#I have more thoughts on her but I’m currently on holiday so I am a bit busier than normal

[nolongerapileofashprobably]

Botw/Totk Zelda is so precious to me. She’s been through SO much.

From being the heir to the throne, her image tarnished by the fact that despite daily rigorous training, she is unable to access the sealing power that is her birthright. Her mother died before she could be taught and her father was not magical in any way, so all he could do was continue to order her to train. When she tries to expand her research in order to help in some other way, since her magic is stubbornly kept locked away, she is berated, constantly gossiped about, and is referred not as the Princess of Hyrule, but rather the ‘heir to a throne of nothing’. No one had faith in her. No one believed in her.

King Rhoam couldn’t understand and had to act as a King, causing Zelda to suffer even more. These are the reasons Zelda doesn’t like Link in the beginning. Not only can she not figure him out, because he won’t say anything, but she thinks he despises her. And she can’t stand to think about how Link accomplished his goal as a mere preteen by being chosen by the sword. Whereas she has struggled daily to access the sealing power.

And then she finally realizes Link’s own determination matches his own and his dedication is one she can relate to with her own life. So she apologizes. She gets to know Link. She asks why he doesn’t speak much and he trusts her enough to confide in her. They bond through the shared fate to seal away the darkness. And then get to know each other as just Zelda and Link.

It’s the first time either of them can truly relate to someone and they find comfort in each other.

So while she did have the support of the Champion’s and Link, all of whom see her commitment and how much she truly wants to help and despised herself for her inability to access her power, Zelda is still trying to handle the rest of the kingdom and her father’s scrutiny. And that’s an insane amount of pressure on someone who already has an entire kingdom worth of pressure already placed onto them from birth. Imagine knowing that your kingdom not only talks down on you but has no faith whatsoever in you. And it just bogs you down as you hate on yourself and continuously blame yourself for shortcomings not in your control.

That’s what Zelda was going through. And guess what? Link failed. The Divine Beasts failed. Zelda failed. Everyone. Failed.

And the reason was because Ganon had far more influence and power than they anticipated.

People go and paint Zelda as a privileged know it all who is completely stripped of any flaws in ToTK— which is completely ignorant of the canon events. It’s an opinion founded on the fact that Zelda’s development in this game is not focused on the flaws of a teenage girl with the weight of the entire kingdom on her twicefold. Instead, ToTK is focused on Zelda’s growth as a leader which is a concept some people cannot understand, as they are stuck on the flaws Zelda worked on as she matured and embraced her new life (aka she isn’t miserable and stuck in the past).

Zelda is a leader who has, in the span of half a decade, put in place new survey teams, a new military, an education system, and drew in more people to repopulate the desolate land of Hyrule. It’s implied that the Sheikah tech was completely cleared from the land for fear of it being manipulated again (if you go on top of Hateno Research Lab the Guardian is legitimately chained down rather than just placed atop the building with minimal support). Zelda traveled and visited the land of Hyrule, met with various people and began to relearn her kingdom through the sparse population that still existed.

Zelda went around Hyrule and did what she could to strengthen the culture of Hyrule and truly make it a kingdom rather than a loosely strung together ghost of a kingdom. She placed monuments with silent princesses. A flower now described as: “This lovely flower was said to have been a favorite of the princess of Hyrule. They were once feared to have gone extinct, but it's not uncommon to spot them growing in the wild.”

And to have a kingdom that actively adores Zelda, who has grown so much as a person and tries so so hard is finally having her effort seen and appreciated by all. Zelda is loved because the entire point of totk is to show us Zelda having everything this time. She was adored by the people. She was finally in a place with herself and her people that she never had before. She had Link, who never left her side and made themselves a home in Hateno (this isn’t even a shipper goggles moment, this is the basic interpretation of the original game and canonical evidence).

Zelda, even back in the past, was given a supportive father figure and a teacher who also represented a mother figure. She continued to be her nerdy self and research Zonai tech, finally gaining the answers of the Imprisoning War that she so adorably gushed about when they found the ruins beneath the castle in the beginning of the game. Her research wasn’t put down nor her theories dismissed. It’s everything Zelda was deprived of in botw. Everything.

*spoilers for totk ending below*

And that’s the reason her sacrifice is so devastating. Because she chose to give up her life, her mortality, everything she has fought to achieve, just to ensure Link, who she has complete faith in, had the Master Sword to finally rid their Hyrule of the darkness. Zelda made that choice thinking there was no possibility of her coming back.

So to completely dismiss Zelda because she is saved by the two parental parents is absurd? Zelda made a choice that would end life as she knew it just to save the home she built back.

There’s also people blaming Zelda for not putting Ganon and Ganondorf together but the thing is that she did have a theory? And she did speak out about her uneasiness of Rauru reaching out to Ganondorf? Which, btw, is an echo of OoT Zelda warning her father of Ganondorf’s evil intent, only for it to be ignored by the king (who dies for his mistake). That sounds familiar, right? Because it should. The Zelda universe is pretty much founded upon reoccurring factors each age that ultimately lead up to a catastrophic event or other tragedy.

Yes, this is rather dull when you look at it from a broad perspective— but that’s the case with a ton of media. It’s in the details and the differences that draw us into the fictional universe of Zelda. People don’t need to love it— nor do they have to abide by these reoccurring factors. In fandoms and such, you can explore different possibilities, swapped roles, darker circumstances, softer fluffier moments, and so on. That’s the beauty of fandoms.

But warping stories and character actions to fulfill a narrative completely opposite of what the canon implications (and actual facts in some cases)… it usually serves the purpose of hating a character. Now, everyone has the freedom to do this. That’s 100% true. But the insane amount of takes I have seen, particularly regarding Zelda in ToTK, led me to write this post that explores her actions and developments from a pretty strict canonical perspective. Obviously, I am biased and not everyone will agree with me. That’s okay.

I simply find comfort that my interpretation of Zelda in ToTK is supported by the narrative, development, and all the characters (including Link). Because everyone adores Zelda. They all see how much she cares and it’s even said by Manny in Botw that everyone is thankful and grateful for the Princess, because she’s the reason everyone (atp) is still around. Zelda is adored by the survivors not only because she kept the Calamity at bay for a century, but also because she spent time and got to know them.

Which is why it’s so hard for everyone to believe that the puppet Zelda causing mayhem was intentionally being malicious. It’s completely out of character. And because of Zelda and Link’s travels between games, they all know who she is at heart. And that is a healing, compassionate Princess who just wants to know the people of Hyrule once again. This isn’t to erase Zelda’s flaws. It deliberately shows us the stark difference between Hyrule before the Calamity and after it. One looked down on her and made her feel incompetent.

This one now cherishes her and sees her for the hard-working girl she is.

It’s all about giving a character everything they were deprived of and then ripping it away from them. It’s a new sort of growth for Zelda’s character. And yet, she has not lost who she is: a nerd who must ramble about her findings. (To link specifically, but like we all know that)

And that is why I absolutely adore her. She’s phenomenal.

[dozing-marshmallow]

Dawg…..i NEED NEEED NEED more of Chris Nibling with the other campers please 🙏 🙏

You ask, you shall receive ;D

CHRIS MCLEAN’S NIBLING! READER AND CAMPERS (CONTINUED HEADCANONS)

“Where did I leave it...?” The pretty blonde girl wondered around the campsite one day, in search of something. She finds you sitting in your beach chair and the missing item fades from her priorities,“Oh! Evening (Y/N)! Woah...you look tinier than I remember...” 

“Huh?” You look up at her. Did her mind go on holiday again?

“Yeah! You’re like a little kid, I’m surprised they let you on the show!” She blurted out. Yep, it has.

“That’s because I am a kid! Not a little one.” You proudly remind her,“A little kid wouldn’t own a makeup kit now, would they?” you held up the one you found to her, not knowing it was hers, let alone what she was searching for until she squalled.

“Omg!” She plucks it from you, her long hair shimmering with the sun,“Thanks (Y/M)! You’re like my Santa’s little helper! Oooo! Have you ever tried this stuff?” 

“The makeup?” You tilt your head,“Isn’t it for adults?”

“It’s for everyone!” Lindsay averred,“Oh, it’s a must! Makeoveeer!”

The idea startled you,“I don’t know... Uncle Chris might not-“

“Ohhh we’ll be fine! He’ll totally change his mind after seeing it!” She was very certain, which could either mean it’ll go exceptionally or horribly.

Only one way to find out.

"So lucky!” She holds your jaw up,“You're still at that age where you can eat whatever you want, whenever you want!”

"Huh? Can't you also eat whatever you want?" You asked your beautician of the day, unaware of adolescence’s side effects.

"I caaaan't! Too many carbs and butter tarts is bad for you!" She complained,"You break out into hives, grow hair everywhere and get taller...!"

“Eww!” you pull a face of repulsion,“I can’t imagine what you’re going through! It sounds so hard!”

"As Buddhism says, it's a part of life if you wanna keep tanning." A breath of sorrow, she searches her bag,"Okaay... Um, let's start off with the foundation!"

You watch her squirt some of this skin matching liquid on her blender,"Do you know what you’re doing?”

"Sure I dooo! But I bet you didn't know that when I was eleven, we had this charity called something Foundation visit us at school and they weren't even about make up!” She begins to dab it on your cheek,“So glad I exposed those con artists in front of everyone! What kind of charity deceives people like that?"

Uh huh...

"Eyeliner time!" She declares, hoarding the blender back into her kit.

You didn’t recognise what “eyeliner” was until she took it out, a pen looking thing,“Ohh I know what that is! My uncle uses that all the time! I always thought the way he did it looked creepy.”

“Uncle? You...have an uncle?” She repeated wide-eyed like the term was foreign.

“...Chris?”

“Ohhh right!” Her mind brought back to the minimum work,“That’s where I know you from!”

Having that needed to be recalled, you were kind of getting scared about what was she putting on your face.

“Let’s add a beauty mark therrrre! And you’re done!” She takes out her mirror and holds it in front of you,“Tadaa! What do you think?”

“It’s the wrong way, Lindsay.” You lightheartedly inform her.

“Oops! Sorry!” She flips it around, and you see the final product at last.

You gasped... 

Wow!

Maybe it’s because you were inexperienced with makeup, but in your eyes, Lindsay was phenomenal, the very best: the shine on your nose and correctly placed pastels were all so glamorous to your young mind, you felt guilty for ever doubting her. She knew what she was doing!,“I love it! I love it, I love it, I love it! I look like those models Uncle Chris talks to sometimes! I don’t think I ever wanna wash my face again!”

"You're welcoooome!” The “dumb princess” chimed, twirling her finger around a strand of her hair,”Still think he won’t like it?”

Absolutely not! Maybe if he likes it enough, you could convince him to replace his current make up artist with her! Fingers crossed!

Hearing DJ, you jump into a non-lethal bush and waited until he was in your peripheral vision to grab his attention.

“Thought I heard you (Y/N)!” he warmly came over to you, used to your ways of a child,“Everything alright with you?”

“Yep!” you emerge, lifting your head up to make eye contact with the tall jock,“I wanted to know if...you wanted to feed the squirrels with me.”

“Aw, I’d love to-“ He paused. He had to remember that this adorable child was related to Chris,“Count me in!”

"Yay!" You pull onto his large hand and led him into the woods. Seeing a family of squirrels, you lean on a log and pass him your spare bag of nuts. While you waited for the bushy tailed rodents to warm up to you, DJ had a very serious question to ask.

“What’s the name of your teddy?”

Oh man! You were going to miss him so much when he goes,“Mrs Maple! She was there for me since day one! Chris got her for me.”

He takes a second to appreciate your innocence, connecting the story to his relationship with momma,“You really love him a lot, don’t you?”

You made a fuss from his imprecise words,“Mrs Maple is a girl!”

“I know that! I meant Chris.” Now they were precise; even at your error, he managed to not raise his voice if it meant the feasting squirrels could continue entrusting their vulnerability to the both of you.

“Ohh! Yeah, I love him a lot too! He’s on my top ten favourite people list(and so are you)! There’s no uncle in the world I would trade him for.” You exclaimed, goodbye-ing the squirrels in your thoughts,“Aww...”

Luckily, you weren’t left alone by nature’s animals for long; something further away moves into your sight, slow and mature. You excitedly point it out,“DJ, do you see that? There’s a moose over there!”

And he returns the excitement, by picking your smaller body up and sitting you on his shoulders. Woah! You’ve never been this high before! “Let’s get a closer look! Moose are also friendly.”

With his hands secured around your legs, you spread your arms out, mimicking an airplane,“Weeeee!”

Another session of free time led the campers to be diffused everywhere on the island, so there were very few people in the mess hall- such as Harold, Leshawna, and yourself, who was playing uno with Duncan. The stack was currently a green 8, like his mohawk. It’s Duncan’s turn and he takes a pause, before smirking.

“Two plus six makes eight...” he places down two cards at once, a blue two and a blue six.

This boils you to take discipline,“Pick up two cards, Duncan! You can’t do that, that’s cheating!”

“No it’s not!” He revolted back.

“Is too!”

“Is not!”

“Is too!”

“Is not!”

“Is too!”

“Is not!”

“Is too!” you huff,“Chriiis!”

Having being called, your uncle gets up from where he was sitting and comes behind you,“What’s the problem?”

“Tell Duncan he can’t do that!” You demand, throwing a finger at the smug juvenile delinquent.

Chris complies to your exact words, by repeating in a dull tone,“Duncan, you can’t do that.”

“Aww come on, dude! You should’ve seen what I did! Look and decide as the host if it’s fair.” He gleefully folds his arms.

So Chris does and whether it was so he could see you irritated or that he genuinely liked what Duncan pulled, he approved of it.

“Hah! Sorry smarty pants!” Duncan laughed in triumph at you gritting your teeth,“Looks like you’ll be the one picking up two cards!”

You throw your deck at him,“No I won’t, because I quit!”

“Aww, is someone mad they couldn’t handle my genius?” He derided, resting his face on his palm, monobrow wiggling.

“Shut up, cheater!” You stuck your tongue out at him,“Cheater!”

So annoying!

[taehyungsgrowl]

the last time - knj x reader

you find yourself at my door just like all those times before

you wear your best apology, but i was there to watch you leave

or namjoon is asking for another chance with y/n (feat. yoongi x reader)

pairing: namjoon x reader

genre: angst, smut, fluff

warnings: on again / off again relationships, angst (duh), namjoon doubts himself a lot, dry humping, penetrative sex, riding, spanking, creampie, hickies, overuse of the word baby, yoongi is a king, jimin might have a crush on seokjin, did y/n fumble the bag? is this toxic?

rating: 18+

word count: 7.4k

italics = flashback

A/N: hi friends old and new!

i think it's close to a year since i've posted a fic on here and this is the first bts fic i'm posting so please be nice! i started this back in november and got like half of it done then and then the holidays and other life distractions got in the way but! i'm done!

i was listening to the last time by taylor swift when inspiration struck

please! let me know what you think!

“I see you everywhere I go… I… I miss you,” his voice cracked as the last word left his lips. The lips that missed caressing every inch of her. The lips she missed whispering into her hair all the broken promises

His heart tightened as he watched her swallow back tears before she spoke for the first time that night, “You don’t get to miss me, Namjoon. You don’t. Not when you keep leaving. I can’t keep doing this. Every time you leave - just hurts more than the last,” she stopped talking, her eyes looking up at the dark sky trying to recollect herself.

“Y/N, please. I - I know I don’t deserve it. Don’t deserve you, but…” Y/N flinched when his hand grabbed her forearm. She silently cursed the way his touch still sent electric currents through her body no matter how small that touch was. All it did was remind her of all the times with him she was actively trying to not think about.

Because no matter how good things could be with Namjoon, he’d shown time and time again - they wouldn’t last.

He said it himself the last time he stood on her porch like this.

“I… really am - it’s not… you.” he sighed, watching the tears roll down her cheeks. His hand twitched as he stopped himself from reaching forward to wipe them away for her. Namjoon wasn’t one to struggle to find the right words. In fact, he always knew the right thing to say - but now, nothing he said was coming out right.

“Maybe because this isn’t the right thing…” the small voice in his head whispered. He shook the thought away. It had to be the right thing. He knew Y/N deserved better - she just loved him too much to see it.

“It’s not you, it’s me? Are you kidding me Namjoon? At least give me one good fucking reason - don’t I deserve to know why you’re giving up on us?

“Y/N,” he pinched the bridge of his nose as he exhaled out her name. “I’m sor-”

“I should know better by now.” she interrupted him. “Just… go. Leave like you always do.”

“Joon,” hearing her say his name brought him back to the present. “Things are different. I’m different.”

“I’ve changed too, Y/N!” he feels rushed to get the words out - too afraid they’re going to choke him before she hears him out. “That’s the thing, baby. Our love was never the issue… it just wasn’t the right time for me… please.”

His wet lashes made his dark eyes look even more intense.

“I’m seeing someone else.”

Ice ran through his veins as her words hung in the air between them. He shook his head as if he could somehow make her take those words back.

“You don’t love him,” he kept shaking his head, “I know you, Y/N.” She wouldn’t be hearing him out if she did. She wouldn’t be holding back tears if she did. She couldn’t love someone else when he was still hung up on everything about her being.

His eyes scanned her face for a telltale of a lie, but he found none. Her eyes were earnestly apologetic and it made his stomach turn. The guilt that swam in her saddened gaze told him enough.

Namjoon reminded himself to breathe - he was too focused on trying not to throw up. His body was reacting to the emotional pain and he couldn’t exactly wrap his head around it.

“You knew me. You don’t know me anymore. I… I don’t wanna hurt like this anymore, Namjoon.” she sighed, entirely spent on the way her evening had developed. “Please leave… and don’t come back.”

“I can’t promise you that.” Namjoon’s jaw clenched and unclenched. “I’ll go,” he took a step back, stepping out of the porch light. He hoped being out of the light would better hide the way his eyes were swelling with more tears. But even if Y/N couldn’t see him clearly - she knew. She could hear it in his voice.

“Take care, Joon,” she took her own step back and closed the door before she did something stupid like run straight into his arms. Every fiber of her being begged to be wrapped in his arms, but she was done listening to her heart when it came to Namjoon. She needed to let her brain do the thinking - as much as her heart wanted to keep making the decisions, it kept getting too wounded to continue.

—

Jimin paced his living room enough to start making Seokjin dizzy. “Jimin,” Seokjin warned, “sit down,”

“I’m sorry, Hyung… I just don’t know what to do. I haven’t seen him like this in well… forever. Y/N and him break up and get back together all the time… I think something changed.”

“Well, has he said what happened?”

“No! That’s the thing - he won’t talk to me,” Jimin pouted. After his roommate got back from seeing his ex, Namjoon had hardly left his room at all. He was mopey and avoiding any talk of what happened that night at all costs.

Jimin had tried - he really had. He had stayed up late a few times hoping to catch Namjoon (lately it seemed as if Namjoon only left his room when he thought Jimin was asleep or away), he had tried coming home from work early to try to get Namjoon to talk to him - but nothing was working. He knew he had to call in for backup.

“Have you considered that maybe he needs some time? That he isn’t ready to talk?” Jin placed his arm on Jimin’s shoulder trying to comfort the younger man. “Sometimes, people need some space,” he tried to reason.

Jimin shook his head. “It feels different this time.”

Jin nodded. He forgets that some of Namjoon’s friends don’t know him as long as he’s known him. “Let me try to talk to him, yeah?” The corners of his mouth twitched when he saw Jimin’s eyes light up. “Can’t promise it’ll be any different, but I’ll try.”

Jimin wrapped his arms around Jin, knocking him back against the couch they were sitting on. “Thanks, Hyung!” Jimin pulled back, slight pinkness in his cheeks at his own sudden physical affection. “I’ll leave you to it then! If you leave before I get back can you please lock the door?” he asked, already up and grabbing his keys from the table. “Thank you again, Jin!” he waved off giving Seokjin some (unwilling) alone time with Namjoon.

Jin let out a heavy sigh and stalked over to Namjoon’s room. “Kim Namjoon. I know you know I’m here,” he knocked on the door, “Let me in,”

Behind the closed door he heard Namjoon groan.

“You may be able to avoid Jimin, but I’m not playing around, Joon,” his tone was serious. Namjoon could hear it in Seokjin’s voice. There was no use in fighting Jin when he had his mind set on something. Unfortunately for Namjoon, that something was for him to talk about what happened. Something he kept trying to avoid - because well, saying it out loud made it to real for him.

Seokjin remained still until he heard the bed behind the door creak and slow footsteps approach. He fought the urge to smile, knowing his smugness would only shut Namjoon further.

Namjoon opened his door and treaded back to his bed, letting his best friend trail behind him. Jin took a seat on the bed after Joon got back under his covers. One look at him and Jin knew. Namjoon, who usually kept his face clean shaven, now had on at least five day stubble. His eyes were bloodshot from the constant tears.

“Hey,” Jin’s tone was softer than before. “Talk to me,” his hand had found its way to Joon’s knee and he kept it there - slowly rubbing reassuring circles with his palm.

Namjoon looked up at the ceiling wishing his bedsheets would swallow him whole, “She said she’s seeing someone else. I… really fucked it up this time, Jin.”

Seokjin sighed, still patting Namjoon’s leg, “You remember what you said when you broke up with her?”

Namjoon finally met Seokjin’s soft gaze. He wanted to curse him for bringing it up. He kept silent, allowing his friend to continue.

“You said you thought she deserved someone better - no matter how many times we told you that you were making a mistake.” He held Joon’s stare firmly, “Can you blame her for doing what you wanted her to?”

Namjoon’s face felt like it had been in a permanent frown these days. “I shouldn’t have let her go. I need her in my life… even if it’s not how I imagine… I… can’t let her go, Hyung.”

Seokjin nodded. As much as he loved Namjoon, he knew he had really messed up with Y/N. He remembers the first time Namjoon called for a break with Y/N. She had been inconsolable.

Seokjin’s phone rang for the second time that night - Y/N’s name flashing brightly on the screen. He looked over at Namjoon - passed out on his couch, clutching a throw pillow. He tried to wrap his head around Namjoon’s thoughts.

He knew just as well as anyone just how much Namjoon loved Y/N. You’d only need to be around the two for a minutes to physically feel the love they both radiated for each other.

But he also knew Namjoon. Namjoon who doubted himself more than anyone doubted him. No matter how many admirers he had - he struggled to believe it. Namjoon who would subconsciously sabotage himself out of fear of failure.

Namjoon who was on the edge of leaping into something great, but finding a way to run from it.

Seokjin exhaled as he answered the call, “Hi, Y/N,” he waited for her to say something.

“I’m sorry, Jinnie,” her voice quivered and he could tell she was doing her best to sound okay for him. “I… called Joon.” Seokjin kept quiet, unable to tell her he watched as Namjoon blankly stared at his phone when she called. “I’m sorry - I don’t know why I called you. I just hoped he’d be there. This isn’t on you, I’m sorry,” she shut her eyes shut wishing she could take back the desperation that drove her to calling her ex’s best friend.

Having been on the receiving end of heartbreak himself, Jin could relate to the despair that he heard in her voice. “No need to be sorry. I don’t know if I should be saying this to you but he loves you, Y/N. More than I think he realizes. I’m not telling you what you should or shouldn’t do. And I don’t know all that goes on in his head, but I know he does.”

Seokjin knew how happy Y/N made his friend. He knew Y/N had gone through a lot with Namjoon breaking things off, but maybe it was a selfish part of him that just wanted his friend to be happy.

“You need to tell her that,” Jin shoved Namjoon a little until he made enough space for him to lay down besides him. He placed his hands behind his head and stared up at the ceiling as well. “You won't get anywhere hiding out in your room. You've got the kid worried sick,” he couldn't fight the smile that tugged on his lips at the mention of Jimin.

“Before you were ever her boyfriend, you were her friend. Remind her of that,” his shoulder nudged Namjoon's.

Namjoon remembers the first time he kissed Y/N - it was one of those core moments that would live in his heart forever. It was like the world paused just for them.

They had planned to meet to study together - but somehow, both burnt out from staring at their textbooks and screens, ended up going for a walk around the neighborhood.

Which turned into them walking endlessly into the evening, bumping shoulders and sharing giggles.

Before they knew it the rosy pink sky started to deepen into an indigo blue. The cool autumn air making them walk closer and closer (although Namjoon would take any excuse to be close to her).

It was that night that Namjoon realized how his heart beat a little faster when she was around… how his cheeks hurt from smiling so much when she’s with him…

The closer the two of them got to her house, the more he wished the night wouldn’t end.

For a moment, he couldn’t hear what Y/N was saying - but it was like alarms where going off in his head.

I like her… he thought.

He grabbed her arm and faced her. She stared up at him with wide eyes - in that moment, the silence between them was as loud as sirens.

Y/N, who had come to the realization that she had started to have feelings for Namjoon long before he did was frozen in place.

The look on Namjoon’s face could only be described as longing.

The longing in his eyes as they shifted between her eyes and her lips. His lips parted slightly. His breath stuck in his throat.

With a steady hand, he lifted her chin up slightly. Before Y/N was able to get a single syllable out, Namjoon was leaning down, gingerly placing his lips on hers. His eyes shut as his lips connected with hers.

The kiss was quick - but the Earth spun in slow motion. He swears he can still feel the ghost of Y/N’s lips kissing him back that night.

Because she did kiss him back - the plumpness of his lips pressed against hers made her momentarily dizzy. She didn’t have a thought to kiss him back - her body simply responding to his as natural as it was to breathe.

Kissing him felt like the first gasp of air after being under water.

—

“Are you gonna see him again?” Hobi was sprawled out on her bed, head hanging off the edge, scrolling through his phone. Y/N looked up from the blank page on her screen. Her deadlines were approaching, but she couldn’t bring herself to finish (or start) her assignments.

“See who again?” she asked closing her laptop.

“The cute guy from the coffee shop. Or are you seeing someone else and didn’t tell me?” he rolled onto his belly and looked up at her. Hobi wanted her to move on from Namjoon. The thought of his name alone made him want to gag. There were so many guys Y/N could be seeing instead of being hung up on the one who kept breaking his own promises.

Not that a long time had passed since their break up, but Hobi didn’t see the point in waiting. He believed the best way to get over someone was to get under someone else.

“Yoongi?” She felt her face warm up. What did seeing someone these days even mean?

She’d gone on a few dates with him - she was right to tell Namjoon she was seeing someone else, right? Was she jumping the gun by telling him? Why should she care what Namjoon thought about who she was seeing? Was she seeing Yoongi?

She had lost herself in the sea of endless questions she hadn’t registered what Hobi had said.

“Hello?” he waved his hand in front of her face.

“It’s been a couple dates, Hobi,” she sighed, “He’s sweet,” her bottom lip was caught between her teeth - a nervous habit her best friend knew all too well.

He was sweet… and charming… and handsome - and overall, she liked him.

She wasn’t looking to meet anyone else right after the break up (no matter how much Hobi insisted), but things with Yoongi fell so naturally into her lap.

As if Yoongi could sense she was thinking about him, her phone started buzzing, his name glowing on her screen before she could hide it from Hobi.

“Answer it!” he whisper shouted as if she had already picked up the phone. “Hurry!”

She rolled her eyes at her friend, but did as he said and answered the phone. “Hi,” Her fingers pressed down on the volume button, turning it as low as she could to keep Hobi from overhearing. He caught on quick and gave her the biggest pout he’d given all day. She made a mental note to make up for it later.

Yoongi chuckled softly before greeting her with his own, “Hi,”

Y/N learned from her first date, that Yoongi liked phone calls. Sure, he texts when he needs to, but prefers how clear, concise, elaborate, comforting - phone calls can be. He said there were just certain things that could never be as well expressed through a text rather than a call.

“I didn’t catch you at a bad time, did I?” he drummed his fingers over the marble of his kitchen counter.

“No, I just got done with some work,” she was done for the day - whether the work was completed was another story.

“Come over.”

“To your place?” the butterflies in her stomach fluttered at the thought alone. She had yet to go over to his place. After the last date, she planned to. Her mind was set on going home with Yoongi.

The furthest they got was steaming up the inside of his car with her on his lap and heavy breathing.

All before the little voice (that sounded too much like Namjoon for her liking) was urging her to go home.

Yoongi could hear wheels turning in her head and he held back a laugh.

“I made dinner,” he said, smiling into his phone, “You haven’t tried my cooking yet and I’m honestly doing you a disservice if I make you wait any longer to try it,” he chuckled. “Come over while it’s still hot.”

She laughed, making Hobi raise his eyebrows at her as he tried to listen in on their conversation.

“If you insist, how can I say no?” It didn’t feel like they were still talking about his cooking.

“Texting you my address - I’ll see you here.” It wasn’t a question because he knew she would be making her way to his place.

Y/N rushed to get ready to meet Yoongi at his place - after kicking Hobi out for critiquing every outfit she tried on. She decided not to overthink it and wore her favorite pair of jeans and a cozy, off the shoulder sweater. So what if what she wore underneath was pretty and pink?

As much as she wanted to get over Namjoon - she also wanted to do this for herself. After weeks of feeling inadequate and questioning so much of her past relationship, she wanted to feel wanted. Apart from that, she couldn’t deny the attraction she felt for Yoongi.

She convinced herself it was purely surface level attraction, but deep down she knew there was more to it - she was just too scared to dig deeper.

Yoongi was different than Namjoon - he was comfortable in the silence that Namjoon often fought to fill with his thoughts. In the ways that Namjoon acted on impulse, Yoongi was deliberate - everything he did had a rhyme or reason whether he voiced it or not.

She didn’t know Yoongi long, but one thing she had picked up on was just how consistent and transparent he was. With Yoongi, it didn’t feel like mind games.

Yoongi smelled woodsy and fresh - like walking down by the river with autumn leaves falling from the trees on a crisp morning. It was as comforting as it was exciting. As she pulled away from the hug he greeted her with, her tummy flipped with nerves. She was glad he was dressed just as casual as she was. His black pants hung lowly on his hips, exposing a dark grey waistband, and of course a simple black long sleeve shirt. His hair, which was now brushing the nape of his neck, was pushed back away from his forehead, a few long loose strands framing his delicate features.

The initial awkwardness of being in his home for the first time quickly subsided as Yoongi brought her into his kitchen as he finished prepping their meal. Y/N’s eyes scanned what she could of his place. It was a lot cozier than she expected, but kept very clean with little touches of Yoongi throughout.

For example, she had clocked six guitar pins scattered across his coffee table, bookshelves, and piano. Of course his piano that he had facing the largest window in his living room had a guitar pick laying on top it - along with other knick knacks like a framed photo of him and his friends, music sheets, and a lighter.

“Can I help you with anything?” she offered, standing at the sink, rolling her sleeves up to wash her hands.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m just about done,” he brought the spoon out of the pan and dipped his index finger into the sauce that covered the spoon, brining it up to his lips to taste. She tried not to let her mind wander as he sucked his digit clean.

Yoongi washed his hands and grabbed a pair of wine glasses from his cupboard, closing the fridge door with his hip after getting an expensive bottle of wine out of it.

Their dinner date felt straight out of a rom com. Her cheeks were beginning to hurt from how much she was laughing. The sparks flew between them effortlessly.

She tried hard to keep him out of her thoughts while she was with Yoongi.

But even as she breathed in Yoongi’s scents… even as she tasted the wine off his tongue… even with his hands under her sweater, pawing at her breasts… she could hear Namjoon’s voice.

She shook her head as if she could shake away the thoughts. By now, Yoongi and her had made it to his living room. She sat on his lap, her fingers laced with his long hair, letting his hungry lips crash against hers.

Yoongi pulled away from her kiss, his eyes scanning her face. “What’s wrong?” his brows were furrowed deeply, slowly lowering his hands out of her sweater.

Her cheeks flamed hot with embarrassment. She wanted to grab his wrists and keep his hands touching her. She wanted him to make her forget. Her eyes prickled with tears she tried to blink back.

“Nothing!” she cursed herself for ruining the moment. She wanted this. Wanted Yoongi. She wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince herself as much as Yoongi.

He took her chin between his thumb and index, getting her to look at him. “You know we don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable doing —”

“No! It’s not that!” she interrupted him.

He stayed quiet for a moment scanning her face. “You sure?” his thumb lightly grazed her lower lip.

Y/N nodded quietly, her hands finding a home in his hair. “I want you,” her lip jutted out further into a pout. She didn’t want to have to explain to him all the thoughts of Namjoon she carried in her heart.

“What do you want?” he pressed his thumb against her lips intentionally this time.

Yoongi watched the saliva that connected his thumb to her lips as she released him from her mouth. “Fuck,” he rasped, smearing the saliva over her lips, coating them in the glossy sheen. “So fucking pretty,”

His words made her stir in his lap, feeling the way his length hardened beneath her.

Y/N closed her eyes as she opened her lips to take his thumb into her mouth. She felt the weight of this digit against her tongue and she suckled on it gently. Yoongi’s other hand caressed her cheek, “Open your eyes,” Her eyes met his dark gaze and it made her suck on his thumb with more force. “Need you to tell me what you need from me, okay?”

“Want you…” she mumbled inching closer to kiss him. The friction her movement created made her gasp against his lips. “Want you to fuck me…” she exhaled into the kiss.

Yoongi chuckled against her lips as his hands roamed up and down her sides finding the hem of her sweater and pulling it up above her head. His eyes traveled down her now exposed collarbones and down to her breasts. The sight of her in her pretty pink bralette, swollen lips, and wide eyes, pleading him to fuck her was enough to drive him insane.

He knew just as well as she did that this was new. Neither of them had even brought up the ‘what are we’ conversation. For now - they were just Y/N and Yoongi.

“Yoongi,” she whined as the cool air made her shiver. He flashed her a quick smile and connected their lips again. “Let me take care of you, baby.”

He adjusted her until she was laying flat on his couch with her head propped on the arm rest. “This okay?” he asked as he rolled to hover above her, holding his weight by his arms that rested on either side of her.

Baby…

Y/N’s mind replayed every time Namjoon greeted her by taking her in his arms and mumbling the word against her lips. Every time he came back to her, with pleading eyes, and the word dripping with atonement.

Baby.

“Wait,” she sighed, shifting herself to sit up. Yoongi climbed off of her, taking the spot next to her on the couch. “I’m sorry… I can’t do this,” her bottom lip shook as she tried to stop herself from crying.

Concern flashed his face before he picked her sweater off and handed it to her, “Nothing to be sorry about,” his brows furrowed, “You okay?”

She nodded her head, quietly putting her top back on. “Yoongi,” her head hung low as she stared at her lap, “I wanted to so bad,” her voice quivered, flashing her eyes at him, “But I… can’t stop thinking about my ex,” she admitted, wanting the earth to swallow her whole.

It was humiliating enough to have to stop hooking up with one of the finest men she’d ever met but having to admit to him why just made her want to die.

Yoongi nodded slowly, the flush of his cheeks subsiding. “Is it bad that I’m relieved it’s not because of me?” he jokes trying to ease the tension between them.

“No! I promise it’s not you. It.. it’s me. It’s him.”

He held out a finger to shush her, “Hold that thought.” He walked into his kitchen while Y/N followed him with her gaze.

Yoongi joined her again by handing her a little dish of vanilla ice cream “Here,” he said, taking a spoonful of his own ice cream into his mouth. He sat down besides her, his leg folded beneath him as he faced her.

Y/N stared at him, her cheeks warm as she fought her racing thoughts.

“I like you,” he blurted out in the only way Yoongi knew to blurt things out - softly spoken and nonchalant with an underlying firmness that made you know he meant it with all his conviction.

“Before you say anything,” he continued, amusement in his eyes when he saw her face show her panic. Y/N had never been one to hide her emotions - her face always ended up giving her away.

“I’m not expecting more than whatever you want this to be,” he pinched his lower lip between his thumb and index finger as he thought out out his words, “I like you, but…” he patted her knee softly, “I know you still got someone else on your mind,” he offered her a half smile, “But… if you need a friend,” he shrugged easily, “I can be that too,”

“I’m sorry,” she looked down at her hands. She thought he must hate her for dragging him into her mess. Must hate her for setting up expectations she couldn’t even meet because her heart still longed for someone else.

“Y/N,” he shook his head laughing, “I mean it. Look at me,” he waited for her eyes to meet his. “I’m glad you told me when you did. I would have felt a lot shittier finding out afterwards.”

“It wasn’t fair to use you to try to get over him,” she finally admitted out loud. Both to herself and Yoongi.

“You don’t owe me an apology. I’m serious,” he frowned. “Tell me about him.”

She looked up at him, her heart beating louder. “He’s… I miss him,” she hung her head low, “I know I shouldn’t because he hurt me… and I was the one who didn’t want to give him another chance, but… we’re best friends.” her voice cracked as she spoke the last word. The silence that lingered heavy in the air between them. “I’m sorry. I know this wasn’t what you asked me to come over for. And I should really just get a grip,” she rambled mindlessly wanting to fill the space.

Yoongi shook his head, “Hey,” he surprised her when his arms found their way around her shoulders pulling her in under his arm. “It’s okay. I didn’t mean to make you upset,”

“No,” she shook her own head, “It’s not your fault. Like, I know we weren’t… perfect, but he can make me so happy and… I miss him,” she admitted again. Hearing her own voice say it out loud again made it really sink in.

She felt immensely guilty for many things. One of them being not hearing Namjoon out when he came to her that night. Maybe she had expected more than he could give her.

She closed her eyes wishing she could hit reset and be in a place when her and Namjoon were good. They weren’t always like this.

She half laughed through a sob, shaking her own head. “You’re a good guy. And I like you too - but you deserve someone who can give you what I can’t,” she sniffled, as he nodded, understanding where they stood with each other.

“Can I be honest?” he asked, setting his dish on the coffee table.

“Of course,” she nodded.

“I think you still love him.”

She didn’t say anything. Just nodded, avoiding Yoongi’s eyes.

“And you should talk to him.”

Her eyes snapped up at him. As scared as she was to give Namjoon another chance - the idea of living without him in her life felt scarier. Namjoon was the one person who could, with a brush of his fingers on her skin, could wash away her worries. He was the one who would make her sides hurt from laughter. The one who pictured growing old with. The one she loved.

“Not saying you gotta get back with him if that’s not in the cards,” he chuckled, “But… at least talk it out so you can know if you’re able to move on or not. Get the closure you need, I guess.”

—

Before Seokjin left he left strict instructions with Jimin on looking out for Namjoon. Jimin made sure to promise him he would threaten Namjoon with another visit from Seokjin if Namjoon didn’t get up the next morning for breakfast.

As happy as Jimin was that his roommate did in fact leave his room the next day, he was a little disappointed that they wouldn’t be having Seokjin over for breakfast.

Namjoon put on a brave face for Jimin - offering to take out the trash, tidying up the dishes and take out containers that had piled up in his bedroom, making his bed, and even cleaning the bathroom.

But if Namjoon was being honest, he was just trying to keep his mind occupied. He had spent the night scribbling away in his journal the million ways he wanted to talk to Y/N. Pages of apologies littered his brain. He needed to talk to her, but like Namjoon had been cursed with the pattern of overthinking and he wanted what he was going to say to be perfect. Even when Seokjin told him it didn’t need to be perfect - it needed to be honest.

Namjoon thought he was his most honest self when he had time to think about what the right thing to say was.

He was still thinking of how to approach his conversation with Y/N when he was interrupted by a soft knock on the door.

Y/N stood there, eyes wide, soft gasp leaving her lips as she looked up at him. After having been the one knocking on her door before, he was left speechless seeing her standing there.

“Y/N,” he breathed out her name.

She got goosebumps on her skin hearing his honeyed voice say her name. “Can I come in?”

Namjoon hurriedly got out of the door frame and invited her in. They took a seat at his dining table, the silence palatable between them.

“Y/N, I know -” he started before she held her hand up.

“Please let me say what I need to before I change my mind.”

Namjoon shut up and waited for her to speak. He felt like his heart was going to burst out of his chest. He wanted to reach over and touch her.

“Do you know what the most frustrating thing about you is?” She didn’t give him a chance to answer before she continued, “You’re the first person to lift those around you up. You’re supportive and caring, and see the good in people,” she smiled softly, “But you can’t seem to extend that to yourself all the time.”

Namjoon looked away. He knew he had a weak facade, he should have known she could see through it and know he wasn’t deserving.

“You deserve the good things. You deserve love.” His eyes met hers, cheeks warm from the realization that she seemed to know what he was thinking. Her words echoed in his mind. You deserve love. He wanted to believe it. He wanted to accept it. He had tried so hard to push it away thinking he wasn’t worth the fight - wasn’t worth the effort. Namjoon had been so blinded by his own insecurities he had failed to see the way that Y/N had been fighting for him.

Namjoon hadn’t noticed the tear the rolled down his face until Y/N reached over and wiped his cheek. He grabbed her wrist gently and kissed her knuckles, closing his eyes. “I’m sorry for all I put you through.”

“I missed you. A lot,” she confessed, gently taking her hand back.

“Why do I feel like there’s a ‘but’ coming?” he hoped his chuckle would mask how nervous he really was.

She sighed, her eyes intently looking into his. “I love you, Namjoon. As much as I tried to make myself hate you… I can’t. And…” she offered him a half smile, “I’m not quite ready to give up on us yet.”

Namjoon thought he was dreaming. He could hear the blood pumping in his ears. He knelt on the floor at her feet, taking her hands in his, “I promise I’ll make it up to you every day of my life, baby.”

Hearing that word fall from his lips again felt so right. It made her feel like she had finally made it back home.

She stood up, pulling him up with her. His arms found their way around her waist, “You don’t know how much you mean to me,” he leaned down, pressing his forehead to hers. “I love you.”

Y/N took the opportunity to close the small gap between them and pressed her lips to his. Namjoon stumbled back a bit before regaining his footing. He held her close and savored the taste of her lips on his.

Out of breath, Y/N pulled away, her nose brushing against his, “We still gotta a lot to work on you know…” the corner of her lips twitched as she fought a smile.

“I know,” he whispered. “But I’m willing to do it,”

“Good,” she pushed his chest lightly until he was pressed against the wall.

She kissed him again with much for fervor than before. Her nerves were on fire as she chased his lips. Their lips molded against each others, quickly finding their rhythm as if no time had passed.

Namjoon took her hips and his hands and switched them around so she was caged between his broad frame and the wall. He caught her lips with hers again as he took her wrists in one of his hands and raised them above her head.

His lips met her wrists as he kissed them gently, making his way down her arm kissing every inch. “Wanna show you how much I missed you, baby…”

“Joon,” she whined, bucking her hips towards him.

His lips were now latched on her neck, kissing and nibbling on her skin enough to leave a mark behind. With her hands still in his he pulled her closer, leading her to his bedroom, never once breaking the kiss. He kicked the door shut before the stumbled on to his bed. He hovered above her. His broad shoulders trapping her below him. She grasped his biceps to pull herself up into a sitting position. Namjoon sat on the bed and pulled her into his lap. His hands placed firmly on her sides, sliding into her shirt, feeling her soft skin against his finger tips. He pulled back when he felt her hands pulling at the hem of his shirt. He chuckled at her attempts and took her hint and discarded his shirt on the floor before reaching down to take off her top as well.

Y/N squirmed in his lap, feeling the tickling sensation along her ribcage. The friction of her weight pressing down on his hardening member was making Namjoon dizzy. He took one hand and cupped her chin, pulling her in closer for a kiss.

“I love you so much,” he mumbled against her lips as he felt her smile against his own.

She moved her hips as they kissed, growing antsier and antsier by the minute. She felt her arousal pooling in her panties and the feeling of Namjoon’s bulge pressing against her center wasn’t enough. She needed to feel him inside her again.

Y/N raised her hips and Namjoon helped her tug her shorts off along with her panties. His own pants quickly following. She sat back down on his lap, his hard length nestled between her glistening folds. She slowly moved up and down his length, teasing herself and him before he even entered her.

He dug his fingers into her hips, stopping her mid-track. “I can’t take anymore teasing.” he rasped. “I need to be inside you.”

Y/N leaned down to kiss him, pulling away with a bite to his lower lip.

She grabbed his cock at the base and began to jerk him in her palm a few times before aligning her entrance with it. His head opened her up and she slowly sank down on him. She hissed quietly at how the stretching ached.

“Fuck,” she cursed. He was not even all the way inside her pussy when she began to rock her hips, helping him ease into her.

“God, baby.” he choked out.

She missed this. She missed him.

Namjoon’s eyes fluttered shut feeling her warm wet wall pulsing around his cock. His large hands grasped at her hips, almost holding her still as she eased on to him. His blissed out expression made her want to keep him at her mercy like this forever.

“Oh god,” she moaned, her nails digging into his chest when his tip finally brushed against her cervix; she sat snugly on the entire stretch of his cock. Her bottom lip was caught between her teeth in an attempt to hold in her moaning.

“Let me hear you, Y/N,” hearing him say her name in such a desperate tone made her walls clench around him.

Namjoon gently started to guide her hips, but he wanted her to be in control. He wanted her to use him to make herself feel good.

The wet sounds that filled the room as she bounced down on his cock were enough to almost intoxicate Namjoon. Skin slapped together found a pace that worked for her.

Y/N could feel every inch, every vein, being hugged tightly by the walls of her dripping cunt.

“You’re so tight.” he growled, his hand smacked down on her ass when she began to pick up the pace.

She was way passed the point of forming coherent sentences; Y/N was rapidly chasing her orgasm to the tune of her moaning and whimpering.

“Keep going. C’mon, cum for me.” he bucked his hips up me meet the roll of her own.

His guiding words help send her over the edge. Her body convulsed and pulsed around his cock, edging him closer.

Y/N crumbled around him, cumming all over him. Watching the way her eyes rolled back and her chest bounced along with her was enough to make him’s throbbing member explode inside her.

He groaned out her name as he spilled himself into her pussy. Her grinding and bouncing became sloppier and sloppier until she came to an exhaustion, making her collapse on his chest when he slipped out of her.

He held against his chest, softly kissing the top of head, breathing in her smell. His long fingers lazily tracing patterns along her back.

Just when he though Y/N had fallen asleep listening to the way he heart beat slowly regained its normal speed, he felt her lips leaving tiny kisses on his chest. She nestled her face between his pecs and left a wet trail of kisses.

“Y/N?” his hands raked low enough to squeeze her ass.

“Mhm?” she mumbled before turning the little kisses she left on his chest into a bite. She sank her teeth into his flesh teasingly, sucking a hickey between his collarbone and nipple.

They fit together like two pieces of a puzzle. The bliss that Y/N felt being in Namjoon’s arms went far beyond any post-orgasm buzz.

But she was serious when she told Namjoon they still had a lot to work on. She knew she would have to burst the bubble the laid in for the moment.

She rolled off of him and under his covers, nestling herself under his arm. Instinctively, he wrapped his arm around her.

“Joon,” she turned to face him. “This is the last time we can… end things and be… okay.” She watched his face carefully. She loved him with her entire being, but she knew her heart could only handle so much more pain. She was going out on a limb for him because she believed he would do the same for her.

“I love you so much, I… don’t think I could handle another heartbreak like before,” she let out a deep breath, “I want this to work, but… you have to talk to me, Joon.”

Namjoon searched for her hand underneath the blanket and squeezed it firmly. “I promise. I promise that was the last time I hurt you like that, baby. I need you to know that.” He sat up a bit, reaching for his nightstand and grabbing the small leather bound notebook that sat on top.

“I have something for you.” He handed her his journal and flipped to the page that started his written apologies. “They’re not perfect. I was actually working on these before you came,” he blushed. “Been trying to make it right. Wanted to tell you how sorry I was.”

He watched as her eyes scanned the pages, “I thought I was dreaming when I saw you at the door.”

“Do you trust me when I say I love you?” he spoke it so softly, his deep voice almost vibrating in the space between them.

Her eyes were glassy from reading his apologies. She made the choice to love Namjoon every single day - insecurities and all. She made the choice to make their relationship work. Through the words scribbled on his paper, she knew he felt the same way.

She nodded, tears spilling over.

“Don’t cry, baby,” he pulled her closer, wiping her tears away.

“I’m crying because I love you,” she laughed through the tears.

“Never wanna be the reason you cry anymore,” he pulled her on to his chest again and held her there. In that moment, he felt like he was holding his entire world in his arms.

--

thank you for reading! just tagging a couple friends i've talked abt with this fic hhfkvhdndjvndnfmf jchsdhvcjdh

@desertsunflower00

@wonhosmistress

lmk if you would like to be tagged in any other fics!

[wildbluesorbit]

London: Holiday Prelude || JTK

18+MDNI

Paring: Jakexreader(f)

LONDON SERIES MATERPOST

A/N: Howdy! Here to interrupt your regularly scheduled programming with twist on the London menu: A TIME JUMP! This is how I envision the first meeting between Jake and the reader unraveled. This one is very fluff (which is a bit off brand for this series) and is my gift to all readers who have remained loyal amongst the endless angst. I'm aware, holiday editions are normally posted before the holidays, but I have chronically delayed holiday spirit that doesn’t spark until about a week before Christmas which is when I started this. My holidays got a bit more hectic than I expected so I didn’t finish till just now, but I figured I’d pos. Also, know that my particular style of writing is shaped by an editing process of which requires time I did not have, so baby this is ROUGH. Anyways, I am very open to criticism so pretty please let me know what you think.

Summary || Before the storm, there was a calm. Your first interaction with Jake is less than ideal, but you give him a redeeming chance only to spark something more.

Content Warnings || holiday [stress], workload stress, slight verbal aggression, holiday party setting, depictions of affectionate displays

Word Count || 6.6k

– December 24th, London, UK –

Your arduous typing is disrupted by the groan of your office door as it’s hesitantly eased open. You rigorously resume your work, not even averting your eyes to make note of who has disturbed you. You already know it's your colleague. You know they have trouble for you. And you know it's a problem you don’t currently have the attention span nor time for. 

Eyes still pinned to the numbers on your computer screen, you address the damsel in distress dawdling in the doorway behind you, “Is it urgent? I’m on a deadline.”

“Um- There’s a customer out here who I have tried my best to help with the knowledge I have,” she remorsefully squeaks.

You mellow your tone as you can hear desperation shrouding her every word, “Tell them I’m unavailable.” 

“I did- He insisted he speak to some form of management,” she huffs exasperatedly.

You come to a stopping point in your numbers game and begrudgingly pry your hands from your keyboard. You spring from your chair and propel yourself through the doorway, already eager to crawl back to the stillness of your office. Your footsteps echo against the hallway of dark offices and storage rooms in a unison stride to your coworker a pace behind you; two valiant knights on their quest to the front of the store. 

Preparing yourself for battle, you dig for your finest customer service armor as it's buried beneath all the enervating adversities and blows of running the shop; a duty you normally carry so effortlessly and gracefully, but this year you had been the only manager who volunteered to work the holiday week. Your workload alone is enough to spook the average person, but the extra weight you foolishly decided to take on this year is a different beast. You have half a heart to gift yourself hair dye this Christmas as you’re already convinced the New Year would find you prematurely gray. 

“Alright, let’s see the prick who is harassing my-,” your finishing thought never arrives as you swing the door open to reveal the store.

Any and all resentment is momentarily tamed by the endless sight of musical paraphernalia. Every last inch of the walls are shrine to the greats; posters, pins, buttons, stickers, clothing, books, CDs, tapes, cassettes, and of course aisles and aisles of record vinyl LPs; all seem to celebrate your great escape from the confinement of your office. 

Your eyes adjust to the warm lighting that coats everything and everyone bustling about isles, faces beaming with joy as they discover new treasures to call their own; treasures you ordered and stocked the shelves with yourself. 

You take a deep inhale of the healing sight in front of you. You never tire of walking through this door after a long day; a portal to your favorite realm. Your spirit beams as you recognize the classic rock sonic of The Dire Straits pouring through the speakers at way too loud a volume. You find it almost impossible to be upset within these walls. Almost.

Though you want nothing more than to idly wander around the store, you redirect your focus to the task at hand; eyes scouring the floor for the customer that so desperately needs your attention. Within an instant, you undoubtedly deem a man within your gaze responsible for your unnecessary ordeals; no guidance from your coworker is required to know exactly who summoned you from your hideaway. 

He is an ornate scene; one that confiscates and pleases your attention all at once. He stands, bare chest proud and puffed, fingers fidgeting with the facial hair that roofs his protruding pout as he devoutly scans through titles of the nearby books. His narrow shoulders are cloaked by long chestnut waves that frame delicate facial features and a prominent nose. He’s rather small in stature, yet strong in physique. 

The pretty man is bewitching in the way he seems to have just hopped out of some antecedent reality; a walking, talking antique. Doused in all black, he wears a blazer and waistcoat with nothing underneath to properly clothe his tan skin except chunky chains weighed down by a ridiculous amount of pendants; all silver to match his oversized hoop earrings, reflectively gleaming as he saunters through trespassing sunlight. His torso is paired with black pleated trousers and seasoned black boots. This man looks as if he woke up and couldn’t decide whether he wanted to be a pirate or a rockstar. 

“You know, Halloween was almost two months ago,” you heedlessly blurt as soon as his golden brown eyes collect yours.

“Real original,” the customer retorts with a smirk and a slight shake of his head, “definitely never heard that one before.”  

His American accent nearly startles you; his features certainly tell an origin story of Central Europe, yet his phrasing is not harsh enough to miss the hint of something not quite American in his raspy tone.

You quickly steer away from your cheeky dig and towards a more professional rapport.

“What can I help you with today Mr.?”

“Jacob Kiszka,” he extends his hand to shake yours, “but you can call me Jake.”

The Jake Kiszka. You have definitely heard his name before. A guitarist whose discography is infamously compared to and even deemed gross appropriation of classic rock legends; and whose romantic track record has an even worse stench. 

You prematurely take the sincere offer of his hand before weakly falling back to your satirical ways, “Wow, lucky me- I’ve only heard stories of The Illustrious Jake Kiszka.”

He is not oblivious to your sarcasm but decides to take the cocky route anyway, “Oh- A fan, huh? Glad to know my reputation precedes me.”

“I never said they were good stories,” your hand repels from the guitarist’s calloused grasp and attaches to your hip, “but what brings you to my store?”

“This is the only place in town not playing Christmas music,” his eyes flit around the store trying to commit every last detail to memory as if his knowledge might be tested later and questions you with an intimacy he hasn’t yet earned, “So this is your kingdom, huh?”

“I don’t own it, just run it, but yes- this place is my baby and I’m its sales manager,” you briefly answer out of the scarce supply of decorum you currently possess and efficiently reroute to the reason for his visit, “but I doubt you came all this way just to escape the holiday spirit.” 

“Well, I am currently in town and in dire need of a last-minute Christmas gift, and you came highly recommended as far as rare LP sets go,” his features stretch into a ponderous tightlipped smile. 

The musician either isn’t receiving your assertion of pace or blatantly holds no regard for it as he digresses once again.

You aren’t certain whether his narrative is spoken to you, himself, or some unseen force, “But this really is some marvelous little store you run here. I have to admit I'm a bit envious. Somedays, I swear I would trade it all in for a simple quiet life like this.”

Simple? Quiet? Who the hell does this man think he is to come in the day before Christmas and casually spend your time and patience, only to then reduce your entire world to simple and quiet?!

Your fists discreetly curl behind the secrecy of your back as you scrupulously monitor your highly explosive tone, “Thank you kindly, Mr. Kiszka, but maybe we can hurry this along. I have lots of work in my simple quiet life to return to.”

Instantly, his entire physique cowers to a posture of mortification and regret. If your composure hadn’t already been so far spent, you might have even felt a strand of empathy or reprieve for him.

His face takes on a shameful shade of pink as fragments of an apology trip over one another, “No- No- That’s definitely not what I meant- Of course, the work you do here is very important. The responsibility of granting access-”

You wave him off, bestowing him clemency in hopes of ending this interaction as fast as possible, “It’s fine, but I really do have lots of work to return to, so just follow me.”

You hastily string him to the glass cases in the back of the store, a stream of clicking and clacking trails behind you with every heavy-footed step of his boots. His footsteps gradually sound less and less, his pace a relaxed rhythm compared to yours. You impatiently arrive at your destination of high-valued items and turn to see he is only leisurely tracing your path, still gazing about the store as if he is in an art gallery.  

You inhale. You’ve dealt with worse. Today would not be the day you lose your patience with a customer. 

Once he finally rejoins you at the display case, you begin the tour of each LP, explaining its contents, history, value, rarity, and your favorite details about it. Showmanly, you set a scene of necessity for each set as to speed his decision process along by targeting his obvious lack of impulse control. 

You’re about done appraising almost five sets when a lack of opinions, theories, and questions registers from his silence. You transfer your vision to learn your audience had not at all been concentrating on your dissertation, those amber eyes studying you right back; eyes reflecting not a strand of cognizance for your vain words, pronouncing your breath wasted.

Your abrupt eye contact seems to burst his trance, clearly not expecting you to break from your sale. 

“Are you hearing a word I’m saying or-,” you fuss, condemning any remaining attempts at professionalism. 

His features reveal comprehension, your confrontation certainly registers but his ample lips only vacillate in a dumbfounded silence.

You flatly attempt to jumpstart his verbal reflexes, “Mr. Kiszka?”

Pressure-buildup from every imprisoned word rattling around his head with no escape, erupts all at once, “I’m sorry- I’m sorry- I heard you- It's just- When I asked for help today- I didn’t expect someone so-”

A brittle tone emerges before you can even take the time to contemplate what he is trying to articulate, “Young? A woman? A different stigma that probably has nothing to do with my knowledge of music or ability to manage a business?”

“No it's not that- It's just- you-,” he hesitates to catch the breath he forgot to take and decidedly abandons his current thought to expedite his next, as if they might trample over each other if he doesn’t, “This is very inappropriate but I seem to keep putting my foot in my mouth and I would appreciate it if you let me make it up to you over drinks tonight. Also, please call me Jake.”

His unanticipated proposition hitches your breath and widens your eyes, “You’re right, that is very inappropriate.”    

He quickly shrinks yet doesn’t withdraw his offer, “My brothers will be there too if that makes you feel a bit better, but your expertise so far fascinates me, and I would love to discuss more with you.”

Asking you out. After insults. After disrespect. After no regard for your time-poor schedule. He is asking you out.

You take it back. You have not dealt with worse. This is definitely the worst. 

Panic and indignation concoct a bitter climb in pitch, “Unfortunately, Mr. Kiszka, there’s still so much that requires my attention before the year’s end. I’m as busy as someone with a simple and quiet life can possibly be. That leaves no time for idle pints with random guys in pubs. So will you be purchasing anything today?”

“No- of course- you’re right- I’m terribly sorry- I do need to get something,” his attention finally converts to the vinyl with an oncoming frown, “but nothing here stands out to me. I know you certainly don’t owe me any favors but is there any way you can show me anything else? You know- the good stuff?”

Without a moment’s hesitation, you blatantly feed him a white lie, “Excuse me? I have no idea what you’re referring to.”

You know exactly what he’s referring to. However, the thought of sharing another second with this infuriating stranger threatens to ignite fire to your dwindling composure. So, you tuck away all opportunities that would admit him to take any step that isn’t towards the door. 

He drives his agenda one last time, “You know? The treasures that never see the shelf? Surely, you have a secret stash. Every great store has one.”

“I guess we’re just not that great of a store then,” the shit-eating grin that smears across your face wards off any other inquiries he might probe for, “I can assure you this is the best we have. Maybe next time, do all your Christmas shopping before Christmas Eve.”

You are immediately pricked by a pang of guilt. Even you can admit you are being impudently cruel; for which you expect at least a return of assailment. Yet it never arrives. 

Instead, his eyebrows turned upwards just above a sheepish smirk and a diffident man takes the place of the obnoxiously charismatic rockstar once before you. He just might genuinely grieve the score of your transaction. As if he knows something you don’t. As if he knows in some other time or place this narrative was supposed to take a different course and he is now mourning a great failure.

“Okay- well, I can take a hint,” he meekly forfeits, “I apologize for wasting your time. Thank you so much for your help.”

You can’t seem to wrap your fingers around any response, lost somewhere amongst the spate of regret that you might have misjudged him based on presumptions. Your mouth runs dry and you’re only able to blankly stare back at him.

In your silence, he impulsively shoves his hand into his coat pocket and shimmies out some small notebook. He flips through pages and pages of scattered notes and highlights and even some light sketches before he finds the first blank sheet. He materializes a pen from the same pocket that had been sheltering the notebook and quickly scribbles before tearing out the page, folding it in quarters, and gifting it to you. 

You’re not sure why, but you find your hand an open landing for the paper. Unconvincingly, you reassure yourself it's because you know little resistance will only usher him out of your store sooner. 

As soon as he successfully rids himself of the note, you witness a bashful movement emerge upon his face in what you swear is the biggest and prettiest smile you’ve ever seen. You aren’t allotted time to admire or commit it to memory as its life spans less than a second, quickly shrinking till it's gone.

He bids you a rushed, “Take care, Merry Christmas,” before he turns on his heels and rapidly weaves his way through the isles till he disappears past the glass doors without so much as another word or last glance. 

Your eyes gravitate back towards the paper in your hand. You inspect the folded thing before you decide reading its contents would hold no worthwhile benefit and absentmindedly place it in your own pocket. 

— December 26th —

You mentally file through your checklist: The doors are locked, the drawer counted, and the lights turned off. Your colleague took care of the floor prep portion of closing duties before she left; you stayed way too late to finish your end-of-year reports. But you can’t seem to shake the feeling that you are forgetting something.

Your phone! You realize as you pat down your pockets you don’t have your phone. 

You race to your office through the dark void store to see your abandoned device sitting on top of your desk. As you grab your phone, the little forsaken folded paper you forgot you had placed on the work area earns your attention. Whether you set it aside for two days in a veto or for safekeeping is beyond you.

Now having endured your irrationally aggravated haze that always shrouds end-of-year stress, the only thing that remains is a flare of burning curiosity. 

You resist your own inquisitive demands and desert the mysterious note once more to hesitate towards the door, each step becoming more burdensome the further you trudge from your office.

Did you misconstrue him, seduced by mere whispers floating in the wind? Did you indignantly vilify him deceived by your own occupational duress? Despite being verbally clumsy, he was endearingly unconventional, and he clearly carried some remorse for your interaction.

You’re even baffled by the rumination this small piece of paper has conjured. Customers come and go, but you can’t seem to justify why he has become an unwelcome stowaway in your mind.

For the past two days, you’ve been choking on the bitter taste of rueful pining that you can’t seem to wash down. Suffocating under abrasive waves of what might have been if you’d only had patience to spare, till you can no longer deny your craving. 

You find your limbs and retrace the progress you’ve just made. You restively unfold the note to read confirmation of the exact information you imagined was inked into the little white sheet.  

Please, please, call me Jake.  And pretty please reconsider those drinks. (248)434.5508

You are alarmed by the giggle that sounds past your giddy smile, penetrating the silence of an otherwise lifeless building. Your chest is ambushed by an aching weight as your sight darts across the hall to the storage housing the “secret stash” as he put it.

You suddenly have no idea why you’d been so hard on him; just that you’re now certain of your looming resentment. You’re not sure if it’s this reasoning, or the way he looked stunned by you, or even the shape of his giant childish smile you can’t seem to recall, that drives your thumb as you dubiously dial the phone number on the paper. 

Each ring of another number entered descends you further on your fall from professionalism and floods your head with panic. As soon as the dial tone begins to ring against your ear you’re immersed into a fit of denial, convincing yourself his answer is an unlikely outcome; despite this being his phone number and you are, in fact, calling it. 

“Hello,” his vaguely familiar rasp becomes one of undeniable recognition.

Neglecting to even consider what you might say if he did answer, you awkwardly blurt, “Hey, Mr.- Jake-,” it occurs to you that you never properly introduced yourself, “It’s the girl with a simple quiet life.”

You possess no control over your hand as it impulsively smacks against your forehead amid your poor choice of words.

You’re mortified he might have heard your reflex as he giggles through the line, “Hey, pretty girl. I was hoping you might call.”

— December 31st —

You aimlessly pace about the bathroom, your platform loafers suctioning with every sticky step on the tile. You survey the sting of your angry nail plates, red and visible from an anxious nail-biting fit. 

A jiggle of the doorknob and a harsh knock on the door interrupts your examination. 

“Just a minute,” your voice shakes trying to overpower the blaring music.

You possess no concept of how long you’ve been hiding out from the party just beyond the bathroom door. You had been wading through a sea of strangers for almost an hour looking for Jake before you finally became overwhelmed, retreating to a random bedroom and locking yourself inside its bathroom. You’re beginning to question Jake’s attendance at the very party he invited you to.

Another bang at the door.

You squeak in panic, “One second!”

You run your hands against your dress to wipe the sweat from them as you shuffle over to the mirror to perform a last-second evaluation. You straighten the collar of your little black button-down dress and readjust your pantyhose so the hem isn’t visible from your dress’s high-thigh split. You quickly retrieve your wine-red lipstick to featherly dap it over your lips in reapplication and sloppily attempt to recoil any broken curls before you're startled by another thud on the door.

You growl as you stomp over to the entryway, “Who the fuck?! I said hold-”

You swing the door open to gather those wide honey eyes framed by pretty chestnut waves.

The weight lifted from your chest is quickly chased by the embarrassment of your reaction, “Jake?!” 

The both of you, relieved to see the other, spill your words out in unison, “Where have you been? I was looking for you!” 

You aren’t sure whether the uncontrollable giggle you let out is induced by amusement or nerves. Jake only gives you a peculiar smirk while scanning you up and down. 

He slightly tilts his head and tries to interrogate you through a chuckle, “How long have you been hiding in here?”

You’re only able to bat your eyes at him, clueless as to how to save yourself. The way he reads the situation with such accuracy makes you question whether you have the words “socially celibate” written on your forehead; which isn’t true about you at all. You are usually a social butterfly but something about Jake makes you want to gasp for air. 

“I’m not hiding,” you blurt the lie straight through your teeth. 

“It's blatantly obvious you're hiding,” he playfully rolls his eyes and leans against the doorway, listing the factors that clue him in, “this is not the most accessible bathroom. There’s a bit of wandering you have to do in order to end up here.”

You attempt to redirect his heat back on him, “Well, what are you doing in here?”

His brows draw together in confusion, “You mean…in my bedroom?”

If your face wasn’t beaming pink before it certainly is now.

That night on the phone he had apologized profusely. After you reciprocated the remorse, he insisted on making up for the misunderstanding in person and invited you to a New Year’s Eve party. You spent the hours of that night learning bits and pieces about each other over the phone, yet not once did he make you aware it was his party. 

“I mean you invited me, but you failed to mention you own the place,” you shake your head and light-heartedly chide.

There’s a lot of attention that comes with being the host; attention you couldn’t compete with being that you have known Jake for all of five minutes. You have half a mind to make up some excuse to escape now and be done with this. 

Jake’s words soothe your storming thoughts, “I’m just glad you’re here and I found you. It's almost midnight and I was starting to think you flaked.”

From where your abrupt banter appears you’re not certain, just that you’re pleased with its arrival, “Wow, all these guests and those pretty eyes were searching for little old me? I’m flattered.”

“I was only concerned you might be hiding in a bathroom somewhere,” he teases back.

You roll your eyes and exit the bathroom. Only now do your inhibitions hush, admitting you to espy Jake dressed essentially in the same ensemble as your first meeting, the sore difference being the color palette. However, this single change is not one of subtlety, as you discover navy blue is certainly Jake’s color.

Jake instructs you to reenter the party and he’ll come find you in a few before disappearing into his own bathroom. 

You almost scoff out loud. There is no way you are subjecting yourself back to that lion's den alone. You instead idle about his room. 

You presume this bedroom is the master due to its excessive space and height. Two walls of a deep timber green meet one of exposed cobblestone, where the head of the bed is positioned, and another wall that is made completely of bookshelves. Mounted on these walls are frames of various historic maps and sketches and what you assume to be sailing routes. The decor is accented by espresso wooden floors and leather furniture; everything within your line of sight could certainly tell stories of a life dating well before your own. 

You wonder how it hadn’t occurred to you before, this room might belong to him; Jake is almost the room personified in its rustic aesthetic.

You saunter over to the wall of books, extending your reach to them. The pads of your fingers ridge against the embroidered spines of various vintage books as you skim through their titles; from which you determine the wall displays are most likely of a piratical lore. 

As you scale the bookshelf you run into a bar cart. Surely, he won’t miss a sip of liquor as much as you’re in need of one. You grab a cocktail glass from its rack and start with an easy pour of sparkling water. You aren’t sure which liquor to choose as they are all top shelf but land on tequila, mixing in an extra shot to take off the edge. You dress your drink with the squeeze of a lime and drop it in with a plop of ice, the residual juice left on your fingers begins to sting at your bitten fingernails. You take a moment to admire the symphony of each bubble fizzing its way to the top while ice chimes against your glass; the mere song of a tequila soda already easing your nerves. 

As you sip on your elixir and further snoop, you notice there are not many pictures in the room. The few you do find tell the story of four siblings. Although, you struggle to pick Jake out amongst the bunch, having it narrowed down between two in every photo. 

A whisper from somewhere just beyond your shoulder shatters your sleuthing trance, “Nosy little thing, aren’t you?”

Your drink nearly escapes your glass from the jolt his ambush sends through you.

He further teases you, “Ah, now you’re going to spill stolen liquor on my floors too?”

“It’s not stolen if you owe me a drink, sir,” you quip, referring to his offer of your first encounter. 

He playfully reclaims your drink from you while declaring, “Let’s see how good of a cocktail you can mix-,” he takes a swig and speaks through a stifled cough, “whoa, bit stiff there! I suppose you may just be able to keep up with me.”

You are on the verge of investigating the family pictures when his phone rings. He frowns, yet still retrieves the device from his pocket to read the notification. However, his eyes break from their summon within a second, elated to receive yours once again. 

Jake almost pounces on you, giddy to usher you back to the party, “Come on, I want to introduce you to some people!” 

You tail him down the hall to the main part of the house until you reach the outskirts of crowd congestion. He shifts his lead to your side, his arm still extended to precede you, parting the way through traffic. 

Parading through the guests, almost everyone attempts to greet their beloved host, stepping in front of or trying to walk between you. 

You feel Jake’s broad hand lightly rest against the small of your back in an attempt to stay tethered, your skin waking to the sudden warmth and weight of his touch. 

As you travel deeper into the heart of the crowd, it only multiplies in its density. Jake's fingers delicately travel from your back, over your hip, and wrap into your waist. He tugs you into his side, practically walking hip to hip; a measure taken to make certain you remain by his side.

Ordinarily, touch from any stranger is an unbearable concept you desperately flee from, but Jake’s hands are ones you’ve never known. He grabs you like he is certain your skin is his to touch. Simultaneously, it's assertive and amenable and affectionate. It grants status in a house full of strangers. You know you’ll only grieve its absence. Yet, you fear how you already crave more. 

Your buffer’s escort sees you into the kitchen and immediately draws towards a group of three men: two of a tall lean stature and the other petite like Jake. He walks before you and seizes their attention from whatever concentration previously held it.

You shadow Jake, shifting behind him so there is as little space as possible without physically touching him; weary of your new appetite. 

Even inches away from the men’s huddle, you can barely hear over the roar of the overcrowded house and the blaring music; your only indication of Jake speaking is the wave of his hands and the three boys’ responding laughter. 

You lean as an attempt to hear their conversation when someone stumbles past you, knocking you straight into Jake’s backside and sending him into a light stumble. 

Like some bashful toddler hiding from scary stranger danger, you stand straight and peek over Jake’s shoulder to see three wide-eyed men gaping at you. Jake loops his hand around your arm and casts you dead front and center as if you are a surprise gift he’d been concealing behind his back this whole time. 

He lightly rests his hands on your shoulders and leans towards your ear, you gauge he’s close not by sight, but by the warm sensation of his words tickling your skin, “These are my brothers,” then reverts his attention to the other men, “guys, this is who I was telling you about.”

You formally introduce yourself and one by one they do the same: Sam, whom you recognize from the pictures and assume is related to Jake, Danny, whom you’ve never seen before but seems to possess the same familial chemistry, and finally Josh, who you now identify as the other face you couldn’t differentiate from Jake’s in the photos; you know they must be brothers. 

You turn to confirm your suspicions with Jake and find he is no longer behind you. Eyes apprehensively detailing the scene, you scour till you recover him at the bar topping off your drink. You know he means well but the last thing you want is to be stranded.

As if he can access your thought flow, the man who earlier introduced himself as Josh is standing next to you now and gingerly places his fingers on your bicep to reassure you, “Don’t worry, you're in good hands.”

As your insecurity is driven away, curiosity remains, “So, what has Jake told you exactly?”

“Well- really, only that he came into your store and bugged the shit out of you-,” across from you,  a slightly tipsy and loose-lipped Sam is silenced by Josh nudging him, “ow?!”

“He told us that you hold an interesting perspective and a vast knowledge in the world of music,” Josh earns the title of damage control, “in addition to your immunity to his charms.”

When Josh laughs, it is a grand thing, his whole body participating in his colossal giddy smile. You can’t help but receive the glee he is emitting.

Only now does it occur to you, that pretty smile has graced you once before. It's the same one Jake wore for a mere second, of which the imageless memory has been bugging you for a week. Their wide smile seems to exist in exactly the same shape yet live in different lights: Josh’s a bit more generous and Jake’s a bit more significant.

It isn’t until now that you’re able to delineate all the same features about their face, noting now that they aren’t similarities at all but replicas. Only now can you see they’re twins. 

“Stop scaring her,” Jake’s voice rasps from behind you as a fresh drink is placed in your hand. 

“If you haven’t done that already, I’m not sure what will,” Josh collects Jake’s warning with a banter of his own. 

Suddenly, the boys’ are uprooted by a slow bluesy ballad sounding throughout the house; not a conventional party tune but after all it’s not your party. One after another, each brother’s face lights with recognition of a happening and disappears from the kitchen to the heart of the house, dragging along a someone as their chosen company. You witness every bystander in the kitchen mimic the strange migration. You never imagined a change of song could so dramatically alter the behavior of a room. 

Immediately, consciousness of an unknown tenses in your muscles. Your eyes storm Jake for clarification, yet the coy grin that he produces does nothing to soothe your skies. 

“So it's kind of a Kiszka New Year’s Eve party tradition,” his hand finds the back of his neck as if he is trying to thread together bad news, “to have a last dance just before midnight.”

“Oh,” your chest drops at a much less severe diagnosis than you anticipated. 

Jake distances himself a step from you to offer his hand and bashfully beams, “Care to be my final dance in these last fleeting moments of a year’s dying life?”

“I- um- actually,” you panic grasping for any declination, only to find a confession in reach, “I can’t dance. Well, not slowly anyway.”

He feigns shock, “A beautiful girl of your musical knowledge and you don’t know how to dance?!”

Despite the urge to run far and fast the moment Jake calls you beautiful, you charge to your own rescue, “No one ever taught me!”

He raises an interrogative eyebrow, “You promise that’s the only reason?”

You give Jake a confused nod while also averting your eyes in shame, so you aren’t aware when he lunges to snatch your hand from its comfort zone by your side. 

“It’s never too late to learn,” Jake chimes while tugging you from the kitchen.

The unforeseen tow renders you almost tripping over your own feet, docking your sweating glass courage on the nearest counter. 

You’re dragged into a tempest of strangers waltzing about until Jake decides your destination in the eye, a center spectacle accessible for anyone to gawk at. 

Jake plants you in position by steading your shoulders. You pay him no mind as your consciousness is currently employed by the surrounding cloud of people. He lifts your arms by the wrists, resting them around his shoulders before drawing in close to place his hands on your waist. You’re once again consumed by the warm weight of his heavy hands that spell you starving for more. 

“Jake-,” you begin to fret, suddenly feeling like you might burst into tears. 

“Shh- It’s okay- Look- Look, it’s simple,” he consoles you like an eager child. 

Jak motions your sight to follow his to the floor as he steps out with his left foot. Paralyzed by your own nerves, Jake doesn’t give up when you completely miss his cue to mimic his movement. You barely process the light chuckle that leaves him as he retraces his step back to starting stance.

Nimbly, his palm delineates your pelvis as his grip runs from your waist to your hip. Jake then replicates his previous action, this time firmly swatting your right side to follow; the slight impact sends an unsolicited shudder down your spine that you pray goes unnoticed. 

Hesitantly, you pursue his step. Then again with your left. Retrace. Repeat. Again. Then again. And again. Until you are swaying along with the rhythm.

Jake's eyes have since left the floor, amused at the sight of concentration you are. He allows you a moment of beginner’s peace before disturbing your count.

“I think you’ve pretty much got it,” his finger lands under your chin to lift your hanging head back to eye level again, rejoining his honey-brown gaze, “you can look at me now.”

You recognize something perennial in his tired eyes and all at once you’re aware the road to unwind is undoubtedly a long one, but whether it routes through pleasure or pain is beyond your discernment; the only thing of which you're certain, is at this moment he became ineradicably and irrevocably undeniable. 

After a few confident strides, you courageously let your head fall to Jake’s shoulder, only tripping over your instructor’s feet a few times but he doesn’t appear to mind. If you were rhythmically inclined you suppose you might even enjoy slow dancing, swaying about solely to remain blissfully close to your pretty dance partner as the rest of the reality seems to wane from existence. 

You swear hours pass before the melody finally fades out, yet Jake and you take your time to rejoin the rest of the world, lingering in your bubble; a countdown to midnight being the hammer that eventually breaks your glass.

TEN! NINE!

You hastily revert back to your own, excusing yourself from any rejection or inquiry by joining the chant. 

EIGHT! SEVEN!

Rather than dwell, your abrupt modesty strikes Jake endeared. He simply restructures himself, respecting your space, with a regaling smirk as he now jumps into the sequence. 

SIX! FIVE!  

Achingly aware that you’re the one who broke it, you’re assailed by a twinge of loss, fighting the appetite to feel him pressed against you once more. 

FOUR! 

That is until you feel Jake’s slight caress against your wrist. At first, you assume it’s an accident. The remaining life of the current year dwindling provokes the roaring crowd to compact, dancing and hugging, in hopes for a better year. 

THREE!

Yet, Jake’s touch doesn’t retract. His fingers dawdle about your skin, dancing down till he climbs into your palm. 

TWO!

His vast hand is extensively more than you’re able to hold, so his calluses tickle as he swiftly rakes them against your skin to interlock his fingers in yours; the bond devoted and interminable.

ONE!

You expect a confession from Jake as he cranes his head to fall in close to yours, but instead, feel a pink blaze rise to your cheeks as he delicately places his pretty plump pout just before the corner of your mouth; the sensation of his facial hair, prickly against your skin, being one you’d like to know further. 

As he pulls back to revel in your bemusement, you’re finally caught in that beautiful beaming smile for the second time. Your ache to witness the entrancing sight again hadn’t registered until it surfaced long for you to savor this time; your hope for the year to come instantly blossoms from Jake’s smile. 

“Happy New Year,” his blessing is barely audible over the cheers of a new era.

Some unseen and unfamiliar force greater than lust, commandeers your limbs diminishing all conscious control as you impulsively cling onto his lapel and yank him back into your orbit. Recklessly, you devour those pompous pink lips into your own. Jake doesn’t hesitate to consume the small of your back and dip of your waist within the swallowing grip of his palms. His mouth emulates your hunger, letting your kiss flourish and thrive against your lips. You give into your need for an air supply only when you feel the shape of that giant ass smile break the seal of your embrace. Nimbly, you press a small pucker to Jake’s dimples while they exist. 

You remain within the gravity of your shared breaths, giggling your wish against his smile, “Happy New Year, Mr. Kiszka!”

pretty please let me know what you think🫶🏼

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[lolasimms]

a lots gonna change pt.15

Summary: Married life isn’t great, infidelity ensues, and things change.

next chapter

“It’s currently 9:45 pm, we have a code 245, there’s been a stabbing. Female, age 24, Name; Ellie Williams”

8:00 AM

Ellie had been having a shitty past two weeks, ever since the fight at Joel’s. Part of her longed for your forgiveness, she’d worn her heart on her sleeve, tried to reconcile with you and it all went down the drain because she couldn’t control her anger. She knew a sincere apology would earn her your forgiveness, but she couldn’t bare facing you at the moment.

Sat on the alfresco, basking in the fresh spring air, Ellie sat nursing a warm latte. The backyard that once housed Lila’s playhouse and the swing-set that she and JJ had played tirelessly on, were now gone. The vast lawn only being home to a few stray lawn chairs and the unused barbecue. It was only recently that Ellie had realised how lonely she was. Without Lila here for most of the week, the only company she had was her own, and that was her biggest fear, being alone.

Immediately thoughts of nostalgia flooded her brain, the first time you and her had set up a slip and slide during a hot summer day for Lila to cool off on. The vigorous get togethers you and Dina would put together during the holidays, The time she’d built Lila’s crib in this very backyard with Joel’s help. It was all too much and yet not enough. She yearned for that back, it was all she wanted, no matter how long it would take. Her brain kept repeating the words “Atone, Atone, Atone.”

11:45 AM

“Ellie, look at this shit.” Vic hands her his phone, showing her some meme that usually she’d crack up at. Instead she just glanced at it, let out a fake chuckle and shifted her focus back to the movie that was playing on Vic’s television. Having known her since college, Vic knew her reaction was fake. From the corner of her eye she could spy him placing his phone down and turning to her with a questioning face.

“Alright, what’s with you, you’ve been sulking ever since you got here?” She looks at him in annoyance, who was he to be pestering her?

“I’m fine man, just tired.” She wastes no time turning her attention back to the television, having had enough of the short conversation.

“Els, as much as I’d like to believe that, I don’t. Just telling me what’s wrong?” Vic and Ellie’s friendship had always been the same since freshman year of college. They never got emotional or sappy with each other, they were just those kinds of friends who enjoyed hanging together and most times it was in comfortable silence. So to see Vic so concerned for her made Ellie feel weird. Maybe she did have people on her side, maybe she wasn’t all alone.

“I’ve just been thinking man. I’ve been feeling really alone lately and I” she pauses, taking a breath as a lump forms in her throat. “I just miss my family, I want them back so bad Vic” She didn’t know why she felt so emotional all of a sudden, but she broke down into tears, something unusual for her. Vic didn’t know what to do, so instead he enveloped her in an awkward but warm embrace.

“You’re not alone Ellie, you’ve still got them. No matter what happens you’ll always have them”

2:30 PM

After her heart to heart with Vic, Ellie decided she couldn’t let herself loose the only people she loved. She knew the only way to end these feelings of isolation was to make an effort to spend more time with her loved ones. So the first thing she did was call Joel, asking if he was free. He was taken by surprise, as the two of them didn’t spend as much one on one time together as they used to. So when she suggested they go fishing, he was on his feet getting the gear together in no time.

“How you been, ain’t heard from you since that fiasco at my party?” Joel says, as he prepares his rod and bait. Ellie doing the same with her’s, letting out a subtle sigh and turning to him. The two of them were sat on quite uncomfortable camping chairs.

“I’ve been feeling pretty shitty, Y/n won’t talk to me, she’s still mad.”

“She got a right to be, your lil show was stupid and immature, you’re real lucky Lila was asleep”

“I know, and I feel bad about it.”

“So toughen up, apologise.” He stands up, casting his rod and then looks back at her expectantly, she doesn’t know what to say but just nods. She lifts from her chair and walks over to where he’s standing, casting her rod as well.

“I’m sorry Joel, I know I fucked up your party, I shouldn’t have acted that way” He turns to look at her and shakes his head with a smile.

“Honestly if you’d been fighting anybody else I would’ve been happy, just not under the circumstances that you did. It was sorta entertaining” He lets out a deep chuckle and Ellie laughs, shaking her head.

“I’m so telling Y/n” Ellie smirks as she nudges Joel with her shoulder, causing him to groan and do the same to her.

“Don’t you fucking dare”

5:30 PM

Joels living room looked the same as it always did, dvd’s from years ago lined up on the bottom shelf of the tv stand, brown sofa’s with plaid cushions and a few candles that were surely gifts from you and Lila. A game of basketball played as he and Ellie sat nursing beers and reminiscing.

“You remember your first drink, you spit out my most expensive whiskey?” Joel places his glass on the side table and laughs.

“I hate to break it to you man, but that wasn’t my first drink.” Ellie lifts up the glass of beer, waiting for his reaction to the news.

“What’dya mean that wasn’t your first drink? It was your 21st birthday.” He turns to her, eyes narrowed in curiosity.

“Joel do you really think when I was going to my friends birthday’s in high school I was just drinking pop and juice? You do realise I had my first proper drink in like 10th grade” Ellie can’t help but laugh at his shocked reaction, he truly couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“I can’t believe you”

“Get over it dude, it was like 8 years ago,. Plus I turned out pretty okay don’t you think?”

“You wait till its Lila, you little dipshit, then you’ll know how it feels” Ellies face sinks at the thought of her precious girl going anywhere near alcohol, parties, men or women. Joel takes in the angered look on her face and smirks, taking her reaction as his revenge.

7:45 PM

Ellie was currently pushing her trolley around the store, in search for things she wanted to get Lila for her easter basket. The two of you weren’t raising her to be religious, but you weren’t opposed to letting her enjoy the fun aspects of holidays like easter, Christmas, etc. Seeing as easter was approaching, Ellie wanted to go all out for her little girl. Anything purple that had to do with easter she’d throw into the cart, knowing that was Lila’s favourite colour. She couldn’t wait to see the smile on her baby’s face when she saw the basket full of goodies.

Another part of her was excited that you’d be spending easer together as a family, along with Dina, Jesse and JJ. She’d take that as her chance to apologise for what she’d done at Joel’s party. Atone for her mistakes and assure you that she would be willing to respect your relationship with Abby if it meant she’d have a shot at getting you back.

“Hey, Jesse” She had one arm pushing the shopping cart and the other holding her phone to her ear as she waited for his response, glancing around the isles filled with Easter themed decor.

“Hey Els, you at the store right now?” Though she and Dina’s relationship never recovered after the separation, she was still quite close with Jesse. Seeing as he was the only one who was civil towards her despite her mistakes.

“Yeah, picking the shit for the hunt up right now?”

“Sounds good, I know you have Lila tomorrow, would you mind have JJ over, he’s been pestering me about it all day long.”

“Yeah man, sure”

8:20 PM

After leaving the store with a trolley filled to the brim, Ellie was ready to get home and pass out. She’d had a long day and Lila would be coming round early morning, not to mention she’d be looking after two noisy and energetic kids instead of one. As she made her way down her street she was intrigued to see two random cars she hadn’t ever seen before, parked by the curb. Ignoring them, she got the three large shopping bags, from the trunk and made her way into the house.

“Hey Ellie” She’s startled by the voice and immediately recognises it, she reaches to find the light switch. Once the hallway is lit by the bright yellow light she’s met with the familiar blonde from her past, stood in her hallway with a knife clutched tightly to her side . Immediately she drops the bags onto the floor and steps forward. She thanked the God’s that Lila was with you tonight, or else she would’ve died right here.

“Amelia, what the fuck are you doing here? You know I could call the police, right?” Ellie stands with her arms by her sides, fists clenched in anger. If she hadn’t been such an idiot this woman would’ve never ruined her and your lives. She wished that in some way she could go back in time and change all of this, relive the day she got tangled up with this psychopath and steer clear of her at all costs.

“It’s been a while hasn’t it, have you missed me?” Amelia comes closer to Ellie, by this point they’re no more than a few inches away from each other. The only thing Ellie can focus on is the large knife she was holding. Dressed in head to toe black, with a pair of black gloves. Ellie prayed to god that if she was going to die tonight it wouldn’t be you and Lila who came in and found her body.

“It’s been two fucking years Amelia, why do you still care about this, how the fuck did you even get in here?” Ellie is now yelling, looking down at the blonde with fury tainted in her eyes.

“I don’t care Ellie, I told you you’d regret the day you rejected me and I wasn’t lying. Anyways, I have people who will do anything for me, getting a key to your weak door was easy.”

“What the fuck do you want, you have 2 minutes or I’m calling the police, this is breaking and entering as well as trespassing” Amelia is now face to face with Ellie causing the auburn haired girl to recline back in disgust.

“I want you Els, that’s all I’ve ever wanted” The look of raging delirium in her eyes sends shivers down Ellies spine. Amelia reaches forwards enveloping her in a wanting kissing her. Ellie thinks this may be a chance for her to restrain the crazy bitch and then call the police while she’s distracted. She’s however taken aback when she hears a groan and then sees blood pooling on her shirt. Her whole body runs cold, Amelia talking a step back and smirking at the knife that was currently plunged into Ellie’s stomach.

“But I want revenge more”

Ellie hadn’t realised that she’d been stabbed until Amelia had retracted and said those words. She fell to the ground her head crashing against the hard wood floors with a loud ‘thump’. Meanwhile Amelia was laughing maniacally as Ellie slowly became taken by dizziness, her eyes blurring and her ears beginning to ring. She wasn’t afraid of death necessarily, she was just afraid of what the outcomes entailed. She was afraid you’d come here tomorrow morning, to drop off Lila and the two of you would find her dead body laying in the doorway, lifeless. She was afraid Joel would have to live with the knowledge he’d lost the only two daughters he’d ever had. Most importantly she was afraid she’d go out without having earned atonement for all the hurt she had caused. So as she slowly drifted out of consciousness the only thing in her mind were the words “Atone, Atone, Atone, Atone” repeating themselves like a mantra.

taglist;

@moonlightdivine @maybe-cece @macaroni676 @sawaagyapong @katiemars @ellieseater @dakota-dream @joliettes @hebrokeimup @bratydoll @wakasaaa @catostrophiclesbian @dinas-a-bird @lazyunknownwerewolf @h3sitant-alien @ceo-of-ellie-simps @mechetegirl109 @kashoot-me269 @lonelyfooryouonly @ellieswifee @doodlebob-mp3 @ellieismami

[lambsouvlaki]

Happy holidays! Can we get some Jay Andy and Sophie Christmas fluff pleaswe? Maybe all of them doing a family date at a Christmas tree farm or decorating their tree? I love your dad fics on such a personal level hehe

Thanks!

Thanks for the fun request, anon! I really enjoyed this one, I hope you like it.

---

Andy strolled back into the living room, sweeping up one of Sophie’s plush toys from the ground on her way to Jason, who was standing in front of the Christmas tree with his hands on his hips. He was in fluffy socks, cargo pants, and a hideous festive sweater. He assessed the magnificent tree like a worthy foe. 

Andy was more interested in the plush. It was a gangly elf in a green jerkin and pixie boots, red hat, and a little yellow belt and collar. Sophie had clumsily scribbled a domino mask over the eyes in marker.

“What was it like working for Santa?” Andy asked seriously. 

“Hm?”

She showed him the toy. 

Jason cackled. 

“For Christmas, little Jimmy, you get Justice,” he said in his best Dark Knight rumble.

“Holy milk and cookies, Batman!”

“Damian will hate that so much, remind me to take a photo later,” he said, then turned back to the tree.

She watched him detangle one of the tinsel ropes and rearrange it to his standards. He was taking this very seriously. 

Christmas back when they were just dating was never this big an affair. That first year she placed his present on the kitchen bench beneath a single pine cone. He got her a better antivirus for her laptop. Neither thought anything of it. 

But they weren’t just going out now. Not just two friends who fell in love, two dorks who hid their faces in each other’s shoulders on bad days, and giggled themselves to sleep over stupid jokes. He wasn’t just the guy who got her pregnant, either. 

She watched Jason pout over the exact placement of a bauble. 

That was her family now. 

Weird. 

She put elf robin down and slowly attached herself to his side. He put his arm around her shoulders, holding her in place, while still focusing on the tree. 

It was a real beauty.

She couldn’t get the time off work to go down to the farm to pick it, so Jason and Sophie went alone. The two-year-old only kind of knew what was going on but was very excited to be going on an important mission with her current favourite person. 

Andy pretended she wasn’t disappointed at missing out. She didn’t even know why she cared, the idea had never been very interesting before.

They brought back a massive douglas fir that made the most of the apartment’s high ceilings. She was gobsmacked at the size and laughed at the sight of Jason in a Santa hat hauling it out of the freight elevator. Sophie cheered and stamped her feet with excitement. Decorating it took half the day and Sophie drifted off to sleep on his shoulder halfway through. 

Jason started undoing the tinsel again. 

“What’s going on, babe?” Andy asked. 

“Not enough gold on this side,” he replied. “And that line of red baubles is too uniform. And there’s not enough tinsel.”

She looked around. There was tinsel everywhere. They were going to be vacuuming up sparkly bits well into January. 

“And the star’s too small,” he muttered. 

“Jay.”

“Hm?”

“Why are you obsessing over Christmas decorations?”

He blinked. “I am not.”

“I’ve seen you defuse bombs with less focus.” 

He huffed a breath. “It’s my first Christmas home with you two. I want it to be special. Sophie deserves–” He ducked his head. “She deserves a good dad.”

Andy leaned her head against his shoulder. “And a good mom.”

He scoffed. “Which she has.”

“I burned the gingerbread men. You’re making me look bad.”

He scoffed again, looking away now. He rubbed the back of his neck. “I guess I’m being silly, huh?” he said. 

She frowned and wished she hadn’t joked. She hadn’t realised how important it was to him. She wrapped her arms around his waist.

“You know,” she said, haltingly, “I don’t really… have any good memories of family Christmases.” 

He looked down at her, his brow lowered. “Oh.” 

It was her turn to look away. “I’m enjoying making these ones with you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He wrapped his arms around her. She rested her face on his chest. He put his chin on top of her head. 

“You’re doing great, Jay. I don’t think Soph’s ever been this excited before.”

He let out a gusty breath, and his shoulders relaxed. “Thanks, baby. I just… I want to do right by you. Both of you.”

“I know.”

He kissed her forehead. 

“Where is the little nugget, anyway?” she asked. 

He lifted a branch with his foot.

A toddler wrapped in tinsel squealed and retreated further beneath the tree. 

Next>>

[themultifandomgal]

Harry Styles- Insecurities

Being the girlfriend of Harry Styles can come with many cons as well as pros. We’ve been together now for 3 years. For 2 of those years we kept our relationship quiet for a few different reasons. The first being Harry knew that I would have a fair bit of hate, which would be expected since his fans just want the best for him. I was worried that people (news outlets) would say I’m only with him for the money and fame. Harry is a private person just as I am and neither of us really wanted our relationship out in the public. We enjoyed our own little bubble. Unfortunately our own little bubble was burst after Harry’s phone was hacked and photos of us cuddled on the sofa and kissing were leaked. Harry’s PR team we’re amazing and during any interview about our relationship Harry always responds with “I’d like to keep that part of my life private”. Of course I love him and I know he loves me, but there are times when I can feel very insecure thanks to the media. I try not to look at it, but it’s everywhere.

Before Harry, I was in another relationship. It was toxic. He would often point out little imperfections of mine which caused me to become quite self conscious. Since dating Harry things did get better, but just like anyone you have good days and bad days.

Harry is currently on a break from tour, so I’ve come away with him and his family. Gemma and I are sunbathing while Harry went to get us some drinks. I smile as I watch Harry walking back to us. He’s then stopped by a woman who at first I thought was just a fan, and maybe she is, but when I see her flirting with Harry the insecurities start to bubble

"Are you ok?” Gemma asks, probably seeing my smile drop. She’s beautiful. Long flowing brown hair, tan long legs, and even from here I can tell her skin is so clear she doesn’t need any makeup.

"Look at her"

"Who the girl?"

"Yeah. Look she's so pretty nothing like me. Sometimes I wonder why Harry’s with me. I have stretch marks on my thighs, cellulite, my skin isn’t perfect. My stomach isn’t flat. I just can’t help but think he could do so much better than me” I turn to look at Gemma who’s become my best friend over the last few years.

"Oh YN. I know you struggled after your ex. He was an awful human. But you know just as well as I do that Harry doesn't care about all that. He’s not a shallow person. He loves you just the way you are. God he doesn’t shut up about you half the time. I’ve heard he whines most of the time on your asking when your arriving”

“Everythin’ ok?” Harry asks walking over to us frowning

"I'm going to give you two some space" Gemma gets up and walks over to Anne and Robbin. I a sit up and cross my legs looking down at the stretch marks staring at me

"What's wrong?"

"Why are you with me?"

"Because I love you. You know that" Harry says confused. I sigh "is this about that girl?" I nod my head "oh YN come here" Harry pulls me into him "yes she was flirtin but I told her that I had a girlfriend that I love very much. She then apologised and asked if she could have my autograph. I said no because ‘m on holiday and would like to enjoy m’self. You know I love you more than I ever thought could be possible”

“Even though I’m not a hollywood supermodel?”

“You are one in my eyes. You are smart, kind, and very sexy” this makes me laugh a little as Harry kisses my cheek

"I’m sorry. I try not the be so insecure”

“I know you do love. You don’t need to apologise. Your still learnin to love yourself after your ex and deal with the media”

“How did I get so lucky with you?”

“More like how did I get so lucky with you. Love you”

“Love you too”

[rhoorl]

Week in Review | Dec. 24

Hi! Like the new addition above? I figured after doing these for so long I’d make a graphic (thanks to a trial of Canva Pro I got for myself). I did some maintenance to my masterlist this week too since I have more than just two fics going. Anyways enough about me, let’s get to the fic recs...

Fics I read this week:

Frankie Morales

Cold, Biting and No Need for Mistletoe by @undercoverpena - I adore the way Jo writes Frankie and I felt so spoiled to get to read two Frankie entries this week!

Common Thread by @wildemaven - Relationship Frankie just hits different. I loved all of the little glimpses we got into this relationship.

Javier Peña

Plaid Pajama Morning by @javierpena-inatacvest - I love everything and anything in this universe …a domestic Javi makes me melt.

Good Boy by @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin - This also features Dieter Bravo and is 🔥 Like I literally finished reading this and stared at the wall for who knows how long…

Joel Miller

Symphony by @maggiemayhemnj - This one is moving to the Compulsory Series section next week but had to pull it out and give a big shout-out to my friend for publishing her first fic!! How exciting!

Dieter Bravo

In Reality by @sin-djarin - If you’ve been around here for a while you know that a soft Dieter is just *it* for me. This fic does such a great job of getting inside of his head…I just love him.

O, Christmas Tree by @covetyou - This fic cracked me up and is so menace Dieter, I loved it!

Gift Wrapped by @sp00kymulder - This was so cute and silly and showed off one of the reasons why I love this menace of a man so much. 

Tim Rockford

Underwater by @secretelephanttattoo - This little extra in the Undercover universe (see below in my compulsory series section) was such a delight. Learning about how Tim found Cleo (his pet fish) was so damn endearing and sweet. This doesn't help the Tim brain rot … 😆

Marcus Pike

Make Me Like the Holidays by @undercoverpena I want this Marcus for Christmas, ok? Thank you! 😆

I've Got a Crush on You by @5oh5 - This has so many elements of Marcus that I love…a sweet, thoughtful man who is a little menace. Oh and he'll get you food.

Oberyn Martell

A Baker's Dozen - Four by @avastrasposts - Oberyn visits the bakery and oh boy, was I so into this! There’s just something about Oberyn … and Mel captured it beautifully in this.

Jack Whiskey Daniels

Dessert and Sugar Coated Kisses (both in AO3) by Ladybess (@ladybess-a03) - Some charming Jack in both of these 🫠

Dave York

The Things She Does to Please by @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin Some Dave York smut was very welcomed!

Ezra

A Baker's Dozen - Five by @avastrasposts - I read this yesterday and I’m still thinking about it. The Ezra in this is so layered but there’s still a very endearing and sincere part that comes through. I will be rereading this one.

Current Compulsory Series:

These are the series I am keeping up with at the moment.

Merry Fic-mas (Various) by @ladamedusoif - A great list that I need to work through, but I'm particularly fond of the Mr. Ben entry.

12 Days of XxxMas (Various) by @morallyinept - I’m behind on these but what I have read so far is 🔥

Holiday Prompts (Various) by @trulybetty

Delta Palms Tropical Resort (Frankie) by @linzels-blog 

Destiny & Deliverance (Dieter) by @mysterious-moonstruck-musings 

Paranoid Heat (Javi P) by @goodwithcheese 

Undercover (Tim Rockford) by @secretelephanttattoo 

It’s Never Too Late (Javi P) by @javierpena-inatacvest 

OTHER CHARACTERS

Will Miller

All I Want by @laurfilijames - The holidays aren't always rainbows and butterflies and this showed how it affects Will 

Posts from the week:

Check out these hilarious PPCU-inspired queue tags from @wannab-urs. Expect to start seeing Paddington Queue in a queue near you.

Check out these PPCU IDs and badges @morallyinept made!

A photo from Freaky Tales came out this week, but all I can see is older Joel.

Examples of what the Pedro boys’ Instagram profiles would look like!

I got tagged in a few Pinterest Moodboard things and they were all funny to me - mostly because of the random animals that showed up. Example 1, Example 2, Example 3

Feral corner:

Jose Pedro Balmaceda Pascal is out here with his hair grown out and the curls are CURLIN. This man is seriously a menace - LOOK AT HIM.

Thots about Steve and Javi. Pedro cosplaying as Joel. Speaking of Joel … obligatory Young Joel post coming at you. This Dieter-coded look from Pedro sent me into a tailspin. If you read Working Title, that is how I picture Dieter. Marcus Pike just being the finest-looking MFer in the FBI. Proof that the wardrobe department knew what they were doing with Frankie.

It’s been Charlie Hunnam week apparently for me but I watched this video more times than I care to admit. I can’t mention one Miller without the other…this Benny gifset gave me some thots (particularly the ones of him yelling, wtf is wrong with me).

Things I watched:

I watched Rebel Moon on Netflix. I know this movie didn’t get the best reviews, but I enjoyed it. Was it because Charlie Hunnam looked hot AF? Maaaaybe. 😆

I'm planning on watching it again with Mr. Rhoorl this week.

Personal Stuff

Tonight we are taking Baby Rhoorl to a holiday light display, which I’m pretty excited about. It’s just going to be the Rhoorl’s this year for Christmas since our families live in other states. We’ll keep it pretty low-key. I, unfortunately, have to work this week - although I will be able to work from home which is nice.  

Fic updates:

The Benny Miller brain rot is REAL y’all. As a result, I put out Are You Going to Be Quiet? this week.

I’m working on a few different things. I’m excited to be participating in the Pickled Peña writing challenge and will post something on Jan. 1. I’m also almost done with part two of Turbulence (a Frankie one-shot that’s now a two-parter). New updates for Delta Landscaping and Working Title are in the works too!

And to Wrap

If you are celebrating this week, I hope you have a great time. I know this can be a tough time of the year for a lot of us, so I’m sending you a Frankie hug and a Javi forehead kiss (consensually of course). As we approach the end of the year expect a sappy post (or two) from me. If you made it all the way to the end, hi, you're the best! 😘

Working Title (Dieter, series, ongoing) | AO3 

Delta Landscaping (Triple Frontier, series, ongoing) | AO3

Turbulence (Frankie, one-shot) | AO3

Are You? Masterlist (Benny Miller)

[ingravinoveritas]

Hi! need some reassurance here. Am i the only one who is sad because we don’t know if we are gonna to see Michael and David working together again? Between the strike (which I totally support) and amazon not renewing GO, nothing is certain right now. I just miss them, i miss the interviews and i need new content. Note aside, I really don’t like the personal content that GT is posting on IG, like the video of David at the festival. Maybe it’s because I’m still new to the fandom and I’m not British, so i’ve a very different kind of humor, but her content somehow irk me… I don’t know. And don’t let me start talking about AL: she seems so phony and rude and i get nothing but bad vibes from her. Why does she always mock Michael’s appearance? I know, it’s none of my business 😅 So yeah… sorry about the rant!

Hi there! Grouping these together, since I'm a bit overdue in addressing some of this.

So as of this writing, the WGA strike has been resolved (hooray!) and the writers are back to work (including Neil, whom I believe is returning to writing GO season 3). SAG-AFTRA (of which Michael and David are both members) is continuing its strike, however, but hopefully it will also be resolved soon.

That said, I am definitely with you in feeling sad about not knowing when Michael and David will work together again. I believe the renewal for S3 is still pending, so it is indeed a time of uncertainty. My hope is that if/when the SAG strike is resolved, we might perhaps get some interviews with Michael and David that we otherwise were unable to get when GO 2 first came out. It may be too late to promote the season, of course, but we have to remember that earlier this year, Michael was popping up on nearly all of David's TV appearances (The Last Leg, Have I Got News For You), so even if a formal project isn't currently in the works, it hopefully won't be too long before we have the chance to see them together again.

To the rest of your Ask and @phantomstars24's, I've had multiple people asking me about what happened with Anna and her being called out, so for those who might've missed it, what occurred was that two weeks ago, someone left a comment on one of AL's Insta posts (the one with the photos from the "family holiday" in Sweden the weekend prior) calling her out for her repeated comments about Michael's appearance over the last few years:

Several comments from people defending AL/attacking the commenter followed these, and the next morning, she responded with this comment (not on the chain of already existing comments, but separately):

My initial impression was to be surprised that she responded at all. If the callout commenter's words truly meant nothing and weren't worth responding to, why say anything? But AL chose to reply, and that was her decision, so here we are. What is strange to me, though, is that she also chose to flat-out lie about something easily provable, given that her comments about Michael's appearance have all been well-documented on her Insta and Twitter over the past three years.

The second thought that came to mind is that this seemed like another attempt on her part at being Georgia--i.e., wanting/trying to give a witty "clapback" to a criticism. Instead, her comment comes across as insecure and insincere, with "magnificent hair growth" being a particularly egregious example of laying it on thick (who even talks like that? No one talks like that.). I was truly surprised to realize this comment was written by an almost 30-year-old woman, as it reads more like a teenager having a fit--though in fairness, there are plenty of teenagers who are far more mature than this.

There is also the notion that we are or somehow should be jealous of the "banter" in her and Michael's relationship, except that this misses two key points. One, that it's one thing for Michael to be self-deprecating about his looks--and that even if he is, it doesn't mean he doesn't feel hurt and is therefore possibly making those comments as a deflection--but it's something else entirely for her to make them. It speaks volumes about her character that she would see/hear him saying these things about himself and instead of wondering if he is okay, decides that it gives her the go-ahead to add to it and snark about his appearance. So many of us have felt self-conscious about our looks at one time or another, but without any response from him, it comes across less like "mutual banter" and more like "one person progressively making passive-aggressive cutting comments over time about the other." Which brings us to the second key point, which is that "in-jokes" are only funny to the people who are in on them, and similarly, banter is only mutual if we are able to see his end of it. The problem is, we never do. Michael does not interact with her on social media (even from his "private account," which many of us have known about for years, as he used to use it to interact with Kate, Sarah, and Lily all the time, yet he doesn't use it to interact with AL, for some reason).

Curiously, this would have been a perfect moment for Michael to do exactly that, or to say something on Twitter in her defense. Of course it is entirely possible that he felt he didn't need to say anything--which is his prerogative, just as it was AL's prerogative to respond. But it's quite interesting to realize that at the same exact time AL wrote that comment, Michael was on Twitter talking about touching David's chest and referring to him as the Thin Dark Duke, and then kept tweeting about GO fandom stuff for the next three hours. Choices.

All this to say that, in my opinion, there was nothing genuine or graceful about AL's comment. And again, you could say well sure, she felt attacked, so there was no obligation to stand on ceremony or mince words. It's just interesting that her comment went in the direction of defensive and sarcastic instead of saying something like, "Michael and I love each other and can handle a bit of teasing." And I truly do hope Michael's fans who rushed to her defense take a step back and realize that she is not a nice person. This is not how a nice person, regardless of who they are dating, talks to other human beings. And she will never reply to them or thank them for doing so because to her, they are a means to an end.

In any case, there was a recap of the callout/clapback situation with AL, for anyone who missed it. To your comments @nightingalecottage, please do not apologize for ranting. As I've said before, I want my blog to be somewhere folks can have these discussions calmly and civilly, and I'm glad you felt comfortable enough to message me with your thoughts. And as always, I'm very aware that I could be wrong about all of this, so I urge folks to read what is here and decide for themselves. Thanks for writing in! x

[idontknowreallywhy]

Estera - Ch 15 - Wait

More blue and purple text for you as that seemed to work last time :) A dash of The Commander & The Murderbot and a sprinkle of Earth&Sky.

And yes, I laughed longer at that line than I should have.

(Previous… Prologue - Stars are Only Visible in Darkness, Estera - 1 - Colour, 2 - Dinosaur, 3 - Shoes, 4 - Thunderbird, 5 - Lesson, 6 - Safe, 7 - Gull, 8 - Deliver, 9 - Coffee, 10 - Flight, 11 - Run, 12 - Fall, 13 - Trying, 14 - Hide)

(Sofasurf’s Recrudescence which is the foundation for all of this)

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Hey, I’m up your way for a meeting next week. Maybe we could catch up? S

Oh I’m sorry, I’m taking the sleeper train to see my sister and her family.

Treviso, right? Hope you have a wonderful time!

Well remembered! I’m sorry to miss you, really bad timing.

I’m sorry!

Stop apologising! Have a Tiramisu for me 😋

Will do!

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Scott double-checked the date then closed the app and leaned on the balcony, watching the gulls land on Mateo to roost. His forehead creased with worry.

“EOS, could you look up the term dates for Estera’s school for me?”

“The current term ends in 4 weeks. Would you like the dates of the holidays and teacher training days for the next 6 years?”

“No, that’ll do. Thanks EOS.”

“I have also established that Estera Hermaszewska is marked as on sick leave and a substitute teacher has been engaged for 3 weeks starting two days ago.”

“EOS! No! You can’t just… I shouldn’t know that!”

“I thought you would want to know because you are displaying concern for her well-being. The school does not have particularly robust security on its staff records. There is a wealth of information here.”

“Stop. EOS. Please stop looking.”

“I have closed the connection. I am sorry, Scott Tracy, I did not intend to cause you distress. John will be displeased.”

Scott paused. There was a lot to unpack there, but he’d return to it later.

“I should have been more clear, it’s my fault. In future, when I ask you to find something out please would you limit your search to publicly available information unless I specifically ask otherwise?”

“Certainly. May I ask why you wish to restrict your knowledge about your friend’s welfare?”

Scott twitched slightly. “I don’t want to, exactly, but… has John discussed the concept of privacy with you?”

“He has explained we need to protect certain types of data. But I was only telling you and you are her friend.”

“Not really EOS, we barely know each other.” Another pause as he pondered how to explain. “But even if we were very good friends… part of human relationships is finding out about each other FROM each other. I should only know what she wants to tell me. To do otherwise is an invasion of privacy and would just make things… strange.”

“John knows a great deal of information about Estera Hermaszewska and they are not friends.”

Scott sighed. “John is a special case.”

“He has also informed Virgil Tracy, Tanusha Kyrano and Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward.”

“He has, has he?”

“Yes. Perhaps this is a fact he did not intend me to share with you at this time.”

“I suspect so EOS. But thank you for telling me.”

Scott headed indoors, suddenly deeply weary. Sleep was unlikely until he’d figured this one out though, so he turned his back on his own bedroom and made his way to his brother’s studio.

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His big brother had several distinct ways of knocking on his door. All were the same rhythm - Tap-te-TAP-tap - but the volume and speed would give Virgil advanced notice of what kind of mood he was in and a split second to prepare. Right now Scott was… unsure, worried about something. He made sure to add as much warmth and encouragement to his “come in Scotty” as he could.

“You always know it’s me.”

“Yep, it’s all the spy cameras I have set up… I’m kidding, Scott.” The brotherly eyebrows relaxed back into merely confused mode. “What’s up?”

“Can’t I just want to hang out?”

Virgil raised an eyebrow. Scott sighed.

“I have a bit of a…. Quandary.”

He watched his brother’s face as he explained. When he wasn’t deliberately shutting himself down, or focusing on his board meeting poker face, Scott was an open book. To Virgil at least. His expression and the intonation of his voice could provide more detail than the words did.

“It sounds like you made it clear to EOS, it shouldn’t happen again?”

“But that’s not the point. I know now. She’s sick, Virg, and I’m sure it’s something to do with… well… the same as I was. Because of meeting me. What if I made her dig all that stuff up but she doesn’t have a… a you to keep her sane while she figures it out?”

Scott paced, gesticulating wildly, and Virgil caught his arm as he passed, pulling him in for a hug. His brother was trembling with pent up energy.

“Well first off, well done for not leaping in a plane and rushing to try to fix her.”

His brother let out an explosive laugh. “You know me so well.” A pause, then more quietly “I really want to. But I know that would be weird and counter-productive. I just feel so…” he sagged “Responsible. I can’t just ignore this. I can’t just abandon her!”

“I don’t think you have to.” He pulled back a little to look up into his brother’s face. “Scott, when you were struggling but not ready to talk to us, what helped?”

“Hugs.”

Virgil squeezed him a little tighter. “What else?”

Scott broke away to recommence the pacing, palming the miniature rubix cube Virgil kept handy for him on a shelf and rattling through the algorithm to solve it. Reaching the far end of the room he spun on his heel and met Virgil’s eye.

“Two things I think. Distraction. Things to help me stay grounded. And then… knowing you were there if and when I did want to talk… but you weren’t going to force me.”

Virgil nodded.

“Can you do the same for her?”

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Why are elevator jokes so good?

Hi! Err, are they?

Because they work on so many levels!

…

That was awful.

Seriously, I hear better from the 6 year olds.

Aww, that was one of my best.

That does not bode well.

I am deeply wounded. 😭

Oops 🤣

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Scott shed his overcoat and face planted on to the hotel bed, well aware of the expression the overwrought Italian designer of his suit would sport if he could see such abuse. Wrinkles be damned. The way that board meeting had gone it was a miracle he’d not wrecked this latest one with blood stains. Again.

His comm pinged with a picture message. Unusual… he swiped it open.

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Here is your Tiramisu. I’m afraid I ate it. I would apologise but you told me to stop doing that. Bad luck! Estera

Excellent work! 😋

Ah, now I’m hungry and have no dessert 😭

Oops 😂

You’re on the espressos?

You can’t drink cappuccino after 11am here. They’ll arrest you.

Good intel, I’ll bear that in mind next time I visit.

Have you been to Italy a lot?

Outside of rescues? No, actually! There’s no TI branch there and I guess we don’t get a lot of time to travel for pleasure.

Oh you should, it’s an incredible country.

Where would you recommend I start?

I’ll make you a list.

I look forward to it.

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Scott smiled to himself. Then changed into his civvies, adding a baseball cap and his signature aviators and ventured outside.

Surely somewhere in London sold tiramisu…

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On the train back. Finished my book already but still 9 hours to go!

Thunderbird One would do it in 3 minutes…

You just did the maths didn’t you?

Yep.

I’m guessing no restaurant carriage though? Whereas I am now going to go sit and enjoy the view with a coffee and some kind of delicious pastry.

… TB One does lack pastries.

I bet your brother has plenty of room for pastries in Two… 😈

Be right back.

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Scott, did Thunderbird One just fly over my train?

… maybe 😁

?????

Alan needed to get some more flight hours…

And I wanted pastries.

So we are in Paris getting takeaway.

The fuel for those things is cheap right?

Sure.

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Back at school today - the kids say hi :) I don’t know why they think I have some kind of hotline to the head of International Rescue but they won’t be dissuaded.

Hi right back atcha kids 👋

Atcha? What kind of a word is that?

An… American… one?

I don’t think it’s valid here.

Let me try again.

Good afternoon, esteemed juvenile citizens. I extend my compliments for your respective health and happiness.

You are no longer allowed to talk to the children 😏

Aw shucks 🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸

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[honeysmokedham]

It's Conditional || Nora & Regan

TIMING: Current LOCATION: Saol Eile, Cliodhna's house. PARTIES: Regan @kadavernagh and Hamstring @honeysmokedham SUMMARY: Regan is ready to go against her training. She's ready to tell Hamstring what Declan is supposed to be.

“Declan is going to die in front of you. That’s how it works. You are going to love him, and he will die because of it.”

The thought of opposing Fate, of even thinking about it let alone suggesting it, roiled in Regan’s stomach like her grandmother’s cooking. Yet she was doing just that. As if the clandestine plans she had made with Wynne weren’t bad enough (but she didn’t need to be part of them herself, she didn’t, she was going to think about it, and that’s what she was doing, not–) her attempt to convince the ham child that this place wasn’t what she thought, was in direct opposition to Fate. Declan was going to die, and practically all of Saol Eile knew it. How many banshees had screamed for him already? And even if, somehow, someway, he managed to escape his destiny, they could not let him leave this place alive. 

Yet Regan was still going to try one more time. The way her chest felt loaded down with rocks was surely a response to the disobedience possessing her, and not out of the compassion she was still trying to exile. Regan waited until her grandmother had left – there was a highly-anticipated worm race in preparation of the holiday – and found the ham child in the guestroom, drawing something, and becoming less and less like a guest every day. That was about to end. “Who’s that one for? Declan? We need to discuss him.” She couldn’t count the number of times she had declared that, then been brushed off, or ducked away herself, too cowardly to say what was necessary and go against her kin. This was the first time she had broached the subject since actually seeing Declan, screaming for him, though. And if she had any hope of pulling the child out of here in the short window they might have soon, she had to strip the paint from whatever rosy walls the child gazed into all day.

She invited herself past the threshold of the door (was it inviting? This was her place of residence) and leaned stiffly against the wall as the child sketched out some of the finer details of a badger’s skull. The child was talented, there was no doubt, but something stung like dirt rubbed into an open wound whenever Regan walked by one of the drawings adorning the walls where there had previously been only blank space. Cliodhna was fond of them. She did not smile, but the small grunt of approval at that first drawing of a dead cow replayed in Regan’s head, where bitterness gnawed like it had teeth.

Regan watched, sternly, pointedly, before realizing the child was too absorbed in what she was doing to listen (and probably wouldn’t even so; it was no wonder Emilio let her do as she pleased). Had the child even heard her before? Regan cleared her throat, tight and controlled; it would have broken nothing. “I will first say what I’ve said every time I’ve spoken to you: leave, because I am not.” It was lip service at this point. The child wouldn’t, even though this was detrimental to the both of them. And as for Regan… she glanced down at the ring on her finger, the one she had almost lost in the lake for making her feel like even half a person every time she saw it, and she had lost the ability to pin her failures on it. 

The child’s assent did not come; of course, the child would not go either. Regan had a decent idea of what would get her attention. “I met Declan. He had an appointment with me. Did he tell you about that?” She was probing for potential knowledge about what Declan was, the honor that awaited him (had the child been a banshee…). Her wings flicked in agitation. “You don’t listen. I’m doing this to you as a favor right now.”

—---

Each day the barrier between guestroom and her room was dissolving, the letters of guest morphing into something adjacent to home. After discovering, and approving of, Hamstring's drawing prowess, Cliodhna had supplied her with paper and charcoal, in return Hamstring had been making her art. The older banshee appreciated the grotesque and morbid art Hamstring was supplying, something the humans in Wicked's Rest would blanche at; shuffling away with muttered lines of distress because monsters were what haunted them and not what they appreciated. 

This badger skull was a new one for Cliodhna. When she returned from the worm races, they would have bone broth and discuss banshee things. Cliodhna's English was confusing. Sometimes she spoke in easy-to-understand phrases that followed all conventions of English grammar. Other times her questions felt badly translated, "Is your flesh ready?" "Are you bonded?" To which Hamstring would employ years of media training. You see, telling interviewers you don't understand their questions is rude. It makes you look uninformed, and being uninformed means you don't care. Instead, you deflect the question, bringing up something new. Deflections were easy when Hamstring was genuinely curious about the giant worm statue and the story that goes with it. 

The heavy thrum of instruments slamming and a "vocalist" screaming leaked out of Hamstring's headphones. Head down, her fingers worked on the fine shading of the badger's skull. Hamstring discovered that Cliodhna liked her bone art to be true to the source, but she still added a twist of her own, a break near the temple where a knife and worm were entwined. A whisper of words, catching on Declan, brought Hamstring to attention that she wasn't alone. Hamstring looked up, slipping off the headphones and staring blankly at Regan. This was new. Normally it was Hamstring walking into Regan's room every morning, asking the banshee if she was ready to go home yet. "Sup?" Hamstring was considerate enough to turn the music off, eyes plastering on Regan. 

"I want to leave Regan." That wasn't true anymore, it was a lie that slipped easily from her tongue to dance in the space between them. A jester performing for his king out of duty and not out of joy. Because if Hamstring left, her days of lounging by the waterfall with Declan would end. That alone was enough to chain her to Saol Eile for the rest of her life, despite the promises she'd made to return to Wicked's Rest. But they wanted her there in one piece. Return whole, is what she had promised. Declan - and this was hard to explain- felt like a piece of her. Leaving him and returning would break something in her. A broken promise. A broken Hamstring. Those were too many breaks, it was easier to stay here, where life was simple.

"But we both know I can't without you. If you want me gone, say you're ready and we'll be out by tonight." Regan wouldn't call her bluff, Hamstring knew, Regan was still searching for something here. Hamstring suspected that something was supposed to stop Regan from feeling like an outsider and fit in. What Hamstring had found here. In Hamstring’s mind, the jealousy of seeing Hamstring fit in this place she was forced to run from, was tearing them apart. Constantly Regan would turn the other way if she saw Hamstring coming, avoid conversation with her, or simply make an excuse to leave her presence. But Hamstring understood. Hamstring knew the bitter feeling of watching someone else thrive where you longed to simply belong, so she didn’t hold it against Regan. Hamstring would also have given anything to help Regan find that missing piece. Maybe with it, she’d feel confident enough to return home to those waiting for her. Or happier with their life in Saol Eile. 

“No, he didn’t tell me,” Hamstring answered, looking up with a question at Regan. Regan had been telling Hamstring to be careful around Declan since the moment they met. To leave him alone, give him space. So while Declan had told Hamstring about his doctor's appointment, the lie was once again easier. To stop a familiar argument from repeating. It would be a waste of time, a record on repeat forced to play the same song over and over again. Hamstring took a deep sigh, looking back down at her art and starting again. “And what is this huge favor, Regan?”

—------

Hamstring didn’t want to leave. If Regan said she was ready to go right now, would the child even go with her? (She wasn’t ready to go (she might have been ready to go), not unless– and even then, how– no, she couldn’t leave, even if she wanted to (did she? Did it matter? (yes, there were things that mattered, people that mattered, one person (Jade, it was Jade (did she get the message?). But her brothers were also (what about her mom? And her dad would have hated to see her here, it was what he spent his whole life trying to avoid))– and they would never know why, would never understand. (but what if they could?)) who mattered so much she–) Did anything matter beyond these short, wind-up toy lives the humans had?), and she didn’t want to, she didn’t, don’t think about the lake (the plan, there was a plan, a loose plan, but a–), focus on them). 

Regan frowned, trying to ignore what was definitely indigestion (she was a medical doctor).

But no. Hamstring had Declan here. She had been able to reinvent herself even if it was as something she was not: the child was able to do what Regan couldn’t. No wonder her grandmother approved. Sometimes Regan wondered if Hamstring remembered she wasn’t really Hamstring. The way she looked at Cliodhna with admiration that Regan never possessed for her grandmother… it wasn’t going to last. Declan was going to die, and Hamstring had to be gone before his body grew cold. And Regan sat complacently by. She had. She held Declan up at the clinic for an unnecessary examination to keep the two of them away from each other, her efforts to tell Declan of what else was out there came from a half-stone heart, and if it hadn’t been for Wynne, for the lake, she was not sure she would have been brave enough to be standing here right now.

Bravery often felt like the worst kind of foolishness, didn’t it? Could a coward be brave? Would her grandmother have looked upon her boldness and declared that it came from a weak heart wrapped in undisciplined muscle and a body attached to wings and lungs she did not deserve?

Regan’s gaze dropped. The child’s question was not what it seemed – not only did Hamstring not really want to leave, but leaving without Regan was still out of the question. Regan wouldn’t play her hand yet. “I don’t know what your plan was. You can’t get out the same way you got in. They wouldn’t… even if I… they wouldn’t let me leave again. There is no walking out.” Which didn’t mean she wanted to go (but–). She couldn’t want. She didn’t. She hadn’t. She couldn’t. Yet worry about those back h– in Wicked’s Rest hooked onto her skin even more than the feeling of fae all around her, and that tiny, stupid, remaining ember of hope for something better kept sparking no matter how many attempts she made to drown it out.

She had told Wynne she would think. This was thinking. That indigestion really was homicidal. 

Wynne left the lake yesterday, sensing that the purpose of this journey here had been worthwhile, feeling the victory of a successful mission, if only they could wait her out for a few more days. Regan remained deeply uncertain. When she came back here last night, Cliodhna’s eyes tracked her in. Her grandmother was silent, until she wasn’t. 

“You breathe,” her grandmother had remarked, and Regan registered the concealed disgust in her tone. 

“Yes.” 

Regan had meant it as assent, agreement, that she had failed and would always fail. Her grandmother had raised a brow and let her slink upstairs. Only now did Regan recognize the defiant edge that had developed that day. She did not feel nearly as sharp as that single, cutting word.

Her disobedience made her feel the burn of the lie she’d told here weeks ago to keep the child away from her grandmother’s scream, it forced her to remember the other lie she’d told at the clinic to afford Wynne and Elias enough time to get out of here if they were smart enough to use it, it made her recall how she spoke of cremation with Declan in a voice so quiet it did not feel like it came from her lungs, it reminded her how obvious the message she’d sent yesterday had been, how even Wynne knew who Regan had been inspired to talk to. There was a common thread weaving all of these together, and it was not Fate, but something more tangible.

It made clear, finally, why she was standing here right now. Regardless of whether she remained here or not, she cared.

“Listen to me.”

Regan wasn’t sure how much she believed that Declan didn’t immediately run to the child after that appointment, but it almost didn’t matter. Declan wouldn’t have told Hamstring what Regan was able to tell her about the rites. All of Hamstring’s gratitude was reserved for Cliodhna, though, not her. 

The child was as stubborn as Regan was desperate. “Put your pencil down and listen to me. The favor is information.” Information she was supposed to spill to the child weeks ago. She had tried, though, she had. Just… not that persistently. Not like this. Never like this. Regan rolled the back of her skull against the wall. She wasn’t supposed to tell humans any of this, but right now, Hamstring was not in a position a human would ever be in. Regan had put her there. “Declan is… he’s part of your an chéad scread. You’ve heard my grandmother mention that, yes? Of course you have. It’s all she talks about.” If Hamstring heard bitterness seething behind her words, no she did not. “It’s a rite. We all go through it. I did. And the second it happens for you, you’re going to be revealed as a fraud. You won’t scream. You won’t have wings. You will break, but not in the way you’re supposed to.” And Regan hadn’t even begun to think about what might happen to her for perpetuating this lie. “Let me guess. She’s asking you about how fond you are of Declan, and how prepared you are to accept what’s yours, or something along those lines.”

She had never asked Regan any of that. She just… she just…

Regan tried to stand a little straighter, pushing her shoulders up, but she wasn’t sure she’d be standing had the wall not been propping her there. Never had she spoken of this so plainly with anyone, and it felt like a betrayal coating her mouth with ash, even though her heart told her it wasn’t a betrayal at all; it was exactly what she needed to say. Like the protective lies, like telling Declan about her father’s smile, like sliding her ring back on her finger. 

“Declan is going to die in front of you. That’s how it works. You are going to love him, and he will die because of it.”

—--------

"There is always a way out. We could steal one of the cars. We could walk. I can turn into a bear and you can ride me out. You have a personal entourage of talented people, and Elias. We'll make a way out for you." This was their impasse, the reason Hamstring knew she'd have more time with Declan. A rock pressing against a hard place, each expecting the other to move, each an immovable force. What was that book she'd started reading? Greek mythology was always good for comparisons. Perhaps Regan was Sisyphus, pushing the boulder Hamstring up the hill to send her home, and each day Hamstring would roll back down, starting the day in Regan's room, proudly proclaiming she was still there with her presence. Or the metaphor could go the other way. Hamstring had never been good at metaphors. 

Regan had a serious tone. Combined with the fact this was the most Regan had spoken to Hamstring in days, she decided to take this seriously. Hamstring placed her charcoal down, and turned in her chair so she was facing Regan dead on. Blank eyes staring at blank eyes. A contest of emotionless presenting. Hamstring had heard of her chead scread, an event she assumed was the banshee equivalent of a debutante ball. Which, by the way, was something she only escaped having because of its roots in white supremacy and was not feminist, as her dads put it. Hamstring knew her dads would have loved to present her to all their peers in a ball gown with a dance. Actually, hadn't that been what happened anyway? This was not paying attention. Hamstring drew her mind from her past, the past that didn't matter now that she was Hamstring. 

Hamstring took a moment to digest everything Regan was saying. It was a loud accusation. It felt like a slap. A sting of pain shot through her body. Hamstring had to sit with it for a moment. Why did these words hurt? "I ran away from my home." Hamstring looked away from Regan, her eyes searching the bright blue sky out the window. Anything but eye contact. "I wasn't good at being my fathers' daughter. I didn't fit into their idea of family and success. I'm a monster. And they are human. It was never going to fit. They loved me. I love them. But I could never love myself there." Her hand started tapping at the desk. The only sign, in a perfectly crafted mask of indifference, that something was wrong. 

"Two years after I left, they adopted a new baby. She's... just a kid. But I think she'll be a better fit than I ever was." A moment, a pause. A silence. "It hurts to see her take my place. Fit in better. Be where I should be and do it right, knowing that I could never." A deep breath. "I'm sorry that's what I'm doing to you here. I would help you, if I knew what I was doing right. This shouldn't be you vs me. It's us vs them. Which is why I don't understand." Another deep breath, as the anger started to boil over. "Why you're trying to scare me again? Every time I do things you don't like, you do this. You tell me someone is going to die. I broke into your house, suddenly I'm going to die. I'm getting close to Declan, fitting in here, and you don't want me, so I better leave so Declan doesn't die?" 

Hamstring was on her feet now, her monotone tinted with emotion. "I know it sucks. But that's not my fault." The anger was too much for Hamstring. She started shoving her way past Regan, intent on leaving the house, putting some distance between them and walking this big emotion off. Maybe then she'd be ready to deal with it. 

—--------

“You will leave even if it’s without me.” Regan was firm, giving her final words on the matter, knowing that it would likely come down to this, and much sooner than the child thought. She would hate Regan for the rest of her life, but she’d be alive to do that.

Unlike… it wasn’t what Regan had expected, the way the revelation of Declan’s death seemed to wick right through the child’s face. It hadn’t been absorbed, only heard. If the child were to move her head, Regan might see the sentiment dripping out of her ears. “Are you listening? I told you to pay attention. Declan is going to die.” And as she said it, Regan realized her mistake. Not one right now (though she was sure there were many now too), but months ago. Why should the ham child believe her about someone’s death when, in a moment of perceived retribution, she had managed to make the girl think her death was near? That she had taken off into the mines shortly after – Regan’s words no doubt on her mind – was something Regan still tried not to think about. Even though Regan didn’t think she was getting to the child, Hamstring did still have a thoughtful look on her face, one aimed toward the past and not the future.

When the child did eventually speak, it was a seeming non-sequitur. Her being a runaway made sense. Regan always knew there was something, some personal interest, that kept her personally involved in Regan’s situation. In hiding in Regan’s luggage, she had been seeking something for herself, too. Regan didn’t even pretend to know where this was going, not that it mattered – the child was doing everything she possibly could to not even look in Regan’s direction. “Why… why would you run away if they loved you?” She probably shouldn’t have asked, but she did; she had known a family that loved her, and the only force that could have pulled her away from them was Fate itself. Something else slipped across her mind, but if it was irony, it was gone before she could see it. And Regan did understand not fitting in, never being able to measure up. She did. Was that the child’s point? No, that didn’t seem right.

It hurts to see her take my place. 

That was it. A connection she never would have made on her own sparked, making her hair raise as if it generated static. “What?” The t came out hard, flipping out of her mouth. A couple of days ago, she might have been able to hold it back, to keep her lip from curling and her brow from lowering, but now the accusation skimmed off her epidermis. She stood up straight, pushing herself off the wall.

“Are you out of your blistering mind? You think I’m jealous? You think…” Regan had to bite her tongue to keep from snapping in the wrong direction, “This is not some adoption, dúisigh. My grandmother does not adopt. Have you watched her at all, downstairs, with the animals? The carcasses with blood crusted around their ears? She deafens them and hollows them out, displays their pelts as triumphs, and then she is proud.” Hamstring didn’t see it. “She is proud of her rows and rows of patellas, selected and cleaned and organized precisely how she wishes. The first words she spoke to me after she– after my– she said ‘at least your wings will be impressive’.” Desperation seeped from Regan’s voice in too many places for her to plug up. She had been leaking since walking out of that lake, shoulders hung in defeat, and it would take decades to undo it. If she ever could. She suspected she couldn’t. After all… it wasn’t working. 

Hamstring was not tolerating any of this well either, though probably for other reasons. She had never heard the child speak this much of her past, and for it to surface in this way– did she feel robbed? Like she had bounced around looking for something like this for years, and finally found it? Regan didn’t care. She was going to feel robbed of so much more if she didn’t listen. “Stop!” It came out as a screech that sent a stab of humiliation through her. That wasn’t supposed to happen. The door swung on its hinges, Hamstring pushing out. Regan chased the child down the stairs and found the front door much the same, with only Hamstring’s silhouette ahead. “You’re not listening to me. He’s– he’ll– it isn’t about fitting in. He’s–” Outside. They were outside. And all of Saol Eile could hear this. Regan’s mouth dropped open. She debated following, but she couldn’t keep up with a bear, nor would it be good to provoke the child to become one. With one last breath, one last attempt, Regan called after her. “It’s conditional.”

[kmomof4]

Teaser Thursday!!!

Hello all! It’s been a long while since I posted anything, so I thought I’d jump on the bandwagon that booksteaandtoomuchtv started this morning. Calling it Teaser Thursday instead of Things I’m Typing Thursday (TIT Thursday) because while I am currently working on a new fic, I haven’t had time to work on it all week, so I can’t say I’m currently TYPING anything… anyhoo, I do have 3 fics waiting in the wings to post this fall and holiday season, and hopefully this new project will post sometime this fall as well, we’ll see… so I thought y’all would like some sneak peeks…

Orphan Girl is waiting on a beta read and was inspired by a song of the same name my local chorale group sang last spring as part of our concert featuring Songs from the Enchanted Isle, Folks Songs of Ireland, England, and Scotland. The song was originally written by Brendan Graham for the Annual Great Famine Commemoration in Sydney in 2012. The ceremony commemorates the relocation of about 4k female orphans to Australia after the potato famine took its toll.

Welcome to Drogheda Station, Miss Nolan,” he began. “My name is Killian Jones, and I am in need of a governess for my young daughter. She lost her mother closing in on a year ago now, and I just want to meet you myself before introducing you to my Alice and make sure you’d be a good fit with our family.” Emma nodded, but remained silent. His crystal blue eyes remained on hers as he spoke and she had to give herself an internal shake to keep herself from getting lost in them.

“So, tell me about yourself.” He looked down at a small stack of papers on his desk for a moment before looking back at her again. “I have quite a lot of information about you from your file provided to me from Granny, but I’d like to hear some of it in your own words.” He smiled and Emma instantly relaxed as she returned it.

“Ah,” Emma began, “the name… of the station? Drogheda? That’s Irish isn’t it?”

His smile lit up his face and Emma thought she would swoon at the pleasure she saw in his beautiful eyes.

“It is,” he affirmed. “My father was from Drogheda in County Louth on the east coast of Ireland. He immigrated here when he was a teenager. He died when I was small, but when I bought this land, I wanted to honor him and the roots he left behind by naming the station after his hometown.”

“I see.” She smiled back at him. “That’s a lovely tribute to your family. Thank you for sharing it with me. I’d never been to County Louth, but I had heard of it. I’m from County Mayo on the west coast.”

Killian smiled softly at her statement and nodded for her to continue. He watched the young woman in front of him intently as she continued speaking. Her manners were impeccable and her appearance was most pleasing. Her long golden hair was gathered at the nape of her neck in a ponytail against the summer heat, but it positively glowed in the sun shining through the windows of his office. There was a sadness in her green eyes that Killian found himself responding to. It was the look that he himself saw in the mirror every day. The look of an orphan. Given her circumstances, and where she came from, he wasn’t at all surprised.

What did surprise him, however, was how strongly he was responding to it. He wanted nothing more than to care for and shelter this lovely young lady. Her education and decorum were obvious in her comportment and Killian was sure she’d be a perfect fit for the position. He rarely had trouble discerning the character of a person upon their first meeting, and after just this brief introduction to Emma Nolan, he had no compunction whatsoever in bringing her on as Alice’s governess.

Our next sneak peek is from the Family Affair universe! After the response I got to the fics in the series, I wanted to share the couples Happy Beginnings, as well. And what better way is there then to gather the entire extended clan for Christmas? This fic picks up one year after Robin and Regina’s wedding, when David finally came home, and will post on Christmas Day.

Christmas was just a couple of days away. Emma, Killian, and Henry were feverishly getting everything ready to host the entire extended Swan and Jones families. They were expecting a total of sixteen extra guests for the holiday and excitement was running very high.

They didn’t usually have much snow in December, but this year, they were predicting around three inches on Christmas Eve. Henry had never seen a white Christmas, and with all his aunts, uncles, and cousins, in addition to his grandparents coming, this was sure to be the best Christmas ever!

Henry peeked into his baby sister’s bedroom, not surprised to see her awake and standing in her crib. Henry grinned and came in, followed closely by Shep.

“Eny, Eny,” Hope babbled as her big brother approached.

“Do you know what today is, Hope?” Henry asked his sister. “Everyone’s coming today! Mimi and Papaw, Aunt Ruby, Uncle Graham and Poppa, and you’ll get to meet your baby cousins in person, Aunt Regina and Uncle Robin, Aunt M’s and Uncle David, Aunt Elsa and Uncle Liam, Aaron and Dale, and Grandpa Nemo!”

Henry lowered the side of the crib and lifted Hope out, setting her on her feet on the floor. She wasn’t walking independently yet, but she was close and Henry just knew that she’d do it sometime in the next few days while everyone was here. He stood behind her and held onto her hands raised in the air as she started toward the door of her bedroom.

He followed along behind her as they toddled the short distance to their parents’ room. Once they reached the door, Henry knocked.

“Mom? Dad?” he asked, opening the door slightly. Shep pushed the door open the rest of the way with his nose.

“Mamamamamamamama,” Hope babbled. “Dadadadadadadada.”

The lights were still off, but the sun was poking through the blinds. Their dad sat up, his mouth opening on a huge yawn and swung his legs off the side of the bed, motioning for them to be quiet.

“Mom’s still asleep,” he whispered. “Let’s let her sleep just a little more. Go downstairs with Hope, Henry, and I’ll be down in just a minute to get breakfast started.”

Henry nodded and turned Hope around, back toward the door of the bedroom. As soon as they were gone, Killian leaned over to Emma, pressing a kiss to her brow and whispering in her ear.

“You can sleep for a little while longer, babe. I’ll send Henry up to get you once breakfast is ready.”

All he got was a muffled Mmmph in reply. Killian chuckled and made his way to the bathroom.

Our next fic is a continuation of A Christmas Surprise. Told mostly in Killian’s pov this time, it begins with Killian and Alice’s reunion and goes all the way to Killian and Emma’s wedding day! This is a long one and so will have two parts. Part One will post on Dec 8, and Part Two on Dec 15.

Killian Jones sat in the darkness of the giant present in which he was hiding, waiting for his daughter’s Christmas program to begin. He couldn’t wait to see his starfish when he surprised her after she sang her solo this evening. He was proud to serve his country, but the long deployments made things especially difficult. Having Liam and Elsa so close by and willing to care for Alice when he was gone was a blessing he didn’t take for granted in the least, but he was so thankful that he was home for good now and was eligible to retire in just a few more months.

Which made him think about what would come next. What the future might hold and how the lovely Emma Swan might fit into it. He’d been thoroughly gobsmacked when he laid eyes on the golden haired beauty who was Alice’s teacher when he arrived at the school earlier. And then the revelation that she was single sent his heart rate ratcheting up like he hadn’t experienced since he’d met his late wife. It had been six years since he’d lost his beloved Milah, and the thought of re-entering the dating scene hadn’t crossed his mind once in all that time. He was still relatively young and handsome, but with his very young daughter and Navy career, he didn’t have the time or inclination to put himself back out there.

But Emma Swan might just change his mind on that front.

He knew his countenance sported a goofy, thoroughly besotted smile when he heard movement on the outside of the present in which he sat. Bright light from the auditorium flooded the dark space as the box’s small door opened, helping him immensely in the schooling of his features before being confronted with the object of his thoughts as she handed him his dinner.

“Do you have enough light to see to eat in here?” Emma asked, looking around.

Killian grimaced. He hadn’t really thought of that. “Perhaps not.”

“I can stay for a bit while you eat, turn the flashlight on on my phone. So you can see to eat,” she stammered. The blush on her cheeks was adorable, and Killian’s heart rate picked up yet again.

“That would be great. Thank you, Emma.”

She smiled as she moved into the space with him. It was a bit cramped with them both sitting on the floor, but he didn’t mind it at all. He tucked into his Christmas meal of roast turkey and dressing, mashed potatoes, green beans and cranberry salad as Emma told him about some of the antics Henry, Alice, and her cousins had gotten up to this semester.

She told him about Liam Jr and Colin hiding Alice’s pencil box on the first day of school. Meant as an initiation of sorts, it had made Elsa’s morning that much more hectic and stressful trying to find it and make it to school on time. Emma related how she’d had trouble containing her giggles when the twins confessed what they’d done, handed over the pencil box, and got exactly what was coming to them from their mother. Later on the same day, in retaliation, Alice and Henry had hidden away the twins’ lunch boxes. Killian had to stifle his laughter at the story.

Then Emma told him about the time just a few weeks ago when Alice was delayed coming back from the restroom. When Emma went to look for her, she found the child peeking into the auditorium where her cousins were engaged in a basketball game with another school in the area. Colin had just made a shot, and Alice was cheering loudly for her cousin from the hallway when Emma found her. Killian’s heart swelled.

And finally, the new fic I’ve been working on is inspired by Francesca Bridgerton’s story. I wrote the entire first ch of the fic, almost 8400 words, in five days, so I’m hoping I’ll be able to finish it next month and post it sometime in November. No promises, but that is the hope…

There is a moment in every man’s life in which his future becomes clear. A turning point of sorts. The moment when he becomes a man, when he leaves the irresponsibility and temerity of youth behind and turns his eyes to the future. A future that he’d never allowed himself to think about before. Unfortunately, that moment came for Killian Jones when he first laid eyes on Emma Nolan, at a supper celebrating the imminent marriage between herself and Killian’s brother Earl Liam Jones.

After years of chasing anything in a skirt, Killian grimaced at the irony. In all that time, he’d never allowed his heart to become entangled with his many, many romantic exploits. Allowing himself to be chased until he conquered, his reputation as a rake and a scoundrel was well deserved. He’d even stopped attending church, although he assuaged the pricking of his conscience by telling himself the derelict stones of Kilmartin Abbey on the Kilmartin estate up in Scotland couldn’t withstand a direct strike of lightning, which would surely happen if Killian Jones ever showed his face inside. No originality among his ancestors there, when it came to naming. They were so proud of the title when it was newly bestowed about 300 years ago, that they attached it to everything they possibly could.

Killian Jones

Worst of Sinners

He would have had it printed on calling cards if he didn’t think it would actually kill his mother. He may never have seduced a virgin or slept with a married woman… Oh very well, if he couldn’t be honest in his own head, then what was the purpose? He’d slept with plenty of married women. But only those whose husbands were tossers, and only when they’d already produced at least two male offspring, three if one of others was sickly. He may have a modicum of honor left in his blackened soul… because this was the one thing that truly did it. Blackened his soul beyond all redemption.

He coveted his brother’s wife.

And had since that fateful moment two years ago. The day he met Emma Nolan. Emma Nolan Jones now. Lady Kilmartin. Countess Kilmartin. Wife of his brother. The Earl of Kilmartin.

He could torture himself for days thinking of every iteration of Emma Nolan Jones, but it would never change the simple fact. He couldn’t have her. She’d never be his.

I hope this whets y’all’s appetite!!

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[thecrystalquill]

A/N: TCMOY/NA part 4!! A little shorter than the last one but the next should be longer. Don’t forget the intros! And let me know what you think :) happy reading

Masterlist     Series Masterlist     Series Intro    Your Hogwarts First Years’ Letter

Chapter Four ~ Preparation

The party had been even bigger than she had thought. Every relative and family friend had been invited, and all with a plus-one. There was dancing and fancy drinks and a feast enough to feed the entire town; the band played countless songs, and her parents even let her have her first champagne. It was absolutely disgusting, but she drank it. She even managed to make it through her father’s speech, explaining to everyone just how proud he was, without expressively cringing. Overall, it was a good night – as all of their parties were – but come early hours of the morning, (Y/N) still found herself relieved to see their guests out. After an early start to the day, she was so tired that all she wanted to do was crash into her pillows. In fact, she was so tired that she almost slept through lunch the next day. It was a good thing that she remembered to close her curtains.

Now that the party was over, (Y/N) only had a week to get ready for her leave, and her nerves built with each passing day. Currently, Morticia and Wednesday were helping her pack her bags, Wednesday was making and checking lists as her mother made suggestions. “Don’t forget to pack your bat. The one with the barbed wire – never know when you might need it.”

“Of course, Mother,” (Y/N) answered, taking the tool from under her bed and finding a place for it in her case among her other things, a separate one from her clothes case – she had rather a lot of things. She’d packed her spare uniform robes, and plenty of her clothes, her books (there were quite a lot of them), some of her collections, and various other things that may come in handy. Jinxy sat at his place on the windowsill, watching curiously as they shuffled about the room. “Oh! Did we get a cage for Jinxy? You know how he likes to wander off,” she asked while packing some peculiar looking jars and bottles into a trunk, letting Wednesday tick them off, then slip another in.

Her mother nodded, picking out some clothes from the wardrobe and packing them up. “Yes, darling. Lurch dug up the old bat cage, it’s quite small but it will do for your travels.” At that, Jinx’s ears perked up and he paused in the middle of licking his paw, tongue still poking out.

“Why do you have to go so far for so long?” Wednesday whined, picking up ‘The Collective Works of Edgar Allan Poe’ and dropping it on the bed. “How am I supposed to put up with Pugsley on my own? Who am I going to practise my sword skills with? You know he isn’t a good opponent, he doesn’t take it seriously enough,” she complained in a low, bored voice.

“Oh don’t worry, Wednesday,” (Y/N) replied, contemplating whether or not she should pack her crossbow, “I’ll be back for the Christmas holidays, we can catch up then. And I’m sure Father will be more than willing to fill in for me with your fights.” She couldn’t wait to be back for the holidays. “Oh! Catnip!” She exclaimed, then rushed downstairs, likely going to the greenhouse.

“It’s alright, Wednesday,” said her mother as she packed away her daughter’s set of knives, not forgetting the sharpening tools, “she’ll be home before you know it.”

“It’s not like I’m gonna miss her or anything…” Wednesday muttered.

Two days left before she had to leave, and (Y/N) almost felt like crying – which she absolutely refused to do; but she could almost feel like it in private. She was sat on the wall of the graveyard, overlooking the whole area; from this angle she could see the whole of the Addams residence, along with the town, the coast, and the Abbey. It was one of her favourite spots, where she could watch over everything around her like a gargoyle atop a tower.

She had been reading her new textbooks over the last few weeks, studying everything with fascination and daydreaming about when she would get to explore these new topics fully, somehow it eased her worries a little. She had a herbology book open in front of her, letting the wind turn the pages as she focused her attention on her surroundings. She wondered what her time at Hogwarts would be like; would she enjoy her classes? Make some friends? A few enemies maybe? What house would she be put in? Wednesday had showed her some of the family history books from their library; many family members that attended Hogwarts were placed into Slytherin, of course this doesn’t mean to say that there weren’t any in the other houses – the family tree had its fair share of Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, and even Hufflepuffs. In fact, Wednesday said that Alexander Addams married a Hufflepuff lady in 1601, having met her when he was visiting from Beaubatons. There were many people in the family that had gone to Beaubatons – with the Addams’ being from Spanish and French descent – and some even attended Durmstrang, it was more of a personal choice where they had gone. (Y/N) wondered if she would have liked to go to Beaubatons, but that was all the way in the Pyrenees, and she didn’t know a whole lot of French (though she did have Latin and Spanish lessons with her father). There were even quite a few people on their Mother’s side that had attended Beaubatons, and even some from Illvermorny, which she found quite fascinating. (Y/N) thought she shared quite a few qualities from all of the houses at Hogwarts, but she supposed she would have to wait; she thought it was quite a shame that her family couldn’t be there for her sorting, why couldn’t they anyway? If it was so important, why couldn’t her loved ones be there? But she supposed it was just another tradition. And it would probably make it harder for her to say goodbye if they were there the whole time, so it was probably for the best.

Looking down to the swamp marsh that circled the back end of the property, (Y/N) stared into the muddy murky waters that gurgled and moved on its own, hoping that Hogwarts would feel like a second home to her in time.

“(Y/N)!” She heard from bellow, squinting in the near-darkness she spotted her brother from half-way across the graveyard, carrying a few explosives in his arms (he’d likely being playing with them before he came out).

“What is it, Pugsley?” She yelled back, still perched on the ten-foot wall as she grabbed her copy of One-Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi and inspected the page on Devil’s Snare.

He grumbled and trudged forward a few more meters, touching every tombstone he passed – an old habit he developed as a toddler. “Grandmama says dinner’s nearly ready, we’re having eye of newt soup tonight, then she said she’ll make squid ink spaghetti tomorrow,” Pugsley explained, knowing that squid ink spaghetti was one of her favourites (she really hoped they made that at Hogwarts).

Hiding a sigh, (Y/N) took one last look across the view before tucking her book under her arm and expertly climbed down the high wall, using the gaps or odd shaped stones to hang onto before jumping down the last three feet. “Okay Pugsley, c’mon then,” she said, wrapping an arm over his shoulders and handing him her textbook to leaf through, “wouldn’t want our soup getting cold, would we?”

Pugsley shook his head as he looked at the illustrations in awe. “(Y/N), when will you teach me to climb the wall?” He asked, looking back to her spot – just being able to make out her name scratched into a stone half-way up.

She shrugged, keeping up her pace to the door. “How about next week?” She slyly suggested, to which Pugsley gladly agreed.

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[captainsimagines]

the warmth of the future || two

Summary: It’s been two years since you fell in love with Bucky Barnes, and the holidays are just around the corner. With even more love, more friends, and more family in attendance, you and Bucky fully intend to enjoy these days with as little drama as possible. But that’s not always the case with a relationship like yours, is it?

Pairing: DBF James “Bucky” Barnes x (Fem) Reader

Based on the Song: ‘Willow’ by Taylor Swift

Warnings: strong language; bar games; age difference kink; exhibitionism; jealous! Bucky; dom+sub vibes; some angst

Word Count: 8,890+

Author’s Note: Sorry? Lol

~

      You’re barely entering the kitchen, head a matted mess, when the conversation snags your attention.

“Steven,” Pietro says quietly, sitting at the dining table, his hands intertwined in front of him. “Be honest with me.”

Steve sips his coffee, the white t-shirt he’s wearing already branded with a small coffee stain. His eyebrows scrunch as he responds, treading carefully. “I am being honest with you. Wanda has never flirted with me like that.”

Pietro releases a comical, shaky breath. “Oh, thank God—”

“I mean,” Steve continues, reaching over for the box of blueberry muffins. “She sometimes calls me cute. Tells me that I’m respectful and she doesn’t understand how I’m single. She even gives me free flowers whenever I visit because you guys typically have extras.”

Pietro freezes, his eye twitching. “This is the first time I’m hearing about the flowers.”

“Oh? Was I not supposed to be getting free flowers? I like to twirl the tiny ones around my watch so I can smell them from time-to-time.”

Your dad blows over his own coffee mug, his chest vibrating with a small laugh. “Now you know how it feels, Pietro.”

“How what feels?” Steve asks, looking around the kitchen. Even Peter and Sam are participating, enjoying their muffins at the dining table. “What’s going on?”

Bucky sighs, clapping Steve on the back. “I’ll tell you later, buddy.”

“What’s all this?” you finally interject, stepping off the stairs. Your dad moves to fill your mug, passing it to you with a kiss at the top of your head.

“Pietro thinks Wanda’s trying to get at Steve,” Sam chuckles.

“She is! Back me up—Tell them what she said yesterday,” Pietro begs you, filling his mouth with muffin and coffee at the same time.

“I don’t recall her saying such a thing,” you answer, your expression of fake confusion taunting him.

“What—”

“Besides, Wanda going after Steve? Ew.”

Steve’s mouth drops, a quiet squeak escaping. “Women love me.”

“I don’t believe it,” you say, still sarcastic. Pietro seems to want to slap his hand over your mouth. “Maybe you should flirt with her to get your answer.”

Pietro throws his arms in the air, giving up. Everyone joins in on the laughter. Steve and Wanda—a couple? Steve never brought home his dates and just like Bucky before, he never had many long-term relationships. It was an odd match, just as you and Bucky are, but what of it? Maybe they’ll hit things off. Maybe there will be a spark no one thought would ignite. Maybe they’ll fall in love and truly experience what that emotion feels like.

When you think of Bucky—who’s currently shoveling muffins and biscuits into his mouth—your heart is near seconds from exploding. That slight ticklish feeling, that melting Clint urged you to recognize two years ago. Even the heartwarming impression of Bucky giving you your first flower—all these emotions tied into one and sometimes you thought you were going to throw up. Liking Bucky, loving Bucky, made you feel sick. But that good kind of sickness. The kind that kept you moving, that kept you from spiraling, the kind that promised to have all the answers to even the most insane questions.

So, yes, Wanda and Steve would make an odd couple. But they were so similar in so many ways. Wanda, loud and eccentric, who only wanted to share her excitement and love of multiple things with someone other than Clint, Kate, or Pietro. Steve, reserved and witty, who only wanted to listen to people’s wonders and help them see them.

~

    You were mature enough to let the conversation take an alternative road, and once everyone but you, Sam, Bucky, and Pietro were left in the kitchen, finishing off the muffins, the conversation steered into something more personal.

“He’s been dating her for a year and a half,” you comment. “Dad’s not going to propose. Is he?”

Sam grits his teeth in an awkward smile. “I think he is, Bumblebee.”

Your mouth parts, “But he would have told me!”

“Monica’s all he talks about.” Okay, that was true for you too. Your dad couldn’t shut up about Monica whenever you asked about her. Sometimes you would lay the phone down on speaker and continue whatever you were doing as he rambled on. “He’s so fucking getting that ring, Bumblebee.”

And see, you want him to propose to her. Monica is an absolute sweetheart and perfect for your dad. Your relationship with her, considering you hardly ever see her in person, is that of good friends. You’d definitely call her if you needed help. It’s just breaking your heart in three different places that your dad hadn’t mentioned his intentions to you.

“Well, when do you think he’s going to do it? At the Christmas party?”

Bucky adjusts himself in his seat, his fingers tapping his thighs rapidly with no set rhythm. “I think he mentioned waiting until New Years, actually.”

“He told you that?” Pietro urges. “He only said that he was waiting for you—”

Sam quickly interjects, “And you ruined the surprise!” Did he, though? “Bumblebee, your dad was going to ask for your permission to marry, of course.”

“My permission?” Your dad has never been married, so why would he need your permission? “He’s a grown man.”

Bucky raises his metal hand in a I-don’t-know fashion. “Father-daughter bonding, I guess. But I remember him mentioning proposing on New Years yesterday.”

“Huh.” They were all acting really weird. Well, Pietro wasn’t but that’s because he only pretends to know half the shit going on. “Interesting.”

The front door slams open and Clint wanders into the house, wiping snow off his shoulders. “It’s coming down like hellfire out there!” He throws his jacket over a barstool, then wipes at his face. “Kate’s gonna have to shovel the snow out before the fundraiser tonight.”

Pietro immediately stands, raising a hand as if volunteering. “You think I would be any help now? I could—”

Clint shoves a hand into Pietro’s chest, effectively stopping him from walking past. Clint makes a show of sniffing the air and studying the faces of everyone in the kitchen. Then, with his eyes opening wide and a smile splitting his face, he exclaims, “You had sex! Your phone is vibrating like crazy! You’ve been leaving to help Kate way too often. I don’t even help my damn niece as much as you do.”

“Hey, woah, wait—” Sam tries, but Clint’s cackle cuts him off.

“Of course you don’t smell like sex, Wilson. Last time you slept with someone, people were still wearin’ pagers.”

“Okay, hold up—”

“These two fucked last night. They’re not even tryin’ to hide it!”

Your mouth opens and closes with surprise. Bucky hides his face in his hands. “How the fuck did you—”

“I didn’t! But look at that, your dumbass just admitted it.”

“You snuck past me last night?” Sam blinks at you, chuckling between each word.

“Clint,” you groan, smacking your forehead against the dining table. “Why today? Why two days before Christmas? Why couldn’t your present to me be shutting the fuck up?”

“Right, sorry, sorry,” Clint apologizes, pushing Pietro down back into his chair. “Sam, why is your phone havin’ seizures?”

Sam pushes his phone across the table, huffing as he reveals, “It’s my nephews, man. Sarah was going to surprise all of you guys on Christmas morning, but look at that, surprise spoiled.”

“You could have lied!” Clint says, picking up Sam’s phone, unlocking it, and scrolling through the messages. How he knows the passcode, you don’t know.

“You would have just done that,” Sam deadpans.

“Sarah and the boys are coming?” you yell. Fuck, you’ve got to buy even more gifts.

“Yup, room booked and everything. Just, keep it a surprise for everyone else, will ya?”

“But,” Clint whines, “We see everyone tonight! How can I keep it a secret?”

“You will or else Sarah will beat your ass, not me.”

"Noted."

Horrendous fact that Sam, Clint, and Pietro now know you fucked Bucky last night aside, you can’t help but be delighted with even more guests. Especially family you haven’t seen in years. Pictures don’t do the boys justice, so they’re probably towering you in height by now.

“Am I free to go now?” Pietro carefully inquires. Clint eyes him suspiciously, like he’s a bug that needs trapping.

“Guess Wanda’s openin’ up the shop then?”

Pietro nods. “Tell her I’m at Kate’s?”

With only slight hesitation, Clint lets him go. Pietro sprints out of there, waving goodbye as he exits the front door. Bucky clears his throat, “Is it just me or is everyone getting romantic this holiday season?”

“It’s just you,” Clint quickly replies. “C’mon man, or we’ll be late for the appointment.”

“Appointment? Where?” you ask.

Bucky bites his bottom lip, lightly stuttering. “Some tax specialist…guy.”

Blinking, you stare at Bucky in a way that tells him he’s going to regret lying to you, but that you also find his attempt at lying really funny.

Sam shakes his head. “Idiot.”

Clint waves a hand through the air. “Don’t worry about it, Bumblebee. It’s just a Christmas thing.”  

“Don’t go overboard on the presents,” you chastise, standing to wrap your arms around Bucky’s neck, hugging him close. “You’ve bested me two years in a row now.”

Bucky chuckles deeply, raising one of your hands to kiss your palm. “But you deserve the best, Doll.”

“Blagh,” Clint gags. “We’ll see you guys tonight.” And with that, Clint ushers Bucky’s sweatsuit-covered ass out the front door.

“What kind of morning was that?” You turn to Sam, who’s smiling toward the two who just left.

“Chaotic, huh?”

“Yeah.”

It’s always chaotic, and this morning didn’t even include the full cluster of personalities. If Kate had been here, she would have been as loud as Clint. If Wanda had been here, you bet the conversation about her and Steve would have delved into more specific scenarios. If Peter would have stayed instead of leaving to explore the town, he would have seen the light being shone on all your family stories. Especially the holiday ones.

And what the hell was it with Bucky and Clint being secretive about that appointment? And your dad not telling you he’s proposing?

But nope. Nope. This holiday season was going to run smoothly. You would make sure of it.

~

    “You’re kidding.”

Wanda shakes her head as she brings her coffee to her mouth. Kate slams her forehead down onto the counter, alarming the elderly customer smelling the poinsettias. You stare at them both, mouth dropped open and breakfast sandwich abandoned.

“Was no one going to tell me that Pietro’s got a thing for you?”

Kate groans softly, rolling her forehead against the counter. “He’s not really trying to hide it anymore, is he?”

Wanda snorts, sputtering some drops of coffee. Some strands of her dirty-blonde hair catch them. “He’s had a crush on you since high school.”

“Okay, no.” Kate finally raises her head, holding up an index finger. “It’s been over ten years. That man has not been harboring a crush on me for that long. He has not. Bumblewumble, tell her she’s crazy.”

“Um. I haven’t observed much, obviously. Now less than ever.”

Kate rolls her eyes. “But every time you visit, do you notice anything?”

Let’s see.

There was that time when you were all enjoying morning coffee and you noticed Pietro was a little too engrossed in Kate’s retelling of The Princess and The Frog. Sound effects, hand movements, everything. But Pietro stared at everyone intently, as if his whole heart was in it.

There was also last summer when you all went on vacation together for a week and you noticed that Pietro tried—obviously, too—not to stare at Kate in her yellow bikini. But you just thought he was being respectful. You certainly had an eyeful, Bucky too.

And Pietro usually sits near Kate every chance he gets. He volunteers to drink her wild drink concoctions. He lets her borrow his truck, especially when it rains.

“Fuck, I think he does.”

Wanda cheers, laughing loudly when Kate slams her forehead down again. The elderly customer slides beside Kate shyly, placing a basket of poinsettias near the register. Wanda hops off the counter to ring up her order.

“Kate.” Your voice is stern as it comes out. You lean your upper body downward since you’re also sitting on the counter. Kate blinks one eye open. “Do you not like him back? Is that the problem?”

“I mean…” Her nose scrunches as the words start to take form. “I do. I really do. But why now? Why is he making it so obvious now?”

You have the same question.

“If I may,” the older customer interrupts, her pale face reddening. “A lot of people get romantic during the holidays.”

Wanda nods, swiping the debit card through. “That could be the main reason he’s being obvious about it now. We’ve got the prime example right here about holiday hook-ups and their success rate.”

“Hey!” you laugh, swiping the air in a pretend smack. “My story was magical!”

“Your story was crazy cliché and rare at the same time. Make it make sense,” Kate whines.

The customer laughs along with the three of you. “Sometimes men just need a little boost. Whether it be liquid courage, Christmas lights, or the sound of music.”

“Oh! That could be why I’m feeling things for Steve!” Wanda concludes, as if she’s just solved an unanswerable problem.

“You don’t feel things for Steve,” Kate mumbles. “A certain part of you does.”

You snort, trying not to share your own dirty remarks out of respect for the customer. But the customer surprises you three again as she says, “When you think of this boy, does he make you happy?”

Kate sighs, her smile almost sad. “Yeah.”

“And would it be so bad to tell yourself you might like him, too?”

To that, Kate takes a little while longer to respond. She turns to you, worrying her bottom lip. “You took a chance with Bucky that could have destroyed our friend group and family. No offense. Pietro and I are here everyday, and you and Bucky are all the way in New York. You have more freedom. If Pietro and I don’t work out or if something bad happens, it would be worse.”

You one-hundred percent understand where she’s coming from. Dating within a friend group, especially a friend group as close as yours, is dangerous.

“Then keep holding out, dear,” the customer shares, cradling her order. “Sometimes you just don’t know the answer until they’re on their knees in front of you.”

“Great,” Kate says. “He’s gotta propose first, then date me?”

“Men get on their knees for other reasons besides marriage, dear.”

Your mouth drops, a potato chip loose and dangling. Wanda shares the same expression as she mutters, “We have a really good friend you’d probably like. Her name is Peggy.”

The older woman smiles. “I believe I would. She’s my aunt.” The revelation sticks with you long after the customer, Sharon, leaves with your regards for Peggy and Wanda’s flowers.

“So what about it, Kate?” you push, finishing the last bite of your sandwich.

Kate shrugs, stealing a sip from Wanda’s cold coffee while she helps another customer. “I guess I won’t know my answer until he’s on his knees.”

~

     The atmosphere would never change in this bar. That mixture of home life, forty-year old fathers watching the weekend games, and after-school sport celebrations. This was perhaps the only bar on the east coast that had a special area for underage customers. Despite the segregation, a few drifters were crossing the boundary to put their names in to participate in the bar games tonight. Fundraising bar games. With both alcohol and water provided.

The distinction was important—Kate had been yelling it for the past twenty minutes.

“Water for you, Mr. Star Quarterback. It’s gonna take a shit ton more to pull a fast one on me.”

The cute blond kid snickers, thanking her for his glass of water. Before he leaves, however, he shoots Wanda a quick wink. Wanda waves him away, grinning widely. “It makes me insanely insecure that I’m unable to pull guys my own age.”

Oh, but she was trying to pull Steve? You don’t mention that to her, though.

Kate laughs, “I’ve told you a million times that Clint has a crush on you.”

Wanda gags dramatically, “Clint has a crush on everyone. And shut the fuck up, Kate. That’d be like fucking my brother.”

Now Kate gags. Some beer dribbles from your bottom lip as you choke, “No. Don’t say that shit again.”

“Clint’s basically my brother.”

“And yet, not. The comparison you just made is fucking frightening.”

Wanda scoffs, but the music playing on the overhead speakers catches her attention mid-thought. Not just hers, it seems. Yours and Kate’s, too. The three of you are a synced chorus of intrusive thoughts.

Give it up to Kate for playing pop music tonight. And when pop is introduced, so is Taylor Swift.

“BUT I MISS—SCREAMING AND FIGHTING AND KISSING IN THE RAIN, IT’S TWO AM AND I’M CURSING YOUR NAME. SO IN LOVE THAT YOU ACT INSANE AND THAT’S THE WAY I LOVED YOU!”

Then, from across the room, Peter Parker joins in with, “BREAKING DOWN AND COMING UNDONE, IT’S A ROLLERCOASTER KIND OF RUSH!”

The whole bar freezes for your small performance, but it’s just the chorus that’s screamed. To scream that whole song would leave your throat raw.

Wanda’s composure straightens literally as quickly as she lost it. “Would you fuck Clint?”

Taking a sip from your beer, your heart trying its best to ignore the second verse of the chorus coming up, you admit, “I’d actually rather die.”

Clint materializes from the backroom, lugging a case of beer on his shoulder. He takes them out one-by-one, placing them into their own pretty containers of ice as he curses, “Fuck you, Bumblebee. You know what? If you and I were the last people on Earth, and you begged for my cock, I’d say no. You would die of horniness. I’d jack off in front of you to show you what you’re missin’.���

You smile around the tip of your beer bottle, eyes sparkling with laughter. Your expression of amusement has Clint puffing a breath with his hands on his hips. You're incredibly thankful your dad was spending the night with Monica and had to miss the fundraiser. If he heard this conversation…

Kate cracks open a beer for herself. “Not even to repopulate the Earth?”

The fact Clint actually takes a few seconds to theorize his answer is brilliant. “After, it would be some creepy Adam and Eve shit where brother fucked sister. So, no. Not even then.”

“Good answer,” you tell him, reaching over to pat his shoulder encouragingly.

“But.”

“Stop talking.”

“If we’re truly the last ones on Earth, why bother? I’d kill you out of mercy and murder myself after. There, problem solved.”

The sound of cheering interrupts whatever it is Clint is about to say next. You see Captain Rogers fist bump the air, then grip Pietro’s shoulders proudly. Which can only mean they’ve added another point to their scoreboard. On the opposite team, Sam and Bucky sit with sore faces, rolling their eyes every chance they get. According to their scoreboard, they’re five points behind and losing. Which means the twenty dollars they each donated was about to raise to forty each.

“Your boyfriend is fuckin’ stupid,” Clint comments, stepping around the bar to take the seat beside yours.

With a quick kick to Clint’s shin, you rebuke, “It was an unfair question.”

A question you didn’t hear, but hey, you’ve got to defend your man.

Clint snorts, adjusting his hearing-aid. “Which football team won the 1998 Superbowl? The Rams? Fuck outta here.”

“Rams won in 2000.”

“Completely different numbers, stupid.”

“Next person who says stupid automatically donates a hundred without even participating in the games,” Kate chastises, handing a customer their beer.

Wanda purses her lips at both you and Clint. “Then maybe you should have been on your boyfriend’s team. And you should have joined the game when they were calling volunteers.”

Clint waves a hand through the air. “Sports trivia isn’t really my thing.”

“Then why are you bullying Bucky for it?”

Clint smirks. “To get your panties in a twist.”

This time, the sound of cheers is also accompanied by Sam’s loud whoop. High-fiving Bucky, who’s red in the cheeks and definitely not looking down at his lap, Sam points at the scoreboard until their 7 becomes an 8.

“Wooo!” you shout, cupping your hands around your mouth. Bucky looks up and tries desperately hard not to grin wider, but your constant shouts are making it hard not to. You give him a thumbs-up, which he enthusiastically returns. Pietro leans back on his bar stool, all the way around Steve’s shoulder, just to shoot you a nice view of his middle finger.

Bucky’s lucky guess wasn’t enough for him and Sam to win the game, though. They suffer Steve and Pietro’s badgering, and release heavy sighs as they fish that extra twenty dollars from their wallets. Walking over to you at the bar, Bucky kisses you on the forehead. “Apparently I don’t know sports as well as I thought I did.”

You mock a pout. “It’s okay. Maybe they’ll have a Lord of the Rings trivia next time.”

“Ha, ha.”

Kate grabs the microphone by the cash register and announces the next game. “Alright, my lovely townspeople! It’s time for the talent portion! If you’ve got a talent and think you’ll bring in those good tips, let’s see what you got!”

“Anyone got a secret talent they want to bestow upon us?” Steve asks, nodding his thanks at Kate as she hands him a beer.

“I’m really flexible,” Wanda comments, batting her lashes.

“Something worthy?” Steve replies.

Wanda fakes hurt, while Pietro sends her a grossed-out glare. You don’t have many talents that you can just whip out and bring in the big bucks with, so you choose to remain silent. In that silence, you look around the room, to the entrance, where the doors swing open and bring with them a flood of people. In that flood, surprisingly, is Peter Quill.

“Quill!” you call, waving your hand excitedly in the air. He spots you instantly, his grin widening. Wanda slaps your thigh repeatedly, her words jumbled. Clint automatically mimics her. Your thighs take matching assaults as you wait for Quill to step into your circle of friends.

“Hey!” He greets everyone with the same lovely smile, the same strong handshake. When he gets to Bucky, he doesn’t comment on the metal appendage. Everything goes smoothly, no matter how many of Peter’s instincts scratched at the back of your skull.

Speaking of Peter—Oh, he’s at the free video game consoles. Of course he is.

“You came!”

Quill shrugs, blushing lightly. “I don’t get out much and I heard about the roof. You got a guy for it already, Bishop?”

Kate smacks a hand towel over her left shoulder. “I’m thinking on a few. Why? You volunteering?”

Again, he shrugs. A loose yet individual gesture for him. “My guys usually do floors, but I’m all yours if you need me. I’ll even give you the ‘I-went-to-high-school-with-you’ discount.”

Kate smiles, all teeth. “Now you’re speaking my language.”

Quill finally turns back to you, pretending not to notice the smacking hands. “I’m here to donate my money and my time, Bumblebee. What mischief have you been getting into without me?”

You roll your eyes at the nickname this whole town has adopted for you, it seemed. “Well, we’re waiting on volunteers for the talent portion.”

“I’m sure you can pull something together in such short notice,” Quill smirks.

“Uh.” That was Bucky. “I’m sorry, I’m not quite placing you…Who are you?”

Fuck. The conversation was flying so quickly that you completely forgot to introduce them. “Right! Bucky, this is Peter Quill! Quill, this is Bucky Barnes!”

“Bucky Barnes!” Quill repeats enthusiastically. “Man, you were a legend growing up!”

“The one and only,” Bucky shyly responds.

“Quill and I went to high school together,” you explain.

Quill shakes his head, smiling. “We also dated for a year.”

At this, Bucky stills. Not from outright jealousy, but something else. Okay, a little bit from jealousy.

A lot from jealousy.

But something else is combined with it. Something akin to wounded. Like the very fact you hadn’t mentioned Quill, or the fact you had invited him tonight, or not mentioned him being an ex in your introductions, hurt him just a little. Yet he buries that under a thousand other feelings for now. It’s a good night, has been a fun night, and he doesn’t want to ruin it by lashing out with some petty bullshit.

So he answers with, “Ah. Small town and all, I guess.”

Quill chuckles, “Still is, always will be.”

“Hang on,” Kate interrupts. “Let’s get back to the talent portion. Pietro, you sing right?”

Pietro’s mouth parts with stuttering noises. Sam and Steve grip his shoulders and shake him wildly, shouting their encouragement as Pietro continues to shy away from the stares. That little tidbit had been stored near the back of your mind for years now. Pietro never really sang in front of crowds, nor did he whip out his guitar and piano during parties. Sometimes though, you would hear soft melodies escaping the closed office doors where you knew Pietro kept his keyboard piano, and very rarely would his voice join in. He performed in the school talent shows which is how you all know he was better than most, but he hasn’t performed in public since. It was mostly you and Kate stealing the spotlight during your senior year, with plays and cheerleading and track and field. Pietro was satisfied with cheering from the sidelines.

It’s not like he didn’t have a support system. You, Kate, and Wanda were his biggest fans, as were the four burly men screaming from the audience. Your dad, Steve, Sam, and Bruce. Tonight, that support system would definitely explode if Pietro decided to perform. Minus Bruce, but he was a rare occurrence nowadays anyway. Maybe next Christmas his magnificent brain would cool it with the scientific discoveries.  

“I don’t know,” Pietro shyly admits. “I didn’t bring my guitar or keyboard with me.”

“I’ve got my old one upstairs. You might have to twist those thingies at the top or whatever, but it could work! Hold on,” Kate excitedly offers, abandoning the bar to race up the backstairs. Clint sighs deeply, hopping the counter to tend to customers.

“You don’t have to go up there if you don’t want to,” you assure him. “I’m confident someone will volunteer soon.”

Pietro gives a timid smile, his gaze settled on the stairs. As if waiting for Kate to return. “She needs the money.” Then, in a low whisper, “And it would make her happy.”

The whole exchange completely tears your attention away from Bucky and Quill. Quill, who’s watching Pietro light up by the mere sight of Kate’s busted guitar. Bucky, who’s watching Quill.

“We have a volunteer!” Kate shouts, clapping her hands together to incite a round of applause. Pietro sucks in a deep breath, climbs the small stage in the corner, and drags the microphone to his height. The bucket near his feet catches the snow and water dribbling down from the hole above. It’s both a problem and a stunner—the snow glistens white and orange, while the moonlight reflects the Christmas lights. A shame it has to be fixed. But at this one moment, it works.

“I don’t usually do this,” he tells the crowd. “But it’s for a friend. And she really needs her roof fixed.”

He picks at the strings, messes with those thingies at the top, and begins. Something twists in your gut as the first notes of Taylor Swift’s ‘Willow’ fill the bar—Kate’s favorite song. The song she put on her playlist a thousand times. The song she labeled yours and Bucky’s. A song with notes and verses that made you see Bucky in a whole new light.

Pietro’s deep and sensual voice carries, grabbing the attention of dozens of customers. The longer he sings, the longer he turns words into wine, the shorter that invisible, glowing string between you and Bucky becomes. Shorter, nearing its final merger, calling two souls to combine. Bucky comes up behind you, wrapping his strong arms around your waist, and settling his chin on your shoulder. Slowly, he rocks you both back and forth, dancing. Dancing in a rundown family bar, with snow sneaking through, surrounded by the people you love most.

And you love him, you love him, you love him. You don’t care that he lied to you earlier today. You don’t care about the secret, surprise, or catastrophic revelation. Bucky Barnes is holding you like you’re the Christmas spirit itself, and you love him.

“He’s only looking at her,” Bucky whispers into your ear, ruffling your hair. You follow Pietro’s gaze to the bar, where Kate has paused, towel held in both hands against her chest, an expression of pure awe painted across her elegant face.

There, you realize how much you truly miss every year when you’re off in New York living your life. The number of days and nights and conversations. You miss it all. How long had Pietro been pining over Kate?

You don’t know. You’ll probably never know.

But you’re here now, witnessing it, and it’s enough.

~

    Two other townspeople volunteered for the talent portion after Pietro. The grand total of five thousand was nearing, and you were absolutely sure this game of spin-the-bottle would push it over the top. It was a twenty-dollar charge to participate, and as Kate’s friends, you were basically obligated.

So everyone pushed tables to the side, dragging chairs over to form one large circle. Everyone apart from Kate and Pietro paid to participate. Considering Kate had to continue running the bar and Pietro volunteered to help her, you let it slide.

But if you had to sit in a damn circle and watch Clint kiss Bucky one more damn time, you were going to implode.

“You’re rigging it,” you scold him. “Spin it faster!”

Clint shoots kissy faces at you. “Jealous?”

“I have seen him kiss you, Steve, and Wanda tonight. Your luck is pissing me off.”

Clint cackles, but spins harder this time. It lands on you. With a loud groan, you prepare yourself for his weight as he shoots from his seat, lands in your lap, and smooches you. One large kiss that’s over in under a second. He winks over at Bucky, who’s sitting a couple seats away from you.

Bucky lifts a hand. “It’s a game, Barton.” Clint delivers the statement back in a teasing voice.

It’s your turn to spin. Crouching down, you spin and pray, watching the bottle land on Steve. With a wrinkle of your nose and a slight tilt of the head, you say, “Ew, ready?”

Steve huffs, offended. “Come here and get it over with.”

Skipping over, you grip his cheeks and kiss him quickly. His lips are soft, thank goodness. “Your turn!”

Steve stands to spin the bottle as you return to your seat. The bottle lands on Sam, and their shared kiss is forced at best. Steve gags, “Ugh, it’s like kissing my brother.”

“Let’s not make it into something it’s not,” Sam urges. His spin lands on you, and that it’s even more awkward than the first. But Sam is a good sport, and his kiss is to the side of your mouth. Gentle and sweet, like a friendship kiss.

But now this means it's your turn again, and worry starts building as you think about the number of strangers in the circle. Because kissing people you know is fine and dandy, but strangers are another story. Luckily, the bottle lands on Bucky. Cheers erupt around the circle. Two large strides is all it takes for you to plop down on his lap, and kiss him. With tongue, to Steve's dismay, who’s sitting right beside him.

“I’ll never escape it,” Steve mumbles, but at the same time Clint announces, “Hey, you know what I noticed?”

Pulling yourself from Bucky, you smirk down at him and wink. “What, Clint?”

“You’ve kissed all of your dad’s friends.”

You freeze, as do Bucky’s hands on your waist.

“You slut.”

Flicking your middle finger at him, Clint just laughs louder.  

The walk back to your assigned chair is calculated, with a hip sway and a glance over your shoulder. All enough to make Bucky readjust his seated position, crossing an ankle over a knee.

As you plop down in your seat, Quill leans over to say, “That was…A deep one.”

“Yup!”

“Like…You two were really dedicated.”

You laugh, “Well, duh.”

Quill’s eyebrows push together as his mouth forms a confused ‘O’ in response. As if genuinely puzzled. Did he not see you two dancing earlier?

A few more spins of the bottle signal the end. The bottle lands on Quill, and a stunning blonde rises from her chair, glowing in the cheeks. Her blush reaches her neck as her friends hype her up. Chants of “Carol! Carol! Carol!”

Quill, ever the gentleman, kisses her softly and respectfully. Carol’s face turns even redder and her walk back to her seat is dazed. As Quill leans down to spin the bottle, you notice how Bucky frowns at him.

And his frown grows even deeper as the bottle lands on you.

Standing and dusting off your pants, you laugh awkwardly. “Alright, let’s just get this over—”

Quill struts forward, grabs your cheeks, and kisses you deeply. That type of kiss that calls for the push of all emotion in one’s body. That type of kiss that says, I’ve been wanting to do this forever. A kiss that Quill tries to deepen, where his hands are now traveling dangerously low on your back. You push at his chest, and he goes with it. His eyes meet yours—foggy and mystified. Then confused and hurt.

“What did I do?”

The whole bar quiets. Kate even pauses the overhead music like the nosy bitch she is. Words elude your stunted ass.

“Uh.” The cough comes from none other than Peter Parker, who has been sitting in the circle without a single bottle landing on him. “If you didn’t already notice, man—she’s dating Bucky.”

Quill blinks at you, surprised. Nodding, you give him a pained smile. “Thus your kiss was a little…inappropriate.”

Glancing around the circle, you meet the gaze of your friends. Of Wanda, frozen but smiling like a Cheshire cat. Sam and Steve, deers in headlights. Clint, mid-chew on a hot wing and lips twitching upward.

But it’s Bucky that your gaze finds last. There’s something simmering in his irises, but he’s cool otherwise. Leaning back in his chair, calm and collected. Arms crossed, and a smirk threatening to split.

“I think the game is over. Right, guys? Right?” Sam presses, rallying the others to agree. Everyone does. Chairs and tables are put back into their original places while you and Quill just stare at each other, words absent.

Bucky slowly walks to you both, standing to the side, scarily undisturbed. “That’s right!” He snaps his fingers, like he has just remembered something important. “I’m not just a friend. I’m her boyfriend, too.”

You swallow loudly. “I’m his girlfriend.”

Quill looks between you. “I didn’t assume…I’m sorry.”

Bucky lays a hand on Quill’s shoulder, patting once, then twice. “Of course you didn’t. But now you know.” He turns to you, his eyes dark. “I’m getting tired actually. Happy to head home with me?”

It’s not an order. It’s a suggestion. Because even though the obvious answer is to follow Bucky out of here, he's still giving you the chance to choose. So you nod, placing your hand in his outstretched one, and quietly tell Quill goodnight. He remains standing where you left him, watching as Bucky leads you outside, knowing exactly what Bucky’s going to do with you.

~

        “Look,” you start, throwing your purse to the corner of the room. Bucky heads straight for the kitchen, not paying a single glance over his shoulder. “I should have told you yesterday when Peter and I ran into him. But it wasn’t the most important thing on my mind.”

Bucky whirls around, eyebrows high. “Not the most important thing? Doll, it was obvious tonight that Quill thought he stood a chance.”

“Because I failed to mention I was dating you!”

“He kissed you.” And those three words, the way Bucky delivered them, absolutely obliterates you. Because you understand he’s jealous, but he also hurt. You kissed a ton of people tonight, and it was consensual, but Quill’s kiss was too far.

“He kissed you, and you have a history, he’s your age, and I—” His voice cracks at the end. But he steels himself as he says, “And it bothered the fuck out of me.”

Sadly, Bucky’s thought about that before. When he notices the surprise on people’s faces when you introduce him as your partner. When the topic of children is brought up randomly. When visiting your family, seeing your dad, and being his age. It’s all awkward and so not the norm, but would Bucky trade it for something else? Definitely not. He just needs you to know he’s all in. Completely, embarrassingly all in. Fuck the age insecurity. He’s yours and you’re his. He needs confirmation before he—

“God, Bucky.” You race to stand in front of him, cupping his cheeks. You don’t continue speaking until his wounded eyes meet yours. “I love you. I dated that man ten years ago, and it was a healthy and mutual break-up. I choose you.”

“But—”

“But nothing.”

For a second, Bucky seems to accept this. His blue eyes go soft, familiar and warm. Yet, he closes them and breathes in deeply. His grip on your shoulders tightens. “He touched you. And even if we speak of it during sex, sweetheart—I do not share unless we both agree to it beforehand.”

Furrowing your brows, you reply, “Yeah, I get that. I don’t want him in any way, shape, or form.”

“I'm the only one who touches you.”

Ah. You see what’s happening. Bucky’s gone territorial. Alpha-male status. It was unnecessary because you definitely did not harbor romantic or sexual feelings for Quill. Not even a sliver. But for some reason—and you’re betting that reason has a shit ton to do with the age difference—Bucky feels the need to remind you, everyone, of his claim.

“You’re the only one I let touch me, anyway.”

It’s sarcastic, and totally not what Bucky needs right now. With a sharp inhale, Bucky orders, “Kneel.”

Oh fuck. Okay, shit. He’s going to go full-on ballistic alpha-male. You’ve role-played these roles before, dominant and submissive and all that jazz, but this included actual jealousy. What would it be like?

“Kneel,” he repeats, his hot breath hitting your cheeks. You’re about to find out what it’ll feel like, that’s for fucking sure.

Slipping onto the floor, you kneel before him, gazes connected. His metal hand reaches forward, gripping your chin roughly. “I’m the only one who gets to kiss you. Taste you. Fuck you.”

You whimper softly, trying your best to nod. But Bucky grips your chin harder, the action causing your mouth to drop open further.

“I know you understand, sweetheart. I don’t need your confirmation. I just need you to listen.”

Your thighs brace, wanting to inch closer together. You don’t do good on your knees—they bruise too easily.

“I thought we were clear. You belong to me, and I belong to you. But it seems I have to remind you.”

Slowly, you let your eyes close. Then Bucky’s fingers grip your cheeks instead, holding you steady. “You will look at me. You will know I’m the one fucking you.”

Bucky lets go of your face to reach for his belt. Excitement floods your veins, causing you to go hot and cold at the same time. The sound of Bucky’s falling belt buckle is one of your top five favorite sounds in the world, a sound that mixes your insides and drenches you instantly.

Leaning on the dining table, Bucky lowers his boxers just enough to pull his cock out. He’s half-hard, thickening just from the sight of you looking up at him. He doesn’t need to command you or give specific instructions—they’re clear enough.

With his metal hand cradling the back of your head, Bucky pushes you forward so your lips make contact with his hot skin. Slowly, teasingly, you kiss up his cock, poking your tongue out only lightly. It’s enough to drive him wild, and Bucky pushes you harder. “Get to work. The quicker you finish this, the quicker I’m fucking you.”

One last stripe and you take Bucky in your mouth, suckling the tip and sliding down gradually. You’re familiar enough with his cock to know just how quickly you could dare push, how much deeper. With only half of him in, a few light sucks wets him enough that you can move faster, taking him until your nose nearly touches his lower stomach. Gagging, you go to pull off but Bucky holds you tight, groaning.

“Tap my thigh if you really need it.”

Nodding the best you’re able, you continue bobbing. Throat clenching, saliva dripping, lipstick smudged. Painting his perfect cock a pinkish red. You can handle it by breathing through your nose, pacing yourself.

His roughness is not a new concept. It’s no new exploration. But the jealousy sprinkled on top? New, new, new. And it was making you physically ache, as if your center was made to be full and having an absence was sin.

“Just like—fuck—I love you.”

His words threaten to make you smile. Bucky is fully hard and aching inside your hot mouth, holding himself from toppling over the edge. On the rarest occasions does Bucky come within five minutes of you sucking him off. But when it’s this good, when your tongue feels just the added bit of velvety and soaked, when your enthusiasm tops his, when your anticipation tops his—he’s at risk of coming down your throat.

“C’mon, Doll. Get me right there. Right there,” he moans, tugging you back so he can meet your eyes. “I know you want me to come inside you. You want me to come inside you?”

Moaning, you suck faster. It’s his answer. “You want me to come inside your mouth?”

You try to shake your head, bobbing instead.

“No? Where do you want me to come?”

The pressure of his hand releases, and you pop off him. Swallowing in a deep breath, saliva dripping a long strand down your chin, you whine, “I want you to come inside me…Inside my…”

“Inside your…what? Pussy? Cunt? Use your words, sweetheart. You’re not a kid.”

No, you aren’t. Twenty-eight now, your age difference wasn’t all that shocking when introducing yourselves to new people. Bucky is forty-one, still too old for you by societal standards, but that fucking nickname…

Kid. Like he knew more than you. Like he had to walk you through the simplest of tasks. Like he held some form of authority.

“Come inside my pussy.” Even now, no matter how many times you’ve spoken dirty words to him, pussy was the hardest to deliver. Because it sounded so degrading, so nasty. But it was Bucky’s favorite way of describing you down there, the word that flowed more easily off his eager tongue. The word you hated saying, but loved him repeating.

Bucky hoists you up with unbelievable strength, holding you steady to him. Your legs wobble, knees numb. “Strip,” he commands, already helping you in removing your shirt. You both undress as quickly as you can, tension heavy in the air.

There was no one else home. Your dad wouldn’t be home soon, either. Bucky has you all to himself, and it excited you to a whole new level. Because this Bucky Barnes looked half in love, half furious. Full of pent-up jealousy and archaic alpha feelings that were battling his sensitive side.

Bucky glances toward the stairs, then to you, and it clicks. No longer can he restrain himself from burying himself inside you. No longer can he avoid feeling your warmth combine with his. He pulls you to him, a fervent display of impatience, and kisses you. His soft lips mold perfectly with yours, but it’s the teeth clattering and tongue battle that does it for you. Grabbing at his hands, you push them toward your hips, silently begging him to hurry. He backs you up to the couch, against the side table, but ultimately pushes you to the floor. Facing the front door, on your stomach, ready to be devoured.

“I’ve always wanted to be caught again,” Bucky admits, grabbing a pillow from the couch and shoving it beneath your face. You thank him with a long whimper, resting your cheek against it. He hoists your hips up, presenting your backside and drenched center. “And I was this close. This fucking close to ripping your clothes off in the middle of that goddamn circle—” Pushing your head down, Bucky leans over you and drags his cockhead against your cunt. “And fucking you right in front of that bold ex of yours.”

Bucky pushes into you, holding you down, making sure the slide is perfect. All too easily he buries himself to the hilt, hips connected to your backside. He’s always so deep at this angle, in this position. Like he’ll rip you in half, like his cock massages that spot specifically. So full, and ready to be fuller.

“I…love…you.” The words are wrestled from your chest as Bucky starts pounding you from behind, hitting every pleasurable zone flawlessly. “Only you.”

“I know that, sweetheart,” he grunts. “But it’s the fact that he’s touched you before.”

Gripping the carpet the best you can, you aid his mission by moving along with him. Pushing yourself to him, arching your back. “It wasn’t…important!”

Bucky grinds against you, pushing you down by the back instead of your head now. It gives you a breather. “Did you let him fuck you?”

Twice. You were in high school. Sometimes boyfriends and girlfriends have sex. But as Bucky pounds into you, the sound of your mess so gloriously intoxicating, the memory is foggy. Unimportant. All you feel is Bucky.

“Just two times.”

Bucky’s hips halt, and a rough intake of air is all the evidence you receive that his jealousy is through the roof.

“Did you scream for him like you do for me?” He slides out slowly, leaving only the tip. You wiggle your ass in invitation, but Bucky simply smacks it. The sting makes you bear your face deeper into the pillow. “Did you squeeze this pussy on his cock like you do for me? Did you let him come inside of you?”

At that, you shake your head, probably rubbing some eyeliner off in the process. “No. No to all of it. I was…I was not how I am now.”

“Oh? And how are you now?” He slides in, then out, giving your ass another harsh smack.

You sob, your walls clenching around him. “I’m in love with you. I only let you love me. I only let you come inside me.”

Your voice is raspy, lungs strained from the amount of pressure being applied. Bucky seems to notice, so he hooks an arm underneath your chest, dragging you upward until your back smacks against his front.

“I love you so much,” he groans, kissing and licking at your shoulders and neck. “You know I’m yours, right? Say I’m yours.”

His hot breath coats the sweat on your skin. His voice sounds so desperate, so strained, so deserving of your declaration that you immediately gratify it. “You’re mine.”

He holds you to him, fucking you with such an intensity that you’re sure your words have just been carved into his heart.

“You’re mine, Bucky. All mine. You’re mine, you’re mine, you’re mine.”

Planting his cheek over yours, his flesh fingers over your clit, it only takes a few more thrusts before you’re coming around him, and he deep inside of you. Painting you his, accepting your words as truth.

Languid, he guides you down onto the carpet, falling beside you. Breathing heavily, you turn to him and cup a hand over one of his cheeks. Simply looking at him, smiling.

His mouth twitches, and he reddens. “Was that a little too far?”

You shake your head, bringing your arm up so you can rest your cheek on it. “No. I like when you get jealous.”

He huffs a laugh. “It makes me feel hot and toxic at the same time.”

Giggling, you say, “It makes me feel wanted and degraded at the same time.”

He leans forward to kiss your forehead. Softly, he whispers, “And you’re mine.”

Your heart swells, and somewhere in this large universe of strings and lights, you know those shared declarations to be authentic.  

~

     Christmas Eve. A morning you’ve come to anticipate. A morning filled with low snores and a cold room, twisted bedsheets and snow. Last year, the kitchen downstairs smelled like cinnamon. You can’t smell anything quite yet, which was odd. Your dad usually started baking for the party around four. The answer is given as you crack one eye open, seeing that the sun hasn’t even risen yet. There’s a soft blue glow, but it’s still a little before dawn.

Stretching, you also realize that no one is lying beside you. Bucky must have snuck away after you fell asleep—which was the smart thing to do, considering Captain Rogers was snoring like a freight train on the floor.

Still, you didn’t have to wake up next to Bucky to enjoy Christmas Eve morning. It was a simple, tranquil scene in itself.

Your phone vibrates on the bedside table, waking you fully. The light blinds you as you pick it up and yank the charger out, pressing ‘answer’ without even seeing the caller name. Your voice is raspy, your throat sore. “Hello?”

“Bumblebee?”

You sit up quickly, confusion and worry flooding your veins. “Dad?”

“Are you home?”

“I am. So are Bucky and Steve. Why? Is everything okay?” It doesn’t matter what his answer is at this point—whether it’s negative or minimal—you’re already hopping out of bed in search of sweatpants.

“It burned down.”

Halting, frozen, you stare directly at the blue hues bursting through your curtains. “...The bar?”

Not the bar. Please, please, please. That was Kate’s prize possession. The one thing she owned fully at twenty-eight, her home.

Throwing a sweater over your shoulders, you fling a throw pillow at Steve. “Steve.”

He grumbles and turns over. His face scrunches as you turn on the bedside light. “Dad, keep talking to me. What happened?”

Now Steve lunges from his messy pile of blankets. He’s changing out of his sweatpants just as your dad replies, “The flower shop.”

You meet Steve’s eye, knowing damn well he heard the words. Steve bursts out of your room and downstairs, probably going to wake Bucky, Sam, and Peter. “Please tell me they weren’t inside. Because…because you know how sometimes Clint likes to sleep in his office? Wanda sometimes—some—sometimes works through the night making bouquets. Especially during this season.”

You’re sobbing, flying down the stairs and to the front door. Several voices call to you to stop, but you can’t. Not as your dad says, “I don’t know, Bumblebee. I was at Monica’s and Kate called me. She didn’t say anything else because she didn’t know anything else.”

The snow beneath your feet crunches and burns, and it’s then that you realize you disregarded shoes. And socks. With each step, the cold seeps into your sensitive feet, torching your feet like dry ice. Why does the cold burn so much?

They could have been in there. The shop is closer than Clint’s house and they were all drinking. They could have stopped there to rest until morning. And your dad didn’t say, The flower shop is on fire.

No. He said it burned down.

The same loud voices trail you from behind, sprinting after you. But you can’t stop. You need to know that your friends are okay. That their business can be salvaged. That their parent’s business can be salvaged. That no one was hurt. That Christmas Eve is just Christmas Eve.

It’s a five minute run, but you don’t feel it. Sure, your feet are now numb and your lungs ache, but you don’t feel tired. How could you be tired when—

Stopping abruptly, you try to blink away the onslaught of tears. Your lips catch them falling, the taste of salt overwhelming. Bucky runs into you from behind, holding you to his naked chest as he stares at the same thing you’re staring at.

The empty spot in between two charred buildings, the only missing center of the whole street. Nothing but black wood and curling smoke, firefighters and police.

To your right, you find your dad running toward you, Monica following with a hand covering her mouth.

And to your left, Clint and Wanda holding Pietro’s shoulders as he cries softly.

The Christmas lights that are strung from one building to another, crossing the street in a glorious zig-zag, flicker and turn off automatically, welcoming the morning sun and its natural shine.

~

TAGLIST: [on masterlist]

[littledrummeraussie]

Am I too late? 😂🥰 Hi Angie! I hope youre well! Been a while and I miss yoooou! Gimmie some soft holiday magic with Ashton maybe? 👀🥹

My dear Sky 💜 this one ran away with me, and I really do hope this is everything you dreamed of. To be honest, I plan on revisiting this one later this year because I had so much fun building the characters and their story. 💜

masterlist. | want to be added to my taglist? | Christmas Blurb Fest 2022

just fall in love with me this Christmas. [a fake dating story with Ashton]

warnings: boss!Ashton. personal assistant!reader. fake relationship. just general cuteness and feels and confessions and such.

word count: 4350

----------

“It’s one more hour and then you’re free to go.”

“Are you kicking me out of your Mom’s house? My own boyfriend?”

Ashton giggled at your offended face, holding onto the plate he was drying, and you were quick to join him, trying to stay as quiet as possible. You flicked some water at him as you finished the dishes, an offer you made to his mother after she so generously welcomed you to her home and let you be part of their Christmas preparation and the holiday itself. To be honest, it wasn’t such big of a surprise – after all, you were dating her really lovely and really handsome son, Ashton.

Fake dating her son, Ashton. Ashton, who was your boss. Your boss, who somehow made his whole family believe that he did go on dates which he was able to fit into his really tight schedule. A tight schedule which usually took up his whole day, and which you were responsible for – after all, you were his personal assistant, so it was perfectly normal for him to talk about you in the most random contexts, right?

.

Apparently his family thought otherwise.

Ashton approached you after a long Friday night back in November and offered to take you home, saying it was too late and too dark to wait for a cab or an Uber, and that it was the least he could do after you stayed overtime because of his meeting running too long. You were chatting about the upcoming Monday and what you needed to prepare for with the holiday season coming up when he let out a little cough, slowing down at a red light.

“If the holidays have already come up…”

“I did schedule your two-week vacation for December,” you smiled at him, tapping away on your tablet to pull up your notes, ready to jot down any other things he wanted you to add. “You just need to confirm when exactly you want to go home and I’ll buy your ticket as well.”

“What are you doing for Christmas?”

“Uhm… nothing?” you shook your head a little, his question taking you off-guard. “Why?”

“You’re not going home for the holidays?” Ashton looked at you, teeth sinking into his bottom lip, something you were not used to; he was always so confident and put together.

“No, my family is currently not talking to each other, and I really don’t want to deal with that if I can help it,” you explained, shrugging a little. “I would rather spend Christmas on my own and in peace.”

“What would you say if I asked you to come and spend Christmas with my family?” he parked the car in front of your building, finally turning towards you.

“I’m not sure I understand…” you raised an eyebrow at him, looking at him expectantly. “What is going on?”

“I– might have told them that we’re dating and that you’re coming with me?” Ashton said the whole thing in one breath, face twisting into an apologetic grimace. “I’m– sorry?”

“You did what?” you blinked at him, not even questioningly – you just felt confused. Really confused. You were sure your boss just lost his mind.

Ashton let out a loud groan, head banging on the steering wheel as he mumbled a few colourful curses, before falling back against his seat, fingers running through his perfectly styled hair, messing it up in a second. In any other situation this would have been a hilarious sight for you – your extremely talented and influential, well-dressed and well-spoken boss falling apart in his car, all but making a fool out of himself with the dramatic way he acted. But you knew Ashton. You’ve been working with him for more than two years now, first as a junior assistant, then promoted to be his personal assistant once he fired your predecessor. He rarely freaked out over things, especially minor ones. But this seemed like a problem he was not ready for.

“I’m sorry, I–” he sighed, rubbing at his face tiredly. “It was a misunderstanding and now I can’t get out of it.”

“What kind of misunderstanding? Ashton, come on, you’re not helping!”

“I was talking to my Mom and I was telling her about an event we did and then a dinner and then another thing, just… casually dropping your name in the conversation every 2 minutes or so because obviously it’s perfectly normal for me to talk about my PA when we’re working so closely together, but…” he took another deep breath, hanging his head low before glancing over at you again, red splotches appearing on his face from how frustrated he felt. “She didn’t know I fired Melody in January… and that you’re my PA now… and she thought that this new girl I’m suddenly talking about is actually my new girlfriend whom I did not introduce yet.”

“And you did not correct her on that…” you concluded, and Ashton shook his head, staring at the dashboard.

“Nooope. And she asked me if you would be able to join us for the holidays and before I knew it I’d already said yes…”

“Ash–”

“I just… I just wanted them to finally leave me alone!” he massaged his temple, a headache certainly starting to flare up from all the frustration he carried. “Every time I call home they are always, always asking me about my love life and I just– I hated how I always tell them that I don’t have anyone, how I don’t have time to date, and then… and then I panicked and I just said–”

“Ashton!” you raised your voice and that finally made him look at you, eyes big and maybe a little nervous, still chewing on his bottom lip. “I’m in, it’s fine.”

“It is? Yeah?” he perked up at your answer, desperation still lacing his voice. “You would do that?”

“Sure. After all, I’m your PA. It’s my job to sort out your things,” you took a little jab at him, and that made Ashton laugh a little, letting out the breath he was holding back.

“Thank you, Y/N. You really are saving my ass,” Ashton started pulling himself together, like he didn’t just have a nervous breakdown in front of you. “And of course you’ll be compensated for giving up your holiday for my sake.”

“We can talk about details later. I’ll schedule in a dinner for us, because we definitely need to talk about a lot of things…” you were already making a few notes for yourself before smiling at Ashton, opening the car door. “Do you feel like Italian or maybe something Asian-style for our first official date?”

“Really funny, Y/N,” a laugh hid in his voice as he rolled his eyes. “Surprise me?”

“Of course you would say that,” you shook your head, grabbing your things; after all, this was a weekly exchange between the two of you. “Alright, then I’ll see you on Monday if nothing comes up during the weekend.”

“Thank you again, really,” he gave you a little nod as you climbed out of the car, rolling the window down to call after you. “Have a good night, darling!”

You laughed at his attempt and waved him away, promising yourself that you’ll come up with a nickname for him as well so you can tease him in front of his family. If Ashton dragged you into this whole thing, the least you could do was to have some fun while fake dating your boss.

.

“Are you sure you don’t want to spend the night?” Ashton’s mother fussed with the lapels of his coat, not yet ready to let go of her son.

“We would really love to, but we both have early flights and the hotel is closer to the airport,” Ashton smiled at her, stopping her hands and instead holding them in his own. “It’s still a good hour until we arrive, and honestly, Y/N is not a morning person. Like, at all. And I really don’t want her to miss her flight now that we were able to get a last minute ticket.”

“It was really lovely spending time with you, Mrs. Irwin. Thank you for inviting me, truly, it was a pleasure,” you stepped next to them, letting her hug you as well as Ashton started saying goodbye to the rest of his family. “I really wish we could stay, but we really don’t have any other options.”

“I know, sweetheart. I’m grateful you’ve spent your holiday with us instead of your family, so I understand you want to be with them as well,” Anne Marie gave you another sweet smile, squeezing your hands just like Ashton did with her. “I’m so glad he found you. You complement each other perfectly. I’ve never seen my Ashton this happy, and I wanted to thank you for it.”

“Oh it’s… it’s nothing, really…” you stuttered at her words, suddenly feeling a little awkward; if only she knew that the whole thing was just a well-orchestrated show the two of you put together…

“Please, he looks at you with such adoration. Now I kinda understand why he was so nervous to bring you back home – he’s smitten with you, and there’s no way he would let anyone know that there is someone who has Mr. Big Boss wrapped around their finger,” she continued in a whisper, a twinkle in her eyes, like she was sharing a secret with you.

“Mom, please, don’t scare her away,” Ashton turned back to the two of you, laughing, his arm slipping around your waist. “We should go, darling. We still need to check in and all.”

“Sure, boo. Once again, thank you for everything. These last two weeks were incredible!”

“Please come back soon, both of you,” Anne Marie bid you goodbye one more time before you grabbed your bags and luggage, loading them into the car Ashton rented, then you were on your way back to the city.

Leaving two days earlier wasn’t in your plans, but right in the middle of your stay with Ashton’s family your mother called you up, asking if maybe you would be able to still visit them, even if it was just for a few days. You were ready to tell her that it was a really last minute invitation, and that you were kind of in the middle of something that actually involved your job and your boss, and really, you didn’t want to go and hear the latest family drama. But then that night when you told Ashton about it he was quick to realize that maybe you did want to go and see your family, and he pulled every possible string he could to get you a ticket.

“I’ll change your contact info to Mr. Big Boss,” you giggled, your head resting back against your seat as you looked at Ashton. “Though I kinda like Ashton Bear with the red heart.”

“You’re terrible. Was that really the best name you could come up with?” he groaned, sending you a quick smile as he drove down the road.

“Because Baby Shortcake and the cake emoji were so much better, you’re right,” your eyes rolled at the memory when you were both looking for his phone in your shared bedroom, finding it under the presents you’ve brought, your caller ID flashing across the screen. “How did I even become that?”

“It’s what you ordered for dessert on our third date,” he shrugged, his cheeks flushing pink. “I mean, on our date, when we were discussing everything and all.”

“When we were talking about coffee orders, and I might have confessed that I have a whole chart based on your moods and what kind of coffee you usually drink at that time? Because that was definitely a really good work date, and the absolute best strawberry shortcake I’ve ever had,” you smiled, a twinkle in your eyes. “You should definitely take me back for another dinner or something, I think I deserve it.”

“Only for the strawberry shortcake?” Ashton chuckled, but there was something else laced in his voice, something flirty and maybe hopeful.

“Definitely for the cake. But maybe for something else as well…” you let your answer linger between the two of you, not missing how Ashton tried to hide his smile in his scarf, mumbling a quiet ‘okay’ to you.

.

After two weeks of sharing the same bed it was a nice change that you were able to have one just for yourself, even though you were still sharing a room with Ashton. He told you to go ahead and take a shower while he sorted out some things, and you happily wrapped the robe around your body once you were done with your nightly routine. By that time Ashton had also come back and went to freshen up after you were finished, settling down next to you on the couch in his own robe. Before any of you could say a word someone knocked on the door and he quickly went to open it, appearing a moment later with a tray and two mugs.

“What’s this?” you smiled as you accepted the steaming cup, looking at your boss over the rim.

“Hot chocolate,” Ashton returned your smile, taking a small sip of his drink, licking the whipped cream off of his top lip. “I’m still in a Christmassy mood.”

“Yeah, me too. And our room definitely helps with that,” you nodded at the small tree in the corner along with the artificial fireplace in front of you, everything settling the mood for a perfect, quiet night you still had together – the very last one. “Though I really liked your Mom’s living room. It was really nice and cozy.”

“Yeah, it was… it was nice. Back at home. Thank you for coming with me once again,” Ashton stumbled through his words a little before looking at his phone, his lips twitching into a thin line before quickly shaking his head.

“You’re okay?” you did not miss his mood changing, and you thought something might have happened which caused it.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good,” he gave you a forced smile, looking back at his mug, not really drinking it anymore. “Uhm… it’s midnight. You’re officially off duty, and no longer my girlfriend.”

“Oh,” you blinked at him a few times, realizing why his demeanour changed for a second to his usual boss one. “Yeah, of course. Thank you.”

Silence settled over the two of you as you both returned your attention to your hot chocolates, sipping on them quietly. You imagined that this moment would pass without any other thoughts, that once Ashton told you that your agreement has come to an end you would just fall back into your usual roles and act like nothing has happened in the last few weeks. But the truth was that you couldn’t forget about them: the dates you went on, the kisses you’ve shared, the vulnerable, intimate moments you witnessed from each other while you pretended to be lovers.

“You know…” you finally spoke after a few minutes. “I had so much fun during these two weeks with you. It was really lovely and it actually felt like… like something that Christmas with family really should be.”

“I really had so much fun with you too. Can’t remember the last time I felt like this,” Ashton’s mouth pulled into a little smile, nostalgia lacing his voice. “It was the first time that I– that I really wished I could stay a little longer.”

“I’m sorry you needed to leave because of me. You should have told me, I could have found a way to get here and catch my flight in the morning…”

“No, I– I wished that I could stay there… with you,” the confession finally slipped out of Ashton’s mouth, his eyes settling on you. “That you didn’t need to go home, and neither do I. That we would stay and just be together. Just a little longer.”

“I don’t have to go home if you don’t want me to,” you answered in a whisper, almost like you were scared that if you were any louder it would ruin the magic of the moment.

Ashton slowly put his mug down on the table in front of you before scooting closer and taking your cup as well, placing it next to his, eyes still trained on you. His palm curled around your jaw, your own hand sliding over his as he tipped your head forward, nose tracing yours for a moment before you felt his lips slowly press against your lips, soft and tasting so sweet. It was more than just the quick pecks you’ve exchanged in front of his family; a little moan escaped you at the kiss, and Ashton took that as a sign to tease his tongue against your bottom lip, taking your breath away for a second. Your free hand slipped onto his shoulder and up to the nape of his neck, fingers brushing through his curling hair to pull him closer, wanting to get lost in the kiss you’ve shared.

It was long minutes later when he finally pulled back a little, forehead resting against yours as he breathed deeply, the hot puffs of air tickling your skin. You felt a smile tug at the corner of your mouth, eyes still closed, the words softly falling from your lips:

“Hmm, a real kiss?”

“I would like to think they were all real,” Ashton chuckled, heat radiating from his cheeks, but the cheeky smile on his face gave him away.

“That’s why I needed to tell you to kiss me that very first time?” your fingers combed into his hair, tugging on his curls a little while pulling him back again, lips pressing together for another second.

“I’m not a damn fool…” Ashton mumbled against your skin, nuzzling his nose with yours. “Well, not anymore.”

His honesty made you laugh and you buried your face against his neck, stifling your giggles. Ashton wrapped his arms around you, keeping you close to his chest, palm rubbing up and down your back, something that he picked up during your time at his Mom’s house when you were cuddled up on the couch, watching Christmas movies together. You still remembered the first time you were forced to act like lovers and be all touchy with each other, and now it warmed your heart how naturally it came for the two of you.

“I’ve thought that the only reason why I asked you to come with me and pretend to be my girlfriend was simply because you’re my assistant, and you’re used to dealing with my shit,” Ashton sighed against your hair, his voice close to a whisper, and you held your breath as you listened to him. “I’ve told myself that whatever I was feeling during our dinner dates or quick post-work discussions was because it’s been a while since I had someone I could share anything with. Because I needed to pretend we’re together, and I needed to believe I have feelings for you. I told myself I’m not falling for you, that I cannot fall for you. But by the time we have arrived it was already too late…”

You pulled back just enough to look up at him again, foreheads touching, wanting to ask him something, but Ashton continued talking, his eyes sparkling in the colourful lights twinkling in the corner of the room.

“I think… I think I always had feelings for you. Maybe not as strong as now, but they were there. And every time we needed to act like a couple I just froze for a moment because I was fighting so hard to keep my feelings in check. And every time I just felt myself falling even more for you…” a little smile pulled at the corner of his mouth at his own confession, and you ran your fingers down his cheek, softly caressing it. “After those first few times… it was so easy, so comfortable – I liked that feeling with you, being comfortable. I’m not used to that with people.”

It wasn’t a question; it was a statement. And you did remember, every little moment from the past two weeks: all those times when you needed to face a new situation that required the both of you to put your boss–assistant relationship behind yourselves, get out of your comfort zones, and act like the loving couple you pretended to be. It made sense now, how Ashton always hesitated first, but then warmed up to you as time passed by. The long looks, the lingering touches, the unprompted little cuddles, the quiet moments shared in the morning. You could have acted like you always did, just two people having a work relationship. But somehow you always found yourselves close to the other.

“I was telling myself that I’m only feeling this because we’re pretending that we’re in love. That these things will pass soon, especially as we’re coming to the end of our agreement. Funny how I realized what I was really feeling by the time you have decided that you’ll go home to your parents. It made me realize that I might just lose my chance to tell you how I feel.”

“Well, that was… quite the confession,” you let out a little laugh, your own cheeks feeling warm as you cupped Ashton’s face in your hands. “Am I allowed to speak now?”

“Oh, shit, yeah! Of course,” Ashton groaned, trying to hide his blush from you, his dimples appearing as he smiled. “Sorry.”

“That’s okay. I know you’re good at motivational speeches,” you teased him, making him roll his eyes before looking back at you. “I liked whatever we had before we started fake dating. I love our work relationship, I love our dynamic. But truth to be told… it was really easy to fall in love with you. I always thought you were… decent and… handsome… definitely great humour. But I quickly told myself that I can either ruin this by having a crush on you, or you know… keep my job. And then you fired Melody…”

“…and you decided to keep your job,” he concluded, his voice sounding a little more quiet.

“I also knew that pursuing a relationship with you would be really difficult, seeing as you didn’t really have any breaks in the last few years. And I wasn’t sure how it could work out… PA by day, girlfriend by night? And anyway, I wasn’t even sure if you would like me like that.”

“Well, I wasn’t sure either… not until recently,” he said, nodding for you to continue.

“When you asked me to go on this trip with you, I– I told myself you were crazy. Then I realized I was also crazy for even just thinking about saying yes to your offer. But I thought it could be a fun way to spend Christmas if I’m not with my family, and it also kinda gave me the chance to pretend that you… that you like me. And I was gone from the moment I saw you at the airport, wearing your glasses and waiting for me with coffee… and it broke my heart that this would be only for two weeks.”

“That’s why you ended up saying yes to visiting your family, even though you didn’t want to do it before?” Ashton asked, brushing a few strands of hair away from your face.

“I had a moment when I felt really close to you, where I believed that this thing between us… it was real,” you confessed, eyes looking down. “And I felt that I might need a few days alone to sort out my feelings before going back to work with you, acting like nothing happened while we were here. Like we didn’t share the bed, we didn’t hold each other, and we definitely didn’t kiss.”

“Well, I don’t want to pretend that these two weeks never happened,” you felt him curl his arms around your waist, pulling you into his lap before tipping your chin up, making you look into his eyes. “It’s the happiest I’ve been for a long time now. And I really want to hold onto this feeling. I really want this to be real, you and me.”

“What about our jobs?” you sighed, fingers tangling into his hair and brushing it back from his forehead. “Cause I want this, I want you, more than anything. But I don’t want to give up on you, not as my boss, and definitely not as Ashton.”

“We’ll just try and work it out when we’re back, okay?” he cupped your cheek, leaning closer to press his lips softly against yours. “We’ll schedule a work dinner at that restaurant you liked and talk about it over a strawberry shortcake.”

“You’re terrible,” you scoffed, pressing a smiley kiss back onto his lips. “Do I have to make the reservation?”

“Hey now, I know I’m bad at scheduling, and that’s why I have you, but I’m taking you on that date myself,” Ashton giggled, mumbling his words between more kisses. “It’s what a real girlfriend deserves.”

“Can I keep your contact info as Ashton Bear? With the heart?” you nudged your nose against his as you kissed, his fingers tightening on your hips. “If you’re my real boyfriend now?”

“Surprise me?” his voice turned into a moan, locking his arms around you, your body pressed against his chest.

“Of course you would say that.”

His giggle filled the air, hearty and full of happiness before picking you up in his lap and taking you to the bedroom. There were a lot of things forgotten that night: setting an alarm for the next day. Your robes and the other bed. Staying on your sides as you fell asleep. You both forgot who you were pretending to be and who you were supposed to be.

That night you were finally just two people who fell in love during Christmas.

----------

@mymindwide @fuckyeah5sostakemehome @suchalonelysunflower @talkfastromance4 @ashtonsunflower @in-superbloom @wiiildflowerrr @lovelywordsblog @heyitskelseaj @sadistmichael

[astartothemoon]

Blue Memories // E.M.

Summary: Eddie and Reader are strangers turned friends turned lovers turned exes. We follow them on one really tense car ride and experience the ups and downs of their relationship through the songs playing on the radio.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x female Reader

Trigger Warning: Swearing. Mention of alcohol. Mention of food. Mention of drugs.

Wordcount: 10k + (It’s a big boy)

A/N:  Likes, reblogs, comments are all much appreciated. I am German. Sometimes I get the tense wrong or make mistakes. I am useless when it comes to punctuation. Go easy on me, please.

Icicles hang from the eaves of the building like tiny cold daggers. A safety hazard for stressed-out Christmas shoppers. 

A group of carolers stands a little off to the side, just far enough not to trigger the automatic doors but close enough to make sure none of the shoppers can ignore their incessant crooning. 

It’s unfair, really. For her to judge them on their singing. They really aren’t all that bad and, on another day, she maybe would’ve even dropped a dollar or two into the red box saying “donations”. Today is not another day though. Today is today and today is very bad, no good, horrible, terrible, all kinds of shitty.

There are arguably worse places to be stuck with a non-working car than a Walmart parking lot an hour outside of Hawkins. That being said, there are also way better places.

Old Sally has been Old Sally before she was (Y/N)’s and though she has never been the most reliable car to begin with, she always pulled through in the end. Judging by the sounds she made just a few minutes ago when (Y/N) tried to start her, this might actually be The End. Full stop. Capital E. The one where there is no coming back from.

So what do you do when you’re stuck on your way home for the holidays? You call your family. You call mom, calm her down, convince her of the fact that you are okay and not dying and then you make her send dad to come get you. And it should work, right? In theory. 

Only not today on this very bad, no good, horrible, terrible all kinds of shitty day.

Because dad has a broken leg from when he slipped on the ice so he can’t drive and mom already had a few eggnogs too many after her holiday party with the ladies from the salon.

“We can send someone else, hun. The Millers’ son is back in town, I’m sure he’d love to give you a ride.” 

(Y/N) scoffed at her mother’s words. Kyle Miller had always been a fucking creep, lusting after her even back in high school. So she assured her mother she’d find another way home and told her not to worry. 

And now it’s not her mother worrying. It’s her.

That’s what you get for stopping because you craved some flaming hot Cheetos, you dumbass.

She could walk, sure but what about her luggage? And what about the absolutely horrifying fact that she is a woman, it’s cold as fuck outside and about to get dark? 

The movies teach us a lot of valuable life lessons. One of them — the most important one maybe — is to never say “it can’t get worse”. Because it will get worse. So much worse.

What the movies don’t tell you, is that even as much as thinking about it has the same effect. Because as soon as the thought crosses (Y/N)’s mind, it gets worse.

“Have yourself a merry little Christmas. Let your heart be light. From now on our troubles will be out of sight.” 

(Y/N) wants to stab her fingers into her ears, all the way to her brain if possible. The caroller has a beautiful voice. A voice made to sing this melancholic Christmas classic. Again it’s not her fault that it pushes (Y/N) even closer to a breakdown. Only this time it’s not because of her current predicament. This song rips open wounds far older. Far deeper. Far more painful than anything life can possibly throw her way today.

Christmas lights paint the outside of Hawkins High in a kaleidoscope of bright colors as the soft fall of snow dusts the streets in a blanket looking like sweet powdered sugar.

The music coming from the inside floods out of the gym halls and reaches all the way to where Eddie’s van is parked at the edge of the parking lot. 

The icy cold nips at their noses as Eddie and (Y/N) sit in the back of the car, feet dangling above the ground and the smell of weed wafting through the air. 

“You’re a liar!” 

“No, I’m not!” 

“Eddie, you can’t be serious. Grandma got run over by a reindeer is nobody’s favorite Christmas song! “ 

His dopey smile sends little shivers down her spine. It always does. If there was a price to win for having the best smile, Eddie would always win. At least in her eyes. His smile is phenomenal. It’s breathtaking. It’s perfect. Sure, maybe it’s her loved-up, 16-year-old self talking who is completely, utterly, and unlucky in love with her best friend. But (Y/N) thinks of herself as a rather rational person and she’s almost sure it’s a widely known and accepted fact that Eddie Munson has the world’s best smile. People would have to be insane not to agree.

“Well, it’s mine.” 

A frustrated huff falls from (Y/N)’s lips as she lets herself fall backward into the nest of blankets spread out behind them only for Eddie to follow suit just a second later.

“I can’t believe my best friend has the worst taste in Christmas music.”

“Hey, you are the one whose favorite Christmas candy are fucking candy canes.” 

Their laughter echoes through the air like a song. One of hope and happiness and magic. This is what Christmas should always feel like, (Y/N) thinks. Easy and joyful and soft. 

No stress and no fighting. No rush to be anywhere or do anything. Just here. Just this. 

Her and Eddie and the snow and the sparkling lights. And some pretty good weed.

“Okay, okay next question. Ummm — what’s the best Christmas gift you’ve ever been given?”

You — she thinks. The words tickle her at the tip of her tongue, ready to slip out. She can just barely swallow them back down. Really, it’s not something you tell your best friend. Even if it’s true. He came into her life during the Christmas season and he’s been the best thing to ever happen to her.

“My record player, probably.”

“Good answer.”

It’s silly — she’s well aware, how much Eddie’s approval means to her.

“What’s yours?”

“Nuh-uh. Can’t ask the same thing!” 

Rolling her eyes at his antics she tries to come up with a different question.

“Okay then, what’s your favorite Christmas memory?” 

Eddie considers his words for a moment, carefully crafting a response as if all the world’s fate depends on his reply.

“When I was a kid and had just moved into Wayne’s trailer permanently, that was the first proper Christmas I ever celebrated. It’s not like we had much or anything but it was a lot for a kid who never had anything. Wayne cut down a tree but we couldn’t fit it in the trailer so we put it up outside. Ate Chinese takeout and watched White Christmas — and I got a present.”

“What did you get?”

“A guitar.”

“Did you get Wayne something?”

“Mmmh a mug.”

Her heart fills with delight and love as he tells the story. Eddie rarely talks about his early childhood. Sometimes it feels like Eddie before Wayne never existed. And though both would never admit it, they love each other dearly. They don’t say it out loud but you can see it in so many things, including all the mugs proudly on display, hanging from hooks in the living room area of the trailer. Dozens of “thank yous” and “I love yous” captured in porcelain.

“ Have yourself a merry little Christmas — “ 

“ I love this song!” 

“You do?”

“Mm-hm” 

Eddie glances at her from the corner of his eyes then looks back towards the roof of the van. There’s a shyness about him suddenly, one she has seen so very rarely. Eddie isn't shy. He's loud and confident even if half of it is just for show. Overdramatic and dialed up to 11. He's not usually like this.

"Do you um — do you wanna dance?"

"Huh?"

"Do you wanna dance?" 

His voice is clearer now, stronger, more assured. It took a moment for Eddie to hype himself up. Get the confidence to ask the question, not really knowing which outcome he is expecting, which ones he's hoping for.

"Do YOU want to dance, Eddie?"

He lifts himself off of the van and stands before her all lanky arms and wild curly hair. He's wearing a black button-down that he swears he borrowed from Wayne. (Y/N) doesn't buy it though, the shirt looks crisp and clean. Still the blackest of blacks that only lives through maybe 5 machine washes before it dulls to a dark gray.

"Figured it's Hawkins High winter formal. Might as well do what's expected of us. And you like this song so —"

Not wasting another second on hesitating, (Y/N) takes a hold of Eddie’s outstretched hand and lets him twirl her into his arms. His hands are just as cold as hers, ice against ice. And yet she wouldn’t change anything about this situation for anything in the world. If feeling delusionally happy comes with a few sacrifices, like freezing, she’ll happily take the risk.

“Eddie, since when do you dance?”

He shrugs his shoulders “There’s a lot of things I’d do to make you smile.” 

The cold melts away to make room for something else. A warmth that overtakes her, flesh and mind and everything. A warmth from the inside. All consuming. Magical. 

And as they sway to Frank Sinatra’s voice softly carried by the wind, the warmth doesn’t go away. It wraps them in a blanket, shielding them from the outside world. It’s a moment you want to keep forever. One of those where even right then, as it happens, you know it is so much more than a moment. It is forever a part of your story. A part of you. 

Eddie lets go of her hands for a second and bends down before reaching his arm out up above their heads. 

“Oh, would you look at that, a mistletoe.” 

“Eds, that’s not a mistletoe.”

“Yes, it is!” he insists, that signature Eddie Munson smirk on his lips that lets you know that he is well aware that he’s wrong but there’s no way he’ll admit to it. He is committed to being wrong and to making you agree.

“It’s a pine branch. I literally saw you pick it up.” 

Eddie takes a deep breath, the air turning into clouds against the cold winter winds, as soon as it leaves his lungs. 

“Look, humor me here. Let’s just pretend this is a mistletoe and we’re holding up a tradition. It’s soooo much easier than admitting that I am head over heels, absolutely dumbass in love with you and I might go crazy if I don’t shoot my shot and kiss you at least once. Okay? If we pretend it’s all fun and games then it won’t be so brutal when you end up rejecting me. Okay? Cool!” 

For a second she wants to scoff, tell him to stop joking, to stop playing her for a fool. But there is a sincerity in his eyes she can’t deny. A flicker of something that has always been there but she could never really put a name to. He’s not joking. Not even a little.

“ Okay, sure. Let’s pretend it’s a mistletoe. Cause otherwise I’d have to admit that I am also disgustingly in love with you. “ 

He smiles at her again, that big smile that makes her knees feel like jello. The one that could win all the prizes. Only this time it’s hers. This one smile and this one moment belong to her. To them.

“ Guess we’ll have to stick to the tradition then, huh? “

“ Guess so.” 

… and have yourself a merry little Christmas now.

It’s a cold kiss. Lips chapped from the winter winds and cold fingers grasping even colder faces. It’s hungry and soft. It’s desperate and slow. It’s all a kiss can and should be and more. It’s a hundred little moments wrapped in a perfectly imperfect kiss.

“I think —” Eddie says as he pulls away just far enough to speak. “I think this is my new favorite Christmas memory.” 

A flurry of snow starts descending from the sky, gloomy gray clouds pushing away all of the blue. Icy snowflakes gather on (Y/N)’s hat, her hair, her nose — shaking her from her daydream. Enough trips down memory lane. They always seem fun and harmless until you take a wrong turn, drive down a backroad and end up crashing the car and watch it all burn.

“Well fuck.” 

It’s bad enough being stuck at a Walmart parking lot, it’s worse when the sky glowers at you, threatening you with the potential of a snowstorm.

“C’mon Sally, why’d you have to do this to me today? It’s Christmas time, don’t you have a heart?” 

In place of a response, the old car lets off another puff of smoke from its popped hood. 

“That sounds like a no to me!” 

A stinging sensation spreads from her heart all the way to the tips of her fingers. His voice still sounds the same as it did 4 years ago. Really, it was stupid to expect anything else. 4 years seem like a lifetime but in reality, they are but a blink. 

She doesn’t dare turn around as if standing there unmoving might make him go away. Like a predator walking on, bored by its prey. Only Eddie is no predator. He never was. Though all the town seemed to think differently, he was always a lover and never a fighter. 

“You can say hi, you know.” 

If life was a movie, this would be the slow-motion scene. The turning around looking at the ex, angel choir singing in the background, love instantly rushing back in. 

Only love can only rush back if it ever left in the first place. Not if it was pushed in a metaphorical box, then shoved to the back of a dark metaphorical closet. 

Facing him is scary. It’s also inevitable. Things are so shit today, it really can’t get worse. There’s no way.

He looks hot. And maybe that makes things a bit worse, actually. He’s still got the unruly curls and he’s still tall and lanky but the awkwardness of an 18-year-old has worn off and he looks more like the man he is than the boy he used to be. 

“Hi, Eddie.” 

“Hey (Y/N). You look good — but Sally. I don’t know about her.”

The fact that he talks to her so casually, both enrages and amuses her. Maybe 4 years really are only a blink but that doesn’t mean nothing ever changes. 

“Thanks um — you too. Yeah, she started making weird sounds and then the smoke started and ugh. You think you can take a look?” 

He grants her a smile and she wants to jump in front of a moving vehicle as the flutters in her heart start. It’s ridiculous that he still has this effect on her. Not after everything. Not after that night 4 years ago.

“I can but I can already tell you’re not driving her anywhere tonight and it’s about to start snowing real fucking heavy. Do you — do you want me to give you a ride home? Your parents’ place I mean. I assume that’s where you’re headed? “ 

“Hmm, yup. Uh — you don’t have to do that.”

“I know, I want to.” 

She wants to punch him. Not in the face but maybe on the arm or something. Hurt him but not really really hurt him. For being so nonchalant. Casual. For being so nice when he had none of that to give that one night 4 years ago and all the months after, right until the day she left for college. Does he think this absolves him? It doesn’t. There is no redemption for breaking her heart, no matter how many good deeds. 

But what is the alternative? 

With a look at the sky and the looming darkness, (Y/N) lets out a sigh and grabs her luggage from the car. Eddie’s old rusty van is parked right next to her. It holds so many memories, none of which she wants to revisit.

“Christmas, The snow's coming down … “ 

The choir launches into their next song and a smile takes over Eddie’s face. A smile (Y/N) hasn’t seen in a long time. One that doesn’t have an effect on her at all whatsoever. 

“Why are you smiling?”

“Oh, no reason. It really doesn’t matter.”

Eddie likes Gareth’s house. Not just for the fact that the garage is big enough for them to practice in and his parents are nice enough to allow them to do so. It’s a nice place in general. It’s not big or flashy or anything but it’s homey and nice. For a kid growing up in a trailer park, it’s a palace. Not that he doesn’t appreciate what he has, he does. But it’s nice to dream. To imagine himself in a place like this one day, family included.

Walking up the driveway, guitar slung on his back, the icy ground crunches beneath his heavy boots. The garage door is closed so the boys must not have started practicing yet. Sometimes, when she’s home, Gareth’s mom makes them snacks or hot chocolate and they all sit around and pig out before playing some music. It’s nice of her to care for the boys even if they aren’t her kids. It gives him a little glimpse of what it must be like to have a mother.

“They're singing "Deck The Halls"

But it's not like Christmas at all

'Cause I remember when you were here

And all the fun we had last year” 

A loud voice catches his attention, belting out the Darlene Love song. His eyes scan the neighborhood before settling on the source of the commotion.

The girl stands on a ladder leaning against the house across the street from Gareth’s. A garland of multicolored lights adorns the roof as she regards her work with pride. Her voice still rings through the neighborhood and it has Eddie in a chokehold.

A siren calling out to a sailor, enchanting him, bewitching him. It’s not that her singing is particularly good, in fact, it’s quite the opposite. Yet something about it has Eddie mesmerized. 

It doesn’t seem to bother her what people might think, she’s having a good time and that’s all she cares about. It’s nice, he thinks, to see someone not desperately trying to stick to society’s preconceived notions of what is considered cool. This girl is wearing a big woolen sweater and a hat that seems like someone handmade it and ran out of yarn halfway through so they had to continue with another color. By all means, this girl is not cool. Eddie thinks she might be the coolest person he’s ever seen.

And she’s dancing, shaking her hips to the beat of the song she’s singing. While standing on a ladder. Oh god, she’s dancing — on the ladder.

Life shifts into slow motion. He can almost see it happening before it does. One dance move a little too enthusiastic. A slip. A tumble. A thud as she hits the ground. It happens so slowly and too fast for him to intervene all at the same time. Though as soon as she hits the ground, Eddie shakes out of his mesmerized state and rushes over. 

She’s looking up at the sky with a face scrunched in pain and what he can only assume is embarrassment. Her back is flat against the cold snowy ground.

“Holy shit, are you okay?”

The girl slowly pries open one eye and glances at him in confusion. “Are you an angel?”

“Uh no — I’m just Eddie. I’m a friend of Gareth’s. He lives across the street. Did you hurt your head? “

Pushing herself off of the ground into a sitting position the girl smiles up at him sending tiny flutters through his heart. She’s gorgeous. Even with her mismatched hat and the snow in her hair. 

“I’m okay. Just a bit bruised but I’ll be fine.”

“You sure? That was a mighty fall.” 

“Was it embarrassing?” 

“I don’t think anyone but me saw. And I for one think you put on one hell of a performance.”

Her laughter, he thinks, might be even better than her smile. 

“Now you’re making fun of me.”

“I’m not. I promise. Hey, what’s your name? “

“Oh sorry, so rude of me— “ she exclaimed before standing up and holding a glove-covered hand out to Eddie. “I’m (Y/N). I just moved here.” 

“Well, again, I am Eddie. I’m in a band with Gareth who lives over there.” 

“You’re in a band? “ her eyes widen at this revelation. 

“Mmh. Corroded Coffin. We play mostly metal stuff.”

“That sounds amazing!”

That’s not the reaction he’s used to. Girls don’t usually take too kindly to his taste in music. It’s not to say there are none who enjoy metal, he just hasn’t found them yet. Until now it seems.

“It does?”

“It does! You think the band would be okay with me sitting in and listening to you guys practice? I don’t really have any friends yet and — “

“Yeah sure, absolutely!” 

There’s no doubt in his mind the guys will be ecstatic. It’s not every day a pretty girl shows interest in their band … or them. 

“Okay cool. Awesome. “

Walking towards Gareth’s house, their boots leave imprints on the fresh snow. A sign that makes Eddie aware that this is not a dream. This is actually happening. Maybe life is finally turning for him. Giving him something good. Someone special.

“Christmaasss, the snow’s coming down.” 

She responds to his singing with a friendly shove of her shoulders against his “Oh come on. Now you’re taking the piss.” 

“I’m not.”

She raises her eyebrows in disbelief.

“Okay, maybe a little.”

“You know what that means, right?”

“What?”

“Now you have to play the song during practice.”

A smile takes over his face, pulling at the muscles of his cold cheeks. 

“Huh, I think I can do that!”

He doesn’t know how to play the damn song but if it makes her smile like this, he might just have to figure it out.

“ Sooo — how’s the parents?”

Eddie’s voice cuts through the awkward silence. This is strange and unfamiliar. Back then, 4 years ago, there was never a moment of silence with them that came even close to being awkward or uncomfortable. They always had something to say, to joke around and be goofy. Even if they didn’t, they would bask in comfortable silence, happy to just be with each other.

This feels like a whole different life, an alternate universe. There is so much left to say between them, the air is thick with it. But this is not the time and place to say any of it. Maybe there will never be a time or place.

“Yeah, they’re good. I mean dad hurt himself the other day when he slipped on the ice in the driveway but you know how he is. Always clumsy.”

“Runs in the family.” 

Almost. He almost gets a smile out of her. Almost.

“ I guess so. How’s Wayne?”

Eddie grins though he keeps his eyes fixed on the snowy road in front of them.

“Working too much. Watching reruns of the same old show. Nothing changed. Same old Wayne.” 

It has always been like this, Eddie talking about his uncle. Though his words don’t give it away, the tone of his voice always does. It is filled with adoration, with gratefulness, and love. Wayne is the only proper family that Eddie has ever known and though neither of them will ever outright admit it, at least not sober, the two mean the world to each other.

She misses Wayne, (Y/N) can admit that much. He was always so sweet to her, letting her see behind the perpetually grumpy facade and see the soft-spoken, bighearted man he truly is.

“He still smoking?” 

Eddie scoffs “ ‘course.”

“ He promised me he’d try quitting.”

“ He did try, for like 5 hours.”

(Y/N) shakes her head in mock disappointment. “Tell him I am not happy with him. And also tell him I said hi.”

“ Tell him yourself. You can come by whenever. I’m sure you’ll have a lot on your plate while you’re here but he’d love to see you.”

The thought of going back to the trailer fills (Y/N) with a sense of dread. Not because there is anything bad tied to it. No, that’s the problem. All her best memories are connected to the trailer. It’s all happiness and love. The best of times. Going back would only make her face the brutal truth that it’s all over, forever and she can get none of it back. All that’s left of those times are memories and heartbreak.

“ I don’t know, Eddie. I don’t think that’s a good idea.” 

“Why not?” 

He asks the question with the innocence of a child. Someone who really doesn’t see the issue. Sometimes she wonders if he does it on purpose or if he really doesn’t get it. Did he move on so easily? Is this not ripping him apart the way it does her?

“Eddie, ex-partners don’t usually go around to visit their ex’s family for the holidays. It’s — it would be awkward.” 

She can tell he wants to say something. Can almost see it on the tip of his tongue before he swallows it down and nods in defeat.

“Yeah, you’re right. Sorry.”

The awkward silence is back. Worse than before because now there’s the inkling of guilt nagging away at her. Is she being too harsh? She doesn’t want to hurt or disappoint Eddie, and she’d definitely love to see Wayne. But is it worth it breaking her own heart in the process? Does she not get to be bitter still at the heartbreak and the whole mess Eddie created 4 years ago?

The welcome to Hawkins sign is almost invisible through the thick snowfall as they pass it. It’s weird coming home for the first time in 4 years after spending the last few Christmases on vacation with her parents somewhere. It feels good. Involuntarily, she glances to her left at the boy who, despite it all, still holds her heart in his palms. It feels good and it also feels extremely heartbreaking at the same time.

Static fills the car as the radio signal finally gives up and bows to the harsh winter winds.

"Ah shit, hey take a look in the glove box there's some cassette tapes. I think there's even a Christmas one." Eddie instructs, struggling to drive on the icy roads.

Cold fingers reach out to the glove compartment. The fact that the first thing she sees is a little bag of weed shouldn’t be surprising her, it still paints a little smile on her face though. 4 years but a blink. 

There are several tapes, Eddie’s chicken scratch writing indicating what’s on them. Iron Maiden. Sabbath. That one Beach Boys tape he doesn’t want anyone to know about. 

And then there’s the Christmas tape. It’s the only one he owns. She knows this because she made it for him after complaining that he didn’t have any Christmas music to listen to during the festive season. There’s a sticker of a sparkly gold star and another of a candy cane stuck to the case and in big red letters it proudly exclaims “Eddie and (Y/N)’s MiX-mas tape.” 

She thought she was so clever with that wordplay. If only that naive girl knew how things were gonna end up. 

Shaky hands push the cassette into the player. It takes a moment and then the smooth voice of Nat King Cole fills the silence with his rendition of O Come, All Ye Faithful.

This time she can’t suppress the smile. A memory flushes her brain that is too precious and too wholesome and too — important for her to ever stop herself from smiling at the thought of it. 

And it seems she’s not the only one. 

Eddie dares to glance her way and when he catches sight of her smile, he lets the corner of his lips arch upwards too.

“That was a good Christmas, wasn’t it? “

“ Are you kidding me? That was the best Christmas.” 

“What do you mean, Christmas is canceled? “

A gloomy mood rests over the entire trailer park. Families that had been so excited for the season's festivities, who had spent the last weeks barely getting by in order to save some money to be able to give their kids a happy Christmas, now sit inside their cold trailers with sad faces and heavy hearts.

“Power is out. Wayne and some of the neighbors have been trying to get the emergency generators going but those things are so damn old and no one ever comes around to check on them — you know, with us trailer park people being second-class citizens of Hawkins and all. I could maybe power my amp with that generator but that’s about it. Maybe a vinyl player. “

(Y/N) stands on the steps leading up to the Munson’s trailer, a cold dish of her mother’s casserole in her hand and a big silly red bow on top of her head. This isn’t what she had imagined the night to go. She was supposed to spend Christmas Eve with the Munsons. Watch White Christmas or Gremlins or Meet me in St. Louis while the casserole is in the oven. Maybe get a little tipsy on eggnog. Get a mistletoe kiss from her boyfriend and — if she’s really lucky a dance around the Christmas tree from Wayne. 

But this? This is just sad. A bunch of families who already struggle enough as it is, looking devastated and knowing that if the power doesn’t magically turn on again, not only will their Christmas eve be ruined but so will the rest of their festivities. No one’s gonna come check or repair anything tomorrow on Christmas day. Not for people at the trailer park.

“Well shit,” Wayne’s voice sounds from inside the trailer, “if the power is out that means the fridge is out. All those good steaks I bought can go straight to the trash. So much for treating ourselves for the holidays.” 

(Y/N) never believed in higher powers or miracles or any of that stuff but in that moment something shifts. And maybe it’s just a light bulb moment but it feels like a spark of something magical. An excitement that starts in her heart and spreads all throughout her body.

“Eds, the big BBQ grills out by the picnic tables still work, right?”

“Uh — yeah. Why ?”

The innocence and confusion and softness in his eyes remind her of a puppy dog. Oh, how she loves this boy and all his sweetness. She had a plan for tonight. It was supposed to be their magical Christmas eve and she’s not gonna let anything ruin that for her.

“Christmas is officially back on! Get the tinsel, some candles — oh, and your guitar.”

“My gui — what are you plotting here, babe?” 

“Do you trust me?” 

The fact that he doesn’t hesitate, not even for a second, sends her heart into a little frenzy. It really is them against the world. Against snow storms and power outages and every other obstacle there can possibly be.

“I do! So what’s the plan boss? “

Eddie never believed in higher powers or miracles or any of that stuff. And though he liked to get lost in fantastical stories of magical realms and creatures, he was well aware of the fact that true magic doesn’t exist. 

At least he thought so — until now. 

The trailer park is decked out in ribbon and bows, in tinsel and glitter, There is music flowing from a record player hooked to a generator and steaks sizzling on the grill. People are gathered around a campfire, warming their hands with mugs of hot cocoa. 

An ocean of candles and some battery-powered Christmas lights illuminate the whole place and the Mayfields even dragged their Christmas tree out of the trailer for everyone to gather around. 

There is magic, he thinks and lets his gaze move over the crowd of smiling faces where hours ago all he could see was heartbreak. It’s just not the magic they tell you about in fairytales and movies. It’s a feeling of belonging, of community, of love. 

And maybe, (Y/N) is a little bit magical herself.

“ Hey Rockstar, “ the enchantress in question slides up next to him leaning against his van. “ Think the crowd is asking for a song.” 

“ The crowd or you?”

“ Oh, definitely the crowd.” 

In the candlelight you might mistake her for an angel, Eddie thinks. All golden glow and loving eyes. Whatever it is he’s feeling for this girl, he’s never felt this way about anyone else. For a while it was terrifying. Like all new things. Even the good ones. It was unfamiliar. Strange.

He’s not so scared anymore. Not when she looks at him like this, all gentle and soft. No rough edges or sharp points. It might be time to be brave and let himself feel all the big feelings that used to scare him so much. He thinks the big feelings might just be worth it.

“Hey, what you did for all these people today was — I don’t really know how to say it. You’re just so wonderful and kind and — yeah I don’t know. “

Glove-covered hands take a hold of his face as a cold nose is pressed against his. “Whatever it is you’re feeling right now, I want you to know I feel the same. You don’t have to say it. I know. And I hope you know too.”

He does. Not a doubt in his mind.

“You saved Christmas, baby.” 

“I’m like a reverse Grinch. And judging by the color of your nose you might just be Rudolf. Go get your guitar and play us some tunes by the fire. Crowd is asking”

He places a kiss on her lips. She tastes like hot chocolate and peppermint candy canes. Christmas personified. And if he didn’t love her so much he’d think this is awfully cheesy. It is, he’s not going to deny it. But he likes cheesy if it involves her. 

"Alright. But just for the record, I’d play even if it was only you asking me to. I’ll do anything for you.” 

He’s well aware that what she asked for was some melodic tunes on his old dusty acoustic. Something peaceful and slow. And really, he appreciates a good acoustic song, he likes playing them too. But this isn’t where his heart is. It would truly be a disservice to all of humanity if he were to deny the people his electric rendition of O Come, All Ye Faithful. 

There have been noise complaints before, especially when he first got the electric guitar. He can’t really blame people either. It’s loud and he just gets so lost in his music sometimes he forgets there are people around who maybe don’t want to hear him play.

They all don’t seem so bothered now. Everyone has a smile painted on their face. The sadness is washed away, lost somewhere in the candlelight flicker and the crackling of the fire. 

Eddie never had a big family, hell for most of his life he didn’t have anyone worth being called a part of his family. Not until he got sent to live with Wayne. He wonders if this is what it feels like. This sense of belonging of being a part of something bigger. Even if this moment, like all moments before it, will pass and one day only be a memory, he got to be a part of it now and that means — everything.

His eyes meet Wayne’s across the fire, who gives him a friendly nod of his head and while it means nothing to everyone else, Eddie knows what it means. It’s “I’m proud of you, kid.” 

And when he moves his gaze to the right, towards where (Y/N) is bundled up in one of his big flannel jackets, sipping on a mug of hot chocolate, his heart feels lighter than it ever has. 

“I love you”, she mouths to him as the battery-powered Christmas lights dip her in hues of blues and reds, and greens. 

“ I love you too,” he mouths back. And it’s not scary at all. In fact, it is the easiest thing in the world. 

“You really did save Christmas that night!” 

“ Don’t be dramatic, Eddie. I just — I did what I could. You and Wayne and the neighbors helped too. It wasn’t just me. And the power came back on like 4 hours later so —” 

“ Doesn’t matter. You made everyone really happy that day. I still get asked to play a song every Christmas eve.” 

Eddie not only has a great smile, it’s also incredibly infectious. It makes you want to join in even if every particle of your body wants to fight it. A losing game. A fool’s war. 

“Well, I got Wayne to dance with me that night. My proudest moment, really.”

“Oh I know”

He gives her a look that’s hard to describe. It’s laced with a secret.

“What’s that look for ?” 

Shaking his head, Eddie sends his unruly curls moving. “Nothing. Don’t worry about it.” 

Right, cause saying that is the best way in getting people to not worry or be curious.

(Y/N) is just about to continue the conversation, to interrogate him a little more. To really get to the bottom of the look that has settled over his face, when the song switches to the next one.

And that one grabs a hold of her throat and slowly closes its iron fist, cutting off her air supply. 

Devoid of air, devoid of all feelings but heartache, the van suddenly feels like a cage. 

“I really like that song, turn it up — “

She doesn’t turn it up. Her hands don’t move from where they are tightly gripping the fabric of her pants. Clammy and cold like she has suddenly been plunged into a fever.

It’s not a sickness. Just a most horrible memory.

“The lamp is burnin' low upon my tabletop

The snow is softly falling

The air is still in the silence of my room

I hear your voice softly calling”

Gordon Lightfoot’s voice echoes through the halls of the (Y/L/N) family home. Mom must’ve changed the records having had enough of Dad’s rock Christmas compilation vinyl.

The house is packed with people, family and friends, and neighbors. All of them gathered here to celebrate the most wonderful time of the year. If things were different (Y/N)’s heart would be full of love and gratefulness. To see all her loved ones together. To have a house filled with laughter and joy. 

Instead, she finds herself leaning against the wall looking out of the window into the inky black night. Snow is falling softly making this whole scene feel like a cheesy Christmas movie. 

Only Christmas movies always have happy endings and there’s a stinging sensation in her heart that tells her this one might not. 

“Honey,” her mother’s warm gentle hand takes a hold of her shoulder “ the Lintons are here. You remember their daughter Mary? She went to college last year, wanna go have a chat with her? Let her tell you about what to expect? “

Just a few days ago she would’ve jumped at the chance. Excitement would have flooded her veins and dreams of a future filled her head. Only that future seems like a distant dream now. One made up by a silly little girl who believed in fairytales and happily ever afters. And a love that lasts forever.

“I uh — I’ll be there in a minute. Just wanna see if Eddie makes it or not.” 

“ Oh, he’s not here yet? “

No, mother. Obviously not. Otherwise would I be standing here like an idiot watching the window like a delusional child waiting for Santa to never come? 

“ Not yet. We — we had a fight. Not sure he’ll come by at all.” 

“Sweetheart, I'm so sorry. I’m sure you’ll figure it out though, you two always do.”

They do but things have never been this bad. He never said the things before he said that night last week. He has never looked at her like that either. 

“Have you tried calling him?”

Calling him? No, obviously not. That would feel like admitting to being wrong. And she isn’t wrong. She wasn’t wrong that night either. Is it so bad to wish for a future together? To hope and to dream of something magical? 

“Well maybe then we aren’t meant to last then. What do I know?!“

His words still sting. It stings worse to know he didn’t immediately regret them after they tumbled from his lips. 

“No.”

“Well, okay. Just come join us when you’re ready. And let me know if there is anything I can do.” 

Her mom pulls her into a warm hug. She smells like wine and cinnamon and jasmine perfume. She smells like mom and Christmas and for a second (Y/N) feels a spark of contentment. 

The spark diminishes the moment her mother leaves to go mingle with the rest of the guests. 

Then it’s just her and the night and the empty street and a heart shattered into a million pieces.

She goes through motions like a zombie. Greet guests, hugs, handshakes, smile and nod, eat, drink, give short but friendly answers, try not to fall apart, smile, hug, drink, watch the clock, look out the window, smile. Smile. Smile.

As the lock clicks into place, (Y/N) leans against the counter of the bathroom, hands gripping the fake marble countertop as if it’s the only thing keeping her afloat. Maybe it is.

It’s almost 10. Party started at 6. He knew. He knows. 

He’s not here and he probably won't be. 

Tears are threatening to fall. Gathering at her lower lashline, turning her eyes glassy. A knot builds in her throat, impossible to swallow. Maybe, she thinks, this is her heart making its way up her body to be thrown up and discarded. Ain’t usable anymore anyway.

Maybe it’s time to admit defeat. To pick up that stupid phone and call him. If not to bring him here at least to get closure. To know for sure he isn’t coming because he doesn’t want to and not because he lies bleeding in a ditch somewhere on the way to her house.

Wiping the tears and fixing her mascara, she makes her way to her room and picks up the phone. Eddie always makes fun of the lip-shaped phone but she loves the thing. Remembering them laughing about it makes her sick.

It rings once. Twice. Three times.

Then a Munson picks up. Not her Munson though.

Wayne’s sleep-laced voice croaks out a tired “hello?”.

She almost feels bad for waking him. But this isn’t her fault. Is it?

“Hi Wayne, sorry for waking you. I was just wondering if Eddie is home?”

“Uh, no sweetheart. Him and the boys are out I think at the Hideout? I’m not entirely sure. I think that’s the place he said.” 

One time, when she was just 5 years old, (Y/N) got a sparkly princess dress for Christmas. It was pink and full of glitter and sequins. She loved that thing. Wanted to wear it every day. Refused to take it off when they went to see her grandparents. So her parents let her. Actions and consequences. She wore that thing even when they went outside to play in the snow. She still remembers how fucking cold that was. It chilled her all the way to the bones.

Hearing Eddie choose to go out drinking instead of seeing her makes her feel a different kind of cold, but one that is just as chilling, just as all-consuming.

“Okay, yeah that must be it. Thank you, Wayne. Bye.” 

The click of the receiver as she puts it back down sounds deafening through the silence of her room.

Her cries are silent though, just tears. There’s hardly room to breathe in her lungs, let alone sob or scream. But then again, pain doesn’t have to be loud to be serious. 

20 minutes later she stands in the living room, some glass of non-alcoholic cranberry cocktail clutched in her hand. 

Mom’s record is on its 3rd or 4th loop because they keep putting the needle back to the beginning and no one bothers to change it.

She’s wearing the red crushed velvet dress that Eddie loves so much and she feels like a goddamn fool. 

But life keeps moving whether you're ready or not.

So she drinks and she eats and she hugs and she smiles. Only this time her eyes never wander over to the window. Not once. 

“Hey, why did you skip the song? I said I like it.” 

“Well I don’t” 

“You put it on there!” 

“Yeah 4 fucking years ago. Eddie this, “ she says and motions with her finger between the two of them “doesn’t change anything. You driving me home. Us reminiscing about the good old times. We’re not friends and I’m still angry at you.” 

“For what? Why are you angry at me? What did I do?”

He says it with such absolute disbelief and confusion. As if he really doesn’t know. 

Does he really not know? 

“Eddie, you broke up with me. For absolutely no reason. “

“What are you talking about?”

“Oh come on now. Don’t play dumb. We had this stupid fight about college and how I wanted to help you with your grades so you could graduate and you blocked me out completely. And every time I talked about our future you got all pissy.”

“ Because I was embarrassed!” 

“I get that I really do. But I was so understanding and you just brushed it off like our plans didn’t mean shit to you. And then you broke up with me.”

“What are you talking about? I never broke up with you! You broke up with me!” 

He combs his fingers through his hair with irritation written all over his face. What the fuck does he mean? She wasn’t the one breaking up. He was! 

He was …. right ?! 

“ You literally said and I quote ‘Well maybe we aren’t meant to last then. What do I know?!’“

“Yeah, I was talking out of my ass. I was frustrated and sad and angry but not at you. At myself. And I never broke up with you.” 

It’s like the earth shifts. Tectonic plates crashing into each other, shaking everything up, plunging the world into chaos. Her world at least. Everything she thought she knew about him and her and them now seems like a maybe — a perhaps.

“Then why didn’t you show up at my family’s Christmas party? I asked you to come.”

“And then in the car after our fight, you said not to bother.”

“Because I thought you had broken up with me.” 

“And then I woke up to a box of my things on the steps of the trailer.” 

“It’s the most wonderful time of the year !” 

“Oh for fucks sake.” 

“It's the hap-happiest season of all”

It was supposed to be. Only it fucking isn’t.

They were supposed to be driving to lovers lake and meet up with some friends, go ice skating, have a good time, and be a loving couple.

It wasn’t supposed to end up with her head leaning against the car window, watching the snow flurry outside and wiping away tears in a way that she thinks he doesn’t notice.

He notices. And he hates himself for making her cry in the first place.

“I don’t understand why you’re being so weird about this. I just want to help you, Eds. I have this whole plan set up on how to get your grades back on track. But I need you to work for it. If that is too much to ask then — I don’t know.” 

“ No, go ahead. Say it! ” 

“ I don’t know what you mean.” 

“If it’s too much to ask then I will just end up not graduating and all our perfect plans will be ruined.” 

“I never said that”

He knows he is being unfair. It’s not her fault. In fact, it is entirely his own. He’s awfully aware of this and maybe that’s the whole point. This is on him and she should not be the one having to bear his luggage. They’re just 18, it’s too much of him to ask her to deal with his issues, save him from his own demons.

Nevertheless, it sucks. So bad. 

That future she was talking about, dreaming of, he wants that too. More than anything. But it was always too good to be true. Dreams like that aren’t for a boy like him.

He’s not gonna graduate this year, no matter how many study plans and extra work and confidence she puts in. He’s the king of lost causes. Everyone knows. Maybe it’s time for her to realize it too. 

She will stay. For him. Wait a whole year. Put her life on pause. All just for little old him who doesn’t deserve it. Only to what? Realize next year that all that confidence and trust was utterly misplaced.

“You don’t have to say it for it to be true.” 

“Why are you being so unkind? I’m trying to help you.”

“Well stop trying! It’s not going to work out.” 

She’s quiet for a moment and it just about kills him. This isn’t about her or them even. She has to know this, right? That he appreciates her and everything she does. It’s just — useless.

“This as in you graduating or this as in us? “

He hates where this conversation is going. He never meant for it to go there. He loves this girl, he doesn’t want this to end. 

But this stupid self-destructive part of him just can’t seem to shut up. It’s like the devil on his shoulder has completely smothered the angel and is whispering all the wrong things into Eddie’s ear. 

“The graduating part but maybe —”

“Don’t. Don’t even finish that sentence. What about our plans? What about being meant for each other?”

Shut the fuck up. His mind is screaming at him to just keep his mouth shut. To pull over and kiss her stupid and tell her that they are meant to be together. That she is it for him. Now and then and forever. But the reality of it all is that she deserves so much better. And his demons scream louder than his heart beats. 

“Well, maybe we aren’t meant to last then. What do I know?!”

Never in his life will he forget the way she looks at him then. Utter betrayal floods her eyes. Disappointment. Heartbreak. He hates himself for doing this. Why can’t he ever keep the good things in his life? Why must he always mess things up? No wonder everyone leaves. He wouldn’t stay either. The self-sabotaging mess that he is.

“You been thinking about this for a while? Us?”

“ No, of course not. “

“Then why are you saying these things all of a sudden?”

“I don’t know, okay? I don’t know (Y/N).” 

It’s the first time he’s ever raised his voice at her and it feels disgusting. Vile. If only he could be like the heroes or magicians in his favorite stories. Brave and strong and maybe possess the magic to change the past or travel back. Back to when things were good and he was able to push his demons back into the furthest corner of his mind. 

“Well, my mom’s Christmas party is this weekend so you better figure it out, or don’t bother showing up. Let me out here.” 

“ It’s snowing.”

“Eddie, let me the fuck out. My house is just down the street. I can literally see it from here.” 

He drives alongside her all the way to her door. She doesn’t look back at him. Not a glance. Nothing.

“It’s good like this. You don’t deserve her anyway.” 

He wonders if the devil on his shoulder is truly louder or if the angel is just agreeing with him. 

“It's the most wonderful time

Yes the most wonderful time

Oh the most wonderful time

Of the year”

“Oh fuck off, Andy!” 

Disgusting. He feels disgusting. Disgusting and sad.

There’s a Christmas party going on right now that he’s supposed to be at. But she doesn’t want him there. Not like this. A guy who can’t even graduate from high school. Who will only hold her back? 

He’s sad and drunk. Wayne thinks he’s at the hideout with friends when in reality he just drove his van down the snowy roads of Hawkins, going all over the place except her street. Because he’s scared of what he might see. 

It would’ve been so easy to just take another right turn and knock on her door and say sorry. But what if by now she realized how much better off she is without him? 

So he doesn’t show up. Instead, he drives back home, parks the van behind the trailer and gets drunk. And because he is a huge masochist and loves hurting himself, he puts on the Christmas tape she made for him.

“Ding Dong. Ding dong. It’s the most — “

“Ding dong. Ding dong. Shut the fuck up, Andy!” 

It’s all too much. The songs and the weather and the heartbreak and the self-pity.

Slowly he drags himself out of the van and up the trailer stairs. His feet feel heavy, his heart even heavier.

A wave of warmth engulfs him suddenly as the door swings open. Wayne looks less than excited to see him. Why would he be? If he weren’t so drunk, maybe Eddie would notice the softness in the man’s eyes. The concern edged onto his face.

“Kid, you okay?”

“Just peachy, uncle Wayne.”

“Mmh. Well (Y/N) called asking for you.”

It feels like a bucket of cold water being poured over his head and suddenly all the haze of the alcohol is gone. She called. She cares. Oh god, she still cares.

“What did she say?”

“Not much. Just asked if you’re home.”

“And what did you tell her?” 

“The truth. That you’re out with the boys.”

“Ah shit Wayne, what’d you do that for?”

“What? What was I supposed to do? Lie?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m not going to do that. What is going on, Eddie?”

A shuddered breath leaves Eddie’s lips.

“We had a fight. A bad one. I messed things up. I gotta go see her. Shit, I gotta fix this.”

Wayne reaches out and grabs a hold of Eddie’s jacket, pulling him into the warm trailer.

“You’re not going anywhere, kid. You’re drunk. I sure am not gonna let you drive in this state. Go to bed, get a good night's sleep, and tomorrow morning you can drive over and fix it. And you need a goddamn shower.” 

He falls asleep at 4am. Wakes up at 6. He has a whole speech prepared. Starting with I’m sorry and ending with I love you. He takes a shower, gets dressed. He even wears the sweater she likes so much. 

And as he pulls open the door he is greeted by a box of his stuff sitting on the steps of the trailer. 

“So we both thought the other broke up and actually neither of us wanted to actually break up?”

“God, what a mess, Eddie.”

She’s not sure if she wants to laugh or cry. It’s all too much. Her heart is beating too fast. Her mind is racing. 

“What do we do now?”

“Nothing, Eds. It’s been 4 years. What does it matter now?”

Everything. It matters and it changes everything but admitting that is scary. 

Eddie pulls up the gravel driveway of her childhood home. Two heavy hearts and a million unsaid words fill the car as she grabs the door handle.

“Is this goodbye again?”

“Neither of us said goodbye last time.”

He lets out a humorless chuckle.

“You have a point. First time for everything, huh?”

A stinging sensation starts behind her eyes, pushing the tears to the brink, as she steps out of the car and out into the harsh winter winds.

“Goodnight, Eddie.”

“Hey, (Y/N)” He calls out as she drags her suitcase up the steps of the house.

“Yeah?”

“Just for the record. Even if it doesn’t change anything. I still love you. It matters a lot to me that you didn’t want us to end either.” 

He doesn’t know what hurts more. The fact that she nods or watching her walk away and close the door behind her.

She didn’t say goodbye this time either.

Oh, holy shit — she didn’t say goodbye!

“What’s this?” 

(Y/N)’s mom sits at the kitchen counter, a mug of coffee in hand and a mischievous smile on her face. It’s way too early for any of her shenanigans even if they come in the form of a vinyl record wrapped in a big red bow.

“Don’t know. It was there this morning when I opened the door. Right there on our front porch. Looks like a record to me though.”

“You know who left it?”

“No,” mom shrugs and points to the record resting on the kitchen table. “There’s a letter though.” 

It’s a small blue envelope and her name is written on it in a chicken scratch she immediately recognizes. At least it’s still shut which means her mother hasn’t peaked inside and studied all the contents of the letter.

“When did he bring this?” 

Her mom denies everything. Even goes as far as throwing her an “I don’t know what you mean”. What she doesn’t account for, is the fact that she is a horrible liar. Truly abysmal.

“Of course you don’t. Well, I'm gonna go upstairs and read this. In peace!” 

Her mother’s laughter follows her all the way up until she closes the door to her childhood bedroom and drops down onto her bed. 

A beehived Brenda Lee smiles back at (Y/N) from the cover of the vinyl record, a present clutched in her hand and a Christmas tree sparkling in the background. 

Why he chose that specific record, she has no clue.

With shaky fingers, she opens and unfolds the letter. Eddie used to do this a lot back when they were together. Leave her letters and notes. She thought it was very old school and very romantic at the same time. Something poetic and artistic about it. Where he wasn’t good at saying the words out loud, he was quite the phenomenal writer.

“(Y/N),

let me start by saying I’m sorry. That’s also what I wanted to tell you that night of the party — and the morning after. I should’ve. I should’ve fought for us and told you how I felt even when I thought we were over. I just never felt like I really deserved you and some fucked up part of my brain made me believe that sooner or later you’d realize that too. I guess I thought it was easier this way. Like ripping off a bandaid. It wasn’t easy. Not even a little bit. That part of me is still there, I doubt it will ever go away. But I am better now. I like to think I have matured but Wayne says I just lost a bit of my stupid in the last few years. I graduated! Crazy I know. I have a job now too. And while I will never be the smartest person in any room, I like to believe I made something of myself. You still deserve better but I hope that maybe this version of me can be enough.

I understand if this changes nothing for you but it changes everything for me. I still love you as much as the moment I saw you fall down the ladder, or kissed you in the snow, or watched you save Christmas. 

I knew we were gonna be forever when I watched you across the trailer park, illuminated by candles and Christmas lights. You were dancing with Wayne! It’s the first and only time I’ve ever seen him dance. Both of you were laughing and life just felt like a movie or a song or both. 

Brenda Lee was playing in the back and I knew I loved you then and I would love you forever. You were my family then and you always will be.

Now I’m not expecting you to come running back into my arms and start back up where we left it but if you find the time in your busy schedule to come see me during your holiday visit, that would mean the world to me. 

Maybe listen to some Christmas tunes.

And even if you don’t I just wanted you to know that my favorite Christmas gift was you. Every year that we were together, it was always you.

I love you (still)

Eddie. “ 

A frantic knock sounds from the front door of the trailer and shakes Eddie from his nap on the couch. After not being able to sleep at all last night he must’ve dozed off somewhere between the morning cartoons and the breakfast TV.

He really needs to get Wayne one of those big ass keychains that you can clip to your jeans or something. That man forgets his keys at least 3 times a day.

“I’m coming, geez. Wayne, you really gotta — You’re not Wayne!” 

She regards him with a smile and that special spark of magic in her eyes. The one he hasn’t seen in 4 years. The one he so desperately missed.

“Well, I hope not. Otherwise what I’m about to do would be pretty weird.” 

“What are you — “

But he doesn’t get the chance to finish his sentence when her lips meet his in a kiss. It’s sweet and chaotic and rushed and soft. Familiar and nostalgic. She feels so cold against his warm skin but she still tastes like peppermint and smells like winter.

“ So, “ she says as she pulls away from the kiss, just barely but enough to take a breath. “ wanna listen to some tunes?”

The Brenda Lee vinyl is clutched in her hand as she bites her lip in anticipation.

As if there’s a chance he’d ever say no. 

“There’s nothing in this world I’d rather do.”