#just returned from the airport and managed to edit this finally

[iri-vail]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: 陈情令 | The Untamed (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Jiāng Chéng | Jiāng Wǎnyín/Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn Characters: Jiāng Chéng | Jiāng Wǎnyín, Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn Additional Tags: Sunshot Campaign (Módào Zǔshī), Porn with Feelings, Frottage, Bondage, fear kink, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Insecurity, Codependency, Ambiguous/Open Ending Summary:

"Jiang Cheng is a little unclear on how they got here. They were just arguing in the halls of the Unclean Realm, as they had for the majority of the time the Sunshot campaign forces had convened here. Jiang Cheng had just gotten going, ready to yell himself hoarse, when Wei Wuxian grabbed him and shoved him into some tiny dark room along the walkway. He could have put up more of a fight but he’s so busy shouting he only notices once he’s already stumbling his way headfirst into a cabinet full of cleaning supplies."

--

Wei Wuxian is drifting further and further away. Jiang Cheng discovers a way to keep him close after all.

[waldau-archived]

constant — choi seungcheol | 1,459 words | fluff, hurt/comfort

alexa, play sorry by justin bieber. that damn edit just won't leave my head.

gender neutral reader. warnings: reader pointedly has an ex-boyfriend.

the one face you're looking for is the one that's conspicuously absent. you'd think maybe your boyfriend — no, ex — would have the courtesy of picking you up from the airport after promising to do it weeks ago, but it's just you and your stupidly heavy suitcase in the midst of a swarm of people that are too close, too loud.

you try not to let the tears slip, instead repeating your search for him through all the faces in the crowd. it doesn't change anything. you're all alone.

who the hell breaks up through a text message when you're on a flight halfway home?

there's really no other option left. you just have to take a cab and get home, and do your best not to stew in your thoughts for the next few days while you adjust to the jet lag. but there's one name that catches your eye in your contacts.

choi seungcheol.

it's been nearly two months since you've met him in person, and every single instance of you returning his calls and messages undeniably late is brought up to the front of your mind. it's selfish, really, to even think of asking him if he can wake up at this hour of the night to pick you up, but he's the only person you'd trust in a situation like this.

you press the call button and wait for it to connect. part of you hopes it just goes to voicemail so you don't have to apologize for everything between you, all of which is your fault.

"sunshine? you okay? did you get back home safely?"

there's concern in his voice that shouldn't be there but still is, because he's cheol. the fact that he remembered you'd be getting back today is enough to break you. "he—" you choke on a sob. "he didn't show up."

seungcheol curses softly. "are you still at the airport?"

you nod, then remember he can't see you. "yeah."

"just wait a few more minutes, okay? tell me where you are."

"cheol, what—"

"i'll explain everything to you. just tell me you're okay."

"i— yeah." you mumble your location, the closest landmark you can see, and it's not long before a familiar jacket appears in your line of sight. you don't think you've ever been relieved to see him before.

seungcheol doesn't say a word as he guides you into his arms. all you can think of and feel is him protecting you from the rest of the world, your head on his chest and his head on yours. the tears don't stop falling, and neither do the apologies. you don't even know what you're apologizing for at this point, but seungcheol keeps shushing you. you've never been one for making a scene at airports, but the parking lot is pretty empty. you can't bring yourself to care.

when you pull away after a while, finally able to breathe a bit easier, you find seungcheol looking at you with a pout.

"what," you ask wetly.

"seeing you cry is making me sad. please don't cry?"

"i would if i could," you say, but then your eyes land on the wet patch on his white shirt, all soaked with your tears, and you begin crying even more.

"i'm sorry," you say, voice weak. "i don't— can we just go?"

"of course we can," seungcheol says, wiping your tears. "don't apologize. you're fine with me, okay? nothing's going to happen to you."

you've heard those words, or variations of those words, from so many people before, but the only person who can convince you he means to keep his promise is seungcheol. you nod, feeling yourself believe his words. he's never one lied to you, and you don't think he's going to start now.

seungcheol places his baseball cap on your head and tugs your hoodie closer around you to make sure you're shielded from the cold. your cold hand is in his while he wheels your suitcase to where his car is parked. you've managed to calm down by then, but it's still not easy to look at seungcheol after all he's done for you.

"are you hungry? tired?" he asks, getting into his seat.

you shake your head, buckling your seatbelt with slightly shaky hands. "neither."

"then there's someplace i want to take you before i drop you home. is that okay?"

you'd follow seungcheol wherever he went. of course it's okay. he hands you the aux cord while he drives through the city which is quiet at night, and it's not long before your mood begins lifting up. you kind of don't want to get out when he stops the car and motions for you to follow him, but you do it anyway.

he grabs a blanket from the trunk and throws it on the hood of his car, holding out his hand for you to join him. you're about to ask him what he wants to do, but your words die in your throat when you look up.

the dark sky is painted with countless stars splashed out across however far your eyes can see. it's not often you get to see such a sight, and you realize seungcheol's driven you to the countryside, somewhat far from where both of you live. sitting underneath the sea of stars with seungcheol seems better than everything that's happened to you in the past month. or two. or more.

"hey," seungcheol says, reaching over to rest a hand on your thigh. warm. friendly.

"hey," you say back, taking his cap off so you can look at his face properly. you gasp when you notice his hair. it's a striking blond shade, one he'd been nervous about getting months ago. you run a hand through it slowly, wondering how old it is. how long it's been since you've really taken time to be with him.

"you okay?" he asks. you want to say yes, but you don't want to lie to him. but you also don't want to burden him with everything you've been facing recently. also the fact that you've been somewhat ignoring him. you just shrug in response.

"do you want to talk about it?"

"no. tell me something else."

seungcheol doesn't question why you said what you said. he starts talking about everything he's been up recently, and it just makes you realize how much you've pulled away from him without realizing.

he's in the middle of some story of him and jeonghan when you sigh. "he broke up with me."

seungcheol stops immediately. "what?"

"he broke up with me. over text."

seungcheol scoffs. "who the fuck does that?" and then, "i'm so sorry, sunshine. you deserved so much better than him."

"aren't you going to say i told you so?"

seungcheol shakes his head. "you know i'd never make fun of you."

you do. "you didn't have to come, you know."

"and if i didn't?"

"i'd have taken a cab or something."

seungcheol frowns in mock annoyance. "don't call me something," he says, punching your arm lightly. "i'm your best friend."

it circles back to that, then. you look down at your feet dangling in the air. "i'm sorry for being a bad friend for the past few months," you say, not meeting his eyes. "i should've tried spending more time with you. or returning your messages on time."

"sunshine," seungcheol says. "don't. you did what you thought was best for you. you're still my best friend, in case you've forgotten."

you look at him, at that. "how is it so easy for you?"

"it wasn't. i won't lie. but there's no one else i want as my best friend, okay?"

"me too," you say, relieved. "and i'm really sorry, you know?"

seungcheol throws his arm around your shoulders. "stop. i know. now that you're here, can you promise me we'll be better?"

"you mean me?"

"no, i mean us. i'm not going to let you distance yourself so easily. on that note, do you want to lay off dating for a while? what if you find...the one? in your own time?"

you raise an eyebrow. "are you dictating who i date?"

seungcheol looks like he's been caught stealing your leftovers. "no! of course not! just looking out for you, is all. you know i just want you to be happy, no matter what."

you smile and settle a bit more into his side, feeling his warmth through your hoodie. "do you really believe in that? finding the one?"

he shrugs. "it's nice to think it could happen someday, don't you?"

leaning against the hood of seungcheol's car with his arm around you and the stars twinkling up in the sky, yes, you think. it would be nice.

[ratherembarrassing]

2024: weeks 39 and 40 (wtf?!)

time is a fucking hamster wheel and i'm literally too lazy to edit this into the way i usually do, so. enjoy!

england!:

the cold that hit me on the bus home after chappell roan persisted through every event recorded in this post. just a little context for fun.

monday morning, awoke to a giant fucking billboard ad for hinge literally outside my hotel window having gone up overnight, which felt unnecessarily pointed and i decided i had to leave london immediately.

but i didn't, because i needed food. can we talk about eggslut's hashbrowns again? cause they are fucking incredible.

was immediately punished for not leaving london, as i turned a corner in shoreditch and walked straight into a film set, which did in fact give me a mild panic attack because reasons. it was citadel, so it was fine.

then i got the hell out of london. i got in a car and i drove! off into the countryside! apparently there was flooding across southern england, but as i drove literally all the way across southern england in both directions, i saw little more than puddles, so i'm not convinced. also, trees. so many trees!

thus begins what i think i will simply refer to in the future as "that time i drove all over southern england just because."

i did absolutely zero research or planning for anything beyond typing "seven sisters" into google maps to check how far it was, but i did not die so it's fine, and then i did in fact see the seven sisters. i did get asked if i was there to kill myself, which i was not, but i can see how i might have given off that vibe.

salisbury can go fuck itself, but it's probably not the town of salisbury's fault so much as the weather, the cunt at the front desk of the hotel i was staying at, and the horrible potato thing i ate there. they do have a very cool cathedral.

stonehenge can stay.

bath is in fact prettier than advertised. the hotel i booked while in some jetlag-fueled delirium was in fact a bath. at this point i did feel like wandering the english countryside was revealing something to me, which might have just been the general lack of sleep talking.

after a very early morning trip to the actual roman baths and stomping around in the rain, i had had enough of doing things, and that is how i ended up eating kfc at 4pm in my hotel bed and then sleeping for like 12 hours.

three days in the country was all i thought i could tolerate, so i went back to london for a hot minute to look at some art at the national gallery. once again i was denied seeing the turners i should have been able to see.

insert here the story of me frantically trying to find a way to charge my phone with only 1% battery and my train ticket trapped inside it and all of st pancras having exactly zero ways for me to do so.

train - the bad version.

@notabuddhist treated me to the sights of her lovely town! again, i feel like Seeing England has revealed something to me, if not about myself then at least about the goals of the white people in australia that were previously unknown to me. don't know what to do with this knowledge yet.

train - the good version.

and then: emma time. listen, i don't think that play was any great work of art. it might actually have been corny as hell. but that's not the point. the point is i didn't die, and i went back again the next night and didn't die again. growth!

i wasn't planning to go to the tate, but sometimes you just have to go to the tate.

refusing to concede my final day in england, brunch in soho, wandered over to the royal academy for some more art, took my life in my hands again biking from buckingham palace back to my hotel.

i did not manage to find a lick of football to watch, so i went to the airport and went home.

the nightmare that followed:

monday did not exist for me

tuesday i arrived home at like 5am, slept all day, slept all night.

wednesday???

thursday i went back to work.

friday, i have no fucking clue.

weekend??????????????????? will my sleep schedule ever return to normal, we just don't know. i'd like to be a cool international traveler who just bounces from place to place, but the timezones between here and there specifically have destroyed me every time on returning to australia.

the end.

[livsoulsecrets]

Kitty and Yuri Fic

@fandom-free-bingo Prompt from Pride Edition Prompt: Lesbian Couple

Fandom: XO Kitty

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Summary: In their first day back in KISS, Yuri and Kitty reunite and finally address the tension between them.

Yuri turned around to leave…

And didn’t make it out the door.

Instead, with her hand still on the doorknob and her back turned to Kitty, she hurriedly spat out, “What did you want to tell me at the airport?”

Read on AO3.

Kitty hadn’t talked to Yuri in three months. The last time she had even heard from her was at the airport—the day Kitty left Seoul and Juliana returned. Yuri hadn’t even updated her Instagram since. Kitty supposed she had been too busy reconnecting with Juliana to bother with it.

They didn’t talk even when Yuri’s mom went back on her decision and allowed Kitty to go back to KISS. Kitty was pretty sure Yuri wouldn’t want to hear from her anyway, and the idea of getting that impression confirmed was enough to keep her away.

She had assumed they’d keep their distance when the new semester started. That was what Kitty had prepared herself for during the endless hours of her flight to Seoul and her move into a new room.

Kitty wasn’t even sure why she had agreed to go back. What did she even have in KISS that was worth all this trouble?

She might have managed to get closure on her relationship with Dae, but they were hardly friends. Her friendship with Q was still fragile as they tiptoed around each other. And things with Min Ho had been awkward since she let him down after his confession.

Yuri wasn’t talking to her. She had a girlfriend, a new brother, and endless family drama to deal with that she did not need Kitty contributing to.

Still, Kitty had come, and she hadn’t done it for anyone but herself this time around.

Which led to her getting ready for her first day back all alone in her new dorm. Her new roommate, Claire, had friends to meet with before class—people she could get opinions from, people she could talk to.

Kitty only had herself and her own reflection in the mirror.

And the stupid necklace clasp she couldn’t get closed on her own.

“Do you need help with that?”

Kitty’s concentration shattered, and she expected to find Claire walking back into their room. Instead, Yuri crossed her doorway.

Yuri’s hair was undone, falling down her shoulders with every step she took—it was longer than when they had last seen each other.

Kitty stared at her with unblinking eyes through the mirror’s reflection. She was sure she had started hallucinating up until Yuri’s fingers brushed hers when she collected the necklace.

Just like she had done the year before, Yuri brushed Kitty’s hair to the side with one hand before expertly closing the clasp on her first try.

“There you go,” Yuri announced, gently bringing Kitty’s hair back into place.

Kitty turned around to take a good look at her face. Her sheer proximity was enough to send her head spinning.

“Yuri,” she said dumbly, her eyes traveling through Yuri’s face, searching for any signs her dreams had escaped the nighttime and infiltrated her days too.

She found none. Yuri was exactly as Kitty remembered her—she was even better, because she was really there.

“Hi, Kitty,” she greeted, taking a step back.

Kitty cleared her throat and tried to smile. “Hi.”

Three months of imagined conversations and almost-sent texts… And the best she could come up with was Yuri’s own name and “Hi”?

She briefly wondered if it was too late to book a ticket home and never step foot in Seoul again.

“Can we talk?” Yuri asked. “I know we have class soon, but do you have a minute?”

“Yeah, sure,” Kitty mumbled, her voice rising a bit too much. She tried again. “We can talk.”

“I’m really glad you agreed to come back,” Yuri started.

“You are?” Kitty couldn’t help but ask, more confused than anything.

Yuri laughed—a startled, half-muffed sound she only ever made when she thought Kitty was making a fool of herself.

God, she had missed that laugh.

“Of course I am,” she confirmed. “I know we weren’t on good terms when you left, and we haven’t talked in a while, but I would have missed you if you didn’t come back.”

Kitty’s eyes widened. “You would?”

Yuri stifled a laugh. “Kitty, are you going to question everything I say, or do you think you can just take my word for it?”

“Sorry,” she hurried to say. “I just didn’t think you felt that way after… Well, everything.”

“I understand. For a while, I didn’t really know how I felt about anything either.”

Kitty found there was something very strange about Yuri’s tone, like there was more she wanted to say but was holding back against.

The tension between them hadn’t gone anywhere in the last few months.

It was like time and distance had amplified it—shaped it into a ticking bomb that could go off at any second and destroy this carefully built truce they were now in.

Kitty was nowhere near ready to approach that topic, so she settled for a safer version of her truth. “I’m really sorry for lying to you. I didn’t know what to do or how to deal with what I found out, but I should have been honest.”

“I’m sorry I lashed out, too. I was hurt, but that was because I trusted you a lot. I felt like…”

“Like I broke your trust,” Kitty completed, crossing her arms.

“I guess so,” Yuri agreed. “But, more than anything, I was angry at my mom for hiding another kid from me. My whole life, she pushed me to be perfect, to not do anything that could disappoint her. And the whole time she was keeping her own secrets, making me feel awful for having mine. I took some of that out on you too.”

Kitty nodded and tightened her arms around herself. They fell into silence for a few moments. Kitty didn’t dare break it, unsure of where they would go from there.

Why was Yuri there? Had she gone to Kity’s room to say she forgave her, but it was better for them to stay away from each other? Or that they could be friends again, leaving everything in the past?

Kitty didn’t think she could survive either option.

“Uh… I should get going,” Yuri said abruptly, fixing her perfectly ironed skirt and retreating a bit farther away.

“Oh,” Kitty muttered, “okay.”

She didn’t want Yuri to go. She wanted to hear about her vacation and the places she might have visited. She’d plaster a smile across her face and pretend it didn’t kill her to hear about how great things were with Juliana if it would make Yuri happy to talk about her.

She wanted everything to be normal again.

“See you in class, then,” was all Kitty said.

Yuri turned around to leave…

And didn’t make it out the door.

Instead, with her hand still on the doorknob and her back turned to Kitty, she hurriedly spat out, “What did you want to tell me at the airport?”

Kitty, well, Kitty didn’t know what to say. She knew what she wanted to say, but she was also aware that the last thing Yuri needed was to add Kitty’s feelings for her to the pile of problems in her life.

Should Kitty tell her she could recognize Yuri’s laugh in any room? That she would follow her like a moth to a flame wherever she wanted to go? Or share that, in her dreams, Yuri’s lips touched hers and everything felt real for a few precious seconds after she woke up, and not even the disappointment of reality could take away from the happiness she felt in those fleeting moments?

Yuri turned around when Kitty still didn’t answer her question. “It’s just… When we talked at the airport, I thought there was something you wanted to tell me before Juliana showed up. I mean, whatever it is, you know you can tell me, right?”

She smiled—a reassuring, gentle thing that Kitty wasn’t sure she even deserved.

“I know that,” she answered, trying to insert some confidence into the words. Kitty carefully avoided Yuri’s eyes. “I just wanted to thank you for being my friend. We got off to a bad start, but I’m glad we worked through that. I wouldn’t have survived my first year here without you.”

Yuri smiled even brighter at that. “I wouldn’t have made it through last year without you either.”

Kitty blatantly ignored the somersaults in her stomach and mirrored Yuri’s smile. “That was all I wanted to say.”

“Are you sure?” Yuri asked once again, tilting her head to capture Kitty’s gaze.

“I am,” she repeated, without an ounce of conviction.

Yuri nodded but didn’t seem to believe her. Kitty tracked her every movement as she stepped closer, the ends of her loose hair tickling Kitty’s arm.

“Let me tell you what I remember about that day, then. I remember you telling me you thought you knew everything there was to know about love when you came to KISS,” she recited, “until you met me.”

Kitty swallowed dryly. That was not the conversation she had prepared herself to have. A part of her—however foolish—believed they could brush past her near confession and pretend nothing had changed.

But this was Yuri—brilliant, sharp, gentle Yuri who knew her. Of course, she had noticed something was off. She wanted Kitty to have the guts to tell her the truth, especially when they had so much trouble for the lack of it in the first place.

“Yuri,” Kitty started, but the other girl shook her head.

“I remember it because I couldn’t stop thinking about what you said,” Yuri continued, “and you need to let me tell you this before I lose my courage.”

Kitty stopped trying to talk. In fact, she couldn’t have said a word if she wanted to. Not when Yuri was looking at her like that, as if she were seeing something precious in the lines of her face.

“I asked my mom to let you come back. I pissed Juliana off with my obsession to make you stay here.”

“You… You asked her? For me?” Kitty repeated Yuri’s words, despite the fact she had been told not to already.

She had thought for a moment—back when the principal called her with the news—that maybe Yuri had been behind it, but ultimately assumed it was all wishful thinking.

But if Yuri had done that, if she had helped Kitty, then why hadn’t she called or texted? God, Kitty would have been happy with an Instagram DM, even.

“I did. I told you this before, Kitty,” Yuri continued. “I can’t lose you now.”

“I can’t lose you either,” Kitty repeated herself, because that had never changed, not through the confused feelings she harbored for Yuri during her relationship with Dae or after it ended and her loneliness took over.

“But I need you to be honest with me right now. I need you to tell me what you wanted to say that day, and I need to know if I’m too late to hear it.”

Yuri’s hands twisted nervously on the hem of her shirt, causing the fabric to wrinkle all over.

Kitty didn’t want to hold on to hope that proved itself false later on, but her mind was racing through Yuri’s words, her heart wild and alive against her ribcages.

“I don’t… I don’t think I should. I don’t think we should be talking about this, not when you’re with Juliana,” Kitty said, because, as stupidly in love as she was, she would not do that. She would not let others get hurt by the consequences of her own actions, not again.

Yuri took Kitty’s hand on hers, and all words flew off her mind. “I’m not with Juliana anymore,” she said, her voice firm. “We broke up about two months ago.”

Kitty blinked, then stared from Yuri’s hand around her own and back to her face. “What? Why?”

Yuri laughed again—that godforsaken laugh that could break through any of Kitty’s defenses. “Can’t you see it, Kitty?”

She shook her head, incapable of speaking.

“I was confused and a bit of a mess. We tried to make it work, but… My heart wasn’t in it anymore,” Yuri told her, fingers trembling as they grabbed onto Kitty. “Juliana could tell too. I was happy she was back home and that her parents weren’t forcing her to live in another country, but the whole time we spent together since she came back, I kept missing you.”

Kitty heard her own breath catch. She felt her knees buckling and expectation simmering underneath her skin where Yuri was touching her. She knew she wasn’t imagining things—not anymore—and yet none of it seemed real.

“I felt awful, and I knew I couldn’t do that to her. She deserved better, and I couldn’t give it to her. I guess she also knew, deep down, that what we felt for each other wasn’t the same anymore. Still, I just needed some time to process that. I… I wanted to tell you about all of this and what I was feeling, but it wouldn’t have been fair. I needed to be sure of what was happening first. That’s why I didn’t reach out to you.”

“I thought you didn’t want to talk to me,” Kitty whispered, and Yuri shook her head immediately.

“I always want to talk to you,” she promised. “I came here today because of that. I wasn’t sure of what I wanted to do, even when I walked in. I got so scared of ending our friendship that I almost left without saying what I wanted to say.”

“Then I felt this fear right here when I was walking away.” Yuri brought their joined heads to her chest, pressing them over her heart.

“I just knew that giving up on you without even trying would be a lot worse than having to hear you say I’m too late.”

Kitty’s mouth opened and closed a few times, and still no words came.

“I’ll understand, though, if you’ve changed your mind. If you don’t feel like that anymore…”

Yuri’s voice was laced with pain, but she still tried to reassure her. It was the type of kindness she offered Kitty the day they met, and Yuri gave her a ride. It was the gentleness she kept hidden behind her sharp tongue and quick thinking.

It was all that made Kitty fall for her wrapped up around a few words, and how could she have changed her mind? In what world could she ever not feel this way about Yuri Han?

Yuri seemed to have come up with her own answers in the time it took Kitty to process what she shared. She loosened her hold of Kitty’s hand and slowly began to pull herself away.

Kitty held on.

Yuri’s eyes snapped to hers, and Kitty saw the tears on them—all the fear and joy and hope Kitty was feeling reflected right back at her.

Kitty kissed Yuri Han, and it was nothing like in her dreams.

Yuri’s mouth was warm and soft against her, and her hands pushed into her hips hard enough to send her scrambling backwards into a wall. Kitty felt every second of it—every twist of Yuri’s tongue against her own, every part of her body pressed into her—and the real thing was more exhilarating than her imagination could ever have conjured up.

“You’re so much better in real life,” Kitty said into Yuri’s mouth, and she chuckled.

“What?” Yuri questioned, and Kitty, for a moment, had forgotten they were not the same person, that their bodies were tangled up in one another, but their minds were still their own.

Of course, Yuri didn’t understand what she meant, but she didn’t need to. Kitty could tell her later—would tell her everything and anything she wanted to know.

For now, though, Kitty swallowed the question with her mouth on Yuri’s, her hands on her hair, and her nose pressed into Yuri’s perfect one.

[apparitionism]

Tabled 4

And on we go, @barbarawar , as I continue to try your patience with this incremental approach to telling a @b-and-w-holiday-gift-exchange story about coffees and consequences. Where we last left our duo: Helena had proposed adjourning to a hotel room so as to avoid continuing to attract attention for disorderly behavior (i.e., launching coffees at each other, followed by raised voices) at O’Hare Airport—that transitory place where Myka had intended to have a final coffee with Helena before telling her goodbye and returning to the Warehouse to face a future she doesn’t really want. Part 1, part 2, and part 3 explained the tables, books, beverages, and lies that led to this point.

Tabled 4

The trek to the hotel is arduous. No conversation. Myka appreciates the tacit agreement she and Helena seem to have made to wait for the space, but she’s bowed by what it’s added: multiple steamer trunks of existential weight, all of them balanced on her head, her shoulders, such that it’s labor for her even to turn her head in Helena’s direction.

Nevertheless they navigate, side by side, destination mutual. That’s weight too.

All Myka is physically carrying is her laptop case; she’d told herself, “I can work on reports on the plane. Or prepare remarks.” Instead she’d sat on the plane. It might as well have crashed; she was already braced for impact. Braced, yet again. For all the impacts.

Helena is similarly unencumbered, but without even a work-pretense: only a slim little bag, its strap a delicate suggestion of metallic braid that adorns her shoulder. She offers the sleekest of presentations, with even her stained sweater somehow managing to speak to her apparent surety that whatever the thoughts of those regarding her might be, they’ll redound to her benefit.

Myka, on the other hand, wants to hold her case to her sullied chest, or better yet fold herself entirely over, to hide this... evidence. She hates giving anyone grounds for a negative inference, and the uncomplimentary list of things any given observer might take the smirch as evidence of is infinite.

She herself has felt that “redound to my benefit” certainty only in the rarest of circumstances. Once or twice, though, it’s happened when Helena was the one regarding her, giving Myka a fully confident sense of I know you like everything you see, and even better, you like it just the way I want it to be liked. Transporting, when it happened.

Helena chooses that moment to turn ever so slightly, meeting Myka’s eyes ever so briefly... as if in appreciative echo of the past.

It prompts Myka to think on a different kind of evidence: what she and Helena provide, as they pace beside each other through the airport. It could oh so easily support the idea that they’re traveling together, which in turn leads to the infinitely better idea that they might be traveling together.

Indulge, she tells herself, and the granting of permission... it shifts the weight.

Who are we, this me, this Helena, traveling together... traveling together. She starts simple: We’re Warehouse agents on a retrieval. But of course that’s too easy. Okay, instead, we’re... dealers in rare books? Better... And we’re heading to an auction... wait, no, we’re heading home (home together), home from an auction, one that yielded a rare first edition of... oh, let’s say The Invisible Man... and the auctioneer unfortunately made a slightly incorrect statement about its original serialization... one that Helena felt she had to counter emphatically... leading to the first fistfight ever seen at that auction house...

Myka can easily picture the self-satisfied snarl-smile Helena would have worn as she decked the ill-informed auctioneer. The ease with which she can conjure such a moment... that, paradoxically, is yet more weight.

Even so, she warms further to the story, folding in their coffee stains: On this first leg of our trip home (home together), there was dramatic, beverage-service-disrupting turbulence... but we got through it with only wardrobe-related disasters... which is to say, we protected the first edition...

The fantasy looms real enough for Myka to put her hand against her case, casting an impossible wish for confirmation that it holds a precious book.

When her wish isn’t granted, she’s nonsensically crestfallen. Her indulgence now seems yet another blunder, as foretold by that other... book. (She can’t get all the way to “precious,” not this minute, an aspersion of omission for which she’s pretty sure she’ll be expected to apologize.)

Remember that future, Myka tells herself. She pronounces those words in her head, and she’s half tempted to say them to Helena, too, despite the fact that she’d have no idea what it’s about. Though she might ask what it’s about... and Myka can’t land on whether she would hate or thrill to offering an explanation. I used an artifact, she might begin. Because of you. She might go on: And I lied about it. Also because of you.

That might get her a snarl-smile of her own. Maybe even a fistfight.

In the end she stays silent; it’s the theme of this hotel-destined journey. She should rather have focused on Helena, with no imaginings; should rather have just looked, no matter how great the weight. What would observers have concluded then?

You just told yourself a story about that.

As they near the hotel desk, Helena says, “Allow me,” and Myka... does. Because, for good or ill, Helena is the driver. If she were not, Myka would be at a gate, sitting and waiting for a flight, her mission nearing completion. Instead, she’s standing a good distance away from Helena in a hotel lobby, calling Steve, saying, “I’m pretty sure I’m missing my plane.”

The response in her ear: “Because...?”

“Do you really have to ask?”

“Really? No.”

“Good. But if anybody else asks—”

“And when you say ‘anybody else.’”

Myka sighs. “I mean protect me.”

“By saying what?”

“I’m stuck in an airport.”

“You believe that,” Steve says, with a little wondering hitch.

“Oh how I do.” She laughs, just a half-huff. “Oh how I’d prefer not to.”

She hears, “Is that Myka? Where is she?” It’s Claudia (not Pete, thank god), in the background.

“Stuck in an airport,” Steve says.

“Weather?” Claudia asks, now close to the phone.

“Storms,” Myka tells her.

“That sucks,” Claudia pronounces. “See you when the climate gods dispensate some dispensation.”

After a pause—presumably waiting till Claudia leaves earshot—Steve says, “You’re getting really good at this.”

“This?”

“Letting language slip. To do the dirty work.”

“Good at this,” Myka echoes, belatedly. She knows it now as cause for despair. She’s painfully aware that the work is dirty, but... she’s developing a facility. That’s what’s wrong. “I’ll try to get worse.”

“After the storms?”

“During,” she says, because speaking in private should—at the very least and very last, it should—entail saying what she really means. Not letting anything slip.

Should. Which doesn’t, dirty or otherwise, mean “will.”

“Take care,” Steve says.

“I don’t know how,” Myka concludes. It’s a weird way to end a phone call, but Steve seems to know it’s right.

Helena has decorously waited to approach, but now her seemingly eager “Shall we?”, key card in hand, is a painful parody of the invitation Myka has dreamed of for years. If it had happened in those earlier years, it could have been an invitation to everything. Now it’s just an invitation to... blunders. And their contribution to an end.

The existential weight lowers again onto Myka—countdown-tragic now—as she waits out the rise of the elevator (its mirrored walls too harsh) and the walk through the corridor (its canned lights too artificial). It freights even the too-sunny chirp of the key card’s success, as Helena inserts it into the door.

As Helena pushes the door’s handle down in further proof of that success, she looks over her shoulder at Myka with something like delight—but is it delight at this circumstance, this promise of new privacy? Or is it another instance of her generalized thrill at an encounter with technology? That she might not yet be so familiar with as to be jaded by this aspect of modernity is... something very like heartwarming. But also painful, because how many Helena-delighted-by-the-new episodes has Myka been deprived of witnessing? How many episodes of anything and everything Helena-related has Myka been deprived of witnessing?

And what is the consequence of letting herself know that as deprivation? And, more, feeling that deprivation as pain?

Helena pushes the door open and strides across the threshold, but Myka hesitates, hoping for... something. Purpose? All that comes to her is a maxim: never go in without knowing how you’ll get out.

Where Helena is concerned, Myka has never known how she’ll get out. Ridiculous to think she could start now.

She goes in.

The quiet: that’s what strikes her first. The closing of the door behind her is a muted snick; after it, there is no noise at all.

Then she apprehends scent: antiseptic overlain with some ruse of spice, as if “clean” couldn’t possibly be enough to justify the undoubtedly absurdly high price of the room. Of course it probably couldn’t; nevertheless Helena had paid it. Myka wants to resent that, but she’s the one who acquiesced to that “allow me.”

The scrimmed light from the window allows her eyes to discern only the barest detail, but they’re drawn immediately to... of course. A table. Metallically, shinily, obviously, a table. It’s small and round, seemingly innocuous (too low to sit at), but Myka skirts it. She sets her laptop case on the less-threatening desk.

Helena lays her own bag on the bed. The bed, which Myka had intended to ignore. Then she turns, eyes still eagerly alight, to face deskside-anchored Myka.

The look sends Myka back to ideas of I can’t do this, or maybe what she means is I can’t feel this, but that isn’t right either, for what she feels isn’t singular; instead it’s I can’t feel these, these battering, battling threads of sensation she can’t untangle. “Why are we here,” she says, groping, suddenly dull, feeling the air numb around her.

“For speaking,” Helena says. Over there. By the bed. “Freely. As you agreed we should.”

But where is the freedom? The table reminds Myka of constraint, and even the room’s privacy—this new, behind-a-locked-door privacy—chains her, making her question every movement, lest it speak as she doesn’t intend. Or does intend but shouldn’t intend. Paralysis. “What do you want to say?” she asks.

Whatever Helena wants to say, she wants to accompany it with a head-toss, followed by a contemptuous exhale. Quite a performance, at the conclusion of which she snorts and juts her hands at Myka. “At the very least, more words about the unbelievability of your putative romantic choices.” Contempt coats it all.

“You don’t know what’s in my heart,” Myka says. She means it as a dismissive judgment—of Helena’s continuing to insist that she knows how Myka feels or doesn’t feel about Pete (although of course, Myka has to concede privately, she does know)—but, more broadly, of Helena’s not bothering herself to know how Myka has felt about anything. Not for a very long time.

“I’m aware,” Helena says, and then, as if she’s heard Myka’s more-broad thoughts, she says, “I’m very aware.” Then she stops—another of those curiosity-piquing pauses—leaving Myka to wonder what’s next. What is: “So tell me,” she says. Soft. Sincere.

“Why?” Myka asks. “What will it change?”

“For one thing, you will have said it. Rather than simply felt it.”

“Said it to you, you mean,” she accuses. Right: something might change for Helena.

“Ah. You’ve spoken of this to others. Perhaps your sister? And have you found that unburdening to be helpful?”

That’s soft and sincere too, but internally, Myka snarls, with no smile, You can keep your therapy questions. I have all the Abigail I can handle on that front. She wouldn’t answer such a question no matter who asked it, and she is neither ready nor willing to explain Steve—Steve and what he’s meant. Instead, she says, “This room has a coffeemaker,” despite not knowing that for sure. But it must. “I’m going to find it and... use it.” A neutral action, that’s what she needs.

“I’ll watch you,” Helena says.

So much for neutral.

But turning her back on Helena... surprisingly, it loosens her. The gaze is on her, and she feels it, but she doesn’t have to meet it. She finds the coffeemaker on the bureau and begins the process: water, cups, coffee packets, filter basket. Of course it isn’t neutral, would never have been, but being occupied, putting something in that space between—standing and looking was never going to get them anywhere, given that it never did in the past—it lightens the atmosphere. It’s a purpose. It’s a purpose against which Myka can, and thus determines to, slide a question of her own.

“So you had this realization that there was ‘someone else’,” Myka says, making the quotation marks as clear as she vocally can, “and you broke up with him?”

“Essentially,” Helena says.

To her... credit?... it’s not an objection to the topic shift. Or to the quotation marks. But it’s also profoundly not informative. “What, seriously”—Myka had nearly made the mistake of saying “honestly”—“is that supposed to mean?” She turns around, away from her coffee task; the machine’s begun to noise, anyway, so it doesn’t need her.

Helena’s aspect doesn’t indicate that the renewed eye contact is meaningful. She says, “That is supposed to mean you have identified the essence of what occurred.”

More details are clearly not forthcoming. Back up. Ask something else. “Why did you go to that place at all? Why go there and make yourself so... small?”

The very idea is tragic—even worse, pathetic. Helena’s slight dip of head, signaling at least partial agreement, offers pathos too. “Safety,” she says. “Mrs. Frederic said I’d be safe there.”

“I could have kept you safe. Why didn’t she say that?” Myka hears herself getting louder now, angry at all the conversations, decisions, interactions that were kept from her, that she had a right to be part of, all these clandestine resolutions to problems that she and Helena deserved to solve together.

“She had other plans for you,” is the reason Helena gives. Pathos there too. It’s awful.

“What about my plans for me?” Myka cries, and it must have been audible all over the hotel, this nearest she’s ever come to a barbaric yawp, and it’s about all of it: Mrs. Frederic and Pete and expectations and everyone thinking they know and no one knowing, not even Helena, who might have been the only one who could have really known but went away, was taken away, and now Myka is going to have to push her away and this is exactly why she turned to the book: to steal back the tatters of her own capacity, one small bit of augury at a time.

“You work for the Warehouse,” Helena says.

It’s a bald truth. It’s why little auguries are all Myka has. But it splits her open, too, for it tells nothing at all about why Helena did what she did, and she shouts a new accusation into the yawning gap: “You don’t!” And another: “Since when do you bend the knee to authority?”

Helena straightens her spine. “Since authority rendered me incorporeal and suggested I would be returned to that state if I didn’t do as I was told.” She lowers her chin, giving that spine one more bit of extension. “I was disinclined to stop living.”

It breaks Myka. No, it re-breaks her. She knows she should say things, including “but you redeemed yourself” and “so what’s different now,” but all she can in fact do is reach out a hand and touch Helena.

Maybe that’s what Helena intended, but even if it is...

Between any two people, it might be nothing: a simple right hand resting upon a left shoulder, followed by a run down that left arm, to the left elbow, then wrist, brushing against a left hand’s fingers, falling away.

But it’s Myka’s right hand. It’s Helena’s left shoulder. Helena’s arm. Helena’s elbow, wrist, fingers.

They’re behind a locked door.

TBC

[rosietrace]

Melodic Misconceptions 🎹

Track 13: Young and beautiful 1/?

Synopsis: Victoria Shard was a former member of the popular idol group [ Poisoner ] from NRC corporations. After discourse with her group leader, Victoria decided it was best for her to leave and pursue her solo career in a record label run by her parents.

It had been half a year since her separation from her old group, and Victoria had never been more successful. But now she has a new problem. She must return to NRC corporations in order to mentor the seven idol groups.

Ellis Clawthorne is a member of [ (Co)-connect ] the most recent group under NRC'S belt. With no experience as an idol, Ellis must persevere in order to succeed and pursue her dreams.

Will both girls be able to adapt to their current situations?

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Author's note: BEHOLD, TRACK 13 >:)

Aguri finally meets Victoria and the others!... And he doesn't seem all that pleased-

*shrugs* At least Kaz likes Victoria so far, Aguri can't stop him from choosing her as his Inej >:)

I definitely had a bit of trouble with the proofreading and editing for this, since it's a tad longer than the previous tracks. Nevertheless, I prevailed (⁠⌐⁠■⁠-⁠■⁠)✨

Hope you guys like this track!

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There was a sense of bliss from the current atmosphere in the van. The utter silence that carried it felt calming, and not a single person inside felt uncomfortable by it.

There was banter earlier, lots of it, filled with laughter and unnecessary yelling. But now, three hours into the trip to the airport, everyone but Mayuu and Victoria was asleep.

It was quiet. But not the kind that felt eerie.

Taking another turn, Mayuu sighed heavily."It's gonna take forever to get to the airport… Thank god we left early…" she muttered, yawning right after.

Looking out the window, Victoria hummed as a reply."It'll be fine. We'll be at the airport after thirty more minutes. Unless we run into traffic." She assured the sleep-deprived manager.

Stopping the car due to the stoplights, Mayuu shrugged."I guess. Fortunately, we haven't run into any traffic so far." Mayuu said, looking at the stoplights intently.

Victoria nodded."Exactly. We'll be in the airport in no time, so calm yourself for a bit." The smile she sent Mayuu was gentle, and comforting. Much like the atmosphere of the van.

Mayuu chuckled."Right. You should rest up a bit, it might be beneficial if you take a little power nap." The manager advised, receiving a shake of the head.

"No need. I'm not all that sleepy yet, maybe when we're in the plane, but not now."

She glanced at Victoria for a couple of seconds, before turning her attention back to the road.

Leaning against the window, Victoria watched the scenery filled with boredom. She wouldn't admit it to Mayuu, but she also wished that they'd be at the airport already.

I'm sure Vil's already at the airport by now, waiting impatiently…. She grits her teeth at the thought of Vil, before shaking her head in an attempt to brush it off.

Thankfully, she didn't have to wait any longer. In a couple of minutes, they'll arrive at the airport.

──ㅇ─────↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺───ㅇ────

"You're late."

Victoria frowned, walking past Vil, not batting an eye as he sent her an offended scowl.

"I don't think it matters. As long as we've arrived, you have no right to complain." Victoria retorted, crossing her arms and refusing to look at Vil.

Zen stuck out his tongue at Vil, his eyes filled with distaste. Eventually, he merely ignored his scowl and continued to follow Ellis around the airport before they boarded the airplane.

Standing next to him, Yuuta gently patted Vil on the back."Don't worry, Vil, it isn't your fault that everyone else doesn't particularly like you…. For reasons." Vil sighed, ignoring Yuuta's not-so-subtle jab at him.

Mayuu rolled her eyes, checking the time and narrowing her eyes."At least we aren't as late compared to that acquaintance of yours."

Vil huffed."He arrived earlier than either of you. I'm pretty sure he just wandered off on his own…" he responded discreetly, looking around for the actor he invited.

Though Yuuta rolled his eyes, Juvia looked around as well."I wonder where he is…" Juvia asked, yet the tone of her voice sounded more careless than concerned.

Victoria smiled."He's probably here somewhere. But we shouldn't try to look for him since he's Vil's problem." When she emphasized his name, Juvia laughed awkwardly and subtly took Victoria a little further from Vil.

Zen's eyes widened as if he's just realized something."Uhh…. I don't think we need to worry about Aguri since Ellis just so happens to be sitting next to him-"

"You do know I can hear you, right?"

Zen stiffened up, eyeing Aguri who took off his earphones and rose an eyebrow at them. Laughing nervously, Zen quickly hid behind Victoria, which turned out to be unsuccessful since she just approached Aguri and Ellis anyway.

Noticing Ellis feeling a little awkward sitting next to him, Victoria whispered to her, "Don't worry, I'll take care of him."

Just by having her whisper in her ears, Ellis felt her face go warm as she quickly walked away and immediately conversed with Carol to distract herself.

Aguri scowled, pursing his lips at the woman in front of him."Guessing you're Victoria…" he said, pretending as if he hadn't seen her on all sorts of billboards.

"That is me. And… You're Aguri Harper."

He nodded lazily, resting his cheek on his fist."You look even more repulsive in person." Aguri commented, making sure the tone of his voice sounded flirtatious as a way to mock her.

Victoria didn't bat an eye when it came to his comment. Instead, she noticed a small detail that changed about Aguri's appearance when gazing at her.

"I think your pink-stained ears say otherwise, but it could be a health condition, so…" she sent him a sly smile, noticing him gritting his teeth.

Blowing him a kiss, Victoria walked away to talk with Zen and Ellis until it was time to board the plane.

Not to forget she sent Aguri the middle finger while doing so, of course.

──ㅇ─────↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺───ㅇ────

The trip they took to finally reach the set was worth it, especially after they visited the hotel they'd be staying at for a week or two.

Miren insisted that Mayuu stayed in her hotel room to rest, while he and the others went to the set for filming. Which she begrudgingly obliged to.

Ellis stared at the set in awe."IT'S ALL SO AESTHETICALLY PLEASING!!" Zen laughed, noticing the sparkles in Ellis's eyes as she looked around the set.

"Mhm! Tori's most known for having a more vintage kind of aesthetic in her songs. She doesn't do much pop." Zen told her, happily looking around the set with her.

Carol blinked for a couple of moments."The set designers took their time to make it look as authentic as possible…" she murmured, but unfortunately, Yuuta managed to hear her.

"Indeed. I guess that's the only thing we can thank Vil for." Carol huffed tiredly, and she didn't bother to retort back at Yuuta.

Chizuko turned to Victoria."It's a lovely set. It fits your aesthetic well." Noticing the smallest glimpse of a smile on her face, Victoria smiled back at Chizuko.

"Indeed… This isn't my first time on a set like this, but… There's something special in this one." They both chuckled and continued to walk around.

As Vil was speaking with the set designers about any potential design changes, Miren was tempted to call Jiyoon and pay for her flight just so she could slap Vil for his involvement in the music video.

Alas, Jiyoon was probably busy finishing up the manuscript for her latest horror novel, so that was ticked off of the box.

Suddenly, Aguri had a panicked expression on his face."SHIT!" He exclaimed, looking around the set frantically.

Victoria noticed his panic but decided to ignore it since it wasn't her business anyway. That was…

…. Until she felt something tug on her pants.

Stiffening up, Victoria slowly looked down and noticed a cat tugging at her pants with their adorable paw.

Her eyes softened up, and a smile graced her face as she carefully picked up the cat."Hello…" she quietly greeted, eyeing the cat as it tilted its head.

Eyeing the cat a little more, Victoria hummed confusingly."You're in good condition, so you aren't a stray…" she crouched to the ground and suddenly saw the name tag on the cat's collar.

"Hmm…. Your name is 'Kaz'?" She chuckled, the smile remaining on her face, "It's nice to meet you, Kaz…"

And as she was being affectionate with Kaz, Aguri gasped and marched towards her.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Her eyes squinted, and her eyebrow was raised.

"Playing with the cat. Do you happen to know who their owner is?"

"I'm their owner."

Clicking her tongue, Victoria rolled her eyes and picked up Kaz. Looking up and down at Aguri, she hesitantly gave him Kaz.

Aguri glared at her, holding Kaz close to his chest and away from Victoria."Don't you dare touch him with your filthy hands, woman."

Just as Victoria was about to retort a snarky remark, she was cut off by the director calling everyone to go to hair and makeup to prepare.

Crossing her arms, Victoria turned away from Aguri and began walking to her trailer.

"I suppose I'll need to get used to his pretentiousness…"

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Tagging:

@starry-night-rose @nem0-nee @windbornearchon @authoruio @sakuramidnight15 @fumikomiyasaki @geminiiviolets @twsted-princess @knights-escort @crazyyanderefangirlfan

[simp-ly-writes]

On the Receiving End

Pairing: Captain John Price x Reader

Summary: It is John's first time being the other side; awaiting your arrival back home from a business conference while doing his best to manage the kids and home.

Warnings: mentions of anxiety, thunderstorms.

A/N: just love writing these types of scenarios; this one is defiantly happy though.

Masterlist | Taglist | edited.

John missed you.

He had been so used to being the one always leaving the family for long periods of time and then returning to your open and awaiting arms. It was a unique experience to be met on the other side. You had left for a business conference on the other side of the word with your investors and had been gone for just under two weeks now.

The kids were restless, thats not how mom/dad usually does it, when are they coming back? mom/dad allow me to do that when you're gone... and the endless cycle of these questions and statements had the captain feeling drained for once. He could deal with childish adults, almost global warfare, and Soap's endless car ride karaoke. Yet John was at his wits end and pleading for your presence to come through the doorway like a saving grace.

Everyone had their practice to go to, their friends birthday on the weekend, catching them trying not to eat too much candy from the halloween bowl, trying to get them to seat dinner- bathe- and for homework to be completed while John himself had his own reports to fulfill throughout the weeks.

Sighing into his hands, John missed holding you in bed, humming with you to the radio while cooking, eating dinner by your side and drinking tea with you in the morning on the deck. John felt himself looking at the ceiling, closing his eyes and letting out a soft sigh into the moonlight smaller bedroom.

The youngest had finally fallen asleep after multiple hours of convincing that you would arrive in the morning. John slept on the couch that night; not wanting to miss a minute of you coming through the door and into his arms.

--

Hours past and soon John felt a heaviness in his arms, eyes peering into the still dark living space, lighting illuminated the space every few minutes as he looked down the couch to see all three kids packed onto the sofa as well. It appeared that everyone was overly anxious of your awaiting arrival home as thunder crashed through the home.

Grumbling out a sleep to the newly formed crowd. He felt three smaller heads nod and giggle in response that spread a smile across the captains face as sleep found him once more.

--

You wrestled with your umbrella while trying to catch your suitcase from falling off the front stoop and trying to find the right key. Letting out a large sign of relief when you heard the all too familiar click of your entrance being accepted.

Hauling your bag in behind you, the door closed behind you as you let out a sigh of relief, home at last, you thought to yourself while looking around your home in the early morning hours.

Hanging up your coat and umbrella while putting your shoes away. You peered through the archway into the living room to briefly see 4 figures laying across the large couch as lightning brightened the space. Smiling while shaking your head, you walked into the space- giving each a kiss to their forehead before you hauled your suitcase upstairs and changed into your matching pyjamas set; heading back downstairs for a much needed snack and tea.

14 extra- unaccounted for hours in the airport really takes a toll on ones body alongside the weeks of arguing with middle-aged men with bald spots and crooked teeth.

Watching as the kettle boils upon the counter; you move to grab an apple from the fruit bowl alongside a granola bar from the pantry cabinet. While doing your best to peer through the box and not accidentally eat one of your kids favourite snacks for the next morning you feel two large arms wrap around your frame that causing you to jolt and shriek quietly into the cabinet. Your body soon relaxing into their own as you feel a beard on your neck and smell the fait lingering sent of cigars upon their cheeks.

welcome home love, what time did you get in by?

only missed me coming in the door by a couple of minutes hun, nothing to worry over. You replied as you moved your neck to kiss your husbands cheek while patting his arm so you could pour out the kettle for the two of you.

Reaching up to grab a set of mugs from the upper shelf, John followed you like a shadow as you felt his eyes following the skin from your rising shirt. Giggling at his longing yet tired eyes while shoving a filled mug into his hand while holding the other you couldn't help but tease, missed me much?

very much, he huffed out in response, cheeks turning pink slightly while brining his head to your shoulder. You dropped his hand; brining it up to the back of his head, soothing out his bed-head with a smile gracing itself across your face; mirroring his own.

I don't like being on the other side, love, the endless thoughts of your well-fare, awaiting your phone call like a last string of life... newfound anxiety- honestly love, how do you do it with such grace?

Large eyes stare into your face, holding out hope for an answer as arms squeeze your frame in a form of reassurance of your presence. Taking a minute to think thoughtfully of your next words, you hum while moving to add a dab of honey into your drink before answering with a slight shrug of your shoulders, probabilities not possibilities, John darling- it's way makes the days go by easier sadly...

You eyes hold a bittersweet look as the crinkle in concern; looking over the captains frame. John looks out the window, the sky had cleared while taking in your advice; holding your body close to his own. You feel his beard move and nod twice against your shoulder before leaning down and leaving a linger yet soft kiss against your skin before stepping away and holding his hand out.

His head tilts to the backdoor, as you grab is outstretched palm; leading you out on to the pouch as you see the sun rising upon the horizon; behind the hill of your backyard. You hummed happily at the sight, a great deal of sadness had followed you each moment you were away from this tradition; the morning breeze making it's way through your hair, caressing your cheeks.

Brining the cup out to your mouth, you leaned against the fence; Johns arm leaning against your own as the local birds began to sing out from the trees, beckoning the world alive with their song.

The sudden patter of feet against the creaking wood planks could be heard coming out from behind would steal your attention from the horizon as squeals of excitement and a large group hug had you forgetting the birds and the rising sun against your back.

I missed you all so very, very much, while giving each one of your children a tight squeeze and kiss against their cheek. You smiled lovingly down at them all and their still puffy eyes filled with sleep. A cough had you looking to your right side where John stood; arms crossed, eyebrows furrowed and a pout gracing his features. As you moved yourself over to give him the same treatment.

Eventually a blanket was set out with a tray of muffins and orange juice filled cups. You all sat atop the damp hill watching the sun painting the sky and clouds. Leaning your head against your husband shoulder you spoke out to the fields; watching as your children chased one another throughout the grass in their pyjamas.

I love you.

I love you.

[seasonschange-butpeopledont]

The Best Man

Pairing: Marcus Pike x F!Reader

Warnings: Angst, fluff, a few curse words

Word Count: 2,560

Author’s Note: A fun part about getting older is that all of my friends are married or engaged now, and sometimes weddings bring up some insecurities. A more than a bit of venting going on here. This is my first time writing for the love of my life Marcus Pike and I’m very nervous/excited. 

Summary: When your best friend asks you to be the maid of honor at her wedding, you’re convinced that you’ll never find your own happy ending- until you meet a certain groomsman. 

Taglist Form - Masterlist

You weren’t proud of the feelings of dread that washed over you as you sat in the parking lot of the wedding venue. You’d been sitting in your car for just a little longer than socially acceptable, given that the rest of the bridal party had likely already gathered inside. You just needed to make it through the next two days, and then you could go back to your apartment, wrap yourself in a blanket, and wallow in your feelings. 

You thought you’d be better at ignoring the green-eyed monster that was currently threatening to ruin what was supposed to be a happy occasion. 

You’d dutifully sat through dress fittings, gave thoughtful opinions on flower arrangements and centerpieces and invitations, and meticulously planned the bridal shower and bachelorette party. It was your job as the maid of honor to make sure that everything went off without a hitch on your best friend’s special day. 

You were happy for her- so happy for her. You’d never seen her like this, and you knew that she and Greg were going to have the perfect lives together. A fairytale wedding, a beautiful home, a loving family with two-point-five kids and a golden retriever in the backyard. A cliche to be sure, but you couldn’t deny the pang of jealousy that Melissa had found her perfect match while you were still decidedly and hopelessly single. You buried those feelings down deep, enduring it all with a smile. 

It would happen for you eventually. 

Probably. 

Well, you could hope, right?

When you finally made your way inside, Melissa had already worked herself into a panic. The best man, Marcus, was nowhere to be found.

Mellissa had told you a little about Greg’s best man. You knew that he worked for the FBI, that he and Greg had been in a band together in his younger days, and that he was flying in from Washington D.C. for the wedding. His flight was supposed to arrive an hour ago, and then he would take a cab from the airport to the venue. 

Clearly, that plan had derailed at some point. 

“Greg, we only have the rehearsal space for another twenty minutes-” Melissa reminded him impatiently. 

“He’ll be here, Mel. I swear, the one time he’s late for anything…” Greg sighed, shaking his head. He pulled his phone from his pocket, presumably dialing the best man’s number again before holding the phone to his ear. The silence seemed to drag on forever as Mellissa glared daggers at her husband-to-be. “Damn it, Marcus, turn your phone on...” 

You tried to deescalate the situation, placing a calming hand on Melissa’s shoulder and quietly reminding her to breathe. With patience wearing thin all around, the last thing you needed was for Bridezilla to make an appearance today. 

“Why don’t we just run through the ceremony without him, and he can follow my lead tomorrow. All he really has to do is stand there and hand you the rings, right? Does that sound okay?” You looked back and forth between the couple hopefully, and they nodded in agreement.

“Good. Happy thoughts, you two. It’s going to be the most magical day of your lives, I promise.” 

You’d woken the next morning with a tension headache from hell, and it had stuck with you all morning. As calm as you’d made yourself out to be earlier, the case of the missing groomsman was still bothering you. 

As you and the other bridesmaids got into your places for the ceremony, you ran through your mental checklist. As long as Greg’s friend was standing up there at the altar when those doors opened, you had everything under control. You’d even managed to wrangle the flower girl, Greg’s rambunctious niece, into a somewhat poised state, promising her an extra piece of cake later if she would just keep it together during the ceremony and pictures.

On the other side of the doors, you heard the music start, and one by one, the bridesmaids shuffled through the doors. When it was finally your turn, you took a deep breath, smoothing your hair to the best of your ability with your bouquet-free hand and hoped for the best as you walked through the doorway. Three thoughts always stuck in your mind during these kinds of things: 

One, you really, really hoped that you wouldn’t trip on the hem of the dress and bust ass in front of all of these people, effectively ruining the ceremony and humiliating yourself in the process. 

Two, Am I taking too long? I’m taking too long. Oh fuck, all of these people are staring at me wondering why I won’t hurry up, aren’t they? This isn’t my wedding, I should just-

Three, you wonder what it might be like if it was. For a split second, your dress is white, your heart is fluttering, and the man of your dreams is waiting for you at the end of the aisle. 

Your eyes go there without really meaning to. Greg is there, of course, sweating bullets. Idly, you wonder if the photographer can fix that in editing. God, you hope so. Poor Melissa. 

Then your gaze moves slightly to the right, and the fluttering in your chest returns. 

Whatever lingering annoyance you had with the best man and his lack of punctuality was out the window now, his warm brown eyes melting your resolve in an instant. He smiled, showing off the dimples in his cheeks and you felt yourself returning it before your brain had time to interfere. Reaching the altar and planting yourself in your designated space, your nervousness has morphed into something you can’t quite identify, but don’t have much time to linger on. The flower girl is already making her way down the aisle, distributing the petals in the way you hand practiced repeatedly last night, much to your relief, and your heart is still racing long after Melissa walks through the doors. 

Time always passes strangely during these types of things. The ceremony begins after you almost miss your cue to take the bouquet from her, and she shoots you a confused look over when it passes into your hands. As the officiant drones on and on about the bigger meaning of what is taking place here today, you find your arms aching as you try to hold both bouquets still. You wonder if you would be sore later from holding your arms this way for so long, and silently hope that everyone remembers not to lock their knees as you all try to remain frozen in place for the better part of an hour. 

Finally, the officiant arrives at the portion of the ceremony you’d all been waiting for, the vows. The words of love and commitment that made your insides all warm and fuzzy. The best part of any wedding, hands down. A guaranteed tear-jerker, and, more importantly, the signal that all of this would soon be over. 

“I, Greg, take you, Melissa, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, 'til death do us part.”

Oh, what you would give to have that... The thought brought a lump to your throat, the tears in your eyes somewhere between happy and sad. Longing. That was the word for it. You forced yourself to look away from the scene, giving yourself a moment of reprieve from your own insecurities. 

You didn’t mean to make eye contact with Marcus at that moment, but you found him looking back at you. The space between his eyebrows creased slightly as he noticed the pain in your eyes. 

Receptions always seemed to drag, especially when you were unlucky enough not to check the plus-one box on the invitation. The bridal party had gathered themselves at one long table for dinner, but the cake had been cut well over an hour ago and all that was left was smalltalk and dancing. Or, in your case, people-watching. 

You sighed, your chin resting on your hand as you watched the couple sway to the music. They looked like they were lost in their own little world, their foreheads touching as they spoke in hushed whispers that no one could hear but them. You couldn’t remember the last time that someone had looked at you like that. Actually, you weren’t sure that anyone had ever looked at you like that. 

“They seem happy, huh?” A voice said from beside you. You hadn’t noticed the chair being pulled out or the tall, tuxedo-clad body dropping into it, but you looked over your shoulder to find Marcus beside you. You hadn’t dared to speak a word after the ceremony or during photos, but you had spent a good portion of the evening mesmerized by the soothing sounds of his voice as he gave the speech for his toast. It was low and raspy and warm, like whiskey and honey, and it gave you goosebumps now that it was finally being directed towards you. 

“I would hope so,” You agreed quietly. “They did just get married two hours ago.” 

“Do you want to dance?” He asked, giving you an inviting, hopeful smile and holding his hand out to you. “No pressure, but I wouldn’t really be fulfilling my best man duties if I didn’t ask the maid of honor to dance.” You nodded gratefully, taking his hand and allowing him to help you up and lead you out towards the dance floor.

“Can I ask you something?” He wondered, his voice quiet at the pair of you swayed to the music. Marcus had, it seemed, become your unofficial dance partner for the evening. He danced like a dork during the fast songs, but the slow songs were where he really shined. 

“Go ahead,” You nodded. 

“Earlier you seemed kind of… down. Anything you want to talk about?”

“Was it that obvious?” You cringed. You hoped that Melissa and Greg hadn’t picked up on your moodiness. 

“I’m pretty good at reading people. Comes with the job, you know? Are you not a big fan of weddings?”

“No, I love weddings,” You shook your head. “Sometimes it just feels like… You know that phrase, ‘always the bridesmaid, never the bride’? Well, that’s the unofficial title of my autobiography.” 

A soft snort escaped his nose, and you narrowed your eyes at him playfully. 

“Excuse me, are you laughing at my misfortune?”

He raised his hands in surrender, temporarily pausing your dancing, and you immediately felt the absence of the warmth from your waist and hand. “Not at all. I’m sort of in the same boat, actually.” 

He took your hand once more, raising it above your head and spinning you before the pair of you returned to your swaying.

“The thing is, I’m happy for Melissa, I really am, but she’s never even wanted to get married. Not until she met Greg. But here she is, getting her fairytale wedding, while I couldn’t even find a date for tonight. I’ve always liked the idea of being married. The whole madly in love, growing old together, building a life with someone kind of thing. I know it’s stupid, but I really, really want it, and sometimes it feels like my life is always just going to be… this,” You explained, gesturing arbitrarily small corner of dance floor the two of you had cut out for yourselves. “Standing on the sidelines, watching everyone else find their soulmate and wondering what the hell is wrong with me.” 

“I know the feeling. I once watched Greg give himself a concussion trying to smash a beer can on his head,” Marcus revealed. “Not exactly a catch, but I guess there’s someone out there for everyone.” 

You laughed at that, the tension easing itself out of your shoulders. “A concussion?”

“I drove him to the hospital and everything,” He grinned, the corners of his eyes crinkling with the sound of your soft giggles. He gave your waist an encouraging squeeze, relieved that the sadness in your eyes had finally disappeared. 

“Alright, so we’ve discussed my deepest, darkest secret. Isn’t it your turn to make an embarrassing confession?” You asked teasingly. You were having more fun than you’d expected to have this evening; Marcus’ presence seemed to eclipse everything around you. 

He hummed thoughtfully, nodding. “Does it have to be embarrassing?”

“Maybe not embarrassing, but it can’t be boring,” You decided, your curiosity piqued. 

“Okay,” He agreed. “I told Greg that I was working a case and that’s why I had to catch a red-eye this morning instead of getting in last night.” 

“Mmm, I’ve gotta say. That is a bit boring,”

“Yeah? Well, it was a lie.”

“Oh? You’ve caught my interest. And what is your excuse for the stress-induced headache your tardiness caused me this morning?”

“I almost decided not to show up at all,” He admitted. “Made it all the way to the airport before I turned around and went home. Turned off my phone, completely unpacked… My fiancé left me for another man about a year ago, and I guess I still have some wedding-related issues of my own to work through. But Greg is one of my best friends, so… here I am.” 

“Oh, I’m…” You fumbled, not quite prepared for the level of honesty that he’d given you in his answer. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know-” 

“No, no,” He shook his head. “It’s okay. I just meant that… I get it. It’s like you said. A life, a home, a family… That’s everything I’ve ever wanted. I thought I did everything right and that clearly wasn’t enough, so I started thinking that maybe there was something wrong with me. But I think the truth is that she just wasn’t the right person.”

“Wow, Marcus… I know there’s an open bar, but I feel like I should buy you a drink after that. That’s horrible…” 

He chuckled, shrugging. “I was pretty relieved when I saw I wasn’t the only one here counting down the hours until I could leave and go home.” 

“So… do you still think the right person is out there, then?” You asked quietly. 

“Oh, definitely,” Marcus said confidently, squeezing the hand that was still clasped in his. His eyes were molten as they looked into yours with an earnestness that set your heart racing.  “Maybe they’re just running a little late.” 

Melissa glanced over her shoulder to look at the maid of honor and best man, a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips as she turned back to her new husband. 

“You don’t have your wallet on you, do you?” She asked, the I-told-you-so obvious in her tone. 

“You don’t win the bet unless he asks her out,” Greg reminded her. 

“Greg, get real. You see the way they’re looking at each other. I want my twenty bucks, babe.” 

Greg glanced over at his friend, instantly recognizing Marcus’ lovestruck expression. He had to hand it to Melissa, she’s one of a hell of a matchmaker. 

“Double or nothing,” He countered. “I’m guessing…. A wedding within the next… Two years?” 

Melissa scoffed. “Bring it on. I’ll rig the bouquet toss and we’ll have that invitation taped to the fridge within the year.”

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[tomtenadia]

A Little Braver  - Chapter 12

Here we go. As promised i did not keep you waiting too long and chapter 12 has finally landed by gentle concession of Whitethorn airlines. 

Be ready for angst, fluff and our Rowan in full fuss mode. I swear the man invented fussing. Also, our Iceman this time loses it. Even Fenrys is shocked by how much. 

EDIt: forgot to say ATC is Air Traffic Control.

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Rowan had finished his class and went back to his office. He had given those spoiled brats a very intense training and he had taught them how a real pilot flew and was quite satisfied of his level of evilness. 

He sat at his desk, grabbed his phone and noticed a text from Aelin and a smile tugged at his lips.

Not even two hours back. Crash at the airport. I guess those civilian pilots are as bad as you claim.

He laughed to start with but then terror took him. He switched on the computer and tried to find some news about Orynth. He found a newspaper and read the breaking news. There was a video taken by probably some reporters on an helicopter and he almost fell sick at the images. The article mentioned two aircrafts but he could see only one. He had a bad feeling of what could have happened. The crew zoomed in and he spotted Aelin’s engines but he could not tell apart who was on the ground. Then he saw it. The collapse. A cloud of dust and fire lifted in the sky and he hoped that none of the guys were inside.

His heart raced and pure undiluted terror as he never felt, spread through him.

Once inside Aedion had to navigate through debris and remains of the collapsed structure. The dust raised by the collapse had somehow reduced the fire and he could see around him. 

“Aelin,” he called out. He walked and walked and he knew he was getting further and further from the entrance.

“Aelin… answer me, damn it.” He shouted over the silence. A few electric cables flew over him and he ducked just in time to avoid electrocution.

Then he heard it. Her PASS alarm. The one that activated when it did not sense motion for a certain amount of time. He hated that sound because it meant that one of them was in danger.

Eventually he saw her body and flames too close for comfort.

“Chief, lieutenant. I have her. Have EMTs on standby.” he shouted over the radio.

“Lieutenant, Chief, we have two water lines coming in now.”

He ran to her and fell to his knees working to clear the debris from on top of her and once free he rolled her over and noticed she was not breathing and not wearing her mask which lay abandoned at her side. His finger went to her neck and found a pulse albeit weak “She is not breathing, I need the medical team inside. Now.” He shouted over the radio with panic thick in his voice.

He gave her a few rescue breaths “please… please… don’t do this to me. Please, Aelin.”

He put his mask on her face, trying to pass some oxygen to her.

Voices broke the silence but he was too busy helping Aelin to bother to look who it was. 

In a moment the rest of the team had followed inside and they were putting off the remaining fire around them, allowing the medical team to do their jobs safely.

Lysandra was on her knees in an instant. Elide was at his side and Dorian was towering over them he was the one who had taken the two women inside.

“She is not breathing and her pulse is weak.” Said Aedion, his voice cracking “Help her, please.”

Lysandra did some checks with experienced efficiency.

“I need to intubate her, Aedion remove the mask when I tell you so.”

Lysandra got ready with all her gear “now.”

With the skills of someone who had done it a million times she intubated Aelin very quickly and Elide started to press the balloon to send air in her lungs and oxygen to her body. Lysandra did a quick check and noticed her right arm bore some bad burn marks. She wrapped the wound as best as she could with temporary bandages.

“Dorian, pass me the backboard.”

Within minutes Aelin was loaded on the board and carried outside. The remaining team stopped, staring at their captain unconscious.

Rowan was following the livestream of the accident when he noticed Dorian’s holding a board with someone on and on the other side a tall blonde man: Aedion. He looked a bit better and his heart sank. His eyes recognised the body on the gurney. Her blonde hair, her long braid.

All of a sudden he forgot how to breath. He just stood there watching as the gurney that carried her was lifted into the ambulance. Aedion jumped in as well and he saw Lysandra and Elide climb in the ambulance and drive away with crazy speed and sirens wailing.

He stood slowly, as in a daze, grabbed his stuff and left. He went home, packed all his belongings and drove back to the base. As quickly as possible he filed a flight plan and not long after he was in the air. He would explain everything to the school commandant but he had to go. He had to be with her.

The flight back to Orynth seemed to last forever. He swore loudly when on approach to Orynth he was told that the airspace above the city was closed. He was furious, the airbase was so far away from the airport that it was stupid.

“Orynth main, Typhoon FF9762, I am requesting clearance for landing at the airbase, not at your stupid airport. So you let me land this plane or when I ran low on fuel I will land in the middle of the motorway and then you can deal with that.”

A moment later he got clearance for landing and when his landing gear touched down on the runaway he quickly taxied inside the hangar.

When he opened the canopy, Lorcan was there waiting for him “don’t. I don’t fucking care about the school or anything else right now.” He grabbed his bag and quickly told his engineer to perform his post flight checks. It was totally against the rules but he had no time to lose.

“Elide texted me. They took her to Orynth general. It was the closest one. She says it’s bad.”

Rowan ran out of the hangar and to his car not even bothering to change out of his jump suit, threw his stuff in the back seat and drove like a madman to the hospital. Once inside the A&E he spotted some familiar faces. Her squad was all there, waiting for an update. Rowan stopped. Then his gaze crossed Aedion’s. The man walked to him and Rowan was sure he had been crying.

“How is she? Where is she?” His voice was shaky.

“We don’t know. They took her in urgently. When I found her, she was not breathing and her oxygen tank was dead. She was unconscious when we brought her in, and with some horrible burns on her right arm.”

Rowan sat down heavily on a chair, his hands shaking visibly. They had just found each other. He could not lose her. 

“I thought you were in Doranelle.” Aedion’s voice was flat and his eyes fixed on the doors where they had taken Aelin.

“Aelin sent me a text saying you guys had a call at the airport.” His hand ran nervously through his short hair “then I checked the news and there was a livestream of the accident. And I saw it. All. And when I saw you and Dorian carrying her out… I left everything and flew here with my jet. Bloody ATC almost prevented me from landing.”

“This is always the worst part.” Said Aedion sitting beside Rowan “the waiting.”

The whole group remained in silence and Rowan did the same until a doctor went to them and Aedion stood, followed by Dorian.

“I have an update on the captain. Her condition is critical. She suffered serious internal injuries from the collapse and they are being treated now. Her right arm has some severe burns and again they are now being treated to avoid infection. Her oxygen levels are still below the normal parameters. During surgery she has coded twice, but we got her back. As soon as the team is done with her we will move her to the ICU. We need to keep her under strict control. She could still develop acute respiratory syndrome. She will stay intubated and heavily sedated.” Then the doctor turned to Aedion “I will let you know when you can see her.” And with that he walked away.

“Everyone, return to the station. We are still on duty.” Aedion ordered his men. They gave him a hug and asked to keep them posted. He knew that it had been very hard for them to obey him. They all wanted to be there for her but slowly they filed out leaving him alone with Rowan.

Dorian patted his shoulder “I will stay with them at the station.” And he left with the rest of the squad. 

“The scene at the airport seemed terrifying.”

“It was,” said Aedion in a flat tone “the small plane got reduced to smithereens. How the fuck that happened?”

Rowan sighed, he had an idea “possibly a mistake by ATC. They probably directed the smaller aircraft on the wrong runaway and the big plane landed and just crashed on it, then lost control, probably lost its landing gear and just slammed into the hangar bay.”

“How do you know?”

“Watching the live of the news. You could see that the bigger aircraft was on a landing trajectory from its heading. Also, it was on the runaway that Orynth airport uses for landing. The smaller craft was totally in the wrong runaway.”

“Well, it was a mess.”

“Did you manage to save anyone?”

Aedion nodded “all the people in the big aircraft. As soon as we arrived Aelin told us to keep an eye on the wings for fuel. The aircraft exploded but not before we managed to evacuate the passengers. Manon and Asterin saved two of the civilians by hiding in the cockpit.” He sighed “Aelin saved four.”

Rowan chuckled “she took two of my books one on flight theory and the one on airplanes in general.”

“That is why she knew about fuel being in the wings.”

Rowan nodded with pride “Aelin and I… we are working on things. On us. I…” he lowered his head “I care about her… a lot.”

Aedion leaned back on the chair and removed his fire jacket, remaining in his t-shirt “she can be difficult and believe me there is no one but me who knows just how much. I grew up with her. She is my cousin after all, but I always loved her like a sister. But Aelin has the bad habit of saying what she thinks and we had so many fights because of that. She can be a brat, but together with Lys they are the two most important women in my life.”

Rowan smiled briefly at Aedion’s description of Aelin. It was perfect.

“I proposed to Lys.” Confessed the blonde man.

Rowan slapped him hard on the shoulder “that is an incredible news. Congratulation, man.”

“I thought it was time. Lys and I have been together for three years and I love her.”

Rowan was about to add something when they saw the doctor approach them.

“Aedion, you can see her now.” The man stood and gestured to Rowan to follow him.

“Family only.” Said the doctor when he noticed Rowan stand.

“He is coming as well, Sorscha. And if anyone has any problems, they can take it up with me.”

The woman lifted her hands in yielding gesture “She is on the sixth floor in the ICU, room 46.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you all this friendly with doctors?”

“We visit hospitals a lot.” He added sadly.

Aedion walked to the stairs and Rowan chuckled “not you too…”

“What?”

“What’s with you guys and lifts?”

Aedion laughed “you posh boy can take the metal trap. I am walking.”

Rowan huffed and followed Aedion up the stairs. He was not letting an army guy beat him. He had pride.

Rowan pushed to keep up with Aedion and by the time they reached the sixth floor his legs were killing him, the man in front of him had kept a brutal pace, probably on purpose.

In silence they reached the room and Rowan pulled aside “you go in first, you are family.”

Aedion nodded and Rowan sat down on the chairs outside the room. Thing was… he needed time. He was scared of what he would see on the other side of the door. He was terrified.  She was the one with the scary job. He was the one who knew how to fly away from danger and avoid being shot out of the sky. She, on the other hand, she would willingly face a fire to save people. Getting involved with her meant going through the hell he was living now. He fought it for as long as he could. But somehow along the way he had fallen for her pretty badly. He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wall.

Much later on he felt a hand on his shoulder “you can go in now.”

Rowan turned his head to the door and his heart sank. Then he stood and mustered all the courage he had to open the door and step in.

The room was silent apart from the steady beeping sounds of the machines monitoring her heartbeat and the hush sound of the ventilator pumping air in her lungs. He froze and closed the door behind him. He stared at her immobile body. With all the cables and tubes and machinery, she seemed so small in the hospital bed.

He finally took a step closer and sat down on the chair beside her.

“Hi,” his voice broken as he felt tears streak down his cheek. Gently he brushed the tip of the fingers on her right hand and noticed the heavy bandaging on the whole arm.

“You scared the shit out of me.” He whispered, his head leaning on the bed near her hand “A part of me wants to bolt because I am not sure I can take it. But the other side tells me not to. Tells me that the recklessness, you fierceness and bravery are why I am so damn crazy about you.” He stood and paced back and forth “the idea of losing you paralyses me with fear.” He took a step backward with fear gripping his heart “I can’t do this. I am so sorry. I just can’t.”

He ran out of the door but Aedion blocked him “that was quick.”

“I can’t…”

Aedion’s face morphed into pure rage and grabbed Rowan’s jump suit by the collar “oh yes you can. I told you before, posh boy. You break her heart and I break you.”

Rowan collapsed exhausted on the chair and took his head in his hands “I can’t… I can’t go through that hell a second time.”

“What to you mean?” Asked the blonde man.

Rowan looked up and met Aedion’s eyes. So much like Aelin’s. They could have easily been twins.

“The pain…” he paused “I can’t deal with that pain again. Losing Aelin would break me definitely. And at the same time I can’t leave her for the same reason. I need her in my life. She might be infuriating but at the same time I am mad about her.”

“Then you have your answer.” Said Aedion flatly.

Rowan stood and Aedion placed his body in front of him.

“I am not bolting. I need to go home, shower, clear my head and I will be back.”

“You bolt, and I will find you.”

Rowan raised his hands and walked away in silence.

He got home, dumped his bag near the bed and shed his clothes on his way to the bathroom. Opened the water and dove under the jet, the water hot to the point of being painful. He stood there. Eyes closed and head bowed. Realising that the water would not be able to wash away the shame of him almost walking out on her like a coward. Again. He was not as brave as he thought. When it came to his feelings he was a disaster. But there was deep terror in him, to a level that he never experienced not even with a missile trained on him. He had almost lost her and at the thought he struggled to breath for a moment. He leaned against the wall and allowed the tears to flow, he allowed himself to cry and let his fears go for a moment. He could not believe that in a matter of few months she had become so important that the thought of losing her would break him this much. He breathed deeply and tried to regain some focus.

Quickly, he washed himself and then walked out with a towel around his waist and padded to the bed to grab his phone. He called the commandant of the school in Doranelle and explained him what happened, why he had to leave all of a sudden and most of all why he was not going back. The man was not happy and he was going to catch hell from Lorcan as well but he did not care. He had given up too much of his life to the force. Now it was his turn to be selfish and put his life before duty.

As expected Lorcan called him not long after and he was now on his way to see his CO in nothing but jeans, a polo shirt and a black leather jacket and a pair of sunglasses. If he had to piss off Lorcan better do it properly.

He knocked once in front of his door and the grumpy tone of the man of the other side told him to enter. He saluted lazily and definitely did not miss Lorcan’s stare of disapproval at him appearing in front of his CO in civilian clothes.

“You seem to have misplaced your uniform.”

“No sir, definitely at home in my wardrobe.”

Lorcan growled his disapproval “I got an interesting call from the commandant of the school in Doranelle. He says that you resigned your post. That you have no intention of going back.”

“That is correct,” and Rowan sat down although Lorcan did not give him permission to do so.

Lorcan threw a folder on his desk “and I got a complaint from ATC saying that you breached airspace lockdown last night and threatened to land on a motorway if they didn’t let you land.”

“That was bullshit on their part. The airbase is on the opposite side of the city compared to the airport. There was no risk for me to get anywhere close to the airport. They were aware of my flight plan and my heading. It was total bullshit.”

“Well, now I have to deal with an irate traffic control supervisor and an outraged commandant at a school with which we have been cooperating for years.”

Rowan shrugged in challenge “not my problem.”

“No Whitethorn, you are the fucking problem.”

“Then suspend me, like I give a fuck.” Rowan leaned back in the chair and stared outside ignoring Lorcan’s tantrum.

“You broke aviation rules with that stunt of yours last night and before that you put your personal life before duty.”

Rowan bolted on his feet “I am so fucking tired of sacrificing my life for duty. I did it so much that when my wife died I was on the other side of the continent and I was given a couple of days of leave to go to her funeral and then was ordered to haul ass back to my post as if nothing happened and like the good obedient soldier I was, I even thanked you all for giving me two days to mourn.” He shouted, not caring if he was being disrespectful to a superior “I gave the airforce twelve years of my life, no questions asked. And all of a sudden I am not sure if I want to keep doing it.”

“Is she really worth it? Is that woman really worth giving up on your career?”

Rowan moved dangerously close and leaned on the desk with his hands “she is worth more that you cold-hearted bastard can ever imagine.”

Lorcan stood “get your arse out of my office, captain Whitethorn. You are suspended for a month.”

“Good.” Said Rowan and walked out slamming the door not bothering saluting Lorcan or add anything.

On his way out he met his squadron “what are you doing back in Orynth?” Asked Gavriel surprised.

“Getting my arse suspended for a month apparently.”

“What the fuck?” Fenrys stared at him in disbelief. That was something that he would do. He could not believe that Lorcan had just suspended Rowan. The man was a stickler for protocol and rules to a fault.

“Broke aviation rules last night by landing during an airspace lockdown. Ticked off ATC big time. And before that I left my post in Doranelle without telling anything to anyone.”

“Who are you and what have you done with Iceman?” Asked Connall.

“Aelin.” Was his answer “she was at the disaster at the airport last night. She is in bad condition. I had to come back.” He sighed “then Lorcan gave me a dressing down for putting a woman before duty and I might have pissed him off to historical levels. I would stay clear of him today.”

“And he suspended you.”

“Yes,” confirmed Rowan and the rest of the team almost noticed relief in his eyes.

“But you are coming back, right?” Rowan noticed sadness in Gavriel’s eyes. The two had been friends for a long time. And although he could not care less about Lorcan, he felt as if he was betraying his team mates.

“I don’t know… I might.” He said not convinced “A month away might do me well. I am not sure right now.”

“How’s Aelin?” Vaughan had the guts to ask the question no one could voice.

Rowan’s hands fisted “she is in bad shape. Intubated and sedated. When Aedion found her she was not breathing. She has bad burn on her right arm and plenty of other injuries. She was buried under the collapse of the hangar after she tried to save some people trapped inside.”

“Damn, the woman is badass.” Fenrys patted Rowan’s shoulder “when you go to the hospital, tell her that we are rooting for her too.”

He covered the young man’s hand with his “will do.” Then he straightened “now I better go, before Lorcan comes through and punishes all of you just for speaking with me.”

“Keep in touch, please,” added Gavriel.

Rowan winked and left and once he finally stepped outside of the perimeter of the airbase his soul felt lighter.

He reached the hospital not long after and found her room empty, her team was probably at work and he was glad he could have some time with her.

“Hi menace,” Rowan sat down and brushed a kiss on her forehead “are you enjoying your nap?” His finger gently flicked her nose and he sat back down “I got suspended for a month… I guess I broke a few rules to be with you.” His finger brushed hers emerging from the heavy bandage “and I epically ticked off a few people, but it was so worth it.” He squeezed her fingers “you are totally worth it.” He then stood and started walking around the room making adjustments. He fixed the blinds so there was some sun in the room, he tucked her properly in bed, almost afraid she could be cold. He fixed the flowers on her nightstand and made sure they had water. And finally he sat down on her bed and slowly undid her braid, brushed her hair and braided it again.

“I am sorry I left this morning, I… was overwhelmed.” He sat back down on the chair “I am not leaving. Not unless you want me to.” He grabbed her hand again but then he heard the door open and he sat straight.

“Hi,” said Lysandra and Elide in unison.

“We just dropped off some patients and we came in to see her.”

Rowan stood and with his hand he offered his spot to the two women.

“I thought you were away.” Said Lysandra, walking close to her friend and depositing a gentle kiss on her forehead.

“I was, and then I saw the disaster and I flew back and got myself suspended for it, but I don’t care.”

Lysandra was about to comment but he stopped her “I had to be here for her. I have no regrets.” His head then turned to Elide “you might want to stay clear of Lorcan for a few days. I ticked him off big time and the man might be a bit furious at the time.”

“Oh, okay,” the woman said timidly.

“I am sure that one of your smile will fix the mood of that poor old bastard.” Lysandra’s comment made him laugh.

“She just went in…” Lysandra’s voice was now a whisper and she sniffled turning her back from the other two occupants “she always does this type of crazy thing. Dorian was furious.”

A memory appeared in Rowan’s mind and his words were out before he could stop them “are they involved?”

He heard the woman chuckle “No. Dorian is in love with her and that is no secret. He was her captain when she was at west. But she always saw him as nothing but a friend. Also he is the chief and she a captain, so nothing can happen. They are really good friends, but no, nothing ever happened.”

A selfish part of him relaxed.

Lysandra’s radio went off and she groaned “come on Elide, back to work.”

Rowan waved them goodbye and went back to his chair.

***

Ten days had passed and the season had slowly turned and spring was now in full force.

Rowan was standing at the hospital window, looking outside towards the Staghorn mountains. The tops had officially lost their snow. He inhaled the fresh air and closed the window again. That room had become his new home in the past ten days. He had left only to go home and get changed and washed, but apart from that he had kept a tight vigil on her. They guys at the station had to work and he had been more than happy to keep her company. He was out of a job for the time being, anyway. He turned around and walked to the bed. Nothing had changed. She was still intubated and still unconscious. The doctor had raised concerns with regards to the damage her lungs had suffered and a neurologist had confirmed that her responses were within normal parameters and that they were expecting her to wake up soon. In the last few days they had noticed an increased cerebral activity which according to the doctors was a good sign. He sat down again beside her and went back to the book he had been reading to her. As a joke between the two of them he had started reading flight manuals, or any of any of his books about flying. He had read her other books as well and all the possible articles about their amazing rescue at the airport. Rowan had spent so much time at the hospital that all the nurses knew him and helped him every time he had a request for them to make her more comfortable. He had brought more comfortable pillows, had decorated the wall of her room with all the cards she got from the different fire stations and from west, together with the ones of the four people she save in the hangar. With his mobile he had played classical music for her and a few times he had played an opera as well and joked that they finally got that date after all. His past ten days had been dedicated to nothing else but her. He was humming away a tune from the last opera he had played, while tucking her bed sheets properly when he brushed her hand and felt it move. It was a subtle movement but he felt it. Rowan kept humming and this time the motion was much clearer.

“Aelin…” her middle finger lifted by a fraction and Rowan laughed.

“Are you giving me the middle finger even when you sleep? You are such a brat.” He leaned forward and kissed her forehead “Can you hear me?” He whispered near her ear.

His gaze returned to her hand and this time he noticed her clearly trying to bend her fingers.

Rowan sat down beside her and stroked her cheek once more “Aelin… it’s me.”

A tiny flutter of her eyelashes had his heart race madly in his chest. And when her blue eyes finally set on him he gave her a big smile “it was abut time, there was no need to get into a fire and almost get yourself killed if you needed a nap.”

Aelin groaned and he noticed the middle finger in her left hand rise sightly. Rowan roared in laughter. Then she lifted the same hand and went for the tube in her mouth.

“Hold on, you are still intubated. Let me go and call the doctor.” He disappeared outside of the room and came back with her doctor a moment later. He extubated her and the procedure looked very unpleasant. Aelin coughed heavily but the doctor reassured him it was normal and then left the two alone.

Rowan grabbed a glass of water on the nightstand and helped her. He lifted her a bit and pressed the glass against her lips “drink a little.”

She drank eagerly and then collapsed back on the pillow exhausted. Rowan sat at her left side and brushed her head gently with his hand “are you in pain?”

With a small movement she shook her head. Rowan looked at the bags with liquids hanging behind her and noticed they still had plenty of stuff in them. She was hooked on painkillers and antibiotics and had a feeding tube down her nose.

“You… here.” She managed with difficulty. Although she was breathing on her own the doctor had warned him that some issues might take longer to heal. The smoke and the fuel fumes had battered her lungs pretty badly and that it was why after extubation, the doctor had placed small oxygen tubes in her nose.

“That I am.” he took her hand in his “after your text complaining about civilian pilots I had a look at the news and they were showing the inferno at the airport.” He stopped, he would never forget that horrible scene “when I saw Dorian and Aedion carrying you out I realised I could not stay there any longer. Long story short, I broke a few rules, pissed off a few people and got suspended, but I am where I am meant to be.”

“Suspended?”

Rowan nodded solemnly “Turns out that even if he has a girlfriend, Lorcan is still a cold-hearted bastard. I have no regrets.”

Aelin sighed and her breath came out ragged “squad.”

“They are all fine and they miss you. Aedion has been playing captain and he hates it and Dorian has been helping a lot as well. They are on shift now but they came and visit a lot.”

She was about to say something else but a brutal cough hit her and she was left exhausted and wheezing and he pulled her to him. It destroyed him seeing her like that.

He shifted the pillows behind her and allowed Aelin to be in a semi sit position, hoping that would make breathing much easier than lying down. He sat beside her, pulled an arm around her shoulder and dragged her closer to him “Aedion proposed to Lys.”

“Know.”

“There is no pleasing you, young lady. I assume Lys has told you.”

Aelin smiled at him and nodded.

His phone buzzed in his pocket and when he removed it he realised it was Lorcan. The man had tried to phone him all morning but he had refused every single call.

Rowan sighed heavily and Aelin looked up at him with a worried expression.

“I almost resigned.” His forehead touching hers “then I didn’t because of duty and all that shit. When they carried you out I lost it. Nothing else mattered but being here for you. Screw rules and regulations.”

She turned her head and deposited a kiss on his lips “thank you for being here.” She managed with great difficulty.

***

With spring in full swing, Orynth was covered in colours from flowers all around the city. The air smelled sweet and warm.

Aelin inhaled the fresh air and after almost a month in the hospital she felt alive again. Rowan lifted her in his arms and slowly carried her to her house. Her legs were still shaky and she was still weak. Her recovery was taking longer than expected. The doctors had put her through a respiratory therapy, but at times she still felt short of breath. Rowan dropped her off on the sofa and went to get their stuff. He had made a deal with her and he would stay with her until she was better. He still had four days before his suspension was over. He had been at her side since she woke up and the nurses had told her that even when she was still unconscious, Rowan had barely left her side.

Her mind went back to when he told her he could be very caring for the people he loved and he had showed her that over and over again.

“Here we go.” He dumped all the bags in the living room and then went to the bedroom and Aelin had a feeling he was preparing so that it was up to his standards.

“The bed is ready, your highness.”

He fussed. He fussed a lot but she realised she had started to love that side of him.

“Does it meet your standards, captain?”

He grinned “I don’t think is grandiose enough.”

“I will make sure I’ll upgrade my living standards to accommodate a posh boy like yourself. I doubt an army guy will fuss. Aedion never did.”

“They have no standards to begin with.”

Aelin threw a pillow at him but Rowan ducked in time and an instant later she was in the air and he dumped her on the bed with little ceremony.

He leaned forward and kissed her “now get changed,” he ordered and threw her her bed clothes.

“Yes, sir. At your orders sir,” she mocked him with a funny salute.

He shook his head “you civilians really have no respect for rank.”

She stood on her knees in bed and shed the top she was wearing and removed her bra as well, remaining bare.

He was busy emptying her bag that when he turned and saw her semi naked he almost tripped on the dropped top.

“My girls here feel lonely,” she palmed her breasts in a very sensual way

Rowan ignored her and passed her the pyjama top “It seems like you are doing a good job at keeping them busy.”

She slapped him with her t-shirt and got dressed again “I’d better get covered again, I don’t want to traumatise you.” She was about to add something else but a fit of coughing stopped her. Rowan was at her side in a moment and held her, knowing that it would usually leave her spent. The fits had become less frequent as she improved but the occasional one was enough to leave her breathless and this one seemed to be one of those. She grabbed his arm and squeezed it “hurts,”Aelin complained fisting her hand in his chest while concentrating on breathing. Rowan grabbed the inhaler she had been prescribed to use during an attack. She did as she had been shown by the doctors and then melted in his arms.

“Lie down.”

“Open…” she started but the coughing resumed and her hand fisted in the bed sheets this time. She grabbed the inhaler and breathed its medicines again, feeling air rushing back in her lungs. Eventually she collapsed in bed exhausted “Window…” she finally finished.

Rowan moved with speed and did as told. Aelin loved the spring air and even at the hospital she often asked him for the window to be open. It made her feel as if she could breath.

He moved her to the centre of the bed and covered with the blankets “do you feel like eating something?”

“No,” she said weakly and he knew she was not well. In the short time he had known her, Aelin had never refused a meal “Sleep,” his hand brushed her hair and she was asleep within minutes.

Once he was positive she was asleep he walked out and gently closed the door and went to the kitchen to make a phone call. Lorcan had been pestering him almost every day but Rowan had ignored him.

“The dutiful captain finally decides to phone back, or should I call you nurse Whitethorn now?”

Rowan growled and almost closed the call again, then decided to count till ten and listen what he had to say.

“Say your piece Salvaterre and let me go.”

“I want you to march back through these doors in four days.”

Rowan pinched the bridge of his nose. How could he leave her alone?

“A please from time to time doesn’t hurt.”

“Whitethorn, I don’t give a fuck if your firefighter woman made you a well mannered soldier. I am your superior and if I give you an order I expect you to answer with yes, sir. Another peep from you and you get your arse written up for insubordination and you can kiss your career goodbye.”

Rowan had to punch something, but a loud noise could wake up Aelin and he wanted to avoid that. So he just hung up the phone without giving Lorcan a reply then he grabbed a pillow and screamed into it. Once he was done he grabbed his laptop from his bag and set in motion his next plan.

TAGS:

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[soranihimawari]

¿Y tu novio?

Translation: And your boyfriend?

A question your nosy aunties ask you during your cousin’s engagement party. It’s been four years since entering university and probably six months yet you still haven’t brought a date to any family functions. Perhaps befriending (often referred to as flirting) a friend of the groom is enough to silence those family members too engaged in your lack of romance.

Pairing/genre: Kuroo Tetsuro x yn (strangers -> lovers)

Word count: tba, ~2k + (probably, most definitely)

Part 2!

Outfit casual for reader 1 (bar scene)

Outfit casual for bride (boutique scene)

Outfit for reader (boutique scene) & brunch date

Formal red dress for reader// suits for the groomsmen// bridesmaid dresses

“You booked your flight?”

Despite the fourteen hour time difference, your mother had a knack for calling you right before you’d told her for the fifth time that week your flight had been booked.

“Yes, ma. I did. I’m supposed to land tomorrow at the international airport by three in the afternoon.”

“Ok. I’ll have your father pick you up since your aunt and father need help at the venue. See you soon love. Safe trip.”

“Thanks. Night ma.”

You slide the end call button and return your attention to your closed suitcase. The travel checklist you made for the two week visit back to your home city had everything ticked off until you reached the bottom item. Your best friend and roommate since college, Charlie (short for Charlotte), circled in pink high lighter “one smoking hot boyfriend.” An aggravated sigh escapes your lips when you recall the teasing remarks your aunts (and cousins) made when you received a FaceTime call from them roughly eight months prior.

The family reunion included you via FaceTime since it was then that your cousin, la princesa linda announced her engagement with her long term boyfriend. You were in the middle of taking a break editing a few pages for your final master’s project when the hollering of congratulations filled your empty kitchen. With your last cousin finally engaged, this meant that all the kids in your generation, sans you, had a significant other. Well shit you thought. Ever since then, you’ve managed to deflect the inevitable gossiping questions of “¿y tu novio?” at every holiday and birthday call (or text). Successfully, Charlie would add. However, with wedding preparations and planning underway, you’ve come to terms perhaps it’s ok to just go to this formal event stag. Besides, it’s not like anyone you know would have a spare fourteen hundred dollars for round trip airfare from LAX to Tokyo, Japan…

“If I get asked ‘el novio’ question one more time,” you muse the following morning at six a.m. “I’m going to just say he lives in Argentina plays for San Juan.”

You purse your lips and lean against the window of Charlie’s car on the way to the airport. She scoffs because she knows of your accidental run-in with the Olympian on campus.

“Still can’t believe Oikawa thought he was at the UC Irvine campus and he bought you coffee for your trouble,” she reminds you.

“When a handsome man offers you coffee, you might as well indulge. And how many times have I told you I went to high school with the guy?”

“Enough times to make me believe you weren’t a wallflower.”

At the next stoplight before entering the highway, Charlie sees you stick out your tongue at her. Once you had arrived at the airport and checked your luggage in, you promise to contact her when you land. As you turn around after waving off your friend, you begin to walk with your backpack, choosing to head over to your gate after picking up some light breakfast.

Meanwhile, back home in Sendai, your mother is attending the final formal fitting for your cousins wedding dress. Her niece looks stunning in the ivory satin ball gown as she asks both her mother and yours how she looks. The older women fuss over how gorgeous she is, reminding her the groom is going to have a hard time believing she is his forever.

“That volleyball captain is one hell of a catch,” your mother says playfully once your cousin sets off to change back into her casual wear.

“He really is,” her sister replies.

A few beats of silence of goes by before the two women bring their conversation toward your non-existing love life. Even if your mother doesn’t understand why you are still single, it puzzles the older generation overall. Your family means well, they really do, but sometimes it’s just plain annoying they don’t have anything else to talk about.

“Y’know how they are, studies come first,” your mom tuts after her sister brings up the fact you’re going to be seated with the ‘coworkers’ and extended family tables. Perhaps the seating arrangement can be amended (it does on the wedding day, but we’ll get that part soon).

Back at the airport, your flight is boarded and you begin the countdown of seeing the lights of Tokyo city by the window seat. You slip on a face mask while waiting for the flight attendants bring the first round of complimentary snacks…

In Osaka, your cousin’s fiancé is having his last practice as a taken bachelor. His teammates along with the coaches are congratulating him and telling him they’d see him either at the ceremony or the reception. After all, according to a blonde setter, it’s not everyday the handsome responsible captain Meian gets hitched married. A representative from the JVA also is present since there was business to be discussed about off season honeymoon time. The athletes toast with the last bit of energy drinks before hitting the showers all the while the groomsmen are planning the bachelor party at the local pub they frequented after celebrating their victories. It just so happens that getting married to a smokin’ hot angel (Miya Atsumu’s words, not Meian’s) was one of them.

Fast forward to the following day: in no particular order, this is how you find yourself meeting one sharp dressed man who slips you business card when you down the remaining whiskey sour at the Marley’s Pub. First, you father does pick you up at the airport despite a delay due to weather. Two, the drive to your parents’ house is a shorter compared to the obvious long flight. Three, your mother comes home from the boutique with her dress for the ceremony while you are knocked out on the couch thanks to jet lag. Four, around five in the afternoon, you wake up to a series of texts from your cousins including the bride (and one from Charlie which was just a thumbs up emoji after you land). Five, you wash up and get dressed in your best bar hopping outfit since tonight was the first of three nights of pre-wedding gaming, starting with the pub where the bride and groom first met.

Two hours in meeting up with the “bride tribe” and “bros before hoes” groups (as you named them in your head), you realize you’re technically on a whole other pantheon of reality because when the members of a profession V-League team start entering the bar, you’re sure you saved a country in the past life. Either that or the fact your cousin manages to pull the ‘god’s favorite’ card in your imagination makes this encounter all the more nerve wracking because how the hell are the men in California supposed to compare to these guys? They are equally charming and the fact that they are humorous as they flirt with the bridesmaids makes you thoroughly relax. Or as relaxed as you can be when you excuse yourself to order another whiskey sour. You’re just glad to breakaway for a little bit to stand in the background while watching what you missed by being in California unfold in front of you. One thing is for certain though, as your cousin and her fiancé stand together, you can feel the love (and by a certain extent, support) they have.

“Perhaps true love does exist,” you whisper back to your glass when you close out your tab. Raising a glass to your cousin, she winks at you as a reminder that she is family first, and a childhood friend second. Sure, the years after you both turned thirteen started to make you two drift apart, yet you know there is no one else you’d rather be cordial with compared to the rest of your extended family.

“They sure do look happy, don’t they?”

You down the rest of the drink after signing the bill. Turning around to lean against the bar top you notice the man in the buttoned vest and gray slacks. His black bed head hair is spiked in all directions while his navy tie and sneakers completes his look. You close your eyes, humming in agreement.

“Are you with the bride or the groom?” Is his follow up question.

“Bride,” your voice is a little raspy thanks to the alcohol you fishies consuming. “You?”

“Groom. I sort of introduced them after one of the MSBY games,” he answers. “See that guy over there?”

He points out the winged spider with the two toned hair. “That’s Bokkun. We’ve been friends for a long time, yet the bride over there,” he nods to your cousin. “Is a colleague of mine at the JVA.”

His smile is filled with pearly teeth, hiding his amber hazel eyes when he smiles wider fishing for a business card to give you.

“You could have just said both,” you tease when he hands you his business card. “Kuroo Tetsuro.”

You read his name off the card before slipping it into your pants pocket with an playful smile. Kuroo asks you what you were drinking and he buys you a third cocktail before falling in step with you back to the group.

“So, yn, how’s life abroad?” Is the first question one of the bridesmaids asks you after noticing you take a sip of your cup. The party members were each nursing a different cocktail with the exception of you who was on the third.

“It’s been grand,” you muse, swirling your glass.

“Aww, c’mon yn, you can’t summarize being in L.A. since you graduated high school in just three words,” your cousin presses on. She means well, especially since you both rekindled your childhood friendship via the postcards you send for her birthday.

You take a sip from your glass again before really, truthfully, answering the question.

“L.A.‘s a fine place to work,” you say. “Pursuing a master’s is not a easy, but at least I stay out of trouble there.”

“You still ride your motorcycle?” Your cousin questions your underground rebellious hobby from your teenage years. You finish the rest of your whiskey sour.

“Street racing is not my only hobby,” you muse. “Illegal or not, hah.”

“Still have your Kawaski?” Another bridesmaid asks. Your cousin pulls up the photo of you standing next to a ruby colored bike and you in a candy red leather jacket. You have a black leather ensemble along with a golden helmet with cat ears. Your company whistles at that image and when you were asked how old you were, some of the boys, like Kuroo, were surprised you were nineteen then. The bike currently was in the garage at home, collecting dust until your parents saved up enough money to have it shipped abroad, but you were entitled to use it wherever you visited home.

“Mm,” the ice in your glass clinks together. “I got to get that out of the garage and take her out for a spin before I leave.”

If you weren’t cool before, you definitely were now. A few minutes go by and while the wallflower in you melts away, you find it easy to answer intriguing questions about yourself amongst the group. Surely, as the hours go by, the party breaks off bit by bit until you’re left with an extra former volleyball captain, who might have found you ten times more attractive when you revealed your old ‘illegal’ hobby. Kuroo offers to split a ride share with you twenty minutes after your cousin explains that she plans on crashing at Meian’s tonight.

As your neighborhood comes into preview, you are handed Kuroo’s phone. His cheeks are slightly flushed due to the alcohol, but he garnered enough confidence to ask you for your contact info. You flirtatiously call him out for being a playful stray cat, so when you enter your name, you put your family nickname, Kitty, and press save. When you exit the car, you turn around to make a sign for Kuroo to open the window.

“Call me if you’re serious about coffee tomorrow,” you say, waving as he nods from the car pulling away from your driveway.

The following morning, you wake up to a series of texts. It ranges from a few of your old classmates asking you if you could meet up after the wedding to hang out like old times, to family group chats going off about something or other dealing with the wedding planner (including a dress fitting your cousin needs you for since you didn’t really know the color themes and you didn’t want to clash), to two from Kuroo. Kuroo?! You sit straight up amongst your pillows supporting your back when you hastily reply to his invitation to the diner by his apartment.

By the time you write a note as to where you were headed, you realize it will be close to half past noon when you arrive to his side of town. You also indicate that you are to meet your cousin at a bridal boutique near there anyways around three. Inside the diner where Kuroo was waiting, you see he ordered two cups of coffee and waters while waiting for you. He also may have mentioned he ordered ‘chef’s hangover cure for two’ and you laugh lightheartedly at his gesture.

“Mind if I take a picture?” His question is a bit nuanced considering you’re smiling into your second refill of coffee. You don’t object and albeit the photo is a smidge blurry, Kuroo saves it as your contact image. Maybe having this friendly, cordial (sober) date with you is what he needed. Especially since it’s been a year and a half since he had really been seeing anyone, or at least that was what he told you when the conversation steered that way. He does make an effort to not pry too much, since he rather much see where this acquaintanceship leads you two. The breakfast foods with two plates for sharing come out of the kitchen rather quickly than previously quoted, so here you both start to eat enjoying the company you have.

At the bridal boutique an hour later, your cousin had you in the fitting room trying on a series of blush pink and bold ruby dresses (or details as such). You notice the cut and designer are the same as the bridesmaids style, but when asked why yours was in the complementary color family, your cousin states that she wanted her closest family member to wear the color.

“Chi-chan,” you whine your cousin’s name because her honesty made you want to drop the ‘she’s so perfect’ mindset your youthful self had harbored against her when you had a falling out.

She hugs you while you’re in the cupcake cocktail length dress which you two decide is not the right outfit for you. That is, until a sales person pulls a sleek dress from the gowns side and explains to you both the designer is willing to dye this piece because it will be considered retired after this season. You try it on just for fun, and suddenly it seems like this would be the empire waisted one your figure looked best in. The dying process would take several days, but lucky for everyone involved, the wedding ceremony would be taking place thirty-six hours post dye job. You breathe a sigh of relief along with your cousin and she speaks to you through the fitting room door while you change back to your casual attire from brunch.

“So, what do you think of Kuroo?” She asks.

“He’s nice,” you answer, catching yourself smile sheepishly at the name drop. “Why?”

“No reason.”

“Fine, keep your secrets, Chi-chi.”

“On second thought, I’ll no tell you when you’re—”

The fitting room door opens to reveal you holding the dress on the hanger, trying to suppress the blush on the tip of your ears.

“Out,” your cousin said.

Walking to the register, you listen to her explain slightly about her question to you about her colleague makes sense:

“He’s sweet, honestly I don’t know why he hasn’t made more of an effort in dating, so when I told him I had a family member flying in for the wedding…”

“You’d introduce us?” You finish for her once the receipt is printed for the dress and dye fee.

“Are you mad?”

You fold the receipt and put it away in tour wallet, inhaling and exhaling a sigh.

“No, I’m not,” you answer in an even tone. “Not since he bought be brunch…”

Your cousin let out an unholy gasp as she playfully smacks your arm. Embarrassing though it was, you laugh with her asking her if any of Meian’s friends are single in case things don’t progress with her coworker. Spoiler, it progresses wonderfully.

—Wedding Day: 30mins before—

You are in the bridal suite of the temple where the ceremony would be taking place. Your parents are with other members of the family speaking and greeting the grooms side along with other close friends (all of which you knew growing up). A few familiar faces from birthday parties and high school outings also show up, surprised to hear your contemporaries say your name with ease confirming your arrival. The last set of nerves were being cooled and chatted amongst the ladies in your company while the last spritz of setting spray was drying, the photographer took several candid shots of you all. Your cousin’s favorite was where you help clasp her something borrowed (a star pendant choker necklace from when you were seventeen), you looked so focused, while the bridesmaids had the consensus of the mimosa shot with their silk robes as theirs.

A few more snapshots later, including the ‘first look’ for both bride and groom, the wedding planner calls for everyone to line up. Amongst the group of sharply suited men gathered at the end of the temple, you take notice of which number you are (fifth) in the procession, noting your partner after the groom, was the person whom you shared a meal with a couple days ago. Kuroo stands behind Bokuto who whispers an inside joke or two, causing the groomsmen to chuckle. The wedding planner (and his assistant nod to the orchestra) thus cuing the beginning of the ceremony.

“Any last minute advice?” Your cousin asks you before it’s your turn to walk.

“Love him with everything you are, everything you will be,” you squeeze her shoulder, a small smile on your lips. The wedding planner nudges you to begin your own walk, and for a split moment, your eyes meet Kuroo, and time freezes. Sure, everyone talks about how the groom’s expression changes from nervous to lovingly when he sees his future wife walk down the aisle enough, but no one rarely talks about the moment when love at first sight occurs. Every step you take, you feel Kuroo’s gaze on you, and it makes you suddenly feel a bit lighter. You mouth out a “breathe,” to him, and he remembers to do what you suggest. Well, him and Meian both do the moment the bride makes her debut.

When the ceremony ends, you find your hand with the spare bouquet behind held by Kuroo (as are the other members of the bridal party) as a classical piece, jovial piece, is played. At the reception, in between post ceremony pictures, you and Kuroo steal more cocktail hor’devours. If he hasn’t told you already, he reminds you red really suits you.

“Thank you,” you say, while picking up a mimosa flute. Your cousin calls your name as she drags you into another photo with her parents and Meian. Your parents are in the next one as they are her godparents. The photographer decides at the request of the couple each of the pairs for bridesmaid and groomsmen take two additional photos while they change into their reception attire, so you and Kuroo wait your turn. You discuss cliche poses, but one of the ones he suggests is one of the photos that was taken:

“I’ll pretend to whisper something in your ear, so just look surprised, ok?”

You eagerly nod and when the photographer is easy for you, you hold the bouquet behind your hand as Kuroo leans down to ‘whisper.’

“You in red is making it very difficult to behave, princess,” was what he says. His tone is close to a gravel huskiness you found to be ten times more attractive. You looked surprised indeed when the shutter clicks. And for all that is sacred, you bring the flowers up to shield both of your lips. You’ve got a wicked grin plastered on while uttering a curse.

“Unbelievable,” you whisper, pursing your lips together against the corner of his lips. The camera shutters again and you pull away to see if you left lipstick left a stain (it does, and you help blend it away). Suffice to say, the reception goes extremely well. Kuroo and you stick by each other for a majority of the night while various friends and family ask you how you’re doing and (as always) ask if you’re seeing Kuroo. Thankfully, he saves you a couple of times saying, “Not yet auntie,” causing you to quirk an eyebrow. You make several hand signs saying if he is up for it, he just needs to take you out on a few more dates.

“Our friends getting married doesn’t count, though,” you tease when he asks you in the middle of the dessert round.

“Aw, why not? Afraid I’d hit on the maid of honor?” He stuffs a forkful of cake in his mouth.

“Nah, she’s too busy flirting with Atsumu over there to give you a chance, but shoot your shot I guess?”

“I’d rather take my chances and flirt with you,” Kuroo says, chuckling when you bashfully look at your lap for your napkin. “After all, you owe me a dance.”

You couldn’t find it in your heart to decline. As the next song is tuned on, Kuroo stands extending a hand to you. Thankfully the ballad is a sweet rendition of “Something” by the Beatles, and although you don’t dance like would have in junior high, you feel the warmth your impromptu date harbors upon where he rests his left hand on the small of your back. His other hand holds yours close to his chest while he tells you if anyone else asks the infamous, “¿y tu novio?” query, you can say you’re seeing him for a date (or several) before you fly back.

“I wouldn’t mind if it’s you,” you casually say, smiling up at him. “Besides, I still owe you one no strings attached kiss. The post-ceremony one doesn’t count.”

Kuroo chuckles reverberates on his chest and you feel his heart beat increase when you mention the kiss from earlier. He whispers something to you and you don’t shy away from his suggestion. You move the hand that was closest to his shoulder to he use of his face and he leans into your touch. His lips leave a light impression on your palm, promising you a better less formal date on Monday (you explain you fly out next Friday during the course of dinner).

“That’s plenty of time to make you fall for me,” his confidence is astounding.

“I look forward to you try to sweep me off my feet, Kuroo-san,” your voice has a jester like lilt when you hold his hand giving it a squeeze the cake slices are served about fifteen minutes prior.

The song continues playing and before long, you find yourself bargaining with your subconscious, to probably open your mind to casually dating this person. Kuroo is kind, ambitious, intelligent (you laughed at one his puns), and above all else, quick on his feet to help anyone (especially a certain person trying to avoid answering awkward questions about their love life).

Elsewhere, Meian and his new wife, look around them then focusing at the two of you on the crowded dance floor (a good chunk of the couples were still dancing too). He brings her close to his side, draping an arm over her shoulders.

“We did good, huh?” She asks him, nodding to where Kuroo let you rest your head in his chest. Her phone in her dress pocket is in her hands when she takes a few photos of you two to send later before she turns it to selfie mode holding up her new wedding band to share on social media a month later.

“You always do wifey, always,” he kisses her temple.

//end

[nugnthopkns]

dance me to the end of love (i)

word count: 4.3k

warnings: fem!oc, cursing, potential spoilers for the west wing if you've never seen the show

series masterpost: here

a/n: hi!! i am so incredibly happy to finally be putting this fic out into the world. it means an awful lot to me and i can't wait to share the little world i've created :)) x

Magdalene is content with where she’s ended up.

Denver is wonderful. Her friends are there, her cat is there, and it’s the perfect place for a fresh start. She arrived in the city nearly six years ago – a wide-eyed University of Denver freshman and has stayed put ever since. Her hometown of Aspen holds a few too many bad memories, but is close enough that she can return if an emergency calls for it. So far she hasn’t left, too engrossed in finishing her degree and moving on. There’s a job offer lined up with the university’s library upon graduation that Magdalene is ecstatic about. It means she gets to stay right where she is – where she’s comfortable.

☼☼☼☼

The sun might be shining as she exits her apartment building, but it’s cold for March. Magdalene pulls the thick scarf her best friend Bette got her for Christmas higher up her face and walks as quickly as possible to campus. There’s a brief meeting to attend with her advisor before grabbing lunch with Bette, and then her plan is to spend the rest of the day holed up in the library working on her thesis. It’s due in two weeks, with the defence in just over a month, and Magdalene is incredibly nervous. Though she’d gone through submitting her undergraduate thesis two years ago, presenting her master’s research was going to be a lot harder. She’s heard through the grapevine that the committees are being tough this year and she doesn’t want to fail.

Dr. Williams is waiting for her in his office with a smile on his face. He’s a tall man, with thin facial features and wire glasses that box him perfectly into the intimidating professor stereotype. “Miss Stevenson, please sit,” he gestures to the chair across from him.

“Gerald,” she sighs, “You can call me Magdalene, I don’t mind. Besides, it makes you quite the hypocrite if you insist I call you by your first name but you won’t use mine.” There’s no malice in her voice, just a decent amount of teasing.

The older man scoffs but concedes. “I suppose you’re right. Well then Magdalene, tell me, how are your final edits coming along?”

Magdalene spends nearly twenty minutes detailing all the elements she has tweaked since their last meeting, from the title to the citation style. She’s out of breath by the time she’s done, rambling at an impressive speed, and takes a big gasp of air while the professor mulls over her words. Dr. Williams doesn’t say anything, causing Magdalene to shift anxiously in her seat. “Sir, is there something wrong?”

He shakes his head. “Absolutely nothing,” he beams, “Everything is perfect. It’s a shame you don’t want to continue researching. You’d make a fabulous academic.”

The compliment makes Magdalene’s heart soar. It means a lot, especially coming from the person who has seen her cry over the oxford comma. “Thank you sir, but I belong in the practical realm. Someone has to file all the documents you obsessively scan.”

She leaves the building soon after, promising to stop by after she drops off the final draft in a few weeks. It’s a bit later than she expected and hopes Bette won’t be mad. There’s nothing the blonde hates more than poor time management, but Magdalene prays she’ll understand. It wasn’t that long ago and Bette was scheduling her own appointments with advisors on how to graduate. Barn Owl Book Company is located halfway between the school and her apartment, making it the perfect spot to meet. In addition to being a used book store, Barn Owl sports one of the best cafés in downtown Denver. Bette is perched delicately at her friend’s favourite seat, a bay window converted into a small nook, and typing furiously on her phone.

“Sorry I’m late,” Magdalene apologizes, “Williams talked a lot more than I expected him to.”

Bette looks up and smiles, shoving a cup in the other girl’s direction. “As always. How is he?”

Sliding into the booth, Magdalene fills her friend in on what’s been going on in their former professor’s life. Bette graduated with a minor in Classics, and it was Magdalene's major, but the former decided not to further her education and is instead doing full time charity work for the Colorado Avalanche. Her boyfriend Tyson is one of their star players, and the two of them are so smitten it makes Magdalene sick. Conversation quickly turns from school to life, which she’s grateful for.

“So,” Bette says, “Are you in for the trip this summer? I’ve got to confirm the reservation in a week or something.”

“I don’t know Bee, I'm going to be the new girl. Asking for time off like two months into the job would be rude.”

“Linny,” the blonde whines, “Please? I want you to come.”

Magdalene scowls. Bette knows just how much the nickname sours her mood but she chose to use it anyway. “Don’t call me that,” she snaps with quite a bite. “Can someone else take my spot if I decide not to go a little closer to the date?”

“Of course! Gravy said he’d fill an extra spot if one comes up so we don’t lose the deposit,” Bette blabs before trying to switch gears entirely. Magdalene cuts her off.

“Who’s Gravy?”

If her friend is exasperated by Magdalene’s lack of knowledge surrounding hockey, she doesn’t show it. Bette calmly explains that Gravy, who’s real name is Ryan, is a defenceman with the Avalanche and a good friend of Tyson’s. She also makes a point of mentioning that he’s single, to which Magdalene rolls her eyes. Bette has a masterplan for her life – which includes her best friend becoming romantically involved with an Avalanche player so the two of them can live the better half life together. As the best friend, Magdalene is constantly barraged with potential players who are looking to date. Once she went on a few dates with Mikko, but that ended fairly quickly when the two realized they were better as friends. Every time since she’s turned Bette down as gently as possible, not wanting to get involved with anyone. Her life is just starting, and Magdalene wants to be secure before settling down.

The conversation eventually shifts to what Magdalene plans to wear for both her thesis defence and graduation. Bette is fashion savvy, while Magdalene is decidedly not. Her everyday wardrobe consists of collared button-downs and sweater vests, which is supposedly never going to back a comeback, according to Bette at least. The blonde eventually wears Magdalene down, and secures a position as stylist for the graduation ceremony. There was an attempt at the thesis defence, but the other girl insists she needs to be as comfortable as possible on such a stressful occasion.

A glance to the clock on the opposite wall has Magdalene stretching her arms and giving an apologetic glance to her friend on the other side of the table. “I should go,” she says. “I’ve got to put in some serious work on my citations today, and you know Caligula doesn’t like it when I’m gone all day.”

Bette rolls her eyes, but there isn’t any frustration behind the gesture. “I swear to god Mags, your cat has more separation anxiety than I do. Speaking of, I’m supposed to pick Tyson up at the airport and I’m running behind.”

“Tell him I say hi,” Magdalene says as she wraps her arms around Bette for a quick hug.

The two girls part ways on the sidewalk, with Magdalene heading back to campus and Bette sliding into the sleek Audi she shares with her boyfriend. Headphones find their way into her ears, and Magdalene listens to a random comedy podcast. Once tucked safely inside the library she’ll put on her favourite lo-fi playlist and concentrate, but for now she just enjoys the funny anecdotes of stories past.

It’s quiet in the library for a Tuesday, though Magdalene isn’t complaining. Her favourite table, the one she swears up and down is the only reason she ever gets anything done, is open, and she all but sprints to place her bag on the worn leather chair. While setting up her work station a few of the librarians come over to offer their congratulations for her upcoming job. News certainly travels fast around here, Magdalene thinks, but accepts their generosity with a smile on her face. They leave her alone soon enough and the tedious work of double checking the formatting of every single citation in the sixty-five page paper begins.

Hours pass, and Magdalene stays working in the library until as late as she possibly can. Caligula is going to start to worry about the length of her absence soon and his anxiety response of knocking over plants is not a mess she feels like cleaning up. She packs up her laptop and walks the short distance home as fast as possible.

“Little boots, I’m home,” Magdalene parrots in a sing-song voice as she slips her jacket off her shoulders and onto the hanger. At the sound of his nickname, the small cat bounds into the entryway. “Hi darling, did you miss me?” Magdalene gets an obnoxiously loud purr in response that she takes it as a yes. She reaches down to pick up the tiny animal before continuing further into the apartment, scratching behind his ears as she does so. The two of them settle into the respectably sized couch, where they stay for the rest of the night watching reruns of The West Wing before Magdalene falls asleep.

☼☼☼☼

“You fucking did it!” Bette shrieks as she bounds towards her best friend. Magdalene braces herself for the oncoming assault, and manages to keep them both upright after Bette jumps into her arms.

Her thesis defence had just finished, and the committee found Magdalene a worthy candidate for the Master of Information Science qualification. The presentation itself was open to the public, so Bette and Tyson sat in the front row to support Magdalene, but were escorted out for the conversation that followed. The two girls had developed a code so the news could be shared in a subtle way, though Bette threw the original plan out the window as soon as she saw her friend give a sneaky thumbs up when the conference room door opened.

“Congrats Mags,” Tyson says sincerely, doing his best not to add to the growing spectacle, but Magdalene can tell he wants to give her a bone crushing hug.

“Thank you,” she smiles softly, “And thank you guys for coming. It means a lot.” As two of her closest friends, both Bette and Tyson know that her family situation is rocky at best, and having them act as her support system means more than she’ll ever be able to articulate.

The couple shares a knowing look before engulfing their friend in a hug. “We’re always going to be here for you,” Bette whispers, “No matter what.”

Magdalene’s smile is so genuine it crinkles her eyes as she wraps her arms around Bette and Tyson’s shoulders and leads them out the door and into the sunshine. The group continues to the parking lot, where they climb into Tyson’s car and drive off campus in the direction of Magdalene’s favourite restaurant. Though she had tried to convince her friends they didn’t need to celebrate, she failed, and Magdalene soon finds herself laughing hysterically over a plate of carbonara as Tyson tells a story about the shenanigans the team got up to on their last road trip.

There’s a game tonight, and Bette has somehow convinced her into attending. Magdalene knows she should go, expand her social horizons a little, but all she wants to do is curl up in bed and sleep for three weeks. Her one condition is that she can go home straight after the game without being guilted into following the group to whatever nightclub they’ll celebrate the win or drink away the loss in. Tyson has to get ready so he drops the two girls off at Magdalene's apartment complex. She’s in charge of getting Bette to the rink, and she’ll leave with her boyfriend after the game.

Once inside the confines of her home, Magdalene promptly lies on the floor. “Holy shit,” she sighs, “I did it. I fucking did it.”

“You did!” Bette says as she lies down beside her best friend. “I’m so fucking proud of you, and Tyson is too. Even if he won’t tackle you in public to prove it.”

The comment garners a laugh from Magdalene, which alerts Caligula to the presence of others in the apartment. He pads over the rug currently being occupied by two adults, and snuggles into the small space between them. Bette and Magdalene continue to lay there, petting the cat and looking back fondly on all the times Magdalene called her friend in tears because she didn’t think she could push herself any farther. Bette was always there to pick up the slack, editing whatever section Magdalene was working on or to bring over a hot meal. Her support earned her the top spot in the acknowledgements section of the thesis.

Ball Arena is already crawling with people when Magdalene pulls into the small lot for player’s and their families. Normally she parks with the general public, but Bette insists they watch this game from the better halves box, and these spaces are closer to that entrance.

“Stop dragging your feet,” the blonde chastises as Magdalene takes her time cutting the engine. “I want to get a glass of rosé before they sell out.”

Sighing, Magdalene follows her orders. “Don’t you have a special bar in the box?” she asks while locking the car.

“Yeah, but the other girls are absolute fiends. They’ll drink it all before we get there with no remorse.”

The girls climb the stairs to the better halves box, Bette chatting excitedly about the game, but Magdalene stops just before the entrance. She’s met most of the others on multiple occasions and has nothing to worry about, but she can’t help but feel anxious. Her life is so different than everyone else’s in the space, and it feels like cheating when she’s there because she isn’t romantically involved with anyone on the roster. Bette likes to joke that she’s her better half, but Magdalene knows it’s said just to calm her nerves.

“It’ll be fine,” Bette whispers while squeezing her hand, “And if you get too uncomfortable we can find some seats in the nosebleeds.”

Once inside Magdalene’s nerves dissipate. Most of the other wives and girlfriends pay her no mind, but the ones that are especially close to Bette congratulate her on passing her defence. It warms her heart a little, and the small group Magdalene finds herself in settles down to watch the game unfold.

It’s a fairly intense one between Colorado’s division rival St. Louis. Both teams are fighting for first place in the conference, and a win for the Avalanche would put them three points ahead of the Blues instead of one. Players from both sides are amped up, and more than once a scrum at the net has turned into a dog-pile. Colorado is outplaying the other team, but have still managed to find themselves a goal short heading into the final period. At the buzzer Tyson takes the face-off and is immediately shoved by a member of the opposite team. He goes down hard, and Bette squeezes Magdalene’s hand so tightly she fears it will lose blood flow. Silence falls over the arena as Tyson doesn’t immediately get up. The inside of lip finds its way between her teeth and Magdalene bites down hard, worried about her friend. She’s so focussed on Tyson that she doesn’t notice a fight breaking out.

“Holy shit, Gravy is going to town!”

The remark is made by someone Magdalene recognizes as Gabe Landeskog’s wife, and it makes her peel her eyes off of Bette’s worried features and scan the ice for some action. Sure enough, a very tall man is laying right hooks to someone who looks significantly smaller than him on the Avalanche blue line. The referees let the fight continue until Tyson drags himself off the ice and onto the bench before separating the men and throwing them in the penalty box. Magdalene can tell words are still being exchanged from both sides of the glass, but she’s more focussed on the fact Tyson doesn’t make his way to the dressing room – a good sign that allows Bette to drop her hand and let out a shaky breath.

Nothing of great importance happens until MacKinnon ties the game with seven minutes left. It happens while the Avalanche are short handed, and the goal seems to light a fire beneath the team. Magdalene may not know much about hockey, but she’s smart enough to notice the insane amount of energy all the players suddenly have. Time ticks by slowly and before she realizes it, the final face-off is taking place. Luckily it’s in the St. Louis zone and won by Colorado. The puck is tipped back to the same player who got in the fight for Tyson, Gravy, and he one times it right into the back of the net. The buzzer goes off not a second later, and the entire team piles on top of the player who just won them the game.

Bette and Magdalene join in the shrieks of the other partners, jumping from their seats in excitement. Eventually they make their way down to the hallway outside the locker room and lean against the brick while they wait for Tyson.

“You don’t have to stay,” Bette insists, “I can wait by myself.”

Magdalene shakes her head. “No way. I want to make sure he’s okay too. What good is a friend with a black eye?”

The other girl laughs at her friend’s stubbornness but doesn’t shoo her away. Once Magdalene has made a decision it’s hard to get her to sway from it, and Bette knows better than to push. Besides, who is she to deny her friend a bit more social interaction? Magdalene has spent the past six years practically holed up in the library and deserves to stand in a crowded hallway.

The friends chat idly while they wait, with Magdalene sharing some of the most ridiculous questions she got asked in her defence interview that morning. She’s mid story when Tyson exits the dressing flanked by a man dressed sharply in all black.

“Hey guys,” Tyson greets, dipping his head to place a kiss to Bette’s cheek before doing an elaborately goofy handshake with Magdalene.

“Good game baby,” Bette compliments sweetly. She then turns her attention to the boy standing awkwardly on the fringes. “You too Graves.”

He smiles shyly, muttering out a small thanks. It’s then he seems to notice the final member of the group, and offers his hand in greeting. “Hi, I’m Ryan.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Magdalene.”

She puts two and two together on the walk to her car. The Ryan Magdalene just met is the same who will take her spot on the trip, fought someone in Tyson’s defence, and scored the game winning goal. Though they’ve only said a few words, she likes him. He seems genuine, and those people are the rarest to find.

☼☼☼☼

Magdalene is walking across a graduation stage for the final time in two days. However, she can’t find anyone to take the third ticket. The University of Denver has a stupid rule where all graduates must have three guests attend the ceremony. Bette and Tyson are obviously occupying two of Magdalene’s seats, but she’s having trouble filling the third.

“I can ask Tys if one of the guys is free,” Bette shrugs. The two girls are sitting in the window of Barn Owl drinking iced lattes and discussing what Magdalene should wear to the ceremony.

“It’s okay,” Magdalene says, “I don’t want to bother anyone. Maybe I’ll just ask June.”

Her friend’s eye roll so far back into her head Magdalene isn’t sure they won’t stay there. “You can’t ask your boss to watch you graduate Mags! Besides, Gravy owes Tyson a favour and was already looking for something to do. I’m sure he won’t mind wasting a few hours as long as he gets drinks out of it.”

There isn’t a better option, so even though she barely knows the guy, Magdalene agrees. “Make sure he gets this?" she sighs, handing her friend an envelope with a single ticket in it. "I have to go. Caligula should be done at the vet soon.”

“Say hello to little boots for me,” Bette giggles as she waves goodbye.

Hours later, tucked into her couch with a glass of wine in one hand and Caligula playing with the fingers on the other, Magdalene realizes she invited a complete stranger to her graduation and how that could be a terrible idea. Sure, Ryan sounds like a great guy from the way Bette and Tyson talk about him, but he’s only ever spoken three words to her. Since that game she’s gone out with the team a few times, but the man with the piercing stare is yet to make an appearance. Magdalene considers that perhaps he’s more like her than his profession gives him credit for, and she feels a twinge of guilt about being worried he’d cause a scene at the ceremony.

There isn’t any more time for her to fret over the third and final guest on the list. At the last minute Bette decides there’s nothing in Magdalene’s closet that’s suitable for her to wear, so a trip to a local second-hand store ensues. While it’s nice that her friend has taken their carbon footprints into consideration, Magdalene wishes it didn’t have to happen an hour and a half before the ceremony is supposed to start.

“We have to be there in twenty minutes Bette,” she frets, tapping her foot nervously against the tile flooring.

If they can’t find whatever it is Bette’s looking for, Magdalene will have to walk across the stage in denim cutoffs and a faded t-shirt with Neil Young’s face on it, which is something she’s hoping to avoid at all costs.

“Have no fear, Mags,” she says with a knowing glint in her eye, “For I have found it.” Bette holds up a hanger that is holding a beautiful long sleeve dress adorned with a whimsical floral print.

Magdalene can’t help the gasp that escapes from her. “It’s beautiful,” she breathes, “But let’s hope it fits.”

The dress does in fact fit, and the workers are kind enough to let her wear it out of the store. Bette drives at a speed that might not be the safest to travel at in downtown Denver, but she gets to the school with minutes to spare. She shoos her friends out of the car so she can go pick up Tyson and Ryan, and Magdalene checks in with little hassle. The pool of graduates is fairly small, so she chats with a few classmates while they wait for the call to put their gowns on. Time passes quicker than expected, and soon Magdalene is being directed to her seat. She zones out while the dean gives a congratulatory speech and they go through the first few names. At one point she looks backwards into the crowd to find Bette, Tyson, and Ryan all giving her a thumbs up. The nerves she didn’t even know she had settle.

A faculty member signals for Magdalene’s row to stand up, and she smoothes her dress before dutifully following the person in front of her. Giddiness bubbles in her stomach at the thought of being done school forever. A hand from the stage crew give a cue, and Magdalene appears on the stage as her accomplishment is broadcast through the microphone.

“Magdalene Stevenson is being awarded a Masters in Information Science in Archival Studies and Records Management.” It feels so good to finally be finished that she lets a tear slip as she shakes the hand of the staff member handing her the package with her diploma in it.

The rest of the ceremony passes in a blur, and before Magdalene knows it her friends are approaching to congratulate her. Bette and Tyson wrap her in a tight hug, murmuring praise in her ears. Ryan stands awkwardly to the side before Bette drags him into the celebration. The four of them stand in the courtyard where the ceremony was for much longer than needed. Bette is crying enough to refill Sloan Lake if there is ever a drought and is yet to let go of Magdalene’s figure.

It’s only when the event staff ask them to leave so they can tear down the stage does Magdalene turn to leave campus for the last time as a student. She’ll be back in a few weeks as an employee, but deep down she knows this is the last time she’ll ever feel such a deep connection to the place.

“Victory is mine, victory is mine! Great day in the morning people, victory is mine!” Magdalene yells, quoting Josh Lyman as she skips down the path towards Bette’s car.

Both Bette and Tyson are confused at the sudden outburst, not knowing what she’s talking about, but Ryan responds without missing a beat. “Should I bring you all the muffins and bagels in the land?” His response doesn’t clear anything up, but it elicits a giant smile from Magdalene, who laughs and nods in confirmation.

Sitting in the back of Bette’s Audi, on the way to a graduation party she’s supposed to know nothing about, Magdalene decides that she wants to get to know Ryan Graves better. From what she’s garnered from Bette and Tyson he’s a class act, standing up for friends and giving good advice. He likes The West Wing and showed up to a stranger’s graduation, so how bad can he be?

☼☼☼☼

additional notes: see what magdalene's graduation dress looks like here // the quote from the west wing is from 1.02 if you were curious!

☼☼☼☼

taglist: @scrunchmakar @marcoscandellas @toplinetommy (add yourself to the taglist!)

[theholycakehole]

Impulsive Decisions || Dream x Reader

Word Count: 1.5k

Pairing: Dream x GN! Reader

Warnings: None! Well its my first Dream fic and it hasn’t really been edited so maybe that should be a warning lol but mostly just fluff :) Also use of irl names, idk how Dream feels about that so please let me know if I should change it! :)

A/N: Heyyyy... Long time so see! Um... so here’s a dream fic! I am done my first year of uni now so if yall wanna start up some requests I can try and do that again? Probably will mostly be along the lines of the Dream SMP or maybe even other streamers since that’s what I’ve been interested in lately. My requests have never really closed, I’ve just been inactive, but I’ll try to start writing again!

It was a long night of shifting between games with friends and discord conversations. I combed my hair back as my eyes grew tired as the screen shifted to a victory for the imposters. I sighed leaning back in my chair seconds before I got the last kill of the game, earning Karl and me the win.

“Wow…” Rae spoke up as everyone began to unmute.

“S/N??” Sykkuno piped up from his side of the call. I let out a little tired laugh as I returned to the main lobby.

“I think that was LG for me guys,” I spoke out hearing a few pleas against it. “Sorry, I’ve been streaming for like…” I trailed off checking the time, 12:30, “6 hours now? I’m ready for bed, honestly.”

“I should probably do the same,” Dream spoke up, him being in the same timezone as me.

“You guys really should leave the east coast, PST is where it’s at.” Corpse mumbled as I opened back up my stream chat.

“I know, I know, but I can’t get myself to leave my hometown.” I laughed out as I skimmed over my chat reading the goodnight wishes and the thanks for streaming messages.

“Well, I live on the east coast and I’m fine to stay up.” Karl joked as I let out a yawn.

“Does anyone have any fills?” Toast asked. “If not we might have to end it here.”

“Toast aren’t you in the same time zone as me right now?” I asked out. “Go to bed.”

“I don’t need sleep, S/N.” He commented back.

“Ok fair.” I chuckled as my little character ran around the lobby before going to the computer and messing around with the skins and hats.

“Sorry guys, I think all my fills are done for the night.” Corpse explained to the lobby.

“Its no worries we can always play another time!” Rae reassured everyone. “Well, goodnight everyone!”

“Goodnight!” Everyone chimed before signing out of the call.

I muted myself and ended my stream, forgetting to leave the call. I thanked the donos and read chat, making tired comments. I answered a few questions I managed to catch in the chat before ending the stream. As I was about to leave discord I saw that Dream’s little icon was still in the call with me.

“Lurking much?” I joked as I unmuted my mic.

“I thought you were going to bed?” He remarked with a small laugh.

“Eventually, I just couldn’t use my brain anymore after that last game.”

“I don’t blame you, you played well, y/n.” Using my real name rather than my stream name clarified that he wasn’t streaming either. “If you’re not too tired, we can stay on the call if you want?”

“I’m down, honestly, I’m just winding down before bed.” I mentioned as I checked my phone, opening a few social media apps to catch up on what I missed since starting my stream.

“So, y/n when do you plan on visiting? Sap and I are still waiting for you to come down.” He questioned, causing me to look up from my phone, closing it before setting the device back down on my desk. His camera obviously was not on but I found my attention on his discord profile picture.

“Soon, Clay.” I laughed leaning back in my chair and tucking my legs up to my chest.

“You said that last time.” He laughed a little more tired this time.

“Flights can be expensive, especially so last minute.” I made an excuse as I looked over to my second monitor and found myself googling flights.

“I literally told you I’ll pay for your flight to Florida, y/n.” He teased as I hummed in response, my attention mostly on the travel website I was looking at.

“I’m a big girl Dreamwastaken, I can pay for my own flight.” I chuckled before closing the website.

“Y/n your classes are done now, you have all the time in the world, leave Canada and come visit, please?” I smiled at his question before letting out a yawn.

“Fuck it.”

“Wait really?” Clay piped up, shocked and excitement evident in his voice.

“You made a really convincing argument. When do you want me to visit?” I asked before re-opening the tab and looking at prices.

“Right now.”

“Right now?”

“Yes, right now.”

“Thats not happening Clay.” I laughed before finding a date and hovering over the purchase button. “How about the weekend? It gives me time to pack and get some things sorted.”

“Yes! Perfect! This is so exciting y/n!” He smiled, his voice raising a little bit which caused me to laugh. We sorted out the details and eventually booked the tickets and talked about how excited we were for me to come to Florida.

I’ve known Dream for a couple of years now, mostly through streaming with friends. Obviously, I knew of him before because of the Dream SMP and how popular it got. But through the years we have grown close, this even confused fans. Shipping was natural and happened quite frequently, which we ignored in the beginning, but as time passed feelings began to grow. We never talked about it but the flirting and the comments we’d share both on stream and off-stream just felt so right.

We were both faceless content creators, and being this close was quite strange as we have never met or let alone seen each other in person. As I packed my clothes a couple of days later I felt the nerves settle in. I shook off the panic of what if he doesn’t like me or think I’m attractive enough. But it was hard to shake.

I found myself jittery as the plane began to descend. I peered out the window looking at the ground as it grew closer and closer. The nerves grew more and more intense as I knew Dream was the closest he’s been to me since we first met. I felt myself smiling through the panic as I reached to grab my backpack under the seat in front of me.

When we finally were able to disembark the plane I quickly texted Clay that I was here and told him that I was wearing a f/c hoodie so they could find me. I tried to find the baggage claim as I followed the people who were on the same flight as me. My phone buzzed in my pocket telling me that Clay responded.

‘Sap and I just pulled in, see you soon!’

I smiled at his text message and the nerves went crazy, but a huge smile was on my face at the same time. I opened Twitter and quickly started a new tweet to show my audience that I was on, in fact, a last-minute trip. I attached a picture I snuck as I disembarked the plane and made a quick caption before posting and pocketing my phone.

My phone began to buzz from notifications as I plugged in my earbuds and played my music while I tried to locate myself through the airport. As I finally found the baggage claim I stood by one of the conveyor belts and scanned over the luggage trying to find my own. A couple of minutes passed before I felt a hand on my shoulder. I quickly turned around, pulling out my earbuds to see the face of one of my streamer friends.

“Y/n?”

“Sapnap!” I smiled before pulling him in for a hug.

“Hey, how was the flight?” He asked as we pulled apart and stood waiting for my luggage.

“Long enough, I’m just excited I’m here now.” I smiled as I pocketed my phone after wrapping the wires from my earbuds around it.

“Trust me, so are we.” He smiled in return. I saw my suitcase and quickly went to grab it, Sapnap helping me as well. “Clay is in the car, we were struggling to find a parking spot so he pulled up and is waiting for us.” He informed me as he took my suitcase and helped me wheel it out. “He’s nervous.” He mentioned as we grew closer to the doors.

“Trust me, so am I. Other than people in my everyday life, you two are the first to see me in person, or even my face.” I said as I fidgetted with the strings of my hoodie.

“You’re in good hands, y/n, try not to worry.” He smiled softly at me.

We exited through the doors to see a vehicle parked up to the curb. I felt the nerves build up in my stomach as a head of ashy blonde hair exit the car door. A smile found its way onto my face as my eyes lit up. As the man walked around the car he stopped in his tracks and replicated the same, bright smile, green eyes lighting up. I stopped everything and bolted forward pulling Clay into a tight hug.

“You’re finally here.” He muttered into my h/c hair, pulling me in tighter.

“I’m finally here.” I smiled into his green sweatshirt, feeling at ease.

[harryhandstan]

gotta get better

gif credit

This concept has been in my head for a while now and it took me like a month to write and edit and just get it all out! I had surgery two years ago today and it was one of the most emotional, stressful experiences of my life simply bc I’m just a big baby lol. This is just something to celebrate that day and the fact that I’m still so happy it’s all over! Fluffy af as usual cause that’s all I know how to write. :)

Thankful to @bfharry​ and @bopbopstyles​ for not only inspiring me with their amazing writing but pushing me towards finishing this and reaching (even going over) my personal 5k goal! I appreciate you both so much!!

I recently saw a post about tagging triggers properly so I’m gonna do it that way but if I do it wrong or it doesn’t work PLEASE let me know and I will fix it immediately (just want to be sure all my bases are covered)

// needles tw, pills tw (prescription), anxiety tw // (if I missed anything I should’ve tagged please please let me know!!) and I’m sure there are some medical inaccuracies bc that whole day is kind of a blur for me haha 

as always likes/rbs/comments are welcome but absolutely not necessary :) 

final word count: 7.1k

//

"Y'nervous, angel?"

"Hmm?"

"Bout to chew your finger off. I know there can't be much of a nail left."

Your hand drops back to your lap. You hadn't even realized you were doing it. A bad habit of the nervous child you thought you'd long forgotten. He offers his left hand and you accept it, thumb swiping over the cross painted across his skin. He knows it's one of your favorites and you're thankful for the comfort. You don't know how many times he'd teased you about how you would eventually rub it off one day and he'd have to get it redone.

"S'a routine surgery, I bet they do them all day. You're gonna be fine."

You'd been over all this a thousand times before. Harry had to ban you from looking up the procedure online at one point. You became obsessive with worry. What if you're still awake when they cut into you and you can't talk? What if you feel everything and can't tell anyone? What if you don't wake up? He had shot down every one of your horrifying theories.

"How much longer before they take me back?"

"Nurse said it would be about 10 minutes when we checked in. Shouldn't be too much longer. Want me to check the board again?"

Checking in had only consisted of a nurse taking your name and giving you your bracelet for the day with an ID number. The number would help Harry stay updated on where you were throughout the whole process. The "board" was simply a tv mounted to the wall that frequently cycled through each patient's last name and ID number.

"No, no," You cling to his sleeve like a desperate child, "Don't leave again. She said they wouldn't update anything until I went back anyway."

Harry had left you only briefly when you first arrived. Hands in his pockets, wandering around like a lost child around the big, open expanse of the waiting room. He stayed where you could see him and the whole time you had anxiously chewed your bottom lip until he returned. You hated it, but you knew he was just as nervous as you. So you let him have that moment. To check his surroundings and release some of the nerves so he could come back to you, calm and cool as always.

When the nurse does call your name, you almost jump out of your skin. You freeze, unable to move. Harry stands and flashes the nurse a quick smile before turning back to you and offering his hand.

You shake your head, "I can't do this, H. I feel like I'm gonna throw up if I move."

"You're not, promise. Remember those breathing exercises we practiced? Do those. C'mon..deep breath in. Pause. Slowly let it out. Do it while we walk."

Slow deep breath in. Pause. Slowly let it out.

You remember how silly you felt the first time you did it. How it made you giggle at first. This is never going to work. But eventually it did. Anytime you got upset or started to overthink about this day, Harry made you stop whatever you were doing and sit down. Breathe.

It was a little difficult to do while walking. Your body wanted to pause your steps when your breath paused, but Harry tugged you along, you almost hiding behind him until you made it through a set of heavy wooden doors to a small space with a hospital bed and a curtain drawn in front of it.

//

The IV had had been your biggest dread, the fear overriding any logic that it was something you needed, instead of something the nurses decided to do simply to torture you.

Your face twists into a wince of pain when the needle goes into your vein, Harry standing over you, his face a mirror of your own as you squeeze his hand. When the nurse pulls away with a triumphant "all done!" you flash a look of surprise between your arm and Harry.

"Not that bad, eh? Think ya overreacted a bit about how bad that was gonna be?" He raises his eyebrows, waiting for you to shoot him a nasty look for teasing you.

"Maybe a little." You pinch your index finger and thumb together, indicating a minimal amount.

"Tiny bit more, babe," Another nurse appears from around the curtain and he laughs before speaking to her, "it's all she's worried about all morning."

"Honestly that's everyone's least favorite part. The rest of the day should be aces if you can handle that!"

Harry settles himself into a chair while the nurse goes through a myriad of questions. Any other surgeries? Allergies to medications you know of? Do you smoke? Drink?

Harry snorts when you say no to drinking, but quickly clasps his hand over his mouth when the nurse's head snaps to look between you and him.

"The occasional drink is fine, no worries. Nothing this morning though, right?"

"No, ma'am."

Your eyes meet his, a mischievous grin still plastered across his face. He mumbles a quick "sorry" while you try to pull your concentration back towards the nurse and the remainder of her questions.

"Alright, time for the good stuff," she passes you a small clear cup with two white pills, "First one is just something to keep you calm and relaxed, second one is to prevent any pain after the procedure. They'll give you something to make you sleepy when you get to the OR, but this might make you a bit loopy for now."

"This should be fun." Harry claps his hand in front of him, rubbing them together quickly. He leans forward in his chair, as if ready for a show.

"Yeah? Is she a happy drunk?"

Harry had only ever experienced you high on any sort of prescription medication once, almost a year ago when you went on a girl's trip with your best friend and twisted your ankle in an attempt to make it back to her car after dinner out one night. You calling him from an unknown ER in the middle of the night had terrified him enough to start packing a bag to fly to you before your best friend could grab your phone and assure him you were fine and she would put you on a plane home to him in two days as planned. He had teased you endlessly when he picked you up from the airport and for the next few days afterwards as you limped around on a bruised, ACE bandage wrapped foot.

But after too many wine drunk nights to count, he had enough stories to humiliate you with and the thought of any one of them being told now had you sinking further into the hospital bed.

"You could say that. Last time she.." His voice trails off at the sight of your eyes, wide as saucers, begging him to stop.

The nurse grins, her face kind and sympathetic to your silent cry for help.

"We're a little behind schedule this morning so it may be about 20 minutes before they come transport you, okay?" You nod, the effects of the sedative already working its way through your system, "Keep an eye on her? Make sure she behaves?"

"Yeah, I got her. We'll be fine, thank you so much." He's closer now, standing next to you again, a hand sliding up your arm to settle on your shoulder. You manage a thumbs up and a sleepy "thank you" as an affirmation that you appreciate all she's done for you.

"You're more than welcome. You'll have a different set of nurses in recovery but if you need anything until they come get you, just let me know, alright?"

"We will, thanks." His thumb ghosts across the front of your collarbone, the lightest of touches to soothe you, his eyes still focused on the nurse.

"Good luck! You're gonna do just fine, I promise."

The second she's around the curtain, Harry nudges you lightly, "Scoot."

"Huh? What do you mean..Harry, there's not enough room for you in this bed." Your head feels too light to deal with his nonsense now.

"Yeah there is if you scoot. C'mon. Hurry before we get caught. M’supposed to be keeping an eye on you, remember? Gotta make sure you don't fall outta the bed."

He's already wedged himself next to you, trying to make his tall frame fit into the limited space.

You move over as much as you can, the rail of the bed poking into your hip.

He tucks one arm behind your head, the other one thrown behind his own as a cushion.

"You feel more relaxed now, lovie?"

You scrunch down in the bed, just enough that you can tuck your head under his other arm, "A little. I don't feel sleepy enough though," Your eyes dart up, seeking the comfort of his face, "I'm scared, H."

"I know you are, baby," the hand behind your head shifts to cup around your arm, pulling you closer, "Just pretend you're home with me and we're taking a nice little nap together, yeah?"

"But you won't be there with me, not really."

"I'll be there when you wake up though. First thing you'll see when you open your eyes, promise." He runs a finger along the curve of your nose, "Close your eyes. Try to sleep, hmm?"

You shake your head, turning towards him to hide your face in his side, inhaling his scent.

"Want me to turn the light off? Would that help?"

"No," You toss the arm that isn't trapped between you two over him, holding tightly to his shirt, "Stay."

"Alright, then. We'll just wait," He tilts his head to rest closer to yours, "Have you thought about what you want to eat after?"

"Not really. M'too nervous to think about food."

"We'll think of something good. Whatever you want."

"You're gonna get us in trouble, better scoot back to your corner like a good boy." Your words come out unintentionally slurred and you weakly push yourself up and away from him as he slides off. He doesn't sit though, just stands near you, an anxious look flashing across his features.

"Hey, c'mere. Gonna be fine, routine surgery, remember?" You stretch your arms out to him, a plea to be near his warmth again.

He sits on the edge of the bed, facing you. You tug lightly at the sleeve of his cardigan, a feeble attempt to pull him closer. He indulges you, his brow still creased with distress.

"Know ya gonna be fine, just hate you have to go through it at all. Wish I could take it from you without all this." He gestures to the IV he knows you despise so much.  

"You have helped take it from me. All the sleepless nights you spent up with me, holding my hair back when I got sick. All the days after when I was too drained to get out of bed. You were there for as much of it as you could be. And you pushed me to go see the surgeon in the first place. You've helped me more than you give yourself credit for."

His fingers intertwine in yours, the pad of his thumb soothing over the front of your hand.

"Make sure you keep my phone with you, my mom will probably call you every 30 minutes for updates." A yawn stretches across your face, "She has your number too, bullied me into giving it to her last week when I called to tell her about the surgery."

He nods, patting his pocket to make sure both phones are still nestled there together.

Another yawn threatens to escape and you muffle it this time, more content to fight sleep to stare at Harry; his hair a perfect mess of curls under the harsh brightness of the hospital lighting. His face is more relaxed now, his eyes still focused on your fingers tangled together. He catches you, your eyes glazed over, too heavy and threatening to close.

"Darling, please close your eyes. I can see how tired you are," His fingertips sweep delicately over your nose again, as if he was lulling a baby to sleep, "You don't have to stay awake for me."

"Closing my eyes for just a second, alright? Not because you told me to though. I want to. Wake me up in 2 hours, don't wanna sleep too long."

Your eyes are already drifting closed, the last thing you hear is a chuckle; effortless, light as air, "I will, promise."

Soft kisses pressed across your face, "Sweet dreams, love."

//

His voice is the first you hear as you wake up in the dimly lit recovery room. Well, really it was more like a big cubicle, another space with a curtain drawn in front of it. Even with the floaty, dreamy feeling flowing through your system, you can still detect the worry in his voice.

"Harry?" It takes your mind a minute to catch up and process where you are and what had happened.

Oh yeah. Surgery day. No more annoying gallbladder. No more sleepless nights. Freedom to eat what you want and not be haunted by nausea and sickness from what you ate.

"How are you feeling? Any pain?" Suddenly a nurse in bright blue scrubs is there, way too animated and loud at the moment, "Pain scale 1-10?"

"I don't have any pain. Zero." You're aware of how high you sound and a giggle escapes through the haze. That earns you a smile from Harry, one that lights up his whole face and makes his dimples shine through.

"Awesome! Well then as soon as you're good and awake we're gonna get this IV out and go over some paperwork for both of you to sign. I want you to drink something for me too, so what would you like?"

You request a ginger ale and as soon as the nurse leaves to retrieve it for you, Harry scoots the chair he's sitting in as close to the bed as possible.

"How long was I out?"

"Couple of hours," He absentmindedly fixes your hair, looping various curls back around to their respective places, "Took a little longer than expected, you had a small infection so they had to make sure it hadn't spread."

"How much longer?"

"Long enough you had us all slightly worried." His hand trails down your cheek to cup your chin gently, urging you to look at him, "You sure you're not in pain? Now's not the time to do that stubbornly brave thing you do where you pretend nothing's wrong."

"I feel fine, really. Just a little tired, ready to go home."

He studies your face, trying to find any trace of dishonesty. When he's satisfied you're being truthful, he stands and extracts your phone from his pocket.

"Already talked to ya mum, but your co-workers were all texting you, asking how you were. Figured you'd want to handle that yourself, didn't know how much detail you would want to give them."

"Did you give my mother all the details? Infection and everything?"

"Um, no. I knew better than to do that. Promised her you would call when I got you settled at home."

"You promised or she demanded?"

"Okay..she politely asked that you call her when we get home."

"That sounds more like her." You roll your eyes, pushing yourself so you're sitting more upright in the bed.

"She just worries about you." He adjusts the pillow behind you, fluffing and tucking it where you direct it, against your lower back.

"I know. I'll FaceTime her when we get home to prove I'm alive."

"It's been a while since we've seen them, maybe we should plan a visit?" He plops himself back in the chair, leaning back as far as he can go; hands behind his head, eyes closed. You'd both gotten very little sleep the night before, you were too anxious and he was too gracious to let you suffer alone.

"Oh please, I'm lucky I even got time off to do this. My boss would never allow another break so soon."

"Maybe for the holidays?"

"Maybe..but only if you can go with me, you know they love you more than me by now anyway."

"They do not," He peeks one eye open at you, "They love us both equally."

You shoot a quick text to your co-workers, using the group chat between the few of you to make it easier.

I'm out! Feeling okay for now but that might change later lol

The nurse is back, apologizing for taking so long, "We've been so behind all day, it's crazy busy. I had to wait for your doctor to sign off on your release." She hands you a can of ginger ale, white bendy straw already poised and ready for you.

"Just need you to sign here," She holds a clipboard and a pen out to you and you balance the can dangerously in one hand while you scribble something that resembles your signature. Close enough. She gestures for you to pass the clipboard to Harry, "His signature goes under yours, just says he's responsible for you for the next few hours until everything wears off."

"This means I'm the boss, right?" He leans over to grab the board, a wink thrown in your direction. He's enjoying himself way too much at the thought of being in control of you for the next few hours. Smug son of a bitch.

She takes the clipboard back and pulls off a yellow sheet of paper, "This is just your copy of what you signed, and also has post op instructions for your bandages. Your prescription's been sent to the pharmacy, and there's a brief summary of pain management information on the bottom there just in case you need it."

"Thank you." You transfer it right to Harry's waiting hand, knowing he'll be the one surveying every word, making sure you follow everything to the letter.

"I know you mentioned earlier having a little bit of a drive home, so probably once you get her some food and pick up her prescriptions, it'll be time for another round of meds. Okay?" She turns to you again, "I know it sounds silly, but one of the most important things after this particular surgery is lots of walking. Otherwise you'll be miserable. Rest for a while when you get home, then get up every 10 minutes or so until bedtime. Don't let her skip that part, alright? Very important."

"I heard you weren't a big fan of this thing," She nods towards the IV in your right forearm, "So this'll probably be the best part of this whole process for you. We'll get this out and then you can get changed and we'll get someone to wheel you down and out of here, alright? Don't look and you won't even know when it's gone."

"Hey, think about what you want to eat, huh? Your first freedom meal. Yay!" He slips his hand into your left, raising your connected hands victoriously. You didn't think it was possible for you to love him anymore until this moment. The way he could so easily erase your fear was one of his many gifts you adored him for, "What are we having, babe?"

You don't even hesitate before answering, "Pizza, from Milano's. It's my favorite, other than that one place in Italy you took me to. Please? Oh and one of their salads, with the little bread knots on the side!"

He glances at the nurse, awaiting a reprimand for your meal choice.

"As your nurse, I feel I should remind you that while you can have anything you feel like eating, we usually recommend something small and light at first. Broth or soup with some toast, maybe. The salad may be fine, but the pizza might be a little heavy. Taking it slow would be best. But everyone is different."

"So..just cheese then? Maybe some mushrooms?"

You let your head fall back against the pillow, a foggy haze settling over you, "Plain cheese, no mushrooms."

"Alright, sounds good. Why don't I go call it in and pull the car around? Meet you out front?" He leans closer, a quick peck to your cheek before pulling his hand loose from yours and turning to leave.

"Hey, wait," You attempt to tug at his wrist, but fail, your brain still set to slow-motion. He takes pity on you and returns to your side, "Let's eat there. It's in the mall so we can window shop after we eat."

"You sure? You still seem a bit tipsy, honey."

You don't feel tipsy. Just tired, and hungry. Very hungry. As if on cue, your stomach makes a remarkably loud noise; an objection at not being fed for the past 12 hours.

"Alright, alright, calm down. " You let out an embarrassed groan when you realize he's talking to your stomach, "We'll eat there."

He kisses you again, closer to your mouth, "Missed."

"I did, huh?" He chuckles, close enough to your face now your noses are almost touching, "Let's try again."

This time his lips meet yours and you know he missed on purpose the first time by how amused he looks when he pulls away.

"One more for luck?" You can't resist letting the back of your hand wander over his face, before resting the palm of your hand against his cheek.

"I think I can handle that," He smiles before landing another quick peck to your lips, "Be good for the nurse while I'm gone. I'll have the getaway car ready in 10, yeah?"

//

You're certain Harry would have fed you if you would have let him, right here in the mall food court in front of everyone. But you refuse, insisting even, on carrying your own tray to the table. He chuckles when you pull your phone out of your sweater pocket to take a picture of your food, quickly uploading it to Facebook.

He watches you closely as you take the first bite, even pulling his own phone out to sneak a photo of you when you temporarily close your eyes to appreciate the indulgence of being able to eat one of your favorite foods again; free from that anxious feeling of whether or not it would settle right with your body later. You open your eyes the very moment after he captured the image.

"Harry!"

"You just looked so happy! I couldn't help it. You know I'll never post it anyway. Snagged a few of you earlier in your little blue cap they made you wear too." He flips back through to show you. You try to snatch the phone away, but he's too quick to pull his hand back and stash his phone in his pocket.

"When??"

"After you fell asleep, right before they came to take you back."

He takes a bite from his own generous slice of pizza in front of him before gesturing to your tray, "How is it?"

"Amazing. Even better than before, if possible."

His smile is bright, loving the satisfaction of seeing you actually enjoy food again.

Your plan to walk around the mall was cut short, you could barely make it through one store without yawning. You cling to Harry most of the way back to the car, his arm securely wrapped around you to keep you steady.

You doze off on the drive home, and when your eyes flutter open you find him opening the passenger door, offering a hand to help lift you out of the car and up the stairs into the house. Your foot stumbles on the first step, failing to make contact and you almost fall back.

"Easy," He giggles, an arm thrown behind your back to catch you before encouraging softly, "Try again."

When he's confident you're stable enough on your feet, he lets go to unlock the door.

You're greeted by a bouquet of flowers, a colorful arrangement of roses and lilies from Harry's band mates. You immediately recognize Sarah's handwriting on the card and make a mental note to shoot everyone a thank you text later. You don't know if it's the medication still in your system, the exhaustion of the day, or the overwhelming amount of love that makes you teary eyed.

Harry stands behind you as you admire the flowers and the card, arms curving around to hug you, careful of the large bandage on your upper abdomen and the two smaller steri-strips on your right side.

"How did they know pink roses were my favorite?"

"They love you, peach." He rests his chin on your shoulder, "Besides, you've only mentioned growing up with a pink rose bush in your Nanna's garden about a hundred times."

"I always loved it. Still do."

Your mind travels back to your earliest memories spent there; summers when you practically lived at the small house on the hill. Helping pick tomatoes and peppers from the garden, too warm afternoons spent with a book in your lap under the shade of a peach tree, your grandfather's corny jokes and loving smile. Your Nanna's too generous portions of food contributing to the few extra curves you still carried with you to this day.

You don't even notice the tears at first. They slip down your cheeks and land on his arm. Once you realize, you try to quickly wipe them away, but Harry sees.

"Hey..c'mon, I think your high's wearing off a bit, bub. Pajamas, meds, nap. Sound good?" He turns you to face him, using the sleeve of his shirt to brush away any tears that still linger at the corner of your eyes.

"What time is it?"

"Almost 3..why?"

"No nap. I'll never sleep tonight, and you know how grumpy I get when my sleep schedule is thrown off." Even with your declaration of not wanting a nap, you can't help but rub your eyes, a weak attempt to keep yourself awake. Any resolve Harry had to try to convince you to nap melts away. A smirk on his face, he knows you'll eventually crash later, most likely on his chest or in his arms. He's content to let you be stubborn for now.

"Okay, then. New plan. Pajamas, meds, movie. Better?"

"Better. You get everything ready and pick the movie while I change?"

"You don't wanna pick the movie?"

You wave him off, already shuffling towards the bedroom, "You're the boss today, remember?"

You take your time gathering what you need to get cozy for the rest of the day, selecting an oversized, well-worn tie dye t-shirt and leggings from your dresser. You even take a moment to dip into Harry's extensive sweatshirt collection, grabbing your favorite one. It's amazingly soft and still smells of him, a faint scent of his cologne and well..just Harry. You couldn't imagine anything more comforting.

In your pursuit to feel more lucid, you venture into the bathroom, taking a moment to wash your face. The cool water instantly refreshes you and pushes you closer to feeling like yourself again. Wanting your hair out of your face, you pluck a scrunchy from your shared collection of hair accessories. You quickly recognize that your arms still have that too heavy feeling of unconsciousness and after a few attempts to gather your curls into some sort of up-do, you give up and loop the accessory around your wrist to try again later.

Harry senses your frustration when you find him in the kitchen, two small green pill bottles sitting on the counter in front of him. He's already filled your favorite cup with ice water, and you gratefully take it and drink from it.

"What's wrong?" His brow creases with concern and you feel guilty for making him worry over something so silly.

"Nothing..just wanted my hair up out of my face but my arms wouldn't cooperate." You try to laugh it off to put him more at ease, "It's not a big deal."

You know it's only the weariness of the day still making you feel so emotional, clear-headed you would not be upset over something so small.

"Here. Let me try." He slides the scrunchy from your wrist and pulls you closer to him, moving behind you to gently work long fingers through your hair, gathering it all in a loose ponytail on top of your head before securing it around a few times with the scrunchy.

You let your shoulders drop with a deep sigh when he's done, it was such a simple thing, but it made you feel so much lighter. He spins you around to face him, a charming gleam of pride at his handiwork adorning his face, "Too tight?"

"No. Much better. Thank you, Harry. You take such good care of me always, but today..I don't know what I would've done without you. I made such a big fuss and probably made you miserable with all of my worrying." You're suddenly very aware that you are rambling, but when you catch a glimpse of his face, his smile is wide. So bright that the skin around his eyes is crinkling.

He leans towards you, lips stopping whatever words may have come next, arms wrapping around you to pull you closer in a soft, warm embrace. When he pulls away, his eyes bore right into yours, and your heart swells with more love than you could ever imagine having for one person. But he wasn't just any person. He was your person, your whole word staring back at you.

"I'm SO proud of you. You've been so strong today, always knew you had that strength in you, but seeing you take that leap of faith..doing something you knew you should despite your fear, that's all you, love. I can't take any credit for that. You've made me anything but miserable, trust me."

His face is still close enough to yours that you nudge forward, pressing your forehead to his, a silent appreciation of his affection.

"Any pain yet?" He pulls back, a thumb across your cheek, eyes still locked on yours.

"My head kind of hurts? And I still just feel kind of..drunk."

"You have always been a bit of a lightweight, babe. And a thief too, I see. S'that my sweatshirt?"

"Have not!" You swat playfully at his arm, "Maybe. Is that my hair clip in your hair?"

"Possibly." His eyes dart up to the swoop of curls on top of his head, a black plastic clip twisting it back and away from his face.

"Guess we're even then."

"S'pose we are." He tries to keep his eyes narrowed in a mock attempt of annoyance, but it quickly fades into laughter.

You decide against FaceTiming your family, hoping that hearing your voice will be enough. It seems to satisfy them at least for the rest of the day. You assure them that Harry is taking very good care of you and that everything went as smooth as could be expected.

He raises one eyebrow at you as you hang up, "As smooth as expected, huh? You aren't going to tell them the truth?"

"What's to tell? I had an infection and now it's gone. I'm fine, there's no sense in worrying them. We can give them the full story later."

He shrugs, fingers working to open one of the green pill bottles before passing one of the white pills to you, "For your headache, lovie. There's something here for nausea too if you need it. M'worried the pizza might've been too much. Maybe you should take one of these..just in case?"

"Harry, I promise I will tell you if I feel anything other than fine." Your hand runs from his shoulder down his bicep, squeezing gently, "Besides, I cannot take a whole one of those. If you think I'm a lightweight now..I'll sleep for the whole week if I take that."

He slips the bottle in his pocket, pulling you in to press a kiss to the top of your head, "We'll keep it close just in case, okay?"

"Sounds good," Your hand trails back up to his neck to work fingers through his hair, "Hey, thought we were watching a movie? What'd you pick?"

"Thought we could decide together. C'mon, let's get you comfy in bed."

"Ever the gentleman, always trying to get me in your bed."

"Hey! I am a perfect gentleman, thank you very much," He chuckles, a hand coming to rest on the small of your back, "Just thought you'd be more comfortable, you can prop up and stretch your feet out."

You let him tug you along for the second time today, thankful it's the luxury of your shared bed you get to settle into this time. He tucks you in softly, propping pillows behind your back and head.

"Comfy? Need anything else?"

"No, just need you to quit babying me so much and relax with me for a bit."

"Since when am I not allowed to baby you?"

You roll your eyes, "Never said you weren't allowed. Just want you to stop worrying so much, that's all."

"Good. Cause y'are my baby," No matter how many times you'd heard him say it before, it never failed to make you blush, "Do anything for you, y'know that, right?"

"I know," You look down at your hands, trying to slow your racing heart, "You never let me forget."

"Hey," He pokes your cheek, pulling your gaze back up to him, "I love you."

"I love you more, H."

He kisses your forehead, "Impossible. I love you most."

The reference to one of your favorite movies has you smiling at him, that dreamy feeling falling over you again, "Can we watch Tangled?"

"Sure, princess."

He sinks next to you, head propped up on your shoulder, navigating easily through Disney+ to find your requested movie.

Your eyes drift closed right about the time the lanterns are being released in the sky, a moment that normally leaves your face wet with tears, the soft vibrations of Harry humming along the perfect lullaby to push you further into your dream.

//

He wakes you later in the evening.

"Dinner's on the table if you want to join me."

"Time's it?" Your voice is still heavy with sleep.

"7. You were sleeping so deeply I didn't want to wake you, thought your body could use the extra sleep today."

"Yeah. It was nice, thank you." You stretch your arms forward, reaching for his hands to help pull you up.

"How do you feel?"

"A little sore. More sober, for sure."

Dinner is simple; a bowl of plain broth, salad, and toast. Exactly what the nurse suggested earlier. There's even a warm mug of tea waiting for you.

"With honey for my honey," He's so proud of his cheesy expression of love you cannot help but smile.

You look at him curiously when he sits next to you, the same boring meal set out for himself.

"Harry..you can eat what you want, babe. Seriously you've done enough today, more than enough to be supportive. It wouldn't hurt my feelings if you made yourself something different."

"Nah. S'fine. We're in this together, yeah?"

You raise your eyebrows at him playfully, "Did you have an organ snatched from your body today?"

"No, I didn't." He laughs, "I just meant food wise, love. It's vegetable broth, by the way, hope that's alright."

"It's perfect."

You nudge him lightly, an elbow to his side, shifting closer to ask for a kiss. He meets you the rest of the way, lips planted firmly on yours. When you don't pull away, he quickly adds another.

After dinner is done and you have another round of meds, the two of you end up in an awkward ball of cuddles on the couch. Harry flips through the channels on the tv before finding a show you both agree on.

But you're too restless, unable to find a position comfortable enough for you. You shift a few times, finally giving up and letting out a frustrated groan before tossing the blanket off the both of you and springing up and off the couch.

Harry doesn't panic, just grabs your hand before you can get too far away or lose your balance, keeping his voice low when he asks, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing hurts. I just can't get comfortable, and I don't feel right."

"What doesn't feel right, angel? Explain."

"I don't feel like myself. I don't know how to explain it. Just feel off."

He sees you're on the verge of tears and ascends from his spot on the couch, arms quickly enveloping you before placing a finger under your chin to pull your face up to look at him.

"It's probably gonna take a day or so to adjust, baby. Yes it was a minor surgery but it was a major change to your body." He's bending now to look right into your eyes, searching them,  "How can we fix it tonight, hmm? What do you need?"

Tears are free flowing, falling on the front of your t-shirt and down to the floor.

"Take your time. Breathe." A large hand smoothing warm circles firmly across your back; a balm for your restless spirit.

You pause, deep breath in before slowly letting it out, "I think I just need to move around for a bit."

"Let's go for a walk, eh? A quick one and then back to bed. Your mind needs more rest. How's that sound?" He taps your forehead softly.

"Okay, yeah." You nod your head, an approval of his plan.

"Don't worry about it, okay? Everything's gonna be fine. You're gonna be fine."

You nod again, scared your voice will break if you try to speak. He knew that those words held a lot of weight for you, he'd repeated them often throughout this whole process and to hear them now was a reminder of how safe you were. That with him, you would always be safe and loved.

Being dark outside meant you gracelessly padding through the house, up and down the hallway a few times and back to the living room. Harry stays close, encouraging you along with little claps and kisses to motivate you. When your stomach starts to feel uneasy, he urges you once again to take something for nausea. You agree to take a half a pill, knowing it'll help you sleep.

Despite the nap you had earlier and only being awake for a couple of hours, it doesn't take much convincing for you to settle back into bed.

"Harry?"

"Hmm?"

He's already reclined next to you, book in hand, the soft light from the lamp illuminating one side of his face. You're smushed against him, drifting between that sweet space of almost asleep and wanting to stay awake to enjoy any spare moment you get with him. His hand working through your hair helps push you towards the former of the two.

"I'm sorry to be such a burden today," Your words are slurring together but you continue on, just needing to get your thoughts out before he can stop you, "I don't deserve you and I shouldn't have overreacted so much about something so simple."

"Hey, none of that now," He lays the book on the nightstand, careful to save his place for later before pulling you closer to him, "You were not, nor have you ever been a burden to me. Just because you needed a little extra help today does not mean you aren't deserving of me or my love. You will never have to earn that. It's yours, always has been, will be as long as you decide to keep me around."

"Thank you. For all of it. I'll always want you."

"Always? Y'might change your mind someday, angel."

"I won't. Promise."

"Yeah? Me either."

A kiss laid delicately to the top of your head has your eyes dangerously close to falling shut again before another thought navigates its way through your mind and out of your mouth before you can stop it.

"H..what am I gonna do with a full week off from work?"

"Let me take care of you?"

//

And that's exactly what he does.

Mornings spent sleeping in, late breakfasts made together and afternoon walks. Evenings consisting of the two of you preparing dinner together or ordering takeout from some of the forbidden places you couldn't eat from before. Mugs of herbal tea before early bedtimes, you sweetly falling asleep to the sound of his voice reading to you most nights.

But his favorite part was that the scent of lavender was no longer cursed for you. Some nights before your surgery, when you simply could not fall asleep the pain was so unbearable, you would fill the tub with hot water and lavender scented bubbles to try to calm yourself enough to be able to drift off afterwards. It never worked, the heat always doing more harm than good. Harry would always be waiting for you, open arms and a soft towel to wrap you in.

So the smell became one you hated, memories of sleepless nights and nausea. But now you were free to use it again for what you always loved it for before it was cursed. In your body wash, lotion, even your laundry detergent; spreading the scent all over your shared space in as many ways as you could.

He even mentions it one night after dinner, when the two of you are pressed impossibly close together on the couch. His nose buried into your neck, inhaling deeply, pulling away to announce, "You smell like you again, love. Missed it so much." He burrows back in, placing kisses from your neck to your shoulder, ignoring your giggles and protests of how much it tickles.

A week later, the alarm wakes you sooner than you've become accustomed to, reminding you of your return to work. Harry's arm thrown over your waist pulls you closer as you try to leave the bed, a sleepy "Don't go." mumbled in your ear.

You do your best to peel yourself away from him, admitting silently to yourself how much harder it is for you to leave the warmth of your bed as it is for him to let you go.

//

2 years later, you have a scar you swear didn't heal right, and a man who loves you even more because of it.

[babyflossy]

exposed | p.js

pairing: jisung x reader

requested: i’m working on loads of request atm but when i saw this i had to write it straight away lmao

summary: when dispatch reveals your secret realtionship with jisung to the public, the fans aren’t the only ones surprised.

warnings/genre: unedited, kinda just self-indulgent fluff, lots of words, not much happens

word count: 1.7k

a hand on your shoulder breaks you from your slumber, words already being spoken at you. in your sleepy haze, they floated straight through your head, mind still groggy from being woken up so suddenly. as soon as you recognise the voice as your manager’s,  your eyes snap open, meeting equally wide ones over the head of your manager. haemee, your leader, shoots you an apologetic look, something unsettling for so early in the morning.

“what happened?” the words are quiet and tired and your manager sighs in pity, handing over their phone. your eyes squint in response to the brightness, stomach dropping when your eyes finally focus on the news article.

BREAKING; DISPATCH REVEALS UQS’ Y/N AND NCT’S JISUNG ARE DATING.

the title is accompanied by three photos; one of you at a fansign, smiling at a fan, one of jisung waving at a camera in the airport, and then a blurring photo of two figures walking hand in hand through a park at night. the park you and jisung had visited two weeks ago. 

“there’s a meeting at the company. can you get ready quickly, please?” despite the ‘scandal’ and the stress your manager was most likely under, she shoots you a comforting smile and ruffles your hair before leaving, phone already ringing. 

as soon as you and haemee are left alone you reach for your phone, feeling the bed dip as she sits beside you. she rests a hand on your shoulder, rubbing her fingers down your back soothingly. your lockscreen in full of text messages. you thumb through them, seeing many from jisung, along with the other nct members you were close with. you ignored them all, only searching for the ones from your boyfriend.

jisungie <3: have you seen it yet?

jisungie <3: call me when you see this

jisungie <3: are you okay?

jisungie <3: i know you didn’t want ppl to find out like this

jisungie <3: let me know you’re okay plzzz x

“it’s gonna be fine, you know?” haemee’s hands abandon your shoulder and take your phone out of your grasp, tipping your chin so she can look at you. there’s still a smile on her face and you’re reminded of why she’s the group’s leader instead of anyone else; always able to keep things calm. “think about all the other idols that have dated. i bet the fans were expecting this, anyway.”

that was probably correct, you knew. ever since you and jisung had starred on a dancing show in america together, your social medias were full of edits of the two of you, compilations of your interactions from the vlogs you had filmed. as jisung wasn’t fluent in english you had translated for him and done the speaking whenever you ordered food, giving the fans loads of things to include in their edits.

the show had been fun and you had kept in close contact with jisung after it ended, eventually deciding to start dating after months of pining over each other. since then, only haemee, taeyong and the company knew, although you expected chenle knew as well due to the teasing you got whenever you met jisung outside of your training hours. 

when haemee left you to get ready you took your phone back, unlocking it and calling jisung as you flicked through your wardrobe, trying to find your hoodie. the call connected after the first ring, jisung’s voice echoing over the line and into your bedroom.

“are you okay?” although there was high chance you were about to be scolded for days, the worry in jisung made your heart beat just a little faster, a reluctant smile taking over your face. 

“i’m fine. what about you?” spotting the lilac hoodie at the end of your closet, you pulled your sleep shirt, jisung’s shirt, over your head, replacing it with the warm softness of the purple material. you followed it with a pair of jeans, slipping a face mask on after realising there would probably be reporters outside the SM building already.

“yeah, i’m fine now. i freaked out at first, though,” he chuckled, shouts coming through from his end. “jaemin came in screaming about how he was so betrayed i didn’t tell him, i had no idea what he was talking about.”

“what’d you think is gonna happen?”

there was a pause before he spoke and you had time to grab your bag, throwing in your headphones and a spare mask along with a pair of sunglasses incase. “i’m not sure, taeyong said he’s hopeful, though. so it might not be that bad. it’s not like the company’s finding out about it, though, so it might just be press and stuff.”

“yeah, i hope so. i’ll see you in fifteen minutes i guess,” before you left the safety of your bedroom, you reached for the bucket hat hanging from the corner of your chair, pulling it over your face to hide your eyes. you looked ridiculous, like you were planning to rob a bank, but you guessed it was better than the alternative; hundreds of photos released of your sleep-deprived, drooping eyes.

no one else in the dorm is awake and you’re able to slip out the front door before haemee catched you again, taking a deep breath before heading outside to the car waiting. as it’s just you and your manager, you’re able to sit in the front seat, something you would normally be ecstatic about but due to circumstance it feels lonely and cold. not a word is spoken until the car reaches the entrance to the SM building, throngs of people with cameras waiting outside the front door.

“we’ll go in the back entrance.” you manager says with a frown, eyeing the reporters with concern. “god, it’s impossible to get any privacy nowadays.”

after security escorts you through the back door, pushing reporters out the way when they got too close, you can finally breath properly. for the most part you ignored their questions, signing the first song that comes to mind in your head to distract yourself. ironically, it’s chewing gum, and you realise with resentment it’s going to be stuck in your head throughout the meeting.

upstairs, taeyong and jisung sit on the opposite side of a glass table, two seats left open for you and your manager. their manager stands and motions for him and your manager to talk privately outside, leaving you with the two boys. you take off your hat as you sit down, pulling you mask down so you can talk properly. jisung’s tired eyes crinkle with a smile when you do, a smile you return eagerly.

for a moment you see taeyong think over what to say in his head, trying to find the right words for the situation. eventually, he settles on what your own leader had already told you. “i’m sure this will be fine,” and as if he realises how cliche his words are, he adds “in the end.”

“in the end? what’s that supposed to mean?” jisung tears his eyes away from you to look at the older boy.

“well, i mean, it’s gonna be a big deal at the start,” he states matter of factly, eyes switching between the two of you. the voice he uses is just as level and calm as the one haemee uses whenever she’s trying to sort something out, it must be a universal thing. “the press and the fans will go crazy for a bit, let alone everyone you didn’t tell.”

the reminder makes you dread going back home, knowing the rest of your members will blow this way out of proportion. you were the youngest, and they always managed to be overdramatic whenever it came to you ‘growing up’ as they had put it so many times. none of them knew you were dating jisung, and you could already picture the gloomy pouts you would get for the next few weeks.

after your managers returned, a few more staff entered, filling the last few seats and closing the door, successfully locking you in. they talked for what felt like hours, only occasionally asking you or jisung a question. they decided the easiest thing would be to just come out and admit it, allowing you and jisung a moment to disagree. you locked eyes for a moment, having a silent conversation between yourselves. you raised you eyebrows in question, taking the minuscule nod he sent your way to be the go-ahead.

“i don’t see why not,” you answered for the both of you, smiling at your manager who nodded in agreement back at you.

you don’t get a chance to say goodbye to jisung properly before you leave the building, the staff ushering you in opposite directions to get your schedules for the day started. in the car on the way back to the dorms you send him a text promising to facetime when you both have time, mentally preparing yourself for the confrontation from your members.

“you’re dating jisung?” is the first thing you hear when the front door opens, closely followed by “why didn’t you tell us?” which is swiftly followed by “i can’t believe you’re the first one to date anyone, it’s not fair.”

“that’s mean.” you smile back at the oldest, laughing at the disbelieving smiles covering their faces. “why are you guys so surprised? you didn’t think i could do it?”

“whatever, but, why didn’t you tell us?”

“in my defense, the company told us not to tell anyone.”

for the next few days, your group’s twitter was hectic. you trended on twitter for nearly a solid day, photos and edits and memes of you and jisung together filling your timeline. there were the negative comments, obviously, from jealous fans of both fandoms, some even claiming you should both be removed from your respective groups. they were easy to ignore when the positive comments and the text messages from your boyfriend outweighed them astronomically.

jisungie <3: as much as i hate to say it.. taeyong was right x

a/n: if you got this far im acc proud of you lmao i rlly dont like this but it's been a kinda mentally exhausting day for me so im gonna post anyway and edit tomorrow x

[qqueenofhades]

If anyone is an enabling mood..HI, I AM ALWAYS IN AN ENABLING MOOD, YOU WANT ENABLING? HERE IT IS. I have soft loving enabling tho cos I don't like being mean it makes me sad.

As we all expected, I am very, very easy to enable. Credit to @voidxces for the beautiful and inspiring edit. Mildly smutty bits, hence the full story is below the cut.

Valletta, Malta

December 15, 1999

The customs line at Malta International Airport is long, maddeningly slow-moving, and the one guard stamping passports looks to be about ninety, as Joe shifts from foot to foot and tries to remind himself that they have nothing but time. (Unless, of course, the Y2K nuts are all correct and they’re two short weeks from the end of life as we know it, but if nothing else, living for almost a thousand years means that he has seen countless doomsday prophecies come and go without so much as a whimper.) It was a crappy flight from Paris – overbooked, understaffed, the inevitable screaming child two rows behind them and now determined to keep up the racket in the passport queue – and Joe’s trying not to look as stressed as he feels. This is their getaway for the holidays and the new year, the turn of the millennium, a huge and significant milestone for any number of reasons, and he’ll feel better once they’re out of here. Nobody’s at their best in the cattle corrals and the fluorescent lights of border control, another reminder of how much things have changed over all the years they’ve been coming to Malta. The first time they were here in 1501, all they had to do was sail up, get off the boat, and pay a bribe to the port official. Joe votes they try that now.

The line shuffles forward another inch, the child behind them screams even louder, and as Joe is silently reciting the Bismillah and reminding himself that the Almighty values patience, Nicky turns around. He sizes up the mother – tired-looking, hungry-eyed, apologetically trying to corral the fussy baby and a toddler of about three or four – and smiles gently. “Hello,” he says in English, then glances at her passport and sees that she’s Italian. “Buona sera, signora,” he goes on, not missing a beat. “Hai bisogna di aiuto con qualcosa?”

The tired mother starts, her eyes welling with tears. Joe’s willing to bet that nobody has offered to help her for this entire trip, and has to smile softly to himself that of course Nicky has swooped out of the Maltese night like, well, a knight, her countryman in a time of crisis, to do exactly that. Joe is already feeling better just to watch Nicky be Nicky, as his lover takes hold of the baby, joggles him on his hip and tells him that he’s a handsome fellow and to stop screaming and to give his mama a break, as the mother tends to her toddler, gets herself sorted out, and thanks Nicky profusely in what sounds like Calabrian. Joe’s mostly able to pick out the specific regional accents, and he guesses that this woman is a migrant, one of the workers who travel around Europe in the growing season to pick fruit and vegetables in hot fields under hard bosses who only pay in cash and owe a cut to the Mafia. He takes out his wallet and quietly offers her all the Maltese lira they changed for back in France, and she shakes her head and tries to refuse. He insists – she looks somewhat surprised that he speaks Italian too, but not unduly – and while she won’t take it all, they manage to give her back her baby, some money, and reach the front of the line without actually noticing the rest of the wait. Joe hands over a French passport that reads Joseph Jones. Nicky hands over Nicholas Smith. The guard looks at them, asks a few questions in his quavering old-man voice, stamps the visa pages, and once more, they’re in.

Outside, Joe and Nicky collect their bags, help the woman to the taxi rank and make sure she’s on her way to wherever she’s staying, then go out to catch the bus. Valletta sparkles in the distance as they draw closer, this magnificent collection of fortresses and gardens and churches, domes and spires, palaces and piazzas, museums and terraces, city walls and citadels, Benjamin Disraeli’s city of palaces for gentlemen. The place was largely built by the Knights Hospitaller after their exile from Rhodes and the Great Siege of Malta in 1565, and Joe and Nicky have watched it transform over the centuries, but it has still managed to retain that unique spark of what they love about it. It is familiar, comforting, lovely. If the world is going to end, no better place to be than here.

The bus stops in downtown, they thank the driver in fluent Maltese, and get off, hauling their bags and suitcases. The December evening is cool and misty, fog floating over the cobblestones like elegant wraiths, the streetlamps casting pools of golden glow that look like doorways to another world. They walk casually hand in hand to a corner store that is about to shut up shop for the evening, buy a quick dinner, and then continue up the street. Somewhat appropriately, they are staying in a rented house near St Sebastian’s Bastion, Is-Sur ta' San Bastjan, on the northeastern tip of the Valletta peninsula near Fort Saint Elmo. They know the elderly owner well, who has left the key in the postbox for them, and they unlock the door, ascend the narrow, creaky stairs to the top-floor garret, and find that a small Christmas tree and a plate of imqaret have been left to welcome them. The windows open out over the city wall and the dark, glittering ocean. It is quiet, at last. Just the two of them.

“Finally,” Joe says. He picks up Nicky’s bags when he puts them down, and carries them into the dark bedroom, switching on the lights. They set down their convenience-store repast and eat, affectionately nudging each other’s knees under the too-small table. They’ll do more shopping tomorrow; they will be here at least until January (assuming, of course, no apocalypse). Joe smiles at Nicky, happy to be here, happy to be with him, happy to be sharing this small and unremarkable meal with a soft rain pattering on the steep slanted roof. When they’ve finished and tidied up, Joe murmurs, “Not too tired, are you?”

Nicky answers with a devilish quirk of his eyebrow, as if to say that of course neither of them were actually planning to go to sleep without celebrating their return appropriately. He wraps his arms around Joe’s waist, and they waltz into the bedroom, kicking the door shut behind them and drawing the curtains, sinking down on the amply-sized bed and undressing each other with slow and leisurely care. Even after a thousand, a hundred thousand times, it never fails to thrill. Their mouths meet in the dimness, their hands trace the well-loved lines of the other’s body, the faint scars and lines that never go away even through all the regenerations, the secret places, the curve of lips, the plane of shoulders and spines, the tensed tightness low on stomachs, the bend of a knee or the bone of an ankle. Joe pushes Nicky down beneath him, and Nicky arches his back, wrapping his legs around Joe’s waist. In quiet and tender and timeless communion, they find their way back home again, in each other and with each other, in touches and kisses and slow thrusts turning faster, and finally, sated, they sleep.

They wake in the morning with slants of winter sunlight filling the room, the high white ceilings, the gauzy curtains fluttering in the constant draft that they’ve never found, the way they’ve woken up in this room since they first met the owner in 1973, and which makes Joe think poignantly, as he always does for just an instant, of their lost home in Constantinople. They get up and dress, then leave the house in search of breakfast. The stone of the streets is pink and amber and gold and fawn, and the light has that particular early-morning quality where it seems to shine through sheets of bleached linen. The city is already awake and bustling, and Joe and Nicky make their way to their favorite café. They can sit overlooking the water and eat as much pastry and drink as much coffee as they like, and they make a good several hours of it. The sun comes up over the street, the palm trees rustle in the breeze, and a few tourists wander by with fancy Nikons around their necks, looking lost. One asks in English if they know where the Grandmaster’s Palace is, and Nicky is happy to point them in the right direction.

“You know,” he says, when they have finally finished breakfast and are wandering happily through the baroque streets, hands and shoulders brushing, “it’s 1999. This is our nine-hundredth anniversary, strictly speaking.”

Joe raises an eyebrow at him. “More like our eight hundredth,” he says playfully. “If we’re going from when we actually figured anything out.”

Nicky shrugs, grinning sheepishly, even as both of them fall contemplatively silent. 1099 is a long, long time ago by anybody’s measure. Joe thinks of himself, kneeling in prayer in the Tower of David, the dread whispers that the Franks were coming, the way he can remember parts and pieces and that first death bright as flame, but the rest of it has faded into the soft greyness of endlessly passing time. They did go to Jerusalem earlier this year, in July, since it seemed like the thing to do; there were a lot of First Crusade remembrances going on, some of which they wanted to be associated with and some of which they didn’t. There was a tweed-jacketed history professor who was deeply appreciative of the detailed account that Nicky was able to give on the breach of Jerusalem’s walls (he asked if he had published any articles on the subject, Nicky said hastily that he was just an enthusiastic amateur), and then there were some whackjobs who were trying to inflame religious tensions, as usual, and basically acting like it was a good thing that the heretics got what was coming to them. Lots of Americans with placards. Lots of Israeli secret service and bearded guys who were probably covert Hezbollah. Lots of people who all think they know exactly what the crusade’s legacy means, and which Joe and Nicky couldn’t help but regard warily. Everything seems twisted up these days, poised on the brink. That guy named bin Laden whose pals tried to bomb the World Trade Center in 1993, he’s been talking as usual. Death to the Western crusaders. So on and so forth. Thus far, nobody’s really listening outside the Middle East, but when you’ve seen this so many times, it’s harder to ignore.

Joe shakes himself, not wanting to think about this on their long-awaited getaway. They’ve been in Kosovo on and off this year, even if the last thing any of them really wanted was to go back into the Yugoslavian wars, and Andy and Booker are off to enjoy the last few weeks of the twentieth century elsewhere. Someone like Andy, the turn of a millennium is old hat, but even for as long as they’ve lived, this is Joe and Nicky’s first new set of a thousand years. The Year Two Thousand. Sounds appropriately science-fictiony. How, Joe thinks. How on earth did Yusuf al-Kaysani from Cairo end up here.

That, however, is only incidental to his enjoyment of the rest of the day. They walk on the city walls, they go up to the Grand Harbor and take in the sea view, then to the Barrakka Gardens. Nicky gazes pensively on the monument of remembrance and out over the glittering blue water, as Joe sits down on a bench and watches him. He has always simply enjoyed looking at Nicky, watching him breathe, watching him be, watching the way he leans on the railing and shields his eyes against the sun with the casual, unconsciousness elegance that permeates everything he does. Whether the name is Yusuf al-Kaysani or Joseph Jones or anything else, it doesn’t matter. Even among all the change and clutter of the modern world, this adoration, this soul-deep delight, is the one thing that remains constant.

That is how the next several days pass. Joe and Nicky visit their usual old haunts in Valletta, eat well, make love, and catch up with the apartment’s owner, Ġużepp, who is now in his eighties, has known them for over twenty-five years, and never seen them age a day. He has never asked why. His wife died a long time ago and they never had children, and perhaps he sees them as sons, as a strange but poignant blessing for a lonely old man, two people who clearly love this place as much as he does. He asked them once when they first came here, and Joe wondered if they should just tell him that it was the sixteenth century. Somehow it seems as if Ġużepp might not be surprised.

A few days before Christmas, a storm blows in from the Atlantic just as dust blows in from North Africa, and the world turns silver and ocher and rust and wet, the windows sparkling as if stained in silver nitrate and the streets and domes and splendid churches of Valletta painted in watercolor impressionism on the blurry glass, anything or anyone outside the bedroom barely seeming to exist. Joe and Nicky spend the time productively, which is to say they have so much sex that they can barely walk. They twist into each other, explore and challenge and unstring and repair each other, touch and caress, kiss and lick and suck and mark their territory all over again, leaving no inch of flesh unexplored and no sinful act undone. “You know,” Nicky murmurs, eyes closed, smiling, sweat beading on his brow, hand stroking up the line of Joe’s spine as Joe nips at his neck. “We really are a pair of heretics, aren’t we.”

“Speak for yourself, Nicolò.” Joe leans down to steal another kiss from his lover’s bruised, teeth-marked lips. “Heretics according to who?”

Nicky hums, as if to say he is happy to get into a theological argument at a later date, but can’t be arsed to do so right now. Joe slides down next to him, sliding his hand across Nicky’s chest and stomach, curling lower, as Nicky whines and reflexively tries to pull back. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

Joe laughs, as he always does, pressing a kiss into Nicky’s shoulder and thinking – as he also always does – Allah and all His angels forbid. He has always secretly, shamefully prayed that if that terrible moment came, if one of them lost their immortality first, that it be him. He knows this condemns Nicky to live on without him, but he cannot face the prospect of doing it himself. Dying for good, even after this long, somehow seems easier. At least he’s done that before, often. Living without the other half of his soul, not so much.

The rain clears on Christmas Day, the light is fragile and golden and perfect as heaven, and they call Andy and Booker (Andy’s somewhere in Argentina, Booker is on a beach in Thailand) and wish each other happy holidays. Nicky mixes up a feast, Joe helps (if by that you mean stirring the occasional pot and taking full advantage of Nicky’s “Kiss the Cook” apron) and they open their door and visit with the neighbors who drop in to bring more pastries and Christmas wishes. Ġużepp turns up, they invite him to stay for supper so he won’t be alone, and after the token protests, he agrees. As he is insisting on doing the washing-up, he asks, “How long have you two known each other?”

Joe and Nicky glance at each other. They’re fairly sure that Ġużepp knows they’re a couple, even if they haven’t said so openly, just in case an old Maltese Roman Catholic would prefer to know it implicitly but not have it confirmed. Finally Nicky says, “A very long time.”

“I thought so, somehow.” The old man reaches for a dish towel. “You seem that way. Have you been happy here? All the times you’ve been to Malta, to my house?”

“We’ve been very happy,” Joe assures him. “This place has been special for – for many years. I am Arabic, Nicky is Italian, it is like it was made just for us.”

Ġużepp smiles. “Your families?” he asks. “They are happy with it?”

Joe thinks of his mother, far off and so very long ago, and how Maryam al-Katibi always wanted him to be a better man. How he forgot about time and its passing, and never saw her again after he left. It remains one of the greatest regrets of his life that she never met Nicolò, as he thinks that they would have liked each other very much. But as far as their family goes now –

“Yes,” he says, thinking of Andy and Booker. “Yes, they are.”

“I am glad,” Ġużepp says stoutly. “It is good for a man not to be alone.”

(It is, and both Joe and Nicky have clung to that, and they don’t know now that this is the last time they will see Ġużepp, as he will die before they return here in 2004 when Malta becomes a member of the EU, but on this sweet, poignant night, as time speeds on its passing, as they both reflect on all those many years, and God said that it was good.)

The last week of 1999 and the twentieth century and the second millennium count down to its inevitable end. There aren’t exactly prophets in sandwich boards shrieking on the streets about the end times, though it’s undeniable that there’s a sharp-edged anxiety as Y2K draws closer. On December 31, Joe and Nicky sit on the beach at the famous Blue Lagoon, watching the sun go down over the island of Comino, holding hands. At last Nicky says – half joking, but only half – “If the world does end tonight, I want you to know that you are still the best thing that ever happened to me. Except for that pastry the other day. That was really very divine.”

Joe laughs, takes his hand to his lips and kisses it. “Always, my heart,” he says. “Always.”

The world gets softer and darker, and lights come on over the bay and the archipelago and the boats bobbing at anchor, and Joe thinks that it must be the year 2000 somewhere else, and everything still seems to be fine. He wasn’t really worried, but he knows that fear that the next year might bring with it something too terrible to be gotten around, and that if you could just cling to this moment now when things are all right, they might stay that way forever. Finally he and Nicky get the water taxi back to Valletta, and it’s getting closer and closer to midnight, and they sit down on a bench and count down with the rest of this sliver of the world, all the way into the next stage of forever.

When it becomes plain that the world has not ended, nor indeed does it seem likely to do so, everywhere seems to let out its breath at once. Huge and glorious fireworks thunder in the dark sky over the city, in riots of color and noise and sound, and Joe and Nicky can hear cheering and toasting from what seems like every house in the city. They kiss and then kiss again for good measure, swept along on a tide of jolly and relieved and mildly (or well, considerably) inebriated strangers, an impromptu street party that both of them feel down to their nine-hundred-and-fifty-year-old sinews, the sort of magic that still catches them dead to rights even after so long in this beautiful, stupid, dangerous, exasperating, maddening, heartbreaking, filthy, glorious, transcendent, irreplaceable world. They throw their arms around each other’s necks and gaze deeply into the other’s eyes, as even all the gaiety and festivity and bacchanal falls into nothing, passing over them like waves. “I love you,” Joe says, as he has said it so many times in all the languages he knows. “Ti amo.”

Nicky smiles that smile that makes the world shine, and spins Joe lightly on the spot, and the next thousand years seem, just then, like the greatest blessing that any man has ever had. “I know.”

[shadowturtlesstuff]

You are in love

cressworth modern au, based on you are in love-taylor swift for thomas’s birthday

i have dress from audrey rose’s perspective written but not fully edited yet so i’m still working on that as well as the asks but they should be done soon. enjoy!

I wake early, sliding out of bed so I do not disturb Thomas or our cat. I quickly put on one of Thomas's jumpers and made my way into the kitchen. He had mentioned a few months back that his birthday usually went uncelebrated by his family, and since I had met him a month after his birthday last year and that he'd made my own incredibly special, I have been planning to return the sentiment all month. 

I pour myself a coffee as Sir Isaac jumps onto the counter, purring at me for food. Dacina and Illeana will be arriving back in London soon, my own family should be waking up soon and preparing for tonight. A few of our friends will come too, as will our cat. I’m sure if I didn't bring Sir Isaac with us Thomas would make us go back home to pick up ‘our son’. Which means I have a few hours with Thomas all to myself before we spoil him rotten at the party. 

“Audrey Rose?” I hear Thomas call from our bedroom, tiredness lacing his words. We’d stayed up late watching films together, then Thomas had read to me, one of his romance novels, then we'd fallen asleep in each other's arms. I was blissfully content to stay there all day if I didn't have to ensure everything would be set up right for his party. 

Thomas still struggled opening up to people other than me, and he struggled to believe he was a good person worthy of any love. Some days were better, but I found him with a strange look on his face sometimes whilst he looked at me. It was normally when I was doing such a mundane task, or something ridiculous, but I'd always catch him with such a vulnerable face it made my heart melt. And made me kiss him to try and convince him how much I loved him.

“In here!” I shout back, pouring myself coffee and then dealing with Sir Isaac. I heard Thomas move, slowly making his way to the kitchen. I check the time on my phone, and the message from Dacina saying they are at the airport. He hasn't seen his sister in a few years, she's been travelling the world as a private investigator with her girlfriend, and I know how much he misses her. 

I turn to find Thomas on the stool, his messy hair and tired face making him appear so much younger than he is and also utterly adorable. His messy hair is my favourite look. I reach to press a kiss to his temple. Thomas isn't a morning person, he prefers keeping me locked in his arms until we have to get up so we aren't late for work. “Why are we up so early?” he complains, taking my hand in his. He narrows his eyes at me slightly. “You planned something didn't you?” he sighs at my smirk. I'm surprised he didn't figure out anything sooner.

“Of course I did. But before we do anything, what would you like for breakfast?”

“Wadsworth, do we need to be awake now or is it whatever you've planned occurring later tonight?”

“Tonight but-”

He stands and wraps his arms around my waist, burying his head in the crook of my neck. He whines for emphasis and I can't help laughing at his dramatic nature. We stand for a minute, him holding me and me stealing his warmth until he pulls back and attempts to drag me back to bed. 

“Do you not want your gifts?” This makes him stop slightly and face me. 

“You got me something?”

“Many things. Some for now, some for the event later.” 

His curiosity gets the better of him and he sits back down.  Sir Issac jumps onto his lap, purring. I have two gifts planned for now, and two for the party. Panic flows through me at the thought he won't like them, but it is too late to change them. I slid the box to him that was hidden in one of our kitchen counters. He smiles warmly at me, I can tell by the sad look in his eye he is wondering why I'm going through all the effort as he messes with the ribbon. 

“Open it then Thomas.” Slowly he pulls the ribbon. He refuses to meet my eyes, and he hesitates in opening it. “I love you Thomas. More than I can comprehend. When I look at you, or think about you, my fears ebb away, the ghosts that haunt me leave.”

He opens the lid, looks at the gifts. I got him a notebook and a sketchbook as well as a novel. I'd contemplated what would mean the most to Thomas, what he loved and what he needed. We both work for my uncle as morticians, so a notebook is always useful but I want him to use it for himself. And the sketchbook was something that screamed something Thomas would adore. It was black with little roses hidden on the cover. He ran his finger over them. I'd always loved watching Thomas draw, he was incredibly talented but he rarely drew anything for himself. 

The novel was his favourite book. I'd managed to get a special edition of it, and I’d written inside the cover pages. Whilst I preferred reading autonomy books or science books, Thomas preferred romance novels. We've formed this new habit of him reading them to me before bed, or him talking to me about the book over breakfast. He'd tried to get me to read this book on my own for ages, so I finally gave in. I cried when I finished it. I understood why Thomas loved it. He saw himself in the main character, this perceived monster without feeling, when all along he was seeking acceptance. So I knew that this would mean alot to him. To us. 

The silence clung to the air, but despite my heart racing fast I could feel Thomas's love radiating off him as he picked up the book. Opening it I held my breath as I watched him read what I wrote. As I watched a tear slide down his cheek. His eyes found mine once he finished and he smiled at me. “You are my best friend Wadswoth. I hope you never forget that fact.” His voice is no more than a whisper as he sets the book down, walks around the island and envelopes in a tight hug. As he held me I understood why people went crazy when in love. The feeling of having someone you loved loving you just as fiercely was intoxicating. It meant more than anything else. So I held him tightly even as sir Issac tried to break us up because we weren't giving him attention. 

Eventually Thomas let go of me to rub Sir Isaac's head. “You aren't going to make me cry like that tonight are you?” He half teases whilst beginning to make his own coffee. I take his place stroking our cat as I tell him he needn't worry about my other gifts. Most of them were sweet treats and a few other books.

“Very well.” was all he replied with. Silence washes over us as we go about our daily routine. We steal kisses as we make breakfast, working around each other perfectly in our small kitchen. The rest of the day passes much the same. I do some research on our latest case as well as keep in contact with those attending the party and setting it up. Thomas is somewhere else in the flat, most likely reading. 

When we have an hour before the party I pack away my things and find Thomas in the living room, his sketchbook in his lap. I peek over his shoulder and find that he has drawn me. Drawn me buried in my work, my hair in a messy bun and spilling over my face. His hoodie drowned me and my hand rested on my cup of coffee as I read something. Despite the chaos of my work I look peaceful. I gasp slightly at the details and he looks over his shoulder at me. 

“Wadsworth. I didn't know what to start with so I drew my favourite thing.” He smiles at me and gestures for me to come sit next to him. He turns a page and shows me smaller drawings, some of me, some of us both. They are all perfectly drawn. I take his hand in mine and place a small kiss before taking the book of him to look closely at them. 

There is one of me in a long pink summer dress, one we had taken the day we rescued Sir Issac. We’d been walking through the park, discussing our case when we heard him. He'd been lying with an injured leg, no collar or any way to find the owner. So we took him to the vet and later kept him. Then there was another one of me reading something, one of me cooking, reaching into the cupboards to find something with a bright smile on my face. There is one of us both lying in bed, me sticking my tongue out at the camera and him laughing at me. I didn't know when he took half these photos but I'd never felt happier as I looked up at him, his eyes hesitant at my reaction. I felt a tear run down my cheek and I looked back down at the drawings.

I hear Thomas tell me to look up and when I don't I feel his hand gently on my chin and lift me. I'm all too aware of how close we are, our shoulders brush against each other and all I feel is such love for this wonderful man. “I picked some of my favourite days, and some of the times that looked real. I love watching you do some tedious task, because you make it enjoyable somehow.”

“Which is your favorite?” my voice is barely above a whisper.

“This,” he says pointing to the one of us in bed. “You were drunk that night-”

“I was not!” 

“You were,” he laughs at the memory, “I tucked you into bed but you made me hold you, then decided we needed to do something. So I took some photos of us, you with the most absurd faces, but there's one where I'm looking at you and you can see something in me clicked. I'd realised I loved you so much that night and that I'd do anything to prove it to you.” 

He wiped the tear, caressing my cheek as he planted a kiss on my lips. 

“Will you teach me?” I ask because I'm utterly terrible at drawing, at most creative things. 

“Of course. I'm guessing you came to tell me we have to get ready?”

“Yeah.”

We dress, order a taxi and make our way to the party. Were greeted by my uncle who hands Thomas a set of scalpels, then my father who shakes his hand and laughs with him. It is still so bizarre at how friendly they were. My cousin wraps me in a tight hug and slowly the party develops. Dacian and Illeana get here slightly late but make up for it by telling us tales of our adventure. I leave Thomas to catch up with his sister and find Liza at the buffet, Sir Isaac poking her leg to try and get her to give him food. I roll my eyes at him. Thomas is a terrible role model. 

“Sorry about our little beast, he is so much like Thomas the pest.” I pick up our cat and stroke him behind the ears and he purrs loudly. Liza laughs at me. “How are you?” I ask. It's been months since we saw each other. Last I heard she was part of a magic group of sorts and her mother hated it. But she was happy so at some point I would bring Thomas to see one of her shows. 

“I'm good, me and Harry are, well. He's an ass but that's a story for another time. Will you and the birthday boy be dancing tonight? I'm sure Thomas would love being the center of attention like that.” He would, very much so. There were a few couples dancing, I looked towards the floor and found that Illeana and Dacina were there so I tried to find Thomas. He hasn't moved from our table but had his sketchbook out, staring intensely at it. 

“We might. And you must tell me about what has happened with Harry. Perhaps sometime this week we can go for tea?” 

Sir Isaac jumps from my arms, seemingly bored so Liza takes that opportunity to wrap me in another hug. 

“Yes, I love that.” She tells me before walking off to find aunt Amelia. So I pile a bunch of sweets onto my plate and make my way back to Thomas. 

“You are meant to socialise at parties Thomas.” I say as a way of greeting. I set the plate before him and he smiles brightly at all the sugary treats. 

“Right, yes, sorry I'll finish this later.” I go to steal a peek at what he's drawing but he closes it too fast and tells me it's a surprise. “Dance with me Wadsworth.” he stands holding his arm out. We make our way onto the dance floor and I spot Liza beaming at me, getting her phone out to record us probably. Her hopelessly romantic heart means she likes to capture moments between Thomas and I. Something she has in common with Thomas apparently. 

We start dancing slowly, his arms around my waist, making small circles as we spin. “Will you tell me what you were drawing or do I have to wait?”

“You obviously. You look devastatingly beautiful tonight. Your dress is perfect. I had to.” He says such matters of factly that it makes me laugh. I would very much like to draw Thomas, to be able to be half as talented as him. The dress I'm wearing is a midnight blue, matching his own suit. It rested over my shoulders, falling into a tight waist and flowing at the knees so when Thomas spun me it wrapped around me. 

“Happy birthday Thomas.” His smile in return is better than anything I've seen before, it is so genuine and full of love that I stop dancing for just a second so I can always remember it. The music turns to silence for me as we continue to spin, all I can think about it Thomas. I steal a kiss and we remain dancing in silence, words not needed to convey our feelings.

@city-of-fae @fangirling-again @padfoot-sirius-black @fandomtakeover@purplecreatorhorsewagon @throneoftsc @the-hoofflepooff @kittycat2187 @goatahoan @boredbookwormgirl @loveyatopluto @lovecakeandmore