#<- new tag for stuff like this where i'm Talking about things

[henrysglock]

Okay. So. I said in my tags that I'd have more to say about all this, and mainly what I'm going to talk about is personal. Picture me writing this all out as fast as I can on my lunch break 😭

The past 8-ish months in this fandom have been a complete and utter hellscape. It's one thing to make niche theories and have them end up unpopular. It's another to have people quite literally send out libelous messages about you in hopes of a) convincing new fans that you're a bad person, and b) scaring new fans into that they're bad people if they interact with you.

And I mean...I knew Elliot and his friends were saying messed up stuff about me. I've known that since September of last year. I was trying to ignore it and not let it dictate my fandom experience. Because like what the hell, they’re pixels on a screen. It sucks, but it’s ultimately just the internet. Anyway. The false, exaggerated claims of rape apologism and pedophilia being presented as fact while having no proof behind them are nothing new. That's been going on for a long time, now, and I do have proof of that.

For example, the author of this anon:

Did fully come and apologize/explain that they were lied to on that very topic when the situation in September happened:

I did tell this person that I don't make a habit of posting DMs publicly because generally speaking I find it to be a breach of trust, but the situation has gone so far that I want to make that all public. I did, however, promise not to name them publicly. I won't tell you who said any of that, even if you ask.

But yeah, all that is nothing new.

What I didn't know until my conversations with @final-boy-creel is how invested this group was in making me out to be an awful person. I had no idea that anyone in that friend group was creating wholly falsified screenshots of me saying heinous transphobic things.

Final-boy-creel laid all that out, but I did want to a) post those faked images here for my own records, and b) expand on the situation in my own words.

First off...that's not my discord, nor is that Em's discord. Second off, like final-boy-creel said in his post: the fucked up time stamp at the bottom of the second image. (Among many other details that mark the pictures as fake, such as: changing text sizes, display names not being bolded, display names not being aligned with the time stamps, weirdly stretched profile pictures, the use of "tory" when I'm very open about being a USAmerican, numerous typos, and entirely altered typing styles (for example, I always edit my typos, I use the reply function all the time, and I'm a punctuation fan, including but not limited to: em dashes, semicolons, colons, and ellipses). Like...did whoever made these even try to make them believable??)

Second, as final-boy-creel said, I'm a neopronoun user myself. I had he/void in my bio for years, even back before I used tumblr and only had twitter. I mean, my neopronouns are even still in my discord notes:

And yes, I did remove them from public view to avoid any possible harassment from fans coming from sites like instagram, reddit, and tiktok, where neopronouns are a huge source of discourse and bullying.

So to say that *I* bully people for using neos? Absolutely insane.

Furthermore, I would never tell someone they "aren't trans enough" and that they're "making the community look bad". If you know me, then you've seen how much I post about queerness and letting people label themselves however they like forever. I'm a huge supporter of "weird" and "cringe" transness. Hell, I use the umbrella term queer for myself because I don't feel like a particular label fits me.

That upsets me more than anything else, because so much of who I am and the background I come from as a trans person centers around radical acceptance. I myself was told I wasn't trans enough when I was younger, and that shaped who I am today. Practicing radical acceptance was the only way to dig myself out of the "what if people think I'm not trans enough?" hole that was prventing me from actually living my life the way I want to.

So it really hurts me, that people think I'm some kind of transmedicalist fake-claiming scum! I'm not like that, I never have been, and it's really upsetting, knowing a decent amount of Henry fans (who all probably have me blocked by now, unfortunately, so it's not like I get a chance to explain anything) are going around thinking that's the kind of person I am. Making that kind of stuff up about me is just plain mean, especially when it's paired with telling people that I'm toxic and mean.

I can have my snippy moments when anons get a little too rude, but I like to think I'm not a mean person. And I guess I always assume that other people are the same way. Maybe that just makes me naïve.

But honestly, I just wanted to put out an apology to anyone who’s been intimidated by that group or made to feel like they’re in the goddamn panopticon here based on drama they weren’t even involved in, all under the guise of “warning” them about me. I’m so sorry that the shitstorm sucked you all into it, too. I’m so sorry your fandom experience has been made that stressful, and I’m sorry people are trying to control the opinions you form about others. It’s really, really disturbing—and really patronizing—behavior.

[thatfriendlyanon]

THERE'S SEASONS OF THE DEEP GREEN?! /delighted

this might be a super basic question so let me know if you'd like something more specific, but could you like, outline the seasons for me? like, 1 or 2 sentences of pitch or summary each, kind of thing? I'd love to have the Shape of the story in my head so that the details can slot into it >:D

THERE ARE THERE ARE this is what happens when you've had this server since december 2021, lore has had time to accrue sdlkjsdg

in surprise to Nobody At All i've got a little playlist for each season, with songs in chronological order hitting the main lore events & emotional beats of the story (& trying to touch on all three characters' povs), so i'll link each of those too

SEASON 1 (playlist)

Season 1 begins with the founding of the Deep Green, when Icarus & Grond explored the cave system near spawn and did their zoning. Season 1's themes involve community, establishing relational ties, politics, & power dynamics, since it's when most members were joining, building friendships, and maybe partaking in a little bit of political treachery & blackmailing. 0:) The closing event of Season 1 was Sisyphus's trial and execution, following their accidental use of the "/clear all entities" command which resulted in the murder of every living thing. Literally nothing has been the same ever since that mistake.

SEASON 2 (playlist)

Season 2 covers Sisyphus's "atonement arc" (aka them gathering resources & animals for each player as an attempt at making amends for the murders) until their departure. Themes for Season 2 include magic (belief vs unbelief), trust vs distrust, and fraying relationships/unraveling ties. This is the season that the cavern began; Sisyphus began secretly growing skulk in a cavern under their house, Icarus began grasping for more stability & control over her friends, Sisyphus & Icarus's friendship started fraying, Kore found a camel, and the skulk situation kept escalating until Kore & Icarus staged an intervention because they were convinced their entire home was in danger. In response, Sisyphus decided to leave the Deep Green for an undetermined amount of time.

SEASON 3 (playlist)

Season 3 takes place during Sisyphus's absence. cc!Crim (the human being) spent these months working on a Secret Build somewhere else on the server, while Kore & Icarus were left alone on the Deep Green. Season 3 covers themes of reaching out to others vs isolation, absence & grief, fear vs paranoia vs support, and action/preparation/defense. Korus (<- Kore+Icarus's duo name) continued letter correspondence with Thalia* in hopes of finding more answers about the skulk/Wardens; they burned down the skulk in the cavern; they strengthened their friendship together once Icarus stopped grieving Sisyphus's departure alone in her house for like 3 months straight (<- the canonical explanation for cc!Elle taking a break from minecraft last spring XD); Icarus's paranoia continued to spiral/grow; and possibly most importantly, Korus made direct contact with the Magic. The Magic as a whole will take too much time to explain in a pitch like this, but Season 3's closing event was the "encounter" with the Magic when it directly responded to Korus's attempt at communication.

*Thalia is Crim's oc from the dream smp that they made, like, five years ago. XD through a series of events we canonized Thalia (& c!Elle & Bluebell, mine & rozu's dsmp ocs) in the Deep Green universe; Thalia & the other l'sonas live far away from the Deep Green post-dsmp-nuke-ending and Thalia writes letters to Sisyphus/the other residents sometimes. It's delightful and silly and I love it very much

SEASON 4 (playlist)

Aand this is where we're at now, babey!! We never know how long a season is going to be until some big event takes place and we all look at each other & look at the themes and go "hey guys. I think a season just ended and another one's begun." XD So I don't know the themes of Season 4 yet, but I might posit "forgiveness & grace" being one of them. The large events so far have been Korus following the Magic's direction beyond the Deep Green's walls in search of the source of the skulk (that's been continuing to spread in the Deep Green). They found Sisyphus, had multiple confrontations, went through Sisyphus's creepy memory-room labyrinth (<- the very epic build cc!Crim had been working on), got Sisyphus's painful backstory, and eventually reached the point where Sisyphus has returned, remorseful, to the Deep Green. Unfortunately during that process Icarus's and Kore's friendship has fallen apart yet again, so we've got the running joke that Icarus is apparently only capable of being friends with one (1) of her friends at any given time. XD So they're all still in the messy middle of things, but Caruphys (<- Icarus+Sisyphus's duo name) at least is slowly on the mend. We'll see where things will go from here. >:'D

ask me anything about the deep green! 💚

[inkskinned]

we were sitting on the floor and i was cutting out tiny pictures to make a collage for a friend's birthday. you were on your phone and you laughed about something, and i was still in love with you then, so i asked what had you giggling.

"sorry. i was just..." you took a moment and went back to texting. "i was telling someone about how you're afraid of the dark."

i'm afraid of the dark because something bad happened. "oh." i felt a little slinky of shame crawl down my throat.

you glanced up, and maybe it showed on my face, because you rolled your eyes and held the phone to the side casually so i could see the group chat. "what? was it a secret?"

i looked down to the scissors in my hand. "i just..." no, it's not a secret. it just felt like something private, something serious. saying why would you tell someone that just feels like an accusation. it's unfair. i honestly am not even ashamed of it, it's just a fact about my person that i don't usually share.

what a strange experience. is this a human thing or a generational thing? for our grandparents: did they need to worry about how quickly someone can just... share your personal information? again, i didn't even really have a true objection. what could i say? i want any person in my life to feel they can be honest with their friends. it's not like i said don't tell anyone this.

i cut out another letter to complete the rainbow happy birthday, started hunting for the exclamation mark. i heard you sigh dramatically.

"don't make a big deal about this," you said.

this entire conversation was a pattern for us, and this was when we got to my least favorite part of the pattern. i would get my feelings hurt in some oblique not-technically-terrible way, and then it would be making a big deal about something. you'd get frustrated for me for being soft, but i was born soft. you knew i was soft when you pierced me. it's one of the things that made controlling me so easy.

"i'm not," i felt my voice crack. the question came without my wanting. "why are you guys talking about me?" and why are you saying that thing? why not like - i'm telling them how you're generous and kind and pretty.

you let out this low, tragic groan. "oh my god." you tossed the phone away from your body. "there, see? i just won't talk to them if you don't like it."

the rest of the hour went the way it always went, between us: i said i don't actually mind if you talk to your friends but -, you found a way to call my minor expression of discomfort "being dramatic." you got upset that i had been offended. i ended up apologizing, even though i hadn't actually done anything.

afterwards, you picked up the phone again. after texting for a little bit, you snorted. "okay," you said, "but it is kind of funny you're afraid of the dark. i mean, when you think about it."

[sparrowlucero]

this is the iconic dinosaur horror jurassic park wishes it was

[wundrousarts]

I need to get back on my Jess interview grind and finish before Silverborn press starts up because tell me why I'm skimming one trying to find something and then realize she's talking about Ages. ACK! This is vital to my theorizing.....

[vaspider]

Please forgive my extremely messy and hasty wrap; I haven't regularly wrapped my hair in almost 20 years, since I stopped selling roses at Faire, BUT

We got a sample of a scarf that I think might be a good option for tichel wear. The big issue has been that a lot of the scarves we've been able to get over the last few years have been too slippery, too translucent, too itchy, or some combination of the above.

This is a poly weave, 27" × 73'', and it has enough grip to it and is soft enough that I could wear this and not get the sensory heebie jeebies.

We've been looking for options literally since we started NK in 2017, and I'm really hopeful about this. I was able to keep it on my head without it moving around just from twisting and tucking it, no pins or anything, and i bent over and shook my head around and so on. It felt pretty secure.

I'm going to try it again after it's washed and dried and see how it feels.

Oh - the print here isn't very well featured bc you can't see much of it in the wrap but it's the trans pride Braille print, which will drop April 15th. :)

[shippingmyworld]

how long does burnout last? asking for a friend

[squaduck]

Huh.

Thanks to all the strangers who liked a single post, and thanks to all the weirdos who stuck around.

But also, what? I pretty much do nothing.

I occasionally reblog stuff, sure, but not a whole lot.

Sorry for the long tags. I'm just going slightly insane and didn't want to make a mile long post. (Also, did anyone know that there's a tag limit??? It's 30 tags apparently.) (also also, because tmi, im disabling reblogs.)

[reminiscentrainclouds]

You guys ever feel trapped? Yea I'm well-acquainted with the feeling of being trapped.

[snazum]

me trying to stroll thru the ted nivison tag on tumblr for some sick art X READER, IMAGINE, OTHER THINGS I CAN'T REMEMBER THE NAME OF EVEN THO IT'S QUITE LITERATLY RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME XDD

[emometalhead]

Ashley!! Curious to know what you think of Electric Touch and also what the wider FOB fandom thinks of it :)

I am entirely obsessed!! I've been trying to equally listen to the entire album, and I've failed spectacularly lol. Electric Touch is easily my most listened to on the whole album.

I think Taylor and Patrick's voices really suit each other! The bridge drives me crazy!! They complement each other so well!! Plus even beyond the vocals I like the lyrics!! "All I know is this could either break my heart or bring me back to life" is a feeling I can totally understand despite never being in a relationship.

Obviously I'm biased toward both parties, but I can safely say this song did not disappoint me! It's making me want a full collaboration between Fall Out Boy (the whole band) and Taylor even more than I already did. In the meantime, I'm happy to enjoy Electric Touch!!

I've lowkey been avoiding seeking out opinions from the wider FOB fandom. The Swemos (Swiftie emos) seem really excited about it! Like some people want it to play at Emo Nite events even. I've seen a couple older FOB fans say they like it. Some FOB fans are upset that Electric Touch is FOB's top song on Spotify rn, but I think they should have anticipated this. Also I know some people complained that the song is too pop, but again I don't know why they would expect otherwise. So long story short, I'm not sure what the consensus is or if there is a consensus! It would hurt my heart a little bit too much to see FOB fans trashing Taylor or vice versa.

Thank you so much for asking, and I'm sorry in advance about the lengthy tags!!!!! Taylor and Fall Out Boy are not subjects I'm capable of being concise about!!!!!

[krysmcscience]

At long last: either an alternate explanation for or continuation of my prior comic regarding how Bill was ABSOLUTELY naked in Ford's karaoke night drawing. (Because errors in art do not exist. Artists do not make mistakes. So if you see any in this comic, No You Do Not.)

I am so normal about these old dorks.

I'm not really clear on exactly when Bill started throwing his desperation book at Ford just like a needy ex do, but I find it extremely funny to imagine it happening literally the day of or after the makeshift funeral. Bill just gets this weird sense of 'Ford is taking steps to move on' and CANNOT FUCKING ABIDE.

I hope you enjoy all the goofy things I added to each page of Bill's sad spieling. (Everything SHOULD be readable so long as you view the full size, but I have added basically this whole little fanfic in the image descriptions, LMAO, which lays out all the little written notes and such.) Also don't ask how Bill managed to sneak that vampire pen in there. I have no idea, and honestly? I don't wanna know.

Oh, and a little bonus comic:

Of course Bill would take it as flirting. Because between the two of them, Bill is the bigger masochist By Far. :)

Also I have continued applying The Good Place logic to any of Bill's attempts to swear. Case in point, one last bonus image, this time with a motivational line from my slapdash Theraprism OC, EV-01:

Yes, its name is just 'love' backwards. No, I will not be taking any feedback on this. Yes, EV-01 was only ever assigned to Bill's case due to the Theraprism being desperate to make some progress in rehabilitating him. No, it did not work anywhere close to staff's expectations - Bill didn't even appreciate EV-01's matching fondness for bowties! (He claimed the fondness to be "cultural appropriation" and insisted he'd been traumatized by it.)

Anyway, if you like my stuff, reblogs are very much appreciated, and if you really really like it, perhaps consider my commissions or yeeting a teeny tiny tip my way? I am trying to recoup over 500 dollars in vet bills, ahaha... 🙃

In other news, I loved all the fun tags people added to the prior naked-karaoke comic (such as 'the hat and bow-tie stay ON during sex' and the classic '[insert keysmash here]', as well as the many amused/bewildered remarks about how I either made the bricks a piece of clothing or just straight up peeled Bill's skin off). However, I think my favorite thing by far was the several people losing their shit over the fact that I gave Bill toes. Like, excuse me? The magical talking triangle can have fingers but not toes??? Since when was that a rule????? 🤣 (Also the one person who reblogged with the cropped panel where Bill's fishnets pants are falling off to ask why Bill peed himself. Dude, I want to examine your brain...?)

Okie-dokie, I'm sick of looking at all of this stuff now and I'm off to go to work, after which I will either scribble some more goofy "Billford" comics or perhaps draw my lame human!Bill in Situations, idk yet. Maybe I'll even finally draw more than just a single other person's human!Bill...? Who knows, but I sure hope I can mix it up a little and not turn whatever I draw into a month-long fukken project. >:\

[seokminfilm]

after party — choi seungcheol

PAIRING 𐂴 choi seungcheol x reader

TAGS & WARNINGS 𐂴 idol seungcheol, model reader (reader mentioned to wear dress and heels) met gala afterparty setting, kissing, boyfriend seungcheol, secret relationship, lots of cute banter, dominant seungcheol *giggles*, touching, pet names (baby), can you tell i'm still stuck on met gala scoups yet

SUMMARY 𐂴 afterparties weren't your thing, but when your boyfriend was the main attraction on the red carpet, how could you refuse him?

LYR'S SIDENOTES 𐂴 new layout to celebrate the upcoming rebranding my account is about to go through!!! ANYWAYS here is that seungcheol fic i promised 👏 met gala coups is gonna be the death of me so of COURSE i have to write about it here 🙂 this is for all the couprangs out there (and the carats who swear they aren't couprangs but act like couprangs) (<<< me) (note: the gifs are by user idobiloveu! literally one of the best hq gifs i seen of met gala scoups so far so thank you 🙏)

NOW PLAYING 𐂴 after party, don toliver

WORD COUNT 𐂴 896 FOR @kstrucknet

the slightly loud music and smell of alcohol in the air continued to remind you why you weren't a fan of afterparties.

they made you feel overwhelmed, and even now, you stood near a back wall, partially zoning in on a conversation your model friend had dragged you into while your eyes continued to drift to the entrance to the massive hall.

choi seungcheol—your boyfriend of six months, still unknown to the public—was on his way to the met gala's afterparty, and would be here any minute now. he had looked so good on the red carpet, tailored suit and sickening confidence causing your mind to wander to not-so-nice places.

seungcheol knew how bad you wanted to put your hands on him, but he had told you to wait until the afterparty, that way he could keep you out of the public eye. he was more conscious of your image than you were, but you found yourself grateful for his guidance, especially when you wanted to tear his clothes off and let the world know you were his (like now).

you begrudgingly agreed, and found yourself here, nearly wanting to slap your friend in the face for talking so much as you waited for your boyfriend's arrival.

"i'm gonna go," you're practically yelling at your friend with how loud everyone is talking, and they don't even acknowledge you, giving you one glance before going back to their conversation.

sighing, you slink away, shuffling in your constricting heels to get closer to the entrance. trying to stuff all of your dress in your arms, you bump into someone's chest, mumbling an apology before the familiar smell of your boyfriend's cologne washes over you.

"watch where you're going, baby," seungcheol chuckles lowly, hands instantly going to your dress to help you gather the tool. he's careful to shield your legs from others, pressing close to you as he smiles. "where to?"

smiling, you tilt your head to a little booth snuggled in the corner of the bustling hall. seungcheol nods, eyes instantly glued to the goal as he leads you carefully to the corner.

you can feel rows of eyes on you, but it feels good, this time around—you love having everyone know that seungcheol is yours. it makes you feel powerful, and you can't explain why.

sliding into the tiny booth with seungcheol's help, you instantly bring your hands to seungcheol's cheeks, bringing him in for a kiss as you accentuate the 'mwah' sound.

"god, you looked so good on that red carpet, cheol," you're mumbling against his lips, and he's cupping your cheeks, chuckling under you before you pull away.

"i was hoping you'd like it. i was thinking of your reaction when getting it tailored," seungcheol does that signature eyebrow raise that drives you crazy, and you can't help but giggle like a schoolgirl, biting your lip as you lean your head on seungcheol's shoulder.

"you're such a devil," you frown, and seungcheol chuckles lowly, cologne nearly sending you into a spiral as he smirks at you.

"a devil, huh? if anything, i'm devilishly handsome." seungcheol's voice is low and rich against your skin as he presses a kiss to your exposed collarbone. seungcheol's lips are warm, cherry tint staining your skin in a testament to his love for you.

you flush, giggling into your hand as seungcheol watches you with love in his eyes, staring at you like you've hung the stars in the sky. "i swear, this outfit is giving you the confidence i've never seen you have."

seungcheol laughs cutely, eyes crinkling at the corners as a dimple appears on his supple cheek. "i mean, the brand is called boss."

"and that is what you are," you smile at your boyfriend, letting your chin rest on your hand as you giggle at seungcheol's devious look. he's smiling from ear to ear, brown eyes sparkling with mirth as he adjusts his suit collar.

he looks perfect, tailored grey suit hugging his body perfectly as his bluish-grey hair falls around his face like a pretty curtain. his dark eyebrows are thick, raised at you with curiosity as he watches you quietly stare his way.

"what? do i have something on my face?" he questions jokingly, and you shake your head, smiling as you place your hand on his firm thigh.

"no, you just have a face. a very handsome face." you lean in, lips brushing seungcheol's ear as he falls silent, body clenching at your voice. his eyes have a shadow to them, and you know he's thinking of all the things he could do to you, simply settling for chuckling lightly and patting your thigh in return.

"you're driving me insane." seungcheol's voice is warm, but there's a tone of seriousness behind it as you chuckle, shrugging. "it's just like you've been doing to me all night, cheol."

"i owe you so much when we get home. you've given me the best night of my life, and i didn't even have to do anything for it." you smile, and seungcheol smiles to himself, leaning into you as he whispers in your ear, low breath tickling your insides.

"i'm going to hold you to that, baby." with the dark, rich tone of his voice, you know seungcheol means business, and who would you be if you didn't do business with him?

[missadangel]

MAKE HIM DISLIKE LOVE YOU

Harry Castillo x Reader (The Materialists)

Chapter 4: No More Secrets

prev chapter series masterlist next chapter

Chapter Summary: Returning to NYC, heartbroken and jobless, you decide: no more secrets or tears and no more Harry. But he's a 40-year-old boy determined to find you in the city to make things right. Warnings: 18+ (smut, MDNI) kinda romantic comedy stuff, fluffy, angst, lying, soft and caring Harry Castillo, Lucy as his ex, John as Lucy's ex, wealth, expensive gifts, drinks, money, cars, language, sexual tension, oral sex, p in v sex, kissing, slow burn, power imbalance, I might have missed some warnings; I will update them in due time. Chapter Word Count: 8,5k, depression, dirty talk, fluffy, and angst... authors note: I'm in midterms and planned to publish the chapter on Monday, but I received so many requests asks from you guys and that I couldn't let you down. Thank you!

When the jet touched down at the airport, the sun was rising over New York City, casting a warm glow over the city. A tight knot formed in your chest as memories flooded in—thinking about the last time you left, whom you were with, and why you weren't returning with him this time. Stepping back into this beautiful city made you sigh. You knew that everything was about to change, which was good in some ways—you wouldn’t have to pretend to be someone you’re not anymore. However, it was also painful because you returned with a broken heart that would take time to heal.

Then there was the fact that starting tomorrow, you wouldn’t be working at Jack's place anymore—you’d be unemployed. During the flight, you barely said a word since he was glued to his laptop the whole time, always hustling. He was nice about it, though, treating you like a special guest instead of just a former employee. He made sure you had food and even set up a private spot in the back of the jet for you to sleep.

Once you both arrived at the Upper East Side, he mentioned you could stick around for a few more days if you wanted. You turned him down, saying it was all good because you had somewhere to go, and you really didn’t want to deal with Melanie’s face. Back in your room, you immediately started packing. The other maid girls came over, upset to see you go and wanting to talk to Jack on your behalf, but you stopped them, saying it was best for everyone and you knew it was the right call.

As you removed your dress and jewelry, tears began to well up, but you promised yourself you wouldn’t cry. When you touched your right ear, you realized you had lost one of your earrings; it must have fallen out. Your mind was racing with so many thoughts that you hadn’t even noticed it was gone. A sense of panic washed over you as you thought, “I hope I didn’t drop it while running through the streets of Paris.”

You tossed the dress, jewelry, and heels—everything Harry had bought you—into a bag and pulled out the suitcase from the wardrobe that you hadn’t opened in three years. Your job never really gave you a chance to take a vacation. Even if it did, where would you go with such a tight budget? The closest thing to a holiday you had was last summer when the Johnson family took a trip to Miami from NYC. During their absence, you begged your cousin Zoe, who was working as a seasonal waitress at a hotel in Clearwater, Florida, to let you tag along. You had a great time for three days until you got caught swimming during work hours and were kicked out. You had used a small handbag back then, but now you needed the suitcase you brought from Atlanta—your trusty old friend. It held not just your clothes but also your hopes and dreams, and it had been your companion while you explored New York.

You slipped into some comfy clothes: blue jeans and a black blouse with open sleeves. With your hair in a ponytail and sneakers on, you were ready to head southeast to Brooklyn. As you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, you sighed. It felt like three years ago when you were putting on these clothes, but this time, your hopes and dreams were overshadowed by heartbreak and regrets. Still, you weren’t the same girl you were back then. You felt determined and closer to your dreams, no matter what. You promised yourself you wouldn't be one of those girls crying over a guy. You’d been standing on your own two feet all this time, and that’s how it was going to stay. You zipped up your suitcase, set it on its wheels, and took a last look at the room before grabbing the handle and heading out. When you opened your door, you saw Danilo and all the other maids and staff from the mansion gathered in the hallway. You hugged and said goodbye to each of them when you heard Jack’s loud voice coming from down the corridor.

“Jack is really angry, so no one wants to get close to the main hall,” one of the girls explained.

You shivered at the thought of running into Melanie and her mom; meeting them was the last thing you wanted.

“I’ll head out before they spot me,” you said, glancing back at the staff one last time. They all looked at you with sad eyes. “I promise I’ll come visit again,” you added with a smile.

“Make sure you do!” they urged you.

“Oh, Cara mia, I’m going to miss you,” Danilo said.

“Me too,” you replied and gave him a tight hug.

They waved as the lift doors closed, and you waved back. The soft beep of the elevator reminded you it was time to go. As you walked toward the exit, Garry, Jack’s driver, noticed you and your suitcase. He stopped wiping the rearview mirror and came over.

“Need a ride?” he asked.

“No, I’m good. I just want to take a walk. By the way, did you happen to find any earrings in the car?”

“Earrings? Nope, haven’t seen any,” he said.

You let out a sigh, feeling a bit worried. “Is there any chance you could call the jet pilot or someone from the crew? It’s pretty important.”

“Sure thing, I’ll keep you in the loop.”

“Thanks a bunch, Garry,” you said.

“Anytime, girl. If you need a driver, you know how to reach me,” he replied with a wink.

“That’s really nice of you. Thanks! Take care.”

“You too!” he said.

As you started walking down the street, you waved back at him. At first, your steps felt a bit unsure, but they quickly picked up pace as the mansion faded from sight behind you.

The tires let out a sharp squeal as the sleek black Mercedes glided to a stop beside Jack's car, which he parked erratically, and slammed the door a little too hard before hurrying to the front door of the mansion. Garry was still busy wiping down the car, surprised to see him, but he continued his work. 

Harry, out of breath, impatiently rang the bell repeatedly and pounded on the door. “Jack! Open up, dammit!” he shouted, glancing toward the windows. Wiping the sweat from his forehead, he looked around anxiously. A moment later, Jack appeared in the doorway, puzzled. “Harry? What in God's name?” 

“Where is she? Is she in there? I need to talk to her,” Harry said, desperation clear in his voice. 

Jack squinted at him, very calm in contrast to him, “Who? Who are you talking about?” 

He had to be kidding. 

Harry exhaled a deep breath of frustration. 

Damn it, he didn’t even know your real name. 

“You're banging on my door for a maid whose name you don’t even know?” Jack remarked with disbelief.

“I’m not leaving until I see her,” Harry shot back, determined. 

“Then you’ll be waiting a long time because the others just told me she left the house.” 

Harry's heart clenched. “What do you mean she left? Where did she go? Did you kick her out?” 

“I can't have anyone in my house who goes behind my back, including my own daughter. I'm sending her away, too. Besides, it’s not your business. Why do you care?” 

Harry didn't have a clear answer to that; he just knew he couldn't let you go. He had to find you. 

“Look, just let her go; it's for the best. You know that I'm right,” Jack said dismissively.

“No, I don’t,” Harry muttered stubbornly. “Tell me where she went. You must know where she is.” 

“How would I know?” he lied. Just then, his phone rang, and he pulled it out of his pocket. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to take this. I’ll wait for you at my house some other time, but now is not the right time,” Jack said, closing the door. 

Harry frowned and cursed under his breath. 

Garry, who had seen the whole thing, cautiously walked over to Harry, making sure Jack didn’t see him. “She left like ten minutes ago and walked down the street,” he said quietly, pointing in the direction you headed. “That way,” he whispered.

Harry shot him a quick look, then followed the direction he was pointing with a nod. “Thanks,” he said, feeling a rush of hope and excitement. He jumped back into his car, fired it up, and hit the gas. The tires screeched even louder this time as the car shot onto the road. But of course, traffic was not on Harry's side. He usually didn’t drive himself in the busy streets of New York, but this was an emergency. He kept looking around as he drove, searching for any sign of you.

“Damn it, where are you?” he kept muttering.

He drove past Central Park, zigzagging through traffic, but still no sign of you. It felt like trying to dig a well with a needle. Not the greatest driver to begin with, he was so busy looking around that he didn’t see a garbage can in front of him. When he finally spotted it, he slammed on the brakes, but there was a slight bump anyway. 

"Shit!" He growled.

A nearby cop came over and motioned for him to pull over. There was no real damage to the car—just a busted headlight and a small dent in the bumper—but he was pretty sure he’d get a ticket for hitting public property.

He didn't care about the ticket; he was frustrated and slammed down hard on the steering wheel. “Fuck! How am I supposed to find you now?” he growled to himself.

The old, rusty building stood in stark contrast to the large, luxurious one you had left on the Upper East Side just a few hours earlier, but for some reason, it felt warmer, even cozier. You took a deep breath before knocking on the door, practicing a bright smile until Zoe opened it.

“Whoa! Jesus Christ! Is that really you?” she said, bursting with excitement as she jumped into your arms.

You laughed and hugged her with one arm. “Yep, it’s me, Zoe. I’m back.”

Zoe pulled back, her expression shifting to a frown as she glanced at your suitcase and then back at you. 

"Will you have me as your flatmate for a while? Just like old times?"

“Are you kidding me? Come on in!” she said, motioning for you to enter as she closed the door behind you.

“Sorry, I couldn’t call you. My phone’s off because…” you mumbled as you stepped inside.

'Because I really didn't want to answer the calls from that charming millionaire who had kicked me out the moment he found out the truth about me,' you thought to yourself.

“Oh wow, sounds like a lot has happened, right?” she said, crossing her arms with a knowing smirk. “And I guess it’s not exactly rainbows and butterflies?”

“Kind of,” you replied.

“Come on, sit down. Spill everything,” she urged.

You flopped down on the couch, grabbing one of the cushions. “It’s a long story, and I’m not even sure where to start,” you said lazily.

She peeked into your bag before placing it on the table. “Start with this,” she said, holding up a diamond necklace she pulled from your bag, her eyes wide with surprise.

As the days dragged on, it wasn’t easy for either you or Harry. You were both dealing with your own stuff, but somehow, it felt like you were struggling with the same things. Now unemployed, you immediately began searching for a new job. You had applied to several cleaning companies, including your former employer, but hadn't heard back from any of them yet. The generous severance pay that Jack had given you was not enough to open a small bakery and pursue your dreams—at least not in NYC, maybe in Atlanta, which sounded like "Nah." So you had no choice but to find work; the bills needed to be paid, and you didn’t want to burden Zoe. As a waitress, she already worked nearly 8 to 10 hours a day, and by the time she got home in the evening, she was exhausted. 

It was one of those nights when she worked late again. When she finally got home, she was taken aback by the scene—though she really shouldn’t have been, given that she had an unemployed, depressed roommate. You were sprawled out in front of the TV, devouring a cream pastry you had made, totally lost in the show. You were deeply connecting with the character’s drama. 

“He’s going to leave you, you idiot; all guys are the same,” you muttered at the screen.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Oh, you’re back, didn’t see you there,” you said.

“Seriously, what is all this?” she asked, eyeing the mess: clothes and pastries everywhere, and the kitchen a total disaster. “You sure you’re a housekeeper?”

“An unemployed housekeeper,” you shot back.

“Right,” she said, putting her bag on the table a bit awkwardly. “Alright girl, that’s it.”

You just blinked at her while still chewing on your pastry. She walked over, snatched it from your hand, turned off the TV, and yanked you up by the arm.

“Are you planning to kick me out? I promise I’ll cover the rent with some of my severance pay.”

Zoe rolled her eyes. “And how are you going to chase your dreams then? Come on, get up. Let’s move.”

“So you’re not kickin’ me out?”

“What are you? A stray kitten or something?”

The word “kitten” hit a nerve and brought up something you didn’t want to deal with, tightening your chest. You made a face.

“Then what?” 

“It’s time for an intervention,” she said, nudging you into the bathroom. It was small but okay, and when you stood in front of the mirror, Zoe adjusted you to face it.

“Look at yourself. You haven’t combed your hair in two days,” she said, running her fingers through it. “Your eyes look sunken from crying and lack of sleep.” You blinked in disbelief at the dark circles under your eyes— what the heck? Embarrassed, you quickly licked the corner of your lip to get the pastry cream off.

“Where’s the strong girl I used to know? This isn’t her at all. This is a total stranger—someone who’s given up, someone who’s lost the fight,” she said, looking seriously at your reflection. “You've let yourself go, and it’s starting to worry me. Babe, you need to pull yourself together.”

She was right, of course.

“Look, I’ll be inside, and when you come out, I want you to look refreshed, okay?” 

You nodded at your reflection, and she nodded back. “Good. I’ll give you some time. Shake it off and get it together. I’ll be waiting,” she said, giving you a supportive pat on the back.

That’s when you realized how bad you had let things get. Had you really looked like that for days? It was awful. You felt completely lost.

But no, you hadn't lost the battle, you were just getting started. You threw off the clothes that felt like they were sticking to you - you hadn't left the house in three days, so you'd been wearing them all the time. You stripped completely naked and turned on the shower. It took a while to heat up - old pipes, old flat. While you waited, you brushed your teeth and splashed cold water over your face.

As the hot water started streaming, you jumped in and let out a sigh—it was just what you needed. You washed yourself off, hoping to scrub away the worries clouding your mind at the same time.

When you looked in the mirror again after your refreshing shower, you smiled for the first time in days. 

You felt different and rejuvenated.

You also felt silly for spending your days in misery.

Keeping your smile natural, you walked into the living room.

“That’s my girl!” Zoe cheered.

You rushed over and gave her a hug. “Thanks, Zoe. You’re such a great friend.”

“So are you. How are you feeling?”

It was a question she’d never asked before, probably because the answer was hard to face every day. After thinking for a bit, you replied, “I’m feeling hopeful, ambitious, and determined.”

"That’s exactly what you need."

“Right?” you said, smiling. “I’ll call Danilo and let him know I’m going to the hotel tomorrow to take the chef's assistant gig, at least until I land something better.”

"Awesome! We can get rid of these pastries," Zoe said, still snacking on one.

You crossed your arms and shot her a playful look. 

"I mean, they’re amazing, and you’re really talented, but you’ve wiped out our flour and sugar stash. Plus, you need to bake somewhere other than home."

You glanced at the tray of pastries on the table. "Should we share some with the neighbors?"

Zoe’s eyes lit up. "Neighbors? That’s a great idea!"

She grabbed a plate from the kitchen and piled it high with the pastries you whipped up. You raised an eyebrow as she adjusted her dress in the mirror before bouncing out the door. 

"I think we’ve got a cute neighbor," you said with a smirk. 

She laughed. "Oh, it's one of the guys down the hall, John. He’s a waiter too and super hot—tall, buff, and those blue eyes!" 

You raised your eyebrows with a big grin. “Sounds like someone’s got a crush, huh?”  

"Let's say his eyes are blue like the Atlantic, and I'm going down like the Titanic."

“Wooohooo!” you whistled, and you both burst into laughter.

"Wish me luck!" she said she walked out.

Once you headed to your room to get dressed, you took off the towel wrapped around you and pulled out some fresh underwear from the drawer. As you put them on, your eyes landed on the bag sitting on your nightstand. You had almost forgotten about it, having intentionally ignored its presence.

Then you grabbed your phone, which you had stuffed away in the sock drawer, and turned it on. You figured it was time to confront what you’d been avoiding, especially since you’d been feeling good now. As soon as the phone lit up, tons of notifications popped up. You had used Zoe’s number for job applications, but that felt pointless now. You’d need to change that as soon as you found a new job.

Feeling uneasy, you swiped through the notifications without looking. You already knew who they were from, and you didn’t want to care. At least, that’s what you tried to convince yourself.

But deep down, you knew you’d take a peek.

There were missed calls and texts from Oliver and then from Harry.

So, he got himself a new phone.

That was a relief.

You could've called Oliver, but texting felt like the safer bet.

"Can we meet tomorrow? It’ll only take a few minutes. I have something to return."

Next, you called Danilo to see if his offer was still stood. While you were waiting for his reply, Oliver hit you up with a text.

"Sure. Where?"

Danilo called back just in time to tell you that the hotel chef was totally chill about it and is expecting you tomorrow. He mentioned, with a hint of smugness, that the chef is one of his best buddies. Plus, he owed him a favor as they're both Italian.

Since the hotel is in Manhattan, you set up a meeting with Oliver at a bar there during rush hour. You should’ve just handed over the bag and cut ties with him for good, but something kept bothering you: the missing earring.

You had no clue how much it was worth, and that freaked you out—probably more than your whole bank account. To Harry, it might be a sneeze, but you still needed to pay him back, even if it meant giving up all your severance pay.

You really hoped it wasn’t worth that much.

Otherwise, you were fucked.

"How long has he been like this?"  

"Almost five days."  

“Fucking hell.”  

Oliver and Harry's close friend Maria exchanged worried glances as they looked at him. Harry's daily routine was a bit different from yours. Every morning, he got up and continued to work with a renewed sense of ambition, but he preferred working from home. This was manageable in the beginning, but as the meetings piled up, it became overwhelming.  

Maria was not only one of his business partners but also an old friend. No matter how hard she tried to cope in his absence, she couldn’t manage without his support. She was already navigating life as a mother going through a divorce, and Harry's situation only complicated things further. Years ago, Maria’s husband and Harry had started a business together, working tirelessly to build it up. Despite facing challenges along the way, they always found a way to overcome them.  

Maria and Harry's friendship dated back to their childhood. She knew him wel. She knew he had always had relationships with women, especially after achieving millionaire status and becoming a successful businessman. He was the kind of man who was passionate in love, compassionate, and willing to make sacrifices when he found someone special. However, things had not gone well with his last relationship, and the fallout affected him deeply. Now, he found himself in this troubled state for the second time.  

Harry maintained his routine despite Oliver's pleas for days. He would wake up early, check his phone, go to work, and then drive around in front of Jack's house in the afternoons. But it all felt futile; there was no trace of you. It was as if you had vanished—like a fairy tale, just like Cinderella.  

Oliver tried reaching out to the dating agency, but it didn’t go anywhere. He talked to Jack again. He was convinced he was hiding something, but the guy was tight-lipped. No one could provide any information about your whereabouts. All Oliver had was your name and your resume, and there was no current address listed. He felt a sense of failure, worried for Harry for the first time in a long time.  

That’s why he froze when he saw the message on his phone that evening. He stared at it in disbelief, having saved your name as Melanie on his phone. Now, knowing your real name, he changed it back and considered how to respond to the message—whether to tell Harry or not. Ultimately, he knew he couldn’t keep something like this from Harry, especially when he was anxiously waiting for any news about you.

He walked over as Maria was on a mission to get Harry to hit the bar for a drink. 

“I'm not in the mood,” Harry mumbled, sprawled out on the couch with his arm over his face.

“Ollie, can you say something to our grumpy buddy?” Maria complained, looking at Oliver.

Oliver was a bit lost in thought; he cleared his throat, “Uh, Harry.”

Harry moved his arm away from his face and glanced at him. "You'd better take a look at this." Oliver handed the phone to him, showing him the message on the screen.

Maria continued. “And, if you want, I can take you to a strip club or something, like the old days—my treat,” she suggested, sitting on the edge of the couch and looking like she was about to give up. 

When Harry finally saw the message you sent to Oliver, he shot upright and grabbed the phone from him. 

A grin spread across his face.

"Oliver, what have you done to make Mr Happy smile again?"

Oliver chuckled, “Not me; it was all her. Thank God for that.”

“I should just call her,” Harry mumbled.

Oliver grabbed the phone back. “She isn’t going to answer. She said she just wants to drop something off and doesn’t want to talk with you—at least, not yet.”

“I don’t care; I want to talk to her. I really need to see her,” Harry pushed back, frowning.

“I don’t think she wants to see you, man.”

“You really think that would stop me?”

“Nope, not at all.”

Maria jumped in, “Why don’t I just handle the talking—girl to girl? I’m really curious about her anyway.”

“No way.”

“Not happening.”

“Relax! I’m not going to bite her or anything,” she said, folding her arms.

“Look, I told her I’d go alone. But if you want to talk to her too, fine. You should get your act together anyway.”

Harry nodded. “Yeah, I need to figure this out, Ollie.”

“Alright, it’s getting late. I’ve got to bounce. See you in the morning.” He stuffed the phone in his pocket and left while Harry went into the bedroom.

“Am I invisible or what?” Maria huffed.

“Just go home, Maria! I’m good; there’s nothing to worry about!” Harry's voice echoed in the hallway.

“Yeah, I can see it! You must care about this girl more than I thought if just one text can change your mood like this after we’ve been working hard for days and my efforts feel wasted.”

“Sorry about that!”

“Wow, you didn’t even put in an effort,” she said as she made her way to the door. “Hope that girl feels the same about you, dude. Catch you later.”  

Harry thought about it while putting his T-shirt on. That’s what he was kinda unsure about—how you actually felt, especially after what went down last time. But he was set on making things right.

Whatever it took.

It was one of the most luxurious hotels in Manhattan. You arrived early in the morning, bubbling with excitement as you rushed straight to the kitchen. Danilo informed you that Chef Bruno prided himself on punctuality and had little patience for tardiness. You felt the weight of this when he grimaced slightly, revealing that you were only two minutes late—perhaps you weren't so early after all. Fortunately, he was also kind and helpful, and you soon impressed him by preparing and serving every dessert he requested throughout the day.

The kitchen buzzed with energy, resembling a beehive. Commis chefs and cooks labored over their dishes as waitstaff darted about, meticulously inspecting each plate before delivering them to the guests.

By evening, as the sun began to set, you had adjusted to the frantic pace.  You couldn't help but dream of one day running your own bakery-restaurant amid such a whirlwind once you completed your training and got ready to receive your certificate. But you recognized that achieving that dream would require hard work and dedication.

As you glanced at your watch, you realized your meeting with Oliver was drawing near. Just as you were about to remove your apron and toque, a waiter approached Bruno and whispered something in his ear. Bruno turned to you with a glint in his eye, saying, “Here’s your chance to really shine.”

“I thought I had done enough for today,” you replied, the fatigue evident in your voice.

Bruno chuckled, “What you've accomplished so far are just baby steps, my dear. If you can whip up my specialty, the chef’s special, you might just receive that certificate sooner than you think.”

“I thought dinner service was over,” you replied with a frown. “Most of the staff has already called it a night.”

You felt utterly drained—exhaustion was an understatement.

“Do you know who we are serving for dessert?” Bruno asked, pulling out couverture chocolates and vanilla pods from a drawer.

You leaned over the counter, resting your elbows on it. “Who is it?”

“The owner of this hotel.”

Surprise lit up your face. “Really?”

“Absolutely! He orders my special dessert every Sunday night. Looks like today is your lucky day.”

“And I thought it was my unluckiest,” you murmured.

“Uh-oh. Success doesn’t come to those who shy away from challenges,” he replied playfully.

“Hey! What makes you think I’m afraid?” you shot back.

“Because you’re whining like a little girl,” he teased.

“All right then, can you share the recipe for your signature dessert, Chef?”

The dessert was a special creation, similar to a chocolate brownie topped with cherry sauce. You managed to prepare it in under half an hour, meticulously garnishing the plate with white chocolate and more cherry sauce.

“Well, not bad,” Bruno said, squinting as he appraised your work. “Let’s hope Mr. Finnegan likes it,” he added with a mischievous grin.

He was careful not to shower you with too much praise—this was no time for complacency, especially since he had asked you to deliver the plate personally.

Before you made your way out, Bruno advised you to carry the plate with one hand, not two, and to have confidence in yourself. Taking a deep breath, you stepped into the dining room. You could feel Bruno's gaze following you as you approached the man sitting with his back to you. When he turned around, you were so taken aback that you nearly dropped the plate, ruining the dessert.

Bruno slapped his forehead in frustration, muttering quietly in his native language.

“Y-you... Alan?” you stammered, recognizing him. This was the man you’d encountered in Paris—what was he doing here?

He looked at you in surprise and then smiled. “Oh, you are the girl from Paris, whose name I still don't know.”

Embarrassed, you bowed your head and introduced yourself. “But what are you doing here?”

Alan laughed. “Well, I'm staying here; apparently, I own this hotel,” he replied with a polite smile.

Your mouth dropped open in shock. The coincidence was overwhelming. “Well, excuse me, I didn't know.”

“But I didn’t know you were a chef. You looked like a model or a celebrity the last time I saw you.”

You laughed nervously.

A model? A celebrity?

He must be joking.

"Well, I'm not actually a chef, I'm still trying to get my certificate so I can open my own restaurant."

“Really? I hope you get it. Did you prepare this?”

“Yes, please enjoy your dessert. I hope you like it.” You bowed your head slightly and turned to leave for the kitchen, but he stopped you with a raised hand.

“Why don't you join me?”

“But I... ” Just then, your phone rang. It was Oliver. Damn, it was almost nine o'clock. “I have to take this,” you said, looking at Alan, who nodded and took a forkful of his dessert.

“Oliver, I'm sorry I got held up at the hotel. Do you mind if I'm a bit late?” you asked in a whisper.

He responded from the other end, “Which hotel are you in?”

You told him the name of the hotel and where you were, then hung up. When you looked back at Alan, he was halfway through his dessert. He glanced at you. “It's really delicious. Taste it, please.” He gestured toward the chair opposite him.

It felt a bit awkward, but he was your big boss, so you couldn't refuse—not if you were going to work here with Bruno. You pulled the chair, sat down, and picked up the fork on the table. You took a bite of the dessert and realized it was fantastic. You smiled, proud of your creation. Alan's gaze was fixed on you; there was something strange about it, something you couldn't quite understand.

“Come on, finish it all,” he encouraged with a smile.

“But—”

“Come on, please. It's fun to watch you eat.”

What the hell?

What did he mean by that?

Some men really don’t know how to give compliments.

“So, how do you know Jack?” he inquired, still focused on you.

You swallowed the last bite of your dessert and replied truthfully, “I used to work as a housekeeper at his place.” 

He raised an eyebrow. “That's quite intriguing. But I shouldn't be surprised; I sensed you were a strong woman right from the start.” He chuckled, and you returned a shy smile.

Once you finished your plate, you glanced at him. “I’m really glad you enjoyed it, Mr. Finnegan.”

“Just call me Alan, please,” he said with a warm smile.

At that moment, you heard someone call your name, causing you to jump in surprise. Harry was approaching you from across the hall. You froze, your eyes wide with shock. Instinctively, you took a step back, but before you could react further, he leaned in and wrapped his arms around you.

“I finally found you,” he said, resting his hand on the back of your head and pulling you even closer to his chest.

You stayed still, dazed by his sudden appearance. Then, you caught a glimpse of Oliver, and anger rose within you. Placing your hands on Harry's chest, you gently pushed him away.

Alan stood right beside you, and you cursed your luck. What a first impression.

With a quick, icy glance at Alan, Harry grabbed your hand and tugged it. “We need to talk. Come with me.”

“Wait…” you protested, but he held your hand firmly, making it hard to pull away. “I’m really sorry about this, Mr. Finnegan,” you added sheepishly. Alan frowned at the scene but didn't interfere. It seemed they knew each other.

As soon as you stepped outside, you managed to free your arm from his grasp. “Let go of me! What do you want, Harry?” 

He frowned, looking slightly puzzled. But why? Had he forgotten how he treated you last time?

“How dare you just pull me away like that? I was with my boss!” you exclaimed.

“Your boss? Since when is Alan Finnegan your boss? And why are you dressed like this? Aren't you a housekeeper? ” he asked, scrutinizing your outfit.

Right. 

There were no more secrets between the two of you.

Just heartbreak.

“You mean an unemployed housekeeper. Jack fired me, and I think you know that. And Alan, Mr. Finnegan… Wait a minute, why do I have to explain this to you? It’s over between us, isn’t it? Last time, you told me to ‘get out,’ and I did. That was pretty clear.”

Harry shook his head. “I am sorry. I misunderstood. I was angry. I thought you were a gold-digger or a crook. I had no idea you worked at Jack's house, and you didn’t tell me from the start. I felt betrayed. I didn’t know how to handle it.”

At that moment, one of the waiters approached you with your bag—the one you intended to give to Oliver.

“Thank you, Nancy,” you said.

“By the way, the clothes and the hat…” she pointed out, glancing at your outfit.

“Oh, sorry,” you replied, taking them off immediately. Once she left, you handed the bag to Harry. “Here, take this.”

“What’s this?” he asked.

“Stuff that doesn’t belong to me,” you said, looking away.

Harry peered into the bag and then back at you. “Are you serious? These were bought for you.”

“No, they’re for Melanie. I’m not Melanie,” you insisted.

“Why are you doing this?”

You ignored his question. “I couldn’t find one of the earrings, sorry.”

Harry was about to tell you that he had found the earring and had it with him, but before he could speak, you cut him off, making him more frustrated.

“I don’t want to owe you anything. I’m embarrassed enough as it is. I’m ready to pay whatever it’s worth.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?” And what about the other things? The things that can’t be fixed with money?” 

It was awkward to hear this from him.

You locked eyes, his expression serious and his gaze intense. “You deserve better than me, and you can do better than me,” you said, turning toward the street and starting to walk away.

Harry watched you for a moment before rushing to catch up. “What if I want you and not them?”

You kept walking, not sparing him a glance. “No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do. Ever since I first saw you. I like you for who you are, not just for the role you play as Melanie Johnson. If you wanted to object, you should have done it that night.”

“What did you expect? I was wearing her clothes, and you kissed me. I was going to end it, but I couldn’t, and I kept lying.”

"You didn’t have to keep lying for me to like you."

You stopped and faced him. “Who's kidding who, Harry? Do you really think you would have looked at me the same way if you knew I was the maid?”

He paused to think. 

You shook your head. “That's what I thought,” you said, continuing to walk. He followed you.

“You didn't give me a chance. If you had explained everything, I would have answered that question. Besides, you judge me, but I never judged you.”

“But people like you often do. I am invisible to them, just someone who cleans and tidies up. Why should you be any different?”

“You're doing it again,” he muttered.

“What do you want from me, Harry?” you asked, stopping.

“The truth.”

“What truth?”

“You had to lie to me, and I understand that, but was everything a lie?”

You tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear, feeling the weight of his eyes on you. “You want the truth? Part of me wanted to see what it felt like... to have someone like you look at me the way you did, even just once. And I’m sorry. Truly, I am. If I could go back to that night, I would tell Melanie to get off her ass and handle it herself.”

He sighed. “Was it real? Any of it?” His brown eyes searched yours, filled with a desperate plea for honesty. 

You couldn’t bring yourself to lie to him—not when he looked like that.

You nodded slowly. “Yes, it was real. So real that I struggled with the thought of letting you go. But I had to— that was the plan. Until that night came along. Then... I couldn’t. And when I walked into the room the other night, I meant to tell you everything, hoping you'd accept me for who I am.” You hastily wiped away a tear that threatened to spill down your cheek.

Harry took your hand, gazing deeply into your eyes. “Can't we start over? A second chance, another date—me as I am, and you as you. No secrets. What do you say?”

Your heart raced, like spring flowers blooming within you. But then that memory flashed in your mind—the moment he kicked you out of the room. What if one day, he hurt you because of your social status? Or if you hurt him simply by being who you are? You pulled your hands back. “Like I said, Harry, you can do better than me. Our worlds are so different; I just can’t fit into yours. Besides, I have my own dreams to chase, and I need to work for them. I made that promise to myself.”

“I can help you make that happen; you just have to ask.”

You frowned. “If I can’t achieve it on my own, then is it really success?”

“What do you want me to do then?”

“Go on living as if I never crossed your path. Because that’s what I’ll do. It’s for the best. Goodbye, Harry,” you said coldly, turning away.

This time, he didn’t chase after you. You knew you had hurt him, maybe more deeply. 

But this was better. 

It had to be.

As you stepped out of the subway and started walking home, your phone buzzed with a notification. It was a message from Harry. 

What on earth? 

Hadn't you made yourself clear just a little while ago?

You opened the message, your heart racing. 

“If you think I’m going to give up that easily, kitty, you’re mistaken. This isn’t over. It’s just the beginning. I’m going to make you mine.” 

Kitty?

Seriously? 

He's so back.

“Oh great, here we go again,” you muttered under your breath. As you made your way into the apartment building, you managed to open the door behind you with your back, using your foot to close it, texting him back.

“In your dreams, Mr. Castillo.”

“You're already in my dreams, darling.”

You felt your cheeks flush and took a moment to collect yourself before stepping inside your apartment. Upon entering, you noticed Zoe had already made herself at home. 

"Hey honey! How was your day?" she asked cheerfully, but you sensed a strange tone in her voice.

“Oh, don’t even ask,” you sighed.

“Well, I hate to add to your stress, but…” 

“Why? What happened?” 

Zoe stepped aside and gestured towards the couch. “This happened.” 

Your eyes went wide as you spotted an unconscious Melanie sprawled out on the sofa, completely wasted. “What the… Melanie?”

“A blond guy dropped her off this afternoon and just left. I didn’t know what to do, so I waited for you.” 

“Ugh, Nate!” you hissed through gritted teeth. You immediately pulled out your phone and tried to call him, but he didn’t pick up. 

“God damn it!” Frustrated, you dialed Jack’s number next, but he didn’t answer either. 

What the hell? 

Just then, your phone rang—finally! But it wasn’t Nate; it was a call from someone on the board of directors for the cleaning company. 

“I’m calling to let you know your application has been approved, and you need to start work tomorrow morning, right away.” 

Zoe looked at you expectantly. “Or?” 

You met her gaze and nodded, which made her clap her hands in excitement. 

“Uh-huh, I’ll be there,” you replied, a grin spreading across your face. “Thanks,” you added and hung up. 

“They finally called!” Zoe hugged you tightly. 

“Yes!” you said, beaming with joy, but also wondering why they didn't call Zoe's number but called yours.

“So when do you start?” 

“I have to be at the building by 8 a.m. sharp.” 

“Is it standard house cleaning or regular maid service?” 

“I’ll be cleaning one of the penthouses in the building. They mentioned we’d go over the details about continuity later, and I should be getting the address shortly,” you said, glancing down at your phone.

“What is it?” Zoe asked.

“It’s just a bit strange. Usually, they provide all the details right away, but they didn’t this time. Plus, they specified only one house. It feels like I was handpicked for that particular place.”

“Maybe the owner is really particular and prefers to have just one person working there. And let’s not forget, even though you were let go, you did have three years of private work in a mansion. Your resume speaks for itself.”

“Yeah, you might be right." Perhaps Jack left a glowing reference that influenced their decision.

“Come on, you’ve been waiting for this call for days. Stay positive!” she said, giving you a gentle nudge on the shoulder.

Just then, you both heard a series of grunts from Melanie. She rolled over on the couch and started snoring.

“What are we going to do about her?” she asked.

“We’ll tackle that in the morning. Let’s hit the hay before it gets too late. I start work tomorrow!”

“Yes, you do!” 

You both touched each other’s hands, intertwined your fingers, jumped for joy, and embraced again. 

“Let’s celebrate with your first paycheck! You’re buying!”

“Sure thing, girl!”

As you woke up that morning, a long-forgotten feeling washed over you, and a smile crept onto your face as you stepped out of bed. The weight of job responsibilities, the thrill of feeling useful, and the excitement of a new job with a fresh salary all surged within you—an opportunity that edged you closer to your dreams. While getting dressed, a sudden high-pitched scream jolted you. You sighed, recognizing the voice and knowing exactly who it belonged to.

Zoe was already in the living room when Melanie stood on the sofa, wide-eyed and looking utterly bewildered as if she had been kidnapped. 

“Look who finally woke up!” Zoe snarled.

“What on earth are you screaming about?” You hissed

“Nate brought me here?” Melanie was a mess, with disheveled hair and smudged makeup on her face. She sank onto the couch, still feeling dizzy.

At that moment, there was a knock on the door. "You've just woken the neighbors, you weirdo," Zoe grumbled as she went to open it. "Oh, hey John!"

“Are you girls okay? I was worried when I heard that scream,” he said, peering inside as you waved him in. “Hey John, sorry!” you replied with a grin. “We’re having a sleepover, and someone is still drunk.”

Zoe flushed bright red, embarrassed at being caught in her pajamas by her crush. You stepped closer to her and stifled a laugh. 

“Wow, that's fine. I was actually going to knock on your door anyway,” he said, glancing over at Zoe. “By the way, are you going to the wedding this weekend?”

“The fancy one with all the celebs and billionaires? Yeah, I’ll be there. They’re paying pretty well,” she said.

“Same here; otherwise I'd have no reason to go. I’m already wiped out from working two jobs during the week; I’m really grinding it out.” 

“Full-time waiter?” you mocked.

“Also doing deliveries,” John sighed.

“Wow, you must be a superhero or something.” 

“Gotta pay the bills, girl. Want to come along, too? I can ask the boss.”

“Pass on the waitress gig, and I don’t need to; they called me yesterday. I was just about to head out for work.”

“Really? That’s awesome,” he responded, giving you a friendly tap on the shoulder. 

“Thanks, John. I need to get ready and head out now,” you smiled at both of them and turned back toward your room.

“Good luck!” he called after you, then turned to Zoe. “We’ll pick you up with the guys Saturday afternoon.”

“Sounds good!” she replied, visibly more relaxed.

You called Nate again as you stepped off the subway, making your way through the streets of Manhattan to the address they had sent you. 

“Yep?” he replied, sounding groggy.

“Listen, that thing you left on my couch yesterday? You need to come and get it right now and throw it out, got it?” 

“Thing? You mean Melanie? Are you really calling her trash?” 

“To me, she is.”

“Come on, babe, I’ve done my part. Now it’s your turn.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” You raised your voice more than you meant to, causing a few passersby to give you curious glances. Ashamed, you lowered your head and kept walking. 

“Don't you think it's partially your fault Jack kicked her out?” 

“How dare you say that? Do you even hear yourself?” 

Your stomach turned when you heard the unmistakable sound of a girl, no, two girls moaning on the other end of the line, and it hit you why. “I’m a little busy right now. If you're not joining the fun, I should hang up.”

“Ugh! You’re disgusting! I hate you!”

“Love you too, babe,” he said with a cheeky laugh. 

Fuming, you abruptly ended the call and shoved the phone into your bag. “What an asshole.” He was a real pain in the neck. As you continued down the street, thinking about how to deal with Melanie, a car pulled up to the curb just as you crossed the street. You nearly stumbled when you heard a familiar voice. 

“Morning, beautiful.” Harry was leaning back in the seat of his Mercedes, window half down and a grin plastered on his face.

“Harry? Oh, please, not now. Go away—I’m already running late.”

“Want a lift?” 

“No, thanks. After last night, I realized I should avoid you,” you said firmly, resuming your pace. The car kept moving alongside you at a slow crawl. 

“Would you consider avoiding me over breakfast?” he asked, still grinning. 

“Look, Harry, I’m really sorry, but I’m starting a new job today and I just can’t fit you into my schedule. Is that clear?”

“Hmmm. Not as clear as the memories of that night in Paris with you meowing in my ear. Which I have been replaying over and over. Like a special kinda music to my ears.” he said, smirking and pointing at his ears.

You paused for a moment, swallowing hard as your cheeks flushed. “Huh! I’ve already forgotten; I suggest you do the same. Just erase the damn tape!”  

He pursed his lips teasingly. “Hmph, I could if I didn’t still have your fingernail marks on my back. Nice color, by the way,” he remarked, nodding at your nails.  

You glanced at the red polish you had applied just the night before, then back at him, watching as he chuckled at your reaction. You frowned and said, “Just knock it off.”  

"I will, but only if you promise to let me take you to dinner one night," he replied with the cutest grin.  

Oh boy.  

Those damn puppy-dog eyes.  

Shit.

Ignoring the rapid beating of your heart, you rolled your eyes and scoffed. “Fine, but not anytime soon. I’m swamped with work.” You were already at the entrance of the apartment building.  

“Don’t keep me waiting too long, kitty. See ya!”  

You squinted at him as you crossed the street. He rolled up his window and sped off around the corner. Taking a deep breath, you stepped into the building.

“Is everything set?” Harry asked, just settling into his seat at the office. 

Oliver nodded, noticing the grin on his face and his upbeat demeanor. “Yes, the meeting kicks off in ten minutes. Maria's on her way. 

By the way, your invitation arrived. The tailor is expecting you tomorrow. With the wedding this weekend, time is tight.”

“I know, thanks,” Harry replied, setting aside his friend’s wedding invitation. He pulled out his iPad and opened the smart home app, looking as excited as a kid in a candy store.

“Why didn’t you mention that you found the other earring?” Oliver suddenly inquired.

“It just didn’t feel like the right time,” Harry responded.

“Listen, if I know her at all, she’ll want to make it up to you,” Oliver said.

“That’s exactly what I want,” Harry replied.

Oliver raised an eyebrow. "I had no clue you had a bit of a dark side, buddy."  

Harry rolled his eyes. 

“It’s just an excuse to see her, isn’t it?”

Harry didn’t reply, but Oliver could tell the answer was yes. “Like you wouldn’t see her often anyway,” he suggested with a smirk. “You better put as much effort into your work as you do into chasing her, or Maria's going to kick our asses,” he added before heading out of the office.

Harry tuned him out and connected to the home camera in the penthouse through the app. When he spotted you in your maid outfit, pushing the vacuum cleaner in the hallway, he couldn’t help but smile. “Welcome home, Cinderella,” he murmured to himself. 

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[knightjpg]

Brick by Brick

And like a dog who's learned a new trick Simon rings your bell the next day. Wasn't happy with how he left it, and wasn't that faucet leaking? He's got plenty of spare wood in his shed, don't you worry. What's that about the boiler making a weird noise? He'll take a look at it, might have something for the draft in the hallway too. Pay him? What are you talking about, he does stuff like this for fun. Don't sweat it, love. Just hand him that wrench.

tags: construction worker simon/neighbour reader

part 1 | part 2

Summer is the worst time of year for construction work outside. Up early before the birds are awake to try and beat the heat, arriving on site at six or earlier with bleary eyes and creaky joints from the day before. It means coming home at four or five with lots of day left to get through yet without the will or energy to do anything beside shower, eat, watch some telly, and sleep. 

The pay is good and it beats sitting in a cramped office all day, but when Simon gets home with aching knees and the thrum of a headache at the back of his skull it's hard to remember why on Earth he chose the career he's in. He's drenched in sweat, large dark patches adorning his pits and back. 

It's one of those days where very little can make him stray from his commute straight to home to collapse into his big falling-apart chair, but today it's not really up to him. A large moving truck blocks his driveway. The faded company logo against dirty white overtakes the entire view of his windshield, though Simon can see the back doors are still swung open. No one to attend to it, though. 

Simon noticed the FOR SALE! sign had gone, of course. Remembers feeling vaguely pleased, even, that the home next to his wouldn't be empty anymore, because he of all people knows exactly how quickly places can fall apart without anyone tending to it. But right now all he feels is tired, and hot, and really fucking annoyed. Just when he's clicked his belt loose to get out of the car and see if the dolt belonging to the truck is anywhere to be found, voices carry from the open front door. 

“...last. I'm afraid it's a little heavy, though, so maybe we should get the boxes out first?” 

And out steps the sweetest little thing he's ever seen. Hair tied up, tight little top, and shorts that give him ample view of your legs.  

Maybe summer's not so bad after all. 

You're talking to a bloke wearing a uniform that matches the moving truck and who looks flushed in the face from exertion. As soon as you clock Simon's car, though, you stop mid-sentence in surprise, and then quickly walk to him, brows furrowed apologetically. 

“Oh, I'm so sorry—you're trying to get past us, aren't you?” Simon gives you a nod, and you turn back to the mover. “Would you mind moving the truck up a little? I don't want it to be in the way.” 

There's precious little parking space ahead, so Simon rolls down his window and calls out to you, “Jus’ backing up a few yards s’fine.” He gestures to his driveway so you know that's where he's headed, and you flash him a smile and a thumbs-up in understanding. 

The truck is moved, Simon parks his car, and you pull another heavy-looking box from the cube. You never reach your new doorstep with it; Simon steps in and lifts it from your hands. You blink up at him, lashes fluttering sweetly with surprise. “Oh—are you sure? It's heavy...!” 

One corner of Simon's mouth tugs up. Tired as he is it weighs next to nothing, and he can't resist holding it with one arm, holding out the other. 

“Can take ‘nother if you need.” 

You laugh and assure him this is quite enough, then jog back to the truck while Simon pushes past the half-open door to his new neighbour's home. 

It's a mess, of course. Piles of boxes, scattered furniture, rolled-up carpets. Simon puts the box down in the living room, then saunters back outside to lift another from your hands. He does the same with the couch; the mover is struggling and Simon doesn't trust him not to let it fall and crash. And you're such a little thing. Just doesn't feel right, watching you rush around and struggle without stepping in. 

With Simon's help it's quick work. The mover thanks Simon before driving off, but he's not really listening. There's much more important things to pay attention to. 

You're pretty. Cheeks flushed from exertion, breathing hard, flyaway hairs from your ponytail sticking up in odd directions. Simon has to suppress the urge to smooth them away. 

"Thanks so much for the help,” you tell him earnestly. “I'm sorry we were in the way—we thought we'd have a little more time before people started coming home from work.” 

“S’alright,” Simon says. It's nearing evening, now, the sky above you glowing in pale pink and oranges hues. The little smatter of trees across from you rustles with a gust of summer wind.  

You introduce yourself and insist on giving Simon your number “in case there's ever anything you need.” Simon's more concerned about a young woman living all on her own but takes your number all the same, watching your pretty little fingers tap it in on his phone. 

“I mostly work from home, but I'm very quiet and boring,” you tell him with a smile. “You don't have to worry about noise.” 

For some reason that isn't the selling point it should be. When Simon stands inside his hallway, house empty and dark and quiet, he wishes he still lived in a shitty apartment with thin walls on the bad side of Manchester. Maybe then he'd hear your footsteps, or better yet, your voice. Instead the only thing waiting for him at home is silence. Heavy and thick, where he's ripped away from sweet sunshine and plunged underwater. 

-

Simon is halfway to falling asleep on the couch when the bell rings. He groans, drags a hand over his face, and glances up at the TV. The football match is still going. The camera pans over a cheering crowd, their cries distant and quiet. 

He mutes the thing entirely and heaves himself up to open the door. Swear to God, if this is the fucking salesman again... 

“Hi there.” 

You give Simon a little finger wave, your other hand cradling a round oven dish. When you shift on your feet the protective foil on top rustles noisily. 

You look a little more put together than you did yesterday—rested, showered, fed. Just as pretty. 

Although, speaking of fed... 

“Alright?” Simon asks, eyes on the oven pan. He's only catching a faint whiff of something, but whatever it is smells really fucking good. His stomach reminds him that the only thing in his fridge are a couple cans of beer.  

You nod and lift the dish with a shy little grin. “Yeah. Um. I wanted to say thanks again, for yesterday. And I wanted to test out my oven, so...” 

You hold the dish out for him to take. Simon's fingers brush yours, large meaty paws easily twice the size of your own. When he peels back the foil you add, “Shepherd's pie. I thought about cookies, but I wasn't sure if you'd like those.” 

The scent hits him, then, rich and hearty and buttery smooth. The dish is still a little warm. 

Fuck. When was the last time he ate something homemade? 

“No, I'll eat anything,” he says, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious. He hasn't showered yet. Must look a nightmare. Does he stink? “Thanks.” 

Your whole face lights up, and Simon's neck feels hot. He averts his eyes to avoid your gaze and pretends to inspect the pie instead. Jesus, what is he, twelve? “I'm glad. I'll leave you to it, then.” 

D’you want to come in for a drink?  

It's on the tip of his tongue, but he can't get the words out quite right and gives you a brusque nod, watching you walk back to your own home before closing his door all the way. 

He eats at his kitchen table and finishes the whole thing in one go. Chases bits of flakey crust with his finger, licks up every leftover crumb. The meat is tender and juicy and for a while after the only things he smells is golden-brown potatoes seasoned with rosemary. 

He mourns it when it's gone, of course. Has half a mind to go over right now and ask if your cooking is for hire—Simon can't remember the last time he felt satisfied. When he ate not just for the sake of fuel or convenience but because someone wanted him to have something nice, something special. Is it special? Is he special? Are you going around the neighbourhood handing out cookies and pies to just anyone? 

Simon's sigh is loud in the silence and sticks to the kitchen walls. 

The pre-made frozen meals are fine, of course. Empty plastic containers fill up the rubbish bin. They're easy and cheap and most days Simon's glad just to have something warm in his stomach.  

And yet. 

The next day Simon stands at your door at six in the evening sharp, holding the clean dish in his hands. You invite him in for a cup of tea, because unlike him you have good manners, and you sheepishly apologise for the stacks of boxes everywhere. 

“S’alright,” Simon says, carefully manoeuvring around a large pile of books. “I don't mind.” 

And he doesn't, though he does feel like a bull in a china shop. Large and much too coarse for the little tea cup you hand him while the kettle whistles on the stove. 

“I'm afraid I don't have much to go with it,” you say with a flutter of your hands. “Do you like ginger snaps? I think I've got a pack somewhere.” 

You don't wait for his answer and pry open one of the cupboards. First come the ginger snaps, then the box of Earl Grey, which you hold up to him with a triumphant smile. “Unpacked the important stuff first.” 

Simon frowns and jerks his chin to the cupboard. “S’it stuck?” 

“Oh—yeah. They all are.” You give the wood a little knock. “It'll take me some time to get to fixing everything. The house went for a good price, but only ‘cause it needs some love.” You give him a rueful smile and get up, wiping your hands on your thighs. “I'm not all that handy, so I'll have to take it bit by bit.” 

Simon rises before you finish your sentence. "Let me see.” 

“Oh, no, it's okay. It's not a big deal, really—” 

Simon crouches down, slowly, to spare his knees, and tests the hinges. The wood is rotten in certain places, the hinges old and rusted. Rather than fixing it up it should be replaced entirely. You really better had gotten this place for good money, because this will take more than a bit of elbow grease to repair. He prods at the hinges, tuts, and looks up at you. 

“Ready to fall apart, this one. You said they're all like this?” 

You nod, worry creasing your brow. “I—yes. Well, the kitchen is. The bathroom seems alright. Is it worse than I thought?” 

“Might be. You have anyone look at this?” 

You shake your head. “I'm starting to feel silly about it now, but I was going to look up how to do it myself.” 

Simon straightens. “I'll go get my kit.” 

-

It's not as bad as he feared. Two cabinets need tearing down completely, but the others are worth saving. Simon warns you the repair job will fuck the wood, but you tell him it's no problem; you'll paint over it anyway. 

You feed him tea and ginger snaps while he works, asking him several times if he wouldn't like a break, hasn't he done a lot already? You feel terrible about having him work on his day off. Didn't he say he worked construction? He must be so tired, poor man. You insist he stay for dinner. “You've been so helpful—it's the least I could do.” 

Simon takes a breather to watch you cook. Chicken, pasta, summer salad. The sun sinks lower and hits you straight on from the kitchen window, painting the edges of you a dazed red-gold. An angel's halo. 

“You big on reading, then?” 

You turn down the heat and put a lid over the pan to join him at the table. Simon's eyeing the many books strewn about on top of boxes that say “pans” and “kitchen supplies”. Le Morte D’Arthur. Histories of the Kings of Britain. Beowulf. There's even one that prompts a vague, long-forgotten memory from his school days— The Canterbury Tales.  

“I am. Always have been.” You nod to the books. “I teach at university—medieval literature. But I'm working on my own research on the side.” 

Simon lets out a low whistle. His pretty bird is a clever one. Smarter than him, that's for sure. He might be big and strong but he's got bricks for brains. 

That's what his dad always used to say, anyway—that he's stupid. Those always were his kinder moments. 

“That explains all the books y’got.” 

“There sure are a lot of them, aren't there? I swear moving really makes you realise just how much stuff you own...” You shake your head. “I'll have to get a bigger bookcase.” 

“Think it's impressive.” 

Your eyes crinkle with a smile. “Not as impressive as knowing how to fix my cabinets! I don't know how I would've managed by myself.” You hop up from your seat to check the food, then ask over your shoulder, “Is that something you do a lot for work, too? Carpentry and the like?�� 

Simon shakes his head. “We do the heavy lifting. Clearing a place out, laying the foundation. Johnny—my coworker, he's mostly on machinery. Kyle does transport and plumbing. I do the heavier handiwork.” 

You hum and start plating the food while asking him more questions. Is the pay good? Is his boss fair? Are his coworkers nice? 

Price's fairly strict is what he is, Simon answers, and you laugh again. He likes that. Likes that he gets you to do that. 

He wolfs down a plate of his pasta and devours the chicken. It's fragrant, roasted with lemon and thyme, bursts between his teeth. He tells you more about Johnny, that he's a cocky bastard who likes playing with electricity way too much, but that he's also a loyal friend. That he's a hard worker—that all of them are. 

When his plate is empty and he's eyeing what's left in the pans you push them closer without saying anything, and prompt him to tell you about that time a plumbing line exploded and Kyle got soaked from tip to toe in disgusting gunk. He smelt like sewage water for weeks. 

Simon doesn't even realise how much he's talked until his throat starts feeling rougher than usual. You make it easy somehow. If he'd thought you would look down on him because of your own job he needn't have worried. You're not at all like what he imagines when he thinks of professors, none of the stuffy superiority complex he's used to weathering when people find out all he does all day is chafe his fingers on hard cement.  

Maybe you're just good at faking it, but he doubts it. The sparkle in your eyes when you listen to him so intently has to be real. 

You send him home with a warm thanks and dessert, and Simon feels something in his chest lurch when you peer up at him through your lashes in the doorway, smiling and sweet. Can't remember the last time he went out for dates. Can't remember having the time or energy for it. 

And like a dog who's learned a new trick Simon rings your bell the next day. Wasn't happy with how he left it, and wasn't that faucet leaking? He's got plenty of spare wood in his shed, don't you worry. What's that about the boiler making a weird noise? He'll take a look at it, might have something for the draft in the hallway too. 

Pay him? What are you talking about, he does stuff like this for fun. Don't sweat it, love. Just hand him that wrench. 

There are days when it's hard, of course. Simon is only human, and spending days and days on sizzling hard concrete would wring anyone dry. The project is coming along nicely, but at the height of summer there's plenty of times when even the promise of your smile isn't enough to keep him from falling asleep on his couch—often on an empty stomach. 

But during the weekends he rings your bell dutifully. Six o’clock becomes something sacred in his mind, sweet relief after praying on his knees for hours smoothing out cement. It gets to the point where he turns down Friday drinks with the guys more than once because he's got something to go home for now, his pretty little bird that's never once mentioned a boyfriend of any kind. 

“You really should let me pay you.” 

Simon gives you a look before pushing his large shoulders further into the cabinet under the bathroom sink. “Should be the one payin’ you. I know I'm doubling your grocery bill.” 

He eats more at your place than his own these days. It gives him incentive to rush through a shower, dress like something resembling a human, then wait at your doorstep to be let in. Wagging tail and everything. 

Your cheeks darken and you duck your head. “No, um... It makes me happy. To see you eat my cooking, I mean,” you confess a little shyly. “I feel like I'm the one getting everything out of this. I hope I'm not keeping you from—from spending time at home, or with your family.” 

“S’just me, love.” Simon pauses, pretends to inspect the pipes. “Less you don't want me coming ‘round anymore.” 

“No, no,” you say hastily. “No, I like—I like the company. Really.” Your voice softens. “And I'm not just saying that because I appreciate the help.” 

Simon exhales, shifts a little to accommodate the strain in his boxers, and holds his hand out for the screwdriver. 

[eupheme]

— the season for second third fourth chances

[part v of sugar, sugar] | [masterlist]

wolverine/logan howlett x neighbor!f!reader

rated e - 4.5k

tags: holiday fluff, reader references/celebrates christmas, misunderstandings, light angst, references to canon-typical anxiety, violence, wade's cancer diagnosis, and death, references plot events in DP 1 & 2, sexual innuendos/implied smut, feelings

With the holidays on the horizon, your afternoons are filled with preparations for Wade’s annual holiday party. With baking and cookie decorating, finishing up wrapping presents - and maybe even a little Christmas miracle, when you find yourself running into a familiar face.

"What?"

It slips from you, as your eyebrows shoot up - glancing down at the piece of cardstock. Before you're adding -

"Why?"

Wade huffs, his finger tapping against the text that loops across the top.

"Don't give me that, Sugar. I spent ages picking out the right font, I know the contrast is enough for you to read it clearly."

And he's right. You can definitely read it, even without the coarse coat of glitter making the headline sparkle.

‘Spread Some Christmas Cheer’

The letters arching above a photo of Wade. His suit on, of course, as he lounges across the lap of what appears to be a mall Santa. Dread in the man’s once-twinkling blue eyes, as one of Wade’s legs drapes across the velvet red suit, the other kicked high against the back of the padded red chair.

‘With Wade Wilson's Winter Wonderland’ in script beneath - with dates and time for his party listed below.

"I can definitely read it," You acknowledge, "I was just asking what, as in what made you take this, and maybe even where, because-"

"Oh," He chuckles, "Yeah, I'm absolutely banned from JCPenney, but worth it, right? This is my best-looking card yet."

You can't help the smile, "It's definitely something."

He grins, "So, you'll come? I heard there might be a certain someone there."

"Is that right?" Your tongue pokes against your cheek.

"Mhmm. Pretty sure he sees you when you're sleeping. Definitely know if you've been naughty or nice, and I know for a fact I've seen you in his lap-"

There's a sound of disgust, as your nose wrinkles, "Okay, can you not talk about Logan that way? I don't need a Santa comparison in my head."

"Just thought I'd spice some things up for you. It's nothing to be ashamed of, we've all had a crush on the big man."

"On who?" There's a rough voice behind you - Logan hand fisted around the fleece jacket tugged from the back of the armchair.

"He knows what I'm talking about," Wade points, "I'm just saying, if Santa needs help handling that sack of his, I'm so fucking down."

"Jesus fucking Christ." An arm curls around you, as Logan glances at the invite, "Wait, this is this weekend?"

"Yes, this weekend," Wade sniffs, "We talked about it yesterday."

"Wasn't home yesterday." Logan's eyebrow cocks, "Or the day before."

"Well, I talked about it with somebody." Wade shrugs - another tapped finger at the bottom of the card, "Anyways, blah, blah, blah. It’s all here, proper name, place name, backstory stuff... just be there, because I know where you live-"

"We'll be there." You interrupt, biting back your smile, "Want me to bring anything?"

Wade's look turns pleased, and then thoughtful, "Well, I was going to get some cookies from Yeastie Boys Bakery..."

The words trailing off, as you groan - already so over the new bakery in town, their stupid jingle and 'viral' cupcakes that taste like shit.

"Don't even talk to me about them."

You can feel the way Logan's hands brace on your shoulder. The low, "he's kidding sweetheart-" rumbled in your ear.

"Guilty." Wade's hands spread wide, "Was just trying to rile you up into offering some of your own splendid wares. Al still talks about the ones you brought over last year. If it’s not too much work…"

The sentence trails off, as he bats his brown, pleading, puppy-dog eyes at you.

"Lead with that next time, asshole." Logan sighs.

"It's not." You answer automatically, though you're already mentally running through your schedule.

The presents you still have to wrap. The loose ends of Wade's gift that you still have to weave in. Another trip to the grocery store, for certain - you'll have to bake at home, since it's a favor.

There's a kiss pressed to your temple, as Logan moves around you.

"I know that look. Don't push too hard, honey." He finishes shrugging on his jacket, "I’ll see if Laura and I can help you out tomorrow."

Wade's voice chiming in, “And let it be known I am formally offering to help, but-”

You huff, “Thank you, but you’re still banned from my kitchen, Wade.”

Still not over the surprise of your gingerbread appearing with piped anatomically correct additions, after you had left him unsupervised last year.

The kiss goodbye you share with Logan lingers, a grateful press of your mouth against his. Wondering what you did to deserve such a man, still ready to pinch yourself every day.

A look in his eyes that matches yours, as he steps around Wade, who still lingers.

"Thanks, Sugar." He grins, "And remember - you better be good for goodness sake-"

You groan, as you shove him out the door. Logan's fingers curling around the collar of Wade’s jacket, the other tugging at the handle.

Unable to help adding your usual farewell, “Be careful out there, okay? Come back safe.”

Not that they need it, not with their powers. But it still feels like a charm, tucked carefully into their pockets as they head out together again - off on a new mission.

"I’ll take care of your Sugar Bear.” It's sung out, muffled behind the closed door. “Love you byeee!"

A sigh, as you shake your head.

Guess you have some work to do.

Your pen marks another item off your list, as you inch your cart through the too-busy grocery store.

It’s already half-filled with other last-minute items. Another couple gifts, now that official date of the party looms on the horizon - you can’t leave Peter, Ellie, and Yukio out, after all.

A new decorative Christmas plate for the cookies - you had lost yours in the impromptu disc golf match that Wade hosted at the apartment last year.

Last you heard, it was still on the roof next door.

Molasses, brown sugar, and spices for gingerbread. A fresh box of food coloring, for the sugar cookies - you were out of red, from last year as well.

A pack of powdered sugar drops down into your cart. Reaching for a second, just as another hand bumps against yours.

Twin apologies chime, as your eyes flick to the side.

Instantly recognizing the woman next to you - the sheepish look on your face cooling.

“Oh.” Her eyes widen in recognition, “Hey.”

“Hi, Vanessa.” You offer a half-smile - the last dregs of your annoyance with Wade vanishing, as you rest the second bag on top of the other.

A beat, before you manage, “How are you?”

“Good. Office party,” She wiggles her own bag, before it slips into the basket at her elbow, “You?”

“Um, I’m good, too.” You shrug, “And no, uh… friend’s party.”

Wade seemed mostly over the disaster that happened close to two months ago. More prone to forgiving and forgetting - gracious, in a way that you could be, when you wanted. That you were, most of the time.

After all, it was easier, to let something slide off your back when it came to a personal grudge. You could be an adult and move on, then.

But it was still hard to forget how crushed Wade had been. How you knew that she knew he had been cooking for her the night she stood him up- a drunken confession that he had seen the notification that she had watched the stories he had snapped for his social media stories.

And even if he was over it, you weren’t sure you were.

“Wade’s party?” She guesses, and it makes you blink.

Wondering when and how she had been invited. As far as you knew, her name hadn’t passed his lips in weeks.

“Yeah.” Your eyes search hers - the tightness in them, how she bites the inside of her cheek, “Are… you?”

“Undecided,” Her lips lift. A breath, before she’s asking, “How’s he been lately? Is he…”

You can’t help the small frown, a mark deepening between your brows, “He’s good.”

A half-truth, before you tack a little more on, “Sure he’s appreciating the extra space. Fixed Al up with a Murphy bed, and Logan’s been staying with me a lot lately.”

“Oh. I thought-” Vanessa’s sentence trails off.

She looks lost for a moment. A glance downward, picking at the manicured edge of a nail.

You haven’t seen her like this before. Too used to her confidence, those sharp edges that you lack.

Pity flickers through you.

“I really have to go. If I don’t start these soon, I’ll be up all night.”

It comes out apologetic - and you realize, you actually mean it, “But why don’t you swing by my apartment in a bit? I’m gonna be baking all afternoon, but I make a mean boozy hot chocolate.”

The look she gives you is tinged with relief.

It’s enough to make you wonder what you’re missing.

“Wait, what?” You yelp - for the second time, in forty-eight hours.

There’s a smudge of flour on your sweater. Holiday music pouring through the speaker on your counter. Vanessa carefully inching the gingerbread cutouts an inch apart.

A shoulder lifting, as she repeats herself, “I said I thought he moved on. With you.”

Not knowing, with the way she had come late to the party where you had met Logan. Left early, with her new corporate schedule.

You almost over-pour the ground cinnamon into the second batch. Tipping it back into the jar, as you let the spoon clatter against the counter. Her head tilts, at your expression.

“You haven’t thought about it? I know you’re both close.”

In another world, perhaps.

Another life - one where you hadn’t met Logan when you did. Hadn’t spent months cheering Wade on, those once barely-there flickers of interest fading to something solidly platonic some time ago.

Your head shakes, the words coming slowly, “It’s always been you, Vanessa. Everyone knows that.”

The corner of her lips lift. Fingernails tapping against the aluminum pan.

“I thought so, too.”

You frown, “Is that why didn’t you show? When he asked you over for dinner?”

Vanessa laughs then, rueful.

“The dinner.” Her eyes flick away, going back to a memory - a beat, before the snap to yours, “Yeah. I wanted to go. I uh, just split with Dermot. From work.”

You nod, remembering - overhearing the conversation at Wade’s birthday.

“He wanted me to move in. Said he saw a future with me, but when it came down to taking that step…” Her lips press together, the lift of a shoulder, “I’ve never seen myself with anyone else. Only him.”

Only Wade.

“But… then I saw you with him. The stories he posted. The two of you cooking, dressed up like a date.” It comes in a rush, “I thought, incorrectly, apparently-”

“He was cooking for you.” There’s a furrow in your brow, trying to piece together the way she saw it.

The sundress you wore for Logan. The captions that tipped towards lewd that you had tried to get him to delete - jokes about “getting lucky”, or the chicken not the only thing “being stuffed tonight”.

She nods, “I’m getting that now.”

“I think you still should have gone.” It’s starting to make sense, but you can’t help the reproach in your tone, ”He was devastated.”

The look she shoots you is defensive. Vanessa had always carried an intensity you lacked, and you take the full brunt of it now. Your fingers curl into fists for strength, not letting your gaze drop first. A beat, before she nods.

“I guess it’s just become easier to run.” Vanessa admits, “Defense mechanism. Get out first. Ironic, I know.”

You frown, not knowing, “Has that… has that happened before?”

“Which time?” Her laugh is close to a scoff, as she sighs.

Your eyes drop now, as you go back to your work. Back to measuring, tipping the spices into your mixer. The words coming slowly.

”He hasn’t told me a lot. Just a bit about last time. About…” You search for the words, feeling guilty. “About him not doing enough. That you wanted him to do something meaningful, and then the stuff with the Avengers, and…”

The words die, when you see her face.

Sorrow and anger, with the sharp shake of her head, “I never gave a damn about the Avengers. That was all Wade.”

A sigh, as she collects herself.

“I just wanted him to find his passion again. He changed… a few years ago. Something happened, a really close call. He fixed it, but he wasn’t the same after.”

A breath, before she adding, “He took it hard. Guilt, I think. All I really wanted was for him to talk to me. To let me help him, but he never let me in because he didn’t want me getting hurt again. He shut down, and stopped talking to me.”

The mixer hums. A beep of your timer, as the minutes tick down.

“You know Wade. Always has a joke ready. Never wants to get serious if he can help it. It’s stupid, but we... drifted.” Vanessa’s throat bobs as she swallows, “I was dealing with my own shit, and when he pushed me away, it reminded me of last time.”

She catches your expression again, as the dough tips out of the bowl. The furrow of your brow, as you swap it for a chilled portion in your fridge.

“It’s been a recurring theme,” It comes out blunt.

Her look turning considering, then, when the frown doesn't waver.

“Do you love Logan?”

The rolling pin slips in your grip. Pressing too hard, denting dough.

“I-,” You breathe. The question unexpected, leaving you wholly unprepared, even as your heart beats out the answer.

Her expression softens, “You care about him.”

You nod mutely.

“What would you do, if Logan just - disappeared? No trace of him, just gone in the night?”

Her question hangs. A physical ache in your chest at the mere thought, one that leaves you unable to breathe. Pieces starting to click together - little bits of what you know, forming some sort of photo.

“Is that what Wade did?”

She nods, “It was right after his cancer diagnosis. He was going through a lot, and just - left. For years. I thought… I thought he had died. I mourned him. It crushed me.”

You can’t help but reach across the table - hesitant, in the way you squeeze her arm.

She lets you, a look shot your way. Defending him, unable to help it.

“I get it, though. I get that it was a lot. I’ve forgiven him. But…” Her teeth pinch at her cheek, that guilt coming back, “When he started pulling away, I thought it was happening again. I couldn’t live through that again.”

You finish for her, “So you left first.”

She nods.

Silence lingers. Nails tapping on the countertop, fiddling with the silver rings on her fingers. The heat of the oven curling across your arms, as you swap one tray for another. Setting it aside to cool.

“You should go talk to him.” Your voice cracks through the quiet, when you turn - hands bracing against the counter.

Her eyebrows raise, “And say what?”

”Tell him what you told me. That you were just scared.” Your voice softens, “He invited you to his party because he still *wants* you in his life.”

She blinks, silent.

“I’ll help you,” You coax, “Logan’s already coming over tonight.”

Your eyes flick down to your phone, checking, ”Uh, really soon, actually. I’ll go next door with you, and bring Althea back with me. Give you two some time to catch up.”

Vanessa’s fingers cards through her hair - pushing back the long strands, the words coming slowly, “I don’t know…”

“Wade is crazy about you.” It comes out bluntly, and it’s this that pulls her attention.

You’re already swiping a container off the counter. Filling the bottom with sugar cookies baked this morning - cut into trees and mittens, decorated with buttercream and sprinkles.

The lid snaps on, as you hold it out to her.

“Trust me?”

Her eyes meet yours, and you can see the swirl of emotions across her face.

You smile and finally - she nods.

She follows a step behind, as you leave the apartment. The hallway chilly, the entrance bringing in a dusting of snow across the carpet, with the revolving holiday traffic.

The closing front door downstairs echoes with your own, as you head the next apartment over. Knuckles rapping against the wood, fingers mentally crossed.

A voice ringing out, muffled, “If you’re part of Rudolph and the Red-Hot Reindeers, you’re a day early-”

Opening to reveal Wade, dressed down in a shirt and sweatpants with his Deadpool logo patterned across them.

“Oh, hey Sugar.” He smiles, “What’s up?”

“Well,” You stall for a second, trying to figure out what exactly to say, “Is Althea home? Was wondering if she could help me with something.”

Wade chuckles.

“Fat fucking chance, she’s two episodes into the Golden Bachelor right now and she’s sure as hell not moving-” The words die out as Vanessa moves into view, the container in hand.

He goes silent, for the first time you can remember.

“I have the same streaming apps as you, I’m sure I can convince her.” Your shift - a hand touching at her shoulder, urging her forward, “And maybe you could do me a favor, too. Taste test these for tomorrow?”

For a moment, you think he doesn’t hear you. His eyes lingering on Vanessa, his face bleeding from surprise to confusion to hope, as he takes her in.

“Yeah.” He manages after a long moment - clearing his throat.

“Yeah. I’d love to.”

It doesn’t take much convincing, not with the way Al enjoys a cup of piping hot tea as much as you do - along with the promise she can watch her beloved show in peace. Almost giddy in the way she makes for the door, cane in hand and Dogpool tucked in the crook of her other arm.

The door just shutting behind you before she’s hissing, “What in God’s name was that?”

You shush her, eyes flicking back towards the apartment. Almost jumping out of your skin when it’s followed by another voice, this one pitched low.

“Seconded. Busy afternoon?”

Logan leans against the wall, Laura expression clear with the pull of her brows. Thirded.

“Something like that.” You herd them inside your apartment, before they can be overheard - not that Wade was listening, you’re sure.

The door is barely shut, before they’re rounding on you. Your own hands on your hips - a nod directing them towards the kitchen table, laden with bare gingerbread cookies.

Al tucked in the armchair, spun around the face the bustle of the kitchen, her show long forgotten.

“You’re stalling.” Laura points out bluntly, as you hand her the bag of icing.

Your tongue tucked against your teeth, as you shoot Logan a look. His eyebrows raised in response, eyes sliding over to the brick wall that separates your apartment from Wade.

“I’m not,” The word strings out, “It’s just, like, it’s not a big deal, right?”

She scoffs.

Althea’s cane taps the ground, “Something happened, and you’d better spill.”

“Alright,” Your fingers spread in front of you, “I ran into Vanessa at the store today. And we got to talking, and I invited her back here. I think she regrets what happened between them.”

There’s a snort of derision, and you can feel yourself starting to bristle.

“We all have our opinions, myself included-” You allow, as another noise interrupts you - lower and more gruff this time. You spin, shooting Logan another look.

“But I think she was genuine. I’ve certainly had my fair share of… miscommunications,” His expressions softens at your words, the corner of his lips curling as you shift to face Al.

“And I got some really good advice once from someone. Something about ‘talking about it’, and that’s what I encouraged her to do.”

“Hope you’re right,” Al sighs- but there’s a smile there, hidden in the way her lips press together, “That boy is more sensitive than my left tit in a snowstorm.”

“Jesus.” It’s muttered, at your shoulder. Logan’s head shaking as he joins Laura, the hint of a smirk as she works on piping a set of angry eyebrows.

Your eyes roll, “I am.”

Spinning back to face the table, as you grab your own bag of frosting.

“After all, it’s Christmas,” You can’t help but throw her way, from over your shoulder.

“And isn’t that the best time for a miracle?”

Logan’s arms wrap around you later, as you snap the last lid in place. Finally done with your last-minute idea - decorating each of the gingerbread to look like your friends.

Laura slipping out a few minutes ago, intent on staying until the end. Just as determined as Logan to see things through, even though you tried to get her to leave a few times - worried about the weather, the long drive back to the mansion.

The slight smile as her eyes rolled - with your affection towards her, you forget how impervious she is.

Althea long asleep in the couch, the quilt Logan’s borrowed so many nights before tucked around her. Ambient holiday music still pouring through the speaker, your attempt to drown out the enthusiastic reunion taking place next door.

Can’t bring yourself to mind. More relieved than anything.

And you deserve it, you suppose.

“You did a good thing.” It’s murmured into your hair, as you finally relax into him.

Arms curling beneath his, wrapping around his broad back to embrace him. You hum with contentment as his lips brush your temple.

“Don’t know if I can manage a miracle,” His lips curve when you lean back, eyes flicking up to meet his, “But if there anything else you might want for Christmas?”

Your teeth sink into your lip, as you grin.

The answer is easy, as your face tips towards his.

“Just want more time with you.”

Logan huffs, as his hand dips down. Cupping soft flesh, kneading - as he tugs you the rest of the way. A grin, just before his mouth presses against yours.

“Mm. Hope you don’t mind celebrating a little early, then.”

Red and green have exploded in the apartment next door - the flamingo lights that spill from the kitchen replaced with blinking bulbs. A tree that you’re truly unsure how it fit through the door, much less the narrow hallway, tucked in the corner.

You and Logan had helped decorate it earlier in the month - Wade directing from the couch, as the two of you and Althea arranged the ornaments. A ninja star zip-tied to the top, but with the lights turned low, and the swirl of snow coming down outside - it’s cozy.

It’s familiar - faces you’ve come to know well, known to love, fill the space. The cookies are a hit, sweet exclamations as they find the ones that represent them. Woolen and knitted sweaters, bodies tucked together on a hodgepodge of surfaces.

And perhaps, you do end up on Logan’s lap. His thighs spread wide in an armchair Wade found on the curb, out of place against the brick walls and industrial windows with its floral pattern.

Your eyes meeting Wade’s from across the living room, anticipating the tease.

But he only smiles back.

Something soft - an arm slung around Vanessa’s shoulder. The ‘white elephant in the room’, as he had cheekily alluded to it, addressed with a carefully placed piece of mistletoe.

Side-eyes and stunned silence easing into smiles, when you all saw the way they looked at each other.

And when he corners you to tell you thank you, you know the bone-crushing hug is not just for the handmade red-and-black beanie and scarf that you had gotten up early to finish for him.

The rest of your gifts don’t quite reach the same level, but you’re pleased all the same. Laura’s smile shy as she tries on the Docs you caught her eyeing, ankle twisting as her eyes dip down.

Logan’s arm tightening around your waist when you hand him the wrapped package. His eyes lingering on yours until the paper is loosened, a pleased hum when he sees the lined leather jacket you picked out for him.

“Your first winter with us in New York,” You smile, “Can’t have you catching cold.”

Something to keep in warm, when he tinkers on the bike stashed in the basement. To protect him, when he’s not in his suit. Better than that the faded fleece he’s lifted from Wade’s closet.

And even though you’d been fairly certain he’d given you your gift last night - and again this morning - there’s still a pretty card tucked into your palm. A piece of paper folded inside, next to sentiments that made heat rise to your cheeks.

A photo printed out - a cozy little cabin, the roof lined with snow. Framed with a thick ring of woods and surrounded by wilderness. The reservation dates and details marked out in the text below.

“A vacation?” You can’t remember the last time you’ve been away. Excitement surging at the thought of spending a week tucked away with your boyfriend, “For us?”

“Yeah, sweetheart.” Logan husks, “Found a nice little place up north. Just you and me.”

His fingers flex against your waist, his face tipping up to yours, “Would you like that?”

“I’d love that.” You smile.

You love him.

You’re certain of that - a name for that warm weight in your chest that’s been there for weeks. Since the beginning really, coming to a full flourish with the conversation the day before.

Maybe with the turn of the new year, you’ll pluck up enough courage to tell him.

For now, you beam at him. Pressing yourself close - entwining fingers that squeeze. Hoping he can read the soft look you give him, the words murmured out, in the little bubble you’ve found yourselves in.

“Merry Christmas, Logan.”

His thumb brushes your cheek, before he tugs you down to meet him.

“Merry Christmas, Sugar.”

after part iii, i could not leave our bff wade with a sad ending!!! 💖 for a little bit early on i toyed with the idea of making this series a poly one (before come on and show me) hence a couple little references throughout (and the reason to keep the breakup in the first place) (which I still have beef with in the movie, BUT I did my best). thank you for checking out this series, it might be one of my favorite things I’ve had the pleasure to work on and seeing the love on it has been so amazing 💕