james herondale is the definition of “tell me youre in love, without saying you’re in love” when he gave her a present for their two-week anniversary
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" If anything can go wrong, it will."
Good night!! (Here it's still night :p )
A few weeks ago I said I would do a oneshot Lorraine Broughton x F! Reader, but it got too big so I decided to follow the initial idea and turn it into a mini series. I have two chapters written and I'm going to post them here and in Ao3, I think there will be 3 or 4 chapters in total, but I'm not sure yet.
English is not my first language, so all mistakes are mine.
Enjoy!!
warnings: mention of violence, R cursing, forgery of documents (?)
Words: 4573
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1989
Berlin, East Side
You feel in your bones, when you wake up, the consequences of last night and think that the famous Murphy's Law decided to test you. On this side of the wall few things go right, but having an order in your head two days after joining STASI's wanted list proves that nothing is so bad it can't get any worse. Courtesy of a dumb customer who messed with the wrong people and thought revealing where you find your customers would be enough information to escape death. The Local Gang (or Angels, as they call themselves) loves to eliminate competition from the market.
Now he's dead and you have to deal with the STASI AND the Local Gang (you refuse to call them Angels).
The local fucking gang that sent a team of idiots to break into your favorite bar and made you run out the back door before meeting a customer who was going to pay well.
The local fucking gang who must be pissed that you shot the six dumbest members you've ever had to face in your life. No really fatal shots, but of course that won't matter as they do business with the KGB.
Sometimes you want to ignore the rules you've made for yourself, especially "never kill someone unless it's in defense of yourself or someone you love", but you think killing six agents who don't have the ability to set up an ambush of success would be a great waste of bullets. Now you know you're going to have to leave town soon and you have no idea how to break the news to your brother/partner, how do you honorably abandon a war before it's over?
Damn Murphy's Law
You know you need to sort this out, but you refuse to stay in bed crying over what's already written and decide to leave the wonderful Egyptian linen sheets you got from your favorite client last month to face the world and it's impossible to face the world without a good amount of coffee. After a quick shower with a cup of Blue Mountain in hand, your newest addiction, you sit in a robe in a nice armchair, look out the window at dying Berlin and thank heaven for the comfortable life you've earned by working with one of the greatest smugglers on this side of the wall, perhaps from all over Germany. Some desperate customers offer you valuable items from them in exchange for passports and unlike your idiot “brother”, you don't have a rule about only receiving cash. Almost everything here comes from gifts, from the sofa, pictures, bags, clothes and even some books on your shelf. You don't even remember buying that cup, or the coffee set, for gods' sake.
If he saw you now he'd complain about being soft with customers and say something about how items aren't a bargaining chip in the real world, you'd get into a tiresome discussion about enjoying the finer things in life and how bills don't compare in the importance of yours. silver chain with moon pendant that was once an amulet for more than three generations for a French family.
At the end of the day, Merkel has a large information network and an office that takes up half the block, where she keeps as much money as she has secrets, and you have a house decorated by other people where each object symbolizes someone you've helped.
Four walls don't make a house
The thought takes away some of the almost peace you feel and you decide to finish your coffee before it gets cold.
After a quick glance at the calendar you remember about the march that will take place in Alexanderplatz square and decide to go scream for Germany one last time, hopefully you'll be able to hide long enough to see the fall of the damn wall that divides this country. It's not your country, not really, you don't even like to remember how you got here, but the experiences you gained wouldn't be exchanged for anything, not even for an original Van Gogh. Also, Merkel asked you to go and bring a black umbrella, the reason was not explained and you didn't feel like asking, sometimes you think Gordon Merkel is not his name, but how to judge the man who is your only family in this end of the world? You smile when you remember that he shouldn't have an umbrella with a story as cool as his and decide to piss him off for it.
Your phone rings, and you notice you've lost track of time. Merkel was helping a blonde woman named L, he didn't give you more details other than a few stories about how she was a perfect and dangerous assassin that you should keep your distance, as few people know how to deal with her. You thought he overreacted, but you had to take over some business from him while she was in town. She seemed important considering the way he told you about her and you knew better than to deny help to the person who always supported you and declared himself a brother, you trusted him because not even the best agent in the world could fake so much sincerity and affection in claiming this title for himself.
You reach out, pick up the phone, and decide to answer it. “Hey little sister, how are you out there? I called to say that everything is fine for dinner today, but there was a mishap and the wine ran out, bring the best Bordeaux you have, I'll return the courtesy as soon as possible." A code, of course.
He needs your services ASAP. Wine is a passport, Bordeaux means two elements, courtesy involves a child.
You can combine business with pleasure
"Hi brother. I'm looking forward to today, I'll take the best wine I have, don't worry. I already know how you can thank me. I need to clean the house and go to the office first, but I'll be there on time. wait for me." you say in a voice that oozes normalcy, you never know when someone's listening on the phone especially now that you're a fugitive, disgraced customer. Your body sinks into the armchair noticing the oncoming cloud of worry
Merkel now knows you need his help, as cleaning the house means getting away and going to the office shows you're in a hurry.
"Alright, do you want me to send the driver?" He asks like he's not freaking out and offering the bloody job of one of his mercenaries
“No, bro, thanks, I know the way.” You say as if you really have an escape plan besides getting a fake passport, emergency backpack and all the money you can find.
“See you later, don't forget the wine. Are you sure you don't want the driver?" You wonder if he has forgotten that knowing the way literally means everything is fine
“Relax, see you later” It takes a few seconds for him to hang up and you can hear his sigh.
He will be SO pissed.
You put the phone down as you get up to gather the passport forgery materials and put them in a briefcase. Your cookbook is already there along with some banknotes from different countries. As you pick up the black backpack of standard clothes and accessories that always waited for you in the corner of the door, you decide to wear the first jacket you bought, the dark blue jeans, the combat boots you got from a skinhead, the wristwatch you bought. you got for your brother's birthday, thick leather gloves and a thin white shirt that matches the rest of your outfit. After all, if you can die when you open the door, then die well dressed. Be sure to keep the Colt 1911 around your waist and the Russian dagger around your ankle, after yesterday you never know, Your pocket watch with the coat of arms of the Brazilian imperial family indicates that 15 minutes have passed since Merkel's phone call
You take one last look at the house you've been so proud of in recent years, snap a photo with the Polaroid you've won, and, with a bittersweet smile, close the door. One day when the wall comes down, the government changes and your face is forgotten, you can come back here, until then you will have to make do with the photo album you keep in your backpack and this photo.
Putting on your sunglasses, you arrive on the street and decide to take a taxi on the other corner, make sure you look around before leaving your home, no one knows your address, but you can't be sure the local gang is so stupid to the point of not following you after last night.
Getting a taxi was relatively easy. Neil, the driver, thanks to the boots, mistook you for a revolutionary and talked for 10 minutes about how he hoped he could take down the wall with his bare hands, you thought it was cool, but as you passed the big river that was just a few blocks away from the your brother's office, you couldn't hear a word from him.
A sign signaling that the river was closed to visitors made your eyes fill with tears. You used to go there when the day was bad, spread a blanket in a corner and watch the stars, or just laugh at the distinct reflection the water made of the moon and stars. Merkel accompanied you on anniversaries, justifying them as bonding experiences. After some freaks started swimming in the river and executions increased, STASI took over and you replaced the dark water for the restaurant's bright lights. But seeing it tightly closed gave him a feeling of anguish and rancor. You would silently curse the wall builders for the rest of the trip.
Neil seemed to notice but didn't comment on it, you thanked him, wiped your tears and left a good tip as you descended a block away from your final destination. This time you didn't need to look around because even though Merkel was super busy, he made sure to leave some security close to where your landing place was.
A tall man dressed in a red T-shirt approached you and hugged you as if he hadn't seen you in a long time. You've known him since the beginning of last year, when he arrived at Merkel's office begging for a job, and from the first moment the way he turned grief over his brother's death into a thirst for revolution made you admire the young man. The two of you walked through the great gate hand in hand as you asked about his life with genuine interest, and Klaus increasingly believed in Merkel's theory about you having such a pure heart that you didn't care about motivation or the number of lives they took, your explanation of the judgment not being your responsibility, crossed the man's head before he escorted you to the main office.
You thanked him with a smile, opened the door and stood in front of the table in the windowless room, where your brother was already waiting for you.
"What the hell happened? Are you okay? I was about to send J to get you, please tell me what happened"—he said hurriedly as he got up and pointed at the couch for you to sit on. J was one of the most dangerous women in the building and you were grateful for not wasting her time.
Putting your backpack and umbrella aside, you answered:
"I'll explain later, little brother, now let me help you. You need passports urgently, don't you?" Yes, you were stalling and postponing the conversation. He'd call you an idiot for going out on the street right after you got on the wanted list, and he'd feel guilty when he found out why you didn't tell him. Merkel wasn't going to understand that her fear of failing him was no one's fault but yourself.
Your sentence seemed to give him some responsibility back, but still, as he held out a glass of water for you, his eyes met yours with a glint that warned that this conversation was far from over.
"Yeah, I really do, but don't think I'm going to forget about it. Let's talk when this is all over. Even if it's the last thing I do today."
You accepted the glass with a bit of trepidation and stood up towards the large center table while opening the briefcase with the supplies you were going to need, if Merkel noticed the bills he didn't say anything. Once at the table, you made two passports for mother and daughter in record time. According to the clock, 10 minutes passed, faster than a car, this deserves a celebration. It would have been six if Merkel hadn't been so curious to make you waste time pulling your watch out of your pocket just for him to analyze.
Everything was going well and there was only one last detail for mother and daughter to be taken by one Percival to the other side of the wall. Percival, according to Merkel, was strange and fickle. Unreliable and extremely dangerous, you should also keep your distance from him, as this man had crucial contacts on both sides of the wall.
"He must have fewer contacts than you", you would answer
If a loud noise didn't break the silence
The annoying noise of the door creaking made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up and you almost missed the last signature, it made your body vibrate with irritation and your eyes follow to the offensive source of the sound. A tall man with short hair and blue eyes was holding the doorknob with a military posture and before you could release your anger and explain something about how people shouldn't be violent inside Merkel's office you noticed he was accompanied by a woman.
AND WHAT A WOMAN!
Your eyes connected to a pair of fierce, intent green eyes, surrounded by a pale skin tone and hair so blond it looked like snow. The barely perceptible frown showed she was surprised to find someone other than Merkel there, yet she looked ready for a battle. You looked into her eyes again and nodded in acknowledgment, this must be L, the woman he was talking about.
She looked at you suspiciously, but also as if she could see into your soul, and what must have been frightening, you found endearing. A few stories of murders orchestrated by her crossed your mind, but all you could imagine is how beautiful she must be when she's mad.
They say green eyes darken when we're high on adrenaline, does that happen to her?
Her analysis of the intriguing blonde ends when she notices that the man accompanying her has raised his voice and from his furious expression, it's not the first time he's repeated the question. You interrupt him before you hear him and make sure to direct the ghost of anger before him:
"Have you lost your mind? Who walks into the office without knocking? Surely you should be here asking about passports, but if it weren't for my experience and steady hands, they would be in the trash by now. Learn to be civilized. You're under two paws not four, so act human and not animal" you say in an explosive but articulate tone to make sure he understands what you say. Sometimes when you speak fast, you are betrayed by faulty diction. Not today. Today you want this man to feel every fiber of irritation that went through his body.
Hearing Merkel holding a nervous laugh, you try to relax, but judging by the cold, almost murderous look of the man in the doorway, you've definitely gotten yourself in trouble. Looking at the organized clothes, you notice it's an old police uniform, probably taken by your brother, and unless Merkel has hired new employees, you've never seen it around here. His eyes snap back to his and something inside you warns that this must be Percival. He probably wants to kill you.
Damn Murphy's Law
A brief silence settles in the room and you shake off the fear and turn away, refusing to play the glaring game with a man who almost spoils your art. On other days you might look at him at a party, but today you want to make him swallow the ink on the stamp in his hands and invite the blonde to dinner
And it's her voice that breaks the silence.
You're flipping through the two passports for failures when she says
"Sorry, miss. My friend is an unprecedented idiot. Shall I close the door and knock again? Perhaps your highness too--"
You turn her body towards her when you hear the slightest hint of irony in her tone and interrupt her with a fake smile as you look into her eyes.
"It's not necessary, I accept your apology, Miss. I always said that Merkel should have someone armed at the door to remind everyone of the need to knock on the door. Anyone who didn't knock would lose his mind as the law of my reign says. Perhaps I should start. for him, since the top head is the last thing he wears lately" you joke look at Merkel who doesn't seem offended by the statement, shrugging you look at those blue eyes again and say "the passports are ready. Let's get out of here."
You close the passports, reach for your backpack and umbrella and start moving towards the door, both agents let you lead the way and judging by the blonde's expression, she's not used to being interrupted, nor is she used to seeing someone talking like that with Merkel, but today it was acceptable. You really think she's adorable, but you know better than to let someone make fun of you, especially in front of your brother who wouldn't let you forget about it. Either she doesn't care, or she's a great actress. Anyway, that idiot is still by her side and you refuse to be the reason for his possible laugh.
Her friend probably didn't have the same acting classes and his resemblance to the local gang members, like he's going to kill you in the blink of an eye in a cowardly way, is almost frightening. If Merkel hadn't said L is a woman, you'd be scared. It makes you shiver a little and look for Merkel, but he's not following you. Looking over his shoulder you see him putting a few more piles of dollars and euros into your briefcase. With a snap of your fingers you get his attention and before you walk out the door, you hear the briefcase click closing.
Once out of the room, you look around and realize that nothing has really changed, all faces are familiar, except for three people: a couple talking to a child. After a brief analysis you find yourself facing the passport clients, mother and daughter. The man doesn't look older than 60 and has kind eyes, almost as if he doesn't live on this side of the wall.
They don't seem to notice you
Your observation is interrupted by Merkel's loud, proud voice, right behind you. Here it comes
"This is Elizabeth Loyd and Percival, two trusted clients. Elizabeth and Percival, this is my little sister, she will be on the march today, if you need anything in the future you can talk to her."
Hearing her name, you notice that Merkel really wasn't creative at all. Who would use the initial letter of a surname as a symbol? Anyone who heard the stories about L and met a loyde who knows a Merkel would make the connection. As you turn around, you swallow your nervousness and try to put on your best smile as you say your name to them. The blonde woman who finally has a name, Elizabeth, leans closer, her eyes never leaving yours, and you wonder if she can feel the jumble of emotions that is unraveling inside you.
She smiles a smile that makes you sure she does and reaches out and greets you with a firm grip, if she noticed the sweat on your hands, she didn't let on. She also looks a little more comfortable.
Maybe because she noticed you said her real name, idiot.
You hate yourself for one second and the next you want to be without gloves because it feels soft and warm.
The man, Percival, comes next and looks at you suspiciously and the smile fades from your face, you wonder if no one else can smell the strong smell he gives off, a smell of cheap whiskey and arrogance. Still, he holds out his hand and this time you thank the gods for the gloves. Make sure you don't bow your head or fail in your posture. He still looks at you like you killed his son. Useless even to pretend, for God's sake.
Merkel watches the exchange from afar and nods to Elizabeth, she responds and Percival walks away looking uneasy. You look around uncomprehendingly, feel a little left out, and wonder which computer must have Tetris installed.
You would kill for a distraction right now.
Going out on the street in a crowded march while being chased by two groups still makes you sick.
Your brother approaches and extends his hands around you. You've missed him for the past few weeks. He still wears the perfume you gave him for his birthday and it makes you sink deeper into the hug. You know he's going to be mad when he finds out what happened so you enjoy as much affection as you can
"Little sister, in addition to our conversation I need to tell you something" his voice is low in tone and you doubt you would understand the words if you weren't so close to him "but I can't do that until the march is over. Meet me at usual table at the restaurant where we celebrate our achievements, It's very important"
His even low voice is charged with strong emotion and you are genuinely worried, Merkel has never been like this before.
"I'll do it, brother, I promise. Whatever it is, we can work it out together" you say with all the certainty you can muster in your voice, because you need him to understand that this is true.
You feel eyes on you and as you look up you notice that Elizabeth keeps an eye on your exchange with Merkel while talking to the little girl's father, from the distance she probably can't understand anything and you don't know if she celebrates or cares with so much attention received. A little further away is a Percival who pretends to be busy with the coat he's wearing. He also pays attention to your exchange, but his talent for discretion is as effective as his ability to open doors.
Your eyes return to the concentrated blue eyes that are in front of you and Merkel speaks in an almost inaudible way:
"When I whistle, I need you to raise your open umbrella and stay alert. The three people we're going to cross are very important, nothing can go wrong. But if it does, I'll be at the restaurant, whatever happens find me there."
Noticing the proximity of Percival and Elizabeth, you place your hand on your brother's shoulder and smile as you speak a little louder:
"Don't worry man, it's always a pleasure to help you. I'll leave my briefcase here, then meet you to get it. Good march."
Merkel shows that she understands his strange move and smiles, you greet some friends of his that you haven't seen in a while and as you head towards the exit, you meet a pair of deep green eyes. Elizabeth is gleaming in the cold lights that are refracted by the mosaic of the gate, she looks into your eyes, ever alert, looks at the object in your hands and nods her head with a half smile, do you think the guard's idea black rain was hers.
As you wave back, you can feel that a pair of eyes haven't left your back since the moment of your brother's embrace, as the old man is saying goodbye to the family, you know who they belong to and decide not to look for them. If the STASI, KGB or local gang find you, he doesn't own the pair of eyes you want to remember before you die.
Taking a deep breath, you walk through the gate and blend into the crowd.
..........................................................................................................................
After leaving Merkel's office block, you take a hat out of your backpack and wear your sunglasses as you look around, not that a local gang member is here but because if he sees you in disguise he will ask a series of questions and he has enough problems already, plus STASI must be monitoring this area and the last thing you want is to be arrested. You decide to tuck your coat into your backpack to change your look, and while internally debating your ability to ignore the cold, your eyes catch the almost snowy blond hair in the crowd.
This signals that they are already on the march and you decide to get a little closer to them, but make sure you do this without drawing attention to yourself since the nasty man is still there. Elizabeth is on your diagonal absorbing all the extraneous details that might be a possible threat, she seems so focused on the job of passing the owner's gentle eyes in a safe way that it makes you wonder how important he is and if she's noticed you.
A few meters later a familiar noise floats through the march and you open the umbrella almost instantly, as do other protesters.
Out of the corner of your eye you can see Percival taking the man's family across and sometime later Elizabeth does the same. You notice that her posture has changed and when she decides to stop for a better look, the crowd drags her and you can no longer locate her.
Her feet continue forward and as some signs are raised by the protesters, you try to find your brother. Unsuccessfully. You decide to trust their ability and hope that you can meet him again at the restaurant.
You also want Elizabeth to be okay.
Continuing on the march, after two or three long blocks you notice the familiar silhouette of one of the STASI bosses, he is watching the crowd as if looking for someone, but he doesn't seem to notice you. You notice observers on top of buildings and decide to leave the streets. Whether it's the Local Gang, KGB or STASI itself you don't know and decide you don't want to know.
Your brain tries to design routes to escape and your body mimics the movements of the closest protesters so as not to draw attention to you, but when some agents in black point in your direction and make space in the crowd, you run between people to seek shelter in somewhere you know and at every step you are sure that the day will be worse than you thought.
Damn Murphy's Law
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Prompt: Geraskier modern au. Jaskier bringing Geralt home on holiday. They’re pretending to date so Jaskier’s parents won’t bombard him asking when he’ll find someone and when they’ll have grandkids. Maybe even a fake engagement? They’re both pining without even realizing and maybe a mistletoe kiss on Christmas Eve will open their eyes. (geraskier-trashh)
Dani <3 I always seem to vibe with your prompts! Once again this is 2.3k. I didn’t get the mistletoe in but... well. I’m pretty happy with it. Fake dating at Christmas!! 💖
Warnings: Some hurt/comfort feels, I’m pretty sure everyone cries at one point or another, lots of pining.
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Jaskier and Geralt stood in the doorway to Jaskier’s old childhood room. One single bed was pushed up against the wall, posters of Jaskier’s old favourite bands plastered around the room. Jaskier was gripping Geralt’s hand too tightly, having not let go from when he’d dragged Geralt upstairs to get away from the interrogation of his family. Geralt let out a long sigh and pulled them both into the room, dumping his rucksack on the ground in the corner.
“Ah, I. umm…. I seem to have miscalculated,” Jaskier stammered.
“No shit.”
“I thought, you know. Huge mansion!” He flung his arms out as if to make a point. “I didn’t expect that we’d have to… you know.”
“It didn’t occur to you that it might look strange if we don’t share?” Geralt asked, raising an eyebrow.
Jaskier huffed and put his hands on his hips, tossing his fringe from his eyes. Geralt was moving around the tiny room, his banged up bass case finding space next to Jaskier’s violin, his black hoody thrown over the old desk chair in the corner. Jaskier felt a tug at his heartstrings as he watched Geralt carve out a space for himself in Jaskier’s old bedroom, just like he’d carved out a Geralt sized space in Jaskier’s hearts oh so many years ago. Jaskier flexed his fingers and pulled his necklace pendant into his mouth, this was such a bad idea. What had he been thinking?
It was own bloody fault for lying to his parents for years behind Geralt’s back. It had just been so hard with their constant pressure to find a partner whilst he was pining helplessly over his best friend, so he’d lied and for five years he’d managed to find excuses for avoiding the family Christmas meet up. This year his luck had run out and he’d had to come clean to his friend. He’d thought Geralt was going to murder him at first, his face had gone bright red with rage and he’d not said a bloody word, which was just Geralt all over. Over a tense dinner of instant noodles and boxed wine, Geralt had muttered that he’d do it… and so, here they were.
“Yeah, well, I forgot.”
Geralt rolled his eyes. “You forgot? That you’d told your parents that we’ve been dating for five years?”
“Six years… Our anniversary was two weeks ago,” Jaskier muttered, shuffling awkwardly on his feet and giving Geralt a sheepish smile.
“Our anniversary? For fuck’s sake, Jask.”
“I’m sorry! I meant to tell them we’d broken up but—”
“But what?”
“—but they always seemed so happy that I wasn’t alone, and to be honest it was nice.”
Geralt scoffed. “Nice?”
“Yeah,” Jaskier sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I. I didn’t feel so alone.”
Geralt sighed and pulled him into a hug. Jaskier buried his face in Geralt’s chest and whined. “You’re my best friend, Jask.”
Jaskier closed his eyes, grateful that Geralt couldn’t see his face. He could feel the lump in his throat, a dull never-ending ache in his chest. Best friend. That’s what they were, he should be thankful that Geralt allowed him that much, but fuck he loved him so damn much. No matter how much Jaskier flirted with Geralt, called him cute little nicknames, and practically admitted his love for his friend on a daily basis… Geralt never saw him as anything more than a friend, but god he drove Jaskier mad. He was always so damned thoughtful all the time, cooking dinner when Jaskier was at work even though Jaskier could never return the favour, hence the instant noodles for dinner, or letting Jaskier choose the film when he’d had a bad anxiety day, which happened more often than he liked to admit.
Geralt was his best friend, he was the bestest friend that anyone could ask for so really Jaskier couldn’t complain. He was just… hopelessly in love.
He laughed and pulled back from the hug. “Don’t you mean boyfriend?” He waggled his eyebrows and bopped Geralt’s nose.
“Hmm, fine, but we have got to break up by next year.”
Jaskier’s hand flew to his heart, gasping as he totally pretended to be completely heartbroken. There wasn’t an ounce of reality in the way his heart literally felt like it was shattering in a million pieces. He scoffed, covering up the way his hands were shaking by tugging at the edge of his jumper. “Fine, but I get to dump you.”
“Nope, it’s your mess. I’m breaking up with you,” Geralt grumbled.
Jaskier put his hands on his hips and glared at Geralt. “As if you would break up with this arse!” He laughed and turned to wiggle his butt at Geralt.
“I’ve seen better.”
Jaskier gasped and turned to poke Geralt in the chest. “Take that back!”
“Not going to happen.”
“Geralt!” Jaskier flung himself dramatically into Geralt’s arms, Geralt caught him as he always did, and Jaskier pouted up at him. “You’re mean.”
“Are you boys fighting already?”
Jaskier squeaked as Geralt dropped him to the floor. His mother was standing in the doorway with her arms crossed in front of her chest, a smirk on her face. “No. No no no. Of course not, nope. Geralt?”
“No, Mrs Pankratz.” Geralt pulled him to his feet and Jaskier wrapped his arms around Geralt’s waist, placing a sloppy kiss on his cheek.
“All good here, mother!”
“Dinner’s ready, hurry up.”
“We’ll be there in just a jiffy!” Jaskier sang as he leant into Geralt’s side. As his mother’s footsteps faded off down the hall he reached up to whisper in Geralt’s ear, “Showtime, darling.”
Geralt groaned. “Fuck.”
________________
Dinner wasn’t going too badly. Luckily Geralt and Jaskier had been best friends for most of their lives so there wasn’t much they didn’t know about each other. Honestly the only thing really missing from their friendship to make it more of a traditionally romantic one was the snogging. They went out of friend dates all the time, they lived together, and in all honesty they loved each other. Jaskier just made sure to double the use of pet names in front of his family, and he allowed himself to touch Geralt as much as he wanted, which was pretty much always. They held hands on top of the table, awkwardly eating one handed. Jaskier brought Geralt’s knuckles to his lips in between main and dessert, winking at his friend. It was so fucking easy to believe this was real. For two days he was getting everything he ever wanted. He was going to be heartbroken when this was over.
Geralt flushed and growled under his breath before kissing Jaskier’s cheek, much to delight of Jaskier’s parents.
“Julian, you know we won’t be offended if you want to kiss your boyfriend properly?”
Jaskier’s heart sank and he gripped Geralt’s hand tighter. They hadn’t discussed this. They really should have discussed this, but Jaskier had assumed two days without kissing in front of his parents would have been fine. Of course, his mother would decide to be cool. “Mother, really?” He groaned and hid his face in Geralt’s arm.
“You’ve been dating for six years, Julian. Your father had proposed by then when we were dating,” his mother sighed and smiled ever so sweetly at his father. “Don’t be shy, honey.”
“Mother!” Jaskier whined.
Geralt cleared his throat and Jaskier gazed up at his friend. There was a mischievous glint in Geralt’s eyes that Jaskier did not like the look of. He shook his head slowly at Geralt but it was too late. “Actually, Mrs Pankratz. I umm… I did have something to ask Jaskier,”
“Geralt…”
“The umm… well I wrapped it, but I guess now is as good as ever,” Geralt stood up and pulled Jaskier into the living room, ignoring his protests. Geralt pulled a small wrapped box from the tree, kneeling at Jaskier’s feet as he hand him the box.
Jaskier’s eyes went wide… what the actual fuck was happening? Jaskier thought back to his Christmas list. It was mostly nerdy shit and stuff for his instruments… nerdy shit. “Oh bollocks!” He yelled as he remembered a very specific piece of costume jewellery he’d asked for.
Was Geralt about to fake propose using the ring… like… the ring… from Lord of the Rings? Oh god, he was going to die from embarrassment. Jaskier’s hands shook as he tore at the wrapping paper. The velvety box fell into his hands, the familiar Elvish inscription was pressed into the black velvet. He hid a laugh behind his hand as Geralt gently took the box and opened it. Jaskier barely heard the shrieks from his mother as Geralt winked at him.
“Jask, the last,” Geralt paused and scowled “six years of my life have been the happiest of my life.”
“Geralt,” Jaskier whined, his heart thumping in his chest despite the fact he knew it wasn’t real.
“I’m thankful that I finally stopped being afraid of what I felt, feel, for you, and umm, well asked you out,” Geralt licked his lips, he actually seemed nervous, which was utterly ridiculous. He was a better actor than Jaskier had anticipated. “Can’t imagine how different today would have been if I hadn’t made the choice that day, the choice to be brave instead of a coward.”
Jaskier couldn’t help but reach forward to cup Geralt’s cheek, his hand moving on its own accord. “You’re the bravest man I know.”
Geralt laughed bitterly. “Not always, but ah fuck, you distracted me.”
“Sorry?” Jaskier giggled. “Would it help if I said yes?”
“Yes,” Geralt grumbled.
Jaskier knelt down opposite Geralt. “Yes.”
And then they were kissing, because that was what you did when you got engaged, wasn’t it? Only they weren’t really engaged, they weren’t even dating. Tears streamed down Jaskier’s cheeks as he kissed his friend with all the feelings that he could never admit, holding Geralt’s face in his hands. They were both panting by the time they pulled apart. “I love you, dear heart.”
Geralt, to Jaskier’s surprise, was also crying. He smiled sadly back at Jaskier as he brushed the tears from Jaskier’s cheek. “I love you too, Jask.” And then he slipped the ring onto Jaskier’s finger.
Jaskier swallowed and bit back a sob. “Fuck.”
Geralt tilted his head and glanced towards the ceiling. Jaskier nodded, hugging his arms around his chest. “I think we need a moment alone,” Geralt muttered and scooped Jaskier up into his arms.
Jaskier mother, also crying because apparently Christmas Eve dinner was a disaster, nodded. “Take all the time you need, darlings."
Geralt nodded and Jaskier hummed pressing his face into Geralt’s neck, desperately trying not to lose his grip on reality. They weren’t engaged. The mantra ran through his head obsessively. One more day, they would exchange presents, maybe a standard kiss under the mistletoe and then by next year’s Christmas Geralt would have broken up with him, and Jaskier’s parents would be none the wiser that it had all been a ruse.
A ruse, an pretence, an act.
Only it wasn’t an act, not for him.
“Fucking shit balls,” He mumbled into Geralt’s shirt as his bedroom door was kicked open. Jaskier practically leapt from Geralt’s arms and into the mess of bedsheets, hiding from the love of his life and pseudo fiancé.
“Jaskier, I’m sorry. I took it too far.” Geralt mumbled, sitting down on the bed next to where Jaskier was curled into a ball.
“No,” Jaskier mumbled. “I just overreacted, I… ah fuck it. I wanted it to be real. I’m sorry!”
“You,” Geralt stammered. “You wanted it to be real?”
Jaskier laughed haughtily and threw off the covers, wiping his eyes and glaring at Geralt. “Of course I fucking did. I told my parents we were dating… for six fucking years!”
“And you never once mentioned any of this to me?”
Jaskier rolled his eyes. “Because I couldn’t lose you!”
“I didn’t want to lose you either.”
Jaskier’s eyes went wide as he gaped at Geralt. “Hang on what? What does that mean? Geralt? Please do not tell me that means what I think it means!”
“I love you,” Geralt whispered “always have.”
“No, no no no!” Jaskier whined as his head hit the headboard. “Fuck.”
“Sorry.”
Jaskier laughed, the disbelief and sheer happiness in his heart overwhelming him. “Oh my fucking god, Geralt!” Geralt growled and stood up but Jaskier caught his hand. “Don’t you see?”
“No, care to let me into the joke?”
“We could have been dating for years!” Jaskier cried and then slapped a hand over his mouth, not wanting his parents to hear their argument. “This,” he waved his left hand at Geralt. “could have been real?”
Geralt frowned, his gaze flickering between Jaskier’s hand and his eyes. He sighed and a faint smiled graced his lips. “Maybe we should try dating first? Proposing on the first date is a bit much.”
Jaskier laughed and pulled Geralt into another kiss, his tears ones of happiness this time. He stroked Geralt’s cheek as they pulled apart. “What about the second date?”
“Jask,” Geralt groaned.
“Ok, the third date,” He laughed and Geralt shut him up with another quick kiss.”
“Your turn to propose,” Geralt mumbled against his lips as Jaskier slipped his hand up Geralt’s shirt.
“I don’t think I can beat proposing with the ring, dearest,” He giggled as Geralt pushed him back against the mattress, his nose running along Jaskier’s jaw.
“You’ll think of something.”
Jaskier grinned as Geralt’s lips crashed against his. He would think of something, something spectacular, but for now he was too busy kissing his boyfriend, grand marriage proposals would have to wait until next Christmas. They could make it a tradition.
________________
Tag list: @alwenarin @slythnerd @davidtennan-t @flippinfricks @innocentcinnamonpun @marvagon @elliestormfound @geraskier-trashh @panerato @moonysourenza @artistsfuneral @hailhailsatan @wherethewordsare @havenoffandoms @bitchy-witchy-post-mortem @electricrituals @geralt-of-riviass @00qtee @kittynannygaming @stinastar @scribblesonmapleleaves @thecomfortofoldstorries @fontegagrilledcheese @anythinggoesfandoms @veritasrose @trickstermoose67 @nonegenderleftpain @ohheytheremiss @kueble @love-more-today-than-yesterday @kozkaboi @llamasdumpsterfire @skai6
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Happy Anniversary to me!
One year ago I asked @rain-down-knowledge to be my girlfriend and she said yes!
To celebrate (and as part of my gift) I have written this incredibly self indulgent domestic fluff. No plot, no real point, but it was fun to write, enjoy!
Yang nervously shifted the plastic wrapped bouquet in her hands as she walked up to her front door. It had been three years but she still worried Blake wouldn’t like her gifts. She took a deep breath in, reassuring herself that Blake would love it, and exhaled as she opened the door and stepped in.
The empty downstairs greeted Yang as she placed her keys on the hook by the door, placed the flowers down as she sat on the bench by the door to take off her work boots. As she undid the laces she heard movement upstairs. Smiling, Yang stepped out of her boots, retrieved the flowers, and padded up the stairs.
“Blake?” Yang gently called at the top of the stairs, announcing her presence. Hearing a responding hum she made her way to the master bath.
As she walked in, Yang saw Blake, back to her, touching up her makeup in the mirror. Yang slid an arm across her shoulder and gently pulled her into an embrace, moving the flower into her field of vision.
“Happy anniversary Love” Yang pressed a kiss to Blake’s temple.
“Mm, happy anniversary to you too Babe. These flowers are beautiful!” Blake took the flowers from Yang and turned to give her a kiss on the lips, “I love you.”
As Blake turned to stand, Yang took a few steps back to give her room. As they stood face to face Yang was finally able to take in Blake’s outfit.
“Wow,” Yang’s eyebrows rose as she took her girlfriend in. Blake was wearing a loose floral button up adorned with dark purple flowers with yellow accents that draped from her chest and flared out with her hips, her dark denim pants contrasted the white background of the shirt and made the flowers pop even more. “You look-” Yang paused as she scrambled for an adjective, “so fucking good.”
“Gee thanks babe.” Blake rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the smile that bloomed across her face. Blake walked past Yang and across to their bedroom dresser. “I still have to choose a necklace, and do something with these,” she raised the bouquet in her hand, “ and then I’m ready to go after you get ready.” She placed the flowers down and picked up a simple gold chain. “A little help?”
“Hm, what time are those reservations again?” Yang walked up behind Blake and draped the chain around the front of her neck and quickly closed the clasp as Blake swept her hair aside in a well practiced maneuver between the two. Instead of backing away, Yang dropped one hand to Blake’s hip, the other brushing the hair back to reveal her neck again and pressed a lingering kiss where her neck sloped into her shoulder.
“About an hour.” There was a hint of laughter in Blake’s voice. “Just enough time for you to shower and change out of your greasy shop clothes.” Blake felt the hand on her hip wrap around her stomach and be joined by Yang’s other hand as Yang gently rested her head on Blake’s shoulder.
“Any way I could convince you to join me in the shower?” Yang’s voice was soft and warm in Blake’s ear. She was tempted to give in, but they had been planning to try this restaurant for weeks.
“Yang,” Blake was gentle, firm, and a bit teasing as she turned in Yang’s arms to give her a pointed look. “I already showered and got ready. You’ll have to go this alone.” Blake pulled her in for a quick peck on the lips before stepping out of the embrace to collect the flowers from the dresser. “I’m going to go put these in some water.”
Yang dramatically threw her head back. “Fine,” she huffed, a smile dancing on her face as she lifted her head. “Guess I’ll just have to get ready all on my lonesome,” her voice was teasing as she pulled the collar of her shirt over her head, reliably drawing Blake’s eyes to the plane of her stomach.
Blake felt her fingers itch with the desire to feel her skin but shook herself out of it. She grinned at her girlfriend’s behavior as she watched Yang stretch exaggeratedly and turn towards the bathroom as she began to take off her pants, twisting her head to throw Blake a wink on the way to the shower. Blake shook her head, starting down the stairs as the shower stuttered to life.
Having cut the flowers and retrieved Yang’s gift from behind the couch Blake settled in with her book as she waited for Yang to get ready. Yang never took too long to get ready, but a long day at the mechanic’s shop typically prompted a longer shower than usual.
Soon enough Yang was walking down the stairs and it was Blake’s turn to struggle for words. Yang had on a crisp, tailored, white button up, sleeves cuffed to her elbows, tucked into some slim fitting black jeans. Around her neck she was wearing a simple amethyst on a chain, drawing out her beautiful lavender eyes. “Ready to go?” Yang looked up from fidgeting with the leather strap of her watch to see a breathless Blake.
“Hm? Oh! Yes!” Blake snapped back to attention. “That shirt looks fucking fantastic on you.”
Yang chuckled, “Thank you, I think you say that everytime I wear it.”
“It keeps being true!” Blake countered as she stood. “You have everything?”
Yang hummed in affirmation as she retrieved her things from the entryway. Opening the door, Yang flourished with her hand to cue Blake to go first, “M’Lady,” she did a mock bow and looked to Blake who promptly rolled her eyes.
“Really? I’ve put up with three years of this?” Blake questioned as she walked through the door.
“Oh, you love it.” Yang followed behind Blake, locking up behind them.
“I do.”
Dinner was a quiet conversation tucked into each other’s sides in a corner booth over a steaming hotpot. Stories from their days, childhood, and dreams were exchanged between bites of fish and sips of broth.
Afterwards the couple found themselves on a bench at the beach to watch the sunset and exchange gifts.
“Ooh, a ring box! Babe,” Yang teased as she pulled a small velvet box out of a gift bag.
“Don’t worry, it’s not that. Not yet.” Blake said with a chuckle. Yang opened the box and immediately put a hand over her mouth. “I was talking to Tai and he mentioned Summer’s earrings and how he didn’t know what to do with them since neither you or Ruby pierced your ears,” Blake rushed through the explanation, worried when she saw tears well in Yang’s eyes. “ I saved one for Ruby too so-”
“Blake,” Yang’s voice was heavy with the sob she was holding back, “Thank you, I love it.” The hand she was using to cover her mouth stretched out to grab the hand Blake was waving as she spoke.
“You do?” At Yang’s nod Blake sighed in relief, “Thank the gods. I was worried I’d overstepped.” Yang quickly shook her head and Blake continued, “I know you can’t wear it to work, there’s a chain in the bottom of the box.”
“You thought of everything, huh?” Yang wiped the tears from her eyes and pulled the ring out of the box. A small ruby was set into a simple silver band. Yang slipped it on her finger and held out her hand to admire it. “I remember these earrings,” she said softly. “I lost one playing dress up once and Mom was so upset. We made cookies when we found them. I think she felt bad about blowing up.” Yang sniffed and Blake wrapped her hand around her wrist in support. “Anywho,” Yang cleared her throat and straightened up, “Your turn! Apparently we both went the jewelry route.” She pulled a larger, more shallow, box from behind her on the bench and handed it to Blake.
“Ooh!” Blake hammed it up a bit to try to lighten the mood, but her genuine excitement was betrayed as she eagerly took the box from Yang. She slowly snapped it open to reveal a traditional wooden fish hook necklace from Menagerie with a yellow garnet adorning the eye of the hook. “Oh,” Blake gently ran the pads of her fingers over the intricate engravings on the surface of the wood. “Yang, this is gorgeous! Where did you find it? I’ve never seen any Menagerie shops in Vale!”
“Um,” Yang blushed at the praise of her gift. “When we were visiting your parents for your birthday, I asked your mom about getting you something traditional.” She fidgeted with the new ring on her hand. “You’ve been doing all that research into your family history. I guess I wanted to give you something to connect you to it.”
“It’s perfect.” Blake held the pendant in her palm and used her other hand to cup Yang’s cheek and looked her in the eyes, “Thank you.” She leaned in for a kiss, Yang meeting her halfway and bringing a hand to rest on her collarbone.
The two shared their quiet moment alone together. The orange glow of the sky casting long shadows as the sun set on this beautiful day.
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Gold Digger / Sugar Baby Starker AU
Warnings: some nff mentions, mentioned erectile dysfunction
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Tony isn’t Peter’s first wealthy boyfriend.
His laundry list of previous entanglements is by no means lengthy, however it is somewhat selective. The criteria is simple: men with money - lots and lots of money.
Four years ago Peter been desperate. Six weeks behind rent his landlord was threatening to have him evicted, electricity already cut off, he’d dropped out of school to work three jobs. The cost of his aunts cancer treatment was so high even the most dubious loans couldn’t cover them. Everything was beginning to pile up with no way out.
So, in despair, he became an escort.
It was high end and he got lucky. One of his very first clients was a man so wealthy he practically exuded dollars from his pores, dropping a ten thousand dollar tip on Peter on their first night. The man seemed to like him, hiring Peter again and again, dressing him up in designer clothes and taking him to the most exclusive venues.
Peter would have enjoyed it, had the man not been the scum of the earth.
No matter exorbitant his gifts were it never made up for how bad a man he was. Money couldn’t cover up his drunken racist remarks. Lavish luxury couldn’t excuse how the man looked down on the poor, literally spitting on the homeless as they passed them on the streets.
By the time Peter had cycled through a few rich clients he’d more than covered the cost of his aunts treatment, their rent paid six months in advance. He could even afford to pay off his student loans and move out on his own. He resigned with the escort agency, keen to get his life back on the straight-and-narrow.
Except, he had a taste for it, now. The creature comforts, the luxury cars, the attention. The satisfaction he got from ripping off perverts who hired him because his young face made him seem underage.
The things he had seen made his stomach turn. How was he supposed to go back to a normal life knowing what he knew about Hollywoods seedy underbelly beneath its glistening city lights?
So, he went out looking for them.
They were all the same. Incredibly privileged men with more money than humanity, morally bankrupt despite their bulging bank accounts. All wanting something young and pretty on their arm and warm in their bed - no matter how much they have to fork out for the illusion of a smitten partner.
It only ever took a few sweet words, wide eyes and wandering hands to hook them in and drain them dry.
Once Peter would have his fill he’d sell their secrets to rival companies, then to law enforcement. It was by no means a humanitarian endeavour, but it made him feel good in the same way donating to charity did.
And he looked damn good doing it.
------
Peter had met Tony on a cloudy Monday morning.
He’d heard all about Tony Starks philandering antics and his acerbic personality and pegged him to be just like the others, just another playboy looking for something to play with.
So he managed to get hired as Tony’s personal assistant, hamming it up as a meek, clumsy newbie. As the weeks progressed, the more flimsy Peters’ outfits became, one too many buttons open on his thin dress shirts, voice soft, eyelashes fluttering as he leaned in close to the man to pass him his coffee or a contract.
It was the same drawcard he’d used for all the affluent assholes he’d dated prior; whether a high powered lawyer or a CEO, they all seemed to have a weakness for simpering submissive types, those who dropped things too many times, those who played dumb, didn’t engage in intellectual conversation.
It took Peter an embarrassingly long time to figure out that kind of behaviour didn’t interest Tony for anything more than a one-night stand.
Sure, he’d caught the end of Tony’s prolonged stares more than once, had noticed the appreciative leers whenever he bent over a table or to pick something up, but it wasn’t enough to truly engage him.
It wasn’t until one day, Peter frustrated and exhausted from a poor nights rest, had spoken back to the man with a scathing remark that Tony had really started to pay attention.
Tony likes bossy. Tony likes being challenged by someone he considers an equal. Once Peter dropped the facade of wide-eyed innocence, proved his smarts and snarked back it was like reeling in all-too-willing fish.
They’d been bantering all day, mostly light-hearted, because apparently that’s flirting, according to Tony and Peter can’t fault him for that.
Peter had been teasing Tony for hours, all his usual tricks. In the afternoon he’d squeezed behind Tony’s chair and set his hands on the mans shoulders, lightly massaging the tight muscles through his shirt. A treat for all his hard work Peter had simpered, going back to their discussion on quantum field theory.
“I know what you’re doing, you know,” Tony had said, but relaxed into the touch anyway.
“Do you? Is it working, Mr. Stark?” Peter had asked, hands coming down to stroke at Tony’s chest. The man had near purred as Peters hands trailed over his pectorals.
“It’s definitely working. At least let me take you to dinner first.”
So he did. Peter had been wined and dined that night, followed by the best fuck of his life, riding the man in the backseat of Tony’s car. And the rest was history.
Back then he’d only forecasted the longevity of their relationship to be a few months. A fleeting romance, however long enough for Peter to get into Tony’s wallet and for Tony to show his true colors.
Except, Peter is still waiting, is the thing.
Despite all his expectations and his fevered observations, Tony hasn’t slipped up yet. With the mans combined net worth and reputation, Peter had expected more than one skeleton cluttering his closet, red flags and scandals waiting to be uncovered.
The only secrets Peter finds in two years are the ones Tony whispers into his skin at night, his deepest insecurities and worst memories.
As time drags on Peter is beginning to suspect that maybe he rolled the dice wrong and maybe Tony just isn’t a bad guy.
Not long ago they were in Paris. They’d sat upon their terrace drinking coffee in the morning sun, making up life stories of the people passing below. Tony snorted at a particularly funny one and looked at Peter with such unadulterated affection and said:
“I fucking love you, Peter Parker.”
That was new.
------
The guilt is also new to Peter.
It’s not that Peter has never experienced remorse, but he’s not once felt a single modicum of contrition for the men he’s played or the luxurious gifts he took with him.
Peter keeps waiting for Tony to give him a reason to cut him off. Keeps waiting for the incriminating tabloid pictures proving Tony’s infidelity, anticipates some white collar crime to sneak into the newspapers, or like his last boyfriend, a violent temper.
But it’s been two years and Tony has yet to slip up. His interest hasn’t waned, his hands haven’t wandered. Peter would know - he’d set Tony up on three seperate occasions and the man is unfailingly faithful.
The only thing that has changed is the ever increasing way in which Tony softens for Peter, how the fondness reaches his eyes and is woven into his words.
Tony isn’t Peter’s first wealthy boyfriend, but he has been his longest. The longer their relationship continues it becomes considerably clear that Peter miscalculated terribly.
Because, despite public opinion, Tony is a good man. A really fucking good man.
Peter is never left wanting for intimacy or possessions, the only absence in his life is misbehaviour. Of course Tony isn’t perfect, he has his vices. He drinks too much, works too hard, loves like it’s going out of style. He spoils Peter and values everything he has to say. It’s the worst.
So, the guilt.
Peter feels lied to. The public, playboy persona of Tony Stark does not align with reality at all. Peter went to Tony for his transactions but Tony ended up giving him his heart instead.
It was Peter who was supposed to do the ruining, not the other way.
------
Galas were never really Peter’s thing.
There was too much ceremony and exaggerated decorum for it to be any real fun. Any entertainment was usually in the form of a high profile guest tripping over themselves or a rowdy politician overindulging on the free alcohol.
Tonight it was to commemorate some new arts centre. They’d been there for an hour already but it felt like entire night was dripping by in slow-motion, minutes bloated in boredom.
Peter is sullen, given up playing nice with the socialites and pretending he has anything in common with these people. He just wants to be at home in the jacuzzi, being hand-fed caviar and truffles. Is that honestly so much to ask?
As he’s about to suggest as such to Tony, a hand touches his wrist to get his attention.
He frowns, looking over as some guy gestures to him, eyeing him up and down.
“How much?”
Tony’s arm around his waist keeps him upright as he politely removes his arm from the strange mans grasp.
“Excuse me?”
The man, short, stout and wielding a fat cigar between his fingers like a weapon, points at the diamond encrusted necklace dangling from Peters neck. The pendant, a large bejewelled spider, rests heavily against his sternum, hung by a solid gold plated chain.
“My niece loves the creepy fuckers,” the guy says by way of explanation, smoothing his tie down upon approach. “Got a thing for them. Has her own pet tarantula, can you believe?”
The arm around Peters waist tightens.
“It was custom made,” Tony supplies, pressing a kiss to Peters cheek whilst squeezing his hip. “Just for Peter. Cartier were generous enough to make it for our anniversary.”
Peter smiles at the mention, looks every bit the doting boyfriend as he leans into Tony further, winding his arm around the older mans waist. The man never fails to exude an effortless, old-school debonair charm, the satin lapels of his tuxedo reflecting the lowlight of the chandelier glow.
The stranger nods, chest hitching with a laugh.
“Anniversary, huh? Well, congratulations,” he commends, nudging Tony with his elbow. “How long? Six weeks? Six days?”
“Two years,” Peter says, voice hardening.
“I’m sorry, who are you again?” Tony adds, flagging down a waiter and scooping two flutes of champagne from the tray. “Do you know this guy, baby?”
“Nope,” Peter replies, accepting a glass from Tony with his free hand, toasting their glasses together with a clink. “No idea. I think he works here?”
“Does your manager let you mingle with staff?” Tony adds. “Isn’t that so adorable, honey?”
“So adorable,” Peter agrees, smiling at his lover.
He enjoys watching the scowl form, the flustered, sheepish twitch of the mans lips as he struggles to find something to say.
“Excuse me,” is all the man says, turning on the spot and disappearing into a crowd of haute couture.
Tony lets go of his waist to turn further into Peter, hand coming up to trace the delicate chain up to the bump of his collarbone. It really is an exquisite piece, Peter concedes as Tony’s fingers grip the pendant, using it to pull Peter closer.
Peter goes willingly, flushing their bodies together. He slips both of his hands onto Tony’s hips, wondering if he could get away with snaking them into the mans back pockets, if he could squeeze Tony’s ass in public view. There’s something arousing about being crass in a formal setting like this, surrounded by Los Angeles’ elite and foregoing all of their staged propriety.
Tony must sense the intent because his gaze surrenders to Peter’s, leaning in to place a placating kiss on the corner of Peter’s mouth.
“Tony, Tony,” comes the chiding tone of Obadiah Stane. “What have I said about being indecent in public?”
“To only do it if I’m getting paid for it?” Tony quips, but loosens his grip on Peter nonetheless to shake his hand with his associate.
Obadiah gestures to Tony with the hand that holds a glass of whiskey, speaking to Peter. “Think’s he’s a wise guy, doesn’t he?”
Peter smiles demurely, hand coming to rest on the back of Tonys neck. He knows better than to think that the man actually wants to hear his opinion on the matter.
“And, please remind me, which of us graduated college at seventeen?” Tony retorts not unkindly. “I think I’m absolutely qualified considered to call myself wise, wouldn’t you say Pete?”
It’s not Peter’s function to be funny in this play, so he swallows the already formed quips and nods, fingers stroking at Tony’s hairline as he pastes a wide smile on his face.
Tony tugs playfully on Peters pendant, pulling him in for a chaste kiss. “Why don’t you get us some more drinks, sweetheart. I’ll come find you.”
Glancing between the two men, Peter agrees, letting his fingers brush the back of his neck as he walks away.
It’s not the first time Tony has tried to shield business from him, won’t be the last. In the early days Tony would rave ad nauseam about his company, all the tech being developed, conjoined at the hip to his office. He’s been quiet about it, lately.
Peter doesn’t know what that means and reminds himself that he shouldn’t actually care. He’s done nothing to earn Tony’s trust, after all.
When he reaches the bar he orders himself a vintage wine, sipping it as he cooly observes the room.
The elite. The upper echelons of society. Or so they call themselves, as if they aren’t just every bit animal as Peter, if not more. As if the room isn’t full of criminals and adulterers, their wealth built on the exploitation over the lower ninety-ninth percent of the rest of the world.
While Tony talks shop Peter leans against the edge of the bar, sipping, observing. He spots Pepper Potts in the distance and raises his glass to her when she nods to him.
She doesn’t make much effort to hide how little she thinks of him, which is a shame, Peter thinks. He is ever so grateful for her hiring him as Tony’s PA those two years ago.
If she hadn’t taken a look at his heavily falsified resume and considered him a shoo-in then where would he be right now? Probably on the arm of some lower level wall-street rat, which would be comfortable, but not where he wants to be.
It doesn’t take Tony long to finish, clapping Stane on the back and ambling over to the bar. He takes in the curved line of Peter’s inelegant slouch with unashamed appreciation, loafers skipping with a squeak against the polished floorboards as his step falters.
“That just for you?” Tony asks, nodding towards his half drunk wine. “You ready to go home, doll?”
Peter tucks his elbow into his chest, protectively clutching the glass closer to him. “Mhmm,” he hums agreeably, taking a large sip and downing the rest, watching Tony watching him. Once drained Tony offers his arm.
Depositing the empty glass on the glass counter with a clink Peter takes his arm, rolling his eyes at their antics, grinning nonetheless.
They wave to various dignitaries, trust fund babies and political hopefuls as they make their departure, promising nebulous future appointments and catch ups, none of which will happen, but they all like to pretend.
Outside in the cool fall air Tony pulls a stack from his back pocket, depositing it into the hand of the nearest valet. The woman scurries off to retrieve their car as soon as the notes nestle into her palm.
A sleek sports car, a model that Peter has never seen, pulls up while they wait, a woman covered in silk slipping inside. Tony whistles at the seamless lines, the near silent growl of the engine as it takes off into an opportune gap of traffic.
“I want one,” Peter says, transfixed at the gleaming paintwork. He turns to Tony and tugs on his tie. “In rose gold.”
“In rose gold,” Tony echoes softly into the night air, rolling his eyes. Peter can already see him mentally pulling out his checkbook as he smooths his tie down. “Anything else, baby?”
Peter only smiles as the Audi pulls up, slipping into the far end of the backseat and pulling along with him. He still has an ounce of refinement from his aunts lessons in him, so he waits until they have left the parking lot to sink to the car floor inbetween Tonys knees.
This isn’t a hardship for him at all. In fact, having sex with Tony is his favorite past time.
With practised movement he slithers his hands up Tony’s thighs, spreading them apart. Their driver turns up the music as Tony’s zipper slides down.
Tony is predictably soft when Peter pulls him out, lazily fondling his length, Tony’s eyes getting progressively hazier as his cock gets stiffer. Peter enjoys laving the head with kitten licks, Tony’s soft groan as he licks his way from the base back up before taking the entire head into his mouth.
It takes a while for Tony to get fully hard. Peter knows he’s insecure about it but it makes their age gap more apparent - and incredibly arousing.
Seated like a king upon his throne Tony hums in satisfaction, gently brushing his knuckles against the high crest of Peters cheek.
“So good at that, darling. Want to push your pretty head down and fuck your mouth.”
Peter groans affirmatively around the flesh in his mouth, encouraging Tony to do just that as he reaches for the older mans hand.
“God, I love you,” Tony breaths, gently thrusting up.
Peter’s glad his mouth is occupied with Tony’s cock so he doesn’t have to reply.
------
When they get home after the gala Peter has worked Tony up enough to get thoroughly fucked against the windows of their bedroom, come shooting all over the glass. They shower and stumble into bed shortly thereafter.
Under the sheets Tony curls into Peter, placing a sleepy kiss on his bare sternum, the warm exhalations from the mans nose tickling his skin.
It’s not until Tony falls asleep that Peter allows himself to return it, pressing his lips into the older mans hair and sighing into the greying strands. Not for the first time he wonders if he’s in over his head.
There’s a slimy feeling all over his skin. Tony loves him. Tony is good and he loves Peter. Peter, who came into this relationship because he thought the man was made of too much stone to bleed.
Somehow under all of the glamour and supposed moral superiority he’s become the very type of snake he’s been trying to ruin these last years.
He’s been a fool for staying this long, allowing himself to grow fond. Peering down at Tony’s vulnerable form, Peter knows he shouldn’t stay. Can’t stay. Better late than never to do the right thing, isn’t it?
Tony deserves better.
------
It’s for the best, he tells himself.
Sad, but resolute, starts pulling away. He surreptitiously packs his things, stays longer and longer at their Beverley Hills apartment until Tony begins to notice his prolonged absence.
One night they are having dinner out at some high-end restaurant, Tony preoccupied on his phone. It’s happening more and more lately. Once there was a time where the man would determinedly dedicate the entire night to making Peter see stars without touching his phone once.
Maybe he’s losing interest in Peter after all.
The thought shouldn’t make his chest hurt.
“Sorry about that, baby,” Tony says as he hangs up, reaching over to take Peters hand.
“Work comes first,” Peter appeases, squeezing Tonys fingers before pulling away to re-arrange his napkin.
Tony looks at him, eyes searching for just a moment.
“You come first, Pete. You mean everything to me, you know that right?”
Peter nods, throat tightening up. He offers Tony a smile he knows must look flimsy and sips his wine to avoid saying something stupid.
“Me and Obie are working on something, baby. Something big. I know I haven’t been around much, but trust me when I say it’s going to be worth it.”
The hopeful, earnest smile on Tony’s face makes Peter feel like the worst person in the world.
However fine their food is, all Peter tastes is guilt.
------
It takes a few weeks but he makes his arrangements.
Every day spent apart feels like a sandpaper scrub to his heart, leaving him raw and aching. When they’re together Peter hides his the wet pinprick of his eyes until Tony isn’t looking, only allows Tony to take him from behind so in his head he can call it fucking instead of love-making.
Tony Stark loves hard. It isn’t fair of Peter to take advantage of that anymore.
So he picks fights. Begins acting like the vapid airhead he pretended to be when they first met. He spends less time in their bed and watches as Tony looks at him with increasing sadness.
Peter wants to be the type of guy that Tony deserves, but he isn’t. He might not have much money of his own but the one thing he can give Tony is the opportunity to be with someone who didn’t use him.
Turns out it’s Peter that’s just like the others, after all.
------
More and more time is spent at their alternative apartment, then May’s apartment. He tries to figure out what his life is supposed to look like, after. The sadness is distracting, but it doesn’t have any right being there.
He scrolls through endless online job listings, but ultimately his efforts are fruitless.
How is he supposed to explain the gaping gap years on his resume? What are his applicable skills? Being a money hungry sugar baby?
Not only that, but Tony Stark is nothing but high profile. Over the last two years Peter has been in countless pap photos, endless grainy TMZ clips. How is he supposed to go back to a regular life when he’s had articles written about his relationship?
It makes him frustrated and depressed. It makes him miss Tony who best waved away all Peters worries with a kiss and stream of distracting words.
He tries to stay away.
The need to be in Tony’s arms again wins over his moral crusade.
-----
On a midday venture back to the the mansion in Malibu, Peter intends to only be there a little while. Maybe have lunch with his - with Tony.
He thinks he really should pick up the last of his belongings until he stops dead in the living room, color draining out of his face as he spots the older man.
“Tony?” he slowly approaches, hovering by the sofa. “You okay?”
Tony sits hunched over upon the sofa, head buried into his hands.
“S’all gone,” Tony whispers, burying his face deeper into his palms.
“What do you mean,” Peter asks cautiously, moving closer and sinking to his knees to kneel between Tony’s legs, loosely clutching at the mans wrists. “What’s gone, babe?”
Tony gestures vaguely to everything around them, lifting his face from his hands long enough to indicate at their surroundings. His hands shake as they are brought back to his mouth, eyes red.
“You. Them.”
Peter shakes his head, guilt coming at him for a whole different reason. “I don’t --”
“They voted me out,” Tony interrupts, voice hoarse. “I put everything we own into this new deal. It was gonna earn us billions, baby - and when they accepted the board voted me out - he fucking framed me --”
“Ssh, hey,” Peter soothes, leaning inwards to press a kiss to Tony’s jaw. “It’s okay, Tony - “
“After this deal I have nothing,” Tony shakes his head, refusing to meet Peters eyes. “I threw all our chips in knowing it was a good bet. Fucking Stane, I swear to god I’m --”
Tony runs out of steam, his head hanging low, the defeat making the man look smaller. Shame and fear roll off of Tony in waves, his hands visibly shaking, chest hitching.
Something in Peter snaps and he lets go.
“I know I don’t tell you this enough,” Peters voice cracks, “but I love you. I really fucking love you.”
“I’m losing you too,” Tony whispers, wrecked. “I can see it. You don’t want me anymore, and why would you? I have nothing to offer you.”
Peter shakes his head, peppering kisses over the glistening tear trails on the mans face, resolve solidifying. It breaks his heart to see Tony like this - how could he ever think of leaving him - the only thing Tony ever wanted from him was unconditional and free.
He may not be what Tony deserves but Peter has always been selfish.
“I’ve lost everything, baby. I’m nothing.”
Peter shuffles closer on his knees, tilting his head down to capture Tony’s red-rimmed gaze.
“You’re everything. I don’t care if you don’t have a single penny. I want to be with you, okay? You’re my Tony.”
Tony smiles wetly. “And you’re my Peter. You’ll stay with me?”
Peter nods, kissing him sweetly, an idea forming into his mind as his anger grows towards Tony’s former associate. The fucking nerve of anyone knowing the real Tony Stark and wanting to hurt him sets his cells ablaze. There’s one way to right this wrong, to prove himself.
"If you’ll have me - and... if you want, I’m going to help you.”
Tony blinks, expression going serious. “What do you mean?”
Peter grins wryly.
“Let’s just say I know a thing or two about getting into someones skin. Stane won’t see me coming.”
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Mystic Sisters- Ch.4 You & I
Yua’s pov
Every. Single. Day. I saw Haru at school, or at the train or at Mystic cafe. Wherever I went it seemed he was there too. It was hell running into him everywhere. I swear he’s stalking me at this point. I tried avoiding him but he always popped up unexpectedly looking into my eyes the same way he used to. Weeks went by without either of us saying a word, we just stared at each other not knowing who would make the first move. Today was another day of us not talking to each other. I sat in the corner at Mystic cafe sipping on a iced tea waiting for my sister to finish
her shift. After Haru ordered his food he made small talk with my sister. He said something to make her laugh and I rolled my eyes and turned my attention back to my tea.
“I’ll be back in 10 minutes” he told Hikari then walked out of the cafe still laughing at whatever they were talking about.
“ Haru!” I called out as I followed him out of the cafe.
He stopped and turned around to face me but stayed completely silent.
“Oh so you're not gonna say anything?” I said getting irritated.
“What do you want me to say?” He said like he did nothing wrong.
“I just want an explanation on why you left.”
“I don’t need to give an explanation.”
“Why do you always do this? You run away when things get tough. You've been back for weeks but haven't said one word to me.” I yelled out of frustration.
Haru said nothing, he just looked at his watch, went back to the cafe and grabbed his food and walked past me like nothing.
“You're such a jerk and I hate you Haru. I fucking hate your guts!” I cried out looking at his back. It was like I was talking to a brick wall. Haru stopped walking for a second then just continued without looking back.
I stormed back into the cafe with mixed emotions. Should I feel angry, sad, or relieved that I dodged a bullet? I was so angry I wanted to rip his throat out. OMG why am i thinking like this? Ripping his throat out? Come on Yua. Suddenly I felt really thirsty so I grabbed my iced tea and chugged it.
“Yua-chan are you okay?” Hikari asked, sitting across from me placing another iced tea in front of me.
“No, I'm over here imagining ripping Haru’s throat out .” I said suddenly feeling stressed.
“No that’s completely normal.” she joked. “But seriously what’s wrong.”
“I just want to talk to Haru but he keeps pushing me away. How can he tell me he loves me, leave and show back up like nothing happened.” I sighed in frustration.
“Hey don’t beat yourself up over this. It’s his fault. He’s the one that left not you. You just have to find a way to talk to him and not rip out his throat.” I nodded, taking another sip of tea. She may be younger than me but she’s always right.
“Your shift is almost over right? Let’s go to the bookstore on our way home.”
“Yay!” she yelled excitedly, drawing attention towards her from the other customers.
“Sorry.” she said quickly heading back behind the counter. Only Hikari would get excited over books I laughed to myself.
I really didn't know why I was so hung up on Haru. Maybe it’s because he’s the only guy I loved. Or maybe it because he left without giving me an explanation. My mind kept drifting off thinking about him as I tried to do my chemistry homework that's due tomorrow. My eyes grew heavier as I tried to focus. “Maybe I should take a break.” I yawned resting my head on the desk.
“Just a quick nap.” I yawned again before drifting off to sleep.
Haru and I were cuddling under a tree and I felt so relaxed and happy. I looked at him and smiled. But he didn’t smile back.
“Is something wrong?” I asked reaching out towards him.
“I don’t wanna be with you anymore Yua.” He told me pushing away.
“What? We just got back together the other day. What could have changed?” sitting up turning to face him. “Why do you keep hurting me like this? Did you ever even really love me?
“I gotta go. I’m sorry Yua,” Haru replied to me getting up walking away leaving me like he always did.
“Haru come back here!” I called after him “Haru!” but he didn’t answer, he just kept walking.
I opened my eyes and all I could feel was anger. I was so angry but I couldn’t let a dream drive me crazy. I took a deep breath and grabbed my phone to check the time.
“4am? Ugh! I didn’t finish my homework!” I said frustrated.
Ring!
Finally the bell rang signaling it was time for lunch. I didn't know if I could sit through another minute of balancing equations. I sat my books out for the next class before heading to the library to meet hikari and Hisako. I found the girls sitting at a table in the back of the library laughing quietly to themselves.
“What’s so funny? I could use a laugh.” I said as I joined them at the table.
“Hisako fell out of her chair in class today then slipped on her chair getting up.” Hikari said laughing so hard she had tears in the corner of her eyes.
I laughed a little before looking at Hisako. “Are you ok?” I asked.
“Yea I’m fine. Thanks for asking Yua. I'm never visiting Hikari before her class again though” Hisako replied to me with a smile.
Hikari started talking about buying more clothes at the mall, I smiled nodding as if I was listening before zoning out watching the rain fall from the window. The rain reminded me of something Haru did before we broke up.
Haru and I were at our favorite spot during lunch and I couldn't stop talking about our anniversary that was just around the corner.
“I planned the whole day out first we're gonna go eat breakfast together---” I rambled on and on about our date but Haru didn’t even look like he was paying attention.
“Are you listening to me?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest.
“Huh.” he said caught off guard. “Yea I’m listening.” he replied.
I gave him an unsure look. “Ok then what did I say?”
Haru laughed before looking at me with his beautiful eyes and sexy smirk that I absolutely loved. Completely changing the subject Haru told me. “Close your eyes and turn around for me.”
“What? You're changing the subject.” I called him out.
“Just do it please.” He asked. I squinted my eyes curiously at him before turning around and closing my eyes just as he said. I slightly jumped as I felt something cold touch my neck.
“Ok you can open now.” He told me and I can tell he was smiling.
Opening my eyes I looked down to see a beautiful necklace. I turned around and faced him, smiling like an idiot. “The two hearts are us right.” I asked, holding onto the pendant.
“Yea and I also had our names carved into it.” He replied.
My smile grew bigger. “I love it.” I told him.
“Good. Don’t ever take it off no matter what happens between us ok.” He said seriously.
“I won’t.” I smiled as I leaned in for a kiss.
I smiled at the memory “Those were truly the good times.” I said messing around with the necklace still around my neck. I know I said I wouldn’t take it off. But new Haru makes me want to.
“What are you talking about.” Hikari said looking at me before smirking “It's Haru isn’t it?”
“I am not but nice guess.” I said sarcastically.
“Yua just get back together with him and stop torturing yourself.” Hisako said stealing some of Hikari’s grapes.
“Nah he belong to the streets.” I joked.
“But so do you.” Hikari sassed.
My smile disappeared as I looked at Hikari in shock. “I do not. I am a proper lady thank you.”
“Keep telling yourself that.” Hikari said sarcastically while laughing. I rolled my eyes at her. “I swear sometimes you act just like Haru.” I mumbled before getting up.
“Where are you going?” Hisako asked.
“I have to go to class early.” I told the girls goodbye and left. Okay so maybe I didn't actually need to go to class early. I needed to talk to Haru and work things out between us. I wondered mindlessly through the school hallways looking for Haru. Somehow I ended up in our spot. The spot where we spent most of our time together. Not much had changed. There was a new mural done by the art club that made the space brighter. I walked over to the window staring at the rain heavily falling down. I played with the necklace again still thinking about that day. Just as the bell rang I felt a gust of air go by. I turned around watching the older boy walk up the stairs not even acknowledging me.
“Haru!” I called out but he just kept walking leaving me like he always did.
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Carnival Date Larry x fem reader
Him and Sal came up for the idea while in town together.
Lisa and you were at the apartments and she sent Larry into town to look for a part.
The two discussed the idea over lunch
"So you said you wanted my advice on something?"
"Oh yeah! So dude my 1 year anniversary with (Y/n) is coming up and I want to do something special but I've never been good at that romantic shit. I thought maybe I'd take her to a nice restaurant but that's so cliche."
"Did (Y/n) say she wanted to do anything specific? Maybe just ask her?"
"I would but I know exactly what she'll say. She'll tell me we should spend it in our pjs cuddled up in my bed watching a movie or playing games."
"Ha she really is perfect for you huh?"
"Exactly she's perfect dude! And we do that most weekends we hang out. I want to do something special for her because of how amazing she is to me. I mean do you know what shes doing today?"
"What's that man?"
"She's helping mom clean up Charlie's old apartment. I guess Mr. Addison wants to get it cleaned up for new tenants. When mom and I were in there this morning and she realized she'd need the parts from the hardware store (y/n) volunteered to help her."
"She is really nice. Plus she seems to make you a lot happier."
They finished their quick meal still unsure of what to do leaving Larry a tiny bit frustrated.
Despite a few decent ideas between the two they weren't able to come up with anything that he felt was good enough for his girl.
When the two were checking out at the local hardware store Larry noticed a particularly colorful flyer in the window.
"Hey Mr. Wilks is that carnival flyer new?"
"Oh yeah some of those carny folk came by and hung that up just yesterday. They also gave me some to hand out if you'd like."
The colorful flyer made a brilliant idea pop into his head.
"Sure man I'll take one."
"Sweet a carnival would be fun."
"What if that's what if I took (Y/n) there for our anniversary?"
Sal nod happily seeing the brilliance in the idea also considering asking Travis.
Grabbing both the flyer and the bags the boys left the hardware store picking up some lunch for the girls before heading back go the apartments.
Two weeks had passed and if was the Saturday of Larry's and (y/n)'s year anniversary.
Larry had saved up some money for the last two weeks.
He did anything and everything to earn even a little money.
Mow lawns? Yep
Run errands for older residents? Definitely
Stand out on streets and sketch people? Every Friday.
Selling his supply of pot? You bet.
You would join him for dinner thinking that was all that was planned.
Lisa had helped him prepare a really nice meal.
Despite it being like your millionth date together he was still nervous redoing his hair at least ten times
When he opened the door to you, you were dressed so beautifully he felt his actual jaw drop.
"Woah you look fucking amazing love!"
Ash had helped you pick out an outfit of a black cami tank top, a high waisted purple plaid skirt that went slightly above your knees, knee high tights with ribbons on the knees, and of course your black converse. I
ts moments like these that made Larry realise how much of a goddess you truly are.
"I'm a lucky bastard."
You giggled with a blush before standing on your toes to kiss him on the cheek.
"You look amazing too Larry." You beamed.
Larry was dressed in a dark red button up and his ripped black jeans. I gently grabbed her hand leading her to the table that was nicely set with everything all out and warm.
With the wonderful smell and how beautiful the Johnson dinner table looked you smiled turning around and wrapping you arms around Larry.
"Oh Larry this is so nice!"
He hugged you back but let out a small chuckle.
The two of you took your seats and began eating.
"This is just dinner babe the real fun comes later tonight." He winked giving you a quick kiss on the lips in between taking bites.
You blushed letting out that adorable laugh that Larry loved.
"I figured Lar it's not one of our dates without something happening in the bedroom."
He quickly realized you had thought that he was making one of his pervy jokes.
"Wait no no no! We're going somewhere after this. And it's not a sex thing."
This made you perk your head up confused and interested.
You smiled playfully pushing his arm.
"Are we gonna go see a movie? I didnt think the theater was showing anything you'd like."
"Nope and I'm not telling you so eat." He chuckled making you fake pout your lips.
Once the food was finished he grabbed his wallet and keys as well as a black sanitys fall jacket in case you got cold.
The whole car ride he teased you about where you were going.
"Please just tell me Lar!" You pleaded with a giggle.
"Nope. Sorry love you'll just have to wait and see." He chuckled.
Soon enough he pulled into the parking lot turning to face you once he shut off the engine.
Your eyes were already huge and filled with excitement.
"You're taking me to the carnival?!"
"Yep Sal and I found the flyer in town and thought it would be perfect." He said with a nervous laugh.
He was really hoping this idea would be special enough for you.
"Larry that's so cool! Thank you!" You cheered leaning over and hugging him tightly.
He hugged you back letting out a relieved sigh, so good so far.
Once the two of you got your wristbands you decided to head to the games section first.
You both played a few of the games together having a bit of a friendly competition.
At the last booth there was a Teddy Bear with a little plastic guitar.
As soon as Larry Saw it he knew it had to be yours.
Since it was a basket ball game it didnt take Larry too long to figure out out.
Sure enough after like 6 tries the small bear was yours.
He turned around handing it to you proudly
Of course you responded by hugging him tightly and kissing him on the lips.
The first ride you both rode was a roller coaster, Larry's favorite.
He made sure to hold onto you tightly whether you needed it or not.
The next ride was the tunnel of love they had set up.
AS you can imagine Larry got quite handsy making out with you the whole time.
The last ride was of course the ferris wheel and Larry had timed it perfectly that you were on the ferris wheel at sunset.
The first thing he did was take out his phone and take a photo of the love of his life followed by a selfie of both of you.
The next thing he did as the temperature had dropped quite a bit was wrap his jacket around your shoulders.
"You always look so hot in my clothes."
He smiled leaning down and kissing you softly.
When you two pulled apart you laid your head against him and he wrapped an arm around you.
"This has been so perfect Lar thank you so much."
"Honeslty love I should be thanking you. Everything is perfect with you by my side. Ever since you and I met my lofe has been so much brighter, happier, and all around better. It's like before you came around I was wondering around in one of my drawings. Life was flat, black and white, and sometimes pretty scary. Then I met you, and all of a sudden my life was colored in and beautiful. You're like the Sunshine breaking through the grey storm clouds. I was gonna buy you something nice but my mom suggested this instead. It was what my dad gave to her on their 1st anniversary. I replaced the chain but basically when he gave it to her he said that she was his sun because his world would be incomplete without her. And I think that's so accurate for how alone I'd go back to being without you."
He held out a box with a beautiful necklace with a sun pendant.
You pulled out your own gift for him but it was in an envelope.
"I figured you would be so concerned about doing something special for me that you would forget these just went on sale."
"Holy shit! Holy shit!"
With a perked eyebrow he took the envelope opening it up carefully to reveal three Sanitys Fall tickets.
"It's for their show in a couple months. And theres a ticket for all three of us."
Lardy didn't hesitate to hug you tighter than ever before
"Holy shit I love you! I love you so much!"
You giggled hugging him back.
When you pulled apart he helped you get the necklace on and you couldn't help but admire it.
As you two were walking out to his car that night he lifted you up on his back the whole way.
On the car ride home you ended up briefly falling asleep making him admire you as much as possible without wrecking.
"I'm so gonna marry you some day love."
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nothing to gain
m, 2.4k
what if it only gets colder?
would you still wrap me up and tell me that you think this was smart?
cause lately i've been scared of even thinking 'bout where we are
a.k.a. hooking up is fun, except when it's for all the wrong reasons.
read on ao3
The time on his phone reads 1:38am by the time he finishes doing up his shoelaces.
He's not good with his laces on a normal day, so naturally he has an even harder time when his hands are shaking.
Yes, shaking. His hands are shaking and there's a lump in his throat and he can feel sweat beginning to prickle around his temples and at the back of his neck, because his entire body is flushed too warm for no reason other than he's nervous.
Nervous for a very stupid reason, at that. Phil's always been one to get nervous for regular hook-ups, but this... isn't a regular hook-up. There's no uncertainty for him to waffle over, no need to plan any moves in advance, no worry that there won't be any chemistry or that he'll underperform. He's done this before. He knows how it works. He knows what to do and how to do it well. Under these circumstances, he should be feeling pretty confident. And if this were a cut-and-dry hook-up, maybe he would.
It's not cut-and-dry though. Nothing with Dan ever is.
It's stressful. Phil's not usually one to overthink things, except for when it comes to Dan. Then he overthinks everything. Which sucks, because Dan is pretty much the only thing that he can't afford to overthink.
He rubs his hand down over his face in frustration as he stands, pondering his reflection in the mirror. His hair's getting a bit bird-nesty, he could probably stand to cut it. His eyes look a bit bleary from having his contacts in too long. Biting his lip is a nervous habit of his, but he doesn't even realize he's been doing it until he sees how red and raw his bottom lip looks. He likes to tell himself that looks don't matter, but he feels oddly self-conscious right now.
He's considering changing into something a bit more flattering than his jeans and university hoodie when he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket.
dan [1:41am]: hurry up i want you
There's a mostly pleasant swooping sensation in the pit of his stomach, and that's enough for him to start thinking with his dick again. For now.
He turns out the light and treads quietly out of his bedroom.
*
The third step up from the bottom of the stairs creaks, he reminds himself as he gingerly takes his first few steps down.
Not that it matters, probably. From up here he can tell that the drinking games are still going strong over in the lounge, and it's not like anyone's gonna be listening for him.
He skips over the step anyway.
Going out the front would entail passing through the lounge and all of his housemates, so he opts for the back door. He makes it as far as the darkened kitchen before the light switches on and there's a soft throat-clearing noise behind him.
"Right then, Lester, where're you off to?"
He doesn't have to stop. He could pretend he doesn't hear her, keep walking on out the door, and be chastised in the morning.
But he doesn't have the balls to do that, and they both know it. So he pauses and sighs and turns around.
Addy looks quite nice tonight. Her slim-fit navy dress really brings out the blue in her eyes, and her jet-black hair falls smoothly over her shoulders. They get mistaken for siblings sometimes, though Phil's quite sure that their resemblance doesn't extend anywhere beyond hair and eye color. And his hair isn't even natural.
It's the first that he's seen of her tonight. She must have just got back from her date, then.
She looks nice, but she also looks confused in spite of her mildly accusatory tone of voice.
"That's a pretty necklace." He says lamely, glancing down at the little silver pendant resting just below her collarbone as a convenient means of avoiding eye contact. "Did Sam give it to you? Happy anniversary by the way, how was dinner?"
"It was good. He's already starting to get pissed out there with the rest of them. Also, you're shit at deflecting. Tell me where you're going."
"Does it matter? I'm an adult." It's meant to be a joke, kind of, but it really just comes out sounding incredibly stupid, even for him. He shouldn't try to go on the defensive, like, ever. Especially with Addy. Even considering that she's his best friend, he still finds her ability to consistently see right through him a little unnerving.
"Maybe. Technically." She shrugs, and crosses her arms. She doesn't look mad or intimidating. Just... determined. "I'm just a bit surprised to see you headed out when everyone just told me that you'd gone up to bed for the night."
He's about to respond with some on-the-spot, half-assed lie before he's interrupted by another vibration in his pocket.
He's not the only one who notices. Her eyes flicker briefly to his pocket, and then back up at him again.
"You're going to see him." It's a statement, not a question. Her voice has gone a bit softer, and he hates that. Not because he hates softness in general, but he knows that she hasn't changed her tone to be gentle. She's changed it because she feels bad for him.
He sighs and deflates a little. "How do you know it's him? It could be someone else."
"I guess." She steps closer. Her heels make it so that she's much closer to eye level with him than usual. "I just don't know why you'd be sneaking out the back for anyone but him."
"We're good at fucking each other." He shrugs and shoves his hands into the pocket of his hoodie. Maybe the abrupt change of subject will throw her off. Just a little. Just for a minute. He needs to level the playing field somehow. "It's just sex. It's fun. No one's getting hurt."
"I don't believe that." Her reply is instantaneous. "And I don't think you do, either."
He's quiet for a moment and he wills his voice not to sound as pathetic as he feels when he speaks up again.
"Dan's not a bad person."
"I know he's not, babe." Another quick reply. He knows that she means it. She and Dan had gotten on quite well before the... unpleasantness.
They've had this talk a million times over the past month. It's not healthy, it's not healthy, it's not healthy. I know you still love him but it's not healthy. You'll never get over him if you keep having these backslides.
Maybe I don't want to get over him. He never actually says that bit out loud. Then he'd never hear the end of it.
"He broke your heart though, yeah?"
He didn't want to. But...
"...Yeah."
He doesn't say anything else. She doesn't either, for a while. He reckons she's resigned, which he can't help but feel bad about. Her heart's in the right place. He's just weak.
His hand twitches instinctively towards his pocket when he feels another vibration. Then, her hand comes to rest on his cheek.
"Just be safe, alright?"
He's ready to make some cheeky comment about Dan's impressive stash of free condoms from the student center in an attempt to break the tension or lighten the mood or something, but she cuts in before he can get a word out, like she's already read his mind.
"Not like that. I mean watch out for yourself. Think about what you're doing and make sure that you really believe that it's what's best for you. And for him."
He stands still there for a minute after she walks out. He owes it to her to at least let her words sink in before reaching into his pocket to see what those two little vibrations were about.
dan [1:43am]: i might just start without you if you don't get your ass over here soon :p
dan [1:45am]: phiiiiiiiiiilllllllllll :(
He does have a choice here, he knows that. But the undeniable ache in his chest makes him feel like he really, really doesn't.
*
The soft, pitchy breath that Dan stifles into his shoulder when he finally bottoms out, after an agonizing minute of working himself slowly down on Phil's cock, is objectively the best sound in the world. He soaks it up and holds onto it every single time, on the dreaded chance that he might never get to hear it again. The possibility is always there. It could happen any day.
"Fuck." Dan's nails dig deep into his shoulder blades. "Give me a sec. I swear your dick got bigger since last time."
"Last time was less than a week ago." Phil reminds him, deliberately letting his breath ghost over Dan's neck as he winds his arms securely around his waist. It has the desired effect; Dan shudders and relaxes a bit. "And it definitely didn't. You're just not prepped enough, you got impatient."
He receives only a delayed hmph in response, and he has to smirk. Because Dan doesn't want to admit that he's right, but it's kind of impossible for either of them to deny.
"Right, c'mere." His voice goes softer than intended and he slides one hand up to tangle into Dan's hair. Dan obliges and tilts his head before Phil can even tell him to. "Relax." He murmurs in between hot, wet kisses to Dan's neck, particularly all the sensitive spots that he's had memorized for what feels like ages. "You feel so fucking good."
He does. Dan's warmth clenching around him so tight that he can't move is actually bordering on too much. Bordering, because he doesn't think that 'too much' is really a part of his vocabulary when it comes to Dan. With Dan, he always wants more.
So he chases it.
Instant gratification, that's what this is. That's why they do this. That's what he tells himself when Dan starts rocking against him, that's what he tells himself when he grabs onto Dan's hips hard enough to bruise and guides him down harder and faster, that's what he tells himself when Dan's panting and moaning and begging for more, that's what he tells himself when he flips them over and pounds into him with total abandon because he knows they're right on the limit. That's what he tells himself when Dan's legs start to shake and his eyes flutter shut and he clenches around him, and that's what he tells himself when his hips stutter and he buries himself deep inside one last time and collapses almost before the relief of his orgasm finishes washing over him.
Then he rolls off, so they're laid side by side with their bodies limp and boneless and their chests flushed and hearts pounding. Phil lets his eyes fall shut, then, because this is the part where they stop bullshitting themselves.
"I love you." Dan whispers, and hands him a couple tissues.
He sighs, opens his eyes and hastily cleans off the mess of Dan's cum that's painted onto his chest and stomach.
"Yeah. I love you too."
*
The only light in the room now comes from the cheap fairy lights that Dan's strung up on the wall behind his bed. They cast a dim glow onto the bottle of Malibu that Dan's rolling in between his hands - the one he keeps by the side of his bed that makes him look like an alcoholic, though it's really just there to stay safe from his housemates given their tendency to steal any liquor they can get their hands on.
"You sure you don't want any?" Dan offers, and Phil just shakes his head and slides down under the covers. "Had enough earlier. Everyone kept fucking me over in Kings."
"Explains why it took you so fucking long to get here." Dan takes a decent pull from the bottle and then sets it down before joining him under the covers. He holds an arm out and Phil curls into him, head resting on Dan's shoulder.
"No, I tried to get here quick. Addy stopped me on the way out, though."
"Oh." Dan's body stills, and for a few moments the room lapses into a tense silence. "She told you not to come, I guess."
He doesn't deny it, because there's really no use. "I came anyway, though, didn't I?"
"She must fucking hate me now."
"She doesn't."
It's too dark to really read Dan's expression, but Phil can sense that he's being cast a very skeptical look.
"She doesn't." He repeats. "She's just worried. About both of us. 'Cause, you know..." He trails off. He doesn't need to say it; Dan knows.
"It's better this way." Dan mumbles. "I'm a shit boyfriend, Phil. I'm just like, a shit person altogether. I have no idea what I'm doing with my life, I've just as good as flunked out of law school. Some day I'm gonna start to drag you down too much, this way you're off the hook. You can just... leave. No strings."
Phil doesn't respond. This is another conversation he's had a million times. Another conversation that just goes around in circles. It doesn't seem to matter how many times he tells Dan that it's too late for no strings. That's not something that works retroactively. Not for him.
It seems to make sense to Dan that they still fuck basically every week, that they still say I love you, but they somehow can't be together. Phil's not sure if they broke up because Dan just doesn't care, or if Dan thinks that Phil doesn't care. Surely it can't be that. How many times has he told Dan that he loves him in spite of everything, that he wants him complete with all of his flaws? The same way that Dan wants him... or wanted him, at one point. He doesn't know anymore.
Because he knows Dan isn't the type to suddenly stop caring about something, or someone. Dan cares a whole fucking lot. But something gets in the way sometimes. Something unreadable, that makes the light go out in his eyes. Phil knows he can't replace that light, he's tried. But god damn, he at least wants to help find something that can.
"Does this feel like no strings to you?" Phil asks quietly. Maybe Dan will listen to himself, if he can't listen to Phil.
"No."
Phil waits a moment for him to elaborate, but he doesn't. "Me neither. What if it stays that way?"
Dan doesn't respond, but he does rest his cheek down on top of Phil's head when he scoots in closer.
They're both hanging onto something, surely. The question is whether they're hanging onto the same thing.
He's not so sure he wants to know.
*
for @phandomficfests shuffle mode; song prompt: waiting game by banks
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Time - Writing Prompt
Thank you to my love @incorrectpremquotes for sending in this prompt (like an age ago hahaha) from this post.
114. “Don’t you think you’re a bit old to be using cheesy pickup lines?”
Author’s Note - This one took me forever to write (mainly down to my own writer’s block) but I think I’m pretty proud of it. I would really appreciate your feedback! I posted a sneak preview of this the other day but it wasn’t finished or titled then. I feel like I could maybe write a second part to this so if you want that let me know?? Enjoy x
Ps. I proof read the first bits whilst I was writing it a lot but the last part isn’t proof read so is probs crap.
Pps. Its probably all crap, but read it anyway?
It was Thursday night and your friend had decided that now after three months it was time for an intervention. It wasn’t like you were still sad about your break up, you’d just been busy with work and so ‘getting back on the horse’ had taken longer than expected. You and her had talked it all over. The busy schedules, the missed calls, the cancelled dates. The split had been amicable. For the first two years your relationship had been wonderful. You’d support him at games, and he’d cook your dinner for when you got home from work. There was weekly dates and trips out to your parents’ house on Sundays. Then you got promoted at work and he was being played more in games and there was no time. Only fleeting kisses and ‘I’ll call you later’s. The final six months were lonely and tiring and you both decided that maybe it would be better if you stopped trying to force it. You moved out and into your friends place and he stayed in the house you had once shared.
A week later it had come out in the press that he was already seeing some Instagram model and you were fine. You broke up because you couldn’t give each other 100% what the other wanted. The headlines were saying that they’d been together in secret for months and now your relationship was over they could finally be out in the open. You hadn’t broken up over cheating or scandals and you were fine. That’s what you told yourself for the first few weeks. But then there were paparazzi at your work, and you were being asked to comment on the break up and on his new girlfriend and it all got too much. When you called him one night after a bottle of wine, you had thanked your lucky stars that he hadn’t answered, and it had gone to voicemail. And when he texted you the next morning asking if you were okay, you didn’t respond, and never called back.
Drinks with your friend had been successful. There wasn’t any wild partying as you both had work in the morning, but she had been right; getting out of the house and doing something that wasn’t your job was good. The breakup had been briefly mentioned but as you’d dissected every moment of it over endless pints of Ben & Jerry’s the conversation had been mainly focussed on work and her new engagement.
You weren’t angry when her phone rang and she had to leave in emergency, knowing she’d done the same thing to help your emergencies plenty of times in the past. You only had a few sips of your drink left anyway, so you were planning to just finish it and head home. You felt a body in the space next to you at the bar that alarmed you a little.
“Do I know you?” an all too familiar voice says next to you, “because you look a lot like my next girlfriend.” You don’t even need to turn to confirm who the voice belonged to. You could tell it was him just by his voice and the smell of his cologne. The smell of your favourite cologne.
“Funny.” You reply, briefly turning to look at him before turning back to the bar and finishing your drink in one swig, “because you look at lot like my ex-boyfriend.” Before you can even attempt to leave, he’s already called over to the bar tender and order two gin and tonics.
“Oh, look at that we’re drinking the same thing. It’s like we’re meant to be together.” He says, pushing a glass in your direction with a wink.
“Don’t you think you’re a bit old to be using cheesy pickup lines?” You retort, still sipping from the glass anyway.
“Don’t you think you’re a bit young to be drinking alone in a bar on a Thursday night, Bridget?” he jokes, referencing your favourite character, Bridget Jones. When you first met, you’d made a joke about how you were convinced you’d soon be singing Celine Dion’s ‘All by Myself’ over a bottle of wine alone in your apartment and he’s promised that he could change that. And he did for a while.
“I’m not drinking alone.” You protest.
“Well not anymore, but you were.”
“No, I wasn’t, Chloe was here. She just left.” You continue, adamant to not let him know how alone you’ve been these last three months.
“I’m only teasing you, babe.” The words roll of his tongue so easily and it feels like it used to be, just for a second. He notices how you tense up a little at the word. How your fingers stop moving around the rim of your glass. How your lips purse together slightly. You weren’t his to call babe anymore, he knew that. “You, erm… You look good. You look well.” He finishes after clearing his throat to dissipate the newly rising tension.
You mumble a thank you under your breath, slowly turning in his direction. He’s still standing in the space beside you, his eyes asking for permission to sit when they finally meet yours. You’ve seen him in the weeks and months since you broke up, but you haven’t looked him the eyes like this since the day it ended. “Why are you here?” You ask, refusing to let him in easily. This bar wasn’t on his side of town and he never spent much time outside of his local neighbourhood, so this was no coincidence.
“I was in the area. Fancied a drink. It was weird. I was just wandering around and then I turned onto this street and I see the sign hanging outside. It’s like I was drawn here. Then I realised this was the bar you always talked about. You always said you were gonna bring me here, but you never did.” He replies, looking you dead in the eyes honestly.
“I did,” You reply quickly, his eyes search yours, encouraging you go continue, “bring you here. Once. The night of Ella's birthday. We’d been dating what like five weeks at the time? We were in the neighbourhood for a meal, and then after everyone left, I brought you here.”
“Oh. I don’t think I remember that.” He says, sliding in to the chair next to you, trying not to let you notice. You turn your head to the other side of the room and his eyes follow yours.
“We sat in that booth over there.” you say, pointing over at the dimly lit booth. “That was when you told me you thought you were falling in love with me. Don’t you remember that?” his eyes meet yours once more, his face painted with disbelief.
“I’d completely forgotten that.” He pauses briefly. “I’m sorry.”
“No, no. It’s okay. It was a long time ago.” You weren’t lying. It was a very long time ago. But it still hurt to know he didn’t remember those moments. The moments that you had been thinking about all the time.
“I’m sorry about everything. About forgetting. About not having enough time for you. About not giving you the world when it was what you deserved.” he declares, reaching for your hand as he does so. His fingers brush yours sending electric sparks up your arm. It had been so long since you’d touched, and you were almost certain that he’d be able to feel your heart beat pulsing through your fingers. You let yourself indulge in it for a moment before pulling away again. He may have forgotten but you hadn’t. You broke up because you didn’t have time, but he sure had time to slip into someone else’s bed as soon as your stuff was out of his house.
“We’ve already done this before. I don’t want to do it again.” You utter quietly, hopelessly. Picking up your glass and sipping from it again, you try your best to collect your thoughts, to keep him out of your head. Just like he used to he’s able to read your mind.
“I never slept with her, you know. She came to some games and we went to dinner once or twice, but I never slept with her. I never even kissed her for fuck’s sake. It was just some ploy the guys had set up to get me back on the horse or whatever. I didn’t want it, I didn’t want her. I just wanted you.” He defends. His words sound exactly like what you want to hear. Confirming everything you’d told yourself on the good days. On the bad days you’d tell yourself that he’s getting over you completely, that she’s your complete opposite and it must mean he’s moving on.
“How’d you know I was thinking about her?” You question, aiming to make him fault his abilities to read your mind.
“You’re not looking up like you do when you’re lying and you’re thumbing your glass like you do when you’re thinking. You said we’ve already done this. But we never spoke about her. So of course, you were thinking about her. We were together two years, baby, you think I don’t know how you tick?” He pauses to make you look at him. Your eyes locking for a moment before you look away again. “You know I’ve done nothing these last three months but miss you.”
“That’s a lie. You got completely hammered by my boys the other week. That’s not nothing.” You joke, a small smiling cracking on your lips. He’d always said that you supporting a team that wasn’t the one he played for would some day end your relationship. He was joking obviously, but it caused endless amount of banter between the two of you and his teammates. He laughs at your joke, glad you’ve began to warm up to him.
“Yeah we should have beat them easily,” he jests in return, “but I guess I just didn’t have my good luck charm with me.” When he says it you know he means you. From the moment he scored in the first game you saw him play he’d claimed that you were his good luck charm. And on your one-year anniversary when he gifted you a pendant necklace with his shirt number engraved on it, he said that he was your good luck charm too. The necklace that you still hadn’t taken off. The necklace that was currently hidden under your shirt, unseen by him. You falter at the thought of it. All this casual conversation had to lead somewhere, and it still wasn’t clear where it was going.
“I, erm, I think we should talk.” You mumble, briefly pausing. You continue when you realise, he’s about to crack a joke. “And yes, I know we are talking right now, but I think we should talk talk.” A small smile forms on his lips at your statement.
“I’m down to talk talk. Do you wanna go get a coffee somewhere quieter?” The music in this bar wasn’t too loud, and it wasn’t busy, but the dark lighting and thick air made it feel cramped and confined. This wasn’t a lay all your cards out on the table kind of place and something in your mind was making you want to just that. You nod in response, and he settles the bill. The two of you head out together, close enough to touch but both wary of the others space.
You walk side by side down the centre of the deserted side street. It wasn’t late but this area of town wasn’t highly populated at this particular time of the evening. His hand brushes yours slightly and it sends a shock to your brain, making you breathless. Your mind begins running but your feet stop dead in their tracks. Every thought you’ve had about him in the last few weeks goes flowing towards your mouth before you can stop it. Every come back, I miss you, I never should have let you leave.
“I miss you. I missed you. Every single day. And I never should have believed any of what I read about you and her. I knew it wasn’t true but believing it made it easier to hate you. I wanted to hate you so badly. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t hate you then and I can’t hate you now. I love you. I love you so much that it’s making me miserable.” Pausing for a breath, you look up at him. He’s standing there across from you, not making a sound. He moves closer and places a hand on your cheek. Instinctively you lean into it, his touch erasing any cold the night air had created. “I’m not saying that I want back together right now. Or that I’m ready to get back together right now. Maybe, I still need a little time.”
“For you? I have all the time in the world.” He replies simply with a smile.
“Yeah but I don’t want us to rush into anything. We broke up for a reason and I don’t want us to just completely throw ourselves into this again. I don’t want to force you in to making a massive commitment that you can’t make…” He cuts off your rambling with one simple sentence.
“Baby, just shut up and kiss me.” And with that, he pulls you closer and your lips touch for the very first time in three months. In that moment, you both know that no amount of time could ever keep you apart.
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