#Aspen squeals

[aspenonpawzzz]

“Hunter has two eye colors !1!”

no he has more.

proof:

blue- 1

Brown- 2

This one (black?)- 3

The many shades of magenta- 8.

8 eye colors, damn.

[biteofcherry]

🖤🖤🖤 Thank you, Aspen!

Since you were one of the people responsible for starting that inferno, your response to it is extra special for me 🥰

I needed that darkness to be palpable. They're not soft dark, even though they do show smallest scraps of softness/care. They are dark. Period. And they may have be one of the darkest characters I've ever written. Because sometimes I do write a dark bastard, but make him kinda playful and more forgiving. But these two? Yeah, I wanted them to be really scary.

The way they break you and treat you is kinda a mastery in torture and conditioning. Like they said "You can accept it and enjoy it, or make yourself miserable" - if you choose misery, they will add to it with no remorse. If you accept it, they will make it very enjoyable and comforting, as long as it's all played by their rules.

Gasoline

dark biker!Ari Levinson x female reader x dark biker!Curtis Everett

summary: They say the road to hell is paved with good intentions. It sure was true for you. An attempt at saving someone led to you being taken into the pits of darkness. And the devils own you now.

warnings: dub-con; power imbalance; possessiveness; threats; sex in public; unprotected sex; cockwarming; oral (m receiving); mention of oral (f receiving); fingering; pussy spanking; spit kink; forced tattoo; dark!Ari; dark!Curtis;

word count: 4.5k

Author's Note: So this is a result of a few factors ruining me - @buckets-and-trees tattoo artists Curtis and Ari story making me think of those two combining forces; musings about masked dark biker Curtis with @stargazingfangirl18 ; as well my horny brain creating a very naughty dream 🫣 It's not a story I've been working on for long. I wrote it all today, because I needed to get it out of my head.

Be ready at 9PM. Max will drive you.

The message is blunt and direct. Like most of their commands. 

The upside is that at least you don’t have to figure out what they want, there are no games to be played. Still, you love when they turn a bit more playful - marginally so. When there’s a whisper of softness and fondness in their eyes as they let you tease and poke a bit.

You think it’s because you’ve learned when to do that and how to keep it just a small, acceptable dose. 

You’ve learned quickly that acting a full on brat wouldn’t be tolerated. 

Well, at the very beginning they shouldn’t have been surprised you lashed out. After all, they’ve taken you without your consent, stealing you away from your steady life as a punishment for daring to defend someone who crossed them.

With your fierce, empathetic heart you couldn’t just stand down and watch as they flayed someone open. But that act of humanity cost you your freedom. 

Swept away on a beast of a motorbike, its roar barely covering the thudding of your panicked heart; taken into the depths of the city’s darkness and into the tower that became your new life. 

Because nobody crossed Ari Levinson and Curtis Everett, without facing severe punishment.

It was your luck, or perhaps doom, they sanctioned you with life instead of death. But that life was now theirs. 

You were all theirs. 

So of course you fought at the beginning, which didn’t seem to surprise or faze them much. Your screams and throwing things against the beautiful walls of the two story penthouse were ignored for the most part. So were your tears. They merely wiped them away in an almost tender gesture, then coldly told you to accept that this was your life now. 

“You can make yourself miserable living it, or you can let yourself accept it and find enjoyment in it.” 

The way Ari's thumb brushed along your bottom lip told you exactly what kind of enjoyment they were offering you. Your traitorous body reacted, despite your mind detesting it.

They took away your clothes and when you asked for some Ari simply told you no. So you ripped down the gauzy window curtains and draped them over yourself in a makeshift dress. 

You were very smug about that little victory.

Until Ari ripped them off of you and fucked the rebellion out of you. 

Fucked you hard and long, ‘till you sobbed and begged for mercy. Which was granted only after you promised to follow the rules. 

You were still sore and oversensitive when Curtis slipped into your bed the next morning, waking you up with his mouth devouring you. Pinning you down after wrecking two orgasms out of you, he fed you the mixture of your cum and his spit, ordering you to swallow. 

“Good girls get rewarded,” he left you with that direction. And with a pile of new clothes on the chair. 

Over the next weeks, through trials and tribulations, you’ve learned that as long as you followed the rules and expectations, most of your requests were met. Often they went beyond and before you even asked for something. 

The only thing you would never be granted was your freedom. 

You weren’t allowed outside, unless you were with them. The steel and glass tower they owned was swarmed with guards and all sorts of alarms and traps. The only time you were out without either Ari or Curtis at your side (usually the both of them) was when an appointed guard was taking you to them. 

Just like now. 

You stare at the message on your phone. Which isn’t your connection to the outside world at all. The only contacts in it are to Ari, Curtis and two most trusted men from their inner circle. It’s tracked at all times and you’re sure they are monitoring your browsing history, as well. 

Clubbing is not my thing. You dare to type back.

The fact they told you where they were going when they left the penthouse isn’t much comforting, because it’s a way to force you to have information for which they could easily kill you, if you used it in any way. It’s also a manipulation to make it feel like what the three of you have is some sort of a relationship. 

But isn’t it?

Fucking aside, they spend time with you. If they aren’t away doing bloody business, they always eat breakfast with you. Other meals depending on their workload. They aren’t very talkative, but they engage in conversations with you. Curtis taught you how to properly use the few machines at the home gym, when you were restless and searching for something to do while locked in. Ari will keep you in his lap, playing with your hair and watching movies on the ridiculously huge screen. 

Glimpses of softness, really. You never fool yourself to think of them as truly soft, because even as they provide a certain tenderness, there’s always that brutal darkness lurking behind. 

It shows in the way they fuck you. As well in the way Ari’s gaze glints a murderous warning when you come close to crossing the line, or how Curtis doesn’t bother wiping away enemy’s blood from his face before coming to you. 

Wear a red dress - comes the reply and you know tonight they’re not in the mood to give you room for some brattiness. 

You huff in annoyance, but still get up and go into the bathroom to take a shower and shave. 

Sometimes, when they’re more relaxed and content, they entertain your pushing. Usually it leads to a sinfully hot chuckle, a few spanks and a lot of orgasms. But if they’re in one of their darker moods, you don’t dare to rebel. It doesn’t end well. 

Yes, there’s merciless fucking that leaves you shattered into pieces, but there’s always a higher price to pay too. Like having your childhood friend and her family threatened with death, when you reached out to her via social media. 

Hair and makeup done, clad in a tight, short red dress, you’re ready five minutes before 9PM. Max waits for you in the elevator, greeting you curtly, but not looking up at you. 

No one ever looks directly at you. No one beside Curtis or Ari. 

As you’re being driven through the city, you wistfully watch streets buzzing with life - people freely walking around, friends meeting and going out for drinks, workaholics leaving companies and trailing home. You were never a partying girl and you know you’re being summoned to the club only for Curtis and Ari’s entertainment, but at least you will be out of your beautiful prison for a few hours. 

The club is pulsing with a sensual, enticing beat. There’s enough people filling the space to make it obvious how popular this place is, but there’s also a street long line at the front, because getting in isn’t that easy. 

You don’t know if Ari and Curtis own this place, but you doubt they’d take you anywhere that wasn’t under their strict command. 

Besides, they have their fingers wrapped tightly around so many establishments and people in this city, that it may belong to them whole. 

Many would never assume that their power extended so greatly. They’re nothing like the polished, suit-wearing mafia men, or politicians that people imagine to be at the top. Not with their less classy attire of jeans and leather, their heavy biker boots, tattoos covering their bodies. And yet it’s them who hold the reins and carve up anyone daring to step out of line. 

Max points toward the staircase, leading to the upper floor. VIP section undoubtedly, considering two heavily tatted bouncers guarding the entrance. 

They nod their heads in greeting, but drop their gazes. One of them unhooks the red rope and lets you onto the stairs.

There's a middle floor, filled with velvet couches and chrome accessories, shiny tables set with buckets filled with ice and champagne bottles in each. You notice a few faces you know from the tv screen and social media. 

Ah, so it's a floor for the celebrity kind of VIPs. 

But the real important people are on the top floor. Guarded by another set of bouncers. 

Unlike the lower levels, this one is instantly recognizable as belonging to bikers. Chrome details are kept in darker tones, velvet replaced by leather, a tattoo-style painted skull takes most of the black wall. 

Members of the gang mingle around. Not many of them, just the inner circle, or closest to it. Brutal enforcers, sneaky assassins, remorseless bunch. 

You pass them without glancing at anyone, your gaze searching and settling on the only people you're allowed to give your attention to.

Ari and Curtis are sprawled on the central, U-shaped sofa. Arms braced on the back of it, legs spread wide. Masters of the dark universe. Of your universe, too. 

There's no one beside them, but in front of them, separated by the steel chrome coffee table, is a man. A battered, bleeding man. On his knees. 

Everyone around acts as if there was nothing there to see. As if the man didn't exist at all. You feel that compassionate sadness squeeze your heart. The same instinct that made you act that fatal night and sealed your fate. Now you know not to show it, not to act on it, or it would lead to the man's immediate death. 

Instead, you stand before them. Just a few steps away from the trembling man. 

Ari and Curtis’ eyes instantly move to you. Both slowly drag their gazes up your form.

One thing that you gained from their attention is the huge boost in body confidence. Each pound, each curve, each roll - they desire you all the same.

You made sure to wear a dress that's short enough to leave your thighs exposed. They always like when their marks of ownership are visible. 

Getting them was painful. Also against your will. But you stayed in place, gritting your teeth and clenching your fingers into fists. Ari held you down to prevent any squirming as Curtis personally tattooed your skin. 

One thigh presents a scary black&white skull, shrouded in darkness. With a bleeding red rose crunched between its teeth. Drops of blood are painted as dripping into scratched out letters below, forming his name - Curtis.

On your other thigh is a female's head - your portrait. All dark stencil, no color. Two skeleton hands gripping you. One is wrapped around your throat, letters of Ari's name written on each bony knuckle. Two fingers of the other hand are pushed in your tattooed version's mouth.

Ari bounces one of his legs and you know that it's a sign for you. You slip between the table and the couch and sit down in Ari's lap. 

His arm moves from the backrest to curl around your back. You lean into him, resting your side against his chest. With your fingers you play with the chain around his neck, distracting yourself from the scene unfolding.

They ask the man something. Their voices are steady, but deadly serious. The man sounds pitched, stuttering. Others would laugh at him for such “unmanly” reaction, but you understand that core-deep terror and how the scrutiny of the two bikers turns you into a pathetic mess.

You tune out whatever they're saying. You don't want to hear the begging for mercy, because you know it won't come. 

Ari and Curtis share a look. A silent agreement passing between them. 

Some people make the mistake of assuming that Ari is the leader and Curtis his main enforcer. That couldn't be farther from the truth. 

They both rule. Equally. Each decision is unanimous. 

It just so happens that Ari often takes the talking part and Curtis the executioner’s. 

It’s Curtis who moves now, too. Extremely fast for his massive body. His hand curls around the man's throat, squeezing it hard. Not just in warning. He drags the flailing man away, just by holding him by the neck.  

You don't watch where he's being taken, nor who takes over. You don't want to see. Besides, Ari commands your attention.

He grips your hips and in a swift move has you straddling him. One hand moves up, to cup your chin, while he slides the other hand over his tattoo of ownership and under your dress.

He brings your face closer, with a swipe of his tongue coaxing your lips to part wider. When he kisses you, you melt into him all pliant. Your own tongue gives a little kitten lick, which you know Ari really likes. 

He probes further between your thighs, tattooed fingers touching your bare folds.

“No panties, little lamb?” Ari’s breath tickles your lips. His voice is sweet and tempting like molasses, but also deceptive and suffocating like a tar. 

“Is it because you’re a good girl, or a bad girl?” he chuckles, spreading you at the seam.

A moan rolls out on your tongue as his fingers expertly draw out your wetness. It was your doom from the very beginning, how easily both of them played your body, despite your emotional state being far from turned on. But they taught you to crave it. Got you addicted to their touch, to the teasing, as well to the merciless fucking. 

“Both,” you roll your hips against Ari’s hand. 

“Duality of a woman,” he chuckles, nipping your chin. The hand cupping your face drifts lower, his tattooed fingers curling around the front of your neck. “But you’re going to take the good girl route, lamb,” Ari hisses, clenching his fingers tighter.

With his grip around your throat, he pushes you backwards. Your back rests on his legs, head bowed backwards, almost touching the coffee table. 

His fingers keep circling your clit, then dipping lower to gather your slick and rub it all over your folds. When he pushes a single digit in, your walls resist at first. But Ari’s an unyielding beast, forcing you open and making you keen. 

There are people around, you’re aware of them. No protests, however, would stop either Ari or Curtis from taking what they want. When they want. Wherever they want. Humiliation simmers beneath your skin, but it’s buried deeper than arousal that Ari ignites. 

There’s also a certain comfort, because while he displays your body publicly, it’s for his and Curtis’ eyes only. Nobody would dare watch you.  

Your back arches as Ari thrusts a second finger along with his middle one. You stretch your arms above your head, fingers gripping the edge of the coffee table. His hand slides from your throat across your chest and down your belly, until it settles on your hip to help hold you in place. 

He fucks you with his fingers long enough to have you dripping onto his lap, your core clenching as he rubs your swollen nub with his thumb. 

But then he withdraws with an obscene squelch, which thankfully gets lots in the sexy beat filling the club. 

Ari unzips his jeans, giving his thick cock a few strokes, smearing your slick all over. Both hands gripping your hips, he yanks you closer and spears your cunt in one stroke. 

Your scream of his name makes him grin. Lips curling in a triumphant, sinister smirk, Ari moves your body to meet his thrusts. He loves the way your body just gives in to whatever he wants to do to you. And the remnants of resistance taste so delicious when he breaks through them. 

“That’s it, lamb.” He taunts when your pussy tightens around him. 

With you bowed back, your hips arched, his cock gets to ram into that sweet spot that turns you into a messy slut. Over and over again. 

Your nipples poke through the fabric of your dress, your mouth falls open, spluttering incoherent sounds and mewls. You make a beautiful, ruined view. Though no, not yet ruined enough. But they will work on that. 

Ari’s gaze travels from your bouncing breasts, nearly spilling out of your dress, down to where your puffy folds hug his cock. Glistening, pink tightness that stretches around his intrusion. 

Their perfect pussy.

“Go on. Come all over my cock, like a good girl,” he speeds up his pace slightly, thumbs rubbing back and forth along the junctures of your thighs. 

You fall over the edge with a helpless cry, pleasure rolling through you in heated waves. And it goes on as Ari continues to fuck you through it. He starts pulling you to him harder. Hungrier. Burying his cock to the hilt, your wetness smearing over his jeans. Rough edge of the zipper bites into your skin each time your buttocks press into his pelvis.

A silhouette appears above you. A dark, threatening shape against the strobe lights.

Curtis’ head tilts to the side as he looks down at you. He holds a tumbler of whiskey in his hand, which he brings to his lips. He takes a sip, watching you writhe in pleasure. 

He dips two of his fingers in the amber liquid before bending down to slide them between your parted lips. Spicy flavor trickles down your throat. Your tongue struggles against the pressure of digits, which Curtis keeps pressing against it. 

He feels your saliva pooling around his fingers. Though the music in the club drowns out the sound, he feels your gurgling as you’re kept on that edge between choking and freedom. 

After a beat he pulls back and sits on the sofa beside Ari. A part of you wants to look his way and assess what torment he’s brewing for you, but you fear to know. Also the pleasure Ari keeps stoking is too distracting to focus on anything else. 

Until calloused fingers circle your swollen clit with purpose. 

You’re not so out of it yet to not know it’s Curtis' hand. Ari’s are clamped on your hips, moving you like a ragdoll. 

He draws tight circles. Slow ones, then a few faster, then slow again. You whine, jerking in Ari’s iron grip. His low laugh indicates he won’t be coming to your aid; not when your sensitive nub being played with provides him so much pleasure, because your cunt tightens anew. 

Curtis’ touch disappears for a second. Only to come back with heavy torment.

His palm lands a smack on your clit, causing you to cry out. 

Your thighs tremble, muscles tensing as instinct urges you to close them and protect yourself from the torment. But you’re spread open, Ari’s body nestled between your thighs and holding them open. 

Curtis slaps your clit again and your body bows. One of your arms reaches down, trying to shield yourself. Strong fingers cage your wrist. 

“Don’t even try it, lamb.” Curtis leans forward and growls; he clenches his fingers on your wrist. “Keep your hands away from our pussy.” 

With a whine, you stretch your arm above your head. Your wrist pulses with pain. 

Curtis’ palm pats your mound. His fingers dive back to your clit, drawing wicked eights that contrast with the steady, rough pounding Ari continues. 

“You may squirm and cry, lamb,” Curtis teases, “but you’re going to cum from having your clit spanked. And you’re going to cream all over Ari’s cock, like a good little slut.”

Five more swats deliver his prediction. 

Your whole body seems to lock in a spasm, your very fingertips turn numb. Ari groans a curse as your pussy tightens like a vise, your silky walls clinging to him desperately. Despite the tightness, there’s so much wetness leaking around his cock and onto his lap. 

Your temples are wet, too; tears streaming along with your smudged mascara. 

As your orgasm continues to roll, your cunt finally eases some of the tension. But the aftershocks have your walls rhythmically pulsing, which turns out to be enough to stimulate Ari’s cock. 

It twitches inside of you and your pussy clenches in response. Ari moans, digging his fingers into your skin and jerking his hips. Hot, thick ropes of cum fill you. 

They keep you tipped back until the last drop of his spend pours into you. When they finally pull you up and Ari’s cock slips out, you know to clench as hard as you can, to spill as little of his cum as possible. 

Ari swallows your ragged breath, taking your mouth in gentler possession than he’s taken your body. Your clasped hands rest against his chest and you lean in sweetly, with a little needy mewl. He gives you that softer kiss you’re pleading for. 

They arrange you, spreading you on both of their laps. Your lower half rests on Ari’s thighs, his big hands slowly rubbing warmth into your calves and up your thighs. Your upper body rests in Curtis’ lap, head tipped on his thigh. 

You look up at him; his cold, blue eyes holding your gaze.

Once again he dips his fingers into whiskey and brings them to your lips. You suckle obediently. 

On the third pass, Curtis presses his fingers deeper and holds them. On the fourth, he not only pushes them against your tongue, but hooks down so that your jaw opens wider. 

He spits into your mouth. 

When he withdraws his fingers, you swallow without prompting. Some responses they have conditioned into you. 

Ari’s hand slides between your thighs and up. His fingers dip into the sticky mess pooling between your folds, despite your attempts at holding it in. You can’t stifle the moan that spills as he pushes two fingers into your aching hole. But that sound cuts short when Curtis’ whiskey-soaked fingers fill your mouth again. 

Three this time. Forced to the back of your throat, making you gag. 

Curtis holds them in, until your eyes tear up. Then starts fucking your mouth slowly, but always deep, always making you choke. 

Ari curls his fingers, but doesn’t move. Just wiggles them slightly, driving you mad with the teasing so close to your g-spot. 

Your saliva coats Curtis’ fingers, strings of spit smearing on your chin each time he withdraws before forcing his hand back in. He pries your mouth open, tugging your tongue out. Rubbing the pads of his fingers against your tongue, he spits into your mouth again. 

You keep your mouth open, tongue sticking out, when Curtis moves his hand away. He didn’t tell you to close your lips and the jangle of the belt buckle suggests he’d be ordering to open it again, anyway. Tip of his cock brushes your cheek when Curtis takes it out. He grips the base in one hand; his other slips to the back of your head. 

You turn your head as he guides you, tongue flicking against the veiny underside of cock that fills your mouth. 

It’s more difficult to take a lot of him in this position, on your side, with your cheek pressed against the harsh fabric of his black jeans. Curtis forces it anyway, careless of the choking sounds you make. 

Using his hold on your hair, he starts moving your head. Steady, but always uncomfortably far; causing your body to tense as gag reflex kicks in too hard.

“Want her to come, while she’s sucking you?” Ari asks, wiggling his fingers in your tight channel. They both laugh when you moan at the stimulation. 

“Not yet.” Curtis shakes his head. His gaze drifts down to you as he holds your head in place. “She’s going to warm my cock while I make some calls. And wait for her reward like a good girl. Right lamb?” He strokes your cheek with the back of his hand.

Everything is pulsing - from the changing beat reverberating through the walls of the club; the buzz of the gang members going across the VIP floor this and that way; the throbbing of Curtis cock in your mouth; to your clit demanding attention. 

Like he said, Curtis holds two phone calls. Each long and detailed, though you’re sure it’s not because he needed all that information. He wanted you to suffer. Ari’s fingers keep moving. Constantly. But too light, too slow, not deep enough. Yet he has you dripping all over his hand; which he keeps angled in a way that deprives your clit of any stimulation. 

Your whole body rouses to attention, almost giddy, when Curtis finally ends the call and tosses his phone to the side. 

He looks down at you and grins; as beautiful as sinister looking. 

He traces his fingers along your cheek, with deceiving tenderness. It’s gone in a blink of an eye. He fists your hair and pulls you down on him, at the same time thrusting his hips up. 

Along with him, Ari starts fucking you with his fingers. 

You’re gagging each time Curtis makes your nose press against the fabric of his jeans. Sloppy, gurgling noises of your mouth moving along dick match the lewd sound of squelching as Ari’s fingers push in and out of your pussy. 

Though there’s relentless build-up, your orgasm hits unexpectedly, as if forced by one particular thrust. Your body tensens like a string, toes curling. You twist to the side as much as they’ll allow you, digging your fingers into Curtis’ ribs. Your moans vibrate around his cock, making his hips jerk into you sharply. 

He slides even deeper and your lungs constrict from lack of air. Tears stream down your cheeks. Your throat closes around intrusion, causing Curtis to grunt in peak pleasure. 

When salty warmth spills suddenly down your throat, your vision goes black for a few seconds. 

Your breath returns in a sharp intake, a small coughing fit following when Curtis mercifully rolls your head away. His cock is still throbbing, spurting ropes of cum into your mouth and across your face. 

He slides the tip into your mouth again and you close your lips around it, hollow your cheeks and suck the last drops. 

Ari’s hand retreats from between your thighs. He licks his fingers clean, savoring the flavor of your combined spend. When he reaches for his own glass of whiskey it’s not to chase away the taste. 

Curtis downs the rest of his drink, too, before tucking himself back into his pants. He unties the skull-printed bandana from around his neck and uses it to clean your face. 

They help you up into a sitting position, keeping you between them. Ari brings his glass to your lips, giving you a sip. You grimace. You were never a fan of whiskey, but what’s worse is that spicy booze doesn’t help the burning in your mouth and throat. But then Ari’s scooping a half-melted ice cube from the tumbler and slips it between your lips. You hum appreciatively as the cold water soothes your used throat. 

You stay curled between them for a few more minutes. They’re not touchy, definitely not cuddlers; but they remain close to you. Their warmth keeps you anchored. When they put you on your feet some time later, you stumble slightly. It wasn’t the hardest fucking they ever subjected you to, but you’re tired nonetheless. 

You slide your arms into the sleeves of Curtis’ black leather jacket when he offers it to you. It’s soaked in his scent and so warm. 

You bury your nose in the collar of the jacket as you sit in the backseat of the car when Max takes you back to the penthouse. The city may be shiny with lights and neons, but the darkness holding it in its grasp is undeniable. And the grim reapers behind that darkness are gliding the streets with a roar. 

On their motorcycles, Ari and Curtis flank the car you’re in. Escorting you back to your forever prison. 

[paleprincessturtle]

dad!Harvey playing in the snow with his baby girl 🥺🥺🥺🥺 Im getting so soft for dad!harvey im sorry in advance bc im gonna tell you all of my ideas😋 - @lafantasiaworld

Thank you @lafantasiaworld for the request and please do keep 'em coming! I hope you enjoy this one!

Yes yes yes, I got carried away (again) writing this. But who could resist dad!Harvey?!?!?!

GOLDEN GLOW

"Sunny, still not feeling well?" Harvey caressed the cheek of his sleeping wife. Harvey decided to bring his family over to Aspen for a vacation after the new year. His wife opened her eyes, and Harvey sat down beside her on the bed. "I don't feel too good, but I feel a little better," his wife answered, tiresome lingered in her voice. "I'm sorry, I got sick on our vacation," she continued as Harvey shook his head. "Nothing is more important than for you to get better." Harvey leaned down and kissed the tip of his wife's nose. She giggled, and relief washed over him. At least she could giggle now. A familiar pitter-patter approached the room, about to disturb the silence Harvey and his wife were enjoying. "Daddy!!!" the high-pitched voice announced her arrival before anyone could see the source of the voice. Both Harvey and his wife laughed. Guilt heaved in her heart. They were supposed to go outside and play in the snow. "Daddy, you told me not to bother mommy; why are you bothering her?" the little girl said as she approached the large bed both her parents shared. She wiggled herself around and tried to get onto the bed. The little girl stood on the bed, holding Harvey's face in her tiny arms. "Daddy, answer," she demanded, all serious. His wife laughed at the antics her firstborn always threw. "Daddy was just checking up on me, my sweet girl." The little girl looked at his mom, then looked back at his father. "Do you really?" she questioned her father still. "Yes, my little dove." Harvey grinned as he answered. His daughter was very persistent, much like her father. "Come on!" Harvey hoisted his little girl as he stood up. "Let's let mommy rest so we can go out and play in the snow." His little girl squealed and wriggled out of Harvey's arms. "We really will?" Harvey's heart warmed at the sight of his daughter's eyes, gleaming with joy. "Go on and bundle up. Do you need help?" Harvey offered, as his daughter had already taken off running from the bedroom and heard a distant no.

"Daddy! Why are you taking so long?" Harvey laughed heartily as he heard the impatience of his daughter. Clarice Sophia Specter. A daughter who looked like an exact copy of her father. She acted exactly like her father, but with the eyes of her mother. She made a spectacle even before she was born. Arrived a week early when her mother was in the courtroom, defending a falsely accused man. The moment Harvey looked into the eyes of his newborn daughter, he swore that she would be the death of him. Harvey walked over to his daughter, who was tapping her tiny boots impatiently over the hardwood floor. "You are taking like forever and more, daddy," she pouted, reaching her hand up for Harvey to hold. Harvey took her tiny hand in his. "The shoelaces on my boots were tangled up, Soph." Harvey offered her an explanation as he looked down at his daughter. Sophia then proceeded to look at her father's boots and examine the boots for any further errors regarding the shoelaces. "Be careful, daddy. Don't get hurt," her little eyes wandered over Harvey's. Harvey kneeled over her daughter. "I won't. Don't worry about me, little dove. Thank you for checking up on me." Harvey kissed her daughter on her plump cheek, and she giggled. "You're welcome, but come on, daddy! Let's go play; come on, come on!"

"Sophia! Slow down!" Harvey called as she ran off and bolted out as soon as he opened the cabin's door. Harvey tried to catch up with his daughter. Harvey finally saw his daughter in the clearing of the forest near the cabin they rented. The snowflakes gently danced from the sky, creating a magical scene. Sophia twirled around, arms outstretched, trying to catch the delicate flakes on her tongue. Harvey's heart warmed at the sight of his daughter, so young and innocent. Upon realizing that her father was watching her, she called him, "Daddy, look!" Sophia twirled again, and she ran to Harvey, tongue out. She stood in front of Harvey, pointing at her tongue. Harvey laughed. "The snowflakes have already melted, sweetheart." Sophia pouted, "But didn't you see?" She asked, all excited. "Yes, Soph. I saw all the snowflakes you caught." She giggled upon hearing her father's answer.

Sophia, adorned in her colorful snowsuit, eagerly tugged on her father's hand, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Daddy daddy, let's make snow angels, and we take pictures and we show mommy!" Harvey couldn't resist his daughter's infectious enthusiasm. He chuckled warmly and agreed. "There, Soph, you go first while I take a video of you to send to mommy." Harvey pointed to a rather flat layer of snow. Sophia pouted as she looked up at Harvey. "Daddy, we do it together." Harvey was touched by her daughter's answer. "Come on then, I'll race you there!" Harvey ran off, earning a protest from the little Miss Specter. Harvey ran slower, letting her daughter win. "Me win, me win!" Sophia danced as Harvey pretended to be out of breath. "Wow, I should tell mommy that Sophia is now a big girl!" Harvey exclaimed as he tackled his daughter to the snow, making sure it wasn't a hard fall. Sophia giggled joyously as Harvey joined her in a fit of laughter. The two of them laid down on the snow as their laughter died down. "Daddy, why is mommy sick?" Harvey looked at his daughter as the pair of identical eyes of his wife stared back at him. "Remember we told you that you were going to be a big sister?" Sophia nodded. "Mommy got sick because carrying a baby is a hard job, Soph." Harvey could see his daughter's eyebrows knit together. "Mommy got sick because of the baby?" Harvey shook his head. "No, mommy was just tired because she has been a superhero for us. Carrying your baby brother, taking care of me and you, and she also has to work." Sophia nodded, satisfied by her father's answer. "I love you, my little dove," Harvey said as he kissed the top of his daughter's head. "No, daddy, I love you more than you love me." Harvey was about to argue when his daughter cut him off. "Now, watch, daddy. This is how you make snow angels." Sophia moved her hands and legs, showing her father how to make snow angels, as if her father were clueless on how to do so. Harvey smiled as he watched her daughter, heart full of love. 

As they strolled through the snow-covered streets, Harvey couldn't help but marvel at his daughter's unbridled happiness. Sophia, however, had a mischievous glint in her eye. She scooped up a handful of snow and playfully tossed it at her father, who pretended to be surprised.

"Daddy, let's build a snowman!" she exclaimed, her eyes shining with creativity.

The duo set to work, packing and shaping the snow into a round base. With each pat and roll, Sophia and her father bonded over shared laughter and the simple joy of creating something together. Soon, their snowman stood proudly, adorned with a carrot nose, button eyes, and a colorful scarf Harvey had prepared.

As the day unfolded, Sophia and Harvey engaged in a spirited snowball fight. Laughter echoed through the air as they dodged and giggled, leaving behind a trail of footprints in the freshly fallen snow. Harvey couldn't help but feel a deep sense of contentment, cherishing the special moments spent with his daughter.

The sun began to set, casting a warm, golden glow over the snowy landscape. Sophia and her father, rosy-cheeked and filled with happiness, headed back to the cabin. They kicked off their snowy boots, shedding layers of winter gear.

After Harvey cooked both his wife and daughter dinner and sent his wife back to bed, he walked out of the bedroom with Sophia in tow. "Will mommy be okay?" Worry was etched in his daughter's voice. "Don't worry, mommy is getting better," Harvey reassured Sophia, and she nodded. Hand in hand, they headed back downstairs. Harvey's heart heaved. He never had this much time with his daughter, and now the day is about to end. The next time he knew, Sophia would be 17, going against every single thing Harvey said.

Wrapped in blankets, Sophia nestled against her father, their hearts warmed not only by the crackling fire but also by the precious memories created in the magical snowfluff of that winter day. "I love you so much, Soph," Harvey whispered against Sophia's soft hair. "I know, daddy. I love you much more too," Sophia replied, also whispering.

And so, in the quiet embrace of each other, the father-daughter duo drifted into a dreamland, where snowflakes continued to dance and their laughter echoed in the winter night, creating a timeless tale of love and joy.

MASTERLIST

[lynzishell]

The Present 🤍 San Myshuno

Prev // Next

Transcript below the cut:

Phoenix: Hello?

Phoenix: Hellooooo

Phoenix: Hm. I guess no one’s home.

Aspen: [high pitched scream] BOO!! Phoenix: [exaggerated gasp] AH! You scared me!

Aspen: [laughing] Phoenix: You’re gonna get it now! Aspen: [laughing harder]

Phoenix: [monster noises] Aspen: [squealing] Mommy help! Dawn: [laughing] Sorry, kiddo, you got yourself into this.

Aspen: [giggling]

Phoenix: How’s she been? Dawn: So fun. She’s already clogged the toilet twice today. Once with one of her toys, and then with my hairbrush.

Aspen: They go swimming. Phoenix: Swimming huh? Well maybe your toys should swim in the bathtub. Aspen: No. Toilet. Pssshhhh!!!

Phoenix: Sounds like we need to childproof the toilets now. Dawn: Yep. Phoenix: Annie, how ‘bout you go play so I can say hi to mom.

Dawn: Welcome home. Phoenix: I missed you. Dawn: I missed you too. So much. Phoenix: So much.

[katewritesthings]

Love Me Like I Can // Chapter 3

Chapter // Kiss You Masterlist Summary: Diana attends the PCAs and has a guest join her afterwards.

*Warnings: Language, drug use, sexual content, mental health struggles.

February 18, 2024

Diana was over the People’s Choice Awards already and she hadn’t stepped foot on the red carpet yet. Awards shows had always given her some sort of stage fright, but the feeling was multiplied tonight. Being nominated for an award individually and as a member of the cast was an honor, but she wished she could politely attend via satellite. 

The redhead was currently doing a puzzle and getting her hair curled in the living room of her hotel suite, anxiety bubbling in her stomach. Cathy was sitting on a stool at the island sending emails and attempting to give Diana and Biz the rundown of how the evening would go.

“You’re going to do the red carpet and please for the love of God, Diana, try to appear like you’re not being held at gunpoint,” the older woman said, knowing that interviews were the last thing the singer wanted to do before the awards ceremony. “You’re only going to stop for the host and IHeartRadio to plug your new tour.”

“Okay, I can do that,” Diana sucked in a deep breath, mentally preparing herself for the questions that would be asked. Her phone buzzed in her lap, indicating a text from Joe, making a joke about one of the trainers at the gym. He had taken the initiative to text Diana the night of their hangout and communication had been constant since. Picking through another handful of pieces from the pile in front of her, she picked out the two end pieces and sorted the rest by color.

“Once you’re in there, you and Biz will be seated at a table with Dove. I think Chloe and Halle are there, too. You’re not obligated to any after-parties, but please let me know if you’ll be going to one so I can have security on standby.”

Diana flushed a deep scarlet as she responded to Joe when she heard her sister snort, causing Cathy to look up from her laptop. Glancing between the sisters with an untrusting look, she waited momentarily before commanding, “Spill. Now.”

“Diana won’t be going to any after-parties because she’s getting a special delivery during the awards,” Biz teased, wrapping a section around the curling iron and spraying it with hair spray. “No, that’s not enough. I need details. Now.” Cathy was now using her stern voice, causing the sisters to stand up straight. Diana froze in place, fingers grasping at a corner piece she had been looking for. “I tried to tell him no! His flight lands at 8. No one was supposed to know!” Diana spat out frantically, trying to explain to Cathy why she had made plans without approval.

“Joe’s flying across the country to hang out with her because she’s nervous about tonight and he liiiikes her,” Biz elaborated when Cathy didn’t look satisfied with Diana’s answer. “Now, hold still before I burn you.”

“He does not! We’re just friends,” Diana squealed, not wanting her manager to get too invested in whatever was happening between her and Joe. Cathy had been her maternal figure for longer than her actual mother had, getting hired at the start of Diana’s career 14 years ago. She had picked up Diana’s broken pieces too many times to count and was extremely protective of her. Even though Cathy had been the one to put them in contact, Diana didn’t want to bring up the idea until she knew what the butterflies in her stomach meant whenever she saw his name on her phone.

“Okay. Well, you and your friend need to stay in the hotel tonight then. You don’t check out until Tuesday. Elizabeth and I leave at 11, tonight,” Cathy said with a sigh. Then softening her features, she looked at Diana directly. “Be safe and have fun, Di. Let yourself relax.” She then turned her attention back to the laptop in front of her. 

-----

February 10, 2024

Joe’s face illuminated her Macbook screen, filling Diana in on his recent trip to Aspen. He was in the middle of telling Diana the story of how Irv missed the ski lift on their first trip up the hill when a ‘ding’ rang from DIana’s phone. Comfort washed over her when she recognized the notification and not another text from Connor on a random number. In the past week, he had texted her from two different numbers saying he still had some of her belongings and that he’d like to talk to her in person. Both numbers were promptly blocked and pushed to the back of Diana’s mind.

“Sorry to interrupt, but I have to read this work email, give me a sec,” Diana said, opening the email app on her screen. Eyes scanning the itinerary that Cathy just sent her, her heart fell into her stomach.

“What’s wrong?” Joe asked, sensing the shift of emotions through the screen.

“I just got my itinerary for my LA trip next week. I forgot Biz had class the day after, so she’s leaving before I am,” Diana breathed, pulling at her lip. Diana had scheduled a last-minute writing session the day after the awards and just had assumed Biz would extend her stay as well. She was even planning on squeezing in a late Galentine’s Day lunch with Dove. 

Joe’s eyes observed her for a moment, still learning how to read her emotions. Though their video calls weren’t a rare thing over the past two weeks, he had yet to encounter this emotion in them. 

“Talk to me, Di. How are you feeling?” Joe’s voice cut through the voice of anxiety that was hounding her, coming up with increasingly more ridiculous scenarios. Trying to rid the idea that the entire ceremony was a set-up to show her how alone she was, she tried to explain “I guess I’m just anxious. I never really wanted to be on reality TV and my EP came out after the deadline, so I feel like I shouldn’t be invited. On top of being under a microscope because of everyone else going to be there. Just afraid I’m going to be in my head. It just seems like a lot to process alone, y’know?”

“Do you want someone to come stay with you?” Joe didn’t hesitate with his response, concern dripping from his voice. Diana felt her face heat up, unsure whether she was presumptuous in taking that as an offer to be the one to stay with her.

“I couldn’t ask anyone to do that. I only have like 12 free hours” Diana busied herself by locating her grinder and wraps and beginning the rolling process. Attempting to hide her embarrassment that she had no one, Diana made a joke at her own expense, “Plus, my Game of Thrones marathon probably is a lot less appealing to anyone than the afterparties that are going to be happening.”

“That’s not what I asked. I asked if you want someone to come stay with you.” Joe’s voice was now more serious, but the concerned look hadn’t left his face when Diana looked up. When their eyes met, Diana opened her mouth to speak but was cut off by Joe. He was scrolling on his iPad, eyebrows furrowed.

“The only flight I could get in on Sunday was right before the show,” Joe said, looking up from his iPad. “I booked it, we’ll figure out the rest later.”

Diana was genuinely surprised at the initiative. While the two had been texting every day and they had found time to FaceTime a handful of times after Diana got out of her writing sessions the past week, the topic of seeing each other again hadn’t come up. Something Diana was fine with, as she was having a hard enough time fully understanding what she was feeling for Joe. She found it easier to keep telling herself that she wasn’t developing a crush on Joe when their conversations focused on their daily activities, Game of Thrones, and the fun facts Joe had been sending her every day.

Fortunately for Diana’s nature, the writing sessions she had been in the past week had been focused on four songs she had brought to the group, all starting at different points in her healing journey. The three other writers she was working with helped her take the bare bones of songs she had presented and helped her work them into something that she couldn’t wait to record next month. The process allowed her mind to focus on the emotions she was working through when she first began the song. Unfortunately, this process uncovered trauma that she hadn’t expected, making a new relationship seem even scarier. While she knew that she had no feelings left for her ex, the betrayal he left had opened old wounds. The voices of inadequacy and abandonment she had felt since her mother had left were the loudest they had been in almost fifteen years. For all of these reasons, Diana knew she should refuse Joe’s offer to come stay, again. And yet, she didn’t.

“Thank you, you really didn’t need to do that,” Diana heard her voice before she realized she was talking. 

“I know I didn’t need to. I help my friends out. Plus, I wanted to see you, consider this an excuse.”

And with that, the singer decided she was going to avoid the fondness she was growing towards the athlete on her screen, and just enjoy his friendship. 

-----

February 18, 2024

“Diana! Over here! Look over here!” 

“Pose for us Red!”

“Can you give us a wave, Di!”

Flashes blinded  Diana as she made her way off the red carpet and into the venue where the People’s Choice Awards was being held. Honestly, this red carpet was better than she had expected this morning. The promise that she would only stop for two interviews had brightened her mood exponentially. The iHeartRadio interviewer looked like he was itching to ask her about The Cheating Incident,  but thankfully followed Cathy’s instructions to keep the topics limited. 

Making a beeline for the bar and immediately downing her first flute of champagne, Diana immediately grabbed two more and mentally prepared herself for the rest of the night as she attempted to spot her sister in the sea of people.. Double-fisting her way through the crowd, she thought about how she was always envious that Biz got to skip the pictures and could just walk in the back. Biz always responded that she was jealous that Diana got the vocal range and insisted it was a fair trade. 

Spotting her sister’s face across the room, Diana began weaving through the crowd of impossibly beautiful people. Mindful of the fact that the room was being live-streamed to hundreds of thousands of people, Diana made sure to keep her expression neutral while on her journey. This was the first time she was going to be in the same room as Bedford Scrolls since October and both Diana and the pop-culture-loving world were hyperaware.  She hadn’t seen them yet, but it was better to be one step ahead than be caught with a meme-able reaction on Live TV.

A little over halfway across the room, Diana’s vigilance proved to not be enough when she felt a hand on her right arm.  Diana was so caught off guard by the unexpected touch and focusing on not spilling her champagne that it took hearing the person’s voice to recognize the person. 

“Don’t worry, babe. I got ya,” the familiar voice of Kyle, the drummer of Bedford Scrolls, filled Diana’s ears. “He just left to go to the bathroom and bar before the show starts.” Relief fled through Diana’s body as she processed his words and finally opened her arms for a hug. She may have been angry with Connor, but the band was just as clueless about the affair as Diana was. Their support over the last few months had been constant and loud, always being the first to let Connor know that what he did was wrong. “I just wanted to say hi before he came back,”  Kyle wrapped Diana’s smaller frame in a hug before pulling away. “We tried to get him to stay home, but he insisted that he’s why we’re nominated.” Diana gave Kyle a knowing look, eyebrows raised. Connor had always had somewhat of an ego, but with rose-colored glasses of love, Diana had always just taken it as confidence. “He seriously needs to get over himself,” she scoffed in response.

“I should warn you, he’s on one tonight. Hannah entered a mental health center Friday and he hasn’t stopped talking about seeing you since.” “Fuck,” Diana muttered, a fake smile plastered on her face as she spotted the camera behind Kyle’s shoulder panning in her direction. “He’s not planning on talking to me here, is he?”

“No, no. Gavin’s got him on tight orders to not communicate with anyone besides us tonight. Even followed him to the bathroom,” Kyle smiled, referring to the security guard who had been with the band for years. The idea that the man in his 50s was following her shithead ex around for the night turned her smile real.

“Good. How is April?” she asked, changing the subject to Kyle’s family. The two caught up for a moment, exchanging stories about Kyle’s wife and Diana’s writing. It wasn’t long, though, before Kyle looked over Diana’s shoulder and his eyes faltered. “He’s coming back over, you should go. You look lovely, good luck.” Kyle said before enveloping Diana in another tight hug. It was weird, she thought to herself as she returned to her original mission, she missed the band that she lost more than she missed the man. 

Making it to her assigned table without any more interruptions, Diana slid into the chair between her sister and Dove. They were seated at a table with cast members from another reality show that Diana felt guilty to admit she didn’t recognize. Luckily, they were engulfed in their own world and paying no attention to the addition to the table.

“Hello, beautiful,” Dove greeted, resting her head on Diana’s shoulder with a smile. The two had been introduced at some industry Christmas event and had quickly fallen into an innocent flirtatious friendship whenever in the same room. The conversation between the two quickly drifted towards the upcoming tour that both of them would be on.

“I cannot wait to perform in front of a crowd, again. It’s been so long,” Diana said excitedly to the dark-haired Disney darling.

“You’re going to do amazing. I can’t wait to watch you perform,” Dove said, winking at the red-headed singer. Diana felt her cheeks fill with heat, as she shook her head.

“Don’t shake your head, your songs are sexy. I can’t wait to hear you sing them,” Dove let out a giggle, but it sounded genuine, not condescending. “Plus, a tour with all girls is amazing! It’s like a girl’s night every night!”

Before long, the ceremony began and Diana tried her best to look equally excited for each nominee. Diana wasn’t sure if it was the fourth glass of champagne she was working on or her nerves, but the night was passing quicker than she had imagined. Her phone buzzed from her lap, pulling her attention away from the stage where Dua Lipa was performing.

Joe 

Watching what I can. That dress is incredible on you Good luck!

Instinctively a smile spread across Diana’s lips as the end of Dua’s song faded out. The presenters for the next award came on stage and Biz nudged her sister’s side to catch her attention. “This is your category.”

Sarah Hyland and Renee Rapp were at the microphone, introducing the Favorite Reality TV Star of the Year nominees. Diana looked up just as her face appeared on the screens on stage along with the other nominees. Renee said her name and a clip from Band Together’s last episode began playing on the dozens of monitors filling the room. Diana heard her heartbroken voice fill the auditorium and prepared herself for the scene that began to roll.

“I was ride or fucking die for you. And I was her hype-man, too. The fact that she continued to smile in my face while smiling on FaceTime with you is one of the most god-awful, disgusting things I have ever heard.” Diana was curled up in a blanket, Connor pacing around the living room they shared at the time. 

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” the bassist said, emotionless, taking a seat on the armchair across the room from Di.

“Why don’t you be sorry you ever fucking did it?!”

“Look, I was wrong, I get it. But I didn’t mean for it to happen that way. I don’t know what you want from me!” Connor was looking at Diana like he was the heartbroken one.

“For you to die.”

The screens cut back to the crowd reactions of the nominees as Renee and Tina continued to read off the next nominees’ names as their scenes played. Diana took a deep breath and reminded herself that she was the one nominated, not Connor. Even if she lost, she couldn’t be painted as the bad guy he attempted to set up on the show this past season.

Diana must have zoned out for the rest of the nominees, because before she knew it Tina opened her mouth to say, “And the winner for Favorite Reality TV  Star goes to…” before opening the envelope and announcing the winner in sync with Renee.

“Diana Hayes for Band Together!”

Biz shrieked next to the singer and the rest of the table stood up to shower her in praise and congratulations before she made her way to the stage. In utter shock, Diana began the journey to the stairs in shock that the public had chosen her as their favorite Reality TV star because of the way she stood up for herself. The proof was playing in the background behind her as she took to the stage.

Connor was still sitting on the armchair across from Diana, head in his hands, fake crying. Taking place moments after the last scene that played, Diana was still stone-faced, but heartbroken on the couch.

“I regret ever standing up for you, defending you. I regret supporting you and putting my career on hold for you. You’re worth nothing. And I want you to hear my words, the woman who stood by you and loved you, the woman who would have built my whole life around you, and know that’s how I feel about you. I regret ever loving you.”

Diana’s last words to Connor played over the speakers while the room applauded. The surreal feeling of people cheering after one of the rawest, most painful moments of her life played on a giant screen for everyone to watch.. At least she wasn’t Connor right now.

“Wow, really. I didn’t expect this at all, really. I didn’t even think of writing a speech because I thought this was impossible. Reality TV was never something I considered my thing. In fact, I quit before I even got nominated for this.” Diana joked and the audience gave a soft laugh, relieving some of the tension in the star’s shoulders. “Thank you to anyone who voted for me, watched the show, and streamed my new EP. Thank you for telling me that I still have a spot in this industry if I want it. Thank you to all my new friends who have shown me that my world didn’t crumble, it just got a cruel upgrade. I can’t wait to see you on tour!”

The crowd applauded and Diana heard wolf whistles coming from somewhere she couldn’t distinguish through the tears. She was in complete shock still, blown away by the fact that she had won a fan-voted award against the likes of a Kardashian. Walking off stage and to the press room, she heard the presenters for Favorite Reality TV Show come on stage. After the reading of the nominees, she heard the voice announce Band Together as the winner and watched the backstage monitor as the band ascended the stage.

Miles, the frontman of the group, approached the microphone first. “First of all, we’d like to thank the fans of our band and the show for voting for us, you all are amazing.” Kyle walked up next, “And next we’d like to thank the crew who works tirelessly on this show. The amount of hours you all put into us and the finished product is greatly appreciated.” Connor attempted to make his way to the mic, but Kyle and Miles stepped in front of him as Isla leaned into the microphone. “And finally, we’d like to thank the real reason this show even got recognized. We can’t say names, but you know who you are and your fanbase knows who you are. Thank you for being such a force and finding strength when it seemed impossible.” Music started playing the band off stage as Connor struggled against his bandmates. What they don’t tell you about some charismatic men is that other emotions besides happiness tend to be expressed just as big as their infatuation and happiness. The anger just tends to come at a time after you’ve fallen for the charm and flattery. Diana thanked God that she no longer had to deal with the outburst that came with his anger. 

Still buzzing from being on stage, Diana returned to her seat and checked her phone to mentally prepare herself for the next stressor of the evening: seeing Joe. Sometime while she was away from her purse, Joe had texted and said he’d landed and was on his way to the hotel with a bottle of champagne. Excitement mingled with the adrenaline from winning, easing her nerves about the fact that Joe was staying in her suite. Realistically, it made the most sense as most hotels were booked out all week for the PCAs and Diana would have a two-bedroom suite to herself when Biz left in about an hour and a half.

The rest of the show went on without anything unusual and before long the closing credits began to roll. Standing up with the rest of the group, the Hayes sisters began to say their farewells to the various entertainers who were now mingling amongst themselves. Normally, they would stay and socialize for a moment, but they were on a tight schedule.

“Excuse us, but we’ve got to leave ASAP!” Biz urged while Diana was still chatting with Dove and the Bailey sisters, Chloe and Halle.. Diana made eye contact with her sister just as the younger’s face twisted into a mischievous smirk covering her tipsy face. She opened her mouth again.

“I’ve got a plane and Di’s got a dick to catch, so we’re in a hurry,” the brunette said, her sister’s elbow making contact with her ribs halfway through the sentence. Chloe’s head was thrown back in a full belly laugh and Halle hid her blush behind her hands; the intensity of which only deepened with Dove’s quick response..

“Well, if it’s unsatisfactory and you need someone who knows their way around a lady, I’m always a phone call away,” Dove’s musical voice directed itself to Diana as she pulled her in for a kiss on the cheek. Diana was attempting to formulate a response, but Dove was pulled away by some other former Disney actor. Diana always froze up when pretty girls flirted with her, even if she knew those pretty girls were only joking.

“Damn, she’s got game,” Chloe wheezed between laughs, hugging Diana and Biz goodbye.

Diana spent the ride to her hotel trying to calm her remaining nerves. She and Biz parted ways when they exited the ceremony. Diana left in a blacked-out SUV with Tommy, one of her security guards, while Biz was accompanied by everyone else on Diana’s team.

Just as she was beginning to convince herself that Joe had flown here as an elaborate prank, her phone buzzed with a series of texts. Some of her anxiety faded when she read them.

Joe 

Going to try to do some of this puzzleWhat the hell.You’ve got to be missing pieces…

Diana couldn’t help but smile. At their last hangout, she had joked she was going to make him do a puzzle with her, but they found themselves otherwise indisposed. But the idea of ending such a mentally exhausting night doing her comfort activity with someone who was becoming increasingly more of a comfort for her sounded wonderful.

Sending a text when she got to the hotel to warn Joe of her imminent arrival, Diana took a deep breath and she opened the hotel suite door to face the rest of her night. 

“I feel completely out of place,” Diana laughed out loud at her state of overdress when she finally caught sight of Joe. He was sitting on the living area sofa in front of the puzzle, some History Channel documentary on in the background. He was dressed in a pair of comfortable sweatpants and a Bengals t-shirt that was much more appropriate for the comfort of the hotel room than Diana’s bedazzled dress and heels. 

Joe rose from the couch when he heard her voice, greeting her with a hug that wasn’t as awkward as Diana had expected it to be.

“Congratulations on your win!” Diana could hear the smile in his voice as he pulled away. “You look amazing.” 

“Thank you. Honestly, I was so nervous,” Diana responded meekly, stepping back and setting down her belongings. “You did great,” Joe said walking back to the couch and sitting down in front of the table.”I, on the other hand, cannot figure out this fucking puzzle.” A laugh escaped Diana’s lips as she peaked over the back of the couch. There was not much progress made on the 500-piece puzzle on the mat, but Joe had made diligent work of sorting the pieces by color. 

“You almost finished sorting, though! That’s the worst part.”

Joe turned his head to shoot her a confused look, causing another laugh to fill the room.

“Let me go de-glam and I’ll come help.” With that Diana excused herself to her bedroom. 

-

Diana felt much more comfortable after a quick shower and a change of clothes. Matching Joe’s vibe, Diana sat next to him in a pair of joggers and a tank top staring at the puzzle in front of them. Joe finished sorting the pieces from the box,  while Diana worked on the frame, both drinking champagne from coffee cups that Joe had found. 

“I swear, I tried to find all the end pieces, but there are so many pieces here,” Joe joked, finishing up with the last handful of pieces. 

“This is only 500 pieces you should see some of the 2000-piece ones I have at home,” Diana said proudly, finishing the frame.

“I knew you said you were into puzzles, but I didn’t think it was that serious,” Joe looked at her smiling. 

“They just help me relax, I don’t know. With my ADHD and anxiety, if I don’t keep my mind occupied I spiral.” It was something that Cathy had suggested while watching Diana struggle to manage her mental state during her last tour. Hoping she hadn’t brought down the mood, she glanced over at Joe, whose face still held a faint smile paired with his previous focused look.

“I’m going to be real with you, Di. I do not understand how this could be relaxing, but I totally understand the need to keep busy. I just usually just go to the gym or play video games, though.” 

“The gym is my literal worst nightmare,” Diana said, nose scrunched up. “It’s been mandatory to get ready for tour and it is so exhausting.”

“You just have to find the routine that fits you. If I had to do cardio all day, I’d hate it,” Joe reassured her.

Diana was pleasantly surprised at how easily she found herself relaxing after such an anxiety-inducing night as she and Joe worked on assembling the pieces into an image that resembled the melted crayons on the box.

“So, I saw your updated tour schedule,” Joe spoke, the casual tone in his voice sounding a little off. Diana knew he was referring to the fact that a handful of shows had been added throughout, including one in Cincinnati. 

“Yeah, we had to wait on approval from some venues before we could announce all the dates,” Diana said, placing another piece of the puzzle. She was trying her best to sound nonchalant. “I was going to ask if you wanted to come to a show, but I wanted to wait until I was allowed to mention there was one in Cincinnati.”

“I wouldn’t miss you performing in my city,” Joe looked over, smile shining bright. “I saw you were on a break after that one, I can show you around if you want.” “That sounds good,” Diana said, hiding her matching grin with her cup of champagne.. “I’ve actually never been there more than 12 hours.”

“We’ll have to give you the hometown treatment, then.”

Diana knew she couldn’t blame the fact that she was staring at Joe on the slight buzz she had when she realized Joe had stopped talking. She wasn’t even sure what he had said last before she zoned out looking at the creases by his eyes and the color of his lips.

A sense of guilt overtook Diana when she realized her mind had drifted to memories of their last hangout. She had spent all day trying to convince everyone, herself included, that she and Joe were just friends. Diana drained her cup trying to push all PG-13 and up thoughts out of her head.  Have fun, be safe. love you, Cathy.

Even her manager was plotting against her. With a deep breath, Diana refocused and left the room with a preroll, lighter, and fake composure. When she got to the living area of the suite, she saw Joe still working on the puzzle.

“I’m just going to step out on the balcony. Do you want to come?,” Diana’s voice must have startled Joe because he gave a small jump. Without a response, he stood up and followed her to the sliding glass doors. Once out on the balcony, Diana made sure the door was shut tight before sitting down beside Joe. He had made himself comfortable, sitting sideways on the lounge chair so it was more like a couch. Diana lit the preroll and inhaled the smoke. 

“I don’t know if you partake but you’re more than welcome to hit this,” her voice cut through the silence. The high clouding her thoughts, it was easy to forget how nervous she had been mere seconds ago. 

“I don’t get tested till June, fuck it,” Joe said, reaching out to grab the joint she was holding towards him. 

The two sat in silence for a moment, enjoying the commotion of the city and inhaling the medicinal herb. It only took a few passes before Joe started coughing, which turned into fits of laughter. 

“I figured you’d be a lightweight, but damn,” Diana giggled as she stubbed out the butt of the joint. After she was sure it was safely put out, she turned her attention towards Joe again.

“Hey, just because you’re fucking Snoop Jr doesn’t mean you can make fun of me,” Joe said with a smile plastered on his face.

“Snoop Dogg?!” It was hard to make out her words through her giggles. “I mean, I don’t know. I couldn’t think of anyone else! I don’t do this often.”

The two sat in their fit of laughter for a few more moments before silence fell over them. The worry that had filled Diana’s brain earlier returned to full force. It felt so natural to be with Joe, but the unrelenting feeling that she couldn't commit was weighing heavy on her at the moment. Joe turned his head to look at her, goofy smile still plastered in place, and asked her, “What are you thinking about?”

“You don’t want to know.,” replied Diana, voice barely above a whisper. 

“I wouldn't have asked if I didn't want to know.”

“I’m thinking that I don’t know if I’m ready to be more than friends, but I really just wanna kiss you.” “What if both of those things were okay with me?” Joe countered.

That’s all it took for Diana to launch herself at Joe, pushing his back against the the backrest of the lounge chair. Climbing up his body to straddle him, Diana made quick work of placing her lips against Joe’s jawbone. Trailing her way to his neck with sloppy kisses and biting lightly, Diana ground her hips into the growing erection beneath her pelvis. 

Joe released a groan into Diana’s mouth as her hands traced his biceps and chest over the cotton of his t-shirt. Grabbing a fistful of the material, Diana quickened the pace of her hips as her tongue licked against Joe’s. Diana felt the athlete’s strong arms move to wrap themselves around her smaller frame. Pulling back and taking a breath, Diana allowed Joe to say, “Let’s take this to the bedroom.”

Tightening his grip around Diana’s body, Joe stood up and carried her towards the room she had claimed as her own. Joe opened the door with ease and made his way to the bed in a few quick strides. Standing at the edge of the bed, he laid Diana down and took off his shirt. Diana found it difficult to take her eyes off of his broad shoulders and well-cut torso.

“Like what you see?” Diana could almost hear the smirk in his voice before she raised her gaze to his face. “Something like that,” her voice was so heavy with lust that she barely recognized it. Hooking her fingers in the waistband of Joe’s sweatpants she pulled him closer, causing him to kneel on the bed. Leaning down so that his larger frame was hovering over her, he connected their mouths again.

Diana felt a slight tug at the hem of her tank top as she heard Joe’s gruff voice ask, “Can I take this off?” Waiting for a nod of agreement, Joe pulled away and helped Diana strip herself of the flimsy material.  The hunger in Joe’s blue eyes deepened as his eyes raked over her chest before bringing his hand to massage her breast with his calloused hands.

The moan that Diana let out caused Joe to groan and buck his hips, finding his way back to the lips in front of him. Their hands roamed each other’s bodies for a brief moment before Diana’s hands slinked their way down the front of Joe’s waistband once more, pausing briefly before receiving the okay from Joe.

Diana’s delicate fingers reached down and wrapped around the warmth of Joe’s cock. It took everything in her to not react at the size of him. She had some idea that he was well-endowed based on their close proximity the last two times they’d hung out, but having him in her hand had shocked her. Not only was the length impressive, but Diana was unable to wrap her hand around his shaft fully. To say Joe was blessed was an understatement.

Shaking the surprise from her head, Diana began to stroke her hand slowly as her lips still moved against Joe’s. A groan of pleasure fell from Joe’s lips into Diana’s as one hand continued to massage Joe’s dick while the other began to push his pants and boxers down his legs. Kicking out of his clothing, Joe’s hands busied themselves, ridding Diana of her shorts and finding the sensitive nub between her legs. 

When his hands met the apex of her thighs, he was pleasantly surprised at how wet she already was for him. He spent a moment rubbing circles on her clit before inserting a finger inside of her. Diana gasped in pleasure as she felt herself stretch around the single digit before he added another one, preparing her for himself. 

Diana arched into his touch and let out a soft moan when Joe curled his fingers inside of her. The worries about what their relationship held fell from her mind as she gave into the pleasure she was feeling. The look on Joe’s face went from that of concentration to hungry satisfaction when he felt Diana’s walls clench around his fingers and the moan fall from her lips, a clear indication that she was eager for more.  With a grunt of approval, Joe used his thumb to tease her clit while she continued to massage his dick. 

Their blue eyes met as they continued to pleasure each other before Joe pulled away. Diana shot him a confused look as he began to fumble through the discarded clothes pile on the floor. A moment later, he looked up, a triumphant expression on his flushed face holding a gold foil packet. Diana’s confusion faded away when she realized what he was doing.

“Oh? Someone was expecting this,” she teased, mind flashing to the brand-new box that Cathy had left for the two of them earlier. 

Joe shook his head and replied, “Someone was hoping for this, there’s a difference. I just thought I should be prepared.” He tore open the foil packet and began rolling the condom over his erection. Diana was sure that she had never wanted anyone more as she watched him crawl onto the bed and position himself over her. With one hand he lifted Diana’s leg and with the other, he gave his dick two long strokes before he lined his head up with her slick entrance. 

Diana’s mind went blank with pleasure when Joe finally sank into her. Giving Diana a moment to adjust to his size, Joe caught her lips in a sloppy kiss until she bucked her hips into his needily. He matched her pace and broke the kiss. 

“Fuck, you feel so good,” his voice came out breathy and low, scratching a part of Diana’s brain that she didn’t know existed. This man was driving her absolutely feral she thought as she hooked her legs around his back.

Diana’s eyes fluttered shut as she lost herself in the pleasure building up in her core. When she opened them again, she locked eyes with a smiling Joe. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

Before Diana could pull away in embarrassment, Joe caught her lips in another kiss and increased the speed of his thrusts. Any insecurity was pushed out of her mind with the rush of ecstasy that filled her mind. Diana’s body moved instinctually against Joe’s, falling into a needy rhythm. Head tilting backward, breaking the kiss, she released a breathy moan causing Joe to close his eyes, and stifle a groan. Joe’s rhythm stayed steady as Diana forced herself to focus on the the sensations happening within her body

“That’s right, babe. Good girl.” Joe said, smiling as wide as he had been on the balcony

Ecstasy mixed with the weed and champagne in Diana’s system as she was pushed over the edge into an orgasm. Chills ran down her spine as the pleasure caused her to arch her back and moan loudly. 

“You like that?” Joe questioned, smile turning slightly cocky. Diana nodded, still lost in the afterglow of her orgasm when she felt Joe pull out and tap her hips.

“Flip over,” he instructed, moving Diana’s body before she had the chance. Once positioned on her hands and knees, Joe made quick work in moving behind Diana and reentering her. 

Face pressed against the sheets, she felt Joe’s fingers tangle through her long hair and pull slightly. Carefully, she snaked her hand down between her legs and started rubbing quick circles on her sensitive clit. 

“Yes, Yes,” she chanted, sure her brain was going to turn to mush. Joe was moving quickly and sharply, hitting a spot that caused Diana’s vision to start blurring with each thrust. 

“That’s right baby, cum on my cock. Let me make you feel good,” the grunts came out breathy and in between thrust. That didn’t matter to Diana because the huskiness of his voice sent Diana over the edge again. 

The sensation of Diana’s pussy clenching must have sent Joe over the edge because without any indication his thrusts began to slow down and came to a stop. Before he pulled out, he leaned over and placed small kisses on Diana’s spine. 

“Thank you, that was incredible,” Joe responded, voice still gravely from their encounter. He pulled out and began cleaning up. 

“Oh, trust me. It was my pleasure,” Diana giggled. “I’ll be right back. Need to get cleaned up.” She grabbed the robe off of the hook on the door and slipped into the en-suite to freshen up. She was washing her hands after peeing when her post-nut clarity hit her. She had just fucked Joe. And loved it. But also, he seemed to understand that she wasn’t ready for a relationship so that was good. Unfortunately the “drunk on the toilet” intoxication also hit her, meaning that she was now panicking on how the rest of her night was going to unfold. 

“He said it was fine. You’re fine,” Diana said to herself as she paced the bathroom. Brushing her teeth to buy herself two more minutes, she finally calmed herself down enough to walk back into the bedroom. 

“So, do you want to finish the puzz-“ Diana’s question was cut off when she realized that Joe had fallen asleep, covered only in the bed’s top sheet. The drawer next to the bed was open, the box of condoms in his hand. 

Diana let out a small chuckle before removing the box from his hand and turning off the lights. She wasn’t so intoxicated that she couldn’t hear the little nagging feeling that said sleeping next to Joe tonight would not help her keep her feelings platonic after he blew her back out. However, the feeling of Joe’s arm pulling her into a cuddle when she crawled into bed told her she could deal with that come morning. 

-------------- I'm sorry if this sucks and that it took so long. Next chapter won't be so late. Love you taglist lovelies: @therapycat21 @rd14 @wickedfun9 @toterry @spookystitchery

[stuckysbike]

All Or Nothing

A/n: All mistakes are my own. Written on my phone.

Pre-Stucky x Reader, pre-Bucky x reader, Stucky, Steve x reader

AU: Bucky wants his boyfriend back, but his boyfriend is your husband now. And the father of your child.

Warnings: angst, eventual smut, 18 plus only please, fluff, implied cheating (but not really) mob!Bucky, mob!Steve, presumed unrequited love, polyamory, MMF, bisexual Stucky.

I hope that’s everything!

Part One

You wanted for nothing.

There was a tall Brooklyn Brownstone, a Manhattan Penthouse, a sprawling Hampton Mansion. Further afield was the Aspen Ski Lodge, the Montana Ranch. Overseas was the Mediterranean Villa, the Irish Cottage and the Romanian Castle.

Yes, he owned a castle.

James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes was the only male heir to three very successful brothers who built themselves an empire. He and his three sisters had been given the keys to the kingdom when his father, the youngest of the three and the last surviving brother, died.

The first thing Bucky did after securing his position was to track down the only person he wanted to share his life with. Trouble was, that man Bucky was in love with was your husband.

You met Steve Rogers five years ago. He ended up in a bar fight defending a woman getting unwanted attention from a group of guys. Feeling lucky you joined in, cracking a bottle over the head of one of the pricks. You had been together ever since.

Steve talked about Bucky to you, he kept no secrets and you knew he had ran to save his life. When you discovered you were pregnant Steve proposed.

“I love you so much honey,” Steve had promised as you hesitated. “You’re mine. And I’m yours.”

Three days later, you were wed.

You wanted for nothing.

There were private planes, helicopters, luxury SUV’s, sports cars, motorcycles, a yacht and other various pleasure boats.

Steve loved anything with an engine that gathered speed, and Bucky was happy to indulge Steve’s whims. Money was no object, and you soon found that Bucky had been loyally taking care of Steve’s ill mother whilst he was on the run, getting her the best healthcare.

Bucky adored your precious Belle, the apple of Steve’s eye. She looked just like her father and had that stubborn streak of bravery just like he had too. You had never seen love at first sight until you saw Bucky meet Belle. Her face lit up and his eyes gentled and an instant bond was formed that terrified you.

Your wedding band meant nothing. Bucky belonged to this family, slotted in perfectly by charming your husband and delighting your daughter.

You had hung back, nodding in greeting and watching your family slip away.

So here you stood, in a designer dress and heels wearing jewellery worth more than you had ever earned watching Steve and Bucky waltz around the vast ballroom with Belle between them, her squealing with delight.

You wanted for nothing except the days before Bucky Barnes turned your life on its head.

Part 2

[mouwrites]

hi :) so i saw u were doing the match up request things and wanted to try one! could it be for ninjago, i like men (unfortunately). lets see, soo..i’m a girl, half porto rican-half white (i was raised bilingual i know Spanish and english) have a little bit more curvy pear shaped figure, a few freckles on my cheeks, bigger lips/smaller nose, i have brown curly hair, my smile is squinty, and i have central heterochromia (the much more common, kinda lame version of having two different color eyes) where the outside of my eye is green and a sharp ring around my iris is yellow (my mom calls them my stars<3) and, yeah for appearance ig thats it. as far as personality, i’m really just like if loralai Gilmore from Gilmore girls didn’t like coffee. i love photography, art, nature, cats, i collect old post cards/old photographs, i have an old 2003 digital camera i thrifted that i bring everywhere, my favorite colors are green/pink, i love taylor swift and mitski and alex g, i read comics, i take pictures of every tree andddd… lots of other stuff but i ramble haha anyways have a wonderful day<3<3 to infinity and beyond, mars ⭐️

From one central heterochromia haver to another (yours sound so pretty tho,,)… I match you with:

Lloyd Garmadon!!

A few headcanons:

He thinks it’s so cool that you know English and Spanish

He’ll ask you how to say something in Spanish, then proceed to repeat it in the most American accent you’ve ever heard

He’s trying tho :(

You guys bond over your love of nature and comics

Lloyd loves to go on hikes/nature walks with you, and he’ll help you find neat things to take pictures of

On that note, he 100% supports your photography hobby

His room is gradually overtaken by photos you’ve given him

He’s not complaining though; he adores each and every one

As for your love of comics, you guys give each other recommendations and swap issues

You love to gush about your favorites and predict what will happen future issues

You absolutely lose your minds when you end up being right

If/when you move in together, you adopt a cat

You’re both huge cat people, so that little fuzzball gets treated like your biological child

You always speak super affectionately about it when in public, so people actually assume that it is a human baby

They’re so confused when they find out it’s a cat

This becomes a bit of an inside joke between you two

Lloyd likes to call you “dear,” “love,” and “bright eyes”

(He loves your eyes so much)

He likes to be called “baby,” “honey,” and “sweetie”

A drabble!

You smiled to yourself as you snapped a picture of a grove of aspens, their leaves tainted a sophisticated gold that was complimented excellently by the afternoon sunshine.

“Over here!” You heard Lloyd beckon, making your head snap over in his direction.

Moving away from the aspens, you came to a gnarled old tree. Lloyd was standing proudly in front of it, pointing to it with a huge grin. “Isn’t it cool?”

You nodded eagerly, readying your camera already. A few seconds passed, and the little click never came. You pursed your lips, disgruntled. “I can’t get a good angle.”

Lloyd frowned, his brow furrowing in contemplation as he stared at the tree. Then, with a sudden light in his eyes, he stepped closer to you and dropped to his knees.

“Get on my shoulders.”

You hesitated, but decided that the picture would be worth the effort. You squealed as he practically jumped to his feet, jostling you perilously.

You finally snapped the perfect picture. Grinning at your camera, you rubbed Lloyd’s head affectionately.

“Thanks, sweetie. You can put me down now.”

Lloyd hummed in thought, drumming his hands on your knees for a moment before continuing down the trail with you still on his shoulders.

“Lloyd! Put me down!” You laughed, playfully smacking his head.

“No.” You could hear the smile in his voice.

It wasn’t until you completed your walk that Lloyd finally relented and put you down.

“Finally! You rascal,” you giggled, shoving him lightly.

“Hey, you got some good pictures, didn’t you?”

You huffed. “Okay, I will admit that.”

Lloyd winked with a good-natured grin. “Glad I could help.” He kissed your cheek, grasping your hand before continuing on your path home.

And a song!

My Love Mine All Mine (Mitski)

'Cause my love is mine, all mine

I love, my, my, mine

Nothing in the world belongs to me

But my love, mine, all mine, all mine

…

My baby here on earth

Showed me what my heart was worth

So, when it comes to be my turn

Could you shine it down here for her?

Thank you for your support! You truly do mean so so much to me <33 I hope this was okay!

(divider by saradika)

[rotworld]

2: Warped Reflection

(previous)

on your way to prismville, you find an empty town.

->contains mild gore, dubiously consensual touching

.

.

.

One of the trees isn’t a tree. You’ve been keeping an eye on it since you pulled over. 

Lunch is your leftovers from Henley Creek. You reach into the box you keep strapped into the passenger seat, half a dozen eggs cushioned by checkered cloth, and watch the thing creep closer. It’s the only cottonwood in a line of aspens. Spindly, bare branches swivel and twitch without wind to move them, bending at joints they shouldn’t have like radio antennae. Even when you’re looking directly at it, watching its gnarled bark shift ever so slightly ahead of its neighbors in the smallest, slowest inchworm increments, your brain struggles to recognize this as movement. It leaves no tracks, no trailing roots or dragging mud in the earth behind it. It seems like it’s always been where it is now. 

The eggs are ripe, the shells crunchier. The jam-colored insides form clots of salty pearls that split on your teeth like roe. You lick a cloudy dribble of yolk from the corner of your lips and use your last napkin. It doesn’t look all that different from the other crumpled balls of bloodied tissue stuffed into a trash bag in your backseat. You lean over and pull your hand-drawn map out of the glove compartment, adding a tree with wiggling, finger-like branches to the blank space between Henley Creek and Prismville. You don’t plan on backtracking, but someone else coming south might need to know. While your right hand sketches, your left hand rests in your lap, wrapped in bandages. The pain comes and goes. You feel dead-end sinew twitching, trying to move something you no longer have. 

Home is northeast, your heart says. You start the car and pull back onto the road. In the rearview mirror, you see the tree’s trunk twisted and bent. Every limb, every twig, every prickly little branch has curved downward, grasping like aerial roots for the empty space where you were just parked.

[NOW PLAYING ON THE RADIO: NEVERLAND BY LA SCALTRA]

There’s rain just briefly. Water sprinkles the windshield and glistens on the road. There’s a peculiar odor you can’t identify. It smells the way ice tastes or wind feels, whispers and almost somethings. You see shapes in the road and have just enough time to stop, tires squealing, the eggs in the box knocking against each other. It’s a woman in a brown shawl and two young children clinging to her skirts. They walk slowly. She tilts her head, staring directly into your headlights. The wicker basket on her arm is full of thorny weeds, wildflowers and budding, sepal-wrapped eggs. You hold your breath and don’t move a muscle until she and the children cross the road and vanish into the underbrush. 

The highway narrows, three lanes merging gradually into a single rough, uneven road. There’s a river ahead and a covered bridge across. Ancient wooden planks groan and rattle beneath your tires. It’s colder on the other side. You see a rust-eaten sign wobbling on metal stilts, jutting out of an overgrown flowerbed. Something corrosive has taken a chunk out of the corner and bit through the gold lettering, leaving only “LCOME TO NEW RIDGEWAY.” A mirror is propped up against one of the signposts.

The fog thins but only a little. You drive slowly between brick apartment blocks and gently lit storefronts. For a while, you don’t see anyone. Not on the road. Not dining under the striped cafe awning on the corner or in line at the burger drive-thru. Not along the riverwalk, or at the post office, or at the crosswalk. There are a handful of cars parked on the street but no one inside. But there are mirrors—thousands of them. Full-length rectangles lean against utility poles and sidewalk trees. A row of small circles in brass frames line an alley, echoing infinite reflections at one another. Hand mirrors dangle from a fire escape, ribbons tied around the handles and looped through the metal walkway. 

The abandonment seems recent. Lights are still on. The grass is neatly manicured. “Free Bagels!” proclaims the local bakery’s chalk sign on the sidewalk, the door propped open. You poke your head inside and think you spot movement behind the counter, but it’s just a mirror.

Your bewildered reflection stares back at you. It cocks its head sharply like a curious bird. Then it smiles.

You’ve got one foot in your car and the keys in the ignition when something stirs the fog. A person, the first you’ve seen here, slips out of an alley. Glancing back and forth and ahead and behind him, he walks casually but quickly like someone afraid to draw a predator’s eye. He’s thin and delicate-looking, tugging nervously at the long sleeves of a black turtleneck sweater, long blond hair feathering across his shoulders.

He’s at your window in just a few long strides, knocking softly but frantically. His voice is muffled and he’s nearly whispering but you catch what’s probably “please,” “help” and “be here soon.” You’ve neither rolled down your window nor unlocked your car but he’s presumptuous or maybe desperate, crossing quickly to the passenger side. He tugs uselessly at the door handle and peers at you with wide, teary eyes.

Your fingers perch on the button to unlock the door, indecisive. Then you hear the dragging; stone grinding against stone. A woman lurches through the fog, her suit jacket hanging open and her tie loosened. There’s blood on her shirt but something else, too, watery and dark like motor oil or ink. She moves with a lopsided, lumbering gait because of the sledgehammer she’s dragging behind her. 

“Please,” the man says, louder this time. “Please, please, please don’t leave me out here, please!” The woman moves faster. She wraps both hands around the sledgehammer’s long wooden handle and you make your choice. 

The doors unlock and the man flings himself into your passenger seat. He’s startled by the box of eggs but quick enough to catch himself against the dash when you slam your foot on the gas. The woman doesn’t give chase but you don’t slow down, watching for anything else moving in the fog. 

“Thank you,” the man says. He’s crammed himself into the space in front of the passenger seat, folding his arms over the egg box and peering up at you. “Thank you so much. Can you just—I don’t live far from here. Take a left at the light there.”

“Is it safe?” you ask him. 

“Yes. Everything’s just fine as long as you stay inside. Follow this road a while. I’ll tell you when to turn.” His jeans are fraying at the knees and he picks at them occasionally, his nails unusually sharp. He lifts himself just high enough to peer out the window occasionally but mostly he looks at you. His eyes are vivid green. “Why did you help me?” he asks. 

“Why?” you repeat, not expecting the question. “You thought I’d just leave you there?” 

“You thought about it. I wouldn’t have blamed you.” He plucks at his sleeves again, tugging at them until they cover all but his fingertips. “The Drift is dangerous. So many things pretending to be people. I could’ve been one, but you let me in anyway. Ah, it’s this turn coming up. Go right.”

“I like to see if I can help,” you say. The suburbs are just as dead as downtown. The bins are out for trash collection. A garage door is wide open, an unwound gardening hose snaking around the back of the house. You think you see curtains move in an upstairs window, but you aren’t sure. “If I have to fight, I’ll fight. But I try to help first.” 

“It’s that one. The house with a birdbath on the lawn. I’m Elisile, by the way,” he says, managing a small smile. Then he frowns. “You look…disappointed.” 

“Oh, no, sorry,” you say quickly. “Just lost in thought. This one, you said?” 

“Yes, this one.” He’s watching you while you pull into his driveway. “You’re…one of those, aren’t you? Not just a courier, but…you look so normal…” You put the car in park and unlock the door, not looking at him. “No, I’m—I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean…I used to have a friend in the Stillwoods. She was one, too.” He winces as he squeezes himself out of the small space and gets out of your car, rolling his shoulders and stretching his legs. “Sorry. And thank you again,” he says, offering a soft smile. His eyes are an earthy brown. You blink, startled. Was that the color they were earlier? “I’d ask you to come in but I don’t have much to offer,” he says. His soft laughter dies in his throat as his gaze shifts down the street. You see a car in the rearview mirror, screeching erratically down the street. 

“I should probably go, huh?” 

“No. She’ll run you off the road,” he says quickly. “Come on. We’ll wait her out.” 

You don’t like the idea of leaving your deliveries unattended but the car swerves onto the curb and into the grass, smashing the birdbath. Elisile practically drags you with him up the steps. He doesn’t stop to fumble with his keys. It’s unlocked. He doesn’t think to lock it behind him as you stagger into the entryway so you do it for him, slipping the deadbolt into place just as something hard and heavy slams into the front door. 

“We should be alright now.” The house is silent. Dust dances in a beam of strangled sunlight. The hallway is furnished with soft carpet, potted plants and a decorative glass dish sitting on a narrow table off to one side. Elisile watches you take in your surroundings. He’s smiling. Not in a cruel, menacing way but warm and comforting. He looks delighted when you notice the mirrors lining the hall. “I never did explain what happened here, did I?” he muses. “You never asked. That’s so…unusual.” 

Elisile takes a step forward and you lurch back, stumbling. There’s a pile of shoes beside the door. Adult’s and children’s. The welcome mat has little paw prints running across it. 

“You have to be careful with mirrors in the Drift,” he says. “You know all about that. Special glass, special chemicals. Your car’s all up to code, but in New Ridgeway? These are the old style. Thinner. Easier to move through.”

“Why?” you ask, feeling blindly behind yourself for the doorknob. You’re not careful and slam your wounded hand against it, pain radiating all the way up to your shoulder. He’s coming closer but he’s not stopping you. His eyes flick down to your bandages with interest. “Why would you—why fill a town with them?” 

“Why do you help people you shouldn’t, child of the road?” 

Your fingers fumble with the deadlock and that’s when he lunges. He goes for your hand, squeezing the tender, throbbing spot where your little finger used to be and slamming you up against the door. He’s cold against you. His breath is frigid and his skin leeches your body heat. 

“I’ll tell you why,” he whispers, brushing his knuckles against your cheek. “Because you’re trying to go home but you can’t, so you take what you can get. And they’re close enough, aren’t they? When you’re lost together, you almost feel safe.” You twist out of his grip, fumbling with the lock just long enough to feel his cold fingers ghost across your shoulder. Two stumbling steps out the door, you freeze.

The woman you saw before is right there, clawing to the door on her hands and knees. She’s bruised and bloody, her sledgehammer lying in the grass by her feet. There’s something on top of her. It’s a person, you think. It is, for just a second. Then it shifts and shimmers, fractaling into other shapes. Human, animal, celestial bodies, unnatural angles, it wraps a hand—a claw? A tendril, silver and reflective—around her throat and pulls until she arches uncomfortably, tilting her head up at the thing with a scream caught in her chest. 

Elisile’s fingers curl beneath your chin and he guides your gaze back to him, standing beside you in the grass. “You’re more like us than you are them,” he says. “There’s no home for you here. There never will be, no matter how useful you are.” 

“Home is northeast,” you tell him. Your voice quivers. His gaze softens with pity. The woman in the grass reaches out with one trembling hand, the other clawing and pulling at the thing around her throat. It squeezes tighter. Its changing fingers and feathers and insectoid limbs hold her head still. Something sharp pricks the corner of her eye. A gushing wound spreads across her forehead. The thing starts to settle, shapes smoothing, colors flattening. It has her eyes.

“I can be your home,” he offers. “I can give you everything they can’t.” His eyes are deep blue, and probably not his. He leans in, pressing his lips to your cheek. It’s cold and sharp. You feel a bead of blood slide down your chin. When he cups the back of your neck, you push him away. You hear him sigh as you rush to the woman, past her and the thing and the toppled birdbath, grasping clumsily for the sledgehammer. It’s heavy and the space of your missing finger still stings. The metal wedge drags through the dirt as you struggle to lift it with your fumbling grip.

“You’ll never find it,” Elisile says, the kindness gone from his voice. His words are flat and emotionless but that welcoming smile and those warm, changing eyes remain. “You’ll search forever. You’ll wander until you die. You’ll do everything they say but you will never be welcome. Do you understand? No matter where you go, child of the road, it. Won’t. Be. There.” 

You swing the sledgehammer and the thing shatters. Shards of light and cold and wriggling shape burst apart with a shrieking hiss, black blood spattering your face. It’s cold and stinging. Trying to wipe it off your chin cuts up your fingers. The woman heaves and sputters, clutching her bruised throat. Blood trickles from a gash across her forehead and drips into her eyes. 

Elisile is gone. The door to the house is wide open. The sledgehammer slips from your trembling hands. 

“Hey, are—are you still there?” the woman says hoarsely. “I saw you earlier, right? In town? I need help getting to my car. Like, now. Before it comes back.” She tries to stand and winces, catching herself with her hands. She’s keeping her weight off of her right leg. “God, I must look insane. Listen, I’m not one of those things. I'm cleanup crew. Check me! Glass mimics are cold to the touch and they don’t sweat. I’m bleeding red, right?”

She’s warm when you sling her arm over your shoulder and help her to her feet. She makes a pained sound and leans more of her weight against you. There’s a leather messenger bag in the passenger seat of her car and papers scattered around the back. Her medical supplies are in the trunk.

“Hey. Whatever it told you, don’t sweat it,” she says. “They like to fuck with people. It’s all mimicry, just copying stuff they’ve overheard. They don’t really get humans, you know? They don’t know what we feel, why we do things.” 

“Right,” you say weakly. 

“Ugh, I need a shower. You know what the closest town is? There’s fucking nothing out west.” 

“Prismville’s somewhere north, but—” 

“Civilization! Thank god.” She slaps a few bandaids on her forehead and wipes the rest of the blood on the sleeve of her suit jacket, tossing it haphazardly into the backseat. “Talk later, alright? You lead, I’ll follow. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

You nod, dazed. You don’t have it in you to argue. You hear the woman’s car stutter before it starts. She gives you a thumbs-up in the rearview mirror. You hesitate before pulling out of the driveway, glancing up at the house. There’s no one there. The mimic has retreated for now, moved on to easier prey.

You rub the cut on your cheek where he kissed you. If no one else had been in danger, if you’d been all alone, would you have let him hold you? Would you have let him sink his teeth into your lips? Your neck? Somewhere even more tender? Would you have given him your eyes if he promised you somewhere you could always come back to, knowing it must be a lie? 

Home is northeast, says the heart. Your throat constricts and it’s hard to breathe as you ignore the pull and drive due north instead.

(next)

[arcielee]

𝕊𝕠𝕞𝕖 ℍ𝕠𝕥𝔻 𝔸𝕌

Here is a collection of some of my favorite HotD AU that I just fucking adore. Some are modern, some are alternate universes, all of them, as you can imagine, are 18+, NSFW, so MINORS DNI

Otherwise, enjoy. ♥

Hate the Sin, Love the Sinner by @targaryenbrainrot​​​

modern priest!Aemond Targaryen x female reader

♥ This is a smutty delight that involves tormenting a man of God and I fucking love the depravity of it all. 

The Intern [series] by @f4ll-for-you​

modern Aegon x female reader

♥ This series helped me understand the potential of Aegon, especially modern Aegon and I am a brand new woman as a result. 

Down in Flames by @sapphire-writes​ 

modern Aegon x Reader & Aemond x Reader

♥ This, for me, is the modern Aemond bar set. This story is just fucking wonderful, literally pulling at your heart strings with the back-and-forth between Aemond and reader. I just love it. 

Dark Night of the Soul by @aspen-carter​ 

modern Aegon x Aemond

♥ This is a story that is dark and beautiful and twisted. It sets a bar all its own. Just a masterpiece, truly. 

North to the Future by @inthedayswhenlandswerefew​

modern Aegon x female reader 

♥ This was such an emotional rollercoaster with 90s nostalgia and I fucking adore the thought put into it. 

Red Moon by @hamatoanne​

vampire Aemond x female reader

♥ Thank you. I didn’t know I wanted a Vampire Aemond and it’s fucking brilliant, it’s fucking gothic, it’s so fucking good.

Phantom of the Red Keep by @1800-fight-me​​

Phantom of the fucking Opera AU with Aemond x female reader 

♥ I squealed with the utmost joy when this was posted. This was amazing and the Aemond portrayal was just....ugh. 

[aspenonpawzzz]

Assigning theriotypes to toh characters 

-hunter: I think wolf (obviously) but he gives coyote, mako shark, deer, and snow leopard vibes as well!

-willow: bear. She’s a bear. Just trust me.

-Gus: ummm… giving dragon kin, maybe raccoon vibes!

-Luz: ok. Otter, but also she’s dogkin! She just gives dogkin vibes

-Amity: domestic cat. But she also gives sirenkin vibes!! 

-eda: o w l. O W L. 

-king: batkin or vampirekin!! 

-raine: their a fox cladotherian, and bathearted!! Also they’re a manta ray!

-Lilith: stray domestic cat, and raven kin.

-belos: I’d say he’d be deer kin, maybe cryptid kin? But he also seems like a hyena to me!

-Darius: octopus. He’s an octopus! Also gives black panther energy!!

-eberwolf: he’s a canine cladotherian, and tiger kin!!

-collector: my baby is space kin, and fennec fox kin!! 

-boscha: that bitch is a fucking crab. Sorry crab kin’s but it’s just THERE.

-vee: snakekin, poly kin, and axloltol kin!

-Caleb: he’s wolf kin, specifically Great Plains wolf. Maybe also star-kin!!

-Evelyn: she is a sparrow and a red fox!! She’s also fire concept kin!

-papa titan:  I give him…. T-Rex paleotherian!!

-Camila: I thought about this, and she’s a mouse!!

-odaila: she is a raccoon. I will not elaborate.

-ed and em:  emira is a horse, and Edric is a farm dog!!

-bump: demon kin. The biblical demons.

-mattholoume: ok.. he’s.. a snake. M-Kay?

-alador: R A T. HES A R A T.

[jerzwriter]

A Tall Order

✨ Ho-Ho-Ho! This year, I'm Secret Santa to the lovely @zealouscanonindeer! You were such an important part of the Choices Open Heart fandom this year, and I know I speak for many when I say that we're so grateful you're here! ✨

❄️I also want to thank @choicesfandomappreciation for hosting this and so many wonderful events throughout the year! You're one of the big reasons our little fandom continues to go strong! ❄️

✨I hope you enjoy this commission of Aspen, Ethan, and their new snow friend created by @weetlebeetle. Here's a little drabble to accompany it! ✨

❄️ Happy Holidays & Happy New Year!❄️

Book: Open Heart Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC Characters: Aurora Emery, Jackie Varma, Sienna Trinh, Tobias Carrick Rating: Teen Words: 867 Summary: It's a snowy lunch break at Edenbrook.

The temperature may have been hovering just above freezing, but that wasn't enough to keep Aspen indoors this lunch break. Not the grounds surrounding Edenbrook were blanketed in beautiful, freshly fallen snow, just waiting to be enjoyed. If that didn't make her happy enough, she managed to wrangle a few friends and co-workers to join her, multiplying her joy.

As the group exited Edenbrook, they were astounded to see just how quiet the streets of Boston could be during a snowstorm, but the silence wouldn't last much longer... not with this crew entering the scene.

Sienna was the first to return to the days of childhood glory, tossing herself on the ground and flailing her arms and legs about.

"Ah! This is so cool!" she squealed as the others looked on.

"It looks downright cold to me," Aurora rebuffed.

"Hey, Trihn," Tobias jumped in. "Just makin' sure you're enjoying yourself, and this isn't some sort of a medical emergency."

Sienna jumped from the spot where she had been lying and gestured widely at her creation.

"It's a snow angel," she proclaimed. "Didn't you ever make a snow angel as a child?"

"Nope," he replied. "Never did. I guess what wasn't my thing."

"That may not have been, but I know what was!" Jackie yelled as a large snowball smacked Dr. Carrick on the side of the face.

"SNOWBALL FIGHT!" Aspen yelled, and it was every person for themselves as total chaos ensued.

Several minutes later, the cold and breathless crew was laughing like schoolchildren.

"I have to admit, this was fun!" Aurora announced. "But maybe we should start heading back in. There is a large mug of hot chocolate with my name on it."

"No!" Aspen hollered, turning all heads her way. "Not... not yet."

Tobias took a look around and noticed there was one doctor that Aspen hadn't been able to convince. Snow crunching under his feet, he walked over with a look of sympathy.

"Look, I know you love the guy... but even you can't make that curmudgeonly old man come out to play in the snow."

A look of determination crossed her face, and she smiled. "Lunch break isn't over... and besides, there is one more thing I want to do before we go inside... Ethan, or no Ethan."

Leaning over, she began rolling snow to form the base of what would become a very impressive snowman. Sienna, Jackie, and Aurora eagerly joined in to help when Tobias announced he'd go fetch warm beverages for all.

They were excited when they heard footsteps headed their way, but they were surprised to see another doctor headed their way. With a North Face jacket tossed over his scrubs, they couldn't tell if Ethan was amused or annoyed as he approached.

"You look cold," he deadpanned.

"What an observation!" Jackie mocked. "Now it's crystal clear how you graduated top of your class at Hopkins."

But, captivated by the way Aspen's eyes lit up when she saw him coming near, Ethan paid her no mind.

"Just in the nick of time!" She announced.

"For what?" He asked. "To drag you inside and stave off frostbite?"

"Probably that, too," she laughed, placing a large snowman's head in his hands with a thud.

"What's this?" he asked, leading Jackie to sigh with frustration.

"It's the head of a snowman! Jeez... Hopkins standards have really been going down, haven't they?"

"I know it's the head of a snowman," he defended. "I'm asking why Aspen gave it to me."

"Because you're tall enough to place it on his neck. I've sort of been struggling with that."

"Uhh, Aspen, aren't you supposed to put the head on and then decorate it."

"Sure, if you want to take the standard approach, but I'm anything but standard."

With a snort and a tender half-smile on his lips, Ethan was about to carry out the task, but not before being subjected to one more round of teasing.

"Well, look who made it outside," Tobias sneered, giving Aspen a wink. "That's some fairy dust you've got there, kid!"

Aspen gave a little bow behind Ethan. But Tobias wasn't done.

"What have you done to the snowman?" He continued. "Leave it to you to decapitate him."

"Decap.. decap... I'm not decapitating him. I'm putting the head on top."

Handing the paper coffee cups to the others, Tobias smirked wickedly. "As a testament to my personal growth, I will refrain from turning that statement into an inappropriate comment."

"OK, boys! Can we wrap this up and get back inside?" Jackie protested. "I can no longer feel my toes."

"Fine," Ethan said as he secured the snowman's head on top, to Aspen's delight.

Clapping her mittened hands together, she slipped under Ethan's arm and declared. "You're my hero!"

"Oh, I think I'm going to be sick," Jackie mumbled as Tobias clinked his cup against hers.

"I'll drink to that," he agreed.

"Hey! Did you get me one of those," Ethan asked, gesturing to the beverages.

"Nope. Thought you were still inside."

Beginning to shiver, Aspen decided inside was where they all should be, and in the same way, she got everyone outside, she began to shepherd them back to warmth.

@choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

[sc0tters]

What are Luca and Aspens first I love you?

This acc makes my heart melt. Aspen said it first and I’ll start with that one!

Aspen:

It was cold as Aspen snuggled up to Luca on the couch of her parents home as they had gone to New Jersey for the weekend “what are you thinking about pretty girl?” Luca smiled at her Christmas socks and how she had stolen his shirt after they were done in her bedroom.

She just grinned as she looked up at him as he wrapped his hands around her waist “just thinking about you.” Aspen blurted out as she rubbed her leg over his. As she rested her head down on his chest allowing the movie to start Aspen felt herself feel at ease hearing the found of his heartbeat “I love you.” Her voice was soft so she thought Luca wouldn’t have heard her but he did and a smile spread across his face as he ran his fingers through her hair mindlessly braiding it.

Luca:

After a game Luca had scored a goal and as she were sick Luca pointed to the camera to dedicate his goal to her . Even after getting a hattrick he didn’t celebrate with the team as he went straight to Aspens dorm to see her “baby I said no coming.” She didn’t want to get him sick so she told him not to see her “Pen let me in.” Luca begged with a pout hoping that it would work.

Of course it did as she opened her door wider, Luca melted at the sight of her in her Fantilli jersey that barely looked like a shirt and more like a dress “C’mere baby.” He cooed pulling you into a hug as he felt your warm forehead.

Luca frowned feeling that you were running a temperature “lets go get some ice cream for you.” Luca hated seeing you sick “but it’s January.” Aspen pointed out making him laugh “yeah but I know it’ll make you feel better and I gotta see you smile again.” As Apsen grinned quickly moving to grab some sweats it made him cross his arms as he watched her “god I love you.”

It made her grin “I love you too.” A squeal left her lips as he picked her up and pressed her against her bed.

[polutrope]

#15 feign love Maeglin/Idril Gondolin

Thank you -- this one was a stumper! But I do like a challenge. I have given it my best shot, I hope you like ambiguity and unresolved emotions. 

From this prompt list. 

On the escape from Gondolin, Idril struggles to make sense of her relationship with Maeglin. 850 words. Rated G. Mention of canonical character deaths.

* * *

Idril’s shoulders ache. She does not know how long they have been walking when she becomes aware of it, but now she can think of nothing but the weight of Eärendil straining the muscles of her arms.

She strokes back fine locks of golden hair from her son’s forehead. “Do you think you can walk for a bit, my jewel?”

His blue eyes are wide but unseeing, as if he is forcing himself awake to avoid the darkness. He shakes his head. 

Meleth draws up beside them. “I can carry him a while, lady,” the nurse offers. 

The woman is already burdened with packs, heavy with far too many of Eärendil’s things that Idril could not bear to leave behind. Useless things, toys and trinkets that will serve no purpose on the road, if they even make it beyond the passage’s issue from the mountain.  

“No, thank you, Meleth,” Idril says, and hoists Eärendil onto her hip. 

Her gaze is pulled back over her shoulder at the long line of followers. She hopes to see Tuor moving among them, but the line disappears behind a bend in the rock. For now, she has only the resolute beat of her heart to assure her that she will not have to face their uncertain future alone. 

In an effort to keep her mind occupied, Idril catalogues the items in Meleth’s pack. 

A blanket woven by Nordhil, wife of Duilin, who was not there when they descended into the ground while Gondolin cracked and rattled and hissed above them. Idril suspects she chose instead to fall with the city when she learned of her husband’s death. 

A model of the Mindon Eldaliéva, made by Turgon, carved from aspen that grew high on the slopes of the Echoriath, and gilded with gold from deep within the veins of the mountains. When set out at night, a gem set in its tower, cut and given life by Enerdhil, catches the light of the stars and gleams white.

Idril squeezes her eyes shut to dam her tears. What good had she thought it would do to carry all these memories out of the wreckage! She blinks again, but the thoughts march on. 

The last of Eärendil’s things Idril packed was a cloth bag filled with many tiny blocks of various materials—wood, bronze, steel, polished stone—that could be fit together to create gates and towers, castles and bridges; and, for which they were not intended but which her son liked best, abstract geometric forms evoking the shapes of birds and beasts. Eärendil spent hours with those blocks spread out over the floor, happily chattering to himself, assembling and reassembling.

They had been a gift from Maeglin on her son’s sixth begetting day. He had kneeled on the floor beside his little cousin as Eärendil dumped the trinkets on the floor; smiled when Eärendil gasped and squealed in wonder and excitement; returned the child’s embrace when he, bouncing on his tiptoes, threw his arms around his shoulders.

How Idril had wanted to believe that Maeglin’s love was true, and generous, and kind. Of Eärendil, of Gondolin, of its people, of its King—of her. 

But it had all been pretence. From the day that Maeglin had lost a mother at the hands of a father; lost that father at the hands of an uncle; lost, to his mind, all kin but her, it had been but a pretence and a balm for the yawning emptiness in his heart. And all that emptiness, he reserved for her. 

It was too much to ask of a single person—but even then Idril might have filled it. She had been tempted. Whether out of pity or loneliness or in rebellion against her dreams, she had been tempted. But Idril, too young when the tale began to enter it as an actor herself, had been audience to the defeat of a people who had set out to defy doom. She would not. She was obedient to the wisdom of both heart and mind. 

She was obedient to the canker of foreboding in her heart that she carried with her, silently, through the years.

Memory has her clutched now in its grip. She is brought back to that moment on the walls of the city, the horror of not knowing which of her husband or child or kinsman would be the first to fall onto the rocks below.

Maeglin has her pierced with his keen eyes. “Ever didst thou feign to love me!” he cries.

Then he falls.

Dredged back up from memory, the words strike her now hard and with precision, as his words ever did. Had she? Did her silence make her no less guilty of pretending than he?

“Ammë?” Eärendil’s voice pulls her back, and she realises she is clutching him too tightly to her side. She loosens her hold.

“Yes, love?” Idril murmurs. 

“I can walk for a bit now.”

She smiles back at him and sets him down, closing her hand protectively around his. Steels herself against questions.

Later, perhaps, there will be time. For now, they press on through the mountain. 

* * *

On AO3

Meleth is the nurse of Earendil named in The Fall of Gondolin. Nordhil I made up. Enerdhil is the jewelsmith who, in one version of the story, made the Elessar. Yes, Maeglin created a LEGO prototype.

This has been sitting unfinished in my drafts for a while because, like Idril, I have been unable to make sense of this relationship in a way that doesn't make one or both of them look really bad, which I didn't want to do. So I decided to just wrap it up and keep it ambiguous.

[ladamedusoif]

Snowman (Dieter Bravo x OFC!Andie)

A Merry Fic-Mas - December 28

Part of A Merry Fic-Mas: A Pedro Boy Holiday Fic Calendar - click for masterlist.

Follow my writing blog @ladameecrit and turn on notifications to keep up with my writing.

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x OFC!Andie (set in the Curls universe)

Rating: Teen

Warnings: None. This is pure unadulterated fluff. For those who haven’t read Curls (and should): Dieter and Andie have two kids, Charlie and Ezra. Nate is Dieter’s agent. 

Word count: 1047

A/N: For @agentjackdaniels, with love. 

Charlie Bravo’s Frozen phase came with a special bonus. 

Every time a certain adorable snowman waddled onto the screen during one of her umpteenth rewatches, she would squeal with delight and point excitedly, yelling: “DADDY! It’s Daddy!”, before collapsing in fits of giggles. 

“I could murder Nate,” Dieter mutters to Andie in the kitchen as Charlie twirls around in the family room one hot summer day, belting out a garbled version of “Let It Go” at the top of her lungs, her little brother Ezra joining in with the occasional “GO” roared in harmony. “Why did he have to say I looked like Olaf? And why did he have to point it out to our Frozen-obsessed child?”

Andie ruffles his messy curls and smiles. “You can’t murder Nate, he’s an amazing agent and probably your best friend and I can’t possibly be responsible for you if he’s not around.” She takes a step back and surveys her husband. “And anyway, babe, he’s kinda got a point.”

Before Dieter can respond, his daughter appears, in search of some juice. 

“Why can’t we have snow?” Charlie asks, sipping on her juice box with great concentration.

“Because we live in LA, sweetheart, not Arendel.” Her father scoops her up and sits her on the counter, and Charlie traces the fading logo on Dieter’s well-worn t-shirt with her pointer finger.

“Can we go to Arendel?” 

Andie makes a “change the subject” face at Dieter behind Charlie’s back. 

“Oh, it’s very far away and I don’t think you’d like the long journey, Charlie. Hey - you want to go get some frozen yoghurt later?”

Charlie turns and stares solemnly at her father. “I would rather have snow.”

***

Nate makes it happen. On Charlie’s birthday, in late October, he hands her a Frozen-themed gift box and grins as she opens it to find a soft Olaf plush toy, before immediately giggling and pointing at Dieter.

The agent takes the little girl’s hand and dances her around the room, singing. “Do you want to build a snowmaaaaan? Well, do you, Charlie Bravo?”

She nods with great intensity.

“Ah, well.” A wide smile appears on Nate’s face. “In that case, ask your gorgeous mother there to have a look at what else is in the box.”

Andie reaches inside and finds a pale blue envelope. Inside is a brochure for a family-friendly ski resort in Aspen. 

“If snow can’t come to Charlie Bravo, Charlie Bravo shall come to the snow!” Nate beams and his husband Eamon offers a solo round of applause. 

“Nate, are you serious?” Andie is agog at the gorgeous photos of the chalets and restaurants, though already starting to worry about kitting out her entire family with ski gear. 

“Deadly serious, love. Booked it for early December, should be some lovely snow at that time. Don’t feel you need to do the whole skiing thing, either - actually, Dieter? Don’t go skiing. Please, for the love of all that’s holy, don’t go skiing. I’m not negotiating with production insurers for you again.”

***

The snow was, as Nate predicted, lovely. Perfect, in fact. 

Dieter did as he was bid and stuck to some sledding and playing with the kids, discovering Charlie’s impressive aim in a snowball fight within a few hours of their arrival. 

Andie is zipping Ezra out of his bright orange snowsuit, fearful he might get too cold, when Dieter and Charlie, still clad in their brightly-coloured winter gear, appear at the door of the chalet.

“Angel, she said you need to come and help her build the special snowman.”

Charlie bounces up and down with excitement and starts to sing loudly, startling her little brother and making him wail. Andie scrambles to her feet and hands Dieter his golden-haired son. 

“You take him, watch some Bluey if he won’t calm down. Me and Charlie have been planning our special snowman build for weeks. Alright, Charlie Bravo, let me just get my boots on and then…” She leans in to her little girl’s ear and sings quietly: “Do you want to build a snowman?”

***

Ezra has fallen asleep and Dieter feels like he’s about to nod off himself. He can still hear Charlie and Andie shrieking and laughing outside, so he scoops up the little boy and wanders towards the main bedroom in search of his favourite comfort clothing: green robe and Crocs, fleece-lined for the colder conditions.

He lays Ezra down on the bed and opens the closet, rifling through the clothing Andie has already hung up in search of his robe. 

No robe.

And only his older pair of Crocs, too. Did he forget? He never forgets. Not these things, anyway. He’s been packing them for every trip he’s taken for the last fifteen years.

He is about to slip on a hoodie when he hears Andie and Charlie calling to him from the front door.

“Come see, Daddy! Come seeeeee!”

“Don’t worry about getting Ezra dressed back up, Dee!” Andie adds cheerily. “You’ll see the surprise from the front door.”

There, just outside their holiday chalet, is Charlie’s perfect snowman. Not Olaf, but her daddy. Literally.

The snowman has some twigs stuck here and there in lieu of Dieter’s messy hair, and a pair of his Ray-Bans rest on the snowman’s carrot nose. Dieter spies his new Crocs tucked in at the base of the figure, already covered in snow. 

So much for the fleece lining, he thinks to himself.

And, as the finishing touch: the green robe, carefully wrapped around the bright white figure. 

“It’s a Daddy Olaf!” Charlie squeals, and Dieter immediately forgets about the waterlogged Crocs and the fact that his precious green robe is going to be soaking wet and just revels in his daughter’s joy, pure as the driven snow.

Andie beams at him, dark curls poking out from under her bright pink pom-pom ski hat.

His girls. His little boy, in his arms. And a new, frozen addition to the family. 

Perfect.

“It’s beautiful, Charlie!” he calls out to her. “Tomorrow, how about we make him a friend, hmmm? Mama’s got plenty of clothes that would look just great on a snowlady.”

[aspenwritesstuff]

Part Five - Bitter

🌹 prev 🌹 masterlist 🌹 next

🌹taglist: open! @drhsthl​ @propertyoftoru

🌹 permanent taglist: @svintsandghosts

"To Felix, seeing you like this rather than how you usually present yourself was like being offered two slices of cake made up with the same ingredients, simply decorated differently." "He simply couldn’t pick one over the other."

🌹warnings: borderline cheating mention, embarrassing interactions between friends, alcohol (casual mention, though hinted at as a potential coping mechanism), intimidation as abuse (merits is grabbed), verbal abuse/name calling, general angst, unprocessed rage and unresolved trauma, general anxiety

🌹w/c: 7.5k

🌹a/n: Not only have I returned with an update on Prove Me Wrong (and our beloved Sunshine boy), but wowee I was NOT skimping on the heavier topics/angst this go around. I hope that despite it being not as lighthearted of a chapter, that you still enjoy this update. We’ll return to our regularly scheduled sweetness eventually. Promise.

I also couldn’t help but include bestie Jisung more in this chapter because I’ve lowkey been neglecting this lil rascal. xoxo -Aspen

Lee Felix, twenty-three year old bartender with a smile full of sunshine and a heart made of gold, had carried you to bed last night.

And, as expected, your best friend had not shut up about it all morning.

“I was not drooling!” Your squealed, landing a firm smack to Jisung’s arm - though, despite the force with which you’d struck him, his shoulders still shook with laughter.

“You definitely were,” he managed between gasps, his eyes wrinkled shut as he threw his head back, “I can text Felix right now and ask him if his shoulder was wet?”

“Don’t you dare,” you warned, burying your reddened cheeks in your hands.

Jisung hadn’t stopped teasing you about your unexpected slumber - or the subsequent events - from the moment you’d woken up. You groaned as he continued cackling next to you on the couch, tears welling in his eyes from just how funny he’d found the entire situation.

The humor, however, was lost on you as your skin flushed deeper into a concerning shade of crimson.

“Fine, fine,” Jisung said, still grinning from ear to ear as he waved his hands in front of himself, signaling his temporary surrender, “But you were definitely drooling.”

“Shut up,” you grumbled, rubbing your heated cheeks in an attempt to urge them back into their former, pre-Jisung fueled embarassment shade.

He chuckled again, winking as he stood up to fill a mug of coffee and leaving you alone on the couch - a frustrated pout on your lips. You sighed as you planted your chin atop your palm, elbow on the armrest, and Felix on your mind.

Had he really carried you up to the apartment as Jisung had claimed? You weren’t sure what all was true of his recollection or how much was simply an exaggeration at your expense. You should probably thank Felix, regardless of how you’d gotten into the apartment, after he’d managed to handle your unconsciousness with a gentleness that never once roused you.

Though you were a bit too ashamed at the prospect of the potentially true, humiliating contents of the latter half of your evening.

It wasn’t too terrible, though - at least, from what you remembered before your little catnap, things had gone well for Felix and Ryujin.

There it was, your opening. The way to reach out without being completely awkward. You pulled out your phone, shooting Felix a quick text to ask if he’d heard from her yet. 

As you waited for a response, Jisung returned with a steaming mug of coffee - with an added splash of cream, just as you liked it - holding it out to you carefully with both hands. “Peace offering,” he explained as you took it from him, rolling your eyes as you read the statement on the side.

World’s Okayest Author.

It had been yet another gag gift from Jisung after you’d initially discovered your love for cringey, cheesy statements on ceramic cups.

“You’re lucky I love you, you know that right?” you murmured, raising the slightly-bitter drink to your lips before sipping it slowly.

Jisung beamed, obviously doubting that you’d ever stop loving him at this point, “Yes, I’m so unbelievably lucky my beautiful, smart, clever, best friend who definitely drooled on Felix’s shoulder loves me.”

Coffee got caught in your throat, sending you into a coughing fit as you held the mug out for Jisung to grab. He did quickly, shifting from poking fun to fussing over you in an instant.

“Breathe!” he commanded, his brows shooting up high enough to be obscured by his bangs. He set the mug down on the table in a rush, patting your back as though you were a baby that needed burped.

“Jesus, Ji,” you sputtered, residual throat-clearing interrupting your words as you slammed your fist against your sternum, “Peace offering, my ass.”

“I’m sorry!” he whined, firm taps shifting into gentle circles being rubbed between your shoulders, “It was just right there, I had to!” 

“Had to?” you croaked, swallowing hard to soothe the sudden scratchiness your choking episode has caused.

“C’mon, sweets,” he pleaded, “If I were the butt of these jokes you’d still be laughing.”

You hated just how true, and just how fair his statement was.

With a disapproving shake of your head, you let out a long sigh in lieu of an answer. Jisung simply grinned before singsonging out a satisfied, “I knew it,” placing the mug back into your hands and ignoring the daggers you shot his way.

You shook your head, saved from admitting defeat by the chime of your phone. You picked it up with one hand, the other holding your mug to your lips as you took a long sip and relished in the way it soothed the irritation from your near-suffocation.

Felix☀️: yeah, she messaged me to ask if i’d gotten home alright!

Felix☀️: i told her i did and then we said goodnight. 

Felix☀️: wait…should i have done that? did i mess that up?

You couldn’t help the affectionate laugh that escaped your lips, Felix’s doe-eyed expression of panic materializing so vividly in your mind that you barely even noticed Jisung announcing he’d be right back. 

You shot him a small wave, still smiling as you replied quickly to the messages, hoping to avert the crisis that was a spiraling Lee Felix.

You: Felix, deep breath. It’s fine, goodnight is definitely not dealbreaker.

The three dots appearing and disappearing as the spirited boy second, third, and fourth guessed himself had become something of a signature in your conversations - evoking a certain fondness - completely certain he was chewing his lip and running his hand repeatedly through his fluffy, blonde locks. You: Whatever it is, you can just say it Felix.

The dots disappeared one final time, before waving along for a solid thirty seconds. You felt your shoulders sink as you read his words, feeling every shred of your dignity evacuate your being.

Felix☀️: did you sleep alright?

Felix☀️: sounded like a rough dream for a bit there

Felix☀️: I stuck around until I thought you were settled, but i was pretty worried

Your heart dropped in your chest, a surge of guilt mostly to blame, though gratitude was taking the small remainder of that accountability. You: You didn’t have to do that, Felix.

You: But, thank you. I’m okay, sometimes my subconscious just…hurts.

Explaining these recurring dreams to Felix was harder than you’d have imagined. He was so gentle and soft - radiating joy and peace. You didn’t want to dim his shine, especially not as he basked in the glow of Ryujin contacting him.

Felix☀️: you sure?

Felix☀️: you can talk to me if you want to

Felix☀️: but no pressure!!!

The small smile that seemed to accompany conversations with Felix crept back onto your face, pushing the anxiety over explaining yourself far into the background. His messages were so…him. Prone to rambling, yet thoughtful and well-meaning with every tangent he went off on. If only he knew that you were the one feeling nervous about how you were affecting him this time around.

You: I’m really okay, but…noted, thank you. 

Not even in the furthest recesses of your imagination would you have figured Felix for the intuitive type, his bumbling nature giving off much more of a clueless vibe than one capable of such inferences.

Yet, here you were, so shell-shocked you nearly dropped your phone - and your coffee - before you’d gathered yourself enough to even attempt to formulate a reply.

Felix☀️: does it involve how you feel about love?

Attempt had been the key word in your mental monologue, seeing as your fingers flew across the keys in the most avoidant, juvenile way imaginable.

You: I don’t wanna talk about it.

Less than a second later, Felix had responded. You could picture him staring at his phone, overthinking the fact that he sent a message so personal. Realizing the troubled thoughts he must’ve been having made you feel a bit ashamed of your own terseness.

Felix☀️: that feels like an answer

Felix☀️: but i won’t push, okay?

Felix☀️: just know i AM here for you, if you ever change your mind

The fact that he still managed to be so understanding, so comforting so…Felix about it all, only served to make the way you’d answered him feel even more shameful.

You: Thank you.

It was all you could think of to reply with, setting your phone beside you before leaning your head back against the couch - staring up at the ceiling blankly. You couldn’t stop cursing yourself internally, wishing you’d met Felix’s softness with something a bit less abrasive.

At least he didn’t seem too terribly torn up over it - you seemed to have that covered on your own at this point, anyways.

Right on cue, with true chaotic-best-friend energy, Jisung barged back into the apartment, his face pale as he held a bright-blue flier in his hand. “Ji?” you asked, sitting upright on the couch to search his eyes for anything that could explain his offputting silence.

He stepped forward, blinking rapidly before handing you the innocuous paper, barely managing to whisper, “Honey, I’m so sorry, I completely forgot…”

“What are you talking about, Ji?” you asked, keeping a nervous smile plastered on your face as if it would change whatever he was going on about into something unworthy of his atypical quietness.

You flipped it over, bold black text sending an immediate chill down your spine. 

Bi-Annual Author’s Gala.

You felt your breath catch in your throat as you looked up at Jisung with genuine fear in your eyes, his own expression softening into worry - it was probably best that only one of you were in crisis at a time, and you definitely took precedence when it came to this particular event.

As the name stated, the Bi-Annual Author’s Gala was a party hosted by popular publishers all around the region once every two years - serving both as a social mixer and an award ceremony for authors from all different publishing houses. 

And it was tonight.

This, on its own, wasn’t much cause for concern. You were, in fact, an author and it would be far from your first time in attendance of the Gala. The biggest concern each year was typically finding a dress that suited the occasion in time, or making sure that your makeup wouldn’t photograph poorly should you be given an award.

This year, however, the hurdle you needed to overcome was something you’d never had to face before; attending alone.

You’d attended last year’s event with San.

You’d purchased a plus-one ticket in advance, because you certainly hadn’t predicted San leaving you before the next Gala.

There were going to be two seats saved under your name, and one body to fill them.

“Ji, fuck, you gotta go with me!” you whipped your head up from the flier, ignoring the painful sting that always came along with remembering anything at all about San.

Jisung couldn’t look you in the eye - the surefire tell that he was about to tell you something you really didn’t want to hear.

“Honey, Minho and I are leaving for Jeju in like…two hours, remember?” he spoke in a startlingly soft and serious voice, still unable to meet your eyes, “It’s our first vacation as a couple, I can’t cancel on him…” he chewed his lip, finally sparing you a fleeting moment of eye contact.

You understood, of course, but that didn’t stop your veins from running cold at the prospect of explaining to everyone there why you had two seats, and no plus one. 

Understanding did nothing for the fact that you had less than eight hours to find not only an appropriate dress for such an event, but a date who could also dress accordingly. You must have been wearing your dread in every facet of your being, because Jisung was quick to start spouting suggestions.

“Would your publisher let you skip out? Claim any award on your behalf?”

You shook your head, recalling how she’d reacted when you’d tried to call out of a book signing, let alone an actual award ceremony.

“I highly doubt it, Ji. You know how she is…” you trailed off, your lower lip trembling as you took a shaky inhale.

“Oh! Ask Felix, maybe?” he chirped, tilting his head to the side with the first shadow of a smile he’d worn since reappearing with that cursed, blue paper.

That…wasn’t a terrible idea.

You pulled your phone out, typing and retyping your message until your shaky fingers spared you any typos.

You: Hey, what are you doing tonight?

You wondered if Felix would find amusement in knowing you were nervous on the other end of the phone, just as his through-text stammering tickled your funny bone. Such thoughts were quickly cut short as your heart leapt into your throat.

You finally understood what people meant when they’d complain about how nervous appearing and disappearing typing cues made them.

Felix☀️: was gonna go out for some drinks with ryujin

Felix☀️: why? is everything okay?

You swallowed the lump in your throat, trying to convince yourself that encroaching on his first actual outing with - as he oftentimes called her - the love of his life was acceptable. That your personal emergency outweighed the potential of his happiness.

The thought itself felt like poison, making you nauseated at the fact you’d even considered it. It felt almost as wrong to lie to Felix, but it was for the future of the relationship you’d promised to help him secure. 

You were sure that, should he ever find out the truth, he’d forgive you. Felix was certainly the type to brush something like this off if he knew your heart was in the right place.

You: Yeah, all good. Have fun, be yourself. Tell me all about it later?

You sighed as you tucked your phone back into your pocket, looking up at Jisung’s expectant eyes before shaking your head. His expression fell instantly back into one of guilt and concern. The way his jaw clenched showed you that he was wracking his brain for any other possibility.

You didn’t need him to say a word to know that he was likely out of ideas.

There was no ill will towards Jisung, just as there was none towards Felix. Plans with someone you loved were important to those who still believed in it’s magic, after all. The only bitterness your heart held was towards San, and towards love itself.

None of this would be a problem if you simply had never loved San in the first place.

“Are you gonna be okay?” Jisung asked, reaching out to place a comforting hand on your shoulder. 

Your best attempt at a smile likely appeared more tight-lipped and forced than reassuring, though you did your best to come across as much more composed than you felt.

“Yeah, I’ll survive, Ji,” you nearly whispered, nodding your head before lightheartedly pushing him away, “Now, go pack. I don’t want Minho to blame me if you’re late for your departure, yeah?”

Jisung nodded, giving a half-hearted grin at your attempt to diffuse the tension, “Okay, sweets. Send me outfit photos? I can at least help with that.” 

With that, Jisung leaned forward and pecked the top of your head affectionately, casting a melancholy glance over his shoulder before leaving you alone in the apartment.

All there was to do now was tear apart your closet, put on your makeup, and try not to cry.

You were only confident in the first two.

Time was of the essence, so exhausting your wardrobe was the only option in order to find suitable attire for the Gala. It would be so much easier to head to one of the boutiques uptown, allowing one of the overly helpful employees there to play dress-up-author-Barbie with you.

But you only had two hours, and couldn’t risk being late and alone.

So, you’d spent ten minutes pulling every article of clothing resembling formalwear from the closet, spreading them out on your bed before snapping photos to send to Jisung for approval.

You sat at your vanity, pulling your hair back from your face to apply a thin layer of foundation and a generous layer of bronzer to your cheekbones, a necessary effort to combat the washout due to cameras flashing. A bit of a dusty-rose blush, simple flicked eyeliner, and a shock of red lipstick topped off the entire look.

You had to admit, you looked at least ten times more put together than you felt.

The chiming of your phone brought you to your feet, nearly jumping across the room to check what you had rightfully assumed was Jisung’s verdict.

Dumb Squirrel: honey, are you serious?

Dumb Squirrel: that pretty black dress and you considered other options?

Dumb Squirrel: I taught you better than that???

You rolled your eyes, not quite appreciating his humor as much as you would whilst under such immense levels of stress.

You: Unprovoked???

Dumb Squirrel: Minho wants to see your makeup before he agrees with me.

You snapped a quick photo, trying your best to put on a pleasant expression despite how pointless it felt to waste time with selfies, but you knew better than to argue with Jisung after asking him for advice.

Dumb Squirrel: first of all, i am offended

Dumb Squirrel: you hide this bad bitch in pajamas every time we hangout

Dumb Squrrel: rude

You groaned, brows furrowing as you replied to him quickly. You: Help me now, compliment me later.

Dumb Squirrel: yeesh, grouchy.

Dumb Squirrel: i get it though, so i forgive you

Dumb Squirrel: Minho said, quote, “black dress, match some heels. sleek, sexy and professional”

Dumb Squirrel: he also insists that i apologize because “this isn’t a time to joke” and to inform you he called me an idiot on your behalf

For the first time since your seemingly endless panic, the ghost of a true smile appeared on your face. You had always known there was a reason you approved of Minho outside of Jisung’s happiness. You: Thanks, both of you. Gotta finish up now, message you when I arrive?

Dumb Squirrel: you got it sweets. good luck!

You set your phone down on the vanity, picking up the elegant black number from your bed. It was a simple dress, enough to look dressed up without overdoing it. The sleeves were full length, clinging tightly to your arms despite exposing both of your shoulders. The neckline was modest, resting in a slight curve against your sternum, the skirt floor length - flaring out just enough to flow - with a slit up to your mid thigh. 

After slipping it on and struggling with the zipper alone, your reflection told you that Ji and Minho had been absolutely correct in their recommendation - your resolve only solidifying as you took Minho’s advice about a pair of black pumps. A few pieces of dainty silver jewelry, and an understated black clutch were all that was required to give you an air of poise that - until now - you weren’t sure you were actually capable of.

You’d have no idea this was a last-minute effort if you weren’t, well, you.

Sitting down once more at the vanity, slipping your phone into the clutch, you twirled a piece of hair around your fingertip. You didn’t have the time to do anything fancy, but knew that your unstyled hair would definitely not blend in with the aura of sophistication you’d managed to exude with everything else adorning your body.

The time restriction may have turned out to be a good thing, you thought to yourself. Straightened hair pulled back into a high, tight ponytail tied the whole look together in a way that you were sure Jisung would gush about for weeks after seeing the photos from the event.

Date or not, you looked absolutely fantastic - and you knew it. That confidence exuded from your features, even when you’d simply gaze blankly into the mirror. It was that same overwhelming aura one would get watching perfume commercials; despite how disinterested the actress may appear, your attention was always pulled for at least a moment.

You gave yourself one last glance, spritzing on a light perfume before making your way to the door. You’d had the sense to call a cab in advance, thanking whatever deity may have been watching over you as you spotted it pulling up from halfway down the stairs.

Another quick prayer of gratitude as the interior of the cab didn’t smell horrible, though this was likely due to the extra fee you’d paid to have a nicer, newer model pick you up.

The driver politely greeted you, nodding as you prattled off the address quickly. He seemed to be a man of few words, yet another thing you could only accredit to a guardian angel or impossible luck.

The ride was rather uneventful, save for the occasional bit of traffic at stoplights, and you’d managed to arrive at the venue with five minutes to spare. You snapped a quick photo outside of the venue, sending it to Jisung so he’d know you’d made it safely.

You: Made it to the Gala safe and sound. Now to make it through the evening without needing to explain the lack of date…pray for me. Talk later?

You shut your phone off then, not wanting to risk it going off during any announcements for the awards, slipping it back into your clutch to avoid the temptation to distract yourself with messages or social media. 

Your publicist spotted you from the entrance, waving her arm above her head to draw your attention. You stepped towards her, plastering on your best smile as you greeted her warmly. “Nari, good to see you,” you spoke softly, ghosting your lips above her cheeks rather than actually greeting her properly - the alternative being to stain her makeup red.

“Am I ever glad to see you,” she sighed, audibly relieved as she returned the gesture, “I hadn’t heard from you all day and had honestly begun to worry you’d forgotten.”

“I would never,” you lied, turning your head as your name was called by one of the photographers.

You let the corners of your lips raise as you parted your lips, the look Nari had taught you under the name pleasantly surprised to be photographed. It sounded dumb when she’d first told you about it - though the shots, and how gentle and candid you ended up looking in them, quickly won you over to her side.

“You came alone?” Nari asked quietly, speaking through her teeth behind her own gentle smile. “Mhm,” you hummed softly, turning towards a different photographer to allow them all the shots they wanted. It wasn’t as it would be as an actress or musician - there weren’t really paparazzi to speak of. This was more…documentation for online profiles, potential headshots for book covers, and coverage for the sake of equal representation amongst the arts.

Despite your hopes that Nari would leave the topic alone, it seemed you’d used up your luck reserves for the day.

“Didn’t you book a plus one?” she mumbled haphazardly, trying to keep her expression calm as she wondered how, as your publicist, she’d explain away the empty seat.

“Two years ago, yes,” you reminded her, hoping your discomfort wouldn’t be apparent in any of the photos.

“You couldn’t have canceled?” she asked, sounding more and more urgent despite speaking through a closed jaw.

“Didn’t cross my mind,” you dodged, allowing your face to shift from pleasant to neutral as the photographers gathered around the next author to arrive, “Is it really that big of a deal?”

Nari sighed, pushing her glasses up her nose as she shook her head, “In general, no. As your publicist, yes.”

You frowned, turning your body to face her. You did your best to hide your displeasure - it was embarrassing enough for you without Nari reminding you that she’d have to field questions about your dateless award show from fans of your books.

“Nari, I really don’t see what the problem is, people show up to events without an escort all the –”

You were cut off by a blossoming smile on Nari’s face, visible relief in her eyes as she stared behind you.

“That wasn’t funny, you really had me going,” she scolded, glancing at you only momentarily before allowing her focus to return somewhere behind your shoulder. “Nari, what are you talking about? I meant it when I said I came –” you were cut off by an all too familiar throat clearing behind you.

“-- alone…” you trailed off, the hair on the back of your neck slowly rising as a heavy feeling of dread made itself at home from head to toe - though it seemed to constrict your heart in your chest. “Hey,” a familiar set of sharply angled lips spoke quietly. His jaw - one that you could vaguely recall pressing your lips against once upon a time - clenched awkwardly, the man attached shuffling in place. His sheepish eyes landed upon yours, holding a strong uncertainty that only seemed to increase the contrast with the blatant shock you wore.

You swallowed hard - fight and flight playing the highest-stakes game of chicken you’d ever considered in your mind. 

Both of these options felt like a nightmare. 

Punching him in front of cameras? Tempting, and Jisung would probably ask you to sign a copy - probably even treat you to a fancy and expensive dinner after bailing you out on an assault charge. Though, as far as PR went, it was a horrible decision - having an angry publicist was never a smart choice.

Running off was just as enticing, the desire to head home without looking back - finishing a bottle of wine alone in a pretty dress - sounded absolutely cathartic. Though, Nari would have to explain your sudden disappearance - which also translated to having an angry publicist. You asked the only question you truly felt like you needed answered in that moment, though you couldn't quite recognize your voice's newfound hollowness as your own.

“San, what the fuck are you doing here?”

Lee Felix was not the type to check his phone on a date. If anything, he was the type to leave it in his truck, devoting the entirety of his attention to the person sitting before him. 

That had been his intent this evening - to sit across from Ryujin and finally engage in meaningful conversation. To smile and laugh with her as he filled in the blanks he’d so desperately craved the answer to as he’d crushed from afar. To lose himself in her eyes as she spoke about her passions.

Yet, completely out of character, Felix had forgotten to take his phone out of the pocket of his tight slacks. He, of course, had apologized when it interrupted their small talk, quickly silencing the ringer before returning to his previously enraptured state.

Even further from his typical behaviors, Felix’s curiosity about what awaited him beyond his lockscreen had stuck in his mind. So much, in fact, that he couldn’t stop himself from taking a peek at the screen whilst Ryujin was in the restroom.

Confused only slightly covered Felix’s reaction when he opened your text, swallowing hard to prevent his jaw from dropping at the sight of the photo attached;

#1 Love Hater💔: Made it to the Gala safe and sound. Now to make it through the evening without needing to explain the lack of date…pray for me. Talk later?

He was at least 99 percent certain that he wasn’t the intended recipient, yet everything about your message sparked question after question in his mind. What Gala were you referring to? If he were to glean anything from your attire and more-glamorous-than-usual makeup, it was some sort of formal event. Was this why you’d asked him about his plans for tonight? He felt his stomach lurch with guilt at the thought of you alone at something so…so utterly not like the you he knew. So formal and gaudy. 

Felix had grown accustomed to seeing you dressed comfortably in oversized sweaters, a messy bun or completely unstyled hair framing your barely-made-up face. 

Felix had only ever seen you in casual settings; your apartment, his truck, the food court, and the art studio. You looked beautiful, and Felix could acknowledge and appreciate the effort you’d put into your appearance for whatever this “Gala” was. 

He’d always found your features to be pretty, though, even with your face smooshed against the window of his truck as you slept soundly.

To Felix, seeing you like this rather than how you usually present yourself was like being offered two slices of cake made up with the same ingredients, simply decorated differently. He simply couldn’t pick one over the other.

Ryujin still hadn’t returned, allowing his mind to continue questioning every aspect of the message you’d sent. He could only put so many pieces together on his own, though, and found himself increasingly antsy as he wondered how you were holding up - out of your element, and alone.

He’d shot you a quick text, trying to see how you were doing. He couldn’t help but frown as the checkmark stayed faded, not even registering as delivered. Was your phone dead? If it was, how could you call anyone if you needed something? He quickly scrolled his contacts, finding Jisung and typing out a message before he could even consider other options. Felix: what’s the gala?

Ryujin came back out then, giving Felix a brilliant smile that instantly made him wish he’d never seen your message. He was truly happy to have this time with her, finally getting the chance to become more than the guy who makes her drinks, yet here he was - worrying about you.

“Sorry I took so long, there was a line,” she explained before sliding back into her chair, lifting her wine glass to take a small sip.

“No worries,” Felix assured, his typically shining grin dimmed significantly as he tapped his foot subconsciously beneath the table. 

If Ryujin noticed a change in his behavior, she didn’t let on, launching right back into where she’d left the discussion.

Though once enamored by every word that left her lips, Felix barely registered Ryujin’s recollection of her previous job as a secretary before moving on to her current position as an executive assistant. He felt his phone buzz against his thigh. Felix was doing his best to nod and smile attentively, despite the way his fingertips were twitching with the desire to pull up his phone and get the answers he craved. 

Ryujin finished her story, looking at Felix expectantly as she took another sip of her wine. Shit, did she ask me something?

His palms began to sweat, another buzz against his thigh only serving to worsen the clamminess. He gave his best attempt at a remorseful smile, standing from his seat to give her a slight bow of apology.

“I’m really sorry, I’ll be right back, okay?” His eyes were wide, and it seemed to suddenly register with Ryujin that something was going on with him - that his attention had been elsewhere for the last several minutes. “Oh, yeah,” she said, her kind expression barely faltering as she read the look in his eyes as concern, “Is everything alright?”

“I hope so,” Felix replied with uncertainty, half of his mouth upturning into a crooked smile. Ryujin nodded, seeming to understand fully that this was something important to him - why else would his mood have shifted so suddenly?

Felix bowed again, though this time from gratitude, before hastily walking off in the direction of the outdoor patio. He pulled his phone out so quickly that he’d nearly dropped it, his level of worry causing him to mess up his own lock code not once - but twice.

Jisung (tried to 👊 once): howd you know about the gala?

Jisung (tried to 👊 once): its some fancy writing award thing i think tho?

Felix’s brow furrowed so deeply into his head that there would likely be residual wrinkles for a few minutes after he finally relaxed, his fingers flying across the keyboard as he chewed on the inside of his cheek.

Felix: and she went alone? 🙁 what if she wins?

Felix: accept an award alone? 😭

Felix’s guilt from earlier was on the fast track to evolve into unadulterated shame. He wondered why she’d have kept this from him…sure, he was busy, but her secrecy almost gave him further cause for concern.

Jisung (tried to 👊 once): yeah…i’m on jeju with Minho rn

Jisung (tried to 👊 once): she said you were busy but if you arent?

Jisung (tried to 👊 once): she’d appreciate someone there, i think

Jisung (tried to 👊 once): at least to save her from her publicist’s wrath

Felix sighed hard enough that it could’ve easily been mistaken as a frustrated groan. He was far from being irritated though - uneasy due to his lack of understanding, maybe, but not frustrated.

Felix: why would her publicist hound her?

Felix: was she not supposed to be alone?

Felix’s confusion only grew stronger, every answer to his questions revealing at least two more things he didn’t understand. 

Jisung (tried to 👊 once): its not really my place

Jisung (tried to 👊 once): all i can say comfortably is that she’d planned on a plus one

Jisung (tried to 👊 once): and some shit happened

Jisung (tried to 👊 once): emphasis on shit

Felix’s heart sank. On one hand, you hadn’t shared this information with him yourself. If he acted on it, would you be upset with him for prying? Upset with Jisung for sharing? On the other, from what he gathered, tonight might be painful for you - especially if you’d planned on someone special being by your side for it.

Felix: you really think she’d want me there?

Felix decided to double check, despite Jisung’s earlier statement that you’d likely appreciate a friendly face. If anyone would be able to predict your reactions closest to complete accuracy, it would be your best friend.

Jisung (tried to 👊 once): i know she would.

That’s when Felix made arguably the toughest decision of his adult life, stuffing his phone back into his pocket as he reapproached the table - Ryujin’s momentary happiness fading as she recognized the look on his face.

“What’s up?” she asked, trying to remain casual despite the sudden intensity in Felix’s gaze.

“Please forgive me,” he started, though his voice sounded much more resolute than a plea for forgiveness should, “There’s an emergency with one of my friends, I really have to go.”

Ryujin blinked a few times, nodding her head before giving him a sweet smile - disappointment barely visible as she responded calmly, “I understand completely.”

“Rain check?” Felix asked hopefully, pulling his blazer from the back of his chair with a raised brow before slinging it over his arms.

“Of course,” she replied softly, watching as he tossed enough cash for their meal and tips onto the table before handing her a few bills to pay cab fare to get her home.

She blinked at the money in her hand before looking back up at him, her brows creased together. Sure, she hadn’t known Felix long…but his entire demeanor looked different somehow. Gone was the awkward, shy, fumbling man she’d arrived with - in his place stood a man completely sure of himself, confident in his choice to cut their date short in the name of a friend in need.

As she watched Felix race back to his truck, turning the keys in the ignition before he’d even buckled his seatbelt, Ryujin wasn’t quite sure if she was more puzzled or besotted by this brand new side of Lee Felix.

As you stood face to face with San you became certain of two things.

Firstly, he was exactly the same. From the way he parted his hair, to the slight lean to the right in his posture, San had not changed - even a tiny bit. No sign of new fine lines or wrinkles. No difference in the offhanded way he’d addressed you. The only difference, in fact, was a glittering gold band on his left ring finger.

That had led you to your second revelation; any love you had for him was - in fact - gone. The tentative smile he offered you that used effortlessly placate even your largest irritations only served to give you an uncomfortable case of the goosebumps, chilling you to the very core. The way he tilted his head, once something you’d found precious now only infuriated you. 

How dare he look at you so calmly after what he’d done? How dare he show up at an event that wasn’t even for him in the first place? How dare he show up with the audacity to escort you wearing a wedding ring after breaking off your engagement to marry the woman who’d likely slid that onto his finger?

How dare he do this in front of your publicist, who now wore a relieved and excited grin on her face at the notion of having the seat next to you filled.

How dare he waltz up to you with absolutely no warning, uttering a casual hey as if you were somehow friends? 

How fucking dare he?

Your teeth were clenched following your less-than-amicable question, jaw set in a tensed position as you crossed your arms against your chest.

“Don’t act this way,” he started, his brows knitting together before he pursed his lips.

“I said what the fuck are you doing here?” you hissed, eyes widened with a rage that, until just now, you believed had been abandoned in favor of grief.

“I –” he cut himself off, leaning his head back and closing his eyes as he took a sharp breath in through his nose - the telltale flaring of his nostrils showing just how hard he was working to keep himself gentle, “I was supposed to be your plus one. I’m not so shitty that I’d let you sit alone at the Gala.”

“I beg to differ,” you deadpanned, “You’re exactly that shitty, and nothing would make me happier than if you’d never shown up here.”

San’s jaw clenched as he took in your quiet anger. He’d experienced different sides of you before, but this was new. 

You’d had jealous anger before, resulting in tears and long monologues of your insecurities - coating everything you did like a cold drizzle, sinking you into yourself as you’d seek warmth in any way possible.

You’d had explosive anger, too. Raising your voice and refusing to listen to reason, certain that exactly what you believed to be happening was strictly fact - down to every last detail. Like an earthquake, threatening destruction on anything not secured tightly in place.

Now, though? Your face was blank, save for the slightly widened state of your eyes and the hard line your lips had formed. Your words were clear and concise, as if you had been waiting to say these very words to him for your entire life. You sounded sure. You sounded calm.

You were the eye of a hurricane, a single spot of calm amidst the raging sea. Moving in any direction too quickly could plunge him into the chaotic, swirling depths.

“Unfortunately,” you continued on, not once shifting your steely gaze away from his, “It seems that in order to be rid of you, I’d need to do something my publisher will absolutely disapprove of.”

San swallowed hard, “I didn’t come here with the intention to upset you –” his eyes bulged as you laughed - as though his attempt at reassurance was actually the funniest thing you’d ever heard in your life.

“That’s fucking rich, Choi San, considering you’re planning to walk at my side as though you’ve done nothing wrong,” you took a step closer, despite how sick the proximity made you feel, just to ensure that no prying eyes or gossip-hungry ears could pick up on a thing you said.

“You want to come here, to an award ceremony for my profession, wearing the ring given to you by the woman you swore to me I didn’t need to worry about?” you scoffed under your breath, every bit of your body language screaming discomfort and volatility.

You whispered the last sentence, the audacity he had to appear shocked, requiring you to push back against the urge to spit in his face, “But, I guess since you didn’t come here to upset me, it’s all fine I suppose.” 

If it hadn’t been for Nari, you’d have definitely caused a bigger scene. 

If you didn’t know for a fact that she’d have several choice words, if not threats on your career should you turn San away, you’d have simply called him a cab and told him to get fucking lost.

You had to be escorted by the man who ruined your entire concept of love for the night. There was no other option. You suddenly found yourself wishing you’d simply not been reminded by Jisung about the event earlier, simply missing it and facing Nari’s wrath.

That was better than forcing yourself to pretend to be fine next to San.

If you had to be escorted by the largest reminder of your heartache, you refused to do it with an agreeable demeanor - so you turned away from him suddenly, making a beeline for the outdoor bar, hoping to get a couple of drinks to coax you into spending the evening next to the devil. 

You’d expected him to perhaps follow you, at least having the decency to be as close to invisible as he could be in the seat next to you for the evening.

You’d expected him to let you get a drink, maybe to even understand why you wanted to dull your senses around him.

What you hadn’t expected was his sudden, tight grip around your wrist - stopping you in your tracks.

“I showed up for you,” he whispered with accentuated sibilance, a noise more closely associated with a feral cat than a man. His grip tightened on your wrist as his eyes grew wide, “I left my wife home to escort you at this stupid fucking gala,” he spat that bit bitterly, his nose wrinkling with anger, “that I’ve never actually liked attending, just so you don’t feel fucking embarassed, all alone.” San’s voice had morphed into one filled with venom, it’s sole intent to mock you and make you feel small.

“I didn’t fucking ask you to,” you hissed back, ignoring the stinging in your eyes at his words. You didn’t love him anymore, this was true. You didn’t care about his opinion, and that was true, too. 

It was also true that he knew you well enough to know exactly where to prod, exactly how to hurt you.

You barely noticed whispers of a few passerby as the two of you exchanged your hushed, turbulent stabs.

You barely noticed the familiar sound of an engine thrumming beneath the hood of a red pickup truck.

His grip grew tighter, making you wince slightly, “You’re so fucking ungrateful,” San continued, running his free hand through his hair - as he’d always done when he’d grown frustrated with you - before shooting his darkened eyes back towards you, “All you’ve ever done is complain about everything I do for you, no matter how fucking much I hated doing it.”

“I didn’t want you here,” you insisted, trying with futility to pull your wrist from the constraint of his fist, “This isn’t for me,” you swallowed the thickness growing in your throat, ignoring the way your voice quivered as you spoke - determined not to break where he could see you, “If this were for me, you’d be gone. In fact, you’d never have shown up here in the first place, San.”

San grew red in the face as he pulled you closer by your wrist, hissing whatever the opposite of sweet nothings were directly into your face, “You stupid, selfish, spoiled little –” he suddenly stopped, his gaze focusing behind you reminding you eerily of the way Nari had spotted him before.

The smell of a summer’s rain and wildflowers flooded your senses, prefacing a warm hand resting against your bare shoulder. 

San’s jaw clenched as he glanced at the hand, his eyes slowly making their way up to the face attached.

It was then that a familiar, comforting bass voice met your ears - soothing you despite the intimidating closeness San maintained with you. 

You turned your head to confirm your suspicions, relief overpowering the bewilderment you felt seeing the last person you’d expected to show up this evening.

“So sorry I’m late,” he whispered just loud enough for San to hear as well, stepping close enough that he hovered directly over your back.

Felix.

“I’d appreciate if you’d unhand my date." He nearly growled, the look on his face completely foreign to the gentle, fluffy haired boy you'd grown so accustomed to. "Now.”

[voodoodaaddy]

cont from. here @heliacalxrising

Alastor may or may not have a thousand yard stare, only to snap out of it when his loves start to tend to him. Even if at times he may be on the verge of melting down; just a simple thing like a kiss or a hug seems to ease his inner demons. Also mass murder helps too! Either way, despite the chaotic nature of this family, he is content and wouldn’t have it any other way

Aspen squeals into one of his ear which are now ringing, but he hugs their baby and gives Lilith a grateful expression before kissing her sweet mouth softly, then turned to lean down and kiss Lucifer’s syrup tasting lips once more. The stag looked tired, but he tried his best to push through. For them, he’ll push through it. When the other two babies are born, they’ll be even more busy with handling two newborns and a toddler.

“I love you both. You’ve given me such wonderful gifts.” Of course he’s referring to their offspring. He couldn’t wait to raise the rest of their children with his beloveds. He truly adores his growing family. Never has he felt so full.

Perhaps though, even being an ambitious stag that he is and getting not only one but two Royals pregnant; it might be wise to take a small break from creating more. At least for now. “Aspen will be having plenty of playmates soon.” He’s happy for that. He didn’t want them to be alone—even if they have their big sister Charlie, he wanted to have Aspen grow up together with other siblings.

He found the energy to bounce Aspen once more who is currently petting their mother’s face. They quickly took to Lilith quickly. Barely creating a fuss from the new parent in the family. However, it’s no surprise, Lilith is a natural when it comes to babies.

“My darlings, how do you feel? Do you need anything?” He always asked every single time. Doting over both of them. Ensuring they are comfortable and content. He then adds, “I forgot to mention about the nest. I think we should perhaps expand it a little.” He looked at Lucifer stomach which seemed bigger than what he remembers with Aspen. “That way Lilith can join.” He met his mistress gaze, “With the two of us during Lucifer’s bir---uh--egg laying, it will help soothe him to have us both in the nest I believe.”