#thank god its almost christmas and i have some time off

[gaiathemexicanbeauty]

your latest mike fic actually has me squealing stop. can you please write something cute about him for the festive season? i don’t mind how long it is, i just wanna cuddle into his itchy christmas sweater and eat gingerbread and drink hot chocolate and watch love actually (despite him insisting he’ll hate it)

mr. grinch | mike schmidt x reader

word count: 904

warnings: none! this is just some nice little christmas fluff for the holidays! thanksgivingdoesnotexisttomeok

all of you are keeping me so well fed, any time i see a mike request, i have to take a second to get excited

he is probably such a grinch, he is so dear to me

I LOOOVE writing christmas stuff, i hope that this did the holiday justice

mike sighs tiredly when he finally enters his house, about to announce his arrival before stopping in his tracks. he closes the door behind him as he knocks some of the snow off of his shoes, eyeing the rest of the house with an almost comedic sort of suspicion: he swore the house hadn't been this festive when he left.

his once dull looking living room was littered with boxes, ropes of garland and tinsel peeking out of some them. the most noticeable thing, however, is the obvious christmas tree in the corner of the room that remains undecorated. the kitchen seems to be the most decorated for now, a quaint centerpiece in the middle of the table and some christmas lights hanging on one end of the room. mike looks up when he hears footsteps from down the hall, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise at the sweaters he sees on you and abby who is following behind you. your sweater is decorated with all kinds of red, white, and green patterns, a cat poking its head out of a stocking on the front of it. abby's sweater is less in your face, a deep blue with various colored christmas lights decorated onto it.

"you're back! how was work?" you say with a sweet smile, putting down the box in your arms to pull mike into an embrace that he gladly accepts. "same as always, boring. did you do..?" mike says with a smile, raising an eyebrow as he gestures to the rest of the house. "WE decorated the house." "oh, yeah?" mike says with another smile, letting abby take his hand and lead him over to the living room. "we wanted to do the christmas tree with you. i'm gonna put my ornament from school, you put on your sweater." abby says, not missing a beat as she hands mike a sweater hanging off the couch and running back to her room. you give mike a knowing smile as you lean against the couch, watching him unfold the sweater: the colors are the same as yours but have a cartoonishly decorated christmas tree on it. almost immediately, he lets out a laugh of disbelief. "no way."

"oh my god, where's your christmas spirit?" you giggle as mike shakes his head, already trying to abandon the sweater that you're trying to put back in his hands. "you and abby have enough christmas for the three of us, thank you very much." he says as you hold the sweater up against him, scrunching your nose at him playfully. the two of you have a moment of silence, looking at each other expectantly to see who will break first: you, of course, have no shame at all. "pleeease? for abby? and totally not for my own enjoyment?" you say as you bat your eyelashes at mike, folding the jacket over your arm so that you can cup his face in your hands. his eyes remain focused on yours and seemingly uninterested despite the smile tugging at his lips, your hands squeezing and pinching his cheeks in an effort to further crumble his resolve. "for me?" mike looks over at abby standing in the hallway with a sheepish smile, giving her a look that says 'really?'. when the two of you nod at him with fake-innocent looks, he lets out a sigh before giving a defeated yet amused "fine."

and with that defeat, mike is wrapped up in christmas festivities for the rest of the night. abby insists on everything there is despite how little time it takes for her to get tired; it's only 10:00 pm by the time you and mike are sitting on the couch, your legs hung over his lap and his hand rubbing slow circles into your back. quiet christmas music plays in the background, your cheek rested against his shoulder as you bring your mug of hot chocolate to your lips. "tree turn out alright for you?" mike mumbles softly as he looks over at the now decorated tree, making you smile warmly as you nod. "yeah. it's perfect. abby's ornament really ties the whole thing together." you say with a soft laugh, looking over at the small angel that was nearly in the center of the tree. "thank you, by the way. for all this, i mean. we don't do this all the time." you smile up at mike when he looks at you, his hand moving from your back to your hair, brushing it away from your face as your cheeks redden.

you press your forehead against his, feeling your heart start to soar in your chest: before you can get closer, you gasp softly as a thought comes to your mind. "wait!" mike watches you scramble away to the kitchen for a moment before you come back with something cupped in your hand: as soon as he sees the mistletoe, mike can't help the laugh that leaves him. "hey, don't laugh! not only are you going to wake up abby but you're also not embracing the spirit of christmas." you say with a fake tone of pride, making mike roll his eyes. "so you're saying that christmas is-" before mike can even finish his thought, you close the gap between the two of you with a giggle against his lips, knocking the two of you backwards on the couch as a grunt of surprise leaves mike.

I WAS SOOOO GIGGLY WRITING ALL THIS, thank you anon for requesting this right after laufy dropped several christmas songs

I HOPE THAT TO ANON, THAT YOU ENJOYED THIS AND THAT IT MADE YOU GIGGLE AS MUCH AS THE LAST ONE I WROTE

i hope to everyone reading this that you all also enjoyed this and are having a good rest of your day/night/afternoon! :3

[v4mp-reads]

Hello. I hope you had a great Christmas and New Year. I would like to request a Rhea X Pregnant Reader where reader is due in 3 weeks ( and with Twin babygirls if possible) and is backstage watching The Judgement Day open the show before getting up and walking to get something to eat before getting confronted by Karrion Kross and Scarlett who end up scaring her and sending the reader into early labor. If you can't thats perfectly fine. Thanks and Have a Great Day

Twist and turns

Rhea Ripley x prego!fem! Reader

Tw: struggles with Ivf problems, many failed attempts at pregnancy! Early labor! Small pregnancy complications

word count: 1.3k

Y/n’s pov

I sit in the judgment day locker room alone to say, this is the first time in 9 months I’ve sat in here alone, but no one could sit in because they had a big promo they had to do. I hold my stomach feeling my baby’s move around, I’m so excited to meet them, they are going to be welcomed into such a lovely family. I thought as my mind drifted off to the years before. Me and Rhea got married when we where both 21, that was almost three years ago, this has been a very long possess, i sat up countless nights crying because we picked up yet another negative test, this whent on for about two years until the day i remember it like it was yesterday.

Flash back

Me and rhea sit in our bathroom floor, “darling..you know if this test comes back negative we will have to wait at least six months before starting all of this over” she looked up at me as we wait for the five minutes to past “dont think like that baby. I have a felling this time” i whispered softly, smiling at her, i move from the tolet to her on the floor as she holds me. “Beep! Beep! “ the alarm had whent off, rhea whent to grab the test off the counter when it falls off onto the floor, i glance down at it to see two lines, TWO LINES! I instantly began to cry tears of pure happyness “Rhea! Its postive! We are having a Baby!!” She jumps up picking me up and spinning me around kissing me like a million times, we where so happy, this was actually happening. We stayed in the bathroom for about half our just crying with happiness. Soon we walked back to our room and called the judgment day group chat. They knew today was the day I was supposed to take my test, and we called them every time even when it was negative, we tryed to hide the smile on our faces. Dom was the first to pick up, we waited for the others to join before saying anything. “Hey y/n hi rhea what’s it say?” Finn asked in a soft tone not wanting to hurt us anymore if it was negative. I couldn’t help but smile and that’s when damien caught on “oh my god!! Wait?!” He said loudly over the phone the other two boys looked so confused. “A little baby Ripley is on the way!” I yelled. They all cheered, dom even started crying with me, “oh my god I’m so happy!” I cryed into Rheas shoulder. It was the best day of my life.

End of flash back

In three weeks I get to meet my little girls, three weeks, every thing is planed perfectly, Rheas family is flying out in two weeks, Rhea and the rest of the judgment day are getting a month off in two weeks, I’m just so happy, all this excitement made me really hungry, and I was out of snacks in the locker room. I know I’m not supposed to leave the locker room that was everyone’s rule the second they found out, just because people would bother me to get at the others

I started to feel sick so I needed to get up and get some food, I got up putting on rheas hoodie before walking out of the locker room, no one was really out, so I made my way to the where I know they had food.

I must have made some turn the wrong way because now I find myself in some random hallways that’s kind of scary, I get this wave of anxiety come over me and I feel like I’m being followed so I continue to walk faster, eight almost nine months pregnant with twins, it isn’t easy to walk fast, I quickly realize that I have to turn around this hallways was a dead end. I turn around and instantly get met with karrian cross and his girlfriend or what not Scarlett, “um..” I say softly “miss little y/n Ripley, how are you and your little baby’s doing” karrian reached out to touch my stomach, I quickly stepped back “please don’t touch me” I said fear clearly in my voice “don’t tell me what to do Mrs. Ripley, I will touch you if I want!” He reached out once more this time I backed up and I ended up cornered, “please leave me alone, I don’t want any problems” I start to panic “please, please don’t hurt me or my baby’s, they are innocent, they are pure” I begged. I started feeling horrible pains in my stomach, and I panicked “Mhmm, I don’t know, I don’t know how innocent they are, saying how long it took you to get pregnant with them, what was it I heard? Two years?and you have struggled your whole pregnancy” Scarlett spoke, tears came rushing out from my eyes “please! Leave me alone!” I yell the pain in my stomach becoming almost unbearable. “Hey?!” I hear someone yell, “what the fuck leave her alone” I look up to see one of my close friends Sami zayn. That’s all I really before I passed out.

“Is she okay, are my girls okay?!” I hear yelling as I wake up to see a bright light in my eyes.. “R-rhea..?” I mumble out, instantly her head shoots over to beside my head, “oh my god, your okay, darling, what happed! Why where you in that hallways, why did you leave the lockeroom?” She questioned me, “are the girls okay?” I asked simply, “maam, you are in late stage, early labor, we are transferring you to the hospital, where you should be able to deliver with mild complications.” All I could feel was the pain, from what I was guessing was contractions, it made my head spin. Rhea held my hand as I cryed out in pain as we made our way to the hospital.

We soon made it to the hospital, where I had to be taken in for emergency cessation surgery, i remember waking up to rhea hold our two little girls in both of her arms when I finally woke up. “How are they..”I asked weakly “healthy and absolutely beautiful..just like their mother”she said before carefully handing me the girls “Athena, she’s the one with the darker hair..and Kyra she’s the one with the birth mark on her cheek” Rhea said before kissing me “I love you, I love you three so much” I said softly. “If it’s okay, the boys want to come over in a bit, dom tried to force them to let him come in right after the delivery.” She said softly “of course our girls need to meet their uncles, what about your parents?” I asked her “they are heading down tomorrow” she said.

I slid over in bed as I laid there with rhea and my girls, all three of them sound asleep, it was so peaceful, well that was until the boys got there, dom come rushing through the door, almost tripping when he got in causing Rhea to wake up. “Good going dom dom” I joked and gave him a weak smile, to which he returned with tears in his eyes “why are you crying dom?” I asked “I was just so worried about you, I haven’t slept. I’ve texted rhea and the boys all day, and I just couldn’t wait to meet my nieces when rhea told me that you guys where healthy” he rambled on before Finn stopped him “don’t talk the poor girls ear off”, they all walked closer seeing the two small baby’s in my arms, them asking their names, and us continuing talking, they stayed there for about two hours before leaving because I was tired.

The end! Thanks for reading! If you liked it please leave a request of your own!

Xoxo, v4mp-

[periracha]

Waiting

 ☾ pairing: Dad!Chan x Mom!Reader  ☾ wc: 2k  ☾  genre: fluff, boring domesticity (gasp)  ☾ cw: Christmas themes, kids, suggestive jokes, me trying to be funny idk, language, chan being chan ☾ summary: the bangs get in the holiday spirit!   ☾ a/n: wanted to get a whole aesthetic and masterlist up for this blog before i posted anything but this little idea had my brain in a chokehold all day so,,,,enjoy ! also, let me know if I should continue writing this family so i can give them names, etc.  yes this piece is fluff but this blog is 18+, MDNI

Ripples start to splash against the inside of your mug as you set it down on the coffee table that has been pushed aside for the evening to allow enough room for you and your husband. 

“Clearing the living room floor the second both kids are down and out?” Chan asks with a wiggle of his eyebrow. 

“Bit risky but I can work with this” he says while straining his neck and pulling his left arm across his chest in a stretch in preparation. 

You look up at him when a scoff falls from your lips, “ha yeah you wish. Now get the wrapping paper from the closet” 

“Please” you add with a sarcastic smile and sweet like honey tone. 

He blinked at you silently for a split second before he huffed out a big sigh, “Oh thank god. I don’t think my back could handle these hardwood floors like it used to” he finishes as he makes his way to the hallway closet. 

“Mmm unfortunately the only action these floors have been getting lately is spilled juice and probably some dusty cheetos the kids kicked under the couch” you joke as Chan meets you on the floor with wrapping supplies and gifts. 

A quiet laugh in agreement leaves his lips. 

“She’s gonna love this” Chan says with a grin so wide it meets his eyes. 

He’s holding up a Bluey plushie that plays a few catchphrases from the show when its paw is squeezed. 

“She better…. I’m running out of reasons why she can’t buy it every time we go to the store” you say as you cut wrapping paper big enough to wrap the doll and hand it to him. 

Your daughter had wanted this little plushie for months now, always asking to stop by the toy section whenever you visit your local department store. You quickly learned that simply telling her the store didn’t have anymore wasn’t gonna fly with her. She always found a way to swindle you into the toy aisles, finding the plushie every time. Distracting her with books or other small toys could only get you so far; luckily Christmas was only a few days away and you both would soon see the joy on her face when she opened her gift. 

“How do you even wrap these things??” Chan huffed out with a bewildered look on his face; his brows drawn tight and his eyes wide open. The piece of wrapping paper you had given him was creased all over, and covered in way too many pieces of tape that didn’t actually do anything to keep the paper together. 

A giggle started in your chest but you choked it down with a fake cough. Chan was used to being good at almost anything he put his mind to. 

Dancing? Easy.

Singing? No Problem. 

Writing thousands of unique songs that differed in their own ways? Piece of cake. 

Sports? Absolutely. 

Wrapping a small gift for his three year old daughter? Not so much. 

Carefully, you took the small doll from his hand and replaced it with a box of bath toys for your son. 

“Here, let me handle this…and you wrap these” you said nonchalantly as soon as you made the switch; immediately working on your new task at hand. 

Chan gawked at you with a goofy smile on his face, “You don’t think I can do it?...you’re demoting me to only wrapping boxes?” he laughed while feigning offense. 

“No no no!”, you waved off, “you’re just soooo good! Better than me! The best actually!” you rushed out while trying to contain your laughter but ultimately failing. 

Chan looked at you with pointed eyes, but had a wide smile plastered on his face the entire time. He looked like he was going to say something in retaliation but decided against it, letting out a small chuckle and shaking his head instead while he got to work on the box. 

Many presents later you were both feeling the ache deep in your lower back from hunching over on the floor. 

“Okay that's enough for me, I’m tapping out,” Chan said stretching his back with a yawn. 

You yawned and simply shook your head up and down in agreement, thinking about how you were too tired to even keep your eyes open. 

You got up and gathered all your wrapping supplies to store away. 

“Oh! Can you take all those and put them under the tree?” you asked him while pointing to the group of gifts. 

He hummed a quick mhm and started gathering them in his arms. 

“Make sure to put Bluey on top of the one of the taller presents so they can’t get to it” you called out as you made your way to your room. 

“Yep, got it” Chan quickly responded before placing all the presents down and making his way to follow you to your bedroom. 

~

The next day went blissfully as usual; waking up way too early to cries before the sun is even fully out, only to finally get your son back down and you barely back in bed before your daughter barges in demanding French toast stat. 

Did you even have all the ingredients for french toast? 

You already got one kid handled, Chan could handle this one.

You lightly kicked him in the leg as he laid beside you to wake him up before you made yourself comfortable to fall back asleep. 

When you did wake up, you grabbed your son and met your husband and daughter in the living room, setting him down to crawl around the rug.

“Good morning love”, Chan greeted you with a kiss to your cheek and sliding his arms around your waist in a loose hug. 

You hummed a good morning back before resting your head against his chest. 

“My turn! My turn!” your daughter yelled entirely too close to your eardrum as she stood on the couch in an attempt to be as eye level as she could with you. 

“Coffee?” Chan asked with a smirk as he let you go and made his way to the kitchen. 

“Ohhh yeah” you answered before turning your attention fully on your daughter. 

She puckered her lips and stood on her tiptoes in an attempt to copy her dad’s previous actions. You bent down and she kissed your cheek, “Good morning, mommy!”, she giggled before flopping down on the couch. 

“Oh it is a good morning!” you smiled back to her before tickling her to get some hugs in. 

Chan met you back in the living room with your fresh cup of coffee as you both sat on the couch, watching your children play together in the early morning hours. 

Your son crawled towards the christmas tree and before you could get up to grab him he had already bumped into a few presents, causing one of them to go off. 

“Hello! Hehehe”  

The noise immediately caught your daughter's attention and her head snapped towards the tree before her eyes widened. You could see the wheels starting to turn in her head to try and make sense of what just happened when you looked over at Chan who was sporting a mortified look. Jaw hung open and downward, eyes widening and moving around the room at everyone’s faces. 

The damn Bluey doll had gone off and one of her most wanted presents was most likely spoiled now. 

“WHAT WAS THAT?” she rushed out, walking closer to the tree.

“Your brother!” Chan blurted out way too quickly before tightening his lip into a flat line, realizing what he just did. 

Your daughter stopped dead in her tracks and looked at the both of you. 

“What???” she asked again, her eyes darting between yours and Chan’s a few times. 

“He can talk??, “ she screamed, bewildered at the new information being thrown at her all too quickly, pointing at him and eyes wide as saucers.

You let out a huff of air and forced yourself to take a sip of your coffee, hoping to buy you some time, waiting for your brain to kick on. It was too early for this.

Chan looked at you waiting for you to come in and save the conversation but you had nothing. How were you supposed to convince a 3 year old that her 8 month old brother could now speak when he’s never done that before. 

You’re on your own here. You thought to yourself as your eyes met Chan’s again. His face still stuck in the same shocked expression. 

“Uhh…yeah..yeah…?” Chan tried to get out nonchalantly but it ended up coming out more like a question and high pitched tone, before clearing his throat. 

Your son had now crawled toward your daughter and started grabbing at her legs to get her attention. 

You needed a moment to think but your daughter would absolutely follow you wherever you went to…. Unless…?

You coughed into your arm dramatically, “ooooh mommy needs medicine, I will be right back” you said before quickly standing up and making your way to the hallway cabinets before she could stop you.

Even the possibility of being around cough medicine, seeing it with her own eyes, was enough to keep your daughter from following you. She was not about to risk having to take that, yucky grape stuff, as she likes to call it. 

Chan followed after you, staying in the open area to keep an eye on the two kids. 

“So our 8 month old is saying full words now is he?” you asked, raising your eyebrows when he got closer to you. 

“I panicked okay!”, he screamed in a hushed tone. 

“So you blame it on the baby?!” you asked in disbelief, a laugh starting in the bottom of your throat. You tightened your lips in an effort to stop the smile you knew was coming. 

“What else was I supposed to say it came from?” Chan asked with a strained laugh, “you were no help!” he accused, pointing his finger and narrowing his gaze. 

“I don’t know Chan! The TV? Your phone?” you huffed out off the top of your head and throwing your hands in the air.

“Hm. yeah that would’ve been good”, he said staring at the floor, realizing just how easy those would’ve been to explain away to a child. 

He stepped back from you to get a better look at your kids a few steps away. His brow furrowed so you stepped forward to see what he was looking at. 

Your daughter was sitting directly across from your son with a serious expression on her face, no more playing going on in sight. 

“What..what are you guys doing?” Chan asked loud enough for your kids to hear. 

Your daughter looked back at him, “Waiting,” she said matter of factly before refocusing her attention back on her brother. 

“Waiting foorrr?” Chan asked, raising his eyebrows as you both took a step toward them. 

“Him to talk again” she answered without bothering to even look at Chan this time, her serious gaze never leaving her brother's face. He was babbling and drooling while playing with the legs of her pajama pants. 

You both couldn’t contain the laughs that came from your mouths. Today was going to be a long day. 

You couldn’t wipe the smile from your face as you thought about your family’s antics. Never a boring day in the Bang household, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

“Hey Chan, what did you do with the matching talking Bingo we wrapped last night?” 

“Shit” 

©periracha, 2023.

[kindestofkings]

tis the damn season

robert keating x reader (she/her)

heres the requested bobby fic! reader is bobbys neighbour in dublin and they've had a situationship thats always off again on again, which ryan is v fed up with lol <3

masterlist

enjoy and also happy new year ! forgot how much I love making these so please come with some more requests, I always love getting them xxx

yourusername posted to their story!

year FIVE of working as a waitress during silly season, people need to be KINDER

yourbestfriend not all heros wear capes yourneighbour1 god bless you ↳ its been TOUGH but neighbours christmas party next week !! ↳ yourneighbour1 UGH best part of the season alsooo did I see a certain curly haired bass player make his return to the road...? ↳ feck he's home earlier than usual 😀 ↳ yourneighbour1 time to rekindle the infamous situationship??

yourusername posted to their story!

the return of the loudest next door neighbour known to man, yay 👍👍

yourneighbour1 😏😏 bobbyskeetz get rid of that sarcastic yay ryanmcmahon_15 yay my fav idiots have been reunited ! ↳ idiots? plural? why am I an idiot ryan?? ↳ ryanmcmahon_15 hmmhmm when will yee learn

bobbyskeetz

liked by yourusername and others

bobbyskeetz home.

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joshjenkinson_ lookin so mysterious and interesting xx

inhalerfan1 he is one of us

inhalerfan2 missed the intense staring since tour has ended, thanks mr skeetz !

inhalerfan3 christmas came early

yourusername smoking kills

bobbyskeetz excuse me?? I have NEVER and WOULD never yourusername big fat liar yourbestfriend y'all are the worst, every fecking christmas ryanmcmahon_15 what she said !

yourusername

liked by yourneighbour1 and others

yourusername the kids table at the neighbours christmas party is always the place to be <3

also slayed so hard with my kris kindle present he literally cried for hours 💅

view all other comments

bobbyskeetz I cried cause you threw it at me

yourneighbour1 weakling bobbyskeetz ugh thanks tho.... I guess

ryanmcmahon_15 bobby and yn being adults when

yourbestfriend but then what would happen to their beloved situationship? yourusername guys you know this is MY comment section right?

joshjenkson_ hahah the perfect gift for him

yourneighbour2 ugh BEST PARTY EVAAAA

yourusername

liked by ryanmcmahon_15 and others

yourusername and it always leads to you and my hometown

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yourbestfriend ah ryanmcmahon_15 shes quoting tis the damn season by THE taylor swift, what does this mean?

ryanmcmahon_1 gasp not the sad tones..

bobbyskeetz confused we're from the same hometown...?

yourusername you uncultured swine its a lyric 😭

bobbyskeetzswife

liked by inhalerfan1 and others

bobbyskeetzswife OH MY GOD I JUST MET BOBBY, IM FREAKING OUT

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inhalerfan1 no way what the hell !! where?

bobbyskeetzswife literally in Dingle, Kerry 😭😭 he said hes with the lads but they ran out of drink so he was forced to go to the shops 😭 😭 inhalerfan1 omg hahahah I can't believe they just played the 3Arena

inhalerfan2 no way wonder why they're in dingle, such a random Irish town...

inhalerfan3 that girl that they all follow is in Kerry aswell with grace (eli's girlfriend) bobbyskeetzswife is that yourusername? I wonder who she is, bobby is always interacting with her inhalerfan2 huh wonder has he got a girlfriend

graciebrns

liked by elijahhewson and others

graciebrns wholesome few days before what I've been told, will be the best party I'll ever attend

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elijahhewson promise its not an oversell

joshjenkinson_ agreed yourusername throws a phenomenal party yourusername ah flattered lads thank you

bobbyskeetz the million hikes will be worth it

yourusername you said you loved going on hikes bobbyskeetz course I do love 😔 inhalerfan2 love ?? gathering evidence

inhalerfan1 wholesome band trip bless

yourneighbour1 woohoo almost time to partyyyy

ryanmcmahon_15 how did one row of houses produce so many party animals?

yourusername party animals okay old man bobbyskeetz just cause you can't ever keep up ryan yourneighbour1 its how we were raised 😤

yourusername

liked by bobbyskeetz and others

yourusername hot people have birthdays on nye 💅

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bobbyskeetz so feckin hot

yourusername baby stapppppp that

yourbestfriend was the BEST time ever

elijahhewson class night it was, graciebrns whats the verdict?

graciebrns best. night. ever. yourusername I love you thanks for having me <33 yourusername you kidding me? thank you for coming !!

inhalerfan1 oh hello inhaler spotted ..

inhalerfan2 not bobby on the decks

bobbyskeetz

liked by yourusername and others

bobbyskeetz happy birthday gorgeous, love cleaning up bottles with you on new years day x

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yourusername ahhhh the taylor reference 😭

yourusername my favourite nosey neighbour <3

ryanmcmahon_15 I have never been so invested in two idiots getting together properly

yourbestfriend so insufferable its taken like 13 years for them not to be idiots yourusername and what about you two being idiots.. bobbyskeetz whats your favourite book trope again love? yourusername FRIENDS TO LOVERS BABY, take notes ryanmcmahon_15 yourbestfriend

inhalerfan1 sad sad day for the bobby girlies 💔

bobbyskeetzswife noooooooooo

finished xx

[scarisd3ad]

Begin again

Pairing(s) - billy Hargrove x fem!reader (past), Steve harrington x fem!reader

Summary- after the end of your 2 year long relationship with billy you finally go on a date again and realize how horrible billy really was to you.

Warnings - mentions of a toxic relationship

Masterlist

I sighed as I looked at myself in the mirror, this was my first date I was going on since I broke up with Billy and somehow, I can't shake all the old habits I used to have. he hated when I wore heals absolutely hated them because he said they made me taller than I actually was. I slip them off not knowing if Steve had the same preference. I decide on a pair of Mary janes that still had a heal but wasn't that tall it was barely an inch. this was just a first date down at the coffee shop around the corner, but I still felt this overwhelming pressure to look good.

I put my favorite cassette into my Walkman. Billy hated this song, and he always made it known when I listened to it. "God why do you like this shit" he'd mutter every time. I decided on walking to the coffee shop since it was a nice day, and the coffee shop was just down the road.

when I arrive, I assume Steve would be late because Billy always was. I just assumed all men didn't care about punctuality. but when I open the door Steve's sitting at a table in the far back corner. the bell from the top of the door pulls his thoughts from the menu he was looking at. he looks up and waves me over. when I walk to the table, he gets up pulling the chair across from his out for me. I smile, Billy never did this for me. "Thank you" he shakes his head as I take a seat "it's not problem."

'you dont understand how nice that is, but i do'

he throws his head back laughing when I tell a joke that I didn't think he'd find funny because Billy never did. he always said I wasn't funny, but Steve thought I was. "it's not that funny" I giggled as I push a piece of my hair back behind my ear. he continues to laugh, and I can't help but admire how handsome he looks. I've spent the last I don't know how long believing that love was a horrible thing that I never wanted to do again but right here in this coffee shop everything changed. it was like everything I ever experienced with Billy was erased and I was able to begin again.

James Taylor was my favorite singer and somehow was Steves too. "I've never met a girl who has as many James Taylor records as me" he laughs after I told him about my collection. Billy would've found that as me trying to say I was better than him in some type of way, but Steve doesn't. I laugh "ma-maybe you could come over one day and I Dunno check'em out" I say with a shrug he nods "yeah, yeah that would be fun."

he tells stories about his friends and his family and thinks it's weird I'm coming off a little shy. I was used to listening and not talking with Billy. "Are-are you alright?" he asks his brows furrowed together; I shake my head "ye-yeah I'm fine i-i I'm sorry" I mumble "it's alright you don't gotta be shy around me" he whispers.

as he walks me down the block to my house, I almost bring Billy up trying to forgive Steve for my nervousness, but he brings up the movies that he and his friends watch every Christmas and I want to talk about that. "Yeah, and we watch the grinch every year on the 24th and all the kids come and robin and Eddie too and shit its cool" he laughs. for the first time what's past is past and I don't want to bring Billy up anymore. I don't want to pretend I don't like my favorite artist or pretend I don't love wearing high heels for a man who wouldn't even kiss me. "y'know I really like you and I'd really like to do this again" Steve says as we stop in front of my house "I really like you too" I whisper as I look down at the ground flustered. he places his hand on my chin pushing it up so I'm making eye contact with you. "Can I kiss you?" he asks I nod before leaning in and pressing my lips to him.

'On a Wednesday in a cafe I watched it begin again'

[toasecretsanta]

(1 of 2 fics)

Merry Christmas ToA fandom!!!

I [@firealder2005] was given @literallyjusttoa this year, and this fic is based off her prompt of Poseidon and Apollo bonding time!!!

I will have the fic up on my Ao3 once the submission is posted :3

Warnings: Just to be safe, I have the fic rated M for implied noncon because. well. Ancient times be ancient times, you know?

This was meant to be combined with the other fic I have but uh. I got carried away lmao

Let us begin!

Save Me, ‘Cuz I’m Fallin’

A soft curse left his lips as he adjusted his grip on the stack of bricks in his arms. Apollo blew a puff of air towards a curl of hair that had fallen into his eyes, warily scanning the people around him as he set his bricks down. He tucked that free strand back behind his ear, wiping his dusty, achy hands on his tunic as the slowly-growing wall before him casted a long shadow over him, the sunset looming from behind.

“Hey!” Apollo slightly jumped as a hand clamped down on his shoulder, roughly spinning him around. One of the guards stationed around the wall glared at him, eyes partially obscured by the helmet on his head. Apollo wondered why people wore those if they obstructed their view. It was terribly constricting.

The guard shook him again. “The king demands your presence. He’s not happy with you.”

Apollo swallowed and began surreptitiously looking for his one and only ally within these ever-growing, ever-entrapping walls — Poseidon. In the years he’d been quite literally slaving away in Ilios, he always felt a lot more comfortable dealing with its king without the older, formidable god at his side. Even if at times there wasn’t much Poseidon could do…

Apollo was thankful to catch sight of his uncle. Poseidon’s hair had grown unruly during their punishment, yet he was still able to cut an imposing figure through the polis as the slaves of Ilios were finally able to pause their back-breaking work and rest.

“Come on!” The guard grabbed his arm and yanked him forward. Apollo stumbled, the sandals on his feet slipping over the pebbles beneath them, and the guard snorted as he fell onto his knees. “Get up!” he barked, the fold of his cape snapping as the former god staggered back to his feet. “We don’t have all night!”

Apollo ducked his head and mutely nodded, wincing a bit as the scrapes on his knees stung. A quick look told Apollo they would heal within seconds, but it did little to reassure the nervousness growing in his throat. Gods, he hated it when Laomedon called for him…

He attempted to swallow the lump. No luck.

Glancing almost desperately over his shoulder, Apollo managed to catch Poseidon’s eye and gave him his best HELP! LAOMEDON WANTS TO TALK TO ME! look. It must have translated quite well, for Poseidon began shoving his way through the dwindling crowd and stormed after Apollo and the guard, who still had not removed his adamantine-grip from his arm. Rude.

“You! Guard!” His uncle’s voice boomed through the air. A slave he may be now, but nothing could ever take away the blood-freezing depths of his words. “Where are you taking my nephew?”

The guard’s head had snapped around to face Poseidon, who loomed a good foot taller than the Dardanian. Despite the angry behemoth before him, the guard clearly had a nice stash of bravery somewhere within him — or he was stupid, depending on your point of view.

Personally, if Apollo had been on the receiving end of the furious stare Poseidon was giving this Dardanian, he would have scampered out of the way faster than Arion could run.

“Your indolent nephew,” the guard sneered. “Is to come to the king. He has some words to share with him.”

“Very well,” Poseidon tersely replied, eyes storming like the Adriatic Sea on a bad day. “Lead the way.”

The guard hesitated, his grip on Apollo’s arm loosening a bit, much to his relief. He pulled it out of his grasp and hid a wince at the twinge that shot up to his shoulder. Thanks a lot, he grumbled, rubbing at the blossoming bruise. Not like that’s gonna make carrying bricks even more of a pain or anything…

Then again, he healed fast. Maybe he wouldn’t have to deal with a stinging arm in the morning.

Though…Apollo nervously folded his hands together as the Dardanian guard jerkily motioned for him and Poseidon to follow. By the attitude of the guard, he clearly didn’t think Apollo would exist when Eos decided to paint the sky pink with her fingers.

Apollo kept his eyes fixed on the dirt below, ignoring the sleepy city around him. He stifled a yawn that pulled at his throat, and jumped when Poseidon nudged his shoulder with his own.

“You good?” he murmured under his breath, eyeing the guard marching before them with an intense look of dislike.

The younger god nodded, shakily inhaling as he muttered a “yes” in response.

“Tired?”

“As always.”

A ghost of the jovial grin Apollo remembered appeared on his uncle’s face. “Just remember — once that stupid wall is done, we’re out of here.”

Apollo felt his own lips curl into a smile just as the guard quickened his pace and entered the throne room. Yeah, he couldn’t wait for this stupid punishment to be over. Apollo swatted at the sheer curtains hanging from the doorways, tensing as he spotted the king of Ilios seated on his throne, fingers tapping the armrest ominously.

“The slave you ordered, sir,” the guard bowed.

Laomedon barely gave Apollo a glance. “Why is he here?” He idly lifted a finger to point at Poseidon, who crossed his arms and glared at the king.

The guard cleared his throat, mouth opening as he clearly scrambled to explain how he was cowed into letting Poseidon in, when the king sighed and waved him away.

“Nevermind,” he inspected his nails. “Just go.” The guard quickly bowed once more before shuffling off.

Apollo clasped his hands before him and kept his gaze on the three steps leading up to the throne as Laomedon’s stare finally declared him entertaining enough for attention.

“So,” the king idly leaned forward, eyes fixed on Apollo. It made him distinctively uncomfortable. “I read the recent report on my wall’s construction.” A beat passed. “And I saw something…rather disappointing.” Laomedon rose from his throne and stood at the top of the stairs. “You do remember why your father made me your master, correct?”

Apollo silently nodded as Poseidon’s glare darkened.

“Good,” Laomedon took a step down. His voice darkened. “Then why,” Another step. “Are you failing,” His robes swished as he took the final step. “To meet your assigned quota?” The king’s scowl was harsh, burning into Apollo’s skin as he bit his lip.

“I–I,” Apollo stammered. Damn, he knew this was going to come back to bite him! “I know, I was supposed to get it done by today but I had to cover Aeacus’s quota too—”

“Quiet,” Laomedon’s eyes were still dark as Apollo’s jaw snapped shut against his will. “I don’t want excuses, Apollo. Zeus said to make sure you and Poseidon learned your places in the presence of a king, and that is exactly what I shall do.”

Apollo gulped and tried to hold back a tremor as Laomedon’s ruthless gaze pinned him down. “And this isn’t the first time you’ve been late,” Apollo dropped his gaze from Laomedon’s. “I let those be then, because I thought perhaps you still needed a little extra time to learn. Apparently I was wrong.”

Laomedon’s face split into a smirk. “Come here,” he snapped to the empty space in front of him. “Now.”

In less than a second, Apollo moved to obey. He gritted his teeth, once again attempting to fight against the compulsion, but like every single time before, it was no use.

A hand flashed out and grabbed his shoulder, pulling him to a stop. Poseidon’s gaze was as sharp as a shark’s as he stared Laomedon down. “No. He can stay right here to listen to what you have to say.”

Laomedon tutted. “Poseidon, let him go and stay put. Apollo — come here.”

Jerkily, Poseidon’s hand released Apollo and the younger god attempted to shoot his uncle with an assuring smile. He feared he only managed a grimace.

Taking a steadying breath, Apollo rolled his shoulders back and approached Laomedon, who was still smirking at his fuming uncle before snapping his dark eyes to him. The way the king steepled his fingers gave him an eerie resemblance to Zeus.

Of course, Apollo reflected as he steadily met Laomedon’s self-satisfied stare. He doesn’t quite have the intimidation factor down nearly as well. Though he had to admit, the way the king’s eyes flashed at Apollo’s nerve to meet him eye-to-eye was also very reminiscent of Zeus.

Apollo didn’t know if he meant it as a compliment or not.

Laomedon sighed, as if Apollo had caused him immense stress and disappointment. He tipped his head and clucked his tongue. “Now all that’s left is to find a proper punishment for you.”

The god recoiled at that, but Laomedon didn’t let him get far. He snatched the front of Apollo’s tunic and yanked him back toward him and grabbed his chin. “Since the wall isn’t tough enough work for you, perhaps a few months tending my lovely fields? By yourself?”

The ichor in his veins turned to ice. “That’ll take forever!” he protested.

“The winter months are almost upon us,” Poseidon added. Apollo couldn’t see his face, but he knew his uncle must be thunderous by the dark rumble of his words. “Not only would it be impossible for Apollo to accomplish alone, even with his lyre, but it would deprive your people of much-needed food the next year. Surely you’d know this.”

Laomedon’s eyes glanced behind Apollo, where Poseidon presumably was, hands still tight on Apollo’s tunic and face. He hummed. “I suppose,” he shrugged. “I would hate to have to punish my people because of you, Apollo.” The king’s brow furrowed, as if contemplating his choices. Personally, Apollo didn’t think it was a very good look on him.

Then the king got a wicked gleam in his eyes that also wasn’t a good look on him and set Apollo on edge.

“Of course…” Laomedon nearly purred and wow, his grandmother Rhea’s lions would be offended by how bad he made it sound. The king’s lips curved, a cruel tilt to his head, as he bared his teeth in a grin. “I could just sell you. Though I’d hate to be deprived of your company…”

A sharp inhale was sucked into Apollo’s lungs just as Poseidon let out a snarl.

Laomedon tilted Apollo’s head from side to side. His brows furrowed once more, though in a way that was like a lazy housecat able to play with an exhausted mouse at its paws. “You would fetch a fine price with that pretty face…”

The heart in his chest cavity thumped like a lone, rabid wolf ready to lash out to defend itself from a band of hunters. Apollo swallowed and shook his head.

“Believe me, I wouldn’t,” he nervously laughed. Under any other circumstances, he actually would have been quite offended at the idea that he wouldn’t be worth a lot of drachma, he was a gorgeous, talented god after all thank you very much, but he didn’t fancy getting tossed in the amphora and haggled over like livestock either. “Like you said, I’m awful at work — who’d want a slave who can’t work?”

“They would if they were a god,” much to Apollo’s growing horror, Laomedon seemed to actually be considering the idea, like actually thinking about it. “I’m sure Zeus would understand that you needed a harsher hand.”

“Absolutely not,” Poseidon interjected, his own scowl as harsh as the suggestion Laomedon had put forth. “First of all, my brother assigned us to you — he would not approve of you selling Apollo off. Secondly…” the older sea god drew himself to his full height and pinned the king with a raging stare. “I will not let you. You try it, and I swear I will kill you myself.”

Apollo hardly dared to breathe as slave and master — or god and mortal, he reminded himself — stared each other down. Poseidon’s face was simultaneously as stony as the walls of Ilios itself, and as wrathful as the seas he ruled. He was a true contradiction, and one not to cross.

Laomedon seemed to have realized that himself. His jaw ticked, eyes narrowing with a hint of…unease, perhaps? Wariness?

A cruel master Laomedon may be, but at least he wasn’t a stupid one. Poseidon would have killed him long ago if he had been.

“Then tell me, Poseidon,” Laomedon sounded equally irritated and irate. “What should Apollo’s punishment be?” The unease in his dark eyes was replaced with a brief flash that instinctively made Apollo wary. “Perhaps serving me more…directly in my palace?”

Apollo scowled. “I’d rather fight Python again.”

“Not to mention,” Poseidon called. “We’ll be down a worker for the walls — you said you want them built within a year, yes? Taking Apollo away from it would slow production.”

Laomedon gave a long sigh, absently brushing his thumb over Apollo’s cheek as he gave Poseidon a look.

“Well, since you’re so interested…” Laomedon released Apollo’s jaw — much to the god’s relief — but kept his grip on his tunic. The younger god attempted to subtly rub at his chin as Poseidon drew forth, the salty scent he carried with him drifting around Apollo. He inwardly breathed a sigh of relief at his uncle’s closeness.

“You can decide,” the king triumphantly declared. The relief Apollo felt was instantly squashed, and he stared with wide eyes first at Laomedon, then at Poseidon. His uncle had tensed, jaw clenched as he glared at Laomedon with nothing but pure dislike. “But of course,” Laomedon added slyly, finally relinquishing his hold on Apollo’s tunic with a lazy shrug, flicking at a strand of golden hair. “I retain the right to deny it and proceed with my idea.”

A wail of despair welled in Apollo’s throat, though he thankfully managed to swallow it back down. Though maybe a whimper escaped in the process.

This was it. Laomedon wasn’t going to be deterred by threats of what Zeus would do to him. There was no way he was going to accept whatever idea Poseidon came up with, not if he could humiliate a god of Apollo’s caliber.

Apollo silently cursed his father for taking off with Laomedon’s uncle. Why, oh why did Laomedon have to take his anger out on the most gorgeous god on Olympus? Was it because Ganymede had been snatched for his beauty and he was trying to make himself feel better by demeaning Apollo in such a way?

If so, he was so petty. Apollo hadn’t even been involved in that whole fiasco!

Poseidon had yet to say anything, his silence brewing a dangerous hurricane of potent emotions.

Laomedon, on the other hand, seemed to almost be enjoying himself. “We don’t have all night,” he tutted. “And I have a dowry to begin preparing for Proclia’s future marriage, so please do not waste my time.”

Apollo vaguely remembered Proclia. She was about thirteen, with long red hair and kind brown eyes. She had kindly given him some water one day when he’d been exhausted from brick-laying — much nicer than her pig of a father.

He hoped she was married to someone good. Though Laomedon didn’t seem to have an eye for such suitors. Maybe he could nudge Hymenaeus into helping…hmm…

Poseidon crossed his arms, face still shadowed with his storm, before he tersely nodded. “Very well. I suggest Apollo protect your cattle in the fields of Mount Ida. It’s been attacked lately by wild dogs, wolves, and other various beasts, am I correct?”

Laomedon frowned and tipped his head. “You are,” he agreed. “I have been losing the young cattle lately…ever since my father was king, anyway,” he added with a curl of his lips. Apollo winced and inwardly thought, Ganymede. The youth had used to protect Ilios’s herd of cattle…up until he caught Zeus’s fancy.

Apollo then arched a brow. Was it possible Poseidon was trying to appease Laomedon’s resentment of his uncle’s apotheosis with Apollo’s services in the very fields Ganymede had been taken from? He supposed it would be best to temper that anger…

…though did it have to come at the cost of him?

Laomedon, however, didn’t seem convinced. “Difficult that service may be,” he mused, fingers steepled once again. “I’m afraid I’m not quite satisfied with it. Any amendments to make? If not, I’ll be all too happy to get your nephew started on his new assignment.”

Assignment! Apollo scoffed, yet his hands shook at the possibility. He clenched them tightly as a  low growl left Poseidon’s throat. “An amendment it is, then,” he clenched his own fists and sarcastically muttered; “Do you have any suggestions?”

The king thoughtfully hummed. “You know, perhaps I do.”

Poseidon blinked. Apollo tensed. Clearly, his uncle had meant the comment in jest, but Laomedon had not taken it that way.

“How about this…” Laomedon crossed his arms and studied the two of them. “Apollo works in the fields, protecting my prized cattle, while you, Poseidon, take on his work on the walls. I’m sure you can handle a double workload better than Apollo.” Apollo quietly huffed at the slight. “Aeacus is almost recovered from his bout of sickness anyway,” Laomedon continued. “So he can continue his third of the wall soon enough.” The king then raised a finger. “But the condition is that Apollo will also get the mortar and bricks you will build with…from my palace.”

Apollo glanced at Poseidon out of the corner of his eye. His uncle caught it. Despite his unease, Apollo knew this was the best deal they were going to get. He gave a slight nod — I can do this. 

Poseidon inclined his head. “We accept the terms.” He announced.

Laomedon slyly smiled. “Good. Now go,” he pointed at the curtain-covered door behind them. “Best get some rest. You have work tomorrow.”

Work they had, indeed. 

Over the months, as Eurus’s autumn winds turned away and allowed Boreas’s chilly breath to descend over Ilios, Apollo spent his mornings quickly gathering as much mortar and bricks as he could, thanking his godly strength that he was able to carry so much, dodging running into Laomedon in the process, and delivering it to Poseidon before rushing to Mount Ida and perching on an outcrop, keeping a careful eye on the cattle and the wintry woods around him. A few times he had to fend off a particularly hungry wolf before communicating to it about a much better place to hunt, with deer roaming despite these barren months. The little guy had given him a thankful nuzzle before darting away in the direction Apollo had pointed.

“Never seen a wolf do that, before,” a feminine voice made Apollo jolt and he spun around, still half-kneeling from where he’d been speaking with the wolf. A girl around his age — that is to say, his human age of eighteen — stood before him. Her pale hair was braided, like bundles of flax woven into a fine basket. Pearls sat in her braids. Her dark skin was clean. Her eyes were like pools of fresh, spring water. Her peplos a rosy pink, like Eos’s lovely dawn. “They usually growl when they see humans.”

Apollo self-consciously adjusted his straw hat, thankful the only thing marring his own visage was the occasional smudge of dirt, though that itself was minorly annoying when faced with a pretty girl.

“Well,” he modestly shrugged and rose to his feet, casually leaning against his shepherd’s staff. “I suppose that’s because most humans don’t have anything good to say.”

The girl considered him. “I suppose,” she nodded. “I wouldn’t know the first thing to say to a wolf anyway. I’d probably communicate something along the lines of ‘I want to eat your young’ instead of ‘Hello, my name is Ourea. What’s yours?’.”

Apollo cracked a grin. “Was that an indirect way of introducing yourself? And to get my name?”

The girl — Ourea, Apollo noted, a name meaning ‘mountains’, as well as the name of some of Gaea’s offspring — smiled and gave a modest shrug of her own. “Perhaps. Not everyday you meet a man who can speak wolf.”

“It’s sadly a lost art,” Apollo mock-sighed. “Very few are able to master such a skill.”

“Oh?” Ourea drifted closer and intently stared at him. Her eyes were very distracting. Apollo had never really paid attention to the beauty of water before, but wow. It definitely deserved a few odes, perhaps even a sonnet. The way the sunlight shone off her eyes…it was like marveling at a sunset over the sea.

“Care to teach me?”

Apollo smiled. “Wouldn’t hurt to try.”

Ourea was rather good company. She was in the field waiting for him when he came to watch the herd, and he would impart to her the language of wolves — their code, their way of life, and how they communicated. She had trouble with it at first, which was a given. Mortals weren’t usually interested in learning about each other, let alone an animal, but he was fascinated with Ourea’s determination to push through his lessons.

They met everyday. Winter began to wane. Poseidon would give him a sly look every morning he came to drop off the day’s delivery of mortar and bricks, and shot a shit-eating grin his way at night when he returned a bit more flushed than usual and his tunic ajar.

Some people would think it weird that Poseidon wasn’t objecting to Apollo dating his daughter — after all, fathers were supposed to want their daughters to actually be able to marry the man they were seeing.

Poseidon though wasn’t a mortal father. He rarely interacted with his children, though he lent a hand if they asked for it. When Apollo had inquired about his opinion, his uncle had merely shrugged and said; “If Ourea wants you, I see no reason why she can’t.”

Apollo had to admit. Ourea’s presence was becoming a particular bright spot in Ilios. Not only would she meet him in the meadow, but also at the walls in the mornings and watch as he passed the materials to her father, waving cheekily at him whenever he playfully wrinkled his nose at her.

One particular bright spot was a nice night between them the day the walls were finished. The formidable stones rose high into the air, fortifying the main city even better than the outer city’s walls did — because they were built by two gods, of course.

And maybe Apollo had helped speed the process up a bit by playing his lyre as the construction came close to the end. His godly power had been greatly reduced thanks to his punishment, but he’d been able to manipulate the bricks into their proper places, creating a strong barrier to protect Ilios’s people — people who included Ourea…and his own child now.

He still remembered the day she told him, breath lingering around his ear, eyes shining as she whispered; “I’m expecting!”

Poseidon had clapped him on the shoulder and congratulated both of them. And nine months later, Ourea failed to arrive in the meadow. Apollo spent the rest of the day anxiously pacing the field, his restlessness no doubt warding off would-be attackers, though few they were as Notus’s summer sighs began.

Apollo practically ran back to Ilios in his haste to find Ourea, and find her he did. Her mother was busy attending to her, while his lover sat up in bed, a bundle in her arms. Her hair was down and pearlless, but her smile was as bright as the sea’s gems.

“Ileus,” she said. “After our city.”

The god bent down and placed a gentle kiss first on Ourea, then on Ileus. “Perfect,” he murmured. “He’s perfect.”

He and Poseidon were still technically in Laomedon’s service, even with the walls complete. Thanks to their godly intervention, the walls were finished earlier than planned — which was good, for Apollo could pop in and visit Ourea and Ileus more often, but also irksome. He missed having his full godly power at his disposal. He could’ve properly helped Ourea’s birthing pains. He could’ve — would show Laomedon what happens when you treat not one, but two gods cruelly.

Though despite the disgruntlement and unease Laomedon put in him, Apollo made a silent promise to protect this city. Not all of its inhabitants were as demeaning as their king — most treated him and Poseidon with the respect gods of their caliber deserved, and very few had dared to belittle Ourea for having a child out of wedlock, not with the knowledge that Apollo had fathered him.

All in all, Apollo was in high spirits. The walls were done. He and Poseidon were about to get paid for their work once autumn came about. Ourea swore Ileus was trying to imitate a wolf’s howl the night before — bless his little soul, already taking after his parents!

The snakes put a bit of a damper on his mood, three months later.

It happened fast. The guards along the walls raised the alarm as three massive drakons rushed the walls. Apollo had been transfixed to the spot, unable to tear his eyes away as the first drakon rammed into Poseidon’s wall. It screeched when it failed to topple it.

The second attempted the same with Apollo’s wall. It too fell prey to its invulnerability.

Meanwhile the third…Apollo remained rooted to the ground as it crashed through Aeacus’s third of the wall. Stone crumbled. Mortar cracked. Ash was flung into the air as the drakon stomped through, roared triumphantly, before turning tail and charging away, its brethren on its heels, screaming like a battalion of armed warriors.

Faintly, Apollo heard Poseidon swear and sensed Ourea clutch Ileus to her chest, as if afraid the drakons would return and snatch him away. The baby’s bright blue eyes stared at the drakons in awe, his pale hair askew.

Equally as faintly, Apollo could hear the rumbles of stone falling, though the walls around him remained intact, except for Aeacus’s third. He could feel the tremors echoing through the ground, the clanging of bronze-on-bronze.

A war would be fought here. A great one.

Apollo’s smokey green eyes rolled back into his head and his breaths turned harsh;

“Unyielding walls, made of stone,

Heed my words and be known.

None shall shake your roots of steel,

But beware the tenth year.

Red-haired Pyrrus to pluck you down,

And Ilion will fall by Aeacus’s crown.”

Hands grasped his shoulders and shook. Apollo dazedly jerked his head, blinking with bewildered pale gold eyes at the creased face of Poseidon.

“Apollo,” his uncle’s dark green eyes were fixed on him with a serious, intent expression. “Apollo, was that…”

The younger god swallowed and nodded. “I believe so.” He breathed through his nose. “It was a prophecy.”

“A prophecy?” Ourea breathed, blue eyes as wide as the pools of water in Ilios’s forests. “But what…what could it mean?”

Apollo frowned, biting his lip for a moment as he considered the prophecy, absently snapping his fingers for a papyrus scroll and reed pen. He quickly scrawled the prophecy down, studying the words.

Prophecies were tricky things. They liked to make you think you figured them out, or successfully averted them, before pulling the rug out from under you. (Just ask Acrisius)

However…he squinted suspiciously at the words before him.

Unyielding walls, made of stone, heed my words and be known.

Apollo eyed the walls of Troy as citizens and slaves alike clustered around the broken wall, clamoring over each other about how to fix it.

None shall shake your roots of steel, but beware the tenth year.

Unease filled his stomach. Beware the tenth year…tenth year the walls were built? Or perhaps…

The sound of bronze weapons clashing and the ground cracking apart from an earthquake ripped through his ears once more.

No. Beware the tenth year of war.

Red-haired Pyrrus to pluck you down, and Ilion will fall by Aeacus’s crown.

The wall. The wall that fell…it was built by Aeacus, not a god. That made it the weakest point, the prime place for attack…

Or it meant —

Apollo shoved the thought away. No. No. Ilion couldn’t…

“Apollo?” Poseidon asked. “Do you know what it means?”

The younger god glanced between the intense eyes of his uncle and the anxious ones of his lover.

“I have…a suspicion,” he admitted. He met Ourea’s worried face and softly said; “I think it says the walls will fall…and so will Ilion.”

Ourea pressed a hand to her mouth, eyes widening as she held Ileus tighter, making him whine as he attempted to wiggle out of her hold, making grabby hand at Apollo. He held out his fingers and allowed Ileus to snatch them, lips curving slightly as the boy attempted to stick them in his mouth.

Poseidon had turned and stared consideringly at the walls. Apollo stiffened as he heard him mumble “Good riddance” with a slight vindictive gleam in his storming eyes as people darted around, beginning to hastily repair the damage done to the wall.

Apollo couldn’t find it within himself to agree. He knew Poseidon only said it because of how harshly Laomedon had treated them, but personally, Apollo didn’t believe Ilion deserved to crumble to the ground because of the actions of one lousy king.

Plus…Apollo fervently looked into Ourea’s concerned eyes. Placing a kiss on her lips before ruffling Ileus’s hair, making the child babble, he knew one thing about himself.

Ilion was his city. And he would do his damndest to circumvent its fate — or at the very least, delay the inevitable for as long as possible.

They were his people, just like he was their god. And nothing would ever change that.

He eyed the palace with wariness. Steeling himself, he tapped Poseidon’s shoulder and said; “We should talk to Laomedon. He needs to know.”

Poseidon hummed and shrugged. “Very well. He’s also due to pay us back for our work.”

With that, his uncle marched towards the palace, leaving the commotion of the crumbled walls behind. Apollo took Ourea’s hand and gently squeezed it, smiling lightly as he clutched the papyrus with Ilion’s fatal fate written upon it.

“We’ll be back,” he whispered. He hesitated, then drew both her and Ileus into a hug. Ourea’s free hand rested on his arm as she laid her head on his shoulder. “And don’t worry,” he added quietly. “I’ll keep Ilion safe.”

“How?” Ourea’s words were muffled slightly. “If it’s prophesied…”

Apollo rubbed her back and kissed her hair. “I’m the god of prophecy,” he grinned. “I’ll find a way.”

I hope, he left unsaid.

----------

“No.”

Apollo blinked, mouth slightly open as he stared incredulously at Laomedon. The king sat on his throne, as relaxed as a lazy lion, the side of his face leaning on his hand as he coyly smirked at the two gods.

“No?” Poseidon spat. “That was the deal, you ungrateful, impious bdelyròs!”

Laomedon clucked his tongue, shaking his head. “No need for that kind of language, Poseidon. Especially around your nephew.”

Apollo glared at him. “I’ve heard worse, thanks.”

The king shrugged. “I suppose you have,” he agreed, raking his gaze over the younger god. “You have had some…choice words, at times. But I digress,” Apollo scowled at how relaxed Laomedon looked, like he wasn’t insulting them — oh, he knew very well how demeaning this was! It wasn’t enough that ordered them about and yanked them around for his own amusement, abusing the control he had over them, but now he denied them their deserved pay!

“You have made a very unwise decision,” Poseidon softly stated, mouth curving slightly into a snarl. “When we regain our places on Olympus, we are no longer in your service, nor under your command. We are free to do as we please…” he narrowed his eyes and gave the bored king a mocking smile. “I can promise you my wrath will be felt quite soon.”

“Ah…” Laomedon clutched his chest, as if suddenly struck with a heart-attack. Apollo secretly wished for it to happen, for the terrible man to bite the dust. “The thing is, Poseidon…neither of you are allowed to harm me, even after your punishment is finished.” He bared his crooked teeth in a grin. “I’m untouchable, while I can still very much touch you.”

Apollo clenched his fists, the papyrus in one of them crumpling, before crossing his arms. “Says who?” He demanded.

“Says your father,” Laomedon’s grin was sharp as he sat up straight in his throne. “After all, the lesson was all about not challenging a king, was it not? Taking vengeance on me would mean you haven’t learnt your lesson.”

Apollo was furious. He wasn’t allowed to give Laomedon a piece of his mind? To throttle him for everything he put him through? Completely unfair! How could father let him do this?

Angry, Apollo stalked up the stairs and slapped the papyrus onto the throne’s arm. “Maybe this will get you to rethink,” he hissed as Laomedon’s dark stare first roamed over him before idly glancing at the papyrus. “Or do you not care about Ilion’s destruction?”

Laomedon’s face twisted and he seized Apollo by the strap of his chiton, yanking him close enough for him to murmur darkly; “Careful there,” His hot breath made Apollo flinch away. “I still own you.”

He ripped himself out of Laomedon’s grip and gave him a vehement stare. “You own nothing,” he muttered contemptuously. Apollo glanced over his shoulder to Poseidon, who had his arms crossed and face twisted into a mean scowl.

Apollo turned back to Laomedon. He pointed to the papyrus. “The future of your kingdom is on that scroll,” he darkly warned. “I really think you should reconsider this choice — it may lead to Ilion’s ruin.”

Laomedon gave a disbelieving snort. “Ilion is the crown jewel of Anatolia,” his nose scrunched up as he gave the younger god a condescending look. “Our warriors are of the highest caliber. My children married to powerful allies. Very few would dare to challenge us — let alone be able to destroy us, dear Apollo.” 

He then leaned forward, finger tapping idly on the papyrus as he hummed. “Not to mention you are our patron god, duty-bound to come to our aid.” He glanced at the scroll and lightly snorted. “Barely half of this makes sense! Garbled nonsense.”

Apollo’s jaw clenched. “Smart men can decipher a mystery,” he growled. “Wise men learn from it.”

His stomach twisted as Laomedon pretended to not hear him. Apollo glanced at his uncle, whose stormy expression made him shiver.

He had warned Laomedon. He warned him of the present and future danger to Ilion. But he refused to listen.

And that arrogance will cost him. Dearly.

It is, after all, part of the duty of a god, Apollo reflected as he and Poseidon silently exited the throne room, stalking through the grand halls with glowers. Hubris is so commonly a mortal’s fatal flaw…and Laomedon will be no different.

 —

I refrained from my usual rambles so if you want my rambles see my Ao3 for the fic upload there! :3

[undead-supernova]

HIGH TOLERANCE

Masterlist

important note: this is a one-off of my High Tolerance series! I suppose you could read this first, but I think reading the whole 5-part series first would be more fun hehehehe

plot: when a cute guy with curly hair asks you to be his best friend, how can you say no? how do you look away when your whole life has been altered by this one instance? In other words: This is how Eddie and Weirdo met.

pairings: modern!bestfriend!Eddie x bisexual!fem!reader

warnings: drinking, cigarettes, pure fluff

wc: 3.4k

additional note: this cover of Whitney Houston's "I Wanna Dance with Somebody (Who Loves Me)" was a biiiiig help with tone and vibe hehe

         “And we'll have Halloween on Christmas.

         And in the night, we'll wish this never ends.

         We'll wish this never ends."

You swayed around in circles, careful not to let the microphone cord wrap around your block-heeled Mary Janes. The minimal drums and guitar kicked in, with the faded background vocals echoing I miss you. Your pleated black skirt swayed around you, following your lead.

This was your favorite Tuesday Karaoke genre, the emo and pop-punk throwbacks being your jackpot. It was a classic go-to for you, the meme-ification of the song riling you up even further. And you were going to prove it.

“WHERE ARE YOU?” you nearly screamed, too excited to get to your favorite part. You imitated Tom DeLonge’s voice, concentrating on getting it right. Maybe a little bit more than you should’ve, but— “AND I’M SO SORRY! I cannot sleep, I cannot dream tonight!”

You really thought that the meme of it all would bring the five drunks here together. That you’d earn at least a chuckle from someone other than the bartender. But maybe you’d miscalculated your audience. Because everyone was sitting, mainly ignoring you as they either talked to each other or stared at their phones.

But was that going to stop you? Fuck. No.

         “Don’t waste your time on me.

         You’re already the voice inside my head.”

“Woo!”

You glanced over at the voice to see some guy standing there. A very attractive some guy, with long curly hair and bangs. A tight t-shirt hidden by a leather jacket with…a denim vest over it? His hands were stuffed in his pockets, but that didn’t stop him from shimmying both his shoulders and swinging his hips around. Rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet as he danced. 

He was paying attention to you. Why was he of all people paying attention to you?

You couldn’t deny that you liked it, liked the way he moved no matter how stupid it looked. So, you decided to give him a show, pointing at him as you came in for another round.

         “Don’t waste your time on me.

         You’re already the voice inside my head.”

He pulled his hands out, cupping them around his mouth. His many silver rings and chain bracelets shone in the light, along with sparkly blue nails.

“Do ‘Freebird’!”

That made you laugh harder than you thought you’d ever laughed before, having to pull the mic away from your lips from the sheer volume that erupted from you. And above the sound of the music, you could hear his guffaw of laughter mixing with yours. 

When you looked back at him, a huge grin on your lips, you couldn’t help but feel something tingle in your stomach. Like a small fizzle, something resembling a firework that sputtered out almost immediately after being ignited.

         “I miss you."

You replaced the mic back on its stand before stepping down from that shitty excuse for a stage. Immediately, you were face-to-face with this pretty guy.

“Hello, it’s amazing to meet you,” he said.

You smiled. “Likewise. Thanks for being my biggest fan.” Gesturing around the nearly empty bar, you added, “Tough crowd tonight.”

“Oh, I gotta get your album autographed. And your mixtape. And the collector’s edition.”

“Oh my god.” You giggled as you shook your head. “You’re too kind.”

You introduced yourself, desperate to put a name to his face.

“I’m Eddie,” he said, sticking his hand out for a handshake. You took it without thought, his palm sticking to yours with a bit of sweat. “You’re not gonna sing ‘Freebird’?”

“I don’t think she’s singing it, dude,” another voice said lightheartedly behind you. 

You dropped your hand from Eddie’s nearly immediately, absolutely embarrassed for reasons you couldn’t understand.

As you turned, you saw another guy there, with silky honey hair and warm brown eyes, rocking a post-work look. Popped white button-down, navy slacks with shiny mahogany loafers that clanked against the floor when he walked. 

His hands were resting on his hips, showing off a nice watch. One lifted, extending toward you. “I’m Steve.” 

Taking it, you noticed that you weren’t as affected by his touch. Maybe it was because his hand wasn’t sweaty. 

As you introduced yourself, you were almost trampled by a very cute girl.

“Sorry I’m late,” she said with a harsh breath, arm slung around Steve. “Jeez, they really made me grovel to get off on time and the traffic is hell. Maybe we should go back to—” She noticed you then, straightening her posture. Her hairstyle could barely be considered a ponytail from the way half of her short hair had spilled out. A black button-down now unbuttoned, hanging down her sides with a black tank top underneath. Paired with black jeans and an array of thin rings. God, she was cute. “Hello, new friend. I’m Robin.”

“Hi Robin, I’m new friend.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but Steve took over the conversation, asking her about her shift. 

You tried to pay attention, but it was brought back to Eddie when he asked, “Can we be best friends?”

You let out a small laugh before nodding. “It’s a done deal,” you responded, earning a high-five. 

“Wanna come hang with us?” he asked, pointing his thumb at Steve following Robin to a small table in the back. When had they decided that?

Looking back at Eddie, you weighed your options. You could continue to sit by yourself, reading a book in a bar and listening to them have fun; laugh. Could let yourself wonder what they were talking about. Could take the easy way out, could walk out of there right now and leave yourself wondering what could’ve been with someone like Eddie. 

But that wasn’t really the easy route.

And you wanted to take the easy route.

“How could I refuse?”

“So why’re y’all out tonight of all nights?” you asked, placing a napkin under your vodka Redbull to fiddle with something.

Eddie was looking at you, sitting on the opposite side of the table, holding your eye contact in a way that was making you nervous. Because he was lifting his glass to his lips and right on those pretty lips of his was the softest smirk you’d ever seen. And there his dimples were, deepening as he took a sip.

“We’re celebrating,” Robin said, smiling at you.

You turned your attention back to the conversation at hand, letting out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.

Steve nodded. “We moved here five months ago today.”

“Hell fucking yeah we did!” Eddie exclaimed, raising his glass before clinking it with Steve and Robin’s. You were surprised when he faced you, gesturing towards your drink.

As you lightly tapped your drink to his, you couldn’t help but notice the way he was looking at you now. Like you were already something to him.

“Well, congratulations,” you said, still making eye contact. “Do y’all like it here?”

“It’s pretty different from the world we’re from,” Eddie said with a nod.

“Feels very, uh,” Steve stumbled, snapping his fingers. “Can’t think of it…”

“Upside down?” Robin offered.

Snap. “Yes, that. Exactly. Upside down,” Steve said, pointing at her.

“What about you?” Eddie asked.

Your eyes widened. “Me?” All three nodded. “Oh, I’m from Tennessee. I came here for college and then ended up staying.”

Eddie nodded along as you spoke. “You like it here?”

“Yeah, I actually do,” you said. “It’s the first place that’s started to feel like home.’”

Steve smiled. “I hope we all start feeling that way.”

“Oh, I think I’m already there,” Eddie said, shamelessly holding your stare as he lifted his drink back up to his lips again. It was soft, sweet—something that he wasn’t currently sharing with the other two.

No, it was just you.

God, he was hot.

When you looked back at Steve and Robin, you noticed Robin tilting her head at you, like she was observing you or something. Watching you. Studying you. Whatever the right word for it was, she was doing it.

“Rob, we should get up there,” Steve said, nudging her.

She returned his nudge with a more forceful one. “And sing what, dingus?”

“‘Livin’ on a Prayer’!” Steve exclaimed.

“Are you kidding me?” Robin asked. “I’m not singing ‘Livin’ on a Prayer’.”

“Woah-oh, we’re halfway there!” Steve shouted.

“Wo-ah, we’re livin’ on a prayer!” Robin shouted back.

You and Eddie were sitting at the bar, laughing as you watched the two go back and forth. It had started as a field trip to get another drink and then ended with you sitting on the stools. Eddie had followed your lead wordlessly.

“They’re incredible,” you said and really meant it. How they convinced Craig to let them sing a song outside of the theme was astonishing. Maybe Steve gave him heart eyes. Craig was such a sucker for a pretty face.

“I have not seen Robin this drunk in a while,” Eddie commented. “She’s something else.”

“Are you gonna sing?” you asked, turning your attention back to him.

He chuckled. “No, maybe next time.”

“Not a singer?”

“I am, actually,” he replied with that special smile he’d given you earlier. “I just convinced my bandmates to move down here after they graduate back home.”

“Oh, that’s really cool! What’s the name?”

“Corroded Coffin.”

“Metal?” you questioned.

“How’d you guess?”

You shrugged. “A hunch.” 

That is the most metal band name I’ve ever heard, you thought to yourself.

“You listen to metal?”

Laughing, you pointed at your outfit. “Clearly.”

His eyes seemed to spark up. “Really?” 

“You make that seem like it’s such a big deal,” you said. “Or are you one of those guys that’s all ‘Women don’t even know real music. Name six of their albums.’”

Eddie took a sip of his whiskey, all the while shaking his head. “Nah, I think those guys are assholes. It’s not like women aren’t making the same music about more important shit anyways.” 

“Correct answer,” you said, pointing at him before taking another swig of your drink.

He shrugged, scratching the top of his head. “I think it’s wild just ‘cause I come from a small town where the mere idea of liking that genre is, like, unheard of.”

You snorted. “Where are you from?”

“Hawkins, Indiana.”

“That sounds fake, I’m so sorry.” He laughed. “But, to be fair, I don’t know much about Indiana.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to. Fuck, I wouldn’t wish it on you, either.”

“Well, consider yourself lucky. There’s lots of people in Atlanta who like metal. But beware of the weird Republican-looking guys who listen to butt rock. Oh, and the skinheads. I made that mistake once and I’ll never be the same.”

“Seriously?”

Trying to get the flashback out of your head, you stated plainly, “You’d be surprised how easy it is to think you’re around like-minded people before you realize where you are.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow. “Was it like Green Room?”

“Kinda, just with less death,” you said before pausing. “Or maybe I didn’t stay around long enough to find out.”

“Shit. Makes sense,” he said. “So, are you waiting for someone? A boyfriend…or girlfriend? Partner?” Eddie sighed when you laughed, putting a hand over his face before waving it around. “I’m sorry, I’m not used to being in a cool place like this. I don’t know why I thought anyone would be straight here, least of all you.” 

You started laughing harder as he gestured to your outfit. With your skirt and Mary Jane’s, you had a simple black crop top on and spike bracelets. Almost as many rings as him. A simple tattoo choker. You were a blatant neon sign with GAY written in cursive and an arrow flashing at you.

“No, it’s alright. I’m a raging semi-goth bisexual.”

“No way, same here just with metal. And my buddy Steve is bi, too.”

The two of you looked over at Steve who was doing some variation of a hip thrust and pretending to play the guitar at the same time. 

“Is he dating your other friend? They seem close.”

Robin whipped her head around as she pretended to play the drums before her head collided with Steve’s and they paused to have a bickering match.

“Robin? Nah. They’re kinda a package deal but they’re platonic with a capital P, as she likes to say. And she’s only into girls.”

“Right, of course.” Some part of you felt an itch that you couldn’t help but scratch. “Uh, are you dating Steve?”

That made Eddie cackle so loudly that even Steve and Robin looked over.

“No, absolutely not,” he finally said. “I’m not dating anyone, least of all Steve.”

You let out a hum. “A gaggle of queers.”

“Got your own gaggle of queers, then?” 

You shook your head, watching his smile fall. “Lost all my friends a few months ago,” you explained. “Some my fault, others not.” 

You couldn’t help but shrug, trying not to go back to all the shit talking and the fights and the blocking and the tears and the loss. The late nights wondering how you were so blind to the manipulation. The games. The accusations you made against the innocent. The moment you fell to the ground when you realized that you were just the pawn in a game made to humiliate someone else. Someone you considered a close friend. 

You’d burned your bridges with the assailants but lost your best friend in the end.

Senior year of college was not what you’d expected it to be.

“Sometimes you trust the wrong people and end up hurting the right ones. Either way, you get burned from a flaming double-edged sword. And then you graduate all alone.”

“That sucks,” Eddie said, his tone changing. “I hate that that happened to you.” He paused, giving you a glance before putting his shoulders back and pretending to wield a sword. “Fear not!” he said in a low voice. “For I am here to lead you from the realm of darkness and into the world of victory!”

You giggled, shaking your head before clearing your throat. Mimicking his posture, you said, “I would be more than honored, my lord!”

As you fell into fits of laughter, your smile fell. “Sorry, I don’t mean to dump all that on you. Sometimes I just have no filter and—” 

“No,” he interrupted. “I don’t either. It’s alright. I kinda like talking to you about—”

“Hey, Eddie,” Steve said, approaching you two. “Rob and I are thinking of heading out. Are you coming?”

You watched Eddie’s eyes flicker from Steve to you before he shook his head. “Nah, I think I’m gonna stay out for a little longer.”

For some reason, that made you feel all bubbly inside.

Despite hiding your smile, you caught Robin’s eyes on you again, eyebrows raised at you with some kind of crooked smile on her face. 

“Have fun,” she said, glancing between you and Eddie before taking Steve’s arm and dragging him out of the bar.

When the door shut behind them, you turned back to face Eddie.

“You’re staying,” you stated with a playful tone.

“Uh, yeah. I’m talking to my new best friend.”

“You’re telling me that the only time you watched Lord of the Rings was at the beach?” Eddie looked at you like you were crazy, causing you to giggle. “What about the beach says, Let’s go to Mordor, shall we?”

“Listen!” you exclaimed. “My mom and my sister would go to a DVD rental place by one of the grocery stores. Well, then Redbox after video stores closed. But, anyways, every year they had Lord of the Rings on display first. So, they decided that that was that.”

Walking side by side, you and Eddie headed to your cars, sharing the last cigarette in his pack. The bar had closed, the first time you’d ever been kicked out of one. But you and Eddie weren’t done talking.

“And those were the only movies you watched?”

You shrugged. “Basically. Unless you count the time I rented Saw and nearly shat my pants.”

Eddie paused at his car, a rather creepy looking van, looking like he was considering something before he ran around the car. Without any hesitation, you tried to beat him to the other side. But he faked you out, coming back around and scaring you.

“I’d like to play a game,” he growled. You squealed involuntarily, jumping back to escape him. But he continued to chase you around his van. “What’s your name?”

You smirked, surprising him by turning around and pushing him back. “My name is Very Fucking Confused, what’s your name!”

Giggles spilled from your lips, colliding with his in some kind of harmony. It was so natural, the way you fell into tandem with one another. The way you were leaning into one another already, laughter mixing with labored breaths as you tried to catch them.

You couldn’t believe just how easy it was with Eddie, especially after months and months of loneliness. There was a part of you that had given up on any form of friendship. A little voice that told you that no one would be willing to listen when you spoke. No one who could be as goofy as you were. Readily give back what you put out.

And it was something that you really hoped you wouldn’t lose.

“This was really fun,” you said. “You’re really cool.” Before you sounded stupid, you added, “Y’all seem really fun.”

Eddie held a soft smile, reaching his hand out to you. “Here, give me your phone. I’ll give you my number.” You handed it over without any protest. “Let’s hang out in the next few weeks.”

“I’d love that.”

Your smile was slipping. That was just something people said. Nothing ever followed through and you knew that all too well. Any date you tried to go on. Any new interaction with coworkers in passing. Anyone you casually talked to at Go Ask Mary. 

“What about next Thursday?” he asked, handing your phone back to you. “Are you free?”

A smile made its way to your face as you stared in shock. “Yeah, I have that day off.”

“Same. I’ll jot it down in my calendar,” he responded with a growing smile before unlocking the door and jumping into his van.

“Welcome to Atlanta, Eddie,” you said, looking up at him.

Leaning down, he gave you a final handshake. You took it, noticing that it was a lot less sweaty than before.

“I’m really starting to like it here,” he said. 

And you gazed at each other for a moment, continuing to hold each other’s palms, a special look in your eyes that was reserved for each other. Like this look was going to be a continual thing. Like this was just the start of something. You just couldn’t figure out what exactly that something was.

Then Eddie seemingly flinched, pulling his hand away.

“Thanks for being my new best friend,” he said finally, scratching his cheek before placing it back on the steering wheel.

A lump in your throat formed as you took a step back. Put your hands together behind your back. Squeezed for some kind of comfort to satiate the ache in your palm.

“Thanks for asking,” you replied.

“See you next Thursday?”

“See you next Thursday.”

He shut his door then, leaving you to turn on your heels to trudge towards your own. You noticed that he waited to back out until you got in your car, giving you a wave before driving off.

And you watched his van go, taking him farther away from you. Though you knew you’d see him again in just a week, you really wished it had been now. 

Maybe you should’ve known then, should’ve understood what that was going to mean in the future. But hindsight is 20/20 and you’ve never been sure what that even meant. Perhaps it would’ve saved you a lot of distress. A lot of jealousy. A lot of insecurity. If things had transpired differently, maybe you could’ve avoided everything that came to fruition.

But instead, you drove home. Picked out your clothes for work the next day. Brushed your teeth. Got into bed. Turned some YouTube video on. Let the darkness fill your room. All the normal parts of your routine. 

Except for the buzz of your phone, a sound that you were still startled by after months of near silence.

It was from Eddie.

can’t wait for next week!

With a smile and droopy eyes, you sent a reply.

Me neither.

[checkingoutforheroes]

B.A.B.Y PROTOCOL

Part 4.

Avengers x fem!reader

Words: 1333

Synopsis: This takes place in Avengers: Age of Ultron. When The Avengers were at the rock bottom, Nick Fury and advised by Maria Hill, to initiate the B.A.B.Y Protocol. Will a young, damaged and broke girl agree to this initiative and help a team to save this planet earth?

Part 3

Main Masterlist

“There, that’s the truck from the lab. Right above you, Cap. By the bridge, it’s them. Got three with the cradle. I can take out the driver.” Clint was ready to shoot the truck but Steve disagree. “Negative. The truck crash, the gem could level the city. We need to draw out Ultron.” He jumps on the truck to get its attention.

Well, he did get its attention and it pissed. “No, no, no. Leave me alone!” Ultron shoot the truck door almost hit Steve. “Well, he is really unhappy! I’m trying to keep it that way!” Steve shouted while hanging on the broken door.

“You’re not a match for him, Cap.” Clint stated. “Thanks Barton.” Steve muttered.

Natasha sees the situation from their jet. “He needs help.” “I guess you wanna unpack your birthday present.” Clint told her to go behind the jet and wait for his queue. She pressed the button for the metal box and saw an electric Harley Davidson and mutter to herself. “That’s a birthday present.” She hops on the bike and waiting for Clint’s to open the bay. “We got a window. In 3,2, give him hell.”

The fights between them and the robots can take too much time and damaged. Natasha make other plans to their original plan of taking the cradle safely because it’s not working out so safe. “This isn’t going nowhere. Clint, can you draw the guards out?”

Clint shooting at Ulron in front of Steve trying to lure the minions out. “Let’s find out.” Three of the guard out and the truck is empty.

“Cap, keep him occupied. I’m going in!” Natasha drop her bike and jump into the truck.

Steve let out an exhausting breath. “What do you think I’ve been doing?”

Meanwhile at the tower, you walk on Maria and Fury’s discussion. “How’s everything? Did they get him?” Maria and Fury acknowledge your present and she pull a chair for you. “You should be on bed.” You just sat slowly on it. “Nah, I’ve been worse. This is nothing.”

Maria rolling her eyes at you. “You’ve been dead for 6 minutes until Tony change your device. What are worse than that?” You don’t have answer for that and Fury coming at you too. “And when are you planning on telling us? Next Christmas?” “I don’t even ask for it and I like to keep it shut. It’s not something to be proud of.” He huffs, “Once this is over, you’re going to see a doctor.” “Why everybody keeps telling me to find a doctor? I’ve been fine all this time. I’m here not to be taking care of. I’m here because the world is at stake and I’m here to help. Doing something, at least.”

“Proof that. Until then, you’re off the mission. Agent Hill, follow me to pick up our old stuff back.” Fury order. “Can I tag along?” Maria turns to you. “We’ll be back. Why don’t you help us monitoring them for us? Use this for contact and maybe help Stark and Banner. But please, for the love of God, don’t ever piss him off.” She walks out of the room, following Fury.

Bruce notice you’re walking towards them. “How’s your feeling?” “Just another day at the office. Still getting the hang of it.”

Tony and Bruce watched and heard some of your conversation earlier. “Gotta admit. I adore your spirit.” Tony expressed. “I never thank you, to both of you yet. Thank you, for saving my life.” Bruce smiling softly and nod. “You’re welcome.”

“Are you kidding? We’re a team. We’re the Avengers. Once you step a foot in this building, you’re the Avengers. We help each other. Well, maybe some of us being a pain in ass but yeah, you’re one of us now. Welcome to the club kid.” Tony reasoned it for you and your eyes lit up on them. “Really? You mean that? Am I, an Avengers?” Tony looking at Bruce while he continues working on his computer. “Bruce. Back me up here.” “I don’t see why not. You’re young and we’re all above 30. We can use a fresh blood.” “Legacy. Thanks Shrek.” Tony responded and you let out a chuckle “I guess you’re the one being the pain in ass.” “Everyone asses” Bruce nod down and we’ll continue our work.

While trying to crack the code for that cradle, Natasha feels the truck lifting. “The package just air borne. I have a clean shot.” Clint tell them on the comm. “Negative. I am still in the truck.” she needs to think fast.

“What the hell did you...” Natasha cut his sentences while cutting the rope that tied to the cradle. “Just be ready. I’m sending the package to you.”

Clint ready on his position. “How do you want me to take it?”

“Uhhh… You might wish you didn’t ask that.”

Wanda fly in the train to help Steve and front the Ultron. “Please. You don’t have to do that.” Somehow, Ultron is kinda sound scared and he fly out the train. “Surveillance in our path. Can you stop this train?” Steve ordered and both of them do their best to stop the train and people around it.

Once the cradle touches the Quinn jet floor, Ultron manage to snatch Natasha’s leg and take her with him. “Nat!” Clint saw the incident but he can’t do anything to help her while piloting the jet. “Cap, did you see Nat?”

“If you have the cradle, take it to Stark!” Steve ordered.

“Do you have eyes on Nat?!” Asking again for confirmation.

“Go!” Steve shout.

Wanda telling Steve about what Ultron’s plan. “I read him. Ultron can’t tell the difference between saving the world and destroying it. We have to move fast.”

He disappointed and fly that jet back to the tower and leave his friend behind. “Damn it!” He contact the tower when he’s close for them to prepare and inform about their current situation. “Quinn jet to tower. Quinn jet to tower.” You hear his voice and press a button to accept his call. “Quinn jet, this is Y/N speaking from the tower. You’re affirm to report.” Clint told you that he’s 15 minutes away to arrive and Natasha is missing in action. “Oh God.” You pull down the headset and running to find Tony and Bruce. “They’ve got Nat. She’s m.i.a.” Bruce takes his glasses off. “You have her tracker right?” Tony rush to his computer “I’ll find her.”

You and Banner helps Clint unload the cradle and bring it into the lab and Tony walks in. Disappointment shows on his face and Bruce ask before I do. “Did you find her?” He just walks straight toward the cradle. “Haven’t heard but I’m sure she’s alive or Ultron would rub us in the face.” Seriously? Did he truly find her at all? You want to ask him that but Clint change the topic. “This seal tight.” He stands next to you.

Tony turn around to look at both of you and Clint, ignoring Bruce. “Is there any chance she might leave a massage outside the internet? Old school spy stuff perhaps.”

“You worry about the cradle.”

“We’ll find her.” Both you and Clint walks out that lab.

Clint handle the modern tech frequency while you handle the old one. “You okay with that? Wanna switch up?” You tuning on the frequency “I’m good. I can’t be near that high tech frequency anyway. That’s why I still have my Walkman and not Bluetooth headset. You know, because my…” You pointing at your left chest and he nodding. “Right. I hope she led us somewhere.” You smile at him. “She’s Natasha. She’ll make plan.”

It is true. Natasha did figure something out. While you tuning the frequency, you hear a static note. Tuning it again to have a clear shot. Natasha sending you her location by Morse code. You tell Clint to decode it on the screen. “You’re right. She did have plan.”

[crushedsweets]

ANSWERING ASKS PT 4?

ok this is like 30+ asks LOL its mostly stuff about me/my art with a little crp sprinkled in im sorry... ill make a post thats actually answering the crp asks with real answers that arent "ILL DO IT EVENTUALLY I SWEAR" lololol

YOURE BOTH SO SWEET i havent been this passionate about smth in so long so hopefully im here for a while... thank u guys for indulging me. it makes me happy to post LOL

with love pls dont call me that buuuut. ninakate. ticciwork. ninatoby. ticcijack. ninajack. notice how its all in the same group...

hiii i dont plan to anytime soon! IF I WERE TO, cody and rouge are probably 'next in line' to being put in my AU, but i have no plans to actually commit to that

omg ok its funny cuz rn i HAVE ONE but its just me in it cuz im too lazy to organize all the bots and verification and whatnot. im also nervous about making a server cuz of some online occurrences that happened after u sent this HAHA so i'm kinda putting it off... but i reblogged tombs server and im sometimes active in there if u wanna join that one!

ffrhrughagahhhh

no ur right theyre such a power couple. i know we joke about toby being useless bf and clocky being badass gf but they're both really cool together.

I FORGOT I MADE THE TWILIGHT COMMENT LMFAAAOOOOOO I NEED i need. i need toby to find a random twilight shirt at a thrift and snag it for kate.

ME TOOOO its so delightful. i have so much fun playing with them like barbies.. making them kiss n whatever. LMFAOOOO so silly but yk

JEFF STANS ARE SO FUNNYYYYYYYYY i like you guys. laughing jack stans scare me but thats cuz that damn clown scares me... nothing that yall have done. youre just braver than me. LOL

i will not do this...

no literally its really bad. i hold horrible grudges BAHAHA but im working on it. im getting over my purple beef

omg. i listened to it and that was really cool. i like that thank u sm for sharing

IDK WHAT POST UR REFERING TO BUT YOURE RIGHT. LMAOOOOO

IM SORRYYYY im so sorry. i feel like this fandom is so small and most of the fans dont really ship in general so it suuuucks shipping here.. but i love them..

oh my god i need to i keep forgetting. the nina art i jus tposted of her holding th eknife was kinda.. kinda referencing her behaviors..

i do too!!! ive been neglecting them so bad im so sorry..

like the IEPFB tea party scene

I NEVER DID IT ANON IM SO SORRY IM GOING TO HELL

is this a song

i have not! i havent read alot of stories actually... i kinda like doing my own thing with them HAHA

omfg i had a clocknina drawing but i ended up privating but i think i should unprivate it...

ok actually im sorry i just am bad at requests omfg LMFAOO IM SORRY im so focused on nina ... forgive me...

THANK YOUUUU youre very sweet i appreciate you!!! <3

YEAH he's...one of the more tragic people. 100%. all loss

WHAT IS LIUJONJACK LOL WHOS JON??? ALSO LIUOTPS IS FUNNY

wdym ? !

LMFAOOOOO HEY ITS NOT A BAD COMBO THERES NOTHING WRONG WITH BEING A NINAKATE SHIPPER........

THANK YOU CUPCAKE i really like nina.. or my version i gues si dunno.. i like everyone else's nina too. i like this nina we got going on together

ok i keep grouping these together but also making them seperate im so bad at organizing these asks but HAHA I LOVE THEM TOO i swear ill try to get some ticciwork stuff out soon!!! my spring semester is almost over so hopefullyyy..

this is how you know i suck ass cuz this was christmas time and im replying NOW. im so sorry. i initially planned to draw them hanging around a tree but i didnt get around to it then got embarassed and never replied.... but i agree it would have been cute. ha di notfailed. LOL

[gubbles-owo]

i adore seeing brazillian miku make the rounds, and by extension all the other regional variants that proudly showcase all these rich cultures. it's super sweet (while also demonstrating just how malleable miku is as an icon!) but i suppose it's also brought a long-standing personal frustration to the forefront of my mind again, namely... i don't really have a heritage or culture that i can call my own. be warned, stupid american white girl rambling under the cut lmfa o

so yeah im like. "white", or whatever. it's critical to acknowledge that "whiteness" is ultimately a contrived social construct meant to elevate those to a certain class above others in order to oppress and silence those who did not fit this construct. it's fucked. the definition has changed and morphed over time, blurring those included into some homogeneous mass devoid of any real culture, but its purpose remains much the same. so in order to break down this shitty concept of "whiteness", i break down my roots into components, right? a more detailed, nuanced set of backgrounds and traditions that all define me as a unique being, yeah? it just kind of... doesn't work in my case. my own heritage is.... murky. my father's side of the family reportedly includes a mix of things— welsh, german, fuckin english— but all of those were rattled off once by my father in a tone bereft of confidence, pausing for long periods between each as he struggled to recollect any of the details. so very broadly some sort of "western europe" deal, but not much specific beyond that. i cannot recall any particular traditions or anything from his side of the family that were drawn from these various cultures. here's the real kicker: my mother? adopted. legally could not dig up who her biological parents were until legislation allowed it... after their passing. for the longest time we had zero fucking clue where she really came from, the circumstances of her birth and subsequent adoption, all of that. the non-biological maternal grandparents i grew up with at least had their own strong ties; my grandfather immigrated from france after WW2, and my grandmother and her family from poland around much the same time. they spoke their respective native languages alongside near-flawless english, and god, during large family gatherings around christmas and whatnot i ate the best goddamn perogies i probably will have ever had in my life. but see, that's the thing... that's the only time i ever really had those. or had all that much cultural interaction, really, were confined to those transient blips of holidays and events. it was all with extended family that i barely knew because i only ever got to see them once or twice a year. somehow they all knew my name, but i never knew theirs. it felt so... distant. like i was observing a warm and loving family behind a thick wall of glass. it's not like they ostracized me or anything, i just. felt so hopelessly out of the loop. my mother never learned of her true background until very recently. lithuanian, as it turns out. at least for her mother, no clue where her father was from. so in a way, lithuanian is the single one hereditary thing i can point to and say "yeah, i guess that is technically me," but it's not like i grew up around it. i never met my biological maternal grandparents, or Anyone biologically on that side. i know nothing about the culture or the language or their traditions. perhaps if i had grown up with some of that it would've felt more core to my being, but learning so late after the fact feels... almost pointless? like what am i supposed to draw from this?? -------- An idea introduced to me at one point was the idea of region as culture. but augh. oouuggghhh we are opening a nasty can of worms here. (thanks tumblr for nuking this next paragraph for no fucking reason, so u get a screenshot, sry):

algonquian. quinnipiac. pequot. mohegan. connecticut. those sure ain't names carried over from england unto unclaimed soil that's for fucking sure. thanks the horrific methods of colonialism, the place i grew up and hold dear to my heart is, ultimately, built on tainted soil. how closely can i really hold onto any of that when it is built up on the very names of those that were eradicated?? god it is all just so fucked. yeah, i know, fuckin, "privileged white girl whining" here. and you'd be correct. i'm not holding the short end of the stick here, and it's necessary to acknowledge that. sure, i can stake claim to "gay" and "transgender" and "chronically ill"— but my heritage, and the ground on which i've lived all my life, is absolutely not one of them. what our dumpsterfire of a country did to the indigenous people that once thrived here is just... absolutely fucking horrific. ------- to be clear, i don't think there's anything inherently wrong with mixing cultures. like i'm not really on about some """purity""" shit where i have to have One Single Background; i'd say it's probably good and healthy to have different things to draw from! but i dunno, there's a point for me at which it all feels so fractured that it's impossible to derive any sort of identity from it all. where do i come from? what am i?? and at the end of it all the only really thing i can say for myself is.... "white". and i fucking hate that. it feels as if trying to further adopt traditions of any of these aforementioned cultures feels like some sick and twisted form of cultural appropriation. it feels wrong. it's theft. to tie it back to where this post began, how would i design a fuckin miku to represent where i'm from? and i just... don't have an answer. i have nothing. i remember a poll going around here on tumblr that was like "which of these languages would you want to learn?" and while i considered picking smth and rbing it i just could not pick one that didn't somehow feel wrong. the closest from that list i could answer was like... danish. why? not because i have any ties to denmark. but because there is a single prog metal band from denmark that is incredibly important to me. but they don't even sing in danish!! all of their lyrics are in english!! i don't even know what the language sounds like!! in fact i keep mixing it up with dutch!! fucking hell my uncultured ass needs to learn a Lot of things. i just wish i had roots that i could be proud of, rather than confounded by and ashamed of.

[strawberryspence]

snow on the beach by taylor swift but i take it literally.

steve takes eddie to a beach for christmas because eddie has never seen the ocean, never has seen a large body of water and eddie wants to see it. he’s been ticking off a list he wrote down the moment he woke up from his medically induced coma from being eaten by rabid, demon bats.

eddie munson almost died, and he hasn’t ever done anything good or remarkable in his life. he’s never seen the ocean, never been in a big rollercoaster, he hasn’t graduated, he hasn’t done anything to repay wayne for the life he has given him.

there’s probably 40 things on the list. here’s a few:

1. graduate high school, fucking please ✔️ (eddie did graduate. with the help of buckley, wheeler, and the whole fucking party. steve served cookies and drinks.)

2. thank uncle wayne. give him a hug for fuck godness sake. ✔️ (eddie did, from the moment he woke up from the coma, he cried and thanked him for everything he has ever done. wayne is his dad, through and through.)

3. thank dustin and give him the campaign of his life. ✔️ (eddie also did that, not only for dustin but for the rest of the party.)

4. go to one of lucas’ basketball games. you owe him one. ✔️ (eddie did, he went to every last game with steve even though people looked and stared but who the fuck cares? sinclair has the talent for shooting balls into baskets, and the smile he gave eddie the first time he came is worth every glare.)

5. thank the bald headed, super powered girl who came for you in the dark space. ✔️ (eddie met el. he thanked her for his life, but she just thanked him for helping her friends. eddie would like to think they’re friends now.)

6. thank everyone who believed in you when you were in the run. ✔️ (he did. he thanked wheeler, buckley, harrington, the kids. and they just smiled at him. told him, it’s okay. that he’s one of them. eddie would never confess but he had some tears on his eyes. BUT ONLY because of the dust.

7. ride a big rollercoaster. ✔️ (eddie did that too. steve made a big day out of it and then drove the whole party to the nearest amusement park.)

8. have your first kiss. ✔️ (yes, he did that too. it’s from robin fucking buckley. because they’re both gay, and both haven’t had their first kisses and they were drunk and high out of their mind. never again.)

9. go see a beach.

10. cook something that won’t kill a living human being. ✔️ (eddie did, he cooked pasta with steve’s help. it was pretty good and the party loved it.)

11. learn how to skateboard. (they’re almost there, max is still teaching him how to.)

12. dye your hair. or some shit. do something to your hair.

13. take a fucking hike. go see the fucking mountains or something jesus christ. ✔️ (he did. it was horrible. he’s just happy he can tick it off now.)

14. fall in love.

15. knit something. maybe some gloves.

16. get out of hawkins. get out of this shit hole.

17. go visit chrissy cunningham’s grave. apologize. i don't fucking know. talk to her. just go.

18. get a pet dog. ✔️ (he adopted the trailer dog. wayne wasn’t happy when hetfield peed inside their brand new, given by the government, house)

there’s about 20 more items in the list. some done, some still on going, some not gonna get done until a few years later.

steve finds the list november of ‘86. he knows there’s a list, the kids annoy eddie into letting them join and help him do some of it. he wants eddie to tick off number 14, only if it’s with steve. but that’s him being delusional. he wants to grant one thing for eddie for christmas.

so for christmas he drives eddie to the nearest beach, it’s not as big as any california beach, but it’s a beach, with some kind of body of water. it starts snowing halfway through the trip and when they finally arrive to the beach its full on snowing.

still eddie is happy. steve watches as he plays with the snow and sand, running and jumping around like a little kid. they could’ve swam but its too cold, steve promises that they’ll come back in the summer with kids. steve takes out some sandwiches and some hot chocolate he made. it’s warm enough that they can watch the snow and the water on the back of eddie’s van, doors open.

there’s a shimmer of glow in eddie’s eyes when steve finally tells him, “merry christmas, eddie. i hope this ticks one more thing on your list.”

eddie takes out the list out of his pocket, already crumpled and lines permanent from being folded, “would it be okay if i tick two things off?” steve feels like he’s being lit from within, as he nods.

“i guess.” steve answers. eddie smoothes down the paper on his knees, takes out the pen he always brings with him.

steve watches as he crosses out 9. go see a beach.

eddie looks up at him, and it’s almost too beautiful, almost like something steve has only seen in a movie. there’s snow behind him, coming down without sound. eddie’s wearing a black sweater, his cheeks red and his eyes twinkling like stars.

“would it be okay if i tick off number 14?” eddie barely whispers, like he’s afraid he’ll jinx it.

“are— are you sure?” steve whispers back, like anything louder would wake him up from this weird, but fucking beautiful dream.

eddie smiles at him, bright, wonderful, alive and moves closer to finally kiss him.

steve knows the feeling of being stopped by time, he knows it well from grandfather clocks ticking away. he thought that was it. but steve didn't know it could be so wonderful, as eddie kisses him and as time stops around them. if somebody ever asks, steve will tell you that kissing eddie would be the closest feeling to what he thinks flying would feel like.

eddie checks of number 14. fall in love.

he should’ve checked it off the moment he woke up from coma, asked for a piece of paper and pen and steve harrington got him a whole notebook and a box of colored pens.

[czenzo]

Consequences

[ao3]

summary: After Lucy wakes up one morning to find a dark red lovebite blooming on her neck, she frantically looks for a way to cover it up – and eventually drags Lockwood into helping, too. After all, he is the one who left it there.

words: 2335 rating: T

note: I fell SO in love with the netflix show then got so overwhelmed with lockwood content that writers block snuck up on me, but I have defeated it at last!! huzzah enjoy these kids being stupid and foolish and deeply in love

Lucy stared at her reflection in the mirror.

Her eye bags were slightly less pronounced than usual, which was a nice change. Only a few spots dotted the skin of her face – a small one on her chin, one on the side of her nose – but they were fairly calm and bound to fade soon. If she squinted and covered one eye they almost passed as freckles.

Her lips were alarmingly chapped, thanks to the hours upon hours spent in freezing cold haunted locations with little to no motivation to bother moisturising them; Holly had picked up a habit of commenting on it, and every time, Lucy responded by peeling off a bit of the flaking skin. It was always effective in cutting the conversation short.

Her jawline was soft as usual, thanks to the round face and thicker-set build inherited from her mother, but she’d grown to not mind it so much. After all, her appearance was never a hindrance to her work, so it had never mattered.

Aside from the blooming dark red bruise on her neck.

That was sure to stir up some commotion.

“Talk about unprofessional,” was the first thing out of the skull’s mouth when she flipped its lever that morning. Still half-asleep and brain somewhat foggy, she hadn’t registered his words and simply opted to ignore them as she padded over to the bathroom. She’d been at 35 Portland Row for so long that her morning routine was all muscle memory: haul herself out of bed, drag her body a few feet across the room before stepping to the right to avoid that oddly squeaky floorboard, then to the left to miss that nail haphazardly sticking out, then enter her bathroom, shiver as her feet hit the cold tiled floor, and grimace as her eyes fall onto the bright red hickey on her reflection’s neck.

Hold on.

Shit.

A strange, strangled noise escaped the back of her throat. The skull must have heard it, because he let out a cackle and called out, “Don’t tell me you’ve only just realised. He must’ve been sucking on your neck like his life depended on it!”

“Oh, shit,” she hissed, trying to tune out the skull’s taunting. She lasted less than a minute before stomping back out of the bathroom and flicking the skull jar’s lever with more ferocity than she ever had, before returning to the mirror to stare slack-jawed at her neck some more.

Her makeup collection started and stopped with mascara, and she hadn’t the foggiest of where to even start finding a product to cover the hickey – no, lovebite – no, god, how she hated all of its names. If only it was a bit lower, she could’ve hidden it with a thick turtleneck, but she knew just from looking at it that it still would have peered out over the top.

She desperately rummaged through the back of her wardrobe anyway, and heaved a sigh of relief upon finding something that would cover the offensive red splotch for the short term.

By the time she finally emerged from her room and followed the smell of toast into the kitchen, most of Lockwood & Co. were already there, either busying themselves making breakfast or, in George’s case, already in the middle of scoffing it.

“Morning,” Lucy said as she entered, making a beeline for the kettle to make herself a hard-earned cuppa. Holly paused from slicing a healthy-looking thing (it might’ve been an avocado, but Lucy didn’t care enough to look closely at it) and stared at her.

“Are you a bit chilly, Luce?” George said, lowering the last slice of half-eaten toast back to his plate.

“Hm?” Lucy replied, scooping up some sugar.

“I mean – I’m glad you liked my Christmas present, but you’re aware it’s July, yeah?”

Lucy paused, hand halfway to the kettle’s handle. “We live in England.”

“Climate change renders that a poor defence, really. I swear every other week’s a heatwave.”

“What’s this about heatwaves?” Lockwood said as he entered, newspaper in one hand and a mug in the other.

“Lucy’s wearing a scarf in the middle of summer,” Holly oh-so-politely explained.

Lockwood’s gaze darted to the scarf in question.

Then to Lucy’s eyes. And very, very briefly – for such a small fraction of a second Lucy almost wondered if she’d imagined it – down to her lips.

Then back down to the scarf.

“An… interesting fashion choice,” he said slowly.

“Indeed,” Lucy replied matter-of-factly, finishing making her tea and taking a long, scalding sip.

The room was silent for a long, excruciating moment, until reality suddenly restarted and Holly resumed chopping, George resumed chomping, and Lockwood snapped himself out of his trance to turn on his heel and head towards his favourite armchair to catch up on the news.

Slowly but surely, the rest of them followed, migrating into the living room and making themselves at home on the sofas in wait of an informal morning briefing. Holly was fully dressed and ready to go for the day, but the rest of them still lounged in their pyjamas while lazily sipping their tea, not quite yet ready to begin their working day.

“Okay,” Lockwood said after skimming through the newspaper. “Our priority tonight is to close off that case with Mr McShane… Holly, if you could give him a ring and look into why on earth he decided to not show up and give us the keys so we could get to work last night, that would be great – I can trust you to make it sound polite and professional. Maybe we should consider some kind of no-show fee… it could help us recover faster from that recent bulk order from Sunrise. Or is that too harsh? I don’t know. Something to think about later.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Lucy spotted Holly jotting it down on a notebook she’d seemingly produced out of thin air. Lockwood continued his briefing; a client was due later that afternoon, George was to get a head start on the background research, and Lucy was to join him to visit a different client at their home in a couple of hours.

“We’re a bit busier than usual,” George mused from his deep, sunken-in spot on the couch.

“That McShane fellow knocked us off our schedule. We have a bit of catching up to do, but it’s doable.”

“I suppose we’d better get started then,” Holly said, closing her notebook. Lockwood solemnly nodded. Still, it was another fifteen minutes until they were all able to haul themselves back onto their feet, and another twenty for everyone to get dressed and make themselves look presentable.

Lucy spent most of that time checking her mirror. Each time she moved to look into it, part of her hoped and prayed the mark would have somehow magically begun to fade, though deep down she knew she was only setting herself up for disappointment.

The scarf was itchy and garish; realistically, she knew it couldn’t stay, but her limited wardrobe left her with – well, not a single other option.

She’d pulled on a jumper, skirt, and tights by the time there came a soft knocking at her door. In the seconds that followed came an intense internal debate as to whether the scarf was to stay on, or if she could get away with only facing whoever it was at a specific angle.

A voice softly called from the other side. “Luce?”

Lockwood.

The scarf was promptly thrown across the room. Lucy opened the door, and before she could even give him a scalding look, the sheepish grimace on his face said he knew what was going on already. Slowly, quietly, he shuffled inside, and took his time in closing the door behind him.

“So…” he said, stuffing his hands deep into his pockets. “No more scarf?”

“I don’t know what to do, Lockwood. You did this, you should be paying the consequences – not me!”

He followed the sharp point of her finger, and the second his eyes fell on the deep red blotch on her neck he let out a whistle, long and slow. “It’s starting to go purple.”

“Thank you for that observation.”

“Perhaps Holly has–”

“I’m not letting Holly catch wind of this,” Lucy sighed. “Besides, our skin tones don’t match in the slightest. Her makeup would make it more obvious.”

“Oh– er, yeah. That’s true. What about–”

“Don’t even think about suggesting asking George. He’d never let us forget about this.”

Lockwood’s gaze drifted across the room and onto where the scarf had fallen, draped half on the bed, half on the floor. “Scarf it is, then.”

Lucy looked at the scarf witheringly. Before she could turn back around to face Lockwood, she felt a pair of hands settle gently at her waist.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured into her ear. “I got carried away, I didn’t think it through. It won’t happen again.”

Lucy sighed and replied with as much nonchalance as she could muster, “I never said I wanted that.”

“Hm?”

“It can happen again,” she said slowly, “as long as I have a reasonable way of covering the aftermath.”

“Oh,” Lockwood said. And then, a few moments later, “Oh.”

He backed away, his hands left her waist, and before Lucy could register the loss of his warm breath against the shell of her ear, he’d gone, leaving the door to swing shut behind him.

Lucy frowned. She turned to the skull jar, wondering why he hadn’t been incessantly ridiculing her throughout the whole fiasco, until she remembered she’d flicked its lever in a fit of rage earlier that morning. It was probably for the best that it stayed that way for the time being.

“Okay,” Lockwood said as he backed into the room, turning to reveal his arms full of medical supplies – plasters of varying shades, bandages, cleaning alcohol, the same supplies he’d uncovered after she’d slashed her wrist at Kensal Green – which he unceremoniously dumped onto her unmade bed. “We’ll just make it look like a minor injury. We were practising rapier techniques and I accidentally nicked your neck with my blade. That sounds reasonable, right?”

She sat on the edge of her bed, watching him rummage through the small pile. “I’d never let you nick my neck.”

“Well, you certainly let me do something else to it.”

For that, he received a swift whack to the back of his head. “Shut up and sort out my rapier wound.”

Lockwood tucked her hair behind her ear, gave one last dramatic wince at the mark on her neck, then fell quiet with concentration as he carefully placed a plaster over it. He took far longer than was necessary, but Lucy found she couldn’t complain. It tickled as he smoothed out the adhesive with his fingertips, and once he was satisfied with his work, his hands glided up to tenderly cup the sides of her face.

“Thank you,” Lucy murmured, feeling a smile creep onto her lips.

“Told you. I’m a fully qualified doctor. No wound is too much for me to handle.”

“Codswallop,” she scoffed. “This one scared you.”

He smirked, amused. “Only very briefly, before my fantastic intellect kicked in.”

“Oh, is that what you’re calling it?”

“Yes. Do you have a problem with that?”

“Maybe,” Lucy said, lips no more than an inch away from his. The air between them was warm and smelt faintly of Lockwood’s cologne. “Maybe I do.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Oh really?”

“Shut up,” she said breathlessly, closing the gap between them. The pile of plasters and bandages were left forgotten beside them as they became wrapped up in one another, hands roaming and mouths gasping for air between kisses. Lucy was sure they could have stayed there for hours if it weren’t for George shouting from downstairs.

“Lockwood!” his muffled voice called.

Lockwood took a moment to catch his breath. His forehead still pressed against Lucy’s as he called back, “What?”

“Can you come here? I need to check something with you before I head to the archives!”

“Is it urgent?”

“Er–” George paused. “It pertains to ghosts, which can be pretty fucking lethal, so, yes!”

“Be there in a tick,” Lockwood replied. It took considerable effort to untangle himself from Lucy and, once he’d hauled himself off the bed and onto his feet, to then smooth out the creases that now tarnished his outfit.

George shouted up to them one last time, “Bring Lucy, too!”

***                           

It hadn’t been that urgent. Just a minor query from an unremarkable case that he wanted to clear up before leaving because, well – he was George. And George found joy in leaving no question unanswered, no stone unturned.

Next to a bad drawing of a Rawbones, he’d jotted down a to-do list for himself on the thinking cloth. He contemplated his scribblings for the millionth time, and then peered up at Lucy over the rim of his glasses. “No more scarf, then?”

“No.”

“Shame. You were about to kick off a new fashion trend.”

Holly entered the kitchen. She’d been busy cleaning the living room, if the three apple cores she held at arm's length before throwing in the bin were anything to go by. “I thought it looked quite quaint.”

Lucy gave her a look. “You don’t need to lie, Hol.”

Lockwood rested a hand on her shoulder and lit up the room with his grin. “Lucy was only hesitant to admit I bested her during our rapier practice last night. I do feel quite bad for catching her neck with my blade, though.”

Holly and George exchanged looks, and for an uncomfortably quiet moment, Lucy feared they’d seen right through the cover story.

“Don’t feel bad,” George eventually said. “She’d be ecstatic if she managed to do that to you.”

Holly nodded in agreement, and Lockwood turned to Lucy with an almost wounded look. “Would you?”

“Of course. Better watch your back the next time we practice. Might get my revenge.”

end note: now with a Revenge sequel!

[jungle-angel]

The One Where The Boiler Needs Fixing (Calvin Evans x Reader)

Summary: Your neighbors need some help and Calvin puts his chemistry knowledge to good use

Tagging: @floydsmuse

You couldn't have imagined a more perfect winter's morning with your husband, your daughter and Six-Thirty all at once. The snow was falling in fat white flakes and had covered almost all of your street in a thick, white blanket, appearing to be a scene straight from a postcard.

You laughed a little as Calvin danced a little to Glenn Miller's "In The Mood" playing on the little radio next to the toaster. Even after you had gotten married, it still made you laugh at how terrible of a dancer he was. Even the uncontrollable giggles of your daughter playing on the floor with Six-Thirty, confirmed what you were thinking.

"You know you still can't dance, right?" you chuckled, cracking an egg into the cast iron pan on the stove.

"I don't really care sweetheart," he said with a smile, leaning in to kiss your cheek.

"Peach or blueberry for the toast?" you asked him.

"Blueberry if you don't mind," Calvin said. "I'll grab the bacon out of the fridge."

You two enjoyed the morning to its fullest as Cal set the kitchen table when you heard booted footsteps rushing up the back stairs to your kitchen door. Sandy Levenstein, one of the girls in your nursing major, barreled through the door, out of breath and a sense of urgency in her face.

"Sandy?" you questioned, surprised by her sudden appearance.

"Oh thank God you two are home," she said with a breathless laugh of relief. "The furnace blew this morning and we have no heat. My father-in-law is ready to blow that thing halfway to China."

Calvin peeked out the little window above the sink and sure enough, there was the smoke coming from one of the chimneys on the roof of the Levensteins' house next door. "Ah shit," Calvin chuckled.

"Damn right," Sandy told him.

"Alright, I'll get Dad's tool kit and go over," Calvin said.

"You want breakfast before you go?" you asked.

"I can wait," he said. "It shouldn't take us long to get it fixed. It's probably just a clinker, maybe two."

You kissed your husband before he threw on his coat and scarf. "Oh," you said suddenly. "Take this with you, it's for Rose. I meant to give it to her the other day. It's the lemon and blueberry loaf."

Calvin groaned and made a face, his eyes almost rolling to the back of his head. If anything he loved, it was your lemon and blueberry bread loaf you'd make for Christmas and Easter with the little drizzle of sweet vanilla icing on top.

With the loaf tucked carefully under one arm and the tool basket in the other hand, Calvin trudged through the snow to the yellowish-tan house next door, its teal-green trim noticeable amongst the snowfall. Through the back gate in the fence he went, startling Chewie, the family's mutt.

"Hey! Chewie, knock it off, it's just me," Calvin told him sternly.

Chewie whimpered and ran up to Calvin, pawing and sniffing at him and catching the scent of his best friend. Cal gave him a few scritches before knocking on the kitchen door and startling poor Rose who had been putting on her coat.

"Mornin Rose," Calvin greeted.

"Oh thank God you're here," Rose sighed with relief. "I've been listening to Abe yelling at that stupid furnace for over an hour."

Calvin laughed a little as she let him in. "Oh by the way," he said. "I come bearing a gift."

Rose gasped when she unfolded the dishtowel and saw the blueberry loaf. "You.....you......I swear you two are the biggest lifesavers ever!" she laughed, giving Calvin the biggest hug she could give.

"It's not a problem Rose," Calvin told her. "Besides it's the least we could do."

"And it makes a huge difference," she reminded him

"GODDAMN COCKSUCKING SON OF A BITCH!" Abe thundered from the basement.

"And that's my cue to get the hell outta here," Rose said, throwing on her hat and scarf. "I'm off to the grocery store and I'm taking Chewie with me."

"Take all the time you need Rose," Cal told her.

"Oh believe me I will," she chuckled. "We have no milk, no eggs, no bread so hopefully things will calm down by the time I get back."

"BURN IN HELL YOU STUPID FURNACE!!!" Abe shouted. "Hey somebody open up that goddamn damper and let the air out will you??!!!"

Rose hurried out the kitchen door before Calvin set his things down and moved the little gold switch on the wall next to the basement door. Abe swore up a storm of obscenities, some that would have had Chesty Puller himself blushing with embarrassment and pride all at once.

It wasn't long before Abe came stamping up the stairs, his face and clothes coated with soot from the coal burning furnace. He hacked like mad as he hurried to open the kitchen windows, barely even noticing Calvin standing in his kitchen.

"I swear to God I'm gonna hunt down the son of a bitch that installed that goddamn furnace and I'm gonna have him shipped all the way to the backwoods of China!" Abe bellowed.

Calvin snorted and bit his knuckles.

"Oh hey kiddo," Abe laughed. "What are you doing here? I thought you and (y/n) were eating breakfast?"

"We were and then Sandy rushed over here and told us you could use some help."

"Jeez! You should've finished before you came over," Abe told him.

"Don't feel bad Abe," Calvin told him. "I would've come either way."

"Yeah well I still feel pretty terrible," Abe chuckled.

"Lets see if we can get this thing fixed," Calvin said. "Sandy said the heat's been out for a while."

"Been out for only an hour," Abe said with a wave of his hand. "It shouldn't be that big of a deal."

Calvin shuddered at how cold it had gotten in the house but either way, he was determined to help Abe get the furnace fixed.

"Alright doc, after you," Abe chuckled.

The two of them headed down to the basement, the place only half finished but better lit than most. That familiar musty smell of the stone foundation and mildew hung heavy in the air but the smokey black hung a little heavier than usual in their midst.

"Oh jeez!" Calvin exclaimed, coughing like mad. "It's like a coal mine threw up in here."

"I'm telling you, as soon as I have that last paycheck from the town clerk, we'll be able to put it towards a steam furnace," Abe informed him.

"You guys found one?" Calvin asked.

"Oh yes indeed," Abe answered excitedly. "Took us long enough to save up for it."

Calvin and Abe set to work on taking apart the furnace, bit by bit, hoping to find the source of the problem. Neither of them could have accounted for how old the damn thing had been, most likely having remained there since the place had been built some forty years before.

"Can you see if anything's in there?" Abe asked him.

Calvin turned his head and sneezed. "Definitely a clinker," Calvin said with a sniff.

"Bless you," Abe chuckled.

"Thank you." Calvin replied.

It took alot of screwing around before they found the clinkers. Not only that but the burners looked like they hadn't been cleaned since last winter.

"Well," Calvin said. "I think we've found at least one of the issues."

"Just the clinkers or.....?"

"Let me show you," Cal answered. "Here, shine the light in here for a sec."

Abe shined the flashlight in, finding that the burner pipes were caked with soot. "Oy vey!" he exclaimed.

"Oh yeah," Calvin answered. "Apparently this thing burns coal faster than it can be shoveled in."

"You're kidding."

"Nope," Calvin explained. "Coal typically burns anywhere between seven-hundred and thirteen-hundred degrees. The guy that installed this must've had it set higher than needed."

Abe groaned.

"Good news is, it's fixable," Calvin said. "Bad news is, you guys might have to get the steam boiler in sooner than later."

"Whatever happens, happens," Abe said with a shrug.

It didn't take too much longer to clean everything and put it all back together and by the time it was up and running again, Rose had come back with Chewie and two fresh bags full of groceries. Calvin hadn't come home empty handed either. Rose had sent him home with a fresh tin of her homemade chocolate chip cookies as a way to say thank you for helping to fix the furnace.

"Look who's home," you chirped.

Calvin smiled and kissed you. "Is it too late for breakfast?" he asked.

"Nope, you're just in time."

You, Cal and Ellen picked right up where you had left off and let Sandy stay for a little while longer, enjoying the morning, just as you were meant to.

[hyperfixated-gvf]

Baby, It's Cold Outside

On the third day of Tropemas, hyperfixated-gvf gave to me:

A One-Bed fic with whiny sub!Jake, and it's a Neighbor's AU, too!

Christmas Song Pairing: “Christmas Eve" by Justin Bieber

Trope: One Bed

~~~

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x Reader

Warnings: Language, smut, F. Dom, M. Sub, pet names, a tiny bit of restraint, a single tear, begging, oral sex (f. receiving)

Words: 4.4k

Author's Note: Thank you all for your kind words and generous reblogs, tags, and comments, they mean the world to me! They're also addictive, just so you know ;) Anyways, this one got away from me a bit, so I've decided that each boy will have one longer smut piece and the others will be short and under my self-imposed word limit. Except for Danny. My love gets all the long smut.

18+ / MINORS DNI

~~~

“Mom, I frew up.”

You almost slammed the door on Jake’s face when he tiredly looked at you with his mournful, moony eyes, but the fact that his own joke only made his lips twitch told you that he actually had a reason to be at your apartment door at 1:45 am. 

The twins were good neighbors. Relatively, at least. You could sometimes hear them arguing through the wall, and other times, you had to send them a text to get them to stop playing their instruments into the wee hours of the morning. Your little duplex townhouse walls weren’t all that thick, but other than the occasional noise complaint that they always dutifully listened to, you were glad to have the happy-go-lucky musicians next door. With how many game nights you’d had and beers you’d shared, you’d even go as far to say that you were friends.

So, you sighed and leaned against the frame, looking at the man expectantly. “What do you need, Jake? This beauty needs her sleep.”

Jake nodded back to his own place, making a face that was both pitiful and disgusted at the same time, which was quickly explained when he said, “Josh brought someone home, and usually some headphones will fix it, but…oh god, please don’t make me describe my trauma.” 

He shivered in the cold December air, and that’s when you realized that he didn’t have shoes on and the only clothes protecting him from the wind were his threadbare sleep shirt and equally frayed plaid pajama pants. All in all, he looked like a little puppy, trembling from the cold and without a place to sleep for the night.

You were no monster; there had been enough nights in your life as a roommate where you wish you didn’t have ears at all that you recognized and acknowledged his pain, but the thing was, you weren’t sure what he wanted you to do about it.

“I won’t. But I..sorry, I’m just not sure what this has to do with me.”

Trying to make it as gentle as possible so that you didn’t put him off, there was really no roundabout way to go about the question. Especially not when its answer would get you both out of the cold.

Jake furrowed his brows in confusion. “Oh. Sorry, I just thought, you know, maybe I could use your guest room? I mean, if you’re comfortable with that,” he said quickly. “We’ve been neighbors for a couple years now, but I don’t want to assume anything. I would rather ask and get rejected though, than try than have to deal with that,” he said venomously, looking back at his place with that same pronounced frown on his face.

You appreciated his attempts to make it your decision but, again, there was just one problem. “I don’t have a guest room,” you explained, grimacing as his face fell. The situation must have been dire if he was that downtrodden after finding out that your second bedroom was an office since…well, since it was just you living there. “But…my couch does double as a futon. It’s not super comfortable, but if you wanted to crash there, I guess, feel free.”

Pure relief spread across his features, and you opened the door wider to allow him in, cursing yourself for not just bringing him in at the beginning and saving you both some body heat. “Anything,” he muttered, quite seriously.  “Literally anything else but what I was dealing with over there. She sounded like a fucking banshee giving birth. And there’s no way my hobbit brother is that good with his dick.”

You snorted, retrieving some sheets from a bin in your hallway closet. “Your hobbit brother… that’s also your twin? That one?” Jake bobbled his head, but didn’t say anything as he began to tug at the back of the couch to free the bed. “Also, it doesn’t have to be his dick,” you pointed out, but Jake shook his head violently at your revelation.

“No. No, no, nope, no thank you I am finished thinking about that twerp in any way, shape, or form for the night.” His words were less convincing when they shook like a dog’s growl as it played tug o’ war. He seemed to be losing the fight with the couch, and you stood there, shamelessly admiring his form in half-amusement and half-serious appreciation.

He had a backside that was better than yours, and after all the years of being ogled at by men as you went about your daily tasks, you figured the universe could look away this one time.

“Oh shit!” he yelped, falling back on that perfect ass as the couch came half-loose with a pop, a grind, and then the tinkle of tiny, flimsy metal screws hitting your floor.

You both stayed quiet for a moment, staring at your mutilated couch that was now propped up on one end and slanted in a way you were certain it wasn’t supposed to slant. And didn’t seem all too eager to go either back down or all the way out, no matter how much you half-heartedly pushed at it.

“I’m so fucking sorry, Y/N,” Jake said defeatedly after a moment. The apology was clear in his voice, and you knew this was bound to happen sooner or later; the couch was, after all, a remnant from your college days. Even then, it had been a curbside find that you and your roommate had tied to the roof of your car with borrowed bungee cords. “I’ll buy you a new couch.”

While you wouldn’t decline the help, it obviously wasn’t his fault entirely, so you shrugged and returned the blankets to their place in the closet. “Don’t beat yourself up for it. Contribute a fourth of the cost to a discount couch from Facebook Marketplace and I’ll let you off the hook, destructo,” you joked, turning around to face him again. Now that the couch option was gone, Jake was clearly unsure of where he stood, staying at your place.

“Your bed doesn’t happen to be a bunk bed, right?” he asked dryly, knowing that it wasn’t from the very few times he’d seen it. It got a small chuckle out of you as you thought about your options, considering a few different solutions when Jake sped the process up. “Well, sorry to bother you, Y/N. Thanks for letting me almost-crash here. I’m gonna…go bash my brains out.”

It was obvious he wasn’t fishing for anything else – he was genuinely expecting to go back to his flat of sin without another thought to finding a different solution, but you quickly took the few steps to get to him before he took off and met his questioning gaze. “Wait, Jake. Just…it’s late. Stay here, we can share the bed.”

Neighbor friends could totally innocently share a bed. Call it the proverbial cup of sugar. 

His eyes grew saucer-wide, and he jerked his head back slightly at the suggestion as if you’d just proposed he buy a leather flogger and build a dungeon. “Are you sure?”

You looked at him, completely deadpanned. The late hour was getting to you, and you just wanted to make it to bed before the sun came up again. “No, I was pulling your chain.” Jake smiled sheepishly as you continued, “Yes, dumbass, I’m sure. I offered, after all. And in the name of complete platonic-ness, either join me in bed or sleep in the street. Up to you.”

He obviously chose to follow you into your bedroom, and since both of you were already in your pjs, you slipped under the blankets as if it was the most natural thing ever. “Thank you again, Y/N,” Jake whispered, once you’d flicked the lamp off. 

“I’d say any time, Jake, but if you wake me up at this god-forbidden hour again because your brother is having sex, I’ll move.”

You heard his huff of laughter at your empty threat and you smiled, too, already starting to drift into that hazy state between sleep and consciousness. The fan and low brown noise you had playing from phone was enough to drown out the strangeness of someone else in the room with you – the extra intakes and exhales of breath, the scratch of blankets, the dip of the mattress – and you would have been totally content to fall asleep then.

If it weren’t for Jake’s incessant moving. 

The first time he shifted, it was fine – didn’t even register. But then he rolled over again. And again. And again.

“Jake,” you groaned, flopping your hand behind you without a care for where it landed. “Stop fucking moving.”

“Sorry,” he responded softly, voice a little higher than normal.

That would have been that, but then it wasn’t rolling over, but he was obviously still moving, and you could feel it. You might have had a Queen-sized mattress, but that didn’t mean you weren’t unconsciously hyper-aware of someone else in your bed when you were used to sleeping alone.

“Oh my god, Jake,” you exclaimed exasperatedly, turning your lamp on and abruptly rolling over to see just what the problem was. “What is wrong? Are you sleeping on a pea or something, princess?”

In the dim light from the wax melter candle plugged into your wall, Jake stiffened, and he didn’t answer.

Thinking your words came out too harshly, you sighed. “Sorry. I’m not mad, I’m just trying to sleep. Seriously, though, what’s wrong? Do you need to cuddle to get to dreamland or something?” you joked lightly in an attempt to clear the air.

“That wouldn’t be a good idea.”

Jake’s answer was so soft, you nearly didn’t hear him. But once his words registered, you furrowed your brow, confused and a little offended that he couldn’t even crack a joke back, because now you felt a little embarrassed of your joking suggestion. “Okay. Because one of us is a ticking time bomb or something? I wasn’t being serious, Jake.”

The offense must have shown through your thinly-veiled attempt to hide it, because Jake was silent for a second, and then croaked out, “I wouldn’t want you to hate me.”

Now laying down again, facing away, your confusion outgrew your offense, and once again, you rolled over, seeing that Jake had remained stiff as a board with his back to you. “Why would I hate you?” you asked genuinely, less edge to your voice.

But Jake didn’t answer. Didn’t have to, because when he shifted again, the movement originating from his hips and obviously something Jake was trying to suppress. You finally took in the way he was scrunched up, knees pulled to his chest and arms tucked where you couldn’t see them. You recognized that position, from one past boyfriend that always seemed to get an erection at the worst possible times.

“Are you…” you let the sentence trail off, and Jake sighed out a shaky breath.

“I’m not a creep, I promise,” he said with conviction, if a little shakily. Out of nerves, arousal, or fear, you didn’t know, but you felt bad for him all the same.

Sometimes it happened – you knew that. It was basic anatomy. It was also basic anatomy to understand why the blankets started feeling a little warmer, and why you began to get the same impulse to shift your hips as Jake seemingly had. There was a very attractive man in your bed, hard and a little vulnerable because of it, that you admittedly had experienced fleeting thoughts of desire for.

“Jake,” you said softly, breaking the tense silence. “I don’t think you’re a creep. And I also don’t want you to think I’m a creep.”

Jake peeked over his shoulder at you, straining his neck to catch a glimpse. “What? Why would I? I’m the one who got in your bed and– and fucking immediately got an erection.”

“Mmmhh,” you hummed, acknowledging the truth of his statement. “But I’m the one who’s having filthy thoughts about it.” When you heard his swallow harshly, you delivered the final blow. “And I’m the one about to offer to help you take care of it. If you want, of course,” you assured lowly. “If not, you can use the bathroom and we’ll never speak of it again.”

You waited on bated breath for Jake’s response, and he finally responded, his voice breaking in the middle of the word, “Please.”

Excitement lit up your extremities, and you tingled with a newly-found energy as you rubbed your thighs together, your body’s natural response now magnified tenfold with the promise of action. “Thank you Jesus,” you breathed, waiting for Jake to turn around. “Come on, Jake. Show me what we’ve got.”

He hadn’t so much as touched his shoulder blade to the mattress when you pushed the covers off, licking your lips at the tent in his pants. “Are you sure I’m not dreaming?” Jake asked, watching you watch him with a predatory gleam in your eye. “Because I’m pretty sure this has happened before, but I woke up with a mess to clean in the end. It wasn’t fun.”

You chuckled and gently put your hand to his cheek. “I dunno. Does this feel real to you?” You planted your hands on his chest and swung your leg over his hip. Once you settled your weight over his cock, a broken noise escaped his lips, and his hands came up to rest shakily on your thighs, flexing up into the friction. “Feels pretty real to me.”

“Pretty damn real,” he repeated, gulping down air and squeezing his eyes shut.

Shifting your hips so as not to torture the poor man, you watched him accept your gifts, and eventually his face relaxed as he let you work. “Good. I have to ask, though: what got you so worked up in the first place?”

Perhaps it wasn’t the best time to peel your shirt off, not when you wanted an answer. But the unwavering attention that Jake payed the slight sway of your breasts, moving with the little shifts of your body, was a suitable second prize. You upped the stakes again, though, splaying your hands out under his shirt and working it off, as well. The growing wetness between your legs was already beginning to demand more, and you didn’t intend to keep either of you waiting for long.

So instead of insisting on an answer, you got off and relished in the small whine that came from the man who blinked sluggishly at the loss of your weight and heat against him. But when you unceremoniously stripped your pants off and then smacked his hands away from his own drawstrings, you said, “No. My house, my rules, Jake. And the rule here is that I get to unwrap all the gifts you’ve brought me tonight. Such a good guest,” you cooed, dragging his plaid pants down until his cock sprung back up, bobbing with a shiny tip that was begging to be sucked.

Not one to keep yourself from what you wanted, you bent down and thumbed across the skin of his hip at the taste of salty precum, spreading across your tongue as you swiped and swirled it around his head, pulling off with a pop as soon as he gasped and bucked his hips up. “Please don’t stop,” he asked, so polite even worked up as he was.

“But you never answered my question,” you laughed with a shake of your head, mounting him again and spreading your cunt so that you could rub your clit along the length of his cock for your own relief. He moaned quietly and took what you gave him, no attempts to change the pace, the pressure, the movement – nothing. “You’ve been so good for me otherwise, Jakey. Answer me, and then I’ll get you all suited up so that I can fuck you. Get you the good relief you deserve.” He struggled to keep his volume down, but you saw the way his lips trembled. “What got you so worked up?”

He was apparently more desperate than he let on, though, because when he was able to find his voice, it was a weak little whimper that sent another wave of arousal through you; so much that it made your head spin with want. “The sheets,” he whined, fisting them in his palms. “They…they smell like you. And when you— you…” 

With your grinding becoming nearly too slippery to continue, you knew you had to fuck him soon before he came from this alone. “When I what?” you asked, climbing off of him to retrieve a condom.

You wiped him off for safety and then made sure the latex was securely on before you poised him at your entrance, waiting for his final answer.

Jake watched your with hooded, hazy eyes, desperation written out on his features. “I liked it when you called me princess,” he admitted quietly.

You smiled victoriously, sinking down on him until his balls were pressed against your ass in one go, and you felt him twitch inside of you. “That’s so sexy, princess,” you admitted. “Thank you for telling me.” Your eyes closed as you stretched yourself out on his cock, beginning to bounce on him. The resulting audio was almost better than the visual. You wouldn’t have pegged Jake as one to beg in bed, but he had been brushing off all the subconscious labels you’d attached to him since arriving.

“Holy shit,Y/N, oh god, your pussy is–” he cut himself off with a grunt as you slid your hands up his arms to his wrists to pin his hands to bed, watching as he immediately clutched at the pillows above where they lay, immovable with your weight resting on them. “Hold me down,” he cried out. “I– ah-h– please, please, please, fuck me harder,” he whined, shifting his hips up as you came down, the explicit sounds of skin meeting skin slapping out into the silence. 

“Yeah?” you panted, loving the way you had front-row seats to every face his features morphed into as you experimented with him – taking notes of what made him tick. “You like it when you can’t move, princess? When you can only lay there and take it?”

He nodded, eyes rolling to the back of his head when you lurched forward on your thrust down, taking him for the ride of his life. “I’ll take anything you give me, beautiful,” he breathed, straining against your hold as he got closer to finishing. “I don’t mind it a little rough.”

“Good to know.” You leaned down and let your hips slowly grind in circles as you pinched the skin where his neck met his shoulder between your lips, nipping it before saying, “Keep your hands there, and don’t make me tell you twice.”

Jake agreed willingly. “Anything.”

Your nails scraped lightly down the undersides of his arms to his chest, where you dug them in to make little crescent marks and continued your quest to make him cum harder than he ever had before. “Fuck,” you moaned on an exhale, trying to find your own g-spot with Jake’s dick. “You’re so good for me. Who knew that Jake Kiszka, rockstar extraordinaire, was such a whiny little princess in bed?” you chuckled, looking down at his red face, his shiny, open lips, his hooded eyes, looking at you like you hung the moon. Just to drive the point home, you combed your fingers through his hair, scratching lightly along his scalp until you reached the back, where you tightened your grip to make Jake shout and arch back, exposing his throat to you. “That’s it,” you cooed. “Let go for me. Give it up. Cum inside me.”

He was obviously holding himself back, and he told you why when he panted out, “What about you? I wanna– I– please, please don’t make me cum yet,” he begged, squirming underneath you but still not letting his hands dip below where you’d put them and told him to stay. “I want to feel you cum with me! I don’t want to cum yet, I don’t want to be a bad fuck– I always make them cum,” he claimed, still thrashing, trying to get way from the steady pleasure tightening his balls and making him leak, getting him harder and harder and harder. “I can make you feel so good, Y/N, just let me– let me– shit, FUCK no no no no noooo—” he moaned, long and low and pitiful. 

His pleasure manifested throughout his entire body and he lost control for a second, jerking and spasming as he filled the condom to the brim. His teeth were bared as he drew breaths in to fuel the sobs and grunts that came out, his arms moved listlessly against the sheets in a sacreligious snow angel, and you could feel his legs twisting and bucking as you continued to ride him into oblivion. 

You finally slowed once a single tear fell from his eye. Wiping it away, you sucked the pad of your thumb into your mouth, watching his chest and stomach heave with a deep-seated satisfaction running through your veins. Still buzzing with excitement and arousal, you finally leaned down to kiss him, grinning as he kissed back desperately, vying for your every touch, word, and request and pliable with the desire to please you.

“So needy, Jake – crying because I wouldn’t let you help me cum. But don’t worry, princess,” you murmured, smoothing his hair back away from his fucked-out face. “I still intend to collect my pleasure. And these perfect little Cupid’s bow lips are going to get me there.”

He kissed your fingertips as you skated them across his mouth, whispering, “Thank you,” and then pushed himself up on his forearms, moving to crawl between your thighs. And as incredible as that would be to see, you stopped him with a palm in the center of his chest, pressing him down to the mattress once again. 

You shook your head. “Ah, ah. I quite like seeing you on your back for me,” you said, licking your lips. “You’re so pretty splayed out like this.”

Jake made a strangled noise and didn’t protest even for a second. “Works just fine for me, beautiful. Come here; let me show you how grateful I am for taking such good care of me tonight.”

He tugged at your hip and you went willingly, turning around so that you could see every shift, flex, and squirm of his body as you positioned yourself over him, hovering just above his face. You hummed. “Ready for me?” His response was to pull you down against him, and your clit throbbed as soon as it got friction again, making you sigh. “That’s it, princess, show me what that mouth can do. I want to feel how thankful you are that I let you into my bed,” you said breathlessly, starting to move and ride him again, this time higher up his body, but just as good. “That I was so understanding when you couldn’t control that cock of yours and that I used it so that you could get off.”

Even though you hadn’t established it (and you really should have), you lifted off of him when he tapped you, making sure he could breathe. But he didn’t take that time to take any deep breaths, only to say, “Don’t forget about the couch,” before licking into you again.

You smiled at his reminder, and reached back to grip his hair again. His whine traveled  throughout your pussy and made him sucking on your clit just that more enjoyable afterwards, sensitive from the vibration. He was quickly torn away from you as you bore down with more pressure, feeling your clit brush his bottom lip and then his tongue as he stuck it out for you to use for your pleasure. “You’re right. We can figure out a proper consequence later, though. You were begging to make me cum; I don’t think I should reward you for breaking my shit.”

With him manipulating that particular muscle, you quickly approached the peak you’d caught sight of while riding his dick, and you didn’t stop this time. You did, however, reach down to take his sensitive cock in your hand, roughly pumping it up and down until he cried out into your cunt, just to see him twist in overstimulated pleasure. 

“Come on, Jake, get me there, just a little bit more,” you directed, feeling your orgasm balloon inside of you. “Yes, Jake, yes, yes, yes– there you go-ooo, princess. Just what you wanted,” you keened, keeling over as you lost the strength to stay upright. You let Jake lap at you for a little while longer, shivering as he gently brought you down by avoiding your clit, but laving attention on the rest of your pussy. He cleaned you up like that, gathering all the excess slick on his tongue and swallowing it down. 

You were sure that he’d suck on you until you told him to stop, but eventually, you dismounted him, your stomach clenching as Jake made a small noise of complaint as his oral fixation was taken away. 

“Come here,” you sighed, opening your arms for him. You weren’t about to let him go to sleep without proper aftercare. It only took a small roll for Jake to plaster himself against you, legs tangling with yours, his fingers skirting across your skin as he wrapped his arms around you, and a sigh that puffed out warm against your throat as he relaxed into your embrace.

This time, when your fingers made their way to his long locks, you were gentle in petting him, softly massaging the back of his neck as your other hand rubbed comforting circles on his lower back. “I think I lied,” you said sleepily, and Jake made a questioning noise against your skin. “I think I want you to come here every time your brother has sex from now on. Okay?”

Jake placed a lazy kiss to your neck. “Is it okay if I don’t wait for Josh to sex? Who knows when the next time he gets lucky enough that someone looks down and sees him will be,” he giggled, fully aware that he was only a half-inch taller. 

You smiled, warmth spreading through your limbs. “Mmmm. Yeah, princess. You come over whenever you want to. I’ll keep the bed warm.” With one last kiss to his brow, you closed your eyes. 

Thank goodness for your shitty college couch.

~~~

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[writeouswriter]

Winter Reading/Arting/Writing Tag

Thanks so much for the tag, @ink-bunny-blue! (X)

Describe one creative WIP project you plan on working on over winter

I always “plan on” working on a thousand things and then do none of them 😭 because I haven’t been in so much a “creative slump” as I’ve been in an iron gripped chokehold by hyperfixation for the last year, so on one hand I’ve been unable to focus on any of my original writing because it’s not about The Interest™️, and then on the other hand I haven’t even been able to write anything about The Interest™️ because the fixation on it is so strong, everything I write for it has to be Perfect™️ (and nothing’s ever perfect, you know). On that note, if my ability to write returns from the war and I ever get a day off from this purgatory of a job, I really really really want to work on this comparative essay about The Interest™️ involving analyzing parallels to a certain classic play, and looking into various aspects of the tragicomic structure and themes of identity and change. Also, God willing, I’d love to get one fic done, just one, please please please, I have a few winter-y or Christmas-y ones I’m dying to get my brain to sign off on despite my lack of free time, come on, brain, yip yip.

Art, same thing, something Christmas-y for The Interest™️, also I gotta finish some zine pieces.

As for original writing, would love to work on my untitled WIP about an astrobiologist and team of other assorted scientists brought in by a somewhat questionable facility to study an extraterrestrial artefact and being affected strangely by it, but it’s a bit up in the air plot wise. Would love to answer asks about it though if anyone is interested 😭

Recommend a book

Definitely mentioned it before but:

Legion: The Many Lives of Stephen Leeds by Brandon Sanderson

“Stephen Leeds is perfectly sane. It's his hallucinations who are mad.”

This is like speculative fiction/thriller/mystery that’s hard to explain, but perfect balance of humour and sincerity, sci-fi and reality, and character and plot, probably my favourite standalone novel ever (well it’s really 3 novellas that somewhat connect and come together to form a novel, but either way).

Survive the Night by Riley Sager

Charlie Jordan is being driven across the country by a serial killer. Maybe.

This is a thriller book set in the 90s that as its title suggests, takes place over the course of one night, where a troubled, film-obsessed college girl (and unreliable narrator) who recently witnessed her friend’s murder (but can’t recall the killer’s face) decides to travel back home via a ride share where her driver may or may not be said killer, and has to, you guessed it, survive the night.

Now, this is actually one of Sager’s lowest ranked and seemingly most universally hated novels, whereas it’s the only one of his I actually thoroughly enjoyed/didn’t find mediocre and thought had a sense of style as I like the almost cinematic way it was written?? It was fast paced, it was fun, it had unique prose, and I think it perfectly captured the vibes of a cheesy 90s B-movie (said as a compliment).

Recommend a fic

I still cannot recommend From Out the Ocean Risen by Bluestar enough, it acts as a sequel fic to the movie Pacific Rim, and has some of the most gorgeously well executed cinematic prose and imagery I’ve ever read, not to mention impeccable character dialogue, and an incredible grasp on the balance between drama/angst/action/heart/humour.

What’s a Little B&E Between Friends by VoiceOfNurse is also a fantastic Pacific Rim series with a solid grasp on both character dynamics/POV and style. A fascinating, very humanizing character study, both angsty and fun.

Recommend Music

I’ve suddenly never heard a song in my life.

The Killing Moon by Echo & The Bunnymen is stuck in my head again, so, *tosses that at you*

She Sells Sanctuary by The Cult also in my head so *throws that also*

Also, even though I haven’t actively listened to them in a while, I’m still still actually super excited for Green Day’s new album, so *one more toss*

Dilemma

The American Dream is Killing Me

Tagging if you want to do it no pressure!: @the-angriest-bunny-of-the-fandom, @writing2sirvive, @druidx, @universalfanfic, @karolinarodrigueswrites, @multi-lefaiye, @transmasc-wizard, @drabbleitout, @merelyafigment, @aritany, @rockium-z, @caffernnn and anyone who wants to do this, feel free to say I tagged you, you’re tagged.

[velidewrites]

The Holiday

When two sisters with a terrible taste in men (or is it?) decide to swap houses for the holidays, they don't expect to fall in love.

But guess what?

They do.

Pairings: Elucien, Feysand, background Jassa

Word Count: 8.5k

Warnings: A bit of spice ;)

Notes: This was written for my FAVOURITE @vulpes-fennec for the @acotargiftexchange! I hope you enjoy this fic inspired by the iconic movie "The Holiday" (my god was Jude Law hot in this one). Thank you so much to the amazing mods for organising this event. Merry Christmas everyone!

Read on AO3

Elain Archeron adored Christmas. The bright, golden lights shimmering from every corner of New York City, the sound of song and laughter on the streets, the scent of freshly baked cinnamon rolls filling her small bakery as she pulled them out of the oven.

Truly, there was nothing quite like it.

She wished her sisters were with her, though. Yes, they each had their own lives now, yet Elain couldn’t help but miss the old days—when there wasn’t a thing in life they had to worry about but the continuous presence of Feyre’s bright paint on her and Nesta’s clothes, paint that had somehow managed to find its way onto the fabric despite their younger sister’s adamant protests and rather theatric displays of shock and confusion.

Elain sighed. This Christmas would mark two years since she had last seen Feyre. There would be the wedding in spring, of course—but April was months away, and Elain had nearly gone insane last year when Nesta cancelled last minute and Feyre made it clear she was not coming. It had been a miserable holiday, and Elain shuddered at the prospect of ever having to spend it in solitude again. New York, while certainly beautiful at Christmastime, had a cruel way of sometimes making her feel lonelier than ever.

She supposed she had Greysen, now. As for Nesta…

Her phone vibrated in the small pocket of her apron, and Elain wiped the cinnamon off her hands, the fragrant streaks of the spice staining the cream white fabric.

Are you busy? Nesta’s name appeared above the message.

I’m about to open the shop, Elain typed her reply. I was just thinking about you. How come you’re awake? It was nearing six in the morning in Los Angeles, and while Nesta had always been an early bird, getting up before the sunrise seemed almost too dreadful to accept.

Working on a case, or, more specifically, this dickhead of a prosecutor. If he thinks I’m going to let my client go for the shit deal, he’s got another thing coming.

Elain smiled. I almost feel bad for the poor guy.

Well, you shouldn’t, Nesta answered. Anyway. Got a minute?

Sparing a quick glance at the clock hanging above the large coffee menu, Elain asked. What’s up?

It was unlikely for Nesta to devote so much of her time to a conversation, let alone a text exchange, and frankly, Elain was getting worried.

The reply arrived in an instant. Feyre left her fiancé last night.

Elain’s eyes widened, and without thinking, she dialled Nesta’s number.

“You know I hate talking over the phone,” her sister said in a manner of greeting.

“Well, you hate texting too, and there are way too many questions in my head for my fingers to catch up anyway, so deal with it,” Elain said. “What happened? How do you even know?”

A brief pause. “She texted me for legal advice. Apparently, the asshole wants to keep the house.”

Elain’s brows furrowed. “Didn’t Feyre buy it under her name?”

Nesta sighed. “Don’t even get me started.”

Neither of them had ever had the chance to meet Tamlin, and from what she was hearing, Elain decided it had perhaps been for the best. “Do you know why she left him?”

“I don’t,” Nesta said. “Feyre didn’t tell me. She only asked me this one thing and when I asked her more questions, she just left me on read.”

Elain chewed on her bottom lip, mulling over the words before she spoke again. “Maybe I should call her. Or text, at the very least.”

Another sigh. “I don’t know, Elain. She seemed like she could use some privacy.”

“Surely we can’t leave her to deal with this alone?”

“I don’t know,” Nesta repeated, papers rustling in the background. Elain winced at the sound, the unpleasant pitch scratching at her ear. “I need to get back to work now, Elain. Let me know what you decide do,” her sister added, and then the call was over.

Elain suppressed the urge to scoff, though her focus was quickly reoriented to the time again as she spotted a noticeable queue gathering outside. Whatever she decided to do, she would deal with it later. First—work.

With a smile on her face, Elain opened the door.

***

Elain had been dating Greysen for six months, though she felt as though they’d been together at least five years. Only a short walk away, he was always there to offer his company, in whatever way she’d need him. Greysen was so…familiar.

This year would mark their first Christmas together, and though Elain had no expectations, it was only natural for her to have hopes.

She wouldn’t mind a proposal. A proposal meant stability in her hectic world, a source of comfort in a trying time. If Greysen asked, she would say yes. She would. Happily.

With that thought in mind, Elain placed her keys on the counter, her other hand grabbing the carefully wrapped cinnamon rolls she’d put aside earlier this morning.

“Will you be able to close up tonight?” she asked Nuala. “I have to drop these off at the office.”

The office. She liked that world. It made her feel as though she was part of Greysen’s world—his other world, one that did not revolve around her. If she was being honest, she knew very little about her boyfriend’s professional life—he worked in investments, he’d told her as much, though he’d also added the “details would bore her.” And so, Elain remained blissfully oblivious.

At the very least, paying him a surprise visit would mean she got to see him in a suit. Greysen looked good in suits.

“Sure,” Nuala’s voice pulled her out of her thoughts. “Are we still on for Saturday?”

Elain nodded. “Of course. I’m so excited to meet your sister”

Nuala smiled tentatively. She hadn’t been working at Elain’s bakery for too long, though in that time, the two of them had managed to build a close bond. Elain enjoyed her company, quiet and with an aura of peace. Nuala blended in perfectly with Elain’s little corner of the world. “She can’t wait, either,” the woman said.

“I still can’t believe you have a twin.” Elain shook her head. “Does it make it any easier?”

The corner of Nuala’s mouth twitched. “Twins or not, sisters are always a pain.”

Elain sighed. “Tell me about it.”

“I’ll see you Saturday.”

***

Greysen’s office was only ten minutes away.

Their pastry drop-off had an unspoken routine—the concierge would let Elain in, she’d then take the elevator to the fifteenth floor to be greeted by the secretary. From then, depending on whether Greysen was in a meeting or not, Elain would either leave the food at the reception or deliver it personally—with a little extra treat that was hardly appropriate for a serious office. She didn’t care. She’d shaved her legs last night and she wouldn’t let her new lotion go to waste.

Silence greeted her as she entered the office, the distant ringing of the phone breaking it occasionally with a high-pitched, irritating beep.

It was unusual for it to be this empty, but Greysen was definitely out there somewhere—he’d sent her a text earlier in the morning, after all, wishing her a great day and not to wait for him with dinner. He’d be working late again and there was no need for Elain to hang around her apartment with a cold meal.

A few cinnamon rolls would make a nice gesture, though. Greysen would know she was thinking about him and his wellbeing without imposing her presence on him too much. And so, Elain circled around the reception and walked straight into her boyfriend’s office.

She did not expect to find him half naked with the secretary bent over his desk.

For a moment, Elain said nothing, the pastries crushed on the floor somewhere by her feet.

Their eyes met, and Greysen open his mouth.

“We’re done,” Elain told him, proud to have kept her voice steady enough not to reveal the slight tremble of her jaw. She tore her eyes away from the sight and turned on her feet.

“Elain!” Greysen’s voice called behind her.

She did not grace him with an answer. In a few short steps, she walked out of the room, shutting the door with a loud bang.

And then, she was gone.

***

Elain had gotten so used to staying at Greysen’s apartment that her own home felt like a stranger’s. Too dark and too empty, the space only accompanied by the sound of sirens that had usually accompanied the New York City landscape.

She set the cinnamon rolls on the counter, promising herself not to look at them until the next morning. She would deal with them—with him—later. Right now, Feyre needed her—or at least, she hoped she did. Elain could not bear spending the evening on the couch by herself, with nothing better to do but dwell in the events of the day.

Pulling her phone out of her purse, Elain sat at the small desk in the corner and typed in her sister’s name.

Hey. I know it’s late, but I want you to know I’m here if you need someone to talk to.

It was nearing midnight in London, though Elain had a feeling Feyre wouldn’t be sleeping. Breakup or not, she had always been more nocturnal, opting to paint under the pale moonlight. Her painting of the night sky over New York still hung over Elain’s dresser.

Her phone beeped a minute later. I’m awake.

Elain held her breath, staring at the notification until the screen turned blurry. What, exactly, do you say to someone who was just about to be married?

I heard what happened.

Pathetic.

The phone beeped again. Nesta?

She’s worried about you, Elain replied. We both are.

She could practically feel Feyre’s loud sigh, as if her sister was standing right beside her. I hate men.

Elain almost laughed. I’m right there with you.

Feyre’s message came only a few seconds later. Did something happen?

Elain fought the urge to bang her head against the table. She cursed herself for being so selfish—Feyre’s situation was much worse than her own, and yet, Elain somehow managed to direct the topic to herself. It’s nothing. Really.

Like Feyre would ever buy that.

Sure enough, her sister’s name appeared on the screen, the loud buzzing of the phone on her desk breaking the dreadful silence. Elain closed her eyes, letting out a deep breath before answering.

“It’s really nothing, Feyre.”

“I don’t care,” Feyre’s voice, a tinge distorted by the static, came through the speaker. “If it’s two men we’re shit-talking tonight, so be it. It might make me feel better, actually.”

“Alright,” Elain said, then grimaced as her own voice echoed through the call. “God, your service must be terrible.”

“I live in the middle of nowhere, Elain,” Feyre said. “I’m standing on a dining room chair just to try and catch some signal.”

Elain chuckled. “How is it there?”

She knew Feyre had moved to the outskirts of London, thought that was about the extent of her knowledge. The only thing Feyre would ever send her—apart from the one singular photo of the Big Ben from when she’d taken a trip to the city—was the stuffed deer head hanging above her fireplace with the caption: “Gross.” Tamlin, it seemed, was a hunter—a hobby Feyre had not been particularly fond of.

“I feel like I’m going insane,” Feyre finally said. “It’s too…quiet.”

Elain sighed. “That sounds like a dream.”

She imagined a stone cottage, just on the outskirts of London, and in front of it, a small rose orchard, glistening under a thick layer of snow. The thought was so overwhelmingly serene that for a brief moment, Elain could almost feel the warmth of Feyre’s home hugging her skin.

“Well, it isn’t,” Feyre said. “I miss New York, you know. Everything seemed so simple there.”

If only that, Elain thought bitterly.

“You should come, you know,” Elain said. “It would be nice to spend Christmas with you. It’s been too long.”

For a moment, neither of them said anything. “I take it Greysen is out of the picture,” Feyre finally guessed.

Elain’s jaw clenched. “It’s probably for the best.”

She flinched as her phone buzzed again, displaying Greysen’s name, a small heart emoji still next to it. She’d delete it later. “Speak of the devil. He’s calling me right now.”

“Do not answer,” Feyre instructed. “I made that mistake already, and believe me, whatever they have to say, it won’t change a thing.”

Elain ran her hand through the long waves of her hair. “I hate it here.”

Her sister huffed a laugh. “I know how you feel. I…I wish I could get away sometimes. If only for a bit.”

The thought came so suddenly Elain might have swayed off her chair. “We could switch,” she said absently, her mind running through the logistics of the idea.

“What?”

“We could switch places,” Elain repeated. It felt as though someone had turned on the light in her brain. “Think about it. You move into my place, and I move into yours. It’s brilliant.”

Feyre’s tone indicated she thought the exact opposite. “Elain, I can’t just move out of England.”

“It would only be for Christmas. We could both get the escape we need, and you’d have the chance to see the city again.”

“Elain, I can’t,” Feyre insisted. “I have an exhibition on New Year’s Eve, its this big name London gallery. It has to go perfectly. I have to work.”

“Exhibition?” It wasn’t that Feyre was not talented—she was, truly— but the last Elain had heard of Feyre’s work, she’d still been struggling to find an audience.

“Someone—an anonymous patron, I think—has found my art online and arranged the exhibit. All expenses paid. I have to work,” she repeated.

Elain was growing more desperate with each second. “You could work here,” she pleaded. “I have enough space for you to work on your art and enjoy the city in the meantime. We’d switch back before New Year’s Eve.”

Feyre did not sound fully convinced. “I don’t know…”

“Please, Feyre. For both our sake’s.”

Elain held her breath as she waited for an answer.

“Alright,” Feyre agreed.

Elain squealed, and Feyre laughed in the background. “God, I hate it when you make that sound,” her sister said.

“Thank you, Feyre. You won’t regret this.”

“I’ll call you in the morning to discuss the details. I feel like I need to sleep after this, and my legs are getting sore from standing on the chair.”

Elain laughed again, and the two said their goodbyes. Releasing a long breath of relief, Elain opened her contacts and searched for another name.

Nuala, please don’t hate me, she typed onto her screen. But I’m going to have to reschedule.

***

The moment she stepped out of the cab, Elain decided to take back every single word she cursed London Heathrow with.

Yes, the airport had been busy—an understatement, really—but she’d go through pushing through the crowds for two hours straight all over again if it meant not having to walk a mile in the cold snow. In heels.

What dark, sadistic forced had prompted her to wear heels for a ten hour journey, she’d never know. Well, she did know, actually. She had just started reading a book about an airport meet cute and thought, well, if it happened to her, who says it won’t happen to me?

It didn’t.

Just like Feyre had said, her sister truly did live in the middle of nowhere. The driver stopped at what seemed like the middle of a forest, the path in front of them too narrow for the car to fit in. Elain had almost cried when he told her to walk the rest of the way on foot, cocking his head to the side with an apologetic “sorry, love.”

The good news was that she was almost there and Feyre had a fireplace. She’d curl up in front of it, finish her book, and then go straight into bed to fight off her jet lag. There were four days left until Christmas Day—she had time to figure everything else out.

A few extremely wet steps later, Elain reached her destination.

Rosebud Cottage was a dream come true.

It looked as though it had been pulled straight out of Elain’s memory—the snow-clad orchard out front, the cobblestone pathway leading up to the red front door. Feyre, it seemed, had hung up a wreath to greet her, and Elain smiled at the thoughtful gesture. Doing her best not to slip on the icy stones, Elain pulled the keys from underneath the doormat, taking a mental note to school her sister on burglars and responsibility—though, she supposed, no one would actually bother to go this far for a robbery, no matter how many riches the house contained within.

Having fought with the door lock for about a minute (why do British people do everything the other way around?), Elain finally walked in.

The journey had been worth it.

Though it wasn’t much bigger than her own studio apartment, the house radiated warmth.

A fluffy couch gathered around the old English fireplace with two armchairs of red velvet on each side, making up a cozy living room that connected to the small kitchen. With cabinets of a light green and wooden countertops, it called out Elain’s name louder than any kitchen she’d ever stepped into. Abandoning her suitcase by the door, she moved to explore the pantry, her tiredness long forgotten in favour of the inviting prospect of baking fresh bread in such a beautiful space.

How disappointing it was to find art supplies there instead.

It was then that she truly began noticing Feyre’s presence in the house. The kitchen cabinets, immaculate at first sight, had paint splattered on them in the most peculiar places. The bookcase, standing proudly in the back, full of art history books and manuals. The violet handprint on the balustrade, surely from when Feyre had decided to take a break from painting upstairs and had clearly forgotten to wash her hands.

Her gaze moved back to the fireplace, and Elain’s brows furrowed. She reached for her phone, opening the conversation between her and her sister. The last text was from Feyre, announcing her arrival at Elain’s place about two hours ago.

Where’s the deer? Elain asked.

The reply came almost immediately. I buried it.

Elain laughed.

***

Feyre Archeron was finally home.

She wasn’t usually the crying type, though upon seeing the New York City skyline, she had to admit her chest had swelled a little bit. It had been too long.

Unpacking took her ages, and by the time she was finally done, it was already late and dark outside. She quickly did the math, and, by London standards, it was already way past midnight for her—one last bag to go, Feyre promised herself, and she would go to bed.

A grimace twisted her features as she realised she’d have to wake up early in the morning to open up Elain’s bakery—the only favour Elain had asked her of, really, so she couldn’t be as bitter about it as she perhaps would have wanted. Her sister’s friend, Nuala, would arrive an hour later to take over. Then, Feyre would be free to explore.

Her face lit up at the realisation that the last bag contained her art supplies—along with the newest brushes that had managed to arrive the day before she was due to leave for New York. She made way to set up her painting station by the window, hoping to get some daylight the next day, short as it was during winter. Setting the bag down carefully, she looked out the window and up to the stars.

Feyre’s breath caught in her chest.

She picked up a brush and began painting.

***

The bakery had only been open for five minutes when the small bell at the door announced the arrival of a customer.

In the back, hands covered in four she’d accidentally spilled, Feyre quickly wiped it off on her jeans, immediately cursing herself for her foolishness. She had most definitely left white handprints on her ass.

“Just a minute!” she shouted, wiping her hands frantically on her (also black) shirt this time before realising she was absolutely making it worse. 

With a sigh, she ran a hand through her hair, the powder falling into the strands and onto the floor.

“Shit!,” she swore, finally managing to grab hold of a kitchen towel, hanging—of course—on the wall right beside her.

“You alright there?” a rich voice, definitely British and definitely male, reached her from the front of the shop.

Opting not to look at the small mirror in the corner, Feyre gave up on any attempts to sort herself out, and made her way out.

“Sorry, I…” she began before her gaze finally met his.

Standing before her was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen.

Tall and wearing an all-black suit—who wore suits at eight thirty in the morning?—he had an air of confidence around him, hands resting nonchalantly in his pockets. A briefcase hung over a broad, muscular chest, and Feyre had never hated shirts more than in that exact moment. The man was ridiculously good-looking—but his eyes…

His eyes had captivated her.

So deeply blue they seemed almost violet, shining with curiosity as they measured her in full.

“What happened back there?” he asked, and damn him, he had a nice voice.

Forcing on a shred of composure, Feyre crossed her arms. “Running a bakery isn’t as easy as you’d think, you know.”

The corner of his mouth ticked up. “I’m sure. Except I know this isn’t your bakery, and Elain isn’t here."

Feyre’s brows knotted. “You know Elain?”

“You could say I’m somewhat of a regular.”

“Oh?”

“I always stop here for a coffee before work,” he explained.

“Right. Let me guess, all black, no sugar?” Feyre guessed.

He smirked. “Only if you insist.”

If it came from anyone else, she might have rolled her eyes. But this man…it was unfair, really. “Takeaway?” she asked instead.

“Yes. Large, please,” he added. “I’ve got a long day ahead.”

Feyre got started on the coffee, though her gaze remained locked on the sight before her. “And what is it that you do?”

Why the hell would she even ask?

The man smiled broadly now, a self-satisfied smirk that told her he thoroughly enjoyed her personal questions. “Investments.”

Her eyes narrowed. “That could mean anything.”

“Perhaps I could tell you more,” he said. “Over a cup of coffee.”

Placing a lid on top, Feyre handed him the cup. “Here. Is that cup good enough?”

His smile turned feline. “Clever,” he praised.

“I’m Feyre,” she said before she could stop herself.

His fingers brushed her own as he took the coffee from her hand. “Rhysand."

***

Elain spent her second day in England completely and utterly bored.

She’d woken up to sixteen missed calls from Greysen, and immediately decided she needed to distract herself. It turned out there weren’t many distractions in the small village Feyre lived in.

She’d gone to the supermarket around lunchtime, having finished her book right after breakfast. Baking supplies, mostly—she had to entertain herself somehow. And so, she’d spent the rest of the afternoon with her hands full in dough, making a point not to use cinnamon in any of her inventions.

Hours later, it was nearing midnight, the house smelled like bread, and Elain had no idea what to do.

Why am I even here?

It was a stupid idea to come. What did she think she would get here? Peace and quiet? It had only been a day, and she already had enough of that. Silence, as it turned out, did not do anything for a raging mind.

Greysen had left her a couple of voicemails, but Elain hadn’t listened to any of them. Time, she decided. She needed time to process this.

Still, it would have been nice to have someone to process it with.

Maybe she didn’t belong here. Maybe the life she’d had in New York was the best the world had to offer her. Maybe escaping hadn’t been the right option. Maybe…maybe Greysen deserved a second chance.

Elain unlocked her phone and entered Greysen’s number.

A loud bang on the door almost knocked it out her hands.

Wrapping the blanket tighter around her, Elain got up from the couch and made her way to open the door.

She was greeted with the sight of a very drunk man.

Bright, russet eyes narrowed on her a bit absently. “You’re not Feyre,” he noted.

Elain lifted a brow. “A keen observation.” The man snorted. “Who are you?” she asked.

The man leaned over in a mocking bow. “Apologies, my lady. My name is Lucien.”

Despite herself, the corners of Elain’s mouth twitched. “That tells me nothing, you know.”

He sighed in resignation. “It hurts that she never mentioned me, you know.”

“An honest mistake, I’m sure.”

“We’re friends. She moved in here shortly after I did.”

Elain angled her head. “I see.”

The man looked at her expectantly. “And you are…?”

“Oh, sorry,” she straightened a little bit. “I’m Elain. Feyre’s older sister.”

His face lit up straight away. “Of course you are. You look similar, you know. Well, under certain angles…”

A laugh escaped her this time, and Elain asked. “Why are you here, Lucien?”

Lucien leaned on the doorframe with another deep sigh. “I’m so sorry, Elain, Feyre told me she was going back to New York for a bit, but it completely slipped my mind. She lets me crash on the couch here every now and then.” 

“Oh,” Elain said before the realisation hit her. “Oh. Well, I…”

“No, no, it’s all good. It’s my bad, honestly,” Lucien explained. “I’ll be on my way.”

“No, wait, I…” Elain hesitated. She couldn’t leave him out in the cold, could she? There was no doubt in her mind that Lucien was not in the right state to walk home by himself. “I suppose you could stay. I don’t mind, really.”

Lucien waved a hand. “I don’t want to be an imposition,” he insisted, swaying on his feet a little.

Elain laughed again. “Just come in.”

Lucien offered her a lazy smile. “How could I say no to a lady like this?”

And damn him, Elain blushed.

***

Lucien passed out on the couch the second he stepped over the doorway, and Elain had decided it was best to just leave him there.

Now, in the morning, she made her way back down as she heard a noise coming from the kitchen—a clear sign her unexpected guest was awake and searching for a hangover cure.

The first thing she noticed was a flash of long, red hair. And then, Lucien turned to face her. “Good morning,” he greeted, a tentative smile playing on his handsome features.

Shit. She did not remember him looking this good last night.

“Hi,” she said, straightening the sleeves of her sweater. Of course now that he was sober, she had to wear one of her uglier, Christmas themed ones that she just so happened to also sleep in. Great first impression, really.

“I made you some tea,” Lucien said, sliding a steaming cup towards her. “Milk?”

“Oh,” Elain reached out in surprise. “Thank you. For the tea, I mean. No milk, please.”

Lucien chuckled, the sound deep and honeyed. “I suppose you haven’t been in England long enough.”

Elain’s gaze narrowed. “Alright. I’ll have a little bit.”

“That’s more like it,” Lucien grinned. “Listen, I’m so sorry about last night. Again, thank you for letting me stay here.”

“It’s no problem,” Elain said. “But I should warn you, I’m leaving the day after tomorrow and Feyre’s not getting back until a few days later, so the house will stay locked until she’s back.”

Lucien’s brows furrowed. “Christmas Day? Feyre said you’d be leaving after that.”

“Yes, well…” Elain sighed. “This place isn’t what I thought it would be. Actually, that’s not fair. I just…don’t think I belong here.”

Lucien sipped his own tea, considering. “How’s that?”

“It’s too, uh…” Lonely. “Quiet.”

He smiled at that. “If you’re looking for chaos, you’ve come to the right place.” He set the cup down on the counter. “A couple of my friends and I are meeting up at the local pub tonight. It’s sort of a tradition we do before Christmas Eve. You’re welcome to join us, and I promise I’ll go to my own house afterwards.”

Elain laughed. Something about this man was so…different. Despite having just met her, Lucien seemed so at ease—so comfortable in her presence. As if he actually enjoyed it.

Her suitcase was already half packed—maybe she deserved a small sendoff. At least she wouldn’t spend the last few nights of her trip blankly staring into the fireplace. And so, Elain smiled at him again. “I’ll think about it.”

***

As promised, Rhysand showed up the next morning.

Feyre didn’t have to open the bakery this time—though, as she told Nuala, she didn’t mind doing it again. And so, at 8:30 a.m. sharp and flour-free, Feyre was ready to find out more about this mysterious stranger.

Rhysand, it seemed, adored teasing her as much as he adored the personal questions. She’d made the mistake of telling him she was an artist, getting herself trapped in a promise of one day drawing a portrait of the prick himself.

“You need to see the Met before you leave,” Rhys, as he insisted on being called, told her. “I’d be more than happy to show you, if you’re not too busy.”

Feyre could only laugh. “I’m a New Yorker and an artist. I’ve been to the Met,” she said, making a point to sound terribly offended. “And that wasn’t as smooth as you think it was, you know.”

Rhys placed a dramatic hand over his chest. “You wound me.”

Her eyebrows rose a fraction of an inch. “Is this how you get women to go out with you, Rhysand? By inflicting pity?”

Impressed, his violet eyes twinkled. “Cruel thing.”

Choosing to ignore the heat rising through her at his words, Feyre shrugged. “You just seem like the type.”

Rhys’s lips twitched. “The type?”

“You know the one. Always with a compliment at hand, calling every woman he meets darling or…something.”

“I didn’t know you were so eager for a nickname, Feyre,” Rhys purred.

“Oh, shut up,” she rolled her eyes, though a smile played in the corner of her mouth.

“I still do think you should see the Met,” he continued. “After all, it has been a while since you last visited, has it not? I’d bet your knowledge has grown somewhat rusty. And I’m not just talking about the Met.”

“Okay, now I’m officially offended,” Feyre crossed her arms. “You’re British and you think you think you know New York better than me?”

Those eyes sparkled again. “I’ll tell you what, Feyre darling,” Rhys began, and Feyre’s stomach fluttered at the name. Once again, she chose to ignore it. “I’ll make you a bargain: we find out who knows the city best—if I win, I get to take you out on a date.”

Feyre’s eyes narrowed. “And if I win?”

“Remember that portrait you promised?” Feyre nodded. “Well,” Rhysand winked, “I do nudes too.”

***

Jurian and Vassa were probably the funniest people Elan had ever met.

They had met at university and had remained together ever since. Elain had never seen two people share such strong bond—in the six months she’d dated him, Elain had never laughed with Greysen as much as Vassa had with Jurian in one night. And aside from all their teasing and jokes, Elain didn’t miss the way Jurian’s arm wrapped around his girlfriend, the way her head rested lightly on his shoulder when Elain and Lucien had gone up to the bar to order more drinks.

“They look really good together,” Elain sighed.

“They do,” Lucien agreed. “Though I must admit, I do not particularly enjoy the third wheeling.” Elain laughed, and Lucien answered with a smile of his own. “What I mean is—it’s nice to have you here.”

“I am having a lot of fun,” Elain admitted.

“Do you…” he hesitated, his russet eyes searching for hers. Elain angled her head, questioning, and Lucien cleared his throat. “If you don’t have any plans tomorrow, I’d love to show you more of this place. Maybe you’ll like it enough to come visit us again.”

Elain smiled. “I’d like that very much.”

***

Lucien had taken her to the gardens.

Elain had never seen anything more beautiful—who would have thought there would be a small castle in a hidden place like this. The gardens were nothing short of spectacular, with the greenhouses hosting plants of all kinds and bright, exotic colours she had never even seen on pictures.

“Feyre mentioned you like to garden,” Lucien explained, a pleased smile lighting up his features at every small gasp escaping her. “I thought this would be a great place for you to see.”

“It’s breathtaking,” Elain sighed, leaning over a particularly vibrant flower.

Quiet fell for a brief moment before Lucien spoke again. “It is.”

Turning back to him, Elain offered a small smile. “I’d like to see more, if we can.”

With a nod, Lucien extended a gloved hand. “Of course.”

Elain took it, and they walked out to the glistening snow.

***

It had only taken them minutes to get into a snowball fight, and only after both their hair was practically wet, Elain had finally decided it was time for a glass of wine.

The restaurant inside the castle had been lovely—cozy and candlelit, with the sound of Christmas carols coming faintly through the speakers. Once they had dried off, their body warmth stimulated by the rich, red liquid, the conversation could finally begin.

“I never thought Christmas Eve could look like this,” Elain mused.

Lucien’s brows rose in question. “Good or bad?”

“Definitely good.” 

He smiled at that. “How do you usually spend Christmas Eve?”

Elain’s face fell a bit. “Well, the past few years have been somewhat chaotic. My sisters had all moved all over the world, and I…stayed. I was meant to spend this year with my, I guess ex-boyfriend now.”

“Oh.”

“We broke up just over a week ago,” Elain explained. “He…ah…I caught him with his secretary.”

Something flashed in Lucien’s eyes, and for a moment, Elain wondered if he would say anything—if there was anything he could say, really.

“I wish I could say I was sorry,” he began, and Elain’s brows shot up in surprise. “But any man that was lucky enough to have you and didn’t appreciate it was never really worth it in the first place.”

Elain swallowed hard. “No?”

“No,” Lucien agreed. “He never deserved your light. Your kindness. Your beauty.” Their gazes met, hot an fiery and unyielding. “He never deserved you.”

***

This time, they stumbled into Elain’s cottage together, clothes falling on the living room floor one by one until there was not a layer of fabric left.

Damn him, Lucien was even more magnificent than she imagined. With his strong arms, a broad, sculpted chest, and brown skin gleaming in firelight, he looked like a god materialised right in front of her. If her cheeks had not been already flushed, she might have gone more red than the couch he’d laid her on.

She could feel the race of his heart against her body, her own chest rising and falling with heavy breaths as he lowered himself further.

Elain’s eyes widened. Greysen had never…

“Lucien,” Elain breathed, and he stilled immediately, his stare meeting her own. “You don’t have to…”

Lucien laughed quietly, the sound dark and smooth against her skin. “Have to?” he asked. “Elain, if I don’t get to taste you right now, I’m going to go insane.”

The words ran the core between her thighs molten, and Elain allowed herself one last coherent thought before nodding her permission.

Lucien wasted no time.

Before she knew it, his tongue reduced her to a whimpering mess, desire twisting in her stomach as he licked and sucked with an abandon that only told her he enjoyed it as much as she did. Elain chased that feeling, rocking her hips into his face, so close she was certain she’d explode any second.

A gasp tore from her lips as Lucien’s fingers grazed her entrance, then slid in with ease the moment his mouth closed over her clit.

Release slammed into her without warning, her whole body trembling at the white-hot pleasure shooting down every nerve. It felt so good.

His pace slowed down as he coaxed her through the orgasm, his hands laying heavily on her hips now, and Elain released a trembling breath.

Lucien’s mouth made its way up her stomach, leaving soft, wet kissed on what seemed like every inch of her skin, and Elain moaned his name again, her voice straining with pleasure.

His breath was hot on her neck as Lucien placed one final kiss below the shell of her ear. “Ready for more?”

***

Feyre, of course, had lost the bet. Embarrassing, really, but if she was being completely honest with herself, she did not mind at all.

Rhys, it seemed, had not made any plans on Christmas Eve, and so the two of them had scheduled their date for the evening.

She’d expected a grand gesture from Rhys, something in the manner of a lavish candlelit dinner, maybe at the Plaza. He seemed like the type.

Instead, she’d arrived at the rooftop of Rhysand’s building to find nothing but a fluffy blanket, two candles, and a basket with what she suspected were carefully selected snacks.

“What’s this?” Feyre asked quietly, taking a step closer.

Rhys turned to her then, looking even better somehow, with a shirt of black satin loose and unbuttoned under his coat and dark hair ruffled by the wintry breeze. His gaze landed on her, and in what felt like hours, he took her all in. “A picnic,” he finally said, those violet eyes meeting hers at last. “You look beautiful.”

Feyre smiled. “I’ve never been on a rooftop picnic before,” she said. “I would’ve thought of Central Park first,” she added, teasing.

Rhys sighed theatrically, extending out a hand. “See, you even suggesting that only tells me I am a fair winner of our bargain.”

Feyre took his hand, and they both made themselves comfortable. “I’ll bet you secretly wish you lost, though. You did seem very excited about the nude portraits.”

Rhysand hummed appreciatively. “Quite right. I’ll tell you what—if it makes you happier, Feyre darling, I’d be more than happy to offer up my body for artistic research.”

Feyre shook her head, laughing once more. “You’re unbelievable.”

At that, his grin faded into a gentle smile, and slowly, he reached out to tuck a loose lock of hair behind her ear. “So are you,” Rhys said quietly.

The air suddenly became tight between their bodies, and Feyre looked out to the city skyline. “So, why the rooftop?” she asked again.

His eyes never left her for a second. “Another thing about New York, Feyre darling,” Rhys said. “It looks most beautiful at night.”

Feyre turned to him at that, something warm spreading through her body and tingling at her eyes. She let herself drown in those pools of violet, leaning in closer until their eyes closed and she felt the soft brush of his mouth on hers.

She didn’t remember how they ended up in his bed, their legs tangled between the sheets. She only remembered the stars shining above them, and feeling the happiest she’d ever been.

***

Elain’s phone buzzed in the middle of the night, and she was too soon ripped from her sleep to look at the caller ID before answering.

“Hello?”

“Elain?”

She shot up the bed in an instant. “Greysen.”

“Elain, I’ve been trying to reach you for over a week. Please, talk to me.”

“I…” she shot a quick glance at Lucien, his naked form peaceful beside her. “Give me a minute.”

Hands trembling, she slid into her robe, and quietly made her way downstairs. Somehow, in their nightly activities, her and Lucien had eventually found their way to her bed.

Propping down on the arm of the couch, Elain took a deep breath. “What do you want, Greysen?”

“Elain,” his voice sounded at the end of the line. “I was an idiot. I am begging you to forgive me.”

“I’m afraid it is too late for apologies, Greysen.”

“I know you’re in England. Please come back to me,” he pleaded. “I miss you. I need you. We need each other.”

“I…”

“We belong together, Elain, and you know it.”

Another, deep breath.

Somewhere upstairs was a man who, in only three days, had treated her better than Greysen ever had in the entire time they’d known each other. Who had made her feel whole again. A man who had shown her what true affection felt like.

And so, Elain said her final goodbye. “I’m not sure that we do, Greysen.”

Then, she hung up the phone.

Back in the bedroom, Lucien stirred, a strand of red hair falling over his face. Elain smiled, gently pulling it away to tuck behind his ear. Something sparkled in her chest, a feeling she’d never felt but wanted to hold on to forever.

And then, the realisation had kicked in.

Elain had caught feelings for Lucien. Lucien, who, in those three days, had managed to capture her heart forever. Lucien, who, after tomorrow, she’d probably never see again.

Elain would not let her heart break again. Not like this.

And so, she began packing.

***

When she came downstairs in the morning, Lucien was already in the kitchen, a cup of tea and a plate full of chocolate biscuits waiting for her on the counter.

The sight brought tears to her eyes.

“Elain?” Lucien asked, stepping in closer and taking her into his arms. “What’s wrong?

“I have to go,” she whispered. “I have to go, Lucien.”

His brows furrowed in confusion. “Go where?”

Elain shook her head. “I need to make it for my flight.”

Lucien stepped back, something like panic flashing through his eyes. “Elain…”

“I can’t stay here,” she denied him before he got the chance to say anything.

“A few more days,” Lucien pleaded. “Leave before New Year’s, like you originally planned to do.”

“I can’t stay here, Lucien” she repeated. “My heart won’t handle it if I stay.”

“Elain,” he begged.

She took his face into her hands, pressing a light kiss to his lips. “Merry Christmas,” she told him.

Then, she left.

***

Rhys had already been awake by the time Feyre opened her eyes.

His thumb brushed her cheek, and she sighed in delight before reality came crashing in. “I have to go now, Rhys.”

“What’s the rush?” he asked, his voice roughened by sleep. The sound sent her heart fluttering all over again.

“I have to pack,” she explained. “My flight back to London is tomorrow.”

“Stay,” Rhys only said.

Feyre chuckled. “I wish I could, but I need to do the final touch-ups on one of my paintings as well. I need it to dry off before I leave.”

“You could stay longer,” Rhys protested. “The exhibition isn’t until New Year’s Eve.”

“I know that, but…” she frowned, mulling over his words.

And then again.

And again.

Only then did Feyre realise she’d never told him about the exhibition.

He must have realised that, too, from the way his eyes widened and mouth opened with an empty explanation that would mean nothing to her.

“It was you,” Feyre accused.

“Feyre darling…”

“Do not call me that,” she ordered, and Rhysand fell silent. “You arranged for the exhibit, did you not?”

Silence.

“Rhysand,” she warned.

He sighed. “I did. But, Feyre…”

“I was shocked,” she began, “when I received that invitation from the gallery. Such a short notice, too, and so unusual. The day after my engagement fell apart. Did you know?”

“Yes.”

Silver began burning her eyes, but she continued. “You knew I was an artist from Elain, didn’t you? Did she tell you how miserable I was? How I spent two years in a foreign country trying to build a career and getting nowhere? Did my sister ask you to make me your little charity case?”

“Allow me to explain…”

“You knew who I was from the moment you met me,” she whispered. “And you said nothing.” She swallowed hard. “I don’t want to see you again.”

And with that, Feyre was gone.

***

This time, Elain actually did cry in the cab, though it had nothing to do with wearing heels in the snow. 

The flight wasn’t for another few hours, and Elain decided if she was going to have her heart broken anyway, she might as well stop at the local bakery and treat herself.

Asking the driver to wait outside, Elain entered what seemed like the only shop opened on Christmas Day.

“Merry Christmas!” a lady greeted her at the register. “What can I get you?”

Elain sighed. “Anything for a broken heart?”

The lady smiled knowingly. “Not a cure, I’m afraid, but these freshly baked cinnamon rolls do make life a little sweeter.”

Elain went completely still. “What did you say?”

The woman raised her brows, confused. “Cinnamon rolls?”

Her heart thudded in her chest.

What the hell am I doing?

“I’m so sorry, I have to go,” Elain turned practically running out of the shop. “Merry Christmas!”

The cap sprinted through the streets until it reached the very familiar forest. “Sorry, love,” the driver began, “I’m afraid…”

“That’s okay,” Elain laughed. “I’ll run.”

And she did. Her socks were wet in an instant, but Elain did not care one bit as she finally reached the red front door.

She banged on it loudly until she was greeted by Lucien, his handsome face the perfect picture of shock.

Elain threw her arms around his neck and pulled him in until their lips collided in a kiss hot enough to warm the coldest winter. He hugged her tightly, whispering her name into her neck and running his fingers through her hair until he’d made sure she truly was real and standing before him.

Elain pulled away just enough to meet his eyes. “I’ll stay here,” she said at the same time Lucien declared “I’ll move to New York,” and they both broke out in laughter, Lucien bringing her closer for another kiss.

“We’ll figure it out,” Elain whispered.

Lucien nodded fiercely. “As long as we’re together.”

***

New Year’s Eve

The exhibition was going perfectly, but Feyre wasn’t happy at all.

There was one person missing—and she hated how much she missed him.

Her sister, at least, seemed to be enjoying herself. Lucien did, too—and she couldn’t be happier for either of them. Still, looking at that one painting of the New York City skyline…Feyre wanted nothing more but to go back. Even if it was simply to yell at him.

A light tap on the shoulder brought her back into reality. “Feyre,” Elain told her. “There’s someone here that wants to speak with you.”

If she had to deal with another critic tonight, she would have probably broken into tears. “Show me,” she asked her sister anyway.

Elain nodded, leading her to an empty hallway just a few meters away.

“Hello, Feyre darling.”

Feyre froze in her steps. “What are you doing here?” she asked, barely noting Elain quietly removing herself from the conversation.

“I only ask for a moment. Please,” Rhysand said, his violet eyes shining with a silent plea. “You can hate me forever, but allow me to explain.”

I could never hate you.

“Alright,” Feyre agreed, and Rhys released a breath.

“I knew who you were,” he began. “Elain loves talking about you, you and your other sister. I had been coming to the bakery for months now, and I knew you paint. It was one of the first things she told me about you.” He smiled. “She told me about the dresser you painted when you were kids. She told me you painted the night sky on yours.”

Feyre held her breath, her gaze remaining fixed on his face, the slight tremble of his jaw.

“You asked me what I invest in. Art,” he told her. “I buy and collect art. I have been for a while. And when Elain showed me your paintings, I…they took my breath away. I had never met you, but it felt as though your art told me enough. Like it spoke to my very soul, understood me.” He swallowed hard. “I knew we would probably never meet, but fell in love with your craft, Feyre, and all I wanted was to share it with the rest of the world. I didn’t do it for Elain, not even for you. Your talent needs to be seen. The way I feel seen through you.

“When Elain told me about the swap, I knew I had to see you—at least once, if only to tell you how incredible you are. I should have told you—I know I should have—but I fell for you so deeply I wanted you to see me—not as your anonymous patron, or even as Elain’s friend—but as me, the same way your art does. You have captivated me, my darling Feyre, and I am yours forever—if you’ll have me.”

The whole world felt as though it swept away from her feet, and Feyre could only utter one word.

“Rhysand,” she breathed, her lips finding his own.

Soft and gentle, their kiss caressed her heart and soul, their arms wrapped tight around each other and not letting go. In the background, fireworks exploded and people cheered, celebrating new love and beginnings.

For only a moment, Rhys pulled back and inch. “Happy New Year, Feyre darling.”

She laughed, and with tears of happiness like stars in her eyes, Feyre kissed him again.