#And ''Carol of the Bells'' but that has a leg up by being based on an actual Ukrainian folk song and I like the folk song better
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very-lost-hobbit · 9 days ago
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literally no one on planet earth is as strong as retail employees during the months of November and December
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collecting-stories · 3 years ago
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Hey Stephen - Steve Harrington
Request: Hi, can I please have a ride based on Hey Stephen by Taylor Swift with Steve Harrington where the reader is Dustin's sister and Dustin's watching his sister crush on his best friend like "this is disgusting, but adorable"? @thecaptaingingersnap 
A/N: Sorry this took so long...I was kinda sick last week and struggled to get on. 
Stranger Things Masterlist
✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰
Your infatuation started long before your little brother somehow managed to become friends with one of Hawkin’s High school’s most popular students. It was probably around the time you sprained your ankle during gym class and Steve Harrington volunteered to take you to the nurse’s office so you could get iced up and call your mom.  
There in the nurse’s office, as he held a pack of ice to your ankle, you were positive, was exactly when the crush began. It lasted through girlfriends that he had, the few times that Carol and Tommy had set their sights on you during a class and Steve had rushed an apology as the bell rung and he followed them out, and now, his friendship with your brother. You weren’t even really sure how Steve had become friends with Dustin, or why for that matter, but you couldn’t help being a little thankful. Sure, most of the time when you knew he would be stopping by you were doing your best not to embarrass yourself but at least you got to see him right? Got to really actually talk to him.  
“You’re such a creep, you know that?” Dustin teased, standing in the kitchen doorway as he ate the pizza lunchable he had just constructed and watched you try to look natural as you glanced out the window for any sign of Steve’s car.
“I’m not a creep Dustin.” You insisted, “I’m waiting for our ride, like people do.”  
“Yeah, except normal people don’t stand at the window like they’re an axe murderer waiting for a victim.” He replied. He was all dressed up for the winter dance that you had somehow been roped into chaperoning. You knew Nancy would be there and, while you weren’t always the best of friends, she was nice and you could at least talk to her. Steve would be there, apparently, and he’d offered to drive you and Dustin there too.  
A dance for middle schoolers shouldn’t make you this anxious but you couldn’t help it. You felt like you were going to burst from excitement and nerves all at the same time.  
“I don’t wanna be late!” You snapped, turning to glare at him. You’d been ready for the last two hours, picking at your hair and dress, trying on three different pairs of shoes, reapplying mascara and lipstick, practically shaking. You wanted to look good, but for what? So Steve might, maybe, notice you? And not just as Dustin’s sister or that girl who couldn’t manage to run the mile in seventh grade but as an actual person who he maybe could like.
“Okay, okay, take a chill pill, god. You’re negative attitude is gonna deflate my hair.”
“I’ll deflate your hair if you don’t stop bothering me Dustin!”  
With your back turned to the window, headlights turned into your driveway and a horn echoed in the car port. Dustin smiled, mouthing a “showtime” as he tossed his trash in the bin and headed for the front door. You followed, grabbing your purse and trying to catch one last glimpse of your appearance in the mirror.  
“You look fine.” Dustin promised, grabbing your arm and dragging you out the front door. He didn’t wanna be late, especially not because of you and your weird Steve Harrington hang up. Will told him it was the same as him liking Max or Stacey but Dustin was unwilling to believe that explanation. It was just weird, his sister having a crush on his friend.  
“Hey Hendersons, ready to party?” Steve joked, leaning over the middle console to pop the passenger side door for you. Dustin climbed in the back seat and smiled, his reflection catching in the rearview mirror.
“I was born ready.” He replied, enthusiastically. “She was born with one leg up in the air.”
“It was the Olympics that year,” you shrugged, smacking your brother when he leaned between the seats, “I was getting a head start on gymnastics.”
Steve laughed as if that was the funniest thing anyone had ever told him, “that’s great.”
“So, are you excited about going to your sixth grade winter formal all over again?” You asked, twisting a little in your seat to focus on Steve as he drove.  
In the backseat, Dustin rolled his eyes.  
“I was gonna wear the same tux but, ya know, I got taller.” He joked.  
“I thought your hair just got higher.” Dustin teased and you couldn’t help laughing.  
“Ha ha you’re so funny.” Steve replied, “hey, smack your brother for me?”
You obliged, leaning over the seat to hit him. As you leaned passed the center console, you held the edge of Steve’s seat for stability, your arm brushing against his and your hair falling into his line of vision for a moment, curly strands tickling his cheek. He turned his head when the car stopped for a red light, watching you as you laughed at Dustin and pulled yourself away from him, falling back into your seat.  
Tommy and Carol always said you had a hopeless crush on Steve but he was always a little too preoccupied by the girls who were more vocal about their feelings. He remembered when Nancy first started flirting with him at a party. He’d felt a little “on top of the world” every time someone paid attention to him. Steve honestly couldn’t remember a time when you were throwing yourself at him though. You were always friendly, and he’d seen more of you this year as he found himself hanging out with Dustin in an unironic way, but he’d never really thought of you liking him. Even when Tommy and Carol first said it, he just brushed it off.  
“So, Henderson, you excited?” He asked, trying to get back some of that junior year cool he’d had.  
You raised an eyebrow at him and pointed to yourself, clarifying that it was you that he was talking to. When he nodded, you shrugged, “I guess.” You smiled at him as the light turned green, “I got a hot date after all.”
“What?”
“She promised Will she’d dance with him at least once.” Dustin replied. Out of all his friends, Will was your favorite. Much nicer than Lucas and Mike, not so self-centered.  
“Oh man, I can’t compete with that.” Steve laughed, “save me a dance though, will you?”
“I’ll try to pencil you in.” You replied, even as you felt your face get hot, flushed with the suggestion that the two of you might actually share a dance. You definitely shouldn’t be this excited about a dance for sixth graders.  
Dustin made an exaggerated gagging noise from the backseat, “disgusting, you guys are disgusting.” He stated, trying to keep the smile at bay. Disgusting maybe, but kind of adorable, though he definitely wouldn’t tell you that.  
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heli0s-writes · 5 years ago
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Ugly Christmas Sweater Party
Summary: Bucky (sort of) agrees to wear an ugly Christmas sweater, but what he ends up wearing is much worse. This is for @holy-captain‘s 1.2k writing challenge! Congratulations, Liv and thank you for hosting! I’m so sorry it’s late!! 
Pairing: Exasperated!Bucky x ChaoticDumbass!Reader
Warnings: Swearing Word Count: 1.8k
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It’s supposed to be a fun and light-hearted thing—a season full of shiny-glowing-fantastic-twinkling excitement and ruddy red noses and misty breath in the chilled air. A season of joy and celebration, of spiked eggnog, fuzzy striped socks, and sliding down the compound hillsides on Steve’s shield.
And he’s screwed it all up.
It sinks in like the swollen marshmallows in his now cold cocoa, drooping to the bottom where the rest of the sediments lie. Outside, snowflakes gust and whip, blanketing the pine trees and skeletons of shrubbery in white flurries. Red holly berries peek out where they can and glare at him with their crimson eyes.
His phone lights up with picture messages of Steve and Sam, hurriedly trying on a cluster of sweaters in preparation. Horrid renderings of cats on ornaments. Oversized slouchy sleeves flecked with tinsel. Santa’s dreadful ass-crack peeking out of a chimney.
Bucky grumbles and turns his phone face-down, leaning back in his chair to stare at the Christmas tree in the corner. He wants to scream and put his leg through the damn thing.
Soft footsteps draw his attention to the hallway when you emerge, blinking slowly as you stifle a yawn from behind your hand until you see him. Then, you scoff and disappear back down the hall.
“Wait!” Bucky calls, leaping from his seat and nearly knocking the tepid mug from the table, “Damn it, wait!”
You’re gone. Stomped back to your room and even if he starts running now, he wouldn’t be quick enough—only getting the slamming door on his nose. He’ll try anyway.
Bucky slumps against the panel, pushing his chest against the cold metal of it and his cheek until his words come out smushed into his teeth.
“C’mon!” A pathetic whine of your name before he sticks his fingers underneath the slit of the door like a cat, wiggling the bent tip back and forth. Incredible. The Winter Soldier sprawled out all over a corridor, begging for forgiveness over this.
Only silence replies; you’re probably on the bed, thinking about scratching his eyes out. He can practically see you flicking him off with both hands. You’ve never been this upset before, and it deeply troubles him considering the dynamic of your very friendship spun on the axis of one single truth: Bucky’s the annoyed one. You’re the fuck up.
And now he has no idea what to do.
One week of it and he’s completely lost; the start of it all—December 1st when Tony announced: Ugly. Christmas. Sweater. Party.
Two days before Christmas, the team will be gathering in the common area for a white elephant gift exchange, and sweaters will be judged based on ugliness. What a stupid idea.
The winner will be awarded with “no team meetings for a month” and Tony’s personal stash of bourbon as long as no one touches his whiskey.
Upon the proclamation, you had clapped your hands together and grinned, “We’re gonna win this damn thing.”
And Bucky, being regular Bucky who ignores your half-witted ideas and short-sighted fixations, muttered, “Whatever,” and went back to thinking normal-person thoughts.
For the next several weeks, you dove into your knitting, the needles clicking together faster than he’s ever seen, weaving sparkling black and bright cherry red. The rows were tightly bound, looped and coiled expertly until he could finally make out the shape on the front of it.
He really did love your sick sense of humor—although he’d never admit it—funny, twisted, always brought him a bit of joy.
“Fuck no,” he had laughed at the image of a mutilated deer, antlers dangling silver ornaments showcasing his sigil. “I am not fuckin’ puttin’ that on. It looks like hell.”
“You agreed!” And then the needles and yarn hit him right in the nose.
On your way out, a low chuckle came from the corner of the living room where Steve sat sipping a cup of steaming chai. “You know Christmas is her favorite holiday?”
A snorting laugh bubbled the surface of Steve’s tea, “Good goin’, Buck.”
-
“Last Christmas” is on, blaring synth beats through the halls. George Michael croons sweetly, longingly, grieving an unrequited love before jingle bells ring in the scattered percussion.
Bucky hears your voice as you carol along to possibly the cheesiest song of all time—infuriated and baffled that you won’t speak more than two words to him but will sing your heart out to this crap. George Michael, Wham! and all of England can eat his whole ass.
He trudges from his room and into the den where the lights are dimmed and the table is set with snacks and a crock pot of hot chocolate. A dish of pine cones sits in the middle, flanked by a merry snowy village filled with little ceramic teddy bears and reindeer. On the edge is a deflated Santa Hat filled with paper scraps and pens for the voting process at the end of the night.
It is seven-thirty and you are standing next to Sam with bent elbows, wiggling your hips to the chorus, sliding back and forth on the polished floor in fuzzy socks. The two of you are facing the window, pointing at the flurry and a mountain of sludge that was previously a horrid misshapen lump of Snowman Steve.
Bucky squints a little, alert when he sees two matching sweaters—black on the back. Hell no, he thinks.
Sam turns around and Bucky’s worst holiday fears are confirmed. One innocuous “Oh hey, man,” and all the warmth drains from him.
On Wilson’s chest is that terrible disfigured deer you constructed, its antlers spearing out from its head to reach all the way up to his shoulders.
Bucky flies across the room and before either you or Sam can do anything about it, he’s peeling the hem of it over Sam’s head, kneeing him in the groin, and taking him down onto the floor. “What the hell!” Sam yells, struggling to get out of his grasp. “Shit—get off—Barnes!”
“A red star isn’t even your fucking symbol!” His hair is in his eyes along with Sam’s elbow, their limbs and joints knocking into each other in the wrestling bout. The sleeves and front are being stretched terribly, but neither of them seem to notice.
“Hey,” Your calm voice calls from above them—falling on four deaf ears. “Hey,” You try again, and when it doesn’t seem like two grown men can stop aggressively fondling each other over a damn pullover, you raise your hand and decisively land it across the back of Bucky’s head in a deafening crack.
A swell of multiple shocked gasps rises from behind you and when Sam and Bucky freeze, they see the rest of the compound’s inhabitants staring at the scene like a disfigured Nativity display. They also see your palm, at the end of your motion, resting next to your shoulder.
Bucky gingerly rubs his wound. “Ow,” He grumbles.
“Room
 now.” You command, pointing your finger down the hall. Wilted, he shuffles away dutifully, saying nothing to the others as he passes. When he’s gone, you look scornfully at Sam and your beloved jersey, loosely hanging at the edge of his torso, pulled nearly apart.
“Voting starts in twenty, kid,” Tony mentions breezily.
“Yeah,” You reply through gritted teeth, “Don’t worry, we’ll be there.”
-
Steve coughs behind his hand awkwardly when Bucky steps back out, the once snugly-fitting sweater around Sam hanging collapsed and loose on Bucky’s right side. You’re close behind, bouncing on your heels and smiling as if nothing had gone wrong. Steve’s not sure which is worse: your wrath or glee.
“You, uh, you alright?” He calls quietly.
“Oh yeah, absolutely. Right, Buck?”
Bucky swallows, “Uh. Yeah.”
He has no fucking idea; when you shut the door behind him, the sweater in your hand was calmly unfolded and held up to his shoulders, damage assessed by a calculating mind. Bucky still has no clue what possessed you not to scratch his eyes out that very second.
Then, you looked him up and down and said, “Put it on, Barnes. Show’s about to start.”
And if he was a weaker man, he’d be shaking in his goddamn boots at how calm you are.
The team gathers around the tree, various colored pens and torn scraps in hand as they evaluate each other’s attire. Natasha is boldly displaying a patchwork kind of cardigan with what looks like the Michelin man ominously hovering behind a tree. Tony, of course, has custom-ordered a perfectly sized wreath knitted around his arc reactor heart. Steve has completely missed the Christmas memo (or is perhaps the politest Grinch on Earth) wears blue, the tiniest hint of gold tinsel woven through.
And Sam -- stupid, stupid Sam-- who didn’t plan on being robbed of a perfectly knitted sweater five minutes before the voting process, is out of the game.
Bucky is about to write your name down, because a medium part of him feels guilty for hurting your feelings while a much larger part of him feels apprehension about what exactly might happen if you lose, but you suddenly dig your hand into his pocket.
All five fingers shove deep until your fist is gripping tight and your knuckles stab his thigh.
“Hey! No hanky-panky during voting!” Tony is scandalized.
A vicious snap of his pocketknife swings open and before he knows it, your left hand is fisting the yarn on his chest and your right is ripping it straight through. The room falls silent when you do it a second time and Bucky’s at a loss for words until the breeze hits.
Chills.
A tendril of AC sneaks through the two open holes you’ve carved and goosebumps bloom all over his chest. Dread settles in his tummy.
His nipples are pebbled and exposed for everyone to see and with a quiet click of the blade retracting, you tuck it back into his pocket. 
“Let the voting begin.”
No one moves. No one makes a single sound and the whole place is quieter than a crypt until a shrill wheeze squeaks out of Sam’s nostrils. Through the choked snickering and the slowly building crescendo of everyone else’s laughter, Wilson admits, “They’re browner than I thought they’d be.”
There’d be no need for a voting process, Bucky knows. You’ve stolen the show – or rather, his nipples have stolen the show, and the once-worthy prize is now his Sisyphean burden to bear. He closes his eyes and counts to a million.
Screw exemptions from team meetings, Bucky thinks, praying desperately that when the bourbon is bestowed to him, by some miracle of sweet baby Jesus, he’d be able to get shitfaced again.
-
perm tags: @whothehellisbucky @serpentbaby @badassbaker @alagalaska @cake-writes​ @crist1216​ @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan​ @infinity-saga @jamesbarnesthighs​ @pinknerdpanda​ @xoxabs88xox​ @imsoft-barnes​ @momc95​ @typicalangel​ @wretchedgoddess​ @readeity​ @iwannasail​ @ya-lyublu-tebya​ @geeksareunique​ @wildefire​ @satanxklaus​ @jhangelface0523​ @wkemeup​
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Robin//It’s Nice To Have A Friend
hi!! based off this song! apparently this is about two childhood friends falling in love?? what a concept. a concept that my brain did not think of when listening, this is what i assumed it was about. basically its a lot sadder than the actual song.
As soon as the school bell rings, Robin is pushing out of her seat and running to get her coat. All day she’s been locked in a stuffy classroom, destined to watch the snow fall from her desk while Mr Peters drones on about the History of Hawkins. What 10 year old wants to learn about why Hawkins has so many farms? Not this one. She wants to be free outside. As she rounds the corner, she runs straight into another girl, and at first she’s frightened, scared that its going to be one of the popular girls who’ll push her over and call her names. But as soon as she see’s your wide smile, she knows she’s safe and the frown on her face turns into a grin. 
The pale yellow of the wall is a wile contrast to the bright pink coat your wearing, its puffy and far too big and you can barely move your arms in it, but you’re happy and warm and excited to be out of school. The two of you look at each other for a few seconds, matching smiles on your faces and you don’t even have to say anything to her, she already knows what you’re thinking. 
“Last one out is a loser!” You call and take off into a sprint out of the front doors. She laughs loudly and follows you, the both of you narrowly avoiding any teachers that would ruin your fun and then your outside. The ground sparkles with the soft snow, and both of you smile gleefully as you watch your classmates throw snowballs at each other while they walk home. Your breath is visible in the air and you take a few moments just breathing and watching it disappear. 
“I win.” You turn to her once you’ve gotten bored and she rolls her eyes, despite the smile on her face. The tip of her nose is tinted pink due to the cold and a giggle bubbles to your lips before you call her Rudolph. Again she rolls her eyes, telling you she already has a Winter themed name, but you’re not listening, you’re already at the bottom of the steps, your head tilted up so you can look at her. 
The sky is as white as the ground, but neither of you care. Your both too wrapped up in the beauty of how peaceful everything looks. You and Robin live the furthest away from school, meaning you take a different route from the rest of your classmates, plus with the weather, the majority of students will either be getting the bus or being picked up by parents. The bus is far too crowded, no matter if its been snowing or not and you’ve told both of your parents specifically that if it snows they are not to pick you up. Its too pretty to be looked at through a car window. You have to experience it. 
A small sun peeks out from underneath the snow, and its like the brightness of the yellow chalk has melted everything around it. While you stare at the ground Robin pulls her gloves and hat from her pockets and starts putting them on. 
“Did you lose your gloves again?” She asks once she’s finished. You’re still distracted by snow falling around you, its not as heavy as before but it still gets stuck in your hair and when you look at her, she giggles a little at a snowflake stuck on your lashes. 
“Yeah.” You reply. “I put them down outside but when I went back I couldn’t find them.” 
“Here.” She takes a glove from her right hand and gives it to you. You smile gratefully at her and place it over your hands, feeling a tad warmer. She interlocks a gloved pinkie with yours as you start the walk back to your houses. “Wanna hang out?” She says casually and you’re so happy that she wants to spend even more time with you. 
Despite being best friends and neighbours, sometimes you can’t help but feel that you’re not cool enough to hang out with Robin. Which, at any age is ridiculous, but at ten, even more so. And you’ve seen in films where friends go to high school or even middle school and one of them gets popular leaving the other behind and the thought of that terrifies you.
“Sure!” You beam. “Sounds like fun.”  
After a small argument about where to go and an impromptu snowball fight, you finally make it to the arcade. Its bright lights pulling you in, but thats probably because the neon sign makes it stand out against the all white backdrop. The two of you run across the parking lot and through the fronts doors in record time, despite the snow, and your loud laughter gains the attention of a few people. 
The two of you make a beeline for the the back, narrowly avoiding a few older kids as they walk past you both. Once you’ve made it, you instantly start playing while Robin scribbles something on a piece of paper from her bag. She slides it you and she takes over the game for you while you read. Her handwriting is messy and to most people difficult to read, but to you its the easiest thing in the world and your eyebrows furrow as you take in the words. 
“What do you mean this place is haunted?” You turn to look at her and her eyes widen before she stares back at you, your character dying due to the lack of attention making you groan loudly. 
“You don’t say that stuff out loud.” She huffs. “Thats how you get possessed.” 
“This place isn’t haunted.” 
“It is.” She argues. “I heard Heather talking to Andy on my way to the bathroom and they said this place is haunted by some kid who got addicted to playing the games here. And he ended up obsessed with winning one of them so he stayed overnight and ended up dying of exhaustion.” 
“Thats bullshit.” You reply and her eyes widen at your words. “Heather and Andy don’t even know what this place is, and this place is closed at night.” 
“Thats true.” She nods. “But Heathers brother does and Andy’s sister too, they go on dates here. And thats why he died, because there was no one here.” 
“They make sure the place is empty before leaving.” 
“They didn’t that night.” She crosses her arms stubbornly and you send her a look. 
“They do every night. Plus, his parents would have been worried that he didn’t come back so they would have looked for him and Hopper would have found him.”
“Well-” She starts, but she can’t think of anything else to say so she just huffs loudly before going to playing. “Hey, do you want to sleep outside tonight? My dad bought a new tent for the summer.” 
“Yeah! I’ll bring some snacks!” You say excitedly. “Will your mom be okay with it though.” 
“Yeah.” She waves you off. “She’ll be fine with it.” 
It's nice to have a friend...
”Hey, can you remember when you asked your mom if we could sleep in the garden and she told us stop being so ridiculous and that there was no way we were sleeping anywhere other than our beds in three foot of snow?” You ask and Robin chuckles beside you. 
The light pink sky casts a soft hue against her skin making her freckles look like stars scattered across her face. She shifts a little, moving slightly closer to you and she wobbles a little bit on the roof. Your hand reaches out to grab her arm, steadying her and she sends you a grateful smile. A blush creeping up both of your cheeks at the contact. The street below is quiet, the trees swaying a little in the slight breeze and in the distance you can hear a few dogs barking. Its suburban, but its perfect. And there’s no other way you’d rather spend your Friday night. 
The sun sinks behind the houses and you both sigh contently. Your parents have gone on a double date meaning you don’t have to be in bed by 10...despite you both being 16. 
“Do you want to play a game?” Robin asks, still looking out into the night sky. 
“Sure.” You shrug and cross your arms over your chest, trying to keep some of your warmth in. “What are we playing?” 
“20 questions!” She says, her eyes bright as she looks at you and you groan loudly at her suggestion. “The reason we are here and not at Harrington’s party is so we don’t have to play these stupid games.” 
“No, the reason we’re here and not at Harrington’s party is because we weren’t invited.” She says sarcastically. 
“Whatever.” You nudge her softly making her giggle. “Even if we were invited, we wouldn’t have gone. Steve’s an ass, and I already have to deal with Carol in 2nd period English. I don’t need to see her anymore than I already do.” 
“Have you finished complaining?” She raises an eyebrow while looking you up and down. Another groan escapes your lips but you nod slowly and a bright smile appears on her lips. “Okay. What do I not know about you?” She hums and looks up the to stars. You sneak a quick glance at her to just admire her, the way her hair frames her face perfectly, or the soft smile that appears on her lips as she quietly names constellations. “Oh!” She looks back at you, an excited grin on her face and you quickly look away, deciding to focus on your shoes hanging off the edge of the roof. “Would you rather have endless money or endless love?” 
“Really?” You raise an eyebrow. “Thats what you want to know?” 
“Yes.” She replies confidently and you roll your eyes. 
“Endless love.” 
“Really?” Now its her turn to look at you confused, but you just shrug in return and look back out into the street. 
“Yeah. I’ll make sure the person I love is really rich.” You say casually making her chuckle. The fact that you didn’t use any pronouns is such a small thing but it raises Robin’s heart rate and a small part of her can’t help but wonder...what if. “My turn!” You smile gleefully and now she’s worried. She’s known you long enough to know what that look means. And it never ends well. “What’s one secret you’re still keeping from your parents?” It feels like the air has been knocked out of her lungs and the knowing smile that was previously on her face has been completely wiped off, now replaced with a look of uncertainty. 
There’s on secret she’s been keeping not only from her parents, but from everyone. 
“I’m gay.” Her voice is barely above a whisper as she speaks. She refuses to make eye contact with you, instead looking at her legs, but she can feel your gaze on her and its suffocating. 
“Okay.” You shrug and she looks at you quickly. 
“Okay?” She asks. 
“Yeah.” You nod. “Now come on, give me your worst.” You challenge, expecting her to make some sort of stupid joke, but instead her arms wrap around your figure, squeezing you tightly and the sudden action takes you by surprise. You lean into her, also hugging her and the two of you stay like that for a few minutes. She takes a deep breath and the scent of apple and vanilla invades every single part of her. Its you and every time she smells either of them she can’t help but smile. And now she realizes that there’s another secret she’s been keeping from everyone, including herself...she’s in love with her best friend. 
“I’ve been so stressed recently.” She mumbles.
“Yeah...me too.”
“I didn’t want to lose you. I’ve been scared about telling my parents but part of me was even more scared to tell you. You’re my best friend and...I love you.” She sighs and you pull away from her, a frown on your face. 
“You would never lose me.” You reassure her. “And I love you too.” Her hand reaches out slowly, almost anxiously before she rests it on top of yours. Your eyes meet and you send her a bright smile. Her smile isn’t as bright, its like she’s still holding something back but you decide not to press any further. “So, whats your question?” She sends you a look, but its followed by a grateful smile. 
“Would you rather be left at the alter once, but eventually marry again. Or just never marry?” 
It's nice to have a friend...
The church corridor is full of people running around, but Robin it still outside your suite. In all the years of your friendship, she’s never had to deliver news like this. As soon as she saw Steve’s pale face she knew what was happening. The solemn look and the shaking hands gave it away. 
“Robin?” He touches her arm gently and she jumps, squeezing her eyes shut for a second before facing him. “What are you waiting for?” 
“Oh, I dunno. I’m just trying to figure out how I’m going to tell my best friend that her fiancee has left her at the alter. Actually, he left her before he even got to the alter.” She snaps and he flinches at her tone. Robin is always calm, level-headed. Its usually either himself or you that freak out in these type of situations, but then again, none of you have ever been in this situation. Steve’s glad to be your best friend, but he’s even more glad he doesn’t have to be the one to tell you this. “Sorry.” She sighs and leans her head against the door. “Its just...how do I tell her?” Steve thinks for a moment, looking down at the ugly carpet hoping that in the hideous pattern he’ll find an answer. But when it doesn’t appear and he can feel Robin staring at him, he looks back up. 
“Honestly? I don’t know.” 
She opens the door and for a second everything is well with the world. And then...
Apples and vanilla.
“Robin!” You squeal excitedly, your dress flowing around you as you run towards her, one hand holding a glass of champagne and the other reaching towards her while you narrowly avoid a table. “Where have you been? I need help with my dress.” 
You place the glass down and pull her towards you, and before she has the chance to say anything you’ve pulls your hair to the side, exposing your bare back to her and she feels exactly the same as she did when she was 16 and coming out. 
“Can you do my dress up please? I can’t reach and I don’t know where everybody else is?” You sound so happy...so excited. 
And then she feels angry. Hot, white rage. Because why would anyone want to leave you? How could anyone leave you? Perfect, pretty you. That can make people laugh and leave a whole room breathless just with a smile all at the same time. Daniel was lucky to have you. She thought that as soon as she met him, and despite the pain that she felt when she saw you go through all the milestones with him and not her. She saw how happy he made you and so she decided she’d be in pain every single day if it made you happy. But now. Now you’re both going to be in pain. And there’s nothing she can do about it. She’s going to have to tell you the worst news of your life and she can’t make it better. She can’t bring him back, Steve’s already tried looking for him. She can’t take it away...god she wishes she could take it away. 
“Robin?” You ask, your voice filled with worry as you sit her down on the small sofa, your guiding hand still in hers even when you’ve both sat down. You’ve only ever seen Robin cry a handful of times, so why is she crying on your wedding day? “What’s wrong?” 
“I’m so sorry.” She sobs and you look at her confused. Its only when she finally makes eye contact with you that you understand. You know every single look. Every smile, frown, quirk of an eyebrow and even though you’ve never seen this one before, you know. Your face falls, the confused smile crumbles, replaced with a look of pure devastation and Robin is never going to get that image out of her head. Her arms wrap around your shaking figure, pulling you into a tight hug and the more she shushes, the louder you cry. 
Steve’s still outside, waiting for Robin to come back out but when he hears you crying he knows she won’t be out for a while, so he decides to make himself useful and break the bad news to everyone else. What else is the best man supposed to do?
After an hour, the church is empty and your loud cries have turned into small sniffles. The shoulder of her pale pink dress is covered in mascara, lipstick and tears but she doesn’t care. She needs to get you home. 
“Come on.” She helps you stand and you laugh bitterly as you see your reflection the mirror. Smudged make-up, crumpled dress and a completely pathetic expression. “You don’t by chance have any other clothes here?” She asks but she already knows the answer. “Thats okay.” 
As soon as your out the church, bells ring and its like the universe is laughing at you. Robin looks around, the bright blue sky a huge juxtaposition from what is happening below and she hurries you into her car. The rice crunching underneath your heels reminding you of snow and you can’t help the small smile that appears momentarily as you remember your childhood. 
“You okay?” She asks once the two of you are buckled in. 
“Fine.” You mutter and she sends you a pointed look. 
“Y/n.” She says and before you know it you’re crying again. She sighs before starting the short drive back to your house. “Its going to be okay.” She looks at you once your parked outside your home, but you’re not looking at her. You’re gaze is focused on your front door, your mom standing just outside it, a solemn expression on her face and based on the amount of cars parked around your house, you both know she’s not the only one thats going to look like that. “Do you want to sleep at mine tonight?” 
“Yeah.” You nod. “Robin?” You ask, finally looking at her. “Thanks for having my back.” 
“Yeah.” She nods, a tight smile on her face. “Everyday.” 
Despite Mrs Buckley’s attempts to talk to you both, Robin practically pushes you up the stairs, sending her mom a look before following you up. Any other time you’ve walked through the threshold of this house, its always felt like home. But today, it feels empty. Although, you’re not entirely sure if its just you that feels empty. 
You’re already out of your dress and raking through Robin’s drawers by the time she’s walked through the door. She puts the dress outside the door while you get changed and once she’s turned around you’ve already in bed, the covers pulled right up over your head. 
“Hey Y/n?” She asks but you don’t respond. “Do you want to sleep outside tonight? My dad got yet another new tent...and I don’t think my mom will mind.” She sighs when she still doesn’t get a response so she decides to go to your house and try and tell everyone what little information she knows. 
“Robin?” You call out, your voice barely above a whisper when you hear the door open.
“Yeah?” She’s looking at you instantly, and her heart breaks once she see’s how broken you are. 
“Please don’t leave.” 
“Of course not.” She smiles and closes the door, climbing into bed beside you. She’ll change once your asleep, but right now she needs to make sure you’re as okay as possible. “We can stay in bed all weekend if you want.” 
“Yeah.” You nod. “Robin?” You ask and she hums in response, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “It's nice to have a friend.” 
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ao3bronte · 5 years ago
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Santa Shuffle🎅🎄
After what has been an admittedly tumultuous December (‘Bronte: Attack of the Anons’ was basically the theme at the beginning of my holiday season), I decided to try something that would lift my spirits. I love games and surprises so rather than bang my head against the wall trying to come up with another story, I decided to create little Christmas drabbles based on the following rules:
Put Spotify on shuffle and start playing Christmas songs.
For each song, write something inspired by the song. 
Do 10 songs and post. Make sure to include the song name/artist.
Please sit back and enjoy!​🎅🎄
~
It’s Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas - Michael BublĂ©
The stars are shining from behind the ever-present layer of wintertime clouds, floating like lanterns in the dark. Tonight, Chat Noir feels as if he’s soaring amongst them, gazing up at the brilliant lights that emanate from the canvas of twilight sky. Brightly decorated Christmas trees sit like beacons in the middle of crowded squares that teem with winter markets and roasted chestnuts and Chat simply can’t keep his feelings back any longer, glowing with a wild abandon he has never known.
As always, he’s right where he belongs.
He lets go of his baton and tosses his body into the air, somersaulting over a bevy of twinkling Christmas lights. He banks right and ventures off further onto the familiar rooftops of Paris, healing the gashes in his soul long scabbed over. There’s nothing like the feeling of the holidays, lost within the colourful heights and cheerful carols, never falling. He smiles, his heart bursting with a feeling he can only describe as true, utter bliss.
Christmas in Paris is coming, and for the first time ever, he actually has a home.
Mistletoe - Justin Bieber
There are people everywhere, packed within the vast confines of the main hall of Le Grand Paris. They’re dancing, feasting, laughing, screaming, kissing, drinking, having the time of their lives.
It’s a Christmas party and the Champagne is flowing. Things are going to get a little sloppy.
He spies her from the other side of the hall and they lock eyes, a smirk full of promise playing on her lips. She’s been canoodling and chatting up her network like a true professional while Adrien admires from afar, content to watch her sashay in that gorgeous red handmade gown he loves so very much. The open back, the plunging neckline, the figure hugging silk he just wants to

...well, he has to be on his best behaviour. They’re in public after all.
But, like most parties this time of year, there are punches and bottles of sparkling wine a plenty, which means that no one is acting with enough propriety to notice the heat emanating between them. He returns her saucy gesture with a raised eyebrow and a smug grin and it’s one of those take it or leave it smirks, the kind that teases and promises so much more.
She pushes through the crowd, her eyes never leaving his, and he stands his ground, limbs tingling with both excitement and slight intoxication. He can feel her lingering on her lips, a memory of something intangibly right, and shifts his body so that he’s standing right where he needs to be in order to make this little game of his all worthwhile.
She notices, of course. She always does.
“Mistletoe?” she questions him, crossing her arms across her chest. The action only accentuates her dĂ©colletage and Adrien’s mouth begins to water, “Really?”
He doesn’t even bother trying to answer. Instead, he takes her by the waist and kisses her senseless.
Santa Claus is Comin’ To Town - Bruce Springsteen
Chat Noir grins widely and drops his enormous bag of toys onto the floor just outside of the elevator. He shares a private look with Ladybug, one full of apology for the deluge of children galloping down the hall in their direction, and opens his arms with a laugh.
“HO HO HO!” he hollers with excitement, completely and utterly attacked by children who are so excited to see him that they can hardly contain themselves. Ladybug scoops the toys out of the way just as her partner is thoroughly taken down by the rabid pack and laughs as they tug on his fake beard and Santa hat.
He manages to extricate himself eventually and toddles around the hospital ward with an enthusiastic flock of enamoured children in tow. Santa Noir delivers a personalized gift to each child stuck in the children’s hospital over the holidays and poses for selfies by the thousands while Ladybug follows behind, laughing as he regularly whips out his best impressions of Santa himself. 
And then he starts to sing.
“You better watch out,” he wags his finger, much to the children’s delight, “You better not pout! You better not cry, I’m telling you why. Santa Claws is coming to town!”
A hundred voices chime in for the chorus, waving jingle bells and laughing as Chat performs the latest Fortnite dance for them. It’s embarrassing and hilarious and honestly? 
Ladybug has never been more in love.
River - Robert Downey Jr.
He’s never told a soul, and so long as he knew, no one had been around when he’d finally lost his composure and cried.
He’d collapsed onto his haunches and wept out loud into his palms, frustrated and upset and drowning in a myriad of emotions he can’t categorize without losing anymore of his precious sanity. Why was he out here again? Why was he wasting his time – again – for someone who couldn't even spend a moment of his Christmas Eve to be with his son?
Oh right. 
Because that someone was his father.
He’d cried harder, heaving into the night air without being able to stop himself. 
Why did Maman have to go away?
Step Into Christmas - Elton John
Marinette giggles as Adrien grabs her hands and swings her around her parent’s living room, dancing the night away. The Christmas bops playing off of Marinette’s Spotify playlist are just the thing to convince her to get off the couch after way too much turkey and join him in a little Santa Samba around the Christmas tree.
“Stoooop,” she laughs, not really meaning it as he wraps one arm around her body and captures her hand in his, “Maman’s taking videos of us.”
“For the wedding!” Sabine coos as Adrien spins her in a gentle underarm pirouette and Adrien can’t help but grin.
“Come on Marinette,” Adrien pulls back and shimmies to the jazzy jam, “You can’t deny the chemistry between us.”
“We’re engaged, you doofus,” Marinette scolds him fondly, squeaking as he pulls her back into his chest, “Of course we have chemistry.”
“Which is why we need to practice dancing,” Adrien slots his feet between hers and leads her into a dizzying spiral of turns, “And what better time to do it than on Christmas Eve with my favourite people?”
“Flaterer,” Marinette shakes her head as Tom cheers from the kitchen.
“Dip her! Dip her!”
“NONONO!”
Adrien can’t deny his future father-in-law, now can he? With a side splitting laugh, Adrien lunges forwards and gracefully lowers the love of his life in his arms, pausing only to wink at the camera.
Santa Tell Me - Ariana Grande
Marinette holds her favourite picture of Adrien to her chest and sighs as the latest Gabriel holiday commercial plays on repeat in the background. Adrien stares in awe up at the snow that cascades from the sky, surrounded by Christmas decorated in black and white baubles and metallic ornaments. It’s for another perfume line, this one heavy on frankincense and ginger, and Marinette just wants to bury her face in the crook of Adrien’s perfectly popped collar and drink him in.
He’s perfect.
She would do anything to go on a date with him right now. They could go to the Christmas market together, hand in hand, or sip on hot chocolate in front of a crackling fire. They could decorate gingerbread cookies in her bakery and then go to the annual Christmas Tree Lighting Ceremony together so they could kiss under the fairy lights!
They would be amazing together.
Marinette checks her calendar and sees that Adrien has a packed schedule of modelling and extracurriculars for the foreseeable future and shrugs, still holding onto hope. Maybe, with just a little bit of luck on her side, she could admit her true feelings and fall in love this Christmas

All I Want For Christmas Is You - Mariah Carey
Three seconds in the same room with her and he’s practically on the floor, on his knees, head spinning from the sheer emotion of it all. He’d just walked in on her pulling her beautiful, gorgeous black hair out of her ponytails for the mayor’s Christmas Party at Le Grand Paris and thought he’d died and gone to heaven.
Her blue eyes were like the ocean.
Her legs went on for miles.
He pines for her like a puppy. He’d do anything for her.
(He bets she tastes like strawberries.)
“Face it,” Rena Rouge mutters, nudging Ladybug lightly with her elbow. Ladybug glances over in the direction her fellow heroine is pointing and sighs, tugging her bangs in front of her eyes in embarrassment, “He’s got it bad.”
Facing her lovestruck partner, Ladybug takes a weary breath and simply surrenders, “Don’t remind me.”
You’re a Mean One, Mr. Grinch - Thurl Ravenscroft
Ladybug and Chat Noir exchange glances across the battleground, grinning like Cheshire cats in the gloom. She grips her yoyo in her palm, squeezing the unbreakable spotted material with her fingers. Chat fiddles idly with the base of his baton, his confidence boosted tenfold.
“I’m sorry, Bugaboo,” he drawls, his glowing eyes mischievous, “Could you repeat that?”
“Of course, Kitty,” she replies, equally as sardonic, “I was just discussing how fun it would be to go cataclysme Le Papillon’s head off. After ruining Christmas Day for everyone in Paris, don’t you think he deserves it?”
Standing within the ruins of the mansion’s west wing, the villain in question starts stepping backwards slowly, only to be impeded by a gigantic hunk of plaster clipping him in the back of the knees. The butterfly Miraculous wielder falls backwards onto his backside as the murderous duo stand over him, their expressions identical.
“Stop!” Le Papillon cries, raising his palms in surrender, “I’m doing this for her! For Émilie!”
“Don’t bring Maman into this,” Chat Noir hisses, spinning his baton in the light of the fire. A few years ago, Adrien might have surrendered then and there. But now?
Now he had his new family to protect.
“Shall I do the honours?”
Chat smiles and motions with his arm invitingly, eyes grazing his fuming fiancĂ©, “The honours all yours.”
Whisking her yoyo’s string around with a cracking thwack so loud even Chat can’t help but wince, his heavily pregnant partner brings her magical weapon down on Le Papillon’s head with a crunch.
Christmas In New York - Lea Michelle
Marinette Dupain-Cheng squares her shoulders and grins widely, stepping out through the revolving doors of the Four Seasons Hotel in New York City. The thrill of life in the Big Apple fills her heart with excitement as she spins around and waves at the doorman.
“Merry Christmas, Miss Dupain-Cheng!”
“Merci!” she chimes, smiling at him over her shoulder. There’s a limousine waiting for her out front and the chauffeur opens the back door as she approaches, taking her gloved hand in his so she doesn’t trip, “Are we headed to work, Miss Dupain-Cheng?”
Marinette offers him a cheeky grin, “Can we get stuck in traffic for an hour or two? I need to do a little shopping for my friends and family before I fly home.”
“Of course,” her chauffeur dips his head, his own smirk hidden by his impressive mustache, “I suppose the traffic must be terrible near Fifth Avenue at this time of day.”
“I agree,” Marinette settles into the leather seats of the stretch limo and relishes in the butterflies fluttering in her stomach. She’s so excited to return to Paris after two wonderful weeks overseas working with the crùme de la crùme of the American fashion world, no thanks to her business with Jagged Stone. She’s walked through a festively decorated Central Park and taken selfies from the top of the Rockefeller Centre. She’s even watched the Rockettes perform their high flying kicks at Radio City and visited the Macy’s Christmas window display! The city that never sleeps hasn’t disappointed her in the slightest, especially draped in the red and greens of Christmastime.
She passes by beautiful holiday trees and flickering fairy lights as they weave their way through Manhattan and, although she can’t wait to hug her Maman and Papa at the airport in just a few more days, she’s already planning her next Christmas in New York.
Bring Me Love - John Legend
Sliding across his apartment floor in his Christmas socks, Adrien clutches a banana in his hand and sings into the stem with all the excitement and enthusiasm of a man who’s about to rock his fiancé’s world. He wiggles his hips and kicks his free leg, boogying down to the saxophone and bass and he is feeling fabulous, the tree is looking fabulous and everything is absolutely fabulous. Marinette would be thrilled with his decorating skills, especially since he’s been left to his own devices for the past two weeks while she’s been away on business. She’ll be landing in Charles du Gaulle in just a few short hours and Adrien has cookies baking in the oven (dough courtesy of Tom, of course) and mistletoe hanging over the doorway. All he needs to make his Christmas homecoming a success would be having his beautiful, successful, gorgeous fiancĂ© by his side.
If only Santa would bring her home faster!
He’s put on his Rudolph boxers for the special occasion and bops his shower soggy hair to the beat, letting it fly everywhere. It might be -8℃ outside but it’s toasty warm inside their little flat in Le Marais and Adrien intends to put the love in their lovenest tonight.
He drops it low and snaps, spinning around on the balls of his feet. He feels amazing and there’s adrenaline and an irrepressible joy surging through his veins as he hops onto the cushions of the couch and channels his inner BeyoncĂ©, howling the high notes with all his might. He can’t hold in his love any longer and leaps off the furniture with a karate kick, landing in a crouch only to pop back up again with a pirouette that would have put his alter ego’s talents to shame.
A giggle from the kitchen leaves him skidding in his tracks.
“Who’s there?”
Her face half hidden by her mittens, a thoroughly amused Marinette steps into the colourful glow of the Christmas tree, “Are you wearing Rudolph boxers?”
Adrien, for all intents and purposes, has never been happier to hear the love of his life critique his undergarments, “MARINETTE!”
“Hey Kitt—mmpf!”
Capturing her lips in a bruising kiss, Adrien drops his banana and spins her around in a searing embrace that leaves them both dizzy and breathless. When he finally sets her back down onto the floor, Marinette is thoroughly smitten with her fiancé all over again.
“Miss me?” he asks, peppering every centimetre of exposed skin with kisses, “Because I thought I was going to wither away to nothing if you were gone for another minute.”
“I missed you,” Marinette’s knees quiver as he undoes her winter coat and throws it onto the kitchen counter behind them, “I missed you so much.”
“Oh my god, your voice,” Adrien wraps his arms around her waist and buries his face in her neck, “Your smell, your skin, your hair, your lips. You are never leaving for that long ever again without me.”
Marinette laughs and Adrien soaks in the beautiful sound, “Deal.”
“Good,” Adrien says, still damp and half naked, “How did I do?”
He gestures to the decorations draped all over their studio apartment and Marinette feels her heart stutter beneath the absolute flood of emotion thudding through her chest, “You did amazing, Adrien. It looks beautiful.”
“Thank you,” he kisses her again, “Christmas must have come early because all I wished for was you.”
Pressing their foreheads together, Marinette boops him on the nose, “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
Merry Christmas and Happy New Year everyone!
💋Bronte
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justjessame · 4 years ago
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The Deal Chapter 23
17 Days.
It’s been 17 days since Atlanta. Since Daryl walked out of that hospital carrying Beth’s body. Since Maggie became shrouded in grief. Since Noah became part of our group.
17 days, and it feels like a lifetime or a second, depending on where I stand.
New goal. New plan. New purpose. Noah’s home, outside Richmond, Virginia. Five hundred and thirty miles from Atlanta. To me? It could be as far away as the moon or as near as the person standing next to me. Another hope. Another dream. Walls. Security.
Glenn voices his worries. Dad, ever the optimist, mentions that we can move again. And again. Michonne keeping the theme going adds that there’s always another place. Again and again.
We separate. Two groups. Dad, Glenn, Michonne, Tyrese, and Noah lead. The rest of us close but back.
We get news through walkies. Wait, we’re there. And then, it’s gone. And then, we have to cauterize the wound. Never good news. Never.
And another loss. Another goodbye. Another funeral. Tyrese this time. My protector. My companion when we’d fled the prison. And now he was gone. His strength hadn’t mattered. His convictions hadn’t made a difference. Nothing mattered. Not anymore. My tears came easily. I didn’t have to search for the pain of his loss. It was on the surface bubbling.
Dad buried him himself. He was angry by the loss. By this man who’d protected his daughters when he couldn’t. And as I watched Tyrese’s beanie placed on the cross marking his grave, I thought how horrible this world was. How futile survival seemed. And as I let my tears flow freely, I never noticed if anyone comforted me.
We’re sixty miles from DC, things have gotten desperate. On foot, with walkers circling like vultures, I almost envy my former exhaustion. We’re moving. We’re putting one foot in front of the other. Yet we seem to get nowhere.
Sasha’s pain from two losses is making her yearn for a fight. A suicidal attack, if you ask me, since we’re all dehydrating and starving. She wants to attack the circling scavengers head on, Dad wants higher ground. And as my group ponders around me, Daryl and Carol take off in search of water and food. And I can’t find energy to care about either situation.
Our walker problem gets solved by a convenient revine/overpass combo. Just like, what is that animal that tumble off cliffs en masse? I fight for the knowledge that seems to be on the tip of my dry tongue, but it doesn’t come. And Sasha ruins any type of focus I can muster by attacking the horde, forcing the rest to join her. And then Daryl’s back, rescuing my dad, once again.
Moving forward. Thirst and hunger are constant companions, more constant than the man who swears he loves me, I think. I’m terrified that I’ll fail at my one fucking purpose in thie hellscape. Keeping Judith safe has been downgraded to keeping Judith alive. Screw safety. Living is what I’ll settle for.
I hear an argument over alcohol, and I glare. And then the barking starts. And then gunfire. And now we have food. Hunger can make people do desperate things, and I’m not above them. I close my eyes, and force away the image of the collars around our dinner’s throats. Living, I remind myself, that’s what we’re striving for.
And more moving. And more. And I stop fighting the urge to disappear. Into my head, away from it all.
I get pulled away from the nothingness I’ve slipped into by the dampness of rain. And before I can fully process, we’re rushing for a barn because the storm has picked up and is raging.
As night falls, the pounding storm batters down on the roof of our shelter. Dad tells a familiar story of my great grandfather. And as the others listen, I slip away again. Inside of myself. I don’t hear or see the walkers fighting against the doors. I see and feel nothing. I hold my crying sister close, and convince myself that I am nowhere.
Morning dawns and I’ve been leaning against the wall of the barn all night. Judith cradled on my outstretched legs. And I can tell it’s over. The storm. The walkers. Gone. I survived. We survived. And that’s proof, I think, that nothing in this world makes sense.
When another stranger appears, a man named Aaron, promising hope. I wonder when door to door salesmen made a comeback. And then I shut it off again. I focus on Judith and her survival. And I wait for Dad and the others to make the plans.
He has photos. Of this magical community. Alexandria. Dad knocks him out, he’s tied up, and when he comes to, he’s asked for more intel. I listen passively. Does it matter? Whether he’s telling the truth, or leading us to another Terminus, does it matter?
Dad, Judith, and I stay in the barn since everyone else seems gung ho to check out the Disneyworld of the apocalypse. While we sit around with Aaron, Dad being clear on his threats, I hold Judith and take my place from the night before. Leaning against the wall, her cradled on my legs. I wonder what Dad sees when he looks at me. Does he see that I’m broken? Have I hid it so well that even he sees nothing? I must be, because he barely glances my way. Trusting that Judith and I are safe together. And he’s right, she’s safe with me.
She’s hungry, and fussy. So Dad crushing acorns, trying to make something that she can have to curb her tiny hunger. I help him, as our guest begs to be untied, for extra security. When the ploy doesn’t work, he offers applesauce he has in his backpack. Dad, untrusting as me, tests it first, no matter how the stranger acts insulted at the thought he would poison a baby. And Judith, having starved for too long for either Dad and I to admit, finally got something in her tummy that helped.
Our group returns with supplies. Dad wants to keep the food and not go to Alexandria, but he’s overruled. And so, as night falls, we’re on the move again. A vehicle this time, and I feel myself relax despite myself.
There are potholes. Walkers, flares, wrecks. But eventually we make it. It’s morning. I’m in the RV with Abraham and the others, and I feel panic build at this new community. What are we really driving into?
Dad’s holding Judith in his arms in front of the huge gate. We can hear children playing, and he takes my hand in his. A united front. United in front of an unknown group. Daryl takes my other hand, and I feel a little shocked at it. When was the last time we touched casually? I couldn’t remember.
We walk through the open gate and are greeted with demands to hand over our weapons. I stare at Dad, feeling completely confused by the mere thought of disarming. I hadn’t been without at least one weapon since this entire mess started, and while my bow was long retired, a knife or gun was always at my side.
Aaron, calming down a tense situation, assures us we can keep them until we meet Deanna Monroe, their leader. A woman who looks like the end of the world never happened. Clean, coifed, and dressed like a Stepford wife, I wonder what made her worthy to lead.
We each meet her one on one in her well appointed house, a video camera lurking behind her to record our interviews. Because when I take my seat, I have no doubt at all that we’re being interviewed. She begins by giving the full community brochure in detail. Eco friendly this, self sustaining that. And I listen as I take stock of what I’m seeing and not hearing. Nothing about security or training for attacks. Nothing beyond the gate and guards, who failed at their one job by not getting us to hand over our weapons. She was a politician, that’s as clear as a bell. She doesn’t seem to want to know much.
I tell her what I care to share. I’m Rick Grimes’ oldest child, his first daughter, and I take care of my baby sister and brother. I keep things running smoothly. I maintain the contentment of our group. And as I’m standing, I realize that I never mentioned Daryl. Not once.
Our weapons seem a small price to pay for the home we’re given. Dad, Carl, Judith, me, Carol, and Daryl. Cozy. My first goal, even before food or water, or anything basic need based, is to get clean. And so, Judith and I take our first shower together. I find such happiness in her amazement at the warm water flowing over us, at her giggles as the bubbles from my shampoo slide over us. And when we come out, I find that someone, Carol I assume has placed clean clothes for me on the counter, and some things for Judith as well.
Brushing my long hair after the shower, while Judith lay in the middle of the bed in the room I’d chosen, I let myself pretend that the world had been forced back into the before. That there wasn’t danger lurking all around and that we were safe. That we had a chance of a real life. In a house. With running water and appliances, and electricity. That this would work. That there wouldn’t be another screw up. And I let myself pretend that I could see it, believe in it, and feel happy about it.
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hopewritcs · 5 years ago
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the prodigal sister. five.
pairing: familial byers fam x reader, romantic paring tbd
word count: 2.7k
summary: y/n is the middle sibling of the byers brothers. she’s just ten months younger than jonathan, making the pair “irish twins”. except when her father and mother got divorced, lonnie got custody of y/n and took her away from the rest of the family.
notes: and here’s part five babes ! i’m so glad you’re all liking the series.  i do have a couple of plans for it, even if the ship has not been set in stone.  i will give you fair warning, there is going to be more mentions of lonnie and what the reader’s life home with her father was like ( which is not good, we been knew that lonnie’s trash ).  
other chapters: masterlist
tps tag list: @irreleventmoonchild, @rockyrocket15, @the-fae-child, @bucky4cap45, @pinklyrium,@girlycakepops, @qtmeryr, @noodlebread303, @virtualsheepeat, @acidrain707, @trashblackrainbow ( if you wanna be added to the tag list just let me know ! )
Monday morning came by quickly.  Y/N was up early, showered and helping Joyce with breakfast before her brothers had even gotten out of bed.  She sipped on a mug of coffee as she watched both of her brothers come out of their rooms, yawning, and take a seat at the table with her.  
Jonathan’s eyes widened when he saw Y/N completely ready for the day ahead.  “I thought you weren’t a morning person?”  he turned to look at Will with his eyebrows raised, “Didn’t she kick me the other morning for talking to her before she had coffee?”  
Y/N kicked her brother under the table, not even glancing up from her mug as she did so.  He yelped and turned back to face her as she put the mug down on the kitchen table.  
“I think she’s had her coffee this morning.”  Will chuckled at his older siblings, sleepily helping himself to the pancakes their mother put on the table between them.  
“She still kicked me.”  
Y/N rolled her eyes, “Don’t be such a baby about it.  I didn’t even really hurt you.”  
“You kicked me!”  
“It was a light tap.”
“With your foot!” 
“Jonathan!  Y/N!  Stop arguing and eat your breakfast before Will eats all the pancakes.”  Joyce called from the stovetop where she stood, flipping more pancakes.  
The smile on her face was contagious.  Even if they were fighting, the kids were all here and under her roof again.  And that was something she’d only wished for over the years since her divorce.  Greedily, when Will was believed dead and Lonnie showed up at her door, she’d expected Y/N to be in tow.  But she was nowhere to be found, and Lonnie didn’t mention her.  Now Joyce knew why.  Lonnie never cared for their children, but had taken Y/N out of spite.  She hated knowing that as soon as he was capable, he’d sent Y/N away.  Just so Joyce couldn’t have her daughter at home.  
“Sorry mom.”  the older teens chorused together, helping themselves to the pancakes in front of them and falling silent.  
“Are you nervous for your first day of school?”  Will asked, turning to Y/N.  
After a moment, she answered, “No.  I think I would be more nervous if I didn’t know people, you know?  When I started at boarding school I was so nervous.  I was so far away from home, from you guys, from anything I knew.  But here, I’m not really alone or a stranger.  I’m not really a new kid.”  Y/N explained, taking small bites of her pancakes.  Okay, she was nervous.  But not exactly for school, just for the more social dynamics of it.  
Where the hell does she fit in?  
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School was almost the same everywhere you’d gone.  Core classes plus an elective or two plus a lunch period thrown together in some order that no one cared about except for if it meant you were with your friends or with people you hated.  For Y/N, coming to school she’d just hoped that she was going to have classes with some familiar faces.  
Walking in the door with Jonathan by her side, he went with her to the office to get her schedule and locker assignment.  Jonathan showed her around, and she could feel all the eyes locked on her.  Maybe some of the students recognized her from when they were kids, or maybe they were just all wondering who the girl walking down the hall with Jonathan was.  If she were paying attention to what was being said around them, she’d have heard both queries thrown around the gossip pool.  
Luckily, they found her locker, which was right across from her homeroom history class as Jonathan pointed out.  He stood by her locker, looking around the hallway.  He was obviously waiting for Nancy to show up, so once Y/N finally got her locker door open she nudged her brother’s arm and smiled at him.  
“Go to your own locker and find Nance.  Tell her I said I’ll see her at lunch, or in class before then.  I’ll be fine, Jonny.”  
Jonathan seemed worried for a moment before he nodded, called goodbye, and walked toward where his locker was.  
Y/N was busy unpacking her books and supplies before checking her schedule over, her bottom lip between her teeth as she looked over what she would need before she could stop at her locker again.  She put the schedule down and gathered up the missed homework for her first couple of classes.  
“Oh, the new girl’s locker is so close to yours, Billy.”  she heard someone speaking off to her right side, but ignored it and focused on organizing her stuff.  “Maybe you can find out why she came in here this morning with that freak Byers.”
That got her attention, and Y/N turned around with such a force her backpack falling to the floor as she thrust her fist forward and punched whoever it was right in the nose.  “Don’t say shit about Jonathan.  He’s my brother, asshole.”
“Shit, bitch broke my fucking nose!”  He was on the floor, cradling his face in his hands with a curly haired girl cooing over him, attempting to help him stand up.  When he did, he crossed the two feet over to where Y/N was standing and his eyes were mad.  “Watch your step, new kid.”  He threatened, but Y/N didn’t react which only seemed to anger him further.  There was a crowd now, watching their movements.  
A familiar figure stepped in front of her, holding out his arm to get between the two.  “Carol, just take your boyfriend to the nurse.”  She nodded, tugged his arm a couple of times before he followed along to the nurse’s office.  But it wasn’t until he was out of Y/N’s sight that she let out a breath of air.  Billy turned back around to face her, “did you have to break his nose?”  he asked, but he was trying ( failing ) to hide a chuckle bubbling in his chest.  
Y/N smirked, shrugging her shoulders.  “No one talks shit about my siblings, not if I have anything to say about it.”  She turned back around, shaking out her hand as she picked up her fallen backpack to finish gathering her books for the day.    
“Remind me not to mess with you.”  
“As if you need the reminder.  Pretty sure I gave you a shiner at one of the formals when you showed up with Cindy and you had promised my roommate that you would go with her.  Natasha may be a bitch, but she had feelings for you.”  
Billy’s eyes glazed over, like he was remembering the scene she explained and he nodded.  “I’m kind of a dick, Y/N.”  
“From what I hear, my kid brother’s friends think you’re evil.”  Her voice was much quieter than it had been, her eyes flickering toward Billy for a short moment as she closed her locker door before turning around to lean on it.  “But, you’re not evil.  You’re, I was going to say misunderstood but I don’t think that’s right either.  You’ve got layers, Hargrove.  I understand.”  
Billy was about to reply when the first bell rang and Y/N patted his shoulder before skipping across the hall and into the history classroom, waving at him as she took a seat in the front row.  
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After lunch, Y/N had two classes.  One of them was a study hall, given to her so that she could have time in school to catch up on missed assignments.  Which, despite the principal’s get ready for school work packet, there was still a lot of.  That was her last class period of the day, to be spent in the library.  
For now, she was in drama class.  An elective which she was sort of looking forward to.  She loved reading plays, but acting in them--she was still a little cautious.  At least this was a class and not the drama club, where she’d certainly have to perform on stage.  
She was late getting into the classroom, taking the only seat left which was between the teacher and a girl with dirty blonde hair.  They were seated on chairs in a circle around the classroom.  
“We have a new student with us.  Why don’t you stand up and say a few things about yourself.”  the teacher hummed, raising her hand so that Y/N would rise from her seat.  She hadn’t had to do this in every class, but why had she expected to avoid it in drama?  
Y/N stood from her seat and waved to the classroom a bit awkwardly.  “Hey, I’m Y/N Byers.  I used to live here in town before my parents divorce.  I’ve been a couple of different places, most recently I was at a boarding school in California.  I love plays, but I have terrible stage freight.  And, uh, I think that’s it?”  Y/N turned back to look at the teacher, who nodded and then Y/N sat back down in her seat, crossing her legs.  
Partners were assigned based on seats, and thankfully they were starting a new play.  Y/N was paired with the girl sitting beside her, who she learned was named Robin.  They spent the whole class mostly paying attention to their assignment, but also doing the most to make each other laugh with faked accents every time they read something off the page.  
When she left the drama classroom, she parted ways with Robin ( who had told her how to get to the library from here ) and was glad she had made at least one new friend that day.  
The library was big and it felt like every movement echoed around.  There were no set seating assignments for study hall, but Y/N did have to check in with the librarian at the desk.  Then she found her way over to one of the rows of tables, sitting down and opening up her mathematics textbook.  She’d missed a lot, but thankfully she could catch up with time.  
“Y/N?  You have study hall too?”  
She turned her head to see where the whisper had come from to see Steve sitting in the corner opposite her at a different table, except he was definitely grabbing his bag and making his way to where she sat.  He took the seat across from her and took his book out again.  
“Heard you beat the crap out of Tommy H. earlier.”  
Y/N glanced up from her math book and put her hands on top of the pages as she let out a sigh.  “Is that what they’re saying?  I just punched him.”
“Heard it was a broken nose.”
“You hear a lot of things, Steve.”  Y/N hummed, shaking her head.  “Are you going to tell me why they’re saying I attacked him or leave me in suspense?”  
Steve shrugged, “Didn’t hear any why.  Just heard you beat him up.  But it’s Tommy H, I’m sure he deserved it.”  
Y/N scoffed, nodding her head.  “He deserved it alright.  Called my brother a freak.” 
“Tommy’s a dipshit.”  
“I learned that quickly.”  
The conversation died down as both Steve and Y/N went back to their work, but her conversation was cut short when Steve spoke up again, “I also heard something else that’s interesting.”  
Y/N turned to look up at Steve, raising her eyebrows at him.  “And what would that be?  I already heard a couple people think thought that I was with Jonathan.  Which is gross, I think we look similar enough that people would think Hey dipshit they’re definitely not together.  They look related.  But no, I was wrong.”  Y/N had overheard a few conversations as she’d gone about her day.  It was awkward, hearing the gossip of just who could the new girl be.  But a couple of people who heard who she was had come up with some fake enthusiasm and attempted apologies for thinking anything less than savory about her entrance into school this morning.  
Steve’s face turned up at the suggestion.  He’d heard the rumors too, and he’d definitely stopped them when he had heard them.  “Heard that, but no.  That’s not it.  I heard that Billy got between you and Tommy.”  
Y/N rolled her eyes, turning her glance back down to her textbook as she spoke.  “You’d think you people would understand that I can take care of myself, especially since I broke that imbecile’s nose this morning.  Didn’t we already have this Billy’s my friend conversation?”  Y/N sighed, turning to look up at Steve.  He looked like he wanted to say something, but Y/N shook her head and continued.  “Seriously, Steve.  I get it.  I know what he did was fucked, and I’ve dealt with my fair share of Billy Hargrove bullshit so could you and everyone else just trust me.”  She kicked back, getting ready to stand up and go to another table, ending this conversation.  
But Steve grabbed her wrist gently, keeping her from leaving the table.  Y/N sighed and turned to look back at Steve.  “I’m sorry.”  She looked at him, unbelieving.  “I’m sorry.  You have to understand where we’re coming from with this, though.”  
Y/N sighed again, sitting back down in her seat.  She turned her hand over so that she held onto Steve’s hand lightly with her own instead.  “I do get it.  Can we agree to drop the topic and just not discuss Billy again?”  
Steve’s eyes danced around the library as he looked back down at the table, looking at his hand and hers out of the corner of his eye.  He cleared his throat and nodded, “Yeah.  We can do that.”  
Y/N smiled then, dropping her grip on Steve’s hand and putting her hand back down on top of her textbook to continue reading about whatever it was that they were learning at the moment ( she hadn’t really paid attention since she got to the library, due to the person sitting across from her ).  
They spent the rest of the study hall period in mostly silence, save for a couple of comments here and there.  But both of them had actually needed to focus on the work--even if Steve had planned on waiting until the last minute to do anything about it.  
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Y/N got a ride home with Nancy and Jonathan, picking up the younger siblings from the middle school as they made their way home.  
“So, why did you punch Tommy H. in the face this morning?”  Nancy asked as she turned down the radio, looking back at Y/N in the rearview mirror.  Jonathan also turned his attention to his sister, with furrowed brows.  Of course he knew about the whole situation, he’d heard enough gossip about it for the day, but he was still curious to know what happened from his sister herself.  
The boys in the backseat of the car also turned to look at Y/N with wide eyes.  “You punched someone?!”  they both exclaimed.  She wasn’t sure if it was more curiosity shimmering in their eyes or awe.  
Y/N nodded her head, before turning back to look at Jonathan.  “Do they always call you a freak?”  her voice was quiet, almost angry as she mentioned it.  Even if she had done something about it today, what did that mean for all the other days.  All the times she hadn’t been there to do something about that.  
“Is that why you punched him, Y/N?”  Jonathan asked.  He could have seen a couple of scenarios where his sister would punch Tommy H., resulting in a broken nose, but most of them had been him hitting on her.  He hadn’t considered that she would have punched someone for him.  
“Well, you’re my brother.  I’m not going to let anyone talk shit about you.”  she huffed, crossing her arms as she looked at him with a steeled gaze.  The silence hung in the air between the five passengers as they pulled up to the Byers house.  Y/N gathered her bag and hopped out of the car, making her way towards the door with her siblings.  “And let’s not tell mom I broke someone’s nose on the first day of school.”  
The siblings opened the door and walked into the living room, putting their bags down on the ground.  Will went to the kitchen to grab something to eat and Jonathan went to his room.  
Things were feeling normal in the house.  
Y/N felt like she was home.  But a thought in the back of her mind stopped her, how long is this feeling going to last? 
308 notes · View notes
welllpthisishappening · 6 years ago
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So I think that I sent you a babbling, semi-incoherent ask a couple of weeks ago that tumblr may have eaten. It was (sort of) a prompt about CS, snark and banter, and Santa!Con. But then I started to think - did you already write that fic? Did it sound to me like something right up your alley because you'd done it? If so, forgive me for not remembering! Also, I'm looking everywhere for a fic of yours I know I read about CS and a proposal attempt at Rockefeller Center, but I can't find it. Halp!!
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Oh nooooo I never got that!! Well, this must be remedied at once, don’t you think? So, first off, I did write about a proposal at Rockefeller Center last year. It’s Heart to Heart and Hand in Hand and is basically my thoughts about public proposals and people taking pictures of a moment that isn’t theirs. As far as Santa Con goes, he’s some slightly proposal-type words with an incredibly drunk Killian Jones and vaguely stunned Emma Swan. 
“Is everything spinning?”
Emma chuckles, wrapping her fingers around Killian’s arm in a rather pitiful attempt to keep him balanced. He’s sitting down. That does not appear to be making much of a difference.
“Your hat is going to fall off if you can’t sit up straight,” she says, and he makes a noise she’s never heard before. But, to be fair, she’s never actually seen him this drunk before and that includes David’s last birthday when the Knicks lost their first-round playoff series and the whole night ended with several oversized vessels for alcohol and the promise that it’s really a matter of dignity, Swan when it came to finishing every single drop.
“Sod the hat,” Killian grumbles. He slumps forward, the top flipping over, which only ends with the little pom pom thing bumping against his nose and Emma really has had far too much alcohol to deal with any of this.
She’s still not entirely sure why they agreed to this – but Ruby can be incredibly persuasive, demanding, when she wants to and Mary Margaret had done that doe-eyed thing and even Elsa said it sounded like fun. That had only gotten David to make some kind of noise of victory and Emma had sighed dramatically no less than half a dozen times before Killian agreed he’d wear a hat if they’d all shut up about it.
And so the Santa Con plan was born.
Ruby bought them matching hats.
“That’s a very old fashioned sounding sentence you know,” Emma points out, Killian making some kind of noise that she hopes is an agreement.
“I’m an old fashioned kind of gentleman.”
The laugh that bubbles out of her is decidedly alcohol-fueled and a little more like a giggle than Emma really wants, but the whole thing is also pretty goddamn endearing and those cookie shots at the last bar had been especially potent.
The room is definitely spinning.
There are so many people dressed like Santa Claus.
“Yeah, that’s definitely true,” Emma mumbles. It’s much harder than it probably should be to pull her arm up, resting her palm on the side of Killian’s cheek. He leans into it, eyes fluttering shut in a way that makes it almost too obvious how long his lashes are.
Emma bites her lip.
“But that’s a good thing,” she adds. His lips quirk up.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. How many cookie shots did you have?”
“Way too many,” Killian admits, eyes still closed. He moves his head slightly, a low groan in the back of his throat when the room very likely starts spinning again, but Emma forgets to be worried about that as soon as his lips brush over the back of her wrist. “I really like you, you know.”
She blinks. And waits for the rest of that sentence. It never comes.
And it’s not really surprising. She’s somewhere in the realm of one-hundred percent positive he likes her. Loves her, in fact. A lot. Like. Well, a lot. More than she thought possible and Emma hopes her heart can handle the rather sudden wave of alcohol-based emotions its being force to contend with.
It’s not surprising. 
It’s normal and she’s not used to it, probably won’t ever be used to it, because it still makes it feel as if she’s glowing from the inside out when he says things like that, but it’s also kind of par for the course or tradition or something. Or, at least getting there.
She hopes so.
She’s been kind of thinking about it.
And Ruby claimed that Santa Con could count as some kind of quasi bachelorette party for both her and Belle. That made Emma’s heart thud too.
“Good to know,” Emma says, hating how breathless her voice has turned.
“I’m serious.”
“Oh, I know you are.ïżœïżœ
Killian opens his eyes, far too blue to be anything except distracting even with all the alcohol metaphors. He kisses her skin again, nipping softly until Emma makes a noise that’s closer to a yelp than she’d like. It makes him smile. “Just,” he continues, and it’s almost impressive how he manages to elongate four letters into what sounds like several thousand, “God, you’re so pretty.”
Emma has no idea what noise she makes. It’s not a laugh. Or a scoff. It’s not even disbelief. It might actually be joy.
Her heart feels like it’s expanding.
“What?”
Killian nods earnestly, and Emma hopes this isn’t actually a dream. That’d be kind of disappointing. “That was the first thing I noticed, you know.”
“That I was pretty?”
“It’s not that super—superfi—“
“Superficial?”
“That,” he mutters, humming softly when Emma’s fingers move into his hair. The hat is a lost cause. She’s fairly sure someone has already stepped on it. And Mary Margaret may be singing carols on the other side of the bar. “Smart.”
“Smart and pretty, huh? God, I sound unstoppable.”
“Stopped me. Right in my tracks.”
Emma’s smile threatens to strain the muscles in her face. “That so?”
“Yuh huh. Belle said she wanted me to meet her girlfriend’s friend and you were there and your hair.”
“My hair?”
“It’s so
yellow.”
“Seriously how many cookie shots did you have?”
Killian scowls, a twist of lips that probably shouldn’t be attractive. Emma’s breath catches when he wraps his fingers around her wrist. “That’snotimportant,” he mumbles. They should probably find a seat with a back. This stool suddenly seems incredibly dangerous.
He shifts again, letting go of her arm and that’s only slightly disappointing. That, of course, is until his fingers card through the ends of Emma’s hair, letting the strands fall across his palm and over her shoulder and she’s not entirely sure what to do with the look on his face.
Like he’s a little stunned to still see her there.
“I like you so much,” he says again, half to himself. Emma’s heart does not care.
“So you’ve mentioned.”
“I want you to know.”
“Babe, trust me, I know,” Emma promises, ducking into his slightly blurry eye line. He smirks – or at least tries, one side of his mouth tugging up and free hand falling to her hip with an almost audible thump. “I really like you too. Maybe we should get you some water. And some food. Something greasy.”
“You want onion rings.”
“This is not about what I want.”
“Do you mean that?” Killian asks. Emma narrows her eyes.
“Mean what?”
“The—liking, I—“ He takes a deep breath, a hint of nerves that do not make sense with the man at all and Emma’s heart thuds for a totally different reason. Mary Margaret is definitely still singing.
“Were you doubting that? Because we could definitely make out some if you want, although we may get arrested for public indecency.”
He laughs, short and quick and still a hint nervous. Emma only just realizes she’s never actually moved her hand – her arm is starting to ache from holding it up for so long, but Killian definitely leans into the touch again and she really likes being able too feel him smile.
What a weirdo. It’s probably the alcohol.
It’s not.
“No,” Killian whispers. “But I want—“
“What?”
“Everything.”
Emma is very impressed her knees don’t give out. They wobble slightly. “I don’t—“
“It’s got to be perfect,” he says, barely giving her a chance to finish her half-finished thought. “That’s what you deserve and what we should—better than Mary Margaret and David. Way better than Ruby and Belle.”
Emma shakes her head slowly, trying to push past the admittedly rather large amount she’s had to drink to figure out what the hell he’s talking about. Her right knee gives out when she realizes.
“Oh my God,” she breathes, and Killian’s gaze gets hazier. He hooks his foot around her leg. That doesn’t make standing any easier.
“Perfect,” he repeats. “I’ve got—it’s going to be perfect.”
“What?”
“There’ll be kissing. We won’t be wearing Santa hats. Probably.”
“Probably?”
He hums, another far too serious nod and maybe the problem isn’t her heart at all. It might be her lungs. They appear to be shrinking. “Definitely,” Killian amends. “I want to do it at home.”
“We have one of those.”
She says it like it’s not the single most important sentence in the world, but Killian can’t seem to stop nodding and the footsteps coming towards them sound impossibly loud. “Yeah,” he mutters. “Together. Then we can make out.”
“Is that the goal?”
“With no clothes.”
“I think that may qualify as more than making out, babe,” Emma says, a forced lightness to her voice.
“Just the ring.”
She’s going to die. Right there – surrounded by several thousand drunk Santas and her equally drunk friends and her whole body shakes when David claps her on the shoulder.
“Hey,” David says brightly, Mary Margaret tucked against his side. They’re both still wearing their hats. Emma’s might be somewhere on Ninth Avenue. “You guys want to get some food?”
Emma doesn’t answer. She may nod. It feels like she nods, but she’s also trying to fight off death, so

Killian, for his part, doesn’t appear to realize what he’s said or done, just tugs Emma closer to him and lets his lips drag across the side of her jaw and, really, dying in a Midtown bar a few weeks before Christmas would be so goddamn disappointing.
It would definitely make her a meme.
“You ok, Em?” Mary Margaret asks. Emma hopes she nods again. “Fries? Mozzarella sticks?”
“Onion rings,” Killian answers.
“Ah, good call. Where’s your hat?”
“Don’t know.”
He kisses behind Emma’s ear before Mary Margaret can say anything else.
And, honestly, if asked Emma would say she doesn’t consider the potential for a proposal the rest of the night. She’s far too busy telling Ruby the hats don’t matter and eating what must be some kind of record for onion ring consumption and navigating Midtown is a challenge she almost fails completely.
They opt not to take the Subway – far too many bridge and tunnelers in Port Authority – meandering up Tenth Ave instead on the assumption that it will be easier to hail a cab. It’s not. They’re too clearly drunk. And dressed like Santa.
“This is Santa prejudice,” Emma mumbles, nearly twenty blocks away from the last bar and Killian makes the world’s most ridiculous noise against the back of her neck.
“We’re not that far.”
“From home?” He makes the noise again. “You want to walk home?”
“I know you don’t want to pay for a cab anymore.”
That’s true. Emma doesn’t say that. She doesn’t have to – particularly when he tilts her head up to kiss her scrunched nose, fingers lacing through hers as they trek further uptown. Slowly, but surely.
It takes her several tries to open the door and a few more tries to get out of her boots and she’s not exactly expecting anything, but she kind of thought about the potential for a proposal and lying to herself is not an attractive quality. They don’t make out. They barely even make it to the bed, falling onto the mattress without moving the blankets or the pillows and Killian doesn’t take his belt off before he tugs Emma against his chest and they fall asleep with the lights on.
She may still be drunk when she wakes up the next morning – bits of sunlight poking through the curtains and a distinct lack of perspective fiancĂ© next to her. Emma groans when she sits up, running a hand across her face. There’s noise coming from the kitchen.
She definitely uses the wall as support when she walks.
And Killian smiles when he turns towards her. He took his belt off at some point.
“How you feeling?”
Emma shrugs. “You were way more drunk than me. You take anything?”
“Probably more Ibuprofen than I’m supposed to, honestly.”
She laughs softly, leaning back against the counter and ignoring everything that appears to be fluttering in the pit of her stomach. “That help at all?”
“A little,” Killian says, handing her glass of water and several large pills. “Something about modern medicine, love.”
“You’re not a doctor.”
“But I was way more drunk than you and still alive, so—“
“—Well, who am I to argue with that?”
“Exactly.”
He doesn’t stop looking at her while she downs the pills, which is only a little unnerving, but that may be the fluttering and—“How much do you remember from yesterday?” Killian asks, the same hint of nerves in every single letter.
Emma nearly chokes on tap water.
Killian winces. “Was that all real, then? Not a dream?”
“Depends on what kind of dreams you’re having, I guess.”
“Ones that include all of that going much better than they actually did.”
He hisses in a breath of air, only to huff it out just as quickly, the tips of his ears going red when he takes a step back. And Emma doesn’t really think before she follows him, just moves into his space and rests her hand on his cheek again and—“I was so jealous of Ruby and Belle claiming Santa Con as some kind of bachelorette party, I could hardly see straight.”
Killian’s eyes widen.
“I really like you too,” Emma adds. “Like. An absurd amount, honestly. And, I um—“ She takes a deep breath. Her body doesn’t entirely appreciate it. “It’s always going to be you and I, well, it’d be yes. No matter when it happens.”
She barely gets the words out before he’s kissing her. It’s nice. It’s a hell of a lot better than nice, but they’re both very clearly hungover and Emma is still holding water and none of this went according to the very real plan Killian had.
He had a plan.
With her.
Emma can feel his smile against her mouth.
“I love you so much,” he whispers.
“I think that’s kind of a prerequisite of this, honestly.”
“Emma.”
“I love you too,” she says, and it feels like a guarantee and a promise and they barely get off the couch all day.
And he does, eventually, ask – telling Ruby we’re not going out on New Year’s, tugging a box out of his pocket at 9:47 p.m. because that’s the same time Emma showed up at the bar that very first time and it makes her heart thud and expand and a slew of other verbs it probably shouldn’t, but she kisses him before she answers.
“Swan,” Killian mutters, already doing his best to get her shirt off. The ring looks particularly good on her left hand.
“Yes.”
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flaming-potato-arson · 7 years ago
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Cookie Crumbs, Singing, and Bad Dancing
So I entered the VLD Halloween Exchange (I never got anything but nm) and got @fumiikage. Here’s my entry from 2 ish weeks ago.
“We need to piss Iverson fucking off!”
“He did dare us to enter the talent show.” Hunk reminds Pidge, walking side by side to her in hallway. A laptop and what Keith thinks is a robot is pressed to her chest, a cord dangling by her knees. Shiro’s already tried to wrap it around her wrist but it came unwound anyway. He’s glancing over her shoulder to make sure it somehow doesn’t mysteriously grow an extra feet and trip the no-sleep genius. “Yeah,” Keith says, lifting and stretching his arm awkwardly so a girl can slip past him in the hallway. He tries not to hiss when his elbow hits the dorm wall when she’s past. “But he’s expecting us to do something crazy to win. We need to do the most classic, white thing ever. His favorite. And ruin it for him, so he’ll never forget the time we showed him up when he sees it. Really throw him for a loop and get his blood boiling.”
“White thing” Allura repeats to herself, tucking her face into her scarf a little more. She shifts closer to Shiro unconsciously.
Outside, it’s mid-winter and snow decorates half the city like frosting on a lumpy cupcake. December break is a week and a half  away, and he’s ready to escape the Garrison's dorms for as long as possible. For a prestigious high school, this place was bat shit insane most the time.
(He couldn’t deny he liked it.)
“Iverson has been playing Christmas music non-stop in class. Singing Christmas songs is white-person-y” Pidge trails off, biting her thumb. “We need someone who can sing.“ She snaps her head up, light reflecting off her glasses haphazardly. Keith feels his shoulders jump, but he ignores it to catch Pidge’s rant as they walk through the hall to Lance’s dorm. The one he shared with Keith and Hunk.
"-Iverson is a dick, as we all know, so of course he plays the oldest, catchy Christmas ear-worms...Jingle Bells isn't good enough, Carol of the Bells is too old-fashioned to ruin it, Hark the Harold Angel Sings needs a damn chipmunk to hit those notes" she snaps, nearly dropping her robot. "All I Want for Christmas is You is his favorite. He played it for an hour and a half straight, I kid you not. I can still hear it in my ears. The whole class probably can. Let's wreck it."
"Alright, so we've picked the song. Now we just need somebody to sing it." Keith nods, recalling the cheery music and screams he had heard passing Iverson's class one day. "Knowing Iverson, they'll have to sing it perfectly. Otherwise, he'll find a way to criticize it." Shiro pointed out, turning the corner behind Pidge. "So, we just need someone with the voice of an angel." Allura snorts. "Plenty of those here, in an academic and sports based boarding school." Hunk adds, stopping in front the door to his, Keith's, and Lance's dorm. "Maybe Lance will know someone?" Allura sounds hopeful. Hunk's silver key slots in the key hole with a quiet click.  "Who doesn't he know?" Pidge asks, tossing a look over her shoulder. Hunk twists the key and the knob. "We'll just have to look around and hope for the best."
Two things waft out of the open door: the warm smell of peanut butter cookies baking. They aren't Hunk's, but warm cookies always remind Keith of late nights sitting cross legged in front of the stove with a younger Shiro, watching round circles of dough bake. The tile floor would be warmed by the dingy stove in front of them, and they'd guess which ones would end up burnt. It was usually most of them. 
And the voice of a literal angel.
If he was a sinner, this voice would be the thing that made him repent.
It's gorgeously high and low, clear and in tune with the song. Each syllable is strong, concise, and obviously practiced. It was the voice of an angel rehearsing. It was beautiful. It was-
"-every mistletoe, until I know it's true love, he thinks of, so next Christmas, I'm not all alone boy- "
Singing a pop song.
"Santa, tell me, if you're really there-"
Keith slowly steps inside, clutching his messenger bag in his hand so it doesn't bang off his hip and hit the wall. Edging inside, he beckons two crooked fingers at the team of Verified Organisms Looking To Rage On Nit-Pickers (they didn't count the p because of the hyphen) to inch inside with him. Cautious breath sharpens his focus. Carefully, he peers into the kitchen.
A tacky radio plays out the song on the countertop. The window is closed, grey curtains leaving the lights to electrically brighten the room.  A tall, young woman twists the dials on the stove, long, light brown hair trailing neatly down the slope of her back. "Santa tell me, if he really cares-" Scattered dirty mixing bowls and a mess of cookie cutters and leftover cookies dough are placed around a smiling, red-faced toddler. He laughs, grabbing at the long, tan fingers playing with him, combing his hair or tugging his clothes.  The hands lead up to skinny arms with lean muscle, which curve inward to broad shoulders and sharp collarbones above a solid chest and narrowed waist. Rocking heels sway long legs and hips.
"-someone to hold, be my fire in the cold-"
All of that (glorious body) was under a smooth neck and narrow chin. Soft lips sing out the next line.
"-Or if it's true love, that he thinks of, -”
Lips he's seen before.
(Okay, fantasized.)
That glorious voice, is coming from Lance.
Lance fucking McClain, the memeiest of VOLTRON and target of Iverson.
Hell yes.
“Lance! You can sing?" Pidge screeches. Two reactions whip through Lance. His left arm is a literal blur as he smacks the radio off the counter. Cradled in his right is his baby nephew. Surprise and concern (and a little bit of fear and something new) sharpen his face.
"You bet your life my brother can sing." The woman snorts, turning around from where she had bent to take out a sheet of cookies. "Our uncle was a chorus teacher and no way in this world was he going to leave his nephew tone deaf." She slips off the oven mitts and dusts off her hands.  Her wide, demanding posture looked hilarious compared to Lance's awkward one. The toddler stretches out his arms from Lance's hold. His mom hauls her purse on her shoulder, throws the bowls in the sink, and takes the gurgling kid from Lance. "Name it, Lance can sing it. That's the last tray, I hope you won't eat all of them yourself, but that's always a hope. I've got to get home, love you little bro, don't forget to study!" A Confident Mom Whirlwind passes them in the hallway before the door in being closed with a bang.
"Hey, Lance. I've got a plan..."
"Oh God, oh God, that's a big crowd..."
Lance sways side to side in place, hand discreetly holding back part of the curtain. Loud, rambunctious teenagers and stoic teachers fill the seats. The Talent Show would start in 5 minutes, but Lance wasn't even going first. His fidgeting hands shouldn't be tugging at his jacket this early. That new, unusual emotion shouldn't be playing in his face. "Hey," Keith says. "Want to make fun of the other acts while we wait?" "What?" Lance asks, dropping the curtain back into place. The audience disappears behind it.  His pink face is turned towards Keith and his arms are wrapped around his stomach.
"Well, see that girl on stilts?" Keith points to the girl in the 4 foot stilts and strange sheets. "Give me the craziest story for her.” "Ah" Lance bites the tip of his finger, clearly thinking, checks still light pink. (Holy shit- that is cute, get it together Kogane-) "Girl high on smoke from burning hotel room that was used by a drug dealer becomes stilt walker?" Keith snorts. "Sure. Now, what's his?"
"Now, Lance McClain, singing "All I Want for Christmas is You!" 
This time, Lance's cheeks are starting to burn and Keith can clearly tell what that emotion from the first time he heard Lance sing was: embarrassment.
He steps on stage, pushing back the curtain, leaving the rest of VOLTRON in the shadowy wings of the stage
Even in jeans and a baseball tee, he's damn gorgeous, bright lights bringing out his beauty.
He stands. Brings the mic to his lips.
"I don't want a lot for Christmas..."
(The note hangs in the air and Lance's cheeks are on fire.)
Except Keith.
Impulsively, he jumps out on to the stage, ratty flannel on his hips and beanie smooshing his hair. He's even surprising himself.  The audience stares at him in shock, most having jumped back from the bang he made. Lance looks back over his shoulder.
Keith starts interpretively dancing.
Putting on a sassy face, he wags his finger.
Oh God, what am I doing?
There's a few giggles from the audience. But more importantly, the thing that convinces him to stay of this damn stage and make a fool of himself, is Lance's reassured smile.
"There is just one thing I need,"
He sticks up a finger and holds his hand close to his heart, sweet grin on his face.
"I don't care about the presents..."
Keith walks across the stage briskly, dismissively waving his hand.
He stops and folds himself into a box, crouching down.
"Underneath the Christmas tree..."
He springs back animatedly and hangs his arms over the spot he was in, mimicking branches.
"I don't need to hang my stocking, There upon the fireplace..."
Spinning around, he pushes a tack into the air before frowning at it.
"Santa Claus won't make me happy..."
Keith crosses his arms and huffs. 
"With a toy on Christmas Day!”
With loud, heavy thumps he clomps across the stage like a Nutcracker.Â
"I just want you for my own, More than you could ever know..."
(God, that was true)
Keith points out to the crowd, then pokes the top of his head.
"Make my wish come true, All I want for Christmas is you, You baby!"
First, he clasps his hands together and turns to them imaginary sky. And then, he points to the crowd and makes incredibly awkward rocking motions.
"Oh, I won't ask for much this Christmas..," 
He crosses his arms as an x.
"I won't even wish for snow...."
This is where he takes the awkwardness of dancing horribly on stage to a new level. He shakes his head, and then proceeds to wiggle his fingers while dragging them down through the air
"And I'm just gonna keep on waiting...."
A giant clock motion that involves both his arms.
"Underneath the mistletoe!"
Pinching his fingers, Keith shakes them over his head, stepping closer to Lance
"I won't make a list and send it , To the North Pole for Saint Nick....”
He scribbles quickly and slices his hand out, like he was throwing a playing card
"I won't even stay awake to, Hear those magic reindeer click!" 
More wagging fingers and snapping.
"Cause I just want you here tonight 
Holding on to me so tight...."
Keith wraps his arms around himself and takes big, wide, spinning steps
" What more can I do?
He throws up his arms and gives the crowd a what-can-you-do-about-it face. "Baby all I want for Christmas is you! You you you baby!"
More crazed pointing and irregular rocking.
"And everyone is singing, I hear those sleigh bells ringing!”
He shakes his fists and cups his ear. "Santa won't you bring me the one I really need? Won't you please bring my baby to me?"
He sways to the song, making a fist and pulling it down to his heart. 
"Oh, I don't want a lot for Christmas, This is all I'm asking for...."
The notes are slowing down, Lance's voice really being tested. It was sweet and slow and perfect, and Keith would've given anything to bask in it longer. 
"I just want to see my baby...
Honestly shady, he points two fingers to his eyes then flicks them out at the crowd. Then, more aggressive rocking motions.
"Standing right outside my door...."
He draws a doorframe with his hands and steps through. 
"Oh I just want you for my own, More than you could ever know..."
Keith sways over to Lance, and drapes himself over his back, putting a finger to Lance's temple. "Make my wish come true...."
It's been a long, impulsive night for Keith. And with a blinding smile from Lance and warm, soft skin beneath him, Keith literally could not make the wrong choice in his eyes.
He leans around and kisses Lance square on the mouth.
After the pause, Lance pulls back, face redder than ever.
"Oh, baby all I want for Christmas is you ,yo-ou baby." The voice crack does not go unnoticed.
The crowd hoots and hollers. Wolf whistles fill the room.
Twisting Lance to face him better, Keith pulls him down to his lips. The crowd's screaming, cheering, going utterly completely wild, but their energy couldn't match the feelings in their kiss. Lance winds an arm between them, the other holding the mic, and grips the hair at the back of his neck. Keith is slowly putting his back to the crowd, shifting for a better position but too caught up in the now to move quickly. Hot, pliable lips push back against his and trust and passion charge his motions. He responds desperately to Lance, the first sweet caramel taste just a temptation for the thirst in him.
The noise Lance makes when he bites Lance's lower lip gets caught in the mic.
And now they're both red, panting. Hurriedly, Lance shoves the mic in the announcer's hand and grabs Keith, sprinting backstage, away from the screaming.
They make out in a dark corner until they hear the announcer's slightly confused voice.  
"And the winners are.... Klance? What?
Breaking their lip lock, Lance gasps for air and pulls back, gulping air deeply like it'll glue his composure together. "C'mon, we won." He smirks, quickly fixing Keith to look as presentable as possible before pulling him off the wooden block. Lance forgets to straighten his clothes.
The masses start their trademark unholy screeching.
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lady-divine-writes · 8 years ago
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Kurtbastian fic - “A Dalton Boy in the Void” (Rated NC17)
Kurt needs Sebastian's total surrender, and he has interesting means of getting it. (1650 words)
Written for @lilinas's Bitchmas prompt 'sound', and takes place probably over Christmas break, maybe some time after. I know it's a bit on the short side, but to be honest, these holiday challenge prompts strike me as the kinds of things that are fulfilled with snippets, not fully fleshed out chapters. This is a glimpse into what they do together, and I think it stands fine as is. 
Warning for bondage, blindfolds, vibrators, sensory deprivation, and sensory overload.
Read on AO3.
“What kind of music you into, preppy?” Kurt asks, but it’s a rhetorical question. With the red ball gag in Sebastian’s mouth, larger than their usual, and secured extra tight, pulling his cheeks back into an open-mouth grimace, Sebastian can’t answer. He can only sniff thru his nose and drool uncontrollably – not exactly an attractive look, but it makes Kurt smile. But Kurt isn’t looking at him right now, pacing with his iPod in his hands, switching between playlists in search of the perfect one.
And by perfect, he means one that will wear at the corners of Sebastian’s sanity. He needs Sebastian raw, frayed, a trembling mass of nerves and reflexes, utterly disoriented. He wants to alter time in Sebastian’s mind, turn the world on its head.
He needs Sebastian’s total surrender.
And Kurt has decided to get it with a cocktail of sensory deprivation and overload.
“Because I see you as a Top 40s sort of boy.” Kurt walks back and forth in front of his sub who can’t see him - a black, silk blindfold secured over his eyes; and can’t touch him - arms bound straight out at his sides. All Sebastian can do is listen as Kurt talks; feel as Kurt preps him for today’s session by securing a vibrating wand up his ass, and another to his cock with bondage tape. “But that’s a symptom of being a Warbler. I mean, do they even sing anything else?” Kurt pauses. In the space, Sebastian tries to grumble an answer. When nothing intelligible comes out of Sebastian’s mouth, just a grunt and more drool, Kurt continues. “No. That’s right, preppy. They don’t. But seeing as it is Christmas time, I think we’ll pick something more traditional. Festive.”
Kurt walks up to Sebastian and stands face to face with him, nose to nose so that Sebastian knows he’s there.
“How do you feel about carols, preppy? Oh, wait a minute.” Kurt snickers. “You sing with a show choir, so I know you love them.”
Sebastian groans inside his head because Christmas carols and sex? Not his favorite combination. Jamie tried to blow him once while “Silent Night” played in the background. Sebastian isn’t at all religious, but the big, swelling, dramatic choir singing their praises to the baby Jesus killed his boner dead.
“So, now that we’ve got that settled, we’ll just stick these over your ears 
” Kurt fits a pair of noise cancelling headphones onto Sebastian’s head, the earpieces completely covering his ears. They work so well that, if Kurt says anything after that, Sebastian doesn’t hear him. He doesn’t hear anything until the music starts, and when it does, he wishes more than anything that he could go back to the quiet.
Kurt switches the vibrators on at contrasting speeds – the one on his cock to high while the one in his ass simmers at a medium pulse-pulse-stop, pulse-pulse-stop, mere centimeters away from his prostate. After that, Sebastian feels nothing else from Kurt. In fact, Sebastian doesn’t know whether Kurt leaves or not. He sure as hell can’t hear him, and with the spreader bar between his ankles pushing his legs apart, then tied to the bed frame in a way that keeps him elevated on his toes, vibrations on the floor are muffled.
Sebastian tries to remain stoic with “Jingle Bell Rock” blasting in his ears – not loud enough to hurt, but loud enough to be fucking annoying, so much so that by the first refrain, he’s already done with this Christmas carol bullshit. But before too long, the song finishes, and Sebastian takes a breather. That’s fine. He got through that one. Now to focus on the next one. There’s got to be hundreds of Christmas carols in the world. Even if one or two repeat, it’ll be fine. He realizes that these songs are going to become his sole focus, and that should be a blessing since it’ll effectively block out everything else. The wand buzzing in his ass, taunting his prostate - he can shove that aside. The vibrator strapped to his cock - that he can ignore, too, as long as he has the crutch of this music in his head.
As long as he concentrates on loathing it, then everything will be fine.
Except it’s not.
Because the next song that comes up on the playlist is –
Rockin’ around the Christmas tree at the Christmas party hop 

Jesus Christ! Did Kurt just put this one song on repeat? Why would he do that?
Because he’s a sadistic bastard, Sebastian thinks, the tiny voice in his head following that up with duh.
It takes a few minutes of listening, a few minutes of seething, but Sebastian realizes that no. Kurt did something way worse than just put this one song on repeat, because after one more full repetition of “Jingle Bell Rock”, it plays again, stops in the middle, and jumps to the next song – “Do They Know It’s Christmas?”
But as nerve rattling as that is, it’s actually somewhat of a relief. It takes Sebastian’s mind off of how irritating this is by giving him the chance to judge.
“Do They Know It’s Christmas?” The official anthem for white saviors everywhere? Does anyone even listen to this song anymore? Why in the world would Kurt have this?
Two verses in, Sebastian knows why.
For one, it’s obnoxious as hell, but with its repetitive refrain, it becomes demonic when messed with. It starts to slow down, the voices in the chorus melting, becoming cartoonish, disturbing. Then it skids, actually makes a scratching noise like a needle being pulled off a record, which is jarring as shit. Sebastian can’t help but be impressed by Kurt’s conviction to the devious that he would find a digital file with the inclusion of a record scratch.
But as the music in the headset continues, not a single song plays to the end. It throws him off, sets his teeth on edge. They would grind except for the ball gag in his mouth keeping his jaw separate. Because of all of the skips and jumps, songs stopping in the middle, rewinding to the beginning and starting over again, and then becoming other songs – sometimes seamlessly, sometimes not – Sebastian can’t determine how long he’s been there.
The vibrating on his cock has long since stopped feeling anything close to good. Now it’s just pure pain, the buzzing on his skin like the drilling of a small, hard needle into his penis. As for the one in his ass, it’s giving him a headache. He feels the vibrations in the base of his skull, the dark behind the blindfold shuddering. He doesn’t see it with his eyes, but with his brain, and it’s making his forehead numb. His upper lip itches, and he needs to sneeze. He pulls his arms in reflexively to rub the sensation away, but between the cuffs and the ropes keeping his arms outstretched, he’s tied too tight.
Sebastian can’t hear the noises he makes over the music playing in the headphones - stopping, starting, scratching, playing backwards - not even in his own head, but what he feels coming up from his chest and working its way around the ball gag seems almost animal. And it doesn’t stop, his throat going dry, forcing a cough out of him so violent, it’s hard to breathe.
The music stops dead. Sebastian doesn’t register the cut off, so he doesn’t relax, hanging on the beveled edge for the next horrible rendition of “Jingle Bell Rock” to begin. Maybe it’ll be at double speed. Maybe it’ll be in Spanish. Maybe it’ll be at double speed and in Spanish – backwards. But the music doesn’t return. The headphones hugging the sides of his face release, lifting off his head and away.
“Okay, preppy, okay,” Kurt coos. “Let’s get you unhooked before I liquefy your brain.”
Sebastian’s ears ring with the remnants of “Jingle Bell Rock”. Kurt removes the ball gag. When the straps are undone and the gag removed, Sebastian drops his head. He rolls his bottom jaw, sore from clenching around the ball. He opens his mouth to speak, but he has no words, those repeated lyrics pounding in his ears alongside the high-pitched ripping of the record scratch.
Sebastian sniffs. With the ball gag in his mouth and the music in his ears, he hadn’t realized he’d been crying in frustration.
“Oh, preppy,” Kurt coddles condescendingly as he turns off the vibrators and removes them from his sub’s body. “What can I do for you, hmm?”
Sebastian shakes his head. He moves his mouth, but sound has yet to come out, his throat so dry it stings. Kurt grabs a bottle of Aquafina from his bedside table and hands it to Sebastian.
“Here. Have some of this. It’ll make it easier to talk.”
Sebastian nods and cracks the bottle open. Once the water touches his lips and he starts to drink, he doesn’t lower it till it’s empty.
“If I fucked your mouth, would that make you feel better, preppy?”
“Yes, Master,” Sebastian mumbles, tossing the bottle aside and dropping to his knees. He rubs his head against Kurt’s crotch like a dog seeking comfort. Kurt undoes his fly and lowers his jeans down his thighs. He leans forward, positioning the head of his cock at his sub’s lips. This blowjob isn’t gratuitous. Kurt’s not taking advantage. Sebastian needs something to ground him, and his connection to Kurt is the best possible way to do that.
So what if it’s the exact reaction that Kurt was hoping for?
Sebastian whines low in his throat, muttering a quick, “Thank you, Master,” before wrapping his lips around him.
“Anytime,” Kurt moans, throwing his head back as Sebastian makes quick work of taking Kurt’s cock completely down his throat. “You know how much I love to help.”
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heartslogos · 4 years ago
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newfragile yellows [944]
“Alright, I’ll bite. What’s going on with you? You’re acting weirder than you more than you normally do, Evelyn. And let me tell you, in case you didn’t know, you’re already pretty strange on any given day. And that’s coming from me, so you know it’s legitimate.”
“It’s nothing,” Evelyn says, eyes scanning the room. She’s not exactly sitting on her chair, so much as she’s pretending to sit with her legs locked with her slightly out of her seat but still — to the casual glance — appearing to be seated. Evelyn’s got her body angled for the back entrance, a death grip on the strap of her bag, and her phone ready with a number Ellana can’t place on the screen. All in all, she looks like she’s expecting something to happen and she’s ready to bolt.
“Are you absolutely sure about that?” Ellana asks, eyeing Evelyn’s untouched drink. “Why did you ask me out for coffee and tea if you aren’t going to drink anything and you’re going to look like you’re about to enter a scene for a summer action flick any second now? Evelyn, frankly, you look a little deranged. Have you slept recently?”
Evelyn’s auburn hair is dull, pulled back into a simple ponytail, and her eyes sport dark circles and an incredibly unnerving energy as they dart around the small coffee shop.
“I think you’re scaring the employees,” Ellana continues, pushing her own drink to the middle of the table. “Do you know something I don’t? I mean. Of course you do, you have a doctorate in — some kind of science, it’s unclear. All I know is that it’s a science that’s definitely not the same as mine. What’s going on?”
“I’m going to sound insane to you.”
“Evelyn. You are the Inquisitor of Thedas. You lead a very large intelligence and military operation that was originally labeled as a terror group by the Andrastian Church and is now the major oversight group keeping most of Thedas in check and taking the charge in rooting out red lyrium and the associated groups that work for and with it. You sound insane no matter what, but as your employee and friend, I still go along with it. So tell me what’s going on.”
“You and Bull are married, right?”
Ellana blinks slowly. “Yes? I mean. Civil union, if you want to get technical. But yes? Why?”
“How’d he propose?” Evelyn asks.
“He didn’t, not really. I mean. We were talking about the long term of how we’re going to work out and stuff and like. You know. Boring responsibilities of being lumped together as a package. We were talking about finances, insurance, power of attorney, things like that. And we decided that it would make things a lot simpler if we had a civil union recognizing each other as our life partners so we went and got ourselves a bit of paper that says we’re together. It wasn’t really romantic or anything. It was a practical choice. If you had to say one of us proposed, I guess it’d have been me saying we should just sign prenups and get a civil union to simply things on our forms. Then we had Josie come along as witness. You know that part though. What’s this about?”
“Despite the fact that my family loathes me now — finally — there’s no escaping the fact that I’ve yet to lose their name,” Evelyn says, leaning in so she can speak quieter. “And there’s this thing they’ve done, ever since I was nineteen and they actually wanted me to carry on with the family name. They’ve sent people to propose to me in increasingly terrible, grand, and public gestures every year around the holidays. I think they think that if it’s in public and around the holidays I won’t kid up a fuss. And now that I’m sort of famous, they think that by sending people for me to refuse in public it’d make me look bad. I don’t know. I haven’t tried to understand in a long time. All I know is that every year for about two weeks I’ve got to live life like I’m being hunted for sport, which I am, which means acting like some paranoid lunatic, which I also probably am.”
Ellana gapes. “Why don’t you just lock yourself up in your office in the Skyhold base? No one’s getting to you there. I mean. We could have Bull be your security. Heck, the entire Chargers. You mean to tell me that the entire time you’ve been Inquisitor this has still been happening?”
“Never underestimate the rich with a grudge,” Evelyn says. “I mean. The House of Repose still got to Josephine, right? There’s nothing that can protect you from this kind of bullshit.”
“Have you told anyone about it aside from me?”
“Max knows about it, of course. He tries to help me best he can but given the nature of said proposals there’s not much he can do aside from lending emotional support. Leliana knows because she’s Leliana. Vivienne knows because she’s heard about it before — it’s kind of a thing of gossip in our academic circles. It’s happened to me during some end of term parties when I was a professor.”
“Cullen?”
“Probably.”
“You know, Evelyn. I’m sure that this could be solved very simply if you just got married,” Ellana says.
Evelyn’s eyes snap to her. “Say yes to one of these money hungry pieces of scum? Are you out of your mind?”
“No. Are you out of yours? I meant marry Cullen. You’re dating, you stay over at each other’s houses. You like each other a lot, dare I say it? Love each other.”
“I’m not going to marry Cullen just to get some annoying people off of my back.”
“I married the Iron Bull for legal purposes. You can definitely marry Cullen to get really terrible people to stop foisting marriage proposals on you in an extremely shitty way.”
Before Evelyn can protest she cocks her head, eyes narrowing before she bolts, nearly knocking the table over in the process. “I’ll talk to you later,” Evelyn yells as she barrels for the back entrance to the shop.
Ellana stares at her before turning as the bell over the door jingles.
In walks about thirty carolers each with their own sign and a truly pretentious looking man with a giant bouquet of roses.
“Dear Elgar’nan,” Ellana mutters as the carolers spread out around the small shop, “Smite this city block with your merciful flames now.”
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danandphilsecretsanta · 8 years ago
Text
Halfway to Monet
To: @spacehoephil
A/N: I hope you enjoy. Merry Christmas.
Summary: Phil feels sentimental and Dan reminisces.
The fireplace, bedecked in tinsel and Christmas lights, crackles and chases the chill from the air. Phil is sat on the sofa reading a book with a thick blanket wrapped around him. He can hear the tinkling of piano keys coming from Dan’s room.
It’s good to be home after their exhausting year. Before TATINOF, he’d wondered if spending so much time in close quarters with Dan would make them sick of each other, but it has only made them closer.
Phil looks around the room feeling grateful and fond for the home and the life they’ve built together. He smiles at how he has a memory associated with every item on the bookcase―the entire apartment, actually―and he knows who picked out what, on the offchance that they didn’t buy it together. Not that it really matters, since almost everything has become theirs, including the plants. Love has been intertwined throughout everything.
Taking the blanket with him, Phil pushes himself off the sofa and goes to stand at the window, watching the snow fall against the light of the street lamps below. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt happier in every aspect of his life.
The peaceful solitude and cold air emanating from the glass makes him miss Dan. He tightens the blanket around his shoulders and shuffles his socked feet down the hall to where Dan is playing the piano.
“Scoot over.”
With Phil sitting beside him like a warm, fluffy burrito, Dan continues playing Yuri on Ice. It didn’t take him as long to learn as he expected.
Phil waits until the song is finished before the beseeching begins.“That was beautiful and makes me want to watch skating but I want to hear some Christmas songs. Please?” He says the last word with a soft sweetness as he rests his head on Dan’s shoulder.
Dan starts with an impassioned O Holy Night and follows it with a more subdued Carol of the Bells which he lets build slowly. Phil hums contentedly, wanting to fully lean into Dan but knowing that would restrict his arm movement.
Playing the songs makes Dan think of their first Christmas living together. Specifically, the night they put the famed ‘rave tree’ together for the first time. It was the night he realized how much he was hopelessly in love with Phil.
—-
They had went through the shops looking for the perfect tree and everything for it. Many compromises were made.
“I want a tree taller than us.”
“We can’t get a 12ft tree, Phil. Our ceiling isn’t even that high. It would have our posture.”
“See? It’d be perfect.”
Living with another was more trying than Dan expected. It took time to adjust to the less appealing Phil quirks. He doesn’t think it took as much time for Phil to adjust to his negative quirks, few as they are, but he might be be biased.
—-
A few weeks after having decided on the perfect plastic tree, music played as they began to construct it. They told each other bad Christmas jokes as the tree took shape and they wound lights around it.
Since they’d made A Day of it, they had baked and decorated brownies for the occasion with santas, snowflakes, reindeer and everything one would expect on Christmas cookies, plus a few more scandalous designs.
Phil thought they were works of art. Dan nodded silently in agreement, thinking they must have been done in impressionist style since the further away you were, the better they looked.
When Dan had come back to the lounge after eating a brownie that bordered on abstract, Phil had a paper crown on from the cracker they pulled earlier, and he was singing and dancing to All I Want For Christmas Is You. He looked so comfortable and full of joy, Dan couldn’t take his eyes off of him.
It was then he realized just how in love and completely besotted with Phil he was. Dan loved him so much it hurt, and stole his breath.
His arms fell limply to his sides as he stared, mind reeling at the revelation. There was nowhere else he’d rather be, no one else he’d rather be sharing a Christmas with. Phil carelessly dancing in his pj bottoms and tshirt, singing off-key with Mariah as he helped to decorate Their tree was gorgeous and Dan’s chest ached with affection.
Before he could wonder how Phil felt about him, his legs had carried him to be stood a few feet behind the man.
“Dan, what ornaments do―” the question fell unfinished as Phil turned to look at Dan, who appeared unusually still. Phil’s grin wilted as his happy expression morphed into concern.
Dan took a few steps closer. Words failed him, he was at a loss for what to do. He wanted to remove the worry from Phil’s face but emotions warred inside of him. Love and hope were trying to overtake fear.
As he stood before Phil, with words stuck in his throat, he thought of all the little things about the man that meant so much to him.
The compassion and tenderness, the wicked sense of humor and deviousness. The way he became soft as he would laugh and wriggle when being tickled. He was so unlike anyone Dan had ever known and he was so thankful that Phil has allowed him to see who he really is, let him into his world and, in a small way, made him a part of it.
Dan wanted to reach out and touch him to see if he would disappear. He could feel his fingers flexing as the thought crossed his mind. Perhaps he was dreaming and touching Phil would make him dissipate like smoke, and he would be alone again.
Phil watched as the emotions played across Dan’s face. Concern became understanding.
With Mariah singing about how she doesn’t care about the presents beneath the tree, and their own tree looking decidedly naked, Phil smiled and took the red tinsel he’d been holding and placed it around the back of Dan’s neck like a boa, and gently pulled him close.
It was a short, soft pressing of lips. Phil broke away quickly and pulled back just enough so that he could see Dan clearly.
With Dan looking happily bewildered, he leant forward and grinned into the next kiss.He had to refrain from giggling because he could feel Dan smiling back.
“Hello.” Dan blushed from his neck to his ears, once they’d separated again.
“Hi.”
Dan initiated the next kiss and they both melted at the warmth of it. Dan tentatively wrapped his arms around Phil’s waist in a hug. Phil eagerly returned it and curled his arms around Dan’s shoulders.
Needing a moment after realizing he could taste the brownie in Phil’s mouth, he sighed happily as he hid his face against Phil’s neck.
“I love that you’re as tall as me. It makes for better hugs.”
“It being you is what makes our hugs best.”
“Are we really already at the soppy stage?”
“Shush, Dan.”
They held onto each other for a while longer before giving in to dancing and singing badly together. It was the best Christmas either of them had ever had.
-
That is why, when Phil wants to play the song for hours on end once during the Christmas season, Dan pretends to grumble and when Phil played it on the radio show, he couldn’t help but smile.
Dan nuzzles his face into Phil’s hair for a few moments before he starts playing All I Want For Christmas Is You.
“I like this song.”
“Me too.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too, talking burrito.”
“I would make mildly annoyed burrito sounds but that would only prove your point and I’m too contented by the Shrektacular piano playing skills.”
“You have proven my point by talking, and for that pun, you should change your name to Phillup B Messter.”
Phil stands up and shuffles behind Dan to envelop him in his blanket while making monster noises, pulling him off the piano stool and onto the floor where Dan lands on top of him.
“What did I do to deserve this food on human violence?”
“I have enrobed you in my floury tortilla.”
“Your dairy-free burrito of sadness. You’re on the naughty list for being mean to me.”
“I am reliably informed that I’m good friends with Danta Claus so I’m not worried. Since you love me, we suffer together.”
“Sorry, I don’t love you more than sour cream and cheese.”
“You are an ungrateful filling and condiment.”
Dan snerks at the use of grate. “Yeah, but your wrap is feeling toasty so I think I might be able to deal with being part of a Philrrito.”
“Behold the sacrifices one makes for love. Where’s the video camera when I need it to capture your noble declaration?”
Turning around in Phil’s arms, Dan murmurs before pressing their lips together, “I’ve given up cheese for you. That is as close to true love as you’ll get from me.”
“I guess I’ll accept that,” Phil replied as they broke apart. “It’s not slaying dragons but a man can’t have everything.”
“You know you’d want to keep a dragon, not have me slay it. Speaking of love, I was thinking about the night we conceived the rave tree.”
Phil’s face scrunches up in laughter. “I recall that night vividly and no conceiving happened unless trees are birthed by reaching second base and making out.”
“When were trees ever conceived at eighth base? You know that mostly didn’t happen until after we finished decorating.”
“I know the completion was delayed a few hours.” Phil smiles like he’s a cat that’s gotten the cream.
Dan hums as he returns a grin in kind. Phil manages to roll them over so he can move his arms and they can remain warm.
Dan reaches to slide his hands into Phil’s back pockets and belatedly remembers he is wearing pj bottoms so he’s caressing Phil’s bum for no practical reason. Not that the pockets weren’t a flimsy excuse.
“My world stopped when I realized you wiggling your hips and caterwauling was one of the most wonderful things I’d ever beheld and I wanted to always be able to witness it.”
“Who’s the soppy one now? That still might be the best kiss we’ve ever shared.”
“Might be? Best we’ve ever shared? This won’t be rectified until I’ve given you the best kiss you’ve ever had.”
“This is one of the few times I can fully enjoy your competitive nature but we’re missing the mistletoe.”
“Don’t need it.”
Phil ekes out a “A Merry Christmas to us all; God bless us, every one.” before Dan renders him speechless again.
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