I'm completely obsessed with lots of things. Art Books Movies Tv Haikyuu!! Supernatural Harry Potter Wolfstar Ron x hermione James x lily Sherlock Johnlock Merlin Merthur Etc.
HEY Iām starting a comic! Iām not sure how long itās going to be, but I CAN tell you itās going to be so cheesy, like picture the cheesiest mac and cheese youāve ever eaten- cheesier than that. Iām going to try to update once a week, so here we go!
Koutarou attends The Nutcracker for his sister, Kai, who's dancing as the Snow Queen.Ā
This is her second year in the role, but he missed last time, so heās so excited! He canāt wait to see his big sister dance!Ā
And then he sees him.Ā
In the role of the Snow King is a young prodigy named Akaashi Keiji. Heās a year younger than Koutarou, and his sister says Akaashi is āthe best dance partner sheās ever had.ā
Koutarou is immediately enamored. His eyes follow Akaashi wherever he goes on stage, despite Kai being the focal point of the routine. Heās lean, but obviously so strong, capable of lifting, throwing and catching his sister flawlessly. Effortlessly.
(Also, those tights look so good on him.)
Koutarou pretty much begs his sister to introduce them. āPlease! Iāll do anything!ā He cries as he unleashes the full force of his pout. āI donāt even care if heās not available or interested in me! I just want to meet him!ā
She finally relents after a week of his hassling. Koutarou attends the show again on closing night. Heās a bit nervous. The Nutcracker has been a huge hit, with critics and audiences alike praising the Snow Queen and King specifically. Akaashiās name is on everyoneās lips; he's āthe next big thingā in the Tokyo dance scene.
āCalm down, Kou,ā Kai hisses as she leads him down the hall and towards the theaterās green room. āHeās just a person just like you. Trust me, itāll be fine.ā
Koutarou nods. Swallows. He holds his breath as they finally step into the room.
They find Akaashi casually leaning against the back wall, munching on an apple and swiping through his phone. Koutarouās eyes roam his form. Heās wearing a cropped, midnight blue hoodie that cuts off at the hem of his black joggers, displaying his slim build. His feet are covered in a pair of beat-up sneakers.
āKeiji dear, do you have a moment?ā
Akaashi looks up, and Koutarou sucks in a breath. The man has perhaps the prettiest eyes Koutarou has ever seen. A devastating mix of blue-green-grey, piercing, with heavy lids and long lashes.
Surprisingly, those eyes widen when as they land on Koutarou, and his mouth drops open. āOf course,ā he nods, āum, hello.ā His voice is like velvet, soft yet with a gravely texture that send a shiver through Koutarou. He also canāt help but notice that Akaashi is a few inches shorter, which forces the man to look up at him as they approach.
Oh my god, he's an actual angel.
Kai pulls her brother forward until the two men are a few paces apart. She squeezes his arm, a gesture sheās been using since they were kids to lend him comfort, encouragement. He leans appreciatively into the warm touch.
āItās, um, itās wonderful to finally meet you, Bokuto-san.ā
Koutarou blinks, confused. Akaashi is addressing him as if he knows who he is. āOh! Uh, itās nice to meet you, too!ā He grins sheepishly. āDid Kai tell you I was coming, or..?ā
The man shakes his head. Now that theyāre so close, Koutarou notices leftover sparkles and flecks of fake snow still clinging to Akaashiās wavy black hair.
Enchanting.Ā
āWell, I did know you were her brotherā¦ but I didnāt know you would be here tonight.ā His eyes narrow at Kai, who chuckles.
āKeiji here is a big fan of volleyball,ā she smirks at her brother, who nearly chokes at the new information. "He watched every single one your matches at the last Olympics. Apparently.ā
āReally?!ā Koutarou canāt believe his ears. Akaashi Keiji, the beautiful man who heās been obsessing over the last few weeks, is a fan of him, too? Itās a bonafide Christmas miracle!
āYes,ā Akaashiās lips twitch upward. Itās not quite a smile, but close. āIāve, ah, been hoping Kai would introduce us someday.ā
Koutarou beams. He canāt even be angry at his sister for keeping the secret. Heās just too happy right now. "I'm so glad she did!"
They end up at the closing night after party, sitting side by side in a booth, surrounded by family and friends. Conversation flows easily. Akaashi is rather quiet, but he seems content to just listen to Koutarou talk. He occasionally barks out a dry, sarcastic comment that only enamors Koutarou further.
He also smells nice. Like sandalwood and rose. Koutarou has to restrain himself from taking a big, long whiff.
āY-you know, Bokuto-san,ā Akaashi says, words slurring a bit from the whiskey shots heād just downed. āI actually played a bit volleyball when I was younger.ā
Koutarou gasps. āYou did?!āĀ
Akaashi giggles, then hiccups, and itās the cutest thing Koutarou has ever heard. āI did,ā Akaashi nods, ābut only into middle school. Dance sort of took over my life after that. Iāve continued to follow the sport, though.ā
Koutarou is having trouble containing his excitement. He grips his beer with one hand and reaches to grip Akaashiās forearm lightly with the other. āYou have to play with me someday!ā
Akaashi snorts (wait, no, that is the cutest thing Koutarou has ever heard) and shakes his head. āI couldnāt possibly keep up with a pro player like youā¦ā
āAnd I canāt keep up with your dancing,ā Koutarou winks. āBut that doesnāt mean I donāt want to do that with you sometime. If you want, that is...ā
For a brief moment, Akaashi just stares, and Koutarou wonders if heās being too forward. But then Akaashiās lips settle into a sweet smile, and he glances down into his drink. His sharp cheekbones bloom with color. āAre you asking me on a date, Bokuto-san?ā
Well then. Koutarou hadnāt expected things to progress this quickly, but sometimes, fate has other plans. āI mean,ā he clears his throat, āmaybe..?ā
Akaashi looks up, and Koutarou is suddenly drowning. He swears his sees an entire future in those stormy eyes, just waiting to pull him under.Ā
(And Koutarou would go, gladly.)
āI would love to,ā Akaashi says, leaning forward to clank their glasses together. āMerry Christmas, Bokuto-san.ā
//
A short advert ft. The Nutcracker's snow scene šāļø
Thank you for reading this sappy little thing I wrote after working a week straight of Nutcracker performances (eight shows in one week; it was insane). If you enjoyed this, PLEASE reblog! It really helps me out, way more than just a like (though I appreciate those, too). You can also share my post on Twitter! Thanks everyone for your support this year. Itās been rough, for many reasons. I hope you all have a happy holiday season. Hereās to 2024! š„°
Sometimes I think about how proud Mama Miya must be. She raised two hardworking boys who are now so successful and instead of letting success pull them apart they're still as close as ever.
She's probably really relieved that they both also found special people who will look after them when she's gone. But for the time being, she's happy to still kiss their booboos and make them her special chikuzenni cause no one does it the way she does (or so Osamu says).
And as the years pass and she gets too old, her dear Atsumu and Osamu insist that she has to come and live with them, so she divides her time between the two.
She bonds with Rin over all the TV dramas when she stays with Osamu. He even sets up an IG account of her cooking. When it first started, she was known as Miya Osamu's mother, but lately Osamu has been known as Mama Miya's Baby instead. She has more followers than he does.
Sweet Omi spoils her like a princess when she stays with Atsumu. He also takes charge when she's feeling poorly. Atsumu frets on the verge of barely controlled panic, but Omi listens calmly and talks with the doctor. She reckons he knows her medical history better than she does.
When she meets friends on the street and they ask her how her babies are doing, she can't help but smile and say "Let me buy you a coffee." because she needs all the time in the world to talk about her four special boys.
soooo I was very obsessed and decided to write a little blurb for it. I hope thatās alright!
There was more than a bit of irony in it, Harry thought, in dying this way.
Surviving six years of plots, a resurrected Dark Lord, and a bloody War. All for him to die in a Quidditch accident. The Boy Who Lived taken out by just a little bit of hubris and quite a lot of gravity.
McGonagall had finally been worn down by Harryās excessive whinging about Eighth Years not being permitted to play on House teams. āBut Professor,ā heād moped on more than one occasion, ādonāt we deserve to have some fun after everything weāve been through?ā The stern lines of her face had slowly drooped into fond exasperation, allowing Harryāall Eighth Years, ratherāthis silver lining.
It was only now, his fingers slipping off the sweaty, glistening wooden handle of his Firebolt, a cry of āFuck!ā tumbling from his lips, that Harry wished heād just let it go and committed himself to a year of diligent study like Hermione had suggested.
The snitch had pulled down at the last moment, and Harry ā overconfident, overeager, and very much underprepared ā had tried a move he was a good month or so away from having back in his arsenal. Biting November wind nipped at his cheeks, thrashing against his ribs and burrowing in his bones as he hung there. Thereād be no Dumbledore to stop his descent this time.
Harryās fingers cramped and he knew heād fall, could feel the realization settle over him like some macabre veil. He felt the air rush through the still-growing gap that now existed between his fingers and his broom. He squeezed his eyes shut, flinching away from the sunlight that shone directly into his eyes, when he felt a pressure on his forearm.
Opening his eyes, Harry peered up, gaze zeroing in immediately on the long, nimble, fingers wrapped firmly around him. Sliding up further, he felt his eyes widen at the sight that greeted him: a similarly wide-eyed Draco Malfoy, ruddy and panting, shoulders and chest heaving under the leathers of his kit. His hair glowed against the backdrop of the sun and clouds behind him, illuminating his face like some kind of god, or at least the subject of a revered renaissance painting.
Harry swallowed, mouth suddenly very dry. āMalfoyā¦?ā
Malfoy said nothing, opting to stare at Harry for a few raw seconds before he began lifting. Dance with Death evaded, Harry jolted into action, extending his free arm towards the free space at the back of Malfoyās broom. They managed to pull him up onto the broom where Harry lunged forward, wrapping his arms frighteningly tight around Malfoyās waist, cheek and ear pressed up against his back.
Eyes screwed shut once again, Harry heard only the gasping of his own shallow breaths and the thundering heartbeat of the body against his. He shivered, images rushing in unbidden of the reverse from only five months ago. A room aflame with acrid air.
Wind stung his cheeks, his nose. They were moving. After some indeterminate amount of time, he felt the gentle press of a hand against his knee pad. He opened his eyes to Malfoyās head angled back towards him. He jerked his chin towards the unassuming Firebolt hovering in the air next to them, as if the blasted twig hadnāt just thrown Harry off.
Harry nodded against the solid muscle of Malfoyās back before he carefully got back on his broom. The place where Mafloyās fingers had been burned under the layers of protective gear and robes. They stared at each other, unblinkingly. No words passed between them. The air felt heavy between them, charged with something Harry couldnāt name.
Before long, the fickle snitch appeared in the small space between them, but neither of their gazes faltered.
Harry couldnāt remember how the game ended, couldnāt have been bothered to try, either. He mustāve caught the snitch, though, because he was aware of some hearty back slaps and congratulations among the crowd of mostly worried Professors and students. He barely registered the presence of Hermione and Ron at one elbow, a frazzled Professor McGonagall at his other.
All he had eyes for was the retreating figure of a towering blond in green, flowing robes, who cast a look of his own. Their eyes met for moment, the air stilling around him. Malfoy turned back first, moving into the changing rooms, but Harry was unable to look away long after he was gone.
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