#and now as an adult i’m like oh my god that horrifying! how did this not effect me as a child?!

[dollsofthewest]

one big difference i’ve noticed with my relationship to historical children’s fiction is that, as a kid, i was drawn to the stories that hinted at more. “more” being child soldiers and child factory workers and kids who had to stand up for equality. because back then those things sounded like action! adventure!

and now that i’m an adult, all i want for the kids in those same stories is for them to have a peaceful childhood. i don’t want them to have to rescue their father from the british or travel on the underground railroad or survive the titanic or fight in the civil war. i just want them to be safe! i dream of the impossible: a childhood without trauma. and now every time i want to write my own stories of historical fiction, i always run into the same problem — how do i create a story where the child protagonist, realistically, would have had to suffer from the hardships of war or racism or child labor? how do i honor historical accuracy, while still creating characters who experience joy and happiness in their lives? i’m honestly stumped.

[eoieopda]

tidal.

but vernon has a point to make, so that’s precisely what he does: “i don’t need a sales pitch. you will never — ever — have to convince me to fuck you.” 

pairing: vernon x afab!reader type: one-shot (fluff n’ smut) au: est. relationship wc: 4.8k rating: 18+ a/n: i didn’t plan this whatsoever, but i felt so weirdly compelled to write it that i avoided eye-contact with all of my wips, and now… here we are, lol. cw: pov switch, reader is afab + on their period, gender identity + pronouns aren’t designated, blood mention (obvi), unprotected p in v penetration (ill-advised!!), wee bit of dry-humping (ig?), a lil massage, pet names (baby, sweetheart), self-indulgent ref to a favorite docu of mine, and lastly — vernon (yes, this is a warning 🧍🏻) 🔞 MINORS WHO INTERACT WITH ME AND/OR MY CONTENT WILL BE BLOCKED, WHETHER OR NOT THE CONTENT IS NSFW. I’M AN ADULT WRITING EXCLUSIVELY FOR OTHER ADULTS.

Vernon isn’t blind. 

He can see you out of the corner of his eye, laying flat on your back, several unexplained centimeters away from his side. With the duvet clenched in your fists, you stare intently up at the ceiling, like you’re waiting for it to move — or trying to move it yourself, telekinetically. You keep your bottom lip pinched between your teeth, as if you expect it to make a run for it.

So, yes, Vernon can see you. 

He just can’t figure out what’s wrong with you.

For a few minutes, he attempts to pay attention to the documentary lighting up the screen on the wall ahead. You were the one that picked it — some wild tale about mother-daughter recluses in New York — and he finds it hard to give a shit about it without your usual commentary. Your hot takes are his favorite part of any movie night, after all.

He’ll be the first to admit that he’s never been good at keeping his eyes off you. Try as he might, he can’t glue his gaze to the television; each glance in your direction sticks longer than the one before it, testing the waters. Minutes slip away just like this until he completely caves, turns his head fully, and stares at you outright. 

You still don’t seem to notice.

His brow scrunches up as he watches you, caught in the middle between concerned, confused, and amused by how absolutely ridiculous you look right now. When he speaks, he tries to sound stern, like he isn’t fighting the urge to laugh.

“Baby?”

“Hmm?” is all he gets in response. 

You don’t even look his way. If anything, you tense harder now that his attention is on you. 

None of it makes sense. Not the weird gap you’ve left between your body and his, your total refusal to look him in the eye, or the fact that there wasn’t an argument to precipitate any of this distance. It’s a symptom with no apparent cause, and it’s totally baffling. Brain-breaking, even.

Frowning, Vernon scoots himself across the bed to get closer to you. 

You don’t reciprocate. 

He tugs gently at the hem of your sweatshirt in a silent plea for your attention and receives radio silence in response; unless he counts the way you swallow thickly.

Which, for the record, he does not.

This close, Vernon can feel the anxious energy pulsing out of your tensed-up body in waves, so he leans away and props himself up on his elbow. Desperate to know what broke you and how to fix it, he mutters, “What is happening right now?”

Ope. 

It comes out harsher than it was supposed to, reading more like annoyance than worry, so he immediately clears his throat. Gently and with a brush of his knuckles against your hip bone, he tries again: “Are you okay? Did I do something to make you mad at me?”

A fly on the wall might get the wrong impression and think he stroked you with a live wire instead.

“Oh, my god. No!” You sputter with a jolt, shifting gears quickly from vaguely on-edge to horrified. You shake your head so frantically that Vernon fears you’ll detach it. “No, you haven’t done anything. I’m fine, I just —”

He interjects with a laugh, “— I don’t necessarily believe that —”

Visibly cringing with every muscle in your body, you cover your face with your hands. Not long after you take a deep breath does a meek voice slip out through your fingers, sounding beyond embarrassed.

“I’m so incomprehensibly horny right now that I can’t even look at you.”

For a second, it’s dead silent because he can’t quite process how much of a weirdo you are, or how completely and hopelessly enamored he is with you. But then the dam breaks. His laugh comes out so forcefully that you pull your hands away from your face, eyes wide.

“Is that so?” He smirks, nodding his head towards the television. “Grey Gardens really gets your motor running, huh?”

Absolutely aghast, you swat at his bicep. Then, you sling your arm over your eyes and groan, “I got my period. It has turned me into a sex-crazed monster, I fear.”

Vernon nods in understanding, even though you can’t see it, and hums, “Ahh.”

And he leaves it at that, only because you seem to have more that you want to say. Something you want to ask, maybe, or a reason you may want to give for not jumping his bones at the first opportunity. He’s down, he thinks without hesitation, so long as you are.

But you don’t say anything.

Maybe you aren’t actually down after all, and that’s why you won’t look at him. Shit, are you embarrassed? Should I say something? Silence falls overtop like a weighted blanket, smothering the two idiots who can’t tell whose turn it is to talk. 

Do you or do you not want this right now?

You mumble something that he can’t catch, so he nudges your side gently with his knuckles to encourage you. Just as nervous, you repeat yourself without looking at him, “Period sex is supposed to help with cramps, I think.”

He thinks he’s read the exact same article you have. More than that, he wishes you’d look over at him and see for yourself how completely unbothered he is by this concept.

“If you think about it, it’s kind of like a natural lubricant,” you add in a voice that’s even smaller than before.

Your shyness really might kill him, so he reaches over to grab your hand and gently pull your arm away from your eyes. It’s the first time you’ve looked at him since you laid down — since you put your self-imposed no-contact order in place — and he feels his stupid heart swell.

For what it’s worth, he feels his dick twitch, too.

You open your mouth to speak again, likely to continue your unnecessary campaigning; Vernon is having none of it. He tugs your wrist just enough to tilt you inward, then he kisses you hard enough to shut you up. A tiny whimper slips out of your lips when he pulls away, and it almost makes him regret his decision to do so. 

But Vernon has a point to make, so that’s precisely what he does: “I don’t need a sales pitch. You will never — ever —  have to convince me to fuck you.” 

Your eyes crinkle at the corners, like this is somehow news to you. It shouldn’t be. He’s told you a thousand times in as many different ways how thoroughly crazy you drive him just by existing so closely to him, but maybe you didn’t take him seriously then.

To emphasize his point, he slips his hand under the hem of your sweatshirt and finds your bare waist with the pad of his thumb. It spirals slowly against your warm skin, making both of you dizzy. Then, sick of the distance, Vernon dips his head down to press a kiss to your temple. 

“Like, ever,” he murmurs, lips following the curve of your jaw. 

Soft, slow kisses trail behind him as he travels down to your lips. Your head tilts further backwards with every single one, providing him with more and more access. 

He states it matter-of-factly because, to him, it is. “I’m down so bad for you that it might be terminal.”

“Oh?” 

You try to laugh but turn to putty when his palm rests fully on the curve of your waist and pulls you flush against him. The surprised gasp you let loose confirms his suspicion: You can feel how serious he is, affirmation throbbing against your abdomen in time with his heartbeat. 

Vernon smirks to himself, relishing your reaction, and bypasses your mouth entirely. A moan escapes from you, soft like an exhale, as his lips move slowly down the length of your neck. Every so often — just to feel you shiver — he flicks the tip of his tongue along the delicate skin he finds there.

“It might be messy…” 

The rest of your needless warning gets lost in a dreamy sigh as he suckles at the spot where your neck meets your shoulder. Shifting even closer, your desperate fingers reach out and cling to his t-shirt.

Vernon licks a stripe over the galaxy blooming on your skin. He hums, hand traveling upwards from your waist, “Don’t care about a mess.”

And he means it. 

Mindful of any soreness, he smooths his hand over your left breast and massages it tenderly, swearing to himself that he’ll throw the whole fucking mattress out if that’s what it comes down to. For you, he’ll race across town on foot to buy another one, and — fuck it — if the store is closed, he might just break in.

You’re growing impatient; your fingers let go of his shirt and tangle themselves in his hair.

“So needy,” he chuckles low in his chest, teasing. “You know, I think you’re lying. I think it is this bat-shit insane documentary that’s driving you wild, and you’re too embarrassed to admit it.”

“Stop,” you whine, dragging out the vowel sound. 

You don’t, though; you throw your left leg over his right thigh and shimmy forward until your cunt grazes his dick. Involuntarily, he groans at the warmth radiating off your core. Every part of you drives him just the slightest bit insane. You seem to know it, he thinks as he watches your pupils dilate in real time.

But he can play games, too, so he rolls his hips forward and grinds against you. He pushes you further, “Don’t get me wrong, baby. I’m not kink-shaming you —”

“Hansol Vernon Chwe!”

Oh, shit. Government name?

“— I’m just a little surprised, I guess.” He sighs with a shrug. “Think you know somebody…”

Your impatience is scribbled all across your scrunched up face. It seeps into your voice when you crash back against the pillows and huff, “Can you please stop fucking with me and start fucking me?”

“Sex-crazed monster, huh?” Leaning over, Vernon punctuates his question with a quick press of his lips to yours.

You whimper, “I’m so serious. I might explode.”

“Then go take care of whatever you need to take care of.” He kisses you again, smiling so fondly that his eyes may even be twinkling. “And I’ll go get a towel.”

You wait until Vernon clears the threshold before launching yourself out of bed at breakneck speed. Stumbling all the while, you race off to the adjoining bathroom and shut the door forcefully behind you. When it clatters against the frame, you finally admit to yourself that you might be a little bit eager.

Maybe.

Opting to keep your baggy, bleach-stained sweatshirt on, you wiggle out of your shorts and — what he refers to as — your crisis diaper. The high-waisted, frumpy, beige panties are utilized exclusively during your period, and to your surprise, they’ve remained spotless. It’s only ever the pretty and expensive pairs that wind up as collateral damage, isn’t it?

As they pool around your ankles, you can’t help but think that Vernon’s nickname for them is pretty spot on. That’s partly why you figured he might need to be talked into this. Unsated arousal aside, you feel as far from sexy as you can possibly get.

You shake your head to clear your thoughts, kick what you’ve discarded into a pile near the hamper, and let your sweatshirt shift down to cover as much of your ass as it’s capable of managing. You grab a square of toilet paper; then, you go to work excavating the wad of cotton that separates you from everything you want in this life. 

It is within the realm of possibility that you’re a little bit eager and a little bit dramatic. 

Perhaps.

After discarding the evidence in the small trash can under the sink, you wash your hands as if you’re about to step into an operating theater and not the bedroom you spend half your life in. When you finally feel sterile, you lift your head and catch your reflection in the mirror. Instantly, you make eye contact with the painful, hormonal pimple on your chin — the one you’ve been waging a retinoid war against for days.

“Bitch,” you mutter, like calling it names will be the one thing that finally gets it to shrink. Of course, your plan doesn’t work, but you feel a little less powerless. That’s good enough, you think. At least, as good as it’s going to get.

Now half-naked and certifiably unobstructed, you tiptoe back to your bedroom much more carefully than you left it. Vernon enters from the opposite doorway at the same time, jumping slightly the second he notices you. You ignore his frightened eyes and glance down at the crisp, white towel he’s clutching.

You open your mouth to suggest anything otherwise, but he beats you to it. His eyebrows shoot up his forehead as his mouth widens outwards, a self-aware rectangle. Otherwise expressionless, he lets go of an atonal, “Aaaaaaah”, that tells you he’s caught on.

He says nothing else before turning around and walking back the way he came. You have to bite down on your lips to keep from cackling.

That one’s mine, you think, still as infatuated as you were at the start. I chose that one.

While he’s gone, you try not to move, not to breathe too heavily. Vernon said he didn’t care about a mess, but when he said it, he was speaking theoretically with his hand on your tit. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d spoken recklessly with your body melting under his touch.

As far as you know, he hasn’t had any experience with this mess in practice. He could wind up finding you about as sexy as you currently feel — to wit: not at all. So, erring on the side of caution, you turn yourself into a statue and wait for the boy and his towel to find you again.

When he comes back, he plants a drive-by kiss on your unsuspecting mouth before skirting right around you. With shocking finesse, he grabs the corners of the — thankfully — black towel, which unfurls in the seconds before he flicks it upwards. It lands perfectly in the center of the bed, flat without needing to be fussed with.

“Wow,” he mutters to himself, taking in his clean work with raised eyebrows.

The impressed look is still on his face when he turns around, but you don’t have time to comment on his feat because he laughs as soon as he sees you.

“Kinda look like Donald Duck with the whole top-on, bottom-off situation.”

I chose this one?

You pout with an indignant gasp, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m not wearing a sailor hat, so…. bad analogy. Rude, even.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs as he snakes his arms around your waist and pulls you in close. You stumble a little on your way into him; the jury’s still out about whether it’s his hushed tone or the sudden movement that trips you up.

Between his thumb and index finger, he gently captures your chin. You follow along with his unspoken direction, tilt your face up to meet his. This close, you can see your own reflection in his pupils, black dilating against the warmest shade of brown you’ve ever seen.

Vernon takes a moment of silence as he takes in your features, and he studies them so intently that his eyebrows crinkle on their own. He sighs, sounding so completely serious. “You might get prettier every time I look at you.”

It’s unclear if you’re melting, or gushing; and if it’s the latter, you can’t say which biological process is at fault. Thankfully, the hand at the small of your back keeps your weak knees from buckling when his lips brush over yours.

“Even if you’re dressed like Winnie the Pooh.” 

You feel him smirk even before you hear him laugh at his own joke. Then, you feel his hand slide down to cup your bare cheek, squeezing affectionately. You want to tell him that this analogy is still inaccurate because you’re not wearing a crop-top; but he gently instructs you to ditch the sweatshirt and get on the bed, and your body moves automatically. No questions asked.

Carefully, you crawl up onto the mattress, then you center yourself on the towel. Still on your knees, you tilt your head curiously and ask, “Where do you want me?”

“Anywhere,” he breezes, pulling his shirt off and tossing it onto the dresser nearby. He amends, “Everywhere. All the time, and then some.”

“Better be careful,” you tease. “Talking like that might have consequences. You may never be able to get rid of me.”

His joggers are the next to go. Your sanity follows shortly thereafter, hungry eyes lingering on the imprint of his cock underneath his boxer briefs. You have to clamp your mouth shut to keep from drooling.

Brown eyes sparkling, he steps closer to you, kicking his pants aside as he goes. “Be careful,” he echoes, not a hint of cockiness to be found — just softness. “Saying it like a threat doesn’t make me wish it’s not a promise.”

I choose this one.

Crossing all the way to you, Vernon reaches the bed and climbs up with significantly more grace than you did. The mattress dips under his weight as he kneels right in front of you, mirroring your posture and causing your stomach to flip with anticipation.

You can’t help yourself; you lick your lips and look up at him with half-lidded eyes. “Naked, please. Like, right now.”

“Damn, I gotta do this myself?” Incredulous, he holds his hands up while glancing pointedly down at his underwear, then back at you. 

You arch an eyebrow, unfazed. 

“Depends.” You shrug. “Do you want to keep them? Because I really will rip them off of you.”

He concedes quickly; he always does. Sighing, he shakes his head and tuts, “Sex-crazed monster,” before pushing his briefs down his thighs. His length hangs heavy between you, but you swear you can feel its perfect ache inside you already.

You have a one-track mind, so you don’t hesitate to reach out and wrap your hand around him. A groan crawls up from the bottom of your chest when you feel the weighted warmth of his cock in your palm. You don’t hold that back, either.

“Fuck,” he sighs, head tilting as far backwards as it’ll go. Unexpectedly, he laughs. He doesn’t catch the quizzical look you shoot him, though he explains himself anyway, “Your hands are so fucking cold, but it feels so good.”

Swiping your thumb over his tip, you spread the pre-cum you find there down his shaft and stroke him slowly. He grows harder with every gentle squeeze, every pass of your fist. 

“We’re learning a lot of new shit about each other today.” You lean forward to pepper kisses across his collarbones. The hum of your mouth against his skin when you talk makes his cock twitch in your hand. “You might have a temperature kink and a thing for Winnie the Pooh.”

He snorts, nowhere near serious, “Shut the fuck up.”

“Make me,” you counter smugly, and you do mean it.

Vernon tilts his head forward to stare back at you. You’re already turning into a puddle, but if the look he gives you says anything, it’s that your melting isn’t enough for him. His voice is low and velvet-lined when he responds, “How about I just make you cum instead?”

“That could work, yeah.” You shrug.

He runs the pads of his fingers down each side of your waist to your hips, then back again; and each time he does it, you shiver. Reflexively, your back arches, chest pressing against his.

At this, he smirks, “It could? Maybe?”

“We can workshop it.”

“Or,” Vernon so generously offers, “You can turn around and lay down on your stomach. You know, if that’s sufficient.”

It’s not until you whip around and flop down onto the towel that you realize you never responded with words. Oh well. You figure he gets the point, judging by the quiet laughter you hear as he settles with his knees on either side of your upper thighs.

You don’t know what his next move will be — you don’t care, either, as long as he moves in your direction — so you don’t anticipate his palms flattening against your bare back, applying perfect pressure with his thumbs while he rubs away the soreness at the very base of your torso.

“Oh, shit,” you moan, eyes fluttering shut as the heels of his hands work out the tension in your muscles. “Have you always been good at this?”

You feel his chest brush against your shoulder blades when he hovers over you. Against the nape of your neck, he murmurs, “Nope.”

He kisses down your spine, mouth trailing after his hands as they work their way back down your body.

“Lemme guess — you read an article? Studied up?”

You get a snicker, then an affirmative hum, then another kiss. This time, it’s at the curve of your spine, just above your ass. Seconds later, he’s kneading the doughy flesh of your cheeks until your whole fucking body tingles.

That’s when it hits you:

Under normal circumstances, Vernon would be face-first in your pussy by now. Devouring you in earnest, like he’s starving. He can’t do that now — and you don’t blame him — so he’s making up for what you both view as a loss.

God, you want him.

One hand disappears from you, but you don’t have to guess where it went. You can hear the barely-there hiss of breath through his teeth when he takes his cock in that hand; as well as the very faint shift of his palm while he pumps himself.

“You’re gonna have to navigate, baby. I dunno how sensitive you are like this, what’s too much — any of that, so you need to tell me how you want me to move.”

Suddenly dizzy over how badly you need him, all you can muster is a nod. Vernon must want a verbal acknowledgment, though, because he leans back over you with one hand bearing his weight beside your head.

He kisses your shoulder and urges you, “Please say so if you need to stop or switch it up. Don’t wanna hurt you, sweetheart.”

“I will,” you breathe. “But I can’t even articulate how much I need you inside of me right now, so please — pretty please — fuck me.”

The tip of his nose bumps your temple affectionately. Right beside your ear, he teases, “With a cherry on top?” And it vibrates down your whole goddamn spine.

“Vernon!” You whine, burying your face in the comforter. It’s muffled, but you warn him nonetheless, “Don’t make me come back there.”

“Aish. Calm down, sex monster.”

The instinct to twist around and glare at him over your shoulder is strong, but every feral urge you feel is stronger. So, when he tells you to spread yourself open for him and tilt your hips back, you do so without even a hint of complaining.

With the crown of his cock slipping through your folds, inching towards your entrance, you hear him curse under his breath. Suddenly self-conscious, you finally crane your neck to the side and glance back at him. 

“We don’t have to,” you whisper. “If it’s gross and you don’t want to anymore, I get it —”

He balks at your suggestion without letting so much as a beat pass. “None of that, sweetheart; no spiraling. I’m just trying to figure out the logistics of, like… how to survive how good this already feels.”

Struck dumb, all you can muster is a peep, “Oh?”

“Shit, yeah.” His response comes in a low groan. “Can you take a deep breath for me?”

It’s a good call on his part, a suggestion you’re glad to have taken, because the pressure of him entering you is intense enough to knock the wind out of you. Empty lungs likely would’ve led to your untimely demise.

You whimper, already overwhelmed with the combination of pain and pleasure; the best kind of ache. The little, breathy moans must freak him out, however, because his fingertips caress your waist as he checks in: “This okay?”

Your limp arm lifts off the mattress, which you’ve melted fully into, and you form a circle with your index finger and thumb to indicate that you’re okay. The light is bright fucking green; you’ve just maxed out your capacity for speech.

Vernon continues his slow thrust forward, giving you ample time to adjust to his size.

“Oh my god,” he grunts, “This is — shit, I can’t believe we haven’t done this before. If I knew how good you’d feel like this, I wouldn’t have waited around for you to ask me.”

That hits like a truck.

He was waiting on you. 

You spent months convincing yourself that he’d need to be convinced, and chickening out before you could raise the idea. Months, and months, and months, of craving him during your werewolf transformation; wasting away over a shitty assumption that Vernon is anything like the people you’ve been with before. 

Christ. 

His credit for putting up with you is long overdue.

Too tongue-tied to speak any of that out loud, you settle for a summary that you hope conveys the message: “I love you so fucking much.”

Mindful of how deep it will push him into your cunt, he leans down over you carefully. Weight balanced on his knees and forearms, he envelopes you in his body heat, trails kisses across your shoulder, and echoes your words back at you between each one.

“Is this too much?” He whispers, rolling his hips slowly.

You feel him everywhere, with every drag of his cock along your walls; and you can’t tell where that throbbing sensation is coming from, him or you. 

You shake your head and sigh, “‘s perfect. You’re perfect.”

Like he knows it’ll unravel you, his large hand comes to rest over the back of yours. His fingers slip through the spaces between and squeeze you much more gently than the vice grip you hold on the bedding below you. He keeps holding you — just like this — through every movement.

The sensation of being this surrounded, this loved, this whole crashes over you like a wave and knocks you off balance.

“I’m so close,” you pant, voice as ragged as your breathing. There’s nothing that he isn’t already giving you with every deep, deliberate thrust into your heat; but you beg nonetheless, “Please, please, please —”

His speed doesn’t increase, but the intensity does. The smack of his hips colliding with your ass does, too, and you feel it reverberating in your bones. Buried as far inside of you as he can be, cock tip kissing your cervix with every high tide, length rolling across your g-spot with every low.

You cum so hard — so completely, invoking every single muscle you have — that you forget how to breathe. With a choked-out gasp, you squeeze your eyes shut and let your orgasm devastate you. 

“Fuck!”

Vernon gets caught up in the current, too, grinding desperately against you until he’s swept up in your wake. You feel him twitch inside you as his release floods, leaving you so lost in his warmth that you feel boneless underneath him.

His face winds up hidden in the crook of your neck, somewhere amidst the baby hairs that cling to the sheen of your sweat. You feel his lips fluttering against your skin when he laughs, “Oh…my god.”

“Mmphf.” You nod weakly in agreement. Beyond blissed, your body still tingles too much to move.

Slurring, you add, “‘s good. ‘s really…”

The rest of that thought dissolves into something between a moan and a yawn.

Just as tired, Vernon pats your ass cheek affectionately and mumbles, “Well said. No notes.”

You tilt your head far enough to free your face from the sheets. When you do, you find your boyfriend fighting a losing battle to keep his eyes open. In the rare seconds he can, he looks back at you in a daze that seems even more adoring than it does fuck-drunk.

“I think I need to hibernate now,” you announce. “Think you just fucked me so well that I need to take a sabbatical.”

He counter-offers, “Shower first, then sabbatical?”

You wiggle so that you can pull your joint hands to your mouth. You can’t kiss him properly while he’s laid out on top of you, but you can press your lips to the back of his hand and hope he feels how much of you that you pour into it.

“Okay, but, like…. who’s carrying who?”

[separatist-apologist]

Guilty As Sin

Summary: Rhys has been watching Feyre Archeron for a long time. Thinking about what he'd do if he ever had her. How he'd keep her.

And now he has her.

TW: Dubious consent, blood kink, knife play

Read On AO3

-

It would be, perhaps, Rhysand’s greatest triumph to kill Tamlin Rosewood. After all, Tamlin had set him down this path so many years before—when they’d been teenagers, two boys from questionable, if not wealthy homes, looking for something to make them feel alive. Tamlin had asked Rhys if he wanted to see something cool, and then let him watch as Tamlin sliced apart a local vagrant. It should have been horrifying. Disgusting.

And yet Rhysand had found the whole thing fascinating. More fascinating still was how easy it was to claim his first kill. Rhysand needed a moral code to keep himself in line, to keep from just jamming a blade into every person who passed him on the street. Tamlin had suggested it, too, perhaps recognizing Rhys’ propensity for violence. Or maybe he knew all too well how enjoyable snuffing out life was. How close to God it made Rhys feel.

Pick those that can fight back.

People who’ve wasted their life.

Do the world a  favor.

Of course they’d eventually turn on each other. How long before two serial killers realized the world might be better off without at least one of them? It had been a cat and mouse game ever since, trying to catch the other unaware and going to ground when they failed. Tamlin had come close a couple times while Rhys had mostly just watched.

Waited.

Bided his time until Tamlin genuinely believed himself to be a god. That Rhys was so afraid of him he wouldn’t dare. Tamlin had let his guard down just enough to find himself a girlfriend he apparently liked. And she, Rhys decided, was going to be how he finally killed Tamlin. Collateral in their feud, he told himself. After all, any woman dumb enough to fall for Tamlin wasn’t worth much. 

He’d looked her up—Feyre Archeron. Her profile picture on facebook was an artbrush, but she’d helpfully listed every job she’d ever had since high school—and there had been many. Rhys ran them all down until he got to the art studio she taught at and, because he liked a little drama in his life, signed him up for one of her intro classes. 

He had been unaware he would be the only adult in said class until a wave of bouncy, giggly children had stormed through the doors, taking seats at easels while their parents vanished. He could have slipped out—he’d meant to, he swore it. But Feyre Archeron had come waltzing in wearing a baby blue sweater, sleeves rolled to her elbows, the hem hanging just beneath her ass, and oh. Rhys stayed in his chair, if only to admire the curve of her hips in those cotton soft leggings.

She didn’t seem like Tamlin’s usual type. There was a softness to her features, a constellation of freckles dotted across her nose alongside a splatter of violet ink in those cerulean eyes, that made Rhys certain she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Her full mouth curved into an easy smile, gaze settling on him.

“Did you mean to sign up for this?” she asked him, eliciting another round of giggles from the children. There was no malice to her words, playful and sweet. He wanted to put his hands on her. Was she corruptible? Oh, how Rhys wanted to find out. His plans reshaped themselves as they looked at the other, though Feyre didn’t know it. Killing her wasn’t an option, not anymore. No. He’d take her for himself, stripping Tamlin of everything he cared about before finally spilling his blood. And he’d start with perfect, pretty Feyre Archeron.

Rhys offered her a lazy smile, running a hand through his ebony hair. “My skill level is comparable, I’m certain.”

“I guess we’ll see,” she replied, her delight evident. Rhys felt her amusement reflected in his own body. When was the last time anyone had charmed him by sight alone? Nevermind how funny he found her, watching as she interacted with each student with the kind of unending patience he could only dream of. It begged the question—what did Tamlin want with her? He knew Tamlin, and of all the virtues Tamlin might claim to have, patience certainly wasn’t one of them.

He had a famously vicious temper. 

Did Feyre know her boyfriend was a serial killer? Did Tamlin know his girlfriend taught school children in her spare time? What would be more abhorrent to who? Rhys never managed to untangle that, just like he never managed to make his brush strokes half as nice as the eight year old beside him. Rhys lingered, waiting until the kids were gone and Feyre was cleaning up to say something to her.

“I’m not some kind of weirdo, I hope you know,” he began, drawing a pretty laugh from prettier lips. 

“No? I might have thought so if I hadn’t seen how abysmal you are with a brush. I teach preschoolers on Tuesdays. You might be better suited in that class.”

“You wound me, Ms. Archeron,” he replied, one hand pressed to his chest. “You didn’t like my house?”

“Oh, was that what it is?” she asked, squinting at his muddied colors on the paper. “I thought you were painting me a stormy sky.”

“I’ll paint whatever you tell me to,” Rhys quipped, noting how her cheeks flushed. No ring on her finger—god, but how incredible to seduce her out from under Tamlin’s nose. For Tamlin not to realize he was losing everything to his old nemesis. How long before Tamlin learned of Rhysand’s treachery? Rhysand was a patient man. It was one of his better qualities, few as they were.

He’d send Tamlin a wedding invitation inked in blood, fuck his new wife, and then, as a gift to her, bring her Tamlin’s still beating heart.

Wife? That was a weird thought.

Rhys cleared his head. He was merely excited at the prospect of punishing Tamlin—that was all. Feyre was beautiful, but hardly wife material. Besides, the kind of woman who spent her time teaching children to color within the lines didn’t want to get shackled to the likes of him. Not long-term, at any rate. Rhys had dated plenty of women, all of whom woke up one morning deeply unsettled and certain they were making a mistake. He couldn’t blame them—he would make an awful husband. 

A good lay, though? He could give her that. 

“Watch yourself Rhysand.”

“Come, now,” he said, rising from the little metal stool he’d been sitting on. She was so much smaller than him—lithe and lovely, so breakable in a way that made him want to be careful rather than rough. “Only my enemies call me Rhysand.”

“Fine. Watch yourself Rhys. I’ll think you’re flirting if you’re not careful,” Feyre said, twisting that thick, golden brown hair off her face with a paintbrush. Something within him stirred at the sight of wispy tendrils framing her face, fingers twitching with the urge to brush them from her cheekbones. 

“Careful isn’t how anyone who knows me would describe me. Besides…maybe I am flirting.”

This was the part where she told him she had a boyfriend. Rhys waited, catching the flicker of indecision streak over her features. He could practically hear her rationalizing it in her mind—there was no harm in a little flirting.

Oh, Tamlin. Rhys cocked his head. How far could he take this before she broke? If he could just get his hands into those tight leggings of hers, she’d forget all about that blonde haired bastard. C’mon, Rhys urged.

His silent plea fell on deaf ears. Too good for the likes of him, Feyre said, “Well, if you were flirting, I’d have to tell you that I have a boyfriend.”

“Lucky him,” Rhys replied, gut twisting despite his easy expression. “I know when I’ve been beat. See you around Feyre.”

And then he left, still smiling to himself as he went. She had no idea, of course. 

But Rhys would be seeing her very soon.

– 

Feyre stared down at the meal, ruined again. Behind her, Tamlin practically seethed with unseen anger. She could feel him working to leash his temper, to resist the urge to tell her I told you so.

I told you you’re a terrible cook.

“I’ll order dinner,” Tamlin said, ignoring the way Feyre blinked back tears. Bracing the ledge of the sink, she stared out the open window into the dark. She was trying—didn’t that matter? It wasn’t that badly burned, besides. They could have eaten around it. Feyre wished Tamlin would sit down, tell her it looked good, and eat it. Was that so much to ask? 

Apparently, given the heavy, long-suffering sigh from the man behind her. “You don’t need to try so hard, Feyre. You have me.”

“It’s—” She choked back the urge to scream that it wasn’t about impressing him. It was about care, about showing him that she loved him in some tangible way. Doing something for him so that he, in turn, might do something for her. Might do or say something that made her feel seen and safe. 

It had been a year of the stretching silence and the long sighs. Of not technically doing anything that would cause her to break up with her, all while giving off an air of not liking her very much. Well—that wasn’t fair. When the lights were out and they were in bed, Tamlin was very attentive. Detached, somehow—he never wanted her to look him in the eye—but he knew every place to touch and tease to make her writhe. And that was too often enough to convince her it was better to stay and hope whatever was bothering him faded and he went back to the love sick fool she’d first fallen in love with.

It didn’t help that Rhysand—Rhys—was still lodged firmly in her brain three days post meeting him. He’d been…well…he’d been beautiful. And charming. And funny, too. Endearing, even, as the kids teased him for his poor paint work. And when he’d said he was flirting, well…Feyre had imagined sending Tamlin a quick text message.

This is over. Don’t call me again. 

Throwing away a year on a man with a roguish smile seemed like a call for help. Still, he’d been on her mind, unshakable as her relationship with Tamlin stagnated like pond water. He ordered food without consulting her, ate it silently, all the while staring at his phone. He worked for a security firm and spent so much time watching the cameras, tracking people with a single-minded devotion she wished he’d focus on her.

“I’m going out,” he told her abruptly, only after Feyre had changed into a tiny slip of a nightdress, thinking she’d feel better if they at least had sex. His pine green gaze slid down her body without a hint of interest or appreciation. Just an acknowledgement that she had nearly every inch of her skin out for him before looking back to her face. “You can wait up, if you want.” How romantic, she wanted to scream. She felt utterly pathetic, a neglected housewife married for twenty years while her husband had an affair. Only Tamlin’s affair was with his job and Feyre would never come first. 

Say nothing, she ordered herself. And yet her traitorous lips said, “Couldn’t it wait another night?”

He regarded her without emotion. “It can’t. Get some sleep, Feyre. I’ll be in later.” Tamlin turned without a look back, swiping his car keys thrown haphazardly on the dresser, and strode from the room. Feyre didn’t, listening to the sound of the soft snick of the closing door and the sound of tires pulling away from the curb.

What was more pathetic, she wondered as she padded into the kitchen for a drink for water? Staying up late to seduce him, thus allowing him to have everything he wanted without doing any work at all, or staying with him when she was so miserable in the first place? Was this love?

Feyre didn’t get a chance to answer any of those questions. 

There, in the hall, stood a tall, muscular…man? They certainly seemed masculine, with broad shoulders that tapered into a rather nice waist beneath that high necked sweater. Matching black pants and a belt would have made him look rather nice, had he not been holding a massive, jagged knife in one gloved hand.

The ghost face mask obscuring his features didn’t help, either. Feyre didn’t move, heart hammering against her ribs. Scream. Run. Do something.

“There you are,” a deep, rich voice spoke from beneath the mask, “I’ve been looking for you.” 

“Don’t hurt me,” Feyre whispered, rooted in place as he made his way towards her. She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, drinking in the heady smell of his cologne and that horrible knife glinting beneath the artificial lights beaming overhead. 

With his free hand, he reached toward her and to her credit, Feyre didn’t flinch. She merely stood utterly still as he brushed his knuckles over her cheekbone before sliding his gloved thumb over her lip.

“Hurt you? Darling, I’m here to rescue you.”

Her brain couldn’t make sense of those dark words dripping with the promise of…the promise of what? Feyre tried a step backward, tripping over her own nervous feet to fall to the ground. The man lunged and she braced herself for the pain of his blade, for blood and misery before finally death. But all she found was fingers around her body, hoisting her into the air.

She flailed, heel connecting with his jaw. He swore and the two fell to the ground gracelessly a second time, him tearing her nightdress to keep her pinned beneath him.

“I do so like you like this,” he all but growled as she tried to yank that mask off his face. If she was going to kill her, she deserved to look him in the eyes. His fingers curled around her wrists, subduing her quickly—easily, before gathering both in one big, broad hand. The other came over her mouth and nose, cutting off her ability to breathe.

“Don’t fight me,” he whispered as she kicked out her legs from beneath him. Why was this happening? She was going to die. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

A tear slid down her cheek. How could he say that as he was suffocating her with his hand? She  continued to writhe, for all the good it did her, her screaming mind drowning out the words her attacker was saying. Lungs burning, desperately trying to gasp for air, Feyre couldn’t control her limbs. She felt herself getting dizzy, choking on her own pooling spit.

“I’m not going to kill you,” her attacker said, his voice far away. “Stop fighting me and I’ll remove my hand.” Her body went limp as she complied immediately, willing to do anything if it meant she could breathe again. And true to his word, her attacker removed his hand, letting her take a gasping, sobbing breath of air. 

“Good girl,” he praised softly, caressing her cheek a second time. “If you do everything I say, no one has to get hurt. Can you stand?”

“No,” Feyre said, eyes closed as she focused only on the sensation of air in her body. She wasn’t going to help him abduct her, besides. Not that it mattered. He had her wrists bound before he picked her back up like she was weightless to him, walking her toward her front door with ease.

“My boyfriend has cameras on the door,” she said, unsure if she was warning this man or helping him. “He’s going to see you.”

A chuckle rumbled from his broad chest. “Oh, I am well aware. Your boyfriend is too busy hunting tonight to check…and by the time he does, you and I will be long gone.”

The cool night air was like a caress against her clammy skin. Feyre saw the car—sleek and dark—parked so brazenly in the drive. 

“The police will find you,” she warned, deciding for a little boldness despite her swimming head and desperate desire to fall asleep.

“That would require Tamlin to call them…and he won’t. No, my darling—this is personal and you’re simply caught up in the middle of it. Now—can I trust you to behave in my back seat, or do you need to go in the trunk? I don’t want to put you back there…but I will.”

“What do you mean?” Feyre demanded, mind swimming.

“I mean, I don’t want to die on the road—”

“About hunting,” she interrupted, looking up at that ghostface mask. “About Tamlin not calling the police.”

Her attacker seemed to hesitate, muscles going taut beneath her. “I had a whole presentation planned. Why spoil it?”

“Tell me.”

“Your boyfriend is a killer—just like me. He taught me, in fact—or rather, we taught each other. He can’t involve the police without risking himself so he won’t.”

“Am I bait?”

“Oh, Feyre darling, you are so much more than that. For now, you’re merely my guest. Now—can I trust you in the car?”

Ferye closed her eyes. If she wanted to survive, she’d have to be careful. She had the thought just as her attacker laid her in the back of his car. She panicked, seeing him hovering over her, and immediately kicked him in the throat. He stumbled back as Feyre filled her lungs with air and screamed. She didn’t yell help—but screamed at the top of her lungs hoping a neighbor would come out.

“Fucking shit,” the kidnapper groaned, lunging forward. With her wrists bound, Feyre couldn’t do much, especially when he picked her back up. “Go ahead. Scream as loud as you want—-” She screamed directly against his ear, causing him to jerk back a step. He didn’t speak, merely popped his trunk and dumped her unceremoniously inside.

“Remember I tried,” he said before slamming it shut. Feyre immediately started looking for the little hatch that would open it, pulling it with her teeth.

The masked man was waiting, arms crossed over his chest. “Why must you make this difficult?”

“I hate you,” she bit back, heart racing in her throat. He only sighed before producing masking tape. After a moment, she found it pressed over her eyes and mouth before he bound her ankles, too.

“Open my trunk and roll out,” he dared her, the sound of his voice somehow more terrifying than the sight of him. “See how far that gets you.”

He slammed the trunk again, leaving Feyre alone in the dark. She screamed against the tape, trying to break it until her wrists were raw. He’d begun driving, the music faint through the fabric of the backseats. Would it have been smarter to pretend to be his friend? To lull him into a false sense of security? Feyre had never been particularly patient. In fact, she was spontaneous to a fault, acting without thinking and hoping it all worked out. Of course, that was for school assignments and ghosting friends—never because she’d been kidnapped.

Think, Feyre. 

She couldn’t, though. Not beyond her immediate problem, which was the tape over her mouth and eyes. If she could just get it off, Feyre thought she’d be able to think more clearly. Figure out a plan and execute it. She rubbed until her wrists ached and her head pounded, but at no point did she manage to do anything but chafe her skin, exhaling for air roughly through her nose. 

Eventually, the car came to a stop, the music cutting off abruptly. Lost to the dark, Feyre went limp as the sound of shoes on gravel flooded her senses. A moment later, cold air rushed into the trunk as hands lifted her in the air.

“You’re a terrible actress,” her captor murmured, his amusement plain. “I’m going to unbind you when we get inside. Are you listening to me? Nod your head.” Feyre did.

She heard the sound of numbers being keyed into a pad followed by the smell of warm cedar, drowning out the unmistakable scent of snow. Feyre was set on something soft—a sofa, before the tape was peeled off her eyes, and then her mouth. She was in a cabin, she realized. Well decorated and comfortable—and likely remote. Had he taken her up into the Illyrian Mountains?

“People will be looking for me—”

“No they won’t,” he replied smoothly, reaching for the edge of his mask. He was showing her his face? Feyre panicked—the only reason he’d do that was if he didn’t intend for her to tell anyone. She almost begged him not to, but a second later he’d peeled it back, revealing…well. Not what she’d imagined.

He was handsome, the asshole. Dark hair paired with eyes so blue they seemed violet were the first things she noticed. He was staring down at her, his sensual lips curled into a smile. The sharpness of his jaw and his high cheekbones gave him an almost aristocratic air, and his warm, brown skin was utterly unblemished and smooth. 

She’d been imagining him as some ugly man. This was worse, somehow. If he was caught, he’d have prison groupies. People would wonder if he’d really done anything horrible at all given how lovely he was to look at. That charming smile certainly didn’t help. 

"I remember you," she said. "From the art studio."

Rhys grinned. 

“Let me explain to you how things are going to work between us,” he began, running a hand through his thick hair. “There is nowhere for you to run, and if you try, you’re likely to plummet to your death or freeze before I find you. No one is looking for you. Repeat that as often as you need to. Tamlin will make all your excuses. He’s not going to rescue you. Until I’m done, you are at my mercy.”

“Are you going to kill me?” she asked, wishing she could curl herself into a small ball. 

He chuckled. “No, Feyre. I’m not going to kill you. I think we might get along perfectly well so long as you don’t do anything foolish.”

Like running away. The look on his face told her he expected her to. She didn’t have shoes, was dressed in a pair of leggings and an oversized t-shirt. She wouldn’t get far, but maybe he was lying. Maybe he banked on her fear to keep her compliant. 

He made a show of pulling a pocket knife from his pants and freeing her, frowning at her raw, bruised wrists. Feyre drew them against her chest, looking up at him warily. “What now?” He shrugged. “I don’t care what you do, so long as you remain within these walls.”

Fat chance of that. But Feyre nodded, hoping she looked properly scared. The cabin itself was small, and filled with cameras. He’d see her. Fine. He had to sleep at some point—he couldn’t be monitoring her all day, every day.

It was a bit of a stretch to call it a cabin given the home had two floors. It was remote, though, and seemed to function mostly off the grid, and had a rather nice kitchen she doubted he knew how to use. Three bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a den he seemed to work out of—she wasn’t sure, given he didn’t open that door and merely gestured to it with a casual, don’t go in there.

Maybe it was where he tortured his victims. 

Feyre was given a room down the hall from him, devoid of a lock. “Look up,” he murmured, chin gutting toward the camera. “Wave to Tamlin.”

Feyre glanced up, unsure which of them she hated more. “He can see me?”

“He’ll see this,” Rhys murmured, leaning against the doorframe. “It’s easy enough to send it to him.”

“You could get back at him without involving me,” she heard herself say, wondering if that made her a traitor. This had nothing to do with her, and Feyre felt as if she was being punished unfairly for whatever was going on between Rhys and Tamlin. 

He shrugged. “Consider this a rescue.”

A rescue? Feyre was going to kill him. Maybe he saw it, because he nodded toward the twin bed shoved in the corner. “There’s some clothes in the closet you can use—”

“Who did they belong to?” she demanded, heart leaping in her throat.

“My cousin,” he replied, eyes narrowed. As if he were offended she might suggest there’d been another captive in the room. Feyre didn’t want to think about that—it made her panic all over again. 

Rhys left after a few more self satisfied words around how he’d find her if she tried to escape so not to bother. Feyre wasn’t listening, already thinking about escaping through the window. Was it locked? Her bedroom door wasn’t, which felt like a test. Was he hoping she’d try and escape? 

Feyre sat on the edge of that bed and talked herself into her plan. Ignoring that it was cold and isolated and that she was woefully unprepared, Feyre instead thought about Rhys.

He wasn’t a god. He was only a man. He might have cameras on her, might have her watched, but he couldn’t search miles and miles of forest. The only advantage he had, supposedly, was that he knew she was missing before anyone else did. Feyre had grown up running through the backwoods and something about the slick way Rhys had his hair shoved off his stupid, too-perfect, face, told her he could not boast the same.

Feyre found booties in the back of the closet, and a million pairs of leggings hanging in the closet besides sweaters that were far too big for her frame. They’d double as a blanket, she decided as she pulled it all on. 

He was probably watching her. Feyre turned toward the camera and the blinking red light and offered her middle finger before throwing open that window. 

“For fucks sake!” Rhys’s voice called from somewhere inside the cabin. Feyre scrambled out the window, toppling feet over head into the frigid snow. Rhys’s fingers skimmed her ankle, attempting to drag her back inside. 

Scrambling to her feet as he came right out behind her in that stupid mask, Feyre realized it was a lot harder to run in snow than she’d expected. She had a head start on him for a solid ten seconds before he slammed into her, taking them both back to the ground. Rhys was made of solid muscle and was heavy. 

His bare hand wrapped around her throat, arching her neck upward until his lips touched her ear. “I told you not to,” he said as she writhed beneath him, desperately trying to get out from under him. 

“I don’t care what you say!” Feyre screamed. Rhys grabbed her arms, holding them in one broad hand as he restrained her thoroughly.

“You will—” he began, but Feyre head butted him, earning a furious curse in her ear. He half fell to his side, losing his grip on her wrists, which gave her time to scramble back to her feet. Rhys was just behind, grabbing her around her middle before hauling her up on his shoulder.

Feyre screamed, and though Rhys stumbled, he didn’t drop her like she’d hoped he would. 

“Scream all you want,” Rhys roared in response, as if he needed to make his point. “No one can hear you!”

“Tamlin is going—”

“He’s not coming!” Rhys interrupted, his fury finally scaring her. She hadn’t been frightened before—not truly. But right then, draped over Rhys’s shoulder while he wore that mask in the dark, his voice dripping with condemnation, Feyre was frightened. He sounded irate, dragging her back into that cabin with sure steps.

He didn’t take her back to that same room. Instead, Rhys dropped her into a different one—one that looked distinctly lived in. One that belonged to him, she realized. Feyre attempted to scramble up but Rhys was consistently faster. He had one leg, and then the other bound to the posts at the end of the footboard.

He sat on the bed beside her, laptop resting on his thigh. He pulled that mask up over his face, tossing it to the bed beside her. 

“Look for yourself,” Rhys snarled, shoving the open messages on the screen in front of her face. “Look and see how much he loves you.”

There were a slew of messages between them, and yet Feyre’s eyes snagged only on one.

Kill her then. 

She waited to see if she’d cry, but nothing came. “You’re lying.”

“He’s not coming for you,” Rhys informed her, eyes bouncing over her face as if he were searching for something. “This is between us, and you’ve become collateral.”

“Then why don’t you kill me?” Feyre snapped, yanking at her ankles trapped in the leather cuffs. They were bondage cuffs, she realized, rather than handcuffs. 

“Why would I kill you?” he replied, cocking his head to the side. “Tamlin might not be mounting some heroic rescue, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t view you as his. His little toy to play with until he gets tired of her…” Rhys murmured, sliding the side of his finger along her neck. “I’m not supposed to touch.”

“Don’t,” she whispered. “Don’t do this.”

“I asked you not to leave,” he continued, ignoring her plea as his fingers made their way down her shoulder. “Left the door open so you knew you could move freely through the house. You’re so desperate to get back to him, but I know what he does to pretty little things like you. Where they end up. How their families mourn.”

“Stop,” she whispered, unsure which terrified her more—his touch, or the threat of what Tamlin might eventually do.

Rhys caught her wrist, binding it over her head before Feyre’s mind could catch up with his actions. She was wholly restrained and he was holding a knife as he walked around the bed. 

“You’re still bait,” he murmured, one hand sliding over a wooden bedpost. “He can see us right now, you know. He’s watching, hoping I’ll kill you before you tell me something you shouldn’t.”

“He doesn’t tell me anything,” she whispered, trying in vain to wriggle away. 

“If you didn’t know anything, he wouldn’t have responded at all. He’s slipped up—you know something,” Rhys declared, running the sharp edge of his blade across her leggings. The fabric snagged, ripping neatly from ankle to waistband.

“I swear I don’t,” she protested as cool air caressed over her now exposed thighs. He wasn’t done as he ruined that oversized blue sweater, too, leaving her in nothing but the shredded remains of fabric. Violet eyes swept over her now naked form and rather than sadistic amusement, Feyre swore she saw unguarded desire staring back at her.

“You do,” Rhys murmured, pausing between her legs. She tried to hide herself from view, but she was restricted by the restraints. “You just don’t remember.”

“How is this supposed to help?”

“Who said anything about helping?” Rhys questioned, tossing his knife beside his mask. The weapon left a small impression atop the black duvet, sharp end pointing toward her ribcage as if to warn her not to try anything.

Feyre pulled against her restraints, for all the good it did her. “Then what are you doing?”

“I’ve been watching you for a long time,” Rhys told her without moving. He did, however, gesture behind him to a wall half hidden in shadow. There, hanging in a gold frame, hung a familiar work of art. Her first ever painting sold—it was a moody seascape Tamlin had accused of being cliche. She’d been brand new, and yet talented enough to be accepted into a showing where an anonymous buyer had overpaid for it.

Feyre still had that first check tucked away in a desk drawer, and when she felt overwhelmed or dejected, she’d pull it out to look at. That same buyer had purchased something from every collection she’d done, always paying far more than she was asking. 

“That was you?”

“I have an eye for beautiful things you know,” he informed her, his gaze a brand against her skin. 

“You’re jealous?”

“Desperately,” he replied without irony. “It’s always been like that between us. He has everything I want.”

“Rhys,” she whispered, unable to look at him anymore. She wanted to tell him not to do this, and didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing she was afraid. 

“He’s watching,” Rhys told her, glancing over his shoulder. “Keeps hacking into my system to see what you’re doing. Will you smile for him, Feyre? Let him think you’re happy?”

“Just let me go,” she pleaded as her captor slid to his knees between her legs. “I won’t say anything.”

“I can’t,” he murmured, lips ghosting over sensitive skin. “I want to keep you.”

Alive, was the unspoken word between them. Did he realize that was a low bar? A bar already set in hell, so far beneath his feet there ought to be no trouble clearing it. And yet…Feyre turned her head as he kissed up his leg, stomach tight from anxiety. 

“Like this?”

He shrugged. “I’d untie you, but I think you’d kill me with your bare hands if I did.”

“I think you’d like it,” she shot back, squirming when she felt his warm breath tease between her legs. 

“I’m hard just thinking about it,” he agreed with a grin. 

His tongue slid up the center of her pussy before Feyre could think of a good comeback. She yelped, trying—and failing—to escape the feeling. It had been too long since someone had done this for her, which was how Feyre explained the bolt of lust racing through her. He didn’t stop, eyes pinned to her face to see if she liked what he was doing.

Feyre was resolved not to react. Men always tired of this act after a minute or two, doubly so when they weren’t being catered to on their back, but instead forced to kneel. It was easy, at least in the beginning, to ignore his tongue teasing her clit. She thought about how cold the snow had been when she’d fallen out the window and reminded herself he’d shoved her in a trunk. That he was a killer, too, and toying with her boyfriend.

Or ex-boyfriend. Feyre wasn’t really sure what they were anymore. She supposed they were over, given he’d told Rhys to kill her. Feyre’s eyes slid to the camera in the corner of the room and somehow, she could feel him watching. Could feel his anger, too—as if this were all her fault. As if she’d kidnapped herself, tied herself up, and was now being forced into pleasure, too.

Are you happy now? Feyre wanted to scream it. 

“Eyes on me,” Rhys growled, forcing her to look back down at him. How long had it been, anyway? Her body hummed at the loss of contact, proving that though she was trying not to feel anything, she couldn’t block him out entirely.

“You’re wasting your time,” she whispered.

“All my time belongs to you now,” was his frustrating reply. He returned his tongue back to her pussy and this time, though she tried, Feyre couldn’t refocus on anything but his touch. It was all wrong—his mask lay on the bed, the knife still pointed toward her, inches away from her exposed skin.

For all she knew, he was lying to her and would kill her when he finished.

“Please stop,” she whispered, pulling on her restraints.

“Come, then,” he said in response, his voice muffled. 

Feyre didn’t want to come. For a while, she writhed against her restraints until he physically pinned her to the bed, holding her still so he could continue his slow torture. Feyre thought he liked when she fought him—that he wanted to bring her under submission. She held herself back, whimpering from the effort as she counted in her head. 

“Do you need a distraction?” Rhys murmured when he heard her reciting the ingredients to a recipe. “Something to turn off that meddling brain of yours?”

“No,” she gasped, but he was on his feet, hands undoing his dark trousers. “I don’t need—I’m fine, I’ll finish—”

“I know you will,” he replied, pulling his long, thick cock from his pants. Feyre couldn’t not look at it as Rhys moved around the bed, extending his restraints so he could reposition her. Feyre fought him, slapping Rhys hard in the face when he undid her arms. He grunted but didn’t react other than to sigh, his frustration plain. With the longer rope, he could tie her hands to the bedposts without overextending her arms while her head now hung off the edge of the bed.

“I won’t,” she informed him.

“You will,” Rhys replied, pinching her nose when she pressed her lips together. As he waited for her to take a breath, he rubbed his cock over her cheek while his other hand slid across her breasts to play with her nipples.

Feyre tried—oh, how she tried—but in the end, she had to take a gasping breath of air. He pushed the head of his cock between her teeth, not caring when sensitive flesh scraped roughly against the jagged edges. The hand that had once pinched her nose now held her throat, squeezing just enough to warn her not to try and bite. 

She did anyway.

“Don’t do that again,” he warned, taking his knife and resting it on her stomach. Feyre didn’t believe he’d use it until he took the hilt and began using the smooth silver to tease against her clit.

She couldn’t argue with him, mouth filled with his cock. She widened her jaw to take a breath as he angled his hips, pushing himself further until he was backed up against her throat. Feyre gagged lightly, praying he wouldn’t keep going. 

She didn’t want to throw up.

Clearly neither did Rhys. Groaning softly, he whispered, “You suck so well.”

She wasn’t doing anything, really—Rhys moved his hips, setting the pace so he could fuck her mouth. Feyre screamed around him when she felt him push the hilt of the knife into her body so he, too, could fuck her with it. He’d been right about one thing—sucking his cock kept her focused on what was happening between her legs. She could think of nothing else, her mind torn between the air coming into her lungs and what Rhys was currently doing with his mouth. 

With his legs spread, he’d returned to licking her clit, focused wholly on that and nothing else. How did he not cut himself on the blade, she wondered as she tried to wriggle the knife out of her pussy.

It didn’t work. Whatever he was doing, he was skilled. Feyre was reacting, her body tightening around the hilt of the blade thanks to the skill of his tongue. Rhys groaned when she sucked in more air than she’d meant to, lips forming a seal around his shaft.

“Just like that baby,” he moaned before picking up his pace. She was going to come and there was nothing she could do to stop it. Feyre tried, eyes leaking from the cock bruising her throat as saliva dripped down her neck. He was going to come, too.

Quick, she realized with some relief. He was timing himself with her, well aware she was close to completion. At least he wouldn’t draw it out? Or he had something else planned. Feyre didn’t know.

Didn’t want to know.

Didn’t want to admit that this was the best she’d felt in a long, long time. How fucked up was it that she hadn’t been able to get off for months, and now, tied up and forced, she was careening toward the sort of pleasure that threatened to unmake her. Was this how stockholm syndrome worked? Her body, flooded with pleasure, began to think that maybe it wasn’t so bad to be stuck here with him.

“Keep sucking,” Rhys moaned again, his hips losing some of their controlled rhythm. Maybe it was better to just get it over with. Feyre sucked around him, though she refused to move her head and help him.

Rhys licked faster, moving in precise circles until her hips began to roll into him, chasing the inevitable. Feyre clenched, finding purchase on the hilt of the blade. Rhys rubbed it just against the perfect spot, his tongue unwavering and Feyre was undone. She screamed around his cock, body bowing off the bed and directly into his mouth. She heard him curse though she didn’t care, half ruined from the pleasure now ribboning through her. Feyre was a star, white hot as it erupted over a silent sky.

She’d forgotten, just for a second, he still had his cock buried in her throat. With a twitching jerk, Rhys came into her throat, his come spilling out the sides of her mouth to join the mess of spit pooling along her collarbone. 

Panting, he pulled himself out of her to show her the knife coated in her own release and dripping with blood. His blood, she realized with alarm, noting the gash sliced over his palm.

“I got too excited,” he breathed, wiping it over her naked breasts. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful.”

“Untie me,” she whispered, tugging against the restraints. “Please, untie me—”

Despite his injured hand, Rhys was quick about it, undoing her hands first, and then her feet. She’d told herself she was going to hit him for what had just happened, but instead Feyre merely sat up while he stepped out, half naked from the waist down, only to return with a warm rag he used to wipe up the mess of come and blood. 

“I’m not going to kill you,” he whispered into her hair, pulling her against his chest. 

Feyre looked up at him, unsure if she believed him. “Tamlin told you to.”

“I wouldn’t kill my worst enemy to satisfy him.”

She swallowed. “And…if I wanted to kill him?”

Rhys grinned. “Say less, pretty baby. Say less.”

[mellowsadistic]

The Flower Girl - Part 3

“You remember what to do, don’t you, Gracie?” Olivia asked, handing her a basket full of flower petals.

“Uh-hu!” Grace mumbled around her pacifier, nodding eagerly. No! She couldn’t walk down the aisle like this! She was supposed to be getting married! This was supposed to be the best day of her life!

“Good girl,” said Olivia, giving her a gentle push.

Grace toddled awkwardly, her legs pushed apart by the thickness of her soggy diaper. She waddled into the entranceway and stood there with the aisle ahead of her. Heads turned in her direction, smiles slipped from faces, and people started whispering to each other.

She saw Rob standing at the altar, her gorgeous husband-to-be, staring at her with a stunned expression on his face – his beautiful bride was dressed as an overgrown flower girl, her sexy body crammed into a ridiculous little girl’s dress, her elegant hair in pigtails, a dummy in her mouth, the hint of a nappy flashing about her waist.

Grace’s mother hurried over to her. “What’s going on?” she whispered, taking in the sight of Grace’s braless tits crammed into the blouse of the dress, and the flower crown in her hair. “What are you doing? Why aren’t you in your wedding dress?” Then her nose twitched as she smelled her adult daughter’s wet diaper. “Grace…” she said in shock, looking down at her daughter’s crotch, seeing the hint of discoloured padding peeking out below the hem of her poofy dress. “Have you wet yourself?”

“Jessica’s wearing my wedding dwess!” Grace chirped, her words slightly muffled by her pacifier. “It wooks so much better on her dan it does on a stupid, big-titted baby wike me. I’m just da flower giwl!”

Grace was cringing inside, but at least her mother knew that something was wrong. She took her daughter’s hand looking deeply concerned, making as if to usher Grace back out of the door, but at that moment there was movement behind them, and she looked up. Immediately, her horrified expression relaxed into a smile. No. Grace looked around as well and saw Jessica standing there in her wedding dress, smirking at her. No! Not her mother too! How was Jessica doing this?! Someone had to help her!

But nobody did. Her mother turned her back around and patted her on her soggy diapered bum. “Go on, sweetie,” she coaxed. “You know what to do. Being the flower girl is a very important job!”

Grace started toddling down the aisle, the sagging seat of her nappy flashing beneath the short hem of her flower girl dress with every step she took. She willed herself to stop, concentrated as hard as she could on taking back control of her body, but it was useless. She reached into the basket she was carrying and tossed a handful of flowers into the air, giggling delightedly.

Everyone was looking at her very differently now, smiling broadly and making cutesy faces at her.

Then, quite suddenly, she stopped. For a moment, Grace thought that she’d got control of her body back, but then, with a thrill of horror, she realised that there was a growing pressure in her bowels. Oh God, she thought. Not that. Please, anything but that!

Grace’s face went red. She clenched her fists and bent her knees. Then, on what was supposed to be the most special day of her life, in front of all her family and friends, in front of the man she was supposed to marry and the woman who was stealing him from her, Gracie let out a loud grunt and started making a big, stinky mess in her diaper.

There was a chorus of ‘awwws’ and some tittering laughter in the crowd.

Grace was screaming inside her head, but on the outside she just hitched a big smile back onto her face as she stood up straight again when she was done. With her pants now full of poop, she continued stomping up at aisle, tossing out flowers, her loaded nappy now drooping well below the hem of her dress, swinging pendulously between her thighs for all to see.

Grace felt like she was going mad. The shame was too much. This couldn’t be happening. This couldn’t be how she walked down the aisle! It had to be some sort of nightmare! She looked up at Rob, her last hope, but his eyes were fixed over her head. He was staring at Jessica with adoration in his eyes. No!

Once she got close to the altar, Caroline and Annie moved forwards to take her by the hands and guide her off to the side with them, where she stood for the recent of the ceremony, fidgeting with her dress. She wasn’t even watching when Jessica and Rob said their vows and kissed. She was too busy looking down at her diaper, shaking her bottom and watching her loaded Pampers jiggling about between her legs.

Not long afterwards, she was led over to a corner for a nappy change. Her three bridesmaids did it – the people who should have been her bridesmaids. Annie tickled her tummy, Caroline pulled silly faces at her, and Olivia worked away at her messy bottom with a pack of wet wipes. Grace wished she could be swallowed up by the ground and disappear forever, or better yet wake up to find this had all been a horrible dream, but all she could do was giggle and gurgle while her three best friends changed her stinky diaper.

Once she was clean and dry, a fresh pair of Pampers hugging her bottom, she was led over to Jessica.

“There you are, sweetie!” she cooed, her eyes glinting again. “What a good girl you were! I know you had a little whoopsie-daisy poo-poo accident in your nappy in the middle of the aisle, but that’s only to be expected of a big baby like you.”

Grace had never hated anyone more in her whole life.

“And I know you must be a bit upset about not getting to marry Rob,” Jessica continued, “but I have a surprise for you! Rob and I are going to adopt you as our little girl! Isn’t that nice?”

Grace felt like her insides had turned to ice. Adopted? How long was this going to go on for?! But she started jumping up and down on the spot in excitement. “Yay! Yay! Yay! You’re gonna be my Mama and Dada!”

“That’s right, little one!” she cooed. “I’m going to take such good care of you.”

“Maybe you’ll even be able to get married yourself one day,” one of the women surrounding them said to Grace.

Jessica laughed. “Oh no, I don’t think marriage is going to be in Gracie’s future. She’s far too immature for that. I’m going to keep her away from boys.”

“But Mama!” Grace whined. “I wanna get married!”

Quite suddenly, in full view of everyone, Jessica lifted up the back of Grace’s dress and delivered several sharp swats to her behind, aiming for what little of her bottom wasn’t covered by her thick disposable diaper.

“Owwwwie!” Grace cried, tears filling her eyes. Her bottom was stinging painfully. She seethed on the inside. If she still had control of her body, she swore she’d rip and claw at Jessica until she was nothing but ribbons.

“Bad baby!” Jessica scolded, and Grace felt her lower lip beginning to tremble. “No boys for you, little girl. You’ve proved you’re too immature for dating, let alone marriage.”

Tears ran down Grace’s cheeks. “Sowwy, Mama!” she sobbed.

“Suck your thumb, baby,” Jessica ordered, and Grace’s thumb immediately flew to her lips. She shoved the digit into her mouth and started sucking on it wetly. A line of drool spilled from her mouth and down her chin.

“Good girl,” said Jessica.

“I see you’ve got her in hand,” Grace’s mother chuckled. She’d just walked over to join them. “I never spanked little Gracie myself, but maybe that was a mistake.”

“Oh yes, I think so,” said Jessica. “A naughty little girl like her needs plenty of strict discipline. She’ll be under my thumb for a very, very long time.”

Everyone nodded their heads approvingly, and Grace’s mother said, “I’m so glad you helped us all understand that my daughter is really just an overgrown toddler. Just imagine the thought of this little stinker getting married to Rob!”

Everyone laughed.

“Are you planning to let her grow up again?” one of Grace’s cousins asked.

“Oh no, she’s perfect just the way she is,” said Jessica, and even though she was smiling pleasantly, there was a malicious glint in her eyes as she looked at Grace. “It’s a lifetime of early bedtimes, smacked bottoms, and smelly nappies for my little Gracie.”

Grace sucked her thumb noisily. A lifetime?! Was Jessica planning to keep her like this forever?! She felt herself start peeing again. The thirsty padding between her thighs soaked up her wee-wee, and her diaper began to droop.

“Rob and I had better be going,” Jessica said. “We have a lovely honeymoon to look forward to.” She turned to look down at Grace. “But don’t worry, little girl.” She grinned horribly. “Mama will be back to play with you again very soon.”

[rocknrollbabe14]

I Wanna Be Yours (Joseph x Reader)

@josephs-quinns

Author's Note: I did not heavily proof read this as I am posting this before work. This will be 2-4 parts not sure yet. Very cliche' but super cute. So far, no major warnings except maybe some lust. So I will keep the rating adult because it will change. Also, I am not from England so please forgive me if anything is not accurate.

Rating: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

Once again, thank you to @josephs-quinns for the header. 🥺

It was a crazy idea when your friends had first mentioned it. A trip to London in the United Kingdom. You had never been outside of the United States. Now, you found yourself in a completely different country going on a morning coffee run. The time change had really kicked your ass, jet lag beginning to take its toll on you. London was six hours ahead of you, really screwing up your sleep schedule. It took your friends forever to get you out of bed and motivated just enough to get coffee. You somehow managed to put some make up on and look halfway presentable. It would take you at least a day to get adjusted.

Nerves took precedent over you as you opened the door to the coffee shop, the aroma of fresh, hot coffee hitting your nose. Just the smell alone was causing you to perk up slightly. Even though the people in the UK spoke English, you were nervous about your accent. You knew you’d stick out like a sore thumb. 

“What can I get you?”, the barista asked, her English accent very apparent.

“Um, just a venti iced coffee please?”

“Of course.”

She turned to help start preparing your order. Your eyes couldn’t help but look around the quiet coffee shop. Maybe you were just late to the party. Perhaps most British people were early risers unlike you. Your friends could be seen outside, sitting on the bench and waiting for you. There were very few people inside the coffee shop except for you, making small chatter. You weren’t paying attention to the counter when your drink was ready, the sound of the barista’s voice getting your attention. You smiled slightly, thanking her before turning to go. You were looking at the floor—not hardly paying attention to what or who was in front of you. 

Thump. You felt your outstretched arm make contact with something—somebody instantly knocking your drink out of your hand. You gasped in horror as your eyes panned up to notice the man dressed in black pants, a black sweater, black leather jacket, and baseball cap begin to wipe your drink off him. 

“Oh my God—I’m so sorry.”

The British were outspoken, or so you heard. At any moment, you expected to be degraded and yelled at. Which you couldn’t blame him. He was wearing your drink,  after all. You quickly glanced around the coffee shop, feeling all eyes on you. The man had sunglasses on the top of his baseball hat. An employee came to his aid quickly, bringing him a towel. He thanked her, voice soft. 

His attention turned to you, brown eyes soft. “It’s okay—really.”

“No—I can’t believe I did this.”

You were horrified. 

“It’s really okay—accidents happen.”, he gave you a small smile. 

How was he managing to be so calm and collected about this? 

“No—I really am so so sorry about this.”

You were handed another towel by the barista, immediately beginning to dab his clothes off. It was in that moment, your heart stopped. Looking up, your eyes made instant contact with his. He chuckled slightly, giving you a smile. His reaction was totally opposite of what you had expected, catching you completely off guard. You secretly hoped your friends hadn’t noticed, sure if they had, they’d never let you live it down.

“It’s really fine, love.”

Love. That made your heart flutter and your stomach turn. The British were very polite, using terms of endearment. That was normal for them. But you couldn’t help that it made your heart soar. Not to mention, he was good-looking. 

“It’s really not.”

“It’s alright, I promise.”, he insisted. 

There was something calming about his voice, his demeanor. The line cleared out and this handsome stranger finally had cleaned himself up enough to suffice for the time being. 

“What did you have to drink?”, he asked, easily.

You eyed him curiously. “Oh, just an iced coffee.”

“What size?”

“You’re not ordering my coffee, are you? Not after I dumped mine all over you?”

There was a hint of disbelief in your voice, causing him to chuckle. “It’ll be alright. I insist.”’

His voice was very calming, very soothing. 

“No—please don’t buy my coffee.”

Your voice sounded pathetic as it came from your throat. Before you could protest any further, the barista asked him what he’d like to order and he quickly squeezed in his order for your iced coffee and his macchiato. Your mouth was agape, shocked that he would do something like this—a kind gesture even after you dumped your coffee all over him. He gave you a small smirk as you both stood in off to the side, waiting on your coffees. 

“I’m sorry—I never caught your name.”, he turned to look at you.

“Y/N.”

“Lovely name.”

“And yours?”

“Joe.”

“Nice to meet you, Joe.”

“So are you visiting? I couldn’t help but notice your accent doesn’t quite match ours.”, he smiled, a small chuckle escaping from his lips.

“That obvious, hm?”, you finally giggled, causing him to smile.

“Slightly.”, he jested back. 

“Well to answer your question, Joe,” you emphasized his name slightly, causing a smile to spread across his lips. “I actually am visiting.”

He nodded, his brown eyes looking into yours. “I could give you a few suggestions of what to see while you’re here.”

“I’d love that.”, you smiled, brightly. 

“Okay, you definitely want to see Big Ben, the Tower Bridge, Buckingham Palace, Westminster Abbey—both of those if you have any interest in the royal family.”

Joe shoved his hands in his pockets, looking at you. 

“All of those sound amazing.”

There was a smile so huge spread across your cheeks that it made them ache. 

“Oh—and the London Eye. You’ve got to see it—or ride it unless you’re afraid of heights.”

There was a small chuckle after he spoke the last part. You laughed little nervously, thinking about how high that really was. You were deathly afraid of heights, the thought alone causing a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach.

“I’ll definitely have to look into it.”

His brown eyes looked into yours—warm and inviting. Part of you wanted to get to know him better, he seemed so easy to talk to. It was like it took no effort to talk to him just in this little frame of time. It was refreshing to say the least. 

“Here’s your iced coffee and macchiato.”, the barista caught your all’s attention. 

His eyes instantly broke away from yours as he grabbed your all’s drinks, walking back over to you. You watched him carefully, refraining from biting your bottom lip. He looked good all dressed in black, you had to admit it. He outstretched his hand, handing you your iced coffee. 

“Thank you, again. I am so sorry I spilled my drink on you—I should paid more attention.”

“It’s really okay, love. No big deal.”, he touched your shoulder reassuringly.

Love. There was that word again, the one that made your stomach do somersaults. His touched sent shock waves through your body, chills cascading down your spine. You had been out of your last relationship for over a year. It was a very dark time, your last boyfriend being very emotionally, verbally, and even borderline physically abusive. You hadn’t been with a man since and had no intentions of finding one, even feeling guilty you thought this man you met at the coffee shop was attractive. 

It felt nice to have a man’s touch—even if it was a simple gesture like this. You all began to slowly make your way towards the exit of the coffee shop. 

“Well, it was very nice meeting you—just not under the circumstances of spilling my drink on you.”

He closed his eyes, chuckling lightly before opening them again. “It was lovely to meet you even if you did spill your drink on me.”

You could tell he was slightly nervous, a little but anxious. 

“If you need anything around London while you’re visiting, I can give you my number. I’d be happy to show you around or give more suggestions.”

“Oh that sounds great.”, you reached in your pocket, pulling your cell phone out. 

You handed him your phone, allowing him to put his contact in. He smiled, giving you his phone to do the same. Exchanging phones back, he gave you a soft smile.

“See you later, Y/N.”

“See ya later, Joe.”

He grabbed the coffee shop door for you, allowing you to exit first. You could feel his eyes on you. He was being a true gentleman. You tried to keep your goodbye casual, cursing yourself slightly. He gave you a small smile as he went on his way, your eyes glued as you watched him walk away. You hated already to see him go, but loved to watch him leave. 

“What was that?”, one of your friends, Amanda asked.

“What was what?”, you sipped your iced coffee, somehow this one tasting sweeter than any other ever had. “Other than me making a complete idiot of myself.”

“Do you know who that was?”, another friend of yours, Christine asked.

“What do you mean? He was a random English….what do they called them—bloak named Joe?”

Your friend , Amanda rolled her eyes, laughing. “You’re really oblivious?”

Your glared at her. “Oblivious about what? So what? He was a cute British bloak named Joe who actually offered to show me some of London. Even after spilling my coffee on him.”

Amanda and Christine laughed, causing your facial expression to switch between confused and agitated. You didn’t see what was so funny. He was a very nice, respectful, attractive looking British bloak. Who was very nice and bought you a drink even after you dumped your iced coffee on him. He also offered to give you help touring London.

“That was Joseph Quinn.”

You heard what Christine said, but your brain didn’t process it immediately. “What?”

“Joseph Quinn, the actor who played Eddie Munson in Stranger Things?”

Your eyes widened, finally comprehending what she said. Your friends began giggling, watching your shocked reaction. 

“I spilled my coffee on Joseph Quinn?”, the words fell from your lips, dripping slow like honey as you tried to process your actions. 

They nodded. 

“Don’t worry though, he seemed to not mind. He definitely liked what he saw. We saw you all exchange numbers.”

You rolled your eyes. “No, he probably is laughing to all his mates about how stupid I am.”

You all began slowly walking down the street, opposite from where Joe had went. You were silently cursing yourself, taking another sip of your iced coffee. Somehow, this taste was slightly more bitter. How could you have spilled your iced coffee on Joseph Quinn? What a fool, an idiot you were. Even if you did text him, you were sure he would ignore it. He should ignore it, after everything you put him through. For the rest of the day, he was all you could think about. 

__________________________________________________________________________

Joseph kept walking. His brain told him to keep going, don’t turn around and don’t take a second look. But he couldn’t help it. He stopped up the street a little ways, turning around and taking a sip of his coffee. He silently cursed himself, hoping you wouldn’t notice. He could see you talking with who he assumed to be your friends. Your facial expressions were very animated, he chuckled to himself. It was the cutest thing he’d seen in a while. Before you had a chance to notice him, he reminded himself he needed to keep walking. 

His best friend, Wesley was waiting for him at his apartment. They were going to spend the day, hanging out. Joseph hadn’t been in a serious relationship since before he auditioned for Stranger Things. He had a few hook-ups and casual flings, but nothing worth bringing home to mom. All the people he passed on the street couldn’t take his mind off you. There was something about you that intrigued him. Wesley texted him, bringing him out of his thoughts by asking what was keeping him.

Joe texted and told him, he’d explain to him later. It was too much to explain over text. The wind had a nip to it, causing Joe to pull his jacket tighter. It didn’t help that he was still a little damp. But he didn’t mind. The walk to Wesley’s felt like forever before he knocked on his door, trying anything he could to get you out of his head.

Wesley opened the door, a surprised look on his face. “Finally decided to show up?”

Joe chuckled, coming inside. “Sorry, I went to get coffee.”

“You smell like coffee shop.”, Wesley joked. 

“Well—that’s kinda what kept me awhile. A girl—I met, she had ordered some iced coffee and accidentally bumped into me and spilled her coffee all over me. She felt so bad.”

Wesley’s eyes widened. “Was she at least pretty?”

Joe groaned before throwing his head back and laughing. “More than pretty. Beautiful—funny.”

“Well, did ya get her number?”

“We exchanged numbers.” 

“Has she texted you?”

“No. I told her if she needed more suggestions or wanted me to show her around to text me. Was that stupid?”

“No, not stupid. So she’s American?”

Joe nodded. 

“Did she know who you were?”

Joe shook his head. “If she did, she didn’t let on like she did.”

“Are you gonna text her?”

“I don’t know—is it stupid for me to text someone that probably won’t ever visit again?”, Joe sighed. 

“You never know.”, Wesley began before going to his room, grabbing some clothes for Joe to change into. “She may come back if she likes what she sees.”

Joe rolled his eyes, sighing. 

Wesley came back in, handing him the clothes. “Try not to worry too much, Romeo.”

Joe glared at him playfully. “I’m not worried about it.”

Wesley laughed before going to sit down in his living room. Joe rolled his eyes again before going to the bathroom to change. Joe sighed, closing the door and beginning to take his coffee soaked clothes off. All he could think about while staring at his shirt and pants was how innocently you were trying to help him dab his clothes, eyes finally meeting. Your eyes were soft, but he could see hesitation in them. Your anxiety was through the roof. 

He could tell you were waiting for him to blow at any second. But he wasn’t going to. It was an honest mistake, an accident. After changing clothes, Joe emerged from the bathroom and took a seat on Wesley’s loveseat, opposite of him. He laid his iPhone on the arm of the loveseat, praying you might just text him. He could see if you didn’t want to text him. His response was a little lame, even the way he tried to ask you out in a round about way. There was no way you didn’t have a boyfriend back home. 

Wesley eyed him. “Still thinking about her?”

“Am not.”, Joe looked off to the side, before looking down at his lap. 

“You sure about that? You seem really distracted.”

“I am sure, Wes.”

Wesley finally dropped it, beginning to bring up other subjects to Joe to talk about. They had been best friends for years. Even as they talked, Wesley could tell something was up with his best friend. But he had a feeling he knew what it was. It had been a while since Joe had a serious girlfriend. Joseph needed to find someone who would love him and want him for him—not his fame or money. 

Day soon turned into evening, the sun beginning to set. Throughout the entire evening, Wesley secretly watched Joe pick his phone up at the slightest ding, hoping it would be you. Wesley rolled his eyes playfully, wishing he could just text you. They had decided to eat dinner at Wesley’s apartment, opting to order pizza. Joe was finally about to give up on you texting him, letting out a long sigh. Wesley eyed him, grabbing his cell phone.

“Decided on a kind of pizza?”

“Just whatever you want.”

Wesley was about to dial the number when Joe’s phone dinged, him practically almost falling off the couch to grab it. 

Joe’s face lit up as he read the message. 

-Hey, it’s Y/N. The one who spilled coffee on you this morning. I know it’s late but my friends decided to go drinking tonight instead of sight seeing and I’m just not in the mood to have a terrible hang over. Does your offer still stand? X

Wesley could notice from the kitchen that his best friend’s demeanor changed. “Did she message?” There was no response as Joe texted back.

-Hey, offer still stands. Where are you staying? I can come pick you up, if that’s okay?

He tried his best to keep it casual. Not appearing or seeming like he was waiting in your text. Not like it had drove him crazy all day long. 

“Is it her?”, Wesley asked again, finally gaining Joe’s attention.

Joe nodded. “She’s asking if my offer still stands.”

Wesley smirked. “Told you she liked what she saw. My mate might have him a date.”

Joe glared up at Wesley as his phone dinged again.

-Sounds great. I’m staying at Park Plaza near Westminster Bridge. Just got out of the shower. Should be ready when you get here. 

Joe felt a stabbing, aching feeling in the pit of his stomach. His eyes fluttered shut, just imagining you fresh out of the shower wrapped in nothing but a towel. He shook his head, remembering he barely knew you and shouldn’t be having thoughts like that. But he couldn’t help it. You were beautiful. Wesley couldn’t contain himself anymore, bringing himself into the living room and peering over the couch to read Joe’s texts from you. 

“Think you might get lucky?”, Wesley teased.

Joe glared back at him. “No—no, we aren’t having sex on the first—whatever this is, Wes.”

Wesley laughed, raising his eyebrows. “Not even if she initiates it?” 

“NO.”, Joe said, more firmly. “I hate to do this—but I need to go get ready. Maybe pizza later this week?”

A laugh escaped from Wesley. “Yeah, pizza later. Go meet your mystery girl.”

Joe rolled his eyes, laughing before responding to you. 

-Sounds good. I’ll text you when I’m on my way. See you soon.

“Catch me up later?”

Joe nodded. “Yeah, I’ll let you know how things go.”

With that, Joe left Wesley’s apartment with a spring in his step. He was in a rush to get to his house and change before meeting you. A quick shower would be nice, just to freshen up and make sure he no longer smelled like coffee. He threw the door open quickly, throwing his keys and phone down. He wasted no time running for his bathroom, turning on the hot water. Looking in the mirror, he made sure his beard didn’t look too crazy—he had been letting it grow a little. Just thicker. 

He quickly trimmed it a little bit before jumping in the shower. He closed his eyes, feeling the warm water rush over his body. All he could think about was you—what you were wearing, what you smelled like—he tried to remind himself it was too early to be infatuated with you. Running his hands through his curls, he thought of what to do this evening, but decided he would let you lead. If you asked for his suggestions, he would gladly give them. If you wanted him to surprise you, he’d gladly do it. It was all up to you. 

Turning off the water, he heard his phone ding from the living room. He cursed himself slightly, remembering he had left it in there. He was careful to step out of the shower, afraid if he mis-stepped he’d up in the ER instead of being able to take you sight-seeing. He quickly dried his hair, leaving it in a curly, wild mess before using gel to smooth it down, still leaving the curls.  Blowing air, he was trying to decide what to wear to make a good impression. As the sun went down, it became colder this time of year in London. 

After spraying cologne, he left the bathroom and went to grab his phone. 

-Hey. Just checking in and making sure you’re alright.

Joe quickly began typing a response. 

-Hey, yes. Sorry had to run back to my place. I’ll be there ASAP. Want me to meet you at your room so you don’t have to walk down alone? Or do you want to meet me in the lobby?

He instantly cursed himself as he hit sent. He took his phone with him to the bedroom, laying it on his bed as he raked through his closet trying to find something that would satisfy him. Another ding, causing him to stop his search for the perfect outfit. 

-My room is fine. I’m in 221. See you soon. Be safe. X

Another smile curved across his lips, typing away.

-Sounds good. Getting dressed. See you soon. :)

Instantly, he began questioning himself. Was the smiley face too much? Groaning, he went back to searching his closet for clothes. He finally decided on black slacks, a white button up, and his peacoat seeing as it was pretty chilly this evening. Grabbing his phone and keys, he was out the door. The wind had a harsh nip to it, instantly hitting his warm face in contrast. Exhaling, he watched his breath in the cool, night air. There was a spring in his step, for the first time in a long time he felt eager. There was hope rising in his chest, the closer he got to the hotel. 

-Awesome, see you soon. :)

His brain quickly reminded him that this was only casual, he was just showing you around. The only reason you wanted to see him was for him to show you around his hometown. It was obvious, considering he knew the ends and outs. There was nothing more to this, was there? He turned the corner, reaching for the door of the hotel. The warm air hit his chilled face, him inhaling a deep breath. A small smile spread across his lips as he breezed by the desk. Pressing the button on the elevator, he began trying to talk himself up. 

The elevator dinged, reaching the second floor. This was the moment he had been waiting for. He was a bundle of nerves as he approached room 221. Reaching his hand up towards the door, he could see it shaking as he prepared to knock on your door.  A few broken knocks agains the door was all he could muster. 

He wasn’t prepared for you to open the door so quickly. The moment almost happened in slow motion. The first thing he noticed was how bright your eyes were shining. A smile spread across your lips, his eyes panning down to see you in a white sweater dress, hugging your curves perfectly. His mouth went dry, trying to find the words to say. You smiled at him, waiting for anything to come out of his mouth.

“Wow, you look—amazing.”, he breathed, trying to keep his cool.

Deep down inside, he felt like a little school boy. His nerves were getting the best of him, not quite used to feeling this way. He had been used to women throwing themselves at him lately, but it was different with you. 

“Thank you so much—so do you.”

Those words sounded so stupid coming from your mouth. 

He smiled, laughing nervously as he brushed through his curls. “So, did you have any idea where you wanted to go first? Have you had dinner?”

He was shooting his shot, hoping that it would work. There was a small glimmer of hope. 

You smirked, holding your small jacket folded over on your arm. “No, honestly. Have you?”

“No, actually. I know a really good place if you’re up for it.”

Your face lit up. “That would be amazing, I’m starving—if I’m being honest. And some of this stuff on the menus are—”

“Different?”, Joe finished for you.

“Different.”, you confirmed. 

He chuckled, immediately lightening the mood. “For sure. Let’s go. It’s in Soho, is that too far?”

“Oh no—it would be fun. We can always come back to London. I love a good dinner.”

He smiled, before he quickly frowned and furrowed his eyebrows. “Okay. Um, this is a hard topic—”

“Okay….”

What would he tell you? Was this the part where he shared with you a dark secret like having a secret girlfriend? Even if he was famous, you had to remind yourself you didn’t know him. You only knew what your friends had shared with you—causing you to beat yourself up all evening on how you spilled coffee on THE Joseph Quinn. You were surprised when he immediately texted back, offering to show you around London. You thought he would never want to see you again. 

“But um—there is something I do need to tell you….”

A sinking feeling entered the pit of your stomach. 

“Alright….”

“I don’t know if you know, but—”, he laughed nervously, closing his eyes before continuing. “I’m actually a little famous—not trying to brag—definitely not trying to brag, but there may be people who see us together.”

Your eyes lit up, feeling slight relief. “Okay.”

“It won’t bother you?”

“I don’t think so—I just hope it doesn’t cause trouble for you.”

He smiled. “I’m used to it. At least they’ll say I was with a beautiful woman.”

You felt your cheeks becoming red, a nervous laugh rising from your chest. “I’m sure you’ve brushed shoulders with women much more beautiful than me.”

Joe rolled his eyes playfully. “Aw, come on.”

“It’s true.”

You both stopped laughing, looking deep into each other’s eyes. Your smile softened as you made direct eye contact. It was like the entire world stopped spinning in that second—the second your eyes met. You swallowed hard, feeling the connection between you both. He held his out hand, motioning for you to go ahead in front of him. You smirked, immediately thinking about how much of a gentleman he was. The only time he got in front of you was to open the doors, feeling the cool air immediately hit you both.

“Do you want to take a cab or walk?”

“Doesn’t matter to me, what do you think?”

“We could walk to the restaurant, see the sights if you wanted?”

You smiled softly. “Yeah, sounds good.”

He nodded, leading you to through the streets. You all made small talk, beginning to talk about how your all’s lives. He told you about his mom and dad, that he always wanted to be involved in acting. You told him a little about your life in the States, telling him you worked for a doctor’s office. He didn’t poke or prod information out of you, allowing you to tell him what you felt comfortable telling him. There would be breaks in your conversations regarding your personal lives, him explaining some sights. It was so cold you both could see your breath in the air. 

Finally reaching the restaurant, you all entered and felt the warm air hit your pale, chilled faces. It looked very ritzy, nothing like you were used to. You all sat down, sitting across from one another. It gave you an opportunity to take him in, but you tried not to stare long—immediately grabbing the menu and trying to submerse yourself in it. 

“The steak tartare is amazing.”, Joe began. “I think you’d like it.”

  Your eyes panned down to the mains portion of the menu. You were a little surprised by the description. 

“Served with egg yolk?”, you asked, sliding your menu down to view him.

He chuckled. “Yeah, it’s pretty popular over here…kinda like baked beans with our breakfast.

You nodded easily, but he could tell you were slightly shocked. It made a smile curve across his lips. It was a breath of fresh air to talk to someone who had a different outlook on things. 

“Do you want a shot?”, he asked.

You widened your eyes easily. “Sure.”

The waiter came around, taking your order. He ordered oysters, immediately causing your nose to crinkle up slightly. He ordered you both a shot, your main dinner, and said you’d debate dessert. 

“Don’t knock it until you try it.”, Joe smirked as the waiter took your all’s menus. 

“I’m not sure about oysters.”, you chuckled nervously. 

“Just try one. If you hate it, you can blame me.”

You all continued to make small talk, waiting on your food. The waiter was quick to bring the shots, you immediately noticing they were smaller than the ones in the States. On a count of three, you both turned up your shots, you having no trouble downing it. He smirked at you as you both sat your glasses down on the table with a clink. It wasn’t long before you felt a small buzz, just enough to make you unwind and not feel so uptight. Even though Joe was easy to talk to you, you still felt a little unsure of yourself. You’d never been overly confident when it came to dating. 

“So you graduated LAMDA in 2015?”, you asked, taking a drink of your water.

He nodded. “Yes, had a few acting roles afterwards…nothing to brag about.”

“No, that’s really wonderful—I mean sounds like you were popular over here.”

“I guess you could say so…..I didn’t really gain a lot of traction though until I played Eddie on Stranger Things”, he smirked.

You could tell he wasn’t telling you this to brag about his filmography. 

“That was you?”, you asked, surprised. 

He nodded. 

“Wow….you were amazing….”

“Aw, come on.”, he laughed nervously, raking through his curls.

All he could focus on was how beautiful you looked—even in the lowlight of the restaurant. 

“No, I mean it. I cried over the season finale.”, you laughed as the waiter brought the oysters. 

Joe smiled widely, looking up from you with his deep brown eyes. “You did?”

You nodded, looking up between him and the oysters. He thanked you, genuinely surprised by your reaction.  You can’t believe that you had completely glazed over the fact he played in something you watched with your friends. You felt like such a fool—an idiot, You could only imagine what he was secretly thinking about you. You wouldn’t be surprised if he never called you again or texted—which you couldn’t blame him. 

He somehow talked you into trying oysters. While they weren’t your favorite, you didn’t hate them. Your reaction caused him to laugh, ending with both of you all laughing. There was chemistry between you both, but you tried not to get your hopes up, realizing you had to return home in a few days. Most of the time, nothing long distance worked out. At best, you all could be friends. 

After finishing dessert, you left the restaurant, immediately entering the cold air. The temperature had dropped since you all had came. You instantly cursed yourself for not bringing a thick coat. As you all continued to walk and talk, you did your best not to let him know you were practically freezing.  It wasn’t a long walk back to see Big Ben. Your teeth were so close to chattering, it wasn’t funny. You felt them chatter silently in your mouth, not knowing whether it was from the cold or your nerves—or a mix of both.

“Are you cold?”, he asked, turning to eye you.

“A little.”, you admitted, seeing your breath in the cold air.

Big Ben came into view, illuminated in the dark of the night. You both looked up at it, the clock hands nearing ten. 

“Wow.”, you breathed, eyeing up at Big Ben.

A landmark so simple as Big Ben had you in awe, amazed by the sight. It was nothing like you’d ever seen before. 

“Nice, isn’t?”, Joe smiled over at you, 

“Amazing.”, you looked back at him.

Turning your attention back to Big Ben, you didn’t notice him sliding off his navy blue peacoat. Your body was shocked when you felt the warm fabric around your shoulders. It smelled like his cologne and aftershave, the scent encasing your nose. You felt yourself swallow hard, looking up at him in the pale moonlight, your faces illuminated. 

He chuckled through a smile.

You instinctively put your arms in his coat, the chill melting away.  “You didn’t have to do that Joe.”

“You were cold, it’s what a gentleman does, you know.”, he chuckled, leaning in closer. 

“Yeah, but—why are you being so nice to me? Even after I poured my coffee on you?”, you looked at him.

Your eyes were locked, your stomach twisting and turning at the obvious chemistry between you both.

“I—it was an accident.”, he began. “Plus, it’s easy to forgive such a beautiful girl.”

A smile spread across your lips. “You think I’m beautiful?”

“Of course. The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

Man, he was really turning on the charm now.

You giggled easily. “That can’t be true.”

“It is, what do I have to do to prove it to you?”

There was something about this romantic rendezvous that made your heart beat a little faster, made you excited. It made your blood pump a little faster through your veins. It was like a wild romance novel where you met this handsome stranger who immediately knocked you off your feet. 

“I don’t know….”

He chuckled again before his smile faded slightly. There was a gleam in his brown eyes, unlike you’d seen before. Maybe it was the moonlight. Maybe something was shifting. Was it the alcohol in your systems? His fingers brushed your cheek, causing a soft sigh to escape your lips. Your eyes fluttered shut, before opening to view his face right in front of you. Was this some kind of dream?

His face inched in closer to yours, feeling his breath hit your soft skin. In this moment, it was like your brain went into auto-pilot mode. You both inched in closer, his fingers trailing up your cheek to finally meet some of your hair. It felt like time stood still—his lips finally meeting yours. They were soft, sensual and everything you would have dreamed them to be. 

It started off as a peck—soft and small. His eyes fluttered open just as yours did. Another soft, approving sigh escaped your lips. Your mouth gaped open, words wanting to come out but you were unable to form any. He heard the slight stutter but quickly crashed his lips into yours again, this time deepening the kiss. You held back the moan that begged to escape your throat as his other hand rested on your waist.  It had been so long since you’d felt this way, it was uncharted territory.

You both finally pulled away, his hands still resting on your hips as your eyes fluttered open to view him.

“Wow—that was—”, your mouth was dry like cotton.

“Amazing?”, he finished for you, chuckling softly before brushing your hair back.

You nodded, a small giggle escaping from your lips. This felt like a fever dream, like it shouldn’t have happened. Your mind was still reeling from sharing a kiss with him. You couldn’t help but to look deep into his brown eyes, mesmerized and completely enamored with him in this moment. You didn’t want this night to end, knowing you were one step closer to having to return home. Your brain quickly tried to rationalize the situation, reminding you that once you went home you would just be a memory to him. 

He’d probably never even text you, much less call you. He’d forget he even met you, blinded by all the pretty women he met in the industry. There were women much more beautiful than you—models, actresses, artists. The list went on and on. You, on the other hand, was just a normal American girl. What did you possibly have to offer him? There was one of two ways this night could possibly go—allow him to take you back to your hotel or see if he offered to take you back to his place. 

Your thoughts were derailed as he leaned in for another kiss, making this one consist of a few soft and slow kisses. You weren’t complaining—it was probably the best kiss you had ever had in your entire life. It felt like your brain was overloaded, the circuits malfunctioning as he pulled away and took another look at you. Your cheeks felt red and flushed as he smiled at you. 

“When do you go home?”, he asked, out of the blue. 

“Sunday. I fly home Sunday.”

He nodded easily, looking back up at you. “We could do something everyday until then—if you friends wouldn’t mind, that is….”, he stammered nervously. 

You giggled, his arms still around you. “That would be amazing, Joe.”

Without much more thought, you all shared another kiss. It was like one wasn’t enough. Maybe it was the fact you knew you’d never see him again. Maybe it was the fact he was British—you didn’t know. 

“It’s getting late and I’m sure you’re jet lagged. Anything else you want to do?”, he asked softly. 

“This has been an amazing night. I think I need some sleep.”, you laughed, your laugh fading into a yawn. 

Your body shivered as he fixed his peacoat around you. You shivered just looking at him, how was he surviving the cold?

“How are you not cold?”, you asked easily.

“Oh, I’m cold. I’m just used to London weather.”, he smirked. 

“I’m freezing.”, you admitted. 

He pulled you into him, completely shocking you. He smirked down at you, sending shivers down your spine. You dreaded the walk back to the hotel, realizing your amazing night was almost coming to a close. London was beautiful, but at night, it was magical and breath taking. As you all continued to walk, you rummaged through your wallet attempting to find your hotel key card.

“Shit—sorry shoot.”, you corrected as you stopped, Joe halting his steps with you. 

“What’s wrong, love?”, he asked easily. 

“I forgot my key card. It’s locked up in the room.”

His eyes widened easily as he continued to watch you comb over your wallet, checking every nook and cranny. 

“Can’t find—it—could have sworn I put it in here.”

“Maybe try calling your friends?”, he suggested.

He felt guilty as he secretly hoped your friends wouldn’t answer. He didn’t want this amazing night to end with you. He wasn’t sure how long this dilemma would prolong it, but he was willing to take anything else he could get. You awakened something inside of him.

You nodded, pulling out your phone and dialing their numbers. No answer from either. 

“They didn’t answer.”, you groaned, eyeing your phone. 

He felt hope rise in his chest, decided to shoot his shot. 

“Um, my flat is close by…if you want to go back there…you don’t have to stay—just until they answer, maybe?”

He immediately wanted to kick himself for babbling on like an idiot. So much for being smooth about it. 

“That sounds great, Joe. It’s so cold. I’m so sorry to put you in this position.”, you sighed, looking up at him. 

“No-no, I insist. If they don’t answer, you could stay. I can give you the bed and I could take the couch?”

He closed his eyes, immediately cursing himself again. What were you doing to him? He was usually cool, calm, and collected when it came to trying to romance someone—but that went out the window with you. 

“You’d do that?”

“Of course.”, he smiled.

[voxofthevoid]

I voted puppyjou and the more i hear about shibuya swap im not even mad about it. It's been gnawing at my brain since chapter four of the kidnapping fic, where yuuji reminscing about being trapped ("at home" i cannot BELIEVE how close he came to saying that out loud. Yuuji you make me so unwell my fucking god.) in the forest with gojo sounded a lot like he's being domesticated. Like gojo taking his little tiger out for walkies and outside the barrier for enrichment and finger foods :))) seeing that flipped sounded fun, but oh my god.

When you said you were going to put yuuji through the horrors you weren't kidding. Kenjaku raising yuuji uh huh yes please♡

but before that, my favorite lines-

'Brat, Sukuna growls. I’ll eat you alive.

“I’m eating you dead,”'

YESS its so snarly and personal and its not civil, its just not🥰♡ It's seared in my brain, i love it and it sounds like Alt!Yuuji took that and ran. The correct response to Sukuna is eating his everything and leaving nothing, and I can't wait. And of course that means taking all the coolest parts of his design and claiming them as your own!! Irrevocably changed by the horrors we may be, but we look good doing it (●’∇’)♪ doubling the amount of arms, eyes and dicks in a scene sounds like a logistical nightmare lmao you're a legend for making it work. and wait holdup, 'blowing an oversized tongue' is there making out with the tummy mouth👀 i need to mentally prepare for sloppy tummy mouth makeouts oh my god

You 🤝 me on being made unwell by Yuuji. He adapts so well that the *checks notes* isolated forest cabin he’s literally imprisoned in gets slotted into the mental category of “home” in a span of like two months. Normal things! I’m cracking up at “gojo taking his little tiger out for walkies and outside the barrier for enrichment and finger foods,” but it really does feel like that, doesn’t it? Well, Yuuji’s about to get a lot more enrichment in his enclosure—for better or for worse.

If you want the dynamics of the kidnapping fic reversed, more than the Shibuya swap, I have another role/age reversal idea outlined that fits it so, so well—its descriptive title is “domain rape AU” and actual title is i'll be the star (you can be the horrified one), so you can imagine the…themes. But I really need the manga to finish so I can do the idea justice. For now, know that there are tiny hints of puppyjou in the Shibuya swap, mostly Yuuji treating adult!Gojou like he’d treat his teen!Gojou. For example—

“I’m sure he’s trying,” Yuuji says. He pats Satoru, a light touch at the top of his head like he’s a puppy. It stuns him silent. “You always work hard when it matters, don’t you, Satoru?”

“You look so disappointed,” Yuuji says, clearly amused. Satoru tries to school his expression, but too little too late; Yuuji pats his cheek like he’s a puppy. “Don’t pout, Satoru. You’ll get distracted if that thing’s there. And you don’t want that, right?”

The “thing” in that last passage is indeed the belly mouth! I wasn’t planning on adding it, but I did give Yuuji scars where that mouth is and where Sukuna’s extra arms would join his torso, and then my hand slipped, so Gojou mouthing at the scar turned into this: “Flesh splits open against Satoru’s lips, and an obscenely big tongue plunges into his mouth.” It only escalates from there, so sloppy belly mouth makeouts are very much on the menu 😏

…Might be a problem how much of it is there actually. It’s a longass scene. But @nearalways volunteered as my guinea pig (read: they blissfully went to sleep and woke up to 2.3k of Gojou choking on a tongue the size of a dick), and the reaction is very promising. It won’t see the light of Ao3 until 2025 though.

The correct response to Sukuna is eating his everything and leaving nothing, and I can't wait. And of course that means taking all the coolest parts of his design and claiming them as your own!! Irrevocably changed by the horrors we may be, but we look good doing it.

ANON, YOU GET IT!!! I’ve had this HC for nearly as long as I've been into JJK, fueled by how canon handles the marriage of bodies and souls, plus Gojou’s comment about Yuuji inheriting Sukuna’s CT and the fanbook information on what’d happen if Yuuji ate the Death Painting Wombs. Him actually eating them and, as hinted by the conversation with Kamo, inheriting some sort of blood manipulation made me so damn gleeful precisely because of how it could be applied to scenarios where Sukuna stays in him and gets chewed up. Cannibalism is sexy.

Shibuya swap alt!Yuuji’s version of eating Sukuna is a little different than my usual route, but you're right that he took that line and ran with it. That plus being raised by Kenjaku has made extra him fun to write.

Thanks for this lovely ask 💗

[dietraumerei]

2023 Book Reviews

Ok, let's see if Tumblr lets me post this (I think it shouldn't be too long?) -- it's all my book reviews from 2023! Entirely unedited and just copy-pasted in, but on the off chance anyone else is interested in it, here it is.

I finished Tolkien and the Great War which was like…¾ very good. The last quarter was a fairly inexplicable and incredibly boring discursion on the early versions of what would, essentially, become the Silmarillion. Although a lot of his early works and early conceptions of what the Middle Earth mythology would be do tie into his life and experiences as a very young man in a hellish situation, this was just like…a recitation. And it was followed by a brilliant analysis of why Tolkien turned to an older medieval storytelling form instead of the modernists that we think of when it comes to the usual WWI writing! It was so good! The good parts of this books are so good! I simply cannot bring myself to care about the phoneme shifts his languages undergo.

It did remind me that I want to return to Paul Fussell’s writing in 2024, so there is that?

Also Tolkien’s bitchy disapproval of the aesthetes is never not hilarious to me.

I finished Hogfather, about which I refuse to give any kind of review other than to say I’ve been reading it nearly every December for going on 23 years now, and it’s a perfect book and I love it.

I finished Congratulations, the Best is Over! and I feel some kinda way about it. I love R. Eric Thomas, but the longer-form essays are sometimes good and sometimes not so good? I didn’t dislike it at all, but I’m also looking forward to what he writes next, as I think every collection gets a little bit better.

I finished The Custom of the Country and oh my god I LOVED IT. The Age of Innocence is still my favorite Wharton because Ellen Olenska, but this was the book that made me scream the most. It’s funny in the way that reality TV is funny, in that you laugh because you are horrified. Undine Spragg is the most magnfiicent monster in literature. She’s horrible. I adore her. What a fabulous work of art/car crash this book is.

I finished the latest Perveen Mistry Mystery, The Mistress of Bhatia House and it was wonderful but oh my god it is STRESSFUL and kind of a hard read at times because everyone is just being a huge dick to each other. (Also there’s a pretty major plot point left totally un-tied-up at the end which is wild, but I guess it’ll get sorted next book?)

I finished Lolly Willowes which tbh I didn’t love as much as I hoped I would, but is a very excellent book with some mind-blowingly relatable bits and I enjoyed it immensely. I love Sylvia Townsend Warner but just need to go in without expectations and enjoy the rather lengthy ride. (For such a short book, it takes awhile for anything to happen.)

I read Dolls of Our Lives and the more I think about it the more I disliked it. I’m tired and lazy so here’s the review I sent a friend:

I finished Dolls of our Lives last night. I found it…okay. The editing is often bad which was depressing. It mostly felt really tonally inconsistent – they’re both historians and know their stuff, but keep putting in schticky little pop culture jokes that are a) not that funny? and b) just appear out of nowhere. If you’re going to look at AG through a pop culture lens, do it properly, don’t just randomly name-drop pop culture stuff. It occasionally dips below surface-level analysis, but it’s not super memorable and I don’t see it aging really well. (I’d LOVE someone to write an accessible book that actually does look at AG dolls both within their own cultural contexts and the context of when they were released, to say nothing of the interplay of doll + book, and maybe with an added chapter on how girls and dolls play, and what it meant to release a doll that wasn’t aspirational in some way, whether it be an adult like Barbie or a baby doll. Okay, maybe I want three books. But it feels like there’s a lot of richness to dig into, and I’ve yet to see anyone scrape more than the surface.) Anyway, 6/10, it was okay but the authors do themselves a disservice. There’s a small section at the end where they talk about themselves and how the podcast has changed them and how it came about and it’s the best bit of the book because it’s actually vulnerable and interesting, with some theory thrown in, and it’s barely shticky at all.

I will now add that I think it’ll age like milk, and I’m super disappointed.

In happier news, I read The Murder of Roger Ackroyd which is simply a masterpiece, and reading it was a deep and abiding pleasure. I know the twist and it still worked wonderfully on me – if you don’t know how it ends, I REALLY urge you not to spoil yourself and also to read it, for it’s wonderful and you will scream at the reveal.

I finished When the Angels Left the Old Country after @lesbrarian recommended it and it might be my favorite book I’ve read this year? Top five, certainly – it’s tense and beautiful and funny and full of love and very Jewish, and it just filled me with joy to read, even the sad parts. The comparisons to Good Omens are unavoidable, but really I find it a very different story in a lot of ways, although certainly with connections. I adored it, and it’s one of those books I can’t wait to re-read. Also every time I think about the angel too much I want to cry, but in a good way.

I also – finally, after many breaks – finished The Path the Power, the first volume of Caro’s LBJ biography. Oh my god, this book. THIS BOOK. The next time I do this I’m going to update every week on what I learned that week because there is just so much in this tome. I want to visit the Pedernales, but not in summer. The description of grass-growing was riveting. The descriptions of the lives of the farmwives before electrification was riveting (and horrific). The play-by-play for elections in the forties literally kept me up past my bedtime. And I have not even touched on Pappy O'Daniel (a real person!! who was apparently toned down CONSIDERABLY for O Brother Where Art Thou) or Lady Bird or how Caro more than once makes sure to mention that Johnson had a dumptruck ass.

Anyway, Lyndon was a vote-buying absolute fucking weirdo from birth and his mother was just as weird and his father was fascinating and I’m a little in love with Sam Rayburn. Do not let either the Old White Man History or the fact that this book is a fucking doorstop stop you, this is a masterpiece and I see why it won a Pulitzer. (whoops, looks like it was another volume that won the Pulitzer) I cannot wait to read the other volumes, which I estimate will take me about a year per book, but worth it!

I finished Menewood, about which I cannot possibly write intelligently. Hild was and is so important to me and I love that period in English history so, so much, and the immersiveness of the books, how heartbreaking and hard and wild and wonderful they are! It did push me to plan to get Hild in non-ebook format; they’re both absolute bricks so it’s easier to read the e-book but I found it super helpful to be able to easily refer to the family trees and maps and stuff.

I finished Lauren Groff’s The Vaster Wilds and as a certified Groff stan I loved it. It’s gross and hard and has the most amazing end, and like Matrix I am excited to re-read it over and over and unlock more language and more beauty and just more.

I finished Here for It by R. Eric Thomas and loved it. It’s more serious and longer-form than what he writes for his newletter or Elle, and really benefits from it; he’s an incredibly talented storyteller. Not what I was expecting, but all the better for it.

I am DNF for A Lady for a Duke which I had such high hopes for! I don’t think it’s a bad book, but it is not a book for me, unfortunately.

I finished Everything I Need I Get from You: How Fangirls Created the Internet as We Know It and have a lot of feelings! I think it’s a really, really good book that’s respectful of fans and interesting, but it focuses almost solely on One Direction fandom, and I kind of wish that was clearer from the title and the summary? Like, no shade to that being the topic, but it feels like this is being sold as kind of a universal look at online fandom, and…it kinda isn’t?

(yes i’m salty there wasn’t anything about snapewives, yes this was somewhat soothed by chapters dedicated to L*rr*es and B*byg*te, YES I am afraid of 1D fangirls.)

I also read Phoebe’s Diary because I adore Phoebe Wahl and it was cool to read a middle-grade novel/graphic novel from her! (Most of the book is typeset, but there are lots of great little cartoons and drawings interspersed. I really, really liked it, although sometimes it’s a little hard to read because a) it is very realistic which means it’s like 95% about boys and boyfriends and that gets kind of old and b) it is very realistic and made me so unbelievably grateful that I never ever have to be 16 again. I would be extremely curious what a contemporary sixteen-year-old thought because it’s kind of a semi-period piece (set in 2005-6) and a few bits of it sort of…haven’t aged well from that period? (There’s one character who I think we’re meant to dislike but I love her so much because she reads aro-ace.) Anyway, I’m really glad I read it although at times it was painful, 10/10 do not miss being sixteen.

I haven’t finished anything, but I’m DNF for Sarah Vowell’s Lafayette in the Somewhat United States because I found it hard to follow and frankly incredibly boring. (I am going hard for the DNF’s these days, life is too short.)

omg so much! I read Learned by Heart in like three days, and it made my Anne Lister-loving heart sing. Truly, it broke my heart and it was so sweet and so happy and sad and just so good, I loved it and I’m hoping it triggers another bout of Lister hyperfixation.

I also read Agatha of Little Neon, which was likewise sad but sweet and happy and hopeful. It had a lot of feelings, but I loved it very, very much, and it just…made me feel good inside?

I was DNF on The Late Americans by about the sixth Sad Gay Man whose personality traits were that he was Sad and Gay and [insert one additional trait here that is shared with at least one other Sad Gay Man]. I love Brandon’s newsletter and his criticism; I did not like this novel.

I FINALLY finished Herzog! For a relatively short novel, it benefits from a slow reading – and I even basically skipped over the philosophical bits because my love for sad mid-century white men only goes so far. Anyway – a little to my surprise, I enormously enjoyed it. I don’t know that it’s, like, the greatest novel ever written and it’s edging into my ‘This got a Pulitzer? Really?’ pile, but a) I can see why it was groundbreaking and amazing and the Saga of the Everyman when it came out and b) honestly it’s really funny and interesting. It’s a little bit Odyssey-like, and Herzog is such a likeable schmuck, and just, yeah. It was great. It’s also a wonderful love letter to both the Berkshires and Chicago, and I loved the very quick Vineyard Havens moment.

Our Wives Under the Sea – a friend said this was the best book she’d read all summer, and I think it’s up there for me. It’s haunting and weird and beautiful and sad and I loved it very much.

Painted Pomegranates and Needlepoint Rabbis: How Jews Craft Resilience and Create Community - hah, I just realized this was a gift from the friend who made the Our Wives rec! I’ve got a little theme of reading about how craft creates meaning in various communities/subcommunities, and this fits right in. It’s definitely an academic text, but I found it extremely accessible. It doesn’t present a very diverse portrait of Judaism – which the author absolutely admits to and apologizes for – but for what it is, it’s a very interesting and valuable text, and I’m glad I read it and it’s part of my collection now.

I finished Big Swiss which is one of those books I ought to hate, but I was…not necessarily loving it, but definitely fascinated as hell with it. It’s such a gross book, and Greta is so majestically self-destructive, I actually could not look away. Magnificent, 10/10 would watch barely-likeable protagonists fuck their own lives up again.

Also, not a book, but I finally read Blackmun’s dissent in DeShaney v. Winnebago County, a landmark case that essentially determined that the government is not actually expected to protect you. (Skip noted segregationist Chief Justice William Rehnquist’s ruling, but the Wikipedia article on the case breaks it down well.) You can read it here – scroll down to the very bottom, his dissent is only 4 paragraphs, and it is beautifully, wonderfully written. The ‘Poor Joshua!’ paragraph is the most famous, but I return again and again to the passage Justice Blackmun quotes from Stone’s Law, Psychiatry and Morality, and particularly the line “What is required of us is moral ambition.”

(I learned about the case and Blackmun’s dissent through the podcast 5-4, which is both excellent, and a good antidote to growing up in the shadow of the Warren Court, as I did. The Supreme Court has always sucked, it turns out. Seriously, it’s one of my favorite Supreme Court podcasts and I subscribe to, um, a lot.)

I read Brutes in about two sittings, it was so good. What a wonderful book about the horror of being a teenage girl, and I mean that in the best possible way. I loved it.

I finished, appropriately enough, Ned Boulting’s 1923 which is a beautiful book about the Tour de France and the nearly-forgotten Theo Beeckmann, and about the covid pandemic and history and tracking people and places down through time. I am an enormous fan of Ned (and David and Pete for any other Never Strays Far fans), and although this book very rarely pushes just a touch into bathos, it is mostly beautiful and wonderful and I’m glad he wrote it and I’m glad I read it.

(I finished it on June 30th, which is rather an important day in the book so I’m proud of my timing too.)

I also read A Half-Built Garden which I have a lot of very complex emotions about. I don’t know if I liked it, but I like how it made me react and think and feel and get grumpy. I’m not even sure it’s all that great, but it sure did make me think.

I finished Fintan O’Toole’s massive We Don’t Know Ourselves about Ireland in the last 50-odd years. It is very good, and sometimes very hard to read (he pulls no punches regarding either the IRA or the Christian Brothers) and I’m glad I read it.

I also finished Secrets Typed in Blood, the third of the Pentecost and Parker mysteries. It starts off the weakest (or maybe I was just in a Mood), but it is, as ever, a good, quick, satisfying mystery.

I read Elizabeth Kilcoyne’s Wake the Bones which I loved – I normally prefer a bit more gothic in my Southern horror, but the very end especially is the most incredible reveal. I could not stand the protagonist and I still liked the book, that’s how good it is.

I also read Scorched Grace, which is apparently first in a series about a crime-solving nun. It’s written as a hardboiled noir and, yep, that’s what it is, which means it’s also not good, but it’s supposed to be kind of hacky, so it works? It’s *gruesome*, but I liked it well enough, I think noir just really isn’t for me.

Oh, and I guess I’m on an Irish lit kick because I read Foster (more a novella than a novel), which I found pretty meh, tbh.

I keep starting new books and I’m now in the middle of at least two Giant Tomes, oops. I did finish Saltwater by Jessica Andrews which is better than the Kirkus review it got! It didn’t, like, change my life but it was good reliving being at Uni in the UK and also I enjoyed it, all I ask of a book.

The Wee Free Men by Terry Pratchett: umpteenth re-read, a perfect book. I have beautiful editions of all the Tiffany books now, and hope to slowly make my way through them.

Red Shift by Alan Garner: I was heartened to learn that this is one of his most difficult books; I will be honest that I struggled, but it’s lingered in me, and I hope to re-read it many more times and keep untangling it. It is very, very good.

Hons and Rebels by Jessica Mitford: I’ve been meaning to read this for ages, and it didn’t disappoint in the least. I’m fascinated by the Mitford sisters, and this is such a good peek into them.

It also really drives home how unutterably boring a landed-gentry upbringing was.

Trust by Hernan Diaz: ok you know how people win Oscars nominally for some meh role, but it’s clearly really for an older role that they were overlooked for? That is this book and the Pulitzer, when In the Distance probably should have won. It was fine, but I was kind of underwhelmed. Next time I’ll just read some Wharton.

DNF on Upright Women Wanted which I wanted to love very much and absolutely hated. Next time I’ll just re-read Whiskey When We’re Dry.

I did finish Murder Under Her Skin, the second of the Pentecost and Parker mysteries. It was great fun and a very good mystery and I am excited for the next one.

I finished All the Beauty in the World, the memoir of a Met Museum guard. I have an almost guilty fondness for the Met; it really should not exist, but I love it, and I loved reading this very much. I do miss easy access to world-class museums :/

I also read Michelle Tea’s Against Memoir, which has the best fucking essay of all time about the SF girl gang HAGS, but really I loved the whole thing. I’ve become an absolutely massive Michelle Tea fangirl and use her tarot book all the time and just ugh, I can’t wait to get more of her stuff.

I just finished Elie Mystal’s Allow Me to Retort: A Black Guy’s Guide to the Constitution. Mystal is incredibly funny and smart and is an amazing Twitter follow if you are still on the bird hellsite. It is easy to think that funny writing is unserious, but this is deeply serious, and is a very good argument for pretty much a new Constitution that wasn’t written by enslavers. Also now I finally understand what substantive due process is, and what the difference is from procedural due process. (I also grasp the ninth and tenth amendments a little better too.) Anyway – really, if you are at all interesting in con law, or how much the Supreme Court sucks, or how broken a document the Constitution is while containing seeds of a better document, I deeply recommend this.

I finished The Care and Feeding of Waspish Widows, and continue to very much enjoy Olivia Waite! This is *not* an nice, fizzy romance – the romance is, honestly, a pretty small part of the plot, and that’s not knocking it one bit. It’s queer and scary and very good. I definitely would be okay going back to a fluffy romance soon, but I’m glad I read this.

I also finished The Return of the King and words fail me, honestly. It’s been so long since I read the trilogy, but I truly cannot wait to re-read it; Tolkien is so much better than what came after, and it’s been good to re-learn that. The battle of Pelennor Fields is the scariest thing I’ve ever read. I have discovered four new emotions. I cried at the end. I mean, *you* sum that book up! (I have precisely zero desire to watch any of the new shows and whatever else comes out; the original trilogy was lightening in a bottle, and I will keep my memories warm and good, tbh.)

I finished Square Haunting, about women writers between the war and Mecklenburgh Square. It was quite good and interesting, and it was nice to build on the writers I already knew about (pretty much just Dorothy L. Sayers and Woolf), and learn about Eileen Power and just…that whole London set. I don’t know if tons of it will stick with me, but I’m pleased I read it.

Remembering Denny, by Calvin Trillin. It’s about a classmate of his from Yale, and about how people change and show different sides of themselves, about being gay pre-Stonewall and about the Silent Generation. It is very, very good. (Also FULL of people! Larry Kramer shows up at one point! And early on there’s some stuff that unexpectedly linked to my own life which was just WEIRD and kind of wonderful too.) I love Calvin Trillin so much.

Fortune Favors the Dead, an excellent little queer noir mystery, I am excited to read the next one.

The Hollow Places, I really love T. Kingfisher, love a good quick horror read. This hit a lot of the same beats as The Twisted Ones, which isn’t a strike against it, but I’m hoping for something new with the next book. Still, A++++++++ landscape horror.

I read Women Talking which was…fine? It was okay, I wasn’t blown away I have to say.

I read Hérnan Díaz’ In the Distance which I truly ought to have hated, and I don’t know if I *liked* it, but it’s going to stick with me a long time. It’s a Western, kind of. It’s dreamy, and violent, and lovely.

DNF on Charlie Brown’s America: the Popular Politics of Peanuts. There is a great book to be written on this topic. It is not this book, which quickly proved unreadable.

And I finished The Lady’s Guide to Celestial Mechanics which was fun and lovely and a nice fizzy romance, especially after In the Distance, lol. I’ll def read the next books in the series!

I have been reading at a good clip! Let’s see, I finished Briefly, A Delicious Life by Nell Stevens which is about a ghost and George Sand and Chopin and making decisions and it was so joyful and so lovely and very queer. I re-read Lauren Groff’s Matrix and loved it even more the second time; I was able to snag a signed hardback copy from a friend and I’m delighted to own it because the book itself is beautiful, and it’s a dreamy read. And finally I read Calvin Trillin’s The Tummy Trilogy which is a collection of his three books that collect his food writings. These essays are glorious, hilarious, charming, a celebration of good food and good eating and regional food. I will say, though, that the final book is really by far the weakest, and I will skip it in future; the first two books are perfection. (FYI, if you do pick this up, and I really recommend it, note that he was writing in the 70′s and they are a bit of their time, but in a way that is good-humoured at least.) I’ve also got his Remembering Denny and I’m really excited to read that soon.

I finished Times Square Red, Times Square Blue and enormously enjoyed the first essay about Delany’s time in the porn theatres of Times Square. It’s character sketches and talking about how people meet and relate, and I loved it. The second essay is vastly denser and more theoretical, and I will be honest most of it went over my head. I liked most of what I grasped, although his plan for how to end catcalling of women is…certainly there.

I also read Kate Beaton’s Ducks in basically one sitting and it’s so, so good. It’s much sadder and harder than I thought it would be, but it’s worth reading.

I read Bad Land because Jonathan Raban died last week, and I am absolutely gutted. He was a magnificent writer and Bad Land was so good and so rich and a bit funny, and it got me up in my feelings as I read about him driving over the pass into Seattle, following the trail of Montanans, while I was flying into Seattle (and then going north through the rain). It’s so, so good, and I will miss Raban so much.

I also finished The Two Towers, about which I can only say that it’s kind of a weird bridge book, but it has some of the best and loveliest lines and also jesus I can’t write a review of Lord of the Rings, it holds up, ok?

I finished Bill Bryson’s 1927, his history of a fairly amazing year in American history. The occasional fatphobic jokes were…weird and not funny, but the man can write a good popular history book. It was my airport reading coming back from the east coast, and very good airport reading it was.

I finished Homewaters, which is a gorgeous book about the natural and human history of the Puget sound region, and I loved it. It’s not the fastest-paced book going, but it’s a fantastic history and goes into the biodiversity of the area, and I’m so glad I got it.

I also read A Prayer for the Crown-Shy in one sitting on an airplane. I did not glom onto the Monk and Robot books as much as I thought I would, but I liked this a lot, and found it really lovely. I hope very much that there will be others.

Finally, last night I finished reading Shadowlands: A Journey Through Britain’s Lost Cities and Vanished Villages. Some chapters are better than others (or maybe I was just more awake?) – I found the chapters on Skara Brae and St. Kilda genuinely riveting, but still don’t quite remember what happened at Old Winchelsea, for example. The last chapter, on Capel Celyn, was startlingly hard to read; I have mostly left my time in Wales in the past. Not in a bad way, but there’s no point in it being in my daily life, but it was much more painful to read about my once-home than I thought it would be. (It’s also just an absolutely gutting story.)

[izzy-mc-fizzy]

//:TOH spoilers ahead://

Decided to make this a lil tradition for after a big episode of TOH airs so without further ado here’s some things I wanna see in For the Future!

Lilith and Hunter 1 on 1 convo about their time together under Belos. For the first time her seeing who hunter truly is, an intelligent and brave young kid rather than the haughty know-it-all she assumed he was for so long. I can imagine her apologizing and saying something like “I misjudged you, Hunter.” (Basically I just really really want cool Aunty Lilith and hunter Clawthorne is that too much to ask?!)

Hunter mourning flapjack, like truly mourning him. And I want to see the hexsquad there for him every step of the way, supporting him through his journey of loss and grief.

On a slightly lighter note, hunter discovering that flapjacks sacrifice actually gave him some sort of magic. Bonus points if it’s him, like, teleporting on complete accident or something and everyone around him plus himself just being at a complete loss for words

LUZ’S PALISMAN!!! I’m still holding out for team bat but I also think a snake would be cute too! Like a little snake coiled around the actual staff, I think that’d be really cute!

Hunter carving a new palisman, and unpopular opinion I don’t want it to just be a remade flapjack because I feel like that’ll really take away from the impact of his sacrifice and loss. I’m hoping for another bird of some sort because as I’ve established I am nothing if not a hunter Clawthorne truther

Camilla and Eda meeting while Eda is in harpy form and Camilla assuming she’s some sort of malevolent monster so she just gets so ready to throw down to protect her kids and is shocked and slightly horrified as Luz just bursts into tears and launches herself at Eda.

The return of the C.A.T.T’s. Them re-establishing their base as a safe haven from the collector and giving Camilla and the kids a safe place to hide out while they all plan how to get king back (this will also allow the crew to change everyone’s designs back to normal bc even though I think it’d be hysterical for all of them to throw down in cosplay I don’t think it’s very practical or easy to animate)

Eda, Lilith, the coven heads, Camilla, AND the kids all throwing down against Belos. All the kids took him on twice and were able to hold their own pretty well, but were ultimately defeated by him but with them PLUS all of the adults I think they’re strong enough to take him down. Plus that battle scene will be the most badass thing on the planet

Hunter getting the final hit on Belos, because I think he deserve it

Luz’s reaction to Edas lost arm as well as the apparent death of Raine. She’d be so heartbroken and sad, especially once she finds out Raine did it to keep their promise to her (ok wait that sounds really sad maybe I don’t wanna see that)

CAMILLA AND EDA MOM DUO oh my god I just wanna see them meet and interact so freaking bad! They’d definitly bond over how proud they are of Luz and what it’s like accidentally finding yourself to be a parent of way to many kids

Adding onto that I’ve always wanted to see Luz accidentally call Eda “mom” but now I think I’d rather see Luz call out “mom” is some sort of stressful situation and having both Camilla AND Eda respond to it

Luz giving hunter and her mom a crash course in glyphs! I can imagine her telling her mom to learn them as a form of protection and Camilla eventually telling her that she prefers the bat but hunter is TOTALLY into it and actually catches on really fast

Also something I wanted from this episode but unfortunately didn’t get was luz and the others showing down against belos and him cornering Luz and taunting her about her lack of magic in the human realm and her in response just absolutely decking him across the face

[briamichellewrites]

Just something I decided to write

2011. Bria was missing. She dropped off her cat, Rascal at Mike’s. He found him outside in his carrier after hearing meowing. Attached was a note and some cat food. I’m sorry. – Bria. He brought him inside and fed him using the food provided. Who knows how long he had been out there? He tried calling her but she didn’t answer. For two years, he and everyone had been trying to get her to leave her boyfriend, Anthony. He was physically and emotionally abusive to her.

They also feared she was using drugs with him. He called the police to report her missing. A couple of officers came by and took a report. Because she was an adult, there was little they could do. He had to get to the studio, so he brought Rascal with him. The band was horrified to hear that she was missing. Did he file a report? Yes, he repeated what the officer told him.

They used social media to make their fans aware of her disappearance. If they had any information, they should contact the Los Angeles police department. That was all they could do at that point. They hoped and prayed she would be found safe. Why would she leave? Did Anthony have anything to do with it? If he did, then they wanted to know where she was. Then, they wanted him in prison for the rest of his miserable life. At first, they liked him. He treated them with respect and kindness.

Then, they started noticing bruises. Bria also became more anxious about being seen with them. Chester was the one who saw him slapping her across the face in the parking lot of the studio. He went over and grabbed him. Brad and Phoenix came over before he killed him. What the hell is going on? He hit Bria! They then noticed her holding her cheek. Phoenix quietly brought her back inside.

She had a red mark on the side of her face. Joe, Rob, and Mike were stunned. Mike took a picture of the bruise with his phone. It was in the shape of a hand. Joe went over to the refrigerator and found a bottle of water. After wrapping it around his sweatshirt, he came back. He put it to her face. She cried because it hurt. They wanted to go to the police, but she begged them not to. Brad and Chester came back inside after. They saw her in tears with a mark on her face.

Oh my god! Their hearts sank. She was their little sister. They wanted to cry because they were so angry. Nobody was allowed to put their hands on her! It didn’t matter what she had done. It wasn’t her fault. After that, she went back to him after he talked her into staying. It was back and forth between them and him. He gave her a black eye, bruises, a cut lip, and a broken nose.

They documented everything by taking pictures. The worst injury was a handprint around her neck. That convinced them he would one day kill her. She never wanted to go to the police because she was afraid of what Anthony would do. Now, she was missing.

It took over a month before Mike got a phone call from Cedar Sinai Hospital. He and the band rushed over to see her. They were met by police officers. How was she doing? It didn’t look good. The doctor came over and introduced himself. Could they speak to them in private? Yeah. They followed him into his empty office. He closed the door behind them for privacy.

Bria had brain hemorrhaging. Blood was flowing in her brain. Some of her brain cells had already died from a lack of oxygen. The best option for her was an emergency surgery. He laid out how they would do it while giving them all the information they needed. They were able to ask questions. Her quality of life would be different than it was currently. She would likely have memory problems, mild cognitive impairments, fatigue, and problems with concentration.

What would that mean? Cognitive impairments? It would resemble a patient with dementia. Could they sue her boyfriend for trying to kill her? He couldn’t answer that. Phoenix apologized for what he said. The doctor understood. They decided to do it. After signing the paperwork, the doctor excused himself. All they could do was wait.

m_shinoda: At ten o’clock this evening, Bria Lavigne lost her life after being attacked. Bria was one of those people you meet once in your life. She was selfless with the biggest heart. It was an honor and a privilege to have met her. She was a daughter, a sister, and a friend to many. If you or someone you know is in an abusive relationship, know that there is help. Out of respect for Bria’s friends and family, I want to ask for privacy. Thank you.

Bria did not survive the surgery. The band thanked the doctor for his and his staff’s assistance. He expressed condolences to them. Thank you. After posting the news on his Instagram, it went viral. The next morning, Brad asked if it was true in a phone call. Yeah. He invited him to meet them at his place. After getting his address, he told him he was on his way.

Bria’s death was considered a murder. A warrant went out for Anthony’s arrest while her body was prepared for an autopsy. It would determine how she died and aid the police in their investigation. They all wanted justice for her. The next morning, the forensic experts worked on determining the cause of death. It took forty-eight hours before the band was called into the police station. They all decided to go, as did Brad. They were brought into a room where the police detective gave her condolences.

Thank you. They found out her death was caused by blunt force trauma, which led to a hemorrhage. She also had bruises in the process of healing. They also found a broken arm, a cut lip, bruised ribs, a black eye, intestinal bleeding, and a broken nose. They took time to process that information. He beat her until her body couldn’t take it anymore. Anger. That was the only emotion they had.

They could only imagine how scared she would have been and the amount of pain. Bradford asked if they found any evidence of drug use. They did. They found marks on her arm that were consistent with heroin use. That’s what they suspected.

chesterbe: Bria, I saw a picture of a cat online. I was going to send it to you. I will always remember our conversations and how they didn’t make sense to anyone but us. My heart is broken, as I cry for you. I cry for the pain you must have endured and how scared you must have felt. You were always just a phone call or text message away. Now all I have left are memories. You fought hard for so long. As you would say, “It’s never goodbye. Just until we meet again.” Thank you for the years of love, support and friendship. I love you. – Chester

linkinpark: Bria, you have been with us since the beginning. You congratulated us on our successes while making sure we remained grounded. We will always remember your infectious laughter, the love you shared with your cats and the people around you; and your kindness. Your resilience taught us to never give up during the hardest moments. We will always love you and we promise to watch over Rascal. – Mike, Chester, Brad, Rob, Joe and Phoenix

The Backstreet Boys also posted their tributes to her, as did the Hiltons. Brad made a statement through his publicist since he didn’t have social media. They were all very angry and upset. The news reported on the case. Alleged domestic violence.

They reported on the arrest of her boyfriend, Anthony, and his charges of assault and battery, as well as possession of drugs. It wasn’t her fault. The media talked about domestic violence and how hard it was for victims to leave. Thankfully, her cat was unharmed. He was very scared, so he required a lot of love and attention. Mike adopted him.

His vet prescribed anti-anxiety medication because he showed signs of psychological trauma similar to PTSD. He was very scared and anxious. It made him wonder what he witnessed regarding the abuse. Mike hoped he wasn’t also abused. He was Bria’s four-legged child, so he wanted the best for him.

Just as she did. Tiny and Garfield died after ten years due to old age. Their deaths were extremely hard for her. She thought about adopting again, but she never did. Rascal also went through grief. He missed his playmates. But a cat’s life was very short. It was ten years of mutual love and affection. Now, she was gone. He meowed sadly. Mike petted him. I know. He missed her too. Tears were rolling down his face, so he head-butted him and purred. Thank you. You’re welcome, human.

@zoeykaytesmom @feelingsofaithless @alina-dixon @fiickle-nia

[shadeedee]

KEEP IT GAY, KEEP IT GAY, KEEP IT- FIGHT!? Carmen and Roger get into a huge fight that starts it all. *Some adult language*

Roger Debris stormed around his lavish townhouse in his dress, heels and wig, his face red with anger. Carmen Ghia was standing by the door, clenching his fists. The production team nervously watched from the stairs. “Don’t you dare come down here!” Roger shouted. They were shocked. Roger had never yelled at them before. “Carmen, i’ve been nothing but loyal to you! How dare you accuse me of something so stupid! You’re a moron!” he roared. “Loyal!? Bullshit! You’ve been mucking around with Leo Bloom since day one! You’re a player and a breeder!” Carmen shouted. Roger felt like a volcano. The production team were sure that the house would turn into a WWE arena soon. “Carmen, i’m about to put you through that window so help me god!” Roger shouted. “Oh yeah!? Bring it on, tranny!” Carmen yelled. The production team gasped. Roger turned to Carmen, ready to explode. “What did you just call me?” he asked. Carmen was terrified now. He instantly regretted what he just said. “Uh, i, nothing,” he replied. But it was too late. “I really ought to dig these heels right into your face and massacre it! How fucking dare you!” Roger roared. Carmen backed into the corner. “That’s right, you get into that corner and cower there! I swear i’ll dig this shoe right into your face!” Roger roared. Then he threw one of his heels and just missed him, hitting a vase of flowers instead. He stormed upstairs and slammed the bedroom door.

Later, Carmen went upstairs and slowly entered the bedroom. Roger was sitting on the bed, weeping. He had thrown his wig and other heel across the room and only had his dress on. Carmen felt terrible now. “Roger? Darling?” he said, and went to kiss him. Roger lay down weeping and kicking his legs like a child having a tantrum. “Oh Roger, i’m so sorry. I never meant to accuse you like that,” Carmen said. Roger looked at him, his eyeshadow smudged from the tears. “Carmen, i’m sobbing because you’re right. That’s why i got defensive. I have been flirting with Leo Bloom. I’m so sorry,” he replied. Carmen was horrified. He fell silent. “You what?” he asked, angrily. Roger whimpered. “But it doesn’t mean anything. I truly love you. I do,” he said. Carmen felt sick. “Oh my fucking god! I had no idea you did it for real! What the hell, Roger!?” he yelled. Roger began caressing and kissing him. “Oh Carmen darling. I know i’ve been unfaithful. There’s no denying that. Please know that i’m truly sorry. I feel nothing for Leo Bloom. Trust me. I love you Carmen,” he said, lovingly. Carmen stood up. “You know what i think? I think you’re disgusting. I’m your partner and there you are flirting with another man behind my back. A man who isn’t even gay. You’re treating me like your boy toy,” he replied. Roger began weeping again and grabbed onto Carmen. “Oh Carmen please! Please forgive me! I love you! I no longer have any interest in Leo Bloom trust me!” he cried. “Trust you!? How can i ever trust anything you say ever again!?” Carmen yelled, and stormed out of the room, leaving Roger weeping on the bed.

That night, Roger came into the bedroom and lay beside Carmen. “Go away,” Carmen said. Roger began caressing him tenderly and kissing him. “Please Carmen. I’m deeply sorry. I swear I don’t have any feelings for Leo Bloom at all. Only you. You are the one i love. Forever. When i flirted with Leo i simply did it as a joke, I didn’t think how much it would affect you. Perhaps i’m too festive and wild sometimes with our guests. I’ll try and tone it down from now on. Trust me. And if i start up again, i give you permission to kick me up my ass,” he said, chuckling a bit. Carmen looked at him. “You really mean it?” he asked. Roger kissed him. “Absolutely,” he replied. Carmen smiled and wrapped his arms around him. “Let’s never fight like that again darling,” Roger said. Carmen kissed him.

[pretendicanwrite]

Cubs Would You Rather

A self-indulgent family game fic? NoOooOoOoOOo...

Character credit to @lumosinlove

**********

“Hello Lions Fans, and welcome to our very first episode of Would you rather, where we have a parent of one of our Lions ask some different players some tough questions. Today we have Miss Eloise Knut, Leo Knuts mother, Finn O’Hara, Logan Trembley, and of course, Leo Knut,” Marlene introduced.

Everyone waved toward the camera as they heard their names. They sat around a rectangular table, Eloise on one side, and the players on the other. There were shot glasses on the table, with some different drinks, and some orange juice.

“So, how this will work is Eloise is going to pick up a card and ask you all the question on it. You’ll answer her, and if you refuse to answer, or are unsure, you can take a shot. Got it?”

There were various forms of agreement from the group, and Eloise got the go-ahead to continue.

“Ooh, we are starting off stong. Boys, would you rather have your parents walk in on you, or walk in on your parents?” Eloise cackled at the boys' faces, each of them in different states of embarrassment.

Logan was the first to go, shaking his head and looking disappointed in himself. “I have walked in on my parents. That emotional trauma better count for something in this game. Nutter Butter, remind me to bleach my eyes when I get home. Thinking about it brought back that scarring image.” Logan let his head down and rested it on his crossed arms on the table.

“I guess it’s expected for parents to walk in on their teenagers, so I don’t think it would be that bad as a young adult. It’s a common thing,” Finn replied, looking thoughtfully up at the studio roof. 

“Mama, I’m so sorry that you walked in on me. I can’t believe I forgot to lock the door.”

Marlene interrupted behind the camera, pointing between Leo and his mom. “When did this happen?”

Leo groaned, imitating Logan’s position, while Eloise just laughed again. “When he was in high school, he had this boy that he would invite over. Foolishly, I thought they were just friends.” Eloise paused as Leo shouted, “We were!” but resumed quickly. “I walked in on them one time just making out naked on the floor. Needless to say, I was yelled at, Leo was yelled at, and Leo’s dad was yelled at for no reason. Anyway, he came out to us that night and he’s no longer allowed to close his door when he had friends over. Even now as an adult, when he and his boyfriends stay with us, there is a strict no closed doors policy.”

The camera crew and his boyfriends laughed as Leo let out a groan of annoyance. “It was one time. Please move on.”

Eloise picked up another card and snorted to herself. “I think I already know which one Leo’s going to pick. Would you rather shoot flowers or rainbows out of your eyes?”

The boys snorted again, Leo quick to answer. “If you're asking if I would rather shoot stupid flowers out of my eyes over freaking gayness, you don’t know me that well.”

Finn and Logan nodded, both letting out a short ‘same.’

“Would you rather send a dirty pic to your dad or your boss?”

“Oh god, I would rather die than send a pic like that to coach or cap. If I did, I have a feeling that I would get kicked off the team,” Finn replied, looking absolutely horrified.

Logan was about to go when Eloise interrupted. “Can we turn this into would you rather, dare addition? You have to pick which one, and if possible do it.”

Marlene looked at the director who gave her the go-ahead, so she gave Mrs. Knut a thumbs up. 

“Oh god,” all three boys groaned. 

“I guess I’d choose to send it to cap. I feel like he would be pretty understanding. It’s nothing we haven’t all seen in the locker room. And besides, I saw a text message to him from Loops, and let’s just say, I might have gone to see Heather after,” Leo answered, getting a small agreement from his shortest boyfriend.

“Alright boys, then pull out your phones.”

Eloise took all three of them, going through the different spots where they kept those photos. She took each boy's phone, pointedly not taking too much time choosing, especially when it came to her son's phone, and just tapped a random one.

She handed the phones back and checked them all to make sure that they had sent the photo to its intended recipient, with the caption, ‘thinking about your body,’ as requested by Marlene.

She picked up another card, turning to flash it at the camera. “Okay, would you rather be caught in the act by the cops or your current/future in-laws?”

Finn and Logan couldn’t even look Eloise in the eyes as they blurted out cops as quickly as humanly possible. 

“Which ones? O’Haras or Tremblays? ‘Cause I could tell you right now, the O’Hara’s would not give a crap. They are some of the coolest people I have ever met. One time they entered our apartment while I was in the middle of making dinner, and there was flour everywhere. It was in everyone’s hair, and instead of being mad that the dinner I had planned was ruined, she just rushed us all to the shower and made dinner herself. I would rather the cops catch us than have the Tremblays though. Don’t get me wrong, I love them, and they’re like my second or third family, but Logan’s sisters scare me.”

Everyone in the studio laughed at Leo’s answers, while Eloise picked up the next card. “Would you rather cuddle in the morning or at night?”

Logan smiled at his boys, and answered, “Definitely morning. We’re all really cuddly in the morning, and these two look gorgeous with the sun hitting them. Everything is all warm, and we get to relax most mornings.”

“There’s just something about cuddling at night when the apartment’s cold. We all get into bed and you two are like my personal space heaters.”

“Leo, love of my life, Achilles to my Patroclus, Remus to my Cap, you are always freezing. It doesn’t matter whether it’s night or morning, you always request us to lay on top of you like a blanket. Go spend some time in Canada and grow some weather tolerance. Morning cuddles trump all other cuddles.”

Logan stared at Finn and rolled his eyes. “Really? Achilles? You nerd.”

“I’m a gay English major. Be quiet.”

Eloise and Leo laughed, Leo, wrapping his arms around his boys.

“Alright, the last question, would you rather marry my son, or win 5 Stanley Cups in a row?”

Leo shared a secret smile with his mom while the boys took a second. 

Without even looking at each other, both boys responded “Marry Leo.” They smiled at Eloise, she grabbed one of each of their hands and pulled them closer to her so they were reaching across the table. “Good answer boys. Now do me a favor and turn around.”

They did as they were told, only to gasp when they saw Leo on one knee. He was holding a large blue velvet box in his hand, and there were small pools of tears in his eyes. 

“Loves, I have been in love with both of you since the day I walked into my first practice as an official Lions player. I was terrified, and the youngest person there. I could barely even look anyone in the eyes, then you both came over to me, wrapped your arms around me, and paraded me through the locker room. You introduced me to everyone, kept asking if I was okay, then showed me around town unprompted. You took care of me when I was an eighteen-year-old who moved halfway across the country to where I knew no one. Now, I want to spend the rest of my life taking care of you. So, will you marry me?”

Eloise got up to stand at the back of the table, rubbing a crying Finn’s shoulder. “Just remember that you have to follow through with your pick.”

Logan then turned towards Marlene who was smiling behind the camera. “You three planned this, didn’t you?”

“Are you just gonna leave me hanging here babes?”

Finn tackled Leo to the ground, making sure to keep his hand under Leo’s head, and smothering his face with kisses. “Of course, I’ll marry you Knutty. I’ll always marry you.”

Leo looked nervous as he sat up and looked at an unmoving Logan. He was staring at the floor where Leo’s knee had previously been. “Lo?”

“I was going to ask. I had the rings, and I asked Celeste to help me make dinner for you two. I had plans Nutter Butter.”

“So is that a yes?” Leo asked, smiling at his shorter boyfriend.

“Of course, it’s a yes, but if you ruin my plans again, I will use your intestines as straws.”

Everyone in the studio laughed again, and Eloise and the boys were crying.

They were interrupted by Leo’s phone going off. He picked up the call from Sirius, letting out a watery ‘what? You’re on speaker phone.’ He put it on speaker phone, and the mics picked up the sound. “Knut, why on Earth do I have two photos of you guys' junk in my messages. And why are you crying?”

“Umm, we’re playing a game of would you rather dare addition for the youtube channel.”

“That doesn’t explain why you’re crying. Are you okay?”

“We’re getting married?”

The screams were inaudible on the mics, the noises so loud that they couldn’t be picked up clearly.

Marlene stepped out into the frame of the camera and smiled and waved. “Thank you for watching! Please check out our channel, The Lions for more videos like this. Thank you!”

**********

Thank you for reading!

[honeyed-lemonade]

ITS TIME ITS TIME ITS TIME

s2ep18: Grand Theft Gato is out now!!! let’s do the live reaction thing

spoilers ahead-

intro: link mimicking the crew please he’s precious

MATT YOU TALENT I LOVE YOU

nevermind stop being mean to hermie WAIT HE SOUNDS LIKE SCOOBY DOO

dad facts:

anthony’s purposely oblivious quips are way too funny to me “he’d sit on the breadsticks?” shut UP TONY you’re a genius

“hi everyone my name is matthew arnold— known misogynist” will’s laugh gets me every time

I really hope that after all this is done normal and link have a vacation in tent city because will is such a positive force for dad facts

will campos— lover of women (norm sure doesn’t though am I right lads /j)

NORMAL’S FIRST KISS?? oh of course it’s another mascot-

“my first kiss was a threesome” what was that anthony 💀

everyone stop making fun of matt let the man BREATHE

alright let’s start the episode:

“you rustle within your calzone” horrifying.

“you manage to slither out of your calzone” WORSE.

no not the hiccups again freddie go get your straw

STOP SLITHERING??

sparrow,,, snaps dorito devito’s neck,,,, in front of his son. did he learn nothing from what happened to grant?

“we gotta go save hermie!” “…oh” MATTHEW.

willy’s back, jesus wept my god I hate this bastard. in their dreams too?? I mean we knew it was gonna happen but fuck this guy and his handsome face

he doesn’t actually care about scary I know that but wowwww is anthony a good actor. tbf I would believe him if I was scary

sober adult sparrow is so unsettling to me. the immorality of the now-dads is freaking me out!

I can’t imagine what it would be like for the children willy kept hostage to see scary being manipulated by him though, especially terry after he saw what happened to his dad.

anthony yelling anthony yelling dear god dramatically it’s fantastic but it always scares the shit out of me

ohhhh they syringed the whole population that makes sense

anytime will gets choked up or cries I lose my mind, his characters are always so sweet and it hurts-

NORMAL APOLOGIZING FOR HIS FAMILY’S BAD BEHAVIOR?? GOOD JOB. and taylor is such a good friend trying to make him feel better

“I’ll post-mates you over a cake!” “why a cake??” “…well you like cake” he’s the sweetest I love him and his rich mom

….is the guy Ms. Swift met Willy fuckstick Stampler

I KNEW IT FUCK

how does taylor NOT have unlimited minutes

I don’t trust him but also he’s being weirdly chill and I don’t know how anthony is going to make this work plot-wise. if he betrays scary it’ll seem repetitive, right? happy to see where it goes though

link is the tallest and taylor is the shortest so I’m certain link it’s dangling his phone over his head

“I’ll take my shoes off that helps” another autism flavored quote for link’s book everyone

HES HOLDING IT ABOVE HIS HEAD

“this is BULLYING” “yeah, yeah it is”

ffs matthew stop being the funniest this season /j

MATT HAD A TANTRUM OH MY GODDD

“maybe hermie and I have some psychic intuition!” just say you have a crush norm

no angst, no nothing, just a cool one-liner. what more could I have expected from hermie the unworthy?

oh thank GOD he didn’t go through the tunnels

is terry junior back in the tower he watched ron kill terry senior in?? that can’t be good for his emotional well-being

clearasil!! that’s a good one

ohhhh my god “human gun” this is terrifying

scary what are you planning this is ominous!!

omg it’s terry!! with a sword!!

OH MY GOD ITS WELCOME TO THE BLACK PARADE.

[yoongsisbae]

Handshakes of a Lifetime - Chapter 6

BTS soulmate AU. OT7 x reader / Taehyung x reader focused in this chapter, slight Jungkook x reader and Namjoon x reader

Usually by the time I finish a chapter, I will have a nice chunk of the next chapter done, when I finished chapter 5 I had TWO SENTENCES FOR THIS CHAPTER cries, ugh this was a journey lol but I had fun along the way :). Also, I wanted to shoutout @missseoulite I remember having a really bad day when I saw your sweet comment about being eager for the new chap and just knowing someone cared enough to wish me safety and care about my well being, well it meant a lot to me, so this chapter is dedicated to you my dear!!!! <3

Word count: 10.3k

Warnings: death, mention of a suicide, if you’re like me and don’t like to think about being old this chapter might trigger an existential crisis lol, cheating, men being sexist, angst but also fluffiness, sex with Taehyung, breeding kink, a character calls you and Tae children but you are two very grown adults I just wanted to make that super duper clear.

---

“I want to try, I think it would be worth it, you’ll be worth it.”

‘Why did he have to say that,’ you wince, looking over at the idol. He is beautiful, way out of your league, above you in every way, and he’s looking back at you like his whole world hangs in the balance. How could you reject him now. You groan.

You stand up. You place your palm in front of his face, your fingers splayed out, you can see his wide excited eyes in the gaps between them. You look at him expectantly. Taehyung nods, places his palm to yours, interlocking your fingers together.

Your heart thumps wildly as darkness fills the room. You open your eyes once you hear the familiar voice of your husband call out to you, “No need to fret anymore, my beloved. I’m here now.” Taehyung’s hand covers your old and frail fingers. You lie in your bed, body tired and weathered from all the years you’ve spent on this earth.

Your eyes roam over the room, taking in all the faces of your beautiful children and grandchildren. The pain in your tired joints fades as you focus on the man you’ve only grown to love more in all the years you’ve been together. It’s because of him you’ve lived a fulfilled life full of love. With him by your side you’re ready now.

You look up from your crouched position, the flowers you’ve picked lie fresh and pretty in your basket. You look to the dirt path where a man is running towards you. ‘What is a man doing here of all places?’ you think.

He comes to a stop once he sees you, hands on his knees as he gasps for breath. He looks young and beautiful, though his robes are askew and torn and his face glistens as sweat drips from his chin. You almost decide to ignore him and go back to your duties until you notice the red lines that peak from the uncovered parts of his torso. The cuts look painful. You hesitate, “Do you need some assistance?”

“Don’t mind me, fair maiden,” his breathing is still heavy as he speaks. He looks around, taking in his surroundings. ‘What is he looking for?’ you wonder. You can tell he is trying to hide his panic, but it comes through in his tense movements and jittery eyes.

“Are you sure you don’t need help?”

Four men on horse approach you. You notice they are soldiers by the gold plates that cover their body. You hold the flower basket a little tighter to your chest. The first soldier speaks, “Have you seen a man come through this way?”

“You’re the only men I’ve seen for days.”

You feel their lewd stares on you, your stomach churns from the unwanted attention. One soldier dismounts his horse and stalks closer to you. “A pretty little thing like you wouldn’t dare lie to us?” he questions.

“I swear on goddess Athena.” You stand still and look to the ground as he invades your space. The soldier brings a calloused hand to your chin to make you look at him, his companions snickering at your discomfort.

“For days? You must be lonely, poor sweet thing you are.” The other soldiers dismount and circle you. You try to keep your face neutral from the disgust you feel as their eyes rake over your body.

“It is as I said,” your eyes shift to the marble walls of the temple behind you. “I would not lie in Athena’s name, I am protected by her watch.” You emphasize your last words, keeping your limbs close and suppressing your instincts to fight and draw this encounter out any longer than need be.

The men look over to the temple and begin to move closer to the entrance. You follow after them, dropping your basket and letting the flowers scatter into the dirt in your haste.

“No men shall enter, unless you want to face the wrath of the goddess herself,” you yell from behind them. The men laugh. You find the courage to pull at the leader’s armour to cease his advancing. “You will be cursed if you go in there, sir!”

Taehyung’s eyes go wide as he hides underneath the blanket you’ve covered him in. He removes his hand from the temple’s wall, and brings his knees up and off the floor, trying to touch as little as possible of his surroundings.

The men scoff at your words, the leader shoves you away but does not advance any closer. You’ve taken up enough of their time, and they need to find this criminal before The Queen bestows her own kind of punishment upon them.

“Be careful, girl. There is a dangerous man fleeing prosecution, pray to your Goddess we find him before you do.” You find their warning quite ironic as you watch the leader kick your basket. You assume in an attempt to be intimidating, but in your opinion it makes him look more like a petulant child, your brow ticks in annoyance.

Only when they are completely out of your sight do you let go of the breath you were holding. You run into the temple, crashing into the stranger as he runs out.

“I’m sorry!” He exclaims, his hands grabbing onto you to keep you from falling. Electricity zips through you as you both break away stunned. You rub at your arms to take away your goosebumps. The stranger lowers the hand that clutched at his chest, his wide eyes looking at you in question.

“Is it true? A curse is the last thing I need right now!” he laments. You giggle. The soldiers called this man dangerous?

“The rules say no man is to enter, yes.” His horrified expression makes you laugh even more. “But...they are more like guidelines,” you assure him. “Enough temple priestesses have brought their fair share of men back and nothing too sinister has happened yet, by the gods.”

It does little to lessen his worry. He looks at you skeptically. “I thought Athena’s priestesses were supposed to stay virginal in honor of the goddess’s protection.”

“Oh,” you offer him a smile, “that is her protection. It is perception that protects us.”

You eye the man, his features are sharp, striking; almost intimidating; but his aura is quite soft. “...protects us from men. In this world there are very few true heroes, I’m afraid most only live inside songs.”

He looks at you in understanding. “My apologies, you had to deal with those soldiers alone. I couldn’t do anything to defend you.” He winces at the thought, “For you to have shielded me instead, I thank you.” He offers you a deep bow and you feel butterflies dance in your chest.

“Can I ask as to why you’re running?”

He looks to the direction he came, unable to meet your eyes. “Ahh, well...I am in poor favor with The Queen.”

Your eyes widen, you’ve heard rumors of her beauty even in the remoteness of your area, and even more of her kingdom’s hedonism. The man in front of you is truly beautiful. He could be one of her lovers, you think, he most definitely looks the part. His robes though now disheveled are of expensive fabric and show off his lean body, and the way he holds himself you can’t imagine him to be a common worker. “So, you and The Queen, I see...”

“Oh! It’s not what you think...I’m a mere poet. I sing to The Queen and her Court, but she suddenly wanted more of me than I am willing to offer. I-I rejected her.”

Your eyes widen again. “That was most unwise.”

He smiles, his eyes cast down. “I can bear the weight of my faults. I plan to leave to another province.”

“You’ll rather leave your home? But it is The Queen!”

“As you can see, there is punishment in denying The Queen of her desires.”

You’re astonished. “I can’t imagine being with her to be so horrible you’d choose to run instead, give up all you’ve acquired?”

“I rather give myself to someone for love.”

You feel your heartbeat quicken at his words, ‘so idealistic.’ You’ve never encountered an individual with such delicate presence, a trait you find most unconventional. A smile pulls at one of the corners of your mouth, “Aphrodite must favor you.”

Taehyung laughs, his eyes softening, “Thank you again, someone must favor me to put you in my path.” His warm dark eyes hold your gaze. “I mustn’t stay too long…”

“Yes, of course! Well then…” You falter in your farewell. He struggles with the decision to leave. Taehyung knows he must, The Queen’s soldiers could come riding through again at any moment, and he doesn’t want to think of the punishment they would bestow upon you if they learned of your lies, so why can’t he seem to let go of your company?

He notices the trampled flowers littered on the ground around you, the colorful petals lay beautiful and ruined, a fate he worries will become yours if he doesn’t make haste. He picks up an unbroken blossom. “Thank you again.” He places the flower in your palms, a warmth spreads over you through your fingertips as you hold your breath in reverence. His thumbs stroke your fingers gently, and then he nods at you one last time and moves to run again. You feel a pressure building in your throat, unready to bid him farewell, and you don’t understand why this man whom you’ve just met is affecting you so. His kindness and his gentleness makes your body yearn to learn more. What can you do, he’s a stranger and not yours to keep, you must let him go.

His flower stays cradled in your hands, you feel your chest tighten more and more with each step he takes that brings another stretch of distance between your bodies. Your limbs itch to move. What should you do? It is what you want to do that makes you so afraid. You silently ask Athena for guidance. It is only when he turns past the treeline and out of sight that you can’t take it any longer.

You run into the temple. You race to your small quarters, and gather anything you deem valuable, not very much. Pushing down the thoughts that tell you you’re acting crazed and without reason, you fasten your belongings to your body. You race out of the temple's entrance and crash once again into a body that jolts your nerve endings with an undeniable energy. You stare into his eyes once more, the man you saved. He looks down at you, eyes wide with surprise but full of mirth.

A horse carries you and Taehyung farther North. You travel in comfortable silence, as your hands rest snugly around his waist. After riding with him for so long, you are no longer shy to hold him, accustomed to being pressed up against his back. You listen to the steady rhythm of horse hooves against the earth. It is peaceful and you find yourself smiling against Taehyung’s back.

The bright lush green landscape turns dark and threatening as the two of you ride past an abandoned village. The wooden wreckage smolders still. You gasp at the sight, so many homes lost. Taehyung taps the horse’s body with his foot to quicken its step.

“Stop!” You yell at Taehyung once you notice a shift amongst the rubble. You jump off before he properly stops his stead, running towards the wreckage to confirm what you thought you had witnessed.

Taehyung runs after you, warning you to be careful. Once you reposition a large plank of wood, you gasp at what you see. There’s a bleeding old woman pinned underneath, still alive. You call for Taehyung’s help, the both of you pulling her as delicately as you can manage from beneath the rubble.

“I can’t believe you’re still alive, it’s a miracle by The Gods.” Taehyung holds the old woman’s hand as you run to the horse to fetch a canteen of water.

“Oh, a miracle yes,” the old woman coughs out, “fate has blessed me after much burden.”

You work to clean her skin of dried blood and ash, offering her water to drink. “What can we do to help?”

“My walking stick, it is most important.” Her eyes stay closed shut in pain, as she gestures to the place you’ve pulled her from. Taehyung rummages around until he pulls an item from the wreckage, an impressive staff decorated with gold markings and a large green gem adorned at its apex.

The old woman offers Taehyung her gratitude, feeling much more at ease she opens her eyes to look at the pair of you. You stare into the old woman’s clouded grey eyes in surprise.

“Thank you child, but hurry, the rain will wash the flames away, but will halt your journey for the day.” Taehyung looks upwards at the old woman’s words, white clouds are traveling across the bright clear blue sky.

You can’t leave the blind woman alone after everything she’s been through. “If it’s going to rain, please let us take you to the next village for shelter.” She nods and walks staff in hand towards Taehyung’s horse.

“Only a bit further, we will make it before it rains,” the old blind woman promises. Sounds of thunder echo faintly in the background. The sun is no longer out, hidden behind dark grey storm clouds. You shiver and rub the exposed skin of your arms for comfort next to Taehyung as the two of you walk next to his horse. He grasps your hand and pulls you closer to him. He radiates warmth. You never know how to react to his kind gestures. You look up at him and meet his gaze, sending him a shy smile. He rubs his thumb on your knuckles, smiling brightly back. If his intentions were to make you warm, he succeeded, your heart feels full.

“This is a farming community. They are a kind people who serve Demeter, the two of you are safe here,” At the old woman’s declarations you and Taehyung look at each other, exchanging unspoken words.

“This is where our paths must diverge. If you continue to follow this road, you’ll find sanctuary for the night, I promise.” Taehyung helps the old blind woman down from his horse. “Thank you again, children. I don’t have anything to offer you in return for your help, but I can give you some words of wisdom.” She smiles kindly at you both.

The old blind woman still holds Taehyung’s hand in hers. She turns his palm upward, her fingers trace the lines of his hand. You watch her curiously. “Ahh, your soul holds so much talent, you’ll find it’s both a blessing and a curse.” You giggle, Taehyung shoots you a look, his lips curving into a half smile. “Ahh, you know of it already. In the future, you’ll have a great choice to make, I can’t choose for you, but as someone who's lived many years and knows how dreadful and gray the world can become, my advice is to choose the path of love.”

“Always,” Taehyung’s eyes cast a look over to you and you feel shy once more under his gaze.

She brings her hand to Taehyung’s face to pat his cheek. “Dear child, too beautiful for your own good. It won’t be easy for you, for either of you, this path before you. Hermes wings have found your heels, you won’t find much rest in this life.” She looks sympathetic as her head turns towards you.

“Much like the universe has brought you to me, I see destiny is not a stranger.” She smiles at you knowingly. You hold your breath as she reaches for your hand, studying your palm alongside Taehyung’s. “Your souls...they have been linked together. I see the red string of fate wrapped tightly around you both.”

You find yourself wanting to believe her. Her words seem heartfelt and true, and you can’t deny her strong aura despite her fragile appearance. You catch Taehyung’s eyes again. Has he been looking at you this entire time? She continues, “This bond you have is quite unbreakable, not even death can cut what tethers you together.” She studies your hand more carefully, “Ahh, peculiar...”

“Do you see something worrisome?” you ask, concerned.

“It is nothing to worry dear, you have much love that surrounds you. Let yourself love. There will be those who will try to keep you apart, but take it from an old old woman, love is a stronger force than even the gods can imagine. It glitters brighter than gold and gives you riches greater than Kings. In the end, you’ll find a way.”

You think of her words all night. You look over to your companion, he sleeps peacefully next to you. Do you love him? Is this love? Is he your destiny? You pray to Athena for answers, but only more questions arise in your mind.

You think to the day you first met him, the memory bringing a smile to your face. You left with him, in the end. It was you who found the courage to ask him to take you with him, on the premise of wanting to see the world while moving to another temple. You expected him to let you down gently, you remember his hesitation still, but instead he had not refused you, and you have been traveling with him ever since. Being with Taehyung filled the holes of loneliness that punctured your existence before meeting. Your world had been small, consisting only within the temple’s walls. Now your world feels infinite, it’s thrilling and terrifying, and at the center of it all is Taehyung, gentle and kind and sincere in his affection.

---

You are jostled from your sleep. Taehyung pulls you gently from your bed, his lips placing tender kisses across your forehead as he pulls you to your feet. “I’m sorry, we have to leave again.”

This is not the first time you've had to run, or the second or third. So you pack the things you cannot part with and say goodbye to the rest.

Taehyung, the beautiful poet with a voice that can capture any audience's attention, has always been able to afford you both a roof and a meal. Taehyung’s performances become the talk of whatever acropolis you find yourself in, and his fame grows until his looks and voice catch the attention of someone too important to ignore. Fame is a wonderful thing until it becomes too much, too demanding, and all too quickly can Taehyung’s admirers turn into attackers, vilifying his every action. When that happens he decides to run, and you follow. You worry if it goes on like this you’ll have no more places left to run to.

You liked this place the most, it pangs your heart to lose your home again, but you know your true home is in Taehyung’s arms. You pack as many mementos of this place as you can carry, and hold the rest of your memories close in your heart.

---

“Like this,” you pull your bow back and look to the trees ahead where three pheasants sit perched. You choose the biggest bird and aim your arrow. You make sure Taehyung is studying your form and then you let the arrow go. The bird squawks sharply before falling to the ground, and the others scatter to the sky.

“See!” you laugh at Taehyung’s astonished face.

“How are you so much better at this than me?” The poet whines as you hand him back his bow and arrow. You laugh again. You and Taehyung have been learning to survive by yourselves through trial and error, more error than not. You’ve never had to hunt for food before, but you quickly found yourself skilled, and you think it’s quite fun. At least when you’re not starving, stomach already full from fresh berries Taehyung had picked for you to share. He had picked you flowers as well. They sit in your hair in an intricate pattern after you complained to him you couldn’t eat flowers. You slowly remove the arrow bag from around your neck, so as not to ruin the halo he so carefully crafted.

“I caught it, so you cook it,” you tease.

He brings your hand to his lips for a quick kiss. “That, my fair maiden, I can do!”

---

It is late and Taehyung has not arrived home. His performance should have been done hours ago. You try not to let your thoughts wander into the dark depths of your worst fears as you settle into a restless unease. Your home is quiet and still, too quiet. You keep your ears focused as you wander around the house.

It goes from quiet to chaos too quickly, you hear shouting in the distance. A hand grabs your mouth before you can scream, you start to kick but strong arms hold you tightly. Taehyung shushes you as he pulls you to the back entrance of your home.

You’re running into the woods with the poet, he pulls you to the ground and holds you beneath him. From the bushes you watch men with swords circle your house. You feel violated as you watch them enter your home. Crashes inside make you flinch in Taehyung's arms. “We’ll go back to fetch our things once they leave,” he shushes you.

The soft warm glow of your house becomes bright, light filling up the night sky as a fire breaks out and the men continue to destroy your home. Taehyung covers your mouth to stifle your cries and holds you close to him, whispering countless apologies. You can only whimper in his arms, your shoulders shake in grief as you watch everything you own go up in flames.

When you first came to this place, you and Taehyung stood out too much for the villagers' liking. You were strangers, you didn’t look like them, and they targeted you constantly for the pettiest of things. But this area was remote so you endured their hateful ways. It didn’t help matters when Taehyung, a much better singer than the locals before him, was offered an audience with the region’s King. Taehyung never made an appearance, letting other singers he befriended attend in his place, hoping to gain some favor with the locals, but it only angered the King. Feeling insulted, he killed the poets. And now, with enemies at both ends, and anger consuming the villagers, Ares wrath scorched your home to the ground.

You’re quiet next to Taehyung. Your feet ache from walking. No horse, no food in days. It’s nightfall and cold, you wear his cloak and shiver still. You walk beside the poet, but he feels oceans away. His usual bright eyes are dull and full of sorrow. You didn’t realize how accustomed you were to his touch until he had stopped. Your body aches to be in his arms, to hold his hand while you walk. You feel loneliness twist around you instead.

It is Taehyung who breaks the silence. He speaks softly, “There is a famous temple of Athena in this city, hopefully we can convince them to let you stay.”

The idea revolts you, pulling at the pit of your stomach. The thought of going back to your old ways, as if it would be a reprieve or something you missed, makes you nauseated.

“No.”

“I thought it would be enough...I-I was naive. I’m truly cursed. I can sing all about love, paint beautiful stories of love’s triumph, but when I cannot give you anything else but my devotion, it’s not enough. I can’t stand to watch you wither away in front of me. You deserve more.”

“The oracle said-”

“What kind of life is this for you?” He stops walking, his voice breaks in his anguish. “I-I’m sorry. I should have never taken you away from safety into this reckless existence. This should have been my burden alone.” Tears fall down his face as he shudders. You reach for him, cup his face in your hands. How can you make him see he’s all you want? He lets you wipe away his tears. You pull his head down to meet yours.

“What kind of life is this? The best life I’ve ever could have wished for. A life full of love. I’d trade everything I have for you.” You brush your lips against his, it stops his tears. His eyes fill with adoration, a blazing intensity that makes your heartbeat quicken.

“Stop this worrying, let’s go.” You grab his hand and pull him along. The silence hangs heavy in the air, the stillness of the night frightens you.

“Sing me a song please.”

“From now on I’ll only sing for you.” Taehyung says his words quietly, but his resolve thunders to the heavens, shaking the course of your lives.

The light of day shines through your open window, it illuminates the thin white fabric pulled over your head and wakes you. The white cloth flitters in the breeze of your bedroom and you catch a peak of the handsome man lying next to you. His dark warm eyes are already open as he watches you stretch your sleepiness away. He lifts his head, pulling the sheet higher, so he can get a better look at you, “Good morning, my beloved.”

Taehyung’s dark hair and tan skin against the glowing white backdrop of your bed sheets makes him look ethereal. You watch him in awe, “Good morning, dear husband.”

Your body feels heavy and rested. Your bare skin is warm against his and the sun heated sheet, the soft fabric pulls over your bodies, everything is so soft and warm.

Taehyung buries his head in your chest, smiling against your skin. “I love you.”

Your fingers play with the curls of his hair. “And I love you.”

Underneath the covers, you create your own little world, away from the responsibilities of your lives, the expectations of the day.

Taehyung runs his lips across your naked chest, kissing, licking, biting all over your body. You giggle at his playful teasing touches. “You’re perfection, so soft and pretty.” He captures your lips in a kiss, moving his mouth against yours slowly as his body rests between your legs. His hands find your waist and pull at your skin as he explores your mouth with his tongue, swallowing your moans.

Your legs wrap around his torso, you can feel him growing against your slick core. Taehyung's fingers find yours and he intertwines them together, pulling your arms above your head. He nibbles on the sensitive skin below your jaw.

“You smell so good,” he moans, “you taste so good.” His low baritone voice sends shivers down your body. You whimper, breathless from his caresses. He thrusts in slowly, rolling his body into you, slow and steady until you’re both feverish from mounting pleasure. “What do you want, my love?”

“Just you, please, I want all of you.”

He rolls you over so your body is on top of him. “You have me forever. Now show me how much you want me.” Your playful lover bites his lower lip, pulling on your hips to make you move against him. Your body moves up and down his length, Taehyung’s moans and devastating lustful looks spur you on to please him.

You roll your hips faster, so close to release. Taehyung notices your frenzied state and grabs your hips to hold you still, thrusting up into you instead. His hard length fills you up so deliciously. His grip on you is searing yet soft, you focus on his body below you, his tight muscles and golden skin. “I-I’m close.”

“Touch yourself for me.”

The room fills with sinful noises as your bodies converge again and again and you cry out in euphoria. Taehyung stills inside you as you reach your high, mesmerized by the way your body twist in pleasure in his arms.

Taehyung lays your trembling body down against the soft sheets of your bed, grinding his hips into you as you continue to pulse around him. “Eyes open, look at me my love.”

You struggle with his command, but hold his gaze as best you can, his physique shines with sweat and his hungry eyes roam over your spent body, the erotic way he looks at you ignites the desire in between your legs once again.

He’s so close to release. Taehyung quickens his pace, making you tighten around him, senses overloaded. You moan, encouraging him to keep going.

“You’ll let me fill you up? Have my baby?” His long fingers find your sensitive nub, applying pressure and making you cry out.

“Y-yes!” You can only feel blinding pleasure as Taehyung thrusts into you deeper.

“How beautiful you’ll be, glowing and pregnant with my baby growing inside of you.” He groans. Your stomach tightens as his cock swells, pressure filling you before you feel yourself snapping again. Taehyung’s own release following, your tightness too much for him to handle.

You hold him close to you as you both work to steady your breathing, “We have to start baking soon,” you softly remind him, “before the market opens.”

Taehyung cuddles closer to you, “It’s okay, they’ll wait for my bread, it is the best in the city.” He grins, kneading at your breasts with his large hands. You laugh, relaxing into his embrace.

“Okay okay, we’ll stay a bit longer.”

Your children gather around you in prayer. You take in a ragged breath. Your bedridden aging body feels heavy. Soft light begins to cloud the edges of your vision as you listen to the wistful voices of your sons and daughters shower you with love. Taehyung's fingers brush against your wrinkled digits.

“My beautiful wife, how I missed you.”

You call out his name. Your eldest daughter soothes you, brushing her hand over your forehead. You thought you would be afraid once teetering on the edge of your own mortality, but with him here, holding you again, fear is unable to reach you. You’re already so full of love.

Taehyung comes into your focus, still beautiful in his old age, still the gentle man you love, he places a feather light kiss on your temple. Relief washes through you, the currents pull the burdens on your soul away, and you feel light, floating between worlds.

“I’ve waited for you,” Taehyung’s deep voice fills your mind, “Are you ready to travel with me again?” You know your answer, innate as the love you felt when you first met him.

You take one final breath, letting go and following Taehyung again.

---

Your eyes flutter open. You’re lying face down on the hotel bed. As your eyes begin to focus, you are met with the singer’s face next to yours. Taehyung is lying on his back next to you, grinning from ear to ear, your fingers are still interlocked by your heads.

“What happened?” you whisper.

“I don’t know, I think we passed out, I woke up right before you opened your eyes.”

He looks at you, still beaming, a boxy smile plastered on his face. You try not to smile back. He shouldn’t be this happy!

“That wasn’t bad. You made it sound bad.” he pouts.

You hum, looking at your still intertwined fingers. You study the smooth skin of your hands, the wrinkles and veins you’d seen now only a fleeting memory. You feel tired.

Taehyung feels like he’s just woken up from a long dream. Memories of last night feel far away, more distant than memories presumably lived centuries ago. He focuses on the only constant, you.

“Do you regret it?”

You let out a deep exhale, you move your hand to trace his cheek, his nose, his eyebrow; he watches you quietly. You flick him on the forehead.

Taehyung yelps, looking quite betrayed by your actions. You smile, and his expression switches easily back to happiness. “It’s okay, you don’t have to admit I’m right,” he teases.

You let out a huff, “Doesn’t it bother you? It should bother you! Why is this happening...it’s exhausting...”

Taehyung wraps his arms around you and pulls you close to his body. “I don’t care why,” he mumbles into your hair. Your breath catches in your throat as he cuddles closer to you.

“Do you want me to stop?”

Your heart pounds. You try to stay calm. “No,” you whisper.

His arms tighten around your frame. His warmth envelopes you, it feels like there’s fire inside you, burning down all your apprehensions.

“So this is how it feels. I thought I understood Jungkook. But this is....” you feel his body vibrate as he laughs to himself. “It’s not something you can put into words, right? I understand what he means, about not wanting to let you go.”

Closing your eyes you can picture yourself being in a different place, a different land, another time, you let yourself relax into Taehyung’s embrace. You can feel his hands caress your body, his long fingers travel to the back of your neck and down your spine and the curve of your back.

“I know I’ve never hugged you, but it feels like I’ve done this a hundred times before. Like you belong with me.” His voice is low in your ears. You try to ignore how you feel, how true his words are, but you can't.

“Right? At least admit that to me, y/n.” He whispers. His fingers dig into your skin as he pulls you even closer.

“Hm?”

“You belong with me.”

“I-” A knock on your door makes you break away from him. Taehyung flops on his back, sighing. You open the door to the youngest and oldest members smiling at you.

“Good morning!” You internally wince at your unusually high voice. Jungkook looks over your shoulder, noticing movement inside your room. He sees Taehyung sitting cross legged on your bed, leaning back on his palms with a grin on his face. Jungkook’s doe eyes go wide as his head turns slowly over to the eldest, who then mirrors his expression. Their surprised faces would be comical to you if you didn’t feel responsible for their reactions.

Everyone’s silence is making your stomach twist into knots. You clear your throat. “I touched his hand, if that’s what you’re wondering.” Unable to meet their eyes, you feel the need to add, “That’s all that happened. So...okay, let’s go!”

---

Everyone is sitting in the penthouse, around the coffee table filled with plates piled high with different breakfast foods. Some are sitting on the floor, some on the couch with plates in their laps. Jin ushers you next to an open spot next to J-Hope and sits on your other side. Taehyung and Jungkook have been quietly talking behind you and find seats in the empty gaps.

“The food here is really good,” Hoseok says in between bites as Jin serves you a plate. He smiles brightly at you. Hoseok wishes he wasn't so apprehensive with you. He aches to get to know you, learn all your quirks, learn about your childhood and what makes you happy so he can shower you with more of it; and what makes you sad so he can make sure you never experience it again. But he's too scared, Hoseok feels too much guilt.

His hair is messy and sticking up in weird angles, you resist the urge to fix it. ‘Just keep your hands to yourself, y/n. He’s not your friend,’ you chant in your head. You look around at the men, cozy and warm in their group. You realize how much of an outsider you are.

“Here,” Jin places a triangle of sweet toast on your already overflowing plate. You eat quietly while the members talk to themselves and check their phones. It feels nice, like a big family dinner on the holidays. You watch Hoseok take a selfie with his phone, a minute later you feel your phone vibrate with a notification.

“You posted to twitter just now?” Hoseok notices the panic in your voice as you magnify the picture to make sure there’s no item or reflection that might incriminate you.

“Err yes, why?” he scoots closer to you to see what you’re doing.

“I just-didn’t think it was that easy.” You scroll quickly through your timeline now that you’ve made sure you’re safe, Jin and Hoseok both moving in your space to stare at your phone much to your dismay and you think it’s time to put it away after the third photo of Namjoon’s toned arms pop up on your feed.

After stuffing yourselves full, the time has come to address the elephant in the room. The members take turns reliving the moments of last night, and in Taehyung’s case this morning, explaining everything so the group could all remain on the same page.

Namjoon should have been upset, once Taehyung shocked the rest of the group by speaking, but being in the same predicament himself, he was not surprised to learn Taehyung sought you out, he had barely slept toying with the idea himself.

You don’t talk much, just confirm certain details. You noticed how the men glossed over the most tragic parts of your visions, and you don’t care to interject. You learned new things as well...

Jimin finding his way back to your farm, only to find it destroyed and you gone, and unable to live with himself after that. You can’t meet each other's eyes when you tell him your own version of events.

Jin wanted to propose, he had picked out a ring, a bright blue gem like the ocean.

Taehyung had convinced you he stopped singing as a bard because he grew to hate it, but he confessed, to your suspicion, that wasn’t the case at all. He promised you he never once regretted his decision.

Hoseok took the job as a DJ because when you were younger you were obsessed with your local station, swooning over the DJ's voice and always calling in to win contests for you and Hoseok. He always had an affinity for music, but mostly he did it for you, to impress you.

Yoongi almost didn’t admit he had never really left your side, how he never stopped protecting you. That had shocked you the most. Your heart screams to comfort him, to comfort all of them.

Jungkook excitedly tells you everything he had planned for your escape, he used his life’s savings to find you and him a new home far away. He tells you how if you both had succeeded you would have been so happy with him.

It felt weird. All these lives inside you itching to burst through, you didn’t feel like yourself anymore. You meet the idol’s eyes sitting next to you, and when he looks at you so tenderly, you wonder who he really sees.

“Yoongi’s life was the coolest.” The quiet rapper keeps his head down, only nodding in acknowledgement at Jimin’s comment.

“Well I liked mine,” Taehyung declares. “Which one was your favorite, y/n?”

“I’m not answering that,” you mutter, growing hot under the sudden attention.

“Hmm I don’t see a connection.” Namjoon hums. “Apart from y/n.”

“Should there be one?”

“I’m assuming nothing strange like this has ever happened to you before?” Namjoon turns to you. You shake your head. “Have you ever had dreams, um, of us?”

“No! I mean-what? No.” You pull the neck of Jungkook’s hoodie over your mouth to hide your embarrassment, with no intention on admitting anything. What does dreaming have to do with this?

Namjoon stays silent in thought. Should he tell the group now?

“I should probably go now.” It’s no longer morning after talking for so long. You have a life to go back to; chores, work. You hope being back in your home will make you feel more like the old you, before everything you thought you knew was turned upside down.

Jungkook stands up, “Why!”

“I have work in the morning? Not everyone is a famous world class musician,” You try to keep your tone light, but you’re bothered.

His lips press into a tight line. “I know, just…”

You have responsibilities, a job to go to tomorrow, you don’t want to entertain the wild fantasies arising in your mind at the way he looks at you so pleadingly to stay. “I can’t stay here all day.” You stand up as well, the members’ eyes dart back and forth between you and Jungkook, like they were watching fighters in a match.

“I don’t want you to leave.” Jungkook blurts out.

You close your eyes and rub at your temples. It’s becoming too hard, to keep pushing these feelings away, you cannot allow yourself to feel things for these men. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. What do you want from me?”

Jungkook speaks louder, “Do you not want to be with me?”

“I’m-that’s not-it’s not that simple. You don’t even know me! Do you want to be with me-”

“Yes.”

You let out an incredulous laugh and look around the room, but the men look starkly serious. You focus on the youngest again, raising your voice so everyone can hear you clearly. “I’m a nobody. You don’t know me. Name one thing you know about me other than my name...name my favorite color! If you can name my favorite color I’ll sta-”

Jungkook names your favorite color. His eyes piercing through you. Your breath catches in your throat.

‘How did he-wait...was it her favorite color too?’ Tears well up in your eyes. “...I’m not her.”

Jungkook winces at your words, “You’re right, I don’t know who you are right now. But you are...I know you are...the woman I fell in love with. What are you so afraid of?”

You look down at the ground to your feet. You can only shake your head at him and keep your mouth shut so you don’t start crying in front of them. You feel a hand wrap around yours and you already know who it is. You yank your hand away. If Yoongi is hurt, he doesn’t show it to you.

“I’m sorry, I know my life is difficult, that I’m a ‘famous musician,’ but isn’t it better than a poor stable worker? Can’t you see how meeting you again, this might be, maybe...fate?”

A pained laugh escapes your throat, letting go of the pressure you built up in your forced silence. “Oh my god. This is not happening.” Yes, maybe you can finally admit what happened was real, but what does that change? It’s not like you can run away with him in this life either, the entire world recognizes him now.

Your hands hold your head, your nails dig into your skin to concentrate on anything other than Jungkook’s continuing pleas. It’s just laughable to think this idol is begging you to stay with him. A sick thought invades your mind that maybe you’re doomed to repeat your transgressions. The memory of his bleeding body flashes in your mind, you’re not meant to be with them, how could you be? They’re the most famous singers in the world, yeah, you are afraid.

Jimin tries to calm down the youngest, “Kookie, you can’t force her to stay here…”

Jungkook is beside himself. He feels you slipping through his fingers again, away from him and even if it’s different now, it feels too sickeningly similar.

“Hyung please, you’ve been with non-idols, please talk to her...please!” Jungkook is crying, begging Jin.

A strangled sob escapes your throat at his cries. Hoseok rushes over to you, but you scramble away from his touch. You know you’ll break the second you let him comfort you.

Jin’s heart is breaking; for Jungkook, for you, for himself. He doesn’t know what to say, he’s just afraid as Jungkook of letting you go. Finally Namjoon decides to take control of the situation, the only one with a clear head. “Everyone leave. Now. Y/n deserves her space, and we still have four more days left in this city. Alright go!” The boys pull each other away, holding onto each other for strength, trusting their leader.

Yoongi pats a crying Jungkook on the back, “It’s okay, Joon will convince her.”

---

Your eyes hurt from crying, puffy and dark. You feel pathetic. Your head is pounding, you lean against the car window as you watch the blur of the city go past.

“Here.” Namjoon sits across from you, leaving the middle seat open. He hands you a cell phone.

You hold the sleek new model in your hand, “What is this?”

“It’s a hand phone,” the idol says teasingly.

You can’t help but let out a small laugh. “What is this for?”

“For you, to contact us.” Namjoon shrugs, “If you want to.” You sit in silence as his driver takes you home.

“You haven’t asked to touch my hand. Do you not want to?” You ask, sneaking a glance at the rapper.

“Of course I want to,” he speaks softly. “It’s all I’ve thought about since I saw you. But you’ve gone through a lot. I’ll let you decide if it’s something you want to do, and when you’re ready I’ll be here.”

You bite your lip. “For four more days.”

Namjoon smiles, his dimples on display. “Yes, I’m guessing you didn’t get tickets for the next city?”

“No, I wish. Those fanmeet tickets weren’t exactly cheap.”

Namjoon chuckles softly, “Ahh sorry.”

“Well, I did get a free breakfast with BTS, lucky me,” you hum. He nods, his eyes cast down. You hope he didn’t catch any bitterness in your tone, under any circumstance you would be dying of happiness.

You let the silence envelope you again, as you start to recognize the streets, you’re getting closer to home and to being left alone. You sigh, running your hands over your face, “Oh god, this is a mess.”

“I don’t think it is. I think there’s a reason for everything. And I think there’s a reason why this happened to you. To all of us.”

“What could that reason be?” You ask him genuinely, maybe the genius idol sees something you don’t.

“I don’t know. I do know it’s lonely being an idol. It’s hard to love, to find someone to love you and not break under the constant pressure.”

“I don’t know if I can be that person.”

“Well to me, it sounds like you’ve already been that person.” You want to scoff, but the sincere look in his eyes makes you stop. The GPS signals your arrival home.

The air is heavy as you gather up the strength to leave, “I will message you later, I promise. Just give me some time.”

You watch the expensive van leave your entrance. You couldn’t see through the dark tinted windows, but you had a feeling the idol was watching you, so you held yourself together and waved goodbye.

---

You know you should have just gone inside your home, but you had something to do first, it was driving you mad not knowing. So now you stand in front of a door that’s not your own still in clothes that are not your own. You send a text of your arrival and knock.

“Hi!” You pretend you aren’t exhausted, “I just have to try something-”

He looks at you dumbfounded as you grab his hand and start shaking it. Nothing. ‘Of course, just wonderful.’ You switch to two hands, shaking more forcefully.

“What’s going on...” his voice is shaky from the intense movements of your greeting. ‘Why is nothing happening, why is it only them, Ugh, why!’

“Earth to y/n...” why why why why.

He grabs your arms to stop your movements “Hey, are you okay? You never responded to my calls, I was worried.”

“I’m sorry,” you look into his concerned eyes. It feels like eons ago, whatever budding feelings you had for him. Why.

“Do you want to come in?”

“No, I better go.”

“You came all the way over here and you don’t want to tell me how last night went? You meet BTS and now you’re acting all crazy! You didn’t decide to leave me for one of them, did you?” your friend jokes.

“Ah ha aha…”

He raises his eyebrow at you. “I have work tomorrow...I just wanted to see you.” It’s the truth, you’re not lying. “I’m sorry for not responding last night. I’ll see you later?”

He gives you a kiss goodbye. ‘Oh no.’ It all feels so wrong.

---

The first day, you send Jungkook an apology. He sends you a ton of voice memos and selfies, just happy to talk to you again. You respond with light replies, trying not to dig your hole any deeper.

The second day, that night you break down. You send all the boys a simple “hi”. Yoongi, Jin, Taehyung, Jungkook, and Namjoon all respond. They send messages about their day. Jin sends you a picture of his food. Yoongi says he misses you. Against your better judgement you tell him you miss him too. Suspiciously, after your reply Jungkook and Taehyung message that they miss you seconds apart from one another. You tell them you miss them too, when Taehyung says he wants to see you, you’re too scared to respond.

The third day you stay busy with work. Hoseok sends you a picture of the sunset, his first message to you, nothing else. You wait until the night comes and send a picture of the moon from your window, and ‘Goodnight. Sweet dreams.’

The fourth day the pressure becomes too much. You hover over the call button all day but you can’t do it. By dinner time, you get a call from Jungkook. You try to swallow down the tears you’ve cried all day and sound cheerful when you answer.

“I just wanted to call before we get on the plane,” he says.

‘It’s too late. No.’ you think. “I’m sorry, tell Namjoon I’m so sorry. I should have seen him before you all left, I should have...”

“Don’t worry y/n. No one blames you.”

“That doesn’t mean what I did was okay. I wanted to see you all again.”

“You did?” The way his voice becomes more cheerful tugs at your heart. “You can make it up to us by talking more. Can I video chat with you later?”

“Okay.”

“Okay, got to go...Bye Beautiful.” He sounds like he’s in a much better mood, you can hear the teasing lilt to his words.

Weeks go by. You keep your promise. It’s easier communicating through the screen of your phone. You can imagine them to be online friends, people who are not famous. Some conversations stay light, some become deeper. They pry information from your life, learning more and more about you, and you feel yourself getting attached to their morning greetings and late night calls. Meanwhile, with family and friends you try to act like everything is normal, keeping this weird new world hidden, but you’re still constantly haunted by your memories with them. Your past lives play through your mind all day long and replace your dreams. Everything else felt so wrong now, so not you anymore, so gray. You feel like a bad friend, a bad daughter, a cheater.

---

Namjoon wakes up, groaning, his body still heavy from sleep. He quickly changes into a pair of slacks and a button down shirt. He chooses a forest green vest to wear, like the plants in his room. He runs pomade in his hair before heading downstairs to get ready for the morning.

He unlocks the door to his bookstore, before he can turn around the door opens with a loud ding. You walk in and make a beeline to the center table. Namjoon laughs, “Back so soon?”

“Of course, I’m so bored! My crops won’t be harvestable for another couple of months. Any other recommendations? I loved your last one.” You smile brightly at the bookstore owner, he’s always so kind to you and doesn’t make you feel like an outsider when you visit. If you could, you would spend all day in his store, talking about the latest novels and picking each other's brains. “Before I forget! For you...” You hand him two jars of homemade jam.

You're his favorite customer. And if Namjoon is being honest, he has a crush on you. He pulls a book from high above a shelf, a pristine copy. “This one, it should keep you busy.” Your eyes sparkle as you take in the large leather bound novel, gold letters adorning it’s spine. “How much?”

“Don’t worry, this one time I’ll take jam as payment.”

“No, that was a present,” you pout.

“Well, then this is a present for you.”

“Sir, if you don’t let me pay, I will throw a fit! I need you to stay in business.” It’s always like this with him, you’ll be damned if he doesn’t let you show him how much you appreciate him.

Namjoon laughs, “Alright alright. Then promise me you’ll come visit as soon as you finish.”

You nod, holding your new purchase close to your heart. He watches you leave, his eyes lingering on your body. You hold onto his book like a prized trophy. It’s another thing he loves about you, the way you treat things with so much care. His eyes still linger on you as you stand outside his shop. He sees a stranger run into you, you stumble back and almost fall, he rushes to the door to help you but stops in his tracks as the man's face comes into focus. “Jimin?”

Namjoon wakes up startled. He runs his hands through his hair, disturbed at what he saw. He’s covered in sweat, inside the cold room of his bedroom. Every night he’s had dreams of you, but this one was different. Should he go talk to someone about it? Who would believe him? He feels like every day he’s slowly getting closer to losing his mind. Today is going to be a long day full of press junkets. He rubs at his eyes trying to forget what he saw, what he felt.

---

Today you decide to call Namjoon. Usually, you’ll wait until one of the members decides to call you, but you had to talk to him before you lost your nerve. He picks up on the second ring. “Hey, I can’t talk for that long, is everything okay?” you can hear how busy it is in the background.

“No it’s my fault! I’m sorry, I’m an idiot, of course you would be busy. Call me when you’re free.”

“No! I have some time, we can talk.” You hear him shuffling to a quieter location.

Are you going to regret this? You take a deep breath. “I want to see you again. I-I don’t want to forget about what happened and go back to my life like everything is normal when it's not. You were right. I’m sorry...I’m sorry it took me so long to realize it.” You wait for Namjoon’s response, the silence fills you with anxiety. You would completely understand if he brushes you off now.

“I’ll figure something out. Okay y/n?”

“Okay.”

“I’ll see you soon.”

“See you.”

That night Namjoon sends you a series of text messages with instructions. Your eyes go wide over the new information. You look around your home, you know you should feel some sadness, but only excitement bubbles inside you. ‘I guess this is it.’ How are you going to explain this to your family and friends, to your boyfriend? A special internship in South Korea, you guess is how you’ll start.

---Three Months Later---

Namjoon splashes cold water on his face, he looks up into his bathroom mirror and blinks at his reflection. Namjoon’s eyes are not his.

Namjoon wakes up yelling. He falls back into bed, catching his breath. He checks the time. You should be on the plane right now. The idol rapper has always appreciated the wealth he’s accumulated over the years, but he feels especially grateful in this moment, now that he has found himself in a position of power large enough to secure you with a translation job within his own company.

---

A man holds a sign with your name on it. You walk towards him, your suitcase ticking on the airport concrete as it rolls on the ground behind you. You spent the last three months preparing for this, studying over language books every night and saying goodbye to family and friends. Your parents didn’t understand your sudden change of career, but you promised them the pay was better and it wouldn’t be forever. Your boyfriend was not so understanding, especially when you wouldn’t give him any details as to why you’re leaving the county. You and him weren’t even that serious to begin with but the breakup was messy.

You followed the driver’s instructions once he dropped you off in front of a very posh looking complex, entering key codes, up the elevator, down the hall, until you stood in front of the correct numbered door. You use the key he gave you to unlock the large door and walk into a massive apartment. Every member is already inside, waiting for you. You feel relief wash over you, you can’t help but smile at the group. They cheer at your arrival, you notice balloons and a makeshift welcome sign. The mood is definitely much more relaxed from the last time you all gathered together.

“Is this your place?” You ask as Jungkook takes your suitcase.

“No, this is your apartment.”

Your eyes go wide, “This is way too big!”

Taehyung jumps up and gives you a hug. The months you talked made you feel much more comfortable around them, but you still weren’t prepared for the rush of emotions that filled you once in his embrace again.

“It’s the smallest unit in this building,” Yoongi lets you know.

“And I’m guessing I can’t go to another building.”

“Our dorm is in this one,” The youngest member explains.

“How…” You take a deep breath, eyeing Jungkook up and down, “...convenient.” You take a seat with them on the ridiculously huge couch, next to Yoongi and Jin.

You sigh, stretching your sore jet lagged muscles. “Need to go to the bathroom?” Yoongi whispers at you teasingly.

You snort, his words taking you out of your worries. “Funny,” you mutter.

The eldest helps you fill out a stack of forms for your employment while the rest set plates of takeout on the living room table. You eat your first meal in Korea together. Sitting together, laughing together, you feel better than you have in months. It’s that feeling you get when you’ve finally completed a puzzle, placing the last piece in its place. You feel complete.

Taehyung’s words pull you from your thoughts.

“So y/n, when are you gonna hold Joon’s hand?”

“Oh, um…”

“You came all the way to Korea for him, right!” Taehyung teases.

“She doesn’t have to...” Namjoon murmurs.

“Oh c’mon! You can’t tell me you haven’t been going crazy waiting!”

“Yeah, I agree with Tae!” Jimin laughs.

“Do it!” Jungkook cheers.

“Do it! Do it! Do it!” The youngest members are chanting at the pair of you. You feel the heat rise in your face. You had planned on it, you wanted to find a way to get Namjoon alone, but now with all the attention on you, you feel apprehensive. You look over to Namjoon who looks equally as embarrassed. ‘I don’t want to do this,’ the thought screams in your head.

It has been months, Namjoon has waited for this moment. Now that he’s being put on the spot, he’s apprehensive. Ever since his bandmates touched you, they have acted differently, it might not be noticeable to anyone around them, but Namjoon noticed. Would he change too? Before he can yell at his bandmates, you stand up and walk over to his seat. “They aren’t going to stop,” You whisper, holding out your hand. He sighs and stands up.

“So?” Jin asks when he notices the lack of reaction from both of you as you grip each other's hands.

“Um, nothing is happening.” You stare at the rapper, but his attention is on the place where your hands meet, brows furrowed in disbelief.

“This doesn’t make sense..” He starts shaking your hand up and down as if that might help, it reminds you of the night he dropped you off, and you know exactly how he feels.

“Maybe it’s because I’m jet lagged or something? We could try again later...” you try to soothe the rapper but you can tell he is growing more and more upset with each passing moment, and your arm feels like it's going to dislodge from your shoulder the more he shakes.

The members have all gone silent.

“Maybe you don’t have a past life together?” Hoseok places his hand on Namjoon’s shoulder to stop his movements. No one expected this.

“No, that’s not-we have to-I know it!” Namjoon tries to stay calm but his voice is full of panic.

“Maybe it had something to do with that time, the planets aligning or something?” Jimin says. Is this your fault? Because you were too scared. What have you done? You’re rethinking everything now, you shouldn’t have come here.

“No.” Namjoon is right, he knows it, “that’s not it...” It doesn’t make sense, he knows there’s a connection between you and him. He lets the confession tumble out of his mouth before he can properly think. “Your name, I knew it! How would I know your name?”

You look at him confused, “What do you mean?”

Namjoon bites his tongue. He lets go of you. He blinks his eyes to get rid of tears threatening to spill. The mood is gone and everyone is silent. You feel horrible. Somehow this is your fault, you know it.

“Joon...” The eldest member calls out to him.

“I-I need some air.” Namjoon breaks away from the group.

“Wait!”

---

OOOOooo you had a whole ass boyfriend and you went and tongued Yoongi, scandalous. Looks like poor Joonie got the spiritual cockblock. Should I explain myself lol or do you like drawing your own conclusions?

Oh! Fun fact, the two sentences were this: Your eyes flutter open, you’re lying face down on the hotel bed. Taehyung is lying on his back next to you, grinning from ear to ear, your fingers are still interlocked by your heads. That’s what I had to go on T_T hah. Anyways let me know what you think <3

[gyusfavlibra]

YOU MAY NOT COPY OR REPOST MY WORK ANYWHERE!!!

This is a imagine I made on my Wattpad that hasn't been released yet so I posted it here. @ivnasfilm is my wattpad btw!

Warnings: Fluff? Smut? Sexual interactions, language, cockblocking, Ward Cameron mentions, grinding, mentions of sex

••••

"Are your parents home?"

"No, they're at Thornton's for a couple hours."

"Sarah and Wheezie, too?"

"Yes," Rafe replied to his questioning girlfriend, Y/n. The duo have been dating for a year now. Y/n has been inside Rafe's house many times. She met him through her brother Kelce. He was pretty worried about it at first, but eventually Kelce would've had to get over it because Y/n is 18. She's a legal adult. She can do whatever the hell she wants.

They got closer by attending parties together, spending days at the country club, golf course. Sometimes even just sitting and talking at the beach. It was more than enough for both of them and they enjoyed it all. They made it official by attending Midsummers together. It was a pretty big deal to them since every single Kook would now know that Rafe Cameron officially had a girlfriend.

The first time she met Sarah, they hit it off pretty well. Did sleepovers, painted nails, read magazines about hot guys. Basically girly stuff. Even took fun trips on the Cameron's boat to get away from their boyfriends. They became best friends and truly loved each other's company.

Just like Rafe enjoyed Y/n's.

"Sooo, can I come inside?"

He leant his head back against the car seat. Staring at the girl who was sitting in the driver side of her vehicle. "Can you come inside?"

"Yeah, or- do you want me to?"

The mood in the car lightened as their talk became less questioning and more seductive. Y/n leaning over the center console, her breath hitting Rafe's face in all the ways he likes. Her hand reached over, brushing against his thigh.

"Do I even have to answer that?"

She shook her head at the Cameron before connecting their lips. Softly and gentle was how it was starting off, before Rafe placed his hand onto the zipper of her jeans.

"Not in here. Let's go inside."

"Okay."

The couple exited the car, Y/n making sure to lock it, and headed inside the house. Rafe using his own key to get indoors. They ran up the steps to Rafe's room, shutting the door behind them. Y/n removed her maroon crew neck, sitting herself on Rafe's bed as he removed his t-shirt.

He gently pushed her down sliding his heavier body between her legs. Leaving little kisses from her chest and up. He knew better than to give her hickeys on the neck because of Kelce so he avoided that.

His hand ran itself up and down her waist, giving it a small squeeze. They liked skin pressure. Tension. They began moving upwards, pushing under her cami top. A cropped tank that protected your breast if you didn't want to wear a bra. She tend to wear them often when around Rafe for these special purposes. And today, she just got lucky.

His thumb grazed the side of her breast. "Can I take this off?"

"Mhm."

"Hey Rafe, I need a the U-"

Before he could continue, Wheezie came barging through the door. Covering her eyes. Rafe groaned at the fact that his sister didn't knock. Knowing whenever the door is closed, you knocked.

"Wheezie, we talked about this-"

"I know. I'm sorry. I keep forgetting," she sighed. "Hi, Y/n."

"Hi, Wheez."

"What do you need? Why aren't you at dinner with dad and Sarah?"

"Halfway through the dinner, Rose threw up because Topper's parents made snail and she didn't like it. She made an excuse saying she was probably coming down with the flu. So we came back early."

"What did the Thornton's say?" Y/n asked. Intrigued by this hilarious story as Rafe put back on his shirt.

"Nothing. Just that we should head home just incase they could catch whatever it was."

"That sounds awesome!"

"Yeah, I know. Hey, wanna see the video."

"Oh absolutely," Y/n exclaimed, getting up from Rafe's bed. He sighed as he watched the two girls laugh at the gross vomiting. Althought part of him was glad Y/n was getting along with his little sister. "That's freaking gross. Cool. Like really cool. But gross."

"Yeah, i'm gonna upload it to my Instagram."

"Tag me?"

"Obviously."

"Awesome! Thanks."

Rafe stood. "So, what did you need?"

"I need the USB cord to connect my phone and laptop to upload the video in a file just in case dad and Rose make me take it down."

He huffed out his breath, walking over to his desk. He opened the top drawer, pulling out a mid-length white cord, handing it to his sister. She thanked him and tried to leave, but Rafe stopped her at the doorway. Death glaring her.

"I'm not gonna tell anyone. Chill out. Not like I wanna talk about it and picture it again."

"We weren't doing anything."

"I may be young, but I'm not stupid."

"She's got a point," Y/n agreed. Wheezie fist bumped her and left. Rafe shutting the door behind her. He turned to Y/n who just shrugged at the annoyed boyfriend of hers.

He smiled as he walked up to her, pushing his face close to hers. "Now, where were we?"

"You tell me."

He chuckled, the vibration against her lips sending chills down her whole body. He kissed her seductively like he did once before. This time Y/n pushed Rafe down onto the large bed, enough room for her to switch that position.

Her hands rested on his ribs as she grinded her clothed area against his member. A moan escaped her lips as a huff left his. The jeans in between them horrifying this exciting interaction.

She swayed her tongue and lips against his neck. His eyes rolling to the back of his head, letting out a grunt. She scooted down a few inches so she wasn't sitting directly on top of his belt.

"God, these pants got to go."

"So do yours."

She undid the strap of his waistline. Next thing was unbuckling his pants. She undid the button that lied above the zipper before grabbing the loose metal tab, pulling it down it's line.

"Rafe, dad needs you downsta- HOLY SHIT!"

"OH MY GOD," he groaned out loud. Y/n pushed herself off the dirty blonde, landing beside him. Sarah stood in the doorway, eyes covered, laughing.

"Stop laughing."

"You guys were totally about to do it," she sang as she pointed between them.

"Shut up, Sarah."

"Dad wants you. Said something about the golf course or country club. One of the two. I don't know," she shrugged as she sat beside Y/n. Rafe looked to his girlfriend.

"I'll be right back. You," he pointed to Sarah. "Be gone before i'm back."

"Will do, dickeroo."

Rafe left downstairs as Sarah turned to Y/n and smiled with eyebrows raised. "What are you staring at?"

"Uh...you. Were you guys about to have sex? Since when?"

"Well our first time together was months ago. Like 3 or 4."

"When we were first friends, you said you never planned on having it until you're married. Since when has that changed?"

She shrugged. "Since I met Rafe."

"You guys are too adorable. Well you, not him. Can't stand him."

"Yeah, I know. Sometimes I can't stand Kelce. I wanna kill him."

"Yeah, well let me get going before Rafe tries to kill me." (No pun intended)

She hugged Y/n before leaving the room, just as Rafe walked back in. This time locking the door before shutting it. "That is the last interruption for the night. I told everyone I was going to bed."

"Well, good cause I am trying to get my freak on," she laughed as he jumped back onto of her. Finishing what they've been trying to start.

Thanks for reading!!!

[ptergwen]

Could you write a fic where Tom is in an interview and talking about the reader as his current gf and also being his first love/childhood love?

woah i wrote kind of a lot like we got DETAILED here 😭 have fun

tom’s love life has been the topic of many conversations over the years. he’s gotten countless questions about who he’s dating and what he looks for in a partner. you’d think the hype would die down at some point, but no. even more rumors have begun to spiral as he promotes cherry.

thank the nosy interviewers for that. they’re taking all their chances to get up close and personal.

“so, let’s talk about love,” an interviewer prompts tom one afternoon. he sits up straighter in his chair, expression serious. “sure, let’s.” “what do you think about it?” she’s being vague so she’ll get the most clickable answers. “do you mean, like, in this film? or just in life?” tom wears a curious smirk now. he glances off to the side, where you’re sat watching.

you’ve been sitting in on his interviews as of late to keep him entertained. as much as the movie means to him, he gets bored of answering the same questions about it. having you there to snicker at his jokes or blow him kisses really livens things up. it’s been that way since you were little. you’re always cheering tom up even if he doesn’t realize he needs any.

“both,” the woman replies, mirroring his cheeky smile. “right, that’s what i thought.” tom clears his throat and raises an eyebrow. “so i’m not mistaken, love in my own life?” “anything you feel like sharing.” she beams into the camera while he nods to himself. you give tom a little smile of approval, which he catches from the corner of his eye. he chuckles at the gesture.

“easy enough. i’ll start with cherry, then,” he decides, getting back into the movie. the interviewer nods for him to go on. “you know, cherry’s always been kind of unlucky in the relationship department.” tom pauses for a moment to collect his thoughts. “until he meets emily, and things are still a bit complicated with her. i’d say it’s the same way for me.”

you jaw drops off camera, tom doing his best to stifle a laugh. he’s the biggest tease to walk this earth. “oh, that can’t be right,” tom’s interviewer insists with a mischievous grin. “you’re one of the most eligible bachelors out there.” “not exactly eligible, actually,” he mutters and twiddles his thumbs in his lap. a smile creeps onto his face.

she doesn’t miss that. “you do have a special someone after all?” tom squints at her through the screen. “after all? who’s been asking?” he jokes, the woman laughing like it’s the funniest thing she’s ever heard. “everyone has. the entire world.” you make wide eyes at tom. he’s never given many details about his dating life before, so this is a big step to take.

“well,” he starts, glancing over at you subtly. “yes, i’m a taken man.” “by who?” the interviewer blurts. she’s the first person to get anything out of him. “um,” tom breathes out an awkward laugh. you mouth it’s okay to him, ready to give the people what they’ve been craving.

you’ve had this conversation with tom a couple of times. he’s never wanted to put any pressure on you about going public, so it’s been your call if and when you do. now, you’ve made it.

“my, uh, my best friend. it’s not harrison, for those of you who know him.” tom bites back another smile. you sport one of your own, the tips of his ears turning red. “does this best friend have a name?” the woman questions. he looks to you again for your permission to say it. you think about it for a few seconds, then you give in.

“it’s y/n. you might recognize her,” tom explains, shifting in his chair. “she’s been on my instagram a few times, other stuff like that,” the interviewer makes a mental note to insert his posts of you in the video. “yes, yes. i think i do. you said she’s your best friend?” she clasps her hands. he’s fully blushing now, you giggling quietly at the sight.

“since secondary school, yeah. we met in one of our classes. english, i believe,” tom hums. “i was sitting alone, so she came and sat next to me.” he’s grinning at the fond memory. you feel your face starting to get hot. “how sweet. it seems like you became fast friends,” the woman suggests, throwing more questions out.

“what happened that turned your friendship to a relationship?”

it was when you were two wiser and more experienced adults that you and tom came to understand your connection. there was one moment specifically that turned you from friends to something more, though. tom will share that story with his interviewer, since it seems like she’s into the gossip.

“we didn’t seal the deal until a couple of years ago.” tom breathes out a laugh at what he’s about to say. you’re well aware of it, rolling your eyes playfully. “but, there was a moment when we were kids that i knew i really liked her.” “please, spill,” tom’s interviewer happily requests. he gladly obliges.

“y/n asked me to practice kissing with her because she liked some other bloke.” tom whispers to his camera, “which wasn’t true, by the way. we’ll get to that.” you silently groan and throw your head back on your chair. he shoots you a wink before continuing. “she wanted to go out with him, and said it was a best friend’s job to help her... prepare.”

you press a kiss to your middle finger and stick it up at tom. “precious,” he sarcastically mumbles in response. “what happened next?” the woman reels him back in. tom focuses on the screen again. “right. so, i did some research on how to kiss.” he shakes his head at his former self. “i really should’ve been studying for my A levels or something.”

“when i’m all ready, i invite y/n/n over so we can ‘practice’.” tom makes air quotes around the world, you murmuring, “i hate you,” only for him to hear. “i don’t know what website i used, but it was clearly awful.” he holds a hand up to pretend it’s your face. “i went in, and i just, like, stuck my tongue down her throat. like this.” he’s recreating the moment, you cringing at the vivid image you get.

“oh, no. what did she do?” the interviewer gives tom a pained look. “she nearly vomited, is what she did. ran home right after.” tom puffs air out of his cheeks. you press your lips together in satisfaction. “anyway, we’re reminiscing on it a few years later, and y/n/n tells me something very interesting.” leaning forward, the woman gestures for him to say it.

“i was the bloke she was gonna ask out, but my terrible kissing skills, or lack thereof, scared her off.” he exchanges a knowing look with you. his interviewer gasps. “i was like... are you fucking kidding me?” he only mouths the fucking part even though it’s getting bleeped. that makes you snort. “there’s a turning point, there’s a turning point,” tom reassures everyone.

“i told her i’ve gotten better since then, and we should try again if she wanted.” the interviewer puts a hand on her heart. “did you?” tom lets out a content sigh. “we did, and then we had a long talk about feelings and all that shit.” you make a heart with your fingers for him. he puckers his lips to mime kissing you, without tongue. “we’ve been together ever since.”

“what a lovely story. thank you for sharing that with me,” the woman butters him up more. she gets another idea. “now that you two are official, do we get to meet her?” “you kind of have,” tom retorts, but still checks with you. not expecting anything to come of this, you only shrug.

“i’ve noticed you looking off camera quite a lot. is y/n there?” his interviewer points out, much to both of your surprise. you’ve been at this for weeks, and she’s the only one to say something. “uh, she is,” tom finds himself admitting. he’s a terrible liar, so he almost had to. “tell her to come say hi!” the woman pushes. you look horrified when tom peeks over.

“no, no. i don’t wanna put her on the spot,” he brushes it off. “she’s a bit... camera shy.” “come on, just for a second!” she persists, waving you over like she can see you. this lady is starting to get on your nerves. “you just told me about that steamy kiss of yours. what’s the difference?” tom quirks an eyebrow. “i don’t know if-“

he stops mid sentence when you appear next to him. it’s to shut the interviewer up. although, you might as well reveal yourself before paparazzi do it.

“never mind,” tom grins a toothy grin up at you. “you wanna have a seat, darling?” “happy to,” you hum as he pats his knee. you take your spot on his thigh, an arm slinging around his neck. he wraps his around your middle. the interviewer is so stunned, she’s finally out of things to say. this could quite literally break the internet.

your voice a low whisper, you speak into his ear. “i can’t believe i’m doing this. you should’ve stopped me.” tom squeezes you closer and tilts his head to the side. “what if i didn’t want to?” “my god.” you plant a quick kiss on his cheek, leaving tom’s mouth hanging open.

“there’s your thumbnail.”

[amjustagirl]

Summary: Sakusa Kiyoomi's heart has always pointed north. He wonders if it's broken when it starts to point inexorably towards her. 

Set in the aftermath of The Astrophile, in the same universe as Storm Chaser.

Pairing: Sakusa Kiyoomi / f! reader

Genre: Fluff, angst, romance 

Wordcount: 7.8k 

Masterlist link here

A/N: Dedicated first and foremost to Ami @softsakusa, one of the first people to convince that my writing isn’t shit and that I should keep creating fics. 

This fic is also for all the readers who wanted a happy ending for the reader in The Astrophile (which sets out the backstory of the reader, Iwaizumi and Oikawa), and also follows the events of Storm Chaser (which follows the turbulent relationship of Miya Atsumu and now wife - I named her Kaiyo in this fic to avoid confusion!). 

Hope you like it - reblogs and comments are always dearly appreciated <3

It must be the worst meet cute of all time. 

That is – if he’s using that phrase correctly. It keeps appearing in the god-awful English movies Bokuto and Miya keep playing during team movie nights that makes him want to tear his hair out. 

But yes, he meets her at Miya Shino’s seventh birthday party, the birthday girl the apple of Miya Atsumu’s eye, the princess of his castle, the most perfect angel in the entire heavens - the list of pet names growing longer and longer the more the obnoxious setter prattles on about his daughter. 

And apparently Miya Shino is a chip off the old block, and is as obsessed with volleyball as her father. Which means that he, one Sakusa Kiyoomi, is forced to turn up on a Saturday afternoon for a birthday party to teach a group of children roughly about the same height as his kneecaps how to play volleyball. 

There are plenty of other MSBY players that Miya Atsumu could have rounded up to fritter away a Saturday afternoon. Hinata, for instance - the sunny, fiery headed opposite hitter a perennial favourite with young fans. Or Inunaki - the liberio has an amiable personality that he certainly wouldn’t mind snot nosed children hanging off his arms like a walking, talking monkey bar. But no, Hinata is apparently busy on a weekend meditation retreat, and Inunaki is at his sister’s wedding party, so both of them managed to escape this travesty of a birthday party. 

That leaves him with Bokuto who’s practically a child himself, beaming, bumping balls at screaming children with one hand, the other hand lifting another child above his head. Meian’s here too but his own kid is somewhere in this gaggle of monsters anyway, so he’s here to carry out his parental duties – hopefully his presence might balance the sheer chaos he’s sure he’s about to face.   

‘Omi-omi you made it!’ Atsumu greets him with a slap to the back. 

Sakusa resists the urge to bare his teeth. Is this what hell is? Screeching gremlins underfoot, the nauseating smell of fried food permeating the air. 

And it’s probably because he’s still in a horrified daze at the situation he’s put himself in (which Atsumu is either too dense to pick up on or already immune due to the series of similar expressions he pulls at him on a daily basis), Atsumu manages to snap a party hat on his head, before he prances off in victory. 

Sakusa snarls, ripping off the red paper hat off his head. 

Why on earth did he agree to this again? 

‘Sakusa-san! Thank you so much for coming!’ 

His glare softens by a fraction. 

Miya Kaiyo, Atsumu’s long suffering wife approaches him, careful not to touch him, waving at him instead. He appreciates her thoughtfulness, so he thaws a little, giving her a slight nod in greeting. 

Right, she’s the reason why he’s here. 

He’s always been fond of her - competent, patient, intelligent, far too good for her idiot of a husband. Approximately a year ago, he sought her professional help with his accounts. He graduated with a business degree from Chuo University, so he can tell there is obviously something fishy that his manager is pulling with his finances, but the accounting courses he took weren’t in depth to pinpoint the problem. Miya Kaiyo, on the other hand, a trained forensic accountant with a nose like a bloodhound for fraudulent accounts, nailed down the problem within a week. So when she asked him after a game whether he’d be free to attend her daughter's birthday party, he hadn’t been able to turn her down. 

‘It was no problem’, he says stiffly, already itching to spray the whole place down with disinfectant. ‘I’m glad to be here.’ 

Kaiyo laughs at his obvious lie, tugging at his sleeve to seat him in a corner. ‘You don’t have to go play with the kids if you didn’t want to! I invited you so we could catch up, and besides, I did want to introduce you to someone.’ 

‘Hm.’ 

He doesn’t try to mask his reluctance this time. Kaiyo means well, he knows, but between her and his mother, he’s tired of having to fend off match making attempts. It’s not like he can’t get a date – he can and he has, it’s just difficult to find someone willing to put up with his prickly personality and busy schedule.

‘Well she’s not here yet, so you’ll have to wait. And while we’re waiting, tell me how’ve things been, Sakusa-san?’ 

Grateful that he’s not going to be forced into shepherding children into playing anything remotely resembling an actual volleyball match (he suspects he might have more luck teaching cats how to do the conga), he settles into his seat, mouth stretching into something resembling a smile. He lets her chatter about work, and they’re deep in a discussion about his plans post-volleyball (because he can feel the countdown on his career in his creaking bones, his aching sinews)  when Atsumu swoops in on him again, like a vulture seeking easy prey. 

‘What’cha doin’ with my wife, Omi-omi’, he slips a hand around Kaiyo’s waist mock possessively. 

She swats at him. He ducks, raising his hands in surrender. 

‘I enjoy talking to an actual adult sometimes, ‘Tsumu!’ 

‘Oh come on, I already have to share you with ‘Samu most of the time, now you’re leaving me for Omi-kun?!’

‘Dramatic ass.’ 

‘Please, you chose to marry me.’ He crows, flipping his hair. He looks ridiculous, he always does. Kaiyo seems to agree - 

‘And I wonder why sometimes.’ She retorts, Atsumu squawking indignantly at her response, hair ruffling like an offended chick. But Kaiyo ruins the effect of her words by laughing, leaning over to affectionately peck her husband on the cheek. 

Sakusa should be annoyed by this display of childishness, but for some inexplicable reason, a frisson of longing bubbles in his chest instead. It’s strange. Marriage or even serious relationships have never been something he’s actively sought. After all, it always seemed horrendously illogical to put all your eggs in one basket and hope nothing trips up – but his heart pays his mind no mind, and the strange sensation continues to trickle down his throat into his chest. 

He makes up an excuse to slip to the bathroom for a tactical retreat from this madness. 

Then he takes a breath. 

Rinse. Lather hands with soap. Rinse. Repeat again .

Familiar motions, bred out of a desire to do things right, transformed into an unbreakable habit. Cold water, washing away soap bubbles.

Right. Now he’s ready for another plunge off the deep end . 

He’s a foot past the threshold of the community hall where the party is being held when Miya Shino darts towards him. She’s very clearly her father’s daughter with his penchant for mischief because she dives between his legs, making him stumble in confusion. Then Meian Shugo’s eldest son Makoto barrels towards him, intent on reaching the ball held aloft in Shino’s hands. 

Athletic reflexes be damned in the face of a pair of hell-spawn. 

‘Shino!’. Kaiyo shouts. 

‘Makoto!’ Meian thunders. 

Sakusa flails, decidedly without grace, and in his attempt at not squashing the two little devils, he manages to do something even  worse . 

Much, much worse. 

He manages to trip over his feet and bump right into the woman Miya Kaiyo wanted to introduce him to (this, he finds out later). It’s a lost cause – he’s six foot two of pure muscle, dwarfing her by a mile, and she’s carrying a huge box in her hand. 

He ends up face planting directly into her chest. 

His brain short circuits at the feeling of plush softness and vanilla and – , 

‘Woah - Omi-omi, never thought I’d have to defend the honour of my cousin in law’, Atsumu laughs.  

The sudden flare of irritation at Atsumu’s words kickstarts his brain back into gear. Rearing back in alarm, he promptly topples over onto his butt. 

‘Uncle ‘kusa, I’m sorry’ Shino screeches, distraught. Makoto merely snivels. Kaiyo is evidently the only one with working brain cells, because she rushes over to help them up.  

The-woman-with-the-mysterious-box makes Kaiyo take the box first. It holds precious cargo - Shino’s birthday cake, he later finds out, but because she manages to cling on to it with admirable tenacity, it emerges more or less intact. Then she turns to him, still sprawled on the floor. He scoots away, still dazed. 

She offers him a steady hand. ‘Hello’, she says. ‘It seems we’ve gotten off to rather a bad start.’

There is a hint of mirth in her voice, but her eyes are kind.  

He takes her hand with a rare smile. 

Miya Kaiyo grins behind the cake box. It turns out her daughter is a better matchmaker than either her or (heaven forbid) her husband. 

It turns out that Miya Kaiyo wanted to introduce him to her cousin, newly moved to Osaka from Tokyo. She’s a sports journalist, used to cover volleyball even, but for some reason their paths never crossed. She too, is tired of her cousin’s well intentioned meddling, but asks him if he’d like to meet her for dinner one day ‘if only to get Kaiyo off her back, because she’s persistent’, and funnily enough, he agrees. 

He doesn’t mind making a new friend, he reasons. She seems decent enough. 

They go out for dinner on a Tuesday night. She doesn’t complain when he tells her that due to his diet planned by MSBY’s nutritionist, most restaurants are off limits. Instead, she asks intelligent questions about whether the sources of protein and fibre he’s relying on are varied enough, even suggesting alternatives like tempeh, a Southeast Asian soy product. 

He appreciates that. 

She doesn’t also fawn over the fact that he’s a professional athlete. That makes sense, considering she’s probably interviewed dozens, if not hundreds of individuals who are just like him. It’s nice - he’s tired of groupies who start dates off by staring at him starry eyed, but ending it with disappointment in their eyes when they discover that he’s just a guy who practices hitting balls enough to do it for a living. And best of all, she doesn’t mind that their conversation sometimes wanes into silence. She doesn’t seem to feel the need to fill empty spaces with inane drivel, nor expect him to entertain her like a circus animal. 

He likes that. 

So when the night ends, he asks her whether she’d like to have dinner with him again. ‘Just as friends’, he’s quick to clarify. 

‘Sure’, she nods, and they bid each other goodnight.  

They start having dinner every Tuesday night, subject to their erratic schedules. 

He enjoys her company. She’s thoughtful, bringing him home made baked goods like zucchini cake (low sugar, of course), sneaking him chocolate scones for his cheat days after she discovers his hidden sweet tooth. She’s considerate too, never blinking an eye at his compulsive need to make sure everything is just in order, even if the waitress stands behind them aghast when he insists on using disinfectant to wipe down their table. She doesn’t even call him paranoid when he passes her a bottle of sanitizer. 

Slowly, he finds himself confiding in her about things he’d maybe only tell his cousin, Motoya. Or at least, the things he would tell Motoya if the guy would only pick up his calls. 

‘Sorry’, Motoya texts back after a couple of missed calls. ‘ Practice has been brutal recently. 

In a remarkable display of restraint, Sakusa does not point out that EJP Raijin is below MSBY in this season’s rankings. 

So he tells her instead about how he’s contemplating retirement, how he’s trying to chart out his next steps career wise. She surprises him by listening to him gravely, pointing out that he can lean on his business degree to possibly land an office job in event management or with sports associations, putting him in touch with one overly excited Kuroo Tetsuro. He tucks her suggestions away carefully at the back of his mind.   

It’s nice to have a friend, he tells himself, his lips quirking ever so slightly when her hand grazes his as they walk down the street together. 

He invites her to the monthly gatherings that the MSBY players take turns to host for their family and friends, making the excuse that he needs a human shield in any event hosted by Miya Atsumu. She agrees easily, perking up at the chance to spend a Sunday afternoon with her cousin and niece - ‘ and Kaiyo’ll need help, especially since she’s pregnant’, bringing far too many cupcakes topped with the lightest, fluffiest cream cheese frosting he’s ever had the pleasure of tasting. Even Miya Osamu gives her a nod of respect after stuffing his face full of her cupcakes.  He, unlike his twin, has good taste.

Her brow furls into a concerned frown when he quietly sneaks himself a second cupcake. ‘You don’t have to force yourself to eat it just to be polite! I made it, so  I  know it has so much sugar and butter it would make your nutritionist weep. If you want, I snuck some zucchini cake in my handbag for you instead.’ 

He stubbornly shovels a large bite into his mouth. ‘I won’t tell if you don’t.’ 

She bursts into laughter, leaning forward to wipe away the smudge of frosting on the tip of his nose with her thumb. 

Miya Kaiyo shoots him a knowing look across the room, waggling her eyebrows in an eerie imitation of her husband. He fights to keep his face blank, refusing to feed her satisfaction, but fails, a hot flush rising in his cheeks. 

‘Traitor’ he mouths at her. Her smirk only deepens.

Fortunately, the gathering ends with no further mishaps, either to his physical well-being or his dignity. Makoto is packed off with Meian, the little boy whining for more time to play with Shino. Hinata and Bokuto prance off for some ridiculous buffet on the other side of town.

As for himself, he hangs back with her to help the Miyas put their house back in order, expelling an amused puff of a laugh from his nose when she forces the very pregnant Kaiyo to ‘stay still, for goodness sake!’  on the couch, dancing around the house with a mop, Shino trailing after her waving a feather duster with gusto. He refrains from telling the little girl that she’s more likely to spread  the dust than to actually clear it – at least she’s not causing more havoc this way. 

‘I can’t believe I could’ve ever taken this for granted, y’know’, Atsumu comments from behind him, mouth wide in a tender smile. ‘It’s the best feeling in the world to have a wife and kid who loves ya to the moon and back, welcoming ya home after a long day at work. They make everything worth it.’

He’s thrown for a loop at this rare display of emotional vulnerability from the usually obnoxious setter and for once, does not resort to hostility, choosing instead to acknowledge the blonde setter’s words with a tacticum nod. 

The Miyas’ apartment is far too chaotic for his tastes, with colourful toys scattered on the floor, mismatched picture frames of the little family on the walls, but laughter hangs in the air, and light spills from the windows, illuminating the warmth and love and fondness in every look and word the Miyas gift each other. 

His father gave him a compass when he was a child, as a present to celebrate his first match. His mother clucked her tongue because it’s a strange gift for a child - delicate, fiddly, its gold exterior tarnished with age. But his father chuckled and told him that he’s old enough to appreciate that the compass is his father’s, and his father’s father before that, an heirloom to remind their sons to work hard at everything they do, and to keep their hearts on course, pointing north. 

And Sakusa thinks he’s done that. He’s worked and worked and worked at perfecting his skills in his chosen sport. He’s accepted his solo course, so laser focused on carving out a career in professional sports leaves little time or space for intimate relationships. Not to mention the fact that watching the disaster of Atsumu’s early years of marriage from the sidelines, made him swear off similar heartbreak for himself. 

But there are times when he can’t help but feel a little lonely - when he has to struggle to find a date for MSBY events, when he has no one to celebrate the holidays with, when he goes home every day to his neat, cold apartment with space for only one occupant. 

The compass in his heart creaks. It starts to turn a few degrees just off-course. 

‘Do you ever wonder what it’d be like to get married?’ he asks her as he’s walking her home that night. 

‘I did, once upon a time’, she shrugs carelessly. He misses the sudden strain in her smile. ‘Why do you ask?’ 

He stays silent for a while, the length of the quiet street giving him time to properly ferment his response. He considers the effects of adding splashes of colour to his dull life, weighs it against his long cultivated instinct to avoid the potential chaos of any emotional entanglements. He finds himself suddenly craving the sweetness of cream cheese frosting, and wonders how it’d be like to come home to light, fluffy cakes baked by her hands. 

When they reach her apartment block, she tilts her head at him curiously, obviously awaiting his answer. He tugs his words together, strings his swirling thoughts into a decipherable sentence. 

‘Because Atsumu and Kaiyo seem happy together. And I wondered if we’d be happy together too.’ 

He watches her puzzle over his words, her brow furling into a confused frown. ‘And I wasn’t proposing, by the way’, he feels the need to clarify. 

She snorts. ‘I didn’t think so.’ With a directness that he very much appreciates, she looks at him squarely and asks - ‘Are you asking me out, Sakusa Kiyoomi?’ 

He meets her gaze. ‘Yes, I am. We’ve known each other for a decently long time for me to conclude our personalities are well matched, and we’re both mature adults who respect each other’s work schedules and commitments. And if you don’t mind that I can be overly blunt and quiet sometimes - ‘ 

‘ - which I don’t’, she interjects, with a chuckle. 

‘I think we might be happy together’, he concludes, with a small smile that’s becoming more common in her presence.

He allows her the space to turn his proposition over in her mind. 

‘Alright’, she finally says. ‘I guess we can give it a go’. 

So much for Atsumu accusing him of having a heart made out of tin. Flesh and muscle works overtime to pump blood into his cheeks as she slots her fingers between his and gives his hand a squeeze. 

Being in a relationship isn’t too different from what they had before. 

They still keep to their standing date to meet every Tuesday (schedules permitting, of course). But now he doesn’t have to make up excuses to ask her out on outings that aren’t food related. At first he tries his best to adhere to dating norms, arranging for romantic dates at candlelit restaurants, buying her massive bouquets that make her sneeze. 

‘It’s fine, Omi’, she tells him gently after they spend another uncomfortable evening in a dimly lit restaurant eating off plates too large for the laughably tiny food portions. ‘I’m happy just hanging out with you. You don’t have to go out of your way to impress me, I’m not holding on to any ridiculous expectations of you’. He stops after that, glad he doesn’t have to suffer another night trying to decipher which utensil to be used at which course, or having to put on starched formal wear to yet another stuffy restaurant. 

She’s noticeably happier when they accompany each other on trips to the supermarket, each holding a stack of coupons to take advantage of the latest deals. She shields him from any overly zealous obaa-sans with gusto, throwing elbows and using her grocery basket as a makeshift battering ram before they crowd close enough to him to trigger his anxiety. He helps her reach for things on the top shelf ‘to prevent her from scaling the grocery shelves like an overgrown teenager’ , he snarks. He’s worried his attempt at teasing lands wrong, but she snorts and thanks him good naturedly anyways. 

On the weekends, they develop a habit of meal prepping for the rest of the week at her apartment. His kitchen lacks the fancy mixers and blenders that she has, and in all honesty, his dark, spartan apartment lacks the sunlight and warmth that spills into her apartment from the windows, so it’s only logical that they should spend the bulk of their time there. It’s an oasis of calm for him, chopping vegetables and chicken into small cubes, sautéing them for the week ahead, while she bustles around whipping eggs and flour and milk together to form another delectable cake that they always end up sharing at the end of the day. 

He starts to dread matches away from home a little more than he used to. While hotel rooms are as spartan as his own apartment, he doesn’t have the option of heading over to her apartment to bask in her quiet warmth. His meals come in styrofoam boxes instead of the glass tupperware she stacks on her kitchen counter, and he turns up his nose at store bought cakes that his teammates offer him, only craving for those baked in her oven. He even starts looking up to the stands for a glimpse of her, only to remember that she can’t be there to cheer the team on. 

‘Cheer up, Omi-omi! We’ll have a home match next week’, Atsumu tells him jovially. 

‘It doesn’t matter either way to me’, he mutters resentfully, but the setter only grins.

‘Trust me, it matters a great deal to have the girl ya love cheering ya on, y’know?’ 

He stalks off to the changing room, ignoring the peals of laughter from the blonde annoyance he leaves in his wake.  

The tight coil of loneliness only loosens when he sees her waiting for him at the station when he returns. She ignores his protests to snag his suitcase away from him, the case looking comically large against her small frame, but she uses it effectively as a tank to force a path through the crowd, and drag him back to her apartment in no time. 

‘You need a home cooked dinner to make up for all those industrially prepared food you must’ve been eating this entire week’, she tells him, bustling around the kitchen, only stilling when he takes her shoulders in his hands. 

‘Are you happy?’ he asks, when he cups her face to carefully brush the dusting of flour on her cheek away.  

‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ She laughs, the sound fond.

‘Just checking in’, he tells her, closing his eyes as she pulls him down towards her for a kiss. 

All in all, it’s a happy, uncomplicated relationship. He likes it that way.

If his heart were a compass, he’d suspect it’s broken because instead of pointing north, it starts to inch inexorably towards her. 

But there are strange quirks he notices about her that niggles at his brain. 

She refuses point blank to check out the planetarium when she attends an event held at the adjacent Art Museum as his date, professing to have an irrational dislike for stars. 

‘They’re just balls of burning gas and light ’ , he points out. ‘What could you possibly have against them?’ 

There’s a flicker of irritation in her eyes that he does not miss. ‘I know it’s stupid but just humour me, ok?’ Her tone verges on a snarl, before she storms away, ostensibly to the bathroom to freshen herself up. 

She returns later with an apology for her behaviour. Though he’s confused, he respects her privacy and does not push for an answer. 

He’s at her apartment preparing meals for the week ahead when the doorbell rings and an enormous bouquet of white lilies are deposited into her arms. She stares dumbly at the flowers, their sickly sweet scent permeating the air. 

His brow furls. ‘Today isn’t your birthday, is it?’

His words jolt her out of her trance. ‘No’, she answers, before inexplicably storming to the living room and dumping the bouquet with a vengeance on the coffee table. Pollen flutters to the floor, delicate white petals crushed in her hands. 

‘It’s nothing’, she tells him as he shoots her a questioning look. 

When she disappears to the washroom, he peeks at the card. There’s no name on it, just a simple message - ‘consider it, please?’

He doesn’t question her about it when she returns to the kitchen. She doesn’t offer him any answers either. 

He finds himself wondering about them. 

It was refreshing at first to have a relationship free of any expectations. She never asks for more than he’s willing to give, seems happy enough to slot herself into the pockets of time he offers, only attends his games when he gives her tickets, doesn’t get upset with him when he inevitably forgets to text. 

But therein lies the issue, doesn’t it?  

If she truly likes him, wants to pursue a relationship seriously with him, shouldn’t she be demanding more than the crumbs of affection and attention he shows her? They’re both past the age of thirty, shouldn’t she be looking to get married and settle down, maybe spawn a demon child or two? 

He’s tried raising it with her once, but she responded with confusion. 

‘I don’t have any expectations of you, Omi’, she’d replied. ‘We both have busy lives, so whatever you’re willing to give, I’m happy to take’. 

There’s technically nothing wrong about her answer. It’s wholly considerate and kind - very much her.  

Still, it makes him wonder - if her heart were a compass, would it point towards him? 

He manages to hold his tongue until she gets another delivery of flowers. 

This time he opens the door when the doorbell rings, assaulted by the heady scent of lillies, pollen smeared on his sleeves. This time, there’s a name on the card. 

Oikawa Tooru . 

It takes a couple of seconds for him to realise why the name is so familiar. It’s the same name Hinata and Kageyama used to buzz about every Olympics - the famous Argentinian setter who started his career as a schoolboy from Miyagi, a prodigious setter who never made it to Nationals in high school, refused to give up and forged his way to success in a whole new land, continents away.

‘How do you know Oikawa’? He asks her. ‘And why does he keep sending your flowers?’ 

‘He’s just an old acquaintance,’ she admits. ‘He’s just sending the flowers to persuade me to attend his wedding.’

His forehead crinkles in confusion, and he tries his best not to leap to conclusions, but since she doesn’t seem to be forthcoming with further clarification, he presses her further. 

‘And why won’t you attend his wedding?’ 

Her shoulders slouch in obvious reluctance as she turns away, focusing her attention on the mixing bowl. But Kiyoomi isn’t easily deterred, so he firmly takes the mixing bowl from her and sets it on the countertop. He raises an eyebrow at her, clearly seeking an answer. 

She huffs a sigh through her nose. ‘Because he’s getting married to my ex-boyfriend, ok?’   

He blinks. That was unexpected. 

‘It happened half a decade ago. Ancient history. I’m over it.’ She mutters to the floor. 

‘Why didn’t you tell me about it?’ 

‘Because it’s none of your business’, she snaps, grabbing the mixing bowl again, beating the batter with a vengeance. 

‘You’re going to ruin the texture if you whisk it too hard’, he tugs the bowl away from her again. She refuses to relinquish her grip.

‘Leave me alone!’ she snarls, yanking the bowl back. Confused by her sudden fury, he lets go of the bowl, only for her to stumble back, eyes wide as she loses her balance, knocking her head against the countertop.

He drops down onto his knees, not even noticing the batter soaking into his pants, combing through her hair, scouring the back of her neck for any sign of injury. It’s only when he’s satisfied that her fall has resulted in nothing more than a bruise that should go away by tomorrow that he notices her tears soaking the front of his shirt. 

‘Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?’ he asks, wiping her tears away with a batter splattered thumb. 

She hangs her head, body still shaking from her sobs. ‘I’ve already made such a mess of things – don’t want you to have to listen to my nonsense – am just bein’ stupid, that’s all - ’. 

He patiently waits until her sobs dissolves into mere sniffles before speaking. ‘I want you to tell me what’s wrong. If you’re up to it.’ 

So through more broken sobs and hiccups, he listens to the tale of Iwaizumi Hajime, a boy who was her world, who only realised he was always in love with Oikawa Tooru, a fortnight before she and he were to wed. Her voice wavers as she tells him the full story of the white lilies, explains that her irrational dislike for stars stems from the reminder that she chose to give her world up to a boy-king burning brighter than the stars in the night sky combined. 

He waits until her words run out, and she’s leaning against him, broken and pliant in a way that makes his heart ache. 

‘I wish you told me about it earlier’, he tells her, tucking the loose strands of hair behind her ear. ‘That you would trust me enough to tell me about the things that hurt you in the past. And I wonder about the state of our relationship if you don’t even trust me enough for that’. 

‘That’s unfair. You never asked - ‘ 

‘How could I ask about something I didn’t even know about?’ He takes hold of her shoulders, forcing her to look at him. Hurt and anger and shock simmer in her eyes, each swirl of emotion fighting for dominance. 

‘I didn’t want to expect anything more from this relationship than you were willing to give’, she admits after a pause. 

She’s scared of being hurt again. He doesn’t miss the subtext.  

‘Shall I tell you what I want from you then? I have a list, if you’re willing to hear me out’ he asks, with a smile that’s growing more common the more time he spends around her. 

She nods, but keeps her gaze stubbornly on the ground. 

He takes his time to choose his words. He’s never been verbose - not like Atsumu or Bokuto or even easygoing Motoya, choosing to only say what is strictly necessary, using the precise amount of words, nothing more, nothing less. But this is a situation that requires more emotion rather than precision, so he inhales a shaky breath, letting it fuel the sentiment in his heart as he exhales. 

‘First. I want you to trust that I’ll never hurt you like he did’, he says, and with a self-deprecating smile he adds - ‘I don’t have any childhood friends to be secretly in love with besides Motoya, and I’m hardly going to be pining after my flake of a cousin’. 

That triggers the corners of her lips to tilt upwards, and encouraged, he carries on.    

‘Second. I want you to be open with me about what you want - your dreams, your expectations of me. I want to hear them all because  you’re important to me.’

That makes her flush pink, and she sneaks a glance up towards him. 

‘Third. I want to wake up each morning with you by my side and come home to you every night. I want to watch you fight cranky old ladies in the supermarket in my honour, be the first person to taste test all your baking experiments - even the failed ones that are only fit to feed Atsumu. I want us to be happy together. Forever, if possible.’

He lifts her bodily into his lap, brushes his nose against her cheek. ‘Now that I’ve told you what I’m willing to give, is that too much for you to take?’ he murmurs against her lips. 

Her blush blossoms into a deep scarlet, but her eyes are iridescent pools of startled delight. She doesn’t speak, sealing her answer instead with her lips. 

His heart’s compass is irretrievably broken, the needle melted into place. It doesn’t point north any longer, no  – it’s always going to point towards her. 

They move in together after that. 

He gives up his apartment, professing to prefer the warmth and light of hers. The Miyas help him move in even when he tries to refuse their help, Atsumu helping him to lug cardboard boxes up the stairs, Kaiyo helping him sort out his belongings, sorting them into his allocated cupboards. 

When they’re done, they order pizza and she bakes a cake to celebrate. ‘An impromptu housewarming’ she says, toasting Miya Kaiyo with a slice of pepperoni pizza with a laugh.

Kiyoomi shares a slice of chocolate cake with Atsumu in complete defiance of their nutritionist’s advice, jostling forks over the very last bite. She and Kaiyo scold them teasingly, telling them to behave like they’re actually thirty and not teenagers on the cusp of adulthood. Atsumu pulls at Kaiyo’s ponytail in retaliation. He refuses to engage in similar tomfoolery, reddening instead when she reaches over to ruffle his curls.

‘This is nice’, he remarks to Atsumu later, when their significant others are out of earshot, gossiping and giggling about something or other.  

‘It is, isn’t it’, Atsumu replies, a dopey smile on his face as he stares at his wife. 

It truly is , Kiyoomi thinks, staring at her.  

He takes over most of the cleaning, it clears his mind, he tells her. So to split the chores evenly, she insists on doing their laundry and cooking, and he doesn’t even nag her too much when she forgets to split the white and coloured clothes and stains some of his shirts once in a while. 

Wedding invites printed on expensive cream paper and bouquets of white lilies start to litter their doorstep every day. He tries his best to dispose of them before they reach her sight, but every so often, he comes home too late, catches her wilt as she brushes white petals from their doorstep. 

‘I don’t blame either of them’, she tells him, after he asks if she’d like him to call Iwaizumi and tell him to drown himself in a vat of batter, thank you very much. 

‘You’re too kind to both of them’ he says plainly, as they share a pot of tea, his head pillowed in her lap. ‘I would’ve just set them both on fire and left them to rot.’

‘Hajime loved Tooru for almost all his life - I just wanted to see him happy in the end. Argh  - I sound so stupid and sentimental like an old grandma, just laugh at me already’ she complains, hiding her burning cheeks in her hands.  

‘You aren’t stupid for being kind.’ He hums, quiet and low. ‘It’s why I love you so.’ 

He relishes the soft light dawning in her eyes, captures her whispered affection with careful fingers, spins them into gold. 

He has to turn off the stove to answer the door when some rude lout bangs on their front door far too early on a Sunday morning. 

With his coldest sneer and thinking resentfully about his breakfast, Kiyoomi swings the door open, fully intent on looming over the disturbance with his full height, but takes a step back instead when he finds one Iwaizumi Hajime hanging off the door knob. 

‘Hello’, Iwaizumi looks up at him confusedly. 

‘Hi’, he nods a greeting back at his old Olympic team trainer. They stare at each other. 

‘Eh - I think I’ve got the wrong house’, Iwaizumi scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. ‘Sorry about that, Sakusa-san.’

He’s about to close the door in Iwaizumi’s face when her voice chimes in, clear as a bell. 

‘Who’s at the door, Omi?’ 

The shorter man shoots him a look of barely contained rage as he uses his bulk to push his way through the doorway towards her. Kiyoomi tries to stop him, protesting that he can’t barge into someone’s private property without an invitation like that, but it’s as futile an endeavour as trying to block the path of a raging storm.

Iwaizumi reaches her first, raising a hand as if to cup her face by instinct, before letting it fall back limply by his side. ‘You weren’t answering any of my messages or calls’, he says. ‘I was worried about you.’

She stares at him blankly for a moment. Then fire sparks in her eyes. 

‘Well, as you can see, I’m completely fine’, she replies, jaw and fists clenched. ‘You don’t need to do a welfare check on me, we’re not involved anymore.’

The scorching pain in Iwaizumi’s eyes is evident, even from a distance away. ‘Yeah. Well. I thought we were friends. You didn’t even tell me you were dating again’. He shoves his hands in his pockets, tossing another heated glance in Kiyoomi’s way. 

‘I didn’t think I needed to update my ex-fiance about my love life, especially not when he’s trying to drag me to attend his wedding that I already said I’m not going to attend’, she bites back. 

Iwaizumi opens his mouth, then closes it with a resounding snap. ‘I’m sorry’, he says, with heartbreaking honesty. ‘I told Tooru that you probably didn’t want to hear from us, but he insisted and I got worried when I didn’t hear from you for months’. 

Kiyoomi can see her glare soften into molten sympathy. The tension in the air crackles with electricity. He’s neither blind nor stupid – he can sense the years of longing and love not quite lost between them. 

He thinks she loves him, Sakusa Kiyoomi – weird habits, cold disposition and all, but the doubt clogging up his arteries and veins is enough to make his heart seize – and if she’s going to break his heart, he’d much rather she not do it in front of Iwaizumi.  

‘Hajime - ‘ she begins to say, and at this point he jumps in - 

‘I’ll excuse myself so you both have the chance to catch up’, he says, waving aside her protests as he slips on his shoes. Even in his haste to leave the house, he clicks his tongue at the mess Iwaizumi left behind at their  genkan , kneeling down to arrange their shoes, only standing up when he’s satisfied they’re neatly arranged back in place. 

‘Omi, you don’t have to leave’, she says, holding the door open. 

He shrugs his shoulders at her, nose and mouth already obscured by his usual face mask. ‘Let me know when you’d like me to come back’. 

If she’d like him to come back. She doesn’t chase after him, after all.  

It’s a beautiful Sunday morning, but the golden sunshine feels more like a taunt rather than a balm to his mood. His stomach growls, making him long for the scrambled eggs he was in the middle of frying before he was so rudely interrupted, but his growing sense of nausea keeps him from seeking out an alternative meal. 

Instead, he makes his way to the park, sits on a relatively clean bench. There are couples a-plenty, strolling around hand in hand, families picnicking merrily around him, compounding the growing chasm of loneliness in his chest. He tries to count the seconds by his breaths, tries not to let the minutes expand the insecurities crawling, inch by inch up his throat. 

He sits alone. Poised, yet short of breath. 

He wonders if Iwaizumi Hajime has finally figured out that stars, for all their brilliance, cannot compensate for their lack of human kindness. And if so, he wonders which direction her heart would point towards if it were a compass - whether it’s as broken as his, and whether it points towards Iwaizumi or him.   

He waits. 

Then his phone buzzes. 

Ah. 

She’s asking him to come home. He does not dare to overthink the meaning of that single word. But he does not hide that his steps back  home are lighter than when he left, though the key in his hand shakes so hard it takes him three tries to fit it into the keyhole. He does not try to suffocate the seed of hope budding in the soft earth of his heart when he realises Iwaizumi’s shoes have vanished without a trace.  

“Omi?” 

She’s waiting for him, slipping warm arms around his waist, tangling her fingers in his curls, ignoring his complaints about letting himself wash his hands first. 

‘Am I silly for missing you, even though it’s only been an hour?’

He refuses to be distracted by the affection in her voice.

‘But what about Iwaizumi?’ he frowns, hesitation still poisoning the well of thoughts in his mind. 

Perhaps it’s a testament to how well they’ve grown to know each other that she doesn’t need to read the silent subtext of his statement. She smiles, bringing his palm flat against her chest, does not answer until his pulse matches the steady beat of her heart.  

‘I love you , Omi’, she tells him. Her heartbeat does not quicken, her smile does not waver. ‘You told me not to long ago to always be upfront with you about what  I  want so I’m going to be honest with you now - Iwaizumi is only ever going to be my past, and I want you from now on’. 

If her heart were a compass, the steady beat of her heart tells him, it would point only towards him.  

‘That is – if you’ll have me’, she adds, a shadow of doubt suddenly appearing on her face. 

‘Don’t be ridiculous’, he scoffs, burying his nose to breathe in the familiar scent of vanilla in her hair. ‘Who else would I rather have than you?’ 

Who else would he be lucky enough to call his home – a woman with a heart large enough to fit a whole ocean within its depths, with kindness in her eyes and mirth in her smiles. 

She laughs in spite of the salt in her throat and water in her eyes, leaning on her toes in a vain attempt to reach his face. He lifts her into her arms, laughs when she squeals indignantly as her feet only find air, toppling them both onto the couch where he can seat her between his legs, press kisses to her cheeks.  

She’ll tell him later that Iwaizumi came looking for her because he’s never outgrown his overprotective streak, and he’s truly happy for her - for them, because they’ve both moved on with their separate lives. And she ended up agreeing to attend his and Oikawa’s wedding on one condition – that an invitation is extended to him, Sakusa Kiyoomi, to attend with her as his date. 

He’ll tell her later that he’s happy to attend the wedding with her, just not to expect him to smile in any wedding pictures. And more importantly, he’ll tell her in his plain way that the list of expectations he has of their relationship has expanded yet again. 

He’ll lay out his dreams of a pair of matching golden rings to bind them to lifelong companionship, of hellspawn of their own and a dog, maybe two. 

He’ll ask her if it’s too much for him to ask of her.  

She’ll tell him that she’s willing to give him everything he asks for and more. 

It’s Miya Shino’s ninth birthday party. 

He’s retired from volleyball proper, and is thankful he insisted on getting a business degree from Chuo University before going pro, because it comes in handy working alongside Kuroo Tetsuro at the volleyball association. 

Miya Atsumu insists on inviting him to the party, though he supposes he’s invited not by virtue of being a former teammate, but because he’s also Shino’s uncle by marriage now. The thought that he’s related to Miya Atsumu, however distant and most definitely not by blood, still fills him with dread. 

The birthday girl is a little less imbued with her father’s chaotic energy this time, though she still squeals when her birthday cake is unveiled – though to be fair it’s less a cake, more a tower of cupcakes with cream cheese frosting spelling out her name. 

‘Thank you Auntie!’ Shino cries, flinging her arms around her. Kiyoomi flinches at the sight of anyone, even his nine year old niece, coming in close contact with his extremely pregnant wife, but a sharp glare from her subdues any complaint he dares to make. 

He fusses over her the minute he has the chance to corral her away from the clutches of Miya Shino. ‘Are your feet hurting? What about your back? I don’t know why you insist on walking so much when you know the doctor said you should be on bed rest soon’. 

‘Stop fussing, Omi! The baby and I will be fine’, she replies, exasperated. ‘This is the last social event scheduled before I pop and I’m determined to enjoy it while I can.’ Then she scuttles off faster than he imagines her frame allows, leaving him floundering in her wake. 

‘Just let her be’, Miya Atsumu laughs, slapping his back. Kiyoomi is on the verge of pointing out -  pot, meet kettle, reminding Atsumu that the last time Kaiyo was pregnant, Atsumu didn’t stop fretting until she went into labour and delivered a healthy baby boy. But then he remembers the grief etched into Atsumu’s face when Kaiyo miscarried in the stands during a game, so he holds his tongue and rolls his eyes instead. 

‘I’m just worried she’s pushing herself too hard’, he admits in a rare bout of vulnerability. 

Atsumu smiles, genuine for once. ‘Those crazy women, eh? They’re always gonna drive us up the wall, but they’re worth every minute of it.’ 

He looks at her, belly swollen with their first child, peach blossoms blooming in her cheeks. His past self would never imagine that he’d find this much joy and contentment in being a husband and a father, but then again his past self was satisfied coming home alone day after day to a cold apartment. He knows better now - life is so better when he has her, sharing stories of their day of over steaming mugs of tea at their kitchen countertop, listening to her hum as she bakes treats for the weekend, warmth and laughter and love abound in their cosy apartment for two, soon to be three.   

So feeling vaguely drunk though he hasn’t had a drop of alcohol in the months since she whispered during their anniversary dinner that they were expecting, Kiyoomi laughs aloud. 

Atsumu lifts his eyebrows in surprise.

‘She really, really is’, Kiyoomi says, breaking into an unguarded smile.  

If you wanna know more about the backstory of the reader - check out The Astrophile, and if you wanna know more about Miya Atsumu’s relationship with his wife, check out Storm Chaser. 

As always, reblogs and/or comments are so very appreciated <3

Taglist: 

@snoozless @softsakusa @moondaius​ (yeon i’ll be shameless and tag you cos I know you’re an Omi stan!)