#if you know me you know I put too much stock in dates and sentimentality | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

denim-mixtapes · 2 years ago

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Showstopper - The Christmas Special

Pairing: Eddie Munson/Fem!Reader Word Count: 7.1k Summary: It's Christmas break and you're headed to Hawkins to spend it with Eddie, now your boyfriend. Over the first few days of break, you get to meet his uncle Wayne and learn more about his history, and enjoy the holiday so much more than you ever would have if you went to your own family's celebration. You agreed on no presents, but that doesn't mean he can't unwrap you on Christmas Eve. Warnings: NSFW 18+ SMUT, Minors DNI or I’ll put coal in your stocking. Brief mentions of tense family dynamics, VERY brief mentions of death in Eddie's past, Wayne being the best parent around, cute holiday fluff, but then also -- oral (f & m receiving), rough oral sex/face fucking, face sitting, 69 position, VERY very brief mention of anal play in passing like blink and you miss it, a stupid amount of pet names (baby, sweetheart, princess, sweet thing) instead of y/n. I think that covers it but don't hesitate to lemme know if I missed something!

[Part 1] [Part 2] [AO3] -- Part 4 COMING SOON

A/N: Sorry that this took literally forever but also I'm not going to apologize TOO much because I'm trying really hard to not be so hard on myself about deadlines. Anyway, split this into two parts to get it posted quicker, so keep an eye out for the New Year half of the holiday special sometime soon! Thanks for your patience and sticking with me! <;3 <3

The offer for you to stay in Hawkins for Christmas came as naturally to Eddie as the lyrics to his favorite song, he hadn’t even realized it slipped past his lips until you were staring at him incredulously.

“What?” He asks through a chuckle, fingers stilling where he was once scratching between your shoulder blades, soothing you after a call from home.

Dropping your head back into your hands with a groan, you reply, “I can’t do that, Eddie.”

His voice is warm, devoid of judgment when he simply asks, “why not? I went to your hometown for Thanksgiving.”

You can’t help but laugh, sitting up from your hunched position to lean heavily on his shoulder and look at him through your lashes, the slightest pout on your lips. He would deny it if anyone asked him, but he thought the purse of your lips and concern-etched brow only made you that much more endearing.

“We weren’t actually a couple then, though,” you sigh. With a curious look, he silently urges you to continue, still not seeing the problem you are. “Last I checked, you don’t go home to spend the holidays with your boyfriend’s family after literally less than one month of dating,” you press, “I couldn’t intrude like that, it’s your time with Wayne.”

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs against your crown, placing a kiss in the very same spot before pulling back to fix you with a hard stare. “You clearly don’t want to go home over the break, and I don’t blame you after seeing how they make you feel first hand. I don’t blame you at all. And I see that old fart every day, Christmas is no different. It wouldn’t be an intrusion, hell, he’s been practically begging me to bring you ‘round so he can meet you,”

You swear you can feel your chest start to crack open at the thought of Eddie talking about you to his Uncle. It’s a sentiment that might have been obvious or inevitable, but still one that tugs at your heart strings and further deepens the pinch between your brow and the sentimental look on your face.

“You’re sure?” You ask quietly.

“Positive.”

So it was decided. You’ve been officially dating for three weeks and are about to spend your second holiday together. It would be a lie if you said you were surprised, Eddie has never really been one for traditions or societal convention after all.

Robin is thrilled when you tell her, insisting that the both of you make an appearance at her family’s big New Year party, and Steve even makes a point to suggest a few things the four of you (and their gaggle of teenage friends) can do over the course of the week. It seems like everyone is excited that you’ll be spending the Holidays in Hawkins.

Well, almost everyone.

“What do you mean you won’t be making it!?”

You can feel your mother’s rage through the phone, as much as she tries to conceal it. You’re already shaking, twirling the phone cord around your fingers nervously, fidgeting.

“Exactly what it sounds like,” you sigh, “I won’t be coming home for the holidays, I’ll be spending the break in Indiana with Eddie and his family. It’s only fair, we visited you for Thanksgiving, and considering how well that went, I’m assuming he wouldn’t be welcome back.” The silence on the other line is deafening. “Exactly. So I’ll be going somewhere where we’re both welcome.”

“Honey you know we would love to have you, I don’t want you to think–”

“The decision has been made, Mom.”

“Well,” She sputters, trying to find some way to convince you to come…alone. “What do you expect us to do with all your gifts? Return them?”

“I guess?” You can’t stop the comment from coming out as a laugh. “It’ll save me the trip to the return counter at the mall, myself.”

She manages to get out half of a scoff before you’re slamming the phone back onto the receiver, hands balling into fists at your sides.

From her side of the room, Robin shoots you a sympathetic look, closing the textbook she was studying and shuffling to the edge of her bed. “That bad, huh?”

“I don’t even want to talk about it,” you groan, pinching the bridge of your nose. Desperate for a distraction, you thrust your thumb toward the door. “You still got some shopping to finish up? Want to tag along to the mall?”

With a signature Robin Buckley toothy smile, she hops off the elevated bed with a thump. “Thought you’d never ask.”

—

You’ve been at it for hours, traipsing the overcrowded holly jolly halls of a shopping mall during the holiday season, arms weighted down with shopping bags that contained some presents, but mostly gifts for yourselves. Robin is happily slurping on the Icee you’re sharing, while you break off bits of the world’s biggest pretzel and pop them into your mouth.

All in all, it’s been a successful day. You managed to snag a couple of records that Eddie was having trouble getting his hands on, as well as a new strap and a couple packs of strings for his Warlock. You agreed on no presents, since your relationship was so fresh, but you had the feeling he was going to break the rules just as much as you have, so you somehow keep finding little things here and there to add to the gift. Robin crossed off the last name on her list, her dad, with a fancy bar tool set and a too-expensive bottle of scotch scored with a fake ID. In the same store, you plucked a middle shelf bottle of whiskey from the wall of names, hoping it would make do as a host gift for Wayne. Based on Eddie’s description of the man, you figured it would do just fine, especially when you pair it with a nice insulated flannel. You even managed to sneak away from Robin for just a few minutes to purchase her gift in secret, a book that she picked up and put down several times, debating on if she should buy it for herself or not. You made the decision for her.

You’ve just fed her a bit of pretzel, causing both of you to burst into a fit of giggles, when she mumbles around the bite, “any other stops?”

“No, no, I think I’ve spent more than enough money today,” you laugh, steering both of you around a corner and down a corridor that you hope leads back to the parking lot.

Halfway back to the exit, you pass a Spencer Gifts window display that catches your eye. It’s awful, cheesy as hell, and you’re honestly surprised it’s allowed to be displayed so plainly to the public. Under two neon signs labeled “nice” and “naughty” are two mannequins dressed in scant lingerie. The nice set is Santa themed, all bright red fabric and faux fur trim, with a neat little bow and one jingle bell dangling between the cups. The naughty stops you in your tracks, black, strappy, mesh, downright salacious.

Robin notices your abrupt stop and follows your line of sight, another laugh bubbling behind her words, “you wanna go in there, don’t you?”

“I– yes…shut up. I’ll be quick.”

—

Unlike the drive to your hometown last month, the drive to Hawkins is quick and pleasant. Back seat was loaded down heavily with gifts and a larger suitcase than the last time. You take it a little slower, but the half hour still beats four hours any day. Also unlike last time, you’re making this trip alone.

Without Eddie there to distract you with conversation, you’re allowed more time for your mind to wander, to race with anxiety. Your fingers tap at the steering wheel, stomach doing flips as you think about the ten days ahead of you. Excitement and nerves battle it out to be your dominant emotion. On one hand, you’re more than excited to get some time with Eddie, uninterrupted by your class schedule or work, looking forward to surprising him with your gifts and seeing him in his natural habitat, meeting his uncle. On the other, you’re scared shitless that with all this access to you, forced to spend ten days in a row together, cooped up in his little hometown…well you’re not worried you'll get tired of each other. You’re convinced you’ll never tire of Eddie Munson. What you’re really worried about is that all that time together could burst the content little bubble you’ve been in, that he might realize you’re not all that exciting at the end of the day. You’re worried he’ll get tired of you.

Stop.

You scold yourself for thinking like that as you pull into Forest Hills Trailer Park, gravel crunching under your tires when you roll to a stop in front of the Munson trailer. Gathering as much as you can carry into your arms, you make your way to knock on the door.

When Eddie answers, you’re a sight to behold. Nothing more than a forehead behind a stack of colorfully wrapped boxes, your line of sight obscured by the frilly bow on top of Wayne’s gift.

“So much for no gifts,” he chides, ducking down to scoop the mess of presents from your grip. Once he’s sure he has a good handle on them, he ducks to kiss your cheek in greeting and then clumsily leads you inside. “Leave the rest,” he urges, “I’ll go get it once I set Santa’s entire workshop under the tree.”

Your cheeks heat at his tease, looking down at your shoes as you mumble, “it isn’t that much.”

Eddie responds with a hearty laugh, full and genuine, and it blooms more confidence in your chest. When you look up, you see that the ‘tree’ isn’t much more than a string of garland wrapped around a coat rack, but there are handmade and sentimental ornaments strung from it proudly. He dusts off his hands animatedly and turns to you with a proud smile, “I know, I know, but we did say no gifts.”

The only response you give is a glare toward one of the boxes that was already there, wrapped in butcher paper and labeled with a bold scrawl of your name in permanent marker.

“Only two of those are for you,” you finally say, biting back a laugh at your lie, “okay, three.”

“Good thing I managed to shove more than one thing in that poorly wrapped box, then.” He makes his way around the pile of gifts and comes to a stop in front of you, finally properly greeting you. With both hands on your cheeks he kisses you fully, an eager, hungry little thing that’s fit to say hello after a few days apart. “Hi.”

“Hi honey,” you smile into his lips.

“‘M glad you’re here.”

—

It’s not until the next morning, the 23rd, that you end up meeting Wayne.

When you wake, Eddie is still sound asleep and looking at the time you expect him to still be out for at least another hour or so, but the light filtering in through the threadbare curtains is bright enough to rouse you and you know you won’t be able to fall back asleep, so you carefully get out of bed and tiptoe out into the main room of the trailer.

Once the door is closed tightly behind you in an attempt to muffle any sounds you may make, you begin your search through the cabinets to find coffee and filters. It takes a few moments, but eventually you find them and set the pot to start brewing, perusing the many mugs hanging from the wall while you wait. You pick one blind, a participation trophy from some bowling league in ‘78, and are about to pour yourself a cup when the trailer door rattles open, making you jump.

Wayne Munson is exactly what you pictured, a tall, tired looking man with sparse salt and pepper hair, white scruff in need of a trim, dressed in work rags and toting a soot stained lunchbox that he drops on the tiny kitchen counter when he enters. His flat features soften as soon as he notices you in the kitchen, his exhaustion melting away into a kind smile. His eyes sparkle just like Eddie’s when he does.

“Sorry, kiddo,” he says, voice rough with age and a years-long smoking habit. “Didn’t mean to scare you. You must be the girl that’s been taking up all of Ed’s time lately.” He reaches out a hand to shake yours, which you happily accept and offer him your name. Using your handshake as an anchor he pulls you toward him to pat your shoulder affectionately, a kind of half-hug that isn’t much of an embrace. It’s clear he’s a hugger, but realized halfway through that he shouldn’t overstep. Softer now that you’re close, he jokes, “thanks for taking him off my hands.”

“‘Course,” you laugh, leaning into the charade, “you owe me, though. He’s a handful.”

“Don’t I know it.”

You point to the coffee pot with raised brows, silently offering him a cup, even though it’s his coffee and you’re in his house.

The man thinks for a long moment, “you know I should be gettin’ to sleep, it’s been a long night…but what the hell. Can’t pass up the opportunity to talk about my nephew with you while he can’t defend himself, right?”

So you pour him a cup and you chat.

The pair of you spend the better part of an hour talking. He shows an interest in you, asks about school, about what you’re studying and how you and Robin are faring in the dorms and living off of cafeteria food. Eventually the conversation turns toward you and Eddie. Apparently, the boy couldn’t shut up about you, and for quite some time before the infamous Thanksgiving trip. Wayne seemed reluctant to divulge the information, but it came out too easily. You clearly make his kid happy and he just can’t stop himself from asking how he ‘finally locked you down.’ (His words, not yours.) You consider telling him the story you manufactured for your own family, the one about your first date at the Hideout and how you’ve been together for some time now, but there’s signs of life in the bedroom and the door is creaking open.

A slow smile cracks onto your face when you catch sight of Eddie, still soft with sleep and eyes half closed.��

“We’ll have to tell you the full story later,” you say to Wayne, though your gaze is trained only on Eddie. “It’s a wild one.”

“Yeah, old man, isn’t it past your bedtime?” Eddie jokes from his spot leaning on the counter. Nodding toward the bedroom once more he adds, “c’mon baby, get dressed in something warm, we’ve got plans today.”

—

“This is stupid, this is fucking stupid, this is so dumb!!”

You’re surrounded by raucous laughter, both of Eddie’s hands clutched tightly in your own as he leads you across the frozen pond on wobbly legs. You’re both giggling, barely even moving, and Robin and Dustin are loudly contributing to the ruckus, their laughter the loudest as she skates circles around you and Dustin trails slowly behind.

“C’mon, you just gotta trust me,” Eddie insists, unable to hide the jest in his voice. “I won’t let you fall, I swear!”

For someone so rough around the edges, Eddie is surprisingly nimble on skates. He’s patient with you as you get more sure footing beneath you, leading you around the perimeter of the pond a couple more times. You’re starting to get more confident on your feet when Robin blows by you again, shouting hello to the rest of the teenagers that just arrived, and throws you off your balance, sending you tumbling toward the ground.

A chill runs up your spine, icy water soaking through your gloves and the seat of your pants when you land with a soft “oof.” Unsure of whether you’re more hurt from the fall or embarrassed that it happened, in the end the only thing that takes over is another weak laugh of disbelief that it happened at all.

“Whoa, hey there–” Eddie comes to a stop in front of you, his own laughter soft and unsure, he wants to make sure you’re okay before fully busting out. You wave off his concern and allow him to help you back up. “How about we take a break from this,” he suggests through his continued fit of giggles, “c’mon.” He leads you slowly over to the small collection of picnic tables, and when you’re firmly in place on one of the benches, tells you to stay put.

You take in your surroundings as he retreats. It really is a scene ripped right from a Christmas movie. The pond itself is naturally occuring, jagged and lopsided shoreline frozen over in the Indiana winter, but it’s surrounded by food carts and temporary structures. There’s a tent for skate rental, a coffee and cocoa truck surrounded by picnic tables, and even one of the large evergreen trees surrounding the pond is decorated with lights and ornaments for the holiday. It’s bustling with life, small children on wobbly legs (most of them doing better than you had been) lead their parents across the pond happily, a group of carolers walks by serenading you with Joy to the World, and across the way, you spot Robin and Steve with the kids. Steve is play-fighting with one of them you don’t recognize, a feisty redhead giving him a run for his money, as they walk toward you.

Eddie returns from the skate rental quickly with your shoes tucked under his arm and two festive, steaming paper cups in his hands. Offering you one, he sits on the bench beside you. You take the drink happily, but wrap your hands around his own on the cup so tight that he can’t pull away.

“What’re you up to, Sweetheart?” He breathes, leaning forward on the bench to kiss your cold nose. You don’t let him go far, chasing his lips for a real kiss, humming contentedly when he doesn’t resist.

“Nothin’,'' A cheeky smile, another hurried kiss. “Your fingers are freezing. Just tryin’ to keep you warm.”

“You sure you’re not just trying to hold my hand?”

You gasp, all drama and playfulness, snatching your cup of cocoa away and leaving his hand hanging in the cold. “I would never.”

He fixes you with an honest-to-God pout and there’s something on the tip of the tongue when he’s cut off with a shout from the group.

“Quit making eyes at your girl, Munson!” Dustin shouts, hurling a snowball your way. It misses, narrowly, and lands with a splat on the plastic covered picnic table. “Come on!”

Eddie’s nose wrinkles in the way that it does when he’s trying to force down a smile, and he leans in toward you to knock your forehead with his own. “My girl,” he mumbles, his voice thick and warm with emotion.

It’s not the first time he or anyone has referred to you as such, but that doesn’t stop it from making your heart race anyway. Any time Eddie refers to you as his has you grinning from ear to ear.

“Go on,” you urge, then kiss the apple of his cheek affectionately. “Go have fun, I’ll hang out here where I’m not a danger to myself.”

It’s with another dramatic, smacking kiss that he makes his exit, skating away with a little too much finesse – even for him. You watch him circle his younger friends, taunting them with a wide smile and a boisterous laugh. He tugs on the girl’s braid, lunging away with exaggerated fear when she reaches for him in retaliation, throws handfuls of loose snow at Mike and Dustin, cowers behind Steve when they try to get him back. He’s happy here, in his element, and it starts to make a little more sense how he got on so well with your younger cousins back at Thanksgiving.

You’re so enraptured watching him gently bully his friends that you don’t notice Robin joining you on the bench until she speaks up.

“I like this look on you.” She hums, a shit-eating smirk on her usually delicate face, “it suits you.”

In the distance, Eddie has wrestled Dustin off the pond, the two of them squabbling in the snow banks surrounding it. The sight of his joyous smile warms you from the inside out, your chest tingling with it when you try to hide your smile behind another sip of your cocoa. “What look is that?” You finally snark back, reaching out a hand to wiggle your pink-tipped fingers sarcastically, “the Michelin Man coat? Or the frostbite from wet gloves?”

“No,” bumping your shoulder with hers, she just grins. “Happy.”

Shoving at her, you hope that the bite of the cold outside has turned your cheeks red enough already, hiding your furious blush at her comment. “Shut up.”

Denying it is easy, trying to save face in front of your friend’s blatant told-you-so face, but she’s right. You’re happy.

So happy it wells up in your chest and eeks out your tear ducts. Luckily this time you can blame it on the cold as you round everyone up to head back to the warmth of the trailer.

—

You wake on Christmas Eve to warm lips caressing your forehead and the weight of Eddie’s palm on your hip. You grumble, curling further into his embrace to shield your eyes from the light filtering in the curtain, pressing your face into the crook of his neck. His arms wrap tighter around you, pulling you snug against him.

“C’mon baby,” he murmurs into your hair. “Wayne’s home, we gotta do Christmas.”

Furrowing your brows in confusion, you pull away from his embrace to fix him with a confused stare. “Did I sleep through the whole 24th?”

His responding chuckle is thick and fond, lashes kissing with the force of his smile, and he shakes his head. “No, sweetheart, but we do celebrate early in this house.”

You hum thoughtfully in response, cuddling further into his hold, nosing sleepily at his collarbone and pressing soft kisses to the skin there. “Jus’ wanna stay in bed,” you mumble, breath damp against his skin, eyes drooping.

Eddie’s hand trails up and down the side of your waist, bunching up your sleep shirt in its wake, fingertips leaving a trail of goosebumps behind them, squeezing at the round of your hip before making its way back up. “Suppose we could stay a little while longer.”

Both of you are quiet for a few moments, the only sounds in the room are your slow, even breaths and the tick of a clock on the wall. Eddie starts to think you may have fallen asleep again when you ask, “why Christmas Eve?” It’s soft, devoid of judgment and keenly curious. Just another question you ask solely for the purpose of learning about him, and the sound of it makes him giddy.

His fingers brush through your hair gently, pushing a lock of it away from your face and behind your ear before he answers. “It’s just always been that way, I guess,” he huffs, shuffling down the bed so that you’re face to face, eyes heavy with sleep and the weight of the memories he’s about to share. “Ever since my old man got locked up, my mom and I came here for Christmas Eve, back then Wayne worked at a job that didn’t close for Christmas, and he always took advantage of the double time on Christmas Day. But we had to celebrate together somehow, she always said Christmas was for families and that Wayne was the best we had. Didn’t know how true that was till we lost her.” His voice tightens as he recounts the tale, and you want to tell him he doesn’t have to share, not if it’s hard, but he pushes on so you choose to soothe him instead. With a hand on his cheek, you lean up to kiss the wrinkle that’s deepening between his brows, hoping that all his worries go with it when it flattens away. Still, his eyes shine with the hint of tears as he continues, despite the soft smile that your act evokes. “When I came to live with him, he said it didn’t feel right to change the tradition, so it just kinda…stuck. So now our Christmas morning is on the 24th when he gets home from work. It’s a little odd but it’s what we know, I dunno…I guess it’s kind of stupid.”

“Never!” You scold. Your angry brow and harsh tone is a dizzying contrast to the gentle caress of your thumb against the soft skin of his cheek, and he revels in the comfort, letting his eyes drift shut and leaning into your touch. “It’s not stupid at all, it’s a part of your story, a part of you.” You wait for him to look at you again before you tack on a soft, “thank you for sharing it with me.”

The peace that takes over his face is the best gift you could ask for.

Eventually, Wayne comes knocking, saying you have to get the show on the road before he falls asleep after such a long night. You and Eddie join him in the living room, still dressed in sleep clothes and messy hair, Wayne still in his greasy coveralls and work boots. With fresh cups of coffee, he passes around a flask of brandy while Eddie distributes presents and winks when you nervously accept Wayne’s offer.

It’s refreshing, getting to spend this holiday in such a comfortable, relaxed state. All smiles and laughs, warmth, memories being made. Spending time with the Munsons makes your family holidays feel sterile in comparison, everyone dressed in church clothes, gift giving for the sake of showing off. You can’t remember the last Christmas that you enjoyed being at, but this beats it by far. Eddie’s hand seldom leaves you, always touching, always seeking contact with the swell of your thigh or the small of your back. Even when opening his gifts, he shifted closer to you on the couch so that your shoulders were touching.

He glares at you each time he opens one of yours, his upturned lips betraying the false anger he’s trying to portray, following each present with sarcastic commentary about how nice of a gift it might have been if you agreed to give gifts. He also follows each one with a quick stolen kiss and a quiet word of thanks murmured so only you can hear.

You spend the day just like that. Laughing in the living room, cheeks warm from the liquor and from your boyfriend’s flattery, passing around snacks and a polaroid instant camera wasting too much film. Eventually sleep comes for Wayne while you’re watching It’s a Wonderful Life, and you and Eddie sneak away to the bedroom to give him some privacy.

Later, long after the excitement died down and Wayne had gone to work, you’re sitting on opposite sides of the couch with your feet tucked up under Eddie’s thighs for warmth. He has one hand resting on your calf, thumb distractedly stroking at the soft flannel of your pajama pants, the other holds open a well-loved and worn book that he hasn’t glanced at in about an hour. The trailer is quiet except for Black Christmas playing low on the TV and the sounds of traffic on the main road. You wiggle your toes to get his attention, but only offer a cheeky smile when he looks up at you.

“What’s that look for?” He asks, dog-earing the book and tossing it to the floor. His own expression mirrors yours, playful, knowing.

“You have one more present to unwrap, I was waiting ‘till it got later to give it to you.”

“Oh really?” He asks, lips stretching taut in a sinister smile. He can tell you’re up to no good, he can hear it in the honey of your voice, feel it in the warmth of your gaze. Making a point to look around, playing dumb as he searches the open room, he turns back to you and ducks his head ever so slightly to fix you with a dark stare. “I don’t see anything else. Where might this last present be?”

Turning on the couch to stand up, you reach into the pile of torn wrapping paper on the floor that has yet to be cleaned up and produce a discarded sticky bow, placing it on the top of your head. Biting your lip, you can’t stop the mischievous giggle that follows as the boy’s eyes widen infinitesimally and you start to make your way to his bedroom.

He crosses the room quickly, catching up to you as soon as you cross the threshold and wrapping you up in his arms from behind, his chin hooked over your shoulder. “Fuck all the other shit,” he mumbles against your skin between sloppy, eager presses of his lips, “this is the only gift I need.”

You lean into his embrace with a soft, pleased sound and grab at the hands around your waist until they loosen just enough for you to turn and face him.

“How do you know?” You tease, toying with the stretched out collar of his tee shirt, teasing at the skin just below it. “You haven’t even unwrapped it yet.”

“Sweetheart,” he breathes, words hushed against the column of your throat, “if you wanted me to undress you so badly all you had to do was ask.” His fingers are cold against your hips when he pulls at the hem of your shirt, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. The sight of what’s underneath stops him in his tracks, stepping back to admire you. He scrubs a hand through his hair, scrunching it in his fist as he takes in the sight, chincy red lace and faux fur trim, black straps and bows tying it all together. Your pants sit low on your hips, revealing just enough of the matching panties. There’s a groan deep in his chest, a low, rumbling sound that he tries to swallow, but fails. Reaching out, his hold lands in the dip of your waist, smoothing it’s way up your ribs to stroke his thumb against one perking nipple. You shudder at the action, at the sheer size of his hand covering your breast, lip bitten and arms tucked behind you in anticipation. “You buy this just for me?”

“Depends,” you simper, reaching out for his chest, stroking broadly up the wrinkled fabric of his shirt, up and around the collar to twirl your fingers in the hair at his nape. With a bitten lip and coy smile, you ask, “have you been naughty or nice?”

His eyes darken as you walk him the rest of the way to his bed, his breath ragged in anticipation. When his knees hit the mattress, knocking him back into a seated position, he swallows thickly and looks up at you – wide, wanting eyes, an excitement shining in them that sends heat straight to your core. His voice is unbelievably low, gravely when he admits, “now we both know you already know the answer to that.” He smirks and leans back on his palms, spreading his legs even further with the action, the tent in his pants even more obvious. “Do I get to see the rest?”

Nibbling on the inside of your lip, you break into a wider smile and push at the elastic waist of your pants, turning and bending at the waist dramatically if only to savor the sharp breath that comes from your boyfriend when he catches a glimpse of the last surprise you’re hiding – the open crotch of the panties. Eddie swears behind you and you can’t help but let out a mischievous giggle before turning back to him. He’s basking in the sight in front of him, skin flushed, dropped to his elbows for a better view, hands balled into fists at his sides to stop himself from reaching out and touching. Your heart pounds, salivating as you sink to your knees between his spread legs. You don’t think you’ll ever get over this feeling, the sheer excitement, anticipation of being with Eddie, no matter how many times it’s happened before. The sight of his cock tenting his soft sleep pants makes you lick your lips, eager to taste him, to feel his weight heavy on your tongue.

Running your hands up and down his thighs, closer, closer, closer to where he wants to feel you most before backing away with a sly smile, you can feel the muscles tensing beneath your palms. The air around you is hot, sticky with anticipation as you lick your lips and finally reach for his clothed erection, stroking, squeezing gently, savoring the satisfied groan that the action draws from him.

“Y’look so pretty like this,” you breathe, dipping your hand into his waistband to take his cock in your hand and give an experimental pump. You’re not so certain that most guys would enjoy being called pretty at all, let alone in this position, but god it’s true. The overhead light shines through his hair like a halo and the way his eyes shine down at you, deep chocolate and honey and want swirling together, perfect plush lips parted just slightly around another soft, pleased sound…he really is a sight. If the comment offends, he doesn’t let on. In fact you’re certain you can see him flush even further at your words, a pretty pink dusting across his porcelain features, you’ll never get enough. Tugging on the waist of his pants with your free hand, you rid him of them, stroking the length of him all the while. One of his hands flies to your hair, bunching in it possessively as you lean in to suckle on just the tip and run your tongue along the slit, moaning at the taste as you collect the drop of precum you find there on your tongue. Releasing him with a satisfied hum and a teasing kitten lick at the ridge of his cockhead, you grin again, sighing dreamily, “been thinking of this all afternoon, y’know.”

“Yeah?” He grunts, twisting your hair thoughtlessly, wrapping the bulk of it around his hand and tugging, the sting of it drawing a whimper from deep within your chest. “‘S that why you’ve been so distracted? Been daydreaming about sucking me off?”

You don’t respond verbally, just give a coy little nod before licking a deliberate path along the vein on the underside, following with broad, wet, open-mouthed kisses up and down each side of his shaft. You try to get him as messy as possible, wet from every angle with your tongue before taking him as deep into your mouth as you can.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he huffs, hips stuttering up off the bed briefly, forcing himself further into your throat and shit if he didn’t love the little choking noise it drew from you. You breathe deep through your nose, swallowing back your gag reflex until your nose presses against his pelvis, tickled by the hem of his shirt. He holds you there for a moment before using your hair as an anchor to pull you off his dick. He releases you, hand falling from the back of your head to stroke your throat, featherlight touches of his fingertips against your windpipe as you heave in a breath, licking your bottom lip. “Where’ve you been hiding this talent, huh?”

It’s your turn to blush, suddenly shy as if his cock wasn’t just buried to the hilt in your throat. Still you reach out to continue to stroke him as you answer, “I’ve been practicing.”

Your admission punches the air from his lungs with a wrecked sound, his eyes blown wide and darkening even further as you lean in to take him back into your mouth. He mumbles praise as you work at a steady, almost teasing pace, tells you how pretty you look with your mouth full around another deep, longing moan. As much as he enjoys the sight in front of him, he can’t help but let his mind wander.

I’ve been practicing.

He pictures you alone in your dorm, eyes fluttered shut, concentration and a little bit of pleasure set in your brow as you toy with your clit, two fingers of your other hand stuffed in your mouth, training your gag reflex. Did it turn you on, choking and gagging on your own fingers? Did you imagine they were his, or even his cock? Did you stop with just your fingers? You’d admitted to having toys before, and ain’t that another intriguing thought. Fuck. His touch remains on your throat, never constricting, never controlling, but he can feel himself in your throat as you take him all the way to the hilt again and it’s maddening.

You’re lost in how vocal he is, every moan and groan and swear going straight to your neglected core, and you can’t take it any more. You reach one hand below you to swipe your fingers through your dripping folds, whimpering around Eddie’s cock at the relief when you circle your clit. Not too much, not yet. Just something to take the edge off, but then you pull back to catch a breath and the combination of your absence and the touch-starved whine you let out breaks Eddie from his daydream.

“Aw, baby,” he croons, stroking your cheek much too gently for the position you’re in. His tone is a little teasing, pitying, but his smile is bright as the sun. “It’s turning you on so much just sucking my cock that you gotta play with that pretty pussy while you do? Gimme your hand.” He holds out his hand expectantly, and you’re torn. You only just got some sweet relief from your pent up tension, only just parted your lower lips to tease two fingers at your entrance and you don’t want to stop now, but he’s looking at you expectantly and you can’t deny him. As soon as you withdraw your fingers from your cunt and hold out your hand, he’s gripping your wrist and guiding those same fingers into his mouth with a groan. He licks you clean, tongue swirling around your digits greedily until he can no longer taste your juices on your fingers and then gives your arm a gentle tug, prompting you to stand up. He sheds his shirt quickly and scoots up the bed, a shit eating grin on his face. “C’mere, I got a solution.”

Though you roll your eyes at his phrasing, you’re more than eager to comply when he settles back into the mattress and beckons you toward him. Crawling up the bed, you lean forward on your elbows to drop a chaste kiss on his lips before turning around to swing a leg over his shoulder, hovering over his mouth, and this is new. He’s eaten you out plenty of times before, and this isn’t even the first time you’ve sat on his face, but this angle? This angle is something new entirely. He wraps his arms around your thighs to pull you down onto his mouth fully, angling your hips into a more comfortable position before he dives in eagerly. His lazy stubble drags rough against the insides of your thighs, fingers press bruising marks into the meat of them, and as he laps at your bundle of nerves, the tip of his nose teases at your entrance from the angle.

Not one to be outdone, you lay across his stomach, hips still pressing back against his tongue, and take his cock back into your mouth. You share a unison groan, the vibrations from his voice sending a shockwave through your core, but you’re quick to retaliate by taking him deep in your throat again. You work his shaft at a steady pace, quicker now, and he fucks his tongue into you rapidly, the thick muscle stroking your inner walls in a maddening way. You can feel everything from this new angle. As his tongue works at your weeping hole, his chin bumps your clit erratically, and as you grind back into his efforts you can even feel the point of his nose nudging lightly at your asshole, the new sensation enough to make you clench your walls desperately.

He stops making out with your cunt briefly, pulling back just enough for his lips to brush against your folds as sings your praises, “Jesus Christ, sweet thing…takin’ me so well. Fuck, just like that,” his voice is strained, sounds just about as desperate as you feel, and he interrupts himself with a choked sound when you gag around his length once more.

It’s a blur from there, a mess of wanton cries and stuttering of hips. Too much sensation, the ever growing tension in your stomach, you’re lost in the feeling of his mouth on your cunt and you stop moving to let him fuck up into your mouth on his own accord, until he’s burying himself deep in your throat and coming. Hot, thick ropes of cum burst in your throat and you swallow as much as you can with a heady moan. The loud, animalistic shout that he releases as he comes triggers your own release, vibrating against your clit deliciously, spreading through your abdomen and down your shaky legs. Eddie continues lapping at your folds hungrily, working you through your aftershocks, holding you in place against him with a firm grip on your thighs until you’re gasping at the overstimulation and twitching away from his ministrations.

With one last affectionate squeeze to your plush hips, he chuckles in good humor and helps lift you off of his face. “Damn, baby,” he sighs as you slot yourself into his side and tangle your legs with his own. A soft, dopey smile takes over his face, eyelids heavy and head resting back against his headboard, and he kisses you again, deep and slow and reaching into your very existence. It’s a kiss that you can feel everywhere, your toes curl, scalp tingles, and there’s something deep in your stomach tugging you close, closer, you need to be closer. You can taste yourselves on each other’s tongues and the thought of it has you whimpering into his mouth again. He breaks the kiss with another dark laugh, nudging the tip of his nose to yours, back and forth as he catches his breath. “Merry Christmas, Princess.”

Your voice is ripe with affection when you kiss the height of his cheekbone and reply, “Merry Christmas, Eddie.”

#eddie munson x you #eddie munson/you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson/reader #eddie munson fic #eddie munson smut #stranger things imagine #stranger things x reader #stranger things reader insert #fem!reader #female!reader

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purplekoop · 3 months ago

Note

any thoughts on hero 42? My theory is that Harriet is one of the "reject" Horizon animals, one who is a toad that was spliced with other reptilian and amphibian DNA, namely turtles, hence the shell we can see on her. Idk if she'd be good, evil, or neutral, but considering every tank since Orisa has been villain or Junker, I'm hoping she bucks that trend.https://www.reddit.com/r/Overwatch/comments/1e2f5ux/theory_new_overwatch_tank_is_a_genetically/

https://www.reddit.com/r/Overwatch/comments/17ythsp/atlantic_arcology_a_future_underwater_map/?share_id=39z04D8QgOF93Ov-7xr0U&utm_content=2&utm_medium=android_app&utm_name=androidcss&utm_source=share&utm_term=1 put this cuz of the Galapagos section

alright this sounded so utterly deranged BEFORE I checked the links. I was internally going "how much did I miss in the rodent's story", but these posts have some fascinating insight I'd encourage everyone check if nothing else. Gonna post the links cleanly here for the sake of usability:

For personal reasons I'd of course ADORE if this character actually is a giant buff spiky turtle mutant lady. if this sentiment confuses anyone, this is an open invite to the "#my art" tag on this account. But by default I'm not getting my hopes up because come on, that's TOO perfect for me, I shouldn't be allowed to get that happy. Then again I was WILDLY surprised by Junker Queen's in-game design, so you never know.

I've said before I don't like to base expectations on arbitrary categories (namely the current insistence on more villain supports but not villain tanks (even though we were clamoring for those before Sigma and then as far as I'm concerned the rest following were all warranted as catch-up)), though if I can have my own biases then I'd also prefer not having another Junker, but also I'm not wild on the idea of another Horizon animal guy, especially when I really don't like playing as the two we currently have (and playing in a lobby with a Wrecking Ball whatsoever). The idea of them being a Moira experiment both makes more sense and is a little more appealing, but like half of Talon seems to be Moira experiments already, so I don't know how upping the Level of Freak they are would really be shocking at this point.

I'd be astonished if the mutant-looking creature with glowing green spikes wasn't called "Hazmat" at at least some point in development, though based on the hero select in the Venture gameplay showcase, their internal codename seemingly is somewhere alphabetically between Sigma and Winston. Not necessarily their final name though, as evidenced by Juno in the same teaser being between Moira and Zenyatta (which works for "Space Ranger") as opposed to between Illari and Kiriko like they are in their release state. I speculated before their working name might be "Spike" or "Toxic", which could've been placeholders before "Haz" was used for the Ashe interaction.

I don't entirely want to rule out this possibly of this hero being someone named "Harriet Oris", but while that reddit theory points out the Horizon animals have dated english first names, it neglects to point out they don't have last names either. Winston is just Winston (named after the Horizon scientist Harold Winston) and Hammond is just Hammond. If "Hazmat" and Harriet Oris are the same, then that'd be weird if they were also a Horizon animal with a last name for some reason. The Waitron does also say "It has been a very long time!" to them in the unused dialogue, which could lend credence to the theory of them being a former Talon member and possible escaped Moira experiment. The same account points out similar dialogue for Mauga, and considering the Waitrons are in Circuit Royal (a Talon base of operations run by Maximilien), so maybe there's a parallel there.

Regarding the streamer mode name easter eggs potentially meaning this is a frog (or more accurately a toad, a buff one at that), I don't know how much stock I'd put in that part of the theory specifically. It's weird how few of the names aren't a reference to something, but the only ones the wiki doesn't attribute to anything are "BEEFToad", "BioHazard", "Ch00Ch00", "EZTarget", "GarlicBread", and "SillyGoose". I think most of these are pretty clearly jokes, maybe "Choo Choo" being a reference specifically to Reinhardt's one skin or the Busan train, but those first two are definitely more conspicuous. "BioHazard" is the least joke-like of the bunch, but could also be a reference to other things like the toxic waste area in New Junk City or Mauga's weird canisters. "BEEFToad" feels like a joke, but not as obvious as SillyGoose or GarlicBread. I dunno, to me it just feels like trying to stick on another data point that doesn't necessarily add anything. Making them a frog with turtle DNA feels like an arbitrary extra step and it feels like a weird thing to tease so specifically like this. The turtle thing in the other post feels more like a deliberate nod, they already look more turtle-ish and it feels like such a "nudge nudge wink wink future hero reference here" bit to emphasize.

This all does give me some more enthusiasm for a character that previously felt like a dead end to speculate on, and while I don't wanna get my hopes up, there's definitely something cool here to consider. Gonna be a bit of a wait before they get a proper reveal though, and not sure how it'll be done without a Blizzcon this year. We probably will still at minimum get a reveal and playtest around the same time we did last year for Mauga, so somewhere in November before the proper release in season 14 this December.

#overwatch #hero 42 #overwatch hero 42

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balioc · 7 months ago

Text

Y'know what? I'm bored, and there's some substrate here. Let's be very tedious for a moment, and talk seriously about that last profile excerpt, instead of just pointing and laughing.

Speaking as someone who has never -- thank God! -- had any interaction with any kind of online matchmaking site / app / widget:

For discursive analysis purposes, that six-word profile should be divided into two parts.

"I'm a magical...sun siren." and "queer"

I don't have anything interesting to say about the inclusion of the word "queer" in a profile like this. It's not an unfraught inclusion, given that this is [I presume] a woman's profile that's being marketed to men, but the fraughtness is pretty straightforward. I assume that it mostly exists to signal affiliation with a particular cultural/political/aesthetic tribe, for whom Queer Stuff is Always Better. I don't particularly like that tribe's culture, but OK, that sure is how tribal signaling works, I assume that it's a useful thing in a Tinder profile.

(Unless the secret sotto voce signal here, in this context, is -- tee hee, with me there might be bonus sexy girl-on-girl stuff? I assume that kind of thing is too retrograde to be compatible with the culture in question, but Lord knows that humans are inventive in finding non-taboo workarounds to say what they want to say.)

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

"I'm a magical sun siren." On a dating profile.

It's cringey, and more than cringey. There's a frightening vibe there. I, too, would not try to get together with this person, were I on Tinder for some reason.

But here's the thing:

Almost every smart, thoughtful, sensitive person I know harbors some luridly-metaphorical sentiment of a similar kind. Deep down, not the sort of thing to throw on a dating profile, the sort of thing that comes out in intimate conversations or maybe in art -- but it's there. Some kind of empowering poetic vision of the idealized self. A divine persona, or fursona, or whatever. It may be inchoate, it may be hard-to-articulate, it may even be unconscious, depending on the person's introspective and narrative leanings...but there's certainly nothing wrong with having the wherewithal to understand your own psychic power images.

It actually provides a ton of insight, to know that someone likes to imagine herself as a magical sun siren. And, no, I don't mean the "insight" that the person is cringey and has Bad Vibes. Imagine hearing that metaphor, not on a dating profile, but from someone for whom you already have some real trust and respect. It's a revelation, right? A vulnerable one, and a valuable one. "This is one of the iconic images that resonates with me, these are the symbols that feel like they're Mine."

(I could write an essay on the implications of solar identification, and the connotations of 'siren,' and the much thornier and more complicated connotations of 'magic' as a tag applied to the self. But you don't need it, you can jump to most of the relevant conclusions yourself, because those are some evocative words right there.)

And because it's a revelation, knowing it provides power. I'd bet that a lot of the ways to make this woman happy involve making her feel like she is, in fact, the magical sun siren that she's trying to be. It is admirable, for her to put that up front for people who are trying to get together with her.

And taken on its own terms, taken seriously, it's [slightly] cool. I would like to meet a magical sun siren. I would probably like to meet the woman for whom "magical sun siren" is a vibrant ideal. There's some originality-of-vision there -- it's not a stock ideal -- and a certain sense of poetry.

So we're left with a profile that is is (1) true, (2) important, and (3) virtuous.

So why are we so instinctively convinced that it's a bad thing? Why, in fact, are we cringing, and shuddering at the vibes?

...because it's too blatant, right? Because it's in a dating profile, being read by strangers, without the ritual protections of artistry. Because this woman hasn't yet earned the social affordances to use a poetic, over-powerful, yeah-OK-it's-pretentious metaphor and be taken seriously.

And she should have known that, and she didn't, which is the real problem. She should have had the judgment to avoid saying the true and important and virtuous thing, because it would obviously be considered cringey -- and bad judgment of that particular kind is unattractive, and indeed scary. Either she's not aware of the effect that her words will have, or she doesn't care; either way, how could she be trusted not to hurt the people around her, when words can have such power?

The cringe-judgment self-justifies and self-perpetuates. The truth and importance and virtue of her little poetic metaphor are as nothing compared to her lack of mastery with regard to the social context of language.

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

There is, of course, an obvious and inevitable response to all this: Own the cringe. Love the cringe. Maybe just accept the true and important and virtuous thing for what it is, and stop worrying about other people's Keynesian-beauty-contest judgments. That will make your life cooler and lovelier. If everyone did likewise, it would make the whole world cooler and lovelier.

...which is a very nice thought and also total horseshit, because mastery over the socially-constructed power of language is important, you can't fiat that away. If you somehow convince people to Own the Cringe en masse, you will not actually end up with a less-judgey world, you'll just end up with a world where the standards of judgment are more opaque -- a world where you have to figure out which forms of cringe are really cringe as opposed to being delightfully quirky, with even less guidance than you'd have today.

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

The only real takeaway here, I think, is that dating profiles as a technology are inherently flawed past repair. Which everyone knew already. But there's no way to avoid making them into stages-for-performance, and then judging people on their performance quality according to deeply-suspect social metrics, because you've taken intimate self-revelation and thrown it into the public sphere as a thing to be judged by the criteria of public conduct.

There's really no substitute for getting to know people.

Excerpts from dating profiles I swiped left on:

"If you're a white man who's lucky enough to match with me, make sure to bring offerings".

"I heal my ancestral trauma by dominating white men and making them do things that improve the environment."

(These were two different profiles, seen within the space of a day or two.)

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pintsizemama · 3 years ago

Text

Fireplace

Day 6

Welcome to the 2021 Christmas Writing Challenge! Big thank you to Steph (@toomanystoriessolittletime) for putting this together!!!

Summary: Maxwell and Maggie escape the Avengers for a day.

Pairings: Maxwell Lord x Named Reader (Maggie Stark), Maxwell Lord x You

Fandom: MCU & Wonder Woman 1984 (modern AU)

Rating: Explicit 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 1,822

Warnings: language, kissing, fluff, SMUT, oral (f rec), PiV, unprotected sex, scared of getting hurt/slight angst, catching feelings…Let me know if I missed anything!

Day 5 Day 7 Christmas Masterlist Main Masterlist Little Stark Masterlist AO3 Join my taglist

The fire was roaring, and you were warm and content. You and Maxwell had escaped to his posh apartment in New York to get some much needed privacy. While you loved your family and living at the Avengers Compound, sometimes you needed to get away from it all. You knew Max needed it. Your brother and ex-boyfriends were making his life hell. You both needed some time together, without the ever watchful eyes of your ‘protectors’.

You sighed and snuggled up closer to Max. You were lounging on his ridiculously comfortable couch in front of the fire. He had spoiled you with an amazing five course dinner and decadent dessert. He pulled you tighter into his side.

“I still can’t believe you put up a stocking for me,” you said, nodding to the perfectly decorated fireplace. Max had an army of people to take care of his every need. They had decorated his entire apartment beautifully. You gazed at the two stockings hanging side by side—‘Maxwell’ and ‘Maggie’ stitched in each.

“Why wouldn’t I have one for you?” He asked. “You are my girl, after all.” Your heart warmed at his sentiment.

“This is nice,” you whispered.

“Mmm,” Max agreed. You nuzzled into his chest.

“You’re so sweet and affectionate when I get you away from all the chaos,” Max noted.

“I’m not normally sweet and affectionate?” You asked sleepily.

“Well, you are,” Max admitted, “but you don’t get many chances with the guard dogs always around.” You laughed at his nickname for your brother and exes.

“They are a bit much,” you agreed. “I’m sorry for all the drama with dating me.”

“You’re worth it,” he said simply. Your heart melted. Max was so much sweeter than you ever thought he could be.

“You’re worth it too,” you whispered. His fingers tilted your chin up and he kissed you sweetly on the mouth.

“Mmm,” you moaned quietly. Kissing Max was one of your all time favorite things to do. He turned more fully towards you and deepened the kiss.

“Ever fuck in front of the fire?” He rasped against your lips.

“No, can’t say that I have,” you replied breathlessly.

“Well, then I think it’s about time you did,” he smirked. He scooped you up in his arms and carried you to the soft, fluffy rug in front of the fire. It wasn’t quite the stereotypical ‘bear skin rug’, but it was close enough. He set you down gently, allowing you to stretch out comfortably. He grabbed a couple plush pillows from the couch and tucked them behind your head. He settled himself over you and kissed you deeply. You ran your hands through his thick hair and kissed him back leisurely. You two were in no rush. It was a lazy, quiet day. You had all the time in the world to enjoy each other.

Max trailed his lips down to your neck. You tilted your head to give him full access. He pulled back after a few minutes and you undressed each other slowly, savoring each piece of skin as it was revealed. Finally fully naked, you lay back against the pillows and drank in the beautiful sight of Max. His golden skin practically glowed in the firelight.

“You’re so beautiful,” you whispered.

“I think you’ve got that wrong, gorgeous girl,” Max purred. “You’re the beautiful one.” You held your arms up to him.

“Come here,” you whined softly. You sighed as his hot, naked skin touched yours. You loved being skin to skin. It was so intimate and perfect. Max kissed you again as you ran your hands up and down his broad back. He moved down to suck on your nipples, your back arching in pleasure.

“Let me taste you, baby girl,” he husked against your breast.

“Please, Max,” you whimpered. He settled himself between your legs and took his time. Max was the best at this. He had ruined you for all other men ever since that fateful morning and stupid bet so many months ago when he had made you come harder than you ever had. He gently kissed and nipped your inner thighs, inching higher and higher, but never quite reaching where you needed him most.

“Stop teasing me!” You begged. “Please, Max, I need you, baby.”

“I love it when you beg,” he groaned. He took pity of you and finally stroked his tongue across your clit.

“Yes!” You hissed in pleasure. He took his time, licking you like you were the most decadent and delicious dessert. He spent over an hour between your thighs and brought you to orgasm three times.

“Max,” you pulled his face away from your core. “I want you.” You needed him inside you. He kissed his way up your body and you wrapped your arms around him when he was finally flush with you. He kissed you and you moaned at the taste of yourself on his tongue.

“See how good you taste, gorgeous?” He groaned. “Can you blame me for never wanting to come up for air?”

“How do you always know exactly what to say?” You sighed. Never in your wildest dreams could you have imagined Maxwell Lord being a good boyfriend. You had pegged him as arrogant, selfish, and cold…but it turned out he was an amazing boyfriend. He was thoughtful and kind and loving. You had no idea how you had gotten this lucky. Maybe you were finally getting a break after all the shit you’d lived through. Now it was your chance for happiness.

Max took himself and hand and notched his thick, throbbing cock at your entrance. You still were not used to his size. He was a big boy…fully deserving of his cocky attitude. You squirmed in anticipation of the bliss you were about to experience. A feeling of fullness you had never known before Max.

“You ready for me, sweetheart?” He asked. You nodded. He cocked an eyebrow at you. You rolled your eyes playfully and giggled. Right…use your words, Maggie.

“Yes,” you answered.

“I’m gonna let that one slide,” Max decided. He was all about control in the bedroom, and you loved every minute of it. He pushed forward inch by inch. Your body readily accepted him as it squeezed him tight.

“Fuck,” he groaned once he was fully seated inside of you. He rested his forehead against your chest. “You always feel so fucking good, baby girl.” You ran your fingers through the hair at the base of his skull. He lifted his head and claimed your lips in a deep, passionate kiss, allowing you a moment to adjust to his size. He began to thrust slow and deep, taking his time, savoring every scrape of his hardened length through your tight, wet walls.

You lost of track of time and the world around you. All that existed was you and Max. You were lost in his eyes and the feeling of his body slowly driving into yours. Max might have said you two would ‘fuck’ in front of the fire, but this slow, passionate mating could only be defined as lovemaking.

You felt emotions—familiar and terrifying—surge through your body. You were falling deeply in love with Maxwell Lord. He held the power to completely destroy you. For you knew, one more heartbreak, and you would be obliterated. You hugged Max closer and hoped he wouldn’t shatter you. You prayed he would be your forever…the one man who wouldn’t hurt you…because it was too late to turn back now.

“Stay with me,” he whispered, pulling you out of your dark thoughts. “I’ve got you, baby girl. You’re safe.” You felt a tear slip down your cheek. He gently wiped it away with his thumb as he cupped your face. He always knew when your mind was hurting you, and he always knew exactly how to pull you back from the precipice. You longed to say those three words, but you weren’t ready yet. For now, it was enough that you recognized your feelings. Confessions could come later. But you had to say something. You needed him to know—at least a little—how important he was to you.

“No one has ever made me feel the way you do, Max,” you whispered.

“I know, baby,” he said gently. “It’s the same for me. You’re unlike anyone I’ve ever known…you’re…fuck, you’re everything.” You pulled his lips to yours and kissed him with all the love in your heart.

Max broke the kiss and picked up the pace, wanting you both to reach your peak. He gazed lovingly into your eyes as his body claimed yours. You could see the same three words in his eyes. He wanted to tell you just as much as you wanted to tell him…but not yet. He angled his hips to hit that spot inside you that made you lose yourself. You whimpered as the pleasure built in your body rapidly.

“Come for me, angel,” he whispered. He plunged into you once, twice, three more times before you both burst in ecstasy. It wasn’t the normal, explosive orgasm you two had…this one was slower, deeper, more meaningful. You had both realized just how much you cared…how neither of you could walk away from this unscathed. You were both in far too deep. This relationship was life changing.

“Fuck, that was incredible,” Max grunted.

“Yeah,” you agreed. Max pulled away and disappeared for a moment. He came back with a glass of water and a wet washcloth. He cleaned you up and made sure you drank half the water. He grabbed the soft throw off the couch and settled back on the rug. He pulled you into his arms and covered you both with the blanket. You sighed and cuddled close. The fire was still roaring, and you were sated and content.

“Do we have to go back?” You whispered after a moment. “I never want to leave…it’s so nice here with you.”

“You can stay here as long as you want, gorgeous,” Max said. “If it was up to me, I’d move you in.”

“Really?” You said, propping yourself up on his chest.

“Yeah,” he replied. “I would love to have you here all the time.”

“I’d love that too,” you admitted.

“So you want to move in?” He asked with a warm smile.

“Yes!” You practically shouted. He laughed and hugged you close. You lay back down on his warm chest. “I’ll still have to go to the compound for work…and we may get stuck there overnight from time to time if I get wrapped up in a project.”

“That’s fine,” Max said simply. “As long as we’re together, that’s all that matters.”

“Yeah,” you agreed. “So when can I move in?”

“Tomorrow too soon?” He asked hopefully.

“Tomorrow’s perfect,” you said with a huge smile.

Day 7

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gossip-girl-of-middleearth · 3 years ago

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Hello! I hope this doesn’t make you uncomfy but I was wondering if I could get a bit of advice? From your recent posts, you said you left your home from toxicity and just bad things in general.

I’m in a similar situation, but my dad will be taking me away from my mom. And I just know it’ll be a shit show. And I’m absolutely terrified when we tell her and what the backlash will be afterwards towards my brothers and me and dad in general

How did you do it? How did you take the leap? Do you possibly have any advice on how to deal ?

Hello, friend!! ☀️

Thank you so much for reaching out, it means a lot that you value my advice <3

Hmm, okay from what I can tell of your situation, that is indeed a tricky one, but nothing can’t be overcome!

It’s important to remember, though, I was 19 when I left (now 20), so the way I handled things is going to be a lot different than how a minor can handle things (legally at least, feel free to replicate my insane stunts lmao)

Advice below the cut! (family violence trigger warning, I suppose?)

My entire family was and is extremely volatile, and I don’t speak to any of them anymore except for my older brother, but I’ll be cutting him off in 3 weeks too when I move.

Fortunately, my dad and brother were both kicked out of the house years ago due to violence, which left me with my mother, who’s quite insidious herself (just watch any Conjuring movie and that’ll give a good idea of what it was like living in that house lol)

I get the same feeling watching this scene as when I was around her in that house. Granted she didn’t try to change my gender, but the hatred for my father getting taken out on me is pretty accurate lol, paired with the immediate “motherly love” afterwards (she never hit me though, pleased to say — she wasn’t physically violent, just emotionally, financially, mentally and verbally. She did try to run my dad over once though, so, there’s that too)

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Yikes…yeahh the same eerie feeling for sure, still makes all my hairs stand upright in memory.

(For further context this clip reminds me of my father and this one of my brother)

In the clip about my father, he definitely reminds me of Frank Gallagher, except he despises my mother instead of revering her. He’s a workaholic instead of a drug addict, too. But the mannerisms are the same. I always handled him in the way Fiona does.

Regarding my brother, I think everything about our family hit him the hardest, despite being the oldest. He developed a very violent streak, and has very poor impulse control. I love him dearly but he’s a snake in the grass, and has thrown me under the bus multiple times to get ahead in life. I mostly just pity him, since I know what our life was like growing up. But still, I can’t defend him forever, especially not at the cost of myself. Literally yesterday I woke up to a text from him asking me to come pick him up because he got arrested for starting a fight at a bar and smashing their windows.

When things started getting pretty bad with my mother earlier this year, I started to realise in my heart that there was no way I could go forth in life with her in it. I focused on the future relationships I would have one day when far away from this town — romantic partner, children, friends etc

I sort of realised one day I’d care about them a lot more than I care about my mother, because those future people would care about me. That in turn got me realising that I do deserve love, despite how my mother made me feel, and that I don’t want her to deprive another second of that in my life.

Something very unique that triggered this too was going to go visit an old family psychic, who’s basically just the Gandalf to my Frodo (ily, Chris <3). He very accurately predicted my birth years ago after my mother was told she was infertile — he got the date, year and time right three years in advance, and even knew ahead of time what my personality would be like, which he was spot-on about.

Well, I went and visited him a few months ago because I was lost with my direction, and he ended up pausing and had a sudden feeling, which led to him telling me that he’d just found out I would be having twin boys one day.

Normally I don’t buy into that stuff, but this Gandalf dude…well I knew he was right.

Knowing I’d have sons of my own one day took me from a scared daughter mindset and into a maternal mother bear in an instant, and I knew I didn’t want any children of mine around my mother or the rest of my family, for their safety alone, which made me realise, “Well, if I wouldn’t allow my own children near them, why do I allow myself?”

I started grey-rocking her in the lead-up to me leaving, which of course frustrated her (she’s a malignant narcissist), but it was a necessary step to start emotionally detaching myself from her.

It all bottled over one night after a pretty distressing argument (I had locked myself in my room to avoid it, but she was still at my door carrying on).

My cat, who’s been my best friend for years, was sitting on the floor next to me, and sort of looked up and I swear he spoke with his eyes, saying, “You know we can’t keep doing this, right? You know this abuse has an expiry date?”

I agreed with my cat and knew right then and there that I’d be leaving that night after my mother fell asleep.

Well, when she was finally done (with threats that there’d be more in stock in the morning, mind you) I went to bed early and set my alarm to 3am (was a little inside joke with myself, since that’s biblically the “witching devil hour”)

I started quietly packing my quilt and cat up (I’d already been secretly packing the boot of my car up with all sentimental and important items weeks in advance, except she caught on and took all my baby albums and more to her boyfriend’s house, so I don’t have any baby photos or information on me when I was a baby anymore, like first words, size and just general things I’d have liked to compare to my own kids one day, rip)

Once that was all in my car, I quietly said goodbye to the old family dog and cat (they weren’t mine to take, not that I could’ve anyways, since it was troubling enough taking Buddy, who’s actually my pet and not the family one). That was pretty heartbreaking, as I knew that’d be the last time I’d see them (I grew up with them and was the only one who took care of them — mother neglects kids and pets alike lmao).

Once that was over, I looked around my house with my hand on the front door and was very melancholy, but knew Buddy was right: it had all reached its expiry date.

I left very quietly and drove to McDonalds for a coffee, as I had a long drive ahead (I had organised to be a nanny in this rich family’s house far away in the city — two hours drive). Luckily they were away on their country farm 4 hours away, so I had time to sneak Buddy in.

The nanny thing recently backfired horribly because they discovered Buddy, which led to more AM escapes with my car, but I’m staying with my older brother and his gf for 3 more weeks only. Something I’ve been working towards for months now is moving to a wilderness island to live in my country’s equivalent of Bag End — a beautiful country cottage, amazing job and fantastic study opportunities.

Best feature yet: it’s 60 hours away from my hometown by car, and then you’d have to take a boat for 10 more hours!! They shall never find me hahaha

One of my friends has also told me recently that my mother has started spreading horrible, defamatory rumours about me around town, but I don’t care anymore because I’m almost out.

So, although I can’t offer any practical advice (idk if you’re a minor or not, but regardless it’s great your dad is helping you!) this is the best advice I can offer:

Find a dream and hold onto it, one that doesn’t involve your immediate family. For me it’s moving to that island and enjoying all the fresh air. It’ll push you forwards and remind you of what you’re fighting for when at your lowest.

Remind yourself there will be other people in your life, whether a spouse, friends, children or even a dog! (I’m getting a golden retriever next year 🐾) And then remember that you deserve all of them and the unconditional love they offer you.

Remember that if you don’t want your mother/family screwing those people over by proxy of her/their relationship to you, then there’s no way in hell you alone should put up with it either, as I guarantee those future people only want good things for you ☀️

There is a good life after abuse, I’ve seen it, and I know you can achieve it, too!

Be prepared for tons of backlash and bullshit — it’s inescapable when dealing with people like this, but I recommend educating yourself on narcissistic parents and tactics to deal with them.

Finding a good therapist who deals in PTSD regarding childhood abuse is important, too. I found an amazing one in the town I’m moving to, who had nearly the same upbringing as me!

So while I’m still struggling with a lot of fear (scared my mother will find where I’m working and living one day) and guilt (I feel horrible about leaving the family dog and cat behind, especially when they need veterinary help, only to then go and get myself another puppy) I understand I’ve done the best I can in a very abnormal situation, and that I can only do better from here.

Also, this song has been a saving grace when going all angsty over wanting to leave your current situation:

It’s from my favourite Broadway Musical, “Newsies”, and lemme tell you — discovering this as a 17-year-old when I was just starting to realise the severity of my situation was pure divinity.

Jeremy Jordan, my beloved Broadway Bard <3

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When I finally get my cottage, I’m getting a wooden plaque with the name “Santa Fe” engraved on it, and am hanging it on my front door.

I wish you much luck and love, my little anonymous friend! And please know my inbox is open any time you need anything — vent, advice, a laugh or something else, ANYTHING, it feels good to know my past can maybe help someone else’s present ☀️

Please update me, too! I’m following your story along ardently now! (Also, be sure to take your sentimental items and store them somewhere safe away from your mother — ie baby albums, birth certificates, other paraphernalia/memorabilia etc).

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must hit the road. DESTINY AWAITS!

#ahh yes #Newsies my beloved <3 #and bless my family Gandalf #I’m gonna send him a gift next year from the small country town I’m moving to for his birthday as a thanks #also I’m torn between naming the golden retriever ‘Jaskier/Dandelion’ or ‘Glorfindel/Glorfy’ now #so happy that’ll soon be my only dilemma in life <33

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lepoppeta · 2 years ago

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How about your Atlas and Jack for *whispers* alllll the questionnnns!! >:3c

*wheeze*

i hope you dont mind but i ended up taking some of the questions/answers out simply because they were my answers were boring/irrelevent (and i was really starting to lose steam at the end there). i answered the rest of them with as much detail as i could, though.

what is each members love language?

atlas love language is definitely "physical touch", which is interesting because he comes across as extremely charismatic when he wants to be. i think, while he understands how useful words can be, he doesnt put much stock into them himself; ive said this before but hes very much a 'punch first, ask questions later' kind of guy. atlas is usually the one to initiate any sort of physical contact between him and anyone else.

jacks a little trickier, but id probably peg him as either "acts of service" or "quality time". if he likes a person, he makes a point to make himself useful to them. that, or he just… hangs around them and attempts to make conversation. how well that works depends on where his attention lies.

what would they describe as a perfect date?

neither of them are difficult to please. jacks standards for romance are rock-bottom; hes able to be swept away by just about anything. however, he doesnt care much for fancy dinners or anything expensive (in fact he considers that kind of thing to be rather thoughtless, and who can blame him?).

atlas is a little more specific but just as low-key. a glass of whiskey; a roll in the hay. he isnt particularly fussy.

i will say that neither of them (and this is more-so me projecting) are that into the idea of dating. they go about their daily lives, stealing kisses and loving fiercely, and thats more than enough for them both.

who made the first move?

atlas, and with dishonest intention. jack wasnt meant to be anything more than a pawn in raptures inevitable civil war; atlas was planning on buttering him up enough so that the common man would have at least one high-class idiot on their side. the fact that said high-class idiot just so happened to be "the prince of rapture" was just icing on the cake.

atlas took advantage of jacks listlessness and apathy and ended up falling for him like an absolute lovestruck moron. jack knows this, of course, but he doesnt blame atlas. after all, he might have done the same if it meant the possibility of a better future.

who is more sentimental?

initially i would say both, but ultimately i think atlas may be the bigger sap, if only for the immense guilt he carries.

jack, after regaining his memories and thinking atlas dead, resolved to finally find his sense of self as a savior and caretaker for his newly-adopted daughters, and had purpose to help him through his (unwarranted) grief. he has learnt how to persevere despite adversity and to not dwell too much on things he cannot change.

atlas, on the other hand, was stuck in persephone for a long while with nothing but his own thoughts for company, and thus had plenty of time to accumulate the biggest guilty conscious known to man. he knows that, had things not gone the way they did, both of them would probably be long dead, but he cant help but sometimes imagine what might have been if rapture wasnt as cruel as it was.

which one calls the other to kill the spiders?

these two have faced down super-powered zombies on crack. spiders are nothing.

who falls asleep first?

whoever couldnt sleep the night before.

who wakes up first?

whoever gets sick of their own thoughts the fastest, so atlas (usually).

who is more relaxed/carefree?

jack is generally a lot more chill (not necessarily forgiving); atlas has a much shorter fuse.

what is one way their personalities compliment each other (is it opposites attract or are they pretty similar)?

atlas is loud and aggressive and viscous while jack is cool and collected and frosty. jack is probably the only person on the planet that could insult atlas and have the latter take it seriously, because he knows how honest to a fault his boy is and much he means every word he says.

jack is so used to fending for his own emotional and physical satisfaction that it was initially overwhelming that someone wanted to provide, for once.

who is always cold?

they both run pretty warm! (summer with no ac is an actual sodding nightmare for these two).

which member is always trying to bring home stray animals and which member always has to say no?

this really isnt answering the question directly, but i can provide something similar -- jack is actually the "bad cop" parent. atlas is way easier for the girls to manipulate.

who worries more?

they both worry immensely about each other and their daughters and the future but since they dont want the other to worry even more than they already are (and because neither of them are great at communication) a lot of things get left unsaid out of consideration.

what are some non-sexual activities they do together?

sleep. they love sleeping together. after being so violently separated and after experiencing so much intense pain and grief, the only thing they can do to force themselves to remember the other and their surroundings are real is via physical touch. at this point its almost impossible for one to comfortably fall asleep without the other.

who would be able to talk their way out of a speeding ticket?

jack, probably. atlas would probably just get really pissed off and possibly get a second ticket for verbally berating an officer of the law.

who is the better cook?

theyre probably about the same, which is "passable, if youre close to starvation".

what are some things they dont agree on?

whos fault it was (newsflash: it was no-ones fault). they talk in circles about taking blame, and then as soon as they think theyve reached a conclusion the argument will start anew.

which member is more physically affectionate?

atlas!

which member is more verbally affectionate?

theyre probably about the same.

how does each member feel about pda?

i mean this is the 1960s, so… theyve simply gotten used to saving that stuff for when theyre away from prying eyes.

whos the safer driver?

jack!

whats each members flirting style?

their styles violently switch between "shut up" / "make me" and approaching each other in an extremely gentle and genuine way. they know how to read a room well enough to figure out if its going to be one or the other.

which member steals borrows the other ones clothing?

uhhh atlas has probably stolen a couple of jacks sweaters once or twice, but i dont think its something they make a habit out of.

are they an introverted or an extroverted couple?

introverted by a huge margin.

who is the big/little spoon?

they take turns, although usually it ends up looking more like a crazy straw or a pretzel situation.

who is more likely to make an impulsive decision and who is the voice of reason?

despite his short temper, atlas isnt stupid by any means. theyre both pretty well thought-out and reasonable in the grand scheme of things.

who is more likely to get jealous?

oh, atlas. 100%. and you can see it too, clear as day (hes very bad at hiding strong emotions). hell cross his arms and glare and and sulk while he struggles not to interrupt whatever conversation jack has going on and whisk him away to inevitably drive him up against a wall and make himself feel better.

what was the most surprising thing they found out about each other when they started seeing each more seriously?

atlas often forgets that jack was born into a much higher socio-economic class than he was. jack has a "rich boy" switch he very seldom uses (atlas saw it for the first time when they joined forces with sinclair and delta); he becomes cold and calulating and downright dangerous. atlas is both frightened and turned on a little by this.

jack was intrigued by just how soft atlas could get in comparison. atlas is a man made up of emotions, and compassion is absolutely one of them.

who stays up way too late and who drags them to bed?

atlas is the worse sleeper of the two.

whos messier?

honestly theyre both pretty untidy but jacks a bit better if he actually maks an effort to be. atlas just does not care.

who wanted / would want kids first?

given the events of the au that i use, neither of them had much of a choice concerning that. it wasnt like jack was going to leave the sisters behind, and atlas understood almost immediately that jack and the girls were now a packge deal.

who fell in love first?

jack did. jack fell hard, because he was so lonely. if he was going to spend the rest of his days living in someones shadow, then hed rather do so with someone who loved him back (or at least pretended to) than with someone who didnt care at all.

atlas was quick to follow though. he was unintentionally wooed by jacks earnest honesty and just by the fact that he loved him and loved him so deeply. atlas just couldnt help himself; how could he say no to that face?

#ask game #answered ask #bioshock #jack ryan #atlas mulligan #jatlas #alternate universe #musicalshock

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officialwittek · 4 years ago

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pt. 4

*gif is not mine*

word count: 2,101

Ever since my little conversation with the girls I haven’t been able to really be myself around Jeff. Now I notice the side glances, the lingering touches on my thigh, the way his breath hitches when I get pushed a little too close to him at parties, and everything else I haven’t noticed before. My friends were adamant that he liked me back but I couldn’t see it. Slowly I distanced myself from them, for one my manager thought it would be a good idea to release some new music soon so I was extra busy and I can’t really be around my friends without feeling like my heart is going to explode. Of course they started noticing and not a day went by where I didn’t get texts from at least three of them asking where I was and why I stopped coming around. Even Jason and Josh dropped my apartment to make sure I was still alive.

Three weeks have gone by since my sleepover with Jeff. We still talk but not as much as before. Carly and Natalie were constantly calling and texting and I truly felt bad, but it would seem like such a bullshit excuse to say it’s because of my crush on Jeff.

“Sage, this is... this is real good work. I’m thinking we finish it up, and be set to release it in two weeks” James, my manager, said listening to to the final of three of the songs

“Thanks dad, I think today we’re recording the last song. I’ll email you our final version by the end of the day” I reply, he ruffles my hair and nods, leaving for another meeting while the producer and I talk about the last track

We record for about four hours, fine tuning every last detail. After the two of us finally felt good about it we sent the file to James who also gave the approval. We sent it in the the higher ups who also gave us the ok. All the promotional pictures were finished, we had an album cover chosen, now to put it all together and make this my first serious piece of art. After the long morning I decided to head straight to my apartment. I wasn’t particularly hungry anyways. I parked my car and took the elevator up to my apartment.

I noticed shushing and brushed it off, thinking it was just Carly and Erin messing around. I unlock the door and see all of my friends crammed into this fairly small apartment. No one had their cameras out and they all had their arms crossed I sighed and put my things down before shutting the door.

“Before you even say anything. No I’m not on drugs, I don’t hate anyone, and I actually have been working on my music. My first EP is coming out in a few weeks” I explain, their faces relax and Carly walks up to me

“Don’t you ever try to ghost us like that again. We hated it” She said, wrapping her slender arms around my shoulders and I nodded, our friends came around and we all had a sweet group hug

“Well a congratulations are in order. I think we should celebrate tonight” David says, laughing loudly

“Fine, I’m stealing a Red Bull from your fridge though” I say, we all go downstairs and I finally notice some of their cars parked there

We all head to David’s house and I grab a Red Bull. We all sit in the living room. Filming dumb bits and getting ready for tonight. David wanted to throw it at his house since he wanted to keep it relatively small. Natalie, Carly, and Erin went to stock up for the night, asking me about all my favorite things. It took about an hour and a half for them to come back. Everyone helped get things from Nat‘s car and set up. We were finally ready and decided to start drinking before everyone got here.

“May Ilya and Zane stay away from the hospital. Amen” I yell, all of them cheering in response as we take our shots

After a few rounds of shots I was already pretty tipsy. I sat down at the couch, answering a few congratulatory texts from others. I talked to a few of our friends here and there. Jeff was nowhere to be found. I frowned a bit, but who can blame him? After all, I’m the one who made the decision to not talk to him.

“Do you think we could get a sneak peak?” Jason asks, taking a set next to me but I shake my head

“I want to keep it a complete surprise. Plus I’ve been thinking about having a release party and showing everyone there” I said, Jason actually thought that was a much better idea than just playing it

We made small talk here and there, apparently Wyatt has been dying to see my new studio. I loved Jason’s kids like they were my own family, especially since Wyatt and I have such a love for music.

“I’d love to have Wyatt at the studio. He can even record some things if he wants to. I know how to produce as well” I said, Jason damn near cried at the suggestion and we set a date

“Someone looks a little sober” Zane yells from behind us, I laugh and allow him to take me to the kitchen where the others were taking shots or making their best interpretations of different cocktails

After sampling everyone’s horrible attempt at a blackberry mojito it’s safe to say I was one shot away from exiting the physical realm. Especially since Zane decided it was appropriate to just dump nearly an entire bottle of rum in the drink. After a few minutes Todd headed to the door and let someone in. I heard the familiar accent and my heart dropped to my stomach. Jeff is here.

To be fair, I’m probably the only one who really cares that much, especially since I’m drunk as hell and I have a crush on the dude. I try to run and hide in a corner but there’s a lot more people now. I finally see an opening and head straight for the backyard. Thankfully no one noticed because Zane was too busy doing something extremely dangerous. I sit in one of the chairs we reserve for smoking, hitting my puff and scrolling mindlessly through TikTok, trying to get the thoughts out of my head. I hear the sliding door open and look up to see David.

“Alright what’s wrong? You look like we threw a party because we killed your dog” David jokes, my lips spread into a light smile

“Nothing, I’ve just been so exhausted lately with everything going on.. that’s all” I lie, I mean I’m not really lying, just not telling him the whole truth

“So it has nothing to do with Jeff showing up and you’re definitely overthinking and avoiding him even more. C’mon I’ve known you for forever, you can’t lie to me” He replies, his tone suddenly being serious

And it’s true, I’ve known David since I moved out here. He was my first real L.A friend. He’s seen me at my absolute lowest moments, and someone I could always go to whenever something was wrong. I hated that he could read me like a book.

“Fine, the Jeff thing is a contributing factor. But I’m being honest about the exhaustion” I say, crossing my arms like a child

We sit and talk, something we haven’t done in forever. It felt nice to have someone listen to me. After about half an hour of just talking we decide to head back inside. I felt too sober again and took some shots with Natalie and Toddy. I could feel Jeff’s eyes glaring a hole into the side of my head, but I was too sober to deal with anything right now.

At around 1:00 am. I got hungry and ordered DoorDash for everyone. All the other guests had left so it was just our main group scattered around the house. Jeff was surprisingly still here. Todd had whispered to me earlier that the only reason he was sticking around this late was to make sure I got home alright. I smiled at the sentiment, he was always making sure my drunk ass was safe.

Our DoorDash arrived and we all ate while watching some movie David found on Netflix. Jeff took a seat next to me, the look in his eyes was telling me he was going to ask for my permission so I simply nodded and scooted over so he could be comfortable. After we ate David wanted to get some last minute bits before we left for his vlog tomorrow.

“Jeff are you attracted to Sage?” David asks, my breath hitches in my throat, making me choke on my water

“No, I’ve blocked her out. Since she’s part of the friend group I don’t want to make anything weird” He replies, I can tell the answer even made David a little upset

Jason makes a joke to lighten the mood before there’s any tension which I greatly appreciate. Although Jeff’s words struck a cord, while I sit there repeating what he said it hits me. He’s right, I can’t guarantee that if Jeff and I were together that it would be for life and I can’t lose my second family. He’s right, it would never happen. Before I know it I feel my eyes watering and Natalie gently grabs my hand before leading me to her room with the rest of the girls in tow. When she closes the door I finally let it all out

“It’s ok princess, let it out” Mariah says, the girls wrapping me in a group hug

“It’s so stupid, we’re best friends before I let this stupid ass crush ruin everything but just hearing him say that out loud made it so much more concrete that we will never be together” I cry, resting my head on her shoulder

We have a little talk and I clean myself up before we all go back outside. At that point David was done filming and was looking through the footage on his camera to pick out some clips. Jeff was waiting patiently on the couch before Corinna spoke up.

“Hey Jeff, I’m gonna take Sage home. We have some plans tomorrow and it would just be easier if I stay over” She says, it’s sort of true, Corinna has some meetings in the morning and they’re closer to my place but she isn’t staying over

“Oh ok, I should head out then. I’ll see you guys later” Jeff says, saying his goodbyes and leaving

“So was anyone else uncomfortable with Jeff’s answer or was it just me?” David asks, the group agrees, it’s definitely in his right to say that I mean no is mad

“Yea, I wasn’t mad cause it’s his own opinion and Jeff is a big boy, but he seems to sort of lead you on for him to turn around and say that he doesn’t even see you like when we ask him about Natalie and Corinna” Heath replies, everyone nods in agreement and I just sigh

“I’m not mad, I mean I have been sort of ghosting everyone these past few weeks, maybe he’s just upset” I explain, Heath and Todd give me the look

“Baby that’s bullshit and you know it” Heath laughs, Todd agrees with him and taps my leg

“To be honest, he was very stressed out while you were gone” He says, I know he’s trying to make me feel better but it doesn’t really help

Corinna and I leave shortly after we have our little group talk. We caught up during the car ride and before I know it we’re at my apartment. We say goodbye and plan to meet for lunch tomorrow before I head up to my apartment. I knew Carly was probably fast asleep so I tried to be as quiet as possible.

I get ready for bed and climb into my warm blanket, wrapping myself like a burrito. I browse TikTok on my phone for a few minutes before setting my alarm. Just before I let sleep take over my phone buzzes on my nightstand.

Jeff: I missed you.. I’m sorry for being an asshole tonight. I had no idea that I was leading you on, but I didn’t know you had a crush on me..

Fuck.

#vlog sqaud #vlog squad imagine #jeff wittek imagine #jeff wittek

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elsanna-shenanigans · 3 years ago

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August Contest Submission #14: Of Flowers and Child-Friendly Scissors

Words: ca. 5,500 Setting: mAU Lemon: No CW: Brief mention of blood, Angst

The gentle fragrance of freshly cut flowers had always been nostalgic for Anna. She awoke to it every morning, and like clockwork she’d rise and perform her morning routine. With a large mug of sugary coffee in hand, she’d head down from her apartment to the shop floor below to get to work. Visually, she could never get enough of the array of vibrant colours. It overwhelmed her senses as much as the smell.

Raking a hand through her messy red hair, Anna wandered around the shop floor surveying her stock. Swapping her mug for a pair of pruning scissors from the counter, she walked around clipping the flowers on display, changing their water and creating easy to pick up pre-made bunches for her customers. Her mother had always hated being trapped in the family run business but Anna was the opposite: the quiet allowed her time to think. It was her only space in the universe, and she lost herself within it.

Caught up in her own world, she didn’t even hear the gentle chime of the bell as the door opened.

“Excuse me -”

Anna leapt out of her skin; almost chopping her fingers clean off.

“Oh my god, I am so sorry!” the customer flew to her knees beside Anna, taking her hand in her own.

Anna blinked, still as a mouse as she met bright cerulean eyes. She opened her mouth to speak, but her eyes followed her customer’s down to her hand. Scarlet glistened in the morning sunlight, and it took Anna a moment to realise it was her blood. She panicked for a good ten seconds, wondering if perhaps she really had cut her fingers off. Flexing them made her realise she hadn’t.

“I am such an idiot,” Anna yanked her hand back from the stranger as she scrambled to her feet.

“I shouldn’t have snuck up on you. I really am so sorry!” the woman chased Anna back to the counter where she clambered in drawers for the first aid kit.

“It’s okay, really. It’s not the first time. I should really be issued with child-friendly scissors,” she said, running around like a whirlwind. Once she had found the box she was looking for Anna tipped it upside down, spilling the contents of bandages, plasters and antiseptic cream across the counter.

“Sit down, let me bandage it,” the customer told her with a stern tone. It was enough to give Anna pause. Taking a minute to really look the woman over she realised she hadn’t met her before. The village was small; small enough to know every resident. A visitor, then, she assumed.

Silently, Anna obeyed and took a seat, the woman getting straight to work with light and delicate fingers, gently cleaning the wound and applying the dressing.

Anna found herself captivated by her guest: irises were a deep blue peppered with flecks of grey, eyes narrowed in intense concentration. She brushed away blonde hair from her face as she worked, strands so pale they almost lacked all pigment completely. The snow white skin of her arms were without blemish, and Anna’s eyes dared to wander further, past the chain of the silver locket resting on her collarbone, further still to the soft summer dress in muted tones of lilac. She was so lost in her that she didn’t even notice when the mysterious stranger had finished tending to her hand.

“Are you okay? You look flushed. Do you have a fever?” the woman held her hand to Anna’s forehead, and Anna, abruptly snapping out of her daydream at the surprisingly ice cold touch, almost died on the spot.

“I am fine! Totally fine!” she replied far too quickly, backing up as much as her chair would allow, her free hand grasping the arm rest, knuckles white.

Get yourself together! She berated herself. Taking a deep breath, Anna looked up again to greet her customer.

“I haven’t seen you around. Are you visiting?” she asked, keeping her voice surprisingly level as she swiftly changed the subject.

“No, I moved in last week,” the woman replied, finally taking a step back, and Anna breathed out a sigh of relief. She wasn’t sure she’d survive a whole conversation pinned down in the chair… though looking her visitor over once more, a part of her lamented the loss of contact. Just the thought of being pinned down by the enigmatic blonde was giving her more of a thrill than she cared to admit.

“Wait, you just moved in?” Anna suddenly processed her words. She had to think hard. There were no houses up for sale. That kind of news travelled fast. Unless -

“- my grandmother passed away last year and she left her cottage to me. I sat on it for a while, wondering whether to sell it… but my life turned upside down recently and well, here I am, moving into a village where I know no one.”

“You moved into number 6. You’re Rita’s granddaughter,” Anna said, taking a moment to compare the woman before her to the elderly lady who used to visit so often. Forgetting herself, Anna quickly continued, “I know it was a while ago, but I am sorry for your loss. She really was the heart of the village.”

“It’s okay, really. It’s been weird stepping into her life. People talk to me like I should know her, but I hadn’t seen her since I was a child. I have no idea what she was like, or why she bypassed my parents to leave this to me. But here I am, standing in your shop. Life just goes on. It’s quite cruel really.”

And here I am also talking to you like you’d have known her. Anna could have face-palmed. She was making a fine mess of this first meeting.

“Anna Noakes,” Anna held her hand out: the one that wasn’t bandaged, “I run the florist. Big surprise, I know, seen as that’s where we are,” Anna held her other arm out to gesture to the flower covered room. The chuckle it drew from Elsa made her heart soar.

“Well, Anna Noakes,” Elsa took her hand in greeting, “the florist who should only be issued with child-friendly scissors, it is a pleasure to meet you. I am Elsa. Elsa Frost. What would you recommend for a first date?”

Anna caught the look of mirth in her customer’s eyes. She was never living that down.

Pursing her lips, thoughts flicked through the various flowers she had in stock which would appeal to a man. It wasn’t a request she had ever had before, but it wasn’t completely unheard of for a woman to buy a man flowers.

“Does he have a favourite colour that you know of? Is he sentimental?” Anna asked as she dug through some bunches of freesias to reach the gerberas behind.

“She,” Elsa corrected, “and I have no idea.”

Anna froze. Slowly, she turned back to Elsa, who was flicking through her phone. She is seeing a woman? And she talks like it’s no big deal? It was an alien feeling for Anna, who had always been surrounded by her friends and family in this village. It wasn’t that she didn’t like her lot in life, but explaining to them that she may very well not be into men seemed impossible in a small community where no one deviated from traditional expectations.

Elsa held up her phone unapologetically and pointed to a picture of a brunette.

“Isn’t that a dating app?” Anna asked, tracing the emerald eyes and chestnut locks of the flawless woman on the screen. She was beautiful, and successful, judging by the brief bio she caught just beneath.

“Yes. We’ve been talking for a few days and we seem to click. I’m kind of nervous. I really want it to work.”

Anna caught the shy smile from Elsa, and she could not help but empathise with her sincerity. She was adorable.

“I wondered whether to give her roses -”

“- No, you’re not taking roses. Too overdone,” Anna dismissed it immediately.

“Let me make you something special. Peonies are beautiful, as are gerberas… maybe alstroemerias…” Anna murmured, moving around the store plucking individual flowers from buckets until she appeared back at Elsa’s side with a small bunch full of bright reds and yellows. Anna looked between the bunch and Elsa, wondering if perhaps she had made an error. The flowers didn’t reflect their purchaser at all, but before Anna could put them down and start again Elsa leaned forward and inhaled the sweet fragrance.

“They are perfect, thank you.”

Anna gave her a small smile, unable to bring herself to change her mind. If her customer liked them then that was that. They’d be fine. A date wasn’t about the flowers anyway. It was about the people, and she was sure Elsa would have a fine time.

Accepting payment, Anna bid farewell to her new customer and slouched back in her chair as she watched her leave, a goofy smile on her face. It would be nice to have a friend her age in the village. Especially one who must have gone through the same kind of trials Anna was going through.

“I wonder when I’ll see her again.”

—-

The incessant ring from the alarm jolted Anna awake. She slapped it off, only for it to buzz again a few minutes later.

“Snooze, snooze,” she murmured. One alarm was never enough.

Crawling out of bed to that perfumed scent of fragrant flower meadows, Anna repeated her morning routine, with the addition of cleaning her wound and reapplying her bandage. Taking more care not to cut herself, she got back to tending and pruning her flowers.

She was alert to the chime of the door, and looking up her heart raced at the sight of Elsa. Two days in a row. I am blessed.

Putting her scissors down with care, Anna rushed to her feet to greet her.

“Hey! Back again already?” Anna asked, smile bright.

“Just checking in to make sure you’re okay.”

Anna blinked, not understanding.

“Your hand,” Elsa pointed out.

“Oh!” The penny dropped. “This,” she held out her bandaged hand. “Well, it hasn’t fallen off yet so I guess it’s good?” Anna made light of the topic, though Elsa’s concern did not waver.

“Anyway, how did your date go?” she asked, and Elsa’s expression faded to something more melancholy.

“Not so great…” she admitted, and instantly Anna felt for her. Dates were cruel; dating apps even worse: Anna had experienced enough to know that much.

“Oh, I’m so sorry! I really hope it wasn’t the flowers – God, I’d hate to think I ruined your chances -”

“- No, it wasn’t the flowers. We just didn’t get on in person as much as I had expected,” Elsa said, eyes looking anywhere but at Anna.

Why would I suggest gerberas? I should have gone for muted hues. Something that suited her character. I’m such an idiot.

“Have you ever used a dating app before? They are pretty terrible,” Elsa made idle conversation as she browsed a selection of the pre-made bunches available.

“Yes – no, kind of… after my ex I swore off dating forever.”

“He was that bad?”

Anna let out a small chuckle. “No, she was not that bad. Not really. I just wasn’t ready to come out to everyone… Which I still haven’t really done. Which I am still not ready to do. And I don’t even know why I’m telling you this.”

The flash of surprise on Elsa’s face made Anna freeze for a moment, but the gentle smile that replaced it reassured her that she hadn’t made a mistake in confessing that to her.

“Did you date her here?” Elsa asked curiously, not seeming to miss a beat.

“Oh, hell no. She lived in the city. I travelled. Could you imagine if the village knew? It would be the gossip of the century.”

“I don’t know. Fitting in seems kind of boring, don’t you think?”

Anna was caught in her gaze for a long moment, those irises flickering with something darker. Had they been in a bar in the city Anna might have mistaken her customer’s intense look as an invitation to flirt, but they weren’t in a city. This was her village, and Anna was supposed to be serving the woman.

A ding from Elsa’s phone distracted them both.

Anna took a breath, almost relieved the tension was broken. She needed to stop letting Elsa fluster her. Threading her fingers through red hair, she tried to work out exactly how she was going to do that when Elsa continued, “Looks like another match. You ever think women find it corny for a partner to show up with flowers? Am I being old fashioned?”

“Absolutely not. It’s like the pinnacle of romance,” Anna said, resolute in her conviction. If any of her past dates had showed up with flowers she’d have been flattered; she’d have swooned.

“Mmm,” Elsa hummed, still checking her phone. “She wants to meet.”

“Isn’t that a little soon?” Anna frowned, voice laced with concern.

“Probably. But she does look cute. What do you think?” Elsa held her phone out. Anna sucked in a breath as she looked the redhead over in the image. She was stunning: glamorous. Anna felt a twang of envy as she looked over the photo. The woman staring back at her was much like Anna, and yet she was more refined, more city-smart, she had a proper job. It only served to remind her why she hated dating apps. Everyone on there always showed off their best side. Filtered photographs and high paying jobs weren’t everything… even if a small part of her wished she could have that lifestyle.

“She looks great,” the lie rolled off her tongue so easily. Anna had learnt the hard way how cruel the dating world could be, and Elsa needed to learn this herself. It wasn’t for Anna to judge.

“In that case, what flowers would you recommend?”

Anna smiled, even if it was a sad smile. Those girls would never know how lucky they were to have someone take these dates so seriously.

Changing it up, Anna picked bunches of muted purples and whites, with just a flash of yellow; selected from her best lilac, asters and crocuses. “The hope a new love can bring.”

“Do they always mean so much?” Elsa asked, examining them closely.

“Definitely. I could go on for days, but I won’t bore you.” Anna shot her a knowing grin.

“Maybe when I next pop by,” Elsa said, accepting the bunch and proceeding to purchase them.

She’ll be back. Anna held onto the thought. It was beginning to dawn on her that if Elsa really was planning on staying here permanently then these little visits might become more frequent than she ever could have dreamed. And for reasons Anna wasn’t entirely sure of, she was looking forward to them already.

Anna was about to bid farewell to Elsa, when she hesitated, an ivory hand lingering on her bunch of flowers still on the counter.

“I really am so lucky I found you. I have no idea what I’d have done without your help. I’d have been lost in a world of poorly maintained supermarket flowers,” Elsa admitted, and it was enough to draw a nervous laugh from Anna.

“I don’t know, probably not messing up your last date?” Anna replied, cheeks rosy in embarrassment. The arched eyebrow Elsa raised in response made her glance away.

“Maybe it’s the opposite. Maybe I am just so hopeless that even the best flowers in the world can’t convince a woman to sit through a meal with me.”

“No, absolutely not!” Anna said without conscious thought. “I mean, anyone would be lucky to have a meal with you. You’re lovely. And kind, and considerate, and just -” she stopped herself before her mouth ran away with itself. “I just mean… you’re trying. Which is more than any of my dates ever did. They don’t know how lucky they are. You’ll meet the right person, eventually. Never give up.”

Elsa cocked her head, and for a moment Anna worried she had overstepped some kind of boundary.

“Thank you,” Elsa said sincerely. “I worried when I came here that I wouldn’t meet anyone who’d get me.”

“Oh?” Anna asked in surprise.

“A young independent woman from the city moving into a sleepy old village? Everyone here seems so set in their ways.”

She wasn’t wrong. Anna felt the same, and she had lived here her entire life.

A question tugged at Anna, and she considered not asking, but curiosity got the better of her. “Why did you move here?” It was an innocent enough question, or so she thought.

“Well…” Elsa hesitated, and for a moment Anna wasn’t sure if she’d continue. The way she clammed up made Anna wish she had never asked at all. It was such a contrast to the happy woman who stood there moments earlier. “We got serious so my girlfriend at the time moved in… and then we split a few years later. Do you know how hard it is living with your ex full time? It was okay while we weren’t seeing people. But when she started bringing people home…”

Anna watched those bright eyes fall into despair. Instinctively, she reached out and pulled Elsa into a hug.

“It hurt so, so much.” The raw emotion was evident in every syllable. “But I know she has nothing. Nowhere to go. So now I pay the mortgage and she lives in my apartment in the city,” Elsa said with the deepest of sighs.

How does someone even end up in that situation?

“I couldn’t throw her out onto the street, but I couldn’t live there either. So here I am, trying to start fresh. A psychiatrist would have a field day with me, I swear.”

The way she tried to lighten the mood made Anna squeeze her even tighter.

“No – no.” Anna shook her head. “You’re amazing, and thoughtful. Your ex is a fool,” she paused, debating how best to tell her that renting her apartment out for free to an ex was crazy. “Don’t get me wrong – you totally need to fix your apartment situation, but you’re doing what you think is right. You’re being a good person. Don’t ever feel bad for that.”

Anna pulled back enough from Elsa to look her over. She could now see how clearly she was suffering beneath her upbeat persona. She still loves her. Anna supposed it made sense now. Why else would she be trying so hard to find someone new? Or maybe she’s just trying to find a way to heal.

“Thank you. For both the flowers and the pep talk,” Elsa said gratefully, pulling away from Anna’s arms and collecting the flowers from the counter. Anna felt an emptiness at the loss of contact, and she wondered if Elsa did too as she watched as she wrapped one arm around herself self-consciously.

“Anytime. I’m here every day of the week. Literally. Except Sunday. I have Sundays off.”

Anna opened her mouth to give Elsa something more: advice? Encouragement? Just a friendly goodbye? No words followed. She watched, a bleakness filling her at what she had just learnt. It didn’t seem fair that someone trying so hard had suffered so much misfortune.

I hope she finds what she is looking for.

—-

It wasn’t often Anna didn’t sleep well, but here she was, wide awake long before her alarm had even gone off. She rolled out of bed and, like every morning, proceeded to perform her morning routine.

She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about how Elsa’s date went, and more importantly, how Elsa was doing. The more she thought about her the more Anna realised she barely knew a thing about her. Had she moved here with anyone? Could she have another soul to confide in at home? She certainly implied she didn’t.

Maybe I should drop by after work. Just to make sure she’s settling in. Without even consciously realising it, resolving to check in on Elsa that afternoon gave Anna an extra spring in her step as she flipped her open sign on the shop door to closed.

Keeping busy from idle thoughts, she continued to put the finishing touches on the flower arrangements for the wedding at the church later that day. Despite being a small, inclusive village, it was situated in an idyllic location and passing trade kept her afloat: especially weddings, and she needed her sole focus to ensure these would be perfect. Even if that meant no customers for a few hours.

Caught in the concentration of her job, she didn’t hear the door gently chime as it opened some time later.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you -”

Anna almost hit the ceiling. Holding her poor, beating heart, she turned to face Elsa. Had it been anyone else she’d have been thinking up a very tort reply involving reading and shop signage. But it was Elsa, and all of Anna’s irritation faded away in an instant.

“Sorry,” Elsa said with a sheepish smile, seeming to realise that she had made Anna jump out of her skin yet again. “I’m not normally this sneaky. I feel like you’re going to think I am doing this on purpose.”

“No, really, it’s fine. It’s great to see you again!” Anna said a little too enthusiastically, and instantly she wanted to face-palm. Way to sound desperate.

Immediately changing topic, because Anna needed to think about absolutely anything except her joy of seeing Elsa, she asked the one question on her mind. “How was your date?”

Elsa let out a low sigh. “I think I must have fool written all over my face.”

Anna nodded in understanding, not pressing her for any further details… and then proceeded to shake her head vehemently when she realised just what she had been agreeing to.

Elsa’s face softened, and for a moment she stood uncertain, one hand playing with the handles of her tote bag.

“…I actually got you a present.”

“A present?” Anna asked, both in pleasant surprise and anxious anticipation. What could ever have possessed Elsa to buy something for her she’d never know.

“Yes. Just something to say thank you for your help these past couple days.”

“I mean, you didn’t have to. My job is to supply my customers with perfect bouquets. If anything I should probably be giving you a refund for how well they’ve gone down.”

“Stop that,” Elsa’s voice held an edge that silenced Anna. “I loved them, and that’s all that matters.”

As much as Anna wanted to argue that that wasn’t the point, she remained quiet.

“Listen, don’t thank me too quickly. I pass a shop every day on the way to work and I saw it and thought of you and…” Elsa hesitated. “Just open it.”

Anna frowned but reluctantly accepted the neatly wrapped gift. Delicately, she pulled at the yellow ribbon and unpicked the sunflower paper. She looked between Elsa and the plain brown box beneath in curiosity. Chocolate maybe? She wondered, proceeding to slide the box open. To her surprise, Anna looked down at a dinky pair of black and white scissors, complete with blunt, rounded edges and topped off with a safety cap. Her eyes traced the cute cartoon panda faces over the grip.

She blinked in disbelief. “You bought me childrens scissors.”

“I did.” The absence of any shame in Elsa’s tone was both as amusing as it was humiliating.

Taking a breath, Anna finally looked up, keeping her expression as stern as she could as she inwardly melted at how adorable the gift was. “I want you to know I am both flattered and offended in equal measure.”

“Good. That’s what I was pitching for,” Elsa said, eyes alight with mischief. “Perhaps when rude customers sneak up on you, you won’t almost chop your hands off.”

“That was one time, and you weren’t rude.” Anna rolled her eyes.

“You said it had happened before,” Elsa retorted with folded arms and that arched look Anna was coming to enjoy a little too much.

“…So I did,” Anna conceded as she popped the scissors down by the counter.

“Can I get you a drink?” the words had already left Anna’s mouth before she realised how weird that was. They were in a flower shop. Elsa was shopping, not having afternoon tea.

Before Anna could backpedal and come up with excuses for how ridiculous the offer was Elsa’s musical notes had already left her lips, “I would love one.”

“G-great! Tea or coffee? Or juice, water, soda, alcohol?” Anna stammered, caught off guard.

Is my milk even in date?

“Coffee is fine.”

I really hope my milk is in date.

“Can you watch the shop for a minute? My kettle is upstairs.”

Elsa nodded, and with that Anna sped upstairs, taking two at a time. Setting the kettle to boil with one hand and grabbing a random mug from her pile of washing up with the other, she quickly got to work cleaning it and mixing up a cup of coffee.

I really hope she likes instant coffee. How many sugars does a normal person take? …Was the milk in date? Pushing all fears aside, Anna charged back down with the mug, almost spilling it as she skidded to a stop. I really hope I don’t kill her.

“World’s Number 1 Florist?” Elsa mused as she accepted the coffee. Anna frowned, not understanding until Elsa held the mug up to take a sip. “If it’s on a mug it must be true.”

The regret from picking that dumb mug was eclipsed by the playful twinkle in Elsa’s eye. Anna felt her cheeks redden, and feared for a moment Elsa would comment further, but she simply turned away and began wandering around the small shop floor, admiring the flowers on display.

At ease in her company, Anna went back to the arrangements she was working.

“So, you live above the shop? Isn’t it weird having your house as your business? I don’t think I could ever do that. Like, where is the boundary? You must end up working so many hours,” Elsa made idle conversation, but Anna didn’t mind. It was a nice change of pace to have company.

How strange. She couldn’t help but notice. She always left the shop closed when she needed to really concentrate on a big order, but somehow Elsa’s presence didn’t disrupt her flow in the same way every other person did.

“Yeah, it feels a bit like that sometimes,” Anna nodded in reply, not pausing in her work.

Elsa continued looking around, sipping her coffee as she took in every detail; from the range of flowers to the rustic design of the displays.

“Do you work here alone?”

“Yes. My grandparents owned the shop, and left it to me after they passed a few years back. My mum didn’t like being tied to it so she left way before. But even though I’m kind of stuck here I do enjoy it.”

“Your mum left?”

Anna sucked in a breath. She supposed she should have been more careful with her choice of words, but now she had mentioned it there was no taking that back.

“Yes. When I was 8. She wasn’t really mum material,” she said diplomatically. Explaining to Elsa that her mother liked the alcohol and drugs more than her own family felt impossible. “I see her sometimes, and we got along okay, but my grandparents are the ones who raised me.”

“Wow, I’m sorry to hear that,” Elsa said empathetically, pausing to really look at Anna. She avoided her gaze, not needing, or wanting her pity. She had enough of that from the village. Being so small had its disadvantages, and everyone knowing everyone’s business was one of them.

“Don’t be. Family problems, or maybe just life problems. I know I’m not the only one,” Anna said, thinking back to Elsa and their conversation about her grandmother and her ex. Her life was just as complicated, even if it was for completely different reasons.

“Life problems, indeed,” she agreed soberly, not prying for further details, and Anna respected that. It was a far cry from the gossip mongers she usually served.

Wordlessly, Anna continued arranging the wedding bouquets, acutely aware Elsa was now watching her every move with interest.

“Do you ever get lonely working here?” she finally broke the fragile silence that had fallen between them.

“I… don’t really notice? Maybe?” Anna wasn’t sure how to answer the question. “I try to keep myself busy. With so much to get done I don’t have time to think about much else. I need to get the flowers ready for the wedding this afternoon, and then for the church sermon tomorrow. And next week there are two more weddings.”

“Oh! I am sorry; I didn’t mean to keep you from anything -”

“- No - no, you’re not. I didn’t mean -”

“But you have Sundays off?”

Anna let out a low sigh. She hadn’t meant to offend the woman, though she did wonder if Elsa had even read the signage on the door when she let herself in.

“Yes. I don’t open but I sometimes,” always, “get things ready for the week.”

Elsa pursed her lips and for a moment Anna thought she might say something else, but instead she took a long sip of her coffee, finishing the mug.

“Thank you, for both the coffee and the chat. But I really shouldn’t keep you any longer.”

You really don’t have to go. But as much as she wished for it, Anna couldn’t voice the words out loud.

“…Thank you for the scissors,” she settled with, and it was enough to draw a smirk from her new friend.

Anna’s breath caught as Elsa leaned in dangerously close, pinning her to the counter. The brush of her arm against her own sent sparks through her. Teal eyes glanced down, catching the pale pink of her lips, and for the briefest of moments Anna thought she might lean just that touch closer.

The sound of Elsa placing her mug down on the hard surface behind snapped her back to reality.

“Be safe with them.”

Anna nodded wordlessly, unable to move from where she stood frozen as Elsa stepped out of the shop.

—-

Am I reading too much into it? Anna sat on the windowsill, gazing across the village, mug of coffee in hand. It was what she loved the most about living above the shop: from here she could see past the green, to the collection of shops on the other side, the tall spire of the local church peeking above large oak trees, and beyond to the series of cottages. She counted along each roof, picking out Elsa’s cottage.

Craft scissors. Completely and utterly unsuitable for the precise clipping of her flower stems, and yet she adored them all the same. But what did they mean? They were such an unusual gift. And the seriousness offset by the playfulness… Elsa was impossible to work out.

Don’t be a fool. A smart city girl like her would never look twice at a school drop out like you.

Anna had seen the bios of those successful girls on that dating app. Designer clothes, immaculate makeup, high flying jobs; a lot like Elsa. It was a far cry from Anna’s messy bedhead and clumsiness.

She let out a low sigh. I wonder if she’ll stick around for long. Who was she kidding? As soon as Elsa sorted her relationship and apartment problem the girl would be out of this village in a flash. What else was to keep her here?

The sharp ring of her alarm made her leap out of her skin. In retaliation she tossed a book over, knocking it clean off the bedside table. Instead of shutting it up however, it continued to squeal in an even higher pitch.

“Stupid alarm,” she grumbled as she got up and reset it.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. It wasn’t even 8am yet. God, who’d want flowers at this time?

“We’re closed!” she called out. After a second knock she rolled her eyes and headed downstairs.

I swear if it’s Mrs Peterson again. She knows I’m closed yet every Sunday she -

“- Elsa?” she said in surprise, the air knocked out of her completely at the sight of her. Anna blinked. In contrast to her previous two visits, Elsa wore a longer and brighter floral dress, complete with a wide brim straw hat.

“Sorry. I saw movement by your window and I just… well… I got you some flowers…” she trailed off. Anna frowned, glancing between Elsa and the bunch of vibrant crocuses in her hand.

“Are those for me?” Anna asked, dumbfounded. “The shop has plenty of stock. I don’t need -”

“- They aren’t for your shop. They are for you,” Elsa clarified. Anna looked down at them again, unable to understand the gesture.

“I know you have a whole store full of them, and they probably mean something entirely significant that I do not know of,” Elsa said as she thrust the bunch out to Anna, “I picked them because they are the only thing growing in my garden… aside from the sunflowers, and they were so tall I felt too mean to take my scissors to them.”

Anna accepted the bunch tentatively, still not entirely sure what was happening. No one had ever gifted her flowers… or scissors for that matter.

“You know, I really should have gone with the sunflowers,” Elsa lamented, and Anna snapped back up immediately. “They are just so much more you.”

More me? Anna opened her mouth to question just what she meant when Elsa continued, “you could come by and see them, if you have any free time today. I’m not exaggerating when I say they are taller than us.”

Anna met Elsa’s vivid blue eyes squarely: so brave, yet so vulnerable in that moment.

“We get along well, don’t we? If I am imagining it please just tell me. I seem to have a terrible track record.”

She looked back down at the flowers, a variety of purple hues with flashes of white and yellow. They were as bright as they were beautiful: as gentle as snow, as warm as summer.

“Please say something before I perish on the spot.”

“…Please don’t perish. That would be awkward for everybody involved,” Anna finally said, giving her an apologetic look.

A soft chuckle escaped Elsa’s lips. “I’m making a mess of this, aren’t I? You’d think asking someone on a date wouldn’t be so difficult.”

A date?

“No. I am. I’m not - I don’t -” Anna paused and took a breath to get her thoughts straight. Everyone in the village will know if I see a local girl. Yet somehow the threat of that seemed so far away compared to the promise of a date with Elsa.

Don’t over think it.

“I would love to visit. I mean -”

Don’t worry about tomorrow.

“- I’d like to go on a date. With you. Together. Obviously. Please make me stop talking.”

Long fingers threaded between her own, and Anna let out as gasp as Elsa boldly pulled her close.

“Together sounds perfect,” Elsa’s words were like velvet, and Anna had to pinch herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming.

Just enjoy today. The future can wait.

#elsanna #submission #august 2021 contest #prompt: flowers #CW: blood #cw: angst

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rainydaysketches · 4 years ago

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Family Movie Night Gone WRONG!! (Not Clickbait)

(So. Guess who discovered FrostIron the other day? Anyway, I’m operating under the headcanon that Loki was being controlled by Thanos during the attack on New York, and that Thanos has since been dealt with by Carol. No more giant grape ballsack-chin titan to worry about. Also sorry about the title I couldn't think of anything better.)

If you had told Tony back in 2012 that in five years, the Avengers would be divided, half of said Avengers would be on the run, Asgard would be destroyed, he’d be dating Loki of all people, and have joint custody over a teenager who just so happened to be Spider-Man, well, he would probably have punched you in the face with a metal clad fist and sent you to a psych ward.

But that was exactly where Tony found himself, in the newly repurchased Stark Tower’s penthouse, with Loki and Peter on either side of him on the couch while they watched a Star Wars film that Peter had been demanding they watch together for the past week. Tony and Loki occasionally pitched in with a, “that’s not how that works” when it showed something about science or space that wasn’t accurate. Peter just told them to shush with a laugh each time.

It was nice.

About halfway through the movie, Tony heard Peter’s stomach growl, and that made him realize that he was pretty hungry himself. He told FRIDAY to pause the movie and the lights came on. Loki offered to pick up some Chinese, and Peter and Tony readily agreed.

Peter ran off to use the bathroom after Loki teleported away, and Tony decided to grab another cup of coffee before either of them returned.

Before the coffee could even finish brewing, the elevator dinged. This gave Tony pause, because Loki seldom used the elevator, and no one else was in the tower today. Happy and May were on a date (much to Peter’s equal disgust and happiness), Pepper was in Hong Kong, Rhodey was on a short weekend vacation to visit family, and Thor and Bruce were in New Asgard.

While Tony was wondering who could be in the elevator, the doors opened. He brought his hand up near the arc reactor on his chest, ready to activate his suit if need be.

The first person to come out of the elevator was Rogers, followed by Wilson, Maximoff, Romanoff, and Barton. Tony felt his jaw drop, along with the hand hovering near the arc reactor. Rogers caught sight of Tony, in his sweatpants and Star Trek t-shirt that Peter had gotten him for his birthday, standing with his mouth hanging open in the middle of his kitchen. Rogers smiled. Tony didn’t return the sentiment.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he asked, which, in his opinion, was a perfectly reasonable response when someone walked into your living room, acting like they owned the place. Knowing Rogers, he probably thought he did. The smile fell from Rogers’ face, and the others behind him tensed.

“What do you mean, Tony? We got pardoned,” Rogers said, with the gall to sound confused.

“Okay, but why the hell are you in my tower?” Now all the rogues looked confused, and they were looking at him like he’d grown a second head.

“We were pardoned,” Romanoff stated, “So we came home.” The others nodded.

“Home?” Tony scoffed, “Home!? You gave up your chance to call Stark Tower ‘home’ when you betrayed my trust.”

“Come on, Tony,” Barton tried, “We were pardoned, and the first thing we do is come and see you, and this is how you repay us?” Tony picked up on the blatant guilt tripping, and it may have just worked if he’d done it before he met Loki or Peter, but not anymore.

Tony opened his mouth to respond, be before he could get a sound out, a soft voice spoke up behind him.

“Dad?”

The universe just loved to fuck with Tony Stark, didn’t it? He spun around to face Peter, turning his back on the rogues, because even if they literally stabbed him in the back, Peter would always be more important.

“Hey Pete. How about you, uh, sit on the couch while I sort this shit out.” He waved vaguely in the direction of the rogues. He heard an indignant sound come from someone behind him, but he chose to ignore it.

Peter looked wary, and he subtly made a web-slinging gesture with his hand. Tony shook his head minutely in response, to which Peter nodded and headed off to the couch.

When he turned back to the rogues, who were standing stock-still. Tony contemplated congratulating Peter for shocking the Avengers this bad later, but figured once Tony told him about it, Loki would do it for him, so he decided not to.

Barton was the first to break the silence. “You have a kid!?” Tony, just now remembering his coffee, grabbed a mug from the cabinet and poured himself some. He took a deep, long drink before he sighed and answered.

“Yeah, what about it?”

The team was shocked into baffled silence once again.

“We just… didn’t peg you for the type to want a kid?” Wilson said, the first time he’s spoken since they all got here. Tony almost didn’t hear the sharp intake of breath that came from the couch.

“I’ll have you know, that kid is one of the best things that’s ever happened to me. I’d sooner let my company go bankrupt than lose him,” Tony told them, loud enough that Peter could hear him, even without his freaky spider-hearing.

The rogues unabashedly gaped at him.

Rogers shook himself out of his stupor first.

“Tony, how long have you had a kid?” He sounded like he couldn’t believe that Tony could possibly care for a child, which a younger Tony would have agreed with.

“About a year and a half now, right?” Tony looked to Peter for confirmation, and Peter nodded at him with a thumbs up, which was actually a lot more encouraging than it should have been. “Yeah, a year and a half ago I adopted him.”

“It’s still joint custody!” Peter called out with a devilish grin.

“Stop being a smartass, Peter!” That only caused Peter’s grin to get wider.

Before anyone else could speak, there was a bright flash of green light in the middle of the living room. Tony felt relief flood through him. Loki was back.

The rogues drew their weapons. Rogers grabbed the shield off his back, red magic danced around Maximoff’s fingers, making Tony take a few steps back with unease, Barton knocked an arrow, and Romanoff just suddenly had a knife. Wilson migrated to the back of the group, because he was in civilian clothes and didn’t have his wings.

The five of them stiffened when Loki began to speak. Tony did the opposite and relaxed.

“So, they didn’t have any more chow mein, which is ridiculous, because they are a Chinese restaurant, how could they just run out of chow mein?” Loki ranted while he rifled through the bags, most likely checking that everything was there. “Also, they kept saying that they ‘were closed’ and asking ‘how did you get in here,’ which, rude, but they did give us three free egg rolls, so-” Loki finally looked up and took in the scene unfolding in front of him.

“Am I interrupting something?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

Tony shot Loki a look that hopefully conveyed his thoughts of, “please, for the love of god, help me.” Loki got the memo, but chose to roll his eyes and drop himself on the couch next to Peter instead.

“Traitor,” Tony mumbled to himself, before refocusing on the rogues, who still had all their weapons pointed at Loki, and subsequently, Peter.

“Tony,” Rogers started harshly, “Why is Loki here?” He said Loki’s name with so much contempt that Tony physically recoiled from it.

“Um, because he wants to be?” Tony told them, but it sounded a lot more like a question than he intended. “And because I let him in.” he continued, trying to make it not sound like he was unsure.

“So you’ll let a supervillain into Avengers Tower, but not the actual Avengers?” Barton burst out, “That’s bullshit!” Tony needed to take a deep breath and a sip of coffee before he could respond to that remark.

“Okay, first of all,” Tony shot a glance at Loki who was smiling bitterly at his lap in that way he did when he was feeling self-deprecating. “Loki is not a supervillain now, nor was he ever. And second, this is Stark Tower, not Avengers Tower, and you need to get it through your skulls that I will not welcome you back here. In fact, you are trespassing on private property as we speak, but I’ll let it slide if you leave. Right now.”

Tony could practically see the gears turning in everyone’s heads. It was as if they couldn’t even follow the simplest instructions.

“Tony,” Rogers began, and Tony internally groaned. He just wanted Rogers and his rogues gone. ”Loki is manipulating you. But you don’t have to do what he wants. Come with us, we’ll keep you safe.”

Now it was Tony’s turn to have gears turning in his head.

And when he finally figured out what Rogers was talking about, he burst out laughing. The rogues looked awkward, just standing there watching him laugh his ass off, and that only made him laugh harder.

“Y-you, pfft- you think h-he’s manipulating me?” And that was all that Tony could say before he fell into another fit of laughter.

Peter and Loki found this funny too, because Peter was trying - and failing - to stifle his own laughter and Loki had a fond grin on his face as he looked at Tony.

After a minute or two, he’d finally calmed down. During his laughing fit, the rogues had lowered their weapons slightly, but Maximoff’s magic had only grown and glowed brighter. “Loki is not manipulating me, nor is he controlling me, or doing anything else to me. So drop it.”

Maximoff’s stance shifted slightly, and she lunged at Tony. Before he could activate his armour, she had pinned him to the ground and put her fingers on his temples. He tried to struggle, but she was either surprisingly heavy, or she was holding herself down with magic. Most likely the latter.

More red magic gathered at her fingertips, and Tony felt his eyelids drooping shut, no matter how much he fought to keep them open. When his eyes fully closed, a searing pain seemed to stab him in the brain, but he was unable to scream.

A second later, the weight was thrown off him, the pain was gone, and he could open his eyes again.

Loki and Peter had both gotten off the couch and tackled Maximoff off of him. Peter had her pinned to the ground, even as she was thrashing about. Loki held out his hand for Tony to grab and Tony gratefully took it so Loki could haul him up.

Even once Tony was back on his feet, he didn’t let go of Loki’s hand. The rogues looked warily between Tony, Peter, and Loki, and raised their weapons once again. Tony let out a grumble and turned so he could drop his forehead on Loki’s shoulder. Loki used his unoccupied hand to comb his fingers through Tony’s hair. Tony gave an appreciative hum.

Peter managed to get off Maximoff without any serious injuries, so he went and stood next to Tony on the opposite side Loki was. Tony smiled at him and ruffled his hair.

Tony then glared at the rogues, Steve and Wanda especially. The former was helping the latter off of the floor, both glaring at all three of them. Romanoff stepped in front of Rogers and Maximoff, holding her hands up in faux surrender.

“How about we all calm down and talk about this?” She tried.

“Get out of my tower,” Tony growled, clutching Loki’s hand like a lifeline. Loki squeezed his hand back just as tightly.

The rogues must have realized how much of a fruitless endeavor this was, because they all backed off, though reluctantly. They all crowded back into the elevator and told FRIDAY to bring them back to the ground floor. The AI didn’t reply as she usually did, just shut the doors and brought them down.

Tony slumped in exhaustion.

“Okay, that’s officially too much excitement for what should have been a relaxing movie night.” His comment startled a laugh out of Peter, and Loki even let out a chuckle.

They all went back to their spots on the couch, this time with Chinese food, and started the movie back up. None of them stayed awake long enough to see the end.

#frostiron #irondad #spiderson #irondad and spiderson #i wrote this in under a day and it hasnt really been proofread but fuck it #fanfic #marvel #i dont think i have to say this but i will anyway #not starker

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everybodyscupoftea · 4 years ago

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sleepover?

ole miss rafe x reader

first christmas together

(warnings: cursing, tiny bit of drinking, no editing)

During Rafe’s Christmas party with his boys, he disappeared into another room to take a phone call. He’d been drinking and had a nice buzz going on, so you weren’t sure exactly how much of the conversation he was going to remember, but when he came back, his mood had dampened and he looked significantly more sober.

You didn’t want to ask in front of his friends, so instead you passed him your bottle of water. He took it thankfully and started drinking, standing to go get both of you another when he finished it. By the time people were starting to Uber home, he looked completely sober, but still handed you the keys to drive back to his apartment anyway.

The silence in the car was heavy, you wanted to ask, but everything was so new, you weren’t sure if he’d actually tell you. Eventually curiosity won out, “Alright, Cameron, you wanna talk about it.”

He huffed out a laugh at Cameron, he always got a kick out of it, but the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. After a few seconds, he answered, “Yeah. My dad called.”

Rafe’s family was a subject he typically avoided, you hadn’t really had that conversation, you just knew that it was touchy for him, so you typically avoided it. But he’d opened the jar, so you decided to press further, “What did he say?”

“He asked for my Christmas plans. I told him I was thinking about coming home because I haven’t been in a while. He asked about how school was going, if it would be logical to come home. I told him it was break and I had no work. Then he informed me that if I didn’t come home as soon as break started, then I clearly didn’t care enough about them, so he didn’t want to see me out of obligation.”

You blinked a few times, trying to follow his dad’s logic, “I’m sorry, I don’t think I follow.”

“He made up a bullshit excuse for me to not come. My father has never forgiven me for changing my major.”

Though you’d parked, you were fine with having the conversation in the car, but he seemed ready to go upstairs to his apartment. So, the two of you walked up, giving you time to think up your next question.

Once inside, you asked, “What did you change your major from?”

He sighed, kicking his shoes off, “I’m sure you noticed that I’m a fifth year senior.”

“I have.”

“I started out in business. My dad wanted me to take over his company when I finished, and since he was paying for my school, who was I to say no.”

Your heart sank as he continued, “I fucking hated it. My classes were awful, I wasn’t grasping the material. My dad was calling me several times a week threatening to stop paying my tuition if I couldn’t get my shit together.”

He let out a shuddering sigh and scratched the back of his neck, “Eventually, I had a breakdown in my advisor’s office, mid fourth semester. She helped me take a test to figure out what my strengths were and what I should do because I clearly wasn’t going to succeed in management.”

Rafe sat down at a bar stool, socked foot kicking at the floor, “I’d taken a gen ed history class that I’d done really well in. My advisor helped me switch my major, she told me my dad would never know. But somehow, he found out. He always does. And I lost my tuition money.”

“What the fuck,” you stepped closer and brushed a strand of hair out of his eyes.

“Yeah, I had a job at that point for rent. I had to get another and take out loans, but at least I was finally happy with what I was doing.”

“That’s great,” you whispered.

“It is. The material is so much easier to grasp and I actually really enjoy it. I’m so thankful for my advisor, I don’t know what would’ve happened or where I’d be without her help. It’s taken me an extra year to catch up, but I did it.”

“You did. That’s so impressive, being two years behind and only needing a year to catch up. While also working two jobs.”

“My dad may hate my major, but I thought he’d at least appreciate my new work ethic. Guess not.”

“Fuck him. You don’t need him anyway.”

Rafe finally smiled at you, an amused look in his eyes, “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Your family sucks, so you should spend Christmas with me instead.”

“You aren’t going home?”

“Unfortunately, no. I have work on the 24th and the 26th and it’s not worth making a trip home for one day.”

Smiling softly, he nodded, “Okay, yeah. Let’s do Christmas together.”

You went back to Starkville for the next few days leading up to Christmas. You and Rafe were too new in your opinion to spend that many days pretty much living together, so he was going to drive down and meet you on Christmas Eve.

Which of course meant you went straight to panic mode. Were the decorations enough or were they too much? After two nights in a row of stress baking, you called your roommate for help.

She picked up with a sigh, and you realized it was past 2 a.m.

“Hello?”

“Why are you awake?” you blurted.

“Why are you awake?” she fired back.

“I’m freaking out,” you confessed, sitting on the edge of your bed in an attempt to stop pacing.

She snorted, “Yeah, I can tell. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Rafe is coming over for Christmas. Should I cook or get takeout? Are my decorations enough? What if it’s too soon?”

“Do you want to cook a big meal for the two of you? And like, how chill do you want it to be?”

“Pretty chill. It’s not like a formal event.”

“Okay, so do sweatpants and sweaters, and get takeout. Something you both like or if you’re feeling sentimental, something similar to what you ate on your first date. What decorations do you have up?”

You felt much better already, “I have our tree up and the lights we strung up.”

“That’s probably plenty, especially if it’s going to be casual.”

“You’re right.”

She laughed, “Always am.”

“I know, that’s why I come to you with all my problems.”

“Oh, it’s not just because of convenience?”

You scoffed, “No fucking way, I’d come to you even if it wasn’t convenient.”

Her conversation reassured you, and you put up a few more decorations, “Only a wreath and some stockings,” you promised your roommate a few nights later over the phone.

Rafe showed up mid afternoon on Christmas Eve after your morning shift and walked straight into your arms when the door opened. He let out a shaky breath, pressing his forehead into your collarbone for a few seconds before pulling back enough to kiss you.

“What’s up Cameron?”

“Hey, sweetheart, missed you.”

“I missed you too,” and to your surprise, you were telling the truth. You liked having Rafe around all the time it seemed.

He squeezed your upper arms before stepping away, “What’s the plan?”

“Gonna chill and get takeout. I did get you a gift,” you answered, a little nervously.

The gift was something you debated heavily, but you saw something you thought Rafe would like, so you grabbed it, not expecting anything at all in return.

He chuckled, “Got you one too.”

“Wow, our minds.”

The two of you spent the rest of the day curled up on the couch watching Christmas movies. It was a slow and sleepy afternoon, the most easy going day you’d had in awhile, but for some reason you just couldn’t relax.

Around 7:00, Rafe finally broke, “Okay, what’s up?”

“Um, what?” you were taken aback.

“You’re squirmier than usual. And you’re kind of flinching away every time I shift closer.”

“I’m not,” you tried to deflect, but it sounded weak, even to you.

“If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine, but I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

“I-” you sighed, “I’m not uncomfortable. I just feel like maybe this is a little fast.”

“What is?”

“Spending a holiday together. We haven’t even been together a month.”

He raised his eyebrows, “Technically today is a month.”

Your cheeks heated a little, “Fine, it’s been a month. But it’s still so soon.”

“I’m not really sure how to reassure you here. Other than that it’s like spending a holiday with your friend. There are no strings attached here, I’m not moving in or asking you to marry me tomorrow. We’re just keeping each other company since neither of us can be with our families.”

You processed for a few seconds, “You’re right.”

“It’s just a sleepover.”

“You’re right.”

He smirked, “I know I am.”

“Shut up,” you groaned, shoving at his shoulder before unpausing the movie.

It was easier to relax after that. He was right, just like your first Christmas with your roommate. After a few minutes he cleared his throat, “I can sleep on the couch if that’ll make you more comfortable.”

Immediately you were shaking your head, “Nope, just like a sleepover.”

Rafe smiled, cheeks a little red, “Just like a sleepover.”

day 14 of @obxmermaid‘s holiday challenge: your family sucks, spend christmas with me instead

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #college rafe #ole miss rafe #rafe obx #rafe cameron fic #obxmermaidholiday

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staygold-ponyboycurtis · 4 years ago

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A Semester Early

request: Pony goes on a winter walk, revisiting his hometown a year after college. He is happier now.

I loved this prompt, and wish I had someone to credit it for, but it was sent anonymously. it was so much fun to write! of course, a one-shot about Ponyboy can’t be written without some angst in there, right? ;)

ENJOY. let me know what you think!!!

There’s something to be said for the feeling of outgrowing a place. I decided that was it. That was the feeling I’ve felt ever since returning home from college. I hadn’t been home for this long since I was eighteen years old. After graduating a semester early a few weeks ago, Darry managed to talk me into coming home for a few months. I hemmed and hawed about it - living in a city like New York has a way of liberating you in the same way that a small town in Oklahoma can make you feel too small - but finally conceded defeat and agreed to move back in with him and Soda before I found a job.

It wasn’t the idea of seeing them that deterred me from returning home. Lord knows my arm doesn’t need to be twisted to find an excuse to see Sodapop, Darry, and the gang. It was the idea of not wanting to leave again. Of getting too comfortable for my own good, I guess.

Before I could dwell too long on the irrational doom I’ve felt since I walked in the door, I had to admit that it was good to be back home. Where I was just Ponyboy. Where everyone knew embarrassing stories about me and knew how I liked my eggs cooked and I never had to remind them of anything about myself. I didn’t have to make myself look cool or nuanced in their presence. They knew who I was. They loved me for who I was.

Darry has all the Christmas decorations sitting in boxes scattered on the floor when I walk in. Him and Soda had refused to decorate without me the past few years. It was something we did together and a tradition that meant even more for him to continue since mom and dad were gone.

Our mother loved Christmas. I try my best not to tear up when I notice that Darry has her Loretta Lynn Christmas album sitting on top of the record player, waiting for us to play it and sit in bittersweet silence like we’ve done every year. Decorating for Christmas reminds me of her the most, I’ve decided.

I couldn’t believe this was almost the tenth Christmas without them. It feels like a lifetime.

When I set foot into my childhood bedroom, I was overwhelmed with nostalgia, like I always am. Nothing changes. Not that I expected it to, but it was like walking through a museum. Back at school, I felt like a nomad. I never really had a place to call my own in New York. I was in a different apartment every few months, and none of them were satisfactory, but I had learned to regard it as charm. Perhaps Sodapop knew this, because he always made sure to leave everything as I had it from the last time I had been there.

“I didn’t want to move anything,” Soda said, slinging an arm over my shoulder sweetly, though my height had finally crept beyond his. “I wanted to make sure you’d recognize the place when you finally came back.”

“I guess you guys really do love me,” I said with a chuckle.

“Always, kiddo,” he said, messing with my hair.

The gang - or what’s left of it - piles in our small kitchen for “family dinner”, as Two-Bit lovingly referred to it. Darry made us spaghetti - another favorite of mine. He had improved his cooking tenfold since I’ve been gone, I remark.

“It’s that girl of his,” Sodapop says with a sly smirk. I blush. Darry was secretive about his love life. More secretive than me, which was saying something. “She’s taught him a thing or two.”

“And not just in the kitchen,” Two-Bit adds with an immature, clownish smile on his face, never missing an opportunity for an impish euphemism.

Darry shoots him a look that conveys pure annoyance and deadly threat. I knew that look all too well. I’m pretty sure Darry invented that look for me.

“What?” Two-Bit asks innocently. “She taught him how to clean, too.”

We all break into laughter. “Asshole,” Darry says under his breath.

“You didn’t tell me you had a girlfriend,” I say.

“Don’t sweat it, Pone,” Soda says. “He didn’t tell me either. I picked up the phone one day when she called about a date with him. I just about dropped dead right then and there.”

I blush, sheepish at the thought of Darry caring about anyone else other than us. As charismatic as he is, Darry is sometimes more shy than I am about girls.

We fall into our normal rhythm of camaraderie quickly at dinner. It never takes long for me to fall back in line with the gang, catching up on their stories and mine from the last time we were together. Though Tulsa no longer feels the way it used to for me, the gang has. I know they’re the only reason I’d ever come back to this place.

“Gee, Pony,” Two-Bit says while we’re cleaning up the table. “Every time you visit, you seem smarter.”

“Smarter?” I ask.

“‘Ya know… cooler. Different, in a good way.”

“I think the word he’s looking for is ’sophisticated’,” Darry says, slinging the dish towel over his shoulder. “A college scholar.” He smiles at me proudly.

“Thanks,” I say almost inaudibly. It’s surely a compliment, but it makes chills run up my spine. I’m not sure why.

Before we begin decorating, I head towards the door, grabbing my coat.

“Hey, I think I’m gonna go for a walk,” I say, reaching for the door knob. “To… clear my head.”

“You okay, kiddo?” Darry asks, puzzled. “It’s 8 o’clock at night.”

“I’m okay,” I say. “Just trying to take it all in.”

He looks at Sodapop, confused. “Do you want me to go with you, buddy?” Sodapop asks.

I shake my head vehemently. “I’m fine, really,” I say. “I just want to walk around like I used to.”

Darry shrugs. “Don’t be gone for too long. Soda can barely wait to put up the stockings.”

I chuckle, a bit emptily. “Roger that.”

The cold air fills my warm lungs with a shock. New York winters are much more brutal than in Oklahoma. The snow piles high, and it isn’t as picturesque as you see in the movies, either. Just a lot of brown and grey slush. One year, a few of my friends and I went Upstate to go skiing, and that was really nice, though.

I make my way down the sidewalk, not really believing that I’m actually home. I mean, I’ve been home multiple times before now. But it feels different now, because another stage of my life is finished, another chapter closed. And I didn’t think I would be living with my brothers forever or cooped up in Tulsa for the rest of my life, but I’m finally realizing that life is changing. I just can’t realize why I’m bothered so much by it. I think I realize things too late.

I make my way around the block, lost in thought. I notice some of our neighbors have hung Christmas decorations outside their houses. They decorate the same exact way every year, as Darry does, and it makes me feel a bit nostalgic. Dad used to drive us around in his old truck to look at all the lights in our neighborhood. We never really had money to spend on visiting the light displays on the better side of town, but we wouldn’t have ever known it. This was just as fun.

I realize that the perpetual feeling of a broken heart during Christmastime doesn’t do much for my sadness right now.

I stop at a forelorn house at the end of our street, on the corner. It’s a small yellow house, a bit less dilapidated than ours. Typically adorned with all types of big, ceramic lights this time of year, the house sits solemnly, vacant and dark. I stare at it a bit, the writer in me trying to make a metaphor out of its image.

“Mrs. Friedman died two months ago,” I hear a voice behind me. “Her house has been empty ever since.”

“You followed me,” I say, more as a statement than a question.

“I could tell something was bothering you,” Sodapop says.

I laugh, a little curtly. “You can always tell.”

“Of course I can,” he smiles. "And I didn’t want you to be out here alone.”

“You didn’t tell me Mrs. Friedman died,” I say, a bit offended. “She cooked us meals every week after mom and dad died. She always gave us her son’s old clothes, too, remember?”

“I know,” Soda says. “Darry and I didn’t want to upset you.”

“You thought I’d be upset?”

Soda looks at me. “You’re a little bit more sentimental than the rest of us.”

I scoff. “She was our neighbor for years. Did you go to her funeral?”

“Of course,” Sodapop says. “'Woulda been silly for you to come all the way home for a 100-year-old woman’s funeral, though. Don’tcha think?”

“I guess."

We sit in silence for a few moments, and I focus on our breath in the air. It’s white, like cigarette smoke. I laugh a bit in my mind, reminiscing on the period of time where I couldn’t go more than fifteen minutes without smoking. It’s been nearly three years since I’ve quit.

“What’s up, Pone?” Soda finally asks. “What’s wrong?" I give him a look.

“What?” he says. “I can see right through you.”

I pause for a moment, trying to figure out what exactly it is.

“It’s just… I always had an excuse. I had New York. I had college. I knew I was leaving, but I always knew I would come back. And four years seemed so far away,” I say. “Now I’m not sure there’s a place for me here anymore. Do you understand what I mean?”

“Well… no,” Soda says. “Because that’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard you say, Pone. There’s always gonna be a place for you here. This is your home. Don’t you know that?”

I roll my eyes. “I mean, it’s never going to be like it was. We’re never going to be living under the same roof as one another. Hell, I don’t even know where I’m going next. But it’ll never just be all of us together again. I feel like we’re losing another part of the gang for good, but that part is me. And it feels like….”

“It feels like Dal and Johnny all over again.”

“Kinda.”

Sodapop pauses for a moment, thinking about this. Though he isn’t the most articulate, he’s certainly the most insightful.

“Wanna know how I see it?” Sodapop asks.

I nod. “Of course.”

“You’re twenty-two years old. You graduated college at the top of your class. You have job offers all over the country. That’s something to be proud of, Pone. That doesn’t happen for just anyone. Hell, it didn’t happen for me and Darry. It won’t happen for Steve or Two-Bit. It didn’t happen for Dally or Johnny. You should be grateful you are where you are.”

“Oh, come on…” I say. “I didn’t mean it like that-"

“No, listen,” Sodapop says. "You think you should be feelin’ guilty about leaving, but you shouldn’t be. Me, Darry, the gang, even mom and dad would want you getting the hell out of this pokey ‘ol town,” he says with a laugh. “It’s all we’ve ever wanted for you.”

“I know that. I’m thankful for that.”

“Hell of a way of showin’ it,” Soda says jokingly.

“I guess I never thought of it that way,” I say. “I always figured you and Darry would think I left you guys behind or somethin’. I never wanted you to think that.”

“C’mon, Pone. We’d never think that. We’ve worked so hard to help you make somethin’ of yourself. We’re real proud.”

“Thanks,” I say. “Thanks for knocking some sense into me.”

“You know, you’re afraid of changin’, but that’s one thing that will never change about you,” he says as we begin to walk back to the house. “You’ll always need your big brothers to help you see what’s right in front of you.”

“You’re right about that,” I say.

“And don’t think you’ll never come back here to visit the gang,” he says. “We’ll drag you back here if it’s the last thing we do. You’ll know where to find us.”

“You’re right,” I say. “I’ll never be able to get away from you guys."

“Exactly,” he says. “Now, can we go back and decorate for Christmas? Please? I’m freezing my ass off out here.”

“Yeah,” I say with a chuckle. “Let’s go."

I really could’ve written this conversation forever, but I wanted to keep it short and sweet. Let me know what you think!!!

P.S. if you have any one-shot requests, my ask is always open. I love when you all send in your ideas :)

P.P.S. if you’d like to write a review, this one-shot (along with my other writing) is also posted to my fanfiction.net account, which is linked here 🖤

#the outsiders #the outsiders imagines #the outsiders writing #the outsiders one shot #the outsiders book #the outsiders movie #the outsiders fanfiction #the outsiders ponyboy #Ponyboy curtis #ponyboy #sodapop curtis #Darry curtis #curtis brothers #Two-Bit Mathews #Steve Randle #Dallas Winston #dally winston #Johnny Cade #my writing

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jasontoddiefor · 4 years ago

Text

MTTT AU ft. Padmé in PJs eating take out aka Chapter 7: A Connection - Padmé

Padmé had known from the first moment on that a secret relationship wouldn’t be easy to manage, no matter how used she was to keeping quiet and handling too many duties at once.

All Anakin and she had were stolen moments in the shadows, here and there a few hours in her apartment, and maybe, if she got a little reckless again and had a stroke of luck, a shared mission.

Padmé missed her husband, she did, but they had chosen this fate themselves and now they had to carry its burden. Maybe once the war was over, something would change. They hadn’t talked about it yet, not really, there had never been the time for it. Not to mention, who wanted to think of the hassle that was people’s expectations of them when they could instead make the best they were given at the present. She dared to imagine soft afternoons on Naboo at times, when she was still in bed, sleep chasing her, but that was about it.

Maybe Anakin would leave the Order for her, maybe Padmé would… She didn’t even know what she could do. She just knew that it couldn’t go on like this, not until the end of time. She wanted to show Anakin off to her family, tell them what an amazing husband she had and she wanted to go dancing with him, have a meal at a fancy restaurant, and return to Naboo with him for at least the High Holy Days to watch the fireworks and put candles on the lakes.

But not right now, nothing was possible right now. They were at war and Padmé shouldn’t indulge in such flimsy dreams. Unfortunately, when she was close to Anakin, it was so easy to get lost in dreams.

Anakin wasn’t here right now, but weeks away, somewhere in the Outer Rim, fighting yet another endless battle whose victory never seemed to matter too much in the long run.

The more war reports she read and the more she fought in the Senate, the more convinced did Padmé become that they were sending the Jedi out to fight for nothing. The thought of losing Anakin to this senseless war made her stomach turn. Padmé worried about him constantly. She knew he was strong, the Republic hadn’t dubbed him its Hero with no Fear for nothing after all, but she knew better.

Anakin was afraid all the time, sometimes so much that it stopped him from speaking, left him haunted by nightmares he couldn’t shake.

When she asked about it, he quickly switched the topic. Padmé knew that she ought to do better and get Anakin to talk to her, but she was only human and a relationship always required two people doing their best.

And it required that they actually had time to talk.

Padmé glanced at her datapad. Its screen was still dark, taunting her. It had been a month since Anakin’s last message. They tried to message each other as often as possible, exchanging I love yous coded into descriptions of flowers and ship parts. They had to be careful, could never say a word too much that could be used against them at a later date. Nobody was to discover their secrets and so Padmé spun lies upon lies to keep everybody unaware.

She wondered what lies Anakin told Obi-Wan, Ahsoka, and every other member of his Order. When the war had just started, Padmé hadn’t been too kind to the Jedi, thinking of their rules as strict and their prohibitions as arbitrary, but more and more she was coming to understand that there was a reason for it all.

You could not be a devout Jedi and pour everything into serving the Republic and then still give everything you have for a family outside of the Order. While it had taken her a while to realize it, Padmé could empathize with the sentiment. It was very much the same with her and her family. Each time they asked her to come home, Padmé still picked the Senate over them. She had a duty to the galaxy and if the price for it was this isolation from them, then she could bear it. She had her allies and friends here on Coruscant, her sisters in all but blood, and she had Anakin.

When he was there.

And actually replied to her message.

She hadn’t heard any great news about him or the 501st at large. As far as she was aware, they were still operating as always, running their missions and following orders. Anakin couldn’t be dead, the Republic would be in an uproar.

The thought was a bittersweet relief at least. She couldn’t even count the times she had thought Anakin dead on two hands anymore. He was always in so much danger – she constantly feared that today would be the day he wouldn’t return to her anymore.

If he died tomorrow, what were the last words they exchanged? The last kiss they had shared? Padmé didn’t want to think of herself as fair Veré, who thought of herself as the widow of Set who had gone to live amongst the stars long before her dear husband actually had.

She shook her head. She shouldn’t think so negatively. She had thousands of other things to worry about. New bills, the assassin that was after her and had somehow managed to poison her favorite dessert – she couldn’t spare more than one moment’s thought on the state of her husband.

She was never just Anakin Skywalker’s wife.

She didn’t want to be.

Padmé had always been a greedy child, though her parents had liked to call her ambitious instead. Padmé had wanted to do good and she had wanted to do it herself. She was unsure whether it was that she didn’t trust others enough for it or if a lothcat just couldn’t change its spots, but even when she let herself be distracted by sweet kisses, half her mind was somewhere else.

One of these days it was going to be too much.

Padmé stood up from her sofa, throwing another glance at her traitorous datapad before sighing, then she walked into the kitchen, searching for something edible after a long day. There she went to open her fridge, trying to find something good and fresh to eat, only to be severely disappointed. Her fridge was a sad and desolate space, stocked with only one take-out container and two fruits that were already starting to look moldy. Padmé vaguely recalled how well-stocked her fridge had been with delicacies from Naboo when she had started her term as a Senator. Imports from her homeworld had become extremely expensive.

Padmé was almost a little ashamed to admit she wouldn’t mind accepting one of Palpatine’s dinner proposals only to get her hands on one of the parfaits she used to stuff her mouth with as a kid.

Once Anakin was back, she’d get him to cook something for her. She hadn’t expected him to be good at it, but he was a surprisingly great cook. On the few days they had had on Naboo together after Geonosis, he had pretty much taken over the kitchen within minutes of seeing her attempt at cutting an onion. He had still required her presence and aid at times, unused to his new prosthetic, but even then he had given her instructions on how to properly cut vegetables and fruits. Padmé had never been someone for cooking, it was a trouble and she had never had the time to learn. Perhaps she should start to, people did say that stress baking helped, though she wouldn’t know where to fit a cooking class into her busy schedule.

In the end, Padmé grabbed the take-out box from Dex’s – her new favorite place to order food at – and warmed it up. After it was done, she considered putting the contents of the box on a plate to make it look like she had put at least some effort into the meal. Demotivated she looked at the white container. If she grabbed a plate, she’d just have to clean that as well and there was no point to it if it was really just her. Padmé fished a fork out of her drawer and walked back to her living room. She didn’t even bother sitting down at her dinner table and instead got comfortable on her couch. What a mighty picture she made, former Queen of Naboo, slouching on her sofa, eating takeout in her PJs like an overworked university student.

Not that Padmé really knew what university life was like. Her handmaidens and she had been educated by private tutors who had given them an extensive overview in whatever subjects they needed or desired. As Padmé dug into her food, she considered whether the time she had needed to read up on archeology digs on Archeron Prime 2 in five minutes because nobody else had wanted to deal with ancient sites conversation and so had dumped it on her, had been similar enough to the common student experience.

Padmé was contemplating turning on a holomovie when finally, after weeks, her datapad chimed with a light ringtone, one she had assigned only to one person.

As quickly as possible, she shoved her food off her legs and reached for datapad. She hadn’t even swallowed her food completely when she hit the accept for the incoming call. Finally, Anakin had had the time to call her. She had so much she wanted to tell him-

“Senator Amidala?”

Padmé stared at the small blue hologram that very much did not depict her husband, but instead his young and small Padawan, looking as exhausted as Padmé felt.

Suddenly, Padmé became all too aware of her looks.

She took pride in her dresses, it was part of Naboo custom and one’s appearance in the public sphere was immensely important. She didn’t exactly look like a dedicated politician right now.

“Padawan Tano,” Padmé greeted Ahsoka, hoping her formal tone could save the situation at least a little. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting you to answer.”

Inwardly, Padmé cringed. Great, of course, she had to imply that she had thought she could answer Anakin’s call dressed like this. The day was just getting better and better. She couldn’t wait for it to be over.

If Ahsoka had anything to say about the way Padmé dressed, she didn’t let it show.

“I know, I’m sorry for calling you at this hour from my Master’s device, I wanted to talk to you and I didn’t have your number,” the youngling sounded like she was honestly sorry about it.

Padmé’s face softened. “There’s nothing to forgive, Ahsoka. Tell me, why are you calling me? You know I will never mind a call from you.”

“I- thank you. I’m calling about my Master.”

Ahsoka bit her lip and Padmé’s heartbeat sped up.

Oh no. Had Anakin said something? Had Ahsoka discovered their relationship? A thousand thoughts ran through her mind. This was the precise reason they were keeping it a secret still. Padmé couldn’t afford a scandal, Anakin needed to fight and they couldn’t put their friends between their duties and keeping their secret.

Well, Padmé should have known even their luck had to run out sometime.

“Ahsoka, look-“

“Did my master say anything to you before our battle on Temetha last month?” Asoka suddenly blurted out. “Anything strange? Weird? Bad?”

Their battle on-

Yes, Padmé remembered it. She had kept a keen eye on that one. It had been bound to be a difficult one according to the reports and it had also been the last major battle that Anakin had actively fought in as far as the news had been concerned. Ever since he had been on radio silence between her and Anakin. Nothing new of course, but she had still felt like something was going on behind the scenes.

“No,” Padmé said. “Nothing. Anakin and I had just talked about…”

Padmé grimaced. She was almost embarrassed to say that they had chatted about cheap romance novels and even worse holomovies. It had been such a dumb and random topic, childish almost, but it had occurred to her that she had no idea what kind of stories Anakin liked and enjoyed in his free time. They had decided to do a movie marathon the next time he was back on Coruscant, despite the fact that he desperately needed the time to recover and sleep, not spend hours awake with her.

“We talked about nothing really, just hobbies,” Padmé said. “Why? Did something happen?”

Ahsoka’s expression darkened.

“I shouldn’t be telling you this,” she started slowly.

Padmé contemplated stopping Ahsoka right then and there. The poor teenager was going through enough, Padmé shouldn’t use her distress to her own gain, but where else was she going to get information about Anakin?

“Did something happen to Anakin?”

Ahsoka hesitated, her eyes darted to somewhere in her room that Padmé couldn’t see.

“He was injured in the aftermath of the battle,” Ahsoka revealed. “And I don’t know how. The machines say he’s fine.”

The machines. What machines? Had it been vital? Was he comatose? Was that the reason she hadn’t heard a word from him, was the army keeping it under wraps as to not cause distress? What other secrets were they hiding-

Padmé’s growing panic must have shown on her face as Ahsoka reassured her quickly.

“He’s fine now! Or as fine as he can be at least. He won’t talk to me about anything anymore. Obi-Wan’s training me right now too because Anakin can’t.”

Padmé’s thoughts traveled to those days on Naboo in the aftermath of Geonosis. Anakin’s hadn’t been given the time he needed to recover properly and get used to his new prosthetic before he’d been sent out to fight in the front and yet, somehow, he was one of their strongest fighters. Had he lost another limb? How many weeks would they give him off this time if it had already been a month?

“I just thought you might know something,” Ahsoka finally finished. “Master Skywalker speaks very highly of you, you’re friends?”

“Very close friends, yes,” Pamdé told Ahsoka. “We met when we were just children. Anakin helped my planet considerably at the time.”

“Really?” Ahsoka asked, light returning to her eyes.

Perhaps Padmé would have to call Obi-Wan later, or see if she could get someone to tell her what was truly going on with the 501st.

Until then she had a Padawan to calm down.

“I can’t believe Anakin never shared this story with you. Let me tell you all about it,” Padmé said. “I was 14 and had been elected the Queen of Naboo…”

Padmé ended up talking for hours or so it felt like, much longer than she did with Anakin as he hardly had the time for it. When Padmé was done talking about her and Anakin’s first meeting and the consequent fight with the Trade Federation, she began regaling Ahsoka with more stories about her term as a queen. By the time the Padawan had to go again, Ahsoka was still bothered by her worry for her master, but at least she was smiling again.

Padmé ended the call and took a deep breath. She looked at her now cold dinner and the dark night sky.

Then she stood up and got to work.

#star wars #padmé amidala #anidala #ahsoka tano #medical trauma time travel AU #fanfic #update twice a week and then not for a month #this is just my new MO

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teacupfulofstarshine · 5 years ago

Text

when you look at me with those eyes (i’m speechless)

summary: virgil finally manages to ask out the pretty enby in his class, just in time for his father's epic gala event. sadly, neither of them would know fashion if it bit them in the ass. luckily, they both have friends to help them out.

(OR: almost 3k words of analogical being useless fluffy gays)

wordcount: 2934

ships: romantic analogical, background romantic roceit, background queerplatonic intruality, background romantic remile

cw: cursing

read it on ao3!!

“So, uh, wh - what do you say?”

Logan looks up from their desk, homework long forgotten. Their left hand is stretched out to cover the little doodle they’d been doing of the back of Virgil’s head, and now Virgil himself is standing in front of them, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly and looking anywhere except at Logan. He’s still wearing that patchwork purple plaid hoodie, and for some reason the only thing Logan can think of is that it’s definitely a violation of their school uniform.

Virgil’s eyes skitter back to their face, skipping from their shoulder to their chest to their neck to their cheek. Their eyes meet for a moment, Virgil’s illuminated by the afternoon sunshine pouring in, and Logan forgets how to breathe. Virgil’s pink face gets even pinker, and his eyes settle on a point fixed above Logan’s shoulder.

“Are you just gonna stare at me?” he snaps. “If you’re gonna reject me, just -”

“No!” Logan blurts. Virgil’s shoulders jump up to his ears, and Logan stands so fast their chair falls over behind them. “I - I mean - I’m not rejecting you, I - um - yes! Yes, I - I’d love to! That is to say - I - uh -”

Virgil laughs a little, reaching out and tucking a stray curl of Logan’s hair behind their ear. They hadn’t even noticed that wisps had started escaping their high ponytail, but Virgil just smiles at them. “Cool,” he says.

“Yes,” Logan breathes. “It - it is, objectively, quite ‘cool’.”

“The event’s on Saturday night.” Virgil’s fingers tuck their hair behind their ear, gently tracing down the curve of their neck and sliding up to touch their jaw. “Pick you up around six PM or so?”

Logan swallows, and they’re sure Virgil can hear it but he gives no indication if he did. “That - that sounds optimal.” They cringe inwardly - optimal? What the hell? - but Virgil just laughs and slides his hand up to cup their cheek.

“You keep busting out all those smart-person words and I’m gonna have to kiss you before I buy you dinner, and that’s not very nice of me.” His hand drops from Logan’s face, and it takes all their willpower not to scream for him to put it back. He gently picks up their hand, lifting it to his bitten-raw lips and gently pressing a kiss to the back. “That’ll have to hold you over until then.”

He turns and saunters away, and Logan grips the edge of their desk. They almost sit down on the chair they’d knocked over, catching themselves at the last second. Looking around the empty classroom, they catch sight of themselves reflected in the windows. They’d opted for a mixture of the uniforms today, wearing the boys’ shirt, vest, and tie over the girls’ skirt, knee-high stockings, and shoes. Their hair is tightly tied back with a plain hair tie, no ribbon, only one curl out of place where Virgil had tucked it behind their ear.

They don’t typically dress themselves for much other than school (uniform), work (uniform), or home (casual clothing). They have no idea what they should wear for a date. Their phone buzzes on the desk, and they snatch it up quickly, flipping it open to see a message from Virgil.

(They’d forgotten he had their number, from that project they did together last month.)

You have: One! New message!

FROM: Virgil

hey, forgot to tell u - this gala is like, a bfd for my dads’ company, so dress up! like its prom or smthn, or a wedding

Logan exhales, gathering up their school things and shoving them into their bag with an uncharacteristic haphazardness. This is going to require . . . outside intervention.

(Meanwhile, a few doors down, Virgil slams the door to his own classroom, shoves his face into his hands, and lets out the quietest feral screech he can manage. Derek, seated on the teacher’s desk with Roman pulled up between his legs, raises a single eyebrow.

“Is that a screech of success or a screech of failure, Virgil?”)

*~*~*~*~*

“What does one wear on a ‘fancy date’? I have never been to a wedding or a prom, let alone a gala! I do not own anything fancy!” Logan paces around their bedroom, hair hanging loose around their shoulders. Patton is on his back, hanging upside-down off of their bed and flipping through some sort of guitar catalog. Remus is curled up in Logan’s desk chair with some sort of slime in his hand. “Remus, if you get slime on my belongings I will end you.”

Remus grins, looking deranged, and Logan resists the childish urge to throw something at him.

“Don’t sweat it, Lo-Lo!” Patton says. “I’ve got a ton of pretty clothes in my room, you can borrow something from me! We’re still the same size, right?”

“I assume so,” Logan says, “but what if I do not look right in your clothing? Our styles are vastly different, I would not wish to present a false impression of myself to him, I -”

“You worry too much!” Remus says. “Virge asked you out even though you’re a workaholic disaster who wouldn’t know the meaning of ‘relax’ if it bit him in the -”

“Remus!” Patton scolds, throwing one of Logan’s decorative constellation pillows at him. Remus bats it away with his foot.

“Please do not throw things around,” Logan says tiredly. “Particularly my things.”

“Sorry, Lo!” Remus does not apologize, but he does put the slime he’s been playing with back into its little plastic container.

“Well, actually,” Patton says, flipping over onto his tummy, “it just so happens that I’ve been waiting for exactly this moment.” Logan looks at their twin in confusion. “I knew that eventually, there was gonna come a day where you would look at somebody and want to go on a date with them, whether it be a simple movie or a fancy date like this one, and you were gonna call me in here - didn’t know Remus would be here too, but he’s not unwelcome -”

“Thank you?”

“- and you’d pace around and panic and go, ‘Patton! I don’t have anything optimal for this date, and our personal styles are so vastly different! What ever is there to be done?’” Patton flings one hand dramatically across his forehead like a Victorian woman fainting onto a couch. Logan raises one eyebrow.

“So! I came up with the perfect solution! I’ve been secretly acquiring outfits for you! Stuff that you could wear for a variety of situations that you wouldn’t ever think of! We can mix and match to find something you like! Oh, and I also have a ton of unopened hypoallergenic makeup in a box in my closet!”

Logan stares at him, blinking and trying to process everything Patton’s just told them. “You . .. you really did all that, for . . . for me?”

“Yeah, of course I did! You’re my twin, Lo. I love you.” Patton smiles, bright and open and honest, and Logan blinks again, and suddenly their cheeks are wet.

“Are you fucking crying because Patton is a considerate brother?!” Remus cackles. Logan whirls around, hiding their face and wiping at it frantically. “Oh my god, you are, I fucking called it, Roman owes me twenty bucks!”

“You bet on this?” Patton asks, disapproving. Logan laughs a little, turning around to hug their twin. They can’t quite bring themselves to care about Remus’s gambling right now.

*~*~*~*~*

“Why are you bitching?” Roman asks, pulling Derek’s hand up to his face. He’d forgotten his saline solution at his own house, so he’s wearing his old red glasses, bangs pulled up in a shitty unicorn-horn ponytail as he squints at Derek’s nails. Derek holds a book up with his free hand. “You managed to get them to go out with you, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, but I was awkward as fuck about it, Roman!” Virgil complains. He considers throwing something at Roman, or shoving a pillow over his face and screaming (again), but the deep indigo-purple polish on their fingernails is still drying. “I touched their hair, they probably think I’m a fucking creep!”

“As someone with that exact reputation,” Derek says, “I highly doubt they would have agreed to accompany you on a date if they shared your sentiments about yourself.”

“Yeah, but -”

“Lighten up a little, man,” Roman says, carefully stroking the yellow brush over Derek’s index nail. “You’re totally fucking with the vibe of the chill session.”

“What do you want me to do?! I told them to dress fancy cause we’re going somewhere nice, like I have any idea how to dress other than ‘crawled out of a dumpster and sewed together some punk band’s leftovers’!”

“Why did you think you invited me?” Roman says haughtily. He’s imitating some YouTube video they’d watched earlier. “I’m the king of style!”

“You’re the king of something,” Virgil mutters.

“No, seriously, I’m gonna help you!” Roman says. “I’m sure you have something that looks half-decent buried in your closet, and I am nothing if not an expert in bringing things out of the closet.” Derek’s cheeks blush faintly pink, but he doesn’t say anything. “And Der here is amazing with makeup -”

“I wouldn’t say experience with stage makeup and covering my port wine stain makes me amazing or anything,” Derek begins.

“Well I would, so shut the fuck up,” Roman says smoothly. Derek rolls his eyes and huffs fondly. “Seriously, Vee, did you really think we were gonna egg you on to ask the pretty nerd out for this long and then leave you high and dry when the time came to deliver the goods?”

Virgil exhales, bringing his hands up to his face to examine his nails. “I think they’re dry . . .”

“Nice! Get over here, once I’m done with Derek’s base color I’m putting sparkles on you.”

“What? Why?”

“Because it’s my house and I get to choose the bonding activity, god damn it.”

*~*~*~*~*

“No.”

“What do you mean, no?” Logan says, pulling their hair up into their traditional high ponytail. “What else am I supposed to do with it? I hate leaving it down, it feels bad on my neck -”

“I know,” Patton says, “but you can’t just put it in the same old ponytail you always do! This is a fancy gala event, you have to be fancy! ”

“What else am I supposed to do with my hair?”

“You will not do anything. I will do your hair,” Patton says firmly. “And by I, I mean Remus, because I’m not good at hair.”

“Remus is not putting his hands, which have been god only knows where, in my clean hair.”

“Rude!” Remus says. “I washed them three times today! You can inspect them if you want, I promise they’re clean!” Logan squints at his hands critically before sighing and settling into the chair in front of Patton’s vanity.

“Very well.”

Remus brushes through their hair and then combs it, carefully working through the knots while doing his best to preserve their natural curl. He separates two small wings and pins them out of the way before pulling the rest of Logan’s long curls into a mid-height ponytail and braiding it with surprisingly delicate fingers. He carefully twists the long braid up into a bun at the nape of Logan’s neck and pins it there with a gleaming silver hairpin tipped with a shining eight-point star with a dark blue jewel set in its center.

Carefully, Remus unpins the locks of hair he’d set aside and braids them as well, weaving them into a crown of braids on Logan’s head and cleverly hiding the ends by pinning them into the braided bun. Finally, he pins back a few stray wispy curls with silver bobby pins that have star-shaped cubic zirconium on the ends. “Take a look!”

Logan has had their eyes closed the entire time, quietly stimming with their hands. They open them slowly, looking in the mirror and tilting their head back and forth to see all of the work Remus has done. “Oh,” they say softly. “I love it, Remus. I look beautiful.”

“You always look beautiful,” Remus says. “I’d ruffle your hair if I hadn’t spent so much time making it look decent.” Logan leans back, gently pressing their cheek against his shoulder. Remus huffs and mutters something about “gross affectionate shit,” but he still lets them do it.

Patton breaks out the makeup after that, spinning the stool around so that Logan can’t see their own face in the mirror. “Alright, Lo! Time to accentuate your pretty face!”

“That was a surprisingly accurate use of the word accentuate.”

Patton just shrugs and grins at them. “I know big words!”

*~*~*~*~*

“You look fine,” Roman says, pulling a strip of fabric around Virgil’s throat and beginning to knot it into a bowtie. Virgil can’t stop himself from looking over himself in the mirror one more time - dark black dress pants, a silver dress shirt, a deep purple vest that matches the polish on his nails, black and purple eyeshadow accompanied by dark red lipstick and sharp cheekbone contour courtesy of Derek. Roman pulls the purple-and-silver striped fabric of his bowtie into the final bow, and he smiles.

“Don’t worry, Virge. I know you’re worried, but you look fine.”

“You don’t look like a vampire at all,” Derek adds. Virgil hisses at him. “That is certainly going to help that image.”

“Seriously,” Roman says, “don’t worry about my stupid boyfriend. Logan agreed to go out with you, and I’m sure they’re going to find you absolutely stunning.”

Virgil rubs the back of his neck, blushing, because he knows that if he touches the hair Derek and Roman had combed and gelled and styled and wrestled with for the past thirty minutes they will collectively murder him without a second thought. Derek smiles, reaching over to pat his shoulder. “It’ll be okay, Vee. Seriously. I know I mock you a lot, but you really do look good. It’s gonna be okay.”

Virgil still feels nervous when he steps out of his car in front of the address Logan had given him. The lights are bright and cheerful, and when he knocks on the front door with his free hand, the door swings open eagerly. “Hello!” the man says cheerily. He’s wearing a pink tie and a brown cardigan, and he looks like Virgil expects Patton to in a few decades. “You must be Virgil!”

“Uh, um, y-yes sir!” Virgil yelps.

“Oh, you look precious! Remy, dearest, Logan’s date is here!”

“Cool, babes,” a voice floats in from the kitchen. “I’ll take over the soup.”

“Come on in! You can call me Emile, Lo is upstairs with Patton and Remus getting ready! Just wait here in the foyer, I’ll go up there and get them!” Emile hurries off up the stairs, and Virgil fidgets nervously with the flowers in his hand.

Patton all but slides down the bannister, grinning. “Are those for Lo?”

“Y - yeah?”

“I’ll go get a vase out of the kitchen so they can put them in water before you two go!” Virgil pulls a single star-shaped lily bloom from the bouquet and spins it between his thumb and middle fingers. Emile comes hurrying down the stairs with a camera, sets himself up at the foot of the stairs, and shouts for Remus.

“Finally,” Logan huffs, and then a door creaks open and shuffled footsteps approach the top of the stairs and then Virgil promptly forgets how to breathe.

They look gorgeous.

They have a crown of braids leading to a braided bun, studded with jewels that gleam like stars and a larger star pinning the bun back. They’re wearing the most beautiful dress Virgil has ever seen; the top is black, high-necked, and form-fitting, with short sleeves that are see-through ruffles of black gauzy material. The sleeves and the bodice are covered in sparkling silver rhinestones that look like stars in the night sky. There’s a silver band wrapped around their waist, and the skirt is made of layers of loose folds of fabric. The front comes down to their knees and the back comes down to their mid-calves, and the pattern is a soft blue-pink-purple galaxy color scheme. They have simple dark blue ballet flats on their feet, and as they get closer, what little breath Virgil had in his lungs is gone.

Someone with experience has clearly done Logan’s makeup. Their eyes are coated in shimmery dark-blue-and-silver eyeshadow, eyes lined with soft smudged pencil and popping out of their face, freckles somehow still visible under the makeup. Their lips are glossy and pink and look so deliciously kissable that Virgil can barely restrain himself.

“You look wonderful,” the vision in front of him says.

“You - I - um - good!” Virgil stammers. Logan blushes, and Virgil thrusts the bouquet at them. “These - for you!”

“Oh!” Logan takes the bouquet and smiles, and Virgil nearly passes out. “They’re beautiful! I -”

“I have a vase for you!” Patton chirps, hurrying in to take the bouquet and plop it into a vase. “I’ll leave it in your room!” Logan smiles, and Virgil reaches up to carefully tuck the lily behind their ear, into the carefully woven braids.

“You look beautiful,” he says honestly. “You’re the most beautiful person I have ever seen in my life.” Logan flushes, smiling.

“It makes sense that you would think that, since you cannot see yourself.”

(Years later, at their wedding, Patton will tearfully and proudly recall how Logan and Virgil had been fifteen minutes late to the gala because Logan’s compliment had caused Virgil to faint from sheer gay joy.)

#starshinewrites #romantic analogical #sympathetic deceit #sympathetic remus #background romantic roceit #background romantic remile #background queerplatonic intruality #ts logan #ts virgil #ts remus #ts deceit #ts patton #ts roman

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jaskierswolf · 4 years ago

Text

You Set My Heart Ablaze (19/25)

Previous ________________________

Yennefer pulled up to the school gates in her car. It was two weeks into the summer term at Dol Blathanna and three weeks since she’d last seen Ciri. She rolled her eyes at her own sentimentality. She’d always adored Duny and Pavetta’s daughter. She’d been dating Geralt when Pavetta had announced her pregnancy. It had been a strange moment for Yennefer. She’d never thought of herself as particularly maternal and children had never been something she’d craved in life, but when Pavetta had shown them all the photos of the tiny baby growing inside her womb, something had changed irrevocably.

She wanted that.

She’d always thought her career and financial security would be everything for her, but how could it be everything when she was missing a family.

She scoffed. She’d been naive at the time. She’d thought that her relationship with Geralt would last that time, that it would be the time when they didn’t crash and burn. She’d even considered asking him to marry her. She had loved him and they’d been on and off for years already at that point. Geralt and Yennefer, the romantic saga that would put fairytales to shame. Duny and Pavetta had even asked them both to be godparents.

A month later Geralt and Yennefer had split up… again.

But now, seven year old Ciri was bringing back all those old wants and aches. She’d spent a week with the girl in Cidaris before handing her back to Geralt in Posada, just in time for the girl’s birthday. Yennefer had stuck around long enough to help Geralt wrangle Ciri’s classmates for her party and then she’d made her way back home.

Only it didn’t feel like home anymore.

She hated that she was always the one to leave her family behind. She hated that she had almost become an outsider to the most important people in her life. She was terrified that they would move on without her. Triss seemed to rather taken with Eskel, and Yennefer felt a twinge of regret for not introducing her own friends to the family sooner. Geralt’s family had become her own, but Yennefer had never quite managed to allow Geralt into her own life. The only person he had met had been Istredd, and that was because Is had confronted Geralt just after she’d started dating him at University.

She didn’t want to miss out anymore.

She’d already started looking for flats halfway between Cidaris and Posada, she’d even thought about moving her gallery to Vengerberg. Her family had originated from there generations ago and she’d always thought it would be a little on the nose to move there but there was something poetic about it that intrigued her, that was after all why she had chosen Aedirn out of all the galleries offered to her at a young age. A Vengerberg canvas in Aedirn Gallery. The irony had been too good to resist.

Vengerberg was also much closer to Posada and to Ciri.

For now she had to be contented with ferrying back and forth across the Continent whenever she wanted to see Ciri, the girl she had come to love as a daughter.

She groaned when she noticed Jaskier standing amongst the children. Of course it was his turn on after school duty. Nevertheless she stood tall and glided towards the gaggle of children. She’d texted Coën from the petrol station on the way to Posada to let him know that he didn’t need to pick Ciri up from school tonight. Vesemir would be over after work to look after Ciri this evening. Yennefer and Geralt would have the delight of summer parents’ evening. Yennefer was rather looking forward to being on the other side of it for the first time. Poor Buttercup didn’t stand a chance.

Ciri screamed excitably when she saw Yennefer approach and Yennefer soon had her arms full of her daughter as she knelt down to hug Ciri.

“Auntie Yen!” Ciri laughed. “But I only just saw you!”

“I know, Princess,” Yennefer hugged the girl tightly “but I couldn’t stay away.”

“Are you staying this time?” Ciri asked, looking up at her with wide emerald eyes.

Yennefer sighed with a heavy heart. “Not this time, Ciri, but I’m working on it, alright?”

Ciri pouted and scrunched her nose up. “But…”

Yennefer bopped her nose. “Patience, Ciri.”

“Yennefer, what a delight.” Jaskier drawled sarcastically.

Yennefer looked up at the teacher with a smirk. Oh the things she would say if they weren’t in front of the children.

“Buttercup, pleasure as always.” Yennefer returned his sarcasm.

It wasn’t that she hated the teacher, quite the opposite in fact, she actually admired him in some ways but at this point the scathing remarks and barely concealed loathing was just a part of their routine.

“Mr Rivia didn’t mention that you would be picking up Ciri this evening.” Jaskier tilted his head, tossing his fringe away from his eyes. “It really is common courtesy to let the school know.”

“Geralt doesn’t know, Buttercup. It’s called a surprise which requires subtlety and discretion, neither of which you possess.” Yennefer smiled at the teacher.

He glowered at her with blue fire dancing in his eyes.

“Oh I can be very discreet, I’m more discreet than, than a Redanian spy!” Jaskier huffed with his hands on his hips. “Oh no.” His jaw dropped at some unspoken realisation. “No no. No!” He pointed at her accusingly.

“What’s wrong Mr Jaskier?” Ciri asked.

Jaskier blushed and stammered. “Oh, nothing. Nothing’s wrong, little Buttercup.”

“Mr Jaskier!” Ciri gasped. “Are you lying to me?”

Jaskier froze and Yennefer cackled. “Yes, Jaskier, Are you lying to her?”

He stammered unintelligibly before clearing his throat. “Right. Yes, Sorry Ciri. I meant that there is nothing wrong that you need to worry about, I just remembered something.”

Ciri put her hands on her hips, looking a little too much like Jaskier’s mini-me for Yennefer’s liking. “About Auntie Yen?”

Yennefer smirked. She could see the litany of curses Jaskier was saying in his head. He smiled brightly down at Ciri, though Yennefer could see the anger still dancing in his eyes when he glanced back at her. “I had just forgotten it was parents’ evening tonight. Yennefer reminded me, that’s all Ciri, I promise.”

Ciri scowled up at her teacher, scrutinising his words and then broke into her own dazzling smile. “Ok!”

Jaskier visibly relaxed. “So, Yennefer, will you be looking after Ciri tonight?”

Yennefer shook her head. “Not this time, Buttercup. I will be joining Geralt for parents’ evening.”

Jaskier raised an eyebrow at her. “Oh?”

Ciri squealed. “Are you and dad getting back together?”

Jaskier’s face lost all colour. “An… unexpected development.” His voice cracked.

Yennefer sighed. She didn’t want to get Ciri’s hopes up. She had no intention on getting back together with Geralt, she’d just been trying to get a rise out of the teacher, which had absolutely worked. “We can discuss this in the car, Cirilla. Come now.”

It took a while but Yennefer eventually managed to convince Ciri that she was, in fact, not dating Geralt again. The young girl seemed a little disappointed by this.

“He just gets lonely.” She sniffed. “He tries to hide it but I see it, when he doesn’t realise I’m looking.”

“I know, Princess, but Geralt and I,” Yennefer sighed “We weren’t a good match.”

Ciri scrunched her nose up. “I just thought, if Geralt’s my dad and you were dating then… that would make you my mum.”

Yennefer almost crashed the car. As it was she had to pull over, her hands were shaking too much on the steering wheel.

“Auntie Yen?” Ciri asked quietly.

“I wouldn’t mind if you called me mum’” Yennefer took Ciri’s little hand in hers and squeezed tightly. “I can be that, with or without Geralt.”

Ciri grinned and unbuckled her seatbelt before clambering into Yennefer’s lap.

“Ok, Mum.” Ciri mumbled as she hugged Yennefer tightly. Yennefer felt like she couldn’t breathe, like a single breath would shatter the moment and she’d wake up back in Cidaris and this would have all been a dream.

She settled for holding the girl in her arms in blessed silence, holding onto the feeling for as long as she possibly could and praying to the gods that the moment would last forever.

___________________________________

Yennefer had just about managed to find something edible enough to feed Ciri for dinner. She’d been disgusted at the amount of tins in the cupboards compared to the fresh vegetables in the fridge. Luckily, Geralt seemed to have a better stock of frozen vegetables to make up for the lack of fresh produce. Ciri had grumbled about it and said that Coën and Geralt usually let her have pizza and chips.

Yennefer challenged this proclamation with a stare and eventually Ciri mumbled something about pizza and chips being a Friday or weekend treat.

Ciri was now scowling at the plate of chicken and vegetables in front of her. Yennefer rolled her eyes.

“Ciri, you have got to eat something.” She sighed. “You’ve even got chips.”

“I don’t like spinach.” Ciri pouted.

“You ate it in Cidaris.” Yennefer stated cooly. “What’s changed, Princess?”

Ciri scrunched up her nose. “Slimy, tastes funny.”

Yennefer narrowed her eyes at the greenery on Ciri’s plate. “Let me try.”

Ciri pushed the plate towards her and Yennefer took a forkful, it tasted exactly the same as when she’d made it for Ciri back at her flat in Cidaris. She pursed her lips together and told Ciri to close her eyes.

“Why?” Ciri asked.

“The magic only works if you have your eyes shut, Princess.” Yennefer said calmly, allowing herself a small smile when she noticed Ciri trying to peek from behind her hands. “Eyes shut, Ciri.”

“Fine!” The young girl huffed.

Yennefer moved the spinach around on her plate and whispered a low fake incantation under her breath, just loud enough so the girl could hear. Ciri giggled and wiggled excitably in her seat.

“Now, Ciri. You must understand that Geralt can’t do this and it takes a lot of power so I can’t do it every meal time, alright?” Yennefer stated firmly, her hand hovering over Ciri’s plate.

“Yes, Mum.” Ciri drawled and Yennefer knew if the girl’s eyes were open she’d be rolling them.

“Good, now open your eyes and eat your dinner.” Yennefer said, pulling her hand away just as Ciri opened her eyes.

Ciri wolfed down her dinner without another word and Yennefer let out a small sigh of relief. After dinner, Yennefer plopped Ciri down in front of the TV to watch that pony show that she was so fond of, Geralt’s influence no doubt.

She sat down beside Ciri, scrolling through her social media on her phone. She shared a few posts from upcoming artists that she wanted to promote and tapped out a few biting remarks on replies that were from sensitive assholes who didn’t like that a woman was successful in their industry. She vaguely tried to follow the plot of the episode that Ciri was watching but she’d never understood the talking ponies.

She looked up when she heard keys in the door.

“Dad!” Ciri jumped up and ran to the front door. “Uncle Vesemir!”

Geralt picked Ciri up as she jumped at him. “Hi Princess, good day at school?” He asked before noticing Yennefer lounging on the sofa. “Yen?”

“Geralt.” She smiled and made her way across the room. “Vesemir.”

“Hello Yennefer.” The older man nodded.

Geralt shifted Ciri into one arm and pulled Yennefer in for a hug.

“I didn’t know you were visiting?” He asked gently.

She kissed his cheek and the pulled away to ruffle Ciri’s hair. “I was hoping to join you for parents’ evening. She’s my goddaughter too. I want to be a bigger part of her life, Geralt.”

Geralt scowled and glanced at Vesemir. “Yen.” He sighed with a sad smile. “I don’t think—”

“Not like that.” She swatted his arm. “I’m doing this for Ciri, Geralt. Not for you.”

Geralt visibly relaxed. “Right.”

“Mum can do magic!” Ciri shouted, a little too loudly judging by the way Geralt winced.

He raised an eyebrow at Yennefer. “Mum?”

“Obviously, Dad you never told me Mum was magic!” Ciri pouted.

Geralt hummed and put Ciri down on the floor, kneeling next to her. “Well she never told me, cub.”

Ciri covered her mouth with her hands, her emerald eyes went wide. “Was it meant to be a secret?” She mumbled behind her hands.

Yennefer shook her head. “Not at all, your father just never noticed.”

Geralt grumbled.

“Only the wisest of people realised, little sparrow.” Vesemir chuckled and moved further into the living room. “Ciri, are you going to show me what you’ve learnt on that instrument of yours? Geralt says Priscilla has been very impressed with how quickly you’ve picked it up.”

Ciri grinned and ran to the corner of the room the pick up the small ukulele case. “Mr Jaskier helps me during lunch sometimes! He says that practice makes perfect and even Mr Jaskier needs to keep practicing to learn new things all the time!”

“Does he now?” Yennefer smirked at Geralt who had suddenly gone very still.

“Yup!” Ciri grinned and pulled out a small plastic whistle. “This helps to make sure the strings sound right.” She explained and then started to blow on the whistle, and plucking at the strings of the small instrument.

“That’s very clever, little sparrow. Show me, how do I hold it?” Vesemir asked warmly.

And just like that the old man had Ciri’s full focus.

Geralt leant against the wall with his arms cross. His hair was pulled into a messy bun at the back of his head today, not his usual look but one that was rather handsome. Yennefer felt a pang of regret and yearning at the loss of their relationship but it passed quickly. They’d both moved on for a good reason, and things were going well with Istredd, slowly but well.

“Why are you here, Yen?” Geralt asked quietly.

Yennefer rolled her eyes. “I already told you that, Geralt.”

He shook his head. “Nothing is ever so simple with you.”

“Can’t you just trust me for once?” Yennefer asked, bristling a little at his accusation.

He was right, of course, she did have an ulterior motive for being here. She wanted to watch his interactions with the teacher, perhaps plant a few seeds of jealousy so they’d have to act on their feelings. This was her first plan. Jaskier knew that Yennefer was Geralt’s ex so he would no doubt be envious to see them co-parenting Ciri. She just needed to make sure she didn’t overdo it and put the teacher off.

If this failed then she had another idea. She wondered whether Jaskier knew that Geralt was attracted to men. Geralt didn’t exactly radiate queer vibes and passed very well as a straight man when it suited him. Therefore she’d been in contact with another one of Geralt’s exes, an older man that he’d dated briefly when they’d been broken up. Regis and Geralt’s relationship hadn’t ended badly and the two were still friends. They didn’t see each other very often due to work commitments but they had the kind of friendship that lasted regardless of time and distance. Regis had been delighted to hear about Geralt’s little infatuation with Jaskier and had agreed to help out should it be required.

But that was Plan B. Plan A was tonight.

He narrowed his eyes and then nodded with a low hum.

“We have about an hour before we need to leave. I have the last slot with Jaskier. Vesemir will be here to put Ciri to bed.” Geralt explained.

Yennefer nodded and pulled her friend over to the living room where Ciri was patiently trying to teach Vesemir how to play a nursery rhyme on her ukulele. “Come on, White Wolf, what have I missed?”

______________________

“You don’t have to do this, Yen.” Geralt grumbled as they strode into reception together.

Yennefer rolled her eyes. Geralt had said the same thing at least a dozen times on the drive to the school. At least he’d had the common sense to let her drive instead of going in that disgusting truck. “I want to do this, Geralt, and your whining is not going to change my mind so shut up and try not to look like I’m leading you to the gallows.”

“Feels like it.” He muttered.

At this rate her eyes would be stuck in the back of her head. She linked her arm with his as they entered the foyer. Triss greeted them with a wave.

“Yen!” She called happily. “Geralt.”

“Hi Triss.” Yennefer smiled at her friend, a little envious of her easy going nature. There wasn’t a single person that didn’t adore Triss, she just had this way about her that made you want to be her friend, made you want to be better. Yennefer was not immune to this. It was one of the reasons they had remained friends for so many years.

“Do we need to sign in?” Geralt asked, straight to the point as always.

Triss passed him the register. “Just like before.”

Geralt hummed thoughtfully. “Hopefully not.” He gave Triss a sheepish smile.

“No.” She agreed with a laugh. “I would really prefer it if we didn’t have to call the police.”

Yennefer frowned as she looked between her ex and her best friend. “The police?” She asked haughtily.

“A misunderstanding.” Geralt grumbled. “If you’re staying the night I’ll tell you later.”

“Staying the night?” Triss asked, taking back the register with a raised eyebrow.

“School hall?” Geralt asked, ignoring Triss’s look of surprise.

“Umm. Yes. That’s right.” Triss was still eyeballing them.

“I’ll text you later.” Yennefer murmured and followed Geralt towards the main hall.

There were tables stationed all around the room, just like she remembered from her time as a teachers. Fuck she hated Parents’ Evening. It had been hell on earth. She caught Istredd’s eyes across the room and gave him a small smile. She was grateful that Geralt had book the last slot of the evening, it meant that there was a chance she could see Istredd when he was done. Luckily it was a Friday which meant that even if she didn’t get to see him tonight, there was always the weekend.

“Ah, Geralt!” Jaskier waved them over with a smile as another couple stood up to leave. “Yennefer.” He added more cooly.

Yennefer frowned. Triss and Eskel hadn’t been lying when they’d said that both Geralt and Jaskier had stopped moping around, but she hadn’t been expecting Jaskier to act so friendly towards Geralt, especially after weeks of supposedly avoiding him.

What the fuck was going on?

She glanced over at Geralt to see his reaction.

The man was fucking blushing.

“Mr Pankratz.” He shook Jaskier’s hand, smiling far too fondly for Yennefer’s liking.

Now, many people said that Geralt Rivia was hard to read. He had a habit of not saying much, especially when he was feeling overwhelmed, but Yennefer had always found him to be an open book. His face didn’t hide much and she had learnt to read even the smallest twitch of a smile dancing on his lips. So the way he smiled so openly at Jaskier told Yennefer everything she needed to know.

“Geralt,” She whispered in his ear, gripping his arm tightly. “Tell me, exactly how long have you two been fucking?”

Geralt growled and pulled away from her. “What the fuck, Yen?”

Jaskier laughed nervously. “Geralt? What’s going on?”

Geralt’s face was like thunder. “Nothing. Right Yen?” He asked pointedly, glancing over at Tissaia’s table.

Ah yes. Tissaia was currently headmistress, she’d heard all about that from Triss and Is.

“Oh no one is supposed to know!” She said a little too loudly.

“Shut up, Yen.” Geralt grumbled.

“Know what?” Jaskier asked. Geralt’s eyes flashed to Jaskier dangerously. “Oooh. That. Right. Yes.”

Yennefer smiled sweetly at the two idiots in front of her. “So, how long?”

“How long have I been teaching Ciri?” Jaskier asked pointedly.

Yennefer smirked but decided to it go. They were here to discuss her daughter after all. “Ciri, right yes of course. Since September I assume.”

“That’s right.” Jaskier said firmly. “The whole class has made excellent progress with learning sign language, one of my Buttercups is deaf,” He explained “but young Ciri is leaps and bounds ahead of the rest of them. She has the amazing ability to absorb new information and a wonderful dedication to her class work and friends.”

Yennefer smiled, genuinely for the first time since they’d entered the hall. She knew Ciri was special but hearing Jaskier confirm it warmed her usually icy heart.

“I am concerned that she’s throwing herself into her work instead of learning to process the trauma in her life.” Jaskier added. “Did you think anymore about what I said, Geralt?”

Geralt nodded. “I’ve been looking. I just…” He paused and frowned as he tried to gather his words. “I don’t know how to talk to Ciri about it.” He admitted.

“About what?” Yennefer asked. “Maybe I can help?”

Jaskier looked at Geralt with a tilt of his head. Geralt gave a small nod.

Yennefer scoffed, apparently they were communicating non-verbally now as well. What a fucking delight!

“I suggested that Ciri might benefit from some therapy.” Jaskier said quietly. “She’s been through, gods, she’s been through so much.”

“But she’s fine.” Yennefer interjected.

“On the surface” Jaskier agreed “but we don’t know, we can’t know, how much she’s bottling up underneath.”

“It’s a good idea, Yen.” Geralt said softly.

Yennefer sighed. She hated it but they were right. She remembered her own therapist from her childhood, they weren’t happy memories and the thought of Ciri having to go through the same thing made her want to scream, but in the end it had helped her. It was just a difficult process with no clear step by step journey, some days it felt like the therapy just made it worse before it got better again.

“Yen?” Geralt took her hand and squeezed gently.

“I’ll talk to her” She agreed “but the decision is hers.”

“That’s all we can ask.” Jaskier smiled sadly and then immediately brightened up. “Pris tells me her ukulele lessons are going wonderfully! She might even want to consider getting a guitar soon, it will be a little difficult for her to hold an adult guitar but there are smaller sizes that she can look at, it will be more challenging than the ukulele. There are six strings rather the four on the ukulele. My lute has thirteen so we don’t recommend that one for a while.”

“Not everyone wants to learn every stringed instrument in existence, Buttercup.” Yennefer said dryly.

“Which is a tragedy!” Jaskier laughed. “And I’ll have you know, I bought a flute the other day. I’m branching out.”

Yennefer smirked. “Practicing your blowing skills?”

Jaskier raised an eyebrow at her with a playful smile. “Oh, darling, I don’t need any practice with that.”

Geralt cleared his throat and blushed vividly. “Let’s stay on topic shall we?”

Jaskier and Yennefer, surprisingly, laughed in unison at Geralt’s discomfort.

Well wasn’t that an unexpected development?

Perhaps Jaskier wasn’t as bad as she thought. They shared a smile before Jaskier delved deeper into Ciri’s progress and work at school. _____________________

#the witcher #geraskier #modern au #fireman!geralt #teacher!jaskier #Yennefer of Vengerberg #yennefer #Geralt #Jaskier #you set my heart ablaze #wolfie's witcher writing

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