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wordynerdygurl · 4 years

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Seven Minutes in Heaven

Author’s Note: Well hello my friends! Since hitting 1000 Followers in July (WHAT?! STILL UNBELIEVABLE!!!) I’ve been working on the requests sent in by my amazing troop of readers! This is another one of those stories which I’m pleased to share. As always, help my unending need for validation but re-blogging or liking the story! Also, you can send asks, make your own request, follow me, or be added to my tag-list! Last, @sammy-jo1977 is my beta... and my ride or die home girl! Thanks lady! Pairing: Loki x Female Reader, appearances from most of the Avengers

Summary/ Request: @queenofmischief asked for a story where “Loki and you guys are friends growing up and you realize you like him and try to hide it but somehow at a party or something or another, maybe Seven Minutes in Heaven is involved, it comes out and really hot smut ensues?”

I used some of the ideas you gave me, dear reader, but made it a little more mature, so I sincerely hope you enjoy!

Warnings: Lots of 80′s references... music, movies, clothes, etc. References of smut, heavy petting and kissing

ENJOY!

"But, like, I really don't want to go." Your cellphone, pinned between your ear and shoulder, pushed your earring into the tender flesh behind your lobe. It probably didn't help that the jewelry in question was a pair of huge hoops, fluorescent in color and hard plastic.

You heard Wanda sigh, "Yea… I know. It's just, we all are… and you know it'll be worse if you don't show up."

"I really hate it." Using a sing-song voice didn't change the feelings behind your words. Going up to the main floor of The Avengers Tower for a theme party was not a thrilling idea.

"I know you do-", pulling open the door between your room and hers, you palmed your phone, frowning at your friend, "-But you look great!"

"Radical… or wicked… or tubular would be more 80's appropriate." Still, her compliment made you smile. It really was a great outfit, totally encapsulating the MTV generation's vibe, complete with hot lime colored leg warmers.

Your cropped REO Speedwagon t-shirt was cut off at the neck, dripping low enough to expose one whole shoulder, and a wide stripe of the magenta colored tank top underneath. Having tucked the camisole into your acid washed denim micro miniskirt, you finished the ensemble with a pair of black pumps, and the obligatory scrunchie of cheap yellow satin. It pulled your hair into a low, side ponytail.

For makeup you'd painted your eye-shadow on, bright turquoise with pink under your brows. Lipstick in a shimmery rosy hue brought extra attention to your lips. And you stored your cell phone, lip gloss and keys in your iridescent fanny pack.

Wanda couldn't help giggling at the sight of you and your collection of clashing colors. For her look tonight she'd dawned a pair of skin tight leggings, an over-sized button down shirt with a stretchy black belt that was about four inches wide. Ballet flats, teased out hair and stark makeup had Wanda looking like a video vixen. It was impressive.

"See, you went sexy… and I went silly." Pouting now, you flopped onto your bed, "Can I just not?"

Sitting down next to you, patting your knee, "You don’t look silly, but you do look like you could be a hair band groupie! That’s sexy!” Shrugging your shoulders, unconvinced, Wanda added, “Besides, tonight… It may be fun. And, worse case? You get blitzed like a teenager on prom night."

"No… that's not the worst case. Worst case? He's there."

Sighing, Wanda shook her head, "He does still rub you the wrong way, huh? And, yes, he may be there… but-" standing, taking you with her, "-it would be a shame to waste all your wicked cool work!"

Hearing her use the dated vernacular made you grin. She was right. Tonight could be a blast, if you were able to get out of your head. Jumping off the bed, unsettling one of those fashionable leg warmers, you hugged your friend tightly. You could do this. You wouldn't be alone. And if Loki was there, he'd just have to get over it. You weren't going to pay him any attention.

---

"Mr. Loki… can we please go? We're already stupid late."

Bending to straighten his red suspenders, Loki smirked at himself, "Greed is good."

Sighing, exasperated and edging into anger, Peter pulled open the front door, "I don't know what that means, but you look… greasy."

"Like I could steal your company in a corporate take over? Maybe steal your woman too", Loki questioned, excited at the idea.

Crossing his arms over the red puffy vest he had bought specifically for tonight, Peter grunted, "Uh… I… I guess. I meant more like one of the assholes in Wolf of Wall Street."

God, you had better be there tonight. Loki was putting a lot of hope on Stark’s little shindig and he wanted to make sure that all of the little details were absolutely perfect, giving him every advantage. Standing now, slicking back his long dark hair, "That, my young spider friend, is exactly what I am going for… Evil 80′s CEO."

"Great."

Loki heard the frustration in the young man’s voice. Someday he would understand, Loki thought, turning to the youthful Avenger beside him, "You certainly make a dashing Marty McFly, Peter. Truly."

"Aw! Really, Mr. Loki? Ya mean it?" That made the Spider Boy preen, popping his collar, and standing a little straighter.

"I do! Now-" flashing a rakish smile to his reflection as he passed, "-let's get upstairs and see how everyone else is doing!"

---

Everyone else was ready to party. The last mission, a particularly difficult one, involved Hydra agents banging it out against our heroes along the rough terrain of the polar ice cap. Draining the physical and emotional resources of everyone, including you and Loki, Tony had planned a little party to kick off a period of rest and relaxation.

As soon as the elevator opened you knew it was going to be an insane night. Everything was brightly lit. Paper streamers were strung up haphazardly along the walls and ceiling. Big plastic buckets of chips and cheese curls were put out on the counter along with a huge punch bowl that reeked of rum and sugary fruit juice. On the floor in the kitchenette was a garbage can, freezing, full of ice, only the keg tap visible. A stack of red plastic cups was at the ready.

Someone had ordered pizza. Well, dozens of pizzas. The boxes were piled along the table already crammed with pretzel bags and Doritos.

Steve was being instructed on the basics of Beer Pong and, you decided, definitely being hustled by Sam. Bucky looked on with curiosity, quietly sneaking closer to the chips and dip, hoping no one would notice. Rhodey was watching them both through the reflective lenses of his aviator shades, doing a great job of looking like a Top Gun cadet, including the tight jeans and broken-in bomber jacket. Grinning as he drank down a bottle of beer, Rhodes shouted, "Hey Stank! Is all of this really necessary?"

"Don't come for me Rhodey!" Wearing a pair of neon leopard spotted knit pants, a green polo shirt and white sneakers, Tony was clutching a glass bowl filled with little slips of paper to his chest. No one had managed to figure out what they were or why he held them. Drinking two beers from his plastic, can holding helmet, Tony would answer only with a slightly slurred, "It's my trashy 80′s party and I do what I want!"

And Tony had thought of everything. Sounding like a mixed tape pulled from the radio, the tunes didn't let up! Ratt, Foreigner, Cindi Lauper, Madonna and Tom Petty all took turns blasting through the room. So many hits from the past pumped through the sound system, getting people on their feet and keeping them there. You were swinging and swaying along, having a blast, but when Bon Jovi hit the group of Intergalactic Warriors went wild.

Clint, rocking a mullet wig and a vest with no shirt, jumped onto a table making the motions of an air guitar champion. Singing into a beer bottle like it was his microphone, "Whoooooaaaa we're halfway there…"

Guffawing, you hid behind your Bud Light filled cup, already red cheeked from the non-stop laughing and alcohol in your system. At some point you had given up Wanda to Vision in a varsity jacket, doing his best jerk-off jock impression, and not quite pulling it off. It wasn't his fault that he was too polite to put people down in the way of Eighties movie bad guys. Alone, feeling flushed, but happy, you needed a break and some quiet. Flinging yourself onto the soft sofa, watching the frat house style antics unfold all around, you couldn’t help laughing. Tony always found a way to knock the group out of their post mission funk. Sometimes that meant week long Caribbean vacations and sometimes that meant dressing up in retro attire and scream singing with a cold beer in your hands. Either way, it seemed to bring everyone closer together, and the pictures were certainly worth framing. The couch dipped as someone joined you. Swiveling, not quite drunk but not quite sober, you couldn’t help the groan that left you. “Oh. It’s you.”

Not exactly the response Loki wanted, he was just grateful that you spoke to him at all. Lately you seemed to flee any room he entered, a hurt and heavy sigh escaping you before you'd make your exit, never looking back. Loki couldn't understand why.

After all, it had been two months since that night. The one where he'd stumbled on you, glowing blue in the light of the television set, alone and in the darkness. You asked him to join you, he had accepted.

The movie was called "Say Anything" and Loki had to admit, as far as romance on film went, this story was very moving. But that was an unexpected bonus to being so near to you. Before the credits rolled, you had burrowed against him, snuggled under his arm with your head on his chest.

Stroking your hair, Loki pressed a kiss to your forehead, thoughtlessly, naturally. Pushing away, looking up at him through hooded lashes, "You… you kissed me?"

Words failed the silver tongued devil, something he still pondered all these weeks later, so a nod was all you got for a response. Kneeling, your sleep shirt riding over your thighs, Loki watched your small hand rising to cup his cheek. Feeling your lips against his own was the beginning of the best night of his life.

And then, nothing. It was like a switch had been thrown and no matter how many ways he tried to reach out for you, Loki wasn't able to connect. Not like that night.

So, he was going against his nature tonight. Joining the group, drinking a bit of his brother's mead, wearing a dated but pristine business suit. All done in the vain hope that something would shift in his favor.

He had already lost too many nights to memories of you. Soft, full skin under his broad palms. The tiny moan you exhaled when Loki’s tongue met your own. How your wet, willing body accepted him, without question or stipulation. And in the afterglow, when your head rested in the crook of his neck and your cherry cola scented breath circled him, you let Loki hold you close.

But he buried it all. Tonight he was the embodiment of all things slick. Nothing could stick to him; not when he had a goal in mind and this much gel in his hair. Loki Odinson would be taking you home tonight, come hell or high water. Wolfish, Loki’s grin was wicked, “Yes. Your dream has come true.” Sitting back, he crossed his designer suit covered knee at the ankle, exposing socks with little golfers on them. He let his right arm rest along the back of the sofa, not around you… not yet, but inching closer. “What is that cologne you’re wearing?” “Don’t you like it? I’m told Drakkar Noir was quite the scent of the 80′s. I did my research.” Twisting, you looked him over, impressed despite yourself. The suit was totally of its time. Black, pinstriped and you were sure the jacket that came with it was draped somewhere safe. His shirt was shiny but soft and bright, blinding white. Suspenders of red matched the tie that draped down the center of his chest. With his hair combed straight back and held in place with some kind of product, Loki looked like he was capable of eating a six course lunch at Sardi’s, complete with dirty martinis, then jetting back to the office in time to defraud a corporate spending account. The kind of executive that blackmails a co-worker with pictures of a mistress. The kind of douche bag that tries to take over a rec center to build a mall. In short, an avarice little asshole. So, why was it so hot? “It’s… overpowering.”, boy, was that an understatement. Loki’s whole aesthetic was overpowering right now. And, was he moving closer? His bent knee brushed against your own as he leaned near enough to be heard at a whisper, “You look adorable, you know that?” Scrunching into the corner of the couch, eyeing him suspiciously, “Oh? Really?” “Really.”, his hand brushed over your exposed shoulder, making you jump at his touch.

Uh uh. No way. You would not be so easy to seduce this time around. Even if those wide hands sent goosebumps growing all over your body, Loki would not charm his way into your panties again. Not like last time.

It had been spontaneous. Genuine, at least for you. And in the moment, it felt like Loki had given you a little piece of himself, a tenderness that no one else ever saw in the far flung Frost Giant.

Maybe that's why Clint's words hurt so much. He had told you so casually, holding up a spoonful of Cheerios, "Loki said his last girl was a drag. Basic bitch? Is that what the kids say?"

Thinking about it now made your heart hurt. You had given yourself to someone who thought you were beneath him. Loki couldn't want you. You would never be good enough.

But that night haunted you. His soulful kisses that stole your breath. The drag of Loki’s hands over the swell of your bottom as you straddled his hips. His solid chest under your own hands, dark head curved against the couch cushion, but those burning eyes never leaving your face. “I thought you said I was plain. Simple. Boring.”

Leveling his own words back at him made Loki straighten in his seat. How could you think that? Unbalanced, stammering, “Uh… I… I’d never…” “Never expected me to find out? I believe that. And, let me tell you this-” Pushing yourself up with the help of the couch’s arm, you rose on unsteady legs, “-I’m not nearly drunk enough to fall into your arms again.” Spinning away, you made a dash towards the people in the kitchen, without looking back. Watching you go, Loki could do nothing but stare after your retreating form, flummoxed.

“That was… painful.”

He knew that voice well enough, frustrated, confused and unfit for company, “Go away, Tony.”

“I don’t think I will. In fact-” sitting down in your empty spot, patting Loki’s knee, “-I’m going to make myself comfortable. Now, tell Uncle Tony all about it.”

Rolling his eyes, unable to find you in the crowd, Loki risked a sideways glance at his replacement companion. Was he really going to indulge in this? Tell his almost friend about you… about your one night together? Loki raked his hands through the pomade in his hair, growling low, “If you breathe a word of it Tony, I’ll-” Lowering his wrap around sunglasses, peering at Loki, Tony smiled, “Your secret is safe with me.” ---

Thinking less and less about Loki as the night went on should have been a relief but it seemed like the scent of him followed you everywhere. Unable to get free of him, you busied yourself with drinks, dancing, and munching like you were a kid again. Anything to keep your mind from wandering.

It's not like the party was boring. Not at all! There was plenty to distract you and you let it. Natasha made you her partner for beer pong and somehow you successfully won against Rhodey and Sam.

Next, Wanda needed you, which is how you wound up sitting on the bathroom sink listening to her go on about Vision in that wistful, loving way that made your own heart ache. Being a little drunk, you had to fight the urge to cry because you were lonely and hurting. “I saw you talking to Loki… what was that about?” She was reapplying ruby red lipstick, studying herself in the mirror, not looking directly at you.

Wanda's voice cut through your self doubt spiral though, something you were thankful for, and with a casual tone you countered, “He was trying to get something started, I think.” Eyebrows lifting, Wanda’s interested piqued, “Really? Loki was hitting on you?” “Yea… I mean, I think so. Was coming on awfully strong too. But… he’s been a jerk, right?”

Wanda cleaned up her eye make-up taking a minute, after washing her hands she looked at you, “I mean, he is here.” “So?” “So, you know he’s not really a joiner. More of a lone wolf. In fact, I think this may be the first of these little parties he’s come to. Maybe he’s changed… grown a bit? And, honestly, you never asked him about-”

Hopping off the counter, cutting her off, more than a little huffy at her good sense, “No, I didn’t and I don’t plan to. Loki thinks I’m a bore? Too basic for him? Fine. I have better things to do with my time.” Laying her hand on your shoulder, Wanda stopped you, eyeing you in the mirror once more, “I know his words hurt… but you’re going to have to clear the air eventually. Especially if we’re all going to work together.”

Shrugging, you offered your friend a small smile. There was truth in her sentiment, even if your slightly drunken brain rebelled against hearing it, “Yea, you're right… plus-” looking around the small washroom, just to make sure no one could hear the pair of you, “- he looks really hot tonight!”

Giggling, Wanda hugged you close, “I didn’t want to say anything, but… yea he does!” The pair of you were still laughing together, standing at the back of the crowd as Tony turned down the music, announcing, “Gather round children, Uncle Tony needs your attention!” There were a few groans, mostly from the beer pong table, as apparently Bucky was unhappy about forfeiting his winning match. Everyone else, in all their high haired glory, were congregating near their host, curious and more than a little drunk.

“Tony, what the hell, man? You killed the tunes!”, Clint shouted, spilling Bud Light foam as he joined the tightening circle. “Patience, my drunk friend. You all remember this?” From the table nearby, Tony picked up his glass bowl, triumphant, “Our Destiny!”

Pepper, sighing with a smile, “So dramatic!” Shaking the bowl in her direction Tony smirked, “Ok smarty, then you pick first. Go on… Pick!” There were oohs and ahhs from the assembled Avengers. Rolling her eyes, Pepper reached in, grabbing the first slip her fingers found. Pulling it free, she grinned, eyeing Tony, “It says ‘Loki’...” Hearing his name, Loki snapped his head up, surprise registering on his face, “Excuse me?” Holding it up for his examination, Pepper waved the slip under the regal nose of the junior Odinson, “See… your name.” “Yes, but why?”

Butting in, Tony snatched the scrap from the hand of his lovely fiance, practically dancing with glee. Turning to Loki, “Now you, Gordon Gecko, pull a slip.” Aware of all eyes locked on him, Loki reached into the jar, digging around a little more than necessary. Finally satisfied, the thin paper pinched between his fingers, Loki opened the folded note. When his fierce gaze met yours, you knew without a doubt. It was your name he had grabbed. Throwing a thick arm across Loki’s broad shoulders, Tony hugged him close, “Well? What’s it say?” It all made sense in that moment. The tacky costumes, flat beer and endless music. A drunken moment of clarity had descended. Tony, waving his arms, eating up the crowd’s reactions, heads turning to gauge your response. Swallowing hard, your hearing failing you, you just faked a smile. You and Loki were going into the closet for Seven Minutes in Heaven. Only there was no way you were going to do that. Not after what he’d said. Not after your one night together, right? But you felt a gentle hand pushing your forward, into the center of your circle of friends and for some reason, your feet followed.

Refusing didn't enter your mind. With everyone ogling you and Loki, making a scene would only cause more speculation, something you weren't keen to do. Instead, you stepped next to Tony, outwardly eager to play along.

You just shouldn't have dared to look at your proposed make out partner. Laser focused, Loki’s lusty look hadn’t wavered. No, the light in those thundering blue eyes was carnal, darker than you had ever seen, matching your own. Against your better judgement, you wanted Loki, too.

Whatever Tony was saying was a blur, merely sounds, because you were utterly stunned by the nearness of Loki. The roaring laughs of the rest of the group were drowned out by your pounding heart. A door opened to a dim room, the pantry maybe? You didn’t know and in that moment you didn’t really care.

With a small smile, Loki ducked into the cupboard, lacing his fingers with yours, offering a bit of his strength. Dragging you inside, your body pinned between a shelf of snacks and the hard body of your frenemy, a whimper of want passed your lips. Loki still smelled so good and now he was so close. “Have fun you two!”, Tony’s words were accompanied by the door shutting you and Loki inside, in the dark. Surrounded by silence, Loki’s sharp pants were the only sound louder than your racing pulse, which was saying something. Afraid to move, afraid of spooking you, Loki struggled to search your stare in the low light. He had already experienced your angry dismissal of his attention tonight. It wasn't something he wanted to relive, not when you were so close with sweet and speedy breath, your chest brushing against his own at each exhale.

Lifting a hand, grazing over your uncovered shoulder, Loki's touch was electric. You moved towards it, towards him, needing more of his energy. Craving it.

Bold in the dark, you grabbed at Loki’s suspenders, tugging him closer. Rising on your toes, covering some of the distance between your mouth and his, you pressed a hot kiss to those soft, pink lips. Under your fluttering fingers Loki shivered, "Darling-"

"Shut up. I… I don't care."

"But I never…"

"I told you. I don't care. Now kiss me like you mean it, because we only have about six more minutes!"

Not needing any more encouragement, Loki found the flare of your hips in the shadows, molding your curves to the rigid planes of his body. Desperate, needy, you felt his tongue move against your own. Want, plain and simple, led your own fingers to the collar of Loki’s starched shirt and the tangle of his raven hair. Fisting it, tugging against those luscious locks, you couldn’t seem to get close enough to the tall God sharing your cupboard. Whining, his name on your lips, you drew Loki tight enough that the press of your breasts was edging towards pain. Demanding, true to your word, with every pass of Loki’s magical mouth over your own the last few weeks were forgotten. Hungry for more, Loki roughly squeezed the flesh of your ass, grinding you against his wool blend covered crotch. Stuttering, his arousal was so stiff, for a minute Loki worried about making a mess. But that feeling was replaced with unbridled ecstasy when your lips found the tender skin below his ear.

A nip, enough to make Loki hiss, was soon soothed by your sucking on the same spot. Resting your butt on the nearest shelf, you didn’t have to stand on tip-toe to reach the soft, sweet sections of Loki where you longed to lavish attention. He took advantage of your new position by sliding a free hand along the swell of your separated thighs. “I just need to feel you, dove. I need to know that you want me as much as I want you.” It was a husky whisper, directly into your ear, and it sent an arc of icy fire to your core. When his long fingers skimmed over the silky slick of your panties you moaned in unison, bucking into Loki’s touch, lost in the moment. Stepping between your legs, Loki took one of your hands into each of his own, pinning you wide open against the boxes of cereal and granola bars that lined the pantry walls. Devouring you slowly, Loki kissed along the column of muscles at your throat, across the exposed line of your clavicle. You could do little more than take his delicious torment as more and more of your sweat dappled skin was serviced by his silver tongue. “Yes… Loki…”, tumbling out of you, just like the night when you first came together, you crooned his name in delight. Breathless, boneless and broken with need. CLICK! The sound made you both freeze. Snapping swiftly, Loki’s head swung towards the door where the bright light and noisy crowd of the party was intruding into your private pantry. “WHOA, WHOA, WHOA! What do we have here?” Swinging into the tight space, Tony’s shrewd look took in the scene in seconds, “What were you two doing in here? It was a very quiet seven minutes!” Straightening to standing, Loki stood, blocking you from sight as you readjusted your clothes. Smoothing down his tangled strands, sarcasm dripping, “Talking. Very quietly.” When he was sure you were decent, Loki offered you his hand, and blinking you stepped back into the wild and raucous party still in full swing. Tony, flashing a knowing grin your way, nodded, “I hope you didn’t smush the chips! We still need those!” Giggling, you locked onto Loki’s arm, letting him lead you towards the keg and away from the shouted questions of your friends. You knew there was no mystery about what happened in those seven minutes. Hair mused, makeup smudged, lips swollen and shirts twisted, the pair of you were walking neon signs for getting to third base.

Silently Loki poured you a beer, taking a small glass of Asgardian mead for himself, before raising his glass your way. Returning his gesture, you downed the frothy ale fast, feeling a little parched after your spit swapping time in the hall closet. Boring into you, his eyes followed each of your movements, searching for a sign of your feelings. Dropping your empty cup on the counter, you turned and jumped onto the marble ledge, feet dangling. “Loki?” Placing his own glass down gently, Loki took his position between your bent knees, looking down at your darling face, “Yes?” “Did you say those things? That I was… boring? Basic?” Shaking his dark waves no, Loki bit into his bottom lip, “Never. What I said was, my last girl, ages ago, was those things… but my new lady-” tracing along your jaw, tipping your chin his way, “-she is everything I could ever want.”

“Am I… am I your new lady, then?” With a fierce flicker of fire in his eyes, Loki nodded yes this time, “Absolutely.” Leaning into him, arms around his neck, you tugged him down to meet your waiting lips. “Good. Good to know. Because I think I’m going to watch a movie tonight.” “Really? I recall really enjoying the last one.” “Hmm… me too.” Sliding off the counter, ducking under Loki’s long arms, you turned back to face him, “My room… say, an hour?”

Snapping his suspenders, smirking, “I’ll be there.” Watching you skip away made Loki’s pulse pound in anticipation. Pouring himself another glass of clear liquor, he chuckled, amazed at the change seven minutes had created.

“You’re welcome.” “Ah! Yes, many thanks Tony.”

Leaning against the counter, Tony knocked into Loki’s shoulder, “You’re cute together, Rock of Ages, but don’t make me regret helping you tonight! Treat her right.”

“Of course. I... truly, thank you.”, sincerity seeped from Loki at the favor from Tony. “No worries! No worries!” Waving away any additional gratitude, Tony looked over the group of half cocked, and totally cocked heroes before him, “Of course the real bitch was getting Pepper to pull your name from the bowl…”

My Marvelous Minxes tag-list: @queenofmischief @vodka-and-some-sass @just-random-obsessions @brokenthelovely @lots-of-loki @thefallenbibliophilequote @iamverity @iluvsumbucky @unadulteratedwizardlove @wolfsmom1 @procrastinatinglikeabitch @mizfit2 @shxdowofdarkness @nonsensicalobsessions @ahintofkiwistrawberry @jessiejunebug @rorybutnotgilmore @crystalizedcaramel @lokislittlecorner @scrumptious-finicky-illusion @capcapcapsicle @jamielea81 @caffiend-queen @thenatalie @sammy-jo1977 @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore @is-it-madness @jenjen8675309 @alexakeyloveloki @poetic-fiasco

#loki x reader #loki x you #hot loki #loki smut #loki love #1000followers #mcu smut #mcu fanfiction #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #80's #80's loki #80's mcu

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writethelifeyouwant · 4 years

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Dive Bar Ch. 7/ ?

Pairing: Dean x Sam (eventually, he he he)

Rating: 18+

Prompt/Summary: After a one night stand with a random college chick turns into a threesome that also featured his little brother, Dean- well, frankly, he panics. What’s even worse than gay panicking? Gay incest panicking. Luckily, Sam winds up being a little more cool about the whole thing than Dean ever would have imagined.

WC: 2,276

Tags: gay panic, allusions to brother/brother incest, angst, Dean having graphic naughty thoughts

Beta: @daydream3r-xo - thank you for reading lovely 😘

A/N: To keep things realistic, as this chapter takes place one month on from the previous one, I figured I better make you guys wait that long too! JK, 🙃 I just suck spectacularly. So sorry for the unplanned hiatus, but I’m getting back into the swing of things, and promise the next chapter is already in progress and will be out next week 😊

Chapter 6

One month later

They’re out west working a vengeful spirit case and pretending, pretty effectively Dean thinks, that the events of nearly two months ago now have been forgotten. Sam doesn’t bring it up, he doesn’t bring it up, that should be the end of that. Except it’s not. Inside, Dean’s head is a mass of tangled emotions and twisted thoughts and dark crevices broadcasting a siren’s song - like the allure of hearing a snippet of “Cherry Pie” seeping out into the dusty blackness of a desert parking lot illuminated by the warm neon outlines of poles and women - except the images hidden in those crevices aren’t mostly-naked women with too much makeup and not enough self respect. Hidden in the recesses of Dean’s mind are the images of Sam’s cock thrusting into a tight throat, and an echo of the words, “hey, if you ever need help figuring it out…”

Those words have haunted Dean more thoroughly than any ghost they’ve hunted, than any spectre they’ve burned. And Dean couldn’t manage to burn those words out of his memory.

A knock on his shoulder draws Dean out of himself and back to the present, where the object of his fantasies sits blissfully unaware on the sticky black leather next to him. The desert is hot.

“Are you listening to me man? Thought you said we were gonna pull over for the night, find some A/C?”

“Yeah, of -” Dean cleared his throat, dropping from the embarrassingly high octave his voice had come out in. “Of course, just uh, point me to the next exit I guess. There’s gotta be something coming up.”

“Yeah, it looks like there’s a little resort town coming up just a coupl’a miles from here. If it’s a tourist spot they should at least have functioning air conditioning, maybe even a shower that isn’t broken,” Sam huffed.

“Yeah, sounds good Sammy.”

To Sam’s relief they had a cool room and a clean shower about half an hour later, and he relished in the chance to stretch his legs and rinse off the dust that clung to him from driving with the windows down most of their way there. Towelling off his hair with a rough shake he lobbed the towel onto the bed and grabbed for a fresh t-shirt.

“I’m going to grab some grub. You want to come or you gonna stay and read that nerd book you picked up in the last town?”

“You mean Mythology of the Spirit in the American West?” Sam corrected Dean exasperatedly.

“Yeah, like I said, nerd book. You coming with or not?”

Sam huffed and considered his options. He was looking forward to sitting down with that book, but he’d also been cooped up in the impala for innumerable hours not too long ago, and it would feel good to walk around for a bit, even if his brother was being an ass.

“Yeah, sure. I’m coming.”

Dean picked out the first joint they walked by with bright lights and loud music. This was definitely a tourist town, because even on a weekday this place was packed, but Dean liked the noise and the buzz. It made a welcome change from the monotony of his thoughts broadcasting over a tinny radio all day.

The place didn’t have much in the way of decor beyond the theme of ‘bar’. It was crowded with mostly guys - dressed a little more loudly than Dean would have expected but, hey, they were probably on vacation, cutting a little loose - and the occasional group of girlfriends had tables dotted around as well. It looked like your typical food and drink establishment.

Sam slapped him on the arm and gestured to a free table on the other side of the room. Dean gave him a thumbs up and pointed to the bar, to indicate he’d grab the first round of drinks and hopefully find a menu while he was at it, he was starving.

The bartender gave him a friendly smile when he asked for two draughts and pointed out the menus when Dean asked. Dean grabbed the first beer that was passed over to him and hung around at the bar while he looked through the menu and waited for Sam’s drink. That turned out to be a poor tactical decision, because standing alone at a bar and being as attractive as Dean is a combination that invited attention.

“Hey, how’s it going?”

Dean looked up, startled, into the face of the tanned, polo-shirt-wearing guy that had just spoken to him. He was giving Dean what was supposed to be an open, disarming smile, but which really just looked weirdly nervous.

“Uh, hey,” Dean responded, leaving it open for the newcomer to pick up the conversation, but not really knowing what to say to him.

“Nice night, huh?”

“Um, yeah, sure-”

“Here’s your other drink, man,” the bartender cut across the exchange and dropped the second glass next to Dean’s first.

“Thanks,” Dean grabbed quickly for the second drink and tucked the menu under his arm before grabbing his own. “Uh, nice to meet ‘ya,” he nodded awkwardly to polo-guy and hurried past to get back to Sam, who was playing on his phone at the table, leaving any thought of how weird that was back at the bar with the now deflated looking tourist.

An hour later, suitably fed and two beers down, Sam suggested a game of pool.

“You know I’m always up for beating your ass, Sammy.”

Dean grinned and racked up the strangely coloured billiard balls in a bright pink frame. He’d never seen rainbow-coloured pool before but, whatever, people were weird. He gave Sam the break, and tried very hard to look anywhere but his baby brother’s ass as he bent stoically over the felt top and crashed the cue into the white ball, grinning smugly when he straightened up and rounded the table to pound a brightly striped ball into a corner pocket. Dean breathed a sigh of relief that he no longer had to avoid looking at Sam with his perv-o-vision on, but realised too late that the front-on view of Sam wasn’t any less enticing.

The way his chestnut bangs curled over his brow and caught on his insanely long eyelashes - seriously was he wearing mascara or something? Dean yanked himself from his thoughts, only to be confronted with Sam’s eyes glancing up at him from behind those lashes and curls, like he wanted to check Dean was watching him while he took his shot. He holed another ball, and the clack and thunk of ball against porcelain and then wood shuddered through Dean and settled in his bones. The cocky smirk on Sam’s face took it one step further, and sent a shock of arousal through his chest and down.

“I’m gonna go get us some refills,” Dean grunted and motioned to their mostly empty glasses. Sam shrugged and eyed his next shot, smirking to himself, under the assumption that Dean was bailing because he didn’t want to watch Sam slaughter him right out of the gate. He was partially right. At the rate he was going, Dean was going to be on the floor soon; and it had nothing to do with the pool or the alcohol, and everything to do with the thoughts Sam was stirring inside him.

Up at the bar, Dean called for two more beers, and a double shot of something strong. The amber liquid was dropped in front of him quickly while the bartender waited for the taps to clear. Dean took a healthy gulp and let the burn in his throat ground him, reminding him of what he could control in this world. And maybe he couldn’t control his thoughts about Sammy, but he could control how mind-numbingly drunk he got to forget them. Taking the second and last gulp of the liquor, he nearly choked when he felt a tap on his shoulder. And he knew it wasn’t Sam, because he was watching Sam still bent over the pool table from across the room.

“You drank that pretty damn quick,” the stranger chuckled deeply. “Good stuff?”

“Strong stuff,” Dean grunted, and flagged the bartender for another, which was quickly poured out for him.

“I know something else pretty strong that would feel good sliding down your throat.” This time Dean did choke on his liquor, prompting the stranger to thump him on the back, which Dean flinched away from violently. “Sorry hombre, didn’t mean to scare you like that,” the stranger had the decency to look slightly abashed, “it’s just… you got the best damn blowjob lips I’ve ever seen.” Dean almost swallowed wrong again.

“I, uh…” Dean cleared his throat, grasping at straws for words that made any sense, and tried again. “That’s, um, that’s very flattering of you but I’m not… uh, ‘on your team’ amigo, sorry.” In a bid to hide his awkwardness, Dean went to down the rest of his drink. It stung on the way down, where the flesh of his throat was raw from choking.

“Oh, sorry man, I thought uh- with your friend over there you two must be… well, among friends here.” He gestured vaguely around the room and Dean followed his motion, paying closer attention now than he had all night. And that’s when he noticed that a lot of the guys were sitting just a little closer than friends do, the groups of girlfriends dotted around all had pairs amongst them… His eyes darted back to Sam and the rainbow coloured billiard balls he hadn’t thought too hard about before.

Dean’s stare hardened when he noticed that Sam, who had pocketed all his balls, effectively finishing the game while Dean was at the bar (and Dean did not let his heart strings tug proudly at that), was leaning casually against the side of the table, arms resting on his pool cue in a way that made him look carelessly sexy, eyes raking over a guy slightly shorter than him with spiky hair and a tight henley. His brain echoed with the sounds of shattering glass as he turned, wide-eyed, back to the incredibly forward man who had been hitting on him.

“This is a gay bar?” Dean hoped he didn’t sound offensive, he was just confused.

“Wow,” the stranger laughed, tucking a hand into his pocket, “you really are straight aren’t you?”

He shook his head bemusedly and slapped a bill on the counter, gesturing for two of what Dean had just been downing. When they arrived, he clicked his drink against the glass he pushed in front of Dean. “Hope you forget whoever it is you’re drinking to forget about, and if you want some help with that, I don’t mind working with beginners.” The stranger left with a wink and made his way back to his group of buddies across the room, laughing off their sympathies at his strike out.

Dean was left at the bar, puzzled, embarrassed, but vaguely flattered. Except then he remembered Sam was talking to someone, some jag-off who didn’t know how to buy clothes that fit him properly, and a feeling he wasn’t sure how to name writhed and burned in his chest. Eyeing his little brother over the drink he’d just been bought, Dean tried to do a little introspection for once. If he didn’t have a name for what he was feeling, then it was probably something new, right? It wasn’t his protective instincts kicking in, Sam could take this guy easily; could probably split him in half, Dean thought to himself ruefully. But then that thought conjured up an image Dean wasn’t mentally prepared for.

Like he was watching it through the flickering of a candle, shadows jumping across the figures he was trying to focus on, Dean saw Sam grab the man’s hair and slam him over the pool table with his arm twisted behind his back, saw Sam pull down his too-skinny jeans and bury his face between the guy’s ass cheeks, saw Sam naked, slamming into him, splitting him in half, the muscles in his back flexing and glistening with sweat in the weird half light Dean was watching through.

In a blink, Sam and his boy-toy had disappeared. Not just from Dean’s lecherous imaginings but also from Dean’s actual view. Panicked, he searched for Sam in the crowd, breath easing when he saw him further down the bar ordering drinks, but every muscle in his body clenched when he saw Sam’s hand land on his companion’s shoulder and squeeze.

What the hell did Sam think he was doing? Picking some random guy up in a bar? That wasn’t like him at all, that was Dean’s thing. Except, when was the last time he’d gone home with someone? A few weeks? A month? With a gut-wrenching feeling, Dean realised that he hadn’t taken anyone home with him since Dani and Sam. So maybe picking people up in bars wasn’t his thing, if he hadn’t done it in so long. Maybe now it was Sam’s thing.

But then what’s my thing?

Dean scrambled in his head for a new identity, a new label. Something like ‘big brother’ that he could use to define himself, ground himself in the haze of confusion he felt himself slipping away in. Hunter? High-school dropout? Badass? Border-line alcoholic? He looked up from his empty glass and cast around his surroundings, frustrated and dazed and searching for an answer - and he locked eyes with Sam.

You’re the guy who’s hopelessly in love with his little brother.

Fuck.

***

Tags: @hawkerz12 @negans-lucille-tblr @dylansbabygirl24 @mineshinamary @popsensationnicole23 @spn-problems @donthateme454 @doyouknowsamw @peridottea91 @delightfulbakeryaliendeputy @fictionallemons @petitgateau911 @natastic @marvelfansworld @delightfullykrispypeach @half-closeted-bi-girl @akshi8278 @lyarr24 @crashlyrose @kiss-my-peachy-arse @tftumblin @j-ai-adore-dean @deandreamernp @miufel @alice101macwil @caitlinvd @disneysloot @itsthedoctah10 @devilsbby @leftlokiofpuppy @jackandthesoulmates

#dive bar #wincest #spnkinkbingo #gay panic #bi!sam #dean has gay thoughts #sexy times

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wwitbeyondmeasure · 4 years

Text

Summer at the Burrow / Ron Weasley fan fiction

Previous Chapters

Introduction / Author’s Note / Chapter 1: The Journey to the Burrow / Chapter 2: Hidden Letters / Chapter 3: Ron’s Return / Chapter 4: Nighttime Conversations / Chapter 5: A Morning Surprise / Chapter 6: The Quidditch Match / Chapter 7: Girl Talk / Chapter 8: Aphrodite’s Push / Chapter 9: Mistakes and Love Potions / Chapter 10: You Would Be Fine / Chapter 11: Spell It Out / Chapter 12: Long Overdue

Chapter 13: Always Want You

Author's note: okay so this chapter is gonna be a little steamy...pretty much the entire chapter is literally just steam so if you're not comfortable with that please don't read this chapter! thanks! :)

Your knuckles hovered over the wooden door of Ron's bedroom. They were shaky, and your heart was beating faster and faster. You had successfully slipped out of Ginny's room after (of course) gushing to her and Hermione about all the romantic things that Ron had said to you. You were pretty sure they had seen you leave Ginny's room during the sleepover, but they opted to let you have your fun.

And fun you would have. If only you could work up the courage to knock on the door.

You don't know why you were nervous. Ron just bared his heart and soul to you outside a few hours ago but now standing at his bedroom door, you were racked with nerves. What if he changed his mind? What if you messed something up? What if you weren't as good a kisser as he was? Juvenile thoughts, yeah, but everything with Ron was new and exciting, you couldn't help feeling so inexperienced.

Before you could even decide whether or not to turn around and run back up the stairs, you heard a very familiar squawking noise. Dite. Perfect opportunity, you thought, before knocking on the door

The door swung open before you could even lift your hand away. Your knuckle was frozen there in midair as your gaze met Ron's. He had changed out of his button-up from the party and was now wearing loose sweat pants and his signature Chudley Cannons t-shirt. Just the sight of him made your head feel woozy and clouded.

"I....uh...heard Dite, so I decided to come check on her," you said, very awkwardly. Even though you knew how Ron felt about you, and vice versa, you still found yourself at a lost for words standing at his bedroom door. For some reason kissing him now seemed drastically different from kissing him in the garden.

Ron gave you a lazy grin.

"You came just for Dite, huh?" He asked, seeing right through you. Blush spread across your cheeks and you nodded curtly.

Before you could make any more of a fool of yourself, Ron gently clasped his fingers around your wrists and pulled you into the room, promptly shutting the door behind him. He then pushed your back up against the door and kissed you. Surprised, your hands flew to his hair and you deepened the kiss. Even though you had exchanged countless little kisses the entire night (you could barely keep your hands off each other), every single one had felt as passionate and important as the first.

Ron pulled away from you, his grin still playing on his, now chapped, lips.

"Still only here for Dite?" He asked, his eyes joking.

"Definitely," you responded, taking every ounce of your will power to push away from him rather than wrap your legs around his torso. You walked over to the owl cage in the corner of the room. Inside, standing on straw and looking very smug, was your little friend Dite.

You stroked the top of her feathers with the back of your fingers, smoothing out the black heart on top of her head. While you were distracted by your pet, you felt strong warm arms wrap around your waist from behind. Ron leaned down to rest his chin on your shoulder.

"Do you think she knows? About us?" Ron asked, tilting his head towards the small owl you were petting.

"Oh, definitely. She's practically screaming 'I told you so!' right now."

Ron wrapped his arms tighter around you as he chuckled. Your entire body felt warm with him wrapped around you. Wow, you thought. You could get used to this feeling.

He laughed again, kissing your shoulder while doing it so you felt his hot breath on your bare shoulder. You decided to wear a tank top and pajama pants to meet him tonight, and you were glad you did. His breath directly on your exposed skin was driving you insane.

"What're you laughing at?" You asked, your fingers moving away from petting Dite and instead landing on his arm. You traced up and down his freckled limb, soaking in every bit of him.

"People always say I'm the dumb one, but I literally bought you an owl named Aphrodite and you still didn't know how I felt about you," he said. You could feel his shoulders jostling up and down as he spoke so you knew he was still laughing.

Rolling your eyes, you turned around in his arms and were now facing him. Your fingers trailed from his biceps up to his neck as you wove your fingers through his orange hair.

"I didn't want to assume anything," you defended yourself.

Ron lowered his lips to yours. "I wish you would've, then we could've done this a lot sooner," he responded. You could feel the shape of his words barely touching your lips as he spoke against them.

"Done what, exactly?" You asked teasingly.

His lips connected with yours once more and as he kissed you deeply, he slowly walked you back towards his bed.

"This," he mumbled huskily when your knees hit the edge of the mattress.

Desire pooled into every pore of your body as you laid down on his bed, him hovering above you.

"Some privacy, please?" You said, regarding the birds in the corner of the room. Dite sent a wink in your direction as she flapped out her wings and took flight. As soon as your owls had flown out the open window, you dragged Ron's face down to yours.

"Kiss me, Weasley," you breathed.

And kiss you he did.

You thanked your lucky stars you were laying down because if not, your knees would have given out with the intensity of Ron's kiss. His mouth was hot against yours, his tongue dragging across your bottom lip hungrily. You kissed him back with the same feverish energy, wrapping your leg around his waist in one swift motion. He grunted into the kiss, left hand coming up to tangle in your hair as his right trailed down your body, touching you in places you desperately needed him at. His lips trailed from your mouth to your neck, leaving hot wet kisses along your jaw line.

"Y/n," he rasped against your skin, making you shudder under him.

Slowly, he kissed from your neck to your collarbone, relishing in the little moans you were emitting. His fingers bunched around the hem of your tank top, his eyes searching yours for permission. You nodded, letting him lift the material and smiling to yourself when he sharply inhaled. You hadn't worn a bra.

"Decided to keep with tradition, you know?" You joked as his eyes drank in the view of you.

"I love you so damn much," he said, his hands roaming over your body. His eyes bounced back up to yours and held your gaze. "You look so beautiful like this, all splayed out with your hair messy," he said. He was looking at you as if you were the most magical thing in the world-and to him you were. Which is saying a lot, because he was a wizard.

"I'm sorry I ran out on you the morning after we slept together," he blurted out. Wincing, he amended, "I mean not sleep sleep together, but sleeping next to each other, in the same bed, like we did."

It made your nerves ease when you watched him get flustered around you for once, instead of the other way around.

"Why did you?" You asked.

His hands stalled their trek on your body and moved back to your chin, cupping your face. He did that a lot, holding your face in his hands so gently. It made your heart melt and other parts of you heat up.

"I dunno, I guess I've just pictured this moment, right now, what we are doing, for the longest time...and I wanted to act on how I felt so badly that night...but I was too nervous," he confessed sheepishly.

You propped yourself up on your elbows so you could look him deeper in the eyes.

"Apology accepted. Just don't run out on me tomorrow morning, okay?"

His breath caught in his throat.

"You want to stay the night? With me? In my bed?" He asked nervously, as if he couldn't believe his luck.

After glancing down at your bare chest, you looked back up at him.

"Well, obviously," you joked.

He laughed through a grin and brought his lips to yours, before pushing you back into the pillows. Your head rested on his soft pillows and he kissed you again, making you feel like you were floating. His hands explored your chest while your fingers gripped the ends of his t-shirt, tugging it up slightly.

As if he could read your mind, Ron leaned back, quickly taking off his shirt and casting it away. Instantly, you attacked his shoulders and collarbones with hot, open mouthed kisses. You kissed every freckle, every mole, and every muscle on his chest.

Once you felt satisfied, you made your way back up to his lips, attaching yourself to them like they were water and you were dying of thirst. Ron eased you back to the pillows once more as his lips started kissing and sucking at the crook of your neck. You pressed you face into his red hair, the smell of cinnamon and apple filling your nose. He licked a particularly sensitive spot on your neck and you groaned, back arching.

Ron's fingers reached the drawstring of your pants, and he pulled away to look you in the eyes.

"Are you sure you want to do this? Because we can wait if you want," he rushed, his words tripping over one another.

You pulled him back into a kiss, breathing through it, "Ron, I want this, I want you, as long as you do too."

"I'll always want you," he replied.

His fingers dipped below your waistband. They immediately found their way to your core and you moaned louder than you expected, heat rushing to your face.

"Alright there, love?" Ron asked with a smug grin.

"Perfect," you replied, moaning again, not really caring about how desperate you must have seemed in the moment.

The rest of the night was filled with the same rhythm, kissing and asking permission and unabashedly showing each other how badly you wanted one another.

This lasted for quite some time, but by the time Dite and Pig had flown back into the room, you and Ron were cuddling together, out of breath, legs tangled up in the sheets.

"Hello," you greeted your owl. She gave you an approving nod before nestling into the straw of her cage, soundly falling asleep.

You turned your attention to the red haired boy laying next to you, his arms wrapped tightly around you. His eyelids were heavy, and you could tell he was just as tired as you were. Taking out years worth of pent up desire and lust really tires a person out.

Ron pressed his lips against your mouth, your temple, your cheek, all the while mumbling "I love you," against your lips, again and again and again.

You fell asleep to that mantra, heart full, hair a mess, and absolutely, blissfully in love.

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saveourskinship · 3 years

Text

Thanks for the tag @thusatlas I’ve never done one of these. So

How many works do you have on AO3?

16 works, but if you count my collection of drabbles it is 42 (soon to be 61 once I finish updating my Ficlet Snack Pack.

What’s your total AO3 word count?

429863

How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

Harry Potter mostly, but when I was twelve I wrote Greek God fanfiction but it’s hard to tell what fanfic in that space. I mean, the masterpiece that is Lore Olympus isn’t exactly fanfic, right?

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

1) Transit of Venus

2) Curse of Fascinus

3) Her Curious Valentine’s

4) Are There Still Beautiful Things

5) Always Being Let Go

Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

I do! Even if it’s just to thank someone and wish them a lovely day. I think the only comments I haven’t responded to are ones like ‘huh?’ or ‘eh?’. I can’t do much with those.

In a very gross way, comments are like laxatives. If you want more shit out of me, shove comments down my throat. My motivation will jump from toodle-doo to PHWOAR if anyone knows or understands what that means.

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

The Alternate Ending (Tragic) to Transit of Venus.

Transit of Venus was already pretty angsty, but the people wanted to see the most harrowing of the five endings I wrote. So I put on my patent-pending Sob Through Anything glasses (eucalyptus on the nose grip, moisture wicking on the glass) and edited a Romeo + Juliet- style ending.

Do you write crossovers? If so what’s the craziest one you’ve written?

No, but I do write Easter Eggs. Though I do have a plunny to crossover Derry Girls with Harry Potter where the character of James is Harry being sent to Derry for his protection.

It is the only crossover I’ve ever dabbled in and the the couple pages I’ve written are utter madness so I don’t hold out hope I’ll ever publish it..

Oh, but do songfics count? Because then I have LOADS. Mostly Taylor Swift because folklore stole my soul.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Yes, my favourite was telling me the entire premise of Transit of Venus was stupid and I should have taken a leaf out of their country’s way of doing things to up population and given tracts of land to couples . Soo... colonialism with implications of people displacement and other more heinous consequences they found preferable to a soul spell.

Do you write smut? If so what kind?

I do write smut. My favourite type of smut to write is romantic, sensual smut. I’m also very much looking forward to writing the smut for my crackfic.

I think my most favourite smut scene I’ve written though is in Her Curious Valentine’s where Theo reads really bad, gratuitous Dramione smut out loud in the company of both Draco and Hermione while they try and ignore him.

I laughed a lot writing that.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I honestly have no idea how I’d even check that. But probably not. I doubt anyone would want to take credit for anything I write.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

No, but as an exercise to practice my Te Reo, I occasionally translate passages of my own.

What’s your all time favorite ship?

Dramione. I ‘White Flag by Dido’ Dramione. I stan, simp, ship, fangirl and tresh Dramione. I refuse to feel guilt, only pleasure. Please don’t come for me Ronmione fans, I like Ron, okay? I’m just shit at writing him and just make him say, “Bloody hell!” all the time.

But also Theo with anyone, particularly Harry. Theo is my favourite character because he is almost 100% fanon. He epitomises the Harry Potter fanfic community for me so I have to love him forever and ever.

What's a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

I’m writing a WIP called ‘The Madnesses of Men’ that details seven women’s relationships with the men in their life: The three Black sisters, Pansy, Luna, Ginny and Hermione. Each has a Seven Deadly Sin as the title of their chapter and each has a completely different writing style. Luna’s chapter is entirely poetry. Bellatrix is an exercise of insanity and a stream of consciousness. Narcissa’s is all letters to Andromeda that she never sent.

I would love to finish it because it is something very different for me but I’m struggling to find Pansy and Andromeda’s voices. Le sigh, maybe one day. (But let’s be honest, it’ll never happen.)

What are your writing strengths?

Humour - I have a knack for gargling up ridiculous scenarios when I’m brushing my teeth, giggling maniacally like a calcium-deficient vampire while frothing at the mouth with reckless abandon. I put these scenarios in my writing and it goes over well.

Angst - People tell them I make them cry and have been known to punch the heart’s out of people’s bodies so I thank them and wish them a nice day. I once exacerbated someone’s chronic pain condition (which I still feel soul-crushingly guilty about) and was asked to reiterate the ‘Heartbreak’ tag on a fic. I guess that means I’m good at it. Sorry again to that reader!

Trope Twists - My favourite thing to write are twists on tropes. I enjoy finding new ways to tell old stories. Stay tuned for my take on the ‘Unexpected Pregnancy’ theme coming soon.

What are your writing weaknesses?

Run-on sentences - I have a tendency to, more often than not, plug in far too many words which I think stems from some sort of childhood instinct that if I kept talking and talking then my sister won’t find out I drank all her juice and accidentally threw it back up on her favourite Skydancer.

Sticking to my plotting/theme - This has happened a lot. Incandescent was supposed to be a cottagecore, cute, fluffy romance Theomione. Now it is a sprawling space opera where Hermione has fought a god, has learned another version of herself will either save/destroy the entire world (not to mention Atlantis) and rescued a star after it was eaten by a black hole. Oh, and it takes place over one weekend.

The Absolute and Total Defeat of One Draco Malfoy had been fully plotted out for twenty-two chapters. It only took three for me to completely deviate. But it’s a crack fic, so it felt inevitable

The montage/transition pieces - I hate writing the banal parts between plot points. And I hate it because I’m really bad at it. I either skip over it too much or get bogged down in too many details.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I personally like reading dialogue in other languages. If used in a way that makes sense. Especially if the fic is set somewhere that doesn’t speak English, I like to learn a little of the setting’s language to immerse myself.

I tend to use use other languages sparingly in my own writing. Mostly because I don’t want to get it wrong and when I try, I end up in four hour long research holes of the best way to say ‘Hello’.

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Ancient Greek mythology, I think. If it can be counted. Would that make ‘The Iliad’ or ‘The Odyssey’ fanfic? Oh gods, I’m going to obsess over this for days now.

What’s your favourite fic that you’ve written?

Transit of Venus because it taught me a lot, though I feel like I best nailed the setting I was going for in Are There Still Beautiful Things. The Absolute and Total Defeat of One Draco Malfoy always cheers me up.

But if I complete it and start posting (which I am DETERMINED to do, I WILL finish it before I start posting), I think my favourite will be my new WIP: What’s Owed When.

Tagging: @ohlenalena @megamegaturlte

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revisionaryhistory · 4 years

Text

Three Days ~ 43

~*~Emma~*~

I remembered Will from a couple of parties and Kirk and Boone's wedding. Nice guy. Apparently, he and some of his friends thought I was the extra in a three-way with Eli and Angie. Eli didn't see a reason he should correct them. Angie invited Alissa out on one of our girls’ nights and she became one of the group. It had probably been six months since I’d last seen her. I liked her and we got along well. The friendship had never progressed past those nights. I can't remember if I met her before or after Jimmy and I broke up. Either way, I moved, and we only ever saw each other on nights out. Now I find she's married to one of Sebastian's best friends. We have at least three friends in common and our friends' group overlaps. Very cool, but very weird. Almost like we were supposed to meet.

Wednesday I got the photoshoot "before" picture about fifteen minutes before my kids arrived. Looked like Sebastian in the morning. Hair a little messy, a crease on his face from his pillow, and his eyes not quite awake. His beard had grown in more and I ran my fingers over it in the picture, knowing it would be gone in the after. I didn’t dislike either version. I was just used to the way I’d met him.

My aide took the kids to lunch and I went in search of my after. The first thing I noticed was his beard was trimmed super close, where it was long stubble, but it was still there. I guess they'd changed their mind. His hair was styled not that different than he did except every hair was in place and I was betting it was fixed where it wouldn't move. Makeup perfected his skin tone and somehow made his eyes even bluer. Maybe it was the dark blue robe he was wearing. It had been hours since he'd sent, but I still sent a text telling him how handsome he looked.

I grabbed my lunch out of my mini-fridge and headed down to Mallory's room. I'd made some pasta salad loaded with veggies while talking with Sebastian last night and was looking forward to eating. Our secretary was walking toward me with a bouquet of cookies. They were shaped and iced like crayons, rulers, apples, notepads, and glue. Outside of teacher appreciation week that usually signaled a parent had gotten pissed at a grade or consequence and sided with their kid. At least, until they got both sides of the story. Cookies were good apologies and could be shared with the other grade level teachers who were sure to know every word you said and the tone of voice you used.

"Who got yelled at this time, Jamie?"

She lifted an eyebrow, "You."

"No one’s yelled at me." That meant they were from Sebastian.

"Then your new boyfriend sent cookies instead of flowers."

I laughed, "Good possibility." I took them from her. "Take one for you and Kim."

"I was hoping you'd say that. They smell delicious."

I walked into Mallory's room with my healthy pasta salad and not at all healthy cookies. "I brought dessert." Our lunch group made appreciative noises.

Cindy laughed, "Who's parent did you piss off?"

I shook my head, "No one."

Mallory snatched the card while my hands were full, "I believe these are from the new man." I went ahead and sat down, trusting the card would be G-rated. Mallory read, "Halfway into the last full week. Hope this helps you all make it through. Sebastian." She looked to me, "Sebastian? That's a mouthful."

"Yes, he is."

Before we dug into the cookies, I had everyone take one and gather together. I'd send the picture as a thank you. They'd heard about him Monday after the tournament and I talked more about him today. I wasn't ready to share him yet. I was a little surprised word hadn't traveled from the tournament, but I guess there wasn't enough overlap. Outside of my team, where I worked wasn’t common knowledge. This was an advantage of not working and living in the same school district. If there was gossip it was more than likely identifying me as the setter on that team than a teacher. The moment his last name entered my school it would be a topic of conversation in all three buildings. I don't know exactly what that would mean. I'd been here four years and it was common knowledge where I went over winter break. Ed may eclipse Sebastian, but not when you throw Marvel in the mix. We have superhero day during our anti-drug week. I see the Marvel costumes and t-shirts. There'd be a lot of talk. Once the kids were gone, I’d feel more comfortable sharing who this new man is. The kids could make this a zoo.

Mallory, Cindy, and I were the last left. Cindy asked, "Will we ever meet this Sebastian? See a picture."

"I’m sure." I smiled, "We haven't known each two weeks yet. It's good and I'm protecting the new relationship like you do a new kitten. It needs to grow a little more."

Mallory agreed, "You know the Barbie Bitches at the high school are going to want all the details."

I did know that. "I’m not ready to share."

Cindy took our trash to the cafeteria while Mal and I cleaned up the tables. We sat down to finish our drinks, stretching out our break as long as possible. Her kids coming into the room was my cue to head back to my room as mine would be a few minutes behind them. It wasn’t quite time yet.

My text alert went off with a picture of Sebastian. I reached for my phone, but not so quick that Mallory didn’t see. Her eyes went wide and I held up a finger, “Give me one minute and I'll show you.” He was wearing a dark blue suit, with an unbuttoned white shirt, and an untied bow tie. He looked amazing and about two seconds away from sex. I put my hand over the screen and pushed it toward Mal, "Can I trust you to tell no one. I'm not ready for this to be here."

Mal put her hand over mine, "You know I'm not telling anyone. If that's who I think it is, the kids finding out will make Field Day crazy. Too much unstructured time to gossip and ask you questions." She started lifting her hand, "Let me see."

I moved my hand from the phone to my mouth.

Mallory looked at the picture a long time before she said, "Yep, that’s a Sebastian. Damn, Emma, you met him," she tapped my screen, "in the grocery?"

I nodded.

"Now I really wish I would have come to volleyball. Although, I probably would have just stared."

"No, you wouldn't. A few minutes and you would see he's like anyone else. Nothing special."

She grinned, "Except to you." Her kids started coming into the room.

I stood, "Except to me."

As I headed to the door she called out, "We're sitting in the back at faculty meeting."

Sebastian had sent another picture by the time recess rolled around. He was in black jeans and a t-shirt a least one size too small.

Emma ~ Might have to cut you out of that shirt. This is not a complaint.

Sebastian ~ It was stretchy.

Emma ~ How is it going?

Sebastian ~ Good. I'm sitting in a chair having my hair changed.

Emma ~ What are they doing to it?

Sebastian ~ Making it look like it did when I got here. Apparently, people sleep in very expensive watches. I' II be done soon. No tommorow.

Emma ~ What will you do with the unexpected free time?

Sebastian ~ Clean my apartment.

Emma ~ I was going to say you don't have to, but you do. Ha Ha, the first time at least.

Sebastian ~ Exactly. I’m pretty neat. Bathroom is a wreck.

Emma ~ Bathrooms always need cleaning. I have to run. Argument on the monkey bars.

Sebastian ~ Talk to you later.

It would be Thursday night before we talked. Real-life set in. I had a volleyball game Wednesday night and Sebastian went out for drinks with the photographer once the shoot was over. I got home and was exhausted. We lost. I don't like to lose.

Thursday during the day there were no texts. My guess is he got home late and drunk. Overslept. Busy at gym. Returns home to sleep off the night before. I was driving home when a call from Sebastian came in.

"Buna ziua, Sebasti-an.” <Good afternoon>

“Ce mai faci?” <How are you?>

Thankfully he kept it simple. “Bine, tu?” <Good and you?>

Sebastian switched to English. “I broke my phone. I pulled it out to text some woman, got elbowed by a guy on the sidewalk, and threw my phone on the ground. Screen shattered and I held it in my hand watching it slowly die. It just glitched and sputtered away in front of me."

"My poor, baby. Are you mourning the loss?"

"Nope, an hour in an Apple store and I have a shiny new iPhone. They were able to transfer my data over. Good as new. That's why you hadn’t heard from me."

I smiled, "I thought you were sleeping one-off."

"I barely drank. Too much to do today. Sheets changed, bathroom clean, kitchen has some food, and the family room is clean. When are you going to be here?"

"I got permission to leave a little early. I’ll definitely make the three o’clock train, but I’ll try and do the two. If that's ok with you?"

“I'm not going anywhere after the gym. I'll be here waiting."

"I'm excited. Seeing you. You with my friends and your friends. It’s going to be fun."

"It is."

Just to be sure. "Most excited about you."

"I like hearing that."

I set my alarm a little early to give myself time to finish packing. I’m not normally an over-packer, but I couldn't decide on a dress for dinner. Or anything else. Insane. At least today wasn't a theme day I need to wear a costume for. I wore a pair of black capris and a bright pink top with rolled sleeves and a long zipper up the front. Up for school, a little less so for Sebastian.

First text of the day.

Sebastian ~ Are you here yet?

I had nothing but fun things planned for the day. Yesterday I'd had them vote for their favorite books and we read those at the top of every hour. We played math games, a science and social studies game show, and our top music and movement videos. I ate my lunch getting the STEM Lab cart and prepped everything for my assistant. The kids had been wonderful all day and I didn't feel the least bit guilty when I fled the building when she took them outside for recess.

I waited until I was safely on the train to text Sebastian.

Emma ~ On my way

Sebastian ~ Early!

Emma ~ I’ll beat the worst of the traffic

Sebastian ~ Exactly what I was thinking.

Sebastian ~ I should shower.

I put in my ear pods, clicking shuffle on my "Current Faves" playlist. This one changed all the time. Some never left the list. Recently there'd be an influx of happy love songs and sexy mood music. I think I even dozed off a couple of times. The closer I got the more butterflies were in my stomach. I was excited to see him, but a little nervous. I was going to his place. It would be different than surrounded by my stuff. I’m nervous about stupid stuff like where do I put my toothbrush, is it ok to look through the books in his extra room, what I do with my dirty clothes, and what if I get thirsty in the middle of the night? It's making me think back and wondering if I'd made him welcome... comfortable.

I took a cab from the train station, looking out the window at the city I used to call home. I wasn't familiar with where he lived so I watched the numbers on the buildings. His building from the outside looked like an old converted warehouse. The brick was red with a gray stone line between every floor. Looked about seven floors. He'd texted me the entry code and I hopped on the elevator to the fifth.

Sebastian opened his door so fast it was like he was standing beside it and I almost fell over. He was barefoot in ripped jeans and a Rutgers t-shirt. He held the door open with a hand high on the door. Add in the finger styled hair, bright blue eyes, and a smile that said he was happy to see me and he was the sexiest thing I'd ever laid eyes on. It was the barefoot part that got me. "I'm here."

#Sebastian Stan #sebastian stan fanfiction

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gongju-juice · 4 years

Text

She never lied.

This was requested by anonymous. For future reference, please follow my page and send a message for requests. I may not be able to get everyone, and I may not give you exactly what you want but please be patient and understanding mah bois.

Warnings: Psychological Instability, Angst

“Mr. Park, how are you feeling today?”

He cleared his throat, eyes shifting around the white walls of the office. Every time he visited, the same family photos and certificates hung mockingly on the wall. Once upon a time, Jinyoung was once successful. He had his degrees, his career, his woman; his heart. Those days belong in another part of his life. A life that no longer existed.

“Mr. Park?”

“I feel. . .” he paused to find the right words, “hollow. Not as empty as usual, but the hole is wider today. It burns around the edges.”

The psychiatrist lowered her head in disappointment. Ms. Kyeong-un was one of the most talented mental health physicians in Changwon City. Her accomplishments were renowned and praised in all of South Korea. But with all her fancy background and text-book knowledge, she simply couldn’t understand the complex young man.

“Have you been doing your therapy sessions like we’ve talked about?”

“No,” he admitted, “well, yes, at first. My medicine makes my head feel weird, and every time I try to breathe like you showed me how, all I inhale is her perfume. When I go out for walks, I see the pretty cherry blossoms—cherry blossoms were her favorite, you know.”

“Do you still work at the elementary school?”

Jinyoung recalled the prior day’s events. He was supposed to take the kindergarteners out for recess on the playground. But instead of doing that, he led them to the parking lot where cars maneuvered in and out of the blue lined spaces, tires screeching on the hot asphalt. Children yelling as they came inches from death by the silver bumper of a car’s front.

“No, I was fired.”

“Fired? But why?”

He scratched his chin. “I don’t know why. I was just trying to let them have fun.”

She closed her folder and clasped her hands together. “Mr. Park, I don’t see any improvement in our sessions at all. Your progression has been stagnant for months. It’s time you take initiative.”

Jinyoung didn’t see what else he could do. Sleepless nights led to terrifying hallucinations in the morning. Those hallucinations made him do terrible things in the day. How was he supposed to know that the friendly bunny standing in the parking lot of the school was not real?

“I have an idea,” she announced. “Admittedly, it is a little unconventional and slightly discouraged, but I think it may help your case. Would you like to know what it is?”

He shrugged. She reached under her desk and pulled out a thin, iridescent card.

“I have a friend named Lee Taemin. He takes on special orders at this location. Just tell security your name, and they’ll lead you there. I sent a picture of her so he’d know what she looked like when she was. . .alive.”

“A doll?” Jinyoung chuckled mirthlessly. “And you think one of those things can help me get over my wife? The life, the sunshine of my entire existence?”

“It’s worth a try, Mr. Park.”

Sometimes, Jinyoung seriously wondered about the insanity behind people’s motives. He was crazy. He knew this and knew it well. But this woman, this doctor, was supposed to fix the cloud of despair that was his mentality. And she thought she could accomplish this by a figurine made of plastic and synthetic human flesh. Who was crazier?

The next night he arrived at the building. It was made entirely of glass, a tree in the metaphorical urban jungle that dominated first-world society. Above the gold embellished revolving doors, the name of the owner shimmered in the morning sun.

He told the clerk his name, and she brought him into an elevator and up to the top floor. The long hallway had a clear view of the city, sprawling alive and awake in the rush hour time. All of it was meaningless. None of it meant a thing if he couldn’t have his girl. He used to dream of exploring the whole world. Now he sat on his bed staring at the tv blankly. Nothing had color any more.

“Mr. Park,” Taemin called, swiveling around in his chair. He wore a dark suit, his hair neatly parted to the side and meticulously groomed. “Kyeong-un told me all about your dilemmas.”

“And you’re wasting your time. Nothing or no one could ever replace my Mina. I don’t even know why,” he sighed. “I don’t even know why I’m here.”

“You’re here because you want a chance. You want a chance to get rid of the pain that’s been eating away at your heart. Don’t feel bad, Mr. Park. Everyone has their mediums. Whether it be drugs or alcohol—crime or sex—you’re allowed to do whatever is you have to do.”

He pointed at the box by his desk. “Take a look inside. I won’t judge you.”

Jinyoung as he was told. A cold, robotic body with her signature long black hair and glassy brown eyes laid inside. She was even the exact height, the shape of her lips and arch of her brows all a perfect replica of the woman who used to be.

“Do enjoy,” Taemin said. And with that, Jinyoung left the building.

He set the doll down on his bed. For as much as it resembled her, he knew her eyes were not animated. Her breath, her painted smile was fake. The real Mina was six feet underneath the dirt.

Sometime, maybe it was a week or two. Jinyoung revisited the forgotten doll abandoned in her cardboard prison. He lifted her body, cradling her to his chest.

“My girl! My darling, baby girl! How could I leave you all alone when you’ve been so cold, so lonely? I won’t ever do it again, I swear it!”

His angel was back. His life was back.

In the mornings, he bathed her in exquisite perfumes, brushing her hair delicately with care to the nurture of every single strand. He made her tea, and together, they drank in the golden rays of the sun.

The thing is—he wasn’t crazy. He wasn’t crazy. When he held her in his arms, she was real. She was smiling, she talked to him, she held his hand. Mina was alive, she wasn’t a doll. And Mina wouldn’t lie to him. She never lied to him. How could she lie about being real?

Got7 is one of my favorite Kpop groups, and Jinyoung and Jaebum are both my bias wreckers lol. (Jackson gege is my precious bias tho).

This is a slightly altered form for what they requested, but that’s just because their idea was very grand, and I was little worried about cramming half-done work in this one-shot. I’m also not sure if I will write smut for actual (real-life) people in the future. For fictional characters it’s cowabunga and all that, but I haven’t made up my mind about actual people.

#got7 #got7 imagines #jinyoung got7 #jinyoung got7 imagines #got7 scenarios #kpop imagines #kpop fics #drabbles #angst #jinyoung x reader #got7 x reader

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madlori · 5 years

Text

Unveiled - Chapter 1

Unveiled, Chapter 1

by MadLori Word Count: 3300 Fandom: Men’s Hockey RPF Pairing: Sidney Crosby/Evgeni Malkin Rating: NC-17 (like, heed this, please) Tags: Arranged Marriage, Modern Royalty AU, Mpreg, Not Omegaverse, No Consent Issues, Veiled Sex, Weird Traditions, Don’t Think Too Hard, Handwavey Biology

Read this on AO3

[there will not usually be this many notes, it’s chapter 1]

Biology note: This is mpreg but NOT omegaverse. All genders have both reproductive systems, meaning anybody of any gender can get anyone else pregnant. Men and women exist, but gender presentation is a result of how things are arranged/presented. I'm not super into getting into a ton of details about this. Handwave, handwave.

Note about language: I made the conscious choice not to render anyone's dialogue in a particular accent or dialect, as I felt that in this setting it would be a distraction. We're gonna go with "everyone in the story is fluent in whatever language you'd like them to be speaking."

Note to my existing readers: This is my first story in this fandom. If you have followed me here from Sherlock or another fandom, please take note of the tags - this is unlike anything I've ever written before. My first foray into mpreg or RPF. If those things don't work for you, that's fine, then this fic isn't for you. No need to inform me.

Thank you to burning-up-a-sun and luckie_dee for excellent beta services, and to ljummen and right-of-the-curve for reading and reacting as I banged this out in record time.

-------

Zhenya had hoped to sleep in on his last morning as a bachelor, but his eyes flew open just past dawn and would not close again.

His wedding day. The culmination of several years’ work -- the selection of his consort-to-be, the negotiations, the contracts, the preparations...all of which he’d had minimal part in, because one simply didn’t arrange their own marriage, let alone their own embargoed marriage.

He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, going over and over it in his mind. Ceremony, blessing, consummation, and then...life as usual? Regular people had celebrations after their weddings. They gathered together with their friends and families, ate and drank, danced and celebrated along with the person they’d just married. Lots of photos, smiling faces, Instagram posts and hashtags.

For embargoed spouses, such celebrations were pointless. It was hard to rejoice with your new life partner when you weren’t allowed to see or speak to them, or even to know their name.

All that he knew about the consort was that he was from New Scotland, was Zhenya’s age, and of noble blood. It had been tempting to at least Google him, but poking around an embargo like that was inappropriate, not to mention insulting to the significant sacrifice being made by his new consort. This man had agreed to a restrictive situation to become Zhenya’s husband and bear his child -- the least Zhenya could do was respect his decision. Besides, the consort’s entire online presence would have been digitally embargoed by the palace tech team, which was really meant to shield him from the rest of the world’s snooping, but also served to thwart tempted spouses.

Zhenya’s parents had asked for quite a bit of input about what sort of person he hoped for as a life partner. They had already known that he preferred a male spouse, and had accepted his one additional condition for a match, but beyond that, he trusted them. He’d known since childhood that his marriage would be arranged and had accepted it, was even grateful for it. It was difficult to meet people when you were a Prince. Zhenya had dated his fair share of men, but he was never sure about their motives -- was his money a factor? his status? his fame? -- and his dates were often put off by the press attention, not to mention the trappings of royalty. He thought his chances of finding happiness with a spouse selected by his parents were possibly better, and certainly no worse. Besides, he didn’t really have it in him to rebel. Refusing to have an embargoed arrangement would be a serious break with tradition, and the very idea was just -- exhausting.

Sasha, his boisterous, gap-toothed valet, banged into the room at 7:00 a.m. sharp; Zhenya groaned and pulled a pillow over his head. “None of that, now. We have to make you look royal, so God knows we need every last second.” Sasha grabbed the blankets and yanked them off. Zhenya yelped and curled into a tight comma on the bed. “Up, you lazy, posh twat.”

“Why did I make you my valet. Why,” Zhenya said, muffled into his pillow. Sasha had not come up through the ranks of the palace staff, as most valets did. He had been a teammate of Zhenya’s on their university hockey team, and some fit of insanity had led Zhenya to conclude that his total lack of finesse in matters of protocol and politics was appropriate for the job.

“Because you knew I wouldn’t put up with your bullshit and you were right. You’re getting married today, so let’s try and fool all these rubes into thinking you’ve got class, eh?”

Zhenya slumped out of bed, only to be manhandled out of his pajamas by Sasha. “Hey!”

He snorted. “Like I’ve never seen your dick before. And a lot more people are going to be seeing it today, so get over it. Shower, now.”

Zhenya spent the morning being scrubbed, polished, trimmed, neatened, and perfumed to within an inch of his life. Breakfast was brought in, an unusually light meal. “Are they afraid I’m going to throw up?” he grumbled, eating his toast.

“Probably. Are you?”

“No.”

“You’re not nervous?”

“I’m a little anxious. Excited. What’s to be nervous about?”

“I mean…” Sasha made vague gestures all around him at everything.

Zhenya swallowed and sipped at his tea. “Have you heard...anything?”

“I’m gonna need you to be more specific.”

He rolled his eyes. “About my betrothed.”

“Even if I had, I wouldn’t be allowed to share it. If you want to know, you’ll have to hire a hacker to un-embargo his Instagram.” Zhenya just looked at him. Sasha sighed. “All I know is that he and his entourage arrived two nights ago.”

“‘Entourage?”

“His parents are with him, and he’s got his own guards. He’ll have the guards until he’s unveiled. You knew that, right?”

“I know.”

“Other than that they’re all keeping to their quarters. He’s not supposed to be seen until the wedding.”

“He’s not going to be seen after the wedding! Not that anybody knows what he looks like. He could be walking around the palace in a bathing suit eating peaches and nobody would know it was him.”

“The embargo is for your own good, and his. And the kingdom’s.”

“I get it.” And he did, really. If his consort hadn’t conceived within a year, he would be replaced, and that process would be a lot easier for everyone involved if he, and the citizens, hadn’t gotten attached to him. Hence, the embargo. At least, that’s what the clerics said. Endlessly. “I understand the principle. It’s just going to take some getting used to, being married to someone and having sex with him without seeing his face or talking to him.”

Sasha snorted. “C’mon, Zhenya. You’ve had more than your share of hookups.”

“So?”

“How many of their names can you remember, or even their faces? You’re telling me you had deep conversations with them?”

“That’s different. This man will be my husband.”

“I heard that the prince of Patagonia and his consort broke their embargo and fell in love. She didn’t get pregnant so she had to leave, they were both heartbroken, he almost abdicated his throne, it was a horrible mess, he wouldn’t sleep with the new consort and so she had to be replaced, the first consort was disgraced and went into hiding, nobody knows what happened to her and he’s a giant ball of depression.”

Zhenya blinked. “That’s terrible.”

“Honor your embargo, Zhenya.”

He sighed. “I intend to.”

Embargoed marriage ceremonies were small, private affairs. The unveiling was really the big public spectacle, when the kingdom could at last meet their prince’s husband. The wedding was more for the clerical blessing and the witnessed consummation, and a huge gathering for that was considered unseemly. Zhenya had been trained since childhood not to feel immodest for this occasion, but he was still glad that there would only be a few witnesses present.

He walked to the chapel in his custom-made marriage robes, simple but lush as was the current style. Standing outside the chamber were six of his consort’s guards. Their uniforms were pleasingly clean-lined, black and tailored with deep gold trim, and they snapped to attention as he approached, disciplined and in perfect formation. Zhenya nodded to them -- he imagined he’d be getting to know them soon enough -- and passed through.

A heavy drape hung in the center of the dais with a small hole cut in it for their hands to pass through. Zhenya took his place on the left, nodding to the head cleric. He heard rustling from the other side of the drape and a shadow fell upon it; his new consort had taken his place on the other side.

They did not speak during the ceremony, as their embargo forbade them from hearing one another’s voices. The cleric spoke to them; they acknowledged his words with nods of assent to his questions and directives. When he bade them do so, they joined hands through the hole in the drape. Zhenya noted that his betrothed’s hand was square and strong, and gripped his without hesitation, exhibiting no sign of a nervous tremor. A promising start. He shut his eyes and sent up a prayer to whatever deity might be handy...please, let me like him. Please, let him get pregnant quickly. Let him be smart. And if it’s not too much to ask, please, let him be...not hideous.

“You are joined,” the cleric concluded, simply. Two deacons appeared and removed the drape.

His consort was dressed in elegant marriage robes of his own, including a cape and a veil that hid him from view entirely save for his hands. The only new information Zhenya received with the removal of the drape was his consort’s height, about half a head shorter than Zhenya. He smiled at his new husband and they bowed to each other. Zhenya watched as his consort made a silent greeting to his parents, the Duke and Duchess of New Scotland, who Zhenya did not know at all. With over seventeen thousand peerage titles in the world, one couldn’t meet them all, or even a tiny fraction. The consort’s guards had materialized in the chapel and now surrounded their master and escorted him off the dais and off into the chamber where the next and final step would happen.

Zhenya turned to receive his own parents’ congratulations, and a back-slapping hug from Sasha, wildly overstepping his role as a valet as usual. Zhenya’s father rolled his eyes but didn’t chastise him; his parents loved Sasha as they loved Zhenya himself. More, he sometimes suspected.

The cleric hovered at Zhenya’s elbow. “Your Royal Highness, you are awaited in the antechamber.”

Sasha winked at him. “Good luck. Do it right the first time and this embargo can end quickly.”

“I don’t think it’s entirely up to me,” Zhenya said, but he hoped for the same. He couldn’t imagine waiting for months on end, walking on eggshells every day, everyone looking askance at him if it dragged on and wondering at his virility if he failed to impregnate his spouse. As if it would be for lack of trying.

He followed the cleric into the antechamber. His consort would have gone on ahead to be prepared and arranged by his personal attendants, although Zhenya wasn’t quite sure what that meant, beyond the obvious. This situation was generally not intended to produce arousal in both parties, so he damn well hoped that his consort’s “preparation” involved vaginal lubrication of some kind, for both of their comfort. He’d find out soon enough, but first there was still all manner of ceremonial mumbo-jumbo to attend to.

Zhenya wasn’t particularly devout, a fact he kept mostly to himself. At minimum, a visible attention to custom was expected and valued by the citizens, and Zhenya had no wish to disappoint them, or more accurately, to give them cause to distrust him. He respected the beliefs of his parents (mostly his mother) and of the clerics, but he’d have dispensed with the whole rigmarole if he’d had his choice. But this was his duty, so he stood quietly and allowed the clerics to say their blessings over him and waft their burning herbs as his outer robes were removed.

Underneath his robes were his tunic and trousers, which had been made with a flap at the front (“easy access,” Sasha had joked). He wouldn’t undress further than this, at least not for this ceremonial consummation. He’d be expected to achieve a minimum objective today, the most that could be hoped for in these high-pressure and decidedly not private circumstances.

One of the sub-clerics stood at his side. “Your Royal Highness, will you require assistance readying yourself?” he asked, quietly. Sasha, lurking behind him, snorted.

“Assistance?” Zhenya said, puzzled...but then it hit him. He was being asked if he’d need help getting it up. It stood to reason that he might, with people watching and the Fate of the Kingdom Depending and blah blah blah. Anxiety was not typically the friend of erections. The sub-cleric was offering a helping hand, so to speak. Zhenya had heard stories. Supposedly there’d once been a groom nervous enough that the sub-cleric had to use his mouth on him before he could manage it.

Zhenya didn’t think he’d need quite that much assistance; indeed, he hoped he wouldn’t need any. “Let’s...proceed, and we’ll see,” he said. The sub-cleric nodded and went to the door into the main chamber.

It was dim inside, fragrant with burning herbs. Several clerics were lined up at the far side of the room, chanting quietly. Behind a screen stood half a dozen shadowy figures; witnesses, drawn from the nobility and the royal family. Zhenya didn’t know who was back there and he didn’t care to know. He would likely never know; it was considered rude to disclose one’s presence at such an occasion. Zhenya had himself been a witness at his cousin’s consummation five years ago. You really couldn’t see much at all, through the screen and the awkward angle.

At the moment, however, his attention was captivated by the bed in the center of the room, and his consort upon it. He was laid out on his stomach, covered in drapes even including his head -- Zhenya worried for a moment if he could breathe adequately under there. Two of his guards stood at the head of the bed, eyes fixed firmly forward. The drapes extended from over his consort’s head past his feet, and in the center was an oval-shaped cutout exposing what was, without question, the most fantastic backside Zhenya had ever seen in his life, and he’d seen his fair share.

No. He would not be needing assistance. In fact, he felt himself swelling at the sight of just this one part of his new consort’s body. It was odd, and unexpectedly titillating, to be presented with a more-or-less disembodied ass, even if he could see the shape of the rest of the man under the drape -- but, he supposed, that titillation shouldn’t really be unexpected; why else did glory holes exist? Not that he’d ever partaken of such things, in clubs, in his slightly-wilder youth, absolutely not. But this was his husband, not a late night quickie. It wouldn’t be like this all the time, he assured himself. This was just for the ceremonial bit. Future couplings would be much less...ritualized.

They were all looking at him, waiting for him to get to it, but there was a step to be taken first. He glanced at the cleric and nodded. The cleric hesitated, then moved to the head of the bed. This was Zhenya’s personal addition to the ceremonies, and the cleric had been reluctant to deviate from the traditional sequence of events, but Zhenya had insisted.

He had no interest in a spouse who’d been forced into marrying him, as he’d made sure his parents understood before they set out to find him one. “I do have one condition, and it is non-negotiable,” he’d said.

His father had looked surprised. “What is it, son?”

“I require absolute assurance that any consort of mine enters into marriage to me of their own free will, and not under duress.”

His parents had exchanged a glance. “That should not be difficult; marriage into our family is considered very desirable.”

“Be that as it may, I need you to promise me, Father..”

His father had nodded, and seemed even pleased by this directive. “You have my word, son.”

And now, the cleric spoke to the consort on Zhenya’s behalf. “Your Highness,” he said, using the man’s new title -- after the embargo was lifted, he would become His Royal Highness, the same honorific that Zhenya received. “Prince Evgeni wishes me to ask you for your consent before he joins with you.” Zhenya saw the consort’s head turn to the side. “He values your agreement to this consummation.”

The man hesitated. Zhenya saw the surprise in his shoulders. His head turned further, seeming to look back over his shoulder at Zhenya, and he nodded.

The cleric straightened up. “Does this satisfy Your Royal Highness?” There was just a touch of “are you happy now?” impatience in the cleric’s voice which Zhenya chose to ignore.

Zhenya nodded. He removed his gloves and handed them to Sasha, who was being appropriately quiet and invisible for once in his life. He unbuttoned the flap on the front of his trousers; he was half-erect already and filling fast.

He knelt on the bed. He wasn’t supposed to make any unnecessary contact this first time, but he couldn’t help but run his hands briefly over his husband’s smooth, muscular rear. Just like that, he was fully hard and more than ready. He placed his knees within the drapery cutout on either side of the consort’s hips; the man shifted slightly, spreading his thighs a little bit to give him room. Zhenya reached back and tucked his cock down and against the man’s entrance, relieved to find that he was, indeed, slick. He pressed forward and entered him; Zhenya stifled a groan and felt a shudder pass over the man beneath him. He was tight and warm; Zhenya held still for a moment with his eyes closed and hips pressed against his consort’s impossibly plump ass.

He braced on his hands and shut his eyes, making smooth, even thrusts. There’d be time later to investigate what kind of sex his husband enjoyed, but now was the time to be quick about it and get the job done. He tried to visualize success, as the clerics liked to say during their instruction, and picture his seed finding its target and blossoming in his consort’s womb. The minimum embargo time was three months; even if he conceived right now, early pregnancy was so delicate that it wasn’t considered official until the three--month mark. After carrying to three months, the consort was accepted into the family and unveiled, even if the child was subsequently lost.

Zhenya had often wondered about consorts who failed to conceive and were replaced. Who was to say that it was their fault? Both parties underwent pre-marriage medical testing to minimize this risk, but bodies were unpredictable. Of course it might not be the consort’s fault; the would-be sire could just as easily be the one whose biology failed them, but such a thing could not be admitted for a royal scion. He’d heard one tale, possibly apocryphal, of a prince whose consort hadn’t conceived -- unwilling to accept defeat, the prince had asked his consort to get him pregnant, which she had done, and their embargo was released.

The contemplation of such machinations was premature, he knew. He and his new consort had only just begun.

As keyed up as he was, it didn’t take long for him to finish. He thrust in deep and spilled, clenching his teeth against the desire to cry out. He felt his consort sigh and press back against him a little, a welcome signal of acknowledgment. Zhenya let his head droop for a moment, then straightened up and pulled out. Sasha was right there with a cloth for him to clean himself before he refastened his pants.

The cleric stepped forward and blessed the union, prayers for the success of the joining, yadda yadda. Zhenya barely paid attention. Sasha was replacing his robe on him, but all Zhenya could do was look at the draped form of his new husband, especially the one part of it that he could see, and hope that it wouldn’t be too long before he could see the rest of it.

He let Sasha lead him out of the chamber, glad that was over -- but in another, very real sense, it was just beginning. He was now a married man, with a responsibility to his consort, who was at something of a disadvantage in this situation. He hoped he could be a good, supportive husband to him, until at last the day came that he’d be allowed to see his face.

Next Chapter

#sidgeno #sidgeno fic #hockey rpf #unveiled #my writing

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cameronspecial · 5 years

Text

King of CSCC (Ch.3)

Pairing: Rich Kid! Tom Holland x Reader

Summary: When Y/N gets a scholarship to attend Collegialiter Schola Currere Cucurri, a prestigious boarding school in England. She’s very studious and organizes, everything needs to be a certain way for her to be happy. Tom is the resident fuckboy at school and, with his daddy being the richest man on earth, he practically owns the school. What happens when Tom falls completely in love with Y/N, but she doesn’t want to be with him because of his reputation.

Warning: A punch is thrown and underage drinking

Words: 2 216

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 |

Y/N sits at their dining hall table with her lunch in front of her waiting for her friends to come and join her. It’s a few minutes before they join her with their own lunches in their hands. “So Jared Willkins’ annual beginning of school bash is tonight and we were wondering if you wanted to come with us,” Delilah asks her friend. Y/N finishes chewing her food before answering, “That sounds fun, but I am going, to be honest, this is going to be my first high school party so I might be a little clingy.” “It’s alright, Y/N/N. We really won’t mind as long as you are having a good time, you can be stuck to us the whole night. Although, maybe not the whole night because I’ve been flirting with Gracie all week and it would be a shame if all that effort went to waste,” Harrison comments with a silent chuckle to himself like it was an inside joke with himself. “Alright, weirdo,” Tom whispers under his breath as he laughs at his friend. Delilah turns towards Y/N with the ‘I have an idea’ look on her face, “You can come over to my dorm after class to get ready. I have snacks in my dorm that should be able to tie us over until the party. Jared always has the most interesting food choices for his parties.” “Yeah, that sounds great! I’ll meet you then.”

Y/N fidgets with her fingers before raising her hand to knock on the door. She could hear the music blasting on the other side of the door, so when nobody responds after a few seconds Y/N decides to try to open the door. When the door pushes open, Y/N is met with the sight of Delilah dancing around the room with a strip of bacon in her hand. “Where did you get the bacon from?” Y/N inquires as she sees a plate of bacon on Delilah’s desk and goes to get a strip. Delilah stops dancing and turns towards Y/N, “I may have bribed one of the cooks with some new cooking utensils if she made us some bacon. I also got some sausage rolls from Greg’s, Hula Hoops crisps and some Cadbury's fingers.” “Hmmmm, I love Cadbury's fingers. I can eat a whole pack in one sitting. And I’ve heard of Greg’s famous sausage rolls and I’ve always wanted to try one.” “Well, knows your lucky day. Here try one,” Delilah says whilst handing Y/N a paper bag. Y/N takes the bag and takes a bite out of the delicious pastry, “This totally live up to my expectation. God, I which they had these in Toronto.” “I know right, it’s like they were sent from God or something. Know I put together this outfit that you could borrow from me. I think you would look amazing in it,” Delilah informs Y/N. Delilah gives Y/N a white crop top with black high-waist pants and a jean jacket that has patches on the back. “I like it. Simple, but I think it could drop some jaws. I am going to go try it on,” Y/N tells the other girl before heading to the bathroom to get change. Once changed, Y/N exams herself in the mirror and feels her confidence go up. This isn’t the typical type of outfit that she would normally wear, but she loves how she looks in it.

“Come out, I want to see your outfit and I want your opinion on your outfit,” Delilah announces from the other side of the door. Y/N rolls up the sleeves of the jacket then opens the door to see that Delilah has changed into a red tight-fitting dress with white heels. “Awww, you look so great. Every boy is going to want to get with you,” Delilah assures Y/N while she brings Y/N to sit in front of her vanity and starts to work on her hair and makeup. Y/N closes her eyes so the makeup doesn’t get in her eyes, “Thanks. I think you look really great. Jess isn’t going to know what hit her.” “Aww, you're making me blush.” Around forty-five minutes later, Y/N opens her eyes to see that Delilah had gone with a natural look except for the lips which were a ruby red that really stood out. Her hair is lightly curled and the front pieces of her hair are braided back in a crown. Y/N wraps her arms around Delilah’s neck, “Thank you so much. I look amazing.” “You’re welcome, sweetie. Now, we better get going before the boys kill us for being so late,” Delilah points out. Y/N nods and goes to get her purse before they both head down to the parking lot to where the boys were.

“So where is this party going to be because I really don’t think everyone is going to fit in Jared’s dorm room,” Y/N jokes from where she was sitting in the back seat with Delilah. Harrison looks over his shoulder from the passenger seat at her, “Well, his parents’ house is actually really close so that’s why he is the one that normally hosts the party. And don’t worry about being back by curfew. Nobody actually notices if you are gone or not and if they do, we’ll just bribe them for you. Y/N laughs at his jokes, but deep down she knows he isn’t really joking. Tom takes a glance at Y/N through the rearview mirror. When he saw her outfit, he felt his stomach do a flip and he never felt like this before. He wanted to wrap his arms around her waist and call her his girlfriend. He wanted to be the only person that those ruby red lips would kiss and it’s driving him insane. He can’t help but smile at how well she gets along with his best friends and it just makes him like her more.

They got to the party and Y/N could already hear the pounding music from where they parked down the street. As they got closer and closer to the house she could already see other teens making their way towards the party as well. The music is so much louder when you are actually inside of the house and there are so many people in the house that Y/N is pretty sure half of them don’t go to the school. “Ohh, I see Jess. I am going to go say hey. Stay with the boys, okay babe. Have fun!” Delilah yells at her friends before running off to go see her target. Y/N turns around to face the boys to see that only Tom remains and that Harrison is making his way towards Gracie. “And then there were two,” Y/N comments as she moves in closer to Tom so she doesn’t need to scream. Tom chortles at what she says, “Let’s go get a drink.” The kitchen is a little more deserted than the rest of the house and a little quieter. “So what do you want to drink?” Tom questions with a Heineken in his hand. Y/N stares at all the various alcoholic drinks and feels a little nervous, “Uhh, I don’t really know. I’ve never really drank before, so maybe just a beer or something. I don’t really think starting off with vodka is a good idea for an amateur. “Yeah, that wouldn’t be good. Here try this first and if you don’t like it then I can just get you some water or I can make you a cocktail,” Tom suggests. Y/N agrees and takes his beer into her hand. She takes a sip out of the bottle and at first, she doesn’t like the taste, but it grows on her. “Hmm, not bad. I think I can grow to like it,” Y/N decides as she takes another sip from his beer. Tom chuckles and grabs another beer for himself, “A girl with good taste, not bad. Why don’t we go dance?” Tom takes Y/N’s hand and he can’t lie that he didn’t feel butterflies in his stomach. He takes her over to the living room where the music is coming. They start moving to the music and as more and more people start to come in they find themselves on opposite sides of the room, but they felt safe with the distance because they were still within seeing distance of each other.

Tom had been dancing and flirting with Mindy all night and he knew that he has it in the bag. He looks up to check on Y/N before he takes Mindy upstairs for a little privacy, but what he sees has his blood boiling. Ross Butler is behind her whispering things into her ear and Y/N looks like she just wants to get away from him. “Why don’t we go upstairs and see what you have underneath, sweetheart,” Ross whispers into Y/N ear and she honestly felt very uncomfortable. She wanted to get away from him and get Tom, but she says that Tom was with Mindy and she didn’t want to bother him. Also, she was honestly a little bit tipsy and tired, so she doesn’t really know what to do. Before she could tell Ross no for the fifty times, Ross is pulled away from her and he receives a punch in the face. “Don’t ever think about bothering a girl like that again, Butler. Now, get up and apologize,” Tom screams at Ross, who had fallen because of the punch. The music was turned off and everyone is crowding around to watch the scene unfold. Ross quickly stands up, apologizes to Y/N and walks out of the living room. Tom gives everyone the look that tells them to go back to what they were doing then goes over to see how Y/N is doing. She stumbles a little bit, but he catches her before she can fall. “Alright, Ms. Lightweight. Why don’t we get you to bed?” he encourages as he helps get out of the crowded house and toward his car. “What about Harrison and Delilah?” she asks with a giggle as she feels her body starting to get tired. Tom chuckles at how she is asking and makes sure she is buckled into the passenger seat, “I sent them a text to tell them where we are and I am pretty sure they would be too busy to care that they don’t have a ride back for the night. I’ll go pick them up in the morning.” “What about Mindy?” Y/N slurs with another giggle. Tom shakes his head, “She doesn’t matter. As long as you are safe that’s all that matters.” Y/N felt her eyes close and she rests her head on Tom’s shoulder. She cuddles into his side and he can’t help but smile at how cute she is.

“Okay, I am going to need your help. Can you do that?” Tom implores the sleepy girl to do. All Y/N does is chortle and continues to try to stumble her way into the dorm room building. Tom eventually gives up and decided to pick her up, but not before he asks her if it is okay. He got to her dorm room and unlocks the door with the key in her purse. He places her gently in her bed and is about to pull the covers over her before she stops him. “Can you help me change first, please?” she pleads in a childlike voice. Tom hesitates for a second, but ultimately agrees when he sees her struggling to take off her shirt. He gently removes her shirt, making sure to watch her hair and hands her the pyjama shirt that is on her dress. He sees that she is going to take off her bra, so he turns around and closes his eyes to give her some privacy. She says he can turn around and asks him to give her a clean pair of underwear and her pyjama pants. Tom hands over the clothes and helps her out of her pants; he turns around when she changes her underwear just like when she takes off her bra and then turns back around to help her with her pants. He places the covers over her body and leaves a bottle of water and some Advil on her bedside table for the morning. He gives her a kiss on the forehead then turns to leave, but was stopped again by Y/N’s voice. “Can you please stay with me?” Y/N begs with big baby doll eyes. Tom takes a moment to think about the consequences of his actions, but when he sees that Y/N really needed him to stay, he goes to turn off the lights and trips down to his boxers after asking Y/N if it is okay. He lies down under the covers beside her and closes his eyes to try to get some sleep. He feels the bed shift underneath him then Y/N cuddles into his side. He wraps his arm around her again and gives her another kiss on the forehead. He feels her steady and soft breath on his chest. The smell of her shampoo comforts him and he couldn’t help, but fall asleep with a smile on his face.

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#tom holland #tomholland #tom holland imagine #tom holland imagines #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland fic #tom holland x reader #tom holland blurbs #rich kid! tom #richkid! tom holland x reader #richkid! tom holland #richkid! tom #fuckboy! tom holland #fuckboy! tom holland x reader #tom holland fuckboy x reader #fuckboi! tom holland x reader #fuckboy! tom

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rachelthompsonauthor · 4 years

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The past two quarantine months have been like nothing I’ve ever experienced in my lifetime, and I turned 56 in January. So rather than regurgitate what you’ve likely read in the news or on social media, I’ve decided to share how I’ve spent my time these past two months along with random thoughts. I hope you’ll continue along with me as I share what I’m doing each week.

Books

Oh, how I’ve missed reading! With my business so insanely busy (for which I’m truly grateful) these past few years, I’ve barely had time to read little more than Slack, emails, texts, and social media updates. Not exactly satisfying for this lifelong, avid reader. This quarantine has allowed me a little bit of extra time, which I’ve put to good use.

In no particular order, here’s what I’ve read:

The Ten Thousand Doors of January by Alix E. Harrow is fantastic. Read it in one sitting because I didn’t want any of the details of this lacy, incredibly intricate work to fade. I highly recommend it. A mix of fantasy, drama, and a love story (because in the end, aren’t all stories love stories?), anyone with a working brain will love this novel.

Little Fires Everywhere by Celeste Ng is also superb. I’d heard about this book for a while, yet only got around to it because it’s also now a mini-series on Hulu (which I watched afterward – also very good, though the character arcs and the plot changed in crucial, at times startling, ways).

Curious if you’ve read the book and watched the series, what your thoughts are? I could write an entire post about it, yet I’ll only share this…

As a child, my parents hire a housekeeper. My folks both work full-time and we are not in any way rich or well-off. Neither of my folks has college degrees – Dad is an assistant manager at a chain drugstore and Mom has just completed x-ray tech school and works nights at San Bernardino County Hospital. We live in a small house on a long street in the smoggy Inland Empire of California.

There are two of us, my older sister and me. Then my mom gets pregnant when I’m nine and has my baby sister when I’m ten. My folks advertise for a housekeeper and Miss Louise answers. She’s African American and willing to work for the little they can pay her. She smokes a lot (outside only, so as “not to hurt the babies”), insists on wearing a uniform though my mom tells her it isn’t necessary and comes looking for us in her big old white Caddy if we aren’t home from school exactly 20 minutes after it lets out.

(Miss Louise’s husband’s name is George. If you are alive in the 70s and watch The Jeffersons, you understand why this is an endless source of amusement to my sister Caren and me.)

Being that young, neither Caren nor I understand what privilege means. We didn’t get whatever we wanted because my parents are always strapped, yet there is food on the table, and the lights are always on. Except for the occasional venture to Disneyland or Knott’s Berry Farm that one time (mom hated it), our vacations consist of driving to visit our Zayde (great-grandfather) in a nursing home in Santa Cruz, or some other relatives we don’t know somewhere in L.A. (I remember one great-aunt who drank. A lot.) We’d always stop at Cantor’s for a soup and sandwich (the highlight for us), and be back on the road. We don’t mind because it is anywhere but home.

Anyway – my entire point is that in Little Fires Everywhere – the show – Kerry Washington’s Mia is an artist who takes a maid job with Reese Witherspoon’s Elena Richardson’s family to keep an eye on her daughter Pearl, who is quite taken with the teenage Richardson clan. The racial and financial dichotomy is blatantly obvious: a rich family who’s seemingly got it all vs. a seemingly poor black single mother, which adds to the ‘fires’ mentioned in the title.

The book really made me think about my own privilege and despite how well my folks treated Louise, and how much we loved her, and she us, there would always be that wall. Granted, it was a business arrangement and my folks paid her for her services, and in truth, anyone could’ve answered the housekeeping ad. The fact that she was African American and we were white created a racial divide that’s undeniable.

The third book I read is Certain Cure by Jennifer Valoppi, also excellent. It’s the first in a series (parts two and three aren’t out yet, darn it). The novel chronicles the life of three generations of the Cummings family; Claire, a woman in her 70s who has been diagnosed with terminal cancer, Helene, her television journalist daughter and Justin, the teenage grandson whose adoration of his “Grams” leads him to discover the dark secret behind the miracle technology that is not only curing Claire of her cancer but tempting his mother with eternal youth, as traditional medical industries wage war against the mysterious doctor from China who threatens them all.

I had no idea what to expect with this one, and I’m glad I read it. Valoppi is a former TV journalist from NYC so she knows her stuff. I’m not particularly religious (or scientific), yet I didn’t find either the science or religious stuff bogged me down. Fascinating read. I highly recommend it.

Movies and Shows

Gosh, so many. With four of us in the house (and two teens), it’s worth it to me to pay for Hulu and Netflix, Amazon Prime Video comes with my Amazon Prime membership already, plus my internet plan comes with AT&T Direct, Showtime, HBO, and other premium channels. For the amount of entertainment, it’s worth the money.

I watch movies and shows on my iPad at night, once I’m finally off my computer. I don’t know about you, but I don’t like a super loud TV with stereo surround-sound barking at me after a long day of noise and stress. So I go upstairs to my cozy bed, surround myself with blankets and pillows and cats, and snuggle in for a few hours to watch a movie or a few episodes of something I enjoy.

Another note: not a big ‘reality TV’ watcher, mostly because, as a writer, I prefer well-written shows. I also don’t like the negativity and yelling normally associated with those shows. That said, I do watch Vanderpump Rules (on Bravo) with my daughter (age 20). We bond.

Shows

Here’s what I’ve binged these past few quarantine months, show-wise (no links because you can Google):

Ray Donovan – ggggggreat! Heard it was wonderful, yet truly had no idea how awesome. Liev Schrieber is captivating as Ray. Flawed, human, sad, and, in case you don’t know, a childhood sexual abuse survivor (church abuse). I had no idea going in this would be a theme of the show, yet it was handled with care and truth. The entire supporting cast is also amazing. Every season is great. Watch it all. I hated to see it end.

Homeland – the first four or so seasons were mesmerizing. Then, I got bored. This last season had me falling asleep and then WHAM! that ending. Worth it.

Hunters – Good, not fantastically great. The twist in the last episode will get you, though.

Upload – Loved it! Thought it would be silliness (and in some places, it was, but that’s okay – we need a little silliness right now). Had a ton of heart which I love.

Bosch – come on, it’s Titus Welliver. He’s fantastic. This last season didn’t draw me in as much as the entire rest of the series, though. You?

The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel – terrific, all of it. Every season, every episode, every character.

Tales From The Loop – amazing. Anything having to do with time-travel or the bending of time, I’m a total sucker for. This hurt my brain in a good way.

The Feed – weird but good and thought-provoking.

Dark – by far, my favorite show year. A German show dubbed in English (you get used to it – don’t let that scare you off), this time-bending, decade-moving hit show spans two seasons and every episode is worth watching. And the music – my god. Amazing. Here’s a Spotify playlist link.

Movies

Parasite – thought-provoking. Took a while to get into it and then boom! It just goes full-on insanity. Well-written, well-acted, and the message of the movie is just, wow. No spoilers in case you haven’t seen it, I highly recommend it.

Hustlers – loved it. Whatever issues people have with strip clubs and ‘dancers,’ get over it. These girls are amazingly talented, are in amazing shape, and work hard to make money for their families. What I loved the most about the movie is that it’s all about the women; the men are only there as a plot device. It’s a movie entirely shot through the ‘female gaze’ (though of course, men will enjoy the dance scenes which are sexy, yet not unclothed). How many movies can say that?

Memento – I think I’m probably one of the few people who had never seen this neo-noir psychological thriller starring Guy Pearce looking like Brad Pitt (who was originally considered for the role). It was great, I think? LOL. My brain still hurts.

Call Me By Your Name – Lovely, sad, gorgeous. (And I will not make a juvenile peach joke.) And the music! Oh, my.

Zombieland – I hate zombies, I hate horror movies. I hate gore and squishy sounds. This movie was cute. (Not ready for the sequel, yet.)

Music

As mentioned above, the music in Dark sent me off on a ‘who are these talented musicians?’ lark. I’ve discovered so many. Here is who I’m listening to right now (all free on Spotify) and links provided here:

Apparat (you’ll recognize the opening theme of Dark and stay for the rest).

Agnes Obel – wondrous. I’ve played her entire catalog repeatedly since discovering her music on Dark. She’s become a commercial favorite as well now. Familiar is the song used in the show that’s received the most play.

Alev Lanz – otherworldly. I’ve not heard anyone like her. Her songs on the Dark soundtrack and Black Mirror are what she’s most noted for (May The Angels, and Fall Into Me, respectively), however, I love all of her work. Her harmonies are like nothing else. One song is layered with her voice and African throat singers – it’s gorgeous (May The Angels). She’s active on Twitter and we’ve interacted a few times. She’s beautifully transparent about her love of music and it shows in all her work.

Patrick Watson – I heard this song, Good Morning Mr. Wolf, on the Ray Donovan soundtrack and immediately clicked my SoundHound app. Who is this talented being? This song, in particular, sounds so large and cinematic – I wondered – is he is a film composer? (yes). A band? (yes). And so much more. I cannot get enough of all of his music, and still, I play this one song on repeat – repeatedly.

London Grammar – I discovered this band a few years ago and still adore them. Strong is still my favorite song, though Rooting For You is a close second. Hannah Reid’s vocals are big and beautiful.

Hilary Woods – ethereal and lovely. Especially the song Kith.

Sufjan Stevens – many of us just discovered him from the movie Call Me By Your Name soundscore, however, he’s been a working musician since the early 2000s. Talented beyond.

I could go on and on, but I’ll stop here. I made a Female Rockers list on Spotify which you’re welcome to.

Thoughts on Quarantine

My Business

Living in California, I’ve barely left the house in two months, with the exception of going to the pharmacy for meds or for the occasional physician appointment for me or the kids, because of the quarantine restrictions in place. And I’m okay with that.

I’m fortunate that my business is primarily online-only: I work with authors and small businesses on their branding, marketing, and promotion, so given that all real-life events are off the table, I’ve been quite busy working with my clients to ensure their products and services are still viable.

This doesn’t mean I don’t need help as a small business. I applied for an SBA loan and couldn’t even get onto the website the first time – it was pretty ridiculous – like the end scene in Beetlejuice. You all know who those first small business loans went to, right? Not small-potatoes people like me. So the second time around, it went much smoother, and I’m grateful to have received a small loan which will definitely help me keep going with rent, insurance, and other expenses.

I still did my annual non-profit initiative for writers, NaNoProMo (National Novel Promotion Month) this year over on my business site, BadRedhead Media, yet only for two weeks instead of the entire month. Daily blog posts from experts on everything publishing-related plus amazing giveaways. It’s always exhausting, yet I find enormous gratification in helping writers.

This year, however, getting writers to comment to win amazing, FREE giveaways was like pushing a house up a hill. I get it – people are focused on putting food on the table instead of commenting on blog posts, even if the giveaways were worth $500. That’s why I wanted to do this initiative this year – to help writers who are in a jam – yet only a smattering of writers participated.

I’m seriously rethinking if I want to do it next year given the financial cost as well as the personal toll. My first therapist, who I started seeing after I gave birth to my daughter Anya (I was terrified to leave her to go back to work, given my history with childhood sexual abuse), gave me this tip whenever I had trouble deciding whether to do something:

“If you ever aren’t sure if you should do something, ask yourself this question: Is this good for Rachel? If the answer is yes, do it. If the answer is no, don’t. It really is that simple.”

Self-care, y’all.

Social Media

I’ve stopped interacting with the crazies on social media (and who knows, maybe you’re one of them so truly, no offense), but I’d rather stay safe and keep my family safe by working exclusively at home – which I mostly do anyway – than venture back into face-to-face meetings with clients. I support four people with my business and if something happens to me, four people are doomed.

So the answer is simple to me: stay home, work from home, and don’t risk dying from this virus.

I don’t buy into any of this ridiculous conspiracy crap. Sorry, not sorry. You can if you want to. Spending time arguing with people online about it takes away time from my business, my kids, my guy, and my own sanity. Speaking of which…

Mental Health

There were a few mix-ups with my meds when this all started, and I couldn’t get my prescriptions filled and delivered before I ran out, so I ended up having about a week of insomnia which I’ve never had to deal with. I was a zombie (the non-squishy kind) and it sucked.

If you have insomnia, I’m sorry. I feel for you.

It’s all straightened out now, thank goodness. My son Lukas and I donned our masks and drove to the local CVS the other day because I couldn’t wait two days for my meds to be delivered. It felt like walking into a dystopian future walking in there: everyone in masks, tape six feet apart for the waiting line, plexiglass between us and the cashiers.

I’m thankful for these measures, of course, and wonder how long we’ll need them, or if this is our new normal?

My Writing

I finished the final edits on Broken People and sent it back to my editor. She’s had some health issues, so the delay is understandable. To be honest, I’m not in a huge hurry to launch a new book right now. Here are the questions that run through my mind:

Do people have money to purchase a new book?

If they do, will they want to read my new book?

If they do want to read my new book, will they take the money they do have to read mine, and then review it?

Does it even matter in the grand scheme of life?

I’m an author just like any author – I want to get my work out there so people can read it, engage with it, connect with me. I hope they’ll like it, feel something, reflect on their own lives, learn something new, particularly about being a childhood sexual abuse survivor. It’s a weird limbo to be in right now.

Our New Normal

This phrase is bandied about quite a lot yet let’s face it: it’s life as we know it, now. The anxiety is real, too. I haven’t hugged or kissed my elderly parents who live two miles away in two months. I bring them toilet paper and cookies from our favorite bakery (drive up and trunk drop off, pay online only) and drop it on their porch.

All these scenarios run through my mind: If I go to do this, what happens if? I know I’m not the only one. And yet, we can’t predict anything. So I sit here, writing this post, safe inside my little house bubble, grateful I can pay my rent, put food on the table (delivered by Instacart, thankfully), and everyone around me is healthy.

What’s your new normal? What have you been reading, watching, and listening to? If you’ve stuck it out this far, I thank you. Would love to hear your comments! Safe hugs, y’all.

***

Read more about Rachel’s experiences in the award-winning book, Broken Pieces.

She goes into more detail about living with PTSD and realizing the effects of how being a survivor affected her life in

Broken Places, available in print everywhere!

The post This is How To Spend Quarantine With Me appeared first on Rachel Thompson.

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grimelords · 5 years

Photo

My March playlist is finished! This one is slightly more diverse than usual, swinging all the way from vibraphone jazz to Bhad Bhabie to black metal so I’ve taken the liberty of actually sequencing it properly for you. So if you’ve got 3 hours you can listen to this straight through and be taken for a hell of a ride. No matter what you like I’m sure you’ll find something in here that you love.

Tahiti - Milt Jackson: For an unknown reason I had a big jazz vibraphone phase this month and when you're talking jazz vibraphone you're talking the Wizard Of The Vibes himself, Milt Jackson. I feel insane even having an opinion on this but it's a shame that some of the best vibraphone performances were made at a time when the actual recording technology wasn't really there, they all have this very thin quality that I think misses a lot of the great character of the instrument.

Detour - Bill Le Sage: Like compare this from 1971 to Wizard Of The Vibes from 1952, the sounds is miles warmer and gives so much more of the full range and detail of the instrument. I also listened to this song five times in a row when I first heard it, the central refrain is just so fuckin good. Like I said, big vibes vibe and who knows why.

Blowin' The Blues Away - Buddy Rich And His Sextet: Superhuman playing aside, it's unbelievable how good these drums sound. The whole first minute just feels like a tour of each specific drum and I absolutely revel in it. I feel like flute and vibes is a relatively rare combo so it's extremely nice to hear Sam Most and Mike Manieri go ham in tandem.

Yama Yama - Yamasuki Singers: A friend sent me this song that he's had stuck in his head for ten years ever since it was in a beer ad from the days when beer ads were incredible strange for complicated legal reasons about not showing people enjoying the product or something https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ORfkh0OojxY and this incredible song is apparently from a 1971 French concept album where a couple of guys wrote a bunch of psychedelic songs in Japanese for an unknown reason that later became a massive drum and bass breaks album, and one of the guys was Thomas Bangalter from Daft Punk's dad! Music is crazy.

Alfonso Muskedunder - Todd Terje: I'm starting a petition to get Todd Terje to write the soundtrack for the next Mario Kart. I absolutely love this song and this whole album because it's so joyful and strange and it just sounds like nothing else I've ever heard. He seem to truly operate in a world entirely of his own.

Pala - Roland Tings: I love this song. It's like he wrote it with normal sounds and then went back and replaced every instrument with the party version. This song hands you a coconut and says welcome to the island where bad vibes are punishable by firing squad.

Keygen 13 - Haze Edit - Dubmood: There's a fucking album of keygen music on spotify and it's absolutely great and so good that someone's doing the work to recognize the value of the music this extremely weird scene produced and preserve it. If you don't know, back in the day when you pirated photoshop or whatever, you would download a license key generator which was a program made by extreme nerds who had cracked the license key algorithm to give you a fake one, and for unknown reasons they would make the keygen program play original chiptune music that someone in their nerd crew would compose. Who knows why but god bless them.

My Moon My Man (Boys Noize Remix) - Feist: The very concept of a Boys Noize remix of My Moon My Man is hilarious and it turns out it sounds absolutely amazing as well. Two great tastes that taste great together.

Low Blows - Meg Mac: I had a big Meg Mac phase this month too, listened to her album a lot and it's extremely solid. Great timing too cause her new one comes out in a month or so too. I really am excited to hear her next album because she's so good but I've always got this feeling that she hasn't reached her full potential yet, she's only going to get a million times better in an album or two.

Patience - Tame Impala: I love that the cover of this single is a pic of congas because it feels like that's the central thesis here. Kevin Parker bought some congas and is making disco Tame Impala now and I really couldn't be happier about it.

Unconditional (feat. Kitten) - Touch Sensitive: I love a 90s throwback done with love. There's nothing cynical or ironic about this it's just fun as hell!

Last Hurrah - Bebe Rexha: Get a fucking load of this Bebe Rexha song that interpolates Buy U A Drank by T-Pain for the chorus! It's a testament to how good that song is that she's using the verse melody as the chorus. T-Pain will quite literally never get the respect he deserves. Also this song goes for 2.5 minutes. There's something happening where pop songwriting is getting more and more compact, completely trimming the fat and ornamentation and it's very interesting.

Hi Bich - Bad Bhabie: Also I'm fully six months late on Hi Bich but I'm of the opinion that it's extremely fucking good. A perfect little reaction gif of a song and it only goes for 1m45!

Friends - Flume: I'm doubling down on my thesis about emo rap from last month but this song literally sounds like a Flume remix of a Hawthorne Heights song. The whole melody of it, the overlapping yelled/clean vocals. The lyrics obviously. I don't know it's just very odd how close it is. A sort of emo trojan horse to trick people into thinking The Used are cool again.

How To Build A Relationship (feat. JPEGMAFIA) - Flume: I've been meaning to check out JPEGMAFIA (AKA Buttermilk Jesus AKA DJ Half-Court Violation AKA Lil' World Cup) for a while but this is the song that convinced me. There's just so much to digest in this. Every line is gold and delivered with massive conviction even when he realises it's total nonsense like 'dont call me unless I gave you my number'.

Bells & Circles (feat. Iggy Pop) - Underworld: Underworld alive 2019?? I love this song becuase Iggy Pop has been riding a fine line between punk provocateur and old man yells at cloud for a while now and this song is the perfect mix of both. You can't hijack airplanes and redirect them to cuba anymore and as a result it's over for liberal democracies. Just yelling about air travel for six minutes and it's good.

Guns Blazing (Drums Of Death Pt. 1) - UNKLE: This beat is some of my favourite DJ Shadow work I think. The menacing organ bass throughout, and especially the distorted drum freakout near the end. It's just great all the way through.

Homo Deus IV - Deantoni Parks: Another Deantoni Parks track like I was raving about last month. This whole album is great and flows together as a single piece of work amazingly. I love the purposefully limited sample palette of each track forcing an evolving groove throughout. He absolutely wrings every bit of variation he can get out of every single sound he uses and once you get into the groove of it it's absolutely mind blowing.

Boredom - The Drones: I love that The Drones can write a song about joining ISIS that's also a lot of fun. Spelling out radicalization in a way anyone can understand and sympathise with and then switching it in the second verse to spell out how we got into this situation anyway.

Loinclothing - Hunters And Collectors: I love how much this song sounds like a voodoo celebration in christian hell.

The Fun Machine Took A Shit And Died - Queens Of The Stone Age: There's a good bit on the live dvd they put out after Lullabies To Paralyze where they play this song and they say it was supposed to be on the album but somebody stole the master recordings from the studio, which is an incredible and brazen crime. Then when they put it out on Era Vulgaris as a bonus track Josh Homme said in an interview "The tapes got lost. Actually, they were just at another studio, but we falsely accused everyone in the world of theft" which is extremely funny. This is really one of their best songs and I sort of really with it had been on Lullabies because it fits perfectly between The Blood Is Love and Someone's In The Wolf type of vibes, I love how it just kind of keeps shifting ideas and riffs throughout. An absolute jam overflowing with ideas.

10AM Automatic - The Black Keys: This song is an all time great in my opinion. It's so straightforward and so effective. I wonder if we'll get a blues rock revival ever or if Jack White still being alive and bad is souring everyone on that idea. This song also has one of my favourite guitar sounds in history I think - the outrageously huge sounding solo that comes out of nowhere and swallows up the rest of the mix like a swirling black hole near the end.

Gamma Knife - King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard: I've never gotten much into King Gizzard and because of their one million albums already it's hard to know where to start but I've been listening to Nonagon Infinity a bit and it's great, it's just good old fashioned 70s prog jams front to back.

Gina Works At Hearts - DZ Deathrays: I absolutely love this song and I absolutely love the second guitar sound in the chorus of this song that sounds like it's made out of thin steel.

Black Brick - Deafheaven: When I saw Deafheaven the other month I was right up the front and it was a life changingly great experience AND they played this new song live for the first time before it went up everywhere like three hours later which was very exciting to be given a sclusie like that. After they finished a guy behind me whispered to his friend "Slayer..." which was very funny to me.

Gemini - Elder: I found this band because one of my Spotify Daily Mixes was all stoner metal for a while, which is a good genre to see all lined up because it'll have Weedeater, Bongripper AND Uncle Acid & The Deadbeats right there in a row for you. Anyway this album is extremely good, the very best kind of stoner metal where it's groovy and fun and has big meaty riffs and ripping big solos and it's extremely easy to listen to three times in a row.

The Paradise Gallows - Inter Arma: My big obsession the past little while has been Inter Arma ever since Stereogum posted The Atavist's Meridian from their new album. It is just so fucking good and I can't believe I've never heard of them before. You know when you find out about an amazing band and then you find out they've been around for nearly ten years and you can't believe everyone in your life has been selfishly hiding them from you?

The Atavist's Meridian - Inter Arma: I think a big part of my enjoyment of this band has also been that I discovered them at the same time as I'm listening to an audiobook of the complete Conan The Barbarian omnibus so I'm very much in the brain space for music that sounds like it would be nice to swing an axe to.

Untoward Evocation - Impetuous Ritual: I love how halfway through this kind of just turns into a big swirling mist of dark sounds. It feels so formless and dark that it could just shake apart and dissipate at any moment and you'd look down to realise your skin is gone.

Eagle On A Pole - Conor Oberst: from Genius: 'In an interview with MTV news, Oberst stated “We were on the bus one day and a friend of ours that travels with us and works for the band kind of came out from the back of the bus and said that first line: ‘Saw an eagle on a pole… I think it was an eagle.’ And then this guy Simon Joyner, who is a great songwriter from Omaha and one of my great friends, he was on tour with us and sitting there and he was like, ‘You know, that’s a great name for a song.’ We kind of had a contest where he wrote a song with that first line, and [then] I did, and a couple of our other friends. We kind of all played them for each other. Simon’s is better than mine, but it is a good line to start a song.” Another version–Mystic Valley Band drummer Jason Boesel’s interpretation–is on the next album, Outer South.' The idea that such a good song has such a braindead origin only makes me love it more.

Lake Marie - John Prine: When I saw John Prine the other month he played this song that I had never heard before and I had to look it up after and now I'm completely obsessed with it. It feels like falling asleep during a movie and missing a critical plot point so the rest doesn't make sense when you wake up but is thrilling nonetheless. Also he absolutely screamed "SHADOWS!!!" when he played it which was a fucking cool thing to see a 72 year old man do.

Little White Dove - Jenny Lewis: The drums on this whole album are absolutely huge for some reason and I love it. My favourite recent sound is in the first chorus where there's a funny little pitch correction noise as she sings 'dove'. It's very strange and very very good.

Locked Up - The Ocean Party: I only found out The Ocean Party existed as they announced their farewell show this month which is a real shame but I'm glad I got to hear of them at all because they're very good. A very good song about that feeling we all know and love: driving for a long long time.

Plain & Sane & Simple Melody - Ted Lucas: I found out about this song from Emma Ruth Rundle's Amoeba Records video and she makes a good point about this whole album sounding like something's gone wrong and it got accidentally pitched down slightly in the recording process. It's unclear if that's what happened or that's just how he sounds but it adds a very softly spooky undercurrent to a very nice song.

listen here

#playlists

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icequeenjules26 · 5 years

Text

Digging in the sand, looking for Gold

Summary: When Dan's Beach-Volleyball partner retires, he's not sure how to continue his career. By coincidence he meets the aspiring Youngster Sascha, his best friend Marcelo and physiotherapist Phil, who shakes believes and rules Dan has lived by for all of his life. Suddenly, Dan's life becomes a lot more complicated...

Word Count: 11,8k

Tags: Strangers to lovers, Slow Burn, Fluff, a bit of angst

A/n: This is my first fic for this year's @phandomreversebang! Art is by @penisdinosaur, beta'd by @rubberbandx, big thank you to both of them!

Read on AO3

For as long as Dan could remember, sand was everywhere.

Even when he wasn’t currently on court, when he was training in the weights room or running his laps on track, jogging in the morning, even on vacations - there was always sand. He could feel it in his clothes when he moved, no matter if he had actually worn them on court yet or not. He could see - hear it trickling out of his hair when he shook his head, even right after a shower. There was sand at the bottom of every bag he owned, used for training or not - it didn’t matter.

Sand was his everlasting companion, like family members - they were always there, and sometimes they showed up out of nowhere even when you definitely did not want them to.

But even though sandy clothes or bags usually meant displeasure to normal people, like an itch they couldn’t scratch, to Dan it was comforting - it was home. It was that little piece of his life that he brought everywhere, that he couldn’t shake even if he wanted to; it was his sign of belonging. Whenever he felt foreign, strange, he’d see a few grains of sand, like the Universe showing him You’re not alone. You belong.

Other people would look at him funnily whenever he mentioned it and his own rationality told him how absolutely insane it sounded, but it didn’t matter. It was the way he felt.

As long as the sand would follow him, he would be okay.

That’s why his partner’s retirement hit him even harder. Sure, he could search for a new partner, could try to find someone else he had this on court connection with, someone who knew what he’d do before he knew himself - but not only the improbability of that was a big dampener. They were a Team , him and Markus, had always been; all the way from the sightings matches in their youth to where they were now: training for Olympia. Even though it was still a long way, and if he wanted to, Dan knew he could do it… It was more the way there that made Dan question if it was even worth the effort.

It was his life’s dream. It was everything he’d ever worked for, the only thing he’d ever wanted to achieve. He’d never cared much about education, graduations or even degrees. He had dedicated his life to this sport, had given it his all for several years - just to get thrown off course basically only moments before achievement.

He didn’t blame Markus for any of it, obviously. He had torn the front ligament in his right knee, which would take several months to recover from, and had several other projects in the making, a musical career to fall back to and an amazing husband that supported him every step along the way.

He wasn’t like Dan.

Dan had nothing but his goal - he was nothing but his goal.

He drank, breathed, lived this sport, and he wouldn’t have quit had he been the one getting injured - but he wasn’t, and finding a perfect partner was harder than recovering from an injury. Chances were he’d never find anyone else who understood him on court like Markus did.

So, naturally, the situation hit Dan like a brick wall and metaphorically had him lying in a ditch somewhere for several weeks. He put off looking through the documents of the aspirants his trainer had sent him, just flipped through them halfheartedly, barely noticing what he saw before he gave up and frustratedly threw them in the vague direction of his desk.

He slumped around at home, missed training sessions and basically stopped strength training altogether. He even shortened his morning and evening runs. Only in the night, when the sun sunk below the horizon and normal people went to sleep, all the energy he hadn’t used over the day caught up with him; he became agitated and restless until he finally gave in and went for a jog.

It was during one of those midnight runs that he met Sascha.

Dan was running through the park a few blocks from his apartment, letting the night air cool his skin and ruffle his wild locks. As usual, he didn’t pay much attention to where he was going - nor did he even look. His eyes were up in the clouds, watching them as they drifted by, getting illuminated by the almost full moon standing proudly up in the sky. He knew this park like the back of his hand, could probably run his way through with closed eyes and covered ears, so he had started on his usual route and let his feet do the rest.

Panic ’s This is Gospel just started playing when there was a strange cracking noise that had Dan fearing for his headphones - he’d literally justbought new ones, they couldn’t seriously be broken again already?! - then something colliding with him mid-step and suddenly, he found himself sitting on his ass.

For a second he was completely disoriented, unable to even distinguish between up and down, just sat there, blinking like an idiot. Then his brain caught up with his body, his sight cleared and he could make out a figure standing over him. “Oh my god! I’m so sorry. Fuck, I didn’t look where I was going -” A male voice started rambling and a hand reached out to help Dan up.

Dan took the offered hand and got pulled to his feet. The first thing he noticed was the height difference - which was basically nonexistent. The guy was tall , almost as tall as Dan, which said something, and fairly athletically built. “Hi, nice to meet you - I’m Sascha.”

That’s how it all started - somehow it spiraled from there.

Sascha insisted to buy Dan a drink for the inconvenience, even though it was as much Dan’s fault as it was his, at least in Dan’s book. They started talking, and it didn’t take Dan too long realize he was a Beach Volleyball player like himself. When he asked about a partner Sascha just shrugged and told him he hadn’t found the perfect one yet - and a plan started building in Dan’s head.

Half an hour later they had a training session scheduled for the next day, numbers exchanged and on his way home, Dan’s steps felt a lot lighter.

The training went even better than anticipated. From the first minutes on court Dan understood Sascha and vice versa, and Dan had rarely felt this connected to a person that wasn’t Markus on an athletic level. Sascha was a few years younger than Dan and not officially seeking a partner, so he hadn’t been among the documents Dan had gotten from his trainer, but he was adamant to try out this partnership, wherever it would lead them.

Dan’s trainer met with Sascha’s and it was settled - they’d be going through a month long trial and training period, but Dan already knew this partnership was what he’d been searching for.

It didn’t take too long to discover his new partner didn’t only come with fresh energy and new plans, no - he also came with a bunch of associates. There was Mischa, his older brother and one of Dan’s biggest rivals since forever, almost immediately offering to bury all bad feelings and try to be friends, which Dan agreed on without a second thought. There was Marcelo, Sascha’s best friend and training partner - also the one Sascha gazed at whenever he thought no one was looking, and Dan made a mental note to ask him about it as soon as a foundation of trust had been built.

And last but not least, there was Phil - tall and handsome Phil, with a black quiff and striking blue eyes and a smile that basically lit up the room. He was Sascha’s physiotherapist and tested Dan’s restrain to the max.

Dan’s first rule had always been no dating - no distractions on his way to gold. For years it had held up; no relationships, only sex, no strings attached, but within days Dan could tell upholding that rule would only get harder with Phil around.

Overall the group was so tightly knitted that Dan wondered if they’d even find room for him. He had always been somewhat of a lone wolf, but something about them made Dan want to belong .

And no, it was not the fact that Phil was too hot for his own good and Dan regularly forgot his own name when he looked at him. Not at all.

Well, at least not solely that…

___

For some time things were calm.

Training with Sascha was going well, great even. The connection on court Dan had felt from the very first minute wasn’t wavering, and he was more than happy about having found a new partner that seemed to fit even better than the last one. He even felt like he finally got somewhere with the group - they started inviting him to outings, Marcelo included him in jokes and Phil had seemingly made it his goal to make Dan lost for words any chance he got. Only Sascha seemed still a bit wary of him - at least in the group. He was incredibly protective of them, even though he was the youngest, and had trouble trusting Dan for a reason that was beyond his imagination. When Dan had asked Phil about it, he’d smirked and told him it was just a matter of time, but he was getting more and more agitated.

About two weeks after Dan and Sascha started playing together, the group talked about going to a nearby pub to celebrate something, but Dan hadn’t paid much attention since he hadn’t expected to be invited.

As he made his way to the locker room, Phil surprised him by suddenly appearing in front of him, looking more than excited. “Dan! We’re going out for a couple of beers. Wanna come?”

For a few seconds Dan just stood there, stunned, blinking at Phil like he’d spoken latin instead of english. He risked a look at Sascha and Marcelo to confirm - while Sascha looked a bit miffed he still smiled kindly and Marcelo nodded invitingly. “I - I mean - Sure,” he stuttered out and Phil’s pale blue eyes shined so brightly that for a second, Dan was blinded.

About half an hour later they arrived at the pub and placed orders for the first round of beer. Dan, still not sure what the occasion was, opened up the conversation. “So - what are we celebrating?” he asked and the table had mixed reactions. While Marcelo’s previous wide smile seemed to dim a bit - Dan was convinced that man would probably smile in the face of death, he’d never seen him not smiling - there was a wide grin on Phil’s face and Sascha…

Dan couldn’t believe his eyes. Was he really blushing ? What was happening ?

It was Phil who took it upon himself to catch Dan up to speed. “So, a few years ago -”

“I was really young!” Sascha interjected, and there was definitely a red tint there. Dan smirked. That seemed promising.

“He had this crazy girlfriend. Like - she was completely nuts. She was... ” Phil traded off.

“Insane!” Marcelo provided, seemingly trying to be helpful, and Phil chuckled. “Not what I was searching for, but thanks, Marcelo.”

Both grinned at each other with a side glance at Sascha, who stared at the beer in his hand, cheeks still red.

“Anyways, Marcelo is right. She was jealous as fuck, controlled him any step he took, posted private pictures of him online, that sort of thing,” Phil said, moving his index finger in circles around his temple, emphasising his words. He waited for Dan to nod in understanding before he continued. “But he just let her. Like an idiot.” He snickered, Marcelo nodded and Sascha acted scandalized, calling out an offended hey! that the other two ignored.

“He -” Phil started up again, but Sascha interrupted him again. “I thought I loved her!” he tried to defend himself, seeking help with Dan. He just chuckled. “What happened?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

“I’d bug him about it for weeks , but nothing happened. He found excuses for her over and over again and I was so tired of it -”

“And then I knocked some sense into him!” Marcelo heckled, obviously proud of himself, and Phil shot him an unimpressed look. “Can’t a guy finish a story in peace around here?!” he asked and the rest chuckled.

“But yeah, Marcelo’s about right. They weren’t that close at the time, it was when Marcelo was still active, but Sascha talked to Marcelo during his strength training and when he came to his appointment a few hours afterwards he told me he wanted to break up with her. And that’s the story of how Sascha finally broke up with his crazy ex.” Phil’s smile was wide and his eyes bright, and Dan struggled not to loose focus. He’s fucking adorable… He silenced his own brain. Shush! Not gonna happen!

“Since then we come together at that joyous day to celebrate,” Marcelo explained and Dan just couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s quite the story,” he pointed out and the rest chuckled.

“You won’t get bored around us, I promise,” Phil said and caught his eyes. “I believe you,” he answered, not looking away, lost in the other’s blue irises, like he was trapped in a kaleidoscope of blue and gold and green.

Goddamnit .

When he finally managed to break the spell and avert Phil’s eyes before they’d suck him in yet again, Sascha gave him a somewhat satisfied, somewhat encouraging look, and this time, it was Dan’s turn to blush. This group would be the death of him, he was almost certain already.

After that incident, Sascha’s wariness decreased, which made it even harder for Dan to avoid Phil and the temptation he caused, but at least it gave him a lot more confidence. Sascha was his one way ticket to gold, and he intended to use it. If he’d become friends with the guy on the way there - even better.

Since his weeks of doing basically nothing Dan had kept to his midnight routine of going for a run in the park next to his house.

The problem, Dan mused as he jogged along the familiar path, was probably that they were similar in a lot of ways, in their drive for success and in the fact that originally, they were lone wolves. Dan couldn’t know what had happened, how Sascha had come to such a tightly knitted group of friends around him, but it shone through in every movement he made that he once hadn’t had a lot of friends - if any at all. Sure, he had a brother, but Dan could tell from his own experience that bloodlines didn’t form friendships of their own. Now Sascha and Mischa seemed close, but who knew what had lead them there?

Dan wanted to know more about them, he realized. He was the most interested in Phil, he’d admitted that much to himself already, but he’d closed that door for himself, shut it forcefully and locked it as often as he could - and surprisingly, the others didn’t leave him cold either. Originally, Sascha had been supposed to be his way to reach his goal, but now he - all of them - had become more. He had a feeling they could be great friends - if he’d just let them.

Completely lost in thoughts, Dan continued down his usual route, contemplating what to do about the whole Sascha situation. There was something wrong with the guy, something laying heavy on his heart, but he had no clue what exactly. He knew there had to be something he could do - the question was what . He wasn’t really skilled in handling other people, had spent his life refraining from relationships that would only serve as distractions for his main goal.

Now, though, it seemed different - a lot was different. Sure, he had no plans on getting a relationship - No, not even with Phil! - but what about friendships? To play his best he had to be open with his teammate, to let him in and truly become a team, he knew that now. But how was he supposed to do that when his teammate obviously hadn’t come to the same conclusion yet?

A voice ripped him out of his thoughts mid-step. He came to a slithering halt, looking up and finding himself just a few centimeters away from someone else - someone he identified as Sascha within seconds.

“Sascha!” he got out between gasps, “What are you doing here?”

There was a smirk on Sascha’s face as Dan struggled to catch his breath, and he had to stifle a grumble. Stupid youngsters and their stupid fitness.

“You okay?” Sascha asked, smirk still in place. Dan shot him an intimidating look, but Sascha only grinned. The wild, dirty blonde locks on his head were hardly contained by the headband he had on and stuck out left and right. His striking green eyes shone even more in the pale moonlight and their bright colour reminded him of someone else - for a second, the eyes were blue as the sky on a sunny day, with a black quiff framing a beautiful face, coming closer towards Dan, closer and closer until his lips finally…

No! Forget it!

Then Sascha snickered again and Dan’s vision of Phil shattered like a mirror. He shook his head quickly, trying to order his thoughts and get back to reality, while Sascha still observed him with a smirk. Dan shot him another look but again, Sascha seemed entirely unimpressed.

He sighed. “I’m fine,” he grumbled, finally focussing on the situation at hand. “So what are you doing here?”

“What do you think I’m doing in a park in the middle of the night in my running clothes?” He raised an eyebrow, then: “I’m about to rob a bank, obviously.”

For a second, Dan just stared blankly, desperately trying to hold in a laugh. It wasn’t even that funny, he wouldn’t - then his eyes met Sascha’s and he lost all restrain. He broke out laughing, so loudly it scared up some birds in the area that flew away with irritated squawks.

That was the start of joint jogging sessions at night and an unforeseeable friendship. They grew closer every day, and Dan was glad Sascha seemed to open up to him more. He trusted him with his group of friends, invited him to hang out with them, and sometimes, when they were alone, Dan could see that he was moments away from talking to him - truly talking. It was obvious Sascha had a lot on his mind, in his heart; and it was also obvious that for some reason, he didn’t think he could talk to the others about it. But there was still something holding him back, something that kept him from talking to Dan about it, and Dan didn’t know what to do to get him to talk. So he waited.

Their trial period ended without acknowledgement. No one even talked about breaking off their partnership - as a matter of fact, Dan forgot about the deadline completely until a month later. He and Sascha were training together for two months at this point, and while on one hand, the training went by so fast he couldn’t believe it had already been two months, on the other hand it felt like they’d been partners forever.

Sure, Dan loved his sport, loved the sand, playing and giving it his all, but training had still tended to stretch out and drag - at least before Sascha. Now, sessions were filled with laughter and jokes, small pranks and friendly competitions; with Marcelo and Phil sitting on the sidelines cheering them on and clapping. Sometimes, Mischa was there, obviously impressed with the progress they made, and even Dan’s trainer basically forgot to nag half the time, silently watching instead, in awe about their teamwork.

Phil’s part in Dan’s life became bigger the more he was around all of them, and he shook Dan’s beliefs to the core. He distracted himself with the mystery around Sascha, with training and group outings, where he tried to keep more to the others, but it got harder by the second to resist. He was pretty sure Phil was interested - he kept flirting, leaning into Dan’s personal space or placing a hand on his thigh voluntarily - so Dan was glad he wasn’t required to spent a lot of time alone with Phil. His restrains slowly started to run thin, and he did not want to push his luck any further.

The partnership between Dan and Sascha continued growing. They started with strategy meetings in preparation for their first tournament together. They played a friendly match against Mischa and his partner which they won by far, and work progressed even faster than anticipated. Sascha still kept silent about his problems, but as he became more familiar with him and their group Dan at least gained enough insight to observe and draw reasonable conclusions.

One night they were out bowling, Dan, Phil, Sascha and Marcelo; and while he spent the most time conversing with Phil - damn the guy for being interested in the same things as Dan, how dare he? - Dan really paid attention to the way the group worked. While trying not to focus on Phil leaning into him with his hand on Dan’s knee, he noticed how often Sascha and Marcelo would look at each other when they thought the other wasn’t looking. How they always seemed to touch in one way or the other. How they sat so close there was no room between them even though it wasn’t necessary, and how many inside jokes they had.

Marcelo and Phil on the other hand were a lot closer than Dan had first anticipated. They shared looks sometimes, like they were conversing wordlessly, and when Marcelo hesitated in his movements or speech - usually because Sascha came close to him, or touched him, or laughed particularly brightly - Phil would immediately step in and try to distract from it.

All that only served to raise more questions for Dan. It seemed clear to him that Sascha and Marcelo had feelings for each other, but didn’t act on it; and Dan simply couldn’t get behind the reasons. And that, Dan realized, might’ve even been the reason Sascha had been wary of him. He made a mental note to ask Phil about it - which brought him to a whole other problem.

Phil, hot, precious Phil was testing Dan to the max. Most of the times it seemed obvious he was flirting with Dan, dropping hints that he was single and searching while complimenting him, leaning forward and suspiciously into Dan’s space. He grinned at Dan with that honest, open smile of his, probably aware of the fact that it made Dan’s knees go weak. He even asked Dan if he needed treatment, being a physiotherapist and all, and after some hesitance, Dan agreed to make a plan quite similar to the one Sascha had, with regular appointments.

In summary: Dan’s life did not become any easier.

_____

It was during one of those appointments that Dan finally decided to ask Phil for help to unravel the mystery around Sascha.

It had been a particularly weird training. Sascha had had obvious trouble concentrating; he was occupied with looking up at the stands where Marcelo was sitting instead of tactic training. He continued to sigh, but whenever Dan would bring it up, he’d say it was nothing.

Dan was fed up with it.

So, while he was lying on the treatment couch, Phil’s hands kneading his muscles and therefore in desperate need of a distraction anyways, he just blurted it out. “What’s up with Sascha and Marcelo?”

The hands on his back stilled for a moment and Phil took a deep breath. He continued the treatment when he’d let it out slowly, but didn’t say anything, and Dan became worried. Had he said something wrong?

When he’d finally worked up the nerve to apologize - for what, he had no clue, but there had to be something - Phil spoke up again. “As much as I want to,” he said with utter sincerity, “It’s not my secret to tell.” The utter defeat in his voice made Dan’s heart hurt for him. He just wanted his friends to be happy, Dan realized, but was about as powerless as Dan was.

“Okay,” he croaked and they didn’t talk about it again.

Dan would have to go straight to the source.

___

For around two months not much changed. Dan gradually affiliated into the group, he continued to withstand the temptation that Phil posed, just Sascha’s unceasing silence still had Dan worried.

At least until the international beach volleyball association - IBVA in short - uploaded one of their “behind the scenes” videos to their Youtube channel.

Usually, Dan didn’t pay much attention to the videos they uploaded. In all honesty, he followed their channel more out of guilt than anything else. Just this time, he’d anticipated that video: in their catching up with... series they interviewed former athletes that had retired from the sport for one reason or the other. Athletes… Like Marcelo.

Marcelo had been practicing the sport for over ten years until he had won gold at the olympics for the second time, when he had decided to retire; him and Sascha had already been friends at that point. Now he recently turned thirty and worked with different TV Stations broadcasting beach volleyball tournaments, allowing him to travel around with Sascha and the others. The IBVA had interviewed him a week ago, and he’d told the others to tune in when it came out.

The first few minutes was nothing too important, just about Marcelo’s life shortly after his career, how he was handling retirement and if he missed the sports. Then they reached the present, and with it, Sascha - a promising youngster of only 22 years who’s recent switch of partners had caused a lot of frenzy in the community.

Marcelo breached upon the topic with nonexistent ease, with all the awkwardness he held, but the interviewer ate it up. She dug deeper about Sascha, how he was doing, how close the two were.

That’s when he spoke the sentence that had Dan hurting for Sascha. “Yeah, Sascha is my best friend. Like the little brother I never had, you know? I wouldn’t want to do without him for the world.”

He paused the video out of pure panic - even though Sascha wasn’t even in the room - and for a moment, the world seemed to stop, halting in its rotation to give Dan a moment to grieve for the happiness of a friend that had become so dear to him. He couldn’t believe Marcelo just said that - had he no idea how Sascha felt? Did he not care? And what about his own feelings? Dan would’ve bet all his money on Marcelo having feelings for Sascha as well.

Yet again more questions appeared and this time, Dan was more than dumbfounded. He’d never expected this to come out of this interview.

It took Dan minutes to calm down enough to continue watching the video, but no more important things happened. They moved on from the topic Sascha fairly quickly after; Marcelo said a few words about Dan and how well they worked together, with some kind of dull shimmer in his eyes that Dan just couldn’t decipher, then it was mostly about the sport itself and other contestants in the upcoming tournament.

When the video was over Dan sat in silence, staring at the still illuminated screen of his laptop for multiple moments, then he took a deep breath and got up. He had some strength training to do before he met up with Sascha for their nightly jogging session.

___

When Dan arrived at their usual meetup-point Sascha was not there yet. By itself, that wasn’t a big deal since he tended to be always late for literally everything, but after the video it had Dan a bit worried. Sascha was like Dan in a lot of things - like the fact that he tended to work twice as hard whenever something bad happened. He concentrated on work to not think about his problems. Dan could truly relate.

For almost ten minutes Dan waited relatively calm. Then he became increasingly worried. Sascha still wasn’t there, and he had neither answered Dan’s messages nor picked up the phone when he’d called.

After half an hour Dan was beside himself. He’d finally called Phil, and while he didn’t know where Sascha was either he at least gave him the useful advice to check his apartment Phil wondered what the fuss was about, though, so Dan just told him to check the video the IBVA had put up.

It took Dan less than five minutes to get to Sascha’s apartment block. When he first rang the doorbell, cautiously and unsure, there was no answer, but he wasn’t about to give up that easily. So he just kept ringing.

After a few seconds that felt like an eternity to Dan the door finally opened. He climbed the stairs up to Sascha’s floor where he found him, leaning powerlessly against the doorframe, and Dan was shocked. He’d never seen Sascha looking like this - so completely drained of energy, without a flicker of mischief in his green eyes. Instead of standing tall his shoulders were hunched over, his cheeks glistened wet and even behind the glasses Dan could see that his eyes were red and swollen. He wore a shirt of the IBVA that seemed a bit older, but wasn’t too suspicious, until he turned around to make his way into his apartment, revealing a big brazilian flag on the back, and Dan understood that it was probably an old shirt of Marcelo, who was of brazilian origin.

“Oh, Sascha,” Dan murmured as he followed him inside, closing the door behind him. Sascha didn’t even say a word as he let himself fall onto his couch, gesticulating vaguely for Dan to take a seat as well.

Afterwards, Sascha was completely quiet, staring off into space motionlessly, and Dan was busy taking in his surroundings. There were several tissues thrown about on the living room table. Sascha’s laptop peeked out under some of them, still blinking, indicating that it had just been closed and pushed away mindlessly. The TV was running, showing a beach volleyball match that Dan had been sure was chosen randomly, until he realized that it was an old one of Marcelo and his partner.

Dan sighed, unsure of what to do, but then he got up and decided some tea wouldn’t hurt. He’d been in Sascha’s kitchen a few times, so it didn’t take him too long to make some.

When he got back into the living room Sascha hadn’t moved an inch and when Dan gently handed him the mug it took him a few moments to even become aware of his presence. Dan sat down again as well, observing worriedly as Sascha cradled the hot mug in his hands. He was sure there were new tears running down the youngster’s cheek and for a second, he wished he’d taken Phil’s offer to come over as well.

He had no idea how to handle this, what to do or what to say. Everything that came to mind seemed useless, meaningless. He felt completely powerless. Phil, caring, empathetic Phil would’ve known how to handle the situation, he was sure of it; but he took a deep breath and threw all of his anxiety over saying the wrong thing right out of the window. Anything was better than utter silence.

“Sascha…” he started, turning towards his friend now, one leg perched up on the couch. His voice was deep and rhusty, worry so evident in it he had to suppress a wince. He didn’t say more than that, but the intent was clear.

Sascha didn’t answer at first, but at least he moved to take a cautious sip from his tea, which Dan counted as a win. Then, when Dan had already given up hope, he started talking.

“How did you know?” he asked, not even looking at Dan, who sighed. “That you have feelings for him? Honestly, it doesn’t take a genius to figure that one out.”

Sascha’s response was a humorless laugh. “That obvious, huh.”

“Yeah.”

Another moment of silence passed and Dan took his mug of tea into his hands as well, looking at the TV to keep himself from looking at Sascha, who seemed like a wild animal - any sound or direct eye contact could have him running in the opposite direction. For a second he was tempted to text Phil - but deep down he knew he could do this, and that it had to be him. Sascha definitely had a reason to not talk to Phil about it, and Dan would honour that.

“Please talk to me.”

Dan really didn’t think it would work, but it finally seemed like he’d gotten through to the normally so confident youngster.

“I don’t even know why I still have hope. I just get knocked down over and over again. When will I accept the truth?”

Dan physically flinched hearing the defeat in his voice. He’d been through a lot with Sascha already, had grown as a person and stronger as an athlete, and after the initial hesitance, he’d also grown closer to Sascha as well. Seeing something hurting him like that - it made him hurt too. And it made him think of Phil, and how lucky he was to at least know his feelings were reciprocated, even if he’d chosen not to act on them. He’d be okay.

The question was, would Sascha be?

“I just can’t believe it’s one sided. The way he looks at you….” He trailed of, making a vague gesture with the hand not holding the mug. He wasn’t sure if it was wise to give Sascha even more hope after everything, but Dan just wasn’t ready to give up. He’d get behind this, and then he’d get them together, even if it’d be the last thing he’d do.

“I don’t know, Dan, I just - I just don’t understand what’s going on. It’s like - Like…” He stumbled over his words, and when Dan looked over he could see there were new tears shining in the corner of his eye. He took a deep breath.

“When I first met him, I never thought - I never even imagined. We didn’t talk a lot, simply because we never ran in the same circles, you know? But then the shit happened with my girlfriend and… He saw me, during strength training, asked me what was wrong, and I just… I felt like I could trust him. So I told him everything. And he told me I was worth more than that. More than the person she wanted me to be. And he said it in a way that…” He visibly faltered for a moment, shooting Dan a quick look before taking a deep breath.

“He looked deep into my eyes. Like I was the most important thing in the world. Like he was able to see what she couldn’t.”

Again there was a pause, and Dan didn’t even dare to move. Sascha seemed so fragile, like the most gentle breeze could scatter him into a million directions.

“Looking back, I think I started fancying him then,” he whispered, almost soundlessly.

The following silence was so looming, so comprehensive it made Dan shudder. It was pretty clear to him that Sascha had never said it out loud before, and it meant a big deal, so he waited patiently for him to continue.

“After I broke up with my girlfriend we truly started talking, and to hang out. He was so nice and easy going, so awkward and adorable, we were interested in the same things and we just - clicked. We grew so close, but every time I think This is it he just… backtracks. He’ll look into my eyes and hold my hand like we’re a couple, like he has feelings for me, and the next thing I know he calls me his brother. And still I-” He stopped short, choking down, and Dan intuitively scooted closer.

“You should say it,” Dan prodded softly. “It might help.”

Still in tears, Sascha looked up to meet Dan’s eyes.

“And still I love him,” he choked out between sobs, then he broke down.

_________

Surprisingly, not a lot changed after that. Dan and Sascha were closer than before, sure; and during training or hangouts when Marcelo would look a certain way or sit closer to Sascha than strictly necessary they would exchange looks, have entire conversations with nothing but their eyes. After practice, whenever they didn’t do things as a group, Dan and Sascha would come together, watch a movie, play video games - be there for each other.

Dan himself was doing pretty good. He and Phil had been growing close as well, but Dan tried to mostly refrain from being alone with him, and so far, it seemed to be working. Sure, sometimes he mourned for the what if , but mostly he was just happy to have gained a friend as amazing as Phil was.

He knew, though, that Sascha needed him. The youngster hadn’t been particularly happy with the situation - or over all. Dan had to stand on the sidelines and watch as his best friend became more closed up and silent by the minute, at least around Marcelo, and he didn’t feel good about that. He didn’t understand what Marcelo was doing, but that didn’t mean Dan wanted Sascha to completely lose someone so dear and close to him. On the other hand, he also understood why the youngster was spending less and less time with Marcelo.

Overall he felt like he was looking at a doom loop and he had no idea how to break it. The state of affairs dragged on for weeks. Dan and Sascha went through their first tournament together, which they ended on an amazing second place, and played against Sascha’s brother and his partner again, who they beat once more.

After the game, Mischa took Dan aside and asked for news, but Dan couldn’t give him anything. Marcelo on the other hand seemed to struggle to understand what was happening, continuously cornering Sascha and asking him what was wrong. The situation seemed to pain him considerably, too; but that made things just more confusing to him. How had the older man still not figured out what Sascha felt for him?

It took more than two months to break Dan. He’d had the same talks with Sascha over and over again - “Talk to him!” “I can’t! He can’t know what I feel for him, it would destroy everything!” - “It can’t go on like this. It’s starting to affect your play!” “It has to. I’ll just have to get over it.’’ - etcetera, and he’d had enough.

Dan also couldn’t imagine how things could get any worse, but he wasn’t about to tell Sascha that.

Sasch had lost his touch and was struggling to get it back, and Dan had to watch helplessly as he lost more and more motivation to Marcelo, so one Tuesday during one of his routine treatments from Phil after a particularly bad training - Dan kind of just... spit it out.

He knew it was wrong, somehow. But it wasn’t like he was able to stop himself, either.

“It’s so bad. My trainer averted his eyes, and I can’t even blame him. I can’t look at it anymore either,” he groaned when Phil asked him about how training was going. The physiotherapist halted in his movements, just for a moment, hardly noticeable, but Dan sensed it anyway.

“Why?” Phil asked before continuing working on his back. Dan was almost used to it by now, at least when it was unspectacular places like his back, so he didn’t even have to bite his lip anymore to keep down a moan.

The question confused Dan, just a bit, but it was like Phil’s calm and trustworthy presence had finally broken his self-imposed spell of silence on the matter. Sascha hadn’t particularly told Dan to stay quiet, but it might have been implied somewhere. He honestly couldn’t remember, and at this point he didn’t care. He couldn’t just stand by and watch as his best friend got more and more broken by the second. He’d kept silent and not done anything for too long. But not any more. Not for a second longer.

“Is that really a question? After the video? He’s in pieces. Every time I’m picking him up something happens and he’s breaking apart all over again.”

He took a deep breath. “I don’t know what to do. I’m completely helpless.”

Phil’s hands on his back stilled, then they vanished. “You’re done,” he croaked out, breathless, and took a step back as Dan sat up. He gulped visibly, then: “Get dressed. We’re going to my place, and then you’re telling me everything you know. I’m tired of this.”

______

“So, what you’re saying is - Sascha has actually had feelings for Marcelo the whole time?” Phil looked at him with wide eyes, so innocent and unaware Dan wanted to scream. How could someone be that pretty and that clueless at the same time?

Dan’s eyes felt like they were falling out of their sockets as he stared at Phil, completely dumbfounded. He wasn’t - he couldn’t actually - it wasn’t possible -

He was. He could. And yes, it was possible.

“Please don’t tell me you didn’t know.”

“I had no idea!”

“Are you blind ?”

For a moment, Dan felt bad about it, but he got over it pretty quickly. Honestly, Phil kind of deserved it. The physiotherapist still looked shocked by the news but was now also blushing profusely, avoiding Dan’s eyes.

Dan sighed. “You cannot be serious, Phil.”

More blushing, then: “Marcelo said Sascha didn’t love him back. So I didn’t question it.”

Silence settled in until the words properly registered in his mind, then Dan’s head shot up, fixing Phil’s eyes in a gaze. “Back. So I’m right. Marcelodoes have feelings for him!”

Phil nodded, picking up the coffee mug he’d placed on the table in front of him and taking a huge sip while pressing his foot firmer into Dan’s thigh. “He’s been in love with Sascha for ages.”

Then he furrowed his brows, staring into the dark liquid like it held the answers to all his questions.

Dan wished .

“Wait, but if it was that obvious - he knows Sascha better than anyone else. He must have known about it. Why didn’t he tell me? Why did he lie? What is he doing?”

Dan sighed again. “That’s the one million dollar question, isn’t it. What’s Marcelo doing?”

_______

When Dan asked Sascha why he hadn’t talked to Phil about the situation yet, he told Dan he was scared the physiotherapist would tell Marcelo everything, so Dan cleared up the misunderstanding. Luckily, Sascha wasn’t mad at Dan for telling him, and the situation dragged on. The one good thing about it was that Dan was so enrolled in the mystery that Marcelo posed, he didn’t even have time to think about Phil - to question how close they had become. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that as soon as things were resolved he’d probably break down and throw himself at Phil like a lovesick fool, but he ignored it completely.

Maybe he was falling for Phil. Hard. So what? He’d just have to restrain himself. He’d been doing that for months now - what could possibly go wrong?

Never in the history had that sentence not lead to things going horribly wrong, but he ignored that as well.

As a team, Dan and Sascha continued to make progress, but as an individual, Sascha’s performance didn’t improve significantly. Sure he had trainings where things were going a bit better - for example when Marcelo was gone for a week, visiting his parents in Brazil and Dan kept him distracted as well as possible - but that wasn’t a lot. Overall, the brash, mischievous Sascha whom Dan had met months ago was missing in action.

It didn’t take long for Dan and Phil to start worrying. Group hangouts became less and less frequent and Sascha was asking for time alone, so they spent most of their time together, worrying about their friends and planning how to get them back on track. Sometimes, they’d put on a movie or play video games, and Dan’s restraint around Phil would falter, just for a moment, for a lingering touch or an endearing look, but he managed to keep it at that - as long as it wasn’t more it would be fine. As soon as his lips would touch Phil’s, though, it would be over, and all attempts of abstention would have been in vain.

Their attempts to get Sascha and Marcelo to talk were mostly unsuccessful. They refused to talk to each other openly, and that did not help calming Dan and Phil’s nerves. The first qualifying matches for the Olympics were approaching with big steps, and they knew: with Sascha being like this, they’d be lucky to even stand a chance.

That was why, only a month from their first match, Dan finally lost his patience. After practice he lured Marcelo into Phil’s treatment room and kept him there while Phil brought Sascha for his daily checkup. He sat them down onto a couch in the corner of the room, refusing all protests, and took a seat on some chairs facing them.

He and Phil shared a look, squeezing each other’s hand - something they had started doing only recently and completely without Dan’s conscious approval - then he took a deep breath and turned his attention to the men on the couch.

“Guys, we’ve been patient. Really patient. We’ve sat by and watched as you drift further and further apart, but it has to stop.”

“This is an intervention. You two need to talk and because you’re obviously not going to do that on your own, we’re forcing you to,” Phil explained further, and Dan nodded. The look of utter betrayal in Sascha’s eyes weighed heavy on Dan’s heart, but he knew that this was the only way. Sascha was too stubborn to try to improve the situation, and Marcelo had simply given up. Someone had to do something, and there was no one else that would.

“Anything one of you wants to share with the group?”, Dan asked, gesticulating with his hands like they were in group therapy, and Phil gave him a grin. The other two didn’t seem particularly impressed with this joke, though.

“I have nothing to say,” Sascha said, breathless, hardly making a sound, and Marcelo flinched like someone had punched him. “Who’s surprised,” he mumbled under his breath, and Sascha’s sharp, green eyes turned to him.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” His voice was nothing but a hiss, low and dangerous, and Dan was glad it wasn’t directed at him. His partner was a few years younger than him, sure, but he was also tall and well trained and his look could be so sharp Dan swore it could pierce through skin.

“You haven’t talked to me in weeks!” Marcelo accused, and Dan and Phil shared a quick look. It was true, sure, but that didn’t mean Sascha’s silence wasn’t at least justified. They had tried to get him to talk as well, but they weren’t the ones causing the behaviour.

Sascha’s eyes narrowed and Dan swore the temperature in the room dropped at least ten degrees within a second. “That’s rich, coming from you,” he hissed, pure venom in his voice.

“Why?”

“Because you’re the goddamn reason!” Sascha blurted out forcefully, short of seething. “You’re the goddamn reason for everything! For me being distracted, for my sadness, for my performance dropping! You and that fucking video!”

“Sascha -”

“No! Just no! Not again! I’m tired of it, okay? I’m tired of all of it! Do you know what it does to me, every time you say something like this?” There were tears in the corners of his eyes and Dan unconsciously reached for Phil’s hand. It hurt him, too, and he didn’t have the strength to go through it alone.

“Do you know how fucking much it hurts ?”

For a second, it was silent, and Dan couldn’t help but look at Marcelo - who looked close to tears, obviously trying to avert Sascha’s eyes. “But -”

Sascha cut him off again, shaking his head silently. “No buts, Marcelo. Not again,” he said, his voice close to a whisper, and from one second to the next he looked so broken Dan couldn’t help but strengthen his grip on Phil’s hand.

Then he got up, attempting to leave the room. Dan was about to get up as well, to keep him there for just a second longer, just to give Marcelo a chance to explain, but the brazilian was behind Sascha and taking a hold of his wrist so fast Dan didn’t even have the time to move a muscle.

“That is not fair, Sascha. You were the one telling me off years ago and I can’t know you’d still react like that -”

“I did what?”

“Telling me off. During the first interview you did. Remember?”

Sascha shook his head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“When the reporter asked you about the rumors concerning that woman you played a match with for charity. You laughed and told him she was too old for you anyways.”

Sascha blinked, obviously dumbfounded, but at least a lot calmer than before. “How could you have possibly applied that to yourself?”

Marcelo’s look was so sad Dan’s heart would’ve broken in his chest would he not be holding onto Phil’s hand for dear life.

“She’s exactly my age, Sascha. I got the message, bright and clear. I did my best to keep away from you and that aspect, I swear, but you’re just so irresistible and I was already so fucking much in love with you -”

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Dan mumbled to himself, and the physiotherapist next to him nodded affirmatively, but the other two guys weren’t even aware of them anymore.

Sascha choked out a sob, tears streaming down his face as he continued to stare into Marcelo’s eyes. “You idiot,” he whispered without any malice, “It was never about you. I just wanted him to stop asking about her. Especially because I had feelings for you …”

That was the point where Dan had to avert his eyes, where the connection between Sascha and Marcelo became too much and he just felt like he was intruding on a private moment. He carefully tugged at Phil’s hand, gesturing him that they should go. So they did, leaving Sascha and Marcelo and any further developments alone.

____

Training was a lot better the following week. Sascha’s performance improved and went back to normal within minutes on court; he was able to concentrate, he smiled and laughed with Dan and his technique was back to top quality. Dan was more than relieved. The first qualifying tournament for Olympia was less than a month away and they needed to be at the top of their game.

Within the week after that, though, Dan got a feeling something was different - or, to be more precise, something wasn’t different. A specific something.

Sascha and Marcelo didn’t act differently at all. They were obviously back to being friends, sure, participating in group outings, joking with each other; but if anything, the touching had decreased . No teasing about their relationship, no suggestive comments, and definitely no kisses, not even on the cheek. Something was definitely not right.

He knew he needed Phil’s opinion, so during his physio-treatment - while desperately trying not to get a hard-on because Phil literally had his hands all over his body - he asked.

“What’s wrong with Sascha and Marcelo by the way?”

There was no hesitance in the hands kneading his left thigh dangerously close to his ass and Dan had to stifle a moan.

“What do you mean? Everything’s the same as before.”

“Exactly,” Dan answered with a raspy voice, trying to hide the pleasure. “Shouldn’t something be different?”

Phil was silent for a moment, switching from the thigh to the calf - slightly less dangerous territory - and Dan allowed himself to relax before the physiotherapist spoke again. “You know what? Now that I think about it… You might be right. They don’t act like a couple at all. Or, well, at least not more than usual.”

“Precisely.”

After twenty more minutes of treatment - and therefore, twenty more minutes of Dan feeling ridiculously underlaid - they agreed to do some digging.

The first task fell to Dan. Him and Phil had agreed that - after everything they’d been through with Sascha - it was unfair to not give him the chance to speak. So during their midnight run Dan asked Sascha about it, about the relationship and if they were in a romantic one, but the youngster’s answers were unsure and vague. After some prodding, he straight-up denied it, claiming him and Marcelo would “work better as friends”.

Needless to say that Dan was furious.

Just to confirm the story, Phil asked the same questions during morning practice, when both him and Marcelo were on the stands. The answers were pretty similar.

Both Dan and Phil were more than disappointed about that outcome. They got together for some Mario Kart that afternoon, and while Dan was half a round ahead and Phil was fighting for the third spot, they realized they couldn’t just… Leave it at that.

In reality, they could. They just refused not to. For their friends’ happiness, but also for their own pride.

“That can’t be it,” Dan observed as he was skillfully maneuvering around a banana peel on track, “They love each other. Why the fuck not start a relationship?”

Only after saying it out loud did he realize it was basically a stab into his own guts, and he was lucky Phil was too preoccupied with the game to look at him.

“True,” Phil confirmed, sticking out his tongue in concentration.

For a second, it was silent aside from the sounds of the game, then Dan made a decision as his car was driving past the finish line. “You know what? Not on my watch.”

Something misschievous glinted in Phil’s eyes when he turned to look Dan into the eyes. “No. Not on our watch.”

____

Two weeks later they were in the car on their way to their first Olympics-relevant tournament and nothing had changed. Nothing at all . They had tried (and, well, failed) to get them together multiple times, had shoved them together for practice, had given Sascha the opportunity to say something, but so far, all their attempts had been in vain. Not only Dan, but even the bubbly, optimistic Phil was rapidly losing confidence in their ability to meddle.

It was Marcelo’s shift to drive, so Sascha had, naturally, chosen to sit shotgun - “working better as friends” my ass , Dan thought - leaving the backseats to Dan and Phil.

Dan, sitting behind Sascha, hadn’t been paying a lot of attention - he was fairly occupied trying to get Phil to relax, with his car sickness and all - so when he looked forward for the first time, trying to get a look on their navi, and he saw a dark spot on the back of Sascha’s neck, almost at his shoulder, for a second he didn’t think anything of it. Then he processed what he’d seen and - Huh?

He couldn’t be sure, his view was obstructed by both Sascha’s hair and his shirt, but - he leaned over towards Phil, whispering in his ear. Phil’s face, slightly less green than before, showed surprise, then he exchanged a look with Dan, the same question in his eyes.

Is that… a hickey ?

___

The tournament went amazingly well. They’d survived the group phase and the first knock out round and were now on for the quarterfinals tomorrow. They’d agreed to have a light training session around midday, but Dan had spent the day hiding from Phil since they’d had a near slip-up the other night playing Fifa (Dan had lost, so he’d started tickling Phil and ended up closer to him than intended and almost kissed him), so he went directly to the training court instead of meeting the others at the hotel. When he arrived, Sascha and Phil were already there, laughing while Phil tried - and failed - to warm Sascha up.

When they noticed Dan, Sascha gave a wave and a grin, walking over to his bag to take a drink, but Phil came sprinting towards him through the deep sand. “That is Marcelo’s shirt,” he said in lieu of greeting, and Dan blinked dumbfounded before he understood what Phil was getting at.

He took a closer look at Sascha’s outfit, and sure enough he was wearing a light blue shirt with a Volleyball emblem on the breast pocket that he’d seen Marcelo wear before.

“Oh my god, you’re right. He wore it just two days ago!”

For neutral parties, it probably wasn’t a big deal, but to Dan and Phil, it definitely was. They were invested in this relationship - more than they would’ve thought before.

“Are we becoming fanboys?” Dan asked as they walked over to Sascha. Phil’s stunning blue eyes were glinting in the shining sun and for a moment Dan forgot how to breathe.

“Absolutely.”

___

Dan and Sascha made it through the quarterfinals relatively easy, beating their opponents in two straight sets. The match directly after was determining their semi-finals opponents, so Dan and Phil decided to stay to spy on them and get a feeling for how they were playing, but both Sascha and Marcelo chose to go back to the hotel, claiming they wanted to skype their families.

The stands built up for the sake of the tournament went up fairly high, and to be less likely to get spotted Dan and Phil decided to search for seats in a far up row, which were mostly empty. From up there, they had a really nice view of the ocean far off to one side - and, coincidentally, the hotel they were all staying in. They were looking straight at their floor and with it, their shared balcony - between the five of them, including the trainer, they occupied the whole side of the floor for themselves. The rooms were connected by a long, shared balcony, which made going over to one of the other rooms for a treatment or a talk with their coach a lot easier.

While the teams on court were still warming up Dan looked over to the hotel. He found Sascha at his balcony door, looking out to the court. He had changed into a red shirt and grey shorts shining brightly in the sun, and Dan softly elbowed Phil in the side an gesticulated for him to take a look as well.

They watched as Marcelo appeared behind Sascha with his boring white clothes immediately recognisable in the compared darkness of the room. He stepped closer to Sascha, reaching out with his hand, then Sascha let the curtain drop and the scene was out of view. Phil and Dan shared a look. Skyping their families, huh?

Throughout the game they kept a close eye on Sascha’s balcony door, but the curtain didn’t move again - until their tainer stepped onto the balcony, making his way to Sascha’s room. When he knocked on the glass nothing happened for a while. Then the door opened and Sascha stepped out in his red shorts and white shirt -

“He’s in different clothes than before!” Phil pointed out, voice somewhere between excited and surprised, and Dan’s eyes widened as he realized that Phil was right. “So - They went in together, no one comes out for half an hour, and now he’s suddenly in a completely different outfit, even though he’d been freshly showered before?!” Phil summarized and Dan nodded, dumbfounded.

“Well, that’s not fishy,” he mumbled, “Not fishy at all.”

___

When Marcelo showed up to dinner with a red shirt Dan and Phil were set on investigating further. Something was going on there and they wanted to know what it was.

Dan and Sascha finished third in the tournament, which was half the qualification norm for the Olympics, so they were happy with the outcome. They had around a week at home before they were leaving for the next tournament, and they didn’t do much else than relax and a bit of strength training and jogging.

Dan particularly despised the last part.

They spent the day before their anew departure together as a group, playing Mario Kart, Fifa and pictionary, and they had so much fun Dan’s belly hurt from all the laughing. When Sascha beat Marcelo in Mario Kart, the brazilian reached over, tickling the youngster, and Phil gave Dan a look of oh my god they’re so adorable I can’t even that Dan had to agree with.

Two hours later both Sascha and Marcelo had left - “to do the rest of packing”, sure Jan , Dan thought - and only Phil had stayed, wanting to help with the cleanup. Everything had stayed completely innocent so far, and Dan mentally patted himself on the back for being so resistant - he hadn’t reacted to either Phil’s flirting nor to his continuous physical contact. He was strong.

Until he wasn’t.

They were just finishing up the dishes. Dan was at the sink, washing the rest of the glasses and plates when Phil reached up to the cupboard directly above Dan’s head, leaning so far over his body they were touching basically everywhere. Dan could feel the blood rushing into his cheeks and somewhere lower, tightly gripping the edge of the sink - for support or to keep himself from moving, he wasn’t sure - and he stayed determined, he really did, but then -

Then Phil’s breath hit the skin on his neck and it was all over.

He turned around in a flash, exchanging a short, meaningful look with Phil, then he was kissing him and his world was turning upside down. Nothing was as it had seemed before. His self restraint vanished in a vortex of gold, his brain left his body and all that was left was lust and love.

Fuck it, he loved that guy, had had for a long time; and he’d always known all restraint would be lost as soon as his lips touched Phil’s.

His life was flashing in front of his closed eyelids as he passionately kissed Phil, showing him all the lost opportunities that they could’ve spent making out, showing him what he had missed out on. But he didn’t even have the mental capacity to process it - he didn’t have the mental capacity to do anything . He had lost all connection to his body, was nothing but a spiritual being flowing through time and space with Phil right by his side.

Within a single heartbeat he decided he didn’t care about his stupid rules and his stupid logic. If he wanted to be with Phil - and he did - then he should be, whether he was going for gold or not. It wouldn’t make him stronger, but it wouldn’t make him weaker, either; if anything, it would serve as a further incentive.

Between ragged breaths and erratic heartbeats he paused his frantic movements, keeping Phil’s face in his hands and looking him straight into the bright blue eyes. “I love you.” Opposed to the shaking of his body his voice was firm and sure, and for a second, the colour of Phil’s eyes seemed to flare brighter than ever before.

“I love you, too,” he said softly, a few tears swimming in his eyes and a smile on his lips so sweet it could give half the world population diabetes just from looking at it.

Dan stared into Phil’s eyes and somehow, the world around them vanished. Then, suddenly, he was falling, but not down, no; he was falling up, higher and higher, until he shot through a layer of clouds and all that existed was blue, blue, blue .

It took him quite some time to escape the pull of Phil’s eyes, but when he did, he sprung straight back into action - straight back to kissing and touching and… More .

The next morning, when he woke up to the colour of Phil’s eyes there was just one word on his mind. “Boyfriends?”

Phil’s eyes glinted stunningly in the rising sun, and Dan knew he’d remember this day forever. “Boyfriends.” ____

This time, the tournament was on another continent, so they went there by plane. Phil slept through almost the whole flight and Dan was busy trying to not gush about how cute he was.

They had decided to not tell Marcelo and Sascha in passing, waiting to do it over dinner when they had arrived at their destination instead. After Sascha had shown up at the airport wearing one of Marcelo’s shirts yet again they also wanted to confront them about their observations. Dan didn’t even care that they’d sound like crazy fanboys.

Well, at least not a lot.

Due to time zones it was early in the morning when they arrived, but they all decided to get some sleep anyway. When Dan woke up in time for dinner Phil was laying cuddled into his side, snoring sweetly, and he leaned down to plant a soft kiss on Phil’s forehead before he got up. Thankfully, Phil was a heavy sleeper, so he just continued sleeping, giving Dan time to have a long, relaxing shower - or so he’d thought. In reality, Phil joined him halfway through, but it wasn’t like he minded. On the contrary.

When they went down for dinner both Marcelo and Sascha were already there, staring at each other over the table like they were the only people in existence. Phil sighed dreamily, giving Dan another They’re so cute look, and Dan had to stifle a giggle. His boyfriend was a major fanboy.

Boyfriend.

Dan’s heartrate picked up at the thought. Even thinking it made him happy.

When they had sat down and ordered Dan and Phil exchanged a look, quietly taking hold of each other’s hand under the table. “Phil and I -” Dan started but was unsure of how to continue, how to word what he wanted to say. He was nervous and excited and the previously picked out words jumbled together into a wild storm of letters that he had no idea how to decipher.

Thankfully, Phil was less concerned by the whole thing.

“We’re together now. And we’re really happy.”

It was quiet at the table as Sascha and Marcelo looked at each other with raised eyebrows.

“We know,” Sascha said, slowly and clearly, like he wasn’t sure about Dan and Phil’s mental state.

Dan sputtered. “Wha - What?”

“How did you know?” Phil asked, more interested than surprised, and Dan blinked at him in shock. Why did it not shock him? Was everyone going insane?!

“It’s been obvious for weeks now,” Marcelo explained calmly and finally, Dan understood, relaxing immediately.

He let out a short laugh. “We’re together since last night. Or the night before, depending on the time zone we’re going with.”

Marcelo and Sascha blinked in complete unison, making Phil giggle. “But-”

“Is that why you didn’t tell us you are together as well? Because you were mad we didn’t tell you?” Dan asked, a lightbulb going off above his head. He paused for a moment before he added: “You guys are together, right?”

Both him and Phil started grinning like a fool when the others nodded. Oh, how he loved it when things finally made sense, and when things turned out the way he planned them too. He gave Phil a high five in celebration, then he turned to Sascha and Marcelo, still grinning. “You’re idiots.”

They at least had the decency to look shameful.

“We’re all idiots,” Phil corrected and the others couldn’t help agreeing. They clinked glasses with champagne a few minutes later, and Phil literally cooed as his inquire made Marcelo lean over the table and give Sascha a passionate kiss.

They shared a lot of laughter and fun that night, and Dan had a better time than ever before. He looked at his group of friends with happiness and pride, and he had never felt more content in life.

____

A few weeks later him and Phil finally had the time to go on their first official date. The days had been crazy, packed and busy, but they’d been the best of Dan’s life. The letter with his official invitation to the Olympics weighed heavily in his pocket when he entered the old, 50s themed diner. The place looked decisively vintage with its off-white walls decorated with vinyls, black and white checkered tiles on the ground and lamps hanging from the ceiling.

The jukebox up front was playing Cry Me A River as they slid into their booth, Phil on the other side of the table. They both grinned as they mouthed along to the song. The glowing red neon lights brought out the blue in Phil’s eyes so stunningly Dan once again was blinded by their beauty.

They shared a milkshake with two straws like they were in one of these cheesy romance novels Dan had always despised, but somehow he didn’t care anymore. He embraced the romantic cliches like they were old friends - simply because with Phil, it all seemed okay. Phil had step by step teared down all of his walls and rules, what was one more in this jumble of new experiences and feelings and happiness?

He let his fingers skim over the paper in his pocket as he looked into Phil’s eyes, only listening half-heartedly as Phil rambled on about one thing or the other, an utterly lovestruck look on his face. Maybe he didn’t have gold yet, but within the last few months he’d gained and accomplished more than he’d ever dreamed of. Still, it had only been the beginning, he knew it. He was happy with Phil, Sascha was happy with Marcelo, they were happy as a group, and in a few weeks, they’d have a shot at winning gold.

Their future was golden, one way or the other.

#phan #phanfiction #phanfic au #my writing #this only took me forever #gosh I hope you guys like it

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