#but so much of this was done between the hours of midnight and 3 am

[peachssodapop]

Zelda...

I have been utterly inconsolable since I finished the Dragon's Tears questline

[ghost-proofbaby]

the seasons pass (but you never do) - e.m.

summary: he knew your reputation. he knew you had you way with half of hawkins. it was never going to end well - but that didn't stop him.

warnings: reader is NOT a good person (need to emphasize this), billy hargrove is involved and sort of ooc, smut, oral (fem receiving), a lot of hurt, not a 'happy' ending, reader has severe issues with self-esteem (not in the usual obvious way), very self-sabotaging reader. mentions of reader having adult relationships with multiple male characters. NOT A 'HAPPY' ENDING. minors dni - 18+

pairings: eddie munson x fem!fuckgirl!reader (with mentions of steve x reader, johnathan x reader, and billy x reader.)

wc: 8.4k+

a/n: i cannot emphasize enough - the reader in this fic is very toxic. she is not a good person. this does not end well. also, be wary, as billy is used as the easiest companion who can align with her being a bad person, so she is friends with him. this probably won't be everyone's cup of tea, but it's been a year in the works! thank you to anyone who reads. <3 also, HUGE thank you to my love @hellfire--cult for making that banner for me. i am undeserving of your talents baby.

oh, also, here's a fun playlist to go along with it.

SUMMER, 1988

It was always going to end this way. It’s how it’s supposed to go - you met him, you wanted him, you got him, you left him. There was never any illusions on your part as to what this was. He knew your reputation. He knew the ending. You knew the ending. 

It was always going to end this way. 

There was no amount of flowers he could have got you, no amount of midnight rendezvous to change this course. It never mattered how his laughter wound your chest tight or how his fingers fit a little too perfectly between yours. You didn’t do long-term relationships, and he always asked for too much from you. You could give him a summer, no more and no less. He knew that, you knew that, all your previous flings knew that. There was only one ending ever in sight for the two of you.

So why does it hurt so much when you catch sight of him around town with her? 

Chrissy Cunningham is beautiful. She’s all shades of sunrise pinks, flavors of sweetness that spur stomach aches - the epitome of enchantment and a type of softness you couldn’t compare to. And when you see her arm in arm with him, you can see that beauty of hers painted across him. Her pinks paint roses on his cheeks, her laughter etches dimples into his cheeks you’d only ever seen in the late hours of the night. She makes him happy. She makes him look lovesick. She doesn’t hide him in the darkness, she flaunts him in the light, and he looks devastatingly beautiful without the shadows. 

You should be happy for him. It shouldn’t phase you; you didn’t bat an eyelash when Steve Harrington had taken to dating every other girl in the town after your spring with him. You never winced when Johnathan Byers started dating Nancy Wheeler after a flirtatious fall with you. Billy Hargrove had been on the same page as you, ready to brave a chilling winter with you and accept when the ice melted along with the infatuation, returning your winks when you spotted each other with your newest one night stands in shared bars. 

But Eddie’s summer stuck to your skin. No amount of showers run cold, no amount of new partners who you won’t allow to spend the night, wash you clean of him. The change in the leaves only amplified the ache left in your chest when August turns to September. The flowers weren’t the only things wilting when September flashes into October. 

You miss him terribly, and it’s all your fault.

You let him stick around far longer than you should have. You let his wandering lips slot between yours and you let him sleep at your side from the very first night. When it was all said and done, you were the one that broke every single imaginary rule you had set for yourself, and the blame was yours to carry. Eddie Munson was never going to be a three month memory to wipe away with the steam of your mirror. He’d done it, he’d left his mark. He’d managed to make the streets of Hawkins feel cold and empty in his absence, to make everything dull in comparison to your life before him. 

You empty the last of your glass of wine, all bitter and tinged on your tongue, and chuckle internally as you watch Eddie’s hand’s find Chrissy’s hips from across the bar. Go figure. 

SPRING, 1987

The Hideout was busy as ever, booming with business on a Saturday night as you reentered the scene. Your ‘date’ for the night was still outside the bar, surely not even entertaining the thought of coming back inside. 

He hadn’t taken to you breaking the news that it was over kindly. 

“You never let them down easy, do you?” Billy chuckles as he leans against one of the standing tables near the bar. He had seen the look in your eyes when you dragged the nameless boy out the front door; he’d seen it plenty of times before. Starry eyed boy, ever-fleeting girl. They were fools, and they should have noticed your wandering eyes and lack of commitment from the get-go. 

“Never,” you smirk back as you approach him. The live band had just finished, the music over the speakers nothing compared to the deafening screams of the guitars that had played, “It’s not my fault the boys in this town never learn their lesson.” 

Billy only shrugs and throws back the last of his whiskey, “What did it this time? Did he drop the big L? Maybe he brought you flowers like Harrington did that one time?” 

“Oh, God,” you place a hand over your heart dramatically, “Please don’t remind me. Breaking his heart nearly broke my nonexistent one.” 

“Yeah, right,” Billy cackles, “Still can’t believe you ever gave the sap a chance. Or what about Byers, hm?” 

“Couldn’t break a heart I never had. He always had eyes for Wheeler, that’s what made it fun,” you shrug and grab at a fruity drink that had been abandoned at the table, “To answer your question, he got clingy. All jealous because I was making eyes at the lead singer,” you tip your chin towards the stage that’s now empty and take a sip of the cocktail, “Say, what happened to your date? She looked pretty.” 

“You were making eyes at Munson? Doll, I knew you were getting desperate after me, but him?” Billy cuts himself off with a low whistle. 

“Shut up,” you take another long sip of the drink. It’s sweeter than your preference, but free alcohol is free alcohol, “Tell me what happened to the blonde you were chatting up.” 

“I’m more into redheads.”

“Aw, but it looked like you two were really hitting it off.” 

“I had to have three shots before I could stomach her laughing at my jokes.” 

You reach over to pinch his cheeks, receiving sharp slaps against your wrists.

“Hot,” you coo before leaning back and ending his attack against your hands, “You know, if we both strike out tonight, we could always go home together.” 

“You struck out, the night is still young for me,” Billy grins wickedly and looks around the busy bar for emphasis. 

There’s a small commotion at one of the doors to the side of the stage, and you glance over to catch sight of the band that had been playing exiting. 

The lead singer, Munson as Billy had referred to him, was just as stunning when taken down from his stage pedestal. His hair had been pulled back into a low bun, his torso once exposed on stage now covered in a faded Judas Priest tour shirt, but his Cheshire smile on his face was just as brilliant without the stage lights. Dimples hidden by the dark bar lighting, plush lips and scruff framing his face. 

Billy catches you staring at him.

“Maybe you didn’t strike out,” he hums, “You gonna go for it, hot stuff?” 

You smile in return. Something dangerous, something evil yet inviting, “I might. I do need a new play thing for the summer, after all.” 

“Careful. I’m sure there’s a line of groupies willing to fight you for the Eddie Munson.” 

Billy had been mocking you with a shrill voice, but he had been wrong. 

There was no line of girls for you to compete with as you approached Eddie. And if there was, they wouldn’t have stood a chance. From the moment you had smiled at him, uttering your name into Eddie’s ears over the bass of the music, placing a careful hand on his shoulder and telling him how much you just adored his music, he had been hooked. You had him in your grasp from the start. 

And maybe Billy knew that as he flashed you a sly grin over a redhead’s shoulder as you dragged Eddie behind you later that night, heading for the restrooms that patrons notably didn’t use. 

It was your lipstick smeared over Eddie’s neck that night, it was your name falling from his lips as you pressed him against a stall wall, it was your hair that he tangled his hands in as you sat pretty on your knees before him, it was your nails digging into his jean-clad thighs as he fucked your mouth. No, other girls never would have stood a chance. 

By the end of that night, you hadn’t even cum, but you thought nothing of it, still smug that you’d found yourself a new supposed victim. You’d never considered which one of you truly held the match, which one of you might bleed gasoline rather than crimson blood. 

All that you considered was the fact that you’d wanted Eddie, and you’d got him, just as it always went. 

That was only the first night. 

SUMMER, 1987

You fall for him in the summer. You convince yourself you’re in control still, but it’s fruitless - you’d lost control the moment you’d tasted him on that dizzy spring night rather than waiting for the arrival of summer’s heat. 

“Come over.” 

Two simple words, yet the moment you’d spoken them over the line, Eddie had wasted no time to speed his way across town for your apartment. He was officially at your beck and call. You said the word, and he was at your dispense. 

It was the fastest he’d ever arrived at your doorstep, rapping his knuckles against familiar rosewood and listening to the familiar weight of your footsteps approaching the door. 

“Hey, you,” you sigh softly once you catch sight of him in your porchlight. The creatures of summer buzz as background noise as you drink him in. Same wild curls, same deviant smirk. There looks to be new rips in his black jeans, and his shirt is wrinkled, but none of that shatters the dreamy image of him to you. 

You still want him just as badly as you had the first night. 

“Sorry I took so long,” he teases, leaning into the doorframe you rest your hip against, “Traffic, you know.”

“Oh, of course. It’s just terrible this time of year,” you play along. You both know he’d made the fifteen minute drive in under ten minutes. But there’s something in the warm air, something electric and fluttering and addictive and palpable. You’re sure if you were to rest your hand flirtatiously against his chest as you normally did with your rotation of partners, that he’d burn you. 

Something new. You tell yourself it’s just the excitement of a fresh Summer plaything, and you ignore the voice that whispers with the reminder that this started in the Spring. 

“You gonna let me in?” he nods in the direction of your apartment behind you, bathed in a soft yellow from the dusk and the lamp on the table beside your couch. 

You bring a hand to your chin and tap a finger mockingly, “Hm, I don’t know. Should I?”

“You should,” he leans even closer.

“I might need convincing.” 

His breath washes over your cheek, so gentle you could have mistaken it for the summer breeze. You can smell the spice of his cologne, the stubborn smoke from his last cigarette. It makes your head spin.

“Convincing, you say?” he murmurs as his lips graze your earlobe, “I’ve been known to be convincing.” 

This was something you enjoyed about him. He wasn’t like other boys - he didn’t fall to your feet and praise the ground you stood on, not directly. He didn’t follow you like a lost puppy. He took the time to dance with you, to entertain you with banter and to enrapture you with the chase. Maybe that’s why Spring and Summer felt the same when it came to him. 

“I call bullshit,” you laugh breathlessly as his lips connect with your neck, making a trail of pecks until he reaches the bare skin of your shoulder. “You still haven’t convinced me to listen to Metallica.”

“We’ll get there, baby,” he whispers against your skin as his fingers sneak beneath the strap of your tank top, “Just be patient.”

The pet name strikes a kink in your armor, and in an instant, your hands are on his shoulders and dragging him into the living room, barely remembering to slam the door shut behind him. 

You never let them call you nicknames normally. Billy had been the only exception. 

But when he calls you baby, something blooms in your chest. And it’s vines and thorns alike twist and prick your gut, deflating your better judgment as the two of you are a mess of clumsy limbs that can’t seem to navigate your hallway fast enough. You can’t seem to get him to your bed fast enough. 

“Off,” he demands against your lips when you finally have him sitting on your comforter, thighs straddling his as his hands tug at the tank top’s hem. 

“What happened to patience?” you tease, but you’re already complying, shucking off the fabric and exposing yourself to him. You’d foregone a bra - it was too hot in Hawkins this time of year. 

He doesn’t offer you an answer, hardly taking the time to suck in a deep breath before his mouth wraps around one of your peaked nipples and his large hand spans across your back to press you as close to him as he can get you. You’re already moaning too loudly, sure to receive noise complaints from the neighbors tomorrow. But you’re not thinking about the neighbors or tomorrow, you can only focus on his tongue and lips, working soft magic over your body as he twists the two of you so that he’s hovering over you. 

“Fuck,” you blissfully breathe out, fingertips raking through the roots of his curls. His mouth has moved on to your other breast, leaving blooming petals of bruises in its wake. 

Another thing you’d never allow to happen with any of the other boys. 

No marks. A simple rule. A forgotten rule when it came to Eddie. 

“You like that?” he chuckles as he places a final chaste kiss to your chest, lifting his head and staring up at you with his bambi eyes. He had the kind of eyes you could get lost in, wander and wade through for hours if given the chance. Shadows of brown and honey intertwining, beckoning to you with a promise of the adoration you seeked out. 

You do like that. As a matter of fact, you love it. 

“I like it better when your mouth is busy, rockstar,” you say as if you wouldn’t listen to him talk for hours, as if you hadn’t listened to him speak about nonsense as the time passed the two of you by. 

He takes his cue, and he does as you ask. He traces roadmaps down your stomach, across your thighs and hips, not uttering a single word until he’s pulled away your cotton shorts and lace underwear. 

When he’s face to face with your heat, he finally speaks again. 

“Beautiful.”

It’s just a word. If any of your previous flings had spoken it, you’d smack them away and declare the moment over. In fact, you’d done just that with your autumn boy from last year. You weren’t here to be called beautiful, to be held carefully or to be praised as you let them take you however they pleased. You were here to get one thing and one thing only - your own pleasure. 

Your back still arches when he says the word, your vines still crack your ribs just as they had reacted to the utterance of baby. 

The thorns prickle beneath your skin when he makes you cum with his tongue once, twice, thrice too many times. When he pulls your body to his, when you allow him to forego the protection of a condom and you let him sigh contentedly into your mouth when he slides in, it all pierces you the same. 

And when your voice has grown hoarse from chanting his name and your lips have gone chapped from kissing him desperately, you break your final damning rule.

“Stay with me?” 

The plea comes out soft and heavy as your head rests against his chest. Even with your window open, the night breeze drifting in, the heat is stifling. It’s too warm to stay pressed so closely together, but it doesn’t stop you from clinging your body to his. 

He doesn’t hesitate in his reply, “Of course.” 

The two of you sink further into your sheets and each other. It wasn’t the first time Eddie Munson spent the night in your bed, and it surely wouldn’t be the last. 

AUTUMN, 1987

“You like him more than you liked the others.”

It’s not a question - it’s a fact secured in concrete that falls from Billy’s lips as the two of you lean against the brick exterior of the Hideout. A cigarette is half-gone and held limply between his lips, yours freshly lit and clung to tightly between white knuckles.

“I don’t like him,” you scoff, “He’s a good fuck.” 

You weren’t here on your normal business, scoping for another warm body to join you in your bed for the night. Eddie’s band, Corroded Coffin, was performing one of their weekly shows. 

“Right. A good enough fuck to live to see the fall,” Billy presses, raising his eyebrows at you as he takes another drag and let’s the whisps of white smoke carry off into the cool night. 

You’d just been striking out. That’s what you had told yourself. It was bound to happen eventually; you’d hit a dry streak, and you’d have to eventually find a repeat offender. Eddie was just that for you. Someone easy to fall back on. It didn’t hurt that you also enjoyed his company, especially when he’d swing you around in your kitchen while the two of you made dinner in your apartment or when he’d let you cuddle into his neck during the scary movie marathons you’d began to take part in with Halloween now looming around the corner. 

“I haven’t seen you getting lucky,” you snap, a sudden defensiveness taking over. A lie, of course. You hadn’t frequented the bar enough lately to even know the last time your former fling had gotten laid. 

Billy throws up his hands as he discards the butt of his cigarette, “Hey now, don’t get so feisty, doll. It’s okay to admit you’re going soft.” 

Soft. Soft like Eddie’s hands when he pulled your hips against his night after night. Soft like Eddie’s eyes when he watched you in the shower during the mornings after, quick to swipe away any shampoo that drips down your forehead and dangerously close to your own eyes as you wash your hair. Soft like your voice every time you asked him to stay, over and over, never learning your lesson. 

“I’m not going soft,” is all you say as you put out the cigarette, not even half-finished, and move to go back inside. 

You’re not having this conversation. There’s nothing more to dissect. You weren’t going soft and you couldn’t like Eddie, it wasn’t in your nature. 

It’s a mantra you repeat to yourself as you take in the sight of him still setting up the stage. You catch his eye and he grins at you, and you remind yourself you’re not soft. No, whatever this feeling is, it’s not soft. It is angry and loud, it is demanding and sharp. It is copper on your tongue and it is raging storm clouds in your mind. It is the opposite of everything he has been to you; it is every contrast possible to the way he treats you. 

He treats you like a human being. You’re not a prize, you’re not an idol – you’re just a person, and sometimes, he treats you as if that’s the greatest thing you could possibly be. 

When the show is over and rounds have been bought for the band, he comes home with you. He staggers on his feet and you know he’s had too much whiskey for his own good. Normally, any guy this drunk would be told to piss off.

He’s not any guy. He’s Eddie. 

And so you take his drunken state in strides. You let his body lean into you as you guide him up the steps to your front door, you only smile when he gets handsy, you offer weak laughter at his terrible jokes. 

“You only want me for my body,” he teases you between kisses when you hook your fingers into his jean’s belt loops to keep him close and upright, “Don’t you?” 

This is the part where you tell him yes. You’re supposed to tell him he’s nothing more than a cure for the looming loneliness. 

You shake your head. 

“I’m not, but I can’t ride your personality, can I?” your fingers retract from the loops, and trace their way up his chest, memorizing the muscles beneath the t-shirt. It’s too faded to see the band logo once advertised. 

“You could try,” he sways, and your wandering fingers curl into fists into the cotton material, “P-Probably be pretty hard, though. Just like me.” 

He takes one of your hands and places it over the bulge in his jeans. 

If he were any other guy, you’d play into it, because if he were any other guy, you’d be expecting to get something out of this night for your own selfish needs. 

“Not so fast, rockstar,” you bring your hand back up to his chest as he hiccups, brows furrowed at your subtle rejection, “Let’s get you inside, yeah?” 

It’s an uphill battle of gangly limbs and stumbling steps. He falls against your hallway walls more times than you can count as you guide him to your bedroom and allow him to splay out on the mattress. The laces of his combat boots are impossibly knotted, but you win the war in the end and tug them off of him. He wiggles his toes within his socks, and watches you with half-lidded eyes.

“This is the part where you try to ride my personality, right?” he tempts you, the wiggling in his toes flowing up to his eyebrows, eyes alight with mischief. 

Your hand is gentle as you grab his ankle, exposed from jeans that had ridden up into scrunched material around the bottom of his calf. “Right. Let me get you some water first.” 

You leave him to rush to the kitchen, gathering the glass of water you’d promised along with a bottle of painkillers from your medicine cabinet. For a moment, you take in the silence and lean your palms onto the cold kitchen counter. 

Five months. Two months too long, technically, if you were comparing it all to your track record. He’d seen the eggshell white walls of your apartment more than your own mother, more than your closest friends. At this point, even on your most lonesome nights, you found yourself leaving an Eddie-sized space on the sheets beside you. One of your pillows now permanently smelt like him. There was a mug in your cabinet reserved for him and his ridiculously sweet coffee preference. You’d bought his favorite brand of cigarettes just last week, far stronger than your preferred menthols, and you’d found one of his socks discarded in your dirty laundry. 

No, this wasn’t soft. It couldn’t be.

When you finally return to your room, he’s already asleep. You still leave the water and the pills on the bedside table for the next morning, when he’d need them. You try not to think too hard about the way that even in his drunken slumber, he’s left a perfectly you-sized space beside him, arm thrown out perfectly so that you can curl into him once you’ve brushed your teeth and dressed down into pajamas. 

The last thing you remember before you fall asleep against him is the way your soft hand grazes over his stomach in soothing circles, and the way your brain softly whispers in the hope of his hangover not being too cruel to him come morning light. 

WINTER, 1987

“Eddie! Stop it!” you squeal when he nearly takes you down with him as his back connects with the polished ice beneath the two of you. 

Ice skating wasn’t the best idea for two people who were notoriously uncoordinated. But he’d asked you to come with him, and you’d put up little resistance. 

“Ow, fuck,” he groans, still laying flat on his back with his eyes squeeze shut, legs spread wide as you wobble on your skates, “That fucking hurts.” 

“I bet it does,” you nearly giggle, childish with your rosey cheeks and pink-tipped nose. Your smile is infectious once he opens his eyes and catches sight of you fighting back your laughter.

It was the first time the two of you had ever gone out before dark with each other. Although, you were sure by the time you two had finished your goofing off inside the indoor ice rink, it’d be night. 

“Oh yeah,” he drawls, struggling to lift himself onto his elbows, “Laugh it up, chuckles. Don’t think I’ve forgotten your first fifty falls.”

“Fifty?” you squeak, forcing faux offense, “I only fell twice, thank you very much.”

It takes a bit for him to finally find his footing once more, plenty of hesitant and awkward movements to simply stand up right before you. Once you’re nearly face to face again, he’s pouting. “Kiss it better?” 

Your feet shuffle beneath you, struggling to keep your balance. Your hands fly out and grab onto one of his forearms for balance, “Where’s it hurt?” 

“Right here,” his free hand lifts to point to his lips, accentuating his pout further. 

“Funny,” you muse, “I don’t recall you falling on your face - this time.” 

He huffs as you begin to lose your balance again, one of your hands slipping down his wrist until your fingers are intertwined to the best of your abilities given the angle. His hand is freezing from the ice. Even despite his teasing, he’s quick to work with you, keeping the two of you standing straight with ever-shuffling feet. 

“Residual pains or whatever they call them,” he waves off, tapping his lips again to make a point. You roll your eyes, but you’re still quick to lean forward and peck him. 

“That’s all?” he whines, already moving in for another kiss. 

Any onlooker would assume it’s a date. But it couldn’t be - you didn’t do dates. It was two friends, two acquaintances really, hanging out for the sake of fun. Just as you fell back on Eddie when your nights grew forlorn, he had seeked you out for comfort on his isolating days. It was just another perk of your arrangement. 

An arrangement that had dragged on for eight long months. 

“You’re greedy,” you mumble against his lips as he tries to deepen the kiss and you deny him. 

“Of course I’m greedy,” he replies, nipping at your bottom lip playfully, “Can you blame a guy when it comes to you?” 

You couldn’t, you really couldn’t. You’d had your fair share of possessive types in the past, the kind that felt the need to always claim you as your own. And you would have found it hot, too, if it didn’t feel like they reduced you down to nothing more than some trophy to parade around town. 

Eddie didn’t do that. He was still greedy, he had still gotten daring with marking you as his own as of late, but he never reduced you. He never forced you to shrivel in size, never tried to compact you into the box he needed you in. He took you as you were. 

You were enough for him. For the first time in a very long time, you were enough.

If you thought about it too long, you would have become dizzy out there on the ice with Eddie. So you don’t think about it. You indulge yourself in banter and echoing laughter, in the scolding looks from nearby parents when one of you makes a crude joke loud enough for their children to hear. You claim your indulging him with the incessant kisses, but you know deep down they’re also for you. To feel his lips on yours. To feel his hands on your hips. To feel his fingers between yours. 

To feel like enough. 

You’re both still giddy when you approach the counter after several hours have passed, dropping your rented skates on the counter as you glance to the arcade filled with patrons. Glowing lights and trilling noises emit from the area, tangling with giggling that you can’t quite place as coming from there or the ice. It’s loud enough that Eddie has to lean in closer to the teenager working the cash register. 

He insisted on paying. You’d tried to fight him on it, but he insisted it was his treat. 

It’s during this momentary separation, in which your worlds’ briefly stop revolving around each other, that you spot him. He must have been here for as long as you and Eddie had been, and you must have just been too wrapped up in enough to have noticed him sooner. 

Just as you see him, he sees you. Just as you prepare to turn on heel, to return to hiding into Eddie’s enough, he’s calling your name. 

It’s loud. It mingles with the sounds already coming from the atmosphere. Eddie doesn’t hear him, but you do. 

“Steve,” you try to greet him with a friendly tone through your clenched teeth, taking a few steps further away from Eddie, away from enough and blissful delusion, “I haven’t seen you in forever.” 

“Yeah,” he looks as if he’s seen a ghost as he approaches you, “Yeah, not since, uh- well, you know.” 

Not since the night you’d officially cut all ties with him, somewhere between Jonathan and Billy. You’d broken his heart. You’d nearly broken your own. 

Your lips are pressed into a tight lip smile as you try to redirect the conversation, “How’ve you been?” 

“Good! I’ve- uh, yeah, good. You?” 

I’ve been on a downward spiral of breaking every single rule that I have spent my entire life curating for my dating life, and I know you’re aware of this by the way you just looked at Eddie over my shoulder, and the way your brow is furrowing, and I get it. I get it. I fucked up. 

“I’ve been alright,” you force your jaw to relax, you force a kind and shy smile. It’s almost akin to the ones you’d originally flash him to get him in your grasp, “How’s Nancy?” 

Nancy Wheeler. After you left Steve the first time, letting whatever situationship that had begun just fizzle out, he’d ran into her arms. From the get go with Jonathan, you’d always known you were a placeholder for her. Even Billy had made a damn pass at her once you guys gave up at spring’s dawn; he’d claimed it might as well be a tradition now, only laughing as Nancy shot him down as expected. 

Nancy Wheeler was everything you weren’t. She could promise these men security, stability, commitment, a future. She didn’t hide them. They weren’t dirty secrets forced to only wander into her arms late at night, they weren’t kicked out at the end of each night once she’d had their way with them. 

Nancy probably never had her way with men, you realized, more likely letting them have their way with her.  

“We broke up,” Again. He forgets to add the again. 

They’d gotten together after that first time, been together while you had fun with Jonathan, broken up the moment you were finished with Jonathan and he could go to where he belonged – with Nancy. 

Of course, when Jonathan chose a different university to go to, somewhere far away from Nancy, those two had broken up. Steve had swooped in again. It was a never ending headache of small town gossip you had grown tired of hearing about. 

“I’m sorry,” you aren’t really, “That’s… forget I’m asked,” you’d feel worse if you hadn’t seen the girl waiting to the side for Steve. His date, no doubt. 

“No worries, it’s been a while since it happened anyways,” he shrugs it off, but you can still see the hurt in his eyes. 

He’d once called you drunkenly, going off on how he was going on all these dates trying to find you or Nancy again, how none of them were you or Nancy. Which, at the time, just irritated you because Steve, why do you still have my number? But now? Now, you almost get it. You almost understand the pain of searching for a familiar face in the eyes of strangers because any time you had gone to your usual haunts these last seven months, you found yourself searching crowds for wild, messy curls and warm brown eyes. For shades of honey and the scent of tobacco drowned out by cheap cologne.

You hadn’t been striking out anymore, the realization hits clear as day. It’s not even that you were being as picky as you normally were – none of the guys were Eddie. None of them had freckles below their right eyes that made your breath catch, none of them had the same calluses along their fingers from years of guitar practice. None of them had the same boyish grin that shone through the dark of your room at two in the morning, leaving you with no choice but to let him stay. They weren’t Eddie.

“You like him more than you liked the others,” Billy’s voice reverberates from the back of your mind. 

The truth seeps into your bones like ash and flames, a fever burning you from the inside out. 

Steve only fans the flames when he nods over your shoulder at Eddie, “So, are you and Munson a thing now?” 

Flames. Hot coals in the back of your throat, lively embers trailing down your spine. You’re watching the entirety of who you had worked so hard to become over the years bursting into flames. 

“What?” you whisper, not realizing Eddie had finished paying behind you, “No. No, we- no. We aren’t anything. We’re just… we’re just friends.” 

Even the word friends whispers away into smoke, choking you up. 

“Friends? Looks like you two were on a date, like he’s your boyfriend or something.” 

“Well, we’re not. He’s not.” 

Steve hardly buys it, but when Eddie joins your side once more, you don’t even offer him a glimmer of a farewell. You grab the wrist of your friend, your not boyfriend, and you high tail out of there. Still choked up, still running, still reeling. 

It’s still light when you leave the building and your hand drops from Eddie’s. You’ll both pretend the cold is from the weather, and not the distance you put between him and yourself. 

And if he heard your conversation with Steve, he doesn’t bring it up. Not that night, at least. 

SPRING, 1988

“I can’t do this anymore.”

You got him in the spring – it makes sense that you lose him in the spring. 

“What do you mean?” you play dumb, painfully coy as you continue to rinse the dishes. Plural. Dishes that the two of you had just dirtied through a painfully tense dinner together. In your apartment, at the counter of your tiny kitchen, knees not even so much as brushing. 

“This,” something has broken inside of him. Snapped, shattered, splintered. “It’s been a year, and I keep telling myself that you’ll come around, but-”

“Come around?” you cut him off with a laugh, one that stabs not only through his chest but your own. A double-edged dagger that has been sharpening itself for a year now, “Come around to what, Eddie?” 

He hadn’t expected the way you lash out, the cold storm that you had been consumed by since the winter night where Steve had looked at you like something had changed in you. As if you had finally gotten better, as if you had had something sour in you all along and Eddie had managed to magically drain you of it.

He couldn’t. He never was going to be able to. 

“Me?” he’s not sure of himself, voice wavering and eyes sparkling as they widen with tears of frustration, “Us? Fuck, I don’t know, but I can’t keep-”

“You thought I would come around to the idea of us?” your voice is cool and collected, nothing like his, as you finally turn around, “What, like we’re dating?” 

You were. A year of this back and forth, and you were too stubborn to just accept it. It was your downfall. It was the bleeding wound for not only yourself, but for Eddie – for this, as he had called it. 

You like him more than you liked the others.

So, are you and Munson a thing now?

A good enough fuck to live to see the fall.

You were never going to be enough for him. In your lifetime, you’d always known what you were good for, and it wasn’t for boys like Eddie Munson. 

“What else do you call this?” he motions vaguely to the dishes, to the fridge that holds his takeout, to the hallway he had tumbled down more times than you could count, “We’re more than just good friends, sweetheart.”

“We both knew what we were getting into.”

“Did we?”

Come over.

I might need convincing.

Stay with me?

You should have been smarter. You should have been more careful. 

It’s a brutal fight, and it’s the everything you had been waiting for. The illusion of softness finally breaks. Whispered words of care have become sharp insults, all the small moments where you had made mistake after mistake with him are now weapons. If the dated walls of your kitchen could speak, the tiles would murmur of all the blood being spelt as brutal defenses are sent back and forth from both sides. 

“I need more.”

“I can’t give you more.”

“You could, you just don’t want to.” 

“What’s the difference, Eddie?”

You were never going to be enough. You should have seen that, clear as daylight from the beginning. You were something rotten from the moment he met you, and he had just been too stupid to recognize all the decay. 

Of course I’m greedy. Can you blame a guy when it comes to you?

Why couldn’t he just accept what you were willing to give? Why did he have to push, to persist, to insist upon you laying more of yourself out for him? You had already dissected yourself beyond repair, made the cuts that would never heal and bared your innards in a way that you never should have to begin with. 

Stay with me?

You wish you were still just lazing in between your sheets with him. A you-shaped space at his side, a pillow on his side of your bed. You wish he had never picked a fight he had every right to rage. You wish, you wish, you wish.

Stay with me?

And then you lose, you lose, you lose. 

“You were just some idiot who thought you could change me,” you seethe at some point, aiming damning arrows for every exposed bone he’d ever given you a glimpse of, “What made you think that? Hm? Was it when I paraded you around the town, calling you my boyfriend? Or was it every time I told you just how much I loved you? Was it when I fell to my knees and kissed the ground you walked on, Eddie? Go ahead. Tell me.”

You were just rubbing salt in the wound at that point. Saying everything he had wished for over the last year, that you never gave him. 

You never called him your boyfriend. You never told him you loved him. You never did, and you never would. 

When it’s all said and done, it’s everything you had expected. A screaming match that the neighbors will complain about the same as they’d complained about every late-night rendezvous between the two of you. An effective cutting of ties that you’d been anticipating for a long twelve months. If it were the movies, maybe the fight would have been more effective. Something that would delve into the lead up of love confessions, an ending where you wind up in his arms and he’s whispering every which way that he still cares for you, even with your teeth bared and your sharpest knives poised. 

It’s not a movie. It’s everything you expected. 

But you hadn’t been prepared for the ache. When your own vicious words left a taste of ash on the tongue, when his eyes flashing with something harsher and less caring for you left a hollow ache that rang in your ears longer than his voice did. You didn’t think that you’d feel the cutting of ties. Every nerve ending in your body feels that jagged edge that saws through all that you two had tried to build over the last year, but it’s far too little and far too late. The foundation was cracked – you were damaged. 

You lose him. The world doesn’t end; the night carries on even as he grabs his leather jacket and leaves behind the sock in your dirty laundry. And when he exits out your front door, hiding away any tears that might have slipped free, just as you were, you feel that unexpected whisper inside of you. 

Stay with me?

You sleep alone that night. For once, the smell of tobacco and his shampoo makes you throw the pillow that was once his across the room. 

SUMMER, 1988

She deserves him.

Chrissy Cunningham deserved Eddie Munson far more than you ever had. She was enough. 

Summer can stain, but it can’t erase. Even in the months of aftermath, even for every tear shed in private and wave of yearning that would drown you in the dead of night, you never changed. It had hardly taken weeks after Eddie had walked out of your life for you to return to your old ways, going back to the bars and seeking out the latest warm blood to lose yourself in that night.

It didn’t matter that you compared each and every single smile to Eddie’s. It didn’t matter that you’d have to grip your sheets until your knuckles turned bloody to avoid touching the strangers hovering over you, hoping to feel familiar skin and a comfort long lost instead of whatever poor soul you’d dragged home with you. 

He deserves a love full of life. A love that breathes him in and doesn’t drain him. One that could let him feel the sun on his skin rather than hiding him away in the night.

A love that doesn’t tick away each passing season, because it’s a love that doesn’t have a ticking time bomb attached to it. 

“Never thought I’d see the day Cunningham got her claws in Munson,” Billy mumbles around a cigarette at your side. 

He didn’t tease about Eddie those first few months. One look at you, and he had known. 

“She didn’t get her claws in him,” you say, monotonous as you reach for your drink once more, “I’m happy for him. They look happy.”

They do. They really, really do. A love that burns like summer, and has never been touched by a dying autumn or cruel winter. The type of happiness Eddie would have never been able to find from you, try as he had. 

Billy taps some of his ash into the tray at the center of your shared table. Surely, he had better things to do, but he stays. It was probably entertaining, watching you pine and regret for once in your life, “Looks can be deceiving.”

“Their’s don’t. I bet you that there’s a ring on her finger before next summer.”

You don’t want to imagine the pain that would ignite in you. That’s the type of emotion that would far surpass any regret you currently feel. But you seem to enjoy torturing yourself, eyes still zeroing in on her left hand, as if you already see the glint of whatever diamond Eddie would seek out for his worthy lover. 

“And I bet if that happens, you skip town within twenty four hours of finding out.” 

He’s right. Nothing was truly tying you to this sleepy town, and the reminder of your worst mistake, your most terrible slip up of all time, would easily send you running with your tail between your legs. 

“Probably,” you sigh, no longer putting up a front. You hadn’t even tried batting your lashes at a single man since Eddie and Chrissy had arrived at the bar. You were striking out tonight, on your own volition, “Maybe I’d move to California. I hear the men there are easy enough.” 

“They are,” Billy laughs, throwing his head back. It’s enough to garner attention across the bar, numerous girls being enticed as if he might be a siren beckoning to them, “Take it from one. The girls on the west coast are prettier, though, so you can’t blame ‘em.”

The girls on the west coast probably resemble Chrissy. Golden skin, golden auras, golden light. Honeyed words and the sweetest of blushes across coy cheeks. They probably embody every sunset and sunrise simultaneously, and you can only stand there green with envy.

“You are awfully easy,” is all you can offer in reply. The banter has started to fall flat since Eddie. You’re no fun – hardly taking any bait that Billy will hand over so generously. 

Maybe, if you had tried a little harder, you could have been one of those girls. Clear blue skies, not a sight of the storm clouds that you still let consume you. 

Maybe Eddie would have stayed if you had tried a little harder. 

There’s no real hope for it now. You’re left to being nothing more than a conglomeration of pathetic pity parties and the taste of cheap beer these days, hardly worth the chase once the boys get close enough to see the rot. You’ve stopped trying so hard to cover it up; you’d ripped yourself open for Eddie, and had never found a way to properly suture yourself back together so that anyone new might not get a glimpse of all the bad. They could spot it from a mile away these days. 

It doesn’t help that you no longer try to cover it all up with overly sweet perfumes or sickly sweet pickup lines.

Billy’s laughter didn’t just draw the attention of the girls around the bars. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see a pair of whiskey eyes find the two of you, locking on you far too easily to have not known. 

You notice, because of course you notice him. But when Billy notices, it catches you a bit more off guard. 

“Like I said,” he drawls, and you nearly panic when he grabs his drink off to leave you behind, “Looks can be deceiving, hot stuff.”

Your eyes find Eddie’s quickly, not listening to a word that Billy is saying. Chrissy is saying something, something surely important, but her boy isn’t listening. Her boy, her conduit for all her sunshine, is staring right at you and has no plans on looking away any time soon. 

He’s seen the rot up close and personal. He’s the one who’d handed the treacherous scalpel over to your shaking hands, encouraging you to open up in all the ways you never wished to. 

You shouldn’t do it. You’ll regret it. You really shouldn’t do this.

“They never learn their lesson, do they?” 

You don’t know who Billy is talking about.

Eddie, who almost seems to be under your spell, taking a slow slip of his neat whiskey, staring you down as if he’s brimming with bad ideas that he hopes you can hear from across the room. 

Or you, who should know better. You hurt him, you broke his heart, you don’t deserve him. And yet, you’re selfish as ever, mind reeling with possibilities of how you wish the night would end.

You can hear the bad ideas. Clear as day. Especially when Eddie only breaks eye contact long enough to lean in to Chrissy and whisper something that effectively dismisses her, leaving Eddie all alone and in your gaze. 

“They don’t,” you say, throwing back the last of your drink.

You know where he’s heading. And you know where you’re heading. A moth to his flame, going only where he will allow you. You’re a ghost of the menace you once were. The other men, the other bodies that kept you warm these nights; none of them were him. You didn’t want them. You weren’t soft with them. They never stayed, because you never asked them to. There was only one man in this bar, in this entire damn bar, that would ever fill the hole left behind in you after Eddie’s summer. Eddie’s spring, Eddie’s autumn, Eddie’s winter. 

And he was walking outside the bar, almost tauntingly as he sauntered through the doors, beckoning you with each and every step. 

Perhaps this time, Eddie’s the one who needs a summer plaything. 

“This isn’t going to end well,” Billy taunts you as he takes a few steps back, knowing damn well as to what was about to happen. Bad ideas, downright terrible ideas. 

Eddie is playing the same game as you were once a master in. It dawns on you; Chrissy Cunningham wasn’t his newest love. She wasn’t his sweetest sunrise or gentle spring. She was a passing wind, just like all the boys you’d enticed before him. She’s already moved along, pretty hand resting on the shoulder of a new beau and not even paying any mind to Eddie’s absence. She may deserve him, but she doesn’t have him.

Nor do you. The roles have been switched, and you should know better. He’s leading you to an inevitable death, whether it be a little one or something of catastrophic value. He is leading you right into your own demise. Just as you used to do with every new victim you’d set your mark on before him, before your summer, before it all. 

All your old tricks, turned to weapons against you.

And you’ll let him. A moth to his flame. A dog at his window sill. 

“It never does.” 

Stay with me? 

Maybe, this time, you’ll be the one staying. If only for the night, and if only for Eddie.

eddie's taglist: @capricornrisingsstuff @thisisktrying @hideoutside @vol2eddie @corrcdedcoffin @ches-86 @alovesongtheywrote @its-not-rain @feralchaospixie @cheesypuffkins87 @thebook-hobbit @babez-a-licious @eddies-acousticguitar @aysheashea @kellsck @cosmorant @billyhvrgrove-main @micheledawn1975 @eddiesxangel @siriuslysmoking @witchwolflea @tlclick73 @magicalchocolatecheesecake @mizzfizz @nanaminswhore @mikiepeach @ali-r3n @hawkebuckley @alwaysbeenfamous @darkyuffie-blog @vintagehellfire @lilmisssiren @elvendria @loveryanax @stylexrepp @princessstolas @fangirling-4-ever @eddiesguitarskills @babez-a-licious @josephquinnsfreckles

join my taglist!

[writingsbychlo]

HOW TO SAVE A LIFE | rhysand

summary; trapped under the mountain, starfall has always been your favourite holiday and you miss it. tonight, this time, you have one opportunity to share it with someone.

word count; 5577

notes; starfall day 3!! but also, go easy on me, I didn't proofread this. it's like midnight here, I am exhausted, let's not judge obvious mistakes 😅 also, please note, this takes place UTM, and references to rhys' SA are alluded to, so read with caution!!

‘how to save a life’ moodboard

The corridors were utterly silent as you paced up and down. Back and forth, back and forth. Your eyes flickered to the shadows across the floor moving through the open windows, your only way of measuring how much time passed was with the moon’s manipulations. As the shadows encroached closer and closer to the small scuff you’d marked as your limit on the floor, you gave a heavy sigh. 

Your thumb was in your mouth, chewing the nail anxiously, and as that thought came into focus, you removed it, scoffing idly at yourself. You weren’t in trouble. Yet. In fact, you could leave right now, and nobody would have even known it was you, you’d fly right under the radar, as you’d always done, and bring no attention to yourself. 

Who were you kidding? You weren’t going anywhere. Not even as the ceaseless pounding of your heart threatened to crack your ribs, not even as the lingering fear in the back of your mind about what you’d already done to get here made you dizzy. You were waiting it out. 

Your gaze flickered back to the silvery streaks pouring in through the window. 

Time’s almost up.

You finally paused your pacing, staring down at it as darkness crept out of silver, marking your timer. You waited for a second longer, lifting the edge of your dress and poking at it with a scuffed shoe. 

This is it.

You weren’t sure whether it was crushing relief or crushing disappointment weighing you down, that sank your shoulders into a slump that made you feel as though you were holding up the whole world. Shaking out a sigh and loosening your shoulders, that relaxation lasted for only a second, before a dark chuckle emanate from the shadows, and you were whipping around to peer into them. 

You didn’t see him at first, gaping at the darkness until he stepped out, looking every bit like a devil dressed in finery. Purple eyes glowing in the moonlight, the sharp lines of his face like jagged peaks in the dark of the hall, tall and intimidating, with a sinister smirk sat on his lips. 

“You, Little Mouse, are the one who called me here?” Like magic - well, with magic - the letter you’d scrawled in a hurry and slipped under his door mere hours ago appeared between his fingers. Scratchy, torn brown parchment, with other notes and lists and words scribbled out and crossed, reused over and over because it was all you had. 

You steeled your nerves, rolling your shoulders back and tipping your chin up to look at him as he stepped close, close enough to smell the luxurious soap that had your head spinning once again. “I did.”

Your voice only trembled a little as you spoke, and you were proud to get the words out at all. You’d never been afraid of Rhysand, but at this moment, as all that big half-Illyrian warrior and High Lord stood before you, you’d be a fool not to be at least a little intimidated. “For what?” 

He all but purred the words, smirk widening a little more, brows rising at you and his head cocked to the side. 

“A bargain… a fuck… a good look at true power? What could you,” He cast a scornful and slow stare over your body, the torn rags you called a dress, the scuffed and scratched shoes, the messy hair and dirt under your fingernails that made you hide your hands behind your back. “Possibly want from me?”

Your mouth dropped open, words silenced as you tried to work out what to say to him, but his sneer made you second-guess yourself. Maybe this was a bad idea, maybe everything you thought was wrong, maybe-

You didn’t get a chance to think any further, before the sound of pounding footsteps and angry voices bouncing off of the stone walls made every decision for you. If you were caught here, lowly and unworthy up in the higher courtrooms of the mountain palace, you’d be flogged for sure. Worse, they’d be sure to get the truth out of you, sure to get the truth of everything you’d done just to get here tonight. 

For that, they’d kill you.

In a spur of boldness that you’d most likely come to regret, your arm shot out, saving him as well as yourself as your nimble fingers wrapped around his muscle-corded forearm. Even through heavy layers of expensive black silk shirts and embroidered blazers, you could feel him tense at the abrupt contact. Dragging him along behind you, you didn’t hesitate, weaving through corridors and pathways, past floor-to-ceiling windows and being sure to remain out of sight. 

He spluttered behind you for the first few seconds, almost enough to pull a smile at your lips with the image of the terrifying Lord of Night spluttering, but your panic was far too high to even entertain that kind of thought right now. He yanked his arm free, a growl on his lips as your fingernails scratched at the soft fabric of his blazer, surely messing up some of the threads, but right now, your adrenaline was too high to be concerned with such trivial fears. 

Everywhere you turned, voices could be hurried; hurried and panicked and frantic. Boots marched, people corralled out of their way, heels tapping and weapons scraping along the floor as they were dragged. A busy, busy night indeed. 

All your fault, a voice taunted in your head, a tendril of regret finally making itself known as you fled. Despite it all, curiosity seemed to have gotten the best of Rhysand, because he was following you, despite your grip no longer being on him. He could have stopped you, even with all that dark power suppressed he would possess enough to freeze every cell in your body to his command with nothing but a wink, and yet, he didn’t. 

His long legs carried him at more of a fast walk to your hurried run behind you, and you jerked with shock when you felt the sharp scratch of an icy talon, then two, then three, scratched down your thick mental barriers. You could feel a ripple of twisted fascination burst from him at encountering any walls at all, at someone who knew how to track and resist a daemati. 

The tall doors at the end of your final corridor beckoned you forward, with intricate designs etched into the front, and thick wood that would hide you both on the other side. You’d already picked the locks, your feet finally slowing down as relief enough to make you almost collapse as you came to a halt before them. Twisting the knob with a prayer that nobody had somehow discovered your plan, locked them again to keep you out, a shaky laugh left you as the door creaked open with just a little pressure. 

Nothing but inky darkness spilt out from inside, and you stepped into it, welcoming its cold embrace and its camouflage, its protection. He followed you in, stepping through with one graceful stride, and your back collapsed onto it to push it closed, a heavy sigh leaving you as your heart rate began to even back out at last. Now, you could barely make out the silhouette of him before you, but you could feel his presence all around, like a weighted blanket closing in. 

His stare was even heavier, you didn’t need to see those violet eyes to feel the depth of them on you.

You smiled anyway, wondering if he could see you through the dark, another gift those lucky High Fae perhaps had that your lowly kind did not. Your steps were rehearsed, pacing across the room, acutely aware of where he was as he followed, just from the buzz of his leaking power on the air, all the way to the window at the far side of the room. Scraping back heavy curtains on either side of clear glass doors, you’d already picked those locks too in preparation. 

Swinging the doors open and stepping out into milky moonlight on the terrace, you took your first real breath of fresh air in weeks, sighing happily at the cold breeze of the early-Spring night.

The curse trapping you both here shimmered before you, barely an inch from the edge of the stone, and you reached out, never touching it, never risking letting it tell of your true location, but hovering your hand before it, feeling the cruel zap in warning of Amarantha’s boundaries. Never to escape, never to leave, trapped here Under The Mountain.

Your peace was shattered by the rough, animal growl of the man behind you, patience audibly fraying.

“Alright, Little Mouse, I’ve played your game. But, you know how it ends when the cat catches the prey, so what do you want?”

Finally, you turned to face him, hands clenching once again behind your back, hoping this time it would hide the tremor as your intentions were finally to be revealed. “I want nothing.”

“Everyone wants something from me. So, what is it?” He stepped a fraction closer, a snarl curling on his lips, ugly power taking over a handsome face.

“Alright, fine.” You mused, stepping a footstep closer to him as well. “What I wanted… was for you to see the sky.”

He visibly faltered, for all the roles he played and the masks he wore, this one slipped for just a second, his eyes widening as though it was a riddle, brows furrowing even deeper, and scowl twisting to a frown of confusion. “Why?”

“Because it is Starfall tonight.”

This time, his mask didn’t just falter, it crumbled entirely, the façade coming crashing down around his feet as his jaw dropped. His throat bobbed as he swallowed thickly, gaze flicking over you in an entirely new light now, eyes narrowing to assess you but no malice behind those pretty iris’ now. “You know of Starfall?”

“Of course. It is my favourite holiday.”

An unsteady breath rushed from him, like he’d taken a hit to the lungs, eyes widening as he stared. His shoulders slumped, rigid posture melting away until he looked positively world-weary, arms hanging by his sides. It was then that he wiped a hand over his face, realising a tired laugh, and you wrapped your arms loosely around yourself. 

He didn’t recognise you, of course he didn’t you’d been counting on it for this plan to work. You just didn’t realise how cold and lonely actually having that fact acknowledged would make you feel. Rolling up one tatty sleeve of your dress to reveal swirls of blank ink beginning to climb up your forearm from your wrist, his eyes somehow seemed to widen further.

He took your wrist in his hand, your fingers tightening to a fist as a shocked gasp sounded, his touch like fire and warmth and comfort all in one as he gripped you firmly, but cautiously. Turning your arm over in his hold, he pushed your sleeve all the way up to your bicep, tracing the patterns with one fingertip, touch so light it made you shiver. Your bargain marks, messy and rough and ugly, just like the deals you’d had to strike which resulted in them.

“These… these are bargain marks. These are Night Court marks.” He traced again, thumb swiping over the pulse point on your wrist, feeling the race of it under the pad, before lowering the fabric back down to cover them again, and releasing your arm. “The marks of my court.”

His voice cracked, something within you shattering at the sound of it, and you choked down a well of thick emotion as you thought of home, for the first time in a very long while. One a whisper as broken as his voice had been, you uttered; “Yes.”

Too much weight in his stare, too many memories of a place you missed like a lost lover, too many bargains made here just to survive. 

It was all so horrible. 

“I didn’t know. I had no idea anyone from my court was here.”

There were questions loaded in that sentence. How did you get here? Why are you trapped? Who brought you? What was your reason? You wanted to answer them all, but at first, a single shrug was all that came to mind. It was so overwhelming, not only to be standing here, finally talking to the one person who could understand your longing for home, but to be standing here with your High Lord, someone you’d spent centuries admiring, decades pitying, and months plotting for.

This time, it was he who attempted a smile in comfort. It helped.

“I was travelling at the time. Seeing all of Prythian, and finding work wherever I could to find my adventure.” A horrible feeling you’d spent so long crying over worming its way back in. 

You’d spent so long dreaming of getting away from the Night Court, to explore and see the rest of the continent, of the world, and now it was all you wanted to go back. To stay forever, curled up on the windowsill of a cosy apartment that overlooked the glowing lights of Velaris, close enough to hear the music from the Rainbow and hear the happy voices, watch the snow fall or bluebells sprout. You wanted it so badly it ached.

“At the time of…” You waved a hand, throat stinging as you wrestled with emotion, unable to even say the words of this foul curse aloud, even after centuries, “I was working for the Vanserra’s. No one important, as it had always been for me, but they always bring their own staff to the parties. In case you hadn't noticed, Beron is quite high-maintenance, and Eris is terribly paranoid and suspicious.”

A laugh burst from him, rough and grating and unsteady, like he hadn't used it in so long, but it blossomed something in your chest that you thought had died long ago.

“I was one of the lowly serving staff they brought with them that fateful night, to keep Lady Autumn’s glass filled with wine, so she’d never have to lift a single finger. Unfortunately, that meant that when they were trapped, I was too. All that wish for adventure. I got a little more excitement than I bargained for, I suppose.” 

Silence settled, the story hanging between you like mist on the morning air, your head turning and gaze shifting to the twinkling stars overhead. Several minutes seemed to pass as he processed it all, and decided what to say next, a hand skimming your shoulder lightly, as though hesitant to dare touch you at all. “Why did you never come to me, before tonight?”

The laugh that tumbled from your lips was self-pitying and sad. Running your hands over the tatty skirt you wore, it felt obvious. 

He was, arguably, beside Amarantha, the most important person here. You were nobody. He wore a new suit embellished with gold and silver, you wore a dirty dress that had more patches and sewing than the original fabric. He smelled of fresh soap and aftershave, you smelled of bleach from scrubbing the floors and cinders from the fireplaces. He slept in silk sheets on a big bed, all to himself, you’d been sharing a dormitory for ten years with scratchy bedding and broken mattresses. 

And yet, you wouldn't trade with him for all the riches in the world. Your anonymity was all that protected you.

You were nobody. You meant nothing. But tonight, just tonight, you had the chance to be something.

“To what end? We’re both trapped, you have your role to play, and I have mine.”

His smile was as weak and empty as your laugh was. “It’s been ten years. I could have… I could have don’t something to help, made life easier for you, so that you weren’t so alone.”

There was a pain in his voice, a kind of ongoing struggle you’d come to terms with years ago, but it was like a fresh slice across sensitive skin for him. You reached out, hand hovering lightly over his arm, unsure whether or not it was your place. Then again, it was a barrier you’d already crossed in an adrenaline-fuelled panic. Settling your hand lightly onto his forearm, you squeezed gently, hoping it was as reassuring for him as you intended. 

“I don’t know how-”

“It’s okay, truly.” Your throat bobbed, the informality of this whole situation was surreal, only the chill in the air, wind whistling through rips in threadbare fabric keeping you grounded. “I was never alone, it’s hard ever to be alone around here. It was just lonely.”

He hummed, a non-committal response, and his mind seemed elsewhere. A heavy sigh, and then his head tipped back, eyes moving to watch the motionless stars twinkle in the sky. It wasn’t until the third shaky breath and slight sniff, hands clenching by his side, that you realised he was choking back powerful emotions. For you.

“Please, don’t worry for me, my Lord.” Your hand swept comfortingly, twice, up and down his arms, that fist of that hand smoothed out when your fingers brushed his the pulse on his wrist. Words, hanging on the tip of your tongue, dangerous and risky and presumptive, but it felt like the two of you had far surpassed those kinds of barriers by now. “It looks far lonelier and far more hurtful at the Queen’s side than where I am.”

His head snapped back down, all that anguish temporarily banished from swirling violet eyes as he studied you once again. It was like a thousand thoughts flashing through his mind too fast for you to read in his eyes. Your lungs were frozen, burning for air but unable to take any oxygen in, eyes wide and body locked as you waited. He was putting something together, he knew, his lips pressing into a thin line and you didn’t know whether this would flip it all over wrongly. 

His head cocked to the side, licking over one lip, before the edges of his lips were flickering at the edges, just slightly. 

“It was you.”

“What was me?” You’d always been a bad liar, gaze flicking away from his and it was your turn now to let the stars distract you. A talon, scraping at your mental shields again, a warning that he could if he wanted to, break through and you’d never even know. Instead, a single finger hooked under your chin, turning your face back to him. 

“It was you. You, who suddenly unearthed this mysterious prophecy about the human girl breaking the curse. You, who has Amarantha on such a wild goose chase that she has no time for… me. At least, not for a while.” He looked awed now, a reassured expression, and his hand slipped from your chin up, to cup your face. Your throat was tight, painfully so, the simple bit of affection making your eyes water and the truth poured from you in a nod. “You were so scared in the halls, pacing and fretting before I even got there. Your fear was heavy in the air. When you heard the voices and the footfalls, you fled. It was you.”

“It was me.” His breath raced from him, lips parted, and you raised your own hand. Holding his to your face, you stole a few selfish seconds, head tipping further into his palm as his thumb swept over your cheekbone; a few sacred moments of comfort. “Buying you a few hours to yourself on this night was the least I could do, my Lord. You may not have known I was here, but some of your actions, the small mercies you disguise as cruelties, have done more for me than you could ever know.”

“Call me Rhysand. Please.” He was fighting tears, much the same as you were, and his other hand joined the first, holding your face up to his own as he stepped a little closer. The warmth from his body was like a magnet you, swayed toward him, the moonlight glowing on his skin like it was made to decorate him and him alone. “At least… at least, when we’re alone. I don’t want to be anything but myself with you. You see me. You’re the only person down here who does..”

You didn’t have to force a smile anymore. It was the first one that felt honestly genuine in years. His thumbs swept a couple more times, before his arms were shaking with restraint, and he pulled them away. Silence settled around you both. With one more glance at the stars, your arms wrapped around yourself, and you turned back to him. “Enjoy the stars, Rhysand.”

There would be nothing to see, no falling stars and souls finding their way. But, just knowing that it was happening out there, watching these ones stay still and twinkle gently, it was enough to feel connected to home, just for a little while. Stepping away from him, the loneliness creeping back up already felt suffocating, like ice water ready to drag you into the darkness and the depths. 

His hand shot out, fingers wrapping around your own, firm but gentle, insistent but pleading. “Please- please, don’t go. Stay with me. Spend Starfall with me?”

It was an offer like you could only dream of, to spend Starfall with someone else once again, someone who knew. You had no idea how to say yes, mouth hanging open, but he seemed to get the gist, lips curling into a real smile now. Not the cruel grin he wore every day, not the cocky smirk. This was real, this was beauty and emotions and trust. 

“Yes?”

“Yes. I would like that.” This opportunity could never happen again, and so you weren’t going to let it just fly past like a misguided star. He tugged you back a little closer, letting your hand go when you fell into place by his side, and his body dropped any remaining tension. He rested his hands on the railing, cautious not to touch that barrier of the curse, and tapping the space beside him for you to join. 

You did, the two of you staring out quietly at the vast lands, the bright skies, the empty space; nobody ever dared near the centre of the horrid curse killing the lands.

“I miss the grass.”

“I have a friend… a brother, who has terrible allergies. Even a speck of pollen, and he’s sneezing and eyes running.” A wistful look took over his features, amusement and nostalgia crackling under the surface. “It’s quite the sight to see a warlord sneeze and curse at a flower.”

Your mind followed, reeling a little as the puzzle pieces clicked into place. “General Cassian… has hay fever?”

“Don’t tell him I told you, he’d string me up by my boxers from the pillars of the moonstone palace.” The sounds of your laughter bounced off of the stony sides of the mountain, echoes disappearing into the tonight, mixed with his deep chuckles. A kind of harmony formed, peace, a small bubble of a happy memory like a light amongst so much darkness. You’d look back on this moment for years, possibly decades to come, relishing in the way it felt to smile again, to have companionship and real happiness, even if it didn’t last long. “I miss the smell of the Sidra just after it rains.”

“I miss watching the snow fall at Solstice.”

“I miss the way it would feel after the snow melted, that first truly warm day.”

It somehow became a game, swapping back and forth, each thing you missed. Some were funny, others nostalgic, some were his royal experiences that made his cheeks heat and sweet chuckles leave his lips when you teased him, others had the same experience on you. 

The conversation shifted, he asked you all about your travels, told you of his favourite places he’d seen in different courts, and asked you if you’d ever been there. He told you stories about all of his adventures, as you did for him, watching the moon slowly inching its way across the dark sky as you confided in one another, all your deepest pain and joy and excitement. He told you about his friends, the shadow singer, the general, the terrifying creature from another world. He was so passionate, he loved so deeply, that by the time he’d finished, you felt as though you knew them too, like you loved them too.

Then, when your cheeks ached and your stomach was sore from all the laughing, when every happy memory had been shared, reality set back in once again. 

“I miss home.”

“Me too.” With your simple response, his gaze fixed once again above your heads, so far away and yet you longed to be there.

“It's- it’s just so godsdamned nice, that just one person knows I’m not a villain.” His words startled you, a fresh batch of pain, something deep and primal exposed like an open wound right to the heart. When you turned to face him, he was staring at the stars, but soft trails of moonlight trickled in fat tears down his cheeks. “Sometimes, so many days pass by where I can’t even look at myself in the mirror, where I can’t even bear the sound of my own name, knowing the way it’ll go down in history. This, this night, your company and your kindness, it makes it feel worth it. That just one person will not hate me, for the rest of my life, makes it feel like it's enough.”

When he finally faced you, wet cheeks and red eyes and exposed vulnerability, you gave him the same comfort he’d given you. With hands on his cheeks to wipe away those tears, you gave your best smile, letting his head hang heavily in your palms for a while. “You’ll never be the villain in my story, Rhysand.”

His lip wobbled, and he twisted his head, lips brushing your palm as he pressed a series of fragile, trembling kisses there. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Your shiver wasn’t from the cold, but from his blatant affection. At the act, however, his pained look became dismayed, glancing over your thin attire with disappointment. He stood, reluctantly peeling your hands from his face long enough to slide down the large blazer he wore, and slipping it over your shoulders. When he pulled the lapels tightly around your body, the plush lining, still filled with his body heat, was like wrapping up in front of the fireplace, on the very rare occasions you could steal a minute to do so. 

With a roll of his shoulders, those magnificent wings you’d only ever seen from afar were visible, appearing before your very eyes as though from thin air, as though they’d always been there, only veiled, and you stared unabashedly in amazement. 

Stepping closer, until you were so close your breath bounced off of his chest and you could pick out the threads in his shirt, he wrapped them around you, sealing out cold wind and the rest of the world. 

“Better?”

“Better.” You whispered, and his resulting look of pride warmed you as much from the inside as he did from the outside. After only a brief moment of consideration, you freed one arm, looping it slowly around his waist. When he only tugged you closer, your other arm joined it. Settling your cheek against his shoulder, he moulded his body to your arm, thick arms wrapping around your body in return, sealing you to him in a hug neither of you intended to let go from any time soon. 

His lips traced the top of your head as he turned, a few kisses dotted affectionately along your hairline, drawing happy sighs from you each time. When his head dipped a little further, lips near your temple, it was to quietly murmur, “Would you like to see the stars falling?”

You pulled back, barely a fraction as he refused to let you go at all, but enough to stare up at him. “How?”

“I still have a little of my powers, such as hiding these magnificent wings.” His smirk was positively feline, the nosey Lord having pulled that tidbit from your mind, and warmth raced to your cheeks. “I can show you some of my memories from previous years, if you trust me?”

Another tap of claws on your walls, a soft stroke like a finger over your skin, and you lowered your shields slowly to allow him inside. As soon as you did, you could feel him everywhere. Swarming in your thoughts, filling your head like you were both in there, and giving as much of his feelings away as it did yours. You could feel the relief at knowing someone else’s touch, that lingering guilt for not having known you but the borderline bliss at being here right now. The elation, at being trusted. The joy of having someone to share home with. 

Your eyes fluttered closed on his command, as he began to play the memories over.

Glimpses of parties, of stars and fireworks and sequins and fancy dresses. Twirling and dancing, intoxicated fun, and when you saw Azriel or Cassian or Mor, you felt his love for them like you’d feel your own. It was like seeing it through your own eyes. In this memory, he was making his way through the palace, the House of Wind atop the mountain. 

You’d seen drawings and pictures, of course, glimpsed it from afar on clear days, but nothing had ever compared to these real images of seeing the palace home. It was breathtakingly beautiful. Tall pillars and columns made of marble and moonstone, carved and designed with intricate swirls and stories. Open balconies, large rooms, enough space that it would take you days to learn your way around, and that was just the small glimpses of it you could see now. 

Eventually, he made it to the balcony, one hand braced on the stone as he stared out across Velaris down below, so far and tiny and beautiful, a vibrant ache in your heart as you longed to be back there, one that matched in his own through the connection you’d forged. 

You watched on, as his attention turned to the sky, to the falling stars, glittery and soaring and so close. So colourful up close, you’d never seen such a sight, like being immersed within the colour, becoming a part of nature temporarily, leaving you breathless and high on the feeling. 

You watched and watched, as he once had, what felt like hours slipping by until it came to an end, and your cheeks felt wet when you finally felt him pull back from your mind. Not entirely, no, a piece of him was still lingering there behind your consciousness, a comforting weight, but your senses were all back, like your spirit had sunk back into your body.

“Thank you for showing me that.”

“Incredible, isn’t it?” 

“That stars,” you breathed, “I’ve never seen it so clearly. They were so close, like you could just reach out and touch them.”

He wiped away your tears with one arm, the other still sealed tightly around you, soon to be rejoined. “You can, and when we get out of here someday, I’ll show it to you. I’ll show you so much, give you so much.”

There was nothing else to say, no more words that could fathom this feeling. But, you didn’t need them. You knew that he knew, his presence in your mind was sure to trace it. So, instead, you just snuggled in closer, cheek on his shoulder once again, and eyes sliding closed as you let yourself sink fully into his embrace. 

He needed this as much as you did, a two-way street now opened between your minds, and a selfish part of you hoped he never took it away, that even when you were alone, you’d never be lonely again. That fraction of darkness in your mind flickered, as if making a promise.

“Why? Why did you do this for me?” He eventually asked, the question that had been hovering all night. “When I have done nothing for you?”

“Because, Rhysand, I have seen you from afar. You’ve seemed so empty, lately. I wanted to give you something to remind you to hold on.”

He’s breathless, you could feel it under your own thudding heart as his pulse raced and he panted softly into your hairline, trying to settle. “Someday, I’ll take you home. Back to Velaris, where we belong. I’ll make up for everything you’ve had to go through. You’ll never want for anything, you’ll never be alone again. But, while we’re still here, I’ll make up for these ten years I’ve missed already. What can I do, what do you want first?”

“Those are beautiful promises, Rhysand, and I appreciate them, but I don’t need them. All I want, all I need, is a friend. To not be so alone.”

“Never again, darling. Never again, will I let you be alone. It’s me and you, now.” He squeezed you in, another kiss to the top of your head, and you pressed into it, leaving a single kiss to his jaw in return. “Happy Starfall, darling.”

“Happy Starfall, Rhysand.”

[sunshinebarbie]

only love can hurt like this

pairing: Bang Chan x Female Reader x Changbin warnings: angst, so much angst, sad bang chan (i promise i love him and i don't want him to be sad but...) swearing/cursing, drama. words: 2,683 parts: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | FINAL a/n: this is my very first time writing for Stray Kids, for kpop in general! i am very nervous, but i was listening to this song and felt so inspired. please be gentle, i have only ever wrote for fictional characters my entire life, taking a crack at a real life person is a bit intimidating.

There wasn’t a doubt in your mind, you felt like the luckiest girl in the entire world. If someone gave you a lottery ticket right now, you were at least 80% sure you would hit the jackpot.  

Yet, you had already hit the jackpot, that even the one that promised you mounds of money wasn’t enough to get you to trade what you had. 

Matter of fact, your jackpot was sitting across from you as you typed your latest assignment on your laptop. You looked up through your lashes and smiled softly seeing Bang Chan sitting in his chair, his headphones covering his ears and his laptop opened. 

Chan’s makeshift studio was the best place to get your studying done. It was quiet most of the time, that wasn’t including when Chan would start humming a tune, or singing lyrics under his breath.  

Your focus shifted to the clock on the bottom corner of your screen. It was nearly midnight and time just got away once again. 

You pulled your earphones from your ears and placed them back in the case. You stretched your arms up to the ceiling and stood up. Chan was still focused on what he was doing, he didn’t notice you standing behind him. 

You wrapped your arms around his neck and pressed a kiss to his cheek causing him to jump a little in his seat. 

“oh, it’s you.” he smiled and pressed pause on his latest project. 

“were you expecting someone else?” You teased, pretending to be offended.  

“yeah, I was expecting the janitor, he usually comes in around 12:30 to clean, was wondering why he decided to make a move tonight.” he joked.  

“it’s almost midnight, you ready?” you asked showing him the time on your phone.  

“uh, give me another hour okay?” he looked at you with puppy eyes. 

Your fingers instinctively combed through his hair, and a smile tugged across your lips. “fine.” you sighed.  

You sat back down in your spot and started to place your headphones in your ears when Chan turned around and looked at you confused.  

“oh, you’re going to stay?” he asked looking at the time. 

“yeah.” you chuckled lightly. “i want to make sure nothing is really happening between you and this janitor” you joked.  

Chan smiled and turned around, putting his headphones back on.  

An hour had passed and Chan was still working, you looked at your phone it was nearing 1:00am.  

Chan looked fully focused on his laptop, you could hear his curses under his breath followed by an aggressive pressing of his laptop keys.  

“Chan?” you tapped his shoulder softly, he quickly turned around and forced his headset off.  

His eyes soften after realizing it was only you, “oh, sorry. you should probably get home.” he frowned. 

“i’m not going to leave you here alone.” you smiled softly but feeling unsure of your decision. “i’m just going to go for a walk, because I been sitting there all night.”  

Chan nodded and allowed you to press a kiss to his cheek before leaving the studio.  

You turned towards him, he was already focused on his laptop again, his cursing louder as closed the door behind you. 

You walked down the hall, looking at the photos and framed albums on the wall. That’s when the idea hatched. Maybe, you should bring Chan a midnight snack. You knew he would think better with a little food in his tummy. 

You walked down to the nearest 24/7 mart and picked up a few of Chan’s favorite snacks. “it will be a late-night picnic” you thought to yourself, as you handed the cashier the money.  

You walked back to the studio to see Chan still in the exact same spot. His headphones over his head, and the laptop at the tip of his fingers. 

“Chan.” you tapped his shoulder. This time he ignored you, he was fully focused on his project.  

“Chan” you tapped again.  

“for fucks sake” he cursed “what? what is it now?” he looked at you his eyes once full of sorrow now full of rage. 

“uh-” you stammered full of surprise. “uhm-I brought you some brain fuel” you smiled weakly and showed him the bag full of snacks. 

“can you just go home.” he scoffed. And turned back to his laptop. “i honestly don’t know why you’re waiting around” he put his headphones on. 

“Chan” you tapped his shoulder again after analyzing what he just said.  

“GO HOME!” he threw his headphones hard into his laptop and looked at you, his eyes filled with fire. 

You stepped back feeling a little bit of fright from his action. “i-” you stammered. 

Chan ignored whatever you were about to say and put his headphones back on. “fuck!” he yelled at the screen. 

You dropped the bag on the floor and hurried to gather your things. You were with Bang Chan for 2 years now and never had he ever raised his voice at you. He was always timid, and he even panicked when he gave you your first kiss.  

“i’ll see you at home” you whispered to him as you hurried out the door. You closed the door shut and hurried to the elevator. When the door “dinged” and shut, you finally felt safe. Your body relaxed and yet you still felt the panic jolting through your veins. 

The taxi ride was quiet, you couldn’t even remember giving the driver directions, or let alone a destination. Still, you watched the city lights zoom by illuminating your tear-stained face every two seconds.  

“That will be $52.91” the driver pulled up to a familiar curb. You snapped out of your daze and reached for your bag, your fingers raked the contents of your items in search of your wallet. “shoot, I must have left it the place you picked me up.” you frowned. 

“hey, I am not running a free service. You better pay for your fare.” the driver turned around his face red with anger. 

“this is my apartment, building let me run inside and I promise I will be back down.” you begged.  

The driver went quiet, and sighed. “you have five minutes” he grumbled. “and leave your bag, in case you don’t come back down.” he gestured to the bag Chan bought you for your birthday. 

“fine” you sighed and stepped out. You started to head for the door, when the driver sped away. 

“wait!” you shouted as he ran the red light down the street.  

“shit!” you cursed and looked around seeing if anyone saw what happened, but you were alone on the street. 

Finding the bus park bench, you sat down and collapsed your head into the palms of your hands. You choked out a sob, feeling like this night couldn’t get any worst. 

“y/n?” a voice stammered out of the dark. “go.” you sighed “away.” you sniffled “please.”  

“it’s almost 2 o’clock” the voice grew louder signifying they were closing in. “what happened?” you looked up at Changbin who was towering over you. 

“just- a bad day” you sniffled and wiped your tears away. “where is Chan?” he looked up at the apartment seeing if your lights were on.  

“at the studio.” your voice hiccupped. “he told me to “just go home.”.” you sniffled again. 

“is that why you’re crying?” he sat beside you. 

He could feel you beginning to shiver from the cold night air, he quickly pulled his jacket from his body and covered your shoulders.  

“part of it.” you smiled weakly at his gesture. “the cab that brought me home, I left my wallet at the studio, and I told the driver I was going to get some money inside and he asked me to leave my bag as collateral, and when I was far enough away, he sped off with my bag.” you started to tear up again. 

“between that and Chan cursing at me.” you could feel your lips trembling as the tears began to fall once more. 

“he cursed at you?” Changbin stood up, feeling angry now. 

“no.” you quickly tried to backtrack. “he didn’t. Curse curse at me” you lied. 

“no, this isn’t acceptable.” Changbin began walking towards his car.  

“Changbin.” you hurried behind him, he unlocked the door and you quickly jumped in the passenger seat.  

Your hand touched his as he reached for the ignition. “Changbin, it’s okay. He is probably tired. Or hungry-” “stop trying to justify what he did y/n” Changbin cut you off.  

He started the car and pulled away from the sidewalk, you watched as familiar signs and lights passed by you once again. 

You felt your heart stop and pound rapidly as the car was put in park at the studio. 

“Changbin- please” you begged. “go easy on him.” you felt your face warm up as the tears welled in your eyes. 

“I’m just going to talk to him, and ask him what all this is about.” he assured you. 

You followed behind him cautiously into the elevator. It was quiet, only the hums of each passing floor filled the air, and made you even more nervous.  

The elevator came to a halt and the door opened revealing Bang Chan standing there, your wallet and house keys in hand. 

His face relaxed upon seeing you, but immediately washed over with regret seeing how swollen your eyes were. 

“Baby, look I'm-” Bang Chan looked at you sympathetically, “how long did it take you to realize that she left her money and keys here Chan?” Changbin snarled cutting off Chan’s apology as he appeared from behind the wall of the elevator. 

“I got caught up trying to produce our next song and I-” Chan began to explain. 

“that is not an excuse” Changbin interrupted again.  

“Changbin” you stepped forward and put your hand on his shoulder. You could feel his anger pulsating through his skin, making him warm to the touch. 

“I think it took you quiet long enough, seeing that she had enough time to get robbed.” Changbin added.  

“Robbed?!” Chan’s face flushed, “are you okay?” he stepped towards you. Changbin instinctively stepped in front of you and extended his arm blocking Bang Chan from stepping any closer.  

“yeah, I'm fine.” you lied. “it was a misunderstanding, and-”  

“She could have gotten hurt.” Changbin interrupted yet again. “luckily, I was coming by to see if you both were home, because I know when we are in the middle of making a new album, you over work yourself-” 

“Changbin” you shouted his name a little bit louder, he stopped talking and the both of the boys looked at you.  

“i’m grateful that you were there.” you sighed and looked at him “but you have to take it easy on Chan, he is-”  

“you’re always going to stick up for him aren’t you?” Changbin stopped you again. “it’s always Bang Chan who can do no wrong in your eyes.” he taunted.  

“Changbin. That’s not fair.” you sighed. “anyway, it’s late.” he cleared his throat. “i’ll see you both tomorrow.” he got into the elevator and closed the door leaving both you and Chan in silence. 

“y/n” Chan finally broke the silence and turned to face you. “I’m sorry baby, this album is more stressful than our last one, the songs aren’t coming out the way I want them to-” he began. 

“Christopher” you stopped him, he looked at you in shock, throughout the entire time you were both together you never used his real name, not once. 

“Changbin is right.” you stepped away from him. “I felt like I was the luckiest girl in the world to be dating THE Bang Chan” you smiled at the silly idea. 

“but my entire night has been everything but lucky.” you scoffed. “and it is all because of THE Bang Chan.” 

You stepped forward and slowly pulled your stuff out of Bang Chan’s hands.  

“what does that mean?” Chan asked feeling a heaviness in his chest after you went silent. 

“Christopher-” you sighed, you refused to look at him as the words rolled off your tongue. “-we need to break up.” 

“y/n” Bang Chan stepped forward. 

“I will be by tomorrow to get the rest of my stuff, but give me 20 minutes to get a few items when we get back.” you turned away and hurried into the stairwell. You would rather stumble down a flight of stairs than be in an awkward silence with Bang Chan in the elevator. 

You hailed a cab as soon as you reached the bottom and exited the building. As you settled into the cab you looked out the window. You gave the address and looked out the window hoping to see Chan, instead you noticed Changbin sitting in his car. 

You looked in the other direction and spotted a familiar bag on the seat.  

“I hope you brought your money this time” the cab driver from earlier scoffed. “great.” you sighed as he started the route to the apartment. 

You paid for your previous fare and this one. Before exiting you requested the driver to wait until you came back down. Promising double.  

You arrived to the apartment before Bang Chan, and you knew this because the lights were out still, and his shoes weren’t by the front door.  

You walked to the room and started to collect a few items, some clothes for tomorrow, your pajamas, a warm jacket and a hoodie. You were in the bathroom collecting your hygiene products when you heard the door shut close.  

Bang Chan walked into the bathroom; his body leaned against the frame as he watched you pack your things. 

“y/n, baby please.” he begged. 

“don’t-” you stopped him. As you continued to drop products into your vanity case. 

You tried to walked past him but he blocked the exit to the bathroom. “can we talk about this.” his eyes were beginning to well. 

“Christopher-” you sighed “don’t call me that.” he argued back. 

“it’s Chan, or Channie, or baby or-” he began to fumble his words in frustration. “anything but Christopher-” he sniffled. 

You looked at him and shook your head. “my cab driver is going to leave... he- he does that.” you gulped down a dry lump.  

As Chan wiped his tears you hurried past him and back to the livingroom where your luggage case was waiting. 

You were heading towards the door, when you felt Chan’s hand grab yours. He pulled you into his body. His lips immediately meeting yours, you melted into his lips as you have done many a times.  

The kiss was interrupted as Chan sniffled; his tears seeped into your cheeks as leaned his forehead against yours.  

“please-” he begged again. “-don’t leave me.” he sobbed. 

“I-” you tried to pry yourself from his grip. “I will leave my key when I come back tomorrow.” you pulled away. 

You hurried out the door, and into the elevator. It was in that moment of silence you felt the tears falling violently down your cheeks. 

The elevator bell dinged and you exited quickly, your cab was still there as you exited the building. 

The cab driver, opened the trunk and started to put your luggage inside.  

“where to now?” he asked. “the hotel, just three blocks down” you replied.  

“you got it.” the driver walked to the driver side. 

You opened the door and took one last look at the apartment building you called “home” with Chan for a year.  

You got into the cab, and settled in once again. You buckled yourself in, and looked out the window towards the building. The voice of Bang Chan echoed in your ears as he begged you not to go.  

You closed your eyes and inhaled a deep breath. “can we go please.” you requested to the driver, not wanting to stay and endure another memory that haunted this space. 

“just finishing putting in the destination” the driver replied and put the cab in drive.   

Bang Chan walked out of the lobby, his focus on you as he watched the cab pull away from the curb.  

[jaegeraether]

Sunsets and footballers (Part 44)

Lucy Bronze x Reader (39) & Jordan Nobbs x Leah Williamson Mini (3)

Masterlist (other parts here)

((**This is now my largest chapter at 7.5k. Enjoy!**))

YFN had instantly fallen asleep in her seat on the plane and woke to the jolt of the landing gear absorbing the impact on touchdown. She shook her fatigue away and took her phone off flight mode. 11:15am UK time. She gave a sigh of relief that the flight had been quicker than usual. She knew she’d been cutting it close with the flight time and instead of Ruby picking her up as planned, she’d told her to go to the stadium instead so she could get an Uber. It worked out well, because it meant she had time to speak to Jordan without feeling rude talking in front of Ruby.

She collected her bags and timed the Uber well, hopping in immediately as she exited the building. The stadium was thirty minutes from the airport so she’d be arriving just at kick off. She wasn't too concerned, though. Bridget and Emily were also in Manchester for a 1300 game between Man City and Brighton and were getting a bit more experience up onsite with Ruby at her game. She was lucky to have such good workmates.

She slid into the cab with a polite hello and found the only contact with a fish in it.

“Hey chicken! How was Barcelona?”

“Oh my god, Dory, it was amazing. Absolutely amazing. But I’m dead on my feet.”

Jordan laughed. “I’m guessing Lucy didn’t let you sleep much?”

“Don’t be cheeky. But you are correct.”

“How many hours are you running on?”

She counted. “I had two hours sleep on the plane so…about five hours?”

“What?!”

“I think…I remember we had a ‘midnight snack’ but that was about 4am so…”

“You’re unbelievable. Priorities, right?”

YFN chuckled. “I have no regrets beyond the struggle to walk-”

“Oh god! I don’t want to hear it.”

They both laughed together.

“How are you? Tell me everything.”

Jordan hummed and then proceeded to tell YFN about her dreams and the flowers and note that morning.

“Why didn’t you lead with that?!”

“I don't know. Good news before bad?”

“You think the flowers and note are bad news?”

“I don’t know. My head’s all over the place from the dreams. They were good and bad, but it’s just wrecked me emotionally.”

“I understand that…it’s not great for game day. Are you on your way there now?”

“Yeah, I’m on the bus. We have another hour and a half to go.”

“Well, you can’t resolve these emotions before the game because that would be a miracle. So how about you put a movie on and distract yourself? Don’t sleep, you won’t be able to.

“Yeah, I think I’ll do that to be fair…”

“Perfect. Have you messaged her?”

“No. I can’t do that today. Trying not to mess with my head before the game.”

“That’s all good, I was going to suggest maybe not responding until after the game.”

“You’re doing two games today, aren’t you?”

YFN’s mouth almost dropped open. “You have no idea how proud I am that you remembered that? I told you a while ago...”

“Oh, sorry, I should probably keep up my forgetfulness, right? Who are you again?”

YFN laughed. “I love forgetful Dory. She’s my favourite. Along with cuddly Dory. Football Dory though…jeez she’s terrifying.”

“I definitely will be today.”

“Get those emotions out, girl! Just don’t hurt anyone or get red carded please.”

“No promises.”

“As for your question, yep. I have the 1200 Man United versus West Ham game at Leigh and then the 1845 Arsenal versus Leicester game at King Power.”

“Oh that's right! Kyra…”

YFN had obviously told Jordan about Kyra. They both thought it was cute.

“Yes ma’am.”

“Our bus will drop us back at Villa Park about 7pm tonight…I can drive and meet you there?”

YFN could tell that Jordan needed comfort, and most of her friends were in London. She did the timing math in her head.

“You’d arrive about 8pm tonight with the traffic…how about you get a lift with my guy, Matt? He’s relocating to my game and then driving me back to Birmingham after it’s done.”

“Oh, yeah! That works out brilliant, that does. God, you’re so good at this logistics stuff. I just kick a ball around.”

YFN had a giggle at the visual image and messaged Matt. “And you look great doing it. Plus, you do more than that and you know it.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

YFN bit her lip as she thought a little. Jordan needed some love, and she knew just what to do. “What do you think about us asking Katie and Caitlin to stay the night? We’ll all finish up around 9pm in Leicester so they’ll have overnight accommodation. If I message them then they’ll have time for the team to cancel their room. They can come home with us.”

“Ohhh I didn’t think of that! See, this is why you’re the best.”

YFN grinned at the sound of genuine happiness in Jordan’s voice. She knew she missed them a lot.

She looked up and could see the stadium approaching in the distance. “I’m excited! Okay, I’m almost at the stadium. I’ll message the group.”

“Okay, love you!”

“Love you more. I’m so excited to see you tonight! Have a good game today, please. Smash it.”

They hung up happy and she opened a message from Matt that replied with an excited yes. Being a Villa supporter meant his dream just came true. YFN wondered how the car ride with them would be to Leicester and couldn’t help but be amused.

YFN then put a message in their little four-way group. Caitlin was usually the first to respond whether it be message or Instagram, and today was no exception. She’d answered an unequivocal yes for the both of them before she’d even stepped foot into the stadium.

The national anthems were playing just as she arrived and met up with her workmates. Bridget was running the boundary line, excitedly videoing the singing while Emily and Ruby were taking photos.

“Hey, Em.”

“YFN! Hi!” She gushed, wearing her purple and yellow Lumos hoodie. YFN was wearing Lucy’s hoodie so she opted for a beanie instead. “How was your flight?”

“I slept the entire trip,” she admitted with a chuckle.

Emily snapped a few shots of the starting line-ups.

“How are you and Bridget?”

“Oh, great! Yeah, we’re excited to be staying in Manchester tonight. Because we all have tomorrow off, we have plans to sight see and visit some family.”

They chatted for a little longer when YFN recognised the photographer from the last game she’d been to. The one who followed her home. She pretended to not notice him as she kept speaking to Emily and then made her way around the field to get a few good videos and say hi to Ruby and Bridget also. Bridget was running a mile a minute as she usually did, and Ruby mentioned that she had a date with Matt the next day. Ruby also ran a mile a minute, just with her mouth rather than her legs like Bridget. The whistle blew.

“Oh are those two already leaving already?” She asked rhetorically as Bridget and Emily waved on the way out. “Aw I didn’t say bye! Anyways, Matt said he’d take me on a date but I don’t know where-” she snapped a few photos and then cringed at the tackle she’d just captured, “-and I know it’s going to be amazing because we’ve been talking for a while now and…well not a while but since we all met and we were first partnered up-” she jogged further up the field to take another and came back when she was satisfied, “-and we’ve both been talking about supervising this next group of people coming in and we’re so excited for them to join us-” she took photos while YFN pulled her phone out to get a good Instagram video of Man United’s goal as they were both standing just a few metres from the West Ham goal. Goal number one, just three minutes in. YFN uploaded the video straight to their social media with an update on the score, “-and I just think it’s going to be amazing to have so many people with us. Is that guy staring at us?”

YFN turned to the photographer who’d been following her around the boundary, more focussed on her than the game.

“Yeah…just ignore him. He won’t hurt us.” She said, repeating what Catherine had said to her. Phone still on video mode in her hand, she pressed record but before she could lift her arm up to video him, they were interrupted.

“Now, now, physical violence isn’t my thing.” The voice teased from behind them.

YFN didn’t even have to turn, but she did out of polite habit as Mark stepped next to her, his eyes focussed on the game. She kept her phone on record and down near her body, but angling the mic towards him.

“Mark.”

“YFN. I hear you had a lovely trip up to Edinburgh to meet your…controversial leader.”

Ruby frowned, not understanding.

“He’s just teasing,” she assured. “Could you give us a minute?”

Ruby nodded and headed back up the field.

“So none of them know then?”

“What could you possibly be referring to, Mark?”

“Joanne.” He almost hissed. “That heartless woman.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Well let me be clear, then. I know your boss. She took something from me, so I’m going to tear her whole fucking business down.”

“Which business would that be?”

“The only one not protected by a board. Lumos. Her baby that she’s trying so desperately to hide. And you know exactly how I’m going to start?”

“By getting a photographer to follow me?”

He gave a grin that sent shivers down her spine. “Something along those lines.”

He handed her a large yellow envelope. Against her better judgement, she took it and looked inside. She found several printed photos of herself and Lucy kissing at the airport. The photos weren’t the best quality, they looked like they’d been taken on a phone, but still…it was disturbing.

She turned her attention back to the game as if she were unbothered. “Congratulations. You gave me photos of my girlfriend and I. You do realise that we are public? We have nothing to hide.”

“You don’t think that someone in your position dating one of the most famous footballers of all time is a conflict of interest? Let me give you some advice…people will care. Whoever Joanne has investing in her company will. And this is just the start. I’ll get more and more dirt on not just you, but your workmates also. I’ll drag you all into the fucking ground.”

She sharply breathed in. “You want to ruin a good thing for a little rivalry?”

“A good thing?” He scoffed. “Nobody wants to watch women play. Look around you. The stands are only filled with friends and family. As for everyone who works at Lumos…” He shrugged. “Collateral.”

YFN let herself look at him. He was determined and deadly serious.

“See that photographer? Get used to seeing him around. As for Joe…tell her I’m going to tear down her company before it even begins.”

It was a dominant display by Manchester United who ended up winning 5-0 with five different goal scorers. YFN felt for West Ham who she’d grown a soft spot for since her visit, and especially felt empathetic for their Captain, Mackenzie Arnold, a fellow Australian, as she was the goalkeeper. She couldn’t imagine how hard it must have been mentally after a game like that. You’d feel like it was all your fault while having to be the one to pull the team together.

A few of the players wandered over to her after the match, one being Mackenzie. She gave her a hug and surprisingly agreed to an interview. She interviewed her alongside Mary Earps, letting the two talk business. Mary didn’t exactly have a quiet game, she’d had shots that she’d saved and they both bantered about that, with YFN steering the questions when and where she wanted. The fact that they both pointed out the brilliance in several different moments of each teams and gushed over not just their team but the opposite was the exact reason she’d fallen in love with women’s football. After those two, she interviewed Kirsty Smith and Riko Ueki with Ella Toone and Lucia Garcia. The dynamics of who she put together were interesting and got the results she wanted. She felt like she was Graham Norton putting interesting guests on and leading them here and there with questions, making sure they each felt acknowledged and appreciated for their time and their skill on the pitch.

They finished up around 2:30pm and stopped for a late lunch and some quick editing and posts before they started their two-and-a-half-hour drive to Leicester for their next game. It was only early evening, and YFN could already feel herself getting tired.

As they got into the car, Ruby noted that and told her to get some sleep. She had no idea that Ruby could be quiet for long enough and was pleasantly surprised.

Just before she went to sleep, she sent the video recording of Mark’s voice to Catherine who she knew was busy with few royal duties, and then she fell asleep just after she put her phone on charge.

YFN woke to the loud sound of her phone ringing and she jumped, her face feeling half numb from the window. The car was stopped and she looked outside to Ruby who’d noticed her wake and gave her a thumbs up from the fuel bowser. She gave one back and answered the phone without checking the caller ID.

“YFN! Are you okay?!”

She recognised the voice immediately. “Cath- I mean. Joe? Wow, you really did a great job of sounding not yourself before we met.”

Catherine gave a light chuckle. “One of my secret talents. I listened to your video. Did he threaten you?”

“Not physically, just what you heard on the video.”

“He’s absolutely insistent and much more of a pain than I’d expected.” She sounded annoyed and that was amusing to YFN as she was always painted as the perfect Princess. “I’m so sorry. I spoke to Joe and even she is surprised. He will not hurt you. If you feel unsafe at all, I will hire security.”

“That’s okay, I think we’re okay for now. He seems to be all bark at the moment..”

“He is, I assure you. Also, there is no conflict of interest here. I’m aware of your relationship. We are not even covering her games yet and when we do, it is absolutely not a conflict of interest. The man doesn’t know what he’s talking about. I know you, I chose you for a reason and your judgement, and your actions won’t be compromised by your relationship. Not only that, but there’s nothing in which to base these allegations on just yet. I understand the implications that may occur with you interviewing her and potentially being seen as biased, but I’ve seen your work, I’ve seen you interview friends and colleagues without that bias. I chose carefully.” She sighed. “My plan was for us to build your reputation in the field so high it would surpass any of these allegations before they even occurred.”

“I appreciate the support, and I promise that anything to do with Lucy or her team against another team will not be an issue. I want everyone and every team to be represented, regardless of if they’re against her or not.”

“Perfect. We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, I think. In the meantime, you don’t need to hide your relationship. I’d never ask or expect that of you.”

“Thank you…also I’m assuming part of your security check on us is that you look for anything controversial which may be used against us like this?”

She hesitated. “Yes. I don’t like it, but we need to protect ourselves and the business from any potential threats…”

“I understand, and I agree.” Ruby hopped back into the car then with a grin. “You have my support…Joe.”

Catherine took the hint. “He won’t find anything controversial on the other employees because there is nothing. We just need to stay a tight knit group and continue our jobs.”

“Copy that, will do. Would you like me to send out a group memo about him?”

Ruby started to drive again.

“Yes, absolutely. If you don’t mind, I’ll write it and you send it?”

“Perfect, that saves me the work.”

“Lastly, the office won’t be ready tomorrow.”

“Oh?” Her interest peaked at that. She could be with Lucy on her day off. Jonatan had been giving her more days off with her knee. She only had to train four days this week, Tuesday to Friday.

“It’s all related. Mark somehow managed to talk to the local council…anyways I’m sorting it. It’ll be ready by Wednesday, I promise you.”

“Okay. That’s perfectly fine. I’ll meet up with the real estate agent and then the original ten of us will settle in and prep for the new group to arrive.”

“I thought it would be best to start the new group on Thursday instead because of the timing with the office date moving, but I wanted to check with you first to make sure you weren’t losing too much preparation time with them for the next round?”

YFN thought about it a little. Their first game was Saturday, and it was the only one. Catherine had gotten permission for ten employees at that game which allowed her to send two original crew with a full new crew to train. “I think Thursday will work. It’ll give us two full days to cover everything which is enough, and for eight of them, they’ll get experience on Saturday at Stamford Bridge. If I feel we need more, I’ll organise Saturday with the others not at the game to prep more.”

“Agreed! We think very much alike, you know.” It was a compliment that made her blush.

Catherine asked if she had any more questions before the call ended. She wasn’t surprised it wasn’t a long conversation, as she knew she’d been busy all day with regular duties and then Mark’s drama in the background. She couldn’t help but think about the possibility of booking a flight to Barcelona to spend the next two days with Lucy, as she knew she had the next day off. She could explore Barcelona with Narla and do a bit of work on the Tuesday while Lucy was training… She bit her lip and shook her head. Jordan needed her. Jordan was her priority. Thinking of, she looked up Jordan’s game which was almost finished. It had been fairly even all game and Jordan had been subbed on in the 65th minute, having a goal attempt in the 66th minute. YFN smiled as she watched Jordan running around, looking frustrated which was so opposite to her everyday self. Aston Villa were up 1-0 and she watched while Ruby listened to the end of the game. Multiple fouls were made by both teams. Aston Villa scored a second goal. A foul by Jordan at the 90 minute mark. And then it was over. Jordan had only played 30 minutes, but she’d made an impact. YFN sent Jordan a message saying how proud she was of her.

They arrived in Leicester around 5:45pm and stopped at a local café for another snack and a drink before the game. Being too early at the stadium meant boredom. They made sure to arrive around 6:15pm and set their equipment up, capturing the players during warm up. The Leicester players exited first to warm up and a few came over to chat. Luck have it, Courtney was one of them. Australians tended to flock together outside of Australia, she realised. YFN asked if she’d do an interview after the game and she agreed for the price of a hoodie. She liked Courtney and could see why Kyra did too. They were both cheeky.

“Hey stranger.”

YFN turned to see Leah’s smile as she stepped next to her. She was alone and not in kit, not quite ready to play after her ACL.

“Leah!” She smiled, pulling her into a hug. She liked Leah, regardless of her issues with Jordan, and she’d previously spoken to Jordan about their little growing friendship. She was okay with it, of course, otherwise YFN wouldn’t have been so forward. “How are you?”

“Oh mate, desperate to get onto that field, I’m telling ya.” She looked longingly at the pitch and then back to YFN. “I watched your interviews. They’re great! I don’t know why anyone hasn’t interviewed like that before.”

“The ones from last week?”

“Yeah and this morning. I loved it, honestly. I’ll be happy to do interviews anytime with you, just let me know.”

“That’s just given me an idea…” She hummed as she thought.

“Taking me up on the offer already?” She laughed.

“Actually I’ve been trying to work out different segments and ideas that would make us stand out from other companies….you’re not playing today. There are always players who are not playing but watching their teams. So it might be a good idea to get players willing to on the sidelines with us to interview and to film some of the snippets we upload with their own perspective and jokes and insight. Sort of like when you’re excitedly screaming motivation at the girls from the bench, but this time they’d be in snippets for our social media. It’ll promote the team and show just how supportive all of the players are with each other. Plus, I think it'd be hilarious.”

“Sort of like when they mic up the cricket players?”

“EXACTLY.”

“Put me in, coach. I love the sound of that. Plus, if it mucks up, you can just blame me.”

“You are 100% my scapegoat if it goes bad.” She laughed. “You’d be willing to today?”

She shrugged. “I have nothing else going on and I’m used to the camera so why not.”

“Perfect! Yeah, oh that’s so exciting-” She stopped and bit her lip as she thought of Jordan.

“What is it?”

“Um…maybe not today? Maybe next game?”

The frustrating thing was that she didn’t know yet if she’d even be at Arsenal’s next game. It depended on the roster.

“YFN, just tell me.”

“So…hm…here’s the thing…”

“Please don’t tell me this is about Jordan?” She asked, a little upset. “I was hoping that wouldn’t affect our relationship…”

“It won’t! Dory’s fine with us being friends. It’s just…”

“Spit it out, mate.”

“She’s going to be here in under an hour.”

She swore Leah paled. She definitely froze. “Oh.”

“Yeah…so she’ll already be with me on the sidelines for company.”

“She just finished a game…” she looked at her watch. “…so if she’s coming here I guess it’s to talk about us?”

“Leah…”

“She told you about this morning?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” She groaned and ran her hand through her hair. “Look, I don’t know your opinion on everything and I don’t want to drag you into it all, but I promise you I just want the best for Jordan.”

“And the best for Jordan is you?”

Leah held her eye contact. “Yes. Just…I know I don’t have the right to ask but I will. Can you please maybe tell Jordan it wouldn’t be such a bad thing to go with me this Friday night to the awards? I want to win her back, to be there for her but I can’t without opportunity to actually be around her.”

“I won’t convince her to do something she doesn’t want to…”

“I wouldn’t expect you to. Just…advocate for me? You don’t have to push it. Just…please?”

“I’ll have a talk to her,” she murmured.

“CHICKEN!”

The Arsenal players were headed out for their warm up and most were headed her way led by the Irishwoman who was being overtaken by a smiley, wavy Kyra.

“Thank you, I really appreciate it. Also, I can still do that thing with you, I can be over the other side away from Jordan if she doesn’t want me near.”

“Thanks Leah, I’ll ask her about it when she gets here,” she replied with a smile.

“Ask who about what?!” Kyra asked as she landed on YFN’s back. YFN’s hands immediately caught her legs.

“Oof. You do realise I’m small, right?”

“Yeah, but I knew you’d catch me. When’s Nobbs here?”

A few of the Arsenal girls looked awkward because Leah was there. “It’s okay…” she assured them. “She’ll be here during the first half.”

“Okaaaaay.”

“Oh, also Kyra invited herself tonight.” Caitlin said as she wrestled Kyra off of YFN so she and Katie could give her a hug.

“Tonight? Where was our invite?” Beth asked.

YFN grinned sheepishly. “Our apartment isn’t big enough for the entire Arsenal squad…”

“I’m just joking, this one wants an early sleep anyways,” she said as she nudged Viv who looked unimpressed as usual.

“Aw what a granny!” Kyra teased.

YFN couldn’t help but laugh at the look on Viv’s face. Kyra giggled at her joke, ducking away from Caitlin’s motherly swat to the back of the head when a blue shirt appeared amongst the red and Kyra stilled.

“Hey…”

“Courtney!” YFN replied, making sure she didn’t feel left out. “Hey!”

Courtney looked around, her eyes finding Kyra and then tearing them away pretending she hadn’t looked at her. “Just letting you know Sam and Sophie are both good for the interview after the game. Do you know who it’ll be with?”

“Awesome! Yeah, I was hoping Beth and Frida would be up for it…”

“Me? Yes please! Not sure if I’ll be subbed on though,” Beth said eagerly.

Viv rolled her eyes. “She’ll be subbed on.”

“FRIDA!” Katie yelled.

“FRIDA!!” Beth yelled shortly after. Viv covered her ears and YFN chuckled at that.

The blonde spun around and jogged over. “Yes?”

Frida Maanum was a Norwegian midfielder who’d been with Arsenal since 2021. She was rarely chosen to be interviewed and softly spoken, so YFN thought it’d be great to involve her and help her confidence out with Beth who she could always rely on to talk if she didn’t.

“Want to do an interview with me after the game? YFN wants to know.”

Frida looked over at YFN with a polite hello wave. “It’s going to be with Sam Tierney and Sophie Howard from Leicester. You can absolutely say no if you want.”

“You want me?” She sounded surprised.

“Of course she wants ya, you’re amazin’.” Katie said with a playful grab of her shoulder.

“O…okay. Yeah.” She smiled at YFN which made the Australian feel good for asking.

“Aw, I’ll look after you mate! No need to be nervous!” Beth said loudly, extending an arm around her shoulder.

“So…Beth and Frida,” YFN said to Courtney with a smile. “And then you and Kyra. Is that okay Kyra?”

“Yeah that’s cool.” Kyra said, suddenly quiet.

Courtney’s eyes widened hearing that she’d be interviewed with Kyra. YFN knew it was sneaky of her but it was an opportunity for Courtney to reject the idea before she surprised her with her ex. Not that they were ever public knowledge.

“Okay. I’ll see you after the game.” She said, directed straight at YFN but she knew it was more for Kyra from the tone of it.

Caitlin and YFN shared a sheepish look.

“Come on girls, Jonas is about to kick our asses. Let’s get warmin’ up!” Katie ordered.

“If you see me shouting from the sidelines, it’s because I’m mic’d up!” Leah warned them and received some amused looks in return.

“You’d better not be focusin’ on my ass.” Katie teased.

Caitlin messed up Kyra’s hair. “You’d better be focusing on this one’s debut!”

They all jogged off and Leah turned to YFN.

“Okay boss, where do you want me?”

Jordan and Matt arrived just after 7pm, both with wide grins. Matt because he’d just spent a car ride with Jordan and Jordan because of YFN.

“Dory! Come here!” She took her friend in a hug big enough to lift the footballer off the ground and a few Arsenal fans spotted Jordan and shouted their love for her as she did so.

“I missed you.” She mumbled into Lucy’s hoodie.

“It’s been a day. Needy, hm?”

“I’m always needy.” Jordan grumbled as she put her down.

“I missed you too.” YFN chuckled before turning to Matt. “You look excited, mate.”

He was still grinning ear to ear and nodded.

“I think I tired him out with all the talking, to be fair.”

“I’m glad you two got on for the drive then. Matt, are you okay taking a few of us back to Birmingham tonight? If not, I can ask Ruby…”

“Yes!” He almost shouted and then cleared his throat. “Um, yes, of course. Who..?

“Uh Dory, Katie, Caitlin, Kyra and myself. Oh actually that won’t work… Ruby will have to take some of us anyways… maybe those three and I’ll ask Ruby if she can take Kyra and I.”

“Done.”

“How was the game?”

“Yeah, great. Noel and I got some great footage. A few of the girls were asking about interviews but I said we’d start next week.”

“Next week hopefully… and congrats on Aston Villa’s first win for the season?!”

“Yeah!” Jordan grinned. “I wasn’t on for long but I think I did alright.”

Loud noises from the crowd turned their attention to Leicester running towards goal. The ball was pushed out by Lotte for a corner.

“I’ll go record that.” Matt said as he ran towards the goal up the side of the pitch. Jordan spotted Leah behind the goal then.

“Leah…?”

“You had to have expected her to be here,” YFN teased.

“Well yeah but…is she recording with a phone?”

“I have her mic’d up for some footage. Trying something new out and she’s helping.”

Jordan frowned but her eyes remained on her, mixed emotions in her eyes.

The crowd went wild as Leicester scored from their corner. Jordan swore. The game reset.

“She really wants you to go with her on Friday..”

Jordan’s eyes flicked up to meet hers. “She said that? What else did she say?”

“Nothing you don’t already know… that she wants the best for you, she wants to win you back, and she wants an opportunity to do so.”

Jordan groaned. “I can’t. We rarely went to events together before. Now she wants to show me off to the world like I’m hers when I’m not?”

“I think she just wants a night with you, Jords…”

“Nope. No way. Unless she has another plus one and you come to chaperone us.”

YFN tilted her head. It wasn’t football but… “I could get an invite?”

Jordan spun back around. “You could?”

“My boss can 100% get me a ticket. Now, did you mean it?”

“I mean…” she looked over at Leah. “If you’re going, I will.”

“And is this really what you want?”

Jordan got a little frustrated and pouted, trying to think. She was a bundle of confused emotions and the dreams wouldn’t have helped. YFN put her arm around her and pulled her close.

“What do you think?”

“I think whatever this is, you need to resolve it. The best way to do that is communication. I think you should go. Sooner or later it’s going to be clear to you if you do or don’t want to have her back in your life.”

Leah looked over at the pair, her and Jordan looking at each other. She nodded. “I’ll go.”

“You’re sure?”

“I think I wanted to, I just didn’t want to admit it. Plus, you’ll be there now so it’ll be less awkward.” She grinned up at her.

YFN rolled her eyes and messaged ‘Joe’. Just as she finished the message, Leicester was surging forward, forward, forward, and tucked away their second goal. Two goals in two minutes. A terrible start for Arsenal.

Jordan settled next to YFN, following her and her camera around, watching the game intently. She always wanted the best for Arsenal. They had more of a catch up in between photos that she’d changed to as Matt was now doing the videography. YFN didn’t miss Leah off and on staring across at them just as longingly as she stared at the pitch she missed. Jordan and YFN gradually moved closer to Leah through that first half, though Leah ducked away to the change rooms for half time with her girls.

While it was half time, Ruby, Matt and YFN on worked on their footage while they talked.

“New office tomorrow?!” Matt asked excitedly.

“Oh…no. That’s been delayed until Wednesday. Waiting on approvals. New group are now starting Thursday.”

“You’re not going to Barcelona?” Jordan asked. “Doesn’t Lucy have tomorrow off?”

“You spoke with her?”

“Yeah she messaged me. I assumed you suggested it,” she laughed, “she’s terrible at messaging.”

“Not with me.” YFN winked. “Also that was all her, I promise.”

Jordan rolled her eyes and nudged her almost off her chair. “She misses you.”

“I was there this morning…”

“You miss her too.”

“Dory…” She groaned.

“No.” She said, putting her hand on the camera YFN was playing with which made her look up at her. Ruby and Matt shifted a little nervously as they could do nothing but listen. Jordan looked serious. “Don’t you dare stay here tonight just for me. You barely get any time with her as it is. She’s my friend too, and I like to see her happy. And you happy. And you’re both never as happy as when you’re together.” YFN opened her mouth to argue but Jordan continued. “Let me live vicariously through you. You’ve already done enough, I have Katie and Caitlin and Kyra tonight! They need a bed.”

“You’re kicking me out of our apartment?” YFN laughed.

“Only if you can find a flight.”

She put her camera down and took Jordan into a warm, long hug, mumbling into her. “I love you, Dory. You know that? If we’re both single in five years, I’m going to propose.”

Jordan laughed but they were both emotional. They just wanted the best for each other. “Okay but Blu will be ring-bearer.”

YFN laughed back into her and sat back, wiping tears away that she didn’t even know had formed.

“You’re putting Kyra on the couch?”

“I’ll let her share my bed if she shuts up.”

“She’s only small, she’ll be asleep before you all finish dinner. She tends to tire herself out fast, the little baby.”

“Little baby,” Jordan mimicked adoringly. “Now look for flights. I’ll message Lucy.”

“Or…how about we make it a surprise?”

“I love it! If she thinks you’re robbing her and knocks you out though, that’s not on me.”

She did wonder what Lucy’s reaction would be. She found a flight from Birmingham to Barcelona at 11pm.

“Won’t you need her to unlock the door?”

“I have keys…”

“You two are adorable.”

“I found an 11pm flight from Birmingham…”

“Do you think you’ll make that?!” Ruby asked. “I’m happy to take you…”

“That…sort of works out perfect because then the girls will all fit in Matt’s car. Um…the game finishes at 8:30pm. Interviews until 9pm. Arrive at the airport around 10pm. Cutting it close for international but it’s a late flight and nobody will be there… I think we can make it?” She shrugged and booked the flight anyways. If she didn’t make it, it wasn’t meant to be.

Jordan grinned. “Tell her to thank me when you get there.”

“Honestly, I’m probably going to be passed out from fatigue all day and not even get the chance.”

Her phone buzzed. It was the flight confirmation.

“Are you sure?” She asked Jordan. Sure, she’d already booked the flight, but it was cheap and she didn’t care. She wanted Jordan to be okay.

Jordan grabbed her around the shoulders and smiled. “I promise it’s okay. You’ve really cheered me up today and helped with my Friday night decision. Plus, I have the girls tonight. We both know you’ll just pass out anyways.”

“How dare you…” she laughed as the crowd began cheering loudly as the players re-entered the field. Ruby and Matt got to work. She stood to do the same when her phone buzzed again.

Joe: Done, they sent us through two invitations. Check your emails. Enjoy!

She grinned at the message and then at Jordan.

“What?” She handed her phone over and Jordan took it, an ecstatic look crossing her face. “Yes mate!”

She took her phone back and pocketed it, holding her camera up to take photos of the players as they ran out.

“One condition.”

“Anything.”

She jerked her head towards Leah who was wandering over to the pair. “You tell her.”

Jordan groaned. “Okay but at the end of the night. She can sweat until then.”

YFN chuckled at that.

Starting the second half 2-0 against them meant Arsenal had to push deep. And they did. Arsenal kicked six goals in the second half. Their first came at a hesitation from Courtney which YFN felt terrible for. She was next to Leah when that happened who filmed a mic’d up scream of joy from behind the Leicester goal as the shot went in. Slowly Jordan gravitated towards Leah more during the match, Leah managing to let her come at her own pace. The rest of the match was an absolute riot. Caitlin with an assist and a goal, Katie with an assist, and Kyra with multiple attempts at goal. She was shocked when she saw Courtney take Kyra down in the 83rd minute and wondered just how much of the history between them she didn’t know. The game ended 2-6 Arsenal. A complete second half dominance that had Leah screaming with joy on the sidelines. It turned out to be the perfect day to test the mic’d up segment, as she posted the live updates with video’s Leah had taken of her yelling at the girls running towards goal and screaming, turning the camera around on herself to show her celebrating. It was great content.

Regardless of the outcome, the Leicester players still came over for their interviews. First she had Sam, Sophie, Frida and Beth who actually did get some game time and almost a first goal since she’d come back from her ACL tear. Beth was the loudest, of course, and helped Frida to open up a bit. Frida had some back and forth with the Leicester girls talking about some of the plays including Sam’s goal. Overall, she was happy with the results of the interview, and how much the girls had come out of their shells.

Next was her interview with Courtney and Kyra who seemed equally nervous next to each other. They knew each other well though. YFN waited to sense the overall mood before she allowed herself to go in with some cheeky questions about Courtney’s tackle on Kyra, and Kyra’s debut. Her goal was to get them to start teasing each other, and it worked. At first, they didn’t want to address each other, and after a few comments here and there, it was more them talking and throwing cheeky comments to each other, and YFN could almost sit back and enjoy watching the show. She had to steer it a few times of course, both were young, but the tension between the two was obvious. For the sake of the viewers and their privacy, YFN made sure to make it known to the camera that they were teammates and brought up that they went to school together as justification which started a whole other line of questioning about their start in football.

Only when she was satisfied that she’d helped them break whatever awkwardness they’d previously had, did she end the interview, but not before she told Kyra how proud she was of her on camera for her debut. Courtney gave her a proud shove for that too.

Being Australians, and women, they all hugged their goodbyes, Kyra whispering a thanks into her ear. As they were packing up, she could see them still chatting as Courtney was being called away. She gave Kyra her phone and she typed into it what YFN assumed was her number. Courtney gave an awkward wave, obviously not knowing whether a hug was appropriate, and ran into the change rooms. Kyra turned to YFN with a grin and a little fist pump. It was adorable.

She looked past Kyra to where Leah and Jordan were standing, Jordan telling her she’d go on Friday. Leah’s expression flashed excitement before she contained it, and then it went a little shy as she pretended to be calm about it. They didn’t speak for long, just enough for Jordan to agree before she wandered off with Leah’s eyes following her longingly. She watched for a while until she met YFN’s eye and blushed, having been caught. She mouthed a ‘thank you’ to which she gave a smile in return.

“We really need to go.” Ruby stressed. She looked at the time and groaned. She only had time for quick goodbyes with everyone and a threat to Katie and Caitlin to not have sex in her bed. Katie seemed to enjoy the idea of the threat, to be honest, and that terrified her.

She rushed through security as quickly as possible and was the last person to board the flight, sweating and grateful she’d made it, though cursing herself for having to stay longer just to make sure Kyra and Courtney were good. As with her morning flight, she passed out immediately and wished she had a chance for a shower before seeing Lucy. Instead of a shower, she tidied herself up in the bathroom at the Barcelona airport when she touched down, changing her clothes and washing away the day. She brushed her teeth and did her nightly makeup routine, ignoring some funny looks. She sure as hell wasn’t going to let her skin suffer more than it already was with the change in weather between the UK and Spain.

Her Uber dropped her off at just before 3am and for some reason she was nervous, jiggling the keys Lucy had given her in her hands and playing with the little flags. At the front door she took a deep breath in and unlocked the door, entering as quietly as possible so as to not wake Lucy or Narla. She kicked off her shoes and left her suitcase in the entrance, not wanting to risk the wheels waking them. The smell as she walked into the house was home. Vanilla and bitter orange, and whatever the hell Lucy had been cooking for dinner. She swore she could even smell the big breakfast they’d had that morning. She looked at the trophy Lucy still had out and smiled, putting her phone on charge next to it before tip-toeing her way into the bedroom.

Lucy was quite literally dead asleep. She was on her back facing YFN’s side of the bed, one hand touching the pillow YFN had been sleeping on the night before. She was beautiful. She loved seeing her so vulnerable and herself. Her dark hair was spread out over the pillow, another thing she loved. Lucy with her hair down. She clicked the door closed quietly and snuck around to her side of the bed, avoiding Lucy’s collection of shoes around the bed. She carefully laid down and when she touched Lucy’s hand to move it, she jerked awake, her head rising and her eyes opening.

“It’s just me.” She whispered and put a hand to her cheek, coming closer so Lucy could see her better without her glasses.

“What? What?” She was dazed and confused, her body tense.

“Shhh. Shhhh.” She comforted and cuddled up to her, her head finding Lucy’s collarbone. “It’s okay, it’s just me. I’m sorry for scaring you.”

“Little one?” She asked, unbelieving. “You…you’re here.”

Her arms wrapped around YFN tighter than they ever had before, holding her close to her body, her own body softening into her. “Is everything okay?!”

“Everything’s fine, Luce. I have the next two days off. I’m all yours.”

Lucy groaned happily and kissed her wherever she could reach.

“Sleep now, Luce.”

“You’re home,” she whispered huskily with emotion, her voice already fading.

“I’m home.”

[weirdkpopgirl]

Dark Hours | Mark Imagine #3

Title: Dark Hours

Genre: Angst

Warnings: mentions of past self-harm, reader has a breakdown (yay)

Word Count: 594

Author's Note: Am I crazy for writing this at midnight and posting it an hour and a half later? Yeah, especially when I have a million other things to do. This was an idea that I just really wanted to get out, and I thought it was also a good opportunity to post something for Mark. I truly hope this story comforts anyone who is going through a hard time ^ ^

P.S. I am currently working on a few fics for different 7Dream members. In the meantime, I will try my best to post small things like this when I can!

°♪°•°∞°•°♪°•°∞°•°♪°•°∞°•°♪°•°∞°•°♪°•°∞°•°♪°•°∞°•°♪°∞°•°♪°∞°

Mark quietly entered the mostly dark bedroom, where the only light came from the distant city lights filtering through the window shades. As he switched on his lamp, he was surprised to discover that you were still awake at this hour. You lay on your side of the bed, just as you always did. But your gaze seemed distant as it fixated on the ceiling above. In Mark's eyes, you looked so beautiful, yet so burdened by the invisible chains of your mind. He longed to free you from their grasp. But he knew it wasn’t that easy. 

Without a word, he slipped beneath the deep blue covers and gently tugged you closer into his embrace. The warmth emanating from his body provided a stark contrast to the chill of your skin. Mark hoped to share his warmth physically. But he also wanted to share it emotionally.

Neither of you said anything and lay beside each other in silence. Then you felt the touch of Mark’s fingers tenderly tracing the faded pink and white scars on your thigh. Despite your legs being concealed beneath the comforter, he managed to find the textured lines etched across your bare skin. 

Another two minutes of silence passed before Mark sensed your body beginning to tremble. It was then that he locked eyes with you, and they were brimming with tears.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, worried he had done something wrong.

You cringed internally as your voice quivered when you whispered, “I’m sorry for hiding this from you for so long.”

“(Y/n)...” His lips parted, but for once he was at a loss for words.

The fact that he had only learned about this secret of yours earlier this week—after being together almost a year, weighed heavily in his thoughts. To only imagine that you had been suffering for so long, without anyone to guide you was deeply troubling to him. He wished so badly that he could’ve been with you during those dark hours.

Attempting to blink away the tears, you paused before confessing, “I just... I was afraid you'd look at me differently if you knew.”

Mark’s heart broke when he heard you say this. He moved his hand to gently cup the side of your face, guiding your eyes to meet his. 

“Hey, those scars don't change how I feel about you, okay?” he reassured, his words resonating with sincerity. “I love you, (Y/n), every part of you.”

Unable to suppress your emotions any longer, you sobbed into his shoulder, your tears likely staining his shirt. Mark didn't hesitate to draw you closer and gently stroke your hair as you wept.

“You’re not alone anymore, (Y/n),” he whispered, “I’ll help you heal, and we’ll get through your darkest hours together.”

Eventually, your tears slowed and your body gradually stopped shaking. Mark used his thumb to gently wipe your cheek. You’ve never felt more grateful to have someone by your side.

With his thumb, he wiped away any lingering tears, and in response, you released a heavy sigh. “I love you so much,” you whispered. You could say those words over and over again.

Mark smiled a little before leaning in for a deep, slow kiss. “I love you more than words can express.”

The two of you instinctively snuggled closer, closing any remaining distance between the two of you. In the warmth of that moment, you both found solace in each other's arms, knowing that your love would conquer any darkness that life might throw your way.

°♪°•°∞°•°♪°•°∞°•°♪°•°∞°•°♪°•°∞°•°♪°•°∞°•°♪°•°∞°•°♪°∞°•°♪°∞°

[neutron-stars-collision]

Deadlines & Commitments

Neil x F!Reader

Chapter 4 - North Greenwich Underground Station

Masterlist; Chapter 3 Summary: Neil's brief disappearance does nothing to extinguish the sparks. As he returns, you make a series of discoveries about each other and grow ever so much closer. Warnings: Swearing, E-rated language, ridiculous amounts of flirting as per usual. Buckle up bc we're amping the pace a little... ;) Author's Notes: Well... that was a long break between the chapters 🙈 My apologies, turns out that having a job takes away the little joys in life like writing silly stories. Anyways, here we are, at last. With another 10.7k. And this one's packed with many good, fun things ;))) Some of those scenes had been months in the making (if not years, considering I first mentioned this AU to Shet in like 2021? I think?). So, yeah. They had it long time coming. More cameos, more nonsensical POV changes and, above all, more certified idiocy by them two kids. Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think? 💕 Taglist: @hollandorks, @kristevstewart, @stargirl25 (let me know if you want to be added)

What Neil’s departure from London did not do was change the way things worked between you. Although you only had meagre information about his whereabouts (such as that he was within the same time zone but in a different country), there was no sense of a breach building in the space of that strange yet solid connection. With the anxieties surrounding the imminent ‘Don Quixote’ premiere keeping your blood pressure high daily, you more than enjoyed being able to pick up your phone and message him whenever possible.

He did not always respond immediately, but it was not a must. What mattered was that Neil eventually got back to you. Never disclosing any information about his work trip, apart from the fact that it was warm there even in mid-October, he still made the effort to keep up with your antics. In that sense, the insanity of the date you had risked changed absolutely nothing.

But it also changed everything.

It was as if your free will chose to conspire with the soul’s desires to get what they wanted. Namely – Neil. Because as soon as you had even begun considering breaching the line separating friendship from every other kind of relationship, your brain decided it was done.

Being his girlfriend was not on the list of priorities or wants, but getting in his pants definitely was. It was almost freeing to admit.

The only question left after all that soul-searching was whether Neil wanted you like that, too. Sometimes there were no doubts about that, either.

Almost a week in, with the ballet previews looming on the horizon and no chance of sleep anytime soon, you huffed an annoyed sigh and picked up the phone from your bedside table. Bleary eyes registered the hour (five past midnight) as you opened apps randomly, already giving up on the promise of sleep. It took you another few minutes to make up your mind, open the texts and stare at the conversation with Neil. It had been a few hours since the last exchange concerning the warmth of the climate wherever he was. You had been (fruitlessly) trying to make Neil send you a picture. Of himself. Not necessarily without clothes, but that was the dream. And a girl was allowed to dream, right?

Squinting at the screen, you hesitated for another millisecond before typing out the simple question:

/ 🏹, 00:15 am/ Are you missing me yet?

Neil did not make you wait for long.

/✝️, 00:26 am/ Obviously.

/✝️, 00:26 am/ I’m barely coping here, sunshine.

/ 🏹, 00:29 am/ Gee, you’re making it too easy.

/✝️, 00:30 am/ Making what too easy?

/ 🏹, 00:33 am/ Missing you.

/ 🏹, 00:34 am/ See, I thought my cheeky line would get a lukewarm response, so I was prepared to tease you further.

/ 🏹, 00:34 am/ And now I’ve no quips to offer.

/✝️, 00:39 am/ Apologies. I’ll do better next time.

/ 🏹, 00:40 am/ I’ll make sure of that.

/✝️, 00:42 am/ And what punishment do you propose?

/ 🏹, 00:43 am/ I’ve always wondered what you’d sound like if you begged.

/✝️, 00:44 am/ It could probably be arranged.

/✝️, 00:45 am/ I’ve no qualms about getting on my knees for a beautiful woman.

/✝️, 00:45 am/ But that would hardly be a punishment.

/ 🏹, 00:48 am/ Yeah, but if I let you have that and then left you… on your knees, so painfully hard with no release… How would that feel?

/✝️, 00:51 am/ You win this one.

/✝️, 00:52 am/ And yes, I’m blushing. Fiercely.

/ 🏹, 00:59 am/ Good, I was hoping you are. Goodnight, Neil.

As you hit send on the last message, your head hit the pillows with an audible ‘oof’. Your cheeks burned; the blush invisible in the dark yet still very much there. That was the problem with Neil and your chats. It was impossible to say when they would turn in that direction. When you would both lose control and follow a line of conversation that probably never should have happened. Not that you were complaining.

It was good to know what you could expect from Neil. If things happened the way you wished, they would. Admittedly, he’d look good on his knees. That was a fact.

That night you only got five hours of sleep, but who counted it anyway. What mattered was that you had some excellent dreams. Dreams that you hoped would end up prophetic.

On other days, your conversations were a little more serious. Like that early afternoon when you just finished the final in-costume run of the Cupid variation and exited the ROH to wander the streets of Soho. Whenever you felt close to losing your sanity, the walk around those familiar spots always did the trick. It was easier to breathe, to hope that you would not fuck it all up when the curtain call came. To believe that imposter syndrome was nothing more than a vile bitch.

Sighing against the thoughts muddling your brain, you took out the phone and immediately noticed the new message:

/✝️, 1:49 pm/ How’s the garden of the Dryads coming along?

/✝️, 1:50 pm/ It probably goes without saying that you’re my favourite ballerina.

/ 🏹, 2:06 pm/ Damn, that’s high praise. Especially considering that I’m the only ballerina you know.

/ 🏹, 2:06 pm/ I think the garden is coming along nicely. Not so sure about Cupid, tho.

/✝️, 2:08 pm/ I call bullshit on that.

/✝️, 2:09 pm/ I just know that you’re brilliant.

/ 🏹, 2:12 pm/ Doubt, she said.

/ 🏹, 2:12 pm/ ‘Cause like… How do you deal with the overwhelming weight of expectations?

/✝️, 2:18 pm/ I mean, I panic and lose it instantly, but generally speaking, I think you just sort of… ignore it and trust you are good enough.

/✝️, 2:19 pm/ I know that you are, Cupid. This role was made for you.

/ 🏹, 2:22 pm/ Elaborate, please. I need my ego stroked.

/✝️, 2:23 pm/ Well, she sorts of saunters onto the stage and has a minute to dazzle everyone, yeah?

/✝️, 2:24 pm/ Which is exactly what you did to me.

/✝️, 2:24 pm/ You’ve got this.

/ 🏹, 2:26 pm/ God, you’re irreconcilable. Better come back so I can force you to sit through this.

/✝️, 2:27 pm/ Working on it as we speak.

A smile painted itself on your face with an inerasable stroke of brush. Neil’s constant support and cheerleading were a welcome surprise. Sometimes, your meeting almost felt like a divine intervention. That is if you believed in such things. Because the odds of gaining both a fascinating man to pursue and a friend were quite low. And yet.

As you looped your steps back towards Covent Garden, you made the mental note to visit the box office and add a request for the guest list. It was a rare enough event to have someone you could invite to the performance. And have the right to believe they would come. You were not going to squander that sort of chance.

***

The whirring ceiling fan was starting to get on his nerves with its endless sputtering. And it was not even working, as far as Neil was concerned. The sweat still clung to his skin and trickled down his back to a point where he seriously contemplated ditching the shirt. And that rarely happened. Especially not on the job, with the whole squad confined to a medium-sized safehouse.

The bustle of the city streamed through the windows, cracked open so they could let in fresh air while still having a chance of keeping them safe from snipers and the like. Granted, one could never be fully prepared for an inverted shot, but it was worth trying not to get killed. Especially during a mission that technically was just a recon. Though Neil knew better than to believe The Protagonist when the man claimed something was perfectly safe. He meant well, sure. But despite the appearances, he did not know everything.

So, the windows cracked open three inches had to do. Neil sighed, annoyance digging deep beneath his skin to stay there for a little longer. It was another one of those boring, yet technically productive afternoons in the safehouse. Today, the task was to plan a hypothetical pincer movement. Just in case, they said. Well, Neil sure did hope the case never came to be.

He glanced at the blacked-out screen of his phone, the muscle memory betraying him as he picked up the device almost mindlessly and opened the conversation with Cupid. It had been a few hours since the last chat, which was pretty usual. They did not need to talk all the time. Neil knew that. He also knew that it was probably better they did not talk constantly. Considering that 3 out of 5 conversations always ended up dirty, up to the point where he was blushing like an idiot. And, sometimes disappeared in the bathroom to deal with some troublesome effects of those chats.

Yes, considering all that, Neil knew it was best they took some breaks. But also-

“Blondie, can you give us a hand with this?” the yell from further inside the apartment acted like a bucket of cold water tipped over his head unceremoniously.

Neil whipped his head up, glaring at the open doorway. Unfortunately, being referred to as ‘blondie’ was becoming more frequent. The petulant nature urged him to ignore it, but he knew that was hardly the last one. With another long-suffering sigh, he heaved himself out of the armchair and called back:

“I said I’m coming,” granted, that was over fifteen minutes ago, but everyone could get distracted. Right? “Would it hurt you to ask nicer?” he stalked down the corridor toward the living area with an arched eyebrow.

It was not surprising to meet a mirroring expression on the faces of Ives, Wheeler, and Jeremy sitting in a trifecta of judgment. Neil had no doubts about his place in that makeshift courtroom.

“Yes, when you’re slacking,” Wheeler dropped the disapproving glare with all the air of nonchalance and pointedly glanced at the table covered with maps and blueprints.

Neil had no choice but to sit down in the remaining chair and offer an apologetic pout to anyone willing to hear him out:

“I’m not slacking. I’m just-” whatever excuse he could whip out on a whim got interrupted prematurely.

“Otherwise occupied with your girlfriend. Yes, we know,” Wheeler raised her head once more with a dismissive wave of hand, making Neil consider the possibility that she was close to losing it right there and then.

That possibility was always worrisome, for no anger could compare to that of his friend. Especially when she was pissed off.

But that careful consideration was nothing in the face of the two realisations brought forward by that simple assumption. Firstly - Cupid was decidedly not his girlfriend. Secondly – fucking Ives.

Neil glared at the man in question, hoping his eyes would reveal the murderous intents hidden underneath as his clarifying statement broke the awkward silence:

“She’s not-” he never finished that sentence (perhaps for the better), for the harsh sound of his ringtone filled the room with cacophonic clamour. Neil scrambled to pick up the phone without as much as glancing at the screen, “Hello?” the tentative opener sounded ridiculous even to his ears.

Soon, it was clear he should have checked the caller before picking up.

“Hi, Neil,” Cupid’s silky tone caressed his ear through the device.

Neil knew she did that purposefully, solely inspired to make the idiot inside him blush and giggle like a loser. Make no mistake; Neil was certainly a loser. And an idiot.

Once he felt the shock pass enough to ensure he would not drop the phone he repeated the greeting.

“Umm, hi,” from the corner of his eye, Neil could see the accompanying trio stare at him without trying to be covert about it. Absolute assholes “You’ve never called me before” trust him to state the obvious.

For a second, Neil considered faceplanting onto the table. Equally, the idea of jumping out of the window sounded appealing. The thoughts of potential demise were interrupted by Cupid’s reply:

“I know. I just thought it might be fun to spice things up,” she was definitely enjoying this and the damage she has caused. It was audible in the lightness of her voice, the vowels curled by a cheeky smile he could hear as she asked, “How’s your day?”

No longer happy to ignore his audience, Neil turned towards them with another glare. All three stared back, with Ives going as far as shooting him a knowing smile.

“It’s fine, except for my team being desperate to berate me,” Neil directed the venom in his voice at the trio as Wheeler casually got up from the table and put the kettle on.

The light chuckle from the phone almost made him feel better about it.

“That’s rude,” her remark contrasted with the laughter he could hear in her voice. Yet it was too late to raise the alarm or prepare for what would follow, “Would it be better if I reminded you what a good boy you are?” as soon as Cupid finished the question, Neil felt the full-body reaction she wanted.

A shudder ran through his spine as his face flushed pink. On a last conscious thought, Neil leapt up from the chair and paced towards the window, hiding from the group. A half-swallowed groan broke through his mouth as he tightened his fist, hopelessly trying to forget how those two words sounded on her lips. It was pathetic.

The more tragic outcome was that now Cupid had even more blackmailing material in her arsenal.

“Jesus Christ, you’re evil,” Neil knew he still sounded wrecked.

There was no way of hiding that. Of making her forget this had just happened and the conclusions she could draw from it. Neil barely resisted the urge to smash his head into the window.

“Oh, so it would help,” as expected, Cupid sounded delighted by what had transpired. The cheeky smile he liked way too much was undoubtedly present on her face as she added, “Not so dully noted” may he rest in pieces, apparently, “When are you coming back?” the question sounded almost out of place.

Yet even in his muddled mind, Neil knew it was genuine. That she wanted to know. If that fact meant anything at all, he did not know. And he tried his hardest not to think about it too much.

“Why? You miss me?” ignoring the chorus of ‘awws’ behind his back, Neil allowed himself to ask.

Even if only for emotional validation. Because while she has hinted at it before, Neil was never tired of being reminded. The whole thing with her might have been hopeless, but it did not change how he worked. How his heart ticked and what beat it chose. Tragically, romanticism was tricky to get rid of. Neil experienced that first-hand.

“You know that I do,” Cupid did not mind humouring his whims as she offered a simple admission without a fight.

With all his predictability, Neil could not hold back the idiotic grin from making an appearance. Sure, it had no future, but that did not make him less eager to play along. What’s the worst thing that could happen? Famous last words and all. Probably.

“I should be back in a week. More or less,” that was the hope, anyway.

The few stray thoughts that had somehow escaped the web spun by Cupid, and her attention reminded him about the work still left to be done. Like the fucking pincer movement plan. With threebastards taunting him mercilessly. So much fun.

“Fab. I got you a great seat for the premiere, so… You know what to do,” the hopeful note in her voice was worth the future pain.

He had no doubts about it. The fact was that Neil was looking forward to the ballet. The hazy memories of seeing ‘Swan Lake’, aged six, hardly compared to the Royal Ballet company. It was a good enough reason to attend. The other excellent reason was Cupid herself, but that was best unsaid. And unthought. Somehow.

“Got you,” ignoring the ridiculous thoughts, Neil offered her a smile she could not see and a silent prayer cast into the heavens that he was not lying unknowingly.

“I know you do. You’re a good boy, Neil,” Cupid’s strike came with no warning.

Yet again, she dropped her tone a notch and whispered the damned two words with a breathy sigh. The metaphorical nail to the coffin this time was how she said his name, almost caressing the letters. And yes, this time it worked, too.

Neil had the mind to faceplant into the window and groan with frustration. The inescapable blush warmed up his cheeks as his body shivered. Some… particular parts of his physique also showed interest in what was happening, eternally oh so eager to betray his wish to stay unbothered.

“For fuck’s-” the choked curse got swallowed by the mightiest effort on his side as Neil took a steadying breath and asked, “Why?”

As if happy to punish him, Cupid laughed.

“Because it’s fun,” the unspoken duh made him both more annoyed and more bewitched by her, “I’ll let you work now, but…” as did the carrot dangled in front of his face like the sweetest of baits.

Always the idiot, Neil could not possibly ignore it.

“Yeah?” he could hear her take a deep breath as if steeling herself for a difficult admission.

“I’m glad we’ve met,” Cupid whispered the confession without as much as a pause between the words.

“Me too,” his reply got lost in the static as she hung up.

Letting out the breath he did not know he was holding, Neil lowered the phone onto the windowsill and stared at the city outside. Well then. The call would take a while to process; that was unquestionable.

“Aw, aren’t you two cute?” Ives’ teasing threw Neil out of that pleasantly fuzzy mind space with all the grace of an elephant.

He turned around with the glower at the ready. This time, he could not bite back the curse:

“Shut the fuck up,” on an afterthought, Neil added, “Please,” noticing the soldier open his mouth for a quip, he dropped his tone to a warning timbre. That called for a final caution, “Unless you want to start looking for a new physicist,” his glare slipped over the trio before Neil settled at the table and unfolded the blueprints without another word.

***

When that awaited text from Neil came, bearing the information that he was back in London and happy to meet you whenever you did not jump for joy. Definitely not. What you did do was grin and discuss the possible rendezvous immediately. When that Tuesday afternoon arrived, with the glory of a decent rehearsal and a good coffee in your paper cup, you happily bypassed the crowds at Green Park and skipped the steps down to the correct platform.

That twenty-minute walk to the station was a blessing, just as much as a curse. When Neil proposed the time you could meet on the train, you did not correct him about your location that day. Or that grabbing the Jubilee line would be entirely off the quickest route back home. You just accepted the time and place and ignored the voice at the back of your head reminding you that this was not how you usually behaved.

It could go fuck itself.

Once you settled on the platform, one glance at the watch told you the next train would be the right one. The strange giddiness sparked in your veins, but you blamed it on the three-week gap between the meetings. It was just that, nothing more. Obviously.

The autopilot carried you through the motions until you had boarded the carriage and came face to face with the cause of all this idiocy. Neil smiled, instantly clocking you before you had even placed both feet inside. It was impossible to keep your face neutral, returning the grin and manoeuvring around the commuters to sit next to him on the three plastic chairs facing the sliding doors.

Then, as if seized by insanity, you propelled your body forward with the arms coming up around Neil’s neck to embrace him tightly. His freeze took approximately twenty seconds to thaw as he returned the hug with equal strength. You could feel the warmth of his breath hitting the crook of your neck and making you fight back a shiver that would not do. Instead, you let yourself breathe him in, rest in the moment that was potentially a mistake. Still, you were not going to treat it like one. Not when the warmth of his hands seeped through the clothes as they rested on your waist.

When the lurch of the train reminded you of reality and all its flaws, you ruefully disentangled from Neil and met his wary gaze. His blue eyes scanned your face as if looking for clues towards the reasons for the madness you just allowed yourself. When that offered no answers, Neil broke the silence with a careful observation:

“I didn’t know that we’re doing hugs,” his impassive face offered no clues either, triggering a wave of uncertainty you had to smother.

Because what if you went too far? What if that was not what Neil wanted?

“We are now,” the confidence was missing from the statement, making you add a crucial question, “Is that okay?” you could hear the insecurity in your voice, betraying the worries.

They disappeared the moment Neil flashed you a smile, his hand lightly patting your knee as a complement to the simple reassurance:

“Sure is,” lowering his gaze to catch yours, Neil winked.

Thank fuck. It surely made life much easier. Or the plans you might or might have not made regarding him. Now that the crisis had passed, you shifted in the seat to find a more comfortable position and allowed yourself a selfish look, measuring him up as usual. The slight tan line revealed by the rolled-up sleeves confirmed what you did know about his disappearance. The minor tiredness in how he carried his body strengthened your guesses. The rest of him blinded you as always.

Especially the three buttons left undone, revealing a strip of his chest. And inspiring ungodly thoughts in your head. Ignoring that what could not be addressed. Especially not right now in a carriage full of people. You switched your attention to the other crucial topic. Everything was better than being arrested for public indecency. At least you did hope so.

“How was the trip?” you noted the shift in Neil’s posture.

How he strengthened in the seat, the mask back in place. Although his mystery had fallen into the background over the acceleration of your dynamic, it was still very much present. You had to figure him out. Had to crack the case. Even if it killed you.

For now, though, simply asking mundane questions had to be enough.

“Well… it was fine. The usual” the answer did not help much, however.

Neil looked as if he knew how enigmatic it sounded but could not do anything about it. Upon your questioning look, he only shrugged and offered no further details. This time, you could not let the moment pass without a comment. You rolled your eyes, a frustrated huff interrupting the silence with petulance:

“God, you couldn’t be any less mysterious if you tried,” although anger was not one of the present emotions, you knew Neil would understand the message as you glared at him without heat.

He winced as if admitting to the guilt you hinted at and turned to you with a more open expression on his face:

“Sorry, it’s uh… maybe one day,” Neil met your gaze meaningfully, making you keener to believe him.

You held his gaze for a beat, even if only to have an excuse to look into his eyes and see Neil without the veil of pretence. It was easy to hope one day he would tell you more. That there was one day, somewhere along the line, waiting for you. That whatever was happening would not burn to a cinder in two weeks and leave you bereft. As things like this tended to do.

“I’ll hold you to that,” before breaking the eye contact, you reached for his hand.

It was another insane reflex that was difficult to explain, even to yourself. Yet, still, Neil went willingly. His long fingers tangled with yours without resistance and allowed you to rest your joined palms between the seats, almost like a beacon to whoever was curious about your meeting. And you could see the nosy stares, the inquisitive grandmas eager to judge and label everything and everyone existing within their vicinity.

You used the warmth of your connected hands to anchor you in the present as Neil asked:

“How’s the imposter syndrome? Did it fuck off at last?” the softness in his eyes could undoubtedly be fatal.

As was the way he knew what to ask and hit the jackpot without even trying. Because, of course, the feeling of not being good enough did not disappear. Of course, you still got up every morning with the vague desire to approach the ballet director and tell her you are giving up. That you cannot do this. It almost seemed like Neil could sense your thoughts.

Which was both terrifying and appealing, if you were to be honest. It would make your job easier if he knew exactly what you were thinking. About him.

“I wish,” the suffering sigh was a cheap trick, but viable in your books, “I still think I’m going to embarrass myself, but well,” not willing to give up the comfortable weight of his hand in yours, you offered Neil a one-sided shrug “Can’t exactly capitulate now” the desperate edge to that sentence did not escape his attention.

Sure, you would not actually give up, but that did not mean you were not half-heartedly wishing it happened anyway. Ideally, in the form of someone else doing the job for you. Pathetic, innit?

Neil squeezed your hand, capturing your attention without needing to try at all. The frown was still present on your face, its force turning the corners of your mouth downwards. As always, Neil seemed to see through all that you were not saying. He met your gaze (which was a feat considering you were happy to look anywhere but at him) and spoke:

“I wouldn’t let you,” there was an edge to his voice, a steely resolve that told you the conversation was gaining another layer.

A different destination to the one you had expected at first. Although, with how your chats recently played out, it was to be anticipated. Probably.

Without giving yourself the time to overthink, you leaned closer to Neil and placed a hand on his thigh. You could see his eyes widen upon the move, the pupils blowing up in the quickest form of flattery a man could give you. Sharpening your smile to the perfectly saccharine variant, you delivered the prepared lines:

“Oh yeah?” his thigh muscles tensed underneath your hand as Neil’s mouth fell agape without him being fully in control of the reaction. It was adorable. And an ideally ripe ground to lay the final strike, “You’d force me? Have your way with me?” the sparks in his eyes were a pretty addition to the already gorgeous picture.

At that moment, you knew that you had missed this. No texting could ever replace the real thing. The back and forth with the arresting strength of his eye contact and the unpredictable suspense of what would come next. Like the sudden softening of Neil’s features and an unexpectedly tentative counter to your bold questions:

“If you’d let me,” he swallowed hard as if desperately trying to get rid of the thoughts in his head and simultaneously unable to shake them off.

As if ripping the thread connecting him to you and shortening it at an alarming rate was causing Neil physical pain. The revelation acted like a hot poker pressed against the tender skin of your palm. It was difficult to shrug it off as if it was nothing. It nagged and prodded until you could do nothing but stare dumbly at him, feeling every passing second like a wasted beat of time you would never get back.

Before you could get your shit together in any way, it was too late. Neil had already jumped to conclusions, as you worried he might. His brows furrowed as his teeth nibbled on the chapped bottom lip in a familiar nervous tic. Slowly, as if navigating a mined battlefield, he shifted in the seat, widening the space between you by a fraction. You noticed it anyway.

“You don’t mind that this sort of thing keeps happening?” the question was completed with a vague gesture, slashing the air between you awkwardly.

The inflexion offered no space for doubt. Neil concluded that you very much did mind. That somehow you were not an active and eager participant in the heavy flirting and mutual teasing. Neil was an idiot.

And you had to put that point across instantly.

“Why would I mind?” without thinking, you let your fingers repeatedly stroke his forearm as you leaned back into his orbit to confess what ought to have been obvious, “I mean every word I say to you. Including all that post-Watershed talk” it was delightful to see your favourite smile disrupt his frown.

At the same time, it was nice to have it out in the open, no longer unsaid and implied. Because you did mean it. And you did want it. Whatever Neil would offer, be it a friendship or more. The choice was his.

You could pinpoint when the weight lifted off his shoulders and let him breathe deeper. You stared as Neil absorbed and processed the information, his blue eyes showing a spectrum of emotions. Some were unreadable. Other more obvious, like the devilish sparks that always guaranteed the conversation would take a curious turn. Or the cautious hope, making him look so much younger and innocent. Your unoccupied hand itched with the desire to brush his golden locks from his forehead, so you tightened it into a fist hidden in the coat pocket.

Just like you hid everything that had no place in your life.

At the periphery of your attention, you could register the called stations. Or the fact that your stop was mercilessly getting closer. Only one question could make you forget the reality altogether:

“So, what would you do if I kissed you?” when Neil asked, you were glad you had never forced yourself to look away from him.

That hesitant hope was still there, lightening up his eyes. You let it pull you in, as there was no need to search your heart for an answer. It was fair to assume Neil knew that, too. The question was only a preliminary. But it was still admirable he asked. People rarely did.

You shrugged, highlighting the evident conclusion he hopefully had already reached. It would have been easy to close the gap and let that be the answer. Too easy. It was enough that you could hardly ever look away from him, constantly drawn and arrested by his eyes.

Forcing yourself to break the spell, you met his gaze and offered him an impassive smile. If only to keep up the façade for a little longer.

“There’s only one way to find out, Neil,” you hoped that was enough, that he would understand the ball was back in his court to do as he pleased.

You also hoped Neil came to the right solution. Sadly, that did not seem to come to be just yet. One glance outside the window alarmed you about the surroundings and that you were arriving at your station. The frown twisted your mouth downwards as you risked a glance at Neil. The disappointment in his eyes told you he already caught up.

Two choices were waiting at your disposal. You could either stay, miss your stop to find out what would happen next. Or you could choose cowardice and leave the carriage, delaying the fateful moment a little longer. Definitely not forever.

It was hard to say why you chose the second option. Why you stood up without as much as a look at Neil and feigned a cheery farewell that felt foreign on your tongue. Later, you were keen to pretend it was just the influence of the moment. A sudden spell of insanity.

“Oops, that’s me. See you soon,” it was a miracle that you did not trip in the haste to get out.

You barely registered the surroundings as you bolted towards the sliding door and stepped onto the platform, missing the gap by mere millimetres. It was pure luck that you did not walk into any poor soul as you attempted to get away from the train as fast as possible.

You did not get the time to flee. All because you did not consider one thing – Neil had a choice, too.

When you felt a hand take yours and pull you back, there was that split second of panic. Your disoriented mind rapidly flicked through at least ten different disastrous scenarios, starting at a random appearance of Liam and ending at a violent assault you were about to be subjected to. Only then, at the very end, your brain pushed forward another observation. There was something familiar about that handhold.

Before you had a second to follow that thought, the interrupter pulled at your hand, making you whirl around to face them. Your widened gaze fell upon the undone tortoiseshell shirt buttons and wandered up the neck to land on Neil’s blue eyes, patiently staring back at you. It took you another second to understand what happened. And another one to begin processing what it could mean. Why he did it.

Without being aware of the movement of your body, you stepped closer to Neil, tightening the bubble you both had created in the middle of the platform. People bypassed you as they rushed to the train with the beeping doors hastening their steps. But that hardly mattered. It was just white noise. Unimportant and ignorable.

Unlike Neil, who closed the gap between your bodies to mere millimetres, and wordlessly repeated the question from before. The answer did not change. You offered him a tiny nod, not feeling the need to speak. The surrealism of the moment could not be labelled anyhow.

From the second you had tasted Neil’s lips, you knew it would not be something you could forget. That the feel of him would burn into the cortex of your brain and stay there to haunt you for eternity. You were right.

Your eyes snapped shut as soon as he closed the distance and covered your mouth with his in a soft kiss. His gentle and pliant lips caressed yours attentively without effort, making you cling even closer to him. Your arms came around Neil’s neck as your fingers toyed with the hair at the nape of his neck. It took another second, a blissful beat of existence, to make you kiss him back. Just as carefully. Just like you never kissed anyone before.

Neil’s relief came through in a short gasp, let out into your opening mouth, and the warm weight of his palms came up to rest on your waist beneath the open coat. Following the logic you did not understand, you tilted your head and allowed his prying tongue to lick into your mouth. The liquid heat traversed your veins, warming up your skin as Neil took his time to map out the inside of your mouth. Suddenly, the instant connection you felt made sense. Things clicked into place as you breathed the taste of him and breathed out the uncertainty. It felt right. Good. Unforgettable, even.

It felt like no first kisses and endless one-night stands ever did. And that made no sense.

Soon, that first kiss evolved into another and then the next. The platform, the people and the noise faded into the background as you swapped kisses, barely interrupted by quiet groans and swallowed gasps. On its own accord, your hand ventured up to tangle in his hair, grabbing a fistful of the golden locks and tugging in time with a particularly hungry nip taken out of Neil’s bottom lip. The reward of a barely stifled moan was more than worth it.

As was how Neil held you close and returned your kisses with equal zeal. He matched your energy and pushed you further until the remaining part of your conscience worried about being arrested for public indecency.

When the burn of your lungs excelled that of your soul, you placed a palm over the centre of his chest and pushed Neil back. Just a fraction. Just to catch your breath. His answering whine felt like another spark of pride, making your eyes glow with self-satisfaction. That was better than any other form of gratification you could think of.

When you finally forced yourself to blink your eyes open and look at Neil, you were met with kiss-bruised lips and darkened blue eyes, showing nothing else but hunger. At least ten increasingly ridiculous religious metaphors battled for leadership in your mind, but you pushed them all aside. The most accurate comment went to two simple words, pushed forward by the strength of your soul’s crudeness. Fucking hell. In the best of meanings, that is.

Following deeply rooted instincts, your tongue darted out to thoroughly trace the expanse of your bottom lip. And get remains of his taste, that you had already started missing. As far as kisses had gone, this one was pretty damn spectacular.

Neil seemed frozen, his eyes fixed on your mouth as if that was the only thing he could do. Admittedly, it was adorable. Yet, still, you decided to break the spell, the only way you could think of:

“I think your train has left,” you glanced over his shoulder, noting the expectedly empty platform.

Only now, when the haze of the kiss (or rather a whole make-out session) had begun to lift, you could understand what had transpired. And that Neil was keen to delay his return home for the price of a kiss. Or for the hope of a kiss, for clearly, he did not think he would get that far. Idiot.

You could see it now, back on his face. The slight disorientation and confusion suggested Neil could barely believe that what just happened was real. He blinked twice, then again, as if forcing himself to wake up and met your gaze with wide eyes. Without thinking, you allowed the hand you had pressed flat to his chest to venture up, stopping when your fingers started grazing over his neck. That was the trigger Neil needed to return to reality. He seized your adventurous fingers in a loose hold and placed your joined hands back over his heart. You could feel it racing.

“I’ll wait for the next one,” Neil offered you a half-smile, the uncertainty shining through the tentative joy in his eyes.

It was not something you were used to. Usually, after a kiss like that (never even preceded with a question, because who the fuck still asked for kisses?), you only ever got smugness. And an attempt at a smooth transition to sex, which did or did not succeed, depending on the participating party). Never uncertainty. Never shyness. Never contentment with what happened without pushing you for more.

You didn’t know what to do with any of it.

“No regrets?” the question was also one that you never asked before.

Not after something as trivial as a first kiss. But then, nothing was the way it usually went with Neil. That much was quite clear.

“Not really. You?” as if sensing your growing uncertainty, Neil did not hesitate before answering the question.

He squeezed your fingers, still wrapped in his palm and met your gaze with something almost resembling confidence. Somehow, that was enough. You took a fortifying breath to gather courage and discard the doubts. There would be more than enough time to deal with them later. Hopefully.

For now, there were other things to do and say. Like answering Neil’s question and reclaiming the conversation from its sombre paths. Especially since no cell in your body regretted the kiss. Or any other thing you had ever said or hinted at to him. It is just that somehow, somewhere along the line, your normal confidence had been wiped off the table. And it felt like it was never to be seen again. Not like before.

You hoped to ignore that bit of revelation, too.

“Nope. I’d offer a coffee at mine, but… I think some things need a better build-up,” you hoped the chaos in your head was not easily seen as you dropped the line with an attempt at the usual smoothness and met Neil’s eyes with remaining poise.

You meant that, too. A part of you, the same that had difficulties ending the kiss, wanted to continue it wherever it may lead you. You were quite sure you knew where it was going. And you certainly wanted that. But, at the same time, rushing into it seemed… wrong. As if the fact that you also wanted to be friends with Neil needed a little more respect. A little more time.

You could tell he understood from the way Neil nodded, his eyes still blown out by the darkened pupils.

“Agreed,” he shook his head slightly as if trying to clear it before glancing at the timing screen over your heads. Whatever the impact those 7 minutes of waiting had, the next thing Neil did was to heave a sigh and set his weary eyes on you, “Actually, I might walk back home. Should probably clear my head,” a small smile lifted the corner of his mouth.

Without overthinking the act, you seized his hand and started for the stairs. Just because you were not yet taking him home did not mean you could not drag out the goodbye. Right?

Right.

***

Although the kiss was not forgotten and only added to the general restlessness, you never mentioned it again. It was another layer added to the sprinkled, complex mess that was your relationship. A tiered cake that had so many flavours it was impossible to label it using a concise, less than five-word description. It just did not get discussed.

That was both a blessing and a curse, considering that with mere days left till the public Don Quixote premiere you could barely handle one type of stress and uncertainty. Let alone two. The reality check deadline crept up on you without warning, catching you pacing the flat for over an hour the evening before the official pre-premiere. The event always happened at least a night before the opening soiree and was reserved for the press, Royal Ballet directory and special guests of honour. It also meant that every detail of the performance had to be up to par if one wanted to continue advancing the career in the company. Which you did want. Desperately. It was just bloody unfortunate that the usual insanity of anxiety now was interlaced with something else.

Something that made you stop the pacing and pick up the phone only to open the messages and stare at the text conversation with Neil. It had been a few hours, and considering the 9 pm on the clock, you had a fair right to believe that he might be asleep. Maybe. But that could hardly deter the part of your brain that tended to get ahead of itself. Especially fuelled by stress and anxiety.

Without letting yourself falter, you typed the question:

/ 🏹, 9:04 pm/ Are you still up?

Luckily, you only had to hold your breath for an answer (or a lack of it) for less than 5 minutes. For that, your lungs were eternally thankful.

/✝️, 9:08 pm/ Is this the moment you ask me for dick pics?

A ridiculous guffaw broke the silence of your flat, along with that necessary intake of oxygen. Conversations like those still happened daily and only increased the want you could not get rid of if you tried.

And you didn’t try. There was no point to it.

/ 🏹, 9:09 pm/ Nah. Not yet.

You were having fun, chatting the shit on the daily with someone who seemed more than eager to keep the ball going. That was partially why you reached out on a whim, desperate to get out of the flat even for a little while. After all, asking Neil offered a fifty-fifty chance of an entertaining evening. All other intentions did not have to be disclosed. Even in your mind.

/✝️, 9:10 pm/ That’s a relief.

/✝️, 9:10 pm/ How can I be of service, my lady?

/ 🏹, 9:11 pm/ You’ve no idea, babe.

/ 🏹, 9:12 pm/ I was thinking of going to the dance studio, that’s open till midnight. Do you want to come?

/ 🏹, 9:12 pm/ You’ve said you wanted to see me dance so…

After sending the third message, you put down the phone and exhaled. That nervousness residing in your bones was new. It was almost as if it mattered what Neil’s answer would be. As if you cared whether he would say yes to the tentative proposition. None of that had ever happened before.

The urge to faceplant into the pillow was derailed by the buzz of an incoming message. With embarrassing speed of reaction, you read the texts:

/✝️, 9:15 pm/ Happily.

/✝️, 9:15 pm/ When and where do we meet?

You grinned. As you copied and pasted the location pin into the message, you could already feel a different type of nervousness enter your system. It was time for Neil to see you dance. You would also see him for the first time since the kiss. It was high time someone covered this topic on wikiHow. Or, at least, you thought so.

***

Although the Royal Ballet had more than good enough facilities at the Covent Garden building, the company could also use a studio by the Southwark Underground Station whenever you felt like it. Conveniently, that alternative place was open till midnight on weeknights, offering a one-in-a-million chance to run over the choreography for a billion times more before the pre-premiere. Without an audience of your fellow ballet dancers and their critical eyes, at that.

The other perk to the external studio was that nothing stopped you from bringing someone from the outside along. Nothing except for maybe the deeply rooted fear of showing Neil what you could do. Or couldn’t do.

That fear had not left through the Uber drive from your flat, growing in force from the moment you set your eyes upon Neil waiting outside the studio with a smile on his face. You exchanged the usual niceties, bypassing the awkward tint to the interaction with an avoided hug and nonsensical commentary from your side.

The nerves seemed to reach the peak as you left Neil in the main ballet studio room, the space lit up sparsely to maintain the strangely surreal atmosphere of those late autumn nights in London when nothing seems to be tangible and real. Having left the house in a pre-planned rehearsal outfit, you only took off the unnecessary layers, leaving you in a simple bodice and a wrap mid-thigh skirt and pulled on the woollen leg warmers to keep the chill at bay.

Luckily for your racing heart, the ritual of putting on and lacing up the pointe shoes always did its magic, allowing you to centre yourself and take a couple of deep breaths. Until there was nothing left but to march out of the changing room and connect your phone to the speaker, the right track ready for you to press play.

But before you could go that far, you made the mistake of locating Neil in the room. He had settled on the floor opposite you, his back pressed to the mirror-covered walls of the studio. He stared as you entered the invisible stage and offered you an encouraging smile. A slow, gentle warm-up was a valid opportunity to falter. A necessary step you had to take while also admitting that it was convenient. Although, Neil’s attentive gaze following your every move was much less convenient.

Once you had run out of all other options, you started the music, put down the phone and took up position. Desperate to rehearse as much as possible, you chose to go through the entire dream sequence at the end of Act 2. As always, the Minkus score did its magic, helping you settle into the movement and almost forget about everything else.

You followed the steps with practised ease, hearing the dull thud of pointe shoes hitting the hardwood floors with each landing between the orchestral notes. When the cue to finish was near you were almost out of breath. The pearls of sweat clung to your temples as the sweetness of exertion burned through your muscles and tendons. When those final notes rang off in the quiet studio, you held the finishing pose and waited for the music to end. The resulting silence was deafening.

Slowly, as if pained to do it, you opened your eyes. Neil was right where you had left him; his gaze seemingly never trailed away. But the exact look on his face was different. Instead of the ease and unbothered nonchalance he tried to emit earlier, Neil was now speechless. Dazed. His mouth was still agape, and he had to remind himself to close it before swallowing hard. You tried your hardest not to let that get into your head. You failed.

“So… what do you think?” unable to keep quiet for much longer, you released the question into the ether with a permanent frown and a minimal level of conviction.

It seemed to be what Neil needed to wake up from the stupor. He shifted, pulled up his knees to his chin and eyed you with a bright gaze. The desire to look away rose with every minute, but you tried to endure it. Somehow.

“You’re brilliant. Do you know that?” the matter-of-fact tone threw you off kilter, bringing out an automatic (albeit manic) grin from its hiding back onto your face.

Neil mirrored the expression instantly, only widening your smile in the process. Feeling the need to move again, you flexed your calves, completing a set of rapid changements. Only once that was done you could attempt to answer the question.

“Maybe,” you shrugged, unwilling to stray onto that sort of honest territory just yet, “It doesn’t hurt to hear it again, though,” unable to ignore that one voice at the back of your head that had not been convinced, you asked, “Was it actually… good?” the emphasis on the word was automatic.

You could tell Neil saw right through your faux nonchalance as he smiled, a different type of fondness shining in his eyes. That, too, was best left alone for now. The observation was shelved among others of its kind in the darkest cavern of your brain. Ideally left alone for good, never to be touched or thought of again. Just in case.

Neil’s gaze never strayed from yours as he offered you an answer without a hint of exasperation:

“As far as my virgin eyes could tell, it was perfect,” the corner of his mouth rose in the makings of a familiar smirk.

It eradicated any illusions that he did not know what he was saying. Or the effect the sentence would have. You closed your eyes against the sight, hopelessly willing the inconvenient feelings to disappear.

By now, it was painfully clear that Neil could be a bastard when he wanted to. It was just another thing that you liked about him. Perhaps too much.

For a second, you debated following the easy way out he had offered. It would have been effortless to take up the tone and turn the conversation into yet another pleasant back-and-forth that could potentially lead you past the talking. Past that one kiss, that had lowkey driven you insane with the promise of potential.

But the doubts were still there. They still clouded your mind like a flock of hungry birds of prey hunting for a bite of flesh. And Neil was the only person you could talk to and know he would listen. That he would care. For some reason, it was a crucial thing to share. An important topic to raise. Here and now.

“Allow me to ignore that double entendre potential for a second,” your apologetic frown was accepted with a subtle nod and meaningful glance.

“You’re excused, Cupid,” Neil grinned, evidently taking pleasure from the nickname you became fond of.

Especially because it was him, who bestowed it on you.

“Thank you,” shaking off the sudden rush of affection, you completed the gratitude with a cheeky addition, returning Neil’s smirk, “Sir,” only once noted his answering blush, it was safe to delve into what you really wanted to tell him. You took a deep breath, completing half a pirouette to face the mirrors on the wall and asked, “Do you ever feel like you’re just constantly pretending? Like the whole ‘fake it till you make it’ deal, except you never stop faking it?” training your gaze on the hardwood floors, you stared at the tips of your pointe shoes.

The worn-out, ragged edges caught your attention for a split second. You took a mental note to break in the brand-new pair and prepare them for tomorrow’s show. On the periphery of your vision, you could see Neil’s reflection. You could feel him staring, the intense gazing boring holes in the back of your head. But not even that could make you turn and face him.

“Pretty much every day,” Neil’s reply made you look up, meeting his eyes in the reflection. That was not an answer you had expected, “I’ve found that sometimes, if you’re lucky, all that pretending can fool the brain, too,” he signed off the addition with another reassuring smile.

Still, the scepticism reigned free as an unbidden scoff tore from your throat, forcing you to swallow down the sudden desire to retreat from the conversation. Years of practice did not seem to share Neil’s thesis. Things never got easier. You doubted they ever would.

“I’d hope so. Except that, I’m not sure I am that lucky,” that was a given, an undeniable fact of life like the laws of physics or the ignorance of the Tories. Unchangeable. The familiar wave of frustration threatened to pull you down as you allowed the insecurities to speak their part,“I may appear as a fucking cool cat, confident and all, but… I’m not,” hearing the broken note in your voice, you swallowed hard, unable to look at Neil anymore. There was only one final thing to add, “And I wish I could be,”

There. The curtain has fallen, revealing the truth underneath. Now, it was clear Neil had no illusions left about you. No reason to think of you highly. Somehow, you felt lighter. Sure, still unable to meet his gaze, even in the reflection, but it was better that way. Now, when you did disappoint him somewhere along the line, for whatever reason, it would be much less surprising.

You had no doubts whether that moment of disappointment would happen. It always did.

“You have every right to be. Because you are” when Neil spoke, at first, you did not register it. His words flew right over your head before being caught by your heart, desperate to find anything to hold on to. Only then did you hear what he said. You looked up in time to see the remains of the fading blush on his cheeks, “If that even makes sense,” he shook his head slightly as if scolding himself over the awkward reassurance and stood up. The tense shoulders betrayed the lightness he still tried to emit, “Trust me when I say I feel useless and stupid every minute of every day,” the weariness in his voice clashed with the disbelief you felt when hearing what he said.

That made no sense. The turmoil made you turn around in a half-pirouette and face Neil with wide eyes and mouth agape. Your brain was experiencing severe computing issues, the smoke almost sizzling out through your open lips.

He was none of those things. You barely resisted the urge to close the miles between you and shake him by the shoulders, all the while screaming at him to stop saying such bullshit. You did not do any of those things.

“But you’re… you,” instead, you gestured vaguely towards him, armed with words that were not enough.

No words seemed to be apt to describe him. Neil was just… impossible. Ineffable in his wonderfulness. Much better than anyone you had ever known. But that was something you could not say. Not now.

“In my books, that’s not necessarily a good thing,” Neil glanced at you with tired eyes, kicking around at nothing as he slid across the parquet in his socks.

When you entered the studio, he started unlacing his shoes before you could protest. Said something about not wanting the cleaner to have more work. The comment made you smile too brightly before you excused yourself into the changing room and hid your face in the palms of your hands. That state didn’t seem to have passed.

In an effort not to do anything stupid, you backed away till you could feel the barre against your back. Only then you met his searching gaze and made sure to show Neil the extent of earnestness on your face:

“It is. I’ve never met anyone like you, Neil,” the admission was met with a surprised double-take, so you decided to soften the tone with a stupid addition, “The hottest priest in London and whatnot,” you did mean that one, too.

Neil’s huff of laughter felt like a dodged bullet.

“Funny,” the bright sparks in his eyes confirmed the praise with doubled force, making you turn back towards the mirror to avoid being blinded by the strength of his affection. That stuff could be dangerous, “You’re the hottest ballerina in London, so we’re even,” once you registered Neil’s words, the silky tone of his voice that had not been there just a second ago, you knew that trouble was coming.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see him close the gap. The warmth settled in your cheeks as you felt the comfortable heat spread around your body. That pleasant anticipation ignited in your bones with every step Neil took. Somewhere, at the edges of reason and logic, you knew you still had a choice. You knew that whatever he had envisioned in his mind, could easily be stopped with one word from your side. What was the problem?

Mainly that you didn’t want him to stop. Did not want to cut short the moment slowly blooming into something crucial. You could feel it buzz beneath your skin as Neil took the final steps towards you and leaned in. His hands came to rest upon the barre, millimetres from yours. Not quite touching but enough so you could not ignore his presence. You could feel the heat from his body as Neil pressed his chest to your back and whispered into your ear:

“A cool cat,” in normal circumstances, the call-back to your rant would have made you laugh.

But those weren’t normal circumstances. Not with Neil’s proximity, his hands slowly tracing invisible lines up your arms. You could feel his breath on the nape of your neck, creating goosebumps effortlessly. And the thing was – this wasn’t anything new. It was far from the first time someone had done this. Far from the first time you had been tempted by someone who desired you. But it was the first time they seemed to take their time for it.

Your head felt dizzy with the revelation as Neil’s fingers lightly brushed the neckline of your bodice and journeyed down. It was a first in the fact that he did not even try touching your breasts, instead respectfully settling over your ribs and tapping a vague rhythm over your heated skin. Without searching your heart, you knew that you did not mind it. Not one bit.

You covered one of his palms with yours, firmly pressing it against your waist and raised your head to seek Neil’s gaze. He was already looking back at you, the blue eyes of his eyes dark and consumed with something you wanted to call hunger. The same feeling could be easily found on your face.

“Are you trying to seduce me?” you frowned at the hoarseness of your voice and the breathless tint to the question.

For the first time, it was impossible to fake your reaction. Impossible to pretend you were not affected. Neil’s answering smile, full of confidence and mischief, made that discovery seem fine. Not troubling at all.

“Is it working?” the warmth in his eyes made you feel safe, not threatened by the potential of what could happen.

Not viable to the pains of consequences. That seemed enough.

Enough to make you gently tug at his hand, asking for the freedom of movement to turn around and face him. Only then, with Neil’s curious gaze beaming down on you like a desirable spotlight, you placed his palm back on your waist and offered an honest reply:

“I think you already know,” as proof, you picked up his other hand and guided it to press against your chest, feeling the rapid heartbeat.

The wolfish grin you received in return was worth any leftover sense of shame and embarrassment. Neil leaned in, and just as you were about to close your eyes, awaiting another life-changing kiss, he left a promising peck on the edge of your jaw. On its own accord, your hand tightened over the wooden railing as you exposed your throat for his use.

Neil wasted no time leaving a trail of kisses down the slope of your neck, only just being careful enough not to leave marks. Each kiss felt like a hot poker pressed against the tender skin of your neck, blazing hot and impossible to shake off. You closed your eyes, letting the sense take in the sensation of his tender care. Of the contrasting burn of stubble, scratching at your skin with a delicious sting.

Every kiss took time, only then to be sealed with a lick of his tongue, eliciting your quiet gasps and barely kept in groans of pleasure. The wave of insanity rose, threatening to take over your brain, save for one consistent thought. One revelation.

No one had cared this much before.

Letting go of his hand, you tangled your fingers in his golden strands, lightly tugging to gain his attention. The answering groan was sure to enter the library of sounds and images you liked to relieve in private. But before you could attempt to formulate the desire painted across your face, the door to the studio creaked, disrupting the silence.

You gasped in shock as Neil took half a step back, warily eyeing the doorway. A thousand curses lodged themselves in your throat as a silhouette of an older man, armed with a bucket and a mop, peered inside the room with a scowl. Fucking Rich, the Janitor.

The older man scanned you both from head to toe and sighed.

“It’s closing time, kids. Go home,” his gravelly voice acted like the much-needed bucket of cold water.

As he turned back towards the darkness of the corridor, you met Neil’s eyes. The depths of exasperation visible there told you this business was far from over. You certainly hoped so.

[simpxxstan]

perfect complements (ch. 5)

pairing: professor!seungcheol x professor!f.reader

genre: fluff, enemies to lovers, angst, smut

series summary: four and a half years of working together breeds familiarity, resentment, and everything in between. it's almost like living together.

chapter word count: 2.7k

warnings: nothing really except a few curse words and one suggestive joke.

a/n: exams are finally over! going to try and update this as regularly as possible before i get busy again. also: congratulations to bss for the daesang! their aaa performance was GOLD like no one does it like them honestly. hope you like this update! do let me know your feedback, it motivates me so much! this is a filler chapter, largely. kinda important to understand the gaps i guess. sorry again if the slow burn is hurting, next chapter promises action. also, about the poll: i promise mingyu fic coming up real soon! last thing i wanna say: thank you for 200 followers omggg lost my mind over it for a day yk <3 i hope i keep entertaining you for a long time on my blog!

taglist for the fic: @minhui896 @yunoyeol

series masterlist

It is well past midnight, but you cannot sleep at all. Perhaps it is the caffeine and sugar from the coffee and the crepe cake you had indulged in after dinner. Perhaps it is the stress of packing for the upcoming trip. Perhaps it is the chill in the wind that lingered in your bones for too long. 

Or perhaps it is the weight of Minhee’s words weighing down on you. 

You keep thinking of the conversation you had with her in the afternoon. 

_

Eight hours ago, Minhee had appeared at your front door, carrying bottles of soju and convenience store food, an apologetic expression on her face as you had opened the door in confusion. “I can explain, Unnie. I’m really sorry.” One look at her usually bubbly face now scrunched up and clearly distressed, and you didn’t have the heart to be mad at her anymore. Soon you were sitting on the couch, slurping ramen from the big cups, already two cups down, biting into cheese kimbaps, and drinking soju. It was an utterly unhealthy combination, but it was oh, so healthy for your hearts. After gobbling down the food and getting over with casual small talk, she had finally nearly lying on your lap, as you huddled into one blanket. 

“My sister’s getting married this weekend.”

“What?!” 

She looked up, smiling but it was not quite reaching her eyes. 

“Isn’t your sister already married…?”

“My youngest. You forget we are four sisters. My eldest got married three years go, the one right after me got married six months ago, at whose wedding you ate half the cake,” she teased, and you pushed your face into your chest in embarrassment. “This time it’s my youngest.”

“But you’re not happy?” You asked, even more confused. 

“No, no, I am! You know I’ve rooted for Miso and her partner forever!” You nodded, having heard about this couple quite a bit. 

“Then?”

“Nothing, it’s just… I’m the only sister who’s not married now. My sister who is five years younger than me are getting married but…. I can’t even last a stable relationship. And my parents-”

You huged her, noticing her eyes getting teary. “Minhee-ah! Don’t mind what your parents say, please. You know how parents can be…”

“But Unnie… I’m thirty now! I’m turning thirty-one in, like, three months, but I haven’t even been able to last a relationship for more than a year in my life, and it’s quite fair honestly for my parents to be bothered about this-”

“But this is your life! You should decide the pace, darling. It’s not important if your parents want you to get married early. They may have done it early at their time, but you should definitely wait till you’re ready! It’s not that late honestly-”

“Unnie, I think it is late though. I should think about freezing my eggs-”

“Oh baby, why are you thinking so hard!” 

“I’m not Unnie! Trust me, you’re lucky your parents haven’t pressurised you with this. It gets so claustrophobic whenever I sit with my parents these days. It’s all they can talk about. My mom keeps sending me photos of sons of her friends, forcing me to go on these blind dates with random guys, like honestly does she even look at the guys she sends me with? It’s so stressful, Unnie!”

You rubbed her back gently, feeling her heat up in agitation. “Minhee, tell me honestly. Do you want to get married soon?”

She stopped shaking in your arms and said softly. “I do. But I want to wait for love.”

“Then wait. This is the 21st century. This isn't the 18th century that people will scorn you for marrying late. Plus, your mom probably just wants to see you settled down and rid herself of her last responsibilities towards you. She doesn’t mean any harm. Have you spoken to her about this?”

“I’ve tried to-”

“Well then, you gotta be a big girl and speak up, huh? Unless you talk to her, she’ll never understand that she’s forcing you. There must be some middle ground for you to reach.”

She moved away slowly, nodding in gradual understanding. Her face looked infinitely more calm now, and she stretched her legs onto the carpet. “This is why I was so worked up that day… I’d just gotten over with a phone call from my mom interrogating me as to why I hadn’t liked the last blind date she had sent me on.” She then turned to you, facing you. You could see the clouds in her eyes, urgent and earnest. “This is why I’m worried about you, Unnie… you should speak to Hyunsik Oppa about settling down. You’re not getting any younger… and four years together isn’t a joke.”

You sighed, looking away. It was your turn to be worried, and you decided not to meet Minhee’s eyes for that while, knowing too well she’d catch on to the doubts that had been lingering in your mind for months now. You said softly, “I know you meant well, Minhee…. It’s just that, this is something for Unnie and Oppa to talk about, hmm?” She nodded again, speaking up with enthusiasm, “Yes yes, I’m sorry for that day! I just want to be your friend! I won’t be nosy from now on, I promise!”

And that had been that. You both had switched on to lighter topics after that, casually flicking through fancams of idol groups you both liked, or funny episodes from reality shows you had grown up watching since teenage years. Suddenly, it struck you that the next weekend was supposed to be your trip with Minhee and the undergrads to Singapore, and you panicked. She had calmed you down, calling Wonwoo for both of you, and speaking to him for advice, knowing he’d give the best option available.

He had not.

He had actually insisted you go with Seungcheol, mad man Wonwoo, and even agreed to calling off the therapy sessions if you called Seungcheol to ask him. After that, you had no option but to call Suengcheol, who had absurdly agreed. Like, you were seconds away from cutting the call off, calling up Wonwoo and blaming it all on Seungcheol denying the trip request, thereby getting the easy way out- Wonwoo would have no option but to cancel the therapy programme and also let you go alone on the trip, but the damn bastard just had to agree now. For the first time in four and a half years, he had willingly agreed to spend time with you and you didn’t know what to do now. 

“Fuck him!” 

Minhee giggled, slyly saying, “No shit Unnie!”

You were fuming with annoyance and this was not the time for Minhee’s jokes. “What?!”

“Isn’t that what you both want, ultimately? Getting into each other’s pants?” She kept giggling like it was the funniest thing ever, while you made disgusted faces at her mere words. “Minhee-ah, you’re so drunk.” “Am not!” She picked the fourth bottle of soju and uncorked it easily. “Unnie, can you not overreact so much? It’s just three days!” “Three days of torture! Oh god, he’s going to be so smug now. I just know he’ll behave like he’s doing me this huge favour and be all arrogant about it.”

“Unnie, I see why Dr. Lee asks y’all to do colouring and stuff. You really are kids, you know?”

“Minhee, I’m not in the mood now!”

“I’m not kidding, please. Everyone has co-workers they may not like. I remember hating my boss at the research institute I interned at. He was so slimy and always wanted to show me down because I was young. But I tolerated him, right? We just have to get along and live with it because that’s what the world is about.”

You tsked at her sudden philosophy lesson, bobbing on the heels of your feet, not quite calming down. 

“Unless you… don’t just dislike him as a co-worker? Minghao and I are just waiting for you both to tell us that you’ve been secretly crushing on each other for years now. The tension is real, ya know?” she smirked, and you threw a pillow at her face, causing her to duck, laughing at your flustered face. “Minhee, how many times do I have to tell you and Minghao?” “Right, right, sorry! I’ll drop it. You call Wonwoo Oppa now, or I’ll do the honours.”

_

At the end of the day, when the lights are off and you finally lie down in the softness of your bedsheets, however, worries about Seungcheol and the trip aren’t running laps in your brain. It’s thoughts about you and Hyunsik. 

You’d met him for the first time in the third year of your college. He had been everything you’d dreamt of in a boyfriend, coming into adulthood. You’d been too much of a nerd as a teen to ever think of dating, but now that you were in college, you were so ready to date an oppa like the heroines of k-dramas. Or perhaps you’d read too many fanfictions and you had fallen in love with the idea of falling in love rather than the act in itself. Hence, when you saw Hyunsik walk into your undergraduate statistics class as the RA, you’d toppled over your feet and fallen headfirst for him. From daydreaming over how his pretty fingers traced the words on your answer scripts when he corrected them for you, to journaling every day about how many times he made eye contact with you, you had become completely smitten by him. But he was an RA, a Postgraduate student, two years older than you. He hung out with many pretty unnies, one of whom definitely had to be his girlfriend. So before you could gather up the courage to actually confess your feelings, he had passed out of college, and you’d been forced to move on. 

It wasn’t like you hadn’t dated since then. After the initial crush on Hyunsik and the heartbreak of unrequited feelings, you had become bolder and started moving into the market more decisively. You had dated a total of eight people in the five years after that, most of which relationships had ended without any hard feelings and you had remained distant acquaintances with them. It wasn’t that none of them had captured your heart- they had each loved you in their own special ways, but it never felt enough. 

So you framed a pretty excuse for yourself: it was because none of them were Hyunsik. It was because he was perfect and nobody else compared to him. 

In hindsight, you were so wrong.

In hindsight, you probably should not have ended things so quickly after comparing them with what you imagined Hyunsik would be like. Imagined being the key word, because you had filled in the gaps that you didn’t know about him (which were a lot, considering you had only known him from a superficial level), using romance novels you had grown up reading. 

And you’d lived with that perfect image of him, until you’d met him at the college reunion. Apparently it had been organised for the two batches before you, and the two batches after you. And Hyunsik was there. So when he came walking up to the corner where you and your friends were chatting up on the old times, you had been stunned and had fallen back into the rabbit hole you’d been trying to get out of for years. He was still as gorgeous as before, and as he soon slipped, single. He had bought you drinks, made you laugh too many times, and then taken you home that night. 

Life had not been the same since then. It had been a whirlwind for the first two years, and you had gladly found out that he was exactly what you had imagined him like. But then-

Then he had got a new professorship opening in Canada, and he had moved away, on your insistence that this was a wonderful opportunity for him. You were so sure long distance would not affect your relationship, in fact, you’d been confident you’d even be stronger now. 

In hindsight, you were so wrong. 

_

You let the phone fall onto the pillow next to you, gently fading your attention away. You’re confident he will not pick up the call, like the last few days. 

“Jagi?”

You hear a faint voice squeaking out from your phone, and turn to the screen in shock, seeing the phone screen alight with his call receipt. You quickly click the speaker button, and reply, “Oppa! You picked up!”

You can hear his soft chuckles on the other end. Quickly checking the time, you realise it’s 9.30 am in Toronto. “I’m sorry, I’ve been so busy. I’ve really had no time to even eat properly,” he explains softly, making you worried. “You’ve not been eating properly? Yah, do you need me to come over and take care of you now?” You’re half teasing, half anxious. Somewhere you hope that he’ll bend and say that he does need you to come there for him. You know you’ll cave in if he says it, you’re that desperate for the least bit of his attention. Anything that’ll convince you that Hyunsik from two springs ago will be back.

“Y/N-ie, please stop overreacting. I need to lose weight anyway, a few meals skipped here and there don’t matter.”

You sigh, biting your lip. 

“Oppa has to go now, okay Jagi? I’ll drive to university now.”

Your eyes prick with the hints of long-dried tears. 

“Okay, good night Oppa… call me when you get time, hmm?”

“Hmm!” The line disconnects, and you’re left staring into the darkness of your bedroom. Once again, the pain of the past and a dark fear of the future grips your heart and refuses to let go.

_

“Hello Dr. Lee!” You call out loudly as you step into their office, thinking you’re early for your appointment, only to see a very smiley Seungcheol already standing with an even more smiley Dr. Lee near the window of their cabin. You had successfully avoided spending more than five minutes with Seungcheol whenever you encountered each other in the staffroom, hoping he’ll not raise questions about the trip. 

They both turn around to see you walk in through the door. 

“Oh you’re here, Prof. Y/L/N! I just heard from Wonwoo that you’re no longer in need of my services from next week onwards,” they smile knowingly. 

You blush in embarrassment of getting caught. “It’s not like tha-”

“I heard about your bargain, and don’t worry, I’ve not taken offence.” They smile again, walking away from the window and towards the coffee machine sitting in one corner of the room. 

Seungcheol pipes in, “Take note, Dr. Lee, this bargain was framed by our resident darling, Prof. Y/L/N. I have no contribution. I assure you, I quite enjoyed our sessions and I shall miss them.” You roll your eyes, resident darling, really! and slap his arm lightly, laughing sarcastically. He chuckles back in an equally sarcastic tone, both of you throwing daggers at each other using your eyes. It doesn’t help that he’s slicked back his hair today, giving a more prominent show of his strong forehead with eyebrows more bushy than you could ever dream of having, even after makeup. Dr. Lee laughs out loud at your antics and give you both two cups of the vending machine coffee. 

“Well, I know exactly well how you both will be feeling, so no need to convince me. But before I let you go, I have one last task for you both, to conclude my notes.”

“Notes?” you ask, crossing your left leg over your right, ignoring the way Seungcheol squirms away from you as your left leg extends forward slightly.

“My analysis notes. I’ve been studying you two, of course.”

“But you have notes about us?”

“Force of habit, you forget that I am a psychologist and my primary interest is observing behaviours of people.”

You smile at their words, and quietly sip on your coffee. 

“So, what is the final task?” Seungcheol asks. You notice that his coffee is nearly finished. 

“I have a harmony-building task for you two.”

[softie-rain]

Hehe if you are taking requests could you do one w peter maximoff where he finds his s/o stressed out and anxious due to examinations? I'm burnt out and really need some peter to help lol ty love your work so much!!! <3

Stress Relief

pairings: peter maximoff x gen!reader

warnings: non fluff uwu

summary: finals can be extremely hard, and Peter just wants you to forget all about it

a/n: hey! thanks for the request, and sorry if this came out so late 😭 also you didn't specify the gender so i went with neutral :) Also i know i said i was taking a break from x reader stories, but this was an old request and i wanted to finish it.

Any spam likers will be blocked. If you like what you read, REBLOG.

"Peter?" You called in the dark, after hearing wind moving your hair. "Damn, how did you know it was me?" He asked faking shock, hugging you from behind.

You chuckled, closing your arms around his. "Instinct."

"What are you doing?" He observed the papers on your desk, where you were currently sitting at. Last weeks of school, that meant final exams. Completely useless, if you were asked, who's only purpose was to give you stress, all the time.

"It's almost midnight, you can't seriously still be up studying." He commented. You rolled your eyes at him. "Yeah well, I have to make a plastic of the cell and for now I have only studied the components, and still have to do the whole thing. Plus Mrs. Kelly wants this ready for tomorrow, so either I do this now or I fail."

Peter looked at you with sympathy. You were so stressed over school work lately, withou taking any break. And yes, maybe you had the time to do one. But you knew that if you stopped, then starting again would be way harder. Especially at midnight.

"I can do it for you, if you want." You started laughing, even if you knew he was dead serious. "I appreciate it love, but I'm fine."

"You're clearly not. And if you don't want me to do your work, then let me help you forget your stress for an hour.

Or two."

You rolled your eyes. "Peter, no. I can't have any breaks now- Peter!" He completely ignored your protests and grabbed you bridal style. "Ready?"

You knew anything you would have said could never brought Peter to stop his actions, so you just shook your head and said "I never am." And then clinged into him as he sped out of your room.

He brought you in the forest, laying you on the fresh grass. "And now?" You asked. He smiled and layed down next to you. "Now you look up and admire the stars."

You did as he told you, and smiled widely. The sky was simply beautiful, and living outside the city without light pollution made it even better.

"That is the Big Dipper, there, you see it?" He said, pointing his finger up. After a few seconds you spotted it, and nodded at Peter. "And more on the left the Little Dipper. It's a bit harder to spot, but without all the lights you should be able to see it."

It took you a full minute to find it, but finally yoi saw it too. And so you spent the time like this, between Peter pointing out stars and planets as you tried to find them, and awful pick up lines.

"Y/n, you know what's more beautiful than the sky?"

"If you finish that sentence I'm breaking up with you."

"I was gonna say me but ok."

Almost one hour and half later, you were fast asleep. Tired from the exhausting day and with Peter's voice as a sweet lullaby, sleep came over you pretty easily.

When you woke up next morning, panic washed all over you.

The project. You haven't finished it yet.

You rushed over your desk, maybe you could still finish it, somehow.

But at your desk, you saw the project done, perfectly closed in a box, ready to be brought at school. Next to it, a note.

I know what you said, but you were exhausted and I didn't had the heart of waking you up. I love you, good luck with the project <3

You smiled and brought the note to your heart. "Love you too, Peter."

[rainbowvamp]

"Well, it's nearly midnight. How much do you know about human New Years customs."

1 hour writing spree. Happy New Year. Ring it in with a Hob and Dream first kiss fic, on the house <3

------

Hob spends all day cooking in the new inn. prepping for the New Years Eve party that the inn is having. He is exhausted by the time the New Years party actually comes around.

He turns to his co-owner and tells her that he needs a power nap at around 9pm. She didn't come in until 5, so she's good to be alone for an hour or so so hob can make it through till midnight.

Hob goes up to his flat and lays down. He falls asleep and then pretty quickly after that, he starts to dream.

The dream is nice, but relatively inconsequential. Just Hob going about his business in the New Inn with an increased amount of surreality. It feels so normal to his mind that he doesn't wake up for midnight.

At about 11:55pm BST, Dream pops into his dream. Hob is wiping down the counter and smiling at him, and thinking how lucky he is to be seeing his stranger when he didn't expect to.

And Dream feels that gratitude. How Hob feels about him.

"Your party is awaiting you, Hob Gadling." Dream knows just about everything, and he knows that Hob is supposed to be enjoying this time with his friends. His friends who he cares for in the waking world. He thinks it is a kindness to tell his friend the time.

"What do I need that for, when everything I want is right here?" Hob grins, pouring Dream a glass of wine and pushing it over the bar to him before serving himself a whiskey. The pub that had been occupied before now contains no one but the two of them, completely by Hob's doing. Dream can feel the way that this is intentional for Hob, removing possible distractions, possible people to take Dream's attention away from himself. Dream smiles affectionately, remembering Hob's confession of how the (perceived) Shakespeare slight affected him.

"You would profess that I am all you want?"

"I don't often say things I don't mean, duck." The easy way Hob calls him by a nickname makes Dream feel a fluttering sensation in the area where his chest has manifested.

"What would you ask of me then, if I am truly all you wish for." Dream sits at the bar in front of Hob, and Hob leans over the bar, arms braced wide and face nearer to Dream's than it has been in most of their time acquainted.

"Well, it's nearly midnight. How much do you know about human New Years customs." Hob's smile would be blinding if Dream was anything less than an anthropomorphic personification. As it was, it was a little bit stunning.

"I am aware of all human customs. I am the embodiment of fiction and fantasy, dream and nightmare." Dream offers back his own small smile.

"Well, what do you know about ringing in the new year?"

In the background, a television that hadn't been on (or even present) starts counting down to midnight.

"10... 9... 8..."

"I know that humans have a variety of traditions for it." Dream leans over the bar, closer to Hob. Close enough to be held. Close enough to be kissed.

"7... 6... 5..."

"Any opinions on that variety?" Hob leans in, that centimeter more. His breath glances over Dream's mouth.

"4... 3... 2..."

"I find them... interesting. I might enjoy participating in them. With the right guidance."

"Mhmm,"

"1!"

Fireworks go off in the waking world, but Dream keeps Hob's consciousness firmly in the Dreaming as the immortal leans in and closes the distance between their mouths.

For the two of them, the turning over of a human year means little. They have the capacity to be infinitely old, and experience infinite New Years. For them, this moment doesn't mark the beginning of a new year, but the beginning of a new dimension to their relationship.

When Hob pulls away, his eyes are heavy lidded, and Dream has the urge to pull him back. Dream has never done anything by halves. He loves Hob, in a way he has not chosen to love someone in a long time. He leans in and kisses Hob again, just for good measure. Just because he can. Just because it is a new year, and there is some new component to them, and he wants to celebrate that.

Hob knows that this is real, and Dream is himself, before he pulls away again. His face is a combination of awe and desire. Dream finds he quite likes it.

"Take me to your residence, Hob. Allow me to ring in the new year with you."

"Gladly." Hob grins and reaches over the bar to grab Dream's face and kiss him hungrily, one more time, before dragging him upstairs.

[sitp-recs]

3 Tacky shorts to read this week

I ran against time to get this post out before midnight ET but am still a bit late 🥲 I know T won’t mind so here’s my belated gift to my sun and stars, my first and dearest partner in crime @tackytigerfic! T, I have no words to describe how much I appreciate our friendship. It’s been so special to experience this fandom with you in the last few years. I love that we immediately hit off and share one stupid brain cell when it comes to these idiots; it feels like we’ve known each other forever and 24 hours (especially living so far apart) is not enough to talk fic, headcanons, kinks, squicks and all other irl and existencial topics with you. Navigating such a big fandom can be really scary but even when nobody knew me I’d never feel lonely, invisible or like I had to pretend to be someone else, because I had you by my side. Thank you so so much for being my safe harbour, my sicko soulmate, my confidant, my role model and my biggest cheerleader!

As I thought of new ways to celebrate your day I tried to remember which fics I hadn’t written a rec for. I came to realize that I was never able to put my thoughts into words when it comes to my 3 favorite short fics of yours. They got me in such a Drarry fever, a tingling incoherent state of emotional devastation that I immediately put away the idea of doing recs because there was no possible way to translate my raw, ugly and chaotic feels about them. I tend to do this with fics that leave me with the so-called hangover once I’m done; funnily enough, the last time this happened - when I read Lettered’s By the Grace - it was you who helped me get that rec out by reviewing it and cheering me along the way, tysm 🥹 now it’s time to respond in kind and share love for these short gems that I have the privilege to revisit every time I need some comfort food. Lucky me, it turns out my best pal writes the exact brand of tender romance that checks all of my boxes. You are a fantastic friend and such a brilliant, talented writer. I love and admire you, and I’m so proud of everything you’ve achieved. Can’t wait to see what comes next. Happy day T! 💜

👩‍🚀 Far Side + Relic Radiation (M, 1.7k)

Draco goes into space, leaving behind his son Scorpius (who has just started at Hogwarts, at least), and his not-quite-boyfriend Harry Potter. But Harry can't stop loving Draco just because he's approximately 408km up, in constant orbit.

“You’ll kill that plant,” Draco said, and flicked a lazy charm over the pot with his fingers so the spicy smell of the lavender sharpened the night air.

“You’ll kill me,” Harry said, and Draco turned his face towards the darkened sky, lunar pale, his profile some stupid unearthly thing—a flaring blazar, a supernova—in the light from the kitchen window.

When I say the heart kick factor may hit you in the solar plexus when you least expect, this is what I’m talking about. I’ve obsessed so much over these 2 tiny shorts with single dad!Draco (one of the tropes Tacky does magic with, they are so disgustingly romantic and emotionally satisfying - gimme T’s dad!Draco anthology or give me nothing!!!) that I came up with a whole theory to prove these stories are actually connected. Whether I’m on the right track or just another delusional reader it’s yet to be seen 🤣 Draco’s devotion to baby Scorpius - and Harry’s gentle yearning for the both of them - does things to my poor heart I can’t quite put into words. Let that boy have his found family happy ending, damn it. Every time I reread these gems I get teared up and wish I could stay in this verse forever, watching Scorp grow while these two lovely men find each other time and again. To make your heart melt a bit more, check the breathtaking artwork by the one and only @ihopeyoubothstaysafefromharm. I cannot— *cries in Drarry*

🏜️ Between the Power Lines (M, 3k)

For Harry Potter, all roads eventually lead to Draco Malfoy.

In New Orleans, they got drunk on Bourbon Street, and Malfoy danced on his own (arms bare, laughing; Harry could have watched him all night) and later on, so late it was almost morning, they let themselves into the St Louis Cemetery—Malfoy unpicking the lock so sweetly—and walked around until the sky was pink-edged with the promise of another day’s heat. Then they sat on the steps of a crypt, watched over by sightless eyes of the statue of an angel. She looked exhausted rather than sad, Harry thought, and that made a lot of sense when he thought about his own longstanding, dull-edged grief.

The best word to describe this (literally) hot fic is “atmospheric”. T does a flawless job building impeccable Americana vibes and packing so much story while keeping it 100% character-driven. I love the elegant, contained, confident writing, I love the evocative prose and how the mutual attraction bleeds through these quiet but intense road trip vignettes. The scenario is rich and immersive, the heat so palpable you can almost taste it, and the confession at the end is my definition of peak romance. A whole sensorial experience, both introspective and exciting, vibrant and melancholy, packed within 3k. Absolutely genius.

🎯Aim For My Heart (M, 3.4k)

Harry's in love, Ron's in control, and Draco just wants a nice lunch. They say three's a crowd, but Harry doesn't always agree. Not when he gets to be in the middle, anyway.

Neither of them had asked Harry what he likes best about them, but Harry watches them and feels the sick curl of excitement low in his belly, like something lost and gained all at once, and he wonders what he’d say if they did ask; would it be mouth or hands or arse, the gleam of clean hair or the hidden scent of a freshly-revealed patch of skin, blue eyes or grey? He doesn’t think he’d tell them what he really loves the most, and that’s the fact that both of them have been his for such a long time, in one way or another, and he loves that he gets to keep them.

For reference, this will always be the Dronarry classic I refer to when I think about this ship. The way Tacky explored the implications and complications of a triad relationship in its early stages (I am so fucking weak for that mix of want, jealousy and vulnerability) combined with exquisite characterization is so well executed I could cry. Beyond that banger of a starting line (“Big hands,” Draco says, and blushes) that made me blush and squeal in delight, Harry’s POV is a triumph. He’s genuinely lovely and relatable in all his yearning and insecurities, soft and longing for both Draco and Ron. The ideia of him realizing that he gets to be loved by, and keep the two people he loves the most in the world, makes my heart burst with warmth. I can pinpoint all the small, quiet but meaningful moments that made my breath stutter and my heart beat faster. This fic is a masterclass in elaborating complex and conflicting emotions, while solving them with a light hand of tenderness and understanding. It is subtle but efficient and all-encompassing in a way that stays with you for a long time after you’ve finished reading. The perfect triad fic.

[bonesaftonistired]

I'm starting to realize that I'm not the only dysfunctional adult here whose parents didn't teach them enough things before kicking them out of the nest, so here's a few tips I've learned through trial and error over the last three years since I turned 18

1. The cold's gonna start hurting your bones eventually, invest in heated blankets to use during the cold months. This is especially important for people who were accident prone kids and had a lot of broken bones, sprains,and twisted wrists/ankles

2. FOOD IS FUEL. I know when you were a teenager, you could probably survive a whole day on just instant ramen and a couple bags of chips, but that is NOT true anymore. You can still enjoy foods you love though, just don't make it your whole diet. Add some veggies and a little meat to your ramen, spice it up and try new things, but try to have at least two meals a day with a couple snacks. Three meals is better though, trust me

3. I promise you, your bacon doesn't need flipped nearly as much as you think it needs flipped as long as you're cooking it on medium-low heat like you should be. Also, put it in the pan cold and let it heat up gradually, otherwise it might stick before it can let out enough bacon grease to slide

4. You are not a failure just because you can't find it in you to be as productive today as you were yesterday. It's okay to let yourself rest

5. Don't try to get your whole house clean in one go, you'll never do it. Break it up into smaller tasks, and take a 15 minute break in between tasks to get some water and maybe a snack

6. HYDRATE!! I know, I know, tea, coffee, soda, juice, etc all taste good and technically have water in them. They don't hydrate nearly as much as the real thing, though. You can add fruit and ice to make it taste better if you really can't take just plain water though! Nobody's stopping you!

7. For god's sake, go to bed at a reasonable time for when you plan to wake up. At least 8-9 hours a night, which sounds like a lot of planning but it really isn't! If you need to get up at 9 am, go ahead and stay awake til midnight. But if you're getting up at 6 am for work? Try to be in bed by 10 pm

8. Caffeine is not your friend past 7 pm, I know you need to get that paper done but you'll be so much better off if you make time during the day for it than staying up into the wee hours of the night with enough caffeine in your system to kill a horse. It'll throw you off balance and make your brain produce even more melatonin to counteract it and try and force you asleep, which just means you'll be that much more exhausted in the morning

Most importantly, just remember you aren't the only one with your problems. You aren't alone. And you've got this ❤

[choices-binglebonkus]

With The Phantom Agent ending tomorrow (today technically, it’s midnight where I am) I’d like to do a little retrospective on the book by listing ten things it did right and ten things it did wrong. In my opinion, anyway.

#10 Right: The soundtrack. All of the music in this one is really good. I could listen to it for hours and not get tired of it. Very well done.

#10 Wrong: The pacing. I honestly can’t even really explain the issues I have with this story’s pacing. It feels very fast-paced but also really slow and glacial at the same time. I don’t know why that is, but I don’t like it.

#9 Right: The outfits. The outfits are generally very cute, except for the fem!MC’s “cold weather” outfit that exposes their midriff. Barring that one, the rest of the outfits are either pleasant or actually cute.

#9 Wrong: Lack of characters. A lot of modern stories have a pretty severe lack of major characters, this one included. The only major characters are the MC, Agent Gray, Vivian, and the Architect and the Contractor/Rowan but those are antagonists we don’t spend much time with. To have a small cast of characters, the few you do have need to be interesting enough to make up for the lack of other characters, and imo, the only interesting one of our group is Vivian. Which conveniently leads me to my next point, actually.

#8 Right: Vivian. No one else seems to like Vivian but I do. She’s pretty, funny, and she is a BEAST. I would pay 30 diamonds to give her back surgery because her back is probably fucked the hell up from carrying the entire mission. And even better, she’s not a reused character sprite! Hell yes!

#8 Wrong: The hookups. I may be in a minority here, but I didn’t enjoy any of the hookups. The only one I actually liked was Rowan’s, but the rest were very unimpressive.

#7 Right: The MC’s pronouns. Any story that includes GOC and pronouns is automatically that much better.

#7 Wrong: The MC. The MC was so incompetent at their job GAIA eventually thought they were a traitor when Rowan was revealed to be alive, in addition to being obnoxious and annoying throughout the entire book. Anyone who’s played Choices knows that if the MC is an unbearable knucklehead that the story isn’t going to be very enjoyable.

#6 Right: The fight scenes. Don’t get me wrong, this book is no TC&TF, but I had a lot of fun with the fight scenes. I thought they were pretty well written and engaging.

#6 Wrong: The rest of the writing. It’s not that the writing was bad, it’s just that it felt very constrained and unsure of itself. Like the writers had never written anything like this book before and were so nervous they’d mess it up that it affected the quality of their work.

#5 Right: Rowan’s romance. The romance scenes we got with Rowan were very few and far between, and yet the energy between them and the MC was so palpable. Their romance and love for each other felt so real and the longing was so present. How Rowan X TPA MC is such a brief pairing yet it’s so much more genuine and meaningful than most of the other modern book romances, I’ll never understand.

#5 Wrong: Rowan’s antagonism. Rowan’s antagonism felt very half-baked, and damn it, I’m gonna say it again. I’m gonna! Here goes: Rowan was WASTED and should have been the love interest. There. There it is. Once again.

#4 Right: Uniqueness in missions. If there is one thing that can be said about TPA, it’s that a lot of the chapters had us doing a lot of different stuff in the name of the mission. Gambling, auctions, infiltrating a hospital, there is no shortage of variety in the things we had to do.

#4 Wrong: Story similarities. As I played through TPA more and more, I eventually came to realize that as several other people have pointed out, it shares a LOT of similarities with Most Wanted and Crimes of Passion. Like, a lot of them. And also stop and consider that Crimes of Passion is still an ongoing series. Soooo…

#3 Right: Vivian’s diamond inventions. I personally didn’t buy any of Vivian’s special gadgets but I was so tempted to. I also liked how none of them were collectibles because let’s be real, collectible collections need to go like yesterday.

#3 Wrong: Everything about the Architect. And yes, I do mean everything. His design looks like a cross between an old man who would heckle me over gerbils if I still worked at the pet store and that one coworker who always steals peoples’ lunches, then lies about it and calls them bullies for calling him out. Overly specific comparison aside, I also found his motives very confusing. Like…does he want world domination? Redistribution of wealth? Death to the corrupt elite? I read all of his lore and background and I’m still confused as hell. I don’t know. He was just a lower-mid villain IMO.

#2 Right: Lack of filler. I never thought I’d see the day where another story arose with minimal filler. The story consistently moves forward and thank god for that, even if the pacing was kind of strange.

#2 Wrong: Sense of urgency. The sense of urgency in the book is hard to understand and appreciate fully because once again, the Architect and his motives are confusing as hell. It’s been hard to bring myself to care because I just…don’t care.

#1 Right: The MC’s loss and bereavement. The MC’s emotions surrounding the loss of Rowan (both times) was very jarring and strongly written. I could almost feel a fraction of the MC’s anguish just through the writing. It was the strongest writing in this book and they did a really good job here.

#1 Wrong: Everything about Agent Gray. I’ll try to keep it brief as I’ve talked about it before. Agent Gray’s sprites are all ugly. Their personality is stiff and unwelcoming and quite frankly I can’t even fathom why Gray and the MC fall for each other so quickly because their dynamic is so distant and icy. It only gets worse when you remember the impeccable chemistry between the MC and Rowan. Agent Gray was an all-around flop.

[oceansprompts]

marvel's midnight suns | misc quotes 3

Tell me, do you have any tried and true ways to avoid being triggered?

How has your, uh, [abilities/job] affected your loved ones?

On the Stark scale of recklessness yet daring heroics I give it a solid six out of ten. Don’t worry, you’ll get there. With a little help.

Stopped here before, while you were out- wanted to surprise you with a nice little housewarming present. Was all set to write you a lovely welcome note but I’m fairly certain that wasn’t red ink in your “quill”.

Certainly got that new suit of yours done a lot faster than I expected. Speaking of… what’s the verdict, boss?

The roar of the ocean, winds moaning through the rafters…

So, you tell me: what’s not to be troubled about?

Hydra may be on the rise, but they will never rise above the Tower.

Go ahead! What are you waiting for?! Say it! Tell me I screwed up!

How did I let him play me like that?!

Half the night I’m shaking hands and managing expectations…

Are you really going to chase the birthday girl through a hellish dimension?

It’s not gonna be easy to get that sample…

I mean call me crazy…

Give me a couple hours and a decent lunch…

Gives us our biggest ace in the hole! I know, the irony isn’t lost on me.

I’m serious, what kind of hero are you…

If you can deliver, great. Otherwise, he should get out of the way, you know?

So in a way, it’s kind of poetic. I’m gonna use dad’s shady tech…

My appreciation of magic is evolving quite a bit…

I think he’s afraid I’m gonna turn around and become an even greater sorcerer than he is.

Every problem has a solution, my friend…

I don’t like to say that I do my best work under pressure, but I think this time, I even amazed myself.

Or maybe you’re smart and you know I can get us across the finish line?

How would you, ah, handle something like that?

If that fails, we shoot him off into outer space…

I know I said I was completely comfortable with that thing before, but I may have lied…

And now here we are, two friends, enjoying a moment…

Yeah. I don’t want to know card tricks or anything like that…

If you don’t mind, can we keep these lessons between you and me?

Is it crazy that I’m actually kind of enjoying this?

Yes! Blazing trumpets, fiery pits, Thor’s backyard–where did you end up?

Acceptable answers are “genius design,” “work of a genius”–really, anything involving the word “genius”.

Money isn’t everything, but it’s a lot of things…

No, the whole situation. Chasing magic pages from an evil book…

Well, I am in the middle of something. Come back later.

I cannot let such a fate happen to her.

And when all you knew was darkness and despair growing up…

What I eat is none of your business.

I do not think I will ever sleep again: not until we find her.

Don’t you also hear it calling out to you in your dreams sometimes, whispering secret things, dark think?

Like I said earlier, we’re all mutants. Not to freak you out or anything.

Wait, if you found your way to this place… What did you hear?

This day is an anniversary of my weakness… Nothing more.

I should stay here, this evening. I can endure the stares and the whispers… But not tonight.

You can, but I should not. Don’t worry, I will return in the morning.

She should trust us… We should be trusted.

I do. I just think wearing a hellhound’s skin to bypass a demonic barrier…

I don’t know if I’ve recovered from my traumas…

I did not say you. This…is a place I like to take all my…colleagues.

The others would not understand. But I know you do, as we both… Have so much in common.

And more importantly, you’re proving to be quite a good… friend.

It never felt right for a bad person like me to fight with the good guys… Until you showed me how.

Am I a monster for being grateful it happened as it did?

I will never apologize for being comfortable with my darkness…

When this battle is over, you should come back with me, join the X-Men.

There is always strangeness in the background. Like hippie aliens…

Made from octopus, marbled with ginger shavings…

Hunter, what I most appreciate is that you always know when to say nothing.

No. Something you can do by yourself during the bleak moments.

It must be worse for you. All the faces are new.

It comes so easy to you. Even when you are a butt, you are a likable butt.

This was the only music I had for so long…

Replacing you was too much to ask of her.

Not to me. You are incapable of replacing her.

[franciskirkland]

What is your daily routine?

Bon matin, mon cheri(e)!

Thank you for this interesting question, I will try to give you a little insight into my very busy life as Mrs. Kirkland, aka Maman 🥰💞

You might ask me, François, do you ever get a moment of free time? The truth is, I do make plenty of time to relax, and nap when the babies nap. And I'm a skilled multitasker! When I'm not cooking, housekeeping, or tending to the children, I practice self-care, as in maintaining my appearance, and engage in my own hobbies.

The day starts around 6 am. From the moment I wake up I have a trail of Kirklands following me, and they all want Maman's attention! First, I make sure the youngest children are fed and changed, and cook up a big breakfast for everyone while Arthur gets ready for work. I then make lunches for my husband and our three oldest boys.

Once everyone eats, I take a moment to get ready myself - say a prayer, trim my stubble, have a latté. Some days I change out of my pajamas, most of the time I cannot be bothered, but no matter how I look, I send my man off to work with a big kiss!

It is around 8:30 that my four big boys leave, and the younger three are at home with me. Michelle will be starting school next year! Jeanne is only three months old, so a lot of my time revolves around her feeding schedule. Baby girl nurses every four hours or sometimes more. Artie Jr. mostly eats solid food but I will feed him if he wants.

My days are filled with laughter and snuggles and little adventures. We play outside in the yard, do art projects, even go for short walks. I love to read to my babies as well, Michelle is already reading independently. And when Daddy's not home, we only speak French!

Running errands can be complicated when there's so many of us. I avoid driving as much as possible, I'm not very good at so it just doesn't feel safe to me. Usually I take advantage of grocery delivery, but if we need to go out, we do it together.

The twins pick Peter up from school and they are home around 3. They often have homework or other activities to do. I check in with Peter and ask him how his day was, then put the youngest two down for a nap while he and Michelle play together. It's at this time that I start dinner so that I can have it on the table when Artie gets home!

When Daddy's home, around 6 pm, we all greet him with another big kiss and then eat dinner together. Sometimes the twins won't be around because of work or other obligations, but when they are it's a family affair. We all say grace, have conversations, and they help me tidy up afterwards!

Once that is done, it's usually quieter. We have some downtime. The little ones can be unpredictable but we're experienced parents, we have managed to streamline the bedtime routine. At about 8 or 8:30, I attempt to get Artie Jr. to sleep, whatever it takes. Sometimes he wants to be in Mama and Daddy's bed. While I'm wrangling my very clingy toddler, Arthur tucks Peter and Michelle in with a story.

Finally, I feed and change Jeanne and rock her until she's sleeping soundly. Then hubby and I snuggle up in bed together. We are usually asleep by 10 to be ready for the day ahead, I get around 7 hours of beauty sleep a night between midnight feedings.

Weekends are more relaxed. For Saturday, the twins are either at work or they will take the midde siblings out so that Arthur and I can unwind and spend some quality time together. On Sundays, we go to church as a family and I like to have company over, my best friends Toni and Gil, or Ludwig and Feli. Often all at once!

I hope this was interesting to you!

Amitiés sincères,

- François⚜️🌹💖

[jerzwriter]

some asks for carolina x trystan :))

31: Most prized possession?

35: What activities do they enjoy, but consider to be a waste of time?

44: Superstitions or views on the occult?

Thanks so much for sending these! :)

From this list.

31: Most prized possession?

For Carolina, it would definitely be something of her father's, perhaps a watch or a ring that he always wore. And a card he gave her on her birthday. He wasn't big on cards, but he gave her a very sweet one and wrote a heartfelt inscription on the last birthday they shared together. I really want to come up with an HC for her mother - because she may be in here as well - but I'm so scared Book 3 will cover it and muck things all up. lol

For Trystan, I'm going to say some old drawings he has from childhood. They were pictures he drew with some of his siblings, during a simpler time, when the animosity between them hadn't developed yet. When he looks at them, he imagines a world where things could have gone differently, and in some weird way, it brings him peace.

I am sure he treasures a few letters he received from Julianna. He would keep them in a very special place and would take them out to read each year on her birthday.

Lastly, a photo of Carolina - I'm not going to say much more about it because I want to write a fic about it - but it signified a very big moment in their relationship, and he prints it out, frames it, it will remain one of his favorite things forever.

35. What do they enjoy but consider to be a waste of time?

Trystan's answer would be absolutely nothing. He'd argue that if it brings you joy, it's never a waste of time. (I kind of agree, lol)

But Carolina is more, well, Carolina. She doesn't mind a good social media scroll or maybe going on YouTube after a long day. But she can fall down that rabbit hole, and before she knows it, she looks up, and 2 hours have passed. She will literally curse at herself because she thinks it is a total waste of time.

44: Superstitions or views on the occult?

Oh, this is a tough one! After dealing with The Hand of Mahra, these two will want to stay as far away from anything cult related as possible.

But superstitions... I'm part Greek, and I know my family was insane with the evil eye. Some still are. I can see Drakovia having its own version, and though he's embarrassed to admit it, Trystan kind of always has one on him. Now, the evil eye is only supposed to protect you if it is a gift; it cannot be something you buy yourself. So if his goes missing, he has to get someone to buy him a new one. Mags was his go-to for this, but now Carolina is dragged in, too. Now, there is a little shop in the Bryant Park Holiday Market that only sells evil eye jewelry and such (I go there frequently lol). I can see Carolina going there at Christmastime and buying like 30 to keep stashed in her room. This way, when Trystan is freaking out because he lost one, she just goes to her closet and is like, "Here!" lol (Now I want to write that fic! lol)

Carolina really doesn't believe in superstitions, at least not anymore. She's seen so many bad things she doesn't think anything can ward them off. That said, she does have two things she does every New Year's Eve. One, at midnight, she eats 12 grapes the moment the clock strikes twelve. She makes everyone with her do the same, and Trystan will just have to wait for that kiss! After the grapes (and kiss), they run to the front door and throw a bucket of water outside. Both of these are commonly done in certain Latine cultures. I don't think she feels they usher in good or bad luck, but it's part of her culture, and she's very attached to the tradition, so she takes it very seriously.

Thank you so much for the great asks! :)