#tis the damn season au

[loversj0y]

this is me trying

coming back to london and being away from wilbur was hard. fighting your own coping methods and trying is harder.

pairing: wilbur soot x gn! reader

angst, hurt/comfort

TRIGGER WARNINGS: fighting, yelling, broken bottles, lots of tears, and alcoholism, plus the briefest (one line) insinuation of suicidal thoughts.

note: this is part of the 'tis the damn season universe, but doesn't particularly have to be read alongside it (though you'd probably be very confused if you didnt read it). this part is pretty heavy. not even going to lie, i had to stop writing a few times to keep myself from getting too stressed, really heed the warnings. at least im getting better at writing fights? ao3 version

word count: 5.7k

You and Wilbur hadn’t seen each other in months. It was May, and the warm air was making the days feel a bit more pleasant if it weren’t for the glaring guilt in your chest. 

The last time you and Wilbur had seen each other was Valentine’s Day, when he’d taken a train up to London to visit you and surprise you with some takeout and roof access to your apartment — you didn’t actually know you could get up there. He wasn’t able to spend too much time with you, mostly due to your own time constraints, but it was a nice trip nonetheless. When he left, you’d promised you’d come down to Brighton to visit him soon.

That didn’t quite work out. You were going to visit for a full week at the end of the second term, however, once you’d met with your advisor, you learned just how behind you were on your final dissertation. It was incredulous because you had thought you were on track with it, but regardless you had to spend break trapped in the library, trying desperately to catch up on writing your paper on Lord Byron’s work. Then, you were supposed to visit during the Easter weekend, but you were given a paper, due in a week, that blocked any opportunities for travel. 

But you were determined this time. You had to do this. You devised a plan, and you found a perfect weekend where you would be completely free of assignments if you hustled. You even got Tommy in on it. 

“Hey, Tommy, sorry to call you like this, do you have a moment to chat?” 

You heard a laugh through the phone, “Yeah, hold on,” he mumbled something off the phone, and you could make out the sounds of him walking to another room. 

“What’s up?”

“I want to surprise Wilbur, and I need your help.” You smiled as you started launching into the details of your plan, each piece meticulously planned out for a wonderful weekend. 

He grinned, “Aw, he would love that. Why d’ya need my help though?” 

“Well,” you faltered a bit, “there’s a flaw in my plan, and it’s that I don’t know where Wilbur’s apartment is, and I especially don’t know how to get there from the station. So, I was wondering if you’d be able to pick me up and take me to Will’s?” 

“Oh, yeah, no problem, plus it’ll allow me to annoy him a bit as well, so yeah, sounds good.”

You cheered a bit, “Thank you so much, Tommy, you’re the best. I’ll text you all the other details, yeah?”

“Aw, I am the best, thank you. And yeah, that works.”

“Perfect, bye, Tommy!”

He responded with a quick bye in return, and you felt yourself grin. You had been trying so hard to find time to be able to go see him, and this was it!

You got a call a few minutes later from Wilbur himself, and you worried immediately that Tommy may have spilled something accidentally. You didn’t even have a chance to speak before he questioned you.

“Why did you call Tommy with something he will only describe as being ‘important’ and ‘for cool people only’?”

You snorted out a laugh, rolling your eyes a bit, “Well, hello, to you, too, Wilbur.”

“Hi, darling, I hope your classes went well today,” he rushed out, “Now answer my question.”

“I just had a question for him, Will.”

“One that you couldn’t ask me?” You could hear the pout in his voice.

“Nope. As he mentioned, it's for cool people only.”

He let out a gasp, indignation clear in his voice, “Darling, how could you? I am much cooler than Tommyinnit.”

You could faintly make out the sound of Tommy yelling at Wilbur in the background. 

“Don’t worry, alright?” You laughed, “It was just something only he could really answer.”

“Are there questions that exist that only that gremlin child can answer?”

“Believe it or not, yes.”

Wilbur whined on the other side of the phone, “Love, you know he’s going to hold this over me for months, right?”

“Oh, I’m aware.”

“So, why?”

“Well, if I’m going to ask a Minecraft-related question,” you lied cooly, “it’s better to ask a professional, isn’t it?”

He was silent for a long moment. “...I am a professional.”

“Will, we’ve played Minecraft together for years. You’re good, but even I could beat you at PVP.”

He groaned, “Is this some ploy? Are you messing with me?”

“Is it wrong for me to try and get closer to your best friend by asking him questions about his interests?” Okay, truthfully, that was a low blow. But the surprise would make it worth it.

“I guess not.” He chuckled, “Sorry, I’m just annoyed about how smug he’s going to be about this.”

“Don’t apologize. You know I wouldn’t miss an opportunity to chat with you, anyway.”

“I wouldn’t either, love,” you could hear the smile in his voice, and the vague sound of Tommy speaking to someone. From over the phone, the room sounded louder than before. 

“Is… something going on over there?” You chuckled, trying to hide the nervousness in your tone. You didn’t even know why you were nervous. Something was just gnawing at the back of your brain, and for some reason, you just felt… tense now.

“Oh, uh,” he paused, and you could hear more people talking now, “sort of. It’s nothing big or anything just, uh, Tommy’s having some friends over is all. He and I have been hanging out for a bit today, but we’re just at his now, so he invited a few people over and stuff.”

You nodded quietly. You couldn’t help the sadness you felt fill your chest. You were trying to be there, but it was still hard to hear about all the things you were missing out on, all the times you missed him, and stories and inside jokes you would never truly understand. 

“Right, okay. Well, I-I’ve got to get back to studying, anyway, so.”

“Darling, it’s nothing, really-” “No, it’s not an excuse or anything,” It was,  “I-I just… ‘m busy, is all, so I’ll let you hang out.”

You were both silent. He knew you were lying, and you could tell. But he wouldn’t call you on it. Not now. Not when you hadn’t seen each other in months and every slight felt like a balancing act, trying to keep the other from pulling away. You were so excited a moment ago, and you didn’t mean for the sadness to overtake your entire conversation. You just couldn’t help sometimes how every conversation, every time you heard him talk about the things he was doing, cut you open more and more. He didn’t mean to, and you would never hold it against it but almost every conversation opened the wound a bit further. 

He spoke up after a minute, “Okay, well… good luck studying, and text me when you’re done,” he paused, voice softer, “I love you.”

You bit your lip, unable to hide the guilt bubbling in your chest at his solemn tone, “I will. I love you too.”

You hung up quickly, setting your phone down on your desk. You placed your head in your hands, taking a shaky breath and fighting off the tears in your eyes. It would be easier, soon. You’d see him in a week. You tried to console yourself.

 You wouldn’t admit it out loud to Wilbur, no matter how much he asked, but you weren’t entirely adjusting well to being back here, without him. The first week, you could only fall asleep if he was on the phone with you. Then, there was one night where he fell asleep before you could call. You ended up turning to an older sleep method, knowing that you needed to get to bed in order to be able to make it to classes. Before you knew it, your room became littered with empty bottles you barely had the energy to clean up. It was an interesting dichotomy, the clear vodka bottles piling on your nightstand and the white Panadol bottles piling on your sink and in your backpack. You were mostly lucky the weekend he came for Valentine’s Day, because you had forced yourself to clean up your room a few days before, meaning there was only one half-empty bottle of vodka on your shelf, and a single bottle of Panadol left on your sink (though there were numerous more inside your school bag). 

You weren’t completely lucky, though. Your weekend with Wilbur was almost entirely perfect. Until the end. Every time you thought back to the end, you watched the memory as if it wasn’t you, as if you were a watcher, not the one actually there.

You’d walked back in with Wilbur, around midnight. The apartment was mostly quiet, except for one of your roommates who was standing in the kitchen,  fixing themselves a drink. When they heard you enter, they turned, perking up a bit.

“Y/N, hey, could I borrow some vodka? I ran out.”

You’d nodded, “Yeah, I’ll grab it, hold on.”

While you’d gone to grab the bottle, Wilbur took his coat off, your roommate lightly chatting with Wilbur while you walked to your room and back. You’d only caught the ending of their brief conversation, listening in as you walked slowly from the hallway back to the kitchen, trying to not wake up your other roommates. 

“-mean, seriously, Wilbur, they can even drink me under the table. Every week, they come in with a new bottle.”

“Wait, every week?”

“Yeah!” Your roommate was laughing, and it hadn’t even crossed your mind yet that they were talking about you, “I mean, seriously, once a week, they walk in and one hand has a bag with vodka from Tesco, and the other hand has a bag from the chemist’s.” 

You walked back over by the time your roommate finished speaking, placing the bottle in front of them. Wilbur gave you a strange look as you did, going uncharacteristically quiet as you said a quick goodnight to your roommate, bringing Wilbur, and the bottle, back to your room. 

You placed the bottle back on the shelf while Wilbur closed the door. With your back turned, he spoke up finally. 

“Darling…” he seemed to struggle to find the words, “Are you… okay?”

You’d chuckled, “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

“You tell me,” he spoke, and you turned to face him. He had a sad look on his face, almost pitiful, and in the moment, it made you feel sick. “You’ve apparently been going through a bottle a week.”

Your entire body had gone rigid, eyes had gone fearful for a moment before you’d defaulted to being defensive. “That doesn’t mean anything is wrong, Wilbur. It just helps me relax, and you know that I can handle my alcohol.”

“Love, you can’t seriously expect me to just accept that answer,” he scoffed, and he almost looked mad. Looking back, you knew he wasn’t mad at you, more just concerned that you were trying to hide this from him. Even so, in the moment, you thought he was mad. While you couldn’t really place why he would’ve been mad, you knew that it made your own blood heat up. 

“Well, it’s- the fucking truth, okay? So just- leave it.”

“How many bottles?”

“Wilbur, what-”

“How. Many.” He looked tense, walking to your bathroom and grabbing the bottle of Panadol, “How many weeks has this been going on? How many bottles have you gotten? If you’re struggling, you should–”

“I’m not fucking struggling, you’re reading into this!”

“Oh, am I? Really?”

“Yes, Wilbur! I am fine, better than fine, in fact, and don’t act like you haven’t been drinking too. You always text me when you do!”

“I’m not against you drinking, but you know how insane going through a fifth a week is. I know that’s not normal for you.”

“How the fuck do you know that? Hm?” You’d practically yelled out before you spoke out again, each word spitting venom at him, “You haven’t been here, Wilbur, you don’t know anything about the way I am when I’m here! Please stop fucking acting like you know everything about me.” You’d gestured with your hands while you spoke, eyebrows raising as you looked at him incredulously, “Yes, okay, fine, you win! I have been drinking more! Basically every night, but that doesn’t mean that something is wrong with me, Wilbur. I am trying my hardest just to fucking exist enough to finish the school year, I am allowed to have vices without it being some big, stupid conversion. Now, let’s just drop it, we’re both exhausted. It’s not going to help to just stand here and argue, okay?”

You’d panted softly as you’d finished. You watched as waves of hurt appeared on Wilbur’s face, and now that the moment had passed, you’d felt just complete, immediate regret as you watched his face fall, staring down at the floorboards. 

“Yeah. Fine.” He spoke out flatly.

You two went to bed that night next to each other, still sharing a kiss and exchanging “I love you”s, but feeling tenser than ever before. 

In the morning, you two had been able to patch things up, but not before Wilbur made you agree to just call him anytime you needed to relax instead of immediately turning to alcohol. You agreed, and you’d been doing a pretty good job of it, even if you still drink sometimes. But ever since the fight, there’d been this tense air in your relationship, lingering in each conversation, both too scared to overstep and lose the other all over again.

You stared at the bottle on your desk as if it was taunting you. You couldn’t call him, so it was that or sleeplessness. You sat up, shaking your head slightly and wiping the tears from your face, taking a deep breath. You couldn’t. Wilbur would call before bed, he always did now. Instead, you distracted yourself, pulling up your laptop and writing out your list of due dates for this week and the next two weeks, albeit the tears in your eyes made it a bit harder than usual. You wrote the list on a sticky note, placing it on your laptop. Some of these things were easier to knock out than others, for sure. Three big assignments and three small ones, plus whatever reading you had to do in between. Thankfully, only two of the big assignments were due this week, the last one could be left for after you came back from visiting him. 

You got started, working on a poem analysis for your Romantic Poetry class and letting your own thoughts fade in the noise of Wordsworth and Keats. 

You’d started working on your second small assignment when he’d called later that night. You set your phone up against your laptop, accepting the video call with a gentle smile on your face. 

“Hi, darling,” he grinned, and with a quick listen to his voice, you could tell he wasn’t entirely sober. You didn’t bring it up.

“Hi, Will. Did you have fun at Tommy’s?”

He nodded quickly, turning to get comfortable in his bed, “Kid’s a menace, for sure, but yes,” he frowned, getting a better look at you, “Babe, are you still studying?”

You sighed, “Yes, Will, I am.” “It’s been like three hours, how dare they? How could they possibly assign you so much?”

“God, I wish I knew. It’s like they all just decided that everything would be due this week. I might not be able to do our video chat dinner this Friday. I have a huge project due on the 21st.” In reality, you would be taking an hour train to his place and having real-life dinner, but he didn’t need to know that yet. 

“That’s not for so long though,” he whined out, pouting.

You chuckled, rolling your eyes a bit, “Yes, but it’s Professor Brian. He makes us all come to his office hours, so he can make sure we’re on the right track, and I need to go in early before the other students can take up all the timeslots. I need to make sure I have everything prepared for that.”

He sighed, relinquishing, “Okay. I know how important all this is, anyways. Plus, graduation isn’t too far now, so you need to finish strong.” He smiled, nothing but supportive towards your academic goals. 

“Graduation will be here before we know it. Still gonna host me that party?”

You both laughed, and he nodded, “Oh, absolutely. We’ll have two parties, a moving party and a graduation party all in one.”

You smiled fondly at him, nodding, “Yeah. That sounds really nice.”

He gave you a look, eyes full of love and adoration, “I miss you so much, love.”

You sighed wistfully, “I miss you too. We’ll see each other soon enough, I’m sure. We’ve waited years, we can do months.” 

He grinned, repeating your words, “We can do months.”

The rest of the conversation was standard, asking “How’s your day”s and sharing loving words. He tried to convince you to sleep once more, but you told him how important your work was, and he eventually gave up the topic. You wished each other a goodnight, saying “I love you”, before he eventually headed to bed fully. After you hung up, you looked back up at the bottle. The urge to drink was gone now. And if you weren’t going to get any sleep, you may as well continue working.

The rest of the week went by smoothly. The stress and weight of assignments and your plans for Friday kept you from sleeping properly, which at least gave you more time to work on your assignments. 

Friday approached quickly, and you couldn’t sit still in a single class the entire day, let alone Professor Brian’s class. He taught your Victorian Literature class, and he was a genuinely caring professor, despite being a bit intimidating. You could barely focus throughout class, far too excited. When it was time for class to be dismissed, you stood eagerly, but Professor Brian stood in the way for you to leave.

“Do you mind staying a few minutes?” He asked, a kind smile on his face.

As much as you didn’t want to, you really liked this professor, and his opinion of you meant a lot to you. So you nodded, following him to pull a chair up to the other side of his desk. 

He sat down, giving you a gentle smile, “I wanted to ask how your paper is going. You haven’t come in for office hours yet.”

Wow, and you thought you were the early prepper. “Well, I was planning to come in on Wednesday since it would give me a week until the project was actually due.”

He frowned, “What day is the paper due?”

You gave him a confused look, responding simply, “The 21st.”

His head tilted back, and he nodded slowly, “Right, I’ve found the problem then. The paper is due the 12th, not the 21st.”

You felt your heart stop. You pulled out your laptop, looking at the sticky note you had taped to it. You had certainly written the 21st. Fuck, you thought, realizing quickly that it must��ve been a consequence of your own mental state since you’d been crying when you wrote the list. 

“Oh. Oh, god, I’m-” You struggled to continue your sentence, too distraught. The paper was due in three days, not twelve like you’d thought.

“Hey, don’t fret,” he pulled out his calendar, humming for a moment, “It’s an honest mistake, and you’ve always been on top of your classwork. I can’t offer a major extension, but I can give you until Wednesday the 14th, but that’s only if you come to office hours first thing on Monday. I can help out with some more of the editing work for the paper, but only on that day, and you’ll need to have at least most of it worked out. I trust in your abilities to create a well-thought-out thesis, especially given your passion in previous classes when we’ve discussed Wilde. Does that work?”

You nodded quickly, fighting tears as your entire plan crumbled around you. “Yeah, yes. I-I can do that.”

“Alright.” He offered you another kind smile, though it did nothing to stop the feeling of the world-shattering around you, “And are you alright? You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t wish to, but you were much more quiet in class today than usual.”

“Yeah. It’s nothing now, anyway.” You sighed, biting your lip to keep it from quivering too much. You stood, pulling your bag on while he nodded slowly.

“Keep your head up, alright? You’re a brilliant student. I don’t like to see you falling behind.” 

You knew he meant no harm with his words, but it added to the pit of self-hatred that you were slowly sinking into. 

You just nodded, turning and heading towards the door, “Thank you, Professor.”

“Have a good rest of your day.”

“You too,” you spoke, trying to put more enthusiasm into your words than you actually felt. 

You practically ran out of the hallway, the air feeling like it was choking you. You walked to a random bench outside, on the edge of campus, unable to stop yourself from completely breaking down. You’d been planning this for weeks, how could you have fucked up this bad? You sobbed, head in your hands. 

The tears didn’t stop. The sun was starting to set, and all of a sudden it felt like there were too many eyes on you, so you stood and ran. You ran all the way to the water, panting heavily as you stared out at the river, standing on the old bridge that was always abandoned this time of night. You stared at the water as you sobbed, chest heaving as you struggled to breathe. 

Fuck.

Fuck.

You had to call Tommy. You already felt like enough of a fuck-up, you could at least prevent him from wasting his time picking you up.

With shaky hands, you took out your phone, dialing Tommy.

It rang once before he picked up, your sobs immediately carrying over the phone.

“Y/N?” He asked, panicked, “Are you crying, did something happen?”

You heard some arguing over the phone, but you could barely hear it over the sounds of your own crying as you began to speak, “Tommy, don’t- I-” your voice quivered, biting your lip hard enough to bleed. 

There was still some arguing happening on his side, but you paid it no mind.

He tried to say something, but you cut him off before he could as the words broke through your sobs. 

“Don’t- don’t bother p-picking me up,” you sobbed out, “I f-fucked it. I fucked it all up.”

“Y/N, what’s going on? Talk to me.”

“It’s- it’s stupid, I- I’m sorry. I can’t- I can’t come anymore. I fucked up,” there was sarcastic laughter behind your words as you continued speaking, tears streaming down your face, “I can’t, fuck, I- I fucking ruined everything, I- I was trying, I am trying, but I-” you gasped for breath, one hand clutching your chest weakly as you sat at the edge of the bridge. 

“Take a deep breath, come on. What are you talking about?” It almost sounded like he was pleading. 

“I just-” you sobbed, trying to muffle your cries to get your words out, “Tell Wilbur I’m sorry.” You pulled your phone away from your ear, ending the call despite hearing his panicked voice through the phone. You shoved your phone in your bag, curling up into a tight ball as you sobbed until you could barely think.

Unfortunately for you, you could still think. Your sobbing had been reduced to slow tears and the occasional hitch in your breath. As the sunset faded into the night sky, you became so acutely aware of how you’d fucked up your relationship. The one you’d spent years pining for, that you wanted to work so hard for. You let all of it fall apart. Even when trying so hard, your trying just wasn’t enough. You stood up, walking to the railing and staring down at the water. 

The rushing water felt like it stared back at you. 

You gripped the railing tightly, and you suddenly felt like you couldn’t breathe all over again. You slowly backed away, letting go of the railing and trying to collect yourself. 

Once you were calm enough, you turned, walking the slow trek back to your apartment. Your eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, and it’d be impossible to hide that you’d been crying even if you tried. You realized off-handedly that you had no clue how long you’d been there sobbing. The sky was your only reminder that time had even passed. 

You walked to the apartment slowly, body feeling drained. When you opened the door, you were met with all three of your roommates in the living room, staring at you with concern. One of your roommates, Jayden, sighed softly, speaking into the phone and looking away. 

“What’s going on?” You asked softly, voice cracking. You didn’t have the heart to be embarrassed. 

“Wilbur called,” your other roommate, Quinn, spoke up softly. 

You didn’t bother responding, just nodding and walking to your room. They didn’t fight it, watching you quietly. 

You grabbed the bottle, laying down in your bed, and staring at it. There was barely anything left, probably about a shot’s worth. Your hands shook as you stared, mentally waging a war over whether or not you’d take that final sip. A sob wracked your body, and instead of drinking it, you threw the bottle against the opposite wall, watching it shatter and spill over the floor. You couldn’t be bothered, turning away from the door and curling up into a tight ball. You heard movement outside your door, but you didn’t move, and eventually, the footsteps departed. You closed your eyes, lying drained on your bed and letting yourself drift in and out of restless sleep.

When you came to at one point, you could make out the sound of someone picking up the pieces of glass you’d shattered. You wanted to turn, to mumble a thank you to whichever roommate had cleaned it for you, but you felt frozen in your own sadness. You listened, though, keeping your eyes closed. The sounds of each shard falling into a bag, the sound of a towel wiping at the wet spot left by the vodka. Then, there was a pause before you heard the gentle sound of footsteps moving toward your bed. You felt the bed dip, and you couldn’t fight the confusion that creased into your brow. An arm slowly wrapped around you, and you let your eyes open, taking a moment to process. You thought you must be dreaming.

Your voice sounded weaker than you’d hoped it would as you spoke. 

“Wilbur?” You turned, looking up and seeing the face of your lover staring back at you. He looked as exhausted as you felt, and it looked like he’d been crying as well.

You sat up slowly, and he did the same, brushing back some of your hair. 

“Hi,” He sighed softly, sitting across from you, “You scared the shit out of me.”

Tears welled in your eyes, and your hands reached for him as if to make sure he was actually, really there in front of you. He held onto your arms gently as well. 

“What- what are you doing here?” “You were on speaker when you called Tommy.” He sighed softly, “We could only come for tonight, but we really need to talk. We could wait til the morning if you’d prefer.”

As much as you’d like to have one last good night in his arms, you’d rather rip the bandaid off now.

“No, let’s talk now.” You sighed.

He nodded, watching you quietly, “Can you tell me what happened, then?”

You took a shaky breath, nodding softly. “I was going to come down this weekend. I spent weeks planning it, making sure I could get everything done in perfect timing. But that night I called Tommy, after you called me, I started crying, and I wrote down one of my due dates wrong,” you sniffled, chuckling sardonically at yourself. “God, it’s so stupid. But my professor stopped me after class, and he extended the due date, but he could only extend it by two days. So, I couldn’t come to surprise you anymore, and,” you sobbed, biting your lip and trying to hold yourself together, “I called Tommy and let him know that he didn’t- he didn’t have to pick me up anymore.” 

Wilbur nodded as he listened to you explain. He knew you better than you ever wanted to admit. “On the phone, you said… you ruined everything. You weren’t just talking about the plans, were you?”

You shook your head, moving your hands to hide your face behind them, “No.”

“Did you… think that I would stop talking to you because of this?”

You took a shaky breath. It felt like your last chance to be honest while you still could. So, you let the words spill from your mouth in endless streams.

“I just- I haven’t been doing well, Wilbur, ever since I got back here. I was drinking every night, really heavily, and I know it wasn’t good. And I’m sorry for how I talked to you that night, I was just scared and defensive, and,” you took a shaky breath, “every time we’ve talked after that fight, everything would feel different, and I was just getting terrified that my time was running out, that you were going to finally decide that you’ve had enough of the fucking mess that I am. Every time you would tell me about the cool things you were doing, I just couldn’t help but feel like it was cutting me open, no matter how happy I was for you, and now, I just I feel like I’m an open wound that can’t close no matter how much I try. And I am trying. You have to believe me, really, I am trying. I didn’t,” You cried softly, head still in your hands, “I didn’t drink it. The rest of the bottle, I-I didn’t drink it. I am trying.” You felt like you were pleading for him to believe you.

“Hey, hey” he spoke softly, gently holding onto your forearms, “Let me see your face. Please.”

You let your hands fall, looking up at him. You never felt smaller than in that brief moment where you could feel him seeing you in your entirety. 

He gently moved a hand to your cheek, wiping at your eyes softly. 

“I know you’re trying. I’m proud of you for not drinking it. Really, I’m insanely proud of you. I can see that you’re trying. I’m not going to leave you or stop talking to you because you’re struggling. That doesn’t mean what happened is okay, but darling, you need to communicate with me. Neither of us are going to be perfect about anything, and I know I’m not perfect with it either, but when you start having these thoughts and ideas that I’m going to leave you? That’s when you need to come to me and talk to me. I know it’s hard, and I’m not expecting it to be an easy or quick fix, but I need to know that you know that you can come to me. That I’m someone you truly trust. Because if not, it will just hurt us both.”

You nodded quickly, leaning into his touch, “I’m sorry. I’m going to try, I just- I get so in my head sometimes, I just-” You took a shaky breath, and he carefully moved forward, pulling you into a tight hug. You hugged him back just as tightly, burying your face into his chest.

“I do trust you,” you whispered, “I’m just scared you’re going to see me the way I see me.”

He took a shaky breath, kissing the top of your head. “And I’m just trying to get you to see yourself the way I see you.”

You sobbed softly, clinging onto him tightly. He held you just as desperately, rubbing your back.

“I love you,” you spoke softly once you’d calmed down enough, “so much.” “I love you so much too.” He pulled away, only to pull you in for a kiss. You kissed him back, your arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders. The kiss felt like breathing, a strong sense of relief in the physical confirmation that despite everything, you didn’t lose him.

When you pulled away, you rested your forehead against his, and you both sat like that quietly for a few minutes.

“I missed you,” You spoke softly, looking up at him. “You said you’re only here for tonight?” 

“I missed you too. Even if it didn’t go as planned, at least we still got to see each other this weekend,” he lightly joked before nodding, “We are only here for tonight.”

“Wilbur, I can’t go to Brighton anymore, I have to write my paper,” you sighed.

“Oh, no, I know. I wasn’t talking about you.” “What?” “Tommy insisted on coming with. He was really worried too. He’s currently sleeping on your couch.” 

You chuckled, your chuckle soon turning into full laughter as you imagined Tommy’s lanky limbs leaning off your cheap couch. Wilbur started laughing as well, arms still wrapped around you, slowly rubbing up and down your back.

Once you stopped laughing, you leaned into him, relaxing against his chest. He moved both of you into laying down. 

“I’ll talk to him in the morning. Today’s been exhausting. Can we just sleep?” Wilbur nodded, kissing the top of your head once more. “I would love nothing more than to sleep with you right now.” 

You groaned, lightly hitting his chest, but you couldn’t deny the laughter that bubbled up in your chest. 

“Goodnight, love.” He grinned.

“Goodnight, Wilbur.”

taglist: @shubblelive / @superioritycomplexes / @your-shifting-gurl (send an ask/dm me if you want to be added)

#wilbur soot x reader #wilbur soot #mcyt x reader #dsmp x reader #mar writes #wilbur x reader #tis the damn season au #mcyt x you #wilbur soot x you #wilbur soot fanfiction #mcytumblr #mcyt wilbur

[lynx-224]

it is still wednesday for some so

everybody is probably asleep now BUT i have finished kiss scene (i am not the biggest fan but it will suffice for now)

(you can find this fic here)

#byler #tis the damn season au #mike wheeler #will byers #stranger things #ao3 fic #byler fanfic #wip wednesday #miwip wednesday #lynx writes #i had the google doc open for so long and wrote two pages. #i am a beast

[newtonsheffield]

Prime Minister Kate Sharma and Downing Street Aide Anthony Bridgerton in ‘tis the damn season, write this down by Moomin_94 (newtonsheffield)

“This is Anthony, he’s your office aide.”

The man, Anthony apparently, smiled, offering his hand to her, “Lovely to meet you, Kate.” Everyone else seemed to realise his mistake before Kate did, and Anthony’s eyes widened in surprise, “Prime Minister! Oh God, Madam Prime Minister!”

“It’s fine.” Kate said, taking his hand and trying not to react to the jolt that shot through her as their hands met, “Truth be told I’m not quite used to it either.”

“Still I’m… so sorry.” He said quickly, “I… fuck, I bothered Sophie to get this job for months and now I’ve… And now I’ve sworn in front of you as well.”

“For god’s sake, Anthony.” Sophie hissed, “Stop swearing at the Prime Minister.”

“It’s fine.” Kate chuckled, “It’s honestly fine. Probably shouldn’t do it again though.”

“Right, yes, no.” Anthony said, his free hand twitching nervously towards his hair, “I promise, it won’t happen again.”

Anthony squeezed her hand once more, “Well, it was lovely to meet you, Prime Minister.”

Kate snatched her hand back as her stomach swooped uncomformably again and stepped back, “Right, yes. You as well… Anthony.”

#I am once again shamelessly using Greggy as Newton #tis the damn season write this down au #kathony #anthony x kate #kate sharma #kate sheffield #anthony bridgerton #kathony fic #bridgerton fic

[typingwithmyhandstied]

I don't know if I will ever write my Philas tis the damn season AU (the odds are high tho), so I thought I'd share the one passage I really just want to write it just to include:

"Silas never asked Phoebe to stay. They both knew she wouldn’t, and Phoebe never asked Silas to wait nor did she tell him not to. They both knew he’d wait anyway."

#i like pain a little too much i think #i will work on this more when i have motivation #i just lost patience with the world building #foul lady fortune #chloe gong #secret shanghai #phoebe hong #silas wu #philas #i love tis the damn season au so much that i decided to write a second one help-

[writingwife-83]

Am I starting another multi chapter? No… probably not… honestly idk. 😆 All I know for sure is that while I was listening to Taylor Swift’s “‘tis the damn season” today this scene legit just popped into my head. I had to get it out lol. Thanks to @thisisartbylexie for pushing me to just do it! I don’t usually share the whole fic on here anymore, but I think tumblr did something that made AI scraping less likely, right? Anyway, hope you enjoy this little modern au one shot. Will I ever do more with it? Who can say? Again, I just had to get it written. ❤️

Hometown

The floorboards creaked loudly when she stepped up into the attic, sounding as angry and bitter as the late owner of this old house had been.

Rey walked around the boxes and tools and junk, silently cursing her grandfather for leaving all this for her to deal with. Not a word of love or care in all these years since she’d left. Nothing but a cluttered old house, left to her out of legal necessity.

Her eyes soon narrowed in on a box in the corner with “Rey” scribbled on the top. Crouching down, she ripped the tape off the box’s seam, opening the top to reveal the contents. She found herself instantly transported back to another time. Another life.

Rey pulled out a little doll, tattered and worn after all the years she’d clutched it close in the nights she’d cried herself to sleep. She swallowed a jagged lump, setting the little thing aside and continuing to pull items out. There were books and clothes and shoes, and little scraps she’d collected as a child. It might have warmed her heart to see that these things were kept, but she knew it was only for lack of care that these random items were all swept into a box and placed in the attic, her grandfather as content to forget her as she was him.

When she reached the very last item at the bottom of the box though, she instantly froze, sitting back against her heels, almost afraid to touch it. Hesitant fingers finally reached out, grasping the weathered red flannel, pulling it out and allowing herself to hold it close for the first time in so many years. Rey’s eyes clamped shut… she could smell his soap. Maybe the cling of the subtly spicy and woodsy aroma was long gone from the fabric and this was just a memory. It didn't really matter. Because either way, just like that, it filled her senses all over again. He filled her senses.

The slow walks in the woods, the long country drives going nowhere, the late night laughter over nothing at all, the almost daily light hearted arguments because neither were good at admitting when they were wrong.

And the way his arms wrapped around her body had taught her what it was to want something more than friendship from a boy.

Before Rey knew it, she was slipping her own arms into the flannel and pulling it up over her shoulders, allowing herself to get as close to those memories as she could. She was swimming in the thing, just as she was the night Ben put it on her as he walked her home, grumbling about how she was always cold and never remembering her own jacket. But he didn’t mind, not really. She could tell. He looked almost pleased at the sight of her in it, but his lips twisted away the smile that threatened for just a moment. So quick, you could almost miss it. But she didn’t, and it warmed her almost as much as the flannel that still carried the literal warmth of his body.

God, if she could only go back to that moment, and a hundred more just like it. If she could only have stayed in this town a little longer, to see where those moments would have led. To see if one night his arms might have stayed around her a little longer and held her a little tighter.

But they never got that chance. Ben seemed almost as eager for her to leave town as she was, to get away from her grandfather and to make something more of her life after high school. He was excited for her. Sometimes she wondered what she might have done if instead Ben had begged her to stay.

But he didn’t.

Rey hugged the flannel a little tighter around her body, realizing that her eyes had started to cloud. She had to sniffle genuine tears away, even though she wasn’t sorry for the loss of any other part of her life in this town. The loss of him was more than enough.

Shaking her emotions off and standing up, that old shirt hanging almost to her fingertips, she looked around at the seemingly endless work it would take to unload this house. She wondered how long she’d have to stay here and be away from the city. This wasn’t exactly the vacation she’d been wishing for, but it had to be done regardless. And maybe something good would come from all of it.

Not that she could hope to see Ben Solo again, she thought to herself with a little laugh, hands absentmindedly smoothing up and down the comforting fabric against her arms. What were the chances he’d still be here in this town?

Right here where she’d left him seven years ago.

Read on AO3

#reylo #modern au #fic: hometown #song fic #sort of #inspired by taylor swift #tis the damn season

[imagineanythings]

Tis the Damn Season

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Words: 4.8k

The second fic in my Folklore and Evermore Collection

Other fics in the collection: The 1

Her head swarmed with frustration and anger and she finally noticed that she had pulled into the parking lot in front of the methodist church. She laughed to herself as she rested her head on the wheel. Of course she’d come here. Stupid. She moved to put the car in reverse and go somewhere, anywhere else, when taillights in her rearview mirror caught her eye. The air forcibly left her lungs in one swift exhale as she recognized that old, beat up, blue pickup.

---------------------------------------------------------

The familiar musty scent of beer and an unfortunate mixture of perfumes and colognes met her nose as she entered the bar. Faces more weathered than her memory had stored them greeted her as she weaved through. The motion of dodging through these people had become muscle memory, though the setting had shifted some years back from crowded high school hallways to this cramped hometown bar. She settled into a seat at the bar and shrugged off her coat, and once she had a gin and tonic in hand she was far more prepared to deal with the sea of semi-familiar faces around her.

It was all cordial hellos, obligatory “so what are you doing these days?”, or “how’s your family?” or “congratulations on your engagement or your promotion or your pregnancy or whatever else someone could be congratulated on ten years out from high school”. Small talk was easy, but grating, people couldn’t help but joke about how cold she must be here after coming from LA, or asking about contracts or jobs that she wasn’t allowed to talk about. Insincerity leaked from between their clenched, grinning teeth as they would ask “remember when we sat next to each other in bio? We sure had some good times. Did you say you were on set with Angelina Jolie last month?” They would say “It’s amazing that your career is taking off like this, it’s a tough industry” or they’d jab an all too sharp elbow into her side with a far too comfortable smile and say “If you ever need some company out there in LA, call me.”

Fake smiles and performed familiarity left her exhausted and frustrated as she worked on her third drink in a brief moment to herself. She took the time to scan the room and survey if anyone worth talking to had showed up. She was just about coming up empty when a crowded table in the corner caught her eye. She might have missed him with the swarm of people he was sitting with, except for his cold blue stare. She could never miss his eyes, even if she wanted to. Steve Rogers would never not be the first person she could pick out of a crowd. They held eye contact for a moment, air tense, background voices dimmed to a dull ringing in their ears as they returned to a long unpracticed art of reading one another.

She said hello with a quirked brow, he remained impassive, so she sipped her drink and narrowed her eyes, the corner of his lip tugged ever so slightly upwards, her shoulders released the slightest bit of tension, his jaw clenched, her eyes softened, he turned his head to speak to someone else. It seemed that neither was satisfied with the interaction, if it could even be called that. Nonverbal conversations used to be their secret, an inside joke in a room full of unsuspecting idiots. Suddenly she wished she couldn’t read him quite so well anymore.

One drink and a few more awkward conversations later, fresh soap and pine and firewood reached her nose and she knew he was about to pass her on his way out. At the peak of the scent a gentle brush against her side informed her that her estimates of his whereabouts were correct and she sat glued to her seat, forcing herself not to look. But nostalgia and curiosity and possibly a dash of hopeless romanticism grabbed her by the chin after a few moments and led her eyes to the muscular frame headed for the door. He paused, hand on the door, and as if he could sense it, looked up and met her eyes. There it was again, and her heart strung with icy blue hurt. He was gone within moments but she had felt an eternity in that eye contact.

One of the comforts of being home was the ability to zone out on drives through her sleepy, small hometown. Her eyes stayed on the road and her body mechanically brought her home as she thought about seeing Steve in the bar. Flashes of a dizzying high school romance intermixed with memories of the aching emptiness that followed. The feelings existed out of sync with one another.

At home, she only enjoyed a mere few minutes of peace before her mother began her favorite line of questioning. “Why did you have to go so far away sweetheart? We miss you.” Her mother began. With a deep breath, she braced herself. “You know why, Mom. You know I wanted to act. I couldn’t have done that here.” The words fell from her lips with no thought, muscle memory had taken over. “I just don’t see why that had to be the only option. You could make a nice life for yourself here. I mean did you really want to get away from us that badly?” “Jesus, Mom. You know that’s not why I left. We’ve been over this.” The argument went in progressively louder circles for who knows how long. After enough nothing, Y/N silently grabbed her coat. She called, “I’m going for a drive.” Before shutting the front door behind her and getting into her car.

Muscle memory is a crazy thing. She hadn’t thought about where she was going, she only knew that she had to get away for a minute. Her head swarmed with frustration and anger and she finally noticed that she had pulled into the parking lot in front of the methodist church. She laughed to herself as she rested her head on the wheel. Of course she’d come here. Stupid. She moved to put the car in reverse and go somewhere, anywhere else, when taillights in her rearview mirror caught her eye. The air forcibly left her lungs in one swift exhale as she recognized that old, beat up, blue pickup.

It seemed like she had no control over anything she did anymore, as she felt herself getting out of her car. Her brain was sounding all the alarms, telling her to stop, to turn around, get back in her car, and continue her personal pity party as far away from here as possible. Maybe even back in LA at this point. But her legs carried her forward nonetheless until finally she stood on the passenger side of the truck, staring through the window.

His head rested on his steering wheel the same way hers had a few moments ago, he hadn’t seen her yet. Despite all of her rational reasoning, she raised a timid hand and gently knocked against the glass. He jolted upright once at the sound and then again when he realized who was standing in front of him. She figured she was in too deep now, no running away, so she reached out and opened the door, climbed into the passenger seat and nearly had to hold back tears as she felt her skin against its familiar leather. With all the composure she could muster, she looked over at his still stunned face. “Wanna go for a drive?” She asked, and wordlessly, he started the car.

Silence filled the space, wrapped them both up in a warm familiarity for the beginning of the drive. She knew the roads he was taking, leading them aimlessly around the town that made them who they were. There’s no telling how long they needed to sit and absorb each others’ presence, they only knew that they would speak when it felt right again. “What brought you to the lot?” He broke the silence, surprising her. That was traditionally her job. She shrugged. “My parents, pissed at me for leaving and going so far away.” He nodded and hummed. “I get that.” The silence hung between them once again. “What about you?” Guilt broke her first this time. “House felt empty, like I was seeing ghosts. Just wanted to clear my head.” His tone had a practiced evenness to it that she recognized from when he tried to hold back his feelings, like the day they broke up. “Feel like I should be apologizing for that.” She observed. He exhaled deeply. “Maybe. Maybe I should be too.” SIlence met them again and they embraced it, comfortably. She continued to sneak glances at him in the quiet, trying to read him as he drove, as he clearly was trying to close himself off to her.

She took another deep breath after a long while and broke the silence again. “So the bar was a bust, huh? I mean Bucky wasn’t even there.” His shoulders shook in a silent chuckle as she looked up in shock that he was even responding with anything other than snark or frustration. “Yeah, even Tony was acting like an ass tonight.” “Where was Nat? Or Sam? Felt like no one worth talking to was around.” “They’re busy with their lives. Although out of everyone, you were the one we all expected to show up the least.” that coldness leached back into Steve’s tone. “You guys were talking about it? Seriously?” Her brows knitted together and she crossed her arms. “I mean, come on. We all just thought you’d be on a movie set. Or with people cooler and richer than this whole town combined.” The coldness was barely there in his voice, he spoke matter-of-factly. “Nah, LA people suck. Trust me, they’ve got nothing on some of the people here. Some of them.” She put emphasis on that last bit and met Steve’s eyes as they stopped at a red light. He looked quickly back to the road as the light turned green and continued along. The silence surrounded them again. She broke it again. “I miss you.” It was barely a whisper. “Yeah.” He breathed deeply. “I miss you too.” Another stop sign, another quick glance. “But I’m sure you already knew that.” “I’m sorry.” She said once again, she didn’t even know why she was saying it anymore. He just shook his head. They rode in silence for a long time again. She wondered when silence became more comfortable with him than speaking. Somewhere after middle school, she guessed. Either way, there was a nostalgia to the quiet that wrapped her up and made her feel warm despite the guilt squeezing her by the lungs.

The truck rolled to a stop right where it had started. He put it in park and stared straight ahead. “Thanks for the ride.” She said, as her fingers grasped the door handle and she began to push the door open, Steve reached out and grabbed her by the arm. Muscle memory kicked in again as he pulled her to him, a hand threading through her hair as he placed his lips on hers. His tug on her arm had some force behind it, but the kiss itself was soft and gentle, more of a question than anything else. She could feel him holding himself back before she gave in and kissed him back like leaning into a multiple years long itch that was finally being scratched. As soon as she showed eagerness he let go completely, one of his hands was tangled in her hair, the other had snaked around her waist to rest on her back, pulling as close as he could over the center console. She took his shirt in one fist and placed a gentle palm on his cheek. She had been in her hometown for a little over a day now but she hadn’t felt really at home until this moment.

He tasted like peppermint and whiskey and she felt like she was drowning in him when he pulled back to look at her. They breathed heavily in time with one another, something that simple having brought them back into sync after all those years. He spoke first between labored breaths. “Meet me at my place?” “I’ll follow you there.”

The morning sunlight streaked through unfamiliar windows and it took Y/N a moment to comprehend where she was. She sat up in bed and surveyed the neat bedroom she found herself in. It was simple, just the bed, an armchair in the corner, and a large, overstuffed bookshelf. The door creaked open to reveal Steve, in just his boxers, holding two steaming mugs.

“Mornin’ sleepyhead” He said with a chuckle as he carefully slid back into bed next to her. He handed her one of the mugs and a large t-shirt of his. She pulled the shirt, soft and well worn, over her head and then took a sip, coffee exactly how she liked it. She looked over to him in surprise to find him watching her anxiously. Her shocked smile easily melted the worry lines above his brow as he let out what sounded like an involuntary laugh. “I’m not gonna lie, I didn’t have much faith in your high school preferences but I guess some things do never change.” She laughed and let out a playful scoff.

“Thank you,” she said sincerely. “For everything.” They sat, sipping in silence for another few moments before she spoke again. “I missed you.” “I missed you too, Sugar.” He let his old nickname for her fall from his lips for the first time in ten years and she knew he could see the way it made her breath catch in her throat. They stilled, reading each other as gently as possible, searching for safe waters to steer whatever this was towards. She made the first attempt. “So we didn’t get to talking much last night,” her lips twisted in a wry smile and he laughed and shook his head, tension leaving his shoulders. “How’ve you been? What have you been doing? When did you move out of your parents’ place? Catch me up on all that I’ve missed,” She leaned forward, elbows resting on her knees as she raised eyebrows along with her mug to her lips.

He smiled, softly, no teeth, a mix of fondness and hurt in his eyes, but not the accusatory kind she had seen at the bar. It was a dull, sort of throbbing ache that she was all too familiar with that swam in the expansive blue of his eyes. And he started talking. He moved out of his parents’ house about five years back. As soon as he had the money to do it he was out of there. It had been mostly work for the last ten years. He looked at her with a slight sadness as he sighed and said “not much else to report”. She shook her head. “I’m sure that’s not true Rogers, I’ll just have to get a good few drinks in you to hear whatever stories you’re holding back,” she poked him gently in the rib and he laughed. “Trust me, there really aren’t many stories to tell. Feels like this place got a whole lot less exciting once you left.” It was like someone attached a string to all the air in her lungs and yanked it out through her mouth.

“Why didn’t you? Leave, I mean” She asked carefully. “I don’t know, I always thought about it but I had a job and then I started to climb ranks and build something of my own so it all just kind of made sense here,” He trailed off. She saw his minute intake of breath and knew he had more to say. She gave him space to get it out. “Plus where would I go anyway?” He finally let out, quiet, maybe even a bit fearful, his voice quivering the slightest bit. She wanted to put a hand on his arm, tell him he could have always come to LA, stayed with her, but she knew better than to offer that. Instead she put her coffee down on the nightstand and curled into his side, resting her head in his lap.

“Do you ever want to leave?” “I don’t know.” He placed his mug down as well and ran fingers through her hair. “Sometimes. But I mostly like the life I’ve built. I see why you did though,” “You do?” She peered up at him. “Yeah. I mean, this place can be tough. I still don’t know why you wouldn’t stay with me, why you didn’t even want to try with us, but I can respect why you couldn’t stay here.” She sat up, bringing a hand to his face. He leaned into it, letting her fingers rake over stubble and caress his jaw and cheek bones. “I didn’t want to. I just had to get away and I was young and stupid and I didn’t know if I could truly leave if I still had anything here that I was holding on to. If only I’d known what LA was going to be like. That holding onto a piece of my soul might actually have saved me from a lot of pain down the line.” “Are you gonna leave again?” His eyes wouldn’t leave hers and she couldn’t look away, trapped by his gaze. There was no pressure, there was no ill-will or blame, simply an understanding, a sense of I will not be blindsided by this again.

“I’m here for the weekend, aren’t I?” His air rushed out of him. She could tell he was disappointed but he did a good job concealing most of it. She sat up and placed a gentle kiss on his lips, hoping it could convey so much of what she just felt too damn ineloquent to express in words, and then got out of bed and cleared away the coffee mugs. She brought them to the kitchen and rinsed them to give him a second to think, to just be alone. When she came back he looked calm, he had leaned back against his antique wooden headboard, his arms crossed and his brow uncreasing as he seemed to come out of a thought. “You’re here for the weekend?” he asked, gesturing a bit to the space around him, indicating his home. She giggled and nodded. “The whole damn weekend, if that’s ok with you?” She confirmed and he smiled, shoulders and eyebrows relaxing. “Oh that is more than ok with me, I’ll take what I can get, Sugar.” He looked at her with genuine joy it seemed, so much hurt now missing from his gaze. With a wink she turned and started into the bathroom. “Now just what are you getting up to?” He asked and she pulled his shirt over her head with a comfortable smile. “I had an absolutely filthy night last night, feels like I need to wash off.” She tossed the shirt at him, leaving her bare skin exposed, “You coming?” she asked. “Yes, Ma’am” he said, his tone soaked in reverence and eyes full of desire as he made his way after her.

48 hours is nothing in the grand scheme of things, but they stretched it for all it was worth. She made breakfast, he cooked dinner. They rarely left the house except for one extra large grocery run. They drank hot chocolate, they sat by the fireplace and watched movies, they went for a walk around his property, they kissed every chance they got and almost never stopped touching each other in some way. He held her like he knew he was going to have to let go far sooner than he’d like. She couldn’t stop staring at him, trying to memorize this version of him, of them together. They were an older, more mature version of themselves, free of adolescent sting and grudges but never quite escaping a quiet fog of sadness that sometimes tasted like regret if she closed her eyes and focused on it too hard.

The time flew by all too quickly. Suddenly she was packing her small bag, preparing for her flight the next day. She was carefully folding her clothes and trying not to focus too hard on how intently Steve was watching her. She knew him too well at this point, could feel the force of his willpower on her, his presence begging her to stay. But he didn’t say anything, so she didn’t either. She simply zipped up her bag, crawled into bed, grabbed him by the front of his shirt, and kissed him, lips meeting his with force and passion. He tangled a hand in her hair and wrapped his other arm around her waist and pulled her into him, and for just a second, it felt like no other words needed to be said.

Hours later, she rested her head on his chest, feeling his even breathing, listening to his steady heartbeat. She stared into the empty darkness of his room, mind in a rush to get nowhere in particular, jumping anxieties like changing trains in an endless commute. Where do we go from here? Do I just go back home and pretend none of this happens? Can I handle the same silence I sat in for ten years? WIll he miss me? She raced through uncertainties at a rapid pace, but always found herself coming back to the same question. Would he ever just ask me to stay? She wasn’t even sure if she knew what her answer would even be if he did, but she wondered nonetheless. She could feel his breathing hitch, his arm around her shift, she knew he was still awake. She wondered what he was thinking about. She stayed silent and hoped that for once he couldn’t read her like she knew he always could.

In the morning they dressed in silence. She gathered her things and he brought her a cup of coffee, offered wordlessly. They sat in his kitchen, sipping in silence, bodies tense for fear of inadvertently giving too much away. He spoke first, softly, almost timid. “When’s your flight?” “Around two, should probably head to my parents’ to say goodbye soon.” He nodded. “We can head over there whenever you’re ready.” “We?” she quirked her brow and bit back a smirk. “How else do ya think you’re gonna get to the airport, dummy?” He said as he placed his mug in the sink. He found himself frozen upon turning around, confronted with a beaming smile centered directly on him. Neither spoke. The air grew thick and hot around them, a question grew into a lump into his throat, pushed its way to the precipice of his tongue before he swallowed it back down and reached over to grab her empty mug. Her shoulders sunk ever so slightly with what he thought might be disappointment but he couldn’t be sure. “Thank you.” She said softly, “for the coffee and the ride” She paused for a moment. “And the weekend.” He smiled and shot her a quick wink. “Anytime, Sugar” It felt like physically holding herself together, trying not to melt in that moment, and she knew he saw the way she tensed up a bit.

Warm air and sunny skies greeted her as she stepped out of LAX, but a chill ran through her body nonetheless, frost emanating from what felt like an empty pit residing in her stomach. Her phone was already buzzing constantly, messages from her agent, her publicist, friends, everyone and anyone trying to get her attention now that her little “vacation” was over. With a sigh, she scrolled through the messages and eventually called her agent, grateful for the chance to throw herself back into work and shake off the icy blue chill that seemed to follow her all the way here.

LA was busy, there was always something to be done, someone to call or meet with, a script to read over, lines to learn, workout classes to take, personal grooming to be attended to. It kept her occupied, allowing for a distraction as her mind would wander. Even as months passed, her focus never fully narrowed, and there was only so much she could do before the scent of soap and pine needles and freshly cut wood began to seep through the edges of her imagination. They didn’t speak. She wasn’t sure what the protocol would be and they hadn’t had the time to talk about it so she just gave him space, wondering if he was still reeling from their rekindling as much as she was.

She went to parties, hung out with friends, but there was a vacancy there, like everyone looked right through her, or saw her as just another rung on their own ladder to success. She could feel the insincerity in their smiles, squeezing her close with bony, designer swaddled limbs and whispering “I missed you baby!” or “It’s so good to see you!” or “Bestie, how have you been!?” and then pulling away with a smug smirk like they knew they had just given the oscar-winning performance. She wanted nothing more than to tell somebody, anybody about Steve, about what she was going through, but she couldn’t trust anyone. Spilling to any of these people would have the tabloids on it in a second.

So she worked. And she gave her own insincere smiles and hellos that didn’t go below the surface. And she kept her head down. She made some decent movies. She put out some work that she was really proud of. She walked the red carpet alone. She was getting offers on a consistent basis now, being able to be more and more selective about what she wanted to work on. It wasn’t about survival anymore, it was about what she wanted. And suddenly she felt like she wasn’t so sure about that anymore.

She stood on the red carpet for her last film of the year, a cheesy christmas romance that she only had a supporting role in, bombarded by photographers and people yelling her name. She flashed her perfectly practiced smile and straightened out her classic, deep red, floor length gown before leaving the mark for someone else. The shuttering of cameras, the screaming fans and paparazzi and stressed out PAs, the flashing lights, the similarly overstimulated and overworked stars all faded behind her as she walked into the darkness of the theater, and for one singular moment, for the first time in almost exactly a year, she felt peaceful. She pulled out her phone and sent a quick text to her assistant, changed my mind, actually do book me that ticket for tomorrow? You’re the best, and then she sat down to enjoy her cheesy, silly movie.

She pulled into the driveway in a rental car that smelled of stale cigarette smoke. Through the windows she could see her mother fussing about, putting decorations in place, getting the house in order. It looked warm inside. The flight had been long and her head hurt and her body ached but she found herself locked in place, white knuckles on the wheel. She couldn’t pry her fingers away to open the door. Her head was spinning and her chest felt tight until she let muscle memory take over as she shifted the car into reverse and suddenly everything felt clear. She followed the roads on autopilot, knowing exactly where she would end up but feeling not entirely sure until she arrived.

Stepping out of the car was easy this time. Too easy, in fact. She left it running, door open as she followed the magnetic pull to his front door, adorned with a vibrant, homemade pine wreath. Her heart felt like it was clawing its way out of her body through her throat as she reached a shaking hand up and knocked on the door. She held her breath for a few stunned, silent, panicked moments until she heard movement somewhere inside the house. The air came out of her all in a rush as the door opened and there Steve Rogers stood, right in front of her, live and in the flesh, blue eyes wide as they landed on her. “Hi.” seemed to be the only thing he could get out.

“Hi.” She responded breathlessly. They stood, staring at each other for a long moment, and when he finally opened his mouth to speak she cut him off, letting the words just tumble out. “I’m so sorry I left, I’ve been so miserable this whole year and I just missed you so much and I regret everything I never should have left at all.” she paused for a deep breath. “Would you mind if I stay?” She could barely finish her question before he was pulling her in close, threading a hand through her hair and wrapping the other around her waist, and kissing her like there was nothing else he could ever need but this. He pulled back gently and rested his forehead against hers. “Is that a yes?” She asked, breathlessly. “What? And have waited for you all this time for nothing? Course I wouldn’t mind, Sugar.” He whispered before pulling her in for another kiss, slow, lazy this time, for he had no reason to rush, she had no other place to be, and they had nothing but time.

#captain america #the avengers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers/reader #steve rogersxreader #captain america x reader #captain america/reader #captain americaxreader #steve rogers/you #fluff #mutual pining #idiots in love #reunion #high school exes reunited #no powers au #Taylor Swift inspired #tis the damn season

[imogenlefay]

Chapters: 12/25 Fandom: Glee Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Blaine Anderson/Sebastian Smythe Characters: Blaine Anderson, Sebastian Smythe Additional Tags: Christmas Compilation, The Great Seblaine Christmas Extravaganza, Fluff and Sweetness, Occasional hurt/comfort, probably, But mostly fluff Summary:

A collection of Christmas-themed oneshots about Seblaine.

#glee #fic #seblaine #sebastian smythe #blaine anderson #the great seblaine christmas extravaganza #day 12: 'tis the damn season #inspired by taylor swift #with hints of lazlo bane #and kate winslet #day 12: ice-skating 2 #sequel to day 3 #doesn't make numerical sense #angst #hurt/comfort #season 6!au #kinda

[justhereforfandomandfriends]

Guys (gender inclusive) WHY did no one tell me that writing fic is almost as much fun as reading fic??

#paging the jonsa fam #WHAT HAS HAPPENED TO ME #i'm writing a prequel chapter for id love it if we made it because its FUN #and also started a jon's pov for tis the damn season #and am starting a completely unhinged coffeeshop au based on chicken shop dates #because chicken shop datss are my current obsession #fic writing #jonsa

[theshippirate22]

“You need us to look after you and we will. We are,” Nina murmured. “But your mind can’t keep us here long. So we’ll send you some others.”

“What the fuck are you two talking about?” Crowley whined, rubbing his face exhaustedly.

“You’ll be visited by three spirits,” she continued. “Christmas Past, Present, and Future.”

“And… and what? These spirits? I suppose they’ll teach me the true meaning of Christmas or something?”

“Or something.”

“Expect the first at midnight,” Maggie whispered, stroking his hair endearingly.

“It’s… it’s far past midnight…”

“Shh,” Maggie crooned. “It’s just a dream, love. Don’t think too hard about it.”

(Or Crowley’s Christmas Without Aziraphale in which he delivers the Christ Child, takes Muriel ice skating, and has a proper holiday-induced-depression-nap)

Coming Soon

#good omens #fic #tis the damn season #guys i’m so excited for this one #it’s gonna be so good #angst #ineffable husbands #hurt/comfort #angst with a happy ending #christmas carol au #??

[loversj0y]

'tis the damn season

chapter one - we could call it even

its your first day back home from winter break, and the overwhelming extent of the holidays leads to some interesting rekindlings

'tis the damn season masterlist

pairing: cc!wilbur soot x gn!reader

fluff and angst (quite a lot of angst in fact)

trigger warnings: reader's mother is abusive (not physically) and father is emotionally absent. this will be talked about in extensive detail. alcohol, some suggestive themes, and a lot of anxiety.

author's note: WELCOME! to the very first installment of a multichaptered fic inspired by taylor swift's tis the damn season! this work has been in progress for about. 4 months now so !! yipee!!! hope u enjoy (chapter two should be out sometime within the next week; i wont make the wait too long between chapters) dont like tumblr formatting? ao3 version is available here!

word count: 6.3k

If you had to be honest, you despised the holidays. It was always stressful, no matter how prepared you tried to be. But regardless, being in your final year of Uni, it was pretty nice to get a final winter break before graduation. The idea of staying with your parents wasn’t ideal. They’d spent years neglecting you and taking a toll on you emotionally, but in the time you’d been gone, it had seemed like things had improved. You agreed to go home for the holidays under this idea, hoping to have a nice break from everything, despite the heavy feeling in your chest that came from being in your hometown – that you’d proudly left behind – and the general dread of the holidays.

Wilbur wasn’t exactly the opposite. While he didn’t mind the holidays themselves, he hated the social conventions of it all. Particularly the insistence that you must be with family or else the holiday isn’t worth anything. However, Wilbur seemed to luck out this year. His mother and stepfather happened to book a cruise for the holidays, and all they wanted from him was to watch the house while they were gone. It gave him both the convention of helping out family without dealing with the mental decline that he gets from actually being around them, mostly his stepfather. So, he’d spend a month in his old bedroom, in the town he dreaded because the number of good memories he’d had all involved one person that left not long before he did.

When you’d finally arrived, it wasn’t long before your parents were hugging you and peppering kisses on your face, talking about how much they’d missed you, and asking if you were eating alright. It was loving, and you did appreciate it, but you felt uneasy. As your mother hugged you, it felt unfulfilling as you looked around the room, each familiar surrounding bringing up memories of your mother’s yelling. You’d settled down fairly easily, which tended to be a perk of returning to your childhood bedroom. After changing into something much more comfortable, you’d returned to where it seemed your family members had accumulated.

“Y/n, darling, my goodness, you’ve grown so much since I’ve last seen you! What are they feeding you out there in London?” It was your aunt who spoke to you. She was tame enough, save for when she got her hands on enough cosmopolitans to feel the need to share everyone’s gossip. 

“It’s nice to see you too. And I cook for myself, in case you were wondering.” You deadpanned. Honestly, you just didn't feel like humoring her advances to pull information out of you. You’d fallen for them as a kid, but now, even with little to hide, you couldn’t quite trust her. 

“Of course, you are, my genius. How’s the dating scene been?” 

You rolled your eyes at the nickname, brushing it off, “Boring as ever.” 

She hummed, taking a sip of her drink.  Ah, looks like she may already be ready to gossip, you thought, noticing the soft flush on her cheeks consistent with her drunkness. Your suspicions were confirmed when she continued, “You know, your mum told me she saw that old fling of yours at the shops the other day. What was his name?” She hummed for a moment, “Wilbur! That’s what it is.” 

Your chest turned to stone in a matter of seconds, and you forced out a response, “Oh, cool.” 

It was not “oh, cool” however, it was very much not cool. You and Wilbur had been friends since the third form, and while you weren’t incredibly close at first, you became much closer as time went on and as social circles grew smaller and smaller.  It came to the point where you two were inseparable, the best friend you’d had even until now. Your “fling” couldn't even really be classified as such. Despite how much you loved Wilbur Soot, you and him just never seemed to break that barrier, save for one weekend in your final year of A-levels. You’d planned to go to prom together, neither of you being romantically involved with anyone else, but you never actually made it to prom. You both went and sat in a field outside the back of the school, sharing a bottle of vodka he’d lifted from his stepdad’s stash. It was then that he’d opened up to you about how embarrassed he felt to be leaving school without having ever kissed a girl before. The mixture of his vodka and your love for him ultimately amounted to a few sloppy kisses, a moment’s worth of making out, before the two of you both had to run from a counselor who was looking for any delinquent students. Neither of you ever addressed it again. 

The years you two had known each other eventually culminated in the same relationship that you had with most people these days: you leaving him and losing contact. You didn’t mean to leave him behind, but between a full scholarship in London and his insistence on how shitty London is, you had to leave. 

You thought about him frequently. There were numerous nights where you’d open up his contact and attempt to draft a message, but it always ended in watching the cursor blink as you struggled to find the words. Honestly, you never thought you’d see him again. You knew nothing about him anymore, what he was like, what he was doing. It was impossible to decide if you dreaded seeing him or would go out of your way to attempt to see him. 

After catching up with your family for a bit longer, you decided to step out. Honestly, you didn’t know where you were going. It was late, almost midnight, and you just needed the fresh air. After walking into town, you found the one thing that would realistically be open this time of night: the pub. It was mostly empty, save for a few older folks sitting in some booths around the wall. You recognized the bartender, he was a few years above you back in school, but he always made an effort to be kind to everyone. He grinned at you once you sat at the bar. 

“Well, if it isn’t Y/N L/N. Shit, I would’ve thought you died," he chuckled, "You visiting for the holidays?” 

“Yep. And trust me, I’d quite rather be dead than be around my whole family all day.” 

He laughed, “Let me guess, a martini for the sophisticated Londoner?” 

You laughed back, “God, no, I haven’t exactly been converted over yet. Just a pint.”

“Still the same as before?” 

“Mmhm,” you nodded out, sighing softly. Being here felt a lot less tense than being at home. At least here you didn’t have to deal with the hushed fights and curses whispered between spouses. 

Wilbur had been incredibly excited by the idea of being alone when he first arrived at his old house a week before. It wasn’t long before it got old. 

“Alright, chat, who should we raid?” 

His chat moved rapidly in response to his words. He’d been playing Minecraft with Tommy, not unlike usual, but he’d been live for an hour and a half, which was a long time to hold up a persona for. Once he’d ended, he stayed on call with Tommy through Discord. 

“I dunno, man. I like being alone, like having the place to myself, but I’ve never felt so lonely,” Wilbur paused, “This place is way bigger than I remember.”

“So go somewhere,” Tommy offered.

Wilbur groaned, “You do understand that there is nothing to do here. It’s part of the reason I settled on Brighton.”

“Oh, c’mon, there’s gotta be something there for you to do. Don’t you have at least, like, a park or a pub maybe? You could go meet women!” 

“Tommy, I know every woman in this town, nobody has moved here or left here since I left,” he sighed, “we do have a pub though. Honestly, that’s not a bad idea. I could go for a drink.” 

“See! Just gotta think outside the box. Have a little optimism, man. Maybe you’ll see that person you knew in school.” 

“Tommy, don’t.” Wilbur genuinely considered leaving the call, his heart sinking at the mention of his old friend, “They haven’t been back since they left, alright?” 

“Yeah, but you never know! Have you thought about what you’d say to them if you did see them?” 

“No,” he groaned, “I don’t know why I’m humoring this, but if I saw them, I’d probably be nice. As much as it hurts, I miss them, and it’s not like I reached out much either, so.” 

Tommy hummed, “Wilbur the Wise, you are. At least maybe if you do see them, you’ll be much less bored.” 

“Yeah, I suppose,” Wilbur sighed, pulling an old beanie on. “Alright, I’m going to head out, talk to you later, man.” 

“Have fun!” 

Wilbur hung up the call after a moment, sighing a bit as he stretched. While he didn’t actually want to go to the pub, it was a better idea than staying in another night. Plus, at least he could get to walk his old path and try and see some of the cats he always used to stop for. 

His walk did end up taking quite a while. He only spotted two cats on the way, but he’d given them as much attention and love as they’d allow. But that wasn’t really what took up so much of his time. He kept going back to what Tommy had asked. Honestly, he did not even consider he’d see you here. For a long time  after you’d left for school, he thought that one day he’d see you walking to the shops and he’d go up to you, and just by saying hello, everything would feel like it used to. After a while, he’d lost hope that he’d ever see you again. He’d tried to find you online, some scrap to see how you had been and to see if you were okay, but he knew he couldn’t exactly just follow you without the risk of questions. He cursed himself for a long while over his pettiness in never reaching out. He thought about that prom night often. Part of him couldn’t make peace with the idea that his best friend, someone who he’d fallen in love with the second they’d spoken to him, was now just a stranger to him. It didn’t make sense to him, but  what made even less sense was when Wilbur opened the door to the pub to find you sitting alone at the bar. 

Wilbur’s breathing went full stop when he saw you. He couldn’t feel his fingers, but whether that was from the cold or the shock he felt seeing you, he couldn’t tell. Once he could feel his body again, he felt his heart pounding in his chest. He’d have to make a choice right now, and he’d have to make one he wouldn’t eventually regret, but-

“Wilbur! Mate, close the door, would you, you’re lettin' in a draft!” 

You felt frozen in your seat when you heard the bartender– whose name, you were kindly reminded, was Liam– yell to Wilbur. You didn’t know if you wanted to look up at him or look anywhere but him. Eventually, curiosity got the best of you, and you looked up directly into his eyes as he stood in the doorway. He seemed to come back to life after a second, turning to walk towards the bar. 

“Uh, right, sorry, man. Could I get a pint?” 

He sat across the corner of the bar, close but still seemingly holding you at a distance. 

After Liam walked away, he turned back to you, and for a moment, you both stared, trying to find words. He’d grown quite fit since the last time you’d seen him. He was still  tall, but not quite as lanky. His shoulders have filled out nicely.  

You decided to start, stuttering a bit as you began, “Hi, Wilbur.”

He seemed to think for a moment before the look faded from his face and something kinder replaced it, “Hi.” 

“How- um,” you contemplated even asking, but you’d rather ask than be sitting here in awkward silence with the boy you’ve loved for years, “How have you been?” 

“I’ve been…” He took in a breath, a moment to compose himself, before responding, “I’ve been good, actually. How about you?” 

You considered lying. “I’m okay, could be better but…”

“But?” 

“Well, I’m still doing the whole uni thing, so still just living in London. Not many developments.” 

“Right. How is London?” 

You thought back to your apartment. Your shitty apartment and your three roommates who you never spoke to, the leaks in the ceilings, the constant noise, the crowds, the grey fogs that would weigh down on your lungs, the deaths on the tube, the harassment just from walking to campus, everything. “It sucks. The city is horrible,” you sighed, “The school is alright, though. The people are standoffish and don’t talk, but the education is good.”

Wilbur looked as though he was fighting off a smile, taking a sip from the beer he’d been given. “I’m sorry to hear that. Glad the school is good. It may not be my place exactly, but do you mind if I say something?” 

Dread filled your chest. “Well, you have to now.” 

A smile crossed his face, his eyes wrinkling at the corners. “I told you so.” 

A moment of processing passed before you burst into laughter. Of course, after all the years you knew Wilbur Soot, you probably could have predicted that would be the first thing he’d want to say to you. 

“Okay, okay, I can admit. Maybe you were a little right. I’ve got my regrets, but despite the city, I don’t hate my choice,” you took a sip from your pint, “what about you? How’s life been?” 

He shrugged a bit, “I’d say good. I did some schooling online and graduated a bit ago. Been doing some work, uh, online, so yeah. It’s been good.” 

“Oh, that sounds cool. Anything I’d know?” 

 “Uh, maybe…” He went quiet for a moment before continuing, “I work for Twitch if you know that company.” 

You shrugged, “I know of them. That’s cool though, I’m glad you found something you enjoy.” 

He smiled a bit, “Yeah, it’s been nice. I’ve made quite a few friends.”

“Really?” That was a bit of a surprise, “Shy little Wilby is making work friends?” 

He seemed to flush a bit, chuckling, “I’ve gotten better about the shyness.” 

“That’s good. You seem to be doing better in that department than I have. I haven’t changed much at all, I think.” 

He hummed, pondering. He stared for a moment, and you almost felt shy under his gaze. Finally, after what felt like ages, he spoke up, “You do your hair differently. You used to part it to the side.” 

You laughed, surprised by the unexpected statement, instinctively reaching up to fix some stray hairs. It brought a blush up to your cheeks, as you couldn’t remember the last time someone had noticed such a small detail as that. You bit your lip for a moment before responding, “Yeah, I- I guess so. Though, to be fair, we kind of had the whole edginess thing going on back then. Had to look the part.”

“Very true,” He snorted a bit, “I still listen to the same music for the most part though.” 

“Oh, let me guess. Favorite band is still Los Campesinos!?” 

“Yeah,” he laughed, “though I play a bit of my music now too.” 

“Oh?” that was a major development. Wilbur spent a significant amount of time in school talking about how much he wanted to play music, always humming some tune to himself, “Will, that’s fantastic. You’ll have to show me sometime.” 

“I could show you now, if you’d like. I’m just watching the house for my parents, so I brought some of my music equipment with me.”

You don’t know what made you so willing to say yes. Maybe it was the fact that you’d finished your pint. Maybe it was just the way that being here and talking to Wilbur made the heaviness in your chest finally lighten up since you first realized you’d have to go home. Either way, before you knew it, you and Wilbur were walking back to his place, chatting lightly the whole way there. 

“Wow, this place hasn’t changed.” 

You took off your coat as you and Wilbur entered his front door. 

“My parent’s haven’t made much of an effort to change things. They think the nineties are still in.” He joked lightly as he locked the door behind you both. 

You chuckled, “Yeah, I can see that.” You followed him up the stairs, “So, you said you were just watching the place for them. I take it you don’t live here anymore?” 

“Nope, I’ve been living in Brighton, actually. I think you’d really like it. It’s still England, so it’s not great, but the ocean is gorgeous.” 

“I’ve been meaning to go down there, actually. It’s only about an hour's train from me, so sometimes my roommates go down there for long weekends. I just haven’t had the time.” 

He hummed, “Well, whenever you do have the time, let me know. I’ve got a pretty nice spare room. Plus, I could introduce you to my mates.”

You smiled softly, mostly to yourself, “Yeah. That would be nice.” 

He sat down on his bed, reaching behind him and grabbing his guitar.  You  took a moment to look around the room. The same posters were still hung up, the dents in the wall from you and him goofing off and throwing things, even the scuffs on the floorboards from when you and him rearranged all his furniture. In the years of separation, you expected more of a difference. The only actual difference was that the room was cleaned for once. You hesitated before sitting next to him as you made your observations. He noticed. 

“What’s up?” 

I shrugged, “It’s weird. Being back here, I mean. I haven’t sat here since A-levels.”

He nodded, thinking it over for a moment. “Yeah. It is a bit weird. Doesn’t it kind of seem like nothing’s changed though?” He chuckled, “I mean, despite the time gap, you always did say being here made you feel safe.” 

“Yeah,” I sighed, “the feeling is still there. I just feel… weird. I’m used to missing you and all of our memories, but I’m not used to being here again after everything that has changed.” 

He smiled slightly, “you missed me?”

I chuckled, “Obviously, man. I missed you every day. Missed having a best friend to bully.” 

He snorted, “Hey, all of our bullying was friendly. Unlike some of the other wankers at our school.”

You laughed, throwing your head back, “Oh god, yeah. Bloody hell, man, I feel bad for their kids. Marshall’s going into medicine, and my god, I pray I never end up as his patient. I feel like his negligence alone would kill me.” 

Wilbur laughed, leaning into you a bit. “God, that is not a man who should have a medical license,” he sighed softly. “Don’t fret, though. I missed you a lot too. I missed having someone yell at me to go outside or cut my hair.” 

You laughed, “Yeah, my yelling comes from a good place, though.” 

He hummed, “True. It did help me not go stir-crazy for a while there.” He paused for a moment, turning towards you slightly. “Wait, if you missed me, then… why didn’t you ever call?” 

You took a deep breath, sighing softly. “Honestly, at first… I thought you might be mad at me for leaving. We did kind of have a whole argument about it, and I didn’t know if you’d want to hear from me. And then, once some time had passed, I considered it. I considered looking you up and trying to talk to you, or even just texting you, but I just felt like it might’ve been weird for me to just text you out of the blue. I didn’t want you to think I was just contacting you because I needed something or something stupid like that. I got busy, and more time passed, and reaching out just felt weirder and weirder each time I considered it.” 

He nodded softly. He didn’t make eye contact as he listened and thought. “If I’m being honest as well, I didn’t want to hear from you at first. I was pretty upset. But after a while, I just missed my best friend. And I was going to text you, but I thought you’d be upset with how we left things. I wanted you to reach out because if I had hurt you, I couldn’t handle reaching out only to get anger, or even worse, just silence,” He sighed, “but if I knew you were thinking the same, I would have dedicated as much effort as I have to keep you in my life.” 

You flushed a bit, “I would have too.” You made eye contact with him and everything felt warm for a moment, as if his gaze was sunlight peering through dark clouds. 

“Now that I know, though,” he started, “I am going to annoy the fuck out of you.”

You laughed loudly at that, grinning up at him, “I wouldn’t have it any other way. We’ve got a few years to make up for after all.” 

He grinned softly, looking down for a moment. He pulled his guitar up a bit, smiling, “Well, now that that’s settled. Let me play you something.” 

Wilbur’s music was beautiful. He played for an hour before he decided to stop, something about not wanting to play anything he hadn’t quite finished yet. 

“Always the perfectionist, you are,” you commented as he placed his guitar down. 

“Not always, I’ve gotten better about it. But I want to impress you mostly.” 

“Really?” He sat back down on the bed next to you, “You wanted to impress me?” 

He nodded, humming out a soft ‘mmhm’. 

“If I knew we were trying to impress each other, I would’ve made my life sound much cooler.” 

“Oh, really, how so?” 

“I dunno, would’ve made it sound like I have some millionaire boyfriend who takes me to Spain for a casual date.” 

He hesitated, his teeth taking his bottom lip in thought. “Do you have one?”

“A millionaire boyfriend?” You laughed out, “No, Wilbur, I d-“

“No, I just meant like, a boyfriend.” 

“Oh.” You frowned a bit, “No. I don’t. Haven’t exactly gotten to know many people there. Plus, all the men are quite shit.” 

He nodded, “Just like everything else in London?”

“Pretty much,” You chuckled softly, “What about you though? A handsome guy like you in Brighton, I’m sure you’ve gotten yourself, someone, by now.”

He shrugged, “Tried it out for a while, but I just didn’t have much luck.” He stopped as he processed your response in full, “Hold on, handsome? You think I’m handsome?” He teased. 

You lightly blushed, rolling your eyes, “Obviously, man. You’ve always been quite fit. Especially with that haircut rather than that straight line cut you used to have.” 

He laughed, “God, that was horrendous. Well, wait, how about now,” he took his hands and pushed his hair back, revealing his forehead. 

You burst out laughing, “Somehow, yes, even if your forehead takes up half your face.” 

He laughed, moving his hands and shaking his head to get his hair to fall back into place. “I can safely say, I find myself quite flattered. Especially coming from an incredibly pretty person such as yourself.” 

You flushed a soft pink, “You think?”

“No, I don’t think, I just know facts.” 

You blushed darker, chuckling. “Well, thanks.” You lightly nudged him with your side. 

He repeated the action, albeit slightly harder. You two did this for a moment, each going slightly harder until he’d accidentally gone a bit too hard, knocking both of you down. 

You both laughed, him laying his head against your side for a moment, before pulling himself up and holding himself up by his arm above you. 

“You’re still as goofy, Mr. Soot.” 

“Only with you.” 

“Oh?”

“Actually, no. But this kind of goofy, yes.” 

“And what kind is that?” 

He just stared down at you for a moment. You felt yourself flush a bit under his gaze, and you stared back up at him. The light from his room gave him a soft halo glow around his head that made him look completely angelic. You’d always thought him attractive, but fuck he was ethereal like this. 

“The kind I do to make pretty people laugh.” 

Your breath hitched, but you were quiet otherwise. You couldn’t remember a time when your best friend was ever so… bold. Maybe part of you was reading into the tension, but the most gorgeous man you’d ever know just called you pretty. That plus his position above you was enough to make your heartbeat faster. You wanted to kiss him. Something in you felt so strongly the urge to wrap your hands around his neck and kiss him. For some reason you couldn’t quite fathom, though, you didn’t. 

“Well, feels nice being special, then.” 

He laid down next to you, the both of you just staring at the ceiling for a few quiet moments as the tension diffused. 

He turned to you. “I can’t tell if I still know almost everything about you or if I know nothing anymore.” 

“I can’t tell either.” You turned back to him, sighing, “Honestly, you probably still know more about me than I do.” 

“You think?” 

You nodded. 

He thought to himself, “Still play Minecraft?” 

“God, no,” You laughed, “I wish. I just don’t have the time for anything like that. I’ve just been studying constantly.” 

“Unfortunate. If you ever need a break from studying, we could always play together.” He hummed, “ They’ve added a lot of cool things to the game.”

“You still play?” 

“Yeah,” he nodded, “I play a lot. It’s a fantastic narrative tool, in fact.”

“Oh, really?”

“If you have enough people willing to work out a story and act it out, it makes for a cool platform to tell stories.” 

You smiled, despite it being only for Wilbur’s sake. Honestly, you were sad that you didn’t know what he was talking about. 

“What’s up?” 

“Hm?” You questioned softly. 

“Something’s wrong. I still know one of your fake smiles when I see them.”

“Oh,” you mumbled, “no, it’s just… I missed you. I’m a bit bummed that I can’t see the cool stuff you’ve done since.”

“Well,” he started, rubbing the back of his neck, “actually, you can.” 

You gave him a confused look as he continued. 

“You know how I mentioned I worked for Twitch?” You nodded, “well when I say that, I mean that I stream, actually, so playing live for people and that includes all my stories.”

“Wilbur, that’s amazing.”

“I know,” he laughed, “I’m still shocked people are interested in what I write and create.” 

“If they’re anything like your DnD campaigns, I’m not shocked at all.”

He laughed again, throwing his head back, “Oh, man, I loved making those as convoluted as possible though, you were the one who made the stories make sense. These are more streamlined since we have to deal with so many different schedules and coordinate stuff.” 

“God, that sounds stressful. I can barely coordinate plans with one person.” 

He shrugged, “It’s easier since streaming is all of our jobs. It’s more like assigning work shifts.”

You hummed, “That makes sense.”

“Yeah, I can send you some stuff from it. Though, be warned, without your aid, some pieces of lore are wildly convoluted.” 

You chuckled, “I expect nothing less.” 

You and Wilbur continued to talk for hours, just catching each other up on life and new habits, and every detail missed between the cracks of time you two were separated from each other. You couldn’t be sure when you or Will fell asleep, but you woke up feeling safer than you’d had in a long time. When you’d briefly woken up to the morning light coming through the blinds, and you noticed his lanky arm wrapped around you, you gently reached down and held his hand in yours before falling back into the kind arms of rest. 

You woke up again about two hours later. You were facing him now, both of your legs wrapped between each other, and his arm was still lightly cupping your back. You opened your eyes to see him still sleeping, a soft and peaceful expression on his face. You gently reached a hand up to brush some of his hair away from his eyes. You were so busy staring at his soft features that you barely noticed his eyes open. 

“Good morning to you too, then,” he spoke, his voice laced with sleep. 

Your hand jumped back, a blush immediately rising to your cheeks, “Sorry.”

“‘s alright. Felt quite nice, actually.” He blinked the sleep out of his eyes after a moment, and he flushed himself, going to move his hand off your waist, “Oh, sorr-“

“No.” You stopped him, his arm halting midair, “It’s okay. It felt quite nice,” you said, mimicking his words from a moment ago. 

He blushed, cautiously lowering his arm back onto your side. 

“Did you sleep well?” He asked. 

“Yeah. Your room feels more familiar than mine, honestly.” 

He chuckled, his laughter slightly gruff from the early morning, “You probably spent more time here than at your own place, so I can’t say I’m shocked.”

You laughed, “Oh, almost definitely. What about you, did you sleep well?” 

He smiled at you, nodding, “Best I’ve slept since I got here. I felt much less lonely.” 

“I know what you mean. My room kind of just feels cold. Not temperature-wise, but just like,” you sighed, “you know what I mean.”

“Luckily, I do.” He smiled, “You’re welcome to stay here again, if you like.”

You hummed, “I might consider it. Though I would like to stop home to put on something clean.” 

He nodded, “Right, of course, yeah. I actually have to stream today, too, so, if anything, just,” he trailed off, “text me around eight?” 

“Yeah,” you nodded, “That sounds good. I can bring some food from home too, given that I know you have probably just been eating takeout or, god forbid, have been trying to cook by yourself.”

“Hey, I’m much better at cooking than I used to be,” he laughed. “You’re right about the takeout, though.” 

You snorted, “I know you well, Mr. Soot.” 

He smiled fondly, “You sure do.” 

The two of you just lay there quietly, basking in the early air and light. After a few minutes, you sighed, leaning your head against his chest quietly. 

“Is everything alright?” He whispered. 

You nodded against him, burying your face deeper against him while he wrapped his arms tighter around you. You felt emotional all of a sudden as you held onto him: Your best friend, who you’d secretly loved for years. And now, you thought about what held you back in the past. The main thing you were afraid of was losing him, but in the end, that ended up happening anyway. Love confession or not, you lost him, and now, you were given another chance by whatever fateful creature may exist out there. And as insistent as you were to not lose this chance, your logic stopped you. This trip was just that: a trip. In two weeks, you’d be back to your place in London and he would be back in Brighton. But yet there was an ache in your chest, consistent with longing and want but entirely unattainable. 

“Stop thinking so much,” he spoke softly, placing his chin on top of your head. 

“Wilbur, you know that is entirely impossible for me.” 

“Okay,” he trailed off, “then do you want to talk about it, so it can at least be out of your head?”

You did. You wanted to talk about it all, in its entirety, if only just to know if the ache present in your chest matched an ache in him. But you couldn’t. If that ache wasn’t present in him, who would you be to share it with him? The solution seemed to lie in half-truths.

“I’m just thinking about how I go home in two weeks and how much I’m dreading it. I don’t want to go back to schoolwork.”

He hummed, nodding, “It’s probably not helpful to say, but if you dwell on that the whole time you’re here, then it will come twice as fast. You’ve got to slow your brain down a bit. Try and just be in the moment.” 

You snorted, “That’s rich coming from you.” 

He chuckled, “Hey, my anxiety might take over sometimes, but it really does help to try and just focus on what’s happening, you know. You’re safe here,” he lightly kissed the top of your head, “so just focus on being here.” 

You sighed, “I’ll try.” You shifted your focus to the soft sound of his heartbeat against your ear, the feeling of his arms wrapped around your back. Every detail was comprised of him. 

You eventually did have to go home, after receiving a frantic call from your mum about how you “couldn’t just sneak off every time you got bored” which, granted, you disagreed with; you knew this town like the back of your hand, and you’re an adult so it’s not like she can dictate your every move. When you made it home, you went to your room to change and shower, but your thoughts immediately drifted back to Will. You never really noticed just how many minute details you had memorized, like the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed, or the way he would tilt his head back when something that caught him offguard made him really laugh. You thought about the way he would hiccup in between laughter so strong it made his ribs hurt. The sly smile he would give you when you made eye contact but neither of you had anything to say.  Your thoughts were entirely consumed by him. 

By the time it was dinner, you had done almost extensive research into Wilbur’s online persona. You watched as many videos as you could, some of his, some of them fan-made. It was a weird concept, your best friend having fans. You’d gone onto the online space briefly before backing away. You didn’t exactly want to intrude on fan debates given how much you knew about Wilbur really. It was odd watching him talk to his chat and everything. It was so different. He didn’t seem like the shy, almost moody, boy you knew. He was much more confident and comfortable. It did warm your heart to see him being so strong in himself. Your mind wonderer over this new information, how different he was from the person you knew, as you ate. You almost didn’t hear your mum speaking to you. 

“Dear, are you listening?”

You brought yourself out of your thoughts, grimacing. She hated when you weren’t listening, “Oh, sorry. No, uhm, what’s up?” 

She frowned, giving you a cold stare, “I asked if you’ve found any jobs lined up yet. For after graduation?” 

You sighed, “Not yet, Mum.”

“Because my old work friend, Charles, he could use the extra folks there. They’re looking into expanding into America.” She never actually cared much about what you wanted to do, always trying to push you into the field she wanted you to pursue. 

“I’ll be fine. I can find a job myself. And Charles doesn’t even work in the same field my degree is in.” 

“Just trying to help,” she tutted, tucking her arms defensively in front of her. “What’s on your mind these days?” 

You shrugged tensely, “School and work. I haven’t had time for much else.”

She cooed, almost mocking, “You really should be looking into a relationship, dearie. You don’t want all the good ones taken, right?” 

“God, mum, stop that. I’m fine on my own.” 

“But are you happy?” She laughed, as if taunting you. 

“I resent the implication that I cannot be perfectly fine and happy on my own without the presence of another person to fulfill me.” You spat.

“I’m not saying that specifically, I’m just saying, you really ought to try harder. I’m sure most people don’t find your constant sweatpants that attractive.” 

You groaned, standing. “I can’t be here for this anymore.” 

She did this every year. Constantly reminding you of your own loneliness under the guise of being thoughtful and caring, rather than just understanding that you are your own person who’d rather be alone before feeling like someone’s personal doll. 

You strode to the kitchen, filling a container with some leftovers for Wilbur as your mother tried helplessly to justify her own points. You waved her off, grabbing your bag before walking out the door.

You let out a sigh once you headed out. You walked to the end of the street and sat on the curb, pulling out your phone to text Wilbur. Once you got confirmation that you could come, you stood and walked the short distance to his place.

He opened the door, and you walked in casually. 

“You look annoyed about something,” he noted. 

“I would like you to take a wild guess,” you hummed, handing him the leftovers. 

He murmured a quick ‘thank you’ before responding, “Your mum?” 

“Still as bad as before, she is.” 

He sighed, “At least you’ve got mine to hide out at. Want to watch a movie or something?” 

taglist: @shubblelive / @superioritycomplexes (dm me or send an ask to be added!)

#wilbur soot x reader #wilbur soot #mcyt x reader #dsmp x reader #mar writes #wilbur x reader #tis the damn season au #mcyt x you #wilbur soot x you #wilbur soot fanfiction #mcytumblr #mcyt wilbur

[lynx-224]

lol sorry i just find this quote from my fic to be so hilarious

#it’s literally byler in a nutshell #i’m so funny #haha #somebody laugh #byler #mike wheeler #will byers #tis the damn season au #i’ll finish it soon i promise #lynx writes #and #lynx talks

[newtonsheffield]

Apologies if you've already answered an ask about this. But, after reading your snippet about Kate fielding accusations about her "affair" with Anthony, I'm now picturing Anthony staging his own press conference where he reminds everyone that he pursued her, neither of them were seeing anyone else when they started, and they are now in a committed relationship that is absolutely heading towards marriage.

Yeah I think realistically, Anthony would get called upon to comment on this as well, and he doesn’t really care to explain himself at all actually.

“There have been a lot of comments in the media lately, and in parliament, alluding to the fact that an inappropriate relationship formed between myself and the Prime Minister. The fact that a relationship formed is irrefutable however, I firmly reject that anything inappropriate took place.”

A journalist scoffed, “So you weren’t a junior member of her staff when it started?”

Anthony fought the urge to roll his eyes, “Truth be told, if either of us acted inappropriately it was me. I pursued her after I felt there was some mutual attraction between us. Both of us were at the time, single, which is more than can be said more many of the relationships that form on a day to day basis, so I find myself resenting the fact that this has been termed by many to be an affair.”

“What would you call it then?”

“A relationship. The fact of the matter is, we’re two people who fell in love. It’s rare to find someone you want to spend the rest of your life with and I’ll not apologise for that any further. Ten true crime here is that Kate Sharma has a vision for this country, she’s making a difference and no one cares. Because they’re all too busy talking about which of us is the big spoon. Let’s set everyone’s mind at rest: We switch. Are there any other questions?”

And almost every hand shoots up.

#tis the damn season write this down au #kathony #anthony x kate #kate sharma #kate sheffield #anthony bridgerton #molly’s asks and answers

[caruliaa]

tis the damm season is very au where paul and emma did actually know each other when they wehre in highschool but emma still left hatchetfield to me. tht cant exist within the actual timeline divergance bc it diverges in 2005 but who give a shit its my silly little au in my head

#important to note tho even in this au paul didnt go to hatchetfileld high its like a. they met after emmas production in brigadoon thing #i cld have had him go there for the line “right between the methodist and the school that used to be ours” but like. #idk to me paul had to have gone to sycamore idk why but it wld break the balance of the universe too much if he didnt #and i think the brigadoon thing cld be cute #like paul fucking hates musicals but he has a crush on the girl playing bonnie jean this is like . a well explored concept in this fandom #also is literally not a serious au at all just a thing in my head. just smth i think abt listening to the song #bc i have hatchetfield brainrot and iv been listening to it a lot lately. since yk. tis the damn season . #flappy rambles

[its3amandiamverytired]

I hate it when i have the bones of like five really good fics but no idea how to write them ahhh

#avatrice #chansaw #famous blue raincoat (ie cheating au) #ancient greek au #part of the band (ie raf bea and rockstar ava - trust me its better than is sounds) #come over end fic (based on tis the damn season) #the ceos au #i promise i will update it pls

[honorablefrogs]

‘tis the damn season

chapter one: you can run but only so far

read it on ao3

pairing: catradora

rating: m 

genre: modern au, holiday fic

story summary: 

“I’m not going to ask you to wait for me. Just so we’re clear.”

“And I’m not going to ask you to stay.”

“Promise?” says Adora, breathless.

“Promise,” says Catra, eyes wild and dark.

And then they collide.

*** Or: Adora left her small Northern California town — and the girl she loved — three years ago and didn't look back. But when she comes back to Despondos to spend the holidays in her hometown, old feelings begin to resurface and life gets much more complicated. But hey, 'tis the season.

Inspired by Taylor Swift's "Tis The Damn Season."

#catradora fic #catradora au #spop au #spop fic #adora x catra #catra x adora #tis the damn season #spop fanfic #shera fic #shera fanfic #catradora fanfic #holiday fic #holiday fic recs #fanfiction #fanfic

[profoundbondfanfic]

'tis the damn season

'tis the damn season by thelostbrontesister Rating: Teen Word count: 21k

"Do you think we'll ever see each other again?" Dean asks, filling out the check and leaving a tip for the waitress. She was the same year as him; she didn't graduate either. Of course we will. We're best friends; we'll always keep in touch. That's what normal people say. But Castiel was never normal. He contemplates the question and answers truthfully, "I don't know."

This story is so much more than the excerpt summary suggests. Through two timelines, one set in 1992 and the other in 2007, we follow Dean and Cas as they meet and become friends in high school and reunite fifteen years later. 

I have never, ever read a story as atmospheric as this. I could picture, clear as day, Dean and Cas sharing burgers and pie in Betty’s diner. Ditto with Bobby’s garage and the Novaks’ austere mansion at the top of the hill. Even minor characters come alive through little details:

"Mrs. Smalls smiles at him, red lipstick stuck to her teeth. She was a kind, sort of southern lady, like an aged debutante, with a feminine voice underlined by the rasp that came with at least twenty years of chain-smoking."

Filled to the brim with a subtle but beautiful tension between Dean and Cas that runs clear through both timelines, it’s not so much of a will they/won’t they situation, but how will it finally happen and how many feels will it unleash in me? The answer: all of them.

#destiel #fic rec #10k to 30k #au #high school #teen and up #friends to lovers #reunion #slow burn #writer: thelostbrontesister #'tis the damn season #pining!dean #pining!castiel