#she was not pleased that I took a picture before I took it off | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

maudie-duan · 1 day ago

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Summary: What happens when the man you've loved since childhood decides he's ready to settle down, but it turns out you are no longer his forever. How would you cope with the sudden engagement? For Blair, it's a hard pill to swallow, knowing that the beautiful girl smiling in all his pictures will get her forever. I guess it's a blue Christmas this year.

A/N: I have to make a confession: I hate Christmas music, but the first time I heard Sabrina Carpenter's 'Cindy Lou Who' I knew this was my kind of Christmas song. I love a sad song, and this song feeds my "angsty soul," So please give it a listen before you read. This whole story is my interpretation of the song. Hope you like it. Happy Holidays enjoy!!!!

Requests: Here

Word Count: 6K

Warning: Mentions of Sex, Strong Angst and Laungue, Family Dynamics, Mentions of Pregnancy, Heartbreak.

I don’t think sneaking my ex-boyfriend out of my parent’s house is the best look for anyone on Christmas morning, but technically, it’s still Christmas Eve if you haven’t gone to sleep yet, right?—To be fair, he was the one knocking on my window, stumbling his way to my bed. Casually, bringing up the past, circling back to things I thought I had already unpacked with my best friend after I scrolled his girlfriend’s social media, backtracking five years, to be honest, she had me broader line obsessed.

He made his way to my bed and in between my legs, touching place and sharing space in the best way we knew how, and that’s the funny thing about having history with someone—sometimes it makes it harder to say no when it’s knowingly what you want the second they step foot into a place that once served as a sanctuary to you both—a garden where words weaved trust, that turned into secrets, carving out a space of our very own; a world that we created and while he wasn’t my first kiss he was everything else.

I’ve lost track of how many times our words of forever were passed between our mouths, tangled in shared breaths of “I swear until the day I die, I’m yours.” When you’re young, you believe it because it’s all you have—and we took that with us when we thought we were ready for the world—two foolish kids on an endeavor to forge these grown-up dreams of a grand gesture without a second thought, only relying on the word “love,” like love could weather any storm.

The hardest lesson we learned was that love isn’t always enough. Sometimes, you can love someone with all your being and forget that they’re not a possession—but a person. Was that our mistake? I don’t know, but we wanted to be our own people at some point and find ourselves outside of only identifying as “we.”

Let me tell you, that’s a hard pill to swallow, and from time to time, I still find myself choking on it, especially when it is obvious we still click—we didn’t need sex to know that we still worked, fit together like a puzzle that had been forgotten, and dusted off, only to find that you still had every single piece. Still, when Harry tried to kiss me goodbye, I pulled away.

“Hey—what is it…tell me?” he asks

“Nothing…it’s just late. You know how my mom is about Christmas morning.” I lie because the reality of his leaving is starting to sink in. I’m not ready for him to leave, but we both knew that there would be an ending to this.

He laughs, attempting to shrug his jacket on, and I glimpse the joy of the familiar memory dance across his features, “Yeah, she can be kind of crazy, right?”

“Yeah—but not any crazier than your mom,” I laugh.

“Hey now—actually…you know they kind of feed off each others crazy…” He says, fighting to find the sleeve of his jacket, and when I reach to help, something falls from his pocket, a loud thud clashing against the hardwood floor. I look down, thinking he knocked something off my shelf, but then I see it.

We both stare at the ground, a small box lying in the space between us, “You shouldn’t have…” I declare, bending down—Looking back now, I don’t know what I was thinking—You know this tends to happen when you rely on your wit to get you out of awkward situations. I thought it would be cute and clever. I would open the box, and it wouldn’t be exactly what I knew it was—a ring, but not just any ring—the ring.

“Hey—hey—hey…give me that,” He jokes, trying to turn it into a game, but I’m in too deep to give it up. I can only focus on getting a peek at the ring, which is now a broken promise, and right this second, I’m desperate enough to open this box—basque in the feeling of the “what if” this was mine.

I turn away, shoving his hand out of the way, compulsively straining to get a look at this ring, immediately getting aggressive when he tries to reach over my shoulder. “Stop Harry—” I urge.

“Come on, Blair—this isn’t funny…” He says, unamused, but he’s too late, and as I shove my elbow into his ribs, the box is flipping open, the glint of the diamond catching the light of the moon shining through the window. He stops then because what’s the use, right? Here it is—the ring—perfect, everything I would have wanted. It’s almost like a slap in the face, like he looked back on one of the many pictures I sent over the years, thinking one day this would be me.

The ring is stunningly beautiful. There is so little light yet it’s drawn to every facet; immaculate, precise cuts creating the perfect sparkle. There is nothing humble about it, but nothing seems to be humble about him anymore, including his life choices—and here I am, holding my breath, afraid to move, listening to his flustered exhale when I slam the box closed, a loud clap shut.

Without a word, I nudge him away from me, “Blair, listen—I was going to tell you…”

“When—? Before or after we had sex, Harry…Is that what this was?” I yell.

He panics and cups a hand over my mouth. It’s not hard, but it annoys the hell out of me, and I wrench his arm away, forcing him toward the window, “Don’t you fucking do that—you don’t get to do that—”

“I’m sorry—but seriously, Blair, let’s not wake your family,”

I let out a dry laugh, “Oh—trust me, they would understand—” I seeth.

“Oh, for fucks sake, Blair, that’s not fair—I don’t know what this was…I just really wanted to see you—” he says, raking a hand through his hair, a deep crease forming between his brows, and he licks his lips, running a hand down his face as he turns away.

“What do you want me to do? This is the way it’s supposed to work out. You know my family …I don’t really have a say. You know that—”

“Please—Harry—you’re almost 30 years old. You don’t think you have any say in your life?”

He turns around, a condescending laugh filling the space, “You of all people should understand…”

“Well—I thought I did…but I don’t think I do anymore. It just doesn’t make sense…none of this seems to make sense anymore. I don’t understand how we could be perfectly fine one day, and as soon as your dad put you on the path to be a partner at his firm—which we both knew would happen—” I start.

He shakes his head, pinching his lower lip between his thumb and index finger, contemplating my words, “Help me make it; make sense. When we knew all along what the path was going to be. Were did “WE” get lost because I did nothing but support you, and then you went away on that trip with your family—”

“And you’re on about this again…” he interrupts, words cutting like knives because this was the theme of some of our biggest arguments.

I’m shaking my head this time, confusion inching through my brain, straining to grasp for details I thought I packed away. “Now that’s not fair…” I force, my throat burning with the effort of biting back tears.

“Listen—this is my fault—” he says, reaching for the box, “I shouldn’t have come. I knew this would be a bad idea, but I just—”

I grasp onto the box, wanting to catch his eyes. I want to see the regret, “Tell me, does it hurt you, hurting me…I could have waited for your mom’s Facebook post…I know she’s over the moon with her…just fucking smitten that’s she’s everything and more—”

“I should go,” he says, his eyes darting to the window before he slides the box into his pocket. He opens the window, and the cold breeze flits into the dark room, reminding me of how little I have on. My eyes float to the bed, already mourning us like a fading memory—disappointment crawling up my spine, the sick twist of regret already tearing at my emotions as tears fill my eyes.

“Yeah, this was a bad idea…” I tell him, choking on the words, and I can feel my body starting to tremble. I want him gone, forever, to leave and be with his girlfriend, who will get him in the daylight. Who will kiss the mouth of the man I love for the rest of her life—and I’m sick—sick with the thought of them—and damn—This was easier when there was distance when I could pretend he didn’t exist.

“I’m sorry, bee—�� He whispers, a slight trimmer in his voice as he reaches out to me, and let him because if this is all that is left. I want that last kiss. I want a kiss from the lips that were once mine, but when he pulls me in, I reach for his face, and he interjects, grasping my hands in his, denying me my one last wish.

“Harry…” I whisper, hot tears burning my eyes, “It’s just you and me right now…” I plead because he has that look of goodbye in his eyes; the reality setting in, like me standing here in his old tee-shirt, is too real for him—The cold draft of the air brings the world in with it. Yes, I feel it too, but his hands are so warm, his face is so sweet and kind, and I know what he’s about to do.

“Bee—” He tries, swallowing hard, like the words are stuck in his throat, tears drawing in his eyes, and he rubs his lips together, shaking his head as his eyes dart to our hands, and I grip his hands harder because he’s going to leave—he’s going to leave, and I’m never going to get his back; This man—the love of my life. There’s never a time he hasn’t had me, and he’s going to leave, he’s going to move on, and he will still have me because I could never let him go.

And when the tears spill over and fall down his cheeks, my body aches with a longing that’s so deep in my bone it hurts—my love for him hurts so fucking bad that I don’t think I’ll ever not love him or not want to be with him. He’s standing here breaking my heart all over again, and I still love him. I still want him always and forever like he fucking promised me because he did promise, and now she gets him; she gets to have my always and forever.

Now he’s pulling away, and I won’t let him go; I can’t let him go. “Bee…please…” he begs softly.

“I love you,” I cry out, “I love you so much, H—” and he pulls me into his body, letting me sob into his chest, my hot breath seeping into his body, and I breathe him in, trying to memorize our scent, but it there like muscle memory something I could never forget.

“You know I love you, Bee…” he breathes, pressing a warm kiss to the top of my head, “You know I will always love you, but you know that we can never do this again…”

His words slice through my pain, filling me with rage, and he’s right. We can’t do this ever again; he doesn’t get to have me like this and go back to her—and I’m so fucking mad at myself for falling into his trap because I’ve been so good. I can’t even remember the last time I talked to him. He knew what would happen when he knocked on my window, and I was so stupid to let him—yet here he is still wielding his power.

“You have to go,” I tell him, trying to force myself from his arms, and Harry’s grip tightens.

“I’m sorry, Bee—”

“No—this was wrong—this was all wrong, and you shouldn’t have done this…we shouldn’t have done this—”

I push him toward the window, angry adrenaline a trimmer in my fingertips when I bring a shaky hand up to tuck my hair behind my ear, “You did this to us…” I tell him.

“I’m—” he starts, and I know he’s just going to try and apologize, but that will never be enough, not when I know what happens next—and what? Did he use me? Did he feel sad and come looking for my sympathy?

“Leave—” I spit.

“Bee…come on—”

“Leave!” I say louder, loud enough to send an echo through the room. He stiffens, his panic reaching his face, and I cross my arms over my chest.

“Fine—” he hisses, his hair falling into his face as he bends his body halfway through the window. Harry doesn’t even look back; he doesn’t even give me a tiny morsel of hope, and I don’t know what I was expecting. Then Harry is out the window, and I slam it shut, swiping the curtains closed.

“Merry fucking Christmas, you Asshole…” I breathe, falling onto the bed to cry.

…

Here’s the thing about Christmas in my house: we wake up and celebrate, and nothing else is allowed. It’s the one time of the year when my mom is allowed to live in the delusion that everything is merry and bright. There’s no space to be sad. She’s up with the rising sun, her hair perfectly manicured, her make-up set for pictures, wrapped in a festive robe she just “rolled out of bed” in, and then she’s on to two more outfit changes.

So this morning, when I woke, ready to welcome her joyful cheer, I was surprised to see none. I found her standing at the sink, my dad leaning against the counter like I had just interrupted a fight, maybe some disagreement they didn’t want me part of. My first thought was that they knew. They saw Harry leaving, or maybe my voice had carried, and they heard me arguing with him.

It was like being a teenager all over again as I walked toward the coffee maker to pour myself a cup. Without fail, the clink of the dish against the stone countertop ricochets through the thick silence in the room, making me jumpy; the slurp of the pour is interrupted when my mom speaks. “All I’m going to say is let’s get through this day. I don’t want to talk about it. We can call all touch base once everyone is gone—Bee, will you stay longer this time or not?”

I’m in the midst of taking a sip, and the hot liquid hits my top lip, burning me as my eyes move from my dad to my mom in question, confused by whatever this is that I walked in on, “I wasn’t sure if I wanted to stay longer…I have a project—”

“Can you—?” she asks flatly like you better say “yes.”

I look to my dad, who raises his brows, eyes widening, and he blows out a breath, his lip puffing as he brings his coffee to his mouth, “Fine.” I answer because it doesn’t seem like there’s any other option.

And that was it—She switched up her mood as quickly as the conversation ended. I stood there sipping my coffee, mentally preparing, and that’s how we carried on, pushing it under the rug.

It started with presents, each gift given its proper praise, mom all smiles, dad snapping pictures, my sister nudging my shoulder as a constant reminder to keep up the show, and it was perfect—it was— but every time the camera flashed. I could feel myself drifting to the thought of all the pictures that would greet me when I opened my phone—How her red lips and long dark hair would steal my breath, her beauty outshining us all.

She became the jealous quake in my bones at the thought of Harry down on one knee, entrancing my thoughts, repeatedly threatening to pull me out of the moment—and now my mom is shouting from across the room, bidding for my attention, as I try and swallow the persistent lump burning a hole in my throat, making every word a battle of will to say the most straight-forward sentence—and it wasn’t fair; It wasn’t fair that I got to sit with it all day—a reel of memories cascading through my mind, always the slightest reminder to remind me of the past.

The smallest gestures, a deep-seeded pain strangling my insides; all my dad had to do was glance down at his watch. The watch Harry gave him when he turned forty or every time my mom tucked her behind her ear, I caught sight of the diamond earrings he got her and his mom, making them both laugh the last Christmas we all shared because that was our thing—it almost doesn’t seem real that our moms used to be best friends, nowadays it feels like a lifetime since they even shared one word, my mom growing bitter the day Harry broke my heart.

A sudden breakup can wreck anyone, and inherently, our families became the collateral damage, causing a complicated ripple through our families, a rigid divide that none of us knew how to address, let alone manage any semblance of a relationship; maybe that was our fault. I couldn’t be his friend. It hurt too much to try and mask my feelings, to manipulate them into something they weren’t, like right now—how I’m torturing myself, scrolling through social media, almost hoping I’ll see the pictures I know his mom will post. Perhaps it will be what I need; to rip the bandaid off, the right push I need to fucking move on because I don’t know how much longer I can live in the misery of what was and wasn’t.

Dissasoiating—the word of the day—a single word that could describe my whole day because somehow it’s dinner, and I’m sitting around the table trying to piece together the lapse in time I’ve lost. All it takes is one look at my mom to straighten up and be present. I don’t even know what they’re talking about, nor do I care, but when my cousin Jenny asks me to pass the potatoes, and the light captures the glint of her new engagement ring, my stomach drops, the hideous ache of jealousy climbing up my spine, and I’m sick again, my stomach turning at the thought, that maybe he’s already done it, maybe he’s asked her and she’s wearing his ring on her finger, and they’re sitting around the table; and every time she takes a bite it reflects the light from the chandler, everyone smiling because what a happy time, what a perfect day; what a bright fucking future they have.

This time, I can’t control it; it’s all too much, and I’m scraping the chair back, politely excusing myself, then bounding to the upstairs bathroom, yanking my phone from my pocket—and without a passing thought, I’m doing it—I’m calling Harry—by the first ring, I’m in panic mode, pacing back and forth, willing myself to end the call, trying to keep the phone from sliding down my sweaty palm.

I’m all adrenaline as I force the phone against my ear, the ring getting louder, and each time it rings, a gnarled knot of guilt builds in the depth of my belly. I keep looking to the toilet on the verge of falling to my knees and heaving anything that made its way to my stomach—then Harry forwards the fucking call to voicemail, and tears are spilling over my lids, my whole body hot, like maybe I’ll combust right here, explode with the fury of heat rising in my body.

I’m surprising myself when I press his name again, bringing the phone back to my ear, and I hold my breath, waiting for the first ring. It rings and then rings again, and by the third ring, I think I might get through—and it’s all a joke because yeah fucking right—By the fifth ring, I’m second-guessing myself again, shame eating away at my flesh, and then he’s forwarding the call again—my shame flying out the window.

Okay, yes, maybe this is the part where I tell you I should be embarrassed—but fuck it, I’m calling again, losing myself a little more each time he forwards my call. By the 8th call, I’m tormenting myself, a pitiful excuse of a human on the ground so caught up in my own grief that I don’t even hear my sister knocking on the door. The knock sounds, making my heart leap in my chest, the fear of being caught ripping through like an earth quack, and I’m up, catching sight of my reflection in the mirror, not even recognizing the person looking back at me.

I haven’t felt this desperate since we broke up, like an anxious tick buzzing under my skin. The humiliation of it all is a time bomb, counting down the seconds until it ignites inside me—and I’m there. I ignore the steady stream of knocks and crouch down like the monster I’ve become because I can’t look at myself and do what I know I’m about to do—it’s my one last stance, and I shoot Harry a text:

“Your a fucking coward!” I send and then realize I used the wrong fucking “your,” and my pride won’t let me go out like this. I send a quick “you’re” to fix my mistake and watch the screen, knowing he is now more aware of his than before. When the line changes from “delivered” to “read,” I watch the tiny dots collect in the corner of the screen, awaiting his reply—they appear and disappear several times until it finally stops altogether, and he leaves me on read.

Just as I’m about to send “fuck you!” my sister opens the door, pushing the bobby pin she used to pick the lock back into her hair, and closes the door behind her. “Dude, whatever is going on right now—you need to get it together—it’s one fucking day, okay…that’s all mom asks for, and she’s down there growing impatient. So seriously…if you’re up here freaking out about another dude you met on a dating app—like this isn’t the time—”

“I had sex with Harry—” I confess right then and there because I know this will be the only thing that will make her understand.

“No—” she says, pulling a handful of toilet paper from the roll, “We’re not doing this right now…” She wipes the tears from my face and forces me out of the bathroom and into my room.

“You have two minutes to get your shit together. I need Mom to be in a good mood today…listen, I have big shit going on too, but you don’t see me up here crying—” and she’s right. I saw her pregnancy test in our shared bathroom trash. She must have been panicked when she half-assed her wrapping job on her test. I know I taught her better than that, but this was what I needed to pull myself back up.

I came down the stairs with a smile. Everyone in the sitting room was having coffee and dessert; this was the last stretch. This is all we had left, and then I can check my phone that my sister made me leave upstairs—and so I would drone on keeping up with conversations, tossing out witty remakes, bringing laughter and joy to everyone around, and when my mom sent me a genuine smile, I felt myself smiling back, enjoying the company of my family; and when dad slipped me the “good” eggnog I realized that there’s nothing better at taking the edge off then alcohol.

Four eggnogs in on an empty stomach, and I was working the room, exaggerating about my life and all the projects I’ve taken on at work, dodging questions about my dating life, and when my grandma brought up Harry four times, dammit, I didn’t even flinch, I just kept the conversation moving, filter out the emotions coursing through me like a breeze on a sunny day, right before a summer storm sets in. I even kept it cute and classy when cousin Jen took her engagement ring on a tour around the room, gutting me like a fish when she said, “I never thought I would get married before you…you know…like you and Harry were like “it” you know—” and I’m smiling again, getting a nod of approval from mom when she hears me congratulate Jen again, admiring her beautiful ring.

By eggnog five, I’m switching to “what he’s having,” I shout to my dad as I watched him pour, maybe whisky over the rocks, a shallow pour, but it packed a punch. I knew it was time to dial it back when I found myself leaning over Jenny, who was flipping between her social platforms, landing on Facebook, where I know for a fact Harry’s mom would be posting, taking care to tag everyone in each photo—which brings me back to the time when dear ole’ cousin Jenny started following Harry. It was Christmas break, we had just turned fifteen, and I could tell she had a crush on him. She spent all Christmas break following us around, cornering him anytime she could get him alone; I had to share my bed with her that Christmas, and I remember how miserable I was without the gift of Harry crawling through my window on Christmas Eve.

It’s wild to think of how feeble my grasp on time was when we were young, how a couple of weeks could feel like an eternity; it’s been less than a day since I saw him last. How am I supposed to go a lifetime of never hearing his voice again, to look into those green eyes that have seen me through so many changes, not to feel those hands that have cradled me like a child, held me like a lover, squeezing and pulling me into shapes that fit him; arms that carried and lifted me to heights that I could never have reached on my own—and maybe I speaking figuratively because no one has carried me at my worst or lifted me at my best until I was the best version of myself, but isn’t funny how the people that bring out our best know exactly how to rally the worst parts of us.

Mom taps her dessert spoon to her glass, grabbing everyone’s attention. It’s time for her big send-off speech. My eyes dart to my sister leaning against the fireplace, rolling her eyes, “I just want to start by saying I’m so thrilled that you’ve all chosen to spend this joyous holiday with us…you all know this is my absolute favorite holiday and every year I look forward to spending it with each and every one of you—” she tells us raising her glass, and everyone knows what’s coming next and as she starts her final lines— the same lines she uses every year—my sister sends me a wink mouthing the lines in unison with our mother.

“There’s no time like Christmas to let you know how appreciated you are. I feel honored to call you family…” and her hook, line, and sinker is, “May the light of Christmas warm your hearts this holiday season and remember love is the true spirit of Christmas—”

My throat burns as she finishes, “And always know how much I love you and always will…so before I start getting too emotional, I better cut myself off—” she laughs, wiping a tear from her eye, and as much as I hate how crazy she gets about Christmas, she really is amazing at being so selfless; to give everyone such a beautiful day, and I’m so grateful for her and my family, and then the doorbell rings taken everyone by surprise. We all freeze, eyes moving around the room because we’re all here, and no one is expecting anyone.

“Fred—” my mom calls to my dad. “Are we expecting anyone else?”

My dad’s reaction is slow, but he launches himself from the chair and excuses himself. When he comes back, he looks bewildered, half-tipsy as he shrugs his shoulder to tell us no one was there—and that was that. No one blinked an eye—yet my first thought was Harry, and I felt myself slipping because the whole day had passed; certainly, theirs was over by now, and the thought had me breaking my own heart, picturing her in his old bed, the whole family tucked away in their rooms, still riding out the high of such a magically joyful day.

And she’ll kiss his lip and say, “I love you.” He’ll lay her down in the bed I gave myself to him in, and he’ll make love to her like he loved me last night, and there is no end; there’s no end to the torture of it all because how can one person fuse themselves to every fiber of my being—and more importantly how could I still allow it?

As the last guest passed our threshold, Mom, being the gracious host she was, sent them off with candies and cookies, and I stood there wishing I was more like her, like my sister, who could always pretend, who knew how to wear “the smile” like a badge of honor. I wondered why this all had to be so hard. Why is love all or nothing? Why can’t we flip a switch and “poof,” it’s gone?

I watched my mom close the door, my siblings dispersing, and my dad already making his way back to his chair, but my mom just stood there. She let out a heavy sigh, her once perfect posture decompressing as she held on to the doorknob, “Oh Bee—” she said, eventually turning around to face me, and suddenly it looked like the weight of the day had finally caught up to her beautiful features, now tired—a mournful pinch between her brows, pursuing her lip while her eyes roamed my face. I’m trying my hardest to keep it together because there is something about that look a mom can give, that “I can fix everything with a hug” look.

“Do you need anything…I didn’t sleep very well last night. I was thinking of calling it early. if that’s okay?” I ask

“Oh honey, don’t worry about it…it’s been a long day for everyone,” she states, unbuttoning the first two buttons of her silk blouse, that mourful look still lacing her features.

“Let’s just deal with the clean up tomorrow…sound good, baby?” she tells me, slinging an arm around my shoulder, “I know today was hard for you…Thank you for being such a good sport. I’m so proud of the way you handled yourself. You did a beautiful job, sweetie.” Her words catch me off guard, and I turn to face her, my throat burning at the thought that she knows everything.

I swallow hard, opening my mouth to let out the words building up, but I can only manage a small whimper. “Listen, honey,” Mom starts, and I’m already a puddle in her arms, wanting my mommy to make it all better.

“I’m not going to lie and say it gets better, but one day, it’s not going to hurt as bad as it hurts right now, and eventually, when you find someone new—”

I gasped out a sob then, her words hitting every sore spot on my body, “Shhh—Shh—I know baby, I know—but listen,” She said, cradling my face in her hands, “I know that this isn’t what you want to hear—”

“But one day you will find someone new, and they’ll be just enough to get you over that last slump of pain, and maybe if you’re lucky enough…which I know you are…Harry will become a pleasant memory of the past, baby, because both of you were so lucky to have what you had. Not everyone will get to say they had a love like the two of you shared, and that is so so special, honey, so special—”

The tears are rolling down my cheeks faster than my mom can swipe them away, and it’s taking every ounce of strength I have to keep myself upright, “I love him so much—” I push past the sob, shuttering through me.

“I know, honey, I know—one of the hardest lessons we can learn is to let the people we love go, let them go so they can be free, and if it’s meant to be, they’ll come back—”

“I can’t, Mom, I can’t do it,” I cry, trying to bury my face into her shoulder, but she has a firm grip on it. Blair Marie, you are so strong, honey, and we are all here for you. You can do this, okay?” she says, nodding her head up and down.

“Okay?” She asks again, and I nod in agreement, “Listen—between you and me, we’re going to have our hands full anyway, right? Don’t think I don’t know about your sister—she’s next.”

I’m stunned into silence. “Yeah, I know. That’s how I felt at first. Honey, I love you. I am here for you. Now go get some rest…” she says, pushing me toward the stairs.

“Oh—and hopefully, we aren’t expecting any unexpected guests this evening….”

I shake my head, “I—”

“Yeah, slamming your window at the crack of dawn is a dead give away—”

Somehow, she manages to get a smile out of me, and I roll my eyes, ready to make my way up the stairs, “Hey, Mom, thank you for making today so beautiful…it really was beautiful.” I tell her.

“Oh—! And Mom, thank you for those kind words. I love you.” she smiles, placing a hand over her heart, and we share a look of knowing—and without a doubt, that woman managed to lift my spirits—again. She’s too good at that; she is father fucking Christmas.

And while my heart still felt heavy, I felt like I could get through this night. I would march into my room, head straight for my phone, and turn it off; there would be no doomsday scrolling. I would take a shower, hell maybe even take a hot bath to rid myself of this day—Maybe I would even start packing away everything in my childhood room that reminded me of him, set myself up for the next year, and seriously, it was amazing how quickly the motivation surged up my chest; almost bursting at the seams with the very thought of it.

So by the time I turned my knob, I was ready, so fucking ready—But as the door clicked open, a cold chill grazed over my wrist. All I saw was my curtains billowing back and forth with the breeze flowing in and out of my window, and I rushed over to shut the damn window because I didn’t remember opening it, but maybe my sister opened it while I was fixing my make up earlier and that’s when I hear it:

“Bee—”

I slam the window shut, panic rushing through me, every limb of my body shaking with it as I turn toward the sound. And there he is, the love of my life, sitting on the edge of my bed, hunched over with his face buried in his hands, and when he looks up. I can tell he’s been crying, and he pulls a small box from his pocket and places it on the nightstand, right next to the very same box that held his future, and all he says is, “I couldn’t do it—”

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rebelliousstories · 2 days ago

Text

‘Twas the Night Before…

25 Days of Ficmas

Relationship: Poly!Lost Boys x Reader

Fandom: The Lost Boys

Request: No

Warnings: Fluff, Mentions of Neglect, Mentions of Weed

Word Count: 1,613

Main Masterlist: Here

Lost Boys Masterlist: Here

Summary: Christmas Eve is finally here, and Laddie is being introduced to a Christmas classic whether the boys like it or not.

Consider Donating: Here

The very firsts of being a vampire stick with you always. Maybe not when you are mortal, but when you are a vampire, you remember a lot of firsts. First kill, first transformation, first hunt. Or maybe you remember your first holidays as a vampire, like your birthday, a new year that comes and goes. This time, it was a first Christmas.

She had only joined the pack about a decade ago in the late 60’s, but that was just the beginning for them. There was a special little spot for her that they never knew was missing, and could never be without again. Which is why, when she found a sickly boy that had been left at the pier in Santa Carla, none of the boys could tell her no.

Getting the boy to take a bit of wine to get healthy again was the easy part. The physical pain was nothing like the mental for the young boy, whom they had come to know as Laddie. As Christmas drew near, she made sure to give him a great one. Taking him to the markets with Dwayne, flying around to see lights with Paul; she just wanted him to have a better Christmas than he was probably used to.

A chilly night on the pier had greeted them when they climbed off their bikes that night. Unwrapping her arms from around Marko’s torso, she pressed a kiss to his cheek as she dismounted. Laddie immediately went off of Dwayne’s bike and grabbed her hand.

“Can we go look at the vendors please?” Laddie was so excited as they waited for the rest of the boys to dismount.

“Of course. Give me one second okay?” She passed the boy back to Dwayne who happily tucked him into his side as he leaned against the railing. Turning back to David, who was right next to Dwayne, her hands spread out around his stomach before wrapping around the back of him as she pressed front against front.

“Yes, kitten?” The bleach blonde drawled, drawing out a cigarette for himself.

“Gonna take Laddie around. We’ll be back in a couple hours, okay? Sunrise is seven tomorrow.” Standing on her tiptoes, she pressed a kiss to his plush lips as he raised a hand to the back of her head to keep her close.

After a moment, David finally released the woman. “Two hours, then you come back.”

Smiling, she pulled away, giving him another kiss to the tip of his nose. With a smile, she held her hand out for Laddie to take while she threw another kiss to the rest of her boys. Taking the young boy around the vendors that were preparing for their final rush of sales before Christmas tomorrow, she happily stopped at every one that caught his eyes.

They spent the majority of the evening like that. Just walking around and enjoying each other’s company. Still having some money from where she swiped some guys wallet, she was intent on getting at least a little something for Laddie. Almost as if there was a cue for it, their next stall had a bunch of books.

Ranging from novels, to short stories and even children’s picture books. Which is when she saw it. “A Visit from St. Nicholas” by Clement Clarke Moore; it was a classic that she remembered from her own childhood. Snagging it, she paid the dollar for the busted up copy, and kept it tucked underneath her arm.

“Have you ever heard this story, Laddie?” Showing him the book as they began to walk back to where the bikes were, the boy took it in his other hand as they paused briefly. When he got his other hand on it, Laddie turned it around, and tried to read it, but unfortunately could not. He shook his head, which made her smile softly.

“You’ll love it,” she said, taking his hand again as they continued walking. “I used to have this read to me when I was your age. I haven’t been able to n a long time. This’ll bee a treat.”

Once they came upon the bikes, she saw the boys waiting for them almost as if they had not moved yet. But the mussed hair, and shaggy clothes showed that they had at least probably gotten into a fight with the surf nazis.

Marko came up to her as Laddie ran to Dwayne again. “Whatcha got there, bela?”

Giving her a kiss, he took the book from her hand as he read the cover. All he did was arch an eyebrow as he returned it. Paul was next, but he did not care about getting the book. All he wanted was another kiss.

“Boys, let the kitten up. Let’s go for a ride.” David stated, stubbing out his current cigarette. Holding a hand out for their girlfriend, she tucked the book into the storage that was underneath the seat on his bike, before finally hoping on.

Taking off down the beach, it was the same old, same old. Whooping and hollering. Screaming and laughing. The boys constantly going faster and fast as they dug into the sand below. Each time they did this, she felt alive once more. Like she could feel her heart beating again, and her own blood rushing through her veins.

Climbing down into the cave, the book was back in her hands as she let David guide her down into their domain. Everyone went to their normal spots; Marko to his pigeons, Paul to roll some weed, Dwayne and Laddie to their cove, and David to his chair. Leaving her to sit down with her book at the edge of the fountain.

“Hey, Laddie,” she called, waving the book. In an instant, the boy rushed over which greatly confused everyone in the cave. He tucked into her side as she raised her arm and showed him the cover once more.

“Whatcha got there, princess?” Dwayne was curious as to why the young boy was not with him anymore.

“‘A Visit from St. Nicholas’, or more commonly referred to as ‘The Night before Christmas’. I used to read it every Christmas Eve with my family, so I thought I’d continue the tradition with Laddie. Wanna join?” A little bit slower, but with the same enthusiasm, Dwayne snuggled into the other side of his girlfriend.

“Alright,” she began, “‘A Visit from St. Nicholas’ by Clement Clarke Moore. ‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.”

“Is that ‘The Night before Christmas?’” Marko pipped up, coming back into the cave when he heard her speak.

All she did was pat her legs for him to come rest at, as her sides were taken. As Marko settled in, she started again. “The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, in hopes that St. Nicholas would soon be there. The children were nestled all snug in their beds; while visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads.”

“The hell is a sugar plum?” This time, Paul joined the party.

“It’s a confection from the Victorian era. Come here.” Now, the spot in front of Laddie was taken by the second blonde vampire. Looking over at David, who quickly looked away, she smiled over at him.

“Wanna come join us, sweetie?” David shook his head.

“I don’t do festive.” Rolling her eyes, she felt Dwayne’s lips press to her cheek.

“Don’t mind him. Continue?” He asked so sweetly.

“And mama in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap, had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap.” She continued the poem.

While she read, occasionally her eyes would cut over to David. And each time she did, he would hide it by turning away faster than lightning. But she just continued reading. The rest of her pack was enjoying the story and that was all that mattered. Reaching the end, she noticed Laddie’s eyes growing heavier and heavier.

“But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight- ‘Happy Christmas to all, and to all a goodnight.’” As soon as the last word was uttered, gently, she shut the book as she scooped Laddie up to go into their nest.

Giving all of her boys a kiss goodnight, even David, she happily tucked herself in to go to sleep with the young man. His head was resting on her chest as he slept, making her cherish this moment. For a while, she could hear the rest of the cave mess about and do whatever it was that they wanted to. In the meantime, she just picked up another book she had on her side of the bed, and read some more while Laddie slept.

Each one of her boys came to say goodnight one final time, giving her another kiss as they quietly uttered their departures. David was the last one to come around, but he looked rather nervous standing at the edge of the bed in the nest. However, she did not say anything for fear of scaring him off.

Wordlessly, he took off his boots and laid down right next to her. In his hands was the book she had read earlier. Not able to look her in the eye, David just handed it to her as she dropped her other book.

“Will you read it to me? Please, kitten,” and when he asked so sweetly and softly, there was no way she could deny him. Allowing him to get comfortable, she opened the book to the first page for the second time that night.

“‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house…”

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eden-writes-stuff · 3 days ago

Text

Christmas 1981

Tags: Jegulus, Wolfstar, Marylily, Dorlene, mention of a sex toy (not in active use, just as a gift), they talk a lot about Jegulus' sex life (again, no details), platonic moonwater, platonic marylene,

James Potter was a dead man!

Sirius would definitely kill him

"Why would you get my little brother a fucking sex toy for Christmas?!"

Remus and Regulus stood in the corner, watching the spectacle, eating the most delicious biscuits, which Effie had made for today.

"You weren't supposed to see it", James cried, obviously trying not to laugh.

"And that makes it okay how?!" "Well... it leaves you out of your brother's sex life?" "A life which he only has because of you!" James obviously didn't know the right answer to that.

Next to Remus Regulus swallowed a Jammie Dodger and started coughing. Mary and Marlene joined them just as Regulus caught his breath again.

"What did we miss?" "Sirius saw the gift Prongs was giving to Regulus and now he's accusing him of making Reg have a sex life."

"Is he serious?"

Three pairs of eyes met Marlene, who sighed, immediately realising her mistake. "Just be glad he didn't hear it", she murmured, resting her chin on Mary's shoulder.

"Regulus is a grownup. He's allowed to have se-." Sirius yelled from the top of his lungs, interrupting James. Everyone in the room visibly winced at the high-pitched noise. "Can we PLEASE stop talking about my little brother's sex life!" "Yeah, I second that", Regulus agreed.

"Cool. Now can we talk about how Marls and Cas definitely did it in the guest room yesterday?", Mary grinned "Oh, shut up!" with that, Marlene stormed off, followed by James, who used the distraction to make a quick escape.

Remus walked up to a pouting Sirius, while the others left as well. "You gonna be mad all Christmas?", he asked, taking his place next to Sirius on the couch.

"Am I overreacting?" "Yes." Sirius sighed, leaning his head against Remus' shoulder. "It's understandable though. Reg is your little brother. You took care of him all his life. Of course, you still see him as someone you need to protect."

"I know James would never hurt him. I just... I don't know. He's my baby brother. Also, now my present is gonna suck. Who wants a stupid book when you can get laid instead?" Remus laughed softly and kissed his head.

"I would be happy about both." "You'd want James to do you for Christmas?" Sirius raised an eyebrow, earning a chuckle from Remus. Somehow he always managed to make him smile "Well, I'm sure he doesn't disappoint from what I've heard..." Regulus had spared him most details, but he knew that James knew what he was doing. But Remus also knew that nothing would ever compare to the feeling of being close to Sirius.

"Not you too", Sirius groaned. Remus just shook his head, grinning before stealing a kiss. "Would a present from me cheer you up?" "It might", Sirius beamed with anticipation. Remus quickly disappeared into the next room before returning with a package behind his back.

The 'Greatest Hits' Queen album had hit the market in early November and since then it had been close to Sisyphean to keep Sirius from buying it.

Now, as he saw him on the couch, smiling expectantly, it was all worth it. Sirius ripped the paper from the present and let out a high squeak as he saw the first letters appear. He launched forward, wrapping his arms around his boyfriend. "I never would have guessed that. How did you even get the idea? I'm so surprised", he grinned sarcastically. Remus leaned back, eyeing him with a raised eyebrow.

"You knew?" Of course, he knew. He was Sirius after all. Remus should have known that he knew. Sirius shrugged, smiling innocently. "You said I shouldn't buy it because 'I have all the songs on the other records.' And that from the guy who owns four editions of 'The Picture of Dorian Grey'" "Not my best excuse, I admit", he grinned shyly. But what else could he have said?

"I still love it", Sirius said before Remus could start spiralling. Remus smiled softly, pulling Sirius closer by the hips. "And I love you." "Even better." He could feel the boy's breath on his lips as he leaned in for a kiss.

"As cute as the two of you are, can you please come to the living room?", Peter interrupted from the door. "James said we won't start with the actual presents until everyone is there."

Sirius turned slightly toward their friend, neither of them letting go of each other. "Jealous, Pete? Maybe in the Christmas spirit, we'd let you join?", he teased. Both of them knew that Peter had never really been interested in these things. And Remus knew that Sirius would never ever let anyone else close to him.

"Thanks, but no thanks. Neither of you is my type." Sirius let out a sound of mock-offence "But we're so hot. And so likable."

He threw his arms around Remus and started sobbing heavily. Remus had learned years ago that it was best to play along, so he softly patted his back. "There there. Not everyone has taste", he said flatly.

From the corner of his eye, he noticed Peter shaking his head. "Will you please get him into the living room when you're finished here?", he sighed before disappearing into the corridor.

Sirius continued for a few seconds but soon lifted his head. "Oh, good, he's finally gone." Remus raised an eyebrow. "You probably could have asked him to give us a few more minutes. Don't have to traumatise the poor guy", he answered but Sirius simply shrugged, pulling him into a long kiss.

For that, it had all been worth it. Kissing Sirius was always worth it. Even after six years it still filled him with all these warm and fuzzy feelings when he pulled him closer by the waist or when Sirius' hands found themselves in his hair.

"The others are waiting", he murmured against his lips, although just the idea of breaking the kiss was almost physically painful.

"Let them wait", Sirius answered, pulling him in again. With a sigh, Remus gave in.

It was always worth it.

A/N: And that concludes our journey to Christmas. I hope you enjoyed reading it at least as much as I enjoyed writing it. Now that this is finally done I can get back to working on the requests I've got on the line (don't worry, I haven't forgotten you.)

#Eden's Marauders Advent Calender 2024 #marauders fanfiction #marauders #marauders era #wolfstar #jegulus #marylily #dorlene #remus x sirius #sirius black #remus lupin #regulus black #james potter #mary macdonald #marlene mckinnon

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renegadetulisrp · 2 days ago

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"Stop, please," Sage warned him gaily, rolling her eyes. "I am far from being refined... Honestly when I was growing up, I... felt like I was adopted... struggled so much." She had struggled with both, especially French. How ironic that she picked up Arabic faster than the very language her parents spoke around the house. Sage pursed her lips, snickering at his recount about his high school days. "You know what, I hated that part of biology." She took a sip of the Macallan and sighed. It felt surreal, her whole life - being surrounded with modern luxury, elite status and haughty family members and yet... yet she felt closer to Sam's humble beginnings instead.

Sage leaned against her palm, elbow resting on the top of the sofa as she listened to Sam talk. Damn, she could listen to him recount the most boring stories (not that anything ever was with him) and she wouldn't even want to look away and not listen to his voice. Sage laughed the very moment he mentioned the fire department. "Your sister must have been... fuming..." It was cute... yet endearing as she pictured a younger Sam running around the kitchen trying to impress a girl. Then Sage felt slightly jealous... to this girl he was trying to impress with his non-existent baking skills. It was so silly - she had obviously never met this... girl. Nor did she even know who she was.

Sage had to stifle a laugh out loud moment at his words, "I did date an accountant and you knew that!" Sage interjected, giggling ad she hit the top of his right arm playfully. She narrowed her eyes at Sam, her blue hues still glimmering with mischief. "All right, all right... Something you don't know about me..." Sage paused for a moment before taking another sip of the ridiculously expensive whiskey. She contemplated on telling him her stupid teenage secrets but... Perhaps it was liquid courage swirling around her veins, or perhaps the whole evening of him charming everyone's pants off (hers included) has finally got to her. With her lips against the rim of the glass, Sage's cheek flushed as she spoke. "I've been nursing the biggest crush on you since we met at the hospital." Embarrassment immediately washed over her, threatening to pull her towards the edge and Sage regretted saying it out loud. She suddenly felt like a budding teenager, confessing her undying love towards Brendan Fraser. When she finally sobered up, Sage could barely look at the man in front of her.

Sam followed Sage down the hallway, his hand still comfortably laced in hers, his smile softening as her teasing voice filled the space. “Dangerous offer?” he murmured, the gravel in his tone lingering just a little longer than before. “I live on the edge, Sage. What’s sneaking into a study compared to dodging pyramid schemes and Aunt Claire’s interrogation?” When she pointed at the paintings like a tour guide, Sam chuckled, playing along. “Ah, yes. A fine display. Truly, I feel enriched already,” he quipped, glancing at her with that amused spark in his eyes. He didn’t miss her stumble over the word “fake,” though he chose not to comment, his gaze lingering just a second longer as her cheeks flushed.

As they entered the study, Sam took in the room with quiet curiosity, his brow arching slightly at her comment about French and piano lessons. “French and piano? That explains why you’re so refined,” he teased, though his tone was gentle, not mocking. “Meanwhile, I spent my teenage years trying to convince my high school biology teacher to let me skip dissecting frogs. Not exactly Renaissance-level accomplishments.” As she retrieved the bottle of Macallan 30, Sam let out a low whistle, his eyes flicking from the bottle to her with mock incredulity. “A $5000 bottle of whiskey? Sage, you’ve been holding out on me. I might have started charging for my ‘special services’ a lot sooner if I’d known about this.” His smirk softened into a grin as he accepted the glass she handed him.

Settling onto the Chesterfield sofa, he let her pull him down beside her, his frame relaxed but his attention fully on her. He swirled the glass briefly, appreciating the amber liquid before taking a slow sip. “Alright,” he said, turning his gaze to meet hers at her question. “Something you don’t know about me…” He leaned back slightly, thinking for a moment, though there was a hint of mischief playing on his lips. “Okay. Here’s one. I once tried to learn how to bake because I thought it’d impress a girl. Bought all the ingredients, watched tutorials, the whole deal.” He paused, shaking his head with a soft chuckle. “Let’s just say the fire department was involved, and I haven’t been allowed near my sister’s oven since.” Raising his glass, he added with mock pride, “I stick to saving lives now. Fewer flames involved.”

He turned slightly toward her, raising his glass in mock salute. “Your turn, Sage. Tell me something I don’t know about you. And just so we’re clear, if it’s something like ‘I used to date an accountant,’ I might have to revoke my boyfriend privileges—fake or not.” The teasing edge was back in his tone, but the warmth behind it hadn’t gone anywhere.

#sageinteraction #multxfacies;sam #//dun dun dun dun the cat is out of the bag

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allthingsfangirl101 · 1 day ago

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Home For Christmas – Glen Powell

I walked through the beautifully decorated stores for Christmas, but I didn't feel it. Usually, I love this time of year. This year was different. About six months ago, Glen and I decided to move in together. Glen had to go to Australia just after Halloween to film a new Netflix movie. He wasn't able to come home for Thanksgiving, but he had promised me that they would be done before Christmas.

He called me three days ago saying that they were behind filming and now he wasn't even sure they'd be done by New Year's. Ever since the phone call, this season has been miserable.

I got a few last-minute things for my friends and Glen's parents. After shopping, I went home and started wrapping. I put them under the tree and sat on the couch.

I numbly grabbed the remote and turned on the TV. My heart sank when a cute Hallmark Christmas lovey-dovey movie came on. I used to love these. Christmas was different when the man you loved wasn't around to celebrate it with you.

I gave my parents a Caribbean Cruise for Christmas and they left yesterday. Today was the first day this season that I was truly alone. I jumped out of my pity party when my phone started to ring. My heart jumped out of my stomach and into my throat when I looked at the caller ID on my phone.

"Glen?"

"Hey, baby," he chuckled.

"Hi," I said, my voice breaking.

"Everything okay?" He asked gently.

"Yeah," I said, not at all convincingly. "I miss you."

"I miss you too, gorgeous," he sighed. "You have Angela's party tomorrow night, right?"

"Yeah, I guess," I shrugged, leaning back into the cushions. "I don't really want to but it's better than sitting at home on Christmas Eve, all by myself."

"I'm glad you're going," Glen said, sounding strange. "I feel bad that I'm not going with you."

"I wish you were," I mumbled.

"We will celebrate when I get home," he said. "I promise, baby. We will have our first Christmas together."

"I know," I sighed. I cleared my throat before deciding to change the subject. "How's filming?"

Glen and I spent almost two hours on the phone talking. After saying a long goodbye filled with lots of promises of making it up to me, I got ready for bed and went to sleep alone.

* * * * * *

"You're coming tonight, right?"

I held my breath as I debated. To be honest, I didn't want to go to a party with all my friends and spend the night acting like I wasn't miserable.

"I don't know," I stuttered.

"Sweetie," she sighed. "I know it sucks that Glen is stuck in Australia, but he wouldn't want you moping around at home. Have you gone out and done anything Christmassy?"

"I bought his mom an adorable sweater and his dad a new electric drill," I shrugged. I heard her let out a deep sigh.

"Please come tonight," she practically begged. "It'll be a good distraction from Glen being at work. Please? We'll get super drunk and you can send him pictures that will put you on the Naughty List."

After a lot of pestering from Angela and loving pushing from Glen's mom, I decided to go tonight. I changed into my Christmas dress and took time doing my makeup and curling my hair. I walked into Angela's house, instantly hit with Christmas music, voices, and the smell of fresh gingerbread.

"You're here!" She squealed as she ran over to me. I laughed as she wrapped her arms around me. "I am so happy you're here!"

"I can tell considering the fact that I can't breathe."

"Sorry," she giggled as she let me go. "I just. . . I wasn't sure you'd come since Glen is in Australia."

"I'm fine," I brushed off. "Sure, I miss him like crazy. And I can barely sleep. And I rarely feel like eating. And I don't even feel like celebrating without him."

"Which is why you're here," she said, grabbing my hand. "And which is why we are getting you a drink. Lots of drinks."

I rolled my eyes as she dragged me into the kitchen. As hard as I tried to enjoy myself, I couldn't. I just kept picturing my empty apartment and Glen halfway across the world.

Everywhere I looked, I saw couples dancing, laughing, or kissing under the mistletoe. When the pain got too much, I left. I walked into our apartment, not bothering to turn on the lights. I hung up my keys, kicked off my shoes, and started to take off my jacket.

"If you're gonna start undressing, at least let me catch up."

I gasped when the lights flicked on to reveal Glen standing by the Christmas tree.

"Glen!"

He laughed as I ran over to him. He instantly caught me when I jumped into his arms. I grabbed his face and pressed my lips to his. Our lips moved in sync as he held me tightly. As we slowly broke the kiss, Glen gently put me down.

"You're home," I said, my voice breaking as I looked at him through happy tears. "I can't believe you're home."

"I hoped on a plane as early as I could," he explained as he pulled me into his chest. "I couldn't stand the idea of you being all alone on Christmas."

"I love you, Glen."

"I love you, too, Y/N."

He was about to say something else, but I grabbed his face again and pulled him toward me. Glen chuckled as he kissed me back. Our lips moved roughly in sync as we collapsed onto the couch. Once we were sitting, I moved so I was straddling his hips.

"I missed you so much," I moaned between kisses.

"I missed you too, baby."

I broke the kiss, both of us breathing heavily. "Show me," I whispered, leaning my forehead against his. I started to get off his lap, but he grabbed my waist, pulling me back.

"Before we do that," he said, his voice dropping. "There's something I want to give you."

"Christmas is tomorrow," I giggled as I slid my hands up his chest and wrapped my arms around his neck. "The only thing I want right now is you."

"And I want you," he smirked. "But, believe me, you're not going to want to wait for this present."

He stood up with me in his arms. He walked over to the Christmas tree and gently put me down. He paused as he took a step back. My breath got caught in my throat as he knelt down on one knee. "Y/N, you are the love of my life. Nothing I do has meaning if you're not there with me. So, will you be with me for the rest of my career and my life? Y/N, will you marry me?"

"Yes," I said, my voice breaking. Glen smiled up at me as he slipped the ring on my finger. He tossed the ring box onto the couch before standing up and pulling me into his chest. He leaned down and pressed a passionate kiss to my lips.

"Merry Christmas, baby," he whispered.

"Merry Christmas, Glen."

#glen powell #glen powell fanfic #glen powell imagines #glen #powell #twisters #hitman #top gun: maverick #christmasimagine #christmas 2024

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noblest-roman-of-them-all · 2 days ago

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Poly Jolly AU

Enjoy Part One of the AU very loosely inspired by the Poly Jolly short featuring Loroceit or whatever the ship name should be for Logan/Roman/Janus.

A series of bizarre coincidences end with Logan, Roman, and Janus, complete strangers until they're unexpectedly dumped on the same day, road tripping home together.

Logan smiled as his Uber finally pulled into the bed and breakfast he was staying at to visit Jen and her family for Christmas. Her sister and brother in law owned the place and she'd been working there seasonally as their desert chef, so it had been a few weeks since they had actually seen one another.

He checked his watch, noting he had just enough time to drop off his bags before he was supposed to meet up with Jen for lunch. He thanked the driver, slipping him a tip in a holiday card, and finally headed inside.

"Hey, good to see you made it!" Trevor greeted him. "How was the flight out?"

"There was only one crying baby, so not as bad as it could have been," Logan replied.

"Hey, that's almost a Christmas miracle by itself! Let me get the room key for you and I'll take you up."

"Thanks. Jen and I are supposed to meet up for lunch after this. Is she in the kitchen?"

Trevor nodded. "Just a heads up though she's been pretty upset the last couple days, there's some new hotel that's looking at some land to build on. Her and Emily are convinced it's going to take out the bed and breakfast and obliterated the town or something," he explained, rolling his eyes, and led Logan upstairs. "Honestly though, there's a few of us around and I think we're all already pretty packed out. I know we've already had to turn people away, at least. Especially with the concert that's happening this year."

"Concert?"

"Yeah, I guess some folks decided to try and expand the usual Christmas Parade by having some new singer come preform. Supposedly the dude's in town already, but I haven't actually heard anything about him." He unlocked one of the doors and ushered Logan inside. "Hope you don't mind that it's a double. We were trying a new booking system, the whole thing was a mess. This ended up being the last available room."

"Oh, no, I don't mind at all," Logan assured.

"Well, I'll let you get a little rest before meeting up with Jen. Do you want me to let her know you're here?"

"That's alright. We're supposed to meet up in the lobby in a few minutes."

"Hopefully you can cheer her up."

"I'll definitely try," he replied, thinking of the ring in his bag.

—

Logan stood with a smile when Jen finally made her way into the lobby. "Hey-"

"We need to talk," she cut in sternly. "Come with me." She marched passed Logan, leaving him to trail behind.

He followed her to an office where she closed the door behind them and immediately took out her phone. "Is everything alright?" he asked with a frown.

"What is this?" she demanded, shoving her phone in his face.

He had to take a step to be able to focus on the image. His eyes went wide. "Where did you get this?" he asked and tried to take the phone.

"That doesn't matter!" she snapped, ruping it away from him. "How could you do this to me? To my family?"

"How could I what? Jen, these are-"

"I know that they are," Jen cut him off. "They're blueprints to the new hotel. Your blueprints."

"Yes, my prints that were stolen last month. Where did you get this picture?" He asked again.

"Stolen," she rolled her eyes. "Right. Sure."

Logan blinked, taken aback. "Jen, I told you about that. That's why I was late on Thanksgiving, because I was notified my office was broken into and several of my prints went missing. I had to make a police report."

"Yeah, and they just happened to be the ones being used to take over my hometown," she rolled her eyes.

Logan stared at her, wounded. "Do you really not believe me?" He asked softly.

"Why should I?" She demanded. "These plans have your watermark on them!"

"That can prove they were stolen!" Logan exclaimed. "Can please tell me where you got this?"

"Is that all you care about?" She glared.

"If it'll prove to you that I didn't do this, then yes, I care about that. Jen, I wouldn't do anything to hurt you, muchless something that could hurt your whole family! I didn't even know there was hotel being built here till Trevor told me you were upset about it when I got in."

"Right," she scoffed and rolled her eyes.

"Why don't you believe me?" He asked softly, unable to hide the hurt in his voice.

"Don't pretend like this isn't a big deal for you," she sneered.

"It would be if it was actually me doing this, but it's not!"

"Sure."

"Jen-"

"Look. I don't care if you stay here through Christmas. I'm not mean enough to throw you out, but if this is who you really are, I don't think this is going to work out between us."

"But it's not," Logan insisted. "Do you even hear me? Jen, I am not involved in this!"

"Well, the pictures say differently. Like I said you can stay here, but leave me alone."

"Jen-" he reached for her hand and she whirled on him, slapping him hard across the cheek. He stumbled back a few steps, nearly losing his glasses in the process. He stood frozen in shock as Jen stormed off, slamming the door behind her.

He was still frozen when Trevor came in a few moments later.

"Everything okay?" He asked tentatively.

"My blueprints that were stolen last month are being used for the hotel. Jen thinks I'm involved. She didn't believe me when I tried to tell her what happened."

Trevor's shoulders dropped. "Do you want me to try to talk to her and Emily about it?"

Logan shook his head. "No. I, um. She made up her mind about the whole thing. I-" he let out a shakey sigh. "I think I'm jut going to try to see if I can get my blueprints back. I don't think it'll help things with Jen, but…" he shrugged. "Um. Is- is there a, uh, a code for the wifi?"

Trevor grimaced. "We're having someone come look at the internet in about an hour. The café down the road has wifi though."

Logan nodded. "Thanks."

"You gonna be alright?"

"Yeah," he sighed. "Yeah, I- I'll be fine."

—

"Hey there, beautiful!" Janus greeted his fiancee with a bright smile.

"Who the hell do you think you are!" Stacey demanded, stopping Janus in his tracks in front of the café where they were to meet for lunch.

"I-" he blinked and shook his head. "What?"

"I told you, I told you about the new hotel and that everyone was upset about and what did you do about it? Nothing!"

"I didn't know there was anything to be done for it. You told me there were rumors about a new hotel, but I didn't know it was that serious."

"Yes, you did!" She snapped, her tone cold and accusing. "It's your firm representing them!"

"That- Darling, that doesn't mean anything. It's not my case-"

"How could you not know?" She demanded. "It's your firm!"

"It's not like I own it. I don't know about every case that gets handled there. If you explain what's going on, I'll see what I can do to help-"

"No, you've already made it plenty clear whose side you're on in all of this!"

"I don't even know fully what's going on!" Janus objected. "Stacey, if you'll explain it-"

"Don't pretend like you don't know!"

"I don't," he insisted. "Honey, I want to help-"

"It's too late for that," she cut in coldly.

Janus froze. "What do you mean?" he asked quietly.

Stacey pulled the ring from her left hand and pelted Janus in the chest with it. He barely caught it as it bounced off of him. "I hope you find someone who can tolerate you."

Janus stood there dumbfounded for several long moments after Stacey had stalked off before shuffling into the café, unsure of what else to do, and dropped into a chair there, his mind reeling, with what had just happened.

"But it has my watermark on it!" A man's frustrated voice snapped him to the moment. "That has to be worth something. No. No, I don't have the photo with me. My gir-" His breath caught in his chest "-my ex girlfriend showed me the photo. No, she refused to say where she got it- I made a report about my offi-" he sighed. "Alright. Yes, I understand." He hung up and dropped his head in hands with a groan.

"Excuse me," Janus called quietly. "I-I'm sorry. I wasn't meaning to eavesdrop, my name's Janus, I'm actually a lawyer and it kind of sounds like maybe you had something stolen? Maybe I can help."

Logan nodded and sniffed a little. "My office was broken into last month, I'm an architect and some of my designs had gone missing. Apparently, my…ex found them, somehow, being used to plan out a new hotel here. She thought I was in on it and wouldn't listen when I tried explaining what happen."

"Well, it is a small world after all," Janus chuckled bitterly. "My fiancee just broke up with me because someone else works at the same lawfirm as me is involved in the hotel. She didn't believe me that I wasn't involved. My laptop is back at the bed and breakfast I'm staying at, if you want we can head that way and I can see if there's any way I can help get those prints back."

Logan's shoulders dropped. "I would appreciate that so much. And. I'm sorry about your fiancee."

Janus smiled, pained and sympathetic. "I'm sorry about your girlfriend."

—

"What are you doing here?"

Roman startled the the voice and swung around to find his girlfriend glaring at him. "Kate, I-"

"You told me you had a show," her voice was cold and flat as she folded her arms over her chest.

"I-I do. I'm playing here," Roman explained. "I wanted to surprise you."

"Oh, I'm surprised alright," she growled. "Surprised and disappointed, quite honestly."

Roman blinked. "Disappointed? I- why? I thought you'd be happy to see me."

"I would be if you weren't such a liar!" She snapped.

"I didn't mean to lie, babe, I was just trying to surprise you. I'm going to be playing for the Parade."

She stared at him in shock. "It's you!" She snapped coldly. "Oh my god, it's you!"

"I- What's me?" He asked, confusion coloring his voice.

"You're the reason there wasn't any slots left to perform at the parade. How could you do that to me?"

Roman shook his head. "Kate, I had this planned months ago. I- Why didn't you tell me you wanted to perform?" He asked earnestly.

"Like you'd care anyway," she sneered.

"Babe, of course I care. If I'd known-"

"No. You know what, I actually think this is worse than you being here for that stupid hotel!"

Roman blinked. "What hotel?"

"Don't play stupid. Jamey saw you with the marketing team in the café. Do you even want to be with me anymore."

Roman stood, mouth hanging open, stunned into silence.

"Well?"

"I- Yes! Kate, of course I do. Babe-"

"Don't call me that!"

Roman sighed. "Of course, I do, Kate," he said softly. "If I'd known you were wanting to perform, I would have written you into my set, I would have given up my spot for you. You never mentioned about it, so I didn't know. The only real reason I've been planning on it this way is because I-I was planning on proposing." He tentatively held out a purple velvet box, hoping it might prove to her that her he was serious, that he was being honest, that he loved her. "You've always talked about wanting a big proposal and I knew there would be plenty of people to get pictures for you. I was going to sing for you then have you come up on stage with me and propose."

She stared, face unreadable, at the box in Roman's hand, making him feel like he might drop then and there from the tension. "Are you kidding me?" She demanded after a shocked moment.

Roman's face fell. "I don't understand."

"You were going to propose during your performance? I really didn't want to believe you were just as selfish as every other singer out there, but I guess you proved me wrong."

"Kate-"

"Have fun at the concert," she cut in and stormed off before Roman could answer, leaving him alone and confused.

—

"No, I'm sorry, we're completely booked."

Logan glanced up at Trevor's voice and found a young man, looking just as dejected as he felt standing slumped at the front desk.

He nodded, trying to be brave. "Thanks anyway."

"Hey, Trevor," Logan called out and set down his laptop before moving to the desk. "I've got that extra bed, he can stay in my room." He offered his hand. "I'm Logan."

"Roman," the young man answered. "I appreciate it, but I-I don't wanna impose."

"You're not," Logan assured. "I have the space and, no offense, but you look like you could use the help."

Roman nodded. "I was planning on staying with my girlfriend, but…" he trailed off with a shakey breath and shook his head.

"Mine just broke up with me too," he replied synthetically. "Oddly enough, so did Janus's." He gestured to his new friend. "Don't suppose yours had anything to do with the new hotel that's being planned."

Roman stared in surprise. "How did you know?"

"You're kidding!" Janus stood. "Mine got mad because she assumed I was involved in the legal team."

"My blueprints were stolen for the build and my ex wouldn't believe me about it," Logan explained.

"I was going to surprise her by performing at the concert later this week, but her ex convinced her I was part of the promotional team for the hotel," Roman replied. "That and she said I wasn't being supportive enough of her interest in music she never told me about."

"You guys sound like you're in a hallmark movie from hell," Trevor commented. "I'm gonna get you guys some shots or something. On the house. Whatever you want."

Roman mustered up a smile. "Thanks, but I-I don't drink."

"I do," Janus answered and raised his hand. "Do you happen to have any reds?"

Trevor nodded. "Yeah. Let me get that for you. You want one Logan?"

"Yeah, why not," he shrugged. "I don't think it can hurt at this point."

"You like red too, right?"

"Yeah. Thanks, Trevor."

Trevor turned back to Roman. "You want me to bring you, like, a latte or something, bowl of ice cream?"

Roman chuckled. "Uh, just a regular coffee is fine. Thank you."

"Coming right up!" He promised and moved toward the kitchen.

"I really appreciate you letting me stay with you," Roman said. "I was hoping to just leave, but, uh, flights aren't refundable. Just my luck." He sighed, dropping into an armchair, and pushed his hair back with both hands.

Janus leant back on the sofa and folded his arms over his chest. "You wouldn't happened to be from Florida, would you?"

"I- Y-yeah. How'd you guess that?" Roman wanted to know.

"Mhm." Janus nodded at the confirmation. "Let me guess. Gainsville?"

Roman sat back in surprise. "Yeah. Yeah, actually. How did you-?"

"So are the two of us," Janus explained, tipping his head toward Logan. "I figured with the other coincidences happening the odds where there. Thank you!" He heaved a sigh when Trevor offered him a glass of wine. It took all his self restraint not to simply throw it back.

Roman scoffed. "If there are anymore coincidences, I'm going to throw myself out a window. Thanks," he mumbled and accepted the steaming mug offered to him.

"I mean, we could just leave," Janus mused over his wine glass. "I already have a rental, I can just get that extended and we can just drive back. We're all headed to the same place anyway. Hell, we're probably all on the same flight."

Logan snorted. "Could you imagine if all three of us were in a row together on the same plane."

The three exchanged looks then all dug out their phones to check their flight information and huddled around to see what others had.

"Well, I'll be damned," Janus raised a brow. "We're literally all in the same row."

Roman tossed his phone on the table next to the mug of coffee. "Alright, that's it, where's the highest window?"

Logan caught his arm as he stood. "No. We'll take you home."

Roman sighed and dropped back into the armchair. "I'd need make a stop first. I, um, kinda left all my stuff at my, uh, at my ex's. Just sort of ran after she left."

Janus snorted. "Can't say I blame you for that. We can do that right before we leave, if you want, that way you can just grab it and go and hopefully don't have to deal with anything else."

"I appreciate that," Roman smiled.

—

"It'll just take a few minutes," Roman promised as he climbed out of the passenger seat. "Didn't exactly have time to unpack."

"Don't worry about it," Logan answered from the back seat. "It's not like we have anywhere to be."

Roman snorted. "How cheerful of you. I'll be right back."

Janus watched Roman trot into the farmhouse and shook his head. "I don't know about you, but this is most bizarre day I've ever had. And I've had someone ask me if they could sue a duck!"

"What?"

Janus rolled his eyes. "They wanted to sue for property damage because it kept pooping on their porch and eating the food left out for the feral cats."

"Oh. Yeah, that sounds like it would be a weird day."

"Y'know, it'd be one thing if we were only on the same flight, or only ended up single, but the fact that it's both." Janus shook his head.

"Not to mention the fact that it all stemmed from assumptions and misunderstandings about the hotel."

"And that!" Janus agreed. "Your buddy was right, it does sound like something out of a hallmark movie. Except we're apparently the arrogant, corporate boyfriends and don't get to clear up the misunderstandings." He sighed and stated out the window. "I'm gonna go check on Roman, he's been gone a while and I've got a bad feeling about this."

Logan nodded as Janus opened the car door. "I was thinking the same thing."

"Don't talk to strangers while I'm gone," Janus teased with a wink before he walked away.

He opened the door at the same moment Roman went sprawling across the floor. He swore and rushed to Roman's side, taking his arm to help him up. "Are you okay?" He questioned.

"I'm fine," Roman groaned.

"You're bleeding!" Janus objected.

"Who the hell are you?" The man standing over Roman, and presumably the one who'd punched him demanded.

"His lawyer!" Janus snapped, lying through his teeth and taking a petty joy out watching his face fall. "And you just committed class c assualt."

"It's fine," Roman mumbled. "Let's just leave."

Janus nodded and picked up the dropped duffle once Roman was on his feet again. "Let's get you home," he said softly and ushered Roman outside with his hand on his back.

"What happened?" Logan demanded and shot out of the car when he saw Roman's split lip.

"I'm fine," Roman grumbled, but let Logan take his face in his hands and check him over. "Kate's ex was there and went off on me about breaking her heart over something she never told me about. He decked me when I said as much. Probably not her ex anymore," he added glummly.

Logan let him go when he stepped back. "I'm sorry," he offered.

Roman shrugged. "Looks like you got the same treatment." He gestured to Logan’s cheek.

"No, it was my girl- my ex who did that to me. Nearly took my glasses off."

Roman gaped. "How hard did she hit you?"

"Well, she slapped me as she was turning to face me, so I'm pretty sure almost her whole body was behind it. I'm just glad she hit my face and didn't catch my ear. Probably would've ruptured my ear drum."

"You're stuff is in the trunk," Janus announced, clapping Roman on the shoulder. "We can go whenever you're ready."

"Yeah, let's go."

( @amazon-me-bitches )

#sanders sides #sanders sides au #logan sanders #janus sanders #roman sanders

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mollymauk-teafleak · 2 days ago

Text

like silence but not really silent

Another Magnus Archives fic from my little mundane AU! This one turned deeply, deeply self indulgent because of Bad Things Happening in my personal life so I make no apologies! Only thanks to @minky-for-short for all the encouragement with this AU in general!

Please reblog and comment over on Ao3 if you enjoyed this! (It is formatted a little nicer over there into the three separate chapters)

----

Three moments from Jonathan Sims' life, spent on the same beach in his hometown of Bournemouth.

Three moments of quiet.

----

One

The world was too loud for Jonathan Sims.

That was what his daadi would tell him, in a soft voice that didn’t do much to hide the disappointment like a cloth worn too thin to conceal what lay underneath. After the police would leave, their halfhearted concerns about Jon’s welfare muffled under cups of tea and homemade cardamom biscuits, after the headteacher would let them leave her office, everyone well aware how little had been achieved in that latest meeting, she would take his face in her hands, look him in the eyes and say it to him as she stroked a thumb across his cheek.

It wouldn’t be an accusation, not really, or an attempt at comfort. It would just be a statement of a fact that made life harder, a geography textbook’s explanation for floods or earthquakes or volcanic eruptions, something he just had to accept, just like the fact that everyone saw him as a girl no matter how many times he tried to correct them or tell them the name he’d decided for himself. The world is too loud for you, beti.

But daadi never told Jon what he could do to fix it. He was left to figure that out for himself.

The closest he’d found to a real answer was down on the beach.

Not that Jon had ever left Bournemouth to confirm this but, if he did, he imagined people sighing romantically at the idea of living there. They’d imagine it like residing in a postcard, the sea a perfect watercolour blue, the sand a butter yellow, the sunshine washing over everything all the time. The reality was very different. Postcards didn’t show the dense crowds that gathered on any day with a little sunshine, the rain that fell the rest of the year, the litter all those people left behind to blow across the grey sand like decorations left behind after a party. Or how the amusements always looked more than a little sad when the streets were empty, their garish paint peeling and their tinny songs becoming a headache.

So when Jon told his daadi he was going down to the beach- if he bothered telling her at all- he didn’t mean the same beach everyone pictured when they thought of Bournemouth. He avoided that place like the plague. The world was too loud for him so he needed somewhere that felt like it wasn’t part of the world at all, somewhere everyone else had forgotten so completely that it felt disconnected from everything else. He meant his beach.

It was hard to get to, especially for a pair of ten year old legs, involving a long walk along the striped cliffs of clay and sand, a perilous half climb, half slide down a particular face to find a little closed off bay tucked safely behind the curve of the land. Away from the wind and the rain and, more importantly, the rest of the world. It was a pebble beach rather than sand, the seaweed washed up thicker, the gulls were always screeching overhead but Jon didn’t mind. He would pack a book or two in his rucksack, whatever snacks he could find around the house, an extra jumper, a raincoat, everything he needed to maximise the amount of time before he had to come sloping back to civilization. He would tuck himself into the little natural caves and read, he would skim stones in the water, he would take off his socks and shoes and walk through the little shore, finding crabs and starfish and sea snails.

There he could be Jonathan for real, not just in his head.

Whenever he went there, he could feel the weight on his chest lift with every step he took away from the town proper, finally able to take a deep, full breath once he’d staggered down onto the little scrap of a beach.

Today, it felt like it had come just in time, a few seconds before he would have suffocated.

Jon scrubbed at the burn in his eyes that definitely wasn’t tears, silently begged his chest to stop heaving, his shoulders to stop shuddering. Now it was quiet, now he could actually think, his body finally listened. He took the rising, overwhelming emotion he’d carried all the way here, packed it into a box and shut the lid tightly, sent it away to somewhere far from here. Jon gulped down those things that weren’t tears, feeling such a sense of relief as the sea resolved in front of his eyes and became clear. He counted the whitecaps he could see, digging his fingers into the pebbles under his knees to feel their reassuring rattle and clack.

He was here. He was in his one quiet place, the one place he belonged, the one place that knew he was Jon and accepted it without question.

Once the steady roll and crash of the waves on the shore had cleared away the panic, Jon shifted to sit cross legged on the stones. He felt wrung out, hollowed, the way his favourite jumper had gone all thin and unravelled after he’d tried to put it in the washing machine. He couldn’t even find the anger anymore, there was just nothing.

Just the aching, echoing gap left behind when he just didn’t understand.

Jon’s stomach had already been a writhing mess of snakes as he’d walked out of school. They’d ended the day by working on making family trees, all the other students settling in excitedly for an hour spent with the colouring pencils. They moved around Jon, ignoring him as per usual, laughing and chattering away about whatever it was kids his age were supposed to talk about when they had someone to listen.

He’d been left to sit and stare at the name that everyone kept telling him was his, scrawled at the bottom of the template, his eyes following its dark lines up to the many branches with their own spaces for other names to go. Names he didn’t know. Names he’d never get to know. A whole family tree that had withered and died before he’d even gotten a chance to learn what the word even meant. Just him and his daadi, who already had a bad chest and doctors visits written onto the calendar in the kitchen that she didn’t want to talk about. When she went away, like his papa and his mama, his name would be completely and totally alone.

That’s when his eyes had started to blur and burn.

Miss Andi had done her circuit of the classroom, the only person to notice Jon sitting there, frozen under the weight of the grief he didn’t know how to hold. She’d been kind, of course, speaking in her soft voice, you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to, dear, you can go read in the corner if you like .

But her voice hadn’t been quite soft enough, the other children had still heard her, that damning sympathy carrying over the waves of chatter somehow. And then he’d felt the prickle of eyes on his back, wide stares like Jonathan Sims was just something behind a thick pane of museum glass and a little white card explaining just how sad and lonely he was. Though the card would probably call him the wrong name too.

He’d fled to the reading corner, even if none of the books there interested him anymore. He’d just needed to hide his face.

Maybe it was that tight, storm in the stomach feeling that had made him do something so stupid as standing up to those older kids. Most of Jon’s mind had still been running fruitless, frantic laps around the base of that blank family tree, he hadn’t even noticed his feet changing direction, striding towards the knot of hollering secondary school boys.

Jon’s voice hadn’t been nearly as forceful as he’d hoped for, it didn’t come along with the comic book style speech bubble announcing the arrival of a hero that he’d envisioned. But the boys had been surprised enough by anyone, even a stammering ten year old girl to their eyes, daring to tell them ‘stop’ that they’d turned regardless.

Jon had seen a glimpse of the stray cat they’d been tormenting, the same one those boys always went after when they saw her, just because she didn’t belong to anyone and they knew they could get away with it. A black streak fled between their legs the second she saw her chance, darting between some wheelie bins and disappearing. He’d felt a moment’s fierce pride, the solid certainty that he’d done the right thing.

Until it ended the same way that feeling always seemed to. With a heavy, painful thump as his legs were swept out from under him and he went crashing down.

Jon’s eyes were burning again. They weren’t tears but they really stung as they rolled down his face and into the scrapes on his cheeks, the split lip. He could tell himself that taste on his tongue was the salt in the air, that he couldn’t hear his own ragged, sobbing breaths over the scream of the gulls. He was alone, nothing else had to matter.

He didn’t have to think about how silently angry daadi would be about the blood on his collar and the rusty brown trail that had dripped down his front, how it was another school shirt and jumper ruined that they couldn’t afford to replace. Though of course the skirt he hated was unscathed. He didn’t have to think about how he’d pass those boys who’d seen him cry, again and again in the tight little maze of their streets, running and hiding from them like the poor cat. How he was sitting at the bottom of that bare and empty tree, completely alone, trying to take shelter in a world that was too loud for him.

So he decided it was a good thing. What other choice did he have?

Jon stood up, wiping his eyes, his jaw tight and determined. If the rest of the world wanted to chase him away then he’d let it. They could keep their noise and their rules that didn’t make sense, their expressions he couldn’t read, their cruelty and their wide eyed staring. He would just stay here forever and never go back. He’d sleep on a bed of seaweed, catch fish and eat seagull eggs, never having to hear another human voice full of anger or pity or disappointment or confusion.

Of course Jon knew it was a childish fantasy, something out of a Robinson Crusoe book he constructed to make himself feel better, to get the same kind of release as throwing pebbles at the cliff face to shatter. The reality was inescapable. He didn’t have any clothes or food or books with him, daadi would call the police when he didn’t come home before the sun went down, just like she always did. They’d find him as he trudged his way home, stomach growling and his whole body shivering with the cold, defeated.

But he also knew something else, deep down inside himself in a place he hadn’t explored yet. The place where the adult man he’d be one day was growing, half formed but crystallising slowly. That part knew he didn’t need to become a hermit on a beach to make sure he’d be alone. That he could choose it for himself, build up walls that didn’t need to be physically real to do the job.

As Jon walked up and down the beach, the life he painted for himself in his head was imaginary but the decision he made was very, very real.

He didn’t know how to fix the world. He didn’t know how to fix himself.

So he would just spend his life alone.

At least then it would be quiet.

Two

Jon had known it was going to feel strange, going down to the beach again.

There was no other way to feel, putting his feet in furrows he’d worn into the ground a long time ago, finding he still knew exactly where to step, when to turn off, where to go. Even after saying goodbye to this place years before, so sure he’d never see it again, discovering that the way had never really left him, that he hadn’t excised his childhood as neatly as he’d thought. Of course it was going to feel strange.

Jon just hadn’t expected something else to feel stranger. Because it wasn’t just walking in his own, smaller footsteps.

It was looking back over his shoulder to see who followed him.

“I thought you said you used to do this when you were a kid?” Martin’s voice was wheezy around the edges from the hike across the cliffs, but the indignation in it was clear.

It made Jon laugh, worth the mouthful of his own hair he got as the wind whipped around them, “I did. Nearly every day.”

“Didn’t know you were part mountain goat…” his boyfriend grumbled.

Jon grinned at that, hesitating so Martin could close the gap between them. He caught his hand as soon as he was in reach, sliding their cold fingers together like two cogs in a machine that had always been meant to sit next to each other.

It was early enough in their relationship that little things like that were still surprising Jon. How natural it all felt, how their bodies fit together in small ways, how their personalities that had once seemed so different now threaded together and made something good. Something really, really good actually.

He wondered if he’d ever stop being surprised by it, however long this thing between them lasted.

He would hardly call it a small thing but the only reason they were even standing here was because of Martin. Jon had never thought he’d go back to Bournemouth, certainly not after his daadi passed away. The idea had always made him feel sick, like the feeling of pulling off a bandage while knowing it would make the wound scream with pain and look disgusting.

But they were on a little road trip of sorts, driving down to Daisy’s hometown for her and Basira’s wedding. When Martin had realised how close they’d come to a piece of Jon’s own history, he’d suggested a visit with such a hopeful expression that Jon found himself caving far sooner than he’d ever expected, despite trying his best.

He’d pointed out they could only spare a few hours, that there was really nothing to see, there was no one who would even recognise or remember or be too pleased to be reminded of him. None of it put Martin off. He’d driven them here with an unmistakable excitement, like someone following a treasure map to a treasure trove. Jon didn’t have the heart to tell him that it was going to be more of a cursed ancient temple situation.

Of course they’d pulled up to a sky like slate and a sea the colour of a stagnant pond. Immediately the wind found every seam and minute hole on their coats, chilling them to the skin, then down to the bone as periodic showers of that infuriating thin, showering rain randomly fell. The pier and amusements had only gotten older and sadder, decrepit to the point where they’d become more like the setting of a horror movie that was being rather heavy handed with its metaphors. They’d walked up the same tight, claustrophobic streets that had taken a younger Jon home, past his old school, up to a house that looked like his daadi’s while somehow being so different that he couldn’t say he’d ever crossed it’s threshold.

And every time Jon had turned to Martin to apologise, to promise they could leave straight away and they never had to come back, he’d found him smiling.

He’d asked so many questions, what Jon’s favourite ice cream shop had been, which slightly malformed steed he’d always chosen on the merry go round, what his favourite subject at school was, which bedroom window had been his. Jon had given his answers, even if they’d felt small and sad to him, each one just making Martin smile wider.

Almost like he’d found the treasure he’d been looking for and it was just Jon himself.

So when Martin had asked where he used to play, Jon had reached out, taken his hand and asked him to follow him. He’d decided he’d show his boyfriend something real.

He just hadn’t told him it was at the bottom of a cliff.

“Jesus Christ, Jon, they let you do this when you were a kid?” Martin yelped, nearly slipping onto his backside as the path took a sharp slope downwards.

“No, of course not,” Jon looked over his shoulder from a few paces ahead, grinning, “That was kind of the point. It’s not that bad, really…”

“Not that bad!” Martin scoffed before almost losing his footing completely, only saved from a very hard landing when Jon reached out and caught him, “I always thought you’d be the kind of kid who stayed indoors with a book…”

Jon chuckled, deciding it was best to keep Martin’s hand in his as they skidded down the last little part, “Not really. I’m just that kind of adult. See, the beach is right there, keep your eyes on your feet, there we go…”

Jon found himself dropping right into the middle of his own past. His knees ached more as he braced himself against the pebbles but, other than that, the beach hadn’t changed in the slightest. The curve of the shore must have been enough to shelter it from the winds and time itself, keeping it preserved, not a single stone out of place. It felt a little sacrilegious to be disturbing it now, like it had been enjoying its peace before he came lumbering back.

Or was it glad to see him come back? Did it even recognise him after a decade and change, with a flat chest and short, greying hair and the rough stubble? This place that had always been the one corner of the world where he could escape and feel like he belonged might not even know who he was.

“It’s beautiful, Jon.”

Martin’s voice was soft and awed, a little much for what really amounted to a skinny strip of grey sand and pebbles, a fringe of decaying seaweed and a few hollows in a cliff wall. But something in Jon lifted when he said it, a kind of relief, a sense that he’d been right to know Martin would understand. That he’d see what this place had been to him, years ago.

“I always thought so,” Jon smiled, walking to the edge of the sea, where the water made an instrument of the pebbles as it rolled and rattled them against each other, “In a rough, rugged kind of sad way.”

“Well. That would explain your taste in men, I suppose,” Martin hummed, making Jon cackle along with him.

Again, Jon was struck by the strangeness of having another laugh bouncing off the cliffs alongside his own, when he’d always thought it would just be him alone and the scream of the gulls.

He picked through the pebbles around his boots, finding one that was suitably flat and correctly weighted. With a flick of his wrist that became familiar as soon as he drew back his hand, Jon sent it skimming across the water. Five times it kissed the surface before running out of momentum, five circles rippling out between the whitecaps.

Martin whistled appreciatively, “Guess you spent a while practising that when you were a kid?”

“Well, there’s some natural talent involved,” Jon hummed, playfully smug, “But yes. When I wasn’t playing pirates or pretending to be Mary Anning looking for fossils or imagining I was a siren chewing on the bones of washed up sailors…”

Martin grinned, glancing around like he was imagining a younger Jon racing across the stones, wrapped up in his little games and the momentary freedom they brought him. He bent to pick up a pebble of his own, trying to mimic Jon’s arm motion, though his pebble crashed into the water with an anticlimactic plink.

“See, that's how you can tell I was one of those kids who stayed inside with the books,” Martin gave a self-deprecating laugh.

Jon smiled, eyes focused on how the ripples from his stone and the ones from Martin’s were joining together, making a harmonious little pattern, a moment of synchronized calm in the middle of the irritable sea.

“I’ll teach you how to do it, if you like?” he offered, voice soft, “Unless you’d rather play pirates, of course.”

Martin grinned, smiling so wide the freckles in the corner of his eyes bunched up, “Maybe later. For now, how about you perform a miracle and get me to, let's say, three skips?”

Just like all those years ago, Jon felt like he could breathe easier down on the beach. All the sour memories from the town slid away, drawn off by the current, all the doubts that had buzzed in his brain over returning to the home where his name and his true self were things he’d never been able to share were blown off by the wind. Minutes passed by unnoticed, everything suddenly becoming so easy.

This place still knew him. He did still belong here.

“Don’t pull back so far, you’ll lose the control…that's it, just by your ear…deep breath…and go!”

The stone wobbled a little in the air and the last skip probably had a lot more to do with a gust of wind than any skill of Martin’s but there were definitely three skips before the stone sank.

Martin looked stunned, face alight with a mix of surprise and joy, “I actually did it!”

“You did,” Jon tried not to sound too surprised, it hadn’t needed a miracle exactly but it had certainly been a tall order, “I may live to regret giving you all my trade secrets.”

Martin turned to him, eyes soft and hopeful, “And…what about coming back to Bournemouth? Bringing me here? Do you think you’ll regret that?”

Jon paused before answering, not because he wasn’t sure, he just wasn’t sure of the right words. He leaned his head against Martin’s shoulder, again marvelling quietly at how his boyfriend was just the right height for it to fit perfectly.

“Do I regret bringing you down here? No, not at all. As for the rest of it? It was…nice to have you be interested. I kept a lot of that stuff packed away for a long time, trying to forget it happened but…it didn’t hurt as much as I thought, getting it all back out again. And I’m glad you made me do it.”

Jon felt Martin’s arm wrap around him like a warm blanket, drawing him in so close he didn’t even feel the wind anymore, “That’s what I was hoping for. It’s always going to hurt, digging through the past but I feel like it hurts more to pretend it isn’t there.”

Jon chuckled dryly, “You’ve been reading that book again, haven’t you? Supporting Your Partner’s Healing or whatever it was…”

“Well, it’s working, isn’t it?” Martin mumbled, a blush creeping up his neck over the collar of his parka.

“It is…and even if it wasn’t, I’d still love you for it,” Jon gentled his tone, finding Martin’s hand and squeezing, “It is strange, though, being here with you. I always came here to be alone, shut the rest of the world out. It was the point of the place, really.”

It couldn’t have come as a surprise to Martin, it probably wouldn’t have surprised anyone who’d known Jon for more than half an hour. But he sounded sad all the same, pulling him in and pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

“You were all alone?”

Jon swallowed hard against a sudden lump in his throat, “I…I thought I didn’t have a choice. I thought it was the only way someone like me could be. Whenever I tried anything else, it just hurt so…so I decided it was my choice. I acted like it was what I wanted.”

“Funnily enough, I got that impression when I met you,” Martin clearly tried for humour, betrayed by the way his voice broke just at the edge.

Jon turned his face against his shoulder, smiling even as tears rolled down his own cheeks “But it didn’t stop you, did it? You’re still here.”

“And I don’t plan on leaving, Jon,” Martin breathed, “Not ever.”

He couldn’t quite believe that, not yet. But maybe he would, one day.

“My daadi always used to say the world was too loud for me,” Jon rasped, “It still feels like that, sometimes. Most of the time, really.”

Martin stroked his hand up and down Jon’s arm, “I know…but it’s quiet right now?”

Jon took a deep breath of salty air, leaning into Martin’s warmth and counting the waves until his heartbeat slowed and the blood stopped rushing quite so loud in his ears.

“It is,” he murmured, knowing it would be enough for now.

In many ways, Jon was still the frightened kid who’d come to this beach to hide, certain it was the only place he could be safe. He still didn’t understand the world, he was still such a long way from fixing himself.

But right now, it was quiet.

And right now, Jon wasn’t alone.

Three

The beach hadn’t changed, it never did. It was a place so disconnected even time had forgotten it, leaving its stones undisturbed and its cliff faces unaging. A year passed between their visits, sometimes two, but leaning over the ragged edge of the world and looking down on it, Jon found it hard to believe.

His beach never changed but Jon did. And he never felt it more than what he was standing here.

Because he knew the zig zag path down the sandy side of the cliff wasn’t any different from the one he used to run down heedlessly when he was a child, not a care in the world. But he’d never realised how bloody dangerous it was.

Not until it was his child about to go careening down it.

“Daddy!” Gertie tugged at their joined hands with a surprising amount of strength for a three year old or maybe Jon was a lot weaker than he should be, “Daddy, lets go!”

Jon bit his lip, eyes following the path warily, wondering how he’d avoided breaking his neck for so long, “We just need to be very, very careful so we don’t-”

Before he could even finish his sentence, Gertie had pulled enough to send them over the edge. They were suddenly running, kicking up clay and sand, Gertie shrieking in delight and Jon choking on a word he really shouldn’t say in front of his daughter. They half ran, half fell, having to just put one foot in front of the other and trust there would be no broken noses or chipped front teeth. For a second, it was almost like flying.

And, by the time they landed on the stones, Jon was laughing too.

Gertie didn’t stop, Jon finally letting her hand slip from his so she could rush towards the waves, go on when he was too out of breath to follow. He felt something of his heart go with her, torn away but given gladly. Tears blurred his eyes for a moment, making them burn along with his lungs.

“I remember you telling me that walk was, and I quote, ‘not that bad’...”

Jon turned, smiling wryly, not bothering to hide the tear rolling down his cheek. Martin gently wiped it away as soon as he was in reach, letting his hand linger on his husband’s cheek. He didn’t ask, he knew he didn’t need to. He trusted that Jon would tell him.

“Guess I’m old and boring now,” he leaned into that warmth, sighing softly, “Too old and boring to keep up with her, at least.”

Martin pursed his lips, tilting his head in playful doubt, “Are you sure?”

He nodded towards the shore, shifting Jon’s attention to where their daughter was standing, a splash of colour in her bright yellow raincoat and shiny new wellies, stark against the greys like she really had stepped out of those classic postcards. She was waving, buzzing with childish impatience like she’d only just noticed that Jon wasn’t by her side anymore.

“Daddy, come on!’ she yelled, “You said we could play pirates!”

Martin smiled softly, nudging Jon’s hand, “If you are too old to keep up with her, I don’t think she’s noticed. And she certainly doesn’t care.”

Once again, Jon wondered how Martin did it. How, whenever the world started to twist around Jon and press in too close, Martin would take it and shake it out like a dusty old carpet, brushing away everything that was just Jon’s own fears and anxieties, leaving him with what was real. How he anchored him, holding his hand when the wind threatened to pull him away, showing him where it was safe to put his feet, leading him back to solid ground.

He didn’t know how he did it and he didn’t know how he was ever going to thank him for it, not just for that, but for everything. So he kissed him, tasting the cold on his lips. And by some miracle that Jon would never understand, that kept being enough for Martin.

“Daddy! Papa! You’re being gross!”

Jon snorted, finding Martin’s gloved hand and squeezing his fingers, “Come on. Let’s go play pirates.”

Time stopped meaning anything for a little while, the oddly comforting, familiar stress of their lives back in London felt far away. Jon had forgotten how easily games had carried him away when he was the same age as his daughter. How a salt smoothed branch in your hands could feel like a cutlass, how being chased by a wave could turn into an enormous shark lunging from the depths to sink his teeth into you, how the barest hollow in a cliff wall could become a snaking warren deep underground, perfect for smuggling imaginary treasure. He’d forgotten that the images his mind created didn’t need to be terrifying, they didn’t need to be something he fought against like a riptide looking to drag him out to sea.

He supposed it helped when the games weren’t an escape. When you were eager to return to the world you’d left behind.

Gertie ran them breathless up and down the beach, only coaxed to stop and take a break by their picnic, a tupperware box of her daddy’s cardamom cookies and a sandwich proving enough of a pull. Jon held her on his lap as she ate, hugging her warmth close against him, face buried in her tangle of auburn curls, just like Martin’s.

“Daddy,” she hummed, through a mouthful of crumbs, “Why are the pebbles all round here?”

Jon smiled, three years on the planet and she’d not yet run out of questions, “The sea wears them smooth, darling. It’s called attrition, the waves roll them around until all their sharp edges have been rubbed away.”

“Oh,” Gertie hummed, reaching down to grab one, turning it over in her chubby hand as she examined every nick and stripe on its surface, “It makes them very pretty.”

“I think so too,” Jon chuckled, “And it makes them very good for skimming.”

That snagged her attention, her green eyes widening, “Oh! I wanna do that! Can we?”

Jon smiled over at Martin, “Actually? Your papa ended up being the expert on that. He’s way better at it than I ever was.”

Martin snorted, blushing a little, the way he always did when he was given any sort of compliment, “Well. I had a very good teacher.”

“Teach me! Teach me, papa!” Gertie scrambled up, needing both her hands to wrap around just one of her papa’s, trying to pull him to his feet.

Martin beamed at her like he was looking at the sun, clambering up from the stones, “I’m coming, sweetie…are you going to be okay on your own?” he hesitated, turning back to Jon for a moment.

Jon nodded, hugging his knees to his chest, feeling warm in spite of the cold, “I will be. You won’t be far.”

“Never,” Martin’s eyes softened before letting Gertie lead him down to the shore.

Their laughter and chatter faded a little, somewhat lost in the rumble of the waves but, just like Martin promised, he never lost sight of them. They looked like a perfect pair, same softness, same muddy red curls, even the same jumper after Martin had enough yarn left over for two. Sitting here, Jon could just wonder how he was ever lucky enough to get two of them.

He’d always feigned frustration over their daughter coming out as the spitting image of Martin, joking that he could have saved himself nine months of work and just shoved his husband into the Archives photocopier. Martin would always joke right back, batting his eyelids and saying, well, they’d have to have another kid, see if they could get one with some of Jon’s genetics. He’d never mean it, not really, he’d never push his husband about something like that.

Jon was looking forward to seeing Martin’s face when he told him they were going to find out.

But that could wait until they were back in London, back in their lives. For now, Jon sat and listened to the waves, thinking about the little boy who’d come here to be alone, to hide from a world that refused to understand him and was too loud for him. The little boy who’d built his walls here, thinking he’d have to live behind them forever, that his only choice was between quiet and fear, that there was never any path that would lead to happiness. That he’d never be fixed.

Jon didn’t know if he was fixed, not completely. But maybe that wasn’t how it worked. Maybe there had always been a place in the world anyway, he’d just needed to be brave enough to find it.

He knew he couldn’t go back in time and reassure that younger version of himself, promise him it would all be okay in the end, that he would deserve all the joy that would eventually find him. That child was out of his reach.

But Jonathan Sims could make sure, would make sure, that his own children never had to feel like the world was too loud for them.

They would never feel like they had to be alone.

#tma #tma jmart #jonmartin #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #mundane au #please reblog and comment!

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knyinfinity · 21 hours ago

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A Christmas Drabble

I had this idea very randomly and I haven't wrote in a while, plus a surprise cameo/first appearance! Tags: mild angst(?), @risingscorchingsuns

Word Count: 709

Amari stared at the glowing coals of the nearly dead fire, a heavy feeling settling in her chest as she took a deep shuddering breath. This would be her first holiday without her family and she wasn’t sure what to do. She almost wanted to forget the day existed completely but how could she when all month it’s been reminders of growing decorations and excitement around the other corps members. There were few morale boosts in their line of work, after all.

She curled inward, hugging herself tightly before unhooking her katana belt and setting it at her side, carefully removing her haori as well and leaving her in just her uniform, in front of her fireplace. Her mind began to wander as she thought back to her family, what her parents might be doing, where they might be; what her siblings would be doing, or what she would have given them to celebrate the new year together.

A single tear escaped her cheek as images of her old life passed through her mind. Her siblings anxiously and excitedly shoving their gifts into her hands before tearing into their own, her parents smiling as they passed the food around the table, her small cottage home nestled in the woods where she thought her life was safe from the world forever…

She paused as the hair on the back of her neck stood up. Her hands began to twitch and her eyes instantly opened, moving darting from left to right as the feeling of being alone quickly abandoned her. She unsheathed her sword, whipping around to see Muichiro standing at her doorway, eyes slightyly wide and his hand half raised as though he were about to knock.

“I came to check on you. Are you alright?” He spoke quietly as she sheathed her sword and turned back towards the fireplace.

“I’m fine. You should leave, don’t you have patrol later this evening?” Her eyes fell back into her lap as he sat beside her, his own gaze moving to the now cold ashes in the fireplace.

“I...wanted to give you something.”

“I don’t need a gift.” She spoke, her eyes darting around as she quickly pulled on her haori and belt. She stilled when she felt his hand move over top of hers.

“It’s..not technically a gift from me. I know it’s difficult right now, I just wanted to help.” He whispered as her eyes shifted to his face. He was watching her intently, measuring her reaction and relaxed slightly when she finally nodded. He turned towards her doorway once more, her following and Kanata stepped through.

“What do you want?” Amari grumbled half heartedly, letting Muichiro pull her off the floor. Kanata playfully raised his hands, an easy half smile resting on his face.

“I have something for you. I...look. I know you don’t have your family-”

“Kanata-” She tried to interrupt, but he put a finger to his lips and kept talking.

“Let me finish, please. Lord Tokito only told me that, well, you don’t have your family. And I can’t...I can’t imagine what I would do without mine. So I made you something that I thought would help...a bit...” He trailed off awkwardly before pulling a few things out of a bag Amari hadn’t noticed was with him.

She looked over at Muichiro, who nodded encouragingly as she began to walk curiously towards the red head, who was in turn, walking towards her.

“I..uh...kept it vague cus I didn’t want to ask, ya know? What they looked like...” He whispered as he handed her 4 fabric dolls. They were obviously meant to be her family as she carefully took the dolls from his hands. A mom and dad, a brother and sister...she held them gently, allowing her fingers to trace carefully over every feature that had been added. Simple outfits and hair, no faces...she could picture their faces in place on the dolls as she clutched them against her chest, looking at Kanata for a long moment.

“Thank...you...” She choked out before turning to walk back towards Muichiro, another singular tear making its way down her face. She could sleep, smile, breathe, and eat a little easier now. She had the smallest piece of her family back.

#demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #kny #demon slayer oc #kny oc #kny imagines #demon slayer original character #knyinfinity oc #knyinfinitywrites #knyinfinity amari #kimetsu no yaiba oc #muichiro tokito #kny muichiro #kimetsu muichiro #kny muichiro tokito

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hidingoutbackstage · 9 months ago

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Why the fuck are hairdressers so fucking reluctant to do the job you’re paying them at least $50 to do? If I’m telling you to go shorter, I’m not telling you to ask me five times in a row “Are you sure?” I’m asking you to go shorter. If I show you a picture of a haircut that I want and say “I want to look like that” I’m not asking you to cut it how you think will look better, I’m asking to look like that picture. If I tell you “I’ve gotten it cut like this before, I know what I want” I’m not asking you to tell me how hesitant you are to cut my hair in the style that I asked you to, I’m asking you to do the fucking service I’m paying you for

#sid rants #sid bitches #sorry. my bf got a haircut recently and told me how the hairdresser said similar stuff #and it brought up all my repressed anger about me getting my hair cut #yes i know i look like a woman. i don’t fucking care what style you think will look good on me #i am ASKING you to go shorter #i literally will show this bitch a picture of ME with a haircut i want and she will refuse to go anywhere NEAR that short #unless i repeatedly say ‘more off please. more off please. MORE. PLEASE.’#one time she deadass took the cape and whatnot off before asking me if i liked the style. AND I DIDN’T.#AND I JUST HAD TO LIVE WITH A SHITTY HAIRSTYLE FOR MONTHS

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slightlytoastedbagel · 4 months ago

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thinks about Kohane Azusawa and photography (explodes)

#you know how she said she wished she could feel as passionate about something as an or minori #but she was already doing photography as a hobby by then #something about that. something about photography not exactly being her passion but it being something she knows #(especially in the sense that it was her dad that got her into it. her family being the only significant people in her life before hs)#(azusawa family and how little we truly know of you i want to blow you up so badly in the good way)#go further in with that line from over rad squad (she can feel passionate about things because of other people)#so a. photography literally coming from papa azusawa b. photography was how she experienced things growing up #pictures of the mundane. pictures of action. pictures of the things kohane would have loved to try #but considered herself incapable of pursuing #but photography itself didn't give her that passion otherwise she would have mentioned it in the main story #then vivid bad squad. an's side story for the first wedding event where she rushes over to take photos of them all #the photos from same dreams same colours. her photos being used in their flyers #kohane's fes card. the gallery of what she cherishes most. the trained and the outfit #photography has become something she does love. genuinely love. thanks to vivid bad squad #how kohane's passion for something comes from other people. how her love for her hobby properly comes out with them #it is most likely the thing she will be doing when vivid bad squad retires from singing (however long that takes)#or maybe even it'll be what she does on the side #sega i know we got the valentines event to sort of give us this but. proper kohane unit focus based around photography? please?#card set that looks like photos kohane took? the edges looking a bit old? a way of showing how much she loves these memories?#an event that reintroduces papa azusawa???#if they're going abroad it could be going over her anxieties about it (however that depends on how long it is until then)#(i doubt next event will be straight into the travelling. we maybe won't even get it this rotation)#(so maybe. maybe if they swap an and kohane around so kohane kicks off rotation 6 for vbs?)#(idk. blah)#bagel's rambles

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alienzil · 5 months ago

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Nanny Danny

“That is a whole ass baby,” was the only thought running through Lex Luthor’s head when the scientist proudly showed him the tube containing Project KR. It was not remotely the sort of thing he would normally think and most definitely not what he had expected to be thinking the first time he saw the clone.

He’d been pleased when he’d read the reports indicating the success of KR after years of failures. Lex had poured millions of dollars and literally his own blood into ensuring a clone of the alien could be made, one that would be under his total control instead of the unknown aspirations of Superman. He’d wanted to see the fruits of his labors personally but this…

It. No, not an it. He scrunched his tiny face and smacked his lips and…did he smirk? Was that HIS SMIRK on that baby’s face?! No. No. Babies this small didn’t smile or smirk. They passed gas and their sleep deprived and addled parents mistook it for an intelligent response. He’d heard enough inane conversations in the Lexcorp office about the various progeny of his employees to pick up on that but still. This child had Kryptonian DNA, not to mention his own contribution. Surely, he was far more advanced than the dribbling potato shaped lump of an infant whose pictures he’d been forced to smile and nod over when Mark from accounting had rudely shoved them in his face at the last quarterly budget meeting. Yes, that was definitely a smirk. His, that was his smirk.

“So as you can see its growth is well within expected parameters and we’re planning to start phase one of accelerating the maturation process tomorrow once the testing is do-”

“Take him out.”

“Sir? The testing can all be accomplished while it remains in the tube. There’s no need to-”

“I said, take him out. The project is cancelled.”

“What?! Mr. Luthor you can’t!”

“I think you’ll find I can. Now get me my son.”

*****

Two years later

“Call them again”

“Sir, I’ve called them seven times. They won’t answer.”

“Then call another agency!”

“There isn’t another agency, Sir”

Lex glared at his assistant who stared back at him impassively. Mercy stood by the door staring off into the distance and pretending she didn’t notice him being bested by his own secretary.

He stopped himself from shouting again and took a deep breath before asking, “Then what, exactly, do you propose I do Mrs. Anderson? Adjust my entire schedule around naptimes? Find a toddler size lab coat and safety goggles and bring my son with me to tour the new clean energy project on Thursday? Perhaps buy a tiny business suit while I’m at it for the next board meeting?”

“I’m not suggesting anything of the sort, Mr. Luthor. I’m telling you that no childcare agency in Metropolis will return my calls anymore. Most won’t even answer. You’ve gone through 27 nannies in the last 3 months. You need someone better suited to your son’s…special needs.”

Lex snorted. “Special needs might be a bit of understatement. He can lift a car over his head and his favorite word right now is No.”

He sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Thank you for…clarifying the situation, Marjorie. If there’s nothing else, you can leave.”

His secretary didn’t move. She looked at him like she was waiting for something and now that he was paying attention, he saw she was holding a file. “Did you have a suggestion?”

Looking pleased with herself she responded, “Actually, yes, I did.”

“Well?”

She set the file on his desk and flipped it open. He looked down at the first page and raised an eyebrow, “What am I looking at here?”

“This,” she responded pulling out the top set of papers and spreading them out, “is the employee file and background check for Daniel J. Fenton, an intern that started in our engineering department about 4 months ago. He has one sibling, two parents and several close friends he regularly meets with. His current supervisor has nothing but good things to say about him and reports he gets along well with all his coworkers.”

She set out the next set of papers, neatly arranging them on the desk to be easily seen. “These are newspaper articles and screenshots of social media posts regarding a small town vigilante locally known as Phantom. The same small town, Mr. Fenton is from coincidentally. Also coincidentally, Phantom made his first appearance only a few weeks after Mr. Fenton was involved in a minor accident in his parent’s home laboratory when he was 14, the medical records for the incident are included.”

“Hmm,” Lex said observing several photos of Phantom and a younger Fenton arranged in order of similar poses and facial expressions and printed out side by side.

“Finally,” she said handing him the last set of papers directly, “this would be a report from the lab Mr. Fenton works in from an incident that happened yesterday. A test with a new protype went wrong and started a fire. Everyone evacuated per protocol when the alarms went off but one of the other interns was working on a programming issue off to the side of the lab while wearing headphones and didn’t hear the alarm or notice the fire. Mr. Fenton noticed his absence and returned to the lab to get him out.” She stopped talking and let him look at the last several pages in the file, a series of photographs of the lab.

“Is this ice?”

“Yes, it is. It’s several inches thick and covers half of the lab. It completely put out the fire leaving minimal damage.”

“This machine was moved?”

“It was. It was very close to the flames and would have required replacement if exposed to extreme heat or cold. That particular piece of equipment also weighs several thousand pounds and was bolted to the floor.”

Lex read through everything in detail then clasped his hands under his chin and stared at the photo of Daniel Fenton for several moments before turning back to his waiting secretary.

“Have HR send Mr. Fenton up. I’d like to offer him a promotion.”

#dc x dp #dp x dc #dcxdp #dpxdc #Lex Luthor saw baby Kon and said that's my baby #Good Dad Lex Luthor #He mostly stopped with the evil to be a good dad #He still does some villainous things sometimes #as a treat #it's enrichment in his enclosure #danny gets hired as a nanny #because Lex can't keep up with a super powered toddler #nanny danny au

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princessbrunette · 6 months ago

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hi princess! I was just thinking about shy!reader ending rafe nudes for the first time 🫣 can u pls write abt it

⊹ ~ ⊹ ~ ݁. 🎀 ݁.⊹୨🐰୧ ⊹ . ݁🎀 . ݁~ ⊹ ~ ⊹

he wasn’t expecting it. he thought he’d have to work harder for you to open up like that.

it was toppers turn to swing, the group of them playing golf at the country club. rafe scowls in the sun, staring across the hills in thought knowing his younger friend often took ages to line up and get a good swing in. just as he was wondering what you would be up to right about now, lifting his wrist to check the time — his phone dings with a text and he reaches into his pocket, eyes lighting up in intrigue upon seeing it was your name on the screen, with one attachment.

he clicks on the picture and freezes.

it’s a selfie, you sat infront of the mirror in your bedroom. however, you look askew — clearly hot and flustered with your dress disheveled, one sleeve hanging off your shoulder nearly exposing your tit and the hem pulled up around your waist. you’ve got no panties on, legs open with your knees pointing up and feet flat to the floor and in the image you’re spreading your sloppy, wet cunt with your fingers, a mess of your own arousal coating you. the image is paired with a simple caption — ‘please come to my house i miss u :(’

now you were shy, like — hardcore shy. shit, it took you a while to even let rafe touch on you and fuck you without getting overwhelmed and wanting to cry everytime he looked at you. he couldn’t believe his eyes.

“holy shit. hooooly shit.” he drawls, beginning to pace a little, staring at the image and zooming in. topper gets distracted, turning his head.

“whats up?” he asks as rafe types a quick ‘Give me 15 mins baby’ into his keyboard. rafe glances up, lips parted at his two friends, staring at him for answers.

“shit uh, nah… nah don’t worry.”

he pockets his phone, looking to start packing up his stuff.

“nah c’mon man, what happened?” kelce comes towards him with a friendly grin and rafe lightly shoves him back by the shoulder, walking past to the golf buggy.

“i said don’t worry, alright? i uh, gotta roll though. see you guys around.” rafe punctuates his sentence with a scoffed chuckle of disbelief, swinging his golf bag over his shoulder.

“did… did something happen?” topper shakes his head.

“look, i gotta go see my girl alright, said she needs me. sending me pictures of her pussy all spread out n’shit. respectfully, m’not spending another minute with you suckers.” rafe holds up his hands, biting the bait and telling them anyway. he couldn’t help himself, at the end of the day; a boy.

kelce laughs in shock and toppers eyebrows raise, eyes widening as he says your name in questioning confirmation.

“yeah, who the fuck else?” rafe collects his last club from the buggy, slotting it into the bag.

“what— she’s like, the sweetest girl i know. super shy though, am i wrong?” topper seems in just as much as disbelief as rafe, who shrugs, beginning to walk backwards away from his friends.

“so i thought.” rafe calls out with a smirk, arms wide by his side before he spins around to make his way swiftly to your house to show him how much he appreciated your little text message gift.

⊹ ~ ⊹ ~ ݁. 🎀 ݁.⊹୨🐰୧ ⊹ . ݁🎀 . ݁~ ⊹ ~ ⊹

#anon #rafe cameron prompt #shy!reader

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bettys-redwinesupernova · 11 days ago

Text

I’M NOT HIM

rafe cameron x fem!reader

( mood board does NOT depict readers appearance !! )

SUMMARY: in which rafe snaps at reader during a heated argument and she flinches, her past trauma resurfacing. rafe breaking the main promise he made to her: to not be anything like her father.

based on an ask i got that i lost </3 i hope the anon who requested it finds this, and this its what you asked for! i’m a little rusty with one-shots so just a short one to ease me into things again! :)

WARNINGS: angst to fluff, arguing, cursing, mentions of past childhood abuse (reader), mentions of a gun/brief mention of violence, trauma responses, crying. (lmk if i missed anything!!)

WORD COUNT: 900 words

THIRD PERSON +

Rafe Cameron wasn’t the kind of man anyone would describe as soft. Not with the sharp edge in his voice, the perpetual storm behind his ocean eyes, and the way his knuckles bore scars from fights he barely remembered. He had spent his life battling demons, most of them inherited from Ward Cameron, and those fights had shaped him into someone who took no prisoners.

But with Y/N, none of that mattered.

Y/N was everything Rafe wasn’t—gentle, warm, full of an optimism he couldn’t begin to understand but adored nonetheless. She radiated light, the kind that made him want to shield her from the darkness in himself. For two years, she’d been his anchor, the one person who saw past the volatile exterior to the man buried beneath. And for two years, Rafe had promised himself that he would never hurt her.

But promises don’t always hold in the heat of the moment.

The argument had started over something Y/N had brought up before: the gun in Rafe’s apartment. She hated it, hated what it represented, and hated the memories it dragged up for her.

“Rafe, I told you,” she said, her voice quiet but firm. “I don’t feel safe with it here. Please.”

Rafe, already wound tight from dealing with his father’s latest scheme and the growing weight of “the business,” felt his patience snap like a rubber band stretched too far.

“It’s not a big deal, Y/N,” he muttered, pacing the living room. “It’s not like I’m walking around with it in my hand. It’s locked up, alright? Just drop it.”

Y/N didn’t drop it. She rarely did when something mattered to her. “It is a big deal, Rafe. I asked you to get rid of it. I thought you understood how—”

“I said fucking drop it!” Rafe’s voice thundered through the room, loud enough to make the walls seem smaller.

The words echoed in the sudden silence, bouncing off the tension between them. Rafe froze, immediately regretting the way he’d shouted, but it was too late.

Y/N stood there, trembling, her wide eyes glassy with unshed tears. Her lip wobbled as she tried to hold herself together, but Rafe saw the cracks forming.

“Baby…” he said softly, taking a step toward her, reaching out his hand.

She flinched. Actually flinched.

It was like a knife to his chest, sharp and unrelenting. He knew her past—knew about her father’s temper and the way it had scarred her. He knew that shouting brought her back to those dark, suffocating memories.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice thick with panic. He reached out again, but she backed away, tears spilling down her cheeks.

“I—I can’t,” she choked out before rushing to the bedroom and shutting the door behind her.

Rafe rushed after her before collapsing onto the floor, pressing his back against the wall beside the bedroom door. He could hear her quiet sobs on the other side, each one driving the guilt deeper into his chest.

He buried his face in his hands. “I’m so sorry, baby” he murmured, voice breaking. “I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean to scare you. Please, just… let me make it right.”

Her sobs continued, muffled but heartbreaking. Rafe rested his head against the door, tears streaming down his face. He could picture her inside, curled up in the corner, just like she used to do as a little girl to shield herself from her father’s rage. A place he promised her she wouldn't ever have to go back to.

“I’m not him,” he whispered, as much to himself as to her. “I’ll never be him. I swear. I’ll never hurt you.”

Minutes turned into half an hour, but Rafe didn’t move. He felt he didn’t deserve to move.

When the door finally opened, Rafe almost didn’t notice at first. He’d been staring at the floor, lost in the heaviness of his own shame. But then Y/N was there, stepping out quietly and kneeling beside him.

Without a word, she crawled into his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her face in his shoulder. Her touch was tentative, as if she wasn’t entirely sure she could trust it yet, but Rafe held her like she was the only thing keeping him alive.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered over and over, his voice cracking as he clung to her. “I didn’t mean it. I swear, Y/N/N. I’m so sorry.”

Y/N didn’t respond right away. She just held him, letting his warmth chase away the cold that had settled in her chest. Eventually, she pulled back just enough to look at him, her tear-streaked face breaking his heart all over again.

“Please don’t yell at me like that again,” she said softly, her voice trembling.

Rafe cupped her face gently, his thumb brushing away her tears. “I won’t,” he promised, his tone fierce with conviction. “Never again. I’ll get rid of the gun. I’ll do whatever it takes to make this right. Just… don’t be afraid of me.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” Y/N said, her voice barely audible. “I’m afraid of the person you might become.”

Rafe nodded, the weight of her words sinking deep. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, holding her tightly again. “I’ll be better,” he whispered. “For you, I’ll be better.”

In that moment, Rafe vowed to prove it. Not with words, but with actions—starting with the gun.

(dividers by @kodaswrld <3)

betty’s notes ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

ahhhh my first one-shot in FOREVER :’) it’s a short one and really sad and angsty but it felt like the quickest ask to whip out, and angst is easier for me to write atm :)

i’m so excited to start with the other requests, and please don’t stop requesting! i plan on writing most stuff 1,500 words +, this was just a short little ask so please request with as MUCH detail as possible <3

master list will be updated soon! but for now, to keep track of my works check my personalised tags that are below such as: #bettys asks!! ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ and #bettys work!! ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ or my personalised tags for characters !!

#rafe cameron #drew starkey #fluff #outer banks #obx #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron angst #rafe cameron fluff #drew starkey obx #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron outer banks #bettys asks !! ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚#rafe cameron ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚#bettys work !! ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚

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heesimp · 2 months ago

Note

saw your post and comment about heehoon getting off together bc they both want yn…that is so hot I want to read that. Please

I want to read that too 😋 I would love to write more of this type of content so please let me know if you’d read it!

warnings: heehoon jerk off together, mentions of wanting to fuck reader and suck on her tits and pussy, mentions of dry humping, blowjob mention, exchange of fantasies, subtle mxm context (they sit next to each other on the couch and watch each other jerk off), mentions of a sex toy, implied share use of a toy at the end.

send in your hard thoughts x

“Dude, are you hard?!”

Heeseung looks over to his friend who sits beside him on the couch in nothing but sweatpants and a flimsy t-shirt. The two of them have sat in silence for the past few minutes or so after their friends left their apartment with you in tow, giving them each a hug goodbye as Jay and Jake undoubtedly drove you back to your apartment.

Still, your perfume lingers in the air. It smells somewhere between vanilla and peaches.

The TV has something playing in the background but neither of them can say they’ve been paying much attention to it. Sunghoon’s been scrolling on Instagram for the past few minutes when Heeseung happened to look over at him to ask what he wanted to watch when he saw the slight tent in his roommate’s pants.

Sunghoon looks up, unashamed. He turns his phone towards the elder. “Can you blame me? Look at her?”

Heeseung squints and sees your profile. “Have you been hard this entire time?”

“Since she walked in. Don’t tell me you don’t feel that way either. I always see you looking at her ass when she walks in front of you.”

Heeseung blushes for a moment. “I can’t help it. Her ass is phenomenal and she always wears those short shorts when she comes over.” Sunghoon groans.

“Yeah, the ones where you can see her panties, right? I swear she’s doing it on purpose.”

“Have you two ever…”

Sunghoon nods his head. “Once.” He bites his lip at the memory. “It was late, really late. She was sobering up after getting drunk at our place a few months ago when you were visiting your cousin. I told her she could sleep over since I was too tired to drive and the guys already left.

“What happened next?”

“I insisted she take my bed while I take the couch but she put up a pretty good fight. She insisted I sleep there with her since it’s my apartment and we’re both adults. We ended up dry fucking, man. She woke me up the middle of the night and I think she was having a wet dream or something.”

“Fuck, really?”

Sunghoon nods. “Yeah. Her leg was over mine and she got so shy when she realized we were both awake but I was so hard since her pussy kept rubbing over me.”

“But you two didn’t fuck?”

He groans. “Wish we did but it felt too good to stop. I took off my sweats and tried to get us naked but Y/N kept rubbing herself on me like she was desperate. That shit was so hot. That was the only time I get to see her cum, too. She let me on top of her and I had to pretend that I was fucking her balls deep since our clothes were still on.”

Heeseung curses and pictures himself in this exact position, running a hand through his hair to tug at his roots. “Were her panties wet?”

“Soaked. I could feel her through my boxers.”

“Y/N is too hot for her own good.” Heeseung watches Sunghoon’s cock jump as he readjusts his position on the couch.

“Wish I could touch her, you know? Knowing she he’s really wet turns me on. Shit.”

Heeseung can’t help but think about it. He’s seen you in swimming suits before and it doesn’t take much for him to imagine what you’d look like without them on. His cock stirs in his pants when he thinks about you gushing for him. Something about Sunghoon’s words turn him on too.

“What else do you want to do to her?” Heeseung finds himself asking his friend.

He laugh. “What don’t I want to do to her? I want to suck on her tits, man. It kills me that she doesn’t wear a bra when she comes over because I can see everything, especially when it’s a little cold. Perky nipples and everything.”

“Fuck,” Heeseung moans. “What else?”

“I’d want to eat her cute little pussy too. Fucks me up every time she flashes us with her shorts…I want to know what she feels like on my tongue.”

Heeseung laughs incredulously. “Damn, Hoon. You’re making me hard.” Sunghoon returns the laughter and doesn’t shy away from looking at his friend’s lap. Heeseung is almost as hard as he is but that seems to make him harder. “Is it bad that I want to cum inside of her?”

“No, fuck no it’s not.” Sunghoon bucks his hips involuntarily against his sweats. “Had a dream the other night that Y/N let me fuck her and creamed all over me…Goddamn, it felt so real.”

“Sometimes I think about her when I watch stuff,” Heeseung admits. “It’s better when I can’t see the girl’s face. I pretend it’s Y/N and it always makes me cum the hardest.”

“Me too. I love those twitter videos more than anything. Sometimes I pretend she’s the one who sent it to me.” Sunghoon brings a hand to his hardened cock and palms himself without a care in the world, even if Heeseung’s eyes grow wide at the movement. “C’mon, man. You can’t say you aren’t turned on.”

“Jesus. You jump right into it, huh?”

Sunghoon scoffs. “Don’t sit there and pretend you haven’t gotten off to me bringing girls home. I hear you in your bedroom, you know.” Heeseung laughs as if to challenge him.

“And you can’t say that you haven’t gotten off when I bring girls back.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Sunghoon looks back at your Instagram profile and curses under his breath, gripping his cock above the fabric. Heeseung pulls his phone out to look at you too.

“Her tits are incredible,” Heeseung moans as he brings his hand to palm himself. “I wanna put my dick between them and fuck her like that.”

“Cum all over her tits,” Sunghoon adds. “I’d kill to see her on her knees for me like that. Her tits are my weakness.” Palming himself isn’t nearly enough. “Fuck it.”

Heeseung loses his breath when Sunghoon pulls his hard dick out of his pants. “Woah, now? Don’t you want to like, go to your room or something?”

Sunghoon rolls his eyes. “It’s not like you haven’t seen my cock before. You don’t usually get this shy when we share a girl.”

Fair point. Heeseung pulls his dick out too.

For a minute, the soft sound of the TV permeates throughout the room as the two of them look at your photos and slowly stroke themselves opposite each other on the couch. Heeseung hears Sunghoon grunt under his breath and hold back a deeper moans when his thumb swipes over his swollen slit that drools precum.

Heeseung’s cock is just as hard. His fingers grip himself with fervor and for just a moment, he pretends it’s your hand that’s stroking him. He imagines the look you’d give him if you were on your knees before him and throws his head back when he moans.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” Sunghoon asks as he twists his wrist to stroke himself better. “Fuck, thinking about her always gets me so hard.”

“Want her mouth on me,” Heeseung says in a broken moan. “Her cute little mouth is always telling us off but fuuuuck. She should use it on me instead.”

Sunghoon squeezes himself at the base and flickers his gaze from his phone to his too to watch even more precum ooze out of himself. Thinking about you like this gets always makes him incredibly hard and wet. He can only imagine what would happen if he got the chance to fuck you.

The sounds of their arousal splashing against their cocks as their hand moves up and down is the loudest sound in the room and neither Heeseung nor Sunghoon can for certain say they aren’t turned on by it. In the past, they’ve had their fair share of threesomes with girls they’ve met at parties and past hookups who’ve expressed interest in fucking two guys at the same time, but never have they ever found themselves in a predicament like this.

You are the common denominator within their friend group. Somehow, senior year of university brought the give of you together after an assigned group project in one of your classes that forced you all to spend a good majority of your time together, slaving away for a good grade. The semester ended but the five of you still continued to see each other, project be damned.

Both of them are pretty sure Jay and Jake probably have a thing for you too. You’re hot, smart, and really funny. You’re everything any guy could ever want and it’s always a shame that you’ve preferred to keep to yourself instead of become as promiscuous as the four of them, even if they don’t judge you for it.

Sunghoon speeds up his hand and throws his phone down on the couch to cup his balls. “Ah, damn. I’m close.”

“Me too,” Heeseung breathes. He puts his phone down too and mimics Sunghoon by squeezing his own balls, pretending it was you getting him off. “You wanna cum together?”

“Goddamn,” Sunghoon says with a laugh as his arm flexes. “Why do I find that really hot?”

“Imagine if Y/N was here with us.” Heeseung licks his lips and zeroes in on Sunghoon’s cock, imagining as it disappears inside of your pussy. “Imagine if we both came in her.”

“Always wanted to try that double penetration shit. Shame we didn’t do that before.”

“Soon,” Heeseung promises. “Y/N looks like the kind of girl who’d be into that. If she let you dry hump her then I’ll bet she’s let us fuck her pussy at the same time.”

The logic doesn’t make any sense but neither of them care. They squeeze themselves until choked moans become louder than the TV in front of them.

Heeseung cums with white tall spurts ruining the hem of his shirt but the wet stain doesn’t bother him. At the same time, Sunghoon spills out much slower, his cum seeping out of himself like a water fountain as it dribbles onto his hand. Heeseung watches his friend continue rubbing himself while he spreads his cum down his cock and onto his balls.

Both of them regain their breathes and feel strangely turned on by the events that just transpired. Heeseung finds himself wondering what Sunghoon would look like when he’s got you underneath him. He tugs at his cock at the thought and surprised himself when he doesn’t soften up.

Sunghoon smiles wickedly at Heeseung when he sees his friend’s cock twitching, his own dick remaining hard. “Wanna go again?”

“You want to jerk off again?”

He nods and stands up from the couch. Sunghoon pulls his pants up just comfortably enough until they rest below his ballsack and walks to his room, leaving a dumbfounded Heeseung sitting on the couch in his soiled boxers until he Sunghoon comes back out with a toy that looks a lot like a woman’s torso, ass, and pussy.

“Fuck, you actually own one of those things?!”

Sunghoon nods. “I use it when I get off to porn. Don’t you have anything?”

“Just a fleshlight but I’ve always wondered what those feel like.”

“Kinda like the real thing by more rubbery and smooth, obviously.” Sunghoon holds it up for Heeseung. “Since you mentioned double penetration…”

Heeseung cuts him off. “Let’s practice.”

***

please reblog and leave a comment if you enjoyed :)

#enhypen smut #sunghoon smut #heeseung smut #enha smut #enhypen x reader #heeseung x reader #sunghoon x reader #enha hard thoughts #enha hard hours #enhypen hard thoughts #enhypen hard hours #hard thought

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