relationship but ultimately admitted he liked because it was a reminder that Sokka had chosen him.

Sokka isn’t actually speaking, though. He isn’t here. He’s gone.

Zuko steps towards the cell, bracing himself to throw Tonraq’s hand off him if he tries anything. He doesn’t.

“If you’re going to talk about Sokka,” Zuko has no idea how he manages to keep his voice steady, “at least have the decency to use his name.” It’s not even close to what he wanted to tell P’li, but it’s what he can manage without setting the entire place on fire and putting Avatar Korra in even more danger than she already is.

He turns on his heel, away from P’li so he doesn’t have to look at her menacing smile for a moment longer, looking like she’s trying to peer into Zuko’s mind and figure out what she can say to tip him over the edge. And he doesn’t have to stare at that mark on her forehead that sends Zuko all the way back to the Western Air Temple before the war was over, back to Team Avatar reluctantly accepting him into their group and Sokka’s soft smile when he showed Zuko to his room.

He avoids making eye contact with Tonraq or either of the kids. “Let’s go,” he grumbles, pushing past them. He doesn’t bother turning around to make sure they follow. 

“I’m sorry for your loss!” P’li calls after him. “No really - I am. You two were good for each other.”

Zuko winces. His hand reaches up towards his topknot absentmindedly, reaching for a hairpiece he can’t bear to wear anymore because it hurts too much to be reminded that Sokka is gone every time he catches a glimpse of his reflection.

He shoves his hands into his pockets and tries to block out P’li’s voice. It doesn’t work.

“I know what it’s like to be separated from a significant other for a long time.” He can hear the smirk in her voice. “Only difference is mine is coming back for me. Yours can’t.”

The sharp iciness digs itself deeper into Zuko, wrenching his heart in half and making his stomach churn. He closes his eyes and thanks Agni it’s too cold here for tears to fall. He hears footsteps and hushed voices behind him, but he pushes them from his mind and walks onwards.

It’s not like being outside of this prison will help much, though. It’s all snow, all Water Tribe and reminiscent of Sokka. It’s all Boiling Rock Freezer-adjacent. It’s all a reminder of what he’s lost, far as the eye can see, and he can feel the heat radiating off his body.

If Sokka were here, he’d tell Zuko to focus on the task at hand instead of letting P’li’s words get the better of him. He’d wrap his arms around Zuko and whisper into his good ear, and he’d hang on for longer than he needed too under the pretense of being cold. He’d tell Zuko that no matter what happens, they won’t let any harm come to Korra or they’ll die trying to keep her safe.

It was a promise they’d made each other nearly a decade and a half ago, on Aang’s behalf. They would do whatever they needed to in order to keep Korra safe, even if it meant dying.

It was a promise Sokka had made Zuko too, time and time again. He would do whatever it took to keep Zuko safe, even if it meant dying.

And in the end, it had.

[fruitymocha]

Hello everyone! It’s nice to finally be on Tumblr and get all my writing ideas (and fandom brainrot) out there instead of keeping it to myself.

You guys can call me Nib or Mocha :).

I will write for these fandoms (more may be added as time goes on):

Genshin Impact

Twisted Wonderland

Devil Butler with Black Cat (Akuneko)

I won’t write for these fandoms but feel free to talk about them with me:

MHA

Demon Slayer

Stranger Things

TBHK

Project SEKAI

Now onto the guidelines for any future writing requests (or casual fandom rambles). This section will focus on how I refer to different works as well as format and character limits

Headcanons

They will be referred to as memories

Description/summary will start with: That time when

Example: That time when (character) ate your leftover cake

Bullet format

You can mix fandoms if you want, but character limit is five regardless

Imagines

They will be referred to as wishes

Description/summary will start with: That wish for

Example: That wish for (character) to care for your injuries

One or two paragraphs per character (or perhaps a general description of the scenario but with minimal dialogue and no bullet points)

Please stick to characters from one fandom, and the character limit is once again five

Oneshots

They will be referred to as dreams

Description/summary will start with: That dream where

Example: That dream where (character) gave you flowers

About short story length

Only one character

Part twos are possible, but depending on how a oneshot ends, more parts might not work

You can request normally if you want, but if you feel like subscribing to the aesthetic and being fancy, you can ask the fancy way

Headcanons: I’d like to remember when…

Imagines: I’d like to wish for…

Oneshots: I’d like to dream of…

Now for the guidelines of what I will and won’t write for (I am sorry in advance for the essays in the “won’t write for” section)

What I Will Write For

AUs

Crossovers (provided I know and am invested in the stories involved)

Dark content (appropriate trigger and content warnings automatically included)

Yandere content (appropriate trigger and content warnings automatically included)

Character x reader

Platonic x reader content (QPRs are also on the table)

Polyships

Slightly suggestive content

Fluff

Hurt-comfort/Angst with happy ending (or just angst with no comfort)

What I Won’t Write For

NSFW

I’m uncomfortable writing it for anyone at the moment simply because I don’t see these characters in that light. And even if I do decide to write it in the future, I will never write for characters who are canonical minors (18 year olds are a bit dubious for me since they’re just barely legal).

Real People

I just feel like writing about real people is kind of disrespectful?? Either way, I’m not doing requests for any artists, actors, kpop idols, influencers, YouTubers, whatever.

Character x Character

Nothing wrong with it, I just don’t feel like I’d be able to write it properly (portray the dynamics right without falling into ooc or oversimplification territory)

Character x OC

I don’t know your OCs, and I don’t think I’d be able to represent them without some form of complaint over inaccuracy. Simple as that.

Cheating

Other Character!Reader

You know when people are like “what if reader was like (insert character from random anime/game/etc) with the same personality and powers and stuff”? That’s what I mean. It’s not that I can’t do it (although I might not be able to depending on if the character is from a story I’m familiar with or not). I just feel like when you say “take reader but make everything about them like this other character” (which sometimes even includes appearance in some way) it’s no longer the reader anymore, it’s that character with the reader’s face plastered onto them. If you want to request reader with a similar feature or two from that character, sure, just don’t turn reader into a copycat is all I ask.

Bigotry

This should be self explanatory, but I will never write a piece that glorifies issues like racism, sexism, homophobia, transphobia, ableism, etc. It’s terrible and goes against my moral code.

Mental Illness

I don’t have any mental illness, nor do I know anyone with that experience, and no matter how much research I do, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to truly understand what it’s like, much less write those experiences.

Incest/Stepcest/Pedophilia

Pregnancy

It’s just not something I want to write about. Flash forwards with a family already established I will do, just not this.

That’s all I’ve got for now!

~ Mocha

[foolish-clown]

Chapter 4: The Bard

A/N: So I know that this is supposed to be a pirate!au and there hasn’t been any actual pirates yet but trust me I do have a plan for this story. 

Warning’s: alcohol usage, historical inaccuracy, very brief mentions of murder

On your way towards the Blacksmith you notice some new arrivals on the island. Music filling the air and catching the attention of many.

But your eyes were drawn to one individual in particular; her wide smile and exuberant talent like nothing you’ve ever witnessed. 

<- Chapter 3

The warmth emanating from under the material of Siyeon's uniform was almost as extreme as the overhanging sun. But it was far more welcoming.

You were still in slight shock from just how differently she was acting to the night prior, but you embraced the change. She seemed far more at ease being like this, the corners of her lips never once losing their upturned tilt.

A strange concept, you think. The fact someone could change the way they behave like the flicker of a candle against a gentle breeze. You understood that the guards had certain rules and codes that they must abide by, but seeing that mask of loyal indifference being stripped away the moment they no longer needed to adorn it made you slightly dizzy.

"Have you been working under Lord Kim for long?"

The suddenness of the question causes your mind to halt, and with it, your answer comes out on nothing but pure instinct. "No, miss."

Siyeon is taken aback by your words, her eyes widening for a fraction of a second before they once again disappear behind bright laughter.

That sound, you think, mesmerised, it is very contagious.

"Never has anyone addressed me like that before," she manages to get out after a moment. And you can feel the beginnings of embarrassment start to bubble within the pit of your stomach.

"I apologise," you stammer out, but Siyeon is quick to wave off your apology.

"There is no need, Y/N," her smile remains, and the sight of it relaxes you somewhat, "but, please, call me by my name."

Her words remind you of how she responded to when you had spoken it all those hours ago. How her whole body seemed to stiffen as heat blossomed against her cheeks.

The images of it produce a smile of your own, and you're once again lost running through the luscious forest in her eyes as you answer, "of course, Siyeon."

Her lips sweeten into something soft, and she takes a hold of the fingers you had placed on her arm and tightens their grip.

Little more words are spoken as the two of you continue your journey; surprise blanketing your expression when Siyeon continues passed the crossing that split the path between the barracks and the main part of the village.

If she notices your confused appearance, she mentions nothing of it. Her eyes hold those of passers as they look curiously upon the pair of you.

Tenderness caresses your heart when she brings you closer, but it also reminds you of the killings that had been supposedly going on during the late hours of the night. Siyeon's vow of protection rings clear within your memory.

"While I'm here nothing is going to happen to you, or anyone else."

A strange thing to promise to a complete stranger, let alone someone of common birth; but you admit her words do aid with fighting against some of the fears that plague your riddled mind.

With your free hand, you reach past the collar of your tunic and fiddle with the edges of the letter to make sure it was still there. Your mood becomes lighter at the idea of seeing the reclusive Blacksmith once again.

But then you hear something just as you take the path parallel to the sea wall. It was faint due to distance, but it still stands out against the usual chatter from the settlement.

Siyeon also seems to catch it, her steps faltering before she turns to you with the same curious expression.

As you draw closer you notice that the sound is emanating towards the very end of the village where most of the inns and pubs lie. Other occupants seeming to gravitate towards the area with renowned interest.

Curiosity takes over any responsibility you held at that moment, your legs continuing forwards instead of the turning that would have taken you to the Blacksmith.

Closer, you're able to distinguish the sounds. What was blurred noise now melts into notes and tunes. The melodic symphony of different instruments filtering into your ears and evokes joy within your heart.

Your pace increases as desire to see the performers enter your system in droves. A flurry of excited butterflies tickling your insides and bringing forth a beaming smile to your lips.

The area is on a bend, the buildings stretching around the corner along with it. And just before the corner begins, there they stand right in front of the ship they must have just arrived on.

The crowd between you means you can't get a very good look at who's playing, but as you approach the dancing figures soon become 5 talented musicians.

The atmosphere they were creating was beyond any words, and you were helpless but to become entranced by their talent and encompassed by the music swirling around you.

You manage to find a gap within the ever-increasing crowd, and the tight squeeze means that you also lose Siyeon somewhere admits the people.

But when the glare of the sun allows you a moment to watch, you're stuck from something ever more bright.

The fiddle in her grasp produces such tantalising notes that the smoothness of it washes over your body and induces tingles within its wake. The bow moves back and forth along the strings with such ease as she dances along to the music.

You watch as she hops along with the subtle beat, invested with how instinctive she moves as she plays along.

And then she looks at you, and you could swear her smile could penetrate even the darkest of clouds.

She begins moving closer, and you are helpless but to shyly smile back when a subtle yet flirtatious wink sends your heart aflutter.

You wish to stay and hear the rest of the song, but a firm hand on your back has you jolting away from that glorious smile. Siyeon's eyes meet your own before she looks amongst the ever-growing throng of admirers.

"Let us get you to the Blacksmith," she says, and you gasp in shock when the realisation hits you like lightning.

You don’t look back as you rush to leave, probably wouldn’t be able to see the performers anyhow, but that woman’s smile follows at your heels.

- - - - - - - - - - ☆ - - - - - - - - - -

Siyeon doesn’t follow you into the building, and as you turn to her you can finally see the tiredness hidden within her eyes. But she does smile as you say your goodbyes, her gentle grasp on your hands lingering against your skin even as she departs.

Yubin is filing something down when you enter, and you take in her gentle smile when she looks up and meets your eyes. “Hello again, Y/N.”

“Good afternoon, Yubin,” you greet back, taking the letter out from the safety of your tunic and handing it to her. “Another request from Lord Kim, I assume.”

Yubin puts down her work and takes the parchment from your grasp. Releasing the wax seal and heading over to the fire pit so she can read the words placed on its surface.

You wait the few moments it takes her to process the words, watching as her eyes flit along with the sentences before she regards you with intrigue.

"Please give me a moment."

At your nod, she makes her way to a room hidden towards the back, and it is then you notice the lack of the man who's usually in some stage of drunkenness sleeping about the place.

"Here," she calls when she returns; a small brown pouch held between her fingers. "This is what was requested of last time." She then hands you her own folded piece of parchment, "and this is my answer for the letter today."

You take both in each hand, neatly placing the letter within your tunic and eyeing the pouch curiously.

It's not heavy, but considering its size you did expect something lighter held within.

"Thank you once again, Yubin." You smile at the woman, delighted when she returns one of her own. Only a small thing, but considering the Blacksmith wasn't one for grand gestures you knew it still holds just as much value.

"I shall most likely see you again soon," you try not to let the hope within your become too optimistic, but denying any desire of wanting to speak to her again would be an outright lie.

Yubin nods her agreement, and it is with her tender goodbye that you leave the dimness of the building.

"Be safe on your travels."

- - - - - - - - - - ☆ - - - - - - - - - -

Upon re-entering the Kim household, there is a part of you that is weary. The earlier conversation with Minji was at the forefront of your mind now that you were back within the same walls where it took place.

But it seems the noblewoman has once again made herself scarce, and you manage to find Lord Kim without any sign of his daughter.

"Thank you, Y/N," he says when you hand over both the pouch and the letter. "You have been very useful these past few weeks."

"Of course, sir," you bow at his words. Without any distractions on your way home you had returned far earlier than usual, and so you waited for what he would request next.

He looks at you for a moment, before a gentle smile very reminiscent of Minji's falls on his lips. "Have the rest of the day to yourself."

You manage to blink back your surprise while also ignoring the urge to shake your head as if to wake up. "Pardon?"

"You've done me a great service. Far beyond what I ask of the others," his smile widens slightly, but there is a hint of something behind those words. "And so I will reward you. Have the rest of the day to yourself, go and enjoy it."

Your body is quicker to react than your mind, it seems; your back arching into another bow before your mouth hurries to accompany it. "Thank you, sir. That is most kind of you."

He waves off any further conversation, and you take your leave with your mind still in a blur.

The prospect of 'time for yourself is completely new to you. Because for as long as you can remember you had been doing something to help another out or taking part in some kind of chore.

What does one even do when they have the time for it?

It is then you remember the performers from earlier; the smooth sounds from a fiddle taking up as much room in your mind as the woman who had been playing it.

Desire to listen to them again is what leads you back into the village. The corner they had been playing on last was now devoid of people, but the fact the ship is still docked means that they must be around somewhere.

You cast your eyes on the various buildings they could be occupying, but it seems that it would be her who finds you.

"It's you!"

Her voice is just as melodic as her playing, you find; the very sound of it inducing tremors to fall down your spine.

The way she approaches you, so friendly and welcoming, makes it seem like you were already bonded. But there is no denying you are charmed by her open disposition.

"I -- yes," you cough awkwardly to clear your throat.

"I was disappointed when you left so suddenly," her words strike up a match of surprise within your chest, even more so when she does genuinely look a little disheartened.

Apologies fall from your mouth on instinct, "I'm terribly sorry. I had errands to run."

Whether it had been appropriate or not to give this stranger a reason for leaving, she takes it in stride. The pout on her lips returned to their earlier beaming smile. "That is alright. But it does mean you have to watch us again."

Another wink, another missed beat of your heart. This woman has only spoken a few words to you and it seems like that was more than enough for your soul to surrender everything to her.

"I was hoping to hear you play again," there is only shy intrigue behind your words but it seems that their genuine intent has her faltering. The heat rising to her cheeks and the slightly forced laugh that leaves passed her lips only encouraged that fact.

Even so, she was quick to bounce right back. "Of course, you can listen to us! Here, come with me."

You can feel the callouses on her fingertips when she wraps them around your wrist; proof of the dedication to her craft.

You have never been inside the inns of the settlement before, but you knew your father has many a time. The atmosphere was cheerful even though there were a few hours left of the evening, and you can make out the other musicians that had arrived with --

"Wait!" You call out, and while she does look back at you curiously she doesn't stop moving. "What is your name?"

"Oh! Right," another embarrassed chuckle, and she let's go of you to produce a very eccentric bow. "Yoohyeon. Kim Yoohyeon."

Even her name sounds cheerful, you think, very fitting.

The inn isn't spacious in the slightest, and the two of you are having to dodge other occupants and edges of tables as she speeds you both past.

She rushes you into a small bedroom, and for a very brief moment, you are left wondering just exactly what it was she wanted to show you.

But then she pulls out her fiddle from where it had been safely kept, and her smile widens when she places it onto her shoulder before regarding you.

"And what is the name of my enchanting audience?"

It is with a bright blush that you mumble out a quiet, "Y/N," before she raises the bow to the strings.

"Well, Y/N, I hope you enjoy what it is I'm about to play for you."

'Enjoy' doesn't even begin to describe the emotions swirling within you when Yoohyeon began playing.

Her face would follow along to the notes she produced, tightening when it got intense and softening when it became tender.

You watched the way her eyebrows showed exactly what she was feeling as she played; situating yourself on the edge of the bed as you continued to watch, enraptured by her.

And then she began singing, and you truly believed you had passed away and was now listening to an angel.

The song wasn't joyful, or sad. But filled with desire all the same.

And when she opened her eyes to gaze upon you, you knew exactly of the words she was singing of as they embedded themselves into the deepest parts of your heart.

Is this what is like to fall in love?

[elsa-writes]

Alfie Solomons x Reader: Beauty and the Beast

Part 1

Authors note: this is my first time writing for Peaky Blinders, and my first time writing a fic in a while, so please feel free to bully me for my inaccuracies! also I might change the title later cuz idk what else to title this. Enjoy!

—-

Polly pretended to disapprove of you and Arthur’s shenanigans. Reality was, she knew with you around, Arthur couldn’t get into too much trouble. True, it was not the most respectable of hobbies for a lady, to be playing cards and hanging around bars every Friday night. However, Arthur couldn’t be getting any whores pregnant when he had to watch over his young cousin. And he’d make sure you’d stay out of trouble, too. Tommy had a similar line of thinking. Although with this latest scheme, you weren’t sure you had his full support.

“Are you sure this is the best idea?”

“I think,” Arthur paused for a beat, stroking his mustache. “It will go smoothly. You want to prove yourself, that you can function in this line of business, this is it.”

“And what did Tommy say about it?” You questioned. He’d sent Arthur in his place for a meeting with Mr Solomons. You were sitting in the car outside of the distill- bakery. Arthur insisted that you come along to this meeting. Camden Town was a bit nicer than Birmingham-though not by much.

“You know Tommy, he’s, well, you know,” he blustered. In the back seat, Billy coughed.

So Tommy was not aware of this arrangement. “Right.” But you were not going to NOT go in.

You’d bumped into Mr Solomons once. He’d been leaving after having a conversation with Tommy. You scampered away before he could say anything to you. Not out of fear of him; you ran away because you were afraid Tommy would know you’d been eavesdropping. Though Mr Solomons had made a reputation for himself, from what you’d overheard, he sounded like a bit of a clown.

“Are you coming or are you going to stay in the car like a baby?”

“I’m not a baby,” you protested and stepped out into the cold air. “Finn is a baby.”

“Yeah, and I didn’t invite him for a reason.” Arthur punctuated the sentence with a slam of the automobile door.

You adjusted your outfit, making sure you looked proper and professional. “Let’s get this over with.”

A man awaited you by the door and led you inside the distillery. It was dark, and damp. The odor of rum-er, bread, permeated the air. The smell made you light headed. Your shoes echoed on the cement, the loudest sound in the room.

As you descended into the labyrinth, a man appeared from behind a corner. Mr. Solomons himself.

His hat cast an ominous shadow over his face- definitely planned for theatrical effect.

He did not react to your presence. If he recognized you he gave no sign. “Welcome, welcome! You must be Arthur!”

“Mr. Solomons,” Arthur greeted, offering a hand.

“I’ve head so much about you,” Mr. Solomons said. The amusement in his voice was evident. He wasn’t taller than your cousin, but he was stockier and way more intimidating. Billy stood on the opposite side of you, wary of the large man.

Arthur replied, “Shalom.”

You cringed. Mr. Solomons gaze flickered to one of his men behind Arthur.

“Let me just say, Shalom,” Arthur repeated, painfully serious. You felt ill. If it were a less tense situation you would have smacked him over the head.

Solomons tilted his head just enough for you to get a glimpse of the look of incredulity on his face.

“Shalom!” He said. “So glad you could join us for this most joyous of celebrations! And I see you’ve brought friends for the occasion.” Solomons nodded in your direction. You’d been instructed by Arthur to not speak too much or get involved. The same went for Billy.

Arthur shifted on his feet. “This is my cousin, and my associate. Shall we discuss business?”

“Cousin, eh? From the sounds of it, there’s a new Shelby every fucking week.” Mr Solomons chuckled. “Come along, come along.”

He lead you into a room with a table in the center. Something was off. Perhaps it was the comment Arthur had made. It had surely offended them. The Solomons men hadn’t even looked at you. Not that you wanted to be looked at. It was unusual, though. They weren’t even looking at each other.

Something else in the room caught your attention; a goat tied to the leg of the table. It bleated sadly at you. You resisted the urge to pet it.

Mr Solomons circled the table and gestured. You took note of the pipe in his hand that also seemed to function as a cane. “Take a seat, why don’t you?”

Arthur hesitated, both you and Billy watching him before making a move.

He took the chair on the end. Some of the Solomons boys were standing behind the three of you in a perfect line. Another one took a chair next to Mr Solomons, still not looking at you.

Mr Solomons himself remained standing, studying Billy like he was the most fascinating thing on the planet. “And you’ll be...”

“Billy,” Billy said.

Mr. Solomons focused his attention on you. “Shelby?”

“(Y/n),” was your answer as you sat down at the table. There were plates and cups arranged before you. You kept your hands in your lap, careful not to touch anything.

“(Y/n)...You know, out there in the sand, out there in the desert where me forefathers come from... started out as a little speck...”

“Is everything alright?” Billy leaned over to whisper to Arthur. One of the men lurking around had shut the door behind you while Mr. Solomons rambled on. Arthur tried to dismiss Billy’s concerns with a wave.

“Billy, don’t worry mate, yeah, if you want you can leave. If you need to go to the little boys room or something you can leave.” Mr. Solomons interrupted, sounding a little too much like a school teacher.

“He’s alright, he’s alright,” Arthur grinned, rubbing Billy’s shoulder. “Billy boy.”

Your stomach churned. Something was wrong. This was not the kind of conversation that Tommy and Mr Solomons had had the day you eavesdropped. This was not the simple meeting you were promised.

“You want to stay?” Mr Solomons asked Billy; staring at him so intensely you had to look away.

“I’ll stay.”

“You stay there, then, treacle.” Mr Solomons grimaced, and his voice suddenly became much louder. “So! The pharaoh! Have you heard of him?”

Without thinking, you nodded, and he pointed in acknowledgement at you.

“He kept my people, the Jewish people, in slavery for thousands of years.”

“Persecuted, right,” Arthur interjected, pleased with himself for making this astute observation. Mr Solomons eyes lit up with amusement.

“He did, he persecuted my race. killing the innocent, right. So this feast that we’re having here , is basically the day what when the Jewish angels decided the evil fucking Egyptians had pushed their fucking luck!”

“Right,” Arthur added.

“It’s part of our tradition to do this, for in order to make it good with god to kill a king.”

Oh fuck. You glanced towards your cousin. By the look on his innocent smiling face he had not come to the conclusion you had. Okay, keep it cool. From the rumors you knew Mr Solomons was an intelligent man who spoke in idiotic riddles. You could have been misreading things. Sabini could be the pharaoh in the story.

“Right,” Arthur said again. What was Tommy doing at this moment?

“That is the ritual of the sacrifice of the pass over goat.” Mr Solomons said.

Everyone at the table turned to look at the bleating creature.

Arthur looked ill. “A goat?”

Mr Solomons gestured to it. “Yeah, we’re gonna sacrifice it. Tonight. That’s part of the reason why we have to shut the doors as well.”

You wished Arthur had let you keep a gun. You were a sitting duck. Every muscle in your body tensed, ready for the action. No, Tommy wasn’t the pharaoh.

“But this year we thought we’d give the fucking goat a name!” He grinned.

“You named it.”

“We fucking did.”

You averted your eyes as a man put a knife to the goats neck. “Arthur?”

“You named the fucking goat.” He shifted in his chair. It seemed as if he was catching on.

“Evil fucking Egyptian pharaoh-“

“The fucking-“

“And you know what we called it?”

“What’d you call it?”

Your hands balled into fists.

“Tommy Shelby,” Mr Solomons answered with a hint of triumph.

As the blood of the goat spilled on the ground you dropped to the floor. Chaos ensued; a gunshot fired so loud your ears rang. It took a few seconds for your hearing to return. Arthur was screaming. You looked up to see poor Billy slumped in his chair, covered in blood, not moving. You brought your knees to your chest and covered your head to avoid any potential stray bullets. Three of the men had to restrain Arthur, who thrashed and cursed.

Heavy footsteps approached. You scooted back further under the safety of the table. Trying to help him would be useless; you were outnumbered and they had guns.

Arthur went quiet, his freckled face pale.

The back of Mr. Solomons came into view.

“That’s that. So, and the evil Egyptian scum was finally cleansed by the blood of the Passover goat. Mate.”

You covered your moth with a hand.

He kissed Arthur’s cheek twice. “That’s for Sabini.”

Then he promptly bashed Arthur over the head. Funnily enough, it brought back memories of all the times you’d seen Arthur do the same thing to someone else. The urge to laugh overwhelmed you.

Mr Solomons dropped into a squat and placed the gun he’d shot Billy with into Arthur’s hand.

While he was in this position he noticed you under the table.

“Ah, hello there,” he grunted, eyes looking you up and down.

You wanted to swear, or grab the gun from Arthur’s limp hand, or do something very impressive.

He stared at you, waiting for a reply.

“Hi,” you sputtered out. “Is he dead?”

“Oh, nah, that would ruin the fun. You were not supposed to be here tonight.”

“I know.”

“Right. What the fuck am I going to do with you?”

“Let me go?” You suggested. It was worth a try.

He scratched his beard, lost in thought. “Cute, but I think not. That wouldn’t exactly wrap things up nicely, would it?”

A heavy pause lingered in the air. You pulled your knees in even closer, in an instinctual effort to protect yourself.

“Ok. Well! Lads, why don’t you take our guest upstairs?”

“Excuse me? No, no way.”

One of the men grabbed your arm, yanking you to your feet.

“Hey!” You struggled to get your arm free.

Mr Solomons stood up and turned away from you.

“You’re gonna kidnap me and you can’t even look me in the face! Fucking coward!” You shoved the man off but slipped in the blood on the floor, letting him get the advantage.

Another grabbed your other arm and despite your best efforts you couldn’t elbow him off. The near tumble had discombobulated you.

Mr Solomons glanced over his shoulder, as cool as a cucumber. “My good friends the London police are here if you’d prefer to go with them.”

The shock of what he’d said made you forget to fight. “Wait, what?” He didn’t have police on his payroll. Oh, Sabini did, how could you forget?

“Get the fuck off me!” You screamed.

The two men dragged you out the same moment as the doors flung open. A group of police stormed the room.

“Fucking animal came in here with a gun and he shot him in the face!” Mr. Solomons gestured with his cane, ignoring your pleas for help. “And my lads restrained him. Look at him! He’s dead! Is he dead! He’s fucking dead!” His false astonished voice followed you down the hall.

You fought back with all your effort.

“Stop fucking fighting, you’re lucky he didn’t shoot you too!” One of them said.

“Oh, how kind! How generous! Please be sure to thank him for me! Arthur! Arthur!” You didn’t know why you were screaming for him. They were carting him off to jail. Fuck. Would Tommy know? How long would it take for him to find out? “Bastards!”

Going upstairs was the worst part; you managed to slither out of their grip and ran up a few steps before tripping onto your face. They at least had the decency to not laugh.

The upstairs appeared to be some sort of flat. The two assholes threw you into the closest room, probably out of desperation to be free of you.

“What are you going to do with me?” You demanded, although you were scared of the answer.

They exchanged glances. They had let you free but blocked the door.

“Well, we’re not sure. He didn’t really give us instructions.” One said.

“I could give you some instructions. How about you go shove a-“ the threat was enough. Without rhyme or reason you charged at them like a bull.

Before you could spring your attack, they slipped out, locking the door behind themselves.

Slamming your fists on the door, you swore at them, every word imaginable.

Once you exhausted yourself you switched gears. Taking in the room; you noticed a bed shoved against a wall, a large, messy desk, and a small window. The style of the room was at least ten years out of date, and was covered in what looked like ten years of dust. This must be where Mr Solomons slept. For someone who had money he didn’t live like it.

You moved to the one window in the room. Here was a potential escape route. Except for the crowd of men huddled outside smoking. They wore aprons, like the others you saw. There was no way you could get past all of them.

But you could once they left. The only issue was making sure nothing happened to you in between then and now.

Who knew what upsetting plans he had for you? He fucking shot Billy. He could have shot you. Maybe the only reason he did it was because the police were nearby. He could be on his way up here at this very moment.

You needed to block the door. Anything to stall for time.

There was a coat rack in the corner that you used. The large cabinet full of decorative China plates looked easy to push; after a few tense moments of pushing you abandoned it and went for the desk. You investigated your work. The door could still be opened a few inches. Anything more than that would be blocked.

It should be enough. It didn’t feel like it. You were becoming aware of the heavy, dull ache in your muscles. Your ribs hurt from you dropped to the floor and bruises had begun to appear on your arms. You sat down on the creaky bed. If you were trapped in here, you might as well enjoy the “comforts” of this place.

A few hours passed. It had to be the next day already. Your thoughts were with Arthur, wondering if he’d woken up from the bashing yet. And Tommy, if he knew you were being held hostage. He was smart. He’d get you out of this. Unless he’d finally had enough of your antics and disowned you. No, no. Polly, John and Ada wouldn’t let that happen. You were spiraling and tired but too paranoid to sleep. Laying back on the bed, your eyes closed as you strained to listen for any sound. Why in the ever loving fuck had you let Arthur do this? When had he ever done anything smart?

Someone knocked at the door.

“Fuck off.” You said, a conditioned response from years of your cousins barging in on you.

Mr Solomons huffed. “Yes, yes. Listen. I’m not going to shoot you-well, I might if you get on my nerves- I have actually come to the conclusion that you may be quite useful to me.”

You sat up. “What?”

Mr Solomons opened the door, and to your relief, it got stuck on the desk. “Moving my fucking desk around?”

“I doubt I’m any use to you,” you said in your bravest voice. “Tommy will be looking for me. And he will want revenge for your betrayal with Sabini.”

He jiggled the door again. It didn’t budge. “Yeah, exactly. Revenge and all that. And I know he’s fond of you- you were at his house that day- so if I have you, right, as leverage, he’ll be less likely to put a fucking bullet in my head.”

“Did you really put Arthur in prison?”

“Yes, and I’ve just gotten word that Michael...Gray, is it, he’s been locked up too. So Tommy is probably a bit busy at the moment.”

Michael? That was probably a lie. A bluff. Polly would be in shambles.

“So are you going stay in there forever or are you going to come out?” Not taunting. Curious.

“I’ll stay in here.”

“You can come out, I’m not going to fucking hurt ya-“

“I saw you shoot Billy in the fucking head! And nearly kill Arthur!” You barked and flung the nearest object you could find, an empty bottle, at the door.

He cursed and shut the door before the bottle could slam into his head. “Didn’t you listen to a fucking word I said? Tommy Shelby would really come after me then.”

“Fuck the fuck off!” Another bottle flew through the air for good measure. This time the liquid contents splattered on the papers on the desk.

“Fucking hell,” he growled. “Stay in there as long as you want then, yeah?”

Your voice wavered. “He’s gonna come for me! And you’ll be sorry when he does!”

[manndo]

not today, but someday [oberyn martell x reader]

gif credit

pairing[s]: oberyn martell x female!reader

warning[s]: 18+ due to heavily implied sexual content (no actually smut), sexual references/situations, mentions of breeding (in reference to conceiving a child), swearing; talks of pregnancy & the inability to conceive; fluff; angst; oberyn being oberyn (is that a warning??); no mention of ellaria; possible inaccuracies about got (see notes)

word count: 5.4k (ummmm, whoops?)

prompt[s]: none.

summary: all you had ever wanted was a little one, a child to call your own. and yet, months later, you were still without child. still barren, and your dream of becoming a mother seemed to be slipping away. 

author’s notes: okay, so, let me start off saying this -- oberyn martell has taken over my life and i have spent much time yearning over him. and, in doing so, i got this idea one day because, as we know, oberyn had eight daughters. so, i thought, what if he had a s/o who could not seem to conceive? hence, this fic. but, i have never watched an episode of got in my life. i have seen his scenes (besides, you know, that scene because in my head, oberyn is alive and well and having all the berries and orgies he wants & i just can’t handle that much violence) and i have read some articles about the show, seen the gifs/posts on tumblr, and talked to people who have watched it in the past eight+ years. but that the extent of my knowledge of got. so, i apologize in advance for any inaccuracies that this fic holds. and i hope that my characterization of oberyn is good. also, no ellaria -- i just did not feel like she fit in this in anyway possible, and i did not want to force her into the story, so to speak. well, i think that is it! so, on with the show! all mistakes are my own. comments/reblogs/likes are much appreciated. thank you! ❤️

“I am sorry, m’lady.”

You did not know what else you were expecting. You knew, deep down, that nothing had changed. You did not need the maester to tell you that you were still without child — you knew. But, Oberyn had instead you call up on them, and you were too tired to argue. You also hoped you were wrong, and Gods did you want to be wrong. But, you were not.

You plastered on a polite smile for the maester. “It’s quite alright,” you said, your voice tight as you forced your emotions down. You weren’t going to shed any tears in front of the maester; you would never give anyone the satisfaction of seeing you cry, save for your husband. You nodded your head toward the door. “That’ll be all. Good day.” The maester bowed lowly before turning on their heel and exiting, the large wooden door shutting with a resounding, empty thud. 

The sound echoed in your head and heart; it seeped into your veins, and began to settle in your bones. The sound felt like a finality of sorts. An ending before anything could even begin.

A short, broken sob escaped your lips, and you quickly slapped your hand over your mouth to stop the sound from breaking free. However, it did not matter — the dam had broken, the heartache released. Another sob escaped, muffled by your palm as you squeezed your eyes closed, and laid down on your bed. Your body curling into itself as tears easily flowed down your cheeks, staining them. You felt as if your body was turning on you, tearing you apart at the seams as you shook violently with your cries.

For eight months now, the two of you had been actively trying for a babe, an heir for Oberyn. Not that he himself required an heir — he had eight beautiful daughters, his Sand Snakes, whom he loved dearly no matter their status. But, when the two of you had been wed over a year ago, there had been an unspoken expectation placed upon you both. Oberyn paid no mind, and told you to do the same, but that was easier said than done.

You had always wanted to be a mother, wanting to have babe upon babe running around, mucking up your home and tugging at your skirts. To watch them grow and prosper, becoming handsome young lads and beautiful young ladies, all whom would be intelligent and strong, but caring and kind. To have your legacy, no matter how small or large it would be, live on thorough them. Perhaps there was a small sense of duty, as a woman, that made you yearn to have children. But, you knew that was not the whole picture. Children were beautiful, wonderful, and loving. They were gifts, and you want to have those gifts, to cherish and love them till you were dead and buried. You wanted it, with all your heart, and yet, it seemed like fate was delivering you a cruel hand.

There had been, one fleeting moment in the very beginning of your wedded bliss, where you were positively sure you were with child. You had been so sure, so eager to see the maester; however, you had quickly been proven wrong by your own body betraying you. You’d spent the day in your chambers, unwilling to leave for any reason. Oberyn had found you curled deep in your silken sheets that evening, and try as he might with his quiet, reassuring words, he was unable to pull you from your depressive state. So, he had held you — silently, but tightly, pressing soft kisses across your shoulders, your neck, your jaw. He let his fingertips brush against your skin, tracing nonsensical patterns across your hips, your stomach, your chest, anywhere he could reach. His touches were light, and his movements were sluggish. He comforted you silently, the best way he knew how, and you allowed him to do so. It hadn’t eased the pain completely, but it had been enough.

But, slowly, the days had turned to weeks, and the weeks turned into months, and nothing changed. It did not matter that the two of you had stopped bringing others into your bed to focus solely on each other, for Oberyn to focus solely on you. Nor, did it matter how many times he filled you with his seed, or how willing and open you were to taking what he offered. It did not matter day, afternoon, or night. Nothing mattered. Because here you were, still without child. Barren.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed as the tears flowed and the sobs continued to wrack your body as you laid curled in your marriage bed. Your hand maiden had knocked on the door at one point, but you had been quick to dismiss her before she could enter and find you in your current state. She had not come back and you were grateful. 

But then, finally, everything came to a standstill; the tears you had been crying seemed to dry up, and your body had stopped trembling. You took a deep, shuddering breath and unfurled yourself, allowing your limbs to stretch out across the sheets. The tears were still clinging to the corners of your eyes, but most of them had already dried and stained your cheeks and neck. You pushed yourself to sit on the side of your bed, and roughly wiped away at your face, brushing away the outward sings of your heartache. You silently wished you could easily wipe away the heartache in your chest, too. The one that had buried itself so deeply in there. 

You hadn’t even noticed the door to your chambers opening, didn’t even hear a voice calling out to you. It was only when the door shut — that hollow, empty thud — that you were brought back, your head whipping toward the sound. “Oberyn,” you said, your voice soft, a breathless whisper. He wasn’t supposed to be here; from what you recalled, he was supposed to be kept busy with mundane princely duties (his words, not yours). You weren’t supposed to see him till this evening — and from the way the sun was peeking through the curtains, it could only be mid afternoon — which would have given you plenty of time to steel yourself. To gather yourself together, lock your heartache and pain away before delivering the news. To pretend that it didn’t cut into your soul, didn’t rip you apart from the inside out. “What are you—”

“I had a free moment,” he said, making his way toward you, his golden robes flowing effortless around him. There was a smile playing at his lips, which told you that he actually did not have a moment — he made a moment to come and see you. 

You felt the heartache clawing at your throat, fighting to be released.

Quickly, you pushed yourself to stand, and turned away from him in a futile attempt to hide your face. He would come closer; he would see your pain, your sorrow. Because, though you had wiped away the tears and the stains they had left behind on your cheeks, your eyes were still red and puffy. The pain and heartache still lingering behind your eyes.

God, you had hoped to have more time, more time before you had to tell him. Before you had to watch the sadness and disappointment appear, filling his rich, beautiful brown eyes. You wanted more time. 

A pragmatic pause. “Love,” he said, his voice sounding strained, painful. Your actions had spoken louder than words, it seemed.

You could feel a fresh set of tears springing to your eyes, your hand grasping at the dress clinging loosely to your side. You fisted the fabric tightly and closed your eyes, willing yours tears to stay put, to not fall. You heard Oberyn call out for you again, this time your birth name falling from his lips just before you felt him come closer. He hadn’t touched you, not yet, but you could feel his presence only mere inches behind you. 

“Love,” Oberyn whispered once more, this time as you felt his hand wrap gently around the fist at your side, the other coming to wrap around your waist. “I am—”

“Don’t,” you breathed out, the word sounding more like a broken sob than anything coherent. You broke away from Oberyn, and thankfully, he let you go. “I cannot bare another I am sorry, especially from you, husband,” you said, your voice harsher than you had intended, angrier. Not at him, no, you could never be angry with Oberyn. No, you were angry at yourself. This was your fault; you were defective, broken, unable to provide him and yourself with the one thing you had so desperately wished for. “I have heard enough apologies to last me a lifetime.”

You felt his fingertips brush gently against your arm, the lightest of touches, barely there. A soft gesture to tell you he was there, and that he would not leave. You took a shaky breath, and loosened the grip on the fabric in your hand, letting the dress fall back against you. “There is no rush, my love,” he said, his voice soft and tentative, as if he knew he was treading rough water. And, he was.

A choked chuckle escaped your lips, and you turned to face your husband. “For you, perhaps,” you said, letting your eyes take in his appearance. He looked as handsome as ever, but he was growing older, as was the consequences of living. Over time, more grey had appeared in his hair and his beard, and a few more lines and wrinkles adorned his regal face. Even his stomach had gone a little soft (not enough for anyone besides you to notice). But, he was still the man you had met many moons ago. Still the Red Viper. Sill the man could make any woman or man fall to their knees and beg for his cock. “You, my stallion, can breed until you’re dead. The same cannot be said for myself.”

“I do not think I would call myself a stallion, my dove. Not anymore.”

You snorted, and turned away from him, letting your eyes look down at your marriage bed. You ran a hand across the silk sheets. “With the way we’ve been fucking these past few months, I’d disagree.”

You heard an amused chuckle escape his lips. “I may be able to still mount you like a stallion, but perhaps, I can no longer bred you like one.”

You looked over your shoulder at Oberyn, and raised your eyebrow. “Don’t tell me the father of eight daughters doubts his ability to breed?”

His shoulders gave a small shrug before he reached out to you, wrapping his callused hand around your wrist. Oberyn brushed the rough pad of his thumb over your pulse point. “I am not in my prime anymore, my dove. Perhaps, the fault does not lie on you.”

You looked away from him and back toward your marriage bed. You felt him take a step closer before you felt the press of his lips against your shoulder in the briefest of kisses. The hand holding your wrist slide down, his fingers intertwining with yours. “You’re taking pity on me, husband,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I would never,” he said, his warm breath ghosting over your skin. He pressed another kiss to your shoulder before his chin came to rest there, his beard tickling your skin ever so slightly. “I am merely stating a possibility,” he mumbled, the hand holding yours moving, arm shifting to wrap around your waist, hands still tangled with one another. “A truth, perhaps.”

You scoffed. “You cannot be serious, my prince.”

Oberyn hummed, and placed a soft kiss on your neck. “I am,” he mumbled into your skin. “I could deny reality, if I wished, but denying the inevitable does not change the outcome.”

“So,” you swallowed and looked down at your tangled hands that were resting on your stomach. You took a deep breath. “You do not think of me as a failure?”

Before you could blink, Oberyn had spun you around to face him. His rich, dark eyes were narrowed, but there was no anger behind his eyes. “You are not a failure, my love,” he said, his voice filled conviction. He reached out, cupping your cheek gently, his thumb wiping away a tear you hadn’t realized had fallen. “Please, do not think of yourself as one.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “There are not many things women are afforded in this life, Oberyn. Many of us are not giving the promise of kingdoms, riches or lands when we are but babes,” you stated, your voice hard, irritation lacing your words. “But this, the gift to bare children, we are born with that. That is ours,” you said, your voice softening as your throat tightened and tears welled at the corner of your eyes. You closed your eyes, and feel another swipe of his callused thumb across your cheek. “I know I am worth more than my anatomy. I know that my anatomy does not define me. That this, this failure,” you said, your voice catching in your throat, “this inability to conceive, does not define me.” You swallowed, and opened your eyes, looking into Oberyn’s deep, chocolate orbs. “I know these things, Oberyn. I know them. But, it cuts me deeply, so deeply that I feel as if I am bleeding out with no way to close the wound.”

“My dove,” he said softly, his other hand coming to rest on your other cheek. He held your face gently between his hands, his features soften, and you could see a pain in his decadent eyes. A pain that was reflected in your own. “Your pain is my pain, know that. And know, there is nothing I would not give up in this world in order to give you the gift of a child,” he said, and you could tell that he meant what he said. He wanted this as much as you did, you both wished for this, silently prayed for this. And yet, barren. 

You watched as he removed one of his hands from your cheek, sliding it down your neck, shoulder, down the middle of your chest, between your breasts and coming to rest on your stomach. Oberyn looked down at his hand, as did you, and spread his fingers across your stomach. “What I wouldn’t give to see you swell with our babe,” he said, and if you listened close enough, you could hear the slight hitch in his breath. You placed your hand over his on your stomach, fingers resting between his. “To see them suckle at your breast, to tug at your skirts, to wreak havoc in the halls.” He gazed back to you, and you felt a lump forming in your throat, a fresh set of tears prickling at the back of your eyes. “The sound of their cries and laughter filling the rooms. To see them as they grow and blossom.” He paused, and you could see he was choosing his words carefully. You felt a knot grow in your stomach. “But, I am starting to think—”

“Please, Oberyn,” you interrupted, your voice cracking as you closed your eyes, your fingers tightening their grip on his. “Do not say—”

“We need to take a step back, my love.”

Your eyes snapped opened. That was not exactly what you expected. You had expected him to say that you two should give up, forget the notion of ever having your own babe. Perhaps, he would even suggest an orphan child; you were not opposed to the idea, you loved children and would gladly be a mother to a child in need of one. But, you were not ready to give up the idea of having your own yet. 

“A step back?” you asked, your eyes filled with confusion as you released your grasp on his hand. You were not entirely sure where your husband was going with this statement. You could not imagine that he was implying to stop fucking. Though Oberyn had aged, he still enjoyed the pleasures of sex (as did you) and the idea that he would give that up? Preposterous. “Are you suggesting we stop fucking, dear husband?”

Oberyn looked aghast at your suggestion, and it made the corner of your mouth tick up. “What a ridiculous notion, dear wife,” he said, mimicking your words back to you, his voice sounding almost betrayed that you would think such a thing. Even suggest such a thing. “Besides,” he started, voice dropping an octave in tone and pitch as he moved both hands, the one on your stomach and the one on your cheek, to come and rest on your hips once more. Oberyn’s callused fingers dipped into your hipbone and held tightly, almost too tightly. It barely phased you. “The idea that I could keep my hands, mouth and cock to myself around you is absurd,” he muttered, a wicked grin spread across his face, his dark eyes flashing with lust. It lasted only a moment before the smirk fell, and a serious look appeared upon his face. “However, if you wish to cease—”

You shook your head. “No, no,” you muttered. “I could not do that to you.”

“My love—”

“I’ve already asked too much of you by ceasing our activities with others.”

“Which,” he started softly, “I had no issue forgoing for you, my dove.” He paused and removed on have from your hip. He placed a finger under your chin and pushed up, lifting your head to make sure that your eyes caught his rich, dark orbs. “You have my body, my heart, and my soul. I love you. Whatever you need, I will comply.”

Your heart swelled in your chest. Oberyn partook in every pleasure imaginable, had never denied himself and tried almost every sexual act under the sun. And yet, here he was, willing to forgo sex for you. You knew he loved you, but this? This proved how far he would go for you, the lengths he would go to make sure you were well, that you were content. Whatever you needed, it seemed, he would gladly give it to you. 

“No, Oberyn,” you started and he opened his mouth once more, but you stopped him as you placed a hand on his cheek. “I am — I have no problem continuing our sexual activities.”  

You watched as Oberyn studied you, his dark eyes scanning your face for any sign that you might be hiding the truth from him. After a moment, he seemed content with what he found. He nodded and removed his finger from your chin. “Then, that is settled. But, I think, my dove we may have put too much pressure on ourselves,” he murmured, turning his head into your palm, and pressing a soft kiss to the center of it. “Not that our lovemaking is not pleasurable, it most certainly is, always,” Oberyn said, turning his gaze back to you, slipping on another mischievous smirk his let his free hand come to rest just below your breast. “But, perhaps, we’ve forgotten what it is like to be us,” he said, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your neck as you let your hand fall from his cheek and back to your side. “Without pressures.” Another kiss, lips moving down. “Without worries.” And, another, lower. “Only us.” His final kiss landed on your shoulder. “Return to an earlier time, when we had first laid eyes upon each other. Do you remember those days, my love?”

You nodded. You remembered those days vividly; the hours spent walking through the water gardens, talking about everything and nothing. The nights spent together, tangled in each other, exploring each other with hands, lips and teeth. Back then, all you had wanted to do was learn about the man you shared your bed — and soon, your life — with, and he had wanted the same. Oberyn still attended to his duties, as required, but every moment when he was not busy, he was with you and you were with him. 

Then, when you had married, more of your time had become consumed with your own requirements and duties as well as his own. Much of your time together was spent was in the evenings, in your bed in hopes of conceiving a child. 

“Perhaps, my love,” Oberyn started again, “we need to allow ourselves to enjoy each others company, get lost in each other.” A brief pause. “In and out of our bed.” You caught Oberyn’s dark orbs, and him yours. The hand on your ribs was removed, and placed instead upon your cheek. You leaned into his touch. “What do you say, my dove? We do not forgo our dream of one day having a babe of our own. We just,” he paused, for a moment, a thoughtful look in his eye, “allow ourselves not to be pressured or burdened by the notion? Return to simpler times, so to speak?” 

You let your husband’s suggestion mull in your head for a moment. Perhaps, he was right; perhaps the two of you had been too focused on conceiving a child that you had, unintentionally, made sex a burden. Oberyn was not wrong; your times with him were always pleasurable and the two of you never fucked if either of you was in no mood to engage in sex. But when you did, perhaps, the burden was there, always lingering in the back of your mind. That the burden had become an unknown weight upon you, upon Oberyn. It would be nice to silence that burden for a while. 

“My love?”

You blinked and focused your gaze back on Oberyn. His deep brown eyes were studying you, patiently waiting for your response. You smiled softly at him. “You are right, my prince,” you agreed, and you watched as a triumphant look filled his eyes, the corner of his lip ticking up. You narrowed your gaze slightly. “Watch that ego of yours, husband.” Oberyn chuckled lowly and moved to grasp your hips. He pulled you tight against him, a wicked smile on his face.

“Or what, dove? Hm?”

“Or,” you started, lifting arms and wrapping the loosing around his neck and shoulders, “it will get you killed one day.”

Oberyn raised an eyebrow. “Will it now? By whom?”

You held your chin up. “Me.” Oberyn laughed, the sound filling your shared chambers, and now it was your turn to raise an eyebrow. “You doubt me, my prince?”

“I do not doubt, your strength, my love,” he said through the laughter, which slowly began to die down as the milliseconds passed. “Or your cunning wit. However, I do know that you love me too much to even harm a hair on my head.” He paused and titled his head. “Well, unless in the throes of passion, of course,” he added, another mischievous grin pulling at his lips. “Then well?” He shrugged nonchalantly. “It cannot be helped.”

You rolled your eyes in annoyance, but you knew the smile pulling at your lips betrayed you. “Whatever you say, my prince,” you muttered.

Oberyn hummed thoughtfully. You had thought to say something else, but before you could even open your mouth to speak, Oberyn’s lips were on yours, his tongue licking at the seam of your lips, seeking entrance. And, you willing granted him entry. His tongue slid harshly against yours, warm, wet and unyielding. A small moan escaped your lips as your arms tightened around his neck, fingers tangling into the curls at the nap of his neck. You used your hold to pull yourself even closer to him, pressing your chest against his as you slipped your thigh between his legs, pressing it against his swelling cock. A low growl escaped his throat, one that was eagerly swallowed by your lips as his grip on your hips tightened.

There was a loud knock at your chamber door.

Oberyn barely pulled away, mumbling, “ignore it,” against your lips before sliding his lips against yours again. And, you had planned to, already lost in the taste of him. However, the moment his tongue had slipped back in to your moth, there was another knock. This time, much louder.

“M’lord?” It was one of the man servants. “Are you in there?”

Oberyn groaned and pulled his lips away from yours reluctantly. “Yes,” he responded, his voice stern, but somewhat out of breath. You smiled. “But.” One of his hands travelled from you hip, up to your side, coming to rest on your breast. He kneaded the flesh, and you let out a soft mewl, heading falling back, eyes closing. “I am very, very busy. So, if you’ll ex—”

“Your presence is requested, m’lord.”

Oberyn rolled his eyes. “By whom?” he asked, but he did not bother to move toward the door to let the servant in, only lowered his head to your neck. He gave the skin at the base of your neck a quick, hard nip. You let out a small yelp of surprise mixed with pleasure as you tugged on Oberyn’s dark locks once more.

You were sure the man servant now knew exactly why Oberyn was busy — or, more accurately, whom he was busy with.

“Your brother, m’lord,” he answered, his voice tight and proper.

Oberyn growled against your skin in irritation before he nipped the skin again, this time worrying the skin for a brief moment. “Oberyn,” you whined, the sound a little louder than a whisper. Another nip in the same area. You were sure you’d have a bruise within the hour. You straightened your neck and opened your eyes. “Oberyn,” you said again, trying to quell the ever growing arousal pooling between your legs. However, his name sounded too breathless and needy on your lips. You glanced down at him the best you could, and saw his dark orbs shining with lust. Oberyn gave a sly smirk.

“M’lord?”

You knew he didn’t want to go, that he would rather lose himself in your body and pleasure. However, you knew that if he did not go now, it would only mean more time away from each other later.

“M’lord? He wishes to speak with you as soon as possible. If you could please open this door, and—”

“Go,” you whispered, ignoring the man servant’s plea, scratching at the back of Oberyn’s neck and giving him a soft smile. “The sooner you meet with him, the sooner you are back in our bed.”

Oberyn raised his head, his eyes watching you closely. The hand resting on your breast slide up and over your shoulder. His callused fingers began to play with the strap on your gown. “And you will be waiting for me?”

“Of course,” you answered, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to his lips. “Unless, you’d like to visit the brothel tonight?” Oberyn raised an eyebrow. “It’s been a while, my prince, and that is my fault. I know I asked you, and you willingly followed my request. But, I do not wish to hold you back anymore. If you would like to share a bed again, I am more than willing to share tonight.”

Oberyn leaned forward, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, but before it could go farther, he was pulling away. He grinned down at you. “Perhaps another night, my dove. Tonight, I plan to keep you.” The hand on your hip slide off and over, his hand cupping your clothed and aching center. A small whimper escaped your lips, and Oberyn’s own lips twisted into a wicked smile. “And, this pretty cunt all to myself tonight.” He leaned forward, his lips hovering near your ear. His warm breath ghosted over the shell, making you shiver. “Make you come undone upon my tongue for hours,” he whispered, the word sending a fresh flood of arousal between your legs.

“Oberyn—” your voice sounded choked, hoarse, needy.

“Before I finally sink into that tight little cunt.” He pulled your earlobe between his teeth, and worried the skin. You groaned, eyes falling closed as you grasped at his upper arm for support. His teeth released your lobe. “And fuck you until the sun rises.”

You bite down on your lip to stifle the moan that threatened to escape your throat. Oberyn pulled back, hand sliding from your aching center to your hip, and looked at you, that wicked grin still pulling at his lips. “Perhaps—”

“M’lord?” The man servant sounded terse, clearly annoyed that he was still standing outside the door. You glanced at Oberyn to see him roll his eyes, irritation clearly written on his face. “I am sorry, but, I believe—”

“Tell him I will be there in a moment,” Oberyn all but growled through the door at the man servant. You gently swatted at his chest, and gave him a look that silently told him to be nice. Oberyn sighed. “If you would be so kind,” he added, his voice much less demanding as he glanced over his shoulder toward the door.

“Um, I would,” the man started, “but he — he requested that I personally accompany you, Prince Oberyn.”

Oberyn rolled his eyes once more. “Of course he did,” he muttered.

You bite your lip once more, this time trying to stifle a giggle that threatened to erupt. However, it escaped — a meager sound, but a giggle nonetheless. “He knows you all too well, my prince.”

“That he does,” he muttered, and let out another heavy sigh before turning his head and attention back on you. “You’ll be fine, my dove?”

And, you knew what he was asking. He was not just asking if you would be fine while he was away, or if you would be fine for the rest of the day. No, he was asking that and more, much more. Oberyn was asking if you’d be fine from here on out with what you two had agreed upon. Would you really and truly be fine with forgoing your want for a babe? Forgoing the need you had created to conceive a child for the foreseeable future. Were you, for now, fine with only having him in your life? No children, only him, only your prince. Only your husband. Only Oberyn. 

You smiled sweetly, and reached out, placing a hand upon his cheek. “Yes, my love. As long as you promise to stay by my side until one of us takes our dying breath.”

Oberyn smiled, his dark orbs shining brightly with love and adoration for you. He reached out and covered your hand on his cheek with his, squeezing your fingers gently. “Promise.”

You nodded. “Now,” you started, letting your hand slide from his cheek, his fingers still grasping at yours, “go on. Before your brother comes and hunts you down himself.”

Oberyn scoffed, and looked toward the door. “That’ll be the day,” he muttered, and you chuckled softly, shaking your head.

“Go,” you said, voice a little stern as you gently pushed at his shoulder in an attempt to move him toward the door.

Oberyn laughed softly and untangled his fingers from yours. “Fine, my dove, I am going,” he muttered, leaning down to press a soft, quick kiss to your lips. “I will see you in a few hours.” Oberyn took a step back from you, his eyes never leaving yours. He grinned and took another step back. “Make sure you’re ready for me.”

You smirked. “Do not worry about me, my prince. I will be,” you said and he grinned, all teeth and wicked before turning on his heel, and leaving your shared chambers.

The door shut behind him with a resounding thud, but this time, it did not cause you heartache. There was no finality or dread that sank into your bones. It was just the sound of a door opening and closing, as they always do.

Perhaps, you had closed the door on your dreams of having little ones. But, it wasn’t locked; you could open that door once more, when the time was right. Or, perhaps, you’d find another door, another way. However, right now, you would enjoy the idea of a closed door.

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