#there's no reason i can't do this shit tomorrow or the next day at least...

[stirdrawsandreblaws]

resigning myself to the facts that a) i can't finish the work i need to do without cleaning my room bc my brain is shitting itself and b) i'm too tired to clean it right now so i'm not gonna get work done

i need to just take a break day properly instead of sitting in agony... and i can't tell other people it's important to rest if i can't make rest a priority for myself, so...maybe i'll just try chillin out a lil bit

[heirofnight]

let's go

pairing: azriel x reader

word count: 1.3k

summary: reader is arranged to be wed within the next 12 hours, and azriel is determined to not let that happen.

a/n: thank you so much for all of the love on the writing i've published so far. my heart could explode. i've never allowed anyone to read anything that i've written, and as nervous as i was, i'm so glad that i made this account. this little fic was inspired by GoT lmao. i hope you like it!

you took in your reflection in the floor length mirror that was propped against the side of the wall. your chambers were dimly lit, somber even - a perfect indication of your own feelings. you'd always loved candles, loved the romantic glow that they'd cast across the walls of your large bedroom. for that reason, you had many of them - big and small - spread across the surfaces of your space. all of them were lit now, and they, along with the moonlight that spilled through your open drapes, provided mood lighting that perfectly encapsulated your own brooding thoughts.

you were getting married tomorrow. but not in a way that was exciting or filled your heart to the brim with joy. no, this was absolutely dreadful - an arranged marriage that was put in to place solely to benefit your royal father. one that you did not want, and would have never agreed to. you didn't even know the male that you were set to wed - had never even seen him.

your father was thrilled. he would not stop boasting about how immensely important this union was (for him), how this event was going to solve so many political issues amongst the court (you didn't give a shit), how happy you'd eventually grow to be (impossible). you were furious, you felt used, and you were in love with another.

azriel.

your eyes fluttered as his name tore through every single chamber of your mind. it felt like you were physically being stabbed through the heart. at this point, you'd rather it. at least you'd die his lover.

your eyes found the floor in front of you, and you took in a sobering breath. you had one more thing that needed to be done before tomorrow's ceremony.

you crossed the wooden floor of your large bedroom, floorboards creaking beneath your bare feet. you sat before your mirrored vanity, pulling a stack of parchment from the small drawer in front of it. and, you began to write. one last letter to the male that you'd loved for close to five years now. the man that held your soul within his scarred hands - hands that had the potential to inflict such harrowing damage. but those same hands had held your beating heart with such care and unrelenting love, it made your chest physically want to split in half to think of it.

my sweet love,

as i sit here on the eve of my wedding day, a day that should be joyous, a celebration for the ages, i can't help but feel as though my heart is trying to leap from my chest. if it were able to do such a thing, i know that it would somehow journey these lands to find its way to you. it is already with you, anyhow, and it always will be. i am sick to think that my walk down the aisle will not end with me standing before you, azriel. such a handsome husband you'd be. please, if you ever wed another, -

you paused your writing as a chilled gust of air hit the back of your neck, your hair whipping about with the impact. you weren't scared, you didn't even flinch - you knew what, or who caused it.

you spun around in your chair, and were met the blanched face of the male you were just writing your farewell correspondence to.

"az," you breathed out, rushing to meet his stiff frame. he was clearly distressed. angry. his breath was heaving from his chest, and his fists were clenched at his sides - wings were flared in irritation.

his wild hazel eyes met your own, and he shook his head in disbelief, shoulders dropping in defeat.

"this can't happen, y/n," he whispered, jaw clenching. he was barely maintaining his composure. you knew he wanted to level this entire manor, storm through the halls and end the lives of every one of your father's men that he came across.

you let out a shaky breath, brows cinching. it would have almost been easier to not see him, especially not tonight. this was gut wrenching.

"az, i have no choice. i'm stuck, i've tried to think of every possible way-," you rambled in a hushed tone, hands gesturing in desperation.

"there is a way," he cut you off, his tone one that could summon death. he'd calmed himself, although just marginally. he'd become still, steady, and sure. his voice took on the same quality as it did when he was focused on a mission. it was cold, full of gravel.

you looked up at him, confused and trying not to get your hopes up. surely if there was an actual way to rid yourself of this nightmare, you'd have already thought of and executed it.

"you come with me. now.", he spoke once more, leaving no room for discussion. he wasn't kidding - even though he knew the consequences of such treason.

"az...", you winced, shaking your head as your gaze hit the floor. you couldn't bare to look at him, nor turn him down, but you had to.

"no, y/n. i don't care. i don't care what happens, i don't care about your father, or his army, or what this means for velaris. you're coming with me. i will not allow this to happen," he was breathing heavily again, hands coming to grasp at your slumped shoulders.

"he will start a war, azriel. he will know exactly where to find me, find us," you whispered, not daring to meet his desperate gaze.

"then we will go somewhere else, we'll go somewhere he won't find us. and we'll figure it out. you and i," he pleaded, voice faltering. the words came out strained, like he was trying not to scream, yell, implode.

you sighed, mulling it over momentarily.

"and rhys? my father will still go to velaris first. we can't unleash my father and his men onto rhys and his people just because of this", you rationalized. the thought of velaris facing another attack at your own expense was nauseating.

"i would level all of prythian with my bare hands because of this. for you," he gritted. he took your face between his hands gently, forcing you to meet his wide eyes. he needed to make you understand. he would not survive this.

you stared at him for a long moment, your expression one of absolute dejection. azriel's heart clenched, his head was pounding. please agree, please, please agree to this, come with me, he chanted in his mind, hoping somehow he'd will you into agreement.

"rhys knows where i am. he knows what i'm doing. and he knows the potential consequences. we've been working on solutions, on strategies. we can do this," he breathed out, his full lips brushing against yours as he spoke.

he was begging you, pleading. you knew he'd get on his knees if he had to. and gods, you wanted to go so badly. you'd never been able to choose anything for yourself - nothing. you'd had no say, no meaningful opinions, and no choice on any matter regarding your own life.

but you'd chosen azriel. he was the only choice you'd ever made, and would forever be the best one. you'd chosen him then, and you'd choose him now.

"i'll pack a bag," you spoke softly, nuzzling the tip of your nose against his. you couldn't help the smile that began to tug at your lips.

a pregnant pause lingered between the both of you as you determined whether or not this was a horrible idea. azriel was half-expecting you to change your mind. he held his breath for longer than was probably healthy, lungs beginning to burn. but then, finally:

"let's go," you stated firmly, true determination woven within your words.

azriel faltered for a moment, his eyes widening slightly as he processed your decision. he was frozen as you untangled yourself from his arms, darting about to quickly pack a bag of your belongings.

"let's go," he repeated, his voice barely a whisper.

a/n: my heart !!! this one came out of nowhere and i had to write it out. sorry if it's kinda dumb. let me know what you think!

[eddiernunson]

Really Drives Me Mad | Bfs Dad!Eddie Munson x Reader | 18+

Master List | Next Part

My best friend tells me that he's a keeper

I really like Dylan a lot But Dylan's dad He really drives me mad With his faded tats Sings in a cover band Yeah he's super hot with his ripped dad bod Oh my, oh my god I like Dylan a lot But oh god I love Dylan's dad

I know y'all weren't expecting this... Well neither was I. It like invaded my mind and begged me to write it. (this is the dirtiest thing ive ever written.)

Word Count: 7.5k

Summary: You've been dating Dylan Munson for a little bit, and it's going well, or at least you feel like it is. Despite everything right with Dylan you can't help but feel uneasy...then you meet Eddie Munson, his dad... and find yourself wet at the sight of him. (reader is in her 20s, Eddie probably in his 40s or so)

Warnings: masturbation (both), voyeurism (both), lot of perv!Eddie, reader ends up cheating, just some dirty stuff. MINORS DNI.

As you sit cross legged on your best friend’s garage couch mindlessly watching some Netflix while she took another hit, your phone dings, a text message you’ve been waiting on.

“Ooh, speak of the devil.” She teases you, putting the bong aside to peek at what Dylan texted you. You roll your eyes at her, answering him to pick you up in the morning. “What did he say?”

Her eyebrows were wagging over-exaggeratingly, and you narrow your eyes. “Just asked when I wanted to get picked up for our trip to the beach tomorrow.”

“Are you excited?” She asks, her voice suggestive and you can hear more excitement in her voice alone than you felt about the trip.

“Yes.” You lie to her, because if you told the truth, you knew you’d hear about it.

Dylan was a good guy. You met him through a singles mixer you went to for shits and giggles and ended up meeting him. He had no business being there, his league was not the type of girl to go to a Fajita style mixer even for laughs. He was so overwhelmingly better looking than every other guy in that mixer that scooping him up before anyone dug their claws in was the logical thing to do.

It wasn’t that you didn’t find him hot.

Dylan ended up being almost everything you said you were looking for. Stable. Ready for commitment. Willing to go the extra mile.

He was stable in every way it takes most men into their 30s to figure out.

You knew he was a rare find as someone dating in your 20s. Yet, there was just something missing.

It wasn’t anything you could describe, and each time you had expressed the feeling people seem to dismiss it, claiming it stemmed from every failed relationship you’ve had. Logically, you should be head over heels over this man who is so sweet and willing to do the most.

But the feeling just nagged at your skull.

For the sake of not feeling guilty and seeing that same bug-eyed expression on your best friend you lie. It felt weird to have to lie to her just to seem grateful for what life has provided to you on a silver platter. So, until an actual reason for this hesitancy presents itself, the dates and the heavy make out sessions and whatnot will continue.

The ego boost he provides when he sends you drooling emojis when you send a bikini selfie for what you’re wearing the next day certainly doesn’t help your case.

“I’m so glad you found him, he’s so sweet.” She mentions off-hand.

You nod, gritting your teeth.

-

Dylan is on time, as always, prompt and proper to pick you up from your apartment. He texts to let you know he was outside, and you grab your beach bag of snacks and your towel and do a final assessment in the mirror.

Cute pink bikini that hung by a string sitting high on your hips, barely hidden by the long cut out dress you wore. Your bag matched the bikini, and you wore some tiny sunnies to put the whole look together. If you’re gonna date someone as good looking might as well look the part.

As you approached his chevy truck he was animatedly bug eyed while looking at you, his brown eyes popping out of their socket while he drummed his steering wheel. His zest and energy for life was always so contagious. You smiled at him, your cheeks burning as you climbed into the passenger seat.

“Hi baby.” He greets you, kissing you softly. You find yourself grinning into it.

He pulls out onto the main road for the forty-five-minute trip to the lake most people go for a weekend getaway. About five minutes down the road, Dylan pats his cargo shorts down real quick and grunts in disappointment.

“What?”

“Forgot the parking pass for the beach lot. I literally got that for fifteen dollars so I wouldn’t have to pay twenty at the till.” He explains, making a sudden left turn.

You’ve been to his house before, and he usually takes you there when his dad is either at work or just not home. You weren’t sure why, his dad seemed like a decent dude.

(From what you’ve heard anyway)

Maybe, like you, he wasn’t ready for meeting the parents yet.

“Oh, I think my dad will be home around now. Hope that’s okay.” He says, as if you had just spoken aloud. “I think it was time for you to meet him, anyways.”

Shit. Nope. He was ready. You were no where ready for him to meet your mom, who already loved him just from your best friend’s descriptions.

“Oh. Sure.” You glance down to your outfit, something worn not knowing you were about to meet parents. “Are you sure I’m dressed for that though?”

“My dad has met girlfriends in worse positions.” Dylan laughs. “Trust me. This is a better meeting.”

This helps you very little.

Five minutes down the road he pulls into the starter home he and his dad have been living in his whole life, a sweet little bungalow with three rooms and two bathrooms. It was by no means anything to cough at, certainly impressive for a mechanic, but Dylan seemed to behave incredibly sheepishly every time.

Dylan pulls in, and your heart races as you see his dad’s truck in the driveway. As Dylan gets out to open your door, he can feel your nervousness. “Can I just stay here?” You ask him, unsure why he needed you to go in for a pass in the first place.

“Oh I promise he doesn’t bite.” He jokes.

You give him a weak smile, holding his hand as you walked to the front door. The door doesn’t need a key, swinging open and the bright sunlight giving you both a shadow against the hardwood flooring. Dylan walks in, calling for his dad’s name. You squeeze his hand tighter out of nervousness. Eventually the sounds of his creaky steps are heard from the kitchen where Dylan is scanning for his pass, signalling his father coming down the steps.

You were facing towards the stove across the island counter, watching Dylan go through the drawers for it.

“Woah, thought you’d be halfway to the beach by now, you were so damn excited.” You hear his dad’s voice, and there’s something about it, his tone leaning towards a tease that enticed you to turn your head towards him.

Your jaw dropped. Or it didn’t. Certainly felt like a moment for your mouth to open in amazement. In a split second you knew where Dylan got his good looks, and it was only a fraction of how mouth watering his dad was.

He wonders in with sweatpants low on his hips wearing a band t-shirt and his long curly hair was wet from a shower. As he shuffled by to the fridge, the scent of aftershave invaded your nose and somehow it just went straight to your core. He was certainly fit even for a dad, slight dad bod but nothing to poke at, you could tell he worked with his hands.

“Forgot my pass.” He mutters, looking through another drawer.

“I saw it this morning, so I put it in your bag as you were heading out.” His dad mentions off hand, getting the ingredients for a bowl of cereal out. As he lifted his hands over his head revealing a tattoo on his tummy and the treasure trail saliva entered your mouth like water bursting through a man-made dam.

“Seriously?” Dylan dead pans. He turns to you, and you switch your glance to seem innocent like you haven’t been eye-fucking his dad. “I’m gonna go double check it’s in there. Just stay here be right back.” He kisses you on the forehead and leaves without giving you a chance to protest.

“Nice, to meet you, by the way.” He says in a gruff voice as he pours the sugary cereal into the bowl.

“Nice to meet you, too, Mr. Munson.” Your voice sounded strained; you were hoping you were just imagining it.

He lets out a noise in disgust, his face scrunching up comically. “Oh god. Don’t call me that. Call me Eddie. Never Mr. Munson. Gross.”

You smile closed mouthed at his genuine disgust for it, and Eddie presents a smile as if your laughter was the long-term goal. “Nice to meet you, Eddie.”

“Much better.” He praises you, and it might be the closest thing you’ll ever get to the kind of praise you wanted from him, the kind where you find yourself on your knees in the kitchen, but you happily accepted it. Any crumbs you would happily take.

He could spit on you, and you would thank him.

Oh. That’s…new.

That wasn’t something you felt with Dylan at all. If Dylan had decided to spit on your face during sex, you would call the police. It would turn you off so fast you would kick him off you.

“Going to Lake Maureen?” He asks you, supposedly making small talk.

“Nope.” You tell him. “Museum.”

Eddie tilted his head, and from his shoulder’s shaking and the slow smile you could tell he was laughing.

“Yes.” You affirm.

“Where did you meet again?” Eddie asks as he puts away the milk, his voice seeming to extend from a thought he doesn’t share.

“Oh, a mixer.”

“Not the church mixer.” Eddie tilts his head, seeming genuinely fearful it was the truth.

You confirm that yes, it was the church mixer.

Eddie grabs a mug to pour the coffee you hadn’t noticed had he put on. As his hands cup a graphic mug you couldn’t see the comic for, you see the silver rings on his fingers and if your core wasn’t heated up before, it certainly was now.  He leans forward, taking a sip of straight black coffee for a minute. “Sweetheart. You’re far too pretty to be going to a goddamn mixer. No wonder he was so fucking enthralled when he got home that day.”

You feel your face heat up at the nickname followed by him calling you pretty. Your thighs squeeze together as you attempt to force your heart back into your chest where it belonged. Somehow your extremities were freezing, and all the heat was centered in your pussy, just soaked from his presence alone.

He could tell you weren’t taking the compliment seriously. “Seriously. If he fucks it up and you end up single again no more fucking mixers for you.”

“Not like I had any more choices.” You defend yourself, not knowing why his insistence turned you on so much.

Eddie rolls his eyes as if he didn’t believe you. His mouth opens to tell you something, and the sound of Dylan bursting through the front door seems to cut him off. “Oh, you should’ve told me, we could’ve been almost there by now. Come on, baby! See you dad!”

The door slams, and you guessed you were supposed to follow him. “Um, you were gonna say something?” and the mystery is just too much for you.

“Oh. Was I? Totally forgot.” Eddie shrugs, putting his coffee mug down, having chugged that entire cup within the conversation. “Have fun.”

He scoops another spoonful of sugary cereal in his mouth, the dimples on his face prominent but the smile devious.

That smile would haunt you for the next twelve hours.

-

The trip with Dylan was alright, he swore up and down it was the best trip and it just brought you both closer as a couple. You probably would’ve agreed. A trip to the beach with Dylan Munson sounded enticing and sexy and adventurous for the most part until you met his dad.

Now thoughts of his flexed forearms has he gripped the counter while talking to you, wet hair smelling beautifully of the musk shampoo he used invaded your mind. Dylan fingering you on the beach under your skirt was yes, smoking hot, but as you imagined a certain someone else doing the same it brought you to your orgasm much quicker and much harder. Dylan figured he must be doing something right.

Guilt evaded you as you knew what the hell you were doing was wrong. You now had an excuse to get rid of him, you were far more into his dad than you ever were into him, and it should’ve been a sign.

But if you broke up with him now, you wouldn’t be able to see his dad. Yet as you took a walk down the shoreline into a cave and your eyes close picturing certain ringed fingers gripping your hips as Dylan did it made the sneaking off and the public sex that much hotter.

Seems you were sluttier than your initial sex life led you to believe. Turns out, you just haven’t met a man you wanted to be slutty for. Public sex seemed fun in theory, always so nerve wrecking in practice.

Public sex with Eddie felt like you wanted to get caught with him, fully enjoying his cock and letting people see. Voyeurism mixed with public embarrassment was suddenly hot and you got so into it that Dylan expressed how excited he was to fuck you on the next hike you took together, something he has expressed much interest in, but you denied bashfully every time.  

Because with Dylan sex wasn’t all encaptivating. Sure he could make you cum, but you were never ready to rip off his clothes in a heartbeat. The moment you saw Eddie your fingers started to itch for that damn low sitting sweatpants for them to droop just a little…bit…more.

Dylan drops you off with a romantic wet kiss, and you walk into the door of your apartment in a daze. Before you can even think about it, you find yourself on your bed, your skirt around your ankles and two of your fingers down your bikini bottoms.

You start to take them off but there’s a voice you picture saying, “No, no. Keep them on like the whore you are.” It was not Dylan’s.

You listened to it, pretending to rub your clit in front of him watching. You could see a wild eye on his face, picturing him not being able to touch you driving him mad. The heat that expands into your pussy from that thought alone drives your hips for more friction. “Oh so fucking needy, yeah?” You imagine him saying to you, and fuck, you couldn’t not think of him being good at dirty talk. “Need this cock, don’t ya?”

The image of him slowly working the elastic waist-band of his sweatpants made you moan aloud, needily grinding on your own fingers.

“Too damn bad. You’re just gonna have to make yourself cum, like the slut you are.”

The slight foreplay you were accidentally given all day through your own imagination mixed with how fucking wet you were brought you to a quick orgasm, fluttering in your extremities as you continued imagining the wild eyes on Eddie’s face or the firm voice as he didn’t give you a choice on your dating pool.

This was the first truly earth-shattering orgasm you’ve ever felt in your life. One that you truly had to recover from…and it was from just picturing this man.

Something in you wanted the real thing, and you were terrified of how willing you were to go through with it, and equally as terrified of going through life wondering what it could’ve been like

If sex with Eddie Munson was as good as the orgasm you gave yourself, you might have to be Dylan’s stepmom, because you just found what was missing.

-

“Hey baby.” Dylan says, welcoming you as he opens the door.

You hold your pillow and a duffle bag sits on your shoulder for a sleepover, and the shorter shorts with a tank top you wear signalling you were ready for a night in. As you pass by him, Dylan gives out a low whistle to how well your ass is shown off in the pair of shorts you wore. They were so well fitting he could see you were either wearing a thong or nothing, but you could tell it turned him on. While this gave you a confidence boost, he wasn’t the target audience.

When you requested the sleepover Dylan warned you his dad would be there. Good. You assured him that would be fine. That was the goal.

“Hi, sweetheart!” Eddie calls down to you, and the smile invades your face before you could stop it.

“Hi, Mr. Munson!” You call out, and the sound of gagging is heard. “I meant Eddie!”

“Oh, I forgot he gets everyone to call him by his first name, like a lame youth pastor.” Dylan rolls his eyes, tugging on your hand to bring you to the couch in the living room. “Movie?”

You nod jerkily. Dylan works around you, getting a blanket, popcorn, and the movie all set up. He turns down the lights, winking at you suggestively as he does so.

Less than five minutes into the movie, the beginning credits still lingering on to the actors he leans in with an open mouth, his hand making its way to your hip. With the smell of him still fresh, being able to smell him on the couch you were on, it was easy to get eagerly into the kissing. This encouraged Dylan, of course confusing your eagerness for him. He reaches down, placing two of his fingers over your clothed pussy.

You moan lightly, and he shushes you softly. Mentally you roll your eyes, because he was telling you to be quiet because his dad was home.

You were hooking up with him on his couch because his dad was home. You listen to him anyway, and he starts to rub in small circles, you moan even higher, imagining he could hear you and getting off to it. “Shh, baby.” Dylan whispers. “Oh, you’re wet. Fuck.”

He slips his hands into your shorts, leaning you down to rub your pussy and attack your neck at the same time. “Pussy feels…mazing.” Dylan mutters between the slobbery neck kisses he gives you. It was enough for you to picture him, but suddenly Eddie coming downstairs right now without knowing what you were doing got you off even more.

“Eat me out?” You ask him, and ever the gentleman he smiles devilishly at you as he crawls down. He goes to place the blanket over his head, and you stop him. “Wanna see your face.”

Okay, you wanted to see Eddie see your pussy as his son went down on you, but it made Dylan eager enough to dig in in a way you haven’t seen from him yet.

You whine from the hot pleasure it gave you, you grind on his face, the heat focused on your pussy in a way that has never happened before. The idea of Eddie accidentally walking in on you but watching instead of saying anything gets you off so easily Dylan is feeling your juices wet his chin and your ass like it never has before.

“Greedy baby.” He mumbles, placing two fingers into you and giving kisses to your thighs as he pumps them.

“Gonna cum soon, Dyl.” You warn him.

Luckily, Dylan knows it means to keep doing what he’s doing. You were close, but the sound of footsteps upstairs followed by a door closing pushed you over the edge, knowing he could very well be going to his room from elsewhere, but hoping he was at the top of the stairs.

Just the possibility of him being at the top pushed you over. “Holy shit.” Dylan mutters, crawling up to you. “Must’ve been riled up, huh.”

“Yeah.” You tell him, suddenly feeling Dylan’s boner poking the inside of your knee. “Mere, I wanna help you.”

“No, I wanna fuck you, let’s go to my room.”

His room…down the hall…where there’s a better chance he could hear you. “Sure!”

-

Eddie Munson was sure there was something out to get him. The moment your pretty fucking face greeted him in his kitchen when he wondered down fresh from a shower he was sure there was something laughing at this pure misery.

The smile on your face, the smell of your sweet perfume, the way your skirt hugged your hips all melted him into one pot. When you told him you met Dylan at a fucking mixer, he wanted to shoot the person who made you feel like you were worthy of being ogled at by a bunch of singles at an awkward church mixer.

A church mixer.

He hated that Dylan liked them, always said only weirdos go there and was sure Dylan as exaggerating when he expressed how gorgeous and out of his league you were.

His heart freezing at the sight of you sit perched on one of his stools, shyly watching your boyfriend, even only from the back made him wonder if angels were real. Fuck, he didn’t ask for any proof of your beauty when offered to show your Instagram, but he wouldn’t have believed it.

He spent that entire first conversation doing everything he could to be a fucking father figure and remind himself you were dating his son. He was not hitting on you at a bar, he was your boyfriend’s dad.

Somehow that just made the forbidden part about it that much hotter.

He felt like a pervert as the scent of your shampoo jumped out at him when he passed by you for the milk, and he had wanted to stop in place and take a big inhale. Felt like an even bigger pervert as he saw the string of your bikini bottom sitting high on your hip peaking out of your skirt and he just wanted to get a shot of that underskirt.

Every thought he had about you as your wit came through the conversation, he wondered what the hell you were doing with Dylan. He loved his kid, but you deserved better than what he knew his kid would provide.

He knew about Dylan that he’d be a great husband one day. Someone reliable and trustworthy enough to build a life with.

He didn’t want that for you. He wanted you to have something mind-blowing and earth shattering, something intoxicating. Something that made you feel the way he felt just by smelling your goddamn shampoo. Your teeny tiny bikini with your hair up in a messy bun with cute little sunglasses all somehow went to his cock, and he was glad you were called over before he said something even more stupid.

Eddie rolled his eyes at your claim there wasn’t a bigger dating pool, opening his mouth to retort--“Oh, you should’ve told me, we could’ve been almost there by now. Come on, baby! See you dad!”

The door slams, and that concluded the end of that conversation. “Um, you were gonna say something?” you ask him, and he wondered if the intrigue on your face was something he just imagined.

“Oh. Was I? Totally forgot.” Eddie lies. I was gonna say I am proof there is a bigger dating pool than you would believe, sweetheart… but he knew it would’ve said something he couldn’t unsay.

Dylan told him you were coming over for a sleepover, and he and Dylan’s room were only separated by the bathroom. Eddie might use the basement for the night because he didn’t trust his perverted mind not to seek you out and look at what little pjs you have chosen to wear. He gave you space out of respect when you arrived, wondering if it was flirting when you called him Mr. Munson.

Suddenly a noise that Eddie could only describe as the doorbell to heaven (or hell with what his mind was thinking) reached the door he had kept open for this very reason.

He kept his tv playing and sneaked off to the top of the stairs, hoping to catch his kid getting you off while you moaned under the covers. The treat he was given was far better, the hand over your tight ass shorts feeling you up as you leaned back and whined all high pitched. Eddie’s cock was so hard at the moment not touching it would be like self-neglect.

He backed up against the wall by the stairs, listening to your moans as he got you off, desperately wishing it was his fingers in your wet heat. He imagined your scrunched up face as you made those stunning noises, starting to stroke himself. A pause occurs, your blissed out voice asking him to eat you out. He bites back a moan at wanting to taste you, wanting to get all up in those juices and to show him how much you turned him on. He leans over the wall into the stair entry, expecting the blanket to be covering you but instead being met with your pussy on full display.

A low guttural moan escapes his throat, fucking into his fist and pretending it was you bent over for him instead, whining the same exact way. He knew you would have a pretty pussy, but this was just un-fucking fair.

You warn Dylan you were about to cum, and that pushes him over his own edge, and he suddenly has a mess he needs to clean up all over his fist. God he wanted you to clean it, to suck it all up. He was making himself hard again and he had to flee to his fucking bedroom to wash up.

Suddenly the creak of the stairs erupts as he is cleaning himself up, and Dylan’s door closes. Oh. They’re…continuing.

Your moans are suddenly loud, and Eddie finds himself hard again as he realizes he’s hearing you being fucked. Oh, he knew you were a fucking dirty slut.

Just fucking knew it. Something that hasn’t happened since he was in his 20s, but he’s ready to jerk himself off within minutes of just cumming. “Yeah, my whore being fucked open, letting everyone hear how good she feels, oh shit.” Eddie mutters to himself, right next to his door.

He ends up finishing at the same time you did, which didn’t take either one of you very long.

-

The next morning you wake next to Dylan sleeping with a big smile on his face. To him, that was the best sex you’ve ever had together. Mixed with your adventure at the beach last week, you guys were doing better than ever.

 To you, it was only amazing because you kept thinking of Eddie fucking you and it did everything for your core. You get up in the tiny pair of pajamas you had packed, something that barely covered your ass and headed downstairs for some breakfast.

As you were leant down to assess the cereals, you heard the stride of someone come in behind you.

Eddie walks in behind you, holding back a swear as he sees your pussy peaking out of your pajama bottoms. A gentleman, and not knowing you fully reciprocated every horny thought, he ignores it and hopes you sit up.

You don’t, leaning even more forward and making a show of wondering what to eat. Eddie inhales, allowing himself to watch you. You turn around to him jerking his head away, and you felt some pride in getting his attention. “Morning.” You greet him, offering a bowl for him.

He rejects it. “Not hungry.”

“Oh.” You pour cereal, and Eddie focuses on not staring at your beaded nipples peaking through the tiny silk top you wore.

“Fuck.” He whispered, the boner growing.

“Something wrong?” You ask him innocently, and knowing this was working to your benefit made you nervous but eager.

“Lots to do today.” Like jerk off another three times.

“Like what?” You asked, taking a spoonful of cereal even though you had no appetite from the butterflies in your stomach.

“Oh not much.” Eddie wonders to you, and by reaching over you to grab the cereal he wonder if he could sneak a smell from your shampoo.

You sit up as he leans away, and you are so close you can see just how gorgeous he is. God, those brown eyes. “Do you have any…one to do?” You ask, glancing back and forth between his pretty lips and his even prettier eyes. You didn’t even know which ones to focus on.

Eddie leans in a bit to you, just ghosting over your lips. “Are you sure…that you want this?”

You nod, your eyes glazing over in want as the arousal in your gut suddenly exploded into a need.

“Cause…cause if we do this there is no going back. If your pussy…” he inhales sharply, taking a breath of your hair. “is as good as I imagine, there’s no way I’m giving you back.”

This sentence turns you into gelatin, and you lean forward to finally kiss him, his lips rough as he seemingly forgets how to act for a moment.

His brain finally catches up and he grabs onto you, inhaling and messy kisses, and grabby hands all at once as he tries to do everything he’s wanted to. Your hands make their way into his hair, and it was as soft as you pictured it. His lips messily kiss down your jaw onto your neck and you let out a whine. He smiles widely at that. “Good. One I made. Needed that.”

“You heard me…yesterday?” You asked, wetter from the idea of it.

“Heard you? Fucking came to it.” He swears, as he continues an assault on your neck. You moan in response, your hips involuntarily grinding up. “Come on, upstairs.”

You almost wanted to get caught by Dylan, but to keep it going longer you follow Eddie giddily upstairs as he trips over himself and you felt like a goddamn teenager. You follow him into his room, and the curtains were blackout curtains, the lights turned off giving the illusion of everything being dark. “Can we turn on the lights?” You ask, delicately. “I wanna see you.”

Eddie turns on his dimmer switch light so it was low, and the look in his eye as he approaches you sat on his bed had a level of lust in them that drove you wild. He leans in to give you a kiss after sitting right by you, and it wasn’t enough touching for you. You crawl forward as you eagerly kissed him back, straddling his lap. “Fuck, sweetheart, you are fucking gorgeous.” He mutters, the silk pajamas you wore bunching up in his hands as he grabbed at it. “The little strap that peaked out of your skirt tied together was just tempting me to unwrap you like a present.” He huffs, still kissing your neck. You find yourself impatient, wanting his lips back on yours.

“Fuck, been thinkin’ about you on my cock ever…” he inhales your perfume with a deep grunting sigh of content. “ever since.”

You mewl to his confessions, and he’s a much better talker than you could’ve imagined. Your hips start to grind on their own accord and with the little fabric they have between your silk shorts and his thin pajama pants you felt his hard cock fairly easily. You let out a high moan of contentment, and Eddie watches as you grind on his cock and get yourself off so easily. “Oh shit, she’s a dirty slut, hey.” Eddie comments leaning back and watching you grind yourself. “Doesn’t even need a cock inside her, will just take anything I give her with a smile on her face.”

“I would—” you gasp, the material scratching your clit in the best way, “I would take any crumbs, fuck.”

You start to moan higher and grind faster, and Eddie wanted to make you cum by his hands or his mouth the first time but you making yourself cum against his pants meant he was now using this as a fucking cum rag to smell you when you weren’t near. “Take off those shorts, doll. Wanna see your pussy.”

“Ok.” They are yanked off without a second thought.

“Oh, good listener. What a good girl.” He comments petting your hair gently as you continued to grind again with your heat now directly against his pj pants, he could feel it against his cock. “Oh, fuck, you are soaked. My fucking horny slut.”

“Horny for you.” You whimper the edge just right there.

“Whoring herself out for the Munsons.” He comments, sort of bitter he had to hear you fuck his son before he could claim you.

“Pictured it was you.” You admit, your voice in a whisper as you confessed but the high you wanted almost there.

“Fuck, did you?” He asks, the idea you only enjoying it so much because you pictured him.

“Mmhmm. Pictured you watching me, too.”

“Fucking little voyeur.” He whispers, and you nodded. He rewarded you by grabbing your hips and rutting against you and hitting your clit even harder and your orgasm snuck up on you, and the extra attention Eddie pays you as he watches it wash through you only helps the high take longer to recover from.

“Oh my god.” You whisper, a last of the intense orgasm still running through you.

“Not done.” Eddie whispers, a big smirk on his face. He lightly pushes you down and grabs your legs and puts them over his shoulder. You watch him carefully, his face looking at your pussy at a way that would usually resolve in embarrassment. Instead, it only turned you on more because it meant he wanted you just as much.

He dives into your pussy with a level of expertise that only came from years of pleasuring women. You don’t know why but you knew he got off to pleasuring others from the moment you saw him and every moan you let out he absorbed it, getting better and better as your verbal ques direct him. The heat in your pussy intensifies as he continues, fucking two of his fingers into you.

You place your hands in his hair, grinding up when the feeling of wanting to be fucked takes over you. “No, patience baby. I need to see what you look like when you squirt.”

“I-I can’t—”

“Every woman can, sweetheart. Just means you’ve had no one show you yet. Feel that?” He asks you, the heat in your pussy expanding as he continued to attack your clit and finger fuck you.

You nod, the feeling in your gut like a tidal wave of pleasure.

“Focus on it.” You do, and as you do you look up at his eyes, already staring into yours as he assesses your reactions. The heat intensifies by a thousand, and the feeling of wanting to…pee…takes over.

“Fuck—” you start to protest.

“Let it happen. Let go. It’ll feel so fucking good…baby let go. Gonna feel so fucking good.” You trust him so you let go and a gush invades your ear as a red-hot pleasure makes home in your pussy. “One more?” Eddie asks you, his thumb now messaging your clit.

You twitch under him, your bud being so sensitive. “Oh fuck, Ed. Too much.”

“No, I think you can cum again. Wanna see that beautiful face all scrunched up. Wanna take a photo.” He holds out his phone casually, and your face heats up. “Not feeling all the sudden shy, are ya? You whored your little pussy for me how is this different?”

“Its…” you manage out, already close again. “Its hot.”

“She gonna cum again, all over my fingers?”

“All over your fingers.”

“You gonna lick em clean?”

“Can we share?”

Eddie groans audibly, titling his head back. “Of course, doll. Of fucking course, now cum all over them, please.”

The third orgasm takes over your body, and it’s so goddamn good you stop responding for a minute which causes Eddie to panic. “Oh shit, you okay?”

Giggles burst out of you, the kind of post orgasm giggles you’ve only read about in spicy novels. You thought they were fake. “Can I suck you off now?”

Eddie’s eyes bulge, and he realizes his hand is still on your pussy. He taps it lightly, causing you to whine. He lifts the finger first, inserting it into your mouth. “Suck this first.” You wrap your tongue around it, keeping eye contact as you taste yourself, and this is the only time it’s ever been truly hot to be able to taste yourself. Other times it was just perplexing.

Eddie takes the other finger when you let go and starts sucking on it, he closes his eye, enjoying the taste of your pussy on his tongue. Eddie crawls onto his bed and you basically pounce him, yanking his pj pants down as fast as they go, wanting to see his cock. His eyes watch you, blown and enwrapped in lust as he watches your eagerness.

As his cock pops out of his pants, an involuntary smile spreads across your face. The head to his cock was so pink, he must’ve been horny. “Oh, pretty cock.” You mutter, and he wasn’t even sure if you were saying to him or just saying it out loud. “Oh my god, look how pink your head is. Mmm..sure seem like you need some attention.”

You take the head of his cock into your mouth, sucking on it alone but getting used to his girth. Holy he was gonna hurt even with how wet you were. You start sucking on it, taking bit by bit more into your mouth each time, eagerly making sloppy spit sounds as you did so. It wasn’t hard to generate the spit you needed, the sight of his dick made your mouth water.

Your head bobbed up and down on it, illicit sounds being drawn out of him, only encouraging you more as the feeling of his rings harsh against your scalp making you wet. You pop off him, spit connected from your mouth to his dick. You lean forward to his treasure trail, licking the hair and biting at it, something you’ve wanted to do since you saw him. You find your way back down and passed his cock and he’s about to ask when take one of his balls into your mouth, sucking loudly.

“Oh fuck, do you know how to use that pretty little mouth. Holy shit.” You roam over it with your tongue, sucking it in and out repeatedly. Then you move on to the next one, giving it its own show as well. Your mouth moves back to suck on his cock but he tugs on your hair to bring him up to you.

“Want you to face fuck me.” You say to him, still not done sucking on his cock.

“Nother time. Lemme fuck you.” He mutters, tugging on the shirt you still wore. You crawl back up to straddle him, nothing between his cock and your pussy now, but he places his cock on it so the shaft slides in-between your folds, teasing you, and causing you to whine. “Oh shit.” He works on the buttons holding your silky pink shirt, the skilled hands working fast through each one. As each one reveals another inch of skin, he feels more intoxicated by you, especially how you’re begging him to put his cock in. Your tits fall out of the shirt, and he rips the back off you, and you let it fall to the floor. You grab onto his band shirt, attempting to move it off him. You barely do it, the feeling of his cock so close inside you causing your focus to fall apart in seconds. He laughs, nearly cruel, yanking the shirt off, revealing more tattoos you’ve never seen. Your hands flutter to his chest, moving to each tattoo and touching every inch you can.

Your mission to focus and analyze each tattoo is interrupted by him maneuvering you onto your back. You lay there, open and ready for him. “Holy shit, fucking smoking hot.” He mutters, like he couldn’t believe you were here with him.

It was you who was the lucky one, he was crazy.

“You’re hotter.” You mutter, as he starts to align his cock with your entrance. “Thought of you last night, made myself cum so hard.”

“Oh fuck. What was I doing?” He asks, still teasing you with it.

“Just watching me finger myself. Talking me through it. Calling me a whore.” He groans, tapping his cock on it. “Please, Ed need your cock.”

“Beg for it, you fucking slut.” He whispers, something taking over him.

“Please, daddy. Want your cock. Want you to fuck me like a ragdoll. Please, pretty please fuck me until I’m a puddle. I just want your cock in me, so fucking bad.”

“Gonna be a good slut for me?”

“Yes..I will I promise.”

He chuckles darkly and finally…finally moves into you. Your eyes cross and a moan so erotic leaves your body and you had barely a single ounce of control over that left your mouth at that point.

Eddie puts his head into your neck, feeling your head tighten around him in pleasure as you got used to his girth and length.

“Move…please?”

“Thought you were gonna take the crumbs I gave you, slut.” He mutters.

“Fuck. Sorry.”

He smiles and your fingers fidgeting at your sides were a dead giveaway you were just needy for him to move. It made him feel fucking powerful just his cock could make you feel like this. He starts rocking, slowly and you whine from this resolve alone. “Oh what a fucking whore, just needed a good fucking.” He mutters into your ear, his hand finding its way to your neck. “Putting her pussy on display for me, showing she just needed someone to know how to fuck her.”

You say nothing in response, and his hips are starting to rock against yours harder. Your eyes reach the back of your head as you lose air, but you revel in the feeling of nearly passing out as he takes his hand off. “Holy shit, you really are just a whore.”

You nod, eyes half lidded as you looked up at his pussy drunk eyes. “Little…cockdrunk…slut…” he inhales sharply and a wad of spit hits your face and you find yourself opening your mouth for more. “Fuck—” his hips stutter at the sight of your smile when his saliva hits your mouth. He spits right into it as you open for more and you act like it’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted, cause it was.

Your tongue pokes out, gasping in more need. His hips are against yours so harshly you would’ve been afraid of bruising if it didn’t fucking turn you on so bad.

“Fucking slut, you want me to cum in you? Wanna be filled with my fucking cum?” You nod, too cocked out to speak, you’ve never felt this good from penetration alone before. “Cum with me, doll.” He mutters using his two fingers against your clit as he leans in to kiss you. Within moments you flutter around him, moaning into his mouth and he lets go of your kiss, stuttering his hips and letting out a loud moan as you feel him fill you up.

His body weight collapses ontop of you, and his hands are suddenly gentle as they sweep at your bangs sticking to your sweaty forehead. “Fuck.” He mutters, giving you a dazed-out look of pure adoration. “That was much better than anything I came up with.”

You nod in agreement, words still not coming to your mouth.

“You were such a good girl, yeah?” You smile, a heat coming up to your cheeks. “You listened to me so well. C’mere.” He wraps your lips in a kiss, his cock still in you, still hard and keeping all his cum in you.

“C-can we stay like this?” You ask timidly, not wanting his cock to leave yet.

“Ooh, baby wants to cock-warm? Sure. Wanna turn on a movie until 9, when Dylan usually wakes?” Eddie asks, already leaning towards the channel changer on his beside table.

Having to tell Dylan it was pretty much over the moment Eddie kissed you hadn’t even crossed your mind, and it would eventually twenty minutes into the movie when you got back to earth. Eddie knew the realization would kick in eventually so he let you watch a movie of your choice, sitting up on his bed with you straddled on his lap after a bit of maneuvering so you could both see the movie on his screen adjacent to his bed.

Eventually, Dylan was gonna wake.

Eventually, a storm would hit.

But for now, Eddie stayed inside you to pretend like it wasn’t over yet.

-

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Taglist: @pinkcowracing @yourthebrokengirl @skrzydlak @thirddeadlysin @sammararaven @bebe07011 @prettylovley @josephquinncore @forget-you-morelike-fuck-you

[jsprnt]

Americano PT. 15 | Jude Bellingham x Reader

What happens if two individuals who absolutely despise each other are forced to interact after unforeseen events occur?

A/N: hihi, just wanted to thank you all for the love for the 2 most recent chapters <33 I’m loving all messages and comments!! 💖 please enjoy this chapter and stay tuned for the last chapter tomorrow (around 20:30 CEST)🥹🤍

W/C: 3.385

part fourteen

"You know that you're allowed to be upset, right, Jude?" She asks, looking down at the tired-looking boy.

"I know, but it's disappointing.." Jude murmurs back, moving his head to look up at her. His head on her lap, as her hands delicately play with the soft, just-washed curls on his head.

It's a soothing and intimate touch, something they'd both discovered to create a calm and relaxing atmosphere.

"You can be disappointed. It's difficult feeling like you’re on top of the world one day, and the next you feel like shit."

y/n puffs out a breath, trying to reassure his thoughts and feelings with logical and rational reasoning.

Real Madrid had won the Super Cup final against their derby rivals Atletico Madrid only a week ago in Riyadh. Though, last night's loss against the exact same opponents for the Copa del Rey hadn't exactly gone the same way.

With the extra time and many yellow cards later, they eventually lost with two goals made by Atletico, throwing Real Madrid out of reach of the win in a very dramatic fashion.

It was a whirlwind of a week for Jude, and to him- all he needed was someone to help him sort his thoughts out.

"You can't change anything about the past, not even when you fret and ponder about it for years. You can only look forward and change what you think you can, think winning the league or even the Champions League, Jude…” She says, leaning back against the couch, warm fingertips hovering above his hairline.

"You sound like a motivational speaker.." He voices, chuckling while watching her recline on the couch.

"Well, what I'm saying is true. Like- when I thought you moving in would be the end of my life- it turned into- this.."

She points at him and back to herself, making a dramatic gesture.

"End of your life? That's harsh." He frowns, grasping her hand to prevent her from poking his eyes out.

"Well, then let's not remind you of the times I've wanted to punch you right across the face, wanting to wipe that smirk off your lips and-"

Her voice is cut off by his hand, it clamped over her mouth as only muffled noises escape from her lips.

"Should I feel threatened?" He questions, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows, only to groan as she pokes her tongue through her lips. He removes his hand, wiping his wet hand on his trousers as he sits up from his position.

"No, I'm sure you also had hateful thoughts about me. I definitely cannot blame you.." She trails off, trying to recall anything pertaining to the topic.

"You were pretty annoying." He states, clicking his tongue. Jude fixes his position, making sure he's sitting comfortably.

"Annoying?"

She had expected the description and would definitely understand why, but why did it hurt a little bit?

Noticing the change of expression on her face, Jude grabs onto her hand, pressing a soft, tender kiss on her knuckles.

"-but in a good way!" He adds quickly, eyes raised in panic.

Of course, the words she'd just uttered were way harsher in comparison to his, though it being said explicitly and clearly for the first time since they'd met, it stung like a bitch- to y/n, at least.

"You would always say or do something that riled me up so badly. I remember when you first started interviewing me- and you'd switch from snarky comments off camera to acting like the sweetest, most kind person to me. I thought; 'Oh? So, this is how two-faced she can be?'."

"But, you'd also have moments where you'd confuse me so much." Jude looks up, leaning in to press multiple, back-to-back kisses on her temple.

"When?" She asks, eyes fluttering as she soaks up the loving, sweet gesture.

"Remember that night in- Naples? When you panicked about someone breaking into your hotel room?" Jude recalls, absentmindedly pulling her closer into his side, on the couch.

"Mhm, I remember- I was so embarrassed about it.. I thought I'd have to book it out of your room immediately before you'd start making fun of me.."

"I was not going to make fun of you. That's what you thought of me?"

"I didn't know! We were bickering like- every damn second up until that point."

"No, I was genuinely surprised at first, but when you left, I couldn't even sleep properly, and I didn’t even know why..”

"Well, what's the annoying part?"

She asks, watching Jude's fingers get entangled with hers, making her grin a little.

"You were annoying in a way- which I couldn't shake my thoughts away from you if something had happened that specific day back then. I couldn't put it into words, tried to rack my brain so many times, over and over.."

"You had this long-lasting presence, and the way you spoke and acted practically got ingrained into my memory for me to repeat every night. This definitely got worse when I moved in here.."

Making eye contact again, she nods in understanding, grasping the hem of his shirt to play with.

"You thought of me, every night?" She grins, smug look replacing her once confused and sad expression.

"I knew this would enlarge your ego.." Jude chuckles, placing another kiss on her cheekbone, before he's interrupted by a text message popping up on his phone.

"Who is it?" y/n asks, glancing up when Jude shows her the screen.

"It's my mum.." He simply says, eyes skimming over the lengthy message. After a minute of silence, he looks back at his curious girlfriend.

"She's just trying to comfort me like you have been. Asks if she can come over for tea.." He informs, hand reaching to wipe away a single fallen lash stuck on her cheek.

"Oh, that's sweet. Of course she can-.." y/n trails off, eyes darting away from the iPhone and onto her lap. Fingers starting to fidget with the loose threads on her used sweatpants.

Getting a comforting, reassuring text message from your own mother..

Something the young girl could not even dream of. Let alone speak to her own mother ever again, at least in this lifetime.

The thought makes her smile uncomfortably, though there's absolutely no positive emotion behind it, skin around her eyes crinkling in fake happiness.

"y/n?" Jude whispers, noticing the change in her demeanor and the tensing of her shoulders.

"Hm?" She hums back, her eyes darting up and locking with his brown ones.

"You okay?"

Jude is in love, not stupid.

Seeing his girlfriend's entire mood change, just at the mention of his mother isn't something he wants to just skim over.

There was absolutely nothing going on between her and his mother. In fact, after his parents had been informed of their oldest son's affection for her, they welcomed her into the family within a heartbeat.

It wasn't either of the two who told them, instead- y/n's understandably protective father had told them. This came after he'd talked to Jude privately, grilling him with questions only a father would make up- and of course the intentions question was asked, like they weren't just young people trying to figure out their lives.

In reality, her father had long approved of the idea of the two young adults having a relationship. The times he was home and present with them, he'd slowly noticed the way they had warmed up to each other.

Not to forget, months ago, his daughter had burst into his office- asking for him to handle something for her. Puzzled at his own daughter needing legal help for 'online defamation, because they think I’m dating that douche', he'd dropped everything to listen to her- only to end up laughing at the end of her dramatic and insulting (towards Jude, of course) speech.

It wasn't difficult, as an experienced adult, to guess where the young adults' relationship would go from there.

"y/n.." Jude calls out again, placing a hand on her shoulder, shaking slightly to snap her out of her thoughts when she doesn't reply.

"I'm just thinking.." She finally says, wanting to lie- but realizing that he is, in fact, her boyfriend now- it might be better in the long run, to be honest.

"About what?" His eyes flicker up, a warm hand pulling her in closer. Realizing the comfort or warmth she might need to open up and speak.

"I just feel sad.." The confession is quiet, looking down, she grasps onto the hem of her sweater. Trying to keep her emotions at bay, because this conversation was about comforting him, and not about trauma dumping on the already upset boy, she thought.

Jude blinks, looking over his girlfriend's defeated figure. The gears in his head twist and turn, trying to decipher what she meant with her words.

"Do you want to tell me why?" He asks, trailing a hand up, pinching her chin with his pointer finger and thumb, raising her head to make eye contact.

Her eyes glimmer with emotion when they lock with his chocolate brown ones, the corners of her mouth twitching as she tries to contain the tremble of her lips.

Though, it's insanely difficult, especially when multiple emotions are swirling around her mind, and the suppressing of the tears causes a sharp pain to pass through her temples.

She grunts softly, not being able to hold back anymore, the pressure in her head worsening.

Tears pool against her waterline, and she closes her eyes. Allowing a soft whimper to escape her lips, tension dropping from her shoulders, as y/n stops suppressing her emotions.

Jude's eyes widen, his breath hitching in surprise as he watches his new love practically crumble in front of him.

"Oh, baby.." Jude coos breathily, the soft, foreign term of endearment falling from his plump lips.

He moves his hands immediately, wrapping his arms around her waist, and pulling her onto his lap.

y/n instantly presses her face against his shoulder, grasping onto the fabric of his shirt. Her tears darken the blue shirt, as Jude's hand rubs against her back in a tender manner.

"You're okay, honey.." He whispers, pressing multiple kisses along her temple and cheek, rubbing soft, soothing circles on her back.

"Why don't you tell me what's wrong, hm?" He soothes, his voice deeper than usual, offering sweet and reassuring words to the crying girl.

"I- don't even remember how her voice sounded or what her personality was like.." I whisper, raising my palms to harshly wipe my annoying tears away. They just kept pouring out of my eyes like the damn Niagara Falls..

"Look at me, love.." Jude whispers tenderly, grabbing my wrist to remove my hands from my face. I can't help but feel tingles down my spine at the word he refers to me with.

The Brum accent combined with his deep, raspy evening voice- melting my heart instantly. It distracts me from my breakdown for a single moment, and I shift my eyes back to his, just like he asks me to.

"Take a deep breath for me, yeah?" He says, pressing a kiss on the back of my hand.

I nod at his words, taking a single, deep breath, before releasing when he tells me to..

"Good- you're so good for me, baby.." He gives me a small, satisfied smile, kissing my cheek again. He moves his hands, pulling my head back onto his chest, running his hand down my back.

"This okay?" He asks, making me nod. I sigh again, nuzzling my face against his hard chest.

I had just spilled my entire heart out to the boy whom I had sworn to hate for the rest of my life, only a few weeks ago.

The topic wasn't something I had openly talked about since I was a teenager in my psychologist's office back in London. It hurt way too much to talk about with friends, and it felt like opening up a bigger wound when speaking to my own family about it.

I mean, it couldn't ever get easy- talking about losing your blood and flesh, let alone your own mother. In my case, the person who had gone through hours of labor and delivery- creating me from her own nutrients and energy.

There was absolutely no way I’d ever comfortably tell someone that my mother had passed away in a violent car crash.

An accident that had occurred only because little five-year-old me wanted my mom at my graduation to primary school.

I had gone through years and years of therapy, though, of course, to me nothing could actually take away the wound and grief it had caused a young me.

I couldn't sleep some nights, mind trying to remember anything about my mom. Since I had lost her so young, I could only recall her face from old photographs and home videos taken by my dad.

"Yeah.." I mutter, eyes closing as I try to ground myself. Taking in the beating of Jude's heart against my ear and his musky cologne.

"Need anything?"

"No, just you.."

I feel his chest vibrating as he chuckles, the sound reaching my ears and filling me with a warm and fuzzy feeling.

"I'm here, love. Take your time, and we'll wash up before my mum comes over.." I feel his hand against my back, caressing from my nape all the way to the small of my back.

I hum in understanding, eyes fluttering shut as I try to calm down, taking my surroundings in.

"Okay.."

'Meet me in the lobby'

'Security won't stop you'

'We have free time for a couple hours'

I stare at the incoming text messages, my eyes darting to the sender. Only to read Jude's contact name.

I sit up from my bed, slipping on the hotel slippers immediately, and walk over to the bathroom. Trying to fix my appearance before I realize I don't know what I'm getting ready for.

I snatch my phone from the bathroom sink, sending a quick message back to Jude. I wait for a couple seconds, busy with applying mascara, until I hear a notification sound.

'For some dessert, love'

'Dress casual, I'm in sweats and a jacket'

'I don't want to look like a fool next to you'

I chuckle at the reply, nodding as if he can see me before sending a quick message back.

I eventually make my way down to the lobby, looking around and trying to be as discreet as possible. Hoping other staff members and players didn't think of going down as well.

So far, the only people who had figured us out were Luis and Lina. I mean, I couldn't exactly keep it that much of a secret after they'd sneaked a glance at my home screen when I had left to print something.

They had been nosy after seeing someone text me, and when they read that it was Jude- I could've sworn they died and came back to life in a span of two minutes.

I look around quickly when I step out of the elevator, finally catching a familiar black puffer jacket. I grin to myself, making a beeline towards him, and whispering a small 'boo!' when I touch his shoulder from behind.

"Hey! Shhh.." His eyes enlarge comically, and I feel him grab onto my hands almost instantly.

"I'm quiet.." I whisper, giving him a toothy smile as he drags me out of the hotel lobby, out onto the streets of Valencia.

I allow Jude to walk in front of me, our hands intertwined, as he suddenly stops in a less busy area of the street.

I raise my brows as he turns around, watching a smile form on his handsome face.

"Hi?" I begin, pulling a confused face.

"Hi.." He replies, chuckling softly, before he pulls me into a warm embrace. His breath hitting my neck as he plants a kiss on my lips and cheek.

"I missed you." Jude says, pulling back to look at me, while his arms encircle my waist, keeping me warm.

"Well, you could have seen me a couple hours ago, after the match- but you stormed into the changing room after you got that red card.."

I sigh, recalling the absolute shitshow of a match against Valencia a couple hours ago. The referee couldn't do his fucking job, there were multiple VAR checks, and the blowing of the final whistle- resulted in the disallowance of the winning goal, scored by Jude. Eventually, he got red-carded for dissent.

Nothing surprising, actually..

I watch a guilty expression form on his face, forehead wrinkles showing as he frowns at me.

"Well, I'm sorry about that- did I scare you?"

"No? Why would it scare me? I wanted to punch that referee too.." I make multiple punching movements, hitting Jude on his chest once.

"Hey, hey- don't get violent, little Miss, you can't use physical violence here.."

I chuckle at his change of voice, dropping my hands to my sides, and grabbing his hand.

"Sorry, sir. Any reason you've called me down here?" I tease, watching him smile at me, before he squeezes my hand affectionately.

"Let's get some ice cream. I saw a decent looking place on Google Maps.."

"Oh, what flavors do they have?" I ask, mouth watering at the thought of having good-quality ice cream.

For me, it didn't matter the weather. Ice cream could be consumed any time of year, as long as I craved it.

Jude tugs at my hand, indicating he wants us to start walking to the ice parlor he'd seen. I follow him mindlessly, paying more attention to his words than to where we're going.

"Umh, they have 'chocolate' and 'fresa' and, of course, 'vainilla'.."

I laugh at his sudden use of Spanish, quirking my brow up as he starts naming the basic ice cream flavors one by one.

"Are you just trying to show off how much you've improved your Spanish skills?" A huge smile tugs at my lips, my eyes roaming over his proud, cocky expression.

"No, just slipped out of my mouth. I must be getting the hang of it.."

"Sure, Mister. Now give me the directions in Spanish.."

I tease, trying to challenge him, but chuckle when he shakes his head violently.

"It's just straight this way.."

I scoff, rolling my eyes at his bad excuse.

Watching a small smile form on his lips.

"Sure, let's just go straight ahead then.."

The couple’s very spontaneous ice cream date is ended by the both of them chugging a bottle of water. The once very craved cold and creamy dessert now regretted by how big and sweet their portions were.

"That's a cute bicycle.." y/n mutters, not paying attention to where she's walking. Instead, Jude is holding her hand and looking out while they walk back to their hotel.

"Do you know how to ride a bicycle?" She asks Jude, looking up at the focused boy, busy navigating their way back.

"Of course I can. My dad taught me before I showed interest in football.."

"Mhm, that must've been fun.." She mumbles, fixing her jacket.

While the couple is intrigued by the small, new facts they were learning about each other, they don't notice the very few people walking past them in the streets.

Most of the pedestrians walk in a hurry, minding their own business, on their phone, or listening to music- trying to get home before it gets too dark outside.

Though, sadly, what they also don't notice is, the flash of a camera- directed right at them. Not knowing the predicament that would follow if they were sold off and posted on the internet.

The couple is happy in their own bubble, their hands warm from holding hands, unlike their noses, which froze up in the cold wind.

Just like other pedestrians trying to get back to their hotel, wanting to go unnoticed and undisturbed.

[mncxbe]

For 8 SFW,can it be Chuuya, Akutagawa, Fydor, and anyone else you want to add?👀

Only if you want to do this though!!

i did Chuuya and Aku🥰 i love these little gremlins. hope you like it♡

8– accidentally walking in on them while they're changing

ღೀ๋࣭ ⭑Chuu chuu

You finally got home around 8 p.m. Work was exhausting and you just couldn't wait to curl up in bed next to your boyfriend and watch a movie with him. Date nights were rare occasions since you were both busy people, so you tried to make the most out of the little free time you had.

When you got in front of the bedroom door you found it slightly open. Through the crack, you could see Chuuya taking off his tie and shit, slowly undoing the buttons with a deft hand as he held his phone in the other.

"Yes, boss, the mission went well. I'll hand in the report by tomorrow at noon." he spoke in a level voice as he put on a comfy t-shirt and took a seat on the edge of the bed.

You knew you shouldn't spy on him like this, especially when he had a work call, but you just couldn't help yourself. There was something so beautiful about watching Chuuya do things, even if it meant simply changing his clothes, because you knew you were the only one who got to see him like this. In the comfort of your home, the feared mafia executive turned into an ordinary man, your man.

Once he hung up the phone you slipped inside the room, the creaking sound of the door sliding open alerting your boyfriend. He turned to face you with a wide smile on his face. "Hey, princess. Good to have you home. How was your day?"

He opened his arms, welcoming you in his embrace and you basically melted against his chest. Running your hands through his ginger locks, you pressed a chaste kiss to the crown of his head "It was good, but I missed you. Couldn't wait for tonight."

"That's good to know, love. I'll pick a movie for us while you change, ok? Oh and I also ordered us some Chinese food. Hope you're hungry."

Yea, you were hungry– starved even, but you didn't want to let go of him just yet. So when Chuuya's hands settled on your hips to guide you away from him you hugged him even tighter, cooing "Just one more minute Chuu. I really like this...."

The redhead chuckled at your reaction, snaking his arms back around your hips "As you wish, my love."

ღೀ๋࣭ ⭑Aku

Akutagawa has always been quite peculiar when it came to being naked around you, even months after you got together. That was part of the reason why your relationship lacked physical intimacy. Nevertheless, you understood his hesitance and respected his space.

At least until you accidentally walked in on him changing. You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn't hear your boyfriend moving around in his bedroom.

Akutagawa was standing shirtless in the middle of the room, his pants lowered to the middle of his thighs. When he noticed your presence, a frown etched itself on his features. "Y/N for god's sake can't you knock?" sneered the man, struggling to pull up his slacks.

Something about the way he fumbled with his clothes was utterly adorable. He looked... surprised, shy? Your eyes trailed along his figure: narrow shoulders and hips, pale skin littered with bruises and cuts from his battles. But you could clearly make out his lean muscles, flexing under his skin.

Akutagawa's initial annoyance melted away the moment he saw the adoring expression on your face. You looked at him like he was the most beautiful person on earth, your gaze so loving and gentle. A blush crept on his cheeks as he covered his face with the back of his hands, clearing his throat. "Why are you looking at me like that?" he asked in his gruff voice and you smiled bashfully.

"You look really handsome" you admitted and he sighed contently. "Then come here, babe. I'll show you some more"

[invisible-lint]

Fixing Spring: Chapter 1

Tamlin x Reader

Summary: You had left Spring when it fell. Now you're back to kick a certain High Lord's butt into doing something about it

Warnings: none

Word Count: 1k

You walk through the Spring orchard, looking for Tamlin. You had left when Spring fell, managing to find your brother Lucien in Velaris and taking refuge there. But Velaris was never going to be your home. Perhaps because after so many years spent in eternal spring, winter was miserable. Or perhaps you had grown tired of listening to the way they spoke about your friend, despite having the same flaws they criticized.  So you left to head home, or the closest thing you have to one at the very least.

You see him up ahead, in beast form and roll your eyes. You had noticed him before he noticed you, either he’s given up, or he’s gotten sloppy. You pick up a fallen apple, chucking it at Tamlin, ignoring his growl. "Do you intend to roam as a beast feeling sorry for yourself forever, or do you intend to do something about it? So Feyre left you, all but set Spring on fire. Wallowing isn't going to do anything to fix it." 

"Is this supposed to make me feel better?" 

You chuck another apple at him, this time he dodges it and you grin. "No, I'm telling you you need to get your shit together and stop being a baby. You're High Lord. Fucking act like it." 

"But Feyre-"

"Oh cut the shit. Feyre may have done some damage, but you gave up and that's why things are the way they are now." He just stares at you, not used to anyone talking to him that way, not even you. But you had bitten your tongue for years and you were done holding back. 

"So are you going to do something about it?"

"I'm not sure where to start..."

"Well I think shifting back to a form with two legs would be a good start. And a bath. You smell like a wild animal." He shifts, still giving you an incredulous look.

"Good. What condition is the manor in?" You start walking in that direction. He grimaces, but follows. "That bad? Well then, I suppose that's the next step, after a bath. We'll need a room for each of us, the study, kitchen and dining room. The rest of it can wait until later."

"We'll?" 

You roll your eyes at him. "Clearly you can't be left to your own devices. So yes, I'm staying and helping."

"Why?" 

"No clue. It's completely against my better judgment, believe me. Maybe it's because the Night Court is pissing me off and I know this is the one place they wouldn't look for me. Maybe it's because Spring is the only thing standing between the humans and the rest of Prythian and you refuse to get your shit together. Or because I feel drawn back here for some reason." You shrug. 

"The Night Court is pissing you off?" 

"I don't want to talk about it. If I did, I would have stayed in Night and dealt with it." He raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t press. 

Not long after, the manor comes into sight. "Cauldron boil me, Tamlin. You sure did a number on this place. We have our work cut out for us." 

You get to work, and between the magic you both posses, you manage to get two bedrooms and the kitchen clean enough by the evening time. 

"Luckily, I had the foresight to bring food with me when I left. It'll be enough for a few days, but we shouldn't rely on it for that long."

"I can go hunting tomorrow." 

"Good. I can forage. Until this place is able to house a staff, we take turns cooking." He nods, uncertain why he keeps letting you tell him what to do. For some reason, he doesn't mind it, almost enjoys it, actually. You hand him a plate of bread, cheese and dried meat for dinner. "We'll have to chop wood too. There isn't any to build a fire with." 

"You'll want extra blankets tonight then." 

"I think I'll be fine. Can't be worse than the Illyrian Mountains." You wrinkle your nose at the memory of how cold that had been.

"No, I suppose it can't." 

The two of you eat in silence for a few minutes until you notice him staring at you.

"What?"

"You have cobwebs in your hair." 

"Seems like I'll need a bath too then. Please tell me the hot water comes from magic and not fire." He laughs, and you're surprised at how much you had missed the sound. 

"You're in luck, it comes from magic."

"Thank the Mother. Cold baths might have been the thing that made me leave." Tamlin laughs again, but something in his gut twists at the thought of you leaving. He brushes it off as not wanting to be alone again. 

"We should get some rest. We have some long days ahead of us."

“That we do. I’m going to teach you how to properly apologize.”

“I know how to apologize.”

“Really? Do you think there’s anything you might need to say to me then?”

“I’m sorry?”

You close your eyes for a moment, begging the Mother to grant you the patience you need. “Are you asking or telling me?”

He clenches his fists, clearly annoyed. “Telling. I’m sorry.”

“Mhm. And what are you sorry for?”

“Being a prick?”

 You snort out a laugh. “This is why I’m teaching you how to apologize properly.”

He grumbles, but doesn’t argue, too busy trying not to smile at your laughter. He hadn’t realized how much he had missed that sound, missed you. Something stirs in his chest at the realization, but he ignores it. You had already left him once. Eventually he’d do something or say something and you’d leave him again. He was destined to be alone, hells, after all he’d done, he probably deserved it.

You watch him think, wonder where his mind is going. If you were going to fix Spring, you would have to fix Tamlin. You certainly have your work cut out for you.

A/N: Requests are open so feel free to send them in!

divider by @tsunami-of-tears

[24hlevi]

— lost in the echo

cate dunlap (gen v) x gn!reader

genre: smut

summary: sometimes the thoughts cate is constantly hearing gets overwhelming. she comes to confide in you after luke dies, and things take a turn

warnings: language, nsfw, fingering, marking, dom!reader

wc: 2.3 k

this is for my cate apologists...i am on her side til the day i die sue me

it was roughly three in the morning when you heard knocking on your door. you slowly sat up and rubbed your eyes, sighing when you saw the time before getting up and making your way to the door. when you opened the door, you were met with cate standing there.

“cate? is everything okay?” you immediately asked once seeing her.

all she did was shake her head in response, staying quiet for a moment before quietly speaking. “can i come in?”

“yeah, yeah, of course,” you nodded quickly, opening the door more for her to walk inside.

you closed the door behind her, watching as she looked around your room before her eyes landed on you again. “you can sit down,” you said, gesturing to your bed.

cate nodded, sitting down on your bed and looking down at her hands that you noticed weren't gloved. she looked exhausted, and you can understand why seeing as her boyfriend just died. you were unsure about what to do. for one, this was the first time she even set foot in your dorm. two, she had hardly talked to you after what happened with luke, instead giving glances that you couldn't pinpoint the reason why. so, you sat down next to her on your bed, looking at her.

“are you okay?” you asked her.

“no,” cate shook her head. “i didn't know who else to go to. it's just…everything is going to shit. luke is gone, the rankings are all over the place. i feel like i’m going crazy,” her voice was shaky as she spoke, still staring at her hands. “all i hear is everyone thinking about what happened. i can't stand it anymore.”

“i know how hard it must be. i know you and luke were close, and hearing everyone think about it is probably really difficult. but, even though we haven't talked much since it happened, i’m still your number two supporter. you don't have to worry about me going anywhere, at least,” you told her.

she finally looked at you now, and the tears in her eyes were enough for you to wrap your arms around her and hug her, pulling her closer to you. you felt her body tense up at the sudden action before relaxing after a few seconds, and her face was in the crook of your neck, her warm breath tickling your skin lightly.

“promise me you won't leave,” she whispered into your neck.

“i promise,” you responded immediately. “i’m not leaving anytime soon. there's nothing you could do that would make me leave.”

when she pulled away, she stared at you for a minute. you couldn't tell what she was thinking by the look on her face, but you did the second she started leaning closer towards you. she hesitated once her lips were just hardly an inch from yours, and you didn't know what you were thinking, or maybe you weren't thinking at all when you pressed your lips against hers. but, it felt good. it shouldn't, but it did.

cate’s hands gripped the hem of your shirt tightly, bunching up the fabric in her hands as she kissed back. the second you pulled away she was kissing you again, almost as if she was worried you would disappear if she wasn't touching you in some sort of way.

“cate,” you said between kisses. “cate, we shouldn't-” you pulled away again and held her face in your hands. “we shouldn't be doing this.” you finally got out, panting slightly.

“please,” she whispered, looking up at you with pleading eyes.

“you're gonna regret this tomorrow,” you tried reasoning with her. you weren't sure what to do at this point. there was so many thoughts running through your mind and you could hardly focus on the current moment. however, the look in her eyes was making it difficult to not do what you’ve been wanting to do for years.

“i won't,” cate shook her head. “y/n, please,” she practically begged. “this won't change anything, i promise.”

that was the problem. it wasn't going to change anything between you two. you were split between two decisions. you knew you shouldn't, due to the circumstances and how she was feeling. but you wanted to so badly at the same time. you’d had a crush on cate since the day you first stepped foot onto the campus, but luke won. so you didn't bother putting up a fight. you knew this was only happening because luke was gone, and you also knew you shouldn't take advantage of the situation.

fuck it, you wanted this. even if it was only for one night.

“okay,” you eventually agreed, nodding your head.

immediately after you spoke, cate kissed you again. she moved so that she was now straddling your lap, her hands in your hair as she started to grind against you. pulling out of the kiss, you began to suck and bite on her neck, your hands settled on her hips moving her back and forth.

“fuck,” she sighed out, tilting her head to the side for you to continue peppering her neck in kisses and bites.

your nails were digging into her skin as she rocked her body against yours, and you bit down on her neck harder just to get her to make more pretty sounds. she pulled on your hair and let out a low whine, grinding against you with more desperation as little whimpers escaped her throat.

finally parting from her neck, you looked at her and started to drag one of your hands down into the shorts she was wearing, stopping when you came in contact with the wet patch on her panties. you watched her eyes close in pleasure when you began to rub her clit through the fabric, a moan coming from her in the process.

“you're so wet, baby. is this all for me?” you asked with a teasing voice, not stopping your movements.

“mhm,” cate whimpered with a nod.

using your free hand, you grabbed her face and made her look at you. “use your words. you can do that, can't you?” you told her.

“yes,” she replied, nodding again. her hips rocked against your hand, and her grip tightened on your hair. “y/n, please.”

“please what?” you stopped your hand as you spoke, watching her whine and try to roll her hips against you.

cate looked down at you with eyes filled with lust, your hold on her face forcing her to keep her gaze on you. she shifted against you, pressing her chest close enough to yours that your bodies were completely touching. “fuck me, please,” she spoke just barely above a whisper.

“good girl,” you smiled, patting her cheek with your hand.

cate’s face turned red at your words and let out a soft yelp when you suddenly picked her up to lay her down on the bed, her eyes peering up at you as you now hovered over her.

“you liked me saying that, didn't you?” you chuckled lightly upon seeing her reddened face. “i’ll call you that more if you keep making those pretty sounds.” you said, dipping your hand down her shorts again. “i’m sure you’d like that, wouldn't you?” you asked with a teasing smile.

she didn't respond to you, instead just nodding her head before letting out a loud moan when you pushed one of your fingers inside her. she tugged on your hair as her back arched and her eyes closed. you leaned down to leave more kisses and bites along her neck, starting to thrust your finger in and out of her, smiling into her neck at the moans and whines that echoed in the otherwise quiet room. you bit down and sucked on her neck as you slipped in another finger, relishing in the sounds she was making.

“you're so pretty like this,” you mumbled against her skin, picking up the pace of your fingers.

“fuck,” cate whimpered quietly. her hips rocked against your hand trying to get more friction, her hands moving from your hair to claw at your back. “don-don’t stop, please- fuck.”

pulling back from her neck which was now covered in marks on both sides, you let out a quiet hiss when you felt her nails drag along your back, cursing under your breath. “open your eyes, princess. i wanna see how your eyes roll back when i make you cum,” you tell her.

cate’s face got even redder at the petname, a whine leaving her mouth and she opened her eyes to look up at you. “y/n please,” she whined. “t-tell me you-” she was cut off by a moan from her when you curled your fingers.

“tell you what, baby?” you responded with a sly smile on your face. you could feel her walls tightening around your fingers, and you knew she was going to cum soon.

cate struggled to get the words out, both from the pleasure she was feeling and from the fear inside of her at how you would react. “tell m-me yo-you love me,” she whispered to you.

you almost stopped once you heard what she said. almost. you quickly got over the shock and smiled genuinely at her. “i love you,” you told her. “i love you so fucking much. from the day i first saw you i loved you. i’ve always loved you. i’ll never stop loving you.”

your words must've sent something through her, because soon enough after a few more thrusts of your fingers, cate’s eyes rolled back as she released a borderline pornagraphic moan with her nails digging into your skin through your shirt. you cursed at the feeling, knowing there would surely be marks on your back that were going to sting during the day.

you slowly eased your fingers out of her, licking them clean and watched her come down from her high. “are you okay?” you asked softly.

“mhm,” cate nodded, her arms still around you. “can i stay here until morning?” she mumbled.

“yeah, of course,” you answered. you gently moved some of her hair from her face, kissing her forehead before laying down next to her.

cate kept her arms around you as she laid beside you, curling into your side and resting her face in the crook of your neck. you glanced down at her and a small smile formed on your face. at least for the night you could enjoy the feeling of her presence next to you. even if it was short lived.

“i love you, y/n,” she whispered quietly.

you thought you were going crazy for a split second but immediately responded. “i love you too, cate.”

not even five minutes later you could hear her breathing change and she was asleep. a quiet sigh escaped your mouth as you stared up at the ceiling. you were thinking about how the morning was going to go. would you wake up and she would be gone like nothing happened? or maybe she would hate you from now on once realizing what happened?

you were definitely surprised when neither of those happened. waking up far past than when you were supposed to due to not setting your alarm for the morning, you turned and rolled over on your side and opened your eyes just for them to widen slightly a second later as you froze.

“you're finally awake?”

you stared at her in silence for a moment, both shocked and confused. “you're still here?” you couldn't help but ask.

“wow, you sound surprised,” cate replied, looking down at you from her sitting position.

“well, i mean, kind of,” you said while sitting up. “i thought you would leave if you want me to be honest.”

cate hummed and shifted so she was facing you, “you really thought that?”

all you did was nod your head, not looking at her out of worry and fear. you then felt hands cup your face and you looked at the blonde in front of you.

“i meant what i said, y’know, before i fell asleep,” she said, her thumbs making little circles on your cheeks. “did you?”

you were stuck in a silent confusion for a split second, trying to think of what she was referring to before nodding slowly when you understood. “i did.” you tried to stop yourself from continuing but couldn't help it. “i’ve been in love with you since the beginning, but, i didn't bother putting up a fight when luke came around. so i never said anything. and i’m so sorry if this ruined things.”

“ruined things?” cate questioned. “why would it do that?”

“i figured you still loved him and that i was the next best thing for one night,” you mumbled as your answer.

a quiet sigh fell from cate’s lips. “i can see why you believed that, and i didn't mean to make it seem that way. because…i do love you. yes, i was still with luke but, i realized after a while that i didn't love him anymore. i just couldn't find the right excuse to break up with him. so, this is my excuse. he’s gone.”

“oh,” you let out quietly. “so you weren't lying then? about you loving me?”

“no,” cate shook her head. “this was a terrible way to go at it but i do love you, and if you want this to become something more than you need to tell me. if not, that's okay.”

“i want this,” you quickly replied. “i want you, cate, i always have. i just didn't want to ruin anything.”

“nothing is ruined, y/n. i can safely tell you that,” she responded.

“so does that mean i can kiss you right now?” you asked in a light joking voice.

“yes, you can kiss me whenever you want,” cate nodded with a chuckle.

“amazing.”

[rei-ismyname]

Magneto joins the Young Avengers part 2

After a while traipsing through Transia and picking up Pietro, the squad find Wanda. Except she's a Doombot. Seems like a pretty solid clue as to where she is.

Upon heading to Latveria, it comes to light that Wanda is living with DOOM and they're getting married tomorrow. She also has amnesia, so even if she were inclined to marry DOOM (she's not) she can't consent anyway. The plan is for Magneto to cause a ruckus and everyone else stealthily extract her.

Checking in with the Avengers, suddenly they're very interested in finding Wanda. Nobody gives a reason, except for Wolverine who wants to kill her and Billy, and Wonder Man who wants to prevent that. Logan engages in childish dickwaving.

'Guess I hit a nerve' says the man doing his best to antagonise everyone and murder women and children. He has no business accusing anyone of having inappropriate feelings for a teammate. Iron Man says something clever - 'we don't need Wolverine for this mission.' No, you don't. In fact none of you should be involved.

Anyway, they storm Latveria and then accuse everyone else of starting an international political crisis. I don't see anyone else acting with a mandate from the UN and US. Also, they did bring Wolverine. Surprisingly, he tries to kill Wanda.

You'd think Logan would be sympathetic to her situation, and think twice before demonising others for killing people. Nope.

The Avengers 'take command' of the situation and scold everyone for attracting Doombots. Nobody mentions that they didn't come out until the Avengers did. They take issue with Magneto fighting DOOM for some reason, as if one of the worst people around isn't taking advantage of his daughter's amnesia to marry her. I swear I'm not cherry picking here - The Avengers just escalated a situation that was in hand.

The Young Avengers, Wanda and Magneto leave them to it and look to reverse Wanda's M Day spell. Patriot ruins it, arguing that they should wait for the Avengers. Wanda gets her memory back and resurrects the Avengers she killed. Speed is disillusioned with this whole thing and Wanda is bombarded with so much aggression she decides to kill herself. Before she can, Beast asks her to try reversing the spell again and Magneto agrees. They need a volunteer though. Meanwhile, The Avengers are rushing to get to Wanda, because only they are allowed to fuck things up. They even bring Logan.

A volunteer is found, and Rictor's powers are restored! Good news, right? Well, the X-Men are still pretty mad about M-Day tbh. At least they have the excuse of massive trauma, but they're definitely being dicks. They manage to avoid the spell in favour of unspecified punitive punishment.

LOL. This, the Avengers object to, claiming they take care of their own. That's objectively false, but there's a hierarchy to the Marvel universe and The Avengers must always look better than the X-Men. Magneto is the most reasonable person here by far, and for some reason The Avengers shit on all their allies. Demonising Wanda until someone else starts doing it, ignoring that they have a legitimate grievance and that this problem is the Avengers' fault.

Next time, Hawkeye raping Wanda is played for humour, the superheroes fluff the situation, Wanda finally gets some agency, and this shitstorm concludes. Children get their souls crushed.

[icey--stars]

Heyyy I saw you're taking requests again and your recently posted a new fic (which I lovedddd) and I thought I'd share my idea with you too. You don't have to write it right away, I saw your posts that you are really busy these days so whenever you get to it, you get to it...I just wanted to share my idea

So I was thinking an Azris fic where the two have had their mating ceremony and everyone knows and everything. Azriel still works as a Spy master for Night and Autumn, working for the security of both the courts. But Rhysand being a controlling shit, tries to get Azriel more time in Night cuz he's still iffy about Eris. And Eris does the same so it becomes a tug of war. In the middle there is poor Azzy...working OVERTIME for both courts and going through his magic like crazy

One day, when the poor bat is at its limit, Azriel just collapses from exhaustion and draining his magic from his siphons. What do you think the reaction would be like? I think there would be guilt from both Rhysand and Eris but also a bit of a blame game

Anyways, you're welcome to take the story and spin it like you want. And even if you don't feel particularly inspired by it, it's completely fine (cuz the most recent one I saw from you was VERYYYY angsty too so I get why you might not be in the mood for ANOTHER angsty fic)

Still love your work and can't wait to read whatever you post about Azris

-🌹

Tug of War

Rhys and Eris get a tad possessive over their bat and fail to realize that he is trying to please both of them- well that is until he passes out. - 2.7k words

Author's Note: I deeply apologize for this being so late!!! I was incredibly excited over this idea so I actually don’t know what made me take so long xD. maybe the time skips I put in there messed me up, but regardless, I hope you enjoy! I won’t say this is my proudest work, but I hope I at least made your amazing idea come true <3

Content Rating: Teens and Up

TW: don’t work yourself to passing out because your mate and brother want you to be with them more than the other. that’s called people-pleasing and being a self-sacrificial fool. (don’t be like Az)

↢ 『 ☾ 』 ↣

Azriel

“Can you check on the Illyrian camps for me tomorrow?” Rhys asked as Azriel handed in his third report for the week.

Azriel internally let out the loudest sigh of all possible. He was already running on reserves at this point. But he also knew how much work Rhys and Feyre had on their shoulders. And Eris. He still had to check on the town of Redwood for him later today since there had been rumors of some sort of rebellion for some stupid reason.

“Sure,” Azriel replied. “What in particular?” He hated the Illyrian camps, but so did his brothers. He was just glad Cassian was willing to take over the Valkyrie training for the next week.

“Ironcrest and Windhaven. I want an update on the training programs for females to make sure they’re actually being trained and not thrown to the wolves,” Rhys explained.

Azriel dipped his head. “Right. As long as there isn’t much for Autumn I’ll try and spend a day there watching the training,” he replied.

Rhys hummed. “How is Autumn at this point? Much work coming from Eris?”

“I’ve got to check on a town today for rebellion rumors,” Azriel replied, cracking some of his knuckles as he backed away from Rhys’s desk. “Then write a report on it.”

“We’re not working you too hard, are we?” Rhys asked cheekily. “Being spymaster for two courts has to be exhausting sometimes.”

“I’m managing,” Azriel replied. “But I’ve got to be off. I’ll get to the camps tomorrow.”

“Sounds good, Az. Are you still going to be able to make it to a family dinner on Friday?” Rhys asked, standing up from his chair and walking around the desk.

“Probably,” Azriel replied. “Hopefully Eris can come along too if he’s not too bogged down by paperwork.”

Rhys grinned. Azriel was too tired to notice that it looked incredibly fake. “Great. Tell him that Cassian still wants that arm wrestle, ay? And to bring some Autumn whiskey. I know that stuff has grown on you.”

Azriel rolled his eyes, offering his brother a grin. “Live in Autumn long enough to drink the shit nightly and it will,” he replied. “Anyway, I’m off, Rhys. It’s noon already.”

Rhys smirked. “See you later, Az,” he said, waving.

Azriel quickly made his way out of the River House, feeling exhaustion weighing heavy on him as he winnowed into Redwood. Honestly, while he knew both of his High Lords were busy, that doesn’t mean everything needs to be done immediately. It seemed to be some sort of tug-of-war situation over his time. He understood it, of course. His mate deserved his time and his brothers were still a little unsure over his mate so they likely wanted to keep checking on him.

He was doing his best, but he truly was exhausted.

Azriel slipped into an alleyway in his shadows after hearing voices and refocused on his task ahead. It’d be fine, he supposed.

–––––

A week later, it was most definitely not fine. He had eyebags, his siphons were practically drained since he’d been using the energy he’d normally spare to use for magic as day-to-day energy just to survive the sheer workload he’d been given.

Now it was time for another family dinner. This one was luckily one Eris could attend in between his busy schedule.

Thank the Cauldron or he wouldn’t have had his mate to catch him when he almost stumbled face first into a wall after tripping over the edge of the carpet in the living room of the House of Wind.

“Az?” Eris prompted once he’d rebalanced.

“I’m fine,” He said, waving Eris off.

Eris seemed suspicious, but once they entered the dining room, the look quickly vanished.

“Az!” Cassian shouted happily as he entered.

As soon as Cassian had barged through everyone to come over and likely hug Azriel… he paused right before with narrowed eyes. “What’s wrong?” He asked, looking Azriel up and down.

“I’m fine, Cass,” Azriel replied, rubbing his eyes. “I’ll rest tonight. Now get over here,” he commanded, opening up his arms for an armload of Cassian.

Cassian seemed a bit more hesitant, but wrapped Azriel up in his arms anyway. It wasn’t every day Azriel asked for a hug.

Eris still looked suspicious of him throughout the dinner, as did Cassian, but Azriel wasn’t spymaster for no reason. He had skills in hiding when he wanted to hide– whatever that may be.

“Oh, Az,” Rhys called as Eris and Azriel were about to make their way out. Azriel turned to look at his brother with a brow raised in silent question. “You think you could check the camps again to make sure the changes I ordered were actually implemented?”

Azriel internally groaned. “I’ll get to it,” he promised.

Eris seemed a bit tenser beside him, but Azriel was too tired to figure out the reason for it. “Still going to have time for the council meeting, Az?” He asked.

And fuck, right. Council meeting at noon, right. Some sort of new military policies as well as taxes.

“I’ll make it work,” he mumbled. “Camps can be done in the afternoon since the training sessions run late afternoon too.”

“Right,” Eris said, raising a brow. “I didn’t so much mean it that way, Az. I meant, will you have enough energy?”

“As I said, I’ll make it work,” Azriel promised. “Even be back in time for dinner probably.”

Rhys grinned at him. “Come visit me before you leave the Night Court, ay? Nyx wants to see his uncle a little more.”

Azriel nodded, holding back a yawn. He had to make this work. If his mate and his brothers were ever going to stop fighting over him, they’d each have to feel as if Azriel was giving them enough of his time. “I’ll come around,” he mumbled.

Rhys chuckled. “Go sleep, brother,” Rhys ordered. “I can tell you’re tired.”

“I’m fine,” Azriel insisted, wings flaring a bit behind him. “I’ve survived far worse than a little sleep deprivation anyway.”

–––––

Azriel barely slept that night. It was just one of those sleepless nights where his mind ran wild and nothing, not even Eris laying on his chest, could calm it. He had them from time to time, but this was possibly one of the worst times to have it. But regardless, when he woke up, he acted as if he’d had a semi-satisfactory sleep. He managed to conjure a well enough lie to Eris about having trouble getting to sleep for a little bit but eventually did. It worked to explain his eyebags anyway.

He and Eris prepared for the council meeting. Azriel kept having to go over the details in his head again and again, seemingly unable to keep his mind focused. He just had to survive today. And then tomorrow. He’d be fine even if his limbs might as well start shaking.

The council meeting almost put him to sleep with how boring it was, but he managed to keep up enough to support Eris throughout it. His mind was foggy, though.

The camps weren’t much better. He was just glad they were actually following directions at least for him. He should’ve probably stayed a while after to make sure, but his shadows were also weighing with his exhaustion. Most were lazy and some plain refused to go farther than a fingertip’s length away from him.

“Final thing,” Azriel muttered to himself, rubbing his eyes as he winnowed to the front of the River House. His head went dizzy and he swayed for a few moments, wings outspread for balance before he finally reoriented himself. He was surely fine, right? (He knew that was a lie but he had responsibilities.)

“Az!” Rhys called from the doorway happily, holding Nyx on his hip who was babbling excitedly and reaching out for Azriel.

Azriel smiled and reached over to take the little toddler from his father’s arms to nuzzle. “How’s my favorite nephew?” He asked, managing to put on a happy tone.

“Azzie!” Nyx screamed happily, wings outstretched in his excitement. “Play with me!” The toddler ordered.

Azriel smiled. “For a little bit,” he promised.

They all went inside and Azriel settled on the floor with Nyx to grab figurines and stuffed animals and play whatever imaginative game the toddler had managed to conjure this time. He had to admit, there was a migraine pounding in his head, only worsened by the toddler’s excited screaming.

Slowly, Nyx began to tire and then whined about being hungry. Rhys chuckled and moved to pick up the little one for dinner. Then his brother turned to him and smirked, “Oh, someone is here to pick you up.”

Azriel’s brows furrowed in confusion and he turned to see the front door opening to reveal his mate with that signature smirk on his face. Eris looked all too happy to have surprised him.

Azriel blinked slowly, taking in the information slowly and then began to stand up to greet his mate but his head began to spin and his limbs failed to obey. And then… nothing.

–––––

Eris

Eris had to admit, seeing his mate attempt to stand up and then collapse nearly sent him into a heart attack as he sprinted to catch the falling Illyrian. Rhys seemed equally alarmed, handing Nyx off to his mother before walking over.

“Az?” Rhys asked, poking his brother’s face.

Azriel didn’t stir which only served to alarm Eris even more. He tugged on the bond, but only found deep-rooted exhaustion. He knew his mate was tired, but tired enough to pass out? That was a whole new level.

“Do we need Madja?” Rhys asked, still concerned.

Eris hummed before shaking his head. “I think… I think he literally just passed out from exhaustion.”

Rhys seemed alarmed now, looking down at his brother’s head cradled in Eris’s lap. “Holy shit,” the High Lord muttered. “He was that tired? How hard have you been working him?”

Eris reeled a bit at those words, raising a sharp gaze to Rhys. “Excuse me? How is this my fault?”

“Well-”

“Don’t even start,” Eris cut in. “I honestly do not want to hear you attempt to place all the blame on me when you have also been giving him equal amounts of work to do. He was barely paying attention in my council meeting and then you put the camps on his shoulders-”

“This isn’t my fault,” Rhys growled defensively.

“Incorrect,” Eris said decisively.

“Well it’s not all my fault,” Rhys corrected, sighing. “Fucking hell…” he muttered.

Eris sighed as well. “It seems we need to coordinate a bit better before our bat decides to pass out again,” he mused.

“I didn’t think he’d work himself this far,” Rhys muttered. “He’s normally good at judging his limits, has even managed to judge Cass’s and I’s limits better than ourselves.”

“You know Az,” Eris muttered. “He works his ass off for the people he cares about.”

Rhys sighed, rubbing his face. “You’re both staying here tonight,” he said.

Eris shrugged. “Fine,” he agreed. Guilt was beginning to plague him, though. How did he manage to work his bat so hard that he passed out? He had been, he’ll admit, trying to get Azriel to spend more time with him. Guess he forgot Rhys was just as possessive over his family. And thus came their present situation: Azriel collapsed in a heap on the floor with his wings thrown every which direction and toy figurines digging into his sides.

“We pushed him too hard,” Rhys mumbled, but it sounded as if he didn’t mean for anyone to hear the words.

Eris sighed, reaching to grab the wood figurine to make Azriel a tad more comfortable. “We’re not making this mistake again,” he said.

“No, we’re not,” Rhys agreed. “Halve the work we give him?” The other High Lord offered.

Eris nodded while standing up and hauling Azriel into his arms with a grunt. “Tuck his wings, won’t you?” Eris asked, unable to stop his mate’s wings from dragging on the floor while he was just trying to hold Azriel’s obsessively large frame in his arms. They were of equal height, yes, but one of them was much stockier.

Rhys quickly moved forward, carefully and respectfully tucking Azriel’s wings where Eris could hold them off the floor. “His bedroom is this way,” Rhys said, leading the way through the hallways.

Azriel’s breathing was slow and calm as Eris set him down on his side in the bed. He took a moment to make sure his bat wouldn’t be sore from any positioned limbs before sighing and glancing back at Rhys standing in the doorway.

“Let’s let him sleep,” Eris recommended and, without waiting for Rhys’s response, used his own power to put out the faelights and walk out.

Rhys took one last glance at his brother before closing the door. “Are you sure we don’t need Madja?”

“Unless he hit his head on the fall, no. Which I’m pretty sure I saved him from,” Eris reminded him. “He’s tired. The only solution is sleep and I doubt he’d want a healer’s attention anyway.”

Rhys sighed and nodded, walking toward the living area. “Sorry for the immediate blame,” he mumbled quickly. “That wasn’t exactly fair.”

Eris hummed. “Forgiven,” he replied. “I’m pretty sure we can share the bat just fine.”

Rhys scoffed in amusement. “Guess we’ll let him rest for now.”

—————

Azriel

Azriel awoke to sunlight in his eyes and he groaned, rolling onto his stomach so his wings covered his face. Then he sat up quickly after remembering what happened before he had… passed out? He felt tired still, but maybe a little less exhausted than before.

He glanced around, relaxing at the sight of his room at the River House. And with Eris in the armchair with a book in his hand. Eris silently bookmarked his page and set down the book to look at him.

“Feel any better?” Eris asked.

Azriel sighed and turned to sit down facing his mate. “I’m-“

“If you start apologizing I might actually slap you,” Eris deadpanned, standing up as well to make the threat even easier to accomplish. “Do you feel better?” He repeated after reaching the bedside.

“Yes,” Azriel replied begrudgingly. “What happened?”

“You passed out from exhaustion,” Eris replied calmly. “Your brother and I moved you here.”

Azriel squinted a bit. “Which one?” He asked. Rhysand and Eris did not get along very well so he doubted it was-

“Rhys,” Eris replied, chuckling at his immediately confused and shocked facial expression. “And we’ve agreed to limit the amount of work we put on our poor bat before he works himself to death.”

Azriel huffed. “I’m fine,” he mumbled.

“You are somewhat fine now. About sixteen hours ago, you were not. And that falls on Rhys and I equally,” Eris replied firmly.

Azriel hummed. “Why do I feel like you two had an argument?” He asked, glancing at his shadows for confirmation.

“We did,” Eris replied before his shadows could even skitter to his ears. “And then we dealt with it like civilized High Lords. Relax, Azriel. Us changing your workload is to prevent your self-sacrificing ass from doing this again. And you are going to tell us when you are overworked, got it? If you don’t, you won’t like the punishment.”

Azriel huffed in disbelief. “I wasn’t being self-sacrificing-“ he protested.

“You were. Stop denying it,” Eris cut in. “You were trying to give us both your attention and we were fighting over you like a piece of meat. But we also need you now to tell us how much work is too much, Az. No more doing it all to make us happy. That isn’t how this works.”

Azriel sighed in defeat. “Fine,” he muttered. “I’ll try.”

“Good,” Eris said, finally climbing into bed and running a hand through his hair. “Now, would you like a bath and then some relaxation time with your everloving mate?”

Azriel snorted at Eris’s words before asking, “Don’t you have to go back to Autumn?”

“My court can run itself for a few hours, Az. More than if needed. Even then, your only worry for now is to get back your energy so you don’t pass out.”

Azriel chuckled a little. “Alright,” he relented. “A bath does sound pretty nice.”

↢ 『 ☾ 』 ↣

A/N: hope you enjoyed!! :D

Tagged in all ACOTAR Stories: @bunnymallowo, @officiallyunofficialperson, @margssstuff, @rebloggiest-reblogger, @inpraizeof, @graciereads, @eos-princess, @bubybubsters, @fieldofdaisiies, @skyesayshi, @lilah-asteria,

Tagged in all Azriel Stories: @ladylokilaufeyson5, @marina468,

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Snow Day Part 2

Read on Ao3 Part 1

Warnings: none for this part either :)

Pairings: logince

Word Count: 5462

Unknown number: Roman, this is Logan. Are you free the evening of the 15th?

Roman blinks at his phone.

Me: How did you get my number?

Logan: I asked Patton. You do remember that we work together, yes?

Me: Yeah i remember but why did you want my number

Logan: To ask if you're free on the 15th, for starters.

Me: i think so, why?

Logan: The firm is throwing a holiday party and I've been instructed to bring someone who, quote: 'Won't cause a disruption but will add to the seasonal atmosphere.'

Me: is this supposed to be a compliment? also what kind of invitation says that?

Logan: I've certainly never met anyone as determined to preserve the holiday spirit as you. And no, that was a special instruction from my boss.

Me: still don't know if that's a compliment

Logan: Take it as you like. The dress code is black tie, so no terrible sweaters for you.

Me: i can't do that

Logan: Surely the holiday will survive if you're not in a hideous sweater for one evening

Me: no i don't have anything to wear to a black tie thing

His phone is silent for a long time and Roman's…fine about that. He was gonna enjoy that evening off, actually. Watch some of his favorite Christmas movies, listen to his favorite album, maybe actually get around to baking himself that thing he wanted to try ages ago…

Then his phone buzzes again. He picks it up and blinks to see an address.

Logan: Meet me here at 9 tomorrow.

Me: why?

Logan: To find you something appropriate to wear, of course.

Me: Logan, you don't need to do that.

Logan: I'm aware. 9 on the dot, don't be late.

Well.

Okay.

He's going shopping with Logan tomorrow, apparently. He also definitely needs to ask Patton why the hell he gave Logan his number.

At 8:55 the next morning, he's standing outside one of those department stores that just feels like it's the setting of some cliché rich person montage. He'd picked out a loose-fitting tee and a pair of decent sweatpants because, you know, shopping typically involves trying things on, but now he's wondering if he should've put on his nice slacks and a button down because holy shit does he feel underdressed right now.

"Ah, good. You are on time."

And sure enough, here comes Logan in his goddamned suit. Does the man own casual clothes? Logan gives him another look up and down and no, Roman doesn't imagine the way his nose turns up ever so slightly before fixing him with a stern expression.

"Am I right in thinking you don't have much experience buying formal wear?"

"Not for a black tie event, no."

"Lovely," he says, tone indicating this is anything but, "I expect you to pay attention."

"Logan," he says quickly before Logan can actually make it to the door, "I can't—I can't afford anything here."

"Don't worry, I'll pay."

"You'll—what?"

"I said I'll pay for it, Roman, now come on—"

"Why would you do that?"

"Aside from the fact that you've just said you can't afford it?"

"You don't—" Roman pinches the bridge of his nose— "look, I don't know what game this is or what point you're trying to prove, but it's not—I don't need your charity, okay?"

"It's not charity, Roman. Every man should have at least three well-fitting suits."

"Three? It's one night, Logan, I'm not—I can't do this."

Logan's looking at him strangely, like he's the one being weird about this—which he's not, he's being very reasonably suspicious and Logan shouldn't be looking at him like that—before he turns on his heel and heads down the block. After a moment of realizing that Roman's not walking with him, he reaches back and tucks his hand into the crook of Roman's arm the way he did at the party, which Roman still isn't thinking about, thank you very much, leading him around the corner to a coffee shop that also looks too expensive. He holds his tongue this time, resigning himself to whatever it is Logan's decided they're doing, taking the cup pushed into his hand and following Logan back outside.

Logan leads them to a bench in a more secluded area of the street, sitting down and nodding for Roman to sit next to him. "What's making you uncomfortable?"

Roman scoffs, but then Logan furrows his brow and…shit, he's actually being sincere. He swallows. "Aside from the fact that everyone in there looks like they're wearing my rent?"

"They're only clothes, Roman."

He doesn't register the surprisingly gentle tone Logan's using. "They're not just clothes, they're—they're—I don't belong in that world, Logan. I'm not gonna try to force myself into it."

"What world?"

"The world where I can spent rent on a suit and have that be fine. The world where people are that rich and that—that—" he suddenly remembers that Logan is one of said rich people, or at least is acting like it right now— "I just can't do it."

Logan's quiet for a moment, still just looking at him. Roman looks away, sipping at his coffee. Shit, it's good coffee too. Logan's probably thinking about how much of a waste of time this was, and he wasted his time the other day with buying the gifts too…and now with the whole party thing, maybe it's better to just leave.

That's not very seasonally gracious of you.

The memory of Logan's voice in his head shocks him into realizing how much of a dick he's being. Logan's doing this—presumably—out of the goodness of his heart, or at the very least he's not expecting Roman to pay him back or anything. And here Roman is, practically throwing a tantrum about it.

"Sorry," he says quietly, bowing his head, "I'm being an asshole, aren't I?"

"Being uncomfortable doesn't make you an asshole, Roman."

"Yeah, but…"

"No buts. I'd rather you tell me than suffer through it." The sincerity in his tone makes him look up again to see Logan still watching him. "What is it about it that's making it worse? Is it the money? I really don't mind paying for you. At the risk of sounding, well, like that, it's not that big of a deal to me."

He's gonna put that aside for now, yeah. "I just—I know how those people look at me."

"And how is that?"

He scuffs his toe through some of the salt congealing under the bench. "Like I'm not supposed to be there. Like I have the gall to be in the same room as them, or like I don't exist. I don't like it."

There's a pause. Then: "Do you think that's how I look at you?"

His head jerks over. Logan's hands are still around the coffee cup, but there's a bit of tension in them now. He adjusts his glasses even though there's really no need for it. He swallows.

"I don't…I really don't know how you look at me, Logan," he admits, "I thought that's what you were doing at first, but it's…I don't know, okay? Is that what you want to hear?"

"I'm not your enemy, Roman," he says with an unmistakable hurt that makes Roman want to throw up, "nor am I interrogating you."

"I know, I'm sorry. I…I didn't mean it like that."

Logan just looks at him for a few more seconds. He fidgets under it and looks away.

"Why're you doing this," he asks quietly, "surely there's an easier way to get around your boss's instructions?"

Another long pause. A car drives by and nearly splashes them with gray sludge. A dog barks at a pigeon taking flight.

"You're the first person who's successfully gotten me to buy actual presents for my family in almost ten years," Logan says suddenly, "and you managed it on the second time we'd ever met."

Hold on, Roman was what? He did what, now?

"And I thought about how my family would react to those presents and I found myself actually getting excited about it," he continues, like he isn't blowing Roman's mind right now, "so…perhaps there's something to this whole gift-giving, caring thing people like to peddle this time of year."

"They do say Christmas is the joy of giving."

"Quite, but I have no interest in making you out to be a charity case."

"You don't?"

Logan shakes his head. "No. If anything, this is my reward for myself. A selfish act to balance out the selfless one."

Roman frowns. "You…buying me a suit is you being selfish?"

A familiarly smug smirk curls up Logan's face and Roman will deny the way he swallows when he sees it until the day he dies. "No, me inviting the one person I'm genuinely fascinated by to an otherwise boring event of schmoozing and networking is the selfish act. The suit, well…aside from the fact that it is a crime that you've never been properly fitted for a suit before—"

"Hey! Again, not all of us are going to galas all the time!"

"—you managed to captivate me in a cheap sweater and worn jeans," Logan continues as if he hadn't spoken, voice suddenly a lot, lot lower, "and I can hardly pass up the opportunity to see you in something better."

Roman does not squeak. He does not turn bright pink, he does not shuffle like a schoolboy, he does not go all wide-eyed like some little fawn caught in the jaws of the Big Bad Wolf. He doesn't do any of those things because there's no way Logan just said that to him like it was nothing in the middle of the day while they're in public.

Logan's smirk just grows.

"You what?"

"Come, now, there's no need to be shy. You certainly have a healthy appreciation for my suits—" goddamnit— "can you truly begrudge me for having the same interest?"

"I—that's not—I didn't—shut up!"

He just chuckles, like an asshole, as Roman hides his splutter behind another sip of coffee. Thank God he's wearing a hat so Logan can't see how red his ears are right now.

"I don't need three suits," he manages with a remarkably steady voice, "not if the party's just one night."

"You never know, you might have the chance to attend another in the future."

Nope. Not thinking about that. Absolutely not, no, thank you. "I think sticking with just the one is fine for me right now."

"Very well." Logan stands with a swish of his coat. "One suit it is."

It takes until Logan's halfway down the block that Roman realizes he's been tricked into agreeing to let Logan pay for a suit, and the bastard doesn't even look sorry about it when Roman hollers after him.

Dick.

Of course, as soon as they get inside, part of him wants to leave immediately, but then Logan's hand is curling around his arm and he swallows, letting himself be guided across the sales floor to a section with a lot of black and navy fabric. He stares at the racks with what must be some form of abject terror because Logan's chuckling at him and leaning close.

"Don't worry, I'm not about to leave you on your own."

"You'd better not," he shoots back, but his voice comes out all high and thready.

Logan waves over a sales associate who's dressed better than Roman's ever been in his entire life and explains that Roman needs a suit. At least that's what he assumes just happened. In reality, there's a dull buzz in his head right now that's making it hard to focus on anything other than staying upright, not having a panic attack, and on the warmth of Logan's hand holding onto his arm through his coat. He does notice the associate eyeing his clothes a little disdainfully and quickly forces out: "Easier to change."

"Ah, how sensible. If only all of our clients were as considerate. Now, what sort of styles do you like?"

"I have absolutely no idea and I'm mostly scared to touch anything."

Both of them laugh and somehow manage to do it without sounding mean. "Do not worry, nothing in here bites, I assure you."

Roman can't help the way his gaze darts to Logan. Logan, because he is apparently determined to kill Roman today, winks at him.

"You're not helping," he hisses as the associate turns to pull something from a nearby rack.

"I don't recall promising to help, only that I wouldn't leave you alone."

"You're buying me another hot chocolate after this."

He does, and it's way too expensive and it tastes way too good and he wants to be mad about it and the garment bag he has to haul home, but then Logan's threatening to get him a cab as well and he high-tails it out of there before he makes good on it.

When he gets home, he just sort of…stands there for a moment, looking at the bag. In a daze, he reaches up and traces the emblem of the store embroidered into the black fabric. This is his suit. He actually owns it, it's made for him, it's something that he just has now. And yeah, maybe Logan was right: more than a small part of him is dancing at the idea of such a thing.

Before he can tell it to stop, that part of him whirls him through a set of doors and he's picturing himself in a grand ballroom with crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, music overflowing into the gardens, the balconies, as it should for any spectacular party. With this suit, he belongs there, just as much as anyone else, amidst the swirling skirts and glittering tidings, where he could stand on his own and be welcome, celebrated, even, as much as anyone else. Where a hand might extend to him and mean it, where he could look up at Logan's face and smile, and not have to worry that a kiss would be refused—

The garment bag hits the floor with a crumpled thud.

Roman blinks rapidly, giving himself a good shake. What the hell was that? How did Logan manage to sneak in there? What's that got to do with—

Oh.

Oh.

Oh, no.

No, no, no—no, shit, he is not doing this again. He knows better now, he's not that young or naive or stupid anymore, he is not getting caught up in some ridiculous thing that will only end with his heart in pieces on the floor and a wobbling smile on his face. He is not going to start doing that.

With a muffled groan, he snags the bag off the floor and stomps to the closet, hanging it up and shoving the door closed again. This is stupid. This is the third time he's met Logan, there's no reason for him to be doing this. Even if by some Christmas miracle Logan doesn't find out about this—because Roman wears his heart on his sleeve and Logan keeps doing that thing where he sees him—his traitor of a heart flutters again and he shoves a pin through its wings—he's still going to have to look at him at this stupid party and—and—

And his mind flashes back to that little bit of hurt he'd heard in Logan's voice when he asked if Roman thought he looked at him the way all those fucking rich people do. He swallows around the sudden lump in his throat. Would Logan look at him the same way now, knowing he was assuming the worst of him?

No, no, that's not right. Accurately predicting the rejection of his sudden and really very stupid feelings was not assuming the worst of him. If anything, Logan might complement him on his very mature and reasonable handling of unrequited emotions. Yeah, that was it. He just has to be an adult about this, the way everyone else has said the same thing his entire life. It's a good thing he realized these feelings now, actually, and not at the party where there will be other people and he'll be in that suit and Logan will be there too, because he's invited Roman of all people, going so far as to make sure he has something to wear…

He snaps himself out of it, almost glaring at the closet door. No. Not doing that. He's just going to go to this party as Logan's friend, spend the time being there the way a friend would, and not think about what would happen if Logan had asked him there as more than a friend.

He can do this.

***

4.

He can't do this.

He's been standing outside the lobby of this big slab of glass and steel in the middle of downtown for about ten minutes now and he has no idea of how to move forward. He's on the list, he knows, because Logan sent him a confirmation email yesterday, so he doesn't have to wait here for someone else to show up and let him in, he definitely doesn't have to wait for Logan to show up so they can go inside, but here he is. Loitering. He's pretty sure it's only because of the suit that the front desk person hasn't called the cops or whatever.

"You've truly a wonderful sense of timing."

He whirls around to see Logan getting out of a sleek black town car. His mouth goes dry a little at the sight and he'll deny it forever. Take the fifth, or whichever amendment is the one that means you don't have to say shit. Logan's smirking at him by the time they're standing next to each other, though, so he's pretty sure he has some idea of what's running through his head.

"Hey," he croaks, clearing his throat, "thought about going in, but then I realized I'd have no idea of where I'm going."

"They could've told you."

Don't bring your logic here while I'm having a crisis. "Yeah, well, isn't it bad form to show up separately from the person who invited you?"

Logan gives him that look like he's being nice to him by letting it go—and hey, he is a lawyer, maybe that counts as being nice—and takes his elbow. "Come on, then. We're getting dangerously close to being disastrously late instead of fashionably late."

They walk through the door and Logan waves a card at the person behind the desk—ID badge, Roman's brain supplies helpfully. The elevator is just a normal elevator, thank God, but then it opens onto a floor of way too many people in expensive clothing and more of that pretentious not-Christmas music and it's all he can do not to immediately slam the 'down' button again.

"Relax," Logan says quietly, "it's just a party."

"Easy for you to say, you work here."

"Actually, that makes it worse for me: I have to see these people again after tonight."

A somewhat hysterical giggle bubbles up in Roman's throat but he steps out of the elevator all the same. There's a large booth off to one side where racks have been set up for people's coats, two smartly-dressed people manning a small desk. Logan walks up and passes over his coat without hesitating, which means Roman has to hustle a little bit to not get left behind in the crowd.

"So, what're we supposed to do?"

"Mingle," Logan sighs, like he's just been asked to hold up the heavens, "I am responsible for following up with a few of our more…anxious clients, but you just have to walk around and look pretty."

Roman snags an offered glass of champagne and downs about half of it in one go to avoid thinking about that too much. Logan just chuckles and starts leading his way through the masses, Roman trudging along behind him.

The first set of people they come across must be other people Logan works with on a regular basis; they react like Logan's the cool kid coming to join them at the lunch table when he strolls closer, one of them giving him a slap on the shoulder and the others raising their glasses in toast. A change comes over him, growing taller and sleeker as Roman watches before he realizes hey, this is probably one of those things Logan wants him to talk at. Sure enough, as he approaches, one of them spots him over Logan's shoulder.

"Is this the lucky man with you tonight?"

"Yes," Logan says, turning and extending a hand to gather Roman in close, "this is Roman. Roman, these are some of the insufferable colleagues I mentioned before."

"Hello, nice to meet you."

"Look, Logan, someone with manners," a woman says, dark eyes flashing over the rim of her glass, "you could learn something from him."

"You must be the one that threatened to stab him if he didn't get the right presents," he says, without thinking, only for the others to burst out laughing. The woman just grins.

"That would be me, yes." She holds out her hand. "Ava Nath. Pleasure to suffer through knowing Logan along with you."

"Roman."

"Claws to yourself, Ava," Logan says lowly and fuck, Logan being all weirdly possessive around his friends—are they friends? Roman's really gonna hope they're friends—is doing things to Roman.

"How'd you manage to meet this one, Roman?" asks another man, nudging Logan with his elbow. "Can't have been through work, otherwise we'd've warned you away ages ago."

Roman swallows another mouthful of champagne. "Mutual friend."

"Oh? Which friend would that be?"

"You guys realize we're not in a court room, right? You don't have to interrogate me if you don't want to."

Again, thank God they took that as a joke, laughing again even as Logan's hand lands warmly on his upper back. The man waves his hand in a gesture of surrender. "Sorry. Ask anyone here, it's hard to turn off."

"No, it's fine, I…should've expected it. I'm friends with Patton, that's how we met."

"Patton…from down on the 16th floor, yes. Sweet guy. Makes sense." He gives himself a shake. "Here I am forgetting my manners too. Scott Kensington, pleased to meet you."

Roman shakes his hand. Logan's hand is still on his back, thumb slightly stroking the material of suit. He should not be paying attention to that, he should be paying attention to the conversation.

He takes another gulp.

"Well, you just got here, so you've still got your rounds to do."

Logan groans. "Don't remind me. Just tell me that Forstby isn't here yet."

"Oh, God, no, he'll probably stumble in about an hour from now."

"Small mercies. Well, it was lovely catching up with you, but I'm afraid we're needed elsewhere. Roman?"

"Yep, I'm coming."

"Pleasure meeting you," Ava calls as he's ushered away, "come back when you're done!"

"Will we be doing that?"

Logan rolls his eyes. "If we must. Come on, now, we've more hands to shake."

It turns out that meeting people in rapid succession is not a good way for him to remember names, or faces, instead he just gets more and more through this glass of champagne with a pasted-on smile and a few comments he doesn't think about that thankfully just make everyone else laugh. He's pretty sure Logan can tell, though, judging by the way his hand never leaves his back or his shoulder for longer than about ten seconds at a time. He'd like to resent him for that. He really would. He'd also like to resent him for feeding the fantasy Roman's brain has been helpfully pushing at him all night but he's ignoring that one like a champ.

They end up in a conversation with one of the firm's clients, not that he really knows what that means—okay, no, he does know what that means, he just doesn't know what he's supposed to do about it. The couple is a striking older duo, a man with ginger hair flecked with salt and pepper, as is his beard, introducing himself as Ben, and a stunning blonde woman with high cheekbones and a piercing green stare who tells him call me Sadie. They'd both spoken warmly to Logan upon seeing him, gathering him in for a hug—which he hadn't been shocked by, nope, not at all—before turning to Roman. He'd stumbled his way through an intro, belatedly offering his hand, only for them to…well, basically coo at how adorable he is. He minds a little less than he'd thought. They explain how they met through a mutual friend again and the three of them have been talking about something business related ever since. Which means Roman can just nod in the right places, laugh in the right places, and not think about anything else.

Nope.

Not at all.

"But that's enough business talk," Ben sighs, "this is supposed to be a party."

"That doesn't typically stop you," Sadie says, to which Ben huffs and she turns her smile to Roman. "Forgive us."

"Nothing to forgive, I get it."

"I suppose we have you to thank for this evening?"

"Uh, what? Sorry, I, um…how so?"

"Come now, there's no need to be coy about it. We all know Logan's a bit of a Grinch when it comes to the holidays," Ben says with a wink at Logan.

"If being practical makes me a Grinch, then yes, I suppose so."

"See what I mean?"

"We weren't sure he was even going to be here," Sadie continues, "so I presume I have you to thank for getting him in the spirit?"

Which…is not how Roman thought this worked out. Logan told him about the party, told him he needed a guest to bring, like it was a mandatory work thing that he had to go to. Not…what he's currently being told. But before he can say that, or something to that effect, Logan's rolling his eyes again. Seriously, the man puts in a full eyeball workout every hour, it looks like.

"Ava's already declared her allegiance for him after learning he helped me with gift-getting, I don't need you two doing the same."

"You, willingly buying presents that aren't run-of-the-mill?" Ben says. "You are a miracle worker, Roman."

"It wasn't that big of a deal."

"It was," Logan corrects gently, looking at him with actual affection, "and I don't believe I ever properly thanked you for it, so thank you."

"Um…you're welcome?"

Sadie laughs. "Next thing you know, you'll be throwing your own Christmas party."

Roman laughs along with her. The idea of cynical, practical Logan throwing a Christmas party will do that. He can just imagine Logan's face at the idea too—

"I've actually been considering it."

He knows his head is not the only one that snaps around to stare when Logan says that. Ben recovers first, raising an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Not this, obviously," Logan continues, gesturing about, "but something with a few friends, certainly."

"Will wonders never cease…I never thought I'd see the day where you willingly get into the festive spirit."

"What can I say? It's that time of year."

"It certainly is," Sadie says, her gaze sliding far too neatly to Roman for a little too long. "Well, I hope that if you do deign to throw such a party, the two of us will be invited?"

"Naturally."

And then there are polite excuses being made as to why everyone has to be elsewhere and they're back to mingling again. Roman's brain is still stuck on the idea of Logan at a Christmas party. An actual Christmas party, where there's cheap alcohol and shitty music and terrible sweaters. He manages to get through a few more brief conversations before he's mumbling to Logan about needing a break and wandering off in search of the nearest window.

He manages to find one far enough away from the pounding music—and open bar—but close enough that Logan won't have to look around forever to find him. He leans against the edge, watching the snow drift between the skyscrapers. Absentmindedly, he tugs at his collar, as if it could get his mind away from the thoughts still swirling around and around his brain.

This is going fine. This is going great, even. It's just like what he normally does at parties: socialize for a little bit, find and hang on to the people he actually knows, and then find a quiet corner to just be by himself. He didn't even check to see if Patton would be here—no, no, Patton's with his partner now, he left last week. Well, that makes it only Logan that he knows here, not counting the few people whose names he's managed to remember.

That's fine too. Completely, totally fine. Absolutely nothing to worry about.

He takes another drink and finds the glass empty. Well, sallying forth to try and procure another one sounds like a bad idea, so he's just gonna have to deal with it.

"You," comes an amused voice from behind him, "are far too sober to be looking so worried."

He huffs a laugh, turning to see Logan holding out a fresh glass of…something that definitely isn't champagne. He takes it, eyes it warily, and at Logan's pointed stare, takes a sip. He doesn't cough, because he's not that bad at this, but he does make quite the face.

"You'd think I just handed you a glass of cyanide, it's just whisky, there's no need for all of that."

"Don't think it's quite to my taste." But he's also not in the habit of refusing a drink, so he tries another sip. This time he lets it sit on his tongue for a few moments before swallowing and it's…mildly better. "Thanks."

"I felt obligated to do a morale check." Logan glances over his shoulder. "The wolves haven't torn you to shreds yet, have they?"

"I thought sharks were the lawyer metaphor animal."

"Both suffice in their own ways. Both have a reputation for being particularly ruthless or determined, an association with chasing bloodshed. Keen senses, for noticing when someone's deflecting."

"Yeah, yeah, we get it," he grumbles, "I'm fine. Just…needed a minute."

"No one's looking at you funny, are they?"

He's about to give Logan a hard time for teasing him about something that he knows is a sore spot, he made his point already, but when he looks up, Logan's looking at him with a small furrow between his brows and the retort shrivels up. He shakes his head. Logan's shoulders relax.

"Good."

"Ava and Scott seemed cool. So did Ben and Sadie."

Logan hums, still watching him. He shuffles under it.

"What?"

"Is there something else bothering you? You seem upset still."

"I'm fine, really, just…not used to all of this," he finishes, somewhat lamely, "most of the parties I go to are more low-key. You know, bunch of people in a house, food, drink…that's it. Kind of like what you were describing."

"I hope you know that you'd be invited too."

"R-really?" He can't help the slight laugh of disbelief. "But we barely know each other."

"And yet, you're the only one who's managed to convince me that there might be something to all this holiday nonsense. You think I'd do something festive and not make you suffer through it with me?"

"See, you say there might be something to it, then you call it nonsense that you have to suffer through."

"Just because there's something redeeming about it doesn't mean I suddenly have to enjoy it."

"You really are a lawyer."

Logan laughs at that, a proper laugh, and that's just fucking unfair that he's a gorgeous bastard when he laughs too. He shakes his head, and Roman quickly looks back out the window. Nope. Not thinking about it. Not thinking about anything at all. No thoughts, head empty, that's him.

"You would come, though."

"Huh?"

"If I did have a party. You would come?"

"Of course I would," he says before his brain catches up to what he's saying and realizes that…yes, he actually would. He'd be happy to. "Just let me know when and where."

Logan smiles. Then it fades slightly, and Roman stands up a little more, about to ask what's wrong. His mouth opens and that, of course, is when someone comes up to talk to Logan and the moment's gone almost as quickly as it came.

"I have to go," Logan says, "don't run off this time, would you?"

"I'll be here."

Logan touches his arm again and turns, touch lingering just a bit on the edge of his bare wrist and Roman takes a huge gulp of the whisky.

Shit.

Unknown number: Roman, this is Logan. Are you free the evening of the 15th?

Roman blinks at his phone.

Me: How did you get my number?

Logan: I asked Patton. You do remember that we work together, yes?

Me: Yeah i remember but why did you want my number

Logan: To ask if you're free on the 15th, for starters.

Me: i think so, why?

Logan: The firm is throwing a holiday party and I've been instructed to bring someone who, quote: 'Won't cause a disruption but will add to the seasonal atmosphere.'

Me: is this supposed to be a compliment? also what kind of invitation says that?

Logan: I've certainly never met anyone as determined to preserve the holiday spirit as you. And no, that was a special instruction from my boss.

Me: still don't know if that's a compliment

Logan: Take it as you like. The dress code is black tie, so no terrible sweaters for you.

Me: i can't do that

Logan: Surely the holiday will survive if you're not in a hideous sweater for one evening

Me: no i don't have anything to wear to a black tie thing

His phone is silent for a long time and Roman's…fine about that. He was gonna enjoy that evening off, actually. Watch some of his favorite Christmas movies, listen to his favorite album, maybe actually get around to baking himself that thing he wanted to try ages ago…

Then his phone buzzes again. He picks it up and blinks to see an address.

Logan: Meet me here at 9 tomorrow.

Me: why?

Logan: To find you something appropriate to wear, of course.

Me: Logan, you don't need to do that.

Logan: I'm aware. 9 on the dot, don't be late.

Well.

Okay.

He's going shopping with Logan tomorrow, apparently. He also definitely needs to ask Patton why the hell he gave Logan his number.

At 8:55 the next morning, he's standing outside one of those department stores that just feels like it's the setting of some cliché rich person montage. He'd picked out a loose-fitting tee and a pair of decent sweatpants because, you know, shopping typically involves trying things on, but now he's wondering if he should've put on his nice slacks and a button down because holy shit does he feel underdressed right now.

"Ah, good. You are on time."

And sure enough, here comes Logan in his goddamned suit. Does the man own casual clothes? Logan gives him another look up and down and no, Roman doesn't imagine the way his nose turns up ever so slightly before fixing him with a stern expression.

"Am I right in thinking you don't have much experience buying formal wear?"

"Not for a black tie event, no."

"Lovely," he says, tone indicating this is anything but, "I expect you to pay attention."

"Logan," he says quickly before Logan can actually make it to the door, "I can't—I can't afford anything here."

"Don't worry, I'll pay."

"You'll—what?"

"I said I'll pay for it, Roman, now come on—"

"Why would you do that?"

"Aside from the fact that you've just said you can't afford it?"

"You don't—" Roman pinches the bridge of his nose— "look, I don't know what game this is or what point you're trying to prove, but it's not—I don't need your charity, okay?"

"It's not charity, Roman. Every man should have at least three well-fitting suits."

"Three? It's one night, Logan, I'm not—I can't do this."

Logan's looking at him strangely, like he's the one being weird about this—which he's not, he's being very reasonably suspicious and Logan shouldn't be looking at him like that—before he turns on his heel and heads down the block. After a moment of realizing that Roman's not walking with him, he reaches back and tucks his hand into the crook of Roman's arm the way he did at the party, which Roman still isn't thinking about, thank you very much, leading him around the corner to a coffee shop that also looks too expensive. He holds his tongue this time, resigning himself to whatever it is Logan's decided they're doing, taking the cup pushed into his hand and following Logan back outside.

Logan leads them to a bench in a more secluded area of the street, sitting down and nodding for Roman to sit next to him. "What's making you uncomfortable?"

Roman scoffs, but then Logan furrows his brow and…shit, he's actually being sincere. He swallows. "Aside from the fact that everyone in there looks like they're wearing my rent?"

"They're only clothes, Roman."

He doesn't register the surprisingly gentle tone Logan's using. "They're not just clothes, they're—they're—I don't belong in that world, Logan. I'm not gonna try to force myself into it."

"What world?"

"The world where I can spent rent on a suit and have that be fine. The world where people are that rich and that—that—" he suddenly remembers that Logan is one of said rich people, or at least is acting like it right now— "I just can't do it."

Logan's quiet for a moment, still just looking at him. Roman looks away, sipping at his coffee. Shit, it's good coffee too. Logan's probably thinking about how much of a waste of time this was, and he wasted his time the other day with buying the gifts too…and now with the whole party thing, maybe it's better to just leave.

That's not very seasonally gracious of you.

The memory of Logan's voice in his head shocks him into realizing how much of a dick he's being. Logan's doing this—presumably—out of the goodness of his heart, or at the very least he's not expecting Roman to pay him back or anything. And here Roman is, practically throwing a tantrum about it.

"Sorry," he says quietly, bowing his head, "I'm being an asshole, aren't I?"

"Being uncomfortable doesn't make you an asshole, Roman."

"Yeah, but…"

"No buts. I'd rather you tell me than suffer through it." The sincerity in his tone makes him look up again to see Logan still watching him. "What is it about it that's making it worse? Is it the money? I really don't mind paying for you. At the risk of sounding, well, like that, it's not that big of a deal to me."

He's gonna put that aside for now, yeah. "I just—I know how those people look at me."

"And how is that?"

He scuffs his toe through some of the salt congealing under the bench. "Like I'm not supposed to be there. Like I have the gall to be in the same room as them, or like I don't exist. I don't like it."

There's a pause. Then: "Do you think that's how I look at you?"

His head jerks over. Logan's hands are still around the coffee cup, but there's a bit of tension in them now. He adjusts his glasses even though there's really no need for it. He swallows.

"I don't…I really don't know how you look at me, Logan," he admits, "I thought that's what you were doing at first, but it's…I don't know, okay? Is that what you want to hear?"

"I'm not your enemy, Roman," he says with an unmistakable hurt that makes Roman want to throw up, "nor am I interrogating you."

"I know, I'm sorry. I…I didn't mean it like that."

Logan just looks at him for a few more seconds. He fidgets under it and looks away.

"Why're you doing this," he asks quietly, "surely there's an easier way to get around your boss's instructions?"

Another long pause. A car drives by and nearly splashes them with gray sludge. A dog barks at a pigeon taking flight.

"You're the first person who's successfully gotten me to buy actual presents for my family in almost ten years," Logan says suddenly, "and you managed it on the second time we'd ever met."

Hold on, Roman was what? He did what, now?

"And I thought about how my family would react to those presents and I found myself actually getting excited about it," he continues, like he isn't blowing Roman's mind right now, "so…perhaps there's something to this whole gift-giving, caring thing people like to peddle this time of year."

"They do say Christmas is the joy of giving."

"Quite, but I have no interest in making you out to be a charity case."

"You don't?"

Logan shakes his head. "No. If anything, this is my reward for myself. A selfish act to balance out the selfless one."

Roman frowns. "You…buying me a suit is you being selfish?"

A familiarly smug smirk curls up Logan's face and Roman will deny the way he swallows when he sees it until the day he dies. "No, me inviting the one person I'm genuinely fascinated by to an otherwise boring event of schmoozing and networking is the selfish act. The suit, well…aside from the fact that it is a crime that you've never been properly fitted for a suit before—"

"Hey! Again, not all of us are going to galas all the time!"

"—you managed to captivate me in a cheap sweater and worn jeans," Logan continues as if he hadn't spoken, voice suddenly a lot, lot lower, "and I can hardly pass up the opportunity to see you in something better."

Roman does not squeak. He does not turn bright pink, he does not shuffle like a schoolboy, he does not go all wide-eyed like some little fawn caught in the jaws of the Big Bad Wolf. He doesn't do any of those things because there's no way Logan just said that to him like it was nothing in the middle of the day while they're in public.

Logan's smirk just grows.

"You what?"

"Come, now, there's no need to be shy. You certainly have a healthy appreciation for my suits—" goddamnit— "can you truly begrudge me for having the same interest?"

"I—that's not—I didn't—shut up!"

He just chuckles, like an asshole, as Roman hides his splutter behind another sip of coffee. Thank God he's wearing a hat so Logan can't see how red his ears are right now.

"I don't need three suits," he manages with a remarkably steady voice, "not if the party's just one night."

"You never know, you might have the chance to attend another in the future."

Nope. Not thinking about that. Absolutely not, no, thank you. "I think sticking with just the one is fine for me right now."

"Very well." Logan stands with a swish of his coat. "One suit it is."

It takes until Logan's halfway down the block that Roman realizes he's been tricked into agreeing to let Logan pay for a suit, and the bastard doesn't even look sorry about it when Roman hollers after him.

Dick.

Of course, as soon as they get inside, part of him wants to leave immediately, but then Logan's hand is curling around his arm and he swallows, letting himself be guided across the sales floor to a section with a lot of black and navy fabric. He stares at the racks with what must be some form of abject terror because Logan's chuckling at him and leaning close.

"Don't worry, I'm not about to leave you on your own."

"You'd better not," he shoots back, but his voice comes out all high and thready.

Logan waves over a sales associate who's dressed better than Roman's ever been in his entire life and explains that Roman needs a suit. At least that's what he assumes just happened. In reality, there's a dull buzz in his head right now that's making it hard to focus on anything other than staying upright, not having a panic attack, and on the warmth of Logan's hand holding onto his arm through his coat. He does notice the associate eyeing his clothes a little disdainfully and quickly forces out: "Easier to change."

"Ah, how sensible. If only all of our clients were as considerate. Now, what sort of styles do you like?"

"I have absolutely no idea and I'm mostly scared to touch anything."

Both of them laugh and somehow manage to do it without sounding mean. "Do not worry, nothing in here bites, I assure you."

Roman can't help the way his gaze darts to Logan. Logan, because he is apparently determined to kill Roman today, winks at him.

"You're not helping," he hisses as the associate turns to pull something from a nearby rack.

"I don't recall promising to help, only that I wouldn't leave you alone."

"You're buying me another hot chocolate after this."

He does, and it's way too expensive and it tastes way too good and he wants to be mad about it and the garment bag he has to haul home, but then Logan's threatening to get him a cab as well and he high-tails it out of there before he makes good on it.

When he gets home, he just sort of…stands there for a moment, looking at the bag. In a daze, he reaches up and traces the emblem of the store embroidered into the black fabric. This is his suit. He actually owns it, it's made for him, it's something that he just has now. And yeah, maybe Logan was right: more than a small part of him is dancing at the idea of such a thing.

Before he can tell it to stop, that part of him whirls him through a set of doors and he's picturing himself in a grand ballroom with crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, music overflowing into the gardens, the balconies, as it should for any spectacular party. With this suit, he belongs there, just as much as anyone else, amidst the swirling skirts and glittering tidings, where he could stand on his own and be welcome, celebrated, even, as much as anyone else. Where a hand might extend to him and mean it, where he could look up at Logan's face and smile, and not have to worry that a kiss would be refused—

The garment bag hits the floor with a crumpled thud.

Roman blinks rapidly, giving himself a good shake. What the hell was that? How did Logan manage to sneak in there? What's that got to do with—

Oh.

Oh.

Oh, no.

No, no, no—no, shit, he is not doing this again. He knows better now, he's not that young or naive or stupid anymore, he is not getting caught up in some ridiculous thing that will only end with his heart in pieces on the floor and a wobbling smile on his face. He is not going to start doing that.

With a muffled groan, he snags the bag off the floor and stomps to the closet, hanging it up and shoving the door closed again. This is stupid. This is the third time he's met Logan, there's no reason for him to be doing this. Even if by some Christmas miracle Logan doesn't find out about this—because Roman wears his heart on his sleeve and Logan keeps doing that thing where he sees him—his traitor of a heart flutters again and he shoves a pin through its wings—he's still going to have to look at him at this stupid party and—and—

And his mind flashes back to that little bit of hurt he'd heard in Logan's voice when he asked if Roman thought he looked at him the way all those fucking rich people do. He swallows around the sudden lump in his throat. Would Logan look at him the same way now, knowing he was assuming the worst of him?

No, no, that's not right. Accurately predicting the rejection of his sudden and really very stupid feelings was not assuming the worst of him. If anything, Logan might complement him on his very mature and reasonable handling of unrequited emotions. Yeah, that was it. He just has to be an adult about this, the way everyone else has said the same thing his entire life. It's a good thing he realized these feelings now, actually, and not at the party where there will be other people and he'll be in that suit and Logan will be there too, because he's invited Roman of all people, going so far as to make sure he has something to wear…

He snaps himself out of it, almost glaring at the closet door. No. Not doing that. He's just going to go to this party as Logan's friend, spend the time being there the way a friend would, and not think about what would happen if Logan had asked him there as more than a friend.

He can do this.

***

He can't do this.

He's been standing outside the lobby of this big slab of glass and steel in the middle of downtown for about ten minutes now and he has no idea of how to move forward. He's on the list, he knows, because Logan sent him a confirmation email yesterday, so he doesn't have to wait here for someone else to show up and let him in, he definitely doesn't have to wait for Logan to show up so they can go inside, but here he is. Loitering. He's pretty sure it's only because of the suit that the front desk person hasn't called the cops or whatever.

"You've truly a wonderful sense of timing."

He whirls around to see Logan getting out of a sleek black town car. His mouth goes dry a little at the sight and he'll deny it forever. Take the fifth, or whichever amendment is the one that means you don't have to say shit. Logan's smirking at him by the time they're standing next to each other, though, so he's pretty sure he has some idea of what's running through his head.

"Hey," he croaks, clearing his throat, "thought about going in, but then I realized I'd have no idea of where I'm going."

"They could've told you."

Don't bring your logic here while I'm having a crisis. "Yeah, well, isn't it bad form to show up separately from the person who invited you?"

Logan gives him that look like he's being nice to him by letting it go—and hey, he is a lawyer, maybe that counts as being nice—and takes his elbow. "Come on, then. We're getting dangerously close to being disastrously late instead of fashionably late."

They walk through the door and Logan waves a card at the person behind the desk—ID badge, Roman's brain supplies helpfully. The elevator is just a normal elevator, thank God, but then it opens onto a floor of way too many people in expensive clothing and more of that pretentious not-Christmas music and it's all he can do not to immediately slam the 'down' button again.

"Relax," Logan says quietly, "it's just a party."

"Easy for you to say, you work here."

"Actually, that makes it worse for me: I have to see these people again after tonight."

A somewhat hysterical giggle bubbles up in Roman's throat but he steps out of the elevator all the same. There's a large booth off to one side where racks have been set up for people's coats, two smartly-dressed people manning a small desk. Logan walks up and passes over his coat without hesitating, which means Roman has to hustle a little bit to not get left behind in the crowd.

"So, what're we supposed to do?"

"Mingle," Logan sighs, like he's just been asked to hold up the heavens, "I am responsible for following up with a few of our more…anxious clients, but you just have to walk around and look pretty."

Roman snags an offered glass of champagne and downs about half of it in one go to avoid thinking about that too much. Logan just chuckles and starts leading his way through the masses, Roman trudging along behind him.

The first set of people they come across must be other people Logan works with on a regular basis; they react like Logan's the cool kid coming to join them at the lunch table when he strolls closer, one of them giving him a slap on the shoulder and the others raising their glasses in toast. A change comes over him, growing taller and sleeker as Roman watches before he realizes hey, this is probably one of those things Logan wants him to talk at. Sure enough, as he approaches, one of them spots him over Logan's shoulder.

"Is this the lucky man with you tonight?"

"Yes," Logan says, turning and extending a hand to gather Roman in close, "this is Roman. Roman, these are some of the insufferable colleagues I mentioned before."

"Hello, nice to meet you."

"Look, Logan, someone with manners," a woman says, dark eyes flashing over the rim of her glass, "you could learn something from him."

"You must be the one that threatened to stab him if he didn't get the right presents," he says, without thinking, only for the others to burst out laughing. The woman just grins.

"That would be me, yes." She holds out her hand. "Ava Nath. Pleasure to suffer through knowing Logan along with you."

"Roman."

"Claws to yourself, Ava," Logan says lowly and fuck, Logan being all weirdly possessive around his friends—are they friends? Roman's really gonna hope they're friends—is doing things to Roman.

"How'd you manage to meet this one, Roman?" asks another man, nudging Logan with his elbow. "Can't have been through work, otherwise we'd've warned you away ages ago."

Roman swallows another mouthful of champagne. "Mutual friend."

"Oh? Which friend would that be?"

"You guys realize we're not in a court room, right? You don't have to interrogate me if you don't want to."

Again, thank God they took that as a joke, laughing again even as Logan's hand lands warmly on his upper back. The man waves his hand in a gesture of surrender. "Sorry. Ask anyone here, it's hard to turn off."

"No, it's fine, I…should've expected it. I'm friends with Patton, that's how we met."

"Patton…from down on the 16th floor, yes. Sweet guy. Makes sense." He gives himself a shake. "Here I am forgetting my manners too. Scott Kensington, pleased to meet you."

Roman shakes his hand. Logan's hand is still on his back, thumb slightly stroking the material of suit. He should not be paying attention to that, he should be paying attention to the conversation.

He takes another gulp.

"Well, you just got here, so you've still got your rounds to do."

Logan groans. "Don't remind me. Just tell me that Forstby isn't here yet."

"Oh, God, no, he'll probably stumble in about an hour from now."

"Small mercies. Well, it was lovely catching up with you, but I'm afraid we're needed elsewhere. Roman?"

"Yep, I'm coming."

"Pleasure meeting you," Ava calls as he's ushered away, "come back when you're done!"

"Will we be doing that?"

Logan rolls his eyes. "If we must. Come on, now, we've more hands to shake."

It turns out that meeting people in rapid succession is not a good way for him to remember names, or faces, instead he just gets more and more through this glass of champagne with a pasted-on smile and a few comments he doesn't think about that thankfully just make everyone else laugh. He's pretty sure Logan can tell, though, judging by the way his hand never leaves his back or his shoulder for longer than about ten seconds at a time. He'd like to resent him for that. He really would. He'd also like to resent him for feeding the fantasy Roman's brain has been helpfully pushing at him all night but he's ignoring that one like a champ.

They end up in a conversation with one of the firm's clients, not that he really knows what that means—okay, no, he does know what that means, he just doesn't know what he's supposed to do about it. The couple is a striking older duo, a man with ginger hair flecked with salt and pepper, as is his beard, introducing himself as Ben, and a stunning blonde woman with high cheekbones and a piercing green stare who tells him call me Sadie. They'd both spoken warmly to Logan upon seeing him, gathering him in for a hug—which he hadn't been shocked by, nope, not at all—before turning to Roman. He'd stumbled his way through an intro, belatedly offering his hand, only for them to…well, basically coo at how adorable he is. He minds a little less than he'd thought. They explain how they met through a mutual friend again and the three of them have been talking about something business related ever since. Which means Roman can just nod in the right places, laugh in the right places, and not think about anything else.

Nope.

Not at all.

"But that's enough business talk," Ben sighs, "this is supposed to be a party."

"That doesn't typically stop you," Sadie says, to which Ben huffs and she turns her smile to Roman. "Forgive us."

"Nothing to forgive, I get it."

"I suppose we have you to thank for this evening?"

"Uh, what? Sorry, I, um…how so?"

"Come now, there's no need to be coy about it. We all know Logan's a bit of a Grinch when it comes to the holidays," Ben says with a wink at Logan.

"If being practical makes me a Grinch, then yes, I suppose so."

"See what I mean?"

"We weren't sure he was even going to be here," Sadie continues, "so I presume I have you to thank for getting him in the spirit?"

Which…is not how Roman thought this worked out. Logan told him about the party, told him he needed a guest to bring, like it was a mandatory work thing that he had to go to. Not…what he's currently being told. But before he can say that, or something to that effect, Logan's rolling his eyes again. Seriously, the man puts in a full eyeball workout every hour, it looks like.

"Ava's already declared her allegiance for him after learning he helped me with gift-getting, I don't need you two doing the same."

"You, willingly buying presents that aren't run-of-the-mill?" Ben says. "You are a miracle worker, Roman."

"It wasn't that big of a deal."

"It was," Logan corrects gently, looking at him with actual affection, "and I don't believe I ever properly thanked you for it, so thank you."

"Um…you're welcome?"

Sadie laughs. "Next thing you know, you'll be throwing your own Christmas party."

Roman laughs along with her. The idea of cynical, practical Logan throwing a Christmas party will do that. He can just imagine Logan's face at the idea too—

"I've actually been considering it."

He knows his head is not the only one that snaps around to stare when Logan says that. Ben recovers first, raising an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Not this, obviously," Logan continues, gesturing about, "but something with a few friends, certainly."

"Will wonders never cease…I never thought I'd see the day where you willingly get into the festive spirit."

"What can I say? It's that time of year."

"It certainly is," Sadie says, her gaze sliding far too neatly to Roman for a little too long. "Well, I hope that if you do deign to throw such a party, the two of us will be invited?"

"Naturally."

And then there are polite excuses being made as to why everyone has to be elsewhere and they're back to mingling again. Roman's brain is still stuck on the idea of Logan at a Christmas party. An actual Christmas party, where there's cheap alcohol and shitty music and terrible sweaters. He manages to get through a few more brief conversations before he's mumbling to Logan about needing a break and wandering off in search of the nearest window.

He manages to find one far enough away from the pounding music—and open bar—but close enough that Logan won't have to look around forever to find him. He leans against the edge, watching the snow drift between the skyscrapers. Absentmindedly, he tugs at his collar, as if it could get his mind away from the thoughts still swirling around and around his brain.

This is going fine. This is going great, even. It's just like what he normally does at parties: socialize for a little bit, find and hang on to the people he actually knows, and then find a quiet corner to just be by himself. He didn't even check to see if Patton would be here—no, no, Patton's with his partner now, he left last week. Well, that makes it only Logan that he knows here, not counting the few people whose names he's managed to remember.

That's fine too. Completely, totally fine. Absolutely nothing to worry about.

He takes another drink and finds the glass empty. Well, sallying forth to try and procure another one sounds like a bad idea, so he's just gonna have to deal with it.

"You," comes an amused voice from behind him, "are far too sober to be looking so worried."

He huffs a laugh, turning to see Logan holding out a fresh glass of…something that definitely isn't champagne. He takes it, eyes it warily, and at Logan's pointed stare, takes a sip. He doesn't cough, because he's not that bad at this, but he does make quite the face.

"You'd think I just handed you a glass of cyanide, it's just whisky, there's no need for all of that."

"Don't think it's quite to my taste." But he's also not in the habit of refusing a drink, so he tries another sip. This time he lets it sit on his tongue for a few moments before swallowing and it's…mildly better. "Thanks."

"I felt obligated to do a morale check." Logan glances over his shoulder. "The wolves haven't torn you to shreds yet, have they?"

"I thought sharks were the lawyer metaphor animal."

"Both suffice in their own ways. Both have a reputation for being particularly ruthless or determined, an association with chasing bloodshed. Keen senses, for noticing when someone's deflecting."

"Yeah, yeah, we get it," he grumbles, "I'm fine. Just…needed a minute."

"No one's looking at you funny, are they?"

He's about to give Logan a hard time for teasing him about something that he knows is a sore spot, he made his point already, but when he looks up, Logan's looking at him with a small furrow between his brows and the retort shrivels up. He shakes his head. Logan's shoulders relax.

"Good."

"Ava and Scott seemed cool. So did Ben and Sadie."

Logan hums, still watching him. He shuffles under it.

"What?"

"Is there something else bothering you? You seem upset still."

"I'm fine, really, just…not used to all of this," he finishes, somewhat lamely, "most of the parties I go to are more low-key. You know, bunch of people in a house, food, drink…that's it. Kind of like what you were describing."

"I hope you know that you'd be invited too."

"R-really?" He can't help the slight laugh of disbelief. "But we barely know each other."

"And yet, you're the only one who's managed to convince me that there might be something to all this holiday nonsense. You think I'd do something festive and not make you suffer through it with me?"

"See, you say there might be something to it, then you call it nonsense that you have to suffer through."

"Just because there's something redeeming about it doesn't mean I suddenly have to enjoy it."

"You really are a lawyer."

Logan laughs at that, a proper laugh, and that's just fucking unfair that he's a gorgeous bastard when he laughs too. He shakes his head, and Roman quickly looks back out the window. Nope. Not thinking about it. Not thinking about anything at all. No thoughts, head empty, that's him.

"You would come, though."

"Huh?"

"If I did have a party. You would come?"

"Of course I would," he says before his brain catches up to what he's saying and realizes that…yes, he actually would. He'd be happy to. "Just let me know when and where."

Logan smiles. Then it fades slightly, and Roman stands up a little more, about to ask what's wrong. His mouth opens and that, of course, is when someone comes up to talk to Logan and the moment's gone almost as quickly as it came.

"I have to go," Logan says, "don't run off this time, would you?"

"I'll be here."

Logan touches his arm again and turns, touch lingering just a bit on the edge of his bare wrist and Roman takes a huge gulp of the whisky.

Shit.

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[lambhouse]

art block & burnout (and how i deal with it)

so i've been kind of Going Thru It lately, but then again who hasn't? life's kind of been an ongoing shitslide these past few years. and i can't say it's only now starting to catch up to me, because that would be a bald faced lie, but i think i've finally reached the point where i realize that for real, no cap, or whatever the kids say these days, change starts with me.

what does that mean, you ask? and what does it have to do with burnout and drawing?

well, i've been at my lowest for two years and counting now. i've had bouts of creativity and whole entire weeks of being productive and drawing like a machine and just generally being high on life, but those were just spikes of activity on an otherwise flat line. and i've been flatlining for months now. i know i'm due for a high at some point (it's how these things go), but this time i decided to get ahead of it and start building up some good habits so that when the next low hits, it won't be as hard.

this, at its core, isn't anything new or revolutionary and i can't say the tips/advice i have are universally applicable, but they will hopefully give you an idea of where to start, or at least give you a different perspective on how to go about applying any of the general art advice you see out there.

so without further ado, here is how i did this:

i started a new sketchbook last month. that, in and of itself, isn't a big deal; the big deal is that i kept up with it for a month straight. tomorrow is the actual 1-month anniversary (lol) of my daily drawing habit.

that's not particularly impressive either, not even for me. i've had periods where i drew regularly -- not 7 days a week regularly, but 3-4 days in a row every week and i kept that going for weeks. but i wasn't going through burnout at the time, and that's what makes this such an important milestone for me.

how i started:

it was rough, lol. looking back at this now i can see it's not a terrible first drawing but i remember how fucking stressed i was the entire time. my hands were shaking, i kept erasing and redrawing, i added color thinking it would make it look better, i even tried drawing from reference (the DRDs and the very faint flower in the corner) but i didn't have enough patience to really look at my references. overall it was a miserable experience.

but something good did come out of it, because i realized two things:

i was too mentally drained to draw from imagination, and

drawing in pencil hindered me more than it helped

now, drawing from imagination was what i always wanted to do and i could do it well enough and consistently enough when i was feeling good. but the whole reason i decided to build a habit like this was so i wouldn't have to depend on the whims of my brain chemistry anymore.

so drawing from reference it was. good thing i already had a pinterest board full of portrait references. i added about a hundred more to it that first night, just to have more variety, and that was enough to get me excited for the next drawing session.

now, the pencil thing. that's a bit tricky to explain and i can't promise it'll work for you as well as it did for me, but i think it's worth a shot.

the way it works for me is, the pencil is too easy a tool to use. even if you make a mistake, you've got an eraser and a million do-overs (or as many as your paper holds up to). so if i draw and erase and redraw the same line over and over again, at some point that starts to mean that there's something wrong with me, that i'm a shit artist, and what's the fucking point of doing it if i've basically got all the training wheels i need and i still can't draw this fucking eye right, or the mouth still looks weird, or the face is wonky. if the paper's good and the pencil lead is good quality and the eraser does its job well and still the drawing looks like shit, well, who's to blame for that? me.

i knew from the start that this was where i was headed if i decided to draw in pencil. even the very first sketches i did were in colored pencil, which is a step up in difficulty from regular graphite (they can be erased, but not completely). but obviously that didn't work as i had hoped, so more drastic measures were required.

so i decided to just rawdog it. i ditched the pencils entirely and took my tombow pens out of retirement. i only had five and two of them were different shades of pink, so not a lot of room to play with colors-as-values, but i made do. the three figures that look like they were drawn in pencil were actually drawn with the grey pen.

now this may seem counterintuitive. if erasing and redrawing stresses me out so much, how does drawing directly in pen make it better? isn't that just more stress?

yes and no, but mostly no. the way i rationalized it is, i can't make a perfect pen drawing even at my absolute best. there's just no way. but i can eventually arrive at a perfect pencil drawing, through a lot of trial and error and frustration, so why not take all of that out of the equation? frustration never helped me get better, it was just a creative sinkhole. so why not get rid of it? turn the possibility of failure into a certainty and work with or around that new certainty.

cut out the middleman, so to speak.

and it fucking worked.

-- for full disclosure, i've drawn in pen before. i started on a whim a few years ago and found it pretty liberating, so i kept doing it.

these are some of the first sketches i did in pen. they're pretty good, but as you can see from the date at the bottom, these were from before the Great Calamity of 2020 happened and everything went to shit. --

back to the thing.

so drawing in pen worked wonders to loosen me up and keep me going with the challenge -- or the building of a new habit. it certainly helped that i was also drawing portraits from reference and didn't have to think about poses, or features, or expressions -- they were all already there for me to draw.

not having to think about any of that also meant i had more energy to put into other things, like shading and coloring and how to simplify and stylize complex forms.

(i also got some poscas and four new watercolor makers. they weren't necessary for the process, but they were a nice treat.)

so i kept drawing. two days turned into three, into five, until i had a full week of daily drawings under my belt.

i hit a snag on day 8. (no pictures because (1) its fucking embarrassing, and (2) it's an oc design for a thing i'm still cooking and it's in the earliest of stages where the characters don't even have names.) i have a pretty good idea why day 8 was such a miss: i got overconfident. day 7 was a draw from your imagination day and it went well enough i thought i could do it again the next day. lol nope.

so i went back to my reference board for the next couple of days, but i had gotten a taste of true freedom (drawing from imagination -- and in pencil!) and i wasn't feeling the portraits anymore.

the next couple of days after that were rough (again -- no pictures bc uncooked oc's) but all the drawing from reference i did the week before had done me good. i had the willpower to keep going despite being unhappy with my drawings. they weren't bad drawings per se, but i was using my newly-found oc-drawing muscles and there were bound to be some growing pains. i was also drawing in pencil but by that point i had gotten used to making mistakes so i wasn't stressed about having to erase over and over.

(i don't think i actually erased all that much, tbh. i was instead using a blending stump to mask the wobbly lines.)

day 15. i didn't set out to draw one page a day but that's what ended up happening so i just went with it. i also only had an hour or two to draw and that's how much i was able to get done in that amount of time. slow and steady wins the race, i guess?

day 19 was i think the first time i drew in pen from imagination in a long time. i was also watching some vtuber drama nonsense on youtube and it got me thinking about making my own vtuber model. idek what a vtuber is or does but the process of making a model from scratch sounds interesting. (its also very time-consuming, i hear.)

anyway.

actual cooked oc's this time + a page of raziel drawn from memory to celebrate the news of the soul reaver prequel graphic novel that's in the making. (apparently dave rapoza is gonna do the cover art for it??)

and this is now turning into an art diary, but you get the gist. i kept going.

and going.

and going.

even when it wasn't fun. even when i didnt' feel like it. and maybe i havent built the habit all the way through yet, but the more i kept going the more i noticed how the "i don't feel like it" feeling became less and less intense.

it hasn't gone away completely. its 10pm now as i'm writing this and i know i have to open up my sketchbook and draw and tbh i don't really feel like it, but it's less that i'm drained and more like "but what if i fuck up a perfectly good page?"

and i know how to deal with that. i pick up a pen and fuck it up on purpose, and then i look at what i have and start problem-solving.

because that's what gets me through it.

not having a clear, concrete problem to tackle is what kept me stuck in limbo for so long, it's what's at the core of my burnout. you'd think creating more problems on purpose would make the burnout worse, but it got me out of the black hole of indecision and anxiety. because if it's something that i made, it's something i can unmake. it's something i can fix.

so i'm fucking fixing it, one step at a time.

[goodluckclove]

How Clove Gardener Writes (an Overview)

I definitely told myself when I started this blog a billion years ago, at the dawn of human civilization, that I wouldn't make any attempt to tell you how to write. You know - other than saying just do it do the thing write it close the blog open the document type type three sentences bam look you did it good job i love you now go get yourself a treat.

But I've spoken to a few writers who seem to benefit from the insight of me just explaining how I write. So I thought I'd give a little peek into my own mindset. I cannot stress enough that this is what works for me. It's a methodology that I've built up over the course of like fifteen years of trying different things, keeping what works, and throwing the rest right out the goddamned window.

If any of this seems new and appealing give it a try. If it doesn't help I'm wrong and bad as a person (no I'm kidding but seriously if it doesn't work that's fine and we're both fine). If it helps you owe me a picture of a frog drawn from memory.

Let's see how long I ramble. Follow me under the read more!

Okay, so let's get this out of the way. I've never taken a writing class. No, that's not true. I took one when I was thirteen and another one in high school and I don't remember anything either of them taught me. Oh and I took an online creative writing class in college, but I also didn't retain anything and the next year I dropped out of college. So I also don't have a degree in jack shit.

What else? I don't outline. I've written upwards of 15 novels (13-15, I honestly can't remember) and I did not outline any of them. This includes character sheets and worldbuilding lore. My first published novel Blind Trust was born from the concept of the Lover's Knot, which is just like some witchy magic lore. I thought it would be cool so I was like "who could maybe be some guys" and then I introduced some guys and then bam 180k later it was Scott and Edgar.

I do virtually no preparation to write a novel other than the vaguest premise and maybe like one cool scene. I did not have a cool scene for Blind Trust, but I do have one for Migration Patterns. What I don't have is an ending. I don't think I've ever written a novel knowing how it ends.

Literally here's what I do. This is all I do. I sit down and I write until I don't know what's going to happen next, at which point I step away and I listen to some music or I go to the museum or I take a nap until I decide how to continue. That's it.

For me it's going to the zoo every day and seeing the monkeys. And every day they're doing something different. Sometimes they're sleeping, or they're pawing at each other, or they're gathering sticks. I can call out to them and offer to show them a card trick or share my Bugles with them, and they might come up to the wall of the enclosure to see what I'm doing. Or they might not. I do not really have control of the situation, but it doesn't matter because they aren't fully aware of me.

At some point either I have to leave the zoo for some reason. Maybe I'm tired, or maybe the monkeys have been pulled in to be fed their lunch (it's bananas and peanuts). Either way I add that day's behavior to the pile and then come back tomorrow.

Once I find an ending I go back and I read through the book again and trim any fat that's in the wrong places while adding flesh to some naked bones. Then I wait a week or more (usually I can only wait a week) and go back and do it again. By that point it's ready to hopefully have someone read it, after which I make small edits and tweaks.

That's how I do it. Or at least, that's how I do it for longform prose projects that I plan to publish. I've written plenty of novels that just stayed first drafts because I didn't feel like revising them and then I moved on to the next one. I don't regret that. I don't consider it a waste of time.

I would never consider a trip to the zoo a waste of time.

Anyways, that's what works for me. I don't know if all of this will apply to other brains. I don't know if any of it will. I figure it might just be useful to get an in-depth look at what I personally vibe with.

I'm so down to talk writing at any time, by the way. I love to do it. Tell me why you aren't writing and I would be happy to listen and try to help. Or just brainstorm. Seriously, my DMs and inbox are perpetually open. Talking about writing is one of my favorite things to do.

Let's go look at some monkeys together.

[possibilistfanfiction]

For a prompt: honestly, I’d love to see more of outsider’s perspectives of Ava and Bea, like you did with the shopkeeper and her wife.

[tbh this has basically everyone u would want to see!! lol - 10k ao3 here]

//

yasmine

camila and beatrice have been video chatting often lately, and have figured out something encouraging,  you think. you try to understand everything, but it seems like, especially when jillian is on, they're speaking a whole different language. sometimes you're a little blown away by the both of them still: camila is brilliant at anything to do with technology, and kind, and funny; beatrice is brilliant at, well, just about everything, and, even though she's been working steadfastly to research how to get ava back, she still has sunkissed skin now, light hair and freckles. sometimes you see a flash of a tattoo on her wrist.

it hadn't really surprised you, to see ava lean forward while the whole entire world was ending and kiss beatrice — a little awkward, for you, but mostly achy. you haven't ever cared about sexuality, but you definitely don't when it comes to the two of them: because there's harm and then there's duty and then there's love.

one day you're sitting with camila, pretending to read more than actually reading, when beatrice facetimes. you know this because, honestly, sometimes you're a little nosy. it's fine; you helped save the world and sometimes the ocs, with incessant and constant training, gets kind of dull.

when camila answers, beatrice is crying. from what you can see, she's in a sports bra, you're pretty sure; you're scared, for a moment, that she's hurt, or that something really bad has happened, but then she's laughing and say, 'ava's here; ava's here,' and camila starts to cry.

'she's — she's okay?'

and then, a literal fucking miracle, ava's face — the same as you remember; so pretty and with a friendly smile — pops up on screen.

'holy shit,' camila says, and then she's laughing too, her eyes filling with tears. 'hi, ava.'

'hey,' ava says, then crams in next to where beatrice is sitting on the couch, practically on her lap, but you can't really begrudge them. beatrice is in a pair of sweatpants and, indeed, a sports bra; ava has, ostensibly, changed from whatever outfit she came back in, because she's wearing a big soft t-shirt and a comfortable pair of shorts. maybe that's what she wore in — wherever she was, but you're pretty certain those are beatrice's clothes. 'yasmine too, hello.'

beatrice is still crying and smiling and ava leans into her side, runs her fingers gently under her eyes to dry her tears.

'— how?' is the only thing camila gets out: are you okay?; do you remember us?; do you want to kill us now?; how long have you been gone?; are you still the ava we know?; what is going to happen to this world now? sits in your chest, but ava just shrugs.

'i heard bea, all the time.' beatrice blushes slightly, but she just tucks her face into ava's arm from a moment. 'and all of you too. but, bea, the strongest. i think it had something to do with her being in the ocean, maybe? and the city of angels.' she turns to beatrice. 'a little on the nose, don't you think?'

'oh yeah,' camila says, 'that's it, definitely the only reason.'

beatrice rolls her eyes but ava just smiles. 'and because she loves me, i suppose.' she scoots even closer to beatrice, who sighs happily. 'something just — spit me out, i guess. right in bea's living room. which, if i do say so myself, is way better than cat's cradle, no offense.'

another miracle in a series of miracles beyond belief. 'wow,' you say, and there's a beat of silence before everyone is laughing again, camila wiping tears.

'anyway, maybe you can come to us, tomorrow?' ava asks. 'i don't — i would like to stay here, if i can. if that works. at least for a few days.'

'you're — you're healed?' you can't help but ask.

ava nods. 'lots of scars,' she says, but then shrugs, and beatrice runs a gentle hand up and down her spine. 'but yeah, i'm good, as far as i can tell. not old as fuck, either, which rocks.'

'we can come tomorrow,' camila says, then starts crying all over again. 'i can't wait to see you. both of you.'

ava grins. 'yeah, don't come too early, though. i have plans.'

beatrice really blushes then, coughs into ava's shoulder.

'i will be sure to let beatrice know before coming,' camila says.

ava's smile is way too bright, all of a sudden, and beatrice groans and you kind of want to cover your ears before ava says, 'that's what i'll be doing tonight.'

'goodbye, ava,' camila says, even though she laughs. 'i love you, so much.'

ava leans into the camera, like she wants to reach through it. 'i love you too. i am — there are no words for what i feel, seeing you all again. and how much i missed you.'

'well, have fun tonight,' camila says. 'please don't tell me any details when we visit tomorrow.'

'this one time, i'll spare you.'

'thank god.'

//

keiko

you meet her on an otherwise unremarkable monday afternoon. you're running through your forms before the advanced adult class you teach, and when she walks in, you notice her immediately: muscular in a cutoff tank, in a way that's unassuming and speaks to years of training specifically in martial art, a calm expression on her face. her hair is back in a meticulously neat bun, and, when she sees the wall of bo you've spent a few years collecting, her shoulders relax and she lets out a big breath. vanessa is at the front desk and, while she's the best to go out in weho with, she's not the most knowledgable.

'hi,' you say, stepping up beside the desk. 'i'm keiko.'

she offers her hand and shakes firmly, calluses similar to yours. 'beatrice,' she says. 'pleasure.'

'can i help you with anything?'

'i'm hoping to join a dojo.'

'well,' you gesture to, in fact, the dojo behind you, 'you've come to the right place.'

she grants you a small smile.

'we have classes, all levels. would you like me to show you around?'

'that would be wonderful, thank you.'

and you had shown her around; you had sold her a monthly trial membership — a few advanced adult classes and some time for open practice — and a gi and obi — she'd calmly informed you that she's a black belt, and when she came in the next afternoon for the advanced class you teach, you had felt immediately embarrassed when she runs through forms with the kind of power and ease you had only seen a few times in your life, even at the olympics and world championships.

'that was a great class,' she says, far too kind a compliment for someone who is probably the one person you've met since you retired a few years ago who could beat you in a competition.

'you are — incredible.'

she shoulders the compliment with reluctance. 'i haven't trained in quite a while.'

'that is honestly insane.'

she laughs, after a moment. 'a much needed mental health break,' she says. 'but it felt good, to return to this, in this way.'

'do you — i saw you looking at the bo the other day,' you say, and you don't miss the way her hands twitch. 'would you like to use one? i have to clean and close up, anyway.'

she hesitates, but then, 'are you sure?'

'absolutely,' you say. 'pick any one you want; you can train over there, it's got the best view of the ocean.'

'that's very kind.' she's solemn, and a little quiet. 'thank you, keiko.'

she walks, barefoot and at home in her gi, and runs her hands gently over each bo. she picks a medium length one, black and sleek and heavier than your favorite, and then takes a deep breath and starts moving so beautifully you can't even quite follow it. it's mesmerizing, and you watch until she slows and then sets the bow on the ground and, to your surprise, sniffles. she wipes tears off her cheeks and you quickly start cleaning, granting her as much privacy as possible. she takes a deep breath and then takes the bo and walks back over to the wall.

'if i find one of my own,' she says, 'can i store it here? it's all right if not, of course.'

'you're more than welcome to do that.' you don't quite know what to say to her, the most talented martial artist you've ever seen in your life, who never competed at any events you know of, randomly in your dojo, who had just cried running through forms with a bo, small and coiled tightly. 'and, honestly, you don't have to feel like you need to come to classes. you're more than welcome, but i think you're beyond anything i would have to teach you.'

she laughs after a few seconds. 'i really did enjoy it.'

'maybe thursday we could spar? i'm here in the morning.'

she seems to weigh it, but then she nods. 'that sounds fun. thank you, keiko.'

you get to know her quickly: the way she moves and her favorite forms and the first time she throws you, you lie on your back in a little bit of shock: you haven't lost in years. she just stands calmly and offers you a hand. 'who are you?'

she just laughs.

you get to know her, as the days go along. you get lunch, one day, and you flirt with the host and the waiter — 'i love cute boys,' you say, 'what can i say?' — which amuses her.

'my partner is a flirt,' she says, but the smile slips from her face before she can stop it. she clears her throat. 'she's very sick, right now,' she says, quickly, as if to avoid your questions. 'but, still,' she says, sitting up a little straighter, gathering herself, 'a flirt.'

you learn not to ask about her partner; you learn that she surprisingly loves pepperoni pizza and beer; you learn that she's rich and lives in a beautiful house on the beach, but she's generous and lowkey, especially compared to everyone else in los angeles. she works in tech for a firm in spain — the details vague, but that's tech anyway — and, when you offer to let her teach a kids class, she smiles gently and accepts. she's patient and seems to enjoy correcting their form and teaching them kata one step at a time; she encourages them and makes sure to teach, quietly, that the goal is never, ever to harm, only to protect. she's one of your best friends, quickly, and is also impossible to beat whenever you spar. she goes out with you and your friends in weho one night, gets very drunk and turns down what feels like an entire club of women, and then tells you, on your couch at home while you give her a glass of water, that her partner’s name is ava, and that she’s kind and smart and beautiful and loves to dance. she doesn’t cry, but she curls up, small and sad; you haven’t mentioned it since.

one day, beatrice texts you, early in the morning, Hello! Ava's treatment worked, so she's back with me now, for the foreseeable future.

it's very businesslike, but she's always a stiff texter, and you know how excited she must be, how relieved.

Hopefully forever, she sends, and you know you're right.

you meet ava a few days later, hanging onto beatrice's side when she comes to the dojo after a few days off. you realize, in one flash of a moment, clear and sacred, that you really have never seen beatrice smile before — not until ava looks at her when she takes her bo off the wall with the softest expression. devotion; adoration. love. beatrice blushes and returns it, a smile in full force so powerful it knocks the air out of you slightly.

you also realize that you've never seen beatrice show off before, and you decide, right then and there, you're never sparring while ava is watching. you can lose, sure, but being humiliated is not on your to-do list. when you tell ava that, as she watches beatrice in a little bit of a daze, she just laughs. 'she's incredible.'

'yeah,' you agree as beatrice swipes the bo along the ground so hard you think she could break an ankle, then stands without a breath in between. 'she is.'

//

ray

the second time you meet ava, she's in a tiny bikini, bright orange, with a wispy gossamer coverup that you're sure beatrice bought just for her. it kind of makes you laugh, and it's barely warm enough to be out without a sweater, let alone in a bikini, but ava waves when you come in from the whitewater. bea is still waiting at the outer break, exhausted this morning for reasons that made her blush and you had laughed, delightedly.

'your girl is taking forever to catch anything today,' you say.

ava almost glows, you think, at your girl. 'we didn't get much sleep last night,' ava tells you with a wink. you grin and high five and then offer her a spot on your towel after you unzip your wetsuit and pull it down to rest along your waist.

ava is beautiful. you had wanted to know her, for months, and finally, she's here — young and so, so pretty; small and surprisingly muscular. you would never say anything, but you know she had been sick, and there are scars all over her body, puckered and angry still, shiny and pink. you know bea doesn't care, and you don't either, but ava moves a little gingerly and you fight the urge to ask if she needs help. she settles, eventually, legs stretched out in front of her and her palms behind, leaning back into the sun, face turned up toward it. she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath in, then slowly lets it out.

you notice beatrice about to catch a wave, and you're happy when ava seems, like a sixth sense, to open her eyes just in time. bea is talented: balanced and strong and had learned to surf on a short board and relatively big swells quicker than anyone else you'd taught; when she’d shown you her bo one day — mostly because it was just out on her coffee table — you had been both very turned on and a little terrified. she’s the most gifted athlete you know, and so it’s no surprise when. she rides the biggest wave of the day all the way in, kissing the lip a few times, and ava sighs.

'she's so hot, jesus christ.'

'no comment.'

she laughs. 'we didn't get a ton of time together, really, before i... got sick.' she pauses, looking at beatrice collecting her board in the whitewater. 'she was scared. but now, it's like —' she shakes her head — 'i just love her so much.'

'yeah,' you say, a little teary for your friend. 'i can tell you, without a doubt, that she loves you too.'

ava grins, then stands and walks toward beatrice, who lets ava pull down the zipper of her wetsuit with gratuitous hands, a kiss to the nape of her neck, and then grabs beatrice's hand and laces their fingers together. 'wanna come over for breakfast?'

'i would — yeah,' you say, 'i would really love that.'

you step in, quickly, once ava cracks an egg so hard it goes all over the counter and beatrice only looks on in adoration.

'you're a disaster,' you tell her, but she just shrugs. ava is still in her bikini and cover up, and beatrice's hands sit on her hips while you fry some eggs and chop up vegetables to make a passable pico. she smiles into the crook of ava's neck and they make you a little breathless: a happiness that quiet; a love that big.

//

ayanna

you've been working at this coffee shop for a week now, and every morning, the hottest woman you've ever seen walks in, clearly just from the beach, and orders the same thing in a british accent that makes you want to groan. you're new to this part of los angeles, which is bougie as hell. it's mostly white influencers who order overly complicated drinks for no reason, but the pay is above minimum wage and your manager has worked with your class schedule easily enough.

plus — beatrice.

she's quiet, exceedingly polite and always tips at least twice of what her drink costs. she smiles and has freckles and you burn your hand more than once sneaking a glance at her strong arms and tattoo on her wrist and, eventually, a new one on her shoulder and collarbone that you had seen because she's decided to make your 6:42 am better by wearing a cutoff tank and shorts today.

'good morning, ayanna,' she says, and it's fucking electrifying that she knows your name, even if you have a nametag on your apron — it still counts.

'hey, beatrice. how were the waves this morning?'

she leans against the counter, just slightly, and you will yourself to keep your cool. 'how much do you know about surfing?'

'nothing, really.'

she laughs, not unkind. 'well, in that case, the outer break was far, which means i had to paddle a lot, but the waves were beautiful. can't regret it.'

'uh,' you say, super smooth, 'regular order?'

'yes,' she says, 'and can you add a chocolate croissant? oh, and an olive oil coffee cake. thank you.'

beatrice doesn't seem like the kind of person to eat a croissant and a coffee cake for breakfast, but who are you to judge: that sounds awesome, frankly. you tell her your total and she tips, like always, excessively, and then collects everything with a kind smile.

'have a great day,' she says, and you're too flustered to say anything other than an extremely eloquent, 'same.' mohammed laughs at you from where he's unpacking more to-go cups and you flip him off before you greet the next customer.

/

it's a few days later when your routine gets broken by another beautiful woman, who seems a little in awe of this stupid, trendy coffee shop, but beatrice wasn't in yesterday and it's already 7:19 and she hasn't been in today. it's not that you expect her, really, but she is the best part of your shift, so, whatever. you can have a harmless crush if you want.

'hi,' this new person says, and then reads your nametag. 'ayanna, what's up?'

your mind blanks, because you're pretty much face to face with an angel: she's small and lively and has pretty, delicate features and her hair is pushed back beneath a bright pink beanie, just at her chin. her hands, playing with a small, elegant black wallet, are delicate too. 'nothing,' you get out, 'just, you know, work.'

she smiles. 'yeah, i'm a bartender. opposite end of the day, but i get you.'

you glance down at your screen, just to have something to do other than stare. 'so, what's your order?'

she gets out her phone and reads off iced coffee with cold foam, and then locks it and inspects your pastries. 'can i get one of each? i want to try them all.'

you laugh, something fond and a little ridiculous about that, but you say, 'sure thing. what's the name?'

'ava,' she says. 'thanks.'

mohammed rolls his eyes at you while he gets the iced coffee ready and you put each pastry neatly in a to-go box, because ava is right there and you certainly hadn't needed to get her name. but whatever, she's gorgeous and it's early. ava tucks the box of pastries under her arm. 'ava, tell me which is your favorite the next time you come in.'

ava seems delighted by this. a good sign. 'sure thing,' she says, and then waves.

/

the next morning, it all comes crashing down. there's horrendous traffic, even at 5 am, and you barely make it on time. there's a rush of rude ass customers way too early, and you spill a shot of espresso down your apron.

but, then you see beatrice, and it's wonderful, and perfect, and so great: you're ready today, to ask for her number; you can do it. but then you see ava walk in right behind her after holding the door open, and it's like slow motion when ava bumps into beatrice's side and laces their fingers together and places a sweet kiss to her shoulder. you know there are flowers that sit there, under her hoodie, gorgeous in their greyscale, and ava seems to know as well.

'ayanna,' beatrice says, the biggest, most contented smile on her face, 'good morning.'

you nod and smile, although you're a little crushed. 'hey, beatrice. and hi, ava.'

'hello!' it's way too early for this kind of cheer but it's a little infectious.

'this is my partner, ava,' beatrice says, as if it wasn't horrifically obvious.

'back from quite the business trip,' ava says, looking at the pastries again. 'very remote, no sweets. gotta make up for lost time, you know?'

beatrice blanches a little but ava looks at her sweetly and she recovers. 'can i get my usual, and whatever chaotic order ava wants?'

ava laughs. 'my favorite was a tie,' she says, 'between the chocolate croissant and the olive oil coffee cake. which, i know, beatrice, you had said, but whatever, okay?'

beatrice smiles. 'okay, ava.'

they both, despite their bickering, are so tangibly happy your spirits lift. you'll take the L, if you have to, for people to have what they clearly do. they overtip, as always, and then take their leave.

'ouch,' mohammed says. '0 for 2 this morning.'

you sigh. 'more fish in the sea, i guess. gotta keep the faith.'

he laughs. 'that's the spirit.'

//

jillian

'okay,' ava says, sitting up as best she can with a grimace, 'if bea can't get into bed with me, what about you?'

you spare a glance for beatrice, who only rolls her eyes in amusement and underlying sadness: ava is in pain, to the point where she can't walk, can barely sit or lie down. she's on muscle relaxers and pain medicine so she's comfortable, but it's complicated and tedious, to try to fix her spine — or, more realistically, stabilize it — without killing her.

'how about we see how you're feeling after surgery?'

ava groans. 'that's so boring, jillian.'

you walk to her bedside and take her hand, squeeze it gently. 'ready?'

ava takes a deep breath, braver than anyone you've ever known in your life, time and time again. she looks at beatrice, who bends down and kisses ava gently. ava tucks a strand of beatrice's hair behind her ear and then cups her face. 'in this life.'

beatrice nods. 'in this life.'

'i love you, bea.'

beatrice kisses ava's forehead, eyes closed in reverence. 'i love you, ava.'

ava looks at you and then nods, teary and afraid. 'ready.'

other than your son, you have never been as determined as you are now. you control all of the tech to make sure ava is fully sedated but still alive, that the halo is dormant enough to allow the surgeons to work on her spine without it healing their interventions immediately. it's kind of a miracle, you think, that it all works — but, then again, it seems that ava is prone to miracles. it goes smoothly, without a hitch. ava will have chronic pain and limited mobility, at least some days, during flares — but it will be manageable. it will be livable.

beatrice is asleep when you bring ava back into the room, wheeling the bed as quietly as possible. she stirs, exhausted, from her chair, and you get to tell her — and then, after, a crowded room of ava's people, ava's family, waiting nervously — that it had gone as best as it could. you were sure she was alive, and that she'd wake up, and that, as far as you can understand, her pain would be significantly reduced. ava deserves more than that, much more, but it's what you can give.

you wake beatrice gently, a squeeze to her shoulder. you tell her first, because ava loves her: 'she did great. everything went as perfectly as it could.'

beatrice sniffles and then stands and hugs you. 'thank you,' she says, strong and calm and trembling with the force of it: the love of her life, safe and cared for.

'hot,' ava rasps from bed, and beatrice laughs and lets go of you and hurries to ava's side, takes her hand.

'hello, darling.'

ava lifts her hand and cups bea's cheek, and then wiggles her toes under the blanket. she grins up at beatrice, then grins at you. 'it worked?'

'yes,' you say, and it can't bring back your son and you can't fix the world, heaven or hell, but this — this — you can do: 'it did.'

//

mary

'hey,' you say, softly, when you notice beatrice start to stir on the couch. she presses her nose into the pillow behind her head, then the couch cushion, and then reaches up and rubs her eyes, scratches above her ear, and scrubs a hand over her face and blinks dazedly.

'a new shift?' beatrice looks around at the walls and windows darkening, trying to gain her bearings. she's in a hoodie and shorts, comfortable and soft, a pair of pale pink socks on her feet, her broken leg in its brace propped on a few pillows. ava had carefully draped a soft blanket over her, but beatrice had thrown it mostly to the side in her sleep.

'we're not working, beatrice.' you say it kindly, though, and offer her a glass of water with a metal straw ava had shown you proudly in one of the drawers in their kitchen. she sips greedily, without any embarrassment — maybe she's on pain meds enough to not care; maybe she's known you for so, so long it doesn't matter; maybe she's been shown a degree of love you have known only once.

she pats your hand. 'i know.' she wrinkles her nose. 'where's ava?'

'i threatened her to take a walk.'

beatrice laughs. 'glad to know she still understands who the best of us is.'

you want to argue with her — you're the best of us, beatrice; you always have been — but her head lolls to the side on the cushion and her eyes are fluttering open and closed. 'i like your haircut,' you offer instead. you wonder, with pride, what she's learned about herself, what she's let come forward that she's always known.

she smiles softly. 'yeah?'

'yeah. you’ve got a great soft dyke vibe going on. looks good on you.'

you’re not sure about the word, but you love her and you understand. and — she grins. ‘that’s the goal. androgynous and comfortable. i — i’ve grown into what i want, i think.’

'speaking for myself, i love to see it. it’s a whole vibe.’

‘yeah.’ she looks down and fiddles with her phone case for a second, not coordinated like usual. 'hey, so, feel free to tell me to fuck off forever, if you want, but one of my best friends is... basically the best.' she squints, focusing so intently and still producing a mildly incoherent sentence. it’s charming. 'i know there's no one that could — i know, mary. i know. but i think you'd like her.'

your heart aches, because beatrice lost ava but she came back; because beatrice has hurt all the same. and shannon wouldn't have wanted you to shut yourself off from the world. 'she's hot?'

beatrice laughs delightedly, pushing herself to sit up further. 'very, very hot. if you need backup, just ask ava.'

'ava thinks everyone is hot.'

'true. but, most of all, me.'

she says it with such stoned confidence it's hard to even tease her. 'okay,' you say, 'when should i meet your friend, then?'

beatrice gets out her phone and slowly clicks through a few screens, then squints. 'she'll be here in twenty minutes for dinner.' she holds her phone close to your face, not at all steady, but you do make out your name and then ray making the best birria ever (for ava) one right after another.

'should i stay for dinner, then?'

she grins. 'i think i'm falling back asleep. so you should definitely stay. she could use some company.' she stares into space for a minute. 'let me send ava a voice note so they know not to pester you when they get back.'

'maybe a text?'

beatrice just shrugs and sends a meandering three minute long voice note, sort of explaining the situation but mostly proclaiming her undying love, and so you follow up with a coherent text saying, beatrice wants me to meet your friend. if things are going well, can you not third wheel? you owe me, and ava responds with a, FUCK YEAH!!!!! you're the best and ray is the best!! bea is a genius, and then, i'll make up so many totally valid excuses to leave you two alone, and, finally, the patio is very romantic. dig into bea's stash of very expensive wine and whiskey too, in my honor.

you laugh, and tell beatrice that ava was excited about the idea.

'speak of the devil.'

ava puts her tote down when she gets in the front door, a bouquet of flowers poking out from it. 'mm, not quite.' she kisses bea on the top of her head and then proceeds to do the same to you, although you swat her away. 'try god's favorite angel instead.'

'i will never.'

beatrice looks at ava, adoringly, too much for you to stomach sometimes. 'want to go to the balcony? i can nap out there just as easily as in here.'

'totally,' ava says. 'mary, have fun with ray. you can text me when the birria is finished and i'll just pop by to grab some for us. but she really is awesome, even just as a friend.'

'a spontaneous blind date,' you say, although you do have a few butterflies in your stomach. it doesn't feel wrong, to go on a date, although you do feel sad, and longing, because you had something beautiful and it didn't last. but, still: 'this better be as fun as you promise.'

'it definitely will be,' beatrice slurs, and ava looks at you amusedly.

'okay, you're way too high to be trusted in this situation. let's go.'

'i don't need help,' beatrice says, although it's a full task to watch her sit up and get her crutches from their resting place against the side of the couch. but she does it, slowly and unsteadily, and ava puts a careful hand to her low back when she wobbles. but then all is well, and beatrice tries to wink at you and fails, and it makes you laugh. 'have so much fun, mary.'

you promise to try, and you pick up the book ava had been reading earlier, pretending to do something with your hands as you hear them bicker as they very, very slowly make their way up down the hall, but eventually a door closes and it's quiet. hey shannon, you pray, as you often do, i might kiss someone else soon. sorry. but i think you would be happy in this life, especially if she's hot. ava is annoying, but so good; you would be proud of her. beatrice you're always proud of, i know it. i love you, in the next.

it settles something inside you, and when ray lets herself in their front door, your breath catches a little: she has a mess of black curls cut to her ears, and tattoos down both arms, a linen button up only fastened halfway up her chest, a few chains sitting there. she's smaller than you, and she tucks her sunglasses into her shirt and then smiles.

'hey,' she says, 'i'm ray. she/her pronouns. beatrice sent me a very incoherent voice note that her "hot friend mary" was here, finishing out a business trip, and that i should woo you by making dinner tonight.' she holds up her grocery tote. 'hopefully you're mary, because you are in fact very hot.'

you laugh. 'well, i don't know about the last part, but i am mary. beatrice and i go way back.'

'amazing.' she settles, familiar, at the kitchen island. 'do you like to cook? beatrice and ava are disasters.'

'i love to cook.'

she grins. 'good,' she says. 'birria is their favorite, so it's good to know, if you'll be around for a bit.'

she's beautiful, and her forearms are strong and her hands quick when she starts to lay out the ingredients. you tell yourself to be brave: beatrice and ava and their big house full of love, overlooking the ocean. so you stand next to ray, elbows bumping for a moment, and she smiles at you in a way that makes you feel electric. 'i think i just might,' you say.

she nods down at the onions she's setting aside, but her smile doesn't fade at all. 'well, if you want help looking for a place, let me know. unless you want an insane house like this, in which i can't help at all.'

you laugh. 'it is beautiful, though.'

'yeah,' she says. 'i love it here.'

you think, as you let ray explain tasks and her great-grandmother's recipe, as you open a few windows and hear ava's laughter waft in from outside, like the sweet spices you add to the meat, as ray squeezes your hand, just once, after you finish chopping cilantro.

you might kill ava when she comes in to get their plates a few hours later and quips, 'oh good, you're already betrothed. congrats!' before walking away. you throw a chip at her that falls disappointingly short, but she laughs, and you think you just might love it here too.

//

angela

you're finding a table on the patio of your favorite wine bar when you see beatrice sitting at one near the railing, alone, writing in a journal. there's a part of you that doesn't want to interrupt but she's quiet, whenever she stops by for lunch with ava, and she reminds you a little of noel.

she looks up when you stand near, and then genuinely smiles. 'angela,' she says, and stands very properly; it's a breath of fresh air to see young people with manners still. 'what a nice surprise.'

'i can see you're busy.' gesture to her journal. 'so please feel free to say no, but would you mind if i joined you?'

'not at all,' she says, and then pulls out a chair for you before sitting back in her own and closing her journal. 'to tell you the truth, i haven't even ordered any wine yet.'

you laugh, charmed immensely already. 'well, shall we split a bottle? they have my favorite chardonnay here, if you like that.'

'i — yes,' she says. 'ava is working this afternoon, so that would be wonderful. i appreciate your company.'

she's a kid, you realize, all over again with a pang in your chest: when ruth had told you that she had invited someone in her early twenties to come to water aerobics, but then you had met ava and all of your frustration had gone by the wayside. 'likewise.' the server comes, one of your favorites, and asks happily if you'd like your typical glass. 'a bottle, instead, tommy,' you tell him, and he salutes with a grin, which makes beatrice laugh.

'you like this spot?'

'i do,' you say. 'it gets good light.'

she seems to understand what you mean, because she leans back and lets the sun rest on the planes of her face peacefully. ava hadn't stopped talking for days about beatrice cutting her hair, months ago, even more excited than when she herself had shown up with pale purple hair — ridiculous, in a way, but she had been happy and young and so you grant her it all. beatrice's has grown out a bit by now, which ava still talks about, and her muscles, and the freckles across her nose, all exuberant young love — but you can tell, you've always been able to tell, when someone feels comfortable in their skin. the utter joy of being a space where someone can become.

'i love the light here,' she says. 'i grew up in london, and then switzerland, so i've come to appreciate the sun.'

'my wife wanted to move here for that reason alone.' you laugh. 'we met in oakland, but she was so set on los angeles.'

beatrice seems deeply unfazed by wife, and thanks tommy for pouring her wine after you taste yours. 'how long were you together?'

'fifty-four years,' you say. 'married for fifty-two of them.' you roll your eyes. 'legally, for eleven, but i never cared much for that distinction.'

'of course,' she says. 'and, not to sound trite, but i'm sorry, for your loss.'

and it had been a profound one: you had no idea how to get up each morning, until ruth had dragged you to this ridiculous water aerobics class. so you smile, gently. 'noel was a light in this world. the breadth of that love — i wouldn't trade a single minute.'

she swallows, glances down and swirls her wine. 'i can only hope to have the same, with ava.'

you reach out and squeeze her hand. 'if it's all dependent on love, i'm certain you will. ava adores you.'

she sighs, looks into the sun again. 'i used to be a nun.'

you can't help but laugh. 'did you really?'

beatrice nods, and waits a moment before she laughs too. 'it seemed like the only thing that would keep me safe, from — from myself, i suppose. but then, of course, i met ava. a divinity, i suppose, more than i could've ever imagined, really.'

'noel was a reverend,' you say, and remember the benedictions she prayed at your feet: her neat suits and short hair and round-rimmed glasses as she got older, the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes when she smiled.

beatrice smiles. 'would you like to tell me about her?'

you would, very much so, and so you do: you met at a protest when you were nineteen and she was twenty-one, and you kissed her two nights later underneath an apple tree just starting to blossom. she put you through law school, working three jobs, and when you finally got a job at a firm and ferociously worked your way up — for her — she went to divinity school. you had many children — beautiful boys in love with each other; beautiful girls in love with themselves — pass through your home, often showing up at noel's church with no family anymore. you fed them, and you had to watch so many of them die. and then — and then the world healed itself, in one particular way, and it was never easy; it has never been easy. you married noel once, in your garden, with your friends, and you married her again in her own church, years and years later, the rainbow flag outside and the stained glass the same kind of holy. it has been hard, and sorrowful, but it was worth it. the joy was worth it.

you see the gentle set of beatrice's shoulders, the way her chest is flat beneath her shirt, and you know she understands.

she sniffles and wipes under her eyes and then squeezes your hand tightly. 'i don't quite know what to say, but — thank you, for sharing. what a beautiful love.'

you clear your throat. 'yes. but, noel made me promise not to live a boring life, or to withhold any of my love. so if you have any aunts who might be interested —' you wiggle your eyebrows — 'please let me know.'

she laughs. 'unfortunately, i don't. but i'll be on the lookout.'

you make a big show of acting disappointed. 'well, i know you're taken — not that that has always stopped me before — but i'll take pity on ava. i like her.'

beatrice blushes, all the way to the tips of her ears, and you grin.

you finish your bottle of wine together, and she tells you about judo and aikido and about ava's new interest in geology; she asks about your greyhound rescue, malcolm, and his newest sweaters. she pays the bill, despite your protests — it's a particular joy of mine to use my homophobic parents' trust fund for queer gifts and adventures.

'bring ava, for dinner sometime,' you say. they have a house on the beach and a love that's so safe, so bright — but the world harms and harms and harms, and they are your children too.

'i would love that,' beatrice says, quiet and grateful. 'i would really love that.'

//

dakota

training service dogs is, in your opinion, the absolute best job in the world. your organization focuses on multi-purpose dogs, for medical and psychologic assistance, often both. it's a challenge, especially if handlers aren't fully equipped. but sometimes, it's your favorite thing ever.

when you first meet ava — and beatrice — you're charmed immediately. ava has a cane but sits down on the floor without hesitation to take korra into her lap, who immediately pinch bites but nuzzles into ava's arms anyway. 'bea,' she says, 'oh my god.'

'her name is korra,' you say, and beatrice laughs, just once, when ava perks up. 'she's small enough that you could change it, if you wanted to, but —'

'i love legend of korra,' ava cuts in. 'bisexual heroine! sick back tattoo. hot brilliant rich girlfriend.' she soots beatrice a wink, which makes her blush. 'i am not changing a perfect name for a perfect girl.'

'well then,' you say, 'do you mind if i sit with you and walk you through the plan?'

'oh,' ava says, 'i can get up. i just got excited.'

you wave her off. 'i like to play with her too. she's so sweet.'

'bea,' ava says with a grin, relieved that your decision was exclusively about the dog and nothing to do with her disability, 'you wore your old jeans just for this occassion.'

beatrice sighs, but she sits without any hesitation and melts, a little, when ava puts a squirming korra in her arms. 'hi, sweet girl,' she says, and runs her hand along korra's soft head and her feather-light spine. then she looks at you, 'do you mind if i record you? just audio. i know you'll give us all the instructions, but i find it helpful to have all forms of processing available so i can understand best.'

ava shoots you a glance sideways, trying not to laugh, but you keep it together. 'sure.'

beatrice and ava come in every session, five minutes early, with korra making incredible progress. eventually, ava comes by herself and happily explains that she's learned how to drive with hand controls on the days she needs to, which is fucking awesome. when you tell her that, she laughs and nods.

korra is a rockstar with her positive reinforcement training, and ava reports every time some new milestone she's reached. you'll work with the both of them for at least another year, but — 'you've done such an incredible job already, ava.'

ava shrugs, scratches behind korra's ears where she's happily sitting by ava's chair, calm and panting a little because she'd just worked on some difficult commands. 'i love to learn.' she shrugs. 'and i really love korra. i guess it's just — it is what it is, right? life and pain and whatnot. and, anyway, she helps.'

korra licks your hand when you offer her a small bite of a hot dog, and you swear she smiles at you. 'yeah, i know she does.'

//

marcus

Just do me a favor and look over the project before you roll your eyes at me, ekugbe texts you. admittedly, she is one of your favorite architects to work with, but she's also your ex. It's a good friend of mine, she follows up with, as if that's a plus. whatever. It's something you'll find meaning in, I promise.

it's annoying, because she's probably right, you think, and then she's definitely right when you open her email a few hours later and see detailed, gorgeous plans to redo a house on the water so that's it's ADA accessible. it's sleek and all clean lines, perfect materials planned; the owners, beatrice gu-knight and ava silva, you read, had clearly spared no expense in their plans, and, inevitably, ekugbe's mock ups are beautiful. you sigh. I'll meet with them, you text. you type out, But not because of you and then erase it, mostly because you sister keeps telling you that you don't need to send out more negative energy into the world.

you call beatrice's number the next day, and she's very proper and very british, and when you meet her at the house later, you're kind of in awe at how stunning it is already.

'we bought it as is,' she explains, 'but my partner, ava, needs it to be accessible for wheelchair usage now.' she doesn't sound sad, not a single regret at having to change one of the simplest, most well-designed and amazing houses you've ever seen. she's inches shorter than you but commanding still, straight backed and quietly confident, dressed in simple linen pants and a t-shirt, a cardigan thrown over her shoulders, a dark green beanie and lighter green glasses, barefoot — rich in the understated way that some people in los angeles are, palpably and casually, and you know that anything you need will be there for you, right away.

'i'd like to keep the doors to the patio, for sure,' she tells you, leading you on a tour. they space is designed to be indoor/outdoor, with doors that open all the way to a small hot tub and a giant patio. 'i'm sure you saw the blueprints ekugbe drew up — and, by the way, sorry, i know you have a complicated past, but she really did say you were the best, especially with projects like this.'

'it's totally fine,' you tell her, and when you see the release of tension in her shoulders, you genuinely mean it. she explains that they'll want to move the primary bedroom and bathroom onto the first floor, down a hallway that currently has two offices. you've contracted on many houses this big before, so the space is something of a blessing. 'that won't be a problem, especially since it doesn't look like the wall between them is load bearing.'

'great,' beatrice says. 'that's what ekugbe told me, so it's good to make sure.'

you go through the rest of the house: they'll need a wheelchair lift along the stairs, which won't be hard to install because it's just one staircase, straight up to a big enough landing that there won't be any issues. she wants to redo their kitchen and bathrooms entirely, so that everything will be reachable and safe. it'll be a huge project, but one you feel — even though your head is spinning at changing a house like this — is important. is a labor of love.

'ava and i will be here for the next two weeks, and then in europe for a few months. what do you think a reasonable timeline is for you? i would like to set up a rental for us, if you need longer than that.' it's not snooty, although the words are. it's matter of fact, just a series of tasks and logistics.

'as long as materials come on time, especially if we order them now, i should be able to do it in that timeframe.'

'wonderful,' she says, and clasps her hands in front of her chest, an endearing gesture. 'well, please send over anything to sign and payment methods, and let me know a start date.'

'will do.'

'also, marcus?'

'hmm?'

'can i help you blow the wall out?' she grins. 'i've always wanted to. i have four black belts, if that helps.'

you just laugh. 'yeah, sure. why not?'

/

ava sits in her chair, pretty, in the same linen pants that beatrice had worn the other day, which is kind of funny and kind of sweet. she looks significantly more sad than beatrice about the state of their house, though, as you lay down tarps in the office to protect the floors.

'i swear i only agreed to this because bea promised you'd let her use a sledge hammer.'

'it'll be beautiful, when it's done.'

she sighs. 'i really do believe you. just, a bummer, you know?'

'my brother uses a chair,' you tell her. 'i like projects like this. and, plus, this house is amazing no matter what. your patio almost brought me to tears.'

she laughs. 'yeah, we fell in love with it right away.'

beatrice walks in in a cutoff tank and work pants, practical boots, and ava groans.

'best roleplay of my life,' she mumbles, and beatrice rolls her eyes.

'thank you for letting me have a little fun, marcus.'

'of course.'

'do i need a hard hat?'

'definitely not,' you manage without laughing, and hand her a sledge hammer.

ava watches, riveted, as you and beatrice go at the wall a few times, and then beatrice pauses and looks toward ava. 'want to get a few hits in? it's very cathartic.'

ava hesitates.

beatrice just pauses, patient, and then says, 'unless your back is hurting, i know you'll be strong enough. it's not that heavy.'

ava grins and wheels forward eagerly, lifts the sledgehammer and then nods. beatrice offers her her safety glasses and then backs away to the threshold of the door. ava swings, just fine, and gets a good chunk of the wall to break off from where beatrice had already been working, and she laughs and looks back at beatrice with a happy, relieved expression.

eventually, your crew takes over, and beatrice and ava take their leave to a rental for a few nights before they go do whatever they're doing in europe. the house comes together beautifully, it really does.

at the end, you call ekugbe, maybe for drinks.

it surprises you, the light you're able to let in.

//

mari

'do you think i'll be faster than bea?'

you laugh, show ava where to put her hands on the wheels of the racing chair for maximum and most efficient torque. 'with practice, for sure.'

'gross,' she says. 'why not right away?'

'it just takes a little getting used to. but i'm certain you will, if you enjoy it.'

'well, you're ripped, so i'm enjoying it so far, that's for sure.'

you roll your eyes; you know both beatrice and ava well enough to know that ava's flirting is fun and entirely harmless. but, still, she's beautiful, so you allow yourself to preen nonetheless.

ava lets out a big breath. 'okay, let's fucking go, right?'

'i'll ride next to you for now, and then you can race beatrice.'

'sick.' she pushes a few times and picks up some speed, and you watch exactly what you'd felt yourself the first time you'd gotten into a chair like this: a big smile spreads across her face as she rounds the corner of the track without any problems. when she slows down you do too, and you're worried for a second before she just sniffles and wipes her cheeks. 'this is... this is so fun?'

'yeah,' you say. 'it's kind of the best.'

'as a kid, after i got hurt, and then, you know, after things started to get worse for me lately, i — i didn't think i could do this, ever. it's just — i feel so full. and so fast!'

'i didn't think i'd get to do this either, after i got hurt.' you'd had a complete spinal cord injury, when you were twenty, a car accident that wasn't your fault. your whole life had changed, in a split second — a track scholarship and rock climbing and snowboarding and judo evaporating, just like that, when you woke up from surgery, or at least that's what you thought. but your big sister had sat by your bedside and researched inpatient rehab, and financing, and outpatient rehab, and then, a fucking miracle in your life: paralympic racing. it's led you to do everything you loved before, just creatively, and, 'now i have four gold medals, so, here we are.'

'yeah,' ava says. 'here we fucking are!'

you reach over and high five her, and you look over to where beatrice is sitting on the bleachers; even from far away you can see her gay ass little smile at ava's joy.

'also, the gold medals?' ava says. 'extremely hot.'

you laugh. 'do you ever stop?'

ava shakes her head. 'hardwired, i'm afraid.' she frowns. 'unless, of course, you're uncomfortable, in which case i will stop immediately.'

'oh, no,' you say, 'keep going. it's fun.'

'i'm an excellent wingwoman, at any time. you just let me know.'

'i'll take you up on that soon, i'm sure.'

she laughs and takes off again, getting the hang of her form and how to lean into turns. eventually, she calls beatrice down from the bleachers; beatrice is probably one of the most terrifying athletes you've ever met, but ava's pretty fast already. they race a few times, laughing by the end, trash talking incessantly, beatrice eventually leaning down to kiss ava, both of them sweaty.

'last one back to the bleachers has to do the dishes tonight,' ava says, and takes off full tilt. she barely stops in time before ramming into the stands, but beatrice is laughing too hard to come anywhere close. it's joy, you think, in the hot sun. real joy.

//

mother superion

'so,' ava says, fidgeting in front of you, shifting from one foot to the other, rocking up on her toes. she's gotten older, a few years enough for you to be able to tell the subtle differences.

'yes, ava?'

'okay, i know this is stupid and antiquated, but, well...'

'is this a crisis of any kind?'

she shakes her head.

'then just breathe.'

she takes in a deep breath and lets it out, then sits on the bench next to you when you pat the space. 'i love beatrice.'

'i know.'

'i, well, i guess i'm asking you if i can marry her? i want to propose, and i'll do it, whatever you think, but — it would mean a lot, to me, to have your blessing.'

you hold out your hands and wait for her to take both. there is something holy in her back, something that you had thought was the most sacred thing in the world until you met her. but there is something holier, consecrate, in the way she loves — beyond the highest order you have ever known. in the way she loves you all, and life, but especially in the way she loves beatrice, one of your favorite people in the world. she died for it. you know, in a way that makes you ache, she would do it again.

but the war is over. the war is over, and you have watched them both become.

'there is nothing in this life that would make me happier than to bless your marriage, ava.'

'oh,' she breathes out, runs a hand through her hair, long now, with the tips dyed pink — just for fun! — and then smiles. 'okay. well, great. just gotta get bea to say yes then.'

you don't want to be unkind — you can feel the halo humming with ava's very genuine nerves — and so you don't laugh. instead, you ask, 'do you have a plan? a ring?'

ava lights up, and the halo's hum shifts to comfortable, warm. they'll go to switzerland, she tells you, and pulls up a picture of the ring on her phone — simple and elegant and handsome, all at once. she wraps you in a hug as you tell her so.

'i love you, ava,' you say.

she sniffles. 'i really love you.'

you feel the halo against your hand, through her sweater. 'please send me a save the date.'

//

'ava,' you say, as ava paces around their bedroom. 'bea is going to be right out there, waiting for you. after everything, you cannot possibly be nervous about this.'

she shakes her head. 'about marrying bea? definitely not.' she's in her dress, flowy lace and cotton, off-white because i'm certainly not a virgin, she had said while she was looking, and than had laughed and winked as you had rolled your eyes. 'i'm worried about the halo going off.'

you want to laugh, so hard, but it actually is an issue: most of ava and bea's friends and family don't know anything about the halo, mostly for their protection. 'i'm sure you can get all the glowing out on your honeymoon.'

ava does laugh, then, relieved. 'that's for sure.'

and it's beautiful: you get to stand in front of the altar your friend built for her partner, and you get to pray for their whole lives to be full of this stunning, soft love. they say their vows, and beatrice cries the entire time, which eventually makes ava cry, and then you cry, and then you all laugh.

'by the power vested in me by god, and the state of california,' you say, 'i now pronounce you wives.' ava laughs, delighted, and turns to bea, then looks at you impatiently. you roll your eyes. 'go ahead,' you say.

ava wastes no time, leaning forward to capture bea's lips in a sweet kiss, which beatrice lets linger long enough for a few good-natured wolf whistles from the crowd. ava kisses bea's forehead and they smile, alone in their own universe, before turning to everyone. there are cheers and you're pretty sure everyone was crying.

you get drunk on champagne at the reception and cry even more when you see beatrice in her tang jacket, when she tells you that you were right: there's no shame in loving ava; there never has been. and, a miracle, ava is hers. there are things more certain to you than faith.

'your marriage is going to last annoyingly long,' you tell her. 'i'm sure of it.'

she holds you tight. 'i'm sure of it too.'

//

salma

your aunts are the fuc—freaking coolest. not only do they visit often, but you get to visit them in california, where they live in a big house on the beach and sometimes take you to disneyland. your aunt bea teaches you to surf, and your aunt ava teaches you how to make a bunch of virgin cocktails — which you find very fun — and they both sit and do puzzles with you whenever you want, even if your brother gets bored.

your grandmother — you guess, you never met her and you've never even talked to her, but she was your dad's and beatrice's mother — dies one day. you don't really care; she apparently was a huge asshole to your aunt when she was little. your dad picks you up from school like normal, and you wait impatiently for asaad to make his way out.

your dad takes you to get ice cream and then tells you that she died. you don't care, which is maybe bad, but you don't owe her anything. people can be mean for no reason, to someone like you, to someone like your aunt bea, so you don't care.

your dad is quiet for a few days, and then your aunts visit. you do a little double take when your aunt bea takes her beanie off and her hair is shorter than you've ever seen it, but you hug her quickly, as tight as you can, your head reaching the middle of her chest — when your cat died in third grade your mom had taught you about grief, how it lasts a long time and it's okay to feel, how different cultures have different ways of expressing it. you hug your aunt ava too, and she ruffles your hair and cups your cheek. 'what's up, beautiful?' she says, and it makes you feel it, from someone so pretty: beautiful.

when you get older, your aunt bea will help you change your pronouns, and pick a new name — peace, you decide on — and she calls you her niece, which you love. when you get older, she'll be even more amazing to you, the way she's so kind in a world that hasn't been, the way she loves your dad and your brother and your mom, the way she loves your aunt ava.

for now, it's late and your aunt ava is asleep in the guest room, and your dad had kissed your forehead and gone off to the bathroom he shares with your mom. you go downstairs to get a glass of water, and you see your aunt sitting on the couch, peacoat rumpled and very still and, if your dad's breath was anything to go by, probably pretty drunk.

she looks up when she hears you, and then smiles gently, a little unfocused. you sit next to her, rub your hand along her buzzed hair with a laugh, and it gets her to laugh too. 'you look cool.'

she kisses your forehead. 'that's very kind.'

you play with her fingers, with the ring there, warm even though it's cold outside. 'you know,' you say, 'you've made the world safer for me.'

the sound that leaves her is between a laugh and a sob. you want to be smaller, just for a moment, so you could climb into her lap like you used to when she was little.

'i'm really sorry your mother sucked balls.'

then there's definitely a laugh: 'did aunt ava teach you that?'

you grin into her shoulder. 'i can neither confirm nor deny.'

she tugs you to her, buries her face in your hair for a moment and then wipes her cheeks.

'i'm glad i'm like you,' you say, the best you can for now.

'oh, darling,' she says, then swallows so she doesn't start crying again, you're pretty sure, 'i'm so glad. you are such a light in this world. don't let anyone let you believe you aren't wonderful.'

'i won't,' you say, a prayer, like you kneel and understand with your mom; a promise.

'and, you can always call me.'

'ew, on the phone?'

she laughs. 'or text, if you must.'

you burrow into her side even further. 'i'll call, aunt bea. i always will.'

//

g-d

of course, if there's anything you know, it's blessings.

you know beloved; you know holy. people call you by different names, all falling short, all trying to grasp at you. you know beloved, and worship, and belief.

you look down on them sometimes, because you can. ava — her name the familiar of eve; the meaning in a sacred language, life; something divine against her will in her back; one of your children who had faced more cruelty than she should have — laughs, every day. even on days that hurt for her, she smiles and she laughs and there is a love there: for your world, for its waves and the sun and stars and moon; she, too, sees that it is good. beatrice, gentle and unsure and certain, prays to you still, and to ava, which you don't begrudge her. she worships every day, the most faithful on earth.

of course, there are things you let run their course, the small joys and small miseries: swimming in the ocean, chocolate cake, the first fall of snow; traffic jams and broken wrists and lilith. there are some things even you can't entire shift: ava's broken back and the heaviness in beatrice's mind sometimes. but you watch them, from time to time, in their house on a beach that brings them wonder, when they visit the mountains and fall asleep in front of a warm fireplace, listening to a record that skips before you step in and turn the machine off.

you'll let them grow old together, of course — greying hair and ava's impatience with politics and beatrice's stiff knees in the cold. there's time, for the halo and for all of it, but ava died to save the world, once. ava died for love, and she lives for it too.

in this life, they say to each other, quietly and often. you let things run its course but you step in, from time to time: you will give them peace. they'll want more of them, greedy, and perhaps you'll let them — and the next and the next and the next.

but, of course, this life, this life — you make sure it's a good one.

[be-the-glenn-to-my-maggie]

The fact that nobody has thought of a fastfood au where Spider is this neglected teenager working at McDonald's so that he can save up to like move out and get away from Qauritch (he's so desperate to get out that college isn't even on his radar atm) and Neteyam is this popular boy at their school who's is a year younger than him and comes in to McDonald's with his little sister frequently and Spider doesn't think he even knows his name but one day on their way out Neteyam turns to him and says "have a good day Spider" or some shit like that and the romance only grows from there with Neteyam figuring out his problems and trying to help him/get him into a good collage and I mean honestly people the fic just writes itself.

UGH I LOVE IT, I am simply shocked no one has written me personally a nocorro fic yet. A nice long one with all the pain and drama we've been describing but I want the COMFORT TOO PLEASE.

But anyways, you've brought up something I've been mulling over for a while now for one of my headcanon posts. Part of Neteyam's pressure and expectations come from him being the next Olo'eyktan. I can't figure out how to translate this into a modern au. Most of the time it'd be easy to make him the heir to a big company or the son of a politician in a weird Young Royals way, but clown couple Jake and Neytiri Sully simply do NOT have the vibes for that, nor does it fit their characters. I've thought about maybe Neytiri's family running a large non-profit that Neteyam is somewhat expected to take over, or perhaps something like the free clinic in my other au.

Either way, the reason I bring it up is because I love the idea of them both having similar but fundamentally different problems to bond over. This is what I mean, bear with me:

-Spider works at McDonalds to save money like you said. He's barely got any friends because he just moved there from another one of his dads deployments, and he's so busy picking up every possible shift he can that he can. He needs the money. He opens before school and closes most nights.

-Neteyam picks up Tuk from ballet practice at night on Wednesday's, because it is his parents Date Night. He gets his sister McDonalds one night because he stayed up way too late studying for an exam last night and he's far too tired to cook. The drive through is manned by the prettiest boy ever.

-By the third Wednesday Tuk is suspicious, but he keeps buying her McDonalds as a bribe to keep her mouth SHUT about it. At least, she keeps her mouth shut to the family. She won't stop talking to him about it. It's always "Neteyam, did you see McDonalds Guy today? I think he goes to your school, he has to. Neteyam, if we go to McDonalds tomorrow will he be there too? Does he only work Wednesdays?" She's like his inner thoughts because he wants to know all those things too.

-I mean, it's only a matter of time before Tuk opens her big fat mouth TO Spider. She rattles off personal questions like she's the goddamn census, and Neteyam wants to die.

-But, he learns quickly that Spider is a military brat and he wants nothing more than not to be in the military. It sparks something for Neteyam, because he wants nothing more than to be like his parents, and do what they do and do it just as well. It's the same sort of long shadow, just a different tactic for getting out from under it.

-Tuk is sick the next Wednesday mysteriously, but Neteyam is still craving McDonalds.

-It becomes a regular thing, but not on Wednesdays. Wednesdays he starts sometimes bringing Tuk home for a regular adult meal. But Thursday's he spends at McDonalds, and he brings Spider real food in Tupperware containers marked with the name Sully like Spider has other Tupperware to mix it up with.

-Somehow it becomes almost every night. Doing his homework in a booth, Spider joining him when he's free, sliding in and out. Neteyam's full attention on him every time he has a free second.

-One night Neteyam invites him over. Neteyam stayed until closing time and suddenly can't bear the thought of Spider going home, to no one if he's lucky and his dad if he isn't. Spider refuses and after that they don't speak for a couple days, silence in the booth. No one says anything but Neteyam still shows and brings Tupperware, and Spider still slides in to join him when he has a free moment.

-Eventually Spider agrees, and Neteyam is forced to show up at close to nine pm with a stranger that he has never mentioned but Tuk is DELIGHTED to see.

-Jake and Neytiri are confused but can recognize a tired, fairly neglected kid when they see one so they offer up the basement couch with no fanfare at all.

-Neteyam is slightly peeved because he was going to have Spider share his bed, it's a king it's plenty big enough, but Neytiri wasn't born yesterday lol. Even Jake is like nah nah, you've been gay since we watched the first Percy Jackson movie kid. Go have a sleepover with Tsireya or something.

-I think Jake Sully has a fairly excellent gaydar, honed from time in the military. You gotta know which guys to fuck. @dinas-bracelet this is the bi Jake Sully agenda.

This is a bonus because this is already FAR too long:

-Neteyam gets increasingly exasperated because no matter how many nights Spider is there or how long into their relationship it gets, Spider downright refuses to move from the basement couch. He will cling to it like a cat if Neteyam tries to move him. He goes boneless and becomes a dead weight.

-Finally Neteyam just sleeps down there one night. This concept has clearly never occured to Spider, who upon realizing there is no moving Neteyam (he can go boneless too, damnit), lays there stiff as a board mummy-wrapped in blankets to keep Neteyam's hands off of him. When he falls asleep though, Neteyam gets in there. Spider is unconsciously tactile, and basically spoons him the entire night.

-The next morning Neytiri walks into the basement to check that Spider is awake for work, turns around and goes back to the top of the stairs, and then walks down again really loudly to alert them to her presence.

[mediocres-writing-blog]

MORTAL KOMBAT LEGENDS: BLOOD BOUND

Chapter 5: The Master’s Call

Another howl was heared from the depths of the mines. The masked man walk toward the bridge that looms over a shaft that goes down for miles, just to notice a pack of wolf-like creatures climbing the walls, looking for their next lunch.

ROBIN: Ah. That would be them, wouldn't it? They don't seem that scary, though. Maybe we could- Oh shit, they're getting closer. Quick, let's fight 'em.

MUCHACHA: I can't believe you have a reasonable idea for once. You're not a complete moron after all. Let's get ready.

Nico, preparing for the fight, draws his daggers and takes the stance as the pack crawls up on their level.

ROBIN: Wait a minute... There's something wrong with their eyes. It's like they're possessed. I feel we should leave.

MUCHACHA: Too late. We must protect ourselves, even if we have to kill them.

One of the beasts leaps towards Muchacha, and she slices its head off with her blade. Robin jumps towards the group and starts kicking and slashing away, cutting them down, one by one. The masked man, realizing he's running low on strength, starts to panic.

ROBIN: Aaaand I'm down. Amara, get us outta here. NOW.

Amara, slicing away with her sword, doesn't notice him in the thrill of the fight. One of the beasts charges for Robin while he's still on the ground, attempting to bite his head off and almost succeeding, but is stopped when Robin grabs its muzzle and struggles a bit, before lighting one of his blades on fire and stabbing it in the head. The creature growns in pain, as it falls into the shaft trying to retreat. The others stopped attacking Amara, as they noticed their leader fell to his death. They retreat to the depths, as they're glowing green eyes stare at the two for the last time. Nico, exhausted, breathes heavily and tries to stand up. The general, noticing his struggle, offers him her hand.

MUCHACHA:  Guess that scared them off. Let's take a break and gather our thoughts.

Robin strokes his neck, looking down and sees scratch marks across his suit.

MUCHACHA: Hey, Robin. I'm sorry I didn't notice you in the fight, it was foolish of me to ignore your pleas.

ROBIN: It's okay, man. You played your part. 'Sides, loosing my head would be the least I deserve for the stuff I said to you outside. So, I'm sorry for being a dick, Amara. I hope you'll find it in your heart to forgive me.

MUCHACHA: It's fine. We all have our bad days.

Robin and the general walk over towards the bridge, looming the the shafts that go down for kilometers.

ROBIN: How come Outworlders never have guardrails anywhere.

MUCHACHA: What's a guard rail?

ROBIN: For gods-- 

the crusader takes a deep breath.

ROBIN: I'll explain later. Let's take a breather and get ready for tomorrow. We're going to be doing a lot of walking and climbing.

Muchacha, who is still a bit curious, walks beside him, taking a sip of her drink. The two walk along the structurely unsafe bridge, looking around for a sight of Outworlder life, but all there is here is wildlife and vegetation wherever you turned. That seemed to be the case until the head to the main command center, as they heard strange sounds from that direction. As they get closer to the room, they are lead by a green glow, the same shade as the eyes of the beast pack from earlier. The room was practically asking to get walked into, but neither the masked man nor the general felt threatened. They entered, seeing a tall, elderly man dressed in a mage gown, preparing some sort of potion. As they walk in. Robin breaks the silence.

ROBIN: Hello, sir.

the mage is suprised, almost dropping a very important ingredient.

THE MAGE: W-who are you, and what are you doing here?

ROBIN: Me and my partner were looking for someone, but got caught up in some weather, and took shelter here...

Robin looked at the man, noticing he looked extremely familiar.

THE MAGE: I'll have you both--

ROBIN: Wait... master Dorfen?

he referred to the mage, as the mage stopped to properly look at the boy.

DORFEN: Nico? Is it really you?

Robin rushes in to hug the man, as the mage pats his head. Amara, who is confused, tries to understand what's happening.

MUCHACHA: You... know him, Robin?

Robin, turning to her, explains.

ROBIN: General Muchacha, meet master Dorfen. This man taught me how to do magic.

The masked man turns to his old teacher.

ROBIN: Sir, this is general Muchacha Amara, leader of one of Outworld's finest armies. She's my current partner.

DORFEN: Oh, so you're the one who has been keeping my boy safe.

MUCHACHA: Ugh. He is his own man, and doesn't need to be "kept safe." Besides, we aren't a thing, just working together. For now.

DORFEN: Alright, whatever you say, general. Come, sit with me. You must be exhausted.

The mage looks around, and brings over a table with a few chairs with his magic, and the three sit down.

DORFEN: What brings you two all the way out here? I thought you went about cutting up people that try n' hurt the Kahn.

ROBIN: Yes, but, uh... Alot of shit happened. From me going to Earthrealm, fighting in a battle royal to the death, and now Kitana hired me to look for a blood mage.

MUCHACHA: Hired US to look for a blood mage. And the Kahn gave me the task of keeping the palace safe from the outside, so that's what I was doing up until recently

Robin turns to her. Ready to make a joke, but changes his mind.

ROBIN: Right. What she said. I was also helping her out with her work. So yeah, a lot of stuff has been going on. But that's not the point. What has been going on in the mines?

Dorfen, knowing his work cannot be interrupted, tries to make a cover up story.

DORFEN: Nothing has been happening. The Felidae have just been acting weird because their leader got killed. It's nothing you should concern yourselves with.

Amara, who is a bit skeptical, speaks up.

MUCHACHA: With all due respect, sir, we've dealt with the beasts, and their leader was completely alive when we got here.

ROBIN: Speaking of which, how did you know that? I stabbed their leader in the head, and it fell into the abyss.

MUCHACHA: That's why we came here, actually. The eyes of the beasts were glowing the same color as the potion.

ROBIN: Oh, yeah, you're right.

DORFEN: Huh...

Nico gets up and looks at the vial, his face lighting up.

ROBIN: Master. Are you sure there isn't anything wrong here?

Dorfen, knowing he can't hide anything anymore, admits he can't hide anything anymore

DORFEN: Alright. Listen to me... I am not here to hurt anyone, just here to work for a man that hired me for my expertise.

MUCHACHA: Was it a blood mage?

DORFEN: No, but he is affiliated with one.

Robin and Muchacha both look at eachother.

ROBIN: Who is it, master?

DORFEN: I can't say. If he hears of this, he will have me killed. But I can tell you this, he does have a blood bender captive. He resides on an island, quite far in the western portion of the Sea Of Souls.

ROBIN: ...Amara, we should get back to our mission.

The masked man starts to walk away.

DORFEN: Nico, please!

He stops and turns around.

ROBIN: Look, sir. You know how I work. If you won't say who's responsible, then I'm not going to risk your life, and you know it.

Master Dorfen, feeling ashamed, looks down. Muchacha looks at the old man, putting her hand on his shoulder.

MUCHACHA: You raised a fine man, sir, and an even better fighter. We shall find this man, and take his life. I will keep him safe, no matter what.

Robin, hearing the general say this, is suprised at the change of tone. He smiles under his mask.

DORFEN: Thank you, ma'am. He is like a son to me, and I appreciate you saying this.

Amara looks at Robin.

MUCHACHA: Don't tell anyone, even the Kahn herself, what you heard, Robin.

Robin who is a amused, looks at her, and smiles.

ROBIN: (chuckles) Whatever you say, captain.

The general hitting him in the back, the two walking towards the exit.

DORFEN: Thank you again for coming! Send a message once everything is over!

the two jump on their steeds, heading off to a harbor, where Amara knows someone who can help them.

[thessalian]

Thess vs Tactics

So that's three hours of overtime and I am so damn tired.. That said, I did get through 80 or so bits of typing today so that's something. The reason I got so many was because I finally just ... had the queue all to myself and I could do the cherry-picking this time. And I don't feel the least bit bad about it because overtime pay or not, I'm logging in on my time to clear some of the typing out of the queue so what reports I take are my fucking business and they can just be grateful the queue's not standing at like 260 items right now.

(I did do a few of the Annoyances; I'm not a monster. Thankfully yesterday's dictation seems to be very short on Monstrosities.)

Additionally, it helped that - praise be to miracles - none of the doctors came in today. I think that's what stresses me out the most, y'know. Like, I'm working on the Annoyances and the Monstrosities that my colleagues leave for me and suddenly there's another dozen items in the queue that just keeps getting larger no matter how hard I work. It's the whole Sisyphean thing. With no one dictating while I'm typing, I can finally feel like I'm getting shit done.

Now I'm thinking tactically about the next couple of days. Because sure, I whittled down the list a fair bit but we're still running with a pretty full list, and Goblin's going to be away for the first couple of days of the week at minimum, and we're unsure as to whether Temp's coming back this coming week at all. (Not that I'm fond of how she does her job, but I hope she's okay. This shit makes me wonder if she went into the office symptomatic for Covid again, though.) So we're looking at a big ol' mess. What I could do is pull a few more hours of overtime tomorrow, make some headway in the mess. It's not advisable exactly, but if I do this now, odds are good I won't have to next week. If the choice is between another three hours and another week of 2-3 hours apiece, I know what I'm choosing, assuming I have the spoons to manage.

(Not Monday, though. The only reason I'm contemplating tomorrow is because I won't have that whole "They're dumping more stuff in the queue and I can't keep up" frustrated despair thing to deal with. Monday will have that and I cannot take that. Besides, I need at least one day.)

The other thing I'm plotting just now is a budget that might allow me to get some takeaway tonight. I can't face the idea of cooking, and with a little juggling and some care, I can manage. Besides, if there was ever a time I needed a treat, it's probably now. Such is how it is at the end of the month towards payday, especially when I had something of a budgetary oopsie and spent £50 on a video game. Still don't regret buying Veilguard, though. Having something fun to play is keeping me sane, spoon-intensive as some of the combat can be. But I'll write about that more another time.