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spectresbase · 6 months

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Spectre's Advent Calendar, Days 7 & 8

Back to doubles days because fuck work.

These OCs come courtesy of @NsfwSaia and @Lastman505

“By the gods!” Down on all fours, the priestess started as Umi guided himself inside. At barely over 150cm, not a lot of people expected him to be as well hung as he was. He enjoyed their surprise immensely. Giving her maybe a second to realize what she was in for, he drove forward hard but not roughly. She’d thought seducing him would be a way to gain favor with his father, so a little mischief was fine, but he didn’t actually want to hurt her.

Suddenly more full than she’d expected to be, the priestess fought to reorient herself around the new reality. He didn’t give her the chance, dropping immediately into a fast paced rhythm that left her no room to steady herself. The slap of his hips on hers echoed around the temple’s grand hall, the watching attendants growing hushed as the undersized demigod proved their mistress had greatly misjudged the situation. Catching the eye of one particularly pretty attendant, Umi winked and blew them a kiss just as the priestess finally gave in to the sensations crashing over her and moaned. The sound filled the temple, a little demigod magic making it linger longer than it should have.

And just like that, the damn broke, and the priestess who’d thought to use him as a weapon against his father found herself throwing her hips back against his, suddenly completely and totally devoted to a new goal: milking every last drop from his balls. Umi actually found himself hard pressed to keep up. Grabbing her hips, he tried to reassert control, but it was too late for that. She’d gotten a taste of what he could do, and she wanted so much more. Her pussy clutched at him, squeezing harder than ever and her next moan held a feral heat that told him he wasn’t going anywhere for a while.

Oh well!

*****

“Harder! You can do better than that!” Balancing on one leg, her other knee pressed to her chest, Talah Moon moaned shamelessly as Prelan’s cock slammed into her. Sweat clung to them both, a reminder of the sparring match that’d turned into this wild, close quarters fucking. He gave her what she wanted and the impact threatened to do what fifteen minutes of fighting hadn’t and knock her off her feet. Throwing one hand out behind her herself to brace against the wall, she looped the other one behind Prelan’s neck, counter balancing herself.

He grinned at her. “Too hard? Gotta watch the footwork.”

She grinned back and rammed her own hips forward, catching him on the withdrawal, and nearly unbalancing them both. “You were saying?”

He recovered and drove back into her, forcing her up onto her tiptoes. “Fair enough.” Still holding one of her legs in place between them, he looped his other arm around her hips from behind, pulling her in close. “Let’s see how you handle close work.” His hand slipped lower, fingers running down between her cheeks before hooking upwards to press against her ass. Leaning back, using her hand on him as an anchor, she pressed her hips forward, taking even more of him before rolling them back so his fingers on her ass were suddenly doing more than just teasing. Lifting an eyebrow, she drawled. “Honey, up close is where I do my best work. You won’t last a minute.”

He gave her his best smile. “We’ll see.”

#smut #not sfw #adult fanfiction #fanfiction #original character #lemon #star wars smut #star wars

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what-is-your-plan-today · 3 years

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Real Life Tasks With Ransom Drysdale

An Advent Calendar of 24 Normal Human Tasks As Performed By A Huge Man Baby.

Day 1: The Case Of The Mysterious Shrinking Sweater.

Warnings: Bad Language words

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Reader

A/N: So this all came about as myself, @sweater-daddiesdumbdork and @jennmurawski13 saw a post about Ransom doing everyday things…and yeah, it kinda spiralled. The series will consists of one-shots and drabbles, all light hearted…and the occasional little bit of smut thrown in for your pleasure and we hope a nice countdown to Christmas after what has been an utter shit-show of a year.

We will be taking it in turns to alternate posting so keep your eyes peeled for the next instalments as they arrive. I’ll be re-blogging and tagging my list.

Series Masterlist.

People say that being pregnant was an enjoyable experience, that you glowed and bloomed. But right now the only thing blooming was the feeling of nausea in the pit of your stomach. You lay still, hoping that it would go away, but as usual it didn’t. Swinging your legs off the side of your huge bed, you hurried barefoot over the plush carpet of the bedroom you shared with your husband before dropping with a thud to the floor of the en-suite, emptying the contents of your stomach into the porcelain bowl of the toilet. You repeated the motion again and again until you were retching dry air, your eyes watering, throat stinging and you let out a little sob.

At almost 22 weeks pregnant, this was ridiculous. The whole morning sickness was supposed to have eased off by now, but not for you. Oh no. Mind you, what else were you to expect given that you were expecting his baby.

The spawn of Satan…

“Y/N?” your husband’s deep baritone hit your ears and you turned to look up at him as he stood in the doorway, clad only in his boxers. Strong thighs gave way to a tapered waist, a flat yet slightly soft stomach ran into the hard planes of chest muscle and sculpted arms from years of playing polo (God forbid the asshole do any other form of manual exercise, well apart from the obvious one that got you into this mess in the first place that is). Broad shoulders stretched either side of a strong neck which supported that damningly handsome face with the jawline that could cut glass and those deep blue eyes that had ruined your panties the first time you’d seen them.

Hugh Ransom Drysdale was a beautiful bastard. And he knew it.

“You ok?” he asked. You narrowed your eyes before a fresh wave of nausea hit you and you retched once more.

“Do I look ok?” you shot back, sinking back onto your heels, wiping at your face. You felt Ransom move from the doorway and then heard the tap running.

“Here.” One hand settled between your shoulder-blades, the other handed you a glass of water as Ransom knelt besides you, his blue eyes bearing the warmth that he reserved only for you. You took the drink without a thanks, the usual sarcasm he would display at such an action remained unsaid as you drained the glass and passed it back. “Can I do anything else?”

“Fast forward to January next year so the baby’s here?” you grumbled “I can’t take another damned 4 months or whatever of this, Ransom!”

“Sorry Princess.” He chuckled, “I can’t help you there.” “I hate you.”

“So you keep saying.” He shrugged “But the fact you’re pregnant with my son…kinda proves that you don’t.”

“We were drunk. Besides, hate fucking is a thing.”

“Is hate marrying?”

“Yup.” You nodded. “I only married you so I could divorce you for your money.”

“Well that was almost 2 years ago so why you still here?” he drawled back and you looked at him, snorting as a smirk spread across his face before he tossed his head slightly to throw back the strands of his hair that had fallen forward over his forehead “Thought so.”

“Asshole.”

With a roll of his eyes Ransom helped you to your feet, glancing down at your chest, your swollen breasts visible down the front of your camisole top. His eyebrow arched a little as he raised his head to meet your eyes and you snorted.

“Don’t even think about it.”

“Oh come on baby!” he whined, his hands falling to your hips, pushing up the silk of the top you were wearing, his thumbs skating over the curve of your bump “You know what seeing you like this does to me.”

“Seeing me like what? Red faced with puke in my hair?”

“Yeah the puke not so much.” He wrinkled his face, “But I can think of an arrangement here that could potentially eliminate that particular issue.”

“You’re not fucking me in the shower.” You shook your head.

“But…”

“No buts Ransom.” You looked at him as he glared back, his face now wearing the usual petulant expression he bore when he didn’t get his own way “Stop being a brat. I’m up now and I got stuff to do.”

“Yeah? Like what?” he folded his arms. You gave a groan of exasperation.

“I have a conference call with my boss at midday…”

“It’s a Saturday.”

“I know that, but we have a big case…”

“You don’t need to work, tell him to fuck off.”

As usual you ignored Ransom’s dig about your job. He could never understand why you insisted on keeping your role as a Legal Secretary, but then again what was to be expected from the trust fund Man-Baby who had never worked a day in his life. “And there’s a pile of laundry to do.”

“I don’t know why you won’t let me hire a maid….”

“I don’t WANT A FUCKING MAID!” you exploded. Ransom’s eyebrows shooting upwards slightly was the only reaction to your shouting that he gave. “This is our home...”

“Well with the baby on the way, maybe you might want to reconsider that stance.”

“Or maybe you could start pulling your weight.” You jabbed him in his chest. He glanced down at your finger, his eyebrow arched as he looked back at you.

“Pulling my weight?”

“Yes.”

“Exactly how?”

“I dunno…how about you start performing those little real life tasks that normal people do Ransom? You know, the laundry, cleaning the bathroom, loading the dishwasher, making the bed, cooking breakfast or dinner…”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He scoffed and you groaned “You know I can’t cook.”

“How do you think I learned?” you shook your head, before rubbing at your temple. “I practiced.”

“Yeah, not gonna happen Princess.”

“What a surprise” you shrugged “God forbid Hugh Ransom Drysdale get his hands dirty.”

“Don’t fucking call me that.” He snapped and you snorted. Of all the names you called him, it was his actual name that riled him so much. It was ridiculous, but also too good an opportunity to pass up. He was an asshole at times, and you took none of his shit. You never had done, not since that fateful day you met in that lecture hall at Harvard some 10 years or so ago. Truth be told, he’d often admitted it was the fact you gave him nothing but shit, called him out and basically ignored him for 6 months, despite the fact that you desperately wanted him to do very rude things to you. Your ambivalence provided him with a challenge and he pursued you with a dogged determination which you eventually gave in to towards the end of your first year of Study.

“Why not?” you shrugged, deciding to poke the bear a little more because, well, you could…that and you kind of enjoyed watching that vein pop in his neck when he was pissed “Isn’t that what the help call you? I mean I might as well be your help all things considered.”

“You’re my fucking wife.” Ransom spoke through grit teeth, his jaw set, neck strained (ah, there was that vein!)

“Well here’s a novel idea.” You smiled up at him “Why don’t you start acting like I am instead of some glorified housekeeper that you fuck and keep in your bed.”

“Ok, I’m gonna let that slide due to hormones.” Ransom’s hands fell to his hips.

“You’re gonna let it slide?” you scoffed

“Yes.”

“Whatever.” You took a deep breath “Now get out I need a shower.”

“So….just so we’re on the same page, you don’t want me to-“

“NO RANSOM!” you growled, shoving his chest. He sniggered, stepped back with his hands up, palms open as he backed out of the door, closing it behind him.

*****

Ransom could hear Y/N’s voice as it drifted softly through the closed door of the study into the hallway and he rolled his eyes. Her boss was a jerk, making her call in at midday on a fucking weekend, all because he was too incompetent to cope himself. She should be curled up on the sofa, watching junk, eating crap, wearing nothing but one of his sweaters. She’d been looking for her favourite one before, cursing when she’d realised it was in the laundry hamper and mumbling about how she’d pop it into the machine later.

“How about you start performing those little real life tasks that normal people do Ransom? You know, do the laundry…”

Ransom paused by the stairs, before he smirked a little. “Oh you’re gonna eat your words, Princess.” He mumbled, before he bolted upstairs and into their bedroom, through to the en-suite. Tipping the hamper up on its side he looked down at the pile of clothes and frowned. Y/N normally sorted them into separate piles, but he wasn’t sure how…or why now he thought about it.

Fuck it, there was nothing google couldn’t solve.

He soon found out, thank you Housewives Online, that they needed to be sorted according to colours. Whites, brights and darks. So, as his sweater was blue it could go in the colours pile. He nudged the other two piles to the side of the room with his foot before he gathered the one he wanted in his arms, wrinkling his nose at the fact he actually had dirty clothes in his hands and made his way downstairs. He wandered through the kitchen and into the utility room at the back, before he stuffed the items into the machine and then looked around for the detergent. He found it on a shelf over the back of the room along with the fabric softener. Grabbing them both he then paused as he realised he didn’t actually know where it went.

Okay, so this had to be a process of elimination. He pulled open the little drawer on the front and smirked as he noticed the sections were labelled.

“Piece of cake.” He poured in what he deemed enough of each and then shut it, before he looked at the digital dials on the front.

“For fucks sake…” he grumbled, punching a few buttons. Eventually the display kicked in, offering him a one hour-thirty hot wash.

“Well, who washes clothes in cold water?” he shrugged, pressing the green button. As he stood back the machine kicked into life and Ransom nodded, congratulating himself, before he decided he’d earned himself a beer.

****

“Son of a…” you heard the curse as you opened the door to the study and frowned. Whilst your call had lasted a little longer than it should have, surely Ransom couldn’t have gotten himself into that much trouble in the space of two hours. You followed his string of expletives down the hall, through the kitchen and into the laundry room to find Ransom holding what looked like a smaller version of his sweater in his hands.

“What are you doing?” you frowned.

“Singing a duet with Beyonce, what does it look like I’m doing?” he snapped.

“It looks like you’re doing laundry.” You ignored his shitty comment and arched an eyebrow, one hand falling to your small bump.

“No shit, Sherlock.”

“Where did you get that little…” you trailed off as you realised that it wasn’t a smaller version of his gorgeous navy blue, soft woolly number in his hands, it WAS his gorgeous navy blue, soft woolly number “You shrunk your sweater?” He glared at you as you started to laugh “Oh my god, you dumbass!”

“It wasn’t me it was that fucking shitty machine.”

“There’s nothing wrong with the machine.”

“Well why did it shrink then?”

“What programme did you put it on?”

“Programme?” he frowned “I just turned it on.”

With a sigh you rubbed at your temple “There are different settings depending on what you’re washing.” You stated “That’s wool. It should have been on a cool cycle.”

Ransom looked at the item in his hand and you watched as his shoulders sagged a little. “I wanted it to be nice and clean for you to wear later.” He sighed as he peeked up at you, a strand of hair falling over to his brow. Your heart instantly melted, little gestures like this from him meant the world as it was his way of showing he cared. He could buy you all the expensive shit in the world but these were the little things you craved.

“Oh baby!” you chuckled as you stepped forward, leaning up to kiss his cheeks. “It was a nice thought…” you took the sweater off him and looked at it “But even I don’t think I’ll fit into that. It’s tiny.”

Ransom looked at it before his face suddenly curled into a smile “Baby boy tiny?”

You let out a laugh “Maybe not baby boy tiny, but little child boy tiny, sure.”

“We’ll save it for him then.” He said, tossing it down into the basket of wet items that needed to be dried. “His first hand-me-down.”

You smiled as his hands dropped to your hips and pulled you closer. “You’re a big softy really, aint you?” you reached up to brush that stubborn strand of hair back of his forehead and he shrugged before he grinned, rocking his pelvis forward.

“I won’t be soft for long.” His head dropped and he nipped at your ear “Let me show you what Husband chore I’m actually good at.”

#real life tasks with ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale fic

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wiypt-writes · 3 years

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Real Life Tasks With Ransom Drysdale

An Advent Calendar of 24 Normal Human Tasks As Performed By A Huge Man Baby. Day 24: That’s A Wrap

Warnings: Bad Language words

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Reader

A/N: And here we are, the final instalment of our Ransom advent. I have had an absolute ball writing these, although this one was a struggle as I’m a little down at the moment about my other blog and losing all my previous works. However, it’s Christmas Eve so I’ve got some prosecco, gingerbread and I’m ready for Santa.

Huge thank you to @sweater-daddiesdumbdork and @ohthankevans13 for their amazing chapters to, and thank you all for reading.

Merry Christmas everyone.

The credits to National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation started, signalling the end to the film and you stretched and looked at Ransom, grinning.

“That was nothing like what happened to me with the lights.” He drawled as he turned his head to look at you, blue eyes locking onto yours.

“You’re lying to yourself, Ran.” You shrugged with a giggle. “You know, I think Hugh Griswold has a ring to it.”

“Eat shit, Y/N”

At that you laughed and swung your legs down to the floor from where they has been resting over his as you lay on the couch. “Think I’m gonna take a bath and get in my new jammies.”

“What’s the point?” Ransom turned to you. “I’m only going to strip you out of them later.”

You completely ignored his suggestive comment, because really, who were you trying to kid? It was as much a forgone conclusion he’d have you naked and crying his name later that evening, as it was that he was going to end up arguing with his parents over dinner tomorrow. Yeah, that wasn’t exactly something you were looking forward to but thankfully your parents were going to be there to help you play peacemaker.

“The point, dearest hubs of mine, is that it’s Christmas Eve and it’s a tradition as you well know that we get new jammies.”

“Mine better be tasteful.” Ransom looked at you and at that you simply shrugged and stood up. “I’ll call you if I get stuck in the tub.”

“How long you gonna be?” Ransom asked

“Does it matter?”

“In a word, yes. I need to wrap your presents.”

You blinked and then snorted “I thought after last year you were going to use a gift wrapping service at the Mall?”

“I did for some.” He shrugged. “But there’s a something that only arrived yesterday and-“

“I knew it!” You shook your head. “That package was for me!”

“No, it was for me. To give to you. Now go, piss off for your bath.” *****

Once you were out of the way Ransom, knowing you would be at least an hour, grabbed himself a scotch and sat down in the living room, flicking through some news from the Country Club about the New Year’s Eve gala, and a few other emails on his phone. Once he had finished, he refilled his glass and headed to the spare room where he had hidden your gifts in a locked suitcase. You were a pain in the ass for finding them and then trying to pick at the corners to see what they were and after last year, when you’d totally ruined the surprise of the new pair of Louboutins he had spent ages agonising over, not to mention the fact you’d blatantly been expecting the La Perle bra and panties, nor were you overly surprised at the three piece Louis Vuitton luggage set.

Nope, he was taking no chances. He was excited this year, too. He’d bought you a gorgeous Tiffany necklace and bangle set, one you’d been eyeing up in the Mall a few months back, along with some high end make up only available in two stores in the entire of Boston, a huge bottle of Chanel perfume and a stupidly expensive espresso machine which had caught his eye. It matched the colour scheme in your kitchen and eliminated the need for stupid filter papers as it operated off pods and he’d even had a demonstration from the spotty assed teenager in the shop so he was perfectly geared up and fully aware of how to use it. But all that was wrapped already, it was what had arrived yesterday that he was most excited about. It was an order all the way from a little tea shop in Covent Garden you had dragged him to earlier in the year, on the trip to London during which you had fallen pregnant. It was a custom made wooden box full of specialists teas which, try as you might, you had failed to find anywhere back home once you had run out of the ones you had bought back with you. Yup, He’d come a long way from the days of buying you crotch-less underwear, sex toys and lube. Making his way back into the living room he placed the gift wrapped items under the tree and then grabbed the sheets of paper, tape and scissors and dropped onto the floor by the fire. Some other shitty movie was playing on the TV now so he changed the channel over to a replay of the Christmas Special for the Great British Baking Show that you’d gotten him hooked on, before tossing the remote aside. Placing the box on the paper he began to wrap. It should have been easy. It was a fucking box but after four attempts the only think he’d managed to wrap were his fingers together with tape about sixty times and the box was no closer to being wrapped than before. In a huge bout of frustration he grabbed the paper, scrunched it round the box and taped round it about twenty times. It looked like it had been wrapped by Edward Scissorhands during an epileptic fit, but whatever. With a final groan of frustration he tossed the box under the tree, and then frowned as the TV turned off. Ransom glanced round for the remote but it was nowhere to be found. Cursing he stood up, checked behind all the cushions and even retraced his steps through the house but nothing. “For fucks sake!” He growled, hands on his hips as he stared round the living room. He had definitely had it before as he changed that shitty movie off before he wrapped... Oh, hell no! “Fuck my mother fucking life!” He spat out as he stalked towards the package he had just tossed under the tree and grabbed it. ***** By the time you came back downstairs Ransom was lounging back on the sofa, feet up on the coffee table, drink in hand. He looked up at you and snorted, taking in your fluffy Christmas themed Mini-Mouse pyjamas as they stretched over your now rather huge bump. “Do you want a drink or something, Princess?” “Erm, you know, I think I’ll grab a chamomile tea.” You nodded after a while and Ransom smiled and stood up. “I got something for you.” You snorted. “I’m not falling for that again.” He rolled his eyes. “I don’t mean my dick, Y/N.” He took your hand and led you to the kitchen where you spotted a shiny, deep brown box. Frowning you looked at your husband before you walked over to it and gave a gasp when you saw the Nelson and Norfolk Tea Company logo carved into the wood. “How did you get these?” You managed to stutter as you opened the clasp and pulled up the lid to reveal four rows which were then split further into three, each square of different flavoured, individually packed tea bags, lined with a deep purple velvet. “You know how. I had them shipped over.” “Ransom, these...” You struggled for words as you turned to face him, blinking back the tears that had sprung forth from his thoughtfulness. “I love them, thank you.” “You’re welcome, baby.” He smiled genuinely as you moved and wrapped your arms around him and stood on your toes to give him a soft kiss. “Wait.” You cocked your head as you pulled away. “Were you wrapping these?”

“Yup.” He nodded “But I had an incident involving the remote and no spare paper so you get them tonight instead.” You gave a chuckle. “Just another in a long list of real life tasks you have taken on and spectacularly failed at, huh?” “Hey, some of them I’ve managed.” He huffed and you smiled, running your hand up through his hair. “I know, and I never said this before but I’m so touched you actually tried, even when you failed, it shows you care.” “Of course I care.” His face grew serious as he looked at you. “You’re my wife and you’re carrying my kid. I’ll always care about you both, Y/N, even if I’m not the best at showing it.” “You show it in your own way.” You smiled gently, leaning up to kiss him again. “Merry Christmas, Ransom.” “Merry Christmas, baby girl.” He smiled, his lips capturing yours in a deep kiss, both of you stood in the kitchen as the snow fell outside. He might be a huge man baby, but he’s your huge man baby. And you wouldn’t change him for the world

#real life tasks with ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale fic #ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale x reader

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spiders-hth-is-an-outlier · 2 years

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Who has two thumbs and really, really enjoys Secular Christmas? This guy. At least I must, because I keep writing about it. So in lieu of an end-of-year fic wrap-up post (spoiler alert: my year was Yikes), enjoy a mini Advent calendar of Times I Got Sappy About Christmas. (Links go to the relevant chapters, but if it's your first time you might wanna, you know, read the whole thing. Or not, I don't know your life.)

***

Q hasn't been singing much lately, even compared to the not much that he sings normally. But the snow starts falling around sunset, and when Eliot comes in from covering the broad beans and the garlic in their winter beds, shaking the wet mess out of his hair, the first thing he hears is the distinctive low burr of Quentin's hesitant singing voice, trying his off-key best at, “And since we've no place to go, let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.”

God, he's trying. He always tries, with fists and teeth and his whole huge heart, to – make things work, to make them okay again. Eliot's in awe of him, honestly. Without a drop of irony, he honestly is.

Quentin's also doing something on the kitchen side of the cabin, which Eliot suspects involves wreaking mischief on the fruitcake. Eliot smiles and grabs Quentin's wrist, twirling him away from the danger zone of the breadbox and simultaneously granting him the mercy of drowning him out entirely with, “The fire is slowly dying, and my dear, we're still goodbye-ing, but as long as you love me so, let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.”

Smiling wryly at being caught meddling, Quentin lets his hand pull loose with a quick squeeze to Eliot's hand. “Um, I was looking for the nuts? The, uh, for roasting, were we going to – roast those tonight?” he lies directly to Eliot's face.

“Mm, allow me,” Eliot says. “Why don't you, a known cake thief, just take a seat, all right, darling?”

Quentin presses a hand over his heart and says, “Perish the thought,” in a vaguely Mid-Atlantic drawl that Eliot suspects is an attempt at mockery.

All the Comforts of Home, Interlude: Christmas (The Magicians, nsfw)

#hth fic

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dreamdropxoxo · 3 years

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Mistletoe

Damen couldn’t change the fact that he loved the holiday season and everything that led up to it. He also knew that some people didn’t share his delight and one of these people was Nikandros. Thus, he made it his life long mission to get his quasi-brother to love this time of the year with the devotion it deserved.

Unfortunately, Nik was a stubborn ass and most of Damen’s attempts had proven unfruitful. However, today, this would change. It was the first Friday evening in December and thus it was also the evening of the first annually Light-Overjoyed-Vino-Eggnog-party. Yeah, the name still needed working on, but it did the trick. Because there was alcohol involved. Damen wasn’t naïve enough to think that Nik put up with it for any other reason.

This year, however, Damen was nervous. Really, very nervous. The reason for that was simple, Laurent would be there and whenever Laurent was involved, Damen couldn’t help himself but get beyond nervous.

He finished decorating their house in a completely frazzled state of mind, pinning the mistletoe over the doorframe between the kitchen and living room and was very glad that he had done the bigger part of the work the day before.

When Nik came back, he found him pacing in the kitchen and rolled his eyes. “Seriously, Damen, stop it. One could think you’re waiting for your crush to arrive.”

That was another important point, Nikandros didn’t know that Damen had the smallest (who was he kidding? Nothing about his crush was small) crush on Laurent. Nik hadn’t seen Auguste’s brother since he came back from France and Damen knew he would only need one glance at the man before he’d know exactly what was going on.

Fortunately, he was rescued by the doorbell. He greeted all their friends with a broad smile and for a while, he didn’t even move away from the door because every minute another guest arrived. He ushered them inside where Nik offered drinks and snacks.

Auguste, Kashel and Laurent arrived fashionably late. Auguste and Kashel hugged him both with broad smiled and then practically fell into the apartment to give Nikandros the same treatment. Laurent stared after them with a shake of his head and then proceeded to present Damen with a bottle of wine. “I thought I’d bring you something. In thanks for your invitation and I’m sure alcohol is always appreciated.”

“Thank you very much, Laurent. I’m just glad you found the time to attend too.” Damen knew he was staring, but Laurent was lovely. He was so handsome, it still seemed almost unreal. “Please come in.”

Laurent smirked and stepped over the threshold. “The decoration is rather-“

Damen laughed. “Please, spare me. You don’t want to shatter my heart in the first five minutes of arriving, do you?”

Laurent chuckled. “No, you’re right. So, where do you want me?”

Oh, Damen wanted him, location absolutely unimportant. He couldn’t keep his gaze from dropping to Laurent’s chest and then lower to his long, long legs. “I-“

“DAMEN! Don’t just spend all your time by the door,” Lazar yelled from the kitchen. Damen sighed. At least, he had enough time to recover to actually answer Laurent’s question. “Well, I’ll have to entertain the more obnoxious guests, it seems. I’d recommend you visit the kitchen first, there is the important part of the party.”

“What? All the friends with charming personalities?” Laurent teased and followed him through the corridor. Damen laughed, “No, the drinks.”

“Ah. But do you think there will be something that fits my standards? I found, to my utter disappointment, that that’s fairly rarely the case.” They entered the kitchen and immediately all conversation halted. Most likely because the only people in the kitchen were Lazar and Nikandros and both of them were rather busy with gaping at Laurent.

“Who are you? Please tell me you’re single.” Lazar practically salivated all over the floor with hearts in his eyes. Laurent raised one eyebrow and drawled, “You’re even more dull-witted than I remember you, Lazar.”

Damen felt a flutter in his stomach.

Lazar seemed to feel quite the same way. “Even when he’s insulting me, he’s the most beautiful sight I ever behold in my life.”

“Stop flirting with my brother, you creep!” Auguste appeared out of nowhere and glared at Lazar, who actually flinched. “What?!” Damen could see all the color drown from Nikandros’ face. “Wait, you’re Laurent?”

“That’s correct.” Laurent sniffed at the drink Damen pressed in his hand. “Oh, whiskey, and the expensive one, you spoil me, Damianos.” His eyes twinkled and Damen fought the urge to melt to a puddle at his feet.

Auguste obviously saw the same thing as Nik did, because both of them shared a horrified look. Nikandros declared, “I can’t watch this!” and then Auguste started to push his brother out towards the living room at the same time as Nik tried to get out of the kitchen too. That was a mistake because while Lazar stared at Laurent’s ass first and foremost, he was still Lazar.

“Oh, now you’ve done it. Nik, Laurent, stop!”

Nikandros turned towards him with a pained expression on his face. “What?”

“Look up.” Lazar grinned very brightly and both of their gazes snapped up at the same time. It was almost comical how absolutely horrified Nik looked, while Laurent shrugged and turned towards the other man. “Well, let’s get it over with.”

“Nope. No, not in a thousand years.” Nikandros backed away against the door frame and that made Laurent smirk deviously. “Come on, big guy, you don’t have to be afraid of me.”

If Damen didn’t have to fight down the roaring jealousy, he would have laughed, especially when he saw Nik’s horror being mirrored on Auguste’s face. Now however, he could only look on when Laurent yanked Nik down by the collar of his shirt and kissed him.

The complete calendar.

#captive prince #advent calendar #laurent #damen #laurent of vere #damen of akielos #damianos of akielos #nikandros #lazar #auguste #kashel #mistletoe

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dietraumerei · 4 years

Text

Day 29 - Angels

First, I would like to thank this advent calendar for ensuring that I check what the frickin date is at least once a day, which is an important thing in this, the weirdest week of the year.

Second! Hey, what’s the holiday season without a little Crowley!whump? This is part one; part two will be posted tomorrow for the free day. Note that there are mentions of blood and physical violence in this story.

You can read my other Ineffable Holiday stories on AO3.

At least, they agreed later, it hadn't happened anywhere they needed to go back to. Crowley didn't have any kind of real attachment to his flat; just a few of the things in it, and of course Aziraphale could fetch those with a miracle. So there was that. He never had to go back, if he didn't want to.

They had returned to London for the holiday season. Their cottage was lovely, of course, but Crowley missed the bustle of everyone and their brother being annoyed at something, and the Tube had been running mysteriously smoothly lately. Aziraphale had a list of every cafe and bakery and little lunch place he missed, and they'd gone to a different Christmas Market every night for a week running. The holiday spirit was alive in them, in a specifically London way.

On this particular day, they parted ways – just for a few hours of course. Aziraphale wanted to visit the Natural History Museum because he did so like a good joke, and Crowley wanted to see to his flat. He'd removed all the plants to their place in the South Downs, of course, but there were a few knickknacks and things he wanted to keep an eye on. And, perhaps, a present or two for Aziraphale, though of course he'd never reveal that.

His spacious, echoing flat seemed even greyer and bigger and colder than he remembered as he let himself in, but little matter. On the occasions he and Aziraphale stayed there, a bottle of wine and some decent music warmed the space up, and there was nothing wrong with his bed, thankfully. And the even rarer occasions when Crowley spent a day or a weekend there by himself – well, he usually wasn't in all that much, if he could help it.

He checked his mail, mostly out of morbid curiosity, and made sure his bed was still in good nick. Wouldn't do to have nowhere suitable to put up an angel for a night, and Aziraphale did, indeed, have standards. Satan only knew how Crowley had wound up meeting those standards, but he had. Well, he wasn't going to argue, as long as he could adore and cuddle and spoil the angel to his heart's content in return.

That was funny.

Crowley paused and tasted the air. It didn't taste like Aziraphale, nor smell like him. But it did. But it didn't. That could only mean –

“Oh, hi guys,” he said casually, as Gabriel and Sandalphon appeared, flanked by some anonymous but extremely muscle-bound angels. “Ooooh, extra Hemsworths! You shouldn't have, darlings, I'll have nowhere to put them.”

“What are you yammering on about?” Gabriel asked.

“That won't be a problem,” Sandalphon hissed. “We'll be going soon.”

“Awwww, no,” Crowley drawled, thinking fast. For fuck's sake. He'd put up wards against demons, but never angels. Hadn't really expected that sort of thing. “You've got to stay. Have a drink! Have six drinks. Walk out of a window and do the universe a favour.”

“Heh. Heh heh,” Sandalphon grinned. “What a good idea. We'll have to implement that one.”

“You see, Crowley,” Gabriel said, clapping his hands. “The thing is. The thing is – you're a demon. Sworn, hereditary enemy.”

“Never bothered you before,” Crowley said.

“Yes, but that was before you stained one of the heavenly host!”

“Oh, no, guys, total mistake, that time I spilled a glass of wine on Michael at the summer picnic,” Crowley yammered, thinking as fast as possible. This was going to end badly. Painfully. Shit. Shit shit shit, Aziraphale was going to lose his mind if the angels discorporated Crowley. Or worse. You didn't bring a bunch of lunkheads to pour holy water on someone, though, so he thought that was was going to come would just be...very painful.

“Now, you know that's not what this is about,” Gabriel said. “You may start, Sandalphon.”

The creepiest fucking angel in all the universe smiled, and sucker-punched Crowley good.

“Shit,” Crowley wheezed. “Seriously, what the fuck?”

“Punishment,” Gabriel said.

“Why not just holy water me away?” Crowley asked, and moaned when Sandalphon punched him again. This time catching him square on the side of the face, his sunglasses going flying. Fuck, that was going to leave a mark. “This is awfully...messy. Aziraphale loses his shit if he gets a grass-stain.”

“Oh no,” Gabriel said cheerfully. “We're not punishing you. We're punishing him. A disgrace to angel-kind, going around eating and hoarding books and pretending to be human. Even getting a lover. Disgusting. Well, I'll be off – don't much like violence, you know.”

“I do,” Sandalphon said helpfully, and punched Crowley again, giving him a matching black eye.

“Fuck you,” Crowley spat. “Aziraphale's the best of you. Nothing about him is disgusting.”

Sandalphon, it seemed, wasn't much of a talker. Well, at least Crowley wouldn't have to listen to him fucking monologue.

He tried to escape but – shit, it was like running into a wall. Something old and strong, maybe a step up from a salt circle, but with the same power to it. Crowley wasn't going anywhere, and the hits were coming too fast to even think of avoiding them.

He tried to not cry out, at least; to not give them the satisfaction. To bite and scratch, to not go quiet. When Sandalphon forced his wings into this plane, and one of the silent angels snapped the long, delicate bones, though, Crowley screamed, and felt ashamed. He kicked out, but someone had got a weapon, a baton or something, and it lit his leg up in agony.

Nothing that would kill him; only blunt instruments, but a cut opened on his forehead, and between his swollen face and the blood, he was essentially blinded.

Focus. Focus, demon. You won't die from this, but Aziraphale will worry. He doesn't have the same sense you do, he can't tell when you're afraid, or hurt, or in need of rescuing...

Three things happened at once.

First, someone kicked Crowley's back, and a thing that shouldn't have done so went crunch, with a wet and breaking sound. Second, Crowley screamed. And third, he let the pain guide him, sending up a flare for anyone who could see, but please, please, let Aziraphale notice. Let him know what's happening...

A fourth thing happened in very quick succession:

“I think we're just about done here,” Sandalphon said. “Plenty of blood. Try squirming to your angel with broken wings.” A happy sigh. “And other things. Well done, angels, very well done indeed.”

Crowley spat blood, and coughed, and tried to tell him to go fuck himself, but first the world ended. Or at least, it felt that way, as an angel crashed through the ceiling and landed in a pile of rubble on the floor.

Maybe it was best that he was effectively blind; Aziraphale in full angelic drag usually gave him a screaming headache, not to mention the sunburn. He could feel the heat of him, knew the smell of him and taste of him in the air.

“How dare you.” Aziraphale's voice rang like bells. “How dare you touch what is mine? How dare you come into his home and hurt him, the one I protect above all others.”

“Look at him,” Sandalphon sneered. “You did this to him.”

“You literally have his blood on your clothes,” Aziraphale shrieked. Oh, his voice was multiplying. His other heads must be showing up. Crowley was only a little sorry he couldn't see anything. He fought to stay awake; he wasn't missing this for the world.

“I am merely the instrument of God's teaching,” Sandalphon said. “You did this. It is your punishment.”

Crowley braced himself. Aziraphale did so tend to take on the weight of the world. To blame himself. Fucksake, he had only recently begun to really believe that he deserved to be loved. This was going to set him back months. Months of Crowley tenderly, patiently showing him love and kindness and encouraging him to enjoy Earth, and undoing all the bad of Heaven.

All right, so he'd probably do most of that stuff anyway. But still. This was not something his love needed right now.

He groaned and tried to move, gasping when he jarred his definitely-broken leg. “Not your fault,” he managed to tell Aziraphale.

“I know that,” the angel said. “Lie down, Crowley, I'll take care of you in a moment. Now, where was I? Oh yes.”

There was a sound like a thousand wings. Ooooh, Aziraphale was going all out. Crowley was going to have weird dreams about eyes for days.

“This is not my doing

Love is my doing

You hurt him

You carry his blood on you

The love we have isn't wrong

can never be wrong

and you can never know it”

It was the most terrifying choir, it was a thousand voices singing together, Crowley could see eyes even though he couldn't see anything else, Aziraphale's full powers coming onto him, fanned by rage and sorrow.

“So fuck off!”

The sudden silence was as startling as the holy rage. Crowley knew it was just him and Aziraphale, and that Aziraphale was back to normal.

“Oh, my dearest.”

Crowley groaned, and wailed with sudden pain as he tried to roll over and fuck, no, no, his wings, his wings. And maybe his back? It was impossible to tell.

“Shh, shh, no, stay still. Stay still, my love.” Aziraphale's voice was familiar and low, and Crowley stayed still, whimpering.

“Can't see you,” he rasped.

“I know. Shhh. I can take care of the worst – be still, love. Be still, and trust me.”

Like Crowley wouldn't.

He was still and tried to be quiet as Aziraphale worked miracle after miracle, mending shattered bones, easing the worst of Crowley's injuries. The pain still lingered, though dulled – his body would take a bit to catch up, he knew.

A soft touch on his face, and the pain was gone.

“I can't heal it all,” Aziraphale said softly. “They did that on purpose. Those bastards. But I can take your pain, love. You won't feel anything at all. I'll help you heal as fast as I can, I promise.” Another gentle touch, and Crowley felt the kiss on his brow.

“S'okay,” he slurred, trying to catch up. His body was heavy, but there was no pain. None at all, and he took a careful deep breath.

“Shhh. Let's get you into bed.” Another kiss, and the shimmering feeling of a miracle and oh, it didn't matter that Crowley couldn't see anything, he'd know Aziraphale's big old bed above the shop anywhere. The way it smelled like books and tea, how warm it was, Aziraphale must have lit a fire for them. Immediately, Crowley felt better.

“There you are, love.” A soft chuckle, and Azirpahale was stroking his chest. “You'll feel so much better quickly, I promise.” A kiss, small and tender. “Tell me anything you need, all right? Your tiniest desire is mine to fulfil. I'm sorry, Crowley. I'm so, so sorry they thought they could use you as a weapon against me.”

“Not your fault,” Crowley said firmly. “Hold me. Or let me hold you. Don't care which. Get in here with me, is what I'm saying.”

Aziraphale laughed, and slid under the covers, gathering Crowley tenderly into his arms. “I think I would like to hold you,” he said softly. “For a very long time, if you don't mind.”

Crowley smiled, face pressed against Aziraphale's chest. This was the only angel that mattered, as far as he was concerned. The only good one of the lot of them, and Crowley had got him, all to himself. What kind of luck was that?

“Long as you want,” he sighed. His body was settling into itself – still sore and swollen; he wasn't sure he'd be able to put weight on his leg for a few hours, maybe a day, and of course his face was a mess – but so much better. Best of all with Aziraphale holding him and stroking his hair, promising all the fun they'd have together right here in bed while Crowley healed.

Crowley just listened, and rested, and felt distinctly that, no matter that he'd been beaten to a pulp, he'd still won.

#IneffableHoliday #ineffable husbands #good omens #cw:blood #cw: violence

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dothwrites · 4 years

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spn advent calendar--eggnog

I’m a little behind on these, I beg your forgiveness! Now, see my Christmas innuendo puns and perish!

Pairings: Established Dean/Castiel, Gabriel& Dean& Castiel

{Read on Ao3}

---

Dean and Castiel don't live together. It's still early in their relationship, which is what Castiel says, and Dean signed a two-year lease on his townhouse a year ago, which is what Dean says. Those reasons are both crap is what Gabriel says, which begins a long series of whining complaints from Gabriel. "What do you mean he doesn't live with you?" The look on his face looks more akin to if Castiel had just drop-kicked a puppy. "The hell have you two been doing?"

Castiel rolls his eyes. "Living our lives? Working at our jobs? Having fantastic, mind-blowing--"

"La, la, la, can't hear you," Gabriel trills, hands over his ears.

Castiel's eyes might fall out of his skull with how frequently and how violently he's rolling them. "Please don't pretend to be prudish now. Not thirty minutes ago, you were asking if Dean had 'trimmed my tree'." Castiel makes sure to punctuate the words with finger-quotes. "Which, why you would use that as a euphemism, I don't even know."

That conversation leads into Gabriel throwing out as many Christmas related double entendres as he can--Is Dean making your herald angels sing? Is he making you O Come O Come Emmanuel? Are you rockin' around his Christmas tree? That leads to Castiel storming into his room, muffling a scream of frustration in his pillow, and texting Dean.

You have to come over tomorrow night. Otherwise we'll be talking to each other through a glass wall and a phone connection for the next 10-25 years.

shit babe can we just leave for the bahamas instead

I can put a mortgage on my house if you're serious.

no it's too sunny there and i peel like a lobster. make sure you have stuff for fettuccini alfredo tomorrow

---

So Dean comes over the next night. Castiel meets him outside, slipping out the door before Gabriel scents his departure. He slams into Dean with the force of a five car collision, wrapping his arms around Dean's waist and burying his face into Dean's shoulder. To his credit, Dean absorbs the hit, and returns the embrace, albeit with a little less force.

"That bad huh?" Dean's voice is a low, comforting rumble against Castiel's chest, and if he could, Castiel would wrap himself up in that voice every night.

"He won't stop making Christmas puns," Castiel murmurs. He nuzzles into Dean's shirt and breathes in the scent of him. "When he's not doing that, he's singing Mariah Carey Christmas songs. He sings Michael Buble."

"Jesus babe." Dean's fingers slide up the back of Castiel's neck to card through his hair. "Pack a bag. You can stay with me for the rest of December. Gabriel can't find you there; he doesn't know where I live."

"You sure about that Dean-o?"

Castiel's grown to hate that voice. He pulls away from Dean, just enough to glare at Gabriel through one, slitted eye.

Gabriel dangles off the front porch, Santa hat askew on his head and an overflowing cup of eggnog slopping over his fingers. The heavy scents of rum and cinnamon accompany him as he pours himself down the steps to stand next to them.

Castiel tries not to mourn as Dean pulls away, leaving nothing but a single arm around his waist. Faced with the typhoon of Gabriel, Dean valiantly tries to rally. "Hey Gabriel." He bares his teeth in a proximity of a grin. "You haven't been keeping close enough tabs on us to know where I live."

"Oh, you'd be surprised," Gabriel says. An edge slides through his smile. "I've got a lot of money and a lot of free time."

The moment has all the potential to turn nasty, which is why it's a relief when Gabriel belches. He holds out his cup to Dean, a sloppy grin on his face. "Eggnog?" he offers.

Dean raises a brow. "Not from that cup," he says, his eyes flicking back and forth from the cup to Gabriel's face.

"Right," Gabriel drawls, turning a two syllable word into one that has seventeen. "I forgot, Cassie's the only one that you're swapping spit with these days."

A low growl starts in Castiel's chest and settles in his throat. "Gabriel, Dean's here to make dinner for us. Can you please not antagonize or disgust him while he is doing that?"

"Come on in," Gabriel says, a king welcoming a vassal to his castle. Except it's Castiel's house. He should be the king. "Can I get you some eggnog?"

Castiel watches as his cousin leads his boyfriend into his house. Gabriel even pauses at the door to allow Dean into the house first, flashing up a thumbs-up behind Dean's back. Castiel rolls his eyes and follows them into the house.

"So Dean, now that you're ringing Cassie's bells, I feel like you're part of the family," Gabriel says, with an uncompromising arm around Dean's shoulders. "Come, share in the Milton family tradition of eggnog." Castiel is aware of no such tradition. "Do you like your eggs nogged Dean? Can I nog your eggs? Does Cassie give you a good nogging for your eggs?"

---

Tags under the cut--

@screamatthescreen @queenvee08 @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @homeriics @dizzypinwheel

#spnadventcalendar2019 #destiel #destiel fanfic #destiel fic #dean winchester #castiel #gabriel #supernatural #christmas fluff #dothwrites

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ashfae · 4 years

Link

Mistletoe It wasn't the decorating that bothered him so much as the way Aziraphale kept humming under his breath while he did it. Constantly. Crowley wasn't sure if he was aware of it and enjoying himself, not aware of it and enjoying himself, or doing it just to bother Crowley. And enjoying himself.

Bastard angel. Crowley grinned. "I'm surprised you're bothering with this already," he drawled, leaning back in his overstuffed chair so that only the back legs were on the ground.

"Hmm?" Aziraphale, mercifully, ceased his wordless rendition of In dulci jubilo and looked down from his perch atop a ladder[1]. "Bothering with what already, dear boy?"

"Decorating." Crowley rolled his eyes as overdramatically as possible. His sunglasses were off, so the full effect wouldn't go unnoticed. "It's only the first of December, for Satan's sake! There's a whole month to go!"

"Indeed there is." Aziraphale calmly returned to attaching garland to the top of one of the four pillars in the middle of his bookshop. "And I intend to enjoy it, since I'm fully at liberty to do so." -------------------------- Gave in. Thought it might do me good to try and write quickly instead of agonizing over things for weeks at a time. So I shall attempt @drawlight‘s Ineffable Advent Calendar challenge, and if it means I limit myself to just making silly jokes about seasonal music, so be it. (am I a little too happy about that title? Why yes, yes I am) Though honestly I started this drabble fully intending to work up to the fact that the Ancient Greeks called mistletoe “tree sperm” and pre-Christianity it was widely thought of as a symbol of semen/male fertility, all of which makes me completely incapable of taking it seriously. It’s probably just as well my train of thought got derailed along the way.

#good omens #ficlet #31 days of ineffables #tree sperm though #crowley #aziraphale #at least I kept the Asterix comics out of it though only barely

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ao3feed-goodomens · 4 years

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Hear the Serpent's Hiss

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2rl7BRm

by KannaOphelia

Crowley feels Warlock's first Christmas is of crucial importance in establishing the future moral direction of the Antichrist. Aziraphale is not so sure, but it's difficult to resist temptation, especially when delivered in that rich, dark chocolate drawl.

BBC Radio!Canon, aka "sexy-voiced Crowley".

Words: 1645, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 5 of 31 First Kisses: Good Omens Advent Calendar

Fandoms: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Good Omens (TV)

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley (Good Omens), Warlock Dowling

Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)

Additional Tags: Gardener Aziraphale (Good Omens), Nanny Crowley (Good Omens), He/Him Pronouns For Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley First Kiss (Good Omens), Christmas Fluff, Crowley is Good With Kids (Good Omens), BBC radio, But there is no category for Radio Good Omens, We really need an All Media Good Omens category, Aziraphale is "just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing" (Good Omens), 31 Days of Ineffables, Prompt: Sleigh Bells, Aziraphale and Crowley love each other in every single adaptation, Sappy

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2rl7BRm

#ao3feed #fanfic #Good Omens

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eturni · 4 years

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Day 9 - Chestnuts

Day 9 of @drawlight‘s advent calendar challenge. https://drawlight.tumblr.com/post/189391982184/drawlight-drawlight-aziraphale-crowley-for Today is chestnuts and features street food, Crowley being Crowley and Aziraphale spotting a pattern.

What it also features is the author on cold medicine so uh hopefully it mostly makes sense.

It was quickly approaching Dongji, the shortest day of the year, and the mood on the streets was gradually beginning to lift. The weather had been unseasonably warm a short few weeks ago and yet the temperature was slowly dropping until snow threatened at the edges of every passing cloud and a faint frost covered the ground and trees in the mornings.

The drop in temperature saw in an increase in spirits and Aziraphale was full to the brim with love as he passed joyful people in the streets preparing for the festivities.

The fact that he was also full of hotteok, gyerranppang, chaloksusu and any number of other wonderful delicacies that caught his eye as he passed by the many street vendors in Seoul was neither here nor there, naturally.

It often made him regretful that he’d had few assignments in the area in his time on earth. Not that European delicacies and hearty English fare weren’t perfectly charming in their own ways but it often struck home how limited he was in his scope when he was given the opportunity to work in the wider world.

“Bit dangerous to meet out in the open, don’t you think?” A lilting voice teased, suddenly too close to the angel’s ear.

Aziraphale straightened his waistcoat out and shifted a step and a half away with an annoyed purse of his lips. “Actually you’ll find that the streets are quite busy and that it should be easy to blend in, as it were. That or we could go to one of the tea houses. They’re quite popular.”

“Well alright then, I’ll trust you. Not that you’re doing much to blend in with that suit.” Crowley shrugged a single shoulder as though it were nothing but he was already slowly encircling Aziraphale, just to be sure. So of course he was in the correct position when something caught the angel’s eye.

Continue reading on AO3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/21638803/chapters/51857311 or:

He went straight as an arrow, unfurling out of his posturing slouch only to find that the thing that was of interest was another street vendor. He almost brought a hand up to his face to rub at it in exasperation but instead slunk off in that direction, Aziraphale following nervously behind.

“What is it?” He asked, his own gaze now slipping worriedly through the crowd.

“Eh. Figured it looked better if we’ve both got something, y’know?” Crowley shrugged, leaning towards the vendor and holding up two fingers as he casually slipped a hand into too-tight jeans for some money. The motion pulled up his endearingly oversized jumper and exposed a small slip of skin that Aziraphale did his best not to stare too closely at.

“Oh.” The angel relaxed marginally, a relieved smile brightening his features as he inhaled the scent of something deep and nutty with a smoky aroma that left his mouth watering despite the delicious foods he’d already tried throughout the week. “Well, yes that’s a capital idea. It will certainly let us blend in further.” He nodded eagerly.

Crowley’s lips twitched into an amused smile as he got a small bag of roasted chestnuts and passed it off to Aziraphale before waiting for his own.

Of course, it was exactly what Crowley always did. Always so attentive to his moods. Always so quick to give little gifts that he inevitably played off as unimportant and spur of the moment.

Aziraphale looked down into his bag of perfectly roasted chestnuts and wondered how a demon so good at the business of pulling the masses just that little closer to hell could also be so painfully thoughtful.

“What? What’s all that about?” Crowley asked as soon as Aziraphale met his eye and the angel realised belatedly that too much of something he didn’t think about must be showing.

“Oh nothing.” He waved off, picking out one of the chestnuts and examining it perhaps a little closely. “Just wonderful things the humans come up with.” He smiled faintly.

“Yeah angel, like putting food on a fire.” Crowley drawled, a mocking lilt to his voice.

“Oh you know what I mean.”

“Yeah. S’pose I do. Still, what was it you wanted to meet about so bad it couldn’t wait for you to get back to England?”

“Well I… Not that it isn’t important of course but we could perhaps- that is to say there would be no harm in us just walking for a short while. If you’d be amenable.” He looked up to Crowley with the type of hopeful smile that the other rarely declined.

Indeed, as usual, Crowley sighed and spent a moment checking around them for anything that seemed out of place but finally acquiesced.

Aziraphale was thankful of the chill in the air giving him a decent excuse to move a little closer to Crowley as he asked after the other’s temptations while they’d been apart. The entire time the smell of toasted nuts rose up from his little paper bag and Aziraphale thought that they could well become a favourite of his.

Almost the moment he was done with his bag another was pressed into his hands, with only perhaps one or two of the chestnuts missing that Crowley had actually eaten. “Not really my thing.” He shrugged offhand as Aziraphale looked up at him.

The angel smiled, because of course this was how it went. There was a soft thank you, no move to get any further away from the other, and a slow saunter down a street that seemed brighter still despite the demonic presence and the imminence of the longest night.

#31 days of ineffables #good omens #ineffable husbands #mini fic

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what-is-your-plan-today · 3 years

Text

Real Life Tasks With Ransom Drysdale

An Advent Calendar of 24 Normal Human Tasks As Performed By A Huge Man Baby.

Day 7: Screw This.

Warnings: Bad Language words

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Reader

A/N: Day 7 of the threeway collab between myself @sweater-daddiesdumbdork and @jennmurawski13…and Ransom is getting no better11

Series Masterlist.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” You asked, leaning against the door frame.

“Yes.”

“Ok, let me rephrase that…”you shifted your weight a little “Are you sure you can do this?”

Ransom let out an annoyed snort through his nose and turned his eyes to look up at you. “Doll, how hard can it be?”

You really didn’t want to answer that question, as to anyone else with half a logical brain, following simple instructions on how to piece together a crib wouldn’t be so hard at all. But to Ransom, the mere fact that there were instructions to follow was kinda making you a little uneasy, as he had a problem with doing anything he was told to do at the best of times. Ransom’s brow furrowed as he clocked the look on your face and he rolled his eyes.

“You have so little faith in me.”

“Can you blame me?” you spluttered “You turned all the washing pink a few weeks back, then you almost poisoned everyone, not to mention the incident with the tire jack!”

“This is different.” He said confidently as he began to remove the outer packaging of the crib.

“Is it?”

“Yes, Y/N!” he groaned with an air of exasperation “Look, I know you have zero faith in me whatsoever, but what else is new?”

“Ran…” you started to protest, and he shrugged you away very matter-of-factly.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” he deftly changed the subject and you sighed recognising your dismissal. In all fairness he was right, you were due to meet your friend for lunch in half an hour so…

“Okay, I’m going.” You padded into the room, over to where he was now knelt on the floor surrounded by various tools and pieces of the crib, and dropped a kiss to his forehead “I’ll see you later. Love you.”

Ransom turned his head towards you, his lips brushing yours softly, the annoyance he had displayed seconds ago completely forgotten. “Love you too. Both of you.”

With a smile you headed out of the room and bustled about grabbing your coat, scarf and purse. You stepped outside your home and as you made your way down the gravel drive to your new car, Ransom having finally put his foot down and purchased the Mercedes he’d been eying up for you, you glanced back up at the window of the room that was to be your baby boy’s nursery and pulled out your phone.

“Hey Daddy, it’s me. I was wondering if you would do me a favour…”

*****

Ransom would never have thought in a million years that he’d be doing this. Putting together a crib for his unborn son in the nursery that the pair of you had almost completed. Kids had most certainly not been on the agenda. Mind you, neither had marriage. But Y/N…well, she’d not only done the unthinkable and tamed him away from his play-boy days, she’d completely and utterly hooked him. And he wasn’t ever going to let her get away. So he’d bought a ring, they’d bought a house together…and then one drunken night and forgotten pill later wham, he’d knocked her up.

As such here he was, in one of the spare rooms that was no longer spare as it now belonged to his unborn child. The colour was picked, paint was purchased…but he drew the line at decorating. That was something that happily you had both agreed was to be done by a professional. In an hour he’d managed to get three sides of the crib together. And they were even and matched the photograph perfectly. But this fourth side…the side that was supposed to go up and down along a set of runners was not playing ball.

“Son of a bitch…” he cursed after what felt like the one hundredth attempt at getting the little wheels to line up “You’re gonna fucking work you fucking piece of…”

“Ransom?”

He paused as the familiar voice drifted up the large stairs and he gave an exasperated sigh. Of course she’d called her dad to check in on him.

“In the nursery.” He called back, a little gruffly. Ransom would never admit this, but the fact that his father-in-law actually cared enough to make the 30 minute drive over to check on him was kind of nice. His own father would have simply sniggered and put the phone down.

But then, Richard Drysdale was an asshole. Y/N’s father was not. And he most certainly was not going to allow his boy to become one either. Well, not a complete one anyway…he had to have some attitude after all, he was a Drysdale.

“Hey Son.” Ransom looked up as Y/N’s dad walked into the room. “Y/N called me before, said you were fixing up the furniture. I thought you might need a hand.”

“She really doesn’t trust me does she?” Ransom snorted and her dad laughed.

“If it’s any consolation, her mother is exactly the same.” He soothed as Ransom straightened up “And I don’t think it’s a case of not trusting you. When me and her brother put the crib together for his kid, it was a pain in the ass to get right.”

Ransom inhaled sharply, his hands falling to his hips “Done ok so far.” He replied a little sullenly.

“Yeah, I can see.” His father-in-law nodded “I just thought I’d check. If you don’t need me, then I can go.” He held his hands up, palms facing Ransom in a conciliatory manner “I got stuff to do so.”

Ransom watched him turn to leave and followed him out of the room with his eyes. He looked at the final piece of the crib before he gave a soft groan and quickly strode after his wife’s father.

“Actually…” he spoke, watching as he paused at the top of the stairs “I can’t get the last piece to line up right.”

He stopped short of actually asking for help, but he didn’t need to. Y/Father’s/Name turned and smiled, patting him gently on the shoulder as he strode back towards the nursery. He stooped to examine the sides and then stood up, pointing.

“This screw,” he said, and Ransom looked at it,“just needs tightening. The head is jutting out a little too far. Once it’s flush to the side then the runners should line up.”

Ransom blinked and then sighed, his head hanging dejectedly “Seriously? That’s it.”

“Hey!” His father-in-law chuckled, “easy thing to miss. Come on, get it screwed in and I’ll help you lift it. Then I think we can safely say a beer is in order.” He then checked his watch “Huh, might even catch the Red-Sox if we’re lucky.”

At that Ransom perked up a little. Another thing he would never admit was that he enjoyed the way her father would simply do stuff like that with him, things his own dad had never wanted to do. Sit, drink beer, watch a game…talk.

Fuck, he was going soft.

He picked up the screw driver and knelt down, angling it slightly so he could reach and lined the head up. He gave three sharp screws to the right but on the fourth the screwdriver slipped and he felt a sharp pain in his left hand.

“Fuck!” he yelled, drawing back instantly as he glanced down and saw the blood oozing from his palm tracing a path down his wrist.

“Here, let me see…” Y/Father’s/Name stepped forward quickly, reaching for Ransom’s arm. He frowned and then looked at Ransom who had gone pale. “Looks pretty deep.”

Ransom swallowed, taking a deep breath as his head began to spin. Fuck, he hated blood.

“Ransom? Son? You okay?”

“I err, I don’t feel…” he took another deep breath and then with a thud he hit the floor.

*****

Don’t Panic.

If there was ever a phrase do make you do just that, it was those simple two words. Which your dad had uttered when he had called you to tell you there had been an accident and he was on his way to the ER with Ransom. You and your friend abandoned the basket full of baby items you’d indulgently been about to purchase after a cheeky trip to the baby boutique one down from the restaurant you’d eaten in, and you’d rushed out of the store, making your way straight to the hospital. By the time you had located Ransom’s room, your dad was stood outside chatting to a nurse.

“What happened?” you demanded and your dad turned to look at you.

“His hand slipped when he was screwing a part of the crib together.” Your dad offered an explanation. “Gave me a scare though, completely out of it he was for a good 2 minutes or so.”

With a soft sigh, you rolled your eyes and pushed the door open. Ransom looked up at you from where he was sat on the bed, his hand heavily bandaged, face pale.

“Hey!” you said, making your way to his side. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” He nodded, “Just stabbed myself.”

“My dad said. What did you do that for?” you frowned.

“It wasn’t like I did it on purpose, sweetheart.” He drawled, narrowing his eyes. “It’s not a big deal. Just waiting for someone to take me down to X-Ray to make sure I’ve not damaged anything major”

You arched an eyebrow, a grin playing across your face. “Big enough of a deal to make you pass out from the pain.”

“It was nothing to do with the pain.” He mumbled sullenly. “You know I don’t like blood.”

You chuckled as you sat on the bed next to him, your hand gently pressing against his forehead. He felt a little clammy. “Yeah, you’re gonna be no use what-so-ever when I have the baby.”

“I don’t intend on being at that end.” He looked up at you, shrugging.

“No? You wanna be up there holding my hand, telling me how amazing I am?” you asked, your hand gently running up his neck.

“Maybe.” he replied, his head laying on your shoulder, seeking out comfort like the huge baby he was, his nose nuzzling into your neck.

“Gee thanks.” You replied with a scoff

“I just don’t wanna see you squeeze a baby out of your….you know.” he waved his non bandaged hand, as he moved his head to look at you, a cheeky smirk flickering across his face “I imagine it would be like watching my favourite bar burn down. Knowing that it’s completely wrecked and going to take a while before I can head back in for a drink.”

You blinked as his words registered and then slapped him harshly round the back of the head, causing him to yelp.

“Maybe instead of a fucking x-ray they can scan you for a brain.” You glared at him. “Not that they’d find one.”

#ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x you #real life tasks with ransom drysdale

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wiypt-writes · 3 years

Text

Real Life Tasks With Ransom Drysdale

An Advent Calendar of 24 normal human tasks as performed by a huge Man-Baby

Day 1- The Case Of The Mysterious Shrinking Sweater.

Warnings: Bad Language words

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Reader

A/N: So this all came about as myself, Sweater and Jenn saw a post about Ransom doing everyday things…and yeah, it kinda spiralled. The series will consists of one-shots and drabbles, all light hearted…and the occasional little bit of smut thrown in for your pleasure and we hope a nice countdown to Christmas after what has been an utter shit-show of a year.

We hope you enjoy! Series Masterlist

The spawn of Satan…

Hugh Ransom Drysdale was a beautiful bastard. And he knew it.

“You ok?” he asked. You narrowed your eyes before a fresh wave of nausea hit you and you retched once more.

“Do I look ok?” you shot back, sinking back onto your heels, wiping at your face. You felt Ransom move from the doorway and then heard the tap running.

“Fast forward to January next year so the baby’s here?” you grumbled “I can’t take another damned 4 months or whatever of this, Ransom!”

“Sorry Princess.” He chuckled, “I can’t help you there.” “I hate you.”

“So you keep saying.” He shrugged “But the fact you’re pregnant with my son…kinda proves that you don’t.”

“We were drunk. Besides, hate fucking is a thing.”

“Is hate marrying?”

“Yup.” You nodded. “I only married you so I could divorce you for your money.”

“Asshole.”

“Don’t even think about it.”

“Seeing me like what? Red faced with puke in my hair?”

“Yeah the puke not so much.” He wrinkled his face, “But I can think of an arrangement here that could potentially eliminate that particular issue.”

“You’re not fucking me in the shower.” You shook your head.

“But…”

“Yeah? Like what?” he folded his arms. You gave a groan of exasperation.

“I have a conference call with my boss at midday…”

“It’s a Saturday.”

“I know that, but we have a big case…”

“You don’t need to work, tell him to fuck off.”

“I don’t know why you won’t let me hire a maid….”

“I don’t WANT A FUCKING MAID!” you exploded. Ransom’s eyebrows shooting upwards slightly was the only reaction to your shouting that he gave. “This is our home...” “Well with the baby on the way, maybe you might want to reconsider that stance.” “Or maybe you could start pulling your weight.” You jabbed him in his chest. He glanced down at your finger, his eyebrow arched as he looked back at you.

“Pulling my weight?”

“Yes.”

“Exactly how?”

“How do you think I learned?” you shook your head, before rubbing at your temple. “I practiced.”

“Yeah, not gonna happen Princess.”

“What a surprise” you shrugged “God forbid Hugh Ransom Drysdale get his hands dirty.”

“You’re my fucking wife.” Ransom spoke through grit teeth, his jaw set, neck strained (ah, there was that vein!)

“Well here’s a novel idea.” You smiled up at him “Why don’t you start acting like I am instead of some glorified housekeeper that you fuck and keep in your bed.”

“Ok, I’m gonna let that slide due to hormones.” Ransom’s hands fell to his hips.

“You’re gonna let it slide?” you scoffed

“Yes.” “Whatever.” You took a deep breath “Now get out I need a shower.”

“So….just so we’re on the same page, you don’t want me to-“

“NO RANSOM!” you growled, shoving his chest. He sniggered, stepped back with his hands up, palms open as he backed out of the door, closing it behind him.

*****

Ransom could hear Y/N’s voice as it drifted softly through the closed door of the study into the hallway and he rolled his eyes. Her boss was a jerk, making her call in at midday on a fucking weekend, all because he was too incompetent to cope himself. She should be curled up on the sofa, watching junk, eating crap, wearing nothing but his sweater. She’d been looking for that before actually, cursing when she’d realised it was in the laundry hamper and mumbling about how she’d pop it into the machine later.

“How about you start performing those little real life tasks that normal people do Ransom? You know, do the laundry…”

Fuck it, there was nothing google couldn’t solve.

He soon found out, thank you Housewives Online, that they needed to be sorted according to colours. Whites, brights and darks. So, as his sweater was cream it could go in the white pile. He nudged the other two piles to the side of the room with his foot before he gathered the one he wanted in his arms, wrinkling his nose at the fact he actually had dirty clothes in his hands and made his way downstairs. He wandered through the kitchen and into the utility room at the back, before he stuffed the items into the machine and then looked around for the detergent. He found it on a shelf over the back of the room along with the fabric softener. Grabbing them both he then paused as he realised he didn’t actually know where it went.

Okay, so this had to be a process of elimination. He pulled open the little drawer on the front and smirked as he noticed the sections were labelled.

“Piece of cake.” He poured in what he deemed enough of each and then shut it, before he looked at the digital dials on the front.

“For fucks sake…” he grumbled, punching a few buttons. Eventually the display kicked in, offering him a one hour-thirty hot wash.

****

“What are you doing?” you frowned.

“Singing a duet with Beyonce, what does it look like I’m doing?” he snapped.

“It looks like you’re doing laundry.” You ignored his shitty comment and arched an eyebrow, one hand falling to your small bump.

“No shit, Sherlock.��

“Where did you get that little…” you trailed off as you realised that it wasn’t a smaller version of his gorgeous cable knit in his hands, it WAS his gorgeous cable knit “You shrunk your sweater?” He glared at you as you started to laugh “Oh my god, you dumbass!”

“It wasn’t me it was that fucking shitty machine.”

“There’s nothing wrong with the machine.”

“Well why did it shrink then?”

“What programme did you put it on?”

“Programme?” he frowned “I just turned it on.”

With a sigh you rubbed at your temple “There are different settings depending on what you’re washing.” You stated “That’s wool. It should have been on a cool cycle.”

Ransom looked at it before his face suddenly curled into a smile “Baby boy tiny?”

You let out a laugh “Maybe not baby boy tiny, but little child boy tiny, sure.”

“We’ll save it for him then.” He said, tossing it down into the basket of wet items that needed to be dried. “His first hand-me-down.”

“I won’t be soft for long.” His head dropped and he nipped at your ear “Let me show you what Husband chore I’m actually good at.”

#real life tasks with ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale

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aftgficlibrary · 5 years

Note

Hii can I have some kandreil but with alot of humour and crack thnxxx

hi! here’s what I could find!-Rachel

Vacation, yes or no? by ClockworkDragon (G | 1,715 | 1/1)

Kevin, Andrew and Neil are a mage trio that work for the Foxhole Guild. After a recent mission left them physically and magically exhausted, Wymack decides to send them on a vacation.

Twelve days of Christmas music by elyteracy (G | 3,240 | 1/1)

A short advent calendar fic of only twelve days which combines a Christmas ghost, an out of tune piano, Kevin and Andrew as roommates, and budding love.

All Star by wesawbears (T | 1,027 | 1/1)

Andrew is tasked with telling his nieces and nephews a story, and he decides to give his own spin on Shrek. Written for the AFTG Exchange.

Settled by TheKingIsDead (witch_lit) (G | 1,036 | 1/1)

After making their final payment to the Moriyamas, Kevin, Andrew and Neil spend their Christmas Eve together.

Champagne Supernova by EvanJosten (T | 5,688 | 1/1)

The foxes go on vacation, during which Andrew, Neil and Kevin become closer to one another. Each moment becomes a game changer, as they realise on their stay.

What we may be by GaiusTheGenius (M | 2,857 | 1/1)

“Josten’s feeling like there’s not enough exy in our relationship,” Andrew drawled (Neil supressed a grin at hearing Andrew use the word relationship), “and I’m willing to overlook the stickball obsession if you’re interested.”

“What he’s saying,” Neil jumped in, rolling his eyes at Andrew, “is that we’re both interested, if you are.”

Kandreil Goes to the Con by justdk (T | 2,048 | 1/1)

Kevin surprises Andrew and Neil by taking them to an anime con. Kevin finally gets to let his otaku flag fly and Andrew and Neil have more fun than they expected. 100% fluff!

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takaraphoenix · 5 years

Note

99. Nico/Percy

“This bath is too damn hot.” - “This is why we can’t do cute things. You complain too much.”

Advent Calendar: Day 20

“This bath is too damn hot”, grumbled Nico with a glare.

“This is why we can’t do cute things. You complain too much.”

Nico glare deepened as he settled more into the steaming-hot bathtub. “No. No, the reason we can’t do ‘cute things’ is because your idea of 'cute things’ is yeti hunting in a snow-storm.”

There was a leisure smile on Percy’s lips as he snuggled up against Nico’s chest, sinking into the bathtub. He closed his eyes and sighed very contently. He loved hot baths, especially when he had his boyfriend in the tub with him. Everything was improved by having Nico di Angelo as his pillow, even when Nico was busy complaining about things.

“Come on, it was fun, Nick”, countered Percy, leaning his head against Nico’s shoulder.

“See. That is the problem, Perce”, grumbled Nico and wrapped his arms around Percy’s waist to pull him closer. “You define yeti hunting in a snow-storm as fun…”

“Ni—ick”, drawled Percy out and turned around to properly face Nico.

Nico huffed, the pout melting off his face when he saw how adorable his boyfriend looks. The messy, dark hair clinging to his face, dripping wet. He looked essentially like a drowned cat and it was the cutest look possible. Slowly, Nico leaned in to steal a kiss from his boyfriend.

“What? It was miserably cold. I spent half the time soaking wet thanks to the snow. I lost sight of you trice and every time I found you again, you were maniacally laughing and fighting some kind of monster”, sighed Nico. “I’m too old for this stuff, Perce.”

“You’re two years younger than me”, countered Percy and raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

“Technically I am ninety years old”, countered Nico, giving his best grumpy, old man impression.

“Urgh, you’re so cute when you’re being a dork”, snorted Percy and leaned down to kiss Nico.

“I am being completely serious”, sighed Nico. “I’m twenty, you’re twenty-two, can’t we leave the heroic, dangerous missions during awful weather to the young, enthusiastic newbies?”

Percy smiled, eyes sparkling with mirth, as he curled up on Nico’s chest and closed his eyes. He inhaled the salty sea scent of the bubble bath and listened to the sound of Nico’s heartbeat.

“I’m a camp counselor now. And unlike Mister D, I ain’t gonna sit on my ass all day long. Especially not when it’s something potentially dangerous like that. We’re not gonna let our kids run into danger head-first without being fully trained”, countered Percy softly, drawing symbols on Nico’s chest. “We got no kids of Poseidon, Zeus, Boreas or Khione at the moment. And the weather-situation would have been too dangerous for demigods without weather-controlling powers. Not to mention your shadow-traveling getting us out of the tightest spots.”

“Have I ever told you how hot you are when you talk reasonable strategy?”, whispered Nico.

He kissed Percy’s head, making the son of Poseidon laugh. “Ye—eah. Every time I’m being reckless, you tell me it’s way sexier when I come up with awesome plans.”

Sighing, Nico started running his fingers through Percy’s hair. The Sea Prince started making that cute little purring sound that he always denied he did but totally did. It was part of why Nico liked to call Percy his kitten. Or drowned cat, as he looked like right now.

“Christmas is close and I want all kids to be safe and able to enjoy it”, whispered Percy lowly. “We both know that winter solstice always draws in more trouble. I just wanted to get ahead of it, I guess. There are no major wars going on. I want… I want those kids to be able to have a happy, carefree childhood, as much… as possible…”

“I know, gattino”, assured Nico gently, pressing a kiss to Percy’s temple. “Hephaestus Cabin made a lot of ornaments to decorate Thalia’s old tree. So did Aphrodite Cabin. They had a… decoration-off? Never expected those kind of brawls at camp.”

“It’s… nice”, hummed Percy with a small smile. “That those are this generation’s problems.”

“No stolen symbols of power or abducted goddesses”, agreed Nico, running his fingers over Percy’s side. “It… really is nice. And you…”

“Me?”, echoed Percy with the smallest smile.

“The kids are so glad to have you”, replied Nico. “You care about them so much. You make them feel at home at camp in a way Mister D never really did. They adore you.”

“Ye—eah”, hummed Percy, the small smile incredibly proud. “My kids are great.”

Nico mirrored Percy’s smile at that. Percy always did that. Referring to the campers as 'his kids’. That was why Percy still took dangerous missions, because losing his kids in unnecessarily dangerous missions would break his heart. Percy worked his ass off to train the next generation of demigods and he did not do as camp used to during their time. Sanctioning missions for young children who had essentially no training. It was maybe hypocritical considering Percy sneaked out for his own first mission when he was twelve, but that was exactly why he was so strict. The kids needed proper training first and there was an age limit. No kids went out on missions. Sixteen and older only, considering that they weren’t in constant peril where it was all hands on deck. Most quests were just to find demigods who had run away in fear before a satyr could get to them, retrieving them, or fighting off monster attacks all over the US.

“So… about our Christmas plans…”, started Nico carefully.

“Mh?”, grunted Percy confused. “Mom and Paul are hosting Christmas dinner. Laura and Tyson are really looking forward to it and I am a good big brother who’d never disappoint them.”

“Of course not, but I was wondering, since you have a couple year-rounders…”, drawled Nico.

“I feel bad about them celebrating Christmas all alone”, sighed Percy. “But I also can’t just skip on my family. I wouldn’t.”

“I know, my love, I do”, chuckled Nico and kissed Percy softly. “I wanted to suggest that maybe, we could… invite them too. Since it’s only seven year-rounders, right?”

The new support-system, claiming the kids early so satyrs and camp could help the single parents out, had helped a lot in reducing the number of orphans. Percy perked up and stared.

“Wait, are you… I can’t just… Mom and Paul-”, started Percy with a frown.

“I already talked to them and I offered to provide the additional turkeys. Frank, Leo and Hazel offered too. If everyone of us brings one, we’ll be all set and we know they have enough room”, said Nico, being interrupted by a very enthusiastic kiss from Percy.

This was why Percy loved Nico so much, because Nico always supported him and backed him up. Even when it came to sharing the holidays with orphaned demigods.

Read this here on FFNet & here on AO3!

#Nicercy #Percico #Pernico #Nico di Angelo #Percy Jackson #Percy Jackson and the Olympians #PJatO #OTP: to Tartarus and back #Heroes of Olympus #PJOverse #Fanfiction #Phoe's Tumblr Drabbles #Phoe's Advent Calendar Project #Anonymous

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trrriple-rrr · 5 years

Photo

It’s the 17th of December and Christmas is only 8 days away...time to start the last part of this year’s Advent Calendar Stories. If you want to catch up on the other parts:

Robert Greville (01.-08.12.)

John Porter (09.-16.12.)

***

Eugene Onegin (college!AU)

17.12.

***

You look at your watch for the fifth time in ten minutes. It is near closing time and finally there aren’t any more customers coming into the clothing store you work at to find a last minute Christmas present for their “someone special”.

You’d think they managed to find something for them weeks ago if they were this special to them but you feel that this is just your own unhappiness talking. You know that the Christmas time is stressful for almost everyone. Trying to manage to do your work well and then there’re your classes and your family and somehow you still have got to get presents for everyone at the same time.

You’re lucky that you and your best friends decided to just give each other a “girls’ night” as a present. You’d do that anyway and since you’re all nearing your last exams and the end of college life it’s really what you want from your friends. To spend time with them.

You catch yourself thinking that there’s also someone else you’d like to spend more time with but then you remember his last scathing comment about your taste in music (Yes, you actually like traditional Christmas music, so what?!) that you push your wish right out of your mind.

You still don’t know what this “thing” is between him and you. You don’t even know if he likes you. Or if you like him. Sometimes you think you could…but then he throws you a look or makes a hurtful comment and you just want to get away from him. While at other times he seems to smile when he doesn’t know you’re watching him or he seems to make an effort to step into your way whenever you see each other on campus or in the library and you really want to know what that’s about.

You’re so lost in your thoughts about him that you don’t notice how time seems to pass and that the mall outside gets quieter and quieter. Closing time has finally arrived.

You sigh and go through the motions as you finish work for the day and get ready to close up the shop. You put on your warm blue coat and wrap it tightly around you, reaching for the keys in your pockets when someone steps through the doors. You hear it open and close and notice a dark shadow moving at the edge of your vision.

“We’re closed.” You murmur, still searching for the keys in your deep pockets.

“Well, I’m not here to buy anything.”

That voice. The drawling dismissal of the nice clothes hanging on the racks. You swallow hard and slowly lift your gaze. Thinking of the devil seems to be enough to suddenly make him appear…

The beautiful banner was made by @depechemystrade

#ralph fiennes #eugene onegin #onegin advent #advent calendar #fiction #fantasy #pg #ralph

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