#happy winter veil y'all

[tacitoru]

"caution! this could get ugly" - eren yeager

Pairing: eren x reader

Summary: It's hard to get into the Christmas spirit when you work through winter break. But when you attend your coworker's annual ugly sweater party in an attempt to get into the holiday spirit, a certain green-eyed line cook is determined to make that a challenge.

Or;

The Chili's!AU Christmas party one-shot no one asked for

wc: 6.6k

Tags: enemies to lovers, coworkers!au

Content warnings: smut, oral ( f receiving), spit play, drug references, eren has big ass hands, minors dni

 my first fic in an anime fandom, pls be gentle! you can't tell me eren doesn't give off headass-but-secretly-softie line cook vibes... you can't tell me he doesn't look like that one guy you wanted to smash that one time at work!

um...happy holidays, y'all!

read on ao3 | masterlist | twt

The lady at table six doesn’t deserve about half of the attitude that she’s getting from you tonight. Besides, it’s not her fault all of the sides to each meal she ordered were wrong. It’s not her fault her appetizer had to be recalled two times because there were onions in the guacamole on both instances when her chips and dip platter arrived at the table. She’s not the one who cooked her husband’s steak well-done instead of medium-rare. Of course not, because as she oh-so considerably informs you over the distressed screams of her high-chair-bound toddler, she would never cook a New York strip steak like that.

But between the chaos of the dinner rush and the mishaps of a particular line cook who seems hell-bent on making your night as difficult as possible, table six and her husband are lucky that you are even able to flash them a drawn smile before stalking off.

The double doors to the kitchen – so lovingly called the heart of the house - are a thin veil between utter mayhem and the generally calm atmosphere of the dining area, never staying for longer than a second as waiters rush to tend to their tables. Stepping into the chaos, several obstacles stand between you and the culprit of your terrible night. Fellow employees swarm the narrow walking space, and you slip by with practiced ease and the occasional apology. You’re almost a little envious as you take note of them – no one else looks as half as pressed as you do tonight. As they should be, it’s only a Tuesday night. Not even the weekend yet. And yet, as you shimmy your way through the back of the house, you can’t help but feel a similar fatigue and exasperation that typically follows a Friday night shift. This only serves to further solidify your resolve as you duck past a team of waiters off to serve a business party.  A long, stainless-steel counter runs the length of the kitchen space, with shelves that reach the ceiling, effectively separating the servers from the cooking staff. Waiters and line cooks take turns sliding completed and returned orders beneath the shelving, and heat lamps attached to the bottom of the last shelf to preserve the food. It is within this space that you all but shove your head beneath the heat lamps to give Eren Jaeger a piece of your mind.

“Do you have a problem?”

“Yeah, actually.” Eren, standing idly over the stove top adjacent to you whips around at the sound of your voice. He makes a wry face at the sight of you, hunched over the countertop and under the warm hutch, forced to cram your neck in a certain direction to give Eren the full force of your scowl. For all his nonchalance, there’s a glint in his eyes. “You haven’t come to talk to me since you started your shift.”

You blink once, twice, before all but slamming your head into the shelf above you in an attempt to swipe at Eren across the counter. “Are you – are you fucking joking right now? Are you actually fucking messing with my table’s orders because I didn’t say ‘hi’ when I walked in?” Eren sucks his teeth, pretending to rearrange some condiments in front of him. “You’ve been here for two hours already. It’s polite to greet your seniors. Seems you’ve lost all your manners while you were away at college.”

Right eye twitching at the condescending note in his tone, you rear back, ready to straight up drag him into the walk-in and show him just how polite your fists could be. That thought is quickly sidetracked as a broom handle to the back of the knees sends you stumbling back from the countertop. Your manager stands behind you, arms akimbo, broom in one hand. He pointedly offers you a serving tray.

“Your steak is getting cold.” Stern, curt, and orderly, your night manager is infamous for running a tight ship. But even he, for all his methodology and patience, gets run ragged by the customer service industry. If you thought you were over tonight, Levi looks just about ready to turn in his two weeks.

“What about-,”

“I’ll handle him. Now get back to your other tables before I make you clean the bathrooms.” The night shift manager threatens to strike you with the broom handle again before passing off the tray and pushing you in the right direction.

You spare an accusatory glare at Eren, who watches on in bemusement. Rude bitch, he mouths, wiggling his fingers in a girlish wave.

The rest of the night goes on fairly smoothly. The dinner rush subsides just as quickly as it came. No one asks you to sing the Happy Birthday song. The incident at table six lands you a meager tip, but you grin and bear it. Better than nothing at all. Or worse, change. This seems to be the case for Sasha, a regular dinner shift waitress. She marches through the double doors with a fist full of nickels and dimes courteous of her last table of the night – a group of college students. Cursing under her breath, it’s obvious your coworker is ready to call it a night hide in the back with a basket of rolls until close.

There’s an obvious shift in mood as your team transitions to its closing routine. As Levi thanks the last customers for the night and locks the door behind them, the tension from the day seems to almost melt away instantaneously. Connie, a back-of-the-house member who ends up stuck by the dishwasher most nights, takes the opportunity to hijack the restaurant’s stereo system to blast trap music you only know the chorus to.

Closing, believe it or not, is your favorite part of the job. You take pride in how dutifully you restock, fold cutlery, wipe tables, and somehow always manage to avoid being assigned the task of sweeping the dining areas. You’d rather be caught dead before you struggle with that insolent, brittle plastic broom against an entire night’s worth of grime and dropped food. Instead, when Levi wordlessly hands it off to you this time, you make your way to the back of the house, prepared to bestow this lovely gift to the main antagonist of your shift.

You discover Eren lounging outside the storage shed behind the restaurant, the tell-tale sign of the flicker of a lighter giving him away. And the smell. The heady burn of a Backwood climbs its way up your nostrils as you approach him, languidly smoking half a blunt on the clock.

“Y’know the longer you sit out here, the longer it’s gonna take for us to get the fuck out, right?” Eren greets your matter-of-fact tone with a cloud of smoke, thick and distinct in the crisp winter night air.  You shoot Eren a disapproving look as you approach plastic broom in hand, fully prepared to guilt trip your coworker into taking on your least favorite closing duty. “You’re really pushing your luck tonight, aren’t you? You’re so lucky it’s too cold for Levi to come out here and bust your ass himself.”

This isn’t the first time the heart-of-the-house worker had snuck off to light up before joining the clean-up routine. Connie and Eren regularly covered for each other’s smoke breaks, so often that even Levi began to turn a blind eye as long as everyone clocked out on time. The line cooks' routine typically didn’t affect much on your end unless it was a night like this – a night when everyone had plans afterward.

Tonight, there was a holiday party at stake.

“Levi’s got a soft spot for me, you know,” Eren scoffs, taking another drag from the half-smoked blunt. He still has yet to fully face you, perched on a stack of discarded crates and angled away from the kitchen’s back entrance. Tucked away in the shadow of the storage shed, Eren ashes off the corner of the small building. “Besides, even he can’t resist my charm.”

Rolling your eyes, you wave the plastic broom in front of him, threatening to poke him in the ribs when he begins to protest. “Charm won’t save you from sweeping duty tonight. After what your petty ass put me through tonight – here, take it.”

Eren raises an eyebrow, throwing his hands up in protest when you move to toss the broom handle at him carelessly. He gripes, “I’ve got better things to do than clean up after you.” The blunt in his hand smolders near his fingertips. You pluck it from his hands with little resistance and take a hit, brow crinkling at the taste. Your lungs ache and warm at the sensation.

“Yeah? Yeah, like this?” You wheeze and hope he attributes the water gathering at the corners of your eyes to the cold. “Just get it done, and let’s finish this so we can all get to the party on time.” Eren watches in dismay as you stomp out the remains of his roach.

“Someone’s in a hurry…A Grinch like you, it can’t possibly be the Christmas spirit?” Eren narrowly avoids being jabbed in the ribs again, jumping from his hiding spot when you lunge. He eyes your tense shoulders, nearly hiked up to your ears, and the impatience in your stance. In the years you’ve worked together, your general disdainful demeanor towards him is nothing new, but there’s something else. Something else that leads Eren to believe that the dark flush of your cheeks has little to do with the winter air. He swipes the broom from your grasp, approaching you with a wolfish grin. You instinctively take a step back, a little less confident now with the broom no longer as your barrier. Confronting Eren over kitchen counters, between restaurant booths, and across busy back-of-the-house spaces in the presence of your other coworkers was one thing. But as the young man towers over you, gaze shadowed in the dim glow of the moon and the weak holiday lights haphazardly strewn about the awning around the restaurant, you can’t help but shrink a little under his direct attention.

After a tense moment of silence, Eren relents. “Alright, alright. I’ll get it done. But you owe me a dance later at the party.”

Your stupor was broken, you sputter and gawk up at him, at his audacity. “I- Me? Dance for you? Dream on, slacker. Now, move it. I’ve got tables to wipe down, and I’m not waiting for you to finish sweeping.”

Working at Pepper’s had only meant to be a summertime gig, at first. Looking for a quick way to make some cash before the start of your first year in college, the local Tex-Mex chain restaurant was your least enthusiastic option. A popular location in your small town, it was one of a few dining options that didn’t require you to drive out into the city to enjoy. The idea of running into one of your former high school classmates while donning the company apron and signature red visor, toting a serving tray - or worse, working with one of them - mortified you. But chain restaurants were always hiring, and you needed money fast. Eventually, working the evening shift as a waitress during breaks from school became the norm - until now. Now, as the start of the final spring semester of your undergraduate program approaches, you're left to consider what the next summer will really look like for you once you graduate. Besides, it wasn’t like this was going to be your career, right?

Right?

In your years on staff, Sasha’s ugly sweater party had become an unofficial team bonding event of sorts. No matter how new someone was to the staff or how frequently they were on shift, everyone came to Sasha’s. And everyone came dressed accordingly, or you were turned away at the door. A night of ugly sweaters, spiked eggnog, and best of all, Secret Santa.  Since your freshman year of college, Sasha’s holiday party was always something you could look forward to.

You anxiously eye a little red gift bag from across your coworker’s living room, trying to hide your grimace behind your second glass of wine.

“You look like you’re waiting for a bomb to go off.” The hostess of the night is pretty quick to clock your demeanor. Sasha slides onto the couch next to you, her sweater an egregious display of flashing multicolored lights, silver tinsel, and a giant patch of Rudolph the red nose reindeer sledding down a mountain in sunglasses stitched to her chest.

You force a smile, attempting to play off your nerves. “No bomb, just…Secret Santa jitters, you know?”

“Ah, the classic Secret Santa anxiety.” Your companion watches as your nervous gaze flickers from the gift table to a certain couple in matching argyle sweaters with tiny Christmas trees sewn in between the jacquard diamonds, huddled in the doorway into the kitchen. Sasha’s eyes widen in understanding. “Can I take a wild guess at who you got?”

You realize you’re not-so-subtly glaring at Jean, who’s laughing with his uninvited guest across the room. Jean, your coworker, and former daytime shift waiter. Jean, your friend whom you’ve admired from afar for his kindness and tenacity. Jean, who got promoted to manager at some point while you were away finishing your last fall semester at college and didn’t tell you. Jean, whom you have the worst, most horrendous crush on. You take another sip from your drink to avoid the pitiful look you know is on Sasha’s face. “I just hope he likes what I got him. I mean, we’re not exactly best buddies or anything...”

If Sasha catches the sour note in your voice, she says nothing to acknowledge it. “I’m sure you know him better than you think.”

You can’t help but huff in exasperation. “That’s the problem though, isn’t it? Ever since I switched from dayshift in the fall, ever since I went back to campus, he’s been so distant. I could’ve sworn we were getting somewhere over the summer, but now…” You tip your glass listlessly in the direction of the object of your ire, whose arm is wrapped around none other than Mikasa, a waitress who quit last year but still hangs around some of your coworkers. Apparently.

Everyone comes to Sasha’s Christmas party.

It goes without saying that Jean is with Mikasa now, but your eyes can’t help but linger in his direction anyway. After all, the last time you saw him…

The pool party. That pool house. The surprise that colored his eyes and flushed his cheeks when you kissed him.

You shake off the memory, scowl deepening. The hostess herself leans in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Come on, spill. What’d you get him?”

You glance around for any eavesdroppers before revealing, “A leather-bound journal. He’s always jotting things down, and I thought it might come in handy.”

Sasha squeezes the hand on your lap not balancing a drink and offers you an encouraging smile. “Not bad! Thoughtful and practical. I’m sure he’ll love it.”

You nod, a bit more reassured. “I hope so. It’s just…I really wanted to get him something he’d like, you know?” You watch as Jean presses a doting kiss to Mikasa’s forehead, smiling into her hairline. He has yet to look your way once, except for at your arrival.

Sasha pats your shoulder. “Don’t worry too much. It’s the thought that counts.”

The thought. You scoff. You think you might need a third glass of wine.

As Sasha wanders off to mingle with the other guests, a mix of cashiers and kitchen staff amused with seeing one another outside of shift schedules, your attention is drawn to Eren, who seats himself in the spot that Sasha once occupied with all the languor of someone who didn’t show up to the party sober. It doesn’t take much for him to reveal that he heard most of your previous exchange.

“Secret Santa jitters, huh?” he teases, propping himself up against one arm of the sofa. The line cook wears a dark blue cable knit sweater, with what you think is some horrific reimagining of Bob Ross knitted across his chest. Tiny, tinkling silver bells adorn the hem, glittering as he shifts in his seat. His hair, typically tied up and away from his face during shifts, spills loosely over his shoulders and shags over his eyes. You recall the way he looked at you earlier in the night behind the storage shed and remember his insistence that you dance with him at this party. In the warm lighting from the barrage of Christmas lights that line Sasha’s living room ceiling, he almost looks pretty like this.

You shoot him a look. “What’s it to you, Eren?”

“Just wondering if I made the nice list,” he quips, winking playfully. You make note of the lack of red rimming his eyes. Maybe he is sober then?

“Cute,” you scoff, trying to dismiss the way heat rises to your cheeks at the comment. Maybe you’re the one that needs to sober up. “Now go sweep something or whatever is it you do when you’re not getting high and crashing parties.”

Eren smirks but doesn’t leave. Instead, he nods in the direction of the gift table, of the little red disaster bag that haunts the corner of your eye. “So, who’s the lucky recipient of your generosity?”

You sigh, giving in to the conversation. “Well, the point of Secret Santa is that it’s a secret-,”

“Jean, huh? That’s interesting.” While you sputter at his presumptuousness, Eren’s expression tightens for a moment, and you can almost see the wheels turning in his head.

Before you can question his tone – or how the hell he had even overheard you and Sasha, for that matter – Sasha calls for attention announcing the start of the gift exchange. 

You leave Eren on the couch to grab your present, eager to get away from whatever that was. You have enough to be anxious about tonight without Eren Jeager getting into the mix. Unsure how Jean will react to your carefully chosen present, you grip the little red bag a little tighter.

In the end, you don’t even get to witness Jean’s reaction to your gift. All of that tension, all of your worries on the drive here, all of your anxiety leading up to this moment is all for naught. Eren Jeager makes sure of that.

He doesn’t even try to sound remorseful once he spills his wine down the front of your sweater just as you’re about to hand off your gift to your should-be-former crush. You had mustered up the courage to approach Jean, who had finally wrenched himself from Mikasa’s grasp for a brief moment to collect a wrapped parcel of his own. But as soon as you reach out to catch the day shift manager’s attention, your entire body is shifted off-center. Eren collides into your right side, tipping his glass into your chest with little more than a half-assed, “Whoops, my bad.”

You gasp, the force of Eren’s weight and a mix of shock and horror sending you reeling back from Jean. The surrounding partygoers come to a halt, Jean included as he turns to finally take in the sight of you for the first time tonight, mortified and doused in red wine that bleeds through the front of your white cashmere sweater like an open wound. The little red gift bag hangs limply in your hands.

Jean calls your name, voice colored with surprise and concern, but you’re already marching towards the bathroom, eyes stinging, hands shaking, dropping the gift bag somewhere on the way between pushing through little clusters of your coworkers all squeezed into Sasha’s homey apartment.

Much to your relief, the bathroom to the guest bedroom is already unlocked and unoccupied, a temporary haven for you to gather your bearings.

Or so you thought.

It’s not long before Eren finds you, gently knocking on the door with a soft call of your name. You’ve spent the past few minutes fruitlessly dabbing at the stain blossoming on your chest with paper towels and cold water, only succeeding in smearing it into a much larger mess. The snowflakes carefully stitched into the pattern of your sweater begin to take on a faint salmon color, the sight in the mirror only serving to fuel your frustration. Tears well up in your eyes as mortification over the night’s events threaten to overwhelm you, but Eren’s voice startles you into a sense of annoyance. In your panic and haste, you had forgotten to lock the door behind you.

The bathroom door swings open, and you glance up in time to see Eren duck inside, his expression softened with a hint of something you’re too bewildered to decipher. Your heart sinks when you realize Jean doesn’t file in behind him.

“Need some help?” Eren offers, an uncharacteristically sincere tone to his voice.

You shoot him a skeptical look, “Are you being serious right now?”

 Rather than back off when met with your icy demeanor, Eren closes the door behind him. And rather than tell him off when he turns you to face him, nearly bumping heads in the cramped guest bathroom, you both set to work with damp paper towels.

You work in silence, under the harsh fluorescent lighting, the sounds of the party raging on outside. Eren’s touch is gentle, and purposeful as he braces your shoulder with one hand and dabs just under your neckline with the other. A pensive look falls over his face. You wait for an apology that doesn’t come.

Distantly, you hear the Christmas music switch to something with a little more bass and know that Connie has hijacked the speaker. As you dab at the hem of your sweater, convinced that the stain would be a permanent fixture in your sweater at this point, you glance up to notice a smile playing on your intruder’s lips.

You shoot him a withering look, “You think this is funny?”

Eren breaks out into a full-on smirk, impish even, looking a bit more like the line cook you’ve known to antagonize you. He tosses his paper towel in the trash and leans against the bathroom counter, his green eyes fixed on you. For a brief moment, they simmer with spitefulness. “I think it’s a hell of a lot less depressing than watching you openly moon over horse face.”

“Horse face?” You blanch. “You mean Jean-,”

“-Besides, I did you a favor. Now you don’t have to go and be disappointed him.”

Your frustration grows, but beneath it, there’s a spark of defiance. You snap at him, “What does it even matter to you, Eren? All night you’ve been on my case; at work, at this party! Whatever I give to Jean – whatever I have or don't have going with Jean is none of your business.”

You feel the tension between you, thick and charged, but the satisfied look on Eren’s face never wavers. He’s lax, head tilted back as he observes you over the bridge of his nose with a gaze that meets yours that could almost be described as bored if not for the hungry something lurking in them. That same look from your closing shift, passing him the broom. He’s not high anymore, you determine, hasn’t been for a while if the intense look expression, and the clarity of his gaze is anything to go by, so you can’t chalk it up to insobriety. You distantly wonder how much more often he’s looked at you like that. For how long? How have you never noticed? It seems so much more apparent like this, outside of work. So much harder to ignore with no metal counters to divide you, and no uniforms to keep up to code.

In your anger, you’ve stepped closer, balling the used towel in one fist and bracing against the counter with the other, half caging in the much taller man against the sink. You don’t realize how close you are, face to face like this, drawn in by the intensity of his eyes. The bathroom feels smaller, the air heavier, and you’re acutely aware of every beat of your heart.

 You mutter, “What the hell is with you?” and he huffs a laugh through his nose, a real smile on his lips as you draw near.

“If only you fucking knew.”

Eren leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a bold move that leaves you momentarily stunned. For a moment, you forget about the chaos of the party outside. When he finally presses his lips to yours, it’s a slow kiss laced with arrogance, a statement of intent. And despite your annoyance, you can’t help the feeling of warmth that floods you. Hands seek each other out in a flurry of movement. The paper towels and spilled wine are forgotten as Eren’s hand slips around your waist, pulling you closer. Eren lets you cage him fully against the bathroom sink, if only to fit one leg between yours and slot his fingers from around your waist to the back of your neck, into your hair with the free hand not holding himself up against the counter.

The kiss is a collision of emotions – frustration, surprise, and an underlying current of something you hadn’t quite acknowledged before and aren’t entirely sure if you’re ready to either. Unhurried and messy, you can feel the groan that reverberates through Eren’s chest against your own as you tug his bottom lip between your teeth. He tastes like smoke and red wine and metal. There’s no urgency behind his moments, languid with the way explores your mouth, as if a crowd of people you’ve worked with throughout some of the more formative years of your life aren’t separated from you by a singular door. As if the man you’d sworn you’d come back to try to commit to wasn’t a brisk walking distance away. He kisses you like a lover, and not like a man who has made it his mission to spend every waking moment you’ve had together grating your nerves.

Surprise shocks you at the swipe of his tongue ring against your lower lip. His thumb at your neck strokes along your chin, and your jaw with a touch that’s borderline reverent. A balmy, pleasant feeling unfurls in your chest, thrums in your veins as you allow him to tilt your head back and deepen the kiss. Eren’s lips are warm and insistent, and despite the bizarre circumstances, you feel right at home in his grasp.

The sounds of the party outside fade into the background, replaced by the rhythmic thud of your heart in your ears.

You’re surprised at how gentle he is. Firm, unrelenting in his touch, sure, but with none of the simmering aggression you’d come to associate him with. Strong, sure hands, slide encircle your hips under your sweater, thumbs dragging across your hip bones at the hem of your jeans. Stoking that smoldering feeling in your chest, a simmering in your low belly. The sensation earns him a gasp, interrupted by his lips.  It takes little convincing for you to remove the sweater altogether, discarding the article of clothing along with it.

You’re rewarded with a pained groan as Eren breaks the kiss long enough to admire you like this, all flush and disheveled from the neck up. His doing. Not Jean’s. He can’t help but feel smug satisfaction, finally having quelled that ugly, nagging feeling that had built up in his chest once he had realized just why you had been so anxious to get to the party tonight. None of that matters now. Eren is too focused on chasing the press of your hips against his. Too focused on the feeling of your lips and the little gasps you make each time he moves to tuck into the crook of your neck instead, teeth finding their way to the pliable skin at the juncture of your bare neck. Too enamored by the way the lust and wine make your eyes hazy and soft on him in a way he wishes you’d look at him during the daytime.

Breaking your gaze, Eren rearranges your legs so that you’re nearly seated on his lap with the way you lean over him against the counter. Eren’s fingertips find their way beneath the hem of your bra, sliding over the seams of your ribcage to trace and then squeeze at the expanse of bare skin there. You sigh into his mouth at the feeling, content to rock in his lap and suck on his tongue until the rough pads of his thumbs swipe over your nipples, rendering you just a little more desperate.

“Oh – oh. Eren, please-,” The little silver bells sewn into the collar of his sweater jingle with every rock of your hips, and you can’t help but snicker against his lips once you notice the sound.

“Let me – here, let me take this shit off.” Eren gives you just enough room to swipe the festive sweater over his head, just enough time to toss it somewhere on the floor before he’s on you again. One large hand palms your rear, the other resting against your collarbones, fingers encircling your throat to guide you back into one more heated kiss, prying your mouth open with his teeth and tongue, rolling yours over his.

Your own wandering hands tangle in his hair as it curtains your face, trace the sinewy lines of his back as you silently wonder if he’s always been this strong.

Eren doesn’t let you wonder for long, managing to scoop up you inside the broom closet-sized confines of the spare bathroom and place you on the closed lid of the toilet, skirt fluttering up to the tops of your thighs with a swift motion.

“Wait, woah-,” You’re so caught off guard by the sudden motion, that you nearly miss Eren stooping down to kneel in front of your place on the toilet, large hands bracketing each of your knees. He leans in, a secret smile gracing his features, green eyes bright with mischief under the harsh fluorescent lighting.

“I figured, this is the least I can do after ruining your night, right?” As he speaks, his hands hook around the backs of your knees, helping him make room for a space between them.  He takes a second to gauge your reaction, and you belatedly put the pieces together of what he’s asking with a slight shiver. His smile ie earnest, eyes unexpectedly sincere.

You think of putting back on your sweater and going back out there to face Jean. You think of fishing your gift out of whatever unfortunate corner of the room it fell into. Of returning home having achieved little other than embarrassing yourself in front of coworkers and friends.

Your thumb traces Eren’s lower lip, and you realize you’re taking too long to answer. Eren. Line cook Eren. Eren the bane-of-every-night-shift-ever Jeager. After all you’ve said and done, after years of working together, can you come back from something like this?

Eren sits back on his heels and presses a kiss to the soft skin of the inside of your knee. Well, you sigh, stroking a hand through his dark tresses, almost lovingly. The hungry, impish grin you receive when you can only respond with a half-choked “please,” is enough to make your heart stutter in your chest. A win is a win.

Unfortunately for you, there reaches a point where you’re not even sure who’s really winning. Eren eats pussy like he was made for it.

He starts slow, tracing his nose up and down the gusset of your panties like you’re not cramped together in the guest bathroom at your mutual friend’s party. Like he’s got all the time in the world. Gentle touches across the backs of your thighs, the plane of your stomach.

When you start to wiggle with impatience, he bites into the crease between your sex and upper thigh, deep and indulgent enough to make you cry out. He doesn’t care much for your choice in panties – they’re quick to join the rest of the discarded clothes on the floor anyway.

Eren switches your position again, turning you face forward and bent over the toilet so that your hands brace the lid. You fold your arms, pressing your cheek into the bends of your elbows when he encourages you to arch your back further, palm large and warm and sliding down your spine. From where he kneels, he locks one arm around your hips, the other hand bracketing the crease at your asscheek, just at the top of your thigh. You are rendered immobile, vulnerable as he spreads you open to his gaze and laves once between your folds.

“Fuck-!” The exclamation comes out warbled, almost tearful into the crook of your arms. You wiggle your hips in search of more contact, but the touch never comes. Eren’s mouth remains frustratingly out of reach, instead tracing your folds with his thumb. Of course, he doesn’t start right away. Indulges in the way you squirm, half out of impatience, half apprehension.

Complaints earn you a sharp smack! where you’re left wet and wanting. Your knees bow, legs trembling from the shock of the sudden assault on such sensitive nerves.

“Eren,” you bite back a moan. Your antagonist shushes and coos at your anguish, only pausing in his condescension to sink his teeth into the cheek not held in his grasp. The whine that works its way out of you in response is loud enough for him to relent after a moment, playfully admonishing you.

“Who would’ve thought you’d be this fuckin’ noisy?” He mutters, lips ghosting over where you need him most. “So damn uptight and quiet at work until it’s time to chew me out, right? Now look at you.” Embarrassment colors your cheeks at his words, feeling the slick wetness between your thighs you know he must have a plain view of, and you distantly wonder how you allowed this to escalate so quickly.

From your bent position, you think you hear him swallow, mouth working over something that’s decidedly not you until you feel something liquid and warm spatter over your mound. Biting back another moan, you silence the small, nagging part of your brain that seethes at the possibility of him holding this moment over your head in the future. Taking note of the litter of bruises that mark the backs of your thighs, you know the decision you both are making will literally come back to bite you in the ass tomorrow. Tomorrow, when you have to inevitably face him at work again, along with the rest of your coworkers who are no doubt wondering where you’ve been at this point. Eren uses the pads of his thumbs to spread your lips again, brushing a gentle, teasing kiss across your clit and you decide you’ll reconcile with yourself on the matter in the morning.

“Oh fuck, oh god,” you mumble, unable to work up the energy to be irritated when you feel the way he smiles against you.

When Eren finally decides to give in, it comes with a price. His lips seal over the span of your sex, sucking on one fold, then the other before gracing you with a broad stroke across your slit, and you’re a goner.  

“Mm-oh! Oh.”

That price is your sanity and your resolve to stay as quiet as possible.

He devours you, seemingly unable to decide between one pace and another as he eagerly works his tongue into your molten core.  He’s mean. Deliberate. Worst of all, he seems to be enjoying himself. Starting slow, savoring all of your heat and taste on his tongue. Then fast and relentless, flicking devastating strokes across your clit in a motion that leaves you gripping the lid beneath you. Chest heaving in exertion as you attempt to hold back your cries.

Your legs ache and tremble, knees biting into the cool lip of the toilet lid each time Eren presses you forward in his insistence. Eren dips the tip of his tongue into your slit, nose pressed between your folds with a self-satisfied moan, causing you to jerk and keen in his grasp. Your arms squeak across the porcelain when you jostle a little too far out of grasp. The angle he has you bent at presses you up onto your toes. Eren tightens his grasp around your waist. He presses one long digit into your core and you cry out into your elbows.

“Fuck, just-just a little longer, okay? Just gimme a little more, yeah,” he mumbles, deep, raspy, fucked out, and sounding more like an assurance for himself than you.

The finger inside you and the hand at your thigh disappear momentarily, and you wonder if he’s touching himself. The position he has you in means you’d have to crane your neck backward just to catch a glimpse of his lower half. The thought fuels the searing heat in your veins, as does the slick sound of wet skin and the resounding whimper breathed against your core, confirming your suspicions.

“Eren,” you gasp, whimper, locking up at the sight of his free hand palming at the profuse bulge in his jeans, veins popping in his arms at the effort. “Fuck, wait, fuck-!”

You come hard and fast, blood roaring in your ears, fingers gripping the lid with a white-knuckle grip as you squirm in Eren’s grasp. Coming together and falling apart in an overwhelming wave of pleasure that catches you off guard. Eren is quick to catch on, both hands returning to your hips to lock you in an embrace, face pressed into your sex in earnest. You twitch and writhe in his grasp, unable to escape from his relentless assault on your senses. He talks you through it when he can bear to detach his mouth from you, murmuring praises into the heated skin of your thighs. Bliss crackles up your spine and warms you inside out from head to toe.

“Eren, god, please,” you simper, dizzy with your fading arousal, not even sure what you’re pleading for at this point. To stop? To keep going?

Eren decides for you, pressing one last parting kiss to your mound before getting to his feet. The moments following go about in relative silence. Despite him having been between your legs just seconds ago, you’re quick to feel awkward and aren’t exactly sure what to say. Surprisingly ever the gentleman, Eren helps you rise off the lid and redress and clean on shaky legs. You are slow to stand upright. Unable to meet his eyes as you try to reconstruct your thoughts from mush. He slides your panties back over your hips and trades your ruined sweater for his own.

Eren stops you before you can protest the offer, vehemently against him commuting home at night, in the cold shirtless. “I’ll just take Armin’s jacket,” he reassures you, adjusting the collar of the horrendous Bob Ross fabrication at your neck. The tiny silver bells jingle at his touch, sounding akin to tinkling laughter

Over his shoulder, you take in your appearance in the mirror. You had done your best to right your disheveled makeup and hair, but the bruises on your neck and the obvious wardrobe change were a lost cause. Even if you dipped out of the party now, there was no avoiding being seen. You were going to have some questions to answer in the morning.

Eren catches your contemplative expression and matches one with his own, a little guarded now. Before now, neither of you had been on the best of terms. A history of annoyance and resentment that lasted years brewed between the two of you. But now…

Now as you consider how terrible the night had gone and the embarrassment you’ll face when Jean inevitably picks up that little red bag with his name on it, now as watch Eren wipe leftover slick off the corner of his lip before sucking the offending finger clean, you figure that’s something you can sort out another day.

5 New Messages

hey! I saw what happened w Eren, u alr??

hello??

I got ur present! Txt me when you get home!

hey!!

can we talk?

[chunkypossum]

@azrisweek || DAY 2: Familiars || 14k words

Elain is nice, quiet and easy to be around. Azriel and his shadows find solace in her company. When her powers as seer become evident however, Azriel is forced to reckon with a familiar part of his past that is about to take on a whole new meaning.

NGL I did too much this week and I'm being such a HATER about every word I wrote y'all. And this one is my least favorite😅 but the idea wouldn’t leave me alone sooooo here we are. This week I'm posting and running away to hide and devour everyone else's content. ANYWAY... Happy @azrisweek !!

Hope you enjoy yourselves I know I will!

READ ON AO3

Snippet under the cut.

Screaming into his hands, Azriel started laughing at himself. The more crazed his laughter became, the more agitated his shadows grew until they were swarming around him in a massive dark cloud. The sight must have been terrifying but Azriel was mindless in his confusion and anger, taking no notice. He had to trust that his shadows would not let him be discovered in that state. They veiled him and brought Azriel into the void between worlds while they tried to find him a private place to calm down. As much as he wanted to, Azriel could not stay in the void indefinitely.   His feet touched the ground in several places at once. There was nowhere in Prythian he could run from these thoughts. His best option was the icy wind of the Illyrian steppes. Azriel groaned as the wind chafed his wings and clarity hit him a moment later. Right or wrong, Azriel had to know. It took him a long time standing in the Winter night to gather up the courage to utter his demand. The significance of it hung heavy in the air and crawled along his bones. Better kept in the dark corners of his mind, Azriel was acknowledging something by saying it outloud. It was the possibility that the pull towards Autumn meant more than his hatred, his protection of Mor and the duty to his court.  “Take me to him.” Nearly lost in the howling of the wind, Azriel whispered those simple words. Nothing had ever been harder for him to say.  He didn’t have to specify who he meant, the shadows just knew. 

If anyone wants on or off the taglist please let me know!

Holla at ya boi if you want on or off the Azris tag train : @talibunny30 @iftheshoef1tz @born-to-riot @fell-in-luvs @fieldofdaisiies @aktrain @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @secret-third-thing @acourtofladydeath @pippsmcgee @youvereachedthenearest-lovergirl @baileybird71 @skyesayshi @yanny-77 @areyoudreaminof @unanswered-stars @futurehunt @ninthcircleofprythian @matrixsss @going-through-shit @c-starstuff-man0 @jules-writes-stories @the-darkestminds @krowiathemythologynerd @cauldronblssd @hieragalbatorixdottir @yourlazykitkat @hellolordling 

[thelovelyspirit-collab-fics]

@officialfeysandweek Day 4: Bargains

Read on Ao3

Summary: A fever has been sweeping the village for over a month now, devistating family after family. Already grieving their mother's death days before, Feyre is unwilling to lose her sister from the same fever. Without the help of the village doctors, she's now forced to take a less favorable route.

For her sister, she'll bargain with the fae.

AN: Happy Feysand Week, y'all. It’s @starfall-spirit and you’re watching Disney Channel I’m so happy to share the first chapter of my current collab with @thelovelymadone based off of this text post by @deluxeloy. Enjoy!

Passion is the truest state of the fae spirit. Follow your instincts and act on your impulses. Live life to the fullest without regard to the consequences—they will come about regardless of what you do.

~The Unseelie Code

Chapter I

The evening woods were eerily quiet as Feyre tracked the sound of a nearby stream. The almost-silence was enough to push her closer to the edge of fear, her nerves surrounding that night’s plan doing nothing to help. Because what waited for her when the stream met the lake…

Feyre couldn’t believe she was doing this. And yet, what other choice did she have? The fever had already claimed her mother, now Elain was bedridden too, eyes glazed more often than not, trembling with fever beneath the meager covers she and Nesta had managed to gather.

It had started about a month prior. Though winter had fully yielded to spring, a fever common to colder weather had started spreading among the children playing in the village streets, just as easily carried home to their doting mothers and fathers. Then four children from different homes died, one after the next. Their families had no one to support them in their grieving period.

All because that tragedy had been accompanied by a frightening word of the trusted village doctor: mutation. A virus one could brush off in a few days had turned deadly.

Less than a week ago her mother had shown symptoms, passed them to Elain two days later. If her sister was only meant to last the same span of time, she’d be dead by the next dawn. Even if they had money for a doctor, there were few in their village with true medical training, most of them too frightened of catching the illness to treat it.

Feyre was left with only one option. The Faerie Wood.

The enchanted forest seemed more sinister than enchanting with moonlight as her only guide. It fed that fear born of the tales her childhood nanny had told her some fifteen years ago to keep her in bed.

There is a portal just past our village border, invisible to the human eye, you know. Leads right to the Unseelie Court. It’s High Lord has servants and spies who stand at the veil, searching for naughty children to drag through. You girls best behave, or tomorrow morning it’ll be a few of their changelings waking in your beds.

Feyre and her sisters had stopped associating the kidnappings with household shenanigans a few years later, but that maturity hadn’t completely erased the fact some from their village had gone missing overnight. Whether human or fae, the abductors didn’t seem to favor an age group either. She was never quite sure how to react when she saw the people she’d known since birth wailing at the loss of a spouse who had been lured from their bed or an infant snatched from its cradle.

Would her wish be granted, she wondered, or would she be stolen away before she could voice it, simply for daring to ask?

A cold draft rattled the trees, chilling her down to her bones, far too cold to be considered natural for a spring evening in their region. Consulting her rudimentary map for what felt like the millionth time, she had to assume the biting air had something to do with approaching the Unseelie Gateway—if this was its true location.

The forest lightened then, startling Feyre enough that she paused on the trail, lifting her gaze from the parchment. Dawn was hours out still. The pale light wasn’t from the sun, but… starlight. If she wasn’t in The Faerie Wood, she would have thought she was suffering hallucinations without the fever that accompanied them. But sure enough, stars were lighting the trail like a dusting of breadcrumbs down to the water at the forest’s edge. Confident now she was on the right path, she quickened her pace until she broke the tree line, slightly unsteady when the shed foliage transitioned to pebbles and stones beneath her flimsy boots.

A dozen yards and she’d be at the edge of the lake. If the stories were true, the crystal clear water before her was the gateway itself. Even now, before she reached the edge of the water a faerie would sense her as a trespasser and weigh the question inside of her to deem her worthy of its help or declare her the next victim of some ruthless immortal’s game. If she was being honest with herself, she had no idea whether she wanted all of that to be the truth or utter nonsense. If it was true, at least she’d have a clue what she was getting herself into.

“Of course it’s true, darling. Outlandish as your childhood tales may seem, they need a bit of the truth to become anything significant.” Shaking from head to toe, Feyre frantically scanned the forest and waters to locate the voice seeming to pour in from every direction. “Here, darling.”

Finally pinpointing the voice, she watched a man—if a faerie could be called something so simple—materialize from a pocket of shadows, the slightest smirk she sensed he often wore illuminated by the waxing moon.

She couldn’t help but stare, taking in the high cheekbones, the hard line of his jaw, the breadth of his shoulders his clean cut jacket was unable to hide. He was tall, too. Enough so that she’d be forced to tilt her head back of he closed the few yards between them to get a better look at her. Not that he’d need to, with faerie senses being significantly better than those of a human.

Terrified—and worse than that, flustered beneath his undivided attention—Feyre couldn’t begin to think of a proper way to show deference. She fell back on instinct, dropping into a clumsy curtsy even the snap of a rod had never been able to perfect.

“I come in need of a favor,” she said simply, not wanting to risk offending the man by addressing him with the wrong title. Surely the curtsy had been safe. Dressed like that, carrying himself tall, he had to be some sort of gentleman or noble among his kind. Then again, most gentlemen she’d met weren’t built like a soldier in service. “My sister needs help.”

He cocked his head. “Come closer, darling. I can hardly hear you.” She stayed rooted to the spot. How easy would it be for a man like that to pull her beneath the surface of the glassy lake? Drown her or drag her down into his world of wicked things? No, she’d be staying right where she stood. “Have it your way.”

Just like that he folded into a flurry of shadow, reappearing mere feet in front of her, hand tucked casually into his pockets. It took everything in her not to scramble away. “Now, tell me more, pet.”

“My sister is ill. She’ll be dead by morning. I want to bargain for her life. If you’d be so gracious,” she tacked on.

He considered her request for a moment, seeming to study her more than anything. “Most young woman are warned against these woods.” He leaned forward slightly. “Yet you’re here intentionally, asking to bargain. My, things must be dire.” She swallowed hard. “Just what are you willing to offer, darling?”

“I don’t…” It had to be a fool’s choice to tell a faerie to craft the bargain to his own liking, but Feyre had a fair idea of what men usually wanted and she highly doubted the man she now faced had any desire for mortal coin or the intimate company of a human woman. She wasn’t sure she could puzzle out something that interested him, being so unsure of faerie customs.

“Could I simply owe you a favor?” she offered, hoping and praying that would provide a solution for the time being and wouldn’t bite her in the ass further down the road. “To call in when you require assistance.”

He chuckled and the little flame of hope winked out. “Darling, you’re asking me to help you defy the nature of life. It’s going to cost you more than a favor. No, I fear this bargain will require something a bit more… substantial.” Feyre crossed her arms, but held her stance. “Your firstborn,” he purred.

She blinked, lost for words. “Excuse me?”

“Your firstborn child is the price I demand.”

“That��” She bit her lip, finally retreating a step. She couldn’t think with him so close, the combination of his salt and citrus scent and unyielding stare unnerving. “I never intended to marry, let alone have children,” she admitted.

“You wouldn’t change your mind on that to save your sister’s life? And you humans call my kind cruel.”

“I didn’t say—” Feyre huffed. “If that is the price, I will pay it.”

“Very well, darling.” There was a sharp tingling up her right arm. From her fingertips to her elbow a black swirling pattern crawled up her arm, the color much like tattoo ink. Before she could express her anger at being marked against her will the design vanished, leaving her arm bare once again. “The ink of the Unseelie Court can only be seen in the land of Faerie.”

Raw dread chilled her down to the bone. “You intend to take me there?” Feyre asked. He raised a brow. “For the, um, conception?”

~~~~~

Rhys had no reason to bring the girl into his domain. He’d had no intention of claiming her beyond the bargain mark, if he was being honest. He assumed when making his proposal that she would find a nice man in the village to father the child and that would be that. Despite what rumors claim, most of the stolen children lived fulfilling lives among the court. Occasionally things got out of hand with the crueler crowd, but the same could be said of humans who kept servants and entertainers.

But dear Feyre had interpreted the bargain incorrectly, assuming he meant to drag her to his bed. Studying the human once again, it was far too easy to imagine her carrying his heir. And then a few more to follow. He could pretend he had a decision to make, but deep down, he already knew the path was decided.

“Your sister’s health has been restored. Your family and neighbors will forget the illness ever burdened her, though there’s nothing I can do to bring back your mother.”

“I understand,” she said softly.

“You will let me escort you to the Court tonight. After the child is born you can decide whether you wish to return to the human world or live among the Unseelie to raise the child.”

A strange sort of tension settled between them. He imagined leaving the child behind would be difficult, even if she didn’t desire a family.

Even if she thought the babe to be more monster than human.

“How are…” Feyre crossed her arms, curling in on herself a bit. “How are humans treated there? Poorly, I imagine. I just want to prepare myself for the worst.”

Rhys closed the distance between them in two strides, lifting her chin so she’d meet his eyes again. “My guests, Feyre darling, are treated with respect.” He let his grip tighten ever so slightly before bending to brush his lips along the shell of her ear. “No one touches what belongs to the High Lord.”

[maybetheyredrunk]

age: 16, why are y'all so baby (anything less than me is baby)

height: 5'3

grade: ?? not american. Year 11

confidence: 8/10

happiness: 7/10

gender: i identify as potato. (confused and possibly-probably female)

sexuality: bi (-sexual, -chaos, -mess, -panic, -ceps)

romantic: same ig?

fav food: uh... like everything?? probably sushi

fav show: stranger things

fav movie: hunger games mockingjay

fav song: i'm doing top three - Ribcage - Andy Black, Dopamine - Jackson Wang, and Vamos - Omega X

fav artists: Andy Black, Black Veil Brides, NCT, Yuta, Ten

relationship status: single pringle

fav colour: silver, dark/blood red, midnight purple-blue

fav season: winter

followers: 20 ish

@my-castles-crumbling @youknowwho-mustnotbenamed @sweetmelodygraphics @nidoole @noblehouseofgay

End of year stats!

Age: won’t say but minor

Height: 5’5

Grade: won’t say

Confidence: 7/10

Happiness: 5/10

Gender: gender fluid

Sexuality: asexual

Romantic: aroflux

Fav food: probably ramen?

Fav show: b99

Fav movie: not any

Fav song: too many to pick!!!

Fav artist: wallows or dayglow

Relationship status: single

Fav colour: green

Fav season: winter

Followers: 358 (as of Dec 29 at 2 am)

[winebrightruby]

Y'all gather round; come hear the singer the Muses love. Pretty girl who always knew when to keep her mouth shut and ears open -- listen up now, ya hear, and she'll tell you bout the gods in New Orleans.

The hurricane brothers Maimaktes -- Zeus the Thunderer and green-wreathed Poseidon -- toast their many loves and knock back shots of bourbon. They sing and shout louder than the storms outside, furious merriment that tastes of oak barrels.

Mighty Zeus pulls out Hera's chair, holds her door everywhere they go, and orders her wine. In the early summer, they stroll through City Park with her hand tucked in his elbow: diamonds glint in her earlobes, an anniversary gift. The air smells of magnolias and water. Hera's veil is the shimmer of soft evening rain when she passes her pearls down to her baby girl.

Poseidon's glorious son spans the country: proud Missippos, hailed in song and story, curls lazy and comfortable at last through New Orleans, the jewel in his father's crown. Hephaistos Wall-Builder labored for days to let the city stand on semi-dry land. His uncle, god of the seas, braced his fists on his hips. "Looks good, champ, but I'm gonna tear it all down one day. Water finds a way."

In the swamps and the crisscrossin bayous, Poseidon dallies with nymphs aplenty, charming handmaids of the immortal gods. And once he famously courted green-robed Demeter: their daughter's name is a secret. We call her Lady. Now Demeter and Poseidon and Amphitrite trade recipes, get together for crawfish boils and serve gumbo at the feasts. Hestia bakes the bread. She makes a fire roux. (She's got "old maid" embroidered on her oven mitts and keeps the fans runnin all summer long. Hestia's home is always comfortable.)

On the shores of a lake in Baton Rouge, Zeus suffered a headache the likes of which you ain't never seen. His gray-eyed daughter came thunderin out when the sky was rich purple and the sun a gleam of gold, as fierce and proud as a tiger. Down the road aways in New Orleans, Athena wears snakes around her shoulders; she has a stall in a co-op selling upcycled art. Driftwood earrings, vintage scarves, a roofing tile painted with tiny fleurs-de-lis. Hephaistos hawks handmade jewelry next to her, and they drink together all afternoon. Zeus' many-skilled son freelances as a repairman while his daughter runs a tutoring service out in the East.

Hoyden Artemis hunts in camo but twerks with her girlfriends downtown in cutoffs. Boots both places. Her brother plays every music festival; he's onstage damn near every weekend. And when he's not, Apollon's hangin out at some university or other, maybe takin classes, maybe makin friends. Good friends. Pretty friends. Lots of em.

Hermes runs an internet-famous instagram and a handful of cons on tourists on Rue Bourbon, runs in City Park under his daddy's oaks or along the levee path his brother laid. Wing-footed liar, but he's oh so charming, and we'll forgive a lot for a good story. In a city with more potholes than streets, Hermes always got jokes.

It was one of Zeus' summertime benders that got the Gulf all riled up. Floridia, the blossoming goddess, stepped outta that churned up seafoam and onto a sandy beach, stickin pearls in her hair. She's hotter'n hell and sweet as can be, Aphrodite Foamborn, the queen of desire. It ain't take no time at all to wrap Ares right around her little finger; passion recognizes passion, and they fall into each other. Helpless and happy to be so.

The Dioskouroi run rescue missions outta Poseidon's court. The Kharites serve fried chicken and sweet tea alongside Demeter's endless bounty. The Muses in New Orleans never sleep. But twice-born Dionysos is the god of the city, and everyone knows it. The Liberator is crowned in ivy and rockin sequined high heels; every drink in this lush city is a toast to him. Every dance, smoke, or pill, every vice a prayer. Every cemetery or swamp a temple. And every winter ends with flowers and the dead, masked revelers and plastic treasures, parades in the name of Dionysos Rex, monarch of merriment. We renew ourselves and remember what we love: uninhibited joy, priceless tradition, infinite beauty. Trumpets to always bring us home.

[ununniliad]

Writer’s Block Person #39: “Too Much Time Inside My Own Skull" Part One

[Early March 2018]

  Writer's Block Person was having a nice picnic. The periwinkle grass shuffled musically in the minty-cool wind, and the robinfruit sang in the trees. Their picnic partner, a human-shaped collection of tropes named Todd, handed them a gyro and a can of god.

  "Really?" said the purply-orange hippo, sunning xerself by the pond. "We're starting another issue in the Mindverse?"

  Yes. Now shut up.

  "Todd, could you get me a passport to Turkey on rye... huh?" A coolness shivered through the grass and the trees and the sky and the sun. Writer's Block Person turned around and walked to the edge of the pond.

  It was a thousand feet deep. The water was dark, and dinosaur skeletons jutted out of the sides, but at the bottom, Writer's Block Person could see the outline of a door. A door that was more solid than the dream.

  Writer's Block Person felt... a memory, something they'd forgotten... running and jumping, strength and warmth... energy flowing, undammed...

  They dove into the pond. Down, down. The warm yellow sunlight softened, became blues and greens, purples, exotic flavors of darkness. The door was a rectangle, a symbol of a door. The knob glistened in the darklight.

  They hovered in front of it. They held out their hand...

  No. No, couldn't. No, it wasn't-- they had to do something else, they-- they were drowning, they thrashed about--

BONK!

A heap of blankets lay, tangled, at the side of the bed. Writer's Block Person sat up out of them. They shook themselves out, stretched, hopped up, stretched more, went to get some water, and allowed the dream to fade from their mind...

Later that day, Writer's Block Person was talking on Discord with... deep breath Whisperion, Gives Hugs Impetuously Lass, Dr. Puppy, Redink, Distraction Damsel, Barnabas McGillicuddy, and Edwina the Ultimate Editor. They liked to keep all their net.heroing allies in the loop, because miscommunication is the engine of boring plots.

|| So, || they typed, || I've now used the Heavy Black Heart emojiform to dispel dark magical energy from four different people. ||

|| Wait, really? || said Dr. Puppy (don't think too much about how she types with paws, okay). || Totally offscreen? ||

|| Turns out I didn't really feel like writing a bunch of darkness-victim-of-the-week stories! ||

|| A number of different people, all happening by coincidence to have contact with and infection by dark magical energy within a short period? || said Redink. || That's a break of suspension of disbelief! ||

|| It's definitely not a coincidence! There was an artist who was frustrated they couldn't get the images in their head down on paper, a student who was frustrated that their teacher didn't understand they were getting overstimulated, a comic book artist who was frustrated about being screwed over by the company, and a cat who just couldn't catch that goshdarn laser. It's a consistent pattern, like a season of Sailor Moon. ||

|| so this is some kinda new spook on the block || said Barnabas McGillicuddy, ignoring both proper capitalization and the meta-story references.

|| Yeah, but I don't know what kind yet. I'm fighting the symptoms, but the cause of the problem is somewhere out on the streets right now. ||

|| Don't worry! || said Gives Hugs Impetuously Lass. || The good guys are on the case, together! It won't slip by us! ||

|| Right, || said Whisperion. || So, what are these darkness-influenced people like? ||

|| Well, they look pretty normal at first, but they're really angry - they're hyper-focused on whatever problem they're having. When someone really pisses them off, they turn into these sort of organic-looking shadow monsters, and they start yelling about whatever frustration it is they're focused on. You gotta get them to move forward at least a little on their emotional problem before the darkness can be properly dispelled. ||

|| Let's see, what else... Oh, like, I always talk to them after, and all of them reported, like... these thoughts, like if they stopped caring about hurting people, they could get stronger? It sounded like some kind of weird intrusive thought. But none of them really cared about getting stronger - honestly, it probably helped distract them from the thing they were really angry about. Which made my job easier. ||

|| Got it. - Ed. (UE) || said Edwina, whose screen name was on every message anyway. || Updating my records now. - Ed. (UE) ||

|| Hey guys!! || said Distraction Damsel.

|| Hey, DD, || said Whisperion.

|| Sorry I'm late for the meeting! There's this guy on the sidewalk outside who keeps talking about how he's going to show them all, or something, and there's black smoke coming out of his eyes? ||

|| ... ||

|| ... ||

|| ... ||

|| ... ||

|| ... ||

|| ... - Ed. (UE) ||

|| ...welp, time for action! ||

Eight minutes later, Whisperion's moped arrived in Distraction Damsel's neighborhood. Writer's Block Person dramatically stepped out of the bucket seat, ready for action... put their foot down on an icy patch, and  immediately fell on their butt. "WAUGHow! ah jeez."

Whisperion slid off the other seat, planting her feet and helping Writer's Block Person back up. "Careful now," she teased.

"Rrrgh." Writer's Block Person didn't respond to the teasing with their usual gay cheer; their forehead wrinkled in frustration and their cheeks colored in embarrassment (and not the fun kind). "God, why's it gotta still be icy?" They straightened up and ran their fingers through their scalp, burning off energy. "It's freaking March, alla these people not caring about climate change, alla these people just not CARING--" They took a deep breath, let it out, looked up at Whisperion. "Just, um, not caring about clearing their sidewalks and such." They looked to the side, calmer, and just a bit guilty about their outburst.

Whisperion leaned in, found Writer's Block Person's hand, squeezed it. "Are you okay?"

Writer's Block Person pulled in a deep breath, let it out, sighed. "Yeah. Just..." They rubbed their arm, not letting go of Whisperion's hand yet. "I'm a really happy person but I'm also a really angry person. I don't show it as much, not to y'all, but it's been getting tough lately. It's been so gray for so long... this winter's felt like it's lasted forever. And there's been so much shitty stuff going on, both in our world [See LNH20 Comics Presents #21 for the newest status quo, true believers! - Ed. (UE)] and in the world of the Writers and the Readers. [You probably already know! - Ed. (UE)] And now this, coming into my cute little life... I just want to protect everybody, and I'm mad I can't."

"Awwww." Whisperion pulled on their hand and they half-collapsed against her chest, leaning, sighing. She put her arm around them and squeezed gently. "Look... we all know you're doing your best. You're not the only hero around here, not by a long shot, and you don't have to be."

"I know..." They took a big breath, let it out. "Hokay." Whisperion let go, and Writer's Block Person straightened up and shook themself out. "I'm okay now. Thanks for carin' so much, hon~"

"Very welcome, are you~" Whisperion looked around. The neighborhood was full of leaf-denuded trees, small but well-kept houses, sidewalks with rock salt laying on them. Nothing especially weird... until a white dude in a T-shirt and boxers walked out from behind a fence, shouting something incoherent at the sky. "Aha. Think I found our man."

"Right!" Writer's Block Person pulled out their pen. "Time to get serious! HENSHINSPIRATION!"

As Writer's Block Person transformed, the man swung around to watch them. Frankly, Whisperion thought his expression was kind of creepy - a wide, artificial-feeling smile with staring eyes, hidden slightly by a veil of darkness - but she supposed that was the kind of thing that happened when dark magical energy was affecting you.

All armored up, Writer's Block Person affected a casual demeanor. They walked up to the man, slowly, hands behind their head like they didn't have a care in the world. "Oh, hey, man," they said, leaning against a tree. "Are you okay?"

...then they dodged out of the way as the man took a swipe at them. "Mmmmm!" he grinned. "Now you'll understand that I'm here, and I'm not going to be stopped!"

"Right," said Writer's Block Person, pirouetting back out of the way of the blows. "Let's go more into that! Who put you down before?"

"Hahaha! They don't matter now! You don't matter now!" The man was breathing hard. He was sweating a lot for someone dressed the way he was in this weather, Whisperion noticed. "You fucking idiot! What are you even doing here!"

Right. Whisperion put the butt of her staff down on the ground. Writer's Block Person didn't need support yet, but this guy wasn't stopping, and better safe than sorry.

"Well I'm trying to help," Writer's Block Person grumbled. Then they blinked and shook their head. "I mean... whoop!" They dodged under a kick. "Dude - whatever's going on with you, I'm here to help!"

"Hah! What are you doing! What are you even doing here!" His grin growing even wider, the man planted his feet and flexed. Steaming shadows burst from his body, surrounding him. "You IDIOT!" He was wrapped in a cloud of darkness. "YOU! CAN'T! FIX! ME!"

The darkness burst away, to reveal a strange humanoid form. Panels of cloud-gray hardened material over muscle-red flesh. Exaggerated form, with bulging muscles and large hands and feet. Face hidden behind panels of gray, but for two glowing green eyes.

"Jeez." Writer's Block Person took several steps back, ending up next to Whisperion. "I gotta bad feeling about this. He's already keyed up way more than the others, and he's not responding to me reaching out. This guy is way more advanced-looking than the others were, too. Look at that color palette."

Whisperion nodded, frowning. "Think we might have to beat him down?" That wasn't usually their kind of conflict. What was going on?

"Maybe. Let's try it the fun way first." They pulled out their pen. "EMOTICONVERSION! CODE POINT HEAVY BLACK HEART!" Hearts swirled around and they switched to their bright sparkly form.

Writer's Block Person held up their hands, and took one encouraging step forward towards the monstrous man. Then another. "Hey!" They stopped in place. "Look, it's okay! I'm listening."

"And I'm not talking!" Shadows burst out of the monster's chest and whumphed against Writer's Block Person's armor. Lines of cold pain lanced across their muscles and nerves, and they choked and fell to one knee.

"Ow ow ow ow ow!" They rolled away. "Nnnf, it feels numb..."

Whisperion pointed her staff at Writer's Block Person, transforming the dark energy in their system into life-force. "Jeez, man!"

Writer's Block Person hopped to their feet. "Right! Magic time! Emphemeral-Eternal-Doki-Doki-Blissful-Emotion BEAM!" They thrust out their hands and a beam of pink and red and white hearts and sparkles crackling with pink-white lightning shot out.

It was immediately met with a beam of shadows, a cloud that seemed ephemeral yet was solid against the coruscating energy of Writer's Block Person's beam. For a moment, the light and the darkness were evenly matched... and then the shadows swirled straight back around the beam and right up to Writer's Block Person's body and they lost concentration and BOOM!

They rolled away, steaming, panting, detransformed, palms scraped up on the concrete. "Ow ow... nnngh, fuckin' ow..."

Whisperion pressed the blossoms on the end of her staff into Writer's Block Person's back. The grass turned green under the snow and ice as she channeled life-force into them. "Okay, so, it's time to pull back and get some help, right?"

Writer's Block Person pressed their fist to their chest. "That'd be smart, but..." They took a deep breath, letting the life-force saturate their body and mind. "I think there's something else I have to do. I think this might be the next chapter in my story."

"...huh?"

"I had a dream last night... about a door that... that I couldn't make myself open." They looked up at her. "A piece of my true self I've never let myself touch."

"...okay, but dreams aren't real. Even in our weird, magic-y, technicolor lives, dreams aren't real."

"No, but feelings are real." Writer's Block Person took a step back and stared at the monstrous man; he stared back, green eyes glowing, claws clicking, ready for the next move in the fight. "Feelings are real, and feelings are the power at my heart, and there's something I need to let myself feel." They shook their head. "But... I don't know what's going to happen. I'm a nice and cool and kind person, but... not everything inside me is nice."

"Yeah, because you're human." Whisperion punched Writer's Block Person's shoulder lightly and smiled. "You nerd. You're my best friend. I've seen inside your soul." She stepped past them, held up her staff. "Whatever's inside you, I'll fight alongside it."

Writer's Block Person breathed deep, let it out. "Okay."

They stepped back and held their pen up. Without words, light bloomed, and the transformation happened. Behind the helmet, Writer's Block Person closed their eyes, and reached down inside themself.

  Down, down... past the everyday feelings, past the troubles and worries of this and that...

  Past the deeper, harsh-edged worries about where life was taking them, about what if they were fucking up and no one was telling them...

  Past the strange warmth of their preferences and their ideas, all the other people they could possibly be and sometimes were, the friendly monsters...

  Down, down, into the silent depths of their mind...

Meanwhile, the monstrous man took Whisperion's step forward as a challenge, raising his fists  and charging at her. Whisperion sidestepped, knocking the punch away with her staff, and started channeling the dark energy around her, pumping it into herself as life-force. I can't do this indefinitely, she thought, but buffing my own energy makes me a good enough tank to buy us a bit of time!

  The fight was somewhere far away. The image of the door rose up in Writer's Block Person's mind. They felt, again, the currents of energy that moved beneath it - leashed, but just barely, moving in the darkness, affecting them even when they weren't aware of it.

  They reached out their hand... and held it there. They could feel the warmth... they could feel the tingling fear... this was risky... but it was also exciting... but...

  What if? What if?

The monstrous man released a burst of shadows, right against Whisperion's body. The cold numbness blasted across her skin, but she channeled the pain into strength. Around her feet, grass poked through the frozen soil in the cracks in the sidewalk, dislodging chunks of salt.

  ...well, thought Writer's Block Person, what if? What if something terrible happened? Then they'd deal with it like they'd dealt with all of the other terrible stuff in their life.

  What if something wonderful happened?

  They reached out and grabbed the knob. Pure sensation tingled through their self. They turned it and tossed the door open, and--

Their eyes opened. "Oh, shit."

It was powerful and cold and shot up through their mind like a geyser, their body freezing in place, muscles trembling slightly, taken over by the sudden rush of pure, unfiltered rage.

The monstrous man roared and thrust their arms out, and Whisperion fell back several paces. "Nnnf!" She looked over. "Writer's Block Person, you okay?"

"I..." Oh god. They'd forgotten so many people were so awful. Why did they have to be so awful? "I don't, um..." They just wanted to protect all of their friends and all of the people but every day they had to give money to assholes and work for people who didn't care about them and sometimes they would try and talk about it and fuck it up and everyone would get angry and why couldn't people just give them a break? "I don't... fuck."

Whisperion stepped sideways, keeping her staff between herself and the monstrous man. "Writer's Block Person, what's going on?"

She was such a good person and they couldn't protect her, and that was so fucking unfair, and right now they just needed to tear out these demons and tear out the roots of the world until it stopped being so. "I'm just... um, just so..."

She grabbed their shoulders. "Drew, what's going on!?"

They tried to get these thoughts together, but it was too much, it'd hurt someone-- but wait-- no-- needed to let it out-- but it was too much-- but--

And the rage surged and they threw their head back and SCREAMED! A scream of defiance! A scream of pain! A scream of just fucking stop it already!

A wave of blood-red energy burst out of their body, threw Whisperion back, and knocked down the monstrous man.

Whisperion landed on her butt. "Uff!" She shook herself out and looked up at Writer's Block Person.

They were breathing hard, looking off into the distance, eyes intense but unfocused. Their hands clenched and unclenched as they tried to get ahold of themself. Tendrils of red and black lightning coruscated over their body. Their armor seemed to flicker in and out of existence around them, and something darker seemed to flicker into its place.

"I guess..." they whispered hoarsely. "I guess it's too late to hold it back any more..."

They threw their head back again, chest thrusting out, and screamed. Above their chest, in the air, a symbol appeared - a flat CGI image of a skull, cracking with red and black lightning. It started moving towards them - ground to a halt - shattered into pieces - the pieces pierced their flesh--

Everything went dark, like the sun had turned off--

The light was back. It shone on a bone-white suit of armor, with accents that burned a resentful crimson, and a black bodysuit laced with painful-looking red veins. A ragged white cape with burned edges. Oversized red gauntlets, with long claws burned soot-black. A bloodstone gem in the center of the chest in the shape of a cartoon skull, cracked down the middle, radiating crimson energy from the crack. And for a helmet, the skull of an ancient, saurian predator, the eye sockets glowing red.

From within the helmet came a voice, swallowing, struggling to get the word out. "Skull..." They threw their head back and howled. "SKULL WRITER'S BLOCK PERSON!"

[my-one-love-is-music]

Be My Player 2? Ch. 27

Happy season 7 y'all!! My emotions were pulled in about 10 million different directions over the course of 13 episodes and if any of y'all need some emotional healing, hopefully this can help haha.

I'd also like to take a minute to say that earlier this week, this fic celebrated it's second birthday and it's unbelievable to me that this fic is two years old and has come so far. The response to this has been absolutely incredible and I'd like to thank each and every one of you for taking the time to read it and here's to many more chapters as I continue this story!

Also on AO3!

Keith breathed a sigh of relief when he walked out onto the floor of the restaurant and spotted George behind the bar. He’d spent all morning working on homework and he was practically braindead, knowing he’d have no energy to deal with persistent coworkers if he’d been stuck with Kayla on his shift.

George looked up as he approached and smiled. “I was starting to think you weren’t going to show.”

Keith stifled a yawn and swung around behind the counter. “Sorry. I’m not trying to be lazy on purpose. Getting back into the swing of school has just been tougher than usual so I’m really glad you’re the one I’m working with tonight.”

“Thanks, I guess?” he said with a chuckle as he set a drink on one of the available trays and picked up a new ticket. “I feel like I should be insulted by that.”

“You shouldn’t be,” Keith said. “I could use a friend around while at work.”

George paused, his eyebrows furrowing. “Everything’s okay with you and Shiro, right?” he asked.

Keith blinked and grinned. “Yeah, of course! We’re doing really great actually and are probably going to watch a movie after I get off tonight. Although with how I’m feeling I might fall asleep before we even get started.”

George relaxed. “Good. I’d hate for the two of you to be having relationship troubles on top of all the other stress you’ve got going on.”

“Nah,” Keith said fondly as his brain sifted through memories of his boyfriend. “We’re really good. I’m just waiting for Spring Break to get here so I can see him again.”

“How are you handling being separated?”

Keith let out a breath and readied the bottles for the drink he was making. “The first few days were rough. It’s gotten a little easier since we both have things we have to do, but I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t rather have him around.”

George nodded. “I can imagine. Vacation will be here before you know it and you’ll be back together again.”

“Yeah…” Keith said, more than a little wistfully. He glanced over at George and saw his knowing smirk, snapping him out of his thoughts. “School and work will make it feel like time flies by. I won’t have a second to spare to sit around and miss Shiro.”

George chuckled. “Yeah, hold onto that. Don’t let yourself lose that spunk. You’re going to need it.”

“Don’t I know it,” Keith grumbled.

George grinned, and they continued working in silence. Keith was glad to give his brain a little bit of a break from any form of mental strain. He could pretty much make every drink in a daze at this point. He didn’t need to focus on his work as much as he did when he got started as a bartender since the craft was second nature to him now.

Maybe he could convince Hunk and Pidge to buy a ton of booze and he could mix drinks for them. It probably wouldn’t get them drunk as quickly as straight shots of vodka and tequila, but he knew it would be fun nonetheless.

The night and the orders coming in were slow for a Saturday, but Keith wasn’t complaining. It was better than a rush they couldn’t control, and he hoped it would last for the rest of the night.

George passed him a glass as he pulled bottles of alcohol from under the counter, mixing the drink before setting it next to the ticket on the tray. George took his dirty mixers and dumped them into the sink, sticking his hands into the soapy water to start washing as Keith hung to the side and waited for the next drink to come in.

He sighed and crossed his arms, eyes roving over the few tables of patrons he could see from his place behind the bar. He let his mind start to wander now that he didn’t have anything to focus on.

~~

Keith dug his hands into his jacket pockets as he slipped out of the back door of the restaurant. The sky was dark, and the kitchen staff were doing their last rounds of cleaning before they got to leave for the night. Keith didn’t envy that kind of work when he got to leave so much sooner than they did. He also didn’t have to come in as early since they had kitchen prep, too.

The snow and salt that was still left on the sidewalks crunched under his feet as he walked back to his place. For once, he wasn’t in much of a hurry and the cold wasn’t bothering him too much despite being in the throes of winter.

Keith’s head tilted back, and he looked up between the buildings. He couldn’t make out any of the stars and the moon’s light was muted behind the clouds that hung over the city. It was supposed to snow again that night and he hoped it wouldn’t be too deep when he had to leave for work the next day.

His breath puffed out between his lips and he turned his gaze back to the sidewalk. He walked past a few strangers who were out, but they all kept to themselves, eyes focused on the walk in front of them. Keith didn’t mind. Interacting with strangers was one of his least favorite things to do.

Keith pulled his keys from his pocket as he jogged up the steps to his apartment building. He unlocked the door and pushed inside, the warmth of the building enveloping him like a hug. He hurried up the stairs to his floor, knocking the lingering salt and snow off his shoes before he walked into his place.

He threw his coat over the back of the couch and started stripping out of his work clothes as he walked into his bedroom. He changed into a pair of broken-in sweats and threw on a hoodie. The cold hadn’t been so bad when he was outside, but a chill still managed to linger in his bones now that he was in the confines of his home.

He pulled the sleeves of his hoodie down so they were almost over his hands and grabbed his computer, climbing into bed. He pulled his blanket around him as he started up his laptop and snuggled down inside the fabric. It was slow to start, and he drummed his fingers on the casing as he waited for the different programs to load.

Keith’s phone vibrated next to him and he picked it up, smiling when he saw it was Shiro texting him.

Shiro: You home?

Keith: Yup. I’m getting my computer set up now.

Shiro: Great! I’ll get rabbit set up and you can join my room when you get on there.

Keith: Sure

He leaned forward and adjusted the pillows behind him before he slouched down, trying to get more comfortable. His computer felt so slow and he wanted everything to load so he could get to Shiro.

Finally, after too long, he was able to open his web browser and pull up rabbit. There was already a notification waiting from Shiro and he clicked on it, taking him to Shiro’s room where Netflix was up on the screen.

He clicked on the mic, impatient as it took a couple seconds to calibrate and connect properly.

“Hey,” he said, probably a little too gruffly.

“Hey, baby,” Shiro said. “How are you?”

“Tired,” he sighed.

“Busy night?”

“Not really, actually. It was pretty slow. At least for me and George. But the amount of homework I had this morning and then work was a strain and I’m exhausted.”

“I’m sure it’ll get better.”

“Yeah,” Keith sighed. “I’m just ready to spend a nice night with you and watch a movie. I’ll warn you now though that I might fall asleep.”

Shiro chuckled and it made something warm curl in Keith’s chest.

“I think I can forgive you this time,” he said. “Are you going to be busy tomorrow?” he asked.

“I’ve got work tomorrow night, but my morning should be free. What’s up?”

“Well…” he said, and Keith could hear the grin in his voice and thinly veiled excitement. “I figured since we’re getting close we should book your plane tickets.”

“Close being a relative term?” Keith asked with a chuckle.

“Close in terms of needing to make travel planes,” he said.

“Okay,” Keith said. “It’s a date.”

“Not a very romantic date,” Shiro grumbled.

Keith shrugged even though he couldn’t see him. “It’s the best we can do right now. But if you really want something romantic, we can watch a rom-com tonight.”

“Eugh,” Shiro said and Keith could almost see his grimace. “No thanks. I think I’ll be the nerd I am and watch some sci-fi.”

“Took the words right out of my mouth, babe,” Keith said, letting himself sink back into his mattress. The cold was starting to recede, replaced by a strong warmth that spread from his chest.

“Does this mean I get to pick the movie?” Shiro asked.

“Sure,” Keith said, grinning. “But you better make it good.”

He watched as Shiro scrolled through Netflix, going through the shows and films suggested for him. He clicked on one and read the description.

“This sound good?” he asked.

“Sure,” Keith said, unable to stifle a yawn.

Shiro chuckled and hit play. “Don’t fall asleep on me.”

“No promises,” Keith said, lazy grin pulling at his lips. “You’d physically have to be here to stop me.”

Shiro hummed as the intro to the movie started to play. Keith was more focused on the sound of Shiro’s voice than what was happening on the screen in front of him. “If I was there with you then I wouldn’t mind letting you sleep.”

Keith huffed a laugh. “And why’s that?” he asked.

“Because,” Shiro said. “I’d be able to hold you and watch you sleep. I’d know you’re getting the rest you need and not working yourself to death.”

The warmth in Keith’s chest spread. “Well, you’re just going to have to trust me for now.”

“I know,” Shiro sighed. “And I do, but…”

“But?” Keith prompted.

“But that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t much rather have you here with me.”

“And I’d much rather be there with you,” Keith agreed. “But we still have another month and a half before that’s going to happen.”

“Keith?”

“Yeah?”

There was a pause, the only sound between them coming from the movie on the screen.

“I love you.”

Keith smiled and snuggled further under his blanket. “I love you, too.”

Shiro’s laugh was soft and sounded giddy. Keith was feeling the same.

“If you get too tired, let me know and I can shut off the movie and let you sleep.”

“Okay,” Keith said.

He looked at the screen but wasn’t really seeing what was going on. Not that it mattered all that much.

~~

Keith grumbled when his alarm went off. He reached for it, swatting his hand on the bedside table until he found his phone and was able to pick it up to shut it off. He yawned and rubbed at his eyes, trying to fight through the lingering sleep that wanted to pull him back to his dreams.

He forced himself to sit up and sat there, looking around his room as he tried to get his thoughts in order. There was a chill to the air that he’d been able to ignore under the blanket and he wrapped his arms around himself, wanting to fall back into bed go to sleep.

He grabbed his hoodie he’d discarded the night before and tugged it on, crossing his arms over his chest as another violent chill moved through his body.

“What the hell,” he grumbled, climbing out of bed. He flinched when his feet hit the wood floor and cold seeped into the bottoms of his feet.

He tiptoed over to his dresser and pulled out a pair of socks, awkwardly balancing to shove them onto his feet. He hurried into his living room and checked the thermostat, gaping when he saw the temperature was under forty degrees.

He rushed back into his bedroom, snatching his phone from the bedside table before dialing the number for the superintendent.

“Hello?” he asked, voice obviously tired.

“Hey, it’s Keith and the heat-“

“Say no more,” he sighed, interrupting. “The heat’s out in the whole building. I’ve put in a call to have the maintenance crew come in and they’re going to get here as soon as they can. The snow’s pretty bad outside and they have to come across town so sorry to say that it might be a few hours.”

Keith blinked. “Oh,” he said. “Okay. Thanks.”

“Of course,” he said. “Is there anything else you need?”

“Nope, that’s it.”

“All right,” he said. “Call if you need anything else.”

“Sure,” Keith said, ending the call. “This is going to be fun,” he grumbled to his empty apartment and sighed. He could at least be grateful that he still had electricity.

He shuffled into the kitchen and started rummaging through the cabinets, searching for something to keep him warm. He found a can of instant hot chocolate mix and set a pot of water on the stove to boil. As he waited, he retrieved his computer and several blankets and set them up around the couch to have somewhere warm to retreat.

His phone buzzed as he was mixing the boiling water with the hot chocolate mix into a large mug. He absentmindedly stirred the mixture with a spoon, picking up his phone to find a message from Shiro waiting for him.

Shiro: Morning, babyyyyyy

Keith smiled and carried his phone and hot chocolate into the living room, getting comfortable among the blankets before he replied.

Keith: Cold morning

Shiro: Awww, need someone to come warm you up?

Keith: Yeah, actually. The heat’s out in my building

Shiro: Shit

Keith: Yeah, it’ll hopefully be fixed by the afternoon, but the snow we got was bad and I don’t even want to think about what the roads look like

Shiro: You got anything to keep you warm?

Keith: Lots of blankets and hot chocolate, but that’s about it. I’m kind of wishing I had a space heater, but I don’t even know where I could go buy one or if I’d even want to go outside when I don’t have to.

Shiro: Sorry

Keith shrugged even though Shiro couldn’t see him.

Keith: Can’t be helped. The best I can do is deal with it. I’ve got work later so that’ll give me somewhere warm to go if the heat’s not on soon.

Shiro: You at least ready to book your plane tickets?

Warmth bloomed in Keith’s stomach that had nothing to do with the hot chocolate he was drinking. He bit his lip, excitement spreading through him.

Keith: Definitely.

He reached for his computer and nestled it over his blanket covered legs, clutching the warm mug close to his chest. His phone started to ring, and he answered it quickly, cradling it between his shoulder and his ear as he typed in his password with one hand.

“Hey,” he said, keeping his attention on his computer that was booting up.

“Morning, babe,” Shiro said. “Have you looked at any prices yet?”

“Nope. I’m just getting my computer powered up now, so it could be a minute or two before I can get on the internet. The one good thing about this morning is that electric is still working. I really don’t know what’s up with the heat.”

Shiro hummed. “Yeah, that is kind of strange… Maybe there’s a short or a connection slipped.”

Keith sighed. “I guess we’ll find out,” he said, taking a sip of his drink. He opened his web browser. “Okay, what airport am I flying into?”

“Melbourne International Airport,” Shiro answered.

Keith hummed, typing in the airport and the flights there from Chicago. “These aren’t bad,” he said, scrolling down through the list of flights that was only a couple hundred bucks for round trip tickets.

“What time do you think you could get in?”

“Well, I can finish up my classes on Friday and pack that night and leave Saturday morning. I’d get there in the middle of the afternoon, but I could stay until the next Sunday if you’re okay with me staying a little over a week?”

Shiro chuckled. “Do you even have to ask?”

“I just want to make sure,” he grumbled.

“I’m perfectly fine with you staying that long. Hell, I’d welcome it. I’ve missed you so much that I want to spend as much time with you as I can.”

Keith bit his lip and felt his chest warm despite the cold that permeated everything around him. “I’d have to get a noon flight back,” he continued after Shiro’s words had hung in the air too long.

“That’s fine. I’m good to take you there and pick you up whenever you need it. My schedule’s a lot more flexible than yours was.”

Keith smiled. “Okay, give me one second. I need to grab my wallet so I can pay for these.”

Warm butterflies exploded in his stomach. He hadn’t even thought about it much before now that this was actually happening, but now there was no mistaking the face he was going to fly down to Florida to see his boyfriend. It was something he never would’ve expected to happen in his life.

“I’m going to put you on speaker, okay?” Keith asked.

“Sure.”

He hit the speaker button and set the phone to the side as he started booking the tickets. He typed in his personal information, grin getting wider as he reached the bottom of the page and put his payment information in.

“Okay,” he said softly before clicking the payment button. “It’s done,” he said when the confirmation flashed. “I’m officially coming to visit you over spring break.”

“Make sure to send your flight numbers and info to me,” Shiro said.

“Don’t worry,” Keith said, picking up his phone. He took it off speaker and leaned back against the cushions, eyes still locked on his computer. “I’ll get all of that to you later.”

“Hey, Keith?” Shiro asked.

“Yeah?”

“You’re coming to visit me.”

He breathed a laugh, chest ready to explode. “Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

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