#i never bought any seasons greeting before

[woso-dreamzzz]

If You Were My Little Girl II

Alexia Putellas x Teen!Reader

Summary: Things are looking up

Alexia watches from the stands.

They're mostly empty, like almost all Barcelona B matches.

Women's football has only really started picking up steam recently but only at the top flight. The lower level leagues are still having a bit of a popularity issue.

But Alexia, for once, finds that she doesn't mind.

Because it means she can sit practically alone in the stands as she watches the home match.

A notepad sits on her lap, a pen tapping against the pages thoughtfully as she watches.

Barcelona B are good and Alexia has never expected anything different. She's seen the system at work many times as La Masia churns out players like Aitana and Pina and Jana, and more recently Vicky and Martina.

There's a reason so many clubs wants La Masia products.

They're all good players but even now, Alexia can tell a great player when she sees one.

You rise up among the crowd in the box and slam the ball into the goal, the net rippling with the force of the shot.

The best part, Alexia thinks, is that you didn't even need a moment to control the ball, hitting it in on the volley and grinning as your teammates practically dogpile you.

A hattrick in ten minutes is impressive in any league and Alexia makes another note in her notebook, humming softly to herself.

She rises out of her seat at the end of the match, disappearing into the building and out the doors.

It takes another half an hour for you to appear again, hair damp and an old crew neck sweater that Alexia's pretty sure is Alba's being tugged over your head.

You slip into the passenger seat, throwing your bag into the backseat and Alexia pulls your head down to press a kiss against the side of it.

You smile shyly at her as she offers up the fries she'd bought for a job well done.

"You did good, kid," She says," Very impressive."

"Yeah?"

"Yes. But I think we're going to work on evading slide tackles next," Alexia says as she drives off," We're trying to keep those ankles of yours intact, alright? I'm going to need them this season."

You roll your eyes and Alexia clicks her tongue.

"Don't roll your eyes at me," She says," I've got a good feeling about that meeting later in the week. A great feeling, actually. You should have one too."

"I'm managing expectations."

Alexia looks at you fondly. "Well, we'll see which one of us is right in a few days."

She lets you choose the music in the car, like she always does when you've scored a goal and you pull up to the apartment a lot quicker than you want to seeing as you're in the middle of singing along to your favourite song but, still, you drag yourself out of the car and up the stairs.

"How was the match?" Olga asks as she greets Alexia with a kiss on the lips.

"She did very well," Alexia brags," A hattrick within the first ten minutes and another goal in injury time."

"Exciting," Olga says indulgently as Alexia grins, already giving her running commentary of everything that happened during the match.

You escape though, hurrying to raid the cupboards before Alexia finally comes to her senses and tries to stop you 'spoiling' your dinner.

You don't know if there's any way to thank Alexia for what she's done for you.

Just three months ago, you were convinced that you were going to quit. You had no passion for the game, no hope of what your future was going to be but now all of that had changed.

You had direction. You had a manager. You had new boots and a place to live that wasn't a group home and support and love and everything seemed to be coming together for you.

A toe pokes you in the leg.

"Move."

"Alexia says that if you're trying to nap on her sofa again then I don't have to move," You tell Alba, who huffs and pokes you with her toe again," She also says that you have your own apartment and should stop mooching of us."

"But Olga's a better cook than me," Alba complains and you roll your eyes.

"Aren't you an adult? Even I can cook."

"Yeah but it's not like you could mooch off your sist-"

Alba falls silent quickly and you pretend to not notice what she was going to say for both hers and your own sakes.

The topic of your sister is kind of off limits when you're in the room. It's not completely banned because Alexia's still Jenni's national teammate but she's not really spoken about if you're in the room.

Alba's face flashes with terror for a moment so you pretend you don't notice her slip up ever though it sends a bolt of lightning into your stomach, a deep pit forming there.

It works for the most part, everyone in the house pretending Jenni isn't who she is to you, pretending that she's just Alexia's teammate and not her friend and ex, pretending that Alexia fostering you isn't her walking on a tight rope because Jenni doesn't know.

All Jenni knows is that you didn't quit when she told you to.

Jenni doesn't know that you live with Alexia. Jenni doesn't know anything. You doubt she even thinks about you when she's got a life far away in Mexico.

She lives there, far away from you and your life here in Barcelona.

She lives there and her presence is hardly ever mentioned around you.

Life is good at Alexia and Olga's house. Life is even good at training, though you could do without the smug little smirk Alexia has on her face when she picks you up.

"You already knew!" You accuse her, waving a finger in her face.

"Knew?" She asks, lips curl up in what can only be described as pure smugness," Knew what?"

"Right, who told you? Go on. Who was it?"

Alexia grins. "You do realise I am the captain? Any time they're looking to bring someone in, they ask me my opinion."

You roll your eyes. "Yeah and I'm sure you gave it."

"You're a good player. A great player," Alexia says," All I did was tell them what they already know."

You look down at your lap, fidgeting with your fingers. You want to be mad at her, to yell at her for keeping this from you. Maybe even yell at her for promising to the staff something you're not but you know she hasn't done that.

If she thought you weren't ready, she would have told them that.

But Alexia didn't. She didn't tell them to let you have a bit more time with the B team. She didn't tell them that you don't quite have what it takes.

"Thanks."

Alexia smiles at you as she drives home, a comfortable silence enveloping you both until your hand is on the door handle.

You stop.

"When I open this door, there's going to be a party, isn't there?"

"I may have told Olga...who told Mami...who told Alba...who told the rest of the family..."

"Is that a yes?"

"Possibly..."

"And there's no getting out of this?"

Alexia ruffles your hair, a soft kiss being pressed to the side of your head. "They're here to celebrate you."

You suck in a breath, just ready to turn the handle when the sound of the lift doors opening chimes down the corridor.

Both you and Alexia turn your heads towards.

It's just a fleeting second.

Just a moment.

But your good mood plummets as the door opens.

Alexia's hand tightens on your shoulder, pushing you slightly behind her and putting herself between you and the elevator.

Between you and Jenni.

[foxy-kitsune]

my bank account is already crying

[leonw4nter]

been obsessed with ur fics relating to Taylor’s songs 🥺 can u do one with ‘sl/t’? Just a good ole fluffy fic.

My Cuddly Eldritch Boyfriend!

Eldritch Horror!RE2R!Leon x F!Reader

“Ah yes, my human female companion, I believe I am required to inform you of my whereabouts for today. Since we have run out of the minuscule jar of the chocolate-hazelnut spread you quite enjoy consuming with sliced bread, I had to leave our shared den and purchase some for you. It appears that I have underestimated the price of such delicacy for the bills I have pocketed fell short of a few more dollars,” your boyfriend Leon happily recounted as he showed you the large tub of sandwich spread that he bought earlier today. “Boyfriend”, rather, if he can be considered that.

Leon waltzed into your life quite interestingly, a little more differently than most boyfriends do in the lives of others who have them. You were trapped in an unhappy relationship, the kind where you had to beg to be shown affection and got scolded for buying yourself little goodies like a funny little pond jewelry dish. He was always on his gaming computer or out with his buddies for beer and snacks, yelling at you over the phone whenever you refused to lend him more money. You went home one evening, after a draining workday, to see your “boyfriend” quietly cleaning around the house and stopping to greet you good evening and ask you about your day. It’s quite the contrast to go from an “annoying clingy hoe” to “human female companion” but the latter is leagues better than the other words hurled at you. Leon isn’t even the name of your former boyfriend, wherever he is now; this replacement simply decided to name himself. You know you should be looking for your former partner, wherever he is, but you don’t want to. You’re more than happy with Leon and you wouldn’t want another undeserving girl to fall into the suffocating clutches of your ex.

“A lady has also offered me a small slice of processed meat– a sausage, it is called. Seasoned pork meat rolled into logs, a cut skewered into an infinitesimally slim stake referred to as ‘toothpick’. It is quite delectable, I must admit, but I haven’t any payment in my pockets so I had to politely decline her offer,” he continues recalling. You take out your phone and google a word: “infinitesimally”. This is another of the changes you noticed with your boyfriend: his lexicomane speech; you would never hear words the likes of ‘infinitesimally’ and ‘minuscule’ from him, intelligent phraseology is not in his vocabulary. A few days after the swap of boyfriends, you found yourself having to install a dictionary app on your phone in order to keep up with his sesquipedalian use of words and engage in conversation. You smile, finally spotting the definition of the word: extremely small.

“That’s great, Leon. We still have some sausage in the freezer, though, so I think it’s only right that you didn’t get some coz we might’ve ended up with far too much,” you respond as you set your phone down on the counter. “What brand was it though? I might pick that up for you next time around when I go for groceries.”

“Hm,” he hums in thought.

His human appearance appears to slightly glitch as he delves deeper into his recollections of the day earlier; he appears to have a chromatic aberration, multiple shadows of his head moving about and twitching around in smoky wisps, as several muffled voices of ancient chanting begin to grow a little bit more noticeable in volume. You grow worried yet you stay seated on your chair, carefully observing Leon before anything too out of control and mind-shattering occurs. Thankfully, he finally manages to remember before the voices get too overwhelming for your human mind.

“I believe it was called ‘MorningStar’,” he finally says. He falls silent, head tilting as his face grows expressionless. “Are you alright, girlfriend?”

He steps closer and sits in front of you, back straight and hands in his lap as he continues to observe you thoughtfully, the gears in his head turning to determine how to approach you.

“Oh, yes, Leon. Don’t worry, just zoned out a little. That’s all,” you respond with a forced smile that doesn’t convince him entirely.

“Have you finally observed that I have left the bathroom light bulb switched on during the entirety that I was out purchasing goods to consume?” he quietly asks, voice laced with guilt and shame as he looks at you with something akin to puppy-dog eyes; you didn’t know that eldritch horrors are capable of giving puppy-dog eyes. “I apologize with utmost remorse, my human female mate. In my haste to please you, I have overlooked a step in securing your household utilities.”

You wonder what is the connection between his previous concern for you and the most recent sentence he just uttered then it occurred to you that he wanted to delay admitting to  you that he forgot to switch off the lights; Leon must’ve also forgotten that humans don’t have the level of perception as whatever his kind has, or maybe he assumed that you and you alone possessed that ability. You never would have known if he didn’t bring it up to you. It is funny to see this eldritch being that was clearly trying to pass off as human, as if you had the power of the universe in your palm and could so easily kick him out into the streets, a look on his face now reminiscent of a kicked puppy. It appeared as if he shrank into his olive green sweater, hiding into the warm and dark depths that the piece of clothing offered. Now his ashamed aura was seeping into you, making you feel a slight tinge of what he’s feeling.

“Leon, it’s fine, okay? We’re still in one piece and nothing too bad happened. Besides, I have enough money to comfortably pay off utility expenses so there’s nothing much to worry about,” you reassure him with a gentle hand to his firm shoulder, feeling the spot unwind from the tension beneath your warm palm. “That happens to me too and I get frustrated sometimes but now I just laugh at it.”

He lights up again and that aura of despair fizzles away lickety-split. He beams again, a little too widely for what could be considered normal. He continues rambling on about sausages before asking you about your workday and leaning in to listen intently; you talk and talk, he sits and devotes all his attention to you and answers too, from time to time. He’s a lot more engaging and present when it comes to talking about yourself than your former boyfriend; all he’d talk about is himself and how you’re lucky he loves you, the occasional comparison to other girls. When you’re finally finished talking about your day, it’s Leon's turn to talk about his.

You don’t want to tell him that he’s not perfect on trying to pass off as another ordinary human being– he still tends to unhinge his jaw when he gets excited, his form glitches when he’s deep in thought, he refers to you as ‘human female mate’ or ‘human female companion’ or simply ‘girlfriend’ though in a manner free of offensive intentions, he likes to change the shades of his blue irises, and his verbose vocabulary. Other than the multiloquent manner that he converses in, no one seems to pick up on the irregularity of his physical form, not even when there’s faint shadows of his head fluctuating when he thinks; surely he’s travelling to universes beyond human comprehension just to figure out an answer to “what’d you think of the new Deadpool and Wolverine movie?”. You guess that he’s conjuring some form of illusion that mask slip-ups in his form but why this doesn’t apply to you, you’re not exactly sure but you don’t plan on telling him his lapses; you’re perfectly content with him cooling up your drink with his hand alone in a matter of seconds when you’re out together. He’s far from perfecting the image of a totally human boyfriend but you’re slightly positive that he’s the most perfect lover.

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

“I would like to relish in the amusement of motion pictures with sound alongside you on our couch,” Leon expresses in mild emotion though he seems quite eager to watch movies, just phrased in a more archaic fashion.

“Me too” you respond with a small giggle at his unintentionally goofy personality. “Got a movie in mind?”

“Movie? Ah, yes. The moving images,” he recalls. “I have overheard this title from a young couple I happened to share a bus with, Kate and Leopold, they said. Appertaining to this hearsay statement, it must be a picture that thoroughly imprints itself on the heart and mind.”

“Kate and Leopold?” you say out loud and he nods. “Sure, why not. C’mon let’s head to the living room.”

“Of course,” he responds with an enthusiastic smile as he gets up from his dining room chair and quietly pushes it back before trailing behind you like the lovecraftian horror puppy that he is.

You put on the movie, both settling into a comfortable silence, attention centered on the film on your TV. In the middle of the film, you realize how you are quite near to him yet he does not make advances to touch you as he appears content with your shoulders touching. You sit up, inching closer to his side yet you don’t make this all simultaneous as you don’t want to shock him into discomfort. Much to your pleasant amazement, he not-so-subtly extends his arm behind your neck and rests it there. You look at his head and his face is still trained on Leopold chasing the snatcher, though the tips of his ears are dusted with a faint bloom of pink; who knew that cosmic beings could blush. Now slightly more confident, he slowly tries to urge you closer to the warmth of his side though he’s now hesitant with his actions. You snuggle closer to his side and now his hand is comfortably resting on the side of your arm where his silvery touch sends a flurry of tingles. Leopold and Kate are now sharing a kiss on a rooftop after a waltz to which your heart nearly goes into overdrive; Leon is not faring any better, visibly red-faced and overcome with butterflies that press up against his lungs (if he has any), making breathing feel a little funny. You wonder if he’s mentally replacing the characters with you and him and the image makes him feel madly excited.

“Leon, are you cold?” you ask towards the movie’s nearing end.

“No, but are you?” he counters, turning to face you now.

“Kinda.”

“Would you like me to fetch some for you?”

“No, no, it’s fine. I can get it myself–”

Something heavy and weighted and fuzzy envelopes you from the chest down, placed down by the man beside you.

“What’s this?” you ask in a slightly raised voice.

“A blanket,” he responds in a nonchalant manner.

“Why is it so heavy? I know weighted blankets exist but this one’s a little heavier than what I’m used to…”

“It’s bear fur.”

You fall silent, staring down at the brown fur mass laid above your body before staring back up at him, silently asking if this is his form of a prank. Unfortunately, he is serious about this.

“Um… Leon, I appreciate the blanket but I generally prefer faux fur to actual animal-sourced fur. It’s, you know, more wildlife friendly… yeah, um…”

You need not to say more when the blanket is still brown but is now clearly made of faux fur, having changed it right away without arguments or insults hurled at you. He seems satisfied with his service, adjusting the blanket to cover you up properly without obstructing your view of the movie. You offer to share the blanket but he objects, tomato-faced as he stutters his apology.

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

The movie is finished and he smiles, remarking on how the couple was correct about their opinions and recounting some of the lines that stuck to him. He seemed to especially adore the portion where Kate is enchanted by the sight of Leopold on horseback, most excitedly analyzing the scene and going into detail about the look of love and the twinkle of Kate’s eyes before sighing dreamily.

“I wish to one day flawlessly emulate the depth of emotion she captured with only both her eyes, though I am well-aware that this is all expert acting. It would be my pleasure to one day look at you with such adoration as you tell me tales for there is nothing more that I desire than to enlighten you about the boundless worship that I present to you,” he wistfully conveys as he watches you walk around the bedroom before settling down to lay beside him.

You softly giggle, biting your lip as his voice bounces off in the walls of your mind and plays over and over again.

“Thank you. You’re doing a great job at that already honey,” you sincerely respond to him as you slip under the sheets and get snug.

“Your welcome,” he softly murmurs as a dopey smile points the corners of his lips skyward.

You ask if you can switch the bedside lamp off and he nods, the darkness of the room taking over as your eyes adjust to the lack of light. You lay still and silent before quietly wishing him a good night and restful sleep, to which he returns before he shifts and faces his back to you. Sometime in the middle of the night Leon awakens to the warmth and weight of your head and arms on his chest, the sight of you causing a human warmth to bloom where a human heart would be. You are peaceful and delicate, basking in the warmth that his form offered; the fact that you sought him out in your sleep made him feel loved, a feeling he didn’t know he’d grow to constantly crave. He pulls you closer and delicately wraps his arms around you in a protective embrace, a soft purr humming from his chest– an actual purr, like a cat’s. He strokes your hair with a silvery touch, daintily patting strands as he thinks about the fragility of his human and how he’d need to be very careful with them. His silky hands cause you to drift between the world of sleep and waking consciousness, growing more aware of his purr. You’re not new to his purring; he purrs when you two hold hands while running errands together, he purrs when you refer to him as your boyfriend to other people, he purrs when he finds out that you bought him a snack he likes. He has yet to discover that humans do not and cannot purr, that’s why you aren’t returning his physical display of contentedness but he’s satisfied that you’re letting him hold you like this. You don’t mind his purring at all and you’re firm on the decision that you love him and that he loves you back.

NOTE - First off, thank you to the anon who requested this!! I hope this one reached your expectations, even if I did put a little twist to it :)) guys... I think we're back!!! coz I decided to start on this last night at around 11:30 PM and I rlly had my creative juices flowing, like it just occured to me so clearly so now ig I'm going to start quite late into the evening if I'm going to start something new :D this fic is inspired by the eldritch horror boyfriend prompts that I came across on TikTok and also bc I felt like writing Leon rlly poetic and soft tonightt teehee :3 That's it and and I hope you really enjoyed this fic :)) Thank you for reading my works!!!!!!!!!! I <3333 UUUUUU!!!!!!!!!

The dainty chain dividers are made by @cafekitsune , the images are made by me (sourced from Pinterest).

[dustofthedailylife]

It's Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas

→ Masterlist || → Taglist

Pairing: Wriothesley, Alhaitham, Diluc x (gn!) Reader

Summary: The Christmas season is rolling around and you spend those days with the one you love most. How are you spending it?

Tags: Fluff, comfort, kissing, teasing, consumption of (reasonable amounts of) alcohol

A/N: this is my secret santa gift for @jellalism for the @2023gisecretsanta event! (Hi, it me again :3). Once again I hope you have a merry Christmas and a wonderful holiday season. Sending you many hugs and I hope these fics make your holiday season a little brighter! <3

WRIOTHESLEY

It was a cold day in Fontaine and Christmas wasn’t far off. Just a little over a week and you’d be able to spend your first holiday together with Wriothesley. You already bought all the Christmas presents and had your bags packed to spend Christmas over at his place. 

The presents still sat neatly packaged below the beautifully decorated Christmas tree in your living room. But they wouldn’t stay there for much longer as you had agreed to come over today and stay until Christmas. So the presents needed to be relocated as well. 

You were beyond ecstatic to finally see him again. Especially since he even took some time off work as well to spend it with you.

Loaded with your bags and gifts you enthusiastically knocked on his door and it was soon opened by the man himself. He was wearing a cozy hoodie and sweatpants and looked like he had just woken up from a nap. At least judging by the pillow imprint on his cheek. 

Cute, you thought.

“Hi, sleepy head. Enjoying your time off?” You greeted him teasingly, pressing a quick peck to his lips before squeezing inside past him.

You quickly kicked off your shoes and impatiently waddled behind him, following him into the living room. You were curious to see how Wriothesley had decorated his home for the holidays, so when his back left your field of view and you could finally see the room you saw…

Nothing.

Not even a single Christmas light could be found in his house. There was no Christmas tree, no Christmas cookies on the coffee table, no cozy candles, no ornaments or stockings, no nothing.

“Do you want a cup of tea?”, Wriothesley asked, gently taking your face in between his big warm hands.

“Uuuh…”

Your initial smile faltered pretty much immediately after you had taken in the utterly unfestive atmosphere and he seemed to have immediately noticed it, too.

“Is something wrong?” He inquired with a hint of concern in his voice.

“Where is the Christmas decoration?” You asked baffled. “You know Christmas is only a couple of days away, right?”

Now it was his turn to usher an awkward ‘uuuh’. He quickly glanced over his shoulder, scanning the room, before apologetically looking back at you with an expression that said ‘Sorry, it slipped my mind’.

“Well, uhm.. To be frank, I’m rarely ever here over the holidays so I don’t really… own any Christmas decorations.” He explained with a shrug and donned an embarrassed smile and scratched the back of his head. “Neither have I ever celebrated Christmas properly since I usually just work.”

“No no. This absolutely won’t do.” You lifted your finger up to his face in playful protest. “Go put on some clothes, we’re going shopping. We’re absolutely not celebrating Christmas before every nook and cranny in this house is looking festive and is covered in glitter.” You announced with determination, already marching towards the main entrance again to put your shoes back on.

“Right now?” He inquired in surprise.

“Right now.” You quickly confirmed. “And I pick the decorations – you pay.” You declared, putting your hands on your hips while glaring at him reprimandingly.

“Hey, wait a second! I never agreed to that.” He protested weakly, crossing his arms over his chest. But his smirk betrayed his real thoughts – he was enjoying this playful banter as much as you were.

“Well, too bad. You don’t get a say in this. Now come on, shopping time.”

Not even half an hour later and wrapped in your warm winter clothes, you found yourselves walking along the streets of Fontaine. It had already gone dark and a couple of snowflakes danced in the yellow light of the street lanterns. The shops by the road were all decorated with an abundance of Christmas lights and the air carried the fragrant smell of cinnamon and mulled wine.

You looked up to Wriothesley, who was walking hand in hand with you, while window shopping. When he noticed your glance his lips curled into a loving smile that was barely visible behind the gigantic red scarf that he had wrapped around his neck. His cheeks and nose were reddened by the cold and the snowflakes that got caught in his hair only emphasized how adorable he looked.

You dragged him into some stores that you knew sold various knick-knacks and decorations and bought what felt like an entire month’s salary worth of Christmas decorations. Although, despite all that, he somehow still managed to leave more money at his trusted tea store on the way back home.

Back at his house you quickly unpacked everything that you bought and got to work. While Wriothesley put up the Christmas tree you made sure not a single curtain rod, windowsill, and table was without any Christmas lights or candles. As soon as that was done you helped him put the red and gold glass ornaments on the tree.

All that was missing now was the big golden star tree topper that you attempted to hand to him, so that he could put it up on the tree himself. But before you had any chance to do so, he had already snuck both of his muscular arms around your waist and hoisted you up so you could stick it on yourself.

Once back on steady ground you looked around and marveled at your finished work. Everything was enveloped by a cozy light from all the Christmas lights and it looked even better than you had imagined. This would definitely do!

“I think we got everything.” You announced cheerfully, leaning your head against his broad chest and glancing at the tree to your left.

“Hmm.” Wriothesley hummed contemplatively, his chest vibrating against your ear as he did. “I think one thing is still missing.”

“Huh? What did we miss?” You lifted your head with a questioningly raised brow.

He fumbled around behind his back with a mischievous smirk plastered across his face. You knew that expression all too well by now – he was up to something.

You watched as he pulled out a little green twig with a red ribbon. You were barely even able to identify it as a mistletoe before he had already lifted it up into the air and held it over both of your heads. His free hand quickly found comfort around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

Within the blink of an eye, his lips sealed yours with a passionate kiss, knocking the breath right out of you. You leaned into him with a giggle and felt him smile into the kiss in return. 

In an attempt to be even closer to him than you already were, your hand found comfort in his soft raven-colored hair. Reciprocating the sentiment, he snaked the arm he had held up over you around your midriff as well, hugging you impossibly tighter.

While leaning his forehead against yours and softly rubbing the tip of your noses together, he looked deep into your eyes with the same sly smirk he had donned earlier, before proudly declaring: “Now we’ve got everything.”

ALHAITHAM

With packed suitcases, you and Alhaitham crossed the bridge to your hometown Mondstadt. It was snowing heavily and the cold, biting wind was gnawing away at every sliver of exposed skin. It felt like icy needles were pricking at your face. 

It was peacefully quiet and all that could be heard was the crunch of the thick snow below your boots.  You watched how the snowflakes danced in the wind and how they got caught in the ashen hair and lashes of Alhaitham, who was walking by your side.

Looking at him in this kind of weather was almost comical. He was used to the humid and hot temperatures of the rainforest and had never really experienced the bitter cold of winter. He was treading carefully, trying his hardest not to slip on the frozen ground. His head was almost entirely hidden underneath the big wool scarf he had wrapped around his head as if he had tried to mummify himself with it. His nose and cheeks were reddened from the cold and you could faintly make out the chatter of his teeth. 

It would almost be adorable if he didn’t have the expression of someone who was about to murder the next person who spoke to him.

You bit your tongue to hold back a teasing comment about how he couldn’t handle the cold and instead opted to hold onto his hand that was rather stiffly dangling by his side. He glanced at you over the mountain of a scarf he had wrapped around his neck and immediately saw his expression ease up a little. His brows relaxed became less furrowed and the corners of his mouth twitched upward ever so slightly.

“We’re almost there.” You reassured, which was only met with a slightly grumpy-sounding hum of acknowledgment.

Not long after you arrived at the Tavern. You picked up your room keys and quickly shuffled upstairs to settle down.

Alhaitham quickly kicked off his boots once he sat on the bed and hissed in pain. His toes were borderline glowing in red and blue hues and he wasn’t wearing any socks either. Needless to say, he was wearing his usual boots with the hole at the top. Clearly, everyone could see that they weren’t fit for conditions like these whatsoever.

“You know, these boots are kind of impractical for this weather.” You remarked snarkily. And if looks could kill you would’ve dropped dead on the spot right now.

“Don’t look at me like that!” You shot back before he could usher a word of protest. “You agreed to spend the holidays in Mondstadt after all.”

“And you didn’t think to inform me about all that before we departed?”

“Well, I thought a smart man like you would know that when I said there would be snow in Mondstadt you would naturally conclude that ‘frozen water equals cold’” You remarked in the same snarky tone.

You both looked at each other for a couple of seconds in an intense staring battle. The frown prominent on Alhaitham’s face as he desperately tried to warm his feet with his warm hands. Although eventually, your pokerfaces started showing cracks. The twinkle that started to show in both of your eyes, a twitch of the corner of his mouth, a giggle that was stuck at the back of your throat that you tried to swallow. All of them were telltale signs that your playful argument was about to end in a fit of chuckles, like so often.

And as if on call, you both started laughing out loud at the same moment.

Alhaitham pulled you closer by your hands and you sat down on his lap, facing in his direction. You buried your face in the crook of his neck and slung your arms around him, which he mirrored.

“You’re stupid.” You exclaimed, pressing a quick peck on the exposed skin on his neck.

“Oh, am I now?” He retorted smugly, raising one eyebrow.

“Well, I’m not the one who wore boots with gaping holes in them when there are five inches of snow outsi–” Before you were able to finish the sentence, he quickly began loosely wrapping his thick scarf around your face, effectively shutting you up.

“Rude.” You giggled, muffled by the thick fabric. “Now–” You began, once you had pulled his scarf off your face again. “How about we take a hot bath and then go and visit the Christmas market?”

You could see his eyes wander towards the window. He skeptically eyed the thick snowflakes that were still falling from the sky. Anyone would be able to tell that he really didn’t want to go outside anymore, at least not in this weather.

“I know it’s freezing, but – if we go out, we can go buy you a pair of warm boots and I also know just the thing to fight the cold.” You intercepted before he could usher any words of protest. And after a brief moment of hesitation, he agreed with a loving smile.

After a steaming hot bath, you both found yourself back outside again. Not long after Alhaitham also waded through the thick snow with his newly acquired cozy and warm leather boots and some additional heat-insulating wool socks. He already looked a lot more comfortable than he had when you arrived here.

You walked in the direction of the Christmas market that was being held at the feet of the statue of the Anemo Archon, in front of the cathedral. 

Hand in hand you climbed the stairs up to the plaza. You could already make out the Christmas spices that wafted through the air before you could even see the first booth. And with every step you took your excitement got bigger and bigger. Your heart was thumping loudly inside of your chest and you felt an excited prickle in the pit of your stomach. The last time you were at a Christmas market was ages ago, so you were practically bursting with excitement.

Once you arrived at the top of the stairs, you headed straight for the stand of the Dawn Winery, dragging Alhaitham along with you excitedly. You could already make out the prominent scent of mulled wine and several other hot beverages. No matter how cold the winter was, a cup of mulled wine was always the best thing to warm one up from the inside out.

You bought two mugs of steaming hot spiced dandelion wine and handed one to Alhaitham. He skeptically took a sip, unsure about whether or not hot wine would taste as good as the stuff he was so used to. But when his eyes widened and a surprised hum escaped him you could only chuckle. You had expected this reaction.

“You didn’t lie, this really helps against the cold.” He remarked after taking a couple more sips from his mug.

“See! I told you so. And as you know, I’m always right.” You teased, to which he just rolled his eyes and huffed amusedly. “Don’t you dare say anything now, Haitham.”

He stepped closer to you, embracing you in a tight hug and pressing a quick kiss to your forehead.

“You know, you’re lucky you’re so cute, or else–”, he paused dramatically, not intending to finish his sentence any time soon.

“Or else, what?” You asked, perking your eyebrows.

But Alhaitham had already ventured off to look at the market stalls with a smirk plastered on his lips. He just knew which buttons he needed to press to tease you. And clearly, you wouldn't be getting an answer out of him either.

“Dork.” You huffed, hurrying after him, interlocking your arm with his, leaning your head on his shoulder as you walked around the plaza with your warm mugs in hand.

DILUC

Christmas time was always the busiest time of the year for the Winery and the Tavern. Diluc was basically shipping out orders all day when he wasn’t at the Angel’s Share. During these times you always made sure to help him alleviate some of the stress by taking some work off his hands.

Today you filled in for someone at the Christmas Market stand of the Dawn Winery who fell ill. Your job was to man the booth for the mulled wine and punches and serve them to customers. 

It was the last weekend before Christmas and therefore the Christmas Market was packed to the brim. You barely got any time to take a break and only noticed that it was time to close up shop as soon as Diluc stood before you.

He helped you serve the last remaining customers and clean up the booth before you both started making your way back home to the Winery.

It had already gone dark outside now and the Christmas lights on the windowsills of the houses by the streets wrapped the environment into a warm light. 

Diluc’s hand that was intertwined with yours was comfortably warm like it always was. You could feel it even through your thick gloves.

Both were a stark contrast to the thick snow that crunched below your boots and the cold icy air that pricked at your skin. Every exhale created a little cloud of icy mist in front of your face.

Diluc squeezed your hand a little tighter all of a sudden and nudged his head towards the left, motioning you to follow along.

“Come with me.” He urged, an excited smile playing around his lips.

He led you out of the side gate of Mondstadt, near the Angel’s Share, and headed straight for the frozen lake. He let go of your hand and right in the next moment he was already slithering across the ice with a huge smile plastered on his face

“What are you doing?” You inquired curiously, eyeing him from head to toe as he looked at you expectantly. He stretched one hand out while putting the other behind his back, making him look unbelievably elegant.

“Join me!” 

The way he had slithered across the ice had looked so graceful and almost easy. But you had the inkling it wouldn’t end up being as easy as he made it look.

The way the snowflakes peacefully danced around you both in the yellow light of the nearby lantern made this scene almost feel dreamlike.

There was a comfortable silence in the air right now. As if the Gods had draped a white blanket over the world that muffled everything but the most important sounds. Only yours and Diluc’s steady breathing could be heard, as well as the rustling of the snow-covered trees by the shore and the soft pitter-patter of the falling snowflakes.

You stepped closer to the frozen surface of the lake and carefully put one foot on it to test the waters – or more accurately: the ice. And as expected it was extremely slippery and you almost fell the second you tried standing on it.

Diluc had come closer again and wrapped both his hands around your waist to steady you on the ice. He took hold of your hands and carefully pulled you along with him for a few meters. 

It looked like he was floating over the ice while you looked like a newborn foal that was trying to stand up for the first time in its life. Your knees were shaking and you tried your hardest to not lose your balance. But despite that the mere presence of Diluc made you feel safe.

“Why are you so good at this?” You inquired curiously, almost losing your balance once more.

“I used to do this every winter as a child. Whenever my father caught me he scolded me for what felt like hours because I could hurt myself. Although that never deterred me from doing it again every winter.” He explained amusedly as his ruby-red eyes began shimmering in the dim light of the lantern.

“Well then, is there some special technique to it? Because I feel like I’m going to fall on my butt the minute you let go of me.”

“I’ll simply not let go of you then.” He retorted with a smirk and you could feel how his grip on your waist tightened. “In all seriousness though, don’t bend your knees inward so much. Keep them straight and your soles flat on the ice. Then only bend your upper body forward a little bit.”

“Roger that.” You replied and did as he explained. And much to your surprise, you stance on the ice immediately felt a lot more safe. Your knees stopped shaking and you were able to stand somewhat comfortably now.

“Yes, just like that!”

“It works!” You exclaimed.

“Now, try moving your feet, while keeping this stance.” He instructed while slowly letting go of you, leaving you some room to move once he was sure you could stand on your own. 

He demonstrated the movement to you and you followed him by mirroring them.

Not long after you were still insecurely but steadily moving across the ice.

“Look, I’m doing it!” You yelled excitedly, looking back at Diluc who was watching you with the utmost adoration in his eyes.

“Indeed you are.” He answered proudly as he joined you again, slithering behind you and putting his hands on your waist once more. He carefully pushed you along with him.

You twirled around on the ice with a giggle and it felt like you were two figure skaters in perfect unison, showcasing their breathtaking performance. Although you were sure it looked much more amateurish than it felt. No less, because you weren't actually wearing any ice skates. But at that moment, it didn't matter.

Both of you basked in each other's presence and it felt like you let your inner child run free. The endorphin rush was indescribable. You felt practically invulnerable.

You soon felt comfortable enough to do pirouettes on the ice all by yourself. You had found the right balance to move across the ice and could even move faster than you did before.

You let go of Diluc’s hand and started circling across the surface of the frozen lake. Faster and faster you slithered across the ice.

The problem came about when you wished to come to a halt again. You never asked Diluc how you were able to stop again once you had built some momentum.

And before you had the chance to ask him you slithered and fell face first into one of the big puffy snowbanks that had piled up at the shore.

Snow immediately covered you, got stuck in your hair, fell on your face, seeped into every crevice of your clothes, and made contact with your skin. The icy sensation felt like needles pricking at your skin.

You heard Diluc yell your name muffledly and could make out hurried slithers that came in the direction of where you had fallen. He worriedly pulled you up to your feet again by your hands, patting the snow off your clothes and hair softly.

“Are you alright? I'm so sorry I should've paid more attention. Did you hurt yourself?” He was fussing over you as if you had just fallen down a cliff instead of a bed of soft, albeit cold, snow.

You giggled at his worried expression and slung your arms around his neck, looking intensely at his beautiful eyes.

“I'm alright. Don't worry about me. Although maybe I'm a bit cold now – some snow crept its way into my clothes, I fear.” You pouted with a giggle.

He wordlessly took your hands in his and removed the gloves from your fingers, intertwining his warm ones with yours. You made out a faint flare from the vision on his hip before you felt warmth seep into every fiber of your body, warming you up from the inside out.

“Be careful or you'll melt me.” You teased with a wide smirk. 

At that, he brought his face closer to yours, with an equally wide smile, before ushering: “Only your heart” against your lips, before passionately catching them into a deep kiss.

Do not repost, copy, translate or edit - © dustofthedailylife || reblogs, comments, and asks about Genshin or my fics are always greatly appreciated and motivate me! Maple dividers are mine - do not copy.

[kinzis-writing]

Three Years | George Weasley

Kinzi's 25 days of Christmas: Blogmas Day 2.

Summary: In which Y/N and George have been together for three years, and it takes a mistake for him to take the next step of their relationship.

Pairing: George Weasley x Fem! Reader

Warning(s): mentions of wizard war, mentions of death (not major character and not specified),

This could have ended way better, also the fact that this imagine is shorter than I like as well. I am doing my best at making my Blogmas posts as long as possible, but sometimes it takes me hours to plan the plot of these short stories out. I am a perfectionist, so that is why I never re-read and edit any mistakes because I am afraid of wanting to go back and change the whole story. *Fred did not die in the war*

Three years, it has been three years since George had grown a pair and asked Y/N to be his girlfriend. Since then, there had been many events happen in the course of their relationship. They had moved past the awkwardness of the beginning of the relationship, they had gone through their firsts that every relationship goes through, and everything in between.

Their relationship had survived the second wizard war but had challenges. Seeing as Fred had to be taken care of because of an accident and then George getting hurt before then. It was a hectic and stressful time for the couple, but now everything was back to normal. Well, normal as everything could be after losing some of the nicest people.

Christmas was tomorrow and Fred and George had many customers in and out of the joke shop. Whether it was for Christmas gifts or something before going home for a Christmas prank. They had many customers a day and George had found it hard to be able to see Y/N during the holiday season. The joke shop was closing early and they would stay closed until after Christmas because they all knew the wrath of Molly if they did not show up on time or if they left early.

On Christmas day, Molly was having dinner at the newly built burrow and told everyone that dinner was at 5 o'clock sharp. That morning, George had gotten up to wrap the present for Y/N that he had spent a decent amount of money only to find it missing from the place that he had put it.

"Hey, Fred." George called knocking on his bedroom door and walking in, "have you seen-" He stopped when he noticed Fred's girlfriend wearing the necklace and earring set that he bought specifically for Y/N. The reason he had picked them out was because he had seen her looking at them and she refused to buy them because of the price they costed. “Found them.” He mumbled to himself, his eyes not leaving the necklace.

He was sure that there had to be some sort of mix up. His twin would not steal his girlfriend’s gift on purpose. Instead of getting angry, George did what he believed was right, found Fred and asked him what he thought he was doing.

“I’m sorry,” Fred mumbled when he noticed the distressed look on George’s face. “I grabbed the wrong gift and before I could correct it she was so happy.” He trailed off making George groan. “You could give Y/N the gift I bought for Angela.” He suggested.

George thought about it for a moment, they had hidden their gifts in the same place. Meaning it was an easy mix up and he knew that Fred was telling the truth about grabbing the wrong box. Fred had planned on getting Angela a promise ring, and that gift would work if George hadn’t already given Y/N one of those almost a year ago.

“I’ll come up with something.” George mumbled before leaving his twin to himself. He had less than four hours to come up with the perfect gift for his girlfriend and he was determined to find it.

Four hours had flown by and by the time George and Fred joined everyone at the burrow, Y/N was already there. It wasn’t a shock to the twin, seeing as she was early to everything.

“You’re lucky you aren’t a minute later.” Y/N spoke as she walked up and greeted George from where she had been helping Molly. She had gotten there early knowing that it would be hectic if she didn't. "Molly has be waiting for you guys to arrive."

George gave her a quick kiss before going and putting their gifts under the tree. He wasn't sure how Y/N would like his gift, but he had come up with something... sentimental. Angelina had gone into the kitchen to see what the girls were up to, while Fred and George joined their brothers and Harry by the fire.

"I doubt that Ron even got me something." Hermione stated to Y/N who was setting the Table for Molly. "He's still so awkward about some things."

Y/N let out a small laugh, "I think that's just Ron." Y/N was a year between each group. Fred and George were a year older than her, and she was a year older than the golden trio, while being two years older than Ginny. "Hi, Angie." She greeted with a smile her eyes flickering to the earrings and necklace the girl was wearing. "I love your jewelry set! I wanted to buy the same one, but I didn't want to pay that price."

Angiela gave the younger girl a small smile, "Thank you, Fred got it for me." she replied before going over to greet Molly.

Dinner had come and gone within an hour and Molly had the kitchen cleaning itself. The family gathered around the fireplace as they got ready to open presents. Y/N was sitting on the floor, between George's legs as he sat on the couch. She was chatting with Hermione as they were talking about the after-holiday plans and if anything had to change.

"I think I am going to move." Y/N told Hermione as the girl played with the necklace she always wore. "The place I live at is getting worse and the landlord won't fix it."

Pretty soon the presents were being handed out by the Weasley's and everyone gathered knowing the Christmas tradition at the Weasley's house. Y/N had gotten George the thing he had been wanting for a while and he was beyond excited to receive the gift. It was unexpected and it made him nervous about her opening her gift.

"Can you go upstairs?" George asked Y/N as he noticed Molly hand her the gift that he had gotten her. "I would prefer you not open it in front of everyone." he mumbled quietly as the couple stood up and snuck off.

The pair in the room that they assumed was Ginny's for when she came back home just due to the looks of the room and so on. "There was a mix up of gifts this morning," George started as Y/N went to open her gift. "Fred gave Angela yours and-" He stopped talking when he noticed Y/N's reaction to what was in the box.

Wide eyes stared down at the little jewelry box, you would assume it would hold something that you could wear. Yet, it was nothing close to that. The key laid flatly in the velvet box, and y/n did not know what to think. "What Are-What are you asking?" she asked scared to assume.

Maybe this was a sign that she could come and go as she pleases instead of knocking, or maybe it was exactly what she thought it was. "Will you move in with us, well me?" He asked carefully. "I know it's not expensive and like I said, Fred gave Angela yours by mistake and-"

His sentence was interrupted by Y/N stepping forward and wrapping her arms around the boy she had loved for four years, even though they had only been together for three. "It's perfect." She assured to ease his nerves at the fact that his gift was something he already had, or just the price of making a copy of the key. "You didn't have to get me anything."

George shrugged, "I figured it was time to take the next step, it just took a push from Fred." he spoke softly to the girl he knew he was so lucky to have.

"Well, you just saved me the stress of apartment hunting." She replied back as she grabbed the key out of the box and handed him the box back, knowing that it probably belonged to Fred's other gift. "I love you so much, you know that right?"

"Of course, love." George nodded with a smile on his face. "I love you as well." With that Y/N leaned forward and caught the Weasley's lips between hers. They kissed for a moment before pulling away, George with a cheeky grin, "I could have proposed instead."

Y/N's smile grew at the thought of eventually marrying George and becoming a Weasley herself. "That sounds like a plan for next year." She winked before kissing him one more time and leaving the room, him trailing behind her.

"Are you saying you'd rather live with me, instead of marrying me right now!?" He asked not knowing how to take the information if she were to confirm.

"I have to live with you first to see if we're compatible." She told him with a shrug, but she was joking. Regardless of what happened she knew that she would love him.

"What does that mean?"

I hated the way I ended this, but Blogmas day 2 is complete! I have been working on Blogmas, requests, and my Mattheo series so I have been busy. This is on top of having to study for my finals so.

[loves0phelia]

hi could you rewrite the scene in ep 6 season 2 where Electra (now y/n) and Matt kiss to not get caught by security but add your own twist please? :)))

Faking Kiss

Summery: After years you and Matt meet again during a mission?

Words: 3.1k

Warning: Spicy (not smut), violence, grammar mistakes.

A/N: Thank you for requesting i love this scene!

While girls your age were learning to ride bikes or learning how to count to one hundred you were taught how to take a punch. 

The people who had taken you from your family had taken away your childhood. You never got to dress up for Halloween, to go out and knock on people’s doors for candies. You never fell asleep to your mother singing you a lullaby. You never got to sit in a class along with other kids to learn.

You watch kids do all those things while you were perched on a roof with a sniper in hand. You dreamed of being like them. You needed to be free.

As you grew up you started gaining interest in law and justice so you stole books from local libraries while you were supposed to be on missions to kill and read, read and read again. You taught yourself everything you needed to know.

At the age of 17, you took the opportunity to run away. After reading various magazines about college and teenage life you created yourself a name, a life. Before that, all you were was a number amongst others.

During a mission, targeting a wealthy man, you removed the tracker in your neck, changed into civilian clothing, and stowed away your black leather suit in your backpack

Immediately after losing contact with you, the men you worked for began looking for you. For two years you stayed hidden, away from the radar, until at 19 you applied to college.

Since your escape, your once-short hair had grown long, your body changed, seamlessly blending you into society. With fake birth certificates, you became Y/N Y/L/N without any complications. Your fraud skills even secured you a spot at Columbia University in New York. Admittedly, it may have been risky, but you desired more than anything, to pursue law and justice, to help others unlike those who had disappointed you.

During college, you made your first friends. Matt Murdock and Foggy Nelson. It was everything you ever dreamed of.

COLLEGE MEMORY

A very drunk guy with dirty blond hair laughed loudly as he swayed side to side with a white walking cane he held for support. 

“Watch out everybody! I'm blind, Matt Murdock!” he laughed, still walking like he had 5 shots of vodka in his system.

“Most people just say- Matt Murdock” The brunette who wore sunglasses, held his stomach as he laughed. 

“I look like most people?” he asked genuinely.

“I don't know, I can't see” The blind guy answered in a cocky way, proud of his joke.

“Well at the moment that might be a blessing, because I'm the only one who can see the beautiful girl in front of us”  That's what made you look up from your newly bought law book, that you had bought with your very own money. It was the first book you didn't steal from the library since you ran away and you were fascinated by it. 

“Oh?” The blind student stopped abruptly just like his friend had done.

“Hi,” The blond said, catching you off guard. Nobody had yet to try and talk to you on campus since school started about a month ago. 

You looked behind you to make sure he was talking to you and when you realized he was you answered his greetings. Your voice came out more like a whisper.

“Are you studying on a Saturday night?!” He yelled when he noticed the book on your knees that you were previously reading. You nodded and he gasped.

"Hey, Foggy, maybe we should give that a shot too," suggested the other, the extroverted one objected immediately.

“So beautiful lady, I'm Foggy and this boring one over here is Matt what's your name?” his eyebrows wiggled like gummy worms as he flirted making you giggle. 

You didn't know that Matt was starstruck by you. Your laugh, your scent and your aura were something right out of his dreams. 

You gave them your name and like you guys were friends for years, Foggy extended his hand down to you asking you to accompany them on a night of, and you quote, “mischievous adventures”

You grabbed his hand and he pulled you up to your feet before you guys started walking nowhere but everywhere at the same time.

As the night ended and the sun started waking, you walked to their dorm and when you entered, you watched Matt help Foggy into his bed like a toddler who had fallen asleep on the ride back home from the amusement park.

You chuckled as you watched him struggle, and a few minutes later, Matt and you quietly slipped out into the hallway.

“Hopefully we'll see you soon?” His hand brushed yours. You thought it was by accident but if only you knew how Matt had desperately tried to touch a part of your body all night. 

“Of course” Your smile was shy. You couldn't understand the strange fluttering feeling in your stomach as he looked at you. It was like something you had never experienced before.

After that night you three spent the integrality of the college year stuck together like glue. Every Saturday day was destined to hang out. Matt and you came so close to admitting your feelings but just as you were about to, they found you.

Freshly graduated, diploma in hand, you strode proudly toward the rendezvous point Foggy and Matt had designated. As you rounded the concrete wall outside, you spotted a car with tinted windows. Even though the car seemed inconspicuous, your heart sank as you noticed four men standing beside it. Locking eyes with one of them, a chill ran down your spine as the man pointed directly at you. Without hesitation, they all sprang into action, sprinting in your direction.

You dropped everything. Your diploma you were so proud of, your backpack with the books you had bought and your life.

END

Each passing year saw you found yourself in new cities or even countries, determined to evade their pursuit. But fate seemed to have other plans when you discovered yourself in Hell's Kitchen at the same time as them. Now, it was your chance to turn the tables and finally catch them.

You mapped out their plan and you found out they were organizing a gala to target parents with children they could steal and turn into their hit man.

You dressed up in the prettiest silk white dress you could find, your hair, now dyed in a different colour, was half up and half down curled and even though your features had changed a lot since your college years you applied makeup to make you unrecognizable.

You entered the gala with no problem. You were trained well you knew better than to get caught the first second.

Soft music and the clinking of champagne glasses rang in your head as you slipped away from the scene. You had to find out where they were keeping the children and you needed information. You knew exactly where to get it.

In a vault, in the boss's office. You would find the exact location.

You spotted a bodyguard, guarding the elevator as you made your way to it. You could have taken the stairs but you needed to be the least suspicious possible.

"Sorry, ma'am, but upstairs is off-limits, restricted area," he informed you, eyeing you up and down, prompting you to fake a pout in response.

“Ugh, the bathroom downstairs is all taken and I have to fix my lipstick, really bad” You crossed your arm under your chest purposely putting on display your breast.

You smirked when his eyes shifted to take a look.

“If it's just for lipstick I guess I can make an exception.” 

"Seriously? You're an angel," you beamed, giving his arms a playful rub as he obligingly pressed the floor button. With a ding, the doors slid open, allowing you to step inside. As the doors closed behind you, a smirk crept onto your face. It was too easy, as always. 

Now on the upper floor, you began looking everywhere for what could be the main office.

Your heels echoed loudly on the floor, earning a frustrated groan from you. Why did they have to be so loud?

You tried walking more discreetly until you bumped into a muscular body. The impact made your hair fall in front of your eyes, shielding your vision. His hands grabbed your forearms and before you could try to beat the man you were pushed against the wall in a dark hallway.

As his hand loosened, you quickly pushed your hair out of your face. Your eyes widened in surprise as you recognized the man you had bumped into.

“Matt?” You barely finished the word before his hand was on your mouth preventing you from uttering another word.

“Someone is coming” You stopped mumbling beneath his hand to be let free after he whispered in your ear. Everything was so silent you thought he was crazy until you heard the faint sound of boots approaching.

The guard paced down the dim hallway, clutching his weapon tightly, while you and Matt stood in the shadows. After he passed, you exhaled in relief as Matt gently released his hand from your lips.

“Matt,” you said, dumbfounded. Between all the people you could've run into it had to be him. The guy who you left behind without any explanation.

“You shouldn't be here y/n, it's dangerous,”  He said and your brows furrowed. How had he recognized you? 

“How did you know it's me?” you asked and he shook his head.

“It doesn't matter, you need to leave. These people who organized this gala are bad.” 

“I know Matt, I'm here to stop them” You admitted it wasn't time to come up with a lie. Even behind his glasses, you could see the confusion etched on his face.

“How did you know about them?”

“Why are you here?” You both speak over each other and before you could let him talk again his head snapped to the side, listening to something you couldn't hear.

“One of the guards is talking about you”

“How do you know that-” he shushed you and continued.

“He says you went to apply your lipstick but never came down?” he said, making you groan, you had taken too much time talking with him.

“It's a dumb excuse I used to get up here. Now if you would excuse me I have something to do” You pushed him gently out of your way and went to walk out of the hallway he had pulled you into. His hand quickly grabbed on to your arm again tugging you back.

"You follow me," he growled into your ear and then started walking. You couldn't quite explain why you trusted a blind man to lead you, but you did.

Almost like he knew exactly what you were looking for, he pushed open the door to the main office you were targeting. Flipping the light switch, the room flooded with brightness, light bouncing off mirrors to create an almost blinding effect.

You began opening every door, every drawer looking for the piece of information you needed. But you saw no signs of a vault or anything of the sort. You grabbed your hair in frustration. 

“What are you looking for?” he asked.

“Information where the kids they have captive might be. It was supposed to be in a vault in this exact room but I can't find anything”

“How do you know about the kids” 

“Because I was one of them” he listened to your heartbeat, he knew you weren't lying.

He wanted to ask more questions but he knew it wasn't the right time. You were running out of time, not gaining.

As he concentrated on the beat of your heart a harsh buzzing interfered with the soft sound.

He walked and touched the bookshelf with his fingers. He could hear the electricity travelling in the walls. 

He felt an interruption in the current when his finger grazed an old Shakespeare book. He pulled it down, and a secret door revealed itself.

“Holy shit, how did you know?” you smiled and walked into the tiny space the door that previously opened allowed you to walk in.

“I could hear the signal”

“Through the walls?”

"I can hear a lot of things. Look in this drawer," he directed, saving you the trouble of opening every single one by pointing you to the correct drawer.

 The paper with all the information you needed was on top of the files and books. Not very well hidden.

“We have to go, now” You folded the paper and quickly shoved it inside your bra.

You both ran in the main hallway but before you could get to the elevator an alarm started blaring and blue lights flashed. Matt grabbed your hand and dragged you to an empty conference room and through the frosted glass you could see multiple shadows with guns searching for you.

“You have to stay behind me okay? I don't want you to get hurt” You say before tying your hair up. 

"Oh, I know how to fight, sweetheart," he declared just before the men barged into the room where you were hiding. Without hesitation, Matt slid over the table and delivered a kick to one of them in the face.

Impressed but confused you had a sudden surge of energy, you sprang into action, fists flying and they clashed into jaws and noses. The room echoed with the sound of impact as yours and Matt’s strikes landed with an intense force.

Your movements were fluid and precise as you used your kicks and punches against the attackers. You and Matt fought as one, your movements synchronized almost perfectly.

And when the last men fell, defeated and broken, you both stood almost unarmed. But not for long.

you ran to the next level almost getting caught once again. However, you managed to hide again in another room. That's when the idea came to you.

“Kiss me” you whispered as you started to pull down your hair from your ponytail, making them cascade messily down your back.

"What?" he asked, his brows furrowing as he struggled to process what you said. 

"Kiss me, Matt, please," you pleaded. Without hesitation, he captured your lips with his own. 

As you kissed, you instinctively reached for his tie and pulled it. Your hands unbuttoned his shirt and you whispered against his lips.

“Act like we're having sex and act drunk” his lips went to your neck and his tongue laid against your pulse. You moaned loudly, exaggerating it a little.  Without needing to say anything his hand gripped your waist and lifted you on the table you were leaning on. His hands went higher and higher until he was pulling down the straps of your dress. At the same time, you lifted your leg and put it around his hip and his free hand grabbed it and squeezed the skin. His mouth came back to yours and he kissed you until you couldn't breathe.

You let out another moan of his name when the guards entered and put you both at gunpoint. 

“Don't move!” he yelled.

You and Matt put on a show of surprise. Giggling, you swayed on your feet, mimicking the unsteady movements of someone who had too much to drink.

“We are so sorry,” Matt said out of breath and tried buttoning his white shirt.

“We thought we could sneak in here… we'll be right out of here” he laughed before turning and the man grabbed his collar and pushed him roughly. Your heart rate elevated when you saw this.

“Be careful with him!” You said as you tried to wipe the red stain of lipstick that had smudged on your chin.

As the man restrained Matt, he aimed his flashlight directly at his unseeing eyes, prompting an eye roll from Matt that spoke volumes.

 Meanwhile, the second guard firmly gripped your arm, holding you in place. With a nod, the guard said in his walkie-talkie that the situation was under control and that neither you nor Matt was a threat.

“You need to leave,” he said and Matt continued apologizing before earning a firm “ Now!” from the man.

You grabbed his hand and walked away from them with a small laugh. You both walked to the now working elevator and entered with nothing opposing, 

“I don't know what you are Matt Murdock but you're not human” You laughed when the door closed. “You can hear through walls and fight while also being blind?” You heard him snort after you finished your sentence.

"We have a lot to talk about," Matt murmured as the doors of the elevator opened, lacing your hands and sharing a light-hearted chuckle at the absurdity of the evening. You both walked out of the Gala.

Making your way to your car, you glanced at Matt, wordlessly telling him your desire for him to join you. Without a word, he understood, falling into step beside you as you unlocked the car door.

You settled into the driver's seat, and he quietly took his place beside you. A moment of comfortable silence passed before you broke it with a teasing tone.

"Are you going to tell me how you did all that?" 

He met your gaze, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Are you going to tell me why you disappeared?"

 "If you spill your secrets first." you shrugged.

 "Fine, I'm Daredevil," he confessed.

 "What?!" your eyes grew three sizes and he simply nodded.

“I have so many questions,” you said as you wondered,

“Your turn” he grinned.

"Remember I told you those men raised me as a child earlier?" you began, your voice trembling a little. "Well, I ran away, and on the day of graduation because they found me. I had to leave everything behind. I loved you guys so much, Matt. I never wanted to leave, but I didn't have a choice."

With each word you spoke, he could feel the sincerity in your voice, and not once did your heart falter or deceive.

His hand grabbed yours for the millionth time that night.

"I was so lost without you," Matt confessed, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Me too," you replied softly. 

"I don't want to lose you again," Matt admitted, his voice filled with a quiet intensity.

You intertwined your fingers in a silent promise. "You won't," you assured him.

At that moment, as you sat together in the car, you knew that you had overcome the past. Nothing would separate you and Matt. If anyone or anything tried to pull you apart you would fight it together.

[awrkive]

hey hey!! congrats on almost 1k and 2k for cn&bl <33 here i am again obsessed w the cn&bl couple! could i please request a drabble for them! maybe something super fluffy and a dash of smut 🫣 anything along the lines of them out in public or whatevs hahah

jk and oc’s relationship a secret no more LOLZIES (jk being completely down bad and being teased but in a friendly way??) any setting and time of the day! excited for anything you come up w, tysm!! <3

summary: cnbl!oc brings cnbl!jk lunch after his bb practice

wc: 1.8k

note: no smut but its super cute ))))))))))): this ask has been in my inbox for so long im really sorrry for only getting to it now 😭 nonetheless i hope u guys enjoy

‼️FULL FIC HERE

The tuna sandwich you made two weeks ago surprisingly became a favorite of Jungkook, which you didn't see coming, because he was a good cook (he truly did prove you wrong) and you were a shit one in comparison. To be fair, making a sandwich isn't totally cooking but you still season the tuna and that was cooking in your opinion but anyway, Jungkook loved it so much he kept on asking you for it whenever he came over.

Never had anyone validated your cooking before, only Jungkook, and you couldn't lie and say it didn't boost your ego whenever he ate it almost rather enthusiastically, and then kissed you sweetly (albeit smelling like tuna) and saying thank you with that adorable smile of his.

So today, you may have accidentally made five tuna sandwiches and bought way too much Chinese food that is anything but for individual consumption. Because today, you may be going to the gym to get lunch with Jungkook on his break.

[12:30pm] You: It's your lunch break, right? Are you still practicing?

[12:32pm] Kook🐰: hi baby we finished just now it'slunch break i go to class at 2pm

[12:32pm] Kook🐰: have u eaten should we get lunch together

[12:35pm] Kook🐰: i got starbucks coupon yesterdat👺

[12:35pm] Kook🐰: yesteeday

[12:35pm] Kook🐰: yesterday

[12:35pm] You: I'm coming to the gym

Turning off your phone after that brief exchange, you tiptoed a little to spot the gym.

It was almost crazy to think that once upon a time you've never stepped a foot in there, but nowadays it has become almost like a routine, no thanks to constantly hanging out with Jungkook. And it wasn't just you going to his "thing", either, it was also him fetching you from the publication office or bringing you food there.

It's a rather big shift from keeping your relationship a secret to everyone else from… effortlessly flaunting it to everybody. But no, you wouldn't really call it flaunting. Flaunting meant you have every intention to make everyone know, but that wasn't the case for you both. Not at all. It was more of like: "They see us, then they see us. Who cares?" and personally it was hard to not care the first few weeks, especially when you would hear your name from the girls' gossips in the women's comfort room. But the talks died down eventually and finally, no one cares now about the girl Jungkook's hanging out with.

Anyhow, it was nice to not… hide anymore. Or pretend that you didn't know each other in the hallways. Jungkook liked it as much. You think.

As you reach the gym, you see Taehyung near the entrance door. It looks like he just changed out of his jersey, his fringes wet.

"Hi," you greet, waving at him.

"Oh, __, hey," Taehyung looks up from his phone to look at you then grins. "Jungkook's inside." He says, gesturing with his thumb. His eyes train to the lunch bag in your hand and the familiar plastic bag of a Chinese restaurant across the street. Wiggling his eyebrows, he teases, "Is that for him? Sweet."

You immediately roll your eyes at that. "Shut up, Tae."

Additionally, one of the big shifts in your life the past few months was finding a close friend in Jungkook's friends. Taehyung and you have been getting closer these days, enough for you to comfortably exchange sarcastic remarks about each other. Turns out, he was an extremely fun guy to be around and get this, he knows Letterboxd. How cool is that! (Though he still really holds that time you didn't show up at your coffee hang against you. He brings it up every single time and you'd have to treat him to a cafe some weeks.)

Taehyung laughs and brings his hands up, jokingly surrendering. "Kidding, kidding. He's waiting for you inside. Gotta go, though. 1pm class."

You nod. "See you around, Tae."

You thought he was gonna go scram but he looked at you one last time and said, "Don't do anything funny in there."

Heat goes through your body, settling to your cheeks. Taehyung really gets on your nerves, it makes so much sense that he was close friends with Jungkook.

"Shut up, I hate you and Hyerin deserves so much better." You say spitefully, referring to the woman he's been going on dates with recently, rolling your eyes once again as Taehyung just laughed his ass off, walking further away.

Ugh. You really wish he didn't walk in on you and Jungkook three days ago. To be fair, Jungkook forgot to lock his room (again!) when you were fooling around and Taehyung was a neanderthal who didn't know how to knock. So cue Taehyung joking about it whenever the opportunity came.

"Hey!"

You turn around to see Jungkook jogging towards you, still in his jersey with a towel hanging around his neck. Some of his team mates are also hanging around the benches. As if just having noticed you as well, they wave at you and say a chorus of "Hi"s and "What's up, __"s which you returned with a smile and a greeting back.

Jungkook greets you personally with a wet kiss on the lips.

"Hi, pretty."

"Hey, you," You greet back, swiping his bangs off his forehead. You quickly retreat. "You're so sweaty. Wipe your forehead."

Jungkook does it so. "Done." he looks down at the things you've got in your hand. "You brought me lunch?" He says, a grin plastered all over his face.

You hold your arms up with the bags. "Yeah. Chinese and tuna sandwiches. I thought we could eat here or something."

His grin only spreads wider at your words, and you can only mirror his smile. He was so smily today.

"You mean your tuna sandwiches? Fuck, I could kiss you right now. Thank you." He says enthusiastically, wrapping his arm around your waist and leading you to the bleachers.

You followed him and you settled on your usual spot where you've eaten one of your lunches before. It was quite far away from the area where the other guys were seated.

"It's nothing. I made a lot this morning because my classes got canceled." You say, unzipping the lunch bag with the sandwiches in it. You give him one and open another yourself, taking out the pack of mayo to put it in between the bread.

"Hm, fuck, these are so good. Seriously. You should start a food business." Jungkook comments, munching on the sandwich.

You chuckle. "No, what the hell. I need to have a variety in the menu if I start something. I just can't sell sandwiches."

Jungkook shrug. "Eh, it could be like a special thing. __ Sandwich Exclusive Cafe. Something like that. Or just post these online, I'll go tell my friends about it and you'll get rich in a week. I have a celebrity friend."

Your laughter becomes louder, shoulders moving up and down.

"You sound like a crypto scammer that way. You should've started with, "Are you open-minded?" and that would've sold me."

Jungkook snorts at that, grabbing another sandwich from the bag. You take a dumpling from the take-out and extended it to his mouth, which he opens to take the food you offered him.

"If dad cuts me off completely I'll be one of those crypto dudes on Twitter, so you're not totally wrong."

You both laugh at that, with you pushing him slightly on his bicep.

"Well, I'll help you scam people, then. I'll be the one commenting on your tweets and vouching for your legitimacy."

Jungkook nods, pretending like he was thinking about it. "Hm. Or I can start an OnlyFans if it fails so that I can still give you your boba everyday."

You can't help but giggle.

"You know I always appreciate your sacrifice. Maybe we can start a Pornhub channel if I couldn't get admitted to law school."

Jungkook lets out a "tsk!". "Don't say that. With the way you study, you'll be overqualified." It was his turn to give you a dumpling then, which you ate just as quickly as he offered it. Jungkook smiles as he watches you chew on it. "But if it counts, I won't be opposed to us starting a Pornhub channel."

You search through the Chinese take out bags again to find your fried rice. As you did so, you opened it, not forgetting to reply to Jungkook and looking at him as you say, "Well, I'll have to practice my porn moan for that."

And just as soon as you said that you knew he already had something dirty to utter, and he doesn't fail you.

"Maybe we can practice tonight…" He said, voice intentionally going octave deeper.

You chuckle at his predictability.

"I knew you were gonna say that."

Before he could deny how predictable he was or brag about how quick-witted he was, you heard a bunch of footsteps on the court.

"Hey, Jeon! We're going!" Says one guy, looking at you both.

Jungkook turns to look at them and shouts back, "Yeah, see you around, Mingyu!"

"__!" They call you.

When you looked at them, they nodded, ready to leave, announcing their departure so you wave at them goodbye.

When they were out of sight, you asked Jungkook, "Hey, what's that about your Starbucks coupon?"

As if remembering something, Jungkook's eyes widened a little as he takes his phone from his pocket. "Oh, yeah I got one yesterday. Here." He looked inside his phone case and took out a card.

You leaned down to study it curiously, reading the benefits of the card holder getting a $50 token.

"Ohh, that's amazing! How'd you get this? I want one too."

Jungkook let you take the card and looked at it with you. "I don't really know, the barista just gave me this after I got some latte."

Oh. Hm. Interesting. You bet it was a woman barista.

"Hmm."

Jungkook shrugs. "It's probably because I gave her the exact amount of the payment in cash. I don't know."

Her. Exactly. She was probably the same barista who always looked at Jungkook funny whenever you two came there. She had an obvious crush and you couldn't really blame her. But it was funny, that Jungkook thought it was because he gave the exact amount of payment in cash the barista decided to give him a gift card. You would think his lowkey fuckboy ways would tell him that a woman likes him, but he was so clueless sometimes. If you were honest to yourself, you'd admit it was cute.

"You can be so clueless at times, Kook." You say, patting his shoulder.

"Huh?" He looks at you with that wide eyes of his, and boy, he really doesn't suspect a thing.

You shake your head. "Nothing."

You pat his head and Jungkook squints his eyes at you. You laugh at the little exchange and Jungkook's hand extends up to hold yours up his face and you tried to pull back, giggling, thinking he was gonna do something gross like bite your hand but he only presses his mouth to your palm, holding it against his face.

You smile. Soft and gentle.

"Dinner later at my place?" Jungkook says.

You nod.

It was hard to deny someone who makes your heart go all weird when he looked at you like that.

"Sure."

all rights reserved © AWRKIVE , 2023

[eyesfullofsttars]

you know how to ball, i know aristotle. . .

☆few headcanons abt abby & ellie bein' college gfs!

sypnosis: suddenly, basketball star abigail anderson finds herself totally and madly in love with ellie williams, a philosophy and literature student, forming the most unusual but sweet couple on campus.

notes: hey it's me again!!! this time i made ellie and abby be troy and gabriela from hsm sorry...

☆ Ellie, a university student, stays up until four in the morning studying for a final, suffering more than anyone analyzing texts and insulting philosophers when she struggles to grasp an idea.

Abby, also a student, shines as the star player of her basketball team, consistently scoring the most points and devising strategies based on the opposing team's style of play. However, as exams approach for her major (kinesiology), the pressure mounts for Abby, causing stress and anxiety.

Their paths cross unexpectedly. Abigail begins scanning the stands for Ellie during games, and Els can't help but seek out Abs every time she passes a significant exam. Before they realize it, they're sleeping in the same bed, Abby's strong arms wrapped around her, while Ellie gently strokes her hair.

☆ Abby, noticing Ellie studying, walks behind her, gently massaging her shoulders and back with her large, gentle hands to prevent muscle soreness later.

☆ Even though Ellie has no interest in sports (couldn't care less), she attends all of Abby's games, standing up in the stands to cheer loudly and applaud every time Abby scores. She ends up hoarse for a few days afterward, but it's totally worth it.

☆ Every time a game ends, Abby rushes to find Ellie, completely happy for winning. Before grabbing the trophy, she prefers to tightly hug her girlfriend, lifting her off the ground effortlessly.

☆ But when Abby's team loses, she remains serious, arms crossed, congratulating the opposing team and just wanting to go back to her dorm. Ellie walks beside her, gently stroking her back to comfort her, telling her they played dirty or the game was rigged.

☆ Even though Ellie goes to all of Abby's games, there are limits, right? She would never paint her face or wear any silliness; she's just herself, sitting in the stands next to Jesse and Dina, watching the game and focusing on Abigail. (although if Abs asked her to...)

☆ When Ellie is in her exam season, she completely disappears! She doesn't want to see or talk to anyone until she's passed most of her exams, which initially worried Abby. But, Abigail has come to understand her and now hopes that Ellie will call her to come to her dorm room to see her.

☆ Abs just needs to rest her head in Ellie's lap while she gently reads each text she has to study in the simplest, sweetest way possible. Just the two of them, with Ellie's free hand gently caressing Abby's cheek as she holds the book, Abigail takes that hand to leave soft kisses on the back of it.

☆ Els heats up water for herself to make tea and coffee for Abby, while Abigail arrives from basketball practice, having bought something sweet on the way to accompany the afternoon treat they have while studying.

☆ Abby has a good luck charm before games, which is getting a kiss from Ellie before heading out to play. Then, when she loses, she tries to remember if she kissed her girlfriend or not.

Although Ellie doesn't believe in such things as luck, she participates in the silly ritual by wrapping her arms around Abigail's neck, standing on tiptoe, and giving her a tender kiss on the lips.

☆ Abby dedicates each score to Ellie, who doesn't know where to hide when she feels everyone's gaze on her, greeting her with a sweet, dumb grin and a wave, totally in love with her dorky girlfriend.

☆ Despite Anderson being the towering, muscular, and imposing figure, she's actually incredibly kind and friendly to everyone, coaching the freshman girls and constantly talking about how amazing her girlfriend is...

☆ But the sweet and tender girlfriend Abigail describes is reserved only for her, as Ellie is more standoffish with everyone due to her slight shyness, which sometimes makes her come off as rude or uninterested. She forgets to greet people when they greet her, unsure how to react, being recognized either for her writing or as Abby's girl.

☆ Abigail has both ears pierced by Williams and wears star-shaped earrings in her honor. Plus, Ellie spends most of her time in the university bathroom doing piercings of questionable hygiene, to be honest...

☆ And even with Anderson's countless attempts to explain the sport of basketball to Ellie, it never quite clicks; she just isn't interested or doesn't grasp it much.

However, she doesn't mind listening to Abby talk for hours about games or players; she simply nods her head and smiles like a goof at the sight of Abby's excitement, explaining everything while constantly moving her hands.

☆ For their anniversary, Abby gives her a typewriter, fulfilling one of her childhood whimsical dreams, and Ellie decides to give her a handwritten letter inviting her to a date at the aquarium!

☆ They're just two fools in love! Their relationship is a mystery, but they wouldn't change it for the world. Ellie belongs to Abigail, and Abby would give her life for Ellie. They've supported each other through thick and thin, likely wouldn't have made it through their careers without each other.

Here's to hoping they graduate together, happy for many more years...

( taglist; @natashabraids @fictionalgap @abbysbraids @ellabss @girlg3n1us @ell4bslover @that-queer-fanbase @0necent @nibislily @lesbian-useless @abliys @ilovemuscles69 @mystellenia )

[callsign-rogueone]

the dress - i.c.

Imogen Cardulo x reader Imogen finds you getting ready for a night on the town, and makes it clear what she thinks of that idea. part of my Valentine’s Day celly! 💕 #9: love confession words: 980 🏷: no book spoilers. reader wears makeup and a dress, but no pronouns used. very mild argument, talk of drinking and hookups, it's mentioned that reader had one (1) shot (I may be sober, but I can still write about drinking!), Imogen calls you sweetheart twice. I cannot believe it took me this long to post something for her! I just wanna be her cute little femme girlfriend so bad bro 😭

You shut the eyeshadow compact, satisfied with your work. It’s been a long time since you’ve bothered to do yourself up like this, and you almost don’t recognize your reflection, but it looks nice.

You hear the door unlock, straightening up.

“Oh, hi Im,” you greet, your cheeks warming. You weren’t expecting to run into her, but you suppose it was inevitable; you do share a bathroom, after all.

She stares at you blankly for a moment, taking you in -- she’s never seen you like this, ever. “What are you wearing?”

“A dress,” you answer, moving in a small circle to show her the full extent of the outfit. “I bought it first year, but I’ve never had a chance to wear it. Do you like it?”

It’s cute, a pretty shade of light blue patterned with tiny white flowers, cap sleeves and a short skirt that flutters as you move, but it's definitely not seasonally appropriate -- it’s very likely going to pour rain tonight, and that thin cotton isn’t going to keep you warm at all, especially when it only extends to your knees. She doesn’t see your flight jacket anywhere, either.

“I do like it. But why are you wearing it?“

You gather up the makeup back into the little bag you keep it in, pulling the drawstring tightly. “Me and the infantry girls I met last week are gonna go into town to hook us some civilians. Wanna come with?”

You stumble a bit as you turn, still unused to the heeled shoes you’d borrowed from your new friend. 

Imogen reaches out to steady you, setting a hand on your back. She sniffs the air twice, undoubtedly smelling the shot of whiskey you’d taken earlier -- you hate the stuff, but it does the job, and you can’t really complain about the taste when there’s nothing else available; cadets aren’t supposed to have any alcohol in their rooms.

“I only had one shot,” you defend, seeing the unamused look on her face, “and I’m gonna need one or two to convince myself to go through with this.”

“To go through with what?”

“Y’know…” you gesture aimlessly, embarrassed. 

She raises an eyebrow. “No, sweetheart, I don’t. Care to enlighten me?”

“To go out to a tavern and take somebody home. Or to be taken home, I guess, since we can’t have visitors. I’ve never done anything like this before, but there’s a first time for everything, right?” You manage a smile and a nervous laugh.

The anxiety radiating from you is her last straw, but she treads carefully, knowing you’re a little fragile right now. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?” you ask, looking genuinely confused. 

She can’t take it anymore. “Gods, how naive are you? Do you have any idea how dangerous this plan is? Walking half a mile to town at night in the cold with a group of girls you hardly know, dressed like that, just so you can get drunk and hook up with some stranger who you’ll never see again?”

You take a step back, grateful you don’t stumble again, and cross your arms over your chest in a show of intimidation that doesn’t work at all. “I can protect myself. And you don’t get to tell me what to do, or who to hang out with, and you certainly don’t get to tell me who to fuck. Why do you even care?”

“Because I want you to be safe, and because you’re worth so much more than just a drunk hookup. You deserve someone who actually cares about who you are inside, about your feelings. You’re a good person, and I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

You deflate, looking down at the floor in shame. “You’re right, it was a dumb idea,” you mumble, rubbing your hands over your arms in an attempt to warm yourself up. 

“C’mere,” she coaxes.

You step out of the shoes, taking a few steps across the cold tile toward her and letting her wrap her arms around you.

She smells nice. 

There’s a moment of still quiet, just the distant sounds of water moving through the pipes.

She rubs a hand over your back. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” she says quietly. “I shouldn’t have raised my voice at you.”

“S’okay,” you mumble, but she isn’t entirely convinced.

“Hey,” she says softly, “you know I love you, right?”

You blink. “What?”

She stiffens and pulls away, realizing what she’s admitted, but it’s too late to take it back. “I’m in love with you,” she repeats. “But if you don’t feel the same, I— mph!”

She squeaks in surprise as you tug her back to you by the collar of her flight jacket, connecting your lips. 

You taste like malt liquor and strawberry lip gloss, and it’s intoxicating; she can’t get enough of the thing she’s wanted so badly for the last year.

You pull away for air after a moment, resting your forehead against hers. “I do feel the same, for the record. I’ve been in love with you for months. Tonight was going to be a desperate attempt to get over you, but that’s clearly never gonna happen.”

She smiles. “I’m glad I found you here, then.”

Rain splatters against the frosted window, a downpour starting outside, and you can’t help but laugh -- there’s no way you would have made it all the way to town and back like this; you’d be soaked before you got past the front gates.

“How about I go change into something warmer, and then we can start making up for all that lost time,” you suggest, picking up the shoes and your makeup bag. 

“That sounds perfect,” she agrees, giving you another soft kiss. “See you in five minutes?”

You grin at her over your shoulder as you push open the door. “I’ll make it three.”

[atinylittlepain]

Chapter Six

no-outbreak!Joel Miller x f!oc

series masterlist

series playlist

warnings: 18+ heavy angst, references to past injury related to DV

a/n: so we are in for another heavy sitting. as always, my goal is always truth, nothing gratuitous, but honest. my DMs are always open, I'd love to hear what you're thinking about this one.

..........................................

Step into the light poor Lazarus

Don't lie alone behind the window shade

Let me see the mark death made

I dream a highway back to you

I dream a highway - Gillian Welch

.........................................

Where does the thaw begin? It is always gradual. Always give and take. Taking tentative, preening steps out into the sun one day, only to be snapped back into place by a sudden snarl of cold the next. But eventually, that perpetual dull thrum of white starts to melt. The streams in the mountains swirl and slurry up with it, a froth of life that churns down into the rivers that run a faint thread along the highway. Boulders will be moved,  small trees uprooted, a whole new season breeding activity. The landscape rearranged, reconfigured until eventually, settling, eventually, green.

The flock is certainly happy for it, proud and relieved bleats, their heads tossed back in the clear, cool morning air. The two newest members of the group are still getting their legs under them, a little uncertain in maneuvering around the remaining slush, quick clipped jumps and jolts to catch up with their mother. And Dove is never far behind these days. Not even Dolores in his mind any more. Dove, Dovey, Dovey-girl whenever they go down to the bar and she’s beating him or John at darts. 

Punch and Judy might like her just as much as they like their mother, necking and nuzzling up against her shins like cats, contented sounds whenever she greets them in the morning. Joel tends to hang back, letting her make her rounds, inarguably the favorite of both flock and feather. A gift, bells of laughter and the bright glint of her smile, even when she catches his eyes from across the field, like maybe it could be for him too.  And then he remembers that is it for him too, because she always comes back, always comes to him with her eyes squinting into the sun and her smile slanting with the scrunch of her nose.

“They’re getting bigger everyday.” He thinks to himself that he wishes she wouldn’t remind him. Time has a way of getting parceled and pinched out here. Secret time, stolen time, no one paying much attention to time. How long has it been? Counting months in his  mind as they make breakfast. He figures nine by the time they sit down. So much time. Time he has been greedy with. Enough of it that she may no longer need to stay. Or may no longer want to. He winces into his mug, small, sharp hurt that he is all too familiar with. Doubt makes him sulk, makes him slump. But then she always does something like she does right now. Touching just to touch. Something curious about it, like she is still unsure if she is allowed to, like this is not something she has had before now. Careful fingers curling around his wrist from across the table, coaxing his palm up to the ceiling so she can press her hand flat against his. He can feel her pulse where the pads of his fingers rest against the soft inside of her wrist, steady, with the occasional stutter. 

“Do you want to go tonight?” 

“If you do, yes.” Who says what, it doesn’t matter. Call and response goes both ways for them. If you do, then I do, and if I do, then you do. 

“We don’t have to stay long.” Always giving her an out. She curls her hand around his.

“You just don’t want to lose at darts again.”

“You always win.” 

“Don’t be a poor sport about it, I won’t want to play with you any more.”

“Hey.” That smile is for him, no question. 

…

It isn’t often that Joel gets anything in the post. There is a mailbox at the end of the dirt road leading to the house. It has a large dent in its side, and has since he bought the place, near impossible to pry open. The mailman’s frustration with it is clear in how the lid is now hanging off its hinges, some sort of envelope, thick and obvious, sticking out of it as they drive home in the afternoon. 

“What is it?”

“I’m not sure, I wasn’t expecting anything.” But he knows exactly what it is when he opens it, the knife he used to slice through the top of the padded envelope clattering onto the dining table when he pulls out a thick stack of documents from inside. 

On top is a birth certificate. A hospital in Lincoln, Nebraska, and the first name is Dolores. And he shouldn’t, but she’s still toeing out of her shoes and hanging up her coat, so he quickly thumbs through the rest. A packet, and he recognizes what it is immediately. All those years ago, with Sarah’s mom, he got a packet that looked just like this. Divorce papers. 

“Joel?” It startles him, and he knows he’s been caught, quietly setting the stack of papers down on the table, not quite able to meet her gaze.

“Those are for you.” He can’t watch, only catching a glimpse of the way her brow pulls down, a slight frown as she pads around the side of the table to get a better look. 

“Oh.” She doesn’t pick them up, just drags her hand across them to fan the papers out on the table. And it’s a posture he hasn’t seen from her in a long time, the way she curls her arm back into herself, everything shutting and shuttering up tight and small. No, he can’t watch, but he can’t walk away either, shifting in his boots, his eyes landing on her only to flit away fast. She’s not moving, and he’s not sure if she’s even breathing, it’s that silent, save for the soft creak of the floorboards with his anxious shuffling. 

“Do you have a pen?” It takes him a breath to realize that she’s asking him, and then he sets himself into stuttering motion. His hands feel too big, too shaky as he fumbles through the junk drawer in the kitchen, though something has changed in Dove, her shoulders straightened and smoothed out when she takes the pen he offers her. She hunches over the table, squinting through each page, a quick flurry of signatures that he knows she shouldn’t be dashing down so fast. But there’s no stopping her. Rampage and war path all in one, she huffs when she gets to the end of the packet, pinning the whole stack down with the pen and stepping back from the table like she escaped from something just in time. 

“When do you want to leave for the bar?” She asks it light as air, a strange rolling back of her shoulders, her eyes settling somewhere just past him, not quite meeting him. He has to gather himself before he answers, stunned, and a little spooked, if he’s being honest. 

“Do you think that’s a good idea?” 

“What does that mean?” All edge and ice, his stomach lurches quick and awful at this new thing, this very new, very frightening thing that she seems to be doing.

“Nothing, Dove, it doesn’t mean anything. But we don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

“I do want to.” 

“Okay.”

Dinner is tight and silent as a fist. Neither of them looking at the other. She pushes the food around her plate, though he’s not sure if any of it actually gets eaten. And he can feel his own frustration mounting, that urge to get just a little big, and a little loud, to tell her no, to put his foot down, to stop whatever this is. But he knows that whatever this is, no matter how mean she makes it look, it is a hurting thing. 

So they go to the bar, and he lists at the periphery of the small crowd, making meaningless conversation with Rod about the weather while he keeps the lion’s share of his attention on Dove. 

She doesn’t like to drink, not usually. Most of the time, she’ll politely sip down half a beer, promptly handing it to Joel for him to finish. But tonight, she has already lined up three tidily finished bottles on the table next to where she’s playing darts with John, and while everyone else is jovial, enthused and amused by this sudden outgoing shift in her demeanor, all Joel feels is a nervous stutter in his chest. 

He watches, quietly and carefully, until he cannot stop himself from stepping in any longer. It’s quick, the way she stumbles back into a table, sending a few bottles rolling over onto the floor before John can hook a steady arm around her shoulders. It’s enough to get Joel moving. 

“John, I think it’s time for us to be heading home.” 

“John, I think it’s time for us to be heading home.” It’s slurred and stilted, a garish mimicry of his voice that she punctuates with a hiccup and a fragment of a laugh, still slightly swaying from her hold on John’s arm. And when Joel reaches for her, a murmured please, Dove, pain wraps itself around his heart, an awful throb of it, when she jerks her arm away from him, stumbling over her feet and in turn nearly causing John to lose his balance. She is mean like this, he realizes, meanness that he didn’t know she was capable of. A hot scoff and an I’m fine sharp from the back of her throat, steeling herself away from John and holding onto a table to steady her shake.  Joel swallows around heat and sickness in his throat watching the broken sigh that curls in her shoulder blades. Not mean, after all, but hurting. 

“Yeah, I’d say so. I think Dovey-girl here had a little too much fun tonight.” He knows it’s John’s weak attempt to smooth whatever tension seems to be hissing. Right, fun. Joel tries for what he can of a smile, though it’s more grimace than anything else, quietly coaxing an arm around Dove’s waist, not even sparing John a second glance as he shuffles them out of the bar and into the quick snap of cool night air. 

She’s laughing, her head thrown back on her neck, lolled to the side. And it isn’t the laugh he has gotten used to. It’s a bitter thing, an ugly thing, mingling and mixing with that broken rasp of hers. A miracle that he can get her into the car. Usually so tentative with touch, her hands are everywhere, skittering up his chest, tugging in his hair, pulling at his coat, his belt, all while slurring soft iterations of his name. He feels like he’s going to throw up. And maybe it’s a little mean, the way he collects both her wrists in one broad palm and tucks them pointedly in her lap. For a moment she stills, a tremble in her lip that he thinks is threatening tears, but then she tilts her head back in another sharp giggle, distracted enough with her own unraveling that he can shut the passenger-side door and hurry around to his side of the car. 

The roads are dark, the mountains the faintest purple shadow in the distance. He rolls all the windows down, hoping that the swift whip of wind might help sober her up. She’s silent in the passenger seat, but he can feel her heavy stare, her cheek dropped down to her shoulder to look at him. 

“Joel.” Lilting and long, a little sing-songy call of his name, Jooooel. He doesn’t indulge it with any attention, keeps his eyes focused on the road getting eaten up by headlights in front of them. But she doesn’t abide by that for long. He tries to shake it off at first, jostling his knee like that might make her take her hand away. A quiet don’t, do not, Dove, when her palm starts to skirt higher, curling around his thigh.  And it becomes too much so suddenly, so quickly. 

“Godfuckingdamnit!” 

In a blink, in the time it took for her hand to brush against the in-seam of his jeans, he has driven them off the road and into the soft, new grass on the side of the highway. He has gotten loud, and he has gotten big, shoulders hulking up toward his ears as his eyes flash, frenzied, over to her. And she has gotten small again, pressed back against the passenger-side door, silent and unblinking. He has scared her. But she has scared him as well. 

Neither of them say a thing. He allows himself two deep breaths, and then he guides the car back onto the road. 

She is still, subdued, and when he finally parks in front of the house, he realizes that she has fallen asleep, her lips parted and her head tilted back. He had hoped that she wouldn’t, but she stirs when he opens the passenger door, an indignant sound in the back of her throat as he unbuckles her seatbelt for her. He moves to take his hand away, but she catches his wrist, a weak hold that he doesn’t resist. 

At first, he cannot understand what she’s saying, something mumbled and murmured, her lashes dropped down to her cheeks. She says it once, twice, and it starts to become clearer. You, me, you don’t, me, you don’t want me. 

“That’s not true, Dove.” She sighs, running her thumb over his knuckles, her weepy eyes flickering up to his beneath her brow. And it’s terrible, tearing something open inside of him when she tries to lean forward, tries to pull him closer, tries again. Terrible that he has to press a hand to her shoulder to keep her from doing something that she will surely regret. Something he doesn’t know if she would even want, if not for the haze she is in. Maybe the most terrible part of it, actually. 

And then that same chorus. You don’t want me, want me, want me, you don’t want me. And he could laugh, and he could cry, because all he has been doing is wanting her, and trying to stop himself from wanting her. 

“Not like this.” He says it so quiet, he doesn’t know if she hears it, listing somewhere between consciousness and sleep. If she does, she shows no sign of acknowledging it, just letting out a long string of sighs as he helps her out of the car and into the house. 

Her face is tucked into the side of his neck, blowing hot breath against his skin as he makes the awkward stumble up the stairs with her clinging under his arm. He manages to get her shoes off, and her coat, which once was his, but has been hers for a while now. It’s silent, save for her quiet murmurs of protest to any movement, eyes scrunched shut as he coaxes her under the covers. All she offers is one more sigh of his name, like penance or prayer, before she slips back under merciful sleep’s thumb. 

Joel doesn’t get into bed with her. He can’t. He knows that he can’t, not right now. So instead, he sits down on the floor with a quiet groan, letting his back rest against the wall across from the bed, his head tipping back, like maybe there might be some sort of answer in the vertical.

There is no answer.

…

The difference between grief and mourning is noun and verb. Grief, the thing, and mourning, what you do with it. Never pretty, never perfect, never graceful, or gracious, any of it. 

When Sarah was in middle school she went through a phase of being interested in the paranormal, in death, and what might come after it. Every night, Joel would come home and find her on the couch, watching the same show in which people recounted all their various and supposed hauntings. It had worried him at the time, going to his mother, even to Tommy, asking them if they thought it was strange. It would pass, the advice he received from everyone around him. Being young, it’s natural to wonder if and when the time for all of that to end will come. So when he would come home at night, he would wordlessly join her, somewhere between awake and asleep, half-listening to the television. But now, he remembers something that was said through the thick static of cable. Unfinished business, right, hauntings happen when patterns must be returned to and repeated. Phantom figments playing out all that was left unsaid, undone. 

What happened last night had nothing to do with him. He is pretty certain it could have been anyone sitting in the driver’s seat alongside her. All that Dove needed was a willing participant, a captive cast member, to enact a haunting of her own, to close some gap, stitching some snapped thread in her mind. No, nothing to do with him, nothing at all. 

At some point, sleep caught him, slumped to the side, a sharp pain in his neck when he wakes up, still seated on the floor. Dove isn’t in bed, a rumple of sheets where she had been laying. He’s too tired for that quick pulse of panic to fan into any real flame, but he does consider it. That maybe this is what leaving looks like. 

But no, he stumbles out onto the porch, hurting with how bright it is, no. She is out there with the flock, still in her clothes from last night. He can only see her back with the way she is sitting in the field, spine curled over and into itself. 

Shame settles thick and toothsome in his gut, though why he isn’t sure, anxious and awkward in how he comes to stand just in her periphery, letting presence be known, but not needed. She is crying. 

“I am so sorry, Joel.” She says it plainly, voice flat and distant. And he isn’t going to say that it’s alright, because they both know that whatever that was, nothing about it was right. Purposeful, but not intended for pain. When cornered, a wounded animal will lash out against anything that moves, innocent or arbiter. 

“I know you are, Dove.” When he takes a step closer to her, Avril lets out an indignant bleat from where she is watching a few paces away, part of her flock, a warning that she will do more if she does not like what she sees. Under any other circumstances, Joel would roll his eyes at the animal, ridiculous, but today it keeps him at a distance, sitting down far enough from Dove that he could not reach for her if he tried. And he would like nothing more than to reach for her, to forget what happened last night, to go back to the way things were. A stupid wish, a childish wish, one that cannot be made real. 

“I don’t ever want to be like that again.” 

“You aren’t like that.” And he means it. That wasn’t her, not the present her. A ghost somewhere inside of her that found its way to the surface, breaking beneath her skin. 

“I understand if you want me to leave.”

“I don’t.”

“I was awful to you.” He doesn’t speak at first. Because yes, it was awful. An awful thing that makes him feel sick now even thinking of it. And awful too, that he knows he would forgive her of anything. Already forgiving this. 

Punch comes wobbling up to her, taking the laces of her boots in her mouth before snuffling up her leg, nosing under Dove’s palm, intent on affection that she is so willing to give. Maybe they have let these girls get too domestic, a little too comfortable with humans, but he doesn’t care, watching a watery smile try to spread across Dove’s lips as she scratches behind the lamb’s ears. 

“How are you feeling?”

“My head hurts, but I deserve it.” No, he thinks, none of this has been deserved. A strange cascade of poison. Cause and terrible effect. 

When he reaches for her, Avril abides, plodding away, if not a little indignant. He takes up her hand in his, and though ligament and lines remain limp, she lets him, still not looking at him, but letting him. 

“I am so sorry.”

“I know you are.” 

…

He takes care of it for her. Seals the packet of paperwork back in the envelope and writes the requisite address on the front, tucks the whole thing in the backseat of the truck. And they move like careful planets, still in orbit, but trying hard not to touch, to linger. 

The first thing he does after dropping her off at the diner is go to the post office, though he thinks twice of it. Reopens the envelope in the driver’s seat  for the third time now and reads through the whole thing, every condition, every clause. A clean break seems to be the sum of it, nothing glaring to any of it. So he closes the envelope one more time, and posts it back to Nebraska. 

It’s a wordless communication, the way she turns in the passenger seat to check for it when he picks her up in the afternoon, settling back when she sees that it is gone. Still smarting, both of them, they move carefully through their usual errands, the grocery and the library, the drugstore for a new bottle of Advil for her. 

Her voice has gotten worse over the months, since what happened in November. The word that she uses for it, not what he would call it, worse. Usually the hardest to hear her in the mornings, words cracking into whispers or suddenly stuttering up a pitch. He knows it upsets her, how she will quickly close her mouth mid-thought, lips pressed in a thin line like she couldn’t stand for any more of that sound to come out. He brought up the idea of taking her to see a doctor in Denver once, and she had scoffed, the whites of her eyes showing with their roll because no insurance, and what money she has, set aside for a different problem entirely. She hadn’t let him even begin to say that he would help her cover it. 

Today, it is particularly bad. Not in how it sounds, at least not to him, but in how it is clearly painful for her to speak, wincing around the few things she does say, the menial mundane things of errands, clearing her throat in between each response, a hand curled and hovering over the front of her neck, not touching, but sensing something that has seemed to change permanently. 

Maybe the alcohol, he thinks, the abrasive slip of it down her throat. Or maybe the fact of loud, the loudest he had ever heard her, those clipped laughs. Maybe a combination of the two. Whatever it is, he can see her frustration mounting with it, until finally, she sits with a terse crease in her brow and her lips kept in a stoic pinch on the drive back home. Betrayed by her own voice, in more ways than one. 

The only thing she does say, once the groceries are put away and Joel is preparing to help her make dinner, a rattling rasp, I’ll do it. A wave of her hands, away and behind her, and he won’t argue, worried she might cry if she has to speak any more. 

Disappointed that it’s him and not her doing the evening rounds, the sheep are at best tolerant of his care, keeping a dignified distance as he fills their water troughs and checks on the lambs. The chickens are less loyal, and more stupid, he thinks to himself, but even they seem a bit jaded when he is the one that shuts the coop for the night. 

The house is warm when he comes back inside, windows spilling syrup into the oncoming night. It smells good, salt and savor, something simmering on the stove. A strange contrast, the inherent life that a kitchen suggests, and the solemn way she is moving around it. Recompense, remorse, heavy things pulling at her shoulders, curling her smaller over pots and pans.

“This looks good, Dove, thank you.” She nods, passing him a full plate, warmth seeping into his palms from the bottom of it. But when they both sit down, he recognizes it immediately, so many steps back. Her hands are in her lap, and he already knows that she’s waiting for him to start. Doing that thing again, and he can do it too. Fork and knife remain untouched, he sits back in his chair, a small challenge. Maybe ten minutes pass like that, the steam from their plates long dissolved into the air, when she finally looks up at him, frustration clear in the pull of her brow. 

Something that she learned. Something that was taught to her, just like all the rest of her fear. Back when she first came to stay with him, she was always apologizing, always thanking. And the cooking, and the waiting for him to start before she would even consider her plate. Like punishment, like always being aware of some score, and afraid of what might happen if she does not balance it. And he’s watching her sink back into it, all of it, right now.

“Dove, please.” She blinks at him, a slack frown pulling at the corners of her mouth.

“You should eat, Joel.” She puts every ounce of sound she can behind it, and it still comes out quiet, a quick burst of decibel on eat, like her voice tried to kick up in her chest just enough to end on a good note, though his name comes out the softest of all of it, a whisper that seems to hurt. 

“So should you.” 

“I will.” 

“Now, please.” 

“I feel terrible.” And he knows that she isn’t talking about her lingering headache, not even the pain in her throat. He knows that she has probably been exacting perfect retribution on herself in her mind, all day. She looks miserable, because she has made herself miserable with guilt that has festered into shame.

“I forgive you, I do.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“You didn’t mean it.” Her eyes flicker, so small he might have imagined it. But no, something shifts behind her grimace, and he realizes that he might be wrong, that there had been some truth to her want last night. A want that she doesn’t know how to manage, a want that she doesn’t know what to do with. A want like his. 

“I don’t know how to, Joel.” 

“That’s okay.” 

“I don’t think I can stand it.”

“What can’t you stand?” 

“For you to not–” She cuts herself off, a sharp breath that threatens tears. But he knows it’s the same thing he’s afraid of that she is speaking to. Want can be so violent, so rash, so wicked and wretched in how big and bold and blustering it can get. But really, it is a child, hoping that someone will hold its hand, hoping, for once, that someone will walk it home, see it through the night. 

“It’s the same for me, Dove. I can’t stand it either.” 

On her terms, the only way this will ever work, he offers a quiet come here, please, pushes out his chair from the table, and waits for her to respond, to react. And yes, it takes time, but eventually, she does. 

“Warm.” Said to herself, maybe not meant to be said at all, her eyes intent on where her palm splays over his chest. He places his hand over hers, keeping it there. 

There is no one around for a good few miles, but here is what the coyotes see in the yellow drip of light coming from the kitchen windows. A man, sitting in a chair pushed back from a dining table, and a woman, standing between his legs, her hand on his chest, and his hand on her hand. And they are not smiling, neither of them, and they are not speaking either. They are looking at each other. The man places his other hand on the woman’s waist, and he gives her a small nod, a making sure, making okay. The woman nods too, and she lets her other hand settle along the man’s jaw. 

But people are very boring to coyotes, especially broken ones like these, so they do not stick around to see the rest, skittering off with a chorus of yips and clackering sounds, seeking their own small satisfactions. 

No, the coyotes do not see when the woman carefully dips her face down, nor do they see the man tilt his chin up in answer. And the coyotes certainly do not see the small, shivering kiss that is over as soon as it starts. Two shadows turning into one, and only the smallest sliver of light between them when they separate again. 

The coyotes have much more interesting matters to tend to than such human things. After all, spring has finally come to the mountains.

..............................

taglist: @cassiopeia @eleganthottubfun @anoverwhelmingdin @sscorpiiio @joeldjarin @casa-boiardi @suzmagine @syakhairi @spookyxsam @northernbluess @hier--soir @joelsgreys @wannab-urs @tieronecrush @trulybetty @softlyspector @noisynightmarepoetry @csarab615 @ratoonstown @harriedandharassed @survivingandenduring @lizzie-cakes @beskarandblasters @narxisus

[fluentmoviequoter]

Christmas on the Clock

Day 12 of 12 Days of Ficmas

Summary: Deacon gets called into work on Christmas Eve, and you (his neighbor) watch his kids until he gets back with a special Christmas gift.

Warnings: fluff, canon typical danger and action, Annie's fate is up to you (I personally imagined the story as if she hadn't recovered in season 1 but I think divorce would work too)

Word Count: 3k+ words

A/N: I cannot believe it's the end of the 12 fics already! I hope you've enjoyed them and thank you for reading!! I've tried my hand at a few new characters this month and appreciate the feedback and encouragement more than you know. Enjoy and Merry Christmas!

(PS check out this post if you'd like to participate the in the unofficial after party!)

Matthew, Lila, and Samuel are Deacon’s pride and joy… and some of the cutest kids you’ve ever seen. As Christmas grows nearer, you’ve seen more of them around Deacon’s house, and they never fail to put a smile on your face. Deacon moved in next door to you a few years ago after some familial issues that you never pried about. Deacon has his kids with him most of the time, is a good dad and neighbor, and is certainly not hard to look at, so you have no complaints. Being so close puts you in the perfect position to offer to watch his kids if he ever had to leave suddenly, an occurrence which isn’t unusual in his line of work. It took some persuading, but Deacon eventually took you up on the offer, and you watch the kids occasionally and pick them up from school several times a month. Every time he comes to pick them up or you walk them home, he tries to pay you, not understanding that time in his presence and with his amazing family is the only compensation you will ever need.

As you exit your car, back from a Christmas shopping trip, you hear someone yell your name. Your smile appears when you see Lila racing across your front yard. She crashes against your torso, wrapping her arms tightly around you before tilting her head back to give you a gap-toothed smile.

“Hey, Lila,” you greet, happily returning her hug.

“Sorry about that,” Deacon apologizes as he approaches.

You shake your head at him and smile, a hand still resting on Lila’s back.

“What did you buy?” Lila asks, looking at the bags in your car.

“Just some boring Christmas stuff, nothing you’d be interested in.”

“Any toys, like trucks?” Matthew asks, appearing beside Deacon.

“Or Nerf guns?” Samuel adds.

“Hmm,” you hum, pretending to think. “I think there might be, but I can’t remember. I know I bought a turkey, and some new ornaments, some mistletoe… and, yes, I remember, I bought a few toys. But they have to be wrapped first, right?”

Deacon’s eyebrows raise at the word ‘mistletoe.' Though you notice, you keep your eyes on his kids to minimize the heat crawling up your neck at his attention.

“We should let you get back to that wrapping then. Right, kids?” Deacon interjects.

You nod at him, giving Lila one more hug before waving them off with wishes of a Merry Christmas and promising to bring them treats if you bake anything.

Looking over his shoulder, Deacon mouths, “Thank you.”

You smile, responding with a silent, “Anytime."

✯✯✯✯✯

Deacon’s phone ringing tears his attention away from his Christmas dance with Lila. He groans when he sees Hondo’s name on his phone.

“Sergeant Kay,” he answers, apologizing to Lila with furrowed brows.

“I’m so sorry to do this on Christmas, I know you’re with the kids, but we need you down here. Now,” Hondo explains. “There’s a hostage situation with kids in a mall.”

Looking at his own kids, Deacon nods. “I’ll be right there.”

He hangs up and grabs his keys. “I have to go to work for a little bit.”

“But it’s Christmas Eve,” Matthew says, setting his homemade Christmas ornament aside.

“I know, buddy. But I’ll be back as soon as I can, okay?” he asks, kneeling and brushing Matthew’s hair aside.

Matthew nods, and Samuel hugs Deacon.

“What about us?” Lila inquires.

“I’m going to ask you favorite neighbor to keep you company.”

Lila perks up at the idea of you coming over to spend time with her, if only slightly. Her dad is leaving on Christmas Eve, after all, and she’s distantly aware of the fact that he may not come home for Christmas or at all. That’s a lot for a little girl to think about so close to the happiest day of the year.

“Can we finish Rudolph when you get home?” Samuel asks.

“Absolutely. We’ll make hot chocolate, and we can all sit together to finish Rudolph,” Deacon assures. “It is Christmas.”

✯✯✯✯✯

You answer the phone after the second ring, slightly breathless from hanging garland.

“Hey,” Deacon greets. “I know it’s Christmas Eve but I just got called in and-“

You cut him off and say, “I’ll be right over.”

“Thank you,” he breathes out.

You hang up and grab the small bag you keep in your closet for times like this. After the first emergency call, you’d had to take the kids to your house while you gathered some things, unsure how long you’d be with them. Since then, you’ve narrowed it down to a few must-haves that fit in a small backpack. You’re always ready to run when Deacon calls.

Lila is standing in the doorway when you walk onto Deacon’s porch.

“Daddy has to go to work but he said he’ll be back to watch Rudolph with us,” she states.

You lock eyes with Deacon over her head and see his sadness and disappointment.

“Of course, he will,” you agree.

“Sometimes his work takes longer than he thinks. Christmas is tomorrow.”

You set your bag beside the door and kneel, eye-to-eye with Lila as you say, “But we have Christmas magic this time, right? Your dad will be home for Christmas, even if I have to go get him with my own sleigh.”

Lila smiles and grabs your hand, turning to hug Deacon before he leaves. She hears her brothers trying to pick a board game to play with you and releases both you and her dad to go help them. Deacon stops beside you, looking between you and his kids.

“Thank you,” he says again.

“It’s not a problem, Deacon. I’m always happy to do it.”

He nods and picks up his keys, but you place a hand on his bicep to stop him in the doorway.

“Be careful,” you whisper as he leaves.

He nods and smiles, his hand rising to rest over yours. “Always. Merry Christmas.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“There’s at least 50 hostages. A mall Santa, couple kids, parents, plus the few employees still there,” Hondo explains.

“I thought all stores closed early on Christmas Eve,” Street grumbles.

“Welcome to the age of greed and capitalism,” Luca states. When everyone turns to look at him, he asks, “A little too much like Buck, wasn’t it?”

Hondo shrugs and answers, “Stay liquid.”

When Black Betty reaches the side of the mall, Hondo and Deacon approach the first responders and check the thermal imaging they had captured to attempt a headcount.

“I’m getting everyone home for Christmas, but we’re breaching early,” Hondo announces.

His promise means something, even if it’s an impossible guarantee. Getting home for Christmas is the only thing on everyone’s mind.

“The hostages are gathered in the center of the mall, where Santa’s village is set up. We breach the south entry, come from the west and get our suspects down,” Hondo continues.

“Flashbang?” Luca asks.

Hondo gives an affirmative while Deacon looks at the layout.

“Hondo, I agree with approaching for the west, but I have an idea,” Deacon says.

“Let’s hear it.”

“What if we walk in the front door? It should be unlocked, they won’t expect it, and it’s far enough to the west they won’t see us or hear us.”

Hondo looks at the thermal blueprint and nods. “Change of plans. Enter west, travel east, flashbang and get our suspects on the ground before Santa can say ‘Ho, ho, ho’! Everyone clear?”

“Yes, sir!” 20 David agrees.

As they approach the main entry, the automatic doors slide open, not a sound from within audible. Hondo nods at Deacon before Street sends a tap from the back, signaling that the team is ready for entry. Deacon takes a deep breath and remembers his promise, home for Rudolph.

✯✯✯✯✯

The sun sets as you finish playing Candy Land with Lila and Matthew. Samuel has opted to be on a team with you, coloring until you ask for his help. As the night grows darker, Lila’s eyes keep going to the front door, waiting for her dad to return.

“Do you guys want to watch a movie?” you ask.

“We’re waiting to finish Rudolph with Dad,” Matthew answers.

“I see,” you reply with a nod. “Then what about a book? I have lots of Christmas books at my house.”

“Like what?” Samuel asks.

“Let’s see… How the Grinch Stole Christmas, Eloise at Christmastime, Frosty the Snowman, Olive the Other Reindeer.”

“Who’s Eloise?” Lila interjects.

“She’s a little girl, a lot like you actually, who spends Christmas in a grand hotel with her nanny, her turtle, her dog, and a lot of friends.”

“I like the Grinch,” Matthew adds.

“Maybe we could read both?” you offer.

The kids nod before yawning, and your heart sinks a little (but doesn’t shrink; you’re not to Grinch levels of despair just yet) as you realize Deacon won’t be home before they fall asleep. He always lets you know when he’s out of harm’s way and when he’s on the way home, but you haven’t gotten either of those texts yet. Matthew, Lila, and Samuel promise to stay where they are while you run across Deacon’s lawn and into your house, gathering the bag of gifts, a case of baking supplies, and the stack of Christmas books before returning.

“You look like Santa,” Samuel says, laughing as he points at the big bag tossed over your shoulder.

“It is Christmas,” you reply, smiling as Lila and Matthew join the laughter.

✯✯✯✯✯

No one expected the suspects to be patrolling the entrances, so when Hondo sees the first, 20 David falls back into a store to regroup.

“We’re flashbang-ing anyway, why not go early?” Luca poses.

“It’s not a terrible idea,” Hondo sighs.

“What if Street and I go around to the other side and we get ‘em from both sides?” Deacon suggests.

“That’s a better idea,” Hondo says. “Sorry, Luca. Radio when you’re in position.”

As Deacon and Street move silently through the empty, dark hallways of the mall, passing a toy store, Deacon thinks about all the presents his kids will be getting tomorrow and how they’ve never asked for more than they needed. He misses them, so he needs to stay focused and get the job done to go home to you and the kids. When he envisions getting home, it never involves you leaving to go back to your place next door. Thinking of home, you’re always there, and Deacon finally realizes why.

✯✯✯✯✯

“The end,” you finish quietly, closing the fourth finished book as the Kay children rest peacefully in their dad’s bed.

It was the only spot where they could all lie down to listen to the stories, so you hadn’t argued. Besides, Deacon could carry them to bed if he needed to. You’ve grown worried for him, checking your phone every few minutes to see if he’s provided an update. Closing the door gently behind you, you enter the kitchen and begin baking. Quiet Christmas music fills Deacon’s kitchen and living room as you arrange your gifts to the Kays beneath their tree and place cookie dough on a baking sheet. Your phone vibrates, and you practically dive for it, praying for a Christmas miracle.

✯✯✯✯✯

 Street and Luca coordinate their flashbangs so both sides of the crowd are disoriented. Screams and threats tangle with each other in the smoke, but Tan, Chris, and Deacon get the three suspects to the ground and remove their weapons quickly. Deacon sees the children in Santa’s village as he hauls the handcuffed man to his feet.

“What kind of a monster does this on Christmas Eve?” he grumbles.

“It’s just another day, man,” the criminal in his hold argues.

“No, it’s not. Especially not to them,” Deacon snaps, gesturing toward the terrified children clinging to their parents.

As he passes the man off to another officer to be transported to his home for the holidays, county jail, a small hand tugs on Deacon’s pants. He looks toward the hand, surprised to see a girl not much younger than Lila looking up at him with wide eyes.

He bends his knees, squatting in before her as he removes his helmet. “Hi,” he says.

“Hi. Thank you for saving us,” she says quietly.

“Not a problem, it’s actually my job.”

“Like a superhero?”

“Sort of like a superhero.”

“I asked for a superhero costume for Christmas.”

Deacon looks over at the young couple watching the girl and nods at them. They return it, expressing their gratitude with hands joined over their hearts.

“Well, after seeing how brave you were today, I’m sure you’ll get one.”

“Merry Christmas,” the girl says before running to her parents.

“Merry Christmas,” he calls, standing.

“Get out of here, you have your own kids to wish merry Christmases to,” Hondo demands, slapping Deacon’s shoulder.

“Thanks. Merry Christmas, guys!” he tells his team, rushing outside to get home.

If he’s lucky, he’ll make it before midnight.

✯✯✯✯✯

The phone vibration was just a random notification. You’ve made two batches of cookies, rearranged the gifts, and paced the living room twelve times since then, waiting to hear something.

“I need to calm down,” you tell yourself, returning to the kitchen to frost some cookies.

✯✯✯✯✯

Deacon turns into his driveway, smiling when he sees you turned all his Christmas lights on. He's unsure whether or not it was because of his children nagging you. Grabbing a gift bag from the passenger seat, Deacon exits his car and walks into his house, met by Christmas music, the smell of cookies, and the sight of you in his kitchen. He decides that you fit perfectly, even if he’s not sure where.

You’re humming along to the music playing from your phone, oblivious to his entry. A gift bag lands on the counter before a pair of strong arms wrap around your waist.

You turn quickly, your eyes wide until you see the big brown eyes you’ve grown to love.

“You scared me,” you accuse quietly, setting the piping bag of icing to the side.

“Sorry.”

He doesn’t look or sound very sorry, but his arms are still around you, so don't care.

“I brought you something,” he says after looking at you for a moment.

“Oh, you didn’t have to get me anything.”

He looks pointedly at the pile of gifts under the tree that was not there when he left.

“Most of those are for Lila, Matthew, and Samuel,” you point out.

“Well then we’ll be even,” he says, passing you the bag.

You tear your eyes away from his as you pull a small snow globe from the bag. Inside is a replica of the park down the street.

“The place we met?” you ask, your voice low.

Deacon smiles. “It’s got a lot of good memories. There’s more.”

You carefully set the snow globe aside, looking at it until you feel the card in the bag. Deacon takes the empty bag, his arms returning to hold you as you read the note. It’s more of a list of occasions and things he likes about you or is thankful for.

“What is this?” you ask.

“An opening to tell you that I’m falling in love with you,” he whispers.

“Are you sure?”

His eyes widen as his smile grows. “This isn’t a spur of the moment decision; I ordered that snow globe a few weeks ago because I finally realized and am ready to admit it. It’s time to move on, and I want to do that with you. Only if you want that, too, of course.”

You turn away from him, feeling his grip on your waist falter as you set the card down. Turning back, you lean into his arms and wrap your arms around him.

“I want to be with you every day for the rest of my life, Deacon. I’m falling in love with you,” you whisper in his ear.

You pull back to say more, but his lips meet yours, and the words die on your tongue. You can show him instead, you suppose. He kisses you, and it feels like home. Everything that Christmas is supposed to be is in Deacon’s kiss, his hold on you, how you feel like you’re home in his arms. It’s perfect, and you want it to last forever, but no good things do.

Your phone timer buzzes, and you reluctantly pull away to turn it off. As you lean back in for more, Deacon chuckles.

“What was that for?” he asks.

“The other batch of frosting is ready to be used.”

He looks over at the cookies cooling by the oven. The human shapes represent his family: he is the bigger one, Samuel and Matthew are shorter, and Lila has a built-in skirt shape.

“Where’s your cookie?” he asks.

“I might have eaten it.”

He laughs again, and you press your face against his neck.

“I needed to make sure they turned out okay,” you argue halfheartedly, losing yourself in the feeling of his hands on your back.

"That's where the mistletoe went," he muses as he looks up.

"Couldn't leave it at my empty place," you point out.

"No, that wouldn't do," he agrees playfully before kissing you again.

✯✯✯✯✯

Christmas morning, as Lila, Matthew, and Samuel open their gifts with both you and their dad, they are happier than Whoville after Christmas is returned. Deacon tells you several times that you bought them too much stuff, and you disagree every time.

He leans in to give you another kiss as gratitude for his gifts. Lila sees and giggles, and you send her a quick wink, smiling as she walks to you, hugging you and thanking you for the great gifts. After all the presents have been opened, Deacon ends up at the bottom of a dogpile while Rudolph plays on the television screen. You’re tucked beside him, like part of the family, and he realizes where exactly you fit: in his house, life, and his arms.

You are the luckiest recipient of all the perfect gifts unwrapped because you got a happily ever after wrapped in an LAPD SWAT uniform.

[acourtofthought]

SJM didn't even realize she was setting up Elucien to be the Regency couple of the year when she wrote ACOTAR

"A rake is a particular type of romance hero—a loveable scoundrel whose goal in life is to enjoy being single"

��Ah.” Lucien chuckled. “Well, Tam’s not the only one who gets to perform the rite tonight. Once he makes his choice, we’re free to mingle. Though it’s not the Great Rite, our own dalliances tonight will help the land, too.”

A cork popped, followed by the sounds of Lucien chugging the bottle’s contents and chuckling with a muttered “Brushed.”

“I’ll have you know that while you two were dancing with the spirits, I was stuck on border patrol.” Tamlin gave a pointed cough, and Lucien added, “With some company.”

"Many a Regency heroine has gone to London to have a ‘season’ in the hope of finding a husband.

“We can’t afford a dowry,” I continued, and though my tone was firm, my voice quieted. “For either of you."

But we had nothing—absolutely nothing—to entice any suitor to take my sisters off my hands.

“Isn’t that right in the middle of the season?” The socialite season, which had ended a few weeks ago, apparently, full of parties and balls and luncheons and gossip, gossip, gossip. Elain had told me all about it at dinner the night before" / “And I’m surprised you don’t have a line of suitors out the door, begging for your hand.”

The ball my father was throwing in my honor was in two days, and the house was already a flurry of activity. Such money being thrown away on things we’d never dreamed of having again, even for a moment. I would have begged him not to host it, but Elain had taken charge of planning and finding me a last-minute dress,

Elain, who flitted about the room, personally greeting each guest and dancing with all their important sons.

"Known as the “Ton,” they were comprised of a few hundred wealthy families whose strict codes of conduct, fashion, and social customs dictated who and what was socially acceptable"

—a faint gleam in Tamlin’s eyes at that—“and being with females who were a far cry from the nobility of the Autumn Court.

“Lucien fell in love with a faerie whom his father considered to be grossly inappropriate for someone of his bloodline.

Though the tunic isn’t as pretty as a dress.”

Though she was bundled in a threadbare blanket, her gold-brown hair—the hair all three of us had—was coiled perfectly about her head. Eight years of poverty hadn’t stripped from her the desire to look lovely.

But once she did, she let that snowball roll down the hill.

"The idea that rakes are redeemable is their most attractive quality."

“You know it’s … hard for him, where females are involved,” I said neutrally. “He has been with many females since the death of his lover.” “Perhaps it’s different with you—perhaps it’d mean something he’s not ready for.” I shrugged, searching for the right words. “Perhaps he stays away because of it.” She considered, and I prayed she bought my half lie.

He’d always had a casual grace about him, but here, tonight, with his hair tied back and jacket buttoned to his neck, he truly looked the part of a High Lord’s son. Handsome, powerful, a bit rakish—but well-mannered and elegant.

I asked Lucien to escort me, and he’d been more than happy to do so, given that his own status as a mated male made him uninterested in any sort of female company these days.

“I’m a mated male now.”

"Clothing and shoes served as necessary survival tools in the 18th century as well as powerful ways to communicate status, ideas, and a person's role in society. Fashion was a very important way that people expressed their ideas and economic status during the 18th century."

He had to give Lucien credit: the male was somehow able to move between his three roles—an emissary for the Night Court, ally to Jurian and Vassa, and liaison to Tamlin—and still dress immaculately.

Elain … She’d taken one look at us in the swaying grasses outside that wagon, the legs and assets on display, and turned crimson

"I'll be right back," she murmured and hurried down the hall before I could explain that no one care if she showed up to dinner covered in flour.

Elain had let her golden-brown hair down tonight, and pinned it back with twin combs of pearl.

Gone was the ill-suited black dress from the ball, replaced by a gown of amethyst velvet, her hair half-up and curling down to her waist.

It wasn’t a formal dinner by any means—though Lucien, standing near the windows and watching the sun set over Velaris, was wearing a fine green jacket embroidered with gold, his cream-colored pants showing off muscled thighs, and his knee-high black boots polished enough that the chandeliers of faelight reflected off them.

"By the 17th Century (and beyond), ribbon usage was vast. It showed purpose in extravagant garments, hair accessorizing, and ornamenting furniture and linens. With the demand for the material rising, Coventry, England and Lyons, France became capitals for ribbon production and design."

Even during their squabbles in the cottage, fighting over who got clothes or boots or ribbons, it had never been like this.

"Regency's formal décor has recently made headlines and piqued interior designers' interest thanks to the series "Bridgerton." / The Regency period was one of elegance and opulence, luxuriousness and grandeur" / “The Regency is loud, glamorous, colorful, and much less stuffy "

Elain cut her a look. “This house has needed a woman’s touch for years.”

He tried to sound casual—comfortable. Even as his heart raced and raced, so swift he thought he might vomit on the very expensive, very old carpet. From Sangravah, if the patterns and rich dyes were any indication. Rhysand was many things, but he certainly had good taste. This entire place had been decorated with thought and elegance, with a penchant for comfort over stuffiness.

"Neither a lady nor a gentleman discussed private business in the presence of servants."

Possibly a factor in why we don't see Elain and Lucien interact when EVERYONE AROUND THEM US EAVESDROPPING! 😂

"A well-bred person maintained an elegance of manners and deportment."

Elain flinched again, her face coloring. Nesta snorted. “You’re living amongst beings who have none of our human primness, you know.”

Elain had blushed muttering about the impropriety of such things

He wasn’t sure if she truly meant to address him, but he said, “No, lady. I cannot.”

“I’m going to assume that one of those cups belongs to your sister.” “Do you mind if I help myself to the other?”

“There’s a plate of biscuits. Would you like one?”

The sound seemed to startle Elain, who swiftly set down her teacup. She rose to her feet, and Lucien shot to his. “I’m sorry,” he blurted.

“I’m sorry—if that unsettled you.”

"A lady did not engage in any activity that might give rise to gossip."

No wonder nobody knows what the hell Elain does or thinks 😂

"It was unacceptable to owe money to a stranger."

"I can't stand to be in this court and have your mate pay for the very clothes on my back"

"A well-bred person walked upright, stood and moved with grace and ease."

“I’ll do it,” Elain said, taking a deep breath and squaring her shoulders. She didn’t wait for either of us before she strode out, graceful as a doe.

He’d always had a casual grace about him,

"A well-bred person was never awkward in either manner or behaviour and could respond to any social situation with calm assurance."

“Nesta, please,” Elain murmured.

She put a hand on Nesta’s knee, the purple of my sister’s gown nearly swallowing up the ivory hand. “Feyre gave and gave—for years. Let us now help her. Help … others.”

Elain crossed her arms and said calmly, sadly, “Feyre warned me this might happen.”

“I still wanted to come,” Elain went on with that focused calm, the quiet steel building in her voice. “I wanted to see you, to explain.”

The male had grown up alongside Eris. Had dealt with Eris’s and Beron’s cruelty. Had his lover slaughtered by his own father. But Lucien had learned to keep his cool.

Lucien threw him a withering look. “I’m not your enemy, you know. You can drop the aggressive brute act.” Cassian gave him a grin that didn’t meet his eyes. “Who says it’s an act?” Lucien let out a long sigh. “Very well, then.”

[spotlightlowlife]

A step not forward but to the side.

First off, this family time tale is a nice idea.

Shorts is a good idea too. Filling in gaps without having to commit to a story, but that's also the issue and has been for a long while.

Though it's nice to have the sisters enjoy a day together, we gloss over what little we were offered in the first place.

Millie

The Millie episode in season one had the family be tough farm folk who were open about their disappointment at Millie's choice of partner and lifestyle, which truly didn't have to take away from Millie but it did because that was all their entire yet breif content and throughout these scenes, as is now usual, Millie had zero to say on the matter. It was up to Moxxie to find an excuse to finally stand up to the parents after making all the effort, though the impression of bridges burning thankfully wasn't there, Millie still had nothing to contribute.

Fast forward to this short and Millie has nothing to say on any matter. Moxxie not getting a mention doesn't make it more of a Millie story when Millie yet again has no argument for her frowned upon choices even when they're bought to her attention...

Why couldn't she defend her job?

Why couldn't she defend her choice to move?

Also for us...

Why didn't we learn why Millie moved to the city and why this particular place?

Did she leave home abruptly and why?

Did she always give the impression of wanting to be elsewhere?

When did Millie discover she loved spar days, shopping and clubs and why don't we know these things?

Dispite her lack of anything to say, I was impressed by Millie not feeling guilty about leaving the farm, but again this could be yet another example of nothing to say (if only at atleast one of the 'also for us' questions had been addressed)?

Sally

BS on Sally running that place alone, this is yet another example of pushing blame onto someone else to make a character seem nicer and more innocent, this show has a history of doing this, Stolas is sad because of Stella and (somehow) to a lesser extent Paimon being one example but there's one better. What we saw was a close knit family who were united in their bafflement at Millie's choices yet happy to see her, Sally was the only one who's judgment come across as fairly harmless teasing in the two lines she got, but now their parents are useless, the brothers are of little help, nobody else was around and Sally is sad because of this. It's reminiscent of Ozzie and Fizz exuding confidence, a love for lust and enjoyment at grudges (was the Fizzbot programmed to pick on Blitzø), the same two who happily mocked Millie, Moxxie and Blitzø, now push the blame for their unhappiness and work choices onto Mammon just as we meet him.

We really could have dwelled more on how much they miss one another and how much they have in common.

Sally coming across as a fish out of water didn't work neither, she dressed similar to Millie in the first place and again after the out of place dress scene that didn't even fit this series (maybe Hazbin), she never come across as rough and unglamorous.

Lastly Moxxie

Moxxie silently slipping past them unnoticed, apparently happy that his wife is happy to me isn't sweet, it's like he can't be comfortable in his home when Millie has her known to be hostile towards him for no good reason family over, that even so much as a greeting before leaving them alone ruins things. Had Millie and Sally been asleep this would have been exactly what was intended, sweet.

Has anything improved?

A side step this was.

[silversapphire5691]

welcome beaaaaack to another episode of silver’s merch mysteries: the two part season finale (just kidding, but this post will be in 2 parts)

today we have a very interesting case: the hoops and yoyo top secret journal.

so if you follow my blog, you’ll know i’ve been a fan of the greeting card characters hoops and yoyo since before i could read and write. im always on the hunt for interesting things about them or lost media i can archive/help in finding.

well the other day, ebay notifies me that my saved “hoops and yoyo” search has a new listing. i click it, expecting it to not be much, but it turns out to be a listing for a diy journal kind of book.

these kinds of books were all the rage in the late 2000s, i knew a lot of people who had the diary of a wimpy kid one and i had a junie b. jones diary too (shout out to junie b. jones fans). but i had never seen a hoops and yoyo book like this.

i save the listing and i do some research to see if this has been mentioned or archived anywhere. i try searching the title. nothing. i try searching the isbn number. nothing (although it is pretty blurry, i could have typed it wrong). there are absolutely no images or listings for this book that i can find. i even check worthpoint to see if maybe someone else sold it at some point. absolutely nothing.

by this point i knew i had found something interesting so i immediately buy the book. at the time of me writing this i have not received it, but i will post pictures and updates once i do. i think i have found some real lost media here!

some things i think are interesting: the back of the book says “this edition is only available for distribution through the school market.”

you’ll also notice that the book was published by scholastic. so that led me to a theory…

was this book only sold through the scholastic book fair?

i mean, that would explain the rarity. hoops and yoyo weren’t exactly the most popular characters even in their heyday, so i can’t imagine many kids bought this book anyway.

while im waiting for my order to arrive, i’ve been trying to find old catalogs from book fairs of old, but i haven’t found much. i’ll keep looking and see if i can find any other mention of this book anywhere online.

i wanted to hold off on making this post until i actually got the book but i got impatient. once i get the book i’ll post a follow up and any other findings i stumbled across while i was waiting!

see yall soon!

[amostimprobabledream]

Sick and Tired of False Devotion (Tommy Shelby x Reader)

In which Tommy is cheating with you. Takes place shortly after Season 3.

Tommy Shelby wakes to the sound of blackbirds singing.

The noise, no matter the time or place he was currently in, always took him back to days of his boyhood. Yawning stretches of summer mornings, him and his siblings taking the long path to school across rolling fields of green grass swaying in the breeze, accompanied by the warbling of the birds. The future stretched out before him then, full of promise. That boy was dead now, lost in the cold mud in France, but he still remembers the birdsong. Next to him there issues a new noise – a soft, feminine moan. He observes you beside him as you open your eyes, the sweet peaceful expression of your sleeping face morphing into something else as you ascend into full consciousness. The fog of sleep in your eyes recedes and in its place is that sparkle, the glimmer of naughtiness and spirit that sucks him in like a whirlpool.

A man could get lost in such eyes.

“Morning,” you greet Tommy in a sleepy hum, a far cry from the noises you were making last night. “Mornin’.” Tommy answers, leaning down to kiss you, the mutual whiff of cigarettes on your collective breaths be damned. You tilt your head up to receive him, like a flower pointing towards the sun. Your lips are soft, still kiss-swollen from before and your hand snakes around to the back of his head, cupping the shorn base of his skull and pulling him in to deepen the kiss. You tug on his dark hair, always so demanding, and he could easily succumb to it – the allure of your body, naked under the slippery silk sheets, the sweetness of your lips and the warmth of the bed. But he can’t. His wife will be expecting him.

“I can’t stay.” Tommy tells you, pulling back. Some women might have protested a little harder at being left behind like this, these clandestine meetings that always end with Tommy departing your brightly lit bedroom to return to grey Birmingham skies and an equally chilly manor house. But you don’t beg him to stay, you never have. You accept his affections when he offers them, but you always watch him with droll amusement as he dresses to leave. You’re doing it right now, lighting a cigarette and lounging back in bed as Tommy tugs on his trousers and feeds the end of his belt through the buckle. “What’s she got you doing this time?” you ask, mockingly. “Time to show you off at some ghastly gala or other? A charity auction? Dinner with the in-laws?” You snicker, smoke spewing from your nose. Tommy doesn’t dignify that with a response, though he makes no effort to deny it either, nor does he scold you for your tone. You seem to regard the fact that Tommy Shelby is sneaking around behind his wife’s back as highly amusing. You talk about her in the third person, with sarcastic inflection. Like she’s a scheming pantomime villainess. It entertains you to imagine Tommy’s wife, rattling around the mansion he bought like the lady of the manor, ordering about the staff who secretly despise her and wearing imported silks and rearranging paintings Tommy says he bought but are actually stolen, blissfully unaware her husband has been fucking around behind her back for months or that he hasn’t halted his gang activities whatsoever. She has no idea you laugh at her, at thinking she’s bent Tommy Shelby to her will, ignorant that his growing antipathy for his marriage has driven him right into your arms. Tommy trusts you, you see. He sometimes tells you little bits of what he’s doing – never the full picture, of course, but enough that you can puzzle together most of it yourself. You never pry, never probe him with breathy questions, but you listen to him and offer your objective opinions, you’re totally impartial to most of the issues he’s grappling with, so he knows you’re not being tainted by any preconceived notions. You’ll tell him if you think something is a bad idea, but you’ve never asked him to be anything other than what he is. You don’t see Tommy Shelby as a project to fix or something to be tamed.

You know a wild thing like him would never be happy bridled.

Your tactic acceptance of him, your eyes lacking judgement and your own peculiar penchants make you an enigma to him. Tommy can’t resist a challenge, a puzzle for his intense intelligence to figure out. He comes back again and again for you – each new facet of you fascinates him.

Grace has been hinting lately at wanting another child, remarking that Charles might be lonely, and wouldn’t it be nice if he had a brother to play with? Yet the thought of Grace swanning around with a stollen belly, smirking and rubbing it like a genie’s lamp, leaves him cold. It hasn’t escaped his notice that as Charles ages, the boy barely resembles him at all. When he plays with Arthur, John and Ada’s children, his lighter hair stands out like a sore thumb against a gaggle of dark-haired children. He knows Grace disapproves of her precious son mixing with his sibling’s children – that he’ll pick up bad habits.

When Tommy is unable to slip away from home to see you, you shrug and go off to one of your mysterious parties or other social engagements he is not privy to. He pays his boys quite a lot of money to keep track of the whereabouts of his mistress, but even then, you prove to be frustratingly elusive when you want to be, always drifting just a bit out of his reach, like fog at his fingertips. He doesn’t know how you knew the men he pays to watch you are his, but you do.

It's aggravating, but in a way, pleasing, like putting pressure on a bruise to see how deep the wound goes. “Got something for you.” He tells you in a rasp. You look up from where you’re fussing with your stockings, a faux  diamond on the garter glinting in the sunlight. “Oh?” you ask in an effort to sound detached, but he can see your eyes light up with excitement. Tommy’s gifts are often both pretty and very expensive. Tommy crosses the room and produces a box that was hidden inside the pocket of his coat. When he brings it over to you, you’re suddenly sitting up and alert, taking it from him and stripping it of the velvet ribbon holding it shut. “Oh.” You say again, with a wildly different inflection this time, recognising the logo stamped on the top. When you pop the lid off the box, your breath catches in your throat. Something is nestled in a bed of black velvet.

It's a dress, in a shade of green that you can tell at a glance will look great with your skin tone. Slowly you lift it up, the fabric whispering as it moves, and hold it up to the light, marvelling as the material seems to shimmer with colour.

“Tommy, I love it.” You whisper reverently.

He grunts, but you can tell he’s pleased, and he pops a cigarette between his lips before lighting it, the flame at the end of his match lighting up his eyes, making them look like ice, like glaciers lit up by the dawn. You wonder if he picked this dress himself, imagined you in it, imagined taking it off you later. Lizzie could have gone in his stead, but she still would have paid for it with Tommy’s money, and he would have still had final approval before handing it to you. That’s enough for you. “I ‘ave a meeting with the Russian ambassador.” He says, nonchalantly, as if such a thing is just an ordinary Tuesday for Tommy Shelby. “Need someone with me to keep things looking above board and respectable. Someone who can keep their mouth shut.” You don’t have to ask why he wants you there and not Grace. His wife has proven in the past that she isn’t to be trusted with a secret. Even her husband’s. Perhaps especially her husband’s. “I’ll be there.” You say, forgetting to ask him when this meeting is, so enamoured are you with the thought of getting to wear clothes like this and stand at Tommy’s side, facing down an enemy together. True, you’d be wearing silk instead of a razor in your cap, but both these things can prove a useful tool, depending on how you use it. Honestly, you’d probably agree to visit a pigpen if it meant you got to wear clothes like this, and knowing that a night of subterfuge and champagne will probably lead to a night of some incredible post-socialising fucking?

Well, you could do worse.

“Pour me a drink before you go?” you ask sweetly, voice still rough with sleep, pointing across the room at a bottle of whisky and some glasses, still sticky with residue. It’s a little early to be knocking back the booze, but you don’t have anywhere urgent to be until this afternoon.

Tommy raises his eyebrows, but he doesn’t refuse, and you watch him saunter over to the table, pouring one for you and one for himself, his white shirt still unbuttoned and hanging off him, light making the fabric practically translucent. He looks equally delicious partially dressed as he does naked, and you lick your lips as you greedily drink in the sight. He approaches, a wry smirk on his face as if he knows exactly what you’re thinking, and you smirk up at him in return. “Does Polly know about this little meeting?” you ask him, accepting your glass, fingertips leaving smudges on the design. “She’s the one who helped set it up.” Tommy replies, speaking around his cigarette. “Pol understands how important this is.” “Well, then.” You reply. “If Polly’s on board, then I’ll drink to that.” Polly’s no idiot – if she’s willing to deal with Russians, either she knows that what they’re offering makes it worth it, or that pissing them off would lead to consequences the family would do better to avoid. If you can smooth the way to a successful negotiation by looking pretty and keeping your eyes and ears open, then you’ll do it. You clink glasses with him and swallow back the whisky. The familiar burn down your throat is strangely pleasant, and more importantly quenches your dry mouth a little. Tommy sets his glass down on the side table and smacks his lips. “I’ll send a car ‘round to pick you up tomorrow at nine.” He says and wags a finger at you in a way that’s supposed to be stern, but you can detect a little playfulness there too. “Don’t keep me waiting.” “Mm, but you keep me waiting all the time,” you counter, unable to resist teasing him a little bit, lounging back in the bed so the covers slip a tantalising inch or so lower, exposing more of your bare skin. “Don’t you?” He looks down at you with that impassive face that makes it impossible to tell what he’s thinking. You wonder what he sees when he looks at you – besides his mistress, obviously. What do you represent to him? You’re not married so he doesn’t have to worry about a jealous husband complicating matters, but he also knows you’re not the type of women who will be dangled from his string indefinitely. Yet if he just wanted a fuck, he could pick up any woman willing to give Tommy Shelby company for a night. Perhaps he feels like he doesn’t have any expectations in your house. He isn’t putting on a mask for the benefit of his men or trying to juggle the very separate factions of his family – the Shelby’s on one side and his wife and son on the other. With you, he can let go of all his worries and just luxuriate in being around you for a little while. He leans down, fingers gripping your jaw in a firm hold that sets off butterflies in your stomach, and he kisses you again. This time it’s Tommy who deepens the kiss, Tommy who slips his tongue into your mouth, his hand sliding down to cup your breasts and marvel in the weight and feel of them, so soft in his rough hands. “Behave yourself,” Tommy says in a low murmur in your ear, and you giggle as his breath tickles your skin. “And you’ll get a reward once the job’s done. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” “I would,” you agree, unable to hide the excited tremor in your voice. A reward can mean many things and you know he’s said that so your imagination will take over and get you all worked up with anticipation before he’s had to lift a finger. He’s a crafty bastard.

“Good girl,” he says, and you hear the smile in his voice, even as he maintains an impressive poker face. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” “In the dress?” you tease, as if you’d wear anything else. “In the dress.” He replies, with a roll of his eyes. “Mm. Maybe I should wear my favourite stockings too,” you say, rolling onto your back. “And those pretty shoes from Paris you sent me. That was you, wasn’t it? In that box without a note?” You like to remind him that he isn’t the only man who wants to bed you, and you know he knows. He runs a hand over his jaw and clever as he may be, it doesn’t take a genius to know what he’s thinking – risk being late home and ruin whatever neatly concocted story he has ready to excuse it to give you a good seeing-to? Or play it safe and wait until tomorrow? Unfortunately for you, he knows you’re just as impatient for his hands on you as he is, and he’s a man capable of great control when he wants. So, he just jams his hat on his head, pulling the brim down low. “Tomorrow,” he repeats, his eyes fixed on yours, pinning you in place. “Wait for me until then.” He leaves shortly after, knowing if he does not, he’ll get sucked into more bantering with you. You have a knack for making him lose track of time. You watch him leave and smile to yourself – despite his instructions, you’re not sure if you can wait that long.

And you’ve never been one for playing by the rules.

[lacheri]

me, starry-eyed and sniffling after reading ur ask u sent me, humbly requesting 56 for your prompt event ;; <3 ORRRRR 144 take your pick hehe

me, fawning over ur every word and staring at u with absolute adoration in my eyes, earnestly telling u ily and i would crawl on the floor and bark if u asked me to

cw: no warnings. this is pure tooth rotting fluff. it'll give u a stomach ache guaranteed. an extreme use of the word "ever". minors/ageless blogs dni!

wc: 1k

prompt event: taking prompts until midnight est! <3

56. "Just marry me already."

Garlic — you can smell the aroma before you even step foot into your house, nearly breaking down into hysterical tears on the front porch. Without any context, you look ridiculous. You know this, which is what keeps those sobs at bay, but with context, well — just about anyone would lose their composure on the spot.

You’ve just arrived home after an incredibly hellish day of work, so busy you had to forgo a lunch break in order to complete your tasks. (They’re still incomplete, but that’s going to have to be a problem for Monday. You hit your mental limit an hour into your shift.) Your back is aching, daring to snap in half without any warning. You’re miserable, starving, and you’re in desperate need of comfort.

And comfort currently smells like garlic and looks like your beautiful, thoughtful boyfriend, Levi.

Your fingers wrap around the door handle, shoes crossing the entryway, and you can hardly contain yourself. Your eyes well up, the subtle hint of seasonings morphing into an overwhelming aura, and you can hardly see Levi move around your home to set up the dinner table.

He has always been incredibly great at bringing you peace, but this is next level. One text is all you sent today, a short message about how shitty your day was going. Nothing of extraordinary detail, just that you hated your job and missed him. That was it. 

Levi decided to cook for you in response? To ease your stress, to make your day just slightly better? He even dressed nice, adorning a thick navy colored sweater you’d bought him just a month ago, tucked in at the belt, disappearing into the black of his tailored trousers.

The jingle of keys and the creak of the front door brings his focus to you, your lips in a pronounced pout, unable to move. 

“That bad huh?” Levi frowns, already making the strides to greet you where you stand.

You nod, afraid that if you speak, you really will cry. He releases a quiet chuckle, embracing you tightly, his palm cradling the back of your head. His fingers press into your scalp, massaging patterns and kissing at your forehead. 

Eventually the emotion rolls off your body thanks to the soothings of Levi, and you’re able to take a deep breath, “Yeah. It was bad.”

“You’re home now,” he hums, pulling back just enough to look you in the eyes. “Why don’t you get changed and we can eat?”

“What, into something fancy?” You half smile, bringing your attention to his outfit. “You look like you’re about to take me on a date to a fancy restaurant or something.”

“A date to our kitchen table, yes,” Levi teases, his lashes fluttering as he follows your gaze. “Put on whatever you want. I just wanted to dress up for you, to make you feel special or whatever.”

You can’t help yourself from stealing a kiss after he says something like that. He’s so cute it breaks your heart. 

“Just marry me already,” you mumble against his lips, so velveteen and warm.

Levi freezes entirely, body going rigid under your attention. The loss of air against your mouth signals to you that he has stopped breathing. You pull away, panic coursing through your veins.

You’ve never really discussed marriage with Levi, hardly ever even have joked about it. Yeah, you’ve been dating for what seems like an eternity, but you never felt the need to test Levi’s loyalty in the form of a diamond ring and an exchanging of vows. For all intensive purposes, you act like you’re married already. You live together, eat meals together, spend every waking moment beside one another — you don’t really need a piece of documentation to declare your love, so neither of you have ever brought it up.

Levi doesn’t have commitment issues, it’s just that he’s a creature of habit. Your relationship is a habit he’s accustomed to, and perhaps you’ve just ruined a nice moment with a thoughtless joke.

Maybe Levi hates the idea of getting married. With the way he just reacted, you assume you’re probably correct.

“It was a joke! Not that I mean I don’t want to marry you! We’ve never talked about it, I wasn’t even thinking I’m so sorry! It’s just, Levi this was so nice of you, and I’ve had the worst day of my life and you’re so thoughtful and sweet and cute and—“

A deep, aggravated sigh cuts you off. His eyes roll in his skull before landing directly on yours, a humored smirk on his lips.

“I guess I have to do this now then.”

“Do what?” you ask hesitantly. 

“Ask you to marry me, stupid.”

You’re the one unable to breathe now, jaw dropping and brain malfunctioning. 

He laughs, running a hand over his face, “You really had to say that and steal my thunder? I had a plan. It was going so well too.”

“You’re serious?” you wheeze.

“Of course I’m serious. There’s a ring shoved in a breadstick on the counter. Took me forever to get it in there too. Apparently butter melts on hot things, so I had to wash the ring so it wouldn’t be disgusting when you put it on—“

“Yes!” you scream, jumping up and down and throwing your arms around his shoulders. “Yes I’ll marry you!”

“I didn’t properly ask you yet!” Levi responds, but the sound is muffled in your shoulder. 

“I don’t care, yes,” you sniffle, peppering teary kisses onto his neck. “A hundred times, yes. You didn’t have to ask me, it’s yes.”

He softens, holding you tighter to his frame. “I just wanted to make you feel better. Didn’t need to make this a big deal.”

“Shut up,” you chuckle. “It’s a big deal.”

“Here’s the new plan, technically the same plan but,” Levi maneuvers his hands to rest on your cheeks, thumbing away your straying tears. “You’re going to go into the bedroom, you’re going to get changed, and we’re going to sit down to eat. You’re going to carefully open the bread I hand you, and you’re going to act surprised when I get down on my knee and ask you to be my wife. Okay?”

“I love you,” your bottom lip wobbles. “I love you so much.”

“Okay?” He presses, his mouth blossoming into a grin. 

You nod enthusiastically, on the verge of hyperventilating, “Okay.”

“Now,” Levi kisses the tip of your nose. “Hurry up so I can propose to you, idiot.”

LACHERI © 2022: all writing content belongs to LACHERI. I do not allow reposts or translations